Game On (7 page)

8

XAVIER

 

X
avier made it to the skating rink and maneuvered through the crowded parking lot. He whipped the Ford into one of two open spaces in the back next to a lamppost. Girls were everywhere, and as soon as they started walking toward the rink's entrance, London was all up on Xavier, like homeboy had put a ring on it.

Dexter didn't say anything, just shook his head and kept his laughter to himself. Lately everything London had been doing was starting to deeply irritate Xavier. The girl was trying too hard to replace Samantha when just being herself would carry more weight with him. She was so lost in Samantha's shadow it was pathetic. To keep it one hundred, nobody could replace a jewel like Sam. She was legitimately one-of-a-kind. The good Lord had indeed treated the world with an angel when he created a girl like her. And now she was in the company of a multimillion-dollar Major League Baseball–playing weasel who probably didn't recognize a good girl from the millions of thirsty groupies that were open to do what it took to be down with him.

Judging from the long line of young people waiting to get into the rink, you would've assumed that they were giving away free Air Jordans up in that camp. The show was on, with scores of teenagers looking to one-up each other on the brand-name-label tip. Cats with their pants sagging turned out in droves. The unusually warm weather for the end of September seemed like it had girls in competition to see who could get away with flexing the most uncovered body parts.

There was a car parked by the entrance, a huge crowd milling around it—a few knucklehead girls had their phones out taking selfies in front. The closer Xavier got, the more he could see the white Rolls-Royce Phantom coupe convertible with the brushed stainless steel hood. He couldn't remember the number of times he'd drooled as he watched the high-profile whip appear on the set of music videos. The friggin' thing was the ultimate status symbol of success. And someday, when he had enough cheese, Xavier had movie-star plans on cashing one of these bad boys out.

“OMG!” shouted London, like Sean “Puffy” Combs or somebody was getting out of the rear. She handed Dexter a cell phone and her small butt surprisingly bulldozed enough people away so she could get to the front of the crowd.

Dexter and Xavier exchanged knowing glances. If London was tripping hard like this over a car, then they knew the little chick was destined to have a gold-digging reputation amongst the future baller crews in the D.

Dex had a look of concern on his face. As he snapped off pictures of London doing everything but kissing the car's grill, he said to Xavier, “If Samantha's in there, then you-know-who probably won't be too far behind.”

Xavier looked over at the car and scratched his chin. “You think this is that clown's ride?”

Dexter rolled his shoulders. “Wouldn't surprise me none. This icebreaker is only for Coleman High students. Do you know anybody else at the school who knows somebody styling with this much cheese?”

“Good point.”

“That is a beautiful car,” said London. “I wonder who owns it.”

Dexter handed London back the phone. He completely ignored her and asked Xavier, “You good?”

Xavier brimmed with confidence. “Homeboy, she gotta make it do what it do. I'm not the type of cat to lose sleep over an ex, you feel me?”

Xavier could miss Dexter with that nonsense. He definitely wasn't buying it. At one time Xavier would've done anything to protect Samantha. Love like that just didn't fade away so quickly. Dexter knew better. He also knew that emotions were like lighting the wick on a single stick of dynamite. It would be just a matter of time before the stuff exploded.

“Samantha, Samantha,” London jealously repeated, like the name was an awful taste in her mouth. “I'm so sick and tired of hearing that girl's name. Excuse me.” She angrily stomped away and went to stand in line.

Xavier could lie to Dexter but not himself. He still had mad love for Samantha, a deep, bottomless love that would never fade. But Samantha had made her decision and it wasn't to stay with him. This was Xavier's last year of high school, and he wasn't about to get in any trouble by slugging it out with a hotshot MLB rookie sensation over a girl—although he wouldn't have minded smashing that fool for the flagrant disrespect he'd shown behind the school at the beginning of Xavier's junior year.

Inside, the music exploded over the skating rink as the floor teemed with activity. The lights were down low and the disco ball slowly spun like the earth on its axis, covering the walls, ceiling, and floor with silvery flakes. Tons of skaters were rocking, getting it in, roll-bouncing around on the floor to Bruno Mars's “Uptown Funk.” The middle of the floor belonged to the elite, those who had no problem artistically expressing themselves by shooting clever tricks and ridiculously breaking it down with off-the-hook dance moves on skates.

As the three of them made their way through the dense crowd, Dexter started clowning around.

He had a hand over his nose, not to mention the task of trying to talk over the music. “Every time I come in this joint it smells like corn chips, stank sweat socks, and funky feet.”

