Original Writing: BadBoy!Kevin, prompted by @protegomypotato
So I went all the way on this shit.
As soon as the speedometer hit fourty-five, I stood up effortlessly on the moving vehicle, swung my leg over the seat and jumped off. I hit the ground on two feet, one hand in between my bent knees and the other loose by my side. There were a few gasps as the metal impacted with more metal and I smiled slightly.
I could tell by the satanic glares and avid hushed whispers from the copious amounts of students that gathered for my arrival, walking through Fenway only six months after leaving on a 'fun' note would not exactly be a secretive thing. The motorbike caught the majority of the attention though because it wasn’t everyday that the faculty members witnessed an automobile crashing into the school gates.
It was Stephen’s bike; I’d borrowed it a week previous, he’d pissed me off, and now it lay in a mangled heap of bubbling plastic and engulfing hot flames. I still kicked it as I walked past it though.
I took the helmet off and chucked it into the mess I had made. I saw the old science teacher running from the main office, shrieking something, her heels tapping stupidly with every tiny step she took. I ignored her and shook my head, knowing my hair was messy. Like that mattered
“Kevin!” I heard from behind me. I smirked to myself, ignoring the voice and taking out a cigarette packet from my pocket.
“Kevin, what the—what the fuck?!” An out of breath voice exclaimed, running to keep up. Stephen sounded close to tears. I lit the cigarette in my mouth and inhaled deeply.
The tall eighteen year old jumped in front of me, staring at the motorbike, red in the face. “Hey—you can’t just—!”
I blew in him face sharply, ceasing his speech by slightly clogging his lungs with tar. He choked on the smoke and I shoved past him, walking up to the main office building. Stephen didn’t follow, so I fished around in the pocket of my leather jacket and chucked the keys over my shoulder. They hit the ground beneath his feet.
I opened the door. As soon as my boots hit the floor of the room, the receptionist jumped, just like her eyebrows did when she saw who it was.
“Mr Samson!” She instantly said, “We-we expelled you, not only six months—”
“I left,” I interrupted, dropping my cigarette to the floor and crunching it under my heel, almost laughing at her distraught expression. I crossed the floor between us and leant my hand on the table.
She withdrew slightly. I let the small smile play around on my face.
“So." I said lightly. "I need you to tell me where Alice Picket is and if she is currently in lesson, because she and I have a date.”