Winchester High| 16+

Chapter 1: Pranks

"Oh my god, hurry up!" I yelled out from across the basketball field, where my brother, Malik, was going head-to-head with his best friend, Jerry. I mean, "J" Dude throws a fit when I refer to him as Jerry. They ignored me when I asked them to hurry up and continued dribbling and bouncing around the court. Every day, Malik's supposed to take me to school because he's the one with the car. Unfortunately, more often than not, he gets caught up in a game, causing me to be late every day. I wish I could tap my sneakers together and fly away or whatever.

Despite that, this time of day is my favorite—blue hour. The air feels so fresh and comforting. I like to take deeper breaths during this time of day. Then I looked at the two again, which ignited a frustration-induced tinge right in the back of my neck, interrupting one of my deep breaths. I just know they heard me. You heard me. 

I walked behind them, plastered an enthusiastic smile on my face, and bent my knees over like they do. I slapped my palms together like a seal and chanted, "Okay, fine, let's play. Pass me the ball. Pass!" Malik stopped mid-block and gave me the most baffled, bent-out-of-shape look, and so did Jerry. I don't do physical activity. I look like a basketball player; I'm not one. Malik shrugged and hurled the ball at me. "Okay, lil bro, let's see it!" He was really excited. I swear they move on the court like crabs or baboons or something. They started swarming me. I don't know how this is a hot commodity for girls.
"C'mon!" Jaquan shouted.
I clenched the ball and felt the Michael Jordan filling up my body. Then I turned around and hurled the ball into the trash can.

They both booed and threw their hands up at me. Malik threw some names at me, and he's entitled to, just like how I'm entitled to throw his basketball in the trash. Jerry did that weird basketball jog to the trash can to fish out his ball. I didn't know it was his; I felt bad about that. I sat back down. 

Malik and I go to school together, although he's one year older than me. He tends to think he can tell me what to do, usually to my fault. He stomped over to me and scolded me while he grabbed all his stuff to leave. I felt bad, so I didn't feel like taking any nice deep breaths anymore.

We walked down to his shiny car, which I so wish I had. Not because it's shiny but because it's a car. We didn't talk, but what was there to say? I don't like saying sorry, and neither does he. Silence. I hate it, so I thought I might try to break it.

"Did you know that 'mal' is a prefix," He sucked his teeth and kept on, so I tried again.

"It comes from the Latin word 'malus,' which means "bad" or "evil" Mom was probably out to get you, or maybe she knew you were gonna fulfill the prophecy, Malik."

He slammed on the brakes, and you would've thought he was trying to break them right in the middle of the road. It was pretty embarrassing; the cars were barking behind us and everything. He held up his two fingers to my forehead as if to make a gun.

"Did you know that nobody likes you?" He was aggressive but more than usual, so that was concerning, but I wasn't worried anymore. 

"It's tough out here; fooling around and cracking jokes won't save you." He spoke as if we were already in danger.

I figured it'd be better if we were silent.

We arrived at Winchester High, an okay public high school in the Bronx, New York. Although it has a terrible reputation, it is a fairly diverse neighborhood. And, hell, if you were just enough book-smart, you could make it out of here. I'd say my favorite thing about this place is the blue air. It only happens when it's cold and early. I should consider moving to Alaska; this air is a treat.

Malik got out of the car and immediately reenergized himself, dapping up everybody and hugging. I drain everybody, but it's not on purpose. I felt especially guilty when I got out, feeling the piercing eyes behind me. Okay, no, I don't have a car! Okay!

While walking in the hallway, I flipped my backpack over in front of me and zipped open my bag to get a fresh sandwich made by my mother-dearest. It was mouth-watering. Like, to the point of embarrassment, because as I was taking a bite, a drop of saliva came down my chin, and I'm pretty sure that fine new kid saw that because he started laughing. But my bag smelled entirely of bacon, though, so I wasn't complaining.

I walked all the way upstairs to my class, which I was late for– It wasn't my fault. If I didn't step in and hurl that ball, I would still be there. Granted, I'd have been enjoying the air.

As I was walking, I saw Nicolo being shunned into the main office. Nico and I have been best friends since middle school. We understand each other so much to the point of telekinesis if the weather is just right. He pulls stunts and makes jokes in the same way I do, which brings us closer. I'm significantly more obnoxious. I'm funny; I just have no girlfriend to show for it.

 So, it was principal that I investigated (and skipped class). I felt guilty just by knowing how sensitive Nicolo gets. I flipped my backpack to the back, put my delicious sandwich away, and crept into the office. Nico was sitting in the waiting area, rubbing his buzzed scalp, a new habit of his ever since his other friend dared him to cut it. I think he sort of regrets it. It's like he rubs it so it could grow back faster. He had his head lowered to his chest. I sat next to him. He turned his droopy head towards me and looked at me with one eye before leaning back to breathe.

"How bad is it?" I said sincerely. I only get sincere when it comes to my friends everything else is some kind of joke to me. I sort of hate that about myself. Nobody ever sits in the office for too long, and based on Nico's condition, this looks serious.
"It wasn't me this time!" He jolts at me. I imagine all the misunderstandings and micro-annoyances he might've experienced this morning, so I don't blame him. He cups his hands to me as if to beg for an understanding, which he doesn't have to.
"Everything else, yeah. This.." He deflated. He spoke only in concepts and feelings sometimes when he was stressed. That was all the anger he had in that shaved head of his. He pulled back and leaned in his chair again to take another deep breath. I just waited for him to collect his thoughts.

"Someone wrote graffiti in the men's bathroom again. Not the stall, like, bold. Right on the back wall, you couldn't even try not to see it." 

"Damn," I said sincerely. 

"I was in the stall; some other guy was in the stall as well. Well- okay, not the same stall, the neighboring one." He tended to over-explain when he felt like everything else was against him. "He left before me, the principal comes in, I leave the stall– mind you, I'm just doing my business– I leave the stall, and all of a sudden, I'm being blamed for a giant graffiti on the wall! I was in there, suffering the consequences of that spicy burrito I had for breakfast, and I heard the pop of the marker uncapping and the shuffling of sneakers leaving everything–" He smothers his face with his big hands. 

"Okay, what did it say?" It sounds bad, but it couldn't be terrible. 

"Principal Cullens is a fat cunt."

We were both shocked, somehow, even though Nico was going through the whole thing, it was like we both needed a minute. "They're gonna think this is you. I mean, all of the other offenses, 'This is your last warning, Nicolo!'" I mocked the principal with a harsh yet scholarly accent. "That haircut!" I said, which ignited a play fight. This allowed a moment of laughter before hushing back down to reality. I try to keep things light sometimes. "This is bad." Nico restates. I don't think I'm getting better at it. This is bad for Nico, I mean, the stuff he's been doing. The year just started, everybody knows he likes graffiti stunts, crude humor, and skateboarding in inappropriate places. (Example: The Hallway.) He's the type to buzz his head over a dare, and everyone knows, especially his parents. The principal was harshly insulted, we're known for hating this school, and Nico has a terrible reputation. I try to be positive, but... 

Principal Cullen's door opens, and there goes the bald fella.