Samuel looked from his mother to me and back, biting one lip and clearly uncertain. It made him look like the boy he still was.
"Well?" I told him in my exasperated-coach voice. "What are you waiting for, Larkin? Me to carry you on my back? Let the doc look at you and then let's get to school."
Samuel looked as if he didn't know whether to sneer at me or hug me, but he finally sighed and said, "Yeah, all right."
"If there's time," Strange said, "I can take a look at any of your other children, ma'am, and make sure they're all caught up on their shots."
Ms. Larkin almost smiled. "Well," she said, "if you hurry. I have to drive the rest to school in ten minutes."
"Don't worry," I assured her. "He's the fastest mouse in all Mexico."
"Come in, then," she said. "Come in."
Strange was good to his word, if not precisely popular with the little ones. He diagnosed a burgeoning ear infection and left a bottle of children's antibiotics for it, as well as providing the wheezy little sister with an inhaler after she described what sounded like a fairly heavy asthma attack.
"Samuel," Ms. Larkin said. "Help me get them all in the car, and then you can walk to school with Coach Parker."
"Yes, ma'am," Samuel murmured, and set about doing just that while Strange and I exchanged farewells with Ms. Larkin and left to wait outside.
"A new neighborhood help program?" Strange asked me, once we were alone.
"Brand-new," I said. "You up for it? It isn't glam-orous or exciting, and there aren't any demons or super magical powers involved—but you know how hard it is to get good health care these days. Especially for folks like the Larkins. People in this area can use the help you could give them. It's not brain surgery, but it's a. good cause, Doc."
Strange looked from me, to his medical bag, and then up toward the Larkins' apartment. He let out a long and rather satisfied sigh, the kind of sound I make after I hear a favorite song that hasn't been on the radio in a while, and his eyes wrinkled at the corners. "Why not."
"Yeah," I said, folding my arms in satisfaction. "Why not."
Wong met me outside the gymnasium after school.
He wore simple gray shorts, a loose gray top, and a gray sweatband around his shaved head. He had worn, simple high-topped basketball shoes on his feet, and held under one arm a standard Wilson basketball so well used that barely any of the pebbling remained on it.
"You any good?" I asked him.
Wong gave me his Wong face and a little bow. "I saw the Globetrotters once when I was young."
"You shouldn't brag so much, Wong," I said.
When we walked in, it was the same as Friday. The team was all over the place, shooting and jawing and goofing off to no end, with Samuel driving himself hard, working out against several teammates.
I blew the whistle. No one even looked at me.
I blew the whistle again, louder. A couple of the kids drifted a few grudging steps toward me.
I sighed. Then I stripped out of my buttondown shirt and my pants. I wore a tank top and shorts underneath. I walked over to Samuel and took the ball away.
Maybe I cheated and used my super-duper spider reflexes, just for the hand speed. But it was for the boy's good. I slapped the ball aside when he was in mid-dribble, and bounced it over to Wong.
That got his attention. The gym got quiet, fast.
Samuel turned to loom over me. "Ain't like I don't appreciate your help," he said. "That don't make you Coach Kyle. Give me the ball and get out of the way."
"I decided to take you up on your offer, kid," I said.
His mouth twisted into a white-toothed smile. "Shoot. Half court. We go to ten. You playing with one hand, so I'll spot you six. Then when you lose you can go sit down."
"No," I said. "We play two-on-two. No points spotted."
"What?" he asked.
"Two-on-two," I said, and jerked my head at Wong. "Me and him. You and whoever you like. And when you lose, I run practice the way I'm supposed to, and you go along."
"Don't need whoever I like. Take you both by myself Don't need anyone else."
"Sure, if you say so," I said. "But I don't want you saying it wasn't fair when you lose."
"Whatever, man," Samuel said after a moment's hesitation. "A-Dog, you up for this?"
"Sure," said the second-tallest kid on the team.
I bounce-passed the ball to Samuel. "You want it first?"
He bounced it back. "Age before beauty, Mister Science."
I nodded to Wong, who came over and nodded pleasantly to the two boys. Everyone else went to the sidelines to watch. I went to the top of the key, passed the ball to Wong, and the game started.
Let me tell you something.
Wong got game.
He blew past A-Dog while he was still flatfooted, faked to one side on Samuel, then rolled around him for an easy basket.
Samuel frowned at Wong and narrowed his eyes.
After that, he got serious. He nearly blocked my next pass to Wong, and was all over him on defense. Wong had more quickness, but not much more, and Samuel's long arms and prodigious talent made up for it. Wong missed his next shot, and Samuel recovered it, took it out, and then drove back in for his own point.
Wong gave Samuel a smile and a little bow and then said, "School's in, Grasshopper."
Wong and I had talked it out earlier. Samuel pressed him again, but Wong passed off to me and I mimed a shot, forcing Samuel to turn to me. Instead,
I shot it back to Wong, who went through A-Dog and scored again.
The game went like that, with Samuel getting more and more frustrated, trying harder and harder, his efforts growing almost violent. Every time he pressed one of us, the other was there for an outlet. Neither A-Dog nor Samuel seemed to have a real solid grip on the idea of coordinated effort, and their defense was never quite quick enough to make up the difference. I took a few shots, and made one. Wong did the rest, and I was happy to set him up. I played the harder defense for us. Samuel was too much for Wong to handle, but he rarely passed, and the kid was nowhere near fast enough to get by me. I tried to keep my effort down to just footwork and hand speed, taking the ball from his control whenever he came by.
And somewhere between Wong's seventh basket and his ninth, Samuel got what was happening. He started looking for his partner, passing more, actually working with A-Dog, or at least trying to. It was too little, too late. Final score: Team Spidey 10, Samuel and A-Dog 6.
Samuel was angry about it for maybe a minute. Then he shook his head and snorted, regarding me thoughtfully. "You ain't never played before, huh."
"Not really," I said.
"Where'd you find Little China?"
"Little Tibet," Wong corrected with a small bow.
"Friend of mine," I said.
Samuel grunted. "Guess I lost the bet."
"Guess you did," I said.
He passed me the ball, jerked his head at A-Dog, and then started off, running laps around the gym. The rest of the team followed him. I watched them for a moment. My wrist ached a bit, but I didn't mind. Wong started whistling "Sweet Georgia Brown" again.
"Thanks, Curly," I said quietly.
"You are welcome," Wong replied.
I went back home, grabbed a shower, and took the wrapping off my wrist. My hand opened and closed without the same sharp pain I'd felt yesterday, though it was still tender. I didn't want to do any web-swinging or wall-crawling for another day or two, but it could have been a lot worse.
The injuries I'd received weren't life-threatening, but recovering from them always left me hungry. My stomach started growling loudly enough that I half-expected a neighbor to pound on the ceiling or a wall, and I stuffed my face on anything I could find in the kitchen that didn't take too much effort to prepare. Then I crashed on the living room couch.