Chapter 2: Big Brother in a Big City

After five or so minutes of scrambling, he had to rest for five minutes to catch his breath. But other than that, he was ready to take the day.

He faced his body mirror laid against the left wall of his room and gave himself a final once over. As always, he looked sort of sick-- and thin. His cheekbones stood out on his brown skinned face, and his jawline looked sharp enough to cut flesh. Even his thick eyebrows cast shadows over his slightly sunken eyes. He fought against aggravating the shadows by pulling his braids out of his face with a hairband he borrowed from one of his sisters. It seemed to help the sickened look on his face. As for the rest of his rail-thin lanky frame, he hid it with a blue and black Nike zip-up, regular fit jeans and his favorite. White air forces. If there was ever a perfect staple shoe. It went with everything.

The time read seven-fifty. He had a bus to catch, so with nothing left to do, he grabbed his backpack, stuffed his beat pad and drum sticks inside with his books and exited his room.

The silence of his room was immediately blown out of existence by the chaotic flow of his younger siblings getting help from their parents in getting ready for school.

"Morning, Tay!" A small fair skinned boy with fiery red hair and food stains around his mouth said as Bronte exited his room.

"Sup, Junior." Bronte replied to his younger brother before grabbing a napkin and wiping off his face.

"Mmph-- Tay...." Junior said while Bronte wiped his face and nose.

"Yo." Bronte replied, seemingly more focused on getting the syrup off Junior's nose. How was that even possible?

"M--Ma says you make music when you're uncomfortable....."

"Mhm." Bronte replied.

"..... why are you always umcomftorble?" Junior suddenly asked, mispronouncing uncomfortable due to Bronte wiping his chin.

Bronte was taken aback by the question for a moment before shrugging it off. "Storms.... they make me jumpy. Ma thinks I have some sort of light and sound sensitivity. Lightning is unpredictable and loud, you know? But.... I don't know. When I play my music-- when I catch that flow, I feel like it becomes predictable. Rhythmic. Something like that..."

Bronte finished wiping off Junior's face and ruffled his hair. Junior did the same and grabbed one of his braids.

"What is unpredictable mean?" Junior suddenly said.

Bronte sighed and smiled faintly. Kids were funny sometimes, "Ask Ma, I'm late."

"Yea you are. I'm about to start turning off the electricity in the mornings, Tay." Bronte's mother said from behind Junior as she stepped out from the kitchen deeper into the apartment.

Her name was Aneka Connors. At six feet tall, robustly built and unapologetically bald, she was an imposing woman. Beautiful and fierce when the time called for it. A perfect adoptive parent to the mass of kids running through the apartment along with himself.

"I was just heading out." Bronte replied as she approached him.

"Ok. Make sure you take your umbrella." She said. Her dark skin seemed to glow under the poor-quality lights in the living room.

"Alright. I'm outta here, ma." Bronte said quickly before heading toward the door as she watched him prepare to leave with her thick hands on her hips.

"Boy, come here." His mother interrupted as she grabbed his arm and pulled him into a hug tight enough to snap his feeble ribs. Her sternness rarely held up long with him.

After a few seconds, he had to tap out.

She was surprisingly powerful....

"Ok honey, have a good day. If it starts storming bad make sure you find a bodega or a nearby deli to wait inside and call me. I'll come get you. And if you see anybody glowing, breathing fire or sticking to poles on the train--"

"Go the other way and don't let anybody get me mad, yep. Got it. See you later, Ma." Bronte replied as he opened the door and exited his family apartment.

On his way out, he bumped shoulders with a girl no older than him. Her face cast in shadows by the hood she wore. The sight reminded him of the woman he saw outside his window. And like her, the girl was gone up the stairs as if she was never inside the complex.

Bronte shook his head and headed out to the streets to catch the train.

Along the way, he ran into all manner of eccentrics belonging solely to Harlem. For the most part. Graffiti of an unbreakable man in yellow. The Harlem Hero, Powerman. The Devil of Hell's Kitchen. Street-Preachers speaking of the Avengers and their shortcomings. And all manner of Afrocentric street performers. He found himself using his drumsticks to play along with their performances whenever he had to wait at stop signs. More often than not, they'd ask him to stay. Unfortunately, he was running late, and the clouds were still stormy even as the sun gleamed overhead.

By the time he reached his train, his breaths were loud enough to draw attention. He'd even caught his own attention-- surprised at the fact that he was less tired than usual. Most times, he had to take breaks along the way due to some fit of hideous coughs or a fever that left him lightheaded, but today there were no breaks.

"Solid." Bronte said to himself proudly as he took a seat on the train and flipped through a playlist on his phone.

His smile faded as more bodies flooded into the train. One which being a hooded female with bloody knuckles, a smaller female in the same outfit flanked her. And as everyone sat, they remained standing on opposite ends of the train car, looking out of the windows and at the passengers within fiercely. He suddenly considered the fact that the smaller of the two was the same hooded woman he'd run into on the way out of his apartment....

Bronte felt a shiver run down his spine. In an attempt to soothe his nerves, he slid on his headphones and pulled out his drumsticks.

"No. Nope. I'm tripping." He thought before letting the music spill from his headphones.

***

After an hour passed by seamlessly, he'd almost forgotten they were there as the train came to a loud halt, with its metal wheels skidding loudly across the tracks beneath his feet. The dull thrum felt like thunder.

As he opened his eyes and pulled off his headphones, he found everyone just getting up from their seats to leave the train. The two hooded women were nowhere to be found. Once again.

"Right.." Bronte thought before getting up briskly and leaving the train.

There was little more than a half-mile left before he reached his school. And it blew by accordingly as he exited the subway and stepped out onto the streets of Queens New York. A place different from Harlem in many ways. More industrial-- shiny and reflective from all the glass skyscrapers that lined the streets like borders from the rest of the world. Even though he'd grown up around them, the sight still made him queasy.

Luckily, the sight faded by the time he reached his destination. Midtown High.

Upon checking his phone, the time read two minutes past nine. Not exactly late but cutting it close. Cutting it close, something hundreds of other students seemed to be doing as he watched the mass of bodies flood into the massive burgundy and white bricked building.

He soon followed, and the entire way there, he couldn't help but feel like he was being watched. Every person wearing a hood raised his nerves-- along with the color red.... which happened to be their school football teams color.

Today would be a long day.