Although I'm nowhere near being done with the first full part of this story, I finished the first 10 pages this morning, and figured I'd post a good chunk of it. There are about 9 1/2 pages here, and I know it doesn't cover much, but it does give a bit of a glimpse into the first chapter. This upcoming week is spring break at the school I work at, which means 8 hour days and no writing time, so I've been cranking along over my 3-day weekend. Also, I've been reading/watching The Testaments, and I'm already so hooked it feels like only a matter of time before I try adding that to my growing list of AUs haha. Anyway, here's a bit of Assimilation!
Light from a nearby street light peered in from the fractured glass of the sliding balcony door, highlighting a kitschy vintage shag rug and the cracked cement that made up the floor. Despite the hard, uncomfortable surface, one man lay across the floor, his hands tucked into the pockets of a worn, frayed hoodie. The light illuminated only half of his face, leaving the rest in the darkness of the room as he stared blankly up at the ceiling, his blue-gray eyes watching the old ceiling fan circle in a slow wobble.
He took in a deep breath and sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. If it hadn’t been for the blood slowly trailing over his temple from his right eyebrow, the man would’ve looked entirely peaceful. Or as though he had just smoked an entire bowl of weed. Miles wasn’t one to partake in such things, but after the day he’d had, he was almost tempted to hit up the guy who hung out behind the gas station if he had an extra blunt.
“Obviously, I love him,” Miles said to seemingly nobody in particular. “He’s my dad.”
“Hmm,” a voice replied.
Miles’s eyes opened, his eyes flicking toward the darkened expanse of the room as his mind tried to pick apart the other person’s sound. “What does that ‘Hmm’ mean? Just say what you wanna say.”
The other person, their soothing voice leaning more masculine than feminine, spoke, “It’s just, when you add ‘obviously’, it makes it feel less obvious. I’ll just ask again. How do you really feel about your father?”
This felt like therapy, Miles decided. He also decided he didn’t really want to be therapized at the moment. Turning his head toward the glass door, he sighed, looking out at the city beyond those four walls. Seeing Miles’s reluctance to face the conversation, the person chose to fill the gap until Miles was ready.
“It’s as if, maybe, it’s a bit more complicated than you’re willing to admit,” they said. “It’s completely understandable. I mean, your dad died - I believe - four years ago. And your mom died, what? Nine or ten years ago? That’s a long time to let something like this sit in your head.”
“Fourteen years,” Miles said with a sense of finality. It had been eleven years since their mom’s passing. Bentley had been five at the time of the accident. He was now nineteen. Royce had been seven, and was now barely a month away from turning twenty-one. Miles himself had been eleven. Now… he felt old, but he was only twenty-five. It had been a long time since that fateful winter day. His brothers were, by technicality, old enough to be out on their own. They simply chose not to. None of them wanted to go their own way just yet. They wanted to keep the home their mom filled with love before her passing.
Their father’s death, on the other hand, had been a rough mixture of relief and heartbreak. It had happened after a drunken night on the town with some other heroes, in the same suit Miles now wore on a nearly daily basis, at the hands of the same villain Miles was actively trying to keep away from his little brothers. Two bottles of tequila and one idiotic comment later, they were pulling the Citadel suit into the repair bay with a swarm of paramedics trying to pull the great Allen Murphy out of his mech suit.
According to witnesses, Allen, in the Citadel uniform, but not the mech suit, had bragged about taking on more than one villain and winning, which was quickly proven wrong when he was summoned to an attack in Apollo Beach. Crépuscule, of course, had overpowered Allen with their band of bionic buffoons, who pinned him down long enough for Crépuscule to slice through the hastily-latched mech suit and kill the man inside.
The news hit home by the end of Miles’s shift at the local repair shop, but it wasn’t so much a night of mourning as it was a night of relief. Allen wouldn’t be taking out his drunken tirade on any of them, or showing up at their door that night. They had rented a roll-away dumpster the next day, and disposed of all of Allen’s most prized beer bottles by the end of the week. After the funeral came and went, the brothers moved out of their apartment, moved into their old family home, and began making the home feel more happy and colorful.
They ripped out the old carpets and put in ones their mom would be proud of. Bentley got his art studio. Royce and Miles split custody of the attic for writing and engineering use. The basement was converted from a man cave to a game room. Their home finally felt like theirs again.
Then came the call.
The Citadel suit had been deep-cleaned and repaired to its former glory. The city needed Citadel back out on the streets, saving citizens and preventing villain attacks. Miles, at the time, was the only one over eighteen in the house. He was the only one who could feasibly take over the role of Citadel for the city.
At first, he kept his day job, working on cars to pay the bills while he learned the ropes of being a hero. Then, once he got the hang of things, Miles took over full time, taking the monthly checks from the state as a payment and using them to help get his brothers through school. Miles was, by no means, the same hero his dad once was. He tried his best to bring back the iconic suit and make sure people knew he wasn’t his father. He wasn’t better than his father, either. He was simply Miles.
In his prime, Allen was a great hero. He was beloved by the city as well as his wife and kids, and was seen as a star in the community. One of the last great heroes before the world became full of random ones. The death of his wife, Dorothea, hit him hard. Instead of taking up the free therapy offered by the state, Allen turned to drinking, leaving his three sons worried and wondering whether they’d have enough money to afford pencils for school. By the time of his passing, Allen’s prime had come and gone, his celebrity status was nonexistent, and he was little more than a drunken mockery of what Citadel once was.
Miles was determined to be different. He was determined to make Citadel the icon it once was. Even if that meant going to extreme measures to drag the suit’s reputation out of the mud and find the villain responsible for the night of his father’s murder.
Miles shook his head, trying to drag himself out of his head and back to the present. He didn’t need to reminisce right now. He needed to get down to business. “Look,” he began, remembering he wasn’t alone, “it doesn’t matter. He’s gone.”
“That’s a bit of an understatement, don’t you think?” the other man asked rhetorically. “He’s more than gone, because he’s fuckin’ dead, man. That’s, quite literally, the most gone any of us can be.”
“Yeah, okay,” Miles said, turning his head back toward the darkened parts of the room, seeing the faint outline of a figure in a chair by the wall. “Listen, if I didn’t love him, we wouldn’t be in this fucking mess, right?”
“We don’t have to get into it,” the other man said, sounding as though he was growing impatient with the entire conversation.
Miles let out a snort, swiping his cheek as something warm and wet slid over his skin. “Oh, no, we’re in it now,” he began. “Why would I be trying to find the man who killed my dad if I didn't love him? Why would I be doing any of this if I-” Glancing at his hand, Miles’s words died on his tongue as he caught a glimpse of blood on the back of his knuckles. “Ah, shit. My nose is bleeding. Thought I was getting… emotionally snotty or something.”
“No, no,” the man in the chair said, “it’s probably from when I kicked you in the face.”
“Yeah,” Miles said, turning toward the man as he sat up on the concrete. Pushing himself to his feet, he continued, “Thanks for the reminder. So, here’s what I think’s going to happen. I’m going to hang you off the side of this building, and you’re going to tell me where Crépuscule is, or I’m going to drop you to your death and dispose of you in the river.”
The breeze blew through the broken glass panes, making the thin, practically see-through curtains dance in the wind. Miles watched them man in the chair with scrutiny as he smiled toothlessly beneath the blindfold. His wrists and ankles were bound to one of those shitty green lawn chairs Miles had taken from the balcony. If he hadn’t known any better, the guy looked normal. Tattoos lining the man’s neck and arms, too-tight skinny jeans with rips on the knees, raggedy Converse with tattered laces, and a yellow shirt with the local football team’s logo on the front.
But the man wasn’t normal. The neon red, glowing light peeking out from under the man’s shirt collar was proof that he wasn’t normal. Hardly anyone in St. Pete was normal anymore.
“Come on, I thought we were having a breakthrough,” the man said, his voice bordering on a whine.
“Eh, I guess we did,” Miles said with a shrug, stepping closer to the man and leaning over so that he was face-to-face with him. “Y’know, for being a real piece of shit, you’re pretty easy to talk to. Sadly, the only ‘breakthrough’ I need right now, is information on Crépuscule.”
The tattooed man, despite being blindfolded and bound to a shitty lawn chair, tried his best to act tough as he loudly replied, “I’m not telling you shit, you fuckin’ limp-dicked loser.”
Miles cracked a smile, swiping away a single trail of blood from under his nose as he said, “Yeah. See, this is more like how I thought this would go.”
Hearing footsteps round the chair he was perched on, the tattooed man’s head turned in the direction of the steps as Miles grabbed the back of his chair and started dragging him toward the balcony. “I hope Crépuscule kills you like they killed your pathetic, drunken father.” Panic rose in the man’s chest as he was forcibly leaned back and dragged out onto the balcony, the cool evening air hitting his back before his face as Miles pulled him outside. “I hope they fuckin’ spank your little daddy issue bitch ass to death. You hear me?”
As Miles swung the chair to the balcony wall, the plastic bouncing off the concrete slab with a faint twang, he let go of the chair, taking in the empty alley below as the man in the chair wondered hopelessly about whether or not they were now outside. Ensuring nobody was outside, Miles’s eyes raked along the sidewalks and thin street before turning back to the man.
“Sure is windy up here tonight,” Miles said in a calm, measured tone.
“Why’re we outside?” the tattooed man asked as Miles silently stepped in front of him.
Instead of answering the man’s question, Miles simply said, “No telling where you’re going to land.” Leaning down, Miles grabbed the legs of the chair and lifted with a grunt, using the leverage of the wall to push the chair up onto the concrete ledge. Leaning the man over the edge just enough for him to feel the gravity of his head dangling over the ledge, Miles let him panic for a moment before shushing him, “Hey! Hey! Dude, I have neighbors. Keep it down. Use your inside, library voice and just tell me where the fuck Crépuscule is.”
“Okay!” the man shrieked. “Okay, okay! The Steel Mill. Tampa, I think. T-Tampa Steel Corp, okay? Their old building by the bay. Fuck, man!”
Miles’s eyes narrowed at the information. Tampa? That was, technically, out of Citadel’s jurisdiction. Citadel was an independent hero, not one contracted by the Superhero Dispatch Network. SDN had primary jurisdiction over major cities. Independent heroes had access in surrounding areas and smaller cities. If he was going to infiltrate this base in Tampa, he’d need to ensure he did it undercover.
Wanting to make sure he had the right information before he jumped the gun on it, Miles edged the man further over the side of the balcony. “You sure about that?”
“Yes!” the man hollered. “Please, that’s all I know! I swear!”
“Stop screaming, damnit!” Miles ordered, wanting the guy to just shut up so he could get this over with.
Hoping for a way out, the man screamed, “HELP! HEEEEL-mmmphh!”
Miles’s hand clamped over the man’s mouth, his other arm wrapping around the leg of the chair to keep the man from falling. Despite knowing the man was a criminal, he didn’t want anything to happen to him just yet. “Hey, hey,” Miles said in what he hoped sounded like a soothing voice. “I’ll pull you up if you quiet the fuck down.”
Instead of taking Miles up on his offer, the tattooed criminal bit down on the web space between Miles’s thumb and forefinger, his teeth baring into the bandaged wraps on Miles’s hand instead of skin. As the man continued his muffled screaming, Miles readjusted his grasp and slapped his palm firmly over the man’s mouth. He was growing impatient with the sentient turd of a man he had taken for information.
“Man, if you want something to scream about that badly,” Miles began, tipping the chair further, “I’ll give you something to scream about.”
Letting go of the man’s face, Miles stepped back and gripped the legs of the chair, lifting it up and listening to the man’s cries of fear as the chair vaulted over the concrete balcony and careened toward the street level. Miles leaned over the concrete wall, crossing his arms with a smirk as he stared down at the street. Three floors down, in a dumpster, supported by an old mattress covered in suspicious stains, was the man in the chair. Though the man was still, clearly, upset at the situation, he looked more angered by the slimy, browned banana peel that had wound up slapped across his face.
