AllFreeNovel
Share Us
No one is.
Besides being raised by a single parent, comparing myself to LeBron would be like chasing rainbows.
Also, LeBron didn’t have to change schools senior year just for the slight hope of getting noticed.
I walk back down the driveway for the millionth time, sweat pouring from every inch of my body, and blink away the fatigue from driving all night. Dad’s at the rear of the rental truck unloading the last of the boxes we managed to stuff in there. After this, we only have all the furniture to unload. Fun times. I pick up a large, heavy box and ask, “Where to?”
“What does it say on the box?” Dad huffs. He’s struggling more than I am.
I look down at the box, at the somewhere written in Dad’s handwriting. “It says somewhere,” I tell him, rolling my eyes.
He chuckles. “That must have been when I started to lose my mind. If only I’d had someone to help me pack.”
I shrug. “I was busy.” Lazy.
“Just dump it in the living room, and we’ll go through it later, but I gotta go.”
“Where?” I stop halfway to the house and look at the truck, then him, and back again. “Who’s going to help me unload the furniture?”
“Just take the small stuff for now. I’ll be back in a couple hours.”
Sweat drips into my eyeballs. “A couple hours?” I drop the box, use the bottom of my shirt to wipe at my eyes, then search for a hose so I can drown myself. Maybe I don’t even need the water. I could just use my own self-pity. There’s sure as shit an abundance of it. I look over at my dad as he struggles to open the front door with his foot while carrying two boxes. Shit. I need to suck it up and quit complaining. He’s given up a hell of a lot more than I have, and besides, he’s here for me, no other reason. I rush to hold the door open, then I plaster on the most genuine smile I can muster. “No worries, Pops. Take your time. I got it.”
“Don’t overdo it, Connor. Just the small stuff.”
When he leaves, the first thing I do is try to lift a three-seater couch on my own. Because I’m a shit of a kid and I don’t listen apparently.
“Yo, you need a hand?” a guy calls from behind, rushing to lift the other end of the couch before it falls off the back of the truck. He asks, “You thought you could lift this on your own?”
I’d be annoyed by his words if he wasn’t laughing when he said them. Besides, the guy’s huge. If Shaq had a long-lost son, he would be it… so it’s probably best not to start off on the wrong foot.
“Apparently so,” I murmur.
With his help, we get the couch into the living room within seconds.
“Hey, man. Thanks for that.” I throw out my fist for a bump as we walk out of the house.
“Nah, it’s nothing.” I expect him to leave, to go back to wherever the hell he appeared from, but he simply walks back to the truck, jumps in, and comes out with a mattress.
“Dude, honestly, you don’t need to help.”
He jumps down, then lifts the mattress onto his back as if it’s air. “I got nothing going on.”
“I can’t, like, pay you… or anything.”
He shakes his head. “Man, shut up with that.” Then he motions to the rest of our shit in the truck. “But I’m not doing this on my own.”
“Right.”
An hour later and the entire truck is empty. I’m completely drenched in sweat. So is Trevor—whose name I just asked a minute ago. “I’d offer you a drink,” I tell him, rolling down the truck door, “but we don’t really have anything.”
He looks over at my house. “You got AC?”
I nod. “I assume so.”
He slaps my arm. “Get it on. I’ll be back.”
A minute later, AC blowing in the living room, he returns with two beers and hands me one. I take it without a second thought, down half of it in one go while he makes himself comfortable on the couch. Legs kicked up on the somewhere box, he says, “I live next door by the way.”
