"YOU'RE PRACTICALLY JUMPING with glee at the plan," Johnny points out as we exit Ap Chemistry. His usually non-existent voice surprises me as I slip my eyes on to him.
"Do I jump?" It's a dumb question because I do, when playing basketball but my point still stands in this situation.
"Does he glee?" Brooke asks, hung up on the least important part of Johnny's statement.
"Do you think this is good though? We all know you were in love with her." He ignores the both of us, as we slip past yet another group of huddled friends who are conceited enough to stop walking in the middle of the hallway.
My smile falls as quickly as a house of cards. "I was never in love with her."
"Come on, Tate." Johnny begins, eyeing me with disbelief at my lack of awareness. "Not this again. I thought we accepted your feelings towards Lola when she first got with Whitaker. You were a mess."
I like him better silent.
"That never happened." It really did and I'd appreciate it if these people who are supposed to be my friends would stop bringing it up. It's pathetic to have to think about on a daily basis.
"You went on a two-week bender," Brooke finds the need to notify me as I wasn't aware.
"Swimming bender," I interject. "I'm not an alcoholic."
"You don't swim," Johnny says the same time that Brooke groans out "You looked like a fucked up prune!"
The latter begins to run his calloused fingers all over me. "This skin," Brooke touches my hands, my face, my arms, "Shouldn't prune. Especially not at the age when you're supposed to fuck your way through life."
I draw back from him with a cocked head. "I don't think that's what living is really about but it's nice knowing what life means to you."
"Oh my God," Brooke drops his head back and cries out to the hallway ceiling. "My guy, you have got to get laid. This talk of life and the circle of it and soul-fucking-seeing is getting me tensed up and I whacked one out this morning."
"That is so gross! And the next time you talk about your perverted sex life in the hallway how about you scan the crowd so you don't kill your younger sister with fucking blasphemy!" Myra Moore's raspy voice cuts through the air, which shuts up her older brother.
The sophomore is currently sporting what Brooke is calling 'karma' alongside a 'hermit-voice,' because of the back-to-back concerts she went to the week before school started. Truth be told, I don't know how the girl is still speaking.
Secretly, I wish she wasn't.
I'm already sporting a headache due to the rabid dog mom has forced upon me and its inability to sleep through the night without needing to pee all over my sheets.
"I'm perverted?" Brooke scoffs, eyeing down the girl who scarily resembles him. Even though they both won't admit it, the Moore's are as close to twins as you can be whilst being a year apart. They're like Irish twins. "You fall in love with men that are old enough to be grandma's boy toys, rat."
Myra flips all of her curly black hair over her shoulder as she stalks closer to us. "What did you just call me?"
I'm partially bracing myself to hear Brooke yell 'rat' over and over again. So I'm mildly surprised when he doesn't give in to the urges I know he's currently battling with.
"What do you want, brat?" He asks instead.
Myra crosses her arms over her cropped black top, which is bound to have her dress coded by the end of the day by Principal Rodriguez.
"Mom said it's your turn to take Jagger out on a walk."
Jagger is the beloved Labrador of the Moore's. He also weighs more than any dog probably should and is where my heavy dislike of dogs started. Johnny and Brooke call it a 'phobia,' but I haven't been afraid of anything since I was seven.
The realisation must dawn upon Brooke because he's all of a sudden going ballistic next to me. He's shaking, groaning, moaning — I wouldn't be surprised if he started foaming at the mouth. "No!" He whines, "Jagger's always trying to hump everything in sight, can't you just take him until he's neutered?"
"Only if you get neutered too."
A panicked sound makes its way to the back of Brooke's throat. "And deprive the beautiful female population at this school of Charles?"
"Charles?" Myra horrifedly repeats, "You named your dick, Charles?" Her mouth has dropped open as she sports a terrified look. "I'm related to a creep!" She cries.
Brooke turns to me with pleading eyes for a completely different reason. "You think Lola can handle one more dog?" He asks, his dark eyes widening and completely getting rid of the colour as his pupils dilate.
"Lola is taking care of your dog!" Myra pipes in, seemingly forgetting about the whole 'Charles' situation.
