Chapter 42: The Visit

State University's campus was a world away from Jefferson High.

Manicured lawns stretched between red-brick buildings. Students walked with the casual confidence of people who knew opportunity was available to them. The athletic facilities were palatial—a basketball arena that seated twelve thousand, a weight room that looked like a spaceship, training rooms with equipment Marcus had only seen in magazines.

Darius and Malik walked through it all with wide eyes and barely contained awe.

"This can't be real," Darius whispered.

"It's real," Marcus said. "And it could be yours."

Coach Anderson met them in the basketball offices—a friendly man in his fifties with the easy authority of someone who'd been winning at the college level for decades.

"Welcome to State," he said, shaking each of their hands. "We're glad you could make it."

He led them on a comprehensive tour: the arena, the practice facility, the academic support center. They met current players, sat in on a film session, and watched a practice that demonstrated the level of basketball they'd be stepping into.

"It's fast," Malik observed. "Faster than anything I've seen."

"It is," Anderson agreed. "The college game is a significant step up. But we believe both of you have the tools to compete at this level."

"What would you need from us?" Darius asked.

"Continued development. Academic commitment. And the work ethic you've already demonstrated." Anderson looked at Marcus. "Your coach has done an exceptional job preparing you. The fundamentals are there. We just need to refine them."

---

After the official tour, Anderson pulled Marcus aside.

"Can we talk? Coach to coach?"

They walked to Anderson's office—a spacious room overlooking the practice court, decorated with conference championship trophies and photos of former players.

"I'm going to be straight with you," Anderson said. "Both your kids are talented. Malik is probably more ready physically—his frame, his athleticism, his ability in the post. Darius is more polished skill-wise but needs to get stronger."

"I agree with that assessment."

"Good. Then you'll understand when I say we're thinking about offering Malik a scholarship and Darius a preferred walk-on."

Marcus felt a twinge. "Not a scholarship for Darius?"

"Not yet. Walk-on with the potential to earn a scholarship. Darius is young—he's only a sophomore. If he continues developing, we'd move him to scholarship before his junior year."

"He won't take that well. He's worked just as hard as Malik."

"I understand. But roster spots and scholarship limits are what they are. We can offer Malik a full ride now because his position is harder to fill. Point guards like Darius are more common."

"Can I ask you to hold off on telling him? Let me handle it."

Anderson nodded. "Of course. Take the time you need."

---

The conversation with Darius was one of the hardest Marcus had ever had.

They sat in the car outside Darius's apartment, the engine running, the air conditioning fighting the late-summer heat.

"They love you," Marcus began. "Anderson was genuinely impressed."

"But?" Darius could read Marcus's tone.

"They're offering Malik a scholarship. For you, it's a walk-on spot with the opportunity to earn a scholarship down the road."

Darius went still. "Walk-on? But I'm the point guard. I'm the one who—"

"I know. And Anderson knows. But scholarship limits are real. He can't offer everyone a full ride."

"So Malik gets the scholarship and I get... nothing?"

"You get a foot in the door at a Division I program." Marcus leaned forward. "Darius, a lot of great players started as walk-ons. You get on that campus, you put in the work, and you earn the rest."

"That's easy to say when someone else is getting the scholarship."

"You're right. It's not fair. But fairness isn't the same as opportunity." Marcus paused. "You're fifteen years old. You've got two more years of high school. By the time you graduate, you'll have multiple offers—I'm confident of that."

"You don't know that."

"No. But I believe it. And more importantly, I believe in you."

Darius was quiet for a long time, staring out the windshield at the familiar streets of his neighborhood.

"My mom works three jobs," he said softly. "A scholarship would change everything for her. She wouldn't have to kill herself just to keep the lights on."

"I know."

"And Malik deserves it. I'm not saying he doesn't. He's been through worse than me. He needs this more."

"It's not a competition. You both deserve good things."

"Then why does it feel like one?"

Marcus didn't have an answer for that.

"I'll take the walk-on," Darius finally said. "And I'll earn that scholarship. Not because I have to—because I want to prove that I belong."

"That's the Darius Washington I know."

"Thanks, Coach. For being honest with me."

"Always."

---

The drive home was quiet.

Marcus dropped Darius off and continued to his apartment, thinking about the conversation. About how the system worked, how it picked winners and losers based on things that had nothing to do with heart. About a fifteen-year-old who had handled it better than Marcus would have at that age.

When he got home, he found a message from Denise Washington on his phone.

*Darius told me about State. The walk-on offer. I know it's not what we hoped for, but I want you to know—I'm grateful. My son has a chance because of you. That's more than most kids from this neighborhood can say. Thank you, Coach.*

Marcus typed back: *He's going to earn that scholarship. I'd bet my life on it.*

*I know he will. He's his mother's son. We don't quit.*

Marcus smiled. The Washington determination was genetic, apparently.

He set down his phone and looked at the championship trophy, still sitting on his counter. Then he turned off the light and went to bed.