Murphy’s Law

Book 1 of 3

“The Ironically Lucky Trilogy”

Chapter 1: 5 A.M. and Zero Luck

So, I was hit by a car the other day.

I’m serious. Not even joking. It’s not even something that you can or should joke about. But really, what a great way to fuck around with somebody: ‘Oh yeah, I didn’t get a chance to go... Kinda got hit by a car...’ Cue panicked audience here.

But things are okay. At least, I am. Car accident wise, it was the most pathetic car vs. human collision to ever occur. But anyway. In all honesty, in the big scheme of life, things weren’t that great. I was hanging in there, but there’s only so much a guy can take. The whole getting hit by a car thing wasn’t even the beginning. Oh no, somebody’s had it out for me since day one. Their plan for my slow, painful demise intensified, and gradually, my luck began to worsen.

As opposed to saying how it started the day I was born, I’ll be a bit more definitive, and I guess you could say that the beginning of it all began the day before the car ran into me.

* * *

I was told that day, interrupting my rant against loud construction occurring before noon, that I had some extreme case of male PMS. Pissed because I hated being cut off, especially because my sister always cut me off, and I was on a fucking roll, I replied it was because I was breathing the same air as her and proceeded to flip her off and stomped all two steps it took to get to my room. What a ludicrous and insulting statement; being on my soapbox did not categorize me as the male version of a girl who was or was about to menstruate.

Ugh, the word ‘menstruate’ is gross beyond words.

Anyway. I was still harboring this extreme, burning hatred for everything when I checked my online bank account to find that I had negative one hundred and fifty-eight dollars. That little negative sign stood out more than the flashing breasts from a pop-up ad. Let me reiterate I had exactly negative one hundred and fifty-eight dollars. And eleven cents.

$-158.11!!!!!!

What the fuck. How was this possible?

Despite the fact that I had no concrete job, I had gone out of my way to ensure that I would at least have more than zero dollars still there. And zero is still more than negative one hundred and fifty-eight dollars, and eleven cents.

I knew I was still okay when I got a parking ticket the other day which is going to cost me thirty-six dollars, which one may have thought impossible since I drove a motorcycle (aptly named Wifey II), and we with crotch rockets can park virtually anywhere.

I had already been skipping breakfast and lunch for the past three weeks in anticipation of the payment I was to make on my rent, sometime in the very near future.

And I still had to pay my portion of the electric and gas bill.

And I was supposed to take that cute girl I bumped into the other day out... oh wait, that never happened. Never mind this one.

And I was supposed to grow up to be mildly successful, get a hot wife and breed some cute kids and not be in debt.

And I was supposed to not have my life end at the tender age of seventeen.

And I know that really, life could be worse and I could owe fifty thousand dollars or something, as opposed to... whatever I owe, but just the mere fact that I’m already living a cheap, minimalist’s life, and I have no idea how the hell I could ever owe the bank that much money ruins my entire being. Despite the fact that it’s not even that much money.

I sat and hit refresh several more times, hoping that there was a mistake involved or that somehow, with every click of a button, that the numbers would jump up. Five minutes of this and with the continuous sinking of, I dunno, my heart, (a feeling I’m all too familiar with) and when that finally hit rock bottom, I realized that this was no lie.

Letting that settle, I stared some more at the shitty laptop in front of me. And then it really hit me.

“What the fuck!” I yelled at the screen and swiveled around to face the other way. “What the fuck!” I repeated again, this time to the ceiling space above my head. My neighbor’s orange cat, Mr. Fluffy, was curled up near the edge of my bed, and my tirade made it simply turn its head towards me and blink sleepily. “You fucking bag of fur!” I yelled at my new target and scooped up the obese feline and held it in the air. “What. The. Fuck!” With each word, I gave the cat a hard shake. When Mr. Fluffy didn’t respond, I dropped it back onto my bed where it rolled over and went back to sleep. I sat back down on my cheap office chair.

I felt a little better.

“What are you yelling about now?” Tiff, my sister leaned against my doorway, arms crossed.

“Nothing,” I snapped, “Your face.”

She rolled her eyes and walked away. Despite the fact that it’s just been me and her living together for the past year and a half or so, maybe two years even, we have consistent communication problems. We kinda have this ‘Take care of your own shit,’ policy going on, since it’s what we’re used to. I actually get weirded out by extended moments of sibling normalcy. I do love her and all, it’s just that we’re both extremely guarded about everything.

Besides that, I pretty much owe her everything. Tiff was the one who initiated contact again, after social services split us up during our foster home years, and she was the one who came up with this mastermind plan to pull me out of the system as soon as she was out, and old enough to ‘adopt’ me.

So, I’m gonna be honest, I’m my sister’s complete tool, as that everything she asks me to do I eventually have to do it out of obligation. Doesn’t mean I agree, and it doesn’t mean I don’t fight it, but some of the decisions she makes I’m surprised actually go through because I don’t put half the effort in that I should.

Like the fact that I’m somehow attending a private school, made possible by a straight up full academic scholarship. That was a surprise to the both of us, since I only took the exams and went to the interviews because Tiff told me to, and I was not getting along with my foster parents then. I was accused but never caught of doing a lot of things, and more often than not, they were absolutely correct so the whole, ‘No, I was not smoking pot or selling drugs or drinking alcohol or hanging out with my thug pals or listening to rock and roll, I went to an interview at the Academy with my older sister so I can leave this filthy place, assholes!’ would leave them speechless.

