"Oh, no." I laughed. This was crazy. "Oh, no, no, no." I stepped back a few paces, shaking my head from side to side. Obviously Duncan didn't understand the rivalry between my clique and the Greasers.

This piece of trash expected me to cross through New Coventry in order to get my bike repaired. It was one thing going down there at night, but in broad daylight? He must have had something wrong with him. "There is no way on Earth you will get me to go there!"

We were near the motel at this point, right in front of the underpass leading into New Coventry. Duncan offered to wheel my bike for me, claiming he was a gentleman, so I allowed him. He told me he had a friend named Henry who was very knowledgeable when it came to bikes, and I was eligible for the I-know-a-Townie discount. We needed to get to Blue Skies in order for his friend to do his work.

Although I knew I'd be completely out of place, I felt protected by the fact that I would be there with a Townie. Going through New Coventry was a different story; the Greasers hated both my clique and Duncan's. There was nothing protecting either of us.

Duncan looked annoyed. "You want this fixed or not?" he said, shaking my bike's handlebars.

"Of course I want my bike fixed," I replied. "But not as much as I want to live to see tomorrow!"

He rolled his eyes. "Look dude, I already texted Henry and told him we're coming. And he's all excited about getting to keep your broken parts." Duncan pouted. "Don't break his heart."

Eugh. "There has to be a way to avoid the Greasers," I said, more to myself than to him.

"Who cares about them? Greasers suck." He clicked his tongue. "Look, just ignore them. Don't make eye contact."

I grimaced. He really was an idiot. "You honestly think that will prevent them from beating us up?"

Duncan shrugged. "Yeah, why not. Just pretend they're not there." He started to turn to New Coventry, nonchalantly walking towards the town as though he owned the place.

I hesitated for a moment. Nothing good could possibly come of this, aside from a fixed bike. But I wasn't entirely sure if that'd be worth the trouble. "D-Duncan, wait a minute!"

He stopped with an aggravated huff, not even turning to face me. I could practically sense him rolling his eyes.

"I don't think this is a good idea."

"Yeah, I know you don't. Just stop thinking, dude."

A noise of irritation escaped my throat. Stop thinking? How was I supposed to stop thinking when faced with a situation like this? "I can't just stop thinking, Trash Heap. I'm not you."

Duncan sighed, annoyed, and thought for a moment. "Alright, fine. Since I guess I'm your babysitter-" I glared. How dare him. "-I'll keep you safe by taking the back way. We can cut behind some shops and the Greasebags probably won't notice us."

Really now, that idea didn't sound much better. But it was likely to be safer than going right out into the open.

I breathed, and said reluctantly, "Fine."

I hated myself for agreeing. The voice in the back of my head scolded me for not putting up a bigger fight. I had never been further than the market, and I was utterly terrified to just saunter into unfamiliar territory uninvited (and unwanted). Duncan didn't seem to care. How I envied his apathy.

Thankfully, there were no Greasers near the entrance, only a few hobos. I breathed a sigh of relief, allowing myself to believe that this wouldn't be too terrible.

New Coventry was abysmal, the roads littered with garbage and it smelled of oil and rat urine. It was appalling. Most of the commercial buildings were abandoned or boarded up, but all of them were covered in graffiti, colorful in both hue and general content. The sounds of sirens off in the distance, dogs barking, and the occasional scream. I did not belong there.

Duncan and I took the dirt pathway between the Slab o' Meat deli and some old shop boarded and vandalized beyond recognition. The path was rather secluded; I doubted we'd encounter anyone back there. We followed the road until it ended, next to the Spazz Industries warehouse, and just like that, we were in the open once more. My anxiety returned.

Duncan, still wheeling my bike on its back tire, must have noticed my discomfort. He grinned. "Chill out. They're not gonna mess with us."

"You don't know that," I said under my breath.

Across the street from where the previous dirt path ended was another one, next to the Wonder Meats warehouse. It was a short one, and honestly taking it wouldn't make much of a difference than not, but we took it regardless. It made me feel safe and Duncan knew.

