Chapter Seven

“I thought I told you to lay low,” says my cellmate, both of us having returned to our cell after breakfast. Surprisingly, not many people cared to speak with me after that show by the boss.

“I only recall you telling me to keep my mouth shut,” I reply, restlessly staring at the ceiling.

My cellmate scoffs, and I ask, “What’s this about a duel?”

“I don’t owe you anything, including infor–”

“Formation,” I say, annoyed. “Because I still need to prove my worth.”

She doesn’t say anything, so I glance over at her.

“Does this duel have something to do with getting out of here?”

“What do you think?” she says, rolling her eyes.

“How the hell would I know?” I say, sitting up. “How… could I possibly… know what is going on?! I have a cellmate who won’t tell me a damn thing! I have a power inside me that I don’t understand! I didn’t even want to– I don’t even belong here! I was framed… for murdering my friend! And now I think I’m going to die tonight… and you won’t even tell me something as simple… as your name!”

Her gaze drops to the ground, and I look away too.

“Can you at least tell me what will happen next?”

She quietly says, “Shortly after breakfast, we’ll be let out into the yard. It’s like our free time.”

My cellmate then lies back down in bed, facing the wall, and I do the same.

I don’t know how much time passed, but she eventually said aloud, “And about my name, it’s Makani.”

Another period of silence passes by.

“Thanks.”

And unbeknownst to me, Makani grimly expresses what might be a smile while her eyes woefully quiver.

***

It’s no use trying to blend in with the crowd… everywhere I go, I get looks.

That theme doesn't change on the way out to the yard. The yard is outdoors and large. There are loads of sporting activities going on, along with some gym equipment that people are already working out at. The goons are all grouped together on the other side of the yard, and while they definitely saw me, they are leaving me alone.

Must be the bosses' orders.

Finding an unoccupied spot with some shade against one of the prison walls, I try to sort out my thoughts. Makani, the goons, the boss, Iris, Sorel—there is so much—too much. But still, I attempt to piece things together little by little.

While I mind my own business, I soon notice a group of three guys and one girl making their way toward me. At first, I can’t tell if they are coming my way, but that fact becomes evident quickly. The brown-haired man in front has a basketball under his arm and looks slightly younger than Kavi and Dad.

Quickly getting to my feet as they draw near, I create distance between myself and the wall.

The group of four stops a few feet away, and the man in front asks, “You were the guy Russ tried to recruit. Mateo, right?”

I slowly nod, and he takes a step toward me. Taking a step back, I raise my hands in case I need to defend myself.

I’m taller than them, probably stronger too. I might be able to win this if I don’t get overwhelmed.

I recall earlier this morning when my cellmate lifted me up with ease.

Or at least, that’d be the case if iris didn’t exist. I don’t know how any of it works yet, but if bluffing that I’m stronger than I currently am is my best option, I’ll bluff like my life depends on it.

Tossing the basketball to one of his cohorts, the man gestures with his hands that he doesn’t want to fight, “You three back up a bit. He’s on edge, and he has a right to be.”

They back off a little, and the man faces me again, “We’re not here to fight.”

Extending his right hand, he continues, “The name’s Joey. For what you did earlier, you have my respect.”

Exchanging glances between Joey’s face and hand, I continue to hesitate. But after a few seconds, something inside me decides to trust him.

I shake his hand and introduce myself, “Mateo, but you already know that.”

Joey nods, “Nice to meet you. These are some friends of mine. We play basketball together.”

A man shorter than Joey approaches me. He’s bronze-skinned and has curly black hair. And although he’s a little shorter than Joey, he’s bulkier, and his stance is firm.

“I’m Scott. You were brave. Good on ya for standing up to that son of a bitch,” he says with a welcoming smile.

I smile back and voice my greeting before Scott moves out of the way. A pale woman with ginger hair approaches me next. She has the slender body of a long-distance hopper.

“And my name is Emily. I’m so sorry about earlier... I hope you beat him tonight.”

Shaking her hand, I think to myself.

This is a nice change of pace.

Last but not least, the shortest of the bunch approaches me. He has short blonde hair and a mustache, but his eyes brim with determination and life. Instead of shaking my hand, he extends a fist.

“Aaron, I prefer fist bumps.”

“Fair enough,” I say, bumping his balled hand.

“Alright now that we know each other,” starts Joey, gaining my attention. “One of our players got injured yesterday, and substitutes are hard to come by. You down to run some?”

Looking over at Russ and his goons, still on the other side of the yard, I transfer my gaze to the sole basketball court. The court is practically the dead center of the yard, and the current game has a fair amount of people watching from around the outside.

Playing would draw more attention to myself, no question about it.

