"Damn," I murmur as the basketball misses the hoop.
"Let's gooo, take that 'L' Ty!" Taylor rubs his win in my face.
"Tyler, Taylor!" my mom yells at me and my brother from the kitchen. "Come inside and get ready for school."
I despise the existence of school, if I can stay and shoot hoops all day–I would. I'm not a person who loves socializing very much, I mind my own business and never get caught in anything. The only people I will ever talk to is my friend, Asher; my brother, and of course my parents. Taylor, my brother, is the polar opposite of me; considering that we're twins, it makes kinda sense. God who knows how many friends he has, he's so social it kinda gets on my nerves. Even though we both don't do school activities, he knows every damn person.
I come down the stairs with my backpack on my back and a ball in my hand. I make my way to the refrigerator to make a bowl of cereal.
"Tyler, when are you gonna put the ball down?" my mom asks.
"Never," I reply.
"Y'know if you love that ball and the game so much, you can always try out for the basketball team."
"Momma, Ty will do no such thing," Taylor buds into the conversation.
"Well he should. He's too good to be sitting here and not use his talent. And your dad would want you to," she says.
My face is blank, stung at the mention of my father. He's not dead, but just really sick. Most days, he's up and running, but others, he's too weak to even get out of bed. Three years ago, when it started happening, the doctors diagnosed him with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. I guess it's better than him having cancer, but it still affects how long he will live.
"I know," I finally say.
"Taylor, go check on your father before we go," she says as she gestures up the stairs.
"Yes ma'am," he says, running up the stairs.
My mom asked me, "You okay? Looking at me in concern.
"I'm fine," I say.
She kisses my forehead, "Okay love. Taylor c'mon!"
As we walk out the door my mom kisses us goodbye and gets in her car while we start the walk to school. Halfway through our walk my friend, Asher, meets up with us.
"'Sup Ty and Tay," Asher says.
"What up," me and Taylor say in unison.
"Y'know Ty, basketball season is coming. I think you should try out this year," Asher says.
"Bro, I have no interest in joining the basketball team. I will never have interest in joining the basketball team," I responded.
"I'm just saying, you should get out there more dude," Asher added.
Why does everyone insist on me joining the team every year? I know I'm good at the game, but if I don't want to then I don't want to.
"Your dad would be proud of you if you really gave it a shot," he ended.
I roll my eyes ignoring the mess that came out of Asher's mouth. At this moment, I just wanna go home. My day barely started and Asher already ruined it by talking about my dad. Does anyone know when to not talk about him? Why do they even talk about him when he's not dead?
"I'm gonna head to my class, see you later bro," Asher said, but I couldn't hear it due to the inner thoughts of my head.
"See you later," Taylor responded.
After Asher departed for his class, me and Taylor went to our first class of the day…English 2. The subject itself is fine, but I hate the class. It's too long, and Mr. Wade has the worst voice anyone could have for a teacher. But unlike English, at least I don't suck balls at it like Algebra 2.
As the school day is near end, my last period of the day, Algebra 2, starts. And I have to say, I never wanted to hit a teacher so bad in my life. Mrs. Klay has been lecturing gibberish for 45 minutes straight. Like wtf is this?!?! She gave us an assignment which I know I can't finish, because I don't know what I'm looking at. The graphs, the numbers, the letters, they're all confusing me. Who ever decided to add letters to math, screw you.
"Tyler, could I see you for a minute." Mrs. Klay pulls me in for private talk, drawing attention from other students. "You're struggling more than usual on this unit, is everything ok?"
I just nod. Not a mumble, not a word, not a sentence coming out of my mouth. To be honest, I can't do anything but nod. When anyone asks that question, all I do is shut down, spiraling for the quickest response to get them off my back.
"Well ok," she sighs heavily, "I'm gonna give this small packet of everything we did in the unit so far. If you do it, then I could add some extra credit points; but if you don't, then you don't. It's up to you."
