Chapter Text
It's been six month since Nick burnt down his school. He was sentenced to four months in juvie. Now he is two months into his community service. He lives alone now. His father requested a restraining order. His own father was afraid of him. To save himself from the whole foster system, he chose to emancipate himself. He moved a whole county away for a fresh start. He didn't have anyone to take care of him.
He was lucky enough to get a job before school started. In fact he got two. He worked as a janitor, ironic enough, at a diner near his new apartment. He barely can afford rent but his landlady thinks he's an orphan so she gives him some slack. He kinda feels bad about it but he needs a place to stay.
He’s heard how bad the foster system is and doesn't want to go through that. He almost had to when he was young. His mother left when he was four. He never found out why or where she is now but he doesn't care too much. He hates her.
His second job was as a night guard at some office building. The most he had to do was give directions to some old lady. He usually wouldn’t be allowed to because he is only seventeen but he got a fake ID from some sketchy guy online. It doesn't really matter because now he’s making just enough to pay for rent, groceries, and everyday stuff.
Unfortunately part of the emancipation is that he still must attend school. So after he finishes his shift that night, he will be getting two hours of sleep and then going to school.
He sees Mark, the older man who clocks in after him, pull up to the security booth. He used to be a night guard at some old restaurant before it got shut down for some crimes. Now he works here part time. Nick lets Mark drive through and about two minutes later, Mark comes walking back to the booth, car parked in the lot. “Go ahead and clock out, I got it from here.” He says, plopping into the old torn up chair. He places his coffee and newspaper onto the desk. NIck just smiles and walks out. He never liked Mark. He thought there was a sketchy vibe to him. Like he had a dark side.
He walked his way home. Luckily it wasn’t a long walk. He thought about school. He hoped he could join the football team again. He hoped he could keep his head down, play the game and after the two years be far gone from that place. When he was young, his dad didn't think he “developed enough socially” in kindergarten so he redid it. So he should be a senior, but he's just a junior. It frustrates him, because then he could be graduating this year. He knows he could just not graduate, but if he wanted to get a job he actually enjoys he would have to go to a colleague.
He walked into his apartment building, and slowly made his way up the stairs. He fumbled with his keys, and threw the door open. He slid off his shoes, and fell onto his futon. He set his alarm for seven and finally fell asleep.
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He woke up to the hard floor. He must’ve fallen off his couch while he was sleeping. He grabbed his phone off the table, and checked the time. It read 7:45. Fuck. He jumps up and does a little run to his dresser. He goes through and grabs a pair of black sweatpants and a white tee-shirt with a flame in the center. His dad thought it was funny but now it is the only thing that he has from him. While it makes him a bit sad, it has its comfort. He jumps into the shower and washes up really quick.
He looks at his phone to see how late he is. 7:57. He had to get to school, which is a mile away, by foot, in three minutes. He slides his sneakers on, not bothering to tie them. He grabs his football bag and school bag, throwing each over one shoulder. He looked down at his bags once more contemplating leaving the little panda patch on it, a little gift from his mother. Maybe he does miss her. He leaves it and continues to run out of the apartment. On his way out he grabs his new lighter, having the old one confiscated. He runs down the stairs, ignoring all the people he brushes by.
While running down the street, he pulls out his phone for his locker information, and where the first period is. This is where he messes up. He steps on one shoe lace and sends himself flying forward into the cement. Instead of dropping his phone and breaking it, turns his head to the side. It takes him a second to get up. He examines himself, looking at his injuries. His sweatpants began showing a deep maroon color through the black. One of his palms was bleeding pretty badly. The hand with his phone in it, was scrapped along the side. Luckily his phone wasn’t broken, only a scratch on the screen. He felt up to his face and was met with a red liquid. He could feel the deep scrape on his cheek, down to the jawbone. Part of him wanted to just turn around and go home but he needed to go today. He knew if he didnt go today, he would start behind in all of his classes and he would miss football tryouts.
So like a sensible person Nick walked into school covered in blood. He looked at his phone and it read 8:04. He wasn’t too late. He walked around for a minute looking for his locker. He was so busy looking for his locker that he didn’t notice the boy approaching from behind him.
He jumped out of thought at the hand tapping his shoulder.
“Ummm, are you okay?” the taller boy asks.