The dim testing room held a serious, solemn atmosphere. Bits of dust calmly floated abroad the air, only noticeable when they chose to bask in the horizontal lines of sunlight blaring in-between the window shades. All of the blank walls surrounding the stead didn't help relieve the stressed mood either. And one lone, fatuous, irritating fly aggravated the test-takers with its buzzing and dodging so misplaced.
"Richard Hollenbach," the jaded teacher aired as he dispensed another student's essay. "Ninety-two percent, good work."
The somewhat less prepared student sitting behind Richard Hollenbach clenched his fist as the tired instructor drew nearer. The fit young man closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
"Derek Chandler!" announced the professor in a deriding tone. "Forty-five percent, you failed again son."
"Whatever," the addressed pupil replied dryly. "I don't even fuckin' care all that much to be honest witcha'." Derek proceeded to crumple last week's assignment and shoot it into the trash bin. "Three points!"
Chandler could have sworn he heard the bored instructor mutter an insult before continuing to hand off more students' essays—but he didn't care.
Somebody softly nudged the senior's shoulder with a pencil. A thin guy with curly black hair and a white muscle shirt rudely started shaking Derek's chair like a madman."Yo Chandler, brouhaha, brochacho, brauthority, wassup!" he greeted. "What's up bro? Your fuckin' grades are tankin' man… never really figured you the stupid type."
The apathetic delinquent scoffed and cocked an eyebrow. He lethargically shifted his upper body to meet the stranger, idly resting his arm on the seat's back. "I don't even know you dude, why're you talking to me? Oh, and I heard your grade, you're not doin' that much better, dumbass."
"True, true." The pesky black sheep flung his hands atop his head with a sigh. "But I'm stupid. You're not. Bro you're just so… different! Kinda weird! But that's a'ight, guess everyone's a little weird around these parts, huh?" he asked rhetorically.
Derek grinned, then gauchely shook his head sideways as he directed himself back to the front of the classroom.
"Come on man! This is Socastee High School, motha' fuckin' Myrtle Beach! Live a little. If ya can't have fun here, ya can't have it anywhere else. Hey, I'm trying to talk to ya bro." Unfortunately for the warmhearted bro-ham, the long-awaited dismissal bell rang throughout the high school vestibules before he could finish.
And the delinquent already had his iPod's buds plugged in his ears. Adorning himself with his signature red sunglasses, the crappy student immediately made a beeline for the exit. Spiking the front of his chocolate-brown hair up, Derek glanced to his rear. Sure enough, his new meddlesome friend was in hot pursuit.
"You're not gettin' off that easy, prick!" the lanky teenager shouted.
Many students broke into hysterics. Some even lauded the pair for their inappropriate behavior as a way of thanking them for the temporary excitement.
Derek rolled his eyes and turned to confront his shadow. "What's your name again guy?" he queried morosely. "I done forgot."
"Rad dude, you're gettin' in the spirit. Dominic Harding, Dom's fine!"
The iPod junkie nodded briskly. Pulling out his favorite electronic, Derek punched in the safety code and pressed the shuffle tab. "Let's see… Beck, huh? Not my first choice but all right." he whispered.
He hastily maneuvered through the school's winding hallways. Finally, the delinquent spotted a glorious red exit sign. He pushed the door open. Joyous, opportune sunlight hugged Derek with all of its sublime rays. Hot as an oven. Even with his sunglasses on, Derek couldn't take the risk of looking up for a millisecond. For if he did, the light would blind him, and he didn't need that song stuck in his head again. Not to say his sight wasn't a travesty at ground level either. Planes of pavement spanned miles over the town, effulgently reflecting the sun's radiant glimmer.
If the quarry were to escape it's hunter, the reject would have to get off campus. No doubt, Derek stuck out like a sore thumb when compared to the other students. In fact, the delinquent dwarfed many a senior. Not only that, but he was unnaturally tan for a Caucasian—dark of face and body. Oh, and he was sprinting. The sprinting didn't help.
Dom was—unsurprisingly—a skater. The eager teen kept his body as close to his skateboard as possible, keen on chasing down the frigid free-runner. Experience seemed Dom's best friend, as he breezed past obstacles that most boarders would never think of trying. Albeit, his brain cells probably weren't at their full capacity. Kid looked high as a five year old after getting a molar out.
The pursuit lasted a good ten minutes. Every time the reluctant blaze jumped a fence or bounced off the hood of a car, the boarder was right behind him with a grind or a kick-flip.
