The abandoned building on 47th Street still looked the same as it did when we were kids. Broken windows, graffiti covering every inch of brick, and a door that barely hung on its hinges.
But it was our spot. Had been since middle school.
I climbed the stairs to the third floor, following the sound of voices and the smell of weed. Dre, Marcus, and Rico were sitting in a circle on some old milk crates, passing around a blunt like they didn't have a care in the world.
"Aye, there go the ghost!" Dre called out when he saw me. "Thought you was too good for us now, living in Hyde Park with your rich-ass grandparents."
"Man, shut the fuck up," I said, dapping him up before sitting down on an empty crate. "Y'all know it ain't like that."
"Yo, remember when this fool tried to dunk on me at the rec center last month?" Rico laughed, pointing at Dre. "Had him looking like he was swimming in the air."
"Bro, you lucky I was high," Dre shot back. "Sober me would've put you on a poster."
"Sober you can barely make a layup," Marcus chimed in with his slight accent - his pops was from El Salvador, and it came through when he got excited. "Remember freshman year when you airballed three free throws in a row?"
"That was nerves, man! It was the championship game!"
I couldn't help but smile. This was how it always was with us - constant roasting, but all love underneath.
"Y'all still play ball?" I asked.
"Every now and then," Rico said. "But we ain't in shape like we used to be."
That was the truth. Looking at them now, I could still see the athletes they used to be, but the streets had softened them. Dre had put on weight around his midsection - used to be lean and quick. Rico's arms were still thick from all those years of baseball, but his face was puffy. Marcus looked the most out of shape, which was crazy because dude used to run for days.
"Remember when we were Coach Patterson's Little Monsters?" I said, thinking back to our little league days.
Marcus laughed. "Yo, we were undefeated for two straight seasons! Remember that championship game when Rico hit that walk-off homer?"
"Grand slam," Rico corrected, grinning. "Bases loaded, down by three, two outs. I still get chills thinking about that swing."
"And Dre dropped like 30 points in the basketball championship that same year," I added. "Had the other team calling timeouts just to figure out how to stop you."
"Man, I was unconscious that day," Dre said, his eyes lighting up. "Couldn't miss if I tried. Every shot was wet."
"Marcus had three goals and two assists in the soccer semifinals," Rico said. "Had college scouts at twelve years old asking for your number."
Marcus shrugged, but I could see the pride in his face. "That was a long time ago, bro."
"Not that long," I said seriously. "Y'all remember what Coach Patterson used to say about us?"
"Four different sports, same heart," we all said in unison, then started laughing.
"He used to say we were gonna dominate high school sports together," Marcus said. "All four of us getting scholarships, going to college, making it big."
The mood got a little heavy. We all knew how far we'd strayed from that dream.
Marcus passed me the blunt, but I waved it off.
"Damn, you really have changed," Rico laughed. "Remember when you used to smoke more than all of us?"
"I'm flying out tomorrow. Don't need that shit in my system."
"So it's really happening," Marcus said. "You really going to California."
"Yeah, man. Malibu Prep Academy. Gonna try to make something happen."
"Malibu?" Dre shook his head, but he was smiling. "Bro, you gonna be the only Black kid there. They probably gonna have you cutting grass and cleaning bathrooms."
"Nah, it ain't like that. They recruited me for football. They need players who can actually play."
"And you think you can hang with them rich kids?" Rico asked, but there wasn't any malice in it. "They been playing organized ball since they was five. They got personal trainers and nutritionists and all that shit."
I thought about what I'd felt last night at Roosevelt Park. The way my routes felt automatic, the way my hands were like magnets for the ball.
"I think I'll be alright."
"Man, of course you will," Dre said, getting serious for a minute. "You always been the most talented out of all of us. Remember sophomore year when you played four different positions in one game?"
"That was wild," Rico agreed. "Wide receiver, free safety, running back, and punt returner. Had the other team confused as hell."
"But real talk," Marcus said, leaning forward. "What happens when you make it big? You gonna remember your boys?"
"What you mean 'when'?" I shot back. "Y'all acting like I'm the only one with talent. Dre, you averaged 18 points and 7 assists sophomore year before you started getting high every day. Rico, you were batting .400 and playing shortstop like Derek Jeter before you started running the streets. Marcus, bro, you had Division I soccer coaches calling your house freshman year."
