RE: Trailer Trash 57 pt 4 (Patreon)

/// This is more like a double teaser, the one I wrote yesterday I couldn't put up until the one I wrote today was done fleshing things out. Sorry!

    After a few more minutes of their Personal Fitness class standing along the edge of the track and exchanging casual talk, the first period Weight Lifting class arrived, a procession of students who appeared annoyed at being led out into the cold. Leading them was Coach Cooke, a large, rather brawny man with a thick neck that led up to a shaved head. In Tabitha’s eyes he looked like one of the celebrity wrestlers her little cousins were so enamored with; perhaps one that had been retired for a few seasons and started letting himself go.

    “Aw—Coach, Coach! Don’t be like that, now,” One of the weight lifting boys laughed. “Listen—”

    “You’re fixin’ to get on my last nerve,” Coach Cooke blustered. “Simmer down, now.”

    “Naw, naw Coach, listen—”

    “Boy, I will put you through that fence here in a minute,” Coach Cooke joked. “Shut your trap, you’re gonna embarrass the whole class.”

    Just as Coach Baylor was ostensibly well-liked by ‘the girls,’ Coach Cooke seemed to exchange in back and forth banter with ‘his boys,’ but there was a difference in dynamic that somehow didn’t sit well with Tabitha. Baylor was kind but also strived towards being a no-nonsense role model, while Cooke oozed machismo in a way that seemed off-putting. Maybe that was an unkind assessment after having only really taken a close examination of the man for a few moments and overheard this bit of talk—but, Tabitha felt inclined to go with her gut instinct on this one.

    “Boys, if you will join Coach Cooke please,” Coach Baylor addressed her own class. “He’ll be going over everything with the men’s locker room with you.”

    “Ladies, you’re with Coach Baylor,” Coach Cooke waved his girls forward. “Go on, now.”

    Another stark difference became apparent—while the balance between girls and boys in Personal Fitness was roughly even, first period Weight Lifting was a class of twenty-some guys and only three girls, and these three had a harried look about them that suggested they would be heading to administration to file for a course change soon.

    “C’mon guys, this way, this way,” Coach Cooke began to bellow, a note of annoyance now in his tone. “Everyone gather up. Move, move, move. Mister Wilson, Mister Martin, and Mister Anderson. Boys—front and center, over here. Now. Not gonna tell you again.”

    In contrast, Coach Baylor seemed to gather the girls milling about just by directing her hand forward, and Tabitha felt a rather immature flash of satisfaction at being the first to queue up. Vanessa was quick to join her, and the others all hurried to follow suit. On the left side of the enormous concrete grandstand structure the boys were congregating in an unruly mass, and on the right side the girls quietly formed a single-file line after Coach Baylor like obedient ducklings. They were the first to enter, and Tabitha shot Bobby a teasing smile before following Coach Baylor inside the hallway beneath the stands.

    “Really, Jenna?” Vanessa muttered under her breath towards one of the Weight Lifting girls joining them. “Weight Lifting? Are you for real?”

    “That’s just what they put on my schedule!” Jenna grumbled. “I’m going to trade soon as I can, it sucks. They’re so freaking loud in there.”

    “And it stinks,” One of the other new arrivals said. “Like, the whole weight room—it reeks in there. What’s the one you’re in called? Phys Ed? I’m switching.”

    “Personal Fitness,” Tabitha answered, and the three girls eyes shot towards her and lingered there for a moment. “Coach Baylor is great, though.”

    “This way, girls,” Coach Baylor ushered them forward. “This door here is ours.”

    Even just the fact that Coach Baylor doesn’t even have to raise her voice with us girls seems like a massive flex over Coach Cooke, Tabitha thought. Is this weird? Is it weird of me to feel this way, all of the sudden? The childish BOYS VERSUS GIRLS thing I saw in Hannah and my cousins was always something I shook my head at, but now all of the sudden it’s like. YEAH. Okay. I feel it.

    Coach Baylor opened the door and led them inside, and each successive girl lifted a hand to keep the door from swinging shut on the next person as they entered. It was brightly lit in here, and the furnishings were old and a little battered but clean enough.

