The Right Way to Go

By Torrey C. Butler

From one of the most inspiring and acclaimed young voices, storyteller Torrey C. Butler takes readers into the world of an African American teen, wrestling with his environment to become something greater.

What happens when they are no longer clapping for you?

Eighteen-year-old Xavier “Zay” Dunn is the star basketball player at Magnolia Senior High School. With his skills and seemingly bright future, nothing can stop him from making it to college from his underprivileged neighborhood. Except one thing — decisions.

Just as he finds his footing, avoiding the peer pressure and negative influences from his environment, the sudden passing of his mother stuns his world. The walls are closing in more than ever when he is falsely accused of a crime that would change his life, forever. Instantly he watches everything he’s worked hard for dissipate before his eyes.

Once full of tremendous potential, Zay falls into the pit of his unforgiving neighborhood as he navigates life to find himself. Mistake after mistake, he reaches his lowest points but somehow, someway, he knows that he must find The Right Way To Go.

*America’s Next Great Author Semifinalist

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gatekeeper Press
• Release date: Jan 31, 2023
• ISBN: 9781662930911

Book preview

Part One

Chapter 1

Place Right, Time Wrong

Xavier! Go and clean your room! she yelled dramatically. My mom and I were in the same room, standing only inches away from each other, as she shouted at me.

Yes, Ms. Lena, anything else you need me to do? I cooks and cleans too, I said, doing my best indigent servant impression. Her face alone normally told me the type of mood she was in. I could tell my mom wasn’t in the mood to play because she stared at me, like a lion watching a hyena. I quickly got off the couch and went to clean my room.

Ma, you’re gonna be at my game tomorrow, right, I yelled from my room.

I’ll be a little late coming from work, but yes Zay I’ll be there.

I had basketball practice in an hour, so I knew this needed to be quick. As usual, I threw all of my dirty clothes under the bed. This was mainly to hide the pistol I kept there.

I made up my bed and sprayed cologne in the air because if it smelled clean, it was clean. I lived by that phrase. Soon after spraying the ocean scent in the air, I grabbed my basketball bag and jetted out the front door.

As soon as I closed the door, I shouted, Fuck!

I jogged back to my room and went under the bed to grab my pistol. I tucked it down toward the bottom of my bag and headed for the front door again.

Before I could reach the doorknob, my mom yelled, Zay, aren’t you forgetting something?

I thought to myself, Nah Ma, I already came back to get what I needed. But I knew what she was talking about, so I walked back toward the couch and did our special handshake. It was kind of corny, but that was our thing—our tradition. I kissed her on the cheek and jogged out the front door.

As soon as I stepped outside, I noticed my best friend, Malik, standing by my mom’s car. He was hurrying me up with hand gestures because I was going to be late for basketball practice. I guess I better get moving.

My high school was only a couple of blocks up the street, so we decided to walk. We would pass dope fiends, prostitutes, tricks, and homies who gangbanged. But I always felt safe. This was my neighborhood. Everyone knew everybody, and we looked out for each other.

My neighborhood’s gang was called Magnolia Mafia, or Double M for short. They never pressured me to join, which was mainly due to my relationship with Malik. But also, because I was good at basketball, so they looked out for me. They gave me a pass from that lifestyle.

In my city the options of what you could be were limited. And, for most of the boys in my neighborhood, it was already decided for you. If you didn’t play a sport, you were out hustling, pushing drugs. If you didn’t hustle, you were out gang bangin’ or in and out of the prison system. And if you weren’t in the gang life, you were on the streets pimping or being pimped. Inevitably, if you didn’t determine your path, the streets would find something for you.

My entire neighborhood knew who I was. The star basketball player at Magnolia Senior High School. My school was in my neighborhood’s gang territory, but the next street over from the school belonged to the Pitbulls, our rival neighborhood gang. The school was always considered neutral ground, so nothing happened there. Both sides respected the neutral rule that had been in place since I was a youngin. The Pits stayed on their side, and Double M stayed on ours.

Malik had been my best friend since the monkey bars. I met him when I was eight years old. He had my back, and I had his. I called him by his first name sometimes, but he was known in the neighborhood as Baby Man. His history in the streets ran deep—way further than mine did.

