RE: Trailer Trash

Deb and Mike’s ‘DaM’ Good Wings was one of the familiar places to eat for Mr. Moore, sandwiched in between a nail salon and a tax accountant in a strip mall just four blocks down from their trailer park. The place was a restaurant only in loose terms—Deb wasn’t shy of telling her customers that their small business only survived by clinging onto one of the few liquor licenses Springton was willing to mete out. They sold cheap beer, they dispatched greasy as hell fries and wings in cheap styrofoam containers, and the decor inside was so dated that ashtrays were still resting on every table. It was the closest a little town like Springton had to a dive bar—because this was a semi-dry county, the nearest real bar was way out in the sticks, halfway to Sandboro.

Been a while, hasn’t it? Mr. Moore thought to himself as he pulled open the grimy door and stepped inside.

The smell of unfiltered fryer grease was strong, all of the tabletops here looked sticky, and the walls featured yellowed football posters and various Budweiser and Miller Lite neon signs. This late in the evening, quite a few of the tables were full—mostly the younger local crowd, of which Alan only recognized one guy who was apprenticed under one of the plumbers he knew—and then off in the corner was Ricky Davis. Ricky was in his early forties, fat and balding but had big, expressive features that made him seem more charismatic than he had any right to be.

Always was tryin’ to make himself out to be like a redneck John Belushi, Mr. Moore remembered. Hell, for YEARS and years he was tryin’ to rock them big shades all the time like he was a Blues Brother. Hah!

“Alan! Hey man how ya doin’?” Ricky called, raising a beer. “Good to see you, man. Good to see you. Been a while, huh?”

“Yeah, damn,” Mr. Moore nodded. “Few months already, huh? Thanks for comin’ out and meetin’ me on such short notice.”

“Hell, gives me an excuse to come out here an’ drink,” Ricky laughed. “So yeah, what’s been happening, man?”

While Alan wouldn’t go so far as to call him a friend, a decade or so back they had both been under the same local construction company—before the steady work dried up. Most of their other acquaintances from back then had moved on to either take lucrative welding jobs in Sandboro, or hopped onboard LG&E Electric for new jobs when Kentucky’s utility industry restructured. Alan got certifications and started up his own work as a general contractor, while Ricky had wound up as some sort of handyman for the local school district.

The usual catching up pleasantries were exchanged—how old is your little girl, now? Damn, FOURTEEN, already? Wow, where’s all the time even gone?! Along with some new anecdotes about Ricky’s most recent divorce, which all sounded to Alan quite a bit like Ricky hadn’t learned much from his last two. One of Deb’s acne-faced teenage sons came out and took Mr. Moore’s order for a beer and some fries, and in the casual atmosphere of DaM Good Wings, Mr. Moore eventually steered conversation towards what Ricky was doing now.

“I mean hell, twelve, thirteen years? You should be ‘bout runnin’ the place by now, I figure?” Mr. Moore teased.

“Nah, nah, nothin’ like that!” Ricky waved off the remark with a smile. “Hey—I’m still doin’ same old custodian bullshit, different fancy title now. Ten years. Still jus’ doin’ honest work, y’know? The schools ‘round here, hell. I got a whole table full o’ cronies in suits above me who’re ‘in charge’ an’ don’t know a damn thing ‘bout actual maintenance—but at the end of the day, they ‘ventually do gotta delegate the actual work to someone who can roll up their sleeves and get shit done—someone who knows what the hell they’re doin’.”

“Oh, I’ll bet,” Mr. Moore gave the man a firm nod and took another swig of his beer.

“Shit. E’ry one o’ ‘em’s total waste o’ space. I got this district superintendent above me? Boy—he’s dumber’n a sack o’ shit. Got his masters in administration somehow out in Col-y-ra-do, sat on his thumbs in some school district out there ‘til a better post popped up. Turned out to be here—just our luck! Year he gets in, I think… ninety-six? Yeah he starts blowin’ through the budget, tryin’ to change up every l’il thing over to how the Col-y-ra-do schools did things, insteada learnin’ how we do things ‘round here. So, most o’ the operating budget basically gets flushed away on all this remodeling hoo-ha for no reason, ‘cause all this fancy Col-y-ra-do BS he’s used to? S’useless as a pecker on a pope! Out there, they’re ranked Sixth in the nation for education. Kentucky? We’re just ‘bout in a heat for dead last. Hell, our kids here are barely even readin’ in the first place. Whatever’n it was he was tryin’ to pull off, it didn’t work, and our test scores here didn’t change a damn bit.

“Yeah ‘cause he gets hisself in, he swaps out the locals with know-how under him for his kinda white collar suckups and ass-kissers. Shit, everyone ‘bove me but Roger Gunn got themselves retired or relocated. So this new bunch, they packed ‘em in with fancy titles that don’t mean nothin’—like hey, instead of ‘custodians’ we’re now 'maintenance managers.’ Same pay. Same duties—jus’ now we got a whole boardroom o’ pencil pushers who don’t know their assholes from their elbows. Offices. An’ they spend all day fussin’ ‘round sendin’ each other emails, an’ spreadsheets, an’ settin’ up meetings to pat themselves on the back ‘bout how great a job they’re doin’ of tellin’ Roger’n me how to do our jobs, so they can justify a paycheck somehow.”

“No kiddin,’” Mr. Moore nodded along.

“Ayhup. You got like our Springton ‘facilities director,’ now this bitch is a politician, through an’ through. Real big on makin’ all sorts of big bullshit pretty promises. If’n’s up to her, we’d have a big ol’ billboard with her face on it, letters ten foot high sayin’ how she’s the one who’s goin’ through and makin’ big change in our Kentucky schools here, how she’s the one who’s fixin’ up all the grandstands in the middle an’ high schools here with them nice new ‘luminum ones.

“Yeah, okay—them things’re nice as shit. O’course they are, they’re brand spankin’ new! But we’ll be payin’ ‘em off for the next, nine, ten years after she’s long gone, that can’s gettin’ kicked on down the road for whatever sucker winds up takin’ her seat after her. They’re gonna have those payments eatin’ up all our budget for years, Al. I’m talkin’ like more’n a damn decade. And did we need fancy new grandstands? No, hell no. S’all so Marta Dellinger gets the credit for gettin’ ‘em installed, like she’s the second coming of the Almighty ‘round here. But no matter what, end of the day—s’the district’s payin’ for it. Not her! She’s just fluffin’ up her resume, gettin’ some nonsense’ll look good for her push for lieutenant governor, or some big city mayor position, some state official bigshot seat inna couple years. Like I said—politician, through an’ through!”

“No kiddin’,” Mr. Moore shook his head in disbelief. “And—what was all that hoo-haw I was hearin’ from Travis, ‘bout that busted main, right towards one of the bus loop areas? Where was that, Springton Middle? My l’il girl went to the other one, Laurel.”

“Aw shit, don’t even get me started on that mess,” Ricky guffawed, eager to find someone to retell this story to. “Started last year—you know it, soon as that dumbshit from Col-y-ra-do throws a buncha money at resurfacin’ the front loop there, puttin’ in that fancy new sidewalk an’ everything? Well hey, we get that same freeze thaw cycle like we do, and that damn near fifty-year old line they got buried ‘neath all that finally shits the bed. We hadta go in an’ tear everything up. An’ hoo-boy, I mean everything. I mean, un-be-lievable. Do they not have freeze thaw cycles out thar in Col-y-ra-do? Isn’t fuckin’ Colorado cold as shit, nine times outta ten in the year?!”

“Think what probably happened was all his lines out there in Colorado were already new,” Mr. Moore reasoned. “So he’s not used to havin’ that certain… leeway you gotta have for some of this older stuff. You know, leavin’ yourself some elbow room for ‘em on the books, accountin’ for what all’s gonna maybe kick the bucket next. I know a kid out from Albuquerque an’ their road crews, where all the stuff there is brand new? He comes over here towards the east coast and could not believe the state o’ things they ‘spected him to work with, here. The state of our roads. Said it was unbelievable.”

“Unbelievable,” Ricky agreed, sipping his beer. “Ayhup. That’s about right.”

“So, that whole front area turned into a big mess?” Mr. Moore prompted. “The school loop.”

“Well yeah, the whole front area o’ Springton Middle that dumbshit was so set on prettyin’ up turned into this, this flooded fuckin’ swamp bog we had blocked off with tape, had the backhoes and piles of crap everywhere so the buses could barely squeeze in past. Hadta put one o’ the deans out there like Lassie every school day, just to keep an eye out an’ make sure little Timmy didn’t poke around or get too curious and fall down the well. Hah! Damn lucky this was the Middle School and not the Elementary, or we’d’ve had a damn hard time ‘splainin’ to all the parents why they kids comin’ home every day lookin’ like they were playin’ in a mud pit. You know how corralin’ the real young ones can be. We’d’ve had to put up a big ol’ fence to keep ‘em out! They was talkin’ ‘bout it.”

“Yeah, Travis was tellin’ me some of that,” Mr. Moore chuckled. “Damn waste. He said you guys hadta go through them new flower beds an’ everything, that the damn line—”

“Yee-up, had to rip everythin’ right up,” Ricky let out a belch and then took another long draw from his Miller Lite. “Dumbshit had fancy floodlights rigged through to light up his pretty new school sign there an’ everything. Whew-buddy, them brand new hedges? With them nice flowers, all his nice new lights? Hah. Dumb fucker had a photo-op with the papers an’ stations over ‘em an’ everything back then. Roger had to go in with the excavator and tear everything up, right on through, an’ whole time, dumbshit superintendent, he’s losin’ his fuckin’ marbles at us. Yeah? WELL? You want running water at your damn school, dumbfuck?!”

“Holy cow,” Mr. Moore remarked.

“See, them old water mains out this way had this big ol’ split, was corroded all to shit in the first place, none of the patches that‘re already there are sealin’ to it like they used to—Travis had to fuckin’ sit down in fronta Dumbshit and explain it to ‘im. Listen here. This old main is originally from like the late nineteen fuckin’ forties—s’been fixed a time ‘r two too many since then, an’ yer either gonna rip it ALL up now and replace it, or from now on we’re gonna be diggin’ all this crap back up EVERY DAMN SEASON to go through this same ‘xact fuckin’ bullshit!”

Truth be told, Alan had heard all of this from Ricky before. In all honesty, he’d heard the story back in the day first hand from Travis… several times. It was one of their favorite yarns to spin when either of them got to drinking, and it didn’t cost Mr. Moore much to indulge them by listening in and asking just the right questions to draw out their favorite bits of the story. Granted, the story was starting to snowball a bit into a tall tale over the years—Mr. Moore didn’t remember anything about a dean being posted to chaperone over the work site last retelling—but, that was okay, too.

Travis was a miserable old cuss quite a few years their senior, and Ricky had a particular bad eye for women and got himself into one messy marriage after another. Both of them used to be regulars like Mr. Moore at DaM good wings here in town, both of them were good for the local tradesman gossip or occasional know-how. Just like Alan they weren’t educated, they weren’t all that good-looking, and the whole world sometimes seemed fit to just dump the world’s problems on them, expecting them to figure out how to fix things without much in the way of gratitude or thanks.

They were all occasional drinking buddies rather than friends, really, but they’d been there for Alan back then. Back in the day, Alan Moore had been the legend turned cautionary tale for his incredible luck landing the Shannon Delain—as Springton went it was like a supermodel had fallen right down from heaven and into his lap—but, it was a whirlwind romance so fleeting that passions ran cold almost right away. For damn near a decade, Mr. Moore had come home to a frigid wife and a daughter he couldn’t understand, and all he could do was try to do right and make the best of things.

Unlike Ricky, Alan had never entertained the notion of being unfaithful or fooled around with any of the gals around town—he only had eyes for his wife. After all, there was no woman more beautiful or perfect than Shannon, and if he couldn’t carve out happiness with her, there was no way he could even consider trying to the same with someone else. His Shannon was still in there, deep down, and it was no one’s fault but his own that things had been so difficult.

“So damn, whatcha been up to, Al?” Ricky burped again, a low, deep one that came from the back of his throat. “Hey, you get all this shit with your sister-in-law sorted out? Or no?”

“Hell,” Mr. Moore chuckled. “S’outta my hands, she got herself put into custody. They’ll figure it out, somehow. We’ll maybe get my brother’s old clunker back from impound, maybe not. Don’t even got the title or registration, but I think the officers there know and’ll give it to me ‘at auction’ with a wink an’ a nod for a couple bucks. They’re good people.”