The room got quiet. They all knew I was right.
"Y'all remember what we used to dream about?" I continued. "We were gonna be the first kids from the South Side to all get full rides. Four different sports, four different colleges, but we'd stay connected. Meet up every summer and talk about our seasons."
"That was before everything got complicated," Rico said quietly.
"Before Tay died," Dre added.
"Before the streets started calling," Marcus finished.
I looked at each of them - really looked at them. These weren't just my friends. These were my brothers. We'd been through everything together since we were eight years old.
"Y'all remember what Coach Patterson told us right before we graduated eighth grade?" I asked.
"'Don't let the streets steal your dreams,'" Marcus said softly.
"And what else?"
"'Y'all got too much talent to waste it,'" Rico added.
"'Stay together, stay focused, and y'all can change your whole neighborhood,'" Dre finished.
We sat there for a minute, all thinking about the same thing. How we'd let Coach Patterson down. How we'd let ourselves down.
"Look," I said, standing up. "I know y'all got your reasons for staying in this life. I know it ain't easy to just walk away. But I'm telling y'all as your boy - this shit gonna get y'all killed or locked up. Just like it got Tay killed."
"So what we supposed to do?" Marcus asked. "We ain't got college scholarships waiting for us."
"Start somewhere. Y'all still got your talent. Dre, you could still hoop if you got back in shape. Rico, you could coach baseball, maybe work your way up to playing again. Marcus, bro, soccer don't stop at 18. Look at what Zlatan did - played until he was damn near 40."
I pulled out my phone and showed them a picture of Maya's ultrasound.
"Y'all see this? This is Tay's daughter. She's gonna be here any day now. And she's gonna grow up asking questions about her daddy."
I put the phone away.
"What y'all want her to hear? That her daddy was a good dude who tried to change his life? Or that all his friends kept doing the same shit that got him killed?"
Dre stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the neighborhood below.
"You know what's fucked up?" he said. "I still dream about basketball sometimes. Wake up thinking I got practice."
"I miss baseball," Rico admitted. "Miss the feeling of turning a double play. Miss crushing fastballs."
"Soccer was everything to me," Marcus said. "Remember when we played Lincoln Park in eighth grade and I scored four goals? Coach said he'd never seen footwork like that at our age level."
"Y'all could still do it," I said. "Maybe not exactly like we dreamed when we were kids, but something. Something better than this."
I gestured around the abandoned building.
"We used to be Coach Patterson's Little Monsters. Now look at us. Sitting in a crack house getting high while our lives pass us by."
Rico suddenly stood up and walked over to the window. Without saying anything, he grabbed the blunt from Dre and threw it out the window.
"Fuck it," he said. "I'm done with this shit."
"Rico, what you doing?" Marcus asked.
"I'm tired, bro. Tired of being a waste of talent. Tired of disappointing people who believed in me." He turned to face us. "Jakari's right. We supposed to be better than this."
Dre walked back from the window and sat down.
"Y'all remember when we made that pact in seventh grade? After we won the city championship in four different sports?"
"Brothers forever, no matter what," Marcus said.
"Success in everything we touch," I added.
"Little Monsters for life," Rico finished.
"Well, maybe it's time we honored that pact," Dre said. "For real this time."
Marcus stood up and walked to the center of our circle.
"What if we made a new promise? Right here, right now."
"What kind of promise?" I asked.
"That in five years, we meet back here. But not as the same dudes we are today. As better men. Successful men. Men that Coach Patterson and Tay would be proud of."
Rico stepped into the circle. "I'm in. I'll figure out how to get back into baseball. Maybe start with coaching little league, work my way back up."
Dre joined us. "I'll get back in shape. Start playing ball again. Maybe try to walk on somewhere, or at least play in some leagues."
"And I'll look into soccer clubs," Marcus said. "Maybe it's not too late to try out for community college teams."
I looked at my three best friends - my brothers - standing in a circle like we used to do before every big game.
"Y'all serious about this?"
"Dead serious," Dre said. "No more weed. No more street shit. We're gonna get our lives together."
"For Tay," Rico added.
"For Coach Patterson," Marcus said.
"For that little girl who's about to be born," I finished.
