“What you did back there with that boy, Robin, was very stupid." Ryder, my fri- acquaintance, tells me as I do the walk of honor to our principal’s office. I give him a blank stare but he shrugs and walks away.
These grey walls of the corridor to Chuck’s office remind me of the juvenile detention center, where I spent the entire summer last year. This office has a wooden theme with a trophy showcase on an entire wall. The students who are opposite of me win such grand materialistic objects for the school and make them proud. I wonder where that honor takes them once they reach their practical life.
I ended up in the detention center because of a boy who had said something which he shouldn’t have. Being the impulsive asshole I am, I confidently beat him to a pulp. Some students exaggerate that he died the moment I threw that ultimate nerve-bursting punch on his neck and the nurses brought him back to life by giving those electric shocks. Quite a miracle, they all say.
But rather tragic if you ask me. I would have preferred dying during a fight to being saved by a so-called miracle. This pathetic world is full of merciless people and none of us deserves a miracle even if such a thing exists, which doesn’t.
But that boy must have been a less merciless person among us all because even after such a bloody grapple he survived.
After spending three cruel months in juvie, I bought a nice bouquet of white roses and went straight to that teenage boy. Handing him the bouquet I said, “Congratulations! You are a f*cking survivor.”
I don’t know which part of what I said was funny but that was the beginning of seeing Ryder laughing like a maniac. I even saw a tear roll down his eye.I asked the doctor if I had hit him too hard and he had lost his mind because it appeared pretty much f***ed up to me. But he patted quite cheerfully on my back and said that apart from the three broken ribs and eleven stitches on his forehead, he was perfectly fine. He further told me that the boy had laughed for the first time in the last three months.
I started going to school then and everyone stayed away from me as if I were a plague and I was fairly content with it. Then came Ryder and he started hanging with me.
He stuck with me willingly and I couldn’t even hit him again to scare him away. Clearly, I had already decimated his neurons. He had completely lost his sense of judgment to be even sitting during lunch with me.
I was silent all the time, not because I was ashamed of hitting him, but only because I had nothing to say. Ryder talked about his everyday life which was pretty boring and I didn’t pay much attention. Two awkward weeks later he told me that his parents didn’t approve of our friendship.
I didn’t waste my time telling him that there has never been a friendship between us. Instead, I just breathed with relief. Turned out, the ease was for a minute only.
“Don’t worry,” he told me. “You excite my boring life and I won’t give up on us.”
And that was the first time I truly regretted beating him for he lost his entire sanity.
“I am not gay,” I told him.
Ryder let out a throaty laugh which sounded like a horse dying and the students looked at us only to make sure if I wasn’t choking him once again. Making someone laugh is the last thing they expect from someone like me anyway.
“Don’t worry, Nio,” he told me again but with a polite laugh this time. “I’m not gay either. You must have forgotten but I’ve mentioned my girlfriend to you. She lives a few kilometers away. Man, I must say, long-distance is damn cruel.”
I wanted to tell him that he’s cruel to himself to think that I listen to whatever comes out of his mouth but I just questioned why. Ryder probably understood the real meaning behind that one word.
“Better to cry with one real fella than to laugh with a dozen fake ones.”
Principal Chuck has been behaving like those dozen people by telling me that he cares for me and my future. His centrally bald and grey head tells me that he is old enough to know that no one really gives a shit for anyone in this world.
Nemo dat stercore. No one gives a shit.
His enthralling speech gave me only one benefit; I didn’t have to attend the last period of literature. Then followed the three torturous hours of detention but I escaped after half an hour. I don’t think Coach Murphy noticed me missing while he was busy training his prestigious soccer team.
Some students feel like they’re getting freedom once it is off from school. Others feel like entering a cage after leaving from here.
For me, it is neither. I just survive one trap and walk into another.
“Tell me that you missed me, you angry young man!" Logan, my hangouts partner, asks me as he gets off his bike. He takes off his helmet and runs a hand through his jet-black hair. His almond brown skin has acne scars on both of his cheeks. It looks awful to me and God knows how he still manages to grab girls. “No,” I reply earnestly and the door of my Sierra shuts behind me with a bang. Logan narrows his eyes walking towards me. Don’t get me wrong, I gave only a little push to the door. Its wrecked state made it sound like a bang. However, neither is Logan someone important for my justification nor am I someone to care what others think of me. Therefore, I just shrug and head inside the majestic gym where I work for money.
