Crazy is the Name of My Game

( 4 ) I am hopeless.

Two cookie-less days had passed without me noticing much.

School became considerably calmer, if you put the blue-haired half-wit monster out of the equation. Tee – I mean Lee (sorry!) kept her side of the bargain. Whenever she’s around, I could go on and about with my life without the shadow of the jerk. I was content. I was happy... not completely.

If there was something I hated more than blue, it was being idle.

Yup, you heard right. I was a girl of passion, of action, of challenge! And as much as I loathed the stupid in-crowd of my new school, it bored me to death that they weren’t as fierce as they used to be. I missed the petty water balls, the threats and the food fights. Maybe striking that deal with that honey blonde was a bad idea.

I'd rather put my hand into the fire than play around it.

Hmm, I wonder...

Something caught my peripheral vision. Abruptly, I skidded my shiny red motorcycle into a full stop. It wasn’t night yet, but the afternoon was dark and wintry, a visible sign of the changing season. With the dim light, I could only see some movements from afar. I tucked my messy black hair behind my ears as I tried to make sense of the shadows beside my apartment.

Oh-mi-gahd-the-pah-loo-za.

What on the face of mother earth was that? Was... the old landlady beating the shit out of the other tenants? Crap. Was it collection day? Oh no!

But didn't I pay three days ago? So I was off the hook. I ran towards the semi-visible catfight. Wow. Just wow. This should be something worth seeing! Hah! That toothless old hag with a... broomstick?

Wait. Do landladies carry broomsticks? Nope, right? Especially in an urbanized place like here where not even grass could live? Was I mistaking them for witches? Or bitches? But female dogs don’t use brooms! They use vacuum to clean! But hey, since when do dogs use vacuum? They don’t have opposable thumbs! So... putting my errant thoughts aside.

As I approached, I noticed that the shadows were too big to be feminine.

Gang activity? Oh, puh–leeze! I knew my place was pretty cheap, with crappy security, not to mention the suspicious neighborhood, but for goodness’ sake!

Argh!

I parked my baby and approached soundlessly, more worried than intimidated by the four hulking shadows a few yards away from my apartment.

“Hey, sweetie,” one familiar voice called out. Even without turning, I knew it was Jacob -- John, James, Jay? -- Hughes, the punk living next to me. I regarded his gang with cold detachment. They were all older than me, older than twenty but less than thirty. Dirty-looking bastards. Though I knew how to fight, I doubt I could singlehandedly incapacitate four adults.

“You alone tonight, honeybunch?” a friend of his asked maliciously. He ambled to me, leaning on the walls for balance.

“Back away guys,” another grinned, “this one’s mine.”

This was supposed to be the part where the girl's eyes widens in panic, where she steers into a defense and runs for her safety... according to most novels that I've read. Very stereotypical, ain't it?

Hmm, what should I do at this moment? Should I ignore them? That would make them nag me more, pester me with their annoying faces. I was dead-beat. No energy to beat them dead.

Should I respond sharply? Give them a tongue-lashing? That would only make them more fired up. More mess to clean up. Who knows what these obviously drunk bastards were thinking.