The Original Bad Boy

16| Suicide or Homicide

"The original bad boy . . . takes care of his . . . friends."

16| Suicide or Homicide

"The parade's finally over," sighs Satan before he plops down on the sidewalk next to me.

Surprisingly, this guy with a crimson colored face hung around me a lot throughout the parade. Sometimes, he took the cymbals from me and other times he'd give it back, saying we were switching shifts. Maybe it's my halo and goodness that attracted the bad guys. As I wait for Arsen to return from the crowd of kids who wanted to take a selfie with the members, I figure it won't kill me to strike a conversation with this handsome devil.

"It was absolutely amazing," I tell him.

"I've never seen you show this much enthusiasm in class," he remarks, running a hand through his slick raven black hair.

In class?

My entire body freezes at those words and the only thoughts rummaging through my mind are of this guy. I scrutinize my eyes at his face and see a hint of a smile. With his get-up, it looks awfully sinister. As if the smile isn't enough, he widens his eyes during my inspection of his features. Inhaling sharply, I scoot away involuntarily.

This is why parents say don't talk to strangers.

It's terrible enough not knowing the person, but worse when the person knows you.

"I'm sorry, but I don't recognize you," I mumble, scratching my temple. Maybe I should've painted my face like I painted Arsen. Speaking of whom, where in the world is that zombie? My ulta-sensitive senses begin searching for my companion.

He must have noticed my uncomfort because he says, "Relax Valerie. It's me."

"Me who?"

"Vivan." When I show no signs of recognition, he adds, "Oh sorry. Vivian Dexter. I don't think any of us instructors told you guys our first names." The moment he says instructors, things suddenly make sense. The person conversing with me is not any satan, he's in fact, the meanest one out of the three self defense instructors in my gym class. He walks around with a straight face all the time. I doubt he even knows how to smile. Every time someone doesn't follow the rules, this guy pressure points them. When he was my partner in times Arsen didn't show up, he would pressure point me as well.

Talk about being cruel.

"Sorry, I didn't recognize you," I say quickly. I know I should be embarrassed, but in reality, I just want to know what a third degree black belt was doing in a Halloween parade dressed as the devil. "You're the last person I expected to see today."

He rolls his eyes. "It's alright. A bunch of my friends and I decided to crash the parade at the last moment. We aren't supposed to be here."

"Neither am I," I sympathize.

"I know. You have to be at least twenty one to participate in the parade," he says.

"Why?"

"There just happens to be an after--"

"Yo Cruz!" A voice cuts him off and we find Arsen headed towards us. Mr. Dexter and I stand up, realizing that all other souls are actually clearing out of this empty parking lot. Arsen comes up to me, completely ignoring the person on my right. "Do you want to go to the after party? They're serving free food and booze."

I don't know how appropriate that is to say in front of your temporary teacher.

Then again, he's not supposed to be here either.