RE: Trailer Trash 52, Moving On. (Patreon)

/// The complete chapter 52!

It was high time for him to get to the bottom of all this nonsense.

Mr. Moore’s truck rumbled down a long, desolate stretch of Fairfield road. This wasn’t the close areas of nearby Fairfield that were on the periphery of his own service area—no sir, this was way out past the other side of the interstate, and then some. Easily a forty minute drive, and one he felt a little guilty for not having taken before. He’d visited his brother when he was still at the local lockup, but after that first week Daniel had been transferred to ‘county,’ which had existed to Mr. Moore only as a hastily scribbled address beside the note ‘Danny jail.’

Well, I’ve talked to him on the phone, at least, Mr. Moore scowled as he finally saw the sign he was looking for. Know for sure I’m on his visitations list or what have you.

The sign for the county corrections facility teased the end of his trip across Fairfield, but after making the turnoff there was another five minutes of empty road. There wasn’t much of anything out here this way, which of course was the point. The corrections place was isolated, and when he finally arrived at the proper location tall fences appeared and the pavement gave way to a freshly graded gravel road, forcing him to lower his speed for the final stretch.

He hadn’t been sure quite what to expect at seeing the place, because his only impressions of prisons or the like were from movies. Rather than historical brick architecture like he remembered from Shawshank Redemption or some Hollywood style of brutalism that made an imposing statement for cameras, this correctional facility was—well, it looked pretty bland and boring. Boxy two-story concrete structures painted white, simple as could be, and with no adorning features or decorations to speak of. There were no hedges, no shrubs, nothing at all that could impede visibility; nowhere to hide or sneak about, obviously.

It looked like the unloved offspring of a down-on-its luck community college and a military base.

Further slowing his vehicle as he approached a gatehouse, Alan rolled down his window. A black woman in a coat was waiting there with the window slid open for him.

“Hey there,” Alan greeted. “Alan Moore, here ‘bout seein’ my brother. Daniel Moore?”

“Visitation?” The woman asked.

“Yes ma’am.”

“Have you visited before?”

“Nope, first time,” Alan admitted with a pang of guilt.

“Do you know if you’ve been put on your inmate’s visitor list?”

“Well yeah, I sure should be, he said I was,” Alan nodded. “From what he was sayin’, I didn’t need to call in an appointment or nothin’, I could just show up?”

“Within hours here you can, we will still need you to fill out a visitor’s application,” the woman informed him.

She paused to grab a clipboard from atop a filing cabinet and then leaned out to pass it to him through the window. It was a simple affair, asking for his name, address, phone number, whether or not he was a convicted felon or had been incarcerated before, whether or not he had outstanding warrants, had protective orders, was on probation or parole. It only took him a few moments jotting down all the answers as he braced the clipboard against his steering wheel, and then he passed it back over.

“Alright sir, thank you,” The woman glanced it over. “If you have some form of I.D. then, this should only take a minute or two.”

“Sure, yeah,” Alan rose up in his seat so he could fish his wallet out of his back pocket.

After providing his license, the woman took it and closed the window, sitting back down and clicking away at a computer on her desk. It was interesting seeing computers popping up everywhere nowadays, but he supposed that was just the direction the century was heading. He’d heard library card indexes were already going the way of the dodo-bird, and before too long just about everybody would be using computerized databases and learning programs and systems and all the jargon and technical-nonsense that went with it.

Computers—bet Tabitha already knows all that stuff by now, Mr. Moore thought to himself. She for sure had that typing class in—what was it, sixth grade? Sure as heck remember her bitchin’ and moanin’ ‘bout it, we were all laughin’ up a storm. They had her her typin’ out ‘A SAD DAD AS A LAD…somethin’ somethin’ ALFALFA FALLS AS A FLASK.’ Hah! All those silly ones they had ‘em when they’re first learnin’ the right finger keys. And, they were all using computers instead of typewriters, already! Shannon took that kinda course as an elective—back in my day, I don’t even remember if it was offered at all. Nowadays, I think they have computer labs for all of the kids.

“Alrighty sir, here you go,” the woman slid the window open and passed him back his ID. “Visitor parking is right down there and on your left. You’ll want to go straight in through the doors there, and they’ll check you in. Alright?”

“Sounds good to me,” Alan slid his license back into his wallet. “Thank you.”

“Yep yep,” The woman said.

She reached up and hit a button or a switch of some kind, and then the tall chainlink fence gate started to roll away. It didn’t have a loud accompanying loud buzz or anything like it should have from movies, but all the same Alan rolled up his window and started the truck forward again. There wasn’t a yard full of hardened inmates in jumpsuits he could gawk at, nor were there stern guard officers patrolling about with shotguns out—his first look at a correctional facility was a pretty boring one. Routines and procedures and common-sense security stuff just didn’t make for entertaining television, Mr. Moore surmised.

He parked in the nearly empty lot, shut off his engine, and stepped down out of the truck. He made his way over through the double-doors of the clearly labeled visitor’s center, and the counters and waiting room there might as well have been borrowed over directly from a dentist’s office, because he couldn’t rightly see any differences.

“Hi there, here about seein’ Danny Moore?”

“Sure thing,” an overweight balding man at the counter said. “Have you been here before?”

“First time visiting,” Alan said with a frown.

Well, it turned out they asked that for a reason, and now Alan discovered there was a whole big spiel to go through about what was and wasn’t allowed. There was a dress code policy, he couldn’t bring in his car keys or any jewelry save for his wedding band, he had to consent to a brief pat down, and et cetera. He nodded along as the man covered all the relevant points, realizing what he was wearing seemed fine—he could turn out his pockets and just find his keys and wallet. The rest of the measures seemed to be just to ensure sensible attire that wasn’t inappropriate, or the likes of which that would be easy to smuggle contraband inside. Nothing he had to worry about, he was a simple man and here with a clean conscience.

A younger officer came out for the search, which was just a brief check as the guy tapped his hands across Alan’s pants and shirt and felt around what must have been likely places to conceal things. No rubber gloves came out, no one asked him to drop his pants or turn his head and cough, so after a brief awkward moment he was declared fit to visit, and then—well, then the wheels of bureaucracy within the county department of corrections here lurched into motion and it was time to wait.

Ten minutes passed, and then twenty, and Mr. Moore passed the time away between disinterested perusal of a Health and Lifestyle magazine he found on the corner table, and bored glances at the wall-mounted clock. An older woman came in, probably some inmate’s mother, and Mr. Moore was in for a treat and got to overhear the same exact speech about visitation policy recited, all over again. He was contemplating crossing his arms, leaning back some in the chair, and attempting a quick nap, when an officer finally came out and called his name.

The corrections officer led him down a hallway and into a large room full of tables that might have served as a canteen or cafeteria, save for the fact there was no attached kitchen, no vending machines, just a row of tables with an office overlooking them through a glass window. An inmate and a woman were chatting on the far side, and then right here before him on this side his brother Danny was waiting for him.

Rather than the iconic orange prison jumpsuit Mr. Moore had imagined, or even something stereotypical like black and white stripes, the attire here seemed a lot more like the navy-blue scrubs a nurse or doctor would wear. Danny was much more pale than he remembered, his hair was cut short but not styled, and his incarceration so far had perhaps made his familiar figure a bit more lean.

“Hey, Al,” Danny remarked, gesturing for him to take a seat. “Damn, this sure is a surprise. Thought you’d all forgotten all about me.”

“Yeah,” Alan chuckled, still looking around. “Thought there’d be some, I dunno. Some kinda glass partition ‘tween us, to where we havta talk to each other through a phone, and all that jazz.”

“That’s uh, yeah, that’s no-contact visitation,” Danny gave him a sober nod. “Think that’s just for the real fuckups. It’s usually just like this—or, so I hear. Nobody’s exactly lining up to come visit your poor l’il brother.”

“Good to see you, Danny,” Alan stepped in and leaned over the table to give his brother a handshake and clap his shoulder. “How you holdin’ up?”

“Same shit, different day,” Danny shrugged. “This here’ll be the most exciting thing that’s happened all month. So—what’s up? What’s goin’ on?”

“Well,” Alan eased himself down into the seat across from his brother. “Actually, came to talk to you about Lisa.”

“Aw, fuck,” Danny swore. “The fuck’s she done now?”

“Have you heard any—” Mr. Moore paused. “How much of what all’s goin’ on outside have you heard about?”

“Absolutely zip,” Danny shook his head. “She hasn’t visited me not even once, yet. Figures.”

“Christ,” Mr. Moore swore. “So—so, you haven’t heard anything about her at all?”

“That’s what I just said, yes,” Danny gave him that familiar look of irritation. “So?”

“So… Lisa’s gotten herself into some trouble,” Alan finally admitted. “They think she was gettin’ herself into heroin.”

“Yeah, no shit she’s into heroin,” Danny rolled his eyes. “Everybody knew that, damn.”

“She—” Mr. Moore froze. “Danny, what the hell are you talking about?”

“God damn,” Danny laughed, leaning back in his seat and putting a hand over his head. “Brother of mine—you are such a dumbfuck. It—to this day, it continues to just blow my mind. Jesus Christ.”

“So, so—you knew about this?” Mr. Moore demanded, incredulous. “Danny—you guys have kids, what in the hell were you thinking?”

“Hah, the kids,” Danny shook his head. “How are they, by the way? Good? Okay?”

“What the hell were you thinking?”

“We were thinking—we were thinking it’s nobody’s business but ours what we do,” Danny gave him an expressive shrug. “The fuck do you want me to say? We weren’t shooting up right there in front of them. S’private time shit, and all that. They go outside and play, they go and play their video games, they didn’t never see a thing. They’re fuckin’ kids, what do they care?”

