"Chang… Chang!"
"… What now Toby?"
"Class's over dipstick, wake up."
Max stirred in his doze slightly, chest and arms slumped lazily over the creaking fold-out desk in front of him, hands dangling over the sides.
He pressed into his sleeves pretending not to catch the other boy's words.
"Gimme a few more minutes." Max mumbled into the table.
He felt a blunt jab poke into his side, then another, followed by several more getting persistently sharper with each prod. He couldn't take it anymore. Max finally gave in, threw himself back against the chair and pushed himself up to his feet, towering aggressively over his pencil-wielding enemy.
"… Quit it."
Toby backed down and backed away slowly from with his arms lifted into the air in a sarcastic submission, keeping a few good metres distance between them. Sweeping his hair back, he assumed an affirmative stance and prepared himself to deliver one of his long, drawn out lectures on his friend's lack of emotional control.
His mouth was open agape, but no words came out of Toby's mouth. His eyes rested upon Max again who was hovering around the desk, holding a blank page of chemistry notes.
"Hey it's no big deal. We'll just copy them off Willow later, right?"
"No! It's just… Nevermind…"
Max's voice faded into a pale croak.
The two stood alone awkwardly in the empty lecture hall as Max silently swept his belongings into his satchel that he hid behind in shame.
Together, they were very much alike in many ways; they were both avid music lovers, loved travel, had unhealthy obsessions with video games and were equally afraid of 'growing up'. Between the two, no secret of each other's could escape them.
It was apparent to everyone that they were mutually pressured by competitive families with high standards, looking down on anyone they considered to be lesser.
And being heavily influenced by them, Toby could of have had his future planned out since kindergarten.
Toby was the type of guy who calculated how every move he made led him to where he needed to go. He didn't just want to get into medicine; he knew he was going into medicine, and knowing how he would sink to any level to get there made him the object of his companion's envy.
On the other hand, Max was two years out of High School with no where to go.
They soon left the hall and started down the stairs into the mess of corridors, Toby bounded excitedly along them two at a time with Max trudging slowly behind him. "Hurry up man, wake up! We've gotta get to that job interview in, like, 30 minutes. I don't got all day!"
With clenched fists, Max stopped in his tracks and narrowed his eyes at Toby, locked in a scowl.
"You know what?" He paused to catch his breath. "Go on without me."
Toby raised an eyebrow expectantly at Max who had spun on his heel and had already started walking in the other direction. "What's wrong with you Max?! That's the wrong way!"
The boy looked over his shoulder and shrugged.
"I've got other stuff to do okay?"
He turned his back to Toby bitterly and bit his lip as he felt a grim twinge of pain. It was always "The wrong way" for Max; no matter what he decided on there would always be someone to say "No Maxwell, you can't do that."
Max's trudge quickened into a brisk pace, and soon into a run. Filing and pushing his way through the congested passages, he hauled the overflowing bag full of textbooks and papers with him. He didn't know where he was going, the twinge that constantly lingered in him told him he had to escape.
He found the train station.
"I want to be a fireman."
"No Maxwell, you can't do that. I spent too much on your tuition."
Two stops later he found a bus.
"I want to be a musician."
"No Maxwell, you can't do that. They don't get paid enough."
He jumped off the platform later and continued on foot.
"I want to be a lawyer."
"No Maxwell, you can't do that."
"Why not?"
"… You just can't."
Max kept going until he found himself in a more withered part of the district slum. Standing on a row of shops with newspaper-clouded windows he looked on as the cars continued to whizz by in a dull steel blur – the remnants of those who had a dream and failed.
The ones who, more or less, knew what they wanted.
He felt an invisible force tug at his strings and he pursued them, crossing the deep cracks that ran like veins over the pitch tar surface. Standing before him, was one of the many restaurants scattered throughout the region.
There had been plenty more appealing shops Max had passed. He had witnessed many with gaudily bright displays, bleach white wall tiles and sickly neon lights. This restaurant was nothing like the others.
The mere exterior of it revolted him to a point where it could no longer make him accept it. Instead, it stirred his curiosity enough to make him want to investigate.
The shop was still open, in great disrepair, but still alive. The peeled and cobwebbed grimy sign that swung back-and-forth limply in the breeze beckoned Max to step forward. His eyes met an old withered grey man hunched in the doorway, waving to him.
The pain was lifted.
"I'd like a job."
"Pardon?"
The old man pressed his hands to his sides and straightened out his back, carefully processing Max's words.
He suddenly snapped into a harsh and rasping tone. "What're you talking about?"
"I want to work at your restaurant… I-if that's okay with you sir."
Max had begun to stammer and shift his feet in the gravel uncomfortably. The old man didn't tell him what to do; he questioned. Max never got asked questions.
"Do you have any skills?"
"None."
"Do you have any experience?"
"Never."
Tension had built up in Max as he watched the frail aged man lean weakly against the wall to regain his balance, his face buried within the wrinkles as he frowned. Max sensed a turn of hostility from him, almost hearing him smirk. He had never felt so sure about anything else in his life.
He was not prepared to turn back now.
"Who sent you here to play games with me kid?"
This was his chance.
"I did. No one else,"
Max was going to get what he wanted.
"And I'm not leaving until I get a job here."
The old man staggered clumsily from the wall towards Max and set a single faded evil eye upon him. Max pressed his feet firmly into the pavement, standing his ground.
"Come with me… You start dish-duty tomorrow."
Without a word, Max simply nodded and followed the old man's gesture through the door into the dim glow of the restaurant. He looked out and gazed over his shoulder one last time, out onto the lifeless street and dropped his school bag on the stairs.
Watching the books and papers spill out.
Knowing the world as watching too.