“Adisservice?”
“This ain’t so much about me as you think. You need to learn some things and you ain’t gon' learn them in that cushy condo in Westwood Angie convinced me to let you buy.”
I shake my head at the thought of my “cushy” condo with a motherfucking yuppie as a tenant. They’d have a perfect view of Century City from the balcony where I used to take shots of 1942 to the head while chopping it up with my friend Cree after visiting Mom.
“You exactly where you need to be,” he adds.
I doubt that. Houston’s not the same place without Mom. The air’s muggier, Mom’s condo is quieter, and their H-town love story doesn’t have that same corny appeal to it. It’s different.
Gus pulls into one of the staff parking lots on campus and my stomach turns.
Lockwood State ain’t shit like UCLA, but walking around and seeing a sea of brown and black faces always makes my turning stomach calm—even if they look at me like an alien half the time.
My hand dangles on the door handle as Pops takes a deep breath. “It’s gonna be a good day. I’m claiming it.”
Yeah, good for him. He’s the respected one. He’s Coach Williams. I might as well be his lackey because the worst thing I lost in this wholethingthose reporters like to yap about was my name. It didn’t matter if I was back at UCLA or here at Lockwood, on both campuses I’m nobody but Ason Williams’ fucked up son.
“Yeah… a’ight,” I mumble, pushing out of the truck.
The heat hits me as soon as my slides touch the cement. It spreads from the ground and climbs up my body so tight it’s suffocating. Sometimes I can’t breathe when I walk outside here and I don’t think it’s the heat that steals my breath.
I toss my backpack over my shoulder and walk off, leaving Pops to collect all the bullshit he totes to practice in this new weird midlife crisis he’s having.
Mom said he’d been having midlife crises before he even hit midlife. There was always someone to mold, a cause that needed his attention, and a game that needed winning. His last crisis was after my suspension. Now he’s going through another. This one’s impulsive and has him doing shit people never expected him to do—like quit his job and move back home.
* * *
“Hollywood!”LaQuan reaches his hand out for me to slap when I walk into the locker room. “The man of few words.”
We lock hands and he wraps me up in one of his extravagant ass handshakes.
Even in the locker room, nobody calls me by my name—I’m Hollywood orCaliif my accent shifts too much.
“What’s the deal, brodie?” I ask.
“You, nigga. You still ain’t fucked with me and we been teammates for two weeks now. You got something against big dudes?”
I snort. “Nah… you know better. I just ride dolo.”
“Man, fuck that dolo, shit! Come fuck with me. I told Coach Williams I’d keep your ass outta trouble.”
I nod and toss my backpack in my locker while his words run together in my head. “Oh, for real?You, keepme, out of trouble?”
LaQuan Jenkins is a center and my neighbor in the locker room. We don’t have shit in common besides our lockers being next to one another and the fact that we been playing ball on the same team for two whole weeks. He’s from Opelousas, has a different handshake for every dude on the team and likes to ask me about the snow bunnies in LA as if I needed a reminder about them.
“I know you older and all mature now but that don’t mean you can’t parlay with us. The baddies still love you.”
My stomach turns again and I regret not throwing my headphones on before I walked into the locker room. “Oh, for sure.”
“I’m for real! We two weeks in and I ain’t seen you out nowhere. I know you gon' be at Splashtown! You gotta be.”
My eyebrows wrinkle. “The water park?”
“No.” He tosses his hands up in frustration. “The last party of the summer.”
“Never heard of it.”
“See! That’s why you need to get up with a big dude like me. I can show you the wild ways of these down south hoes—”
