RE: Trailer Trash

The Macintire household happened to be the closest from Springton High and so Tabitha was dropped off first—she thanked Casey for the ride and hopped out of the Jimmy, waving goodbye to everyone. Although it had been another long day of high school, Art Club had her in pretty high spirits, so Tabitha wore a small smile as she unlocked the door and stepped inside. There was a bit of homework to take care of, but nothing too tedious, and after that she planned to make scalloped potatoes for dinner.

Tuesday night I didn’t really impress with those green beans and instant potatoes, Tabitha recalled. Then, Wednesday night Mrs. Williams really knocked me down a peg or two with her butter potatoes and garlic broccoli… I feel like now I have something to prove! I know for a fact that my scalloped potato recipe absolutely slays. They just… they didn’t get a great first impression of it, because last time I just brought it out as leftovers from the other Thanksgiving. THIS TIME, I’LL SHOW THEM!

She kicked off her new sneakers, and set her bookbag upon the table so that she could settle in and finish a worksheet. It was amusing how easy it was as a teenager for her to slip into idle fantasies about how much she might impress people with her cooking—she was right at that unique age where those happened with high frequency. Tabitha thought she remembered reading in her past life that it was a common fixture of anxious avoidant personality disorder, which had been one of the many labels she tried on when looking to discover what in the heck was wrong with herself.

But, yeah… Tabitha mused as she penciled through the numbers to show her work in completing ninth grade math problems. I had always been prone to that kind of daydreaming, just maybe right now my body and mind are right at that point of development where all kinds of FEELING surges into it. I’m fourteen. An idea takes hold of me and just—yeah, really sweeps me away. I want to be COOL, I want people to like me. I want it SO HARD that it makes me feel a little crazy, sometimes.

She couldn’t serve just scalloped potatoes for dinner of course, so after finishing her assignment and tucking it back away into her binder Tabitha planned out the rest of their meal; pulled pork sandwiches for the adults, and chicken nuggets for Hannah. In Tabitha’s previous life cheap chicken nuggets had been a staple food back when she was at this age, but something about growing up simply made them unpalatable for her. The texture of them seemed disgusting to her now, and years of seeing chicken nuggies as a meme related to stunted millennial maturity managed to put her off of them for good.

Hannah’s in second grade though—she’s weird and picky about food in that unique seven-year-old way. Tabitha thought. If she enjoys chicken nuggets with ketchup, who am I to judge? Although… I really do want to get Hannah to try my scalloped potatoes. Maybe she’ll give it a chance if I wait to start it until she gets home? Like, if we cook it together—because, then it’s not TRYING ICKY NEW FOOD. Then it’s sampling the fruits of her own labor, taste-testing her own work. Sort of.

The rest of Thursday night passed by without the exhausting teenage turmoil that had seemed to plague her throughout this week. Hannah came home and then was absorbed in playing her Gameboy while Tabitha prepared dinner. The Macintires got off work and then they tucked into dinner together for once without delving into high school drama or awkward family issues or stressful retellings of whatever this or that happened… Tabitha honestly found all of that was wearing thin on her by now.

Instead, they chatted over inconsequential nonsense—one of the other officers in town was having his first child soon. One of the other little girls from Hannah’s second grade classroom got in trouble today. Sandra had some gripes to share about how some of her coworkers spent more time walking around chatting with others or grabbing more coffee than they did actually working. Both of the adults tonight gave Tabitha’s scalloped potatoes words of praise that put a beaming smile on her face… and then Hannah desecrated her portion of cheesy scalloped potatoes with ketchup, but had the gall to insist that the potatoes tasted weird.

Ketchup! On MY scalloped potatoes! HMPH! Tabitha thought with a bitter smile—but she felt more exasperated than actually indignant. Well, she’s only seven. WHAT DOES SHE KNOW?!

After dishes and a bit of tidying up, Tabitha worked through the second half of the Mulan storybook with Hannah, and her disgruntlement with the girl faded away into giggles and praise like it usually did. It was strange—earlier today when Tabitha had considered the prospects of maybe joining Springton High’s theater club someday, the idea had filled her with anxiety and vague, formless dread. But, when she was acting out the lines here with Hannah and really getting into the roles and putting on special voices, Tabitha kept returning to the idea of how much fun it was, and how much she enjoyed it.

Definitely something to consider… but, not for this year! Maybe as a sophomore.

Then Hannah was tucked into bed, and Tabitha showered and then turned in for the night to the privacy of her own room. Out of curiosity, she picked up the borrowed harlequin book Your Garden of Desire again to see if it would do anything for her. After fighting through several chapters, Tabitha put it down again with a chuckle. The steamy and sordid romance novel didn’t make her feel horny, and if she were to sum up the way it did make her feel, it was simple professional disinterest.

It seems to be engaging my WRITER BRAIN, rather than my budding young heart that yearns for romance, still, Tabitha sighed in disappointment. Maybe this one’s just not the one for me. I need a book that really draws me in and captivates me—with this one, I keep falling back into this clinical dissection of the pacing and cookie-cutter characters and story beats.

Or, perhaps it’s just that neither of my MENTAL AGES line up well with this kind of thing? I feel like right now I’d be more receptive to Disney princess stories about true love. Where they rush into each other’s arms as the music swells, and he spins her around in that weirdly satisfying way. And then? They kiss. Happily ever after, the end. FIN, FINITO—the end.

Letting out a yawn and throwing her arms out in a languid stretch, Tabitha finally set the book aside and climbed into bed. She burrowed deep into the covers, and in the soft warmth of the blankets and comforter she experienced one of those rare, happy moments of complete contentment. Today hadn’t been perfect by any means, but it had been pretty good, and certainly it was a significant departure of the constant malaise of fear and dread she recalled from her first lifetime. She had new challenges in life, but she was rising to meet them, and Tabitha had friends, now. She had the near picture-perfect sitcom dream family to live with in the stereotypical nineties suburbia and she still had her real family, with whom she was still on better terms with than she’d been last lifetime.

The future feels… pretty bright? Actually?

To her surprise, that good feeling lingered on into the new day. Tabitha woke up with a smile feeling refreshed, and she went about getting ready for school in what had already become a routine. She still wanted to save the debut of her sporty outfit for later, so today Tabitha chose her other other nice blouse, a light blue one-shoulder top that featured embroidered white flowers along the top. It had originally been a rather large XXL summer dress that seemed pretty plain, but when grandma Laurie helped her take it apart at the seams and tailor it to her figure, what had been a sparse bit of flowers on a huge dress instead seemed like a rather lively adornment on small blouse.

Gonna feel a little weird wearing a single shoulder top beneath the jacket today, but—so what? Tabitha thought. No one will probably even see it, anyways.

She brushed her hair, and applied some makeup, and then when she came out into the kitchen to put together Hannah’s lunchbox for school, Tabitha discovered that Mrs. Macintire was already up and waiting for her.

“Good morning, Tabitha,” Sandra greeted her with a grin. “Coffee?”

“Oh um, no, but thank you,” Tabitha said. “Good morning. You’re up early?”

“Hmm,” The older woman gave her a teasing look. “Goodness sakes. I guess you really forgot, hon! Well, you have had just so much going on, lately.”

“Forgot?” Tabitha blinked in confusion. “Forgot what?”

“Um, it’s only Friday!” Sandra said, giving Tabitha an expectant look. “Friday, January fifteenth. Both of your appointments are today! Your cast comes off at eight, then at ten fifteen we go in for your other checkup, to see about clearing you for physical activity again. I figure, no sense takin’ you in to school late just to pull you back out again right away, so. We’re gonna get all of that taken care of, and then I’ll drop you off at Springton High just in time for lunch period. If you want, we can stop somewhere for food on the way back—just to celebrate.”

“Oh, I—oh,” Tabitha was shocked. “I, um, wow. Wow! For uh, for some reason in my head I knew the appointment was for the fifteenth, but I guess I had been thinking that fell on a Saturday? No, you’re right. Yesterday was the fourteenth! Today is the fifteenth… wow. Oh my God.”

“You did forget!” Mrs. Macintire laughed. “Hubby dearest thought you might have—we were joking about it last night, when you didn’t say anything. Here I thought you’d have been counting down the days! I’m sure that thing’s itchy as hell—if I was you, I wouldn’t be able to wait to get that stupid thing off.”

“I… yeah!” Tabitha stared at her cast in a daze as she felt an enormous smile form. “It’s finally coming off. It’s finally coming off!”

No—even more than that, I’ll maybe be cleared to run again. Instead of being the weirdo loner in first period who sits out and waits for everyone to finish their laps every morning. I can start running with Elena, too! We need to get in top shape before we go for try-outs. Can get back into my exercises! And, it’s about to be THE WEEKEND! I can maybe play tag with the boys again, if I’m super careful with my hand still. Hah, yeah definitely don’t try to jump right into cartwheels and hand-springs, just yet.

It feels like… it feels like I SHELVED this big huge part of my new life and did my best to forget about it—but, now it’s time. I can pick ALL OF THAT back up again. I can be my whole complete new self again! It’s really finally, FINALLY time!

Tabitha was on the edge of the passenger seat of Sandra’s Acura and fidgeting with anticipation as they pulled into the strip mall plaza attached to Springton’s Food Lion. Although they would be returning to Springton General Hospital later to get X-rays taken of her skull and evaluated for physical activity again, the Macintires had arranged for her cast to be removed here, at a nearby orthopedic clinic that shared a parking lot with the grocery store.

“Would it have been more convenient to just have both appointments at the hospital?” Tabitha asked.

“Ehhh,” Sandra gave a shrug as she pulled into a parking space. “I think it’s basically just that the hospital in Springton? Is not a big place. Springton is not a big place—University of Louisville Hospital has its own orthopedics stuff—ward, department, whatever you wanna call it. Springton General is mostly for emergencies, and then they’ll refer you to clinics around here that specialize in this or that for a lot of other things.”

“I see, I see,” Tabitha nodded along as she unbuckled her seatbelt.

Truth be told, she probably could have inferred all of that on her own. Tabitha knew some of that, albeit in a pretty vague way, because she had been an adult and lived a lifetime in this area, already. It was funny to think that if some teenage kid had asked future Tabitha why they were going to a smaller clinic for cast removal rather than Springton General, Tabitha would have likely said the same ehhh and then extrapolated the same basic answer after a moment of thinking about it.

