Chapter 1.
“Cid, it’s almost time for school!” my mother calls from downstairs.
God, I hate school. I roll onto my back, my mattress creaking slightly. My eyes open, still feeling the weight of that underground concert from last night. Man, that was awesome. The early sun shines through my window, washing the white popcorn ceiling in light. I sigh and throw my legs over the bed. Those girls gave it their all on stage. The stale smell of smoke and liquor lingers in my nose. My feet land on the carpet. Soft. I rub my eyes and scratch the left side of my head. And now, it’s time for school.
“Cid, come on!”
Man, Mom is serious about getting me on track. I stand and stretch my arms. I switch out of my grey shorts, putting on grey torn jeans and a baggy Misfits shirt. Damn, I probably should clean up my room at some point. My small black CRT TV is tucked in the corner, the Nintendo controller cords tangled to hell.
“Cid!” Mom’s voice is annoyed now.
I twist and pull the golden bronze knob on my door, then step out. “Coming!” I call, quickly walking to the bathroom to the left of my room. The door is open, the light on. Yes! No work for me. I look in the mirror. My crimson hair with black highlights is matted. I grab the black-handled hairbrush. God, so many hairs on this thing. I brush slowly and carefully, the bristles pulling.
When I finish, my hair hangs shaggy down to my shoulders in loose waves. I swoop my bangs to the left, covering my dark left eyebrow, and put on some light eyeliner. I give a half-smile to myself and step back out into the hall.
My hand traces the smooth banister all the way to the top of the stairs. I begin my way down the carpeted steps, the echo of the drums still thumping in my head. I reach the bottom. My black combat boots sit in front of me, aligned with the other shoes. I walk over, bend my knees slightly, and grab them. I walk past the living room and into the kitchen.
“There’s toast and cereal on the table,” Mom tells me.
I look at the small, round wooden table in front of the windows. Josh sits there smiling, his dark blue and white sleeved varsity jacket catching the sun.
“Morning, sis. Party well?” he says sarcastically.
I pull out a seat across from him, dropping my boots on the floor. “Morning. Did you put on that jacket just to kiss a—”
“Cidney...” Mom warns, pulling out the chair next to me.
“Yeah, yeah, I know. Can’t curse in this house, at least,” I say, raising the spoon to my mouth. The sugary, fruity flavor hits my tongue.
“Dang, look at that. Got to go, don’t want to be late,” Josh says, shooting me a teasing grin. He gets up, chugs his orange juice, and leaves the kitchen.
“Were you out late again?” Mom asks, sipping her coffee. God, I hate that face. Dark brow raised, no smile at all. The sun grazes the side of her face, making her dark, matted hair shine.
I look down at the cereal. The multicolored flakes clump in the middle, some floating on the outside of the milk. My chest feels tight. I don’t want to lie, but I don’t want to tell her either.
“Cidney, please answer my question,” Mom says.
“Yeah, I was okay,” I respond, raising the spoon to my mouth again. I feel the heat of the sun on my face. Man, that crowd was wild. The beer sucked.
“Honey, you can’t just be sneaking out and skipping school,” Mom scolds. I briefly look at her. Light green eyes stare back at me. “It’s gotten so bad, Cidney, that Principal Preston called again yesterday afternoon. If you don’t get your grades up, you’re going to have to sit through summer school.”
I roll my eyes. “Well, who cares? He’s a narc anyways.”
Mom sighs. “That’s not the point, Cid.”
I finish my cereal, feeling a slight heat in my chest from the conversation. I slip on my boots and take the bowl to the sink.
“Please, Cid. For me and your dad, go to school; and you’re running late,” Mom says.
“Sure. After I make a few stops,” I joke, looking back as I head out of the kitchen. Mom is not laughing.
I grab my black backpack and snatch my dark hoodie hanging above the shoes. I twist the knob and step out into the cold. The door clicks behind me. My 1975 red pickup sits in the driveway to my left. Slush is piled on both sides of the sidewalk. I step off the small concrete porch, digging my hands into my jeans pockets. My keys jingle as I pull them out. Shivering slightly, the air cold and sharp, I pull the driver’s side door open and throw myself inside.
I plop my backpack on the passenger side of the bench. Sweet! I left my Walkman here. The headphones dangle over the edge of the seat. I lean over, checking to see if a tape is inside. I nod and smirk to myself. I throw my hoodie on and start my truck. The engine rattles to life. I turn the temperature dial to red and reverse out into the street.
Frost-tipped pine trees pass by as I wind down the road. I use a free hand to search my hoodie pocket for the pack of cigarettes I stole from my dad. I pull one out and place the light brown filter in my mouth. Flicking the lighter, I briefly watch the cherry light up, having to quickly correct my alignment on the road. The smoke fills my lungs with a burn I can’t forget. I pull the cigarette from my mouth and exhale a light cloud of smoke. The buzz makes my arms tingle.
I am now in the smaller part of Grayston, Washington. Dammit. Closer to school. I take another drag, roll the window down, and turn right. I raise a brow when I see a line of four school buses. Other kids my age or younger walk by, backpacks slung over their shoulders. I park between a nice 1990 sedan and a modern, sleek 1993 Dodge Ram.
“Fuckin’ Mom and Josh tricked me,” I say to myself.
I guess I’m not late. I grab my backpack and Walkman, the cigarette bobbing in my mouth. I step out, look around, and toss the cigarette on the ground, crushing it with my boot. I sling my backpack over one shoulder, put my earbuds in, and click play. The air is sharply cold. Distant pine trees stand behind and next to the school, their branches weighed down by the snow. I push open the black-barred door. The outside world is nothing once this music hits.
I pass the office to my left and round the corner. Other peers move beside, behind, and in front of me, opening beige metal lockers to my left and right. The stairs to the second floor are on my left. I begin walking up the slightly crowded steps, pushing my way through the other kids. I finally reach the top and make my way to locker #230. My mind is still on the singers, the drums, and... well, being tricked.
I sigh and click stop on the Walkman. I pull my earbuds out and shove them into my hoodie pocket. The hallway is crowded, overflowing not just with people, but with their voices.
“Cid, thought you weren’t gonna show today!”
I turn my head to the right. Bryan Quin stands there smirking. I can smell the weed on him immediately.
“Well,” I sigh. “I did. And since I’m on time, do you have a joint for little old me?” I stick out my bottom lip and return to fiddling with my combination.
Bryan lets out a chuckle. Yeah, he’s high as fuck. “Of course. It’s called Blue Moon this time,” he informs me as I lift the cold metal handle on my locker. It squeaks open. I unstrap my backpack and hang it in the back. Stickers of various punk bands line the inside of the door.
“Oooo, fancy. At lunch, I take it?” I ask, grabbing my violet binder and dark purple-and-white spotted composition notebook from my pack.
“You know it. Need a walk to class?” he asks as I shut my locker.
Behind Bryan, at the other row of lockers, Mr. Bern the guidance counselor stands next to a girl I haven’t seen before. There’s a paper in her hand—I’m assuming it’s her schedule. She’s shorter, with orange hair down to the middle of her neck. She wears a red track jacket with a white stripe on the sleeve. I smile slightly as I watch her fiddle with her locker.
“Cid?” Bryan asks, his brown eyebrow raised. Lockers close and open beside us. Bryan steps out of the way for a couple to pass.
“Crap, sorry. Just got distracted,” I tell him, moving my green eyes back to his blue ones.
We begin walking to my first period class. I look over one last time as Bryan and I walk past. My stomach tingles walking by her for some reason.
