𝐁𝐞𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬

29

The winter cold bites at my skin as I make my way to class, each sneeze a reminder of the 30-degree chill.

Even though I'm bundled up in my basketball sweats, sweatshirt, and a long North Face coat, the cold still sends shivers down my spine.

Tonight's game against Ohio is huge, and with our undefeated season on the line, I can't let this cold get to me.

I finally reach the classroom, already packed with students.

I'm later than everyone else, and I can feel all eyes on me as I walk in.

Every girl's attention is on me—except Alina's. She keeps her eyes glued to her computer, avoiding me like she has for the past two months.

She finished the project we were supposed to work on together and turned it in without even telling me.

The thought of it makes my blood boil as I take my seat in the front row, just as the professor starts to speak.

As the professor drones on about the upcoming exam, I can't help but steal glances at Alina.

It's hard to focus on anything else when her words from months ago still sting so much.

"Teddy, I think it's best if we stay friends,"

I want to understand her, but she hasn't spoken to me since. It's like a wound that never heals.

I don't know why I kept pushing her away. I had my chance, and I blew it. Now we're nothing but strangers, and there's no way to turn back time.

"Teddy," the professor's voice breaks through my thoughts. I look up, feeling exposed.

"You look a little pale and disoriented," he says, with an unexpected hint of concern. He's always been the strict, no-nonsense type, not someone you'd expect to show any care.

"I'm fine," I force the words out, though they sound hollow even to me.

He resumes his lecture, but I can feel his eyes still checking on me from time to time.

I can feel eyes boring into the back of my head, but I resist the urge to turn around and see who it is.

The professor wraps up his lecture, "That's all for today. Remember, exam tomorrow," he says firmly, settling back at his desk.

I let out a weary sigh as I slowly rise from my seat, my muscles protesting with every movement.

Walking through the door, I just need to get back to the house and rest before the game.

I get in my truck, and text the basketball group chat to let them know I'll be back at the house.

As I'm driving, my phone rings through the truck's Bluetooth. It's my dad. I reluctantly answer.

"Hey kid."

"Hey dad," I say, trying to keep my tone neutral.

"We wish you luck on your game. You need to come visit soon."

"I'll be up when it's Christmas break," I respond, stopping at a red light.

"We miss you."

I grip the steering wheel tighter. "Come to my games then," I snap, my frustration bubbling over. They never come see me.

A heavy silence fills the truck. "Why don't you ever come to my games? It's like you don't even care." My voice is sharper than I intended.

"It's not that we don't care, it's just—"

"Just what? You're too busy? Too busy for your own kid?" I cut him off, my voice trembling with anger.

"We'll try to make it next time, I promise."

"Yeah, sure," I mutter, not believing a word. "I gotta go. Bye."

I hang up, my hands shaking. They never understand. I've never really had a good relationship with my dad. It's always been like this.

It's tough when they're there for my brother, but not for me.

Growing up, I always felt like I was living in my brother's shadow.

He was the star—great at sports, top of his class, and everyone loved him.

Our parents were always so proud of him, always talking about his achievements. They never missed one of his games, but they rarely came to mine.

It made me feel like I wasn't good enough, like I didn't matter as much.

Over time, that feeling just kept growing, and I started to resent him and our parents for it.

I barely even talk to him these days, and he doesn't show much interest in me. Now, he's all about being the star player in the NBA.

Micah Parker

I pull into the driveway of the basketball house and eagerly make my way up to my bed, ready to forget about everything and take a nap.

I flop onto my bed and try to drift off, but all I can think about is the picture on my nightstand.

It's a snapshot of Micah and me, both grinning from ear to ear, biting down on gold medals. We had just won our first high school state championship together—me as a wide-eyed freshman and him as a confident senior.

The photo captures the pure joy and excitement of that moment, our faces glowing with pride and accomplishment.

As I start to fall asleep, the memory of that day lingers, a bittersweet reminder of the happiness we once shared, and the distance that now separates us.