Game On

Book 3: Coleman High

by Calvin Slater

Genres: YA Social Themes

Synopsis

"Gritty yet heartwarming." -- Kirkus Reviews on Lovers & Haters Xavier Hunter hoped his senior year would be bad news-free. His old enemy is finally in lockdown and Xavier is out from under one mad-crazy relationship disaster. And he's cool with his dream girl, Samantha Fox, dating other guys because fair is fair--he hasn't been a saint. But he's not hearing anything good about her new man, Sean. And showing Samantha the truth could be the one game Xavier can't win. . . With graduation and college coming up fast, Samantha has been thinking hard about her future. Maybe she and Xavier have too much baggage to get back together. And Sean is a chance to see things fresh and figure out what she really wants. So she doesn't need Xavier telling jealous lies--especially when the drama he's lighting up could crash and burn their futures for good. . .

Release date: August 25, 2015

Publisher: K-Teen

Print pages: 240

Sample

It was a couple of days before the start of a brand-new school year, and Xavier was kicking back with a few friends who were over for a little backyard celebration. Today was his seventeenth birthday and Noah had given him the thumbs-up to have a birthday party. The good Lord had indeed blessed Noah and his small family over the last two months. With divine help Noah was now working at a top-tier manufacturing plant, making a killing at Dynamic Engines & Axles as a line janitor in Livonia, Michigan. A change of address immediately followed. Noah wanted to move closer to his job, so he packed up the family and rented a bungalow in the city of Redford. Xavier had aggressively fought the move because it would take him quite a few buses to get to school. And he still was holding on to an attitude until Noah had presented him with a car as a birthday gift a few hours ago: keys to a silver 2013 Ford Fusion.

Even though Noah was at work, he’d gotten up early this morning and pulled out the grill. Xavier’s old man wasn’t a five-star chef or anything, but he’d taken his time to grill his oldest some ribs, chicken, steaks, and seafood for the birthday gathering. The backyard was festive—streamers hanging from chain-link fences, colorful balloons, a few folding chairs, tables with lively tablecloths and an assortment of party favors on top. Platters of food sat covered up with tinfoil to discourage insects on the table by a well-manicured back lawn. The garage door held a Happy Birthday, Xavier sign in place.

Being that they had moved into a beautiful neighborhood populated by white folks, Noah warned Xavier of the rules: Keep the noise down, and absolutely no alcohol or loud music of any kind.

Xavier walked out the side door carrying a tinfoil-sealed pan of barbecue chicken. He was dressed in a pair of Levi’s, a navy blue T-shirt with Captain America on the front, and dark blue Chuck Taylors. He and his father had finally arrived at a mutual understanding about the way the urban youth dressed in today’s society. If Xavier could tone down the swag in his wardrobe, then they could have more normal father-son discussions without Noah going all television evangelist on his oldest.

Everybody was over—Xavier’s closest homeboy, Dexter, his partner Linus Flip, Bigstick, Dexter’s girlfriend, Marissa Steel, some chick named Amber Sculley and a few others.

Xavier placed the pan on the table and went to take a seat.

After he had finished eating, his homeboy Dexter stood amongst a small crowd of teenagers. He was an almond color, making his light freckle-sprinkled cheeks highly visible. Dressed in tight-fitting, colorful clothing, Dexter looked like a cockatoo with a plastic cup of fruit punch raised to the sky. “This toast is for my dog.” He glanced at Xavier sitting in a reclining lawn chair by the garage. “Dude’s been there for me since day one, and I’m proud to call him my friend.” Dexter became a little misty-eyed. “X, as we enter into our final year of high school I want to tell you that I love you, homeboy.” Dexter looked at the crowd of his peers. “Y’all, join in and help me sing happy birthday to my best friend, Xavier Hunter.”

Xavier chuckled as he looked over at London Curry. London was a senior at Coleman High and was deliciously thick in all the right places. She was dressed in a hot outfit that showed off all her curves, and with her short hair and beautiful eyes, she was looking off the hook.

