[center][img]https://txt-dynamic.static.1001fonts.net/txt/b3RmLjQ4LmEzYzFhZC5VMjlzSUVkbGNuTm9UM2RwZEhvLC4wAAAA/repetition-demo.regular.png[/img]
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[b][color=a3c1ad]Location:[/color][/b] Home → School
[b][color=a3c1ad]Interactions:[/color][/b] Sierra [@Dirty Pretty Lies]
[b][url=https://youtu.be/pT68FS3YbQ4][color=a3c1ad]♫[/color][/url][/b]
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[color=7a7a7a]“This has got to be the driest thing I’ve eaten in my life.”[/color]

[b][color=a3c1ad]“That’s because you’re not supposed to have toast on its own, dumbass. You need to put like, butter on it or something.”[/color][/b]

[color=7a7a7a]“Yeah, well, you know what really butters my toast? Your mom.”[/color]

[b][color=a3c1ad]“What does that even — she’s [i]your[/i] mom too, you fucking moron.”[/color][/b]

“Oy, no swearing in my house! Jacob, [i]do not[/i] talk about your mother like that, and James, shouldn’t you be getting to school?”

[color=7a7a7a]“Yeah, [i]James[/i]. Shouldn’t you be getting to school?”[/color]

[b][color=a3c1ad]“Uh, yeah, [i]Jacob[/i]. Shouldn’t you be getting a job?”[/color][/b]

[color=7a7a7a]“Whatever, shithead.”[/color]

“[i]Language![/i]”

This was how most conversations in the Gershowitz household went — James ‘Sol’ Gershowitz and his older brother [url=https://data.whicdn.com/images/196306197/original.gif]Jacob[/url] did their best to get on each others’ nerves, while their father tried [i](and failed)[/i] to keep them in check. It was something that drove their parents up the wall, but hey, it was all in the name of good fun; nothing like a little verbal jousting to liven up the monotony that was breakfast, right?

The two eldest Gershowitz brothers were off at college, leaving Sol and Jacob back home with their parents. Jacob was a fresh graduate of Vinehurst High, and was taking a year off to do some [i]soul-searching[/i], whatever the hell that meant. So far, however, this so-called soul-searching has consisted of nothing more than lazing around at home, and making Sol’s life a living hell.

Scarfing down the last of his breakfast, Sol stands up from the table, and dumps the dirty dishes in the sink to wash. [b][color=a3c1ad]“I’m headed to Sierra’s after school, so don’t save me dinner. We’re probably just gonna get takeout or something.”[/color][/b]

[color=7a7a7a]“Again? Dude, is she like, your girlfriend?”[/color]

[b][color=a3c1ad]“[i]Ha![/i] You’re hilarious.”[/color][/b] Sol’s delivery is completely deadpan, accentuated by a dull, withering stare with all the levity of a heart attack. Drying his hands off on a towel, he grabs his backpack from the floor, and heaves it over one shoulder. There’s still a little time before school started, but he figured he could just get his skate on before that. Board in hand, he starts to head for the front door, though not before giving his brother a smack upside the head.

[color=7a7a7a]“Ow! Screw you, asshole.”[/color]

[b][color=a3c1ad]“Seeya, loser. Bye, dad.”[/color][/b] With a smug, self-satisfied smirk, Sol steps outside and hops on his skateboard, zipping down the street like greased lightning. This early in the morning, the streets were clear, and he lets himself maneuver to the center of the road. Skating was something he’d never get tired of, no matter how many times he did it. Hell, without this hobby of his, he’d probably be doing the same thing as Jacob — that is, not very much at all.

He passes by Sierra’s place on the way to school. It has become a familiar sight by now, and almost like a second home to him, considering how often he drops by. Naturally, he’d been anxious about imposing on the Jamesons’ hospitality at first, but after the first dozen times, he stopped worrying. Still, he didn’t want to just knock on their door first thing in the morning. Sierra’s mother could be kind of scary sometimes.

Slowing to a stop next to the curb, Sol pulls out his phone to fire off a few quick texts.

[center][b]To: que sierra sierra[/b]

[i]outside ur house

don’t wanna knock just in case ur mom’s there lol

see u at scl

oh and bring ur board ;))[/i]

[b]Sent 7:02 AM[/b][/center]

His phone goes back in his pocket, and then he’s off again. It only takes another five minutes for him to get to school, though he doesn’t head inside quite just yet. There’s something he wants to do first. A bunch of other students had just arrived, chatting amongst themselves about anything and everything. Sol deftly weaves through them towards his prize, eliciting a few shrieks of surprise along the way. With one foot planted firmly on the board, he pushes himself along with the other, going faster and faster until finally he reaches a set of stairs. Under his breath, he keeps count. One, two…

Three!

With a muffled [i]‘hup!’[/i], he does an ollie that lands him on the railing. It’s not easy to stay balanced on the board while sliding so quickly downwards, but he manages to do so, and lands at the bottom of the stairs, knees bent to absorb some of the impact. Grinning, Sol lets out a small laugh, more out of excitement than anything. He could feel his heart pounding like a kick drum within his chest, matched by the pump of adrenaline through his veins. And then, it all came crashing down on him with the angry bellow of the resident hard-ass, Mr. Kovacs.

“Gershowitz! No skating on school grounds!”

[i]Shit.[/i] He forgot all about that. Sheepishly, he slows down a little, circling back around to the school building. When he gets closer, he sees how red Mr. Kovacs has gotten from yelling at him from so far away, the man’s face glistening with a light sheen of sweat, kind of like a freshly-picked tomato. At the thought, Sol almost bursts out into laughter again, though he barely manages to hold it in by biting the inside of his cheek.

[b][color=a3c1ad]“Hey, uh, sorry about that, Mr. Kovacs. I was just—”[/color][/b]

“Just get inside, Gershowitz. Unless you want to spend your afternoon in detention.”

[b][color=a3c1ad]“[i]Oh-kay[/i]. Got it.”[/color][/b] With a tight-lipped smile, Sol picks up his board and walks up the steps to get inside. He didn’t need to be told twice, that’s for sure.