Shaking his head in an effort to fling the peel off of his face, the man’s head turned toward the sky as he yelled up toward Miles, “You’re a piece of shit!”
“Actually, I think that would be the bag of used diapers near your head. Not me.” Miles said with a shrug, eyeing the mounting pile of garbage with a look of disgust. leaned over and called back, “I ruined a perfectly good mattress to make sure you didn’t die, man. You’re welcome.”
Deciding to leave the man in the alley trash for the morning clean-up crew to handle, Miles slipped back into the run-down apartment, grabbing his discarded suit on the way out. Pulling on the mask he had grown accustomed to, Miles waited until he was in the elevator before slipping into the spandex-and-leather suit, ensuring nobody knew who he was on his way out. Not that there would be anybody out this late in the first place. Most people in that shady area of Clearwater were either from lower-income families who had little ones in bed already, people who needed to be up early for work, or, like Miles, heroes who had secret hideouts away from their families and friends.
Waiting in the parking lot, under the shade of an old, tattered awning, was Citadel - or, rather, the mech suit known as Citadel. In its current state, the suit looked like nothing more than an average car. His father’s tech expert who helped make the suit made it so that the car could blend in with ease, but now, it felt like the Batmobile. On the hood was a silver, eight-pointed star - the symbol associated with Citadel since way back when his grandfather started saving people in the seventies - but that silver star was the only new-ish thing about the car.
The paint was chipped from battle and burned in a few places, but Miles didn’t exactly have the cash to worry about the appearance of the old mech suit. The suit itself had been in the family since the early aughts when his father had dismantled the original and rebuilt it with a newer look. Now, the thing just looked old. It sort of resembled a Corvette from the early 2000s, but with fading paint peeling in different spots, a headlight that never fully lifted from its cradle, and seams that made no sense due to the mech suit.
Miles pressed a hand to the faded outline of a star on the hood, reminiscing about the days he used to spend watching his father and grandfather work on the suits. However, as he rounded the car and opened the door, he realized he wasn’t going to be alone on his ride to Tampa. With a heavy sigh, Miles slipped into the driver’s seat and muttered, “Y’know, I didn’t sign up to be an Uber today.”
“And my dispatcher didn’t sign up to hear the screams of a man being dangled over a railing,” a soft voice said from the passenger’s seat, making Miles wince inwardly. Maybe he hadn’t been as discreet as he thought. “I guess we’re both disappointed tonight.”
“Mickie-”
“You don’t get to ‘Mickie’ me tonight, Miles,” Makana hissed from the passenger seat, her deep, umber eyes sharpening as she turned in her seat. If Miles hadn’t known better, he would’ve been sure the brunette would beat him up if given the chance. However, she didn’t, and he knew she wouldn’t. “Three reports of loud noises, one call with a man screaming for help in the background, and one video call of a person watching another get vaulted off a balcony by someone in a raggedy-ass hoodie.”
Miles glanced down at himself, recalling the hoodie he was wearing under his super suit. “Raggedy?”
“Miles!” Mick snapped, turning in her seat with an exasperated glare. “You got caught on camera, dumping some guy over the edge of a building in a lawn chair, and you only care about your fuck ass hoodie? Is that seriously your biggest concern right now?”
Feeling every bit like a child who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar, Miles shook himself out of his thoughts and muttered, “Sorry, Mick. I didn’t think people would be up at this hour.”
“That doesn’t make it better,” Mick sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose as she slumped back in her seat. “If anything, I think that would make this worse.”
Miles raised an eyebrow at Mick’s behavior, curious as to what she could possibly mean. “Make what worse?”
Staring up at the ceiling of the car, Mick let out a hearty sigh and shook her head against the leather seat. Miles swallowed at the sight. He hated upsetting Mick in any way, shape, or form. They had been close since she moved in down the street from him back in 2018. They had grown close quickly, and he had stumbled upon her secret identity all too quickly. Now that he had taken over as Citadel, he occasionally felt as though he had to walk on eggshells around Mick when she was in “hero mode”. She was, after all, his only ally at SDN. She was the only person who would let him help other heroes, even if it was in a place outside of his jurisdiction. Seeing her look so frustrated with him made a pit form in his stomach.
Makana Birch, aka Manta Ray, was what most Redditors referred to as an S-tier superhero. She was the product of two top-tier superheroes falling in love. Her parents were legends back in California before they retired. Her mom - the infamous Countess Crystalline - had the ability to turn invisible at will and could move objects with her mind. Her father - Guardian - had super-strength, could fly, and had the ability to manipulate energy. Makana’s abilities to control water in any form made her a formidable foe. Miles had once taken her out for a drink after a long shift and watched her control a man’s blood to get him to leave a woman alone. She hadn’t even looked up from her drink to do so. She simply took a deep breath, jerked her head to the side ever-so-slightly, and blew her hair back from her eyes before taking a sip of her drink and continuing the conversation once the woman had gotten away safely.
Miles hadn't seen the full extent of Makana’s powers, as she often claimed she held back a lot, but he was sure he never wanted to get on her bad side.
“It doesn’t matter right now,” Mick muttered, glancing out at the parking lot for a moment. Turning her gaze back onto Miles, she eyed him cautiously before asking. “So, where are we going?”
Taken aback, Miles asked, “What?”
Sending Miles a knowing look, Mick gestured toward the alleyway where Miles left the man in the garbage, and said, “Don’t think I haven’t seen that asshole’s picture on your little pin-board of revenge back at the Citadel hideout. He’s a dick, but he has some sort of connection to Crépuscule. If you found something out about them, I’m down for getting my hands dirty.”
Miles was quick to shake his head, adamant that he didn’t want help taking down the man who killed his father. “No, no, no. I can’t let you do that,” he argued gently. He knew Mick could handle anything thrown her way, but she was also the icon of the state. She was basically the Miss America of Floridian heroes. If she were to take on a revenge plot and it was leaked to the public, she would be sent back to California with a tarnished reputation and a temporary ban from her job as a hero until the bad press wore off.
“Funny,” Mick said with a small smirk. “I wasn’t asking for permission.” Pulling her cape up, Mick reached into one of the various pouches on her belt and pulled out a silver disk no bigger than a CD. pressing the center of the disk, a hologram flickered to lift in the center, displaying Crépuscule in their bionic suit.
Not much was known about Crépuscule apart from the fact that they raided steel mills and tech businesses throughout the state. Nobody knew their true name or age or, well, anything really. The only thing that was really known about them, other than the fact that they used their stolen items as bionic equipment for their group of loyal minions, was that they were some kind of Francophile, hence their name being the French word for dusk.
Their bionic suit was as gender-neutral as it could be, their color scheme was mostly black, blue and red, and they used a voice modifier so they never sounded the same way twice. Even their minions didn’t know who they were. It was bizarre, but it felt as though they simply appeared one day, decided to take up villany, and never looked back.
Mick tapped on the silver disk, spinning the image around until it displayed a long list of locations around the city of Tampa. “These are all the steel mills in Tampa that have a high risk of being the next target,” she explained, her voice taking on the more serious tone it always did when she was talking about superhero business. “We’re not sure where Crépuscule will go next, but we’re assuming somewhere near the water. I’ve been tasked with finding them and taking them down.” Mick’s gaze lifted from the digital screen, her taupe eyes meeting Miles’s icy ones as she added, “If you know anything, Miles, now would be the time to fess up. I’d rather have you by my side on this than have you angry that you didn’t get the chance for your revenge.”
Miles debated for a while, his eyes flickering between Mick’s eyes as he registered her offer. Despite enjoying his freedom as a rogue, he knew that, in the eyes of SDN and the public, his image would be tarnished if he took on Crépuscule alone. It would look like nothing more than a pure revenge plot. He could be arrested for taking out his frustrations on Crépuscule if he did it alone. With Manta Ray on his side as a representative of the Superhero Dispatch Network, it would be a better look.
She would also keep him from killing whatever son of a bitch was under the mask.
Miles sighed, glancing at the Citadel symbol on the steering wheel for a moment. Mick had a point, whether he liked it or not. Miles closed his eyes for a moment, reluctant agreement settling in his bones as he came to the realization that he knew what he had to do.
“Yeah, alright, I know something,” Miles confessed, turning to sit properly in his seat. Tugging his seatbelt across his chest, he said, “Tampa Steel Corp. It’s over by East Tampa Beach.”
Mick’s shoulders relaxed slightly as she turned and sat facing the windshield. Buckling herself in, she tapped a few buttons on her disk, letting the hologram disappear before tucking it away in her cape. As Miles pressed a few buttons and the mech suit roared to life, Mick asked, “Isn’t that area filled with apartment complexes and hotels and stuff?”
Miles nodded as he guided the car out of the parking spot. “And a children’s hospital, yeah.”
I've been sick every weekend for the last month, had a horrible cold for the last week, and decided now that I'm almost back to full health (minus a cough and stuffy nose, yay), I can get back to writing a bit. I've been working on STDP and TEIN when I felt up to doing anything, as well as working on painting my nephew's PS4 for him (what on earth did I get myself into, truly), but nothing is scratching my writing itch right now. I'm still going to work on them, but they're not doing it for me right now as I'm a bit into other things right now.
Basically, this is me asking if deviating from the norm would be alright for a while as I try to get my inspiration sorted out.
I have a few AU/one-shot ideas that have been pulling my brain in a million different directions, so I figured I'd write those out and give you an idea of where my brain is at before I delve into any of them.
Dispatch (5-8 chapters)
Honestly, this AU would make a lot of sense to me. It's basically a superhero story, mixed with the monotony of a 9-5. In the game, you play as Robert, a former hero, now dispatcher who works for the Superhero Dispatch Network after his mech suit was destroyed in battle. His team (the Z team) are villains-turned-superheroes. He needs to get his team working together despite their differences so that they aren't kicked from the company. Just know that, if I do this AU and stick with certain characters following certain threads, I can and will get a bit spicy with it (also, use this as a warning that some actual gameplay is spicy too, if you decide to watch any).
So far, I have a good grasp on who I think fits where and which characters would be made up on the spot, but regardless, Miles is 100% Mecha Man, Robert Robertson III (yes, that's his real name). Just imagine Miles, this third-generation, Iron Man-esque superhero, being saddled with a 9-5 to support his brothers. Plus, exasperated Miles with caffeine and Twinkie addictions? I think yes.
Carrie is, in my opinion, a mixture of Prism, Coupe, and Invisigal. She has the "fuck you, I do what I want" energy of Invisigal as well as the ability to act as a master assassin like Coupe. I lean more towards Invisigal for her (not because of her being a romantic interest, but that's there, too), but the idea of assassin Carrie coming in clutch would be insane. Also, Prism is, quite literally, a celebrity among the group. She has a massive following online, was inspired by Dazzler (MCU) the way Carrie was in my old superhero story, and is a great fit for Carrie's charismatic personality. I imagine a mix of Invisigal and Prism, mostly.
Mick is, for once, a mentor-figure to Miles in this AU. She would take on the role of Blonde Blazer (Mandy). Blonde Blazer is the first hero we come across who gives off the stereotypical "hero" vibe. She wants the villain rehabilitation program to succeed, but it's growing increasingly difficult with the lack of growth the new heroes are giving off. She's one of the romance options, but, obviously, not going there. She's sticking with Butchy.
Speaking of, Butchy comes in as - for once - not a mentor. Instead, he's taking on the role of Phenomaman. Phenomaman is Blonde Blazer's boyfriend (ex, in the game), and joins the Z-team after the breakup hits him so hard he goes into a depressive episode that gets him fired from his original branch of SDN.
