Gateway was a joint name for both high and elementary schools. The primary school (elementary) consisted of parallel rows of quiet classrooms, completely different from the noisy building that housed the senior high.
As John made the final turn at the corner, facing the direction of his classroom, today's events flashed through his mind. He knew it was only a matter of time before the entire stream heard about his "match." And all those freaks in his class would probably cheer him on to take the challenge.
"Sigh," John let out a mouthful of air as he raised his head, reading the sign that had been written on bond paper and plastered on top of the sliding glass door: 4 Fountain. The work had been done hastily; they couldn't even get a metal or wooden frame. Even though the building had just been unveiled, Gateway's stingy nature would put Mr. Krabs to shame.
"Bang!" Using more force than intended, the door made a sound as it rebounded off its track, grabbing the entire class's attention. All the curious eyes stared at John, waiting. Scratching his head in embarrassment, John said, "My bad, I thought the railing was still blocked with those chip crumbs."
"John, you do this all the time! Do you think you're some sort kind of Ethan Hunt? What if you broke that glass door? Winter is approaching; do you want us to freeze to death?" rang a sharp feminine voice from the center row of the class. That sharp tongue belonged to the class's "witch," Trisha. With her flawless face and nicely tied hair, you would never expect such venomous words to spill out of her smooth pink lips.
"It's all your fault for playing tag in class; don't push the blame on me," John retorted. He had long gotten used to her bickering mouth. Besides, wouldn't everyone know how weak he was if he took an entire minute to open the door?
As John walked away, a crooked smile crept off Trisha's lips. "Interesting, but why won't he react?" Indeed, she was the culprit. This newcomer had given her different vibes from the rest of the class. Not only did he give up pursuing her midway, he's now interested in another. Was he playing her or practicing on her? Either way. "only I get to decide who plays who."
John headed to his desk at the back of the class, in the right corner. But the gazes of the classmates followed him all the way. Even though he didn't have a third eye, the tingling sensation on his back gave it all away.
"What's going on?" John asked his seatmate, Tashman, who only let out a high-pitched, all-knowing laugh. Before John could press him further, a sound rang from behind him.
"Well, if it isn't our secret Casanova—who's the lucky girl this time?" Caspa said while offering himself a seat at the desk, even though that was prohibited by Woo-hat's laws.
"I don't know what you're talking about," John swiveled his head toward Tashman. He wondered if this brat had been running his mouth again. But Tashman's expression only said one thing: Everyone knows, bro.
"Yes, my man!" Out of nowhere, John found himself the victim of a street handshake, the American drug exchange one. But among youths, it only had one meaning: "rizzler."
"Ah, honestly, what's the news?" John continued to feign ignorance, but that only provoked the other youths to poke at him further, especially Xavier, who had just passed on the handshake. "How did you manage it? One kick, a direct score!"
"She accepted?!" John exclaimed, but the laughter that followed made him realize he was just naive and had been schemed against. Suddenly, it hit him, that line from Sweet Tooth: "And this is for your frequent visits to our class. Has your Fountain run out of b*** already?" Hitting his face with his palm, John understood what the matter was about. But doesn't Sweet Tooth have a girlfriend?
"It was nothing; I only got her phone number," John sat down, adjusting the back window behind him. He continued, saying, "I was just trying something new; she's probably taken anyway." John said as he turned around, only to be met by disbelieving eyes.
"Don't lie. Flex's younger brother, Taps, studies in that class; she's not taken, bro," Xavier said, his tone confident with his information.
His confidence traveled directly into John's heart. If that were the case, things might not be as simple as time-pushing.
…
The sun hung high in the sky, exerting a fiery presence on the school sporting fields, which were dotted with students. The smell of freshly cut grass, the sound of distant gossiping teens, and the penetrating warmth relaxed John's fatigued mind.
Scanning the entire field, John spotted a circle near the goalposts. He could see his friends unloading their backpacks. This was his favorite time of day – lunchtime. Knowing there'd be no leftovers if he idled around, John started walking towards the group.
Along the way, the smell of slow-baked bacon and grilled sausages only made his stomach growl louder. A few steps away from the group, a rational thought surfaced in his mind. It had been two months since the term began, and all this time, he had never been seen bringing a lunch box to school.
As he neared the group, his thick skin began to feel thin. He recalled his statement from a day ago, where he mentioned he had no friends in this world. And yet, he shamelessly ate these kids' food from their parents without any remorse. What kind of monster was he? Suddenly, all the hunger, like a stone thrown into a dam, vanished.
"Hey, John, why aren't you taking a seat?" said Zeg Egg, John's classmate from back in elementary school. They both studied at a school in the hood before splitting up at grade seven, only to reunite at the crossroads: grade eleven.
Taking a seat, John unconsciously wrapped his legs around each other, a posture commonly taken when waiting for food in rural areas. Seated to John's right was Kelvin, who cast John a sideways glance along with a raised eyebrow before slowly bringing out his lunch box.
"Who's going to pray for us?" Caspa humorously asked. They had never prayed before. After all, it was deemed a rookie move and an outdated event. Everyone chuckled in reply. Having gotten his "prize," Caspa turned towards John and let out a mischievous grin. "Hey, since you didn't bring your lunch box today either, why don't you pray?"