The pair had finally reached the notorious Boardwalk. Where joint collectives of white trash could act as irrationally as they wanted. Tattooed jerks clothed in muscle shirts and backwards lids. Skanks with too many holes in their Denim shorts and oozing hair dye. Truly this was the melting pot of South Carolina. Goths, vampires, douchebags, faggots, tourists, bitches and bastards—everything Derek despised.
Except, for the law enforcement. Not because they did a good job or anything, they sucked on ice. But—for Derek at least—it was just fun as hell to screw with them. Police chases made Derek happier than a pig in shit. Particularly when he was the one being chased. What a rush.
Finally, Derek came across the beloved Officer Cox strolling by on his trusty motorized scooter. Oh, Officer Cox. The lighthearted, chubby policeman everyone loved to hate. Always giving the occasional not-so-skilled free-runner a run for his or her money. That son of a bitch was fond of work, doing his job with an interminable smile under his bushy red mustache.
"Ha! A friggin' maniac's behind me, while goddamn Officer Cox is right up ahead! Could I ask for a better scenario? Haha… this is gonna be fun. Now, how to get his attention?" the hunky loner thought with a nefarious grin.
Chandler interred his foot in the street as he stomped on the brakes. Hell-bent on finding an idea, Derek allowed his consciousness to slip momentarily. Allowing his body to rely on instinct. The senior belted into the outdoor bar on his left.
Many tourists were bewildered with the seemingly crazed student. However, a lot of regular customers maintained their normal composure, completely unfazed by the lone wolf's habits. In fact… a few showed expressions resembling sorrow. The residents of Myrtle Beach were enjoying their afternoon in peace, but now they all displayed frowning lips and eyes overflowing with pity for the inept failure tumbling into the bar.
"You'd think he'd learn his lesson… that kid needs to learn some responsibility," a concerned patron whispered discreetly to the bartender.
"Give im' a break. Poor kid's out here all by himself," the bartender said as he wiped the sweat off of his bald scalp. "Boy's folks are like… chemical engineers. Heard they're doin' somthin' big in Japan. Left im' here all by his lonesome for a year at least… nobody to tell him how to function in society."
"Shouldn't he know those things by now?" the troubled visitor said as he observed Chandler ravaging over multiple tables.
"Doesn't the line between right and wrong get a little blurry around that age? Sex, drugs, alcohol… more influential now than at any other point in his life."
"He should still know all that by now! Kid's probably got a mental handicap or some shit."
"Maybe… maybe… the kid's depressed," the bartender muttered.
"Doubt it. Tons of energy."
Chandler nabbed a tequila off of the baffled bar patron with a grin. "S'up guy? I'm uh… just gonna steal your tequila for a second. Alcohol emergency! HAHAHA! Bartender, you can just put it on my tab a'ight? Kay thanks bye!"
"Derek! Ya can't be stealin' peoples' drinks every time you come in here. You're too young to be drinkin' anyways ya dumb shit!" the irate bartender lectured as he doled out a cigarrete, promptly deploying his worn lighter afterwards.
"Who said I was drinkin' it, huh? Oh and uh… I'm gonna need to borrow that torch as well, by the by." The boy laughed as he took the rusty lighter.
Derek scurried out of the bar swift as lightning. He shot Officer Cox a wink before extending his arms out to his sides like a ninja.
"Chandler!" the policeman harrumphed. "My boy, if you keep this up you're gonna be in juvenile hall with the other delinquents!"
"Gotta catch me first fatass!" Chandler monkey-jumped over a small bench on the shore-side of the boardwalk, placing the tequila perfectly atop it perfectly. "Let's light it up!" he roared as he chucked the lit lighter into the chalice of alcohol.
An inferno enveloped the bench in a matter of seconds.
"Oh, I know this motherfucker didn't just set a public bench on fire! That's arson y'know! I can arrest ya fer' that!" Officer Cox threatened as he took off his shirt to muffle the flames.
"You won't Cox! You're too much goddamn fun for that!"
Now the eager tycoon had to escape Dominic and a policeman who had probably called for backup a while back.
Derek searched for a shortcut—anything to help him escape. "Ah, what the… I don't… remember an alleyway being here."
