As I stared at Peter, who was walking toward his classroom, I tried to remember which class was mine. But the very next second, my problem was solved by someone yelling my name from behind.
"JAREDDDD!"
I turned and saw an African-American teen, about my age, walking toward me, waving enthusiastically. From his build, I could immediately tell he was a basketball player. He was taller than me, wearing a sleeveless school jersey with "Midtown" and the number 23 printed on it. For a second, I thought he was Ryan, but as he came closer, he tossed me a basketball, which I instinctively caught.
"Yo, where's Ryan at?" he asked, grinning as he adjusted his jersey.
I shrugged. "No idea… I'll try calling him." Pulling out my phone, I scrolled through my recent calls, searching for Ryan's number. But before I could dial, the guy raised his hand, nodding toward the road. "No need to call. There he is—the whole family rolling in as usual," he said with a laugh.
Looking up, I saw a van pull up in front of the school entrance. The door slid open, and two kids—a boy and a girl—jumped out, giggling as they ran toward the building. From the front seats, a man and a woman leaned out, calling after them.
"Stop saying that word! Or you'll both be grounded!" the woman shouted, but the kids paid no mind and disappeared into the school.
The last to step out was a teenager my age, with brown hair and a skateboard in hand, wearing an olive-green t-shirt and light-blue jeans. It all clicked into place: his name was Ryan, and memories of hanging out with him surfaced.
"Hey, Jared, Derek—it's good to see you two," called out the man, who seemed to be Ryan's dad. The woman, Mrs. Smith, waved at me from the passenger seat.
"Jared! Don't forget it's the twins' birthday party tonight. May's helping me with the cake and will send you the list of ingredients. Make sure you pick everything up before you get home, okay?" Mrs. Smith smiled, her voice carrying a mix of excitement and strictness.
Before I could respond, she shifted her attention to Derek. "And you, young man—don't even think about bringing that basketball into my house this year. I don't need my decorations getting ruined again."
Derek chuckled nervously. "You got it, Mrs. Smith. I'd rather avoid cleaning up like last year."
Her husband, Mr. Smith, looked over with a smirk. "Honey, why don't we handle the groceries on the way home?"
She shot him a look. "The last time you tried to shop, you brought back everything except what we needed. Jared and the kids will manage it. Just make sure you're home on time."
Mr. Smith laughed, glancing at his watch. "I'll do my best, but, you know, crime doesn't care about birthday parties."
"Mom, Dad, if you're done embarrassing me, can I go now?" Ryan asked, nudging his skateboard behind his back.
"Look how sleepy he is. That's why I keep telling him to cut down on those late-night video games," Mrs. Smith said, sighing as Ryan yawned.
With a last wave, Mr. Smith pulled the van away, leaving the three of us standing there. Derek looked over at Ryan with an eyebrow raised. "Didn't you say you'd go to bed early last night?"
Ryan rubbed his eyes, chuckling. "Didn't touch a game. I was working on that project report we have due tomorrow. And knowing you guys, I'm guessing neither of you remembers."
Derek's eyes widened. "The report! Damn… how did I forget?" He turned to me, looking a bit panicked.
I held up my hands. "Don't look at me. I'm as clueless as you are."
Ryan rolled his eyes, grinning. "You two have been forgetting assignments since kindergarten, and it looks like some things never change. Luckily, Maya sent me everything I needed, so I could make a presentation and report."
The reminder struck a chord, and I remembered hearing about this "Maya" before. "Oh, yeah? And she didn't mention anything to me?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
"She's not happy with you, dude," Ryan said, smirking. "You're on thin ice with her."
"Let's hit the basketball court," Derek suggested, shifting the conversation. "Practice time, anyway. You guys don't have a class for the first two hours, so come along."
I glanced at Ryan. "Got anything else on the agenda?"
"Nothing pressing. Plus, the cheerleading team's practicing there today, and it'd be criminal to miss it," Ryan replied, suddenly wide awake and grinning.
Derek laughed, tossing the ball back to me. "Best part about basketball practice—senior girls dancing and cheering us on."
I couldn't help but laugh as I threw the ball back. 'Some things really are the same no matter where you go,' I thought, suppressing a smile at the idea of seeing the cheerleaders.
We headed toward the locker rooms to drop off our bags and grab books for later. The halls were buzzing with kids heading to their classes.
After another few minutes, we made it to the gym. I was surprised at how big it was, with bleachers on either side like an actual NBA court. It seemed like basketball was taken pretty seriously here, more so than football or lacrosse.
"DEREK WILLIAM JONES!" boomed a voice from across the court. A tall, muscular man in a blue polo and track pants, with a whistle around his neck, stormed toward us. "How do you manage to leave the house before me, yet still be late?"
Derek paled, mumbling, "Oh, boy." Then, more loudly, he said, "Uh, I ran into these guys, Dad—I mean, Coach. We had to discuss our project."
Coach Jones didn't look convinced, crossing his arms as he glared at us. "Right. And what's this project on?"
Derek froze, shooting us a desperate look. His dad turned his glare on me, raising an eyebrow, and I realized there was no getting around it. "It's, uh… still in the research phase," I said, shrugging, trying not to laugh.
Coach rolled his eyes. "Classic. If it weren't for Maya and Ryan, you'd both flunk out." Then he blew his whistle. "Get on the court, Derek. And remember—your grades better look as good as your free throws."
With an exaggerated sigh, Derek jogged over to join the other players, while Ryan and I headed to the bleachers. From there, we had a perfect view of the cheerleaders gathering on the sidelines.
Ryan nudged me, grinning as he whispered, "Now this is worth getting to school early for."
I couldn't help but chuckle as I watched the cheerleaders warming up. But my attention was soon pulled back to Derek's dad, who was already running his players through drills, his booming voice filling the gym. There was no doubt that Coach Jones took his job seriously—and expected the same from Derek.
'So this is life in high school,' I thought, glancing around at my friends and teammates, each one with their quirks and their lives that fit together like pieces in a puzzle. And then there was Maya, this girl I'd heard so much about but had yet to meet. If she was anything like her reputation, she'd be an interesting addition to my day.
And for the first time since arriving, I felt a sense of normalcy, a feeling that maybe this new life wouldn't be as strange or disconnected as I'd initially thought.
**
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