What the fuck?
This can't be happening.
Those two phrases repeated in his head over and over again as Dante sat in Roy's apartment. A surprisingly well kept place with a second bedroom. Donations and his job as an arms dealer can help the revolution in more ways than one. But he'd never indulge in wasting money on useless shit. He was sitting on the bed, hands in his face, trying not to cry again as Roy walked back and forth, thinking of what to say. Roy always knew how to defuse a situation. It was his job. Black Moses never stutters, never falters. However, this situation was entirely different.
Word got back quick on the brawl at the party. The two jocks told a tale that was bullshit to those who knew Dante, but the school board didn't. In Roy's words, he was "Just another (Friend) in a jersey" to them. The jocks' story was that Dante sold them pills that they didn't know the effects of, but got them anyway because of peer pressure. From who? The board didn't ask that far enough. The sob story takes a drastic turn as Dante, unsatisfied with $200 and the tears of white boys, wanted more money as they tried to help their passed out "friend" who took Dante's evil pills. They fought, and the party ended. What made it worse, the woman that night, Trish Hardy, reluctantly went along with the story. By the time Dante came up to plead his case, their mind was already made up.
Scholarship rescinded.
Not being able to afford it otherwise, Dante was forced to drop out, effective immediately.
His career was over.
Dante doesn't cry. But he did as he packed up. All those years of busting his ass, ruined with one fight. He should've… No. He did the right thing. He couldn't let them take advantage of that girl. Even if she fucked him over. Speaking of, she came by, leaning on the door frame. Her face was a mask of guilt and shame. She was scared of coming, but she couldn't let that be her first impression. With shaky hands, she knocked on the frame to get his attention. Dante turned, his jaw clenching. "What?"
Trish stammered for a second before speaking. "I-I know. I'm a piece of shit. I'm sorry."
"My career is over. Those motherfuckers were about to do God knows what to you and you defend them?"
"You don't understand."
Dante rolled his red eyes. He had to laugh at this point. "Help me understand then, girl. Not everyone I know defends their would-be rapist over the (Friend) who saved them."
Trish spoke up a bit louder, her frustration building. "You think I wanted to defend those fucking creeps? You don't understand, Dante. And I mean that literally. You know who those motherfuckers are? That was Dean Coleson and Vince James."
"Coleson." Dante put a hand through his hair. "The mayor's kid is a fucking weirdo."
"I can't just say no to people like that. They'd ruin my life," Trish walked up, tears welling up. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, ok?"
Dante sighed. "It's whatever."
"I wish I could do more. Good news is that nobody believes that story. I don't even think the school board trusts them."
"So I'm expendable," Dante said with a weak chuckle. "Not sure if that makes me feel better. But… Thanks, I guess."
Trish left, leaving Dante to finish his packing. The accolades. The pictures of his first state championship. His pictures of him in AAU. The young kid who sacrificed everything to make it. He was so close to the big time. The league was calling. After this, the line was sure to go dead. He still had talent, sure. The road to the NBA was for sure to be a monumental task now. As he loaded the rental car with his items, he walked from the dorm room to the parking lot a few times. The entire time, people watched. Some would stare, others would share a frown or come up to him and apologize. Tough situation. Even the boys, Jack, Daniel, and Paul, would share a hug and an apology.
Dante saw it as what it was. A hollow attempt to make themselves feel better. Sure, they were so sorry. They wish more could be done. But he doesn't see them going to the board and demanding an actual investigation. There would be no protest for Dante Florist, because nobody would dare stick their neck out, for fear it would be chopped off. He left NYU, no longer a student.
Back to the present, Roy finally said something. "Look, man. I know this isn't what you wanna hear right now, but you're more than basketball."
Dante shook his head. "All I had was basketball. Roy. You know how much I had to cut for this? My own momma hates me, I kept on. I thought this hoop shit would work out, I thought once I get her out the hood we can talk again. But… Fuck, dude."
Roy sat on the bed, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Veronica doesn't hate you. She's just frustrated. Think about it. How your daddy was. Was he there for you?"
"I mean… He had the game."
"And nothing else."
Dante paused, staring out into nothing. Letting his thoughts float in his head. His future was murky, messy, and scary. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing but air came out for a second. His stomach was in knots, twisting with anxiety and the dread of the next day, realizing this was no nightmare. "What?" Was all he could mutter.
Roy patted his shoulder twice. "You can stay here, Dante. Your career isn't over. There's leagues around the world that want you. But you gotta wait till the heat dies down. Until then… I think you should help with the NBLP."
Dante glanced over, and weakly nodded. "Anything for you, cuz. Seriously. Thank you so much," Dante said as a tear fell down his face.
Roy pulled him into a hug, allowing Dante to break down again. He was mourning. A death of an old life. The king was caught and exiled, being forced to live without privilege. But Dante has been there before. And with his cousin by his side, he felt like he could land on his feet.
And he would help Roy, by any means necessary.