Page 33 of Palm South University: Season 3
IT’S A BEAUTIFUL, SUNNYday in Franklin Park, a borough right outside of Pittsburgh where Mac’s family lives. We’re all seated at a large picnic table in their backyard, plates of ribs and potato salad and everything in-between piled high around us.
Clinton warned me that the weather was pretty unpredictable in Pittsburgh in September, so I packed everything from shorts to a thick rain jacket, but we were welcomed by a temperature in the mid-seventies and blue skies with puffy white clouds slowly flowing by. After melting in South Florida for the past few months, it’s a nice change.
What’s even nicer is the change I’ve seen in Clinton.
It’s been a short trip, but even just a few days spent with his baby brother has brightened him back into the Clinton I know and love. We went to a Pirates game, let Mac and Clayton show us around their new school, and even took the cable car up the Duquesne Incline for touristy pictures since this is my first time to the city. But the truth is it wouldn’t have mattered what we did while we were here. Just being with Clayton has made Clinton smile again, and that’s all I ever wanted.
“Needless to say, she’s begging for me to take her to homecoming,” Clayton says, finishing his story about a girl in his math class. He scoops a big heap of macaroni and cheese onto his plate before passing the bowl to his big brother. “But I mean, I don’t want to rush into anything. I’ve got decisions to make. So many choices, you know?”
Mac rolls his eyes. “Yeah, so many. Her, your right hand, however will you choose?”
Everyone laughs, except Clayton, who grabs a toothpick from the small holder and pegs Mac in the nose with it.
“Clayton likes to pretend like he’s such a little thug,” Mac’s mom says, her voice sweet and slow like molasses. She’s a little shorter than me, with a tiny button nose and dark freckles on the apples of her caramel cheeks. “But he’s a good kid. Finished eighth grade with straight A’s last year and seems to be on the same path in high school. And he does it all while juggling football, too.”
“It’s true,” Mac’s sister, Kia, agrees. “Already making a name for himself and he’s only been in high school for a couple of months.”
“Yeah, makes me look bad. Thanks a lot, Clayton,” Mac chimes in.
It’s hard to tell if Clayton is blushing, but he wears a shy smile, forking up a few macaroni noodles before popping them in his mouth.
Clinton is beaming, his chest puffed out with pride like a dad. “That’s my baby brother. What position are you playing now that you’re in high school?”
“Wide receiver.”
“And what are your stats so far this season?”
He shrugs. “Well, we’ve only had a few games, but so far I’ve got a little over three-hundred receiving yards and four touchdowns.”
“That’s really good, Baby Bear,” I say, winking with the use of his favorite nickname. “Especially for a freshman.”
Clinton’s smile takes up his entire face, and he puts his fork down, turning to his little brother in earnest. “I’m really proud of you, Clayton. Keep up this hard work and you’ll get to go to any college you want to.”
“I want to go to PSU,” he says easily, mirroring Clinton’s smile. “Just like you.”
It’s a private moment between big brother and little brother, and Mac’s dad feels it, too, turning the conversation to me to give them a moment as Clinton claps Clayton on the shoulder with pride in his eyes.
“So, Skyler,” Mr. Harrison says between bites of his ribs, his fingers covered in barbecue sauce. “Bear tells us you’re entering a pretty big poker tournament this upcoming summer.”
“I haven’t officially decided yet, but I’m seriously considering it.”
“What’s holding you back?” he asks, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his long nose. Such a simple question with such a complicated answer.
“It’s just a lot more intense than the tournaments I’ve been in so far. Don’t get me wrong, I think I’m ready, but at the same time it’s a lot of money to potentially lose.”
“Or potentially win,” Clinton counters.
I blush, squeezing a little lemon in my iced tea before taking a drink. “I just want to think about it for a while longer, but I’m leaning toward entering. I’m confident in my skills, so really, what do I have to lose?”
“Ah, worst thing that could happen is you get humbled a little,” Mrs. Harrison says. “And from what Bear has told us about you, you’re already humble and kind anyway. So, my bet is that you’ll end up winning or at least give it hell trying, which is a great experience either way.”
“Very true, Mrs. Harrison.” I smile, my wheels turning the rest of dinner as the conversation easily floats from person to person.
Could I really win it?
It’s been heavy on my mind all summer, especially after I won a pretty large tournament in Reno at the end of July. But the American Poker Club tournament is a completely different level. All the big players will be there — ones I’ve defeated and ones I’ve been defeated by.
The poker blogs are calling me the next big thing in poker, the next big champ. Can I prove them right?