BETWEEN WORLDS - Chapter 2
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Rashaad Williams hiked his backpack up as he walked toward Langston Hughes High. Three weeks into junior year, six months since that championship game, and people still talked about it. The September sun hit the windows, half of them patched with duct tape, and made the old brick look almost decent despite how beat up the place was.
"Yo, Shad!" Darius yelled from the steps, hand out. "My man!"
Rashaad slapped his palm and kept moving through the courtyard, nodding at people, bumping fists, cracking jokes. Langston looked rough with its peeling paint and busted lockers, but it had life.
"Williams! You finish that history paper?" Ms. Gaines called from her door, smiling but serious.
"On your desk by lunch, promise!" He grinned without slowing down.
Some freshman dropped half his stuff. Rashaad caught the papers before they blew everywhere.
"First rule of Langston, get a folder that zips," he said, helping the kid pick up his mess.
Rashaad walked through the hallway, his six-foot-three frame making people move out of the way. His shoulders were broad, built like a forward, but his easy smile made people want to talk to him. His cousin had cut his hair yesterday and the fade was still sharp.
"Morning, Keisha," he flashed that grin that showed his dimple. Rashaad fit here. These were his people, and it showed.
"You still avoiding my dinner invitation?" he asked Zoe by the water fountain.
She rolled her eyes. "We tried this already, remember? We dated. And I told you Friday I'm busy."
"What about this Friday? Just pizza. Nothing fancy."
"You said that last time and took me to that expensive Italian place. And then we had to dine and dash!"
"And then we went out for like three months. So is that a yes?"
Zoe sighed, trying not to smile. "Fine. One date."
Rashaad saw Zahair and Khalil by the lockers near the gym. Khalil gave him their usual handshake, but Zahair just stared at the floor looking pissed.
"What's up, guys?" Rashaad nodded at the trophy case. "Y'all ready to win another one this year?"
Zahair made a noise. "If we don't choke in the last seconds."
"Man, you still thinking about Highland?" Rashaad shook his head. "That was months ago."
"That prep school kid shouldn't have even been playing," Zahair muttered. "One lucky shot and everyone thinks he's God."
Khalil looked at Rashaad. "He's been like this all summer, bro. Can't mention basketball without him bringing up that game. He forgets that kid dropped twenty other points and was making passes all night. It happens, but Z doesn't want to hear it."
"Z, you gotta let it go," Rashaad said, leaning against the lockers. "Practice starts Thursday. We need to focus on winning state this year."
"Whatever." Zahair pushed off the wall. "Easy for you to say. You weren't the one who got schooled on that last play."
"We win together, lose together," Rashaad said.
Zahair's eyes flashed. "Save the captain speech. I'm not in the mood."
Rashaad backed off. No point making it worse. Zahair was tall for a guard, skinny but strong, with dark skin and a buzz cut that made his face look all angles. His jaw stayed clenched these days, and his quick hands, the ones that used to steal balls, kept turning into fists.
Khalil messed with his braids, which hung to his ears with wooden beads that clicked when he moved. He was built like Rashaad but shorter, stocky enough to be a wall in the post but with soft hands around the basket.
"Coach Booker grabbed me at the Y yesterday," Khalil said quietly. "Man's already planning two-a-days, new conditioning, everything."
Rashaad groaned, head back against the lockers. "I should start running now before he has me puking on the baseline again."
"Good," Zahair said, suddenly focused. "We need to step up. Last year wasn't enough."
"Z, we got everyone back," Rashaad said. "Our chemistry's gonna be better. That's what wins championships."
Khalil looked at Rashaad, nodding toward Zahair. "This is his last shot, man. Senior year. Only chance to get noticed."
The warning bell rang, covering whatever Zahair said under his breath.
"We'll talk at lunch," Rashaad said, pushing off the lockers. "Don't be late to Gaines' class again, Z. She'll have you running before Coach gets the chance."
But Zahair just walked away.
