The Realest Ever (2 page)

The second
message indicated her oldest brother left a comment on her Facebook page: 
“
Miss you already, girl.  Sad to see you go, but I hope you get bette
r
.”

Kyra’s
last email notified her that her cousin’s fiancé posted a comment on one of the pictures she uploaded: 
“
Damn you fin
e
.”

Kyra frowned
and clicked the message from her cousin’s shifty boyfriend.  After logging into Facebook, she saw the picture she posted and the comment Darryl left.  Kyra only had three pictures on her profile.  She took them all last week at her aunt’s house.  She was wearing the same outfit in all three photos; a tee shirt and jeans with her hair pulled back in a pony tail. 

Two of her pics were close-ups.  The one Darryl liked was a long shot from her knees up.  Kyra had her daughter in her arms, and sh
e offered the camera a big, beautiful smile.  Her shirt wasn’t tucked-in, and her jeans weren’t tight.  Kyra
was
fine, but she didn’t think the photo showed off her curves.  More likely it was her smooth, brown skin, her large eyes and full lips that caught Darryl’s attention.  Or maybe it was her 36 C’s.  Yeah, those babies were an anomaly.  Most girls with a good amount of junk in their trunk had two bee stings up top.  But Kyra had the best of both worlds.

She deleted Darryl’s comment.  A moment later Kyra wished she’d sent her cousin a message, telling her to come check her man. 
Instead she went back to her home page and deleted her brother’s post as well.  She then went to his profile and sent him a personal message:

“
Hey, Duke.  I’m doing alright.  I miss you too.  I had to delete your comment on my page.  You said you hope I get better, but I don’t want anyone to know I was doing bad.  I know I had to leave, but I don’t know if things will be any better down here.  I can’t find a job, and Aunt Ruth is already getting on my nerves.  I know it’s only been a week, but I get scared sometimes, and lonely.  I feel like I don’t got nobody here that care about m
e
.”

Kyra read her message and thought it sounded too depressing. 
Generally the truth is always best, but she didn’t want Duke to worry about her.  She deleted most of her rambling, leaving only the first part.

“
Hey, Duke.  I’m doing alright.  I miss you to
o
.”

She sent the message and then looked through her brother’s pictures
.  He had a lot of them.  A lot of family and friends, pictures of his children and his wife.  A wistful smile spread Kyra’s lips as she clicked away, learning more and more about the social networking site.  Kyra sent friend requests to a dozen people in her brother’s friends list, and then she typed the names of a few of her Arkansas acquaintances and was delighted to see their pictures pop up.

Twenty
minutes in, she was amazed by how many people she could find on Facebook.  There was a hit for just about every person she could think of.  Noticing she was down to her last few minutes on the computer, Kyra switched her focus to Overbrook Meadows connections.  Her spirits were immediately dampened. 

Home was where the pain was, there was no doubt about that. 
But Kyra returned to Overbrook Meadows last week looking for a fresh start.  It was hard to believe that her life in Arkansas was actually
worse
than her early years in Texas, but somehow it was.

Kyra typed the name of
her only
good
memory from childhood and wasn’t surprised she got a hit.  What did surprise her were the sudden goose bumps that sprouted on her arms and a rapid increase in her body temperature.  Kyra took a deep breath, her eyes glued to the computer screen. 

Facebook
had more than ten possible matchesfo
r
Donovan Mitchel
l
.  Most had profile pics on display, so Kyra was able to rule out half of them because they weren’t black.  She ruled out another half because their hometowns didn’t match.  The only Donovan Mitchell listed with Overbrook Meadows as his hometown was at the very top of the list.  Unfortunately Kyra couldn’t verify this one because his profile pic was the Dallas Cowboys logo rather than a photo of himself.

Kyra’s
heartbeats became audible as she clicked on the profile.  She felt like she was having an anxiety attack, but she wasn’t sure why.  This was simply a computer.  He couldn’t see her or even send her a message, if she didn’t want him to.  Even if he could, Kyra didn’t know why she felt unsure of herself.  Back when she knew him, Donovan never made her feel anything but loved.  Donovan was her best friend fifteen years ago.  In fact, they used to refer to each other as brother and sister.  And Kyra had never known a better friend or
person
since then.

She tried to look through his pictures, but Donovan’s profile was set to
private
.  The only pic available was the Cowboy’s logo he offered to strangers.  Kyra clicke
d
Inf
o
and was told that his sex wa
s
Mal
e
.  Beneath that it said,
“
Donovan only shares some information publicall
y
.”  Kyra began to click on everything associated with the profile, but she was blocked at every turn. 

Frustrated
and still inexplicably fretful, Kyra hesitated before she clicked the one button that could lead to unlimited access to Donovan’s photos.  Kyra knew she’d be too embarrassed to answer the first question Donovan would ask her:
What have you been up to?
  But she still didn’t know if this was the right Donovan.  Even if it was, he’d have to ask his hurtful questions over the computer, and he wouldn’t see the pain in Kyra’s eyes if she decided to write him back.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am, but your time is up.”

Kyra looked up at the librarian and nodded.  “Okay, I’m getting off.”

She clicked the
“
Add Frien
d
” button quickly, before she could change her mind, and then she logged out of Facebook and left the computer. 

The boy who had been waiting on her quickly took her seat
.  He wasn’t flirtatious anymore.  He pretended not to see her at all, which was just fine with Kyra.  She noticed a lot of men were doing that these days.  They saw her face and her body and smiled, and then they saw Quinell and Kat and Kyra’s less than trendy clothes, and they looked away.

