Tuct Side - 1. Chapter 1

Friday, February 17th, 2012

The perspiration of aptitude and teamwork stained the floor, the court dyed in their hard-earned victory.

The freshmen huffed and puffed in exhaustion, but any indications of enervation were outshined by the utter triumph that they shared in via their win. Every shout of joy, every round of applause seemed to quench their spirits. However, no other player could feel as accomplished as #13.

The fifteen-year-old power forward wearing said jersey absorbed the shockwaves of the exploding audience into his being. It was not typical of him. He never allowed his blond head to grow to a size his shoulders would not be able to withstand. Though, as the last basketball game of his freshman year – the championship – a little immodesty wouldn’t clot anything in his skull.

“Double Clutch!” the star player and team captain heard his nickname before a pair of sturdy arms wrapped around his midsection and made him airborne.

At the sight of their hero, the noise of the crowd rose to a crescendo as if the previous acknowledgment of success were not enough.

“And with the winning shot from number thirteen, the Pioneers’ Flori Westford Kuttner, the Patriot High freshmen team take home the gold!”

The announcement was barely heard, mostly buried by the continuous hails and praises, but there wasn’t a need for one. The fans, the dejected ‘away’ team, and the players themselves knew the result.

Flori, or better known as West, sat on the broad shoulders of his tall best friend and center, Justin Shoemaker, #6, as his team and classmates surrounded them. They jumped and hollered, singing in praise of their undefeated record. And even after that, the need to celebrate was still heavy in the air. As family and coaches went to congratulate their winning players, West’s teammates and closest friends stuck by.

“You’re the fuckin’ best, bro!” #21 and West’s cousin, point guard Kaspar Dedekind, proudly slapped him on the back while wiping sweat from his red brows.

Justin’s arm slung around West’s shoulders, nodding in agreement. “Yeah, man! This was all you!”

West shook his head, dismissing the worship. “Nah! All us, brother. All us.”

The admiration was cool and all, but the star player’s unassuming nature compelled him to deflect such compliments.

#30, small forward Finn Casbald, came before West and brought him into a tight embrace. “You know they call you Double Clutch for a reason!”

West reciprocated the act, knowing the short, ebony-haired boy was one for physical affection. “Anyone could do it.”

“But not like you can!” Justin replied as he and Kaspar joined in.

And soon the whole team included themselves in the group hug.

It was a freshman game, yes, but being the son of a prominent and professional basketball player from Germany had its perks. It was expected the talents of the father be carried over to his offspring, but now they believed.

Flori Westford “Double Clutch” Kuttner was Tuct Side, Idaho’s next big thing.

Coach Kojo, the chief for all leagues of Patriot High’s basketball, allowed the Pioneers to wash up after. Less than half an hour later, West and his folks, along with the other families, were on their way for a celebration eat-out.

“We’re so proud of you, West!” Sofie, West’s mom, beamed at him from the passenger’s seat for the hundredth time that night.

The star player took it in stride, though, never hitting a limit when it came to his mother’s love and adoration. “All for you, Momma!”

“Mein Junge!” his father piped up boisterously in German, then spoke the rest in his limited English. “I wasn’t even as old as you, yet you make big waves in the town. Very proud of you, boy! Very proud!”

Hearing that nearly made West cry right then and there. Friedrich Kuttner IV was still young and in the throes of fame himself, but he was a family man first. He was more than a dad to West. He was his idol.

“I only learned it from the best,” he responded just audibly enough to keep the happy tears at bay.

“Your father rented out Malt Chimney earlier for you and your teammates and their families,” his mom said. “It’s an all-you-can-eat for free tonight.”

West blinked. “You’re serious?”

Vanessa, his eighteen-year-old sister, looked up from her phone in the backseat. “Note, he did that before the game. You can attribute thirty percent of her nerves on that.”

The fifteen-year-old had to chuckle a bit. “Jeez, what if I lost?”

On his left, Isaak, his twenty-year-old brother, however, laughed out loud. “Oh! Now that you mention it, I kind of wish you lost just so I could see that awkward situation play out!”

“Völliger Unsinn!” Friedrich exclaimed. “You and Kaspar were stars that stole the show. Losing was impossible.”

To his right, West’s second and much younger female sibling, Ophelia, who was five going on six, gazed up at him in sudden realization. “Does this mean you won’t be all wet when Mommy picks us up from school?”

Apparently, his little sister didn’t like it when he showered after basketball practice. Said, “he got all the seats wet.”

“What? Would you like me all sweaty and gross, Fifi?” he teased.

