London decided to skip school.
His mother had emerged from her room, so he still had to pretend he was going. He got up at 6:50 like he usually did, and went about his normal morning routine before going outside and walking down the road a ways to where he usually waited for the bus.
When he reached the bus stop, he turned and cut through someone's yard (a widow by the name of Teresa Thomas that Fiona was acquainted with). The yard was patched with frost, and the grass had withered and turned brown.
Ms. Thomas leaned out of her kitchen window as he passed.
"London?" she asked.
"Hi, Ms. Thomas."
"Hi. What are you doing? Did you miss the bus? I can give you a ride."
London glanced down at his feet. His shoes were damp with melted frost.
"No, my mom asked me to get her some Ginger Ale," London lied. "She, uh, she's really sick, so she can't get out of bed. She has a sore throat, and she said Ginger Ale would help. My aunt is gonna drive me to school later."
"Alright." Ms. Thomas nodded thoughtfully. "Well, tell her I hope she feels better soon."
"I will." London waved and continued across the yard.
He cut through a small grove of trees and came out behind the church he attended on some Sundays, when both he and his mother felt like it. Behind it was a small picnic area, and next to the church, through a row of bushes, was an Exon.
London walked to the picnic area and set his backpack on one of the benches. He stretched and yawned before walking over to the bushes and slipping through them, into the Exon parking lot. He walked around the gas pumps and entered the building through one of the wide glass doors.
The Exon was always cold. London could hear the dull roar of the air conditioners as soon as he stepped inside, and the thin, artificial cold they gave off raised goosebumps down his arms. He shivered and wished that the manager had enough sense to turn on the heat so late in autumn.
"Hi, London," the girl behind the desk said, and London waved.
She had thick hair, thick glasses frames, and a thick waist, all of which she wore wonderfully.She was uniquely attractive, and carried herself in a way that showed she knew she was.
"You remember me?" she asked.
London blinked, unsure of how to answer. He didn't want to be rude, but he wasn't sure he had ever laid eyes on this girl.
She laughed and waved a hand. "That's fine. My name's Chloe. I met you at a Christmas party last year. We talked for, like, maybe less than ten minutes, so I guess it's sort of weird that I remember you."
London nodded. "Yeah, I actually remember you now."
He didn't remember her at all, but he wanted to be polite.
"So how old are you, anyway?" Chloe asked.
"Fifteen."
"Oh, wow." Chloe leaned back in her chair. "I feel like a creepo now. You look older. I was going to get your number or something, but you're a full six years younger than me."
London felt his face flush.
"Why aren't you in school, then?" Chloe asked.
London shifted his feet around. He felt uncomfortable and slightly violated.
"I'm getting some Ginger Ale for my mom," he said.
Chloe let out something not short of a wolf whistle. "Man, any girl would be lucky to have you, honestly. Wish I was younger."
"I'm gonna get the Ginger Ale," London said, turning down one of the aisles.
He walked to the back, where the refrigerators were, and took out a single serve bottle of Ginger Ale. He took out his wallet and walked back to the counter.
"Hi," Chloe said, grinning.
London placed the bottle on the counter without saying anything.
"Is that all?" Chloe asked, ringing up the bottle.
London nodded.
"Alright. That'll be three ninety-nine."
London handed her a five dollar bill and grabbed the bottle off the counter.
"You want the change?" Chloe asked.
"It's fine," London said.
He wanted to leave.
Chloe shrugged and pushed up her glasses.
London turned to go.
"Hey," Chloe shouted after him.
London stopped and looked back.
"How old did you say you were?"
"Fifteen."
"Virgin?"
"What?"
"Are you a virgin?"
London pushed out of the door without responding. He could hear Chloe laughing behind him.
He hurried back across the parking lot and ducked through the bushes. His backpack still sat, undisturbed, on the bench. He sat down next to it and opened the Ginger Ale. It hissed.
His cell phone rang, and he answered it without checking who was calling.
"Hello?"
"London?" His mother's voice crackled through the phone. "Where are you?"
"Homeroom."
"Really? Because I just got a call saying you were absent today."
London chewed his lower lip. He hadn't known that the school called home for each absence.
"London?"
"I'm in homeroom," he said.
"London," she repeated, her voice cold and firm.
"I am. I just got to class late, so I was reported absent."
"So you're in class, sweetie?"
"Yeah. Homeroom."
"Can I talk to your teacher?"
London hesitated.
"London?"
"I'm in town," London admitted.
His mother sighed deeply. Her breath sounded static through the phone.
"Do you need me to come pick you up?" she asked.
She didn't sound angry. She just sounded sad.
"I can walk back," London said.
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah. I walked here."
"Okay. Be careful."
"'Kay."
"Love you."
"Bye, Mom."
The line went dead, and London closed and pocketed his phone. He picked his backpack back up and stood to walk back home.
The air smelled of impending snow.
A lump of cold and guilt sat in London's chest.
YOU ARE READING
Crossing Stars
Teen Fiction[Quick warning: some of the sexual and death related content in this could bother some people. It's probably fine for most teenagers and older, but if that sort of thing bothers you a lot, you might not want to read it.] Life is hard, especially for...
