The alarm went off at 5:30 AM, same as every day. My body was getting used to the routine now - up before dawn, weights, breakfast, classes, practice. The structure felt good after years of chaos back home.
I grabbed my gear quietly, trying not to wake Cameron, and headed to the athletic center. The morning air was crisp and cool, nothing like the humid Chicago mornings that made you want to crawl back into bed.
The weight room was already buzzing with about fifteen football players getting their lifts in before classes. Coach Thompson was there overseeing everything, making sure our form was clean and our intensity was high.
"Williams!" he called out when he saw me. "Bench and accessories today. Let's see if that USC showcase preparation is paying off."
I warmed up with some light stretching, then moved to the bench press. 225 pounds felt smooth - controlled descent, explosive drive up. My form was getting more consistent every week, and I could feel myself getting stronger.
After bench, I moved through my accessory work. Incline dumbbell press, weighted dips, shoulder raises. Nothing fancy, just solid strength building that would help me compete against bigger, more physical receivers.
By 7:30, I was done and heading back to shower before breakfast. The early morning routine was becoming automatic, like everything else about this new life.
Spanish class at 9 AM was becoming one of my favorite parts of the day. Señora Garcia was a small, energetic woman who made learning feel natural instead of forced.
"Hoy vamos a practicar el pretérito," she announced as we settled into our seats. "We're going to practice past tense conjugations."
I'd always been decent at Spanish - growing up around Marcus and his family had given me a foundation. But Señora Garcia was teaching me proper grammar and structure that I'd never learned on the streets.
"Jakari," she called on me. "¿Qué hiciste ayer?"
"Ayer practiqué fútbol americano y estudié para mi examen de historia," I responded, feeling proud that the sentence came out smoothly.
"Excelente! Your pronunciation is getting much better."
After class, I had about an hour before lunch. Instead of hanging out with teammates, I decided to make some calls. I found a quiet spot outside the library and pulled out my phone.
First call: Mom.
"Baby!" she answered on the second ring, and I could hear her smiling through the phone. "I was just thinking about you. How's my football star doing?"
"I'm good, Mama. How you feeling today?"
"Lord, so much better. The nurse had me walking up and down the hall three times today, and I didn't even get winded. Dr. Martinez says if I keep improving like this, I might get to come home in a couple months."
"Months? For real?"
"For real! And baby, your grandparents showed me the pictures from your visit with Maya and that beautiful baby. She looks just like Tayshawn, doesn't she?"
"Yeah, she does. Had me all emotional holding her."
"That's good, baby. You supposed to feel that. That's what love looks like." Her voice got softer. "Your daddy would be so proud of how you stepping up for that little girl."
"Speaking of Daddy, I was about to call him next."
"You do that. He been bragging to everyone in there about you. Got the guards asking me about football and everything."
We talked for another few minutes about her physical therapy, about how the food was terrible but she was eating anyway, about how she couldn't wait to see me play football on TV someday.
"I love you, baby. Call me this weekend and tell me about that fancy school."
"I love you too, Mama."
After hanging up, I immediately dialed the collect call number for the prison.
"You have a collect call from..."
"Anthony."
"...an inmate at Stateville Correctional Center. Will you accept the charges?"
"Yes."
There was a pause, then my dad's voice came through.
"What's good, son? Man, I been waiting for you to call. Tell me everything."
"Everything about what?"
"Boy, don't play with me. Football, school, all of it. Your grandparents sent me an article from some website about your school's football program. They got you listed as a player to watch."
I could hear the pride in his voice, mixed with something else - like he was living through my success.
"It's going good, Pops. Really good. Getting reps with the first team, Coach believes in me."
"That's what I'm talking about! You know, I been telling everybody in here about my boy out in California playing with the rich kids. Even the guards asking me about you now."
"You been bragging about me?"
"Hell yeah I been bragging! You think I ain't proud? Son, you doing everything I ever wanted to do but couldn't. You got that talent I never had, plus you got the opportunity I never got."
His voice got serious for a minute.
"Jakari, I need you to understand something. Every move I made in these streets, every risk I took, every night I was out there grinding - it was all for you. So you could have choices I never had."
"I know, Pops."
"I don't think you do know. See, I grew up thinking the streets was the only way to make real money, to take care of family. But you... man, you got a chance to make millions legally. You got a chance to set up not just yourself, but your kids, their kids."
"I'm working hard, Pops. Every day."
"I know you are. Your mama tells me you wake up at 5:30 every morning to work out. That's that Williams work ethic right there."
We talked for fifteen more minutes about football, about my classes, about how different California was from Chicago. He asked about my teammates, whether the coaches were treating me right, if I needed anything.
