Chapter Text
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If Larissa had a pound for every time she sat at her kitchen counter with her head in her hands listening to her mum complain about her attitude, she’d have enough money to escape from her godforsaken house. But alas, she doesn’t get money for just sitting around, which, ironically, is what her mum was complaining about.
Her mother didn’t seem to understand that she had been working her butt off with her schoolwork all year and the only thing she doesn’t pay for is the food and housing bills and shit that her mum’s supposed to cover until she moves out. She’s grateful for it and all, but Larissa pays for everything else and she’s never asked to borrow from her mum in her life, so she doesn’t think her lack of a job right now is that big of an issue.
Except of course it fucking is.
Because other kids her age have jobs. And since Larissa doesn’t have one that must mean she is an immediate ‘failure.’ Maybe if her mother would take a look at her predicted grades for more than two fucking seconds she’d see another side of the story. Or maybe even just how much of Larissa’s free time was spent doing work and agonising over notes because sixth form is fucking brutal and requires that of you. Especially if you’ve taken art (oh why did Larissa take fucking art?).
“You can’t expect me to do everything for you around here.” Her mum starts, and here it comes. Larissa is a parasite on the family, taking and never giving, but also could you please babysit for your brother on Saturday since ‘I have a night out with some friends.’ The teen doesn’t ask if she could get paid for it; she learnt not to ask that a long time ago.
Instead she sits there, ideas about what she could do for the next art assignment floating around in her brain, which made tuning her mother out a lot easier than before. The theme was ‘nature’ which could so easily be very very boring. Larissa was determined to do something wild with it. Maybe she could convince her friend to let her use his bong in a sculpture.
Speaking of said friend, she felt her phone vibrate against her leg and immediately covered up the noise with a cough. Her mum glared at her, and Larissa looked back with the most innocent expression she could muster so that mummy dearest wouldn’t get even more pissed off at her completely useless daughter.
Finally, after what felt like hours, there was enough of a break in the conversation that Larissa could excuse herself, tell her mother she was going to work on her philosophy homework and run upstairs before she had enough time to doubt her. Once she reached the safety of her room, she swiped her finger across her phone and checked the message she’d received earlier.
Shitlord (16:47): fucking grandparents want me to fucking chop my hair like nah m8 fuck off
Larissa chuckled, and felt an odd comfort that she wasn’t the only one suffering through family drama that night.
Me (17:03): Hit them in the face with your flow. Then come hit my mum, she’s pissing me off again.
It took him two minutes to respond. He was reliable like that. Larissa always relied on Shitty to defuse her bad mood.
Shitlord (17:05) oh fuck is it the job or the love life?
Me (17:05) Job. You’d think being predicted an A in AS Art would be enough
Shitlord (17:06) come on lards, arts not a real subject ;P
Me (17:07) You would know mr history-maths-french-lawyer-combo-of-the-ages
Shitlord (17:07) dont forget sociology
Me: (17:08) come on shits, socios not a real subject ;P
Larissa smiled down at her phone, forever grateful to Shitty in these trying times of being a new sixth form student at a pretentious school full of smart dickheads who thought they were better than you. She loved that Shitty was...not like that. Plus he had a nightmare of a family, so the two had quickly bonded over that.
Shitlord (17:11) do u want a job?
Me (17:12) I’m not working at ur dad’s shady business. Thanks for the offer shits but I’m good
Shitlord (17:14) nah bro, u could come with me to hockey practice after school on tuesday, we need a new manager who isn’t a fuckin arse
Larissa stared at the text for a solid 15 minutes. Shitty was a member of a local hockey team, she knew that, but she never thought he’d want her to get involved with that. It seemed very...bro-ey. If she hadn’t helped him with his sociology homework and listened to the rants that came with it, she’d have thought he was a total bro as well, but apparently…
Me (17:49) I’ll come talk to the coaches and shit, see what I think
Shitlord (17:51) Swawesome
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It wasn’t right to say that Eric hated his secondary school. After all, he had made some friends at the place (none in his year but whatever), and he had some...memories...so to speak and what more could you get from a school anyway?
