Michael's POV
"Bro, college is gonna be crazy," Charles said as we cut across the basketball courts in Queens, sneakers squeaking against the concrete. "All the girls are gonna be lining up. The parties, the dorm life, the freedom—man, it's everything we've been waiting for."
I laughed, shaking my head. "Charles, you know me. I'm not that guy. I've got my books, my basketball—"
"Basketball?" he interrupted. "Bro, you barely shoot your shot off the court, you sure you'll do it on the court?"
I grinned. "Yeah, yeah. But still—girls and all that flirting stuff? Not my thing, man. I'd rather nap."
Charles gave me that look—half disbelief, half pity. "Mike, you're bugging. Once you hit campus—no parents, no rules—you're gonna change. The dorms, the late nights, the freedom… you'll see."
I shoved my hands in my hoodie pocket. "Did you see Curry's step-back three last night? Dude hit that shot like it was scripted."
Charles laughed. "Look at you changing the subject again. But yeah, that shot was nasty."
"LeBron still runs the league though," I said, smirking.
"Man, stop it. Curry's the best shooter alive. LeBron just bullies people in the paint."
"Bullies them into rings," I shot back.
"Yeah? Curry outsmarts them into rings."
We went back and forth, laughing, arguing, letting the debate carry us home. But underneath the laughter, his words stayed heavy.
College wasn't just another step—it was a whole new world.
Freedom. Responsibility. Maybe even love.
But what if I wasn't built for that kind of life?
---
That Night
Back in our small Queens apartment, I lay on my bed staring at the ceiling. The walls were fading yellow, one corner covered by a massive LeBron poster. Clothes and books spilled out of duffel bags.
Charles's words echoed: You'll change.
Maybe he was right. Maybe I'd finally get the experiences I'd missed out on.
But deep down, I wasn't sure I'd even know what to do once I got there.
Excitement and fear tangled in my chest—the kind that comes right before your life actually starts.
---
The Letter
The smell of chicken and rice filled our apartment in Jackson Heights. Mom hummed along to Whitney Houston in the kitchen; Dad sat at the dining table, glasses low on his nose, reading The New York Times.
I was in my room, sprawled on my bed, phone on my chest—pretending to scroll, really just thinking.
Then—three sharp knocks.
"Michael!"
Danielle. Always knocking like the FBI.
I groaned. "What?"
"Open up, dummy."
I dragged myself off the bed. Danielle stood there, hand on her hip, eyebrow raised—her usual dramatic stance. Curly black hair in a bun, caramel skin like mine, just sharper features. Two years older, already working part-time at a law office while finishing at Yale .
To everyone else: the perfect daughter.
To me: professional pain in the ass.
"You look miserable," she said, scanning my messy room. "God, Mike, this place is a crime scene. Is that—oh my God, is that a sandwich from last week?"
"It's not last week," I muttered. "Maybe two days ago."
"Two days? Right." She shook her head. "I pity your future girlfriend."
"Good thing I don't have one."
"Maybe you will now."
Her smile said she knew something.
"What are you talking about?"
She waved an envelope at me—a big official one with my name on it.
My heart froze.
"Open it," she said.
My hands shook as I tore it open. The words blurred, then cleared:
Congratulations! We are pleased to inform you of your admission to St. John's University, College of Liberal Arts and Sciences. Program: English and Literature.
Danielle screamed. "You're in!"
I laughed, half-relieved, half-shocked. "I knew it! I mean, come on—I've been killing those essays."
She rolled her eyes. "Relax. It's just admission, not graduation. You'll be begging to come home in a week."
"Please. I'm ready for this."
Her grin turned teasing. "Guess I'll be watching over you on campus. Don't go wild and embarrass the family."
"You're already at Yale! Let me have this moment."
"Nope," she said, leaving. "Clean this dungeon before it gets condemned."
I threw a pillow. She dodged it, laughing.
---
Dinner
We squeezed around the small dining table—Mom, Dad, Danielle, and Ava, my sarcastic eleven-year-old sister. Dad folded his paper neatly before speaking.
"So. You're a college student now."
"Yes, sir."
"You'll take your studies seriously. Remember, law school is the goal."
"Yes, sir."
Mom smiled softly. "Just remember to pray, Michael. God will guide you."
"Yes, Mom."
"Also, clean your room," Danielle added.
"Really?"
Ava piped up. "For real, Michael, you're nasty."
"Stay out of this."
"Elder indeed," she mocked.
"Quiet," Dad said—and silence fell instantly.
For a moment, I looked around: my strict father, my calm mother, my overachieving sister, and the sarcastic kid.
It hit me—I was really leaving.
This small apartment, this table, this noise—it wouldn't be my everyday anymore.
A new chapter waited at St. John's.
And it felt heavier than I expected.
---
The Lecture
After dinner, the dishes were cleared. Mom packed for her night shift; Danielle scrolled through her phone; Ava disappeared into her room. That left me and Dad alone.
He folded his glasses, leaned back, and just looked at me. That kind of silence that says: Here it comes.
"Michael," he said finally.
"Yes, sir."
"College isn't high school. Nobody will hold your hand. You either do the work, or you fail."
"I know."
"I'm not sure you do." His voice was calm, but sharp enough to cut. "You've had it easy. Your mother and I made sure you lacked nothing. Now you'll be on your own. No one to clean after you. No one to tell you when to study. It's on you."
"I get it."
"Do you?" He leaned forward. "Or are you just waiting to play basketball and waste time?"
"That's not fair," I said quietly. "I'm serious."
"Then prove it. Don't end up like the boys who lose themselves—parties, drinking, women. It happens fast."
I wanted to tell him that women were the last thing that distracted me—but I didn't.
"I'll make you proud," I said instead.
He nodded, stood, and said over his shoulder, "Remember—this isn't just about you. It's about this family's name. Don't tarnish it."
---
The room went quiet after he left.
I leaned back, staring at the ceiling fan spinning above me. Excitement and fear tangled together again.
Freedom sounded good—until you realized it came with expectations.
And beneath everything else was that one thought I couldn't shake:
What if I didn't belong?
Charles could make friends in seconds. Danielle always fit anywhere she went.
Me? I was the quiet one—the guy who hid behind books and endless LeBron vs. Curry debates.
College would change everything.
I just wasn't sure if it would change me for better or worse.
---
Later That Night
My phone buzzed.
Charles: Bro, when we move in, we're gonna run the campus.
Me: Yeah, sure.
Charles: Don't play humble. Girls are gonna love you.
Me: You don't know me at all.
Charles: Watch. You'll see.
I locked the screen and let the room go dark.
Everyone said I'd change.
But lying there, staring into the quiet, I wondered—
what if I wasn't ready to?