Rarely did you ever come across an alleyway in Conway… or really anywhere in Myrtle Beach. Stores were always banded very tightly together. In this cesspool of rebellious youth and reckless adults, space was everything. Wasn't hard; everyone went to one of the three bigs: a bar, café, or shop. Business would naturally come with the summer. Boys would wave-board down the sloped roads gleefully, and play volleyball until night had once again sunk the ball of fire in the horizon. Girls chatted on the boardwalk, wallowing in the expanse of pawnshops and restaurants like " The Gay Dolphin" and "Cheeseburger In Paradise". And senior citizens didn't give a fuck. They got air conditioning, beautiful weather, and cable, what else did they want? But really… Why in god's name was there an alley?
Derek fled into the narrow alley anyway. Claustrophobic he was not, but the dirty brick walls smeared with graffiti were quite unsettling. At any moment a hobo might jump out of a trashcan and shank him. Or a pack of gangster's might shoot him in the face and then steal his iPod. Or some dumbass might stop walking at the other end. Or somebody might drop trash out of a window above—
"Oh dear god!" the athletic delinquent collided with some moron who was bent over on the sidewalk, and caused Derek to fall face first into the pavement along with his iPod. The loner's grey V-neck slid toward his armpits as his white ear buds hopped harshly against the street.
Chandler withheld no tolerance for music-haters. You didn't just knock someone's ear buds out, especially not his own. The rule of thumb was: do not disturb Chandler when he's rocking out. That applies to when he's playing an instrument and when he's just listening. Music was an escape, and that's all it was. It's like pulling someone out of a vacation because they forgot their phone at home. You just didn't do that. God knows that 4G iPod Touch was his Holy Grail.
"Dude, what the fuck?" Derek put a hand on his aching head. "Why'd you stop walking?"
The other boy was clearly a tourist—a plaid red jacket was proof enough of that. Other than the jacket though, the pedestrian wore dark blue jeans, black sneakers, and an odd shirt… one with an orange cartoon pony on it and a bolded, white font stapled on that spelt "BRONY".
"Aw man… Ah am awful sorry about that bromigo. Ah was jus' pickin' up my iPod an' Ah… what are you lookin' at?" the stranger brushed his long, dirty-blond hair back with his fingers. Shooting an annoyed look at Derek.
"You some kind of pedophile?" the judgmental parkourist chuckled.
"Aw god… you another one o' them tools, ain't cha'?" the brony turned his gaze to the sky, as if he were having a conversation with someone else. "Can't believe Ah get to go through this again, look! Ah am sure we both got better stuff to do, so jus' let me make my point. Name's Waylon, Ah'm a fan of the show, Ah... can y'all please stop lookin' at me like that?"
Chandler could have won the asshole of the year award right then and there. He was shielding his smile with his hand, and had his eyebrows at their maximum height. "Sorry, sorry… go on, please."
"Go screw yourself man!" Waylon stuffed his thumbs in his jacket and stormed off. "Like you idiots could ever understand!"
"Whatever dipshit!" The ignorant bully bit back. "Y'all can stick your ponies straight up your country ass!"
After the hick left, Derek's visage slowly reverted back to its normal, somber state. "Better get back to the hotel, don't want Skatey McDouchebag catching my trail. Freakin' tired as shit."
Home at last. Everything was serene as ever at the Hampton inn. A nice overlook of the ocean, a comfy bed, a plasma TV, room service-certainly hospitable. Derek carelessly threw his school supplies on the large bed at the right side of the lime-green room. Mellowing near the wall of glass at the front of the establishment, he savored the incense of salt water emanating from the seashore. But something didn't seem right within the apartment. Was the fridge… closed?
"Where is that mangy cat?" Derek asked himself morosely.
"Mrrrooowww…" a soft purr echoed through the room.
"Huh?" the tom owner found his calico cat on the ceiling fan of all places. Unique, he would usually go for the cliché' furniture. "Einstein, pussy! Get your lazy ass off that fan before I turn it on!" the freshman threatened.
After coaxing Einstein down with a bag of pretzels the exercise monger propped his laptop on the kitchen table. Butterflies flew about in his stomach as he clicked the mail labeled "We gotcha' covered".
Hi Der-bear, it's mommy again!Just wanted to remind you of how proud we are of you. I know I sent you something like this last weekend but, well, I guess that's how the cookie crumbles! Are you talking to any girls over in South Carolina son? Any pretty ladies admiring your abs? I'm sorry I know you hate it when I say these things but I can't help myself. We already paid for your rent! Don't want our big boy having any trouble. I know you're doing your best down there. Keep on trucking!
Love, Mom.
