BETWEEN WORLDS - Chapter 7
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The bleachers shook with each cheer. Azeil sat alone at the edge of Langston Hughes' home section, a soda cup going warm in his hand. The stadium lights washed out everything. No shadows to hide in. He'd come to the game by accident, not caring about football but needing to get away from his father's house.
Two weeks at Langston Hughes had taught him the rules, who belonged where, which spaces you couldn't cross. Friday nights at the stadium were neutral ground. He could sit here and nobody would bother him.
On the field, players in blue and gold ran through drills. The marching band assembled in the end zone, instruments catching the lights. It wasn't like Highland Prep's neat events with their country club atmosphere. This was messier but familiar, such as football as church, the crowd as congregation.
Azeil sipped his soda without tasting it. A week since his confrontation with Zahair in the gym and the pickup game that reminded him who he used to be. A week since Coach Booker had asked him to come to Monday's practice, an invitation he'd passed on. His absence said more than any excuse could.
He hadn't meant to skip practice. Sunday night he'd stayed awake remembering the feel of the ball in his hands, dribbling on cracked concrete in his father's backyard. But Monday arrived like a weight. The thought of facing Zahair in the gym, playing basketball without his mother there to see it. He couldn't do it. So he sleepwalked through classes and caught the bus home when school ended.
The crowd was filling in now. Families in school colors, groups of kids who'd grown up together, old couples who'd been coming to games for years. Azeil watched how natural they made it look, how they belonged without effort. At Highland Prep, he'd been the scholarship kid with a single mom, good enough at basketball to be there, but never quite fitting in. Here at Langston, he was the Highland transfer, the kid who'd played in the championship game, mixed-race but not Black enough, not street enough. Always caught between, never fully anything.
"Is this seat taken?"
He looked up. A girl stood by the railing, her hand resting on the metal. She wasn't trying to be cool or make an impression, just asking.
"No," he said, moving over though there was plenty of room.
She sat down next to him, close enough to talk but not crowding. Her jeans looked actually worn, not designer-distressed. Her Langston Hughes sweatshirt was too big, sleeves pushed up to show thin wrists with braided bracelets, nothing like the expensive casual wear at Highland Prep.
"I'm Nia."
"Azeil," he said, figuring she already knew. Everyone at Langston seemed to know his story.
But she surprised him. "Like A-Z-E-I-L? That's different. I like it." She seemed genuinely curious, not weighed down with assumptions about his Highland background. Just treating him like a person.
He nodded, actually looking at her. She had brown eyes that paid attention and a face ready to smile. Her hair was pulled back simply, nothing fancy about it.
"I like watching warmups," Nia said, nodding toward the field. "It's the calm before everything goes crazy. Right now," she gestured, "anything could happen."
Something eased in Azeil's chest. "Yeah," he said. "Nothing's been decided yet."
Nia smiled, and he realized this was the first normal conversation he'd had since arriving at Langston. No weight, no expectations. Just two people watching football warmups.
The band played the fight song. Most of the crowd stood and sang along. Azeil and Nia stayed seated, their shared non-participation connecting them somehow.
"My brother plays tonight," Nia said when the song ended. "Number fifty-four, defensive line." She pointed to a massive player. "Mom's working, so I'm the family representative."
"Cool," Azeil said, wishing he could think of something better.
"What about you?" Nia asked. He could tell she was actually interested. "Just here for the atmosphere, or cheering for someone?"
The question hung there. Did he have anyone to cheer for at Langston? Two weeks in, he still felt like a visitor.
Before he could answer, Rashaad Williams appeared, grinning.
"There you are. Been looking everywhere. You coming to Marcus's after? Victory party or pity party, depends how this goes." He gestured toward the field where teams were lining up for kickoff.
"I—" Azeil started.
"He's thinking about it," Nia said smoothly. "Depends on the company."
A hint of a smile flashed across Rashaad's face. "The Johnson twins were asking about you. They noticed you were missing at practice on Monday."
Azeil's face flushed. Apparently, people had taken notice when he didn't show up.
"Yeah, I had some personal stuff to handle," he said. The excuse sounded weak even to him.
If Rashaad caught the dodge, he didn't call him on it. "Coach had Zahair running suicides all week for that mess with you. Dude was about to pass out yesterday." He sounded pretty happy about it. "Anyway, think about the party. Everybody wants to meet Highland Prep's golden boy." He grinned, making it sound less weird than it was.
"I'll think about it," Azeil said, aware of Nia next to him.
