by Mic Shannon
“Manny, you’re supposed to be in class right now,” he rebutted, “stop playing.”
“Shoot, I’m failing that dumb behind class anyway,” said Manny, a smile as wide as it was warm.
“That’s because you’re never in class, dummy.”
“So what,” he said, “I’m gonna be a star, watch. I don’t need to know no Mark Twain to be on the Tonight Show. Manny Washington, all-star point guard. I’m gonna cross over D-Mack and break his ankles like…ahh, ahh.”
Manny stood in the middle of the hallway motioning basketball crossover moves with his arms. He was an exceptional player. A little short for his age, which he got around by having amazing ball control. He had made first string on the junior varsity team as a ninth-grader; an honor usually bestowed upon students who had at least completed one season with the team. He was expected to play for the varsity team next year. Michael cut his eyes to show that he wasn’t impressed.
“Look man, Mrs. Harper looks out for me, alright?” said Manny in a last-ditch effort to get his role model to let him tag along, “She knows I’m on the team so it’s all good, trust me.”
“Manny,” came a yell from down the hallway, “where are you supposed to be right now?”
“In the NBA baby!” he replied, motioning a fade away jumper.
“How about Mrs. Harper’s reading class, let’s go,” said Mr. Marlow as he made his way up to the spot where the two boys were standing.
“You’re killing me Mr. Marlow, come on,” said Manny, sucking his teeth. “Ok, check it out,” he whispered softly as he reached into his pocket and looked around, waving the principal to lean in closer as if he was making a shady deal, “I know you’re always complaining about how they don’t pay you enough for all this crap you deal with so…I’m prepared to give you this dollar,”
“Manny I’m-a smack you!” joked the principal, annoyed but trying not to laugh as Manny ran off down the hall giggling and pretending to cross over non-existent opponents and shoot a layup over top of his classroom door.
“That boy is talented, but he gets on my nerves,” said the principal before turning his attention toward Michael.
“Is everything okay?” he asked, attempting to sound sympathetic but not entirely convincing, “I know this has been, well, probably the roughest year of your life.”
“Listen, Mr. Marlow,” interrupted Michael, “I’m not really in the mood to talk about this, ya know?”
“Understandable,” replied the principal, motioning with his hands that he’s backing off, “just know that you can always come talk to me if you want.”
“Yeah,” he replied, slinging his book bag over his shoulder, “I know.
--- 12:10 pm ---
When he walked into the busy cafeteria, he made his way over to the small table in the corner. Ever since he had transferred, he took to eating by himself. No one really bothered him anymore, they knew he was quick to fight not only for himself, but for some of the other weaker kids too. The one example he made had stuck in their minds ever since that first week of his arrival.
On that day, he had seen one of the foreign students carrying their books as they walked into the lunch room. There was a jock that everyone called Bucky that had caught Michael’s attention. Bucky walked past the foreign student and, without moving, shoulder checked him and knocked his books to the floor.
“Move you little shit,” Bucky had said, taunting him, “before I beat your ass.”
The foreign student, small in stature, looked not only frightened but visibly depressed. Michael could only imagine how hard it was to come to a new country, and even worse struggle with the language.
He got up from his seat that day and walked straight over to Bucky, shoving him from behind. Bucky, not used to being confronted, spun around with a look of confusion. He couldn’t stand to be embarrassed.
“Bucky, you’re a punk for real,” said Michael, stepping toward him, “you only wanna mess with people you can beat. Beat me then.”
That day, Bucky was sent home with a broken nose and bruised ribs. Michael had taken boxing lessons for six years as a child and what really made Bucky mad was how Michael had taunted him during the fight. The embarrassment of Michael saying “too slow” and “caught you” after every time he connected took Bucky’s dignity. They fought three more times outside of school after that. They had been enemies ever since.
“Heard what happened,” said Bucky as he walked past the small corner table, “heard you were crying like a little bitch.”
It was like a match to a gasoline can inside of him. The cafeteria went silent as he stood up and pushed the small table between them out of the way.
“Just like you were crying when I broke your nose in front of your girlfriend.”
As the entire cafeteria watched in silence, a tray came flying from behind Bucky. Michael jumped out of the way just in time as it landed on Bucky’s head, covering him in mashed potato paste and chocolate milk substitute. The entire cafeteria broke out into laughter as the foreign student stood up and yelled at Bucky, “Te odio cabrón,” in his native tongue.
The school’s two police officers stormed into the cafeteria, restraining Bucky as he tried to rush the foreign student, all the while yelling and cussing about how he was going to hurt him. The foreign student stood there in his ready stance, fists clenched, unafraid. Most of the cafeteria had already begun to hold up their wristphones and film the scene.
“He looks like a strong wind could blow him over,” thought Michael, “but at least he stood up for himself.”
Grabbing his book bag and walking out of the cafeteria, his appetite had all but left him. He punched a locker as he walked past it, releasing some of the aggression he wanted to release on Bucky.
“Michael wait,” came a soft voice from behind him, “wait up.”