“Yeah, good to you, hah,” Ricky took another swig. “Can’t say I’ve had much all a uhh, a good ‘sperience with cops. Local or not! Well, you know what I mean.”

“Hah, heard that a time or two,” Mr. Moore chuckled. “But, I mean. What was it, you and Jim was stealin’ shingles? I mean, c’mon now—”

“Roofing slate, and it weren’t stealin’ exactly—” Ricky argued. “They was all just leftover an’ gettin’ junked anyhow. Wasn’t any kinda crime, ‘til the cops rolled up!”

“Yeah,” Mr. Moore grinned, taking a swig. “Never is, is it?”

“Damn straight. I’m just sayin’—and hell, didn’t your brother get booked in for a whole damn pallet of electronics? Leftover roofing slate’s one thing, but that…”

“Wasn’t even the half of it,” Mr. Moore admitted with a sigh. “Guess word is, him and that crew he was runnin’ around with? Bluegrass Movers? Out of Sandboro? Those boys were gettin’ into heroin.”

“No shit?” Ricky’s eyebrows went up. “Dope dealin’, in Sandboro?”

“Yeah, no shit,” Mr. Moore gave a sober nod. “That’s what done it. So, my brother, his wife—yeah. Guess I just was never able to uhh, to connect the dots. I mean, who woulda thought?”

“Yeah, hell,” Ricky shook his head in disbelief. “Fuckin’ A. Goddamn, I’ll havta tell my cousin Jim. Here he’s goin’ all the way over to Ohio for his fix! I mean hah not for real, but we do like to fuck with ‘im.”

“Pssh,” Mr. Moore said. “Fuckin’ A is right. Anyhow, shit—you got me way off track. I was fixin’ to ask you in the first place—you know anyone ‘round here who’s got a commode? Bowl and tank, whole skedoodle. Need one, but I dunno if I can swing a couple hundred bucks for a nice new one.”

“A commode?” Ricky screwed up his face as he tried to think. “Maybe… actually, yeah? Roger’s got a buddy pullin’ all sorts of old fixtures out from estate sales, renovations and shit. You need an old as shit commode, a sink or whatever? Hell, won’t be pretty, but the price’ll be right. You blow out yer toilet? Hell, Alan.”

“Nah, s’actually you all s’busted your toilet,” Mr. Moore couldn’t help but laugh. “My daughter just rung me up ‘bout it, the other night. Sayin’ their girls locker room only has one workin’ commode, the boys there’ve got none. At one of yours—Springton High.”

“Ah? Ahhh. Ahhh,” Ricky took a last swig and plunked the bottle back down with a hollow thwunk. “Know ‘xactly what you’re talkin’ about. Springton High—those damn locker rooms, those ‘uns all got fucked up to hell an’ back, kids standin’ on ‘em or fuckin’ around. Whole boys side is a damn mess, we just pulled all their drainage shit out… last year? Maybe year ‘fore last?

“From what I remember, they got another restroom, though—right in their under the bleachers, same building. Edwards said fuck it—they can’t take care of things, they don’t get to have nice things. S’privilege, and all that. They wanna keep fuckin’ up all the fixtures, they can walk on down the hall a ways and use the other restrooms.”

“Well—anyone gonna say anything if I sneak in and install one?” Mr. Moore challenged. “Over at Springton High.”

“Hah,” Ricky chuckled, considering it for a long moment. “No? Probably not. Lemme talk to Roger, he can probably getcha in and sort out whatever’n it is you wanna do on his work logs. Me? Shit, I haven’t been over that way since we pulled out that nasty fuckin’ drainage line. Too much other shit pilin’ up everywhere else.”

“I hear that,” Mr. Moore nodded.

“Y’know, I figgered we’d be gettin’ angry calls in ‘bout those lockerrooms someday, but—hah, hell I thought for sure it’d be one of them old PTA broads barkin’ at us for it. Not you!”

“Well, hell,” Mr. Moore shook his head and let out an honest chuckle. “You know I’m not fixin’ to make a fuss over nothing, I’m not the type. But hell, Ricky. If I’d known you were practically some bigshot head honcho way on up there in Education now, I’d of had you on the horn from get go! I mean damn—‘Maintenance Manager?’”

“Hmm,” Ricky considered it. “Actually? Tell you what. I’m mostly up and down doin’ shit all throughout the Middle and Elementary this whole next week. Yeah, think I’ma just give you Roger’s phone number—he’s our other ‘Maintenance Manager,’ an’ like I said, he’s the one that knows a guy with a back shed fulla ivory thrones and whatnot he’s tryin’ get rid of.”

“Sure, man,” Mr. Moore nodded agreeably. “Sounds good.”

Bright and early the next morning, Mr. Moore called this Roger fellow, and they agreed to meet up at the gas station just above the trailer park before starting their work days. Roger turned out to be a stout, somewhat brawny man with a sleazy mustache, hopping out of a Ford F-150 with a familiar contractor rig rack, and he exchanged greetings and a firm handshake before settling his hands on his hips and getting down to business.

“He said forty bucks, take it or leave it,” Roger said.

“Well damn—can I at least take a look at it, first?” Mr. Moore complained, glancing over and seeing no toilet in the rear bed of the man’s pickup. “Need to know the damn thing works alright.”

“S’in great shape, barely used,” Roger promised with a slight smirk. “Some old lady had it in her upstairs for whenever ‘er kids or grandkids’d visit. Heh, bad knees herself, couldn’t even get up there to use it.”

“Uh-huh,” Mr. Moore couldn’t help but let out a skeptical laugh. “Heard that before. Hell, Ricky—”

“Alright, alright, gonna level with you,” Roger chuckled. “S’a bit old. It works, yeah, s’in great shape, sure, but well—it’s old. Ever since they changed up them federal standards back in, what? Ninety-two? S’gotten real hard to get rid o’ these old ones, unless someone’s in a bit of a pinch an’ just needs themselves a damn toilet right now, standards be damned.”

“So—” Mr. Moore raised his eyebrows. “You’ve got an illegal toilet.”

“So, yeah, I got an illegal toilet,” Roger grinned. “S’a real hot seat! Heh heh. EPA? Bastards’d blow a gasket if they knew people were still shiftin’ these around on the sly! I’m riskin’ doin’ real hard time, here! Nah, I’m kiddin.’ Inspectors come around and don’t like the look of it, some bum old toilet out by athletics? Won’t even be in the first coupla pages of shit they’re tryin’ to cite us for. I mean, what’re we gonna do, though? Budget’s stretched real fuckin’ thin, and seems like s’stretchin’ thinner every day. Heard them sayin’ by next couple years, a quarter of all the classrooms in the county’ll all be those damn portables. I can’t retire soon enough.”

“What’re they s’posed to be at, now?” Mr. Moore tried to remember. “Toilets. Gallon and a half per flush, they’ve gotta be? Thereabouts?”

“Yee-up,” Roger said. “This un’s an old bessy—you’re flushin’ away five, six, seven gallons a go. So—forty bucks.”

“Thirty bucks,” Mr. Moore bargained. “And—”

“Deal,” Roger’s grin widened and he shoved his hand out to shake on it. “Thirty bucks.”

“And you help me get the line in there shut off so I can get it installed,” Mr. Moore clasped hands with the man. “I’m not tryin’ to get in any kind of trouble with the school.”

“Gimme a call on uhh, Saturday,” Roger gave him an agreeable nod. “No one’ll give a damn, believe you me. Heh. I’ll swing by his place and get the commode up into my truck an’ ready for ya.”

“Take it the seller uh, wasn’t real firm on forty?” Mr. Moore shook his head in dismay.

“Bill? Fuck no, he’s just happy to get rid of ‘em,” Roger admitted. “These’re ugly sumbitches. But I mean—hey, they work, they work fine, but they ain’t up to EPA code anymore on efficiency, and that ugly fuckin’ salmon-colored porcelain? Salmon? Jesus H. Christ, I’m no Martha Stewart er nothin’, but it’s not the sixties anymore. Heh heh. Commodes ought to be nice an’ white, y’know what I’m sayin’? Them old vintage fixtures in the different colors? Yellow? Pink? Salmon? Nah buddy, no way, not in my house. No sir.”

“Hahh,” Mr. Moore shook his head. “So long as it works. High school girls’ll just be happy to have somethin’ in there. An’ if’n it doesn’t work—you realize s’gonna be your problem to deal with? I know them older commodes flushed a hell of a lot harder’n these newer ones. You have somethin’ blow out, ‘cause of—”

“Not worried about it,” Roger waved off his concerns. “Worse comes to worst, we just shut off the damn line again, heh. Edwards asks where in the hell this mystery toilet came from? We’ll shrug and say hey—maybe one of the fuckin’ kids smuggled it in. State inspector fucks’ve seen worse. Dumbfucks over on the boys locker room side? Ricky tell you ‘bout all that? They had a buncha old shirts n’shit, jammed the whole way down their drain line, blocked it all up an’ had the whole fuckn’ place flooded with this muddy fuckin’ shitwater. Calf deep. Those boys all thought it was just a hoot, too! We ever find out which o’ them hoodlums did it, shit. I don’t care if he’s a just a kid—heh, I’ll call Ricky up, we’re gonna beat the fuckin’ stuffing outta whichever one of them boys was involved. Sock with a bar o’ soap in it, you get me?”

“Ah, they’re kids,” Mr. Moore waved him off. “I’m sure you did worse when you were their age.”

“Damn right I did,” Roger grinned. “Got the tar beat outta me for it, too. Well hell, I gotta get goin’—but, great to meet you.”

“Here,” Mr. Moore said, fishing out his wallet. “Thirty bucks.”

“Sweet man, hell yeah,” Roger clapped and then rubbed his hands together in glee. “Great doin’ business with ya. Thirty bucks—ten fer me, ten fer the old lady, and ten fer Bill! Heh heh. You ever need any more commodes, sinks, outdated fixtures’re maybe not up to code no more? Hell yeah, jus’ gimme a holler, man.”

“Wake! Up! Kids!” Tabitha sang in a quiet voice, “~we’ve got the dreamers disease!”

Unlike yesterday, this bright Thursday morning Tabitha woke up with an energetic smile and lyrics on her lips. Prior problems from the day before seemed distant and unimportant now, ephemeral, shadow and frost vanishing as brilliant new sunshine beamed across the suburban yards. After all, how could she not feel great? How had it been so easy to lose sight of all of the incredible things Tabitha had going for her?

“Age! Four! Teen!” She continued to mumble, “~they’ve got you down on your knees!”

I mean, I’m out of the trailer court, Tabitha thought to herself. Family issues are on hold. COMFORTABLY paused, rather than… awkwardly up in the air, it feels like. I’m thin and pretty. Well, PRETTY-ISH. Okay, maybe I’m more GANGLY than SUPERMODEL SLENDER, but that’s okay, too! I’m right where I want to be. This where I’m at is good, for how much attention from others I’m comfortable with right now.

“So! Po! Lite!” Tabitha mumbled to her empty bedroom. “~We're busy still saying please~!”

She felt like dancing today, and in the privacy of the early morning Macintire residence before anyone else was awake she bounced, shifted from one foot to another and twisted her hips. A quick whirl around her room taking care of things, and everything was tidied up. Her bed was made as You Get What You Give by the New Radicals bopped over and over through her head. Seeing her covers nice and squared away into a soft stretch of broad space, Tabitha hopped over to her dresser and rifled through the drawers, intent on spreading out a few outfit choices for the last few days of this week.

“Fren! Eh! Mies! Who when you're down ain't your friend!” Tabitha plopped down one garment after another and then smoothed out their wrinkles.

Laid out on the left side of her bed now was the retro librarian chic blouse from grandma Laurie. Its bottom hem was cut quite a bit higher than Tabitha was used to, and it was an off-cream color that was honestly hard to coordinate with things. A long-sleeved pink shirt would be experimentally paired with it—in all honesty Tabitha had never really worn pink. She had to plan her color palette around the unfortunate fact of her being a soulless ginger, and pink outfits did not go well with her orange-ish hair. Pink complemented cream rather nicely though, and she needed to wear something beneath the retro blouse, so that her bellybutton wasn’t on display. After all, she was thin now but that did not mean she was comfortable showing off her awful pale midsection yet. Tabitha only had one pair of jeans that were high-waisted enough to pair with that blouse, so that part of the outfit went without saying.

