Chapter Text
Ding.
hey i'm here :P
Y/N picked up her phone, sending a quick reply.
be right down.
She set her phone down and ran the hairbrush through her hair one last time. A quick swipe of lip gloss, a flick of mascara, and a triple-check of her backpack: five notebooks, pencils, pens, two textbooks, a binder, and a strawberry Pop-Tart. Perfect.
Y/N swung the bag over her shoulder and gave herself one final look in the full-length mirror that hung from her bedroom door. Black pleated skirt, long white socks, white blouse, and a black bow tied loosely around the collar of her shirt. Totally parents-approved.
She smoothed her skirt and took a deep breath. Last first day of high school. Finally. Ninth, tenth, and eleventh grade had been... boring, honestly. But this year? This year was hers. It was gonna be organized, maybe even educational, but most importantly, it was going to be fun. She had her best friend to help with that.
She opened the door and padded down the stairs of her parents' two-story house. They lived comfortably—her dad was a lawyer, and her mom was a dentist—so not only were they well off, but they also had high expectations. Her older brother had dropped out of college, and her sister had run off with some guy she'd met in art school, so they'd really cracked down on ensuring that Y/N had perfect grades, perfect manners, and was set up for the 'perfect' future. Y/N wasn't exactly on board with the whole plan, but as long as she stayed sneaky, she could have fun and still be the perfect daughter. She'd gotten really good at it.
"I'm heading off to school!" she called, slipping on her black Mary Janes at the front door.
Her mom came barreling down the stairs, camera in hand. "Wait, wait, let me get a picture!"
Y/N groaned, posing awkwardly and forcing a smile.
"Oh, my little girl... a senior! I can hardly believe it," her mom said, grinning.
"Couldn't be prouder," her dad added, stepping in from the kitchen with his coffee. "Have a good day, kiddo."
"Learn lots!" her mom chimed.
"Is that boy driving you to school?" her dad asked.
Y/N rolled her eyes, grinning. "Fresh, Dad. You know his name."
"Your father's just being protective," her mom said, stepping closer and planting a kiss on Y/N's forehead. "We're proud of you. Now go, shoo, before he leaves without you."
"See you later!" Y/N called, stepping outside and feeling the sun on her face.
Fresh was parked in the driveway in his blue 1970s Volkswagen Bus. It had been his big summer project. He'd worked at a gas station all through junior year to save up for it—though when he bought it, it barely ran. Together, they'd spent the summer fixing it up: new seats, a new battery, and a fresh coat of paint covered in little hand-painted flowers. Fresh called it the Stoner Mobile, and from the smell inside, Y/N figured it had definitely earned the name.
She slid into the passenger seat, tossing her bag into the back.
"Brosephinaaa! What's up, my dude?!" Fresh cheered, way too energetic for it being 7:30 in the morning.
"Hi, Fresh," Y/N said, smiling. "How'd you sleep?"
He shrugged and blew a lazy raspberry. "Eh, same old. Mom's loud, stepdad's louder. But it's all good—'cause I get to go to school with my bestayyy!"
Y/N laughed, shaking her head. Fresh had always had it rough at home—he had since first grade—but he'd never let it show for long. They'd been inseparable since then, sharing countless sleepovers, movie nights, and late-night talks. The sleepovers had stopped once her parents decided she was their last shot at a 'successful child', but thankfully, they still had a soft spot for Fresh.
"I'll miss summer, though," he said, reversing out of the driveway and drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. "Nothin' beats a 24-hour 7/11 and my girl having all the free time in the world." He shot her a wink.
"Mm, yeah," she hummed. "Still, school's exciting. We'll get to see each other every morning."
Fresh groaned, letting his head fall back dramatically against the seat. "Ugh, but you're always so busy with homework during the school year. You haven't snuck out with me since, like, the tenth grade," he said, pouting as he shifted the bus into drive.
Y/N grinned. "Well, that changes this year. It's gonna be a fun one—I can feel it."
Fresh perked up, grinning. "Yeah, that's the spirit!" He reached into the cup holder and lifted a large iced coffee. "For you, m'lady," he said in the worst British accent imaginable.
