Pushing off his opponent, Link cut to the basket, cleanly catching the ball Kenji bounce-passed him along the way. When he reached the paint, he dipped down and leaped off the ground with both feet, manoeuvring his body mid-flight around the opposing team’s centre, Landon Radowsky.
The ample-framed kid had effortlessly swatted away all his team's shots that night. Link didn’t give him the opportunity to block him, though. He cocked his right arm back behind his head and slammed it down into the basket right in between Radowsky’s outstretched arms. The crowd shot out of the gym’s bleachers and erupted into fits of screaming and applause.
The air was thick with the smell of waxed wood, leather and damp sweat. Shoes squeaked on top of the adhesive hardwood. Coaches were screaming plays from the sidelines; fans raised their homemade signs, squealing out for their favourite players. Link had never felt more at home.
He readjusted the positioning of his spandex armband as he followed his team in transition to the other side of the court. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the cheerleaders standing near the baseline, waving their white and orange pom-poms as they danced in unison and chanted:
Link’s heading to the basket,
He’s moving down the floor,
We are the mighty Aztecs and—
Oh, wait! Link’s already scored.
Link looked up into the top row of the gym’s bleachers, searching for Nadine. He found her instantly. She was the only one in the crowd with a book in her hand, head down as she read, oblivious to the neck-and-neck basketball game unfolding around her.
Nadine had her feet crossed and propped up on the back of the seat in front of her, twirling her hair around her finger as she read. Link wasn’t surprised. She had never been a fan of sports; in fact, she rarely ever watched any of his games.
One day, when Link and Nadine had scored tickets to a Chicago Bulls-Phoenix Suns game, Link asked her if she knew who MJ was. She responded with, “Of course I know who Michael Jackson is, Link. He was the most influential artist of the twentieth century.”
Given the choice, Link was sure she’d rather be at home reading than watching him play that night. But seeing as his car had been written off, and Kenji was getting custom side skirts applied to his Skyline, Nadine was their lift in.
Link was glad she hadn’t been watching, though. Besides a few assists and that dunk he had made over Radowsky, he hadn’t done anything of worth that night. And as Kenji had reminded him countless times, there could be college scouts watching. But how could he focus on something as trivial as putting a leather basketball in a circular hoop when he was fighting for his sister’s life in a parallel universe?
Link had berated himself for not helping Alex look for Winstell ever since that day in the corridors. What if Zudane’ hadn’t been there to save her? Would Alex be alive right now? This wasn’t a harmless high school where the bullies settled on beating up their victims. Some of the students that attended Baylor’s Academy were mentally unstable, thieves, murderers even. Ever since that day Link knew there could be no more momentary lapses of judgment. Alex had to be under his supervision at all times.
He rested a hand on the chest of his opposing shooting guard Adam Howler as he danced around the three-point arc, trying but failing miserably to shake him and get himself open. Link thought he was short for a shooting guard—barely six feet—but he made up for it with a wide and strong body. A body he used to power his way to the hoop against weaker defenders.
Adam had dark skin, shoulders the size of basketballs and an ’80s fade so clean-cut it would make the Fresh Prince of Bel Air envious. He used to play for their team, the Aztecs, before he had a falling out with Kenji. And as Link was Kenji’s best friend, he had inherited some of that hatred by association. Adam hadn’t even shaken Link’s hand before the game.
Adam feinted to the left, waited for Link to take the bait, then shot to the right. Link followed. His body crashed into Radowsky who was setting the screen. Adam had a clear path to the basket, with not a player in sight. Link circled the heavy-footed centre, then closed some of the distance between them until he was right at Adam’s tail.
Adam caught the pass from his fellow point guard and then lunged towards the hoop. As a last resort, Link grabbed him in mid-air and intentionally fouled him. Adam’s feet flew from underneath him, and his body slammed into the hardwood, causing the ref to blow his whistle instantly. Link felt awful, but it was what coach Harper had drilled into him from an early age: Foul and let them earn their points at the line. No easy buckets.
Adam didn’t seem too pleased about the foul, though. He slapped away the hand Link offered to help him to his feet, swearing at him under his breath while massaging the side of his ribs he’d landed on.
Link looked up into the bleachers, hoping Nadine was so enthralled by her book that she missed his physical altercation. But when he spotted her, Link found she was not alone. Xavier was sitting in the seat beside her, his fedora hat tilted on an angle, an arm leisurely wrapped around the back of her seat. Link’s arm tensed, his fingernails digging into his palms. Even if Nadine couldn’t see him, the fact he knew Xavier was there, so close to her . . .
