It was the first day of high school. Agust and I had planned on walking with each other to school until he gets a car or motorcycle, which I hope he doesn’t. I rush to get dressed. Light blue skinny jeans, a white tank top, and my furry brown (almost knee-high) boots. I go into the bathroom, brush and braid my hair, brush my teeth, and pack my bag. It’s my first year at this school, but it’s Agust’s second. He has quite the reputation there.
A knock on the front door downstairs startles me. I sling my bag over my shoulder and rush downstairs. My phone had been on the kitchen counter from last night. I grab my phone and open the door. Agust.
“Took you long enough,” he said rolling his eyes. His arms are crossed. “You could’ve called.”
“Sorry. I woke up late and had to rush to get ready,” I explain.
“Well, next time don’t oversleep.”
I glare at him. Our friendship is complicated. Some days we are completely fine, smiling and laughing. Other days, he seems to yell at me, or we start having yelling wars. Today was the day he’ll be rude and a jerk.
“I better grab some breakfast be--”
“No. We are leaving now,” he states as he grabs my arm.
He drags me out the front door of my house. A motorcycle was parked on the side of the road.
“Agust… You didn’t get a motorcycle… Did you?” I ask aloud, and cover my mouth.
He chuckles, and states, “This beauty is mine.”
The way he said it, it didn’t sound like he was calling the motorcycle “his beauty.”
“Anyway,” he begins, “I got two helmets. One for you,” he picks a small, black helmet up, placing it on my head, “and one for me.” he picks up the other helmet and puts it on his head.
I buckle the helmet under my chin, and he does the same. I start to feel a bit nervous as he gets on. He looks at me.
“Come on, Annika, get on,” he says a bit harshly.
I obey and get on. Fixing my bag over my shoulder, Agust starts the motorcycle. I quickly wrap my arms around his waist, he chuckles.
“We haven’t left yet, and you’re already holding onto me.”
“Sh-Shut up!” I stutter, only fueling his amusement. “Stop l-laughing at me!”
He continues to laugh. “It’s hard not to laugh,” he takes a breath, “at you when you stutter or when you’re scared.”
I gently hit his arm, and he lets out a small chuckle.
“Now we are leaving,” he says as the motorcycle starts to leave.
My grip around his waist tightens, and a lean my head against his shoulder. I can feel him tense up. What’s up with this boy? I ask myself. I lightly laugh to myself as the wind brushes against my face and through my hair. I small smile tugs at my lips as a blush finds its way upon my cheeks.
It feels like hours since we left my house. The school nears closer and closer as Agust drives up to it. He parks his bike and we get off, removing our helmets. Today doesn’t seem so bad so far.
Merci pour la lecture!
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