Page 169 of Pride High 2: Orange
“It’s the wrong tape anyway,” Diego replied.
Omar looked back at him. “How can you tell?”
“He’s right,” Anthony answered. “It’s obvious.”
Because Diego hadn’t changed yet. His dad was still alive. Otherwise they couldn’t have done the box prank on him. This seemed to finally click with Omar who hit the stop button.
“Let’s try a different tape,” he said, digging through the box again. “Hey, this one is labeled Wrestlemania Eighty-eight! Remember that?”
“I do,” Anthony said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “That was your wrestling phase.”
“Not a phase,” Omar said.
“But a lifestyle,” Diego added without missing a beat.
It was clearly some old joke or catch phrase they used to say, judging from the awkward silence that followed.
Ricky broke it, because he had to know. “So um… Is it just you guys wrestling each other on that tape?”
“Yes,” Anthony replied, “and it’s not as hot as you’re imagining, believe me.”
“We were more into the trash-talk interview segments,” Omar explained. “Which we were really good at. You radiated dog turd.”
“Hey, your granny was slurping on my turd the whole night,” Diego said in a gravelly voice. “And I only call it that because of where she had me stick it.”
Anthony looked at Ricky and made a face that said,I told you so.
“Do you wanna watch some?” Omar asked.
“There’s only thing I want to see,” Diego replied coldly.
“Right. Let’s see… This one isn’t labeled.”
“That’s a shock,” Anthony said.
“For real,” Omar replied. “I label everything.”
“Maybe you didn’t want anyone to find out the truth,” Diego said.
Omar was quiet a moment. Then he stood. “Let’s find out.”
Anticipation was thick in the air as the VCR spools clicked and spun noisily. The picture on the TV jumped, revealing the interior of a garage. All three guys stood in front of the camera and looked a little older. Anthony’s hair was cut short, closer to what it was now, although still blond instead of dyed. He was grinning at Omar, who stood in the middle holding a book. He didn’t look so different than the earlier footage, although his voice was deeper, and his hands and nose seemed too big for his body. Diego was on the right. His face was slack, his hair shaggy and unkempt. Not in a way that seemed intentional. It was more like neglect. The dark circles under his eyes made him appear unhealthy and in need of sleep.
“Welcome to our instructional video on how to be a young terrorist,” Omar said into the lens. “Today’s lesson will be taken fromThe Anarchist’s Cookbook.” His tongue stuck out the corner of his mouth as he flipped through it, found a page, and held the book up. “Be sure to take notes, so you can make your own pipe bomb at home.”
Ricky turned to the others. “You were making a bomb?”
Omar grinned sheepishly. “Er… I guess so.”
“Why?”
Anthony shrugged. “We didn’t think too deeply back then, and it sounded like a good idea.”
“Yeah,” Omar chimed in. “We weren’t all grown up like we are now.”
Ricky returned his attention to the screen. “Where did you get that book? Isn’t it banned?”
“It was my dad’s,” Diego said. “I don’t think he was into that sort of thing. Maybe someone gave it to him as a joke, I dunno. He had a lot of friends who were bikers.”
