"The original bad boy . . . doesn't tolerate pranks."

13| It's Just A Prank, Bro

As a normal teenager, I understand that 99% of the time, life simply sucks.

I still have trouble accepting that.

The entire weekend I spend my time either on texting my friends or finishing Arsen's algebra II packet, which he neglected to do the previous two months of school, seemingly. Or the past three years of high school. What kind of a student still takes Algebra II their senior year? He really didn't do this work.

Isa and Danie keep their silence and don't text back. Rather than being depressed, I'm frustrated. I'm not the only one who dragged us all into a mess.

Did they forget the previous dirt biking race?

"Screw it," I mutter and put my phone away.

If they want to stay mad, be my guest.

The weekend drags by until Monday comes and I locate Arsen hanging outside the school with his friends. I don't know whether it's the right time to approach him or not. Holding the packet in my hand, I try to catch his eye. Too bad the girl in his lap has all his attention. His usage of girls repulses me.

He changes girls like clothes.

He's busy kissing the redhead in an extremely intimate position, a bit away from his buddies. Her hands tangle in his hair, pushing him so close to her as if wanting to cut off his oxygen supply.

Maybe that's what he deserves.

Something inside me feels almost . . . hurt. When we were younger, I always thought it would be us two, sitting together and being the star couple in high school and maybe, throughout our entire life. Heck, I never even considered another guy to take the place Arsen held in my heart. After encountering Arsen's current behavior, I know he's long been moved on. It's just me, trying to hang on to the past memories.

I enter the school building in disappointment. I don't know why I can't accept his changed personality.

Reality is the hardest thing to accept.

* * *

I end up at the diner directly after school and contemplate waiting for Arsen as I fumble with the lock.

Just as I enter, I almost collapse from a heart attack.

Someone's already seated in one of the chairs with his long legs stretched out.

And he is snoring.

Light on my heels, I approach Arsen's sleeping figure and tap on his shoulder. As predicted, he doesn't wake up. In his hands, I see a Newport pack and a lighter. Disgusting. He must have been waiting for me, but how did he get inside? Maybe the back entrance? Another window climb? Should I wake him up?

An idea suddenly pops in my head. I cautiously move around the diner, shutting all windows and pulling curtains on top to block every ray of light coming in.

Then, I fill up a steel pitcher with water in the kitchen and place it on the table Arsen chose to take over. I go back inside and rummage through a few things before locating a dozen candles, which the girls and I bought to decorate the diner for Halloween.

Time to spook Arsen.

I use the lighter in his hands to bring forth a flame to every candle and decorate them around the dark room.

I hold one in my own hands and approach my ex friend. Thankfully, Arsen's still snoring. Seeing such a peaceful, unstressed expression on his face reminds me so much of how he used to be. So attractive, though heartless. I can't help but allow my fingertips to gently sweep the hair on his forehead to the side. His serene face is too mesmerizing under the illumination of a single flame.

I can't believe I was debating with the devil and angel inside me.

The rhythm of my heartbeat is like Dubstep. I inhale and exhale slowly before bending my head down next to his. His breaths are coming out in an even sequence. I don't know why I delay my prank. Maybe because I know I'm never getting this opportunity again. I get the pitcher ready.

Is it worth it?

YOLO?

As I proceed to dump the water on him, I trip and accidentally smash my face into his. The water spills over his neck and chest. The pitcher falls to the ground making a clanking noise as it rolls over.

Arsen jerks awake, our lips lightly brushing as I try to regain my composure and stand up straight with disappointment and shock.

Plan fail.

Dead silence falls over both of us as Arsen gasps for air.

"Fire!"

His dark eyes fix on the candles all around and he doesn't even care about the water on his face.

"Happy Hallow--"

"Oh . . . "

I can hear the crack in his voice.

It almost cracks my heart.

It never occurred to me till now that one single candle flame could remind him of the fire that happened long ago at his house. I immediately kill the flame with one blow and throw away the closest candle.

He's almost hyperventilating as he clutches his head in hands.

"I'm so sorry!" I say. I'm such a moron!

Arsen shudders.

Undoubtedly, his house lighting on fire and his parents burning in that was a traumatic experience for him. Why did I bring the candles?! But he carries a lighter and cigarettes, so shouldn't he be accustomed to fire?

But I've never actually seen smoke coming out of his cigarette.

Oh damn.

"Get away from m-me!" He says, slapping away the hand I rest on his shoulder.

I never expected to see Arsen's vulnerable side . . . I didn't even know this side existed.