Sprawled across the right side of the bed was another ensemble that she had yet to debut; her planned ‘punk rocker’ aesthetic. A snug black tee, matched with beige-green cargo pants. Back during their trip to the mall on Black Friday Tabitha had seen the outfit as very Avril Lavigne, but looking at it now, she realized with a tinge of embarrassment that the ensemble actually much more resembled the cartoon character Kim Possible. It looked fun and sporty, which better fit Tabitha’s mood today… but then also—wearing a short-sleeve tee, this early in January? That wasn’t going to work.

Pursing her lips, Tabitha returned to the dresser so that she could survey her wardrobe options. There weren’t many long-sleeved things suitable to layer beneath the black tee. She had her pink long-sleeved shirt, and then one in sort of a dark burgundy—both of those were incongruous with black and beige-green. And, if yesterday was any indication, it was definitely too cold to just wear a tee beneath her hoodie!

“Don’t! Let! Go!” Tabitha voiced under her breath, nodding with enthusiasm to the beat in her head. “You’ve got the music in you! One! Dance! Left! This world is gonna pull through~! Don’t! Give! Up! You’ve got a reason to live! Can’t! For! Get! We only get what we gii~iiive!”

With a contented sigh of exasperation, Tabitha folded the punk rocker outfit back up with care and returned the garments to their place in her dresser. She was feeling extra sporty today, but wouldn’t it be even better to save that one for after she got her cast off? This weekend couldn’t come soon enough! The librarian chic one was maybe a bit bookish-looking for her to wear since her first after school art club meeting was today, however…

I’m also feeling kinda… snarky? Tabitha thought to herself with a small smile. I can make it work.

Last night when slipping off into dreamland, her head had been spinning with all of the different paths she had tangled herself up in. Thinking about internet handles and pen names and Julie made Tabitha remember her writing, which she hadn’t done any of since moving to live with the Macintires. Remembering that the cast came off this weekend made Tabitha think of running, of playing tag with her cousins again, of getting back into her exercise routine. Thinking about art club today reminded her that this was a great opportunity to reconnect with Alicia and Elena, who in this semester she now only saw before classes and at lunch. Which in turn made Tabitha realize she also had her new friends to socialize with—the gaggle of girls in Personal Fitness first period, and maybe even her table of classmates in sixth for Drawing.

I haven’t really mixed those friend groups up, Tabitha realized. Would be cool to find out where Grace and Tiffany sit during lunch, invite them to hang with us. Marisa, too. Vanessa seems like she’d have her own clique of populars to chill with, though…

She wasn’t ready to ruminate about Bobby, right now. Today the cheery butterflies in her tummy were too energetic, and if Tabitha gave them free reign to start daydreaming about teen romance or fantasizing about cute boys, she was afraid both feet might lift right up off the ground and float her away. Picturing his grin felt pretty nice though, and maybe this was a Bobby sort of day where they could have some fun jousting back and forth with their teasing, somewhat flirty banter. Tabitha enjoyed that way more than she should.

“Damnit, Bobby!” Tabitha whispered.

Tabitha dressed in a hurry, and when she tugged up her panties she gave the elastic band a crisp snap like she was a superhero donning her outfit. She slipped into her bra, fixed the clasp, and then adjusted herself with a look of determination as if checking her weapon holsters. The pink long-sleeved shirt was pulled on, with a moment to pull her tangle of hair free of the neck. Retro librarian blouse on overtop, then buttoned up. She stepped into the high-waisted jeans, one leg at a time, and shimmied herself into them. Socks went on last, today.

She checked herself out in the finished outfit and felt pretty good about herself; brimming with confidence. A few steps in each direction, a twist and a turn indicated everything was sitting correctly and felt fine. Or fine-ish. Tabitha tested out taking a seat on the edge of her bed and then standing—the fit of these pants felt weird when she was sitting, she remembered, but not uncomfortable, per se. Just weird. She wasn’t used to having a beltline that went up towards her bellybutton.

“Don’t! Let! Go!” Tabitha lost her place in the song and shamelessly just repeated the chorus that she found super catchy. “You’ve got the music in you! One! Dance! Left! This world is gonna pull through! Don’t! Give! Up! You’ve got a reason to live! Can’t! For! Get! We only get what we gii~iiive!”

A quick poke through her denim book bag had Tabitha looking around for her Gameboy, which she discovered had migrated at some point to the nightstand. She had brought it to school yesterday to link cable battle Pokemon with Alicia… and then forgotten about it. Then, in the evening she had taken it with her to the Williams’ place last night so she could have matches with Hannah or Matthew… and forgotten about it again, instead playing around on the computer with Casey. Today, she would remember!

Maybe.

Still singing softly, Tabitha shimmied and danced out of her room and down the hall into the bathroom. She looked even better in the brighter lights and bigger mirror, and flashed herself a gorgeous winning smile. Her messy mane of red hair was assaulted with the brush in violent, stinging strokes, transforming from an angry orange frizz cloud into some semblance of order. The past few days, her makeup had been minimal, but with the librarian chic outfit she was set on being a bit more bold and drawing on winged eyeliner—that fashionable feline flick curling up the tiniest bit from the edges of her eyes.

“Pftt,” Tabitha laughed at a lopsided first attempt, hurrying to wash and wipe it clean. “Don’t! Get! Lopsided! You’ve got eyeliner on you! Don’t! Mess! Up! Your crummy look will fall through~! Dah! Dah! Dlah!”

She couldn’t stop herself from humming as she pranced out across the living room and into the kitchen. How could she stop? She had the music in her. Hannah’s lunchbox was set up, a sandwich was constructed and the bread crusts were cut off—for a very brief fleeting moment, Tabitha suspected she had forgotten something, but it passed before she could grasp onto whatever it was. Celery stalks were cut and slipped into a ziplock baggie, because she was pretty sure carrots had been yesterday. Hannah had turned her cute little nose up at celery in the past, but Tabitha had teased her about how they were water flavored, and made a show of how crisp and crunchy they were and how much she enjoyed biting into them.

Fufufu~ Tabitha almost let out an evil laugh. Soon, she’ll just be straight up eating healthy. I can get her trying vegetable smoothies this year! I know I’ll be doing a lot more of that stuff, once I get back into running every morning.

As usual a Fruit by the Foot and a Capri-Sun were tossed in the lunchbox before Tabitha put it in the fridge, but then she found herself looking around for something to make for her own breakfast. The microwave clock indicated she had a bit of time before she would have to head out to the bus stop, but maybe not enough for anything too fancy. Feeling optimistic, Tabitha hurried to wrench out the drawer beneath the oven and grab the small skillet, which she clapped up atop the big stove burner and then twisted the knob up to high.

I can do up some scrambled eggs super fast, Tabitha decided. Two? Three? Maybe I can do three, split it and then just cover a little plate in wrap and leave it for whenever Hannah rolls out of bed today? I’ll have to jot up a quick note so that she sees. She loves finding little notes! She’s already a great reader.

Eggs were fished out of the carton in the fridge, cracked with one hand, and then dumped without ceremony onto the skillet which had scarcely begun to heat, and Tabitha quickly walked each of the broken shells over to the kitchen trash can in little trips. Then, a tiny plate—well, technically this was one of the saucers for the Macintire’s set of teacups—was drawn out of the cupboard. It was fun plating food for Hannah on saucers instead of plates, because it made even little itty-bitty servings look enormous. That was always something a seven-year-old appreciated.

Man oh man. How long has it been since I had like a real breakfast?! I completely fell out of cooking in the mornings when I started back at school, huh.

Forcing herself to stop bopping along to the beat at the bus stop took herculean effort, and Tabitha shoved her hands deep into the pockets of the Springton Spirit jacket just to keep them still. She couldn’t remember the name of this other kid who’d exchanged nods with her here at the end of the street, but she suspected it was Dave or David. Tabitha felt downright perky today, and although nobody here was really on speaking terms, she overwhelmed each of them with a big smile in greeting. These kids were all boys and had a lot of difficulty maintaining eye contact with her, which again put her urge to tease someone into overdrive.

When the bus arrived, Tabitha rushed up to be the first to board, clomping up the steps with eager energy and hurrying down the aisle towards the usual empty bench across from Gary. His brows were furrowed and he wore a frown that was almost a scowl, and she noticed he was balancing both a basketball and a pair of Nikes in his lap. Was it normal to bring extra sneakers to school? Tabitha glanced over, retracted her gaze, and then wound up glancing over towards him again as she tried to think of something clever to say.

“Gary,” Tabitha whispered over.

“Sup?” Gary turned his glare her way.

“Gary,” Tabitha said. “I’ve got a song stuck in my head.”

“Me too,” Gary admitted.

“Which one?”

“Uhh.”

“Mine’s You Get What You Give. What do you got?”

“Never heard of it,” Gary’s eyes narrowed.

“C’mon, what do you got?” Tabitha pressed. “You Get What You Give, it’s uh, it’s New Radicals. You? Help me out, here.”

“What It’s Like,” Gary answered. “Everlast.”

“Ooooh,” Tabitha bobbed her head in appreciation. “Damn. Nice. Nice. Classic. Yeah—even just you sayin’ it, can practically hear the guitar chords playin’ out in my head. Good one, dang. Sooo. Sing some of it.”

“What?”

“You’ve got it stuck in your head, right?” Tabitha put on a quizzical look to go with her provoking smile. “Prove it. Sing some of it.”

“What? No,” Gary made a face. “Nuh-huh.”

“Do it,” Tabitha prodded with a grin. “I dare you.”

“S’too early for all that,” Gary deflected. “You sing it.”

“We’ve all seen a man at the liquor store beggin’ for your change,” Tabitha recited in a quiet voice—she found herself a little surprised by how smooth she sounded when she put in some effort. “Hair on his face is dirty, dreadlocked and full of mange~! C’mon, sing with me. I don’t know all of it.”

“No,” Gary scoffed.

It was still too early in the route for there to be many other kids on the bus with them, but what few were slouching in the seats here and there turned their attention towards them.

“Gary, I need your help,” Tabitha insisted with a solemn expression. “I’ve had Get What You Give stuck in my head all morning. I’m literally going insane. It won’t stop playing in my head. Help me.”

Wow, I know I’m all BUBBLING with confidence this morning for whatever reason, but I really do hate to realize how legitimately cringe I am when I’m feeling super confident. My ‘play it cool’ setting just doesn’t hold up when I really feel like I’m having fun. Cause for concern? Probably!

“Sing somethin’, Gary,” A boy sitting a few rows back heckled. “Do it.”

“C’mon, Gary~!” Tabitha put on a pleading pout. “I’ll sing with you! Then it won’t be so scary.”

“Gary’s scared,” The boy in back latched onto that right away. “Do it, pussy.”

“You do it, then,” Gary huffed, turning to shoot the guy a dirty look. “I ain’t singin’. Gary don’t sing.”

“Gaaary!” Tabitha pursed her lips. “Please?! He asked the man for what he could spare with shame in his eye~es! ‘Get a job, you fuckin’ slob’ is all he replies!’ Sing it with me! Gary, you have to help. You have to. Get What You Give still won’t get out of my head. It’s too strong. Only you can save me.”

“Naw, Gary don’t sing,” Gary jutted his chin out. “You’re on your own.”

“Gary!” Tabitha teased. “Don’t! Give! Up! You’ve got a reason to live! Can’t! For! Get! We only get what we gii~iiive!”

“Ah, hell naw,” Gary shook his head, but this time he couldn’t help but smile and reach up to clamp his hands over his ears. “Nope, nooope, no way in hell are you gettin’ that shit stuck in my head.”

Tabitha’s good mood couldn’t be repressed, and the bounce didn’t leave her step even after stepping down off the bus to discover the two cheerleaders from yesterday were waiting for her. Or, perhaps there were three of them, now—it was hard to tell who was standing with who in the crowded front commons with everyone milling about or looking to find their friends fresh off of the buses. The third girl standing near the cheerleaders had darkish-blonde hair and was very pretty, in that unapproachable popular girl sort of way that would normally put Tabitha on edge.

Today however, she didn’t care. Tabitha let her eyes sweep across them without lingering upon any of them, and she strode onwards. The walkway past administration and then the cafeteria would lead her to her normal meeting spot in the back quad, and so Tabitha made sure to take her typical route at an even, casual pace. She wasn’t harrowed by them, or intimidated, or in any sort of hurry, although a sour feeling of distaste did well up within her when in her periphery she saw that the cheerleader girls were walking over to intercept her.

“Hey, Tabitha,” The one from yesterday with the exaggerated expressions said. “We need to talk to you.”

Tabitha turned her head and gave them a glance to acknowledge she’d heard them—but she didn’t stop walking on past.

“Tabitha,” Called the other one, the girl who’d used the obnoxious high rising terminal.

