03

"BAM!"

Semaj's voice was unnecessarily loud this morning as we walked towards the local café not too far off campus. His long fingers are pointed into a makeshift gun as he aims at our other roommate Tristian Howell. "Your whole fucking head will be off!"

"You just made that up," I say with a groan, my eyes nearly falling out of my head from how hard I rolled them at him. "That did not happen."

Currently, Semaj was trying to inform Tristian about what happened yesterday at work with the gun in the glove compartment of that one guy's car, but somehow he managed to create an entirely different plot from what originally happened. One where he grabbed the gun and threatened the man's life if he didn't leave him alone. Semaj kissed his teeth at me, finger gun stuffing into the pockets of his hoodie. "He wasn't there. He doesn't know."

Tristian raised a brow at him in response. "Even if I wasn't there I'm still smart enough to know that didn't happen. You can't even order food over the phone and you expect me to believe you pulled a gun out on someone you claimed to allegedly be a part of the mafia."

"Whatever . . ." Semaj shrugs, lips pursing together for a moment. "and speaking of lies, Tristian when are you gonna invite us to your girlfriend's party you keep pretending isn't happening?"

"And why the fuck would you do that?" Tristian's brows furrowed. There's no smile on his chiseled russett brown face. Only a slight pull of disgust to his two-toned lips as he stared at Semaj.

"I don't know maybe because we're roommates!" Semaj replied, his voice warm and loud just like his personality. "C'mon man, that'll be so fucked up if you don't."

"That's not how that works dumbass. Besides, enough people are coming already, and I don't have time to be babysitting you or you." The second you was for me obviously. Tristian's sharp face frowns at me which is a common sight with him. Despite being roommates for nearly two months now Tristian Howell isn't necessarily someone I would consider myself friends with. Hell, I wouldn't even say we're acquainted even though we live right across the hall from one another. I can't recall where his dislikes for me come from, but then again I think he dislikes anyone who isn't a part of his inner circle of close-knit rich kids friends. We just didn't click like Semaj and I did. Maybe it's because our backgrounds are so different. Both Semaj and I come from middle-class single parents households while Tristian is a product of new LA money. There's nothing wrong with that, but it's easy to see where the disconnect comes from.

I also dance with his girlfriend four times out of the week who just so happens to be the mayor's daughter so there's that whole thing. Neither of them seems too fond of me now that I think about it. They're a match made in hell I guess.

"Why do you wanna go so bad?"

"Because it's a party," Semaj bluntly said. "It's on a Friday, me and Kylo both are off the schedule, and we ain't got shit to do." He laughed. Tristian groans from beside him, lips smacking together at the words.

"Uh, speak for yourself. I have an essay to do," I informed him. "and besides, I don't like going places where I'm clearly not wanted." I forced a sly smile at Tristian who mirrored with a fake one of his own.

"At least you know." He replied smartly.

"Aw c'mon Lo. It's a party at this exclusive lounge called Pickled Lemon . . ." Semaj explains to me, he talks with his hands a lot, fingers mirroring his words. "it's up in Chelsea which isn't that far from us and I'm pretty sure there's only gonna be people from school there so none of the locals will bother you if you're worried about that kind of thing because I get some of these New Yorkers are crazy and won't hesitate to drop someone on their head —"

Tristian steps forward causing his broad shoulders to clash against us, his stride picking up as he inside the café. "Who said you two were invited?" he makes a face as he walks into the café, and I follow behind him into the place shortly after.

The place smells like coffee and I hate coffee. The sickly smell consumes me like cologne and I crinkle my nose and endure because I know Semaj and Tristian and every other student at school love this place. I guess because of the aesthetic, it's not vintage but everything is brown and green. Several plants scattered around the place make it look fresh and youthful and the brick-like wall adds more texture to the place. It's not a strange sight to see someone in here with a ring light and flashing cameras. It's also always abnormally hot in here which is such a drastic difference from the cool autumn weather outside.

"So you claim to not like us yet you walk to school with us every morning," Semaj says to furrowed brow Tristian, the three of us taking off our jackets and placing them on the coat rack. I was ecstatic to take off this wool brown trench coat.

I was born and raised in Arizona. I'm not used to the cold and the minute I feel a cold breeze I'm throwing on every piece of winter gear I have. This is why today's ensemble consisted of a cream sweater and some brown UGGs, paired with my brown trench and a fuzzy scarf I've had for years but never had any real reason to wear. Semaj repeated "It's not that damn cold," like five times when we were getting ready to leave the apartment this morning but I don't care. The outfits look nice and I like to look nice. It makes me feel like I'm actually doing something right when I'm in class.

"If I invite you two will you shut the hell up?" Tristan finally snaps, muscled hand ready to wrap around Semaj's slim neck.

