(A WORK IN PROGRESS}
.・゜゜・ ・゜゜・． ｡･ﾟﾟ･ ･ﾟﾟ･｡.・゜゜・ ・゜・゜
The story of a boy who has faced countless struggles love, hate, violence, depression, and mental battles. Each hardship has chipped away at his spirit, leaving him with a fractured view of...
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{Enzo's POV; The basketball tryouts were fucked, but I made it. I'm a team captain now me and Trevon. A part of me feels good about it, like I'm finally getting a real shot to make something of myself here in Shankridge. But as I get home, the victory feels hollow. Zion's face keeps popping up in my head, his voice was real sharp and snappy from earlier. Something about the way he snapped it wasn't like him, even though I don't know him that well I think it's pretty obvious to tell somthing is up,
I shake off the thoughts as I reach my house, a small, worn out place on the edge of the neighborhood. The paint's peeling, and the porch creaks with every step. I open the door, and the smell of fresh groceries hits me. My father's unpacking bags in the kitchen, His lazy ass hasn't even unpacked some of our boxes, his back turned to me.
"Papi," I greet, trying to sound casual as I walk past him, but there's tension in the air. It's been there ever since we left Haiti.
He grunts in response, not even looking up. "Ya llegaste." _(You're home already.)_ He says it like it's an obligation to acknowledge me...which is so fucking irritating because what's wrong bitch?!.
I can feel the weight of everything unsaid between us. Ever since we left, we've been like two strangers living in the same house. The reason we left it gnaws at me. His affair, it destroyed everything. We uprooted our lives because of him, because of his betrayal of mamá. And now, every time I look at him, I see the cracks in our family that no amount of distance can fix.
I head upstairs, not wanting to get into it again. The last argument we had got so bad I didn't talk to him for days. I drop my bag on the floor of my room and kick off my shoes. The day's still heavy on me, but I push through it and hit the shower. The warm water feels good on my sore muscles, washing away the physical exhaustion from all that running I did in basketball, but it does nothing for the mess in my head.
Zion. I towel off and grab my phone, flopping down on my bed. I scroll through my contacts and shoot him a text.
Enzo: _¿Todo bien? How was the walk home? _(Everything good?)_
I stare at the screen, waiting. The seconds feel like minutes, but finally, the screen lights up.
Zion: Yeah, I'm good. Just tired.
It's vague. Too vague. I type again, trying to get more out of him.
Enzo: For real? You seemed kinda off earlier, like ya got a lot on your mind, bro.
There's another pause before he replies.
Zion: It's nothin'. Just... school stuff. You know how it is.
Enzo: Okay, okay then. What's your favorite color?
The reply comes quicker this time.
Zion: Green
I smile a little, typing back.
Enzo: Cool. Green's chill. Matches you, I think. You calm, like a tree or somethin'.
