Turnpike Gates [Frerard]

2- Getaway Mile

This will probably be my last update on anything for a while, sorry.

Anyway, I hope you like this chapter!

(Unedited whatsoever)

<><><>

I waited by the basement living room window. It was one of those ones that was sunken into the ground, so you stepped out and climbed out of a window well to reach the ground.

After a few minutes, Mikey arrived beside me, a backpack over his shoulder and his yellow helmet under his arm.

"Ready?" I asked.

He nodded, going all serious like we were spies pulling off a secret heist.

"'Kay, let's go," I said, opening the window, popping out the screen with practiced ease. We climbed out the window, tossing our stuff to the grass and pulling ourselves out of the hole.

The walk to the turnpike was long, so we always kept Mikey's bike at the shop, taking it there instead. Most of the guys brought their bikes in trucks, but we didn't have one, so we smushed two teenage boys onto one motorbike going 40 miles per hour on the highway. At least we went a whole lot slower than the cars, even though we could blow their doors off if we wanted to, but we didn't feel like being turned into Way-pancakes.

The ride was silent, this time because the wind was rushing too loud to really hold a conversation, leaving us to wash in our excitement alone.

I had permanently wide eyes, something that happened when I got excited, my arms latched tightly around my brother's waist so I didn't fall off.

When we got there, there was already a race going on, the five competitors taking off just as we skidded to a stop by the truck line. There were a bunch of guys unloading bikes, and I recognized Ray and his brothers there.

I pulled off my helmet, leaving Mikey to straighten his red biking jacket and moving to where the unused bikes were piled up, their various owners standing nearby.

I sat on the tarp set out for the fixing of bikes, setting my stuff beside me and pulling out my waterbottle, dumping out all the tools I brought and managing to stuff my helmet into the bag instead.

The track was a flurry of excitement as the racers neared the end, turning off to take the last stretch that would bring them back. I stood and cheered along with everyone, leaving my things behind in favor of lining up with some other kids by the road.

As the bikes sped by, we let out the loudest yell of all, several names being screamed out like it was the last night of their lives.

When the bikes stopped running and their riders jumped off, everyone cheering no matter their place, I stayed back and watched the very diverse crowd jump around like lifelong besties.

There were a lot of punk kids, mohawks and spiky hair, crazy colors and illegal tattoos. Among them were a few jock-looking kids, not that many had the guts to hang with us. There was Ray with his afro-floof, dressed in normal street clothes, Pete, one of Mikey's friends, with his red-streaked black hair and eyeliner, looking very emo, Brendon with styled black hair and a crazy grin, and then me, messy black hair and probably too much eyeliner, dressed in many layers of black.

The winner of the race removed their helmet, and I was met with a familiar black-and-red fauxhawk, Frank fitting right in with the other punk kids.

I sighed in annoyance and turned away, going to get a drink of water.

By the tarp I saw Lindsey, one of my sorta friends who helped fix the wrecked bikes. Our services were free while on the turnpike, so sometimes kids brought their rides in without racing.

"Hi Linds," I greeted her, waving my gloved hand vaguely. 

"Hey Gee," she said back, plopping on the mat as a girl wheeled up a bike, launching instantly into a tirade of the issues and how she had no idea how it had stopped working. She was clearly new; everyone else just dropped their bikes on the ground and waited for it to be set up standing.

I went to my spot, where someone had already managed to fuck up their bike, and set to work.

- 

About an hour later, my fingers cold and aching, a familiar voice spoke up beside me, cocky and smooth.

"I see you did show up," Frank said.

I glanced up briefly from the drive chain I was adjusting, sticking my hand into more lubricant to move it properly.

"Mikey's with Pete and Ray, over there," I said, nodding my head to the left where my brother and his friends were sitting on a tailgate.

Frank laughed, making me have the slight urge to either crawl in a hole an die from embarrassment, or die right here because it was honestly more beautiful than anything I'd ever heard, and I listen to Green Day.

"Yeah, I know," he said. "I came to talk to you."

I must have looked more skeptically than I realized, because he laughed again.

"Um, okay..." I said, unsure of what I was supposed to do if a cute boy actually wanted to speak to me.

I mean no, Frank might be cute, but he was just a fuckboy, if he liked me at all it was just to get into my pants, he didn't matter, and I wasn't giving him what he wanted.

"So... what are you doing after this?" he asked, and I was thoroughly confused. Was he going to ask me on a date... ? Maybe he wasn't as bad as I thought?

"Uh, going home, reading till 6 am, sleeping for two hours, then school," I said.

"Oh well, do you maybe wanna... hang out later," he asked.

Wait, what is he even talking about.

"Like... hang out, hang out, or 'hang out', hang out?" I made air quotes with my greasy fingers around the second version.

"Like, 'hang out', hang out," Frank said, pointing his thumb back to the cars. "I have an empty tuck," he offered.

My heart sank.

But I mean, come on, why would I expect him to like me, he's... well, him, and I'm just... me.

"Uh, no thanks," I said. I wasn't going to be one of those idiots in stories who fucks their crushes just to feel some connection with them. I doubted I would feel any connection with him the way he does things. I mean, I heard he's good, but that doesn't matter much to me, not that I had an experience to compare it to except... well, basically I wasn't gonna fuck him.

"I don't really do that sort of thing," I added, turning back to my work.

"M'kay," he shrugged leaving to go to Mikey and his friends.

If he has sex with Mikey I will literally throw up.

Not that I think Mikey's gay, I haven't really talked about his opinions on that kind of thing with him, but I had heard a girl at out house once, and let's just say I turned up my headphones real quick.

The thought of my brother and Frank fucking only disgusted me for a second, because then it just made me sad.

Was I really so worthless I was just gonna be some quick fuck, and my refusal wouldn't put him off in the slightest?

Yes. Of course.

He didn't care about me, of course he didn't, and the thought of it shouldn't have made me cry, but I found myself holding back tears.

When even a total stranger knows you're pathetic and meaningless, it definitely means something.

I tried to focus my eyes on the drive chain in front of me, but all I could think of was his face, not even falling slightly when I refused, not caring about me for a second.

<><><>

I'm sorry, that seems rlly unfinished, but I'm moving and I'm supposed to be packing a bag to be ready to go and stand outside my literal door... um sorry.

Anyway, I have lots and lots of ideas for this, so I will write whenever I have time, thanks for reading!