But—I’m the kid, right now, Tabitha told herself. Not the adult. I get to be the one just asking whatever questions pop into mind, when sometimes I could probably figure out the reasons based on what limited information I DO already know.

It was a peculiar feeling.

As Mrs. Macintire shut off the engine and they both opened their doors and climbed out into the morning air, Tabitha even felt a little guilty—as if she was abusing this privilege of youth she had reacquired through who-knows-how. At the same time however, it felt good when she stuck to her role and just let herself be a teenager. Asking questions and looking to Mrs. Macintire for support helped solidify familial bonds Tabitha had never really enjoyed in her first lifetime.

Because—dad would have given me some non-answer like ‘heck if I know, sweetie,’ or ‘that’s just what the doctor on the phone said, who knows what goes on in these people’s heads,’ and mom back then would have snapped at me or been belligerent—whenever I had a question for her she didn’t know how to answer, she felt that I was challenging her authority and got real grouchy.

Being in the position to finally enjoy a ‘normal’ mother-daughter relationship was honestly intoxicating, and as Tabitha hopped up to the curb she couldn’t help but give Mrs. Macintire a huge smile.

“Looks like you’re in a good mood, this morning!” Sandra chuckled. “C’mon, kiddo. Let’s go get that stupid thing off.”

Tabitha followed after Sandra inside the reception area of the orthopedics clinic like a baby duckling, and she waited beside her at the front counter as they checked in. She did feel bubbly this morning, but excitement and anticipation for herself had given way to raw appreciation for this woman in front of her. It had taken her a few months to really settle in and adjust to having a solid, dependable mother figure in her life, but once she had? Tabitha wasn’t sure she could live without it.

I’m not sure how I DID live without it, Tabitha spaced out as Sandra finished their business at the counter and then led her over to wait at one of the seats. I don’t know that I blame my real parents—they did their best, in their own ways. Just. They were—are—broken people, and they have their specific limitations that made raising me into a normal well-adjusted person… impossible? Improbable?

It was still the time before even rudimentary smart-phones, so waiting at the doctor’s office meant Sandra grabbed a couple of Lifestyle magazines from a corner table, taking one for herself and passing one to Tabitha. She leafed through the pages in amusement, skimming through article titles and realizing that most of the magazine was advertisements. It was strange to think upon the magazines as precursors to the future media content that one might scroll through endlessly—that back in this time publishing companies worked to codify everything into print and then ship these magazines across the country in physical form.

Really, I suppose the only major difference between this and future feeds you would scroll through is the time lag? Tabitha mused. A magazine like this would have been put together a week or a month ago, and newspapers would be just a day or two old. Rather than seeing nonstop INSTANT content of whatever was going viral at right this current second.

“Tabitha Moore?” A woman in light blue scrubs called from an open door.

“Um!” Tabitha rose up out of her seat. “That’s me.”

“Right this way,” The woman said.

“Good luck!” Mrs. Macintire called. “Break a leg.”

“Hah ha,” Tabitha turned to stick her tongue out before following after the nurse.

The woman in scrubs led her a short trip through past the reception area and then down a little hallway, and then Tabitha was asked to take a seat in a small exam room. The seat offered here was covered with a disposable sheet of hospital paper, and as she cast nervous glances around the sterile room she saw ordinary cabinets, a sink. A rolling stool, a waste bin with hazard stickers and a bright orange liner. On the wall there was an inoffensive but uninteresting painting of two ducks swimming along a marshy pond covered with lily pads.

“Tabitha?” A doctor in a white smock peeked through the open door. “I’m Doctor Schwartz. Let’s get you a quick X-ray first, right on down this way. Good morning!”

“Good morning!” Tabitha chirped with a nervous laugh.

Despite only just arriving at the exam room, Tabitha followed the doctor down to the very end of the hallway for X-rays. There, she donned a vinyl apron that seemed to be weighted with lead. She was led to sit in a similar paper-covered seat, where the doctor placed her cast up on an adjustable platform, and told to carefully hold it in place. The X-ray machine itself was an enormous ceiling mounted contraption that swiveled down and was carefully lined up into place, at which point the doctor turned off the lights and then cautioned her to remain as still as possible while he went into the other room to activate it.

I had never broken a bone before in my previous life, but I HAVE had dental X-rays in the future, Tabitha thought as she marveled at the antique metal apparatus. I remember them being… about the same size as a desk lamp? Just a sleek little plastic thing on an arm that swivels down. They didn’t switch off the room’s lights for that, either! I wonder how ordinary room light interferes with diagnostic X-rays, back here in the nineties?

The man came back in and helped her twist her arm up at an angle so that he could take another X-ray, and then the lights were out again as the big device did its thing. After that, she returned the safety apron and was led back to the examination room—where she spent fifteen excruciating minutes staring at the ducks painting. Because rather than results popping up instantly on some screen through digital magic, in the nineties developing and printing out X-rays onto those sheets was a tedious process.

Calm down, calm down, Tabitha told herself, fighting to keep her leg from kicking with impatience. Just a little bit longer.

“Alrighty,” The doctor said as he finally returned with a folder. “How are we doing today?”

“Um, good,” Tabitha answered again. “Hopefully you have good news?”

“Hah, yeah hopefully,” Doctor Schwartz chuckled. “I think we’re probably okay, but always safer to make sure and take a look. Let’s see, here…”

Dark transparencies were drawn from the folder and slid into a wall-mounted lightbox that Tabitha hadn’t noticed before—she’d assumed the thing was a cabinet or storage or something. She couldn’t recall them using lightboxes in the future. A pair of spooky skeleton hands appeared on the sheets when he turned the thing on, and Tabitha leaned in close so she could examine the bones with interest.

Wow. Yep, that’s a bunch of bones, alright. I… honestly have no idea what I’m looking at. I don’t see any big jagged dark breaks, so… I hope I’m all healed?

“Hmmm—” The doctor donned a pair of glasses and traced the outline with the edge of his pen. “Colles fracture healed up nicely, can barely see a thing. You see this little bit here? This is your fifth metacarpal, this part here was broken. It’s looking… pretty good.”

Anxious, Tabitha sat up and squinted at the messy jumble of bones… but couldn’t tell what she was supposed to be looking at.

“Yep, alrighty,” He switched off the lightbox and withdrew the sheets. “I think we’re good to go! Let’s get that cast off.”

“Great!” Tabitha sagged with relief. “Thank you.”

Less than a minute later, Tabitha was watching in fear and wonder as Doctor Scwhartz held her cast in one latex-gloved hand and gripped a handheld oscillating saw with the other, cutting a neat line down the familiar contours of her rigid fiberglass cast. She could feel the vibrations as the saw gnawed through the material and then she could feel the sudden strange sensation of cool air. There was apparently no danger at all that he would accidentally cut her skin—although at the same time, she couldn’t help but imagine that, because getting a cast cut open was a uniquely vulnerable experience.

He switched off the saw and pulled the cast apart in a broken mess of gauze tufts—and then the reek of very old sweat smell hit Tabitha, and it was hard not to wince in absolute embarrassment.

“Ooh yeah, was getting a little ripe,” Doctor Scwhartz chuckled at her reaction. “Definitely ready to come off, hah. Sink’s right over there, and we can wash you up a little bit. How are we feeling?”

“Um,” Tabitha lifted her now free hand, unsure of how to answer.

It felt… weird. She had imagined that her forearm there would be stick-thin and emaciated from muscle loss, but it was only a little bit thinner. Moving the limb about without the ever-present weight of the cast felt very strange, floaty, and Tabitha awkwardly waved her arm through the air as she stared at the long-lost appendage with a perplexed look.

“Can you open and close for me?” Doctor Schwartz prompted.

She complied—very slowly, and with awkward movements the fingers of that hand closed some of the way and then reopened. Then she tried to stretch out and splay her fingers, but that felt unusual too, and it seemed like it would be a while before she relearned her old range of movement from before. Moreover, the whole forearm was a ghastly shade of pale and it smelled, it had a peculiar old sweat stink so pungent that she almost wondered if there had been chemicals inside the cast—formaldehyde, or something.

“I can, a little?” Tabitha said, nervous all over again.

He had her drop her weakened hand into his, and then he leaned in, readjusted his glasses, and closely examined as he pulled her fingers through several motions. It felt strange and almost uncomfortable, and Tabitha felt as though she was bracing herself for sharp twinges of pain from the breaks—but none ever came.

They were healed.

“Well, I think…” Doctor Schwartz paused for dramatic effect with a grin. “You’re good to go. That wasn’t so bad, was it? You can wash up right over there, soap’s in the little push dispenser.”

“Thank you—thank you,” Tabitha blurted out, trying not to tear up.

She awkwardly shifted forward off of the chair to the sound of crinkling disposable chair paper, and then stepped over to the sink and ran her hand beneath the faucet. The smell was strong and the water was cold in an eerie, intimate way—it was the feeling of wetness after months upon months trapped in a bone-dry cast—and Tabitha still felt like the hand wasn’t quite hers again, just yet. She scooped up a bit of foaming soap from the dispenser and then slathered it up and down across her wrist and forearm, reaching around and then carefully twisting her strange, clumsy new hand beneath the flow of water as she scrubbed.

Scrubbing felt good, and her own probing fingers couldn’t help but delicately work up and down the sensitive areas of skin that had been untouched for all of this time. All of the itches she hadn’t been able to reach were now scratched, all of the long-neglected little muscles there were massaged, and the gritty gross areas between her fingers could finally, finally be swabbed completely clean. It was amazing, and Tabitha spent a little more time than necessary at the sink before shutting the water back off again.

Her hand was examined one more time, and he had her stretch out her hand as far as it could reach and also close into a fist as tightly as possible. She managed both, mostly, but there was a definite disconnect still there where she was struggling to treat the hand as her own. Over time as she had acclimated to the presence of the cast, she had started to forget the thing was even there. Now that the cast was gone, however, Tabitha discovered she had a tendency instead to hide her weak hand in against her chest, as if she needed to protect the fragile thing from everything.

