Narrator
The old Toyota behind the warehouse was Ennie’s fortress.
It was a hollowed out husk of a wreck with doors that refused to open, two missing tires, and a smashed driver’s side window.
In the back seat Ennie had stashed a BB gun, a Swiss army knife, and a ratty old copy of Sports Illustrated with Russell Westbrook on the cover.
Westbrook was his favorite player.
Narrator
A patchy, crooked wire fence separated the alleyway from the parking lot, and despite the fact that the cars parked only a dozen feet away, the fence made the mountain of junk that surrounded the car seem isolated from civilization.
Sometimes Ennie wondered if the rotting lumber and broken bricks were important ruins left over from when the city had first been settled.
Other times he liked to imagine that he could use them to build his own house far away from his Aunt Lucía one day.
Narrator
His tia was a strict Mexican lady with a sharp tongue.
The last time she’d caught him in the alley she had grounded him for a week and warned him about all sorts of horrible diseases.
Still, risking her wrath was worth getting the thrill of exploring the unknown worlds of the laneway.
Narrator
But today he wasn’t interested in any of that.
Today he had come back here to forget about the way that Troy had embarrassed him.
Troy was the tallest kid in basketball camp, and when he’d spotted Ennie this morning he’d poured a whole bottle of Gatorade down his shirt.
That was bad enough, but even worse was the way he dominated Ennie in the one-on-one drill.
Ennie was quick with his dribble and always bragged that he would be the next Westbrook, but the scrimmage had ended without Ennie scoring even a single point over the fourteen-year-old’s massive reach.
Narrator
Ennie reached the car and climbed through the broken window.
But his bag of belongings was not where he left them in the back seat.
He only found a ratty blanket and a few empty bags of Chinese noodles.
Narrator
Ping.
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