At-Risk Youth
“Next!”
Royce waited for the student in line in front of him to leave the counselor’s office before stepping into the room himself. With the fall semester of junior year nearing its end, all the juniors’ transcripts were being reviewed to ensure they didn’t need to take any additional courses to be on track to graduate in the next 18 months.
Fortunately for someone like Royce, an athlete, their schedules were always pretty easy to fill with the requirement of having weights in fourth period every semester. The rest of the blocks would just be required courses.
The office was a cozy space, filled with motivational posters, college brochures, self-help guides and a few plants by the window. The counselor that Royce had been assigned to, a younger woman named Ms. Thompson, sat at her desk, reviewing some documents on her computer.
She looked up at Royce. “Come on in.”
Royce sat down, having only spoken to the woman once before, and hoping to limit his future interactions to the final graduation check-in at the end of the current school year – the one when they tell you that you have to go to summer school because you failed parts of the GEE.
“You got your schedule for next semester?” the counselor asked.
He dug into his jacket pocket, pulling out a folded up piece of paper. He flattened it on the desk, brushing out the wrinkles before sliding it over.
“English 3, Business English, Algebra 2, W&C,” she said, reading out the classes. Turning to the computer, she pulled up Royce’s transcript. “You need to take two more science classes. I’d suggest dropping business English for one.”
He shook his head. “I already took two. Life sciences and biology.”
“You need four to go to college.”
“Alright, but I already took two. I don’t need to take any more than that to graduate, right?”
Ms. Thompson turned toward him, sighing, “Even if you don’t intend to try to get into college on your grades alone, it’s probably smart for you to do the same requirements as the kids who are trying to go to college so that you’re prepared when you get there.”
“So, what? I gotta take that AP sh—stuff? That’s what you’re saying?”
“No, you don’t need to take those courses unless you want to. I’m just saying you should probably be ready for the next level. Have you given any thought you where you’d like to go to after you graduate?”
Royce shrugged, annoyed that he was having the same conversation again, but knowing it was a requirement this time. “No. What happens happens.”
The counselor stood up and walked over to the wall of brochures. She grabbed one from a number of stacks, bringing them back to her desk and dropping them in front of Royce. Most of them were for workforce training, jobs such as working offshore, driving big rigs or becoming a mechanic. There was also one for the local community college.
Any university related pamphlets were noticeably absent.
“We can send you to Vo-Tech next year, maybe next semester, I’m not sure how that’ll work with you having weights and conditioning as a requirement since they don’t come back until 2:15 everyday. We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. Any of these interest you?” she asked, waving her hand over the brochures.
“How we get from talking about going to college to talking about being a mechanic? You think I can’t get into college?” Royce asked, a bit of anger seeping into his voice.
Ms. Thompson didn’t even react to the change of his tone, likely having had worst reactions from students at the school given the wide range of home lives for the students.
“You don’t seem to want that so I’m not going to push that. You could work one of these jobs,” she said, pointing to the pamphlets. “Or you could go work at McDonald’s. Or you could turn into the stereotypical at-risk youth, destined for prison or death. Those are pretty much your only options in Houma, I’d say.”
“I ain’t say I didn’t want to go to college, but it’s expensive and I need football to get there. That’s not happening for me, right now,” he said.
“You don’t need football to go to college. You can likely get Pell Grants or other financial aid. Have you taken the ACT or SAT?”
“Why people keep asking me that?”
The young woman shrugged. “Because it’s good to have in your back pocket. I’d suggest you take it. If not, you can think about going to a community college first. Fletcher doesn’t have one, but there are community colleges with football teams.”
Royce laughed. “Yeah, that’s what I want to do. Go play at some community college in the middle of nowhere for two years and hope that I luck up and get to a real school. Might as well get out on the boat for all that.”
“Maybe so. So, are you going to take the two more sciences or not?”
He paused for a moment before he fired back with something sarcastic, realizing that the conversation was at an end.
“I gotta make that call right now?”
“Before the end of the semester, you do. Just bring me your new schedule if you want to change something. If not, come back and sign this one,” she said, holding up the wrinkled piece of paper he’d handed her.
“Bet,” he said, standing up and heading for the door.
“Next!” she yelled to the seven more students sitting in the lobby of the counselors’ suite, waiting to go through the same process.
