The Game

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𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑭𝒊𝒗𝒆 - 𝑽𝒊𝒄𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒖𝒔

Thank God it was Friday. Game day had my stomach doing little flips, but I wasn't about to show it. I showered, moisturized, and beat my face soft — clean brows, a little wing, warm blush, brown gloss. I curled my hair into big waves and let it fall over my shoulders.

Today's fit matched Crestwood colors without screaming spirit week: light-wash high-waist jeans, a cropped white tank, and a red satin jacket that hit just at the waist. I laced up clean white sneakers and kept the jewelry simple like I promised myself — small diamond studs and a thin diamond tennis bracelet. My black quilted crossbody went across my chest and that was that. Fruity perfume — two sprays — and I was out.

The boys' locker room was already loud enough to rattle bolts. I did my usual slide along the wall, trying to be invisible while I lined up water and towels. Being the only girl in there never got less weird, but it was whatever — my daddy was Coach Summers and this was the job.

He finished pacing and clapped once, voice cutting through the noise. "Alright, boys. If we take this one, we're a step closer to regionals. It ain't complicated — play smart, talk on defense, box out, and finish."

A wave of hype rolled through the room — knuckles on lockers, sneakers squeaking, adrenaline everywhere.

"And as Chris always says — "

"Handle business!" they yelled, the walls swallowing the sound and spitting it back.

Way better than that old chant. I couldn't even lie — it hit.

They flooded out toward the court. I was right behind them when a warm hand wrapped around my wrist and tugged. I turned — August Jackson, dimples already loaded.

"What?" I lifted a brow.

"You gon' give me a good-luck kiss?" he asked, smirking like he ordered it off a menu.

"You wish," I laughed, shaking him off.

He slid an arm around my shoulders anyway as we stepped into the noise. "C'mon, sweetheart, I need some magic."

"August, let go. I gotta get to the bench."

"What you need to do is wish me luck in my ear," he said, grin lazy.

I slipped out from under his arm before my face betrayed me. "Good luck, August." I blew him a fake kiss. He caught the air and pressed it to his chest, overdramatic.

I shook my head and went to work — bottles on the bench, bags tucked under, towels stacked. Out in the bleachers, Neilah and her sister Nylah were already arguing over snacks. Nylah smacked the straw out of Neilah's cup; Neilah "gently" popped her in the back of the head. I bit a smile. Those two were a weekly sitcom.

My daddy pulled the boys into one last huddle. Colby — Ja'Colby to everybody else, but Colby to me — jogged over. I leaned in and kissed his cheek for luck, and he grinned so hard his eyes disappeared.

"Aight, y'all know the drill," Daddy said. "Chris — be careful with that leg. Kareem — stop hogging the damn ball. August — if you feel tired, say it. I am not in the mood for your mama's wrath."

"Yes, Coach," August sighed, then looked over at me. "Guess I'll need extra assurance from the water girl tonight."

I cut my eyes at him; the team snickered.

"Oh yeah? How 'bout water girl chokes your pencil-built ass into another coma," I shot back.

He clutched his chest. "See how she talk to me, Coach?"