Of course, I didn’t really think that through, and I actually did not want this to happen. The private school thing, not the ‘In yo’ face!’ part. That part I still relish to this day... If I didn’t know I was already at least semi-intelligent (when it came to being polite when I had to and memorizing stupid things from textbooks), I would be positive that they mixed up the tests... or decided to give me a full scholarship since catering to a troubled-background teen like me would make the school look good? I dunno, doesn’t really make sense to me. Fucked me over in the end, regardless, since this destroyed my comfortable state of apathy. No longer could I just go to school whenever I felt like (which back then, was usually every day... just to get out; it was the whole act of staying the full day which was hard) and still do okay, but I have to now, God forbid, apply myself.

So that pissed me off, but that didn’t piss me off as much as Tiff’s recent decision to begin taking college courses as a part-time student. Hello, what about rent? Where did we get this money? What about me?

I have so much shit going on, I can make a soap opera on just me. Just take out anything based on relationships with the other sex. Because lord knows I haven’t gotten any since... ever. Apparently, I don’t walk around with awesome pheromones that scream ‘I have a sexy ass AND I’m single!’ or ‘I have a sexy ass, and even though I may or may not be taken, you don’t care because you just want to jump me!’ But enough on my shortcomings with the female gender.

I was lying face down on my bed when my neighbor, the owner of the fat Mr. Fluffy, walked in. “Oh, there’s my cat,” he said, and I turned my head to see him wander into my room. He waggled his fingers at the cat, who was leaning quite comfortably against my side, eyes squinting shut. “Hey, stupid cat, c’mere.”

“Linx, I think he’s sleeping,” I said, even though if he wasn’t, he probably wouldn’t have moved anyway.

“I think he’s retarded. Anyway...” I noticed a stack of magazines under Linx’s arm. “I was cleaning out my place,” he continued, “You want any of these?”

I rolled over and sat up, “What are they?”

Linx dropped the stack on the end of my bed and presented the first one. “We have here this lovely past June issue of Maxim magazine, among others,” I nodded my approval, and he rifled through the pile to pick out the next one, “Some random ass car magazines that aren’t mine,” he continued, “And finally,” he said with a grin, and pulled out the next few magazines, “We have the asstastic Miss October, July and August of Playboy fame.”

“Hmm,” I extended my hand to take them.

Linx held on to them for a second and gave me a faux-serious look, “Listen, Lucky, take care of these, they’ve treated me well...”

Dramatically he lowered the magazines, and there, right before the magazines were passed off to me, mere millimeters away from my fingers, was when my sister popped into my doorway.

“Hey, Linx?” she said. “Do you think you could...”

Caught off guard, he reacted immediately. “No!” he yelled, as if berating a dog that just pissed on your carpet, “Lucky, no!” and threw the magazines at me, “I don’t want your nudie mags!”

“Ack!” I yelled as a battalion of glossy pages accosted my face.

“Stop trying to give me your porn!” Linx said, louder than necessary. He turned around and shook his head at my sister, “Look at what your brother’s trying to do.” He turned back toward me, still shaking his head in a severe manner. Tiff peered around him to see the centerfold of the blonde and curvaceous Miss October resting on me like a sash.

“... Right,” she said, and began to back away, “So uh, Linx, you think maybe you could gimme a ride...”

“What? Damn it, woman, I just got back,” he said and followed her out.

“So did I! And I have class in ten minutes, but I really need to get there early because I need to talk to my professor...”

“Fine, fine, stop nagging.”

“Yes! Thank you so much, Linx.”

Linx muttered some reply, and I was only able to pick up the words “owe” and “sexual favors.”

Tiff stuck her head into my room as I was carefully folding up Miss October. “Hey, you can have the rest of the leftovers in the fridge for dinner.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll be back late, so you better be done with your essay. See you.”

I sighed; I had almost forgotten about that... “Bye,” I mumbled. I listened to them leave, only to hear them come back, seconds later.

Linx trotted into my room. “Forgot my keys, forgot my keys,” he was chanting. I watched him dig through the pile of magazines.

“Gee, how did you lose your keys under my stack of porn?” I laughed.

“Hey,” Linx glared, “I can giveth, and I can taketh,” he somberly said, and then cackling, threw some more magazines at my face.

Finding his keys (underneath the rest of the stack), Linx ran back out. He’s more like our other roommate than next-door neighbor, as our side-by-side apartments act more like extended rooms; it’s a well-known fact between our friends that if we’re not here, then we’re at Linx’s, using his TV or drinking his alcohol. If he’s not at his place, then he’s usually here, eating our food and harassing Tiff.

Random story: During this past summer we, the three of us, managed to get onto the roof of our building and were sitting around watching fireworks from a nearby street festival. I don’t remember exactly what Linx was saying, because I was sitting further down, but I turned in time to see Tiff give him an incredulous look and say, “Linx, you are ridiculous.” And that is by far, the most accurate description of him.

But anyway, enough about that. Let us focus now on more important things: my bank account.

... Actually, that’s really depressing. Maybe it’s time to check out what’s in the fridge...