“But, but—” Alan didn’t even know what to say to that. “Danny—”

“So, what’s the problem?” Danny cut him off. “What kind of trouble’d she get herself into? Warrant out for her arrest, she run off? She locked up? What’s goin’ on?”

*     *     *

“An’ then he just says—yeah she’s into heroin,” Mr. Moore still appeared absolutely flummoxed. “As if it’s no big deal. Just—yep, she sure was. I don’t understand it! I don’t understand it.”

Mrs. Williams had been thrilled when the man had called and asked if they had a copy of Lisa’s record and transcripts. Finally, progress bringing the dolt around! She had whirled off to the police station right away. Bustling through with the usual cordial hellos and thank yous and see you soons after borrowing their big photocopier, she had a stapled sheath of paper to present to the bewildered man when she arrived at his mobile home.

They were sitting now at the tiny dining room table the Moores had, and she was trying to help him process all of this. It wasn’t ever going to be an easy thing to come around to, and he’d barely done more than glance through the papers she’d brought—Mr. Moore had driven out to see his brother at county, who had simply confirmed that yes, Lisa was into heroin. Both of them had been.

We were definitely on the wrong track trying to get through to him, Mrs. Williams wanted to shake her head in dismay. No amount of reports or convictions or statements were gonna mean a thing to him. To him, all of that is noise, bureaucratic noise, and in fact I imagine he immediately distrusts all that. He went and had to go talk to FAMILY. That’s the only thing that was gonna settle it, in his books. Apparently.

It was hard not to remember how family had become a swear word on the lips of that panicking little girl in her car all those nights ago.

“I don’t understand it,” Mr. Moore shook his head again, looking lost.

“Well,” Mrs. Williams cleared her throat. “Was there a—a why, was there some reason your brother and his wife were getting into that whole mess?”

“Just because they could,” Mr. Moore shrugged. “Because they wanted to. ‘Parently, this old boss of his from this place he used to work—movin’ furniture—they’d go and get high or do drugs or all that, just for the hell of it. I don’t understand it.”

“Well, maybe it’s for the best that we don’t understand it,” Mrs. Williams frowned. “So, you think it might be this old employer of his, that got them into these things? Was this in Springton?”

“Sandboro,” Mr. Moore grunted. “They were, you know—movers, sorta. Had a big ol’ box truck, delivered furniture, counters, the big home appliances or what have you. On call for big fridges, storage freezers, AC units too. They weren’t hippies or nothin,’ he said they weren’t shady, or anything like that. I guess the one guy was a Vietnam veteran, couple of the others were just honest folk who needed work—but they were just… doin’ heroin, like it was—like it was just gettin’ together for beer with the boys. Heroin.”

“Do you have the name of the business?” Mrs. Williams whipped a small notepad out of her purse and flipped through several pages of lists—groceries, cookie ingredients (in case someone had one of those dreadful allergies), thank you cards from Christmas, everyone’s availability for a Methodist Men’s retreat she wanted to put together—until finding a blank page.

“Oh, it’s been years since he worked there, but—Bluegrass Moving? Bluegrass Movers, something like that,” Mr. Moore recalled. “Somethin’ Bluegrass. In Sandboro.”

“Maybe they’ll be able to do something with that!” Mrs. Williams smiled, feeling like quite the detective. “Anything helps! Lord knows we don’t want all this mess happening to anyone else.”

“I just… I can’t believe it,” Mr. Moore murmured to himself all over again. “My brother’s smart. Way smarter’n all of that. I don’t understand it. I don’t understand how he could get himself mixed up in all of those kinds of things.”

“Have you talked to Tabitha about this yet?” Mrs. Williams asked.

“She already knew!” Mr. Moore exclaimed. “She knew all that way before I did. She was sayin’ to me Christmas morning, how I needed to get a hold of either you, or call up this, this, Kentucky administrative office of the courts, to get all the stuff ‘bout Lisa. Some place in Frankfort.”

Ooh, nice one, Sandy! Mrs. Williams couldn’t help but feel tickled at that.

“It’s all crazy,” Mr. Moore said in a daze.

“I do think you should call Tabitha,” Mrs. Williams urged him. “I think you need to talk to your wife about all of this, as well.”

“My wife?” Mr. Moore asked with a distracted look. “No, no—she was sayin’ it too. She was against Lisa just about from the start.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Mrs. Williams shook her head. “This isn’t about who was right and who was wrong, this isn’t an I told you so. You’ve said to me ‘I can’t understand it’ and ‘I can’t believe it’ dozens and dozens of times since I sat down! You need time to process what all just happened, dear, and your partner is the one you need to do that with.”

Mr. Moore stared at her, and for a long moment Mrs. Williams wondered if she was getting through to him.

“Let me put it this way—” Mrs. Williams closed her notepad and tossed it back into the depths of her purse. “You’re in shock. You just had someone very close to you—your brother—reveal that he has betrayed your trust. In a major way! Likewise, this Lisa woman seems to have spouted off all kinds of nonsense, and it looks as though she was trying to take advantage of you. You’re in shock, and also you’re grieving—this whole mess happened very close to home for you, and jail time aside, you’ve lost family, close family, because they gave themselves over to drugs!

“You’re lost, and in shock, and grieving, and you need time to process all of this!” Mrs. Williams summed it all up. “I know you just started goin’ to the Methodist church with us. If you’d been with the group longer, I’d say if you were closer to the men there, you would go to them for support. You still can! I’m sure they’d all help you work through everything you’ve got going on, here. If there’s someone else—I don’t know if you have close people you work with, or someone like that you would talk to about all of this to help you work through all of it. But, the place to start is at home—your wife, Tabitha, your mother Laurie, even those boys! Because, all of them are going through this, too. Listening to what they have to say about it might do more than hearing strangers share what they’ve been through. Do you see what I’m trying to say, here?”

“Yeah, I… yeah,” Mr. Moore frowned. “I just… hell, I don’t even know where to start, right now. Tabitha sure as hell don’t want to talk to me.”

“She may not want to talk to you,” Mrs. Williams rose, crossing over to the kitchen and grabbing the Moore’s handset phone from its receiver. “But, you know what—not calling her about all this? Might be a lot worse. Maybe even just an apology and telling her that you love her, and that would be a good start if she’s not ready to get into more with you, right now.”

*     *     *

“Ughh it’s a stupid bat thing again,” Hannah groaned, letting her head fall back on the couch cushion again. “It’s all stupid bats and dumb Geodudes, and I can’t even find the way out!”

“You’re still in that cave? You can just start running away from battles,” Tabitha advised. “You don’t have to fight every single encounter.”

You might run out of PP for your decent attack moves if you’re in there for too long.

“I know,” Hannah sighed, and the sound effects of Hannah’s Pikachu knocking out a Zubat in one hit was apparent from across the room. “It’s just annoying.”

“Well,” Tabitha quirked her lip in a small smile and dropped her voice to a whisper. “There’s a secret rare Pokemon you might encounter if you’re in Mount Moon battling for long enough!”

“Really?” Hannah looked up from her Gameboy color. “Which one?”

“Clefairy!” Tabitha said. “Like I said though, they’re very rare and they might be hard to catch.”

“I’m gonna get one,” Hannah narrowed her eyes, returning her attention to the little screen. “Clefairy, Clefairy, Clefairy…”

Walking the young girl through the early parts of the Pokemon Yellow she’d received for Christmas was fun, but Tabitha worried Hannah wouldn’t have the patience to deal with some of the more frustrating stretches of the game. Certainly not if she kept turning up her nose at Pokemon she thought were ugly—Hannah was picky, and because of this, she was already as far as Mt. Moon and still couldn’t fill a roster of six monsters. She had her starting Pikachu, a Pidgey, and a Sandshrew with no HP left, because Hannah had caught it just before entering the cave.

She might actually wipe out, Tabitha fretted. When I noticed she was stuck in there for a while, I asked her if she’d found a hole with a ladder in it—she said she didn’t want to go down further, so she kept looking for another way through. There ISN’T another way! She has to use the passages to get through the mountain.

Though she was looking forward to seeing how her four cousins were faring with their game files, Tabitha’s own game had become a total chore shortly after she completed her competitive team. EV-Training wasn’t exactly a thing in the first few generations, and she did feel fortunate to have remembered that. But, there was still base stat experience to grind, which would update when she used the PC storage box trick, since her monsters could no longer level. The fact of the matter was that base stat training was miserable tedious and boring, but Tabitha could only blame herself for burning through the actual game content in just a few nights with ridiculously overpowered monsters.

It’ll be worth it, Tabitha told herself. Plus, it satisfies that craving for PROGRESSION, which is a must because it feels like my life is standing still right now. Can’t run or jog, can’t properly work out, and aside from storybook time, Hannah has been completely consumed by playing her Pokemon game. So—for now I’ve sidelined a lot of the other activities and fun stuff to do. Don’t want to dampen her enthusiasm for this while it’s still so fresh and fierce! She’s adorable.

Tabitha was just preparing to scooch closer on the sofa and offer Hannah some sisterly suggestions when the Macintire’s phone rang. It was cut short after just the one tone, likely Officer Macintire picking up the other handset from in the master bedroom, and so Tabitha paid it no mind.

“Tabitha?” Darren Macintire yelled out. “S’your dad on the line—should I tell him you’re here, or should I tell him you’re out?”

“I’m here!” Tabitha answered with a wry smile, touched that the man would ask that. “I’ll get it.”

Bouncing up from the living room couch, Tabitha crossed past the dining room table and to the counter that separated the dining room from the kitchen. The main phone dock was there where it could be reached easily from either side, and Tabitha retrieved the white handset and thumbed the talk button to connect to the active line.

“Macintire residence, Tabitha Moore speaking,” Tabitha stated in her neutral tone.

