☆Blaze☽

Chapter 3 (Part 1):

Time is a funny thing. You sit in school and the seconds go by like hours. You can't make it go faster, and you can't plead with it to slow down.

Those were my morbid thoughts as I stared at the second hand on the clock that was perched on the vanity, except these seconds were flying by. I had never seen time go so fast. Suddenly I had been there staring at it for a minute. But it didn't feel like a minute. And then it was two. Two minutes of my life were gone, watching time.

And then I started to wonder, if I died right now, what would I see in those moments before my heart stopped? Hours studying, on Facebook hoping maybe I would have a notification or a message, family birthday parties? Those would be the 'greatest hits'. Or maybe, I would see those hours I lied awake in bed, or fighting with my brother, or switching schools because I had no friends in the sixth grade.

I instantly remembered why I was doing this in the first place. That was why. So when I was eighty and alone, thinking back on when I was young, I wouldn't be cursing myself out for spending all my time on the internet or on my phone; materialistic things that didn't matter in the grand scheme of life. I would be thinking about the friends I had, the crazy things we did, and all the trouble we got in for them. Now I had Beatle, Mi, Whiskey, and Trick and their wild antics to laugh about; stories to tell my kids and grandkids.

Plus, I'd already done this once before. And I was carrying less weed this time then the last. What was one more time? I could do this. I would do this, and they wouldn't kick me out of their group, and I would have stories to tell my children. It was that simple. I could and I would.

I took a deep breath and spared myself one last look in the mirror. My only thought was: Mom is going to kill me.

I shoved the bag of drugs into my backpack and put my hoodie on. I didn't pull it over my head though; I didn't want to draw attention to myself. I remembered Beatle's reassuring words when he called to tell me how much money I was collecting: It's weed, not cocaine.

That should have been reassuring, but it wasn't.

Then, I was out in the cool night air, and walking out to the meeting place. This time, there was no car waiting for me to make sure I didn't get killed- though they were probably only waiting to guarantee I didn't run off with their money. This time it was just me, Spencer, some money, and weed.

I saw the dim lights shining over the Quickie Mart parking lot up ahead, and a shadowed figure. Surprisingly, Spencer was early. As I got closer, I could see him checking his watch and tapping his foot impatiently. He looked up through the darkness after checking the time, and his glance caught me. Look cool.

Once I was standing next to him, I opened my backpack and pulled the bag out, handing it to him. He didn't test it like the other guy had; he simply stuffed it in his own bag and began rifling through his pockets. Eventually, his hand grasped a dark, leather wallet. He pulled out some money and practically tossed them at me. It wasn't enough, I knew that already, but I forced myself to thumb through them anyways and check.

"You're short," I forced out, I tried to sound tough but I'm sure he must have heard my voice quaver.

"Really? Beatle's changed the prices." Spencer frowned at me and his eyes narrowed. He sucked on his lower lip as I strained to find words, but I couldn't. I wanted to say it's not my fault, get your weed somewhere else; and you can pay, or you can deal with Trick, Mi, Whiskey, and Beatle all at the same time. However, none of those sentences came out. I just stood there with a dumb expression on my face and struggled not to show how scared I really was. It was just weed. Not cocaine.

Much to my relief, Spencer reached back into his wallet and pulled out another bill, placing it into my palm with an exasperated sigh.

Then we had parted ways. I was walking back down my street through the darkness when my phone began to ring. I fumbled around in my pocket before retrieving it and placing it to my ear.

"Hello?" I asked into the phone, trying to peer down to see the number that was calling. I hadn't had time to check before answering.

"Ciao. How'd it go?" Beatle's smooth voice came through the receiver and I bit the inside of my lip harshly.

"Fine; I got the money."

"I figured that much, but how are you?" I stopped walking for a minute, and stared at the phone in confusion. He cared about how I was.

"Me? I'm okay."

"You up for another outing tonight?" I continued to walk. Outing? As in going out? Maybe I was just too optimistic. I searched the cloudless sea of stars as my house appeared down the road.

"Outing?"

"Yes. Relax, Lake, I'm just asking you to come raise a little hell with me." Now, I was searching my mind for an excuse, because I found nothing exhilarating about our last hell raising. I found it terrifying. But underneath the dread and panic I felt as he said that sentence, there was also disappointment. There shouldn't have been, but there was. I mean, I didn't know if Beatle was even gay, it's just not something that comes up in conversations.

"I don't know, I think hell is perfectly good where it is."

"Come on, it's Friday. Where's your sense of adventure?" Beatle sounded anxious, itching to get his fill of criminal activity for the day. To me, Fridays meant that I could nestle into my comforter and read The Book Thief for probably the hundredth time while my hand inhabited a bowl of popcorn.

"I'm pretty sure I left it at school." Beatle heaved a sigh into the phone. I was only a few steps from my house, and I had managed to get outside without waking anyone up. I was hoping I would have the same luck on the way in.

"Live a little." This time I sighed, and shrugged my shoulders even though he couldn't see it. I hopped the squeaky step up to the porch and tried the metal knob. It rattled back and forth, but it didn't open the door. It was locked. Mom must have found out I left and locked me out as punishment. Or at least that was what I thought until I heard a low snigger from the other side. Hayden locked me out.

"Hayden let me in," I whispered through the door. I heard his fingers running teasingly along the other side of the oak door.

"What?" I noticed the phone still wedged between my shoulder and my ear as Beatle's voice poured through.

"Not you."

"What was that, Elliot? I think you might have to yell."

"Hayden, I swear to God-"

"Who the hell is Hayden?"

"Hayden in my-"

"Are you on the phone? Is that a boy?" Hayden tormented me through the door, still refusing to open it.

"Sorry, Hayden was my brother. Because he's going to die if he doesn't let me in the goddamned house!" I resisted the urge to pound my fist into the door, knowing well that Mom would be down a second later.

The door swung open and Hayden was standing there with a large smirk painted across his face. He was leaning against the wall and it took every ounce of willpower not to tackle him to the floor.

"Is that your boyfriend? You didn't tell me you had a boyfriend!" Hayden continued to provoke me, yelling into the phone while I tried to push his head away with my hand.

"You're gay?!" Beatle exclaimed. I gave my cell phone one last glimpse before ending the call and letting it fall from my hand and onto the carpeted entrance, setting my gaze on Hayden.

"You shithead!" My voice echoed loudly off the walls, but I didn't even care at this point. I was too angry. Hayden's eyes turned from arrogance to fear as he tried to make his escape through the kitchen.

I followed after him. He trapped himself; the window was his only way out of the kitchen and I was blocking the only entrance. Hayden looked up, terrified, and I opened the cutlery drawer. I pulled out the collection of metal spoons from the drawer, starting to throw them in his general direction.

"You. Fucking. Dipshit." I flung the spoons in between words as Hayden tried to dodge them. One hit him in the shoulder, but the majority missed. I didn't really want to hit him, one time I had with a Nerf gun and it cut his forehead. He needed two stitches and Mom never let me hear the end of it.

"Throw another, I'll yell for Mom," he threatened through his gasps for breath. This is what I hated about having a younger brother. Having a brother was fine, other than the fact he hated me, because we could be rough with each other. Having a younger brother sucked because Mom always sided with him. One time, he shattered their wedding photo when he was twelve and I got in trouble because I wasn't watching him. He was twelve!

a/n Sorry for the sucky ending. Originally written as two parts for reasons, I wanted to make it one but I would lose all the lovely comments so it remains stupid xD