"Cool. Later, man," Rashaad said, giving Azeil a fist bump and nodding at Nia like she was royalty before walking over to his crew. They welcomed him with the usual noise. Azeil and Nia just stood there for a second, somewhere between their conversation and whatever was coming next. The ref's whistle cut through everything. Kickoff time.
"So," Nia said finally, not pushing but curious, "Highland Prep's golden boy."
Azeil groaned. "It's not that serious."
"No?" Nia looked actually interested. "I seem to recall you broke Langston's heart with a LeBron-esque buzzer beater."
Azeil couldn't help smiling. "That part's probably true." He could still feel the ball leaving his hands, see it dropping through the net as the buzzer went off. Everything perfect, before he found out about Mom’s illness and it all went to hell.
"And now you're here," Nia said, watching him. "Highland Prep to Langston Hughes. That's not exactly a normal move."
The crowd exploded as Langston ran onto the field, giving Azeil a minute to think. When it got quiet, he just said it straight.
"Didn't really have a choice. My mom died six weeks ago. Live with my dad now."
The words came out simple. Something about Nia made lying seem stupid, and there was genuine interest in her tone.
"I'm sorry about your mom," Nia said. No weird face, no backing away. Just real.
Azeil nodded. The kickoff sailed through the air and the crowd went crazy when Langston's guy broke through. Just him and Nia in the middle of hundreds of people, watching it happen.
Nia was quiet for a second as the play ended and they set up again. "That's a lot all at once. New place, new school, losing somebody like that." She got it without him having to explain. Everything Mom had built for them, how they did things, how they talked to each other, was gone. Now it was just Jackson trying to figure out how to be a dad, Azeil being a son.
"Yeah," he said. That one word holding everything he couldn't say.
Nia didn't push. Just turned back to the game where Langston's quarterback threw a good pass, got another cheer. But something changed between them, like they understood each other now.
As the first quarter went on, Azeil felt himself relax. Nia next to him talking about the plays, pointing out when her brother did something good. The stadium felt less like enemy territory and more like a place where people just came together. Where he could belong for a few hours on a Friday night.
For the first time since Mom died, he thought maybe belonging didn't mean pretending to be somebody else. Maybe it just meant finding places where you could be yourself. Right now, watching football next to a girl who seemed to get him, not as the Highland Prep star or the transfer kid, not even as the mixed-up kid stuck between worlds. Just Azeil.
It scared and excited him simultaneously, like standing on the edge of something huge.
Langston scored first with a field goal, and the crowd went nuts for about thirty seconds before settling back into game tension. Nia leaned forward every time her brother was in the play, like she could help him just by watching. When number fifty-four took down the other team's quarterback, she threw her fist up.
"That's how you do it!" she yelled with the rest of the crowd. Turned to Azeil all proud. "That's his third sack this season."
"Your brother's legit," Azeil said, and meant it. The kid moved like the best basketball players, reading everything, always in the right spot. "College scouts gotta be watching."
"Some," Nia said as they lined up again. "Not like Highland Prep gets, but enough." She paused. "Must've been different there, the whole recruiting thing."
Azeil heard curiosity, not attitude. "It's about who shows up to watch," he said. "Highland has connections, they make sure the right people are there. Doesn't make you better, just gets you seen."
"And ready for all the other stuff," Nia said, smart. "The networking, interviews, knowing how to talk to scouts."
Azeil looked at her different now. "Exactly. They train you for that your whole life. Right handshake, right words, how to stand." He'd never really thought about how Highland Prep taught way more than basketball, taught you how to be the kind of person scouts wanted to see.
Nia nodded, watching the field. "Code-switching before you even know what that means."
"Pretty much," Azeil said, thinking about how the Highland kids automatically changed how they talked depending on who was listening. They didn't even know they were doing it, for them it was just natural, not something you had to learn to survive.
"How many different versions of yourself did you have to be there?" Nia asked like it was no big deal.
"At least three," he heard himself say. "Class Azeil, who had to know everything but stay quiet. Basketball Azeil, who had to be good without making anybody feel bad. And hanging-out Azeil, who had to talk about vacation houses and restaurants I'd never even heard of." It came out easy because Nia was really listening, not just collecting information.
"And now?" she said, looking right at him. "How many do you need here?"
The question hit hard. How many versions of himself did he need at Langston? The careful one trying to stay invisible. The ex-Highland kid who couldn't escape that championship shot. The mixed kid whose voice sounded too white and skin looked too black to fit anywhere clean.
"Still figuring that out," he said. "Feels like everybody already decided who I am before I even got here."
Nia nodded like she knew exactly what he meant. "That's Langston for you. People get stuck with their stories. You see Keisha down there in the purple? To everyone here, she's just 'the girl who went off on Principal Peterson about the dress code.' Nobody cares that she writes poetry or wants to be a vet, that other thing's what stuck."
