Pumped Up

Chapter 6

Gazzy woke up with his head being held over a trash can that smelled absolutely rancid. Immediately the painful sensation of weak knees and his stomach seemingly tied in knots hit him, causing him to double over and wretch again.

God damn, what the fuck is happening to me?

Unaware of whatever was going on around him, Garcia just hung over the trash. For a moment, however, he became curious as to who cared enough to hang him over it in the first place. Looking behind himself, he recognized the same colorful hair he thought he'd seen earlier. For some reason, he'd talked to him this morning—at least he thought it was this morning—but couldn't remember exactly what compelled him to. In fact, he didn't remember much about the guy except that he was a rainbow and that he'd given him his number in a very odd way.

"The fuck... the fuck are you doing here?" Gazzy questioned, his voice weak and trembling. He wasn't quite fully sober yet, as he'd had a ridiculous amount of alcohol in his blood earlier, but he could at least have some sort of thought now.

"Helping you stay alive, you could've drowned in your own vomit if I ain't held you up like this, ah ah." Daniel turned Gazzy's head back over the trash can, not trusting that he was done yet. Just as the Mexican did so, Garcia's body convulsed again, and dry heaved. Everything in his stomach was already out, so there wasn't much else that could happen as of now. Daniel turned his nose up in disgust. "Would've taken y'all to the nurse but I ain't had time, ah."

"Huh...?" Gazzy felt so sick he was confused at everything, and wanted nothing more than to lie down on his side and fall asleep. He regretted drinking as much as he did, this pain may not be worth it.

"Never mind. You should go home. You was drunk as fuck earlier. Ah ah, is there somethin' wrong in y'all's life or some shit?" Daniel has quieted his voice slightly so that nobody who might be walking the halls in the middle of a class period could hear him. He'd gotten close to Garcia's ear, almost whispering. This caused a shiver to go down Gazzy's spine, although he didn't know the cause of that. Possibly just the feeling of the rainbow-haired Mexican's breath on his neck, or perhaps something else.

"Uh... just some lame shit, y'all wouldn't wanna hear about it." Gazzy shrugged, playing everything off in a chill, carefree way. He never really showed any kind of emotions to anyone, and he just let people assume he was nearly retarded because he was either high out of his mind or drunk off his ass 90 percent of the time. "I don't wanna talk about it anyway." Gazzy backed up from the trash can, his body beginning to settle down a bit from the impact it had taken.

"Whatever you say, ah ah. I was gonna ask your dumb ass if y'all wanted to hang sometime this week earlier this morning, but y'all could hardly get a word outta ya mouth, nigga." Daniel brushed down some awkward wrinkles in Gazzy's tee shirt, straightening it for him. The Mexican bit his lower lip slightly.

"Oh, sorry...?" Slightly confused, as per the usual, Garcia apologized for something he didn't know he'd done wrong. "You gon' steal my shit again?"

"Fuck? No, nigga, I never stole y'all's shit anyway. Ya high ass forgot it and I was gon' hand it back to y'all but then ya freaked out on me, ah. So then I kept it, but I thought you could use a friend or somethin' so I gave yo ass my number." Daniel shook his head, he could have sworn he said that to Gazzy earlier this morning.

"Maybe if I feel better by tonight, I could chill wit' ya, or maybe tomorrow." Gazzy tried to think, but that was really never possible with the way he was. He had to be pretty upset to sound coherent.

"Yeah, it is Saturday tomorrow after all, ah ah. You like arcades? Bowling? Both?" Daniel glanced up into Gazzy's sleepy eyes, but had to look away almost immediately for... whatever reason. Garcia was about to respond, but was cut off by a long, drawn out wail.

"Ewwwwwwww!" An unfamiliar voice shouted always down the hallway, causing both Daniel and Gazzy to look in the voice's direction. A group of five boys was walking down the hallway, and one had obviously smelled the foul fluids that had come out of Gazzy's stomach, since he was covering half of his face with a hand, turning away to bury his face in another guy's chest. That guy looked confused for a moment, before laughing slightly. Garcia immediately recognized that laugh as Jahseh's, as it was one of the most recognizable in the school. Whoever had buried his face in Jahseh's chest was lightskin and had long, black dreadlocks. A familiar face stood behind the two of them, a guy that seemed to always follow Jahseh around. Gazzy only talked to him once or twice, and ever since, just called him 'the durag guy.' The two others were people the Cuban knew. Symere, who was in one of his classes—he always acted weird as hell—and Jarad, the saddest motherfucker you'd ever meet.

Daniel groaned at the voice, seemingly in a bad mood all of a sudden. Gazzy's brow furrowed, wondering what he issue was. Then, out of nowhere, the guy with the black dreadlocks took notice of the rainbow-haired guy. Peeking one eye out from where he hid his wide nose in Jahseh's chest, he shot the Mexican a glare before whispering something to the group. They immediately began to head the other way, although Jarad waved at Gazzy. It was unfortunate that someone considerate as him was so disliked in the school.

"What was that shit about?" Moving on from Jarad's gesture after forgetting to return it, he gave Daniel a confused look. "Y'all seemed to have some serious tension between ya."

"Yeah, that's Michael. He's been a problem for me since middle school, ah." Hernandez looked back at the Cuban, who just stared around into space. "We don't need to worry 'bout that right now though. You never answered my question from earlier. You willin' to come wit' me today or tomorrow to go to an arcade or some shit?"

"Hell yeah I love arcades!" Gazzy's eyes lit up, ecstatic like a child about mentioning an arcade. He had always loved them, and he loved the pointless games that you could never win and ended up wasting a hundred bucks on. "When we going?"

"Ahh... I'm thinkin' later today, y'all seem to be a'ight right now, ah ah. Let's say today at 6? I'll text ya the address of the place, or I could come get ya."

"Yuh! Come pick me up at my house, my parents ain't gon' be home. I'll give ya my address over the message thing or whatever." Garcia smiled wildly. It had been absolutely forever since anyone but Omar has invited him out anywhere, and even though these two guys got off on the wrong foot, they were more alike than either of them realized.