Author's Note: Please be aware that the stories in this collection (asides from the previous story you just read, which I consider to be one of my best as of 2020) are from when I first started to write short stories. "Nothing Like A Little Believing" was my first one, written in 2019. If you'd like to read my better works, you can start at the end of the collection and work backwards. :)

I fight you, I fight the world, I fight myself

I fight God, just tell me how many burdens left

I rap along with Kendrick Lamar, shelving vinyl records while I'm at it. The process takes forever thanks to the music shelf that wraps around half of the shop. It's like the place is a music sanctuary in disguise—one of the few reasons why I like working here.

My last year of high school is winding down, and I still have no idea where I'm going to go afterwards. Hilarious, I know. The former star student of Ernest Academy working at a minimum-wage job? And he hasn't even been accepted into uni or college yet? When my parents discovered that my grades had slipped, they outright refused to pay for application fees and courses. As they put it, "Your grades are so low, there's no one crazy enough to accept you."

They're right, of course.

"You better have organized those new arrivals!" Ms. Maylie hollers from the storage room. "And turn that music down!"

I wince and lower the volume. Kendrick Lamar's voice shrinks down to match the size of Ms. Maylie's 2nd Hand Shop, which is the definition of organized chaos.

Kitchenware, electronics and everything in between are stashed on the shelf opposite of me. In the center are cardboard boxes filled with books, clothing, and school supplies. The back of the shop is less cluttered--just the cash counter, a door that says MS. MAYLIE ONLY and some unsorted boxes overflowing with used stuff.

Ms. Maylie comes out from the storage room. "Toni baby, don't you have school tomorrow?" she asks. "It's getting late. And you know I don't pay for overtime."

"Nah, I'm good. I'm don't really need the money."

A lie. After my parents gave up hope on me, I couldn't find the courage to tell them I wanted to pursue music as a career. But the application fees for the music programs were expensive. It cost more than what I owed.

So now I'm knee-deep in debt. And I need to pay it off fast, before my parents can find another reason to call me a failure.

"What? Did I fart too loud?"

I didn't realize I was staring at Ms. Maylie. "...Uh, no, I don't think you did."

She clucks and comes over to inspect my work. Adjusting her bifocals, she says, "Young man, R goes after P, not before. Reviewing your alphabet wouldn't hurt, you know."

I crack a smile. When you have your kindergarten teacher as your boss, it's like school and work combined. I don't mind it, actually. Ms. Maylie doesn't bore you with lectures, she's fun. Sometimes she even makes my job exciting. "Sorry, Teach."

Ms. Maylie gives me a once-over. She shakes her head. "When you were the size of a pea you were a bright-eyed youngster. What happened?"

I shrug. She's been asking the same thing since the day I applied for this job three years ago. I glance at my watch. 10:03PM. My mother is going to call any minute, demanding I go home.

Ms. Maylie sighs. "Whenever you're ready, Toni. You can talk to me." She heads back to the storage room.

I look through the store's display windows. Across the snow-filled street, there's a hospital. Where my parents work. Once upon a time, I thought I would join them.

It used to be so good back then. I was the top student in my prep school. Thanks to the advanced tutoring my parents paid for, I was way ahead of the game.

At some point though, things changed. I wasn't interested anymore. Listening to my headphones became more important than listening to lectures. Making beats became more important than making an essay outline. Without noticing, I crashed.

Drake's rapping from my phone.

Started from the bottom, now we're here

Started from the bottom, now our whole team's here

I wish I started from the bottom. It wouldn't hurt as much as it did falling from the sky.

Ms. Maylie comes back. She scoops up a bin of albums from the cash counter.

"Wait!"

I stop her before she could toss it in the garbage. "Teach, you can't throw that away."

She raises an eyebrow. "Why not? No one's ever interested in buying these ones, even when they're cheap."

I recognize the albums are by Skye, a rookie rapper. "Her songs aren't bad," I argue. "It's only a matter of time before she hits it big."

"It's been two years. That's long enough."

This isn't like Ms. Maylie at all. "That's not true!" I don't know why but I'm raising my voice. "Just give her another chance!"

"So why can't you do yourself the same favour?"

