NEW YORK — Tyrese Maxey could feel the pit in his gut growling, growing, deepening. He knew how bad it was, and how much worse it was about to get. He could almost reach out and touch the nightmares — the ones he wouldn’t be able to shake, the ones he’d be having for weeks. Maybe months. Maybe longer.
When you’re the kind of kid who aces every test, every mistake cuts you to the core, and there Maxey sat, a half-minute away from the end of the line, awash in slashes of the red pen.