By InsidiousCynic

Saturday, September 12 – Zane Patterson

D.K. Even her name sounds cool. Everything she does is cool. The way she talks, the way she walks, the way she does a spinning hook kick. Seeing her is almost enough to forget that I’m at church. Almost.

When she’s around, I forget about spiting authority figures or planning escape routes. All I can think about is what it would feel like to sift my fingers through her curly brown hair. I hope that she doesn’t notice me looking at her at school, at church, at the mall. Of course she knows; she must know. I’m terrible at being subtle. Then again, she’s so cool that it’d make sense if she never noticed me. Most people don’t notice me, unless I do something stupid, embarassing or illegal.

She’ll never notice me, I usually think.

But this Sabbath morning, for whatever reason, I felt an unusual confidence. I actually take time to comb my hair and make up my tie. I get in the car willingly, instead of having to be yelled at for half an hour. I strut down the church halls.

“You look…different today,” Mom said, smiling.

I shrug. “Well, I feel different.”

“Starting to enjoy church?”

I nod. “Yeah, I guess.”

As long as D.K. remains a member.

My Mom’s eyes twinkle. She wants the best for me, and I hate her for it. Why is she killing herself for me—a piece of fourteen-year-old white-trash with no prospects. A kid doomed to fail at everything.

I pushed all those negative thoughts to the back of my mind.

Today’s the day. No distractions. Life is short.

Since Thad told me about his getting shot, “life is short” has become my mantra. A few inches in another direction, and that bullet woulda been the end of my friend. He would be a body in the morgue or (more likely) a pile of ash in a dumpster in some back alley.

“Yo, Thad,” I said to him on Friday, “you gotta get out of the game while you still can. You got shot. You’re fourteen. How long until you end up like Freddie, Julian or Rick?”

“Why does it matter?” Thad replied. “I’m dead either way.”

And he was right. I’m dead either way.

Life is short.

“Well,” says Mom, “have a good time at Sabbath school.”

“Yeah, okay.” My heart paces crazily, my palms sweat, I hold my breath.

Mom heads for adult Sabbath school, and Ira’s about to head to the junior classroom, but he looks me over first.

“You may fool Mom, but you can’t fool me that easily.”

Then he wanders off.

What does he mean? He couldn’t possibly know… Nah, he’s probably talking about skipping school, sneaking out and hating church. He doesn’t know. Nobody knows.

I enter my Sabbath school classroom. I’m about ten minutes early, and it’s just a few  other teenagers in the room. But one of them is D.K, who’s sitting with Hannah. They’re chatting about this, that and the other thing, and nobody pays me any mind.

Alright Patterson. It’s go time. 

My feet weigh ten tons each. The classroom feels hotter than Venus in July. “Uh…hi…D.K…”

D.K looks at me sideways. “Hi…?”

I gulp and pull at my collar.

“Uh…bye.”

“Bye,” she smirks.

I turn around and trudge off.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!