I don't even know where these stories come from. But...they keep coming.

Here's another AU. A bad boy AU, because who doesn't love a bad boy?

Set in Chicago, Illinois. South Side. Alternating first person POV. It will be noted Via ~~~ at the beginning of the scene regarding who's POV it is written in.

This story will be multi-chapter. Jimmy/Cindy is the obvious ship.

Inspired and based off of the Song: Mustang Kids by Zella Day.

Rated T for now, but will be changed to M later.

* One *

I Hate It Here

~~~ Cynthia ~~~

Sometimes life doesn't give you lemons. Sometimes, it likes to take those lemons and shove them up your ass. Because honestly, no matter what you do, life always seems to fuck you in the end.

Or at least, that's my take on it.

I sighed. Deep. Heavy. Resting my head back against the headrest as my mother drove down the freeway. My blond hair was pulled back into two French braids. Pale skin and green eyes the color of freshly cut limes. A white tee-shirt and jeans. I stared out the car window, my arms crossed against my chest.

My mother noticed my pouting. "Don't do that, Cin."

"Do what?" My voice was monotone. I didn't look at her.

She sighed. Cupid's bow lips, pink from her gloss. Skin just as pale as mine but hair, jet black, compared to my blond. It was pulled into a high ponytail. "Act miserable."

"I'm not miserable." I lied.

She rolled her eyes. "Baby, I know you didn't wanna leave your friends, but this opportunity will be good for us."

"Good for us?" I turned my head, finally looking at her. "We're moving to the South Side of Chicago. I doubt any good is going to come from that."

"It's cheap. And right now, it's all we can afford. But...hopefully, with this new job, I'll be able to move up the chain and eventually-"

"Be the DA?" I scoffed, my eyes still narrowed. "You know that's near impossible, right?"

My mother just matched my narrowed eyes. "It's only impossible if you think with an attitude like that. Try having a little faith."

"Faith doesn't exist." I looked back out the window again. We were crossing a bridge. I could see the skyline.

"See and that's your problem." My mother shook her head, annoyed. "You view the world as this horrible, cynical place-"

"Because it is." I cut her off.

She ignored me and continued anyway. "But what you don't understand, is that you make your own reality. Your life is only as terrible as you make it."

There was a long pause. I looked down, staring at my feet. Tan flip flops that were so worn, the color under my heel was fading away. It was still early September. I could get away with shoes like this for at least another month. "I miss dad." I mumbled.

And it was then, that my mother shed just a single tear. "I know, Cin." she whispered, turning her attention back to the road. "I know."

I closed my eyes, trying my best to hold back the tears. My fingers unconsciously went to the military tag around my neck. I squeezed. A deep breath as we passed under the freeway sign. Interstate 90. Chicago.

I already hate it.

I dropped my backpack down onto the floor. A barren room. Simple wooden floorboards with off-white walls. Slightly stained yellow, probably from cigarettes. There was a bed frame. Metal. The apartment came with it. An empty closet to the right side, there was some chipped paint towards the back. A few plastic hangers left over from whoever else use to live here. There was one window, over the bed frame. More peeling paint. I twisted a piece between my fingers. It's probably lead. The window was clean, no curtains. My bedroom overlooked an alleyway. There was a fire escape directly outside. The apartment was on the second floor. Maybe I can run away when my mother isn't looking.

I came out into the living room, my mother was unpacking some boxes. The sleeves of her white button down were rolled up. Blue jeans and sneakers. She looked up as I entered. "How do you like your room?"

"It's a room." I leaned against the wall.

She rolled her eyes, but her attention was still focused on emptying the boxes in front of her. "Your mattress is over there." She nodded towards the other side of the room. "You should try and unpack as much as you can. You have school in the morning."

"I really have to go to school on the second day here?" I argued.

"Yes, Cindy." She didn't look at me, hands still pulling contents out from the box. "You've already missed the first week because of the move. I don't want you to fall behind."

I groaned. "This is so stupid." I marched over to my mattress. It was one of those mattress in a box, type deals. I picked up the box with ease.

"Cindy, please don't start."

"I'm not starting anything!" I snapped, dragging my mattress box on the floor.

"Don't drag it!" She scolded me. "It's gonna scratch the floor!"

I rolled my eyes, making a better attempt to lift it up. "Not that it matters. This place is ghetto as fuck."

"Enough." She shot me a glare. Her lips pursed in a thin line. I hated when she looked at me like that. I love my mother. I love her more than anything in this world. But sometimes, she makes decisions that make me want to scream.

I didn't dare say anything back to her. I turned, heading back to my room.

