Dirty Drivers

Chapter 7

Gon's POV

We hop the fence carefully, rattling the chain under the darkened sky. Burrs from the grass and weeds stuck to socks and pant legs as we trekked quietly downhill through the woods. The grass whispered in the breeze and crickets sang from the dirt, occasionally getting interrupted by the croak of a frog, or a chilly gust of wind.

The broken path wasn't lit and was only followed by instinct and habit. The ground vibrated slightly beneath my feet and goosebumps erupted from my legs to my neck. The cool night breeze ruffled my hair and carried the scent of burnt rubber and bbq from down the hill. Boomboxes screamed and pumped out music from the lit center below the trees, creating a rhythm in the earth below it that pulsed at my feet.

Rocks and asphalt crunched under my Chucks as our group slowly made our way through the trees, the large stadium lights peeked from the cracks in the branches and leaves of the overgrowth. I heard a few whispers from in front of me and the slowing down of foot steps.

Killua came into view next to me and walked along side my uneven stride. We occasionally would bump shoulders, or brush hands, or sneak a glance at one another. I took notice of when his breath would stifle if the wind stopped blowing, then he would stuck it up back in his throat, as if he were embarrassed to be heard breathing, embarrassed to reveal to me that he was still capable of human traits.

The more I was around him the more I realized he's just a nerd in a hot body. He mumbled around, and twiddled his thumbs, and had horrible eye contact skills. Which surprised me because of his jobs. If he acted geeky in school, instead of the cool, checking your car, calling me 'baby', type of guy, he definitely would have been bullied.

By me.

I look briefly at the group ahead of us as we suddenly were a few paces behind everyone else. I then peer down at his shoes, they are the same converse as mine. I smile and spoke aloud, "I like your shoes."

He slows and squints at our feet. I don't see the face he makes and instead I speed up, carefully sliding down the gradual slope.

I catch up with the group and a few seconds later Killua joins me. We don't speak again, but I could sense that Killua wanted to say something, but he was fighting what he would say.

We finally exit the trees and get greeted with the intense stadium lights. Headlights of cars lit up corners and food trucks. Smoke rose from grills and engines. People were grouped everywhere, chatting, wiping cars, eating, drinking. Some bobbed their heads to the 90's rock that was loudly played from a boombox. Picnic tables were set up and mosquitoes buzzed around yellow lanterns. Cheers and screams exploded from a set of bleachers as cars blew past the crowd. Men whistled and women howled to the sky.

"Looks like they've started some races," Ashton turned around to me. "I'm going to meet up with Palm at the truck. Show Killua around."

I nodded and turned to Killua. He was surveying the area with his hands in his pockets, his jaw was tense and his eyes darted from corner to corner. His lips were pressed in a tight line and I could hear his sped up breathing.

He was obviously uncomfortable, which surprised me. He's around people, strangers even, at almost every hour of the day. Was it the surroundings? Or the type of people? He started to sniff and brush his nose with his hand, then quickly retire it back into his pocket. He would shrug, on occasion, a shoulder up to his ear as if he were shaking off a phantom hand that would tickle his neck to annoy him. Or perhaps to make himself look smaller. His shoulder concealed his face, his existence, it made him not fit in, and seem too weak.

I frown at his behavior, I reach out to tap his wrist when he whips his head to look at me, wide eyed. I swallow,

"Follow me, I'll show you around."