Stormz on the Horizon

Supper From Hell

Sunday

Saturday had come and gone, soon enough it was another hot Sunday in Southern Arabia, Mississippi. The varsity squad pulled out another win on Friday to add to the season's 7-7 record so far. They had little time left to stop fooling around before they had to get in gear for the playoffs, although, Coach Davis preferred they didn't at all. Jabari was ecstatic to just be watching. It would've been nice to say he had a hand in winning the national title as a rookie, but his sanity mattered more. After the game, his ex-team and some of his jv dapped him up and struck up obnoxious banter with him—two things that never happened. It was as if they forgot Damien told all of them not to fuck with him. Obviously they tryna be funny—he thought when it happened. He simply recoiled with uncomfortable laugher at the sudden nice behavior and quickly got on. Why are they all of a sudden trying to disarm him? He thought Quentin would be the FIRST person in line to say something out of the way, but he was overshadowed by everyone else that night it seemed. Not a peep left him. Damien didn't even make eye contact with Jabari. He might've survived that swim in the tub, but he was dead to him.

Oddly enough, on Saturday morning, Jabari woke up to DMs from several of the upperclassman players. He knew who they were, but not like that despite spending the summer together. Some were apart of the herd that was unnecessarily loud and hostile, while the others didn't say too much but weren't that different. Jabari didn't like being around anyone on the team because they were all stupid and ignorant. He didn't talk to them. What could they possibly have to talk about? Ironically enough, the dudes asked him to put them on with any girl from the dolls. It was ironic because all they brag about is pulling bitches. They need my help why?—he wondered. For shits and giggles he interrogated them on why they can't use their own thumbs and hit them. They have vague answers like, "cuz u know them better", "u the ladies man", "u got all the hoes yeen gone share?" One randomly asked, "How u a nigga and get that flexible?" It was the most weird, ignorant shit. Like a bolt out of the blue. He doesn't know what he did to make niggas act so...friendly. If that's the word. He left them on read because their questions and answers didn't deserve responses. They can figure it out. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.

The rest of that day was spent getting ready for the church anniversary. Church consumed him on the weekends, but that's what happens when you're born into the gospel. Choir practice, decorating, and more packed out his only free rest day. Great. It all played out in this early Sunday morning's service. The sanctuary was so full people had to stagger along the stained glass windows. It was becoming a megachurch in actuality. Mount Fellowship always brought out a crowd. It was a smooth service that ended with a luncheon for the congregation around noon. It gave Jabari and his older siblings—who'd just flown in the day before—a couple hours to get themselves together mentally for supper at their grandmother's estate. That's right. Estate. Diamond met up with the Taylors and they headed off to the tranquil country side. It seemed like everyone's relatives lived in the country down here. That's Mississippi for you.

They pulled up into the long, red brick driveway. Diamond gasped at the site of the southern mansion. "Woah, did the house grow the last time I was here?"

"Honestly. Yes. It's that gamble money making her add on more crap," Jabari scoffed.

"Boy, don't start this shit. We just got here, so you better hush." Wendy eyed him through the rear view mirror.

Radijah turned to her little brother in her seat. "She's right Jabari. Can you put it on ice please..."

He rolled his eyes in response.

Her and Hakeem loved bossing him around—he thought. They practically helped raise him considering the circumstances.

Diamond couldn't stop staring at the family home as they got closer. It stood tall, pillars lined the porch, painted ivory white, and even the parlor could be seen poking from the backside. The acres of yardage framed the home with trees and bushes that bloomed everything from daffodils to honeysuckles. She almost didn't realize that this was definitely, a small, former plantation. They finally parked and hopped out of the car, unloading it. They walked up the grand stairs and into the foyer—which screamed vintage black woman of God. This house didn't look like it belonged to a white family from the inside at least.