I got the memory foam mattress out from the box and situated it on the metal frame. I laid down, bare foot now as I kicked my shoes off at the door. I stared up at the ceiling. There was this little black mark a few inches to the right. It kinda looked like a smiley face. I cried. I let my hands come up to my face and I cried into my palms.

I hate it here.

The wind was warm, but I felt cold as my mother pulled us up in front of the large brick building. The window from our cheap, 2012 Chevy Impala, rolled down. My blond hair still wet from the shower, pulled back into a half-up half-down ponytail. I wore just a simple black tee and jeans. Converse, instead of flip flops, as per the 'school rules'. Kids from all angles flooded the pathways. All different ethnicities and races. Some looked far too old to be here (probably flunked more times then I can count on my hand) while others looked my age, or slightly younger. Across the front of the building, were big metal letters. Worn from the weather. This school looked like it had definitely seen some days.

Retroville Eleanor Senior High School

"Go. I don't want you to be late." My mother pressed. Her black hair was in a bun today. Dressed professional as it was also her first day at work. A pencil skirt and button down, tucked in. Small heels and light makeup.

I turned back to her, my lips turned downward. Anxiety in my chest was sky high. "I don't wanna go, momma."

"Cindy." My mother gave me a consoling look. "You have to go."

"Everyone's gonna hate me."

"No one is going to hate you." She shook her head, a hand coming to caress my cheek. "I promise, everything's gonna be ok. I know it's scary, but you will get through this. We will get through this."

I closed my eyes. A deep breath exhaled. "How can you be so strong when everything is falling apart?"

My mother didn't answer me at first, her hand falling from my cheek. She looked down. "Because I know no matter how bad everything seems, he's watching us. And that's all the strength I need."

I will not cry, I will not cry. I nodded, biting my lip. Another breath. I turned and gave her a hug, holding on a little longer than usual, before finally facing my fears and opening the car door. The anxiety got worse as I heard my mother pull away behind me. The sky was grey. It was sure to rain later. Of course it was going to rain later. Everywhere I am, it always pours.

As I entered through the double doors, I felt as if a thousand eyes all turned and looked my way. Just like in the movies, where the camera slows down as you walk in slow motion. Really showing how judgmental and condescending everyone can be. Whispers all filtered around. I was the new girl, after all. Senior year in a completely brand new school. Already, I missed my old friends back in Essex.

Various lockers all lined the walls. Some had graffiti, some had worn paint. The halls were clean (for the most part). Black and white checkered floor all the way down. Old wooden doors, with numbers and a glass window, every 30 feet or so. My backpack felt heavy over my shoulder as I entered my first class. English 12. Everyone was talking, the teacher barely paying any mind as she scrolled through her iPhone.

I found a seat in the back, sitting down quietly. Next to me, there was a girl with short black hair. Cropped right to her jaw, and bangs that fell straight across her face. Light make-up that complimented her pale skin. Brown eyes, from what I could see and dark lashes. She wore just a simple blue dress. Short in the front, but long in the back. Sandals and bare legs. I tried not to stare. I'm nosy, but I don't like to be rude. I noticed she glanced over at me a few times, but she never spoke to me.

There were a few kids throwing paper balls through the air. One of them hit me in the head. I looked over at the guy who threw it, annoyed. His own shaggy black hair, falling right above his jaw. Tan skin and a right eyebrow piercing over dark brown eyes. His lips curved up into a smile. An open blue flannel and jeans as he sat on his desk, a few across from mine.

"Sorry! My bad!" He chuckled.

I just tossed it back to him, wordlessly.

Another kid from across the room yelled. "Nick, over here!"

The eyebrow piercing kid threw the paper ball back to him.

I hate it here.

English went by fast, but not fast enough. Even after the teacher had stood up and began class, barely anyone paid attention. It was like a madhouse. Coming from Essex, where my entire high school was a total of 50 kids, it was a drastic change. I wasn't used to this rowdy atmosphere. I wasn't used to the kids of the South Side. Chicago was interesting all on it's own, but the people were even more so.

I had two other classes afterwards. French 1 and History 12. They weren't as noisy as my English class, but still enough to cause a disturbance. I can't work in a place like this. I can't work with constant talking, constant yelling. The teachers don't care. It's very obvious they're only here for a paycheck. Fuck how I feel, as long as they make money. They don't even try to discipline the kids. I left quickly, rushing off to lunch with a roll of my eyes and a fast pace to the courtyard.

I sit alone. Picking at my shitty tuna sandwich and stale chips from the vending machine. The sky was still grey. The puffy clouds made it clear a storm was coming. Various other tables all filled up with kids, all eating lunch with their respective cliques. I was minding my own business, when I noticed her approach me. Her own lunch tray in her hands and curious eyes trailed over me.

