Page 6 of Love & Streetball

“Like me,” I added. “They can’t play like me, but you…you different.”

Slim ain’t have no quick comeback to that. She pressed her full lips together, the corner twitching as if she was trying hard not to smile. The sound of our sneakers scuffing the cracked sidewalk filled the silence between us. Streetlights flickered overhead, stretching our shadows across the pavement.

“What made you pick up a ball?” I asked Slim after a moment.

At first, I didn’t think she heard me; her headphones were still covering her ears. I caught her rolling her eyes again and cackled. She was really acting like I was in her way or something. One thing she didn’t have to be with me was tough.

Slim turned and adjusted her bag on her back. As a gentleman, I would have taken it from her and put it on my back, but I had a good feeling Slim would swing on me.

“I think I was four when I saw my neighbors at the time playing basketball. My mama said I kept trying to get to them, and everyone thought that was the cutest shit. The next day, the neighbors bought me my own ball and goal, one of those Little Tikes. Every time I grew out of one goal, my mom would risk her paycheck to buy me another goal. I got better, watched basketball on TV at my mom’s sister’s house ‘cause she had every channel, and taught myself the moves. I was Kobe. I was The Answer…Allen Iverson. I was Curry…”

I felt everything Slim was saying, and she spoke with so much passion when it came to basketball.

“You probably were in city league since you could walk,” Slim huffed.

I shook my head. “Nah. Never played in the city league. Just like you, I’m self-taught by watching niggas like Kobe and Bron. Streetball…the rough, no rules shit…I love it. I used to sneak over to the Westside and watch niggas play for bread…”

“Wait…” Slim stopped.

“What?” I asked, looking around.

“Vani told me about that. It’s real?”

“Yeah, but you think it’s rough where you’re from, it’s dangerous over there,” I told her.

“Then why do your stuck-up, ‘burbs living ass go over there?” Slim questioned. She started back on a stroll.

I pointed in her direction. “I ain’t stuck up, and I already told you, I’m good wherever.”

“You talk real tough, Kane.”

“Call it what you want, but don’t nobody fuck wit’ me, Slim,” I told her.

The sign for Love Heights low-income apartments came into view. Trash was strewn everywhere. The streetlights shone down on needles and torn condom wrappers. I shook my head. I never thought I was better than anyone, but no one should have to live out here like this. Kids ran around here. This area should be on the list of things to clean up, but it seems the city of Love Heights didn’t give a fuck.

“You can go now. I got it from here,” Slim spoke up.

My phone shook in my pocket again. This time, I picked up while keeping my eyes on Slim.

My dad exhaled. “Son, your mother and I were worried. Where are you and why didn’t you take your car, Kane?”

“I took a Rideshare. I’m hanging out with a…friend,” I said. Slim’s head snapped towards me, and her brows crinkled.

“Where, Kane?” he asked again. “You disabled your location. You must be somewhere I forbid you to be.”

I licked my lips and frowned, pulling up my sweats with one hand. That’s the type of shit that annoyed me. At seventeen, my dad still treated me as if I were a small child and not someone who had grown hair on his face and nuts.

“Why you always think the worst?” I muttered.

“Because we’re better than…”

“We’re not better than anyone,” I cut him off to say.

Slim was moving faster now, trying to shake me. She was pulling her dingy durag from her pocket.

“I’m not arguing with you about shit I know, Kane.”

“I’m fine, Dad. I’m…I’m in Love Heights,” I said flatly.