Adam nudged Link with his shoulder as he made his way to the free throw line, snapping him back into the game.
“It must be hardwired into your brain,” Adam mumbled.
“What?” Link answered, truly puzzled.
“Crashing,” he replied with an arrogant smile. “First your car, now this.”
“What did you just say?” Link yelled as he stepped towards him, but Kenji blocked his path and pushed him backward.
“Don’t let him get to you,” Kenji whispered as he pushed. “Don’t be stupid. Scouts, remember?”
Adam dribbled the ball with force as he stepped to the line and prepared for his free throw shot, a wry smile still spread across his face.
“That’s what I thought,” Adam said. He bent his knees and then followed through, sinking his first bucket. The home crowd booed in retaliation. As the referee passed the ball back to him for his second shot, his eyes found Link’s.
“They should charge you for homicide,” Adam whispered loudly enough for Link to hear. “I mean, what kind of a monster kills his own sister?”
Link’s body acted on the words. Just as Adam was about to release his second shot, Link slammed a shoulder into him, pinned him to the ground, then pummelled his face with both fists.
And that was all he could remember before he was ejected from the game.
****
Nadine braked slowly as they approached the red light, her long nails drumming the steering wheel as she looked blankly out the driver's side window. She had barely said a word the whole ride home, which Link knew meant she was in deep thought. The calm before the storm.
Link was in the passenger’s seat, both his feet on the dash, an ice pack pressed to his cut and swollen knuckles. Kenji was in the backseat, hunched forwards, his arms wrapped around either side of Link’s and Nadine’s headrests. Personal space wasn’t in his vocabulary.
“No, no,” Kenji blurted, breaking the long silence, “I can’t do it. I refuse to just sweep this under the rug. I mean, you turned his face into a freaking smashed tomato, Link. It was gruesome. But you know what the worst part is? His wounds will heal, whereas you could’ve just blown your shot at colleges we average kids can only dream of. There goes your future. So was it all worth it, tough guy?”
“I stand by what I did,” Link responded, rubbing his tender knuckles.
“Look, I sympathize with you, I really do, I understand what that asshole said was wrong, but to react the way you did in a gym possibly full of college scouts is just . . . I can’t even find the right words to express your level of stupidity.”
“Whatever,” Link mumbled, hoping this would shut him up. It seemed to have the opposite effect.
“Whatever?” he repeated incredulously. “Whatever? You’re one of the best high school talents I’ve ever seen, Link. And I’m not just saying that because I’m on your team, or because I’m your best friend. You legitimately are.” He tapped a finger to his temple repetitively. “These players—these dropkicks like Adam try to get in your head every single game. You know why? Because they know it’s the only way they can possibly affect your game. And tonight . . . Tonight you let them.” He finally sunk back into his chair and let out an exasperated sigh. “Nadine, I love you, but you have to talk some sense into your boy, get him under wraps. Because I’m about to strangle him; I swear to God.”
Despite the noticeable difference in their ethnicities, anyone would think by the way Kenji acted he was Link’s older brother.
Link gritted his teeth, which sent a wave of pain up the right side of his face, since one of Adam’s teammates had sucker-punched him during the melee.
“You’re lucky I even played tonight,” is all he could manage to say.
“I’m lucky?” Kenji repeated with a scoff. “What on Earth are you talking about? This isn’t about me. I’m fresh out of growth spurts, Link. I faced the fact I couldn’t make it into the NBA a long time ago. But you, man, if you played like you did last year, you could have any pick of college in America. Any. And then who knows? Turn some heads there and you could be on your way to the NBA.”
Kenji groaned and then thumped the back of Link’s headrest. “People would kill to have a quarter of the talent you do, you jackass; so I’m not going to just stand aside and let you pour it all down the drain. I refuse to.”
This time, Link didn’t even dignify Kenji with a response. He was too stubborn to admit Kenji was right. Word would get out about the brawl, and no doubt there would be an article in the paper about it tomorrow. No coach or college wanted a player with a short temper. But in saying that, what kind of a future did he have anyway?
As long as this Nocera thing loomed over Link’s head like the great storm cloud it was, he was never going to be able to devote himself one hundred percent to basketball. Not until he killed Kilaydis at least, which was about as probable as winning the lottery without purchasing a ticket. And although he was remorseful for the way he had acted at the game, deep down, if he were to replay the scene over again, he would’ve reacted exactly the same way. There are some lines you just don’t cross, and for him, family was one of them.
“Nadine, are you going to weigh in here?” Kenji asked. “I mean, is this a good cop-bad cop thing? I feel like I’m the parent who’s doing all the disciplining while you’re just taking a back seat.” He paused and chuckled. “Which is ironic, since I’m the one who’s in the backseat.”
