14. Justice, Just Us
JUSTICE, JUST US
JUNIOR YEAR
" D amn they’re good.” Brian said as The H-Tine Hotshots put on their performance. They had two rappers, and everyone danced and sang. They were packed into the narrow space behind the curtain, the hum of the crowd bleeding through the walls like distant thunder.
Cameron paced. Always pacing.
He looked at Preston, then back at Spring. “Cuz, you sure Big Bird isn’t gonna?—”
“Well, no doubt he was a reclamation project, but from what I can tell he’s got it.”
“I’m just saying, cause the boy got two left feet. You see how stupid he looks when he walks down the hallway?”
Preston waved a hand. “I’m right here, guys.”
Cameron turned back. “Alright, listen up,” he said, clapping his hands like he was calling a timeout. “This is it. SpringFest. Whole school’s out there: teachers, parents, haters. And them musty ass H-Tine Hotshots. No one wants us to have this. But it’s ours.”
Brian nodded with fire in his eyes. “You know they gonna try to rob us like they did last year.”
Cameron put his arm around him. “Brian’s right.
We got robbed last year, and everybody knew it then.
We’re definitely going to get robbed this year if we don’t do something about it.
This is our origin story. The day we defy the odds.
Juniors winning SpringFest from a senior class. They’ll never live it down.”
Preston leaned against a speaker, arms crossed, half-smiling. “Here we go.”
Cameron continued. “We stayed all those hours of rehearsal. We failed until we got it right. We did it for moments like this. When we go on stage, it will be just us out there. We are all we got.”
Brian bounced on the tips of his toes, ready to perform. “Oh yeah. It’s showtime, baby!”
Spring scoffed at the spectacle but observed the ritual with a smirk as Cameron pointed at himself. “Batman.” Next, to Preston: “Big Bird.”
Preston scoffed. “That’s not a thing.”
Spring laughed despite her nerves.
Cameron swung to Brian. “The Mighty Green Lantern.”
Brian bowed. “Accuracy is important.”
Then Cameron turned to her. Spring felt her stomach flip. “And you,” he said, grinning, “you’re Wonder Woman now.”
She frowned. “Wonder Woman?”
“Because you strong, you smart, and you don’t even know how dangerous you are yet,” Cameron said passionately. “Plus, you came out the cut and joined the team mid-season. That’s iconic.”
Preston nodded. “That’s facts.”
Cameron’s grin softened, just a little. He glanced between Preston and Brian, then back at Spring.
“You know why we started calling ourselves the Justice League?” he said.
Brian smirked. “Here he go…”
Cameron ignored him. “When we first got here, it was just us. Only Black boys in the room most days. Folks stared like we ain’t belong there. Like we slipped in through the wrong door or something.”
Preston nodded slowly. He remembered.
“Everything felt like a test,” Cameron continued. “Not just singing. Not just dancing. Existing.”
Brian nodded once, slowly as Cameron continued.
“Teachers watching us extra hard. Kids whispering. Same way they been looking at you since you walked in here,” Cameron said, his voice steady now. “Like you supposed to prove you deserve to breathe the same air.”
He shrugged one shoulder.
“So one day, we said forget that. If it was just us… then that’s what we’d be. Just Us. ”
Brian tapped his chest. “Justice League,” he added quietly.
Cameron nodded. “Ain’t nobody saving us but us. So we became our own heroes. Had each other’s backs. Made noise so loud they had no choice but to see us.”
He looked back at Spring.
“So yeah… you Wonder Woman now. Not ‘cause it sound cool—but because this your origin story moment. Same way we had ours.”
Spring crossed her arms, trying to hide the smile tugging at her mouth. “Y’all are ridiculous... but let’s go with Nubia, instead.”
“Yeah, the Black Wonder Woman. See that’s my cousin right there, Nubia it is!” Cameron shouted, slinging an arm around her shoulders. “You one of us now. You here because you belong.”
The noise from the auditorium swelled.
Brian bounced on his heels. “They ready.”
Cameron leaned in, voice dropping. “We don’t gotta be perfect. We just gotta be undeniable.”
Spring felt the words settle somewhere deep. Preston met her eyes, held them a beat longer than necessary.
“Let’s go,” he said.
They stacked hands in the middle – messy, overlapping, real. Justice League.
Then the lights dimmed, and they walked onstage together.
Spring could feel it in her knees, before she took her first step. That light, buzzing weakness that came when adrenaline met doubt.
