Teenage Dirtbag Style Novels & Stories

“Come on, it’s not that bad. It’s your perfect escape. These people don’t deserve you. Why not go where you’d be welcomed and maybe even cherished?” I scoffed. “That Academy? Where everyone’s obsessed with orgies and threesomes?” “Didn’t you say you liked it hard?” I groaned. That was one of those things I’d stupidly said once—just to sound tough. I had ash-blonde hair with purple and pink streaks. Always wore dark eyeliner. Multiple piercings. Cross and butterfly tattoos scattered over my skin. I didn’t do girly. I didn’t wear color. I was always in black, always found with bikers and rogues, clubbing till sunrise, drinking like my liver signed a waiver.

"Uh, uhm, so what I keep 'em rolled up Saggin' my pants, not caring what I show Keep it real with my niggas Keep it player for these hoes It look clean don't it Washed it the other day, watch how you lean on it Give me some 501 jeans on it Roll joints bigger than king Kong's fingers And smoke them hoes down 'til stingers You a class clown and if I skip for the day I'm with your bitch smoking grade A You know what It's like I'm seventeen again Peach fuzz on my face Lookin', on the case Tryna find a hella taste Oh my God, I'm on the chase, Chevy It's gettin' kinda heavy, relevant, sellin' it Dippin' away, time keeps slippin' away

Messy curls, combat boots, forest in the background, caption: “If I go missing, delete my browser history, then avenge me. Xoxo.” I post it to my story easily, interesting that the service is so good in the middle of the wilderness. If I’m going to be kidnapped by cultists, I’m at least going viral. With final resignation I step onto the path. I can do this. I once wore a polyester sausage costume for twelve hours slinging samples of vegan hot dogs outside a strip mall. Twenty five sweaty, mosquito-infested minutes later my boots are covered in dirt, my hair’s a humid disaster and there’s a twig in my bra that I’ve accepted as part of my personality.

The fact that he stank of cigarettes only made him more off-putting. Unlike the rest of us who'd dressed up, Brian looked like he was going to spend the night working on his motorcycle -- he had on a dark, stained t-shirt and a pair of ripped jeans. I doubted he'd washed his hair in weeks. His look matched his 'dirtbag' personality to a tee.

He had dirty blonde hair that faded into brown and grey eyes. He was putting on a blue dress shirt, and just like mine, the first few buttons were undone, showcasing his toned chest. He must work out a lot. He probably wouldn't have been so bad if he didn't lust after minors. "We all had plans to come to this club after school," I continued explaining, hoping to catch his interest with my fake story. "But when it was time, they suddenly had one thing or the other to do. I didn't even get to change into the pretty dress I brought with me."

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

Not at that moment when I felt I could actually do damage to Dominik. I sighed and rolled my eyes, folding my arms across my chest as I cleared my throat, finally landing my full attention on him. Okay so maybe I should not have done that. I was not presentable… well… like a mate should look. I had on a black cargo pant with black fighting boots to go and a sports bra. I was also covered in dirt and sweat. My hair was plaited into a single pigtail in the middle of my head and some had gotten out of the hold to frame my face.

I was trying to break him of the habit he was so fond of. Whether fortunate or not, we'd attracted the attention of nearly everyone in the alley. Ready or not, guess now was as great a time as any. I stepped forward, walking slowly to the group. The others around the Lost kid were dressed the same as he was. Ripped and torn tight jeans, leather jackets, and a few black knit beanies against the cold. Nearly all of them were smoking. One tossed their cigarette to the ground and stomped it out, his short mohawk might have been dark blue. Or maybe black, it was hard to tell.

“So it needs to go.” I thought I looked like I’d just stepped off an eighties workout video with the baggy cropped sweatshirt over a black tank top, but I had to admit it was nice to know he appreciated my style. I liked my quirky fashion sense too. Glad he appreciated what he saw, I gave a single nod. “Alright, then. Let’s go find something better suited for some illegal tagging activity.”