~~~~~~~~~~
Royce sat on the porch outside his mother’s weathered house, eating from a plate of wings, an Arizona half-and-half tea on the makeshift milk crate table next to him. His posture was relaxed after an afternoon of practice, but he’d been raised to always be aware of your surroundings, so his eyes were keenly observant of what was happening up and down the street before him.
The last vestiges of the late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the houses and the young men hanging out on the corner just a couple hundred feet up the road.
Royce only vaguely knew them. The younger brothers of guys that used to hang out with Reg before Reg, well, became who Reg was now. Their brothers had either been locked up or moved to the City, Thibodaux or Morgan City. Mostly for jobs, on and off the books.
In the distance, he heard the sound of rapidly accelerating cars and tires screeching. At first, it was only coming from one direction and then another.
Wiping his fingers on his shirt, Royce closed the box of wings and set it down on the old, wooden boards of the porch. He took a sip from his drink before finishing off the rest of it.
A second group of young men suddenly sprinted past, their faces etched with fear and desperation as the wail of sirens pierced the stillness of the street. The group that had been on the corner hesitated as multiple Houma Police Department cruisers tore down the street.
The first group scattered as cops spilled out of their cars to give chase. Despite the chaos, Royce remained seated, his expression one of indifference. It was a sweep. He’d seen the exact scene play out many times before, a recurring drama in that part of town.
There was only one problem with his being outside when it happened.
One of the boys ran toward Royce as a cop followed behind him. Royce didn’t move but cut his eyes toward the fence on the side of the house. The boy saw the hint and jumped the outside fence to get in the yard before jumping the fence Royce had looked at to get into the backyard.
The cop tried to jump the first fence and fell. Getting on his radio, he called in backup to catch the young man on the next street.
The officer looked up at Royce after brushing his uniform off. “Where the drugs?”
Royce looked at the cop, remaining impassive, before nodding to the box of food at his feet. “I’m just sitting outside eating, officer.”
“Get up. Put your hands on top your head and don’t do anything stupid.”
Royce did as he was told, not wanting to catch a few jabs and elbows from an overzealous cop mad that he’d been made to look foolish, thanks to being unathletic at best and obese at worst.
The cop roughly grabbed Royce’s wrists, yanking his arms down to handcuff him.
That was also a part of the scene that Royce had seen before. When HPD conducted sweeps, they detained everyone outside. It was a part of life in the area. Either you run inside and look suspicious or get comfortable spending a couple hours with handcuffs on sitting on the curb.
The cop patted him down. “So, where the drugs? You can tell me while you’re over here so they don’t know you a snitch.”
“I was just over here eating.”
The officer kicked the box over, spilling the wings across the porch.
“Eating. Funny guy,” he said, pulling Royce down the porch. What seemed like a couple dozen cops had been bringing back other young men, handcuffed or with their wrists ziptied, to sit on the curb at the intersection of two of the neighborhoods’ streets.
Royce was shoved into a sitting position in a line of twenty or so others. A man next to him, likely in his 30s, an old head, looked at Royce and recognized him.
“Fuck you doing over here?” he asked.
“I was eating,” Royce said.
“Hey, hey!” the man called to the cops standing near a cruiser. When they looked at him, he gestured to Royce. “This lil’ nigga ain’t got nothing on him. He play football, man. Let that man go home.”
“Shut the fuck up,” one cop said.
“Y’all know how this go. Get comfortable,” a second cop said.
Shuffling so less of his weight was on his arms, Royce tried to get as comfortable as possible. He thought back to his conversation with Ms. Thompson earlier in the day.
Maybe living in the middle of nowhere where everyone wasn’t assumed to El Chapo wasn’t the worst idea.
Dying to Live
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16725
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
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Soapy
- Posts: 16397
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 18:42
Dying to Live
Royce is not built for the JUCO grind, he might as well become his brother's NIL handler
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djp73
- Posts: 13141
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 13:42
Dying to Live
Profiling
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16725
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Dying to Live
Stars Don’t Mean Shit
The cheers of the smattering of fans in the stadium filled the air as Royce jogged back to his position, glancing over at the sidelines for any last-minute signals from the coach. He stole a glance toward the scoreboard, showing Destrehan up 28-6 with a few minutes to go in the third quarter. Somehow, Terrebonne had gotten their opponents into a third and long situation, needing a jump start to make the score respectable.
Dropping into his stance, his eyes locked on the quarterback. Sweat trickled down his forehead, but he barely noticed it as he took a few steps forward toward the line of scrimmage.
