Not Possible

Chapter Twelve: The Blowout Bash (2)

Daniel~

"I'm James Bond? Who'd you think I was?" Michael asked.

Our good friend Dylan, dressed down in nothing much but a white sheet and sandals, pondered on the thought before rudely replying ."A dimwit."

"Look who's talking." Brady murmured beneath his breath, not expecting any of us to hear his sarcastic comment but he's too loud for his own good. Dylan only watched him bitterly, moving his mouth without some sort of sound coming out. He was most likely mouthing out curse words even though I swear I saw him say 'cheese my crackers'.

Brad nodded slowly and sighed a long, "Alright then." Looking up from his phone for the first time since reaching my house. They said I was addicted to texting, but that's only the people who never met Brady. He taught me everything. From the abbreviations to thumb maneuvers. His iPhone is the third most important thing in his life after his car and hair.

The bucket of gel he uses for just one day is no joke! And his head always sucked up the content to leave it back to its usual soft state.

Uh, I'm only assuming. It's not like I touch his hair everyday if that's what you're thinking?! I'm not a weirdo.

Forget this conversation on a whole. Next!

"Emily says that they're ready. I'm going for them. Meet you guys later." Brad bid us all a farewell and trotted through the front door.

As soon as I heard Brad's beloved SUV start, I called out to Michael, ushering him into the kitchen so Dylan wouldn't be a nuisance. The coast was clear, free of snoops and eavesdroppers and I bit out quickly, "What should I look out for when dealing with Emily?"

Instantly Michael's face became flat and expressionless. Just when I thought that I would have to force it out of him he said, "Emily isn't the one you should look out for. C'mon? You know she isn't capable of any wrong doings. She's...Emily." He said the last part dryly and I simply nodded so that he could thrust on with his warning.

"But with every angel, there is a demon trying to rip off their wings." He's speaking in proverbs. Or should I say old people talk? My grandfather said those exact same words during our last visit, except we were arguing about RedBull and the consequences you face after obtaining its wings. Visiting my grandparents is always a nice experience.

You know what isn't nice: decoding Michael's saying. I can never understand him and his riddles and my ignorance always got to me one way or another.

"Cut the sensei stuff and give me names. I want to know names." I urged. Michael smirked this time, shaking his head in refusal.

"Nobody told you to like her. You chose that on your own. Like everybody else who made horrible choices in life, you have to face your consequences. Then the biggest decision is set in your hands." He pisses me off sometimes. Like right now. He has chosen to piss me off and he'll face his consequences if my demands are not obeyed right here. Right now.

"What decision?" I had to ask. Michael didn't waste any time on stalling me, hoping for my mind to lose focus. It kind of was. The teachers said that I have the attention span of a  pea. I guess Michael felt like I should know from now.

His face softened as he spoke in a faint voice, "Whether you'll be the one to put a stop to the never-ending hatred of her hidden enemies or you'll be a Michael." He swung his head to the floor as he continued, "A guy who knew--and still knows how to fix the problem, but is too punk to do anything about it."

"So tell me the secret, Mike. I'll do the work for you and you won't have to worry about a thing." I reasoned more nicely. Being an ignorant jackass about this situation will only make it worse. I didn't want a conflict. I wanted assistance. Guidance and a stealthy plan. I wanted to help Emily out of her trouble, regardless if she knew that she was endangered from the start.