Chapter Two – Santo Domingo Dreams
467 Words
The sun in Santo Domingo didn’t care about alarm clocks. It blasted through the thin curtains of Dylan’s room, waking him with a heat that was impossible to ignore. Sweat already clung to his forehead as he sat up, rubbing his eyes.
His mom’s voice floated from the kitchen:
“¡Dylan, la escuela! You’re late again!”
He groaned, pulling on his practice shorts instead of proper school pants. Who cared if the teachers rolled their eyes at him? School was just something he had to survive. Basketball—that was real life.
Scene
By the time Dylan rushed into the small classroom, the teacher didn’t even bother to scold him. His friends, Mateo and Luis, were already laughing.
“Bro, otra vez tarde,” Mateo whispered, shaking his head. “One day they’re gonna kick you out.”
Dylan smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Nah. They know if they do, I’ll just go to the court full-time.”
Luis chuckled, tapping his pen against the desk. “Dreamer. You think the NBA is waiting for some kid from la República Dominicana?”
Dylan’s chest tightened, but he didn’t let it show. Instead, he flashed that cocky grin he used whenever doubt crept in.
“They better. I’m not just some kid.”
The truth? Sometimes even he wondered. But as soon as the last bell rang and he stepped out into the humid afternoon, sneakers laced tight, basketball under his arm, the doubts disappeared.
The court
The neighborhood court was cracked and faded, but to Dylan it felt like Madison Square Garden. Sweat, asphalt, the sound of bouncing balls—it smelled like purpose.
He shot for hours, each swish echoing like a promise. Kids from the block gathered, some to play, some just to watch. And every time Dylan dunked or nailed a three-pointer, the crowd cheered:
“¡El futuro! ¡Mira ese talento!”
He smiled, but deep inside, he was restless. Success here wasn’t enough. He wanted New York. He wanted lights, cameras, draft night.
Emotional beat
Later that night, sprawled on his bed with sore muscles, Dylan unlocked his phone. He scrolled through t****k absentmindedly—funny dances, Spanish memes, basketball highlights. Then a random video appeared: Chicago streets in winter, snowflakes falling.
He paused.
Cold air. Tall buildings. A city that felt worlds away.
For some reason, he didn’t scroll right away. Something held him there. A spark.
He shook his head, chuckled, and moved on.
But the image of Chicago stayed with him as he drifted to sleep.
Closing note
Dylan didn’t know it yet, but while he was sweating under the Caribbean sun, somewhere in that freezing city, a girl had just laughed at the idea of soulmates.
The red string was already pulling tighter.
- Writer