* * *

As a pro at escapism and procrastination, I spent the rest of the night going between the TV and my computer, or both at the same time as I sat on my ass on the couch and played video games on my computer, while the TV was on in the background.

It wasn’t until Tiff came home around ten or eleven, which was when I started my paper (or pretended I was halfway through so Tiff wouldn’t get on my case), which unfortunately dragged itself out until five in the morning.

Fucking 5 A.M. If I had finished at four, then I could’ve at least gotten an hour or two of sleep in, but five? Five was too risky. So, after an epic battle against my archaic printer, I took a shower, then scoured the rest of the kitchen to find something for breakfast and left the apartment really early so I could take a leisurely walk to school, and to also minimize any time sitting down as to lessen the possibility of falling into a coma.

The area I lived in was mostly apartment buildings and small cafes, and the residents were mostly college students from the nearby university, or young couples. Cheap housing for people who needed it. Being so early in the morning, even the roads were nearly empty. Within the next five to ten minutes though, it was sure to become a bustle activity as people began their commute to work or school for the other high school kids like me.

I hate waking up early, but I wish I did more often; I like these quiet, peaceful times I have with myself. It’s relaxing, and I can even get to school looking as decent as the other kids. Even though, with the school uniform consisting of the whole tie, blazer and dress shirt deal, only I can mess that one up and not look decent. I’ll show them all today and smite them with my impeccable dress. Like, I’ll actually have my tie done correctly, collar straight, and my shirt tucked in, no stain from yesterday’s altercation with the orange juice not staying in its carton, and I definitely won’t be profusely sweating like a juicy pig from running the entire way there.

But anyway, this bright, fresh autumn morning made me chipper enough to put aside my bigger problems (such as... lack of money) and think of more innocent things. Things like, ‘Wow, today seems like it will be a good day today!’ I was happy I was in such a good mood, which put me in an even better mood. Which was all very, very strange. Remember, I haven’t slept at all last night. And so, I made a list:

THINGS I WANT:

(but don’t necessarily need but it’d be awesome nonetheless)

A theme song. How hot would that be?

A Zippo lighter. Because they’re that much cooler than the lighters you can get at the dollar store.

Spinner rims for Wifey II. Not for everyday use though, just for when I feel like being all bling bling like, and ghetto to boot. Actually, they’re pretty useless. And stupid. We can’t count this one.

A girlfriend. See dream scenario noted with the ‘&’

A gang/posse. The hardcore ones like in the movies... where all I’d do is snap my fingers and they’d all pop up for my beck and call.

A new computer. My video card now is barely capable of keeping up with the violent games I have a tendency to play. A damn shame. And I don’t have enough memory to do anything.

An awesome social life. Sometimes I wonder what it’d be like if my phone was nonstop ringing of people just calling just so they could bask in my presence. Hmm, cut this one too, it’d probably end up more annoying than anything. Really annoying... God what was I thinking... Definitely X out this one. As if I have time to care about social standing. But at least I’d feel loved.

A memorial or a bridge, or a road or something named after me. Reason? Because I’m that cool.

A billion dollars. You know why.

A photographic memory. I’d nail tests so bad, and studying would consist of looking through textbooks as if they were flip books. Granted, I’m already pretty good in the winging it department, enough to get me through school, but... A lil’ more wouldn’t hurt anyone.

A pet penguin. Just a little one. Cats are cool, but though Mr. Fluffy is in my room more than in Linx’s entire apartment, he’s more or less, just a waste of mass.

To be quoted. Not like, unofficially like, “Yeah, and Lucky said,” but officially. As in, ‘As Lucky proposed, “The assets of a true porn star are that they would have to have larger than double D jugs,” (145, The Great Life of Lucky).

A soundtrack of my life. Like, while looking out into the sunset, while pondering about whether or not I should insert important options here . Or like, when I hatch a devious plan or something. Or a contemplative car ride in which it signals a change in my life. But I suppose my theme song would also have a part in this.

Some extraordinary talent. Aside from lying and explicit timing (seriously, I used to have this innate thing with showing up at certain places at the exact right/wrong time, depending on the situation), I have nothing. For all I know, I could be a champion duck caller, but I wouldn’t know now, would I? Oh God, I hope not. What a waste that’d be. Me being in the city and all that.

To make out with supposed girlfriend in the heavy rain. Looks damn sexy in the movies.

To be in a movie. Not a big, hot shot actor, or someone who gets shot in the first fifteen minutes, just a big enough part so people would recognize who I am, and also to point it out to my future kids and be like, ‘Look, daddy could’ve been a famous sex God, but he chose to live a modest life.’

Now, speaking of extraordinary talent and girlfriend in conjunction with one another, I present to you the ‘&’:

This is how I’m going to meet my girlfriend. I’ll be sitting there, in some... cool... place... I don’t know where, but it’ll be cool. And then I’d be busy with something... Newspaper perhaps, even though I never read the newspaper, and then I’ll turn, and future girlfriend will not watch where she’s going, and she’ll bump into me. And then she’ll be like, ‘Oh gosh! I’m so sorry!’ And I’ll be like, ‘No, no, it’s cool... Hey, you look really familiar, are you...’ And then she’ll be like, ‘Yeah, I was the July issue centerfold for ‘insert some popular guy magazine name here’ magazine.’ And I’ll be like, ‘Really? That’s what I thought,’ And then she’ll go, ‘Yeah, so what’s your name?’ And then we’ll chat a bit, and then finally she’ll just say, ‘Listen, for the past five minutes, I just really wanted to jump your bones and rape you.’ And then I’ll smile and I’ll go, ‘Well, you’re just in luck, I’m feeling up to being raped, but then it wouldn’t be called rape, now, would it?’ And then she’ll laugh at my wittiness, and we’ll head over to her penthouse apartment uptown. And you know the rest. The end.

