Conclusion: Even when acting weird and dressed like a total freak, the Schwa is only barely noticed.

The basketball courts in our neighborhood parks have steel chain-link nets. I like that better than regular string net because when you make a basket, you don’t swish—you clank. That heavy, hearty rattle is more satisfying. More macho than a swish. It’s powerful, like the roar of a crowd—something invisible kids like the Schwa and semi-invisible kids like me never get to hear except in our own heads.

It was on the basketball court that I came up with the Big Idea.

By now the Schwa was hanging around with us more—I mean when we actually noticed him there. Ira was not too thrilled about it. See, Ira was not invisible. He had made great advances into the visible world. Take his video camera for instance. You’d think it would make him a behind-the-scenes type of guy. Not so—because when Ira has his eye to the viewfinder, he becomes the center of attention. He directs the world, and the world allows it. So I guess I could see why he kept his distance from the Schwa. Invisibility threatened him.

Ira did join us on the basketball court, though. Couldn’t resist that, I guess, and in playing “friendly” choose-up games, we had quickly learned how to turn the Schwa Effect to our advantage.

Move number one: Fake to the left, pass right to the Schwa, shoot, score!

“Hey—where did he come from?” someone on the other team would always yell.

Move number two: Dribble up the middle, flip it back to the Schwa, who’d drive down the sidelines for a layup—shoot—score!

“What?! Who’s guarding that guy?” It was great watching the other teams get all frustrated, never noticing the Schwa until the ball was already in his hands.

Move number three: Pass to Howie, back to me, and then to the Schwa, who’s right under the basket. A quick hook shot—score!

As for the other team, there would be much weeping and gnashing of teeth, as the Bible says.

On this particular day, after the other kids went off to console themselves in their humiliating loss, Howie, the Schwa, and I hung around on the court just shooting around. Ira also left right after the game, not wanting to hang around the Schwa any longer than he had to.

“We oughta go out for the team,” Howie suggested as we shot baskets. “We’ve got a system.”

“The Schwa oughta go out for the team, you mean,” I said.

The Schwa dribbled the ball a bit, took a hook shot, and sunk it. “I played peewee basketball a few years back, but it didn’t work out.”

“Don’t tell me—the coach always forgot to put you in, and even when you were in, nobody passed to you.”