𝐅𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐡𝐲 𝐇𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐬

two. | before/fourteen.

before
fourteen

"What are you doing today?" my sister Willow inquires from the kitchen table. Her feet are dangling over the side of a second chair, while she sips on a steaming cup of coffee. It's probably ninety outside, and she's drinking hot coffee like some psycho. Her dark hair is wet, like she just climbed out of the shower, wetting her tank top.

"Might go meet Tilly at the beach," I murmur.

"Isn't the last bus that way leaving in like ten minutes?" she glances over her shoulder at the clock hanging above the stove.

I shrug. "I'd ride my bike."

I'm not going to the beach to meet Tilly.

Tilly and I haven't been friends since Christmas.

"Want me to drop off some dinner before my shift?" she offers.

"Whatever," I say. "There's some soup I think."

"Pizza?" Willow ignores me.

"Are you trying to bribe me into cleaning?" I eye the living room that is covered in red solo cups and all the cushions from the couch are decorating the floor.

Willow rolls her pretty eyes. "I will clean," she assures me. "I'm just trying to be nice. You'll be alone tonight."

"It's not as if it's the first time," I remind her.

"Alright," Willow waves a white flag. "Text me if you change your mind about pizza."

I finish filling up the water bottle I'd pulled from the drying rack by the sink. "Sure," I call, heading out the door.

Where am I going?

What a wonderful question.

I don't know the answer most days.

I just get on my busted little cruiser and go. The tires squeak but if I ride fast enough you can't even tell. I could ride down to the beach, maybe get a snow cone on the boardwalk. I can think of worse ways to waste my day.

The chances of seeing anyone from school are always fifty-fifty but I don't really mind all that much. Tilly marked me with a scarlet S so that normally means one of two things. The first being the girls staring at me with disgust and the boys praying I look their way for longer than five seconds. I'm not what Tilly claims but what point is there in clearing my name?

The last girl that tried was bullied so bad; her parents sent her to live with an aunt two states away. And the irony being she was what they claimed. Only I don't think in those terms.

What makes a slut?

I don't really know to be honest. I know what Willow does but I'd never call her that. It's her body to do with as she chooses, why is it any different for me or that other girl?

Anaca's voice echoed in my brain for some reason.

"Fourteen."

Either way, it doesn't seem worth it to me. Just like stealing a few bucks from Willow's stash. The outcome is inevitable. Girls are mean and teenage boys are hormonal.

Neither were going to stop me from getting a snow cone, I suppose.

After the hour ride, I neared the boardwalk and I let my arms fall out to my sides. The breeze from my speed whipping through my hair as I took the risk of crashing at any moment.

Another little defiance.

I know better.

But I do it anyway.