    After stepping inside Tabitha discovered that the footprint of the women’s locker room beneath the bleachers seemed to be a snaking series of back and forth turns, the shape of the room broken up with obstructions. Just as world war trenches zig zagged so that an enemy never had line of sight across an entire trench, so too was peeking in on undressed girls from the hallway door an overt impossibility; immediately upon entering, view was blocked by floor-to-ceiling wooden cubbies, currently all empty save for a waste bin with a plastic liner and a cardboard box with the words ‘LOST AND FOUND’ drawn upon it in marker in a cubby at the far end.

    The cubbies were tall and there were coat hooks within, but as Tabitha exchanged glances with Vanessa, neither made a move to remove their jackets. The frigid air in here wasn’t much of an improvement over the outside, and that didn’t seem to bode well for the weeks to come. Vanessa was tilting her head back and her nostrils were flaring as she tried to judge what she was smelling as she continued on—behind her, Marisa briefly uncrossed her arms to give the wood of the cubbies a rap with her knuckles.

    There was no apparent smell of perspiration, because masking any chance to detect body odor was another assault on the senses entirely. What might have been jasmine and vanilla perfume, cocoa butter lotion, citrus shampoo and even the distinct acrid note of hairspray clashed with one another all at once in Tabitha’s nose. There was a certain unsubtle discordant sort of air unique to womens spaces as different scented feminine products competed with one another for attention, and though it was familiar, Tabitha wasn’t sure she found it comforting.

    As they followed Coach Baylor to shuffle deeper inside, each of them peeked in the lost and found box, where a lone blue-and-white discarded nylon athletic garment of some kind with a Nike symbol on it rested at the bottom. Rounding the first bend past the cubbies, a partition of lockers was next—identical metal lockers like the school hallways featured, this time caked in the same white paint that was liberally plastered across the cinderblock walls and concrete floors here. New combination locks hung from each and every closed compartment, and each individual locker was numbered, but otherwise there was nothing much to see.

    Winding single-file around the next turn, the back of that first section of lockers turned out to be the outside of a large ‘U’ shaped alcove of more lockers, with a low pair of long benches between so that girls could sit as necessary while they were changing or donning their shoes or—more likely—just socializing with one another. This would be the place to be, and Tabitha rather found herself hoping whatever locker she was assigned wasn’t one of those on the outside of the nook where there wasn’t any bench.

    Finally, past the other arm of the ‘U’ shape of lockers, the rear of the room was revealed. On the right there were three toilet stalls, and then on the left it was a big open shower plan; an expanse of clean tile with space for six shower heads. Two shower heads were missing, instead sporting what looked to be a hastily-installed pvc stopgap, and overall the place looked rather… dingy. There were no privacy curtains, and though the concrete floor was textured enough for bare feet to tread without slipping and dipped down towards several drains, Tabitha imagined there would be wet footprints tracked everywhere back and forth between the showers and the locker area.

    To make room for the rest of the girls, Tabitha and Vanessa filed in along the side of the room with the toilets, and within a minute all of the girls were casting skeptical glances around the rather spartan furnishings with crossed arms.

    “Alright,” Coach Baylor sighed. “So—”

    “There’s toilets but no sinks,” Vanessa was the first to interrupt. “So, we wash our hands—where?”

    She’s right, Tabitha realized, finally able to identify what had seemed off. Surely that’s a code violation, or something?

    “I didn’t see a mirror anywhere, either?” Amanda sounded annoyed. “How is there not even a mirror.”

    “Three stalls, only one toilet,” Coach Baylor corrected them, easing open the cubicle doors one by one so that they could see. “We meant to keep all three even through the remodel, but, some girls were fooling around standing on one, and broke the bowl. As you can see. The middle one currently does not flush, so please do not remove the tape on the lid. I was warned by Principal Edwards that if the last toilet is broken or vandalized, it will not be fixed this calendar year, so if you don’t want to have to traipse all the way back out down the hall to use the public restrooms there, please treat it with extreme care.”

    “We only have one toilet?!” Marisa exclaimed, and a murmur of concern went around in agreement.

