"I just couldn't resist."
"Only sacred things deserve to be messed with."
It all ended with a dead kid near the train tracks.
Six years later, the story repeats itself and two long-forgotten friends might find out that when death tries to play match...
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Sitting in class today is even more boring than usual. I can see the train tracks through the window on my left from my place in the back of the class and my gaze drifts to the rusty wagons following one another as a train passes, carrying big chunks of woods in huge cast iron containers. I feel my desk shake imperceptibly at the same rhythm as the wheels and I suddenly wonder how much this thing weighs to be able to get the earth to shudder like that.
September is well advanced and everything my eyes can see through the polished glass is brown and dead, from the tall herbs and thistles near the railway to the leaves of the oak shading the parking lot.
The teacher blabbers about The Great Gatsby and my attention wanders away when I spot four boys in the parking lot, cardigans tossed away as they play basketball on the cracked cement, tossing the ball around expertly when they should definitely be in class right now.
Jungkook, tall and athletic, precise and fast, as he passes the ball around like he has done it a million times. His raven hair is flat and shiny, glued to his forehead. He is unpredictable, his blank expression unable to tell anyone if he is bluffing or not when he goes in a direction or another and all of his moves are carefully calculated.
Jimin, moving too much, laughing and talking instead of focusing on the game, having the time of his life by just randomly bumping into his friends instead of really playing the game. He's the one that probably changed the most since he was a kid. I remember him cute and chubby, with sausage fingers, big fat cheeks and glistening eyes that were always ready to cry when he was being pushed around. He is unrecognizable now, sharp and angular in the sun, oozing with confidence and sex-appeal. His plumped lips and narrow eyes, which were making him a target for bullies as a kid, are the exact reason why today, girls are after him, which proves again how dumb our society is.
Yoongi, taking unnecessary risks and falling a lot, scraping his knees through his navy trousers. He always puts himself in the others' way and I can see he's hurting when Jungkook collides with him full force, sharp shoulder nudging his chest. Being unafraid has a price and for Yoongi, it's quite extensible. The boy has the reputation of being absolutely fearless, but not in a good way. He's not courageous or daring, he's just plain dumb and has broken more bones in his body than anyone I know by doing very stupid shits that got him hurt. When he was fourteen, he jumped from the third-floor window of his school on a dare. I still have the video of his fall on my phone, an instant viral phenomenon of course, that got him a week in the hospital and two broken legs.
And lastly, Taehyung, who's a clever mix of the three. He's smart, cold, and calculated, but can be enthusiastic and reckless at times, his amber orbs lighting up in the most charming way when something piqued his curiosity. He is the perfect wrongdoer, sneaky and crafty, knowing how to break rules just enough to be a problem but never crossing the line that would get him punished with more than a detention and a hit on the wrist from our principal. He is famous for his pranks, stupid practical jokes that infuriate the teachers, like the time he poured five entire gallons of laundry detergent in the school's interior pool, resulting in a mountain of bubbles the next day after the water was filtrated all night.
Four boys; our school's four legends.
Being a high school senior comes with a lot of pressure and a lot of preconceived ideas. From books or media, I gathered that everyone fits in this one little box that describes their entire personality. There are the emo kids, the dumb jocks, band-teenagers and other liberal art hipsters, the drug users, the nerds, the basic bitches and small-town pageant queens, the gays, and the misanthropes, that mostly hate everyone all day long.
But when you get to high school, you realize that this is a big load of crap.
Emo kids are actually the smartest ones, the boy's football team is depressed, the choir girls are the popular princesses, everyone is drugged out on weekends and people you initially think are one thing are always another if you scratch off the surface. No one fits in a box, no one is one thing and that thing only and the boundaries that rule bad teenage movies melt and bend to will if you look hard enough.
And as I look at them, playing basketball in the parking lot, I can see that they are all of those things and none at the same time, and yet, they still rule our high school like it's their personal kingdom. Four princes, respected and loved by the crowd, despised by the principal, breaking all the stereotypes and wearing their popularity like a crown.
The bell rings and I gather my things, my sight leaving the window to go back to my books and pencils. Metal chairs shriek against the floor as the students stand up and Crystal waves at me from her place on the other side of the classroom, gesturing at me to come closer.
"We need to talk!" she exclaims as soon as I'm near enough to hear her over the ambient chatter.
"About what?"
"I heard a rumor! That you were alone at the house when the police arrived? Is it true? I thought Hoseok found you in time to get you out of there!"
I had almost forgotten about this whole story. Because the dead girl was a university and not a high school student, and because no one our age except for me and Crystal go to those frat parties, everyone is clueless as to what happened. I really hope it stays that way.
"Yeah, it's a long story."
And I already know I'm not going to tell her about it. If I explain to Crystal that I was alone in the frat house with the school's four rulers, she will surely ask me how I met them, and where, and when, which will only bring more questions and I just don't want to go there. In fact, I would rather shave my eyebrows than tell her that story, and I'm not even being dramatic.
"Did you have any problem with the police? Did they question you?"
"No and Yes..."
Just like I thought, I didn't get in trouble at all. In fact, people were strangely nice to me, from Hoseok's father to the receptionist at the police station who gave me a lollipop while I waited for my dad. Yes, I was found alone in a house full of drugs and alcohol with a dead body upstairs. Despite all of that, it seemed like I got a free pass, and I flatter myself at the idea that my acting skills were the reason why.
They probably thought I was traumatized or something. I cried a lot, big sobs with bubbles of snots coming out of my nose and that thing people do when they just choke on their own cries because it's just too much.
Poor little girl, she saw a dead body, she must be in shock.
I admit that I was a little creeped out when I learned that the girl had been raped. I was certainly not supposed to learn that detail, but I overheard two officers talking at the station and could not not listen when one started to tell the other all the gory details of the assault and how she was strangled while he was inside of her and how he probably got off from it.
I got over it pretty quickly. This wasn't a wake-up call, this wasn't a sudden revelation that life, in fact, sucks.
I already knew that.
You tend to learn that early in life when your basement is full of corpses.
"Did you tell them I was there?" asks Crystal, tucking her blonde hair behind her ears.
Of course she would ask me if I reported her. Her parents think she's a perfect angel and would never get over the fact that their baby girl was at a party, let alone a party full of sinful temptations like boys in jerseys.
"Of course not! I didn't tell the police that you and Hoseok were there, although his dad knows that if I was there, he must have been there too."
Crystal nods.
"Yeah, that's true, do you know if he got in trouble?"
"He didn't, or if he did, he didn't tell me."
Me and Crystal are walking to the door when Ms. Hayes, my English teacher, suddenly stops me in my tracks, calling me from her desk.
