The History of an Evil CEO

Chapter I American life I think... Part3

A couple of days after that strange vision, the feeling of mystery still lingered in my mind. It was like a fragment of a dream—a yellow figure standing just out of reach. That Saturday morning, I tried to shake it off as I sat in my favorite diner, staring into my half-empty cup of coffee. The smell of fried eggs and bacon hung in the air as I mulled over the same question that haunted every 17-year-old: *What will I do when I grow up?*

The options swirled in my mind, each one more uncertain than the last. Maybe I'd study **Fundamental Education**, aiming for stability and a secure future. Or maybe I'd take a chance on music, pushing our band, **The Rocket-Launchers**, to record labels and hoping for a breakthrough. My passion for archery wasn't out of the question either—there was a thrill in the idea of standing on an Olympic podium one day. And of course, there was always the idea of creating toys with Natalia, turning our little side hustle into something bigger.

That same afternoon, I met someone who would inject a wild new energy into my life: **Red**. The nickname puzzled me at first; he didn't resemble a bird in any way. But it fits his restless, unpredictable nature. Red was the kind of guy who always had a plan, even if it was half-baked and borderline insane. He'd started a group called **"WC"**—a name that, in his words, *"didn't need to make sense to be effective."* Ostensibly, WC was a private construction company, but it was really a front for odd jobs that often veered into the gray areas of legality.

Red's confidence was magnetic. He had a glint in his eye that made you believe in his schemes, no matter how absurd they sounded. When he mentioned a plan to spy on **Ceciton E. Charles**, the school's resident bully and gang leader, I should have said no. I knew better than to mess with guys like that. But Red's enthusiasm, coupled with the memory of my father's military stories, made me want to provide myself.

Red's plan was simple in theory and ridiculous in execution. We'd disguise ourselves as bricklayers to blend in and scope out Ceciton's hideout. But these weren't ordinary bricklayer outfits. No, Red insisted on scarves, knee-high red boots, and miner's helmets. I felt like a clown, the helmet barely fitting my head. *"Trust me,"* Red said, *"This'll work."*

The plan unraveled quickly. One of Red's assistants climbed onto the roof and tried to lower a rope into the window. Just as he was finishing, an old lady appeared, starting him. He yelped, lost his balance, and crashed into a bush. The noise was deafening. Neighbors poked their heads out, and before we knew it, the old lady was shouting for help.

Panic set in. Red's van refused to start, so we took off running down the street. One of Red's guys tried to fight off our pursuers but was flattened in seconds. Things were looking grim until we ran into **Xavier**. Always quick-thinking, he grabbed a rock and hurt it at the car chasing us. The rock shattered the windshield, sending the car swerving into a row of lampposts. We sprinted away, laughing at the sheer absurdity of it all.

Later, as we caught our breath, I realized Red's chaos was strangely exhilarating. Maybe there was something to be learned from his wild approach to life.

With Ceciton's gang disbanded and the dust settled, Red became an unexpected addition to our circle. Despite having zero musical experience, he was eager to join **The Rocket-Launchers**. We handed him a saxophone, figuring he'd at least look the part. After weeks of practice (and more than a few ear-splitting rehearsals), I finally managed to play a few decent notes.

That summer, we planned our first tour. It was ambitious, maybe even foolish, but we were fueled by the kind of optimism only teenagers possess. Our little group—**me, Xavier, Matthew, Red, Natalia, and Cheryl** (Xavier's girlfriend)—hit the road. We played in **Atlanta, Columbus, Dothan, and Panama City**, performing anywhere that would have us. The venues were small, sometimes just bars or park pavilions, but to us, it felt like headlining Madison Square Garden.

After our final show, Natalia and I slipped away to the beach. The air was cool, the waves whispering secrets under the moonlight. We lay side by side on the sand, staring at the stars. Words flowed between us effortlessly—hopes, dreams, memories—all blending into the soothing rhythm of the ocean.

Eventually, we fell silent, the space between us charged with unspoken feelings. Our eyes met, and before I knew it, our lips brushed together, gentle and electric. It was one of those perfect moments, the kind that feels like it belongs in a movie.

As we packed up our gear and prepared for the next chapter—**college**—I felt amix of excitement and apprehension. University was a vast unknown, a place full of possibilities and challenges. But with my friends by my side, I knew it would be an adventure worth taking.

Life was unpredictable, often chaotic, but that summer taught me to embrace the madness. To take risks, to laugh at the absurdity, and to hold onto the people who made the journey worthwhile.

As we drove away, the echoes of our last performance faded into the night. I hummed a familiar tune, feeling a sense of joy and possibility.

"I'm so happy, 'cause today I found my friends..."

It wasn't quite the right lyric, but in that moment, it felt perfect.