chapter three

a good kid at heart

--

Derrick Harrington was a good kid.

It is always important to remember this fact, because at heart, Derrick was a good kid. Always.

He didn't want to throw a bag of flaming shit on Plovert's lawn. How was he supposed to know that it would catch to his lawn, kill all of Mrs. Plovert's hydrangeas, and then have the flames take to the mailbox? He didn't. He had good intentions. Hadn't anyone seen Disturbia before?

And that one time in ninth grade when he and Josh snuck into the Rivera's basement dressed up like Jason from Friday the Thirteenth? They didn't know that the cops would come. Josh and Derrick were out of there before anyone could shout, "FUZZ!"

Boy, did he get into trouble for that one.

But deep down, Derrick knew that he was, in fact, a good kid. He knew that eventually he would get it and get on the right track. Next time, he would keep telling himself, until he actually believed that he would have good judgement and not do those things again.

So as he was walking down Main Street in downtown Westchester, he kept telling himself, Derrick, you are a good kid. You know the difference between right and wrong. No matter what anyone tells you.

He nodded to Scab, the bum who always hung out outside of Barry's Cantina.

"Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeey Derrick!" Scab looked like he hadn't shaved in about two weeks, and Derrick was pretty sure that he was wearing the same clothes as the last time he saw him. "How's it going for you buddy?" He had a beer in his hand, and he was rubbing his protruding stomach with the other.

"Uh… you know," Derrick said, grimacing at the mess that was Scab. He carefully stepped over Scab's feet that blocked the sidewalk. "Just taking it one day at a time."

Scab let out a hearty, slurred chuckle. "Amen to that, brother! Ha, ha! You take care!"

Derrick smiled as he continued down the street to the small deli on the corner of Birch and Main. He tried to hold his breath as he passed the smokers on the corner and continued into the shop.

Dan's Traditional Deli was a small little place that usually attracted the grungy characters of downtown. The lighting was dim, the air was stuffy, and the service was exceptionally tragic.

"What can I get you, kid?" Dan barked to Derrick. It was their routine; Dan never acknowledged the fact that Derrick had been coming here every Thursday since freshman year, and Derrick didn't try to bring it up. So Derrick would continue the ritual and order the exact same thing he'd been ordering since the first day he came to Dan's Traditional Deli.

"Um… I'll have a ham and cheese with mayo and olives on wheat…" Derrick recited. "Olive oil on the side."

"Odd combination," Dan grumbled. That was his usual response. "You want me to brown bag it for you, kid?"

"Yeah."

Then Dan disappeared into the back room, where Derrick knew that he would stay for about five or so minutes.

He pulled out his Voyager while he heard Dan shuffling and cursing in the back room.

DERRICK: CAN I C U LATER TONIGHT? :)

He pressed send to "Massie Block," 975-374-0982.

"Here you go," Dan mumbled as he emerged from the back. He awkwardly held out the brown plastic bag, making eye contact for only a second. "Take care of yourself, kid," Dan said, his expression hard as rock.

"I always do, Danny boy," Derrick said, grinning. He grabbed the brown bag, shook it, and walked out of the deli.

Stop number one: Check.

--

"I vote that we change the meeting place," Griffin Hastings said, walking through the doors of the Toys R Us building. He grimaced with disgust when he saw the display of four foot tall Dora the Explorer dolls staring up at him and Danny.

"No," Danny Robbins replied firmly.

"Well… Why not!?"

"Griffin, my little bananacake pastry," Danny smiled. "How many times must we go over this?" They continued walking past the toy car aisle with the bicycles and Barbie electronic cars. "We have been coming here for the last three years. We have a consistency that we need to keep up."

"I understand that, Danny," Griffin spat. "But what if someone we know sees us here! I'll be un-dateable for the rest of high school! Shit!" Griffin exclaimed as he narrowly avoided tripping over a remote control Hannah Montana convertible.

