17
Deon
“Hey, Deon, you know, ignoring members of The Royal Court to their faces never earned anyone any favors around here,” Sicily called after me as I made my way into the parking lot and toward my car.
I didn’t even turn around to face him. “I’ll let you know when I give a shit, Sicily.”
“All right, that’s it,” were the words that preceded the feeling of something hitting me in the side. It was more shocking than painful, but I stopped cold in my tracks and turned around. Sicily had his fists balled up. “Come on, wise guy. You been nasty like this for the last month, it feels like, and I’m sick of it. I’m gonna beat some sense back into ya.”
For a few seconds, I stood there, completely flabbergasted. Sicily weighed a hundred and twenty-five pounds soaking wet and was at least half a foot shorter than me, if not more. Still, he actually took a swing at me and faced me with his fists up, totally serious. A few snickers sputtered out of me first before I doubled over in complete laughter. It was less about the fact that Sicily wouldn’t stand a chance unless I was struck by lightning and more about the fact that he truly believed he could just punch me around a few times and have me back to whatever he considered normal.
“You think this is a game?” Sicily barked. “I’ll fight you. I know you’re a big guy, but I’m quick.” He started bouncing back and forth like a wrestler. “I’ll take ya down.”
“You have to stop. I can’t breathe,” I managed to get out. “I’m sorry. I give up. Uncle. Whatever, just stop fucking jumping around like that.”
Sicily stopped moving and nodded. “Yeah, that’s right. Everyone knows that when Sicily means business, he means business.”
I stood up straight and shook my head at him, “Yeah, you were terrifying,” I said flatly. “You realize I’d turn you into Sicily paste right?”
He shrugged. “I’d take it so that you could get some of your aggression out.”
My smile faded. “Wait, what?”
“What?” Sicily replied.
“You were going to fight me, knowing I’d kick your ass?”
He grinned. “Yeah, man. I don’t really know what you beefy types do to relieve some stress, but I imagine a punching bag can’t hurt.”
That sentiment ran through me like a poison-tipped arrow. He was going to turn himself into a human punching bag to try to help me? I’d never had a friend like that before. “Thanks, man,” I replied. “I don’t really have a good method for relieving stress, but I don’t want it to be beating the shit out of you, so don’t hit me again, please.”
Sicily chuckled. “I’ll make that deal if you explain what’s goin’ on with you lately. You’ve always been a brooding type of guy, but lately it feels like you’re a demon or something.”
Cherri was the only real friend I’d had growing up. I got along well with the other kids in our neighborhood, and it was the same with my blockmates behind bars, but I’d never really confided in someone before. I left prison with the thought that it would be more of the same, just Cherri and me, or nothing at all. I showed up to this school, covered in tatts with all eyes on me, and even if he had his own interests in mind when he approached me, Sicily was still willing to associate with such looming darkness without even knowing the story. In the few months that we’d been friends, I had never explained anything about my past, and it was only at that moment that I realized he never asked. He didn’t push, didn’t prod, just minded his own business. He let the current me be the me that he was worried about. Now the current me was breaking, and he wanted to know why. That was a damn fair ask.
“Yeah. I owe you an explanation. Let’s get outta here though. I don’t need anyone overhearing it,” I said.
“Follow me. I know a park nearby,” Sicily replied, then tapped my shoulder and passed me by to head to his own car.
Sicily led us to a park a little outside of Postings Proper with a playground and a few picnic benches surrounding it. He walked over to one of the vending machines situated near the building that housed the bathrooms and grabbed a couple of bottles of soda and a couple of bags of chips. Then we walked over to the bench that was furthest from the playground and sat down. It was getting cold outside—November in Maine could borderline be considered the beginning of winter—but it didn’t bother me much, and Sicily didn’t seem to mind either. We each tucked into our drinks and chips before I finally started my story.
“All right, I’m about to give you a whole lot of pretty sensitive information for me, so I think it goes without saying that if you tell anyone this shit, I will have to kill you.”
Sicily’s nose turned up like he smelled something terrible. “Who am I gonna tell, Dee? You’re my only friend.”
I snickered. “If it makes you feel any better, you’re my only friend.”
“I don’t know. The Royal Court seems to like you,” he replied.
“Yeah, well, that’s what I have to tell you.” When my tone dropped, Sicily leaned in. “I actually…know a few members of The Royal Court from a long time ago. Kyle and Nikita, I guess you could say we were friends coming up. Only for about a year, though.”
“You were friends with ‘em? How’d you even run in the same circle?” he asked.
I took a deep breath in, held it, counted to ten in my head, and then let it out. “I spent a year living in South Postings with my brother, dad, and
