Switchblade ~Part 2~

Liz

I walked out to my car and got in gingerly, as if the whole vehicle would fall apart if I plopped down too hard.  I stuck the key in the ignition, and sat for a minute, trying to brace myself for what was going to happen soon.  I looked out my windshield, at all of the other kids filing out the doors and getting into their cars.  Some got on the bus, which was most of the freshmen and sophomores.  And still others walked, to where I don't know.  I backed out of my parking spot and slowly drove towards my house.  I didn't think I would be able to eat much, because I was majorly nervous.  My house wasn't that far from the school, so I got there in under a minute.  I walked inside, going straight to the kitchen.  My mom was in the back room on her laptop, doing who knows what.  I shouted a hello and opened the fridge, browsing for food, but saw nothing that appealed to me.  I grabbed a half eaten pop tart from the cupboard and nibbled on it, noticing that it tasted slightly like cardboard.  My mom came out from the back room.
"Hi there Lizzy-Lou!"  She said cheerfully.  Honestly, you could tell her the world was getting blown up by a nuclear bomb, and she would turn it into something optimistic without her constant smile even wavering.
"Hi mom." I replied, trying to smile.  It wasn't working.  "How are you today?"
"Just good!"  She said, and without another word, drifted back into the back room again, and I'm not sure whether she even noticed she had done it or not.  Ooook then, I thought to myself.  Another reminder that my mom is way weirder than I am.
I got a glass of orange juice and sipped it, though I really didn't want to eat or drink anything, I was so jittery.  So, whoever I was meeting at the cafe definitely had something to do with what happened last year, and also was majorly linked to a certain gang.  Alexandr was still working on tracing the documents and wringing out the information we needed.  I had no idea how he did it, but somehow, he managed.  I probably wouldn't understand if he tried to explain his methods anyway, so I just didn't ask. 
Time came for me to leave way too soon.  I said goodbye to my mom, and closed the door carefully behind me.  I had my belt on, and I only had a small can of pepper spray, and a tiny knife in it, but I didn't think I would need it anyway.  I made sure it wasn't noticeable, and buckled my seat belt, blowing my nose with a Kleenex.  I leaned back and closed my eyes for a moment, then backed up and drove around the corner, making my way downtown to the little cafe. 

Amara

Alexandr's truck was extremely bouncy.  It was as if every rock in the asphalt caused me to bounce up, straining against my lap belt.  I was surprised that Alex wasn't hitting his head on the ceiling.  It had an old diesel engine, and had probably been sitting around for a long time before Alex could drive it.  His house was on the north side of town, in a quiet neighborhood.  It was a cute little house, quaint and a clean white color.  His mom I had met a few times, and was short and quiet, and made a mean sandwich.  She was soft-spoken, and I was pretty sure she liked me, but I wasn't sure.  She was at work during lunchtime, so Alex had to make his own lunch, tragically. 
"Now before you say it, I will.  I am not going to make you a sandwich, so don't even go there!"  I teased as we rummaged through the shelves, getting out sandwich fixings and top ramen.
He pretended to glare at me.  "Then why are you here?  Mooching off my food, and won't even make me a sandwich in return?"
I laughed and slapped his arm.  "Shut up and get the mayonnaise."
I set a pot on the stovetop, and Alex sullenly made two sandwiches.  God, I love this kid sometimes, I thought.  Even though he can be a brat.  We sat on his leather couch and quietly shoved food in our faces for a few minutes.  Then Alex, with a mouthful of bread and peanut butter, said, "We should do this more often."
"Agreed."  I replied, with a mouthful of noodles.  "So, what do you think Liz is doing right now?"
He was having trouble talking through the peanut butter.  "Proby gettig some pretty thocking informathion to give back to us tonight."
I wiggled my toes excitedly at the thought.  "Oh!  I hope so.  I really can't wait to know."
"I don't get how you're so excited about it,"  he said.  "I mean, it's interesting, but I'm not kicking my feet like a 2 year old over it."
I threw a wet noodle at him.  "I don't know!  I just am!  How did you like that noodle?"
He looked a little grossed out.  "Oh, it was extremely painful.  And cold and wet.  Have mercy on me next time I step out of line."
I slurped loudly, and declared, "Alas!  That is only one small fraction of my wrath!  And, um, there's peanut butter on your face."
He stood up and walked towards the kitchen.
"Peanut butter isn't that bad compared to the broth running down into your shirt."  He walked into the kitchen and set our plates down calmly.
And then it was war. 

