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s o n g s : the less I know the better, hot rod
"Got everything packed?" I hurriedly moved about, hunting for my waiter uniform. "Yep," Logan replied with a yawn and leaned against the wall, his school bag slung over his shoulder as he observed me. "Packed everything yourself?" he quipped, raising an eyebrow, and a smirk playing on his lips. "Sure did," I retorted, cramming the waitress uniform into my bag, which, oddly enough, was stashed on one of the kitchen shelves.
I wonder who did that.
Grabbing my keys, I unlocked the door, headed towards the car and had Logan trailing behind me like a pup. "You know, you don't have to drive me to school everyday," he commented with a slight hint of annoyance, a casual shrug accompanying his words. "It's not like I'm planning a prison break in there," he mumbled, slouching into the driver's seat and letting out a dramatic exhale.
"I don't trust you anymore," I stated plainly, sliding into my white truck, fumbling around in my bag for the car keys for what felt like an eternity. "Lost them too?" he scoffed, gazing out of the window. That day was not exactly going my way; some would say I woke up on the wrong side of the bed. "Shut up," I warned, relief washing over me as I finally located the keys and started the engine.
"So, no smoking, no escaping to who knows where," I shot him an irritated glare, and he just chuckled, annoyed, running his hand through his hair. "This isn't funny," I declared, both hands gripping the wheel as we headed towards the school. "I'm dead serious right now. Break my rules, and you can kiss your surfboard goodbye." I warned, my determination evident. I had already found the perfect hiding spot. "Planning to stash it in that shelf by the stairs, huh?" he quipped, and I scoffed, fully aware that was precisely where I intended to hide it.
"Just shut up and listen to my damn rules," I snapped. "You know, parenting doesn't suit you," he remarked, and I gasped, shaking my head, giving him a sideways glance. "You know, white doesn't suit you," I shot back. He sported a white shirt, simple shorts, and a baby blue cap.
"How the heck doesn't white suit me?" he protested, assessing his own attire. "You look like a ghost," I explained, chuckling as he seemed mildly offended. "I'm tan," he argued. "Yeah right," I snorted, pulling up and parking in front of the school steps.
"I'll be picking you up; be on time," I nodded in his direction and watched him exit the car. "Bloody hell," he muttered before slamming the passenger door shut and strolling towards the school doors, where his friend group awaited.
I lingered for a moment, ensuring he entered the school before driving away.
-☆-
Heading towards the beach bar, I immersed myself in Micah Hayes' songs to set the vibe. Despite the artist's controversies, his music undeniably slapped. However, the question lingered in my mind: why did he choose our dance studio in Australia, leaving behind the glitz of LA?
