1.

  Johnny awoke on January seventh at six A.M. then proceeded to slam his snooze alarm four times before finally getting out of bed at a quarter past seven. He forced himself to the bathroom and splashed some cold water in his face to shock himself to full consciousness. He quickly brushed his teeth, shaved off his holiday stubble and combed his tussled brown bedhead into a neatly and somewhat stylish part accented with just a bit of styling cream. He went back to his room and changed into his jeans and his Franz Ferdinand T-shirt. He grabbed his backpack and shoved his school supplies and notebooks in it then slipped his feet into his Nikes. Before leaving his room, he made sure to grab his pens, pens of various colors, black, blue, and especially the red ones. They were very important pens.

  He rushed down the hallway into the kitchen. His father Constantine Vincent was sitting at the breakfast table eating that sick European gruel he was raised to believe could be called breakfast. His mother Abbatha was buttering some toast.

  “Johnny you’re going to be late again. Tabby already left fifteen minutes ago,” his mother said.

  “Well, Tabby takes the bus, she has to get up earlier,” Johnny said, “and I have a car, and my car is much faster than a school bus,” Johnny said as he grabbed a piece of toast and shoved it into his mouth before running to the front door.

  “Have a good day,” his mother called out to him as he made his way to the door.

  “Make me proud, my son,” Constantine said looking up from his paper.

  “I will Dad, I promise, I’m not going to end up like uncle Andre,” Johnny said, showing his knowledge of the warning his father had given him at least once a week since he was eight, “I’ve got to go, don’t want to be late,” Johnny waived as he opened the door and rushed out to the driveway.

  Abbatha smiled, “Bright boy, could be president someday,” she raised her eyebrows and gave her husband a grin.

  “His grades are okay,” Constantine told his wife, “Almost good enough, he’s been getting better as time goes, if he can keep that pace up, he could get into a good school,” Constantine said looking at his beloved.

  “I think our son is the kind of young man who doesn’t need school,” Abbatha said.

  “Everyone needs school,” Constantine said, somewhat sternly.

  “Bill Gates didn’t need school, Steve Jobs didn’t, Zachary Maximov didn’t, and he runs one of the biggest companies in the world,” Abbatha countered.

  “You forget my dear,” Constantine smiled, “They may not have finished school, but they all went to school,” he grinned.

  “Right as always my swarthy Romanian love,” she said, looking at her husband with the lust that could only be shared by a mother and father on the first day of their children’s return to school.

  Johnny Vincent’s family name came from his grandfather, an allegedly Romanian immigrant named Vincent Vincent. He had come to America with a set of fake papers, and Ellis Island had accidentally stamped his first name twice on his application. Since Vincent was able to make it to America, he didn’t want to make waves or give the immigration office any reason to dig a little deeper into his origin. So he decided to go with it. Vincent Vincent had two sons, Andre Vicent, and Constantine Vincent. Andre was M.I.A. from most family gatherings as he spent most of his adult life as a heroin dealer working mostly in Asia. He started in that business after he was drafted to Vietnam in the seventies and just decided never to truly come back home from the far east. Vincent’s other son, Johnny’s father Constantine, had shot himself in the foot on his eighteenth birthday to avoid being drafted himself. The draft officially came to an end the next day.

  In his twenties, while working as a grip for MGM, Constantine Vincent met and instantly fell in love with a young actress and daughter of two aging beatniks named Abbatha Leone’. The two married and had two children together, Johnathan Vincent, and Tabitha Vincent. Abbatha wanted her daughter to break traditional social convention by being named Abbatha Jr., but Constantine, being the traditionalist that he was, got her to settle on the name Tabitha.

  The Vincent family lived in the friendly, and the somewhat well-off suburb of Denero, California. Only twenty minutes from Los Angeles, which meant just an hour if you counted the traffic Constantine had to fight every day heading to work as a senior agent for Seapath Talent, one of the biggest music, television, and film agencies in Hollywood.

  Constantine had provided a comfortable life for his children. He was stern when required, but also allowed his children room to grow at the behest of his darling former hippie wife.

  While Constantine told their daughter Tabitha to never have sex, Abbatha taught her how to convince a boy to put a condom on. Constantine made sure Johnny read what he had too for school, and Abbatha made sure he read every blacklisted book from the School’s banned list.

  Johnny threw his backpack into the passenger seat of his two thousand and four blue ford mustang he was gifted on his seventeenth birthday. It had a white split racing stripe going up its body, courtesy of its former owner’s vanity, and a steady, reliable American made engine that could go the distance. If the distance meant four years after Constantine bought it. Johnny rushed to climb into the driver’s seat and turned his key revving it up as he backed out of his driveway. His car skidded into the street as he shifted into drive and sped off towards Reagan high school.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Welcome to the Jungle by Guns and Roses blared from his stereo as he wove through traffic in his attempt to not be late to the first day of his final semester. He pulled into spot 113 at the back of the student lot. He knew it was his because of a pothole in the asphalt that tested his shocks every time he was running late. Johnny punished his axle and pulled in at a less than safe speed. He then grabbed his things and sprinted towards the building. The hallways were barren of students who came to class on time. He was able to get to class just as the tardy bell began to ring, signiling the start of first period, precalculus with Ms. Raymond.

  Reagan high school was a mid-sized public school attached to a somewhat affluent county. The student body was mostly white, with a few Latinos and some at-risk African-American school choice lottery winners bussed in from just outside the red-line of the district to help the school get photo-ops showing off what a diverse and progressive community made up it’s student body.

