Trouble Days - 1. Chapter 1

The kind of day I was having was the kind of day that makes one think about the sweet, sweet release of death. Being woken up early by a younger sibling, I had to get her ready for school and then take myself to school. Most people at school don’t know me, really. I mean, I party with them and whatever else, but hardly any of them use the right pronouns for me. There are a few close friends that do, which I appreciate, but the few don’t make up for all those that don’t.

Pronouns are something very important to me. Mine are xe/xem/xyr, although they/them works too. I refer to myself with they/them, since my autistic shitbrain can’t handle using xe/xem/xyr. Whatever, it doesn’t matter. What does matter is that most people don’t use either of them, and instead use the dreaded he/him. God, how I hate the way those sound. Well, for me, anyways, I don’t mind them on other people. Hell, they fucking suit some people. But not me.

Speaking of myself, my name’s Ryder. I’ve been told I act a lot younger than I am, but I think whoever says that just isn’t living life to the fullest. I act sixteen because I am sixteen, and anyone who says otherwise needs to just chill the fuck out. I don’t understand why some people take life so seriously. I mean, I get wanting to amount to something, but the whole idea of work before play is so overrated and exhausting..

The situation my antics landed me in is court ordered group therapy and community service. I’m not the most thrilled about community service, but the group therapy couldn’t be that bad, right? I mean, I’m already in therapy for all the fucked up shit my brain thinks is okay to do, like my bipolar and psychotic breakdowns, so group therapy shouldn’t be terrible. So long as the shrink isn’t spouting nonsense about how drugs, sex, and violence is bad, it should be alright.

I’ve always wondered if adults realize that them telling us that drugs, sex, and violence is bad just makes us want to do drugs, have sex, and be violent even more than we already did. The rebellious streak in teenagers is ridiculously strong, and to think that mere words can overpower those urges isn’t just laughable, it’s blatantly wrong. I’m not saying adults should tell kids to do those things, but they should at least educate us and tell us how to do shit safely.

The story truly begins with me in the back of a car, my parents driving me downtown to the building the group therapy was at. I was blasting Kendrick Lamar into my ears, drumming my fingers against the seat to stim in beat with the music. I had my eyes shut, and when the car went into a full brake, I kept my eyes shut in hopes of being mistaken for being asleep, praying my parents would just leave me be. Instead, what I got was a shove and my headphones being snatched out of my ears. With a whine, I climbed out of the car.

“You know where it is, right honey?” My mom asked. She was such a worrier, and I admired that about her. She was truly a strong person, and I loved that about her. Since she was so strong, though, that meant that she would never put up with any bullshit from me. So it all backfired and bit me in the ass in the end.

“Yeah, I know,” I said, and I kissed her cheek and gave her a hug. I turned to hug my dad, too, but he just grunted and got back into the car. I should have expected as much from him. Ever since it came to light I was up to illegal activities, he had gotten cold toward me. I waited for my mom to get back into the car and for them to start to leave before I went inside.

Right inside the door, there stood a teen in a headscarf, chewing gum and texting on her pink-cased phone. “Do you know where the group therapy is?” I asked her. When she didn’t respond, I huffed and shouldered by her. It was then that I saw them take her headphones out and look at me in confusion.

“Did you say somethin’?”

“Yeah. I wanted to know where the group therapy is.”

She hummed thoughtfully, a mischievous smirk playing on her lips. I sighed, crossing my arms and looking at her expectantly. She took their sweet time answering, but when she did, she laughed and shoved me playfully, saying that I should follow her before she lead me down a hallway and into a large and empty cement-floored room with some chairs sat in a circle, a painting of Jesus on the cross hanging on the wall behind a table full of refreshments.

“I’m Fanella,” she introduced herself. I asked her for pronouns, too, and got she/her as an answer. We talked for a bit, pulling up some seats and sitting down beside each other. We talked, getting familiarized with each other and getting to know what each other did.

“I got in some shit for screaming at my ex in the street in the middle of the night,” Fanella began to explain. “Then when the police got called, I hit one one of them and then resisted arrest. It was this for two years, or juvie for a year. This place still let’s me socialize, so long as I check in with my probation officer every ten minutes.”

We sat there as an uncomfortable silence enveloped us, making the room feel bigger than it really was. I coughed into my arm, then turned to face her again. “When do people usually get here?”

“We’re here,” she said quickly and simply. I was quickly learning that she was witty and spunky, and I liked that in a person. I grunted in response as she answered her phone, and I checked my own phone, slouching down in my seat and putting my headphones in. I glanced over at her, seeing that she was now laughing loudly into her phone’s microphone.

