First Round Lottery Pick

by Franklin White

Genres: African American; African American Urban

Synopsis

Langston Holiday lives with his no-nonsense mother in the gritty public housing projects of Poindexter Village, better known as "The Vil," after his father abandons them. Without any assistance, his mother is determined to make a man out of Langston—and she's doing a pretty good job. By the end of his senior year, Langston is one of the best high-school basketball players in the nation. That's when he makes the biggest decision of his life: to forgo college and enter the professional ranks. When word hits the streets about Langston's success, his newfound wealth stirs up plenty of envy in the projects, sparking a wave of unthinkable drama and crime. He's being relentlessly pursued by Toy Daniels, a has-been athlete who's determined to sign Langston to his newly formed sports agency. Langston's best friend, Jalen, becomes involved in shady dealings with people who are known for nothing but trouble, and his girlfriend, Tori, is quickly becoming fed up with Langston's wandering ways. Suddenly, Langston doesn't know who he can trust. This gripping novel from bestselling author Franklin White realistically depicts the pitfalls of basketball stardom, when large amounts of money fall into the hands of people who've never known anything but poverty and struggle.

Release date: January 1, 2014

Publisher: Urban Renaissance

Print pages: 272

Sample

Except for the time we lived in a cardboard box, I had spent every day of my life in Poindexter Village. Rumor has it that a long time ago, an old man full of liquor renamed our housing project “The Vil,” and that’s where I grew up. It didn’t take long to realize that drugs, crime, and everything else common to living in poverty was going to be a part of my life.

In The Vil, unemployment was always high, there wasn’t a lot of money for nice things, practically no fathers were ever seen, and young pregnant girls were running around, trying to figure out who the fathers of their unborn kids were.

I was lucky. I stayed away from what the hood had to offer. I had no choice. It was the direction my mother moved me in while she tried to hold down a job. I spent most of my time on the basketball court with the old heads who would let me bounce my plastic ball on the side as they lived out their “Jordan dreams.”

As a teenager all of a sudden, I started to grow like a weed and really begin to enjoy playing basketball. Then I made the AAU team. Next thing you know, I was the star of my high school team and the number one recruit in the nation.

With all I had accomplished, there weren’t many times I could remember walking out our broken, squeaky screen door with a smile on my face while on my way to school. I didn’t when my team won the state championship or when I got selected to play in the all-American game on ESPN, but Friday morning I knew I was showing all the teeth in my mouth, because I had made a decision. I was happy and speaking to anyone who crossed my path without looking out the corner of my eye to see if they meant me any harm as they walked by.

As I walked past the courts I had played on every day since I was four years old, not even all the empty beer cans, used condoms, or broken pint bottles of whiskey could change how I felt. It was hard not to focus on the rim of my first dunk, a thunderous one-handed tomahawk slam right in the face of the self-proclaimed king of courts in The Vil. I damn near broke his arm, and I was only in seventh grade. When I came back down to the ground, everyone stopped and looked at me like I was some type of freak of nature or something. I felt like King Kong. It was a sweet moment that I would never forget.

My memories quickly ceased just as I stepped off the curb into the street. The sound of screeching tires and the front end of a car were much too close to be funny and brought me back to reality.

“Whooo! Did you see that! Them brakes workin’ like a son of a bitch! What’s up, baby? Did you piss yourself or what?” Jalen shouted out at the top of his voice from behind the wheel of his car.

I looked down at his car again, and it was even closer to my body than I thought. “Jalen, I’m goin’ to whup your ass. I still don’t understand why your mother didn’t give you up after birth, with your stupid ass.”

Jalen was my partner in crime. Like a brother, we were joined at the hip, and I trusted him with my life, even though he played too damn much. As usual his music was bumping, and the song “I’m So Hood” was in everyone’s ear.

