Hypocrite

Winter Break brought two major victories. First, no more school. Second, I finally got my driver's license.

Tyson was a lifesaver, helping me drill the theory test questions the night before. Alvin was supposed to get his license with me, but he panicked halfway through reading the manual and decided to just wait until he was legally eighteen. But passing the test meant freedom. It meant I could drive my own car. No more freezing at bus stops. No more relying on my parents' empty schedules.

*

A week before Christmas, the brotherhood was lounging in Alvin's living room.

"Gangs, look at this!" Jones burst into the room, waving a glossy flyer in the air like a trophy. "Massive party happening tomorrow night! It’s at a mansion. I know the host, and he gave me the VIP green light to bring as many guests as I want."

Tyson grabbed the flyer, scanning the details. "Who the hell is Kazeem?"

"He’s a buddy of mine, bro."

I chuckled from the couch. "Since when do you have a friend named Kazeem, dude?"

"Oh, don’t get it twisted! I’m a highly social guy with ultra charm, you know," Jones bragged, puffing out his chest.

Alvin peered over his glasses at the poster. "Isn’t that the guy from AP Chemistry? Mike’s lab partner?"

The room went quiet. We all stared at Alvin.

"What?" Alvin asked, blinking defensively.

"Wow. I didn't know you actually knew people outside your bedroom, shorty," Jones retorted, his ego clearly bruised.

"I’m taller than you, you clown," Alvin shot back smoothly. "Besides, Mike already sent me this invitation last week." He pulled up the exact same flyer on his phone screen.

Tyson and I burst into laughter. "Mr. Charming," Tyson mocked, pointing at Jones. "I think the nerd just beat you fair and square."

"Why the hell didn't you tell us, Al?!" Jones demanded. "Were you trying to hoard the party for yourself?"

"Well... you guys know I don’t really like parties."

"Nonsense. We are going tomorrow, and you are coming with us, Al," Tyson ordered. His tone shifted, becoming more serious as he looked over at me. "And... I think we should invite the girls, too."

The humor instantly drained out of me.

"It’s been over a month, Daeron," Tyson pressed gently. "You and Jessica have been avoiding each other long enough. It's making the rest of the girls uncomfortable to hang out with us."

"..." I stared at the carpet. He wasn't wrong.

"You already made peace with Sean, bro," Tyson reasoned. "The beef is squashed. Let’s just invite them and get the group back together."

A heavy knot formed in my chest. I knew I needed to fix things, but facing Jessica terrified me more than facing her giant brother did. "Sure," I lied smoothly. "Let’s invite them."

"Perfect!" Tyson smiled.

"Wait! Hold up!" Jones jumped between us, waving his arms frantically. "Are you sure about this? Why not save the big emotional reunion for another party? Kazeem said the girl-boy ratio tomorrow is going to be absolute perfection! Let this just be our night, right?"

Tyson frowned. "We still need to settle this issue, Jones. How about we just drive to Jessica's house right now and talk it out?"

"Bro! No! Let’s do it another day! I need to go to the mall and buy clothes for tomorrow!" Jones insisted, his voice pitching higher.

"What’s wrong with you, clown?" Tyson stood up, towering over Jones. "It seems like you're the only one here who actively doesn't want the girls around."

"Fine! You want the truth?" Jones snapped, crossing his arms. "I don’t want Nicole joining us. She’s a stuck-up bitch! Let’s do the reunion some other day. Tomorrow, we focus on making new friends and hooking up with girls we don't know!"

I saw my escape route and immediately took it.

"Yeah, Jones is right," I said, leaning back on the couch. "Let’s just make it a boys' night."

Jones's face lit up. He turned and high-fived me enthusiastically. "That’s right, D-boy! Boys' night!"

Tyson let out a long, disappointed sigh, looking right through me. He knew I was taking the coward's way out. "Fine. But I’m calling Amy. It’s totally unfair if you guys get to go have fun while she sits at home."

Jones was buzzing with hype. A mansion party, a "perfect ratio," and the whole squad together.

**

Saturday night arrived. Since I was officially licensed, I drove to Alvin's house to pick him up. I honked the horn, leaving the engine running to keep the heater blasting.

The front door opened. Alvin walked out into the snow.

