BETWEEN WORLDS - Chapter 14
New to this story? Start from Chapter 1 or catch up with the Chapter Index.
Sunlight filtered through thin curtains, casting golden stripes across Azeil Carter's ceiling. He didn't wake to his alarm, Coach Booker had given the team a rare morning off after last night's victory. Azeil blinked slowly, piecing together memories from the evening: the final buzzer, locker room celebration, his father's unusual enthusiasm on the ride home.
Something felt different this morning. Not just the absence of his usual workout but a deeper shift in his perception. The room remained unchanged, his secondhand desk under the window, basketball posters on the walls, and his mother's photograph beside his bed. Yet it felt more like a place where he belonged.
Azeil stretched, feeling a pleasant ache from exertion. The bruise on his hip from taking a charge against Flash Johnson had darkened overnight, a purple badge of honor he was oddly proud of. Highland Prep's victories had always felt validating, proof of his scholarship and his mother's sacrifices. But last night's win felt different, shared accomplishment rather than individual showcase, belonging earned through contribution.
He checked his phone, finding texts from Nia and Rashaad. Nia praised his defensive play and mentioned her brother's compliment: "ice in your veins" on free throws. Rashaad's message was simpler: "We did that! Practice tomorrow, Coach says sleep in but bring extra gas for tomorrow's drills." These messages signified connections that hadn't existed two months ago, friendships formed through shared challenges.
A soft knock interrupted his thoughts.
"Yeah?" Azeil called, propping himself against the pillow.
The door opened halfway, revealing Jackson ready for work, his uniform shirt tucked into worn jeans. Instead of rushing out, Jackson lingered in the doorway.
"You, uh... you got plans for breakfast?" he asked, the question carrying weight. "Still got twenty minutes before I head out."
The invitation disrupted their routine, Jackson usually gulped coffee while checking his phone, and Azeil was already gone for practice or preparing for school. This shared space marked a subtle shift in their cautious cohabitation.
"Yeah, I could eat."
Jackson nodded, satisfaction briefly showing beneath his usual reserve. "Good. Good." He turned to leave but paused, hand on the doorframe. "That game last night. That was something." His praise came awkwardly yet sincerely.
"Thanks."
Jackson lingered a moment, as if considering more to add, then with a gesture that could be a wave or salute, he moved to the kitchen where cabinet doors echoed with purposeful sounds.
Azeil sat on his bed, absorbing the interaction's significance. His mother's absence intensified, her keen game analysis and quiet pride would never greet his achievements again.
Yet he found new appreciation for his father's different but genuine recognition.
Langston Hughes' main hallway had transformed overnight. Azeil, once an outsider, now received nods from students passing by.
"There he is!" Devon said, slinging an arm around Azeil. "The man with the clutch free throws."
Azeil accepted the contact comfortably. "Just doing my job."
"Did your job include shutting down Flash Johnson? That charge you took was surgical," Devon remarked, showing appreciation without jealousy.
As they walked, Azeil noticed other players acknowledging him with nods of recognition. Devon's presence showcased acceptance, an established figure embracing a former outsider.
"Zahair was looking for you earlier about Thursday's practice," Devon mentioned before parting ways.
"I'll find him after second period," Azeil replied.
Devon's casual bump reflected genuine friendship. Spotting Marco and Tyson by the water fountains, Azeil heard Marco call out, "Yo, Carter! Tell Tyson that pick-and-roll wasn't luck. That was pure basketball IQ." Their discussion highlighted bonds forged through shared effort, connections formed when no one else was watching.
"We've been running that action for weeks," Azeil said easily. "Marco reads the defense, you slip the screen when they overcommit."
Tyson grinned, transforming his usually stoic face. "Had to make sure you weren't just getting lucky, Coach's pet."
The warning bell interrupted them. As they dispersed, Azeil exchanged brief words with students, some congratulating him, others making casual remarks about the game, a few testing their basketball knowledge against his. His status had shifted from "the Highland transfer" to someone with a defined place in Langston's social ecosystem.
In second period, Azeil noticed Nia two rows over. She smiled, not the wide grin from earlier, but something genuine. In that look, he sensed acknowledgment of what the game meant beyond statistics.
Before he could reach her, Janessa Taylor, student council president, leaned across the aisle.
"That zone defense adjustment was brilliant," she said with authority. "My dad coaches at Jefferson and said he's never seen a high school team execute that coverage so cleanly mid-game."
Nia approached, sitting beside Azeil confidently. "What Janessa means," she teased, "is that she and her friends had money on Westbrook and you cost them their pizza fund."
Janessa rolled her eyes but didn't deny it. "The defense was still impressive."
Before Azeil could respond, Mr. Griffin interrupted.
"While Mr. Carter's achievements deserve recognition," he said, amused, "let's redirect some of that energy toward our lesson for the day."
Laughter rippled through the classroom, including from Azeil. As students settled into a science discussion, he caught Mr. Griffin’s approving nod, not just for his athletic success but for his emerging place in Langston's intricate community. Unlike Highland, this environment felt natural, built on authentic inclusion rather than forced conformity.