  Johnny slipped into Ms. Raymond’s class, taking a seat near the back corner next to his buddy Danny and right behind his acquaintance Chris.

  “Johnny V, what’s up man,” Danny reached out, and he and Johnny shared one of those handshake/high-five combos. Chris was sitting in front of Johnny and turned around in his desk to greet him. “Hey Vincent, you think I could borrow a pen?”

  Johnny smiled and got into salesmen mode, “What kind of pen do you need, you want a blue pen or a black pen, or maybe this new red pen I came across, it writes very well.”

  “What would you suggest?” Chris asked.

  “Well that depends on what you’re trying to do, now if you’re using it for creative writing, definitely go with blue ink. Whereas black is better for something like keeping a dream journal, you know, helps with sleep.” Johnny said, giving his coded sales pitch.

  “What about Red ink?” Chris asked.

  Johnny smiled, “Red ink, well, that will just get you high as fuck.”

  The two students weren’t talking about pens, Johnny sold weed, and he was good at it. One of the many systems he had developed to do business in the confines of school safely was to hide a dime bag’s worth of product in the bodies of those cheap Bic pens you buy in packs of fifty at Walmart for two dollars. He had taken to using different colored pens to keep straight the various strains that he was offering at any given time.

  Johnny got his supply from a contact in Colorado he made through craigslist shortly after recreational Marijuana was fully legalized and readily available for those lucky bastards in the centennial state. He started just ordering for himself and eventually found it much more cost effective to buy cheap, sell for a modest profit, and then use said profit on buying more pot, creating a self-sustaining eco-system. Once people heard how reasonable he was selling product for his popularity started getting much more upwardly mobile. Before he knew it, he was running a profitable little business as one of Reagan’s premier pot connections.

  The customer base Johnny had access to had proved to be very lucrative, as two-thirds of Reagan High’s senior class consumed Cannabis, in addition to various other controlled substances. There were more than enough students for the dealers of the school to each carve out their own market share, and each dealer could carve out their niche. If you want a quality product at a fair price, you came to Johnny; if you’re looking for edibles then Kenny is your guy; in the event of an emergency where you needed weed and needed it now, Eddy could help you any time twenty-four seven with his very convenient delivery service; and if you wanted to see demons that goth kid Alex had some serious shit for you.

  “I think I’ll take a red one,” Chris said, handing Johnny a rolled up twenty in exchange for a red Bic pen. Chris quickly stuffed it into his pocket as Mss. Raymond came into the room with her red hair in a bun wearing one of her trademark Hillary Clinton pantsuits. “Welcome to pre-calculus,” she said. “I know you’re all seniors and excited to start your last semester,” she said as she started to write, “But this is just that, your last semester, and if you want to get to college you have to go through me first, and I’m going to make sure you earn it. Our first lesson, Derivatives.”

  Johnny and the rest of his classmates got through class, and the period ended with Mrs. Raymond assigning her trademark fifty math problems for the night. With only a few minutes between classes, the students rushed to exit.

  Johnny pushed past the traffic of students as he made his way through the hall to get to his locker. He undid his lock with without paying attention to his turns. It’s the same lock he’s had since freshman year and it’s code was carved into his memory. He put away his cumbersome math book for now, and when he shut his locker door, he was greeted with Brain leaning against the locker next to him.

  “Johnny Vincent,” Brian said as he put his arm around Johnny’s shoulder and led him to a space between lockers, away from the bustling noise of students making their way through the halls. “I heard you’re the man to talk too about a connection. The team and I could use some supply.”

  “Don’t you guys have to drug test to stay on the team?” Johnny asked.

  “We do, we all took it before winter break ended,” he said with an over confident smile, “And we all passed with flying colors, so do you think you could help us out?”

  “Yeah sure thing, where’s the party, Maybe I can drop by with the supply?” Johnny said, trying to sneak his way into an invite to what would surely be one of the Baseball team’s infamous ragers.

  “We’d prefer to have the party favors ahead of time if you can accommodate that,” Brian said, noticing Johnny’s attempt to get an invitation.

  “I’ll see what we can work out. Anything to help the team.” Johnny said, forcing a smile.

  Reagan High’s baseball team was about to pick their season back up. It would hopefully be the third season in a row that they kept an undefeated record. They were the pride of the school and the pride of the district. They were much more respected than the football team who had been lackluster for the past few seasons.

  After his encounter with Brian, Johnny made his way to his next class. It was an elective, Advanced Business Studies with Mr. Bergman. While taking a left to the south hall passing the sophomore English class, he ran into Tabby.

  “Johnny! Bro?” She yelled for him.

  “Look at you showing up for class,” Johnny smiled at his sister.

  “Listen, We’re having a party next week,” We meaning the sophomore girls and the Senior guys who were hot, but not quite hot enough to land a Varsity cheerleader, “I said I’d be able to get us some stuff from you, do you think you can do me a solid and give me a hook up.”

  Johnny was taken aback, he scoffed, “Tabby, are you serious? I mean, are you crazy? Do you think I’m going to give my little sister drugs?”

  Tabby groaned and rolled her eyes “Come on, Johnny, don’t be a dick.”

  “Let me finish,” Johnny held his hand up, “Do you think I’m going to give my little sister drugs? For free?”

  Tabby rolled her eyes, “Fine, but you better give us a discount, or else I will tell on you.”

  “Anything for my baby sis,” Johnny smiled and gave her blond hair a tussle.

  “Don’t mess up my hair, asshole,” Tabby said, giving her brother a smirk as she batted his hand away.