Third Person POV.

Megan Jovon Pete slouched at her desk, long legs sprawled out and crossed at the ankle, her pen tapping rhythmically against the edge of her open notebook. The teacher's voice droned on, something about historical battles she couldn't care less about. Megan wasn't here to learn; she was here because the system made her show up. Well, for now.

From her seat in the back of the class, she glanced to her left at Beyoncé, who was dutifully taking notes like she planned on being the next big historian. Megan smirked. "Yo, B," she whispered, leaning closer. "This man act like we gonna use this in real life. You really writin' that down?"

Beyoncé shot her a quick side-eye but didn't stop writing. "Some of us tryna pass, Megan."

"Pass? Girl, we just tryin' to survive out here. You know what I'm sayin'? Passin' ain't gonna stop rent from bein' due," Megan quipped, her voice low but laced with amusement.

Beyoncé bit her lip to keep from laughing, and Megan sat back, triumphant. She turned her attention to her other side, where Alyssa and Belcalis were stifling their own chuckles. Megan tilted her head toward the clock. "Aight, look. We got what, twenty minutes left? I'm thinkin' we bounce."

Alyssa raised an eyebrow. "You serious? This is third period."

"I'm always serious," Megan replied with a grin, pulling out her phone. Her thumbs flew across the screen. Moments later, the three girls' phones vibrated with a text:
Meet me by the back gate. Don't leave me hangin'.

"You wild, Meg," Belcalis muttered, though the spark in her eyes said she was in.

"Always," Megan replied, grabbing her backpack and slipping out the classroom door without waiting for the teacher to notice.

∞∞∞

The trio met at the rusty back gate of the schoolyard, the kind of spot no one bothered to monitor anymore. Beyoncé was already waiting, arms crossed, lips pursed. "I don't know why I let you talk me into this."

"'Cause you love me, that's why," Megan shot back, flashing her signature grin as she swung an arm around Beyoncé's shoulders. "Now come on, we got better things to do than sit in that dusty ol' class."

They piled into Megan's beat-up sedan, a relic of her late father's, held together by duct tape and good intentions. The smell of stale fast food clung to the seats, but Megan was proud of her ride. It was hers.

"Where we goin'?" Alyssa asked as they pulled out of the parking lot, Megan's bass-heavy playlist already blaring through the speakers.

"To live our best lives," Megan said, one hand on the wheel, the other adjusting her sunglasses. "Translation: we hittin' the court. I got somethin' rolled up that's callin' my name."

∞∞∞

The basketball court was a haven for kids like Megan and her friends—a cracked and graffiti-covered slice of freedom on the edge of their Houston neighborhood. Megan parked the car with a flourish, stepping out like she owned the place. She did, in a way.

"Y'all ready to vibe?" she asked, pulling a pre-rolled blunt from her pocket and lighting it with practiced ease.

Belcalis and Alyssa settled onto the bleachers while Megan leaned against the chain-link fence, exhaling a cloud of smoke that caught the sunlight. Beyoncé, as usual, sat apart, arms crossed as she watched the scene with a mix of amusement and mild disapproval.

"You ain't hittin' this, B?" Megan asked, holding the blunt out with a teasing grin.

"No, thank you. Some of us care about our lungs."

"Girl, these lungs built different," Megan joked, patting her chest. "I could run a marathon right now."

Alyssa snorted. "Yeah, right. You'd be huffin' and puffin' by the first mile."

"Watch your mouth," Megan shot back, playfully tossing a crumpled napkin at her. The group dissolved into laughter, the kind of easy, carefree noise that could only exist in moments like this.

But it wasn't all jokes. The vibe shifted when Alyssa brought up something none of them liked to talk about. "Megan, you ever think 'bout what you doin' after this? Like, real life stuff?"

Megan frowned, taking another hit to buy herself a second before answering. "Why I gotta think about that right now? We young. We supposed to be wildin' out, not plannin' for some future that might not even come."

Belcalis tilted her head. "You say that, but we all know you smarter than you act."

Megan looked away, uncomfortable. "Yeah, well, smarts don't mean nothin' when you livin' in a city like this."

The silence that followed was heavy, but Megan shrugged it off, passing the blunt to Alyssa with a grin that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Anyway, y'all tryna kill the vibe. Let's talk 'bout somethin' else."

And just like that, the conversation shifted, but the weight of Alyssa's words lingered.

∞∞∞

The group's laughter echoed across the empty basketball court, the sound bouncing off the cracked pavement and graffiti-streaked walls. Megan leaned against the chain-link fence, watching Beyoncé try to outshoot Alyssa on the crooked hoop. Her blunt was long gone, the smoldering tip crushed under her sneaker.