For the first time since his mother's death, the classroom felt like somewhere he belonged.
"The protein wrap is decent today," Rashaad said, sliding his tray onto the cafeteria table across from Azeil. "For school lunch, that's gourmet cuisine."
Azeil looked up from his peanut butter sandwich. "Good to know. I might branch out tomorrow."
Rashaad sat down smoothly. Unlike their usual group interactions focusing on basketball, this lunch felt intentional, Rashaad had sought out Azeil specifically.
"So," Rashaad said after a bite, "you've survived your first morning as Langston Hughes basketball royalty. How's it feel?"
The question carried genuine curiosity beneath its teasing tone. Azeil considered his response, aware of his changed status battling his tendency toward understatement.
"Different," he finally admitted. "People who wouldn't make eye contact last week suddenly know my name."
Rashaad nodded knowingly. "Victory has that effect. It helps that you made those clutch free throws look easy." He studied Azeil more closely. "You seem comfortable with the attention."
The observation was surprisingly perceptive. Azeil had never sought the spotlight, his Highland career was about navigating visibility rather than seeking recognition. But last night's attention felt different, acknowledgment of contribution rather than performance.
"Highland trained me for it," Azeil said. "Being the scholarship kid, you're always watched. Evaluated."
"Just saying. I see someone who knows how to be part of a team. That's unique."
The compliment carried weight. Azeil had never fully experienced team integration at Highland, his talent tolerated rather than welcomed. Rashaad's comment recognized Azeil's evolution from isolated performer to connected contributor.
"Thanks," Azeil said, the acknowledgment conveying more than elaborate gratitude could. "Though I'm pretty sure Zahair would disagree."
Rashaad dismissed the comment with a wave. "Zahair's got his own stuff. His dad used to be involved, always at games, driving him to tournaments. Then he just... disappeared last year. No explanation."
This gave Azeil context he'd lacked about Zahair's hostility, explaining some of his behavior.
"That's rough," Azeil said, sympathy replacing resentment.
"Yeah, well." Rashaad shrugged, acknowledging life's complexities. "Most of us at Langston have stories."
He chewed thoughtfully before sharing, "My mom works double shifts since my dad died when I was ten. I raise my two younger sisters, Aleia's seven, Tiana's ninel when she's not home. They think basketball players are superheroes, so you can imagine the chaos last night."
This revelation marked a threshold in their relationshipl genuine connection rather than strategic exchange. Rashaad had pulled back the curtain on the truth behind his social facade.
"Must be a lot. Keeping up with your GPA, basketball, all of it."
"You adapt. Find ways to make it work, like you're doing now." A pause. "You adapted well coming from Highland Prep,that's a culture shock most can't handle."
The comment hit close to home. Azeil's navigation of Langston's social landscape was less about survival now, more about genuine integration.
"Still adapting."
"Aren't we all? High school, basketball, life, it's about reading the defense and making adjustments."
The basketball metaphor resonated. Azeil had been strategizing social interactions like chess moves, but Rashaad's approach was more fluid, encouraging adaptation over calculation.
"Speaking of adjustments," Rashaad said, checking his phone, "we should catch Zahair before fifth period, he mentioned reviewing those high-post sets."
The shift from "you" to "we" marked something deepening between them.
"Yeah, let's do that," Azeil agreed, accepting the inclusion naturally.
As they stood, Azeil spotted Nia entering the cafeteria with Zoe, animated in conversation and unaware of his presence. Warmth spread through his chest, not just attraction, but gratitude for how she'd truly seen him when others hadn't. She'd created space for his authentic self when Highland demanded performance and early Langston required careful navigation.
Rashaad noticed where Azeil was looking and smiled knowingly. "You know," he said casually, "if you want to catch up with Nia, I can handle Zahair alone."
"It's fine. The basketball stuff matters."
"So does she," Rashaad noted, straightforward recognition of something Azeil hadn't fully acknowledged. The insight landed softly, not as pressure but as gentle illumination of Nia's significance in his life.
Before Azeil could respond, Nia looked up and caught his eye, her smile genuine and warm, cutting through the cafeteria's noise. He found himself mirroring her expression in a brief but meaningful exchange.
"See what I mean?" Rashaad asked, tapping Azeil's shoulder lightly as they headed out. "Some plays can't be broken down with film study."
Azeil found himself embracing the observation with newfound ease, feeling the weight of connection and progress, a shift toward belonging that moved him further from Highland's rigid hierarchy and his early cautiousness at Langston.
The gymnasium felt different after a victory, charged with confidence instead of desperation.
Azeil arrived early for practice, his academic day ending positively with Mr. Johnston praising his insights during their American Revolution discussion.
The court was nearly empty, just Coach Booker and Zahair engaged in tactical discussion near the whiteboard. From the doorway, Azeil watched as Coach pointed to positions on the court while Zahair nodded, both absorbed in basketball strategy. Six weeks ago, approaching this scene would have required careful calculation. Now he could consider walking over without elaborate planning.
