Sunny September, part three. Hitch a ride. Christopher.

  I quickly peddle across the road prompting several enraged honks and onto the sidewalk before cutting through an alley. Immediately I cover my nose with one hand while steering with the other. This is a shortcut I discovered a few days ago, it’s not the most scenic way to get to Middlecrest high but it’s definitely the fastest. Plus it shows a side of Los Angeles that’s not so glamorous.

  I see needles scattered across the grimy tiles as I speed over them. I pass a homeless guy pissing against the wall, a haggard woman high on something that slouches beside a Gang of Four laughing bloods, and what I’m pretty sure is a dead body lying wrapped up in dirty blankets and cardboard next to a dumpster.

  My father, a Jamaican cartel once said that god never makes mistakes. That a person’s place in life is the fault of no one but themselves. He said that it was up to all of us to make use of every opportunity we are given. He said that the wills of the strong will always oppress the wills of the feeble because the universe had made it so. You see his god is different than the god most know. He doesn’t care about good or evil, only that a person uses their free will to chase their dreams, and my father sure as hell chased his. He chased them over hills made from swollen bellies and through plains of severed arms reaching for the sky, through white cocaine deserts and jungles of laced cannabis. The son might not be responsible for the sins of the father, but the blood dripping from the father’s hands still pools in the food he eats and dilutes the water he drinks. From a young age I knew I was the product of something wrong and twisted. I was formed from a union of two earthly devils, and as days go by I slowly feel myself becoming one.

  I breeze past a bunch of other nasty shit before finally exiting back out into the sunny sidewalk where I swivel past several pedestrians. I take pride in my agility on the bicycle, I don’t think I’ve ever (unintentionally) hit anyone with it in my life. I remember the times I spent at the skatepark after karate class. Me and Okimoto would dare each other to do increasingly stupid stunts. It started in the sixth grade when we’d dare each other to ride without using our hands to steer. By the time I was in the eighth grade I could do a handstand at high speed and a nine o clock with my eyes closed. Those were our few innocent memories.

  I pop a wheelie as I pass by a few cops arresting a guy. Seeing one of the officers glare at me I quickly switch back onto the road to avoid problems.

  It isn’t long before I’m close to century city where Middlecrest High lies nuzzled amidst the office buildings.

  I make a right turn up the hill passing by towers, black glass and grey concrete as I ascend before turning left under a low skybridge linking two more modernist offices.

  Out of absolutely fucking nowhere a girl jaywalks infront of me. She jolts with surprise when she hears my bell ring, her black hair spinning as her silver eyes lock with mine, (they look like diamonds).

  One of those terrible moments happens. I’m sure we’ve all had those moments when you and another person awkwardly try to pass each other on the street, alternating on which way to go. Apparently that can happen to a speeding cyclist too.

  I swerve to the right while she simultaneously dashes to my right. You can guess what happens next.

  My bike is swept away from under me as my world starts to spin. I go sliding over the trunk of a parked car before hitting the concrete ass first. Fortunately my ass is the only thing that hurts as I sit on the sidewalk like a homeless bum begging for change. The girl must be in a much worse position as she impacted with the speeding bike directly. She’s probably badly hurt. My hat has also flown off somewhere, I wonder if I should look for it first or see if the girl’s okay.

  “are you okay?” A sickeningly sweet voice asks, “if the pain isn’t too intense I can help you to your feet.”

  I look up and see her holding out my hat for me in one hand while carrying my bike with the other, a mess of black hair sways before the soft curves of her round almost feline face. She brushes her hair back before extending her hand again. Looking at her is sipping a cup of hot chocolate with too much sugar and milk, it’s biting into a slice of cake with way too much cream and icing. She’s pretty, too pretty, but more importantly completely unharmed?

  After leaving my bike to stand she places the hat back on my head and helps me up. I brush myself off before taking a better look at her. She’s far from a hulking unit I imagine able to tank a speeding cyclist but not a frail little feather either. She looks at least five nine and is shapely with a strong hourglass figure, a swan of a girl and most likely a senior.

  She gives me a thumbs up as her face lights up with a dimpled smile.