Khalil watched him go, shaking his head. "He's been like this all summer. Can't mention basketball without him getting twisted up. Hope he gets over it before season starts."
"Doubt it," Rashaad said, adjusting his backpack. "That loss really got to him. I'll try to talk to him after school."
"Good luck." Khalil bumped his fist. "See you in calc."
They split up. Rashaad toward English, Khalil toward the science wing.
Rashaad moved through the halls, saying hey to almost everyone.
"Heard you killed it at the community center tournament," Marcus called from his locker.
"Just getting ready for the season," Rashaad said, not stopping.
He high-fived Mr. Wilson, the janitor who'd been here since Rashaad's parents went to school. "How's that knee today, old timer?"
"Better than yours will be at my age if you don't ice after practice," Mr. Wilson laughed.
Getting close to Mrs. Henderson's room, Rashaad heard the noise before he saw it, chairs scraping, kids talking over each other, laughing. He stopped at the door. Mrs. Henderson stood at the front, arms crossed. Her braids were pulled back tight, showing her sharp cheekbones. She hadn't given them The Look yet, but Rashaad could tell she was about to. Her fingers drummed once on her arm. A last warning before she froze everyone with that stare.
The class was about to lose it, but they had no idea what was coming.
Rashaad slipped in, flashing Mrs. Henderson his best smile. "Morning, Mrs. H. Looking good today."
Her eyebrow went up. "Mr. Williams, your classmates are about five seconds from earning everyone a pop quiz on Faulkner."
"Can't have that on Monday." Rashaad dropped his bag and nodded to Jamal in the back. "Yo, J, give me a beat."
Jamal's eyes lit up. He started drumming pencils on his desk, cutting through all the noise. Rashaad moved to the front and started rapping.
"Listen up, Highland Prep ain't got nothing on us,
Keisha in the back row causing all this fuss,
DeAndre thinking 'bout lunch instead of class,
Mrs. H about to put us all on blast.
Marcus with his headphones, thinks we can't see,
Tiana passing notes like it's 2003.
So get it together before the quiz drops,
'Cause Faulkner questions got us all in headlocks."
Everyone was watching him now, laughing. Even Mrs. Henderson almost smiled.
"Now settle down, we got work to do,
Mrs. H deserves respect, that much is true.
Pages thirty-five to forty, let's crack those books,
Before she hits us with those death-ray looks.
We got championships to win come winter time,
Can't do that if we're failing, that ain't sublime.
So put those phones away, sit up straight,
'Cause education's what makes Langston great."
Jamal finished with a bang on the desk, and everyone clapped. Kids sat up, opened books, put phones away.
Mrs. Henderson shook her head, but she looked impressed. "Thank you for that... creative intervention, Mr. Williams." Rashaad just bowed, eating up the attention.
Mrs. Henderson moved to the whiteboard and wrote "NATIVE SON - RICHARD WRIGHT" in big letters.
"Put Faulkner away. This week we start Richard Wright's 'Native Son.'" She tapped the board. "Published in 1940. This book looks at America's race problem through Bigger Thomas, a young Black man in Chicago's South Side."
She looked around the room. "Wright doesn't give easy answers. He makes us look at how society shapes who we are, how fear turns into violence, and how justice works different depending on your skin color."
"I want everyone to finish the first three chapters by Friday," Mrs. Henderson said, walking between desks. "Wright doesn't make it comfortable. This isn't easy reading, but we need it. We'll talk about how—"
Someone knocked hard on the door. It opened and Principal Peterson's smiling face appeared.
Peterson walked in, his shoes squeaking on the floor. "Mrs. Henderson, sorry to interrupt. We have a new student today."
The kid who followed him in made Rashaad drop his pencil.
No way.
But there he was. Same height, same mixed features, same way of standing. No Highland Prep jersey this time, just a white t-shirt and jeans, but Rashaad knew that face.
Azeil Carter. The kid who made that three over Zahair. The shot that messed with Langston all summer.
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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.