The Sneaker Kings Read online

  “And why would we want to see that?” Brandon asked, grinning. “You’re crazy, man.”

  Paul sat next to them and chuckled in silence. It was the guys’ time to unwind and have fun. Little Brother, a local rap group, performed the opening act, while Brandon and his crew scanned the crowd below for hot female eye candy. Growing up in Arizona, he and his friends had dated everyone from white girls and Latinas to black girls and Asians; but mixed girls with great bodies were Brandon’s specialty. “They’re like the best of all worlds,” Brandon explained to his friends. “Like natural selection.” There was just something about white, black, Latina and Asian all mixed up—like Cynthia Wallace from home. She had been Brandon’s dream girl for years.

  Cynthia’s father, Martin Wallace Sr., was a retired military man of black, Native American and Irish ancestry. He was tall, handsome, light-brown and built like a football player, with thick, curly brown hair. He fell in love and married Susan Martinez of Mexican-American, Italian and Filipino heritage. And the result created Cynthia, the most exotic girl, by far, at Glendale High School. Her flawless caramel skin, eye-popping curves and bodacious brown hair were enough to send the other girls into beauty and self-esteem rehab. But Cynthia only dated big-headed, car-driving, egotistical athletes. She could care less about The Beast Team’s collection of sneakers. She wanted sexy muscles and someone she could cheer for in battle. So Brandon and his crew had no chance with her.

  >>>

  As he watched and listened to the concert with their perfect view of the crowd, Brandon continued to scan below for light-brown mixed girls from North Carolina. It was his normal thing to do to at concerts, where the girls often outnumbered the boys. And once they had a break between performances to walk the hallways and hit the concession stands, the girls were all that Brandon was thinking about.

  “Hey, Leon, what do you think about her?” he whispered to his friend near the restrooms.

  Leon looked and eyed a tall stallion of a woman in high heels and a form-fitting, burnt orange dress. She had dangerous curves and long hair that trickled down to her back. But Leon frowned and shook his head.

  “She looks like she spends an hour in the bathroom every day on her makeup. Look at all that stuff she has on her eyes.”

  Simba laughed. “Yeah, you’ll have a whole different girl when she takes all that makeup off. Like, ‘Who are you?’ ”

  Brandon laughed himself and looked to the next girl, a younger, chipper cutie in sneakers and jeans with a colorful handbag on her shoulder.

  Leon eyed her. “Aw, man, she’s about fifteen years old, out here trying to act older. She’s got an eleven o’clock curfew, but she’ll try to sneak out of the house for you if you ask her to. She reminds me of my little sister. I bet her parents will be right outside, waiting to pick her up after the show.”

  “You think you know everything about girls,” Brandon challenged Leon.

  “Yeah, that’s why you ask me about it,” Leon countered. With a family who had relocated from Michigan to Arizona when he was ten, Leon was definitely the more rugged and street-smart of the crew.

  “Your sister tries to sneak out of the house?” Simba asked him. He remained stuck on it.

  “Yeah, I caught her hiding in the garage a couple of times.”$

  “Man, you better watch out for that,” Simba warned with a grin.

  “I better watch out for you. You’re the one asking about her,” Leon teased him. “You wishing my sister would sneak out for you?”

  Simba was embarrassed. “Aw, man, come on.”

  “Come on, what? I know you like my sister. Both of you do,” Leon accused them.

  Brandon didn’t deny it. “Man, if I didn’t know you like that,” he teased back.

  Leon laughed and said, “My sister wouldn’t talk to you anyway. She thinks we’re crazy. She calls us sneaker-nerds.”

  “Yeah, whatever. I know Makayla watches my style,” Brandon joked as they walked around the arena.

  “Yeah, she watches you walk lightly in hallways afraid to scuff up your Jordans every day. She really thinks we’re looney, man,” Leon insisted. “Shoes are meant to be worn not floated in.”

  “THE BEAST TEEEEAM!” someone yelled out in the hallway.

  The guys looked and spotted a few of the basketball players from the AAU tournament in Durham. And they had girls with them.

  “Hey, what’s up, man?” Brandon spoke with a nod.