"No," Brooke and I chorus. Not because it has to be a secret but because Myra Moore is probably the biggest loudmouth at Westgate High. And that's surprising considering who her brother is.
"Yeah." Johnny answers a beat of a second later. His silence had nearly made me think he'd walked off, he's always doing that whenever Brooke and I get too loud.
I would take it as offensive if I didn't know Johnny better. The guy likes his peace.
"Traitor," Brooke venomously spits.
Johnny shrugs, his eyes still glued onto Myra who's got a wolfish smile arching at her lips. Oh no.
"Johnny?" She asks in that flirty voice of hers that had Brooke kick her out of any party of ours she's managed to sneak into.
Be strong, Johnny. Be strong. I repeat in my head as I try and catch his eyes but it's hopeless whenever he's looking at the she-devil.
"Yeah?" His voice is even.
Yes, Johnny.
Myra tilts her head to the side and looks up at him from beneath her long lashes. "Can you please tell my brother that it's his turn to walk our sexually liberated dog, who should be allowed to keep his private parts?"
Don't fold, Johnny. Don't fold Johnny. Do not fold, Johnny.
"What'll you do for me, if I do?" The bastard asks, his voice dipping down into hoarse territory.
Fuck me.
"Don't be disgusting," Brooke gags, before taking a step forward and pushing his sister away from us. "Shoo, go traumatise unsuspecting freshman or something. And unfold your skirt!" He calls out.
To both spite him and possibly torture poor Johnny, Myra folds her already short pleated denim skirt higher. "Unfold your ugly face!" She flips him off, as she joins the rest of her friends who are crowded her locker and talking amongst themselves.
One of them, Lyra? Gabby? Denise? I shake my head unable to recall her actual name but she sends me a wink.
I nod my head her way but look away to another
Beside me, Brooke is doing his best to educate Johnny about why he shouldn't fall for his 'wicked sister,' who 'looks like a dodo bird,' because of her 'peacock sized lashes,'
I want to tell Brooke to let it go, that Johnny is a dead man walking. I then want to shake some sense into Johnny and yell, 'haven't you learnt from me?' 'don't fucking fall for unavailable girls!' but both of us happen to be losers.
Surprisingly, Brooke is the exception.
Because I've skipped way too many Church weddings and am probably in need of a healthy rejuvenation in terms of humbling, the universe finds it necessary to have my eyes fall onto her.
Although, I should probably give up on blaming any sort of other power when it's a me thing. It's almost inevitable that I find her in any room at this point. Crowded or not.
Lola's in the middle of a conversation with coach's daughter. She also happens to work with Micaela Rodriguez so I guess they must be good friends.
They seem to be in some heated conversation that keeps getting interrupted by passing students who shoot Lola a pout and mumble words that have her smile back tense. Five hundred bucks they're muttering words of apologies.
I can tell it bothers her because, with each passing student, her fist begins to grow tighter. I wonder if her nails break the skin on the palms of her hands.
"Loles!" I call out. The nickname is foreign on my tongue but the rest of the kids in the hallway don't need to know that.
Her head swivels over her shoulder and it's in the seconds when her eyes meet mine that I realise she isn't in the same top as she was when I'd first picked her up from hers.
The maroon singlet with the half-cut jacket or whatever the hell it was she was wearing is currently non-existent.
Instead, Lola's sporting an oversized mustard-yellow t-shirt that has some unknown band name written over it.
The bewilderment slips off her face at the nickname I've just called her, and she replaces it with casual confusion at why I'm calling her.
She along half the hallway stopped mid-conversation as she faces me.
"Yeah?" She hums. It'd be almost impossible to hear her with how quietly she's just talked.
"Come here," I gesture over to where Brooke, Johnny and I are with a nod of my head.
I don't catch exactly what she's saying to Micaela Rodriguez but knowing her it's probably some variation of an apology.
I'm no stalker so I can't be too sure, but it always seems like half of her vocabulary is made up of the word 'sorry.'
I usher her over to one of the corners where someone's closed locker acts as a pillar for me to lean on. Lola shuffles over and crosses her hands over her body. The mustard top scrunches up as she squeezes herself.
