If it's one thing that I've learned in life, it's that you have to avoid the bullshit. And if you're gonna ever learn two things in life, it has to be that avoiding the bullshit is one of the hardest things that you can possibly do. I swear it.

I couldn't avoid the bullshit when my mom died, or the bullshit when my father promptly remarried or the bullshit when my depression hit or any of the bullshit I got from my friends for bullshit pieces one and on--

Except I'm getting ahead of myself. Because this story isn't about my mom's death or and of that jazz. It's about one very specific moment of bullshit that proceeded to set off so much other fuckery that it was unfathomable.

Again, getting ahead of myself.

If I had to start from the beginning, I wouldn't because that's so over done. Instead, I have to start at the middle. I remember it was a Sunday when the Sinclair family moved in. I know because I was at church all day, and when I came home there was an entire family living two houses down on the corner from me. That fast.

Before the Sinclairs, my neighborhood was rather quite filled with for the most back Asian immigrants chasing the dream. I knew some of their kids, but most of them came and left so frequently that nobody ever really talked to each other. You just kind of lived there. As my father said, fellowship was what divided those who live in a neighborhood and just on a street.

According to father, we lived on a street. And now that street contained the Sinclairs.

I remember specifically when I first saw a Sinclair. I was out for my night jog and saw an older boy, college age maybe, toting boxes out of the house. I remember when I saw him because he was pantie dropping hot, and I ran into a tree. And per norms of the bullshit, he saw me, which of course then designated that I can never speak to him again. Except, he spoke to me.

"Are you alright?" he called, stopping to watch as I quickly bounced back to my feet.

"My ego's hurt a little but it's cool," and because we were talking now, I walked toward him and held out my hand, "Hi, I'm KJ."

"Alright KJ, I'm Dil," as we shook I thanked the Lord for tall, caramel skinned guys that had nice hands.

"You guys just move here?" I gave him about a five over, because a once over wasn't enough to truly appreciate a man like that.

"Yeah. My mom, my sister and I. You guys are probably about the same age."

"Your mom?" I joked and he chuckled.

"No my sister. She's home schooled so I don't know if you'll see her a lot."

"And what about you?" I asked. I doubted he was a high-schooler, but you know.

"Getting my master's around the corner at Lincoln University," a call for him sounded from in the house and he turned to leave, "Nice talking to you, KJ. See you around."

"See ya," I called, heading back to the sidewalk I'd been jogging on.

Dil Sinclair. Those were the type of guys-- especially guys--- I needed on my radar. Distant in the back of my memory was the notion of how I'd spent the last month of my junior semester entrapped in the bullshit because I wasn't on my top game. As my feet slam the pavement over and over again I promise myself a year as free of hoes that a year can get. Just me and the main hoes- my best friends.

***

The first day of school is always the easiest to get up for. I swear it. You haven't met your teachers yet and you want to see your friends and honestly the toxic bullshit produced by simply attending a high school hasn't set into your bones yet. You still have some type of life in your eyes. There's still pep in your step.

And the first day of my senior year is no different.

I grab a quick shower and change into a black v-neck and black joggers, knowing this will be the nicest I'll look for the rest of the school year. I grab my trusty leather bomber and black high tops before heading out.

"Kaylie?" I stop, hand on the door knob. "Yes?"

"Is that you, Baby Girl?" my father peers around the corner, grabbing and pulling me into a hug. My dad is about the same height as me, maybe an inch taller than my standing 5'8''. He'd acquired a dad belly in recent years, and his hair, though still on his head, was starting to grey.

"You're all grown up! Look at you!" he holds me at arms length, "My senior."

"Okay," I pull back from him, "Your senior who's about to be late."

He hugs me one more time anyway, "Good luck on your first day."

"Thanks," he releases me and I head to our driveway, admiring my trusty grey pick up. It was my dad's, but I'd been gifted it for my birthday last summer. It has two rows, which is fitting as I only have like two friends anyway.

I start it and pull out, almost flattening a living rainbow.

"Christ!" I hit my brakes.

"Hi Mom!" my neighbor and one of my best friends, Beck, joins me in my truck.

"Had you not been dressed like a living highlighter I'd have hit you," I look his outfit over--- borderline neon pink jeans, white van's, and a white collared shirt.