Dex said, “On a count of three let’s start singing.”

He counted by putting three fingers in the air. On cue everybody pitched in and did their best to hold a tune while belting out the ghettoed-out version of “Happy Birthday” to Xavier. But Linus Flip stood from his seat and shut down the singing before the song could get off the ground.

“Man,” he said, addressing the crowd, “kill all that corny noise for my mans here. Many of us owe fam a lot more then this cheesy birthday song.” Jeans, a T-shirt, a blue and orange Detroit Tigers baseball hat, the bib tilted slightly to the right, and some crispy Air Force 1s decorated his six-six, dark-complexioned frame. Linus appeared to be tipsy, which was one of the no-no’s that Noah had outlined before he’d green-lighted the party. Linus Flip’s eyes were red and tiny. “X,” Linus said, swaying and slightly pounding his chest with his right fist, “is my people and I’m loyal to the bone for this cat. Would chop off my right arm to save his life. And if it wasn’t for him, a lot of you here today would still be getting bullied at Coleman High.”

There were quite a few honeys sitting around and a few of them were posted up around Calvin “Bigstick” Mack. The All State middle linebacker was one of the captains of the Coleman High football team and had become a close friend to Xavier. There was a cute, petite dark girl with a pixie haircut sitting to his right named Tina Wiggins.

Bigstick said to Linus, “Man, sit yo’ big Renaissance Building–head self down somewhere. Ain’t nobody got time for that.”

Linus went back at Bigstick. “Cuz, why you trying to style on me? I ain’t said nothing when that breezy you sitting with was all on my socks a couple weeks ago down at Hart Plaza.”

Bigstick smiled at the chick next to him before saying to Linus, “What that mean? Me and Tina here are just cool. Stop sweating yourself, homeboy. Nobody owns anybody.”

“Bigstick,” Dexter said. “You know Flip is feeling left behind because he’s been at Coleman for four years and still carrying sophomore credits.”

The backyard erupted with laughter. Linus Flip had been drinking and the alcohol had him feeling some kind of way.

He took offense. “Dexter, if you don’t shut up I’m gonna knock all those colors out of that loud shirt of yours.”

Bigstick stood from his seat. “Linus Flip, I don’t know what’s wrong with you, fam, but you know all of us are boys and we don’t step to each other.”

Linus asked Bigstick, “What? You gonna do something?”

The tension in the backyard was getting thick.

Something was bugging Linus, and Xavier had to step in before things got out of hand. “Linus, chill out, homeboy. You up at my crib with these shenanigans. What’s up with you?”

Linus Flip shook his head and said to Xavier, “Yeah. It’s probably what Dex said. The fact that this is y’all’s last year at Coleman got me bugging, that’s all.”

Xavier was real good at peeping out the truth, and Linus was lying. Dude was far from being on the level and Xavier was hip to it. There was something cooking, pulling, and pushing at Flip’s soul.

Xavier said, “Come on, man. Don’t you see all of these pretty women around here? Go grab one and whisper sweet nothings in her ear, homeboy.”

“I’d rather go for a walk to clear my head,” was all Linus said before stumbling past Xavier’s Ford Fusion parked in the driveway on the side of the house, headed toward the front.

Dexter walked up to Xavier. “Linus has been acting shady lately, X. What’s up with that?”

Xavier shook it off. “I’m sure it’s nothing major. Homeboy probably just got a few demons pulling at him.”

Dexter said, “I saw him going to his car earlier and taking sips from a bottle in a paper bag. You know Flip don’t usually drink. Those gotta be some hella demons on his shoulders, my dude.”

Xavier stood there playing with the peach fuzz underneath his lip and wondering what had Linus Flip bugging.

Leave it to Dex to make light of the situation. He grinned and said, “Maybe he feels like he’s been replaced because we got a car now and we might not need him anymore.”

