Boy21 by Matthew Quick Page B

of
Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets.
    I like Wes. We’ve always been friendly, but I’m starting to feel like maybe he could be a real friend to both Boy21 and me—someone we hang out with regularly. Maybe because he’s the weird type of kid who forms a Harry Potter book club. Wes is strange like that. Odd like us.
    Why didn’t I hang out with Wes before?
    As we walk back to the Allens’ home, I ask Boy21 about N.E.R.D. and the outer-space theme of their website, and he says, “That’s just pretend outer space, not real outer space, but it’s true that no one ever really dies.”
    I raise my eyebrows when he glances at me.
    “Matter cannot be destroyed nor created,” he says. “That’s one of the basic principles of the universe, first of all. But then there is your life force, which is contained and trapped here on Earth by your body—your flesh—which is like a prison. When you Earthlings die, your life force is released and then you’re free to travel through the galaxies again. That’s not death, it’s liberation.”
    “Umm…
what?
” I say.
    “I only tell you, Finley, because you seem to be enlightened. The rest can’t handle such ideas.”
    I feel a little proud knowing that Boy21 thinks I’m special, but I also feel a little sad too, because Boy21 is suffering. Deep inside his brain there is a war going on—a war that he’s losing.
    There’s not much I can do to help him.

23
    I SEE ERIN IN THE HALLS of our school and in the gym. We pass and she always tries to catch my eye or rub elbows, pretending it’s an accident, but I keep walking with my eyes straight ahead, like I don’t notice her.
    Coach names Terrell and me this year’s captains during a team meeting. The team celebrates by eating a dozen or so pizzas.
    The day before our first game, Coach announces the starting lineup, and I get the nod at point guard.
    All is going as planned, and I sort of forget about Boy21’s ability to take away my starting position.
    I’m playing organized basketball again.
    On the court it’s all adrenaline and sweat and movement and leather and cheering and squeaking sneakers and high fives and the feeling that I can and am accomplishing something.
    Off the court it’s all anticipation, hunger, counting down the minutes until the next practice or game, drawing plays in my notebooks, visualizing myself on the court: seeing myself diving for loose balls and feeling the scabs on my knees burn; defending so closely my mark’s knees and elbows leave bruises on my legs, arms, and chest; passing creatively, finding the open hands of my teammates; even making a few layups; Coach telling me I did well; Dad and Pop smiling proudly.
    It’s all sweaty practice and daydreaming until I’m suddenly playing our first real game against weak Rockport, and I’m actually
doing
all the things I visualized, which feels so amazing, I wonder if it’s real—like maybe I’m sitting in science class just daydreaming.
    But I’m not daydreaming in science class; I’m playing basketball.
    I rack up fifteen assists while Terrell scores thirty-two points.
    We’re up by forty at the end of the third quarter, and so Coach puts in the second squad.
    On the bench I notice my heartbeat slowing, my muscles cooling, and I begin to feel a wonderful sense of having completed a task.
    I watch Boy21 play and again I can tell he isn’t really playing. He doesn’t make any mistakes, but he just looks to get the ball to the other backups so they can try to score. He’s running at three-quarter speed; he doesn’t shoot when he’s open; there’s no intensity.
    He’s playing very unselfishly, which is nice to see, but it alsomakes me feel as if he’s hiding in broad daylight—like he’s afraid to show the world what he can really do.
    We win the game 101–69.
    Dad is proud.
    So is Pop.

24
    THE SECOND GAME OF THE YEAR is the annual boy-girl doubleheader against Pennsville, our archrivals in basketball and by far our best