"Shove it." Vincent retorted weakly and he cringed at the pain in his head. "Damn you."
Rodriguez was quiet, looking at the teen before him. "What's the name of that song?"
The boy didn't respond for a moment as he tried to sit up but decided to remain laying flat on the ground for a while longer. "What are you going on about now?"
Rodriguez frowned, but pressed on. "What is the name of the song you played on the piano? The one you were playing before I stopped you?"
Vincent mumbled something incoherent, making Rodriguez growl and repeat himself again. "Doesn't have one. It's not even a song…I just came up with it..."
Rodriguez's eyes widened in disbelief, then they narrowed. The boy had to be lying. The song was so…beautiful…he couldn't have come up with it. He couldn't have…it desecrated the song…this boy. Rodriguez scowled with his glare, but Vincent didn't hear it as he focused on his pounding head with his eyes closed. Something like a whimper began in his throat, but he swallowed it instantly, gagging on bile that replaced it.
"Ow, fuck." His hand touched his head gingerly as he maneuvered to his side, curling up slightly. "Shit, rich-boy, what did you fuckin' do? Give me a concussion? You foot-ball bast…"
"I'm not rich…but…" Rodriguez tried not to feel sorry for the miserable boy and he swallowed. "…how did you know I'm on the football team?"
"Everyone knows you, Rodriguez. And it doesn't hurt that your name's on the front and the back of your jacket. Bet…" he coughed and then sneered unpleasantly. "…bet you're as famous as I am here."
"Red eyes are prominent features…" Rodriguez muttered back. Vincent quieted at this and his body relaxed on the tile for a few moments, then he sat up slowly, making Rodriguez uneasy.
"What time is it?"
Rodriguez didn't answer, not expecting such a casual question, and stared dumbly at Vincent until the boy scowled at him. "You have a watch, I can see it on your wrist."
Rodriguez looked at the time and told the other boy that it was approaching seven o'clock. There was a sharp curse that made Rodriguez flinch, while Vincent stood, glancing at the window angrily. "Now I'm late, dumbass. This is just great. Freakin' perfect."
"What? What're you late for?" Rodriguez followed the boy who was striding to the door. He received a daggered glare and stopped.
"I'm going to miss something important, thanks to you, bastard." Then Vincent was gone, and as minutes passed, Rodriguez turned off the lights and went home.
"Bastard."
Many students turned around in their seats to stare and gape at the delinquent who was hovering over Leroy Rodriguez who wore the same expression as he looked up at the infuriated face. "You owe me 500 dollars, rich-boy."
"What?" Rodriguez blurted out along with half the class. Instantly a buzz of whispers filled the room.
'Drugs?' 'Alex? No way man, never. He's quarterback.' 'Isn't that Hell…?' 'Shh! He'll kill you! I hear he brings knives to school. He's crazy.'
"Shut up."
The room fell into silence under the crimson gaze and many returned to getting out their supplies for their art class. Six students sat on stools around Rodriguez's table, but half of these students got up and left when Vincent shoved a boy sitting next to Rodriguez, demanding that he find a new seat. Rodriguez just stared with wide, lifeless eyes as the delinquent settled next to him. He swallowed his nervousness, trying to coax some aggression into his voice. "I don't owe you anything, runt. This isn't your class anyway…what are you doing here?"
"Actually, I attend this class as well, dumbass. I usually sit at the table over there." A finger indicated an empty table in the corner of the room, darkened by shadows. "And you owe me for hospital bills. Your fat ass gave me a concussion."
"Oh." Rodriguez looked around as a few people started to whisper again, then he realized the extra comment and hissed back. "I'm not fat, you're freakishly thin. When was the last time you ate a descent meal? Or a meal at all?"
"Shut up. You owe me 500 dollars. I'm not going to be able to eat for a while if you don't pay me, you ass. I'm sure you can spare a few bucks, fatty."
"I'm not fat! And even if I really did give you a concussion…" The rest of the students at the table left. "…it wouldn't cost 500 dollars. The doctor would just tell you to rest, they don't push up the bill with costs for bandages or medication unless you got some pain pills…and they don't try to rip off people who look like they live off the streets."
