Sunny September, part six. basketball.

  Mr. Wayne is the strictest of the teachers I’ve met so far. His head is bald and his skin pale, he’s a freshly boiled egg dressed like a frumpy old uncle.

  I sit at the back again, this time at a single desk.

  With the class coming to an end soon, I lean back leisurely while waiting for my work to be graded.

  The rest of the class is silent, most of the kids still labouring over the last few problems on their papers, Dwayne and Lucy included.

  Chica much like me had already completed her’s and sat idle playing with her pencil at the desk infront of me.

  I shift my chair back and lean forward. I fold my right arm over the edge of the desk while leaning my forehead against it. In the shade of my body I secretly scroll through Dashawn’s group chat.

  Dashawn: Geez why didn’t anyone tell me it’s that Wranglar nigga?

  Paige: Bro I already told wym?

  Ahm0d8: I think they finally fucked off, it looks like they’ve been to all the classes so hopefully it’s over.

  ChristmasMarket: Anyone seen @Travrrstone?

  Shit why did I ask that? Trevor’s probably their number one target and now I’ve texted about him.

  The pain of making a stupid decision and immediately regretting it is soul crushing.

  “Christopher Marcus.” A raspy voice hisses.

  I instantly tuck my phone away and look up to see Mr. Wayne looming over my desk.

  “Your lucky class is almost over.” He says. “Had I caught you earlier then you can kiss your phone goodbye.”

  “My bad.” I say, making sure to refrain from sounding too apologetic. I’m sure Okimoto would sneer at me for not telling him to fuck off instead.

  It should be pretty obvious by now that I’m not a model student, I never have been. Despite my true nature I was never a particularly bad student either. My grades were decent throughout middle school, nothing too special but good enough to get me into Middlecrest High. I was never a studious boy, but my natural tendency to be paranoid proved to be quite useful as it frequently forced me to stay awake to study on late nights before exams. My parents never pushed me to do good in school, it was weirdly Shakira’s mom and dad that would scold me for bad grades instead. They don’t know the truth about my parents, only the lie that they use as a mask. But there’s always that strange tendency for good people to sense that’s something’s wrong. That’s probably why they pushed me the way they did.

  “That’s a B plus.” Mr. Wayne sighs before standing upright from his position hunched over my desk. “Pretty decent but i think you can do better.”

  Those words sum up my academic history perfectly. I don’t struggle or excel in any subjects. I’m average when comes to everything with the sole exception of sports and karate due to my height and naturally athletic build.

  Mr. Wayne moves on to Chica who looks at him with her signature dimpled smile.

  “A plus!” He says with mild surprise, “you’ll definitely be moved up to the highest freshman class, hell you’ll probably be moved up a grade since you’ve answered every question perfectly. You didn’t use a calculator right? I’m assuming your phone was switched off too?”

  She pouts. “What’s with the interrogation? Don’t be so unprofessional Mr. Wayne!”

  I look over at Dwayne who leans back after finishing his paper.

  The stress of knowing the police is on to us looms over my head like an anvil tied to a rope. As the days go on it will only get worse. I hate feeling like this. I need some weed.

  Art class is the third class of the day. Our art teacher Ms. Jackson has a serious punctuality problem. She should’ve been here fifteen minutes ago, but I guess it’s not too bad since I have more time to argue with Okimoto over text.

  ODC: Your making it up! Do u have a pic of the dude?

  ChristmasMarket: Nah but believe me it’s real. They were even growing from bro’s eyes.

  ODC: Cap. If he has that wrong with him then why are the septuplets completely fine? It might not even be because of them.

  ChristmasMarket: Oh! So you do think it’s real.

  ODC: Ngl imma still smash regardless.

  It takes all my strength to stop me from turning to face the wall I lean against and bashing my head against it. This horny bastard is going to mess himself up and for what?

  “What do you want your name to be in my contacts?” Chica who’s standing beside me asks.

  Dwayne, Lucy and the other half a dozen students in my class either procrastinate on their phones or chat amongst themselves as they wait for our teacher to show up.

