Endless

8

Ty's POV

My whole morning was already trash.
The test?
Failed.
Not like "barely missed it."
Nah.
The professor slapped a bold-ass 58% on it like he was proud.

I stared at the paper so long the numbers started levitating.
My stomach dropped straight through the floor.
I ain't stupid.
I swear I ain't.
I just... froze up.

And now it felt like the whole damn world was laughing at me.

I kept the paper folded in my pocket, trying to breathe slow, trying to act normal while I walked across the courtyard. Students everywhere, loud as hell, happy, joking. The sun was too bright. Everything was too much.

I just wanted to disappear for a minute.

I was halfway to the student center when I heard him.

"Ty."
Deep. Rough. That Louisiana scratch.
Kentrell.

My chest tightened instantly.
Of all days?
Of ALL days for him to pop up?

When I turned around, he was walking toward me, starter dreads pulled back halfway with a rubber band, a few loose pieces falling near his face. Shirt slightly lifted on one side like he threw it on half-asleep. He had that annoyed look carved into his eyebrows — the one he gave everyone by default.

But when his eyes landed on me...
something in his face shifted.
Barely.
But I saw it.

"What you doin'?" he asked, voice lower than usual. "You walkin' like somebody died."

"Bruh, I'm fine."
I tried to walk past him.

He stepped in my path.

"Nah. You ain't."
His eyes narrowed. "Where yo energy at? You usually talkin' shit by now."

"I'on feel like it today." I muttered.

"Why?"

"Bruh..." I blew out a breath, rubbing my forehead. "Can you jus—"

"Nah, don't hit me wit dat."
His voice sharpened, that Louisiana bite coming out.
"Somethin' happened. Say it."

"Kentrell—"

"Say. It."

I clenched my jaw.
My eyes burned a little — embarrassing as hell.
The last thing I wanted was him seeing me like this.

So I shrugged instead. "I failed a test, alright? You happy now?"

He didn't say nothing for a second.
Just stared at me like he was reading every thought I ever had.

Then his jaw flexed.

"Who graded it?" he asked.

"Bruh, what?" I blinked. "It's a test. I failed. That's it."

"Nah, 'cause ain't no way you failed no damn test." He stepped closer, eyes dark. "You study every night like a nerd. Ion' believe that shit."

"It's literally written right here," I said, pulling out the folded paper.

He snatched it before I could stop him.

"Kentre—"

His eyes scanned the grade.
His whole body tensed.

Then he folded the paper slowly, controlled, like he was trying not to rip it in half.

"Where he at?" he asked.

"Who?"

"Yo professor, lil old-ass man with the glasses an' the shiny forehead. Where he at? Ion' like this shit."