In the early 21st century, mobile phones were without a doubt the hottest trend and a symbol of being on the cutting edge of fashion.
Since Nokia launched its brick-style phones in 2000, their affordable prices, wide range of colors, and the shift away from traditional landline call methods led to a global craze.
By the end of 2002, the frenzy had reached its peak.
Mostar, the small town, had just welcomed its first mobile phone store a few days ago.
Once the store opened, many people, after trying it out, quickly decided to get one for themselves.
Modrić was among them—he got a black candy bar-style phone that wasn't expensive and well within his budget.
Holding his very first phone, Modrić couldn't put it down.
Many people around him were envious. For example, Skolk was already considering using next week's wages to buy a phone himself.
Suker didn't buy one. For one thing, the functions of phones at that time were still quite limited, and for another, he didn't have many people he needed to stay in touch with.
So, for Suker, a phone felt somewhat unnecessary.
Modrić often wrote letters to Zagreb. With a phone, communication would become more convenient. But Suker really didn't have much use for it.
Even if he were to buy one, Suker thought he might wait another year or two to get the now-iconic Motorola RAZR.
Once he had his new phone, Modrić couldn't wait to start using it.
"I remember how they did it… how do I write a text message?"
"Where do I type? Where do I send it?"
Although he had seen the store clerk demonstrate it, Modrić was now completely clueless.
He stared at his candy bar phone—totally lost.
"There's a button on the side. Maybe press that one!" Skolktried to help.
Suker sighed, "That's the volume button!"
"What about this red button? It has a phone symbol!"
A few moments later, the iconic Nokia shutdown tone played.
Suker, clearly annoyed, walked over and snatched the phone from his hands.
He long-pressed the hang-up button to turn it back on. Once the screen lit up, he navigated to the text message screen.
"Type your message at the top, enter the recipient's number below, and hit send."
Modrić finally understood.
"Suker, you really know a lot!"
Suker sighed again.
Soon after, Modrić sent his phone number out.
"You could've just written, 'This is Modrić.' The recipient can already see your number," Suker muttered.
"Really?" Modrić scratched his head. "I'm not too familiar with phones."
Suker waved his hand, "It's fine. Everyone has a learning curve. So, where to next?"
Skolk rubbed his belly, "Let's grab something to eat. I'm starving."
Young athletes burn through energy quickly, especially with intense training.
The three of them agreed and soon found a burger joint in Mostar.
It was run by a middle-aged Black couple.
"Three burgers, three fried chicken legs!" Suker shouted at the counter.
The couple looked at Suker with a flicker of recognition. "Hello, little Suker."
Suker turned, surprised. "You know me?"
"Of course, you're a local celebrity in Mostar. And that's Modrić and…"
"Skolk," he said awkwardly.
"Nice to meet you, Skolk!"
The couple warmly welcomed them and even gave them an extra serving of chicken bites.
When the food arrived, the man pointed to the sauce. "This is a special dip we brought from our hometown—give it a try."
Suker grabbed a piece, dipped it, and took a bite. It was sweet, with a hint of spiciness. It felt like his pores opened up, bringing a pleasant warmth in the cold weather.
"It's amazing!" Suker gave a thumbs-up, delighting the couple.
Once they finished eating, the couple asked, "Could we get your autographs?"
"Of course."
Suker, Modrić, and Skolk signed a sheet of paper, and the man immediately pinned it up in the store.
"Now we just need a poster of you guys," he joked.
Suker grinned, "Give us time. When we're famous stars, you can follow us around selling chicken!"
The joke made the couple laugh.
Just then, Skolk nudged Suker. "Isn't that Boame?"
Suker and Modrić turned to look.
They saw Boame walking hand-in-hand with a young Black woman, and between them was a child, around six or seven, happily skipping along.
"!!!"
The trio was stunned.
"People say Black kids mature fast, but this is wild. Does he already have a kid?"
"Can't be. Boame is only 20. That child's got to be at least five. That means he had a kid at 15?" Modrić said, shaking his head.
Skolk chimed in, "Fifteen isn't impossible!"
Suker rolled his eyes. These two were clearly intrigued by the gossip.
"Why not just ask him?"
Before they could stop him, Suker called out, "Boame!"
The three ahead turned around. They spotted Suker and the others.
Boame looked surprised at first, then visibly nervous.
The woman next to him smiled.
"Oh! You're the substitute Suker, right? I've seen your photo."
Then the little girl pointed at Suker with a clear, sweet voice.
"Go Suker! You'll become a starter soon! And be brave when people bully you!"
Suker was completely bewildered.
What's going on?
He looked at Boame, who was visibly flustered, and hissed, "Lina, stop talking!"
Lina tilted her head, innocent. "Why? I'm cheering for him!"
"Sorry," the older woman walked over to Suker, "I'm Manny—Boame and Lina's sister. Can we talk over there?"
As an apology, Manny bought Suker a fruit juice.
While Suker sipped his drink, Manny explained:
"Lina meant no harm. She just doesn't know the full story."
Manny sighed. "Boame works hard every day, but one day, he suddenly told us he had become a starter. That same day, our parents lost their jobs at the factory. He wanted to reassure us that he was doing well."
"But a lie is still a lie. One lie needs another to cover it. Before we knew it, Boame had gotten used to lying. He told Lina he started in the match against Banja Luka Warriors and played brilliantly."
"Then a few days later, he claimed he did well against Tuzla Sloboda."
"Then it was Sarajevo…"
Suk felt a sense of déjà vu—those were his matches.
Manny smiled bitterly. "Boame really looks up to you—or maybe he's jealous of you."
"Jealous of me?" Suker looked at Boame's 6'1" frame. "I'm jealous of him!"
"We know those aren't his stories. He thought we didn't have a TV and couldn't verify anything. But with my parents out of work, Boame and I were supporting the family. So we let the lie go—maybe it was his way of coping."
"If this has caused you trouble, we're sorry."
Manny bowed.
Suker looked toward the stream where Boame and Lina played. The boy glanced his way nervously and quickly looked away.
"No need to apologize. It's not a big deal," Suker said.
Manny visibly relaxed. "Thank you."
"But how long is he going to run from this?" Suker asked. "He needs to face his problems. Dreams are nice, but the key is figuring out how to achieve them."
"Oh, and good news—Oliveira, who bullied Boame, is done for. If anything, I'm the one who gets bullied now," Suker joked.
Manny looked both amused and embarrassed.
"All right then." Suker finished his juice with a slurp. "Thanks. That was good."
"I'm glad you liked it."
With the misunderstanding cleared up, Manny was relieved.
Suker nodded toward the stream. "Tell Boame this for me: Imagination is wonderful, but self-deception only hurts yourself and those around you."
"Face the truth and find a way to solve your problems. That's what a real man does."
That evening, Boame suddenly barged into Suker's dorm room.
"What do you want!?"
Suker grabbed a washbasin and a shoe, ready to throw.
He thought Boame had come to pick a fight.
Boame hesitated, then mumbled, "Sorry! I owe you an apology!"
And with that, he left.
Suker blinked at the door, then slowly put down the basin and shoe.
"Apologizing is what good kids do."
"You holding a basin and a shoe didn't look threatening at all," Modrić said, smirking.
Suker turned, surprised. "The mute speaks!"
"You're the mute!" Modrić shot back.
Truth be told, Modrić had become a lot more cheerful lately.