We've always met at Sal's. The six of us. It's been part of a daily routine that not one of us has neglected since the amazing discovery that we all had more in common than we realized upon reluctant introductions.
One important thing to point out is this: we have never visited one another's houses. Mainly because most of us don't live in ideal conditions, so we never stay there longer than we have to. But also because everyone likes the idea of meeting in a dank alleyway behind a bar.
What can I say? We're teenagers.
So when I'm shoved awake by Blake the next morning, I think that I'm still asleep when I see Parker standing behind him.
I sit straight up and blink monotonously as my brain struggles to wake up.
Parker leans closer towards Blake. "Is she okay?"
My brother snorts and nudges me with his knee.
I narrow my eyes questioningly at both of them before finally focusing my gaze on Parker.
"What the hell are you doing here?"
"I have something impor~"
"Do you know what'll happen if Andy finds out that you're here?" I growl angrily, stumbling groggily from my bed to the door where I peek out into the empty hallway.
"He's still sleeping Caz." Blake says from behind me.
I relax a little bit when I hear that.
"Knocked clean out." Parker mumbles.
"Explain yourself." I say, turning around to face Parker, shoving my finger threateningly in his face. "This better be good."
"I was trying." He growls.
He's met with silence.
"The attacks," He starts.
Blake groans and runs his hands through his hair in frustration. "I've heard enough of this." He mutters forcefully under his breath.
"I know, I know." Parker mumbles. "But hear me out."
I look over at Blake and then motion for Parker to continue.
"I don't think that it was the Agents who bombed the Trade Center yesterday."
"Then who the hell was it?"
Instead of answering Blake, Parker pulls some papers out of the bag hanging by his side and searches through them.
"I made charts, of each attack." He lays out a piece of crumpled paper on my bed and smooths it until it's readable.
I tilt my head to look at the crude drawings.
These are series of attacks up until the day before yesterday. They're all the same. The same amount of time, the same number of choppers. The same attack methods."
My head is beginning to hurt. It's too early for this.
What exactly are you saying Park? If someone else bombed the Center, who was it?" I ask, interrupting little Einstein.
He sighs and pushes his long blond hair back. "I don't know, yet."
"Well how 'bout you come back when you have something solid." Blake spits, and folds his arms across his chest.
Parker looks at me desperately, begging me with his eyes to side with him.
But Blake is right. Parker is a strange kid. He's always talking everyones' ears off about conspiracy theories that are both bizarre and impossible. This isn't anything new, and the recent past suggests that by next week he'll have moved onto something else.
"Sorry Park, you need to go."
* * * *
"Do you think I'm a terrible person?" Silva asks as we lounge on the park bench later that day with warm pretzels clutched in our cold hands.
A crisp winter wind blows through the trees around us. They groan and bend, but when everything is still again, they stand tall and proud.
I pull my coat tighter around myself and take a bite of pretzel, savoring the taste before I respond.
"Yes. You're awful. Like seriously, you're the worst." I grunt in response.
My friend stares at me like a kicked puppy.
"God Silva, no. I don't make a habit of hanging out with terrible people." I snort.
"Well you hang out with Jason, so that's reason enough to question your judgement." She points out.
"You're friends with him too." I laugh.
"Yeah yeah. Birds of a feather flock together?"
"Do you want me to say you're a terrible person?"
"Only if it's the truth."
"Why do you care anyways? I thought that was your thing, not caring." I swing my legs back and forth underneath the bench and take another bite of pretzel.
"Pffft. I don't care. I was just curious."
I raise an eyebrow at her but let it go. Pushing her never did anyone any good.
"You ready to go?" She asks, changing the subject.
"I still have half a pretzel, and you won't telling me where you're taking me." I mumble.
I hate surprises and unexpected things and change. But surprises most of all.
Silva shrugs and stands up.
"Can you at least tell me if I'll like it?" I try.
Silence.
That's not good.
"I'm not going to like it am I?!" My revelation is followed by a groan. "Dude why should I go if I know already that it's no good, no bueno?"
Nothing.
"Fine okay, whatever. Let's get it over with I guess." I stand up and shove my hand that isn't occupied by pretzel remains into my jacket pocket.
Truth be told, half of the time Silva has told me she's taking me somewhere I won't like, I have. So there is a slight chance that you know, everything will be fine and I won't want to die.
I shake my head to dislodge the thought that coughs politely and reminds me that there's also a chance that the opposite will be true. I have no place for rational thoughts at this given moment.
Silva grins victoriously, takes my wrist, and drags me after her as she starts down the sidewalk at a brisk walk.
As we walk at a pace way too fast for my liking, the scenery around us changes from that of dull colored trees to equally dull buildings as we enter into the city.
The outskirts of New York are where I grew up, so the familiarity is something that I have become far too attached to. I rarely go further than I need to into the heart of the city, and thank God I've never needed to.
I kick a pebble that has been most unfortunate to end up in my path, and take a bite of my pretzel that is no longer warm. I blame Silva. Brisk walking is neither good for me or for warm pastries.
Just when I'm about to open my mouth and ask if we're almost there, Silva comes to a halt.
I look around. "Is this it?"
"Pfft you wish." Silva laughs.
And then the bus pulls up.
Are you kidding me? I groan internally, but Silva's grip on my arm doesn't loosen as she drags me up the metal stairs, down the bus aisle, and deposits me in a seat right next to an old man. His head is pressed against the window and mouth open as gentle snores escape. His breath reeks of alcohol and multiple teeth are missing, the rest yellow.
I wrinkle my nose and look away.
The buildings fly by outside of the window in front of me, eventually fading away to give way to wooden shacks and decaying houses, which I recognize as the area surrounding Old Man Gregor's Gravel Pit.
Environment induced panic tries to crawl its way up my throat, but I suppress it by showing the last of my pretzel in my mouth. Keep it together I chide myself.
I can feel Silva's eyes on me, but I continue to look straight ahead at the blur of houses that are becoming clearer and clearer as the bus slows and then bucks to a stop.
"This is us." Silva says, and tugs me up and out of the bus, noticeably gentler than before.
I step down onto the broken concrete slab that serves as a bus stop, and breathe in sharply as the frigid wind and reality slap me in the face.
Silva is already walking towards the Pit, knowing that from this point whatever I do needs to be voluntarily for it to even possibly work.
We've tried this before, obviously to no avail. If nothing else, it shows dedication on both Blake and Silva's parts. I know I would've given up on me a long time ago if I wasn't stuck with myself.
I force my mind to go as blank as possible before reluctantly trailing behind my friend.