My brain stopped working. I rolled down the window, the freezing air hitting my face.

"What the actual fuck are you wearing, man?!" I yelled.

Alvin walked up to the car, looking down at his bright red, knitted 'Merry Christmas' sweater. It had a massive, cross-eyed reindeer on the front.

"What?" Alvin asked, opening the passenger door. "It’s a Christmas party, isn't it?"

"No! For fuck's sake, Al! You look like a twelve-year-old going to a church choir recital!"

I didn't even let him put his seatbelt on. I threw the car into reverse, peeled out of his neighborhood, and drove straight back to my house. I dragged him up to my bedroom, threw open my closet, and forced him into a dark Henley shirt and a proper jacket.

Because of the wardrobe detour, we were fashionably late. The snow was coming down lightly as we finally pulled up to the address. It really was a mansion. Cars lined the street for a mile, and the heavy bass of the music vibrated through the frozen ground.

Alvin stared out the windshield, swallowing hard. "So... we're going in?"

"Of course, dude," I laughed, slapping his shoulder to loosen him up. "What’s the point of coming all the way out here if you're just going to rot inside the car? Come on. It will be fun."

The mansion wasn't what I expected. Instead of a raging, destructive frat party, the music was a steady, rhythmic bass and the lighting was dim. It was a kickback. Honestly, it was the perfect starter party for Alvin.

We found the host, Kazeem, in the kitchen. Jones was already there, working his magic. Tyson and Amy waved us over to a large sectional sofa in the living room.

"You look like you're about to take a math test, Al. Chill out, will ya?" Tyson laughed, tossing a throw pillow at him.

"Loosen up, man." I smacked Alvin's shoulder, forcing him to sit down. "Nobody here cares that you're wearing my jacket."

Ten minutes later, Jones materialized out of the crowd, carrying a massive crate of imported beers.

"Look what I found, gang!" Jones grinned like a supervillain, dropping the crate onto the coffee table.

"What the fuck?" I stared at the crate. "You absolutely stole that from the host."

"The details aren't necessary, D-boy. The night is young, the ratio is perfect, and we have games to play!" Jones rubbed his hands together frantically. "Look around! We need to divide and conquer! Well, except you, Tyson. You're benched."

"Uhh... lucky you guys," Tyson mumbled, staring longingly at the single girls across the room.

Amy’s head snapped toward him, her eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. "What was that, babe?"

"Nothing! Just saying, let’s go hit the dance floor, babe. Let’s leave these pathetic virgins alone to do their thing." Tyson quickly grabbed Amy's hand and pulled her into the crowd before she could murder him.

Jones immediately went to work. He managed to flag down a group of girls and brought them over to our sofas for a drinking game. The guy was a clown, but he was an incredible hype man. The vibe was great. Within an hour, Jones had managed to completely isolate one of the girls.

But the biggest shock was Alvin. My scrawny, nerdy best friend was actually sitting back on the sofa, holding a beer, and having a completely normal, comfortable conversation with a cute blonde girl.

I sat at the end of the couch, watching them. I felt a surge of pride—the gym sessions and the pep talks were actually working. But almost instantly, the pride was swallowed by a sharp pang of loneliness.

I was officially the odd man out. Fuck. Instead of sitting there drinking until I was numb, I grabbed my jacket and slipped out the back door.

The freezing winter air hit my lungs. A small group of people was huddled on the back patio, passing around a lighter. I didn't want to be alone with my thoughts, so I walked over.

"Mind if I join the circle?" I asked, pulling a cigarette from my pocket.

"Sure, man. Come on in. I’m Randy. This is Mary, Renna, and Stephany."

"Daeron," I nodded.

"Let me guess," Stephany said, a smirk playing on her lips. "Your friends ditched you for girls?"

"Yep. Wingman duties are officially over," I answered.

"Told you the ratio here was in our favor," Renna said to Randy.

"Need a light?" Stephany stepped forward, flicking a silver lighter.

"Thanks." I leaned in, cupping my hand over hers to block the wind. I took a long drag, the nicotine instantly taking the edge off.

"So, Daeron. I haven't seen you at Kazeem's parties before," Randy observed. "You know him?"

"No. My buddy Jones invited us."

