Page 167 of Pride High 2: Orange
“You’re all my friends,” Ricky said. “And you all used tobefriends. So please, try to get along. For me.”
“Yeah, no problem,” Omar said with a glare in Diego’s direction. “Let’s keep it civil. For real. Because I don’t let anyone talk to Anthony like that.”
Diego snorted and shook his head while looking at Ricky. “See? Nothing’s changed.”
“We haven’t,” Anthony said pointedly.
Diego tensed. And didn’t say anything, which was somehow worse than his cutting words.
“Maybe we should watch the video,” Ricky suggested while trying to sound upbeat. “Then we can talk about everything afterwards.”
“Good idea.” Omar grabbed a shoebox off a shelf and set it on his bed before opening the lid. Ricky joined him and saw that the inside was filled with full-sized VHS cassettes. “I’m not sure which tape is the right one, but it’s gotta be in here.”
“How about that one?” Ricky said, pointing randomly.
“Works for me,” Omar said with a shrug.
He brought the tape to the VCR. Anthony sat in one of the canvas chairs, his arms and legs crossed. Ricky sat on the floor and patted the carpet next to him.
“I’ll stand,” Diego said, taking up a position behind the chairs.
“Here goes nothing,” Omar said after taking a seat. He raised the remote and pushed a button, the VCR whirring to life. “Sorry about the picture quality. This was before I had my Handycam, back when I used to record everything on SLP to maximize the runtime.”
“Nobody knows what you’re talking about,” Diego replied. “And nobody cares.”
Horizontal lines ran up the television screen, accompanied by static snaps, before the picture stabilized and became clearer, revealing two tables at a mall food court. Women their parents’ age were seated at one of them. A smaller version of Omar sat at the other. His hair was shorter on the sides and he hadn’t filled out yet. He was staring openly at the women, who seemed increasingly uncomfortable.
Omar laughed. “You guys remember this?”
“Is it a sketch?” Ricky asked.
“Nah. Back then I was more into pranks. Watch.”
One of the women kept looking at Omar and away again, becoming increasingly flustered until finally…
“Excuse me, young man,” she said. “You’re being very rude!”
Omar’s head whipped back and forth before he pulled out a pair of sunglasses, put them on, and then stood. As he walked away, he tapped the floor ahead of him with a white stick, like he was blind. The poor woman placed a hand over her mouth.
“Do you remember the guy who got pissed at us?” Omar asked after cackling. “I think it’s still coming up.”
The picture jerked again. The scene was similar. Still the food court, although it was different tables. A family was seated at one, Anthony at the other.
“He was always terrible at this,” Diego said.
“It’s true,” Omar replied. “Look! He’s turning red already!”
“Shut up,” Anthony said with a chuckle. “The dad liked it a little too much. He kept looking me up and down. And what are we here? Twelve?”
“We look like babies,” Omar said.
“Anthony looks more like a little girl,” Diego added.
“I was trying to grow my hair out!” Anthony shot back. “The front and sides grew faster back then, I swear.”
He did look like he had a blond bob. And he was much shorter. Eventually the mother noticed him staring and scooted her chair over, so her back was to him, like she wanted to block her family from view. Anthony pulled the same routine and put on his sunglasses, but he wasn’t as convincing with the guide cane.
“You’re swinging that thing around like you’re trying to hit a pinata,” Ricky said, causing the others to laugh.
