Beyond the Boundaries

8

 8 - A Trio Pulled Apart by Fate

Those were the last words I spoke to Kyrell, in a long time, actually. Miles had pulled me away before the situation could get any worse, which I thanked him for. I didn't realize how sometimes my anger would get the best of me.

"I guess this means you're joining the team?" Miles questioned.

"I mean now, I kind of have to." I said. "I have to prove him wrong."

"You shouldn't get your mind fixated on proving Kyrell wrong. He's just another bully. Basketball is for the fun of it, I don't want you practicing with me just to prove that brat wrong."

"Hm." I didn't take any words that Milo spoke in. It just went one ear out the other—I wanted to do my own thing, make my own decisions. I can admit, I felt more free over here on the Affluent side. Though, everytime that word—free—comes to my mind, I'm only reminded of the secrets the Council wants me to keep hidden.

There was a kid wearing a basketball jersey with the number seven on it—lucky number seven, I guess. He signaled us to come over, and Milo called out his name as Mako. His basketball shoes were nice, golden edges spread across the sleek black shoe. He was wearing shorts that matched his green and red jersey. Judging by the school colors, I could tell he was going to be one of my teammates.

Milo and Mako had a little talk in whispers before Mako introduced himself to me.

"Sorry! That was rude of me. I didn't think Milo would actually come and get you to join the team! I can already tell, you're going to be a natural. I'm Mako!"

"Nice to meet you." I said awkwardly.

Milo tapped me on the side of my arm twice. "Mako can be a handful. Trust me, I'd know. We've been friends for years now. He's pretty good, not the star of the show. I bet you could get that, though." Milo reminded me of himself printed on the front entrance of the school. What an image to uphold.

"I'm a handful? Alright, you hypocrite! Just because you have your big old square face up there doesn't mean you're the best on our team!" Mako shouted as we walked into the school through the giant double doors.

Milo chuckled. "I think that's exactly what that means."

I was expecting a crowd of people, but the school was empty. All of the classrooms, too. Not even a single staff member—except one, waiting at the end of the hallway. The grown man stood about six feet tall, wearing—somehow—an oversized sweater that read in bright red and green outlined letters, "COACH."

He had his arm crossed, showing that he meant nothing but business.

"He's soft as a pie," Milo whispered to me. "It's just that his crust is a little rough. Gotta get through it, you know?"

"I may be old, but I have good ears!" The coach insisted. "You can't be saying those things about me, I'll kick you off the team with no warning!"

"And lose the championship? I don't think you'd want that." Milo snickered.

"What? You think being the best on our team means you get to give me an attitude? Noted, that'll cost you some game time."

"You know I work my butt off in every game! That's why you keep me in for most of the time. I'm not just some cocky guy, you know? I have dreams I want to accomplish, and places I'll never reach."