"Uh," John blinked, waking up to a group that cast him questioning looks. "Oh, God bless our—" His voice was abruptly cut off by Ziggy, who sat beside Caspa, who in turn sat on John's left.
"What are you doing? He's just messing with you," Ziggy laughed. His opened lunch box let out an aroma that made John's stomach growl in protest: polony.
Unable to take it anymore, Kelvin lashed out, "How long are you going to continue eating our food? Next time, bring your lunch," Kelvin said while opening his lunch and placing it in the center.
"Here, have a pair," said Xavier, who sat between Ziggy and Ghost. His opened lunchbox had four slices of bread and two roasted eggs. Before his long hands reached John, Ziggy had already presented his rice on the lunch box cover. "Hold this," he said.
"I got him," chimed the instigator Caspa as he received all the food, placing it in front of John. "Wait, after I mix the noodles, I'll give you my share," said Caspa as he took the noodle spices out of his pockets.
"Here, take mine," said Ghost, noticing how everyone was making him the bad guy.
John stood in place, stunned. Ever since he arrived, he never said a word about food. Since when had his "favor" been worth so much? It's not like he was going to complain if they refused to give him some. Suddenly, his heart could no longer contain his emotions. Scooping everything up, he began filling his mouth.
Laughing off, Caspa continued to say, "Hand over your lunches; I'll do the sharing today." His hands extended, grabbing everybody's lunch. But he paused at Ghost, who had retrieved his from the lunch circle and now had it in his hands.
"Here, you can have mine," he said, looking at John on his left.
"I-m good, already full," John's muffled voice escaped through his stuffed cheeks. But that only made Ghost personally scoop out his rice and pour it into an empty lunch lid.
"Anyway, did you see that hat trick from Haaland that won City the match last night?" said Caspa, shifting the conversation.
"Yeah, I was up all night, didn't even write those geo notes," said Ziggy, "That game cost me ten bucks."
Xavier scoffed, shaking his head. "I told you to sell all those blue jerseys while you still had the chance."
Ziggy rolled his eyes as John interjected, methodically setting down his lunch lids. "I'd rather make money so I can watch the game live in the stadium than be all hyped up like a kid watching Tom and Jerry."
"What do you know? You don't even like sports," said Ghost.
"But money is more important, and you need education to make it," John replied.
"Or an elf," Ghost mumbled.
"Nah, the real money is in the streets. Ever see the money on that power series?" Ziggy countered.
"You mean drugs? That'll end you in bars quicker than a granny can…" Ghost began, but Xavier cut him off.
"That's the low-level stuff Ziggy's talking about—the street side. The real players don't touch the goods. They control who moves it."
"So basically, what? You're saying there's a market?" John asked.
Ziggy nodded. "A big one. And it's booming."
Ghost scoffed, shaking his head. "Yeah? And how many people end up dead or rotting in jail over this 'booming market'? Y'all need to quit this fast-cash nonsense before you end up in some documentary."
"Egan did it. The other guys just weren't smart and ruthless enough. We ain't built like that; instead, we should spend more time working math problems," John argued.
"See, it's better to just pass and get a job," Ghost said.
"But getting all those girls and hosting those parties…" Caspa chimed in, a dreamy look in his eyes.
"Yes, boy… that's the spirit!" Xavier exclaimed, offering a smooth handshake. But Ghost and John silently shook their own hands. That method was just full of risks. Besides, where were they going to find a distro (drug wholesaler)?
…
"There's the bell; we should leave before Woo-hat comes down," said Caspa.
"Who cares about that energetic fool?" Ziggy scoffed.
"Eeh…I don't want to be seen picking up papers," said Ghost, standing up.
"Here, I have to visit the bathroom," Xavier said, passing his bag to Zeg Egg.
"Me too," said John, following right after.
"I guess I should hurry back and finish those notes before the geo lesson starts," Ziggy muttered to himself.
…
"What was that? You made me look mad," Ghost said, grabbing Caspa into a vice.
"What are you talking about?" Caspa squeezed a laugh.
"You were supposed to back me up!" Ghost hissed.
…
"Bro, I'm telling you, I'll be the Gustavo of this empire," said Xavier, zipping his pants.
"Boy, with your grades, you're only fit to be Pink-man," John retorted.
"And even that might be a challenge, hah," continued John.
"Fuck you," Xavier muttered.
"But seriously, we should use these people's addiction," Xavier continued, lowering his voice.
"Man, lower your voice. One, you have no supplier. Two, you have no ties with the street, " John whispered back.
"Biggest goddamn dealer in Southern Africa, ha! First, get your periodic table right," John scoffed.
"Right now, you're too green," John continued, walking away, not noticing that Xavier had already halted his steps. "We should work more on those chem exercises, and maybe you might just reach 60% before consultation day," John continued as he grabbed the railing. Finally noticing the silence, John swiveled his head backward, only to find Xavier standing at the base of the stairs, mumbling some inaudible words.
"Come on, we still have afternoon lessons before home time," urged John.
"Nah, I have to see this girl first," Xavier said, raising his head and smiling.
"Oh… good luck," John said with an all-knowing smile as he began climbing the stairs, not realizing the way up was down. And that someone had already found this universal truth before him and would only realize it after many months would have passed.