The Donor: When Conception Meets Deception Read Online Free PDF Page B

the yellow arc. Devantay clinches his fists, and grits his teeth, as he watches his opponent's ball sail through the iron basket. Chase whistles at Devantay; he hovers his palms chest high signaling the child to keep his cool.
    “Our ball,” Chase says. He passes the ball to Devantay. The young boy dribbles towards the basket but it is stolen by the older teen who again strokes a clean shot.
    “Nothing but net youngin’,” the skinny kid says. He brushes nonexistent dirt off of his wiry shoulders. Devantay's lower lip puckers. His nostrils breathe heavily. Chase senses his young mentee's frustration and calls for a time out.
    “Aww, fake Daddy gotta dry your tears now?" the teen says.
    Chase glares at the youth. The boy smirks and joins his teammates in a huddle. Chase turns his attention towards Devantay. He kneels before the youngster.
    “Devantay, keep cool. The score is tied. We’re not losing,” Chase says
    "I know, but I keep messing up. He's better than me."
    The child's eyes well up. Chase grabs both of Devantay's shoulders with a jolt.
    "Hey. You listen up. No one is better than you. He's made a couple of shots. Big deal. And he's being cocky and disrespectful about it. That’s called poor sportsmanship. And he's in for a rude awakening in life. People will form opinions of you based on your attitude and your behavior. That can mean a job promotion, an invite to a networking dinner, or an introduction to the girl of your dreams. You want to be like that guy?"
    “No…but...but I'm not as good."
    “Little man, as long as you play to the best of your ability that's all that matters. "
    "But I don't want you to be mad at me Chase."
    Chase pauses.
    "Devantay look at me. This game doesn't matter. You hear me? But me and you? We're not a game. We matter. You matter. I’m not your fake anything and I'm proud of you. No matter what. Look at me." He lifts the child’s chin with his index finger. "I'm proud of you."
    Devantay's eyes smile.
    Chase rises and turns to his other teammates and says confidently "All right y'all let's do this. Next point wins." He turns to Devantay. “We about to do this right?”
    "Heck yeah,” Devantay pumps his fist.
    Chase cups his hand around the boy's ear and whispers something. Devantay's face lights up. He leers a smug grin at his teen nemesis and strides onto the court. Devantay inbounds the ball to Chase. Exhausted, sweat drenched bodies of various hues, heights and stomach circumferences, scramble to various positions. T-shirts flap in the humid air as players attempt to keep up with Chase's ankle breaking crossovers, and his behind-the-back passes. Chase is a playground legend. His teammates fixate on him being the hero. The score is tied. The next basket wins but Chase has something more profound on his mind than shooting the game winner. He dribbles in place with his left hand and makes a motion for his teammates to clear out of the way. Two opposing players run up to double team him. He slices between both players. With no defender in front of him he stops to pop a mid-range shot from the foul line. The tall teen who had been harassing Devantay all afternoon breaks away from the boy in attempt to block Chase’s shot. As Chase jumps and releases he does not shoot the ball in the basket; he fires it across the court into Devantay's chest. The preteen catches it, cuts to the basket, and clanks the ball off the metal backboard and through the hoop for the game winner. Devantay's eyes burst. His arms fling. He springs to the sky like a kid on a trampoline.
    "We won, we won, we won,” he shouts.
    Chase sprints to the ecstatic child. The perspiration on his face is like sparkles on a father's brow. Chase goes to high five him but Devantay pounces into his arms and squeezes. It is the first time Devantay has ever hugged Chase. Teammates join in the celebration and give the youngster high fives and atta boys . Even the opposing team congratulates the child. All except for one