The auditorium smelled like dust and hot cords. The crowd was louder than rehearsal – students packed shoulder to shoulder, teachers pretending not to watch too closely, parents with cameras already lifted.
She adjusted the mic stand with shaking fingers. Breathe. They’d practiced this, over and over, Cameron pacing, Brian clowning, Preston focused – quiet, locked in, humming harmonies under his breath while she paced through cues like a director blocking a scene.
She snuck a glance toward the crowds and spotted them.
Preston’s mother near the front, legs crossed, posture sharp, eyes scanning the stage like she was already critiquing something.
Next to her sat a man Spring had never seen before, but somehow instantly distrusted.
Tall. Too smooth. Gold chain catching the light. Smile wide enough to sell something.
Macknificent Townes.
She didn’t know his name yet. She just knew energy, and it didn’t belong here.
Preston saw them too.
She could tell by the way his shoulders tightened, jaw flexed. His fingers hesitated on the mic, like he’d forgotten what it was for.
The opening beat dropped. Cameron came in strong, Brian following. Preston was supposed to lead the verse.
He didn’t.
He missed the cue by half a beat. The crowd didn’t notice, but Spring did. His voice came through thin, distracted, like his mind had slipped somewhere offstage.
He’s gone , she thought.
She didn’t ask permission. She stepped forward, taking the lead.
Her voice surprised even her – clear, steady, cutting through the room like it had been waiting for this moment.
The crowd shifted, heads lifted. A murmur rippled through the seats.
Spring sang like she was claiming space she didn’t know she’d been denied.
Preston looked toward her, then took her lead and slid into harmony, letting her drive. Letting her take the wheel without ego, without hesitation.
They locked in.
Brian grinned. Cameron hyped the crowd. The beat hit harder. The room woke up.
By the second chorus, people were on their feet.
Teachers exchanged looks. Phones came up. Somebody near the back shouted her name – her real one – and she felt something click into place inside her chest.
When they finished, the applause didn’t fade right away.
Spring stood there, chest heaving, light blazing down on her skin, and knew something had shifted.
The quartet joined hands and bowed. The applause was deafening, the crowd chanting encore. They scattered off stage excited.
Backstage, Cameron turned and said, “What in the hell was that Superman?”
Preston looked distraught. “My bad. I just?—”
“It was my fault,” Spring said before Preston could respond, “I came in early and threw the timing off.”
“Damn, Nairobi, I didn’t know you could sing like that!” Brian chimed in.
Cameron turned to him. “She’s an Ellison, it’s in our blood. So wait, you guys planned this?”
“We did,” she confirmed.
“Nice play, cuz,” Cameron praised as he walked off.
Spring was about to follow when Preston caught her wrist gently. “You saved us. Thank you,” he said, quiet but stunned.
She shook her head, adrenaline still buzzing. “We saved each other.”
He smiled then – full, unguarded, one she’d never seen before.
From the wings, she could see Preston’s mother lean toward the man beside her, whispering something. Macknificent laughed. Spring didn’t. She couldn’t understand why just yet.
Since they were the last group to perform, they now had to wait backstage while the judges deliberated.
It was too quiet. The kind of quiet that made every sound feel personal – the rustle of programs, the thumping bass from the DJ killing time, the muffled cheers when one of the other groups passed by.
Spring sat on a road case, bouncing her knee. The other groups before them had been good. Really good. One had choreography so tight it felt rehearsed down to the breath. The other had harmonies that wrapped around the room like velvet. Spring remembered thinking, Damn. We might be cooked.
Cameron tried to hide his nerves by talking, but failed miserably. “If we lose, I’m dropping out of school, bro,” he said.
Brian scoffed. “If we lose, I’m gonna fight Mr. Idleberg.”
Preston didn’t say anything. He stood off to the side, arms folded, mouth flattened, tension settling across his face. Spring glanced at him, then away, then back again.
She reached for his hand without thinking. Just a brush of fingers.
He looked down at the contact, then at her. Didn’t pull away.
The announcer’s voice cracked through the speakers.
“Alright, y’all – let’s get these results.”
The crowd roared.
Spring’s heart pounded so loud she barely heard the buildup. Third place announced. Not them. Second place announced. Still not them.
Her breath caught.
“And first place, this year’s SpringFest champions?—”
She squeezed Preston’s hand.
“—goes to… THE JUSTICE?—”
The scream hit before the name finished.