The cheerleader’s voice seemed to carry a note of warning—perhaps these girls were shocked that Tabitha was brushing them off. The new third girl had approached in lockstep with the other two, in formation, and she was staring. Tabitha didn’t care. She gave the trio a demonstrative wince, one that she’d practiced in the mirror more than she would ever admit—eyebrows raised, cheeks pulling taut towards her eyes in something closer to a grimace than a smile—as if she was embarrassed for them. Then, she carried on with measured footsteps, leaving them behind.

Most of her good mood had evaporated in a heated flash, but Tabitha forced herself to nod along to the melody of Get What You Give and mumbled the chorus again to herself as if it was a mantra that could ward off evil. Maybe repeating the words enough would somehow save her sinking spirits from whatever nonsense today had cooked up for her to deal with. She had woken up today feeling that rare sense of normalcy and contentment as if she was right where she was supposed to be in her teenage life, and Tabitha found herself determined not to let anyone ruin it.

The cheerleaders didn’t follow her. Tabitha still didn’t know their names, and she told herself she didn’t care, didn’t want to know, and that she wasn’t the slightest bit interested. She had nothing to do with them right now, and even if they apologized with sincerity this time, she didn’t owe them any forgiveness. Their encounter yesterday at lunch had made it clear that they had no intentions to be sincere, so Tabitha decided she wasn’t going to waste time dwelling on them.

Or at least, I’m trying REAL HARD to, Tabitha consoled herself with a bitter smile.

“—You don’t get to walk away from me!” A derisive voice yelled out.

Tabitha found herself completely confounded for a moment, because this girl’s voice was a ways distant, and coming from somewhere in front of her. It was someone else’s squabble, something that wasn’t aimed at her and had nothing to do with her. It filled her with a giddy sort of relief to remember that not all of the nasty drama and nonsense swirling around Springton High revolved completely around her, and Tabitha continued forward with interest, trying to peer past the passerby throughout the walkway to see what other confrontation was brewing this morning.

“Just leave me ALONE!” A familiar voice hissed out, and Tabitha’s expression fell.

“Turn around and make me,” Brittany Taylor sneered. “Little freak. Pussy. Aw, poor baby wants to run away and cry? What, are you seriously crying?”

Tabitha took quick steps around the people walking in front of her to see Ashlee and Clarissa trying to scurry forward away from Brittany. Ashlee’s head was already down and her shoulders were hunched up and rigid with tension. Clarissa was half-turned and stumbling, clearly terrified of the upperclassman girl, and just a few spans behind them, Brittany was raising her voice even louder as she stalked after them. From the look of those who’d backed off out of the way to rubberneck at the altercation, Brittany had just chased the two girls out of the cafeteria.

“Oh, wah, WAAAH, cry some more, shitstai—”

“What the actual fuck is wrong with you?” Tabitha demanded. Ahhh fuck me, why did I have to even say anything. UGGGH.

“Uh, how about we mind our own fucking business?!” Brittany turned to see who had the gall to talk to her that way, and she seemed surprised that it was Tabitha. “Are you for real?”

Tabitha felt pretty surprised by it herself.

“Some sister you are,” Tabitha retorted. “Just leave her alone.”

It… really wasn’t her best comeback, but she couldn’t think of anything else right now, and she was already striding past Brittany in a hurry to catch up with Ashlee and Clarissa. Tabitha already didn’t want to deal with cheerleaders this morning, and squaring off against an upperclassman like Brittany Taylor would be even worse! To her immense relief, when Tabitha moved to head down the walkway and catch up with Ashlee and Clarissa, Brittany instead stopped following them.

Is there power in numbers, here? I just… yeah, I just kind of want to get away from her, and the cheerleaders, and way over to where MY friends are. Where it’s safe.

She heard Brittany yell something else in their direction, but Tabitha’s mind was thankfully too discombobulated with other thoughts to even make out the words—which was good. Because, Tabitha did not want to be reflecting over and over again on whatever parting zinger Brittany had shot them and have her unfortunate fourteen-year-old brain trying to think up comebacks or things she could have or should have replied with for the next several weeks.

“Hey,” Tabitha called, and her insides seized up a bit as Ashlee visibly flinched at her voice. “Hey, um. She’s just being a stupid bitch! Don’t listen to anything she says.”

“What.”

When Ashlee whirled to face her, there was so much raw outrage and hatred in the girl’s expression that for a moment Tabitha could only think Ashlee was confusing her for Brittany. Tabitha’s footsteps stalled for a moment, and between them Clarissa looked back and forth and opened her mouth as though unsure of what to even say.

“I said…” Tabitha carefully softened her tone. “She’s just being a bitch. So, uh—ignore her. It’s insane that she uh, the way she treats you, really. Come sit with us? We have a um, usually we sit at a table in the back quad?”

Ashlee’s livid expression only twisted further, incredulous—as if whatever dramatic turn had happened here this morning was all Tabitha’s fault to begin with. Tabitha’s first thought in response to that was yeah, because of course it is, but right now her mind was rabbiting in several different directions and she wasn’t up for parsing out the hows and whys of which particular rumor mill narrative nonsense had spurred on this specific series of events. Was it the cheerleader thing? No, it wasn’t that. The making out with Michael rumor that supposedly started from Ashlee? Tabitha wasn’t sure and couldn’t help but doubt it—after all, Ashlee had been there at the party, and witnessed firsthand that Olivia was there with them.

None of it makes sense right now, Tabitha held Ashlee’s furious gaze without retreating.

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“C’mon,” Clarissa spoke up, making a gesture as if to reach for Ashlee’s shoulder but afraid of actually touching the girl and startling her. “Let’s uh. Let’s go sit?”

For a moment, Ashlee’s upper lip pulled back from her teeth in a snarl and it seemed like the girl was going to go off on her. Tabitha wasn’t even sure what for or what she’d done wrong, and some part of her just immediately wanted to flake off and try to put this encounter behind her and out of mind. She wasn’t sure why she’d gotten herself involved in the first place—Ashlee wasn’t really her friend anymore, and Tabitha felt like she was running out of olive branches to extend in this direction.

Finally, Ashlee opened her mouth as if to launch into a tirade—only to be cut off by Clarissa.

“Can we just go sit?” Clarissa pleaded. “Please?”

“Yeah. Fine,” Ashlee said. “Let’s.”

The glare Ashlee gave Tabitha was unsettling, because one eye seemed to be locked upon her but the other was staring off in a different direction. It being difficult to read where Ashlee was intending to look at made the subtle unspoken body language cues of the situation hard to determine, and Tabitha couldn’t help but pause for a moment before continuing onward so that she could lead the girls towards her usual morning spot.

To her utter dismay, Tabitha could no longer recall the lyrics of the song she’d been singing to herself all morning.

“Alicia!” Tabitha felt a surge or relief upon seeing her friends. “Bobby. Hey.”

It was awkward walking across school with Ashlee and Clarissa in tow, because the two didn’t step up to move beside her, and they also didn’t follow behind to trail from a distance, really. They kept just distant enough that Tabitha felt weird whenever she turned to see if they were still with her, forcing her to wonder if they were deadset against being seen with her, or stubborn about proving some sort of point.

“Hey hey hey,” Bobby intoned—but if he was referencing something or if that was a quote of some kind, it was going over Tabitha’s head.

“So, uh,” Tabitha nervously turned to gesture towards Ashlee and Clarissa. “Right when I was getting of the bus! Buncha cheerleaders tried to corner me. Again. Then um, then I walk right into Brittany, Brittany Taylor, and she’s throwing some kind of psychotic hissyfit at Ashlee! So. Yeah? It’s that kind of morning.”

“What’d they say?” Alicia sat up, flipping her art book closed.

“Don’t know!” Tabitha laughed again. “Don’t care. Who cares. You uh, you all remember each other from the party, right?”

“Yeah buddy,” Bobby greeted the girls with a jerk of his chin. “Sup?”

“Hi,” Clarissa gave a timid wave.

“Hey,” Alicia said.

“Anyways, yeah I had this great song stuck in my head, like all morning,” Tabitha found herself blurting out words just to keep awkward silence at bay. “But then, poof. Now I can’t even think of the words. Or the band. Totally blanking on it.”

“Sublime?” Bobby guessed. “No, Offspring. Offspring? No? Uh, lemme say—Bare Naked Ladies. Sugar Ray? Red Hot Chili Peppers.”

“No…” Tabitha considered each of the names. “It was a different one.”

“I had that one that’s like, Balthazar, Balthazar, stuck in my head,” Alicia spoke up with a shrug. “The other day. But then, turns out that’s not even what they were saying! I guess it’s actually ‘how bizarre, how bizarre.’ My dad thought it was just hilarious, but, well. That’s what it sounded like they were saying! Balthazar, Balthazar.”

“Ooh, I know that one,” Tabitha remarked. “Yeah. Every time I look a~round! That one?”

“Yep yep,” Alicia sighed. “Dunno who that one’s by.”

“I’ve uh,” Clarissa spoke up. “I’ve been listening to that one by um, Natalie Imbruglia? Torn.”

“Oh, I love that one!” Tabitha encouraged. “That’s a classic!”

“A classic?” Clarissa stared.

“How about…” Bobby sized each of them up. “Inside Out. I would swallow my pride, I would choke on the rinds~”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tabitha nodded along. “Okay, that helps.”

“It was that one?”

“No… but that’s a good one, too. It helps!”

“Everyone’s saying that Olivia was at the party,” Ashlee said, giving them all a flat stare. “That birthday party.”

“Sh-she was!” Clarissa interjected. “Actually. She’s uh, she’s the one who was there with Michael. Her and Michael are a thing.”

“I didn’t see her there,” Ashlee refuted, shooting a look at Tabitha as if daring her to counter her words.

“Olivia was the one who gave Tabitha the hand lotion,” Alicia reminded them. “Burt’s Bees.”

“I… haven’t even really tried it out, yet,” Tabitha remembered with a wince.

“You watch Willow yet?” Bobby asked.

“I haven’t!” Tabitha gave a half-hearted little kick in his direction. “Uh, I haven’t listened to any of the CDs yet, either. Sorry, Clarissa. I’ve been—things have been crazy at home, lately. Night before last, my mother came over to visit. We ran into her when we were out shopping. And uh. Then last night, we were over at Matthew’s place, and Casey was there. Finally got me set up with an email and a messenger, Matthew’s family has a computer. Uhhh—any of you have Yahoo! Messenger?”

“I do!” Alicia chirped. “Well, sorta. I have to use my dad’s. CcyberViper. Two ‘C’s.’ Not allowed to have my own ‘til they’re sure it won’t be all like, I dunno. Internet creeps or whatever trying to chat me up.”

“Damnit,” Bobby thumped his fist against the tabletop. “I’ve got AOL. I can go home and make a new account, though. Right?”

“I have messenger,” Clarissa chimed in. “Uh. NiceSpice with… an underscore before and after it.”

“My aunt doesn’t even have a computer,” Ashlee scoffed in a sullen voice. “Which sucks.”

“It’s cool!” Tabitha shared a look with the girl. “The family I’m with doesn’t, and my real family doesn’t have one, either. I’ll probably have to go to a library to check my emails or message people.”

“You’ve got one now, though?” Alicia opened her artbook back up and leafed through to find a spare page she could jot things down on. “What’s your username?”

“Brittlestar,” Tabitha answered. “I got lucky—no numbers or years or underscores or anything. It wasn’t already taken.”

“Dangit,” Alicia pouted. “That’s a super cool one.”

“Super lucky,” Clarissa sighed. “All my friends… well, my old friends, they all went with their username and underscore and then their birth year. I um. I had to have mine a certain way so that it looked more symmetrical… I’m weird about stuff like that, I guess! Hah...”

“I can’t even think of a good name,” Alicia admitted. “Was probably gonna go with something like uh, ‘Alicia_Art’ or something. Someone help me think of a cool one!”

“Well, my AOL is Roughneck20, like ‘Roughneck two zero,’” Bobby said. “It’s from Starship Troo—”

“No one cares, you’re on the wrong messenger!” Alicia rolled her eyes and swatted his shoulder. “Switch to Yahoo! with us. And, help me think of a cool one!”

“I’m gonna! Geez, gimme a minute, hah.”

“Alicia Art is pretty good,” Clarissa said. “That’s cool.”

“Oh hey—Elena!” Tabitha waved down the approaching gothic girl… who was eyeballing Ashlee and Clarissa’s presence here with the group with open suspicion. “Um. Do you have a Yahoo! Messenger?”