A very similar character for Ethan would be Golem, in my opinion. Golem is this giant, rock-and-mud man. Don't let that fool you. He's the chillest guy in the game. He takes special gummies from time to time, is laid back, but has his wise moments, and is one of my favorite characters because he reminded me of Ethan so much.
Vivien, as per usual, is a special kind of chaos. In this universe, I could see her radiating a mixed bag of chaotic energy. In one way, I could see her being Invisigal (in the way Robert is like a mentor for her and tries to help her be a better person). In another, I could see her being Malevola. Malevola is a half-demon woman who took up villainy mainly because of her heritage and appearance. Along the way, Malevola met her best friend (Sonar, I'll get into him later) and they saw a flier for the rehabilitation program. She decided to join in order to give them both a chance at a better life. Though Malevola is usually more level-headed than most of the others, she had her moments where she goes buck-wild and loses her shit on others for doing stupid things.
Of all the characters we have, I have a tie between Sonar and Punch Up for who I could see for Riven. Odd combo, yeah, but bear with me. Riven is the side of Sonar who is more serious about being brought into the program. He takes things very seriously (sometimes to the point of not understanding jokes) and grows as a person throughout the game, if you keep him on the team. I could also see Ethan for the side of Sonar that indulges in various recreational drugs and tries to cut back a bit to appease Malevola as she is his sponsor for the program. Sonar is very loyal to the team and will go out of his way to help the others. It's a hard pick, but I think Riven could be a better pick because I want Ethan as Golem.
Royce and Bentley have their own spots in this as well. I won't divulge too much, but they're not exactly the little angels Miles sees them as. That's all you're getting from me for now!
Here are some quotes from the game and who I could see saying them:
--
Random Villain: "Aaaagh! She temporarily blinded me!"
Carrie (or possibly Vivien): "The fuck you mean 'temporarily'? Bitch, you're blind forever!"
--
Mick (in a room full of bad guys): "I can see I'm outnumbered. But, by my read, I'm taking a lot of you with me. So, all of you can leave now... or half of you can die here."
--
Carrie: "Sorry I'm late. My phone was on Do Not Disturb. Anyway, what'd I miss?"
Radio Interference (from an ongoing incident): *Indistinct screams*
Vivien: "Oh, not much. Just the end of the fucking world."
--
Vivien (discussing a random cult who may or may not have kidnapped her): "Hey, not to be a buzzkill or whatever, but hypothetically, if we did need to negotiate with these guys, what are we willing to offer?
Miles (over radio, exasperated): "Well, I see we've entered the 'negotiating with cultists' phase of the evening."
--
Ethan (walking by, seeing Miles staring blankly ahead instead of eating the Twinkies he just got from the vending machine): "Hey, man. You gonna eat those twinks?"
Miles (knowing he's confused, but has the right spirit): "That's not what they're- you know what, help yourself."
Ethan (walking away with a bag of half-smushed Twinkies): "Let's go! I fucking love twinks."
--
Mick (showing Miles around and telling him about the team he's in charge of): "They're... fine. It's not the 'Brave Brigade'. It's more like the 'Suicide Squad, but with better dental.'"
--
Carrie (to Butchy during an argument): "Don't you have some dementia to onset?"
-- This conversation, because I think it could be a great moment --
Vivien (in some remote playground, debating giving up being on the team): "Some people are born to be heroes. I'm just not one of them. I tried. It just... wasn't meant to be."
Miles (over the comms/radio): "Meant to be? What're you talking about?"
Vivien: "Blazer (Mick)? Phenomaman (Butchy)? They have hero powers. Strong, out there for all to see, flying through the sky. Nothing to hide."
Miles: "What's your point?"
Vivien: "I have fucking villain powers, dude. I skulk in the shadows. My powers let me steal shit and break in places. I could watch famous people get it on without them knowing I was there, if I wanted. Being a villain is my fate. It's written in the fucking stars. In the same way that Blonde Blazer was always meant to be a hero."
Miles: "There's no such thing as fate. It's bullshit. It's just something we cling to because we think we're the main character of life. We're not. We're a bunch of flesh blobs with depression on a floating rock."
Vivien: "Is that supposed to be comforting?"
Miles: "Yeah Cause no one's paying attention if you want to switch things up."
Vivien: "You've already been a hero, okay? You have no idea what I'm dealing with."
Miles (rolling his eyes): "Ah, get out of here. At least you were born with powers. I don't have shit. So, according to your dumbass theory, I should be an accountant."
Vivien, smirking: "You're not far off."
Miles: "Fate. Destiny. Not having powers. Seasonal depression. None of these things kept me from being a hero before. And they won't keep me from being a hero again."
-- adding this one because I thought it was funny --
Riven (sitting around a meeting table while the others argue): "I abstained from voting as I'm neither human nor particularly interested in this conversation. I only came in as I thought we were playing Dungeons and Dragons tonight... I am hoping we still may."
-- Finally, this last one, because this convo was hysterical in the game, and I thought it would be funny to see these guys with it as well --
Carrie (appearing from thin air and perching herself on a nearby counter): "Where was the shootout?"
Miles (plucking shrapnel from his chest after a fight): "Parking lot. I didn't think taking a desk job would have me bleeding this often." *looks over at Carrie, curious* "What are you doing here, anyway?"
Carrie (nonchalant af, trying to get a reaction from him): "I had a dream last night that we were fucking. Usually, I don't remember my dreams, but this one was pretty vivid."
Miles (already turning 50 shades of neon red internally, but keeping his cool): "Was it the one where I have a big dick in it?"
Carrie (glad he's playing into this a bit): "Yeah, actually. You did."
Miles (lets out a soft chuckle): "I have that one too."
Poppy Playtime (5-10 chapters)
I'm not sure if I've mentioned this one before, but it's one I've wanted to do for quite a while. It's a hard one, that's for sure, but it's one of my favorite games at the moment, so that's why it's on the list. Basically, the premise is that you once worked at Playtime Co. Playtime Co was a toy factory known for creating famous toys like Poppy Playtime, Huggy Wuggy, and the Smiling Critters. What most people (both average workers and customers) didn't know was that they were creating life-size, living versions of their most popular toys, called Bigger Bodies.
These Bigger Bodies were, unbeknownst to the vast majority of the people who knew about them, comprised of poppy gel, mechanical parts, and the minds/souls/skeletal structure of orphaned children. Grim, I know. The building even had a place called Playcare where they would raise orphans specifically for the Bigger Bodies program. Some lucky kids did, in fact, get adopted, while others were sent to be brainwashed and experimented on. It's morbid.
We don't know what job the player had at the time as the game is still pushing out chapters, but what we do know is that the factory closed 10 years ago, everyone in the building mysteriously disappeared, and, seeing as the player was out that day, they survived. What transpired was something called The Hour of Joy. Every human in that building, regardless of why they were there or what job they did, was killed in penance for creating the Bigger Bodies.
My idea is that Riven and Royce managed to get adopted. Yeah, not Miles or Bentley and Royce or Riven and Vivien. Riven and Royce. They were adopted out of the program and, before they left, they swore to the other's family that they would stick together and find them one day. 10 years have gone by and, after investigating the factory's shutdown as much as possible, Riven and Royce, now in their early twenties, decide to break in and see if they can find any information about what happened to their families and reunite with them if possible.
What they don't realize is that the Bigger Bodies are still alive, still lingering in the halls, still hungry.
It's a gruesome story and a heartbreaking one as well, which is something I don't normally do. I guess that's what makes it so entertaining to me.
FNAF: Security Breach (one-shot to 5 chapters)
This one should come as no surprise to anyone who knows how long I've loved the FNAF games. Security Breach, the glitchy mess of a game it is, is one of my all-time favorite games. A young boy gets trapped in the Mega Pizzaplex after hours, locked in until 6am with three hijacked, murderous animatronics, a killer lady in a bunny suit, a variety of security bots who alert the animatronics of his whereabouts, and a single animatronic who seems to be on his side.
My version of this story leans more into the 80s/futuristic vibe. It feels like season 3 of Stranger Things, in my opinion. Each of our beloved characters works at a different place or, in the case of the children, linger for hours in the various arcades. When Bentley goes missing at the end of the night while they're helping lock up the place, the gang has to find him, lure the animatronics into Parts and Services to get the murder-bot virus out of their programming, and try to survive being chased around the Pizzaplex by seemingly an entire village.
Percy Jackson (10-20 chapters)
Again, another fandom I'm a freaking nerd over. I've been in this fandom since elementary school and I am currently reading the first book to my class at the school I work in.
Things have changed a bit since I first mentioned this AU. I started writing it, for one. Some of the parents have changed, but I'm not certain on others yet.
I still stand by the idea of Miles, Bentley, and Royce being the sons of Apollo, but let me explain how. Apollo, like many Greek gods, can change his appearance at will. That means, for Miles, he appeared as a man, did certain activities with Dorothea, and was forced to leave. He visited Miles in little bursts, but wasn't allowed to stay for long without his father, Zeus, interfering.
In order to keep Miles safe from the monsters sent to kill him, Apollo convinced Dorothea to let him bring him to Camp Half Blood, giving him to Dionysus and asking him to protect Miles, who was not quite four at the time. Miles is allowed to go home to visit, but didn't do so often growing up.
For Royce, things were different. Apollo was punished by his father to be a human. He had no powers, no control over his domains, and looked nothing like the blond-haired, blue eyed god Dorothea knew and loved, hence Royce's appearance. During this time, he spent as much time as possible with Dorothea and Miles. While human, he and Dorothea had Royce. He had no scent of half-blood on him, no trace of godly abilities, and no monsters lingered in wait for him. They both believed that Apollo's temporary humanity would make Royce a full-blooded human, but as the story goes, it did not.
With Bentley, things were more like what happened to Miles. Not long after he turned one, monsters loomed outside his daycare, so Dorothea sent him off with Apollo, and she visits whenever her parents take Royce for a while so that he isn't in any danger either.
Cabins have changed for a few, and some are up in the air right now.
Butchy and Lela - Cabin 1, Zeus (lightning), or Cabin 9, Hephaestus (artisans, metalworkers). Initially, I had Mick in Cabin 9, but I feel like it fits more with the vibe of Buthcy and Lela as they would, presumably, use their abilities to build all sorts of mechanical tech. I still lean toward Cabin 1 for them as I think the beef between their dad and Carrie and Tanner's dad would make for a good reason as to why Butchy doesn't like Carrie.
Carrie and Tanner - Cabin 3, Poseidon (oceans), or Cabin 10, Aphrodite (beauty, love, and pleasure). Again, I initially wanted them in Cabin 10 because I thought giving them the ability to use charmspeak would be a good way to wedge Butchy's distaste for them in, but I also like the idea of their dads beefing instead.
Makana - Legacy of Minerva (Roman counterpart of Athena) and Fortuna (luck, destiny, and chance) at Camp Jupiter. Basically, Makana would be the daughter of two children of different gods. Minerva (Athena's Roman counterpart) was Mack's mom, and Fortuna (Tyche's counterpart) was Brady's mom. This makes Mick the granddaughter (or Legacy) of the two, giving her a unique skillset when it comes to her supernatural abilities.
Miles, Bentley, and Royce - Cabin 7, Apollo (the sun, archery, healing, plagues, poetry, and prophecy). I've gone over this quite a few times, and I still stand by it. Miles represents Apollo's healing abilities and expert musical skills. Bentley represents Apollo's artistic and sun-based abilities (he always represents the sun in my stories, which is interesting). Royce represents poetry, prophecy, and plagues, which will be played with quite a bit, if I ever get around to this story.
