Chapter seventeen Kendra
Chapter seventeen
Kendra
“Damn, their school looks like this and they still need a fundraiser?”
“Boy, act like you’ve been somewhere,” I scold Jeremiah with a playful glare as we step out of the car door Niko holds for us.
He’s not wrong. Centerpoint looks more like a fairytale castle than a high school in Brooklyn.
Teal banners emblazoned with the school’s fierce eagle mascot hang on each side of heavy double doors, and pristine windows gleam from all three floors of the brick building.
They don’t even have bars on them! Once I thank Niko and let him go for the day, Jeremiah and I follow the posterboard signs to the basketball court behind the school.
At least two hundred people are gathered for Centerpoint’s battle royale against Hawkins High. That’s one of the things I love about this city; everyone’s always willing to show up and show out for their community, even if it’s just high school kids raising money for new equipment.
A DJ plays hip hop from a courtside booth. It keeps the crowd hyped, along with a concession stand selling cotton candy, warm pretzels, and drinks. It’s still too warm for hot cider and roasted nuts, but the chill in the air makes it too cold for Italian ice.
Opposite the DJ, another booth has multiple mics and a tabletop scoreboard; this must be where the commentators will sit.
Next to that are several girls in matching spray-painted t-shirts.
God, will those things ever go out of style?
Initially, I thought they were warming up for a dance routine, but with their heavy boots, I’d guess a step show is more likely.
There are even a couple of reporters on the bleachers behind the announcers’ booth; their telephoto lenses and digital recorders are a dead giveaway. Damon really went all out! I’m glad I came instead of hiding away like the scaredy cat I am.
“Auntie Kiki, can I find us seats while you get us some pretzels and soda? That line is mad long!”
Jeremiah pouts with all the drama of a teenage boy, and I stifle a smile. He’s way too cool to be teased by his honorary aunt, or so he tells me.
“Sure thing,” I answer, but he’s already disappeared into the crowd.
For whatever reason, it’s never bothered me when Jeremiah calls me “Kiki”. To me, the nickname is childish, and I would never use it professionally, but he is, in fact, a child. Coming from Andre, it’s like nails on a chalkboard.
I sigh to myself.
I can’t believe it’s been nine months since the ink was dry on our divorce and I’m still thinking about Andre!
He lied. He cheated. He stole from me. And yet I’m the one spiraling in the middle of what’s essentially a block party.
I could’ve had a kid in the same amount of time; thank God we never made that mistake.
Andre is the gift that keeps on giving and further proof I need to stay far away from serious relationships right now.
Until further notice, no one has to be stuck with these gloomy thoughts but me.
I refocus on the festive event around me, lying to myself that I’m not looking for Damon the whole time. The long line for pretzels is a welcome distraction.
Jeremiah isn’t really my nephew. He’s my mom’s brother’s kid and one of the few ties I have to her side of the family.
Apparently, she tried to go home first, thinking they might understand her decision to leave us.
But when they kept pressuring her to go back, to be the mom and wife she promised to be, she cut them off too, disappearing without a trace. Good riddance.
I assumed no one would want anything to do with my dad and me after my mom’s vanishing act, but they always stood by me, especially my Uncle Cordell.
He took me to the Bronx Zoo when Dad was in the thick of his depression.
He picked me up when I called to get away from one of Dad’s new wives.
He ignored me when I told him he didn’t have to keep coming over and sending cards; that he should go be with his real family.
Uncle Cordell is a quiet, contemplative man, but I could tell he had to rein in his temper when I said that.
To him, I was family, even if my mom wasn’t around.
Even if his son, Jeremiah, was young enough to be my nephew—hence the title.
Even if adolescent me yelled hurtful things to drive him away.
He never budged. He was steady like that; the opposite of my dad.
And Aunt Meredith—his wife, and a trauma nurse—never minded when I showed up unannounced on their doorstep.
Even when I accidentally woke her up from sleeping off a double shift.
She’d just smile, open the door, and put on a pot of chamomile tea to go with the world’s best chocolate chip cookies.
Unfortunately, her hectic schedule means I don’t know her nearly as well.
Finally at the front of the line, I order two pretzels, two Cokes, and caramel-flavored cotton candy. I make my way to where Jeremiah found seats—right behind the players’ bench for the Centerpoint team—and accidentally lock eyes with Mr. Tall, Dark the game was that good. He grabs my hand and drags me over to Damon, his eager steps forcing me to jog to keep up.