"Oh, no," I gasped. Directly across the street from where the road ended, by a tenement building, was a Greaser. He was far too close for comfort, not even fifty feet away from us. He was a bigger one, very intimidating, and I just wanted to get away from him.

The Greaser wasn't doing anything, merely standing around and smoking, minding his own business. Even when he looked up at us after a double take, he simply stared without initiating any sort of fight. I internally thanked him because I knew deep down he probably did want to beat me and Duncan to a pulp.

"Duncan, let's go," I muttered, pulling at his shirt.

Duncan was staring back at the lone Greaser, as though ready to pick a fight. "What're you lookin' at, Fonzie?"

My jaw dropped. Was he insane? "No, Duncan, please no." We were so close to the Blue Skies bridge that it was painful. "Please, don't start a fight," I begged him, close to crying.

The Greaser's jaw tightened. He threw his cigarette to the ground, stomping it out while keeping eye contact with Duncan. This was a nightmare. This was terrible. I was sure I'd die there that day. I wanted to die before he had the chance to pulverize us (more me than us, actually).

I watched him with apprehension. He started moving, and my heart skipped a beat.

He lifted one foot, followed by the other. But rather than walking over to where we were, he instead made his way into the alley between two tenement buildings. He was out of our line of sight. He was gone.

I looked at Duncan. "He... He just left?" Could it really be that simple to get rid of Greasers?

"Yup. Just gotta remind 'em who's boss." He grinned, cocky. "Now, onwards."

Duncan left my bike with the one he called Henry, in front of his trailer. He was the one Townie in the black tank top I had seen on those other occasions. I didn't get very close to Henry, as I waited on the other side of the street, but Duncan got close enough to him for me to make a comparison. The man was at least a foot and a half taller than Duncan, with huge arms and hands shielded by a thick layer of muscle. He wasn't someone I wanted to anger.

When Duncan was done speaking with him, the two of us made our way down the street to what I assumed was his house. "Henry said he'd text me when your bike is done," Duncan told me. He took a seat upon the shabby couch on his porch, releasing a loud sigh. He patted the cushion next to him, inviting me over.

I sniffed. I didn't want to get my pants dirty. Or sit near him. "I'd rather stand." It was his fault I had to be here. I'd never hear the end of it should word get around to my friends that I went to Blue Skies with a Townie.

He smirked, and it was quiet.

The silence between the two of us was oddly serene. I didn't feel uncomfortable or anxious or ill in the stomach. I felt fair. In fact, I almost felt relaxed.

Duncan didn't appear to mind the quiet, either. He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, the same brand he had purchased for me on those other occasions, and began to light one up. He noticed me looking and held the pack out to me, offering me one.

I breathed in before taking a seat next to him on the couch, accepting his offer.

"How old are you anyways, Rich Boy?" he asked looking over at me.

The idea of having a casual conversation with him seemed strange, but in practice it felt rather quaint. "I'm fifteen."

He raised his eyebrows, as though surprised. "You're fifteen?"

"Um... That's what I said, yes," I answered.

Duncan held out his lighter for me and I started on my cigarette. They tasted the same as I remembered, very dry and rough. I was beginning to get used to the ones Justin had given me, and the bitter flavor of Duncan's conflicted drastically with the cool mint one of the other.

He looked down at the smoke between his two fingers. "Wow, dude, you're a baby." He chuckled.

Slightly offended, I retorted, "Well, how old are you then?"

"Older than I wanna be."

"That isn't an answer."

He smiled at me, showing those crooked teeth. I think he appreciated the fact that I didn't settle for vagueness. "I'm nineteen."

Duncan took a drag on his cigarette and I followed after. Blue Skies was a very quiet part of town, though it could have just been the fact that it was a Sunday afternoon. The more the two of us sat together the less I noticed how revolting the taste of his cigarettes were. Perhaps Duncan didn't particularly like the taste either. Maybe smoking was more of a social thing for the Townies. His company seemed to numb the terrible taste for me; it could have been the same for them.