However, even Eric couldn’t deny the sense of dread that filled him when his alarm went off on his first day of year 11. He was in no way ready for another year in that hellhole, but at least after this one he could move away. Go to the college in town or even apply for some apprenticeship somewhere; he didn’t quite have the ‘future’ set out for himself just yet. He just knew that this year was his last at Georgia Martin Academy.
That thought alone is what got Eric out of bed.
Although he did press snooze on his alarm 3 times. But it could definitely be worse, so Eric was taking that as a win.
He sleepily pulled his uniform on and tied his tie with a muscle memory he wished he didn’t have. Eric also allowed himself a moment to wish his school let them tie them into bow ties, but no. Regulation length and appearance. Regulation everything. It was stifling.
“Morning mom.” He yawned as he entered the kitchen, his mum happily finishing off the American-style pancakes she was making for breakfast. Eric absolutely adored his mother, and he couldn’t be more grateful for everything she had done for him. From breakfast pancakes to late night heart-to-hearts to packing up their lives and moving across the ocean to the UK, and Eric appreciated it all.
“Dicky! Ready for school?” She asking, smiling brightly as she stocked up his plate.
“As I’ll ever be.” He smiled back. He was not going to tell her that that translated to ‘not at all,’ Eric wanted his mom to be sure that she had made the right decision in moving them. That meant no guilt tripping, no complaining and being happy whenever she asked him a question about school. Although the ones about friends were getting harder to avoid.
Eric was appreciating his mother’s cooking when his father made an appearance. He grunted at his family as a way of saying good morning and grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl. Eric’s mom handed him his coffee and that gave Eric exactly 5 minutes before they would be leaving.
His dad didn’t have to drop him off at school, but since he worked there it didn’t make sense going with any other option. Besides, it gave Eric about an hour beforehand to finish any homework due in for the day, a trick that had saved him far too many times to be healthy in his life at Georgia Martin. Still, that meant that Eric needed to get his butt in gear if he was going to be ready when his dad was.
It was a frantic couple of minutes, checking his bag and his hair and his blazer and even then being beyond sure that he’d forgotten something. Eric had his keys, his money, his phone. Did he really need anything else?
“Junior.” His dad called up the stairs. “We’re off.”
“One sec Coach.” He called back, patting himself down.
Just as Eric reached the top of the stairs, he remembered. He dashed back to his room, grabbed his pens and then hurried down the stairs. Well done Bittle, well done.
“Took you long enough.” His dad grunted.
“Looking this good takes time.” The response was out of his mouth before Eric was registering what he was saying. There was a deer-in-the-headlights moment where he froze, waiting to see if his dad was going to comment. But he didn’t. So Eric cautiously followed him out of the house, waving goodbye to his mom.
He wished the drive would last forever. He really wasn’t ready to go back into a school routine again, but no less than ten minutes after leaving the house was Coach Bittle pulling into the Georgia Martin car park. Eric quickly thanked his dad and was running out of the car to claim his spot in the dining hall.
It was embarrassing to have the year 7s claim his table.
Finally, after an hour of waiting, the bell rang. Eric Bittle sighed, put his phone away and dejectedly made his way to registration. He barely even noticed Chris Chow, an enthusiastic kid in the year below, welcoming him back as the two rushed past each other in the corridor.
Luckily, Eric’s registration was in a lab so they needed to wait for the teacher to come let them in. Couldn’t have these kids on their own in a science room, actual death might occur. Or at least, it would if the scalpels in this school didn’t resemble blunt pencils, but there was still some form of risk.
If Eric hadn’t been forced to wait outside Room 18, also known as Mr Hall’s lab, then he wouldn’t have spotted the poster on one of the extracurricular noticeboards dotted around the school. He wouldn’t have torn that piece of paper off the board and tucked it into his pocket. He wouldn’t have read over it at lunch, convincing himself it was a good idea. He wouldn’t have shown it to his dad after school, who wouldn’t have slapped his son on the back telling him to ‘go for it.’
So many things wouldn’t have happened if Eric didn’t pick up the leaflet advertising the local ice hockey team.
It’s funny how the small moments are the ones that change your life.