He didn’t answer a single one.
His eyes were already locked on the row of bleachers where his people sat.
Meadow saw the ball vanish and swear she blacked out for a second.
She didn’t realize she’d screamed until her throat burned. The kids lost their minds. DJ was jumping up and down on the bench, Karter threw his hat, Mya shrieking at the top of her lungs.
“COACH Z DID IT!”
“That’s my coach!”
“He smoked that White man!” Karter boldly yelled, oblivious to his surroundings.
“Stop yelling,” Meadow hissed, trying to pull them down from standing up on the seats. “They gon’ put us out this rich people section.”
She snatched Karter’s hoodie back over his head. “And don’t be talkin’ crazy. We’re in public.”
“We’re in history,” DJ argued, eyes bright. “Mama said so.”
Their parents laughed and cried behind them.
Lesha had her head bowed and both hands in the air. “Thank you, Jesus,” she repeated over and over, lips trembling. “Thank you for favor. Thank you for my baby.”
Tia was already gone, tears streaming down her face so hard she couldn’t even see. Blain tried to wipe her cheeks with his thumb and failed. “I told you not to wear lashes,” he fussed. “You knew you was gon’ cry.”
“I don’t care,” she bawled. “He did it…he really did it. Oh my God, Meadow…he did it!”
Meadow’s own eyes flooded. Her heart felt too big for her chest. She looked down at the green, as the commentators murmured over replay footage on the big screen.
“And with this putt, Cooks has executed what may be one of the greatest closing rounds we’ve seen in recent years,” one ofthem said. “Regardless of how you feel about his past behavior, there’s no arguing the talent. Cooks showed up.”
“But the question remains,” the other added, “is he the face the league wants? Sponsors want someone marketable, steady. Is Cooks stable enough? Is he polished enough?”
Meadow snapped her head so fast her neck popped. They were close enough that she could see their lips moving behind the booth glass.
She walked right up to the barrier, eyes blazing, cheeks wet. “Say his name,” she barked, loud enough to carry.
The kids froze.
Tia gripped the rail.
The commentators hesitated, glancing toward each other, then out at the crowd like they weren’t sure if they actually heard her.
Meadow didn’t back down. “His name isZaire AhmaudCooks,” she shouted, voice cracking. “SAY HIS NAME!”
Mya had followed Meadow and tugged on her shirt. “Yeah! Say it!”
“Zaire Cooks!” Karter echoed, hands cupped around his mouth.
DJ joined in. “Stop bein’ weird! Say his whole name!”
The people around them broke into laughter. A few Black folks chimed in, repeating his name, clapping along, pushing the energy forward.
The commentators’ smiles grew strained.
Finally, with millions watching, one of them cleared his throat and forced it out.
“Zaire Cooks,” he announced, begrudgingly. “Zaire Cooks is the Sovereign Classic champion.”
