[12/February/2000 – 7 am, Cambridge, Massachusetts | Harvard Gymnasium]
The early rays of the sun hung over Cambridge, Massachusetts, bringing with them the light of spring. Early-migrating birds announced their return with songs as they perched on century-old trees. Students were beginning to emerge from the burrows they called their dorms.
Some woke up in states of disarray in unfamiliar dorms, next to unfamiliar people, as their stomachs churned to empty last night's concoctions. Awkward conversations ensued in some rooms as they woke up next to their partner's best friend or worse, discovered a new sexual orientation, like a side quest in Mario. To some, this was just another college morning, as they barely remembered to dress, finding only one shoe, and their bra had magically gone missing in last night's escapades.
Thus began another morning walk to their own dorm room, covering their faces with one hand as if that hid the shame they felt. If they were lucky, they would cross paths with fellow health-conscious students who embarked on the same walk every day. Those without luck ran into their professors, who were running late, creating an awkward moment where neither knew whether to acknowledge the relationship.
Others woke up in their own bed right on schedule, ready to make the most of their $35,000 a year investment. Books in hand, they barely remembered breakfast as they headed to the library to secure today's study nest. Most had goals for what they wanted from this education, with jobs lined up or in the process of being achieved. They couldn't afford it, as their wealthier dorm mates liked to put it, to live a little without suffering the consequences.
On the other side of the spectrum of student life are your athletes, who, in a school like Harvard, might as well be considered clinically insane. No one expected them to really win anything in traditional sports other than to beat Yale. In the classrooms, they were the ones who brought down the grade average. Still, it was required of them to uphold the Harvard name in all matters, especially academically.
Unlike in most schools, where they were put on a pedestal, here they were just the entertainment. They threw the best parties, and they became heroes on Friday night under the lights or on the hardwood. They completed the American college experience for many students who had been outcasts in high school. They allowed those who were far below average in other college programs to be king of the mountain for a few more years.
However, what most didn't know was that for the average student-athlete, their day began at 5 am. Breakfast was something you worried about getting on the way to morning workouts. Because while the school didn't put an emphasis on sports, your coaches who controlled your scholarship did.
For them, it was their chance to further their coaching careers and secure a spot at a competitive school. So, they took their jobs seriously, and that meant student-athletes trained like they were trying to make the league, despite being four in twelve this season.
At the basketball gym, part of the sports complex, the players could be seen finishing off their workout. They were seated on benches, sweat-covered as they tried to catch their breath. As they did, a rhythmic thud of a ball hitting the hardwood before swooshing through the net resounded.
Xavier, despite being covered in sweat, continued to take free throws without fail. College had been the ceiling of his talent, but the joy of playing never left him, even when he only played a couple of minutes each game. The ball snapped through the net again, and he retrieved another from the basket next to him, spinning it absently in his hands before returning to the line.
On the bench, three freshmen lay sprawled with towels around their necks, barely believing they were alive. "Man, I can't believe Coach is on us about grades again," the tall blonde boy groaned, leaning back against the back of the bench. "We're on scholarships. If we were book smart, would our parents spend so much money getting us admitted this way?"
"Yeah, dude," another freshman chimed in, dark hair matted to his forehead with sweat. He tossed his towel over his shoulder and let out a dramatic sigh. "Like, my old man didn't grease palms so I could stress about Econ 101. I'm here to hoop and pick up a diploma, not sit in Lamont until midnight."
The third freshman, a wiry kid from Jersey with a headband still on, shook his head. "Facts. I barely passed that midterm last semester. Coach acts like we're supposed to be in the freakin' library every night and here by 4 am so he can torture us. I didn't sign up for that."
From a little further down the bench, Darnell, a sophomore two guard, the team's star, smirked at their words. This caused his gold chain to bounce against his chest, as his mocking laughter resounded. "Y'all soft, man. Crying about books like they're a death sentence. Look at X."
Three pairs of freshman eyes flicked to Xavier, who calmly dribbled once and let another free throw drop clean through the net, barely grazing the rim. "What about him?" the blonde freshman asked, rolling his eyes.
Darnell gestured with his chin. "He ain't stressing. Don't see him bitchin' about professors."
"Yeah, well," the boy with a Jersey Headband muttered, "probably 'cause he don't gotta worry about playing, so he got enough time to study."
Before Darnell could answer, Ben, the freshman, four-star high school recruit, and already the team's best baller, grinned as he picked up a loose ball and spun it lazily on his finger. "Yh you right, our boy is pretty average don't know why he's still playing?" He let the ball drop and bounce between his legs. "Y'know what I mean, pick up a career before you burn your wings flying too close to greatness like Icarus."
"Man, shut up, quoting the one book you ever read doesn't make you sound smart." Darnell retorted, breaking the aura farming Ben was trying to do.
The freshmen cracked up instantly. "Average, that's harsh, bro!" Blonde dude snorted."You salty that he still gets more bi£&£es than you or something?"
"That's facts, he may be average, but he's got game where it matters." Jersey echoed, pointing toward Xavier. "Yo, X, you hear this? You're officially Mr AboveAverage."
"Average free throws, average game time, average 3…" Even the dark-haired freshman was wheezing. "And an ultimate chick magnet. Why do I feel like I'd switch with him in a heartbeat—"
"Shut the hell up, you idiots", Darnell cut in, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees as he turned to face them. "Y'all don't even get it."
The laughter and banter died down just a little. "What's there to get?" Ben said, still smirking but with a sharper edge now.
Darnell nodded toward Xavier, who hadn't reacted once, just kept his rhythm: dribble, set, release, swish, just as he did every morning to calm his mind. "That man's about to graduate. This semester."
The freshmen blinked. "Yeah? So what, we all graduate eventually," Jersey shrugged. "Even daddy's little boy, who's as dumb as a rock, will graduate after a hefty donation."
Darnell shook his head slowly, savouring the moment. "Nah, y'all are some special kind of fools. He's twenty years old. By the time you clowns figure out how to pass Intro Psych without your daddies calling the dean, X here's gonna walk outta Harvard with an MBA. And a master's in marketing at Columbia."
"Dude, stop lying. I know you too are buddies, but you don't gotta butter him up when he's not even listening." The blond freshman exclaimed, unwilling to accept that someone only two years older was suddenly so far ahead. Seeing Darnell's deadpan gaze, which didn't seem like he was joking, his composure quickly faltered. "W'wait, you can't be serious, if X is that smart, what is he even doing here slumming it on the hardwood with us?"
"Everyone needs a hobby, plus the ladies love an athlete's body, can't let my face carry me too much." Xavier interrupted the chatter with a broad smile as he appeared in front of them, taking his sweat-soaked jersey off. Neat rows of six-pack abs glistening from the sweat as his muscles, thick, compact biceps from years of playing various sports and conditioning, emanate sex appeal at his height of 6'3.
"Bro, put those away before you blind someone," Darnell exclaimed, throwing a towel his way, prompting the others to follow suit.
"Naw, bro, they're just above average?" he replied, sending the group a teasing grin ready to flex on them if the opportunity arose.
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To Be Continued...