"Shut up, God damn it. You will pay for the expenses. I didn't come to you looking for a fight, you came to me, so you have to pay for…"
"I did not come to you looking for a fight!"
"Then why the hell did you…?"
"It was the piano…"
There was a feral hiss that drowned out the rest of the noise in the room. When the teacher entered, she hesitated at the door from her back office, intimidated by the graveyard silence. Her eyes traveled about the room, finding it unbalanced…one of the tables that was usually full was practically empty. Her eyes widened as they recognized the two unlikely occupants, and she slowly turned to the board to write down the schedule for the day. She couldn't move the boys as she had allowed the students to pick their own seats and changing that now would only hint to discrimination, so she held her tongue.
The little Freshmen girls timidly shuffled out of the two boys' way when they begrudgingly went to the side of the room to pick up the assignment they were supposed to finish in class. They were transitional pencil drawings, in which one image was drawn morphing into another as its shape twisted and changed in pictures separating it from the final image it would turn into. In five panels, for example, a tree would be drawn warping into the form of a woman, and the perfect form of a woman would be drawn in the last panel. Vincent dithered for a moment, glaring at his picture and then Rodriguez's back as the football quarterback returned to his empty table. With a sigh, dark locks covered the teen's features as he snatched up his picture along with a sharpened pencil and a chunk of eraser from a tin can in the middle of the table by the stack of artwork.
Rodriguez glanced absently at the paper that lowered beside him, but his eyes froze on the almost finished artwork and his lips parted. There was a hideous ogre with knurled, twisting wooden horns and in the following panels it warped into the form of a magnificent black dragon that had graphite blood coloring its pointed fangs. His shoulders shivered slightly and his eyes traced up to the crimson pair that was glaring at him.
"Not a word, rich-boy, or I'll kick that stool out from under you…and then you'll have a headache like mine."
"It's good."
"Stuff it."
"But it is." Rodriguez's glasses glinted in the light, catching Vincent's attention and he eyed them with little interest.
"You were wearing contacts yesterday."
Flinching, Rodriguez's pencil was posed just above his paper and he moved it to the side before he answered. "I had practice yesterday."
"Hm." Red eyes fell to the other boy's paper and they dulled for a moment. A pale hand raised and a finger pointed at the art. "And what the hell is that supposed to be? It looks like a freakin' dung beetle."
Rodriguez inhaled sharply and frowned at the teen, gritting his teeth as he stubbornly resumed his work. "It is a beetle…it's a ladybug."
Vincent stared at Rodriguez blankly as the other ignored him, but he stabbed his paper when a sudden muffled laugh erupted from the dark haired boy's arm where his face was hidden. Several other eyes moved from their papers to observe the strange phenomenon. First didn't laugh often when the object of humor didn't involve blood and some form of violence. But now he laughed at the quarterback's ladybug and the teacher came to investigate.
"What's going on?" she said pointedly to Vincent but was ignored. She gave the same question to Rodriguez and received a grumble.
"He thinks my art sucks." The teen debated on whether he should hit the other boy or scribble on his beetle, but he did neither when th
e art teacher clasped his shoulder and gave him some reassuring praise.
"It's a great piece of work. You can tell you put a lot of effort into it."
A snort from the arm ruined the reassurance and both Rodriguez and the teacher glared at Vincent who was still hiding his face in his arm, slouched over his own picture. Rodriguez's eyes glinted at the paper and he quickly grabbed it and drew it out from under the arm, also drawing a gasp from Vincent who shot up and tried to claim the paper from Rodriguez's hands. But Rodriguez immediately gave it to the teacher who stepped back out of Vincent's reach. She straightened the paper and stared down at it until she realized Vincent had gotten up and was now standing behind her, an aura of evil looming over her. The woman set her jaw and tightened her grip on the paper as a pale hand tugged on it.
"Is this why you never turn in your work?" There was a hard tug on the paper as more students turned to watch what was happening. People started talking about the paper. "Are you embarrassed?"
