04-Paul

“What was that all about?” Paul asked.

He walked alongside Rob through the crowded hallway. They were like clones, wearing the same type of loose-fitting Tommy Hilfiger and Nautica gear, topped with identical smug expressions. As they moved along the hallway, traffic seemed to veer away from them.

“I didn’t like the way that motherfucker was looking at me,” Rob replied.

Paul grimaced. “What’s up with you, man?”

“What?” Rob asked, defensively.

“Summer is like a week out. Don’t fuck up now.”

Rob had his hands up in the air, explaining himself. “Dude looked like he was asking for it, that’s all I’m sayin.’”

Paul looked at him. “Seriously, you can’t be doing that, Rob. Your ass is gonna get expelled if you get into another fight. You know that, right?”

Rob sighed, and mumbled, “I hate this fuckin’ place.”

Paul was tall and slender, and while usually quiet, his expression was always like he knew of an inside joke that no one else did. Meanwhile, Rob was an absolute bruiser, filled to the brim with sarcasm and spite, his biting words every bit as intimidating as his physicality.

Paul and Rob had been friends since elementary school. As little kids they’d first become friends because Rob was funny, and Paul laughed at his antics. Little had changed over the years—to that day, their relationship was composed primarily of Rob cracking jokes while Paul snickered.

“So, did you sample the new stash yet?” Rob asked.

“Nah,” Paul replied. “I was going to, I mean, the three of us wanted to smoke up, but after Trey’s mom pulled his bong out of his car, well…that kind of killed the party, you know?”

Rob giggled maniacally. “That shit is so goddamn funny. I wish I could have been there, just to watch it go down.”

“Screw that, man. That happened like five seconds after I pulled up, and I’m still traumatized and shit. I feel like I’m gonna be having nightmares. I mean…Big Blue! He was one of us, you know?”

“Not anymore, he ain’t. Hey, how much did Trey buy, anyway?”

“Just a dub.”

Rob scowled. “What a pain in the ass that is. These guys said they have another quarter-pound waiting for me, but if we’re just selling dubs it will take fuckin’ forever.”

“We should be able to unload a bunch this weekend at Antwann’s house. All his pothead friends will be there.”

“Oh, yeah, shit! I forgot that was going down this weekend! You just made my day, bro.” Rob grinned widely. “Actually, it begs the question, why are we still here in school? We got to enjoy every minute of this, right? I mean, having a free and open house and all.”

Paul didn’t reply, and during the silence he sensed some kind of onslaught coming—he could even see it brewing in Rob’s face.

“Oh, wait, I forgot, you’re still carrying your fuckin’ flour bag,” Rob barked. “What, are you just practicing to be a bitch now?”

Paul still didn’t reply.

“You gonna wrap it up in a blanket too?” Rob asked. “Swaddle it like a little bitch?”

Paul sighed. It was time to call him out.

“Hey, there’s a one-hundred percent chance I’m gonna be a senior next year, which is more than anyone can say about your ass. You are gonna pass junior year, right?”

That worked. Rob clammed up.

“Don’t sell yourself short, Paul,” Rob said, eventually. “You’re not just gonna be a senior. You’re a freakin’ honor student.”

As usual, Rob ducked the question. He never talked about his standing, Paul noticed.

“How do you even keep that up, Paul?” Rob asked.

“Well…I barely do,” Paul muttered. “I’m sure as hell no Sonny.”

Sonny was Paul’s older brother. He had gone to college on academic scholarship. Paul knew his parents expected much the same from him. It often seemed surprising that he and his brother were even related. Sonny had done nothing but put his head down and work his ass off all through high school. He’d had only a few friends and didn’t mess around at all. Sonny would surely shit a brick if he knew what Paul was up to these days.

Paul continued. “It sucks because my parents think I have in me what Sonny had in him. I’m always being compared to him, and the high standard he set.”

“What a dick,” Rob said.

“Seriously, I don’t think Sonny ever drank or did anything all through high school.”

“You should smoke him out when he comes back to visit during summer break. To show him what he’s been missing.”

Paul looked at him with a stern expression. “Dude, if you do see Sonny over the break, you better not tell him anything. He’d probably rat me out.”

Rob nodded.

“I’m serious, Rob, don’t say shit to him. You hear me?”

“Okay, I hear you. Your brother is an asshole and you’re deathly afraid of him, I get it. Can we get back to the business at hand?”

“What’s that?”

“Are you seriously gonna stick around here all day?”

“I think so,” Paul answered. “Are you gonna ball out?”

Rob nodded. “Probably.”

“It actually may not be a bad idea for you to get the hell out of dodge, man. Coach is gonna be looking for you first, you know.”

“Yeah. He probably just saw me throw my own child at Amy Weaver.”

Paul laughed. “And on that note, Rob Smith wins father of the year.”

