Chapter 2

At the mall the boys killed a little time strolling around the concourse under its angled glass ceiling. The daylight beamed down where they stood leaning over the railing, while Emer tried to spit in a garbage can on the lower floor. The sun moved across the sky. illuminating every speck of dust floating through the recycled air. It was there that Song noticed the light reflecting off of Emmanuel’s skin through half a dozen little holes in his t-shirt.

“I don’t understand how you’re not ashamed to be seen in public in those rags, Brooks. That shirt is one of the nicest I’ve seen you wear, and it’s already half destroyed. When are you going to get new clothes?”

Putting a finger through one of the small holes in his shirt Emmanuel tapped his exposed flesh and answered the asian boy without looking in his direction. “Mom’s gonna take me shopping before school starts back. Why do you care?”

“I’m just thinking if we talk to some attractive girls, they’re gonna think we’re trash. You need to get a nicer shirt before we start making our rounds.” Song was thinking more along the lines that the potential girls would think the taller boy was trash, and their proximity to one another, let alone their association could cause a problem.

“Dude.” Emmanuel stressed the word without raising his voice. “I haven’t got the money on me. I’m just gonna wait.”

“Absolutely not. I’m not gonna let you ruin my chances with some chick before the conversation even starts. Go. Get. A. New. Shirt.”

Emer watched this back and forth, not for the first time. He loved hanging out with his buds but like clockwork, every few days they’d start bickering like this. He knew Song was an ass, but to Emer, it was just part of his charm. Often he’d find himself doing damage control, when his diminutive friend would start running his mouth. “Hey, calm down, guys. It’s all gravy. It’s like twenty bucks for a new shirt, Manny. You gotta get a new shirt anyway. Why not just get one now?”

Having grown up in a decidedly middle class household, Emer rarely went without. Years of comfortable living, and having anything he could ever want did the boy a disservice when it came to finances. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand how much things cost, but that the spending power of a sales position like his father’s didn’t go nearly as far as he thought it did. The blonde had a D in remedial math after all, not doing much to help push back against the stereotype. Emer’s step-mother left her teaching position to raise his baby brother; a half brother though he never pointed that out. Everyone in his family got along, but when they sat him down and had a conversation about tightening their belts, he just smiled and nodded, then asked his dad for fifty bucks to buy a new skateboard.

“I don’t have the money…like at all.” Emmanuel explained to the befuddled himbo who nodded his agreement, but his puzzled expression told the other boys he still didn’t really understand.

“Just steal it.” Song said bluntly, blowing past Emer’s confusion, “Just walk in the store, grab it, and walk out. What are they gonna do, really? Call mall security?”

“I’m not gonna steal it.” Emmanuel countered. In the year since he’d started hanging out with the other two boys, he’d get in spats with Song, but eventually he’d back down, because it wasn’t worth the effort to keep the fight going. For this though, he dug his heels in, refusing to budge an inch.

Song didn’t know how to respond to this. He was used to getting his way, and a world where that didn’t happen didn’t compute in his egotistical mind. It was just a stupid t-shirt, but he couldn’t let it go. If the ‘help’ didn’t know their place, then they might try to take his spot from him, and he couldn’t have that. Plus he didn’t want to go to the trouble of finding two more kids to help him with his endeavors. The only move that came to mind was to push back just as hard.

“Just steal it.” Song flicked his wrist like what he said was both obvious and no big deal.

For the first time in the conversation Emmanuel turned to face Song and replied not harshly, but with a little bit of steel in his voice. “No.”

Hearing the firmness of Emmanuel's voice, Song shook his head slowly, his long hair spilling about as his own frustration grew. He didn’t understand why Brooks was acting like it was such a big deal. “Why are you being a little bitch about it? Just steal the fucking shirt.”

“I. Said. No.”

“He’s not gonna steal it, bro.” Emer interjected between slurps on his fountain drink.

“Yes he is.” Song said defiantly, now glaring at Emer.

“No he isn’t.” Emer snickered.

“Yes he is!” Song’s blood had risen. He actually spit a little bit, shouting loud enough to turn the heads of some shoppers walking by.

“I bet you twenty dollars he isn’t.” Emer countered, then he sucked on his straw for the last drops of his beverage, the gurgling noise nearly giving Song a stroke as he seethed.

“Fine! Deal!” Song stormed over to Emmanuel and leaned in close, whispering, “Look Brooks, what’s it going to take for you to just steal the damn thing?”

When the two boys met, Song made a lot of assumptions about Emmanuel. He’d met the type before. One of those bruisers who didn’t have two brain-cells to rub together, but could carry his own in a fight. His ‘business’ needed muscle, not that the taller boy looked all that strong, but Song had both seen and heard he can carry himself in a fight. Emmanuel was just the guy for the role. He’d be easy to placate, and even easier to manipulate if the need arose. A silent hulk was a good thing to have by your side in almost any circumstance.

As Song hadn’t yet come to understand, Emmanuel was one of the smartest kids in school. A quiet guy by nature, and with a reputation as a killer, he gave the impression to some, namely Song, that he was a bit of a dumb brute. In actuality, each and every second, the kid was thinking about something, too torn up on the inside to care much about what was going on around him. He liked Emer enough, thinking him a good buddy when all was said and done. He thought Song was a Jerk, even though he kind of pitied him. They were kindred spirits in loneliness as far as he was concerned. They just handled it in different ways, him learning to spend most of his time in his thoughts, and Song trying to **** people into liking him. In this particular moment however, he was pissed. Emmanuel figured he might as well take advantage of the little jerk while the opportunity presented itself. Maybe he could even blow past Song’s narcissism enough to make the snobby boy actually second guess himself.

