lust for life • james cook - skins

1 - eve

I shut the front door behind me, cigarette in my mouth. As I'm sparking my lighter to light my cig, my phone rings out. I keep the cigarette in my mouth as I pull my phone out of my cardigan pocket to see who's calling me.

The name "EFFY" flashes on the screen. I frown, confused. I'm not close with Effy at all. I know her through some raves and sessions we've both attended, but we rarely speak, she's a girl of few words. We simply would just acknowledge each other every time we'd meet, mainly because we're both too whacked off our heads to say much more. We have each other as a contact though in case there was any type of motive that one of us may be interested in since we both enjoy a similar lifestyle.

I press the answer button and give a muffled "alright, eff?", cigarette still in my mouth.

"Hi, eve," she says with a hint of boredom in her voice, which always seems to be there. "Do you wanna head into college with me and Panda? We figured we'd ask you since we all kind of know each other."

I blow my smoke out and smile. "Yeah, that's fine, I'll meet you at the bus stop near yours?"

"Yep."

I pause, waiting for her to say anything else. Like I said, a girl of few words. She has improved though, to be fair.

"Alright, well I'll see you-" I start, but I get interrupted by Effy.

"Oh, if you have any rolling papers, bring them, please. I ran out and I badly need a spliff to get me through the day," she adds, and I chuckle.

"I always have some rolling papers on me, don't worry," I reassure her.

I can hear Pandora in the background of the call, blabbering as per usual. She's accompanied Effy to a couple of motives. Very bubbly girl. I honestly don't know how her and Effy are even remotely friends. They are just complete opposites in every way, but somehow it works.

"Thanks, Eve, I'll see you in a bit then." And with that, the line goes dead. I put my phone back into my pocket and head out down my driveway.

My driveway is nothing special. The small patch of grass we have is slightly overgrown and there are a couple of cigarette butts scattered here and there.

My house, in general, is nothing special. Basic brick council house. The only thing "quirky" about it is our yellow painted door. Even though the paint is now chipped and peeling from the amount of times it's been banged on by multiple peoples fists, and sometimes feet, it's the only door in my estate that is that colour, so it always proves to be the most effective way of directing people to my house. I can just say, "it's the one with the yellow door", and voila, here you are.

My estate is the epitome of the word "council". All the houses are the exact same, semi-detached, made of brick, looks miserable. Walking along the pavement, you'll surely end up kicking an empty lager can or two. Don't forget the smashed glass at the side of the road. Always a green beer bottle, or, on special occasions, a 70 cl bottle of Smirnoff. You can just tell by the label that's usually still mainly intact.

It's the last couple of days of August, so all the leaves of the trees are still green and full looking, but soon enough they'll be brown, and all over the ground. That at least makes the overall appearance of my estate a bit more appealing, what with all the pretty browns and oranges and reds scattered around the place. They at least cover the cigarette butts and the roaches of finished joints.

I nod at my neighbour, old Jim, as I walk past his house. His house is an absolute state. Everything green is overgrown, his door, which was once navy blue, is now almost completely stripped of its paint. His lawn is filled with cans and various glass bottles, not all of them his. Majority of the time, people just use poor Jim's front garden as a local dumping ground. Jim doesn't mind though, he's too whacked off his head most of the time to notice.

His sister comes to mind him sometimes, but he's kind of best when he's left alone to his own devices. He's a local treasure though, our Jim. Amongst the teens of Bristol, he's a legend. He supplies MDMA for cheap. Probably isn't the purest stuff going, but for his prices, nobody refuses. It gets the job done so it's good enough.

He waves back at me, and says something incoherent. I smile at keep going. Nobody knows what he's saying half the time. As long as you nod and smile, he'll be happy enough with that as a response.

As I continue walking, out of my estate and down the road toward the bus stop near Effy's, I hear the voices of teenage boys coming from the other side of the road. I look over, to inspect who the boys were.

The first one to catch my eye is a boy in a red jumper. Something about the way he carries himself, the sheer confidence that radiates from him, instantly intrigues me. He's laughing loudly with his two other friends, one of them roughly the same height as him, the other taller, darker, carrying a skateboard.

The boy in red has a joint in his hand, and as he goes to take a pull, something causes him to turn his head and look over at me, and we make eye contact, allowing me to take in his entire face. There isn't much to take in for the moment as he isn't close enough for me to see him in much detail, but, from where I was, I can see a cheeky grin start to take form.

"What's your name then, babes?" He yells from across the street. His voice has a thick accent, sort of raspy in a sense. His friends both turn their heads to see who he's yelling at.

I smile at him.

I open my mouth as if I'm about to say something, then put my cigarette up to my lips and take a long pull, not breaking eye contact from across the street as I do so. I smile again as I blow out the smoke, then turn my head away from him, staring instead at the street ahead of me.

"Come on! Don't be like that!" I hear him exclaim, but I do not dare look back over at him. I know his type. He's the type of boy I can never resist, so I know I have to keep my guard up with him.

I'm guessing he's also attending Roundview College, as we're both heading the same direction at an odd hour. He doesn't seem the type to be up early, half past eight to be precise. Not counting pulling all nighters while going on the session.

"I'm Cook!" he yells, once again. "We'll meet again babes, I just know it."

I smirk to myself, fiddling with the cigarette in between my pointer and middle finger.

We'll just wait and see, Cook.

We will just wait and see.