seventeen ✰ rodrick heffley x reader

✰ chapter three

As it turns out, playing the bass is a lot harder than you remember it to be. By the end of your first week as the official bassist for Löded Diper, your fingers are so sore and calloused you're worried they're going to fall off, but you keep practicing.

You spend most of your time over at the Heffleys' place, your usual spot becoming the rusted old folding chair in the corner of the garage. Rodrick gave you an old guitar pick from when he tried to learn guitar in middle school, and it's quickly becoming your best friend. You've spent countless hours hunched over your bass, first trying to tune it, then trying to play simple melodies, Rodrick trying (and failing) to help you out.

Your favorite part of the Heffley house isn't the garage-turned-studio, though—it's the kitchen. Susan Heffley's cooking (and grocery shopping, for that matter) is absolutely stellar. More than once, you've considered stealing some snacks from the pantry just to have at home. Stale, off-brand potato chips always pale in comparison to the real thing.

You've been using the band as an excuse to ignore the looming threat of school, but as August approaches, you find it harder and harder. You're nervous. You haven't been the new kid in years, and as much as you tell yourself everything will turn out fine, you can't help but worry.

"I'm heading home," you say abruptly in the middle of a band practice on some nondescript summer evening. You're exhausted and anxious for no reason and you can't stand the drone of the cicadas from the lawn.

Rodrick frowns. "You okay?"

You nod and start to pack up. "It's getting late. I'll see you guys later."

"Bye, (Y/N)," Ben says pleasantly. You smile at him, but it comes out as more of a pained grimace.

Your house is only across the street, but it feels like a desert stretches over the road, dry and eternal and suffocating. You want nothing more than to sink to the curbside and just let the grass grow over you.

Ever since the move, your whole family has been on edge. Your mom is trying to make the best of a bad situation, but you can tell her relentless optimism is just costume jewelry on a cheap dress. Worthless.

You've always been able to read her like an open book, and you right now you can see straight through her façade. You and your sister have been walking on eggshells around her since the move. You're tired.

Your mom is sitting at the kitchen table when you walk in. She looks so small, sitting there all alone, curled in on herself like she's collapsing. Maybe she is. She doesn't look up as you walk past, and you almost want to turn back and sit with her.

You don't. You go to your room and throw open the windows, letting the hot summer air filter in. The cicadas still haven't shut up and the sky is turning gray, the threat of a thunderstorm on the horizon.

You fall back onto your bed and turn on some music, a feeble effort to drown out the drone of summer nights. You're counting the tiles on your ceiling when there's a knock on your window. You look over, only slightly panicked, to see Rodrick grinning at you from outside.

You pry the window open and Rodrick tumbles right into your bedroom, falling flat on your floor.

"What the hell are you doing here?" You hiss, grabbing his hand and pulling him off the floor.

He looks a little disoriented but smiles at you. "I wanna show you around town. Since you're new here and all."

You raise an eyebrow. "I've been in town for, like, a month, Rodrick."

He pouts. "Am I not allowed to spend time with my friend?"

"Not when you break into my house!"

"You let me in." He says pointedly. He's smirking. You want nothing more than to wipe that stupid smirk off his stupid face.