“It will take forty dollars.” Emmanuel answered. Knowing full well that Song had just bet twenty dollars for the task to be completed, he was determined to take the whole pot for himself.

Song’s first instinct was to flat out say no, but a glance over his shoulder seeing Emer’s prideful grin behind him, set him off. He rationalized to himself, ‘I suppose this works in my favor anyway. Two birds with one stone. I can put Emer in his place, and I can let Brooks here know who’s got the money. I know he doesn’t have any. Gotta keep ‘em coming back for more.’

“Fine,” he relented. “Just make sure you get out fast. I don’t feel like dealing with the rent-a-cops today.”

Song pulled two twenties from his wallet, and gave them to Brooks. Without a word, Emmanuel turned, and marched into the store. From where they stood, the other two boys couldn’t see inside, but that was by design.

Emmanuel searched the racks for only a few moments till he found a simple orange t-shirt that fit his needs. At the counter he handed the clerk one twenty dollar bill, the other tucked away in his pocket for safe keeping. He also handed her a hastily written note that said, “I’m going to pretend to steal this.” The employees all wore a puzzled expression as they watched a lanky teenager run full speed from the store, with other two trailing behind him after he turned the corner.

“Wow, Manny. That was fucking crazy. Way to go.” Emer was thoroughly entertained by the whole affair, laughing hysterically as he tried and failed to catch his breath.

“I told you he’d do it, don’t ever doubt me.” Song bragged. “Now, pay up.”

“What?” Emer said, not sure what his friend was referring to.

“The twenty dollars…for the bet…”

“Oh right. Sorry bro, I don’t have twenty bucks on me.”

“Then why the hell did you bet me twenty dollars?” Song was fuming again, this time directed toward the air headed blonde who by this point had moved on to other things.

Moving his hand to the back of his neck Emer’s fingers moved up to scratch the back of his head before running them through his long blonde locks while he thought about it. Coming to an answer, he gave Song that easy smile and a shrug. “I dunno. Cause that’s what you bet, right?”

The corner of Song’s mouth twitched as he stared at the dimwit in front of him, making a mental note to expect less in the future. “Fine.” Song huffed. “You’ll just have to pay me back some other way.”

It was a couple of hours later, and Emmanuel was wearing the orange shirt. The boys were still wandering around the concourse with little aim when Song caught sight of a girl who struck his fancy walking into a higher end clothing shop on the second floor, The Hanger. He followed her in, dragging his friends along, where he saw her carry a dress into the women’s changing room.

“I’m gonna sneak in there, and take a peak.” Song said nefariously, still riding the high from the adrenalin earlier. “Come in there with me, Emer. I might need a boost.”

“I dunno, dude.” Emer said, waving it off. “That seems like a bad idea. I don’t want to go to pervert prison.”

“It’s not pervert prison, you buffoon. It's just prison. Like one prison.” Song said sharpley. He almost shouted it, but remembered the goal just in time to quell his temper. “Look, you owe me, bro. Just shut the fuck up, and come in there with me. I already peaked a little. There’s private doors in all the stalls. We just need to be quiet and we can peep over them.”

Emer wanted to argue, but he did owe Song. He knew that the relentless teen wouldn’t let it go either, so he relented. In his mind it didn’t hurt that he’d get to see some boobs as well. “Allright, man. You twisted my arm. I’m in.”

“Good.” Song said matter-of-factly. He commanded, ‘Wait out here Brooks. We need a lookout. Just shout if you see anybody coming.” The entitled boy didn’t wait for a response, before he walked off leaving Emmanuel behind.

People made a lot of assumptions about Emmanuel. His quiet demeanor, and lack of passion for anything didn’t really give people a lot to work with. Most assumed he was just another hooligan. Growing up on the wrong side of the tracks meant a need to know how to defend himself. He’d get in a fight at least once a week, most of the time losing before he got to highschool. The worst fight led to the little scar that now split his eyebrow.

What his friends didn’t know is that when Emmanuel was in middle school, his father went to prison. After that his very young mother was rarely home, having to work multiple jobs to make ends meet. She wasn’t around as much as she needed to be to help her son process the trauma of having a parent ripped away at such a formative age. As a result the boy had to repeat eighth grade that year. He retreated into himself, rarely sharing his thoughts or opinions with anyone. It was easier to not get attached to people, because you never know when someone is just going to up and leave you.

In high school the administration wrote him off as another delinquent with no future, despite the regular glowing reports from his teachers, and his exemplary academic performance. Emmanuel spent many nights home studying, eager to please his mother as he was aware of just how much she did to keep them afloat. He wanted to do her proud. His reputation for fighting had the younger kids in his grade thinking of him an ogre, ready to use his oversized muscles to smash whoever dared cross his bridge. In reality the boy was a string bean, his five foot ten inch frame nearly all skin, bone, with enough lean muscle to not get his ass thoroughly kicked anytime someone tried to start something. He didn’t learn to fight to be a badass. He did it to survive.

Emmanuel knew people didn’t think much of him, especially Song, but he was still surprised that the entitled ass would ever think he’d be dumb enough to go to prison for something as stupid as the most childish of sex crimes, peeping in on a girl changing. While Emmanuel was angry with his father, he still hated that he wouldn’t see him for years to come, but he wasn’t in any hurry to join him in the slammer before then either. Of course when Emer, a person who genuinely didn’t understand real consequences, decided it would be a good idea to try and flirt with the girl they’d been peeping on and was slapped in the face for his troubles, hard enough to leave a glowing red handprint, the girl screaming bloody ****, Emmanuel took off running as fast as his long legs could carry him.