"Wait, you came with Jones? That means you hang out with Tyson, too?" Stephany asked, her eyes widening slightly.

"Yeah. We all hang out at school."

"Dude... wait a second." Randy took a step closer, squinting through the smoke. "I know who you are! You’re the guy! The one who slammed Herald into the concrete!"

"Uh. Yeah. That was me."

"Holy shit." Randy let out a breath, shaking his head. "No offense, man, but I always thought you were a total psycho weirdo. I definitely didn't picture you standing on a porch making small talk."

"Heh. It's fine. Tyson and Jones thought I was a psycho at first, too."

We fell into an easy rhythm of conversation. It was strange. For two years, I had isolated myself, assuming everyone in the school was just a judgmental hypocrite. I hadn't realized I was missing out on normal, chill people like this.

"So, Daeron," Stephany asked, leaning against the wooden railing. "If you're here with the boys... why didn't Jessica come tonight?"

I froze, the smoke catching in my throat. "Huh? How do you know about Jessica?"

"Umm... well, the whole school knows," Stephany said, suddenly looking a little nervous. "Everyone knows that Jessica and the popular girls spend all their time hanging out with... well, the 'weirdos' in the courtyard. Since I know who you are now, I was just curious why she wasn't with you. Sorry if that was rude."

"Hahaha. Chill, it’s alright." I forced a smooth smile, hiding the sudden spike in my chest. "We just wanted a boys' night tonight to blow off some steam."

"Oh. So the rumor isn't true?"

"What rumor?"

"That you and Jessica are dating?"

Dating. The word felt like a gut punch. I thought about the night in the driveway. I thought about Sean.

"What? No, not at all," I lied smoothly, exhaling a cloud of smoke into the cold air. "We're just good friends."

"Ah, I see." Stephany smiled, looking visibly relieved. "Sorry. People just speculate a lot about who she's dating, and you’re the hottest rumor right now."

"Rumors are just rumors."

"Good to know," Stephany purred, stepping a fraction closer. "So... that means there is no 'Daeron’s Sweetheart' currently in the picture?"

I looked down at her. She was cute, confident, and clearly interested. I needed a distraction tonight, and she was offering one on a silver platter.

"Nah," I replied, my voice dropping an octave. "How about you? Is there a 'Stephany’s Prince' inside looking for you? Or are you submitting an application for the 'Daeron’s Sweetheart' role?"

"Ohhh, I don't know. What are the requirements?" She fluttered her eyelashes playfully. "Because right now, no Prince has come to rescue this damsel in distress."

"The requirement is simple," I said, flashing a rare, genuine grin. "You just have to be willing to be the Weirdo’s Queen."

We both burst out laughing. The tension completely evaporated.

"Damn, it’s getting freezing out here," I teased, nodding toward the sliding glass doors. "You want to go warm up inside? Or are you getting cold feet?"

"Hahahaha, you are so corny!" She bumped her shoulder against mine. "Maybe your company already melted the ice?"

"I'll take that as a yes. Come on."

I held the door open for her. We went back inside, hit the dance floor, and eventually grouped back up with Alvin and Jones. I introduced her to the boys, and for the first time in a long time, I just let myself be a normal teenager. It was a genuinely fun night. And thank God, no one ended up bleeding in a driveway.

**

The fallout from the party never came. The days quietly ticked by. My new routine was simple: hang out with Alvin, Tyson, and Jones, and text Stephany late into the night until I fell asleep. It was an easy, drama-free distraction.

Three days before Christmas, I took my car to O'Hare International to pick up my parents. When they walked out of the terminal, I was genuinely shocked. Trailing behind them, looking completely miserable, was my little brother.

Julian was a ninth-grader, but he carried himself like royalty. He lived in the UK with my aunt, attending a ridiculously prestigious private school because the local public system wasn't "posh" enough for him. I honestly couldn't believe he was here. He usually spent the holidays in London with my aunt’s family because their Christmas parties were significantly more glamorous than a quiet night in here.

My parents hated that he lived abroad. They hated that he never came home. But Julian was manipulative. Whenever they pushed him to return, he’d throw their constant business trips right back in their faces, reminding them that they frequently left us home alone just to go on romantic "honeymoons." It was a massive guilt trip, and my parents always caved. It also didn't hurt that Julian was undeniably my mother’s favorite.

