Outside

Derick First Person Point Of View

It was extremely dark walking out of the convenience store, with those muted neon lights humming on and off above our heads.

The roads were relatively clear, with the occasional speeding car hurtling by, headlights piercing the shadows.

I threw a few dollars into the cup of this homeless guy on the sidewalk, and his grizzled hand darted out to catch it.

"Hey, Derick, are you like Jesus or something?" Marcus asked, his words ringing out over the cold street.

Other people were laughing, like it was a joke or whatever. I just shook my head and rolled my eyes. No way I was getting into that.

Then, they completely switched subjects, and I knew what was coming. They banded around the older man, and Marcus went first, spilling his can.

There were coins scattered everywhere on the sidewalk, and Tray was tugging on his jacket like he was messing around.

"Leave him alone, man," I spoke softly, but they were too preoccupied with laughing to hear me.

I just stood there looking around to see if anyone was paying attention to us. But no, there wasn't anyone. It was late enough that the few passersby didn't even glance toward us.

Then Marcus arrived and put his arm around my shoulders.

"Yo, you joining us tonight?" He grinned, fished a condom out of his pocket, and waved it in my face. "We're going to hit that party, bro."

I laughed and waved him off. "Nah, not tonight."

Marcus pretended to feel hurt, throwing his hands into the air.

"Come on, man, you're a real drag. You don't know what you're missing."

I ignored him completely and rushed to my bike. The others followed too, and a couple of them jumped into a vehicle whereas Tray and I started our motorcycles.

We drove through the cold city streets, our engines ringing out into the evening.

The city lights vanished as we pulled into a upscale neighborhood—enormous homes, immaculate lawns, and it was really quiet this time of night.

So we drove up to this place—it's like a two-story house with these glassy-looking windows and these sharp lines. It was his place. That guy who thought he could actually go against me and win.

Marcus leaned into the vehicle and retrieved a sack, scattering the ski masks and paint cans around.

I was just relaxing against the vehicle, looking over at the house in front of us. It was really quiet, too quiet.

I could just sense Marcus getting restless beside me, fidgeting in his usual way when he feels like things are taking too long.

"So, what's happening?" Marcus asked at last, discarding his cigarette on the ground and stepping on it.

"Are we breaking in or something?"

Then Tray, the type of wound-up guy, began walking around restlessly. "No way, dude. That's stupid. Let's just sit here and wait. I don't want to get into trouble over nothing."

"Are you afraid?" Marcus retorted with a grin, like he'd struck a painful nerve.

Tray glanced over, his eyes sparkling. "I'm not afraid. I just don't want to be doing stupid things for no reason."

I sighed and I could seriously feel a headache brewing. "Would you just relax already?" My words rang out over the top of their bickering, and then Marcus turned to me.

"You've got something to say, Derick?" Marcus jumped in a bit, sizing me up like he could go at me.

You're doing it like you didn't just agree to that.

"I told you I'd be here," I returned, looking him straight in the eye.

"I never told you that I wanted to get entangled in crazy things. There is a difference."

Marcus chuckled, raking his hand through his hair. "Come on, that's embarrassing, man. Scared or what? Scared to ruin your image or something?"

My jaw clenched. He knew exactly how to press my buttons, but I wasn't going to give him the reaction that he wanted.

I stepped closer to him so that he couldn't easily brush me aside.

Come on, Marcus, don't tell me I'm weak. That's not true.

So Tray intervened to diffuse the tension between us.

"Come on, relax. We don't have to do this. There's no real need to break into someplace to make a point."

I could just sense Marcus seething in the back, getting hotter and hotter. He wasn't even listening to me. "Okay, fine," he growled. "But if we're going to do it, we'd better not mess it up."

I inspected the house once again, and the cold quiet of evening was closing in. Something just didn't feel right.

"We're not gonna do anything stupid," I told her, playing it cool but serious. "You know what I mean?"

Marcus sort of muttered to himself but he didn't actually verbalize anything.

We just spent time there, and it was so tense with the decision that no one wanted to make.

"Currently, we're just hanging out," Tray replied, cigarette dangling from his lips, looking at the house.

"Are you certain that's where we are?" I asked, leaning against my bike.

Tray nodded and blew some smoke out into the night. “Yeah, dude. His parents always leave around now.”

And then that black car came out of the garage, illuminating the drive with headlights. We just hung out there and watched it drive down the street, leaving the house dark and quiet once more.

Marcus smiled and gave me another can.

Let’s make this place something special.

The spray might emit this incredibly loud hiss in the darkness, sharp and clear in the stillness.

Marcus slammed into the wall first, pulled his can back, and grinned like he'd just won the jackpot or something.

He simply scribbled "PAUL THE PUNK" across the bricks in large, sloppy letters, not caring whether or not anyone happened to see it.

I leaned back in my bike, simply observing everything that was happening. I wasn't new to dealing with craziness like this, but I wasn't there to intervene tonight, just to make sure things didn't get too out of hand.

Marcus and Tray were just laughing hysterically, like kids, because it was the most hilarious thing they'd ever seen.

"Look at that! That's so middle school!" Tray exclaimed, playfully slapping Marcus on the back.

Marcus grinned, presenting the can as if he was really proud of all the mess he had created.

"Dude, seriously. This is art. Paul is going to flip out."

I shook my head and smirked.

This was not really my thing—more of what they consider fun. Marcus completely lost it, drawing this comical Paul with a gigantic head and these thin stick arms.

All of them were laughing hysterically like they couldn't possibly stop.

“Yo, what's up with that neck?” Tray yelled, trying hard not to laugh.

Paul now definitely resembles a giraffe.

Every time I hear "giraffe," I immediately see Cyrus and those freckles on his face

What the heck am I doing?

So, Marcus went whole hog and pasted over his pic with that speech bubble. "Hey, look at me, I'm Paul. I snitch like a boss," he's speaking in that ridiculously goofy, high-pitched tone.

I couldn't help but laugh a bit. It was absolutely silly, certainly, but you can get that sort of silly that's just funny when you're extremely bored, you know?

Tray picked up another can and jumped into the act, drawing a wailing face beside Paul's stick man. The title of the article above read, "Crybaby."

Man, Rick, who's normally pretty relaxed, just went and spray-painted a giant middle finger in the middle of everything.

The guys just burst into laughter again, bumping into one another like they couldn't deal with how funny this was.

I shook my head once again. Just another evening, another round of madness to make things interesting. "Do you think Paul's gonna catch that?" Tray said, throwing his can away like it was trash. He's definitely going to notice," Marcus averred, his eyes shining.

"And when he does, he's going to freak."