  The ballers shook their hands and immediately looked down to see what they had worn to the concert. “Oh, sweet, you got orange Galaxy Foamposites.”

  Brandon laughed it off. “Yeah, I can’t wear my Yeezy 2s in here. It’s too much traffic.”

  “Yeah, I’d be ready to fight somebody if they stepped on my Yeezys,” one of the tall, dark-brown ballers joked.

  “Who are they?” the girls wondered.

  “They’re like, famous sneakerheads,” one of the guys told them.

  “Sneakerheads? You mean like, crazy for sneakers?” a girl asked.

  “Yeah, they’ve been on television and everything.”

  “For sneakers?” the girl questioned.

  Leon joked. “It’s a guy thing, you wouldn’t understand it.”

  That only made one of the girls upset. “What? I don’t know what you’re talking about. I got a tight Jordan game too. They just don’t know about it.”

  “Ooooohhh,” the guys howled.

  The angry girl looked like a basketball player herself—tall, slim and agile.

  Leon looked down at her feet and challenged her. “Well, what you got on now?”

  “Oooohhh,” the guys groaned again. “He calling you out.”

  Leon wore his pair of Nike South Beach 8s that were black, aqua and pink.

  The girl cleared space between them to show off her black and pink Retro Jordans, featuring pink soles that Leon had never seen before.

  “Now what?” she asked him with swagger. “These are special orders.” She then pulled up the bottom of her black jeans so they could all see her elaborate pink tongues.

  “OOOOHHHH!!!” the ballers responded excitedly.

  They were so impressed with her special order of Jordans, they started jumping up and down and running around in circles. That only made more people surround them out in the hallway, wondering what was going on.

  Leon chuckled and smiled at the girl. “Okay, I see what you’re working with. They’re pretty hype.”

  “Yeah, I got like thirty pairs of sneakers. They just don’t wear ’em like that,” she said in reference to her girlfriends. Her friends were more into pumps, flats and heels—the typical girl shoes.

  “You play ball?” Brandon asked her.

  “I used to.”

  “Cool.”

  The girl had earned their respect. But with Brandon standing out as the only white kid in their circle, one of the girls in the background made note of him.

  “That white boy is cute. Who is he?”

  Brandon had gotten used to being singled out in black circles, but he continued to feel uncomfortable with it, particularly when it came from girls that he wasn’t necessarily attracted to. He didn’t want to be mean or disrespectful to them, but sometimes the girls could be overly aggressive. And the roughest girls were usually the most outspoken. So Leon would always step in to shield Brandon.

  “Yeah, this my boy, Brandon Jenkins—the sneaker king,” Leon boasted. “You can look him up on YouTube and ESPN.”

  “What, he got his own shoes or something?” the girl questioned.

  “Not yet, but we’re working on it,” Leon fibbed.

  The crowd grew even larger around them. So Brandon decided to speak up on his own. He didn’t like all of the hype and attention that Leon was creating. He only wanted to chill and look for girls.

  “Nah, I just like shoes, man, that’s all,” Brandon mumbled. He was trying his best to be modest. However, that only made the new people in the crowd look down at his shoes to see what
he was wearing.

  “Man, those orange Foamposites are glowing in the dark. I’ve never even seen that color before,” someone commented.

  “Yeah, he got it like that. He’s always wearing something new,” Leon continued bragging.

  Before Brandon knew it, he was at the center of attention again.

  “Yeah, he started up The Beast Team out in Arizona. You see his hat?” one of the ballers filled in. “I’ma have some Beast Team T-shirts to sell y’all next week, and tight girl shirts too, ’cause you’re a beast right here,” the kid joked of a girl’s firm breasts.

  “Boy,” she said, pouting, and slapped his hands away.

  Through all of the commotion, Brandon scanned the crowd and met eyes with a stunner. She stood there at the edge of their circle.

  Oh, my God! Who is she? he asked himself as his heart leapt. The light-brown beauty had sparkling brown eyes and gold, wavy hair that seemed to glitter in the lights. But she was only there for a split second before disappearing.

  Oh, shit! Brandon panicked. I gotta catch up with her.

