IV.
Jalen hadn't worn the shoes.
He'd taken them out of the box Tuesday morning and laced them and walked from his bedroom to the kitchen and back, and they felt like walking on a held breath, light and springy, the kind of shoe that made you want to jump just to see what would happen. Then he'd unlaced them, wrapped them back in the tissue, and put the box on the top shelf of his closet. When his mother asked at breakfast how they felt, he said, "Saving them for Buffalo," and she smiled so hard he had to look at his cereal.
On Wednesday after practice he and Amari Booker sat on the bleachers in the East High auxiliary gym while the janitor ran the floor machine in slow loops under the far basket.
Amari was the best player on the Roc Rings, six-four and smooth, with two offers already from mid-major programs and the kind of calm that made grown men in folding chairs write notes. He and Jalen had been best friends since a summer camp at the Y when they were nine and both got sent to the wall for arguing with a counselor about a foul.
"So you didn't wear them," Amari said.
"No."
"So what's the problem? Your mom bought you shoes. My mom bought me a pack of tube socks from Costco and told me to be grateful my feet were attached."
Jalen told him about the form. About Dez at the coffee table saying *mine cost less than those shoes* like he was reading a number off a gauge. About their grandfather picking up the paper. *Then why isn't this signed.*
Amari was quiet a while. The floor machine whined and turned.
"Your little brother's going to nationals? In what?"
"A qualifier. Robots. A thing the size of a microwave that picks up foam hexagons and shoots them into a tube." Jalen rubbed his face. "I've never even watched it. He's been doing it since fourth grade. I've never once gone."
"He came to your games."
"Every one. He sits in the third row and keeps my stats in a notebook. He knows my free-throw percentage better than I do." Jalen laughed, and it didn't come out right. "Sixty-eight point four this season. He told me at dinner like it was the weather."
Amari didn't say anything. Then he said the thing Jalen had been afraid of.
"J. Can I tell you something real?"
"No."