I laughed to myself. That was one awesome scenario. Now if only, if only, that could ever…

The blaring of a car horn snapped me back into reality, and with my lightning-quick reflexes I threw myself back onto the sidewalk, just avoiding an oncoming SUV. The car held its horn as it sped away, the obnoxious sound cutting clear through the stillness. With the window rolled down partially, the driver threw out the one finger salute and a few words of praise, no doubt, which were lost under the sound of the horn.

“I fucking had the right of way, you fucking son of a bitch!” I yelled and showed him my vast knowledge of explicit sign language that would make his lousy middle finger curl and fall off by inferiority, like his dick, which would explain the need for such a needlessly large vehicle.

“Muthafucka can’t drive,” I muttered, and continued my trudge towards school. Suddenly, I was no longer in a good mood anymore. In fact, I was extremely pissed. So very angry I was.

God today was going to suck. And do I feel sorry (no I don’t) for the first Motherbitch to cross my path because if I’m going to have a shitty day, then by God, everybody else should too.

Chapter 2: The Agony of Mr. Coates

I was sitting next to the window in home room/first period, scowling at my desk. A hand came into view, and knocked twice on the fake, wooden surface.

“What, no dramatic entrances today?”

I looked up. My friend Darwin stood next to my desk, smiling in all of his Golden Boy glory. The lack of sleep had finally hit me, and all I could think was how much I hated him at that moment for being so awake and smiling, God forbid. Fucking die, cock sucker!

His reference to my so-called ‘dramatic entrances’ had to do with the fact I had an uncanny ability to tumble into first period in a very disheveled state as the bell rang. And despite the fact my entire plan with coming in early today was to be immaculately dressed, I realized I was still a mess. Especially next to Golden Boy here.

“You know that eight pager that’s due today?”

“Yeah.”

“... yeah.”

“Another all-nighter?” he asked as he sat down, adjusting his already neatly knotted tie. “What were you doing all day?”

“Everything else,” I scoffed, and let my head drop onto my desk. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Darwin open his mouth, but before he could say anything else, someone else called out to him and he turned to greet other people.

I guess my relationship with Darwin (Oh no, not like that, oh GOD no, you sick bastards!) is that we’re kind of like best friends? Well, I’ve never really had a best friend before him, and besides that, in school, he’s pretty much my only friend anyway... But all of the other friends I sort of made were all his friends first, and I was just the one he’d dragged into the group. It was like getting instant friends. Insta-friends. They’re pretty funny actually, I’m glad Darwin’s friends aren’t a pack of scumbags.

It’s all very strange, though; we really shouldn’t be friends. Here I was, the destitute ex-street scum who’s barely passing as socially acceptable in this world of moderate bling-bling, and him, the billionaire heir of a computer company who’s trying to pretend he doesn’t have gold-diggers clopping at his heels. And besides that, when I first came to this school, we hated each other so much that I almost had some of my old people jump his rich, white boy ass. And he later told me that he was this close to getting me expelled over some trivial blip on my fraudulent records.

Long story short, we’re best friends now.

I actually made a list last year about why this shouldn’t be cosmically possible:

WHY ME AND DARWIN SHOULDN’T HANG OUT:

Stick us in the same room and something explodes. Like, fire and brimstone and BIG BANG. Like adding fire to a line of gunpowder leading up to a pile of explosives. Volatile. This explains why in every class that we have together, if our seats are assigned, we’re stuck in opposite corners. Then again, if we’re seated alphabetically, that’s how we’d end up anyway. We still think it’s a conspiracy though.

Speaking of school and whatnot, we counteract each other. Out of school, I’m the kick-ass mofo who knows what’s up and he’s the whiny little sidekick. In school, we switch roles kinda, because kick-ass mofo’s such as myself need a downtime to regenerate our kick-ass-ness. So, I’m the quiet, aloof, usually sleepy or really out of its sidekick, while he pretends, he’s Mr. Cool. If I wasn’t so generous and so sleep deprived, I woulda totally kicked him off the pedestal and be the shit myself, but I’m too good for that. I’m so cool, I’m above cool. That’s what I like to tell myself at least… Actually, I don’t care about trivial things like social structure. At this school, I don’t even think we even have a normal social hierarchy anyway.

It was us that started the “Group Efforts.” These were the massive copying rings that occurred during every test and quiz in class. It was not called ‘cheating’ per say, we liked to call them “group efforts.”

Two years ago, when we had the same chem class, we got stuck together as partners. We failed every single lab because no matter what we did, something exploded(see #1) or something would break. Or melt. Or all of the above. And every single lab, we thought that it was hilarious, so we’d do it again on purpose.

