Chapter 5: Tuning Out the Noise
The next week unfurled like a new level in one of Kevin's games—challenging, full of moving parts, but manageable if he stayed locked in. The laptop from the workshop sat on his desk, its screen glowing late into the night as he tinkered with his platformer, adding spikes to his city's traps and a new power-up that let his hero dash. He'd named the character Kion, a nod to himself, but tougher, sharper, dodging dangers Kevin was starting to sidestep in real life. School, homework, coding—those were his checkpoints now, each one pushing him closer to something he could feel but not yet name.
Monday morning hit with the usual South Side clamor—car alarms, shouted greetings, the rumble of the El overhead. Kevin walked to school, his earbuds pumping a J. Cole track, his backpack lighter without the weight of Jake's expectations. The workshop had shifted something in him, like a lens snapping into focus. He wasn't just dreaming about games anymore; he was building them, line by line, pixel by pixel. Aisha had texted him yesterday, sharing a link to a free Unity tutorial, and they'd already planned to meet up at the next mentorship session. Malik, too, had DM'd, asking about Kevin's dash mechanic. It felt good, having people in his corner who got it, who didn't make him feel small for wanting more.
At school, the halls were a chaotic swirl of laughter and locker slams. Kevin spotted Jake near the gym, leaning against a wall, his Jordans scuffed but still loud, his grin sharp as he talked to a couple of juniors. Jake's eyes caught Kevin's, and he raised a hand, beckoning him over. "Yo, Kev, hold up!" he called, his voice cutting through the din. Kevin slowed but didn't stop. He saw the flash of surprise in Jake's face, the way his grin faltered. Kevin kept walking, his earbuds a shield, Cole's lyrics drowning out whatever Jake was about to say. He didn't need to hear it—not the charm, not the excuses, not another half-baked scheme. He had code to write, a demo to polish.
In English class, Kevin sat near the window, his notebook open not to Shakespeare but to level designs—sketches of Kion leaping across rooftops, dodging drones that looked suspiciously like Reg's crew. Papa slid into the seat beside him, his usual energy dialed up. "Yo, you still on that game shit?" Papa asked, peering at Kevin's sketches. "Lookin' like you 'bout to drop a classic."
Kevin grinned, flipping the page to show a boss concept—a hulking figure with Jake's smirk, glitching like Aisha's enemy. "Tryin' to," he said. "Got another session Saturday. Might pitch this to the mentor." Papa whistled, impressed. "Man, you movin' different. Jake was askin' about you at lunch yesterday, though. Sounded salty you ain't hit him back."
Kevin shrugged, his pencil pausing. "He'll be aight." The words came easier than he'd expected, no sting behind them. Papa raised an eyebrow but didn't press, just launched into a story about his latest rap verse. Kevin half-listened, his mind on his game, but he caught Papa's vibe—loyal, no games. It was enough.
Lunch was quieter without Jake's orbit. Kevin sat with Papa and a new kid, Darnell, who was into anime and had opinions on Naruto that sparked a whole debate. Jemma passed by their table, her eyes lingering on Kevin for a second, like she was waiting for him to wave her over. He didn't. Her braid swung as she walked away, joining a group that included Jake, their laughter loud across the cafeteria. Kevin took a bite of his sandwich, unfazed. Nina's voice echoed: They ain't worth your heart. He believed her now.
After school, Kevin headed to the library, a spot he'd avoided before because Jake called it "nerd central." Now, it was his sanctuary—free Wi-Fi, no distractions, just him and his laptop. He worked through Aisha's tutorial, debugging his dash code until Kion moved like lightning, smooth and precise. An email from Marcus, the workshop mentor, popped up: Loved your demo, Kevin. Bring an updated version Saturday. Let's talk pitching it. Kevin's chest swelled, a grin breaking free. He saved his work, shut the laptop, and leaned back, the library's hum fading into a rare kind of quiet.
On the walk home, the South Side felt different—not softer, but less heavy. The murals, the corner stores, the dudes posted up—they were still there, but Kevin moved through them with purpose, his eyes forward. His phone buzzed—Jake again: Bruh, you wild for dodgin' me. Need you for somethin' real quick. Hit me. Kevin read it, his thumb steady. He pictured Jake's smirk, the way he'd left him holding the bag too many times. Then he pictured Kion, dashing through traps, collecting hope. He deleted the text, no hesitation, and turned up his music.
At home, Nina was cooking—chicken and rice, the smell filling the apartment. She caught Kevin's vibe as he dropped his bag. "Good day?" she asked, stirring a pot. Kevin nodded, pulling out his laptop to show her Kion's new dash. "Check this, Ma. Mentor wants me to pitch it." Nina's eyes lit up, pride radiating. "That's my boy," she said, ruffling his hair like he was ten again. "Keep that focus. You're goin' places."
Kiesha called later, her voice crackling through the phone. "Heard you out here ignorin' Jake," she teased. "Proud of you, Kev. Don't let him pull you back." Kevin laughed, updating her on the game, the mentorship, Aisha's glitchy enemies. Kiesha listened, hyping him up, promising to watch his first stream whenever he got there.
Before bed, Kevin opened his notebook, sketching a new power-up for Kion—a shield that sparked when enemies got too close, inspired by Nina's strength, Kiesha's fire. He thought about Jake, probably out with Jemma or Reg, chasing clout that wouldn't last. Kevin didn't hate him—didn't even feel angry anymore. Jake was just noise now, static he could tune out. The laptop glowed, his code waiting. Saturday loomed, a chance to pitch his world, his rules. Kevin closed his eyes, the city's hum a distant pulse, his dreams louder than ever.