Page 1 of Tyriq & Teaira
While dribbling the ball low, I smirk arrogantly while keeping my eyes on the player in front of me. By the skin of our damn teeth, we’ve made it all the way to the Final Four of March Madness. Although we are the upset who put out a favored team, fucked up the brackets, and cost so many doubting muthafuckas money, the Crescent Falls University Lions are running shit tonight and I’m loving it. Like my arm reads, and like I say before every game, the best motivation is being underestimated and I’m motivated as fuck for this win.
“Weak ass D,” I spit with amusement.
There isn’t a chance in hell I’m turning this ball over. This nigga can pray to whoever or whatever he believes in but this ball is all mine. Jackson Thomas is the Eagles’ shooting guard and he has no business even being matched up with me. Not only is he too fucking short but he’s not quick enough to shut me down. I almost feel sorry for him, almost, because I’ve been embarrassing him since tip off. Now his damn ego is getting the best of him. This shit is actually funny as hell because he really thought he was going to shut me down.
Not gonna fucking happen. My motivation overpowers his skill.
My eyes hawk his every move. His fingers twitch as he tries to anticipate my next move. The problem is he’s failing badly. Each time he thinks that he has me figured out, I switchshit up on his ass. He’s trying to switch it up on me too but I peep him, like now.
His hand jerks forward and I pass the move between my legs, behind my back, then pull up like I’m about to launch a jumper. His feet leave the floor and I grin.
“Wrong move, pussy,” I say with a smirk.
Instead of taking the three like he thought, I send a pass to my bruh Yaakov, who has moved under the goal. We’ve been balling together since we were jits and we are brothers on and off the court; both repping our gang DP from Diamond Falls. We feed off each other on the court, and just as I expect, bruh slashes out to the wing and launches a clean ass three that puts us up by two. Half of the arena erupts in cheers while the other half curses our entire existence right along with Jackson and the other Eagles.
“Call me a pussy again and I’m going in your fucking jaw,” Jackson utters as he pushes past me.
His bitch makes sure his shoulder knocks into mine. I just laugh while shaking my head. Kove meets me half court while they inbound the ball.
“You good?” he asks.
“Yeah, I’m straight. Niggas in his fucking feelings and shit.”
“All of them are but we only got fifty-six seconds left on the clock. They can go cry about it after that.”
I chuckle, toss my chin, then turn to catch their point guard bringing the ball down court. Thomas is their best shooter from range so they are definitely about to try and get the ball to his ass. However, it ain’t happening. I’m about to shut that shit down.
With a new shot clock, their guard holds the ball as long as he can but he’s obvious as hell. He keeps cutting his eyes toward Thomas, letting me know their play. When he fakes like he’s about to send the ball left, I cross the court diagonally, moving right, then extending my arm just in time to intercept the pass to Thomas. I tip the ball forward and follow it but instead of driving all the way to the basket, I pull up at half court and let it go.
Nothing but muthafuckin’ net.
“And that’s a three from Tyriq Hill,” the announcer utters, sounding less than enthused that we are now up by five.
Man, fuck them announcers too.
They inbound the ball again and make a run down court, trying to get a quick shot off, but the minute the ball touches Thomas’s hands and he pulls up to take the shot, Kove blocks that shit. Quickly, I recover the ball and dribble it twice before heading up. In a matter of seconds, I’m hanging on the muthafuckin’ rim for the final play of the game.
In their faces!
My team rushes the floor to celebrate the victory taking us to the championship game. Unfortunately, the moment is interrupted when in a bitch move, Thomas moves past me and knocks into my shoulder for the second fucking time. This is one time too many, so I turn in his direction and the second I’m close enough to make contact, Kove and two more of my teammates pull me back.
“Riq! Riq! Not now,” Kove utters in my ear. “Let that shit ride, bruh. Too many cameras in here.”
It takes me a minute but I fall back because Kove is right. I’ve worked too hard to let my sperm donor’s bitter ass words ring true.
“I’m cool,” I assure him and Kove lets me go.
“I’ll crack that nigga shit though,” he says and I return the favor.
“Nigga, you can’t either,” I tell him. However, he’s more likely to do that shit than me. For Kove, balling is natural. We’ve been the dream team since the beginning with the D-Ville Ballerz. But unlike me, he walked onto the CFU team. Real shit, basketball is just something for him to do. He’s not committed and his dream isn’t to get drafted into the league. He balls simply because he’s great at it, and unlike me, he has nothing to lose but fighting tonight is not the lick for either of us. “The best motivation is being underestimated,” I remind myself as we trek back to the locker room.
Ever since I could walk, I balled. I started with the D-Ville Ballerz when I was six. Stayed in AAU until junior high then balled nonstop in high school, playing for both Douglasville Prep and the D-Ville Ballerz streetball team. I was given a full ride with an athletic scholarship to CFU. Since my freshman year, I’ve started every game, and now, I’m predicted to go first round in the draft. I’ll be living my dream and rocking a Royals jersey next season and nothing or no one is stopping that shit.
Fuck my so-called father, fuck Thomas, and fuck all these people in this bitch. Me and my team are going to the championship game.
“Y’all do know that this is a hospital,” I say as soon as I walk into the crowded breakroom.
About twenty people are gathered around the television and practically screaming. It’s a cocktail of doctors, RNs, and medical assistants, all rooting for the CFU Lions who just solidified their spot in the NCAA championship game. This scene has been on repeat since the beginning of March Madness.