The quarterback began his cadence, and Royce scanned the offense as players made adjustments. He shifted his weight slightly, preparing to time to the snap. The quarterback called for the ball. Royce exploded forward, shooting the gap between the left guard and tackle. He dipped his shoulder, squeezing through as the two linemen tried to fix the mistake by reaching for him.
He felt that familiar surge of adrenaline as he closed in on the quarterback. The quarterback glanced to his left, eyes widening when he saw Royce bearing down on him. He tried to step back to escape the pocket, but Royce lunged forward, wrapping his arms around him and spinning him down to the turf.
Royce sprung to his feet as his teammates swarmed around him in celebration, but he shoved them away, pointing at the scoreboard before jogging off the field.
…
“It’s not been a good night for Terrebonne’s Romeo Lafitte as he’s brought down the backfield for another loss of yardage.”
…
“Lafitte gets the carry, but there are four Wildcats in the backfield already. He puts the ball on the ground! Fortunately, it’s recovered by the Tigers. Destrehan has been bringing the house all night and this Terrebonne offense has been stuck in neutral since the opening kick.”
…
“Royce Lafitte wrestles Smith down for a short gain, and that’s his seventh tackle of the night.”
…
“Linebacker Royce Lafitte on the stop, but that’s good enough for the Wildcats to get into the redzone for first and goal.”
…
Royce jogged off the field as Coach Anderson sent in the goal line defense with Destrehan having pounded the ball to the one-yard line.
Taking his helmet off, he passed Romeo, standing stoically with his helmet gripped tightly by the facemask in front of him, on the sideline and held his hand out to his brother to dap up. However, Romeo only glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and ignored the gesture.
“Oh, you drove, huh?” Royce said, shoving past Romeo and heading for the bench to take a breather.
Just as he sat down, Destrehan’s band cranked up their fight song for what seemed like the umpteenth time that night as they scored another touchdown.
…
“Detiveaux’s pass falls incomplete and it looks like the Wildcats are preparing to call off the dogs and send in their backups and JV.”
…
“Big sack by Jackson to force the Tigers into another third and impossible.”
…
Romeo stood in the huddle, heart pounding as he listened to Luke call the play. He shook his head, knowing Coach Anderson had dialed up another draw on third and long to play the field position game – despite the team being down 42-6.
The offensive line hadn’t been doing him any favors, and the defense looked revitalized as the starters had given way for the benches to be cleared.
As he lined up in the backfield, surveying the defense, the linebackers crept closer to the line of scrimmage, clearly expecting a run. He expected Luke to check out of the play as he bark the cadence, but he wasn’t so lucky.
The ball was snapped. He took a step forward as if pass blocking before Luke jammed the ball into his midsection. Ahead of him was a wall of red jerseys being shoved back, reaching for defenders leaking through the line.
He planted his foot and tried to cut to the left, hoping to find an escape route. But he only found the back of a lineman. Putting his hand on his back, he tried to bounce the run further outside, but he only found a cornerback bearing down on him.
He tried to spin back to the right, but ran right into a hit, knocking the air from his lungs as the defense swarmed him.
Hitting the ground, he angrily kicked at the linebacker laying on top of him as the Wildcats defenders were peeled off the pile.
The referees had to shepherd him to the sideline once he was to his feet as the Destrehan players shouted trash talk at him.
…
“Back-to-back incomplete passed from Tony Armando getting his first reps as a high school quarterback.”
…
Royce crouched in his stance, eyes scanning the offense as the quarterback shouted out signals to the team. His voice was weak and shaky, nerves clearly getting to someone who’d never been in a football game at that level before.
His heart beat with a steady rhythm, adrenaline attempting to force out the fatigue that he was beginning to feel late in the game.
As the ball was snapped, Royce dropped back into coverage, moving smoothly to his zone. The receivers sprinted downfield as the tight end cut across the middle of the field. Royce kept his head on a swivel, tracking the tight end and drifting to his right to be able to make a break on the ball.
The quarterback’s eyes locked onto the tight end. Royce shifted his weight as he began to release the ball. Exploding forward, Royce jumped the route and cut in front of the tight end to intercept the pass.
He was brought down by the tight end almost immediately as he attempted to reach over Royce’s shoulder to bat the ball down, but Royce had a tight grip on the ball and wasn’t going to let it go.