I moved here from Atlanta, Georgia, when I was five years old. This was after my dad was strung out on heroin, pills, and coke. My mom didn’t want me growing up around that, so she looked for a fresh start somewhere else. We ended up here in Miami, Florida, away from those issues to try and have a decent life. That was the last time I had seen or heard from my dad.

My mom was born and raised in the Caribbean. She moved to the U.S. when she was twenty-one years old, with a high school diploma, a passport, and ten dollars in her pocket. She wanted better for herself and to pursue the American Dream, so she applied for citizenship, jobs, and opportunities to receive higher education.

Soon, she realized the American Dream was exactly that, a dream. It didn’t apply to everyone, not even if you wanted more for yourself. A few years after she moved to Georgia, I was born.

So, she found herself stuck in the system, working low-paying and unfulfilling jobs for the last thirty years.

My mom worked at a warehouse, pulling close to sixty hours a week at minimum wage to maintain a roof over our heads. With the increased cost of living, my mom was forced to put in more hours over the last few years.

Especially when COVID initially hit, things were harder. She lost her job, but somehow, still made a way for us.

It hurt me to watch her work dead-end jobs that didn’t pay what she deserved. I wanted to get out and work to lessen the burden.

But Ms. Lena Goodwin was no fool. She knew the environment we lived in and the influences around me. Selling drugs was the quickest way to make money.

Anytime I would try to work, she reminded me that a quick dollar wasn’t worth it. She always told me to keep my head in my books and to focus on basketball. If I was going to get us out of here, she wanted me to do it the right way.

As a single mom, she did the best she could. I didn’t have the best clothes and shoes, or even the best education. But none of that stopped her from telling me I was the smartest person in the room. She told me every day that I made her proud.

She worked her ass off and making it to the league was going to show her that every tear she shed was worth it. I couldn’t wait to get her that big house with the island kitchen she deserves.

But Baby Man? His history ran deep, dating back to his granddad in the 60s. Before he passed, his grandfather ran these same streets. From hustling to pimping, everyone knew who he was.

Baby Man’s dad got into the game as early as seven years old and had been in the streets ever since. That was until he was murdered in a deal gone wrong.

Malik was only ten years old when he lost his pops. They had called his dad Man Man because his huge presence in the neighborhood overpowered his small stature. He had been the man in the streets for a long time.

But the apple didn’t fall too far from the tree. Malik entered the same lifestyle and started calling himself Baby Man. He adopted the same hustler’s mentality from his granddad and pops and dove headfirst into the street life at fourteen years old. By his junior year, Baby Man dropped out of high school to fully commit to hustling at seventeen.

He was three years older than me, so by the time I got to high school, people already knew we were close.

Both of us had grown up without our fathers, so we were fathers to each other. We helped raise each other, and we always looked out for one another. He’s the one that gave me the pistol, for protection.

Baby Man once told me, Always walk around with this. You never know in these streets when a nigga might try you.

He knew I wasn’t with the street life and never pressured me to be about it. At the same time, he taught me how to be street savvy. He taught me how to survive in this city.

Now, when it came to basketball, I was the man in town. Baby Man didn’t play ball, at all. Not even for fun. Getting money, making plays, and watching the little homies put in work around the city was his version of fun.

Baby Man was respected throughout the city, and everyone, even the Pits, knew not to fuck with him and his. But for the past few days, he had been walking me to basketball practice.

The state championship game was tomorrow, so I guess he wanted to give me pep talks every walk to practice. His pep talks went something like, Zay don’t blow this game! or You betta drop forty on them niggas’ heads.

Brookside High School, the team we were going against, was the number one ranked team in the state. Being ranked number four, we were the underdogs in this matchup. That was how I liked it though. I always performed my best under pressure. Plus this was my senior year, so I had to go crazy.

But first I had to make it to practice on time. But because Baby Man walked with me to practice, he stopped periodically to talk to people, which slowed me down.

From the tricks to the slangers to the bangers, everyone knew what time it was when he came through. I was definitely going to be late to practice because Baby Man dapped up every other person or gave them instructions on plays to make.

