Andrew Wiggins 21 Points Full Highlights (1/10/2016)

Just as Andrew Wiggins had drifted off into an uneasy sleep, Brad, the basketball camp counsellor, barged into the room and flipped the lightswitch.

“Were you guys smoking weed in here? You were, weren’t you? Don’t lie to me! I can smell the marijuana, I can smell it very clearly! Answer me!”

Andrew’s brain, still groggy from the state of half-sleep he had been awoken from, struggled to find words. “Uh, uh…”

Dooby, his roommate, was now sitting up, grimacing and shielding his eyes from the glare of the light. “Yeah, I tried to tell Andrew not to do it, but he didn’t listen, he just sat there on his bunk and toked a whole bunch of reefer. He tried to pressure me into doing it too, but I was like ‘no way fag’. I was gonna tell you guys in the morning, but it looks like you’ve found out already.”, he said as Andrew stared at him, not believing what he was hearing.

Brad turned his bugged-out eyes towards Andrew. A vein twitched mightily in his neck. “I knew it! I knew you were trouble the second you set foot in MY CAMP! You know the rules, you know the punishment for those who are caught using prohibited substances! We have a bus waiting for you to take you back home, better get moving!”, he yelled as spittle flew from his mouth.

Before he knew it, without being given a chance to get dressed or grab his things, Andrew was now being paraded by Brad through the halls of the dormitory, as other campers curiously peered out at him and laughed. He started to cry.

“I’m sorry, it was just a little… just a bit of weed, and, and… it wasn’t even me, it was Dooby!”, he spluttered through his tears.

“Likely story! Do not make things worse for yourself by lying!”, Brad responded as they reached the bus, which was waiting right outside the front doors as rain poured down. Andrew was rudely pushed on board, with the doors quickly closing behind him. He flung himself at them, desperate to explain himself, to explain that he had just made a simple mistake under the pressure of his peers, to explain that he was really a good kid who just wanted to play some basketball.

He pressed his face against the glass, but could see nothing through the downpour combined with the suffocating darkness of the night, no sign of the camp, nor of Brad. A sudden cackle from behind startled him. Andrew turned around, and was faced with a madly grinning Dooby, features contorted in mirth, who was sitting in the driver’s seat.

“Nice job, fag!”

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