Who's Bad?

Chapter 1 – Be The Man

Daryl's P.O.V.

New York City. When someone mentions it, the first things that pops into their mind are the Statue of Liberty and the Empire State Building. When I think about it, I think about the neighborhood I live in. My name is Daryl. I'm seventeen years old and I've been going to a private school called "The Duxston School" for almost 2 years just to get away from the trouble back home; and for the top grades I've been getting. I've been raised in the ghetto, in Brooklyn, since I was really little. So, it's not uncommon to see someone getting mugged by masked men or something like that at my neighborhood.

Some of the guys back home, when I was seven, would tease me about my skin color getting lighter because I was born black; but Mom told me to ignore them and start making friends. I found out later that I have a skin disease called vitiligo while I was looking at some books in the local library. So far, I've made three friends; they are Mini Max, Chris, and Zack. I haven't seen them in a long time. Today is the last day before Thanksgiving break starts. Everybody at my school are really excited about seeing their friends and families.

I was about to exit the crowded hall when I heard someone shouting "Daryl!"

Turning around, I saw a guy that was in my English class.

He said, "Listen, I wanna say before you go that you did a real good job first term. And I-I guess I'm just proud of you, of how hard you worked."

"Thanks," I said politely, "thank you."

The dude held up his hand and said, "Hi-five, my man."

I give him the hi-five.

"Take care."

I finally got outside to see guys throwing snow up into the air, while they were whooping with joy. Once I got on the local bus, I sat on the left side, anxious to see my friends. About halfway to the subway, one crazy guy stuffed popcorn into the collar at the back of my shirt. I was laughing because it tickled. After about an hour of sitting on the bus, there were only a few people left, myself included. I heard the bus driver making an announcement that we were at the station. When the bus came to a stop, I grabbed my things to exit and make my way towards the subway that will take me home. The inside of the subway had graffiti all over. I sat close to the sliding door.

While we were moving, a guy next to me asked, "How many guys proud of you?"

I turned to face the man. He was from my American History class. I think his name is Rockwell.

I paused for a moment and replied, "Three."

"Shoot," Rockwell said, "four guys are proud of me."

I silently snickered to myself. The subway was slowing down and I saw Rockwell getting up.

Before he left, he gave me a handshake and said, "Be the man."

"Be the man," I repeated softly.

While I was letting the words sink in, I held up my hand and removed the glove with my teeth.