Duncan yawned. "I'm beat."

The house behind us was a small one, likely one-story and maybe an attic. I wouldn't be able to survive in a place like that. Its paint was chipping and foundation crumpling. If I hadn't known Duncan inhabited it, I'd have believed it was abandoned. The wooden planks below the couch looked old and rotted, creaking with every small movement. And several of the windows were broken.

It was... different. Very far from what I was used to.

"Is this where you live?" I inquired.

"Um..." He paused, as if thinking of a way to explain. "Kinda. This is my dad's house. My mom's house-" He pointed towards the other side of the town with his cigarette hand, across the street. "-is way over there. My room and everything is in her house. When I stay here I just sleep on the couch."

"This couch?" I asked, touching the cushions.

He snorted. "Yeah, my dad makes me sleep outside."

I knitted my brows, nodding. How fascinating, the way poor people live.

He grinned at me. "I'm kidding."

Oh. I looked down at my feet. How foolish of me. I didn't want Duncan to think of me as a child, but my naivety only made it seem that he was right. To cover up for my stupidity, I pushed our conversation forward. "So, is it just you and your parents then?"

He shook his head, taking another drag on his cigarette. "Nah, my brother and me live with our mom, and my dad's girlfriend and her daughter live with him."

"Your parents are divorced?"

He sighed. "It's complicated, dude."

I didn't say anything after that. The two of us sat on his couch in speechlessness, looking forward at nothing in particular.

"Say, Duncan," I began. The sudden break of silence startled me, although I was the one to break it. "Why were you up there on that roof anyways? When I crashed my bike?"

He laughed. "Just chilling."

I didn't like vagueness, of course not. But there was nothing else I cared to ask at that point.

It was about twenty minutes before Duncan pulled out his phone and let me know that my bike was done. I didn't want to get up; I was quite enjoying the peace. But it would have been wrong of me to prolong my staying here in Blue Skies.

That Henry's garage was rather small and cramped. It seemed he had a loving for bikes and hubcaps, since the place was riddled with them. In piles off to the corner, mounted on walls, upon shelves, like an auto-catacomb. That bike I had seen Duncan sitting on the night before was among them. It smelled like oil and cigarette smoke, and somewhere in the background the lyrics 'where's the door, just get me out of here, we're going down' played, distorted by static and poor radio quality.

I felt so out of place in that garage. I felt so out of place in that entire part of town. It was like being in Greaser territory, only more low class. And much more frightening since the Townies were mostly huge and could kill me.

"Here ya go, Rich Boy," that Henry said as he guided me by the shoulder to the back of his garage. The man towered over me. His hand was so strong and heavy, and his voice was so cold. It all sent a chill up my spine. "I fixed it up all nice 'n pretty for you." I couldn't really tell whether or not he was being nice to me from the dark nature of his voice. It was hard to determine.

It was covered in a canvas blanket, which he pulled off to reveal my bike. I breathed deeply. It didn't look very good. It certainly looked ridable, sure. That wasn't my problem. My problem was that I couldn't be seen on this! Henry had replaced the broken front wheel with one that did not match the back. Its rubber was much thicker and notably worn out. The rim was a different color from the Aquaberry blue of the rest of my vehicle and the fork and head tube were blotched with rust.

"I had to replace a good part of your front set, Rich Boy. You really jacked it up." He laughed lightly, but it sounded rather dark to me. He pushed the front wheel so it would spin. As smooth as it was, I wasn't satisfied.

I was in an odd frontier; stuck between not wanting to offend the Townies out of fear for my life, and desperately itching to berate them for turning my bike into this pile of rubbage.

"Looks cool," Duncan broke in, saving me from having to say anything. He punched my shoulder. "Told you Henry could fix it."

I rubbed the back of my neck. "Yes, I suppose he did..." I suppose you only get what you pay for.