“Hey honey, it’s me,” Mr. Moore said, pausing as with a rustle and click officer Macintire hung up his receiver. “You okay to talk?”

“I’m listening,” Tabitha promised. “What is it?”

“Well…” her father trailed off for a moment. “I drove out to see yer uncle Danny. Had a talk with him ‘bout this whole everything that’s goin’ on.”

“That’s good,” Tabitha remained distant and polite. “I’m sure he was happy to see you.”

“Oh—yeah, yeah,” Mr. Moore let out a nervous laugh. “I’d been meanin’ to all this time, just. I asked ‘im about Lisa, and about the drug stuff, and. All of that nonsense. Turns out… you were right, honey. ‘Bout him. Lisa, too. They were both mixed up in all of that after all.”

“Oh,” Tabitha responded. “I’m sorry.”

The confirmation—and her dad conceding that he had been wrong—didn’t fill her with validation like she had fantasized it would. The righteous indignation, the raw, livid anger at being wronged wasn’t there either, and all that was left was a bit of disappointment. She was just so over it. All of it. She was done, she felt nothing, and she wanted all of them to put this whole stupid episode behind them so that she could forget about it.

“You’re sorry?” Mr. Moore asked, sounding confused.

“I know how difficult that must have been to hear that,” Tabitha tried to console him with a bitter smile. “It’s never an easy thing to find out. Mrs. Macintire lost her brother to opiate abuse—I think we can be thankful that Danny and Lisa were caught before things got worse and they lost their lives. I wouldn’t want that hanging over the kids. We do need to let the authorities handle uncle Danny and aunt Lisa, now. We can’t help them, they need professional help. To be absolutely clear on that. One day maybe they’ll thank us for it, I just—yeah, don’t expect that to be anytime soon.”

“Yeah,” Mr. Moore said. “Yeah, I guess so.”

A long, uncomfortable silence followed, with seconds elapsing one after the other and nothing said between them. The call was still connected, but Tabitha had given him the pre-prepared spiel she’d practiced in her head, and she just didn’t have anything else. The mess of raw feelings were tamped down for now and nothing she wanted to dredge back up and sort through right now, so she didn’t have any more words to volunteer.

“Are you still mad at me?” Mr. Moore finally asked.

“No,” Tabitha blurted out a lie on reflex and immediately regretted it. “Maybe. I need some time. I need some time, okay?”

“I get it, honey,” Mr. Moore sounded apologetic. “I was wrong, and—I was wrong. That’s all there is to it. I was wrong. About a lot of things, there. Guess I was too close to see what all was happening like I should have. So… I wanted to say I’m sorry. For everything, there. It’s okay if you’re mad at me. I’m mad at me, I sure screwed up there. I don’t know how I missed all the signs, there. Especially with Danny. Guess I didn’t want to see ‘em—I refused to.”

“It’s okay,” Tabitha found herself choking up. “Let’s just—put all of it past us. If you c-can, if you can give me some time and some space. I want to just forgive you and have things between us just go back to the way they were, but, but—yeah, my feelings don’t work like that, I can’t just choose to flip a switch. It—it really, really hurts that you didn’t trust me. That you couldn’t listen to me. That—sorry. Sorry, I just—sorry. I do love you, dad. I love you. But, I’ve gotta go. Bye.”

She hung up decisively before he could contribute any parting words, and a small sob slipped out as she lost control again. The phone still awkwardly clutched in her good hand, she lifted her arm until she could hide her face in her sleeve, immediately discovering she was a mess of tears. A ragged breath drew in and she slowly exhaled, fighting to regain control. There was a sudden jolt as a seven-year-old Hannah smacked into her out of nowhere and latched both arms around her in a fearsome hug, and Tabitha carefully held the girl against her with her hand that was still trapped in the fiberglass cast.

“I’m okay,” Tabitha laughed, wiping her face and trying to smile. “I’m… okay. Sorry.”

“You’re okay?” Hannah demanded.

“I’m okay,” Tabitha said again. “I just—it’s over with, want to just put it behind us and move on, already. I want—Hannah, I want cookies, right now. How do you feel about baking cookies with me?”

*     *     *

“What is it?! Quasimodo asked nervousoly,” Hannah exclaimed. “No one—”

“Nervously,” Tabitha corrected in a gentle voice.

“Nervoush—Ner-vous-oly,” Hannah sounded it out with a giggle. “Nervousoly.”

“Nervous—ly,” Tabitha enunciated.

“Nervously,” Hannah repeated. “I knew that! It just sounded wrong either way, ‘cause that’s when you keep saying it and it just starts sounding wrong. Duh. Nervously, nervous-oly!”

“I do know what you mean,” Tabitha said with a small smile. “Continue, though!”

“‘What is it?’ Quasimodo asked nervously.” Hannah recited. “No one had ever paid attention to him, in his whole life!”

“Esmerelda pointed to a line on his hand,” Tabitha read out her part from memory and extended her palm and pursed her lips over it as if she was the gypsy reading it. “‘See this? This line shows that you will live a long life. And, this one tells me that you are shy.’ She hesitated. ‘But, I don’t see a single monster line!’”

“Hesitated,” Hannah echoed in question.

“Hesitated means she paused—she took a moment to stop for a bit, before continuing,” Tabitha explained. “Hesitate, hesitated. Maybe if you’re you’re swimming with friends and see a girl who’s scared to um, scared of getting in the shallow end of a pool for the first time; you could tell her she doesn’t have to hesitate, and that it’s safe for her to go right on in.”

“Hesitate,” Hannah tried the word out again. “I knew that one. I just forgot.”

“Why don’t we wrap up here for now,” Tabitha suggested, closing the book. “Do you like reading ones that are above your grade level?”

“Yeah,” Hannah nodded. “It’s like we’re playing out the movie—I keep picturing it all out like that. It’s fun.”

“A little sleepy?”

“A little,” Hannah said. “The cookies made me sleepy.”

“Me too!” Tabitha confessed. “They were good, though.”

“Yeah, really good. We should always make cookies. Like, all the time.”

“I wish I could,” Tabitha combed a strand of Hannah’s hair away from her face. “But—then I’d get fat!”

“So what?” Hannah countered. “Cookies would be worth it. Ice cream. Cake.”

“You stop being mean to poor old Tabby,” Tabitha ruffled the little girl’s hair. “Poor old Tabby has to watch her weight, and it’s sooo hard to do when there’s bottomless pits like you around.”

“Sundaes,” Hannah said. “Smoothies. Milkshakes!”

“You don’t even like smoothies!” Tabitha lunged in to tickle the girl. “You were all like ew ew ew it’s got FRUIT GUTS in it!”

“Ewwww fruit guts!!” Hannah squirmed and thrashed away from Tabitha in a fit of giggles and then scampered across the living room from her and out of range. “Fruit guts are just gross.”

“But you’ll bite into an apple, and that’s fine?!” Tabitha laughed. “It’s the same thing!”

“Totally different,” Hannah denied it. “Smoothies are gross.”

“I think I know something we can make with the blender tomorrow!” Tabitha quirked her lip and pantomimed having a sudden thought. “Why don’t we make some smoo—”

“Ewww no!” Hannah protested with a smile, crashing back in to hug Tabitha. “Noooo, I don’t wanna do smoothies. Tabby—they’re gross.”

“Okay, okay, no fruit smoothies,” Tabitha patted Hannah on the back. “But… have you ever tried… vegetable smoothies?!”

“Ewwww ewwww!” Hannah squealed in disgust. “There’s no such thing!”

“Oh ho ho, there is so! You’ll see!” Tabitha started guiding Hannah back towards her room. “You’ll see.”

“Bleeghhh,” Hannah doubled over, pretending that she was hurling. “Bluh—bluh—bluwhhhhhh!”

“Okay, okay, don’t lose all your cookies,” Tabitha said. “We worked too hard on those cookies for you to just throw them all up! Let’s get your teeth brushed. Do we need to floss tonight?”

“Hmmm—” Hannah hesitated, working her mouth and running her tongue across her teeth. “Maybe?”

“Did something get stuck?” Tabitha asked as they traversed down the hallway towards their shared bathroom. “Should I take a look?”

“Maybe,” Hannah said. “I’ll brush first and see.”

“Don’t want something super sugary eating away at your teeth overnight!” Tabitha remarked.

“Yeah,” Hannah put on a grave face. “That’d be bad. Tabby?”

“Yes, Hannah Banana?”

“You’re—” Hannah paused. “You’re not going to go back and live with your parents, are you?”

“Hmm,” Tabitha hummed, hugging Hannah. “Not right away.”

“You can just stay here,” Hannah pointed out. “For like—forever.”

“I know,” Tabitha sighed. “I’m sorry I cried in front of you. I should have gone into the other room for that.”

“No!” Hannah said. “You’re allowed to. It’s okay if you do. It’s not even your fault! It’s your parent’s fault. Mom said so.”

“She did not say so,” Tabitha gave Hannah a squeeze. “We’ve all been very careful about what we say about all of that around you. Because, those are grown up problems you shouldn’t have to worry about.”

“Well, she said it to dad,” Hannah scoffed. “I still heard it. I’m not five years old, I know what’s going on.”

“You’re seven, Hannah.”

“Seven’s almost eight!”

“If they were fun, interesting things, we’d have told you all about them,” Tabitha promised. “But, they’re not fun. They’re serious and boring and they make everyone sad. These parenting and family issues, they’re complicated and stuffy topics you don’t want to hear about, trust me. They’re the vegetable smoothies of stuff to talk about!”

“Vegetable smoothies aren’t real,” Hannah refused to accept it. “That’s gross.”

“Do I need to prove it to you tomorrow?” Tabitha teased.

“Ew, no way,” Hannah huffed. “Gross.”

“Are you sure? I think I heard that they’re really good for you!”

