Don't mind me; just an average teenager who doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into. . .yet.

NOVEMBER twenty-first—the day before it all began—and like all the other days before that day, they would all start with me already up and about, with my old bike that was in such dire need of a fix if not getting a new one altogether.

As per my fifteen-minute window before the clock would strike seven in California, I would be dashing through the streets of Midtown, ignoring the rickety noise coming from my ride as I unloaded folds of the morning paper and toss them across neighborhoods to the people of Sacramento.

By the time my cart was empty, the sky was already a-glow with the sun and my bike had yet again managed to get me to school.

I parked the bike, locking it with a chain when I noticed something. It flashed across the bike’s metallic silvery frame where I caught my reflection but also something else. I squinted, inching closer to the image. It also moved closer, becoming clearer. A clouded figure of smoke—green glowing smoke reaching out from the frame with its ethereal hand.

My arm reached out, my mind becoming entranced as an undiscernible voice whispered its way into my ears. My fingers had almost made contact, only to be cut off suddenly by the honking of car.

“Yo, Des! You still dragging around that piece of junk!” I turned around, both startled and annoyed at the familiar voice.

That was Carmen Azarolla. She calls herself my best friend but the jury’s still out on that one, though she has been able to get me in a lot of trouble since way back in elementary school, so. . .

“And yet I got here before you,” I said as Carmen stepped out of a black and yellow Chevrolet Camaro that had been as a result of a sweet sixteen birthday, a year ago.

I glanced at my bike but there was no shadowy glowing figure coming out of it. What had that been about?

“My offer still stands, Des,” Carmen pulled me out of my stupor, teasing me with her dark brown eyes.

At a glance, nobody would ever think that the two of us even knew each other. Born in Mexico, Carmen’s parents had moved into the States when she was five and now, years later, I was looking at a girl with short black hair that curled over her right side of her face, partly covering her eye while her left temple had gotten a faded shave. She was rocking in all-black: a leather tank top and jeans over heeled boots.

I shook my head in protest to what had lately been an ongoing argument. Carmen had been trying to get me a new car. That’s right. So, here’s the thing, Carmen’s parents were super rich. They owned multiple car dealerships all over the East Coast and several other states. Hell, they even tried to give me a car themselves but I just could not accept such a gesture, I mean. . .you understand me, right. . .?

I stared Carmen down, in an attempt at ending the charade but I knew better. I don’t think I have ever met anyone as stubborn as her and that was not even the worst part. She had been extremely annoying that day for one particular reason as one could tell from all the mischief written all over her face. It was the eve of my birthday.

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“What did you do this time?” I asked, bracing myself for the answer to which Carmen ridiculously replied, “Geez, relax! Why does it always have to be something that I’ve done?”

I then gave her a look like “really?”.

“Okay, fine,” she finally admitted, as if I had not seen this coming, “I know you hate surprises, so here’s a heads-up on a surprise party that may be happening at one of my folk’s condos tomorrow night.”

“Carmen what the hell? I thought I told you no more surprise parties!”

“Too late,” she said, taking out her phone and showing me her Instagram story where preparations for the party were already under way.

“Do you remember what happened last time?” I asked.

“Dude, I told you it was an accident!” Carmen replied, grinning.

Apparently, Carmen was pulling a prank on some kid during my sixteenth birthday and let’s just say that there were some “substances” involved and that I may or may not have ended up doing some pretty weird shit that day.

“Hey,” Carmen said, pulling me back to the present, “you’re gonna love this party. I mean, it’s your last birthday in high school!”

I shook my head again and to be honest, I’ve never really understood the idea of people rejoicing over something that marks another point of getting old—it’s like being happy every time you get to a checkpoint that signals you’re only getting closer and closer to your imminent death.

My thoughts were then disrupted when a blonde-haired girl appeared next to Carmen, saying hi to me before giving Carmen a light kiss.

“Someone’s grumpy today,” started the blonde, Darcy Miller. She and Carmen had been dating since freshman year. They had a lot in common with the only difference being that Darcy did not share Carmen’s level of annoyance, thankfully.

“You told him about the party, huh,” Darcy said as she and Carmen both turned to look at me.

“So, you inviting anyone?” Darcy asked.

“What?” I said, “seems like you both already took care of that.”

“No, I mean, is there gonna be a special someone. . .?”

“Huh?”

“She’s asking if you’re brining a date, dummy!” Carmen added.

“I know what she’s asking!” I shot back.

“So. .?” Darcy persisted.

“Well, I. . .” I faltered, silently cussing at myself for falling into this trap. Damn you, Carmen!

“Oh, come on!” Carmen cried out, “you haven’t asked her out yet, have you?”

“What?” came Darcy, “who? How have I not heard about this?”

“Hey!” I raised my voice, trying to calm them down. “I’m still figuring it out, okay.”

“Mmmhmm,” muttered Darcy.

“I think Desmond Turner is shy,” added Carmen and the two broke into laughter. Fortunately for me, the school bell went off and I could not have been more grateful. “I’m going to class,” I said and started making my way towards the classes block.

“You do realize we’re all in the same class, right?” Carmen called after me as I did my best to ignore her and that was when I saw her. Not her, the other her. . .I mean, urgh!

I mean that was when I saw the girl that Carmen had been torturing me about. The girl who had joined my class at the start of term.