“Jamari, you don’t think.”

It was what Jamari heard the most, in lectures from his father, or with a fond shake of the head from his mother. He didn’t think it was true, since he thought a lot – everything that came out of his mouth was thought through.   

Fuck, he was thinking right now.   

It was the day before the first day of his junior year, and cycling through the city at dumbass times of the night was him taking advantage of freedoms he knew he wouldn’t have for very long. The wind on his ears was a welcome feeling, like a pat on the back from a friend who knew you were stressed, and the bright darkness of the city soothed parts of him he didn’t know needed to be.    

This would be his first year of varsity. Some of his friends had got there long before he had – Coleman made it to the varsity team last year, becoming their first sophomore football player – but for him, this was his introduction to a team where he wasn’t likely to be their star, no matter what his dad said.    

He kinda wanted it to be that way.   

Jamari let a sigh pass through his lips and heard it get lost among the sounds of his neighborhood, drowned out by the wail of police sirens and the distance bounce of a song someone was blasting through their speakers. It wasn’t quiet by any means, but the streets were empty enough that it was calm. It was beautiful to him — the closest thing he'd get to being away from everything Jamari LaBeau was supposed to be.  

Out here, he was just another guy.  

Not a star player, not an MVP, not the vessel for everyone's hopes and dreams, not a future varsity player — just Mari, someone unimportant.  

He hopped off his bike and caught sight of himself in the window of an empty store — his low-cut fade that was the longest his dad would allow, the slightly crooked nose from a collision with a linebacker in middle school (that kid was way too big to be playing with eighth graders), his thick eyebrows, the broad shoulders hidden under his little sister's boyfriend's hoodie he'd accidentally taken from the laundry. He saw the person he'd been since he showed a talent for football in fourth grade, in check pajama pants and his father’s NFL dreams.  

He wondered how long his dad would lecture him for if he found him here.   

The 7/11 was just around the corner from this store, perched on the edge of 7th and Franklin, with the bored nineteen-year-old cashier who slept on the job deep enough that you could steal a whole shelf if you were quiet. In the entire city, it was one of the only places Jamari felt he could be truly himself.   

Which kinda sucked.   

 He’d walk in, speak in his real accent — the one that was born in Louisiana, the one that his dad said people couldn't understand. He’d buy a pack of Cheetos and a single can of root beer (to offer his sister who he knew knew about his late-night cravings) and cat food for the stray that lived in the gap between the military recruitment center and the liquor store on Redwood Avenue. He’d dap up the cashier, who’d ask him if he would say it again, and if he was ready, he’d tell him he was bisexual.  

Some days it was harder to say than others.  

The cat would always listen to his worries though, and he would comment on how he'd love to take her in, but Nickelback, his dog, would never let him.  

 Tonight, he told the cat about his fears for the year and felt the weight lift off his chest, even as the cat’s weight pressed on his thigh. He stroked her head, “Gwen, I don't know.”

Gwen only mewed back, tilting her head into his touch.  

Sometimes, he wished he was her, tilting his head into someone's hand as they played with his curls, closing his eyes and knowing that when he opened them, they'd still be there.  

He let her go back to her kittens, watching her disappear into the darkness of the alley. She didn’t need to do anything except eat, sleep, and explore, and the closest thing Jamari would ever get to that was these late-night bike rides that only really served to worsen the itch to get out and do something.  

As the sun began to turn the night sky blue, he thought about the year ahead. It would be fine, right?  

Everything would work out.  

He’d miss this quiet version of the city that felt like it was just for him. He’d miss feeding Gwen the cat at dumbass times of the morning. He’d miss being free...  

But it’d be fine.  

Everything was going to work out.

The first week back at school was routine.   

Jazaiah’s Toyota pulled up to Jamari’s house, like usual. Jamari’s dad side-eyed him through the window, lecturing Jamari about making friends on the football team, like usual. Jazaiah blasted Nas and ranted for the millionth time that modern rap will never hold up, like usual.  

Jazaiah went to his homeroom, and Jamari went to his, like usual.  

He got his new schedule from admin, like usual.   

The only thing that wasn’t usual was Apollo and Jazaiah talking about someone who wasn’t Coach Olszewski or Jazaiah’s mom. Instead, they were talking about the new kid - the Asian guy - his basketball opinions, and their theories on where he came from.  

“Nah, he won't just tell us, Jazz,” Apollo said, walking towards Jamari, “Even when Tanner asked him about his old school, he just said that this school is better with, like, no explanation.”  

Jazaiah nodded, his arm resting on Apollo’s shoulders. “Yeah, he didn’t talk that much at all. He just kinda... went along with everything.”  

“Yeah,” Jamari chimed into the conversation, “Ain’t he just get here, though?”  

To him, it made sense that the new kid wouldn’t say much of anything to anyone. It’s not like he’d even been there a day, so why would he start tryna talk about himself to people he doesn’t know?  

“I mean, yeah,” Apollo said, shrugging. Jazaiah’s arm adjusted to accommodate the action.  