Jumping to his feet, Royce tossed the ball to a referee and jogged off the field as Coach Anderson shouted for their backups to warm up to finish the last three minutes of the blowout loss.
~~~~~~~~~~
Royce rolled out of bed, rubbing his eyes against the bits of sun streaming in through tattered curtains and cracked blinds. He’d skipped an outing last night after they’d gotten destroyed by Destrehan, being in no mood to party.
Walking into the kitchen, he found Reg behind the stove plating some eggs and bacon.
“You got enough for me to get some?” Royce asked his older brother, surprised at the fact he was cooking at all.
Reg counted the slices of bacon, once and then twice. He eyed Royce for a moment before sliding some of the bacon and some of the eggs back into the skillet. “You could have that right there. And don’t say I ain’t never gave you anything.”
Royce recoiled as Reg passed him, the strong smell of his morning blunt hitting Royce’s nose like a ton of bricks. Once upon a time, Reg tended to have better weed but as he’d gotten older, the quality had taken a nosedive to say the least.
Grabbing two slices of bread, Royce scooped the eggs and bacon onto them and headed into the living room.
Reg was watching the movie “I Got the Hook-Up,” something he’d done hundreds of times at this point. He used to watch it on VHS before transitioning to DVD and now he had it on a hacked Fire stick that they’d gotten from an old head in the neighborhood everyone called Shuffleman.
Sitting down on the floor in front of the coffee table, Royce settled in to eat his sandwich and watch the movie made long before he was born.
That was until Romeo stomped into the kitchen, slamming cabinets and the refrigerator before throwing the pan that Reg had used for the bacon and eggs into the sink.
He walked into the living room to see both Reg and Royce eating.
“Y’all niggas couldn’t leave none for me?” he asked.
“He wouldn’t have gotten shit either if he didn’t get up when he did,” Reg said as he held a fork in one hand and a slice of bacon in the other.
“Bitch ass niggas,” Romeo said, going back in the kitchen to rummage through the cabinets, seemingly on a mission to make as much noise as possible.
Royce tried to ignore it to finish his sandwich, but the noise was quickly getting on his nerves.
“Stop all that fucking noise, bruh. Ma in there sleep,” Royce said between cabinet doors slamming.
Romeo shut one last door before walking into the living room and plopping down on a folding chair in the corner. He crossed his arms over his chest, using one hand to swipe through his phone.
“Nigga, what the fuck you doing all that fucking boodaying for?” Royce asked, annoyed at his brother’s attitude.
“Ain’t no one pouting,” Romeo said.
Royce looked back at Reg. “Look like he pouting to you?”
“It do. Got his lip out and everything,” Reg said, laughing at his own joke. “What’s wrong? Your girl didn’t let you eat her ass or something? I know them white girls like that shit.”
“She ai— Fuck both of y’all. Lame ass niggas,” Romeo said.
“Better a lame ass nigga than a whiny ass nigga,” Royce shot back.
Romeo sat up straight. “They had fucking scouts at the game last night. You wouldn’t understand ‘cause ain’t no one really looking at you like talking about.”
“Yeah, they had scouts there for them motherfuckers on the other side of the field who had you running around in the backfield like a Make-A-Wish kid. You were filling up them boys’ highlight reels for real, for real.”
“Bruh, fuck you. You just hating.”
Royce shook his head. “What I look like hating on someone who had 25 yards on 20 carries? I could’ve did better than that.”
Romeo stood up, standing over Royce. “I’m about tired of you talking all this shit because you not getting recruited. It ain’t my fault you trash.”
“Damn,” Royce said, shoving the last bite of his sandwich in his mouth and brushing his hands on his shorts before standing up as well. “It’s like that, huh?”
“Yeah, it’s like that. You just mad because I’m better than you.”
Royce shoved Romeo, sending him sprawling over the small, battered coffee table in the middle of the room. Reg jumped up out of the way, his plate of eggs and bacon clutched tightly in his hands as he got out of the living room.
Romeo jumped back up to his feet, fists balled.
“Better sit your ass down before I bat the piss out of you, nigga,” Royce said, waving his hand dismissively at his brother.
Romeo lunged forward, his fist connecting with Royce’s jaw, making him stumble back. Royce swung back with a punch of his own, catching Romeo square in the mouth. The force sent Romeo sprawling across the floor, knocking over a lamp and a pile of magazines.