Nadine reached for the knob on the radio and turned up the volume. “I’ve got nothing to say to him.”
“Just say it,” Link grumbled, turning down the volume. “There’s no use postponing it.”
“Postponing what?” she asked.
“My lecture.”
Nadine turned the volume back up. Link reached for the knob but she slapped his forearm. “Stop. I really have nothing to say to you, Link.”
“What’s the point in—”
“OK, I’ll tell you what’s on my mind,” she yelled over the radio presenter’s voice. “In the four years I’ve been with you, I’ve never seen you behave like that. It scared the hell out of me, and I’m just . . . .” She stopped and then blinked quickly. Her long lashes fluttered to stop the oncoming tears. When Nadine spoke next, her voice had softened. “I’m just so disappointed in you. Disappointed you would throw away your future at the drop of the hat, just because of what some lowlife said. I thought you were above all that, Link.”
“I was sticking up for Alex,” Link said feebly. But even he knew that was a weak excuse.
“Do you really think your sister would’ve wanted to see that?” she responded, as she bopped the radio with her fist, turning it off completely. “She hates fighting just as much as I do.”
Just drop me off here,” Link said, closing his eyes and taking a long, deep breath. “I’ve had enough of you two ganging up on me.”
“Ganging up?” Nadine repeated. “Oh God, don’t be so melodramatic, Link.”
“Drop him off, Nadine,” Kenji groaned from the backseat. “A long walk would do good to clear his big, fat head.”
Link pulled the lever underneath his chair, causing his seat to slide backward into Kenji’s knees. He cursed out loud in anger.
“Real mature,” Kenji snarled as he rubbed his knee caps tenderly. “That’s it; I’m never passing you the ball ag—”
Nadine pegged an empty water bottle over her shoulder at him, then she turned to Link and rested a delicate hand on his swollen one. “What’s bothering you, Link; is it something more than the crash? You’ve been so . . . ” She pursed her lips. “I don’t know, so withdrawn lately. Not yourself. Why are you punishing yourself like this?”
Link screwed his face at her. “Why do you think?”
“I know it’s not just that,” Nadine said, dabbing her eyes with the baggy sleeve of her grey sweater. “There’s something else. I-I’m not stupid.”
They pulled into the driveway at Kenji’s parents’ red-bricked house. There was a portable basketball hoop sitting out on the front lawn. Kenji had adjusted the rim’s height so he could dunk the ball. Cheat.
Link cast a sideways glance at Nadine and then let out a mix between a sigh and a chuckle. “You honestly wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
Nadine put the car in park and then shrugged. “You’ve got nothing to lose.”
Kenji’s anger seemed to have subsided because he reached out a hand and squeezed Link’s shoulder. “C’mon, buddy; tell us what’s bugging you.”
There was a long silence that followed. A silence Link used to mull over if there was any worth telling them both about Nocera. He figured there were two ways this could go. Outcome number one: They were sceptical at first; maybe even think he was pulling their leg. But maybe—and that was a big maybe—if he was convincing enough telling his side of the story they might come around to believing him.
And then there was the dreaded outcome number two: He told them and they’d assume the worst; that he had completely lost his marbles, and his mind was as fried as a phone in a microwave. It was the outcome that had been eating him up inside, preventing him from telling them both about Nocera since the car accident. The fear of them seeing him in an entirely different light.
“Promise me two things, though,” Link said, as he gazed out the window at the house across the street’s manicured garden. He noticed there was not a bush or branch out of place. The people that lived there must have had OCD. “There will be no interruptions. Zilch. And all judgment will be withheld until I’m finished speaking.”
Link whipped his head around when there was no response.
“Well?”
Nadine nodded obediently, but when Link looked at Kenji, he raised his eyebrows questioningly.
“Problem?” Link asked.
“No, it’s just . . . OK, there’s two things,” Kenji stopped and scratched the tip of his nose. “One: Did you really just say ‘zilch?’ And two: The way you're building it up sounds like you’ve killed someone.”
“This is serious, Kenji,” Link said, scowling.
“What?” he asked, offended. “I was just making sure. I watch a lot of crime shows; I know how to get rid of a body if need be.” He interlaced his hands behind his head and settled into his seat, looking at Link innocently. Link was still giving him daggers. “You’re right; you’re right. I’m sorry.” Kenji rolled his arm outward. “Please. By all means, continue.”
