“We don’t even need the strap for this one,” Marcus told Johnny before flicking his cigarette out onto the driveway.
“You never know,” Johnny shook his head, making sure nothing was in the chamber before tucking it into his waistband, “Where young boy at?”
“Some coach or something wanted to talk with him after the game,” Marcus shrugged, keeping an eye on the backdoor that led into the pool area as the partygoers filtered in and out.
“He flawing on us?” Johnny scoffed, always keeping at least one hand on his piece.
“Young boy would never,” Marcus laughed, “That motherfucker got more heart than half the niggas I did time with.”
“I don’t know,” Johnny tilted his head, “His ass a little green to me.”
“He’s supposed to be green,” Marcus sucked his teeth, “He ain’t the type to send on no dummy mission to crash out or nothing.”
“I guess. What we doing then?”
“Shit, we roll out. This really a two-man anyway.”
…
“Grades aren’t going to be a problem?”
“They shouldn’t be,” Kwame interjected, eagerly anticipating the answer himself.
“No, sir,” Kam let out a dry chuckle, having always been a B-minus student his entire life.
“Your transcript situation is all sorted out with the transfer?” coach Martin continued his line of questioning, almost as if he was going through a mental checklist.
“I just need to retake my Spanish II which I’m doing online right now,” Kam answered, “That’s the only thing that didn’t transfer over.”
“I like your game, son. I really do,” coach Martin explained, “You and Stacy would be a crazy backfield, but we just can’t guarantee you a spot right now until we see how the number situation plays out. I’ve been hearing about you, though, and we’re all excited to potentially have you join us up there in Orlando and be part of something special.”
Kam wasn’t sure how to respond, given the qualifier in coach Martin’s unofficial offer-that-wasn’t-an-offer, “Thanks, Coach.”
He shook his hand and exchanged contact information before coach Martin moved on to the next player that was waiting for him.
“Justin!” Kam overheard him, “You’ll look really good in that black and gold, man!”
“They’re pretty good at football, right?” Kwame asked once they weren't within earshot, vaguely remembering their ‘national championship’ run from a few seasons ago.
“Not since they moved up,” Kam answered, “Ain’t like they offered me, anyway.”
“Sounded like an offer to me,” Kwame refuted, “He didn’t drive all the way here from Orlando to see someone he didn’t want.”
“He came down here to watch Catholic,” Kam scoffed, “He just happened to see me and decided to do that sweet talk sh—thing that coaches do when they’re recruiting, just in case the other hundred players they actually want don’t come.”
“You looked good tonight,” Kwame remained optimistic, “They beat the hell out of you, though.”
Kam winced as Kwame touched one of the several bruises on his face, all administered by his own team.
…
“They stomped out the homie over a bitch?”
“Keep laughing,” Kam did his best to stifle his own laughter, “It’s y’all fault I got fucked up.”
“I thought you had them hands on you,” Marcus held up both of his fists while he let the blunt dangle on his bottom lip, “Bap, bap, I’ve seen you thrown them bitches.”
“It’s fucking three three-hundred-pound niggas on me,” Kam defended himself, “Ain’t no fighting that many big ass niggas.”
“They baby shit soft though,” Johnny interjected, pouring some more drink into Kam’s cup, “We’re going to get you right though, stop by the spot later. Let a couple tender women nurse you back to health.”
Kam wasn’t a big fan of gentlemen’s club but after the past few days, they were a welcomed distraction.
The trio continued to pre-game in Marcus’ driveway, away from his nagging girlfriend who particularly wasn’t fond of Johnny.
“How did the shit go down tonight?” Kam asked, “I was really trying to get out of there, but my pops and them just kept talking and talking.”
“Swiped a couple cards,” Marcus muttered.
“A party seems crazy,” Kam laughed, relieved that his absence didn’t cause any problems, “With all of them motherfuckers around.”
“Everybody drunk and you got a million suspects before they even know we was in the house,” Johnny boasted, “They’re all going to get home, wake up late as fuck tomorrow and we done cashed out the cards, pawned off what we needed to pawn off all before a police report is even filed. By then, that card is in a motherfucking sewer or some shit.”
They returned to drinking in silence, each sip easing the aching pain that was traveling through Kam’s body.
“Yo Kam, why don’t you hit up that white bitch again?” Marcus asked out of nowhere, pausing for a second before they all busted out laughing.
getting into the shit left, right, and center.