"Sixty degrees from your right!" The chirpy voice of Logan booms through the microphone in my ear and I grit my teeth. He gets this excited every Thursday night when it's time to play the midnight game and honestly, it is exasperating. But then who wouldn't be excited when you are buying weeds. I go over the faces of the people on my right that is being illuminated by the blue and green lights of the club. It is difficult to recognize someone and the club's atmosphere is completely different on a Thursday night too. People are actually talking in light whispers instead of loud discussions and arguments. Slow electronic music is playing in the background instead of blaring rap songs. There isn't any hot and sexy and almost naked woman dancing in the middle, but, w
Celete's POV: "Happy birthday, girlfriend!" Kevin takes my hand in his own and kisses it on its back. After two years of dating him, I still blush at the things he makes me feel. I put my bag in the back and he still hasn't taken his eyes off me. "W-what?" I ask nervously sliding a stray strand of my raven hair behind my ear. "Did you lock the backdoor in your kitchen?" An adorable smile never leaves his face. I bite my lip and think back if I have locked it or not. Not trusting myself much, I get off the car and sprint to the front door. Once I get inside and walk to the kitchen, the backdoor is indeed open. I smack my head. I am so clumsy; it's nerve-wracking. I'm grateful to have a boyfriend like Kevin. But how does he even tolerate
"I'm tired of reminding you to work on your grades, Nio." I look at Mr. B.M Harrison's wide and dark face and he surely looks tired. He lets out an exasperated sigh and his small brown ears, which sticks out rather oddly, drop with hopelessness for me. I wonder why he even cares for my grades so much in the first place. But then being a teacher, he got to care about his students. "I've come upon a decision," his tone turns grave suddenly with a rekindled spark of hope this time. "There's a student, Celeste James, she's a bright student with well-maintained grades but recently she has shown a significant decline in algebra. And Mr. Harper tells me you've quite a skill in that subject." The way his almond eyes are shining, looking at me all the while, oozing positivity, I instantly feel queasy as if my insides were
Plinio's POV: "What are you doing here?" I grouchily ask a very breathless Angel who looks as if she had been running a marathon. She chooses to ignore my question and takes a few deep breaths to stabilize herself. I just sit there glued to my chair, hands folded on my chest, and look at her. I have been sitting in the library for the last ten minutes waiting for Celeste as told by Mr. Harrison but this Angel shows up and I have a hunch that I'm exactly who she has been looking for. Her cheeks are tinted pink after her energetic walk to reach the library and a few stray strands of her black hair hang loosely near her ear, forbidden to touch her silky skin. The yellow fuzzy sweater and the blue jeans look good on her. However, now that I know her association w
Plinio's POV:"I am so sorry, honey. This won't happen again. I swear."These were the exact words my Dad, Carlos Murray, beseeched to Mom with his hands folded. His fingertips had turned almost white.Mom was sitting on the couch, rubbing ice over her swollen cheek and wiping away her tears like bird shit on the windscreen. Dad was kneeling in front of her on the floor, apologizing repeatedly. With each assurance he gave, my heart became confident that this miserable incident won't occur again. Because that ten-year-old Plinio believed that you don't hurt whom you love.I saw the scene unfold in front of my eyes as my mother forgave him. I was sitting on the cold wooden floor inside my room, peeking from the slightly ajar door. The cold sensation on my bare legs i
Plinio's POV: "She's not a banana, you baboon! Stop ogling." I am sitting in Ms. Anne's literature class, minding my own business today that is to observe something unusual in Celeste when a crumpled paper is thrown at me. Nobody in my tiny social circle at school would even dare to throw something at me, saying these words is far from it. Logan would have laid back on the chair, folding his hands behind his head, and joined me like a bastard he is. That leaves only one insane boy I know of; Ryder. He has even drawn the said creature beating its chest. Owing to his poor drawing skills, it strikes me as Ryder himself. He is sitting on my left. I fix him a hard glare and throw the paper on his lap. He shakes his head with a l
Celeste's POV "You are late," And not just late. Plinio is fifteen minutes late. He may be the one to not care about it but I do. I cared for Kevin when he told me to be careful around Plinio because we don't know what may be going on in his execrable mind. I care for my time that is undoubtedly money. I could have listened to more of Kevin's stories about the visit of his Aunt for Christmas. Judging by the things he has told, he's enjoying the company of her and her eight-year-old twins. Well, except the cat they brought along. Kevin is not fond of cats. He's almost allergic to them, without the appearance of symptoms of course. He hates how they are always in the mood o