So Link told them everything. He started at the very beginning with the car crash before school and then gradually worked his way towards seeing Xavier in the bleachers at the game. Just like when he told Alex, he spared no details. Telling them about the physical link between both worlds, the mind-boggling riddle Xavier had left him with. He left no stone unturned.
Astonishingly, the whole time he talked they both stuck to their promises and refrained from speaking. Link didn't even know why he was telling them. It wasn’t like they could have magically appeared in Nocera and given him a hand at killing Kilaydis. But nevertheless, after what seemed like an hour, Link had finally finished, and what felt like a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders.
“Well?” Link asked when he had finished speaking. His stomach lurched with fear as he waited for their responses. But neither of them seemed eager to give them.
Nadine pretended to be interested in her fluffy pink steering wheel cover. And when Link looked back at Kenji, he struggled to meet his eyes. Almost as if Link were Medusa and his gaze could’ve turned him into stone.
“Nadine,” Link said, facing back to her.
“It’s just . . . ” Her eyes reluctantly locked onto his, and he was shocked to find they were filled with sympathy. No, not sympathy. This was the kind of look she’d give someone she pitied. “It’s a lot to process.”
“Do you believe me?”
Her gaze fell for a split second to a rip in her denim jeans, then back to his eyes. Hesitation. That was answer enough on its own.
“Of course, I believe you, Link,” she whispered.
His fingernails dug into the leathered seat. “If you’re going to lie at least put some effort in,” he said, not even bothering to hide the disdain in his voice. “I knew it would be a waste of time. This is the exact same reaction Mom and Dad gave me after I told them.”
“Well, it is a bit . . . .” Nadine trailed off, looking into the backseat as if encouraging Kenji to back her up.
“Far-fetched?” Link finished for her. “What about you, Kenji? Do you think I’m insane too?”
Kenji didn’t answer, which Link found extremely unusual seeing as the only time he ever stopped talking was when his mouth was crammed with food.
“No comment,” Kenji muttered.
Link swivelled his body to face him in the backseat. “Are you serious? I just spilled my heart out about what has been happening to me these past two months, and that’s all you can muster? No comment.”
“You wouldn’t like what I have to say, Link.” Kenji licked his lips. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I can smell my Mom's homemade burgers from here—” He reached for the door handle, but Link leaned over and grabbed him by the sleeve of his shirt.
“Lock the doors, Nadine; he’s not leaving,” Link said.
Kenji looked down angrily at his hand. “Dude, what the hell? You’re wrinkling my shirt. Let go.”
“Not until you say it.”
“No.” He knocked Link’s hand away and then smoothed the wrinkles on his sleeve. His eyes fell back to the door handle. Nadine jabbed a button and the car doors locked all around them. Kenji threw his head back and groaned like an upset toddler who had just been told he couldn’t have his favourite, sugary cereal.
“Say it,” Link repeated.
“No, because I’m tired of being the bad guy,” he complained. “Everyone’s always like, ‘Oh my God, Kenji, you can’t just go saying those things. Does your mouth have no filter?’ So, for once I’m going to bite my tongue.”
“Just tell us, Kenji,” Nadine chimed in.
Kenji’s eyes darted back and forth between Link and Nadine’s faces, then he let out a defeated sigh. “I think it’s . . . ” He rubbed his eyes tiresomely. “It’s what we learned about last semester in psychology.”
Psychology. Kenji had barely started, and Link didn't like the sound of it.
“Go on,” he probed.
Kenji cleared his throat as if he were a wizened lecturer preparing to give a speech to his class. “There’s these rare cases—very rare actually—that when someone goes through a traumatic experience or undergoes insurmountable levels of anguish, they have been known to create these . . . ” He paused, almost as if he was too afraid to say his next words. “Coping mechanisms. Now, these coping mechanisms—as the name implies—are designed to help the person . . . well, cope, obviously. In other words, they’re a way of dealing with the grief.”
Link was rendered speechless, and could do nothing but stare at Kenji dumbfounded. He was still struggling to comprehend the full weight of his words.
“This guy, this Xavier guy and the whole Nocera thing,” Kenji said. “I think it’s all just an incredibly elaborate and welcome distraction you created in your head.”
“A welcome distraction from what?” Link asked, but a part of him already knew the answer.
“A welcome distraction from what’s happened with Alex,” Nadine answered solemnly.
Kenji nodded his head in agreement, his eyes studying Link’s cautiously as if he was waiting for him to flip out. “Link, I think you created this Xavier guy and the whole Nocera thing as a way of dealing with the pain the accident caused.” He shrugged lazily. “But then again, I failed psychology that semester, so take my advice with a grain of salt.”