Xavier screwed up his face at Dexter. “What do you mean ‘we’ don’t need him now, homeboy?”

Dexter tried to be funny, patting Xavier on the left shoulder. “You know—our car in the driveway right there—we.”

Xavier couldn’t do anything but smile at Dexter. The boy was a straight-up clown.

Xavier said, “But on the real, though. He’ll be all right. Remember that dude saved us from Dylan Dallas and Dutch Westwood.”

“I remember. How many years did Dylan and Westwood catch for murdering Felix Hoover anyway?”

“The judge threw final-game NBA scores at those clowns. Just put it like this, homeboy. They’ll be old enough to apply for Social Security when they get paroled.”

Dexter was still holding on to the red cup. He poured some fruit punch onto the ground. “Hey, man, it ain’t liquor, but I gotta pour a little out for the homie Felix Hoover.”

Dex’s girlfriend Marissa Steel walked over to them.

She was seventeen years old with a caramel complexion and cute Asian eyes. She was wearing a white casual knit tank, some high-rise denim shorts, and gladiator sandals. Marissa draped an arm around Dexter’s neck.

“Is Linus going to be all right?” she asked with a sweet smile that could light up a room.

Xavier told her, “Don’t you see grown folks talking?”

Marissa was cute but she had a mouth on her. “Excuse me, ‘grown people.’ I’m sorry for interrupting, but if us youngsters had some music to jam to I wouldn’t be all up in y’all’s business.”

Xavier was quick with the retort. “That’s why you should have the Pandora app on your phone, you little crazy chick.”

She playfully balled up her fist and whacked Dexter on the right shoulder. “Did you hear what he called your girlfriend?”

Dexter laughed. “Tell ’im that you may be crazy, but you’re my type of crazy.”

“Xavier,” said Amber Sculley. The girl wore a short haircut and was rocking the hell out of some cream and brown tribal print shorts and a cream tank with two brown palm trees on the front. She was standing at the food table with an empty plastic plate in her hand. “Ain’t no more chicken? Ain’t nothing left but pork ribs.”

Xavier told her, “You either eat what’s left on the table or take your hungry ass three blocks away to the KFC—all you want is there.”

Amber said, “You’re so rude, Xavier.”

Bigstick said to her, “Homegirl, while you’re up at the table why don’t you slap a few bones on a plate for me?”

Amber put her hands on her hips and rolled her neck. “I ain’t the help, Negro. You got me twisted”—she pointed—“you better tell Tina sitting next to you to fix your plate. Do I look like the one givin’ it up to you?”

Dexter stepped in and said, “Yep. I heard anybody can get down with you for the price of a McDonald’s kids’ meal.”

Everybody roared with laughter.

Amber blazed Dex. “Aww, fool, I know you ain’t talking. If it weren’t for Marissa over there giving you pity sex, you’d still be a virgin.”

With everyone laughing, London took the chance to walk over to Xavier. Once she approached him, she put her arm around his shoulders.

“I’m so glad that you’re not with Samantha anymore. Being that you’re a senior now it gives another girl a chance”—she traced a finger over the strong line of his left jaw—“to see if the rumors are true.”

Bigstick laughed as he said to London, “I wouldn’t get too close to him if I was you—homeboy still taking penicillin pills, if you know what I mean.”

Laughter divided the backyard between the clueless and those that were hip enough to understand the joke.

Xavier was quick on the draw. “Aww, nah. You know I don’t have no STD. Anyway, if that were the case you should probably check on your moms.”

Bigstick tried to smile off his embarrassment as the others cracked up. Even his friend Tina was almost on the ground rolling with laughter.

“Ha ha,” Dex shouted at Bigstick, “that’s what you get.”

“I think you better stick to football and leave the jokes alone,” Marissa said to Bigstick, still chuckling.

“Speaking of football,” Xavier said, “when does practice start?”