“—LEAGUE!”
Chaos broke out in the auditorium.
Cameron jumped in the air like he’d been shot out of a cannon. Brian yelled something incoherent. Preston let out the breath he’d been holding since rehearsal.
Spring just stood there for a second, stunned, until she was rushed.
She felt something tug at her neck, but before she could process it, they were ushered back onstage, lights blinding, applause crashing over them in waves.
Someone shoved a plaque into Cameron’s hands.
Brian took a bow like he’d practiced it.
The announcer raised a hand. “And let’s hear it one more time for their lead vocalist – Nairobi Ellison performing as Spring Ellison!”
Spring blinked.
“Nairobi, aka Spring,” the announcer repeated, smiling, “the queen of SpringFest!”
The room exploded. Her name echoing back at her like it had always belonged there.
Preston looked at her then, satisfaction on his face. Told you so, his eyes said.
She laughed, shaking her head, adrenaline buzzing through her veins.
Backstage again, the noise was muffled but still humming, Cameron was halfway through hugging everybody when Spring felt it – that same presence.
She glanced toward the side wall. The man from earlier stood there now next to Talia, watching them. Smile smooth, eyes sharp.
Preston followed her gaze.
“Who’s that?” she asked quietly.
He frowned. “That’s… uh. Mack. Macknificent Townes.”
She raised an eyebrow. “That’s his real name?”
“Unfortunately,” Preston said. “He’s a record producer from Houston. I didn’t know he knew my mom like that.”
Mack acted like he belonged there. He was light-skinned, tall, and immaculately put together – the kind of man whose grooming looked intentional, down to the last detail.
His hair was slicked back in soft waves, moving when he did.
Sharp suit cut close to the body, tailored just enough to hint at money without ever confirming it.
The fabric caught the light when he walked, and gold accents – watch, chain, cufflinks – glinted like punctuation marks. Too much, but on purpose.
His smile was permanent. Not fake exactly, just practiced. The kind that slid into place easily and stayed there, even when nothing was funny. He had that smooth, salesman confidence, that filled space before you realized he’d done it.
People noticed him. A couple of parents whispered. Someone pulled out a phone to take a photo. A teacher nodded like they’d met him before.
Mack acknowledged it all with easy familiarity, shoulders back, chin high – an ego worn comfortably, like it had been broken in years ago.
Spring stared as he approached them. She didn’t trust a single inch of him.
“Preston Cole,” he said warmly, arms wide. “That was special, man. Special.” He turned to her. “And you must be Ms. Lead singer?—”
“Nairobi,” she said flatly.
He smiled wider. “Of course you are. Well, listen, Preston, I’ve been hearing good things about your talent.”
“Really? Cause I haven’t heard anything about you,” he snarked.
“Watch your tone.” Talia warned in a low voice.
Mack smiled it off. “Well, let’s fix that. I wanted to see if maybe we could all go grab a bite to eat and hear about more of your ambitions in the music industry. My car is right outside.”
Mack pointed to a high-end Mercedes sedan that was parked in front of the school.
Spring tilted her head, studying him the way she studied frames and lighting – quiet, precise. “That’s not your car.”
Mack blinked. “Excuse me?”
She nodded toward his keys. “Dealer tag. Scratched fob. You don’t drive that car every day.”
Brian choked on a laugh. Preston winced. “She’s – uh – she’s gonna be a director.”
Spring shrugged. “I notice things.”
Mack recovered quickly, chuckling, though his eyes darkened. “Sharp. I like that.”
She didn’t smile back.
“Well, she’s right,” he conceded, “it’s not my car. Come to think about it, you guys just won first place at your little high school or whatever. I’ll leave you to celebrate. When you want to talk about your future, Preston, I’ll be around.”
As he walked away, Preston leaned in. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Yes, I did,” she said softly. “I know people, and something’s off about that guy.”
He looked at her and, for the first time that day, the noise around them faded.
“Hey!”
Brian jogged up, slightly out of breath, glancing back over his shoulder toward the crowd.
“The Hotshots want to know if we’re grabbing something to eat,” he said, then looked directly at her. “They also asked if Spring coming.”
The name landed differently this time. Not a joke. Not a nickname tossed around in passing.
A title.
Cameron appeared behind Brian, grinning. “Yeah, they said they don’t celebrate without the champ.”
Preston looked at her, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Guess you official now,” he said.
SpringFest had crowned a winner. But something else had just begun.