"Why, thank you, good sir," Y/N replied in an equally bad accent, taking the coffee with a laugh. She took a sip—just how she liked it. "What's this for?"
"Figured since I've got wheels this year, we could make it a thing," he said with a crooked smile. "I live right next to a Dunkin' anyway. Gives me an excuse to grab some grub."
"What? So you're giving up your morning Pop-Tart?" she teased, pretending to pout.
"I never said that!" Fresh protested instantly. "Pass it over! You know my stomach's a black hole, mama."
Y/N laughed and pulled her backpack onto her lap, unzipping it to hand him the silver-wrapped Pop-Tart.
"What, am I not good enough for it to be toasted anymore?" Fresh asked, clutching his chest in mock offense.
Since starting high school, they'd ridden the same bus route, and Y/N had made it a habit to bring him a freshly toasted Pop-Tart every morning.
"Whatever," she said, rolling her eyes. "I was running late. You'll get it toasted tomorrow."
"I'd better," he mumbled through a mouthful of pastry.
"Have you checked your class schedule?" Y/N asked after another sip of her iced coffee.
Fresh mumbled, mouth full of Pop-Tart, and reached behind him, digging through his half-open bookbag and pulling out a crumpled piece of paper. He passed it to her, and she took it.
"Mm, let's see... Ooh, first period math," she said, grimacing. "Looks like we have third period English together... Oh, and fifth period gym!"
Fresh rolled his eyes. "Like you'll ever see me there."
Y/N furrowed her brows. "C'mon, you can't skip like you did last year. You're graduating this year, and I can't keep doing your homework for you." She paused. "Okay, well I can, but you could at least pretend to care about school."
"Chillax, shorty," Fresh said, adjusting his sunglasses in the rearview mirror. "I'm gonna be totes academic this year."
"Uhuh," Y/N hummed. "Sure."
Fresh pulled into a parking spot in the student lot, the bus jerking a little as he shifted into park. He was still figuring out how to drive smoothly. He flipped down the sun visor and checked himself in the mirror — bright, color-block windbreaker, pink crewneck, neon basketball shorts, and his red propeller cap spinning just slightly from the breeze through the open window. His signature look.
Y/N did the same, eyeing her reflection with a frown. "God, I hate that my parents make me wear this stuff."
"They let you dress normal over the summer, didn't they?" he said, glancing over.
"Mhm." Y/N sighed. "But it's school, so I have to make a 'good impression' on the teachers. Like I haven't had the same ones since freshman year."
Fresh grinned. "Don't stress, broseph. You'll get plenty of chances to show off your real style. I'm already on the list for, like, three upcoming ragers."
Y/N snorted. "You know I never get invited to those."
"True," Fresh said with a smirk, "but an invite always comes with a plus one—and you're my forever plus one, brah."
Y/N smiled, shaking her head. "You can actually be sweet when you want to be, huh?"
"Don't tell the ladies," he said, pushing his glasses up his nose, earning a laugh from her.
"Come on," Y/N said, grabbing her bag. "If we're late on the first day, my parents will ground me till graduation."
ᯓ★
First and second period went by smoothly. The first day always did — teachers mostly stuck to icebreakers or awkward slideshows about their kids and pets. Either way, Y/N survived her first two classes and was off to the next.
She pushed open the door to English 12. Fresh was already sitting near the back, slouched in his seat. Normally, she preferred being up front, but sitting across the room from him wasn't an option. She'd learned that lesson back in ninth grade when they'd shared a science class — he'd spent the entire semester pelting her with wadded-up notes.
She slid into the seat beside him, dropping her bag onto the floor. "Hey," she said. "How was math?"
Fresh stuck his tongue out dramatically, leaning back in his chair with his feet up on the desk. "How was geography?"
Y/N mirrored his expression, sticking her tongue out right back at him. He chuckled — just as the teacher walked in.
"Mr. Fresh, feet down," she said without even looking up. Fresh groaned and obeyed.