Jamari just looked at the two of them – Jazaiah's tall, lanky, lightskin self (he was 6’5 and still growing. Like a bitch.) and Apollo’s thicker, shorter frame, tucked into the crook of Jazaiah’s arm like he’s been there his whole life – and waited.   

“Bro.” Jazaiah said, eyes wide. “He doesn’t know us. Like at all.”  

Apollo just looked up at him like he just realized the moon was round (that was an interesting conversation), and raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, homie.”  

“Nah, nah, nah.” Jazaiah shook his head, which whipped his twists to his head in a way that seemed like it should be painful. “You don’t get what I’m saying! We’re strangers to him - for real, for real.”  

“Shit, yeah.” Apollo stroked his short beard like a Chinese philosopher, but his eyes lit up with something else. “He seemed like... On edge. Like, he isn’t really sure about anything that’s going on.”  

“Holy investigation, Batman!” Jazaiah said sarcastically, punching Apollo disrespectfully in his left pec. He rolled his eyes, and Jamari held in a laugh. “We need to wait and see what his whole... thing is about. Only then can we draw conclusions.”  

Jazaiah pointed a finger to the sky as he talked like he was about to say “um, ackshually” or say something that belongs to the vocabulary of a “smol bean” ass millennial. Jamari laughed quietly at him as Apollo reached over to fold Jazaiah’s finger back down. 

They were close friends, but everyone could tell there's something deeper behind them, whether that be brotherly or them fucking nasty behind the gym. It was, and always had been, easy to see how comfortable they felt around each other, even as they growled each other's names like they were two cowboys and the town wasn't big enough for the both of ’em.  

Sometimes Jamari would lay awake at night and wonder if he could find a connection as genuine and deep as theirs, but he definitely did not enjoy feeling jealous of Jazaiah Walker — even if he could shoot threes and sing.

The two of them bickered all the way to math, punching each other pettily without Apollo moving from under Jazaiah’s arm, and even when Apollo split from them to go to Spanish, Jamari could hear Jazaiah muttering fondly under his breath about how he'd definitely kill that dude one day. 

Math was a lesson he could do in his sleep, so he let his mind wander, thinking about the plays Coach Huber would make them run the first practice of the season. 

He didn't have to think about whether he'd make it on the team — if he didn't, his dad would probably sue the school or something — because he knew he was the best running back they'd had since Micah Brown in ’09. Or at least that's what his dad told him. 

His team hadn't been the strongest all round, but last year, their offense had been pretty much all the high school football world had been talking about, their prospects for the new roster of the East High Hawks. Most of the gossip was about him, Eddie Reyes (quarterback) and Joy Kalawaia (tight-end), and their strong offense — something their varsity team lacked.  

The Hawks of last year had a fucking dogshit season, which meant that his dad now believed that the sustainability of their school pride was directly on the shoulders of one Jamari Edwin LaBeau, and literally no one else. He and Reyes were the QB/RB duo to beat, sure, but Reyes struggled with passing plays, so often, Jamari would find himself playing wide receiver too, which definitely put more pressure on him. He still had last year's juniors to help him out, but he genuinely didn’t know how many of them would make the team again this year, based on their shitty performance last season. Either way, he’d have to pick up the slack. 

Edwin William LaBeau would not rest until his son was an NFL superstar, and Jamari was fucking tired. 

His dad said that he was, as a running back, second to the quarterback, meaning that his duty was to keep up team morale and be a leader. And that meant he couldn’t miss anything that was being put on by a member of the team, at least just to show face, even if he fucking hated that dude, or didn’t want to go.  

He had to be at every party, every team meeting, every request to shoot a couple hoops, even if he was in the middle of something or just fucking tired. 

Jamari’s life had to revolve around football, around his team. He had to decorate his room in a way that his dad approved of “just in case” someone came over and saw that he was a massive comic book nerd who liked anime and could talk for hours about Spider-man. He couldn’t wear his hair any longer than a few inches, otherwise “it wouldn’t fit under his helmet,” never mind the fact that several players in the actual NFL had hair far longer than his and didn’t seem to have a problem. He couldn’t dress the way he wanted or hang out with Jazaiah and Apollo as much as he wanted to because he needed to be around or thinking about the football team at all times. 

In fact, Jamari’s dad didn’t hide the fact that he didn’t like Jazaiah or Apollo. He didn’t like the way Apollo dressed, with a skater-ass style his dad said made him look homeless, and the fact that he was trying to get into music because music “ain’t gonna keep him alive unless he suddenly becomes Jay-Z or Kanye.” He thought Jazaiah was feminine (god knew why), that his hair was too long, and that he was a bad influence because he played basketball.  

Fuck, Jamari’s dad barely liked Jamari. 

He packed his shit up, getting up to head to his next class. The first week would go by quick, and signing up to the team again was his biggest priority. He couldn't afford to think about shit that didn't matter when he had to practice for try-outs and get seniors to respect him.

He couldn't afford to think at all.

He took a deep breath. It would be fine.

Everything would work out.