Teenage Dirtbag Outfit Novels & Stories

I could go another few hours, but I guess I could hold my shit until we got home later. "Um, babe, I like that shit." She had on low rider jeans and a satin halter-top that matched her green eyes and heels that were a mile high. I think she was trying to match me in height with those shits. She did some wild shit with her hair that had curls falling down her back, and all I could think of was grabbing fistfuls of that shit while I hit her pussy from behind. Damn, I've become a fiend. The guys were waiting for us when we stepped outside, all of us looking like we were in uniform: jeans, Henley, and leather jackets with shit kickers. No wonder people think we're a gang.

It almost pissed me off more that he didn’t try to talk to me. The first pair of shorts I grabbed were the skimpiest ones I owned. That wasn’t done on purpose. I think it will work out in my favor. Maybe if I can make some of the guys look, that will piss Maddox off. My T-shirt had racoons on it and said, “Stay Trashy”. Honestly, one of my favorites.

She asked, but I didn’t answer. “Aren’t you going to say bye to mom and dad? Or are you not grateful that they raised you?” She asked again, but I still ignored her. I didn't need to tolerate her bullshit anymore. I walked to where I kept my things and looked through my clothes, trying to see what I could take with me. The clothes I wore were so old. Some of them looked like rags. Was it really ok for me to carry such ugly-looking clothes? I bit my lower lip, realising I didn’t even have a proper bag to carry the clothes in. All I had was the popular checkered sack bag that most people had labelled as a bag for the poor.

A cap on his head. And if that wasn’t bad enough, Aiden was dressed to match. Maddox, with his long, lean build, carried it off. Aiden looked like a sausage stuffed into a tight casing. His massive arms and chest stretched the argyle, distorting the pattern. The pants looked as if they were painted on, and his socks barely reached the bottom of his pants, his knees half exposed. I started to laugh. “You two are fucking ridiculous.” Maddox grinned, holding out a bag. “I got you one too.” “Not on your life,” I replied.

I have a test tomorrow in English lit. As I round the bend obscured by the bushes of our manicured garden, I catch sight of Dane coming this way, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans, head down and kicking at debris the same way I am as he walks. He’s changed from his school clothes into that rumpled, badass casual he prefers. Light ripped jeans, a white Tee under an open check shirt with graffiti embroidery across a shoulder and one side. His hair is freshly ruffled, and he’s sporting all the metal he usually wears in his face and ear, so it shines in the light. I always hated how his eyebrow bar and lip ring suited his face and transformed him from a good-looking teen into something ol

"Going somewhere?" "No." I shrugged, crossing my arms. "Why do you ask?" "You're all dressed up." He eyed me from head to toe and an involuntary shiver jolts up my spine and I regard my outfit. I was wearing a black leather jacket, a pink shirt underneath, and a leather skirt reaching my mid-thighs, completed with a pair of black ankle-length boots. In short, I resembled a rebellious scoundrel straight out of a 90s grunge music video.

I find the brightest clothing I won, which happens to be a red hoodie, which is slightly dam since my whole dorm was trashed and garbage was dumped in here. I have black jeans in the humper, baggy and ragged. Not something my mom would be happy to see me in ever since we started living this fancy life. But it's the only clothing I have that can be worn or else I risk walking out smelling like I have been dug out of a bin. I walk out, biting my nails, thinking of what to tell her. She must have heard that she got a mate. She will ask if I have made friends. I can't tell her I was beaten up by the clique I was hoping to join in. She wouldn’t get the joke.

he's arguing with is actually a tiny punk rocker. I look down at my clothes and can't help but grin. I'm dressed like a total badass – studded leather jacket, tight black t-shirt, ripped jeans, and combat boots. My backwards cap and graffiti bandana complete the look, making it clear that I'm not someone to mess with.

He knew the sky would eventually fall. ​I stripped off the silk robe I was wearing, the expensive fabric feeling like a lie. I went to the closet and found a pair of black cargo pants and a heavy hoodie. I laced up my old combat boots, the ones with the scuffed toes and the history of a thousand miles of Brooklyn pavement. ​I was going back to the dirt.

“Of course you’re, I almost didn’t recognize you there.” I changed my whole appearance, letting my blonde hair grow out and I watched it turn lighter under the sun. I cleared out my wardrobe and only wear flannel shirts that smell like smoke and pine with denim instead of tailored slacks coupled with boots that are made for dirt so today, dressed in an oversized tee with dark wash jeans make me feel out of place.