“No, this motherfucker right here wins father of the year,” Rob said, pointing up ahead.

Raza Singh emerged from the hallway traffic and walked up to them. He carried two bags of flour, each of them prominently displayed, one under each arm. His appearance was clean and impeccable, his clothes looked brand new, and his face was locked in its usual smirk, suggesting he was fully unconcerned with anything or anyone around him.

Paul pointed at Raza. “Aren’t you gonna give him shit, Rob? Raza’s carrying two babies.”

Rob shrugged. “He’s a double-bitch, then.”

“That was weak, Rob,” Raza said, shaking his head. “You’re slacking.”

“Yeah, I’m not in great form prior to lunch. Hold on…give me a second…”

“We’re waiting.”

Rob contemplated a bit longer, and then spoke. “So, it’s not enough that both of you guys are pussy-whipped in real life? Now you both need to be whipped during class also?”

Raza laughed. “There it is.”

“I mean, shit, Lauren Kenny already has Paul by the sack. Now, Raza, you’re following his lead with your little freshman girl. Now both of you guys are walking around carrying fuckin’ dolls? Jesus, what the fuck is wrong with you guys?”

“And we’ve arrived,” Raza said. “I was worried about you, man.”

“Yeah, shit, Raza you got him all worked up. Chill out, Rob.”

“It’s too late. I don’t think I can. I’m not gonna feel better until all these fuckin’ flour babies are out of my sight and there’s alcohol in my system. Both of those things need to happen, and preferably soon.”

Up ahead, they saw a rare sighting. His name was Ed Lugo and they watched him emerge from the crowd. His giant hair was part braided, part dreadlocked, and it hung in every direction. His jeans were ragged and so comically huge it appeared as if he were wearing a giant jean skirt, one that reached beyond his ankles and it even trailed on the floor behind him.

“Holy shit,” Paul blurted. “And the dead rise from the grave. Where have you been, Ed?”

“Hey, Paul. What’s up with you guys?”

“What’s goin’ on, Ed?” Rob asked. “Shit, I thought you dropped out.”

“No, I’ve been around. I’ve been spending a lot of time with my girlfriend.”

“Yeah, how’s she doing?”

“Good. She’s good.”

Rob busted out laughing quite suddenly.

“What’s so funny?” Ed asked, his dreadlocks hanging in the air, his eyes lazy and drifting.

“I was trying to think of who you look like, man, and the best I can come up with is a cross between Chris Cornell, Snoop Dogg, and…someone else…but I can’t quite put my finger on it…” Rob’s face wrinkled in thought.

“Gandalf,” Raza finished, and Rob busted out laughing again.

“Thanks, that’s exactly what I was going for, man,” Ed said. “Anyway, are you guys interested?” Ed touched his finger to his tongue. “It’s called Wizard…strangely enough.” Ed’s face looked awed for a second.

“Ooh. That’s that shit Jon took the other night,” Rob said. “I saw him, dude. He was lunchin.’ All fucked up.”

“How much?” Paul asked.

“Five,” answered Ed.

“I’ll get one,” Rob said.

Paul shrugged. “Yeah, what the hell, me too.”

“Cool. Raza?”

Raza shook his head. “Hell no.” Then he walked off toward his next class without even saying bye.

Rob and Paul followed Ed to the closest bathroom. Once inside, Ed wrapped their doses in tinfoil and gave it to them.

“If you guys know anyone else who’s looking, let me know,” he said.

“Sure, man. You need any bud?” Rob asked.

“Nah, I’m all set there.”

With that, Ed walked off, continuing his rounds about the school. Class would start again soon, but likely he wasn’t overly concerned with that.

“I might just drop this right now,” Rob said, with the tinfoil in hand, a contemplative look on his face. “It’ll make this day a little more interesting. At least bearable, you know?”

“Put it away, dude,” Paul said. “You’re not in tenth grade anymore. At least wait until school’s out.”

“You’re fuckin’ killing me today, Paul,” Rob said bitterly, as he tucked the doses into his wallet. “I’ve had enough of this.”

“Enough of what?”

“When I get out of school today, it is fucking on. I’m droppin’ acid, I’m drinking forties, hell, I might do both tonight.”

“Goin’ full Superman, huh?”

“Yeah. I got to set things right again, after all the bullshit I’ve been subjected to this morning. No, wait…screw the acid. Change of plans.”

“That was a fast pivot.”

“I’m hitting the beers hard tonight. And then I’m gonna hit something else.”

“Yeah? What?”

“Amy Weaver. She wants it, in case you haven’t noticed. And if that little sophomore fuck gets in my way—Brad fuckin’ Martin, or whatever the fuck his name is—I’m gonna kick his fuckin’ ass. And trust me, I won’t hold back this time.”