All American Boys

Chapter 4: Cyrillian Blue

I almost approached him. Almost.

If not for the fact that he yelled to his teammates down the hallway to wait for him, I would've gone up to him and said hi. For a brief moment he seemed vulnerable, but he soon took off and rejoined his friends, reverting back to the loud and annoying jock that everyone seemed to know him as.

I usually tried to ignore others and not get in their way. But somehow, his vulnerability drove something within me. Something that told me I needed to take action.

I groaned as I picked up my books. Well, if I had a typewriter and a nice armchair I could sit for hours tearing him down in a scathing article. I'd write down a list of all the things that was wrong with him and nail it to his locker door.

Well, to start things off, he wasn't even that good at football. How he was the 'star' quarterback was beyond me. Heck, if I was the coach I probably would've just let him be the benchwarmer. Not very bright, not very good at sports, I wondered how he even got the place. He was the antithesis of a star overachiever. But hey, appearances are everything right?

It was probably because of his dad. Oh, high and mighty Richard Anderson, business magnate and the perfect American father. Always hosting parties and barbeques at his large suburban house. Rebecca Anderson, the perfect wife in her pretty sun dresses, with a smile so sweet you could get diabetes. The perfect American family, Uncle Sam's beloved darlings.

I stopped myself from taking shots at the family too hard, because, well- Hayden was one of them after all. Besides, I don't really have anything special against their family. Well, I disliked them as much as I disliked other people I guess. And Rebecca had always seemed nice. I remember her smiling at me the last time I was at church– not one of those broad saccharine grins – but a slight curl of her cerise lips with a hint of sadness in her hazel eyes. That, at least felt genuine to me.

The last time I went to church. . . Well, let's say I didn't really like to think about what went down. It wasn't very pleasant.

They smeared her name after she died. Calling her all sorts of vile things. A liar, a cheat, a jealous opportunist who just wanted to claw her way through the established respectable order just to get what she wanted. Someone who was willing to do whatever it takes, to stoop however low in order to gain an edge. They called her worse names, but I couldn't even bring myself to recall them. They didn't deserve any place near my sister's memory.

Things aren't very pleasant in this pleasant little town. But Bethlehem being Bethlehem, people will still shake your hand while they spit in your face.

I didn't let my thoughts run back to those painful times. Instead, I decided to continue my long list of bad things about Isaac Anderson.

He was fake, obviously. Just like the rest of them. Other than faking it on the field, he was probably faking that obnoxious act as well. But it wasn't that hard when you're surrounded by spineless sycophants. I just didn't like him. From the smug sneers on his lips when he was with his friends to the glare he gave me that morning. They just wasn't anything likeable about him. But most importantly, I couldn't stand hypocrites. He was obviously pretending to be something he wasn't. When all his friends were away and he was alone, he just looked pathetic and sad. I didn't know whether to feel sorry or laugh at him, but I kept going back and forth between the two.

***

"So," Emily said. "You're telling me that Hayden Anderson actually paid you to babysit his brother?"

"Pretty much so," I answered. "He begged me, then he paid me."

The dainty girl in front of me, who was always so gentle and sweet managed to let out a snicker. I must've been rubbing off on her.

"Well," she said, letting her small shoulders fall as she let out a slight sigh. "He feels bad I guess. About everything."

"Yeah," I muttered as I picked up my sandwich.

Emily was probably the best person I've ever known. She was there for me when dad died all those years ago, and she certainly was there for me when it was Alicia's turn. She stuck by me even after the rumours and malicious gossip started. She was there for me to tell me that it was all okay when we started receiving death threats in the mail. She told me that she had my back, always.

It was all better now, and it's not like I was bullied or hated or anything, but I'll always be known as the kid who's sister fell out of line and got what she deserved. It's not what they openly said, but I knew it was how they felt. I could see it in their eyes. Sympathy, pity, I couldn't tell whether they were real anymore.

"But let me get this straight," she began.

"I'm not," I cut her off jokingly.

She only rolled her eyes.