Bigstick smirked. “Man, don’t even try it. You just threw shade and had everybody laughing. Now you wanna be my friend.”

Xavier walked over and playfully reached down to hug his boy, laughing. “Awww, sweetheart, are you mad at daddy,” Xavier said.

“Get off me, sucka,” Bigstick said, laughing. “We take the practice field Monday evening, and I’m not even looking forward to it.”

“Xavier,” London said, interrupting the two boys, “can I speak to you alone?”

Xavier knew what that meant. And it was about time he moved on with his life. It’d been a hot minute since he hollered at Samantha. The last time was before she went off to Disney World with her parents and that clown Sean Desmond about a month ago.

Realization had finally kicked some sense into Xavier. Although Ne Ne was twisted, there was a bit of truth to some of the garbage that had spilled out of her mouth during his visit. She was right. He didn’t belong in Samantha’s world. She was straight up out of his league.

In keeping it real with himself, Xavier had grown tired of Samantha’s father meddling in his relationship with her anyway. There was no way he could get the old man to see that he and Samantha were made for each other. Men like Mr. Fox only saw the world through facts and figures, and there was no way that some ghetto trash would be able to produce the lifestyle that he himself afforded for his precious daughter.

Sean Desmond, on the other hand, was a prime candidate. And he just so happened to be all over television these days, with him signing with the Detroit Tigers back in June during the Major League Baseball draft. It made Xavier queasy every time he’d thought about the news. Hometown Boy Makes Good had been newspaper headlines around town. Sports television shows like Sports-Center, First Take, Pardon the Interruption, and Rome were still showing the same friggin’ news clip of Sean Desmond standing at the podium, smiling and wearing a Detroit Tigers baseball cap, while the general manager proudly stood beside him, displaying Sean’s jersey with the number 7 below the punk’s last name. The ink had barely been dry on the fool’s healthy eight-figure contract when he’d gone out and copped a Rolls-Royce Phantom and some fancy-schmancy half-million-dollar crib off the water out in Orchard Lake, Michigan. He had been inserted in the Tigers lineup and was playing flat-out-of-his-mind baseball.

There was no way Xavier could compete. Samantha was gone and it was what it was.

Xavier excused himself and led London through the side door and downstairs into a nice, cool den in the basement. The furnishings were pretty basic, except the size of the flat screen. An enormous eighty-inch Samsung television sat on a sturdy entertainment system surrounded by an earth-tone leather sofa, love seat, and armchair.

“So what’s so private that my friends couldn’t hear?” Xavier asked her as the two took a seat on the sofa.

She smiled. “Must be cool to have a new ride. When are you going to take me for a ride in it?”

Xavier shook his head. “Is that all you wanted to ask me?”

“I wanted to ask you if you have your license yet.”

Xavier knew the game. Had played it enough times to know that she was nervous about being alone with him. So he played along.

“Went to a private driver school in June—right after class let out at Coleman for the summer.” Xavier pulled out his wallet, removed a small rectangular card, and shoved it up to baby girl’s face. “Bam—my learner’s permit. In three months I’ll be able to get a driver’s license, you dig?”

London looked around the room. “So you live here with your father, huh?”

“My father and my little brother Alfonso.”

“Where’s your little brother? I’d love to meet him.”

“ ’Fonso’s over his homie’s crib. Knuckleheads are probably playing PlayStation or some crap.”

“So, you’re ready to go back to school?”

“Yeah. I think I’m ready to get this school year over so I graduate and get the hell away from Coleman.”

Having a conversation with this chick was like talking to a brick wall. London might’ve been a dime in the face, but she was a straight-up dud in the conversation department. She was no Samantha and that was for damn sure.

Xavier decided it was time to kick things up a notch by scooting right next to her and reaching for her hands.

London watched as Xavier ran the tip of an index finger across the French-manicured nails on her right hand. She nervously swallowed and her breathing became labored.

