Page 34

“Girl, why you looking crazy? What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I think Juvie is about to be my client.”

“Biiitch! I know you fuckin’ lying.”

Sweat burned my eyes from pushin’ these weights back and forth for the hundredth time today. The burnin’ sensation from every muscle in my body made me regret all the fucked up food I ate and the liquor I drank. The trainer was tryna push me, but I really wanted that nigga to shut the fuck up.

“I only need two more, Juvie! After that, grab that med-ball.”

I pushed through the last two while this nigga hollered about how good I did. A nigga felt like I was dyin’ inside. I made a promise to God within the first hour that I would chill on drinkin’ and eatin’ a bunch of wild shit. The med-ball starin’ back at me almost made me want to launch that shit across the room, but I couldn’t turn up in here when this was my first trainin’ with this team.

“Alright, Juvie. I’m timing these reps. Do as many as you can for thirty seconds. Give it all you got,” the trainer, Fred, said, holdin’ his timer.

I grabbed my towel and wiped my face, tryna stay focused. If I knew any better, I would have done this shit earlier in the day. By the time I made it home, all I was tryna do was eat, shower, and go to bed. I grabbed the med-ball and waited.

“Alright, go!”

I steadied my breathin’, pushin’ my body as hard as I could. He was countin’, but I blocked it out and just worked. The ball snapped back into my hands every time I drove it into the ground. Fred started countin’ down from ten, and it activated me. I moved faster, slammin’ the ball down with all my power. The last five seconds always kicked my ass, but I was wit’ it.

“Stop! That was damn good! Run it back. This time, side-to-side.”

This mufucka tryna kill me.

I didn’t complain, though. Blackhawks seemed like they gave a fuck about their athletes. Every piece of equipment was new. Whoever cleaned had this shit sparklin’. From the bathrooms to the lobby, the whole place was all the way together. I planted my feet, waitin’ for Fred to say when.

“Full rotations. You’re a little stiff. I want you to loosen your hips. Use that core strength. You ready?” he asked.

“Yeah. Let’s get it,” I muttered.

As soon as he said go, I got to it. He was right; I was stiff. The thirties hit a lil’ different. Shit that ain’t hurt before starts killin’ you if you let it go too long. The side-to-side was a killer. My whole body was on fire, jaw clenched as tight as my hips were.

“Shit,” I hissed.

“Yeah, I know you feel it. Full power, Juvie. Ten, nine, eight…”

All I was waitin’ for was the count. I dug deep, twistin’ my body, gettin’ as many reps in as I could in those last few seconds. When it was over, I looked at Fred, and he was smilin’ and shit. I knew he had some more for me. I couldn’t do shit but shake my head.

“What else you got, Fred? You whoopin’ my ass today.”

He chuckled, passin’ me my water bottle. “Some ladder work. You were a little slow coming in today. Let’s see if you can beat your original time. Just give me five.”

“Five? Damn, I thought you fucked wit’ me. You been torturin’ my ass.” I laughed, wipin’ my face.

“Yeah, because I know it’s not torture for you. Most of these guys, no matter how impressive they are, would have asked for a break by now. Keep working with me. I’ll have you in the best shape of your life. Let’s go. Gotta keep that heart rate up.”

One of the players, Lance Garcia, was finishin’ up a drill. I ain’t say much, but I watched all these niggas. This team already had a rhythm. They worked well together and knew each other’s strengths and weaknesses, but I had to learn them.

“Good shit, Lance!” one of the other trainers, Gene, said.

Gene was over there killin’ Lance, too. Their whole system was different from L.A. More disciplined. They were organized in a way I had never seen before. It validated my decision to choose them. The money and being home were just the icing on the cake. Once Lance moved, I got in position, ready for Fred to say go. When he did, I took off.

“Push, Juvie! Dig deep,” Fred yelled.

From the corner of my eye, I could see the team watchin’. I wasn’t a show-off, but I knew what I could do. I put a lil’ sauce on that shit so they could see firsthand that I wasn’t lazy, and every dime the Blackhawks spent on me was worth it. That last run was always the hardest. My leg muscles burned like somebody lit that shit on fire. I made it back beside Fred, and he was smilin’ while I was dyin’.

“God damn it! You beat it by eight seconds. That’s what I like to see!” Fred said, dappin’ me.

“Man, everybody was right about you. You gon’ kill a nigga,” I replied, grabbin’ my water bottle.