"You and Isaac haven't even said a word to each other all day, and from what you're telling me, he doesn't seem like he even wants to meet you," she said. "Are you sure he's even going to show up?"

"Well if mister quarterback-who-can't-toss-a-ball-for-shit decides not to show up for me to teach him English then it doesn't matter to me," I said. "Hayden already gave me the money and I get to save time."

Emily paused for a brief moment, her hazel eyes looking at me. I knew that look. She was reading me.

"You're doing it because you want to get closer to Hayden in the hopes that someday he'll realise that all this while his former girlfriend's brother had been drooling all over him," she said, curling a strand of brown hair around her index finger. "And when you've gotten Hayden in your bed then what?"

How she could just analyse me and tear me to shreds with such brutality all the while remaining casual I would never understand.

"Fine," I told her, raising my hands up in surrender. "You got me."

"If that's the case then so be it," she said. "But don't go on about how bad and fake and shallow Isaac is when you're more or less the same."

"Never said I was any different," I told her.

The young woman sighed, rolling her eyes.

"You're a good person and I know it," she said. "You just keep seeing the bad in everything, and I know it's hard because of what happened, but – you can't go on like this forever you know?"

"Alicia was a good person," I snapped back. "And look what happened to her! Shot in the face in broad daylight!"

"Alex," she said softly, noticing that some people were beginning to stare. "Listen to me, it wasn't her fault. It wasn't anyone's fault."

I was about to speak, to lash out everything that I'd been thinking about my sister's murder. That I knew who did it. That I knew why they did it. But I remembered the spray paint on the wall. The tears my mother shed when she read through the mail. I clenched my fist under the table, but that was about it. I couldn't say anything.

But Emily knew. With a gentle smile on her lips she reached out and placed a hand on my arm. It was only when she gripped me did I realise that I was quivering.

"Why don't you go take some time off?" she suggested. "Class is starting in ten minutes, but I can tell Mrs Henderson that you'll be late."

"It's fine," I told her as I got up from my seat. "I'll be in time for English."

"I'll see you there," she replied. "Take as much time as you need."

With that, I walked out of the cafeteria in a hurry. I didn't dare look anyone in the eye as I made my way down the hallway, turning left into the gym and making a beeline to the boy's locker room. There weren't any gym classes at that time slot, and the showers were thus empty. It was exactly what I needed.

Sitting myself down on one of the benches, I buried my face in my palms. A few sobs escaped my lips at first, and a few tears started to fall, but that was about it. I spent the rest of those eternal minutes in silence, my fingernails digging into my skin.

I took a deep breath as I finally sat up. I wiped the tears away with the back of my palm. I tried hard to forget, I really did. But with Hayden coming in this morning telling me he wanted to talk about it, the thoughts wouldn't leave my mind.

It wasn't a drive-by shooting. It was a premediated murder.

And there was only one person I knew who had everything to lose had Alicia gone ahead and laid out the facts bare to everyone to see. He had to get rid of her. He couldn't risk everyone knowing the truth. And if that meant getting my sister shot, then he would do it. Or pay someone to do it. He wouldn't want to get his pristine hands all dirty now would he? Wouldn't be nice on paper.

I took out my necklace and held the heart shaped and held it in my palm, clenching it tightly. Deep in my heart I wished Alicia was still there with me. She was the one who kept us together. Without her, with just mom and I, we just seemed to drift apart, barely surviving on our own.

But that was enough crying for the day. Sure, it was a bad day, but I had to move on. I had to go to English class. I had to keep pretending that everything was okay. That everything in this town wasn't rotten to the core.

I felt the cold water splash against my cheek as I rinsed the stickiness off my skin. After I was done, I saw myself in the mirror. My hair was dishevelled -which I quickly fixed with my fingers- but my eyes remained quite red. Oh well, I supposed I have to just live with it. I could just tell any curious soul who asked that my eyes were sore. But they probably wouldn't believe me. It didn't matter anyway.

