"Dave, I uhh, I got you something...," he says, crawling into your lap. You can barely see him in the dark, but he's close enough that you see his eyes glinting, reflecting the light from the hall.
"Did you now? Should I be excited?" You raise an eyebrow, genuinely interested in the aspect of him actually getting you something. Considering how tight you all are on money, gifts are pretty much a foreign aspect to you.
"Definitely," He coos. "Now um, close your eyes."
You comply after searching his face for a moment, and feel him shift slightly. There's a slight rustling, then silence. You're about to ask if you may open your eyes when you feel his lips on you, your own lips being coaxed apart by his. When he slips his tongue into your mouth, you go with it, despite your slight confusion. Your brain registers the familiarity of his taste, your hands make their way to his waist. He is warm against you, a stark contrast to your chilled skin. The fog of questions in your mind starts to clear as you melt into his mouth, lazily wrestling his tongue with your own. It is then you discover your gift as it is exchanged from his mouth to yours.
You swish the small pill around on your tongue. Travis, having broken the kiss, is sitting back, watching you, anticipating your reaction. Judging by the size, texture, and the slight taste coming off it, this isn't ecstasy. You know X, having had quite your share in the past couple years. You mull it over for as long as possible, which is until the pill starts dissolving, and swallow it quickly. You watch Travis, who is watching you, and suddenly you have an idea of what it might be.
"Did you seriously get me an oxy?" Your words are drawn out, hesitant, still somewhat unsure. You watch as a smile unfolds across his face.
"Happy birthday, Dave."
Today is uncharacteristically warm for November. That is a good enough explanation as to why you've ended up lazing around in the grass behind your school for lunch, rather than holing up in the crowded hallways. You're with the usual crew; their quiet intermittent chatter somewhat soothing, even if you aren't listening. The sun feels perfect on your skin, the grass soft beneath you. A light breeze plays with your hair and you can't help smiling because, hey, sometimes you can be a sentimental guy, and moments like this are what makes life worth living feel a slight tickle in your throat, and you'd be damned if you let a cough harsh this tranquility, so you prop yourself up on your elbows and reach for a water bottle laying a few feet away from you. You couldn't care less about who's it is; you're sure you've put worse things into your body. As you drink slowly from the bottle, you regard your small circle of people you have started to think of as friends.
Your eyes immediately come to rest on the strip of skin showing where John's shirt has ridden up. You spend far too long admiring the perfect tone of his soft, smooth skin, eyes tracing the line of his spine up until it disappears beneath the blue fabric, the rest left to your imagination. Your eyes drift further upwards, finding his typically unruly raven hair where it sticks up at odd angles from his head, which is resting on his arms as he lays on his stomach in the grass. You trace over every feature of his peaceful face, hoping he doesn't open open opens his eyes to find you staring.
John is just one of those kids that everyone loves. Seriously; you doubt anyone in the school - no, anyone he's ever met - has found a reason to dislike the kid. Something about his his smile; the way even if he makes a jab at you, you know he doesn't mean it; the fact that it is so easy to make him laugh, but it's not even an annoying laugh, it's a soft giggle that never fails to make people smile; the way he shows pure, undivided attention and interest while you're talking to him. For you, it's his integrity. Yeah, his cuteness is a factor, but the one thing that you love about the kid is how down-to-earth he is. He is your polar opposite. While you spend majority of your time looking for escape, your life a meaningless blur, he is so... real.You truly admire that about him. If you can't be him, at least you can hang around him and hope he rubs off on you. He is, essentially, perfect.
Realizing how long you'd been admiring him, you tear your eyes away and try to convince yourself that it was completely platonic staring.