We have waaaaaaaaaay too much fun doing nothing.

The more immature I act, the more he acts. We edge each other on. We do the stupidest things, and we act like we’re geniuses until someone points out the obvious fact that what we did was just stupid. We bring out the worst in each other. Our IQ’s drop dramatically every time we hang out. We scare the shit out of old ladies. Our productiveness reaches the negatives when we sit near each other. The randomness triples.

I finally pick my head back up, and glance over at Darwin’s desk. He was sitting on top of it, conversing with two guys from the soccer team (which he was co-captain of), and some girl who’s dangling, silver earrings caught the sun and flashed it directly into my retinas. He glanced down towards me, where I was visibly flinching from the violent flashes of light.

“Dude, you okay?” he asks.

I move my head, and the problem is solved. “Yeah. Why, do I really look that shitty today?”

He grins. “No, you always look shitty.”

“Thanks, asshole,” I say, and flip him off. We laugh, and the teacher walks in, coffee mug in hand, signaling the start of class.

* * *

My plans during lunch involved either taking a nap in the library or getting some of my homework finished early in the library. Remember, food was not an option anymore. However, Darwin caught me before my escape.

“Hey, where you going, cafeteria’s this way, man.”

“Uh, nap?”

“You did that last period.”

“So?”

“The last time you took a nap in the library during lunch, you missed the rest of your classes and slept until I found you after soccer practice.”

“And?”

He gave an exasperated sigh. “C’mon, this way, dude. Are you still trying to be the school’s first male anorexic?” Two weeks into my money-saving scheme of not eating, he had finally realized I never brought lunch and would mooch off of everyone else’s leftovers only when I felt like I was about to die. Or if no one was watching. And since then, he’s been embarrassingly buying me food, or throwing health bars at my face so I had to catch it and therefore eat it. As if I was some sea mammal who did tricks for fish or something. Well, you won’t see me do back flips for anyone.

Except for that one time, but that was because nobody thought I could do it. I earned ten dollars and a taco that day.

“Hey, just because I don’t want to put down cash for overpriced, badly cooked food...”

Darwin pushed me towards the lunchroom, “Whatever, Lucky, I’ll fucking buy you lunch if you’ll stop being such bitch.”

“I don’t need your charity,” I huffed. Actually, yeah, I did. If I didn’t have anything resembling an ego, I would’ve gladly leeched money from Darwin from day one. As it is, I hated being in the position I was always in. I may be dirt poor, but I have my pride.

I found myself seated at the usual crowded table which consisted of Darwin’s crew. My insta-friends. They were mostly guys who’ve amazingly stuck together since middle school despite all of their differences. At the lunch table, it was usually us and our female equivalents, who were usually the girlfriends. Today though, it was a veritable sausage fest.

“Where are the girls today?” Darwin asked. The guys at the table who had girlfriends shrugged, and said whatever, blah blah uninteresting. Actually, I was more or less relieved, as that I didn’t have to deal with a certain assertive female. Perhaps it was fated for me to never be able to find a girl compatible with me Maybe this is my true calling to become asexual, fly across the world and become a monk. A Shaolin monk. A monk who kicks ass. Actually, that wouldn’t be too bad if we ignore the fact that my chance of ‘getting any’ would be non-existent. But at least, I’ll have a real, legitimate excuse as to why not. As opposed to the fact that I don’t now, and it hurts when I realize that I just don’t have the natural girl-magnet skills.

I had just settled my head onto my stack of books for a nice nap, when Darwin grabbed my arm. “Let’s go get food,” he said.

Let’s get you stabbed with a blunt knife, I said to myself. I sighed and followed him, weaving in and out of maze of chairs, tables and fellow peers. I knew if I didn’t get up, he still would’ve gotten me food and stuck it in front of me, and I would rather not have the other guys witness that. Even after coming here for the past couple of years, I’ve yet to disclose the fact that I’m not actually from a middle-class household with a set of parental units and a family dog. Only Darwin knows the full extent of my rather unorthodox life.

Everyone knows that I’m one of the few full ride scholarship kids though, but that doesn’t really say much. Mostly everyone is here for something. Mine just happened to be for academics. Darwin got into this school for soccer but would’ve gotten in anyway for obvious reasons and still pays the full tuition. Mostly everyone else has something from four hundred to a thousand dollars to their name in scholarships or some sort. But anyway, this is a boring topic to discuss, and it shall end here.

“Stupid rich kids,” I muttered, as I found myself once again, being treated to lunch, like a girl. Have I really gotten that weak? Oh, what has become of me... But oh well. Suck it up, and live, it’s what I’ve been doing for the majority of my life anyway. Besides that, the food’s already paid for, now it’d be a waste not to eat it all.

“Shut up. Just thank me later.” Darwin handed the lunch lady a bunch of bills, and I followed him back to the lunch table, carrying our separate trays.

“You know I hate saying that shit,” I pouted. To try to ensure my toughness, I’ve made it a grand point to never sincerely say ‘thank you’ or ‘sorry’ unless it’s truly well deserved.

My masculinity... I should just get testosterone shots and start grunting everywhere I go. It’d be like killing a flock of birds with a nuke. Not only would my muscles maybe be a bit more defined, but I might be able to grow some facial hair...