“Tabby,” Hannah said. “Just stay here and live with us.”

“I’m not leaving anytime soon,” Tabitha assured her. “I promise.”

“No, I mean like—stay forever.”

“It’s only forever—not long at all,” Tabitha sang in a soft voice. “The lost and lonely—that’s underground, undergrouuund!”

“Tabitha—I mean it.”

“I know you do,” Tabitha said. “It means the world to me! But, at some point I do think I do need to go back, when I’m not so cross at my father anymore. My own mom, I worry that she’s falling apart without me. I don’t think she’s been handling it well over there.”

“Oh,” Hannah said, furrowing her brow.

“But, no matter what, it’s not like I’ll just be gone for good,” Tabitha said. “I think when your dad is feeling all better, and things are more normal around the house here, I’ll just start feeling like I’m in the way around here.”

“You won’t be,” Hannah shook her head and her little ponytail bounced with the movement. “Ever, at all.”

“Thank you,” Tabitha gave her a second squeeze. “Now—go brush up! Brush brush brush!”

Confident that Hannah was well versed in how to properly brush her teeth, Tabitha left her to her own devices in the bathroom. Spending time with her little ward was incredibly therapeutic, and she felt a lot better than she did after the call with her father. But, at the same time, it was sobering to see Hannah’s worry for her creep in past their giggles and playful banter. There was so much of her life right now that was just a big mess, and though it was selfish, Tabitha just didn’t want those realities infringing on her time with Hannah.

She’s getting way too attached to me, Tabitha thought with a bitter smile as she crossed the house, heading towards the master bedroom. And, that obviously cuts both ways. Deeply.

“Knock knock knock?” Tabitha called through the door, unwilling to actually rap her knuckle against it. “May I—would it be alright if I speak with—”

“We’re decent, come on in,” Mrs. Macintire yelled in amusement.

“Thank you,” Tabitha said, awkwardly opening the door and trying not to stare.

The TV in there was on, but she wasn’t sure the married couple was even watching—they were cuddled up together on the bed in a way that seemed too intimate for her to be intruding on. It was another ‘maybe this is normal’ aspect of families Tabitha was trying to come to terms with. Her own mother and father had been affectionate in front of her so rarely that anything beyond a platonic hug seemed downright scandalous to her ingrained sensibilities.

“Um,” Tabitha said. “I was wondering if I could ask for time off tomorrow afternoon?”

“Uh-oh, check her pay stubs,” Officer Macintire snorted. “Make sure she’s got all her hours in, check an’ see that she hasn’t used up her days off already.”

“Oh, stop,” Mrs. Macintire slapped his exposed chest.

Tabitha’s eyes went a little wide at that—but the hand was safe, landing on his pectoral and not hitting too close to where a bullet had ripped through his sternum. Seeing the smack still made her jumpy, though, and she quickly looked away. Arriving at exactly the wrong conclusion, Mrs. Macintire seemed to smirk and pull the bedcover up a bit more to cover her husband’s bare upper body.

No, it’s—it REALLY isn’t that, please don’t give me that smug look.

“I was hoping to spend time with Elena,” Tabitha said, clearing her throat. “After some of what happened there with the um, the Julie thing. I haven’t been able to speak with her or clear that up, and I didn’t want to go through all of that over the phone.”

“That’s fine,” Mrs. Macintire agreed. “Will you need a lift over there?”

“I think her mom should be able to pick me up,” Tabitha answered. “I’ll call and make sure it’s okay to visit, though. If that’s okay.”

“Of course, of course,” Sandra smiled. “Hannah can survive somehow without you for a day. Might be good to remind her that she has her parents she can spend time with, too.”

“You could watch Kiki’s Delivery Service with her,” Tabitha suggested. “It’s the cartoon I got her for Christmas. I think she’d be thrilled to share it with you.”

“There she goes again, talking like a duchess,” Mrs. Macintire said. “It’s completely fine, Tabitha. You didn’t even really have to ask. When you need time to do things with your friends, that’s important, too. You are not our servant, okay?”

“I’m just worried,” Tabitha admitted. “Hannah’s grown very attached to me. She’s… afraid I’m going to go back to live with my parents.”

“I’m just as afraid of that as she is,” Mrs. Macintire said, giving her a look. “Both of us are. Because—flaws or not, they are your parents, and if and when you want to go, there’s nothing we can do to stop you.”

“I—” Tabitha opened her mouth to respond to that, but she didn’t know how to respond to that, so no words came out. “Um.”

“You love them, but you can’t stand them,” Officer Macintire summed things up for her. “‘Specially not now, I’d bet. You take all the time you need, okay Tabitha?”

“Thank you,” Tabitha let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding in.

“Her dad called today,” Officer Macintire twisted a bit on the bed to face his wife. “For Tabby.”

“To apologize? Or—?” Mrs. Macintire didn’t try to conceal her scowl.

“I forgot to listen in, my show was on,” Officer Macintire chuckled.

“He… did apologize,” Tabitha explained. “He’s coming to terms with Lisa being. An addict. I think. I just—I think I need more time.”

“Well, don’t look at us, we’re not about to shove you out the door,” Mrs. Macintire said, resting her arm on her husband’s shoulder. “You’re welcome to stay here for as long as you want, I mean it. We never knew how much we needed someone here helping with Hannah.”

“Thank you,” Tabitha blushed. “Really—thank you both so much.”

“Great!” Mrs. Macintire gave her a knowing smile. “Now quit ogling my husband!”

*     *     *

After a quick phone call, an outing with Elena at the Sandboro mall was arranged. Few words were exchanged with Elena herself over the phone, which was worrying for Tabitha because her friend’s tone voice was difficult to read into now. Her mother Mrs. Seelbaugh was much more enthusiastic about the girls getting together to hang out, and shortly after Tabitha figured out an outfit that was mall occasion-worthy, they were here to pick her up.

Like many other girls her age at this trying time of year, the burden was upon Tabitha to recoordinate what she wore to christen some of the brand new apparel received as gifts. This time Tabitha chose a long-sleeved buttoned-up and collared ‘librarian blouse’ from grandma Laurie, that had been made from one of Laurie’s own 1960s dresses she’d found in storage with the other sentimental knick-knacks. It was a dressy but not particularly showy in an off-cream color, but grandma Laurie had chosen a strange length to cut and hem it at when turning it into a top—it was almost but not quite a navel blouse, reaching just to cover an inch or so past Tabitha’s belly-button.

Which means I have exactly one pair of jeans high-waisted enough to really pair with it, Tabitha had wanted to wince as she fought her way into them. And, they’re not super comfy ones. But, at least this way everyone won’t be blinded by a sliver of HORRIFICALLY PALE Tabitha tummy. Thought about layering something else beneath the new blouse, but… no. Until I have something that better matches the color, it would just draw even MORE attention to that area, which I don’t think I want.

The result still looked pretty good—library chic, missing only the winged eyeglasses, and Tabitha carefully re-parted and pinned her hair so that the shaggy fuzz regrowth area shaved from surgery was hidden. Stepping back so she could see her entire figure in the mirror, she looked pretty okay, the only real incongruous element being her new Nike running shoes—but obviously she was going to proudly show those off today, as they had been a gift from Elena.

She made sure she had her now very thin envelope of money with her, she checked to make sure all of the dishes were still done and everything around the house still remained tidy, and then she sat for a few minutes with Hannah while the little girl was locked in one intense battle after another along Route 24 above Cerulean city. A youngster was defeated, and then a lass, and then Hannah’s team was just squaring off to fight a junior trainer when Tabitha saw the Seelbaugh’s silvery minivan pull in front of the house.

“Good luck, Poketrainer Hannah!” Tabitha leaned in to kiss the top of Hannah’s head before hurrying out the door.

“You too!” Hannah called, unable to tear her eyes away from the game screen.

Tabitha wore a wry smile as she carefully shut the front door, and then she tried to recompose herself as she crossed the front lawn and suburban sidewalk and opened the minivan’s sliding door. Hannah’s current Pokemon obsession weighed on Tabitha’s mind a lot, since she was the one responsible for introducing it to the girl and encouraging her.

Should I raise up a whole second team of monsters? So that my main team doesn’t just steamroll Hannah in link battles and hobble her enthusiasm for playing? Am I getting as bad as the Macintires with just wanting to spoil the hell out of Hannah?!

“Hi, Tabitha! How was your Christmas?” Mrs. Seelbaugh called as Tabitha climbed into the middle bench of their van. “It’s so good to see you again!”

“Yeah!” Tabitha grinned. “Christmas was good. My cousins loved their Gameboys.”

“I’ve caught Elena playing her Gameboy, too,” Mrs. Seelbaugh confided. “Those things are pretty neat.”

“Mom,” Elena warned from the passenger seat—as if being exposed as someone who played Pokemon was some embarrassing breach of trust.

“Right, sorry, sorry,” Mrs. Seelbaugh’s voice was cheerful rather than apologetic.

Tabitha couldn’t help but regard the mother-daughter duo here with a big smile, because Elena’s mother had followed suit and also dyed her blonde hair black. Mrs. Seelbaugh seemed more enthusiastic about the two teens getting together to hang out than Elena did, and Tabitha was having a hard time discerning how much of Elena’s cool stoicism was affected goth demeanor. While her reception couldn’t quite be called chilly, Elena wore an impassive mask and showed nothing but indifference to seeing Tabitha today.

Or, am I overthinking it? Tabitha held up her smile as internally she began to fret. It hasn’t been that long since I saw her at the party. Just, knowing she went to people and talked about Julie feels like there’s this wedge driven between us, now. Even if she did it with the best intentions—she still did it, without talking through it with me or attempting to clarify things. That does sting.

“I’ve been helping Hannah play her Pokemon game too,” Tabitha said. “She’s been really excited about what kind of story her team of Pokemon can tell people.”

