Andre

57%. I can't believe it. My overall grade is a 57%. What am I doing with my life? What is going on? How could I let it get this bad?

The numbers and symbols dissolve in my mind. Math is not my strong suit, but even then, I never imagined I'd be failing. My last test score was a 47%. I’m doomed.

I can't grasp mathematics, no matter how hard I try. History, English, Football, I know. I can nail it. I’m not dumb. I’m not uneducated, but I get blurred vision and a headache when numbers and symbols get involved in logic and reason.

I shake my head and slam my backpack into my gym locker.

Sweat drips down my back—it was a hard practice, and I left the field early.

Thunk, the door bolts back open. Too many items crammed in there to allow it to close. I have no time or patience for this. I slam it shut again.

Unfortunately, the locker door sticks, and I must put my shoulder into it.

Crunch.

The locker slams against my already full bookbag, and I fear I'll jam the lock, but it fits, and I sigh in relief as I can no longer look at the glowing red ink on the page that tells me I’m failing high school.

"Sup, Dre?" Timothy hollers as he and Dontae come shuffling through the double doors.

Dontae gives me a knowing look. His tight-nit braids are clinging to his scalp, fine-tuned edges showing off his style and flair. Dontae is well-kept and fashionable, a sheer slayer of ladies. He is always so confident and well-articulated for someone so dang small.

Dontae is short, five foot six inches, but his personality screams six foot tall, at least. His confidence never wavers, and he's been my best friend since coming to this school.

Dontae is the one dude who has always had my back, listens, pays attention, and is the only one who truly gives a shit about me in this place.

Dontae rolls his eyes. "Why you making that face, dawg?"

Dontae slams his hand against my shoulder, trying to snap me out of my daze, when Timothy perks up.

White boy, that's what Dontae calls Timothy Williams because he's short, white, and blonde as all hell with the most piercing blue eyes.

Timothy pops his collar and strolls toward me. "Ladies got you feeling down, Dre?"

I stifle a laugh and shake my head. He's always so far off base. He never knows, he always assumes, and usually, his assumptions are far off point, but bless him for trying. He just wants to be one of the guys.

"Nah, it's not that," I growl and bite my lip.

"What is it, Dre?" Dontae asks with a raised brow, genuine concern spreading across his face.

I kick my locker and turn to face him, gripping the bridge of my nose. "I'm failing math, and I'm gonna get kicked off the team if I don't do something about it."

"No!" Timothy gasps. "You can't. We're going to win state this year. We need you!"

Dontae nods in agreement. "He's right, Dre. We need you more than you know. You gotta do something quick."

The three of us share a grim exchange, and I nod my head. "I know, you guys, I know, it's just so damn hard. I wish my brain could process math better, but I’m lost."

Timothy gulps and nods his head in understanding. Dontae tilts his head to the side and appraises me.

"Why don't you get your little girlfriend to tutor you?" he chirps, and Timothy starts laughing.

I look at him blankly, not understanding who he means.

"Yo, when she walked out on the field this morning, did you see his eyes?" Dontae teases, and Timothy starts crowing and cat-calling.

"Ow-ow-ow, baby!" he calls, and Dontae slaps his hands together with glee.

"I guess Dre got a taste for them nerd girls," Dontae teases.

"She cute, though," Timothy shrugs and Dontae nods.

I feel my face flush.

"Get it, get it, Dre!" Timothy calls, breaking into dance.

"Go, white boy, go, white boy," Dontae sings as Timothy does an unsavory dance of provocativeness, mimicking me slapping the ass of a fine lady.

"You guys are sick” I roll my eyes and force myself not to laugh.

It's good-hearted fun, they don't mean any harm, but it still ruffles my feathers to hear someone speak that way about Kiara.

"Kiara, oh, Kiara," Dontae whimpers as if reading my mind. He grasps the air as if it were a woman, coddles, and gropes at the imaginary form.

I open my mouth to tell them to shut up when the rest of my team members come rumbling through the locker room doors.

"Oh, Kiara," Timothy echoes, and Marcus comes looming into the hall.

Damn Marcus Pickman. He's always got something clever to say. No one is ever good enough for him, and I always feel like he is out to get me.

Marcus shoulders his way past me. "Get your head out of the sand, Dre. We need you to focus out there," he shouts and storms to the showers.

"Jesus, who pissed in his Wheaties?" Timothy stops chanting, and his shoulders sag. "Can't we all just get along?" he groans, and Dontae slaps his back.

"Perk up, white boy, we're good, we're a team, and we got each other's backs. So don't you worry, your little head, we got this," he affirms, and Timothy's eyes light up.

"Hell, yeah, boys!" He slams fists with Dontae and turns his knuckles to me.

He looks at me with bated breath and sparkling blue eyes, waiting for me to return the gesture. He's so eager to be part of the team. For us all to get along and work together, I can’t fault him for that. It's endearing.

I grumble and bump his fist. "Hell, yeah," I say weakly, and the room erupts in cheers.

"Teamwork! Teamwork!" Dontae starts chanting, and everyone follows suit.

Before you know it, the entire room erupts in team spirit, and I’m left barely remembering that 57%.

"So, anyways, what about this, Kiara?" Jason calls, pushing his way into the conversation.

"Oh, yo, did you see her this morning?" Timothy calls with a whistle.