There were several gasps as the paper tore, but the loudest came from Rodriguez and the teacher. From her lifeless hands, Vincent snatched back the remaining pieces of paper and tore them apart. He stalked to the trash can by the door and threw the shredded paper into it before leaving the room.
There was murmuring in the room as the shaken teacher walked over to the trash can, followed by a large part of the class, but she left the pieces inside, seeing that fixing the drawing was nearly impossible. She sighed with disappointment and went back to Rodriguez who was staring at the table with dimmed eyes.
"He's a troubled kid. Don't blame yourself, okay? Alex?"
Rodriguez nodded his head as the teacher went around the room, quieting the other students. His eyes slowly moved back to the trashcan and then to his own paper. The music from the night before and the art piece moved through his mind as his ears rung with the muffled laughter. Blinking, he stood up quietly and moved to the trashcan and set to removing the individual slips of torn paper. He ignored the eyes that stared at him, and brushed off the teacher's hand when she tried to stop him. In the end, he was allowed to do as he wished and he soon brought the pile of paper to his table. He got up and retrieved an identical piece of paper and set to work, piecing together the difficult puzzle Vincent's outburst had left behind. The teacher came by and, without a word, left a stick of glue by his arm and told him that he could finish his own art piece another day if he needed more time. Rodriguez only nodded and uncapped the glue stick.
Vincent was staring at the diamond holes in the lunch table that let him see his scuffed converse. He frowned at the obvious holes in the shoes, covering one up with the other shoe as he tried to see what they had looked like when they had been new, but the sudden appearance of a plastic wrapped sandwich blocked his view, erasing his frown and replacing it with a look of surprise. The teens that had been talking loudly around him stopped and stared at the intruder and then the sandwich, then Vincent who lifted his head to gaze up at Rodriguez, perplexed.
"What's this for?"
Rodriguez waited for a moment, looking at the scarlet eyes as they failed to waver or turn away. "Generally it's for eating."
"Shut up." Vincent snapped back and he glared at the sandwich with a scowl.
"Look," Rodriguez fixed his glasses and sat down in the empty spot next to the boy. Vincent shot him a look of warning but he ignored it. "…I'm sorry about what happened in class."
"Shut up, fat ass. Take your fat food and leave me alone." He pushed the sandwich in front of Rodriguez and mumbled to himself. "Go draw lady bugs or whatever the hell it was you were trying to draw."
"It was a lady bug."
"No shit… That's what I said."
A small group had gathered around the two teens and Rodriguez glanced at them warily. All of them seemed to be rather intimidating delinquents. "Now go, rich-boy, before you lose your sandwich and your wallet."
Rodriguez stood up and stared down the individuals in the group, making them back up a few steps and break their forming ring. Vincent's eyes went to Rodriguez's cold expression before it faded away and the jock pushed the sandwich in front of the pale teen.
"I don't think I have to worry about that."
Vincent didn't respond as Rodriguez walked away, but a few of the boys around him hissed in outrage and Vincent's attention turned to them. They demanded that he teach Rodriguez not to look down on their group. Vincent shook his head. When one called him a wuss, he snarled at them, making them stumble and trip over their own feet, falling on the ground.
"You have to do something." One of the teens went to Vincent's side, but the crimson eyes remained on the table. "Fine." The voice said. "I'll do it." Before Vincent could react, the sandwich was in the boy's fist and it was soon hurled at Rodriguez's head. Vincent stared at Rodriguez as he stopped in the middle of the quad, rubbing his head. He just picked up the sandwich and tossed it into a trashcan before continuing on his way.
When the boy who had thrown the sandwich smiled, he lost a front tooth as Vincent's fist soon bloodied the smile. Writhing on the floor, clutching his mouth, the boy howled in pain while his companions backed away in fear as the First stood over his victim. "I was going to eat that, idiot."
"You…you're gonna get it, you know." One of the boys managed to squeak, earning a glare. "You can't act like this and skip out on fights too. Max…"
"You're not allowed to use that name." Vincent hissed, and then scowled, repulsed by the cowardly shiver that ran through the teen that had been speaking. "I'm leaving. You all can go to fuckin' hell for all I care…useless bastards." The other boys were left in dumb silence as he walked away, disappearing into the crowded quad as the bell for the end of lunch and the passing period rang out above them.
