Distance {C.G}

One: Wheelchair Rides

I was walking down the shit of a street sidewalk which was coated with cracks. I needed to get away from that fucking house. My deadbeat of a dad can't just do whatever the fuck he wants.

My arms are crossed over my chest and I'm looking down, trying not to attract attention. I don't usually want to leave the house, especially if I don't have to, because I'm not very social and I don't have many friends, but sometimes I have to because of everything that is going on in my life and I can't stay with those shit parents in that house.

I continued to walk down the street until I'm hurled to the ground after some kid bumps into me and spills some drink all over my shirt. It's not like I have an extra shirt with me; it's the middle of a freaking summer day.

"What the fuck?" I asked, irritated and frustrated as I looked down at my shirt to see a green stain - is that kale, who the fuck drinks kale? - but then my attention changed to the kid sprawled on the sidewalk ground, trying to pick up the shit he dropped everywhere.

I didn't recognize him, but he was scrawny and looked like a geek. I stood up angrily and stared at him.

"I'm sorry. I wasn't looking."

"You sure weren't," I laughed, kind of cynically. I glanced down at the stuff he was scrambling to pick up; there were twenty dollars lying there, so I picked it up quickly. "Don't bump into me again or I'll take more next time or maybe beat your ass, fuck face," I shook my head at his freaking idiocy and pushed him back down to his backpack.

People know not to fuck with me. I once beat up a girl so bad for calling me crazy. There are also so many rumors about me, which some of them are true, but they still know not to mess with whether or not they are. Since it's not that big of a school or neighborhood -at least our neighborhood since Chicago is fucking gigantic- you still bump into people you don't know sometimes, but if you don't know who to not fuck with, you're screwed.

I rushed passed the kid and suddenly I heard a weird whizzing sound. A wheelchair came up next to me and it had Carl Gallagher in it.

I've known him most of my life because I live down the block from him in the better ghetto part of Southside Chicago, but we haven't really connected or anything like that. Yeah, we've talked, but we don't do it on purpose unless we're bored in class or in detention. We seem to be there a lot though.

"That was pretty badass, Cooper," he said, using my last name and I rolled my eyes and continued walking.

"What do you want, Gallagher?" I asked, using his last name to mock him. I must sound very irritated, but that's not really new. It just was more than usual.

"Just want to talk. When did you get all tough?"

I laughed, annoyed. I've always been like this; I had to be.

"That wasn't my badass. That was just me because some shit face spilled what I think is a kale drink on me, that could be been a lot worse, but I'm just not in the mood today."

"Okay, okay," was all he said and I rolled my eyes once again and ignored him.

"When did you break your leg and why are you in a weird wheelchair that you probably stole from a grandma?" I asked, changing the subject because he clearly wasn't leaving me alone, so I stopped walking and looked at him as I crossed my arms.

"Shut up, it's a sick ride, and it helps with the ladies," he bragged, making this weird head and chest movement which was a total dude move to which I laughed at. "But I did steal it from some old dude."

"Nice."

"I know," he smirked, but when he saw I did not care he changed the subject, "but I'm going to the public pool later if you want to come?" He asked and I raised my eyebrows.