"Son, I got about two minutes left on this call, so let me say this. I'm proud of you. Not just for the football, but for how you handling yourself out there. You taking care of Maya and that baby, you staying focused, you making smart decisions."
"Thanks, Pops."
"And Jakari? When you make it to the league - not if, when - you remember that you carrying the dreams of everybody who never got the chance. Me, your uncles, all the cats in here who had talent but made wrong choices."
"I will."
"Alright, I love you, son. Call me next week."
"Love you too, Pops."
After hanging up, I sat there for a minute feeling the difference between those two conversations. Both my parents loved me, both were proud of what I was doing. But my mom's love felt like a warm blanket - comforting, supportive, wanting me to be happy. My dad's love felt like rocket fuel - intense, ambitious, pushing me toward something bigger than myself.
Both kinds of love mattered. Both were helping me become who I needed to be.
By 5 PM, I was showered, dressed, and walking across campus to pick up Isabella for... whatever this was. We'd been texting more, studying together, but we hadn't really defined what was happening between us. I'd chosen khakis and a button-down shirt - nice but not trying too hard.
Isabella was waiting for me outside her dorm, and she looked... damn. Jeans, a simple white top, and a light jacket. Her dark hair was down instead of in the ponytail she usually wore.
"You look really good," I said as she walked over, immediately feeling awkward for saying it.
"Thank you," she said, and I caught her checking me out too. "You clean up well."
"Thanks. So where we going? You never told me."
"It's a surprise. But don't worry, it's not too fancy. I know you're probably not trying to eat with seventeen different forks."
I laughed. "Good, 'cause I barely know what to do with one fork most the time."
"That's not true. I've seen you eat. You have better table manners than half the guys here."
"Maya been teaching me. Says I can't embarrass her when I'm rich and famous."
We started walking toward the campus exit where Isabella said we could catch an Uber. The whole thing felt weird - not bad weird, just... new. I wasn't sure if this was a date or just two friends hanging out or what.
"How is Maya doing? Really?" Isabella asked.
"She's strong. Stronger than I am sometimes. Taking care of Tayanna, working part-time, going to community college. She got her whole life planned out."
"Sounds like someone else I know," Isabella said, glancing at me.
"Who?"
"You, dummy. You think about the future more than you realize."
I thought about that. "I guess. But not like you do. You got spreadsheets and five-year plans and... stuff."
Isabella laughed. "You were about to say 'shit' weren't you?"
"Maybe."
"You don't have to censor yourself around me, you know. I'm not that delicate."
"I know, it's just... I don't know. Trying to be... I don't know what I'm trying to be."
"Just be yourself. That's what I like about you."
The word 'like' hung in the air for a second. Did she mean like-like, or just regular like? This whole talking stage thing was confusing as hell.
Our Uber pulled up - a black Tesla that was nicer than any car I'd ever been in.
"Where to?" the driver asked as we got in.
"Nobu Malibu, please," Isabella said.
"Nobu?" I asked. "That sounds expensive."
"It's not that bad. And I invited you, so don't worry about it."
"Nah, I got money. My grandparents made sure of that. I just... I never been to a place called Nobu before."
"It's Japanese food. Really good. You'll like it."
As we drove toward the restaurant, I couldn't help but notice how natural this felt despite my nerves. Isabella was easy to talk to, even when I didn't know what to say.
"Can I ask you something?" I said.
"Sure."
"What is this? Like, are we... I don't really know how to ask this."
Isabella smiled, but I could see she was a little nervous too. "I don't know either. I've never really done the whole 'talking' thing before."
"The talking thing?"
"You know, when you're not just friends but you're not officially dating either. When you're figuring out if you like each other like that."
"Oh. Yeah, I guess that's what this is."
"Is that okay with you?"
I thought about it. "Yeah. I think so. I mean, I don't really know what I'm doing anyway."
"Good. Because I don't either, and I usually have everything planned out."
The car pulled up to the restaurant, and I could see the ocean stretching out beyond the deck. The place looked expensive as hell, but also kind of cool.
"Isabella, I should probably tell you..."
"What?"
"I might not know what half the stuff on the menu is. And I might ask dumb questions."
Isabella reached over and touched my arm. "Jakari, you couldn't ask a dumb question if you tried. And if you don't know something, I'll explain it. That's what... whatever this is... that's what it's for."
As we walked into the restaurant, I realized this felt different from anything I'd experienced back home. Not better or worse, just... different. More complicated maybe, but also more real.
We weren't boyfriend and girlfriend. We were just two people figuring out if we wanted to be.
And honestly, that felt perfect for where I was in my life right now.