by Paula Chase
“Wait, hold up.”
He hated how grateful he felt that Rollie stayed seated. Simp crossed one leg over the other and the stupid warm gratefulness spread when Rollie followed along.
“I ain’t mean come off like that,” Simp said. His words sped up like a shot clock was over his head. “But, son, Coach making moves. Real moves.” At Rollie’s confused scowl he whispered, “He sent me on a run with Angel last week.”
Rollie’s wide-eyed surprise was the reaction he’d hoped for. Somewhere in there Rollie still cared.
“He got you running outside the hood?” Rollie whispered.
Simp nodded. “I wanted to tell you but . . . I mean, you ain’t been around a lot.”
He really had wanted to tell Rollie, but there was also a part of him that had liked the secrecy of the run. Liked that Coach Tez trusted him enough to send him on his own. But Rollie’s shoulders seemed to sag as he answered, “It’s all right,” and Simp couldn’t help reassuring him.
“He still down for keeping me and you together.” He parroted their coach’s words: “It’s just a few special runs.”
Rollie’s eyes darted to the doorway. His lips were parted to speak but no words came out. It made Simp want to tell him everything—about how the run worked and about Coach Tez talking about putting Dre on. Before he could say anything, a whistle shrieked. Tez strode across the floor. “Ay, everybody gather ’round and congratulate your new captain.”
Everyone seemed to freeze then, on cue, fell into a small crowd behind their coach as he walked.
Simp scrambled up, unsure where to walk. Was Tez coming toward him?
The only other player behind Simp was Cappy, racing to recover a stray ball. Simp stepped aside to fall in line with his teammates when Tez stopped in front of him.
“Shouldn’t nobody be surprised. Nobody work harder than this dude, right here,” Tez said. He pulled a whistle dangling from a thick silver chain from his pocket. He put it around Simp’s neck. “From day one he been my floor general. He follow orders like a good soldier but also know how to command respect on the floor. Keep putting in that work, Deontae.”
Simp let himself be pulled into Tez’s pound and hug. His teammates clapped it up around them. Slapping his back and congratulating him. He’d made it. No matter what happened after this he would forever be a ’Rauder captain.
Everybody knew that meant he was a trusted soldier repping his team and his hood. ’Rauders All Day.
The sting of tears horrified him. He dipped his head, pretending to adjust the band keeping his locs in place.
Tez’s laugh boomed through the gym. “All right, oun want this little knucklehead think he got give a speech or something.” He slapped Simp on the back. “Start your practice, Captain.”
Simp blew the whistle, hard. “Jump drill,” he said, shouting to purge the welling emotion.
Players scattered and took their place on the court. Rollie whispered his congratulations and gripped Simp’s shoulder as he walked by.
Beaming, Coach Tez gestured to the floor. “They all yours.”
Simp tucked the whistle into his shirt and joined his teammates.
He was captain now. Team first. Hustle hard—on the court and off.
No matter what it took.
Rollie
Rollie didn’t lie a lot. Not with his mouth, anyway. Telling lies always came back on him. Like the time him and Simp had stole a game cartridge from the rec center. They were going to bring it back at the next Open Play night, but Mack, the rec director, had noticed it was missing and alerted the neighborhood.
Rollie had swore to G-ma he had no idea where the game was. She’d gone off about how kids didn’t know no better than to steal from what little they had in their own neighborhood. And by then it was too late to get it back unnoticed.
Since everybody had to sign in to Open Play nights, all Mack had to do was grill everybody on the list. Nobody was about to catch a case for something they didn’t do. Simp had lied smoothly, confident they’d be able to drop the game in the lobby and pretend they’d found it. But Rollie had caved under the pressure. He ended up confessing to Mack and getting suspended from Open Play for a month. Which wasn’t nothing. G-ma wouldn’t let him hang out at the rec for the entire summer, as punishment.
He’d been eight. After that, he kept outright lying to a minimum. The problem was, he’d gotten better at quiet lying. Not saying anything was the same as lying, but sometimes it couldn’t be helped.
