“One more.”
Jamal looked toward him.
“You said first to three.”
“Yes.”
“Then one more.”
Harrison’s tone had changed.
No longer playful.
Good players recognized danger before pride did.
He moved closer to the baseline to cut the return early.
Jamal noticed.
He tossed.
Harrison guessed wide.
Jamal served into the body.
Not huge.
Smart.
Harrison blocked the return.
Neutral ball.
They rallied.
Six shots.
Eight.
Ten.
Harrison increased pace.
Jamal absorbed it.
Red clay dust moved beneath the boy’s shoes.
His footwork was the shocking part.
Not the forehand.
Not the serve.
Feet.
Always balanced.
Always recovering.
At twelve, that did not happen accidentally.
Harrison sent a deep forehand toward Jamal’s backhand.
Jamal ran around it.
Inside-out forehand.
Harrison stretched.
Barely returned.
Jamal stepped inside the baseline.
Changed direction.
Inside-in winner.
Line.
Three-zero.
No one laughed.
Jamal exhaled.
Then walked toward the net.
Harrison remained at the baseline for a moment.
That bothered Jamal more than if he had shouted.
Finally Harrison approached.
His face was unreadable.
He held out his hand.
Jamal shook it.
“Good hitting.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Harrison looked toward Miguel.
“You knew?”
Miguel shook his head.
“No.”
Then to Jamal.
“Who coaches you?”
Jamal hesitated.
A woman’s voice came from outside the court.
“Jamal Brooks.”
Every muscle in his body tightened.
Renee stood behind the fence.
Arms crossed.
Still wearing her Westbridge staff badge.
She was forty, Black, medium height, with short natural curls and the expression of a mother who had spent fifteen minutes looking for a child already warned not to disappear.
Jamal looked toward the clay.
“Oh.”
Renee opened the gate.
“Did I not tell you to stay inside?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And where are you?”
“Outside.”
Miguel covered a smile.
Wrong decision.
Renee looked at him.
He immediately became serious.
Jamal continued.
“Mr. Alvarez said I could hit for six minutes.”
Miguel said:
“I did.”
Renee nodded.
“Fine.”
Then looked at Harrison.
“And after six minutes?”
Silence.
Harrison stepped forward.
“That part was my fault.”
Renee recognized him instantly.
Every employee did.
“Mr. Cole.”
“I challenged him.”
Her eyes moved between Harrison and Jamal.
“You challenged my twelve-year-old?”
The wording made Harrison hear himself.
“It sounds worse when you say it like that.”
“It usually does.”
Charles Whitcomb turned away to hide a laugh.
Harrison almost smiled.
Almost.
Renee looked toward Jamal.
“Were you showing off?”
“No.”
Miguel said:
“No.”
Harrison said:
“Yes.”
Everyone looked at him.
Jamal stared.
Harrison smiled slightly.
“So was I.”
That changed the air.
Just enough.
Renee exhaled.