"Okay well not everyone rolls out of bed looking like death," he snipes, looking at my outfit, absent of color.

"I'm dressed for a funeral," I shrug, starting my truck.

"Who's?"

"Yours," I hit him, "Jumping behind a moving truck like a dumbass!"

He laughs, like I didn't almost murder him. 

Beckham Johns, or Beck, is a sophomore and my play son. Over the summer he'd bleach his hair and then shaved the sides, dying the remaining top a rainbow of colors. His wardrobe almost always reflected his personality--- Loud. And living just up the street from me, one of my closest friends.

We stop to get breakfast on the drive to school. I park my grey pick up next to my best friend, Nat's red Honda, under a tree. She's still inside, causally reclined in the driver's seat, staring at the ceiling. I slide into the passenger's seat.

"Morning best friend," I hand her a McDonald's frappe.

She opens her eyes and rolls her head to look at me, "Why are you in my car?"

"Because you love me," I let the seat back, "Ready for this year?"

"Not in the slightest."

We look at each other, roll our eyes and then return staring out her sun roof at the shining sun.

"You should be excited," I mumble, "This is finally the year you realize and confess your love to me before we graduate."

I'm rewarded with a smack to my abdomen. "My fat..." I moan in response.

My best friend of almost a century was for the most part a sarcastic piece of shit like me. With red flamed hair and an all black appearance, she was in fact the only goth in our school who was actually making it work. We have been thick as thieves for years, so I was by no way surprised when she revealed to me she was in fact, a lesbian. Our relationship didn't change, it just expanded my joke range and she subconsciously began also hoping I was a lesbian too, which could've been a thing, had last semester not begin wrapped up and laced with bullshit.

But I'm not a lesbian. I swear it.

The warning bell rings and we head to class. Due to me being duel-enrolled in a technical school across town, I'm only at school for the first three hours of the day, then, after lunch, I attend culinary classes at Northern Cliff Tech. NCT is technically apart of a different school district, so they're on a different calendar causing Tech to start tomorrow. Also causing me to have an afternoon free.

After I complete my morning classes, I shake, driving to the library, enjoying my new found freedom of having a car and a license. Settling at a table in the teen room, I abide my time listening to k-pop and watching k-dramas.

I feel a tap on my leg and I glance up at the blonde girl staring at me, startled by her sudden presence. Pausing my music, I pull out my earbuds, "Excuse me?"

"I said hey," she smiles, and I scowl, upset at how beautiful it is, "You live next to me right? I saw you meet my brother, Dil."

She offers her hand, "I'm Layne."

"KJ," I take her hand, surprised at how soft it is, "And I don't mean to be rude but why are you sitting with me?"

She smirks, "Wow, rather bold aren't you?"

"Sorry," I sigh and roll my eyes sarcastically, "How rude of me."

She either misses my sass or chooses to ignore it, "Apology accepted. And I'm sitting with you because you looked lonely."

I stop what I'm doing and look at her again. Light brown eyes, and long blonde hair, cascading down her shoulders. From the way the light is hitting her, its almost like her nicely tanned skin is glowing under the freckles bridging across her nose. Undoubtedly pretty, maybe even beautiful, which is against the rules of Operation Slay. No more attractive friends. I swore it.

"I'm not lonely," I reply, going back to what I was doing, "So thanks but no thanks."

"Aw, did I hurt your feelings?" she taunts, leaning in close letting me catch of whiff of her perfume. She smells like sweet roses and happiness.

"Please, I don't have feelings anymore," I quip, "It's part of being a sociopath."

"So I'm neighbors with a sociopath?" she muses, "Are you that weird killer type or the super sexual type?"

I smirk, "Who says I'm not both?"

She gives me a dry laugh. Her teasing reminds me of someone else's and I feel a twang in my heart. Nope. Not again.

"I hear you're home schooled," I prompt, realizing she isn't about to leave me alone.

"I am," she flips a lock of hair out of her face, "Except I go to this weird tech school part time."

Oh, God...

"It's called Northern Cliff."

I bet it is...

"You don't happen to be joining the culinary program, right?"

"That's exactly what I'm pursuing! How'd you guess?"

Because I was detecting some bullshit. And I found it.