He made a childish face in reply. "Maybe," he mumbled.

Tristian exhaled a low sigh as we got into line behind the register. "Fine, you two are invited. Happy?"

"I didn't want to go in the first place," I tell him, stuffing my hands into my pockets as I look ahead at the menus seeing the specials for today. Semaj nudges me, laughing to himself lowly. "What he means to say is that he's excited and we're gonna get tore the fuck up!"

Tristian's eyes roll to the ceiling. "Oh God . . ."

The two bicker some more as I try to decide on what to get even though I know I'm just gonna go with what u also get when I come here. A lemon refresher with light ice which I learned a few weeks ago is just a fancy way to say lemonade and a donut. I hate coffee but this place has the best donuts. I'd sell my left kidney for one.

"Look Tristian, there's your father-in-law," Semaj randomly blurts and I follow his eyes to them towards the flat screen hanging on the wall of the rhetorical café showcasing the morning news. There's Mayor Chambers with a bunch of microphones and cameras in his face, the words "4th homicide this week" in bold red letters at the bottom over and over. "I don't even know why he does these morning interviews. He says the same thing every time. He's gonna say they're gonna find whoever did this but they never do, and then it's a repeat until the next murder or shoot out a couple days from now." Semaj sighs as he rocks back and forth on his tennis shoes.

I turned back to Tristian, his eyes glued to the screen until I nudged him with my elbow forcing his eyes on me. "You should tell your old man to get it together." I chuckled.

"He's doing his best. It's not his fault the people around here are fucking bat shit crazy." Tristian defended his girlfriend's father and I tried hard not to burst out laughing in his face but then I remember it was Tristian and I did end up laughing in his face.

"He's trying his best," I laughed, arms crossing across my chest. "he's wasting everyone's tax dollars on nonsense like stupid equipment for the NYPD who already don't know how to do their job correctly. Lower-income citizens call them every day to report actual crimes around the city and it's crickets but one little white girl falls down a well and she's on Good Morning America with a tell-all book and biopic coming soon."

I eyed him for a moment before removing my eyes after he failed to give a reply. As I figure he would. I'm so deep in conversation that I don't even realize I'm nearly at the register, the barista behind the counter getting ready to take my order. Like I said, I'm not a coffee person. I'd rather spend my money on energy drinks because at least those come in pretty colors, and actually keep me up, especially in class or rehearsals where I'm always the most drained. The sheer size of the menu had nearly scared me off the first time I ordered here, but I can never go wrong with a simple lemonade. When the barista slides up to the register with my drink in hand she sends a polite smile that I mirror with one of my own but then I don't see the donut I had ordered.

"Excuse me," I called out her nicely. "I ordered a donut as well."

The barista makes a face. "I'm sorry but we're out of donuts at the moment. We'll have to make a new patch which takes about ten to fifteen minutes," she explains.

Tristan kissed his teeth behind me. "I'm not gonna be late to class so you can get a fucking donut Kylo."

"Wait but there's a donut right there." I pointed at the donut sitting pretty in the display in front of us.

"That donut is reserved. I'm sorry." The barista said. As if connected Semaj, Tristan, and I all made the same face, our arms folding and faces contorting as we blinked at the barista.

"How can a donut be reserved?"

"Reserving a donut is crazy."

The barista shrugged her shoulder. "I'm sorry but the customer asked me to reserve it for him while he uses the restroom. I have to respect that."

"Who the hell is this customer and since when was that allowed? I thought it was first come first serve. What happened to that?" The more I ranted to the barista I realized how much of a Karen I must sound to her right now but this is valid. That donut is the only thing keeping me going for the week. I need that damn donut to survive, to live!

"I'm sorry sir but that's just-"

"No, I'm sorry. I just have to laugh like that's the craziest thing I've heard. What kind of weirdos reserve a donut?" The barista opened her mouth to speak again but she closed her mouth just as fast as she opened it, eyes going behind me.

"Uh . . . Kylo," I hear Semaj say from behind and I exhale a low sigh out of frustration.

"Like it's a singular donut what makes them think they are so important that they can reserve it just because they went to —" I turn around and the first thing I'm met with is the soft fabric of a black button-up. It caught me off guard, so much that I stumbled backward a bit. I looked up at the person and I was met with the familiar deadpan expression from last night. No, it can't be. There's no way.

"That's the weirdo, sir." I heard the barista say from behind me and I gasped, my head nearly spinning off my neck from how fast I turned back around to her. "You messy, I did not say that oh my God."

