The late afternoon sun dipped low over Pinehill, casting long shadows across the cracked asphalt court. Faded white lines barely clung to the surface, but nobody cared. Not when Jaden "Silk" Hunter had the ball in his hands.
"Yo, Jaden! You gonna show us or what?" someone called from the sideline.
Jaden smirked, spinning the basketball effortlessly on his index finger. His gold chain glinted in the sun as he surveyed the court. Opposite him stood Dante, a local bruiser twice Jaden's size, all muscle and mean mug.
"Relax, big man," Jaden said, his voice carrying the confidence of a player who knew exactly what he was about to do. "Y'all came here to see a show, right? Let me lace y'all up real quick."
The crowd erupted into whistles and hollers. Kids perched on rusted fences, older teens leaned against broken poles, and a few parents stood off to the side, arms crossed but eyes glued to the game. Pinehill might have been a forgotten town, but on this court, Jaden was royalty.
The ball hit the asphalt with a sharp thwack-thwack-thwack as Jaden dribbled low, his eyes locked onto Dante. His movements were liquid, flowing from one crossover to another so fast they seemed impossible to follow.
"Stay low, Dante!" someone yelled.
But it was already too late. With a wicked flick of his wrist, Jaden sent the ball between Dante's legs, spun around him, and snagged it back on the other side.
"Where you goin', big guy?" Jaden teased as Dante stumbled.
The crowd exploded.
Jaden took two steps, planted his foot near the faded free-throw line, and launched himself into the air. For a moment, everything froze—the crowd, the wind, even the distant hum of traffic. And then, with a thunderous slam, Jaden threw the ball through the rusted hoop.
The rim rattled violently, and the crowd erupted into chaos. Kids screamed, shoes pounded the pavement, and someone from the sideline yelled, "That boy's flyin'!"
Jaden hung on the rim for a second before letting himself drop. He turned to the crowd with his arms wide open, soaking in their adoration.
"Y'all still awake, Pinehill?" he shouted.
"Silk! Silk! Silk!" the crowd chanted, his nickname echoing through the small park.
But not everyone was cheering.
Near the fence, Marco Reyes, Jaden's best friend, stood with his arms crossed. His smile was tight, and his eyes flickered with something Jaden couldn't quite place.
When the crowd started to thin, Marco walked over. "Man, you gotta stop showing off like that. Someone's gonna break your ankle one day."
Jaden laughed and tossed the ball to Marco. "Come on, bro. You know they love it. Besides, who's stopping me? You?"
Marco shook his head, a ghost of a smile creeping onto his face. "Nah, not me. But one of these days, someone's gonna take that crown off your head."
Jaden threw an arm around Marco's shoulder as they walked off the court. "Let 'em try. Ain't nobody in Pinehill takin' me down."
The two made their way out of the park, past peeling murals and graffiti-covered walls. Pinehill had seen better days, but it was home.
---
The Hunter apartment was small, two rooms stacked over a corner laundromat. The smell of detergent and fabric softener filled the air as Jaden walked inside.
His mother, Angela Hunter, stood at the stove, stirring a pot of stew. Her apron was stained, her hair pulled back in a loose bun.
"Boy, you smell like sweat and asphalt," she said without turning around.
Jaden grinned, dropped his backpack near the door, and leaned against the counter. "That's the smell of hard work, Ma."
Angela turned and gave him a look that could stop a freight train. "Don't sass me, Jaden. Go wash up before you sit at my table."
"Yes, ma'am," he said with mock seriousness, saluting her before disappearing into the bathroom.
Dinner was quiet at first. The stew was hot, and the cornbread was fresh. Jaden ate like he hadn't seen food in days, and Angela just watched him with tired but warm eyes.
"Jaden," she said softly, breaking the silence.
He looked up, a piece of cornbread halfway to his mouth. "What's up, Ma?"
She hesitated, her hands wringing together. "I got a call today. From a school. Ironwood Academy."
The name hit Jaden like a truck. He'd heard of Ironwood—everyone in the basketball world had. They weren't just a school; they were a factory for champions.
"They… they said they've been watching you. From those videos Marco's been posting online. They want you, Jaden. A full scholarship."
The spoon fell from Jaden's hand, clattering against the bowl. His heart hammered in his chest.
"Ironwood?" he whispered.
Angela nodded, her eyes glistening. "But it's far, Jaden. You'd have to leave Pinehill. Leave me."
The weight of it all pressed down on him. Ironwood was a dream, a one-way ticket out of Pinehill. But his mom… his home…
"Ma, this is it. This is the chance. You know what this means, right? This is—"
"I know what it means, baby," Angela said, her voice cracking. "But I just… I just want to make sure it's what you want."
Jaden's eyes burned, but he blinked away the tears. He couldn't let her see him like that.
"I want this, Ma. I need this."
Angela reached across the table and took his hand, squeezing it tight. "Then you go, Jaden. You go and you show them who you are. You hear me? You show them."
He nodded, his throat too tight to speak.
That night, Jaden sat by the small window in his room, staring out at the dim glow of the streetlights. Pinehill's cracked courts and empty alleys stretched into the distance.
This was home.
But Ironwood Academy was the future.
And he wasn't going to waste this chance.