"INBOUND!"
A deafening shout echoed from the infamous court of The Rose, one of the most famous parks in all of South Chicago, where our story begins. Many games had been played at this very park, and tonight was no different. Sneakers skated across the rough terrain, with three men on each team, distinguished only by their mismatched casual clothes and attire. From the opposing end of the court, a boy emerged. His cheeks flushed with youth, his chocolate skin and almond brown eyes glistened in the blinding floodlights. A shallow breath escaped his mouth as his arm moved in a perpetually repeating motion, pounding the ball down the court.
Gently, step by step, dribble by dribble, he maneuvered himself down the court freely and unrestricted, until he reached the half-court point. A man standing at least six feet tall shrunk under the towering body of the teenage boy. "Pretty tall for a kid. But that don't mean I ain't gonna lock you up."
"Aight, unc, lemme tell you somethin' real quick. I'ma get to the arch, jab left, swing it to my right side, blow past you, pull up, and hit a smooth J for a point. Got all that? Cool." The young man said with utmost confidence in his ability to get a 'bucket'. But what he saw as respecting himself and his abilities, others saw as arrogance. The man standing in front of him could only muster up a scoff before widening his stance.
His arms stretched out to cover the full length of the boy's body, allowing him to latch onto him if he had run anywhere. The boy walked slowly, his dribbles slow and hypnotic. Between the legs, crossover from in front of his body, between, between, cross, behind the back, cross, cross, between. A slow pace had relentlessly grasped hold of the game. Though on the surface, these moves would be perceived as 'flashy' or 'shifty', he performed them with a certain lack of movement. It was as if he didn't want the man to fall for any of the moves he had performed, rather a trick he showed off while making his way down the court. There he stood, at the very peak of the three-point arch. Past this point was where the paint rested. At the area where the three-point line caved inward, two men stood on each side of the court, one on the boy's team and the other not. "Lock in, unc."
The boy couldn't help but crack a smile, knowing it wasn't going to end well for the man in front of him. The man's stance shifted as the boy advanced forward, until he suddenly stopped. As the boy took his last step forward, his right heel slightly scraped against the ground. The tip of his toe skirted across the rugged gravel, yet still determined to advance. "Dammit! That goddamn bastard lied! He's gonna jab right!" The man's eyes lasered in on the boy's feet, who had been shuffling around the court for the past few seconds. He honed in on the fact that he was beginning to shift his weight to his right foot. He had to be one step ahead of the boy, so as a response to this action, he transitioned his body to block off the boy's right side. But before the kid could even make a single move toward the basket, he had raised his left leg. A pathway had formed from the man shifting his body to the right. He stomped his left foot against the ground, gaining enough traction to sprint past this geezer. Everything the boy had done had been read by the man. With a glint of sweat dripping down his forehead, he desperately moved his body to block off that left side. "You little fuckin' shit!!" His teeth ground together, the weight of his body skirted across the ground. "Dumbass."
He spouted that single word through the gaping hole in his head. The teenage boy's elastic legs seamlessly stretched across the court, lanky arms warding off the man attempting to regain control of the game. But it seemed his grasp on the flow of the game had slipped away from him. Now it had fallen into the hands of his opponent. With a furious burst of speed and agility, he swiftly maneuvered down the court until his feet planted themselves inside the paint. It was exhilarating, no matter how many times he repeated it, the sheer bliss that came from dismantling anyone who came up against him. Blood surged through his veins as his heart contracted with an undying vigor for life. The ball reflected upon the concrete floor, then cooped within his palm tightly. A lower stance was taken, the force of his sprint sent spiraling into the ground as he took the last step of his drive. Muscles tensed in his calves, tension built upon his foot and the ground as his departure was imminent. He leaped from the ground, such raw athleticism and explosiveness was something that no one on that court had ever seen before. Someone who soared above the rest, unparalleled, illimitable talent that showed no bounds. "Damn, that kid got..."