I didn't care. Julian and I were polar opposites. We never got along anyway.

Christmas dinner was a rare, chaotic bright spot. My mom cooked. She wasn't a culinary genius, but we ate every bite out of pure gratitude, mostly because if my dad had cooked, we probably would have ended up in the ER.

Sitting around the table, I just soaked it in. I listened to my parents tell wild, hilarious stories from their overseas trips. Sure, some of the stories ventured into gross, TMI territory about their romantic escapades, but I didn't even mind. It just felt good to have voices in the house.

Julian, however, was miserable. The golden child finished his plate, retreated to his bedroom, and locked the door. He spent the entire two weeks playing video games and loudly complaining to anyone who would listen about how desperate he was to get back to the UK.

The boys texted me constantly to hang out. Stephany invited me to a New Year's Eve bonfire. I turned them all down. I chose to sit in the quiet, boring house just to be near my parents. I kept hoping we would go on a small family road trip—just the four of us. But my parents were exhausted from their constant flights and just wanted to sleep in their own bed, and Julian threw a fit at the mere mention of leaving the couch.

I was outvoted. I didn't complain. I just nodded, buried my disappointment, and tried to be the understanding older son.

January 2, 2010. The bags were packed again. I drove the three of them back to O'Hare. My parents were flying back to the UK with Julian to get him settled for his new term.

I stood at the drop-off curb, hugging my mom and shaking my dad's hand. I couldn't go with them. The new semester started tomorrow. I had to stay behind.

I stood by my car in the freezing cold and watched the three of them walk through the sliding glass doors into the terminal. They looked like a complete, perfect family.

Was it fair? I didn't know. Did a hollow, bitter ache open up in my chest at being left behind again?

I got back into the driver's seat, turned up the radio to drown out the silence, and drove back to the empty house. I forced myself not to think about it.

**

The second semester started, and for the first time in my life, I didn't hate walking through the school doors.

I had a tribe now. The boys felt like my actual family. Hell, Alvin’s mom, Angela, was practically my surrogate mother. Whenever she had the time, she packed an extra bento box just for me.

Once, I tried to buy her a nice scarf to repay her, but she aggressively refused it. She pointed a spatula at me and threatened to ban me from her kitchen forever if I tried to pay her again. I backed down immediately. I wasn't about to risk my free food supply.

There was another new addition to my routine: Stephany. She was incredibly chill, entirely drama-free, and exactly what I needed. Sometimes she’d hang out with the whole group, but mostly she’d pull me aside to smoke and talk near the bleachers. The boys noticed, and they aggressively encouraged it.

We also implemented "Study Fridays." The four of us locked ourselves in the library to prep for the SAT and ACT. Mostly, we were just trying to keep Jones from failing out of chemistry.

February 2010. The cold dragged on. My parents had flown back from the UK in late January, stayed in here for exactly one week, and then packed their bags for another trip. I was used to the empty house by now.

Stephany started pushing past the casual boundaries. She started showing up at my classroom door the second the lunch bell rang, waiting for me so we could eat together.

"Daeron, can you come with me somewhere next Saturday?" she asked, leaning against the lockers outside my homeroom.

"What time? I train at the dojo in the afternoon, but my morning is clear," I said, zipping up my backpack.

"What's your training schedule look like?"

"Wednesday nights and Saturday afternoons. Why?"

"Let’s just go Sunday morning, then. I don’t want to be the reason you're late for your dojo."

"Works for me. But why do you need me to tag along?"

She smirked, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. "Let’s just say I need a second opinion on something."

"Which means...?"

"You’ll find out on Sunday! Unless you want to skip fifth period right now and go?"

"I don’t mind skipping," I replied, deadpan. "If we get caught, I'll just tell the principal you kidnapped me."

She laughed, punching my bicep weakly. "I’ll buy you a hotdog if you promise to come with me. Deal?"

"Deal. But I know a specific cart by the park, and you're buying me the loaded one."

"It's a date! Thank you, Daeron." She waved, turning down the hall to head to her next class.

As I watched her leave, a blur of bright ginger hair caught my peripheral vision.