"Come on! Take a ride with me! Come on! Take a ride with me!" Hannah was beckoning any other stray plastic figures to hop in her convertible. Fricking prostitute. She was pissing Griffin off.

"I wouldn't be worried about seeing other people we know in here, G," Danny snorted. "Besides, we both know that's not the worst thing that could happen while we're in here," he said grimly.

They continued to walk past the Nintendo Wiis and Xbox Lives until they made their way to the bouncy ball aisle.

"And now we wait," Danny sighed as he sat on a Winnie the Pooh ball and started bouncing on it.

"Wait for what? I've been here for twenty minutes," Derrick Harrington said, emerging from behind the tower of miniature tie-dye balls. He had the brown sack in his hand.

"How much?" Griffin asked coldly.

"250," Derrick replied smoothly, his tone matching Griffin's.

"No, I meant how much," Griffin repeated.

"Two ounces."

"That's it?" Danny whisper-yelled. "I hope you realize that you will be the one reporting to William about this!"

"Will takes whatever he can get," Derrick shot back. "And besides, it's all Dan gave me. And he's generous... usually."

The three exchanged glares: Danny skeptically looking at Derrick, Derrick smugly looking back at Danny, Griffin quizzically looking at the both of them.

A clang of metal sounded in what seemed like the front of the store. Faint voices were heard. "What the…?" Danny murmured.

"Westchester Narcotics! Out of the way! Out of the Way!" The deep voices of officers rang throughout the store.

"Shit." Derrick quickly shoved the brown bag into his jacket pocket. He turned to Griffin and Danny. "You're not high, are you?"

They shook their heads.

Then they heard barking. "Westchester Narcotics! Out of the Way! We have dogs!"

"We're screwed, man!" Griffin whisper-yelled. "I'm going to jail!"

"Calm the fuck down!" Danny smacked him in the back of the head. "Keep your cool."

"Danny, they got the dogs. They'll sniff us out," Derrick hissed.

The officers' voices were getting closer to the point that Derrick thought he could faintly see their navy uniforms just a few aisles down.

And as if on cue, the three boys turned and ran.

"HEY!" A tall, big, burly man in a navy uniform shouted at them. "Stop!"

"No way in hell!" Griffin muttered, silently cursing his legs to move faster.

"I need reinforcement!" The officer barked. "Let the dogs off leash! Stan, Jim, Gary, get all exits!"

"My mom is going to kill me," Griffin said, groaning. "Who called them anyways?!"

"You boys are in trouble with the law!"

"Split up," Derrick ordered.

"They have all the exits!" Danny protested.

Derrick looked around. At the back corner by the restrooms and Bop-Its he saw a ladder, with a flashing light above it marked "EXIT."

"I'm heading back there," he panted. "I think it goes to the roof."

"If you're wrong, you're dead," Danny said through gritted teeth. And Derrick didn't doubt it. Danny and Griffin were two street-smart kids who grew up on the rough side of Westchester, at Abner DoubleDay Day. And that's where Derrick would be, if he wasn't at BOCHS on scholarship. Which is exactly why he couldn't get caught.

They scrambled for the ladder, Derrick taking the lead. He had his steps down to a rhythm—one, two, one, two. His hands reached the ceiling, popping out a tile and climbing through to the roof.

Derrick hoisted himself up. "I got it!" He called down the ladder. But Griffin and Danny weren't there. He felt his pocket—the bag was gone.

"Dammit," Derrick cursed under his breath.

But there was a terrible whizzing—and huge gusts of wind—and Derrick could barely stay on his feet.

"Westchester Police. Put your hands in the air, son."

Derrick slowly turned around.

"Are you kidding me?!" But yelling didn't do anything. Before he knew it, he was in handcuffs and climbing the rope ladder to the helicopter.

I'mdeadI'mdeadI'mdeadI'mdead, he thought. His scholarship was gonna get revoked. He was for sure off the Tomahawks. His life as he knew it was over.

He never did get his chance to shout Fuzz.

Fuzz. Tee hee.

Reeeevieeewww!

-logen