A teenage boy slept wildly. His dreadlocks dangled off the corner of the twin-sized bed as the skinny child drooled on the carpet underneath. He heard the zip of the curtains to his window opening as the light hit him in the face forcing him to open his eyes. His mom, dressed in scrubs, stood directly over him.
"Jordan, get up!" she yelled.
He hopped out of his bed in one motion. As he reached in one of his drawers for literally anything. His mom took a whiff of the air and then marched out of the room.
"This place is filthy," she said as she passed him by.
"Yeah, I know," he whispered.
He sported a black hoodie, jeans, and a camo backpack. He hopped into his moms' old vehicle. A rusty example of how something can carry you through a period no matter how good it looks. It was a gold car that had turned beige over time.
His mom pulled out of a lot of the apartment complex as she turned on the radio.
"Another gang-related shooting in the local area," said the radio as Jordan's mother immediately turned it down.
Jordan stared blankly through the window at the rundown D.C. streets passing by in a blur. Each house is as poor as the next. It wasn't apocalyptic, but it was an unfortunate climate. It had an heir of beauty in the sunrise.
"Jordan, please be safe!" she said as she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.
As Jordan walked through the doors of a school too small, for a population so big. Two girls got into a tussle in the hallway in front of him, spinning like a cyclone. Other students recording the drama were more attentive than the out-of-shape security guard slowly moving toward the action.
Jordan barely slipped through the crowd of hyperactive teenagers. He felt the weight of his backpack, dragging him down as the bags under his eyes hadn't disappeared yet.
He sat next to light skin ginger with freckles. He was dressed head to toe in colorful fake designer clothing. He held up his phone high over his head.
"Yo, what is up broskie gang! Back at it again going live in class," he said.
Jordan rolled his eyes and looked in the other direction.
Looking out of the room's large window, peeking through his locks like blinds. He could see from a distance, a man being mugged by a thug. He allowed his dreads to cover his vision as he mindlessly tapped his foot on the dirty hardwood floor. The teacher spoke with empty words as Jordan couldn't force himself to pay the slightest bit of attention.
He envisioned himself flying in with a cape, blessed with extraordinary abilities. A superman that knocked the thug out in a clean punch with the power of one million suns. That could never be the case though, he was a skinny 14-year-old boy.
His teacher was getting closer and closer to him. She put a piece of paper on his desk. She was an energetic brunette. She wore jeans, a blazer, and a Virginia Commonwealth University shirt, as she scratched the itch on her nose.
"95! I'd put you in advanced classes but you're so beyond your peers we'd be making a course just for you, Mr. King," she said.
"So I'm good at Physics, what's it worth! I'm still skinny, I'm still weak. Nothing gonna change that, Ms. Whitlock, " said Jordan, pitying himself.
"I've had a feeling you felt that way, all your teachers, including me, think extremely highly of your academic ability. But, you're practicing some terrible habits. You don't pay attention in class, you don't help or even talk to other students, " Ms. Whitlock explained.
YOU ARE READING
PowerSurge| Red & Black Ghost
ActionJordan King's a student by day and a thief by night. But when he's caught in between a battle of heroes and villains that could destroy his city. He takes it upon himself to defend his city.