“Jer, wait up!” I call out, but I’m sure he can’t hear me.
“Oh my God, coach! That game was amazing! Please tell me you’re running a clinic next summer. I need to be there!”
Damon stoops down to answer my cousin.
“I will most definitely be running a clinic, and it might be bigger and better than ever thanks to Centerpoint. I’d love to have you.”
Jeremiah beams, bouncing so much, he nearly lifts off the ground. I give Damon a rueful grin, and he hides his snicker in a cough. No one can say Jeremiah isn’t passionate.
Jeremiah pesters Damon with a few more questions before he’s pulled back into the celebration by one of his players. His smile is contagious and well-deserved; today was an undisputed success. It’s the kind of day highlight reels are made of. I’m just glad I was here to see it.
Damon
Damon: Hey, where were you? I looked for you afterwards.
The sharp ping jolts me from my nap on the couch. I check my phone, and a smile spreads unbidden across my face.
Damon
I had to get Jeremiah home for movie night with his friends.
I tried to wait, but you were Mr. Popular, especially with those reporters.
Damon: Oh stop, LOL. Talking to two reporters at a high school fundraiser does not a celebrity make.
If you say so. Just don’t let the fame go to your head.
Damon: Ha ha! I definitely won’t.
Damon: Probably because I’m nowhere near famous. I could never do what you do.
I snuggle under the faux fur blanket on my couch, enjoying our back and forth. I’m so glad I didn’t throw this away over a hookup. Our almost sex was amazing, but…No. This is better. Just a couple of friends texting. On a Saturday night. After 9:00 PM…
Damon
Damon: Is it cool if I call you?
Damon: I know it’s late, but I’m ass at texting.
He seems pretty chatty to me. He must be wired. I get like that after a big show too.
Rather than texting back, I open the phone app and dial. He picks up before the first ring can finish.
“Can’t sleep?” I ask in lieu of a greeting. His warm chuckle crackles over the line, raising goosebumps I ignore.
“Busted. I’m still so amped from earlier today, and all of my brothers are busy with either their significant others or, in Noah’s case, wooing potential clients.”
“Oh, so I wasn’t your first call?” I pretend to pout, and he laughs out loud this time.
“I didn’t have to call them to know they’re busy. Of course you were my first call.”
It’s said so earnestly, so free of posturing, that I believe him. The tingle in my chest at his words is likely heartburn from the pizza Jeremiah and I picked up after the game.
“Well then, I’m honored. And I totally get where you’re coming from. Sometimes after a show, I have to go out dancing, or have a glass of red wine, or a nice, hard—”
I cut myself off, but still hear Damon smirk through the phone.
“Anyway, what I’m saying is it takes a while to calm down after such a big event. Wine helps, or chamomile tea, if you have it.”
“Or a nice, hard fuck?” Damon offers unabashedly. I hide my blush in my blanket.
“Damon!” He laughs at my outrage. “I was trying to keep us on solid ground. It’s late, and unless you’ve changed your mind since our last conversation, that train of thought is a slippery slope straight into trouble.”
“I don’t know,” he starts, the humor in his voice clear. “Are you sure it was me who asked to keep things platonic?”
I pull the phone away from my ear, and look at it in disbelief.
“Are you sure you haven’t already had a few glasses of wine? Or something stronger?”
He chuckles again.
“I’m sober as a judge. I just enjoy getting you riled up.”
We write his shameless flirting off as teasing, and he thankfully allows me to steer us back to safer topics.
I tell him how my cousin gushed about him all the way home, and how excited he is for a clinic that’s over a semester away.
He tells me about a recent talk with the head coach, and how he’s mentoring Damon to take over his job.
He tries to cheer me up about Fashion Week and my career moving into the next phase, and I do the same; the shift from playing to coaching had to have been hard, but he’s handling it beautifully.
By the time the conversation dwindles, the dawn sun peeks through the surrounding buildings into my living room. We talked all night?! I shared things with him that I haven’t shared with anyone else, and I’m pretty sure he did the same. That means something, right?
I shake my head.
That’s a question for another night. I pop an antacid for the lingering tightness in my chest and head to bed, happy to have such a great friend.