Ophelia’s face scrunched up. “Ew!”

“Well, with that attitude, I’ll just throw away my deodorant in the trash. Maybe take a dive in there myself! Eh?”

He dove in for her and she squealed in merriment as his fingers attacked her sides. There was basically no one else outside of his family that West loved more than Ophelia. To him, she wasn’t the annoying bugger most elder siblings would see their younger counterparts as.

A tap on his shoulder had him looking back at Isaak, who was smirking as if he knew something unknown to others.

“I bet you twenty bucks they’ll put you in varsity next year,” he muttered for West’s ears only.

The latter scoffed. “Twenty Dad will use to buy my way into it.”

“Nah. I don’t say this often, little bro, because you never need it from me or anyone, but you got all of Dad’s genes. If you keep on this track, you’ll get farther than taking pictures.”

“I’m starting to warm up to it,” West shrugged, “but it’s always good to keep it as a plan B even if it’s a passion of mine.”

Isaak, currently a sophomore business major at Anninberg College, knew that very well.

The very reason why his younger brother had the spotlight instead of him.

Isaak’s smirk, albeit dimmed a bit, remained as he ruffled West’s hair. “Yeah. You’re right.”

“What are you guys whispering about?” Vanessa leaned forward and glanced between the two.

The eldest Kuttner sibling lit back up. “Comparing West’s B.O. to Dad’s. Which one’s worse?”

Everyone, even Ophelia, guffawed at that. West rolled his eyes, sticking his hands into his team hoodie’s pockets, and slouched. Though, he couldn’t help but snicker along with them, the joyous atmosphere to infectious.

“Lord have mercy.”

They were the first to arrive at Malt Chimney, a family-owned eatery in the small town of Tuct Side that has become a famous site for winning sports teams and a rest stop for starving teenagers on the weekend. West suddenly yearned for his driving test to move to a closer date. He could already envision the hilarious monkey business he and his friends would get up to around town.

He was brought out of his reverie when he nearly rammed shoulders with another boy.

“Woah!” West evaded the collision at the last second. “Close one there.”

The boy, black-haired, pale-skinned, and just as tall as he was, sauntered past West as if he wasn’t there at all. Not even a quick side-eye.

The Kuttners gazed back at two males hurrying out of the eatery, an angry storm cloud of muttered curses hanging over one and a gloomy, melancholy bubble of silence surrounding the other. West was not able to get a clear image of them in the limited light of the restaurant, but judging by the size difference – the furious one with tree trunks for limbs and mostly likely 6’4 – he guessed it was a father and son duo.

Despite the one-sided encounter, West’s heart went out to the kid. Hopefully, his dad didn’t take his anger out on his boy.

“Spit in the food, maybe?” Friedrich joked, shrugging.

Vanessa turned to him. “You did rent out the entire restaurant. Everything’s probably reserved.”

“Piss on the seats, maybe?” Isaak mimicked his father.

Sofie turned a stern eye at him.

“Language!”

The entrance swung open to reveal Coach Mamoru Kojo, a portly, Asian American man who was a friend of the family. It started out as a commoner starstruck by a celebrity, or, as Isaak called it, a “B-ball boner for Dad,” when the Kuttners moved to Tuct Side. A few years down the line, it comfortably settled into a close friendship, and he and his wife were essentially members of the extended family.

“Hey! Glad I caught up with you guys! Isaak, son! How’s university going?”

“Going with the flow, Coacho,” Isaak gave a thumps-up, using the nickname his former basketball instructor adopted earlier in his career.

“Awesome!” Kojo greeted Sofie and Vanessa with nods of greeting in their direction. “Evening, ladies.”

“Hey, Coach,” Vanessa saluted with two fingers.

“And Queen Ophelia,” Kojo bent down on one knee in front of the little girl, a fist on the ground and his head down. “How are you this day?”

Ophelia reached up and petted Kojo’s black hair. “I am well, Commander Kojo.”

Pleased, the man looked up and smiled. “The only thing I live for.”

West chuckled but nodded in approval. His sister definitely deserved to be treated like a queen.

“Say, champ,” Kojo, standing up, brought his attention to his star player. “Mind I have a word with you and your father before you chow down? I promise not to keep you long.”

“Yeah, sure, Coach.”

He already knew what the conversation was about the moment Coach nodded back at his dad. And it seemed so did Isaak.

“You owe me twenty.”

“Ingenious,” West deadpanned, bringing out his wallet. “Starve me, will you?”

Isaak grinned triumphantly. “You’re lucky you won tonight. I’ll buy you whatever you want before I head back tomorrow.”