Romeo scrambled to his feet, blood already starting to leak from his lip. He threw a wild punch at Royce, but Royce ducked under it and caught him with a quick, powerful jab to the midsection, doubling Romeo over in pain. A chopping punch sent Romeo back to the floor.
Royce wrapped his arms around Romeo’s waist and all but threw him into the chairs around the kitchen table. Before Romeo could get up, Royce crossed the room and hit him in the jaw once more.
“What the fuck are y’all doin’ in my house?!” their mother shouted as she emerged from her room.
She glanced at Romeo on the floor, wiping blood from his lip before looking back at Royce, who only had light bruising on his jaw. She grabbed a nearby broom and swatted at Royce with it.
“Look at what you did!” she shouted at him as Royce used his hand to smack the broom away before it hit him.
After the third time of the broom hitting his arm, Royce stepped back toward the door to put some distance between them.
“Go on and get the fuck out,” she said, pointing at the door with the broom.
“He started the shit,” Royce said, pointing at his brother.
“You should know better.”
“How shou—You know what? Fuck it.”
Royce grabbed his keys from the hook next to the door, jammed his feet into a pair of slides and walked out of the house, destined for the tried and true method of détente in their family of spending a few hours at Ma Beulah’s house until things cooled down.
The cheers of the smattering of fans in the stadium filled the air as Royce jogged back to his position, glancing over at the sidelines for any last-minute signals from the coach. He stole a glance toward the scoreboard, showing Destrehan up 28-6 with a few minutes to go in the third quarter. Somehow, Terrebonne had gotten their opponents into a third and long situation, needing a jump start to make the score respectable.
Dropping into his stance, his eyes locked on the quarterback. Sweat trickled down his forehead, but he barely noticed it as he took a few steps forward toward the line of scrimmage.
The quarterback began his cadence, and Royce scanned the offense as players made adjustments. He shifted his weight slightly, preparing to time to the snap. The quarterback called for the ball. Royce exploded forward, shooting the gap between the left guard and tackle. He dipped his shoulder, squeezing through as the two linemen tried to fix the mistake by reaching for him.
He felt that familiar surge of adrenaline as he closed in on the quarterback. The quarterback glanced to his left, eyes widening when he saw Royce bearing down on him. He tried to step back to escape the pocket, but Royce lunged forward, wrapping his arms around him and spinning him down to the turf.
Royce sprung to his feet as his teammates swarmed around him in celebration, but he shoved them away, pointing at the scoreboard before jogging off the field.
…
“It’s not been a good night for Terrebonne’s Romeo Lafitte as he’s brought down the backfield for another loss of yardage.”
…
“Lafitte gets the carry, but there are four Wildcats in the backfield already. He puts the ball on the ground! Fortunately, it’s recovered by the Tigers. Destrehan has been bringing the house all night and this Terrebonne offense has been stuck in neutral since the opening kick.”
…
“Royce Lafitte wrestles Smith down for a short gain, and that’s his seventh tackle of the night.”
…
“Linebacker Royce Lafitte on the stop, but that’s good enough for the Wildcats to get into the redzone for first and goal.”
…
Royce jogged off the field as Coach Anderson sent in the goal line defense with Destrehan having pounded the ball to the one-yard line.
Taking his helmet off, he passed Romeo, standing stoically with his helmet gripped tightly by the facemask in front of him, on the sideline and held his hand out to his brother to dap up. However, Romeo only glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and ignored the gesture.
“Oh, you drove, huh?” Royce said, shoving past Romeo and heading for the bench to take a breather.
Just as he sat down, Destrehan’s band cranked up their fight song for what seemed like the umpteenth time that night as they scored another touchdown.
…
“Detiveaux’s pass falls incomplete and it looks like the Wildcats are preparing to call off the dogs and send in their backups and JV.”
…
“Big sack by Jackson to force the Tigers into another third and impossible.”
…
Romeo stood in the huddle, heart pounding as he listened to Luke call the play. He shook his head, knowing Coach Anderson had dialed up another draw on third and long to play the field position game – despite the team being down 42-6.
The offensive line hadn’t been doing him any favors, and the defense looked revitalized as the starters had given way for the benches to be cleared.
As he lined up in the backfield, surveying the defense, the linebackers crept closer to the line of scrimmage, clearly expecting a run. He expected Luke to check out of the play as he bark the cadence, but he wasn’t so lucky.
