Tuct Side - 6. Chapter 5

Without basketball on my mind 24/7, the rush of the championship win starting to wear off, and my family’s trip to the United Kingdom in five days, I found myself quite bored. None of my friends were morning people during the summer. Ten months a year of early rising and interrupted sleep will have you cursing the sunrise first thing waking up.

Luckily for me, now that my name was known around town, my dedication to being a stand-up citizen was a nine-to-five job and I was one hundred percent committed to taking it on. And that all started with acquiring new hobbies.

It was a list in my head of what I wanted to get done before school started up again.

Oh, crap! I forgot to mention that my birthday was on the same day we began our out-of-country vacation. That was part of the reason why the trip was planned. Or so my dad said. It was probably just an excuse to go to Germany again, which was last summer’s place of interest, but I digress.

Anyway, I’ve always been a big fan of documentaries. Ever since Mrs. Sparks, my fourth grade teacher, pulled up an hour-long video on where chicken nuggets come from (she was put on administrative leave the next day), the reactions from my classmates – mainly disgust and fear – struck a chord inside me. Of course, I was just as revolted. Although, I realized that day that one did not have to already be a Hollywood bigshot to send a worldwide message.

That was before basketball got in the way.

However, less than a week before my trip, on a cloudy Wednesday, I found myself standing before the unoccupied Wildwood Community School building, my iPhone 4 clutched between my hands.

It was a spur-of-the-moment decision.

I wanted to start with the basics. Pinpoint the level I was at and improve from there. So, why not make a documentary about the place I grew up in? Sounded boring in retrospect, but only because I had no idea what I would later be in store for.

That day might have been the start of whatever I’m doing here, but it was also the day I realized that something awry was occurring in our little town of Tuct Side.

Wednesday, June 20^th, 2012

West didn’t know what he was doing.

He had thought it out. Had a whole plan he could execute in ten minutes tops, then beat feet. However, as he stood before the barren edifice of Wildwood Community School, which had more similarities to a prison than anything, he couldn’t help but feel his actions inapt.

Taking pictures of a school that will soon close down for good, leaving numerous kids without an education and many instructors out of a job, for some personal endeavor? And he wondered why the western folks were so territorial.

Wildwood didn’t take up a lot of space. What used to be red bricks were now stained with rust. Almost every window was broken, courtesy of the ruffians that lingered after hours. Rotten food and old dog shit discolored the concrete pathway, leading to a set of double doors that seemed to be one push away from completely dislodging from its hinges.

It was sad, but maybe it was best this place was closing down.

‘Jeez. Harsh much, Westford?’ he admonished himself.

Shaking his head, the blond put his iPhone on camera mode and took a trek around the school, snapping photos of its derelict corners. The blacktop was cracked and muddy, white and yellow parking lot markings smudged or fading. Dirtied basketball posts sloped. Patches of browning grass missing. It was a warzone.

‘What the hell happened?’

West got as much as he could. If only he could get inside the school.

Before he could think of entertaining the idea, he heard footsteps pattering around the corner, deep voices already in conversation accompanying them. The team captain panicked, shoving his phone down his pocket before searching for a place to hide, but it was a wide expanse. The only thing he could do now was to wait and explain himself.

“…don’t worry about it. Alright, bud?”

The first voice was soft and smooth. Gentle and placating.

“You keep saying that.”

Gruff. Husky. Not at all unpleasant and… familiar.

“I know, I know. It’s just-”

The discussion came to an abrupt end when two individuals locked eyes with the third, unexpected party. The taller of the duo was a bit unfamiliar, but it wasn’t him who West was focused on.

Lightning-to-grass connection.

Neil Morterero gawked back at West and vice versa. It’s been two and a half weeks since he saw the boy. Not a glimpse or a peep. Finn did keep up with Nora, though, asking about the strange event that happened before the irate boy was whisked away. Apparently, he was alright. At least, that was what Neil kept saying.

However, as West inspected him now, he noticed a discoloration on the pale teen’s collarbone, which was mostly hidden behind the maroon polo shirt. The blond looked back into those glaring blue eyes and made out the bags under them, a sign of little sleep.

His black hair wasn’t out of place and he appeared to be moving fine.

“Are you okay?” the question tumbled out of West’s mouth before he could stop it.

The surprise on the noirette’s face vanished, confused rage taking its place. “Th’ fuck are you doin’ here, Flower Boy!?”

The stranger beside him blinked at the nickname. “Flower Boy? You know this kid, N?”

“Nah. Just another one of those eastern pricks.”

West ignored the insult as he studied the unfamiliar face. The guy was a few inches taller than both teens and, judging by the dark stubble and thin mustache against tan skin, was most likely much older. Despite that, he had a slightly more muscular build than West himself, but was nowhere near Neil's figure. However, warm gray eyes suggested an amiable demeanor. Was he the driver from two weeks ago?