    “They were kept as a courtesy, and after constant vandalization, the boys’ side has had zero working toilets for the past three years,” Coach Baylor explained. “If it’s an emergency, you have the one toilet in here, and then you can wash your hands from the shower spigot—otherwise, please use the restroom down the hall. If you bring in a little container and a washcloth, you can fill up with water from the showers and wipe yourself down yourself in privacy in the stalls—drip water all runs down to the same drains, so that’s fine.”

    Leaving the cubicle doors behind, Coach Baylor strode to the center of the room and reached up to reveal a thin piece of twine was running along near the ceiling from a hook in the far wall all the way back to a hook installed in the row of lockers. Upon closer inspection there were two lines, and once towels were hung up they would form a modest wall of privacy around the showers area.

    “These are the lines for hanging up your towels. They are for towels only—you don’t hang on them, you don’t play on them, don’t touch them unless you are putting a towel up or taking a towel down. They will not support your weight, and bringing one down will bring everyone’s towels down into the wet mess on the floor—so just, please don’t. It happens just about every other semester anyways, but we’ve had a good year so far, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

    “But—but we paid five dollars for this,” Vanessa complained. “And this all is what we get?!”

    “Five dollars goes towards replacing all of the combination locks every year, so there aren’t any incidents,” Coach Baylor said. “If there’s any money left over, I’ll see about getting a toilet tank kit and borrowing someone who knows what they’re doing to fix the middle toilet. The bum showerheads are a whole separate problem—the bit of cash we collect for locker fees each semester isn’t enough to cover a real plumber, yet. Believe it or not, the athletics department is not flush with money from the school—I’m sure you’ve seen Coach Cooke out there selling donuts in the mornings.”

    “But…” Vanessa still looked aghast.

    “I can see that we’re not impressed, and girls—I get it,” Coach Baylore said. “I like to think most of you are sensible, responsible girls—you cannot imagine how much better this locker room is, compared to the zoo over on the boys’ side. Broken lockers, lockers missing doors, marker graffiti. Damage from flooding, their drains are always backing up—actual turds or whatnot sort of messes left out in the open as juvenile pranks—trust me, we’ve seen it all.”

    “Oh my God,” Grace covered her mouth.

    “Don’t even get me started on the smell. Over there, Coach Cooke will be spending his entire spiel going over what will happen if they continue to act like animals,” Coach Baylor cast a stern glance around until she was sure she had met each and every set of eyes. “I shouldn’t need to go that far, here; my rules are simple. Keep your hands to yourself, keep your eyes to yourself, focus on getting in and out and getting yourself cleaned up for your next class.

    “There’s no reason to be playing around, or roughhousing, I shouldn’t have to tell you that if you run around where it’s wet and you can obviously slip and fall. There will be no snide remarks about each other’s bodies, or bullying, or teasing in here. If there is, if it happens to you or even if you just happen to see it, you come speak to me about it and we’ll be resolving things immediately. You can chat with one another quietly and politely over by the lockers area if you feel inclined to do so.

    “We have one knob for water beneath each shower head, and it will come out warm,” the coach continued, stepping to the side and out of the way to demonstrate.

    With a twist of the knob, water sputtered and then shot out in a steady stream to darken the concrete and then flow towards the nearest drain. After a moment she turned the knob back again and everyone watched as the the spray became a weak dribble and then a slow drip.

    “Not hot, warm, and don’t expect a lot of water pressure. I hate to have to state the obvious, but when you’re not using the water, you shut the water off. If for whatever reason I’m not in here myself and happen to find out the next class that the water has been left running, I’ll determine who was in here, and then everyone’s responsible. That typically doesn’t happen over here on the girl’s side, and again—I’d like to keep it that way. Yes, Amanda?”

    “Can we get a mirror in here?” Amanda had her hand raised. “Like, for real.”

    “Some of the locker doors have mirrors stuck onto the inside,” Coach Baylor revealed. “When I go through and clean everything out at the end of a semester, I don’t remove those. You can buy a small mirror at K-mart or some of the dollar stores around here if you’d like—you’ll want the five inch by seven inch ones, they should come with either a magnetic or an adhesive backing. I would also suggest bodywash, deodorant, either a shower cap or shampoo—a scrubbie or a wash cloth, whatever personal care items, pads or tampons you might like to have in case of an emergency. For everything else—cuts, scrapes, headaches, come see me in my office, I keep a medical kit and have a big bottle of Tylenol.”

