Airball

Chapter 1 - The Internal Struggle That Is My Life

An air-ball. That was the reward I got for hours at the street court, gallons of sweat, and pounds of unfinished homework. I winced as the shot was thrown too far left and bounced against the ground. I ignored the rolling ball and sat down on the cold bench nearby, wiping my forehead with a hand-towel.

I could no longer ignore the facts: I was bad at basketball.

You're probably thinking: Being bad at basketball isn't all that bad. Or maybe: Not everyone can be good at basketball. Maybe you just haven't found your thing yet. But you just don't get it. Not that I would expect you to. I mean, so far you've only read less than 100 words about my entire life.

You just don't get it. You see, I did find my thing. Basketball is my thing. And I was good at it. I played middle school basketball for South Miami Middle School. And not to brag or anything, but I was pretty good at it. I joined the team after moving from Charlotte, North Carolina in 6th grade, became starting point guard in 7th grade, and by 8th grade I was the team captain and MVP of the team. It was incredible. I mean sure, it was middle school basketball, but I had finally figured out what I wanted to do with myself. I had figured out what I was good at. Unfortunately, last summer, all of that changed. 

I was hanging out, as I often did, with some of my friends from the team. That day I was with Cam, Nathan, and Max. We were tired from that day's burning heat and had given up the game of street ball, so we decided to go by the year-round, inside ice-skating rink. The four of us were all racing each other when I got too far ahead of myself and slipped, immediately falling down. Of course, it wasn't uncommon to slip while ice skating, especially at those high speeds, but when I had fallen I had tried bracing myself with my arm. I had read somewhere that that was a bad idea, but it wasn't like I'd had time to think about it. It happened instinctively, and before I knew it, my whole weight had crushed my arm, breaking it badly.

At the time, I wasn't too worried. I mean sure, it hurt for a while, but I had suffered much worse injuries before and I'm told by the doctor I have a high tolerance of pain. So, after a while with a brace, my arm had pretty much completely healed—on the outside. However when I went back to basketball for the first time in a couple months last month, I discovered that I was awful at it. At first, I thought it was just because I hadn't gotten warmed up in a few months, but soon I realized I had completely lost my touch. I was no longer good at basketball.

As of yet, I have only told one person of this realization. I've kept it from my old team members and my dad (who probably wouldn't care anyway). The only person I've told about this was...

"Blake!"

...now running toward me.

It was Austin, one of my closest friends since I moved to Miami. He ran all the way into the street court and halted only when he was a few feet away from me.

"Blake, you didn't reply to my text!" he panted.

I pulled out my iPhone and checked the messages.

"Found potential double date," I read the text aloud. "Reply quickly. I can send pics."

Austin smiled encouragingly.

I raised an eyebrow. "You can send pics?"

Austin nodded. "From their Instagram."

"So you're stalking them?"

Austin thought about it, but shook his head. "Not stalking," he said. "Just observing."

I cracked a smile. "I see."

"So?" Austin asked impatiently. "You in?"

I locked my phone and stuffed in back in my sports bag. I stood up from the bench and turned to Austin, who stared up at me, waiting for an answer. Austin was and had always been the shortest kid in all of our classes. I, being a basketball player, had always been one of the tallest, at least in middle school. I really wasn't that tall compared to most of my friends, because I was around average height. I felt sort of bad for Austin, but he never seemed to mind being short. I made jokes all the time about his height, and he seems to think they're funny. But that doesn't change the fact that I put anyone who picks on Austin in their place immediately.