Doctor Schwartz chuckled and gave her reassurances, and told her to take it easy on that hand for another few weeks until she felt it was back to normal. Then, she was guided back out to the reception area to the expectant gaze of Mrs. Macintire.

“Well?! Let me see!” Mrs. Macintire teased, rising up out of the chair. “What hatched out? A normal hand? Or, something else?”

“Uhh, I got one of these?” Tabitha giggled, carefully swinging her hand out away from her body so that Mrs. Macintire could take a look. “It’s just like the one I used to have, mostly!”

“Ohhh, that’s good, that’s good,” Mrs. Macintire crooned, taking the hand as gently as possible and looking it up and down. “No bruises, at least! Everything’s fine? Everything’s in working order?”

“He said everything’s fine,” Tabitha reported. “Oh, uh—but, that I should take it easy, until it feels one hundred percent?”

“What percent does it feel now?” Sandra gave her a smirk. “Fifty? Sixty?”

“Ummm?” Tabitha couldn’t help but smile—she had no idea how to gauge her weird fledgling weak hand in terms of percentage. “I’ll give it a bit before I do anything crazy with it?”

“Alright, alright,” Mrs. Macintire beamed. “It does smell funny.”

“I-I scrubbed!” Tabitha withdrew her hand and cradled it in against her chest. “I did scrub it. I’ll wash it again.”

“You’re fine, you’re fine—I’m just teasing with you!”

Alicia woke up on Friday morning to the hateful bwaahh bwaahh bwaahh of her digital alarm clock, and the sheer infuriating noise of it threw her into an immediate rage. One dark-skinned arm lunged free of the covers and slapped the top to silence the thing as fast as she was able. It was time to get up, but she didn’t want to get up, and not just because she’d gotten perhaps an hour of sleep last night. Stifling dread and more anxiety than any one teen should ever have to bear were stuffed down into her chest to the point where it was difficult to breathe.

It’s not fair.

Casey knew about her secret crush on Tabitha, to the extent that she was able to subtly tease her about it while Tabitha was sitting there with them. Or not so subtly. All because Alicia wasn’t careful enough guarding her words back then. She had admitted on that road trip ages ago that she was buying that F-22 model kit for someone she maybe had feelings for. It had been a stupid, reckless mistake to accidentally be too honest with Casey, just because of their budding friendship. Alicia hadn’t been careful, or maybe she had naively thought to try to keep their relationship authentic by not just outright lying, or—she wasn’t sure anymore what she thought. Bitter regret, shame, and the shock of betrayal burned throughout her insides.

It had been a long night, last night. Alicia had been too keyed up to fall asleep, and watching the evil alarm clock’s numbers tick by past midnight and then creep into the early hours of the morning without ever managing to shut her thoughts off enough to actually fall asleep was maddening. The last glance she for sure remembered catching, the readout had displayed 5:02 AM, which meant she would be trying to operate today on less than two hours of sleep.

Should just come out and tell her! Alicia thought as a sort of manic anger took over. Get it all over with. So that I can move on. Whatever that even winds up meaning. Of course it’s not going to go well. Nothing ever does.

Cranky, she scrambled out of bed and then started wrenching open dresser drawers in search of pants to put on. Instead of folding her clean clothes when putting them away last time she had kind of just shoved them into the drawer, and so when she grabbed a pair of jeans and tugged the garment out of the squashed-full compartment, some other already crumpled clothes spilled out and onto the floor. She held the jeans up, jabbed one foot down a pant leg and shifted her weight upon it the moment it reached the floor, and then wobbled for balance as she tried to do the same with her other leg, jamming her side up against the dresser.

“Ow?” Alicia mouthed, glaring at the offending row of dresser drawer knobs that had just stabbed into her side. “Ow.”

She wanted to kick the stupid thing, but that would only make things worse.

Probably not even a big deal, Alicia told herself. Right? Tabitha probably already knows. Elena suspected already. They probably talked about it. Maybe that’s why Tabs has been kind of distant, lately—she doesn’t want to deal with it. With ME. Who can even blame her? And, if Casey’s already comfortable kind of OUTING me like that? Or hinting at it? That means Matthew probably knows. Everyone probably knows—or, they’re about to soon. It’s not even a huge deal. It’s just that my whole life is over. Yeah.

She had to stop for a moment to take a deep breath and shove down a rush of emotion before it escaped out as a sob.

When Tabitha rejects me—she’ll probably be super weirded out by me even in BEST CASE SCENARIO—will I be able to draw her anymore? Will I be able to fill pages with her lovely face still? She’s my fucking MUSE. After today, will I even be able to LOOK AT any of those drawings of her, anymore?!

Alicia felt sure having a secret crush on the girl had been a constant source of inspiration for her art. There was a whimsical giddy sort of rush imbued in the lines when she sketched out Tabitha, as if instead of pressing graphite to paper she could almost see a distant dream beneath the surface and was scratching it free one line at a time. The drawings hadn’t been explicit—the suggestion of breasts were just a pair of curved lines to show that Alicia acknowledged Tabitha wasn’t flat or anything. Even though many of the sketches were unfinished and raw she’d never been comfortable implying Tabitha was actually supposed to be naked in them, because she secretly fantasized about showing her best Tabitha drawings to the girl some day, and didn’t want them to come off as weird or creepy or as an invasion of privacy.

Although all of them are weird and creepy and a total invasion of privacy?! Alicia wanted to rake her fingers down her face. She’ll know. She’ll absolutely know I’ve been FIXATING on her. It’ll be super obvious just from how fucking often I draw her face wearing different smiles. Her neck and shoulders, the line of her cheek. What do I even DO once all of this comes out? Where do I even try to go? Hang out with the other black kids there at Springton?!

It was hard not to panic and feel like her burgeoning high school life was all about to come crashing down upon her.

Alicia could deal with being the other, to some extent. Although she imagined plenty of the other kids avoided her or kept their distance from her because of the color of her skin, few of them seemed to be as racist as she feared. Or at least, when they were, it wasn’t really directed her way—usually just off-color jokes about how much crime there was over in Fairfield, which as small Kentucky towns go was the nearest place resembling ‘the hood’ without going to an actual large city.

It did rankle, and it would always bother her, but also she had gone to Fairfield middle and knew there were dozens of hoodlum kids all too eager to lean into the wrong stereotypes and pretend they were gang-bangers or dangerous thugs or hard.

She’d always heard stories and rumors aplenty about Fairfield crime growing up, and if you believed a word any of those black Fairfield boys said, all of them secretly had a glock hidden in their dresser or had an uncle in prison who was a Blood or a Crip. However, those were all middle school boys, and all of it was made-up middle school bullshit with no basis in reality, because in her experience all middle school boys were liars. Those same kids would also tell you they were secretly a Power Ranger, or that their gang had a secret hidden base in the sewers beneath Fairfield with an abandoned subway car, like in that Ninja Turtles movie. Fairfield was a small Kentucky community, Alicia knew it didn’t have a subway or elaborate underground tunnel systems connected to Mammoth Caves in the south. Just very normal culvert pipes and ditches and completely ordinary suburban sewers.

Since the very first semester started she’d already felt like the token black girl there at Springton High, because there just weren’t many other black teenagers there… or in the town of Springton at all. There were four others in the whole school that she knew of, and like her—all of the black kids she knew at Springton were social chameleons, and it was dismaying to realize each of them hewed towards some type of easy-to-grasp social archetype. Hell, she herself was Alicia the artist, and then and the only one she actually shared a class with was Deirdra, ‘Deedee,’ a slender freshman girl with stylish Bantu knots in her fifth period… whose interest in getting to know Alicia dimmed and turned into forced smiles or indifference when it became clear they didn’t share the same taste in music whatsoever. Deedee was real into hip-hop, and throughout first semester had established herself in tight amongst one of the half-dozen small cliques of mean white girls.

Then, there was Marcus… which was his last name—the name printed on the back of his jersey. Alicia didn’t know his first name, and no one seemed to ever refer to him by a first name. He was a huge towering upperclassman guy with both fat and muscle in spades, one of the big intimidating football player guys here, and the first thing everyone remarked about him was that he was actually extremely funny. Alicia wouldn’t know, as they’d never personally interacted. He looked like a meathead guy to her, he didn’t seem like her type.

Then, Spencer was a tall sophomore and he looked like a bit like the ruggedly handsome stereotypical jock guy, but was the exception to the rule and actually had nothing to do with athletics. He was instead a band kid with some kind of trumpet-looking thing called a mellophone, and a total teacher’s pet. Spencer was incredibly charming and likely would have been Alicia’s first crush at school, had she not started obsessing over Tabitha. Spencer was much more friendly and outgoing than DeeDee, and band program aside he was also one of their Springton ‘mathletes’ in whatever stupid program that was. In the first week of school Spencer had sought her out, introduced himself, and told Alicia to come to him if she ever had any problems with anyone picking on her for being black—which was touching—and then after that, they’d never spoken a word to each other.

Just occasional nods at each other in passing.

The last black kid she knew of here was Trey, and Alicia didn’t even care what grade he was in; she thought he was a greasy creep. He was a thin, reedy slacker kind of stoner type trying—and failing—to grow facial hair, who wore Bob Marley shirts and those knitted ‘reggae’ beanies, and used an incredibly phony Jamaican accent with everyone. Either because he thought he could get away with it, or because it was a constant source of amusement to himself, or maybe both. He always hung out with a pair of doughy white guys that each looked like chubbier versions of Shaggy from Scooby-Doo, and together they all always smelled like either cigarette smoke or exceptionally skunky weed. From what she’d overheard through Casey and Bill, Trey was actually from Pittsburgh. Not Jamaica.

So; I can be black! I can be Alicia the artist! Alicia fought to keep from cussing out loud as she rifled through the other dresser drawers in search of the top she wanted to wear today. I CANNOT also be the ONE lone gay girl in all of Springton. I just—no. I can’t. I fucking can’t. That’s one line too far. I really can’t. I don’t think I can deal with having all of that on me.

For the past few months, Alicia had been mentally mapping some predictions on how everyone might react. First and foremost on her list of those who would support her wholeheartedly was Mr. Peterson, because in her eyes, he was just cool and alternative like that. The big brawny art teacher would one hundred percent be behind her, and be the one to go to if any of the kids did start bullying her, or persecuting her, or whatever it is high school jackasses did when they discovered someone might actually be gay.

