and waved. She double-bounced on the trampoline, her ponytail flying, then took a final leap off the side and landed on the springy stuff with her legs spread and her knees flexed. “Sha! Who you got there?”
“This is Luke Ellis,” Kalisha said. “New this morning.”
“Hey, Luke.” Iris walked over and offered her hand. She was a skinny girl, taller than Kalisha by a couple of inches. She had a pleasant, pretty face, her cheeks and forehead shiny with what Luke supposed was a mixture of sweat and bug-dope. “Iris Stanhope.”
Luke shook with her, aware that the bugs—minges were what they were called in Minnesota, he had no idea what they were called here—had begun to sample him. “Not pleased to be here, but I guess pleased to meet you.”
“I’m from Abilene, Texas. What about you?”
“Minneapolis. That’s in—”
“I know where it is,” Iris said. “Land of a billion lakes, or some shit like that.”
“George!” Kalisha shouted. “Where’s your manners, young man? Come on over here!”
“Sure, but wait. This is important.” George toed the foul line at the edge of the blacktop, held the basketball to his chest, and began speaking in a low, tension-filled voice. “Okay, folks, after seven hard-fought games, this is what it comes down to. Double overtime, Wizards trail the Celtics by one point, and George Iles, just in off the bench, has a chance to win this thing from the foul line. If he makes one, the Wizards tie it up yet again. If he makes both, he’ll go down in history, probably get his picture in the Basketball Hall of Fame, maybe win a Tesla convertible—”
“That would have to be a custom job,” Luke said. “Tesla doesn’t make a convertible, at least not yet.”
George paid no attention. “Nobody ever expected Iles to be in this position, least of all Iles. An eerie silence has fallen over the Capital One Arena . . .”
“And then somebody farts!” Iris shouted. She put her tongue between her lips and blew a long, bubbly honk. “A real trumpet blast! Smelly, too!”
“Iles takes a deep breath . . . he bounces the ball twice, which is his trademark . . .”
“In addition to a motor mouth, George has a very active fantasy life,” Iris told Luke. “You get used to it.”
George glanced toward the three of them. “Iles casts an angry look at a lone Celtics fan razzing him from center court . . . it’s a girl who looks stupid as well as amazingly ugly . . .”
“Jesus, George,” Kalisha said, “that was horrible. Either tie the fucking game or lose it, so we can talk. This kid doesn’t know what happened to him.”
“Like we do,” Iris said.
George flexed his knees and shot. The ball rolled around the rim . . . thought it over . . . and fell away.
“Celtics win, Celtics win!” Iris yelled. She did a cheerleader jump and shook invisible pompoms. “Now come over here and say hello to the new kid.”
George came over, waving away bugs as he did so. He was short and stocky, and Luke thought his fantasies were the only place he would ever play pro basketball. His eyes were a pale blue that reminded Luke of the Paul Newman and Steve McQueen movies he and Rolf liked to watch on TCM. Thinking about that, the two of them sprawled in front of the TV and eating popcorn, made him feel sick.
“Yo, kid. What’s your name?”
“Luke Ellis.”
“I’m George Iles, but you probably knew that from these girls. I’m a god to them.”
Kalisha held her head. Iris flipped him the bird.
“A love god.”
“But Adonis, not Cupid,” Luke said, getting into it a little. Trying, anyway. “Adonis is the god of desire and beauty.”
“If you say so. How do you like the place so far? Sucks, doesn’t it?”
“What is it? Kalisha calls it the Institute, but what does that mean?”
“Might as well call it Mrs. Sigsby’s Home for Wayward Psychic Children,” Iris said, and spit.
This wasn’t like coming in halfway through a movie; it was like coming in halfway through the third season of a TV show. One with a complicated plot.
“Who’s Mrs. Sigsby?”
“The queen bitch,” George said. “You’ll meet her, and my advice is don’t sass her. She does not like to be sassed.”
“Are you TP or TK?” Iris asked.
“TK, I suppose.” Actually it was a lot more than a supposition. “Sometimes things move around me, and