Nate was in front of the cameras once again. Except this time, he wasn't filming just any old clip for his socials, this was for an interview with a small, local news crew.
The only thing that shined brighter than his grin was the gold around his neck, dangling down to his chest. He was always at his best when the cameras were rolling. He was dressed to impress as well, wearing a fine black turtle-neck, the sleeves rolled up; cream-coloured khakis; even his many braids had colourful beads in them; and finishing the look—though a bit out of place—were his black air-force ones.
The interviewer, a prim, pretty, and proper—if not plain—young woman with her hair in a neat bun, stood beside him, microphone in hand, and a warm smile on her cherry lips.
After a signal from the man behind the camera, the reporter said: 'This is Tasha Moon reporting for Cali Loves Sports, the only news with real feet on the ground, and I'm here with the fastest rising star in all of football, Nate Langford. It's so good that you could join us, Nate. I really can't thank you enough.'
'Ayy that's Nate "Bullet Train" Langford don't forget, mon. Or you can just call me BT,' Nate said, still grinning. 'But it's no problem. I'm always happy to speak to my fans.'
Tasha chuckled. 'Alright, BT. Speaking of fans, you seem to get more and more fans every day. That must be so heartwarming, coming across from Jamaica to a foreign country, but being welcomed so warmly. Your quick rise to prominence in high school football, I think it's really inspiring. What do you have to say about that journey?'
'What can I say except thank you to all my fans and everyone who's given me such a warm welcome. Of course, I'm the quickest rising star, that's 'cause I'm the fastest, period.'
'You've got a lot of confidence. Some would call it arrogance, but I say you deserve it after breaking your school's records for both receiving touchdowns AND yards in a single season, in what's only your first year ever playing the sport? Is that correct?'
'That's right, Tasha, and I'm only going to get better every year. But, if people have a problem with me, they're more than welcome to come shut me up and shut me down … but ain't nobody done that yet.'
'Hahaha. I even saw that you broke your school's record for the boys' one-hundred metre sprint. But then you stopped track and put all your focus on football. With such promising prospects for both football and sprinting, why did you put all your focus on just one? And why was it football?'
'Well. That record's mine, and it'll be mine for a LONG time, probably forever, Tasha. I've already made my mark with sprinting. I decided to focus only on one, 'cause I need to be serious about one sport from now on if I want to be the best. And the reason I chose football is 'cause my country already has a long and dominant history in sprinting. Having so many greats, they all take away from each other. So to REALLY stand out, I chose football.'
'I respect that, trying to take a different path. Now, with your records, everyone's heard of them, and also, everyone's seen your viral videos. They're superb entertainment and a true showcase of your speed, but tell me, BT, from the way you talk, reaching the NFL must be your end goal, yes?'
His smile became coy. 'Yes, and no.'
Tasha quirked a boy. 'Oh? Well, I know you said you want to stand out and be different by choosing football, but you must want to follow in the footsteps of some of your other amazing countrymen who've come across and made big impacts in the biggest league.'
'Yeah, mon. Those cats are some real ballers too, but I ain't nothing like them and they ain't nothing like me, ya dig? I'm gonna make the NFL, that's already guaranteed, but I'm gonna be a bigger star than any other.'
She leaned closer. 'And just how big is this star going to be?'
'I'm so glad you asked that, Tasha. Let me tell you—and this is a promise—at the end of everything, I'll be the greatest Wide Receiver you ever seen with your eyes. The first step to proving that?' He turned his attention fully on the camera, stepping closer. 'Is taking down Sierra Canyon, winning State, then going into the National tournament and winning that too. I'm gunning for them titles, and ain't NOBODY outrunning the Bullet Train, mon.'
He stepped back. The interview wrapped up shortly after, with Tasha thanking him for his time and bidding him goodbye. When the cameras were off, he gave Tasha his number and told her to call him in case she needed to get in touch again, or if she wanted to ride the Bullet Train.
She didn't respond to his offer outside of a stifled laugh and another smile, but Nate was confident he'd hear from her soon.
Before long, he was in the passenger seat of a BMW M3, his coach sitting next to him in the driver's seat, veins sticking out on the burly arms gripping the steering wheel.
'Something the matter, Coach mon?'
'Oh, I don't know, Nate, you tell me—why would I be upset?'
Nate sat in mock thought for a moment. 'I don't know. Maybe it's 'cause I didn't give any credit to the rest of the team?'
The older man glared at Nate as they stopped at a red light. Coach Kirby was a relatively young man with an appearance beyond his years. Not yet reaching thirty, but most would've put him at forty plus from a glance. Mostly thanks to the grisly scar along the side of his head, and his already greying hair, combined with his bulky stature and his bristly beard. It didn't help that his face was usually wrinkled with frustration.
