12 - Fiyaz/Slimy Bitch Snake Boys/

¨Avoid danger and be smart.¨

That´s what she (my mom) says, at least. Grinds it into my head like religion.

Whenever I´d go out with friends. Stay after school for robotics. Walk around the neighborhood. Go online. Go to the library. Walk to the library. Teach my brother a dance move that I don´t even know. Walk.

I walk a lot.

This is when I need that bit of information to influence me. Of course, I have it in mind. I can practically see her raising an eyebrow, lips perched; asking me to think smart. Thanks, mom.

So I find some random, vampire-looking boy, with soft eyes, going to some random Latin place. Knowing full well that he could be a killer. A molester. A fucking pervert. Maybe even a warlock or secret keeper of some fantasy world. He invited me to dinner. But, I´m choosing to be smart. I’m going to dinner with him. With James Jeddson.

Sorry, mom.

Look, I know this is horrible. I know it’s quite literally a ticking time bomb. A ridiculous proposition. Trouble. It´s like being pinned against a wall(stay with me here) with a knife at your neck, and spitting and screaming in your attacker´s face.

But, I suppose, this is just a dinner. Offered by some older, direful, pale boy. I´ve always been told that I was born with a body full of disaster. That I reach for it. A lust for affliction.

But, I guess I can blame my heart for this, huh? I wouldn’t be doing this if it wasn’t for Mr. Britt. Over the past week, things have been a bit grim. Whenever I mention his name, my mom turns pale.

Even when I asked an acquaintance of mine, they´d go whiter than a ghost. James is the only one who doesn't go pale all over. He´s the one who wants to talk…by, I guess, not talking.

Essentially, this was it. This was how I am going to find out. What happened to him? Well, at least give me a lead. I don´t expect James to know everything. I just need him to get the truth out. Then we´re done. Finished, over with, eliminated. I don´t want to see him after this.

I´m making this my business. Mr. Britt is my business. He´s in trouble, I could be blind and still see the fact that my teacher is in deep shit. That´s right. My teacher. I was taught to always take accountability once I´ve laid my fingers on something. Like, if I were to pick up a piece of trash in the park, it´s my job to go and put it away.

Whatever it may be. A coke can, a used napkin, a used candy wrapper. I´m taking accountability as soon as my fingers graze the trash. I´m in debt if the piece of trash ends up polluting this Earth. I stopped whatever was happening that afternoon with Mr. Britt. That was me picking up the trash.

This boy is going to give me the tools. The truth. To get Mr. Britt back. Well. I´m not sure if I remember when truly left. When ¨I´ll be with him after school¨ turned into ¨He´s gone¨. Something with true meaning when lost will never have one significant moment that marks them as departed. Disappearing is a progression. Know thinking, he´s been drifting away for a bit now. So, it all sort of blended.

But that´s the past. That´s what was. I´m looking at what's happening and choking the bitch. Choking the present so hard. Taking control of my life. To get what I want. That´s what happens when my stupid heart takes control, isn´t it?

Accordingly. The boy of the hour. James Jeddson. His name leaves a sour bite on my tongue. Apparently, James Marley Jeddson. Seems like someone´s parents were James Marley fans, hm? He´s a slippery snake. A deceitful bitch. That´s where our similarities meet and end. He acts like he´s made of ink. Like his legs, and arms are made of pure liquid. That’s how he walks. He has this milky, sleek, lacquered sort of walk. His chin is always jutted, his hands are always in a fist, and his back is always being watched. Something he knows,

That’s all I know. I´m asking him one question, and I want one, real answer. ¨Why did you lie to me about what happened with Mr. Britt???¨. To which he´ll answer with something stupid. To which I´ll aggravate him, to a point it´ll squeeze itself through his teeth. I haven’t thought clearly about what I will do if he simply avoids the topic.

But, there is a truth somewhere. He at least, looked genuine, like he was trying to help me. Which I know he has no intention of. I know he never will. It´s a mask. I may be a potential friend to him. But every bone in me, every organ, every pulse pumped; knows that he is a fool.

¨Hey, you can stop pacing, you know?¨ My little brother asks. (As always, laying on my bed.) While I get dressed and ready for pure hell.

¨Pacing helps me think, Aodhán.¨

He keeps humming some song and clicking his tongue. ¨Why do you need to think?¨

I pause and look in the mirror. I´m wearing a pair of baggy, grey dad jeans, and a caramel hoodie. It´s opened, exposing my camp tee shirt. ¨JUNIOUR SCI-FI CAMPERS -2018-¨. It´s an old shirt. It was this stupid conspiracy camp. Where we would talk about aliens, the fake moon landing, and what lived in the forest surrounding the camp. Yeah, I had these whole ¨ Aliens are real!¨ phase. I didn´t grow out of it till I was 12. And god, it was 2018 nonetheless, I was what…9? And yes, I still wear the same size shirt as I was in 2018. I haven’t grown all that much since 9. I was a pretty big kid back then. I wasn't scrawny. I´m pretty sure I was 5´4 at 9 years old.

I run my hands through my hair. It´s still shaggy. For once, my bangs are groomed so they curl lightly over my face. And although my shaggy, nearly shoulder-length hair still remains a thick mess. I leave it that way. It´s how I prefer it.

¨Am I not allowed to think in this house, anymore?¨

Adohán snorts. ¨No, thinking is weird.¨

I pat my pocket. Everything is still in there(since the last 5 seconds ago…when I last checked). My keys, wallet, phone, gun, chapstick, and a pink, sparkly pepper spray can that mom wouldn't let me go out if I didn´t bring it. Yeah, good thing I have my mothers´ pink, gemmed pepper spray can, right? Well, honestly, it made me feel a bit more secure. But at the same time, I feel like if I move or twist the wrong way, it´ll go off.

I snicker. ¨Thinking is not weird. Who told you that?¨

¨Mrs. Blas.¨ (His teacher).

I make my way to the door. ¨Yeah, sureeee she did.¨

We agreed to meet at 8:00 pm. It´s 7:30 right now. And it´s about a 5-minute walk there. But, I want to be early. To make sure he doesn't poison my drink. Or whatever sort of vile trick he has in mind.

¨You´re leaving already?¨

¨I want to be early, you know?¨

¨You´re acting like mom, being early and all.¨ That´s what I know my brother is thinking. I see it too. But, we don´t say it.

Aodhán pouts. ¨Just get out and don´t come back.¨

I roll my eyes. ¨I´ll miss you too, bro.¨

And with that, I´m gone. Knowing that my return isn´t guaranteed.