As he turned around he saw Cynthia jogging up to him. Her breasts almost bounced out of her bra as she ran; it was the first thing he noticed. But who wouldn’t have. She was very well developed for her age. The type of girl that wanted to date college boys with nice cars. She covered her cleavage, aware that he might be looking.
“Wait,” she said as he stood there, waiting for her to catch up, “let me walk with you.”
Cynthia was ironically the best friend of Bucky’s girlfriend. One of the popular girls. Puerto Rican with long, natural black hair that reached down to the top of her lower back and full lips that she always kept glossed. She was beyond pretty; her cheek bones were soft, her skin was smooth, and her green eyes could make any man feel lost in them. She was dressed in a pink crop top that said “I ♥ BOYS” with her flat stomach exposed, leading down to her curvy hips. Her belly button was pierced, unlike most girls her age, and her jeans met right at her panty line. They fit tight around what he would call “a perfect butt”, and on her feet, she had on a pair of the new zip-up sneaker heels, with her toenails and fingernails a matching shade of light green.
“She’s so hot,” he thought to himself, “but what does she want with me?”
“Listen, Mike,” she said as they started to walk down the hallway together, “I heard what happened. I’m, like, really sorry. Bucky’s an asshole.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” he replied, masking himself with his hard demeanor.
“Well, I just wanted you to know that I’m sorry, ok?” she said, grabbing his hand and forcing him to stop and look her in the eye.
Michael paused for a moment, “Maybe you should get back to your friends,” he said looking away, cautious of her approach.
“Yeah, well,” she paused for a moment, soaking in the jab that he had just gave to her ego, “I…that’s all I wanted to say I guess.”
She turned around and walked back toward the cafeteria, switching her hips as if she knew where his eyes were. He had never seen her vulnerable before. She was the epitome of beauty to him, and the last thing he expected was to say one little thing and have her thrown off in her response. He s
tarted to contemplate the situation. What was that all about? Was she secretly trying to play him? Why would she approach him? He couldn’t trust her. No way she would be into him in a million years. If there’s one thing he knew, it’s that he couldn’t put something like this past Bucky.
--- 3:40 pm ---
He wanted to come home immediately and crack open the box he had been holding onto for two days now, but he got sucked into a full court game by Manny.
“C’mon Mikey, we need one more you can be on my team…please?”
After about 10 minutes of begging, leaving him alone, and returning to beg again, Michael finally gave in. He did enjoy playing, but today he wasn’t feeling it like he usually did. He scored a couple of times, once from a no look pass from Manny that surprised him so much that he almost blew it. The other was a pump fake leading to a driving layup. He didn’t do much. He barely ran up and down the court and spent most of his time passing the ball to Manny, who was dominating as usual.
“Y’all some bums!” taunted Manny playfully as he sunk another three-point shot.
“Hey Sammy” said Michael, out of breath with his hands on his head, soaking in oxygen, “wanna play for me?”
The small fourth-grade boy’s eyes lit up as he jumped up from the sideline in excitement. He knew that none of the older kids would pass him the ball except out of pity, and they wouldn’t block his two-handed shot, but he didn’t seem to care, he just loved being around them.
“Where you going?” asked Manny.
“I’m not feeling too good Man-Man, I’ll catch you back at the house.”
Manny sucked his teeth, “you a bum too.”
Michael smiled as he turned around to face him, walking backwards, “aww, don’t cry.”
“Man, whatever,” Manny mumbled under his breath, he was upset but he didn’t want to show it.
--- 4:15 pm ---
Michael sat crouched on the ground behind a large oak tree. He admired the view of the deep lake where the other kids boasted that they’d often come to swim in the summer time. They were still playing ball up at the park, but he had made his way back down the street, sneaking into the trees behind the group home to finally satisfy his curiosities.
He took a deep breath and clicked the latch open. Pausing for a moment, he looked around and wondered if he should even do it. But then again, his mother was long gone, cremated, and he was sure she wouldn’t mind. As he slowly lifted the lid on the box, exhilaration filled his body.
The first thing he found inside was a plastic bag with a rubber band around it. Inside was a large stack of money. More money than he had ever seen in his life. The world had completely moved to standardized cryptocurrency in 2025, and so paper money had deflated tremendously. It was now an old relic; used as a status symbol amongst criminals who did their dealings on the dark web. Underneath the rubber band was a small piece of paper that said “College”.
College had always been important to his mother, since she had gone as a young woman. Education and independent research was something that he observed in his household as an ongoing goal of hers, and she believed it should be the goal of everyone. She would point to the center of her forehead. ‘Understand, the key is knowledge’, she would always say.
He removed the bag of cash and underneath it he found patches and medals. He hadn’t remembered his mom talking about being exceptionally good at any particular sport or activity, and one of the two medals looked foreign to him.
The first one he recognized right away. It was always on the History Channel or on some war documentary; a fancy of his. The Victoria Cross was a medal bestowed only in Britain where his mother was born. It was bestowed to military or civilians who had shown only the highest level of gallantry in the face of the enemy.
