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DANTE

M y parents were stone-faced the day I went off to college.

At the time I’d assumed it was because they hadn’t thought they’d ever see the day one of their children went to college, let alone on a full ride.

Well, mostly a full ride, I still have to figure out a way to pay for books and shit.

It can’t be that hard, right? Wrong. Books are five hundred dollars for a general education course.

Obviously, I need to start a business producing textbooks because that’s where all the profit is nowadays.

Eastport University is nice for a college that’s been around for like fucking ever.

Big brick buildings that dot the downtown of Eastport, spread out so that students can walk if they want, but drive if they want to look rich.

Which a lot of people do. It seems the majority of my college peers are rich.

Either that or they have a side job producing textbooks.

But I can’t take college for granted because my sister, Ama, had always wanted to go.

It had been her dream. I’m going to be a scientist, you just watch, Dante.

Something real cool where my name goes down in history because I discovered something no one else has ever found.

As soon as I’m done driving you around town, I’m out of here .

I can almost still hear her voice, still see the way her dark hair blew in the breeze as we cruised the highway with the windows down.

She’d started wearing makeup around that time, cat eyes and dark red lip gloss.

My black curls always annoyed me, mostly because Ama had the most beautiful, fine, shiny dark brown hair.

Why couldn’t I have hair like my sister?

I always just wanted to be cool like Ama.

I kick at the concrete as I continue my way back to the dorms that I have to live in thanks to my scholarship. Yeah, I got a full ride, but it also means I’m in the dorms with a bunch of weirdos that can’t afford off-campus living.

Back in my dorm that I share with this freak that clips his nails twenty-four seven, I go through the mail that I grabbed on my way up.

It’s mostly junk, offering me insurance on a car that I don’t have.

Seriously, do people fall for this? I guess so.

One envelope has my name handwritten in a scrawl that looks decidedly out of place in this century.

Tossing myself onto my twin-size bed, I tear it open to find a check for a thousand dollars.

Be at this location at 9 p.m. on September 28 th

Fat chance. My obnoxious roommate continues to clip his toenails as I stare blankly down at the invitation that’s probably for something like a fight club.

There’s no other reason I’d be invited to some secret club.

When I was still a small string bean, I was in the chess club, but that all changed the summer after puberty hit.

After my growth spurt in high school, I’ve felt like a giant walking around.

Big and broad, but everyone ignores my brain.

Except for the admissions office of Eastport University.

I toss the letter into the trash and get ready for bed.

Fuck, I hate living in a dorm. The communal showers are mostly empty this time of night, but it’s still full of steam after so many people showering before catching some Zs.

Humming to myself, I haphazardly wash my hair and body, but can’t get the invitation off my mind.

I wonder if the check that was included was real?

Maybe I could cash it but just not show up.

After all, there were no conditions. No, I can’t do that.

That’s stealing . Although, it’s not stealing if there was no contract.

Whoever sent it was stupid enough to hand me a check without knowing a thing about me. Hmm.

Dressed in gray sweatpants and an old T-shirt, I return to my room to thankfully find my annoying roommate sound asleep on his own bed.

Every time he clips his nails, or eats noisily, or does anything infuriating, this bubble of rage grows inside me to the point I’m afraid I might commit a crime that’ll get me kicked out of school.

I dig the letter out of the trash to read it again. The check is made out to me, from a limited liability company that I’ve never heard of. Grabbing my phone, I search the state business website but there’s nothing registered to the LLC that shows who it might belong to.

I toss it back into the trash. I’m not going to do anything anyway. No point.

I turn over onto my side and stare at the picture of Ama on my side table, the perfect snapshot of who she was back then.

If I close my eyes hard enough, the rage inside me goes from boiling to a gentle simmer.

Ever since Ama’s accident, I’ve spent every waking moment blaming myself, this rage inside me with no outlet threatening to make me snap at the most inopportune moment.

Rubbing at my chest, I wonder if maybe I should join the damn fight club.