Whatever. I shoved my face with food and tried to keep up with whatever the rest of the table was talking about.

* * *

I was sitting in health class not listening to a word the teacher was saying, mentally working through my money problem. The calories from the digesting grub flowed through my veins like heroin, freshly liquefied with a stolen cafeteria spoon and a cheap lighter and jammed into my aorta, and I was suddenly awake enough to not be able to pay attention. As if I had snorted Ritalin and coke off of a toilet seat in the third-floor bathroom.

But enough about my vast knowledge of abused and illegal substances (drug awareness classes: the true gateway drug).

I had figured out that I would go and ask Linx to hook me up, because every other time when I needed some cold, hard cash quickly, he and his many connections have come through. Except they’ve stopped giving me some of the higher paying ones, because I have this incredible ability to botch those up. Aside from the fact that I’ve been left emotionally and mentally scared of the most recent failed attempt...

Most of these jobs ranged from legitimate (Fill in for this guy and help valet cars at that restaurant) to suspiciously legal (At 1230 hours, take this car from Point A to Point B, payment will be given at site.) to highly illegal (download these movies from the internet and have two hundred copies in DVD format ready in two days, looking as professional as possible.) to incredibly, ludicrously impossible (infiltrate an all-girls school and make sure the targeted girl does not get harmed in anyway, and find all suspects who may want to).

But if Linx couldn’t help me out, I’d have to do it the hard way.

Play poker with drunk guys down at the pub and hope not to get shot if they discover I was cheating.

Ha, what, you thought I was gonna say something like, get a real job? Hell, in this economy? Whatever. Besides, my first pay day wouldn’t come until after I’d been gutted alive by Tiff for missing the rent deadline.

I mean, if worse comes to worse, I could always sell my beloved Wifey II, the ever-dependable crotch rocket. After I sell my kidneys, liver and left arm of course.

Or even worse, tell my sister that I was most likely going to jump in front of a sixteen-wheeler the day rent was due, so I wouldn’t be able to pay it. I don’t know how she’d pull money out of her ass to cover for what I’m lacking, but she could probably do it faster than me. Out of the two of us, she got the cooler skills. It’s easy for me to cheat in cards because I’m just a bit quicker than everyone else, but her pool sharking is actual skill. And she’s a girl. So, when she goes pool hall-hopping with her friends, she’ll be able to scam more money in an hour than what I can make off of a table of dim-witted guys all night. And she wouldn’t even have to pay for her drinks. Not like I can ever drink without having someone get it for me anyway...

Ugh. Health class is lame.

I zone back into class, not necessarily on purpose, but because the teacher was now holding up an immense color picture of genital warts. Next up, was scabies. Like all of my fellow peers, I could not help but make that disgusted face.

“Oh God,” says Dane from the desk behind me, one my insta-friends through Darwin, “I think I just threw up a little.”

I snickered. “Yeah, it does look a little like your mom.”

“You mean like your face?” he shot back.

“If you stuck that picture up on the mirror, you wouldn’t notice the difference when you passed it,” was my smooth, albeit pathetic reply.

Out of all of the insta-friends, Dane and I were almost matched in the negative commentary department, and we both had a soft spot for ‘your mom’ jokes. I’m just a little bit more apathetic during school than him, so in the end, I win.

But in the real end, neither of us won, as our gym/health teacher snapped at us to shut up and listen. And to remember the importance of abstinence.

Which reminded me that abstinence was never a problem with me. Unfortunately.

* * *

The end of the school day was drawing to a close, and unfortunately, so was the slight high I was on from the nutrients dispersing in my bloodstream. School was usually a neutral time for me, as those days were neither that great, nor that bad, and I fixated most of my time to making sure I didn’t get anything less than an 85 on my graded work. Everything else can go kill itself.

Though the past few hours were running smoothly if not boringly, it was when I was almost convinced that the bad mood from this morning and my own ominous feelings that this day was going to suck were wrong, when life went and kicked me in the shins.

It happened while walking to my last class, and I realized my throat was parched. Now, nobody in this school ever uses the water fountains, because everybody here carried around their designer water brands, or their fluorinated tap water from home in the colored plastic Nalgene bottles. Everybody but me, who had to recycle my own spit. Or resort to use the rare water fountains. Which I’ve no recollection of ever doing before.

I should’ve realized that all of these financially blessed kids don’t use the water fountains because they had some silent, unwritten rule not to. And I was about to find out why.

On the second floor in fourth hall, I sidled up to a water fountain. I pretended to check the non-existent watch on my wrist and stepped in front of the machine. It was one of the water fountains that didn’t have the button next to the spigot, but rather an entire plastic bar attached to the front in which applying little pressure in a downward motion will make a stream of water go up. It was all very simple.

So, when I bent over the clunky thing, and gave the bar a gentle push down, I was not supposed to get hit in the head with spigot and have it fly off my head and land audibly, several feet away, nor was the water supposed to spew up into my face with a force that rivalled firemen hoses.

I jumped back, almost yelling, “BITCH!” but instead safely screamed that in my head. But mouthed it so that even the most beginner of lip readers could clearly see what I just said.

I sniffled and took another step back. Water trickled down my face and onto my front, a portion of my hair soaked and hanging into my eyes.

It was just not very cool at all.