The ball was snapped. He took a step forward as if pass blocking before Luke jammed the ball into his midsection. Ahead of him was a wall of red jerseys being shoved back, reaching for defenders leaking through the line.
He planted his foot and tried to cut to the left, hoping to find an escape route. But he only found the back of a lineman. Putting his hand on his back, he tried to bounce the run further outside, but he only found a cornerback bearing down on him.
He tried to spin back to the right, but ran right into a hit, knocking the air from his lungs as the defense swarmed him.
Hitting the ground, he angrily kicked at the linebacker laying on top of him as the Wildcats defenders were peeled off the pile.
The referees had to shepherd him to the sideline once he was to his feet as the Destrehan players shouted trash talk at him.
…
“Back-to-back incomplete passed from Tony Armando getting his first reps as a high school quarterback.”
…
Royce crouched in his stance, eyes scanning the offense as the quarterback shouted out signals to the team. His voice was weak and shaky, nerves clearly getting to someone who’d never been in a football game at that level before.
His heart beat with a steady rhythm, adrenaline attempting to force out the fatigue that he was beginning to feel late in the game.
As the ball was snapped, Royce dropped back into coverage, moving smoothly to his zone. The receivers sprinted downfield as the tight end cut across the middle of the field. Royce kept his head on a swivel, tracking the tight end and drifting to his right to be able to make a break on the ball.
The quarterback’s eyes locked onto the tight end. Royce shifted his weight as he began to release the ball. Exploding forward, Royce jumped the route and cut in front of the tight end to intercept the pass.
He was brought down by the tight end almost immediately as he attempted to reach over Royce’s shoulder to bat the ball down, but Royce had a tight grip on the ball and wasn’t going to let it go.
Jumping to his feet, Royce tossed the ball to a referee and jogged off the field as Coach Anderson shouted for their backups to warm up to finish the last three minutes of the blowout loss.
~~~~~~~~~~
Royce rolled out of bed, rubbing his eyes against the bits of sun streaming in through tattered curtains and cracked blinds. He’d skipped an outing last night after they’d gotten destroyed by Destrehan, being in no mood to party.
Walking into the kitchen, he found Reg behind the stove plating some eggs and bacon.
“You got enough for me to get some?” Royce asked his older brother, surprised at the fact he was cooking at all.
Reg counted the slices of bacon, once and then twice. He eyed Royce for a moment before sliding some of the bacon and some of the eggs back into the skillet. “You could have that right there. And don’t say I ain’t never gave you anything.”
Royce recoiled as Reg passed him, the strong smell of his morning blunt hitting Royce’s nose like a ton of bricks. Once upon a time, Reg tended to have better weed but as he’d gotten older, the quality had taken a nosedive to say the least.
Grabbing two slices of bread, Royce scooped the eggs and bacon onto them and headed into the living room.
Reg was watching the movie “I Got the Hook-Up,” something he’d done hundreds of times at this point. He used to watch it on VHS before transitioning to DVD and now he had it on a hacked Fire stick that they’d gotten from an old head in the neighborhood everyone called Shuffleman.
Sitting down on the floor in front of the coffee table, Royce settled in to eat his sandwich and watch the movie made long before he was born.
That was until Romeo stomped into the kitchen, slamming cabinets and the refrigerator before throwing the pan that Reg had used for the bacon and eggs into the sink.
He walked into the living room to see both Reg and Royce eating.
“Y’all niggas couldn’t leave none for me?” he asked.
“He wouldn’t have gotten shit either if he didn’t get up when he did,” Reg said as he held a fork in one hand and a slice of bacon in the other.
“Bitch ass niggas,” Romeo said, going back in the kitchen to rummage through the cabinets, seemingly on a mission to make as much noise as possible.
Royce tried to ignore it to finish his sandwich, but the noise was quickly getting on his nerves.
“Stop all that fucking noise, bruh. Ma in there sleep,” Royce said between cabinet doors slamming.
Romeo shut one last door before walking into the living room and plopping down on a folding chair in the corner. He crossed his arms over his chest, using one hand to swipe through his phone.
“Nigga, what the fuck you doing all that fucking boodaying for?” Royce asked, annoyed at his brother’s attitude.
“Ain’t no one pouting,” Romeo said.
Royce looked back at Reg. “Look like he pouting to you?”
“It do. Got his lip out and everything,” Reg said, laughing at his own joke. “What’s wrong? Your girl didn’t let you eat her ass or something? I know them white girls like that shit.”