I turned back around to the man. He somehow looks scarier in the daytime. His muscles practically burst through his shirt, his tattoos so distracting I couldn't help but follow the black ink of his brown skin so blemish-free I almost wanted to ask him what his skincare routine is but I don't think now is the time. I must've been staring at him for quite a while because he raised a neatly shaped brow at me and the action alone caused me to flinch a bit.

"When I said weirdo I meant like cool weirdo, you know? The kind of weirdos that are the pioneers of the free world. The not like everybody else but in a good way." I found myself trying to explain but it only came out like rambling and after a while the man's face only grew more confused as he looked at me.

Thankfully the snitching ass barista from behind us called out for him catching his attention. "Here's your donut sir. Enjoy your day." she smiled, a slight blush on her cheeks as she handed him the donut.

Oh girl please bitch hoe.

The man takes the donut from her and hands her a crispy twenty-dollar bill from his shirt pocket. "Keep the change," he says, voice deep and rattling as he moves around me. His cologne hits my nose — fresh and spicy, cool and warm, salty and sweet all at the same time. He doesn't spare me a second glance as he turns around and makes his way out of the café, grabbing his brown trench off the coat rack. I immediately made a pained face, my mouth opening with nothing coming out and my eyes squinting together. A silent internal scream which caused Semaj and come over and place his hands on my shoulders, Tristian following behind confused.

"What the actual fuck? That was fucking insane. I can't believe we saw him again!" Semaj said, his eyes wide and almost ecstatic.

"Who was that man? Y'all know him?" Tristian questioned.

"That's the mafia guy we were talking about earlier. That was him!" Tristan lowly said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Tristian made a face at us. "How do you know he's in the mafia? You do everyone who's black and has tattoos isn't a part of some gang, right?" he sassed.

"Oh shut up you're from LA suburbs you don't know real black people," Semaj shakes his head at him. "and he had a gun."

"So does every white twelve-year-old in America. It's not abnormal to see here." Tristan replied, brushing back us and coming up to the barista to order.

I fall back and take a sip of my lemonade refresher aka lemonade aka they could've just fucking said that on the menu to help calm my nerves. Tristian orders his usual drink of an Iced Mocha whatever and a vanilla oat milk shaken espresso with a blueberry muffin for his girlfriend whom he meets every morning. Semaj order is a mix of whatever is sweet and his drinks come out all pink and whatnot. When we all had ordered we headed out of the busy café. I grabbed my trench and folded it over my arm instead of wrapping it around myself. After that encounter with that possible mafia guy, I'm all warmed up enough.

"Anyways, I'm pumped for the party," Semaj starts again. His talk lanky figure pulls us all together a little closer. He's surprisingly strong for a computer animation major. I guess pushing buttons all day really works up your muscles. "It's the first time going out as roomies. The three amigos — wait, we're black kinda like the real Migos and Kylo you're . . ." he squints at me for a moment. "I don't really know what you are ethically but it's looking like —"

Tristian pushes him away before he can finish which causes the taller boy to stumble a bit. He's the strongest out of all of us if his athletic build didn't already give it away. "Look, I'm only letting you two go because I'm praying that you two weirdos embarrass yourselves so badly in front of everyone to the point you have to transfer schools and I never have to see your faces again. So come tonight, get drunk, have fun but just know I'll be there waiting for you two to fuck it all up." with that Tristian increases his stride walking ahead of us.

Semaj turns to me. "Yeah, we're the weirdos but I caught him crying over one of those silent black-and-white films a couple of weeks ago. You don't even know what the hell they're saying."

"Well he is a film major," I reminded him. "pretension is a requirement I would assume."

Semaj waves him off. "Whatever man, fuck him because tonight me and you are gonna have fun. I feel like I've never even seen you have fun for real so we gotta get fucked up."

"I don't know about fucked up but I'll try to have fun," I tell him, shooting my empty drink in a nearby trash can. I smile when it goes in no problem but then I see a black Roll Royce parked not too far from it and my breath hitches in my throat.

The back seat window is rolled down and inside is none other than the man from the café. His tattooed fingers are wrapped around a Cuban cigar as he inhales the smoke from it and blows it out the window. He doesn't notice me noticing him at first but when he does feel my stare at him he looks over at me as me and Semaj walk past his car. His stare is unnerving and cold like his entire face would break if he fixed a muscle in his face to smile. There were no words exchanged, not a single mumble but the looks alone were enough for me to put a little pep in my step and hurry up to get to class.

••••

On Fridays, I only have two classes and then it's off to the dance studio for practice later on in the day. My classes are earlier in the day and right after each other and practice doesn't start till around two in the afternoon so I usually spend most of my time waiting in the courtyard catching up on school work and studying, maybe calling my mom and see how she's doing to help pass the time. When it's almost time for dance I make my way over to the dancing studio which is around the way from the other buildings on campus which I don't mind because the walk there is a nice way to clear my head. When I change into my practice clothes and put my headphones over my head there's nothing more calming.

