The Good Life

I am a girl. I have an average life, not the best; not the worst. Living on an avoided street with an array of charismatic people proves some level of difficulty. I am what happens when you put someone in between two lifestyles. In just under a month my whole life takes a colossal turning point, with a car accident, an incident with a burning wheelie bin, the pervert in the ice cream van and a bus stop. It all started with 80mph.
(WARNING: this has some language not suitable for younger audiences. And of sexual themes.)

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4. Chapter 4: Stereotypes and a police officer

There are many advantages to not having PBS at home. It gives me and my dad lots more freedom to do what we want. PBS had to know every little detail, whereas my dad just said as long as I've got my phone, I'll be ok. I was very restricted about where I went under PBS’s reign, like a dictatorship but for a semi detached house. 
                   We had visited the hospital in the evening. She was unconscious so she wouldn't whine, or moan, or complain about how it was the other drivers fault about this horrific collision, even when it was her fault. I didn't want to go in the first place; I wanted to spend my mornings peeling all my bandages off to show the chavs my wounds. We did not stay long because there was basically nothing to do but stare at grey walls, go to the toilet, look out the window at the car park or look at PBS. Quite depressing. There was no mood to talk or joke about anything, after all my angry aura increased the moment I saw her.
                            Earlier that day, I spend the day with Chavvy. We sat at the bus stop deciding where to go now that I was unrestricted about where I went.  He asked me about my bloody bandaged head, which after he had prodded, he grossed out and recoiled in horror. Apparently, Chaved and Chaving were out somewhere, probably inventing some scheme to scare local pedestrians or out at town shouting “we love you Ronald! We do!” at McDonald's.  The funny thing was that they haven't told Chavvy about it, and if they did, Chavvy hasn't gone with them.
“Why haven't you gone with them?” I asked Chavvy, who was peeling the sticky labels of his coca cola.
“Hm.” He looked at me, “oh, because I wanted to see my busty schoolgirl after her near death!”. He flung his arm around my neck and pulled me into a tight bear hug. Chavvy had Lynx on at the time, and with the tightness of the hug, I started to slowly suffocate. Chavvy was very squishy, not like he was overweight squishy. The squishy that was good. I patted him on the back so he would loosen his grip. He did, finally, but then he said, “your hair smells nice.” 
“Alright, calm down”, I laughed. I was a little taken back by the statement, not expecting it, “ that's because I'm worth it!”. I did an overly dramatic hair flick, to which Chavvy laughed at. We sat there on the brick wall for a few minutes, not really having anything to say. Usually it would be Chaved and Chaving that would carry on the conversation making the jokes and laughing so loud that Mike likes to open his window to yell at us.
                                   After a short discussion on deciding where we should go, we decided on Gregg’s in town. A few minutes later, the bus speeded down the lane, rocking side to side it was that old and battered. On the bus, after we scammed the bus driver with our expired passes, we sat at the front of the top deck, viewing all the trees and cars as we journey through the street. 
                                   When we arrived at Gregg’s, we ordered our pastries and sat outside on a bench. We laughed as we estimated the life stories of passers by. This one person who looked a bit like he was on drugs, was a duck rapist, according to Chavvy. I'd never heard such idiocy in my life. Chavvy told me the story of Mr. Duck rapist and how he got sent to prison for his sexual crimes, whilst I tried to swallow my pastry. Another story was about the 40 year old gold digger, who had a foot fetish. (Because that is what goes through Chavvy’s mind).
                                        After story time, we walked around and window shopped. Chavvy had no intentions of going into any shops, because he knew that his accomplice Chavs have a reputation around here. He was wearing an Adidas jacket -green-  and trainers. He looked like part of the Chavs, which evolved a high risk of being accused of stealing something. Stereotyping; bullshit. Both of us knew that Chavvy was better influenced without Chaved and Chaving, since they often get involved with criminal acts. For example, back in May they stole some freddos and two large cans of monster from ASDA. A little stupid of you ask me. ASDA has lots of security, so the corner shop would have been better. Not that I would steal or anything illegal. We window shopped at all the games/ electronic gadget shops, debating about the best games consoles. I complained to him about the dignity of girls our age, walking around half naked, whilst he picked out the sexiest underwear from the window displays. Some pigeons were fighting over a chunk of discarded bread, which we thought was funny.
                                      I bet Chavvy and I looked a little odd. A girl with a jumper and jeans in the middle of summer, tagging along with a boy with skinny jeans, a sports jacket and trainers. A geek and a chav. To add to the looks, I did have a bandage around my head from the car accident. (I'm still surprised I don't have any internal brain injuries, just large cuts on my head from glass). We were an unlikely pair placed in a town of cloned business people in their suits. We had a few stares from women with small children. I assumed that they assumed we were out causing trouble. I wondered what it would be like if the others were here. What would we get up to? No, not that; I know what we would get up to. More like, when would the police come?
