by Love Belvin
We watched the band take formation, reminding me how they were the best marching ensemble in the country—though Bethune Cookman would argue otherwise. We always killed them, in spite of how great they were. BSU was cutting edge. There was no greater ensemble than these beautiful Black and brown people gelling their talents in music and performing arts. In no time at all, my feet began to step rhythmically, one arm shot into the air, and head bobbed. Horns, drums, cymbals, timing, it was a big vibe.
We were all into it. Coach Green, hardly forty years old, two-stepped while reciting lyrics. All the staff did; A.D. Jones, too. One of the biggest benefits of attending an HBCU for me was, for the most part, shared-culture. A.D. Jones, Coach Green, other coaches, coordinators, and trainers varied in ages and life experiences, but still there was a universal language and expression we shared as Black men and women in America. Apparently, this particular track by Jay Z demonstrated that shit. Coach Green rapped the lyrics to the point of shouting. He was a big B.I.G., Hov, and Pac head—old school cat.
My team started our own party, getting hyped with the jumbotrons playing at the top of the stadium seats. The dancers flipped and somersaulted their way into the act. I guessed we were overtime and they were moving us along to use the field to prepare for homecoming. But we didn’t move, we enjoyed the sneak-peek. When Jay began the second verse, my shoulders were pounded on. It incited my two-step.
“Oh, shit! Look up, Spence!”
My head flipped up and on the jumbotron was a video of my first play as a Panther my freshman year. I was second string for a wide receiver who was injured. Never did I think I’d ever get off the bench my first year at BSU. That was how I caught the attention of the coaches. It switched to plays in my second and third years here, videos and still shots. It took a few seconds for me to realize my team was acknowledging my contribution to the Panthers legacy. Tomorrow would be my fourth and final homecoming as a student. I was blown away at the gesture. This also meant we were not being rushed off the field. When the dancers surrounded my team and coaches, our group opened up and I was isolated.
Excitement returned when they chanted “Spencer! Spencer! Spencer!” instead of Hov’s name. I laughed, embarrassed by the spotlight and surprised. But my boys cheered me on, celebrating me. I told myself to snap out of it. The dancers formed a line, parting before me. They clapped, invited me to come down like Soul Train. I did them one better. I did several back-flips landing at the end. Hearing their explosive response gassed me to continue. When I was on my two feet, one of my trainers was there, telling me that was enough. Of course, none of us needed a QB injury the day before the game.
This was dope. A beautiful moment shared between my extended family and me. This would be the last of this type of pre-homecoming comradery for me. Next year, I’d be closing my first season in the League, and I prayed it was in Connecticut. Ice cold liquid poured over my head, quickly racing down my face and back. Fuck. They got me. A bucket of ice water was emptied over my head. Someone grabbed me from behind and my guys held me in the air. I laughed my ass over, holding tight until I was released. Damn. It got emotional for me. When I landed on my feet, a soft hand hooked me at the waist and pulled into me.
Aivery.
She smiled proudly, long thick lashes batting. Then she pointed to one of the jumbotrons. My fucking heart stopped in my chest at the sight of a picture with the two of us.
Fuck…
Is this how my story will end?
Do I want the next chapter with her?
My spirit dropped hard and fast like a damn freefall, killing my celebratory mood. It didn’t help that the horns played solo, ending the song. I caught myself when my guys came back in, slapping my shoulders and cheering and chanting. When the show ended, A.D. Jones threw me an expected gaze, handing me the bullhorn.
“The best years of my life have been on this roster, supported by the best fuckin’ coaches and players in the game!” My words were all uttered before the explosion of shouts and whistles. When they quieted, I continued, fighting the eerie feeling in the bottom of my belly. I scratched my head and scoffed, “I think we’re celebrating the wrong thing. We got ass to kick on this field tomorrow. Let’s show the alumni how the fuck we carry the tradition of Panthers!”