Seconds turned to minutes as the room filled up, both with people and with conversation. Everyone here acted as though they were at least a tad familiar with each other, which was making me feel a bit uncomfortable. I hated being the outsider; the one left out of the group. The therapist finally arrived and I took my headphones out, sitting up straighter and watching as the talking slowly died down to a murmur.

“Welcome!” The therapist said with a clap of her hands. I don’t usually use gendered pronouns for people when I first meet them, but I overheard my parents talking about her the other day. They had set up a meeting with her before I even came here, just to see what she was all about. “My name is Juliette Anderson, but if you want you can call me Julie.”

That goes up there with things adults do that drive me up a wall. They want to seem relatable to youth, so they give them permission to call them nicknames or something. That just makes me feel even more alienated from them. It makes it seem like they’re trying too hard.

“Now,” she continued. “We’re going to go around the circle and do names, pronouns, and say a good thing about this week.” Everyone sighed and looked bored, and I looked over at Fanella, who was texting away. She was someone familiar in a sea of unfamiliar, even if I had just met her. She got told to pay attention, and with a huff and a moody glower, she put her phone away.

“Mathis, he/him,” a boy began.

“Mi-kyung, it/its.”

“Jackie, she/her.”

It continued on like that, with people saying their names and pronouns and completely skipping over the good things part. Until it landed on a kid with green hair.

“Arthur, he/him,” he said. “And something good that happened? I fucked my girlfriend last night.” A boy named Ronaldo whooped and leaned over to high-five him, and Fanella laughed while Julie tried to get everyone to calm down, telling Arthur that that was inappropriate and wouldn’t be tolerated. The ruckus carried on for a moment until the excitement died down, and then the circle continued. In total, there were eleven of us. All delinquents in their own right.

The session wore on, and I found myself growing incredibly bored. I listened in some, but mostly I paid attention to the people around the circle. Fanella was someone to watch, she made a lot of interesting faces in response to things that were said. I was quickly learning that Mathis was fun to watch, too. He was always moving, shifting about and tapping his fingers and rocking. Everyone else was a little bit bland, and not very interesting.

Eventually, Julie said that it was time for a break, and there was a sigh of relief in complete unison. I made my way over to the table full of snacks and refreshments. I grabbed some apple juice and a few wheat thins, nibbling on them and leaning against the wall. It didn’t take long until the boy who whooped at Arthur’s declaration of sex sauntered over to me, hands in his pockets. He leaned against the wall beside me, and elbowed me.

“Ronnie,” he introduced himself, sticking his hand out for me to shake. I did, and introduced myself too. Ronnie suited him a lot better than Ronaldo. Ronaldo seemed like either someone in the mafia, or someone who sat on street corners singing songs and playing classical guitar. This guy seemed more like a Ronnie, a mischievous teenager with a sense of humour.

“So what did you do, anyways?” He asked me. I was a bit caught off guard by how straight forward the question was, since you’re always told that in places like this, people tend not to ask things like that straight out. They’re more saved for heart-to-hearts and life changing experiences, not just thrown out in your face. But teenagers are nosy, and nosy means lots of questions.

“Whatever it is,” Ronnie continued, “I bet that it’s not as cool as me.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“Not telling.”

I raised my eyebrows. I wasn’t sure why he would even bring it up if he wasn’t going to elaborate, but to each their own, I supposed. I watched Ronnie as Arthur made his way over, and the struck up a conversation about a party that was going to be happening later that night. I felt a bit left out, and focused on the dirt under my fingernails. Eventually, Ronnie seemed to miraculously remember my existence, and he turned to me.

“So, Rye, what do you think about parties? You seem the type.” I grinned ear to ear, and Arthur laughed some. “I’ll take that as yes. Wanna come to a party tonight? Starts at eight, but you shouldn’t really come until nine.”

He gave the address for the place, as well as his number. That was when Julie told us to all come sit down. I threw out my empty juice box and sat down in the circle jerk of feelings. Apparently we were going to do trust exercises, because there were quite a few new people here today. I got paired up with someone named Logan, since we were similar in height, and probably in weight. Although, my weight was all in chubbiness, whereas theirs was in muscle.

“Now,” Julie began to explain. “I want you to take your partners hands, and stare into their eyes for sixty seconds. Ready? Go!”

The rest of the day had us doing stupid shit like that, things that made me feel mildly uncomfortable. I had to catch Logan a few times, and vice versa, and then we also stood in a circle with someone in the middle and passed them around the circle. It was all strange and just made me feel a tad giggly in a nervous sort of way.

Eventually, the day came to an end, and I went to wait outside for my parents. As I waited, one of my headphones in and the other dangling, Fanella walked over to me, her hands in the pockets of her purple hoodie. I looked over at her, eyebrows raising in anticipation for what she was going to say.

