Worlds Apart Read Online Free Page B

the fact that I participated in school activities. He spent all his spare time chasing girls and smoking. Sam was not a good looking kid, and was physically awkward and socially inept, more so than the rest of us. Sam tried his best to get any girl to like him and to be their friend. The truth was that people, often found him a little creepy. He was famous for emotional meltdowns in school, which often left him red-faced and in tears. At the end of last year, I had promised myself that I would never surround myself with people like Sam again. Already it had cost me a lot of wasted time…time that was now running out. But Sam just wouldn’t go away. He was like a leech.
    I had to interview Michael Noah Torres this week. I had known him since freshman year, and like everyone else, I called him Mino. Mino was the star running back for our football team. Two things were consistent about him: he was always fast, and was always in the weight room. Mino took football very seriously. His mother was often at school for practices, games, and to talk to the guidance counselors and coaches. She was determined that her son would go to college and play football on scholarship.
    When we were freshmen, Mino and I were almost the same height. He had a real running back’s build, like a bull about to break out of a stable. His legs were thick like trees, and he had a neck to match. I hadn’t seen him in a while – Stanton is a big school, and it was not uncommon to not see someone for an entire year.
    My eyes almost popped out of their sockets when I walked into the weight room. Mino was lifting more weights than anyone I had ever seen. He was enormous; his wide back was shaped in a perfect V. I waited in awe for a half hour for him to finish his workout. Mino squatted more weight than two average football players could lift. He was clearly the strongest kid in the school, maybe even in all of Brooklyn. But he had not really grown and was six inches shorter than I was. I marveled at his bench presses, military presses, and bicep curls. His biceps were bigger than my thighs. I never felt so weak in my life.
    My interview was not going well. Mino was pensive. Clearly distracted, he found my routine questions about school and college annoying. This was not like him. I asked how much he was lifting. The numbers were staggering. He had just completed a set of 400 lb bench presses. He was squatting more than 600 lbs. Mino’s arms were pulsating and trembling. I asked him about his speed. Mino could run the 100 yard dash in 11 seconds. I was amazed at the results of his hard work and training.
    We talked about college. The tone in his voice seemed like he was about to blow a fuse. With intensity, he described how he had to get bigger and stronger; many scouts had told him so. If he did, it may guarantee him a full scholarship. Mino was working out 3 to 4 hours a day.
    “If I were just a few inches taller, I’d get a scholarship anywhere,” he said.
    As I exited the weight room, I looked back and saw him remove his tee shirt. On his back was a large constellation of acne. I wondered if Mino was completely natural.
    I wrote an article stating that Mino was looking forward to a great season and that he was training harder than ever for a scholarship. I wrote about his enormous strength. In the weeks that would follow, Mino broke every school record for the Stanton Serpents.
    The first week of school was over, and I was heading home on the F-Train. The ride home started over the Manhattan Bridge. There were spectacular view of the East River, lower Manhattan, the South Street Seaport, and the World Trade Center. It was breath taking. The graffiti-filled F-Train then crept slowly into a tunnel, and made stops in Manhattan.
    More people and more police rode the F-Train. The shorter way home was the G-train through Brooklyn. This was more dangerous, as it traveled through tough neighborhoods with thugs, muggers, and drug dealers. They all took the