How many times do I have to say that I really don't give a damn? I think of education as a whole as a useless tool that helps watch the kids for the parents who can't afford nannies every damn day. But I'm gonna do this extra credit packet so mom won't flip out on me and I don't disappoint dad. I just got to figure out how in the hell I'm gonna do it if I know jack shit.
The vibration of the bell ringing hits my ear and I break eye contact with Mrs. Klay to grab my stuff and meet up with Taylor and Asher for the walk back home. While I'm walking I'm looking down on the packet, "Unit 4 Extra Credit Assignment," looking at the complex problems make me shiv-
Oomph. A force to my left shoulder makes me drop the packet on the floor. I look down to realize it's jumbled with a pack of flyers a guy was puttin' up. I guess I bumped into him.
"Oh my bad bro," I said as I bent down to pick up both of our papers. There was so much of the papers to see mine, I just grabbed what I thought was mine and put it in my backpack. After that was done I left the building, meeting up with my brother and Asher outside.
"So, did you change your mind?" Asher dabs me up.
"About what," I replied.
"Y'know shootin' three's on the court," Ash said imitating shooting a basketball.
"Never means never Ash."
"Never say never Ty," Taylor budding in the conversation.
"Shut the hell up! Look, can we just walk without mentioning basketball…please?"
"Mane you just a drama queen," Ash said back, asking for trouble from me.
"Ok, our mouths are stitched."
We walk down to Newbury Street where Asher lives. We dab each other up, say our goodbyes and continue walking down two more blocks to Mile Drive where we live. We walk into the house to be met with our dad cleaning the kitchen while watching a rerun of the latest Lakers game.
"'Sup boys," dad said without even looking at who entered the door.
"'Sup dad," Taylor said with energy dabbing up out father.
"Hey dad," I voiced with a subdued tone, also dapping up dad.
"How was school? Sounds like it was horrible."
"It was fine, I guess."
"Mine was good. The most annoying part was Ty going on and on about how he doesn't want to try out for the b-ball team." Taylor says as I roll my eyes.
"Basketball?! Well aren't you trying out? You'd be like Lebron on that court!"
"I don't wanna hear about it dad."
"Mhm ok. Also your mom asked what do you guys want for dinner?"
"Pasta," me and Taylor say in unison. Which is kinda strange cuz me and him don't agree on things, especially dinner.
I go up to my room to depart from the conversation because I know if I stay they will ramble on about basketball. What I need to do is figure out how in the hell am I gonna do this math. I could get some help from ChatGPT, but when finals come around I don't wanna be rushing to cram six units in this tiny brain of mine. Might as well learn it while it's in front of me. I set down my bag and started searchin' through it for the extra credit packet. Flyer, flyer, flyer…and then something else. A poem. A handwritten poem. So this must be his. The guy I bumped into. Our stuff must've gotten mixed up on the floor; but if I have his papers, then he has my extra credit packet.
Damn.
I look at the papers I accidentally acquired and examine them. The food drive flyers were, nevertheless, uninteresting. But the paper with the poem on it was calling my name for some reason. Should I read it? Would that be an invasion of privacy? Maybe I shouldn't, if someone had my poem I wouldn't want them to read it…screw it, I'm reading it. Not like he's gonna know I'm reading it. Wait no, it might be something personal. But like who wouldn't take a look at it? I'm so damn conflicted right now. ….Okay, I'm reading it.
The Bottom Line
We're so high above, tell me who I am
on the ledge, I won't be missed, I am the wedge
say it's not my fault, but here we are today
two worlds split because I was gay
How could you be confident on this tightrope?
you can't be here to give me hope
I've been through it all, you can not persuade my eyes
realize where you are and see the bottom line
"Daamn. This shit deep," I couldn't help but mutter.
Might I suggest this dude take therapy lessons or something? How could someone think that and then right it down? Well, no matter how much I criticize it, the poem is beautifully written and it's really good. Dude has more talent in his writing than I do with a ball in my hand. The thing about this poem that gets me is that I lowkey relate to it. Not the gay part, God knows I ain't gay. Or at least I think I'm not. I'd rather kill myself than touch another man, so no I'm not. But the part talking about feeling like the wedge…I felt dat shit.