Or so Callan had been briefed before being led to this room.
“Mr. Murphy is new to the program, just like you,” Shay said to Rashied. “He plays hockey.”
“Get out. Atlanta has a hockey team?”
Callan practically heard Roxy hooting with laughter from wherever she was right then.
“Yes,” Shay replied with seemingly unending patience. “The Atlanta Siege. They’re the newest NHL expansion team and played their first season last year.”
“What kinda name is The Siege?” the kid asked with a lip curl.
“The team was named for the siege against Atlanta during the Civil War,” Shay said, looking to Callan and getting his nod of agreement. “Their mascot is Sarge the Phoenix, who symbolizes the strength it took the people of this city to rise from the ashes and overcome adversity.”
That eased the lip curl. Rashied’s mouth instead twisted into a considering frown.
“Here now,” Shay said, motioning towards a four-person table. “Why don’t we sit down and get more comfortable?”
Ignoring the suggestion, Rashied said, “You win anything?”
Callan took it as a positive sign that the kid had finally directed a question at him. “We won our share of games last season, but we didn’t make it into the playoffs.”
It was the first time he felt any real sense of defeat over that.
Rashied made a buzzing sound with his lips and threw a hand up towards Callan as though he wasn’t worth his time. “Why can’t I be hooked up wit’ a basketball player?” he asked Shay.
“There aren’t any available for pairing,” she explained. “Let’s all have a seat and you can ask Mr. Murphy about hockey.”
“What, they ain’t got any black hockey players?” Rashied demanded of Callan, his arms crossed over his chest.
“Rashied, these questions are totally out of line,” Shay said, sounding vexed for the first time. “If you can’t be more polite, I’m afraid I’m going to have to recommend a review of your file to make sure you’re a good fit for this program.”
Because he was watching Rashied, Callan saw his flash of panic as Shay sighed and said, “I’m so sorry, Mr. Murphy. This is terribly embarrassing.”
“It’s okay,” Callan said. “This is meant to be a getting-to-know-you session, right? All Rashied has done is ask questions, which is how you get to know someone.” Meeting Rashied’s gaze, he answered, “Yeah, there are black hockey players, but none of them currently play for Atlanta.”
Rashied uncrossed his arms, shoved his hands into the pockets of his oversized basketball shorts, and mumbled, “Oh.”
Callan found himself developing a soft spot for the kid. Maybe it was because he related to Rashied’s tall, slender, early teen awkwardness, or maybe it was because the kid’s defiant spirit reminded him so much of Roxy. Whatever it was, he decided theirs was a solid P.A.L. connection.
“How about this?” Callan proposed, pulling out a chair and sitting down at the table. “We can each ask one another five questions to get to know each other and the other person has to answer them honestly. If after those five questions you want to be P.A.L.s with me, I’d welcome that.”
Shay arrowed a pointed stare at Rashied, who considered the idea for a moment before nodding and pulling out a chair.
“That’s fine,” Shay agreed, joining them at the table. “Rashied, since you’re so curious, why don’t you go first?”
“Aw’right,” Rashied said, his dark eyes on Callan’s face. “You rich?”
Shay lifted her eyes to the ceiling. Callan raised his hand a few inches off the table to tell her it was okay. The kid was testing him.
“Yes,” he replied. “Does that matter to you?”
Rashied leaned back in the chair and once again crossed his arms over his chest. “Naw. Just never met a rich dude before. What kinda accent you got?”
“I’m from Boston. Are you from around here?”
“West End, born and raised.”
Callan hadn’t lived in Atlanta all that long, but he knew West End wasn’t one of the better areas. Which explained Rashied’s presence in the center, he supposed.
“You any good?” Rashied asked.
Assuming he meant at hockey, Callan said, “Yeah. But I’m working on getting even better. What’s your favorite subject in school?”
“Gym.”
Callan lifted an eyebrow. “I said we had to be honest.”
The kid huffed out a breath. “Fine. Computer science.”
Callan smiled. “My degree is in computer science.”
“You went to college?”
“Yes. Boston College. Graduated with honors before I entered the NHL draft. Are you hoping to go to college?”
Rashied’s eyes moved to Shay before drifting down to the table. He lifted his shoulders in a shrug and answered, “Depends on if I can get a scholarship. Hopin’ I might qualify for one here at the center if I keep my grades up.”
So there was much more riding on Rashied’s success at the center than just a social connection.
“You get one more question,” Callan told him.
Rashied studied him in a way that also reminded Callan of Roxy, as though he was taking Callan’s measure. Finally, he asked, “You play any B-ball?”
Callan smiled. “I’ve been known to throw a few hoops. You want to go hit the court?”
“Aw’right.”
When Rashied pushed to his feet, Shay smiled and winked at Callan. “Okay. Seems as though you two are gettin’ on okay. I’ll leave you to your game. But you can catch me on my cell any time.”
“I’m sure we’ll be fine,” Callan said as he also stood. “Thanks.”
The center had both indoor and outdoor courts, both of which had been thriving with kids and their P.A.L.s when Callan had parked and walked in. He fell into step with Rashied as he headed to the indoor courts.
“By the way,” Callan said, “Shay introduced me as Mr. Murphy, but everyone just calls me Murph.”
“Like Smurf without the ‘s’?”
“If that’s what floats your boat.”
Rashied let out a shout of laugher. “Lawd, you so white.”
Not sure how to answer that, Callan just let it go. As they approached the courts, he saw a game in progress with some people he recognized.
“Hey, there are a few of my teammates,” he said, motioning towards the court. “The blond Viking-looking dude there is the team’s captain, Adam LeFranc. He’s our first line center. The guy dribbling the ball right now with the dark hair and pathetic excuse for a beard is Luke Landry. He’s our first line right winger and one of our alternate captains. The clean-shaven guy with the short hair is Sebastian Bell, one of our best defensemen. We all call him Bass.”
Rashied looked at him like he’d been speaking a foreign language. “I didn’t understand half of what you just said, man. I caught ‘center’ ‘cuz it’s like B-ball, but that’s ‘bout it.”
“You know, hockey is more like basketball than you think.”
“Come on.”