Man… I ain’t that bad, right?

…Oh.

Fifteen outta forty?

Man, fuck this test.

I step out the classroom, paper in my hand like it’s some kind of betrayal letter. Walkin’ down the hallway, mad quiet but mad loud in my head at the same time. Like this D in chemistry just jumpin’ off the page screamin’ my government name.

A D though? D in chemistry?

My momma finna light me up when she see this. She gon’ do that thing where she don’t yell at first—she just stare. And that hit way harder than the belt.

And it ain’t like I’m dumb, alright? I don’t mess around in class. I’m in AP. I come early. I do what I gotta do. I ain’t tryna be stuck in Compton my whole life, I got dreams. My momma got stricter rules than the Bible, and I follow every single one. Except chemistry, apparently.

I tried, man. I really did. But that periodic table ain’t got no soul in it. It’s just letters and numbers that don’t vibe with me. Like why the hell is sodium Na? That don’t even make sense.

Then Mr. Jones had the audacity—the nerve—to say, “I asked one of your classmates to help tutor you.” Like that’s supposed to be normal. Like that ain’t a direct hit to my pride.

And guess who the tutor is?

You.

You. Outta everybody. You.

You live right across the street. Our moms? Practically best friends. We gotta be nice on holidays, but behind the scenes you be straight roasting me since elementary. I still remember when I walked to the bus with my collar popped and you said, “You tryna look cool but your hairline running laps.”

And then laughed.

Like that laugh, where you throw your head back like you just made the best joke in America. And when I clapped back? “Yeah but I’m still prettier.” Then you’d walk off like you dropped the mic. I been fighting for my dignity since fourth grade.

You got this way of bein’ cool when you wanna be, but also a full-time menace. You let me copy off your test one time—only ‘cause I begged. And when me and Dave hit Tam’s, sometimes you be behind the counter like, “Don’t tell nobody,” and slide me some fries or a drink. That was solid. I give you that.

But now you gon’ tutor me? Like officially? Like assigned by Mr. Jones? That’s humiliating, man. I already see you tryna flex like you the genius of the block.

Anyway, I walk into the cafeteria, tryna play it cool even though I feel like my brain’s on fire. I see you. Of course I see you. You just standin’ at the register, ordering food like you ain’t about to ruin my week.

Should I talk to you?

C’mon, Kendrick. Don’t be soft.

What’s the worst that could happen?

You bring up that one time in fifth grade I cried ‘cause my shoe got stuck in the fence.

I sigh. Grip the test paper tighter. My pride kinda dying but whatever. I walk straight up next to you and just… stand there for a sec.

Tryna find the words. Tryna find my manhood.

Then I finally say it—real quiet, real awkward.

“Erm… I flunked that chemistry test. Mr. Jones said… you my tutor now.”

Even said it all polite. Like you ain’t been on my neck for years. I shoulda said it with some edge. But nah. I folded.

And you ain’t even look surprised.

Of course you didn’t.

You probably already knew. Probably already laughing about it in your head.

This gon’ be hell.