By February, winter had settled deep into the city. The sidewalks were lined with dirty gray snow, the air was sharp, and the sun seemed to set way too early for anybody’s liking. School days felt long, and weekends felt way too short. One Saturday afternoon, Derrick and the fellas decided to head down to Phelps to shoot some baskets.
The parkhouse was open, and even though the floor creaked and the heat never worked right, it was their spot—somewhere familiar, somewhere safe. But safe wasn’t always guaranteed. Not in every corner. Not with certain kids around.
They were halfway down 40th Street when Leon stopped walking. Four older boys were standing on the corner near an alleyway—Eddie Sherman, his cousin Ray-Ray, and two brothers named Lonnie and Harold Deeks. They were 14 or 15, all bigger, and all known for trouble. They weren’t gang members—nobody called it that back then—but they had a reputation: Picking on younger kids. Snatching lunch money Starting fights after school. Hanging around alleys they had no business being in.
Everyone in the neighborhood knew: if you see Eddie and Ray-Ray, you keep your head down and keep walking.
“Aw, man,” Marcus whispered. “Not them.”
Tony muttered,
“Let’s just cross the street.”
Before they could turn, Eddie noticed them.
“Ayyy!” he shouted. “Look who we got here—look at these little dudes.”
The older boys laughed.
Leon exhaled sharply.
“Just keep walking,” he muttered.
They tried. But the bullies stepped right into their path. Eddie walked up first—tall, skinny, with a smirk that didn’t match his eyes.
“Well, well,” he said, sizing them up. “I see y’all think you tough since football season. I saw you little punks down there trying to play. Now you’re running around like you’re running stuff.”
“We don’t think that,” Derrick said calmly. “We just trying to go to the park.”
Ray-Ray stepped forward.
“Did we ask you what you trying to do?”
The younger boys stayed quiet. Harold circled around behind them.
“Y’all got any money?”
Tony tensed. “We ain’t got nothing for you.”
“Oh, you got something,” Lonnie said. “Little suckers like you always got something.”
Derrick felt a tightness in his chest. He didn’t want a fight. None of them did. But running wasn’t an option—not with the bullies blocking both ends of the sidewalk.
Eddie reached for Derrick’s coat pocket. Leon knocked his hand away. Everything froze. Eddie’s eyes narrowed.
“You got a problem?”
Leon didn’t back down. “Don’t touch him.”
Ray-Ray stepped between them.
“Look at this fool. Think he grown.”
The tension crackled like static in the air.
Eddie shoved Leon. Leon shoved him back harder.
Marcus gasped.
“Oh man…”
Ray-Ray moved fast, but Derrick grabbed Leon’s coat sleeve.
“Don’t,” Derrick whispered. “This ain’t worth it.”
“That’s right,” Eddie sneered. “Listen to the quiet one. He know what’s up.”
Leon’s jaw tightened. His fists clenched. He was ready. But Derrick shook his head.
“Let’s go,” Derrick said, stepping forward. “We ain’t looking for trouble.”
Tony nodded.
“Yeah. We done.”
The bullies snickered.
“You done when we say you done,” Ray-Ray said.
Then suddenly— a voice echoed down the street.
“HEY! What’s going on over there?”
It was Mr. Green, the retired postal worker who lived on the corner. Coat buttoned up tight, walking his dog. He walked fast for an older man. Eddie and his boys froze. Mr. Green wasn’t big. He wasn’t imposing. But he was respected. Trusted. And he didn’t tolerate nonsense.
“You boys trying to start something?” Mr. Green demanded.
“No, sir,” Eddie mumbled.
“You bothering these kids?”
“No, sir.”
Mr. Green stepped between the two groups.
“Then get on home. Before I call your mamas. And you know I will.”
Eddie muttered under his breath, but he backed off. His crew followed. But just before they vanished around the corner, Eddie looked back at Derrick and Leon.
“This ain’t over.”
Leon started forward, but Derrick grabbed him again.
“Let it go,” Derrick said softly.
Leon exhaled shakily. But he let it go. For now.
Once the bullies were gone, Mr. Green turned to the boys.
“You all right?”
“Yeah,” Derrick said. “We’re okay.”
“You boys are good kids,” Mr. Green said firmly. “But trouble don’t care if you good. Be smart. Be aware. And if you see that group again, you turn around and walk the other way.”
“Yes, sir,” they all said.
As they walked toward Phelps again, the boys were quieter than usual. Marcus finally spoke.
“I hate those guys.” Reggie nodded.
“They always messing with somebody.”
Tony exhaled, fog rising in the cold air.
“One day they gonna mess with the wrong people.”
Leon shook his head.
“I ain’t scared of them.”
“I know,” Derrick said gently.
“But we still gotta use our heads. We ain’t stupid.”
Leon looked at him, then nodded softly.
“Yeah. You right.”
At the park house, inside the warm gym, the air smelled like wooden floors and old basketballs. As they played, something settled inside them—a mix of relief, frustration, and a strange sense of pride that they’d held their own without making things worse. Tony passed the ball to Derrick.
“Man, you always calm,” Tony said. “How you do that?”
“I don’t know,” Derrick said. “I just… think.”
Leon looked at him.
“You saved us from a fight today.”
Derrick shrugged.
“Maybe. Or maybe we saved each other.”
The boys smiled. Because it was true.
Later, after they had played a couple of games, and as the sun dipped behind the rooftops, the boys walked home through the chilly neighborhood dusk. Their breath puffed out in small clouds. Snow crunched under their shoes. Streetlights flickered on one by one. The world felt big. And dangerous. And beautiful. All at the same time.
“We just need to stick together,” Derrick said quietly.
“Yep. Always,” Leon replied.
“We got each other’s back,” Marcus added.
Tony grinned.
“And no neighborhood knuckleheads gonna change that.”
They bumped fists and kept walking. A little older. A little wiser. Still kids.