    “Um, do we have to be naked?” Vanessa raised a hand next.

    “If you’d prefer more privacy, bring a cup or a container of some kind—I’ve seen girls bring tupperware—fill it with water from the shower, and then wash yourself in one of the toilet stalls,” Coach Baylor explained.

    “But—what if the stalls are all gross?” Vanessa kept her hand up. “And—what do we do about if it starts to smell? I literally can’t be in here if it smells.”

    “You said five inch by seven inch?” Amanda asked. “For the mirrors. How much are they?”

    “It’s not that bad,” Tiffany said, giving the room an experimental sniff. “It’s really not that bad? It’s way worse out in the hallway.”

    “I can still smell it,” One of the girls murmured. “Smells like tampons.”

    “Chrissy—ew.”

    “How many changes of clothes should we have here?”

    “It will smell like sweat on busy days,” Coach Baylor held up her palms, helpless to prevent that reality. “I’m sorry, but that’s just how it is.”

    “I could keep a can of Febreze in my locker?” Tabitha suggested. “Is that okay? Also I uh, I brought my towel.”

    “You can go ahead and put your towel up,” Coach Baylor seemed pleased someone had remembered. “As for things like spare clothes—I don’t recommend you keep clothing in your lockers. Sweaty clothes you’re changing out of I would suggest you put into a grocery bag you can tie shut, and put right back in your book bag to take home.

    “Likewise, fresh clothes from home should come out of your book bag and go on your body—there are no washing machines here and this is not a laundromat, so there is no reason to keep your musty clothes here. If you leave them, they will smell, and then they become everyone’s problem. Please don’t become everyone’s problem. If you need grocery bags to put sweaty clothes in, I’ll have a big bunch of them over by the cubbies by tomorrow. Any other questions?”

    There were many, and in no time at all the enclosure was echoing with voices. The theme of the questions however began to tilt from honest inquiries about procedure towards probing ones in how much time they could get away with—because there was no wall-mounted clock in here, Amanda and the weight lifting class girl Jenna seemed to building an excuse to always be late for their next class. These weren’t new and untested boundaries however, and a large signboard of written rules was presented that left little room for them to exploit. Tabitha read them over in a single glance and found them all of the common sense rules variety, but all the same a small crowd of girls huddled up near the sign in search of loopholes or issues.

    Her focus was elsewhere—Tabitha had shrugged off the strap of her bookbag and unzipped it to unfurl her snazzy red and white Coca-Cola Polar Bear towel, and most of the girls watched with interest as she stepped across the room, reached up, and began slipping it over the first clothes line. There it hung on proud display—the first towel up of the new semester. To her surprise, Marisa immediately joined her, pulling out a towel of her own and hanging it next to hers—while Tabitha’s was a larger beach towel, Marisa’s was a smaller but much more plush bath towel, light blue but with pink flowers tastefully adorning a decorative band.

    “Nice,” Tabitha nodded in approval.

    “No, no way,” Marisa grinned. “Yours is way cooler. I’m jealous.”

    “I was gonna bring one, ugh,” Vanessa complained. “But, I need a new one. All the ones at home are either plain normal ones, or old disney ones from when I was little.”

    “I just completely forgot,” Tiffany admitted. “Need to remember to bug my mom, dangit.”

    “Miss Baylor—” Grace began to ask.

    “Coach Baylor,” Marisa teased.

    “—Coach Baylor,” Grace laughed. “Are we allowed to use the showers today? Since we were running? Or…?”

    “Last ten minutes of class, yes,” Coach Baylor answered. “In the meantime—those of you who have already paid for lockers, I’ll be giving you your combinations now. Please write them down somewhere and keep that safe, and please do not trade lockers or let anyone else know your numbers. You are responsible for your locker, so just like with the regular school lockers in the halls, we don’t want you ‘holding a baggie of weed for a friend’ or sharing space or letting friends have access.”