We put our hands in the middle like we used to do.
"Brothers forever," we said in unison.
"But yo," Dre said as we broke the huddle, "we need to stay in touch. Can't have you in California forgetting about us."
"Already thought about that," I said, pulling out my phone. "We're gonna have a group chat. Check in every week. Share what we're working on. Keep each other accountable."
"What we gonna call it?" Rico asked.
"Little Monsters 2.0," Marcus suggested.
"Nah," I said, thinking about it. "Let's call it 'Better Men.' That's what we're trying to become."
As we set up the group chat, I felt something I hadn't felt in months - hope. Not just for me, but for all of us.
"When y'all make it big," Dre said as we prepared to leave, "don't forget where you came from."
"When we all make it big," I corrected. "And never."
We did our old handshake - the complicated one we'd made up in sixth grade - and for a minute, it felt like we were twelve years old again. Four kids with big dreams and even bigger hearts.
"Take care of Maya and the baby when she comes," I said as I headed for the door. "Make sure they know they got family here."
"We got you," Rico said. "And Jakari?"
"Yeah?"
"When we meet again in five years, we better all have some stories to tell."
"The best stories," I promised.
Thursday evening came faster than I expected. Grandpa William and Grandma Janet drove me to O'Hare Airport, the car packed with everything I owned, which wasn't much.
Two suitcases of clothes, my Xbox, some pictures, and a letter from my dad that I'd read so many times the creases were starting to tear.
"You nervous?" Grandma Janet asked as we pulled up to the departure curb.
"Yeah. But good nervous, you know?"
Grandpa William helped me get my bags out of the trunk.
"Remember what we talked about," he said. "You're not just representing yourself out there. You're representing your family, your neighborhood, your city. Make us proud."
"I will."
My phone buzzed with a message in our new group chat.
Better Men
Dre: Signed up for a gym membership today. Time to get serious.
Rico: Hit up Coach Martinez about helping with little league. He said yes!
Marcus: Found a soccer club that practices twice a week. Tryouts next month.
I smiled and typed back: Boarding the plane now. California here I come. Y'all keep me posted on everything.
Dre: Go show them California kids what Chicago is about
Rico: Make us proud, bro
Marcus: Brothers forever
Me: Brothers forever. See y'all in five years as better men
Grandma Janet hugged me tight, and I could feel her trying not to cry.
"Call us as soon as you land. And call us every week. And if you need anything—"
"I know, Grandma. I'll be alright."
"You better be. 'Cause if you're not, I'm flying out there to straighten you out myself."
I laughed, but I knew she was serious.
Inside the airport, everything felt surreal. I'd never been on a plane before, never been outside of Illinois except for a few trips to Indiana for basketball tournaments.
Now I was about to fly halfway across the country to start a completely new life.
As I sat at the gate waiting for my flight, I thought about everything I was leaving behind. The good and the bad. The friends who were now committed to changing their lives. The neighborhood that raised me but could also destroy me.
I thought about Tayshawn, and how he'd always said I was gonna make it big. How he'd be proud to see me taking this chance.
I thought about my mom in her hospital bed, fighting to get better. About my dad in his cell, counting down the days until he could come home to a son who'd made something of himself.
And I thought about Maya and the baby girl who'd be born any day now. The goddaughter I'd promised to take care of, even from three thousand miles away.
"Flight 447 to Los Angeles, now boarding Group A."
I looked down at my boarding pass. Group A. First class, courtesy of my grandparents who'd spared no expense to make sure I started this journey right.
As I walked down the jet bridge, I felt that familiar electricity in my chest. The same feeling I'd had when the system first activated.
But this time, it wasn't about football abilities or Jerry Rice or any of that.
This time, it was about possibility. About potential. About the chance to become something more than what everyone expected.
About proving that Coach Patterson's Little Monsters could still change the world.
I found my seat and buckled in, looking out the window at the lights of Chicago stretching out below.
In a few hours, I'd be in California. Tomorrow, I'd walk onto the campus of Malibu Prep Academy and meet the teammates and coaches who'd either help me reach my potential or expose me as just another kid from the hood who couldn't hang.
But as the plane lifted off and Chicago got smaller below me, I wasn't scared anymore.
I was ready.
For whatever came next, I was ready.