When you sit upright, you catch a flash of reflected sunlight in your face, your sunglasses just barely protecting your eyes enough to keep you from blinking. You beseech the source of the assault on your eyes, and assume it was from one of Faith's long, glittering necklaces. She's sitting back, her arms stretched behind her to prop her up at a more-or-less 45 degree angle, clearly enjoying this one moment of peace in her very hectic life. You can imagine that not only being the Student President, but also the heiress to the throne of some small region in who-the-fuck-knows-where can make one's life pretty crazy. Just looking at Faith and thinking about how much she's achieved at 17 years old makes you cringe inwardly, reminded of how all you've accomplished is a whole pile of nothing, and pissing people off. And on top of that, she's still one of the nicest, genuine people you've ever met, among the ranks with John Egbert. The fact that she enjoys your company makes you feel a little bit redeemed.
In Faith's lap rests Seth's head. He's holding up his IPhone, tapping away on it as always, his perpetual, mocking sneer softened for the time being. Seth confuses you. He really does. He's that kid that shouldn't be popular, one of those geeks that is somehow considered cool enough to be surrounded by popular kids - not that you'repopular. Not only is he a huge nerd, but he's just as big of an asshole. He's quick to insult anyone for the littlest thing, sometimes even barking nasty comments with no prompt at all. He's also just very... unique. He can't even say his own name without spluttering all over the place, showering any bystanders with his saliva. This is a result of an "accident" he'd had as a child, at the hands of his brother Matthew, who cut his tongue in half. Yep. Split, clean down the center. He was left with a forked tongue, and a terrible lisp. And then there's the colourblind thing, which you thought was bullshit until you started noticing the way he sometimes looks at things with one eye closed. He says that he can only see warm colours - such as reds, oranges, and yellows - in his right eye, and cold colours - greens, blues, and violets - through his left. It isn't too hindering for him, but sometimes you notice him rapidly alternating which eye he's using when studying certain things. You know he has a love for coding, and all sorts of weird computer tech shit that you never really bothered getting into. Despite the fact that Seth's a total nerd and that Faith is one of the most classy, sought-after girls in your school, they somehow work as a couple. Seth's bitterness compliments Faith's kindness, and from what you've seen, he treats her like the princess she is.
All that said, he's really not so bad, you find yourself getting into avid arguments about stupid shit with him all the time, which are soon settled by simply becoming bored of the topic, both of you left feeling satisfied with how you defended your point.
Then there's Tracey. You haven't gotten to know her much, as you spend a lot of time avoiding her. The blind girl has shown an acute interest in you, being very forward about it, too. It's not that you have a problem with dating a blind girl, or that she isn't good enough for you. You just think that as unstable as you are, it wouldn't be the best decision to have to watch over a blind girl. She can fend for herself pretty well, having been blind all her life, and she's pretty good company when you manage to escape her come-ons. Maybe in the future you would take up on her advances, but you don't like thinking about the future too much.
You continue on your thought journey around your little circle, leaving Tracey's sprawling form to look at Natalie, who is curled up against Tracy's side, nibbling on some cookies. Natalie isn't really your type, but you don't have a problem with her. Yeah, her obsession with cats can get get annoying - Seriously, you think, crawling around and meowing and purring and hissing and the cat puns... it's just too fucking much.- and her tendency to invade your personal space gets on your nerves, but she's too innocent to brush off.
Lastly, completing the circle on the opposite side of yourself which you started, Karen is sitting cross-legged, reading a book. Karen is smart and almost motherly, and while she can spend a lot of time in ominous silence, you know that once you get her started, she will talk your ears off with her condescending tone and large words. You don't talk to her much, but sometimes you catch her looking at you with maternal, concerned eyes. You try to shrug it off as paranoia, but you get the feeling she knows something, that she's caught on to your act. You don't doubt she's smart enough to have figured you out, anyhow. She reminds you of your cousin, Rose.
You finally return the cap to the water bottle, throwing it into the vague middle area of the circle. You lie back down, knowing you only have about 10 minutes before the bell rings and you have to trudge back inside, where fluorescent lights wash everyone out and the air is stale. Just as you are closing your eyes, slipping into the null refines of your mind, John starts talking.
"Dave," he starts, just loud enough for his voice to drift over to you on the breeze. "... you wanna hang out after school?"
