The Rejects Club

Chapter 11 - It's A High Rise Thing

When ghetto living seems normal, you have no shame, no privacy. - Malcolm X

Friday 22nd November

"Can I keep this?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because it's mine and you don't like baseball."

"I do! I just don't like it when they throw the ball at me."

"That's the whole point of the game dumbass." Kirstie snatched the snapback off Scott's head and put it back on her own.

The sun was shining through the window and the two were relaxing on the bean bags, both lying flat on their backs opposite each other, in the midst of some sort of game which just involved lightly kicking each other occasionally with their shoeless feet. Really though, they were just waiting for a certain teen to get back from buying lunch so they could begin talking about the comings and goings in their resident tower blocks.

All three of them had decided to stay inside at lunch, meaning Avi had company for once. There was no particular reason for remaining in the class other than the fact that they were starting to feel a strange sense of ownership over the tiny room. It was like they had their own staff room. Anyway, this lunch, there was a lot at stake. They had a bet with Mitch.

Speak of the devil, the skinny teen walked back through the door, having made a quick - maybe slightly against the rules - trip out of school grounds to get Starbucks.

Kirstie began first.

"How's your night then?" she asked the boy laying opposite, giving him another kick in the process.

Scott smirked. "It was aight. Tommy, y'know that baller with them huge dogs. Well he had some beef with Michael y'know my neighbour," Kirstie knew all about Michael, and already decided he was an incredibly dumb but nice enough guy, without having ever met him.

The blond continued, "So anyway, I'm just in my room acting chill y'know, and suddenly I hear Tommy shout out to his boys, "I'm gonna bus a cap in that fool!" and I thought, y'know cos I wanna be a good neighbour and all that, that I should make sure he gets help if they shoot him y'know."

This kid's certainly either very brave or very stupid, were Kirstie's thoughts as Scott excitedly got to the ending of his little anecdote.

"So I got out to see what's crackin, and I see all of Tommy's crew is up in Michael's crib. So I poke my head round the door and I'm like "yo, be easy G's I gotta be up soon for school tomorrow" and this one guys like "oh shit, there's this little kid watching us dawgs, we should probably dip, I ain't murking nobody with no six year old around". I wanna tell them "you got it all wrong dawgs, I ain't no six year old" y'know, but they jet off back to their own hood before I have the chance, one guy even says to me "piece out little playa."

Little guy's gonna be making a name for himself already, Kirstie smirked. I wouldn't be surprised if someone from The Strikers has already singled him out as a possible future member. The thought of that made her sad for some reason. It wasn't like the kid would have much of future anywhere else.

Scott kicked her some more to make sure she was still paying attention. "And then once they're gone Michael says like "yo, props to you Scotty, you really just squashed beef with those guys youngin" and y'know what, he gives me a twenty, like I don't think I've ever even held a twenty before. So just proves being a good neighbour can pay off y'know," he finished the story with his trademark cheeky grin.

"Not bad going little rat." And she meant it. Despite their millions of obvious differences, there was something in the boy that reminded her of herself at that age. That sort of fearless recklessness mixed with a smart ass mouth when needed. If only we were from the same high rise.