Derrick Williams was getting tired of it. The taunts, the ridicule, the shame. In between classes, at lunch, after school, he never heard the end of it.
“There goes that tweener. What a loser. I bet you can’t even start him at either forward spot.”
“Ew, Julie, gross! I would never date a tweener!”
“Hey Derrick! Why don’t you play shooting guard while you’re at it!”
One day he snapped. That douchey senior Brent had been harassing him about his lack of true position for too long. Derrick easily pinned the shorter student against a locker and glared at his face, their noses almost touching. “I can play either position with efficacy,” he snarled menacingly. “And while you work at Burger Shack for the rest of your life, I will be making millions to catch lobs from Ricky Rubio.” He dropped Brent to the ground and started to walk away, but as Brent got to his feet, Derrick turned around and punched him square in the face.
After that, nobody called Derrick Williams a tweener.