Sometimes, sometimes.

Chapter 3: Kyle

August 20th, 2014
Another brick in the wall pt.2

Aside from August being the equivalent to spending thirty one days locked in the fiery pits of hell, the worst part about said month coming to a close, wasn't the weather or realization that I haven't even started on my summer homework. It's the cruel obligation of having to go back to the very place most mistakes even originate—and yes, I'm talking about school.

Or more bluntly put, people.

I usually spent the remainder of summer vacation procrastinating and sitting in my room with a sketchbook in hand, looking all jaded and shit. I spent way too much time on what was supposed to be a simple sketch of rose, that took a dark turn when I colored it in black and wrapped the stem around a broken bone. When I finished, I was horrified to learn I literally sat in bed in some basketball shorts and a hoodie all damn day, and put the damn thing in my art folder.

That was when I came to the realization—aside from being hoarded with Hopkins and Randy all summer—I wanted to do something borderline insane. Something I could go to jail for, but not like killing someone, just rebellious teen stuff.

Six flags being closed in a few hours crossed my mind. It also crossed my mind, aside from colors on the rides, they probably needed a mural, and there I was, scheming at six in the afternoon. I was about to call Randy and ask if he was down to help me, but my phone rang, and hilariously enough, it was Randy.

"Yur!" He shouted into the phone and I pulled it away from my ear briefly, feeling it almost explode since my dumbass left it on speaker. I took it off speaker and chuckled to myself as Randy continued to go on about how he just remembered I existed. "So yeah, my cat kept staring at me and I was like 'you're trying to tell me something,' and the damn thing pounced on my phone. How come you didn't call me when you got in?"

I hissed pointedly, I had completely forgot to tell Randy I came back in one piece. "Yeah, Hopkins and I got in pretty late. I guess I just forgot."

"Anyway, my best friend senses are tingling. What are you scheming, you depressed giraffe?" Randy sounded a bit misguided when it came to my mischief, and he even managed to get offended whenever I left him out.

"Well, my happy ass friend," I veered and I couldn't stop the grin from blessing this mess I called a face. "Cookies and cream."

Cookies and Cream was kind of our thing, like how normal people say 'let's get dumb and dumber.' Well Randy decided we weren't basic a few years back, and now it's kind of just a code word to keep our caregivers from knowing we're up to no good. "Aw shit, you slimy bastard! It's been so long since cookies and cream. So tell me, what are we doing?" Wouldn't have expected any less from the king of teenage anarchy.

"All I need is you, your car, twenty cans of spray paint, three water bottles, and whatever ski mask you can find." And I said this with my phone right between my ear and elbow, my hands cramming whatever paintbrushes and tins of color I could find into a black duffel bag. "Oh, and let's meet by the old mill."

"Sweet. I'll be there in thirty," he said and hung up the phone.

I don't know what in God's name possessed me to throw a large slip dress over a pair of ripped up ass tights, and to go with that a blazer jacket covered in various pins of various sizes on the left shoulder; but at that point, I kind of just went with it. If I wanted the plan to go without fallout, I needed to keep track of time, and there was no time to rethink my choice of apparel. It was 6:37, the park usually closes around 11 at night. Then there was the five hour drive from San Francisco to Los Angelas.

6:45pm

I was supposed to meet Randy at the old mill in ten minutes, I really didn't want Hopkins questioning my relationship with Randy.