Playing For Keeps

Nyla POV

Last year, my dad decided my twin and I needed to attend an HBCU because, according to him, no other school can educate a Black scholar quite like one. So today, we’re moving into Blackwood University—our parents’ alma mater. Mom and Dad both pledged here, and now Dad donates enough money every year that half the administration probably has his number saved.

He’s also convinced this is where my Olympic journey will get back on track. For me, though, law school in three years feels more pressing. At least that's what I keep telling myself.

As we pull into the parking lot, Nala whistles softly. “Girl, this campus is huge, and just look at all these fine-ass men.”

I laugh and shake my head. Of course that's the first thing she notices. Not the huge brick buildings, the Blackwood banners hanging from every light pole, or the groups of students moving boxes across campus. The men.

Nala and I are identical twins—except I dyed my hair a striking copper red, while hers is a deep purple. We’re both 5’1” and light-skinned, with the same face but different eyes—hers hazel, mine a cool grey. We’re both thick and curvy, but years of track and conditioning have given my body a little more definition.

The moment we step out, I feel people looking before I even shut my car door.

“Oh girl, don’t look, but that sexy-ass football player is definitely eyeing you,” Nala teases.

Telling me not to look is basically telling me to look. I glance up and, sure enough, a tall, brown-skinned guy with braids and dimples that probably get him out of entirely too much shit is staring me down.

He winks.

I suck my teeth.

“Girl, bye. Let’s just get settled.”

Dad and Mom approach before Nala can say anything else.

“What building is your room in, girls?” Dad asks.

“Buchanan Hall, Daddy.”

“Your mother stayed in Buchanan before she pledged,” he says with a smile, looking toward the building like we're continuing some family tradition instead of transferring schools halfway through college.

“We’ll start hauling your stuff inside. What’s your room number?”

“221,” I answer, opening my trunk.

Nala suddenly tugs my arm.

I don't even have to ask why.

Mr. Football is walking toward us.

“What’s up, ladies? Need a hand with the move?”

His voice is smooth, and judging by the confidence in his walk, he already expects the answer to be yes.

“No, thanks. We’ve got it,” I respond quickly.

“Damn, Ma. I just wanted to help.”

“You look like you help a lot of girls.”

Nala makes a choking sound beside me, but I ignore her.

A smile spreads across his face, and unfortunately, it's a really nice smile. Too nice. The kind attached to a man who probably knows exactly what those dimples do to women.

“Nah, just the pretty ones.”

“Wrong answer. Have a nice day.”

I grab my bags and close the trunk.

As I walk away, I hear him say, “Damn, she’s fire.”

I don’t turn back.

“Girl, Ny, you never talk to a dude like that,” Nala says, hurrying to catch up with me.

“He looks like he entertains all the girls. I’m good.”

“Yeah, but he’s on the football team.”

I look at her.

“Even more reason to stay away from him.”

She laughs like I just proved her point instead of mine.

“Besides, I don’t have time for dudes right now. I’m trying to get out of Dad’s Olympic dreams and focus on what I really want.”

“You say that as if you don’t love track,” she teases as we step into Buchanan.

My grip tightens slightly around the handle of my bag.

“I do, but it hasn’t felt like my dream since high school. Lala, he pushes way too hard—especially since I tore my hamstring at that last meet my senior year.”

Even now, thinking about that meet makes the back of my thigh feel tight. I know it's in my head. I've been medically cleared for a long time, and my times prove my body came back.

That doesn't mean everything else did.

“That summer broke me, and so did that first track season as a freshman,” I admit.

Nala stops and looks at me seriously.

“Nyla, you worked your ass off to get here. You’re a beast on the track. You made a full recovery and are even running faster than before your injury. It’s not just Dad.” Her voice softens. “I get why you want something different—track has been your life since we were kids.”

I know she's right, which is exactly why I don't argue. That's the part nobody seems to understand. I never stopped loving track. Somewhere between rehab, my father's expectations, and fighting to prove the injury didn't take everything from me, I just stopped knowing who I was running for.