“I have a new one,” Elena nodded, dropping her backpack on the table as she arrived. “Darkthorn_Lonely_Rose. With underscores.”

“Wow, just—wow,” Alicia was speechless.

“Nice!” Tabitha responded with a beaming grin. “That’s, uh, that’s—”

“I think that’s cool,” Clarissa offered.

“Darkthorn Lonely Rose?” Ashlee started to make a face. “Seriously?”

“I like it,” Bobby gave a thumbs up.

“It’s whatever,” Elena didn’t seem to care. “I just made it a little while ago. It doesn’t have any friends on it, so I can change it whenever. No big deal.”

“Add me tonight, I’m Brittlestar,” Tabitha said. “Alicia’s Ccyberviper.”

“With two ‘C’s,’” Alicia groaned. “It’s my dad’s. Technically. I’m gonna think up a better one!”

“You have a computer, now?” Elena arched an eyebrow at Tabitha.

“Nope! Not yet,” Tabitha smiled. “I will someday soon, though. For sure.”

“You heard about the rumor going around with you and Michael?” Elena asked. “About stuff that didn’t actually even happen at your party? Everyone won’t shut up about it.”

“Yeahhh—” Tabitha sighed.

“Brittany started it,” Clarissa blurted out. “She started that one. I know she did. A couple mornings ago, she came up to Ashlee and I, and um, asked about who all was at the party. She had a yearbook, and was pointing people out and asking. Except, Olivia’s old picture doesn’t look anything like her now, so. Yeah.”

“I didn’t see her at the party,” Ashlee refused with a scowl. “Like I keep telling everyone.”

“She was, um,” Clarissa looked around for support. “Olivia, she was the one who, uh well in real life she looked super pissed off. Even if she wasn’t, actually. She just looks cross all the time like, naturally.”

“Damn, really?” Bobby was surprised. “I for real thought she was mad.”

“She gave Tabitha the lotion set!” Alicia repeated. “She was there.”

“I don’t remember her,” Ashlee frowned. “But yeah, okay? Whatever.”

“But the lack thereof would leave me empty inside~!” Tabitha sang.

“Swallow my doubt! Turn it inside OUT!” Bobby cried out, headbanging to music only they could hear.

““Find nothin’ but FAITH IN NOTHIN!!”” They sang together.

Tabitha burst into a fit of giggles at the sheer spontaneity of their little moment here, while Bobby had his eyes squeezed closed and was continuing to jam out to the rest of the lyrics as they took the walkway past the quad towards track and field. For once they were walking to class slow today, taking their time and in no hurry to arrive. Normally there was a good five minutes or so before the next bell went off for class to actually start.

Having an impromptu karaoke session here in the slowly emptying halls with a friend was exactly the silly sort of teenage fun she had been searching for this morning. It was one of those things that she didn’t think she’d be able to manage as a more self-conscious ‘adult,’ and Tabitha intended to try to enjoy embarrassing herself and others as much as she could get away with while she was still a kid that could do that.

I think at this age we’re already right on the cusp of not being comfortable with just… busting out random songs, Tabitha mused to herself as she watched Bobby rocking out to his own singing and giggling again. Gary was already unable to! Which is just so sad. Poor Gary.

“Hahhh,” Tabitha laughed, feeling her cheeks hurt because she was grinning so hard.

Bobby was just the right kind of goofball charismatic for this—he wasn’t the least bit concerned with looking uncool, and as she subtly examined his cute features she found him more and more charming. Because, him fooling around even helped put her at ease, it made her feel it was okay to relax a little. He made her feel secure enough to not take things too seriously all the time, which she needed, because these encounters with certain combative high school girls and their massive egos who were just completely full of themselves really drained all of the joy out of being this young.

They just take themselves SO seriously, Tabitha wanted to sigh in dismay. Why. SO. Serious?! Hah—it’s weird how much Bobby resembles Heath Ledger. It’s… WHACK. That’s the nineties word of the day. Yes, it’s totally whack. He doesn’t have EXACTLY the same looks, but something about his eyes is just really… soulful? Deep, soulful eyes. Doesn’t Heath Ledger debut in his first roles here, pretty soon? Maybe he has already. A Knight’s Tale, and then I think… Ten Things I Hate About You? Was one of those SHAKESPEARE MODERNIZATION ones. Will have to ask around if either of those are out yet.

“Sooo—we’ll all watch Willow together in like, as a big group thing?” Bobby gave her a glance. “And, uh, yeah I know you’re more comfortable with that and that’s totally cool! Sounds awesome. More people need to see Willow anyways, yeah. But uhh. I dunno, would you ever want to hang out with just like, you and me? Doesn’t have to be a date! Just, spend time together, or somethin’. I dunno.”

“I’d like that!” Tabitha smiled. “I—sorry, I guess I didn’t mean to turn Willow into an everybody thing.”

“Naw, it’s cool. It’s cool!”

“Just think watching things with more people is more fun?” Tabitha shrugged. “I don’t know!”

“We could hang out sometime, or—I don’t know?”

“Well, I’m gonna be super busy trying to get back into running and exercising,” Tabitha mentioned. “Do you run at all?” Thɪs chapter is updated by N0v3l.Fiɾe.net

“Run? Oh yeah, I run all the time. Tons.”

“Hah ha—well I mean, I was probably gonna run in the mornings before school?” Tabitha said. “Find some circuit through the neighborhoods, or something. Elena wants to run with me, but I’m sure we’d both feel a lot safer if there was a guy with us.”

“Elena there too, huh,” Bobby nodded. “Gotcha. And I mean yeah—who doesn’t love waking up super early before school? That’s totally me. I’m all about that early morning life.”

“Ugh, I’ll think of something!” Tabitha giggled. “I promise. Something we can do that’s just you and me. Something cool.”

“Hey, no worries! Right?” Bobby assured her. “No biggie. We’ll think of something. Don’t want to like, force it or anything.”

“I uhhh I do appreciate your interest!” Tabitha tried not to wince as she laughed. “Bobby I really do, it’s, it’s a huge confidence boost? And, I do like you! You’re great. I’m maybe a little interested. Just—and this is just me, but the whole first dating thing? For the first time? Intimacy, boundaries, attraction? All of that makes me super freaking nervous.”

“No, no, I get it,” Bobby said. “I get it. Right there with you.”

“I don’t want my fears and hangups and stuff to like… sour my first go at anything?” Tabitha tried to explain. “That and, uh. Like, I’m already this total hot mess and just barely dealing with anything going on in my life. Then on top of that, worrying that I’ll become responsible for your feelings, have your fragile heart in my hands? Your self-confidence, our um, trust between us, our—figuring out boundaries stuff without either of us being frustrated, or hurt, or guilty—I, I uh, I really don’t know. I’m not ready.”

“Okay,” Bobby said. “No worries. Hakuna Matata.”

“Hakuna Matata,” Tabitha echoed with a sigh. “Yeah.”

“I just—hey, I like spending time with you,” Bobby explained, locking eyes with her in that dreadful charming way of his. “That’s the way I look at it, my uh, my mindset. Look forward to being around you, I have fun when I’m with you. Really makes my day, you know? Don’t want to uhhh, to feel like I’m throwing all that buncha whatever stuff on you or dragging you down? We’ll figure something out? I mean—I’m just saying, don’t think of my feelings as too fragile. You can Stretch Armstrong me. A little. You can bouncy ball me, or treat my heart like silly putty. Nickelodeon Gak. Floam? Or—y’know, whatever. Metaphorically speaking, of course.”

“Riiiight,” Tabitha grinned again.

“See? You’re overthinking it,” Bobby nodded to himself with confidence. “Me, on the other hand? I’m underthinking it. That’s why we’d fit together so well, uh, we’d like, complement each other. You can be the brains of this operation, I’ll have the good looks and my amazing bod and all the killer pickup lines. Match made in heaven.”

“Riiiiiiight,” Tabitha laughed. “Yeah, I’ll think about it.”

“Plus, just like—you’re too cute to be single,” Bobby shook his head in dismay. “S’why you keep getting all these rumors, or jealous bee-otches all up on your case about this or that, or people trying to start drama. If I’m your boyfriend? Pssh, all of those problems’ll just disappear.”

“Uh-huh,” Tabitha couldn’t hide her skepticism. “Orrr, instead everything just gets way more complicated and messy?”

“Yeah I mean, or that,” Bobby nodded in agreement, completely unphased. “That was the other way it could go. Good catch. See? You’re the brains, here.”

“I don’t think I’m ready for anything like dating, yet,” Tabitha admitted. “But. Tell you what? How about when we all watch Willow, I make sure we sit next to each other. We can maybe hold hands for a bit? So long as no one sees. Super sneaky.”

“Whew,” Bobby held his chest and took in a deep, exaggerated breath. “Yeah, that—yeah, sounds good. Deal? Deal.”

“Deal,” Tabitha giggled.

Although they arrived before the next bell, they were still a lot later than usual—even Vanessa was already visible in the distance running around the track. Tabitha however had little time to spare thinking about her friends in this class as Coach Baylor checked off her and Bobby’s attendance on her clipboard—because the trio of cheerleaders from earlier were standing off to the side here, huddled together with crossed arms and a few scowls.

Great, Tabitha schooled her expression into a neutral face and didn’t let her eyes linger in their direction. Just... great.

“Girls,” Coach Baylor prompted, motioning them forward with a jerk of her head.

The cheerleaders stalked forward together in unison, each wearing the same Springton Spirit jacket Tabitha had on, each of the girls in clear solidarity to oppose her for that fact. They walked past the row of backpacks and jackets strewn across the first row of the grandstands from the Personal Fitness kids and stood right next to the coach—as if they were an amoeba intent on quickly absorbing a nearby organism, if only to deny it from their opposition. Coach Baylor seemed to see through their attempt to display their familiarity with her right away and took a clear step back, motioning Tabitha forward—using her body language to indicate her impartiality here.

“Good morning?” Tabitha said.

“Good morning,” Coach Baylor replied. “This is Heather Whittlesy, my Cheer captain. I believe you’ve already met Desiree and Faith. Go ahead, ladies.”

Heather was a tall and beautiful brunette with a rather placid look—Tabitha realized right that moment that Heather was copying Coach Baylor’s normal no nonsense expression. Unlike the two behind her who couldn’t hide their open irritation, Heather at least had the facade of being unbiased to the situation as her eyes glanced over Tabitha. In return, Tabitha openly observed the Cheer captain’s appearance and found herself more than a little intimidated—moreso than anyone she had encountered at Springton High, Heather radiated that ‘pretty popular girl’ energy. Heather was tall and sported natural great looks, an amazing figure, and what was clearly a talent for applying makeup and styling her hair with a subtle amount of what was surely expensive product.

“...I can’t speak about whatever happened yesterday,” Heather began. “I wasn’t there. But, this morning? This morning, I was there with Desi and Faith when they tried to apologize to her. She blew them off. Without even trying to hear them out.”

“Tabitha?” Coach Baylor turned her full attention to Tabitha for an explanation.

“I did!” Tabitha nodded in agreement. “I blew them off. I was having a really good morning for once, and it looked like I was going to be alone and cornered by three cheerleaders. Rather than dealing with two of them while with my friends. After how how antagonistic they were yesterday—”

“Oh, PLEASE,” Faith scoffed. “Yeah we hardly put you in agony or antagony or whatever that even means! Um, exaggerating much??”

“...‘Antagonistic’ means you were acting hostile to—”

“Um, news flash?” Desiree butted in. “We didn’t ask for your opinion on what it means. We know what it means.”

“I… rest my case?” Tabitha turned to the coach with her eyebrows raised. “Antagonistic.”

“Oh, hello??” Faith began to snarl. “Nobody cares what—”

“—Girls. Girls,” Coach Baylor interrupted. “Faith—you’re a sophomore. I know you know what ‘antagonist’ and ‘antagonistic’ means.”

“Except she wasn’t,” Faith scowled. “She’s lying. If she’s all being in agony or whatever? Yeah, had nothing to do with us. We didn’t even do anything wrong.”

“Yeah,” Desiree chirped in agreement. “Exactly. Like—please. ‘In agony?’ Oh my God, could she be any more flipping dramatic about this? Hello?”

“Yeah, what’s your major malfunction?” Faith was quick to heap on more criticism at any opportunity. “Cry me a river.”

Part of the Personal Fitness class tasked with jogging around the track loop was passing by them now, but all of the kids running by were being conspicuously quiet as they all attempted to catch snippets of what the cheerleaders might be here for. Shifting to reposition the way the arm of her jacket sat over her cast, Tabitha happened to catch Grace giving her a concerned look before she too went on past. Stragglers scattered about behind that first running group were all looking her way with blatant interest, so Tabitha quickly fixed her sleeve and focused her attention back on their present conversation.

