Loving Max

Chapter 8: Close Call

Teenagers today are so easy to deceive. With the emergence of the internet, their gullibility has become more and more evident. In a four-letter word, they are 'dumb'. You can post something about their favorite drink having some kind of substance like goat piss in it, combined with a clearly edited picture and they'll go crazy over it. I am a teenager but I think I don't belong to this generation. I mean, sure, I use the internet, but I scrutinize everything I see before I believe them. And now, I'm using that gullibility as my advantage.

I am talking to Kent, who had the thought that the serial killer is the one that broke in at their house. I almost laughed at him but I had to stop myself because I might sound like I'm not taking him seriously. He continued on and on until he arrived at the theory that the serial killer is a student at Harley High and is crazy over Max. Not that I blame him, I would probably theorize that one, too. As I thought about it, I realized that I had to get my hands on those pictures again because that theory might be considered plausible by the police and they might investigate at the school. But as soon as I was about to make a move, Kent said another thing that might be a problem, too.

"But one thing that's bothering me, bro, is that there was no picture of you." he said.

"What do you mean, picture?" I asked him.

"You see, the serial killer posted some pictures of our circle of friends on the mirror. Me, Grace, John and Raf but there was no picture of you, bro."

Now that is a problem. If I wanted to completely throw them off my scent and blame everything on the serial killer, I should have put my picture on that mirror. What should I say now? He's got this suspecting look in his face, his eyebrows furrowed. I was about to open my mouth to defend myself but he said something first.

"Could it be that---" he stopped. I held my breath and I could hear my heart beating so fast. I was clenching a fist, ready to strike him right there and run.

"Could it be that," he repeated "he did not consider you as my friend?" finally he said. I sighed more obviously than I imagined and he looked at me even more suspiciously.

"Right, maybe, he did not see me when he was... um, gathering data" I laughingly said.

"Right. Dumb serial killer." he said and I laughed even more.

"No, it's you who's dumb" is what I thought. "So what do you plan to do now?" I asked him.

"I want to report the incident to the police." he answered. "I was hoping that you could help me since your dad is a cop."

"Sure thing. Anything for a friend. Um, actually, I was here to bring my dad some lunch so why don't you leave that to me." I said, snout-pointing to the folder with a paper clip on the top right of it that he was holding on his lap.

"But... I want to personally know what the police has to say about this. Can I do that, Paolo?" he asked.

He said my name and truth for everybody that when someone says your name when you're talking/arguing, you know he meant it.

"Sure thing you can, but it would take you hours before you can officially file a complaint and I think you don't have hours to spare, bro. You look like you did not sleep for a century. You need to rest, man. I got this. I got you." I said to him, trying my best to look concerned.

"You sure, man?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. Go get some nap. You look like you would eat my brains."

"Thank you, man. Glad I had a friend like you."

"Are you gay?" I jokingly said. He just smiled and handed his documents to me. He got up from his chair and went outside.

When I made sure he was out of earshot, I sighed. "That was easy," I muttered to myself. I scanned through the folder in my hands now. I saw the pictures that I edited that scared the hell out of Kent and as I was looking at them, I remembered how fun it was looking at that little idiot's scared face. But that was a short time of evil joy because I was startled by my father and I immediately closed the folder.