If The World Ends Tomorrow | ONGOING

𝒻𝒾𝓋𝑒

𝚠𝚎𝚍𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚍𝚊𝚢, 𝚓𝚞𝚗𝚎 𝟿𝚝𝚑

I vividly remember the first time I ventured from the swings to watch the older kids skate, the bars outlining the area leaving indents on my face where I'd smushed my face. 

The next day, I went to the thrift store with a bag full of quarters I'd fished out a waterfountain and bought a pair of skates, then I went back to to park, a mission to finish.  I approached the obvious leader of the bunch Jack Garcia, 15 years old at the time, he had a piercing on his bottom lip and both ears, he wore baggy pants that hung low on his hips, and no shirt.

Everyone knew him, he was the outcast of Peysle but that didn't stop all the girls from crushing on him including me. I remember exactly how he looked at 10-year-old me standing  on the concrete my feet wobbly in my too-big skates as I demanded he teach me to skate like the rest of them, it was a look of our amusement. I thought he'd tell me to go back to playing on the playset but instead, he nodded towards the dips and told me to give it a shot. 

I fell on my face of course, but we all start somewhere.

Wind whooshes through my hair, the blonde-colored curls(we can thank box-dye for that), whipping on the sides of my face. I always forget to tie my hair up, and I always end up regretting it.

"Keep those knees bent, Gizz," Jack drawls, a toothpick hanging out the corner of his mouth, it's never not in his mouth, not even when he's taking a puff.  

Back when I was younger people used to say he sleeps with it, they probably still say that. I asked him once, he didn't answer, just laughed.

"They are," I protest making my way over to him, going on my tiptoes so my skates stay steady. He passes me his joint, another thing he's never seen without, though this one is more likely to lead him to an early death. Not that I'm judging, we're on the same boat after all.

He raises his hands. "It's your knees, not mine."

I shove his shoulder handing him back his joint after a small puff. He draws the smoke into his lungs the toothpick still at the corner of his mouth, I still don't understand how he does that, I tried it once, almost landed with a toothpick wedged in the inside of my throat, it wasn't fun.

"Hey baby," he says when Chelsea comes over tucking herself under his arm, I wonder if he strings her along on purpose, or if he's just that clueless. She gives me a small smile, she has the slightest gap between her front teeth, she hates it, I think it's pretty. Jack holds the joint to her lips she takes a drag.

Jack's hasn't changed much in the past 7 years. Of course his voice is deeper, and he grows hair on his face, but he still dresses the same way, act's the same way even. Some would say he never grew up but he did, in the process he's lost a bit of his spark. 

Him and I are the same in that sense, maybe that's why we get along so well.

"So blonde, huh? Copycat much." I tease, nodding towards his orange hair, he changes his hair color more than I do, which is often. That being said I haven't changed my hair color in a while, I've just done touch-ups on it.

"Nah, it was the only color Marley had left." He runs his hand over his buzzed head, I've never seen his hair grow past an inch.

Chelsea tenses as she always does when Marley is mentioned, she hates Marley, 10 times more than she hates the gap in her teeth. I don't get why though, for one Marley would rather eat shit than get with Jack, second she likes girls. I think Chelsea feels threatened by her, she's one of the people that Jack lets close, in a completely different way than he lets Chelsea.