Maybe punching some people will relieve this constant threat of rage.

Instead of ruminating on all the ways I wish life was different, I close my eyes, and force sleep to come.

The second letter comes a week later. This time, it’s after a tiring week that makes me question if this college thing really is for me.

Yeah, I’m smart, but this shit is annoying.

A full load of courses, and now I’ve got a job at this little diner washing dishes.

Do I want to be doing that? No. But I need just a little extra cash to pay for all the necessities my scholarship doesn’t cover.

Plus, I want some money for some cool tattoos.

My teeth gnash together when my roommate is once again in the room clipping his nails. How many times does one need to clip their nails? I’d rather he just scratched his nails across a chalkboard all night.

This time I recognize the scrawl on the front of the letter. It’s the same as last time.

Please. 9 p.m. September 28 th . 478 Southall Rd.

How did they know I wasn’t planning to come…

maybe because I didn’t cash the check? Oh well.

This check is for two thousand dollars. I guess for one night, that’s worth it.

Th at would cover me for the rest of the semester so that I could stop working at the diner.

Or I could keep going and make extra, extra money.

That wouldn’t be bad. More money for a tattoo sooner.

Clip .

Oh God.

“Can you cut that shit out?” I ask through gritted teeth.

Patton slowly lifts his annoying face to look at me. “Stop what?”

“The nail clipping.”

“I’m on my side of the room.”

I clench my fingers and take a deep, calming breath. “Yes, but could you please do it in the bathroom?”

Patton tilts his infuriating head. “No. I want to do it in here .”

Fuck. I can’t kill him. Can’t punch him.

All the rage inside me starts to boil up until it threatens to spill over.

Maybe I need a hookup. But the last one didn’t go too well.

I think something is wrong with me. I’m afraid to search it on the internet too because I’m not sure I want to know so much about myself.

I can get off but it’s never enough. So, the idea of a hookup right now actually sounds worse than just riding out the annoyance.

I grab my earbuds from my backpack and lie down on the bed, doing my best to tune out all the annoyances that turn me into a beast. Maybe I should take up kickboxing. In high school I ran track but running doesn’t sound like enough anymore for all my energy, all my anger.

I fall asleep thinking about next week, about the letter, about how easy it’s going to be to make two grand if all I have to do is beat some people up.

A week later I stand outside of the dark, abandoned warehouse miles away from campus.

This is probably how I get tetanus. If I do this weekly, I’d have enough money for books, tattoos, and to send some home to help my parents care for Ama.

The thought of her makes my blood go cold, makes me wish I was in a ring of people that I could take down until I was surrounded by blood.

Fuck. Time to go inside. I frown in annoyance when I step in a puddle, drenching my only pair of ancient Chucks in tetanus water.

Great. The water seeps into my socks as I stomp into the warehouse, aggravated for more reasons than I can count now.

My shoes squeak, alerting the three other men waiting inside to my presence.

If these are the dudes I’m fighting, then this will be easy street.

A pair of brown-haired twins who stand at almost my height, one in glasses, one a little more broad-shouldered than the other, and a blond guy who looks like he belongs in a frat house, not in this warehouse about to join a fight club.

“So, we fighting?” I call out.

The blond frowns at me as if I’m a giant idiot. “Why do you think we’re fighting?”

“I mean, why else would I be here with two thousand dollars cashed in my bank account?”

I finish crossing the warehouse to stand beside them, noticing for the first time the laptop sitting on a table before them.

The screensaver flashes in the dark of the damp warehouse, countdown bouncing around the screen.

When I look down at my watch, I realize it’s still a few minutes before nine, so the countdown is a timer until whatever is going to happen begins .

“I’m Parker,” the leaner twin says, dark green eyes glowing in the dark behind his thick-rimmed glasses. He holds his hand out to me and I take it, squeezing his hand as hard as I can. “Nice handshake.”

“Ditto,” I reply with a grin.