I handed the bullhorn back to Jones while the field exploded again. Aivery felt needy, which was distracting, but I knew why. She wasn’t getting the PDA from me she’d grown accustomed to. It was something she needed, and in the past, I had no issues executing. But today, I was spooked. If this was the ending of an era in my life, would I begin the next feeling as unsettled and dissatisfied as I had been for months now?
“All right. All right!” he spoke into the bullhorn. “It’s time for the players to relinquish the field to our incomparable marching band. Get on, fellas!”
Still hyped, my team acted quickly. Still jarred by my gray “next step,” I was now subdued, withdrawn from the celebratory vibe. In the middle of the pack, my team, coaches, staff and I filed down the tunnel and into the building. They were still shouting the “Encore” lyrics, and a few, my name even. The further inside we traveled, the more I could hear a disruption of the playful banter ahead. When I made it closer to the end of the walkthrough, I saw why.
“Oh, shit!” Al shouted. “Don’t hurt us, Ali!” He threw air punches, something I’d seen her do a lot and randomly.
“It ain’t Ali,” Tori corrected him, standing with her back and right foot against the wall. “It is champ, though. Something you Panthers better be about tomorrow.”
“Ahhhhh!” The guys erupted in laughter.
Some challenged her, “We been about that life, fresh meat.”
Tori may have had a calm demeanor, but I’d seen her ruffled enough to know she stayed guarded. Her posture appeared relaxed, but she was tensed, hands buried in her pockets, chin in the air, challenging.
“Really?” Her once thick, unruly eyebrows were now neatly arched as they furrowed. I remembered before her “date” they were not shaped at all, but it still didn’t mar her natural attractiveness. “Remember that tomorrow.”
That had them turn up another notch, but they kept it moving. Even the coaches appeared tickled by her tough talk. We weren’t used to seeing anyone not related to Panthers football or media in this area of the building, but no one questioned her. I was glad. Call it timing, but knowing Tori was here, even in this revelatory time, brightened my mood exponentially. She made all the doubt from the gray dissipate. This…tomboy of a champ appealed to me on some weird level. This moment—this very moment—was when I decided it was okay to find McNabb intriguing beyond just being her tutor.
I sauntered right up to her, and for the first time, I experienced the slip in Tori McNabb’s eyes. They were jumpy, regarding me from my face down to my abs exposed from my cropped practice jersey.
“What are you doing on this side of the compound?”
Her eyes shifted away, face hardening again protectively. “Looking for you.”
“Ah…” My mood brightened even more. “How’s the paper coming along?”
“That’s not why I’m here.”
I snorted, amused. “Okay…” I found that hilarious. “But still. How are you doing with it?”
“I’ll answer that after you give me answers, which is why I’m here.”
I switched stances, now holding my helmet with both hands. “How can I help you?”
She shook her head, and mumbled, “You don’t always have to help me.” Tori’s eyes were on me again. “Thanks for the pizza last night, but you didn’t have to do that.”
“I didn’t have to continue to watch you play tough girl while your stomach was eating itself.” With pouted lips, I nodded. “You right. You right,” I sighed facetiously. “And I didn’t. I left. But I see you still have a problem with saying thanks.”
Her face tightened again. “Maybe I forget because I never remember asking.”
“Oh, so when I see a starving,
stubborn ass girl, I should—”
“Thank you. Would you shut the hell up and let me get on with why I’m here?” With a bow of my head, I granted her what she asked for. Tori took a deep breath as though she was annoyed. I, on the other hand, was amused—particularly amused—today. “Your cousin, Spencer.” She rolled her eyes as my stomach sunk to my damn cleats. “How’s your cousin?” Her eyes widened and chin dipped. “The one that’s locked up. Have you heard from him?”
Until that moment, I’d forgotten I shared that shit with Tori. And, again, no one asked. It was almost a month ago since I rambled to her about Brick. The mention of him brought me back to the conversation I had with my mother last night about him.
