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09-26-2013, 04:40 AM

Zane Quinton

18

"I swear if you start off the year with a shot attendance record..."

Zane rolled his eyes at his mother as he zipped up his combat boots, standing up from his messy bed and looking down at himself. Worn black and ripped jeans, a tight black tee shirt, and his blonde hair in a mess, his favorite way to start off the school year, even though this was his last...that is, if he passed.

He exited the room, heading down the hall to the kitchen where his mother stood in a waitress uniform, scooping poorly-cooked eggs from a skillet onto two plates-- their plates.

"Now sit. You're taking the bus still, right?" she asked, gesturing to his usual spot where a glass half-filled with orange juice sat. He sat down obediently without a word and sipped on his juice, eyeing his mother.

"I thought I told you I'd be taking the bike," he said warily. He knew what she was going to say.

The spatula rattled down against the stove top as she turned to her song. "That is out of the question. You know I don't like you riding that piece of junk."

He began eating his eggs and bacon once placed before him as he told her with a mouth full of food, "That piece of junk was my summer project and I'm not going to miss the chance of showing the world my masterpiece."

His mother only scowled but said no more as she realized he was a senior now, growing up and already beginning to make his own decisions. She had to trust him.

Zane's "masterpiece" parked in an empty parking lot near the end, farthest away from school as possible. It looked like your average motorbike, except it was black with rust spots here and there. The things worked great enough, thought Zane as he pulled his shiny new helmet he had saved up for from his head, shaking his blonde hair and dismounting the bike. He had keys for it, which he stuffed into his jean pocket. He old black messenger bag still hung across his body, angling to one side as the other side sat his bike helmet under his arm.

Everyone stared at him, but he ignored them as he neared the school. The usual before-school outside crowd parted like the red sea for him, fear in their eyes as if they knew that if they so much as gave him reason to do something to them, they'd regret it.

Once in the school and at his usual assigned locker, he began piling it with his poetry books and notebooks he had planned for his classes. He pinned his schedule to the locker door next to a picture magnet of his little sister.

"Ouch. You've got Brovsky this year," came a familiar voice from around Zane. He smirked and turned around to his good friend Trevor, who had flunked last year and was in his second senior year. The two grew up together, being inseparable since pre-school.

"You better too," Zane told him as he hung his helmet on one of the locker hooks. His helmet luckily just fit in.

"Damn right I do. Mrs. Jenner said," he started as he raised his tattooed wrists in the air and made quotation marks with his fingers, "redoing all my classes would be easiest. Like, what the hell?"

Trevor had ruffled dark red hair, bright blue eyes, sun-kissed skin, and wore his usual white tee with a leather vest zipped halfway up his built torso. The two worked out together, which gave Zane no reason to be jealous. He was built himself luckily.

Zane's brown eyes scanned the crowd around them. "This is the year, Trev. I can feel it," Zane murmured.

Trevor smiled, smacking Zane's shoulder lovingly. "That's the spirit, man!"