Sitting in the gym at the J. Martins pretending he was as hyped as everybody else was a lie. But Rollie desperately wanted it not to be. He willed himself to pretend this was just one big indoor street ball game, so he’d get that electricity back.
All around him, Marauders huddled in different modes of stretch, some with headphones to help get their game face on, others talking loud over the noise of the crowd. The gymnasium was packed. When they’d arrived early that morning, to watch the little boys, the crowd was mainly handfuls of parents and younger siblings who still looked like they had sleep in their eyes.
Rollie had watched the games, amused. The young boys were balling hard, fouling more than they needed to establish who was boss with the rock. Now most of them and their parents remained in the stands to watch the Marauders play the Pumas.
His mother sat with her best friend, Ms. Taylor, just far enough from the official parents’ section to avoid the nonsense. The parents always got too rowdy for her. Yet she was close enough to blend in with her black-and-gold Marauders spirit T.
Simp’s mother, Ms. Niqa, was also there with his brothers. They were already up and down running from the bleachers to the concession stand. Rollie couldn’t understand how she could possibly hear whoever she was talking to on the phone. All he knew was she probably wouldn’t stay the whole game. She never did. Before she disappeared, she usually found a way to leave Simp’s brothers with somebody.
Tai sat deep in conversation with Mila, Sheeda, Mo, and Chrissy at the top bleachers with a bunch of other kids from Pirates Cove.
Half the neighborhood was there.
Of course. It was a big game. The winner of the J. Martins would get the number one seed and get an easy schedule leading to the ’Peake. As long as the ’Rauders were good, the Cove always turned out. And the ’Rauders were always good. The hood love pulsated throughout the gym.
Never to be outdone, Del Rio Crossings fans, blinding in their silver-and-white gear, took up the visitors’ side of the gym. Rollie’s eyes strayed to a group of girls who had designated themselves the official cheerleaders. They insisted on making up new chants every few minutes. When the crowd joined in, they got louder. When the crowd wasn’t feeling the new chant and grew quiet, the girls rolled their eyes and purposely kept the chant going on longer.
The energy in the room was a furious ball of noise and movement. Tez let Simp handle warm-ups while he paced the sidelines taking care of “business” with Coach Monty and people at the score table. It was a circus, in a good way. Rollie laid back in a stretch and closed his eyes, preparing himself to work.
Before things got complicated, he had loved sweating and pushing his body up and down the court for the ’Rauders. Loved the drills and even the contact when it got rough. Loved that his body was so tired after games that when he went to bed his mind was empty enough to hear the beats and melodies playing deep inside him.
He needed that more than ever, right now. As long as he was on the ’Rauders, he needed it to help his music.
As he melted into his stretch, the sounds became pulsing beats behind his lids.
Simp barked, “Two more minutes stretching then hit the shootaround.” His voice came from above Rollie’s head. “Need me stretch out your hammies?”
In answer, Rollie lifted his right leg. Simp towered above him, pressing the leg back gently. “Ready get at ’em?”
“That’s word. It’s mad energy in here,” Rollie said. “I didn’t know Tai and ’nem was coming.
”
“Everybody know what’s up. They ’bout to get a show.” Simp’s eyes narrowed. “I see punk-ass Marcus the captain this year.”
“Hmph,” Rollie said, focused on breathing so his leg wouldn’t tense.
Simp’s eyes stayed fixed across the room. “Ay, yo, why you think Marcus think you wasn’t on the team no more?”
He had no idea what Simp was talking about, then his conversation with Zahveay flashed—a memory based more on his audition beat than whatever Zah had been talking about. “It probably ain’t nothing. He just digging,” Rollie said.
“I mean, let’s say it’s just smack, like you said earlier—” Simp’s face hovered from above as he continued, “Why Marcus send a messenger?”
“Even if Marcus asked him about me, it didn’t mean he told Zah to come ask me,” Rollie said. “Yo, Zah probably like a little girl with a secret. Now he got a reason to say something to Marcus. Marcus probably be, like, man, what you telling me for?”