“Look.” She switched weight on her legs. “If you don’t want to talk about it…”
I swallowed. “Nah. It’s cool.” I yanked on my ear. “My uncle’s girlfriend went to see him two weeks ago. She said he looked good, but has lost a few pounds and has scars on his face. She said Brick’s spirits are still up. He was supposed to call that same night at the usual time, but never did. My mother told me last night the lawyer is supposed to speak to the judge about it soon. We’re just…hoping.”
“What are the streets saying?”
“What do you mean?”
“You mentioned the street war. The rival gang. They have people in there. So do your family.”
My mouth twisted and eyes caught on to her sneakers. I couldn’t believe she wore them every day. That loosened something in my chest. “They’ve kept Brick separate from his gang since he was admitted. That’s unusual after a month or so. But they damn sure put him in there with other gangs. All we’ve heard in the streets is they’re gonna kill him as soon as the opportunity presents itself.”
“So, you’re living the same nightmare you were when you told me?” I nodded. “Maybe when you go home for Thanksgiving, you can schedule a visit.”
“For sure. Now, answer my question. How’s the paper coming along?”
One shoulder lifted in the air higher than the other as she tried to turn away coyly. “It’ll be fine…when I start it.”
My eyes blew the hell up. “That thing is due next week.”
She turned back to face me. “I know.” She rolled her eyes defiantly.
“And it’s six pages.”
“I know.”
“And you’re working that shitty job.”
She nodded, a smile opening on her face. “I know. I work today.”
I shook my head. “I can help you get started tonight.”
“Don’t you play tomorrow?”
“Yeah. So I won’t be partying tonight. I’ll save that for tomorrow. What about seven? I can meet you at the library.”
She shook her head. “Eight-thirty is as early as I can do it.”
I took a moment to think. “The private rooms shut down early on Fridays. There’s a strict policy on group and buddy-studying in the common areas. The best I can do is my apartment.”
Tori nodded, slowly. Protectively. “Okay.”
I pointed down the hall. “I gotta make my massage appointment to loosen up before tomorrow. I can get you one, too. You should need one after your fight the other day.”
She shook her head, taking off. “I’ve got work in less than thirty minutes. Gotta catch this bus into town. I’ll see you at eight-thirty.”
I laughed, knowing she’d say no.
10
-Then-
Why the hell am I here?
The band stopped their number, having to start again for the millionth time. Again, several of the two-hundred piece looked my way on the bleachers, nine times out of ten wondering what the hell I was doing here. I stretched back until I reached the metal bench behind me. After the mandatory massage, I watched a film of our school’s rival football team for tomorrow. I made sure to carve an hour to sit out here and “support” Aivery. Supporting, by her definition, was sitting in the bleachers watching the cheerleaders practice with the band for tomorrow. It was bullshit, but I played along. After her ranting last night when we left Verti’s Pizzeria about me giving up so soon into the semester on our agreement to be a couple to the campus, I decided to come out here and just…watch.
And Aivery was damn happy, too. She couldn’t keep her eyes off of me anymore than the girls on the band or the ones on her squad. I could see the slick ass eyes they tossed me and was surprised Aivery couldn’t. Speaking of her, she began hopping up the bleachers, en route to me.
“You enjoying yourself?” She heaved out of breath, taking a seat next to me.
“It’s good doing…nothing.” I tried supplying a gentle smile to soothe the bite of my sarcasm.
“Coach Tomeka is wrecking my nerves today. She’s recommending this old routine for the opening tomorrow. It’s fucking ridiculous that we’re the Blakewood and doing old routines at homecoming!”
“That’s fucked up.” I sat back again.
She rolled her eyes. “Thanks for trying.”
She knew I didn’t give a shit. I had to be ready for tomorrow my damn self. I still had more plays to study and films to watch before I turned in at a decent hour. It was time for me to go if I wanted to keep on a reasonable schedule. I didn’t feel like fighting like we did last night. After hearing her go off about how we looked to others, I decided I’d play it safe with Aivery and not rock the boat. She was right more than she knew: I had to be smart about my moves with her.
