Neon Sparks and Broken Hearts

Prompt: **Title: Neon Sparks and Broken Hearts** **Chapter 1: Cheap Thrills** The girls’ bathroom reeked of expired body spray and regret, but you didn’t care. Amber Matthews—Piltover High’s head cheerleader—had been throwing herself at you since homecoming, and you were bored enough to indulge her. Her back hit the stall wall with a *thud* as you kissed her, your hands roaming with practiced apathy. She tasted like mint gum and desperation. “You’re such a *bad boy*,” she giggled, her fingers clawing at the football jersey clinging to your shoulders. “Does your dad know you’re skipping practice for this?” You smirked against her neck. “You gonna tattle on me, princess?” Amber melted, just like they all did. It was too easy. Girls like her were carbon copies—bubblegum laughs, hollow compliments, eager to trade their dignity for a shot at being your “girlfriend” for a week. You’d already forgotten her name twice today. The door creaked open. You didn’t stop. Let whoever it was watch. Let them gossip. You thrived on the whispers. “*Ew.*” The voice was all gravel and glitter, sharp enough to slice through the humidity. You froze. Jinx. Amber gasped, scrambling to yank down her skirt, but you held her in place, your grip tightening. “Relax,” you muttered, loud enough for Jinx to hear. “It’s just the trash lurking where it doesn’t belong.” Jinx leaned against the sinks, her neon-blue brows arched. Today’s outfit was peak Jinx chaos: fishnets under cutoff shorts, a cropped jacket covered in anarchist patches, and a choker lined with faux bullets. Her smirk was as jagged as the switchblade she’d famously pulled on Coach Markus last year. “Aww, Captain America’s slumming it again,” she crooned, popping a lollipop between her teeth. “What’s the matter? The groupies in the *junior* varsity locker room finally wise up to your two-minute record?” Amber flushed crimson. “Shut up, *freak*! Nobody asked you!” Jinx’s mismatched eyes flicked to her. “Oh, sweetheart, don’t cry. I’m sure he’ll text you back… *never*.” She blew a bubble, the *pop* echoing like a gunshot. You stepped out of the stall, zipping your jeans with deliberate slowness. “Got something to say, Powder?” Her jaw twitched. *Powder*. The name she’d scorched from her life sophomore year, back when you’d been dumb enough to think you could be friends with a girl who set fire to the principal’s car “for fun.” “Just saying,” she said, voice slick with fake sympathy, “if you’re gonna keep defiling this bathroom, at least pick someone who knows how to *fake it* better.” She nodded at Amber, who looked ready to combust. “This is just… sad.” Amber fled, mascara streaking. Jinx cackled, but you crowded her against the sinks, your height looming. She didn’t flinch. “You’re real funny,” you sneered. “Too bad your mom didn’t stick around to laugh at your jokes.” The words hung, poisonous. Jinx’s grin didn’t waver, but her knuckles whitened around the edge of the sink. You knew the story—*everyone* did. The trailer park fire, the foster homes, the court-ordered therapy. You’d weaponized it once before, at a party junior year, when she’d called you out for spiking the punch. The look on her face that night had been… satisfying. “Cute,” she said, tilting her head. “You rehearse that in the mirror while flexing? Or does Daddy Warbucks write your zines for you?” You scoffed. “At least my dad *wanted* me.” For a split second, her mask slipped. A flicker of hurt, raw and electric, before she shoved you back. “Careful, pretty boy. You keep swinging that silver spoon around, someone might shove it where the sun don’t shine.” She stomped out, slamming the door so hard the paper towel dispenser rattled. You stared at your reflection—flawless hair, letterman jacket, the golden boy smirk everyone loved. The one that made teachers overlook your late assignments and girls forgive your ghosting. *Good*, you thought, straightening your collar. Let her stew. Let her hate you. It’s what she deserved after what she’d done. --- **Flashback, Junior Year** *“C’mon, [Y/N], it’ll be epic!” Jinx grinned, holding up the spray-paint cans. “We’ll tag the gym walls right before the championship game. *Eat the rich* in neon pink!”* *You’d hesitated. Your dad’s voice hissed in your head: *”Stop hanging with that delinquent. You’re a Vander now. Act like it.”