McCleron!

CHAPTER TWO:

|McCleron!|

• • •

Morning routines, on a good day, could be likened to one performed in a montage: the alarm's buzz kickstarts the sequence, as you softly peel apart your lids, allowing the blinding rays of sun to attack your retina the second they are open. In a squint you squeeze them shut again, before gently revealing it to the bright radiance that had invaded your room. Without haste, you pull off the thick yellow Winnie the Pooh sheets, and step out of bed, inhale deeply and seep in every cold larking air, warmly laced with rose and curry, and more vaguely lined fragrances you seem very unsure of. Every step and movement you make, is in perfect sync with the sonorous beats and resounding underlaid music as you dabble over to the window, to watch the performance of a little bard: a bird, chirping it's sweet melodies, in rhythms that leaves you wrapped in a very familiar reality of pink and gold.

Fortunately, background choirs, singing Nightingales, and a good day, are only the fairytales princesses get to live in, unlike Adrian McCleron. The only montages he heard every other morning were the sounds of his beating heart, quarrelling neighbors, or a scurrying rat. Today, what brought him to his unverse with nothing but the smell of dirty laundry, and a mold-growing over due popcorn, was Mr Hart's pounce on his door.

"Brat!" Mr Hart wasn't one with a silver tongue, a quality Adrian secretly admired. He had always loved those who bites back when bitten, without holding back a muscle.

"Your rent is due, and it has been more than two weeks now!"

When he got no response, he could only pour out his morning frustrations at the door, in fury.

"I know you are in there, I can smell your wretchedness. I'll be back tomorrow, you better be home with my money."

He always says that. Mr Hart may have a blunt manner of speech, but he could never hide how vulnerably soft his heart is.

Maybe it was from the recent heart attacks, which were more frequent than usual; for his age, it wasn't very uncommon, as it left Adrian wondering if by sixty three he'd also be in and out of the hospital for heart related cases?

'Don't work out longer than thirty minutes!' his granddaughter regularly revisited the doctor's advise a few other morning –It was as though Mr Hart did not care about his life. As much as it would seem so, he didn't want his health to shove him far from his normal life. Even the movies Mr Hart watched were closely censored, and made certain they weren't the kind with enough pangs and bangs to spring up a serious throb in his heart. Adrian couldn't imagine himself without his just-okay-better-than-nothing muscles, and his large collection of horror movies and thrillers.

Hopefully Mr Hart would stop his binges on burgers and French fries, those don't seem too healthy for someone his age. Adrian did find himself caring than he normally should.

Adrian had not dared a word upon Mr Hart's pounding, and immediately he noticed that Mr Hart was gone from his door, he slowly tiptoed closer to it, shifted the blinds, and peeped through the key hole to be sure.

"I knew you were in there!"

Cunningly, Mr Hart might have predicted Adrian's next step, and equally stuck his eyes through the same hole, and met his, knowing that he'll be sure to use it as a means to ensure his full departure.

"Where's my rent boy?"

Adrian jolted back, unlocked the door, and handed Mr Hart a welcoming smile.

"Mr H," Adrian calls him that.

"I'll get it before the end of the week, I promise."

"You said so last week, and today is Monday. Don't even think of messing with me."

Mr Hart was a bit enrage, and the wrinkles on his face had sunk down with his furrowing brow, dropping close enough to glaze the top of his nose. Adrian found it funny, but stifled it -he wouldn't dare laugh at your landlord's wrinkles.

"I triple promise Mr H, I'll be sure to personally hand my debt....rent," He corrected "to you by weekend."

He aligned his face with a smile, as an entourage for his supposed true excuse.

Mr Hart grunted, then replied.

"You'd better."

And marched out.

Adrian heaved a sigh and freed it, as he watched Mr Hart angrily storm out.

"I'll throw your things out if I do not have my money by the end of the week."

Mr Hart shouted, and disappeared into the corner and down the stairs.

"Aye!"

He equally screamed his reply.

"That was quite intense."

Adrian slumped into the bed to ease his jetting nerves, and before he could calm his pummelling chest, the alarm's scream made it beat even louder.

"Shit! School!"

***

The parking lot was packed tight, filled with cars, even those as old as the late nineties, and moving through those still made him feel a bit insecure, as he slowly pushed his, skimming through for a spot to chain his bike to.

"It's a parking space, I'm sure even bicycles are welcomed."

These were the same lines of words he ran through every morning. It gave him a sense of peace and safety, since he'd always felt guilty for being the only one who parks a bicycle amongst cars. Who even gives a shit?

The hallway was drenched with people -very typical of Monday mornings - but today was one of a rare occasions, or a not-too-random occasion. The bulls of Ridgewood high -RWHB -, had won the match over the weekend with another rivalling school. From what Adrian knew, it was a slim win, a difference in just a number...well, a win is a win, regardless of the distance of scores.

He tried disappearing through the chanting crowds, cartwheeling cheerleaders, and barking athlete, but he couldn't. Every one of their joyful charade, had an impact on him. They'd either kick, push, butt shoulders with his, or shower him with sweats. While some apologised, others didn't bother at the curtsey. But as he struggled through, another, even more troublesome than the rowdy barbarians, scooped in more than he could handle that morning.

