“They will.”
Every head turned.
Zaire walked across the grass with his club bag slung across his shoulder, blue L.A. hat pulled down low, sweatpants and a fitted tee on. He looked rested. He looked calm. He looked like the kind of man kids clocked even when they pretended not to.
DJ squinted. “Hold on. Ain’t you that one dude?”
Meadow gave them homework every now and then and it always involved watching a tournament so the kids were familiar with Zaire Cooks.
“That one dude?” Karter stepped forward. “That’s him! That’s him for real. You the golfer that be on my Daddy TV.”
“Oh, now y’all like golf,” Meadow mumbled under her breath.
Zaire stopped beside her, giving the group a nod. “What’s up, lil homies?”
The kids gathered around him without waiting for permission. Mya stared, eyes wide. “You famous?”
Zaire shrugged. “Something like that.”
“You rich?” Karter asked.
“Karter,” Meadow called, warning in her tone.
“What?” he protested. “Rich people golf. My uncle said that.”
Zaire chuckled. “Your uncle halfway right, but we changing that. This a rich sport, but it belong to y’all too if you want it.”
Mya frowned. “But they don’t put us on commercials.”
“He was on a Nike commercial,” DJ boasted like he was the one posing for it.
“They will,” Zaire repeated, looking out at the range. “They don’t do it till it make them money. So you beat they kids, beat they favorites, win they trophies…they gon’ have to look at you then.”
The boys stared like he’d just explained something nobody ever had.
Meadow watched him from the side, her chest pulling tight. She’d been trying to tell them the same thing for months. Somehow it sounded different coming from him. It sounded better to her too.
She bumped him with her elbow. “You done hijackin’ my class?”
“You was struggling anyway,” he replied.
The kids oohed.
Meadow put a hand to her chest. “Wow.”
“I’m lying?” he asked, fighting a grin. “Half them kids holding the club like a broom, the other half ready to swing at each other.”
“Because they’re children,” she defended. “You wanna help, Crescent Park, or you wanna stand here and critique from the sidelines?”
Zaire adjusted his bag on his shoulder. “What you need me to do?”
She lifted her chin, trying not to smile. “Pick up a nine iron and get in rotation. Since you outside, you working.”
DJ gasped. “He gon’ teach us for real?”
“You heard her,” Zaire told him. “I work here now.”
Meadow smirked. “You on probation. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