  I shrug. “Do whatever you want.”

  “I’ll save you as Mr. baggy eyes.”

  “Look at you…” Dwayne says coming up to me before sharing a smile with Chica. “Mind if I borrow him for a bit?”

  “You have my permission.” Chica giggles.

  He throws his arm over my shoulder before chauffeuring me down the almost empty pastel corridor. The ginger kid play fights with his two friends as we pass them by.

  “Your karate school, what’s it called?” Dwayne asks once we’re at a distance from the rest.

  “Umm… shit I don’t remember… I just go in every time without looking up at the name.”

  It’s honestly a little embarrassing since I’m one of the best students there.

  “I have the school’s number if you want it.”

  “Yeah that would be nice.”

  Once he has the number saved I ask him. “What makes you want to try your hand at Karate?”

  “Nothing in particular… I just remember the way you use to fight in middle school. You and Okimoto, un-fucking-stoppable! I can fight pretty decently too but it’s nothing compared to you guys.”

  I shake my head while smiling to myself.

  “Speaking of Okimoto what happened to him? I thought the two of you would always stay going to the same school.”

  “His grades weren’t as good as mine,” I explain. “Ended up having to go to Crossgate High instead of here.”

  “Yikes,” He winces. “I guess it suits a crashout like him.”

  I nod. “I imagine it’s what he wants. He lives for the drama and that place is filled with bad kids to make enemies out of. Gangs too and drugs…”

  “You still talk to him right?”

  “Of course I was just arguing with him over text.”

  Dwayne’s eyes drift around as his brows tense up ever so slightly. “Please don’t get mad at what I’m about to say…”

  I nod giving him the go ahead.

  He swallows. “I think you should cut that kid off.”

  “Why?” I ask raising an eyebrow.

  He further explains, “back in middle school everyone talked about you two as if you were two peas in a pod, or two sides of the same coin. I don’t know you like that but from the few times I spoke to you back then I got the sense that you’re not the same as him.

  You seemed level headed and kind to everyone as long as they didn’t mess with you.

  Okimoto on the other hand always went around starting all kinds of dramas.”

  “So you’re saying I’m better than him?” I ask incredulously, folding my arms before shaking my head and laughing. “What do you know about my friendship with him exactly?”

  “I only know what I see with my own two eyes and hear with my two ears.” He chuckles. “I see your actions without him around and then I see your actions with him around.”

  I guess it’s not too unexpected to hear this from him. It ultimately was Okimoto who came up with the idea to bomb the sign. Had it not been for him I wouldn’t be in this mess but at the same time he didn’t force me to do anything. I just drifted along like I always do when he does something retarded. I think back to the past few years. Why did I go along with everything?

  “Hey you two get in here.” A voice yells from back up the corridor.

  We both see Ms. Jackson motioning for us to hurry into the class as the rest all pour inside behind her.

  “Right!” Ms. Jackson adjusts her posture as she sits on a stool in front of the massive screen at the front of the class. Motioning at a picture of the Grand Canyon on the screen she explains. “Since I lost my written plan for today’s class I’ll do something random.”

  “So that’s why she came late.” Chica snickers with Lucy who sits opposite her at their table.

  Over two dozen smaller tables had all been pushed together to form four bigger tables that were scattered randomly throughout the class.

  Chica sits with Lucy at the table closest to mine which I shared with Dwayne. Thomas and his two friends that still wouldn’t let him catch a break sit at their own table further away. The other two, some emo kid with a comb over covering one eye and a lanky Mexican girl sit at a table of their own as well. In total there were nine children in my Homeroom class, making it disproportionately small compared to the rest.

  “I want you all to listen to me carefully.” Ms. Jackson instructs after switching off the screen. “Switch your phones off and draw a picture of the Grand Canyon from memory.”

  “What if my mom calls?” The Mexican girl asks in a whiny voice.

  “Okay then just leave your phone on my desk if you’re expecting a call. I’ll hand it to you when it rings.”

  The girl lets out an audible sigh before tucking her phone away.