Woah. You didn't expect that. How long has it been since someone asked that of you? Every night for the past few months you would drag yourself home from school, then from home to work, where you slouch your way through a lame four-hour shift at a Starbucks. Yeah, poor career choice on your part, but there weren't many other options. It isn't even ironically lame. The only thing you enjoy about your job is that sometimes they let you choose the music played over the scratchy, outdated speakers, and you manage to appease the hipsters by playing your favourite underground jams, and even some of your own mixes. After work you just go home, only to prepare yourself to repeat the process the next day. You rarely go to hang out with friends anymore, probably because your only friends are sitting right here with you now, and even then, you could only consider them actual friends as of recently.
As much as it comes as a shock to you, you are suddenly filled with a rush of excitement. Not only does this mean you've earned the complete approval of one of your group mates, but you are happy you finally have something to do.
"Yeah, sure. What do got planned?" You reply, trying not to sound as excited as you are.
"I dunno, we could just chill at my place, watch some movies, play some videogames, ya' know? You don't have to work today, do you?"
You begin to shake your head no, but realize that he's not looking at you, and he requires an actual verbal response. "Nah, I don't usually work on Mondays... good thing too, cause I don't think I could deal with whiny hipsters complaining about their froth on a Monday. Considering how strong the temptation to throw boiling hot expresso in their face is during the calmer work days, I wouldn't trust myself to withhold my urges. And frankly, I think that's the very reason I am rarely called in on Mondays. I just might have told one too many misunderstood youths to shove their low-fat whipped soy mocha latte frappucino - moins le creme frappe- up their ass." You finish your drawn out rant with a sigh, and you can feel John's smile in the air.
"God, Dave. Would it kill you to have some common courtesy? Actually, scratch that. I think it just might." You cringe slightly at that. "Should I meet you at your last period class, or..." He trails off, waiting for you to take charge.
Thinking of your precious time in the darkroom, and how you've been longing to spend some time in there all weekend, you tell him that you'll meet him at his locker after school. You imagine horror scenarios of John stumbling into the darkroom, forgetting to close the first door, and letting the so highly despised light into the room, thus ruining not only your developing photos, but everyone else's. And then of course you'd be blamed, because everyone loves John, and it'd been your fault for not warning him.
As soon as he finishes telling you where his locker is, the bell rings and you all make your way back to the building, already missing your moment of peace.
It is just after 3 PM when you and John are finally headed to his house from the school. He doesn't live far from the school, hence why he walks to and from school every day, except in the colder winter months. While you walk, John is happily chattering your ear off, but you don't mind. You've always been more of a listener.
"My dad most likely won't be home until later, around 6 or so. You could probably stay for dinner, if you like. I mean, it's only the two of us, and my dad always seems to make way too much food," You glance suspiciously at John's lanky frame, not sure if you should doubt his truth, or be in awe of his metabolism. "...so it's not like we won't have enough. And uh, I'm gonna warn you in advance, but my house is kind of like, filled with harlequins and harlequin paraphernalia. I guess my dad somehow got the notion that I loved clowns when I was younger, and in some weird attempt to take up my interests and prompt bonding between us, he filled the house with them. It's horrible. No matter how much I tell him I hate them, they are still all around the house. I think maybe they've grown on him, and he just keeps them there cause he actually enjoys them now." You remember Seth bringing up harlequins in conversations before, and John getting really pissed. Well, that solves the mystery to that.
You keep listening to John's nervous and excited banter while you fish around in your backpack. After pulling out a few things you weren't looking for, you finally retrieve the crushed pack of cigarettes, only to find it empty. With a curse under your breath, you toss it back in your bag, and sling the strap back over your shoulder.
"Hey, s'there any corner stores or anything I can stop at on the way? I need smokes." You say, taking advantage of a pause in John's ranting.
"Ew, why do you even bother with smoking? It smells gross, and it'll only kill you faster, ya know."
"Mind you, it can be ironically relaxing to suck on a death-stick. There's something very stress relieving and therapeutic about killing yourself slowly." You fail to mention that you've probably already taken a good thirty years off your lifespan already. "Besides, I'm all for that live fast, die young shit. Carpe diem, eh?"