  Noticing her pale skin and how the corners of her massive eyes curve towards her nose, I wonder about her ethnicity. She looks Asian-ish, maybe Japanese? Her nose is small, pointed and with some red freckles, her lips are plump, her cheeks red and defined giving her appearance of a young model. Long lashes extend towards her temples, it reminds me of a celebrity crush of mine (Nicki Minaj). There’s a rosette shaped birthmark on her right cheek, Okimoto has that too so I wonder… could they be related? Okimoto’s a foster kid. We know that he had a Japanese dad and Swedish mom because of a DNA test he got on a whim. Being mixed fits this girl’s features pretty well, she even looks like she could be his twin now that I really think about it. But Okimoto has no living family as far as I know, so what’s this girl’s deal exactly.

  I see that she’s wearing a dark blue Jersey jacket over a yellow crop top, black high waisted jean shorts that go up past her bellybutton and blue Jordan’s. Her clothes are typical of the girls going to my school so I naturally assume that she’s one of them. Judging by her looks she’s probably in the modelling club. Shakira also goes there so these two likely know each other. She even wears the same cherry red lipstick Shakira wears sometimes.

  This is really bad, if those two are friends then there’s a high chance she knows about the sign.

  “Looks like everything’s okay.” She says, standing on her tippy toes but still failing to meet me at eye level. “I’m sorry for not looking both ways before crossing.”

  “It’s cool,” I say.

  “Here ya go darling!” She says in an overly girly voice, as she Chauffeurs my bike back to me.

  “What’s your name?” She asks, swaying from side to side with her hands behind her back.

  “Christopher.” I answer, already knowing that she’s going to ask to hitch a ride on the back of my bike.

  Daniel’s already proving to be a pain in the ass and I’m not creating anymore problems for myself by befriending random people. There’s also my mother and her fame. No one aside from Shakira and Okimoto knows that I’m her son and I intend to keep it that way. This girl is popular, I know it because of her looks, by riding into the school parking lot with her on the back of my bike I’d just be attracting unwanted eyes.

  “I’m Chica,” she says. “I hope it’s not too much of a bother, I’d like to ask-“

  “If you can hitch a ride?”

  “Look at that, you took the words right out of my mouth.”

  She has a really nice smell to her, it’s like Chocolate Milk with cream, maybe cocoa butter? Is it her shampoo or perfume I wonder…

  “Sure but before that there’s dry booger on this side of your nose,” I lie pointing to my left nostril.

  Her expression freezes.

  I continue, “you better do something about it before you get anywhere near me.”

  “Shit, why didn’t you tell me right away!” She yelps quickly retrieving a packet of tissues before sorting herself out. “Now I look like a complete idiot.”

  Seeing that she’s distracted I hop on and start to peddle.

  “Hey!” I hear her yell before I feel her grasp my backpack.

  I sneer for the third time today when I feel that the bicycle chain has gone lose. I barely manage to go a few feet.

  “Oh Christopher Christopher Christopher…” She teases, “you are a very very funny boy. Be more of a gentleman it would fit much better with your good looks.”

  Ignoring her, I get off the bike and squat down to check the chain.

  She suddenly swings her hips knocking me to the ground before squatting in my place and saying, “I’ll take care of this.”

  I quickly shoot to my feet before brushing myself off. I don’t know if this girl thinks she’s being funny or deliberately trying to annoy me. Either way I don’t show irritation as I watch her fiddle with the chain expectantly. I’ll go along with her little game and ride her to school. If I put up a fuss then it will just drag things out and I need to get to school hassle free so I can set Daniel straight.

  “All done!” She cheers after putting the chain back in place and standing up.

  I get on the bike and she invites herself to sit on the back.

  Wasting no time I peddle off and she immediately starts making small talk.

  “Today’s actually my first day,” she says. “You must think I’m a senior because I’m so beautiful but I’m actually just a freshman.”

  Hearing that makes me feel relieved. If it’s her first day then she doesn’t know Shakira. Girls love to gossip, they share every little detail about their personal lives with their close friends, especially things that involve boys with antisocial tendencies. Shakira is popular, she’s one of those girls that’s overly friendly to everyone. I need to make sure that she says nothing about what we did, and that’s going to be much more of a challenge than Daniel.

  “What’s it like?” She asks.

  “Middlecrest?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t know. So far it’s a school like any other, some teachers are on dick constantly and others know when to chill the fuck out. As for the kids I can’t tell you much. I don’t mess with people outside of my friend group like that, it usually comes back to bite me in the ass. For the most part I keep to myself.”

  “Are the boys cute?”

  I squint back at her. She smiles like a kid waiting for a reaction after pranking someone.

  My eyes drift back to the road where they stay. I make a left turn heading past century city mall.

  “Aren’t you going to answer my question?”