Second, would probably be my dad, Alicia thought, feeling the spike of panic begin to subside. All along he’s been… low-key genuinely paranoid about the thought of me eventually bringing home a boy, or God forbid, getting pregnant someday. Feel like him hearing that I’m maybe into girls would just be a huge relief for him. Mom, on the other hand… she’d be disappointed. Honestly real disappointed. She would hide it, and put on a show of how it’s my life and yeah if I’m really, REALLY sure, then that’s how it is and she supports me… but yeah, she would be disappointed. I can tell.

Her Art Club group of friends would tease her about it, because that was what they did with everything, and honestly it seemed like they maybe probably already knew. Which was why Casey was already putting out provoking lines like that. If it was before, Alicia suspected Elena would have cut ties with her, but perhaps now she thought Elena might not treat her that much differently. Not if Elena’s mentor figure in all of the ‘goth’ stuff was Ziggy, who was openly a lesbian. Ziggy of course would be ecstatic to have her apparent suspicions confirmed, but honestly Alicia didn’t really even like Ziggy that much. Ziggy was an extremely abrasive person, and Alicia didn’t imagine their personalities would ever mesh well enough for them to become friends.

“I just want—” Alicia groaned as she checked her mirror and finished getting ready for school. “I don’t even know. I just. Can we not do this?! Not today?!”

Some sort of relationship with Tabitha in the future would be nice, and it was one of those things to idly fantasize about. But, Alicia did not want to sacrifice the holding pattern she was in now for that super slim chance. She was happy, now—or happy enough. She felt pretty content with where her high school life was at. There were her close friends and then there was Art Club peoples; with everyone she felt like she belonged, much more so than she’d dared to hope back when starting school.

Really, REALLY don’t want to. To toss all that away, and start over from scratch…

“Don’t scratch!” Mrs. Macintire chided in a teasing tone. “Goodness, you’re gonna give yourself a rash, or somethin.’”

“I-I wasn’t scratching!” Tabitha protested with a giddy smile. “I was rubbing.”

They had checked in at Springton General Hospital’s front desk twenty minutes ago and were still seated in the waiting area. Once again Mrs. Macintire had grabbed them both magazines to leaf through, but now Tabitha was too distracted by her new hand to bring much attention to the pages. Which of course was a source of amusement to Mrs. Macintire, who kept looking up from her coffee and folded-over magazine at the girl with looks of exasperation.

“Well, don’t rub too much,” Mrs. Macintire grinned. “We’re in public, and you’re embarrassing me!”

“Aaaaghhh—” Tabitha groaned, plucking and pinching at her hand as she wiggled and stretched long-dormant fingers back to their full range of movement. “It just feels really good!”

Cradling the limb in front of her, she traced the fingernails of her good hand from the inside of a pale elbow all the way up to the inside of her wrist, practically shivering at how great that sensation was. Then, she closed her hand into a fist and rubbed her knuckles back along it the other way—she opened again and grasped the whole way around her arm, appreciating the sheer simplicity of being able to access her own hand without touch being blocked off by that wretched cast.

“Oh, so it’s okay to just rub yourself in public if it feels good, huh?” Mrs. Macintire said in a dry voice. “Sheesh, kiddo—are we really gonna have to have the talk?”

Tabitha let out a squawk of indignation, but both of them were smiling. Groping and grabbing at her own wrist, palm, and fingers in the hour or so after getting the cast off wasn’t a sexual kind of pleasure, but it was incredibly satisfying, and she told herself that she wanted to get it all out of her system before she was dropped off at school. Even more embarrassing was the fact that if she brought her freshly uncasked wrist up to her nose and breathed deep, she could still detect a weird sort of scent, even after all of the scrubbing.

“Would you stop that?!” Mrs. Macintire giggled. “Getting high off your own stink, ew. Ew!”

“I was just checking!” Tabitha laughed, feeling a little mortified as she sniffed at her palm again. “I think that um, that I might want to put lotion on, or something? I swear I can still smell it. Do we have lotion?”

“We’ll give it a couple days to air out, at least,” Sandra chuckled. “I’m sure you’ll be back to normal in a week, or so. Guess I should count my blessings that you can’t be rubbing and scratching and pawing at your skull fracture, huh?”

“I’m very glad they don’t put casts on skulls!” Tabitha rolled her eyes. “Can’t even imagine. I did have a bandage wrap thing, for a bit. Wait—have you never broken a bone?”

“Had my foot in a cast when I was, uhhh—” Mrs. Macintire screwed up her face as she tried to remember. “Twenty-something? Around then? Skiing accident. Had to wobble around with crutches jabbed the whole way up my armpits for ages. That was no picnic. You? Pssh, you got off lucky, don’t have to deal with all that nonsense.”

“Me, lucky?” Tabitha couldn’t help but stare at the woman. “I’m hospitalized with a new injury like, every other month! Let alone all the constant family issues and, and problems and stuff that make me feel like I’m on the verge of a mental breakdown!”

“You’re a teenager,” Mrs. Macintire laughed. “It’s supposed to be like that.”

“It is not!”

“When I was right around your age…” Mrs. Macintire mused. “Listen, I had been kinda-sorta dating this real sweet guy, but we hadn’t made things, um, official, just yet? Turns out, the guy had been kinda-sorta also dating one of my friends, at the same time? And, yeah I guess I found out about it in the worst possible way. I saw red. I, uh, well I all but dragged her off of this table the next time I saw her, screaming and clawing at her, and um, well it wasn’t pretty. I did get a fistful of her hair! Wish I’d kept it. We didn’t talk again for four, five years? And, we were never close ever again.”

“Wow,” Tabitha blinked. “But—”

“Right around that same time, my brother got into drugs,” Mrs. Macintire continued. “My older brother, he’d just gone off to Ohio State College. He was tall, good-looking, popular. Enough so that around school, everyone knew me first as his little sister, and as my own person second, or not at all. Was always just Chad’s little sister to everyone. He was into theater and chorus and all that, loved being up on stage, the stupid smarmy prick. I know your mother was headed towards Hollywood, well I think Chad only had eyes for Broadway musicals. Cats, Chicago. Rent. Grease. All of those.”

“Springton High is doing The Wiz,” Tabitha murmured. “I just found out.”

“Good Lord,” Sandra shook her head with a wry smile. “That one, too, I’m sure. Well, our Chad could do no wrong, and after that first time my parents were convinced somehow that it was some kind of one-time-thing. Just a silly, embarrassing mistake—because he was Chad, and of course he should know better. They assumed he had learned his lesson, and when next he called and said he’d run into this or that little hiccup and needed some money, they trusted him and sent it.”

“...Oh, no,” Tabitha’s brows furrowed.

“So, it happened again,” Mrs. Macintire said. “And, again. And again. Heroin, crack-cocaine, pills of some kind. Uppers? I don’t even know. My parents could not understand. Refused to understand. Each time, they thought it would be the last, and that he’d finally uh, gotten all of that out of his system, and moved on. Grown up. Until the last time—we got the call that he could not be resuscitated. He was just… gone.”

“I’m so sorry,” Tabitha said.

“It’s okay,” Sandra said, putting on a strained smile. “At the time, I was just so much more angry than I was sad. Always will be, maybe? At him, at them—at everyone. This was right around the time I was, uh, fighting with my friends, going through this difficult time, and of course it meant that when it was my turn to go off to college, my parents are like—absolutely not. No way. You’re not leaving our sight. What if you get into drugs?!”

“Sheesh,” Tabitha said.

“Yeah,” Mrs. Macintire said. “Too little, too late, wrong child to be fussing at. Well, at that age that just made me angrier at everything, and I already had a temper, so yeah. I probably wasn’t a joy to be around for a few years. Certainly not when I had to be on crutches, on top of that! It was a… yeah, a very difficult time. I think we all go through it.”

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“That… helps put things into perspective, some,” Tabitha admitted. “Thank you. I guess because of everything—the shooting, the uh, the nonsense at school. Then, Halloween…”

“I mean, that is a lot of nonsense,” Mrs. Macintire smiled. “To be fair.”

“But, it was starting to put me into, uh,” Tabitha floundered for the right word. “Main character syndrome, I guess? Where I start to actually believe that since all of these things are happening to me, then yes surely I must be the protagonist. Because, everything’s happening to me.”

“No, I get it,” Mrs. Macintire said. “I’m right there with ya. I was one hundred percent the protagonist of my life story, right up until the moment I had Hannah.”

“Then, she took center stage?” Tabitha guessed.

“Yep,” Mrs. Macintire sighed. “How could she not? She’s such a little diva! I think she does share that stage with you, now—you’re a lead character in her story, for sure. We’ll get you top billing. But yeah, mostly everyone thinks of themselves as the protagonist in their own story, right?”

“I didn’t, not for a long time,” Tabitha shrugged. “I was just… there. In the background.”

“Well,” Mrs. Macintire sighed. “S’not always easy and fun. It does start to wear at you, doesn’t it? Center stage.”

“It’s exhausting!” Tabitha groaned. “I hate it. And, I love it. I, um, I kind of decided to myself that I want to be popular, or at least try to, at least once in my life. Be uh, be part of the in crowd, have attention, and so many friends, and make so many memories, and be cool in high school. But then also—I don’t know. It’s also just so horrible, it shows me sides of myself I don’t like to discover, it, well…”

“Yep,” Mrs. Macintire nodded. “In my own head, I was always like, I’m such a good person. I’m the nicest person I know! I would never do this or that. Had myself convinced. Then, push comes to shove and I’ve uh, tackled one of my ‘friends’ in the lunch room and I’m having this insane catfight—I got suspended—and, yeah. Wasn’t fun to learn all that about myself. That I have a temper, that when things get past a certain point, I don’t control that temper at all. Don’t have control. It was scary.”

“Yeah,” Tabitha frowned. “Yeah. Just this past week I’ve caught myself, um, saying things I never would have thought I would say to people. The words just—come out of my mouth. And I’m like, huh. I guess I’m not the person I thought I was. It’s so… disappointing.”

