Their massive luxury farmhouse was perfection. My father always sought the best of everything, while my mother took it all in.My parents made sure I had a good life, and in return, I was, to an extent, the perfect daughter. While around them, I was sweet Phoebe. The girl who won endless trophies by playing Polo. I was the horse whisperer who knew how to tame horses with just my presence, even the wildest ones. I held good grades and kept trouble away from my parents for the most part. However, beneath all that, I was different, and that was what Syior couldn’t understand, no matter how hard he tried.
Although Syior and I did have sex on occasion, he was more like a friend. I considered him number one. I met him the first night I decided to sneak out in my junior year of high school. I heard so many stories about what happened on the East End of town that I wanted to see for myself. I went to a private school on the opposite side, where the more affluent people lived in Covana.
The handful of Black kids who went there were just like me: searching for the side we should have been on all along. However, we were different. Our music was different, the way we talked, and how we carried ourselves.
This was until I went to the other side. Small things about me started to change, like the use of the wordNigga,or how I articulated my sentences. It was like another world, and I enjoyed it for the most part. Syior turned me on to a lot, but the one thing he tried to change was my image, or at least the one I portrayed outside of my parents’ presence. He was the epitome of what most would call a hood nigga. He ran the East End. His boys ran the projects while he sat back and collected. He and I weren’t a couple, so he fucked with other girls when I wasn’t around, and I understood, but when we were together, it was just that—us. With me, he showed a soft side and didn’t hold back with his words, and that was what I liked about him. What was understood didn’t need to be explained.
The sex was damn near perfection, and I couldn’t complain. However, there were things about me that he still didn’t know eventhree years later. Even though I didn’t owe him an explanation, I knew at some point I would have to lay all my cards on the table because he wasn’t my only one. I was like a fucked-up piece of art. There were parts of me that made sense and other parts that didn’t even seem like they belonged. Syior thought he knew me so well, like he could read me like a book. In his eyes, I was some girl who looked Black on the outside but was trying to be something I wasn’t. It was as if I couldn’t be myself in a space with people who looked like me. Okay, so I liked a little rock music and wore dark colors, but it didn’t make me any less Black. I was simply finding my place and where I belonged, and that was why I chose Toussaint State University. It was a place where I felt I could flourish among my people. However, I was mistaken, because all they did was judge me. I could have easily transferred to a different school, but I figured that since I made it through my freshman year, I could push for the next three years.
CHAPTER TWO
My head fell back as the doctor moved my ankle from left to right. I wanted to fake it as if the gnawing pain didn’t exist, but it did.
“Ah shit!”I yelled.
I lifted my head to see the worried look on my coach's face. He ran his hand slowly down his face as he halted on his jaw. “What does this mean?” he mumbled.
The doctor looked at him with uncertainty. “Well, it means more recovery time and less court time.”
I knew things were fucked up when that white boy stomped on my ankle. This was my dream, something I prided myself on. I worked hard to get here... only to be told a nigga couldn’t play. Over the last two years, I’d had scouts come just to see me, and now, in the most critical moments of my basketball career, I couldn’t even play. March Madness was coming up, and that was when things got real, and I was stuck with a fucking boot on my shit.
Even though my brothers never said it, I knew they were counting on me. Hell, I was counting on myself. In my eyes, it was ball or nothing. The doctor wrapped my ankle and put the boot back on. He scribbled some shit on his notepad.
“I’m going to refill your pain medication. The best advice I can give you, Mr. Keyton, is to rest up. Don’t do anything vigorous, and in due time, you will be back on the court,” he said as he ripped the paper off and handed it to me.
My coach reached out to me to help me off the table, but I shook him off. I was angry, agitated, and fucking embarrassed. I still hadn’t shared with him how this injury had truly happened. I stood from the table as I damn near hopped my way out of the room.
“Xavier, I think the doctor is right. You need to rest up. Yes, we can use you for the last part of the season, but it doesn’t mean this is the end. When you come back, you just have to come back strong,” he said after we had exited the building.
I stopped walking to look at him. “You know, it’s easy for you to say that. In order for Black boys like me to make the league, especially coming from an HBCU, we have to work harder and put in more work to show them that coming from a Black university makes us no less worthy than those coming from a D-1 school. The last thing I want is to end up like you: a fucking coach,” I told him as I made toward the car.
The spring semester was just about to start, and I was already ready for it to be over. It was crazy how I started out as a healthy athlete, but now I was seen as a player whose chances of getting more injuries were high. My brothers had been asking when I would return to the court so they could come to watch me play, and I had given them excuse after excuse, but I knew I couldn’t do it much longer. Pulling off a sprain was one thing, but a fucking fracture was completely different.
Dio helped me by bringing me to my appointment, and that in itself was a lot. I missed riding my bike, being able to do some shit on my own.
“I see you’re still stuck in the boot. Damn, my nigga. What they say?” he asked as he took off as soon as I closedthe door.
I glanced out the window, trying to figure out why this shit was happening to me. “Talking about a nigga got to sit the rest of the season out. How am I supposed to do that?”
He laughed. “Easy. Sit out. Look, I know you have this notion that basketball is the end-all, be-all, but have you ever thought about what would happen if you didn’t make it? I mean, shit, we’re going to look out for you in the Zoo, but then what?”
“Okay, Smarty-fucking-Arty.”
He shrugged. “Call it what you want. It’s your life, not mine. Shit, look at it like it’s a break. Just know when you do step back on the court, you’ve got some shit to prove, and go ham. In the meantime, get you a girl. What happened to Dark and Lovely? What’s her name?”
I laughed hard as hell. “Nigga, her name is Phoebe, and I don’t know. Haven’t got to know her yet.”
“You got plenty of time. Figure your shit out. I got my own problems to worry about,” he said as he pulled as close as he could to my dorms. “Look, fuck what everyone else thinks. At the end of the day, it’s your life. Not your brothers’, not the coach’s, not the Zoo’s, or a bitch’s.”
His bringing up my brothers did nothing but make me think more about the situation. I tried to keep my issues away from my brother Mison because he was on the road to recovery, not just from being hit by a car, but also toward his sobriety.
Jalen was understanding, but I didn’t want him to worry about me taking care of myself. He was already doing enough and had a future of his own. His girl went to TSU, and I was sure he was trying to create some form of stability for both of them.
Being part of the Zoo was a blessing because having a hand-picked family to have my back when I needed felt good at times. However, it wasn’t their responsibility to cater to my needs, so I understood where he was coming from. I needed to figure this shitout. I was on a full scholarship, so I knew I was cool with that, but being redshirted sucked.
We dapped each other up before I got out. After, what was supposed to be a few-minute walk to my dorm turned into a twenty-minute struggle. When I finally got to the dorms, the halls were full of people, from girls barely wearing any clothes to the niggas being wild because they could. Normally, I would’ve been excited to interact, but I didn’t feel like being bothered.
I moved through the group of people until I got to my room. As soon as I stepped inside and closed the door, I was greeted by one of the football players putting his stuff in the wooden closet.