    A giggle of surprise went around the room—Coach Baylor was so straight-laced that joking about them having drug contraband in a locker came as a surprise. It made Tabitha wonder if their coach was more relaxed and personable with her cheer team girls. The prospect of being on more familiar terms with Coach Baylor seemed like it might be a sign of status in Springton High, but it was hard to tell how the social hierarchies really fit together. 

    In first period here, it seems like Vanessa and then I guess Amanda are the ‘popular’ ones, Tabitha stole a glance at each of the girls. Or, maybe not popular, that’s not the right word. Confident? Aggressive? But, then at the same time, they’re not ‘cheerleader’ girls, both of them seem the type to balk at doing anything that requires an ounce of effort or exertion. How do THOSE types of popular mesh with the, I guess, STEREOTYPICAL CHEERLEADER type of popular? I don’t know that I’ve ever seen those kinds interact with each other. I’ve been too busy hiding away from all of that.

    “Tabitha Moore?” Coach Baylor called. “Locker number sixty-one. Have something to write down the combination with?”

    “Um,” Tabitha jolted, scrambling to reach for her book bag. “Yes—one second.”

    As she found a pen and piece of paper Tabitha was thrilled to notice Grace putting up a faded and slightly threadbare Scooby Doo beach towel up just beside Marisa’s on the line. With the breadth of the room their three towels took up a tenth of the first clothes line, and Tabitha was forced to wonder how many girls from each class wound up having towels at school.

    “Mom said I had to take in this old one,” Grace seemed embarrassed. “In case it gets lost or stolen or something. It’s from forever ago.”

    “It’s totally cool,” Vanessa assured her. “A towel’s a towel.”

    “Don’t sweat it,” Tiffany nodded. “Get it? Sweat? Guys—I’m hilarious.”

    Tabitha’s assigned locker was on the outside of the alcove rather than the inside, but it was a top one and pretty convenient to access—Tabitha spun the combination to the instructed 4-6-4 to reveal a bare metal box. She didn’t have anything to put in there just yet, having decided to bring her things in once she was cleared for physical activity again. One of the other girls she hadn’t been introduced to was given a locker in her row and they shared a polite smile.

    When she closed her locker and fit the lock back into place several other girls were now surrounding Coach Baylor to sign up for a locker or digging out money to pay for one. Vanessa was inspecting the toilet stall with the broken bowl as if intending to reserve it for her exclusive use, and so Tabitha joined Tiffany, Grace, and Marisa as they stood nearby to chat.

    “So, uh,” Tiffany said. “Grace and I are best friends, have been since we were ‘bout yea high. Kindergarten or so? We went to Springton Middle—Vanessa went to Springton Middle. You guys?”

    “Laurel Middle,” Tabitha confessed.

    “I’m from Indiana,” Marisa shrugged. “Mom got divorced and we moved, and uh—here I am?”

    “You’re new to Springton?” Tiffany asked.

    “Eh, kinda. Grandparents are here,” Marisa said. “Used to spend the summers here. It’s okay. Miss my old friends to death.”

    “Aw, that really sucks,” Tiffany frowned. 

    “Where at in Indiana?” Grace asked.

    “Lawrenceburg, it’s right on the Ohio river,” Marisa said. “And the Ohio river is—yeah, just imagine if like the boy’s locker room was a body of water. It’s super gross.”

    “Ew,” Tiffany laughed. “Still, though. Do your friends keep in touch?”

    “Kinda?” Marisa hedged. “I guess not really. Everyone’s starting ninth, so—yeah. Busy with their own problems.”

    “I’m so sorry,” Grace said.

    “As if high school isn’t hard enough to deal with as it is,” Tabitha agreed, nodding along.

    “Well, I mean like—it’s not that bad,” Marisa laughed. “Like, not compared to all the stuff I hear about you. Compared to all that—hah—yeah, I just keep my head down? I’ve made a few new friends, at least.”

    “I’m um,” Tabitha felt her face flush red. “I’m trying to do better? Turn over a new leaf? Again. Another new leaf.”

    “You seem fine to me!” Grace said, adjusting her glasses. “Normal, I mean. I don’t see why everyone has to spread all sorts of nonsense.”

    “Because they’re jealous,” Vanessa said. “Bunch of bitches.”

