hey guys. i'm writing a new book because i can't fix the horrendousness that was my last book. i'll try my hardest to make this book the best i possibly can, but help me out. i love getting feedback!
thank you so much, and enjoy!
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There was a cool breeze as the beat up '67 Impala whipped down the highway, windows rolled all the way down. The smoke was originally going out the gaping hole, but now was forgotten about and was floating through the almost empty interior. A man, about forty was driving, one hand on the wheel, one holding the lit cigarette. He was slouched on the door, giving a sense of ease and boredom. The girl, sixteen, twists the hem of her old, worn Beatles shirt. Her right leg unconsciously moves over to lay across her left, which she easily maneuvers courtesy of her worn somewhat tight dark jeans. Curls of chestnut colored hair fall from below her beanie, as she shifts to scoot farther from the smoking man.
"What's your problem?" the man harshly asks, frightening the girl from her thoughts.
She moves to answer, but he slams the brake to avoid a collision with a red mustang.
"WATCH WHERE YOU'RE GOING, A**HOLE! I'M F*CKING DRIVING HERE!" The man uses his left hand to launch an empty beer can at the luxury car, but it swerves just before contact.
The man settles back into his previous position, muttering curse words under his breath. They ride for fifteen more minutes until they finally reach the brick building, which is surrounded by herds of teenagers. The groups are only aware of what one another are saying, oblivious to the other lives going on around them.
The girl jumps out of the truck before it reaches a complete stop, shuts the door, and jogs away before anyone could notice where she came from. She looks herself over, and realizing what she must smell like, rushes to a bathroom where she practically bathes in perfume. After convincing herself she no longer smells like toxic odors, she hoists her backpack onto her shoulders, and makes her way to the edge of the milling crowd.
She is spotted by a small cluster of girls and boys, she counts four, and they motion her over. She cautiously makes sure they're talking to her, and they just smile and laugh a little and continue the motion.
There is a hesitation in her step as she's reminded what happened at all the schools before. She ignores her conscience and joins the group.
"Oh. My. God. You're so pretty I could just eat your face!" she turns to face a girl with blonde hair and laughing green eyes. "And your hair is to DIE FOR!"
"Thank you?" she replies, not completely sure how to answer, "I grew it myself."
This comment earns a few chuckles and she commits a small smile and looks around.
There is a girl with her black hair pulled back into a braid. When the girl turns, she catches a glimpse of blue tips.
A boy, seemingly her age is flicking his pencil around on a sketch book. As she peers over at it, she notices similar features to her own. Then she realizes it's a picture of herself.
Next in the circle is another boy who looks like he should be posing in magazines instead of talking with a group of weird kids in front of a high school. He's wearing black skinny jeans and his dark hair curls slightly at the end, which he has used to create the "messy" look. The last thing she notices is his Twenty-one Pilots t-shirt. It reminds her of last summer and the concert that brought her to tears. She had been dying to see them for over four years, and she had finally gotten the okay.
The girl moves closer to the handsome dark-haired boy and asks, "Have you ever been to a concert?", motioning to his shirt.
He glances down and looks at her as he says, "Yeah, just once though. You like them?"
She fakes a gasp, "I do, if you must know. I went to one this summer, and it was so amazing."
He stares in mocking shock, "Wait, so you mean you don't just wear Beatles merchandise, you also jam out to 21P!" She looks at him and can't help but giggle.
He breaks into a grin as the bell signaling the start of classes sounds. "If you ever want to listen to some other great music, or just hang want a friend, hit me up, okay?" He reads her his number as she quick jots it down on a piece of notebook paper.
"Wait, I never caught your name..." He trails off.
"Carter," she replies with a blush.
"Pretty," he says, grinning. "Mine's Jason."