Vivien - Cabin 20, Hecate (magic, witchcraft), is a Hunter of Artemis (sworn off romance in favor of taking out monsters around the world and not aging until she either dies or breaks off from the Hunters). Vivien , unlike her siblings, chose to be a Hunter of Artemis to avoid the challenging life of a child of Hecate. Hecate is a very caring parent, but she challenges her children to be the best at their magical abilities. Vivien, scared of failure and disappointing her mother after her stepmother's disdain got to her in her younger years, ran away in the hopes of escaping her mother's potential wrath.
Riven - Cabin 11, Hermes (thieves, travelers, trade, merchants, roads, and a Messenger of the Gods). As well as being the cabin that everyone starts in when they first arrive at Camp, Hermes is known for being a reasonable god in the books, and cares very deeply for his children as well as the children of the others (hence why the unclaimed children stay in his cabin until their parent claims them). Not only do I feel like this suits Riven's dad, but I also feel like Riven is the type to take in younger kids and sort of guide them through camp until they're used to life there. Also, Hermes cabin has a history of pranksters, and I feel like Riven would pull a Rue from Hunger Games on the Ares cabin (hiding their blessed weapons and such).
Ethan and Erica - Cabin 12, Dionysus (wine, madness, ecstasy, theatre, parties, joy, and chaos). Erica and Ethan, my beloveds! Erica, with her sneaking drinking/smoking pot, and Ethan, with his pot, would fit right in with this cabin. Dionysus's kids can control plants/strawberries/grapevines, they can cause or cure madness, and they're good actors, meaning they can lie really easily when they get caught with their substance of choice. Also, Dionysus is made to live in the campground, so I imagine he spends time with his kids, teaching them card games and such.
Jade - Cabin 16, Nemesis (balance, retribution, revenge and vengeance). Nemesis is a very stern parent and is very gruff with her children, showing that she'd rather be indifferent and treat them all the same than show any favoritism. Jade, coming from a home where she was practically cast aside anyway, felt no different at camp. She made her own family in her half-siblings and friends, but still tried to ensure that she treated everyone as she wished to be treated - as an equal. Like her mother, she has sway over luck and destiny, but it comes at a cost. She also has the ability to control shadows and can shadow travel, a blessing granted by Hades after she successfully finishes a quest to bring him information regarding two of his hidden children.
Kona and August - Cabin 10, Aphrodite, or Cabin 14, Iris (the rainbow, Messenger of the gods and demigods). Not unlike most of the aphrodite children, they don't realize they're the attractive ones. They would probably see themselves as the "uncool" ones in their cabin as they don't blend in with the Barbies and Kens of their siblings. However, I think they'd be adept at Charmspeaking, talking to animals, creating optical illusions, and chlorokinesis (manipulating/growing/controlling flowers). Also, Kona and August sort of represent the two sides of the Iris coin. Kona is the outgoing, chatty free-spirited type who occasionally starts arguments for fun. August is the non-confrontational type who would probably prefer to spend more of his time with the pegasi (as Iris children can speak with them) than with the loud crowd in the heart of camp. They can draw colors out of the word around them, making everything appear monochrome, they're great at communication (most of the time), and they're usually pretty relaxed, chill people.
Zack - Cabin 17, Nike (Victory and Divine Charioteer). Zack is, undoubtedly the most athletic character in this list, but that wasn't what made me pick Nike for him. Nike is the goddess of victory, and as someone who is incredibly competitive and picks fights with Kona for fun, I could see him using his sway over victory to win arguments, even if Kona declares that it's against the rules.
Dungeon Crawler Carl (unsure on length)
Perhaps my favorite on this list, due to my current infatuation with the series. This is basically a D&D campaign meets sci-fi meets Hunger Games. Basically, the world gets taken hostage because the leaders of earth forgot to pay their intergalactic element taxes. All buildings, cars, buses, trains, planes, basically anything man-made with an interior, gets crushed flat at about 2:30am PST (5:30 for EST, and 9:30am for the UK depending on daylight savings time for both).
All remaining humans are given an option - work for the aliens for the rest of their lives, mining away at whatever materials they decide they need or enter the 18-level dungeon and try to survive. The winner will be gifted regency of the planet. And, to make it even better, everything is televised for the rest of the universe to see. You're not just going up against other people - oh, no, that would be too easy. You're also going up against mobs and bosses on each level. If you don't find stairs going to the next level before the timer runs out, say goodbye to your life. You try to level up more with each floor you're on, try to survive interviews with people who look like giant crabs or goblins from a fantasy book, and the viewers can sponsor you through random - or not so random - gift boxes.
Each level gets harder, each kill makes it harder to remember your humanity, and you have to try your best to remember who you are, where you came from, and fight like hell for a chance to get out of the dungeon alive.
Imagine, by some stroke of luck, the entire crew is up and out of their homes by 5:30 in the morning. Work, school, something that would get them up and out of the house by the time everything manmade goes squish. Riven and Vivien would be heading out to their skating practice. Royce and Bentley would be riding their bikes to school. Miles, Butchy, Carrie, Ethan, and Mick would probably be heading to their cars, ready to start work.
They have one hour to decide what they want to do. Dungeon or mining materials? I believe they would use that hour to meet up with their families and decide what they want to do. Then, once a decision is made, they would enter the dungeon and work as a team to get through it. Also, don't worry about Binx and Loki - pets are permitted entry to the dungeon.
The first two levels feel like pieces of cake once they get a hang of things. They work their way through random mobs and a few small bosses, but then they reach the third level and it's time for them to choose their races and classes. Things are going to get a lot more difficult as the chances of encountering people from further reaches of the world become a lot higher.
If the St. Pete Beach crew were to, say, meet up with another adventuring party (the Sanbornton crew), would they make one big team? Would they fight to the death? Would they branch off into smaller groups? Who would rather die than become a pawn in the system? Who would do their damndest to survive, even if the odds are stacked against them?
Imagine everyone in a battle royale style adventure where the stakes are so high that anything and everything seems possible, and you're not quite sure who is going to make it out. Main characters? Nah, these guys are now just NPCs in the biggest hit series the universe has ever known.
I want to watch them try, fail, crash, and burn, but also succeed, prevail against the odds, and become someone the audience will never be able to forget.
So, yeah, this one is near the top of my list, but the series isn't done yet. Book 8 comes out in May, and I'm super excited to see where things go from here. I just think that this would be so much fun to experiment with. The concept is bizarre, but not totally unlike something I've done before. I just want to play with life and death in a way I've never done before.
Here are some lines that I think sealed the deal for me:
"Don't gaslight me, Jesus!"
"Why would a stripper lie to me?"
"Cats don't drink cocktails." followed by, "Cats don't shoot lasers from their eyes, either, but here we are, Carl. Mama needs a night off."
"You were... monologuing? You know we don't monologue, Katia."
'I laughed at the absurdity of it all. Here I was, about to get sucked into a literal hell, sitting down at a party, talking to a tattooed, topless fish woman while listening to a mushroom dude named Horton play a poorly tuned guitar and sing my cat's favorite song. All while the entire universe watched.'
"Oh, like you never caused an apocalyptic event, Elle?!"
'Now, if you've never had a flaming, skull-faced bear on roller skates barreling at you full speed, you don't know what you're missing.'
'I leaned in.' "Wanna hear a secret?" 'The man groaned,' "What?" "I'm using you as bait," 'I replied.' "That's how you're going to die. As bait."
--
So, yeah! if any of these ideas strike your fancy the way they have mine, let me know!
After having nasty allergies and catching the worst stomach bug I’ve had since I was little, I’m finally conscious enough to think!
This has been a rough month. I had a lot of allergies, especially to a new laundry detergent we had to switch to. Eczema hurt my hands so much I couldn’t write when I had time. My fingers were covered in those tiny blisters and they burned when I moved. And, when that finally went away, I had two days to breathe before I got the stomach bug on top of my period.
Yeaaaah, that was as fun as it sounds.
Three days of laying in bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling like my head was about to combust and my stomach was going to eat its way out of me. I felt like crap. I couldn’t eat more than crackers and plain, un-toasted, topping-less bread (gross, -1/10, don’t recommend unless you’re a bird). I can finally start eating normal food now, but my mom caught the bug from me, so now I’m worried about her, too.
It’s been rough, but my highlight was Valentine’s Day (one of my two days between eczema and the stomach bug). Since I have no romantic prospects, my mom brought me to the mall and Barnes and Noble, where she gave me her card and told me to buy the rest of my new favorite book series and some merch for it. I love her. The only downside was that we had to put our dinner together on hold until we both were better health-wise.
This week is a long week at work (8-hr shifts instead of 5) but I’m ready for that paycheck! We have a lower number of kids, which is typical, but that doesn’t make it much less chaotic. I love the little gremlins, and they know I do, but my gosh, they’re like a tornado in a trailer park!
Anyway, I’ve been down for the count, but I’ve re-read your latest post a few times, Eleanor, and, when I get home tonight, I’m going to try to write out my comments. Just know that I’m already in love with it, and have nothing but great things to say!
I hope everything is going well for you and that you’re doing well. I know we haven’t talked much since the start of the month since I’ve been crazy busy with family stuff and my health, but I feel really bad for not being online much at all. I miss our chats!
Hopefully, once I get back to the swing of things by the weekend, we can get back to it. I miss talking to you. Now that I can scroll TikTok without falling asleep, I can start sending you the Stranger Things edits I’ve got saved! I have a ton!
I've been using my time off due to the snowstorm to read and write this weekend. I figured, since I've got power and internet, I might as well make a little update on things.
I finished reading the first of the Dungeon Crawler Carl books by Matt Dinniman - highly recommend if you want something that feels like a Dungeons and Dragons acid trip. There's a cat named Princess Donut, a bunch of weird-ass aliens, and a whole lot of action. I listened to the audiobook while reading and it made everything so much crazier. I already want the next book and am upset that I can't make the trip to Barnes and Noble tonight because there's a solid 12-18 inches of white, powdery stuff outside my door.
I started writing the next part of The End Is Near. August gets a bit of the spotlight in the first chunk of the chapter, which was really nice to play around with. I don't know what kind of inspiration bug bit me this morning, but I wrote the first 10 pages today and my wrists are getting sore lmao.
I found an old doc from when I was going to do a Percy Jackson AU. I worked on that for a while, and now it sits at 7 pages, which is great, all things considered. I wanted to start watching the second season, but I haven't gotten there yet as I was too in The Zone™ to think about anything other than writing. All I know is that the greeting "Honor to Apollo" can and will make an appearance in Mark of the Archer. You have no idea how hyped I am to get around to that fic, honestly!
Also, I found a few of my old book docs! I haven't worked on it in a long time, but I found one that feels really promising. Another one is one that some of my students who graduated over the summer came up with and I promised them I would write. I had quite a bit laid out for it, but I haven't gotten further than maybe the halfway point with it. I'm just happy to have it again.
Hopefully, I'll stay in this writing stint for a while longer. I want to enjoy this a bit longer and crank some more stuff out, but who knows? I'm just happy I got this little weekend of writing and reading and resting.
Also, the title for S1E5 of STDP is "Even the Score" and the song choice bounces from Grease Got a Hold from The Outsiders Musical and Holding Out for a Hero by Bonnie Tyler. I know that doesn't give away much, but at the same time, you don't want me to give away everything, do you? 🙃
I've been using my time off due to the snowstorm to read and write this weekend. I figured, since I've got power and internet, I might as well make a little update on things.
I finished reading the first of the Dungeon Crawler Carl books by Matt Dinniman - highly recommend if you want something that feels like a Dungeons and Dragons acid trip. There's a cat named Princess Donut, a bunch of weird-ass aliens, and a whole lot of action. I listened to the audiobook while reading and it made everything so much crazier. I already want the next book and am upset that I can't make the trip to Barnes and Noble tonight because there's a solid 12-18 inches of white, powdery stuff outside my door.