“Mom definitely wasn’t in the military,” he mumbled under his breath, wondering if it maybe belonged to a close relative.
He closed his eyes and began to daydream, picturing a long-lost grandfather valiantly leading a charge against at the Imjin River in Korea. He smiled, delighted at the thought of what could possibly be. He wondered if his grandfather looked like him, or if he was of a lighter shade of brown like his mother.
Opening his eyes, he looked back into the box. The patch he found next was one that he had never seen before. Two lions on opposite sides of a crown. On the inside, the letters ‘SIS Sect. 6’ were written. He wasn’t quite sure what it meant, so he looked it up on his wristphone.
He aimed the wristphone’s camera at the patch and took a photo, then he pressed the side button.
“Roxy, what kind of patch is this?” he barked to the wristphone assistant.
“Content blocked by provider,” she replied.
“Figures,” he said to himself, scoffing.
The next medal that he found was even more abnormal. It was wrapped in cloth, and when revealed, was made of what appeared to be solid gold. The insignia, from what he could tell, looked to be a globe of some kind with seven stars surrounding it.
“What…is…this,” he whispered to himself, looking it up and down as he rubbed the fuzz on his chin. He wrapped it back up in its cloth covering and placed it back in the box.
The last item in the box was a small book. It was all black and had no title on the cover. He pulled the book out from the bottom of the box and put the rest of the items back inside.
Sitting back onto the coarse bark of the tree trunk, he extended and crossed his legs, setting himself into a comfortable position. He examined the book, front and back. It had no distinct markings, and no title of any kind. Observing the spine, he was almost able to make out a single word. It looked as if it had been pressed into the actual spine of the book, but the gold lettering had faded, leaving only the impression of where it used to be. As he looked closer and ran his fingers across the impressions, he was able to make out the word. ‘Journal’.
He cracked a slight smile as he looked down at the dingy old book. “Her diary,” he said to himself, “I wonder if she ever thought I would find this.” The thought made him chuckle to himself. He turned the old soft-cover book over and opened it. The first page had a title on it written as clear as day. The reading of the words sent a little chill up his spine as he contemplated what it could mean. He mouthed the words as he read them in his head: “575 Days in Hell”.
--- 5:28 pm ---
Activating the LED light on his wristphone to check the time, Michael noticed that it was almost five thirty. He hadn’t realized how long he’d been sitting underneath the tree. He couldn’t stay by the lake any longer, and although everything in him wanted to stay and read his mother’s diary, he had to return to the group home or else they would send police to look for him. He threw all the items back into the box and put the box in his book bag. Making his way toward the home, he contemplated the book. He had way more questions than before he opened it.
“Where were you?!” barked Ms. Tanya from the doorway, obviously flustered, “boy, you can’t just go off and leave everybody wondering where you are! Especially with what’s going on, I thought the worst!”
“I’m fine Ms. Tanya,” he replied in an annoyed tone.
“Well hurry up and come inside we made you a plate and nobody knew where you were! Had me scared half to death. Y’all kids are trying to kill me I swear. Darryl wanna fight over basketball. I got gray hairs coming in…”
Ms. Tanya continued to ramble as they walked into the house. Manny was on the opposite side of the living room in the kitchen, pretending to dribble a balled-up napkin as he shot it into the waste basket. Michael turned and went up the stairs, not feeling too hungry even without having lunch. He just wanted to crack the book open and satisfy his curiosities.
As he ran up the stairs in a flash, slowing down to a regular walking pace once he reached the top, he slid right into his room, shut the door, and plopped down onto the bed. The room was smaller than the one he had at home, never truly giving him the feeling of having something of his own. He k
new it had been passed from child to child and, just as the orphaned boys knew all too well, was only temporary. The walls were a drab taupe, with bumps in the corners indicating that the mold had been continuously painted over. It was practically empty, with a single window, a bed and a closet on each side of the room. He had lucked out, he would usually have a roommate, but he was the last to arrive, so he didn’t have to share. It gave him a slight sense of peace, shielding him from the chaos of the home.
Using his feet to kick off each sneaker, he laid back onto his pillow. Unzipping his bag and popping open the latch on the box, it wasn’t the money, but the book and the medals that he stared at…admiring them. The medal with the globe and seven stars intrigued him. He took the journal and the medal, using the clips on the back of the medal to pin it to the outside of the back cover. Flipping the book back around, he opened the cover and thumbed past the first page, that eerie ‘575 Days in Hell’, and read the first entry:
Life is full of mystery, intrigue, and danger, of those I am not unaccustomed
However, when least expected, life will surprise you
What is more important than what I do for myself?
What I do for another
I shall begin with examination, thoroughly prodding and testing my psyche
It is important that I am fit for the job
Given what I know now, I would have been more prepared
To go through Hell
“Why you skip out on us earlier?” said Manny, busting through the doorway.
Michael closed the book quickly, using his thumb as a placeholder.