  “No it’s stupid. You can judge for yourself when we get there. I’m not gonna be out here rating dudes from one to ten for you.”

  “What about the girls?” She asks, “got your eyes on anyone?”

  I shrug and reply, “don’t know, there are pretty girls and ugly girls just like everywhere else in the world. Please don’t start asking strange questions like this over and over again.”

  “Are the teachers hot?”

  “The Fuck!”

  I squint back at her as she grins from ear to ear.

  Seeing that I’m not the least bit interested in her little QnA she sighs and says, “I’m sorry if I’m annoying you. I come from a secluded community so I don’t know how to start conversations with people. I was hoping that we could be friends even though you tried to ditch me.”

  “It’s fine…” I say, my mood softening up a bit. “It’s not like I tried to make a good impression either. And trust me, you don’t want to be my friend I’m not a good person.”

  There is a pause as I make a right turn to cut through another alley.

  As I see the approach to Middlecrest emerge through the narrow gap in the two buildings she breaks the silence.

  “What makes you say that?” She asks, her voice bursting with curiosity.

  “You like to pry don’t you.”

  “Well duh that’s how you get to know someone.” She answers, with a sudden cattiness.

  We exit out of the alley and back into the morning sun. Middlecrest reveals itself in all its glossy glory, a towering assault on my eyes. Like the century city mall it looks like it came straight out of a cyberpunk movie. A curved glass facade cloaked the main five story building with multi story bridges linking it to the five other surrounding campus buildings. I’ll spare you any jarring descriptions, The school basically looks like a fidget spinner crossed with a ufo, a bronze spear wielding Native American warrior at the top looking to prick Jesus in the ass when he descends from heaven.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  “Wow.” She gasps. “It’s the size of a football stadium. I’m actually feeling a bit nervous, there’s so many kids…”

  “Yeah too many kids…”

  If word of the previous night spreads because of Daniels carelessness then it wouldn’t be long before the authorities are made aware of what we did.

  “You didn’t answer my question again.” She says. “I asked why you’d say something like that about yourself.”

  “I ain’t gotta tell you my business,” I reply as I navigate my way past the parked school busses.

  She giggles before continuing to say, “then why say something like that? Now you’ve got me even more curious about you. Don’t you know? Girls love a mysterious guy.”

  Looking back on it, it really was mind numbingly stupid of me to say that. Who do I think I am? Black James Bond? A hushed chuckle escapes me.

  “Hmmm… Let me guess,” she mumbles, “you also said that you keep to your friend group because getting involved with other people often comes back to bite you in the ass.”

  I feel her lean over my shoulder to whisper in my ear.

  “You did something really bad didn’t you…”

  I know she’s just trying to get a reaction out of me. But why do I feel so exposed all of a sudden? I need to get my paranoia under control.

  I peddle through the parking lot passing by a horde of chattering youth.

  When I stopped by the bicycle rack she springs off and smiles at me mischievously. I get off and retrieve my bicycle lock from my bag before locking it on the rack.

  “Thanks for the lift.” She says.

  My eyes are drawn to her birthmark. In my mind I vacillate on whether or not to ask about it, ultimately I decide to allow her the decency she denied me and don’t pry into her business. There’s something more important to worry about anyway.

  My eyes scan the parking lot for Chinara’s ford focus and fail to spot it. As expected I arrived before her and Daniel which means I just have to wait outside his Homeroom to confront him.

  The girl looks around, her figure having already caught the attention of two boys that I know. They stare like a pair of wolves as they lean against a worn down ford mustang unfazed in the hot September sun.

  The high pitch buzzing of a blood sucking bastard sounds in my left ear, and I smack it the second I feel its tiny disgusting legs land on my cheek.

  “Don’t slap yourself!” The girl giggles before erupting into laughter, as if she’s watching a stand up comedian.

  Frowning, I roll the mosquito’s corpse into a tiny ball of filth with my fingers, then flick it into her mouth before heading over to the Mustang while she gags.

  The car’s owner Dashawn or ThreePAC as we call him towers over everyone at six foot six. He was a certain kind of black. The shining star of the basketball team and the kind of dude whose charisma draws you in and makes you think you’re his homie despite not knowing him. He was popular, loved by girls despite his average looks and respected by the teachers despite a pension for mischief. Whenever a big drama happened or a beef broke out he was always that one guy that everyone stayed cool with.

