When Roan dropped me at school after our Crenshaw investigation, I tasked him with figuring out how to get ahold of Marcus’s and Dontrelle’s academic transcripts and some type of teacher recommendation. Roan reminded me, for the fiftieth time since fighting through traffic to Pasadena, that this is not how the other five hundred applicants had applied. On time. Paperwork complete. And on their own is how everyone else, as far as we knew at least, had done it. I assured Roan I understood, but we are in uncharted admissions territory here, and as much as we make individual concessions from time to time for children of alumni or the occasional tycoon, we may have to bend some rules to get to the bottom of the Burnses’ story, both academic and athletic.
Staring at the thirty emails I missed being out of the office for an afternoon, I’m unable to open even one with Dontrelle and Marcus parked in my brain. Hearing Dad’s call, I close my laptop and heave myself off the couch to shuffle outside to help him, and to avoid my waiting messages.
“Dad, can I run something by you while you’re out here working?”
“I’d love the company, but I’m going to need you to talk and hold the compost for me.”
“I can do that.” I grab the bin and tip it over slightly. Dad reaches up and pushes the bin down a little lower, making it more difficult for me to talk and hold with the baby pushing up against my diaphragm, but easier for him to shovel and listen.
“What’s on your mind, Nina? Been a while since we’ve both sat still long enough to talk.” Under normal circumstances I would tease my dad about him heading out the door to the Y before I get up in the morning and then being out playing dominoes long after I go to bed, but not tonight. My wit is weighed down by real issues. I haven’t thought through how to unravel the Burns saga to Fitzroy, I only know I want him to hear the long, convoluted story and have him shrink it down to size in the way only my dad can.
“So today, Roan and I went over to Crenshaw. It’s a neighborhood about an hour or so southwest of here. Kind of reminds me of our neighborhood in Queens.” Dad nods his head, understanding without me having to explain who lives there or what the streets look like.
“What were you doing all the way over there in the middle of the day?” Dad probes while doing battle with a rogue root situation.
“I went to meet this woman, Carmel, who believes her twin boys will be attending Royal-Hawkins for high school this fall.” Dad looks up from the dirt, signaling I’ve piqued his interest. It didn’t take Fitzroy but a minute to figure out Crenshaw to Pasadena is a common commute for no one.
“Go on,” he urges me.
“Seems Winn Hawkins and Jared Jones, the Black teacher I’ve been telling you about, recruited the boys to play basketball for Royal-Hawkins.”
“For high school? Why would they want to do something like that? Royal-Hawkins is across the city and doesn’t have much to offer in the way of sports. My guess is these boys grew up hustlin’ ball in the parks.”
I startle hearing my dad follows Royal-Hawkins sports. “You’re not wrong, Dad, but I’m surprised to hear you know anything about sports at school.”
“I don’t, but I saw the level of play at Collegiate and Spence when you and Clive were coming up. And I watched enough of Xandra’s middle school soccer games that I’d say private schools are rarely athletic powerhouses. Academics are your game.” It’s true, neither Clive nor I have any athletic laurels to rest on, but Xandra did get Graham’s fast footwork. It was the other girls on the soccer team that ran faster for the postgame snacks than they ever did on the field.
“Seems Winn promised Dontrelle and Marcus entry into Royal-Hawkins so they can start as freshmen on the varsity basketball team, win us some championships, and in turn overhaul our athletic image, all the while, raising millions for the school. Winn’s determined to scout out the next Black Mamba.”
Dad chuckles. He loves a good Kobe Bryant reference. “How do the boys look on paper? Can they keep up with the schoolwork? If they can, other than a long commute, I don’t see a problem. But, no point discussing it if they can’t play in the classroom as well as they can on the court.” I’ve always been jealous of how clear life is through Fitzroy Morgan’s lens. You’re qualified for a school, for a job, for a team—or you’re not. If you play by the rules of a fair society, you’ll be rewarded. Coloring outside the lines is not something Fitzroy has ever done, even when others were busy scribbling away.
Unsure if it’s worth my effort to explain the predicament Winn and Jared have unwittingly put me in and why it’s more complicated than what the boys look like on paper, I forge ahead because I need to get someone’s take, other than Roan’s, so here goes.
“They don’t look like much on paper, though I can’t even say there’s much of a paper trail by which to judge. Winn wrote the essays and half assed the financial aid forms. And then, I don’t know how, he got the application pushed through the WeeScholars software after the deadline. No grades, no teacher recommendations, no test scores.”
“The mother didn’t do the work to apply her sons to school? She let someone else do it for her and do it poorly at that. Is that what you’re telling me?” Dad asks, getting his facts straight before dispensing his opinion.
“Yes, but Winn’s very persuasive, so I’m not sure how much say she had in the matter. Anyway, I called the boys’ middle school principal after Roan dropped me back at school. To say he was shocked by my news of Dontrelle and Marcus applying to Royal-Hawkins would be an understatement. I think his exact words were, ‘Those boys have tried to crack many a backboard, but as far as I know they’ve never tried to crack a book.’”
“He sounds like a man who doesn’t care a lick about the kids in his charge. Maybe he’s lost his way when it comes to motivating young ones to do right by their education.” Dad digs his shovel into the garden bed with force. He has no tolerance for adults who don’t believe in the academic potential of every child. I like to believe I share the same conviction, but faced with this dilemma, my resolve is being challenged.
“I don’t know about that, but I do know his account of the boys’ efforts in the classroom aligns with what Carmel said during our meeting.” I let out an enormous exhale. Carmel did not hold back on the truth of her boys’ school experience. From what she said, it sounds like some of their teachers let them skip class to shoot hoops in the school gym. “She said the boys tolerate school so they can play ball, but she hopes Royal-Hawkins can flip that dynamic. She’s a smart woman. She knows the odds of her boys ever playing professional ball are slim, so if they can go to a school where their chances of going on to college are far improved, well, she’s going to grab that opportunity and not let go.”
“Uh-huh. Uh-huh.” Fitzroy is digging and thinking awfully hard.
“I’m not that different than Carmel. If Xandra were struggling in her current school, I’d be looking around for a better solution.” Truth is, Xandra is struggling in her school right now. Her struggles may not be academic, but they’re struggles, nonetheless. Should I be talking to Graham about alternative choices for her?