Swim Good

Hey! I'm back again with a new story. Enjoy!

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Chapter 1

Kennedy's point of view

I sat at the back of the bus and smiled as I watched some spices get on. My friend Jasmine nudged me and started talking louder trying to get their attention. I swear she is such a beg.

"So for Ryan's shubbz I'm going to wear some peng bodycon dress. I know I'm gonna look bare peng but it reveals a lot of my chest don't you think Kenni?"

I swear Jasmine is so self centred, sometimes I wonder why I call her my friend. I gave her some straight face. KMT. this foolish goat just baited my name out. I swear that is the shit I don't like. She soon realised I wasn't gonna answer her and she then turned to her group of skets and continued her conversation.

I plugged in my headphones and listened to The Weeknd's beautiful voice and waited for my stop. Jasmine had dragged me to the shopping centre with a bunch of her friends stating that I don't socialise. The truth is I don't . Well I don't socialise with the dumb yutes at my college because they are all hood rats. By now you're probably thinking that I am some stuck up bitch. If you thought that then that's were your wrong.

I live in Peckham with my mum, dad and my little sister Chantae. We seem like a simple happy family but the truth is we aren't . There is someone missing, which is my older brother Jamal. Jamal was the life of the party. He was loud, a joker and loved to have a good time. He loved to mess around and it seemed like yesterday when he was sitting on the wall bussing joke with his mandem. He was really talented when it came to music and art and he just loved to be happy. He always used to say "what's the point being alive if you're not gonna live? Imma live my life to the fullest cos I might be gone too soon." and he was. Jamal was gone to soon. Him being a loud mouth got him into to much trouble, which ended up with him being six feet under. I remember the day of his funeral. All his ex wifeys were crying their eyes out and my mum was parring his murders in Yoruba. My dad stood with no emotion evident on his face and my little sister sat on my lap smiling. She was too young to understand. I watched as they buried my brother. Tears streamed from my eyes blurring my vision. That day I made a promise to myself never associate or get involved with hood rats. They are nothing but trouble. The day my brother died was the day I died. Not physically but mentally. I was never the same. All life and happiness seeped from me when the police announced my brother was shot. That was 5 years ago.

"Ayy!" my thoughts were interrupted by some ugly squeaky voice. I looked up and saw some ugly black girl with long weave that looked like it had been deep fried.

"Can you move your bag." It took me a while to process what she meant until I realised that my bag was on a chair opposite and she wanted to sit down. I was about to move it when this ghetto girl decided to catch unnecessary attitude.

"Hurry the fuck up! Move your fucking bag you stupid bitch."

Jasmine had stopped mid sentence and was about to start parring when the spices I had mentioned earlier decided to speak up.

"Ayy Kayla man sit your ass down on another seat and shut the fuck up."

"Alie. Kayla just chill man."