  He wanted to see what her body looked like as well. But he was blocked in by too many people.

  “Ah, which way is the bathroom? I gotta go,” he lied quickly to break away.

  “It’s right there,” Simba told him, pointing to the right.

  Brandon was certain his new dream girl had walked off to the left. So he headed in that direction as if had never heard Simba.

  “I’ll find it. I’ll be right back.”

  Leon and Simba looked at each other and knew better.

  Brandon’s up to something, Simba told himself with a smile. Brandon would always run off and explain himself later. The guys had gotten used to it.

  Unfortunately, Brandon had made his move a minute too late. The PNC Arena hallways were suddenly flooded with young concertgoers scrambling for bathroom breaks and food before J. Cole would arrive onstage to perform. So Brandon rushed through the hallways in vain, looking desperately for golden hair and a light-brown face. But after a few furious minutes of his search, he realized that it was likely pointless.

  “Maannn, she was perfect,” he moaned.

  He looked down at the floor and was disappointed. By the time he looked up again, Simba was standing beside him.

  “You saw something you liked, right?” he asked with a grin.

  Brandon didn’t even answer. In the background he heard the fans getting excited for J. Cole’s announcement.

  “Come on, let’s get back for the concert,” he responded glumly. “Where’s Leon?”

  “You know how he is, man. He’s socializing—connecting everyone to our Instagram and Twitter pages. That’s why you named him the chief of marketing, right?”

  “Well, text him and tell him to come on,” Brandon huffed.

  As they walked back to their seats, he still hoped to bump into his dream girl along the way or spot her somewhere in the crowd. But he had no such luck. And they returned to their seats just in time for J. Cole.

  DEALMAKING

  IN THE MORNING, Paul finally told Brandon about their breakfast meeting with an Adidas rep at Waffle House. “So you guys can eat as much as you want and charge it to Adidas,” he joked.

  While his uncle chuckled, Brandon looked shocked by the news.

  “For real, an Adidas rep? Well, how come you didn’t tell us that yesterday?”

  “I felt you guys needed to settle down a bit first. You were a little too full of yourselves last night. I planned to tell you about it this morning though. So we’re on for eleven.”

  At slightly after nine, Brandon ran for the door and told his friends in person. But a little later, once the guys climbed into the car to head to Waffle House, he became a bit apprehensive about the meeting.

  “So, he wants us to do an internship? That means we don’t get paid, right?” Brandon asked his uncle. He didn’t like that part; he was used to making money from sneakers.

  “Yeah, I just wish it was Nike or Air Jordan,” Leon cracked from the backseat.

  Paul exhaled from behind the wheel. “I told you guys this yesterday. You’re not gonna go to Air Jordan. You’re gonna start off at a company that really needs you. And Adidas does a lot of sponsoring. So this is a great opportunity for you guys. They’ll even pay for all of the travel.”

  Simba agreed. “Yeah, Adidas does all of the NBA warm-up suits now, are always connected to the X Games and things.”

  Leon frowned. “What, skateboard and bike riders?”

  “Yeah, they wear sneakers too,” Simba argued.

  Brandon sided with Leon. “Yeah, sneakers they scuff all up. I would never buy anything from a skateboarder or a biker. It’s a totally different culture. We actually value our shoes—long term—like stock and bonds and not napkins.”

  As they pulled into the Waffle House parking lot, Paul chided his nephew. “Oh, wait a minute; is this Mr. Pony from yesterday? Mr. I-Can-Make-Anything-Hot? Now you have a problem with Adidas and skateboarders? I mean, at least hear the guy out.”

  “I mean, we’re here now, so of course I’m gonna hear him. But we don’t make any money?”

  Paul shrugged. “I don’t know, we have to talk to the guy to find out.”

  >>>

  Michael Avery waited for them at a booth in the back.

  “Hey guys, how are you doing?” he greeted them as they walked in.

  He was wearing a gold and blue Adidas warm-up suit, like the Golden State Warriors.

  “Hey, I like that,” Leon told him.

  Michael smiled and shook their hands. “Yeah, the Warriors are one of my new favorite teams. They got Steph Curry and Harrison Barnes now. It’s the North Carolina college connection.”