“Look into your partner’s eyes for sixty seconds sounds like something you’d hear in a, like, couple’s therapy session,” she said, and I laughed. She was right, I realized, and I covered my mouth with my hand. She laughed, too, and then put her hands on her hips. “So I heard you were going to a party, huh? Want me to be your date?”

I laughed again, pushing some of my hair back from my face. “Well, only if you promise not to flirt with anyone else while we’re there,” I joked. “But sure. Come be my date. It’ll be fun.” She seemed to light up like a Christmas tree, and then when a car horn honked, she gave me her number said that she’d see me later and ran off to the silver Prius.

It didn’t take much longer for my parents to arrive, either, and once I got into the car, I slept for the rest of the ride home. I was woken up by my dad shoving me, and then I headed inside. I texted Fanella, telling her that this was my number, and then I got in the shower. The water was hot for a few minutes, but got cold real fast, and so I had to wash my body and hair in freezing cold water.

When I got out, I saw I had missed numerous texts from Frankie. Frankie was one of my best friends in the world. I had known her since I was young, and the best way I could think to describe her was a short tempered boxer. There were times that she had gotten banned from my house from swearing too much, and she had a bad habit of coming over way too late.

Once I was dried off, I decided to call her. I laid down on my bed, clad only in a towel around my waist, and waited for her to pick up. When she did, I told her about what my day had been full of, until she cut me off mid sentence.

“Ryder,” she began, sounding serious enough to catch my attention. “I’m in shit. Like, serious shit.” I sat up at this development, turning the music I had playing in the background off. I waited for her to continue, but after a while of silence, I prompted her to keep talking.

“What did you do?” I asked, my voice full of worry. “Is it with the law?” I elaborated, my voice softer so that my parents couldn’t hear overhear me.

“No, but I wish. Listen, you know Evaline, that girl that’s been flirting with me? The one dating Richard?”

I groaned and flopped back on my bed. “Frankie, you didn’t,” I said, warning deep-seated in my voice.

“Oh, but I did, and it was great. You know Richard’s an abusive dick. I doubt Eva even wants to be with him.” There was a pause, as if she was waiting for me to say something, but I wasn’t sure if I even had anything to say. “But, see, he caught us, and he may or may not have told some of his friends, and he may or may not want me dead.”

I groaned again, not knowing what to say. She insisted that she was sorry, and that she knew it was a stupid decision to begin with. She eventually stopped apologizing, and we sat there on the phone in silence for a bit.

“Listen, I’m too scared to be alone tonight. Wanna come over and snort some addies with me?”

“Can’t, I’ve got a party to go to.” I said. I felt bad, but this was a mess Frankie had gotten herself into, and I wasn’t going to sacrifice my fun to put myself at risk. She begged me a few more times to come over, and eventually getting fed up, I offered for her to come with me to the party.

“Really?” She asked, and the relief in her voice was huge.

“Really,” I said. “I’ll be by your house around nine.”

We said our goodbyes and then I hung up to started to get ready. I got dressed, opting for a cute sweater and a pair of black skinnies. I would have liked to wear heels, but I knew that if my dad saw me in those he’d probably kick me out. So instead I just wore some creepers. They made me taller, which made me feel way more powerful. I loved being tall, it was such a good feeling to tower over people.

I ate with my family, finishing the humita and rice. Then I killed some time by working on homework, and then once it struck nine, I got in my shitty ‘92 Ford Pickup. I put the keys in the ignition, it sputtering and groaning unhappily until it finally roared to life. There was a lot wrong with the engine, but it cost to much to get it properly fixed. I had gotten Frankie to look at it a few times, since she was good with cars, but she needed better parts to be able to fix it up properly.

Before I left, I texted Fanella asking her if she wanted me to pick her up, and that if so I needed her address. She texted back almost immediately, just with her address and nothing else. Frankie’s was closer, so the first stop on this train was hers. Once I was there, I idled on the side of the road and honking the horn a few quick times to let her know I was there. I watched her come outside, leaning over to open the door for her.

“I like your short overalls,” I said, watching her click her seatbelt in. I pulled out onto the road, and she turned down the radio, presumably so we could talk. “I’ve got to pick someone from the group up, too. Her name’s Fanella.”

“Makin’ friends already, are we, Rye? Quite the lady’s man.”

I snorted and rolled my eyes, then turned on the GPS on my phone so I could find Fanella’s place easier. We sat in silence for some time, but unlike with most people, it wasn’t uncomfortable with her. It was almost comfortable, just to have someone to spend time with. Three songs played on the radio before she shifted in her seat to talk to me.

