There he is. With a lit cigarette protruding from his mouth, Phat Boy Donnie is glaring at me as I walk by him. He's the toughest guy in the neighborhood. He always has a tough look every time I see him. His dark, muscular arms are tattooed black and his pants sag low. Some people say he's a punk. After repeating the 10th grade for the third time, Phat Boy quit school and was quickly absorbed into the streets. Another friend of his sits next to him and is swinging a half-empty bottle of beer in his hand.
      I don't understand why some guys have it so good. He drops out of school and gets to party every Saturday night with gorgeous girls. I am stuck in high school and get beaten up there. I know what Mama always says, “Darrel, don't you quit school. Or else you'll end up dead on the streets.”
      She just doesn't understand. School can be more dangerous than the streets. At my school, fights happen every other day, the football players beat me up (even though I generously provide them water during their games and practices), and none of the students even care about the academics. The teachers don't stop the fights. In fact, a few weeks ago, a teacher got into a fist fight with a kid who acted up in class. I would say that I am a pretty decent student. I've been on the A/B honor roll since ninth grade. But why would any college want to accept a guy from a run-down school like mine?
      Every time I walk by Phat Boy's house, he sits on his porch and smokes or drinks with his friends. Today is different. I walk up to him and ask, “How do you do it, man?”
Confused, he replies, “Wha'?”
“How did you become so cool? I am one of the best students in my school, but I just get beaten up there. I play chess and basketball, but neither gets me anywhere. What's your secret?”
He scoffs, “Secret? Man, you don't even know nothing. You think you have what it takes to survive inside that dumb school?A dweeb like you certainly wouldn't know how to survive outside of it.”
      He blows his foul cigarette smoke in my face. His friend is completely drunk. Nearly choking on his smoke, I say, “I could always learn how, you know.”
      Phat Boy gets up from his seat. I instantly notice a particular tattoo on his left arm. Something about it stands out from his other tattoos. This one is a picture of a blood-covered knife and a torch crossed together. There is also some strange Latin text tattooed under the imaged that reads, “de fumo in flammam”. I remember learning about this in my Latin class. It means “Out of the smoke into the flame”(1). Why would he have this tattooed this on his arm? He tells me, “Man, I know dudes who could beat you to a pulp. Scram and get lost.”
“How did you end up like this? I am not getting anywhere in school. It seems like only the worst students have the best outlook in life and the best students have the worst.”
Phat Boy's friend says, “Hey Donnie, maybe we should consider this guy. He speaks the truth.”
“Shut up, Ricky,” he snaps, “we don't recruit nerds.”
I ask him, “What do you mean by 'recruit'?”
“Beat it!” he hollers. I sprint away from his porch and head home. On the way, Ricky eventually catches up to me and says, “Man, you seem like some kind of genius.”
“Umm...sure, if you say so.”
“Donnie and I could use a guy like you. You can be the brains of the group.”
“What group?”
      Ricky pulls up one of his sleeves and shows me his tattoo. It's the exact same tattoo that Phat Boy has. He whispers, “Meet me at the park Saturday evening. We'll talk more if you really want to hang with Donnie and me.”
Ricky stumbles back down the street. I could actually hang out with Phat Boy? That would make me cooler than the football team.                                                                  

                                        ***

      Saturday night is finally here. I spent the whole day thinking about Ricky and Phat Boy. I am standing alone in the park right now. The air is muggy and the sun is nearly gone. The noisy neighborhood is now dead silent. All of the kids who were playing out on the street are probably in bed. Even the number of cars that normally pass by the neighborhood park decreased. I decide to stand under the nearest streetlight and wait for Ricky.
      From a distance, I can see Ricky, Phat Boy, and two other dudes with them. My anxiety grows as they approach me. I nervously say, “Hey fellas. So Ricky, you wanted to speak with me about something?”
Ricky, holding a bottle of beer, begins to open his mouth until Phat Boy interferes, saying, “So you want to hang with us, do you?”
“Yeah...um...by all means.”
Ricky laughs, “'By all means'? This guy belongs with us! He's a super genius.”
      Phat Boy only looks toward the other two guys. Their grins are sinister. Phat Boy says, “We'll let you join us, but first you need to pass our initiation.”
The other guys grab my arms. I yelp, “What are you doing?”
      Phat Boy swings his meaty fist at my face. He swings a second time and blood runs down from my nose. I cry for help, but no other people are around to hear me. The two guys throw me down on the concrete and a tooth flies out of my mouth. I hear Phat Boy laugh, “This wimp ain't worth nothin'. Let's head back to my place.”
      I hear footsteps walk away from me. I lay in a pool of my own blood and tears until I am certain that they are gone. With pain in almost every part of my body, I limp home.                                                                  

                                         ***

      Another school day is here...only this day seems drearier than others. The clouds are almost granite gray and thunder rumbles in the distance. I go down my typical route to school. I am still sore from Saturday night, but I try to shrug off my pain. After all, I should be used to being beaten up by stronger guys. That happens typically at school anyway.
      I immediately notice the bright yellow police tape around Phat Boy Donnie's house. Police officers scramble around the area. A woman who looks like she's in her 50s is sobbing hysterically. One officer walks toward me and says, “Get outta here, kid. This is a crime scene.”
“Crime scene?” I ask him, “What happened?”
“Some stabbing happened last night.”
“Is Phat Boy alright?”
      With a puzzled look on his face, the officer asks, “Who?”
“Phat Boy Donnie,” I clarify, “He's the man who lives here. Is he okay?”
“You mean Donnie Thompson? He was stabbed to death at the scene. We're still gathering information.”
      My heart leaped into my throat. I briskly continue my route to school. Maybe hanging out with Phat Boy wasn't a good idea. He just seemed so cool before he beat me up. Now he's gone. I walk through the school doors a few minutes before my first class begins – grateful to be locked behind them.

Citation:

1 “Latin Expressions: Danger.” Latin Phrases & Quotes. N/A:

      The Latin Phrases Dictionary, n.d. Latin Phrases & Quotes.  

      Web. 27 Feb 2015.