Teen Rebellion // S.R. ✓

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

(long smut chapter)

December 7th — Wednesday night.

Reality hits you like a bus whenever you open your eyes. You see that it isn't a smooth road, rather it's fucked up and isn't as bright as you think.

You opened your eyes ages ago. You saw that life after high school is full of more school and taxes and a job and a bullshit ride you have to sit on before finally reaching your destination. It's hell, but you've known life was only going to get harder and you're only in the beginning.

Life is a scam, too. How it's represented in teenage movies and such, it's all a lie. How you instantly receive freedom to whatever you want to do when you turn 16. It's bullshit too. When you turned 16 you felt the same, you were only handed $100 and your boobs grew. Nothing major happened, you were just more disciplined because you were getting to the age where you know what you're doing most of the time. And to be quite honest, you have merely enough to understand what you're doing now.

There's dozens and dozens of issues with the educational system and you're sure that when you get to college, you'll be as clueless as a four year old on the first day of school. It's shitty— all of it. All of school and the lack of preparation for students, but you live in America where they teach you more about how to figure out if a triangle is actually a triangle and not how to do taxes.

You try to wash away the struggle as best as possible. Of course with weed and drinking. You'd never reach the point where you'll rely on it, but it helps calm you down and make you forget. Somehow, you forget whatever the hell you actually do when you're high so it keeps you floating in clouds for a couple of hours before you have to focus on life again.

That's what you're doing now. You should really sober up, but sometimes the warm feeling of the smoke in your mouth and in the air around you makes you feel better. Better as in, I'm better right now, not so much later, but better right now.

Sunny hands you the joint, allowing you to take a hit. You take the joint between your fingers like a cigarette, placing it between your lips and inhaling. You allow it to stay in your mouth for a second, sticking to the walls of your mouth and removing all saliva. You blow out the smoke, recycling into the mixed air surrounding you.

You keep the joint in your fingers, pausing for a moment to take a glance at the windows. They're all shut, even the sunroof. "We're not hotboxing," you complain in a serious tone. You have to study, and although you probably won't retain as much as you think, you'll still study.

He smacks his teeth, accompanied by the roll of his gray eyes. God they can be irritable to look at. "Oh come on, do it. It's cold."

"I'm not going home smelling like weed," you retort.

He presses his lips together and stares blankly at you. "Your parents aren't home. Only Penelope." You narrow your eyes on him, his eyes narrowing back at yours. "What? Does Penelope not want you to smoke anymore?"

"We made a deal that if I didn't smoke she wouldn't drink all of those alcoholic drinks."

"Is she an alcoholic or something?"

You take another hit of the joint and keep it in your mouth for a second. You blow out and continue the conversation, barely keeping the smoke in for long. "No. She just knows I smoke too much. She says I need to be more like Spencer."

"That hurts," Sunny says. "I'm not a stoner. Spencer smokes too, y'know. He's not all goody goody."

"Mhm," you murmur. You take one last hit and hand it back to him. You know Spencer isn't all goody goody or what not, but he doesn't smoke as much as Sunny does. You don't either, but you're almost reaching his level; and that scares you.