“What’s it like? You and all these felons, hangin’ ‘round in one room with only one person keeping an eye on you?”

I glanced over at her, seeing that she was all curious and prying eyes, smiling her crooked smile, the tooth she chipped at school when we were eight visible. I took a deep breath and put my eyes back on the road, drumming my fingers against the steering wheel. I wasn’t sure what to tell her, I was a bit embarrassed about how mundane the entire day had been.

“Well, I wouldn’t call us felons, we’re just… minors with a minor rebellious streak.”

“Yeah, shit, right. A minor rebellious streak is drinking too much at your friends party, not pissing in a public fountain ‘cause you ate too much shrooms.”

I huffed, sending her a sidelong look as I turned a corner. “Okay, fine, a major rebellious streak. Anyways, it’s just like those trust games you’d play in elementary school. Next week it’s anger management exercises.”

Frankie scoffed, and I listened to the automated GPS voice telling us that we had arrived. I honked my horn a few times, looking towards the house and squinting through the darkness, and then I turned my eyes back onto Frankie.

“Don’t breathe a word of my drugged up urination to anyone, okay? Only you, some officials, and my ‘rents know. I wanna keep it that way.” She grinned and squeezed my shoulder affectionately.

“Your secret’s safe with me.”

Fanella climbed into the backseat, and I introduced the both of them to each other. Fanella insisted that she hook her phone into my radio to play some music, and so reluctantly, I let her. It was then that The Vaccines started playing. I only knew about them because one of my neighbours, Kyle, listened to them a lot. Fanella whooped, throwing her hands in the air. Frankie and I just exchanged glances, but we ended up seat dancing to the song anyways. I almost ran a red light because I was having so much fun.

We had to park almost a block away from the house the party was at, but once we got there, the familiar feelings of being surrounded by drunk and high youth pulled me into comfort. I stood at the door, listening to Fanella and Frankie talking about some show they both watched. I didn’t really watch TV unless it was cartoons, and I usually just watched those online.

The door opened and Ronnie grinned out at me. “Hey, Ryder. See you’re covered in ladies. Come on in, my dudes.” He stepped aside and the three of us came inside. I saw the pile of shoes, and with a resigned sigh, I took my cute creepers off. I had been hoping to wear them, since I thought they were just adorable, but I didn’t want to dirty up someone’s house.

Fanella took off and Ronnie brought Frankie and I over to the kitchen, mixing some Dr. Pepper and Jack Daniel’s for the both of us. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll make it in front of you guys. I’m not about to slip you something.” Frankie and Ronnie got introduced to each other, and we all headed over to the sectional in the living room, flopping down on it. Ronnie was in the middle, and he took the opportunity to drape an arm over both of our shoulders.

“So, my friends, what sort of recreational drug usage are you into?” He asked jokingly, looking between the two of us, some of his curly black hair flopping into his eyes.

“Anything but coke, meth, and heroin,” I said.

“Just pot,” Frankie said as she took a sip of her drink. There was a lot of Daniel’s in hers, and even though I knew she could hold her own, I was starting to feel nervous for her. She didn’t go to parties very often, and with all of these people she and I didn’t know, I felt protective. I knew that she was the strong one of the two of us, and that she should be the one feeling protective, but I was the older one, and the responsibility that came with that had never left me.

We sat at talked with Ronnie for a while, learning that he helped his dad do tattoos out of their trailer. What he had said earlier was right. What he got done in for was cooler than any of the other stories I had heard so far. He had been the only one to get caught, not his dad, and since he was a minor, he got off easy.

“It’s bullshit that my dad just let me cover for him, you know? Like, I was doing it for brownie points, but he just sat back and said he had no idea what was going on.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry, man,” Frankie said, squeezing his shoulder in reassurance. “You know what that calls for? A blunt.” She dug around in her pocket and took out a baggie of weed, and some rolling paper. As she rolled it, a small group of people made their way over. Among them was Fanella, who was hanging off of Logan, and Arthur was there with someone who was presumably his girlfriend.

“Is she the one you gloated about fucking today?” I asked with a playful grin. He went red, and she just laughed.

“Oh, probably,” she said. “If it’s someone else, I’m gonna be pissed. I’m Carson, by the way. I’m Artie boy’s girlfriend.”

“Ryder,” I said, sticking my hand out for her to shake.

The next thing I knew, Frankie grabbed me by the arm and was pulling me out the backdoor, a small group of people following after us. Arthur, Carson, Logan, Fanella, and Ronnie were all among them, as well as two people I didn’t know. We passed the joint around as some Drake played in the background. I grinned broadly as I took a few puffs. Smoking a blunt with some new friends to the soundtrack of Drake. I didn’t know what could be better.