The Pages Within [BxB]

The Perfect Life

From the outside, I'm exactly what everyone expects me to be: the star quarterback, the golden boy, the guy who walks across campus like he owns it. I've mastered my role so well that it's second nature—like I was born into this script, playing a part everyone already decided for me. Perfect girlfriend? Check. Loyal friends who cheer me on, ride or die? Check. A family that never misses a game, showing up in matching jerseys and waving banners with my name on them? Check. To everyone else, my life is seamless. But behind the highlights and smiles, I'm starting to feel the cracks.

The problem is, no one sees them except me.

Every day, I go through the motions. Practice, school, practice again—my body running on autopilot as I jog from one end of campus to the other. The cold air bites at my skin, and the bass-heavy beat of my playlist pounds through my ears like a drum. It's a rhythm I've memorized by heart, each track like a checkpoint in my day. I catch the stares as I pass—the freshman girls who flash quick smiles like they're daring me to notice them, the guys on the team who give me that knowing nod, like we're all in on some unspoken agreement. They expect me to be on top. They expect me to be David—the guy who never cracks under pressure, the guy who's always clutch when it counts.

But they don't know the truth.

I'm exhausted. Tired of this life, tired of playing a part that's growing harder to fake, tired of pretending I have it all together when, really, I'm not sure I ever did. It's in the little things, the subtle shifts, like when Ava's smile lights up every time she sees me, her eyes full of this blind belief that I'm everything she wants. Or when Coach claps me on the shoulder after practice, telling me how the team looks to me—how I'm the rock, the leader. I play the part, nodding in all the right places, but inside? Inside, something's breaking, piece by piece.

And I don't know how to stop it.

Maybe it started that day in the quad, the first time I really noticed Jason. He was sitting alone, his pencil scratching across that beat-up sketchbook he's always carrying around. There was something about him—this quiet confidence, like he didn't give a damn what anyone thought. Like he wasn't playing the game the rest of us are stuck in. I don't know what it was, but it stuck with me, dug into my brain in a way I couldn't shake. Still can't.

It scares me. Because I'm not supposed to be this guy. I'm supposed to be David—quarterback, son of a Black mother and an Argentine father, the guy with his future all mapped out. I'm not supposed to be... whatever this is.

My mom, Michelle, she's everything I'm supposed to be. She's fierce, unstoppable—a woman who fought her way out of the South Side of Chicago, rising through the ranks until she was a corporate law powerhouse. She's told me stories, real stories, about how she had to walk miles to school to avoid gangs, how her mom worked double shifts as a nurse to keep them afloat. She clawed her way out of the streets and made a name for herself in rooms where people like her weren't supposed to be. By the time she was thirty, she was the only Black woman in her firm, making deals with people who underestimated her from the jump. She didn't care. She made them see her.

That's the legacy she's given me. The expectations are always there—sometimes spoken, sometimes not. She doesn't have to tell me I'm supposed to do the same thing, to rise above everything, because I feel it in every look she gives me, every time she asks about my grades or watches me throw a perfect pass. I know she's thinking, He's next. He's going to make it.

My dad? He's a different kind of strength. Born in Buenos Aires, he didn't grow up with the same kind of struggle as my mom, but when he moved here, he left behind everything he knew. He built a life from the ground up—a construction business that's solid, steady, the kind of work he's proud of. He doesn't say much, not like my mom. But his pride shows in other ways. The way he watches my games, arms crossed over his chest, a small nod whenever I make a good play. We don't have heart-to-heart talks. Hell, we barely talk about anything that matters. But I know he wants me to succeed. He wants me to carry on the legacy he left everything behind for.

And then there's Ava. The one who believes in me more than I believe in myself.

She's different from me—raised on the other side of the world, in Johannesburg. She talks about life in South Africa like it's this whole other universe. Power outages, corrupt governments, the kind of inequality that makes everything feel unstable. But through all that, she's still optimistic. She still believes the world is a place full of possibilities. She looks at me like I'm the proof of that, like I'm destined for something bigger than just football.

She's always telling me that, saying I'm meant for more, that I'm going to go on and do something great with my life. And maybe that's why I can't let her go. Because she sees something in me that I can't find in myself. She's hopeful where I'm drowning. She believes in me when I can barely make it through the day.

We met freshman year, at some stupid orientation party I didn't want to go to. Coach insisted I show up, said it was good for team morale or something. I was hanging around the edges, counting down the minutes until I could leave, when she just walked up to me. She wasn't intimidated, wasn't trying to impress me. She just asked, "What else do you do besides throw a ball around?"

That's when I knew she wasn't like everyone else. She didn't care about the quarterback thing, didn't give a damn about the image I'd spent years perfecting. She wanted to know me—the real me, whatever that was. For a while, it felt like I could be that guy with her. We worked. But now? Now, it feels like I'm faking it. Like I'm playing a role in this relationship the same way I play a role in everything else. And it's not fair. Not to her. But I don't know how to stop.

Because the truth is, I don't know who I am anymore.

I laugh with my teammates, throw perfect passes, lead them on the field like I'm supposed to. But inside, my mind is somewhere else. It's with Jason. His hands moving across that sketchbook, the way he sits, completely at ease, like he knows who he is and doesn't care what anyone thinks. I wish I had that. I wish I could be him, even if just for a moment, just to know what it feels like to be free of all the weight I carry.

Ava is still talking, her fingers laced through mine as we walk across campus, but I'm barely listening. My eyes are on the quad, where Jason sits, sketching under the big oak tree like he always does. My chest tightens. This pull, this thing that's been building inside me, it's getting stronger. And I don't know how to stop it.

That's what scares me the most. I've spent my entire life being who everyone else needs me to be. The quarterback. The son. The golden boy with a future so bright it blinds people. But now, for the first time, I'm realizing that I don't fit that image anymore. Maybe I never did.

Ava deserves better. She deserves someone who can give her the life she wants, the future she sees so clearly for me. My parents deserve a son who can carry their legacy forward without falling apart under the weight of it. But I don't think I can be that guy anymore. I'm not sure I ever was.

We pass the quad, and for a second, Jason looks up from his sketchbook. Our eyes meet, and the noise of campus fades, like it's just him and me in this moment. He nods, just a small gesture, but it feels like everything stops. Like he knows something I don't. Like he sees me in a way no one else does.

I look away, focusing back on Ava, but my mind is spinning. I feel trapped in this life I didn't choose, like I'm locked inside a role I don't want to play anymore. I don't know how to be anyone else, but I also don't know if I can keep being David—the star quarterback, the perfect son, the guy with all the answers.

I can't keep pretending.

I wish it was as simple as everyone says it is. The world talks about acceptance, about being yourself, but it's not that easy. Not for me. Not for the guy everyone's been watching since middle school, the guy who was supposed to be something great. How do I even begin to tell them that I'm not the person they think I am? That I'm not perfect. Not even close.

I'm just a guy trying to figure out who the hell he really is.

And I don't know if I ever will.