Liz

I parked on a dim backroad.  I got out and shut the door, trying not to slam it, as I was more paranoid with every passing minute.  I made sure I had my phone, car keys, and belt before I walked toward the door.  A million memories were going through my head.  It was like I was playing the memory from a year ago over, only I wasn't dreaming.  I didn't know if I would've wanted to wake up anyway.  I also couldn't decide whether it was just a dream…or a nightmare. 
I stopped in front of the door, taking in the moment, and then pulled the door open.  The sound of the cowbell jingling made me cringe.  Holding my breath, palms sweating, I looked around at the tables.  There were only a few people, a middle aged woman feeding her baby with the "here comes the airplane" trick, a strangely dressed goth who sipped a coffee in a corner, and an old couple eating sundaes.  Whoever it is, they're definitely not here yet.  I slid into a two person booth, realizing too late that it was the same one from before.  Figures.
I sat and looked around impatiently.  The cafe was small, with only about 5 or 6 tables and booths.  It was always warm and served about every kind of coffee drink you could imagine.  The chairs were big and plushy, and it made me feel a little more at ease.  It was kind of an old fashioned place.  It consisted of neutral colors, nothing very bright.  Fine with me, because right now I felt extremely fragile.
I decided to text Amara, just to check in.  I slowly typed, since my fingers were shaking, and required more concentration than should be necessary. 

"Hey Amara, and probably Alex.
  I'm sitting in a booth. By myself.
Wondering
what's going on…I'll
call when (if)
something happens."
~Carpe Diem~

I sighed, and put my phone into my bag again.  Maybe I'll get a coffee while I'm "waiting."  I thought.
I looked up, about to go order, and stifled a shriek as I saw what was sitting on the other side of the table.

The first thing that came to my mind was, "Why is the creepy goth kid sitting across from me?"  But then I put it all together.  His silent footsteps, the caramel mocha he was drinking, his blue eyes, piercing me.  I knew.

He sat in front of me, watching me watching him.  He had chains, black eyeliner, black hair, nails, everything screamed goth.  But how could this be?  The Mason I remembered was a hearty, joyful musician.  Something happened here, but now wasn't the time to ask. 
I stood up abruptly.  I turned and stood in front of him, hands on my hips, not sure how to react.  Without saying a word, I grabbed his shirt, jingling a bunch of chains, and pulled him to his feet, which I obviously couldn't of done by myself.  I dropped my hands from him, tears already flowing, and he pulled me to him.  And we just stood there for a few minutes, wordless, just wrapped up in each others' arms and thanking the Lord above we could see each other again. 

Amara

The kitchen floor was covered in top ramen broth.  After Alexandr's comment, I had chased him into the kitchen and jumped onto his back.  I don't know what kind of wild hair I had, but it was pretty interesting.  Somehow he didn't fall down, but managed to knock the pot of leftover top ramen broth over, spilling it everywhere.  I, for one, was laughing too hard to breathe.  And THEN Alex slipped on his wet tile floor and fell onto his knees, and I ended up on my back on the floor, laughing even harder somehow.  He had the dignity to get up off of his butt and help me up afterwards.  I couldn't help but fall for him, really.  His bright green eyes, his big white grin, and his jet black hair, everything appealed to me.  I'd take him over Jacob Black any day!  I tip-toed over the salty puddle and shuffled around the hall closets for a mop.  When I didn't find one, we resorted to kneeling on the floor with paper towels.  For some absurd reason, we could not stop giggling.  The whole cleanup was periodically interrupted by us having a short laughing fit.  We really were ridiculous, if I do say so myself.  Later we were watching cartoons on the couch, since our school had an hour long lunch break.  One of the perks of our district.  I was hugging my knees, wiggling my toes, which had chipped red nail polish on it.  I hadn't bothered with straightening my hair today, so my crazy curls flowed over my shoulders, which was really starting to bother me.  I got a text from Liz, my phone vibrating urgently.  I opened it, and read:

"Hey Amara, and probably Alex.
  I'm sitting in a booth. By myself.
Wondering
what's going on…I'll
call when (if)
something happens."
~Carpe Diem~

I smiled.  I showed the text to Alexandr, who wiggled his eyebrows.  "Sounds like we're at the climax here!" 
I rolled my eyes. "Something will happen.  I just know it!"
Alex nodded, not taking his eyes off the screen.  "I'm sure.  Now relax and watch Looney Toons.  This is one of my favorite episodes."
I turned my phone over and over in my hand, anxious for the next time Liz made contact. 

