The recording ends abruptly with a dull beep. I blink, my mind struggling to process, the vivid image of Denny's smirking face flashes in my memory before the classroom snaps back into focus.
"Mr. Thompson? Mr. Thompson!"
SLAM!
Mr. Daniels's voice jolts me fully awake. He looms over me, his hand firmly planted on my desk.
"Since you're so fond of sleeping in my class, maybe you'd like to answer this: What's one of Odin's roles in Norse mythology?"
I groan, rubbing my eyes. Mythology? Really? I glance at Stephanie sitting beside me. She mouths something quickly. I take a wild shot in the dark.
"Uh… thunder?"
The disappointment on her face stings almost as much as Mr. Daniels's sigh.
"Mr. Thompson, if you can't be bothered to pay attention, don't waste my time." He shakes his head as he waves his hand signaling the end of class.
"Don't forget your assignments monday, It is worth 60% of your grade!"
I get up from my desk putting my backpack over my arm Mr. Daniels calls over to me.
"Mr. Thompson, I suggest you begin to take this week's assignments seriously if you want to pass my class."
"Sorry, Mr. Daniels but I don't have a lot of time to study these past few days"
"I know there are problems at home but that's all the more reason to get your life together Mr. Thompson."
Mr. Daniels tries to look out for me because he knows my mom. He gives speeches, offering advice on what I should do, but it doesn't help. What I need is cash. I know what I should be doing, but I don't have time for any more speeches. I nod, keeping it short, and move past him with a calm, "Yes, sir."
Outside the classroom, Stephanie walks up beside me—must've been waiting for me. She's a real beauty, her brown skin glowing under the sun, with freckles scattered across her face like tiny stars in the sky. Her hair's always a bit messy, like she doesn't care about fixing it, but it just adds to her charm. She's definitely a 10 if she puts in the effort like other girls. Guys would notice her more if she dropped the whole nerdy girl act, but that's what I like about her. She's practically a genius, always helping me with assignments and keeping me on track. A good friend, no doubt. She adjusts the strap of her backpack, taps me on the shoulder.
"Thunder? Really, Jayden?" Her voice teases, light but unmistakably smug.
"Yeah, yeah, Miss Perfect," I reply, shoving my hands into my pockets.
"Odin is one of the most iconic figures in Norse mythology known for wisdom, war, poetry, and being the Allfather. You might've remembered that if you didn't spend the class using your desk as a pillow."
I scoff, rolling my eyes. What doesn't she know? "Sure, Steph. 'cause knowing about Odin's wisdom is going to help me in the real world. Besides this class is just a filler for me to graduate"
"That doesn't mean you shouldn't take it seriously."
"Mythology class is just stories, not real life," I mutter. "How's memorizing a bunch of myths going to help me survive out there? In case you haven't noticed, the real world isn't exactly kind to dreamers."
"Better than running deliveries for Denny," she shoots back with a raised brow. Her words cut, but I brush them off with a shrug.
She says that but knows very well I need the cash. She just doesn't want to be the one who finds out I've become another statistic in the system. We step out of the school building, the yard as cracked and worn as the neighborhood it belongs to. This is the heart of a poor district, a place full of kids all hoping for a ticket out.
"What you say?!" a sharp voice cuts through the air.
I glance to the side, spotting a blonde kid with spiked hair squaring up to a smaller boy, his finger jabbing aggressively into the kid's chest. The smaller boy flinches but doesn't say anything. It's nothing unusual. Scenes like this play out every day. I keep walking, not sparing it a second thought.
Outside the school gates, leaning against a lamppost, is Denny. His hoodie is pulled up, hands shoved into his pockets, but that smirk of his is unmistakable.
"Yo, J!" he calls, waving me over.
Denny dropped out of school last year, but we've been tight since we were kids. He's been there for me more than most people. When my mom got sick, and the hospital bills piled up, Denny was the only one who offered help.
"I got a way for you to make some real money," he'd say.
I knew it was shady—running packages for the local dealer—but I didn't have many options. When I needed cash Denny would give me an opportunity to get the money and would even sometimes front me the cash for whatever I couldn't make up. Denny's a good guy but a great friend, I know he has my best interest at heart.
Stephanie tugs on my sleeve, her voice low but sharp. "Why do you still hang out with him? You know he's bad news."
I shrug, keeping my tone light. "It's not like this is a full-time thing. I've got the pizza gig too, remember?"
Steph's expression softens slightly, though her voice still carries that edge of frustration she reserves just for me. "Jayden, you're better than this. You're smart. If you actually applied yourself, you wouldn't have to scrape by doing those sketchy jobs."
"Thanks for the motivational speech, Coach," I reply with a sarcastic salute. But there's the guilt deep inside, She's right—I've heard it a hundred times before. I just don't want to admit it.
Before she can respond, Denny greets me with his signature grin, holding out a hand for a quick shake.
"Yo, J! What's good? You busy later? Wassup, Steph?" Looking down and back up at her.
She frowns, clearly unimpressed, but I step forward, brushing off her concern with a casual wave.
"I'll catch you later, Steph."
We walk away leaving Steph looking concerned while waving bye at me.
"Yo, You hit that yet?" Denny says as he puts his arm around me and points back to steph.
I give him a look smacking his chest. "Shut up man, fuck is wrong with you?"
"Oh ho my bad my bad. Man, I'm just joking."
Denny and I stroll down the street, the faint smell of exhaust mixing with the distant aroma of street food. The sky hangs heavy with the promise of rain, gray clouds looming overhead.
"Just gonna head home, play some games," I reply, stuffing my hands into my jacket pockets.
"Why, what you got?" Denny smirks but keeps walking, leading us to the local convenience store.
Denny's got this vibe about him—there's something about him that draws attention. Lean, average build, but he moves with this confidence that makes him stand out. His style's flashy, no question. Grills glinting when he smiles, a few pieces of jewelry that catch the light just right, and always a hat tilted to the side. He doesn't have to try hard to make an impression; he's got that effortless cool, like he's always the center of the room, even if he's just standing there. I guess that's just Denny—flashy, but he knows it, and he owns it.
The familiar ding of the door chime greets us as we step inside. The store's fluorescent lights flicker faintly, casting a buzz over the shelves stocked with everything from snacks to cheap electronics.
At the counter, I ordered first. "Chopped cheese on a roll," I say, grabbing an Arizona iced tea from the fridge.
Denny follows up. "Same here." he says, pulling out a crumpled bill from his pocket and slapping it onto the counter. "I'm paying."
The clerk, a guy with tired eyes nods. "Two chopped cheese on a roll. Be ready in a minute."
While we wait, Denny leans casually against the counter, his smirk widening. "Got a job for ya."
I glance at him. "Yeah? What kinda job?"
"Relax, man. Nothing crazy. One of my regulars—a big-shot CEO type—needs a package picked up from the shipping docks and delivered to him."
I pause, my hand tightening around the iced tea. "The docks? What kind of package are we talking about, Denny?"
He shrugs. "I didn't ask. It's just a drop-off. You're good at that, right? Fastest delivery boy I know."
The clerk calls out, "Order's up!"
Denny grabs the bag with our sandwiches, pausing for a moment as our eyes meet. I nod. "I knew I could count on you." He shoves a sandwich into my hands, a grin spreading across his face. He laughs, giving me a hearty clap on the shoulder.
I roll my eyes, giving him a playful shove. "I'm not one of your employees, man."
"Sure, sure." He grins, stepping outside. "But you kinda are."
We laugh, the smell of warm sandwiches filling the air as we leave the store.