Bitter Sunshine

Hipster Baby

Hudson's POV

I lost my virginity freshman year.

At the time, I still resided in the North Carolina shoe box. I had friends- seniors. For whatever reason, I never connected with kids my age. We didn't share the same dilemmas.

Those friends insisted I come to this party. Hell, it wasn't even a high school party. Some burnout jock stuck in his high school Alma mater decided not to let his teenage years go. The house was shitty; four rooms jammed with drunk kids. The entire population below twenty could've probably fit in that house.

A guy a knew came up to me and handed me a red solo cup.

"Something to give you a kick."

I was in over my head with alcohol fueling my nonexistent ego. The host's sister was an alcoholic home for a weekend, I guess, because she was a 20 year old coming on to me. Her breath reaked even worse than mine. Admittedly, I fudged my age a bit. I told her I was 17. She was short, I was tall... it was believable.

I woke up on a trashed bedroom floor.

Underneath a naked adult.

From that point on, I vowed to respect myself a little more. Well, at least enough to ensure I wouldn't wake up next to dozens of nude strangers. Alas, this new level of self-respect was never put into action because I grew up.

I ditched the conventional Nike shirts and stuck with whatever Dave's not using. The prepubescent spunk was replaced with dark under eyes. All of my shits were used up. The last s**t I gave resides with Drake in Shasta.

No one willingly approaches someone who looks like a Tim Burton reject. But I just can't find that drive for normalcy I once had. Each move spiked my inner nihilist. I mapped life out for what it is: A grave. You do whatever you want, but in the end, you're still six feet under. And if you made any difference whatsoever, in a century it won't matter.

Nothing matters.

I can rob a bank and go to prison. Hell, I could spend my life in prison. The truth of the matter, however, is that the the f*****g president of the United States is going to be no happier than me when we're dead.

Granted, this new philosophy took some practicing. My free time on airplanes was spent studying guys like Kubrick.

I threw out my f*****g iPhone when I was drunk.

I threw away a $400 cellphone in a drunken rage whilst pondering the meaning of life, or rather life's lack of meaning.

I will accept the term freak when it's thrown. According to society, I am a freak. So I don't flinch when this certified asshole throws a football at my face.

Easily, I slap it away. The guy doesn't seem surprised; he just smiles. I spot Callum slink out from behind him, putting a hand on his shoulder. Of course this was his doing.

"Sweetheart, meet my buddy Mason. I was telling him about how you should come to try-outs," he explains.

Mason is obviously the captain. Judging by his size and cocky glint, he perfectly fits the archetype. He was a burly brunette, tan lines coloring his body like tattoos; a body-builder crammed into the confinements of a football jersey.

"'Was just testin' your reflexes new kid. You should come. Coach is on my ass about diversifying the team or some s**t, but a new white boy is always welcome," he winks. I hold back the urge to scoff.

"Trust me," I tell him. "I'm no football player."

The next football thrown at the back of my head is not caught. Laughter erupts from the new character and his friends, all wearing the same jerseys as Callum and Mason. Mason rolls his eyes while Mason joins in.

"You can say that again," the jerk laughs. A few onlookers in our gym class look confusedly upon the scene. Frustrated with the attention, I storm into the school leaving behind the asshole jocks. The hallway is empty, as everyone is either in class or out on the field. I'll gladly accept this reprieve from the persistent dipshits that label themselves football players.

"You okay?"

I turn around to see the blond girl haunting my subconscious. Her green eyes are piercing my body as she examines me. I feel like bacteria under her microscope- a test subject. In turn, I do a quick once over of her. Her blond hair is pulled back, revealing her dusty freckles. She's wearing shorts and a yellow shirt so bright you'd mistake her for a second sun. That innocent look hasn't changed from the moment I first saw her in that classroom.

Jesus, I still don't even know her name.

Awkwardly, I clear my throat. "Thanks for your unneeded concern, but I'm right as rain blondie." A ghost of a smile graces her pink lips.