"I see what you're doing there. Don't even think for a second that you'll be able to escape me that easily."

Yvette Macklemore, Yve, a total sweet heart. Your classic black rainbow lollipop, with a bit of sourness: sweet, and feisty - just his type o' gal –light caramel skin, black hair with pink highlights at the sides, 5feet6, who still argues that she's still the tallest of them both. She can be too fucking cheerful, it's nauseating. McCleron made certainty to avoid her in public, with enough fortification to tune her out long enough when they are together.

"What are you doing here, you know I'm ill reputed, to be found with in public... I'm a nerdy perv remember?"

He joked.

Although he considers her his co-conspirator sometimes, he wasn't the Golden boy you wanna hang with. He was quite the opposite: dangerous, wild, carefree, black leather jackets and Gothic tattoos.

"Fine!" She gave up surprisingly without making any effort to taunt him a bit. "Our usual spot... Five PM.... Bring the regular."

She winked at him, and hurried into the crowd.

Yve to him was the kind you could call a friend, if a friend is someone you hang out with in secret to get stoned, share exes and crush experience with, someone whom you can't help but rant endlessly to. Most times he couldn't understand why she was friends with him, but went along with the flow either ways.

"Ghost wanker?!"

The words were silently said as he passed by, but loud enough to have his attention.

He stopped and turned to two boys, whose heart were already throbbing in fear, as they both awaited their broken bones and the emergency room Adrian would have them in, while severely cursing themselves for bringing up the name the moment the fellow was walking by.

Fortunately he is not a bully, just someone if whose rage switch gets flipped on, he can get you comatosed.

Adrian wasn't surprised that people still remembered that, even after all these years. After all it was high school, so... It was expected.

It happened in his junior year, on one of his lonely expeditions. Wrecked from the overwhelming pressures of school and life generally, he chose a moment of solitude, away from people. And in the state of deep irritation, he blindly, mostly unknowingly, found himself venting out his frustrations in the girl's locker room. He had been giving the brick wall several punches, before he finally noticed the mob of girls, closing in on him.

He had mistook the girl's locker room for the boy's, and rather than seeing jockstraps and Jordan snickers hanging by their laces, he saw what he wished he didn't.

"Gross!" One of the girls screamed.

"He's got a boner!"

She added.

It wasn't! He had no form of hard-on.

The others joined in the squeal, which left him utterly crossed in confusion.

His face flushed in embarrassment. He couldn't defend his innocence, and had to accept it, earning him "the locked boner" for two whole semesters, that's if you don't count the summer classes, and a few late night classes for idiots –mind you, he wasn't an idiot, just...out of phase with academics.

Later that school year, he walked up on Jessie, and Sarah Jones who were seniors, making out in the gym. He was accused of jerking off upon seeing them. Yeah...gross!

Other indignifying occurrences were equally accredited to his name, boosting his fame and name. Although neither were true, he couldn't care any less about them. He was just a victim to circumstances, and he found it a waste of time to dwell on frivolous shenanigans and worded bullies too. It mostly didn't matter, because to him, they all had the brain of a fish.

"Screw it!"

Yve cussed, feeling agitated.

"It didn't hit the spot?"

He teased, referring the cigarette she had just handed him.

"That's not it."

She defended.

"Then what is?"

He asked, while transferring the cigarette to her.

"Deavon!" She said almost unenthusiastically.

"What now?" He asked, already having pre knowledge on what the young basketball captain could possibly do.

"He wants something serious," As if that's a bad thing.

"and I'm not built for commitment." She tilted up her head, and formed blurry rings from the smoke that shot up from her mouth. Yvette did enjoy showing off how skillful she could get with a cigar.

"You only want it to be the regular hookups and sex?" He emphasized the last word.

"I love being free, I can't be tied down by any boy," she tossed away the few inch long piece of cigarette she'd been slowly draining.

"I can't give myself up to Devon."

"Do you not like him that much?"

"Don't get me wrong, he's not that bad," She made a quick glance at his face, making certain he believed the nonfactual truth she had painfully blurted. Even though it was true, the notes had non other to be compared with.

"but Devon is not the relationship type. Every girl is simply a conquest to him."

"Is this about Kathryn?"

Kathryn, a blonde busybody, a girl everybody silently knew Devon was keeping as a Fail-Safe.

"He said he was drunk, and they only made out once, but his I*******m feed said otherwise."

Yve scoffed, and looked away from his face.

"So you were...are jealous of him with other girls, even though you both are not in a relationship?"

"Its not that, it's - it's..."

"Complicated?"

That was Yve's escape word, whenever she's locked in a corner, and he helped her with it this time.

Adrian knew how slithering she is, when its about her and a boy, and honestly, there wasn't that much of a difference between she and Devon.

"I'm meeting him tomorrow, and you're coming with."

"Why?"

"I need a distraction, an emotional coach. Overly, I'm not ready for any soppy story."

"Is he really the 'to-the-heart' guy? he doesn't seem it."

"He's not!" She added angrily. "He's a player, that's who he is."