Azeil found her in the crowd, laughing with her friends, had no idea they were talking about her. "So I'm 'the Highland transfer' forever?"
"Nah," Nia said, almost smiling. "Just till you give them something better to remember."
Second quarter ended and the band started up, all brass and drums. People got up to stretch and talk. The game turned into background noise.
"Want anything?" Azeil asked, realizing his hands were empty. "Getting another Coke."
"Yeah. Diet whatever they got. And nachos if you don't mind? Skipped dinner after debate practice."
Just casual, but it felt good. He pushed through the crowd to the concession stand, feeling lighter than in weeks. Even the stares from other Langston kids felt less sharp, as if being with Nia offered cover. When he returned with drinks and nachos topped with fake orange cheese, she made room for him.
"Debate team?" he asked, handing her the Coke and putting the nachos between them.
"Since sophomore year," she said, grabbing a chip. "Mom says I was born arguing, might as well get trophies for it." She grinned like this was an old family joke. "What about you? Besides basketball, you do anything else at Highland?"
Simple question, but it brought back stuff he hadn't thought about. Mom always pushing him to do more than just basketball, said he needed interests that couldn't get taken away by an injury.
"Photography club," he said, surprising himself. "Mom found me this old film camera at a yard sale when I was fourteen. Got kind of into it." He hadn't touched it since she died, couldn't deal with the hobby that belonged to their Saturday mornings. "We used to do these 'photo safaris,' she called them. Looking for cool patterns in regular stuff."
Nia just listened, didn't try to make it better when his voice got tight. "That's cool. You still got the camera?"
"Yeah," he said, thinking it was probably still in a box somewhere at Jackson's. "Haven't really had time to..." He let it drop, didn't want to admit he'd been avoiding those memories.
"You should bring it down to the river sometime," Nia said. "By the old factory area. Amazing stuff there, all this rust and water, some incredible graffiti."
The invitation opened something up, future plans, things they could do together, reasons to see each other again. Before he could answer, the crowd exploded as Langston scored.
They jumped up with everybody else, caught in the excitement. When they sat back down, something felt different between them, like a wall had come down, moved past just being classmates sitting together.
"Sometimes I feel bad about being here, trying to fit in anywhere," Azeil said, words coming out before he could stop them. "Like I'm betraying her or something." He gestured at everything around them.
Nia didn't back away from it. "By living," she said quiet, finishing what he couldn't say. Hit exactly where it hurt, that awful feeling every time he caught himself having a normal moment.
"Yeah," he said. Not enough for what she'd named, but all he had.
"My dad left when I was nine," Nia said, looking out at the field. "Not the same thing, but for the longest time I felt like being okay meant I was betraying him. Like if I wasn't miserable, it meant I didn't love him enough." She paused. "But being sad isn't the same as being loyal. And moving on doesn't mean forgetting."
Something moved in Azeil's chest. He'd been thinking about it like a choice. Either mourn forever or disrespect Mom's memory. Nia was showing him there might be another way.
"Where did that come from?" he inquired.
"My mom," her face softened. "She's always got these sayings. For example, the best way to honor someone who loved you is to live a good life with the love they gave you. It took a minute to figure out what it meant, but eventually it clicked."
The crowd jumped up again as Langston's defense got a turnover, but Azeil barely saw it. Nia's words, her mom's words, were changing something inside him, shifting the weight he'd been carrying.
The best way to honor someone who loved you is to live good with the love they gave you.
Mom had put everything into getting him ready for a future she wouldn't see, the sacrifices for Highland Prep, teaching him how to handle hostile spaces, showing him how to present himself. All of it meant to make sure he could succeed when she was gone, even though neither of them thought that day would come so soon.
"Your mom sounds pretty smart," he said when he could talk again.
"She is," Nia said. "Works too hard, worries too much, but yeah. Smart about what matters." She looked at him. "I think she'd like you."
Simple words, but they hit different, not flirting exactly, but something deeper. Like an invitation into each other's real lives.
Before he could answer, someone familiar appeared at the end of their row, moving through the crowd with quiet authority. Coach Booker in his Langston Hughes jacket, hands in his pockets, eyes on the field with the focused look of someone who never really stopped coaching.
Something like satisfaction crossed his face when he spotted Azeil and Nia together, like he'd been testing a theory. Then he was walking toward them with the kind of confident stride that didn't ask permission.
"Carter," he said, voice cutting through the crowd noise. "Miss Robinson." Quick nod to Nia, nothing fancy.
