[being rewritten for the 1938473th time]
If it was up to Y/n L/n, she would read the summer away, lost in history books and adventure novels, finding excitement in their written words.
Meeting Lloyd Garmadon changed her plans.
Suddenly, Y/n is l...
Bombay Bicycle Club ••• How Can You Swallow So Much Sleep •••
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saw you head back with your eyes looking down and it's all wasted now told you, but you can't take it
•••••
TW: slight harm, brief mention of gun violence, blood
The next week was spent apprehensively waiting for a text that didn't come.
I fell into a reluctant kind of acceptance - obviously, Skateboard-slash-Lloyd didn't care about his hoodie enough to retrieve it and my own skateboard was as good as trash, anyway. I'd forever be left with this green garment that would sit and gather dust in my closet, reminded of the boy I had a moment with and gave him a concussion on the same day, and then never saw him again.
I stared at his contact on the odd occasion, as if I could will him to text me. It didn't work.
So, I decided to do better with my time and get out of the house, even when my friends said that they couldn't hang out.
"We've only just arrived and you've already become the street sweetheart," my mum teased one evening after I spent the day helping the old man down the street, Mr. Clarice, weed his garden and wash the outside of his windows.
I shrugged as I scooped some pasta onto my plate. "I like helping people," was my simple response.
The other thing I'd do was watch documentaries on topics like how cheese was made, or what we knew about Mars, and other various miscellaneous topics to keep my mind ticking and occupied so I wouldn't go stir crazy. I loved summer, but sometimes I did miss the simple routine of school.
It was probably four days after I'd hit the blond boy on the head with a skateboard when I began staring at the folded, green hoodie that sat atop my chest of drawers. The evenings were colder in this house than I was used to, and I was severely lacking in warm, thick clothing due to mum's insistence of a thorough spring clean of both of our cupboards before the big move.
It's just because I'm cold, was the excuse I told myself as I reached for the neatly folded thing. With a sheepish look around (it was my room and the curtains were closed for the night, it's not as if anybody could see me - but I was paranoid), I gently slipped the hoodie on.
I sat on my bed in contemplative silence. It was big on me. No, actually, it was gargantuan, and I was practically drowning in the folds of the soft cotton. It looked like one of those hoodie dresses that had started going in to fashion a year ago.
