Pete
April 6th
"It's Friday."
I scoff, "yeah I'm aware."
My mother crosses her arm, raising an eyebrow.
"Since when do you talk to me like that?"
I groan, standing up off the kitchen stool. I hook my checkered backpack onto my back. I grab my waffle and take a bite, turning to walk out of the kitchen and ultimately out the front door.
"Pete." My mom whines.
I freeze, sighing.
I turn back to face her, "I'm sorry, ma...are you taking the car?"
A small, sweet smile forms on her lips, "all yours, hun."
And I smile back at her, "thanks."
"Grab a coat! It's supposed to snow today and all this weekend! I love you!"
"Alright, I will!" I don't take my coat, "love you too!"
And I'm off, grabbing the car keys out of the basket by the front door.
———
When I make it up to the library it's only 7:36. Classes start in like 25 minutes.
There's a few kids in here, all looking beat and tired—coffee in people's hands and headphone and earbuds on/in peoples ears.
All except the damn boy with the brunette hair and ocean eyes.
Patrick was asleep on the table.
I physically sigh because I feel kinda bad for him, he looks so exhausted.
Travie, Brendon, and Dallon aren't here. Fuck.
I got here too early.
Probably cause I stormed out of the house this morning with a waffle in my hands.
I throw my backpack on the table and sit next to Patrick. His head instantly jerks up when I sit next to him, his fedora on the table. His eyes are red and he's got bags under his eyes.
"You good there, bud?" I say nonchalantly.
He looks at me like I'm an alien, blinking rapidly almost as if he can't believe it's me next to him.
"Good...morning?" He voice is low, he coughs.
"Morning, sunshine." I ping his arm.
"Okay, ow."
I roll my eyes, "kid, I barely touched you."
"Kid? Peter, I'm a year younger than you." I cringe.
"Can...can you not call me Peter?" He looks at me, confusion washing over his pale and pink face.
"Why?"
I debate in my head if I should tell him or not.
You know what, fuck it.
"My dad used to call me Peter." I say quick and quiet.
"Oh..." Patrick reaches out to touch my shoulder, but I flinch away.
"Don't touch me, fag." I spit out.
He retracts his hand instantly, "I'm sorry, Pete. I didn't realize. I'm glad you told me."
And I scoff. I look to weak and hurt, he doesn't even know anything about my parents—let alone my life.
"Why are you so damn positive?" I look away.