Stopped in a line backed up behind a stop sign, Rodriguez gazed out the front window as his windshield wipers beat at the glass. His elbow rested on the armrest separating the passenger and driver seats, and his hand was cupping his cheek. Something suddenly rapped at his window and he started, sitting up and turning his head to the glass. Vincent moved his hand, telling the teen to lower the window. When Rodriguez complied, Vincent leaned through the window and glanced around the car interior before looking at the expectant green eyes. "I need at least half of the money by Friday."
Rodriguez stared for a moment. "What?" His mind went back to this morning and he frowned. "A concussion doesn't cost…"
A black sleeve went through the window, dripping water on the leather seat. A few fingers wriggled out from the sleeve, revealing the bandages. Rodriguez was quiet. "You didn't give me more than a headache…I already told you I missed something important because of our…confrontation." He hesitated and shook his arm so that the sleeve covered his hand again. "You know what type of…extra curricular activities I'm in…"
"Oh." Rodriguez breathed, dread beginning to weigh on him. But this was interrupted as a few horns honked behind them. Vincent looked through the back window and then returned his eyes to Rodriguez.
"I didn't throw the sandwich."
"Yeah…it's…okay." Rodriguez managed as Vincent began to withdraw from the window. Biting his lip, the sound of the crashing rain returned to his ears and his hand shot out, catching the other boy's sweatshirt, surprising him. "I'll give you a ride. It's pouring out there."
"What?" Vincent looked around, eyes darting to the honking cars. "No. Let me go!"
"Get in the car, runt. You're soaking wet."
"Shut up, fat ass! Let me go!"
The chorus of horns grew and finally the boy caved. "Fine! I'll get in! Let me open the door, or do you want me to climb through the window?"
Rodriguez ignored the biting sarcasm and he narrowed his eyes. "You're just going to run."
"I won't run. Damn it. Let me go! Can't you hear that?"
Rodriguez let go of the sweatshirt. Soon the car door opened and Vincent squelched into the seat and shut it with a hiss as the window closed beside him. "Now go, fat ass. We have the whol
e school backed up behind us by now."
Rodriguez drove to the stop sign, stopped, as was according with the law, and then continued down the road. Quiet resumed with the absence of the honking horns and Rodriguez looked at the fuming teen. "Where should I drive?"
"To the corner, pull over and let me out."
"No. I'm taking you home."
"You sure as hell are not, fatty. You're letting me out of this damn car. Your leather seats are covered in water now."
"I'm not fat. Haven't you ever heard of muscle? Or even food? I swear, when was the last time you bathed or ate?"
"Shut it, porky rich-bastard."
"Fine." Rodriguez passed the corner, making Vincent snarl at him. "I'll take you to my house then."
"Are you kidnapping me? Feakin' ladybug drawing creep!"
Rodriguez couldn't help but smile at this and he nodded. "Sure. I'm going to do all sorts of terrible things to you too, like feed you and make you take a shower."
"I'll kill you one of these days, Rodriguez."
"But then you'd never get the money."
Vincent grumbled to himself while Rodriguez lost his humor. "What happened to your hand anyway? And those bandages don't look like they came from a hospital. What are you trying to get at by demanding I pay for imaginary hospital bills?"
"Dislocated a few fingers…" Rodriguez jolted. "…I can't work for a few days and I'm going to miss other meetings now because of it. You can just pay half of the money…I said 500 because I figured you'd refuse and demand to pay a lower price."
Disturbed, Rodriguez didn't respond. Finally he looked at Vincent who was staring out the window. There was still blood on his collar… "Fine." Rodriguez faced straight ahead when Vincent looked at him. "I'll pay 250…but I really can't afford 500, you know? That's a lot of money all at once…"
"250 is more than I was hoping for."
The two didn't speak as they went through two green lights and were stopped by a red. "Are you really taking me to your house?"
"Mhm, yeah." Rodriguez pushed down on the pedal when the light turned green. "Unless you tell me where you live."
Trapped with a Way Out Page 40
