Apocalypse, Steve Harrington

Chapter Nineteen. That Kid, From California

NINETEEN
— that kid, from california

LUCAS SINCLAIR WAS having the worst morning of his life.

First, he fell out of bed. His alarm clock went off, Erica shouted at him to wake up, and he stumbled off the mattress and straight onto the floor. Bedsheets tangled between his legs, a sore back, and a sour face— he was off to a rough start. Then, his sister finished what was left of the Cap'N Crunch. He opened that bright yellow box, starving and ready to eat, only to find nothing. Lastly, and the absolute icing on the cake, was when his neighbor almost ran him over with her car. He was biking, peacefully, and she was god awful at reversing— he was almost turned into a pancake.

His first instinct was to shriek; a girlish shout filled the air, alerting the driver. Bike hitting the concrete, Lucas darted his head up. "Shit!" he cursed. "You almost killed me, lady!"

She stepped from her car, and he had never seen her before— Riley, she said her name was, and she looked almost as panicked as he did. "I am so, so sorry," she stressed. "Jesus, don't press charges, I don't wanna get evicted."

Lucas restrained himself from laughing— he was supposed to be mad. He told her off, frowned at his damaged bike, and took the pitiful look in her eyes into deep consideration. He came to an agreement with his new neighbor— Riley— and they made a truce; she'd drive him to school, until his bike was fixed.

Maybe, he'd find it in himself to forgive her— maybe.

Lucy's morning was not going as planned. Her father said no to Tina's party; did she even really want to attend Tina's party? No, but, being told she couldn't go was hard to hear. Her brother wasn't helping— he spent the entire car ride talking about the drum solo in Moby Dick by Led Zeppelin. Did she care? No! Her ears were about to fall off.

    Second period PE was torturous. Her high tops hit the ground with a squeak, ponytail swinging wildly behind her head. Why was she so out of breath?— she used to play soccer, for crying out loud! Her stamina had clearly declined, because the mile run was killing her. Lungs begging for air, she trudged on, the Walkman perched on her ears sliding off with each step.

A voice split the air. "Headphones off, Hopper!" the gym teacher, Coach Spencer, shouted, hands cupped around his mouth. "Keep running, let's go!"

    "Can't hear you!" she replied, waving an arm in the air. Gasping, she spoke to herself. "I need water." The brunette practically army crawled to the bleachers— she drank greedily, from the plastic water bottle. Threw heaving breaths, Lucy closed her eyes, and leaned against the bleacher behind her. She removed one of the earpieces, so the music wasn't blasting— then, a girls voice rang out.

    She sounded exasperated. "I need a break!" she shouted. "Lady problems."

    Lucy stifled a laugh. The coach turned bright red, and the girl shot him a thumbs up— then, she recognized her, the new girl in her Physics class. Watching as the brunette leaned back on the bleachers, she opened her mouth to speak. "That was smart," she said. "I always go for the asthma trick."