I started writing the next part of The End Is Near. August gets a bit of the spotlight in the first chunk of the chapter, which was really nice to play around with. I don't know what kind of inspiration bug bit me this morning, but I wrote the first 10 pages today and my wrists are getting sore lmao.
I found an old doc from when I was going to do a Percy Jackson AU. I worked on that for a while, and now it sits at 7 pages, which is great, all things considered. I wanted to start watching the second season, but I haven't gotten there yet as I was too in The Zone™ to think about anything other than writing. All I know is that the greeting "Honor to Apollo" can and will make an appearance in Mark of the Archer. You have no idea how hyped I am to get around to that fic, honestly!
Also, I found a few of my old book docs! I haven't worked on it in a long time, but I found one that feels really promising. Another one is one that some of my students who graduated over the summer came up with and I promised them I would write. I had quite a bit laid out for it, but I haven't gotten further than maybe the halfway point with it. I'm just happy to have it again.
Hopefully, I'll stay in this writing stint for a while longer. I want to enjoy this a bit longer and crank some more stuff out, but who knows? I'm just happy I got this little weekend of writing and reading and resting.
Also, the title for S1E5 of STDP is "Even the Score" and the song choice bounces from Grease Got a Hold from The Outsiders Musical and Holding Out for a Hero by Bonnie Tyler. I know that doesn't give away much, but at the same time, you don't want me to give away everything, do you? 🙃
Since I was hit in the head with a waffle maker back in February, I've suffered with a bit of depressive anhedonia (a lack of interest in things you typically enjoy) and I've been trying really hard to pull myself out of it without the use of medications. My family has a history with addiction, so I'm trying to handle this myself. It hasn't been easy by any means, but I'm trying.
I will say, though, that I saw two TikToks yesterday that encouraged me to start writing again, and now I can’t think about anything but working on them. I already started working on the first idea because I feel like, if it'll help me get out of this mental and emotional roadblock, I need to get to work on it. I just figured I'd share them with you because I haven't been online in ages, haven't even bothered to open my computer or laptop, and you deserve to know that I'm still alive lol.
The first one involves the song Everything is Romantic by Charli xcx, but not the original version, just the one on TikTok. The one where it echoes and it has this lovely vocalization in the background. Honestly, I'm not a big fan of the original beat of the song, but the TikTok version just tickles my brain in the best way.
Anyway, the whole concept is Vivien’s pov of meeting Royce for the first time and what she saw/felt (which will make more sense when the story is done). I'll share a snippet of what I've got so far, and before I do, let me just note some things about the original one shot (Hinting At Something More from Halloween of 2021).
That post was a short little thing I had done for one of my months of prompts and was originally not supposed to mean anything in the grand scheme of things. It was very Royce-centric, Vivien wasn't supposed to become a main character, and I meant to throw the extra characters away and be done with it once the month of October was done. Obviously, that's not what happened, but it's odd to think about, right?
So, this new one-shot (which has a temporary title as Fall in Love, but will presumably change to A Touch of Fate) is told from Vivien's perspective and shows a bit of what she experienced on that day. I doubt it will be overly long, as I am trying my best not to overwhelm myself and drive away the inspiration I have, but I do want to share a bit of the story as well, so 👀 you'll see.
Back to the the second idea! The second one revolved around the song Drag Path by Twenty One Pilots. You’ve probably seen the edits to that song on TikTok if your For You page is anything like mine, but if not, look it up for a good, emotional moment. The meaning behind the lyrics is something I’ve wanted to work with before. Think a “butterfly effect” kind of deal. One small thing started by someone can influence many people down the line, and we can see evidence of it further down the line.
The second one has multiple ideas tied to it - Season 3 of Same Trailer, Different Park, Vivien’s Papa, Mrs Murphy, a few one-shots I’ve been working on that are tied to the games Life is Strange and Lost Records: Bloom and Rage, and a litany of other ideas I’ve had over the years. The first two are the ones I’m most interested in currently, but… we’ll see. It has a deep meaning that can work for so many stories I've loved over the years as well, even my original work with Broken Record.
By the way, it's been ten years since I first published that story. Ten years since this little world started. I was 15. Typing chapters on my old Samsung Galaxy S3 or on my crappy old laptop that had an arrow key missing and a bit of nail polish smudged on some of the keys. Now, I'm 25. Typing on my laptop. I'm a teacher now. I didn't see any of this coming, but I'm happy it did.
Now that I've had my little emotional moment and made myself take an hour break to cry, it's time to give you a glimpse of the one-shot I'm working on! Here are the first four-ish pages of Fall in Love!
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I always loved Halloween. It was the one holiday a year I could be anything I wanted to be. Growing up, my dad would pick out the cutest costumes for me. My first-ever costume, I was barely two months old and was half asleep in my stereotypical pumpkin costume. Then, I was a black cat. The year after, I was an alien from Toy Story, and my dad was Woody. My mom had stayed home that year because she was too pregnant with Olly and Abby to keep up with all the walking we did.
My dad was always the one more into Halloween. Mom usually went overboard for Christmas, so Dad chose Halloween as his holiday to get everyone decked out for. Occasionally, over the years, we would dress up and stay out in our driveway to hand out candy, popcorn, hot dogs, and lemonade, but that was usually only when one of us was sick or injured. After our parents divorced, Abby, Olly, and I would go out with some of our friends instead, not wanting to further the rift between our parents. I would stay with Riven and either his dad or our band, and Olly and Abby would either tag along or go with their friends and their parents.
Dad would usually stay home and hand out candy and stuff, but we would always stop by now and then to refill our water bottles or snag a bag of popcorn. One thing remained the same, though: if one of us siblings had to stay home due to illness or injury, all three of us stayed home. It was a solidarity thing we all committed to at a young age.
Olly had a habit of getting sick toward the end of October and the beginning of November. Usually, we would pump him full of vitamins and give him some Emergen-C before school, which would help prevent him from getting ill for a while longer. Abby, who was never very athletic, had fallen off a skateboard last year and ended up covered in scrapes and road rash. When we were little, she would trip over air, tumble down the stairs, and slip whenever her feet touched ice, but she had become a bit more graceful after starting soccer when she hit middle school.
Usually, it wasn’t my fault that we all stayed home. This year, however, it was my fault. Just over a month ago, I went to the hospital after skating practice with severe pain in my side. I had originally thought the pain was just period cramps because they always hurt like that, but, according to the very kind nurses and doctors at the Concord Hospital in Franklin, I was wrong. Almost deathly so. By the time I left the hospital, the surgeon had stolen my appendix and presumably sold it on the black market. I doubt they made good money off of it, considering the appendix is basically useless, especially a ruptured one.
That’s right! I ended up with a ruptured appendix, an open surgery, six weeks of recovery, and two weeks of babying myself stupid and doing schoolwork with my band and siblings by my bedside. The only positive was that I could eat an insane amount of applesauce without anyone asking questions. I loved it.
My dad spent every night in my room until my doctor said that I would be fine to get up and walk around without someone standing nearby. My blood pressure had been a concern after the operation, so my dad had put up with my posturepedic mattress and woke up every time I breathed wrong just in case I needed him. Abby and Oliver offered to take turns, but that was quickly dismissed by both Mom and Dad after we spent a whole weekend doing nothing but watching movies on my laptop all night.
Mom never spent much time with me in the first place, but she seemed to spend even less after the surgery. If I texted, she would answer, and if I asked for something, she would bring it to me so I wouldn’t have to get up, but she mostly kept her distance. Aunt Hayley and Aunt Charlie video called when they could, and when they got back to town after a book signing for one of Aunt Charlie’s books, they stayed for a couple of days to give my dad some time off. In the two weeks following the surgery, I saw the two of them more than I saw my mom.
After I’d been cleared to do minor lifting and was able to get around better, I started helping my dad decorate the house for Halloween. Even though he’d been ready since practically the Fourth of July, he’d waited to make sure I was alright before decorating anything since he knew I loved the holiday like he did. We decked everything out in orange and purple and black, replaced the bowl of fruit on the kitchen counter with a cauldron, and added strands of fake cobwebs all around the house.
By the time Halloween finally came, we had inflatable decorations in the front yard, projector lights casting ghosts and pumpkins on the front of the house, and a display of skeletons having a rave by the edge of the driveway. Was it over-the-top? According to the neighbors who complained, yes. But did we care? Absolutely not. We always went above and beyond for the holidays, so that was normal to us.
With my dad’s guidance, on the thirtieth of October, we began getting everything pulled to the front of the garage and doing the final shopping trip. We had gotten candy from the BJ’s Wholesale in Tilton before it all sold out, so when we went out, we only went to Walmart. We bought extra popcorn kernels, flavor toppings, hot dogs and condiments, and even some sodas to hand out to the trick-or-treaters. Our garage fridge was so filled with food that I had wondered if we’d need to use a ratchet strap to keep it closed, but we somehow managed.
On Halloween morning, Dad woke me, Oliver, and Abby up to watch Halloweentown in the living room like we would when we were little. We carved pumpkins after breakfast and made pumpkin bread from the guts. After lunch, Riven showed up and helped himself to the bread we’d made, munching on slices while talking with my dad about our upcoming gig at a restaurant in Laconia. Erica and Jade showed up in costume not long before it was time to get everything set up at the end of the driveway, and I had a feeling either Riven or one of my siblings had texted them, asking them to keep me company while they helped hand out candy and stuff with Dad.
I would’ve been fine enough to go trick-or-treating, but I had chosen to stay back and hang out with Dad instead, creating a chain reaction with my siblings and my band, who all decided to hang back as well.
They didn’t need to stick around, especially not since Jade and Erica’s anniversary was on Halloween and Riven had better things to do, but they chose to. Since their arrival at my house, Riven had been practically glued to my side until I begged my dad to distract him, but Erica and Jade had, thankfully, not been as blatant with their observations of me. JJ, in her homemade Poison Ivy costume, took up the job of distracting my mom until she left for the night to avoid the “excessive candy holiday”, and Erica, dressed up like Harley Quinn with her hair spray-dyed half-pink, chose to sit in the backyard with Loki so he wouldn’t beg for any of the food while we were prepping. Riven, wearing the same pickle costume he’d had since middle school, had finally drifted from my side and busied himself with helping my dad fill a few bags of popcorn in the front yard.
After bringing a bag of popcorn seasonings, drizzle butter, and hotdog buns out of the garage to Riven and Dad, I headed back inside to the warmth of the kitchen. The cinnamon roll cookies we were baking to hand out at the end of the driveway were almost done baking, and Abby was supposed to be melting vanilla wafers for the frosting, but I turned the corner just in time to catch her aggressively flipping off the microwave and kicking the counter with her boot. Her first attempt had clearly burned the melting wafers, if the smoldering bowl on the counter behind her was anything to go by, but Abby was never one to give up easily.
Abby had never really liked Halloween as much as the rest of us did, but she still dressed up for it and went trick-or-treating with family and friends. She wasn’t a holiday freak like our dad was with Halloween or our mom was with Christmas. Abby was more partial to Thanksgiving - a holiday that was truly only celebrated for a day, then quickly forgotten for the sake of Black Friday. No frills or festivities, just a simple holiday about gratitude.
It suited her.
Watching Abby curse at the microwave in a cautious, under-her-breath kind of way that the three of us siblings had adopted in case our mom was home, I leaned against the archway of the kitchen with a smirk, careful not to put pressure on my healing side.
Watching Abby from the doorway of the kitchen as she huffed to herself about something I couldn’t quite hear, I couldn’t help but smile. Abby looked good as Sylvie, a Loki variant from the new Marvel show. She and I had both gotten help from Aunt Charlie, piecing our costumes together as a last-minute effort to change our original costumes. Hers looked nearly identical to the outfit from the show, and I was happy for her.
