Walk Away h.s punk/au

10.

I bit the end of my eraser chewing on the metallic wrap. There was a churning deep inside that wrenched and pulled at my gut. The words on the pages in front of me were pointless. They clouded together rearranging to one word and one word only, Harry. His name pulsed through me as the day ticked on. The word of his appending fight spread quickly.

My phone buzzed on my bed pulling me from my dazed mind set. Tiffany texted me: Hey, we’re going to come get you.

Why? I typed in response. They didn’t like Harry, why would they want to go? It must’ve been for Dylan. They’d go for him, for moral support.

The fight. You need to be there.

Sighing, I pushed myself off the bed crossing to my closet. Fingering through the hangers I searched for the right thing to wear to the fight. It was almost comical to me, the fact that I was concerned at what to wear, not what I was going to.

I pulled out one of the many muscle tees’ I had. Throwing it on me, I shimmed into a pair of jeans. Checking myself in the mirror I found myself wondering why. Why was I in the middle of this? Why couldn’t Dylan just leave me alone? More importantly, why was I even friends with him?

I sat at the rectangular paint splattered table bent over my work. The rowdy group of boys always did this, every day.

“Why is only this part in black and white?” the fat one asked.

“How’d you get so good?” the skinner slightly kinder one pressed.

“Why don’t you ever talk? Do we fluster you?” the leader asked sitting beside me. His varsity jacket advertised his team and presented the illusion of any actual talent. He leaned closer to be, pushing my hair away. I stiffened at the contact.

I wanted nothing more than to stab them with the ink pen I was using. “I don’t talk because if I did I would kill myself due to the boredom that would be flooded over me.”

“Oh you don’t think I’m interesting?” Dylan asked swishing his blonde hair. I remained silent. “What do you think of me?” he asked his eyebrows furrowing to a smolder.

“Honestly?” I asked looking up from the paper. He nodded. “I think you and you’re friends are stuck up pigs that need to burn because of how you treat people.”

The group groaned an “Oh” with laughter. All of them began nudging each other with their elbows.

“Coming from you? You’re a little-“