Boy21: Chapters 21–28

I catch Russ’s eye once and he looks really nervous, scared, which makes me angry because, if Coach’s assessment is right, Boy21’s the best basketball player in the gym, so what does he have to worry about?

Basketball’s the only thing around here that gets done right, the only thing that people consistently support.

I feel something akin to what I feel for my own family, Erin, and Coach as I realize what’s going through Boy21’s mind.

I nod slowly, waiting for Boy21 to start laughing, for Coach to come running in with the rest of the team, pointing at me and howling at the elaborate practical joke, but that doesn’t happen.

These words coming out of any other boy’s mouth would sound like hyperbole or plain old trash talk, but Boy21 is dead serious.

After the movie Wes takes us into his room and plays his favorite rap group, N.E.R.D. The music is very funky, not like the straight-up gangsta rap music I usually hear in the neighborhood, although there is a lot of cursing.

“Matter cannot be destroyed nor created,” he says. “That’s one of the basic principles of the universe, first of all. But then there is your life force, which is contained and trapped here on Earth by your body—your flesh—which is like a prison. When you Earthlings die, your life force is released and then you’re free to travel through the galaxies again. That’s not death, it’s liberation.”

“I only tell you, Finley, because you seem to be enlightened. The rest can’t handle such ideas.”

On the court it’s all adrenaline and sweat and movement and leather and cheering and squeaking sneakers and high fives and the feeling that I can and am accomplishing something.

The second game of the year is the annual boy-girl doubleheader against Pennsville, our archrivals in basketball and by far our best competition for the conference championship.

Something about the way he’s standing—it’s almost submissive, like a dog with its tail between its legs.

Silence has always been my default mode—my best defense against the rest of the world.

I glance over at Pop and Dad and their eyes look small, their faces sheepish, like they’re embarrassed for me.

As the ball arcs through the air, time slows down in my mind, like in a movie—I can see everything at once: the collective shock of my teammates, the expressions on the fans’ faces, the mocking smiles of the opposing team.

The audacity!
Who does he think he is?

The entire gym rises up in anticipation and Boy21 dunks the ball with resounding authority.

He hits three pointers.
He pulls rebounds.
Runs fast breaks.
Dunks the ball.
Blocks shots.
Accrues steals.

Boy21 sits on the locker-room bench listening to all of the questions with a very peaceful expression on his face.
If I didn’t know better, I might say he looks smug.

“I am called Boy21,” Russ finally says to the team. “I’m a prototype sent to your planet to collect data on what you Earthlings call emotions. I’m not human, as you can clearly see when I play basketball to the best of my ability.”

It’s like a deliriously happy mob has formed, almost like it’s New Year’s Day or something. I should be celebrating too, but I can’t.

As we disperse, Coach Watts stands between Boy21 and the rest of the squad, almost like he doesn’t want anyone to speak to Russ.

I once heard someone say that everything looks like a nail to the man with a hammer in his hand. I thought it was just a corny cliché when I first heard that expression, but I think it actually applies to Coach right about now, which makes me sort of sad.

“The latter, I think,” I say.

He takes a swill from his bottle and says, “I fancy a bath. You game?”

“You’re special too, Finley. You don’t always get to pick the role you’re going to play in life, but it’s good to play whatever role you got the best way you can,” Pop says. “And I know I’m a damn hypocrite for saying that tonight, but that don’t make what I said a lie. We’ve both had hard lives so far. No favors done for either of us.”

I hate it when Mr. Gore asks me irrelevant questions—especially this one in particular.

I didn’t like my conversation with Mr. Gore, and that makes me apt to disagree with anything guidance has to say.

Boy21 takes off his space clothes and puts on a practice uniform so that he looks simply terrestrial instead of extraterrestrial.

And then we follow Boy21 up into his room, where the walls and ceiling are now entirely covered with glow-in-the-dark stars, which seem to pulse energy. It’s a little bit eerie and disorienting but also kind of beautiful, in an odd way.

I’m sliding through the worst streets of Bellmont now, seeing my blank reflection in the window—my face superimposed on our...neighborhood.