  The guys sat down across the booth from him while Paul sat on Michael’s side.

  “Okay, I’m Michael Avery from Adidas, and I know Paul Weiller and Brandon Jenkins. And you guys are Simba and Leon, right?” Obviously, he had done his homework.

  Simba smiled. “Yeah.”

  “Well, my daughter and her friend will join us shortly,” Michael mentioned. “You guys may have seen them at the J. Cole concert last night and didn’t know it.”

  “Yeah, probably,” Brandon said.

  “So, I guess you guys have heard that we may want to offer you all an internship at Adidas this summer. I think what you guys have been able to do at such a young age is phenomenal.”

  The man seemed straight to the point with no games, so Brandon decided to be the same way.

  “Does internship mean that we don’t get paid anything?”

  The conversation stopped. Paul grinned, knowing that his nephew was unafraid to talk business. But if he needed to intervene to make sure Brandon didn’t blow a great opportunity, he was prepared to do so.

  Michael took a deep breath and folded his hands. “Unfortunately, no. But what you guys are getting is a very unique opportunity to work within the sneaker industry and learn the ropes. And what you’ll find is that it’s a very small industry. Once the reps know who you are, they respect you. It’s like playing AAU ball on a national level. Once the other teams know that you can play, you can jump from one team to another. But don’t tell anyone at Adidas that I told you that,” he confided.

  Leon and Simba smiled as the waitress arrived in a brown and gold Waffle House apron.

  “You all ready to order?” she asked.

  Everyone looked around at each other. They hadn’t even looked at the menus yet.

  “I’ll tell you what. How ’bout I start you out with orange juice and water while you decide what you want? How’s that?”

  “All right, let’s do that,” Michael agreed. When the waitress left, he got right back to business. “So anyway, I’m giving you guys a chance to become insiders in the sneaker industry. Then we’ll see if you can work your same magic with Adidas.”

  “For what shoes?” Brandon asked him. “D Roses?”

  Paul looked down at the table. This kid just wo
n’t listen, will he? he thought.

  “Well, we would start you off with some of the other brands that we need more traction with. Do you follow the skateboard crowd at all?”

  Leon and Simba started laughing. Paul too. Brandon sat stone-faced, then piped up. “Nah, man, that’s a whole different culture. They don’t value sneakers like we do. You need to have us in basketball.”

  Michael sighed. “Look, I understand what you guys are used to with Air Jordans and all of that. We all know that. And you can still do what you want on your own time. We just want to see if you can work with a few of the new designs that we’re currently developing.”

  “Can we see them?” Leon asked.

  “I don’t have anything with me right now, but you’ll get to see them. Of course,” Michael promised.

  Brandon was unimpressed. His rigid body language said everything.

  Paul read his nephew’s disregard and spoke his mind like he had planned to. “Remember what you told us yesterday, Brandon?”

  Michael sensed the tension and attempted to loosen things up a bit. “Well, you know, you guys don’t have to make a decision today. Take a few days or so to think about it.”

  “Hey, Dad,” a girl’s voice dropped out of nowhere. The guys looked up from the table at a young golden goddess. The sunlight beaming in from the window made her light skin, gold, wavy hair and light-brown eyes glow.

  Oh, my God! That’s the girl I saw in the hallway at the concert last night, Brandon thought. You gotta be kidding me! That’s his daughter?! Oh, my God!

  “Hey, baby. We didn’t even order yet. That’s perfect timing.”

  The girl joked, “I’m always perfect.”

  “Of course you are,” Michael agreed. “Guys, this is my daughter, Natasha, and her friend Adrienne.”

  Adrienne stepped up beside her, all reddish-brown skin and dark-brown, bobbed hair. She smiled and raised her right hand. “Hi.”

  They both wore black leggings with colorful Adidas T-shirts. And their girl curves were as seamless as fruit. To top off their outfits, they sported colorful Adidas high tops with big tongues.

  Brandon hid behind his Waffle House menu to cloak his excitement. But his friends already knew what was going on. Natasha was Brandon’s type of girl—an exotic mix with a dope body. So Leon and Simba started grinning as soon as they saw her.