On Drywell’s worn-down streets, I swallowed the insults of relatives who mocked me and even stole my mom’s medical money. Basketball became my only weapon, and every bruise on my hands carried a stubborn kind of faith. When a chance to change our fate finally appeared, I knew it wasn’t just a game—it was my way of proving to everyone who dismissed us that even street-grown weeds can break through concrete and rise toward the sun.
