You were 18. A senior in high school. You got good grades. Your uniform was never breaking the code. You were a good, good kid. Well, that was until you met Frank.

He was hot. And sexy. And he has tattoos. And a lip piercing with stretched ears. And he owned a car. And he was out of school. And he played guitar and sang. And he was 23. He was so cool. Even if he lived in his mom's basement.

Your grades maybe dropped a bit, or a lot since you started dating him. And your required tie was always too loose now and the shirt too wrinkled. Getting you into detention.

But when he picked you up blasting a punk mix cassette in his broken car, and smoked a cigarette and looked out for you with a grin you felt so cool. You couldn't help but feel cool. I mean, you felt cool right now when the principal was behind you, bringing you out after your detention.

You grinned when you saw Frank doing just what you described. The music, the cigarette, the chug of his car. The principal rolled his eyes and grumbled under his breath. He was expecting a parent to talk to. Not a punk bastard. You walked ahead, up to the car. Frank mumbled with the cig in his lips and a smirk.

"You're late..."