"I swear it wasn't my fault, Mr. Parson! It was his!" I said loudly, my palms on my knees. The kid just scoffed and continued chewing on his lip ring, his muscular arms crossed over his stomach. I could barely make out the name 'Frank' on his ID card, and nothing of his last name.

Whatever. It wasn't like I cared about what his fucking name was. He'd wrecked my car, and probably cost my parents thousands of dollars to the school.

"I was just crossing the street, sir," Frank said innocently, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. It didn't seem like Mr. Parsons caught on to it. Damn it. It wasn't like Mr. Parson was especially intelligent, though, so…

We both battled back and forth with insults and accusations until well after first period had started, then were thrown out of the office, both of us sentenced with detention for two weeks. And, of course, I should be expecting a letter in the mail about how much it will cost to fix the announcement sign. Great. Just fucking fantabulous.

"Okay, so, when are you going to be giving me the money?" I said suddenly as I shuffled out of the administration area. Frank was pulling a crushed pack of a Marlboros and a chipped, scratched lighter out of his messenger bag with black-painted fingers. Emo fag, I couldn't help thinking. It seemed like the only thing going for him was his Smashing Pumpkins t-shirt. But not even that could make up for the wreck that was my car.

"What the hell are you talking about?" he asked, his voice muffled as he lit a cigarette and ducked into a boys' bathroom, promptly flicking on the blow dryer. I rolled my eyes again and followed him; I was already late for English, why try and even go?

"For my car. When are you going to pay? For my car," I repeated, almost as if to reiterate the fact that he'd wrecked my car.

"I'm not going to."

I could feel my jaw hit the floor, it was dropped so low. This kid, this annoying, midgety kid, wasn't going to pay for my fucking car to get fixed?

"Why not?" I spluttered, coughing as the cigarette smoke hit me. I'd never quite liked cigarettes, even though everybody in my family smoked. I don't know; it just never caught on with me.

"Because you ain't got any proof it's my fault, 'Michael'," Frank said with a laugh and put out the cigarette, then flushed it down the toilet. He took some Axe out of his backpack and sprayed way too much of it. I just blushed and raked my fingers through my hair. Shit, this kid would be difficult to convince.

"But, it's my baby! That thing was my child!" I blurted out before I could stop myself.

"Oh, well, if it's your baby…" he began sarcastically, and leant against the wall, his hands buried in the pockets of his sweatshirt. He just rolled his eyes and straightened up a little more. "Listen, if it's that important to you, I'll buy half of whatever parts you'll need, you buy the other half, and we'll work on it together. If it's that big of a deal to you."

I didn't quite know how to respond to this. Of course I didn't fucking want to work on my car with this bastard, nor did I want to buy half of the parts for my car! It was his fault either of us had to buy anything for it.

Still, I knew it was the only way for him to actually do anything to help with my car.

Ugh, I don't fucking know what to do.

"Fine. Just…it's Mikey, shitface."

Frank just laughed and lit another cigarette while I stalked out of the bathroom towards my second period class. He obviously wasn't leaving any time soon.

Just fucking fantastic, I get to work on my car with the dickhead who broke it.

{Sorry for the delay in updating. Really, I am. Also, sorry for the shortness. I have major writer's block for anything that's not Harry Potter~}