What the Game Cost Us

My phone shone in my hand, Dad’s message still waiting for an answer. He expected me to obey, to fold myself back into the future he had chosen for me.

I let the message sit. One press shut off the screen, and I set the phone in the cup holder beside Aunt Renee.

She didn’t ask about it. Renee shifted her sedan into gear and eased away from the lot, the evening breeze slipping through the open windows with the smells of pavement and freshly cut lawns.

We traveled several miles without speaking. The quiet gave me room to breathe. I had to remind myself that everything hadn’t collapsed, even though I felt as if the floor had vanished beneath me.

“He really left,” I said at last. My voice came out thinner than I meant it to.

“I figured he would,” Renee replied, keeping her attention on the road.

I turned toward her. “You saw that coming?”

“Yes.”

Anger warmed my chest. “How come everyone else understands him better than I do?”

She checked her mirror and moved us into the next lane. “You’ve seen this side of him, Isaiah. You just haven’t wanted to face it. When someone you love thinks they’re making your way easier, it’s painful to admit they may be blocking it.”

Her words landed close to the truth. They didn’t touch the empty ache in my gut.

Renee’s apartment building came into view about twenty minutes later. I lifted my duffel from the back seat. Its weight was ordinary, just sneakers, a jersey, and a bottle, but carrying it felt absurd. That little pile of gear had become the center of a family fight.

Inside, the place smelled of mint tea and wood. The calm there was nothing like our house, where worry seemed to buzz in the walls. Renee set her keys in a bowl and motioned to the sofa.

“Go sit down. I’ll bring you water.”

I dropped my bag beside me and sank into the gray cushions. The rush that had carried me through the argument was ebbing, leaving my arms and legs heavy with fatigue.

She came back with a glass of cold water, took the chair facing me, and crossed one leg over the other. “Tell me what finally made you leave.”

I traced the wet edge of the glass with my thumb. “Mom left her phone on the kitchen island Tuesday. A notification came up. It showed money moving from your account.”

Renee’s face gave nothing away. She waited for me to continue.

“The transfer matched the showcase registration and the hotel deposit exactly,” I said. “I asked Mom about it. She got upset and said it was only temporary, then told me not to worry about grown-up problems. After that, I started noticing everything.”

I drew in a breath. The past few days crowded into my thoughts. “There was a credit-card bill on Dad’s desk, and the balance was marked. Then I heard him talking to the mechanic. He said the sedan’s alternator couldn’t be repaired until next month because he didn’t have the money. But Jordan was what I couldn’t take.”

His name caught in my throat.

“Last night, Jordan came into our room,” I said, staring at my shoes. “He pulled the science camp flyer off his board and tossed it in the trash. I asked why. He said he didn’t want to go anymore because his friends weren’t going, and it would be dull.”

I looked up. “That wasn’t the truth. He loves that camp. Since December, he’s been talking about building a model rocket there.”

My voice fell. “They told him there wasn’t enough money for both, didn’t they?”

Renee breathed out slowly. “They didn’t put it in those words, Isaiah. They told him the budget was tight, and that your recruiting chance wouldn’t last forever. They asked him to help the team.”

“He’s only ten,” I said, my voice breaking. “He shouldn’t have to give things up for my basketball money. No part of this is worth that.”

“You think walking away solves it?” Renee asked.

“I think cutting out the costly showcases could help. I don’t need to travel two states just to play for people who don’t even know who I am.”

“That isn’t the same as quitting.”

“I know.”

“Have you told your parents that?”

I gave a tired, bitter laugh. “Dad thinks missing the premium showcase means I’ve surrendered.”

A buzz from the coffee table broke through the quiet. My phone shuddered against the glass.

I leaned forward and checked the display. Mom was calling.

“Pick up,” Renee said.

I took the phone and swiped to answer. “Hi.”

“Where are you?” Mom asked. Her voice sounded taut and unsteady, fear trembling beneath it.