Emotional Boys 1990

13

"Yeah, I'm just passing them around to get the word out." He tells a dude, handing him the CD.

"Aight man" the guy grins, looking down on it and registering the name, "oh, ain't you that guy who battles at the hip hop shop?" He asks, looking up at him with a cocked eyebrow.

"Yeah, that's me!" Marshall's face lights up, eyes wide with excitement, relieved that someone recognizes him.

"Well shit, I remember you being pretty dope, thanks for the CD man!" He exclaims, giving him a pat on the shoulder before walking off.

The humidity softly boils my skin, keeping me trapped in subtle discomfort while standing outside the steps at the school.

Marshall and I have been handing out CDs for the past three hours. He's managed to only get around sixteen kids to take one. Now, sixteen isn't bad until you account for the fact that there are dozens of kids hanging out on school grounds, playing sports, taking summer courses, ya da, ya da.

"I think we should go get some food or something, almost everyone is gone..." I suggest, shoving the three CDs I'm holding onto.

He's silent for a few seconds, looking down at his hand, now only containing a single CD. "Aight, fine..." grumbling, he seems utterly dissatisfied.

The music is good, though only containing eleven tracks. My favourite is Tonite, though rap music isn't my thing. He's only officially sold about sixty ish of them so far. I'm a bigger fan of industrial music, makes me feel like a badass in my own special way.

"Want Taco Bell...?" I offer, hoping that will get some enthusiasm that was lost in him. He glances up at me with a defeated look, pouting slightly before nodding slowly.

I snake my hand around his, intwining our fingers and squeezing at him to hopefully give him a sense of reassurance.

"Give it time" I tell him, pulling him along down the block.

"Hey remember when you went off on me the first day we met on this sidewalk?" I ask with a giggle, turning to his face at noticing it peppered with blush.

"God I was such a fucking dick, I ain't know why you were into me" he mumbles, chewing on his lip, continuing to look ahead.

I've noticed that Marshall is still very much a dick, just to practically everyone but me and his couple of friends, even then, they have that childish boy humour where they just make fun of each other.

He still gets in a fuck ton of fights with people, but he hasn't had many consequences since the rumour of me pulling a gun on those dudes, no one has felt the need to mess with him or me.

No one shouts 'whore' or 'slut' at me anymore. I'm not randomly groped anymore, so needless to say, I feel fucking awesome right now. If I'd of known that pulling a gun would have given that effect, I would have done it in ninth grade, now I'm graduated so it's rendered practically useless. Oh well, I can always pull the same shit in New York, start the school year off on a good note! Of course I'm mentally joking, I'd be reprehended big time.

"Esdeath...?" Oh, I spaced out of the conversation... at the worst moment.

"Shit sorry, I was just thinking about... interest rates, they're really going wack as of late... sorry no, you being a dick to me that day only turned me on honestly." I giggle, making something off on the spot. Sure I could tell him about how I was thinking of making pulling guns on people a normal thing of mine, but that sounds utterly deranged.

"You're fucking weird... interest rates" he scoffs with a chuckle, his lips tugging at a faint smirk.

"Yes, I am, apologies" I giggle, rubbing the thumb of my hand that's holding his against his skin softly.

"I don't know how the fuck I'm gonna get anywhere with the rap shit..." he murmurs, almost so quietly in hopes that I would hear him properly.

"You will, trust me Marshall, you think I'm not fucking terrified to do what I'm doing? The percentage of female stock brokers is only fourteen point five percent, but we're fucking going up against all odds, don't mean you give up." I encourage, finding it interesting how we've found ourselves in such similar situations, sort of battling them together.

"Well if you get an education and go for job interviews, you'll get a job, when you're white in rap, everyone fucking ignores you"  he grumbles, making me scoff. Damn he's dense.

"You don't pay attention to statistics do you..?" I question making him cock an eyebrow at me.

"Naw sorry, bold of you to assume anything beforehand" he chuckles, making me roll my eyes. Not that I did.

"Ok so... statistically... thirty percent of women are less likely to be considered for a job they're qualified for based on gender. Which is ironic considering we statistically outperform men" I tell him, making him grumble tiredly, not giving me any glances.

"Fuck, you're like a fax machine" he observes, a dry laugh coming from his throat.

"Fun fact, a fax machine is a device that sends and receives printed pages or images over telephone lines by digitizing the material with an internal optical scanner and transmitting the information as electronic signals so I'm not exactly like that..." I  ramble at him, a cherry grin only face. He pries his hand out of mine, turning to stand in front of me, looking in my eyes with a frustrated look on his face.

"God, just stop, you seriously have to correct me all the time? I was making a fucking joke!" He questions, body language showing strong frustration.

I get that I can be overwhelming to talk to occasionally, but I just felt like Marshall was someone who enjoyed my style of conversation.

"I- are... you being serious..?" I ask, taken aback, watching him bring a hand to his chin, head down as he seemingly thinks on how to approach things further.

"I need to be alone right now..." is all he says before turning his back to me and walking off.

Cool, new advice to self, don't tell men that they aren't the only ones struggling-

To be fair, I was being a bit too factual... but I just would never expect this reactions. Besides, I practically never talk this way around him anyways...

Lesson noted.