Page 2 of Love & Streetball

Instead of being offended, Kane cackled. “I may be that, but I’d rather be on this side of town instead of around stuck-up folks all the time.”

“They are stuck up in Heart Heights. They don’t even play us in basketball; they’re so scary,” I told him.

Kane scratched at his waves and dragged his eyes over me. I shifted from one leg to the other, knowing he was about to ask me if I was a dike or something. They always asked me that shit.

“How old are you?” he asked, with a slight squint. Kane tucked his lips in, and one deep crater appeared in his right cheek.

“Sixteen, why?” I quizzed, looking past him. “Wait, where is my ball?” I shouted. “Who took my ball?” My head swiveled as I tried to lay eyes on what was mine.

“Damn, it was just right there,” Kane pointed to the grass where I’d placed the ball before jumping into the game.

Ignoring him, I brushed past him, my shoulders bumping into his. My head was throbbing. That was my therapy…my dream…my escape. Now it was gone. I scanned the park, eyes darting to the group of little boys posted up near the fence. I heard the bouncing of a ball, and my legs carried me toward them in an angry stroll.

“Aye!” I barked, storming over. “That’s mine.”

The smallest one froze, his little fingers still palming the ball. He had to be maybe eight, shirtless, and ribs poking through his chest. Dirt was caked on his bony knees. He didn’t even try to hide the fact that he had my ball. He tossed it at me and ran off with his boys, them laughing in high-pitched laughter.

Sighing, I brushed dirt off my ball and turned to start my walk back home. A pull on my elbow stopped me, and I was ready to punch whoever touched me.

“My bad!” Kane shouted, jumping back with his hands up.

“Use your words,” I snapped. “You don’t have to touch me.”

He nodded. “Noted.”

I exhaled through my nose. “What do you want?”

“You good?” he asked.

“Shit, you? I’m in my hood. You’re not,” I spat.

Kane rubbed his hands together. “Shit, I’m good wherever. I can hold my own.”

I snickered. “Yeah, okay. These niggas are a different breed out here. What do you want? I gotta get home.”

He popped one fist into the palm of his other hand. “To hang out some time, I guess.”

“You guess?” I asked, with a raised brow.

Kane smiled boyishly, showing straight, white teeth. “I mean, I want to hang with you.”

“Why? Your family is in a way higher tax bracket than mine is. We’re from opposite sides of Love Grove. What do we have in common, Kane?”

“Basketball, Slim. Our love for the game,” he answered, and that almost caused my lips to stretch.

“Do you play for your school?”

Kane bit down on his lip and nodded. “Yeah. Basketball is not the path my dad wants me to go down, but I’m not giving it up. He doesn’t come to my games. He catches the highlights in the next day’s newspaper,” he calmly replied, offering way more information than I asked for, but I heard irritation in his tone. It clearly bothered him.

“That’s wild.” My left shoulder rose and dropped. “My mama doesn’t come to any of my games either. She’s either at one of her jobs or home asleep ‘cause those jobs wear her out,” I confided. “I get it.”

“How she feel about you playin’, though?” Kane questioned.

“If I like it, she loves it. Mama is just too busy to go to your game, Slim. Mama gotta pay these bills, Slim, I said, mocking her.

Kane snorted. “You need to be a lawyer or a doctor. Basketball is for thugs.”

I balled my nose up. “Thugs? Is your dad…”