Eighteen

First Encounter

Eighteen.

by HeyItsVegas

A Luke Hemmings fanfiction.

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"I wish that I was eighteen,

To do all the things,

You read in a magazine."

-5 Seconds Of Summer, "Eighteen"

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Luke opened his blue eyes, and immediately closed them again, groaning and turning over in bed. "Too bright..." he groaned, and stuffed his face into his pillow. Not five seconds later, his alarm clock began to wail.

"Nooooo," he groaned into his pillow, and reached out blindly for the screaming wake-up call. His fingertips brushed the bedside table, and he inched his fingers closer, closer, almost there... he was stretching as much as possible, but couldn't reach.

It shut off suddenly, and he glanced up through one squinted eye. His mother towered over him, hands on her hips. "Lukey, it's time to get up, darling," she sounded irked, but Luke closed his eyes again despite her annoyance. "Mum, it's too early. I'll just go to school next year," he sighed.

Mrs. Hemmings was not having it. "Luke, it's your first day of senior year. Try to be excited about it. Now get up, and get ready. We leave in 30 minutes," she kissed her son's blonde bedhead and left the room.

Luke sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes with another groan.

First day of senior year, big whoop. Also his first school year in America.

He'd arrived with his mum and dad a week ago. His dad had been offered a job here in San Diego, and they'd packed up their home in Australia and moved to California in just a month since the job offer.

He'd barely gone outside, just locked himself in his room and played guitar, unwilling to except this new reality. He'd been hoping his dad would realize the dreadful mistake he'd made and move them back to Australia. But both his mum and dad were deliriously happy in California, so it looked like he was stuck here, at least for now.

When he was 18, things were going to change.

That's what he kept telling himself, at least. He'd move back to Australia, back to his friends, his home. He'd spend all day playing guitar and forget completely about this year flop.

Donning his usual uniform of black skinny jeans and a black Drop Dead tee, with a red flannel thrown on top, he trundled down the stairs. He plopped down on a stool in the kitchen, still disgruntled. "I made you a breakfast pizza, to soften the blow of having to attend school like every other teenager," his mum said, and he smiled despite himself. She set the plate in front of him, and ate with all the zeal a teenage boy could muster, and was done in a few minutes.

"Good grief, Luke," his mum said, trying to suppress a smile.

"It was really great, thanks mum," he said, and slid off the stool to go back to his room for the extra 10 minutes before their departure.

"Since you're done so quickly, can you take out the trash for me?"

Luke pursed his lips but nodded, "Yeah, okay."

His mum smiled appreciatively as she handed it to him, "That's my good little Lukey," she kissed his forehead and tried to smooth down his hair, but it just sprung right back up. He grinned at her sour expression. Before she could suggest a haircut, he walked toward the garage door with the trashbag in tow.

He kicked open the door and clicked the garage door opener, ducking under the door as it rose much too slowly. The trashcans were against the fence the Hemmings shared with their neighbors, who he was yet to meet.