They nodded reluctantly and sat down, and Xander got a salami
sandwich on sourdough, while Christian did all the talking.
When he was done, Xander was still cleaning up the strawberry
yogurt, and the Coach looked like he might be getting an ulcer.
“Son,” he said after a moment, and Xander stopped scraping the
yogurt container and looked up.
“Sir?”
“Why didn"t you get help? Man, we"ve got foster services, and
social workers and—”
Xander thought for a moment he was going to get sick.
“Yeah, but… but—” Oh God. “But I"ve got two things, you know?
I"ve got basketball and Chris, and you put me in services and they both
go away!”
And now Coach looked like he might throw up.
“Yeah, boy. I hear you. Okay, change of plan. Kid, we can"t have
you living like that. We just can"t. It"s going to kill you, and you need a
safety net, and that"s just the way it needs to be. Let me make some calls,
okay? At least let"s get you a place to sleep, okay? You"ll probably still
need a job, but I think there"s a halfway house about a mile from here—
The Locker Room
23
sort of place foster kids can go before they turn twenty-one. Let"s see if
we can get you a spot there, okay? It"s going to be tough, and we"re
going to have to finesse it. But I think we can do it.”
Coach looked at Xander with a frightening amount of
understanding in his face. “Basketball and Christian, huh? Well, let"s see
if you can keep "em both, at least until we get you a scholarship and the
hell out of here, okay?”
TWO weeks later, Xander had figured out that if he got up at six, he
could take the bus and be at Chris"s place at six thirty. Chris didn"t