"What's wrong with some light stabbing?"
Delving into vigilante-ism, Charlie Redmond has balance everything from her superhero neighbor to her math tests to her inability to talk about her feelings. Unlike her morally righteous co-worker, Spider-Man...
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Whoever invented school needs to rot in hell is the only thought that crosses my mind as my head rests against the cold window of Alexander Delacroix's ancient Toyota's window. The constant shaking, and the fear his rusty tin on wheels suddenly breaking down are the only things holding my eyes open. Everything is so stupid when you're tired. Stupid school. Stupid car. Stupid I-can't-rest-because-I-have-to-help-the-fucking-neighborhood.
"Hey, don't drool on my seats, Scarlett." Alex snaps using my full name as we stop at a red light long enough for him to flick my thigh. Too tired to retort, I send him a withering look.
I absolutely hate the name Scarlett, it sounds too important and mysterious, seductive almost, which is why Charlie suits me much better. It's simple, no weight in it, but no, I'm stuck with the crashing hopes of a sexy rich woman, only to be a frizzy haired teen who probably should have gotten braces by now. Stupid Name. Stupid car. Stupid friend. Stupid four hours of sleep.
"I don't drool," I whine, rolling around in my seat, the cold leather makes chills shoot up my spine. The dark rising sky blurs past us on our morning commute to hell. New York is currently in its weird in-between fall-winter thing, where it's not snowing yet, but it's still cold, especially early in the morning .
"Yeah, you do." My pale friend snorts turning left, his green eyes carefully watching the road in front of him, probably worrying more for his car than our safety. Even if the car is a shit-mobile, he cares for it deeply.
To be fair, cars are a rarity for teenagers as the ever popular transportation system of Queens is considered almost everyone's main form of transport and up until Alex got his license it was our form of transportation. Luckily, Alex's older brother Octavian(his mother has a thing for history) moved away for college and left the rust bucket to him as a gift.
"No, I don't, Alexander. " I curl up in my seat, glaring at him.
With a fancy ass name like Alexander Delacroix, you'd assume he would be drop dead gorgeous, rich, with a trust fund that could build schools, and class to spare. Truth is he's a lower class kid from Queens, who's only suit was about three sizes too big, and never saw the light of day.
However, only one of those things is kinda true, the douche bag is fairly attractive. Deep set eyes that have just enough emerald in them to qualify as green, always holds his I-don't-give-a-shit attitude in them. Swoon-worthy(as I've been told, many, many, times) dark black hair that reaches just below his ears. Thin and as gangly as they come, like a skeleton with a thin layer skin pulled over it. He'd probably have a girlfriend by now if he ever changed out of his old t-shirt and jeans, and if he wasn't such a prick.
"I've seen you sleep Charlie, you're a fountain." He glances at me, before rolling his eyes. Stupid drool.
"Don't watch me sleep, creep." I close my eyes just a little, for a sliver of darkness that I want to stretch out for eternity.