She went to the children’s area and took a seat on one of the way-too-little chairs parked under Quinell’s table.  He looked up from his book.

“We finna go?”

“No, the bus doesn’t come ’til five-twenty,” Kyra said.

“Can I check this book out?” Quinell asked.

“I think you need to find a book with more words in it,” Kyra suggested.

Kat began to stir in her arms.  Kyra shuffled through a large bag she toted and found her sippy-cup.  The toddler took the drink graciously, and Quinell got up to find a book his mother would approve of.  Kyra checked her watch and rose to her feet, in search of a book to keep her mind occupied for the next thirty minutes. 

She couldn’t wait for the day when she was no longer dependent on public transportation.  But as far as waits go, the library was one of the best places to be.

≈≈≈≈≈≈≈

Twenty miles away, on Finley High School’s football field, Coach Donovan Lucas Mitchell was wrapping up a light workout with his varsity team, The Mad Stallions.  Their season opener wasn’t for two weeks, but Donovan already saw serious
deficits in his 26 member squad.  Most of these problems would not be solved before their first game, and Donovan doubted if he could fix his team before their season ended in November. 

You can mold a talented player into an even better athlete, but
you can’t turn a so-so player into the next Emmett Smith – not in just one season anyway.  Donovan’s team wasn’t
all
bad.  But he only had two bonafide stars on offense.  Neither of his stars was in the quarterback or running back positions.  He had an awesome wide receiver who was in for a bad year because there wasn’t enough talent to get him the ball.  But such is life. 

The date
was Thursday, August 14
th
.  The blistering days of June and July were behind them, but the temperatures in north Texas would remain in the mid to high nineties until the end of October.  Donovan’s team was running a simple back-pedal/shuffle/break drill (without pads), but they had been working out for over an hour, and most of them were drenched with sweat.  Donovan brought a whistle to his mouth and blew a short, quick bleat to signal the end of today’s practice.

“That’s it,
fellas.  Pack it up!”

Fifty-two grateful eyeballs rolled in his direction, and
the young men immediately began to scramble, some heading for the Gatorade table, others grabbing equipment.  Most of them stayed where they were, bent over with their hands on their knees, sucking in air like a fish out of water.

“I know y’all not tired,” Donovan said as he approached them.  “We didn’t do nothing today.  You don’t even have your helmets on.”

“Yes we did do something,” a junior named Kevin Willard gasped.  His face was slick with perspiration.  His beat up sneakers had seen better days.  “It’s hot out here, Coach.  Why can’t we practice in the gym?”

“Go get something to drink,” Donovan told him.  “Your mama will have a fit if you pass out on this field.”

“My mama wanna know when you gon’ call her,” Kevin said as he headed for the refreshments.  “She starting to think you don’t like her.”

“He
don’t
like her,” another knucklehead named Calvin said.  He was a burly running back who was about to get converted into a fullback if he couldn’t lose 15 pounds during the season.  “He like Miss Murphy, don’t you Coach?”

M
iss Murphy was hands-down the best looking teacher at Finley High.  She was fair-skinned with a long weave and an awesome wardrobe and one of the best asses known to man.  She wasn’t an exceptional instructor, but students paid attention when she talked – especially the boys.  When Miss Murphy offered after-school tutoring, her classroom was completely full.  Even some of Donovan’s players tried to weasel out of practice sometimes so they could get some extra learning from Miss Murphy.

“You and
Miss Murphy getting married, right, Coach?” another student named Victor asked with a grin. 

Donovan shook his head at the kids clamoring around him, but he was smiling, too.  In addition to coaching the varsity football team, Donovan taught social studies to juniors and seniors. 
He was an imposing figure, whether he had chalk or a football in hand.  Donovan stood six-foot-four with 231 pounds stacked pleasingly on his frame.  In his football days, Donovan played defensive end.  It was his job to stuff running plays and sack the quarterback.  And he was good at it.

Donovan was a little slimmer now, but still in excellent shape.  He was
unofficially crowned the most handsome male teacher at the school, and with Miss Murphy being the most attractive single female, the students assumed they would hook up.  Some of the faculty felt that way, too.

“
Miss Murphy is my
co-worker
,” Donovan told the squad for what felt like the hundredth time.  “That’s all she’ll ever be to me.”

During his social studies class and for most of the
ir time on the football field, Donovan would never allow such friendliness with his students.  But after school and after practice he maintained a mentoring relationship with all of his boys.  They would come to Donovan when they were bullied or if their mother forgot to give them lunch money.  They would talk to Donovan about problems they had at home or trouble on the streets.  The school’s principal often joked that Donovan should get an extra paycheck for being a part-time counselor.

Of course that was never going to happen.

A slight vibration in his front pocket notified Donovan of a new email.  He retrieved his cellphone and stopped cold when he read the message.  His jaw became unhinged as he stared at it, not believing he read it right.  Donovan’s massive chest heaved with a quick intake of air.  He stuffed his phone in his shorts’ pocket and had to fight off an overwhelming urge to sprint to his office in the back of the gym.

“Calvin!  Hurry up and get those coolers packed up
!” Donovan barked.  “You too, Kevin.  Help him with that stuff!  Victor, get my balls off the field!  Help him, Shawn.  Morris, Booker, Quincy, Trey – y’all get those tables folded up and bring them in the gym!”

He clapped his hands loudly.

SMACK!

“Come on!  Get moving!  We gotta
clear this field!”

With that, Donovan could
stay his eager legs no longer.  He began to eat up the field with long strides, without looking back to see if his team was doing what he asked of them.