Anxious to get to practice, I said to him, Aye, bro, I can walk the rest of the way by myself.

Hell nah, you wait for me, he aggressively responded. Man, who the hell is this nigga talking to? Was the immediate thought that ran through my head.

I stared at him impatiently and said, Come on dawg. I’m gonna be late to the last practice before the championship game tomorrow.

Eventually, we made it to the street my school was on. I sped up my walk. Only five minutes before I’d officially be late.

Baby Man shouted, Man, slow yo’ ass down. You gon’ be on time.

I heard him but continued walking at the hurried pace I was going. He wasn’t the one who would have to run laps and shit for being late.

I could see the gym door a few feet away.

Appreciate the company, bro. I’ll catch you later, I said looking back toward him. He really walked with me the entire way to the gym. I guess he just wanted to continuously remind me that I had better drop forty points tomorrow.

Suddenly, as I walked closer toward the gym entrance, I heard a voice shout, Aye, bitch, what the fuck you doing here? I slowly looked over my shoulder, confused at what was said. I just knew in my mind and soul that no one was talking to me like that.

Out of curiosity, I stopped and turned around to see a few young guys congregating by a car in the parking lot. One of them was sitting on the hood of the car, the other two were seated inside it.

The voice I heard sounded off again. Now that I had turned around, it was clear who it had come from. The guy on the hood spoke again.

Aye, bitch! I know you heard me the first time. What the fuck are you doing here? Almost simultaneously the two guys sitting inside the car got out. The guy on the hood jumped off and swiftly walked over toward me. I stood motionless, confident they weren’t walking or talking to me. As I remained still, I noticed I was alone. Baby Man had turned back once he realized I was close enough to the gym.

As they got closer, I glanced at what they wore and quickly noticed the purple bandannas they were rocking. It instantly clicked. These were the Pitbulls, the rival neighborhood gang. What the fuck were they doing in the school parking lot? But more importantly, what the fuck did they want?

Niggas loved to act hard and flex by any means, but the school was not the place to do that. The neutral ground rule had been in place for years, and these clowns were violating it. As they walked closer, they started to surround me. The guy who initially started talking shit walked directly in front of me, with the other two moving around both sides of me. They began to press me as I backed myself into a wall.

Answer the question bitch, the guy standing in front of me said.

Man, this is supposed to be neutral ground. Who are you? I responded in a disturbed voice.

Another guy shouted, It’s new rules around here bruh. There’s a new nigga in charge—me! a young boy said walking up.

My mind started racing at a million miles an hour. I knew these niggas weren’t going to do shit, but the fact they had the confidence to press me at school was alarming. Just by that happening, I knew something was going on in the neighborhood.

Tell that nigga Baby Man he owes me, and it’s time to pay the fuck up, or shit is going to get ugly real soon, the young kid said.

You can tell me yourself nigga, Baby Man said walking up. He seemingly appeared out of thin air, but I was so happy to see him.

The young hooligan began grinning as he turned around to face him. Baby Man drew his pistol from his pants and held it in plain sight, waiting for the young guy to repeat himself. He looked down at the pistol, looked Baby Man in the face, and continued to smirk as if he was unphased by the gun that rested inches away from him.

It’s time to pay up nigga, the young guy said aggressively.

Baby Man stared back at him with a look of disgust and said, Tyrell, if you have a problem you come to me. Don’t ever come up here on my turf like you gangsta, nigga.

I was surprised when Baby Man said his name. I quickly realized that he already knew who this young guy was.

After Baby Man spoke with a forceful tone, the two guys standing by me started to slowly walk closer to him. They simultaneously rubbed their knuckles as if they were preparing for a prize fight. Tyrell put his hand in the air—a signal that meant stop to his crew. They instantly stood still as Tyrell looked intensely at Baby Man for a few seconds. Tyrell gradually walked closer to Baby Man, until they were nearly chest to chest with each other.

You can call me Boone from here on out, Tyrell said.

Oh, you a tough guy now? Baby Man asserted.

I got my name from my dad, just like you, Boone said, snickering. He continued looking him in the eyes. Payday coming soon. That’s your final warning.