“She ai— Fuck both of y’all. Lame ass niggas,” Romeo said.
“Better a lame ass nigga than a whiny ass nigga,” Royce shot back.
Romeo sat up straight. “They had fucking scouts at the game last night. You wouldn’t understand ‘cause ain’t no one really looking at you like talking about.”
“Yeah, they had scouts there for them motherfuckers on the other side of the field who had you running around in the backfield like a Make-A-Wish kid. You were filling up them boys’ highlight reels for real, for real.”
“Bruh, fuck you. You just hating.”
Royce shook his head. “What I look like hating on someone who had 25 yards on 20 carries? I could’ve did better than that.”
Romeo stood up, standing over Royce. “I’m about tired of you talking all this shit because you not getting recruited. It ain’t my fault you trash.”
“Damn,” Royce said, shoving the last bite of his sandwich in his mouth and brushing his hands on his shorts before standing up as well. “It’s like that, huh?”
“Yeah, it’s like that. You just mad because I’m better than you.”
Royce shoved Romeo, sending him sprawling over the small, battered coffee table in the middle of the room. Reg jumped up out of the way, his plate of eggs and bacon clutched tightly in his hands as he got out of the living room.
Romeo jumped back up to his feet, fists balled.
“Better sit your ass down before I bat the piss out of you, nigga,” Royce said, waving his hand dismissively at his brother.
Romeo lunged forward, his fist connecting with Royce’s jaw, making him stumble back. Royce swung back with a punch of his own, catching Romeo square in the mouth. The force sent Romeo sprawling across the floor, knocking over a lamp and a pile of magazines.
Romeo scrambled to his feet, blood already starting to leak from his lip. He threw a wild punch at Royce, but Royce ducked under it and caught him with a quick, powerful jab to the midsection, doubling Romeo over in pain. A chopping punch sent Romeo back to the floor.
Royce wrapped his arms around Romeo’s waist and all but threw him into the chairs around the kitchen table. Before Romeo could get up, Royce crossed the room and hit him in the jaw once more.
“What the fuck are y’all doin’ in my house?!” their mother shouted as she emerged from her room.
She glanced at Romeo on the floor, wiping blood from his lip before looking back at Royce, who only had light bruising on his jaw. She grabbed a nearby broom and swatted at Royce with it.
“Look at what you did!” she shouted at him as Royce used his hand to smack the broom away before it hit him.
After the third time of the broom hitting his arm, Royce stepped back toward the door to put some distance between them.
“Go on and get the fuck out,” she said, pointing at the door with the broom.
“He started the shit,” Royce said, pointing at his brother.
“You should know better.”
“How shou—You know what? Fuck it.”
Royce grabbed his keys from the hook next to the door, jammed his feet into a pair of slides and walked out of the house, destined for the tried and true method of détente in their family of spending a few hours at Ma Beulah’s house until things cooled down.
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Soapy
- Posts: 16397
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 18:42
Dying to Live
Reg a terrible brother lmao nigga ain't even do nothing
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Captain Canada
- Posts: 7749
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Dying to Live
Sheesh, that man Romeo fuckin' up
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chosenone58
- Posts: 4649
- Joined: 28 Nov 2018, 19:06
Dying to Live
Just catching up....
Last chapter...wild shit. But it really be like that. Can't wait to see the Lafitte boys line up across from each other in college.
This young lady is diabolical....
Last chapter...wild shit. But it really be like that. Can't wait to see the Lafitte boys line up across from each other in college.
Creator of Derek Baldwin da Gawd
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djp73
- Posts: 13141
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 13:42
Dying to Live
Brotherly love
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Soapy
- Posts: 16397
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 18:42
Dying to Live
maybe in the prison yardchosenone58 wrote: ↑17 Jul 2024, 16:32Just catching up....This young lady is diabolical....
Last chapter...wild shit. But it really be like that. Can't wait to see the Lafitte boys line up across from each other in college.
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16725
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Dying to Live
He a hype, bruh.
Shine going to his head.
Glad to have you on board, brudda. We’ll see what the future holds for Ro and Rome.chosenone58 wrote: ↑17 Jul 2024, 16:32Just catching up....This young lady is diabolical....
Last chapter...wild shit. But it really be like that. Can't wait to see the Lafitte boys line up across from each other in college.
Ain’t nothing like it.
Anti-Black.