I’ve started a social media page for Tyler on just about every site possible. The Facebook page has over five thousand likes. The Twitter page has over two thousand followers. Even Lance Anderson is following the Tumblr.

I check each page every day, monitoring what everyone’s saying about Tyler, in an attempt to preserve his legacy. He was a good kid and he wanted things out of life—even things that he never told anyone. That’s part of being a person. He wasn’t a thug who deserved to die, and I make sure everyone remembers that every day.

I’ll never forget Tyler.

I don’t want the world to either.

I’ve already missed the MIT deadline, and I guess Mr. Ross has figured out that I’m not the right fit after all, because he stops calling, stops e-mailing. I check the Howard University website. The deadline is February 15—one month from now. One month to get my shit together. One month to get into the new school of my dreams.

I grab the box of Oatmeal Creme Pies and get started.

I text Ivy and G-mo that I’m going to the park with Faith. For today to be this nice out, the park is pretty empty. I sniff. The air smells like burnt rubber or fresh asphalt and paint. I look down to see that they’ve painted new lines on the court.

“Look, somebody left their ball,” Faith says, pointing at a basketball on the court. She runs over to grab it. She dribbles the ball through her legs and around her body.

I follow her. “You play?” I ask.

“I love basketball,” she answers. “When I was in school, I was on the team. Varsity all the way since the seventh grade.” Every day I learn something new about her. I just hope I can keep up.

“Wanna play a game real quick?”

She swoops past me and lays it up, her fingertips almost touching the rim when she jumps. “Sure,” she says, and winks.

We’re the same height, and I can’t even do what she just did. Damn.

She chucks me the ball.

I just dribble, standing still in my red basketball shorts and matching T-shirt. I stare at her, looking her up and down, like I’m challenging her. She looks hella beautiful in her white basketball shorts. I almost forget I’m dribbling, and she goes in for the steal.

“Hey, that wasn’t fair!” I play-shout. “Foul!”

“Don’t get distracted,” she yells with a laugh as she goes in for another layup.

G-mo and Ivy arrive, hopping off their bike and skateboard.

“Yo, yo, yo,” G-mo shouts. “’Sup, Faith. ’Sup, Marvin.”

“’Sup, G,” I say. “’Sup, Ivy.”

They both hug me and it feels warm and amazing and I didn’t know I needed them, but it clears my mind.

“Yo. I brought liquid oxygen,” G-mo says, setting down bottles of cheap spring water.

Ivy puts down her water bottle and takes off her gray beanie, and I see her head is shaved. It looks like she went into the barbershop and asked for a straight-up low fade.

“Oh my God!” I say. “You shaved your head?”

She laughs. “It was a bet from a girl I’m talking to,” Ivy says. “I clearly lost it.”

Faith walks up to Ivy, examining her new haircut. “I love it,” Faith tells her. “It’s cute.”

Ivy smiles like she’s going to blush. “Thanks, guys.” She takes off her jacket but keeps her sweatpants on.

“Who’s ready to get their butt beat in some two on two?” G-mo goes, pulling his black shorts down out of his crotch area.

“Whatever,” Ivy says.

“You’re about to take this L,” I say.

“Hell yeah,” Faith goes.

“A’ight, let’s do me and you, Faith, versus Marvin and Ivy?”

Faith says, “I’m down.”

“Let’s do it,” Ivy yells. “Our ball!”

After a few games, the four of us sit down on the hot asphalt, stretching our legs, G-mo to my right and Faith at my left, Ivy on the other side of G-mo.

Ivy starts to sing the theme song of A Different World. G-mo and I join in.

“Okay. Literal LOL. What the hell was that?” Faith laughs, giving us the side-eye.

The three of us just laugh. And I didn’t even realize how much I needed this moment.

We end up talking about nothing, about bullshit, until G-mo tells us he’s got something to say.

“Yeah? What’s up?” I go.

He takes a breath. “I’ve been thinking a lot about the whole college thing lately.”

“Uh-huh?” me and Ivy say.

“I think I’m going to apply to UCLA. It’s too late for the fall. So maybe for the spring.”

“That’s what’s up, bro,” Ivy says, fist-bumping him.

“You’re a goddamn brilliant bastard,” I tell him. “You’re going to get in.”

“You know, I’m looking into some local community colleges,” Ivy says. “I really want to get into engineering.”

I can’t help but smile right now.

“That’s so cool, yo,” G-mo says, leaning back into the sand and dirt surrounding the court.

“Yeah, maybe I’ll get my dream job with NASA or something. Who knows?” Ivy continues, gesturing with her hands to show the potentially endless possibilities. G-mo gives her dap.

There’s a short pause. “I applied to Howard,” I tell them, and they all look at me with surprise.

“So you’re not applying to MIT anymore?” G-mo asks.

I shake my head.

“Having second thoughts?” Faith asks.

“Yeah,” I say. “I realized I was only interested in going to MIT because all my life in school I was taught that MIT and other really prestigious, mostly white schools meant success. It meant acceptance. It meant that you were finally somebody in the world. When Dodson didn’t even believe in me and said I had no chance of getting into MIT, I wanted to do any-and everything to prove him wrong.” I stop to take a breath and look up at the pale, milky-blue sky. “I’ve spent too much time wondering what people think of me and spent so long trying to look good enough for Dodson, for white people, for Mama, for everyone except myself. And I think…” I look down at my feet. “I think it’s my time to finally be who I am, who I want to be.”

There’s a moment of silence, except for the birds chirping in the trees in the distance.

“Man,” G-mo says interrupting the quiet. “I feel you.”

My eyes meet his and he nods at me.

We play one more game, changing up the teams, and then Faith drives us to get dinner at Tyler’s favorite chicken and ribs joint, and I try not to hurt, even though I probably always will.