Cameron insisted.
“These are my friends.”
So they went.
When Eli hit a three-pointer late in the second half, Cameron stood too quickly and shouted:
“That's eleven!”
Nia grabbed his shoulder.
“Sit.”
He glared.
She released immediately.
“Sorry.”
He smiled.
Small repairs.
After the loss, Eli sat beside Cameron.
“Your spot sucks.”
Cameron frowned.
“What?”
“Starting.”
“You wanted it.”
“I thought I wanted it.”
“So give it back.”
“Can't.”
“Why?”
“You're broken.”
Cameron shoved him lightly.
Eli laughed.
Nia saw from twenty feet away.
Her body reacted before her mind.
Shoving.
Danger.
Then she stopped.
Watched.
Both boys laughing.
Context.
Learning.
Cameron returned to basketball eight weeks later.
Gradually.
No dramatic comeback.
His first game back was terrible.
Two points.
Four turnovers.
He missed both free throws.
Nia was secretly relieved.
Not because she wanted him humbled.
Because sports had almost become mythology in their house.
An ordinary bad game felt healthy.
Devin handled it less gracefully.
In the parking lot he began:
“Your first step looked—”
Cameron raised one hand.
“Dad.”
Devin stopped.
“What?”
“I don't want notes today.”
Nia watched.
Devin inhaled.
Then:
“Okay.”
That one word represented months of work.
They got burgers.
No analysis.
Cameron remained friends with Eli.
Not inseparable.
They fought.
At thirteen they stopped speaking for almost a month after Eli shared an embarrassing video from practice in a group chat.
Cameron called him fake.
Eli called Cameron sensitive.
Parents stayed out initially.
Good.
The boys eventually repaired it themselves.
Nia took quiet pride in not using:
After everything he did for you.
Friendship was not debt.
Eli catching Cameron once did not buy permanent forgiveness.
That lesson mattered too.
Tameka and Nia became something like friends.
Not because the gym confrontation magically bonded them.
At first they simply shared rides.
Then coffee.
Then complaints.
Tameka thought Nia scheduled children like hospital staff.
Nia thought Tameka treated school start times as suggestions.
Both were correct.
One afternoon, two years after the incident, they sat in bleachers while the boys practiced.
Tameka asked:
“Do you remember grabbing his wrist?”
Nia groaned.
“Why would you ask me that?”
“Because I enjoy your discomfort.”
“Apparently.”
Tameka smiled.
Then became serious.
“Eli remembers.”
Nia looked over.
“In a bad way?”