Aivery gazed across the field. I found my attention go out there, too. Within seconds, my eyes collided with balding Benjamin Pettiford. Dude’s hairline had been fading since he graduated from BSU, and here, two years later, he still kept his cut low to have it blend with his dark skin. He waved my way. Slowly, my pupils rolled over to my left. Aivery waved back with a measured smile. She kept her eyes low and greeting short.
Then she shuffled, turning to face me. “You know we’re going to win tomorrow.” Her tone seductive and baby-like to stroke my ego.
Aivery was changing the subject to smooth over the fact of her friend, Benjamin, trying to play me and the fact that she assisted him. I didn’t trip. Benjamin’s name was honest. He was petty as shit, but I was too mature for his antics, which is what he hated. He’d applied for an assistant coaching position for the football team, but A.D. Jones, knowing our history, couldn’t risk the liability of having him near me. So Pettiford had to wait out my leave as an assistant to the Panthers band coordinator. It was a piece of shit gig, seeing he wanted to be in sports. Good for his ass. I was just disappointed for the thousands of professionals who would kill for that role and bring more to it than the simple nepotism Benjamin Pettiford did.
“Aiv, tomorrow’s my last homecoming as Panthers QB. You think I should be concerned about wardrobe changes?”
She frowned. “I guess you have a point. It would have been nice, though.”
My Blackberry rang in my pocket. I pulled it out and didn’t recognize the number. The area code was weird as hell. That’s when it hit me. NormaJean. She emailed me yesterday saying she’d call sometime today. She’d just left Paris and had arrived in Shanghai this week.
“Aiv!” someone shouted from below. “You’re needed!”
I took to my feet. “I gotta take this. Go do your thing.” I pulled her into me with one arm and kissed her forehead.
“See you tonight?” she offered.
“I’m about to turn in early. Got prep to do for tomorrow. Coach Green got an early call on us in the morning.”
“Oh.” She managed a smile. “Okay.”
I left her, dropped down the stairs of the bleachers while taking the call.
“Yo,” I answered.
NormaJean yawned. “Hey, my favorite student.” Her voice was always lyrical and worldly feminine. “Shit. Please tell me you don’t have me on speaker.”
We both burst out laughing. As I walked toward the side of the stadium, my head fell back. I could hear her melodic chortle, too.
“You ar
e wild, girl.”
“I know. Your mother would shoot me dead if she heard that. And Byron Jones would have state troopers at the airport, ready to turn my plane around.”
“It’s not that bad.” I trekked across the manicured lawn, amused by her call already.
“Trust me. Based on what he said to me your freshman year about him keeping you focused, the man’s capable of anything.”
“How’s China?”
“Beautiful, as usual. We got in late last night and stopped at my favorite street vendor for some yummies, drank wine made in China, and crashed. I just got up not too long ago. Yesterday, before flying out, something hit me.”
“Oh, yeah?” I finally located my bike, parked against a tree. Only on a secure campus could you leave a Ducati near a random shaded tree. I could have left it in the parking lot, but I was feeling rebellion brewed by Aivery and exercised it this way. “What?”
“I miss you. That’s when I emailed you—well, that and when I realized tomorrow’s Blakewood’s homecoming. Are you ready?” Her voice raised an octave, expressing her excitement.
“I’m getting there.” I swung my leg over the bike to straddle it.
“What are you doing? Tomorrow’s your last one, guy. I wish I were there. Shit,” she scoffed. “If I’d planned this trip right, I would’ve been there, even if I had to wear a mask.”
I chuckled. “That wouldn’t be necessary, baby girl.”
“So?”
“So, what?”
“What are you doing?”
“Right now or to prepare?” My eyes gazed around the side of the building.
“Right now. Don’t tell me you’re with that little girl,” she gruffed.
I smiled. NormaJean had her way of showing me support. She watched my games on television or recorded them when she couldn’t watch live. She actually came to a few since I’d been at BSU dressed in disguise, sitting in the distance.
“Nah. I just left her when you called though. Right now, I’m about to head back to my apartment and order some food. I’ve got a tutoring session, believe it or not, before I start preparing for the game.”