“Story?” Elena glanced back towards Tabitha.

“Yeah! She spent forever stuck in Mount Moon, up to her elbows in fainted Zubats and Geodudes—until she finally came across a Clefairy. When I told her about all the fan theories out there with the lore, about how Gengar could actually be a Clefairy ghost, she loved that. So, she wants to be able to field them as a husband and wife pair, as if one of them’s a grieving Clefairy wife and then the angry Gengar spirit of her husband is on Hannah’s team, too. To protect his lover from beyond the grave.

“That sounds so cool!” Mrs. Seelbaugh encouraged.

“Gengar is supposed to be a dead Clefairy?” Elena asked.

“Maybe?” Tabitha held out her hands and shrugged. “They have the same body shape and they appear very similar. Just, the Clefairy has curls, while the Gengar has spikes. I told Hannah she can do something really similar with Kangaskhan, because the fan theory there is that Cubones and Marowaks are Kangaskhan kids who lost their parent and wear their skull.”

“Huh,” Elena looked thoughtful for a moment. “I’m not really sure what I’m doing with mine. I have the Pikachu you start with, and then a Butterfree and a Pidgeotto that are pretty okay.”

“Butterfree can be competitive,” Tabitha remarked. “Respectable special sweeper. So long as you don’t face off against a faster sweeper from the get-go, you can stunlock your opponent with sleep powder and stun spores, then psybeam them to death. If whirlwind works like roar in gen one, you could maybe force rotate through their Pokemon with it and sleep most of the team before they could stop you. For maximum annoyance.”

“I guess I like the sound of that,” Elena considered it. “She just has confusion, though. How do I get psybeam?”

“It comes along somewhere in the level thirties,” Tabitha wracked her brains for specifics but drew a blank. “I think. Somewhere around there, you can replace confusion with psybeam. Psybeam does the same thing, it just hits a lot harder and has less usage points.”

“Ah. I think mine’s only level twenty-something,” Elena said. “Pikachu and Pidgeotto hog most of the experience.”

“Makes sense,” Tabitha nodded. “Maybe halfway through the game or so, you get something for that—XP share, it can automatically distribute experience so the whole party gets some, not just the one battling.”

“You really know your Pokemon stuff, there,” Mrs. Seelbaugh praised. “How long have you played the game?”

“I’ve played… more than I care to admit,” Tabitha joked with an uneasy laugh. “Just uh, it’s frustrating all the time, because it’s like I’ve forgotten just as much as I manage to remember. Has Alicia said anything about what team she’s picking?”

“I don’t think so,” Elena shook her head. “I think she just started playing right after Christmas.”

“I’ve been dying to link battle someone,” Tabitha said with a sheepish smile. “Just, uh, I might’ve overdone it? l put my list together just from the absolute most overpowered Pokemon there are in gen one, but it’s gonna be a while before any of my cousins even get anywhere near the level where they could fight me.”

“I feel like they have no chance against you,” Elena said in a dry voice.

“Probably not,” Tabitha chuckled. “But—it is what it is. Have to stake this as my one shot at being the cool unbeatable older cousin! I expect their teams will be extremely typical—whichever starter Pokemon, then Mewtwo and the three legendary birds, then probably an HM dump Pokemon for utility.”

“You’re a lot more into it than I thought,” Elena commented. “Pokemon, I mean.”

“Oh—uh, yeah,” Tabitha blushed. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to just geek out on you guys, there.”

“You’re fine!” Mrs. Seelbaugh assured her. “Nothing to be embarrassed about. Even Elena plays.”

“Mom,” Elena growled again.

“And, Elena’s one of the coolest teenagers I know,” Mrs. Seelbaugh proudly ribbed her daughter. “Just the other day, she was—”

“You can let us out here,” Elena cut her off with a horrified look. “We’ll just walk the rest of the way. Yeah. Let us out right here, into traffic.”

“Har har,” Mrs. Seelbaugh rolled her eyes. “Tabitha, did ‘Leny tell you she’s going to try out for the cheer team?”

“She didn’t!” Tabitha grinned. “I had to hear it from Olivia first. I think if—”

“Because it’s not even a big deal,” Elena grumbled. “Everyone’s only making a fuss about it because I’m goth now, because apparently only preppies can be in cheer. Which is—”

“I’ll be trying out for cheer, too,” Tabitha said. “Is there a sheet or printout of some kind I can pick up that list all the requirements?”

“Well, that’s great!” Mrs. Seelbaugh exclaimed. “We can get you a copy of—”

“Tabitha, no—you don’t have to do that,” Elena said. “When I asked you way back when, you said you weren’t interested in cheerleading. I don’t think I want you putting yourself through all of that just for me.”

“When you say ‘putting yourself through all of that,’ it’s like you’re acknowledging that you’ll be in this epic bitter struggle against the prep-school girl cultural hegemony that entrenches the cheer team,” Tabitha said.

“If this is about you having something to prove, or if you just want to be the tragic lone wolf challenging all that on your lonesome, you’d need to tell me—explicitly—that you don’t want or need my help. Because, I saw you facing off against the in-crowd of Springton popular kids back in school before on my behalf, and you doing that… meant more to me than you’ll ever know. What the hell kind of friend would I be if I wasn’t willing to do the same for you?”

“I just—I just don’t want you forcing yourself into it if it’s not something you’re interested in,” Elena blustered. “It’s going to be rough, and you’ve already been through all of that with the bullying and everything. You don’t need to go through any of that again. Okay?”

“I won’t go through any of that again,” Tabitha argued. “I know people this time through, I have friends, I’m not going to let myself be disconnected from what’s going on or socially isolated enough for them to bully. I’m not going to hide or back down from confrontation anymore, because I’ve learned, really learned, that ceding any ground at all to them just emboldens them further, ensures that they’ll never ever leave me be. Things are going to be different this time.”

“Famous last words,” Elena remarked in a dry voice. “I just. Tabitha—I don’t think you want to do this.”

“I didn’t, before,” Tabitha said. “Was just trying to keep my head down and avoid trouble. Now, I do want to join cheer. Why shouldn’t I join cheer? Or be one of the cool popular kids? I’m average to above-average in looks, I have it in me to be athletic. Sure, I’m not uh, not super outgoing, but I feel like I’m a lot more comfortable with people just after getting to know them a bit.”

“It’s not even about that,” Elena argued. “These kids—the sophomores, the juniors—most of them are just rotten. I knew they were awful before, but I didn’t really know how awful until I stepped outside of all of that and saw it from a fresh perspective. How awful they really are, how awful all of it actually is. It’s like—I don’t even want you to be a part of all that, I don’t see it as this uh, this hierarchy worth wasting your effort on. Not anymore.”

“Agreed!” Tabitha nodded along. “You’re completely right. I want to be cool and popular, but I’m just gonna do it on my own terms! Not gonna get peer pressured into adopting their more, well, terrible traits, I’m in no way going to turn around and start bullying people or badmouthing people I don’t even know or anything like that. If that becomes an issue, or if me um, if me calling people out on that starts to cause friction—then, so be it. It is what it is.”

“Okay. Well—that’s just not how any of it works,” Elena scoffed. “You realize that, right? You can’t fit in by not fitting in, that doesn’t even make any sense. Ziggy will go off about it, it’s this whole big thing. The group decides what group norms are, and pushing against that sort of like, status quo is going to just blow up in your face. You realize that? It’s the whole reason people stick to their different groups.”

“Then, so be it!” Tabitha declared. “If a goth girl can fight her way up into cheerleading, who’s to say what can happen? You’re not going to turn all preppy just to fit in there, are you?”

“No,” Elena made a face of disgust. “But, I already know how awful all that’s going to be.”

“And yet, you’re set on doing it anyways,” Tabitha concluded. “Which frankly just—robs you of the right to criticize me, right? Because, I’m just being inspired by you to do the same!”

“I don’t want it to be because of me that you get hurt or suffer or anything like that,” Elena countered. “I just—I don’t want that to be on me. Not after—”

“We won’t suffer as much if we’re in it together,” Tabitha said. “Two girls are harder to pick on than one. Less vulnerable.”

“You said before you weren’t interested in cheerleading,” Elena said after a long moment, falling back to her previous line of defense. “Cheer isn’t something you should ever even put yourself through if you’re not into it. It makes zero sense!”

“I wasn’t interested before, because… it wasn’t within any of my considerations,” Tabitha argued. “I didn’t really have friends yet back then, or know anyone—it was basically just Alicia starting to take pity on me and visiting me in the library every now and then at lunch. Now, things are different—I’m going to not shy away from being social, and, and if cheer is important to you, then that makes it important to me.

“Just like that. Because you’re important to me, and I don’t want them to ever feel like they have leeway to treat you like garbage, or talk behind your back, or make snide comments, or—or anything like that. Plus, it’s—I don’t know, the cheerleading itself? It’s okay. I never really understood the whole yeaahhh school pride! Let’s go Springton Spaniels! Or whatever sort of stuff, but there’s a physical element to cheer, and then there’s that whole presentation aspect of it, the way it’s a performance. I think I need that, too.

“My knee-jerk reaction to when my mother wanted me to get into acting and theater stuff was like, blind rejection. Panic. But, when I really think about it? It’s something I need. Cheerleading is the same. I need to get out of my shell, to grow, to learn to brave the big scary world outside of my comfort zone. Because, I know exactly what will happen if I don’t. I’ve been there. That outcome isn’t acceptable, and so all the bullying and confrontation and people issues—I’m just gonna have to deal with them. So be it, that’s life.”

“Well said! Well said!” Mrs. Seelbaugh exclaimed, slapping the steering wheel.

