A note from Tim: I came up with this story after watching Tom Hanks and his volleyball, Wilson, in Cast Away.

Squeaks

by Tim Kissman

Drew Schue arrived at the school’s gym twenty minutes early and tried to shoot with the fourteen other boys vying for the vacant spot on the varsity basketball team. Nervous and self-conscious of his appearance Drew didn’t warm up for long.

Drew was tall and thin, with arms so skinny they looked like string taped to his body. He had a flat face and whispery lips surrounded by puffy pimples and thick, red freckles. The most startling feature on his face, his emerald green eyes, always seemed to smile half moons when he spoke. He looked young, younger than everyone else in the gym, and was teased by the other boys at school.

But that wasn’t what made him uneasy. No, Drew stood out because of his clothes. Coming from a poor family he didn’t have anything as new as the uniforms, headbands, replica National Basketball Association jerseys or colorful shoes the other kids wore.

In fact, just the night before the tryout Drew barely managed to talk his way into a pair of shorts and a shirt from the local YMCA’s lost and found. After washing everything in his sink to get rid of the moldy smell of sweat, he wore them that morning, still a little damp, and tried to make the best of it.

Drew’s threadbare, plum purple shorts were thin and revealing like women’s pantyhose. A long oil streak stained the front of his shirt and pointed directly at the cigarette burn covering his stomach. The green shirt didn’t match the shorts, and nothing matched the two shoes that never left his feet all summer.

The left shoe was black, held together with white laces; the right was white, with dirty brown dress laces tied halfway up. Neither shoe squeaked, like all good shoes do. Drew’s shoes scuffed, slipped and slapped the floor, but never squeaked.

The other kids noticed Drew’s uneasiness and teased him under their breaths. Feeling the stares and hearing the laughs between dribbles, he decided to sit down and wait for the coach. Drew was grateful he wasn’t completely alone and smiled at his two best and only friends, Randy and Lewis. He wouldn’t have made it out of bed for the 5:30 a.m. tryout without them urging him on and agreeing to go themselves.

“ Well, that shoot around didn’t go well,” Drew said, yawning.

In a James Earl Jones’s Darth Vader voice, Randy said, “You can’t let them get to you. But, I don’t want to say ‘I told you so.’ If you found three more returnable pop cans you could have bought a better shirt at Goodwill. Your lost-and-found freebies are awful.”

“ It shouldn’t matter.”

Lewis sounded like Elmer Fudd when he spoke. “You pwacticed hawd fow dis. Cwothes don’t mattaw.”
“ Thanks, Lewis,” Drew replied, glaring playfully at Randy, who in turn stuck out his tongue at his friend. “I want to stand out, but not like this. I just hope I’m not out of my league.”

“ You awn’t.”

Everyone stopped talking when the head coach entered the gym, followed closely by two coffee-sipping assistants.

“ Line up!” the head coach screamed, whistle clenched between his teeth. “Shoulder to shoulder on the sideline from shortest to tallest. You have three minutes or you’re all running till you puke. Move!”
“ Minkle!” the head coach howled once everyone was in line. Minkle, with horned-rim glasses and red baseball cap, set his cup of coffee down and ran to the coach’s side. “Give me a roll call.”

The head coach then started down to the end with the shorter players and worked his way to Drew while Minkle read off names, examining everyone from head to toe. It made Drew visibly shake.
“ Don’t give that guy a reason to scream,” Randy whispered, seeing his friend’s nervousness, “his tongue might explode.”

Lewis chimed in, understating the situation, as always. “We need to wewax. Wisten, this guy next to me is fawting. You’ll smell it in a second.”

Drew regretted smiling at the joke because the head coach was now standing directly in front of him.
“ What’s so funny?” he asked, thrusting his hardened leather face, with icy, black boring eyes, right into Drew’s face.

Drew wanted to turn his head from the smell of the coach’s breath, a mix of coffee, bacon and eggs. It almost made him gag, but he held his ground.

“ Well?”

“ Uh, nothing sir,” Drew said, trying not to breathe when he talked.

“ And what’s wrong with your clothes, son? Were you hit by a car on your way to practice?”

I knew it, Drew thought. It does matter. I don’t look like a player and don’t stand a chance. He didn’t answer for fear of being teased, but it happened anyway.

“ He’s a dirt bag who lives in a shanty by the woods,” someone farther down the short side of the line mumbled. “I threw those clothes away a month ago.” Everyone in line, except Drew, Randy and Lewis, laughed.

The head coach snapped his head faster than a Los Angeles Lakers fast break to the other end of the line. “Who said that?”

A heavy boy stepped out of rank and admitted the remark, choking on another laugh.

“ Get out of my gym, funny guy. And don’t come back,” the head coach said, matter-of-factly. “I can’t stand smart asses.”

There was shock on the boy’s face for a moment, but when he realized the coach wasn’t kidding, he strode out of the gym slowly, glaring at Drew the whole way.

Like nothing happened, the head coach walked away from the line and stood at center court. He put his hands on his hips and inhaled deeply through his nose before speaking.

“ My name is Coach Winters. All you need to know about me this morning is that I’ve won two state championships and twelve,” he paused, then turned to the coach next to Minkle. “Haskey, is it twelve or thirteen titles?”

“ Thirteen!”

“ Thirteen conference titles. That means I friggin’ know what I’m talking about, so if I tell you you’re no good, believe it. Work hard and hustle like it was your last day on this planet you might have a chance.
“ Any questions?”

Silence.

“ Good. Form two lines and let’s shoot some full court lay ups. Move, move, move!”

The tryout was harder than Drew imagined. Halfway done he was tired, but kept his spirits high as he survived round after round of cuts.

“ Keep it up guys,” Drew grunted when he had the chance to talk. “We’re doing good.”