He laughed at the vision, glad when Simp laughed along. Simp let his leg down and Rollie thrust the other in the air, letting it be pressed until the muscle put up a stop sign.
“You probably right. But, I’m saying, everybody that grin in your face ain’t your boy,” Simp said. He leaned in with more pressure. “Even if you was cool with yo when he lived here, he in Crossings territory now. You can’t be trusting everybody. Let him ride.”
“You know how it get before the ’Peake,” Rollie said, wanting to squash the whole thing. “Everybody be talking much smack. You letting ’em get in your head.”
“Never that,” Simp said defensively before grinning, his fist outstretched. “But if he want know if you still down, let’s show him.”
They bumped fists.
At the blow of the ref’s whistle, the hunger for basketball in Rollie awakened. He put on the face and swag for the role. Nothing else existed as he ran up and down the court, hustling for every point.
Sweat stung his eyes. The crowds roar rang in his ears.
The refs stopped the game twice—once when Coach Tez stepped onto the court complaining about a call and then when a Pumas fan chugged water at a ref for calling a technical foul. Each time, the ref warned that the coaches and fans were out of pocket and would ruin it for the players if they kept it up.
It was a nice speech, wasted on the heated crowd. The noise drowned out the ref’s whistle, and confusion on the floor led to shoving and complaints to the ref that he was missing calls. Number one ranking was at stake—everybody in the gym had the game under a microscope so whoever lost could claim they were robbed.
It was crazy and Rollie loved it. Games were the only time it was about basketball.
He and Simp controlled the pace for the ’Rauders.
Rollie strolled down the court then sped past his defender, passing the ball to Simp who dominated the middle, always prepared to nestle the ball into the net. But the Pumas were ready. The entire game went basket for basket, foul for foul. With thirty seconds left the game was tied.
Coach Tez called a play they’d perfected.
Rollie tossed the ball to J-Roach. The dude defending him, predicting that J-Roach and Rollie would pass it back and forth until they had to shoot, played him hard. There was just enough space between them so dude could claim (barely) he wasn’t touching.
Rollie edged toward him, backing him up. Testing the dude’s willingness to foul him. Rollie was good on the free throw line. He dribbled, eating up as much time as he could. If they scored, he didn’t want to leave any time for the Pumas to tie it back up.
He put his shoulder down, daring to get closer to his defender. If dude was going to foul Rollie, he had to decide now. Either he was going to risk Rollie taking and making a shot or being responsible for Rollie getting on the free throw line to take two. Knowing this, Rollie leaned in, nearly touching dude’s stomach, and the guy threw his hands up and swayed back just enough for Rollie to pull up, pretend to shoot, and pass the ball to Simp.
It took only seconds, but it was enough time for Rollie to see Simp catch the ball out of the air and smash it into the basket. The buzzer, mean and final, signaled the game’s end.
Rollie yelped in victory and ran to Simp. The team huddled around them celebrating. A few Pumas got stuck in the middle and began elbowing their way out.
“Watch out, punk,” Simp said as Marcus angled his elbow at Cappy.
“You watch out, mark,” Marcus said, chin up and ready for the fight.
Rollie placed his hand on Simp’s chest to back him up, as much as he could in the middle of the sweaty bodies. They didn’t need to fight. The refs were known to note it and penalize the teams the next time they played.
It was too late. Rollie was slammed into Simp as more bodies piled out of the stands and onto the floor.
“Yeah, we see y’all at the ’Peake,” a Puma fan, somebody’s uncle or father, snarled in Simp’s face.
“And what?” Simp said, bucking up.
Rollie shifted, rocking on his feet, as they got pushed and shoved. Puma fans yapped at players. ’Rauder fans yapped back. Players pushed to get space. He couldn’t see beyond the few people closing him in. Marcus and Simp were still in each other’s faces, Rollie stuck halfway between them.
“You ain’t nothing, son. Step to me outside this gym,” Marcus said.
“Yeah, all right,” Simp said. “And I’mma bring my knot with me, help you buy some new kicks instead of those raggedy-ass J’s you always rockin’.”