She opens our room door when we reach it, and thankfully the conversation dies there.

Once we’re settled, our parents prepare to leave.

“Okay, girls, have a great year. I hope to hear good things during our weekly check-ins,” Dad says.

Nala and I both roll our eyes.

“Ny, the season hasn’t started yet, but that’s no reason to slack. Find the track, keep up your conditioning, and improve those splits.”

There it is.

Not even five minutes into his goodbye.

“Yes, Daddy.”

He hugs us both and heads out.

“I’ll talk to him,” Mom says, giving me a look that tells me she noticed the way my entire mood changed. She kisses us before following him out.

The door barely closes before I let out the breath I've been holding.

I pull out my phone and call Brielle. She answers after two rings.

“Bitch, we here.”

“What room?”

“221.”

“Okay, I’m coming.”

She hangs up.

I laugh and toss my phone onto my bed. Same Bri. No hello. No welcome to Blackwood. Just what room?

A few minutes later, there’s a knock at the door. Nala opens it, and she and Brielle both scream the second they see each other.

“Bri, I missed you!” Nala yells as they hug.

Two girls walk in behind Brielle.

“Hey, Bri.” I hug her next.

“Yo, girls, this is Aaliyah and Leah, and this is Nyla and Nala,” Brielle says.

“Wow, this room is huge,” Aaliyah comments, looking around at the extra space between our beds and desks.

“Yeah, our dad pulled some strings,” Nala says.

“Oh, Daddy’s deep pockets strike again.” Brielle looks at me. “Does he still donate to the school?”

“Yeah, he does.”

Probably another reason we somehow ended up with one of the biggest rooms in Buchanan.

“You guys have to come to the welcome-back Yard Jam,” Leah chimes in.

“Oh, for sure. I just need to change. This is move-in clothes, not socializing clothes,” Nala says.

“You too, Nyla. Especially with that football guy eyeing you,” she adds.

“Football guy?” Aaliyah asks.

“Yeah. Tall, brown-skinned, braids, dimples.”

All three girls say it at the same time.

“Zay.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“Zay?”

“Yep. Isaiah ‘Zay’ Reynolds. Quarterback and the guy every girl wants,” Brielle says.

“Everyone but me,” I mutter.

Brielle laughs. “You say that now.”

“If he’s into you, you’ll be the most hated girl in school,” she teases.

“I don’t care what he wants. I don’t do well with attention-seeking dudes. Aiden already proved that.”

Just saying his name leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

“Yeah, and Zay’s Aiden on steroids,” Brielle adds.

“I’m good.”

And I mean it. One cheating athlete with an ego was more than enough for this lifetime.

“But we’re going, and I’m definitely changing,” I declare. “New school, new year, new energy.”

“Meet outside in fifteen?” Brielle asks.

“Yup,” Nala and I respond in unison.

Brielle laughs as she and the girls head out, leaving Nala and me to attack our suitcases.

I open my organized, vibe-themed suitcase and decide on a hot pink two-piece crop top and mini-skirt set, then slip on my pink Balenciaga sneakers.

“Yass, girl, you ate that. That football guy’s gonna be all over you,” Nala says.

She’s wearing the same outfit as me, but in red. We usually don’t twin, especially now that we've gone out of our way to make ourselves look different, but every once in a while it's fun reminding people that underneath the red and purple hair, we're still identical.

“You too, bitch. We look good, though.”

“Always. Let’s go.”

I grab my keys and bag and follow her out.

The campus we walked through earlier has completely transformed. Sororities and fraternities are everywhere. The Omegas are putting on a step show on the pavement while students crowd around them, shouting along and holding their phones in the air.

Tables and food trucks fill the area, music competes from different corners of the yard, and Blackwood shirts are everywhere I look. The smell of grilled food drifts through the crowd as Nala grabs my hand and pulls me farther into everything.

It’s like something out of a movie.

And despite everything I said about coming here for school, keeping my head down, and figuring out my future, I can't stop smiling.

Maybe transferring to Blackwood won't be so bad after all.