Elena’s mother had been listening to their discourse with great interest and finally wasn’t able to hold back her excitement—which wasn't discouraged in the slightest by the withering look Elena shot over. The goth teen in the passenger seat then crossed her arms and seemed to take a minute to simply digest Tabitha’s long ramble. This was one of the reasons Tabitha appreciated Elena so much—sure, her friend here was going through a difficult edgy phase, but she was still Elena, she was still listening and unpacking everything that had been said so that she could think it through.

“Fine,” Elena eventually conceded with as melodramatic a sigh as she could muster.  “Whatever. Won’t try to stop you—just, I really hope you know what you’re doing.”

“It’s okay even if I don’t know what I’m doing,” Tabitha decided to rein in Elena’s theatrics just a smidge. “I’m fourteen. Even if everything goes wrong, this is still just high school. I’ll get over it, I’ll pull through with a better understanding of what went wrong and what should be done differently. Everything doesn’t have to work out perfectly right from the start, or even in freshman year. I mean, hell—for all I know, the other cheerleader girls won’t even be interested in everything I have to say about Pokemon!”

With a defeated groan, Elena clapped both hands over her face as her mother and Tabitha both broke into laughter.

*     *     *

The Sandboro mall was just as Tabitha remembered it from last month when she’d gone shopping with Alicia and Elena—the broad space was still just as lively and crowded, the seasonal decorations were all still up, and the sheer atmosphere still tugged at the heart of her inner child. Some of the novelty was gone now that they were visiting again so soon, and it was a strange feeling.

It’s—I don’t know, Tabitha wore a small smile as she walked down the concourse with Elena, taking in the sights. It feels strange. Like I was JUST HERE with them, not long ago. It felt like an EVENT, like a BIG OCCASION. But then, we’re just here again, and it’s still like this—people everywhere, sense of excitement in the air. Weird for me to grasp that it can just be like this here all the time, that it can feel like there’s always this something going on. I can see why Elena keeps getting pulled back here.

Tabitha thought herself used to large, open social spaces like this, but the act of actually frequenting them felt new. In her past life, she’d been conditioned by growing up in poverty, and had long adopted the mindset to avoid going out like this when she didn’t feel like she had spending money to spare. It made her wonder how long that ingrained sense of inferiority, of being trailer trash would stick with her.

Hanging out at the mall is a COMPLETELY NORMAL TEENAGE GIRL thing to do, Tabitha told herself. It’s hardly BOURGEOISIE. Elena’s comfortable here, she feels like she belongs. I can, too. Just need to stamp down that incredulous, giddy feeling and play it cool. Act normal.

“Are you mad at me?” Elena asked.

“What?” Tabitha snapped out of her thoughts. “No, no.”

Elena was wearing baggy black jeans again, this time sporting a questionably fashionable wallet chain that looped from one of her front belt loops to her back pocket, hanging across one thigh. The familiar black Nightmare Before Christmas hoodie was gone, replaced now with an unfamiliar black Johnny the Homicidal Maniac one, which featured one of the most unapologetically edgy cartoon depictions of a boy holding two knives Tabitha had ever seen.

They walked on together past several more storefronts without making eye contact with another or saying a word. Tabitha felt like she was hurrying to shove out her meandering mess of errant thoughts and focus on Elena so that she could pick up on whatever social cue she’d missed, there. She hadn’t meant to seem quiet, or angry, or standoffish, and now she felt guilty her thoughts had wandered. Paying attention now to her friend, really paying attention, Tabitha still found Elena difficult to read.

“I was upset for a bit,” Tabitha admitted. “When I found out you told people about Julie. But—realizing why you did that, knowing you were just, uh, worried about me, worried for me. I do appreciate that. I think… I think just, so much of that stems from this big, stupid misunderstanding.”

“Misunderstanding?” Elena asked, still not glancing her way.

“Yeah,” Tabitha said. “I shouldn’t have dropped the future stuff on you. I didn’t want to—well, okay, naturally I kind of wanted to—but, I mean. It wasn’t smart. Not yet. Makes complete sense that you don’t buy into any of it, and I totally do understand that. But, then at the same time, it’s… it’s complicated.”

“I really don’t believe the future stuff,” Elena gave her an awkward shrug. “I wanted to. I just… don’t. I’m sorry.”

“No no no, you don’t have anything to be sorry for!” Tabitha assured her, slowing her steps and taking Elena’s shoulder to get her attention. “I’m serious. What happened, my story—it’s unbelievable. Literally; no one would believe it. Why would they? Elena, trust me. It’s completely okay.”

“Then—” Elena’s eyes finally flicked up to meet her. “Why go around talking about it? I—I just, I seriously don’t get it. If you were really from the future, you wouldn’t tell anyone.”

“Well,” Tabitha couldn’t help but wince. “No. If you were from the future, you wouldn’t tell anyone. Because, that’s common sense. Because—why out yourself as crazy? When no one would believe you. Why potentially sacrifice your advantages? It’s just… with me, it doesn’t even get as far as that.”

“Then…?” Elena gave her a searching look.

“I’m weak,” Tabitha said.

That admission wasn’t difficult, or complicated. When she said it out loud, it just seemed like a very matter-of-fact thing to say. Like it was something both of them should have already known, some general thing that everyone accepted as the truth.

“I couldn’t do this on my own,” Tabitha explained. “I’m not strong enough. I am not the kind of person who goes back in time and knows what to do. I never had drive like you do. My goals were always—were—you know. Nebulous, vague. The things I wanted, or thought I wanted, I didn’t understand them really, or ever even tried to work through all the hows and whys. Because, why torture myself like that, everything I desired was way beyond my reach, anyways. Right?”

Tabitha swallowed.

“Uh, and,” Tabitha felt that this part was a lot more difficult to say out loud. “And, having you and Alicia, making friends, real friends as a teenager, I really just. Hate the idea of keeping the truth from you. Keeping big secrets. It made our friendship feel—well, not fake, but um. Like I was just pretending to be a real teenager, and keeping what—or uh, who? Whatever it is that I really am from you, and that that would, uhh. I don’t know. Poison the relationships? When you guys did inevitably find out and learn the truth and everything. Like, maybe you would hate me for, or, well maybe not hate, but—resent me? For keeping it from you for so long?”

She felt that she was blushing furiously, and Tabitha wished a sinkhole would open up in the ground beneath her and swallow her whole. Anything to save her from this embarrassing situation.

“So, I—yeah, I just jumped on the first opportunity to spill everything out,” Tabitha summed up. “Both times, basically. To spill the beans. Even when it wasn’t smart, or sensible. Even when yeah, obviously neither of you have any reason to believe me. Because, all of that sorta made me realize that I don’t care about using future knowledge to my advantage, for wealth or fame or anything like that. I don’t have a cool revenge story or anything like that. No great ambition that I was just waiting to have the chance to spring.

“What I want is to have real friends, to grow up with real friends,” Tabitha finished. “Even if that’s, uh, stupid or trivial, compared to what I probably should be doing with a second chance at life. Just, I didn’t get to have friends like this last time through, and that, uh. I feel like that haunted me, my entire life.”

Elena regarded her with a look for a long, tense moment without saying anything. Tabitha couldn’t decipher what her friend was thinking, or what that look was supposed to mean, and as the seconds ticked by Tabitha couldn’t help but find herself fidgeting. Regretting that she’d said anything on this topic at all.

“It’s really annoying,” Elena sighed, shaking her head. “Because, I can tell you really, actually believe all this. This would be so much easier if you faking it for attention. I could understand if you were making it all up for attention. But, I don’t think you are. I really don’t think you are. And yet, I still don’t believe you’re really from the future.”

“Yeah,” Tabitha pulled her lips back in a grimace. “So…?”

“So, you’re crazy,” Elena summed it up. “But, I guess we’re still friends. Right?”

“Yeah?” Tabitha felt an embarrassing surge of hope.

“I can have weird friends,” Elena gave her another expressive shrug. “It’s whatever. Alicia’s already weird. Ziggy is—well. Yeah. I guess what I’m saying, then is… sorry for telling them about the Julie thing. I seriously thought that you were uh, well. That it was that sort of coded Uncle Vampire kind of thing, and I freaked out and just—went over your head. Because, I thought you were… unable to actually communicate to people that something really bad was going on.”

“I do appreciate your intentions there,” Tabitha nodded. “I, I understand.”

“So—to be one hundred percent clear,” Elena held up her hands. “You’re not… dealing with any of that? That sort of stuff? Not getting touched? Or, molested? None of that kind of thing is happening?”

“None of that, I promise,” Tabitha assured her. “I promise.”

“Okay,” Elena let her hands drop. “Then… yeah. You’re just crazy, and I’ll… figure out how to deal with that? I guess?”

“Cool,” Tabitha broke into a smile.

“Cool,” Elena eyed Tabitha carefully and gave her a nod. “So—sing me another song from the future?”

“Another one?” Tabitha all but bounced in place as they started forward across the mall again. “Sure, yeah. Awesome. Uhh—what kind of song? It’s okay? For me to get into that stuff, when you don’t believe I’m really from the future?”

“The last one you came up with was good,” Elena reasoned. “I’ve asked Ziggy, she never heard of any of those lyrics. My parents hadn’t, either. Even typed them into that Google web page you love you so much, didn’t get a thing back, just nonsense. So, either it’s this super obscure song that I just haven’t come across yet, or… you have an actual pretty amazing talent for writing songs. Which would also make sense, because you’re a writer, or whatever.”

“Right, right,” Tabitha nodded along. “That’s reasonable enough. Good alibi? Just, to be clear, between you and me—I did not write these songs, and do not take credit away from Amy Lee for any of this. I love her and she deserves all that respect, not me. Okay? Like, I need you to acknowledge that for me, even if you don’t really believe me about things.”

“...Sure?” Elena gave her a quizzical look, and for once the ghost of a smile appeared.

