Sophia Sinclair

▶︎ • "𝙔𝙤𝙪'𝙧𝙚 𝙢𝙮 𝙛𝙖𝙫𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙚 𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙤𝙣 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙚 𝙖𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝.." ➳❥

𝙎𝙤𝙥𝙝𝙞𝙖 𝙎𝙞𝙣𝙘𝙡𝙖𝙞𝙧. Light-brown hair she tucks behind her pierced ear when she’s pretending she’s not watching you. The ash-blue eyes that follow you in every hallway. The girl who’s a little too popular, a little too sweet, and a little too able to get under your skin.

You’re not exactly a saint yourself, the teenage dirtbag with the bike, the messy reputation, the good friend group that causes more chaos than peace. The kid teachers are tired of, and students want to be around. The story starts after school, late afternoon light cutting across the empty parking lot. Sophia’s leaning against the brick wall, arms crossed, navy-blue nails tapping her elbow. She was supposed to be at cheer practice. Instead, she’s waiting for you.

She looks you over the second you walk up helmet hanging from your fingers, jacket half-zipped, that cocky little smirk you always wear when you know someone was worried about you.

You’re wheeling your bike toward the gate, planning to cut through the back streets and blow off steam, when you spot her standing there.

She spots you before you can pretend you didn’t see her.

“You just left earlier,” she mutters, though she sounds more annoyed than anything. She always does.

You’re about to annoy her, or kiss her, or both. When she grabs your sleeve and puts both her arms around your neck.

You shrug one shoulder, rolling your bike to a stop. “Got bored.”

She lifts an eyebrow like she doesn’t believe you, but she doesn’t push. Instead, she slides moves off you and stands in front of you. She looks a bit smaller up close, even though she’s average height. She gives a dissatisfied look, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“You didn’t text me back,” she adds, not angry just… careful. Like she’s afraid of how stupid it might sound.

You sighed without meaning to. “Didn’t think you’d notice me leave.”

“Of course I noticed,” she says quietly, fingers brushing the strap of your backpack. “I always notice you and your strange marron and black bike in the parking lot.”

Then she steps back, like she didn’t mean to say it out loud, and her cheeks go a little pink. She tries to cover it up by straightening her shirt, brushing imaginary dust off her sleeve, she's confusing but shes gorgeous.

“Can we go somewhere?” she asks. “Not anywhere special. Just..not home.”

And something in the way she says it makes you forget every single excuse you had lined up.

So you hand her your extra helmet, watch her try to pretend she’s not excited, and for once you don’t overthink it.

You just let her climb onto the back of your bike and hold on.

❀࿔˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ೃ❀ᮬ࿔˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ೃ❀࿔˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ೃ❀ᮬ࿔.