“There you go,” said Xavier, laughing. He looked over Dex's shoulder and saw Samantha and her entire crew sitting in seats around the concession stand. He'd spat that craziness out of his mouth to Dexter earlier about not tripping if he saw her—that was until he saw Sean all up in her face.

Oh yeah, he was boiling. Jealousy swelled inside Xavier, like homeboy was about to go all Dr. Bruce Banner with it and rip through his clothes to turn into the ghetto version of the Incredible Hulk.

Things just got real.

9

SAMANTHA

 

S
ean Desmond was everything Xavier wasn't—he had a huge ego, was super arrogant, and also had loads of cash to burn. And though those things weren't super appealing to her, Samantha had to admit that it was refreshing to be out with somebody she didn't have to worry would be riddled by bullets. It was so much unlike an outing with Xavier. Her father had been on her case hard about giving Sean Desmond an opportunity. His constant badgering was wearing her down. So she was happy to be out and enjoying time with friends.

Of course Samantha would check her girl Tracy for meddling in her affairs later. The nosy heffa had seen Sean at Oakland Mall and invited him to the icebreaker. Sure, the event was for students only, but nobody could turn down a guy like Sean Desmond. He played for the hometown team, the Detroit Tigers, so he had no problem getting in. He was a rookie phenom and Detroit's newest media darling who had been given the key to the city.

Samantha and Sean were sitting at a booth by themselves. Tracy and Jennifer were all up on two of Sean's boys at the booth behind them. To keep autograph-hounding fans away from them, Sean had positioned four huge bodyguards around their area who looked like muscle-bound giant rock creatures. Sean's two boys, Ozzie and Cash, sitting with her friends looked grimy, thuggish—just the kind of men Tracy admired. They looked hot and a little gangsta with their expensive clothing and the tons of jewelry they were rocking.

“So tell me, baby,” Sean said, smiling devilishly, staring into her eyes from across the booth. “Why aren't you skating?”

The music was tough to talk over, but Samantha smiled and answered, “Too crowded on the floor, just look out there.”

The sheer volume of people on the floor was making it difficult for some to negotiate the curves, and as a result, a lot of skaters were left on the seats of their pants.

Sean's wardrobe was devoid of flair—nothing extravagant, a basic cotton Detroit Tigers short-sleeve shirt, cargo pants, sneakers. The only thing of value on his person was an expensive jewel-encrusted custom Rolex watch and Gucci sunglasses.

He smiled. “Thanks for the invitation, though. Glad to see you coming out of your shell, baby.”

“Sean, I didn't invite you. Tracy did.”

“I know that, but you wanted me to come. I could see that in your eyes. I'm the man of your dreams, Samantha—a good-looking stud who just so happens to play shortstop for the Detroit Tigers, and one day, I'll be a Hall of Famer.”

Samantha didn't look impressed. “Congratulations on all your success, Sean. I'm happy for you.”

“Baby, let's stop playing games. I want you to be a part of my team.”

“Your team?”

“I've had an amazing season—I'm a shoo-in for rookie of the year. The Tigers are at the top of our division and we're headed to the playoffs. Sportswriters are saying that we can win it all. Just signed a multimillion-dollar deal with an energy drink company and my agent is in negotiations to use my face to sell sandwiches. With the right lady behind me, there's no stopping me.”

“By your side?”

“Huh?” Sean asked, dumbfounded.

Samantha repeated, “
The right lady
should be by your side. Not standing behind you.”

Sean totally ignored her. “Didn't we have fun at Disney World?”

Samantha folded her arms. “My father invited you.”

“But answer the question. Didn't we have fun?”

“One: you were too busy signing autographs, and two: you were on the phone talking to your agent the majority of the time.”

“Only securing the future for us, baby. I don't want you to have to do anything once we're married except raise our family.”

“So my wanting to be a professional dancer would be out the door with you, huh?”

“Like I said, I'm gonna get my grind on so that you won't have to do anything, baby.”

Samantha already knew how Xavier had felt about her dancing professionally. He was encouraging and supportive, and she loved that about him. Sean seemed to be the complete opposite. Selfish. Everything was about him. There was no way she could commit to somebody with this level of arrogance.

Samantha said with attitude, “Who says I'm marrying you?”

The question caught Sean by surprise. He sat back in his seat with a stupid little look on his face.

Samantha was about to say something else when her attention was diverted by a girl with a gorgeous complexion who looked vaguely familiar. All of a sudden, with a look of terror on her face, she bolted, like someone was hot on her tail.

