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Then started laughing.

“My fault.”

“Yeah. Watch your fucking mouth.”

“You say nigga every three seconds.”

“I’m grown.”

“I’m almost eighteen.”

“Almost means seventeen.”

“Here you go.”

I checked him the ball.

“Come on, scholarship boy.”

Henry caught it.

“Don’t get mad.”

“About what?”

“When I bust your ass.”

“Boy, if you don’t⁠—”

He drove right.

Fast too.

I stayed with him until he crossed over, stepped back and pulled up.

Bucket.

Henry started backing down the court.

“One-zero.”

“Lucky shot.”

“That’s what old niggas say.”

“Aight.”

I checked the ball.

Now I had to fuck him up.

We played for damn near forty minutes.

And I wasn’t gonna lie.

The little nigga was giving me work.

Not beating me.