Page 3 of Love & Streetball

“Black?” he asked, cutting me off. I nodded. “Yeah.”

“Oh,” I scoffed, taking a few steps back, “Your dad is one of them. One of those uppity niggas. One who thinks ‘cause he has money than most that he is above us?” I sucked my teeth and flickered my eyes up and down. “Imagine his son wanting to hang wit’ me.”

I took off running home, turning around briefly to make sure Kane wasn’t following me. He wasn’t. His feet in those expensive-ass shoes were still planted.

Good.

Mama was gone to work, leaving me alone to shower quickly before the hot water ran out, and then fix a bowl of noodles. I sat in front of the TV in the living room instead of at the table that sat two, where I was supposed to be. Since Mama wasn’t here, I sometimes bent the rules a little.

In the small bathroom, the sound of dripping water echoed through our thin-walled apartment. I could hear the neighbors moving around in their apartment, their TV blasting a sports game. I heard one neighbor’s kids fighting, and then one started crying. They didn’t stop until the mama threatened to whoop them with a belt.

I wrapped my towel around me tighter and then hauled it to my bedroom to dry off and dress. The bathroom was just too small to move around in. After throwing on my oversized T-shirt and shorts, I plopped down on the beat-up couch with my bowl of beef noodles. My stomach growled loudly at the scent of food.

The TV flashed with a movie on channel three. We only had maybe ten channels since it was basic cable; therefore, I watched whatever was playing.

“Basketball is for thugs,” I muttered, slurping a forkful of noodles in my mouth. I chewed maybe three times and swallowed. “The hell you want to hang with me for if your dad didn’t even like my kind?” I asked out loud.

Kane did seem chill and everything, especially how smooth he was on the court. He would be someone other than Vani that I could possibly hang with, but he wasn’t even from my world. He had no idea what it was like to grow up on this side of town in Love Heights projects. He had no idea of the struggle of lying in bed at night, praying you’ll open your eyes in the morning and not be dead, body riddled with bullet holes. He didn’t know the struggle of having to stretch little to no food for a whole week.

Kane surely had options of what he wanted to eat for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Let’s not forget about the snacks. Kane probably never had to worry about his electricity, water, or cable being turned off. He probably shopped at all the designer stores, not having to even check the price tags. Other than basketball, what else did me and Kane have in common?

My government phone rang, and I picked it up because I knew it was my mama checking on me.

“Hey, Ma,” I answered, slurping the last forkful of noodles in my mouth.

“Hey, Slim. What are you doing?” she asked through a yawn.

“I just finished eating noodles. I’m about to watch a movie.”

“Don’t let anybody up in my house,” she said. She reminded me of this every day. “Not even Vani.”

“I know… I know, Ma,” I mumbled.

It wasn’t that Mama didn’t like Vani. She just felt like he was up to no good most of the time, and most of the time he was. Ever since Vani went to jail for a day for some weed, she really didn’t like me hanging out with him. Vani always looked after me, though. If my stomach growled a little too loudly, he would drag me to the corner store for some chips and a drink. If someone joked about my appearance, he was on their ass. Vani was my boy.

“You played ball today?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

“Mmhmm. I have a game on Monday.”

“I wish I could come, baby, but these bills are not gon pay themselves.”

“It’s okay, mama.”

We talked for another minute before she complained about running the minutes up, and then ended the call. I took my bowl to the kitchen, cleaned it, and then curled up on the couch to finish the movie.

My eyes fluttered, getting heavy. The last thing that was on my mind before falling victim to sleep was Kane whooping me on the court. I needed to redeem myself.

Monday.

Game night.

“This lil’ boy,” a player from the opposite team snickered, pointing at me.

I didn’t care to go back and forth with her because I was going to show her. Usually, I didn’t go too crazy during high school games like I did in streetball because the refs call every damn thing, but I guarantee, I was gon break her ankles tonight.

We were in the last quarter, up by six. The bleachers were packed, our side the fullest since we were home. My red jersey stuck to my back from running up and down the court. Coach Thomas barely sat me down since I was the coldest on the team. It was their ball with three minutes left on the clock.

The ball passed around, and I timed it perfectly. When a player on the other team attempted to pass it to the shit talker, I interfered and took off in the other direction. The crowd hollered, but it wasn’t over until I put it through the net. I started to go up and then was pushed hard, causing me to fall and slide on the floor.