“It’s part of growing up,” Mrs. Macintire assured her. “Completely natural. And, hey—life has thrown a lot of bullshit at you all at once. When it rains, it pours? You’ve definitely had a rough time of things, Tabitha. I mean, not as rough as I had it, not by half, of course. I had to have crutches. Pssh, girl you got off easy. My armpits were aching, my boobs were hurting, everyone’s like—well, you must be using them wrong, and I’m like, YOU try using them to get around everywhere, stupid friggin—”

“You couldn’t just get a wheelchair?!” Tabitha giggled. “I really don’t think you had it worse than me. Not that it’s a competition!”

“Wheelchair, for just a couple months? Hah, nah,” Mrs. Macintire shrugged. “We didn’t have one handy, and my parents weren't about to drop a couple hundred on one. Around that time I think my friends that coulda pushed me around in a wheelchair woulda rather pushed me off a cliff? Plus, this was in the eighties—wheelchair accessibility hadn’t quite swept the whole way around, yet. Honestly didn’t even know what to do with the crutches after I was done with them—took them with me, but I think they’re still shoved in a corner of the garage, somewhere? Hell, probably stacked up right alongside those same damn skis, don’t think I’ve ever used them since then, either.”

“Hmm,” Tabitha mused. “What size are they? Where can you even go skiing, around here?”

“That was from all the way back in Ohio,” Mrs. Macintire said. “Here in Kentucky? Yeah, good luck. We’ve got the mountains, but we just don’t get the snowfall you’d need. Only one around here I knew of was General Butler State Resort, and they just shuttered for good last year. Or, year before last? Remember hearing the Williams talk about it, I think they did trips? Nothing to do with me—I learned my lesson. You want to go skiing?”

“Maybe once, just to try it?” Tabitha paused to think about it. “Can you use the skis you have but for water-skiing, like in the summer? Getting pulled behind a motorboat? The Ohio river—”

“Pfft, I wish,” Mrs. Macintire said. “Snow skis and their big stupid boots aren’t made to float, and they won’t come off your feet and letcha swim once you start floundering. Good way to drown yourself. You want to try water-skiing?”

“I don’t know!” Tabitha giggled. “I’ve never done… well, much of anything. Until just recently, I’d never even considered trying a lot of things. I didn’t actually even learn to ride a bike until I was—until I was uh. Until just a few years ago. I’ve never been camping, I’ve never gone sledding. I’ve been to a roller rink now, but still never skated, I’ve—”

“Good lord,” Sandra sighed. “Well, we’ll have to make sure to start taking you and Hannah out and about, then. I know hubby dearest has all sorts of stuff for hunting and camping and all that, already. Hannah has her little Disney princess sleeping bag, that she’s only ever even used for that one absolute nightmare of a slumber party we tried to—you know what, don’t even ask.”

“Was she… not on her best behavior?” Tabitha guessed.

“I can handle one little girl throwing tantrums!” Mrs. Macintire said in a wry voice, taking a long sip from her coffee. “But, when it’s four or five brats, all at once? Not sharing and not making nice and all yelling and screaming and then crying at each other and everything? Good lord—just put me out of my misery.”

“That bad, huh?” Tabitha shook her head.

“You haven’t really seen it,” Mrs. Macintire explained. “You see, you’ve got this elegant and refined Mary Poppins kind of Victorian governess little act you put on, when you’re with Hannah? And then, she tries to copy that and act like you. It’s cute—it’s adorable. But, when she’s amongst her own kind? Six and seven-year-old creatures? Whew lord, they really do bring out the worst in each other. Screaming and squealing and losing their minds over everything.”

“I do not act like a Victorian duchess, or governess, or anything like that!” Tabitha giggled. “Just because sometimes I—”

“Yeah, well I’ve seen how you are instead around teens your age, and it’s a whole different Tabitha,” Mrs. Macintire heckled her. “A normal Tabitha, for once. It was—no, stop, I don’t mean it like that. Listen, it was refreshing. It was like kind of a relief, to see you more… normal?”

“I’m not abnormal!” Tabitha groaned. “You’re—”

“Okay, Abby!” Sandra scoffed. “Abby Normal.”

“I think you just like to bully me!” Tabitha said. “If you—”

“True!” Mrs. Macintire admitted. “Too true.”

“If you’re around Karen, you don’t bully me so relentlessly like this,” Tabitha complained with a small smile.

“Also true,” Mrs. Macintire took another sip. “Because, then she’d gang up on me! I have to mess with you only whenever I can get away with it. You see? You’re already learning. Look at all these valuable life lessons you’re getting today!”

“Tabitha Moore?” A nurse called out. “We’re ready for you.”

“No Tabitha today?” Elena addressed the gathering at their usual table in the morning air of Springton High’s back quad. Or, maybe she’s off somewhere with Bobby?

Alicia gave her a frustrated shrug and then returned to hunching over her sketchbook, while on the other side of the table Clarissa could only offer an apologetic wince. Seated next to her but perched on the very edge of the bench, Ashlee had her arms crossed and was staring off into the distant crowd of band kids on the other side of the courtyard. It was vexing to discover that without their whimsical redheaded friend here to attempt to force cohesion, the girls here today would apparently stew in silence rather than deign to socialize with one another.

“Okay,” Elena said, dropping her backpack onto the table. “Whatever.”

What Elena wanted was for someone to notice and remark upon her bold new look today, but that apparently wasn’t going to happen. Because instead Alicia was tense and clamming up, Clarissa was skittish and silent, and Ashlee was her usual hackles up hostile self and made no effort to even acknowledge Elena’s arrival. It was fortunate she had adopted her very gothic mask of total indifference, because she could already sense today would be a very trying day.

But, still! Elena fumed. Come on.

Beneath Elena’s oversized black Johnny the Homicidal Maniac hoodie today a red and black plaid miniskirt was peeking out, and the brand new fleece stockings—black, obviously— worn beneath made the ensemble fashionable and sexy without veering so far as to look slutty. This particular outfit had been held in reserve for longer than she liked, because she had been planning to maximize the way it drew attention to her legs with a specific tall pair of Hot Topic boots. However, those particular black leather boots happened to be exorbitantly expensive, and Elena didn’t imagine she’d be relearning how to walk in those one-inch platform knee-highs until her birthday in early April.

She still thought she looked great in this getup with her black skate-shoes however, and it was hard not to be miffed that no one was apparently going to even say anything about it, because they were too busy feuding over nothing. Which hurt, because this felt like a big deal—Elena had worn nothing but stifling black jeans, baggy black JNCOs, or even more oversized black raver pants since so drastically changing her look after Halloween. This was meant to be a subtle message that while yes, she was definitely still goth, she was also cute and feminine, and open to attention from a certain specific tall guy in third period algebra. So long as he made the first move, and was sensible and not too awkward with his overtures. Elena was honestly even willing to allow him some leeway if he was! Brett was cute.

But, I still wouldn’t mind a little bit of support and encouragement?! Elena sighed. Lift me up a bit before I have to—

“I, uh, I really like your skirt?” Clarissa offered with a hesitant smile. “Is that new? It’s really cool.”

“Hm?” Elena turned so that everyone could better see what she was wearing. “Oh, this? Nah, it’s no big deal.”

Alicia glanced up from her art pad with a pensive look but didn’t comment, and Ashlee was continuing to pretend all of them didn’t exist, so Elena shoved her rising annoyance back down and grudgingly took a seat between them. This was the major downside to wearing a skirt again—she couldn’t sit up on the tabletop itself like an aloof goth-punk badass who spared no concern for common convention. She could only do that when she was wearing pants.

Well, at least SOMEONE said something… Elena thought with a bitter sigh.

Introducing skirts into her lineup had been part of a whole big plan as she steadily evolved her image in preparation for Cheer, and she wasn’t going to let herself feel snubbed. There were already two more different skirts like this waiting to be revealed, along with a whole array of different stockings prepared, from avant-garde red and black stripes to more classic Tim Burton-esque black and white stripes, and then several different fishnet ones to hopefully wear when spring temperatures arrived. Elena really wanted to start wearing those, as well as fishnet fingerless gloves, but her dad was actually starting to push back on some of her fashion choices there.

Just because HE associates fishnet with lingerie or hookers or whatever doesn’t mean the rest of the world does… and besides, I’m almost SIXTEEN, now. I’m basically already an adult, so.

“Where is Tabitha, today?” Clarissa mumbled.

“Probably her bus is late?” Elena guessed. Or, she’s off somewhere with Bobby. When I date—I mean, IF I start dating Brett, will I spend the before-bell time in the mornings over by the basketball court instead? “Alicia—did she wind up going to your Art Club thing?”

“What?” Alicia all but flinched.

“Art Club?” Elena asked. “Wasn’t that yesterday?”

“Oh,” Alicia wore a sour expression. “Yeah.”

“Something happened?” Elena gave Alicia a look. “What’s up?”

“No, nothing,” Alicia shook her head. “I just. I don’t know. It was Art Club? She was there, we got her a shirt and everything. We might be doing concessions for the next musical they have here. Well, we call it an ‘art show,’ but it’s basically just our excuse to sell cookies or whatever during intermission. Snacks. Casey wants to make roman column-looking things maybe. We might try to make a mannequin?”

“Okay,” Elena nodded. So, what’s your whole big problem this morning, then? “Sounds cool.”

“A mannequin?” Clarissa asked.

“Yeah,” Alicia shrugged.

Their brief conversation ground to an awkward halt there, because Alicia wasn’t in the mood to talk about whatever her deal was today, Clarissa seemed either interested or desperate but didn’t have the courage to dig for more details, and Ashlee was still making a show of ignoring them. Drumming her fingertips across the table, Elena found herself turning and scanning the entrance to the back quad for any glimpse of the missing Tabitha.

Instead, she saw that trouble was arriving.

Desiree and Faith were striding forward together towards them in their Springton Spirit Cheer jackets, both of them wearing looks of malicious glee. A surge of panic flashed through Elena at the realization, because while she wouldn’t be facing them alone, Alicia and Clarissa both were the types to shy away from confrontation and weren’t too likely to help speak up for her. Let alone Ashlee, I’ll be lucky if she doesn’t join in and kick me while I’m down.

