On A Whim (Sidestory)

’Sup?

Name’s Malik.

Am I doing this right?

No? Ok, do-over.

Hey.

My name is Malachi Bravo. You probably already know me as Malik.

Or maybe you don’t. I don’t know.

In any case, I got a little story to share with you.

Lemme pick this up from near the end of my second semester at R&B College.

***

Back then, few things mattered to me. Most were stupid, like my favorite TV show, Tattoo Lovers, or making sure my hair was on point.

If you guessed the show is about tattoo artists finding love, good job.

If you guessed I rock a purple mohawk with shaved sides, I guess I can safely assume you know about shit me, after all.

Anyway, the only important things I cared about were my studies and my frat bros.

Oh, yeah. Context.

I was doing a social studies bachelor, at the time. My dream was to do art in poster form to help bring attention and awareness to all the bad shit going on around the world.

Near the end of my first semester, I was approached by a Ken-lookin’ blonde dude and a short but intense dude in a hoodie you could fit two of the same dude in.

It was some top notch comedy shit.

Later, I’d find out that the blonde one was Ed and the short one was Sy. The President and Vice-President, respectively, of the JETs, the at the time, newest frat on campus.

Long story short, me and a nerd who insisted on going by his last name, Ross, ended up doing some drinking and other stupid shit with the others.

A few days later, Ed showed up with a box containing two cool lookin’ white and silver jackets. A jet plane was engraved in the middle of each, separated perfectly in the middle by the zipper and the college logo was on the upper left front side of each of them.

Just like that, Ross and I were officially JETs.

Shortly after, we moved into the JETs mansion, super badass by the way.

Almost the second we did, Ed and Sy signed both of us up for some community work, the same shit they were doing.

This was pretty much part of my studies.

Lucky.

Ross complained a bit. So did Sy. But, at the end of the day, we worked hard so we could play harder.

Sy’s always been a nasty party planner. All the parties we hosted were legendary. You wouldn’t be able to tell judging from how it all started, though.

In the beginning, we had to literally go hand by hand, person by person, handing over leaflets. At least my art/photo editing skills came in handy while making those.

One party went by, where few showed up. This did get the word out to campus so, more showed up for the next. The pattern kept repeating itself.

Soon, most students, not in a frat, had become regulars and the other frat on campus, the BEASTs, were starting to hate us.

Good times.

This semester was so much more fun than the last one, for me. The JETs had become a fucking family. The four of us would share stories, usually ones that had taken place during a party, that we should probably take to the grave.

And we were about to have way more on the way.

Case in point, the last party of the semester was coming up.

I’d spent a bunch of time that night making sure my hair was up like I wanted it and even wiped my chain clean before clicking it shut it and letting it hang at it’s usual spot, near my belt buckle.

Black jeans and a black t-shirt would have to do. So would my black work-boots.

A quick check on the mirror my bros had gotten for me as an initiation present all but confirmed that I was ready to head out.

Back then, we’d decided to take a leap of faith and officially invited the COREs, the party sorority on campus and, to our great surprise, they’d accepted.

Everyone was so hyped up.

Me? I was a bit on edge.

It was cool when I could stand in a corner and occasionally chat with my bros or a guest or two during a party but, those girls were supposed to be wild.

Especially their President, Kim.

One time, I saw her in a hallway talking with a tall, slender girl. I knew her. That was Tash. The “Gossip Queen” is what she was known as in certain circles.

They both turned their heads towards me. My mohawk was catching many eyes, not that I particularly cared for most of them.

But, if it was gonna make the actual “Campus Queen”, Kim, give me a lasting look though, I won’t lie. I figured I was gonna have to maintain it as best I could.

I tried not to get too hung up on her, though. She was light years out of my league, after all.

***

“Yo! What the fuck’s chu doin’, bruh?!” Sy’s pitched voice interrupted my thoughts of Kim.

“Huh?” I asked back, not sure what was up.

“Gimme the fuckin’ screwdriver, already! How many times do I gotta ask?!” Sy exclaimed, pointing at the old and completely out of place wooden table we’d set up for cups and bottles in the middle of our main party room.

A quick scan later, I located it, grabbed it and handed it to him.

He snatched it out of my hand, acting his usual self. That dude was always overreacting.

I would tell him I’m going to go buy some beer cause we ran out and he would preach about how he has to do everything in here and that I was “too slow at being alive.”

At the same time, he was the one who always had our backs. Even against the fucking jacked up BEASTs, he would not back down. He was basically the big bro of the frat.

After screwing the last light bulb back on, he shoved the party light into my chest.

“Go get the fuckin’ ladder. We need it to be flashier than a fuckin’ rave party in ’ere, t’night!” he hyped, a smug smirk tugging the end of his lips.

I obliged and with some help from Ross, holding the ladder for me, I installed the last club light on the ceiling.

Everyone was proud of those. We’d only gotten them a few months ago close to when Ross and I joined.

Amazing what you can find for super cheap in a thrift shop.

“Think we’ll finally score tonight, bro?” Ross asked, before my feet had even touched the ground.

I had no idea why he kept insisting on putting both of us on the same boat. It wasn’t like I couldn’t get girls. I simply didn’t give a fuck about most of them.

All divas. All eating away at their families funds, not respecting shit. A bunch of pretty faces with zero substance.

“Don’t know. Don’t care.” I stoically responded.

Ross’ face soured for a moment. He usually pretended he was offended by shit but, we all knew that was his default mode.

“Well, I’m going to try, at least.” he murmured, using the inside of his shirt to clean his glasses.

The shirts this man wore were a pain to witness for any decent artist. Palm trees, lightning, mountains, it was like he couldn’t wear normal shit. His hair also matched that same, non-existent fashion sense. Shoulder length and vibrant blue.

Dude was practically screaming: “Nevermind the glasses! I am not a nerd!”

Still, an amazing, super smart dude without whom our sorry asses would’ve never been able to even install, let alone fix those club lights and the huge TV we had up on the wall.

I gave him a pat on the shoulder and a nod of acknowledgement.

“Good luck with that, bro.” I said, as sincerely as I could manage under the thick layer of how much I did not care about him banging a random chick that night.

He smiled and mentioned I should talk to Ed before the party kicks off.

I wondered what he could possibly want. Ed almost never asked for me.