I turned my head. Jessica was standing by the water fountain, fifty feet away. Her posture was rigid. She glared at Stephany's retreating back, and then her piercing green eyes snapped to me. The second I met her gaze, she spun on her heel and disappeared around the corner.

My chest tightened. It had been over a month. I pulled my phone out and typed a quick Hey into our old message thread.

Message Failed to Send. Still blocked.

*

When the final bell rang, I headed for the exit, eager to get to the dojo and punch something heavy.

As I stepped out of the classroom, a figure stepped directly into my path.

"Where are you heading?"

I flinched, my heart jumping into my throat. "Shit! What the fuck? Don't sneak up on me like that!"

It was Jessica. She was standing right next to the doorframe, her arms crossed tight over her chest. I stepped out into the empty hallway, keeping a safe distance between us.

"What are you doing outside my class?" I asked, my voice dropping back to its usual flat tone.

"Don't look at me like that," she snapped, her arms crossed tight. "I can walk down any hallway I want."

"I didn't say you couldn't. I just asked why you're here."

"I just wanted to see if you were still alive! Why are you so defensive?!"

"Why do you think?!" I snapped, my stoic wall finally cracking. "You block my number. You ignore me for a month. You don't give me a single chance to explain myself or apologize. And now you just barge up to me acting like nothing happened? Yeah, I'm defensive."

Her face flushed red. "Fine! Forget I bothered you! Clearly you're too busy planning your Sunday dates to care!”

She turned around and stormed down the hallway, her sneakers squeaking angrily against the floor.

"What the fuck?" I muttered to the empty air. Sunday date? She had been eavesdropping on me and Stephany.

I let out a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose.

Footsteps approached. Tyson stepped out from an intersecting hallway. He had seen the whole thing.

"What’s going on with Jessica, bro? Still a lot of heat there, huh?" he asked, clapping a heavy hand on my shoulder.

"Ugh, I don’t know, man," I groaned, leaning back against the lockers. "I think I was too harsh with her just now. I shouldn't have snapped. I’ll try to apologize to her later. The only reason she’s acting so crazy is because of what I did to Sean anyway. If I hadn't—"

SMACK! Tyson’s massive palm struck the back of my head. The impact rattled my teeth.

"Uhh! What the actual fuck, man?!" I barked, grabbing the back of my skull.

"Hypocrite," Tyson said. The friendly "bro" demeanor was completely gone. His eyes were cold and sharp.

"Huh? What are you talking about?"

"I said you’re a fucking hypocrite."

I stared at him, my anger flaring. "Explain."

"Stop with this pretentious, self-sacrificing bullshit," Tyson said, his deep voice echoing in the hall. "Stop acting like you’re this noble, stand-up guy who has to carry the weight of the world! Just be a normal person, brah!"

He stepped closer, towering over me. "Stop thinking it's your job to take the blame for everyone else's actions. Stop thinking that falling on your sword is for a 'good cause.' You are not a goddamn superhero, Daeron! You’re just a fucking teenager with a toxic chivalry fantasy!"

The words hit me like a physical combo. I couldn't even speak.

Tyson exhaled, his broad shoulders dropping as the anger left him. "Look. It’s okay that you want to be a good person. It’s great that you look out for others. But you have to look out for yourself first. Stop being a hypocrite." He tapped my shoulder, gentle this time. "Think about it. How can you be a shield for anyone else when you’re completely destroying yourself? Stop playing the martyr. We’ve got your back, man. We’re brothers."

He stepped back, a small smile returning to his face. "Now move your ass. Let’s go get burgers. I’m starving."

I stood frozen against the lockers. Tyson had just ripped my entire psychological armor to shreds. He was completely right. My obsession with taking the blame—for Alvin, for Jessica, for the fight—wasn't noble. It was arrogant. I was treating myself like garbage and calling it heroism.

"Thanks, man," I said, my voice quiet but genuine.

Tyson threw his arm around my neck, putting me in a loose headlock. "Anytime, brother. But seriously, as long as you stop being so corny and cringe with that savior complex, I’ll never have to smack you again."

We laughed, the heavy tension breaking. And as I walked out to the parking lot, I realized he was right. I needed to stop apologizing for things that weren't my fault.