"I didn't mean to," I desperately explain. "It was supposed to be a harmless prank."

I run around blowing out all the candles.

"Prank, Valley? With fire?"

I freeze.

He called me Valley.

For the first time since we exchanged words, he called me by the nickname he had for me.

I must have really thrown him off guard.

Pretending he hadn't said anything bizarre, Arsen continues to take deep breaths and shout at me for being such a thoughtless fool. I finish blowing out all the candles and return to Arsen.

Surprising me and him, I hug him tightly.

"I'm sorry," I murmur softly.

He falls numb in my arms. I'm in an awkward hug since he is sitting and I'm standing with my arms looped around his neck in pitch darkness. The time both of us spend in that strange yet soothing hold isn't measurable. It's even stranger that he doesn't demand I leave him. He isn't as brutish as plays to be. When Arsen finally begins breathing at a normal pace and fidgets in my hold, I retreat.

"Nothing happened, today," he says. I take a seat raise a questioning eyebrow. "I wasn't sleeping here; there wasn't a fire, a prank, or a . . . guy who died in a fire six years ago."

His words are a lot to take in.

He thankfully didn't bring up my tripping and the accidental kiss. As for his last few words, I didn't know that's how he wanted it to be.

He didn't want to be the same Arsen he was before the fire.

"Why do you want to kill a part of yourself?" I ask. "The one that people will like."

"I don't exist to make people like me."

And he's back to his normal Arse self.

"Nor do you exist to kill people--"

He smacks his hand on the table and I flinch. "Stop making false accusations!" Either he's in denial or . . . he's in denial.

"Why can't you behave normal for once? Like how we used to be--"

"Some people aren't worth trusting again." His pitch black eyes bore into mine with such pain and hatred that I wished I could disappear.

"Everyone deserves a second chance," I insist.

"I wouldn't be here right now if I wasn't giving you a second chance," he says. "It's a matter of trust. I don't trust you nor will I ever." I remain deflated in my chair, wondering what cost I'll have to pay to make him take back those words.

Instead of continuing my nagging, I change the subject.

"How did you get inside?"

"Where's the packet?" Arsen asks. What happened to him not trusting me? Now, he's waiting for the math packet that he depended on me to get done. Isn't that trust?

"Answer my question, first."

"I have the key to the kitchen entrance," he answers. To think he left this diner for good is hoping too high. Now, I'm going to have to tell dad to change all the locks. People in NYC cannot be trusted even slightly. "Packet?" he says again.

I unzip my backpack and pull out his papers.

Sliding it across the table, I sigh.

He doesn't bother checking if everything's completed or not. If that's not a sign of trust, I don't know what is. All my hopes, dreams, etc. get shot down when he slides a folder across the table in front of me.

"The other homework assignments," he clarifies.

"Me doing your homework isn't going to help you graduate, you know?" I tell him.

"No, but it definitely raises my chances."

"Why don't you drop out?" I can't help but ask. "You hardly ever show up to school let alone every class. You don't do your homework. You are a pain in everyone's butt. You scare the principal. And you are looking for a business in selling drugs. What's the purpose of a high school degree when all you want to become is the next El Chapo?"

I know my words stung and they aren't the politest thing to say to someone who has physically hurt me before, yet those are my real thoughts. I honestly didn't believe you needed a degree to become a drug lord.

Arsen lets out a humorless chortle.

He leans forward on the table and his voice drops. "Why does it matter to you?"

"It doesn't," I mutter.

"It shouldn't," he clears. "I'll see you tomorrow to get the rest of the assignments." He runs a hand through his hair and heads out, abandoning me inside the dark room.

"Arse," I call out, though I don't turn to meet his eyes.

His footsteps halt, indicating he's listening. "What?"

"What do you want to be when you're out of high school?" I query.

"Happy."

He doesn't need to say anything else as he leaves the giant restaurant.

Out of all the options he could choose from, he selected happiness. Maybe those are the side effects of not going to school. No one can drill it in your head that you need a lot of education to make a lot of money and be financially secure, so that you can create your own family. No teacher has ever told me that after high school, I should strive for happiness.

Some of us really needed to understand life on a grander scale.

¤》¤《¤

A/N

What did you guys think of Arsen?

He has a phobia of fire after that fire accident. I just wanted to show a reflection of his less . . . tough side and more emotional. Like what changed him to be how he is.

So . . . What do you want to be in life?

Btw, I'm participating this book in the Wattys, pretty please...

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