Marcus went headfirst toward Simp, knocking Rollie out of the way.
Cappy grabbed Marcus’s jersey. When Rollie got his footing, the entire team was either pulling a Puma off another teammate or going at one of them. He stood, the high from the game fading and tainted, unsure what to do.
Tez stepped into the fray and shook Cappy and Marcus apart. Within seconds, Pumas’ coach West was beside his player. For a second he looked like he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to help Marcus fight or break it up. When he saw Tez easing Simp back, he did the same with his captain.
Tez slowly walked his players back from the ruckus, raising an eyebrow, touching an arm until they got the message and followed.
The refs, their job done, stood off to the side disapproving. A ’Rauders/Pumas game was exciting, but nobody liked the drama that was part of the package. Eventually, the fans exhausted their bravado. With the tension lifting, Rollie’s joy returned.
He dapped Simp up. “Number one, son.”
Simp grinned. “That’s word.” He nodded at Marcus in the middle of the court getting a hushed talk from his coach. “He can go home mad if he want. Either way, he going home number two.”
He and Simp laughed. On cue Marcus looked over, glaring.
Simp gave him the finger and laughed louder.
Rollie rode off the high for days. He’d be sitting in class and suddenly his body would swell, remembering the wave of the crowd’s love, of his team’s excitement as they rushed Simp after the game. It nourished him and got the juices of his brain flowing. He kept beat to the ’nome so well in his TAG session, Mr. B had wondered if he’d been sneaking into the music room to practice at night.
He wanted to ride the wave forever or at least until his audition.
He threw his gold practice jersey on and smoothed his hair down with a brush. The waves were thick and bushy. Not really long except to his grandmother, who considered anything not freshly cut down to a caesar too long.
Weekly trips to the barbershop were right up there with going to church, to G-ma.
“Unah, don’t be trying to grow those plaits. Be out here looking crazy with those things bushing out your scalp like you a shrub gone wild,” she’d argued when he’d skipped two weeks in a row.
“They locs, not plaits, G-ma. And I’m just trying to get a little fade,” he’d said.
But she’d been insistent and made sure he was at the barbershop the next day.
Little stupid stuff like th
at was a signal to his grandmother that the streets were claiming him. It made what he did for Tez even worse because he was sure if she ever found out, it would give her a heart attack. Not one of those fake “you disappointed me” kind, either. He was convinced she’d keel over from the hurt and embarrassment of him being a hustler.
All the more reason he worked to hide it.
He rubbed some cream in his hands and ran them down his scalp. The hair was only a few days overdue for a cut, but it curled from the cream’s moisture. His brown eyes were wide apart, his nose a small bump in the middle of the space. He stared at himself, in the mirror, looking for signs that the streets had claimed him. He looked like he always did. It was on the inside where he felt different.
And he wasn’t sure what to do about it.
Simp’s voice came from downstairs.
Rollie couldn’t remember the last time he had stopped by so they could walk to practice together. He grabbed his duffel and galloped down the stairs, joining the small circle.
His mother was letting Simp out of a hug. She took a step back, arms folded, ready to get into a conversation. “How you been, Deontae? You staying out of trouble?”
She didn’t mean anything by the question. It was just his mother being . . . a mother. That didn’t stop Simp from looking at Rollie like he was wondering if Rollie had somehow been able to have a conversation about what Simp was doing in the streets without telling on himself. By the time Rollie shrugged his jacket on, the look was gone and all that was left was Simp smiling politely, his top lip mostly covering the platinum cap.
“Yes, ma’am. For real, oun have nobody to hang with since Rollie always be after school.”
Rollie’s mother’s face, the female version of her son, lit up. She rubbed Rollie’s back. “Nothing wrong with staying busy.”
“All right, Ma, we—” Rollie said.
“The school need come up with some more programs like that. It’s good to make y’all think about what you want do with your futures,” she said, on a roll. “I’m glad TAG keeping him off the streets. It even got him out here auditioning for—”