“Not exactly.”
“What way?”
“He said that was the first time an adult apologized to him without adding but.”
Nia stopped.
Tameka continued.
“You said, ‘I touched you after you said no. I’m sorry.’”
“No ‘but I was scared.’”
“No ‘but you understand.’”
“That mattered.”
Nia looked toward the court.
Eli was taller now.
Longer arms.
Still arguing about calls.
“Good.”
Tameka nudged her.
“Don't make it sentimental.”
“I wasn't.”
“You were close.”
“Shut up.”
They laughed.
Cameron’s basketball path became ordinary in the best way.
He made his eighth-grade team.
Then junior varsity in high school.
Varsity as a junior.
No national ranking.
No viral highlights.
No shoe-company circuit.
Devin struggled with that more than Cameron.
At fifteen, Cameron told him:
“I don't want AAU this summer.”
Devin stared as though the boy announced he was moving to another country.
“Why?”
“I got into the robotics program.”
“Robotics?”
“Yes.”
“All summer?”
“Six weeks.”
“What about exposure?”
Cameron closed his eyes.
“Dad.”
Devin caught himself.
“Sorry.”
Nia remained quiet.
Important.
She did not celebrate basketball losing.
That would have simply created a new allegiance.
Devin asked:
“Do you still want to play high school?”
“Yes.”
“College?”
“I don't know.”
Devin swallowed.
“Okay.”
Then:
“What do you build in robotics?”
Cameron’s face lit.
They talked for forty minutes.
Nia watched from the kitchen.
Devin was learning his son had interests he could not use to repair his own adolescence.
That was difficult.
Also freeing.
Eli took basketball more seriously.
At sixteen he played on a strong travel team and drew interest from several small colleges.
Tameka remained suspicious of every adult who called her son “an athlete” before calling him Elijah.
She made him handle his own recruiting emails by junior year.
“You want grown opportunities?”
she said.
“Answer grown emails.”
Eli complained.
Then did it.
Cameron helped with spreadsheets.
Of course.
The boys’ futures diverged without breaking the friendship.
Cameron eventually stopped competitive basketball midway through senior year after repeated scheduling conflicts with an engineering mentorship program.
No injury.
No tragedy.
Choice.
Devin took the news quietly.
Too quietly.
Cameron noticed.
“Dad.”
“I’m good.”
“You're doing Mom’s old thing.”
Nia laughed from the kitchen.
Devin glared.
“What thing?”
“Saying you're good when your face is doing something else.”
Devin sighed.
“I am disappointed.”
Cameron waited.
“Not in you.”
Devin corrected.
“In the ending I imagined.”
Cameron looked toward him.