“I will freely admit to being a little petty, but—” Tabitha started to say.

“There! See?!” Faith waggled a pointing finger towards Tabitha’s face. “She even admitted it!”

“—But, they approached me yesterday with no intent to actually apologize,” Tabitha held up her hands as she gave everyone a helpless shrug. “Their words were only like ‘yeah we were told to come over and apologize.’ They were scowling at my friends and I, their arms were crossed, and they called me a psychopath for failing to immediately accept their, well, ‘sincerity.’ Which had been a blatant bad faith non-apology and instead was conveyed as a warning. Or a threat.”

“Bullshit!” Faith blurted out. “That’s totally bullshit! We apologized!”

“Yeah!” Desiree joined in. “We said sorry, and she can’t say that we didn’t. So, she’s lying. She’s totally freaking lying.”

“Girls,” Coach Baylor motioned for them to simmer down. “Please.”

“But, she’s lying!” Faith swore, her voice rising in pitch. “Coach Baylor, you know us. We’re your girls. All this weirdo is trying to do is mess things up for the team, because she hates us and has like, this jealous vendetta or whatever against us. She’s specifically out to get us—you have to see that.”

“Like, yeah,” Desiree nodded along. “She’s just trying to hurt the team!”

“Yeah,” Faith said.

“All I saw was this girl totally blowing them off when they were really trying to apologize,” Heather repeated, rocking from one foot to the other with her arms still crossed. “So…?”

“I’m going to be honest, here,” Tabitha felt familiar anger rising up within her. “I’m not interested in receiving a forced apology that they don’t mean. What I want to understand is why they were looking to start trouble with me. Taking my towel, specifically? Was not an accident. So, if—”

“It WAS an accident!” Faith insisted. “You weren’t even there when it happened! How would you even freaking know anything about it? Liar.”

“Yeah,” Desiree made a disgusted face.

“I think this is all being blown out of proportion?” Heather turned a skeptical look towards Tabitha. “Somebody grabs the wrong towel, and suddenly this is cause for Tabitha to try to pull several girls off of the cheerleading team? For grabbing the wrong towel? I’m sorry, that’s just super… suspicious?”

“Yeah!” Desiree said.

“I didn’t have anything to do with that, though?” Tabitha shook her head.

“Oh, please,” Faith scoffed. “We all know you did.”

“Happened before I even found out about it?” Tabitha could only give them a shrug. “Apparently.”

“Girls,” Coach Baylor took a deep breath. “I was the one who said you’re off the team until this is resolved. Okay? Especially with what all happened to Tabitha last semester. If we—”

“But, that’s NOT FAIR!” Desiree all but shrieked in disbelief, stomping her foot. “We didn’t even do anything wrong, and you want us to apologize, and yeah even when we do apologize, she just lies and says we didn’t no matter what, and—”

“Exactly!” Faith was growing equally flustered. “We didn’t freaking do it on purpose or like to bully her or anything. Oh my God. We just grabbed the wrong towel. It’s an honest mistake, it happens all the time, so why is this suddenly this huge insane ordeal all of the sudden?!”

“They keep saying ‘grabbed the wrong towel,’ as if they just needed to use something to dry off, or as if it was an honest mistake,” Tabitha pointed out. “Was that really the case? Because, if so—why was it put in a bag to take elsewhere? Like it was being stolen?”

“Oh, please,” Desiree rolled her eyes. “Nothing was being stolen!”

“Yeah um, some of us like to take things home and wash them after they’re used??” Faith retorted. “So that things are all completely filthy?? Hello??”

“Then, what’s the point of having towels hanging up here at all?” Tabitha countered. “We were asked to bring in beach towels with designs on them, so that they could easily be differentiated from one another when hung to dry. If you’re going to take yours home after each use to be washed, then—”

“Gross, I guess Tabitha doesn’t ever wash her things?” Faith put on a disgusted face. “That’s—yeah, ew?”

“Disgusting,” Desiree snorted. “Guess I did hear that about her? Oh my God.”

“Was the towel used and then taken?” Tabitha ignored them and instead turned her question towards Coach Baylor. “Or, was it just… taken? When you retrieved it, was it damp and in one of the plastic bags you provide? Or, was it just taken.”

“...It wasn’t in a plastic bag, or damp or anything,” Coach Baylor said slowly. “I looked it over very carefully in case anything… had been done to it. It seemed dry.”

“It’s a towel, they dry by themselves!” Desiree blurted out. “Like—yeah it was used on accident ‘cause I thought it was Faith’s and grabbed the wrong one, but I didn’t get it like soaking wet or anything. I didn’t even wash my hair yesterday, so—!”

“So you grabbed it on accident, used it to dry yourself off, and then put it in your backpack to take home to wash?” Coach Baylor stared at Desiree. “Just. Shoved it in there with your books and papers, even if it might have been damp?”

“It wasn’t that damp…” Desiree grumbled. “I barely even used it!”

“But, yesterday the story was just that Faith here asked you to take home her towel,” Coach Baylor pointed out. “So—”

“I did!” Faith hurried to say. “She just grabbed the wrong one. We’re cool with using each other’s towels, it’s no big deal.”

“Yeah, it’s completely not even a big deal,” Desiree agreed. “At all. Because unlike some people—”

“Except, it seemed completely dry to me,” Coach Baylor said. “Like the towel had never been used.”

“Also, my towel was the very first one up on the lines this semester,” Tabitha pointed out. “It’s never been used. From what I’ve seen since, not that many girls from periods after ours have even brought their towels in. So, why is a towel, any towel, being taken home immediately after just first being brought in? That doesn’t make any sense?”

“So it could be taken home and washed, duh,” Faith snorted. “Some of us like to have clean towels?”

“Not Tabitha though, I guess??” Desiree said, putting on a disgusted face. “Which is gross. Yikes??”

“I think this is all being blown out of proportion,” Heather repeated, throwing a pointed accusing glare Tabitha’s way. “We’ve never had anything to do with Tabitha! They didn’t know it was her towel. I think someone was just trying to get cheerleaders in trouble, so that spots would open up on the team. That’s what I think, and—I don’t think that would be the right way for anyone to go about that. If they can’t—”

“Girls,” Coach Baylor’s tone was one of warning this time. “Please. Desiree was in the locker room during fourth period. The only reason I even heard about Tabitha’s towel being taken was because another girl in fourth period told me Desiree and some of the other girls there were laughing about what they were doing and how the towel was Tabitha’s.”

“Who?!” Desiree cried out. “Who?! Whoever said that—they’re lying! They’re straight-up lying! I just thought it was Faith’s, ‘cause she asked me if I could grab her towel!”

“Probably one of Tabitha’s other little friends trying to snitch to get us in trouble,” Faith suggested. “Like this was all part of her little plan.”

“So, yesterday I pulled several different girls from fourth period aside to confirm this,” Coach Baylor’s glare was stern. “Every single one of them said that yeah, you knew the towel was Tabitha’s and thought what you were doing was real funny.”

“It was just—” Desiree started to say before her expression soured. “It was just an accident. I grabbed the wrong towel. What we were talking about had to do with something else. They’re lying!”

“Yeah, they’re lying,” Faith insisted. “They just want to get Desi in trouble.”

“There are a lot of girls who are just… jealous and out to get us,” Heather spoke up in support. “I don’t think Desi would take something that’s not hers. She’s not that kind of person.”

“Thank you,” Desiree said. “Yeah exactly.”

“Meanwhile, we already know Tabitha here makes up all kinds of stories,” Faith scoffed. “About everything.”

“Hah,” Tabitha shook her head in disbelief.

“Girls,” Coach Baylor took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. Desiree, you’re in there even more often than I am—if Faith asked you to grab her towel, you would know hers is the yellow one with the pink flowers, correct? The beach towel she had hanging up last semester?

“That—that was my old towel,” Faith said. “My uh, my new one’s a Coca Cola towel.”

“Riiight,” Coach Baylor gave her a stern look. “Listen. Neither of you have shown any remorse for what happened, and you’ve demonstrated to me that you are more than willing to antagonize her over this. So, I’m sorry, girls. Both of you are off the team.”

“WHAT?!” Desiree shouted. “You can’t do that!”

“That’s completely not even fair!” Faith protested. “All because other people are lying and making up stories? That’s all Tabitha does!! Ask anyone!”

“This isn’t right,” Heather said. “You can’t pull them off the team over a towel. That’s ridiculous! I literally watched them try to actually apologize, and Tabitha completely just, just turned up her nose and pretended to storm off, with this stupid smirk!”

“I did blow them off this morning,” Tabitha admitted again. “I’m… completely out of patience for all of this.”

“Oh shut the fuck up!” Desiree yelled. “You just think you’re so fucking funny!”

“That’s enough,” Coach Baylor held up a hand. “Cool it. I’ve made my decision. Girls, you already have notes written. I expect to hear you immediately returned to your first period classes after this. Am I understood?”

“Yeah,” Heather answered for all of them, shooting another look at Tabitha. “Okay.”

“Go on, now,” Coach Baylor gestured.

The cheerleaders stormed off, and it took Tabitha a moment to realize she would need to intentionally untense some muscles and lower her shoulders a bit. She still had trouble fathoming why cheerleaders had targeted her in the first place, and the more this mess dragged on the more she thought the situation was unresolvable from the get-go. Rumors or hearsay of some kind had apparently arrayed the Cheer clique against her before she even met any of them, and now that they’d had a first encounter, she didn’t think things could have possibly developed any worse.

“I’m sorry,” Coach Baylor said after a long silence. “It really does look to me like they were out to get you.”

“Not your fault,” Tabitha sighed. “Not your fault.”

“I fibbed when I said ‘everyone’ I asked in fourth period heard them laughing about how it was your towel,” Coach Baylor admitted. “Two of the girls I took aside said that… if I include the one who brought all of this to my attention in the first place. Then, two other girls said the opposite, and claimed no one said anything about you at all. But, it was worth following up on to investigate… and it did turn out to be your towel in her backpack though, so. Well.”

“Yeah,” Tabitha said.

“Principal Edwards said this wasn’t something worth writing anyone up for,” Coach Baylor continued in a low voice. “Since to him, this is just some meaningless squabble over someone’s towel of all things, and we can’t completely confirm that it wasn’t an accident. Not unless they’re willing to come out and admit it, which—they won’t.”

“Okay,” Tabitha said.

“It’s really not okay,” Coach Baylor paced across the pavement. “I—I don’t think I can put into words how completely and utterly disappointed with those girls I am. These were my girls. I, well, I had myself convinced that, if and when there was petty nonsense or bullying here in school, my girls would be the ones to speak out against it. Because, even if it’s just a little thing like taking someone’s towel—little things add up. It’s still not okay in the first place! I don’t want you to ever feel like you’re unwelcome or mistreated here at school.”

“I…” Tabitha trailed off as she stared off into nothing. “I just find all of this so exhausting. I really don’t know what to do. I really don’t. I’m so tempted to just withdraw from school again. Honestly. But, at the same time, I can’t. I have friends here, I’ve made new friends, or I’ve started to. I really do want to have that, that idyllic teenage high school life everyone dreams about. I just… well, I really don’t know if I’m willing to really put my all into having to fight for every single inch of it. I’m tired, Coach Baylor. I’m so tired of everything. The constant rumors about me, the stupid petty bullying. Confrontations. I’m so tired.”

“If anything else happens, an-y-thing,” Coach Baylor articulated. “They’re gone. Keep your eyes and ears open, please. Come to me first about anything that happens, and I’ll do everything I can to make sure it’s handled.”

“I hear you’re trying to get all the girls kicked out of cheer?” Amanda asked, folding her arms in front of her and leaning one shoulder against the outer U-shaped edge of the alcove of lockers.

“I’m shocked,” Tabitha replied in a dry voice. “Baseless rumors about me flying around? How could that be. Oh, wait. It must be a weekday.”

“Hur hur, so you’re saying you’re not?” Amanda challenged. “I heard you got your panties all in a twist and flipped out on Ms. Baylor. Tubby Tabby, trying to get a whole buncha girls she don’t like suspended, or some shit?”

“Coach Baylor,” Vanessa corrected with a sniff. “And, I heard things the other way around? Faith and ‘Sloppy Seconds’ Desiree got caught trying to steal stuff from Tabitha, like literally caught red-handed. With Coach Baylor going into this other class and pullin’ Tabitha’s towel out from Desiree’s bag. Like, are you for real?”

