Kelli had an unhealthy obsession with the Scotts. It had begun with a PTA meeting Clark was dragged into, innocent enough, sure; but it had ended here, with Clark grumpily hunching over as he sat in a mall bench, eyes glued to the ground.Â
She swore to him up and down that it was not a playdate, despite calling Vivien and murmuring about just that. A playdate. Oh, well Mrs. Scott and I planned for their daughter to go to the mall with Clark, isn’t that just the sweetest? No, in fact, it is not at all the sweetest, and it was the last thing Clark wanted to be doing with his afternoon. He’d only spoken to Greta a few times, solely because his mother had been egging him too, and apparently she’d taken that as them being best buddies. And then she scheduled this playdate. And forced Clark into it.
He was clueless on what they would even do, seeing as they had absolutely nothing in common. He glanced up at the large mall directory in front of him, reading over the list of shops as he waited for Greta to show. The sooner this was over with, the better.
“I don’t really care where we go, y’know?” Shit. That was lame. She was always a little lame. Clark had a tendency to make it worse, though. She supposed that’s what it was to like someone. They made you lame.
“I just mean — I’ll be just as happy eatin’ Taco Bell as I would be at some fancy restaurant in Paris.” Turning her head to properly face him, the sheepish smile turned to a full grin as it stretched across bright features. “If you’re there, I’m game.”
Clark didn’t think Hallie was at all lame, but he sure as hell believed that she had the tendency of making him a lot more lame. Lameness associated with mutual feelings is a two way street, apparently.
Her response made his feel all warm and gooey inside, which also made him feel ten different kinds of weird inside. Gooey was not an average Clark feeling to have. “Y’know --- I do love me some Taco Bell, but I wanna take you somewhere nice and shit.” He paused, lips cracking into a smile. “I dunno if I can do Paris though. Could be a stretch.”
“So, I was hoping you had some spare clothing on you because I may or may not have spilled my lunch on me.”
“You’re in luck, kiddo,” he began, whipping his backpack around to his front, beginning to rifle through it’s contents. Eventually, after what appeared to be years of digging, he produced a t-shirt from the abyss of the pocket, and he unfurled the wrinkled mass with pride. Inscribed on it’s front were the words “Chicks Love The Shaggin Wagon,” and a photo of the car from Dumb and Dumber. He held it out to her with a delighted grin. “Hope it’s to your liking.”
   A twitch of a smile edged on Kelly’s face but she attempted to appear annoyed at the young man, though it was obvious in her eyes that she wanted to smile. “You’re not sorry, don’t you lie to me.” She said, the smile breaking as he tried to put on an innocent grin, “I hope you know that you’ve ruined my day, man.”
Okay --- she wasn’t pissed. Good sign. In fact... she looked amused by the fact that he had swiped the last baked treat from the cafe, which was significantly better than what he had expected. “Honestly...” He brushed the crumbs off his chin, shrugging a shoulder. “It wasn’t even all that great.”
Of course Clark would ignore her attitude- he’d never taken it seriously. But she knew it was probably from a combination of his own laid-back attitude and the fact that he’d seen more of her temper tantrums than half of her prep friends. “Nate,” she muttered, looking down at the ground, not wanting to offer up more information.
“Right,” he replied, nodding in understanding. One word answer? Probably not in his best interest to pry for more, especially when she seemed to be at her wits end. “Well look, I got twenty bucks burnin’ a hole in my pocket, and 7/11 is only a couple blocks away...”Â
The difference between Clark’s collected life experiences, and her’s, was hulk-sized, she was aware of that much. Even from looking at tonight alone, he’d had a full on make out session with Connor, and she’d had her first kiss with one of her girlfriends. Hallie hadn’t taken the Knights’ comments to heart, because, in her opinion, anyway, Clark was too good to pull anything like that. Even with her habit of overlooking the bad in people.
There was a few moments of silence, and Hallie’s eyes fell to the concrete beneath her feet. Hearing him start, she quickly moved her gaze back to him, a sheepish smile growing on her lips. Was he asking her on a date? She wasn’t really sure why he’d be wanting too, and it was hard to tell, where Clark was concerned. “Yeah, yeah, I’d freaking love that.”
Despite the fact that Clark was leagues away from being near good enough for Hallie, she still wanted to go out with him. Not only wanted to, but seemed eager to. It made him a bit emotional, honestly.
