Teenage Dirtbag Outfit Novels & Stories

Looking like two beggars who got thrown out of a bar fight. Gregor stalked beside me, broad shoulders hunched into a coat that was at least two sizes too small. It pinched under his arms, and every time he moved, I swore I heard a stitch cry for help. The mighty Alpha of Midnight Pack looked like he borrowed his clothes from a high school sophomore. Me? I wasn’t any better. Some “helpful” leather jacket from shed, and let me tell you—it smelled like puke, cigarettes, and the kind of bad decisions people only make at 3 a.m. I pulled it tighter anyway, nose wrinkling.

I looked at the unzipped bag strangely. After putting the cameras on, I changed my clothes into ragged and dirty ones just like these kids' clothes. I also smeared my face with charcoal that I got from the bag and hid myself at the most back to make sure that I won't be noticed as I am the tallest among them. The road was bumpy, and the ride made one butt's ache. I gritted my teeth to endure the ride. If I can endure the beating, I might as well endure the beating on my ass.

Britney managed to squeeze in before I cut the call. “I hope he’s not coming with us,” she glared, folding her arms. “No worries there muffin,” I cooed lifting up my camera bag, “I got it covered.” She nodded, trailing down my figure, eyes widening, “That’s what you’re wearing!” I glanced down at the large fuzzy shirt I was wearing matched with dark leggings and ankle boots, “what’s wrong with this?” “Really Makayla?!” “What?!” “You look like a Hobo!” she huffed staring at me in horror.

“But for the girl it meant everything.” I scoffed. Who did this guy think he was? If I had to guess, he definitely wasn't a part of the crowd. No, he certainly didn't belong with all of the minivan driving moms and dad's with their fanny packs, squealing children, and packs of cigarettes clutched in hand. He wore a long trenchcoat that brushed the ground we stood upon, along with a button down shirt that exposed a good portion of his bare chest. His jeans were dark and littered with holes, while his combat boots appeared almost new.

I sat up immediately and did a very quick retouch before he saw me. He was dressed in a pair of dark ripped jeans and a baggy shirt that could fit over three bodies. I loved his style. I had never seen him dress in a baggy outfit but this was really appealing to the eyes. Though it was a fashion that was set apart for only the dark skinned students in Willow High, I was sure that if he wore this to school, he was going to start a trend. His hair was left to fall over his forehead and it gave him a fierce look. One that made her want to drop her panty.

I grab my outfit and head into the changing room, stripping out of mny plain jeans and t-shirt and pulling on some fishnet tights, and another set of jeans, black this time with ripped holes, as well as a red, long sleeved crop top with a deepv neckline. I grab my discarded clothes and head back out, where Lynette whistles at me. "Look at you, hot stuff!" I roll my eyes and place my clothes into my bag. "Oh, shut up." I say as I sit down and run my fingers through my coppery red hair, trying to

the biggest and ugliest said from a few feet away. He was dressed in dirty jeans and a leather vest. No shirt to cover his overly hairy body. He had several thick gold chains around his neck and I wondered if they got caught up in his chest hair. His shaggy brown hair was oily and rivulets of sweat rolled down his dirty face into his scraggily unkempt beard. All I could smell were the bike exhaust fumes but I had a feeling they covered the group’s body odor. I should be thankful. My eyes quickly scanned the other two. Triplets came to mind. They matched all the way to their bushy beards.

I get off when the driver calls the last stop. I find a Goodwill store that’s just opening. I wait for the old woman to unlock the doors, shivering on the sidewalk. I need to change. Everything I’m wearing has been cataloged and fed to an algorithm. I buy the ugliest shit I can find. Baggy cargo pants that are three sizes too big. A belt to keep the pants from ending up around my ankles. A stained flannel shirt that smells like mothballs. An oversized, heavy army surplus jacket. And to round off this fashion extravaganza, a Mets ball cap.

Good. I walked back into the room and grabbed a trash bag. I started ripping things out of my closet. Every pink outfits I had I was thrashing them out. The soft sweaters my mom said made me look"innocent. I shoved them into the bag like they were rotting garbage. I dug into the back of my closet, finding stuff I had bought months ago and hidden. Baggy, oversized black jeans. A huge, shapeless hoodie that swallowed my frame. I even found an old theater kit from freshman year. I took the spirit gum and the fake mustache and glued it to my upper lip. It looked a bit ridiculous, but it did the job. It broke up the lines of my face. It hid the perfect doll.

“You’re shedding…” “And you shouldn’t be here!” He shrugged, throwing the rock he had picked from the ground at my face and I dodged it ease. “I see you’re still fast.” “Oh please, that rock was slow.” He tossed a small duffle bag at me, I caught it. Taking outa loose pair of leathery pants and a similar black puffer jacket to the one he was wearing. “What the fuck Jared, these were the only clothes you could find???” “Hey, you make come get you, you wear what I pick.”