Our original family costume was going to be Super Mario themed. Abby was Peach, Oliver was Mario, Dad was Luigi, and I was Daisy. I had stitches on my side covering about four inches, which left me incapable of figure skating until I was cleared, but they also left me unable to wear the corseted dress for Princess Daisy. I hated last-minute costume changes, but here we were. My costume for the night - a Wednesday Addams dress I had convinced my Aunt Charlie to help piece together with things she already had around her closet - had been loose enough for me to wear after the operation on my appendix. It wasn’t my first choice, of course, but I stuck with it.
My dad helped me braid my hair into Wednesday’s signature style, and Abby forced me to sit still while she gave me a “Wednesday-approved” makeup look which consisted of making the dark circles under my eyes a bit darker and lightening my skin a few shades with a concealer she had accidentally bought a few shades too pale. I borrowed a pair of Aunt Hayley’s old Mary Janes from Nonna and Grandpa George’s attic of endless items from the past, and bought a pair of fleece-lined tights from the website I bought most of my figure skating accessories from. The only unavoidable addition to my costume was my glasses. I had run out of contacts - and didn’t like wearing them unless I had to - so Wednesday was stuck wearing pink circle frames for the night.
Nobody cared enough to bring it up, though, so I was okay with it.
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Now, because I've been away for so long, I want to give you a sneak peek of what I'm starting to write for Christmas because I'm still going to post it, regardless of when it's actually done. Also, it's adorable, so... enjoy!
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Sunlight bled through thin purple curtains, casting a haze of lavender throughout the bedroom. The plants on the windowsill stretched toward the sun, desperate for a hint of the first morning lights in the otherwise dark room. Snow glistened outside the window, the sun creating a blanket of glitter over the eight inches of snow that had accumulated overnight. Although the room was on the warmer side, the world outside the window was anything but as wind whipped upwards of fifty miles per hour.
The initial snow squall had come fast and hard, forcing many people indoors as stores closed and power outages began popping up rapidly. However, there were the fortunate few who had power throughout the harsh storm, prompting some to invite their relatives and neighbors in to keep warm. For the most part, though, people stayed home, allowing their kids to play in the snow as schools were closed and work was canceled in the area.
This wasn’t the case for the pair snuggled up in bed, however. Not at all. They had chosen a different approach to the snowstorm.
Paint buckets from the night before lingered on the floor, their lids haphazardly tapped on to ensure freshness. Smears of yellows and oranges lingered on their skin, a reminder of what they had spent most of their Christmas break doing. Things had grown interesting quickly once the snow began to accumulate. Being confined to the house on the hill, the pair had chosen to paint their bedroom, but after much debate and little actual decision-making, they began flicking paint at each other. After chasing each other through the house, splotches of paint marking their tracks, the two had collapsed in the living room, choosing to watch Hallmark movies for a few hours before retiring to bed.
Soft snores could be heard in the otherwise silent room, echoing off the walls as the night turned to day. Despite both of the room’s occupants being known for their early riser mentality, they had fallen asleep on the couch and woken up at midnight, going to bed far later than intended and prompting them to stay in bed and rest. After all, there was nothing to do until later, when the roads were cleared, salted, and sanded by the Department of Public Works. Why get out of bed if there’s no need to do so?
The heated blanket tucked between the comforter and the celestial-themed weighted blanket was cozy and soothing, a stark contrast to the temperature outside the bed. The weighted blanket seemed to press the heated blanket against them, warmth radiating through the comforter and top sheet and seeping through their pajamas. The heat and comfort made the bed an inescapable object, forcing them to snuggle close as they slept.
Not that they wouldn’t do that anyway.
The bed creaked noisily as one of the bed’s occupants rolled onto their back, bleary green eyes blinking up at the ceiling. Turning to the right, a small smile tugged at her lips, her hand reaching up to tuck a curl behind her boyfriend’s ear. Royce’s hair had grown long over the summer, and he had talked about taking a pair of scissors to it, but when she had made an offhand comment about him looking like one of her favorite Stranger Things characters if he let it grow out a bit longer, he had left it alone, telling her to do with it as she pleased. With the help of Carrie, they had formed a routine to care for his curls, but after stumbling their way upstairs the night before, it had gone undone, causing Royce’s mane of curls to tangle and twist into knots.
Vivien grinned, her fingers looping through Royce’s curls as he slept. After her eighteenth birthday, she had moved into Hill House, helping her grandparents move their things to the new cabin they built on the camp property and settling into her Aunt Hayley’s old bedroom. Now, after months of changing over the property deed and the bills, her house was, well, hers. It still felt odd to say; the property had belonged to her grandparents for as long as she could remember, and calling it anything but theirs felt… wrong. In a way, it would always be theirs, but now her name was listed with sole ownership.
Hill House hadn’t really been updated in any major way since her great-grandparents moved in back in the mid-sixties. A few renovations had been done to fix the plumbing and electricity, update the kitchen, and put radiant floor heating in, but that was really it. Honestly, Vivien wanted to keep it that way. She wanted Hill House to be a safe place for not just herself, but also her boyfriend and his family. Having a majority of the house remind them of their home in the sixties was a way for her to show them that she loved them for who they were.
Now that she had taken over as the homeowner, she had only changed a few things. The couch in the living room that her grandparents took with them despite only one side of the recliner working had been replaced with a Lovesac that could be rearranged to fit everyone, the basement had been soundproofed so that her band could practice and not interrupt anyone, and the library that her Papa had started had been expanded and refurbished to fit all of the books she had collected over the last couple of years. Now, all that was left was to paint the room she had claimed as her own - her Aunt Hayley’s old bedroom from when she was a teenager.
It was a relieving feeling to say that she owned a house at only eighteen. She loved the expansive property, the connection to her family history, and the way she felt she could finally express herself. What was nicer was the privacy the home offered. Although she sort of missed having her dad and the twins around, she didn’t miss being away from her mom and her snarky comments. Besides, her dad and siblings came over almost every day to check up on her as they knew she often forgot to eat once she got started on something, so it wasn’t like she never saw them. After only a few months away, though, Vivien had finally found herself able to eat freely and enjoy the time away from her mother.
Chelsea hadn’t exactly been fond of the idea of Vivien moving out, but her grandparents had made a compelling argument about how Vivien was responsible enough to own her own place and how they had entrusted the house to her, not Chelsea, as they knew she would’ve probably gutted the place and destroyed the family home. After that, Vivien’s mom had little to say and had actually gone out of her way to avoid Vivien while she was in the process of moving out. Not that Vivien minded in the slightest.
Abby seemed to take Vivien’s leaving harder than either of them had expected. Before, she would joke about taking Vivien’s room and making it into her dance studio, but as Vivien’s room began to empty and the space she filled grew smaller, Abby seemed to cling to her older sister, not wanting her to leave. Once she’d gotten everything in her old room boxed up and ready to move, Vivien had told Abby to use the room however she wanted, which only brought about tears from the sixteen-year-old.
Oliver, on the other hand, acted unbothered, but given how many times he would waltz through the front door of Hill House and sit with Vivien on the couch, they both knew he missed her more than he would ever admit. Now that he didn’t have another competitive soul in the house, he rarely played Mario Kart, but sometimes, he would call Vivien and have her join him on some computer game or another so that they could chat and play games together. Though she was sure he’d never admit it to her face, Vivien knew her little brother had grown to miss their talks about anything and everything. During their game nights, he would tell her everything about school and work and his hockey team, filling her in on everything she missed.
Even her dad had openly admitted to missing her. Vivien had taken to calling him every night, talking about what she’d made for dinner and discussing her plans for the next day. He would stop in if he thought she needed help with a project, even if it meant just sitting around and watching her work. Just knowing he was there in case she needed him was enough for both of them to find peace. Sometimes, he would bring lunch, and they would sit on the couch and eat, watching whatever was on TV while Vivien rested her head on his shoulder.
Though her Nonna and Grandpa George chose to stay at their new cabin unless asked to visit, they often called to ask how things were. They had been invited to every family cookout, every backyard bonfire, and the Christmas party Vivien had offered to host, and every time, without fail, they would be there before everyone else, arms laden with food and proud smiles on their faces. They had told her many times that she could do what she wanted with the house so long as she kept the bones, but Vivien had made it clear that Hill House was a historic place for their family, and she wanted to keep it the way it should be.
Though her relatives were often in and out of the house, Royce was a far more frequent visitor. Well, he was practically a resident now. He would come, spend a week or two, help around the house, then go back to the Birch cabin for a while. However, they hadn’t shared a bed until two months after Vivien moved into the house. At first, he would stay in a spare room across the hall, kissing her goodnight before retiring to his room. Then, one night, Vivien stopped him and asked why he didn’t want to stay in the same bed as her.
His explanation was simple - he respected her and wanted things to be entirely her decision. Regardless of whether or not he knew they both slept better when they were curled up together, he wanted her consent before taking up space in her bedroom. When she very firmly declared it wasn’t her room, it was their room - always had been, always would be - he relented, taking his bag of unpacked clothes from the spare room and transferring it to the room Vivien had claimed. She had quickly helped him unpack, deciding that it would be ridiculous for him not to keep clothes at her place for when he stayed over. After that, the room wasn’t just hers anymore; it was theirs.
Staring fondly at Royce as she coiled one of his curls around her finger, Vivien found herself glad he hadn’t been opposed to sleeping together. Well… not sleeping together, sleeping together, but still. They had been sharing a bed off and on since October, and had grown accustomed to each other’s presence. Whether it be waking up beside each other, cooking trial-and-error meals together, or even just something as simple as sitting on the couch watching old movies and doing tarot, they had grown used to sharing space.
He had learned how to braid her hair for her, and she had learned to care for his curls. Their clothes mingled in the closet, and their shoes were set on the same rack by the front door. Their respective collections of books were on the same shelves. Vivien’s collection of crystals and Royce’s gaggle of houseplants flourished together. All in all, the house had already gone from hers to theirs. Looking at how quickly things had changed, it was sort of surreal, but she wouldn’t change it for a thing.
“I can feel you, you know,” Royce said in a hushed tone, tearing Vivien from her train of thought. His caramel eyes slowly peeled open, blinking tiredly at Vivien as a tired grin tugged at his lips. “Good morning, ma belle.”
“Morning, mi corazón,” Vivien whispered in return, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his lips. “Did you sleep alright?”
One of Royce’s arms moved to wrap around Vivien’s waist, and the other tucked under her head, pulling her close as he yawned, “With you by my side, always.”
Vivien chuckled as she lay her head on Royce’s arm, her eyes closing as she murmured, “Sweet talker.”
“You love me,” Royce chuckled, running his hand over the braid he had made the night before, the frayed strands tickling his palm.
With a smirk, Vivien seemed to contemplate his words for a moment before chuckling softly and nodding, “I do.”
Royce smiled contentedly, lightly kissing Vivien’s forehead. The feeling of being away from both of his brothers was foreign and unusual, but over the last two months, he had grown somewhat used to having Vivien in his arms in the morning. Neither of them had school now that they were both graduates, so they could rest in bed until they decided on breakfast or someone rang the doorbell. She had a steady job at the local youth center that was now closed until the day after New Year’s, and Royce was working all day on the comic books he and Bentley had dreamed up. Of course, Bentley came over frequently to help work on it, spending time in the art studio Vivien had set up in what had once been a spare bedroom, but Miles seemed to prefer spending afternoons there when everyone was gathered around the living room, and the house felt like home.
Miles wasn’t averse to spending time at Hill House and had made that perfectly clear when Vivien cornered him and pestered him with questions as to why he hadn’t been sleeping over much. He claimed that he just didn’t want to intrude, but she’d managed to pry that from him fairly easily. The one and only time Miles had spent the night during the first month of Vivien’s ownership of the residence, he had gone downstairs in the morning for coffee and saw Vivien cooking breakfast, her hair down from the tight braids Royce had woven for her the night before as she hummed and sang along to the radio. For a split second, Vivien looked and sounded exactly like their mom, and, in that split second, Miles’ heart both healed and broke.
