The second half was a masterclass.
Whatever hesitation I'd felt about my ability after three years away completely evaporated in the opening minutes. Coach Jones made one tactical adjustment - he moved their best defender, Jerome Washington, to mark me specifically. It was a compliment, but also a mistake.
Five minutes into the second half, I collected the ball about thirty yards from goal with Jerome breathing down my neck. He was physical, aggressive, trying to intimidate me with his size and strength. But intimidation only worked if you were afraid.
I let him get close, then performed a perfect elastico that sent him the wrong way completely. As he scrambled to recover, I drove forward into the space behind their midfield. Their defensive line was backing off, terrified of being beaten for pace.
Twenty yards from goal, I curled a shot with my left foot that caught Andre Thompson off guard. The ball nestled into the bottom corner with precision that felt effortless.
2-1 Yellow Team.
"Good ball to yourself!" Jesus joked as our team celebrated.
By the sixtieth minute, I had completed my hat trick. The second goal came from a free kick just outside the penalty area - I bent it around their wall with the kind of technique that made everyone on the field stop and stare. The third was a solo effort where I beat four players with a combination of stepovers, body feints, and pure acceleration before finishing with my right foot.
"That's enough, Marcus," Coach Jones called out with about ten minutes left, a smile breaking across his face. "Save some magic for the actual season."
When the final whistle blew, we'd won 4-1. I'd scored three and assisted the fourth. More importantly, I'd shown every coach, player, and observer that Marcus Coleman was back.
Coach Jones called me over as the other players were collecting their bibs.
"Son, I don't know what you were doing for the past three years, but I hope you're ready to work harder than you've ever worked before."
"Yes sir."
"Welcome to Lincoln Park varsity soccer. Practice starts Monday at 3:30. Don't be late."
As I walked off the field, Jesus caught up to me.
"Bro, where the hell did that come from? You was playing like you had a crystal ball out there."
"Just felt right," I said, but inside I was buzzing with satisfaction.
I'd proven to myself that some things never left you. The vision, the touch, the ability to see the game differently than everyone else - it was all still there.
Coach Jones was already talking to his assistants about formations that could maximize my abilities. The other players were looking at me with a mixture of respect and intimidation.
At seventeen years old, heading into my senior year, I'd just earned my way back to elite-level soccer.
The streets would always be there. But soccer - soccer was calling me home.
----
I was sitting in my dorm room, trying to focus on Spanish homework, when my phone rang. The caller ID showed Marcus's name, and I could hear excitement in his voice before he even said hello.
"Yo, Jakari! I made the team!"
"What? For real? How'd it go?"
"Bro, I scored a hat trick. Coach Jones said I'm starting varsity. After three years away from the game, I went out there and reminded everybody why I used to be considered one of the best youth players in the state."
I could hear the pride and relief in his voice. "That's incredible, man. I'm so proud of you."
"It felt like riding a bike. No, better than that. It felt like I never left."
"What position they got you playing?"
"Attacking midfielder. The creative hub. Everything runs through me."
I smiled, thinking about my own situation at Malibu Prep. "Sounds like we both found our spots. I been getting first team reps too."
"For real? How you feeling about the level out there?"
"Honestly? It's different from Chicago, but in a good way. These kids been training at elite levels their whole lives, but they don't have that hunger we grew up with."
"I know exactly what you mean. Today felt almost too easy sometimes. Like I was playing against kids who never had to fight for anything."
We talked for another ten minutes about our respective situations. Marcus told me about the other players who made the team, about Coach Jones's tactical plans, about how it felt to be back in an organized soccer environment.
"How's Dre doing with the Malik situation?" I asked.
"All handled. Turns out some OGs who knew your pops been protecting us this whole time. Malik got reminded of his place in the neighborhood hierarchy."
"So y'all can focus on ball now?"
"Nothing but ball. Rico's working with little league kids and trying to get back into organized baseball. I'm on varsity soccer. Dre's working with the youth program and might get back on the basketball team. We all really doing it, bro."
After we hung up, I sat back in my chair feeling proud of my boys. Marcus back on a soccer field where he belonged. Rico working with kids and chasing his baseball dreams. Dre staying clean and building something positive.
My phone buzzed with a text from Isabella: How was your day? Still on for dinner tomorrow?
I smiled, typing back: Day was good. Marcus made his soccer team back home. And yes, definitely still on for dinner.
Isabella: That's amazing! You must be so proud of him.
Isabella: Can't wait to hear all about it tomorrow.
I thought about everything that was happening in my life. Tomorrow I'd have dinner with Isabella, continuing whatever was developing between us. In two weeks, we'd play Serra High School in a scrimmage that would test everything we'd been building. And in three weeks, I'd be at USC showcasing my abilities against the best West Coast talent.
My boys back home were keeping their promises, working to become better men. My goddaughter was growing healthy and strong. My mom was getting better every week.
And me? I was exactly where I needed to be, building something that could take care of everyone I loved.
We were all exactly where we were supposed to be.