  Once everyone got started on their drawings and Ms. Jackson plopped herself back down in her desk, I draw with my right hand while texting under the table with my left.

  The phone is just barely in view as I continue to message him.

  ChristmasMarket: The cops pulled up to my school, said they found a jacket at the sign belonging to one of the seniors. Apparently it’s one of my upperclassmen that did it.

  I chose my phrasing carefully, making sure to seem oblivious. This way I can still update him on the situation without incriminating myself. Hopefully he catches on.

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  ODC: Damn…

  I continue to text him as time flies by. In a flash the class nears its end and I find myself making little progress on my sketch.

  My attention is captured by a WhatsApp notification.

  *Chica has sent you a message.*

  Upon viewing the text message I see that she’s attached a picture of her drawing, it’s god awful.

  I see her giggling at me from her table.

  “Okay!” Ms. Jackson yells as she perches up on her desk. “Class is about to end so let me see the drawings you’ve been working on for the past forty minutes.”

  I already know Ms. Jackson won’t be impressed by mine.

  The emo kid and the Mexican girl hand in theirs.

  Lucy gets up with Chica who continues to laugh to herself.

  “Check this out.” Dwayne says holding up his own sketch which is surprisingly good. It’s not exactly award winning but it’s clear he actually tried unlike me.

  “I cheated.” He says, “I secretly used my phone to find a reference.”

  Looks like I spoke too soon.

  Ms. Jackson gives each drawing a glance, clearly not caring in the slightest.

  When I head over to her desk myself, Chica approaches me before seeing my sketch and laughing out loud.

  I shrug. “Let me get a second look at yours if mine is so bad.”

  “It would be my pleasure.” She says before showing me.

  It somehow looks even worse in person, like the scribbles of a dementia patient.

  “So… what do you think?” She has the nerve to ask. “I even used shading with the sand colour.”

  “You used shading?” I gasp. “How advanced! What are you doing here? Get your ass to UCLA!”

  She kisses her teeth before looking me up and down and snarling.

  “What’s your problem today!” Lucy immediately fires off like a rabid pug with pigtails. “First you call her fat and then this! It’s beautiful! Are you mad just because you’re drawing looks like an old woman’s shrivelled up pussy.”

  She grabs the drawing out of Chica’s hands before holding it up in my face and my mind goes blank.

  It changed… now It’s an almost perfect imitation of the Grand Canyon, a completely different picture than the crap from before. Every green leaf in every bush, every irksome grain and rock, even the tiny specks of light shimmering from the turquoise river that runs far beneath. It’s all depicted perfectly. It was like she had painstakingly drawn this for days.

  It doesn’t make sense… how… when did she… no! The drawing had never moved from her hands even once until Lucy snatched it up. It was still the terrible drawing from the picture the mere second before Lucy grabbed it. Did it somehow change right before my very eyes?

  I look at my phone and confirm that I didn’t imagine the terrible portrait from seconds ago.

  “What’s the matter?” Chica asks, giggling like this is all a joke to her.

  “That’s wonderful!” Ms. Jackson cheers when Lucy hands her the picture. “Chica did you seriously draw this? I can’t believe my eyes!”

  Neither can I…

  After class ends and lunch break starts I find myself wandering into the boys bathroom. I take a second to wash my face, the cold water snapping me out of my daze.

  What’s going on with me today… it must be the paranoia getting the better of me.

  I look at the picture she sent a third time and it’s exactly as crappy as I remember it. What’s happening? First the jock with the spider legs and now this? It’s as if reality is contradicting itself somehow. Screw it. It’s just a damn drawing who the fuck cares. Right now I have the police to think about anyway.

  I still don’t know if Trevor’s here or not. No one answered my question in Dashawn’s group chat and I don’t intend to ask a second time and repeat my error. It sucks because I can’t delete the question either as that would only be more suspicious.

  “I forgot to show you this earlier, check it out.” Shakira says, rolling up her sleeve to show me a tattoo that runs up her right forearm.