Parker winces. “What’s your degree?”

“Engineering.” I look around at the rest of them. “So?”

“English Lit,” Parker says, he points at his twin. “That’s Jacob, his degree is in biomedical engineering. Blond God over here is majoring in math.”

“Math?” I ask because that sounds awful.

“I like numbers,” Blond God says with a shrug. “I’m Hayden.”

I hum in disinterest and cross my arms over my chest. The countdown hits nine. Someone gasps when the screen lights up. There’s no image of a person. Just a black screen with that thing that shows decibels of someone speaking.

“Thank you for being good boys and showing up,” the computerized voice says. “I’ve chosen all of you because you have a skillset that I can use. Those skills are for me to know only. But I’d like to start a team that gives the bad people what they deserve.”

“Like Robin Hood?” Parker pipes up, eyes gleaming.

The message is obviously recorded because the person doesn’t stop speaking.

“Four missions a month, maybe more. A house will be provided for you to live in that’s more secure than any other house in Eastport. A stipend for school. If you want to kill a bad guy, it’ll be cleaned up, and you won’t be caught.”

Sounds like a crock of shit to me.

“Alright, well, this was fun,” I say while clapping my hands. “Story time and two thousand dollars. Any of you want to spar with me so this night isn’t a total waste?”

The three other guys stare at me in confusion. Oh, they fell for it. Okay. Jacob grabs Parker and tugs him over to the other side of the room. They whisper furiously, Parker making abrupt, terrifying-looking hand motions, and I stand there awkwardly beside Hayden.

“So…. we’re not doing it, right?”

Hayden bites his lip as he stares down at the laptop as if it might burst into flames at any moment. “I mean… it doesn’t sound too bad? If they can provide proof to us that lets us know this isn’t some joke…”

“You’ll kill people?” I ask because seriously? Murder.

Hayden shrugs, fingers flexing at his sides. “If they’re bad.”

“This can’t be real. There’s no way this is real.”

I take a deep breath to calm my nerves. I’m going to get tetanus and probably end up in prison because this is an undercover sting to find young men that are willing to commit felonies for some cash.

Am I willing to commit a felony for cash?

Crap. I am. I guess you never really know yourself until faced with the decision.

Jacob and Parker return to stand beside us again. Parker looks pleased, Jacob looks a little resigned, and Hayden looks somehow ambivalent to it all.

Jacob slowly squats down to grab a suitcase underneath the table that holds the laptop.

It has a piece of paper taped to it with all four of our names.

He clicks open the sides and reaches inside, pulling out manilla folders that he slowly hands to each of us, before lowering the suitcase back to the ground. Maybe it’s another check?

The manilla folder holds three stark white papers.

One contains the lease to a brownstone close to school in the rich part of town, all four of our names on it.

The second is a monthly recurring transaction set up to my bank account for six thousand dollars.

Shit. What the hell? The third and final paper is about my sister, Ama.

Who the hell is this person? How do they know about my sister?

And there’s no way I can turn this down if it’s true.

I hurriedly slam the manilla folder shut and stare down at my shoes.

My socks are still damp from outside, Converse dirty and close to falling apart.

The other guys remain eerily quiet. I thought I’d be coming here tonight to get some quick cash, maybe punch a few people, get my aggression out that I can’t take out on my roommate.

But now I’m not so sure. The money is hard to turn down, a nicer place to live without hearing someone clip their nails literally twenty-four seven, and Ama.

I am always thinking of Ama. Maybe this is worth doing just for her, to know that her future can be taken care of in a way my parents can never even dream of affording.

“I got keys for a Mercedes?” Parker says in confusion. He slowly holds up a pair of shiny keys for us to see. “Anyone else get a car?”

Hayden shakes his head, but holds up a pair of house keys. “I got keys to the house.”

“Well,” Jacob says blandly, gaze flitting between the three of us. “Hi, roommates.”

And I guess it really is that simple. Everyone has a price.