His task feels impossible.
His wrist twists with the mic, tapping the live end along his thigh, making a few pop sounds through the speakers. He stops as soon as he realizes, but doesn’t lift the mic to his lips just yet. He takes in his audience, gazing down the row of linemen, many who are nodding, but several who refuse to look up, and then he sees his receivers, his offense, and Brandon, who many thought would be the one standing here in his place. He pivots slowly, eyes scanning over the crowd, a tight smile and nod to acknowledge boosters and the school’s faculty. His eyes never really seem to settle as they make their way to the student body, even when they pass over me several times.
I’ve never seen him lost. He’s always so sure, always right. If there was a task Nico was born to handle, this was it. But my heart isn’t sure this time, and it pounds so loudly that my ears dull.
“Noah,” he says finally, and I hold my breath. “Dude. You’re a really hard speech to follow.”
My lips twitch with hope, and there are a few giggles in the crowd. My brother offers a one-sided smile and shrug, and I let my shoulders drop from the tense hold I had on them.
“Thank you, Coach. Thank you, Tradition…guys. I know what kind of opportunity this is. It’s the kind that, as Coach just said, comes from adversity. And I know that means it’s not necessarily the kind everyone wanted…wants.”
His eyes fall forward to his feet, and he kicks at the free-throw line on the gym floor, his mouth raised on the side nearest to me, and I smile, too. I don’t know why, but seeing him do so just brings it out.
“For those of you who don’t know me, I prefer to be called Nico. It’s what my Nana called me when I was a little boy, and it’s what I answer to. I live eleven miles from here. Eleven miles south of here. In West End.”
His eyes are still down at the tip of his toe, where his shoe is digging at the embedded line as if one of these times it will actually move from his touch. He’s nervous, and I realize that he does this when we debate in class—he focuses somewhere else, almost as if his mind needs the distraction so doubt and fear won’t get in the way of his words.
His words. They are always so brilliant. Even when I hate them. I breathe deeper, and my muscles relax more. Nico…he’s got this.
“My boy Sasha,” Nico stops to look up as Sasha yells. He holds up a fist and Sasha does the same. “He’s crazy. Sorry about that. Sorry, Coach.”
My father holds up a hand and encourages him to go on. The students near me chuckle.
“Sasha and me grew up together, until he moved. He’s still West End though. You see our neighborhood, it’s a lot like this team. Tradition is such a good word for it, ya know? The first time I heard Coach say that at practice, it settled in my chest. Right here.”
Nico pats his chest. His eyes close when he does.
“I know a lot of you guys probably don’t drive around in West End. I get it,” he says through laughter. “Believe me. There are times I don’t drive through West End.”
The audience laughs with him this time. I laugh with him. He’s winning. He’s closing.
He has them.
“But…let me tell you about that world on the other side of the freeway. Where I come from, we don’t have a lot of extra anything. We’re short on things. Ha…we’re short on everything!”
“Damn straight!” Sasha yells.
Nico turns to his friend and tilts his head, and Sasha sinks down slightly in his chair.
“Sorry,” Nico says, excusing his friend. Nobody seems to mind, though. People are listening. The boosters are even listening. Players heads that were seconds ago looking down are now looking up—eyes focused on their new leader. A few are holding out, but Nico will win them over. He’ll own them, too.
“There’s this great thing that happens, though, when you don’t have everything. You find something deeper. In the locker room…out here today…we call it brotherhood. I like that. Family—that’s what we call it at home. It doesn’t have to be blood. It’s my neighbors down the street. It’s the time Carlos Mendoza closed down his shop to drive me to school because someone stole my board. It’s how his wife went out and bought me a new one. It’s how my mother’s fridge was filled with food when we were hungry; how my brother’s daughter always has the prettiest dress for Sunday school; how my boy Sasha, even though he moved away when we were kids, remained and will always be the best friend I’ll ever have.”
“Family. Brotherhood.” Nico looks to his team, most of them meeting his eyes now as he says this. He turns enough to glance my way next; his eyes find me, this time stopping, his lip raising, his confidence building on itself so quickly before my eyes, I feel like this may be his superpower.
“Adversity. Opportunity.”