Chapter 4: First Steps Forward
Kevin woke to the faint chirp of his phone alarm, the screen glowing 7:00 a.m. in the pre-dawn gray of his bedroom. Saturday. The day of the coding workshop. His heart gave a quick thump—not nerves, exactly, but something alive, like the hum of a console booting up. He lay there for a moment, staring at the cracked ceiling, Nina's words from last night looping in his head: You're smarter than you know, and you got heart. He could still feel the warmth of her hug, the weight of her belief settling into him like armor. For the first time in a while, he didn't check his phone for Jake's texts. He didn't need to. He'd made his choice.
He swung his legs out of bed, the cold floor jolting him fully awake. His backpack sat ready by the door, stuffed with his notebook of game sketches, a pencil, and the workshop flyer, now creased from handling. He pulled on a fresh hoodie—black, no logos, just clean—and laced up his sneakers, the ones he'd scrubbed last night to look sharp. In the kitchen, Nina was already up, sipping coffee, her nurse scrubs swapped for a rare weekend sweatsuit. "You ready, baby?" she asked, sliding a plate of toast and eggs across the counter.
Kevin nodded, grabbing a piece of toast. "Yeah. Just… wanna make sure I don't mess this up." He chewed slowly, his eyes drifting to the window where the South Side stirred—delivery trucks rumbling, early risers shuffling to bus stops.
"You won't," Nina said, her tone firm but warm. "You show up, you listen, you learn. That's all you gotta do today." She reached into her purse and pulled out a folded twenty. "For the bus and lunch. Don't be spendin' it on no arcade nonsense."
Kevin grinned, pocketing the bill. "I got you, Ma."
The bus ride downtown was a blur of familiar sights—corner stores, murals, the El tracks snaking overhead. Kevin sat near the back, earbuds in, listening to a lo-fi beats playlist he'd found on YouTube. His mind wandered to the workshop. Would the other kids be like him? Would they get his game idea—a kid dodging traps in a city that shifted under his feet, collecting "hope" to power up? He'd been tweaking it in his head all week, inspired by Coogie's laugh, Kiesha's hustle, Nina's strength. It wasn't just a game anymore; it felt like a piece of him.
The workshop was in a sleek community center near the Loop, all glass and polished floors, a world away from the South Side's grit. Kevin stepped inside, his sneakers squeaking on the tile, and checked in at a table where a woman with a bright smile handed him a name tag and a lanyard. "Welcome, Kevin," she said, pointing him toward a room buzzing with kids his age—maybe thirty of them, some in hoodies like him, others in button-ups, all clutching laptops or notebooks. A banner read: Code Your Future: Game Design Bootcamp.
He found a seat near the middle, next to a girl with neon-green braids who was already typing furiously on a laptop. She glanced at him, nodded, and went back to her screen. Kevin opened his notebook, his sketches calming his nerves as the instructor, a lanky guy named Marcus with round glasses, kicked things off. "Today's about building something real," Marcus said, pacing the front. "Your game, your story, your rules. We'll teach you the tools—Unity, C#, the basics—but you bring the heart."
Kevin leaned forward, soaking it in. Marcus walked them through setting up a simple platformer, code line by line projected on a screen. Kevin's fingers flew across the borrowed laptop, his brain clicking like it did during a clutch Street Fighter match. By lunch, he'd built a sprite that could jump across moving platforms, crude but alive.
The girl with the green braids—her name tag read Aisha—peeked at his screen. "Yo, that's smooth," she said. "You got a story for it?"
Kevin hesitated, then flipped to his sketches. "Kinda. It's about a kid tryna get outta a messed-up city. Like, traps everywhere, but he finds stuff to keep goin'." Aisha's eyes lit up. "That's dope. You from Chicago, huh?" Kevin nodded, a grin tugging at his lips. For once, he didn't feel out of place.
Lunch was pizza in the courtyard, and Kevin sat with Aisha and a quiet kid named Malik who was coding a racing game. They traded ideas—Kevin's traps, Aisha's idea for a boss fight, Malik's physics tweaks. It felt easy, like gaming with Papa, but sharper, like they were building something bigger. Kevin's phone stayed silent—no Jake, no Jemma. He didn't mind. The workshop was his world today.
Back inside, Marcus paired them up for a mini-project. Kevin and Aisha teamed up, merging his platformer with her idea for a glitchy enemy that flickered in and out. They laughed when their code crashed, high-fived when it finally ran. By 4 p.m., they had a demo—short, buggy, but theirs. Marcus stopped by, nodding. "Y'all got something here. Keep at it, Kevin. You've got an eye for this."
As the workshop wrapped, Marcus handed out free laptops to keep, part of the program's grant. Kevin clutched his, the weight of it solid, real. He also got a slip for a follow-up mentorship, weekly sessions to refine his game. On the bus home, he stared out the window, the city blurring past, his reflection sharp in the glass. He felt different—taller, maybe, or just clearer. The laptop sat heavy in his bag, a promise he meant to keep.
At home, Nina was waiting, her smile wide when she saw the laptop. "Look at you, Mr. Game Designer," she teased, pulling him into a hug. Kevin laughed, showing her the demo, his sprite hopping across Aisha's glitchy traps. Kiesha FaceTimed later, hyping him up when he told her about Aisha and Marcus. "See, lil bro? You out here movin'!" she said, her grin infectious.
Before bed, Kevin opened his notebook, sketching a new level—a rooftop chase, the city skyline glowing behind his hero. His phone buzzed once—Jake again: Yo, you ghostin' me? What's good? Kevin read it, his thumb hovering. He thought of Nina's list, Jemma's laugh in that story, the way Jake always left him holding the bag. Then he thought of today—the code, the laptop, Aisha's nod, Marcus's words. He deleted the text, powered off his phone, and kept sketching.
The South Side slept outside, its hum softer now. Kevin's pencil scratched on, each line a step away from Jake's shadow, each stroke a piece of his dream taking shape. He didn't know where it would lead, but for the first time, he felt like he was running toward something, not away.