                                    We spent two and a half hours at town, which entertained us for a bit. When we were bored of window shopping and laughing at pigeons we arrived back at the bus stop. It took another half an hour for the bus to come, but we got on anyway. I was not in the mood to complain about bus companies. We sat at the top deck again, in the same seats. It was very silent, uncomfortable and peaceful, until Chavvy asked me a question. “what's it like getting on here on a weekday?” He asked turning to face me. We were sat on opposite sides of the bus, both of us having our feet up across the neighbouring seat. The top deck was empty due to all the adults being seated at the bottom floor. Chavvy was ruffling his dark hair, trying to sort it out.
“Well…it's very busy, both floors are filled with people. It's noisy, I mean last week they were singing the wheel on the bus go round and round with party poppers.”
“That sounds interesting.” He said, staring out the window. He looked back at me again. “What if I applied to go to your school? Instead of my crappy one?”
I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. I swallowed. What if he did? He would be stuck with me. And I wouldn't want to be stuck with someone all the time; it would be a drag. After quick thinking my brain decided to say, “well, one, you don't go to school, and two, people like us don't fit in there.”
“We don't fit in?” He avoided the skiving off school subject. Typical Chavvy.
“It's full of rich kids that don't know how to save money” I said, “they treat us like we are bags of shit that have burst open.”
After I said that, we went silent. Chavvy stood up, stumbling to regain his balance and holding onto one of the yellow poles. I looked at him as he shoved my feet of the seat next to me, and sat down. He lightly punched my shoulder and said, “well, everyone don't fit in, do they?” There was a large pause, almost as if the world had stopped turning for a few seconds. “Oh yeah, I almost forgot to ask. I've been meaning to ask-”
“Yes”
“Um…what's your name? You never told us and Chaving just kept calling you the busty schoolgirl.”
That was an unusual question for Chavvy. When Chaving first called me the busty schoolgirl, he laughed and agreed with it. He also agreed with my name not be I important.
“You said it wasn't important” I replied.
He grinned at me then, his teeth vaguely yellowed by all the sugar he drinks and eats.“Well know I want to know”.
I sighed. What's the point in wanting my name? Chaved and Chaving will just complain about it to him.  Plus the fact that I don't really like telling people my name, unless I'm using an alias for a supply teacher. “Well, if you changed schools you would know.”
Chavvy continued to grin, knowing that I would not tell him. I smiled back, “it is the same scenario for you too, except I don't insist on knowing your  name” we both laughed at the similarities.
                                     After the bus journey, Chavvy and I parted. Out on the street I saw a police car. God knows who it was there for, maybe Gaye got on of her gnomes vandalised again. She was overly protective of them, yes, that's valid. Absentmindedly,I opened the door and shouted, making my presence known in the house. I heard my name shouted form the living room, so I investigated. In the living room was my dad and a police officer. Not just any officer, Officer Cote. He was the bloke that caught Chaved and Chaving stealing the freddos and monster cans. I didn't like him, and he didn't like me. I was hanging out with them when Cote had to take them to the police station for a reprimand. The chav duo had some explaining to do for their parents and me too. In the corner of the room was my dad sat in his chair watching Countdown. He loved countdown.
                                        “I'm here to ask you some questions about the recent car accident.” Cote droned, monotonously. I sat down, not wanting to be here at all. Especially not with this prick either; I could tell he was thinking the same. “We're you wearing seat belts at the time?” He was flicking through a few pieces of paper. Dumb question.
“Yes. As always”. He wrote something down in scruffy handwriting.
“What is your opinion on why the car crash happened?” He looked at me, the big question appeared in my head. 
Don't say PBS, don't sat PBS “My mother. She has anger problems when it comes to being stuck behind slow cars.” My dad snickered in the corner. I continued “She likes to tailgate the cars in front so they speed up. This car didn't, so after the car turned down a new road, she sped up so fast it made my head hurt. She didn't see the car coming out and hit it.”
Cote wrote more more scruffy letters onto his paper and looked at me again, this time his grey eyes boiled into me like pans. Deadpan eyes. “Anything else?”
“ it was my mums fault. I'm glad she had the crash. Hopefully she will learn not to speed. Please take her car away and her licence.”
He was taken back by my statement, but continued to write more. He asked me more questions  about  my injuries, and a few about what the other man did. I was very biased on the fact it was PBS’s fault. 
                                             Officer Cote spent an hour at out house, asking me questions, and interviewing my dad for questions about her driving. He was an ally, and I was evidence. Both of us were against PBS. Cote did not know when enough had been enough, he overstayed his welcome. When he was finally done, he stood up. “For this case it will take some time to get everyone's opinion. I will interview your mother and the other victim and we should get this issue past us by August”, Cote’s little speech was followed by angry silence. He then walked towards the door. Cote was ready to leave. Finally!
                                             Cote was incredibly tall; taller than my dad. When he was exiting out the door he had to duck under it, which was amusing to watch. Dad was still watching countdown, not really bothered that the officer had left. I ran to the kitchen to get some apple juice and biscuits to return to the refuge of my room. I watched from my window as the tall officer looked back at our house. Luckily, he didn't see me and began to awkwardly get into his car and drive down the street. Turning on the telly, I sighed to myself. The thoughts of Chavvy asking my name returned. What was wrong with the name, busty schoolgirl?

 

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