After everything had died down
the celebrations, the fireworks, the noise that shook the city for nights life slowly began to look normal again.
The trophy now sat in the school display case.
The chants had faded into memories whispered between classes.
But every time Malik walked through the hallway, the whispers started again softer this time, almost reverent.
"That's him."
"The coach who beat West-Bridge."
"Bro changed history."
He tried to act like he didn't hear them. But deep down, it felt strange to be seen, to be respected, after years of being invisible.
By Friday, the week had already felt long. The sun was high, warm and golden, the kind of day that made the whole street shimmer. He had his backpack slung over one shoulder, his brace lighter now, and a calm he hadn't felt in months.
When he turned the corner to his street, he slowed.
There, under the old tent his mother sometimes set up for guests, sat two chairs, a small table, and two cups of zobo sweating under the sun.
And sitting across from his mom was Jones Ferdinand.
For a second, Malik thought he was imagining it.
But then his mother looked up, her smile blooming the moment she saw him.
"Malik! You're back early," she called.
He waved faintly, walking closer. "Hey, Mom."
His eyes flicked to Ferdinand. "Good afternoon, sir."
"Afternoon, Coach Amari," Ferdinand replied with that same calm smile. "Join us."
Malik dropped his bag by the steps and pulled up a chair. The air smelled like hibiscus and dust. The neighborhood was quiet except for the low hum of a radio from somewhere down the road.
His mom looked pleased maybe a little too pleased which instantly made Malik suspicious.
"What's going on?" he asked.
Ferdinand glanced at her, then turned to him. "I was just updating your mother about our previous discussion."
Malik frowned slightly. "The program?"
He nodded. "Yes. I've spoken with my colleagues. Everything's been approved the mentorship, the placement, the accommodations. All that's left is your confirmation. Once you say yes, I'll arrange everything, and we move by Sunday evening."
The words hit like sunlight breaking through clouds.
Sunday. That soon.
Malik blinked, his heart skipping. "You mean… actually move?"
Ferdinand smiled faintly. "Three months of intensive work strategy, leadership, real coaching experience. It's not just training, Malik. It's your first step into the real world of football."
Mom's hands were clasped together on her lap, her eyes shining. "He told me everything, baby. Said they'll take care of you, and you'll have mentors to guide you. This is what you've worked for."
Malik leaned back, the wooden chair creaking softly beneath him. The sun caught in the folds of the tent, painting his mother's smile gold.
Three months. Away from home. Away from the team.
He looked at Ferdinand again. "Why me?"
Ferdinand didn't hesitate. "Because you're already doing what most grown men spend a lifetime learning. You've built a team from nothing, led boys your age even older and gave them purpose. That's not luck, Malik. That's calling."
For a long moment, Malik didn't answer. He just listened to the wind, the soft flap of the tent, the distant laughter of kids playing down the street.
Then he smiled, small but sure. "Alright. I'll go."
His mom let out a shaky laugh, relief breaking across her face. "Oh, thank God."
Ferdinand stood, extending his hand. Malik rose and shook it. His grip was firm, confident more confident than it had been months ago.
"Good," Ferdinand said. "Pack light. I'll pick you up Sunday evening. And Malik…"
"Sir?"
"Enjoy these next two days. You've earned them."
He gave a nod to Mrs. Amari, then stepped out into the sun, the light catching the edge of his coat as he walked down the street.
When he was gone, Mom turned to Malik, her smile trembling between pride and tears.
"You see?" she whispered. "Your father always said you'd go far. Maybe he was right after all."
Malik looked down the road where Ferdinand's figure was fading into the sunlight, then back at her.
"He usually was," he said softly.