“And also—” Tabitha glanced around the other shoppers walking this way and that around them. “Sorry if it winds up making a scene?”

*     *     *

How come I’m like, the only one of my friends who has a job—yet I’M the one that’s ALWAYS broke? Nicole thought to herself in annoyance. Just kill me. Please.

She wasn’t having a great day.

Someone at their impromptu weekend party had sat on her last pack of smokes, and now it was half-squished. She now had to ration out misshapen cigarettes, and the number remaining—six—seemed like a countdown to her having a complete manic episode. The beer in her apartment fridge kept magically disappearing, and she’d woken up feeling like trash for several days in a row, now. The dark, ash-blonde of her natural hair color was creeping up her roots like a disease, and the green dye that had been so vivid just weeks ago now just made her feel like a clown, because her self confidence had taken a serious hit or two lately.

Nicole adjusted the oversized black hoodie she was wearing—the hood decorated liberally with safety pins—in annoyance. She had maybe put on weight over the holidays, but her mother having the gall to point it out now made her feel wretched every time she was anywhere near a mirror. It went without saying she was now uncomfortable and paranoid whenever she caught somebody looking in her direction.

She was used to being judged, but it was supposed to be on her terms, judged for her lifestyle, or being punk provocative, for making a bold anarchist statement. Not for her fucking weight and figure.

What is this, the nineteen thirties?! Shouldn’t have gone to Christmas with them at all, Nicole scowled. Fuckin’ free food. Suckers me into the same old punishment, year after year after year.

Her stepdad wasn’t even the problem, anymore—well, this stepdad wasn’t. It was her stupid mother who just always had to start making constant vicious jabs at her. Last year it was her piercings, before that it was her hair. This year it was saying she was getting fat. Which was ludicrous. Just because her favorite pair of torn jeans had shrunk in the wash didn’t mean she was putting on weight.

“Nicole—you’re getting a little chunky,” her mother had remarked between forkfuls of turkey.

Nicole had found herself completely aghast. CHUNKY. As if that was a perfectly acceptable thing to fuckin’ say about someone. Fine dinner conversation.

“Yeah, I don’t go by NICOLE anymore,” Nicole had scoffed, shoving her plate back and standing up. “Thanks. Thanks for RUINING Christmas, mom.”

“Oh, stop,” her mother hadn’t even looked up at her, that time. “I’m not calling you ZIPPER, or ZIPPO or—whatever it was. You’re not a dog, Nicole.”

“Ziggy,” her stepfather had supplied.

“I’M not calling her that, and YOU need to quit encouraging her,” her mother had said. “She’s nineteen already. It’s time for her to start acting like it.”

Just remembering it made Nicole want to storm out all over again. But, she was at work. It was Hot Topic, at least, which was supposed to be her special sanctum, but it was still also work, and she was tired. She hated how much she needed these paychecks. She hated her family—or she wanted to. That’d be much more simple. She really hated how understanding her stepdad Mr. Gary was, because that was inconsistent with her current reality, and it made it harder for her to throw blanket hate in that direction.

Which would have been way more convenient and so much less trouble to navigate.

Because, fuck you, mom—at least he DOES encourage me, Nicole swore as the label gun clacked but failed to plant a sticker on the next surface in the stack of CD cases she was repricing. Fuck! FUCK! Are you serious right now?!

Turning the oblong orange plastic gun in her hand, she could see there was still plenty of sticker roll left inside. It had jammed up. Again. In frustration she squeezed the trigger three more times in quick succession, hoping the stupid piece of shit would cough out a wad of gummed-together tags, but this time she had no luck. Nothing came out, and on her third pull, the trigger remained depressed in and wouldn’t even come back out.

“Fuck!” Nicole swore, tossing the contraption onto the counter with a clatter.

“Hey, hey, easy on the little thing,” Mr. Gary admonished in a soft voice stepping over to examine the gun. “She’s old.”

“Everything in here is old,” Nicole made a disgusted face at him.

She felt the usual flash of guilt and regret that came with treating him the way she did, because as always, he didn’t deserve it. Anything and everything was just getting under her skin, today. Her bangs kept getting in her face, because she hadn’t taken the time to gel up her hair into spikes—so of course it was just a big shaggy mess, today. It was pissing her off. Everything was pissing her off.

“Ooh, harsh,” Mr. Gary chuckled, cracking the price gun open and peeling back where the stickers had begun adhering to the mouth of the device. “You just gotta be a li’l more gentle with her, and she’ll treat you right. Alright?”

“Yeah, well I’m doing my job,” Nicole growled, separating the newly-stickered CDs away from the stack and waggling them. “It needs to do its job. That’s how this relationship works.”

“There,” Mr. Gary triggered out a sticker onto his fingertip and then snapped the casing back closed again, satisfied. “Remember—gentle.”

“I am gentle!” Nicole snarled, snatching it from him.

She bashed the gun into the next CD case and gripped the trigger, stamping a sticker crooked onto the face of a Sugar Ray album. She hated them anyways—in her opinion, they needed to quit stocking so much pop band radio music and actually put stuff on the shelves that people needed to hear. Music that actually meant something.

“Hey, I talked to Linda, ‘bout Christmas,” Mr. Gary mentioned, lingering by the counter. “She—”

“I don’t care,” Nicole hissed. “I don’t care.”

“She didn’t mean it to come out the way she said it,” Mr. Gary pressed. “She was just worried about you.”

“Oink oink, look at the piggie daughter,” Nicole let out a bitter laugh, turning the gun against her stepdad and shooting a pair of $14.99 tags onto his tattooed bicep. “Are you sure you should be encouraging me?”

“I’ve talked with her about it, and she’s sorry she said it like she did,” Mr. Gary said again. “You could be a little easier on her too, you know? She’s been pretty stressed.”

“That’s not my problem,” Nicole shook her head in defiance. “She doesn’t get to call me fat. Not with her armchair spread. Just look at her!”

“I’m just sayin’—try to go easy on her,” Gary pulled off one of the stickers on his arm and thumbed it onto the shoulder of Nicole’s hoodie. “We’re all in this together, yeah?”

“It’s not my fault everything is old and broken,” Nicole muttered as she watched him walk back over to the band tees section that took up the entire far wall.

“Maybe not, but we’ve gotta work with what we’ve got,” Mr. Gary called over his shoulder as he returned to sorting shirts. “...The label gun, I mean.”

“Yeah, right,” Nicole rolled her eyes.

At least the stupid sticker gun wasn’t quite so quick to label things anything other than what she had the dial set to.

It was so damn irritating that Mr. Gary was cool, instead of the stereotypical strict and straight-laced stepfather. He had full tattoo sleeves, he used to ride a motorcycle—how had her boring dowdy fucking mother managed to hook up with someone like Mr. Gary, of all people? It was beyond her understanding. He wasn’t even just a good dad—he was a great boss. Nicole knew her last dollar-seventy raise wasn’t exactly merited from her outstanding work.

Which sucks, because now I actually feel GUILTY just stealing shit, Nicole scowled all over again. When I know how stupidly overpriced it all is in the first place. Hot Topic is a total scam.

Nicole’s mind wandered back and forth as she finished repricing everything on the sales list that had been printed out. She’d accidentally left the dial on $14.99 for a few of the ones that should have been $16.99, and with a face of disgust she leafed back through the stack with her fingertips and applied lopsided new price tags on top of the wrong ones. She was so sick of this.

Her girlfriend Monique didn’t even have to deal with family bullshit—they all sat and passed around the bong with her mom, over there. The strung-out woman being something between a hippy and some kind of wiccan, but when asked about her spirituality seemed to ramble on about different star readings and interpretations rather than ever providing something specific she would be stuck with keeping to. Which seemed awfully smart. Monique’s mom collected crystals, had five large dogs in an apartment that only allowed one small pet, and the place featured dreamcatchers and bird skulls and cool stuff decorating everywhere.

And, she never ever looked at her daughter and said, ‘you know fatso, you sure are getting chunky,’ Nicole scowled all over again. Who DOES that?

“Ahhhhhh~ahhhhh~Ahhhhh~ahhhh~!” A rising melody, sung in a capella, interrupted her thoughts. “—Pa~per—flow~ers~!”

When she looked up to see who it was, Nicole discovered it was that girl again, the redhead, the strange, possibly-satan cute friend of Elena’s had returned their Sandboro Hot Topic. Elena herself was trailing along several steps behind the girl, face torn between exasperation and amusement. Despite the obvious difference in the notes being sung, Nicole couldn’t help but think of Ariel sacrificing her voice to the sea witch as she watched Tabitha enter the store.

“Ahhhhhh~ahhhhh~Ahhhhh~ahhhh!” Tabitha was blushing slightly, maybe embarrassed, but looked serious rather than like she was playing around, almost even somber as she delivered the impromptu performance. “—Pa~per—flow~ers~!”

While it wasn’t crazy busy today, there were shoppers about, and every head in the store did turn in that direction. So; Nicole made her decisive move. With a ducking motion to reach the sound system down beneath the counter, she killed the in-store music so they could all hear the girl better. The background noise of a Limp Bizkit track she didn’t care for in the first place cut out—and the redhead stepping into Hot Topic had a mezzo soprano that seemed to rush in to fill every inch of silence left behind.

It was… surprisingly good? Really, really good. Nicole didn’t recognize the lyrics, but each bit that was sung out felt like she should have recognized them. Some strange part of how they were delivered grabbed at her attention in a particular way, like someone was pulling her out of a dream. One elbow down on the counter, Nicole leaned back to see if Gary was hearing this, and she caught him frozen in place with a folded shirt in his hands, grinning.

