Three Weeks Later – JFK Airport, New York
Kyle stepped off the plane and was hit in the face with cold, dry air.
It wasn't even winter yet.
Still, it bit harder than anything back home.
The terminal buzzed around him—people rushing, shouting, lights blinking, children crying. Everything moved fast, loud, and indifferent.
Kyle stood still.
Just a tall, Black 14-year-old kid from Rose Heights, Jamaica, wearing a secondhand hoodie and dragging a duffle bag stitched with a tattered Jamaican flag.
His new life had begun.
And nobody cared.
Outside – Curb Pickup Zone
A grey van rolled up.
Window down.
A White man in a windbreaker leaned out. "Kyle Wilson?"
Kyle nodded.
"I'm Coach DeMarco. Head assistant at Haverford Prep. Welcome to New York."
Kyle climbed in.
Didn't say much.
Didn't smile.
He just watched the city roll past: bridges, highways, graffiti, buildings that touched clouds.
His phone buzzed.
📲 "Be careful out there, star. Them cold but you colder." – Ghost
📲 "Proud of you." – Mom
📲 "Represent fi we. 🇯🇲" – Dre
Kyle stared at the messages.
Then turned off his screen.
Arrival – Haverford Prep Boarding School
Westchester County, New York
The van pulled into a sprawling campus surrounded by thick trees and stone gates.
Everything was sharp.
Clean.
Quiet.
Too quiet.
As Kyle stepped out, two students walked by in matching varsity jackets. They looked at him like he was a transfer from another planet.
He was.
Coach DeMarco walked him through the dorms, the gym, the cafeteria.
Everything gleamed with money.
"I know this is a big change," the coach said. "But you're here because you earned it."
Kyle gave a soft nod.
"Classes start tomorrow. Team practice's at 5 a.m. sharp. Don't be late."
Then he handed him a key and left.
First Night – Dorm Room 217B
Kyle unpacked slowly.
Jersey. Cleats. His U16 acceptance letter, folded carefully.
He taped Rico's photo inside the closet.
The bed felt like a hotel mattress. Too soft. Too foreign.
He stared at the ceiling.
And for the first time since winning the finals...
He felt alone.
Next Morning – 5:03 a.m. Gym
The Haverford team was already mid-warmup when Kyle entered.
Coach DeMarco gave him a long look.
"You're late."
"Mi thought—"
"No excuses here."
The other players stared.
Most of them were taller than him. Thicker. Pale-skinned. A few were Black, but none looked like they were from where he was from.
One kid laughed under his breath. "Great. Another project."
Kyle tied his laces without reacting.
But his fingers were trembling.
Drills – First Practice
They ran motion offense sets—complicated, robotic, memorized.
No one passed to Kyle.
No one talked to him.
One drill, he drove and got blocked—hard—by a kid named Connor.
"Welcome to America," he whispered.
Kyle said nothing.
Just looked at the scoreboard.
Still 0–0.
Still time to cook.
Scrimmage – Final 10 Minutes
The coach let them play full-court.
That's when Kyle finally woke up.
He ripped a pass and took it coast-to-coast—eurostep, floater.
Next possession, he pressed, stole again—bucket.
Then a no-look dime through two defenders that hit Trey (one of the juniors) in the chest.
Coach blew the whistle.
"Okay. I see you."
The team didn't clap.
But they watched him now.
Kyle jogged back to the sideline, chest rising and falling.
He didn't need to talk.
He just needed the ball.
Later That Day – First Class: U.S. History
Kyle sat at the back.
Teacher talked fast. PowerPoints. Colonialism. Founding Fathers.
None of it clicked.
The girl next to him leaned over.
"You from Ghana or something?"
Kyle blinked. "Jamaica."
"Oh. Like Bob Marley?"
He didn't answer.
Lunch – Cafeteria
Kyle picked at his food. It tasted like plastic.
He looked around.
Laughter. Groups. Conversations.
No seat for him.
He sat by himself.
Scanned his phone.
No new messages.
After School – FaceTime Call
He sat outside, phone in hand, hoodie on.
Dre answered.
"Yooo, mi baller!"
Kyle smirked.
"Everything good?"
Kyle paused.
Then said quietly:
"Mi don't belong here yet."
Dre nodded slowly.
"Not yet."
Then added:
"But soon come."
Practice – Day Two
This time Kyle was early.
Shot 200 jumpers before the team arrived.
Coach DeMarco noticed.
Still didn't say much.
But after practice, he pulled Kyle aside.
"You don't gotta prove everything in one day."
Kyle nodded.
"Mi know."
"Good. Because we got a tournament in two weeks. Coaches from every D1 school will be there. That's when we see what you really got."
Kyle's eyes locked in.
Pressure?
That's home.
Final Scene – Dorm Room
Kyle laid in bed again, but this time?
He didn't stare at the ceiling.
He watched clips of himself.
Game film.
Then NBA footage.
Then back to himself again.
He wasn't homesick tonight.
He was hungry.
He whispered to the darkness:
"They don't know me yet."
"But they will."