"No need for the hostility. I'm being nice," she coolly responds. I can't help but find the humor in our contrasting voices. While mine is rough and deep, hers is smooth and steady. As I tower over her, we probably couldn't look more different.

I was a predator. She should be more scared.

"Anyways," she continued with a slight grin, "I'm Lyric." I snort.

"What's your last name? 'World Peace?'"

Her grin lessens. "You're hilarious. Don't waste your time, I've heard this stuff my entire life. Not my fault my parents believe in originality," she retorts. Now it's my turn to smile. Lyric is spunkier than I'd imagined she'd be.

"I'm Hudson."

"Like the river?"

I scowl as she laughs. "Shut up," I grumble. Her smile widens, stretching from ear to ear.

"You cannot make fun of my hippie name when you're named after a flipping river. I'd say we're equal."

Lyric slyly tucks a loose strand behind her ear. It's an action that's so simple, yet my eyes can't help but stare where her hand just was. A slight blush adorns her cheeks when she notices my staring. I cough slightly, sticking my hands in my pockets. We both know what I was doing.

She takes a deep breath, as if readying herself. "I thought your little introduction in physics was pretty gutsy for an emo new kid," she quips. However, her attempt to lighten the mood made any tension there was thicken. I narrow my eyes at her.

"I'm not some f*****g 'emo new kid,'" I sneer. Lyric slightly flinches at my harsh vulgarity.

Innocent I tell you.

A smirk plays at my lips. "Have I offended your virgin ears, hipster baby?"

"Hipster baby?"

"Yes," I explain with a smirk, "that's what you are. I'm assuming that you're urban name is the byproduct of a couple of hippie parents. Were you a high school surprise for them in their 70's prime, or are they sticklers to their nonconformist ways?" My intention was to offend her, but the corner of her lips curl up. She closes the distance between us, arms crossed. Her head reaches my shoulders- the shoulders I've squared to look a bit more intimidating. Normally the sight of me alone is enough to off-put any regular teenager. But Lyric, I guess, is different.

"You surprise me River," she jokes. "Am I seeing correctly? Does before me stand a competent boy with a vocabulary higher than a kindergartner's?" There's a slight dimmer in her bright green eyes.

They're like a child's.

She continues, "And to answer your question, no I wasn't the product of a prom night fiasco. I was just raised by modern hippies. How about you? Were you a, and I quote, surprise?"

I kiss my teeth. "Nope. I was a drunken accident in a trailer park."

I expect sympathy. Pity. Smugness. Anything condescending from this privileged innocent girl. I am pleasantly surprised by the low whistle she lets out. A humorous smirk marks Lyric's face.

"That makes two of us," she winks.

My "mask" of coolness and control slips a bit, in turn showing a tiny, genuine smile. "I'll see you around hipster baby," I tell her, slowing walking past her tiny form. Without turning around, I hear her call back.

"Hopefully you do, river boy."

The shitty front door slams against the wall as I enter the house of the month. Unsurprisingly, it's completely empty aside from the empty beer cans and a box TV stuck on ESPN. This month's edition is a one story with two bedrooms, a kitchenette, and a living room that's ironically where an old man died.

I head to my room and collapse on my bed. My bed frame still needs to be built from moving, so I've stuck to my floor mattress. I mean, it's inconvenient but not uncomfortable. It's a bed nonetheless. All I use it for is to read and sleep on, anyways.

The sound of the door slamming open fills the house.

Dave's home.

Lyric's POV

She hasn't answered my calls. I've been forced to go to her house. So, here I am at her front door with her favorite candy in my hands.

You're a horrible person. How could you react like that? You don't deserve her forgiveness. You'd be lucky to get a goodbye from her.

I rang the doorbell once. Twice. Thrice.

Slowly, it opens with a shirtless Van peeking through the opening. He takes one look at me, a dopey, pathetic grin on my face, and attempts to shut the door. Luckily my foot is a fast door-stopper before it's too late. He scowls.

"She has nothing to say to you," he rather rudely proclaims. I roll my eyes. I must've really upset Shay if Van had the audacity to play the "protective big brother" role. That only made the pain in my gut worsen.