"What's with the ugly top?"
She swallows down a frown, "I got dress-coded."
It takes me a second to register the information. Lola got dress-coded? Miss 'I'm so scared of getting a detention' got dress-coded? Miss 'I will die if even one teacher looks at me the wrong way' got into trouble because of the clothes she was wearing?
"What? You were covered though?"
"Tell that to Miki's Mom. Principal Rodriguez is against like any collarbones showing...and boobs," she adds the latter as an afterthought.
I think back to what she looked like in the morning. "Huh," She isn't lying there.
"Is it really that ugly, though?" She asks, "It was between this or a Nirvana shirt and I'm not being asked to list seven songs that aren't Teenage Spirit."
"Smells Like Teen Spirit."
If her brows could dip any further I'd be afraid they'd block her vision. "What?"
"That's the song title," I begin, "It's not 'Teenage Spirit,' it's 'Smells Like Teen Spirit.'"
Lola lets out a loud groan at that, "Ugh, see!" She throws her hands up, "This is what I would've had to deal with if I'd chosen the Nirvana shirt."
"It's not bad," I answer her earlier question. It's downright ugly, but Lola somehow makes it work.
"Not bad?" She breathes out, running a hand down her pretty face. "How am I supposed to act like Amos has lost a catch when I'm 'not bad,' he's going to celebrate losing me now."
Not possible. I don't even think someone as stupid as Amos is completely unaware of the loss he's got on his hands. "It's not a big deal, Lola. It's just a shirt."
"A shirt that makes me look like a condiment," She seethes. "Oh, you want a hot dog? Sure, here's a side of Lola to squirt on you." I draw back at that and once Lola realises what she's just said she does too. "God," she deflates, letting her eyes fall shut. "I did not just say that."
I can't help but let my shoulders shake at that, "Squirt on me?" I laugh, "Good one, Lola."
"This is so not my day," she sinks into herself.
"I don't think yesterday was your day either, if that helps."
She shoots a hard glare my way. "Do you feel no compassion towards me?"
"Fine, fine." With care I didn't know I still harboured, I shrug off my light grey hoodie that has some variation of 'save our planet' written across it in white letters. Mom got it for me at some shop in some airport in you guessed it...some country.
"Here," I hand it out to Lola, who's currently eyeing the hoodie as if it's disease-ridden.
Her mouth hangs ajar and I feel my eyes zone into her lips as they attempt to form words. "I can't—" she finally breathes out.
"You can't...?"
I press the hoodie in her hand and crane my head down so that my lips hover near her ear. "Everybody's watching, so you better not reject me."
When I pull away, Lola's accepted the hoodie with a nod. "Thank you."
"Anytime."
Lola isn't short but she doesn't have anything on my six foot-two self either, or at least I think I'm six foot two. I haven't checked my height since sophmore year. The point is, when she slips out of the atrocious yellow-tshirt that really does need to be burned and drags my hoodie down her frame it's a bit of a funny sight. She doesn't look like she's necessarily swimming in it or anything, but it does pool down past the cute little fold that was at the waistband of her leggings.
Lola must think of something bad because her eyes widen and her lips part. "Oh, shit."
I feel a frown etch onto my face. "What's wrong?" My voice has gone quieter at her distress.
She takes her bottom lip between her teeth. It's a nervous tick of hers I've always hated. It does some weird shit inside of my ribcage.
"It's Amos," She whispers.
"What about him?"
"You don't know?"
I shake my head, "Clearly not."
She rolls her eyes and I repress my amusement at that. For someone so obsessed with being so nice all the time, she sure can get snappy with me. "Apparently, he's saying all kind of shit," she murmurs, holding the now-scrunched-up mustard shirt against her chest.
I mimick her stance, and cross my arms over myself. "What'd you mean?"
Her brows knit together, "I think he's going to fight you."
"Your ex-boyfriend isn't going to do shit to me," I reassure her.
"Yeah, how about you say that to his face?"
The familiar voice has me turning around and eyeing Amos with a bored look. "You aren't going to do shit to me." I repeat, blankly.