  We sit on the edge of the pedestal in the centre of the main hall, our feet dangling above the encircling couches where students sit eating, gossiping and procrastinating on their phones. The midday sun shines above the coloured skylights that circle around the ceiling, casting red amber and turquoise shadows over the pedestal.

  I hold her wrist that’s dyed in a turquoise hue up to my face as I read the words, “I had reasoned this out in my mind; there was one of two things I had a right to, liberty, or death; if I could not have one, I would have the other.”

  “So what do you think?”

  “I don’t know what am I supposed to think? Did you come up with that?”

  “No!” She cries, before looking at me as if I should know better. “It’s Harriet Tubman!”

  “Oh ok.”

  She rolls her eyes. “A people without knowledge of their past history, origin and culture is like a tree without roots, It’s your responsibility to know your history to honour the people that fought for our freedom.”

  “Is it now.”

  I honestly can’t bring myself to care about whatever she’s ranting about. Okimoto’s continuing to be a dipshit over Snapchat and I still have no clue about Trevor’s whereabouts. I see Daniel pass by with that mountain of a youth from his homeroom class, he nods at me still clearly shaken up from earlier before he continues under the shade of the walkways to the cafeteria. I honestly don’t get him at all. He witnessed an explosion and a gun is too much for him?

  “When I saw that racist piece of shit wrangler earlier It took all my restraint for me not to cuss his ass out,” Shakira says, “I honestly can’t wait to see the look on his pink ass face when the court makes him pay my dad for-“

  “Shakira did you really not tell anyone?”

  She scrunches up her pretty face at me, clapping her hands as she gets all worked up over a simple question. “Nigga drop it already! Please I’m not fucking dumb! Why do you think I’m like that huh?”

  “Keep it down.” I say, paying mind to Dashawn, Sofia and the other popular kids that lounge on the mustang a few feet behind us, “you do like to gossip a lot, especially when you’re around other girls.”

  “Okay that is true but I wouldn’t do it to my own detriment, and especially not to yours.”

  I see Markeiff emerge from the canteen before coming up to us. “Shakira here you go!”

  He throws up a packaged sandwich that Shakira quickly catches. “Thanks darling!”

  Dashawn comes up behind us, patting me and Shakira on the head as he addresses markeiff from the pedestal. “You ain’t ever gonna change. Still out here getting her everything she wants like a good little boy.”

  “Shut up!” Shakira yells, as both of us slap his hands away in perfect harmony. “He knows how to treat me well, don’t you Markeiff?”

  “Damn all I did was do her a favour.” Markeiff sighs. “It’s not that deep right? Besides I also got one for Sofia so it ain’t even like that.”

  “This boy’s a simp!” Daqwan who still sits on the roof of the mustang yells.

  “Thanks Markeiff darling?” Sofia cheers, squatting down beside me with a giddy little smile on her face.

  With her and Dashawn practically on top of us I have no choice but to leave Shakira unmolested for the time being. I want to bring up Trevor since he’s a part of their clique but I don’t know how to do it without connecting myself to him. Of course this is assuming that the police find his DNA when analysing the jersey they have. It might seem like I’m jumping the gun but I’m only being rational.

  Markeiff throws another sandwich up. My nose catches a whiff of Sofia’s vanilla perfume as her frills flutter when she lunges forward to catch it before loosing her balance. I need to borrow some of that.

  “Shit shit shit!” She cries out.

  I yank her back on to the pedestal before disaster strikes. She plops down on her ass before thanking me and doing a backwards cartwheel to get to her feet. Not only is she the president of the modelling club but she’s also a cheerleader. I honestly wonder how people can care so much about school as to dedicate so much energy to it.

  “That was close!” Shakira giggles.

  “Nah.” Dashawn shakes his head before laughing and going on to say. “She would’ve stuck that landing like a champ. If you don’t believe me I’ll push her off right now to show you.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.” Sofia giggles before being chased by Dashawn around the pedestal.

  “Where’s Trevor been all day, anyone seen him?” One of the jocks on the car (Harry I believe?) asks, as if god himself has answered my prayers.

