Bad Boys

The Meet Up

I pedal my bike to Timmy's Soda Stand, where my buddy Jake and I like to meet to talk business. I run my hand through my blond Mohawk that I dyed slightly blue, an insignia used to symbol defiance in my gang. My parents didn't even give me permission to join the gang, but Kevin said I'd be a'ight, long as I keep my grades up to a C+ minimum. "How we keep 'em off our back," K said to me once.

I don't wear my helmet no more, just when I pull out of the block, since my folks watch me go. Soon as they're outta sight, I toss it off, then when I come back it's usually by the tree I where I left it. One time a kid took it, so I gave 'im an atomic wedgie till he dropped it. No one messes with me and gets out without a wedgie.

So I get to the Stand, and Timmy says, "The ushe?", and I says "Nah, I'll have two root beers this time, extra fizzy." Now right away Tim steps back 'n' is like, "Woah, man, you know you can't bike under the influence, right?"

I say back to him, "C'mon, dude, I had a rough day, pour me the gosh darn double shot, m'kay?" He hesitates and replies, "I don't know, man. My parents catch me sellin' two at a time and I'm a goner."

This guy, right? I pull out my weapon and point it square at his forehead. I see the fear in his eyes. "Hey, settle down! No need for spitballs!" He pleads, then frantically concocts the pop for me.

"That's what I thought," I say, then put my straw back in my pocket as he pours the drink. "Oh, and by the way, some punk out in the lot is smokin' candy cigarettes."

"Aw, shoot, my folks told me this is a no candy tobacco zone!" Timmy hands me my beverages and sprints toward the kid I spotted by the bus stop.

I flip a quarter with my fingers and nail it in the tip jar. I walk out to the sidewalk and sip my drink.

And that's when I see Jake.

Jake is the leader of the Pleasant Village Dawgs, a gang me and my buddies started in Kindergarten. Jake has lead role since he's so experienced with this kind of life. His brother Scott went off to college last year, so he stole Scott's bike. A nice six gear Schwinn, too. The kind bikers like me at our school drool over in the catalogs. That's not it, either. He robbed Target, and I'm not even lying. Just swaggered on in and took a box of Tic-Tacs. Rebels at Pleasant Village Elementary worship the jerk. And he's my best friend.

Jake parks his Schwinn at the spot someone had reserved. He pushed the Next bike out of the sidewalk square and placed his where that idiot had his. No one messes with me, or J Low either. That's Jake's nickname since his grades are so low. Kevin said there's a girl singer called J-Lo, so J Low and I beat him up for lying to a fellow Dawg Brother.

"Sup," J Low greets me, then proceeds to spit his gum on the ground. What a rebel move.

"Hey," I reply, still drinking my root beer.

"I got somethin' for ya." Jake says. He throws a crumpled paper at me.

I unravel it, and turns out it's a list of swear words he wants me to learn. "Study 'em," J Low says after I finish reading them. "Test tomorrow for all Dawg Bro's."

The list goes, in this order:

"Jerk, dumb, stupid, idiot, butt face/head/hole/etc. , heck, crud, darn, dang, gosh"

This was poetry. "Thanks," I mutter, distracted by the genius before me.

J Low snatches a HI C juice box while Timmy is distracted by some kid, then he takes off. "Later Henry," he says before he hops on his bike. I cringe a little bit when he mentions my birth name. I wish nobody called me Henry; it's a symbol of obeying to adults. I tried to get a nickname like Jake's, but good names are hard to come by.

Oh well. I pack up my stuff and head home since it's a school night.