“Yeah?” He repeated, lips quirking up into a grin. “Awesome. Yeah, that’s --- that’s awesome, man.” He paused, face looking momentarily blank before he let out a laugh. “I dunno where the fuck we’d even go. Whaddya like? ...The Woods Creek cuisine is kinda limited.”
“Wait, I’m coming with you!” she called, taking short, quick strides to make her way by his side. “It’s a lot of paint– I don’t want you to spill it or something.” She walked beside him as they made their way to the art room, braid bouncing with her steps. “Maybe this will help you learn that you actually need to do what I say,” she said, sending him a stern glance. “Being Vice President means having duties, and you can’t just neglect them.”
She stopped in front of the room to open the door, but alas– it was locked! “No, no, no,” she muttered, feeling her heart sink. She peered through the small glass panel, only to see that the room was completely empty. “Why are you closed?!” she cried, pressing her forehead to the door. “Tell us the reason!”
Clark had ignored all of her ranting and raving about “vice presidential duties” (though he did have to stifle a giggle at the word duties), but now he was paying full attention. She was yelling at a door, clearly distressed, and it was his time to shine.Â
With deft fingers, he plucked a bobby pin from her neat braid, quick at work as he pulled it apart, preparing his weapon. He squatted in front of the door to jam the pin into the lock, tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth as he fully immersed himself in his work. This was his forte.
Clark gasped, eyes widening. “Dude, what the fuck?” He then proceeded to hurriedly whip out his wallet, pulling out a twenty and holding it out to the other boy. “Buy yourself somethin’ nice, kid.”
   “Did someone get the last muffin?” Kelly asked as she looked down the line of the cafeteria. “Damn, I was looking forward to that. Stomach bug has not been kind these past few weeks.”
Clark’s eyes widened, muffin crumbs spilling out of the corners of his mouth. “Sorry,” he muttered (or at least... attempted to with a mouth full of muffin), before swallowing and flashing her his most innocent grin.
“Whatever,” Josie practically spat into her phone, barely paying attention to her surroundings, pausing for only seconds to listen to the other line. “No, I don’t really give a fuck. Have fun, fuck off, bye,” she growled, hanging up and shoving her phone in her purse angrily as she walked, slamming into the person in front of her. “Jesus! Walk much, asshole?” she started, looking up as the person she’d hit.
“Oh --- shit, sorry Jose,” he replied, clearly not at all fazed by her anger. There was a pointed & amused look at her purse, his lips curling up into a smirk. “Who was that?”
There were sirens in the distance; there were bright, engulfing flames crackling in front of him. There were spilled matches laying on the concrete next to his shoes.
The scene was surreal. Like a slow motion sequence in a film; a dream in which everything is slightly fuzzy, nothing within feels real. His eyes perused the area. Skid marks from the getaway car were about a yard away, visible only by the light from the fire.
The sirens were closer now.
There was not nearly enough time to run, though it wasn’t like it would fix anything, or make the conflagration go away. They’d left him in the dust to deal with this alone, no thought whatsoever about anything but themselves.
The light from the flames cast his shadow upon the brick wall behind him. Yellow light combining with blue and red; the outline of the culprit, blew up in living colors for the world to see.
There was the booming of a voice across the courtyard, telling him to put his hands up. Shaky arms reached up toward the stars. Wide, fearful eyes locked onto to the shadow of a gun pointed at him.
And then the slow motion wore off, the scene sped up. Fuzzy lucidity transforming into a blur of gruff voices, shoving hands, the surface of the squad car, and complete, all encompassing fear.
The handcuffs were a lot colder than he had expected them to be. Cool metal digging dents into wrists that wouldn’t let him forget the inferno left behind. There was a song softly drifting through the speakers -– Tainted Love by Soft Cell -– providing ill-fitting ambiance to his tragic fate. The car smelled like smoke, the cop was eerily quiet, the metal around his wrists pushed harder with each turn onto a new street.
The silence of the car, only somewhat intruded by the croon of Marc Almond, led to his own contemplation. His own self-degradation, wondering why he ever let himself trust a group so much older than himself. Trying to impress wouldn’t lead to any good, he should have known this. He should have known better. And though he knew there was no use beating himself up over something that was unchangeable, he couldn’t stop the thoughts.