"Dammit!" Chandler wiped his face with the sleeve of his shirt. "Fuck ma! Why do you always say shit like that? I don't need you making me feel worse you dumb… fuck! Give me those pretzels fat-ass!" Derek reached for the large bag of salty snacks on the ground.
"MRRROOOWWW!" Einstein rebutted.
"You better gimme some pretzels before I euthanize you with a freakin' spork!"
The selfish feline placed the bag of goods against the glass wall. Einstein proceeded to gently scratch the giant window with his forepaws and caterwaul at something.
"What's your malfunction? Freaking acting up all of a… holy… crap."
Fanned out on the surface of the wall was none other than Dominic Harding. Sprawled on a thin sheet of glass, separating him from the salvation of indoors. Sweat flooded from his pimply forehead onto his peach-pink face. A sad sight it was, you never really know the length of a man's incentive until they're knocking on your forty-fifth floor window.
"Dude!" Chandler shouted while chucking his cat away from the white trash. "How did… why did… why? Dear god why? How?"
The suicidal ignoramus bared his teeth in a manic grin. "Oh you know, climbed."
"To the forty-fifth floor?"
Dom smirked and nodded nonchalantly. "With nothin' but sheer will power… and adrenaline. Duuuuude it's fuckin' hot out here dog… hey, check it out! I've got an audience… rad."
"An audience?"
Skater boy had amassed a cluster of witnesses on the street below. They were all chanting the same thing in unison, "Jump, jump, jump, jump, jump…"
Derek, disgusted with the monsters cheering for such an awful thing, scowled. "Fuck these guys, man."
"Yeah, bunch of assholes ain't they? Can we uh… can we continue this conversation inside?"
"Kay," Derek frantically ferreted for a disposable item that was heavy enough to break the glass… what? He wasn't going to let him die! "For the love of god, how did you even find me? Why didn't you just ring the doorbell or somethin' you freak? Drag me into this shit…"
"Heard there was some moron yellin' random insults on the boardwalk. I asked a stranger for a physical description, told me the guy had vacated and went down to South Ocean Boulevard. Finally, found ya at the Oceanfront Hampton inn and… Well, I was gonna ring the doorbell! But I didn't think you'd open the door for me and… haha, well what's wrong with a little excitement anyways? "
"You're drunk!"
"Feel drunk dude!"
"Wait…" The tardy teen smirked akin to that of a Cheshire cat. "You got here by skateboard, right?" not waiting for a confirmation, Derek merrily sauntered out of the apartment.
Dom seemed puzzled by the random question. "Well… yeah, I didn't say that already? Oh no! No man! Not my fucking board man! Please dude I'll go back to the ground on my own! Dude not the board! Not the board dude! Not the—NOOOO!"
The shattered metal plummeting from the heavens spun wildly toward the street. And in the center of the throng of deadly shrapnel, a splintered skateboard whistled as it descended upon the alert public viewing the locale.
Two weeks later…
Only six weeks until the last marking period ended. Dominic was crashing at Derek's crib regularly. He was never invited—just came and went as he pleased. Chandler believed skater-boy wasn't worth the time or effort. Ignoring him seemed the best option. Rather, only option. Apparently Dom didn't have anything better to do with his miserable life except creep past the doorman and pester the bellhop. He'd fallen asleep on the couch a lot. Raid the fridge. Get high.
The inner workings of Derek's mind produced a few theories as to why Harding did this. At first, he thought the annoying prick just wanted to be a jerk… but no. Dominic was too playful. Then, maybe he wanted to experiment with Chandler, like a renovation of an abandoned home. No, too lazy. Derek went with the third theory he thought of. Dom had no friends. All his "buds" were fake or not really his companions. Deep down Dom probably knew he was an annoying prick to everyone around him. Including his parents. Harsh conjecture, but it was the correct one… or so Derek thought.
Conversations tended to linger in the uncomfortable area for both of them. Topics about food, movies, and TV shows happened often. Sometimes college came up. Derek had no plans whatsoever, while Dominic wished to attend South Carolina State University and take part in The Four-year Army ROTC Scholarship Program.
Over a week's time Chandler learned that Harding was a confirmed Methodist. Skatey McDouchebag was definitely not a religious freak. But he did have faith in god. Chandler lost his faith four years earlier. "No biggie," he said. "Religion's good. Gives people hope and shit right? Great… I just have a problem when people take it to the extreme. And impedes scientific breakthroughs… Man I'm the last guy to be talkin' bout a thing like that. Politics ain't my gig."