"Girl, you better put some arc on that shot!" Megan hollered, cupping her hands around her mouth.

"Like you could do better!" Beyoncé called back, her braid swinging as she missed another shot.

"Don't play with me, B!" Megan sauntered over, snatching the ball mid-dribble. She squared up, her grin cocky as hell. "Watch a pro at work."

The ball left her hands in a clean arc, sinking through the hoop with a satisfying swish. Megan turned, spreading her arms wide as if she'd just won the NBA Finals. "What I tell y'all? I'm unstoppable."

"Yeah, yeah," Alyssa muttered, snatching the ball from the ground. "Even a broken clock's right twice a day."

"Keep talkin', Lyssa. You ain't got the range," Megan teased, her laughter cut short when she spotted movement out of the corner of her eye.

A group of three guys strolled onto the court like they owned it, their swagger undeniable. Megan stiffened, her grin fading as they approached. She recognized them: locals from a rougher part of the neighborhood, always looking for trouble.

The tallest of the trio, a guy with a fresh fade and a tattoo snaking up his neck, pointed at the hoop. "Yo, y'all takin' up our spot."

Alyssa froze mid-dribble, her eyes darting to Megan. "We were here first," she muttered, her voice shaky.

Megan stepped forward, her chin jutting out. "Yo spot? Nah, homie, this court's free game. First come, first served."

Tattoo Guy smirked, his friends chuckling behind him. "Oh, you a funny one, huh? Look, we ain't got time for games. Why don't you and your little crew pack it up before things get messy?"

Beyoncé stepped closer to Megan, her voice low. "Meg, let's just go. It ain't worth it."

Megan's jaw tightened. She wasn't high, but the adrenaline pumping through her veins was just as intoxicating. These guys thought they could punk her? Not today.

"Nah, B," Megan said, her voice steady. She stepped right up to Tattoo Guy, her height putting them almost eye-to-eye. "You want this court? Then you better come take it."

The air grew thick, tension crackling like a live wire.

"Yo, Megan," Belcalis whispered, tugging at her sleeve. "Don't do this. They ain't playin'."

Megan shrugged her off, her Houston drawl sharpening. "I ain't scared of no dude who think he tough 'cause he got some ink."

Tattoo Guy's smirk dropped. "You got a big mouth, shorty."

"And you got a small brain, so I guess we even." Megan's grin was feral now, her words slicing through the quiet.

That was all it took. Tattoo Guy lunged, shoving Megan back. She stumbled but didn't fall, catching herself with a laugh that sounded more dangerous than amused.

"Oh, so we fightin' now?" she said, tossing her backpack aside. "Bet."

The court erupted into chaos. Megan moved like she had something to prove, her fists flying with a mix of raw instinct and street-honed skill. She ducked Tattoo Guy's wild swing, coming up with a sharp jab to his ribs.

Behind her, Alyssa and Belcalis shouted for her to stop. Beyoncé grabbed Belcalis's arm, her face pale. "We gotta call somebody!"

"Like who?" Belcalis snapped. "She ain't gonna listen to us!"

Tattoo Guy's friends hesitated, caught off guard by Megan's ferocity. One of them tried to grab her from behind, but Megan twisted, slamming her elbow into his gut.

"You thought I was playin'?" she snarled, her voice breathless but steady.

Tattoo Guy came at her again, this time landing a hit to her shoulder that sent her stumbling. Megan gritted her teeth, the pain only fueling her. She swung back, her knuckles connecting with his jaw in a loud crack.

"Yo, that's enough!" one of the guys shouted, pulling Tattoo Guy back.

But Megan wasn't done. She advanced on them, her chest heaving. "Y'all done?" she spat, her voice cutting through the chaos. "'Cause I can do this all day."

Tattoo Guy wiped the blood from his lip, glaring at her with a mix of anger and grudging respect. "You crazy, girl."

"Damn right," Megan shot back, her grin sharp and unyielding. "Now get off my court."

The guys exchanged glances before backing off, muttering under their breaths. Megan stood her ground until they were out of sight, the adrenaline slowly ebbing away.

As the dust settled, Beyoncé rushed to Megan's side, her face a mix of anger and concern. "What the hell is wrong with you, Megan? You could've gotten hurt—or worse!"

"I'm good," Megan said, brushing her off. But when she rolled her shoulder, she winced, the earlier hit already starting to bruise.

Alyssa crossed her arms, her voice sharp. "You ain't gotta prove somethin' to everybody, Meg. You could've just walked away."

