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His expression got more serious.

“So, we’re putting money into the programs too. Equipment, uniforms, whatever these coaches tell us they need. And I’m coming back. Today ain’t supposed to be some one-time, feel-good shit.”

He looked toward the kids closest to him.

“I ain’t telling none of y’all you gotta become a professional athlete. You might. I hope you do if that’s what you want. But sports can give you more than a contract. Friends, discipline, confidence. Somewhere to belong. Sometimes, somewhere to go when everything at home or outside gets on your fuckin’ nerves.”

He paused, then shook his head.

“Damn. I cussed again.”

Everybody laughed.

“Y’all get what I’m sayin’. Find your thing. Take advantage of what’s here. Listen to your coaches. Stay outta bullshit. And when somebody gives you an opportunity, don’t play with it.”

He leaned closer to the mic.

“And if you play shortstop, you obviously smarter than everybody else.”

The baseball kids started yelling, while everybody else booed him.

Juvie laughed. “Aight, aight. Football players, don’t jump me. Go get y’all stuff.”

Cameras flashed, and the whole field erupted in applause. Kids and parents lined up around the tables, waiting for the volunteers to hand out the donations, but I was still stuck, watching Juvie. He was having a regular conversation, laughing with the staff. He didn’t look out of place or constantly look over his shoulder; he was comfortable and free in this space.

I was okay until he looked at me again. The way he looked at me made butterflies swarm in my belly. He threw his arms up, and his brows pulled together. I moved through the crowd as fast as I could and went inside. When the door closed behind me, I felt like I could breathe again. The bright fluorescent lights made the hallway glow. Murals of sports legends lined the wall, but the newest one stood out. It was Juvie in a Blackhawks jersey, holding his bat above his shoulder. They even gave him gold teeth. I shook my head and laughed as I pushed open the double doors at the end of the hall.

The office where I put my belongings was tucked in the corner. I pushed the door open, turned on the light, and dropped into the chair on the other side of the desk. If I just had a minute to breathe, I’d be okay. I wouldn’t be feeling this way, and I’d be able to finish this event and take my ass home.

I set the cups and my donut on the desk, then fished my sketch pad out of my purse. This was where I could put my thoughts down without being judged for them. Drawing didn’t require words or explanation. I could show up as myself. A clean page and my favorite pencil were all I needed.

Every stroke of my pencil against the paper loosened my chest a little. Each time I rubbed my finger into the paper to create contrast, it cleared my mind. My brain was on autopilot, locked into what I was doing. Even doors opening and closing in the hallway didn’t distract me. The mental image I’d captured earlier made it onto the page, and the more I drew, the clearer it became that I was drawing—Juvie’s side profile and little Amari with his glove.

But I didn’t stop. This was how I fixed myself. It was the way I got over breakups. It was how I dealt with disappointments. Creating was how I grieved and found joy. And hopefully, this was how I’d draw whatever the fuck I was starting to feel for Juvie right outta me.

I knew I was gone for a while when I saw the shadows move around the office from the sun shining through the window, but I still didn’t move. If somebody needed me, they’d better call. I just couldn’t see myself going back without getting out everything I felt. I was so focused that I almost didn’t hear the door opening. When I turned around, Juvie stood there, leaning against the door frame.

“You still take that sketch pad everywhere?” he asked.

I focused back on my drawing before answering. “Yeah…”

“What’s on ya mind, Juicy?” he asked, his voice moving closer.

I swallowed hard, knowing he was close enough for me to smell him. “Nothing. Just inspired.”

He dropped into the chair beside me, but I didn’t have the courage to look at him. I just kept drawing. The only sound was my pencil scratching across the paper. It was so loud that it almost echoed off the walls. Minutes passed, and Juvie still hadn’t said anything. He just sat with me. That was more dangerous than him touching me. It was too much for my already wandering mind.

“What you drawin’? Can I see it?” he finally asked.

“No,” I said quickly. “Stop being nosy.”

Juvie brushed a strand of hair from my face, and his finger brushed my cheek. I turned my head slowly until we locked eyes. He didn’t move his hand; it lingered, rubbing lightly against my skin.

“You tryna bury some shit… I know you, Juicy. You can talk to me.”

I finally pulled my face away from his hand and looked back down at my sketch pad.

“You don’t know everything about me, Juvie.”