“ I want to go home,” Randy said. “Winters is a maniac. He keeps yelling and cutting.”

“ Why do yaw have to say that?” Lewis hissed. “We’re down to the finaw six and yaw stiw in the wunning.”

“ I need you guys. Don’t leave,” Drew said. “Hear me, Randy?”

“ Yeah, that kid with da wavy haiw looks mean,” Lewis laughed.

“ What?” Randy asked.

“Haiw.”

“ Oh, hair!” Drew laughed too.

A player with thick arms and neck, with a wavy mane of brown hair came off the court and bumped into Drew, nearly knocking him over. He wore wristbands on his elbows and just below his knees with a matching headband. No sweat would escape that boys’ body. “What did you say?”

“ Nothing,” Drew said. “Nice shot.”

“ That’s what I thought,” the boy growled. “Nice underwear, poor boy.”

Glancing down at his shorts, Drew realized they were unraveling.

“ Hey, Randy,” he whispered, holding out a thread from his shorts. “Look at this.”

“ You’ll be glad this isn’t a three-hour practice. You’d be naked,” Randy replied.

Lewis sang softly, teasing his friend, “I see Wondon, I see Fwance, I see Dwew’s undahpants.”

Winters interrupted. “Schue, why are you always talking? Shut up and get out here. You too,” He barked at the kid with the wristbands. “First to three rebounds wins.”

When Drew was underneath the basket Winters shot the ball. It ricocheted off the rim, to the floor where the two boys wrestled with it.

Drew quickly pulled it free and passed it back to the coach. Wristbands, frustrated at the effort, rammed an elbow into Drew’s midsection. It was a cheap shot that didn’t hurt all that much, it just caught Drew off guard, right on the cigarette burn and knocked the wind out of him.

“ Hey, knock it off, jewk,” Lewis screamed.

“ Shake it off, Drew,” Randy yelled encouragingly. “Grunt. Breathe. Do whatever, but get up! Winters is coming.”

Drew fell to his knees, gasping for air. “I’m trying,” he groaned.

“ Get up!” Winters yelled. “Quit feeling sorry for yourself and get up, dammit. You’re just wasting my time. I’ve watched you all morning, since you’ve been here, in fact, and I’m tired of seeing you feel sorry for yourself. Get up! I don’t care if you’re pretty. If I want pretty, I’ll stay home with my wife. I need players on my team who don’t care how they look and just play hard. That’s a player. Think you fit in?”

The fat player’s voice bounced around inside his brain. No, he’s a dirt bag who lives in a shanty by the woods.

Winters stood over Drew. “I should kick you out right now. You want on this team or not?”
He’s a dirt bag who lives in a shanty by the woods.

Then anger overcame Drew as a fresh breathe of air filled his lungs, energizing his body. “I’m not a dirt bag! I’m poor, all right? So what?” Drew screamed. He staggered to his feet and was about to say something else, but Winters backed off and fired another shot.

Drew easily retrieved the rebound, gripping the ball tightly, lips curled into a tight sneer and fired the ball back to Winters. The ball wasn’t in Winters’ hands for more than half a second when he launched another shot, to the other side of the rim, hoping to cause the ball to rebound to the boy, testing Drew’s resolve.

Drew growled and leapt for the ball, but was a half second late in leaving the ground. Luckily, the ball bounced higher than both boys anticipated, giving Drew time to tip the ball away.

The boy threw his shoulder into Drew, hoping to push him off balance, but it didn’t work. Drew used the boy’s momentum against him, driving his knee into the back of the boy’s left leg, forcing it to bend. Drew dove to catch the ball before it crossed half court and threw it back to Winters, pumping his fist enthusiastically.

The boy slowly stood, knowing the play sealed his fate.

“ Rabey!” Winters yelled to the boy. “You’re not what I’m looking for. Get out.”

Before the first school bell sounded, signaling the start of the academic day, and the end of the tryout, three players remained. They shot free throws at one end of the gym while the coaches talked at the other.

“ You got it wapped up,” Lewis whispered.

“ He’s right. The coaches are looking at you. I bet you’re in,” Randy said.

“ If I go, we all go.” Drew said. “I mean that. I owe you guys. Thanks. For everything.”
“ Aw shucks.” Randy said.

“ Haiw boy awmost messed it aw up,” Lewis said. “The jewk.”

“ What?” Drew asked.

“ Haiw, haiw, haiw! Am I speaking a foweign langwuage?” Lewis said, angrily.
“ Yes, you are!” Lewis and Drew laughed.

“ Seriously,” Randy said. “Are you sure you want on this team? Winters is tough.”
“ Yeah, he is,” Drew said. “But he’s fair. I like that.”

At half court, Winters watched Drew talk to himself and shook his head. All morning, all the kid did was talk to himself. He wondered if that would continue through the season, but then he thought about Drew’s efforts and believed he could put up with the oddity.

“ It’s between Jeffries and that crazy kid who keeps talking to his shoes,” Haskey continued the conversation.

“Drew? That’s his name isn’t it? Drew Schue?” Winters asked.
“ Yeah. Schue.”

Winters asked Minkle. “What do you think?”

Minkle said, “Maybe if we got him a new pair of shoes he’d shut up.”

“ Don’t care if he does or doesn’t,” Winters finally said. “The kid’s got character and passion. He’s the one I want on my team. Man, he might even start for me someday.”

He handed Minkle his clipboard and called Drew over.

“ Gotta go with my gut,” he said. “Shoes or no shoes, that Schue can play.”

Drew jogged to the coach, grinning ear to ear while joking with Randy, his right shoe, and Lewis, his left shoe, as they slapped, scrapped and slid across the floor in a loud, excited victory cheer.

++++

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