Especially when someone like him comes around and brings up all the memories that I've had for basketball at my previous school, it makes me want to run away again. A rush of nostalgia and euphoria course through my body as I think about the memories that I've had. But then I think about all the insults that I have accumulated over the years of playing this sport.

"She's such a tomboy!"

"Ashley? More like Ash."

"All she wears is Converse, a sweater, and sweatpants. What else can she wear?"

"Pshh. Why is she even considered a girl?"

A shiver runs down my spine as I close my eyes. I can't let these ridicules come back to me. Not again. All I want to be is accepted. Accepted into a place where I don't have to hear these kinds of remarks and I can just be...invisible and not the center of attention. But you still practice basketball every night.

I gulp as I think about this. Yes. I still play. It's just that I can't let anyone know about it. I swore on my life before I moved to LA that I wouldn't let anybody know about it, except my parents. They seemed to be worried for me when I told them but ended up complying anyway.

Now, I wear what a typical teenage girl wears: skinny jeans, a decent top and sometimes, Converse, if I am brave enough to do so. Other times, it's just Vans. But, I just want to be able to play again. To feel that euphoria once more. To be able to see the ball swish satisfyingly into the basket while everyone is watching me in the stands cheering on for me.

And plus, it seems like the girl's basketball team needs some backup too. Their record isn't so great and they can barely get past the first round of the playoffs. I clench my hands in frustration. Why can't I just be accepted for what I want to wear and what I want to enjoy? Why does the world have to be this cruel?

Because that's the way it is. You can't change the world. Only the world can change you because the world is too immense. That saying "Strength in Numbers" is not a lie. That motto was from the Golden State Warriors. Three-time NBA champions. I guess if they win championships like that, then their motto must be correct.

As I reach the entrance of the school, I push the wide doors open and walk out of the school. Stopping after taking a few more steps, I open my backpack one more time to grab my phone and headphones. My phone buzzes again and I close my eyes in frustration, knowing that the text must be from Will.

I gulp and bravely shift my eyes over to my phone screen. My prediction was correct.

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Unknown Number: Great! Is it alright if we can meet after 5 at the library? Basketball practice ends around 4:30 for me.

Me: The library closes at 5. Maybe somewhere else? 🤔

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I purse my lips in anxiety as my phone indicates that he's typing. But then he stops typing as I place my headphones into my ear. Glancing at my phone one more time, Will's not typing anymore. I change his contact name to "That British Guy" while I'm at it. Then, I place my phone in my backpack while my music starts playing.

The soft tunes of pop music calm my nerves down as I start walking back home. Maybe this won't be as bad as I thought. Tutoring Will and all that. He is just coming for one session and never coming back. But what if he does come back? I try to throw that thought out of my mind but it keeps coming back.

If he's coming back, then I will have to decline his request. It's that simple. He can ask other tutors. We're all the same because we have two goals: we want to help others with their work that they're struggling with and also get community service hours while we're at it. But it's more of the community service hours for me. Although I have "smart brain", like what Ms. Darian says, it's not my objective to help others, sadly.

This whole tutoring program helps me fit in more into the crowd as I am not as lonely as I was when I was sitting by myself, but at the same time, I get to be useful. I get to use my time wisely instead of contemplating my existence while eating my lunch. But now, I think it's better if I was sitting at the edge of the school, contemplating my existence.

It would be better because I wouldn't have to face Will and think about all the times that I wished that I didn't play basketball and became a star player. To me, it's better if I were to be normal. Normal, but useful.