"Walk away?" Megan scoffed. "That's what y'all wanted? For me to let them clown us?"

Belcalis shook her head. "This ain't about pride. You gotta think bigger than this."

Megan looked at her friends, the reality of what had just happened sinking in. But instead of apologizing, she deflected with a smirk. "Y'all actin' like I ain't just save the day. You welcome."

Beyoncé sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "You impossible."

"Maybe," Megan said, grabbing her backpack. "But I'm also undefeated."

As they left the court, the tension lingered, but Megan pushed it aside. She had bigger things to worry about—like what excuse she was going to give her grandma when she got home.

∞∞∞

Megan slung her backpack over one shoulder as the group dispersed, the tension from the court fight still buzzing in the air. Beyoncé gave her a long look, lips pressed tight like she wanted to say something, but in the end, she just shook her head and walked off with Alyssa and Belcalis.

"You sure you good?" Belcalis asked one last time, her concern flickering through her usually sharp tone.

"Yeah, I'm straight," Megan said, throwing up a casual wave. "Catch y'all later."

She turned on her heel, heading in the opposite direction of her grandma's house.

"Yo, Meg, you out late," Dee called out as Megan rounded the corner into his makeshift setup. He was sitting on an overturned milk crate under a flickering streetlamp, his lanky frame barely visible in the dim light.

"You act like you surprised," Megan shot back, slipping her hands into the oversized hoodie she wore to ward off the chilly night air. "What you got for me?"

Dee smirked, reaching into the duffel bag at his feet. "Same as always? You know I got you."

She handed him two crumpled bills, her eyes darting around nervously. She didn't love coming out here, especially after dark, but Dee was reliable.

"Here," he said, passing her a small bag. "This ain't no charity, though. Don't be askin' for no discounts next time."

Megan rolled her eyes, tucking the bag into her backpack. "Whatever, Dee. You lucky I keep comin' to you."

∞∞∞

The walk home felt longer, the street eerily quiet except for the occasional rumble of a car passing by. Megan adjusted her hoodie, pulling it tighter as the weight of her decisions started to settle on her shoulders.

When she reached the house, the porch light was on, casting a yellow glow over the front steps. Megan hesitated, knowing her grandma was likely waiting for her. She wiped her hands on her jeans, took a deep breath, and pushed the door open.

"Megan Jovon Pete!"

Her grandma's voice cut through the quiet like a whip. Megan froze, her stomach twisting.

"Yes, ma'am?" she answered, trying to keep her voice steady.

Miss Joyce was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, her arms crossed and her face a mix of disappointment and concern. "You wanna tell me why you sneakin' in here like you don't know what time it is?"

"I ain't sneakin'," Megan said quickly, shrugging off her backpack. "I was at the park with my friends. We was playin' ball, that's all."

Miss Joyce sniffed the air, her sharp gaze narrowing. "Mmm-hmm. You smell funny. Like you been out there runnin' with them no-good kids again."

Megan's heart skipped a beat. "Granny, it ain't like that. I swear."

Miss Joyce stepped closer, her voice dropping to a stern whisper. "Don't you lie to me, Megan. You think I don't know what's goin' on? You think I don't see you slippin'? You just like your daddy was at your age—full of fire and headed for trouble."

The mention of her father stung, and Megan's temper flared. "I ain't my daddy," she snapped, louder than she intended.

"Then stop actin' like him!" Miss Joyce shot back, her voice rising. "You got a chance to do better, Megan. Don't throw it all away 'cause you too hard-headed to listen!"

The room went quiet, the tension so thick it was almost suffocating.

"I'm sorry," Megan mumbled, the words barely audible.

Miss Joyce's expression softened, but only slightly. "You better mean it. And you better get your act together, girl. Now, go on to bed. We'll talk more in the morning."

Megan didn't argue. She trudged to her room, closing the door softly behind her.

Sitting on her bed, Megan stared at the bag of weed she'd pulled from her backpack. She knew she should feel bad—her grandma didn't deserve the stress—but she couldn't bring herself to care enough to stop. Not yet.

The weed wasn't just about getting high; it was about escape. From the expectations, from the memories of her parents, and from the pressure of pretending she had it all together.

She shoved the bag into her nightstand drawer and flopped onto the bed, her arm draped over her eyes.

"Tomorrow," she muttered to herself. "Tomorrow, I'll do better."

But deep down, she wasn't sure if she believed it.

And welcome to this new bookkkkk, be ready!

What's your thoughts? 

Megan? 

Grandma?

Beyoncé?

Belcaliz?

Alyssa?

Dee?

It's my birthday y'all but i'm gifting y'all because why notttt