Coach spotted him and waved him over to discuss high-post sets for Thursday's game. The atmosphere held no tension, just basketball. As Coach explained their opponent's aggressive man-to-man defense and their need for adjustments, Zahair pointed out a tactical possibility: exploiting angles by changing their usual high-post alignment.
Azeil studied the diagram, then suggested adding a false action first, pointing to the wing for a standard setup before shifting the alignment. The idea flowed naturally, born from basketball instincts his mother had nurtured.
Zahair nodded at the suggestion. "Could sell the fake better that way."
Coach approved of both contributions without favoritism, deciding to incorporate their strategy into that day's practice.
He headed to his office to fetch practice plans, leaving Azeil and Zahair alone at the whiteboard. Their silence held neither ease nor tension, just the neutrality of former rivals setting new boundaries.
"Good pass in the fourth quarter," Zahair finally said, his tone factual and devoid of warmth. "That kickout when they collapsed on your drive."
"Good shot," Azeil replied, matching his tone, professional recognition without emotion. "Defense didn't expect you to pull from that deep." This exchange wasn't budding friendship or reconciliation, just acknowledgment between competitors finding coexistence in shared goals. Six weeks prior, such interaction felt impossible. Now, while not exactly comfortable, it signified significant progress.
"You're coming off the bench Thursday too?" Zahair asked, neutral.
"That's the plan," Azeil confirmed. "Unless Coach changes his mind."
Zahair nodded, conveying approval silently. "Second unit needs structure more than we do." Azeil noted Zahair's automatic inclusion among the starters, not arrogance, just clear acknowledgment of roles essential for effective basketball.
"That's what I told Coach when he asked," Azeil admitted simply.
Zahair's eyebrows lifted at the revelation, an indication that Azeil's decision was basketball-focused, not ego-driven.
Before they could continue, the gym doors opened as players arrived for practice. The moment of connection shifted to routine, Zahair moving to his usual shooting spot, Azeil grabbing a ball to warm up.
What happened wasn't a dramatic breakthrough, just significant steps toward professional coexistence. Instead of friendship replacing rivalry, understanding fostered authentic collaboration. Basketball language built bridges where words fell short.
As practice began with Coach Booker's whistle, Azeil settled alongside teammates with newfound ease. The hypervigilance of his early days at Langston waned, leading to natural comfort, not complete belonging yet, but genuine integration over strategic positioning.
"First unit versus second to start," Coach announced, organizing the teams efficiently. "Carter, you're running point for second squad. Show me what you've been planning with that high-post adjustment."
As players positioned themselves, a new feeling settled in Azeil's chest, not resolution, but movement where there had previously been stasis. Each practice drill, classroom discussion, and lunchroom chat represented steps away from mere survival toward authentic existence.
His mother's absence remained a defining fracture, shaping every moment and decision. Yet alongside this grief grew unexpected connections, belonging emerging from navigation, not granted through status.
Unlike Highland in fundamental ways, this environment was increasingly familiar. Not a replacement but a continuation, not identical but parallel in purpose.
After practice, Azeil lingered on the court, appreciating what had been established. Six weeks ago, this gym had felt hostile. Now, though still not entirely comfortable, it was a place he might belong.
His phone vibrated; Nia's text read: Call me later? Car fixed, so weekend adventures might happen. Photo safari to the old factory district still on your maybe list?
This invitation carried no pressure, just genuine interest in shared experiences. Not performance, just authentic connection around mutual curiosity, bridging terrains that once seemed unbridgeable.
As Azeil shouldered his bag and exited, he typed, Definitely. I'll call after dinner. This simple commitment was expressed without the careful assessment that had characterized past interactions, more authentic than Highland's strategic calculations or early Langston's cautious navigation.
Outside, the afternoon sun cast long shadows across the school's cracked steps. Not Highland Prep's manicured landscape, but familiar territory nonetheless. Different geometry gradually mapping itself into memory, foreign spaces becoming recognizable through repetition.
Six weeks transformed stranger to acquaintance, opponent to teammate, outsider to potential insider, not drastic change but meaningful evolution, identity developing through daily adaptation to new circumstances.
As he started toward home, now naturally his father's house without emotional distance, Azeil felt the weight of the day's small victories. Not resolution, but progress. Each class participation, cafeteria chat, and practice interaction building the solidifying foundation beneath him.
His mother's absence remained a wound, grief a constant companion. Yet life surged onward, guiding him through increasingly navigable territory. Not the future they had envisioned, but something emerging from his initiative.
The afternoon light warmed his face as he turned the corner to his neighborhood. The world continued: morning after night, victory after defeat, connection after isolation, through persistent adaptation.
What happens next? The next chapter posts on Friday, July 4th 2025. You can subscribe below.
Enjoying the story? Hit the ❤️ button, share with friends, or leave a comment below. Your support keeps this story going!
Chapter Index
Between Worlds is a fiction novel by Craig Griffin. New chapters post every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Subscribe to get them delivered to your inbox.