Does he think I'm scared of him? He makes my mom's dog look vicious and Biscuit is a wimp of an animal.
The curly-headed boy squares up his shoulders and airs out his already buff chest. I want to tell him that I know he's got muscle, and this whole display isn't going to scare me, but I'm partially amused at his confidence so I let him have it.
"Do you know who you're talking to, Tate?" His deep voice growls.
"Yeah, I'm pretty sure I do." I've gone to school with Amos ever since Mom moved us here after she got married to Cole.
Amos Whitaker is the kind of guy who doesn't know that bad things happen in the world. He lives in the bubble that his rich mommy and daddy have planted him in, which isn't a bad thing. In fact, kudos to his parents for shielding him from anything bad. The problem, however, starts with his incompetence in knowing that his actions have consequences and the 'perfect' world he's been living in, doesn't exist.
"You think you're so funny?" It's a question, but he's posing it like a statement.
"Sometimes," I answer truthfully.
A frustrated flush deepens under Amos's light-brown skin. His rage is quick to settle but is probably justified by my snarkiness. I can be a little bit of a shit sometimes.
"Did you not hear me the first time, Bridgers?" He cocks his head to the side, "Do. You. Know. Who. I. Am?"
Brooke's loud and unapologetic laughter breaks whatever daze Amos and I must be in. "Sorry," He apologises. "But of course he knows who he's talking to. Do you think he got like aphantasia between yesterday and today or something?"
My straying attention has me noticing that a small crowd has started to form around Amos and I. Just great.
Amos looks at Brooke as if he's dirt underneath his shoe. "Keep quiet, Moore."
"It's Alzheimer not aphantasia," Johnny corrects underneath his breath.
I look back to Amos, "Don't tell him to shut up."
Amos isn't taller than me, but he is more buff so when he comes charging toward me I think it's best to stand up from my leaning on locker position, which I've been talking to him in this entire time.
"What are you going to do? Fight me?" I ask in a genuinely bored tone. I'm not scared of Amos. How a girl like Lola ever ended up with him still confuses me. It's not even intellect wise but just in general, he's just so...bland.
Fighting him is going to stir up an inconvenience I don't really want on the second day of school. I'm also not a huge fan of fighting because Mom is always crying by the end of it, and I really hate to make her upset. Then, there's Cole who despite not being my real dad always gives me a speech on knowing better.
"If you keep touching my girl I just might."
"I'm not your girl," Lola interjects from beside me.
"Don't you see what he's doing, Lola?" Amos grits, his chest is rising up and down so fast I'm surprised his button-up shirt hasn't ripped open.
"He's being a loyal friend. Of course, you can't see that."
I'm mildly impressed with the dig, but I don't show it.
Amos scoffs, "The fucking tall freak doesn't just want to be your friend and you're my girl, Lola. Remember that before you do anything you might regret."
I flash him my teeth in a sincere smile, "Your girl, huh? Who's top is she wearing?"
On cue, Amos's eyes flicker down to the hoodie. His eyes darken further as he puts two and two together.
Thank God, for a second I thought I was going to have to spell out that it was mine. You can never be too sure with boys like Amos, they're a bit dim.
"The dumbass has always liked you! Don't give in to sin."
Sin? He's calling me 'sin.' The urge to laugh in his face and tell him to fuck off burns deep within, but I know that isn't what Lola would want. She doesn't want a spectacle. She just wants to get rid of the attachment she has to Amos, us fighting won't give her that.
But 'dumbass' and 'sin,' is he five?
My thoughts must translate to my friends because when I meet both Johnny and Brooke they're both pressing their lips to hold down their laughter.
"Dumbass?" Brooke finally breaks.
"At least I'm not dumb enough to get caught cheating." The guy got sniped on fucking camera and he's calling me dumb? Not that I would ever cheat but I mean isn't rule one of that not getting photographed?
The snickers from other students momentarily fuel my ego. I look down at Lola to gauge her reaction, but she isn't there.
Instead, I meet Amethyst's glare. She's shaking her head before turning on her heel to storm off and most likely chase after her best friend.
Shit.
____________________________
a/n
oops.