Chapter 22
High atop Pajarito Plateau, the noise inside the Los Alamos High School gymnasium was deafening. Word had spread throughout the community of the Hilltoppers’ new junior point guard, so the game was standing room only. And Marcus Aurelius Smythe had not disappointed.
The game against the high school’s 4A Division II rival, Taos, was enough to ensure a capacity crowd on the first game of the season, but never had the gymnasium seen a crowd like this one. The fire marshal had to start denying entrance to a horde of latecomers. Luckily for the home team, most of the late arrivals were from Taos, so there were few tears shed by local residents. Outside, though, police had their hands full with angry Taos High alumni and fans.
Those inside were being treated to a basketball handling magic show the like of which northern New Mexico had never seen. The young point guard wove his way between his opponents, spinning, whirling, and dribbling between his legs and behind his back in a manner that left the opposing players stumbling over themselves, often falling to the floor in a confused tangle. Mark seldom took a shot himself, preferring to dish off the ball to teammates, who responded with a scoring bonanza.
By the time the starters were pulled from the game, midway through the fourth quarter, Mark had amassed twenty assists and had scored thirty-two points, many of these on free throws as the other team had resorted to fouling him to try to get the ball from his hands. Throughout the stands people reverently whispered the names of Hall of Fame point guards, as if their spirits inhabited the building.
The game ended with the Los Alamos Hilltoppers doling out a devastating loss to Taos, 113 to 72. As the buzzer sounded, the crowd rushed out of the stands down onto the court, everyone in a frenzy to pat the back of the young star. The resulting confusion made it impossible for the teams to make their way from the court back to their locker rooms and resulted in injury to two elderly women who were knocked to the ground in the crush.
Only after the police inside the gymnasium were reinforced by those who had been stationed on the outside was order restored and the crowd escorted out of the arena. In the cold air of the late November night, Jennifer stood beside Heather staring back toward the gym.
“Oh my God. He’s done it. My crazy brother has done it. We’re as good as dead.”
Heather laughed, threading her arm through Jennifer’s as they waited for their families to join them. “Well, he’s certainly done something here tonight, but I doubt he’s killed us.”
“You watch. His fans are going to swamp us. We’ll probably have the press hanging around too. I don’t even want to think about what else might happen.”
Heather shrugged. One thing she had to admire about Mark Smythe: he never did anything halfway. He wanted to make his mark on high school, and he appeared to be well on his way to accomplishing that.
“Oh well. No use worrying about something that hasn't happened yet. We’ll just deal with it as it comes.”
By Sunday, the buzz about the hot young guard from Los Alamos had reached a new level, due to the team's domination of their second opponent in two nights, thanks to Mark’s outstanding play. As Jennifer predicted, a band of interested onlookers and newfound friends suddenly attached themselves to Mark, making it difficult for him to get any time to himself.
Heather tried calling several times but could not get through on the phone line. Finally she walked next door to find Jennifer with her nose buried in a book while Mark was closeted in his room doing homework.
Jennifer smiled at Heather, although the smile appeared somewhat forced. “Sometimes I hate being so right.”
Heather sat down on the couch beside her. “I’ve been calling you for thirty minutes.”
Jennifer pointed to the phone line that lay curled up uselessly on the floor, the plug a foot away from its wall jack. “We had to unplug it to get some peace. Everyone in town wants to talk to Mark, and quite a few people from out of town. We even had kids we don’t know dropping by to see if he could hang out. If this keeps up, I’m going to move in with you.”
“We’ll just have to hope the novelty wears off soon.”
About that time, Mark walked into the room wearing his charcoal gray sweat suit and tennis shoes. He looked exhausted.
“What’s the matter?” Heather asked. “You look awful.”
“Thanks. Good to see you too, Heather. Actually I didn’t get much sleep last night. The team bus had a flat on the way back from Espanola. It was three a.m. when I got in. Then some assholes started calling me at seven o’clock this morning.” A scowl spread across his features as he glanced toward Jennifer. “And you know who kept walking in and handing me the phone.”
This time Jennifer’s smile was real. “If you want to be the big superstar, you have to pay the price. Besides, I’m not your personal answering service.”
“And I’ve got this big honors Spanish paper due tomorrow, which I only started today. So, yes. You might say I’m a bit worn out.”
“I’m sorry about that,” said Heather. “I want to raz you too, but you look so pathetic. I can’t do it.”
“That’s okay. Doc’s been making up for it. I keep expecting to look up and see ‘I told you so’ tattooed on her forehead.”
Jennifer inclined her head. “Imagine when the student body sees their new basketball hero in the hallway tomorrow. Thank God we don’t go to school on a cruise ship. The thing would roll over when everyone rushed to your side of the boat.”
The image of the school tilting up on one end and going down like the Titanic while Mark yelled, “I’m king of the world!” started Heather laughing so hard that tears began rolling down her cheeks.
The twins stared at her until the chortling contagion spread, first to Mark, then to Jennifer, leaving them all gasping for breath and clutching at their sides. Just when it seemed that they had gotten their mirth under control, one of the three would give out a snort and the whole thing would start up again.
Mr. Smythe walked into the living room, took a long look at the three of them laughing uncontrollably on the couch, then shook his head and walked back into the kitchen. Understanding high school students was a task that required mental energies well beyond what he was prepared to expend on a Sunday afternoon.