Growing up with teen parents in a town where good opportunities were difficult to come by, and expensive to pay for, you learn to work hard and hustle.
I knew very early on that if I ever ‘made it’, I’d give back and help kids growing up the way I did.
It’s been pretty successful so far, with a handful of our kids getting into their dream schools, some even getting drafted into the NBA.
The charity raises money to cover scholarships for basketball-focused colleges, books, food, clothing, tutors, and on-campus living. It also gives them access to training facilities, the kind they’d never have without help, coaches included.
It’s an associationrunby Orlando andownedby me. He handles the business side of things, and I pay for it. I have too much money, and now, thanks to the Youth Basketball Association for Girls and Boys, I finally have a place to put it to good use.
It’s the one thing in my life that makes this feel like it matters. The money, the spotlight, the pressure, all of it. Maybe I was given more than I needed, so I could do something with it. And honestly, that’s enough for me.
I keep my name out of it. Always have.
Sure, I show up when they need "star power", like tonight. But mostly, I’d rather the focus stay on the kids.
The room’s full of money. Designer gowns, tailored suits, the quiet luxury that screams if you know where to look.
I should feel at home here.
But I don’t. Not even close.
Families, artists, and local businesses have donated everything from original art to jewelry, to an all-expenses-paid trip to the Bahamas.
The kind of stuff most people wouldn’t splurge on.
But when it’s for a good cause, spending big feels like the right thing to do.
"If everybody could be seated, the auction is about to begin." An unfamiliar voice sounds through the speakers overhead, delicate and dainty, yet demanding everyone’s attention. Theyall head to their designated seats, while I’m already at my table. Have been since I arrived.
I came alone tonight.
Okay, technically not alone. Ryder always comes with me to this thing, throws down a shitload of money, plays the good wingman.
But he’s late. So for now, I’m flying solo.
Not that the woman across from me seems to mind.
Her wide, green eyes are locked on mine while she licks her lips every two seconds.
Either she wants to fuck me...or she’s in desperate need of Chapstick.
I’m hoping for the latter.
She also looks about twenty years older than me, the guy beside her even older, and too busy to notice how she winked in my direction.
I shudder and look away.
Orlando kicks things off, thanking everybody for their generous contributions tonight, looking as comfortable as ever on stage as he makes his speech.
He talks about the kids, and how many we’ve officially been able to send to College on full-ride scholarships. His eyes land on me quickly, before he continues his spiel.
While everybody collectively applauds our achievements, the first auction piece is placed center stage. Orlando opens up the bidding, beginning with a painted portrait of…is that a horse?
No, a camel?
What is that?
"Five thousand dollars," I hear Ryder call out as he makes his way to our table, better late than never, but always willing to empty his pockets.
