The Underground Kids

Sanders V.S Summers.

Leroy's P.O.V
Monday Afternoon...

I was abruptly woken up by my mom barging into my room.

"Leroy wake the hell up! Why am i getting told that you were fighting last night at a party?!"

I could barely open my eyes. I sit up in my bed and rub my eyes to look at her.

"Ma it was nothing." i say in a tone of rasp.

"This isn't nothing Leroy! The cops showed up, and you call that nothing? Theres a video that keeps surfacing on my phone!"

"Im sorry ma i had jus-"

"And what happened to your face?! Your eye is swollen, your nose is bruised, and your lip is busted. Who did this to you?" She asked with her hands on her hips.

"Nobody."

"Oh, so your picking fights with ghosts now? Tell me who hit you or i'll call Melissas parents and ask Melissa myself."

"Luke." I mumbled.

"Why are you whispering? You talking to the ghost that whopped your ass? Speak up."

"Luke. The guy that i was fighting in the video was Luke."

"Oh this oughta be interesting and convenient for the simple fact that he's across the street."

My mom starts marching out of my room and going down stairs.

"Mom where are you going?" I said rushing out of bed.

"To go ask Mr. & Mrs. Summers why their son's beating on my kid!" She responded in anger.

I quickly got out the bed and put on the closest pair of pants i could find. I quickly followed behind her in grey sweats and a black tank top.

As soon as we walk outside walking straight towards their house, Mr. & Mrs. Summers opens the door and starts walking towards us. Me and mom along with Mr. & Mrs. Summers with Luke, all meet up on the pavement on their side of the street.

"Gladys, i needa have a word with you." Mr. Summers said crossing his arms over his chest.

He looked like your cliché wealthy father you'd see in the movies. Nice khaki slacks, light green button up shirt tucked into his pants, securing his pot belly, and a baby pink sweater tied around his neck like a 6 year old with a cape.

"Your absolutely right Benny because there are a few things i wanna say to you." My mom responds.

"Oh cut your crappin' Gladys. We know your son hit Luke first, he's always been a hot head."
Mrs. Summers said in her southern accent.

Mrs. Summers was no different than Mr. Summers.  She had a long sleeve silk button down shirt tucked into a pink pencil skirt that sat right under her kneecaps. She also had a pair of matching 1 inch heels and a thin pink headband that sat behind the overly excessive hair bump she purposely made, to make it look like she had volume. But we all know the truth. Mrs. Summers hair is thinning, and Mr. Summers started balding 10 years early. He try's to cover it up with a tupé, but like i said before, we all know the truth.

"Don't you dare try to pin this on my son! From the sounds of it, I believe Luke threw the first punch."

"My little Lukey Pie would never lay a finger on that boy. He wouldn't hurt a fly. And if he did punch your son, it was most likely for self defense."

I see the apple doesn't fall very far from this privileged tree.

"Lukey pie? Really Martha? Your sons is 18 years old, and you can't just call him Luke? And if your son is so innocent, how the hell does my son have a black eye, a bruised nose, and a busted lip and your sons gotta couple little scratches? Make it make sense Martha!"