He adored Vivien and loved what she was doing with the house she now called home, but the thought of waking up to that again and again… broke him internally. So, for a while, she allowed him to keep his distance, but when it grew unbearable for her not to have him around, she told him she missed her big brother. Miles, being the family man he was, cracked and began stopping in to help with remodeling and repairs, but he had recently started just showing up to hang out now and then.
On the contrary, Carrie had been by almost daily in the first two months, much to Royce’s feigned chagrin. Despite his claims of annoyance toward the blonde, he had grown somewhat accepting of her in recent months as she and Mick had begun spending weekends at Hill House as Vivien’s live-in decorators. Once, Mick had tried to tease Carrie about the rug she wanted to put in one of the spare bedrooms and, without thinking about who he was defending, Royce spoke up in favor of said rug. Of course, that caused a round of affectionate teasing that made Royce leave the house in defeat, driving to the Birch family’s cabin to rant to anyone who would listen.
Yeah… Miles got a big kick out of that one when Carrie told him that afternoon.
After weeks of speed-sewing my top for the Connecticut Renaissance Fair, praying the rest of my outfit would come in on time, and having multiple mental breakdowns over broken sewing needles and my original shoes not arriving on time, I went on Saturday, had a great time, and promptly passed out as soon as I got home.
Finally, I have the time to work on something else, but first, I must read through TMM because I just saw that you posted C2P1, and I have never felt so mad about having to go back to work before! I'm so stoked! I have to get on the ball and start reading through everything again, but it'll have to wait until tomorrow night, I think. Tonight, I'm recovering from a lack of sleep (neighbor's bedroom is right above mine, and I did not need to hear all that last night), but tomorrow, I have some recertification livestream that I need to listen to for work, but I've already done the work for it, so I'll be able to devote those three hours to doing something fun while the director drones on about food prep like our program doesn't already have everyone's licenses.
I can't wait to see what you've written! I'm so excited!
Notes - I'm so glad to be done with this chapter, but mainly because of my keyboard. My PC's keyboard is great, and I love it, but it keeps adding an extra space between words, and I don't always catch it. Hopefully, it doesn't bother you as much as it does me, but still. It's horrendously frustrating on my end. Anyway, I hope you're alright with me ending it where I did instead of cutting back to another scene and trucking on. Today's my first day back to the school year schedule and I really want to dive into my stories with fresh docs and an open mind. I hope you enjoy this chapter regardless!
Unlike the typically overcast early spring weather that graced the New England region of the United States, Florida was typically dry in late winter and early spring. As there was no snow in the area to wash away with heavy rain and thick rolls of fog, the state was usually at its most tolerable in April. However, that Tuesday, the state seemed to revolt against its historic dry spell, and thick clouds seemed to blanket the state, keeping a touch of winter’s chill in the breeze.
Despite residing in the tropical state his entire life, Butchy wasn’t one for overcast days, and not just because that meant his wife and sister would forbid him from riding his bike to work. Granted, that played a big part in it, but it wasn’t the main reason for his distaste toward the lingering gloomy sky. His main reason was his boss, Joe - a seventy-year-old man who had served in both world wars and refused to retire despite half-heartedly passing his company on to his son. Joe had issues with loud noises like fireworks and thunder, and although the guys Butchy worked with were understanding that the man’s time in the service was the cause, it was still frustrating that the man closed up shop any time the forecast said they had even the smallest chance of rain.
It was easier to deal with in the summer. Joe and his wife would fly up to New York and stay with their daughter’s family in Long Island while their son, Caleb, took over the shop. Thankfully, the change in management over the summer meant they avoided closures and missed pay due to the thunderstorms that frequented the area during the warmer months. However, from October to May, Joe’s control of the company reigned supreme, and they were occasionally woken by 5 am phone calls from Joe’s wife. Marlene was a sweet woman and always made sure to write out checks to each of the workers on the roster if they missed a day due to Joe’s post-traumatic response to the weather.
That was why, when she called Butchy to let him know to take the day off, he didn’t mind it so much.
According to Marlene, she and Joe had listened to the weather report on the radio while having their morning tea with their dog, Guinness. A storm coming in from the Gulf of Mexico had forced Joe to close the shop until it passed, but Butchy was fine with it regardless. Having the day off gave him time to drive up to the Italian market in the Ponce de Leon neighborhood. With a promise of a paycheck regardless of whether or not they stepped foot into the store during the week, Butchy chatted with Marlene for a while before wishing her and her husband a good day and returning to his still-sleeping wife.
If she wasn’t too sore to move by the time she got up, Mick would be spending her day at Big Momma’s, waiting tables until the local vocational high school let out at noon and the teenage staff could take over for the afternoon, but being able to stay with her just a little while longer was an opportunity Butchy refused to pass up. Sadly, their time together didn’t last nearly as long as they wanted it to, as the phone rang once more a little over an hour later, and Butchy was forced to answer.
“Hello,” he spoke into the phone. “Bandoni residence.”
“Butch, it’s me,” a soft, somewhat groggy voice spoke on the other end of the line.
Sitting up and smiling apologetically at his wife, Butchy swung his legs over the side of the bed and asked, “Something wrong, Miles? You never call this early. Is Ben alright?”
“Oh, no, he’s fine, man. Thanks, though. It’s just…” A heavy metal clang rattled on the other end of the call, and Miles sighed heavily, “This piece of shit won’t start and I’m supposed to bring Vivien to the school today. I was supposed to fill out paperwork for her to be able to attend this week.”
Taking in a breath, Butchy turned slightly toward Mick who had slowly sat up upon his mentioning of who was on the other end of the line. Raising an eyebrow in confusion as he met his wife’s curious gaze, Butchy slowly asked, “Let me get this straight. Vivien came all this way for spring break, only to ask to go to school?”
Mick let out a soft snort, not surprised in the slightest. Sending his wife an amused grin, Butchy shook his head fondly. With a sigh, Miles replied, “Yeah, I was confused too, but she wants to meet the boys’ friends and thinks it’ll be fun. Is there any way you can swing by and pick us up? We have to be there for seven. I’ll give you-”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” Butchy cut off, his tone daring Miles to offer gas money. “I’ll be there. Make sure you have everything they told you to bring, and double check that the little rugrat isn’t sick before you bring her to school. I’d hate for everyone else to suddenly get the great idea that going to school is more fun than spring break.”
“I can hear you, you dick!” Vivien called with a laugh, letting Butchy know she wasn’t bothered by his remark.
Laughing over the line, Butchy remarked, “Love you too, piccola.”
“I don’t know what that means, but I’m not a fucking flute!”
“I’m pretty sure that’s a piccol-o, but-” Miles let out a laugh he poorly disguised as a cough, “She’s, uh, she’s flipping you off, Butch.”
“I’m shakin’ in my boots,” Butchy teased, earning him a dramatic scoff from the young brunette on the other end as he envisioned her rolling her eyes, that half-tilted grin of hers plastered on her face as she walked away. “Anyway, I’ll be there. See you guys in a few.”
“Thanks, man,” Miles breathed.
“Always.”
As her husband set the phone back on the hook, Mick slid out from under the blankets and wrapped her arms around Butchy’s waist, pressing her front to his back with a sigh. “So much for that massage you promised me last night,” she huffed as she rested her chin on his shoulder.
Placing his larger hands atop the ones on his abdomen, Butchy lightly kissed her cheek and offered, “Rain check?” Seeing her dejected pout as he turned slightly in her arms, Butchy cupped her face in his hand and suggested, “Lela’s going to Cheech’s tonight. The second you get off of work, I’ll make it up to you; I promise.”
With a reluctant nod, Mick allowed him to stand as she knelt on the bed, peering up at him with a look in her eyes that he knew all too well. Pulling him into a kiss, she breathed against his lips, “Me and my new babydoll will be waiting.”
Groaning huskily, Butchy allowed her to pull him in once more, sealing her promise with a kiss that had him debating whether or not he had the time to give her something, anything before he had to leave. Then, to his dismay, she pulled away, sitting back on her feet with a smug grin as she drank in his expression. Coming back to his senses, Butchy pointed a finger at her and lightly tapped the tip of her nose as he let out a breathy chuckle, “Not fair.”
Licking her lips, Mick smirked, “Consider us even. I’ll be looking forward to seeing how you manage to make this up to me.”
Leaning back down to her height, Butchy braced himself on the mattress and asked, “Have I ever told you how grateful I am that I married you?”
“A few times,” Mick replied in a breath. Lightly kissing him once more, she carded her fingers through his hair and said, “Now get going. Our siblings need you.”
Butchy let out a grumbling complaint before grabbing a pair of jeans from the laundry basket he had tossed onto the dresser the night before and a shirt from the closet, quickly getting dressed while his mind was occupied with anything other than the woman wearing nothing but a smile and one of his old shirts, sitting in his bed, waiting for him to return. No… it was their bed now, not just his. It was nice to finally be able to say that.
After kissing his wife goodbye, Butchy left the room, closing the door behind him. Stepping over a shirt that he knew Mick would be upset had stayed in a crumpled mess on the floor all night, he realized just how quickly things had gotten heated the night before. There was no rhyme or reason to it, either, as far as he could remember. They made tiramisu after dinner, she sprayed him with whipped cream, and, well… everything else was a bit of a blur. Not that he was complaining, but still, he would have to clean up the mess they had left when he got home.
Grabbing his keys from the hook by the garage door, Butchy tugged open the door and stepped into the garage, sliding in behind the wheel of his pickup. Pressing the button Mick’s dad had clipped to his visor after helping him install a remote-controlled door opener, Butchy slid the key into the ignition and allowed the truck to rumble to life. As soon as the door behind the tailgate was open, he backed out of the driveway and onto the street. With a yawn, Butchy grabbed the crank on his door and rolled the window down, grateful for the cold slap of early-morning air that shocked his systems awake.
With the humanized version of a caffeine crackhead getting into the seat next to him, he would need all the focus he could get. Downshifting as he rolled to a stop at the edge of the Murphy family’s driveway, Butchy felt his eyebrows knit together in concern as he saw Vivien sitting on the front steps, silent as a church mouse. He’d half expected her to be standing by the end of the yard, dancing to some 80s song or teasing Miles about something. Instead, Miles was nowhere to be seen, and Vivien simply sat there, staring into space.
In all the years he had known Vivien - a grand total of nearly three years - he had never seen her sit still for more than maybe two minutes without shifting around to find a new position. However, it appeared as though she was lost in thought, her backpack perched on her legs as she stared at the sandy grass before her. Butchy didn’t like it one bit. Vivien was like a shot of espresso injected directly into the veins of the people who cared about her. If she were feeling off in any way, those around her would be dragged down, too.
Deciding he didn’t want to see her like that any longer than he already had, Butchy pressed his hand to the center of the steering wheel and muttered an apology under his breath before digging the heel of his palm into the horn. Vivien jumped, her green eyes jolting from the ground to the truck as she scrambled to catch her bag before it hit the ground. As Vivien pushed herself to her feet, Butchy was surprised she didn’t send him a purple-tipped bird as she jogged up to the truck. Pressing the button into the handle and popping open the door, Vivien climbed onto the bench seat, closed the door, and slid into the middle seat, holding her backpack close as she muttered a greeting under her breath.
“Hey, piccola,” Butchy greeted with a smile, only to be met with a tiny grin that quickly disappeared. Butchy waited a moment for the girl to settle in her seat, half-expecting her to begin prattling off about her adventures from the day before. However, even after Vivien had settled, silence permeated the cab like a thick fog. Glancing toward the closed garage, Butchy eyed Vivien carefully and asked, “Is Miles coming?”