"The book worm? Yeah, I saw her. That girl looked thicker than a snicker," Jason laughs as he opens his locker and I stifle a snort at his pathetic description.

The room erupts in cat-calls, yowls, and excessively misogynistic locker-room talk.

I let their voices overtake me as the heat rises up inside. My body begins to tremble as I hear her name over and over again.

Every time they say it, I see her clearly in my mind. Kiara Jones. The sweet, lovely, kind, and compassionate girl I've come to know.

"Yeah, yeah, Kiara, I like her, so what?" I spit, and the room erupts in laughter.

"Dre's gotta crush, yo!" Timothy shouts, bringing his hands to his face with feigned surprise.

"You better tap that." Dontae crows with laughter, and the room shrieks with laughter.

"Enough!" I shout, clenching my fists.

"No need to get testy, bruh. We all know she's one fine piece of ass." Dontae shrugs.

“Big booty ho,” Timothy cackles and the room erupts in laughter.

I shake my head and rip my locker open again, unsure of what I am looking for. But I need to keep my hands busy, so I don't choke out my best friends.

My belongings clatter to the floor and I curse myself for trying to shove so much shit into such a small space. What was I thinking? This merely adds to my annoyance as I raised angry brows at Dontae.

"She's more than that, Dontae," I growl and slam the door shut empty-handed, "and you know it!"

Dontae looks stricken and waits for me to continue.

"Kiara is different, you know it, I know it, everyone who ever met her knows it," I choke and feel my body tremble.

"She's not like that. She's not like everyone else," I fumble for the words and feel all eyes on me. The entire room is silent, holding their breaths.

"Kiara is more than a body. She's smart, she's kind, she’s intelligent and considerate. You just don't understand." I look around the room, feeling the judgment of my teammates in full effect.

"I'm not trying to start anything, brother." Dontae throws up his hands defensively and steps back. "I didn't mean to offend."

I let out a sigh and feel the tension in my shoulders release.

"For real though, maybe you should ask her for some help with math," Dontae insists. "You know she's into that math team shit. She's good at it, I bet she can help you get the hang of things." He shrugs and looks at me apologetically. "Just an idea, take it or leave it."

Dontae turns his back to me. "I'm going to shower."

I watch him walk away, and Timothy walks up, patting my back. "It'll all be okay, Dre. Kiara will get you sorted out, and you'll get your grades up, and everything will all work out." He squeezes my shoulders then returns to his locker.

I flick my eyes around the room. Everyone’s looking at me. Me, the quarterback, waiting for my lead. I grunt and nod as I make my way to the showers.

"All right, boys, let's get back to business, time to focus," I shout and am met with agreeable grunts, growls, and yelps.

My team turns their focus to the sport, and I put math and Kiara out of my mind for the time being.

Easier said than done.

After showering, I spy a group of cheerleaders swarming Kiara outside the locker rooms.

"Those who can't do, watch, is that it?" Marissa asks with a flick of her hair.

Oh, Marissa, she can be so cruel.

Her sneer turns my stomach as the other girls laugh.

Kiara averts their glares and tries to walk away, but Marissa pulls her arm.

"Why are you even here? What do you do? You're just some poor scholarship kid with no athletic talent. You’re soft and weak, and you don't belong here."

I grit my teeth. "That's enough, Marissa."

Marissa turns to me in surprise, and her expression softens. "Andre, where did you come from?" She swipes loose strands of her hair behind her ears and fidgets, giving me an uncomfortable glance.

"Breaking up the party," I growl, and Kiara meets my eyes, her face filled with gratitude and surprise.

"Are you okay, Kiara?" I ask, drawing closer.

"I'm fine. We’re just talking," she says softly, and I grin.

She doesn't want to rat out the team.

I nod. "Can I walk you to class?"

Marissa's face sours. "Are you trying to tank your reputation, Andre? You can't be serious. You cannot be seen with her in public. You'll be a joke."

"Yeah, well, sticks and stones, Marissa," I hiss and motion for Kiara to follow me.

She does, reluctantly, and she flashes her eyes at the group of cheerleaders. "Ladies, it's been a pleasure," she says with a hint of sarcasm.

Marissa flushes and clenches her fists. "You better watch your back, nerd!"

I flick my eyes at Marissa, giving her a stern look. "Or what, Marissa? Come on, grow up."

"Yeah, grow up," Kiara murmurs, growing more confident.

A few cheerleaders snicker, and Marissa goes red with rage, her cheeks crimson and her eyes bulging.

"You'll get what's coming to you, you little bitch," she hisses, and I roll my eyes.

"Come on, let's get out of here before we, too, return to playground antics." I put my hand on the small of Kiara's back and urge her down the hall.

"Thank you," she says after some time.

I look at her grimly.

"What is it?" she implores with doe-eyes.

"I have a feeling that’s only the beginning. Marissa can be quite fickle," I groan and look over my shoulder at the group of girls gossiping.

Kiara nods. "How bad do you think it'll get?"

I shrug. "Knowing Marissa, it'll likely be war."

Kiara gulps and nods. "Then I guess I better prepare myself for an assault."

I shake my head. I hate bullies, but this isn't right. I want to help Kiara. I want to comfort her. I want to take her hand in mine and protect her from the bitch tribe, but what can I do against a group of females?

"I'm here if you need me," I croak, and she nods sadly.

"I'm afraid I'm going to need all the help I can get."