Strings of Fate: The First Loop

CHAPTER 5

He slaps a folded piece of paper down on the coffee table like it’s evidence at a trial. I don’t need to open it. I know what it is. The report card.

I glance at it. Then back at him.

His face is tight, eyes narrowed, lips pressed into a hard, flat line. And my mom, she’s standing just behind his shoulder. One hand rises to rest lightly against his back, her fingers trembling ever so slightly, like she’s not sure if she’s trying to restrain him or remind herself she still exists.

Her expression is unreadable. Worry? Fear? Disappointment? Maybe it’s all of them at once. Or maybe it’s nothing. She’s been so quiet these days I can’t even tell what she’s thinking anymore. She used to smile when I walked into a room. Now she just... watches. Like she’s waiting for something to break.

Dad’s voice cuts through again. “This is what you’re proud of? You think this is gonna get you somewhere in life? Barely passing half your classes?”

I stay quiet.

“What, you think that ball’s gonna save you?” He gestures at the basketball still on my lap, like it’s a disease I need to be cured of. “You think basketball’s gonna be your future? Wake up, James. This isn't a dream. You’re not going anywhere with this. You're not good enough.”

I flinch.

Not on the outside. But inside, something twists. Because that word, enough, it’s the one I’ve been chasing for years.

I grip the ball tighter, like I can hold onto something solid while everything else unravels. “I thought...” I don’t even know why I start, but the words slip out, raw and shaky. “You used to say I was your little basketball star.”

He snorts. Laughs, almost. Cold and bitter. “That was when you were ten, James. You think a few good games in a high school league make you something special?”

I don’t answer. What could I even say?

I used to believe him. I used to believe that every hour I spent on the court, every drop of sweat, every time I shot free throws until my arms went numb, it was all gonna mean something. That one day, he’d look at me and see what he saw back then. Pride. Belief. Love.

Now, I can’t even tell what he sees when he looks at me. Just someone who failed to meet a standard he never even defined.

“Maybe if you spent less time goofing off and more time studying, you wouldn’t be dragging this family down.”

Dragging us down. Like I’m the anchor and they’re trying to stay afloat.

I look up at my mom again. She still hasn’t said a word. Her eyes flicker to mine, then away. Her fingers twitch on my dad’s shoulder like she wants to say something, but whatever it is, she swallows it whole.

I want to scream. Not at them, just at the room, at the silence, at the fact that I’ve tried. God, I’ve tried. I show up to school. I go to every practice. I smile when I’m supposed to. I crack jokes. I make people laugh. I lead the team. I do everything I can to stay on my feet.

But it’s never enough.

It’s never enough.

And I don’t know if it’s because of something I did or something I didn’t do.

All I know is that once, I was a little boy in this same living room, holding a ball twice the size of my head, beaming up at my dad while he called me his star.

Now?

Now, I’m just a disappointment.

Before my dad left the room, his voice dropped low, sharp as a blade.
“Fix this, James. Grow some actual balls. Stop acting like a kid and start acting like a man.”