But ever since I had to quit, I’ve wanted to play again.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“You ever played before?” asks Joey, as if reading my mind, and I nod.

Bouncing the ball to me, I catch it and reminisce over its size and texture in my hands.

“Then what are you waiting for?” he asks.

Fiddling with the basketball, I ask the question that’s been on my mind all morning.

“What did Russ mean by a duel?”

Tilting his head toward the courts, Joey replies, “Come play for a game, and I’ll tell you after.”

Stepping onto the court to face the winners of the previous match, the small crowd from before has almost doubled in size. Cheers and hollers surround us from all sides of the court, similar to what happened at breakfast. The only difference is that these people aren’t cheering against me. They’re just excited to watch the match.

I lean over and whisper, “What’s with all the attention?”

Dribbling the basketball, Joey replies, “The team we’re about to play is probably the best here, but we’re one of the few teams that always put up a fight. Yesterday, we barely lost against ‘em.”

I nod, “So we gotta knock ‘em off their throne.”

“Exactly,” says Joey. “You see the black guy with his sleeves cut off? His name is Ayden, and he’s their best player. He can drive, shoot, dribble past ya like you’re a statue. Always keep an eye out for him.”

I quickly locate who Joey’s talking about, and I immediately recognize he oozes confidence and swagger. He has long black curly hair, his arms are shredded, not to mention he hasn’t missed a shot yet. The rest of the team also deserves praise. They’re at least taller than we are and will definitely be more coordinated than us. This will be a challenge.

As we make our way toward the center, the kings of the court turn around to see who their next opponents are. Once he notices who it is, an electrified smile appears on Ayden’s face.

But as his eyes drag toward me, his smile grows even more. Tucking his lips together, Ayden bobs his head, excited to face off against us.

As I accompany Joey to the center while our teammates warm up, Ayden meets us there. Up close, I notice he maintains a mustache and chin hair and also wears a necklace tucked into his shirt.

“How’s the knee holding up?” asks Joey.

Ayden bends his knee as if he were stretching it out, “It’s good enough. You won’t get me off this court that easily.”

“It was worth a shot.”

Ayden transfers his gaze to me and then back to Joey, “Bold choice. You sure he’s any good?”

“He’s young and tall. He’ll have us old guys beat in athleticism.”

“Youth doesn’t always make up for craft.”

“He’ll be fine,” states Joey, his tone affirmative.

Ayden clicks his tongue, “It’s weird. You’re such a careful guy, but you’re always looking to gamble in basketball, aren’t ya Joe?”

“You can’t win without taking a few risks.”

“That I agree with,” says Ayden, his eyes landing on me. “Guess we’ll see how that holds up.”

Swiveling around and rejoining his team, Ayden waves his hand with his back to us, “I’m looking forward to a good match. Don’t disappoint me, fish.”

A volunteer referee steadies his arm between Ayden and I. Although Ayden is the second tallest on his team and a few inches shorter than me, he wanted to challenge me for the tip.

“A match to fifty as normal. Call your own fouls, no time limit,” says the volunteer referee. “Tip in three, two, one…!”

As the ref tosses the ball into the air, Ayden and I jump for it. Getting two fingers to the ball first, I tip it back to Joey behind me. Ayden smirks, and the roaring crowd becomes background noise while Joey dribbles the ball up the court.

On the walkover, I was instructed about my role. In short, I’m playing as a center, meaning I stay close to the hoop on offense and defense. The opposing center I'm man-marking is around the same height as me, so I’ll have my hands full taking him on. And while I grew into the game, Joey and the rest assured me they'll have my back.

It was back and forth from the beginning, but we trailed more often than not. The intense rivalry between Joey and Ayden was a spectacle, and it rubbed off on us all, elevating our games. Emily was a playmaker, finding passes and moving in ways most couldn’t see. Aaron specialized around the arc, sinking clutch threes that kept us in the game. And while Scott didn’t specialize in anything particular, he was a great all-around player with his share of buckets from midrange and some crucial steals.

As for myself, the speed of the game was something I struggled to adapt to. I hadn’t played a proper game in years, and now I’m playing against full-fledged adults. They were faster, smarter, stronger. My height aside, physically, I was getting outgunned.

But only after I realized that did I finally gain a footing in the match. Instead of trying to take on the opposing center in a physical battle I couldn’t win, I adapted to a more aggressive playstyle, especially on offense. Using the entire court to my advantage, I became far more mobile, even going outside the three-point arc to stimulate movement.

And Ayden’s team couldn’t keep up. The other center had to choose between following me or staying close to the hoop. Either option left their team vulnerable. It was a risky change of offensive style, and it cost us as many points as it gained us, but we managed to tie it up in the forties. Not only that, but I became a solid defensive pillar in the paint, managing to get a hand to a few shots and block them.

