Class Dictator

Garage

Saturday is here. As planned, we all rendezvoused at the intersection where Derrick and I split off every day. We're all silent. I guess we're all asking our own questions even though they're probably all the same. Rachel plugged in the address to her phone and followed the directions.

We must have ridden our bikes for thirty-seven minutes. I see an old square warehouse. It's not incredibly big but still a remarkable size. The wind whistles as we approach and it's almost like it was asking us to turn back now. Should I listen?

There is a steel door next to a twenty foot tall garage door. Derrick presses the intercom beside it to cause a buzzing sound.

"What do you want?" we hear in Kyle's angered voice.

"I--It's us. The guys you said to meet here," Derrick replied as nervousness made a rare appearance in his tone.

"Oh. That’s awesome. It’s really sweet. Perfect. Come in," he says as the garage begins to roll open. The five of us slowly enter.

The warehouse has clean cement floors, walls, and windows. To our left are two cars, a heavy pickup truck, a motorcycle, and a black van. To the right are piles of boxes and creates stacked eight feet high. There is a second story protected by steel railing with stairs following up on either side.

Above the vehicles are two couches surrounding a T.V. and a third alongside a large, clear window. There is also a lime green pool table beside them. Above the boxes are a mini-fridge, a sink, stove top, and a cabinet. Then, on the opposite side of us on the top floor is a computer center with six screens and billboards on either side. Below that are what seem to be a bathroom on the right and an office room on the left. We see Kyle peering through the office window. He walks out.

"Welcome to the garage!" he said with his arms spread wide. Cautiously, we walk towards him.

"Nice place," Joel mumbled.

"How do you afford this?" Amy questioned.

"My dad is one of the best stockbrokers on Wall Street. This was a present. If I'm not at school, I'm most likely here," he answered in glee and continues to ravel in the place as if he’s just become acquainted with it.

"Why do you have so much junk?" Rachel said as she doesn’t share his enthusiasm.

"They are important tools of war. Let me explain. Two years ago, some idiot told the school to have a 'Clique Olympics.' Nerds hacked phones, Jocks snapped arms, and the whole thing turned sour. At first it was just Nerds and Jocks, but then Beauties and Goths got in the mix. Soon, every group has beef. Now the principal does all he can but the disturbances get bigger and bigger. The only thing that will end it is if one group is left."

"Who came up with that dumb idea?"

"That would be yours truly. I didn't want this. I thought people needed to express themselves. Unfortunately, they did it a bit too well."

"So why do you want us?" Derrick pondered.

"From what I know, you are the only freshmen who don't belong to a clique. I have all we need to stop any more sick jokes from tearing the city apart. I need help, though."

We all gazed at each other. It’s like we are having discussions in our minds about how to proceed. With nods and winks, we turn back to Kyle. He extends his hand to me

"I need help, Wyatt. Are you guys in or out?"