"I suppose..." John sighs, not even bothering to argue. You like that he is one of those people who will present their opinion, without forcing it on you. "But yeah, there's a little Korean corner store right before we get off the main road into the division."
Ten minutes later, you are handing your bag to John and walking into the store with your wallet in hand. It doesn't take you long to go in and buy the cigarettes, the little Asian woman not even asking for ID. Not that you wouldn't have been unprepared if she had; you carry around multiple IDs at all times. You stop for a moment and laugh at the little glass pipes they sell, sitting blatantly in the display case, varying in shapes, sizes and colours. It still makes you laugh at how illegal it should be to display these, let alone sell them. You're still smirking when you walk out of the little shop, the bell on the door chiming happily as you exit, when- oh fuck no.
All it takes for you to recognize the guy who is standing uncomfortably close to John, engaging in awkward, unnecessary conversation with him, is the streak of gelled purple hair, his height, and his state of dress. You take in his appearance, slightly taller than yourself, slender, and looming. His striped cardigan, accented by a long, thick scarf, hugs his body in "all the right places", his jeans skin tight on his twig-like legs. By the time you've made your way to the sidewalk where they stand, your lips are pulled into a thin, tight line, and you're sure the blaze of your glare could penetrate your mirrored shades.
"Ampora," You start, your voice a deep growl, dripping with sarcasm and loathing. "Fancy seeing you here. What made you crawl off your corner?"
"Daaaavid, damn, you're looking pretty swell." The use of your full name makes you want to spit on him, but you hold yourself back. That'd be giving him satisfaction. "I do recall this being a relatively free country. Who are you to say I can't hang around this part of town?"
"Oh, shut your crusty shit-hole of a mouth. You're here for a reason. Don't tell me it's a coincidence that you just happen to be here when I am. And what were you saying to John?" You notice John is looking a little uncomfortable, and a lot confused at the whole ordeal.
"Maybe I am here for a reason... but you'll have to play nice if you want me to tell you. And hey, I was just telling your cute little boy-toy here what a catch he is." His grin is practically predatory, and it makes you feel sick.
"What the fuck do you want?" You can't stand to deal with his bullshit any longer than you already have, let alone at all.
"Well... I might have been told to relay a message if I happened to see you around. And don't think I'm doing this out of the kindness of my heart, I'm getting a rewarded for my commitment to the community." You scoff when he says kindness, but don't make any further remarks before informing John that you need a moment, and dragging Eric a short distance away to proceed your conversation in harsh whispers.
You cut straight to the point, not wanting to keep John waiting. "Is it Travis? What does he want?"
"Not only him. Karson, too. And you know what they want, you sly son-of-a-bitch. They want their money. Well, Kar does. You know Travis needs it. It seems as though they're getting a little too tight on money, and Karson can't even cut him slack, no thanks to you." He sends you a pointed look, and even after all this time of convincing yourself that what you did was for the better, a pang of guilt hits you in the gut.
"So what do they want? For me to send them money? I barely have enough to make ends meet as it is. I know it's my fault they're in this situation, but I just can't spare anything right now. Tell em I'll pay them back in a few months or so, once my job gets steady and shit." You shift from foot to foot, jamming your hands into the pockets of your dark hoodie. You really don't want to deal with this conversation now. Not ever.
"I'm sure you could at least spare that pack of smokes you just bought. They'd appreciate it." He's smiling that evil smile and you hate it, you hate him. Seeing someone from your old life just makes your head spin, your stomach twist in knots, and you hate it. This day has become all too eventful.
"Fine," you huff, just wanting to get back to John and leave and watch movies and eat cake for the next few hours. "... but if I hear that the pack arrived with even one less of it's contents than when I gave it to you, I will cut your filthy tongue out. Then you'd be out of a job, wouldn't you?"
The rest of your exchange is short, much to your mutual contentment. You take two cigs from the pack before handing it off, returning to John. As you turn to leave with him, Eric stops you for a moment with a statement, seeming to be an afterthought of his.
"You might not want to take too long with that money. You know how Graham gets when he's... all sobered up."