    “Because—it’s entertaining!” Tiffany beamed. “I love all the gossip! I’ve heard your parents are dirt-poor druggies, or that they’re rich yuppie slum lords and own the trailer park in town. That you’re pregnant and that it’s Matthew’s, that you’re preggers and it’s Mr. Simmon’s, that you’re preggo and it’s Chris Thompson’s. I think current word is that you’re after Micheal Summers? No good news yet on the baby there, though, which is a shame. I’ll keep an ear out, though!”

    “Tiff—please,” Grace looked mortified.

    “I heard some of those,” Vanessa confirmed, returning from the stall with her arms crossed in front of her. “Elena was making a big deal about it, saying how sophomores were all just making shit up.”

    “They say you were as fat as me, but go lipo!” Tiffany continued with a grin. “That you’re actually not really the real Tabitha at all, but like some kind of identity imposter. That there was some crazy police conspiracy or coverup or something you were involved in with the South Main Shooting. Where that officer died, back in October or whatever. That Erica Taylor and you had some crazy blood feud death match over one of the boys, story’s not set in stone as to who. I like to imagine it’s just all of them? Because that’d be the most awesome. Anywho, whole ton of people got expelled over all of it, but now you’re back, and—”

    Oh my God, Tabitha covered her face with her good hand.

    Against all of her expectations, the heavyset girl in their little group wasn’t shy and quiet at all once she got going—for some reason Tabitha had subconsciously assumed that Tiffany was more of a reserved type like her friend Grace. Instead, she was a talker, instead Tiffany grew more and more animated the more she spoke, and there was a certain glee visible on her face in revealing all of the things she had overheard.

    “No officers died, and the one is making a full recovery!” Tabitha tried to correct Tiffany with a wince. “And, it was only two people that got expelled! Actually, I think Erica just got transferred to a special reform school, so just one expulsion! Technically. The Chris who broke my wrist. And, ‘that I’m not really the real Tabitha?’ Have you been listening to Ashlee?! Ashlee Taylor?”

    “Erica’s sister?” Vanessa asked. “The one Clarissa said was talking shit about you?”

    “Yes,” Tabitha sighed.

    “Yep! She’s a hoot,” Tiffany chuckled. “Hah, listen to you, ‘but no officers died, and the one’s makin’ a full recovery!’ That’s gold. But yeah, I have Ashlee in my English class, with Coach Cooke? Sits on the one side and just glowers at everybody. She’s for real just not having any of this school life. Me? I love it.”

    “I uh, well I do think that she could use a friend—” Tabitha started.

    “Oh, I can tell, but yeah I dunno if I fit the bill,” Tiffany shook her head. “She’ll talk bad about you and me and anyone else once you get her goin’, but then somebody asked about the stuff with her sister and—whelllp. Bit of a sore spot, yeah. Touchy! I’m not in her same row, but I do listen in. Think she’d just as soon shank me with a pencil as say ‘good morning.’ Heard she has only one eye, I think? Can’t quite tell. I enjoy being pissed off at the world as much as the next girl, but me? Nah, I think I’m more the social butterfly type, who just wants a little bit of everything? You know? Not that I—”

    “Tiffany Myers,” Coach Baylor warned. “Keep your volume down, please. And—not everything you hear bears being repeated, okay?”

    “She’s so sorry,” Grace blurted out, covering Tiffany’s mouth. “She, she has a condition.”

( Previous, 57 pt 3 | RE: Trailer Trash | Next, 57 pt 5 )

/// The condition is that she's a motor mouth.

/// One of my pet peeves I think in reading 'school life' genre fiction with schools and classes and the friend groups in general is them just feeling unrealistically small. I may be overcompensating by writing out the extended cast to so many new characters, but I do feel like that's necessary to set up the framework for a more realistic feeling high school experience as we move forward. Was never going to believably portray Tabitha as growing popular if she only had just one or two new friends... even if that would be much easier to write. Whether or not I can pull it off--who knows? RE: Trailer Trash is experimental in all kinds of ways. Hopefully with this post readers have a better grasp of the emerging 'personal fitness' clique here.

/// No, I don't want to write Bobby POV so that we can see the boys locker room right now. That would be like a genre change into grossout horror.