“So is it true that you used to be a Zulu shot caller?” she asked.

Xavier said flat out, “London, are you a virgin?”

The question caught London by surprise and a silly look registered on her face.

“What makes you say that?” she asked in a firm voice, obviously frontin’.

Xavier became a little frustrated with her. “Be truthful with me. Why did you want to talk to me in private?”

London looked like she was about to lie but thought better of it. Xavier had a way about him, and it seemed like his eyes were peering through her soul.

She smiled nervously. “To tell you the truth, I’ve never been with anybody before, especially nobody like you. But”—she started kicking off her sandals and pulling her top up—“I think I’m ready.”

Xavier might’ve been a lot of things, but a bastard he wasn’t. London was clearly not ready to give up the goods and he wasn’t going to let her play herself. He was too much of a man for that. Besides, his heart still belonged to Samantha.

He stopped her. “Listen, you don’t have to do that.”

“But I am ready,” she protested.

“London, look me in my eyes and tell me you’re ready.”

She tried to do just that, but she couldn’t.

To make her feel more comfortable, Xavier tried to make her laugh and crossed his eyes. London started cracking up. “Xavier, you are so silly. That’s why I like you. You make me feel so safe.”

That last line jarred his memory. Sent it back to a time where Samantha had told him that very same thing. How being around him made her feel secure. Damn. How he’d missed her. Stood to reason why he wasn’t trying to push up on London.

London slid back into her sandals and kissed Xavier on the cheek.

“I feel like such a fool,” she confessed. “My friends told me to give you some and that way I would have a chance to be your new girlfriend.”

“London, don’t let anybody fill your head with any nonsense like that. You seem like such a cool girl, and those are the ones I like hanging around.”

“You know you have a fan base of girls at that school that would go out with you in a heartbeat. Every girl wants a piece of Mr. Fabulous. You know, everybody at Coleman says you’re a thug and take stuff from nobody. But what you just did for me makes you special in my book. Thank you for not”—she looked down at her lap—“you know, taking advantage of me.”

“I don’t get down like that. Those lames at school that are hard-pressed for girls might get it in like that, but definitely not me, you feel me?”

Relief relaxed her face. “Can you still take me for a ride?”

Xavier said, smiling, “I don’t see any reason why I couldn’t.”

Mr. Fox, Samantha’s father, was dressed in an expensive black Armani business suit. He entered the exquisitely furnished grand dining room, the hard soles of his Gucci plain-toe oxfords clacking across the granite tile floor. Pulling and making last-minute adjustments to his tie, the man of the house approached his wife and daughter sitting at an exquisite, one-of-a-kind marble dining room table that had been set for breakfast.

Mr. Fox stopped and kissed his wife on the cheek.

“Sweetie,” he said to her, “what’s for breakfast? I’m starving.” He sat and surveyed the beautifully decorated table—bowls of fruit, a gorgeous flowery centerpiece, extravagant dishware, and fine Blossom sterling silverware were placed before them. He took his place at the head of the table.

Mrs. Fox was dressed like she’d just stepped out of bed, a colorful floral print headscarf over her hair, a housecoat adorned with unique shapes and colors, and comfortable slippers on her feet.

She smiled. “Bentley said it was a surprise,” Mrs. Fox told her husband. “Said he’d be done shortly.”

Mr. Fox noticed his daughter staring absently out at the tennis court through one of the three enormous Roman patio doors overlooking an immaculate deck into the rich green acreage that made up their backyard.

As he picked up the Wall Street Journal, Mr. Fox asked his daughter concernedly, “Samantha, pumpkin, what’s wrong with my baby?”

Samantha set her napkin on her lap and looked awkwardly at her father before returning her gaze back to the lush greenery offered by the backyard.

Mr. Fox turned his head away from his daughter and said to his wife, “I slept like a baby last night. Dear, how did you sleep?”

Mrs. Fox offered her husband a smile. “Swee. . .