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|{Omniscient|}
Freshman Year
Rush week wasn't as hectic for Omar as he'd anticipated, considering all the bullshit he'd heard before coming here. But then again it might have had something to do with the fact that he was a legacy. His father and his father's father belonged to this Fraternity, so he was basically welcomed in without a hiccup...some light hazing aside of course.
What he failed to consider however was how draining juggling so much would be on him. He'd been caught up in the excitement of following in his father's footsteps and had completely forgot he had his own dreams to fit in there as well. He had basketball, and an obligation to keep a good grade to see through. He was so confident that he had it in the bag at first too. I mean, what's so difficult in balling and engaging in some fun while at it right? Wrong bitch.
Omar's first month on campus was what one would call 'a catastrophe'. There was a party every other day, so much so that he would practically crawl to basketball practice. Of course his coach wasn't the one or the two, so he'd gotten yelled at, cursed at, and reported to the colonel, which was very much as dramatic as it sounds.
This was his fifth week here and he was ready to get the fuck ASAP. His teammates were not even the slightest bit helpful to be honest. They were stuck up and irritating, and treated him like he was an outsider...which technically he was but who gives a fuck?
With the exception of one that is, Harlem. That was the only teammate who was civil to Omar.
Harlem always kept to himself, I mean he was cool with the rest of the team, and they respected him because who wouldn't? His talent spoke for itself. As a matter of fact Omar knew about Harlem before he met him, that was how good his soon to be friend was. Wishful thinking on the last part.
Omar stepped out of the locker rooms, his hair still wet and his body ached with a vengeance. He'd suffered throughout practice with a hangover, not sure if anyone else had caught on or not. He made to begin his walk back to his spot when a low husky voice said, "They don't fuck with you because they think you were just handed this position, and that you don't love the sport for real."
Omar stopped and turned around to face Harlem. "Huh?"
Harlem who was leaning on a fence stood up straight and slung his duffel bag over his shoulder, then slid his hands into his jacket pocket, before responding with as much ease as the first time he spoke. "If partying with your frat bros is what you really wanna do, that's coo, I ain't judging. But a lot of these niggas worked they asses off to get here, and this their only way out tha mud, so they take that shit serious. They don't fuck with'chu cos it's clear that you don't want it as bad."