Boone signaled his crew to follow him as they walked off back to their car. Baby Man stared them down the entire time until they finally drove off and left the parking lot. He turned toward me, tucking his pistol back into his pants. He didn’t say anything, but I could tell by his body language he was somewhat nervous.

It was unusual to see Baby Man display fear because he was a lion. Everyone knew not to fuck with him. I guess until today.

I knew something must have happened between the two. One way or another, I knew I’d see Tyrell—or Boone or whatever that nigga’s name was—again. After a few seconds of silence, Baby Man looked like he was ready to say something.

He took a breath and said, Go to practice bro. And don’t take long running those laps either.

That was the last thing I expected him to say. After what had just occurred, I didn’t want to ignore the tense situation that just happened.

Dawg, what was he talking about? Payday? How does he know your dad? What’s going on man? I asked frantically. I was still low-key shaken up. Not because they had pressed me, but because they had done so at my school, which had always been a safe zone from all the drama.

I’m going to handle that little guy. Don’t worry about anything, all is good. You just worry about dropping forty on them niggas’ heads tomorrow.

Man, if he says that drop forty shit one more time…I grabbed my bag from the ground and walked into the gym—late.

I heard Baby Man in the distance shouting, I’ll be here when you get done.

Right then I knew something drastic had happened. And I knew something was going to happen. Somehow I knew we were going to see Boone again.

Chapter 2

Heaven Can Wait

Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the 2022 Men’s Basketball State Championship Game at Magnolia Senior High School in Miami, Florida, the announcers roared. Tonight’s championship game features the number-one-ranked Brookside Raptors versus the number-four-ranked Magnolia Bulldogs!

The gym was going crazy! It was so loud I could barely hear my coach give us his motivational speech in the locker room. The last thing I heard my coach say was, Zay, lead us off. I was the team captain, so I always led our chant before every game. But before that, I’d always tell the team to bow their heads for prayer—the Lord’s Prayer.

After we said Amen, I said, All hands in! Hard work, dedication. Family on three. One, two, three, family!

We stormed out of the locker room hyped as hell and ran out to the court. The crowd went crazy. As I surveyed the audience, I saw a bunch of signs with my name on them. I saw Baby Man in the crowd pointing at me, smiling. I was hyped as fuck, pointing back and turning up with the crowd as they chanted, Whoop that trick, whoop that trick! This was my time; this was my team. I knew I had to put everyone on my back to win this game, and I was well prepared to do so.

As I jogged to the end of the layup line, my coach pulled me to the sideline. He told me that scouts from five universities were in the stands to watch me put on a show. I knew the game would be packed with people, but recruiters were the last thing on my mind.

Coach, why did you wait until right before the game to tell me scouts would be here? I asked.

Coach Dawkins smiled and responded jokingly, Because I didn’t want to freak you out. He instantly smiled as he repeatedly patted my back.

I side-eyed him and said, I’m built for this. I jogged back to the warm-up line as he smiled and turned to the assistant coaches to talk strategy. I looked in the stands again, this time on the lookout for my mom. I looked where she usually sat every home game and didn’t see her in her spot. She was my good luck charm. I knew I was going to need her there with me to win this game.

I remembered her saying last night that she had to work late but would be there on time for tip-off. With five minutes left before the start of the game, I sprinted back to the locker to grab my phone. I called her, hoping she was about to park.

After a few rings, she picked up the phone. Hey baby, I am on my way. I’m just leaving work.

I was upset, and I made sure she could hear it in my voice. Ma, you were supposed to be here already. I need you here. There are five scouts in the audience here for us! I need you here! I said, rambling.

Baby, I am on the way. I promise I will be there. I will always be there for you.

All right, Ma, I’m about to go. Hopefully, you get here before the game is over, I replied in a pessimistic tone. I immediately hung up the phone because I heard the buzzer sound for the game to start. I threw my phone back inside the locker and ran back to the court for tip-off.

Let’s go, Zay! Coach Dawkins shouted as I ran to the huddle. Everyone was hyped and ready to get the game started, but I knew everyone was depending on me to lead us. I quickly shook off my emotions and locked in on the game.

After coach