"Coach," Nia said back, easy, scooting over to make room when he sat down next to them. Put Azeil in the middle, which felt like it was on purpose somehow.
"Wasn't sure I'd see you here tonight," Coach Booker said, looking right at Azeil. "Good game so far."
Translation: I noticed you didn't show up to practice Monday. I notice you're here now.
"Yeah," Azeil said, feeling that easy feeling with Nia slip away, tension creeping back into his shoulders. "Langston's looking good."
Coach Booker nodded, watching the field where they were setting up for the next play. Nobody said anything for a minute, all that unspoken stuff hanging there. Azeil could feel Nia next to him, steady.
"Missed you at practice Monday," Coach finally said. No attitude in it.
Azeil swallowed, looking for words that didn't sound like bullshit excuses. "Had some stuff to work out," he said, same vague answer he'd given Rashaad.
Coach didn't jump on him about it, just kept watching the game. When Langston's linebacker made another tackle, he nodded like he approved, actually paying attention to the play.
"Door's still open," he said when the crowd settled down. "Monday. Same time."
The offer just sat there between them. Coach wasn't demanding answers, just letting him know the option was there.
"Saw you in your backyard the other night," Coach said, still looking at the field instead of Azeil. "Working on that crossover. Still got it."
That caught Azeil off guard. Coach had seen him that night, reconnecting with the game, with who he used to be. Didn't feel like spying though, more like someone just noticing.
"Been living two blocks from your dad's for five years, in one of those apartments," Coach said, catching Azeil's surprise. "This neighborhood's smaller than you think." He paused. "Your mom knew that. When she lived here."
The mention of his mother hit like a punch. Booker knew her?
"You knew her?" Azeil asked before he could stop himself.
Coach's face changed, got softer. "Went to school with her. Everybody knew Elise," he said. "She made sure of that."
The crowd exploded as Langston scored, drowning them out for a second. When it got quiet again, Coach stood up, moved like he was still an athlete even after all these years.
For Azeil, the touchdown didn't matter much compared to what was spinning in his head, all these people who knew his mom in ways he never would.
"Think about Monday," Coach said, looking him in the eye. "Basketball gave you a voice at Highland when you needed one. Maybe it can do that here too." He nodded at Nia. "Miss Robinson."
Then he was gone, moving through the stands, people saying hey to him as he passed. Azeil watched him go, Coach's words still echoing.
When he turned back to Nia, she was watching him, thinking about what just happened.
"So," she said finally, "Monday."
Not asking, not telling him what to do, just acknowledging the choice sitting there.
"Yeah," Azeil said, not sure what else to say.
Nia grabbed the last nacho. "You miss it, don't you? Playing."
"Yeah," Azeil said, no point lying about it. "But it's complicated."
"Because of your mom?" Nia asked, getting it without him having to explain. "Because she was there for all your games."
"Every single one," Azeil said, memories hitting him, Mom in the Highland Prep stands, actually watching while other parents were on their phones. Her hand on her chest when he made a big play, the way she'd break down his game afterward, sharp and smart.
"And playing without her feels..." Nia said, letting him finish.
"Like I'm betraying her? Or moving on when I shouldn't? It's like..." He tried to find the words. "Basketball was our thing. She put a ball in my hands when I was six, rebounded for me for hours, pushed me to get better."
He stopped, throat getting tight. "Last game she saw was the championship. She was already sick but I didn't know. Just sat there supporting me, hand on her chest when I hit the winner. Now that memory's the best and worst thing I have. How do I keep playing like nothing changed?"
Nia thought about it instead of rushing to answer. The game kept going around them, crowd noise coming and going like waves.
"Maybe you don't," she said. "Maybe you play because everything changed." Small difference, but it hit different, not playing despite Mom being gone, but because of it. Honoring what she put into his game.
"Don't know if I'm ready," he said. Something about Nia made being honest feel okay instead of weak.
"Who is?" she said, smiling a little. "You move forward because standing still isn't really an option." She pointed at the field where players were setting up. "Like them. Nobody's ever totally ready for the next play. You just line up and do your best with what you got."
Before Azeil could answer, his phone buzzed, a text cutting through their conversation. He hesitated, then checked it, thinking it might be Jackson with his usual check-in. Instead: Rashaad: Party's happening. Marcus says bring Highland transfer if you're down. 11PM.
Nia saw his face change. "Good news?" she asked.
"Kind of," Azeil said, showing her the screen. "Didn't expect a real invitation."
Nia read it. "You should go. Marcus Washington's parties are legendary. Plus it's a good chance to see everybody outside school."
"Everyone, including Zahair?" Azeil asked, not loving the idea of dealing with that mess at a party.