Pretending she hadn’t noticed the approaching cheerleaders, Elena stiffly pushed her backpack across the table to make more room and then rose up out of her seat to instead turn and sit up on the tabletop. She was careful to mind her skirt etiquette and kept her knees together and pointing down so as not to embarrass herself, but this was now a balancing battle between being out of her comfort zone in her new attire and feeling the psychological need to not be sitting down with the others while she was being challenged.

Now safely on top of the table like a cool kid, Elena made a show of turning her attention to the cheer bitches.

“Awww, where’s Tabitha today??” Desiree asked in a mocking tone, making a show of rising up on her tiptoes to peek over them as if Tabitha might be ducked down behind someone hiding. “We were hoping we’d see her!”

“Yeah, where’s Tubby Tabby at?” Faith laughed. “Lemme guess—she’s scared?”

“She should be,” Desiree snorted. “Yeah.”

“Scared of… what, exactly?” Elena asked in her most unimpressed voice.

“Oh, I dunno!” Faith giggled. “But maybe you’ll find out today?”

“Yeah,” Desiree chimed in.

Alicia had stiffened and slid her sketchpad off of the table and towards her lap so that the interlopers couldn’t observe whatever she might be drawing and comment on it, and Elena noticed that Clarissa had turned in her seat and leaned in a bit closer, adjusted her posture in a way that suggested she was clarifying she was supporting Elena. Of course, Elena had mixed feelings about there, because she still thought of Clarissa as more of a social opportunist than someone she could actually count on to back her up.

“Um… okay?” Elena put on a well-practiced performative wince—not so small that it was too subtle, not obvious enough for them to call her out on it and escalate tension. “Cool?”

“Oh believe me, you have no idea what’s coming,” Faith let out another fake giggle. “If you—”

“Fuck off,” Ashlee blurted out.

The outburst was loud enough to startle all of them, and to her own credit Elena froze for a moment but didn’t visibly flinch in surprise. A glance to her side showed that the previously disinterested girl was now seething at the cheerleaders with a surprising amount of intensity. Bangs swept to one side over her face almost but not quite concealed the eye that was looking in the wrong direction, and all at once Elena realized that Ashlee could channel that same sort of unhinged ferocity that her older sister Erica could.

Actually, Erica’s VIOLENT INCIDENT snowballed with all of the rumors and gossip until everyone forgot that most of the time she was just another ordinary sophomore bitch here at school, Elena realized. Now it’s going to be like, yeah you don’t want to mess with Ashlee either, she could be just as crazy. Her lazy eye thing already made people uncomfortable, and she obviously was not very socially well-adjusted… did she realize that she can LEVERAGE that, and absolutely be a menace?

“Well—whatever!” Desiree forced a smile.

“Whatever,” Faith echoed. “You’ll see. Hah. Later, be-yotch.”

“Ciao!” Desiree left off with another parting giggle.

Then, the pair strolled on past them while making sure to lean in towards one another and whisper, both still displaying snide grins. Elena wanted to relax then, but at that point it became all the more obvious that her position up on the table was drawing way more attention from the rest of the kids around the quad than she wanted. It was too late to get off this horse however, so she stiffened her chin and pretended not to notice everyone’s stares as she adjusted her skirt.

“What the hell were they on about…” Clarissa wondered out loud, looking first to Elena and then turning back to regard Ashlee.

“Who even cares,” Ashlee scoffed.

Elena joined her in examining Ashlee—she wasn’t sure how to feel about having this girl ‘with’ them, especially without Tabitha here to smooth things over. Having someone who would just go off on people who were fronting with them was helpful right here today, but she felt sure Ashlee’s bravado was conditional and would fall flat on its face the moment Brittany Taylor got involved. Let alone how things would with their little friend group here if Bobby joined them, or God forbid Brett—Ashlee’s apparent temper made her a wild card, and now Elena had no idea how the girl might react to anything going forward. The rational part of her mind told her that she should cut her losses early and try to distance herself from Ashlee before the girl made everything worse… but that somber and resolute inner part of herself that had decided to go goth in the first place had a different gut feeling entirely.

“Thanks,” Elena found herself saying.

“I hate those types,” Ashlee said. “They’re so full of themselves.”

“Yeah,” Clarissa nodded.

Is that… is that all it took? Elena blinked. I thought for sure there was no way in hell Ashlee was ever actually going to, well, warm up to us…

“I don’t want to calm down—I want an explanation!” The woman insisted, jabbing a fingertip on the countertop of Springton High’s administration office.

The school dean Mrs. Clara pursed her lips. This morning’s catastrophe in the making was an indignant mother wearing a garish green women’s pantsuit and with wrists and neck both were awash with jewelry in yellows and golds. Large plastic eyeglass frames sported a zebra-stripe motif throughout that Mrs. Clara thought might have been intended to be stylish, and the woman had long sweeping bangs in the front—chunky stripes of blonde and brassy red, it was a mystery which might be her natural color, and Mrs. Clara suspected neither color—while in the back her hairstyle tapered down to short layers until it was almost a buzz cut at her neck.

“First, you say my Desiree baby has been cut from the team? Without any Goddamn real reason!? Then, you say that—”

“Ma’am—” Mrs. Clara tried to interject.

“Then you say that the whole team is being disbanded, just because some spoiled little girl got her panties in some twist over a ‘misunderstanding,’ which—”

“Ma’am—!”

“Which, ooh, I have a lot to say about that baloney!” The woman huffed. “What, so just because she fails to measure up, that means none of the girls can compete? Oh, please.”

“Mrs. Gallagher, we did not ever say anything about the team being—”

“Puh-lease—”

““Ma’am—”

“Ma’am? Ma’am? That’s Major Gallagher to you!” Mrs. Gallagher demanded. “I will be addressed by my husband’s rank! United States Marine Corps Major Gallagher! Am I understood?!”

“Ma’am,” Mrs. Clara intoned in a flat voice. “I’m not sure what your daughter has been telling you, but—”

“Oh, she’s told me plenty!” Mrs. Gallagher sneered. “I’ve already heard about all of this, this favoritism going on, and believe you me all of that is getting squared away, pronto! Do you understand me?! Pronto, it means right fucking now!”

“Ma’am, as far as I’m aware, Coach Baylor—”

“Coach Baylor needs to be brought up on disciplinary actions if she thinks she can threaten, bully, or intimidate MY daughter off of the team because of some, some jealous shitstain of a—”

“Ma’am, I would APPRECIATE if you would let me finish ONE sentence—”

“—Well I would APPRECIATE if all of my instructions are met IMMEDIATELY! PRONTO! My husband is a senior officer, do you understand?! United States Marine Corps! Does that not mean a God damned thing anymore?! Is this or is this not God’s green state of Kentucky, where our service members are given their due respect?! I want whoever’s in charge of this mess standing in front of me in the next ten seconds, or I’m, I’m going to scream!”

“Of course!” Mrs. Clara forced a cheery smile. “I’ll go see if Lieutenant Colonel Edwards—our Principal Edwards—has time to see you. Be just a moment!”

Mrs. Clara stepped away from the front desk and into the back hall while words of outrage continued on behind her. Nancy had ducked down the back hallway after half a minute of dealing with the woman and was surreptitiously adjusting pushpins on the wall-mounted tackboard just out of sight with a guilty smile. A silent eye roll and sigh of exasperation was shared between them, and then Mrs. Clara took her sweet time in heading on several more doors down to Principal Edward’s office.

“Angry mother throwing a fit,” Mrs. Clara announced in a low voice, giving the partially open door a quick knock with her knuckles out of habit. “Service member spouse. About that cheer team nonsense. Just like we feared.”

“Just like we feared,” Principal Edwards echoed with a somber nod.

“Can I send her in?” Mrs. Clara smirked. “Please? Nancy has performance assessment prep she needs to be working on, and you know—she can’t do that if she’s cowering in the back hall.”

“I’m not COWERING!” Nancy called in a harsh whisper from just out of sight. “This schedule was all messed up! Look at this whole column. It’s crooked. Might take… geez oh man, might take a half hour to fix.”

“See?” Mrs. Clara crossed her arms. “This one’s one of those. Can we fob her off on you now, or do you want Nancy and I out there saluting her and saying yes ma’am, thank you ma’am, for her spouse’s outstanding contributions to this country?”

“Army? Navy?” Principal Edwards heaved out of his seat with a sigh. “...Air Force?”

“Oorah,” Mrs. Clara hinted with a grin.

“Huh,” Principal Edwards paused. “Do I know her husband?”

“I don’t know, do you?” Mrs. Clara retorted. “Gallagher, I think?”

“USMC Major Gallagher?” Principal Edwards asked. “Stationed out of Fort Knox?”

“Sounds like that’ll be the one—but, his wife,” Mrs. Clara shrugged. “About Desiree Gallagher, cheer girl causing a kerfuffle with that Tabitha Moore girl. Demands immediate resolution of the situation to her satisfaction.”

“Great,” Principal Edwards said. “Fine, fine. Send her in. I know her husband, at least. Good man, I know he can be reasonable. I’m sure his wife will—”

“Yeah—well I wouldn’t hold your breath on that!” Mrs. Clara chuckled. “I’ll bring her back. Nancy, go make yourself look busy!”

“This girl seems to have done nothing but create problem after problem for our school, and from where I’m standing, the administration doesn’t seem to have done much of anything about it but let the girl rampage wherever she damn well pleases!” Mrs. Gallagher ranted.

“Mrs. Gallagher—”

“She’s caught fooling around with her math teacher, and she barely gets a slap on the wrist for it?!” Mrs. Gallagher was aghast. “Well, back in my day that would have been an instant expulsion! Let alone what—”

“Mrs. Gallagher she was not caught doing anything of any sort—”

“Let alone what else I’ve heard!” Mrs. Gallagher’s voice was rising in pitch towards a terrible crescendo. “Apparently this harlot ran out on her parents and is shacked up with some other man across town—living with this man—who might I add is not her legal guardian! I don’t know what kind of school you’re trying to run here or if you’re with all of that politically correct nonsense where you’re too scared to call a spade a spade, but back in my day we had words for that kind of girl! No matter what age she is!”

