Sticks by Joan Bauer Page B

break. My heart’s thumping in my stomach. People are beginning to gather around the table. Petie Pencastle, T. R. Dobbs, Shelty Zoller.
    Wham!
Buck crashes the cue ball down the table and slams the balls apart. The two ball zooms into the corner pocket.
    “You can’t beat me,
Vernon
!” He makes the one ball in the side.
    I look right back at him. “Yes I can!”
    But it’s like everything Joseph Alvarez taught me went down the sewer.
    My hands are shaking.
    My palms are sweating. Buck makes another ball and misses an easy bank.
    “Didn’t leave you anything,” he says, snarling.
    “Yeah you did.”
    I bend over the table. My brain is fogged in, my heart is feeling crazy. I bank the four in the side in a really good shot. I nail the five, the six. I miss the seven.
    “Tsk, tsk,” he says. “You’re history, little boy.”
    Buck makes the seven in the side and stands over the eight like a vulture over a dead animal. I’m losing to him again.
    I beat Perry once. Buck can’t beat Perry and I’m losing to him again!
    He beats me one game, two. I bend over to break. I make the eight ball, miss the one.
    Buck whispers, “So where’s the cowman now to help you?”
    “
Stop it!
”
    I fly at him, pushing him down. I’m punching him, kicking him. “
Stop it! Stop it!
”
    Guys are trying to break it up. I’m going to get him! Hurt him! We’re punching each other on the floor; he throws me off. I land hard on my hand.
    “
Ahhh!
”
    Perry runs over.
    I see Big Earl’s worried face over me.
    “My hand!”
    I can’t lift my left hand, can’t bend it.
    Big Earl’s helping me up. I’m dizzy. The pain is bad. He shouts at someone to find my mother. T.R. tears upstairs. Earl says if I got to throw up, go ahead and do it.
    Mom rushes into the hall.
    “Dear God!”
    Earl and Mom help me out to the car. We’re going to the hospital.
    I’m crying, “My hand! He broke my hand!” as Mom rams her old Chevy through traffic.

CHAPTER

    The doctor in the long white coat stands back and adjusts the splint on my left hand. Her face looks tired. She says she’s got a boy just my age, like that’s supposed to make me feel better. Two nurses help a man with a bloody eye lie down. Mom is standing next to the doctor looking plenty worried.
    “That’s a mean sprain you’ve got,” the doctor says. “You’re lucky it didn’t fracture. Are you right-handed or left?”
    “Right.”
    “Well,” she says, “at least that’s something.”
    “I’m a pool player!” I shout. “I’ve got a tournament in four weeks.”
    She shakes her head. “No pool for three to four weeks, Mickey.”
    “I’ve got to practice!”
    “Not with that sprain,” she says firmly. “You’ve got to let it heal.”
    I flop back on the hospital cot. “The tournament . . .”
    The doctor sits down. “I’m sorry about that, using it for
anything
! We’ll check you in three weeks.”
    “That’s not enough time!”
    I close my eyes and try to push back the tears.
    I might as well be dead for being so stupid.
    Mom puts a hand on my shoulder and I just lose it, crying and sobbing like a baby.
    *   *   *
    Mom drives me home. I can’t talk. We pull up in front of Vernon’s and see the poster for the tournament in the window.
    WE’RE LOOKING FOR THE BEST AND THAT COULD BE YOU!
    I close my eyes—I can’t look at it.
    It won’t be me.
    Poppy’s all upset and Big Earl is saying, “Okay now, you’re going to get through it.”
    I don’t tell him he’s wrong.
    I’m not going to get through it.
    To beat Buck I have to practice every day!
    Camille comes over and hugs me, which she hasn’t done for a long time. She makes her special hot milk chocolate with little marshmallows, but I can’t eat the marshmallows because I need aspoon and I’m using my good hand to hold the mug.
    I can’t put my pajamas on without everything hurting. I get put to bed like a baby with the medicine the doctor gave me for pain. Nothing ever hurt