Mrs. Ketch — written in large cursive letters on the board — turned to face the class. Y/N already knew the routine. They'd had her every year since freshman year, and Mrs. Ketch knew exactly what to expect from Fresh.
"Most of you have had me before," she began. "For those who haven't, I have a few rules. No gum. No phones. No hats. No eating..."
As she droned on through the same speech Y/N had heard three times already, her phone buzzed in her skirt pocket. She slid it out and hid it in the desk's little cubby, glancing down at the screen. Not that Mrs. Ketch would really care — Y/N was one of her best students, after all. Being the teacher's favorite came with perks.
taco bell @ lunch?
Y/N looked over at Fresh, who had his phone hidden in his lap as well. He grinned at her.
pay attention!!!
yay or nay?
yay 🌮
She tucked her phone away and leaned her head into her hand, trying her best to ignore the ridiculous faces Fresh was making at her. He always did this whenever they had a class together. He made it his personal mission to make her laugh loud enough to get scolded.
Not that Y/N minded having classes with him. She actually liked it. If she weren't under so much pressure to keep her grades up, she'd probably enjoy it a lot more. But with her parents breathing down her neck more than ever, now wasn't the time to fall for Fresh's shenanigans.
She managed to dodge his attempts through most of the period, and by the time the bell rang—right in the middle of Mrs. Ketch's annual story about her 'life-changing hike in Fiji'—Y/N had survived the hour. She slung her bag over her shoulder and turned to Fresh.
"What class you got after lunch?" he asked, standing up.
"Math, I think," she said, wrinkling her nose.
"Gross," he said, snatching the strap of her bag off her shoulder. "C'mon, I'll walk you to the car."
Fresh carried her bag down the hallway like it was no big deal, chatting non-stop about the Taco Bell menu and how he was dying for a Baja Blast. Y/N tried to listen, but her mind was already swimming with thoughts of the syllabi she'd just been handed. This year was gonna involve a lot of cram sessions.
"Hey," she cut in as he launched into a rant about the Mexican Pizza being discontinued, "would you help me study tonight?"
He blinked, surprised. "Study? Me? You sure you got the right guy?"
"I know, I know," Y/N groaned. "But I don't have anyone else to ask."
"What about Bette? Thomas? Luke?"
"Bette's too busy chasing some guy, Thomas probably has football tryouts, and Luke..." she paused. "Luke smokes so much I'm pretty sure his brain's fried. Plus, I haven't seen any of them all summer."
"But it's only the first day." Fresh crossed his arms. "You can't seriously be studying already."
"It's a lot of work to stay on the honor roll, and you know how my parents are," Y/N said with a sheepish smile.
Fresh sighed dramatically. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. Old Fresh to the rescue," he said, adjusting her bag on his shoulder. "Fine. But only if we do a snack run first."
"We always do."
"You're paying this time," he said, grinning.
"Like hell," Y/N laughed, continuing down the hallway with him.
Fresh always said she'd be paying, but somehow he always ended up swiping his card. She didn't even know where he got the money from, and maybe she felt a little bad about it, but Fresh never seemed to mind. And honestly, she wasn't in any position to complain.
She made it through lunch, watching Fresh practically inhale a Crunchwrap during lunch, survived Social Studies, Gym with Fresh, and finally Spanish. By the time the last bell rang, she was more than ready to go home.
She waited by Fresh's car in the student lot, pulling out her phone and typing:
you coming?
Five minutes passed. Then her screen lit up:
soz - totally hot new babes this year!!
omw
Y/N rolled her eyes but smiled anyway. A moment later, the beep of Fresh's car unlocking sounded next to her. She spotted him jogging toward her from the other side, waving like he was making an entrance.
"Took you long enough," Y/N called, crossing her arms.
"You know how it is," Fresh said, holding his hands up in mock defense. "Had to show the new crowd my smooth moves."
Right as he finished the sentence, he tripped over the curb and nearly face-planted.
"Mm, real smooth," Y/N teased.
"Oh, shut up and get in," he muttered, fixing his hat with exaggerated dignity. "We've got a 7/11 to raid!"