Tabitha finished the impromptu performance as her and Elena reached the central sales kiosk Nicole lorded over the store from, and as Nicole clapped for them, both teenage girls gave her sheepish looks. The applause was meant to be appreciative, but with no one else joining in it felt a little mocking—Nicole glanced around at the other customers, a young girl and a few teenage guys—but the best they could offer were embarrassed smiles and casual interest.

“Ziggy, hi. I want to take Elena to a concert,” Tabitha revealed. “In April or May.”

“Bitchin’,” Nicole turned a grin towards Elena. “Who’re you going to see? Where at?”

“Well, the thing is… it’s eight hours away,” Tabitha said. “They’re in Little Rock, Arkansas.”

“Eight hours away?” Nicole laughed. “Damn, that’s a trip.”

“It is,” Tabitha held her gaze. “So—how do you feel about taking us?”

“Hah,” Nicole snorted. “Uhh, yeah, I don’t think so. All the way to Arkansas? For who, who’s playing?”

“They’re called Evanescence,” Tabitha said. “Or—well, they might not have settled on a final name yet, really. Amy Lee and her friends. I want to take Elena down there for her birthday, a um, a late birthday sort of trip.”

“When’s your birthday?” Nicole turned her attention back to Elena, who had remained silent all this time.

“Uh, it’s after Easter,” Elena admitted. “Early April. But—”

“Don’t call it Easter,” Nicole made a face. “Real Easter was a pagan holiday, just the Christians stole everything from everyone, like they always do. With everything.”

“Elena happened to mention you had a car!” Tabitha curtailed Nicole’s tirade before she could even start building up steam. “I can front money for gas, I’m willing to cover ticket price, and if we need to stay overnight there in Little Rock, I’ll find a way to get money together for the hotel.”

“Food?” Nicole raised her eyebrows. “Beer?”

“Food… I can help with,” Tabitha gave her an uneasy smile. “But, beer? Uhh, Elena and I are fourteen. Sorry?”

“Yeah,” Nicole had to let that term slide, and she narrowed her eyes in thought. “Eight hours, round trip? That’s a super long way.”

“Eight hours… each way,” Tabitha winced. “But! It will be completely worth it, I promise! You’ll get to see Amy Lee before she breaks out big and gets huge and famous.”

“Yeah, well I’ve never even heard of her,” Nicole couldn’t help but sneer. “What’s she play? Punk music? Ska, thrash? Country?”

“Gothic alternative metal and hard rock,” Tabitha stared Nicole down. “The one I was singing when I came in? That’s one of hers. ‘Imaginary.’ Just, without the actual music with it, it’ll never really blow you away like it should.”

“And she’s in Arkansas,” Nicole scowled. “Man, I don’t know. That’s a long ass way from here. Elena? What do you know about all this?”

“Nothing,” Elena admitted, shooting a glance towards her weird friend. “This is all news to me?”

“The one thing that’s come close to persuading Elena that my predictive powers are real is when I sung My Immortal for her,” Tabitha said. “It’s a song from the future, sung by Amy Lee, who goes on to create Evanescence in the early two-thousands.”

“Tabitha…” Elena growled, rolling her eyes. “Seriously?”

“And, this was gothic alternative metal?” Nicole couldn’t hide her skepticism.

“Technically no, My Immortal will be a piano power ballad or gothic ballad,” Tabitha explained. “I have no real way of recreating goth metal or goth rock for you guys, outside of just singing the lyrics like I did coming in, there. And—trust me, it’s not the same, it’s not even close.”

“Sooo—scale of one to ten, how crazy is she?” Nicole asked Elena while jerking a thumb towards Tabitha. “Predictive powers?”

“She’s not crazy,” Elena frowned. “But, that doesn’t mean I believe her, either.”

“When’s this supposed to happen?” Nicole asked. “April?”

“April or May, I’m pretty sure,” Tabitha nodded.

“GAAAARY,” Nicole hollered, clapping both palms on the counter. “Can I get some time off to go to a concert? In April or May?”

“Concert?” Mr. Gary perked up, dropping the box in his hands and heading towards them. “Who’s playing?”

Nicole looked back towards Tabitha again to provide the name.

“Amy Lee—Evanescence, they’ll be playing at a bar called Vino’s, in Little Rock, Arkansas,” Tabitha pleaded her case. “We, um. I want to get Elena there as a late birthday thing for her, but we don’t have a way to get there.”

“Evanescence?” Mr. Gary pursed his lips in thought. “Good name, good name. I was down there in Little Rock not long ago, but I think it was—a coliseum, big coliseum they had. Aerosmith was playing. Barton Coliseum?”

“How long a drive from here to there?” Nicole pressed. “Eight hour trip?”

“Oh no, no—little bit under that, I’d say,” Mr. Gary frowned. “I think last time it took me a little under seven hours? You thinkin’ about making the trip?”

“Maybe,” Nicole said, suddenly feeling defensive. “So what if I am?”

“I just—” Mr. Gary stopped and chuckled. “Between now and then get your oil changed an’ your engine checked out, little lady. My hog’s good for long hauls, but I dunno if your LeBaron can do that kinda distance without problems poppin’ up.”

“You drive a LeBaron?” Elena’s eyes went a little wider. “I thought you said you drove a Chrysler?”

“It is,” Nicole made a face. “It’s just not like a nice LeBaron. It’s an eighty-six Chrysler Lebaron coupe—it’s a piece of shit.”

“Oh,” Elena processed that. “Well, still—you have a car.”

It was gratifying as always to hear the tinge of reverence in the voice of younger teens, because yes; Nicole did have a car. To them, it didn’t have to be a great car or even a good car, just about anything that drives would do, because having one meant you could go places, go places without having to rely on parents or other people. A set of wheels was the ultimate freedom every teenager yearned for… until the bleak reality set in, and a transmission needed replaced or the engine had problems.

Because, fuck me, my LeBaron just runs on prayer at this point, Nicole hid her grimace. If Gary doesn’t like, VOLUNTEER to look it over himself, I’m not even gonna take it in anywhere. I CAN’T AFFORD to fix anything if there’s problems—so why would I even take it in to get checked out?

“Don’t suppose you can chip in for that?” Nicole asked the teens with a ghost of a smirk.

“Sorry,” Tabitha was apparently smart enough to draw the line there. “Gas and tickets and food and something towards a hotel if we need it—that’s as much as I can put in.”

“I guess I could talk to my parents about it,” Elena pursed her lips.

“What’s this all about?” Mr. Gary asked. “Elena, you’re havin’ a birthday?”

“None of your business, geez,” Nicole made a disgusted face. “Buzz off.”

“After Easter,” Elena said again. “Tabitha seems sure that this Evanescence is the music for me, the one that, um. Defines what I’m going through, like you said.”

“Ahh, gotcha, gotcha,” Mr. Gary nodded. “Well, if it’s for something important like that, then yeah Ziggy—go for it. ‘Lena’s one of our best customers. If the little lady needs to go see this concert, then well, there’s nothin’ we can do. We’ll have to get someone else to cover some shifts so you can make a trip out there.”

“You don’t even know the real Elena!” Nicole argued. “You just like her ‘cause her and her mom spend a ton of money here. Get outta here with your phoney bullshit.”

“I know she’s on her personal journey, and it’s lookin’ like that journey’s gonna swing her by Little Rock,” Mr. Gary chuckled, shaking his head. “Was that Evanescence you were singin’ on your way in here, girl? That was something else.”

“Err, yes,” Tabitha blushed. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be, don’t be,” Mr. Gary assured her. “You have a lovely voice. I’m jealous! You a part of choir, or some such?”

“No, nope, nothing like that,” Tabitha shook her head. “I’m going in a different direction—I’m going to try out for cheerleading.”

“You’re what,” Nicole immediately bristled. “So, all that BS and you’re actually just some preppy girl? Gary—we can throw her out for that, right?”

“Cool your jets, cool your jets,” Mr. Gary said. “Everyone’s welcome here, from all walks of life. And, hey—kick the tape player back on, if everyone’s done singin’. Nice seein’ you again, Elena. Nice to meet you—”

“Tabitha,” Tabitha supplied, shaking his hand.

“Tabitha, cool,” Mr. Gary smiled.

“Yeah,” Elena gave him a wave. “Thanks, Gary.”

“Elena, you’re gonna be friends with a cheerleader?” Nicole demanded in disgust, talking past Tabitha to address Elena as if the redhead was no longer present. “Seriously?”

“She’s… not a cheerleader yet,” Elena gave a nervous shrug, glancing at Tabitha. “Maybe—”

“Uh. One of my friends is trying out, so I’m trying out, too,” Tabitha spoke up, sounding a little defiant, now. “Has nothing to do with being into cheerleading or prep, and, yeah, just everything to do with being there for my friends.”

“Uh-huh,” Nicole scowled, crossing her arms. “Yeah, I bet. Well, I’m sure as hell not driving all the way to Arkansas to see some stupid preppy pop princess. Okay?”

“Amy Lee is about the farthest thing from that that I can think of,” Tabitha said. “Her music is going to define gothic for quite a while.”

“Yeah, right,” Nicole threw all the sarcasm she could muster right into the girl’s face. “Like you know jack shit about being goth.”

“That’s the gamble, yeah,” Tabitha gave her an unbothered shrug. “I just don’t want this to be about me proving a point, I want it to be something cool for Elena, because, if she does wind up really liking Evanescence, this trip could be big thing. You might wind up liking Amy Lee, too. You might not. I think she’s maybe a bit younger than you are, so—I don’t even know. Just, can you think it over for me? For us?”

( 51, Opening presents and open confrontation. | RE: Trailer Trash | 53, Ringing in the new year. )

/// Actual Imaginary lyrics omitted for now, frustrating but probably necessary. Sorry everyone for the slow updates, lot going on here. Trying to finish my other fiction, trying to move into a new place, and trying to take care of a new kitten that randomly dropped into my life.