'Maybe it's because you called out Sierra Canyon of all fucking schools when you should be focusing on the Dominguez Dons instead!' Coach Kirby yelled.
'Pfff. Come off it, mon. Ain't nobody care about them. I ain't gonna go viral calling them out. But EVERYONE gonna see that interview now that I called out the Trailblazers.' Nate grinned. 'ESPECIALLY Sierra Canyon. Nobody's gonna stop me from embarrassing them and proving the only reason they been champs so long is 'cause I haven't been around.'
Coach Kirby shook his head. He let off some steam by blaring his horn at the car in front. 'MOVE YOUR FUCKING ASS! IT'S NOT GETTING GREENER!'
Nate snickered and pulled out his phone. No message from that reporter chick; that was disappointing. He checked his most recent video, the one where he embarrassed that dumbass college CB, Jaylen Vines, grinning at the statistics. 'Shit. This one's blowing up! One mill likes already, Coach.'
'I don't give a shit about your stupid tictacs or whatever, Nate. Have you at least watched the film I sent you?'
Nate rolled his eyes. 'Yeah, yeah, I seen it.' He opened up the selection of Dons' tapes he'd been sent, looking through it to check out who he'd be up against next week. The Dons' CB—number 21—was somewhat interesting, at least.
'Ay, Coach mon. Tell me who this little twenty-one cat is?' he asked.
'That's Tyrese Samuels. If you were really watching the tape, you should know his name better than your mother's at this point. He's a freshman Corner, a true freshman unlike you, and he's the best Corner in the state.'
Nate's grin faltered for once as shock flashed across his face. 'Better than that other freshman they got out at Sierra Canyon?'
Coach Kirby thought it over for a moment. 'Supposedly…' he finally said. 'It's hard to tell. No one throws at that crazy Sierra Canyon kid. Plus, he's a two-way player. This Tyrese kid ONLY plays defence. You'd think if he gave all his focus to it, he'd HAVE to be better than someone who's split between offence and defence.'
'Hmm.' Nate stroked his chin, brushing the neatly trimmed patch of hair there. 'I know how imma make the biggest statement to Sierra Canyon. I'll embarrass this fool, twenty-one, Tyrese right? It'll go viral and show that Sierra Canyon cat that he's got NO CHANCE of catching the Bullet Train.'
Coach Kirby sighed, but at least Nate was focusing on Dominguez now.
'Speaking of viral,' Nate said, 'I still need to make that new video.'
An hour later, Nate was at an empty football field with his own crew, back where he belonged in front of a camera. 'Yo yo yo! It's ya boy, BT. This time coming at ya with a message for the NFL. That's right, I don't even have to worry about anyone else in high school or college. This is a message to them slow asses in the NFL, proving that even the pros can't catch the Bullet Train.'
He set up at the 40-yard line, getting into a sprinter's stance. Another lackey waited behind a camera at the start of the end-zone. Those surrounding and watching Nate, counted him down.
'On your marks. Get set. Go! Go! Go!'
He shot out of his stance and flew down the turf, gliding along the grass. The first camera man struggled to keep up.
Moments later, Nate lunged into the end-zone. He slowed and wheeled around, coming to the timekeeper positioned at the start of the end-zone.
'What time is it? What time is it?'
A camera followed closely over Nate's shoulder as he went and checked the time. The stopwatch read 4.29 seconds.
Nate almost jumped out of his boots. 'Bomboclat! You see this shit, mon?' He snatched one of the phones recording and held it real close to the stopwatch, hand shaking with excitement. 'Read that shit!'
After a few seconds, he turned it back on himself. 'I'm already running under a four-three. That'll be a four-two FLAT soon, and one day imma smash that shitty record in the combine and run the first ever four-one, you better believe it, mon. That's a promise, 'cause ain't NOBODY faster than the Bullet Train! Ya dig!' He hurled the phone up into the air. The video ended with it still tumbling through the sky.
Tyrese let his phone fall to his chest after the video ended and the screen went dark. He was laying in bed, but his heart was racing. Ever since Ricky had shown him that first short, he'd watched every football video Bullet Train had posted. Each short was gasoline to the fire; a fire that Ty would burn Bullet Train down with, and reveal him for what he really was—a nobody.
Ty pushed himself out of bed, stuffed his phone into his pocket, and yanked his shoes on, tying the laces tight.
He hurried out of the house without stopping to say anything to anyone. He was gone before Meg could even say goodbye.
Then he was running down the street. He started at a jog, but he kept thinking of Nate and soon he leapt into a sprint.
Racing away, Ty pushed further, emptying the gas tank as he wasn't satisfied. He needed to be FASTER! This sluggish sprint wasn't good enough; he had a Bullet Train to catch.