✨A WATTYS 2022 PARANORMAL & "BEST CHARACTERS" WINNER✨
A college basketball star risks everything to prove his innocence with a girl who can communicate with ghosts.
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Ace Jones isn't certain about a lot of things in life, but basketball has always...
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I'VE NEVER been the type of person to feel sorry for myself. Basketball taught me real quick not to do that.
Do I feel a surge of disappointment for not scoring my point?
Sure.
Do I get so mad I blow a gasket on the ref after he makes a bad call?
Guilty.
But do I cry about it?
Nah, man. Never.
The first thing they teach you about any sport is that it's all mental. You can't let your guard down or self-pity will creep in. But sitting in this jail? Nothing prepares you for this.
Surveying my surrounding, I can't help the ache that implodes inside my chest. This shit is going to be my life now, I just know it. I'm never playing ball again—never seeing the light of day. Not if Penelope's dad has anything to say about it.
My throat clamps and I swallow the pain down. Can't let no one here see me cry. That's a death sentence within itself.
Whispers to my left pick up speed as if they can sense my weakness, like sharks drawn to blood.
This crowded holding cell affords no privacy. It's the first time I've ever had to piss in front of strangers. First time I ever fell asleep with eyes wide open, too. Actually, there have been so many damn firsts the past twelve hours, I've lost count. And I imagine they'll only get worse. Chris told me as much as he collected his paperwork and said he'd see me in court later today. Told me to prepare myself to be villainized and to keep my anger in check.
How am I supposed to do that, though? How am I supposed to sit there and take it while they drag my character in the mud? I didn't kill her.
I exhale, resting my elbows against my knees. The whispering continues.
Most of the other detainees are brown like me, but don't speak much English. One guy is facing charges for several years because he reentered the States. Told the officer he's got kids here, that's why he came back.
Another dude snickers in my direction. I don't know a lot of Spanish but I'm pretty sure "gringa" means white girl, so shit.
While I was with Chris, the new detainees must've filled in the old about me. They keep looking this way, sizing me up. Lucky for me, there's a lot to size. I may be nineteen but I'm no small dude. Come at me, bros. I dare you.
Just cool your head. Ain't no one coming for you.
After a few minutes, I manage to calm myself enough that I tip my head back against the chipped brick. Even close my eyes. It's seconds before I'm drifting.
But sleep doesn't last.
Cops keep shuffling people in and out. Some are coming down off something, pacing. Others just shout obscenities at the glass because they can—because they feel like an animal trapped in a cage. Because we are.
