School is in session. They better know what’s up.
I walk the hallway, and everyone looks up to me, they all nod and I give them a slight head tilt. Most if not all of these high school kids are shorter than I am, that’s why they lift their chin high enough as if I was a freaking giraffe walking by and they don’t wanna get stomped on.
I’m Daryl “Dub” Dent. I’m a Six Foot Two, One Hundred Eighty-Five pounds of lean muscles, well, with two percent body fat.
I’m a senior in High School. Kids in my school call me Dub because I’m undefeated in all of my Judo matches. I earn and collect Ws, and I generously give away Ls for free. My father calls me Dub because I used to say, “Ya-ba-DUB-ba-doo,” all the time when I was a kid.
But to my buddy and me, Dub means double life. I am a prizefighter after school. Not the UFC kind being promoted today by Dana White, but the old one where venues remain secret till it’s thirty minutes before the fight begins.
But I don’t want to think about my double life right now. Right now I’m more worried about meeting the new girl. I hear she’s from Cali. Not from southwest of Bogotá, but California; hope she’s got L.A. face with an Oakland booty.
It’s so hard to pimp stroll wearing a blue blazer, white dress shirt, skinny stripe tie and grey slim-fit polyester pants. I’m like an H&M (Hogwarts & Millennials) “Harry Potter” model.
Private school sucks. I’m glad the Principal’s son manipulated his mother to amend the rule about wearing church shoes. So, props to J-Yo.
How are we supposed to swag out looking like scholastic corporate robots in training? Yo, it’s impossible. Thanks to J-Yo, I’m rocking sick Js with my mandated outfit. You think this will somehow make me stand out, right?
Wrong, this ain’t a public school in Omaha. I’m no longer in the “Wizard’s” ‘hood. I’ve been stuck here on foreign soil. It looks like I’m gonna finish High School here in the land of the “Rising Sun” and the birthplace of “Samurai” warriors. Being in a private school is already expensive, factor-in the costs of tuition in a foreign school, that “unko” adds up.
I shouldn’t complain though. If it weren’t for my father’s brilliant mind, I wouldn’t be living like “The Fresh Prince of Okinawa.”
But that’s all a front. I’m nothing but a Samurai Warrior. I’m dispensable. See, the thing with being a Samurai is that you lead a helpless life.
“Yo, Dub! Over here.”
J-Yo waives and with his pointer finger gestures come hither.
Jordan Yoshida is the Shogun of my school.
His mother, Keiko Yoshida, is the principal, and his father, Lionel Sato, is publicly known as a Yakuza “kaikei” or Accountant. Sure, J-Yo’s pop’s is named after Lionel Richie because he grew up in Los Angeles and moved to Okinawa after meeting the love of his life. Mr. Sato ain’t a killer, but you know who is?
J-Yo’s uncle, Kazuo Yoshida.
I know people from the outside think I’m living the life. I party with local celebrities and on occasion Hollywood players. But, I don’t rub elbows with them. I’m entertainment. I’m a male version of a disgraced woman who bursts out of a cake. I attend the events because I have to beat the other guy to a pulp or I drink my meal out of a straw.
My life ain’t peaches and cream. I eat struggles for breakfast.
The kinda diet a warrior like I eat. So, yeah, people don’t really know the “Real Dub.”