“Mrs. Gallagher, please—”

“And, now this little whore wants to be a cheerleader, huh?!” Mrs. Gallagher exploded. “But, the honest, God-fearing young women who’re already on the Springton High Cheer Team put their foot down and said enough is enough! These girls worked damned hard to be able to—”

“Mrs. Gallagher, good morning,” Coach Baylor greeted the woman as soon as she limped into the room, also affording Principal Edwards a nod. “Excuse me, I was held up—I had to ask the other coach to cover my morning class. What’s all this about?”

“Well, apparently some dirty little whore of a freshman is trying to disband the entire cheerleading team just because she couldn’t make the cut!” Mrs. Gallagher all but screamed. “After all the blood, sweat, and tears that my—”

“Mrs. Gallagher please, mind your language,” Principal Edwards warned. “This is a school.”

“The cheerleading team is not being disbanded,” Coach Baylor explained. “That was never—”

“Well then, finally at least someone is doing something about all this!” Mrs. Gallagher roared, throwing a sneer at Principal Edwards. “Thank you. I’m glad at least I can count on—”

“That was never the case—the team was never being disbanded,” Coach Baylor clarified. “Mrs. Gallagher, Faith and Desiree are both suspended from Cheer because of their inappropriate conduct. I’ll not have any of my girls acting in the way that they did, and I’m extremely disappointed in both of them.”

“My daughter didn’t do anything wrong!” Mrs. Gallagher snapped. “Her and Faith being punished, and for what? For being the only ones willing to stand up to some nasty girl like this Tabitha whore—”

“Mrs. Gallagher,” Principal Edward warned again.

“Mrs. Gallagher, I’ll thank you not to call any of the young girls here whores,” Coach Baylor said in an icy tone. “Whatever your daughter has told you about—”

“Oh, well she’s told me enough!” Mrs. Gallagher laughed. “It’s unbelievable. Unbelievable what you’ve been letting that one get away with! And, then the second someone finally stands up and tries to put a stop to it—”

“Whatever you think Tabitha Moore is guilty of, I assure you that—” Coach Baylor began.

“Oh, PLEASE,” Mrs. Gallagher scoffed. “Everyone around town already knows it! She got caught with a teacher already, for Christ’s sake! Now, she’s shacking up with some older man! If for one second you think that—”

“No, she was not, and no, she is not,” Coach Baylor corrected. “The incident with the math teacher was investigated, and—”

“Where there’s smoke, there’s fire!” Mrs. Gallagher sneered again. “If you expect me to believe for one second that—”

“The ‘smoke’ was investigated, and the one ‘starting fires’ turned out to be a very unwell young woman amongst the sophomores spreading false rumors about Tabitha Moore,” Coach Baylor explained. “This sophomore later physically assaulted poor Tabitha in front of a crowd of witnesses. She has since been diagnosed with a mental illness and has been transferred to Kentucky’s Department of Juvenile Justice. The friends of hers that were bullying Tabitha with made up nonsense served suspensions already, and I had hoped we had put all of this mess behind us—you can’t believe how personally disappointed I was that Desiree and Faith treating Tabitha the way they did.”

“What a bunch of baloney,” Mrs. Gallagher shook her head in disbelief. “My daughter didn’t do a single fucking thing wrong, and I’m proud of her for being able to stand up for herself when apparently no one else will! Not even the school! Not even her own fucking cheerleading coach! Who I thought I could trust with my daughter’s safety and well being. Un-fucking-believable! Just—”

“You’re proud of your daughter?” Coach Baylor asked. “For stealing some other girl’s towel from the locker room. They’re not even in the same class! All because of a rumor that this girl and her friend might be trying out for cheer later in the year. Your daughter’s not even—”

“What a bunch of bullshit!” Mrs. Gallagher scoffed. “You know that’s not what really happened. If something like that happened, where it’s just some accident and Desiree just needed a towel—”

“Then, when I asked her and Faith to apologize?” Coach Baylor continued. “They both then instead antagonize the poor girl—”

“Well, maybe that little whore shouldn’t have started all this in the FIRST place!” Mrs. Gallagher retorted, giving both of them looks of disbelief before turning and storming out of the room.

The angry click of her heels down the short back hall was apparent, and then there was a gasp of disbelief from Nancy and the sound of scattering paper as Mrs. Gallagher shoved a stack of sheets off the administration counter in passing—then the door to the Springton High main office rattled as the woman tried to slam it behind her.

“All of this over a towel,” Principal Edwards let out a long sigh. “A towel. This wasn’t anything we should have been raising any kind of fuss over in the first place—you didn’t have to pull girls from the team for this. A write-up and a warning would have sufficed, no?”

“No, Mrs. Cribb was very clear about us keeping an eye out for bullying incidents related to Tabitha Moore,” Coach Baylor insisted. “Mrs. Gallagher wants to cause trouble? Direct her towards the school board.”

“No, what I’m saying is—this shouldn’t have even been an incident in the first place!” Principal Edwards grumbled. “It’s a towel—who cares? This isn’t something anyone should be kicking the whole hornet’s nest over. She took my towel! He looked at me funny! She was flicking boogers! He touched my shoulder! Jesus Christ, they’re kids, it’s always going to be something or other with them. How about we just keep a spare towel or two in one of the empty lockers there, for whenever this kind of thing happens? Then, all of this aggravation could have been avoided.”

“Oh, I’m sorry—were you not aware that Tabitha, specifically, has been targeted by these other girls here before?” Coach Baylor raised her eyebrows at the man. “Was there or was there not a previous incident where other students singled out her belongings specifically for theft?”

“I’m just saying—maybe we can all give it a rest?” Principal Edwards shook his head. “Don’t just jump to conclusions right away. Some girl grabbing the wrong towel in the showers there probably happens all the time throughout the year, and nobody bats an eye. This doesn’t have to be some big premeditated scheme! People grab the wrong coats or umbrellas or what have you all the time. Simple, honest mistakes happen. A warning and a write-up would have been fine. I feel that suspending girls from the team over this very minor little thing is an overreaction, and now look—we have parents like Mrs. Gallagher beating down our door. She won’t be the last, I hope you know.”

“Students came to me to report this because it was not an accident,” Coach Baylor said, fighting to remain calm. “Faith and Desiree were apparently quite pleased with themselves for nicking Tabitha’s towel and gloating about it. Tabitha was targeted specifically. When I confronted them, they spun all kinds of stories that didn’t match up, and when I told them to go apologize to Tabitha, apparently they were rude and mocked her. If they want to act that way, they’re not going to be on my Cheer team.”

“If we escalated every little slight against each other to suspensions, seventy percent of the student body would be suspended!” Principal Edwards explained. “They’re teenagers, for crying out loud—every couple of weeks we have boys throwing some sort of juvenile scuffle in the weight room, or on the football field, or over at the basketball court. Just—what was it, last week? Some kid got a tooth chipped rough-housing around with some other boy, and eventhat didn’t turn into the big ordeal this stupid towel thing is shaping up to be. They get warnings and write-ups first. When they’re repeat offenses, then we hit them with suspensions. Not before. I don’t want to see this blown out of proportion, please.”

“I’m doing what the school board told us to do,” Coach Baylor shook her head. “We were told to keep an eye on this—I’m keeping an eye on this. If any of this escalates and something happens to Tabitha again, hell anything,—calling up the student body to the auditorium and giving them another lecture on the dangers of peer pressure and bullying isn’t going to cut it. Lawsuits are going to fly, and anyone and everyone who could have prevented this will be clearing out their desk.”

“Overreacting on this doesn’t help us, either,” Principal Edwards argued. “It was a towel— not a shoving match, or a catfight between girls, or one girl slapping another one or that kind of hissyfit. Those we see all the time throughout the course of the year, and those get warnings, or three-day suspensions if they’re more serious. I’m not saying you shouldn’t keep a close eye on Tabitha, and I’m very glad to see everyone’s been so diligent about that considering all of those circumstances. But, pulling cheerleaders off the team indefinitely for something so minor—you need to think very carefully about how you’re handling this. This is making a mountain of a molehill and turning into the exact kind of escalation we’re trying to avoid between these girls. A warning and a write up, the girls will learn to be more considerate going forward. Pulling them off the team completely—now we have a whole bunch of girls fuming with anger and this turns into a serious grudge match. This isn’t helping the girls get along better, if anything it’s throwing more fuel on the fire.”

“Okay, fine,” Coach Baylor shrugged. “Sure. They’re already off the team now, but next time we run try-outs? I’ll give Faith and Desiree their fair shake at rejoining. I’ve made it clear how my Cheer Team needs to conduct itself, and the high standard I’m holding them to. Next practice I’ll clarify that to everyone—parents too, if that’s necessary. We wouldn’t want any more Mrs. Gallagahers showing up to ruin your mornings, would we?”

“Fine, fine,” Principal Edwards sighed.

“She pushed all my print-outs all over the floor,” Nancy called from around the corner. “Who does that?”

“I do hope you’re keeping Mrs. Cribb and the rest of the school board in the loop on this,” Coach Baylor continued, shooting Principal Edwards a look. “If this here has been any indication, all the nasty rumors flying around about Tabitha are only getting worse and worse.”

Partway through taking morning attendance for Personal Fitness, Coach Baylor had blown her whistle and recalled the few early-to-appear kids already jogging around and gathered up everyone by the bleachers. Then, Coach Cooke had arrived with the noisy throng of his first period Weight Lifting Class and took over. Coach Baylor spoke with him in a quiet voice for a minute and then stormed off, striding away with purpose… or with as much speed as her limping gait allowed her to. Then, rather than having everyone run, the burly Coach Cooke directed the combined classes to walk laps around the field.

It was a strange contrast, and having twice as many students out here making the rounds meant everyone tended to bunch up into big clustered groups so they could socialize. Also unlike with usual mornings, Coach Cooke walked around the track with them rather than supervise from the sidelines, and in no time at all some of the boys had gathered around the Coach so they could banter with him.

Seeing this as a rare opportunity to hang out instead with friends from the other class, some of the various cliques intermixed—Bobby joining a bunch of the loudest boys from Weight Lifting and Vanessa abandoning her Personal Fitness friends to instead run up and walk with a girl named Jenna. With Tabitha being a no-show for class today, this meant their little group was now just Tiffany, Grace, and Marisa, although Mackenzie was also walking nearby enough to listen in and participate in some of the conversation when the direction of discussion was open-ended enough.