Liz

I really couldn't believe what I was hearing.  We had eventually got around to ordering coffee, him getting his second.  We sat in the two person booth, and a story began to unfold.  He sat a foot or two away from me, leaning forward, our feet touching under the table.
He said, "You're probably concerned about all this crap I'm wearing, first of all."
I nodded.  He continued, "I'll explain that, but first, I'm going to start from the very beginning."
And this is the story he told.
March 18, 2011.  On that evening, his brother Luke had spontaneously suggested that they go shoot targets out at their favorite spot outside of town.  Now, Luke had been acting a bit off lately, less talkative, and seemed to appear tired more often than not.  He had started neglecting his hygiene a little, he smelled more like an armpit than an Abercrombie store, and his hair wasn't neat, as it always had been previously.  Looking back now, Mason thinks he should of seen the signs, but there was no going back now.  So Luke suggested the target practice, and Mason, on a whim, agreed.  So they hopped into Luke's truck and started driving.  That's when things started to get a little weird.  First, he noticed that Luke was driving in the completely wrong direction.  He also noticed that their guns weren't even in the car, which made target shooting, well, impossible.  When he mentioned this to Luke, he didn't say anything.  After a few minutes, Luke abruptly started talking.  He said, right off, that he was changing his life course.  He said that in the last few months, he'd gone to a party or two at some warehouses downtown with his buddies.  There, he had met some guys his age that were in some sort of gang or whatnot.  The gang name was called "The Switchblades."  Luke thought that these guys were really, really cool, and for some reason, let them persuade him.  These guys got him to try drugs and get him started on some shots, and that was all it took.  Mason listened in shocked silence as he painted a violent, dark picture of what he somehow wanted for himself.  He spoke of how amazing you feel when you get high, how easy it is to forget your problems with the alcohol.  He apparently thought it would be a much better life living it this way.  The gang members all had a symbol that classified them of course, and in this case, it was a specific brand of switchblade, used only for the gain or service of the gang.  Luke sounded so excited, talking about the bloodshed and such he would be involved with, and if he climbed high enough on the ladder, he could eventually be one of authority.  When Mason asked "Why the heck are you telling me this?"  Luke replied easily with, "Because you're my brother!  And I wanted to ask you if you wanted to come with me.  Think about it!  Us brothers and twins, in the city, brawling around, hitting on the hot chicks, doesn't that sound like the LIFE?  I mean, I like sports and everything, but that's not getting me anywhere.  So I decided that I need to make some big changes.  Whether you come with me or not, I'm still going." 
Mason didn't know if he was having a nightmare, or if this nonsense spewing from his brothers' mouth was actually happening.  He honestly couldn't believe that his athletic, straight A, sports star brother was deciding to do this to himself, not to mention his family and friends.  He sat in stunned silence for a minute, really too shocked for words. 

"So what did you do then?" I asked eagerly, boring my gaze into him.
He looked down.  "I told him that he was stupid and crazy to do something like that, and that I didn't want any part of it."

So Luke shut his mouth real fast, and drove faster towards wherever he was going.  By now they were in the backroads of a city, and it looked like a bad neighborhood.  Luke pulled over to the curb and stopped.  "If that's what you want, then this is where our time together ends, my friend." He said, gesturing to the door. 

"Why would he do that?" I interrupted.  "That doesn't make any sense!"
He watched me, his blue eyes looking pained.  "He just told me to get out, basically.  If I wasn't gonna go with him down that path, then he wanted nothing to do with me."

But before Mason opened the door, he said softly, halfway to himself, "But what am I going to do now? You just expect me to step out of this car and let you wreck yourself?"
Luke sneered. "Well bro, I don't know.  You can go back, but you'd have a mighty lot of explaining to do then, wouldn't you?"  He leaned closer. "Come with me, Mason.  Join me in my new life.  Or get out."
That was the last straw.  Without another word, Mason opened the door, got out, and walked away.  From his brother, his twin, his other half, and his new life. 

~watch for part 3! this story isn't over!~