  With the exception of Dashawn and Sofia who both run in a circle, we all look at him and shake our heads.

  At the same time another jock gets out from the seat of the mustang and stands just as tall as I am. This is none other than Jeremy the captain of the football team.

  He runs his hand through his strawberry blonde hair that seems to be dyed before answering his question. “He’s off with a fever. Don’t you have his number?”

  The first jock shakes his head. “No, I never thought to ask for it which is stupid because he usually has some good shit on him.”

  Jeremy slaps him upside the head before yelling as a faint New York accent slips his lips. “Be quiet okay! Do you want everyone to he-“

  Not looking where she’s going Sofia crashes into him causing him to fall against the car. Dashawn picks her up and spins her around above his head like that one scene from the Fresh Prince of Bel Air’s intro.

  “I sure hope your girlfriend doesn’t see that.” Jeremy says after groaning and adjusting his clothes.

  So Trevor’s off with a fever? I honestly believe it because using that as an excuse to not come in to school is beyond stupid. It would be the equivalent of confessing to the cops.

  “WHAT THE FUCK DASHAWN!”

  The voice rips through the canteen yanking our heads up where our gazes fix on Leah who descends rapidly around one of the two spiralling staircases.

  I look back across the pedestal and Dashawn is gone. This nigga booked it!

  “LEAH DON’T!” I hear Shakira cry out before hearing a hard thud.

  Looking towards where the sound came from I see Leah now getting to her feet on the floor, her clothes and hair a total mess. Did this bitch really jump down two stories?

  She’s off like a track star the next second, sending students tumbling to the side as she cuts through the crowd towards the back exit where Dashawn had presumably fled through.

  “That’s why you never stick your dick in crazy.” I say.

  Everyone laughs even though I’m not joking.

  “I honestly can’t fault him.” Jeremy snickers, “she’s at least an eight out of ten, she’d be a nine if she wasn’t batshit insane.”

  “Only a nine?” Sophia gasps. “She’s way too pretty for a nine, I’d personally give her a ten!”

  “She’s no ten.” Jeremy rambles. “A ten to me is something otherworldly.”

  “Then what am I…” Sofia asks, folding her arms giving him a look that leaves him little space for an honest answer (I personally give her a seven. A little on the skinny side but a decent enough face).

  “A nine point five.” He shrugs.

  “Harry darling.” She sings drifting to the side of the other jock that still leans against the car. “You think I’m a ten right?”

  “Hey why ya gotta get me into this?” He grunts.

  Rolling her eyes over to Daqwan she asks. “What about you?”

  “Hey I think all women are equally beautiful.” He says throwing up his hands.

  She scowls.

  “Christopher the lunch break is already half over.” Shakira says looking at me with concern. “You should eat. It might help you calm yourself down.”

  I shake my head before leaning in to whisper in her ear, “Daniel told his sister and Katrina. I had to set him straight.”

  She looks at me like I’m insane, I can already see the outrage bubbling up from inside her gaping mouth.

  “What did you do?” She asks a little too Loud for my liking.

  I smile holding up a finger to my lips to hush her. “Nothing too crazy. You saw him earlier too right? He’s a little shaken up but still breathing.”

  Sensing sudden seriousness in Shakira’s demeanour Markeiff comes up to our knees and asks, “what’s this about now?”

  “Yeah Christopher what is this about?” Shakira asks angrily. “I thought you would try to act more like your old self now since you don’t go to the same school as Okimoto anymore, but guess I’m just a stupid bitch for thinking that.”

  I don’t like what’s she’s saying. Not the comment about me not having changed, but the implication that Okimoto’s influence is what makes me who I am. I never changed because of him I was always who I am. This perception of me is a problem her parents have as well. In the past whenever they caught wind of my actions it was always Okimoto this and Okimoto that, innocent little Christopher just needs to be around better people. It’s beyond patronising, like they don’t think I’m my own person.

  “Shakira chill okay,” Markeiff says, “ Christopher come tell me what you did.”