Dom would retort with something along the lines of, "So wh-what happens when you die? Nothing! Well woopty-fuckin'-doo for you. My ass is goin' to heaven. Where there's gonna be naked babes, endless food, and the power to fly… and naked babes. Hell yeah."
Horny bastard.
Although, one evening their talk had actually interested Derek, because this time his guest had brought up a viable notion—something that would change the flunky for better or worse. Though it was a wildcard, he couldn't help but imagine the outcomes.
It was a beautiful twilight. The horizon paraded warm, soothing colors—like an ostentatious blanket being draped over the globe. Relative silence veiled the usually outrageous city that night.
Derek sat in a rotating chair, playing on his his laptop while eating pretzels off the dining table with his other hand. Dominic had just been let in again, and he slouched into the couch that was practically absorbing the skater.
"Ya know what your problem is?" Dominic chuckled.
"You." The recluse chuckled at his own comeback.
"Ya need a girlfriend bro! That's wassup. Shit… that's fuckin' it man. Bitches be everywhere on the boardwalk! With your parkour skills and serious demeanor. My god! Why didn't I think of this before! All you need is someone to keep you in line!"
"Wait," Chandler spun his chair and faced Dominic with a stern look in his eye. "Say that again."
"That again."
"You're retarded. I mean the part with the whole… girlfriend thing." He started to circle both of his index fingers in a reverse wheel motion.
"You need someone to keep you in line?" the irritating trash said with an eyebrow raised.
"If I had a women… who could not only keep me in check and keep me from gettin' into trouble... But also meet my sexual desires. That's perfect!"
"Yeah well, if only every girl in the world were like that huh? Ya don't even want a quirky chick, but one that keeps you happy visually and mentally. That's a pretty vague majority. Ya don't have a dream girl or anything? Cuz my dream girl is like… Sailor Moon… or Sakura Haruno, Rise Kujikawa, Pinkie Pie. Heck I think some anime guys are pretty hot. Like Kiba, The Count, Sanji."
"Kay, I have no clue what you just said. But no, I'm not picky. Honestly I don't care what she looks like. I'd like her to be… fuckin' funny! A man's gotta smile. She's gotta be smart, cuz I'm stupid as shit, ya dig? True I don't want someone ugly, but she's gotta be healthy and treat herself like she will me."
"Let me interrupt… you want a broad who's healthy, smart, funny, keeps you happy, and dedicates her life to you."
"Yeah, that sounds right."
"Then you're a fuckin' idiot. A relationship is supposed to be half-and-half. Don't expect a girl to give everything to you. Romance be an experience for both ain't it? I mean by your description, you want the complete opposite of yourself. Find it hard to imagine you've never had a girlfriend… you, with your attitude?"
Chandler smiled and opened his right palm. "Righty will never betray me, and never let's me down."
"Word," Dom left the couch and opened the door. "And before I bail… remember… be careful what you wish for bro, don't hurt yourself."
Derek snapped his eyes to the closed door his friend had walked out of. That last sentence carried a little quiver at the end there. Peculiar, but Chandler preferred not to think about it.
Five hours passed and Derek laid on the bed, watching the ceiling fan spin. It put him in a trance, gave him a state of empty-mindedness as he drunkenly circled his head round-and-round, following the fan. At long last, Einstein shut the device off with a paw after jumping the switch.
In his clear condition, Derek decided to do something he hadn't done in a while.
Pray.
He clasped his hands together and closed his eyes. "Dear God… haven't talked to you in a bit, yeah? I'll keep it short. Please, give me the chance to meet a girl… a girl who's smart, funny, and kind… just a chance to talk to her… it doesn't have to be tomorrow or sometime this week. But whenever you think would be the right time. I'll uh… pray more. Thank you. Amen."
The next morning…
Orange sunlight faintly penetrated Derek's eyelids. He begrudgingly cursed the sun and turned to his side. Oh, it was extra warm.
Soft fur nuzzled his leg as he kicked the blanket. Einstein must have wanted to sleep with him. Touched by his cat's sudden affection, Chandler began petting the fur with his toes.
"Mmmm…"
…That wasn't a purr.
Derek slowly spread his eyelids apart. And beheld a baby-blue pony with a horn pointed at his forehead. She had a peaceful visage, and slept cozily beside him. The mare put her leg over his and pushed her head further into the pillow. Her mane was half white and half dark blue, split down the middle. And the pony itself was a bit shorter than him. She snoozed soundly. Obviously unaware of the human being next to her.
"Why do you hate me so much, god?"