BP Profile: Class-cutting Backlot Kid

Elise Sickinger, Backpage Editor

Stepping outside into the backlot, the frigid mid-winter air nips at your ears—you’re still trying to grow your hair out long enough to cover them. Your flannel pajama pants and Thrasher hoodie try vainly to keep you warm, but nothing is quite as comfortable as the cushy backseat of your sweet, sweet 2014 Honda Civic.
You shuffle your “continuous bangerz” playlist in the hopes of relaxing, cracking open a can of Bang and letting the bass-boosted vibrations of Roddy Ricch’s “The Box” lull you into a sweet second-period nap. Thankfully you’ve had this quickie back-lot power nap planned since 7 AM: you brought a neck pillow to school with you. But you’re not a complete slacker: you set an alarm for 11:10, since you know you’re going to be the one who has to drive the boys to DQ during first lunch.
You jerk awake to the jarring sound of marimba coming from your cracked iPhone 6s, while simultaneously your bros urgently tap the windows on your Civ’. Your horn bleats weakly as you unlock your doors, so your car can immediately be absolutely crammed full of dudes. Your boy riding shotgun gives you a quick kiss on the cheek, because kissing the homies isn’t gay—it’s affectionate.
Giggling altogether, you speed 30 MPH out of the lot just fast enough to blow by Kinsley without having to show him everyone’s ASB cards (you have a lil’ homie riding in the trunk right about now). Back Lot Kid, you’re one of us.