In which Lucas Sinclair's older sister spends her whole summer trying to tame Billy Hargrove.
NSFW: 18+ only
Contains Dark themes and sexual content that may not be suitable for people under the age of 18.
Read at your own risk-this essentially is...
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Chapter Ten: Speed-racer Blue
Billy was never one to care much about academia, his pencil's eraser was tapping rhythmically to the beat of whatever song he'd heard on the ride over. He'd skipped his first two periods, begrudgingly passing the schools secretary when he finally arrived high as hell and smelling of smoke. He was sure the girl he sat next to in his class could smell it judging by the way her nose scrunched up the moment he sat down. It wasn't like he fucking cared anyway, his ears tuning out whatever the teacher was preaching at the front of the class; her stick of red chalk was diminishing by the second and while the students around him were hasty to write down the notes, Billy had his mind on other things.
Like how after he'd taken Zara home, she'd promised they'd meet at lunch outside—it was possibly the only reason he'd showed up to school at all. His foot tapped in anticipation, his blue eyes wandering from the board to the life that was passing him by outside the school windows. Cars just cruising by with families to take care of and quotas to meet as they sped along without so much as a glance—that's what he hated the most about Hawkins. It was so predictable, every family at every house on every fucking street dressed in different variants of the same shit. "Mr. Hargrove, care to pay attention."
"No, not really."
"Excuse me!" The teacher shouted, one hand moving to rest at the junction of her hip and even then he was barely paying attention. "Do you have any of the notes written down?"
He raised both hands, silently broadcasting to the teacher that he hadn't even bothered bringing a backpack.
"I don't know what you think this is—"
"Temporary."
"I beg your pardon."
Billy was digging a hole, one that he'd planned to make comfortable and lie in it. His words didn't soften, nor did they stammer in the presence of authority—he'd never been one to listen to it anyway. "I think me being here is temporary so I couldn't really rub two shits together for you."
"Detention after class."
"That's not going to work with my schedule," Billy stood from his chair, one hand tucked in the front left pocket of his jeans as he sauntered out the door. He probably shouldn't have done that but he was irritated. Ever since he'd walked in late the night prior, his father had handed it to him, a mixture of drunken shouts and haphazardly throwing the seventeen year old into walls and locking him out in nothing but his underwear—shouting at him that if he was old enough to come home late, he was old enough to figure out how to fend for himself for the night.