I heard the bell ring, and I sauntered out of the bathroom. The hallways were full of students rushing to their classes. A part of me felt bad for being late to Mrs Henderson's class, since I actually liked her, but I guess I really needed that time for myself.

I headed over to my locker and took out my textbook, but not without taking a quick glance at myself in the mirror. My eyes were still slightly red, but it wasn't as noticeable as before. Oh well.

"Hey," I heard a voice coming up from beside me. "You're Alex, aren't you?"

I spun around and nearly froze. In front of me stood a young man. His matted hair was a deep luscious brown, and his eyes a muted brown. He wore a varsity jacket – a faded cerulean blue, with grey arms.

"Oh," the young man replied, flustered. "I-I'm Cyril by the way. We were both in English last year. We've never talked before, but hi."

A sheepish grin crept up his lips as his pale cheeks glowed a rosy pink.

I immediately regained my composure and gave him a rather strained smile. Cyril Crawford was probably the last person I wanted to see right now. Or one of the last few people I wanted to see ever. I know I've said that two other times during the past few hours but Cyril Crawford wasn't like Isaac or Hayden Anderson. He was something else entirely.

Granted, he wasn't a total ass like gloomy Isaac Anderson, but this wasn't about him as a person. From what I knew he was great, he was always nice to everyone, and got along great with teachers and even the kids who weren't part of the main clique. He was also the true star player of the football team, how he wasn't the captain, I wouldn't know. He was also involved in church charity or whatever bullshit. So, clearly he was a saint compared to Isaac.

There was a brief silence as he just stood there.

"Um," I said, furrowing my brow. "Can I help you?"

"Oh," he replied, flustered. "Forgive me, but I saw you in the locker room earlier, and I just wanted to check if you were okay. I was quite worried."

"I'm absolutely fine," I said, smiling. "There's nothing to worry about. Absolutely nothing."

"You were crying earlier," he replied, his eyes looking at me with concern.

I turned my gaze away.

"Hey," he said placing his hand on my shoulder. "I know it's hard. To lose someone like that. . . It's pretty cruel and unfair. I don't really know what to say, but if it makes you feel any better, my little sister died a few years ago, and I still think about her from time to time."

That was almost like a slap to the face. Out of all people, Cyril Crawford pitied me? It took every fibre of my being to not lunge at him and claw his pretty face out with my nails. I didn't need any pity, especially not from him. Not from someone so complicit in the first place, whether he knew it or not.

The first day of the new school year and I was still the kid who's sister got shot in broad daylight. Bethlehem would never let me live that down.

I only shook my head as I carefully peeled his filthy, bloodstained hands off my denim jacket.

"Why are you telling me this?" I asked, turning around and slamming my locker door shut. "Did I ask?"

"Hey," he replied. "I was just trying to make sure if you're alright. And I wanted you to know that. . . You're not alone."

I only let out a deep sigh.

"You know," I told him. "I really have to get going. Class is starting."

I turned around and was about to leave, when I felt him grab my arm.

"What is it?" I asked, not bothering to hide the edge in my voice anymore.

The young man seemed taken aback, but soon regained his composure.

"You uh-" he said, fishing something from his pocket. "You left this."

In his open palm was Alicia's necklace. I must've left it on the bench back in the locker room. Seeing that little heart clasped in his large palm was enough to make me seethe. My heart thumping in my chest, I bit my tongue down. I knew I couldn't say anything. I knew I couldn't do anything out of line. Instead, I just snatched it out of his hands.

Hastily placing it around my neck again, I turned around and stormed off.

"Yeah," he called out from behind me. "You're welcome, selfish prick!"

I just kept walking down the hallway, ignoring the loud thud I heard in the background. He must've punched a locker or something, but I didn't care. I just kept going, not looking back.

If it was anyone else, I would've been extremely grateful. I would grovel at their feat and thank them with all my heart. I would weep with happiness. Heck, even if it was Isaac. I would've doused nard all over his feet and wipe them with my hair. But not for Cyril Crawford.

Not for the blood and flesh of the very man that had my sister killed.