* *The next day, you’d told Principal Medarda where to find her.* --- The bell rang. You texted Amber a 🥱 emoji—*seen* instantly—and headed to practice, Jinx’s laughter echoing in your skull like a bad song. *Let her rot*, you told yourself. But that night, tossing in bed, you dreamed of blue hair and switchblade smiles. **Title: Neon Sparks and Broken Hearts** **Chapter 2: Graffiti and Gravity** The football field was ruined. You stared at the 50-yard line, now a riot of neon spray paint. Giant letters screamed *“CHOKE ARTISTS”* across the grass, the *O* replaced by a crudely drawn crown—your team’s logo—splattered in blood-red. Principal Medarda’s voice crackled over the loudspeaker, canceling practice. The team erupted into curses, but all you could see was the tiny signature in the corner: a pink bomb with a wick lit in blue. *Jinx*. --- Detention was held in the chemistry lab, a room that smelled like burnt rubber and poor life choices. You slouched in the back row, doodling play diagrams in your notebook. The door burst open. “Reporting for *brainwashing*,” Jinx sang, dropping into the seat next to you. Her boots kicked up onto the desk, smudging your paper with black tread marks. You didn’t look up. “Get lost.” “Aw, but we’re *partners*!” She flashed a pink slip—*VANDALISM, 10 HOURS COMMUNITY SERVICE*—with your name scribbled next to hers. Your pen snapped. “You framed me.” She leaned in, her breath candy-sweet. “Prove it.” Principal Medarda had found your varsity pin at the crime scene. Convenient, considering Jinx had stolen it from your locker weeks ago. “You’re dead,” you hissed. “Promises, promises.” She twirled a spray can between her fingers, her grin all teeth. --- The punishment? Repainting the bleachers. In the sweltering afternoon heat, you rolled industrial-gray paint over Jinx’s art while she “supervised,” perched on the railing like a feral gremlin. “Careful, golden boy. Wouldn’t want you to chip a nail,” she said as you scrubbed furiously at a doodle of a football with a crown on fire. You threw your brush down. “Why’d you do it?” She tilted her head. “Why’d *you* tell Medarda I trashed the gym?” The accusation hung between you. You hadn’t spoken about that day since it happened—the day she’d stopped looking at you like you hung the moon and started looking at you like she wanted to hang *you*. “You were gonna get expelled,” you lied. “*Bullshit.*” She hopped down, invading your space. “You sold me out to kiss Daddy’s ass. Admit it.” Your father’s words slithered back: *“That girl’s a time bomb. You want her dragging you down when she blows?”* You stepped closer. “Maybe I just got sick of your *look-at-me* tantrums. Not everyone’s obsessed with you, Powder.” Her laugh was brittle. “Says the guy who *followed me* to detention.” “You put my name on the slip!” “And you *came.*” She poked your chest. “Face it, hotshot. You miss me.” You swatted her hand away, but she grabbed your wrist, her fingers sticky from stolen soda. For a heartbeat, you were twelve again—partners in crime, sneaking onto rooftops, her laughter your favorite sound. Then you remembered the burn of her glare when the cops cuffed her in the gym. “You’re a *mess*,” you spat. Something fractured in her eyes. “And you’re a *coward*.” She shoved you back, knocking over the paint can. Gray sludge spilled across your Jordans. “Clean it up,” you growled. “Make me.” You lunged. She dodged, but you caught the strap of her overalls, yanking her close. Her hands braced against your chest, her breath hitching. Your pulse roared. “*Enough!*” Mr. Kiramman, the detention proctor, stormed over. “One more stunt and you’ll be scrubbing urinals ’til graduation!” Jinx wrenched free, her voice saccharine. “Don’t worry, teach. Captain Choke’s just mad ’cause he can’t handle a little *resistance*.” --- That night, you found her in the parking lot, smoking under the flickering streetlamp. “Following me now?” she drawled, blowing smoke in your face. You grabbed her cigarette, crushing it under your heel. “Stay away from my team.” “Or what?” She got in your face, her eyes glittering with challenge. “You’ll cry to Daddy again?” Something snapped. You pinned her against your truck, hands caging her in. “You wanna be my problem, Jinx? Fine. But I don’t lose.” She grinned, wild and