  He can’t rap to save his life despite being sort of nicknamed after Tupac, instead it’s his charisma and effortless charm that earns him his nickname. I’m honestly a bit jealous. He has a certain kind of popularity, the real kind. People like him for him, girls too. I’m the opposite, girls like me for my good looks and that’s it. It’s not their fault, all I really am is a pretty face anyway. What I wish I had was substance, or maybe it’s more accurate to say I wish I was real. Like how Dashawn’s real, the realest dude in Middlecrest.

  He smiles at me, my eyes practically blinded by his pearly white teeth. He wears the same red jersey jacket the football team wears over a black all Nike fit. His waves are crisp with a hairline so straight you could measure the curvature of the earth with it. Deep smile lines cut through his face, I see the scar across his right cheek he got from Okimoto (no grudges are held).

  I walk up to him and we dap each other up. I do the same with his brother who I completely forgot was even there.

  “Wagwan.” Daqwan says, trying his best to do a Jamaican accent and failing.

  If the definition of the term ‘background character’ had a picture next to it in the dictionary you’d see this guy. He has dreads just because they’re popular now and wears a grey tracksuit. He’s Drake black, the type of dude to fart on the toilet and flush it. A six foot two shadow of his brother, he’s the guy in the friend group everyone tolerates as long as he’s not too annoying.

  Still remembering how he begged for hugs from Shakira on Monday I shake my head before looking at Dashawn with a snarl and remarking, “again with this nigga…”

  “You should watch yourself Daqwan.” Dashawn warns, in a half joking way, “you’ve already lost enough rep as it is.”

  He looks off again before sighing and saying, “damn, that baddie you rolled in with disappeared.”

  “What?”

  Looking back I see that the girl is gone.

  “Damn I should’ve known you got them like that.” Daqwan says, laughing. “Pretty boy.”

  My face sours.

  “It ain’t like that?” Dashawn asks, stroking the fine hairs on his chin.

  I shake my head, “nah, don’t even remember her name. I just rode her in to school because it’s her first day. Y’know me being a Good Samaritan and all.”

  “Damn so she’s a freshman n shit?” Dashawn asks failing to hide his disappointment.

  “Yeah,” I reply, “yall seen Daniel? I don’t think he’s here yet but I’m asking just to make sure.”

  “Nah we ain’t seen that dude yet.” Daqwan answers.

  You look pissed.” Dashawn comments, “you got a problem with that nigga?”

  I nod without elaborating.

  We are people that respect each other’s privacy so they don’t question any further. Instead Dashawn changes the subject.

  “Not gonna lie you got tall over the summer, how tall are you now?” Dashawn asks, a nervous smile creeping across his face.

  “I got measured at Just over six foot three at the end of eighth grade,” I answer already knowing where this is going. “You still haven’t replaced that one Samoan kid that got in a car crash? I thought a whole bunch of kids would be dying to join the basketball team in his place.”

  “So you’re not gonna give it a chance?” Daqwan asks, frowning.

  I shake my head saying, “got karate class to worry about.”

  “I feel ya.”

  “What about that party though?” Daqwan asks as he retrieves a cigarette before lighting it. He smiles at me before waggling his eyebrows.

  I snicker, of course Daqwan is going. His horny ass just wants to get laid, (can’t blame him though since we dog him for being a virgin so much).

  “Again with this nigga…” I say, smirking at Dashawn before shaking my head.

  Daqwan grabs my shoulder, “you have to admit them sisters be fine.”

  “Whatever floats your boat dude,” I say rolling my eyes. “I hope it doesn’t get cold when they line you up against the wall naked.”

  “I’ve got that dick pageant on lock.” He replies with a wink.

  Dashawn stares at us in a daze before suddenly snapping out of it and saying, “oh shit, you two talking about them septuplets right? Daqwan you shouldn’t be messing around with that shit you’ll catch something nasty from them. Remember what happened to that one Jock Fredrick. You wanna end up like that guy with spider hairs growing out of your dick?”

  Daqwan kisses his teeth. “Don’t tell me what to do nigga.”

  “I ain’t telling you what to do, I'm telling you what not to do.” Dashawn clarifies with a grinning condescension only an older brother can have. “Do it properly, with a girl you actually like and not some weird ass hoes.”

  “Not you of all people saying that.” I chuckle, seeing his situationship creep up beside him.

  “Hey Dashawn!” Leah says flirtatiously as she hugs him from the side causing him to jump with terror.

  “Hey Christopher.” Shakira says in the same voice, having arrived alongside Leah.