“S’not what I heard,” Amanda laughed. “But yeah, whatever? What does Tabitha have to say for herself about all of this, hm??”

“I’m just… tired?” Tabitha could only offer a shrug. “Of all of it.”

“Oooh, yeah,” Amanda seemed to find that funny. “Yeah. You look tired.”

“Can you buzz off, already?” Tiffany stepped up beside Vanessa to shield Tabitha from view. “Can’t believe you’re tryin’ to stick with Faith the Cow and ‘Sloppy Seconds’ Desiree in the first place. I mean… seriously?”

“Oh, Faith’s the cow, now?” Amanda scoffed, giving the heavyset Tiffany an incredulous look. “Really?”

“Yee-up,” Vanessa shot back. “What, got something to say otherwise?”

“I don’t even have to,” Amanda said with a dismissive laugh, turning away from them. “But—whatever.”

The small group of Tabitha’s friends watched and waited until Amanda was out of apparent earshot and then leaned in together to whisper with one another.

“‘Faith the Cow?’” Grace asked with a wince. “Did you… did you just make that up?”

“Well,” Tiffany laughed, throwing her hands up. “If the shoe fits? Or uh, hooves? Horseshoes? I mean, with her boobs—”

“Cows aren’t generally shod, no,” Grace said. “Since—”

“Okay, so I made it up!” Tiffany threw her hands up. “Who cares? It’ll stick. I’ll repeat it to everyone all day ‘til it does. Hell.”

“Ooh yeah, and the whole ‘Sloppy Seconds Desiree’ thing?” Vanessa crooned. “From that thing when her and Dare-bear broke up last year? She’s so gonna be seething when all that gets brought up all over again!”

“Dare-bear?”

“Derek. Derek, uhhh. Simons? Simmons? Somethin’ like that. The real big guy. He was in eighth back when we were in sixth grade.”

“H-how do you guys even keep track of all of that,” Tabitha mumbled with an exasperated look. “Aren’t we all freshman? None of us would have even been here at Springton last year!”

“Word still gets around,” Tiffany boasted with pride. “Hell—I’m sure kids at the middle schools here in town already know ‘bout you and Michael already. S’a small town, whole buncha people have siblings. People talk!”

“Nothing happened between me and Michael!” Tabitha threw her hands up.

“Why not?!” Tiffany giggled. “He’s cute!”

“He’s with Olivia!” Tabitha chuckled. “They’re together! I’m not interested! I kind of like Bobby a little.”

“Bobby?” Tiffany gasped. “Like, our Bobby? Bobby as in the Bobby that’s in this same period one personal fitness course?!”

“She did introduce him to us…” Grace blinked in surprise.

“He’s… alright?” Vanessa made a face. “I guess? If, uh, if that’s what you’re into?”

“I said I like him a little, so, slow down,” Tabitha rolled her eyes. “He’s stood up for me before. He’s nice. He’s—”

“I think he’s really cute,” Marisa voiced her opinion. “Bobby?”

Wait, what? Tabitha felt her attention snapping towards Marisa.

“I mean… kinda?” Tiffany mused, watching the interplay with interest. “Sure.”

“—He’s, yes, he’s cute, and,” Tabitha grew flustered. “I don’t know? I like him a little, but I’m not like, crushing or anything. It’s casual. He’s likeable?”

“Ehhh,” Vanessa frowned. “I dunno. Bobby?”

“She said he stood up for her!” Grace said. “So, he gets points.”

“Yeah, points,” Tiffany agreed with enthusiasm. “So, Bobby! He’s not bad at all. Right? He’s kinda funny? Was he the one making a big stupid scene ‘bout Tabby being in our class, back like, day one?”

“Yeah,” Marisa nodded. “Coach Baylor made him run laps. He did four pull-ups! When we started doing all those.”

“That was more like three-and-a-half!” Tabitha remarked. “That was not four.”

“OoOOooh—!” Tiffany’s eyes lit up. “Countin’ them pull-ups pretty closely, huh?!”

“That’s still pretty good?” Grace sounded supportive. “I could only do—”

“Ehhh—” Vanessa cracked a weak smile. “Tabitha, honestly? Michael’s way cuter.”

“I don’t have anything to do with Michael!” Tabitha groaned in dismay. “He’s just a friend. He’s with Olivia!”

“But, Bobby’s a doofus!” Vanessa laughed. “There, okay? I said it. He’s a doofus.”

“He’s super cute, though,” Marisa argued. “Guys can be a bit doofy, if they’re cute.”

“No way,” Vanessa scoffed. “Absolutely not. He’s not that cute.”

“But I mean, he’s cute, and he’s into her,” Tiffany said. “Right? He’s interested?”

“In Tabitha?” Marisa hummed. “Honestly, I think he is.”

“He’s—maybe,” Tabitha said, feeling her cheeks color. “I don’t know? I don’t want it to be weird. I’m not dating anyone while I’m still a freshman.”

“What about Matt, though?” Tiffany said. “There’s him, too.”

“Matthew Williams?”

“Matt Gilbert?”

“Matthew—no, the other other Matt. Freshman Matt.”

“Matthew Haynes?”

“I think so?”

“I don’t know him.”

“He’s good looking?”

“I mean, he’s better than Bobby…”

“Ahurm,” Tabitha pretended to clear her throat. “It doesn’t matter! I’m not interested in dating anyone just yet. Not while I’ve… not while I have all this other stuff to figure out and get sorted out, first. Maybe next year? When I’m a sophomore, or something. I—I honestly just don’t feel ready for crushes or dating or cute guys. I’m already overwhelmed!”

“Aw, honey,” Tiffany shook her head in dismay. “You don’t really get to decide.”

“Yeah…” Grace gave her a sigh. “Cupid just comes along with his arrow and—urk! Gets you. When you least expect it…”

“That’s, no,” Tabitha refuted with a giggle. “No. I decide. I’ve decided I’m not ready for crushes on guys or any of that. I have spoken. That’s final!”

“Uggh!” Tiffany shook her head. “That just means you’re gonna get it even worse!”

“It does not!”

“Hey,” Elena asked in a low voice, twisting in her seat and leaning forward so that she could see past the girl sitting in the row next to her. “Hey. Brett?”

“Hm?” The guy two rows over gave her a quizzical glance. “What’s up?”

“Can I borrow a pencil?” Elena asked.

She’d touched up her eyeliner with care just before third period algebra, and she made sure to—in a practiced casual way—run her fingers through her hair to help her black bangs more perfectly frame her face while making eye contact with him.

“A pencil?” Brett repeated.

“Yeah,” Elena said, not looking away.

With a very subtle movement, her eyes flicked to his lips before meeting his gaze again, and since she had turned her upper body to follow the belly button rule, as well as double-checked her posture to ensure that the inside of at least one wrist was always facing him… Elena had completed her very short checklist for showing overt interest in a boy from Teen Magazine.

True to form and just as the article had warned, however—Brett was indeed a ninth-grade guy and absolutely oblivious to any of the blatant signals she was sending his way.

“Uhhh, let me see,” Brett swiveled in his seat with a frown to check his backpack. “Probably?”

“Thanks,” Elena pre-empted his generosity with gratitude as if she didn’t have an entire pencil case full of pencils in her own bag. They even had her name printed on them, some sort of specialized stationary set she seemed to get every other Christmas.

After quite a bit of heart-ache and even more soul-searching for answers, Elena had decided she was over Matthew Williams. Moving on wasn’t easy though, but after an appropriate period of denial, grief, anguish, absolute despair, and a small handful of rather morbid poems she felt quite satisfied with, Elena had shed the rest of her feelings on the matter. It was difficult, but Matthew no longer occupied the position of her boyfriend in any of her idle fantasies about the future, and her romantic inclinations were now without a subject to latch themselves onto.

Nature hates a vacuum, Elena thought to herself.

Of the few candidates for her potential partner she had picked out, Brett stood out from the others in several important ways. First and foremost, he literally stood out—he was an alarming six foot eight, which was more than half a head taller than most other freshman guys, and he was a bit of a loner. Asking around, she had discovered he hadn’t attended Springton Middle or Laurel, meaning he had probably just moved to the area at the start of this school year. After being here in Springton High for half of the freshman year, the tall and lanky Brett had only made a few close friends among the basketball kids—for obvious reasons—and his nickname among them was ‘Lurch.’

Lurch like, the butler from the Addams family, Elena reminded herself. Which is pretty gothic. Okay, maybe that’s a stretch, but—so sue me. He’s been cool with people calling him that, which should mean he’s open to gothic sorta stuff. Right?

Thankfully, Brett didn’t have the cadaver-like face of Lurch.

Instead, the name was an ironic one because he sported average to maybe-above-average looks, with a faded blonde mushroom cut that featured a messy center part that was only a little bit dated, fashion-wise. He was cute for Springton but absolutely no Jonathan Brandis, and if Elena were to calculate Brett’s flaws, it would be that he was a bit too slender for his height, and his arms didn’t have much in the way of apparent muscle to make him appear a bit more masculine. He dressed… well, he dressed like a typical ninth grade boy, which is to say he every morning he seemed to carelessly throw on whatever his parents had bought him to wear, with little thought invested into what fit best to his frame or pursuit of any particular style.

He would look good in black, Elena told herself. Probably? Ziggy wouldn’t judge me if I brought him around the mall.

“Got one,” Brett reported after digging through clutter in the bottom of his book bag. “Here.”

“Cool,” Elena said, giving him a cautious smile.

He passed the pencil over to the girl between them to hand to Elena rather than standing up and reaching over, which was disappointing. Worse yet, the girl facilitating the hand-off, one of the frumpy band girls, did so with a very slight smirk. While guys their age were impossibly dense to the finer nuance of when someone was interested, the other young ladies in class all absolutely seemed to be eyeballing her now.

Well, more than usual at least… Elena accepted the pencil with a grateful nod and sent an appreciative glance again towards Brett—which he missed, because he had already turned his attention back to his worksheet.

The pencil itself turned out to be a bog-standard unremarkable yellow number two pencil of average length and being neither particularly sharp nor dull. It wrote an okay testing scribble at the edge of her own quadratic equations worksheet, and subsequently the scribble erased just fine. Elena idly thought that she herself could very easily forget that this was a borrowed pencil, and therefore he would likewise probably not care in the slightest if she never returned it.

Ugh. Again, this is why my pack of pencils with my full name printed on the side are so neat!

Vanessa sitting in front of her turned in her seat with a knowing smile to teasingly offer her a pencil as well, and so Elena communicated a helpless shrug and twirled her implement’s eraser in the air for a second as if to indicate someone had already given her one. Across the way in the other direction, another girl, Sydney—one of the ones on the outer periphery of Carrie’s little coterie of suckups and sycophants—scowled in Elena’s direction and gave her entire side of the room a soundless scoff, but that was it.

What do you all expect? Elena thought to herself, feeling quite pleased. You girls weren’t the only ones with your eye on Lurch. And, it’s not like most of the guys actually give much of a shit about preppy or goth… or, okay, fashion or culture of any kind, really. At fourteen and fifteen, guys just really seem SO slow on the uptake with things…

Which was, of course, why she’d been more interested in going after a sophomore like Matthew in the first place! But, with Matthew already off the table because of a cradle-robbing eleventh-grader like Casey, and guys like Bobby and Matt Haynes already starting to wise up enough to make googly eyes at Tabitha—Elena had to start doing her due diligence and putting in some basic groundwork.

She knew that Carrie’s basic standard of interest was that a prospective boyfriend had to be a football player, because this was Kentucky, and guys who weren’t into either football or basketball letter jacket were almost non-entities to the popular clique. With the exception of course of those who got jobs early and had spending money already, obviously, or the rare few beneath the upperclassmen who had both their driver’s license and a car. Elena herself no longer had childish notions towards being homecoming queen or anything like that, but it was increasingly important that she square away the boyfriend situation sooner rather than later.

Going for cheer at all as the weirdo loner goth girl would be almost impossible, Elena thought. Because then, with my friends being Tabitha and Alicia, that could go either way. But, going for tryouts when I have some friends in different places, and then ALSO a boyfriend? As a freshman? Plus Art Club connections, maybe? Cheer becomes doable. Much more complicated to just throw blanket criticisms my way when I have a stronger social standing.

Elena couldn’t help but look up from her coursework again and take another look in Brett’s direction.

Okay, okay. Yeah it’s also maybe just because I’m crushing on him bad.

