They Rule the Streets

A group of teenagers about eighteen strutted their way down the streets of New York City, a swagger in their step like they owned the world. The men smirked as they passed a child of ten, who kept her eyes on her shoes as she rushed passed. One particular boy held out his right hand, snapping his fingers.

Instantly, the others gathered around him, poised to perfection. The leader was tall, his dark hair glittering in the sunlight. He sidestepped, leading the others downtown towards a local park where a few children were playing. The moment the gang entered the fenced in blacktop, the children fell silent.

“It’s the Cobras,” one girl whispered to her friends, the jump rope forgotten in her hands.

“Gabe Saporta,” another boy muttered in awe and fright, letting the basketball drop from his hands. It rolled across the sun-baked cement, stopping at one of the gang members.

The blonde haired boy scooped it up, bouncing it experimentally before passing it to another. The other, a tall African-American, caught it, passing it to another, this one with a curly mop of brown hair. With a swoosh, the ball was passed to the leader, who continued with the game. Dribbling and passing, they ignored their surroundings, until the ball landed in another boy’s hands.

This one had short-cropped hair and dark glittering eyes, slight stubble on his face. Behind him stood his own gang, just a fierce looking as the opposite. The summer air seemed to crackle with a fight, the tension so tight it could be cut with a broad sword.

Sensing trouble, the children fled, their possessions clutched tightly in their hands. One child, a girl, however, stayed behind, drawing on the ground with her piece of chalk. As she drew, the men glared each other down.

“Scram, Walker,” Gabe hissed, his dark eyes narrowed to slits. “This ’ere is Cobra territory!”

“Says who?” Jon smirked, bouncing the rubber ball once—twice—three times before tossing it to the side. Another boy caught it, a tall feminine like one.

“I says so,” Gabe snapped, arms crossed over his chest.

Jon shrugged before tilting his head to the side, a command to leave. The boy holding the ball passed it back to Jon, who moved as close to Gabe as he could get, a tiny sneer on his face. Before the Cobras could react, Jon slammed the ball into Gabe’s face, forcing him backwards into the arms of a tall brunette with large teeth, before they took off, hooting and cheering as they raced down the city streets.

The several Cobras lunged forward to chase, but Gabe stuck a hand out, anger burning in his eyes. He shook his head, checking his nose for blood. None. “We’ll get them,” he growled. “Just you wait…”

“But Gabe--” a medium sized brunette with fat lips pouted.

“Can it, Brendon,” Gabe snarled, cutting him off with a snap of his fingers. “Tonight, at the gym.”

“But that’s neutral territory!” another protested. Gabe smirked, bouncing the ball once.

“I’m gonna play nice, Sisky Biz, I’m only gonna challenge ’em!” Gabe laughed, taking off towards the metal play structure. The others followed, eagerly awaiting details about their newly planned rumble.

“What’re you gonna do, Gabe?” the African-American asked almost lazily as their leader swung up onto the structure.

“Simple Travie, a rumble for the territory! Winner gets all, losers…well, those Mets’ll find out soon enough!” Gabe crowed as the others cackled and hooted, slapping high fives. “And against the Mets, we’ll need every man we got!”

“What ’bout Bill?” an Australian one questioned over the shouts, brushing his blode hair out of his eyes. The others quieted down, listening to hear what Gabe had to say.

“Yeah! He never shows up, he ain’t hardly even a Cobra!” the big toothed one protested. “He don’t belong any more!”

“He’ll be there, Ryland,” Gabe promised, one hand over his heart, his eyes faintly narrowed. “Now I know Bill like my own brother, and I tell ya, he’s still a Cobra. Hell, I and Bill created the Cobras! And if I hear one bad word ’bout him, I’ll sock ya face in! Do I make myself clear?”

“Yeah,” they replied, weary of the threat. Gabe always carried them out, no matter what.

“Now I’mmah go find Bill. The restuh y’all, scat!” Gabe commanded, jumping down. “And walk tall!”

“We always walk tall, we’re the Cobras!” Zack and Spencer shouted, tossing their arms up in a cheer. The gang separated, Gabe headed to find Bill, while the others ran off to cause as much mayhem as possible before the dance at the gym that night, and the night of their newly acquitted War Council.