I catch up with the other dancers as we make our way inside the building. "I heard we're supposedly getting a new instructor today." Penelope, a fellow dancer said to me as we walked towards the studio. She walked beside me fumbling with the strings on her Adidas duffle bag.

"Really?"

She nodded her head, taking the black scrunchy off her wrist and tying her red locks up into a messy bun. "I heard some of the other teachers talking about it the other day. Say they seen Mr. Vanderbilt packing his things over the weekend."

"Aw man, that gotta suck for Vanderbilt." Mr. Vanderbilt has been the ballet instructor for a while and since I came to this school at the start of the semester two months ago he seems like a really cool dude. He's sweet and kind and never fails to encourage us when we need it the most. He was also one of the deciding factors for me getting accepted into this school after I sent in my audition. I owe him a lot.

"Yeah but you gotta admit though, we haven't been doing anything these past few months. I love Mr. V  but I love ballet too, and my parents didn't send me to this school just to do pirouettes all day."

Even I couldn't attest to that. We have been lacking and as much as I want to defend Vanderbilt I couldn't deny that. I have always been a dancer and when I got the offer to attend one of the best-performing arts schools in the world I couldn't refuse a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. The team at school can be a little draining though, but we're kind of in a drought thanks to our group leaders constantly fighting over which pieces to do next, and I haven't even had any breakthroughs yet in any of our shows like some of the other dancers. I've always just had small stuff. I was a background dancer during our performance of Romeo & Juliet last month which was lame and kind of embarrassing since it was mostly newer dancers and I'm more than experienced. I've been doing this shit since I was seven.

Penelope and I walked into the studio and sat in a corner to stretch. "I wonder who they're gonna replace him with?" she casually whispers as we both stretch into the splits. Our feet touched at the soles.

"With all the money we pay for tuition it better be someone who knows what the hell they're doing," I replied as I leaned a little forward with my arms stretched out in front of me as I slowly started to sink into myself giving my back and thighs a good stretching. "I know that's right." Pen laughed to herself as she stretched her body to the right gripping her right shoe with both hands.

The studio was filled with gossip as to who our new instructor might be. I heard someone say it's some foreign man from Russia and he's super strict and forces his student to stand in Arabesque (a position on one leg with the other leg raised behind the body and extended in a straight line) for hours. I also heard it might be this Hollywood big-shot choreographer who's worked with big-time ballet dancers like Misty Copeland and Carlos Acosta. It's all anyone seemed to be talking about in the studio as they pretended to be stretching on the barre.

It seemed the ring leader of said gossip was none other than Aurora Chambers — Tristian's girlfriend. She's well respected and well-connected. Her name is on the guest list of all the VIP soirées, designer gowns for the nightclub, and partying with the biggest names in the city. Her life is carefree and decadent. Most of the dancers circled her as she talked about what she said to be classified information about our instructor. Though if you asked me it sounded like just a bunch of she said he said mess. The blonde notices my stare on her, a shimmery glint in her brown eyes that irritated me to no end. She rolls them back to the dancers in front of her before carrying on with her conversation.

"And if this one tries to play in my face again and deny me the lead in the next performance, I'll get them fired too." I heard her say, a laugh escaping her lips as the others around her joined in.

My brows raised at her and my body moved before I could comprehend my actions. Pushing myself up from my split position on the floor I walked over to her. "You got Mr. V fired?"

Aurora Chambers turns around slowly, slender arms clothed in a black body con turtleneck top, and a blush pink wrap skirt with black tights underneath pink leg warmers and pointe shoes. The picture-perfect ballerina. "I wasn't talking to you," she replied, voice soft and venomous like a poisonous flower.

"Getting your daddy to get someone fired because you didn't get the lead in one performance is insane Aurora." I know she complained to her father about Mr. V and that's how she managed to convince him to ask the school board about him. That's the only way. This girl is a nutcase. This is why I have no respect for the nepotism babies.

Aurora comes closer to me, her 5'9 petite frame marching up to me. "Maybe you should take this as a lesson Kylo," she says to me. "I wasn't talking to you or even about you but maybe one day I will. It all depends on your behavior." There's a threatening undertone in her words, a clear message. She fakes a smile before turning around back to her friends.

What a bitch.

I shook my thought of the girl as I turned back around and headed back to my things. I picked up my trench coat off the floor, folding it up, and about to place it with the other coats when I heard something hit the ground. I looked down at something on the floor beneath my feet, reaching down to pick it up I inspected the mysterious item.

A hard drive.

"What the . . ."

••••

EXCUSE ANY MISTAKE OR ERRORS

I made another style guide :3