Jalen slammed his car into park and, in one fluid motion, maneuvered his five feet nine inches, 160 pound frame from under the steering wheel and onto the door. He propped his head into his hand as he leaned on the hood and displayed a wide smile. “Now tell me again. Why yo’ mama named you Langston, son?”

“Don’t worry about my name, fool. You better watch yourself, with your non-driving skills.” I took another glance in his car. “Besides, the only thing you really need to be talking to me about is why my girl is in the car with you.” It was easy for me to notice Tori’s eyes as she sat low in the front seat, bouncing her head to the hard bass. I could spot her anywhere because that’s just how we flowed.

“’Cause, she’s my girl now!” Jalen yelled back over his music.

Tori showed why I was feeling her the way I was. She jumped right in on Jalen. “You lying and your breath stank. Ain’t that the way yo’ mama and them used to say it.” She began to tug and push at Jalen’s passenger door a few times, but no matter how hard she pushed, it wouldn’t open. “Boy, you better let me out this car. What you need to do is let MTV and Xzibit pimp this thing out!”

“Ain’t nobody touching my car. It’s a classic. Give up the respect. Just scoot back then kick out. You know how we do.”

Jalen’s car really was a wreck, but I still loved it. It was bad enough he didn’t have a key and had to start it with a screwdriver underneath the hood some crazy way while someone stepped on the gas when they heard the car crank. Jalen’s car had been our transportation since the first time he got it to run when he wasn’t even supposed to be driving in the ninth grade.

I walked over to his Impala and yanked the car door about three times before it finally opened.

Tori stepped out and quickly reminded me why she was my girl. “What’s up, papi? We stopped by to pick you up, but Reecy told us you were walking today. What’s up with that?”

When Tori put her arm around my waist, I leaned back a bit and peeped her apple bottom stuffed inside her Azzure jeans.

“You better not let his mama hear you call her Reecy. You better school your girl, L.”

“Jalen, would you shut up? My mother only smacks the taste out of your mouth when you call her Reecy. Look, let Tori drive into school so we can chat.”

“Are you crazy? Tori ain’t getting behind the wheel of my whip!”

Tori looked up at me. “Why? Why don’t we all roll together like we always do? You know we don’t have too many days to go anyway before graduation. We have to keep this thing gutter, baby.”

“I need to talk to my boy for a minute.”

“About what?”

“C’mon, Tori. Do this for me, a’ight.”

Tori was disappointed, but it only made her look even better. Her lips were so juicy and sparkling with lip gloss, I wanted to kiss her right then and there. It wasn’t a secret. I had the finest female at East High School. Tori was mixed and stirred up with blackness from her father’s side of the family and some oriental spices from her mother. An easy five feet six inches and weighing no more than 125-pounds, her body was all there, and to top it off, she had a 4.0 grade point average. Not to mention, she was a virgin, and claimed it without any regrets despite the haters.

“Yeah, okay, I’ll drive, but I’m telling you, if this car cuts off on me, I’m leaving it where it stops. Bet that.” Tori walked over to the driver’s side of the car, pushed Jalen out the way, then jumped in and drove off.

Jalen kept a close watch as she rolled down the street. “Ahh, damn! I forgot my smokes.”

“You need a break anyway.”

“Whatever, Langston. I’m telling you, man, if she wrecks my wheels—”

“Chill, man, let’s just walk.”

“You must be trippin’. You got me out here walking on my brand-new Js. What are you so serious for today, out here walking like we back in the day or something ?”

“Because it’s time to get serious.”

“Serious? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m going pro, man. I’m putting my name in the draft.”

“L, you know you can’t play any pro ball until you do one year of college.”

“Forget that, man. I’m talking about overseas. I’m going to do a three-year deal.”

Jalen looked up at me. “Don’t be playing, L. If you kicked game like that, this place would be in straight pandemonium. Don’t you know?”

“Yeah, I know. So they better get ready, ’cause it’s time.”