You hurt your best friend. She shared something vulnerable to you. She trusted you.

And you broke that trust.

Taking a deep breath, I push the door open. "I understand what I did was horrible," I begin. Van gives me a deadpan look. I frustratedly adjust my hair. "I was having a bad day, and the fact that my best friend had hid that from me just set me off. I was completely unfair, and now that I'm in a better head space, I've come to apologize. Please, just let me in."

I can see his cogs whirring as he contemplates whether to let me in. Anticipation itches underneath my skin. I need to make this right.

Of course I don't mind she's a lesbian. My aunt's a lesbian- well, at least she was before cancer took her away. And I understand how she'd like to keep that private.

I do mind that Jenna got to be there for her when I couldn't. She didn't feel safe enough to confide in me, but Jenna of course was ready to swoop in like a vulture. She's been preying on our trio since day one, and now she got her opportunity. Jenna Wallace is a parasite. I'm sure with my help Shay could find a much more suitable girl- preferably one that doesn't suck the life out of everything whilst digging her pink claws into your skin.

Is there a Grinder for girls?

"Fine," Van concedes, simultaneously moving to the side to grant me passage. I give him and grateful smile and quickly head up to Shay's room.

Her door is patterned with Polaroids and pictures of our trio. Us three at the park in elementary school. Shay and I laughing at Kayla's miserable prom date. The first vacation we took together. Every single Halloween when Halloween became more about the hottest costume and less about stranger's candy. She always was the more sentimental of us. Kayla was the fearless leader.

I was the stone-cold wall.

Deep breaths, Lyric. The panic always ever-ready in my blood threatens to come forth. I swallow and push it down, focusing on the task at hand. I don't want Shay accepting my apology out of pity.

I knock softly, and in turn she calls me in. Slowly, I enter.

She was casually draped across her bed, thick black hair splayed across her velvet covers. Her sole focus was on her phone; she probably deemed me as Van or her parents.

"Hey."

She flips around, in the process fraying her hair. Her eyes narrow at my figure. "What do you want? If you're here to judge my slutty double-life of screwing females, against the graces of God, then I'd appreciate you're leaving my bedroom."

I was not expecting that. I sigh, taking a pathetic step forward. Shay glowers at my action. "I'm sorry." She doesn't make a move. Taking it as a signal to continue, I do just that. "I totally know it was your right to keep that a secret. Yesterday I totally overreacted, and I was stupid, and I was insensitive. I was in shock, I guess. It's just- well, I was jealous."

She raises an eyebrow. A coy smile creeps on her face. "You're jealous that I was making out with Jenna and not you?" I shudder at her name.

"I'm not jealous of Jenna fricken Wallace. That's absurd."

"Oh really? Are you sure that's the response you're going to go with?"

I cough slightly. "I'm just- it's just... it hurt Shay. It hurts," I confess. She perks up, scrutinizing me under her gaze. I feel like a peasant at my queen's mercy, awaiting my death sentence. Her persona definitely fits one of a queen. And you definitely fit one of a peasant.

"What?"

"You told someone I hate before me that you're gay. I think that's why it hurt so much. You know I don't really understand myself very well, but I'm pretty sure that's what hurt. Red despises her. And you seemed so close the other day at school, and now that I know you're hooking up, everything just makes so much sense. That makes me jealous. That you're best friends couldn't hear your secret, but a girl like Jenna could." Her arms cross.

"Hooking up with? You've deduced my relationship with Jenna as a hookup." I will myself not to snap back at her. "Look, I know you guys have had your issues with her in the past, but I figured we all could get past that. She understands me. And in no way will she replace you guys, but somethings you reserve within yourself for your girlfriend. Not best friends."

I look away, but nod nonetheless. Today I just wanted our mini fight to be over. "Okay," I quietly reply. She nods in response.

"See you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" I echo.

She softly smiles. "The club, remember?"

We say our goodbyes and I leave. While closing the doors, I hear her quiet sniffs followed by a quiet sob. I downcast my gaze and escape the suddenly suffocating house. Her cries overpower my playlist as I get home.