Xavier
Since meeting Shakim, I had found myself stopping by to listen to his daily mathematics, soaking in the knowledge he was sharing.
I could tell his words started to get to me because I began reflecting on my fuck-ups.
On the outside, everything seemed cool. I was an injured athlete who was just upset that I couldn’t play.
However, shit was much bigger than that.
I was now faced with reality and was trying to save face by doing the right thing.
I sat in a corner at the Blue Café. I watched as students moved in and out, while others occupied other tables and studied.
I ran my hand down my leg as I cracked open my laptop.
I stared at the screen as I thought about what my professor said to me.
Then the thought of my brothers popped into my head.
The idea of years of education clashed with the idea of the quick compensation of being a draft pick.
“Come on, nigga,” I coached myself.
I knew people thought I was being extra, but they didn’t come from the same place I did.
Everyone had their struggles, but this was mine, and who was someone else to judge how I handled it?
Being the middle child, I was starving for success not only for myself but also for my brothers.
Using whatever I had left of financial aid and not thinking about myself, I gave it to them to make sure my niggas had money in their pockets.
Here I was on a partial scholarship, moving like I was on a full one.
Shit had worked in my favor for the last two years, but whatever worked before wasn’t working now.
Or maybe this was just the conscience of a guilty nigga.
I ran my hand over my face, forcing myself to focus.
“You want to talk about it?” Her soft voice pulled my eyes to her.
Phoebe stood there wearing my shirt, the same one I had on when we went out, paired with black distressed jeans. Her hair was styled in two braids, her lips were glossy, and her perfume was the perfect finishing touch. She invited herself to my table as she pulled out a chair and sat.
“What are you doing here? You following me or what?”
She cracked a sexy smile. “Maybe I am. What are you going to do about it?”
I shook my head. “You’re a trip. I see you found my shirt.”
She glanced down at it. “This old thing? A nigga left it. I thought I would make use of it.” She winked.
I wanted to stroke her cheeks, maybe even kiss her, but we weren’t on that type of time, at least not yet. Instead, I nodded and turned back to my laptop.
“Shit, Einstein, I may need your help.”
Her head leaned in as she glanced at my screen. “Nah, baller, you got it,” she laughed.
“You’re right,” I mumbled.
I knew it wasn’t anyone’s responsibility but my own to figure this shit out. It was the beginning of the semester. I had time to get right.
“You said you ride horses and shit, right?” I asked.
She nodded. “Why?”
“How do you deal with that and school? I need somebody to tell me something because, to be honest, gang, I don’t know if I’ve got it in me.” I paused. “Can I tell you something without you judging me?” I asked.
Her light-colored eyes gazed at me like they were trying to dissect me.
“First, I have my ways of dealing with things, and I can assure you that you wouldn’t do it the same.
It’s hard, especially when you’re trying to—” She paused.
“You know what? It doesn’t matter. You have to try to find a happy medium.
You do all that shit talking, but it sounds like you need Einstein’s help.
You can tell me whatever. I’m here to listen. ”
I had been holding something in that had been eating me alive. Her lip disappeared between her teeth as if she was holding her breath, waiting for me to spill it. I ran my hand over my face before I leaned forward. “I-I...” I paused.
Phoebe was beautiful. Most girls didn’t care, but the fact that she seemed genuinely interested in what I had to say said a lot. As ready as I thought I was to go deep with her, I wasn’t.
“Never mind.”
She squinted her eyes. “Nigga you’re scared.”
I laughed. “Like you were when I gave you this dick.”
She leaned back and smirked. “About that. Let’s run that back. You got a point on the board, but now it’s my turn. I’m good at one vs ones.”
“Can you hit a buzzer beater, though?” I shot back.
“I thought you knew! I’m like Curry with the shot, boy!” She winked while imitating shooting a ball.
I glanced around the café. “Come on,” I told her.
She looked at me with wide eyes. “Are you fucking for real?”
“As real as those freckles on your face.”
I stood from the table and led her toward the restroom.
My phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out to check, and it was text from my brother Jalen, waiting for me to send him my work.
I stared at the text, debating whether to continue to go along or face the fact that I needed to do the shit myself.
How was I to explain that my baby brother had been helping me get through college?
Was I capable of doing it myself? Yes. Did I take the easy way out?
Yes. Now that sports were put on pause, what was my excuse?
I felt like shit. I replied to him, telling him I had it, but did I?