“Why you change your mind all of a sudden? When I mentioned it after you blasted South for sixty-three points and fifteen rebounds.”

“And twelve assists,” I reminded him. “Don’t forget the dishes, my brother. It makes the player.”

“I know your stats, man. I just want to know how you came to the conclusion of going pro all of a sudden. Playing overseas ain’t no place to fool around with.”

I stopped walking. “Jalen, look at me. Does it look like I’m playing? I mean, why not? All the trades think I should. More pro scouts than college have been out to my games. Trust me, man; I think this is the right thing to do.”

Jalen took a deep breath, almost like he was about to get upset with me. “Aww . . . L, tell me you didn’t sign with that money-grubbing agent.” He stopped and kicked a crack vial out of his way. “I’m so tired of that dude stressing me to get to you.”

“Jalen, what do you take me for, man? I wouldn’t sign with an agent. If I don’t get drafted high enough in their draft, I’m going to Ohio State.”

Jalen didn’t look too pleased with that decision. “Psst! Well, let’s hope you get drafted sky high ’cause Ohio State ain’t never showed no love for b-ballers from this side of town since Granville Waiters.

“It don’t matter.”

“Why?”

“’Cause I’m going to get taken number one anyway.”

“Get out of here. How do you know that?”

“I got a call last night.”

“From who?”

I put my arm around Jalen. “Barcelona, my brother. They say, if I enter their draft, they are taking me número uno, baby!”

Jalen stopped walking again and looked up at me. I think he had tears in his eyes. He turned around and looked back to the courts where we both spent our days as young bucks. No doubt, he went back to the time when we were six-year-olds. I would shoot, and he would ride his bike with one training wheel up and down the court, telling me I could do better.

I had to push him out of his daze. “Man, you all right?”

“Yeah, man, this is crazy. I guess dreams do come true, don’t they?”

“Oh, you ain’t seen nothing yet, ’cause it’s on and poppin’.”

That morning we took our time getting to school. After all, even though I would from time to time sit around and talk Jalen’s ear off about the possibilities of going pro after college, actually having the chance within reach was like waking up in a whole different world. I hadn’t even been drafted yet, and I was beginning to feel like I had even more privilege than just being a high school basketball phenom. It was a good feeling though, none of that throw-your-head-backin-the-sky fakeness. I was just proud that morning of what I was about to accomplish, and Jalen was happy for me too.

“So when you going to announce?” Jalen wanted to know.

“Don’t know. I have to tell Mom, Tori, and Coach first.”

“And your pops, L. You can’t forget about your pops.”

“Look, man, I’m not telling that—”

“Nope. Not even going to let you say it. He needs to hear it before he hears it off the street. It’s only right.”

I looked down at Jalen and knew his Ja Rule-looking, skee-ball, black-smoke-complexion ass was right. I guess it was just the principle of the whole thing. My pops had walked out on my mother without a word of explanation, or a dollar to pay any rent or buy milk, so taking the high road wasn’t going to be easy, even though he had tried to reach out in his own kind of way for the past couple of years.

He wanted to be my father, but I wanted to keep him at bay. I wasn’t feeling that Boyz N the Hood-start-living-and-learning-from-your-father move. He just never seemed to get it, and at that point in my life, I didn’t want to hear anything he had to say. I admit, he spent the time to send sneakers before my games, but I never wore a pair. He sent money, and not once had I ever spent a dime of it. Jalen thought I was insane not letting him in, probably because his father was on lock and he wanted that father-son thing bad.

But I had my reasons and wanted my so-called father to realize he wasn’t buttering up no punk. I had gotten along without him up to this point, and I didn’t want him in my life after he let my mother struggle for years without a word.

Then he had the nerve to just pop up with gifts. Material things never make it right. He could have been a man and sat down and explained to me why he disappeared on us. Tell me why he left her when the rent was due while I was breast-feeding.

I wondered sometimes if he even knew we lived on the stre. . .