  “Hey…” I say back in a much flatter tone, my mood darkened by the roach that’s with her.

  Markeiff looms behind her like a wet fart.

  Her smile is warmer than the sun, her arms sweeping up my lanky body as she pulls me into an embrace. I feel the softness of the adorable pink hoodie that coats her even softer body.

  I step back to take a look at her without the sock over her face and she’s the embodiment of innocence. Her lashes a long and curled, her lips thick like cherries. Her brown skin, a shade darker than mine glistens in the mornings sun. Braids with pink and purple strands weaved into them hang long loose and swing freely, draping over her pear shaped body like a cloak.

  Markeiff would have you believe that I like her, but that’s not the case or at least not in that way. She’s honestly more of an older sister to me. That’s how it’s been ever since we were kids. I’d stay over at her house on holidays and watch as her parents aunt Jackie and uncle Tim, two truly great people flirted and danced under the dusty lamps of their apartment. They didn’t have much compared to my parents, Tim’s a mechanic, Jackie a nurse.

  I remember helping her erect the Christmas tree in her living room and piecing together Halloween outfits from amongst the old and dusty clothes in her grandmother’s closet. I remember her grandfather yelling at us whenever we’d get them dirty. The taste of her mother’s cooking still lingers in my mouth.

  The thing I always admired about them was how they’d find happiness with so little. Shakira often knitted her own dolls and miniature teddy bears from left over yarn in her grandmother’s attic. Her parents couldn’t afford the game consoles, iPads or expensive toys the kids in my neighbourhood had. It wasn’t that their salaries weren’t enough, they instead saved up everything for her college tuition. I still remember the crude Labron doll she made for me. I was always a head taller than kids my age so everyone thought I’d be a basketball star when older. When Shakira gave it to me she made me promise to marry her when I got rich from being in the NBA. My dad threw the doll away and bought me a signed basketball to replace it (fuck that guy). It was Shakira’s family that taught me that it was the people you spend time with and not the things you get that make the holidays memorable. My parents mock them behind their backs. I wouldn’t dare do that.

  I really hope Shakira kept her mouth shut.

  Markeiff small talks with Dashawn a Daqwan, his eyes briefly glancing over at me and Shakira. He smiles as he speaks, pretending that the hug didn’t bother him. It’s funny how people wear a facade to hide the true feelings. It fools most but certain people (like me) can see through it. My parents taught a few things. One of them was not to pay attention to someone’s words but rather their body language and ticks. Markeiff in particular has this unfortunate characteristic about him. Whenever he’s mad there’s a vein that bulges just above his left brow. The smile now plastered across his face fails to hide it. He should’ve worn a sun hat like me to shade his face. I wear mine to hide my resemblance to a certain woman.

  I pull Shakira to the side and whisper to her, “did you tell anyone?”

  She looks into my eyes and shakes her head.

  “Why?” She asks.

  “Just making sure.” I reply watching as her face scrunches up as if hurt by my words.

  “You’ve known me for so long and think I’m that stupid?” She pouts and folds her arms. “I expect better from you.”

  “You’re right.” I say massaging the back of my neck as I look past her, scanning the area for Chinara’s car a second time. With a sigh I decide to mess with her a bit. “I should do better. Why should I ask you when it would be better to go through your phone and see for myself.”

  “Fuck that!” She yelps, taking a step back before striking an exaggerated kungfu pose.

  I lunge forward running my fingers up the left side of her waist to tickle her.

  She curls to the side laughing as I reach for the right pocket of her sweater grabbing ahold of the phone inside. We spin around as she wrestles me for it.

  The eyes of Markeiff and the others are drawn to us as I hold the phone up in the air, Shakira leaping at my left arm like a rabbit with rabies.

  “I will actually beat your ass.” She says, her words occasionally broken up by giggles.

  “Beat his ass!” Daqwan yells while laughing like he’s on an edible.

  “Let’s see… the code is one, eight, nine-“ I say, as I keep on shifting away from her lunges.

  One of her flying braids strikes me in the eye, causing me to stagger. I feel her hand slip into the right side of my jacket and I quickly lock my arm around hers to stop her from pulling my phone out.

  “Nah, you’re too slow.” I tease.

  “Markeiff!” She cries.

