Misadventures Of A Teenage Dirtbag

02 nothingtown

CHAPTER 02
[ nothingtown ]
by the offspring

"You're out of your mind, Bean Head," Thumbtack says, leaning against a wall next to me. Most of us don't actually skateboard. Wipeout comes here with his board and Sucker Punch with her roller skates but the rest of us just hang around to get a bit of fresh air. Well, given that the local skate park is a popular teenage social spot, the air isn't that fresh, but you get used to the combination of sweat and smoke after a while. "But I guess we don't call you Bean Head for nothin'."

Oh, yeah. My nickname is a double-edged sword. It was originally intended to make fun of the fact that I'm practically never seen without a beanie on, but Bean Head quickly became synonymous with bean-sized brain.

Linkin Park is playing at full volume from someone's speaker—I think it's Punch's. I like to think I was named after Chester Bennington, even though it isn't likely. Brains is the only one of us that doesn't like Linkin Park, but even he has admitted grudging respect for the vocals. (He doesn't mind it, per se, but he prefers heavier metal. I like alt rock and pop-punk, which isn't hardcore enough for him, apparently.)

I lick my lips. They feel dry, stained with old lipstick. "I'm not going back to school tomorrow."

I expect him to tell me to slow down and consider my options or something, but Thumbtack shrugs and exhales a puff of smoke. "I'm not gonna pretend to know the right thing to do," he admits, "but if we're getting outta this city? I'm in."

I flash him a grin. I should've known. It's easy to forget who's the craziest when Sucker Punch is a walking glitter bomb constantly high on sugar who'll start up a fight with anyone and get herself clocked in detention again. Thumbtack is the sort of person that you don't notice is all outta wack until he does something that makes you remember there's something seriously wrong with him. Personally, I like him that way.

I guess the more that I think about it, the more I realize none of us have any good reason to stay. Tragic backstories are lame, but I'll just leave you with this: if we all up and leave today, I think for the most part we have no one to miss, no one to mourn our absence. I definitely don't.

We could leave today.

My blood rushes in my ears. I'm going to do it. I'm leaving. I don't know where I'm going, but I'm leaving.

Tonight.

"You got a full tank?"

Thumbtack glances over at me, cigarette dangling from his fingers. "I can go fill it."

My smile is giddy and uncontrollable. Just the adrenaline rush of deciding you're going to throw every rule you've ever known out the window is intoxicating. "Text Red to pack a bag."

Meanwhile, Silver and Sucker Punch react to the proposition with wild, howling laughter. But my eyes are glimmering and I'm bouncing from one foot to the other and Silv finally realizes I'm not just having verbal diarrhea or something.

"Oh, you serious."

"Dead," I say slyly.

He doesn't miss a beat. "Sounds good to me so long as there's nothing educational involved."

"Aw, you won't miss old Gran?" Sucker Punch teases, leaning on his shoulder from behind him. In case you haven't figured it out, she's very touchy. Everyone's an armrest or a headrest. She's pretty tall, too, especially with skates giving her several more inches. Unlike Red's, hers are colorful with wheels that light up as they spin. Everything about her is constantly soaking up the attention of anyone in sight or earshot, from the sparkly clips in her hair to her paint-splattered cutoff shorts over netted tights to the Hello Kitty band-aids on her hands and arms.