“Can’t wait to get this stupid thing off,” Tabitha said, trying to reach an itch deep within her cast and failing miserably. “My wrist and everything feel completely normal, already. I want it off.”

“This weekend, right?” Alicia asked, tilting back a bottle of Pepsi.

“Yeah,” Tabitha groaned in frustration. “Saturday. Two more days. Two more days until this baby hatches and casts off its shell—then, I can start nursing it back to normal. I’ve got exercises planned out and everything. Finger stretches, clenches, rotations. Last night, Matthew said that back when he broke his arm playing street hockey? The physician gave him a pair of nun-chucks.”

“Pfft—!” Alicia almost spat out her soda and instead aborted the motion with a sudden snort. “Ah shit it went up my nose!”

“No, seriously!” Tabitha couldn’t help but grin. “I mean okay, they were toy nun-chucks, like plastic ones? Foam, or something? But, still. You’re supposed to do this shake-weight kinda exercise with them, where you just hold it in your recovering hand, and just twirl it around in a circle for fifteen, twenty minutes? I guess like jump-rope, but just with one hand.”

“So, like jacking off,” Alicia rolled her eyes. “Basically.”

“Alicia,” Tabitha couldn’t help but give her friend an aghast stare. “Ew.”

“Oh, come on,” Alicia scoffed. “Look around you. Heck, I bet ‘nun-chucks’ was just a euphemism in the first place.”

“Guys don’t jac—guys don’t even do that when they’re this young,” Tabitha insisted. “Gross. They’re just barely past puberty, ‘Licia. Gross.”

“Tabitha,” Alicia raised her eyebrows. “You’re way too smart to be that dumb.”

“I’m not dumb, I’m, I’m remaining willfully ignorant,” Tabitha made a face. “There’s a difference. There’s a big difference! You’re just being dirty-minded.”

Also Alicia what the actual fuck? I’m no expert, but isn’t ‘jacking off’ supposed to be like a… shotgun pumping motion? Kind of thing? Does she think it’s just supposed to whirl around? ‘TO IMPRESS A CHICK, DO THE HELICOPTER DICK?!’ I know for a fact THAT gag is at least another decade away or thereabouts!

“Oh, really?” Alicia gave her a look.

“I’m not really even comfortable thinking about that.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Alicia…”

“If you bury your head in the ground and don’t think about it happening, it doesn’t exist?” Alicia chuckled. “Pssh, you think Bobby hasn’t—”

“Alicia I’m gonna stop you right there,” Tabitha warned, holding up a hand. “I’m actually not the slightest bit comfortable talking about that. For real. Okay?”

“I’m just sayin’,” Alicia gave her a shrug of amusement. “High school boys aren’t whatever innocent angels you’re trying to pretend they are. So long as you realize you’re being dumb.”

“I’m not being dumb,” Tabitha insisted. “I’ve drawn certain boundaries. Because of my, uh, my unique situation, where my well, my sense of my own age is weird… just, no, nope, no fricking way in hell. Boys, Bobby, high schoolers? Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen? Alicia they’re all just teenagers. That’s super weird. Weird and gross.”

“And you’re not a teenager?” Alicia smirked. “What about me? I’m a teenager. Am I too young to talk about that stuff? Because—literally everyone our age does. C’mon. Just the other morning, I heard these guys saying—”

“La la la la, I can’t hear you~!” Tabitha awkwardly covered her ears. “Can we just not? Alicia? I’m actually super not comfortable with getting into all of that. So stop. Please?”

“Your funeral,” Alicia sighed and shook her head. “But, okay. Whatever. Be that way!”

“Art club,” Tabitha immediately worked to change the subject. “Today. It’s Thursday.”

“Yep yep,” Alicia confirmed. “You’re coming, right? You have to.”

“I’ll be there!” Tabitha promised. “I mean, I’ll already be there in the first place. Art club’s right after school, and my last class of the day is already in the art room. So. Basically will already be there!”

“Cool, cool,” Alicia said. “Lucky. You have a ride home?”

“Yeah,” Tabitha nodded. “Casey offered. Last night. Oh! She’s got my art club tee shirt for me, already.”

“Oh, really?” Alicia grinned. “For how much?”

“Fifty dollars!” Tabitha mocked a deep sigh. “Can you believe it?”

“Wow, fifty,” Alicia whistled. “That must be her best one yet. Did it really take you that long to catch on? Or like, she really tried to sell you a shirt that many times?”

“Hardly,” Tabitha rolled her eyes. “I was firm on only paying original price, actually! Or we could go lower. I was like, hey, so you know Coach Baylor gave me this cheer jacket for free? So, I figure that’s the position art club has to be at to negotiate for my time, now.”

“No way,” Alicia gave her a playful scoff. “They’re worlds apart. Art Club has all the cool peoples in it. Cheerleaders? They’re full of blondie sorority bitches. Psychos. You can’t equate the two at all, no way freaking way. Not even close. We’re way cooler.”

“Uh-huh,” Tabitha smiled. “Okay.”

“Plus, we have Mr. Peterson!” Alicia insisted. “He’s way better than some stupid cheerleader coach.”

“Actually, it turns out Coach Baylor is super cool,” Tabitha said. “Really. I was surprised, too—she’s really been on the level and looked out for me. Even when that meant it was ‘her girls’ who were in trouble.”

“Pshaw,” Alicia scoffed again. “Mr. Peterson’s cooler. You’ll see.”

“He seems very… fun?” Tabitha giggled. “He’s pretty good at teaching. Interesting? Also he’s kind of a weirdo?”

“Elena!” Alicia called as their friend approached the table. “You’re late.”

“Elena—are you gonna be there for Art Club, today?” Tabitha asked. “I’m going.”

“Art Club?” Elena pursed her lips. “How long does it run? It’s like a meeting?”

“The official meeting kinda bit is like, ten minutes?” Alicia guessed. “After that, we hang out and work on art stuff and just kind of chat. It’s cool. Casey and Matthew are always there. You can get a ride home no problemo.”

“I’ll have to call my mom,” Elena shrugged, slipping in to sit on the bench beside Tabitha. “But yeah, probably. Tabitha—no angry cheerleaders stalking us, this time?”

“They already caught up to me right during first period,” Tabitha made a face. “I guess Coach Baylor wanted us to all sort things out, first thing.”

“So, did she?” Alicia crossed her arms. “I mean, yesterday that was not a real apology. At all.”

“No, she was mad, says they’re both off the team,” Tabitha explained. “So, in turn that means cheer has it out with me. I guess their names were Desiree and Faith. Don’t remember which of them was which.”

“Desiree was the taller one,” Elena answered. “She’s pretty popular, sorta. She was dating this guy named Derek a while back. I didn’t know Faith from anywhere.”

“How does everyone keep track of that?!” Tabitha groaned.

“Don’t look at me, I went to Fairfield Middle,” Alicia laughed. “All the blondie cheerleaders look the same to me.”

“Hey, I went to Laurel,” Elena reminded her. “Same as Tabitha. Desiree, Heather, Lindsay Dormer—all the super popular crowd here all came up through Springton Middle. It’s part of what makes things hard for like, people from Laurel like Carrie and I to fit into things. Since all the little elementary and middle schools around here feed into just one big high school… but actually some of the middle schools aren’t so little.”

“I only remember Fairfield having one middle school,” Alicia said. “Way easier to remember.”

“Fairfield has one high school and three middle schools,” Elena shook her head.

“Ohhhh, right,” Alicia threw up her hands. “Okay, I forgot. Rowcastle and that other one, I guess. But, they barely count!”

“Sandboro’s even worse, they have several high schools and a bunch of private schools,” Elena shrugged. “Was almost going to go to one of those. Escalator schools that basically guarantee you into the university.”

“I actually did know about… all of those,” Tabitha made a face. “Was originally going to try to be a teacher, in my past life. Fairfield Middle and Levard County Middle both, that’s where I had to go through my student teaching thing. It’s uh, that’s basically what made me decide to give up on that degree. I was just about having anxiety attacks from that, I was stress eating like crazy. Not sleeping. Pretty sure that’s where my ulcers started, actually? Now that I think about it.”

“Damn, really?” Alicia’s eyes went wide. “Sometimes I think I uh, I start to forget about… about all of that. You taught for a bit at Fairfield Middle?”

“Uh, yes, sorta,” Tabitha winced. “It was more like an intern sort of thing, but then I also did actually straight-up sub for a bit at Fairfield Middle. Like, a little over three weeks? Even though I shouldn’t have been supposed to, without a uh, without a real certification. Just, they’re that hard up for teachers, over there. And there were some circumstances.”

“Huh,” Alicia evaluated Tabitha with a strange expression. “It’s weird to picture you there? I guess? You were a substitute teacher?”

“I wasn’t supposed to be!” Tabitha laughed. “That’s just how things wound up, for a bit. The woman who was supervising me, Mrs. Bates, just kinda no-showed, because of some medical thing, and I was like, ‘okay so am I under someone else instead,’ and they’re like ‘no silly, you’re on your own with her classes ‘til she gets back.’

“Which is, well, which is a whole big steaming pile of fuckery. Could not control the classroom, completed just a handful of the actual real lessons I planned. Was walking over next door pleading to that other poor man instead to come help me with this or that, and he already had plenty of trouble dealing with his own students, and. Hahhh. I’m honestly getting a little worked up just thinking back on it! Really uh, they really just kinda threw me into the deep end, when I was totally and completely one hundred percent not ready for that. At all.”

“Wow… no kidding,” Alicia couldn’t help but grimace. “Uhhh. Fairfield Middle, they kinda chew up substitutes, there. From what I remember. It probably also did not help that you’re white?”

“No, it did not,” Tabitha sighed. “But, more than that—I was just not prepared.”

“I’ve never heard of any Mrs. Bates there, though,” Alicia remarked.

Elena simply looked from Tabitha to Alicia and back again without offering a comment either way.

“This would’ve been… years and years from now?” Tabitha guessed. “Okay, not that many. Six, seven years into the future? Something like that? She seemed like a senior teacher there, but—I don’t know. I don’t even want to think about it. Makes me so mad.”

“Is Fairfield that bad?” Elena asked. “You’re uh. You’re tearing up. You alright?”

“I’m okay! I’m just. Mad,” Tabitha laughed, wiping her eyes. “And, no. Fairfield’s not that bad, I just wasn’t ready.”

“Some of them were pretty bad,” Alicia shrugged. “But, that’s everywhere. Coach Cooke’s classes here, all of the remedial ones? I hear they’re like a zoo sometimes. I know when teachers send someone to detention, it’s always detention with Coach Cooke.”

“One of the girls in my first period has him for one of those remedial courses,” Tabitha nodded. “I know she said Ashlee’s in there, too. Some kids, just. Well—how do you teach them, if they genuinely don’t want to learn, don’t care? School? Academics? It’s the last thing on their minds…”

“Well. Anyways,” Elena nudged Tabitha with her shoulder. “No Bobby today, either? Are you two fighting?”

“No?!” Tabitha answered in a fluster, glad for any excuse to take her mind off of the distant past. “No—we were singing together on the way to first period. We’re cool? At least… I think we’re cool? I uh, well okay he did kind of come out and ask if—well. I think he’s a little disappointed that I want to make watching Willow as like a big group thing instead of more like a date with him? And he’s like, well what other things could we do where it’s just us, and I’m like uhhhh—”

“Ew, gross!” Alicia pantomimed covering her mouth in disgust. “Tabitha. He’s like, what, fifteen? Sixteen? Barely? He’s practically a child. You can’t date him, you sicko! Weren’t you just basically saying that?!”

“I-I was not!” Tabitha went into a fluster, swatting across the table. “No, I meant that—that’s not what I meant! And, and even if we do date, that doesn’t mean we’re getting physical right off the bat or anything! You’re the sicko, perv! Elena—tell her!”

“Tabitha, I don’t think you’re from the future, so,” Elena shrugged. “You two are cute, you should give him a chance at least. Something simple, like go out to eat somewhere. Walk around the mall or something with him.”

“I—” Tabitha’s brain seemed to stall. “But. It’s complicated.”

“Only as complicated as you’re making it,” Elena shook her head. “If that’s still awkward or weird or too much, then go on a double date, or something. So that you can kind of watch the other couple and check out what they’re doing, see how they act. Like Matthew and Casey. Or, Michael and Olivia.”

“Do we really want her taking notes from Michael and Olivia of all people?!” Alicia giggled. “Hell, those two barely ever even came up for air. Plus, I mean—can you imagine the rumors that her going around with them would start?!”

“That isn’t funny!” Tabitha pouted.