Kale was actually sitting in home room for the first time in…God, he didn’t even know how long. The fact that he was actually awake at such an early hour was a feat in itself, never having been one to be a morning person, but his mother had dragged some piece of trash into their apartment at about 6:30 in the morning, which lead Kale to throw on whatever clean clothes were laying near his bed (which doubled as their couch), and head out, not wanting to stick around and listen to that through the thin walls of the apartment.
He was a 16 year old kid, wandering the bitter-cold streets of Far Rockaway, the heaviest article of clothing he was wearing being the thick hooded sweatshirt he wore on his upper half, a pair jeans and worn out black converse covering his bottom half. It was 1995, and Kale was only a month or so away from turning 17. The second semester of his Junior year of High School had only just begun, and Kale was feeling even less motivated to even show up at the school than he had last semester. But, it was nearly 7 in the morning, and Kale didn’t have anywhere better to be, which is how he wound up practically sleepwalking into the classroom, falling asleep on the back desk less than 10 minutes into sitting down.
He didn’t even know what the hell was still in his system from the night before.
Because he was next to the window, he woke up to the sound of someone tapping against the glass. His eyes shut tighter as he tried to remain asleep, not really caring whether or not the bell had gone off or not, signaling a class switch. It was when the tapping persisted that he finally opened one of his eyes, his blurry vision eventually focusing to make the vision of his best friend, Dylan, perfectly clear to him through the clear barrier. He lifted his head, pushing his hair out of his eyes (it was getting long now, and kept falling into his face) as he looked at him, his expression reading exactly what was on his mind: what the fuck are you doing?
Having known each other practically all their lives, the two could almost communicate telepathically – then again they had a lot of practice whenever they weren’t able to talk to each other and needed to convey a message…like when they were working together on making an alibi, for example.
He was a 16 year old kid, wandering the bitter-cold streets of Far Rockaway, the heaviest article of clothing he was wearing being the thick hooded sweatshirt he wore on his upper half, a pair jeans and worn out black converse covering his bottom half. It was 1995, and Kale was only a month or so away from turning 17. The second semester of his Junior year of High School had only just begun, and Kale was feeling even less motivated to even show up at the school than he had last semester. But, it was nearly 7 in the morning, and Kale didn’t have anywhere better to be, which is how he wound up practically sleepwalking into the classroom, falling asleep on the back desk less than 10 minutes into sitting down.
He didn’t even know what the hell was still in his system from the night before.
Because he was next to the window, he woke up to the sound of someone tapping against the glass. His eyes shut tighter as he tried to remain asleep, not really caring whether or not the bell had gone off or not, signaling a class switch. It was when the tapping persisted that he finally opened one of his eyes, his blurry vision eventually focusing to make the vision of his best friend, Dylan, perfectly clear to him through the clear barrier. He lifted his head, pushing his hair out of his eyes (it was getting long now, and kept falling into his face) as he looked at him, his expression reading exactly what was on his mind: what the fuck are you doing?
Having known each other practically all their lives, the two could almost communicate telepathically – then again they had a lot of practice whenever they weren’t able to talk to each other and needed to convey a message…like when they were working together on making an alibi, for example.