I stop.

"Every day you'd come in my shop without a word," Ms. Maylie continues. "You don't laugh anymore, and you avoid talking as if it's the plague. It's like this place is draining all of your hope."

You've got it wrong, I want to say. This place is my only hope.

She smiles sadly. "You're not happy working here."

I want to punch myself right now. I was so busy feeling sorry for myself, I didn't realize I was hurting Ms. Maylie. Ms. Maylie, of all people. The only person who accepted me in a way that my parents never will.

"You're right. I'm not happy." I fiddle with my watch to avoid looking at her. Slowly, it starts spilling out. "I used to ace all of my classes. I was going to become a surgeon, be successful, be like my parents. But then I realized I didn't want that. I didn't even like school that much." The only reason I did was because my parents had brought me up to be that way.

I tell Ms. Maylie everything. How I lost interest in school after finding my real passion. How my teachers and parents supported me for a while, until they got tired of holding my hand. How one day, I became the star example of a loser.

I take a deep breath and meet Ms. Maylie's gaze. "Every day when I came home, my parents would say the same thing. 'You failed.' I stay here for as long as I can because I don't want to hear that anymore. But working here..." I trail off. "It's given me the same feeling. That I really have failed."

Ms. Maylie doesn't say anything. She whips out a duster and starts cleaning the shelves.

My first thought? She's angry. But then she starts talking.

"I've always believed in giving things a second chance," she says, summoning her story-telling voice. "After the school let me go, I found this place. It was like discovering a treasure trove full of diamonds. They were rough, yes, and not a soul would want them at first glance. But it's nothing that a little believing can't polish."

Ms. Maylie takes my hands into hers. "Baby, you're sinking yourself. There's got to be other options out there. Why give up so soon?"

I shrug. "What else can I do? My grades are so bad, there's no chance I'm getting into anything."

She raises an eyebrow.

"Okay, I did apply for a music production program at Harold Arts College."

She raises both eyebrows.

"Okay, fine. I applied at a couple of other schools too," I admit. " I don't know what I was thinking, though." There's no way I'll get accepted.

Ms. Maylie is baffled. "So why are you moping around here? If you really want to make music, then follow your dream!"

"I came here because you were the one person who wouldn't see me as a disappointment. You've always believed in me."

My eyes prickle. Ms. Maylie wraps her arms around me. Her hair smells of jasmine, and she hugs all tight and motherly.

"I'm sorry I didn't treat this job as well as I should have," I mumble. "And I'm sorry I hurt you."

"Hush, baby. You're being too hard on yourself." Ms. Maylie holds me at arms' length. "But you got to have some faith, okay? Giving up is the only way you're really going to fail. Grades aren't the only way to success."

"I guess, but..."

"Look at those singers and rappers you're always listening to. They didn't need straight A's to be successful. Heck, who did? School doesn't even prepare you for the real things you'll face in life."

"But all the people you're talking about had talent. I don't know if I got any." I've made some beats in my spare time, and Ms. Maylie's liked most of them, but it wasn't until recently that I got serious about pursuing music.

Ms. Maylie shakes her head and smiles. "I know you do. You'll make it."

Maybe. "I mean, I appreciate what you're telling me Teach, but I don't know if this will work." A high school education is critical, after all.

Or maybe that's just my parents again.

Ms. Maylie looks at me. "Trying is the only way you'll ever know, Toni."

I shrug again.

She suddenly breaks into this shoulder-bounce dance. "'Keep ya head up, ooh, child, things are gonna get easier,'" Ms. Maylie sings along with Tupac. "'Keep ya head up, ooh, child, things'll get brighter.'"

I laugh. "You're not half bad, Teach."

She grins. "I knew that'll work. But promise me that you won't give up, alright?"

I nod slowly. "Okay. I'll try. I promise."

My phone buzzes, interrupting the song. My heart sinks. It's my parents ready to give me an earful.

But it's not.

10:20 PM

Interview Request from Harold Arts College

My hands shake, and they wrap around Ms. Maylie again.

"See?" she whispers. I can't see her face, but I bet I'm smiling harder than she is. "Believe in yourself, and the world will do the same."

Graphic by sereneur!