10

DAKOTA

 

T
he skating rink was jammed tight with people. It was the perfect setup for a little person like Dakota to hide in plain sight. When she'd gotten off the bus, Dakota had every intention of renting a pair of skates and having some fun. Her plans had gotten kicked to the curve because she spotted Bangs and Mouse lurking around. If those two were at the rink, then the other clowns couldn't be too far behind. The grim looks on their faces suggested that they were here for more destructive reasons. Until Xavier arrived, Dakota would keep a low profile.

Since her attack, Dakota's instinct for survival had kept her out of her regularly scheduled lunch period. The library had become her new sanctuary. Inside, amongst the shelves and dusty hardback books, Dakota had found peace. She was merely staying out of the way. Doing what Xavier had suggested. Keeping low-key. Watching where she stepped. Sticking close to well-populated areas inside the school building. Taking other avenues home to avoid further conflict with the SNLG goons. A few times the gang members had come painfully close to nabbing her ass, but somehow, she'd managed to juke them and scurry away. But the efforts to stay safe had consequences, like adding space between her and the man she desired.

And that's why she was here today, checking for her strong, handsome knight. The SNLG girls were dispersed throughout the crowd. So she kept herself mixed into large groups. That was until Dakota saw Mouse glance in her direction. Not knowing if she'd been spotted by the little tire-iron-wielding lunatic pushed Dakota to seek out higher grounds. As she weaved her way through bodies, her heart pounded ferociously against her chest like it was competing with the powerful bass pumping from the surrounding speakers for the title of loudest sound. Dakota was so short that all she could see was a forest of legs in front of her and the same thing when she glanced back to see if she was being followed.

As she swiftly moved past the concession area, Dakota saw four enormous statue-looking brothas standing around a couple of tables like they were protecting the president or somebody. She was moving too fast to be sure, but the person that the men were huddled around looked like that new young rookie from the Detroit Tigers. His face had been all over TV and the newspapers.

Spotting Bangs in a crowd about fifteen feet away caused Dakota to dip into the ladies' restroom. Of course it was clichéd, but it was her only move. She took refuge in the last of five stalls, closed the door behind her, put the lid down on the toilet, and stood in a crouched position, facing forward. As she stood shivering, Dakota couldn't come up with one solid reason why God would allow her to be terrorized like this. She'd always been a good girl. Never hurt a soul. Did what she was supposed to do in school. Brought home straight As. All she wanted to do was make friends and have a normal teenage life. But after the beating she'd taken from the SNLGs, there was no way she was going out like that again without putting up a fight. Although the sleepless nights she'd endured from being clubbed in the shoulder by the iron were gone, a bruise remained, like she would be scarred for life.

When the restroom door opened Dakota's blood ran cold.

Damn!

That's when she'd realized that in her haste to retreat she'd forgotten to lock the stall door. It was too late for that now. There was a small canister nestled in her right pants pocket. She retrieved it and readied it for action. Dakota wasn't sure if whoever was in the restroom was there for relief or drama. It didn't matter, though. She was prepared to take it
there
if necessary. But once the first stall door was kicked in, Dakota wished that she could've turned invisible. They were here for her all right because the second door was kicked in the exact same manner—bam!

The third door sounded—boom!

The fourth one seemed like it had been kicked off its hinges. Dakota drew in a deep, nervous breath, expecting that at any moment her door would be next. Her mind was made up. All she needed to see was the whites of their eyes. The image of her badly beaten body lying helplessly on the restroom floor raced through her head. Butterflies danced around inside her stomach. Because of the weight they were supporting, Dakota's legs began to tremble. But homegirl held tight.

Not this time,
she told herself.
Somebody is about to catch a beat-down at the hands of this little mosquito.

She looked down at the floor, and on the other side of the door, there they were: toes belonging to a badly beaten pair of ladies' Air Jordans. Dakota said a silent prayer.

And then boom! The stall door came crashing in. Dakota didn't hesitate. She raised her right arm and sprayed Mace in Bangs's eyes. Everything happened in a blur. Bangs fell to her knees, screaming like she was losing her mind and intensely rubbing her eyes. Fortunately for Dakota, the SNLG leader had ventured into the restroom without the rest of her girls. Bangs probably wasn't sure if it was Dakota creeping into the restroom or not, so she'd walked in to just scope out the joint. And now she was rolling around on the floor, comically screaming because the Mace had her eyeballs on fire.

Dakota yelled, “Now leave me alone!”

She hurried out of the restroom and left Bangs rolling around on the floor.