And then the car came to a stop, parked in front of a building. Woods Creek Police, the sign read, lit up in blue and red until the engine was turned off.
The questioning didn’t take long. There was no point in denial when the proof had been shining like the sun just a few blocks away. There was no point in pinning any of blame on the group, either. It was his idea, after all.
His mother's words sparked up in his mind. "You made your bed, you lie in it." The cogs in his head had been hard at work, desperately searching for some answer that would get him out of this situation, like every other situation before. But as he stood in front of the phone, blank eyes locked on the keypad, there was a harrowing realization: he'd really fucked up this time.
Shit. That tone of voice did not sit well in Dallas’ stomach– Though, that could’ve easily been the bad mix of coffee, cookie dough, and half-melted gummy bears. Whatever it was, it made Dallas’ eyes widen as they caught against Clark’s and his stomach flip in on itself, over and over and over..
“…..I gotta take a shit.” With that, he’s bounding out of his seat and racing into the shop, ignoring the confused stares of customers and workers alike as he slams into the bathroom, locking it tight behind him. A look into the mirror made him cringe back in shock, for the sight of his limp locks surrounding a face that looked like it’d just recently been reanimated by Herbert West was not a sight he needed to see right now. Christ, did he always look like this?Â
It was as though he’d waltzed into some shitty comedy. They always used the sudden need to take a dump as an excuse to get out of stuff --- right?Â
He was unsure of whether or not he should follow Dallas into the restroom. If it turned out he actually was taking a shit, that would be awkward as hell. And if he wasn’t... Clark really wouldn’t know what to say to him. So, he sat idly, shoveling another scoop of ice cream into his mouth and feeling intensely uncomfortable.
Hey, maybe Dallas was just being a concerned, helpful, loving and supportive friend. Maybe he truly cared about what it was that Clark did after Dallas dragged himself away from the circle before he’d have to watch the world kiss the only person that he, himself wanted to kiss. Maybe he really did want to know if Clark and Hallie had a nice night together, alone, happy and full of sunshine and happiness and God, Dallas was about to vomit gummy bears all over the table.
His eyes raised to meet Clark’s once more, a pitiful attempt as a smile pulling at his lips. His head was really starting to hurt, now. “That’s, uh.. Pretty sweet of you. And stuff.” Yuck. “Why don’t you ever walk me home?” Double yuck.
Hm. Hmm. Clark’s eyebrows furrowed as his skepticism continued to grow. Though it wasn’t unusual for them to jokingly flirt back and forth (it’d almost been cemented as their thing, at this point), this didn’t have the same teasing feeling as it tended to. It just made him feel... guilty? Worried? Just plain fucking weird?
“...Dude, you alright?” He met Dallas’ eyes, his own laced with concern.Â
“Well, first, you have to – and by have to, I actually mean have to – go with me to get supplies. I have the balloons in my locker, so that’s not a problem, but I left the paints and banner paper in Mrs. Gutierrez’s room.” She tucked the folder underneath her arm and put on her game face. “We only have five hours to pull this together.”
Arden’s game face was oddly intimidating, as was Mrs. Gutierrez’s room. ...This night was not going to be an enjoyable one.
“ --- Shit, alright,” he reluctantly replied, stuffing his phone back into his pocket as he prepared to delve into the battlefield. He gave her a half-hearted salute before bee-lining it to the door. The faster he got this shit done, the better.
Oh, for fuck’s sake– The last thing that Dallas wanted was for Clark to start questioning him on anything, and to answer that question meant a whole slew of questions that Dallas was not ready for. So, instead of responding right away, Dallas slumped forward on folded arms and blinked up at Clark from beneath his bangs, hoping to come off as the tired drunk he was.
“…Fuck if I remember, man. I was hoping you’d tell me,” His own eyes widened as they catch against Clark’s, something resembling a grin spreading across his lips. “Guess that means you have to tell me about your night, instead.” Yuck.
Clark’s suspicions were slowly (veeery slowly), but surely, beginning to grow, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly as Dallas talked his way out of another answer. It wasn’t unusual for anyone in his friend group to get blackout drunk, but then for Dallas to request that Clark talk about his night? ...Weird.
“I’onno, I went home pretty early, cause Hallie had some poor kid babysittin’ at her place. Couldn’t make them hang around all night.” He shrugged a shoulder, leaning forward to rest his chin in his hands. “So I walked her home, and shit.”
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