𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐁𝐀𝐆 ✷ rodrick heffley (✓)

17. persistence

❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜
chapter seventeen: persistence

[a/n]: hi guys! CLARA IS BACK AND BETTER THAN EVERRR!!
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( 🥥🐚🌺 )

𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･━━━ GREG HEFFLEY WADDLES DOWN THE CONCRETE to the barbed wire fence protecting the Plainview Country Club from outsiders such as the one he is about to allow inside. He shivers from the cold, shaking his freshly wet hair out of his forehead before swinging the fence open and calling Rodrick's name.

Rodrick's face appears -- as if by magic -- out of the lid of a large green dumpster, an unmistakable odor wafting from the bags of trash laying inside. Greg scrunches his nose; as a middle school boy, he is no stranger to unpleasant scents, but this is crossing the line. "Hello, guv'nor," Rodrick greets in a terrible English accent, "top of the crumpet to you. Where's the nearest loo, mate? Mustered up a wee little tinkle."

Greg merely shakes his head at his brother and swings the gate open once more, making sure to rush a little bit ahead so the members back at the pool don't think he's associated with Rodrick. He isn't exactly the most posh person out there, that's for sure.

𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･━━━ "NO FUCKING WAY IS RODRICK HEFFLEY lounging about at the same country club we happen to be at," Heather coughs out, lowering her sunglasses to ensure that she hasn't been hallucinating. Despite her rather poor eyesight (no one has to know, though, since she wears contacts), she can still see Rodrick's blurry silhouette laying on a pool chair.

"There aren't that many country clubs in Plainview, Hills, where else would he be?" Lisbeth snarks, spreading a liberal amount of sunscreen onto to legs, squinting her eyes through the blinding sunlight to catch a glimpse.

"You know what I mean, Lizzy. I never expected to see him at a country club at all. He's just so...not the type," Heather says, avoiding a more blunt way of explaining it.

"You mean he's an unpresentable, lowlife sloth?" Lisbeth confirms. "Yeah, I know exactly what you mean." She taps the cover of Haley's novel (To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee) to grab her attention. "Look at that, it's your beau."

"Don't say 'beau,'" Haley insists, scrunching her nose in disgust, like she's just caught a whiff of something foul. "And he isn't relevant enough to be talking about him this long. He's probably just here because Greg is." Haley returns to her book, absentmindedly flipping the page.

"Greg? That little perv who won't leave my sister alone? And they're both having a jolly old time at our country club? Like hell, they are!" Heather protests.