Chapter Five – Green Eyes, Green Heart
395 Words
Dylan sat in the bleachers of the barrio court, drenched in sweat after another endless practice. The air smelled of dust and fried empanadas from the stand nearby. He opened i********:, half-dead tired, and then froze.
On his feed: Keisha.
Smiling, at a café in Chicago.
Next to her—a boy with green eyes and an arm around her chair.
The caption: “Best coffee, best company 💙.”
Dylan’s chest
He laughed bitterly, but it wasn’t real laughter.
“¿Qué es esto? Best company?” His throat felt tight. His teammates called him from the court:
“¡Dylan! Ven, bro!”
But he waved them off, staring at the picture until it blurred.
He typed a message, erased it, typed again.
Finally just:
“Cool pic.”
Pressed send. Threw his phone in his bag like it had burned his hand.
In Chicago
Keisha saw the notification while walking home with Mariah.
“Dylan texted,” she said quietly.
Mariah peeked over. “Ooooh, the Dominican boy again? What did he say?”
Keisha sighed. “‘Cool pic.’ That’s it.”
“Girl, he jealous,” Mariah grinned.
Keisha shook her head. “He doesn’t even believe in love. Why would he care?”
But her heart beat faster anyway.
The distance as a knife
That night Dylan lay awake. The sound of bachata from the neighbor’s radio made him want to scream. He typed again:
“So… who’s the guy?”
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Finally:
“Just a friend. We had coffee after practice. Don’t overthink.”
He muttered to himself, “Just a friend, uh-huh…” and threw the phone aside. But sleep didn’t come. He kept seeing her smile—for someone else.
Keisha’s doubts
Later, Keisha stared at Dylan’s profile picture. His curls messy, his eyes tired but burning. She whispered,
“Why do I even care what he thinks? He’s… thousands of miles away.”
But deep inside, she knew why.
Conflict explodes
The next day, Dylan snapped at his coach when practice started. His passes were sloppy, his shots off.
“¿Qué te pasa, chico?” the coach barked.
“¡Nada!” Dylan shouted, voice cracking.
But his teammates knew. It wasn’t “nada.”
It was a girl in Chicago. A girl he wasn’t supposed to fall for.
- Writer
