Pulling the car side handle, Eleanor gruffly opens the back door to reveal a girl sitting to the far left, leaning her head against the window. Next to her is a pale lanky looking boy lazily laying his head on her lap with his feet stretched out across the seat. They both look to be about Maeve's age.
"This is my best friend Mj so everyone be nice!" Eleanor crudely announces, then lightly taps the lanky boy's shoes. "Gonna have to move to the back, mate." She gestures to the hollowed out space behind the backseat, cluttered with instruments and heavy wound black cords.
The boy slowly gets up and cocks his head to the side, a clumsy sweet smile playing on his lips. His hair is a mess of russet curls falling over and tickling his foggy gray eyes. With his loose dangly limbs and a dreamy simple smile he reminds Maeve of this sloth she saw on a BBC nature documentary with her dad one day. The two had become obsessed with this adorable sloth named Gogo, watching an entire marathon focusing on the huggable mammal. Gogo would always wrap his arms around the host, David Attenborough, and give him a cute little smile with droopy eyes that would make her heart melt and her dad go, "What a bloody adorable little guy."
"No problem." The sloth boy says in a soft voice.
He leisurely swings his long legs over the tattered looking seats and pushes himself over with his scruffy looking white converses. He pops his head up and leans over the cushions next to the girl on the far left. The long sleeves from his cropped black hoodie pool around his hands and cover his fingers cutely as if he were a toddler rough housing in his dad's clothes.
"Will he be okay back there?" Maeve quietly asks.
Eleanor chuckles, carelessly waving her off. "He'll be fine. He usually prefers sitting back there anyway because there's more space for him to nap."
"Right..." She replies hesitantly before turning to the sloth boy and tossing him a polite wave. "Thanks." Maeve says shyly.
He sends her a kind smile and gently nods his head. The girl on the far left, continues to look down at a Nintendo Switch, dressed in a sparkly black acrylic case. Decorative black ring-like tattoos encircle her hands as she grips the mini console tightly with nimble fingers and stubby nails. She angrily mutters under her breath, pressing all sorts of button combinations as her screen flashes bright yellow in an array of punches and kicks. Her waist length flaming red locs, dangerously short black skirt, and the ankle length leather trench coat draping over her shoulders, makes her look quite striking. With smooth chestnut skin and round boxy lips, she is very pretty. And very punk. She looks like a model from one of those fashion editorials in Underground Conversations.
"In ya' go Mj. Oh and watch your step, there might be some stuff on the floor." Eleanor says, interrupting her thoughts.
Before she can respond, Eleanor rushes Maeve into the backseat, roughly slamming the door shut. The interior of the van is old and decrepit, consisting of foggy glass windows, old pop cans littering the car floor, and a lingering smell of stale crisp and ripe teenage sweat. Maeve eyes the various little orange tree air fresheners hanging off the drivers mirror. They are pale with partially scratched off pictures of a sliced coconut sitting in front of a peeling and desaturated sunset. She is pretty sure the sweet caribbean colada fragrance has long since been drained from their tiny artificial branches. Maeve slides into the back seat and sinks into the cushions, almost too soft for comfort. Babylon byThe Slits is playing loud on the radio, the catchy beat soaking into the fibers of her clothing and crawling into her ears. She buckles herself in with a tattered seatbelt tacky with a mysterious sticky substance. Gross. Eleanor leaps into the passenger seat before slamming her own door as well.
YOU ARE READING
The Differences Between a Violin and a Guitar
Fanfiction"Maeve Jennings." "Maeve." He says as if trying to figure out how her name felt on his tongue. He cocks his head to the side and gives her a sideways glance. "A bit boring, innit?" "Well...my one friend calls me MJ, although no one else really does...