  I look the guy straight in the eye. He does nothing. Seems like he learned a lesson from yesterday. No I’m not a bully. He started it. Got all up in my face when I was play-fighting with Shakira during lunch yesterday. Said that I was being too rough with her or some shit like that before calling me a bunch of names. The real reason he was upset was because I had slapped her butt during the battle. He said I shouldn’t touch her that way even though he knows nothing about the boundaries in my friendship with her. Whenever she would do the same to me he never cared and simply mumbled nonsense under his breath. Even now she squeezes my ass like she’s clinging to a million dollars as she tries to wrestle me to the ground. She’s a very handsy person.

  “Christopher don’t bully my daughter like that.” Dashawn, a real man who actually demands my respect says, stepping forward with an amused smile.

  “He’s bullying me Dashawn stop him!” Shakira yells, before pouting.

  I jump as someone tickles me from behind almost sending me into a full on panic attack. looking back I see Leah who’s somehow gotten behind me. This is the last person I want doing that. The lightskin giggles as I struggle to fight her off, lose brown curls swirling before her snaggletoothed smile, the only flaw on her angelic face.

  Now free from my grasp, Shakira throws my phone to Dashawn who immediately tries to press it on with a grin. He fails. I forgot that I forgot to charge the battery last night and the phone is dead.

  We all share a laugh together before I take my phone back from Dashawn and give Shakira her’s.

  I take a step towards Markeiff, motioning for us to speak privately.

  When we’re a dozen feet away from the rest I ask him, “did you tell anyone?”

  “No.” He says flatly, shifting around clearly uncomfortable with talking to me alone.

  The vein on his head pulses and I already know he’s about to say something stupid. His mouth opens and my ears catch the ghost of a word. It’s probably going to be what he usually says. That I should back off from Shakira and not tease her so much. How I shouldn’t just let her hug up on me because it gives off a bad impression (whatever that means).

  The pause continues, his brown eyes hiding from my gaze in the corner of their sockets. He breaks the pause with a mumble before shaking his head and saying. “Forget it.”

  I turn to head back to the rest and stop when he suddenly speaks up.

  “Do you… do you know why Shakira broke up with me?” He asks, his tone hushed so the rest don’t overhear.

  I turn to face him again not sure on what to say. It was pretty obvious from my perspective. He’s controlling and insecure. I remember the fights they use to have, I often watched from the side swearing that nothing on earth could ever make me raise my voice with such passion. He always wanted to be at her side, always wanted to walk her to and from school, be at her house and all up in her business. He searched her phone more times than I could count, demanded she cut off all her male friends especially me and wanted her to share her pass code with him. She even had to lie saying that I’m her brother to justify my frequent presence in her house to him. He wanted her to be his lapdog when women are cats, something you can never control. You don’t pester a cat for affection, you don’t demand its attention. The more you chase it the faster it runs. If you lock it in your house it always finds a way out. If you understand a cat, you let it roam free and it will come to you in its own time, it will love you at its own pace and be yours on its own terms. A dog will stay there thirsty for its owner’s love and care. But when it comes to a cat it has no owner only an admirer that feeds it and takes it to the vet.

  “Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

  “I did and I get a different answer every time.”

  I stroke my chin. “Why don’t you just move on? There’s always other cats to pet.”

  “You know what forget it.” He sighs before walking past me back to the rest.

  I see Chinara’s ford focus finally appear. It emerges from behind the parked school busses.

  It’s time for a very difficult conversation.

  I also see someone else appear. He rides on a motorcycle, overtaking Chinara before speeding towards us.

  He stops, removing his helmet to unleash a head flaming with blonde hair.

  Most kids paid him no mind. The bad kids all went silent.

  I walk up to Okimoto and dap him up.

  His eyes cleave across the area, greeting each hostile gaze amongst the crowd one after another.

  “How’s it going?” He asks me, squinting at a few kids with blue bandanas.

  The boys hurl profanities and hush when they see him lift his leather jacket revealing the handle of a blick poking out of his waistband.

  “Bad…” I reply. “Daniel is making things more difficult than they should be. He told his sister and Katrina.”

  “Fuck me…” Okimoto sneers before face palming. “What a fucking moron! Wait… no, it’s my fault I shouldn’t have let that idiot tag along. You know what you have to do right?”

  “I’ll have a word with him.”

  “A word?”

  He looks at me like I’m insane, one of his eyebrows hanging in the stratosphere. “Come on Christopher you know that’s not how it works,” he laughs, “words don’t mean shit in life, it’s actions that really matter. Don’t tell him the consequences-“

  “-Show him the consequences.” I finish.