Baby Baller by Caleb Alexander

Author:Caleb Alexander [Alexander, Caleb]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780982649930
Google: ZywFywAACAAJ
Amazon: 0982649932
Publisher: Golden Ink Media
Published: 2012-01-02T05:00:00+00:00

*****

My school day went by faster than normal it seemed. I breezed through my classes with thoughts of Adanna and leaving for Dallas. I worried about what she would say to her brothers once she got home, and I worried about what they would do once they found out that she and I had talked. I had a big game coming up on Friday, and I still felt pain in my side, and on the bruises spread over my face. My eyes were blood shot from the broken blood vessels, and they were surrounded by a purple hue because of the bruising. I had a lot on my mind, to say the least.

After school I found myself simply going through the motions during football practice, and then muddling through the streets on my way home. I barely noticed the homies hanging out at the hood store, and only came to acknowledge them when Dirty called my name.

“What up, kinfolk?” Dirty shouted, lifting his arms into the air.

“What's up?” I said nodding. I walked to where they were, and exchanged handshakes. Quick wheeled himself out of the store and slid across the soft gravel and sand like he was drifting in a small Japanese sports cars. He stopped just short of clipping my legs. “Watch out, fool!”

“You should have told them niggaz to watch out when they was beating your ass,” Quick said, laughing.

The others joined in the laughter.

“Fuck you!” I said, laughing as well.

“What's the deal, my nigga?” Dirty asked. “You seen them fools again?”

I shook my head. “Naw, I ain't worried about them niggaz.”

Dirty pulled a blunt from behind his ear and lighter from his pocket. He lit up the cigar and took a couple of long pulls from it, before offering it to me.

“You know better than that,” I said, waving him off.

“Stop being the devil,” Quick said, snatching the blunt. “Always trying to tempt muthafuckas into doing wrong.”

“You are the devil,” Dirty told him. “And smoking blunts ain't wrong. They stimulate young minds and bring clarity to young entrepreneurs such as myself.”

“Spell entrepreneurs, nigga!” Quick said, puffing on the blunt. The others broke into laughter.

“D-i-r-t-y!” Dirty told him. “So fuck you, and you, and you!”

Again, there was more laughter.

The homies in the hood always seemed to lift my spirits. They kept everything real, and kept everything grounded. Life was simple; they hustled, and they survived. It put a lot of things into perspective for me. No matter how tough things got, I realized that I always had tomorrow. There would always be a chance to make things better. I still had the sweet curing balm of hope.

“Check them, check them, check this car fool!” Dirty said, reaching for his pistol.

All of the homies turned, and spied the car, just in time to see the tinted windows slide down, and barrels of a couple of assault rifles come out. I admit, I froze like a deer in a pair of headlights.

The loud pops and rattles of assault rifles filled the air, as smoke and flames poured from the barrels.

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