My Addiction (Second Chances Series)(6)

I sat at an open booth and nodded my head at a few people I remembered from way back when. It seemed that the regulars hadn’t changed a bit. I placed an order with a cute blonde for a beer and thought about how I made it from Highland Park to the mean streets of West Plano. I know that statement is an oxymoron, “mean streets of West Plano,” but for a kid coming from streets paved with gold, West Plano was rough.

I won’t say I grew up with a platinum spoon in my mouth, but my father was very well off. I was used to the good life, easy street, until my father one day kicked my mom, my brother and me out of his house. At ten, I couldn’t understand what the hell happened. For a very long time, I thought my father didn’t give a shit about us. I felt like he got rid of us like useless garbage. I found out later that my mom cheated on my father with a man who she felt had more money. She thought she would be set for life. However, her new savior didn’t like the idea that she came with kids, so he dropped her like a bad habit.

Alimony wasn’t an option for my mom, so she relied on the next best thing, child support. It was important to her to make sure she was able to buy what she wanted, keep her spa dates with her high society friends, and country club membership. Unfortunately, child support just wasn’t enough support for her, and she was forced to get a job.

We stayed in a very rundown apartment complex in a neighborhood that wasn’t very favorable. Now, since I mentioned we lived in Plano, you’re thinking how bad could it be, right? I mean, it’s Plano—I get it. Well, I won’t say it was Oakcliff, one of the roughest neighborhoods in South Dallas, but there was a huge difference between East and West Plano. The closer you got to the Dallas Tollway, the better the neighborhoods were. Closer to Route 75 though was a toss-up.

I didn’t see my father after the dust from the divorce settled. He managed to get hooked by a blood sucking bitch that kicked out a couple of kids for him. She told my father how confusing it would be for my brother and me to be around them if we didn’t live with them, and he bought it. My father’s wife was twelve years his junior and probably screwing his brains out, so he’d do anything for her.

I was pissed off at first, but, after a while, I just said the hell with it and him. Fences have been mended since then, but it took my father a very long time to get in my good graces. I can’t fucking stand my half-brother and -sister or their mother though, and that won’t ever change.

The elementary school I went to saw fights weekly. I stayed to myself and out of everyone’s way. I didn’t say shit, and I didn’t do shit. My brother’s high school was up the street from me, so we would walk to school together every day. When I went to middle school, shit got deep. I got into fights at least twice a month. Everyone wanted to screw with the quiet white kid.

Things started to change for me in eighth grade. I loved sports and was thinking about playing basketball for my middle school team. I decided one day to go to one of their games to see how good they were and if I had a chance to make the team. It was that day when I met the girl that would change me forever.

“Oh my God, are you kidding me?! You call that a foul?!”

Her voice rang through over the sounds of sneakers squeaking on a rather subpar basketball court and the echoes of a ball bouncing. I looked around and found the gym wasn’t packed, just the teams sitting on either side of the court. The stands had a few people in them, but the person who caught my eye was the one who seemed to be the loudest of everyone.

“Come on, Terrence! Post up, big guy. Stop playing soft!” she yelled.

I noticed a brown-skinned kid on the court, with our school colors and name on his jersey, frown and look up at her. The look he gave her didn’t seem to faze her at all. It actually seemed to charge her.

“Don’t look at me like that! You know that guy has no handle, and you’re letting him take you to the basket; unacceptable!”

I smiled and shook my head; this was going to be entertaining at worst.

However, when I tell you I had the time of my life at a middle school basketball game, I’m not exaggerating. I didn’t know who this girl was, but she knew her shit. And, apparently, in my opinion, when she called everybody out on their skills, it made them play harder. The coach, of course, wasn’t too happy about her presence and yelling, but, hell, what could he do? She wasn’t hurting the team or the game. She wasn’t causing any trouble or disrupting anything, so he had to suck it up.

At the end of the game, I stood, grabbed my book bag, dreading the walk to meet my brother. I didn’t mind the walk. I just hated having to deal with petty shit on the way, kids thinking they could push me around and bully me. I turned to exit the gym, getting my mind ready for the trouble waiting for me when I heard a voice ring out behind me. “Hey.”