I decided not to.

I remember one of the last times I saw David Brown. He was outside of the gym at my high school in Fort Collins. He was walking by himself and saw me from afar.

“Hey, man.” David said, raising his hand up to give me a high five.

“What’s going on, David?” I responded and held my hand up.

He dropped his hand down right before I could give him a high five. He stumbled away chuckling.

“Asshole,” I mumbled under my breath.

That confrontation sums up how many of my friendships with that group of friends deteriorated. They thought they were so cool. I wanted to be cool too, but there was a problem. I seemed cool enough to have around, but not really part of the inner circle so I was the brunt of jokes and often a recipient of the cold shoulder.

I never really understood it, but it broke my heart. I think that same day I ran into David I went out for Chinese food with my mom to Hunan. I broke down sitting in a corner booth of the restaurant. I told her how these guys, which have been my friends for seven years, treated me like crap. I didn’t know why. They teased me all the time, never failing to mention my height, which, I am sure, just intimidated the crap out of them. They were teasing and taunting what they were jealous of, or what they didn’t understand. I suspect they might have wanted to be a little taller. I also was more mature than them. I don’t know why exactly, but I was. I was interested in things like reading and learning (extraordinarily rare activities for them). These were interests that I probably shouldn’t have held if I wanted to run with that crowd in 10th grade.

These friends were all talented in one sport or the other and they seemed to have girls figured out. They also weren’t that eager to make any new friends. They had their circle; it was complete and exclusive, so why look to befriend others? I remember the social awkwardness around them when I spoke of my friendship with Ben. Ben was off limits for them. He was a year younger, clearly not interested in sports and he was way too honest about his true interests. I would often avoid stories if they somehow involved Ben. I was afraid of being an outcast—the way they viewed Ben. I renounced my friendship with him on several occasions, or at least passed him off as an acquaintance and just a neighbor in an attempt to remain in their favor.

I was interested in basketball and swimming, but I never made the basketball team in Fort Collins. For some reason, much smaller people than me were chosen for the squads. The selection of the basketball team in Fort Collins was very political. In a one on one game I could have trounced 90% of the guys that made the team, but I was never given the chance. I didn’t even make the first cut when I tried out my sophomore year. This changed the dynamics among me and the rest of those guys. Through the lens of an early high school kid they had it all: money, the attention of the girls, a spot on the basketball team and all the coolest kicks. What a funny list. That stuff actually determines who is popular in high school. Then, in college, not as much, but after college it regresses back to a high school measurement of popularity.

I decided there would be one last hurrah for me and basketball. I tried out for the team in my new hometown. Following weeks of shoot arounds and open gyms I was given a spot on the JV squad. This was a little humbling, but I was a junior and I still had another year to go for the Varsity squad. Boosting my spirits was the fact that the new high school’s team was better than the Fort Collins team. After a while in the program I felt like I was a good addition to the team. I never had that feeling in Fort Collins and that program was made up of a bunch of short, white boys.

The new program clearly took basketball seriously. Its squads were made up of guys that weren’t all white. I know, hard to believe. The coaches actually took anyone into consideration.

Although I was selected, I suffered under an extremely incompetent coach. He happened to be more than a foot shorter than me. By my junior year I was 6’8” and rail-thin, but I had potential that was obviously visible to the coaches that selected me for the JV team, but not visible to the JV coach himself. His coaching decisions were inexplicable, and my dad, who played ball at Portland State, quickly developed a strong dislike for this short man.

Really, why I tell this whole story, is because the ending has an ironic and redemptive twist.

In Fort Collins I was essentially kicked out of the jock group. When it was time for college I, the slightly nerdy outcast, was the one that got a scholarship to a D-I athletic program. I never saw most of those guys after I left Fort Collins, but I secretly wished I could have this conversation with them.

“Oh, hey there.”

“Hey, Bryce. How’s it going?”

“Oh, you know, just taking it easy before the season starts.”

“Season?”

“Yep. Season. I’m on the swim team at UW.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Where are you playing ball?”

“I decided not to.”

Which in sports talk means that he wasn’t good enough. Snap. Zing. End of story.