“Uh, sorry!” the blond scratched the back of his neck. “I didn’t realize anybody would be here. My name’s-”

“Doesn’t matter!” Neil snarled, his cheeks reddening in growing irritation. “Just go home, cabrón!”

The man took a slight step closer to the teen while looking between the two with intrigue. “Now, hold up, bro. It seems like you guys know each other,” he rested his attention on the blond. “What’s your name, chico?”

“Westford Kuttner,” he lifted a hand to shake, and the man reached over to do just that. “My first name’s Flori, hence Flower Boy.”

The stranger promptly froze. “Wait, wait, wait! Santa mierda, you’re that West Kuttner!? The Jivin’ Four, right?”

Four months later and he wasn’t able to get used to the perks of fame. He thought it would only last for fifteen minutes.

“Yup. That’s me,” he blushed.

Neil only turned away in cursed in Spanish.

A bright smile spread across the man’s face as he grabbed West’s hand in both of his and shook vigorously. “My god! You’re a legend around here! So, he was the guy you were playing against a few weeks ago, huh, N? Why didn’t you say anything?”

Neil closed his eyes and slowly shook his head, muttering, “Wasn’t important.”

“But you could’ve-”

Though, the noirette wasn’t having it. A harsh glare was all it took to get the man to drop the subject.

“Alright, alright,” those gray, eager eyes went back to West. “Anyway, you play for the Pioneers at Patriot High, yeah?”

“That’s the plan for the next three years.”

Even though it was sounding less appealing with each passing day, he added mentally.

The stranger nodded in approval. “That’s great. I remember playin’ for this rust bucket of a place years ago,” he pointed a thumb back at the school building. “I’m pretty famous around these parts, too. At least, I used to be. You don’t hear too much about Jorge Rabellino nowadays. Sad.”

At that name, it was West’s turn to gape, suddenly starstruck. “Get out! Jorge “Hangman” Rabellino? I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you! You’re like… a huge inspiration, dude!”

He had to give credit to the ex-Wildwood player, his middle school pastime being watching 2003 video reels of the Hangman, renowned for his long-term plotting during the game. No matter who they were facing, even a stronger and better team, a carefully thought-out plan by team captain and power forward Jorge Rabellino was enough to seize the win.

“That’s great to hear, man!” Jorge laid a friendly hand on West’s shoulder. “Real talk, I should be grateful that the newest hotshot in town remembers me!”

The blond shook his head. “Nah. It was a team effort. I wish my buddies were here.”

“You two done jerkin’ each other off yet?” Neil piped up, his lip curled in an impatient sneer.

Jorge shook his head, although, he appeared amused. “Cranky, this one, huh? Although, I do gotta ask. Why are you in a place like this? It’s a shithole.”

The cold and stormy torrent of bitter resentment Neil aimed at Jorge’s back forced West to take a step back. The mounting tension went unnoticed by the target, so, he had no choice but to move on.

“W-Well, it isn’t often I come around here. I heard about the school closing down and kind of wanted to see why. It might not be the prettiest of buildings, but I can’t help but feel for those who’ll lose their livelihoods. Kind of makes you wonder why we easterners aren’t doing anything to stop it.”

The ex-Wildwood player nodded in genuine empathy, gazing up at his former school with a wistful melancholy. “I hear ya, bro. It’s a shame. A damn shame. So many memories made in this school. I miss it.”

For half a minute, it was silent. Quiet mourning for the place that housed so much nostalgia for the alum.

Until…

“Jorge,” an exasperated Neil gritted through his teeth.

The older male lightly shook his head as if to rid himself of the recollections. “Sorry. Just thinkin’ to myself. My bad, dude. Were you in a hurry or somethin’?”

“No, no,” West spoke, “but I should get back home. My little sister needs someone to play House with.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Neil’s face contort into a strange expression. West couldn’t read the current emotions behind pursed lips, stony eyes, and clenched fists.

“Siblings. I hear ya, my friend,” Jorge snickered.

West looked at the two guys. “You two brothers or…”

“I wish. No, he’s my little cousin. I do have an older brother, though. Big fan of basketball. He would love to meet you.”

“If he’s another former Wildwood player fond of a current Patriot member, then I’m okay with it!” the blond took the opportunity to start walking the way he came. “I’ll be seeing you guys! See ya later, Neil! Maybe we can finish our game soon, yeah?”

As expected, Neil held up his middle finger. West had to laugh.

“Bye!” And he was on his way. He made it out of there in one piece.

Jorge saluted with two fingers. As West rounded the corner, he glanced back to witness Jorge wrap an arm around Neil’s broad shoulders, which slowly relaxed. However, the sleeve around his right arm rode up a bit, revealing a yellowing smear.

Jorge’s fingers were careful to avoid that spot.