I must’ve looked like an idiot, and the laughing of my peers around me proved it. What was worse was that I recognized two of the loud guffaws. I stalked over to that direction, kicking the spigot along the way.

Darwin and Simon were collapsed against the lockers, still laughing their asses off even as I stood over them. Simon was another insta-friend whose claim to fame was chain-smoking, breaking pole-vaulting records, and charming girls into his pants in droves. Bastard.

With narrow eyes, I pointed an accusatory finger at them.

“Wasn’t us, man!” Simon choked out.

“Yeah, we so couldn’t have timed that... we just happened to see it happen,” snickered Darwin.

With my finger still pointing at them, I wiped my face with my other sleeve. “Yeah,” I finally said. “Whatever. Just you bitches wait...”

“We’re serious!”

“I would’ve never thought of that,” Simon added, “Do you think someone went and pried off the taps off of all the other water fountains?”

The minute bell rang then, and with one last angry shake of a fist, we scampered to our classes.

Darwin and I had our last class together, and as we ran down the hall, it became a fast paced, extreme shoving match, and after nearly pushing him down the stairs we made it to our AP Lit class at the same exact time. And by same exact time, I mean that we shoved into the door as the late bell went off, and being guys, our shoulders inhibited us from entering the room simultaneously. To the amusement of the class, we grunted and cursed each other out of the sides of our mouths as we both tried to get through the door.

“Boys, boys!” said our teacher, the spectacularly hot, young, attractive, freshly out of college Miss Pereta.

We ignored her for time being and growled at each other.

And then, like a spewing volcano, we both exploded into the room, tripping onto our faces, sliding across the linoleum like a pair of drunk donkeys, books still clutched in our hands. Smooth. Real smooth.

We jumped up and brushed ourselves off. I smirked when I noticed Darwin, the usual Mr. Cool and Composed, beet red. I could practically feel the heat emanating off of his face from where I was standing. I chuckled.

Miss Pereta clucked her tongue at us, and we both unconsciously stood up a little straighter. Nope, I was still a good four inches shorter than Darwin. Miss Pereta gave me a curious look, almost seeming to want to ask me why it looked like I dunked my head into a sink, but instead waved a dismissive hand at us. “Boys, class has started, get to your seats.”

Like obedient little puppies, we skittered to our seats, in the opposite corners of the room. Lucky (he he) for me though, for I sat in the corner right in front of her desk, while Darwin sat in the back in Arctic circle, for all I cared. If only the desk was transparent so I could witness her whenever she uncrossed and/or crossed her legs. Oh God, in those suit skirts too... Now, excuse me for my resurrection of early 90’s lingo, but she seriously was a babe.

Perhaps my day isn’t gonna be so bad after all...

Then, as if through divine intervention, fate heard me think that and then sent life to kick me again. This time, in the balls.

“OK!” Miss Pereta said in a perky voice. A third of the class leaned forward eagerly. Pretty much everyone with a dick was hanging onto her every word. Which made up... a third of the class. I don’t think the girls hated Miss Pereta, but they definitely weren’t as attentive as we were.

“Did everyone read the last three chapters of Heart of Darkness?” Without waiting for us to answer, Miss Pereta plowed on, “Great! I hope you took mental notes at least, because we have a quiz!” At least two people dropped their pens, which hid the several curses that slipped out of people’s mouths. The rest of us stared at her in fear. “Don’t worry, it’s just to see if you guys are doing your reading, because our last class discussion made it look as if only three of you did. Remember guys, participation counts!”

“How about if we have a discussion now then, instead of a quiz?” A slightly overweight boy from the center row piped up.

Miss Pereta smiled and paused momentarily from passing out copies of the quiz. “Nice try Mike. But no.”

“But we’ll all participate!” came a desperate cry.

Miss Pereta shook her marvelous head, her loose, brunette curls bouncing.

I sighed, took a copy and passed the rest to the girl grumbling behind me. No, this wasn’t the kick in the balls. Not yet. I can handle pop quizzes, I actually read the book this time and checked the cliff notes online, so this should be nothing. Unless I read the wrong chapters, or just… read the wrong book. No, the kick in the balls came... wait for it… wait for it… it’s coming, I swear. Wait for it…

“Besides that,” Miss Pereta said, “I have a meeting to attend to, and I must leave you all in... Oh! Right about now!” THERE. There it was. The kick in the balls. But that was just the kick. And the aftershock of pain was about to come… now. “And here’s Mr. Coates as your sub!” The agony. Oh Jesus, the humanity. This actually hurt more than the initial kick.

Mr. Coates was just about the worse substitute any free-thinking child could ever have.

But back to Miss Pereta. Us males all watched as she packed up her briefcase, feeling confused, scared, a little bit insecure, and as if she just cheated on us with the guys from the regular literature class. The non-AP kids. Guys who weren’t us.

Blasphemy!

She waved and swept out the door, our eyes lingering on her for one last second. And then we turned to Mr. Coates, apprehension in our eyes. Two words for this geezer: totalitarian dictator. Wait, make it three words: satanic totalitarian dictator.

He stared back at us. “If you’re all looking at me, I’m assuming you’re all done with your quizzes!” he barked. We jerked our heads down and tried to finish our quizzes as fast as possible, but the bastard began ripping them off of our desks five minutes later.