Because the combined two classes were slowly meandering around the track in a giant circle, it became immediately obvious when a group of girls in matching Springton Spirit jackets arrived and stood with their arms crossed just at the edge of the bleachers. They were tall and pretty and mostly older teens who were sophomores and juniors, and so they immediately drew the attention of all of the kids making their way along the track and field loop.

“Cheerleaders!” Tiffany mouthed in a conspiratorial whisper.

“Do they get out of class on Fridays to do their stuff?” Marisa asked. “Not fair!”

“No way, somethin big’s goin’ on,” Tiffany insisted. “I can tell. They’re gonna throw a big commotion. S’gonna be a big ruckus. I can sense it.”

“Commotion, ruckus, Tiff come on,” Grace giggled. “Who even says that anymore.”

“Something’s always going on,” Marisa said with a sigh. “It’s always something. Today what’s going on, is… it’s frickin’ freezing.”

“It’s actually warmer today?” Grace said. “Just, since we’re not actually running laps this time. It feels colder.”

“Desiree and Faith are there with them!” Tiffany exclaimed. “And, they all look super pissed. This is gonna be them trying to get back on the team. I heard they got booted off and it’s this big huge crazy drama, now. Look how pissed they are! Hah. Neener neener neener.”

“Tiff, stooop,” Grace groaned in embarrassment. “Seriously?!”

“They always look that way to me,” Marisa said. “They probably think it’s too dang cold out here, too.”

“Seriously, it’s not even that bad!” Grace laughed.

“I can see my breath,” Mackenzie spoke up from beside them. “That means it’s real cold.”

“See—exactly!” Marisa nodded.

“Wait wait Coach Baylor’s back!” Tiffany confided in a hushed voice. “Look, she’s goin’ up to them.”

“I mean, yeah?” Marisa laughed. “They’re cheerleaders and she’s in charge of cheer, so—?”

“Are they gonna throw a bitchfit?” Mackenzie asked with new interest.

“Sh-sh-sh I can’t hear them!” Tiffany motioned for everyone to quiet down. “Guys, ssh.”

“Tiff they’re like all the way over there, we’re not—”

“Then walk faster! C’mon,” Tiffany whispered, trotting forward.

Grace was mortified to see Marisa hurrying after Tiffany, and with a long sigh that hung in the air as vapor she also picked up the pace to join them. Not wanting to be left out, Mackenzie lengthened her stride as well. The cluster of four girls maneuvered around some of the other small groups ahead of them at power-walking speed, advancing along the curve of the track… and then together they all slowed down to a veritable crawl as they began to approach the front of the bleachers where the the cheerleaders were speaking to Coach Baylor.

“—Neither of them even have any friends,” Desiree insisted. “So, there’s something wrong with them. Seriously. And, it’s not that they ain’t not fittin’ in because oh my God, those MEANIE Cheer girls must be BULLYING the poor widdle girls! It’s ‘cause they have like, some sort of social disorder. Or develop-mental problems, or something??”

“Totally,” Cassidy nodded in agreement. “They’re super mental. Something’s wrong with them.”

“Exactly, they have zero friends,” Faith said. “Everyone who knows them like, avoids them like the plague. Because they obviously have issues.”

“Coach… we work really hard, and we take this super seriously,” Heather spoke up, causing the other girls to fall silent. “We’re here to compete. Not play games. You know we have what it takes to make it to state championships this year. Nationals could be next. This isn’t some, I don’t know, therapy club to like, rehabilitate socially maladjusted girls who have problems fitting in and need like, help.”

“No offense,” Faith scoffed. “But, yeah.”

“Yeah,” Lindsay Dormer voiced her agreement.

As the group of four very slowly walking girls eavesdropping in were about to pass by the cheerleaders entirely and miss out on hearing any more—Tiffany immediately bent down and quickly untied a shoe.

“Hey—guys wait up a sec,” Tiffany called, absolutely shameless.

Grace felt her face already growing red from embarrassment, and it took everything she had in her not to continue on without her friend. Marisa and Mackenzie had already slowed to a stop however, and so they were now all milling about with innocent looks as if it wasn’t obvious they were here explicitly to listen in. Coach Baylor glanced in their direction for a moment, but didn’t comment as the cheer squad continued their tirade in front of her.

“Plus, everyone’s saying that Tabby girl was fooling around with a teacher??” Desiree blurted out. “Who even knows what was really going on, there. Since the school went and buried all that fast, and like no one’s allowed to even bring it up?? Or question what all might have been going on. Which is weird.”

“Super weird…” Cassidy muttered, shaking her head.

“Yeah!” Faith said. “I mean Coach—come on. Apparently she’s even shacking up with some random guy, now? She’s living with this other dude, who like isn’t her family, or her parent, or her legal guardian. Hello??”

“You can’t just sweep that kinda thing under the rug!” Cassidy murmured with a scowl. “That’s super messed up…”

“Exactly. Gawd,” Desiree laughed. “So she already has this super long history of things she’s done, and now if everyone in Cheer doesn’t just, what, look the other way and pretend none of it’s a problem, you guys’ll disband the whole group? What??”

“We don’t want her here,” Lindsay said, crossing her arms. “You literally can’t just force her into things, and expect us all to go with it. That’s super messed up.”

“Not just her, either of them,” Desiree insisted. “The wicca or wiccan or whatever girl, too.”

“I don’t want to associate or be associated with either of them,” Cassidy agreed. “None of us do. Tabby’s always stirring up nonsense and trying to get people expelled over nothing, and the other one Eleanor’s all into—”

“Ee-laynah,” Faith supplied the name in a mocking voice.

“Yeah, the other one Ee-laynah is suddenly all into satanic cult stuff. Or, thinks she’s a witch or something,” Cassidy snorted. “She probably cuts herself. Or like, murders small animals or something. Someone needs to check her backyard for random little graves, ‘cause someone’s probably missing their cat. You know her kind. Like the weirdo ones who sit there and like, pull the wings off insects. Just to get their rocks off, or whatever. A creepy freak.”

“Yeah, a freak,” Desiree nodded. “She can not be on our team. Like not only no, but—hell no.”

“When girls like that don’t have any friends, at all? Um—hello?? There’s probably a reason.”

“We want to focus on our routines and feel safe at Cheer practice,” Heather pointed out. “I don’t mean to be blunt, but we are not there to be your support group for people with… behavioral issues. I’m sorry, but that’s not our job.”

“She was messing around with a teacher—when people complain it all gets swept under the rug,” Faith let out a bitter laugh. “She picked a fight with Chris Thompson, and then he’s not even allowed to defend himself. No, you can’t stand up for yourself, she’s just a widdle innocent freshman! Who was totally faking breaking her arm, by the way. No one breaks their whole freakin’ arm just from someone like, lightly shoving them. It wasn’t even a real cast, you could tell. Yeah, I’m not buyin’ it. Then, there’s that whole thing with the Taylor sisters! Brittany has been trying to tell everyone the truth and what really happened, but the whole school board is just playing blind and deaf and pretending Tabitha is somehow the victim, there.”

Although Grace was plenty outraged by everything these girls were saying, she was already feeling incredibly self-conscious of how they were still standing around listening in, while all of the other kids were all walking around the track. Marisa had chosen to wait until Tiffany slowly finished retying her shoe to bend down and start fiddling with her own shoe, undoing the laces and then beginning to re-tighten them! Other students were slowing to a stop to see what was going on here where everyone was gathered up, and she saw Vanessa’s eyes light up as the short-statured girl began her own approach towards the area.

“I think everyone deserves a second chance, but like, c’mon,” Cassidy griped. “Starting off things with us by throwing around accusations? Trying to get Faith and Desiree booted from the team, so that they have a better shot at making it in? Puh-lease.”

“Maybe don’t steal other people’s stuff, and you won’t get written up?” Vanessa immediately inserted herself into the conversation with a snort. “Like, wow, shocker. Schools have rules.”

“Oh, shut up,” Faith retorted. “Like you even know.”

“Hey, news flash; you don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“It’s none of your bees-wax, bee-yotch.”

“Except they literally didn’t even steal anything, hell-o??”

“Yeah, mind your own business—you weren’t even there. Pipsqueak.”

“Why is she even here, did someone invite the midget to talk?”

“She’s not a high schooler, is she?? I thought she was someone’s little sister, or something??”

“Pfft, yeah like a sixth grader. She looks like she’s in friggin’ middle school.”

“Wow, look how kind and welcoming everyone is?” Vanessa leered speaking in such a rapid voice that it was difficult for them to get a word in. “I say one thing, and then suddenly it’s all sorts of vicious personal attacks about my stature? Really makes ya think, huh? Gee, I wonder if we should just take everything they say with a big ol’ grain of salt, since I guess—”

“No one was even talking to you,” Desiree let out a mocking laugh. “Um, sensitive much? Literally. Wow, someone must’ve struck a nerve there, huh? What—do you got a complex or something?”

“Yeah, pssh like you can even talk,” Tiffany jumped in to stand beside Vanessa. “With how—”

“Excuse me?!” Desiree spat. “Oh, you did not just—”

“I rest my case?” Vanessa put on an insincere smile. “At every opportunity, they’ll—”

“Except you don’t even have a case, duh.”

“Yeah, she’s not even involved in any of this.”

“She’s just trying to stir up drama.”

“Look who friggin’ started all this B.S. in the first place—”

“Girls,” Coach Baylor raised her voice.

“I’ve heard enough. You lot—back to walking. Cheer team, back to your classes for now, please. I have a much better understanding of what’s really going on now, and someone from the school board will be attending our next practice to clarify all of these unsubstantiated rumors with everyone for good. Since apparently this was a much bigger problem than I thought. Until then, I think it would be very wise to keep all of your thoughts about all of this to yourself. Am I understood? Heather? Lindsay? Okay, come on, let’s go. Back to class.”

“That’s not even fair, thoughhh!” Desiree whined. “If—”

“Desiree,” Coach Baylor warned. “You really don’t want to dig yourself any deeper than you already have. Back to your first period class, go.”