"BOUNCE!! BOUNCE!! BOUNCE!!" The deafening roar of an enthralled audience erupted, leaking throughout the confines of a high school gymnasium. Their cheers, happiness, excitement, applause, and even hatred were directed at one person. A boy, so high in the air it almost looked as if he was flying, cut through the wind as his large body inched towards the basket. His arms cocked behind his head, and his mouth spread into a bright grin. A thunderous boom echoed throughout the confines of the gym. The ball had been forcefully slammed into the rim, the force of the collision causing a loud noise to spark. As the boy hung from the rim, the crowd sprang up with joy and envy.
"DEMARIUS 'DEMAR' WALKER FOR A MONSTER JAM TO WIN THE GAME!!" The voice of the announcer emerged from the intercom, having sat on the sideline watching the miraculous play unfold. "I must say, folks, Demar Walker has had a hell of a game. Forty points, eleven rebounds, three blocks, and zero assists. Northside High School wins, 70-57." A buzzer sounded, signaling the end of the game, and with this, Demar landed on his feet following his lengthy hang on the rim.
"STOP PLAYING WITH ME!! I RUN THIS SHIT!" Veins bulged aside Demar's neck, his voice raised to its maximum as he shouted at the top of his lungs so everyone in the entire building could hear him. His team, the opposing team, the fans – everyone would know that he was the best player on the court. Stares of hatred penetrated his skin as the opposing team exited the gym, soaking in their last loss of the season. Though this didn't seem to have any effect on Demar, as he returned to the bench, dapping up his teammates. "Aye, good shit, we finna have an after-party to celebrate us going to state. You comin'?" One of his teammates extended an invitation to the man of the hour, as they clasped hands, he patted Demar on the back. "I'ma be dere, B, tell Jay I'ma see him dere." He responded as he promptly walked past his teammate after they had dapped up. Before he could grab his bags off the bench, a hand reached out to grab his shoulder.
Demar turned his head to be met with the similar face of his father. "Damn, stop doing that shit." He said as he forcefully removed his father's hand from his shoulder, grabbing him by his shoulder was something that his dad had always done. "How 'bout I bust you upside ya head for all dat cussin' you been doin'? Now, I ain't gon' congratulate you like what you just did was good," he continued. "You're a three-star as a sophomore, but if we're really being honest, you're just an athletic guy who wins based on the fact you're two feet taller than everyone else." Demar's father began to criticize him, a little confused on how he had become such a high-ranked prospect while still playing for a public school. He didn't want to tear his son down; he just wanted him to be the best player he could be. But getting his son to see that was going to take some work. "I don't got no time for you to be hatin' on me. They give me the ball, I score, so what's da problem?" Demar turned to back up his bags. "I got a party to get to, so are we done here?" Demar swung his bags onto his shoulder before turning back around to his father, ready to brush past him before his movement was halted.
His father's hand pressed against the boy's chest, pushing him backward. "Son, you're six-eight, can shoot from anywhere on the floor, you can even pass, and you're the bounciest kid on the floor." His father grabbed both of his shoulders, their eyes locked in on each other as this moment displayed utter seriousness. "You still have so many things you need to work on, that's why...that's why I'm sending you to a prep school." His father's words sparked an instant reaction within Demar's body. He pushed his father, causing his father to be sent backpedaling across the court. "What the FUCK are you talking about?! Do you even know how hard I've fucking worked to get where I am? Me and my team, we've been hustling, all goddamn season long just to get to the state championship. And you want me to throw it all away, because you want me to...what? Go to some school and play with some white kids?" Demar was enraged by the mere thought of leaving his team during the time that they needed him the most, they were so close.
"Listen, this school provides better education, a better basketball program, a better team, coaches, and equipment. Everything you could want, they've even won the State Championship a few times in the past. If you really want to become a better player, hell, maybe even a five-star, you need to go to this school." His father pleaded with him.
"Man, forget that, I'm out." Demar rushed out of the gym, leaving his father standing amongst the crowd who quickly flooded out of the gymnasium. He stood there, waiting for his son to return, so that they could talk about his future. Unfortunately, his son never returned.