We tried to avoid eye contact with that psycho for the rest of the period as it ended up being every man, woman and child for themselves. We could do nothing as our classmate next to us whimpered as they received a verbal lashing after catching the hard-ass’s eyes when they took a glance at the clock. Wendy, three seats back and two over, raised her hand and asked to go the bathroom, only to be scared to the point where she nearly relieved herself right there. Poor, poor Mike’s stomach rumbling was heard from where I was sitting when Coates took away his granola bar, usually consumed daily in the middle of this class. Even Darwin nearly got whiplash after being berated from leaning his head on the wall behind him.

It was a sad, sad day for our normally bright and fun class.

Which ended up being the most painful and worst lit class ever. In the history of my life. And everyone else’s from the number of people who were nearly reduced to tears.

It couldn’t get much worse than this...

But only on an academic level. Leave it to me to think life was only what happened in school and screw myself over.

Chapter 3: The Art of Avoiding School Spirit

When school was officially over, my entire class got into this huge jostling fight as we all clawed our way out the door as if the classroom was filled with toxic gases. Which could be true, who knew what Coates had for lunch?

Darwin and I gagged and coughed, leaning against the locker lined wall across the classroom door.

“Oh my God,” he wheezed, “I was going to kill myself.”

“Bullshit,” I shot back, “He never stood right in front of your desk, with his crotch at eye level.”

Darwin blanched and made a face. “Blargh!” he pretended to puke.

Laughing, we straightened up and headed down the hall towards our lockers. We waded through the frenzy of students, occasionally nodding or waving at kids we knew. We took our time and stopped several times to make small talk with some people. I lost Darwin at one point, when the National Honor Society President stopped me to remind me, I still needed to hand in my community service hours for this month. Which meant I just needed to make up something and have Tiff forge me a signature or something. I paused a couple more times, to bitch about the bastard Mr. Coates with other people, and finally waded my way over to Darwin, who was standing with Dane, Simon and other insta-friends. Who were also bitching about Coates. If this kept up, that man will not have a job by the end of tomorrow. Especially if certain people complained to their rich, wealthy and powerful parents. Can’t wait...

The halls were emptying out as when we finally got to our destination.

“Hey, you gonna stay and watch the soccer game?” Darwin yelled at me from his locker, way down the hall.

“Why?” I yelled back, most of my voice getting absorbed into the black hole somewhere between some leathery orange peels and my putrid gym shorts. It’s interesting, but we’ve only been in school for several weeks and already my locker contains garbage years old and quite possibly archaic artifacts from the Middle Ages. I bet I could find the holy grail in here if I actually looked.

“What?”

“I said, ‘WHY?’”

“WHAT?”

“WHY SHOULD I WATCH YOUR SOCCER GAME?”

“BECAUSE EVERYBODY’S GOING!”

I finish taking out the books I need for homework, and slammed the door shut with a loud clang. Man, fuck school spirit. “THAT IS THE LAME... oh.” I turned to find Darwin standing right there, empty handed and cringing from my yelling.

“That was creepy man, next time tell me when you’re standing right there,” I mutter and gave him a suspicious glare.

Oh, just for the record, I don’t hate soccer or anything. Darwin and I actually would go and kick a ball around when we had absolutely nothing better to do, and I admit, it is kind of fun. And despite Darwin asking me to come join the team because he thinks I could do so much better than some of the cocky ass underclassmen, I just would never do it as a sport. I just don’t have time, and because really, I’m not all for this thing called teamwork or rules and referees for that matter.

He shrugged, obviously fixated on whatever was making him grin in that really eerie way.

“C’mon man, just come to the game. Rika’s gonna be there...”

I visibly blanched. Rika was Darwin’s girlfriend, and fuck whoever said that good friends would never let a girl destroy what they already had. And that whole bit where it was possible to balance friends and a girlfriend? Complete bullshit. Yeah, I’m not bitter. I wasn’t shafted this past summer at all. I mean, I haven’t purchased a box of fireworks, tell Darwin weeks ahead of time, then get eaten alive by mosquitoes while sitting up on the school roof waiting for him because his girlfriend spontaneously invited him over to have dinner with her father and other relatives. I never also made the long ass commute to his house via public transportation (ran out of gas money) to hang out only to have his maid tell me that he was out vacationing with Rika and her family at some beach house. And I never called him to see what he was doing, only to cut me off in the middle of my rant against construction at nine in the morning, because his girlfriend just called and he needed to take her call over mine. Yeah, I didn’t lose my best friend to some girl. (Oh, and in case it sounds like it, I’m not gay for him either. We hang out a lot because we can safely still act like we’re twelve and do stupid boy things. Like throwing water balloons at traffic, talking about boobs and playing with fireworks. I’m completely straight, and if you get me drunk, you will never find me accidentally making out with someone of the same sex. Not even as an experiment. Because that’s just disgusting.)

Then again, Rika wasn’t just some girl. No, she wasn’t. Because most girls, even if they didn’t like me, wouldn’t want me dead and rotting in some ditch like this girl did. No other girl would’ve tried to kill me by willing me to death and glaring. It’d be an understatement to say that she hates my guts. She FUCKING hates my guts and will make the day I die into a joyous holiday.

And the sad part about that was that I saw her first.