High School Royale

10〛Convergence

Rowan Kohler - 11:33PM
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Soren was throwing on his shoes, a beaten pair of red sneakers. Emily had her skateboard by her side, and Drake counted the money in his wallet.

Rowan peeked at the front door from the dining room, stepping forward. "Hey, where are you guys going?"

"Just running to the store," Drake said, "to buy some chips and drinks."

"I'm also craving some donut holes from Cafe Island," Emily said, digging through her purse. "Do you want anything?"

He shook his head. "It's alright, thank you though. Can I come with you guys?"

"No," Soren said, checking his hair on his phone. "Stay home."

"Please? Come on, I'm so bored."

"Aw come on, he can come," Drake said.

"You shouldn't be going out anyways," Soren said, voice stern. "You have to study for that science test retake. You failed that, remember? 'Cause you spend all day in front of the computer with Charlie."

"You never let me hang out with you," Rowan muttered.

Soren groaned. "Ugh, I can't argue with you right now. Sam and Ria are already waiting for us at the park. We can hang out later this week."

As he said that, he was already halfway out the door.

"Listen to Soren, sweetie," his mother called from the kitchen.

Rowan sighed. "Okay, have fun."

Drake passed him a sympathetic glance, before closing the door. Rowan locked it, turning around as his mother walked towards him, wiping her hands on her apron. "I know you're sad, sweetie, but you have to remember he's in ninth grade now. He has his own friends now."

He shrugged. "It's fine."

She smiled. "Come on, I just made some ice cream. Go get a bowl then study."

Later that day, after they had returned, someone knocked on his door.

"What is it?" he asked, not looking up. It was Drake, who had a bag of nacho cheese flavored chips.

"I got you these. I think I remember you liking these?"

"Oh, I do! Thank you! How much do I have to pay you back?"

He laughed. "Don't worry about it, dude." Setting the chips down on the nearby dresser, he closed the door.

. . .

As Rowan approached the shopping strip, faint memories played in his mind. It was as if he was a zombie–a reanimated corpse–the clacking of his broomstick, the dragging of his foot.

Perhaps he had overestimated his physical prowess–with each step he grit his teeth, trying not to shake. His ankle still burned. He just wanted to collapse on the floor.

Under the veil of the moon, he reached the edge of the parking lot, devoid of cars. There was a large convenience store, an ice cream parlor, a donut shop, and Cafe Island.

Crickets chirped. An owl hooted. A breeze ruffled Rowan's shorts, and he shivered, regretting not wearing a jacket. He limped to Cafe Island and tried the door, but it was locked. Sighing, he grabbed a nearby rock, and threw it at the glass. It bounced right off, not even a dent forming.

"Ugh," he groaned, picking it up and trying harder. Only a small dent formed. Growing red, he grabbed the rock, veins in his arms, and smashed it straight through. "Stupid fucking door!"