Social Media «ᴄᴀᴋᴇ»

Chapter 1

It was just a regular day. I would walk home from school with my head held down, my headphones plugged into my ears, and my iPod blaring music at its loudest volume. The music was always a distraction for me—it kept me from bawling my eyes out.

It didn't seem like it, but it was another day in my terrible life.

A lot of people are excited to go home, excited to get away from the "hell" that is school. Honestly, school could be a pain in the ass, but I'm glad it's an excuse to keep me from home. I don't need to go home to parents who don't exceed to their titles of parents. I don't need to go home to be yelled at. I don't need to go home to feel like more of a disappointment than I already am. As much as I hate school, it's another distraction.

The sun was blaring and seeping through my clothing,—which, might I mention, were black—, and I felt hot and uncomfortable. I didn't take off my sweater, though. I may be hot and sweaty, but I would feel naked and violated if I took off my sweater.

"St. Jimmy's comin' down across the alleyway," the music played in my ears.

"Up on the boulevard like a zip gun on parade," I softly sang along. "Lights of a silhouette, he's insubordinate, coming at you on the count of one, two, ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR!" I began belting out the lyrics while dancing around and playing the air guitar.

I laughed at myself, singing along to a song that hardly anyone knew. The only song that people at my school know is Fancy by Iggy Azalea, and I really hate that song, therefore I cannot afford to be friends with anyone. Perhaps if they liked Green Day, All Time Low, and Fall Out Boy, then there is a possibility that they could become my friend. But as of right now, every human being sucks.

After my little concert, my headphones were ripped out of my head. Before I could ask myself who had the fucking nerve to take my headphones out of my ears, I was already answered by the sight of a green-haired boy now standing in front of me.

"I swear, Luke, sometimes I honestly believe that you're deaf. I've been calling your name for the past five minutes!"

Sometimes I wonder why I hang out with Michael Clifford—or, rather, why he hangs out with me. He's the closest thing to a friend that I've got. The only problem is that everyone else in our grade adores him, so he's friends with practically everyone. He likes bringing me in to his conversations with people I don't even know, and I just stand there ever so awkwardly. But Michael tries, and I'm grateful for that, but it's better off for the both of us that we aren't friends.

"Maybe I am deaf, and I'm just really good at reading lips," I shot back playfully.

Michael's green eyes widened, and his face fell. "Seriously?!" he asked in a hushed voice.

"No," I scoffed. "I can hear perfectly." I held up my earphones, gesturing that I could hear. Give Me Novacaine was playing softly.

"Oh," was all Michael said. I turned back around, and put the earphones back in my ears. I wasn't sure if Michael was still following me or not, but by the looks of it, he's probably gone home already.

Once I made it back home, I jumped over the fence and climbed through my bedroom window. Liz doesn't trust me with keys of my own; she thinks I'll lose them, which is probably right of her to think. Ben and Jack are much more trustworthy than I am, and they don't even live in this house anymore.

I threw my backpack onto my bed, which so happened to be covered in unfolded laundry, and I walked out into the living room. My parents weren't home; they were always at work, which was perfectly fine by me. I enjoyed my time alone. It was ironic, but I felt safer and more secure without my parents.