Newt imagines 2

The Queen of Summer

"Y/n!"
"Y/n!!"
I slam my pencil down on my desk, a small tinging shatter as the lead broke. "What Mum?!" I yell down the stairs.
"Get down here!" She shouted, her voice full of the cheap wine she had brought only hours ago.
I groan and slump downstairs. My so-called mother had her weight thrown onto kitchen sideboard, her legs sliding across the panelled floor as if it was ice. She was looking into the living room, a chipped glass rolling between her fingers. "That kid, ain't he your age?"
I roll my eyes, she dragged me all this way to see if some boy on the TV is my age. I've only got to sort out a years paper work from my job by tomorrow! I move to face the TV, careful not to break the empty bottles of drink, most from last week when she had her new 'boyfriend' over. Wait..... I frown at the TV, it was the local news channel, three photos of boys where on the screen.

I recognised all three, they were from my school, they were in my year. The first one was a boy called Minho, he had the typical Asian family, an over achieving sister, and incredibly pushy parents with high expectations. It was only him who didn't fit that statistics, he stuck out like a poodle amongst spaniels. He wasn't at all fussed about grade or work, he wanted to play football, and party, his hair never messy, thought himself as a ladies guy. Then in the middle was his mate Thomas; a funny guy always looking for a good laugh, kinda guy who sits in class staring off into oblivion, without a clue what is happening in the real world, then blurts out something from nowhere that makes the whole class laugh for a solid ten minutes. Last was the boy from science, my lab partner. His name was Newt, nice guy, surprising from his back story; divorced parents, mother left the country taking his younger sister leaving him with a seriously creepy, control-freak dad. Newt always had something nice to say up his sleeve or a little fun fact that made you grin.

I turned to my mother, who was almost sat on the floor asleep. "What have they done?"
She sighed her head lolling to the side as if it would fall off any second. "Ran away from home, guess they got the guts you ain't got." She sighed one last breath as if she were about to die.... And she fell asleep on the kitchen floor again.
I troop my way back up to my room unable to get those boys and Mum's last sentence out my head. I had thought Newt was acting fishy, and that was on the days he did turn up, most the time towards the end of school he would be gone all week. When he came in he would have a bandaged thumb or a bruise on his arm, even a cut on the side of his head once, said he had got it from lazy carrying of a plank of wood.

The next morning I was up at the crack of dawn off to work, the kitchen empty the only sign my mother had slept there was a small yellowish liquid in the corner, I checked her room before I left, she was fast asleep on top of her duvet. I shut the door and walked out the house.

I was at work, on my fifteen minute break, my manager taking his turn on the till. I sipped my Fanta and scrolled through Instagram, burning time by watching spam.
"Excuse me I think you should leave." I heard my manager's voice, high and stern obviously hoping to attract my attention. I slipped my phone into my pocket, and tip toes out. I wanted to scream, my hands balled into fists. I stormed out. "Mum!" I hissed irritated and pissed off. She was drunk off her face. She was tilted to a side, like the bottle in her left hand was too heavy for her. The harsh scent of drink lingered all over her, she kept grabbling for something sturdy to hold onto. Tossing tins and packets off the shelves as she walked forwards. "Y/n honey!" She beamed happy to see me for once.
I blushed as I continuously spluttered out apologies to the manager. "What do you want mum?"
She just threw her arms around, soaking the food on the floor in drink.
"I'm calling the police." My manager said going to get the phone in the back room. I just sighed, this would be the third incident this month. I pulled on my mother's arm, her whole body swinging around at the slightest touch. I guided her outside as she stumbled over her own mess. She fell onto the rusty old bench outside, her clothes getting covered in browny-red flakes of oxidised iron. "I'm not bailing you out of jail this time." I say looking to the road awaiting the police. "You can get dickhead to do that."
"Hiss name's's David." Her voice so slurred all her Ss sounded like double.