"Excuse me?" Her voice was soft, but mature. I looked up to see the girl from my English class staring at me. The one with the blue dress.

I just eyed her curiously. "Can I help you?" I asked, a bit brash.

She didn't seem to notice as she smiled politely. "Do you mind if I sit?"

Awkward. I was awkward as she motioned towards the opposite seat at my picnic table. I stumbled. "Oh..uh, yeah. Sure. Go ahead."

She sat down, placing her lunch tray on the table before slipping her hands under her dress, adjusting herself in front of me. She just gave me a curious glance. "You're new here, yeah?"

I nodded, taking a bite of my sandwich to not seem as uncomfortable as I really was. "Yeah."

"Where you from?"

"Essex, Mass."

"Massachusetts?"

"Mhmm."

She tucked her black hair behind her ears. "Wow. That's far."

Another bite. "Yup."

She paused before leaning across the table. "You know….number one rule of South Side...You gotta have at least one friend."

I lifted my eyes to meet hers. "What if I don't want a friend?"

Her voice dropped a little low. "You won't survive without a friend."

My chewing stopped, briefly, as I took in her words. I swallowed. "Are you proposing to be my friend, then?"

She smirked. "You're interesting. And...I don't have many friends here...So...I figured I'd give you a shot."

"Are you from South Side?"

"Yeah. Born and raised."

"Then why don't you have friends?"

She laughed. "Because believe it or not, but not everyone here is all that friendly. I'm a bit of a loner."

Another bite. "And you think I'm a loner too?"

"You're words, not mine."

A deep breath. I placed the rest of my sandwich down, pushing my tray away from me as I leaned back. "What's your name?"

"Elizabeth." She held out her hand. "But I go by Betty."

I shook it, slowly. I still wasn't sure if she was trying to play a joke on me or not. It seemed like something one of the popular kids would do. "Cindy."

"Nice to meet you, Cindy." She smiled at me. She let go of my hand.

It was then, that the courtyard seemed to fall quiet. Whispers and voices all hushing as the double doors from the school swung open to reveal four students, now pressing through. I noticed immediately that their demeanor was different from the many other kids I had met today. They waltzed through the courtyard as if they owned the place. As if they were royalty. There was one girl, and three boys.

The girl had long black braids that cascaded down her back. Beautiful make-up that complimented her mocha skin tone, perfectly. Ripped black jeans, boots and a black muscle shirt. Tied around her waist was a red flannel. She wore lots of jewelry. All gold and silver necklaces hung over her neck. Ears filled with piercing along with her septum. Various rings on her fingers.

The first boy was a redhead. Dark curly hair all filtering around his pale and freckled face. Big circle glasses with a metal frame, but they didn't make him look nerdy at all. If anything, he looked intimidating. His dark eyes narrowed as he looked out across the yard. He wore a gray tee accompanied by a black jacket. He had his hands stuffed into the pockets of his blue jeans. It looked like he was chewing gum.

The second boy was laughing. Short buzzed hair, such a dark brown that it almost looked black. It was spiked in the front, like he used gel. Olive skin-tone. Brown eyes just like the other boy, but his were wide as he boasted on and on about something. He was practically bouncing off of the walls. It was obvious he was on something. There were a few silver chains that hung from the pockets of his black skinny jeans. Converse that looked like they had seen far better days. He also wore a muscle shirt, much like the girl, who he was currently talking to. On his left shoulder, I noticed a tattoo of a lion's head. All black ink.

The last boy was the one who really caught my eye. Tall. So much taller than the other's, he had to be over 6 foot. Dark brown hair that was brushed back. Long, but not too long. The ends all just coming to the nape of his neck. A few short strands falling into his ocean colored eyes. A clean shaven face, but there was the slightest hint of a light scruff coming in. Pale skin. He wore a black leather jacket with a white tee underneath. Matching skinny jeans and Vans. His hands dug into his pockets, and it was then that I noticed a few tattoos across his knuckles. He pulled out a box of cigarettes, which he then lifted to his mouth, and drew one out with his teeth.

"Who are they?" I asked before I could even help it.

Betty turned around, following my gaze. She let out a breath. "Those are the mustang kids. They practically run all of South Side. Stay away from them." She nodded towards the blue eyed boy. "Especially James."

I blinked. It was really hard to take my eyes off of him. He lit his cigarette with a metal zippo lighter. Sitting down at one of the various picnic tables, across from his compatriots. "Why?" I asked. "What's wrong with James?"

Betty's words only fueled my curiosity more. "He's dangerous."

I licked my lips, just watching from afar.

Dangerous.

Yeah. Yeah I can see that.

Maybe I don't hate it here.