Making a Mafiosa

3 ◇ frienemy or foe

- Flashback -

In every high school, there are groups of friends that get stereotyped as a certain crowd: preps, jocks, nerds, emo kids, band geeks, etc. As you can guess, my school was no exception.

We had all of those and then some.

The main difference between my high school and every other generic school was one specific stereotype. Instead of wanting to be popular, everyone wanted to be classified as "Boyevyye angely: a mafia fiend," which roughly translated means battle angel: a mafia demon. Oftentimes shortened to BAMF; the actual intention behind the shortening not being lost on anyone.

This group was often publicly dismissed and secretly feared, yet everyone desperately wanted to be a part of it. Most members, the heirs, were children of the highest of mafia dons from all over the globe. The elite of the elite. Being associated with this group automatically boosted your rank regardless of your family's standings.

The kids themselves were all so edgy and badass. They walked around oozing power and authority with every step. Most non-members think they're stuck up, but how could they not be? They literally rule all of Russia and have most of North America and Europe in the palm of their hand.

Now I should mention, this was a private school that started in kindergarten and went through twelfth grade. You had to apply and be accepted. The first hurdle is figuring out where the school even is. I mean, they can't let just anybody into one of the most dangerous schools in the world, let alone the United States. Most admittances came with your bloodline. If your family had a history of going, you were in, as long as your family was still an ally and active in the mafia. That's how I got in, along with 80% of the school.

I had wanted to be in the mafia fiend group for as long as I could remember. They were legends and the main characters in many of the stories passed around the playground. You officially got initiated into the group high school. Meaning, us non-heirs had until then to impress the heirs and score ourselves an invite.

All throughout elementary school, kids spent their free time planning and scheming about how they were going to find their "in." Plans ranged from acting as a servant to an heir to selling some illegal items for the mafia to using their fifth cousin's low-level rank to gain them some pull.

The start of middle school only amplified the talk and the plans only got crazier. It was announced, by Brandy Morozov, that there would be, at most, eight available spots to non-heirs, as compared to the normal twelve. She didn't want the table to feel "cramped" and blamed it on her sensitive elbows needing extra space. Whatever that means.

This unexpected announcement yet again added fuel to the fire. Soon, the hallways reeked of desperation and panic. Most kids had bags and dark circles under their eyes from staying up all night to plan. I had remained calm because, at the time, I already had my "in" set in motion and it was working quite well.

My dad was steadily making his way up in the mafia ranks and making all of the right friends. Honestly, I just needed him to maintain where he was at and I was as good as gold. Not that I would complain if he climbed higher. I was feeling really good and I hadn't had to lift a finger.

Too bad I can never count on my dad for anything. My plan began to crumble around me during the second semester of seventh grade. I suddenly found myself towards the very bottom of the list in terms of who the heirs would want to invite to join the mafia fiends.

What happened you ask? My dad was completely stripped of his mafia rank. Excommunicated. Disassociated. Blacklisted. And just like that, my "in" was blown up in one stupid decision.