she was popular. he was new. he was her way out.
✧ second place in the Chaos Awards! ✧
Kendra Ross is popular. Everyone knows that, and she makes sure of it. She's your stereotypical popular girl; lip gloss, crushes, drama, heels, crop tops, and fa...
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"So, ever consider trying out for the football team?" Archer just shakes his head, focusing on the road as he gets off the highway. The radio hums quietly and I don't bother to turn it up, curled up on the seat and staring at the scenes rushing by us.
"Ken, you're aware this is the last year of high school, right?" He asks, turning for a split second to catch the sadness on my face. It quickly vanishes as I blank my expression and shrug nonchalantly, staring at the glovebox.
"Yeah, I know," I say seriously. "I don't want it to be."
I remember being afraid of going to high school. I wanted to stay in middle school and be a kid for as long as possible. I wanted the friends and compliments that came with being popular to last forever. The simple problems. Everything about it.
Then high school came and it just felt right. Middle school felt too little for me, and I suddenly knew I wanted to be someone else, not a shallow popular girl.
I'd been trying to get out of the A-squad ever since last year.
When I met him.
I guess you could say he made me realize who I actually am, as cringey as it sounds.
"I don't either," he says quietly, pulling into the parking lot. "I don't really know what I'm doing with my life." I smile sadly.
"We still have one year. Let's make it count." He nods and parks slowly.
Winds whips through my hair as soon as we get out, and I'm grateful I'm wearing a hoodie.
Lately I haven't really cared about what I'm wearing. When I was popular with my fake friends, I thought it was important to look good around them. So then they wouldn't judge you. Or make fun of you.
I guess I never really had real friends before Archer.
I'm just wearing black joggers, converse and an oversized blue hoodie. I didn't even bother with my hair.
It feels nice, not caring.
We walk over to the bleachers, and I'm amazed at how loud it is. Not only chattering, but screaming and yelling and laughing. It's just so welcoming.
"Wanna get food?" He asks me as we walk onto the pavement. I nod and we walk over to the concession stand.
"Damn," I mutter as we approach it. "Why do so many people want food?" I stare at the long line as Archer laughs and takes my hand.
"The same reason you want it," he grins. "Because it's food."
