Marcus hated gym class. Hated the squeak of sneakers, the heavy-ass smell of sweat, the way Coach Thomas always acted like running laps was gonna save their souls.
But mostly, he hated having to see Devonte Carter every damn day and pretend he wasn't a whole problem.
"Bruh, you gon' pass me the ball or you just out here posing?" Devonte called across the court, grinning that lopsided grin that had half the girls (and lowkey some of the boys) at Grady High pressed.
Marcus rolled his eyes and tossed the ball — lazy, on purpose. Devonte caught it easy, of course. Show-off.
"Man, y'all better be lucky I ain't in the League already," Devonte said, hitting a sloppy three-pointer like it was nothing.
"Ain't nobody tryna see you in the NBA with them busted-ass knees," Marcus muttered under his breath.
Devonte heard it though. He jogged over, tossing a sweaty arm around Marcus's shoulders like they were besties.
"You love me. It's okay."
Marcus shrugged him off. "Boy, move. You smell like expired gym socks."
Devonte just laughed, loud and full, the kind of laugh that made Marcus's chest feel like somebody thumped it.
---
After gym, Marcus ducked into the locker room, trying to move fast. He peeled his shirt off, wiped sweat off his forehead. Devonte's voice echoed from behind him.
"Yo, Marcus! Wait up!"
Marcus cursed under his breath. Couldn't this man let him breathe for two seconds?
"What you want, D?" Marcus asked, jamming his sneakers into his backpack.
Devonte leaned against the locker next to him, all casual. "So listen. I need your help, bro. Like, real bad."
Marcus arched an eyebrow. "With what? You tryna cheat off my homework again? Nah, last time you copied my shit, you spelled 'entrepreneur' like 'ontraprenure.' Get somebody else to do it."
Devonte laughed so hard he had to clutch his chest. "Man, shut yo' lame ass up. I'm serious! It's for real business this time."
Marcus paused. Business?
"Alright...talk to me."
Devonte got this spark in his eyes. "I'm startin' a brand. Sneaker drops, hoodies, streetwear — all that. Gonna call it BlkSoul."
Marcus blinked. "BlkSoul? Okay, that sound kinda hard, not gon' lie."
"Exactly, bro! I just need some designs. You cold with that lil iPad or whatever. C'mon, help me out."
Marcus hesitated. He should say no. He had college apps, a portfolio to finish. He didn't have time for Devonte's half-baked hustles.
But then Devonte smiled — not the clown-ass one he showed everybody else. This one was real. Hopeful. It did something stupid to Marcus's heart.
"Aight," Marcus said, trying not to sound too eager. "But you owe me, big time."
Devonte grinned wide. "Bet. I'll throw in free hoodies. Matter fact, you get 20% equity if this shit blow up."
Marcus scoffed. "You don't even know what equity means."
"Nigga, yes I do. It's like...you get money...when I get money. Duh."
Marcus shook his head, laughing despite himself. "You dumb as hell."
Devonte bumped his shoulder against Marcus's. "But you love me tho."
Marcus didn't answer. He didn't have to.
---
Later that Day - Waffle House
After school, Marcus and Devonte hit Waffle House — because where else do broke Black teens plot to take over the world?
"I'm tellin' you, bruh," Devonte said around a mouthful of hashbrowns. "We get some dope ass logos, make a drop on Insta, maybe get Trey to wear it, that shit gon' take off."
"Trey be lookin' dusty half the time," Marcus said, doodling on a napkin. "Ain't nobody tryna be associated with them dingy ass fitted hats he be rockin'."
Devonte slapped the table, hollering. "Ay, you ain't never lied! Bro hat be screamin' for help!"
Both of them cracked up, loud enough to get a dirty look from a white lady two booths over.
Devonte leaned in, lowering his voice. "But for real tho...I need you on this. You smarter than me when it come to this creative shit."
Marcus fiddled with his fork. It felt good to hear Devonte say it. Not in some jokey way — real respect.
"Alright," Marcus said finally. "We in. But we gotta be serious about it. Deadass. No skipping meetings for 2K tournaments."
Devonte crossed his heart. "On my mama, bro."
Marcus looked at him, looked at the crooked smile, the little gold hoop in his ear catching the Waffle House light.
Maybe this wasn't just a dumb idea.
Maybe this was the start of everything.
---
Meanwhile...
Across town, in Rashad's crusty-ass apartment, Rashad was laid up smoking, plotting how he could accidentally leak Marcus and Devonte's lil "business" before they even launched.
Cause in Atlanta? If you ain't ready for the streets...the streets ready for you.