However, nothing compares to the chemistry Joey and I gained throughout the match. We had never played together before, but it was like I could read his mind. The match-up between Joey and Ayden suddenly turned into a two-on-one battle. Ayden held his own, and terrifyingly, he only got better as the match went on, but it’s almost impossible to mark two men on your own.

As Joey passes the ball to Scott, the opponent raises his arms, readying himself for a shot or a pass from Scott. Dribbling for a few steps, Scott hands the ball off to an overlapping Emily, who quickly slots the ball in between two opponents. It was an inch-perfect pass to me, and as soon as I felt the ball hit my fingertips, I jumped into the air and slammed it down.

The crowd, which has attracted probably a fourth of the inmates, goes wild as we get back on defense. Looking over at the score, an inmate flips back the paper, the score reading 46-47.

We just need three more points!

Inbounding the ball to Ayden, Ayden slowly approaches Joey, who readies himself. Not wasting any time, Ayden fakes taking a shot, and Joey nearly jumps to block. With Joey's slight hesitation, Ayden bursts past Joey’s right, who quickly readjusts his footing and gets back between Ayden and the hoop.

Planning to use Joey’s momentum against him, Ayden stops himself and dribbles behind his back. But Joey gambled that this would happen and slowed his momentum long enough to read this move. Realizing he messed up; Ayden quickly throws his left arm behind his back and dribbles the ball back over to his right-hand side before Joey can get a hand to it. Maintaining control of the ball, Ayden bursts past a stagnant Joey and dribbles right at me while their center peels off.

Forced to guess what Ayden might do, I gamble that he will take it himself. But as he drives at me, he disguises a bounce pass between his legs to his teammate, whom I left completely open. Their center delivers a dunk to match my own, and the crowd rumbles again.

As the ball bounces below the hoop, something clicks. Grabbing the ball and stepping over the end line, I turn and throw it down the court.

I hadn’t looked or seen where he was after the dunk. I just knew he’d be there.

Joey looks to end the game quickly, rushing down the middle of the court. Catching my pass in stride, he drives straight toward the empty basket, but Ayden is sprinting to get back. Realizing what will happen, I sprint up the court after them to support Joey.

As Joey approaches the hoop, he prepares to dunk, but the ball is suddenly knocked out of his hand. With the ball rolling out of bounds near me, I pick it up, wanting to catch our opponents off guard.

Suddenly bursting toward me is Joey, having created some separation from Ayden. Passing him the ball, he turns and immediately puts up a shot from behind the arc.

The moment the ball leaves his hand, I notice something that nobody else on the court realizes except Joey and Ayden. Ayden had gotten a fingertip to the ball, deflecting its trajectory. My tired legs run toward the hoop. Knowing the shot wouldn't go in, I position myself where the ball has the highest chance of rebounding out.

Hitting the rim and bouncing back out, I leap up and catch the ball while the opposing center quickly gets in between me and the hoop. Passing to Emily, who is at the free-throw line, she finds Joey outside the arc. Joey fakes a shot past Ayden and dribbles inside toward the paint.

Attracting the opposing center, Joey passes me the ball, but Ayden recovers in time before I can put up a shot. With his hand in front of my face, I contemplate shooting until I see Scott moving behind the scenes, having gotten lost in the crowd. Realizing I couldn’t pass it to Scott directly, I recycled the ball out to Aaron, who filtered it to Scott.

Surpassing his capabilities, Ayden reads the play, but it’s too late. Before he can get to Scott, Scott puts up a shot and sinks it to win the game.

Collapsing to the ground in exhaustion, I close my eyes and catch my breath. When I reopen my eyes, Ayden is standing over me, extending a sweaty hand.

“Well played, man. Good game,” he says.

Taking his hand, he lifts me off the ground, “Thanks, you too.”

He puts a fist to my chest as he walks past me, “Next time, I won’t lose.”

“Neither will I,” I quickly reply as he passes, and Ayden grunts in amusement.

I’m suddenly surrounded by loads of inmates praising my performance in the match. With adrenaline simmering down, I try to seem as friendly as possible to those around me, but I need to learn about Russ and the duel. Pretending I need some water, I separate myself from the crowd and start looking for Joey, hoping he’ll keep his word.

However, as I scan the yard, I notice Russ and a few of his goons have cornered Makani. And by the looks of it, she doesn’t want to be there.

Even though my body is exhausted, I can’t help but carve a path through the inmates standing between me and Makani.

I owe her nothing... I know that. And yet, I just have to go help her.