unhinged. “Good. Losing’s *boring*.” Her knee jerked up, grazing your thigh—too close to your groin—and you stumbled back. She darted off, her laughter echoing behind her. “Game on, pretty boy!” You slid into your truck, gripping the steering wheel until your knuckles ached. She was getting under your skin, and *that* was dangerous. But as you drove off, you caught her reflection in the rearview mirror, watching you leave. And you hated that you looked twice. **Title: Neon Sparks and Broken Hearts** **Chapter 3: Scars and Silver Spoons** The rumors started Monday morning. By third period, everyone knew Jinx had been arrested over the weekend. *Again*. You overheard the debate team snickering about it in the hallway—*“Heard she tried to torch a cop car this time”*—and you didn’t react. You just tightened your grip on your locker and told yourself it wasn’t your problem. Until she marched into trig class, wrists raw from handcuffs, and slammed her textbook onto the desk behind yours. “Miss *Powder*,” she muttered, mocking the name on the attendance sheet. “Present and *accounted for*.” The class tittered. You didn’t turn around. --- **Flashback, Junior Year** *The police lights stained the gym walls blue. Jinx struggled against the officer’s grip, her eyes wild as they locked on you. “You… you *told* them?!”* *You stood beside Principal Medarda, your letterman jacket suffocating. “You did it to yourself,” you said, fists clenched. “Always gotta be the victim, right?”* *Her scream chased you out of the building. “I HATE YOU!”* *You didn’t look back.* --- At lunch, Caitlyn Kiramman—student council president and Jinx’s reluctant foster sister—cornered you at the vending machine. “You need to fix this,” she hissed, jabbing a finger at your chest. You smirked, cracking open your soda. “Fix what? Your psycho sister’s rap sheet?” “Fix *you*.” Caitlyn’s glare could’ve melted steel. “She’s been worse since you stabbed her in the back. You used to be the one person who—” “Used to.” You slammed the can into the trash. “Tell her to stay out of my way.” But as you walked off, Caitlyn’s words followed you: “You broke her first, [Y/N]. Don’t act surprised she’s sharpening the pieces.” --- The football field was empty after practice, the sky bruised purple. You were halfway to your truck when you heard it—the *hiss* of a spray can. Jinx stood on the bleachers, tagging the railing with a neon-pink *TRAITOR*. “For old times’ sake,” she said, not turning around. You climbed the steps, your cleats clanging. “You’re really trying to get expelled, huh?” She laughed, hollow. “What’s the point? You’ve already taken everything else.” The words should’ve felt like a win. Instead, they curdled in your gut. “You did that to yourself.” She whirled, eyes blazing. “*You* made me the villain! You think I wanted to be *this*?” She gestured to herself—the chipped black nail polish, the scars peeking under her sleeve. “I was just *me* until you decided I wasn’t good enough for your shiny new life!” You stepped closer, your shadow swallowing hers. “You were *embarrassing*.” She flinched. And you *liked* it. “You think I wanted to be seen with the girl who ate glue in third grade? Who set her hair on fire for *attention*?” Your voice rose, cruel and crisp. “You’re a joke, Jinx. Always have been.” She slapped you. The crack echoed. Your cheek burned, but you grinned. “Hit a nerve?” Tears glinted in her eyes, but her voice was steel. “At least I’m not pretending.” She shoved past you, her whisper razor-sharp. “Have fun at the top, [Y/N]. Hope it’s worth the lie.” You let her go. --- That night, your father’s mansion felt like a tomb. You stared at your reflection in the pool, moonlight warping your face into something unrecognizable. *“You broke her first.”* Your phone buzzed—a Snapchat from Amber. You deleted it. Another buzz. Unknown number. You opened it. A photo of your varsity pin, melted into a lump of metal. **Unknown:** *memento mori, pretty boy. sleep tight 💣* You threw your phone into the pool. --- **End of Chapter 3** **write the next chapter for me, keep portraying the reader as a jerk to make the redemption arc in the future more satisfying. uhhh make the reader suffer from consequences after he does something to jinx like being put in the juvy or something, and put in angst. make the chapter longer