"Especially Zahair," Nia said. "Better to handle that stuff somewhere neutral than let it blow up at practice Monday." Smart thinking, reminded him of his mom, seeing problems before they got worse. Before he could answer, Nia added, "I'll be there anyway. My brother always goes after games, and I promised Mom I'd drive him home." She smiled, changed her whole face. "At least you'd know somebody."
Azeil hadn't expected that from someone he'd just met. But somehow, in just a few hours, Nia had gone from stranger to... something else. Not quite friend yet, but someone who actually saw him, not what people expected him to be.
"Okay," he said, deciding as he said it. "Maybe I'll check it out."
Nia's smile got bigger, happy but not like she'd won something. "Good. Text me when you're heading over, I'll meet you outside. Marcus’s parties can be crazy if you don't know anyone."
"Text you?" Azeil realized they didn't have each other's numbers. Nia pulled a pen from her bag, wrote her number on his arm in neat handwriting.
"Now you can reach me," she said, clicking the pen shut, "for basketball stuff or whatever." Simple and direct, like everything else about talking to her.
"Thanks," he said, meaning way more than just the number.
Nia nodded, then turned back as the third quarter was ending. Something real had happened between them sitting on those bleachers, foundation for whatever came next, whether it was Monday's practice or tonight's party.
For the first time since Mom died and everything went to hell, Azeil felt something that didn't hurt to think about. Moving forward didn't have to mean forgetting.
Stadium lights dimmed as Langston held their three-point lead with seconds left. Azeil watched the other team's desperate pass fly through the night, hitting the ground as time ran out. The crowd exploded, all that tension bursting out in one huge cheer.
"That's game," Nia said, grinning while she looked for her brother. Number fifty-four was in the middle of the celebration, teammates all over him for that big stop. "Let me grab him before they hit the locker room." She paused. "See you at Marcus's?"
"Yeah," Azeil said, feeling like it was really happening now. "I'll text when I'm close."
Nia smiled and moved through the crowd like she belonged there. Azeil watched her go, thinking about how much had changed in one night, how sitting next to someone on cold bleachers had shifted everything.
Kids streamed past, talking about after-parties. Rashaad caught his eye from a few rows up, gave him a thumbs-up. See you there.
Azeil pushed against the crowd, fall air hitting him sharp and clean as he got clear of the stadium.
His phone buzzed, Dad checking in like always.
Game over? Need a ride?
The text was typical Jackson these days, somewhere between helicopter parent and hands-off. Six weeks ago, Mom would've known his plans without asking. Now he was figuring out this weird space of partial check-ins and careful distance.
Azeil stared at his phone. Saying he'd get home himself was easy, but mentioning Marcus's party meant questions he wasn't ready for.
Someone invited me to hang out after. Might be late. That cool?
Vague enough to avoid drama, honest enough to not feel like lying. He watched the dots appear and disappear before Dad answered: Be careful. Text when you're heading home.
No excitement, no lecture, just careful okay. Different from Mom's detailed questions about curfews and whose parents would be there, but not cold either. Middle ground, like everything else now.
Azeil put his phone away and looked out at the parking lot, where Langston kids were clustered in groups, victory energy buzzing through their conversations. The party ahead felt like stepping into unknown territory, walking into a social scene where he still felt more like gossip than a real person.
But for the first time since he'd gotten to Langston Hughes, the unknown didn't feel impossible. Something had shifted during those conversations with Nia, something in him had loosened up, made room for possibility instead of just getting through each day.
Coach Booker's words came back: Basketball gave you a voice at Highland. Maybe it can do the same here. The invitation to Monday's practice was still hanging there, the question of whether he could play without Mom in the stands still unsolved. But it didn't feel impossible anymore, grief or betrayal, past or future. Maybe there was another way, one that honored what came before while still allowing for what might happen next.
As Azeil headed toward Marcus Washington's neighborhood, he straightened his shoulders the way Mom always taught him, eyes forward, head up. The gesture felt different tonight. Not just habit, but connection. Maybe this was what Nia meant about carrying more than just lessons, carrying love, letting Mom's presence live through moving forward instead of staying stuck.
The number on his arm caught the streetlight, Nia's handwriting proof that he wasn't as alone as he'd thought. Later, he'd text her from outside Marcus's house, and she'd meet him there, connecting his isolation with the chance of belonging somewhere at Langston.
The basketball decision could wait. Moving forward felt like enough for now, one step at a time, into a night that held more possibility than any since he'd gotten here.
That felt like something Mom would get, something she'd always wanted for him.
What happens next? The next chapter posts on Wednesday, June 18th 2025. You can subscribe below.
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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.