  Too lazy to jump down I lean forward to whisper in his ear. “All I did was make sure Daniel stays quiet. He told his sister and Katrina putting you me and the girl you love in jeopardy.”

  He shakes his head. “You need to chill out. It’s not a big deal if he tells them, their family. Family is something everyone can rely on and he knows that. They won’t tell and send him away that’s not like them.”

  Not like them? This nigga had only a handful of conversations with them and he thinks he knows them? That’s the problem with ordinary kids, they believe all of the lies that make up the persona’s other people show us. You can never truly know another person unless you literally read all of their inner most thoughts. They were even aspects that people didn’t know about themselves. Despite that the only person anyone can truly trust is themselves. Others have their own lives to live and reasons to do what they do. I don’t know Katrina, I don’t know Chinara. Katrina’s my dead friend’s sister and I still don’t dare say I truly know her even though I’ve ‘known her for years’.

  I remember the time I was forced to watch a man’s body burn to a pitch black crisp in a fire my dad lit far out in the forest. The man was a dealer under my dad that owed him money and took too long to pay him back.

  “Despite his circumstances he was a good man.” My mother said. “You know his younger son right? That boy Andrew. I’m sure by now he’s told you a lot of stories about his dad, how he struggled to support him after being fired from his job. I’ve spoken to this man, watch him tear himself apart because he thinks he’s failing to send his sons down a better path. He confided in me because he thinks I’m your dad’s loyal and innocent wife. The fool.”

  “I don’t wanna see this.” I said crying.

  “Just because you don’t want to see something doesn’t mean it isn’t there,” She said, “you can hang out with your little girlfriend Shakira and play normal if you want. You can tell her lies about what you are and what we are all day long. It’s fine, I only ask that you only lie to others and never yourself. weak people will always turn away from a truth that’s too painful to witness. When you grow up I want you to be strong above everything else.”

  I was eleven. This was a year before I watched his son die.

  There were a few upsides to having parents like mine. One upside was that they never bothered with the lies ordinary parents tell their kids. They never hid harsh realities like death and sex from me until a certain age, they were honest about these things from day one. They told me bluntly that I shouldn’t always trust adults, even them. A lesson that I learned the hard way multiple times.

  “Heyyy Shakira!” Lucy yells from down at the foot of the pedestal catching Markeiff off guard and causing him to jump with fright.

  Beside her looms Chica who fidgets, I can’t tell if it’s anticipation or anxiety.

  “Omg that’s her!” Shakira gasps, her eyes lighting. “Girl you weren’t lying she’s definitely a future prom queen. Sofia look it’s that Chica girl Lucy texted me about.”

  Sofia comes prancing up to the edge of the pedestal and gasps before flipping off and landing perfectly. Dashawn wasn’t lying. “Oh my goodness someone call the police, her waist has been snatched away! I’ve got to see you in our modelling outfits!? You must wear a corset with an hourglass like that.”

  “You think?” Chica giggles, her eyes sporadically locking with mine. “I’ve never worn a corset.”

  “Damn… now that’s a ten!” Jeremy, says gawking shamelessly as he stands to my right.

  I look around at everyone as they socialise, I see Dashawn slip back into the hall from the main entrance, having likely circled back around to lose Leah. He returns and jokes around with everyone like he always does. It’s during moments like this that I can forget what I really am and the evil I come from. During these times when all of Dashawn’s friends gather, I can be aloof, the nonchalant friend that chuckles at how over the top they all are. But I’ll never shake this feeling, a strange feeling that overcomes me as I watch them. There’s a term for it called imposter syndrome. They weren’t born from something wrong like me. I can play the role of the nonchalant friend. I can stand around shaking my head at Dashawn’s parties while he grinds on random girls, while Daqwan tries and fails to flirt, while Shakira throws it back on boys and Markeiff cries in a corner. What I can’t do is change my true nature, no one can.

  I retrieve my AirPods and switch them on before lying with my backpack forming a crude pillow. Music is the only thing that can take my mind off my pending demise.