Vivien nodded and murmured, “He was fighting with the garage door and had to find Binx before we left.”
Eyeing the shorter brunette, Butchy took in a breath and reached up, tucking his hand under the girl’s bangs to feel her forehead. Instead of pushing him away, Vivien seemed to lean into his hand, her eyes closing behind her glasses as Butchy softly asked, “You feeling alright, nocciolina? You seem quiet.”
“Just tired,” Vivien replied, her tone a stark contrast to the jovial, snippy tone she had used with him on the phone just minutes prior. As Butchy’s hand slipped out from under her bangs and his fingers brushed through the strands to fix her hair, she turned to him and asked, “Butchy, am… am I too much to handle in the morning?”
Butchy had just barely uttered a disbelieving, “What?” When Vivien let out a deep sigh and cut him off.
“Like, I know I can be a bit much sometimes, but should I tone it down in the mornings?” she asked as she turned to stare out the windshield, not giving him a chance to breathe a word before she continued. “I know I’m loud because everyone tells me I am, but I don’t always realize it until I’m being told off. And, when I get up in the mornings, I’m always go-go-go, and I don’t stop unless I have to, which I guess can be annoying to some people, but I’m just a morning person, and that sort of energy gets my day started, so it shouldn’t matter, right?” Again, not giving Butchy a second to answer, she continued rambling, “I know I’m obnoxiously perky and overly optimistic sometimes, but is that really such a bad thing? I just-”
Butchy’s hand left the steering wheel to cover the girl’s mouth, forcing her to stop and catch her breath for a moment. When he was sure she had calmed enough to allow him a chance to speak, Butchy’s hand moved to her chin, turning her gaze back to him as his eyes narrowed and he asked, “Who the fuck put this nonsense in your head?”
Trying to make light of the situation, Vivien grinned and pushed his hand away as she let out a small, scoffed laugh, “The infamous swear jar owner knows how to cuss?! Where’s the press? We need to record this moment.”
“Quit evading the question, bambina,” Butchy said plainly. “Whoever told you that is going to end up maimed or, at the very least, seriously injured.”
“Nobody, I-” Vivien shook her head. Then, she grinned as she asked, “Wait, was that a Harry Potter reference?”
“Vivien,” Butchy ground out, an edge to his voice that reminded Vivien she was talking to a man who led a biker gang - a potentially dangerous one, if the protective tone of his voice told her anything - not just a guy her neighbor-slash-psuedo-sister had married. He had told her before that, since she was considered a family member by the Birches, she was his family now, too. However, until she saw the thinly veiled rage in his eyes at the idea of someone telling her to tone herself down, she hadn’t seen the older man as anything other than a kind, teasing older brother. Now, she saw the protective side of Butchy that Mick had told her stories of. Yanked from her reverie, Vivien’s eyes widened as Butchy asked, “Be honest with me; who do I need to kill for you?”
A hint of mild fear shone in Vivien’s eyes as she vehemently shook her head, “What? Nobody!”
“Look,” Butchy said, forcing a level tone as he took in a breath, “you don’t have to tell me, but I will find out eventually, and when I do, it-”
Putting her hands up in surrender, Vivien quickly interrupted, “It was me, okay?” Watching the anger in Butchy’s eyes slowly dissolve into confusion, she added, “I just… I get stuck in my head sometimes, and I feel like I’m going to fuck up this whole vacation. I mean, look at my housemates - Miles, who could sleep through a military-grade air show, and Bentley, who I’m pretty sure has earplugs built into his head that only work when he’s sleeping.”
Watching the girl’s eyes fall to the backpack on her lap, Butchy asked, “Have they said anything to you about you being too excited in the morning?”
With a subtle shake of her head, Vivien replied, “No.”
“Then you have nothing to worry about.” When Butchy’s simple statement gleaned nothing from the younger girl, he brought an arm around her shoulders and sighed, “I mean it, piccolina. Miles would tell you if he had an issue with you, and Bentley is terrible at hiding anything. If that boy was bothered by you in the slightest, you’d be able to tell.”
Taking in a deep breath, Vivien allowed her head to fall onto Butchy’s shoulder, sighing as she asked, “What if they don’t want to hurt my feelings, so they don’t say anything at all to me?”
“Viv,” Butchy sighed, “they love you. They wouldn’t-”
Butchy’s sentence was interrupted as the passenger’s side door opened, and Vivien quickly sat up as Miles hauled himself into the truck. Butchy pulled his arm back, glancing past Vivien to Miles as the younger biker nodded tiredly, “Thanks again, Butch.”
Nodding in return, Butchy pulled the gearshift and pulled away from the sidewalk, thinking over his conversation with Vivien as Miles grumbled into his coffee cup about something Bentley said before they were picked up by Kona’s dad. Although Butchy couldn’t honestly say that he knew Vivien better than Miles probably did, he knew her well enough to know that her behavior wasn’t normal. If it hadn’t been for the way she kept silent despite Miles trying to get her to join the conversation, he could chalk it up to her just being anxious about attending a new school for the week. She would add her two cents here and there, but her normal energy seemed depleted, the light in her eyes flickering as her eyes flitted over scenery on the way to the school.
Vivien’s snappy comebacks and lightning-fast reactions to Butchy’s jabs had disappeared almost as soon as they left the house. To make things worse, Miles didn’t even seem to notice the difference in her demeanor as he chugged his coffee and spouted off about work. Butchy could easily presume that Miles’ lack of detective skills was due to the insufficient amount of coffee in his veins, but even so, he had hoped Miles had been paying the girl at least some mind. After all, they weren’t just friends. Miles and Vivien had always been close - attached at the hip during their first few summer vacations to New Hampshire. But now, Miles’ brother and Vivien’s boyfriend were the same person, and the two seemed to get along as well as siblings on a normal day. This… This didn’t feel like a normal day.
Clearly, something had happened in the five, maybe ten minutes between the phone call and Butchy arriving at their house. Now, he just had to figure out what that was.
Pulling into the school parking lot and stopping in one of the spots designated for visitors, Butchy stopped the truck and waited for Miles to get out of the vehicle before putting a hand on Vivien’s arm, stopping her from moving. “Hold on a second,” he told her as he reached for the glove box. Pulling out a small notebook and a pen, he scribbled out his home phone number before tearing out the page and handing it to Vivien. “If you need anything - someone to talk to, a ride home in the middle of the day, bail money, anything - call. After I drop Miles off at work, I’ll be home. Call if you need me.”
Scanning over the hastily-scribbled number, Vivien nodded, offering Butchy a small smile as she pocketed the paper. “Thanks, big guy,” she said, patting the Firefly sticker on the dash as she slid over to the door.
Butchy offered the girl a final wave as Miles began leading her up the concrete pathways to the front door. Taking in how her eyes scanned her surroundings while Miles simply continued onward, Butchy wondered if something had happened between them. Either that, or the lack of caffeine in Miles’ system had made him less attentive. Regardless, as soon as Miles was back in the truck, they would be discussing everything Butchy had noticed in the short time he had been out of bed that day.
Holding the door open for Vivien, Miles took in a long sip of his coffee and stepped into the school’s office, the door slowly closing behind them. It had been a long morning. It had all started when he quite literally fell out of bed when the phone rang - a call from his boss telling him to pick up an order from the local parts retailer before coming in. Then, halfway through chugging down his first cup of coffee, Binx chose to attack, jumping onto Miles’ shoulder and making him wear the rest of his coffee. On top of all the running around he had done, his piece of shit Jeep refused to start, and, well… it was an all-around rough day from the start. He wasn’t necessarily looking forward to the rest of it.
Stepping up to the front desk as Vivien looked at the corkboard covered in half-assed posters about upcoming events and after-school activities, Miles watched as the crotchety old woman behind the desk waved off a girl with ginger hair. Inwardly, he hoped the old woman would give him some reprieve from his awful morning and send the young volunteer to handle him, but he knew the chances were slim. Mrs Burton was a nosy old bat who had her eyes on everyone else’s business. Watching the redheaded girl turn, Miles felt both joy and agitation as he found himself staring at Royce’s friend, Cassandra.
Sandy wasn’t a horrible kid by any means, but she was far from Miles’ favorite of his brothers’ friends. The girl was a speak-without-thinking loudmouth who seemed to respect a select few authority figures, but she actually seemed to like Miles and adhered to the rules at their house, so he was cordial with her whenever he saw her. Offering the girl a small smile, Miles stifled a yawn and said, “Cass.”
The girl’s blue eyes glistened as she smiled, dropping her stack of folders onto an empty desk before approaching the counter. “Miles,” she replied. Crossing her arms over the counter, she asked, “To what do we owe the pleasure of your greasy-assed company?”
The older woman huffed, figuratively clutching her pearls on her way past Sandy. She muttered something about disrespectful teenagers as she wandered down the hall to a teacher’s office, slamming the door behind her. Miles shook his head and chuckled, “I’m just here to sign Vivien in.”
Aquamarine eyes flitted past Miles to Vivien as Sandy’s head tipped to the side. Glancing back at Miles, she whispered, “Is that her?” Miles hummed in confirmation, and Sandy’s eyes widened slightly as they scanned over Vivien’s form. “Damn.”
“Yeah.” Allowing the redhead a chance to observe Vivien for a moment, Miles glanced over the counter and reached for a packet with both his and Vivien’s names on it, pulling it onto the top of the counter and opening it. “Is this all I need to fill out?”
Pulled from her careful observations, Sandy glanced at Miles and the packet in his hands before brushing him off, “Yeah, but just the first page, both sides. The rest is just bullshit. Now, back to her,” she said, pointing discretely at Vivien as the brunette scanned over the bulletin board with a small smile. “How on earth did Royce convince her to go out with him?”
“I don’t know,” Miles chuckled softly, pulling out the thin stack of pages from the manilla folder. “Ask him at lunch.”
Instead of waiting, Sandy placed a pen on the counter for Miles and glanced around to make sure the other office ladies were busy before stepping through the swinging half door and making her way to where Vivien stood. Sticking her hand out to Vivien as the girl turned toward her, Sandy spoke, “Nice to finally meet you, Vivien. Royce has told us a lot about you.”
Cautiously slipping her hand into the redhead’s, Vivien said, “Hopefully, good things.”
“Of course,” Sandy said before releasing Vivien. Smiling at the slightly taller girl, she said, “I’m Cassandra, but my friends call me Sandy. I work here in the office until third period since I don’t need my homeroom or study block.”
“Lucky,” Vivien breathed, a smirk tugging at her lips. “My dad’s the principal at my school, so I don’t get to do anything like that.”
“That’s one hell of an advantage,” Sandy laughed, tucking her hand into the crook of Vivien’s elbow as she stood beside her. “I bet you get out of trouble easier than anyone else.”
“Pft, hardly!” Vivien scoffed with a laugh. “If anything, it makes the teachers harder on me.”
Sandy let out a heavy sigh and shook her head, “That’s fucked up.”
Appreciating Sandy’s direct, “no bullshit” demeanor, Vivien shrugged, “It is what it is. My dad is pretty good at making sure the teachers are fair, but most of the older teachers are on massive power trips because of tenure.”
“Same shit, different place, I suppose,” Sandy sighed before gesturing toward the corkboard on the wall. “Do you guys at least have nice teachers for after-school clubs? The only cool teacher we really have is Mr. Rusiecki, and he’s our mechanics teacher and archery coach.”
Sending her new friend a raised brow, Vivien said, “That’s a big jump in careers.”
“He took the shop teacher job first, but then the principal found out that he was a state champion for archery, I guess, so he took over that after our old coach got shot by a freshman,” Sandy shrugged. “Anyway, Sieck’s pretty laid back. Last year, I helped the seniors take his car apart and rebuild it inside the gym for their end-of-year prank, and he thought it was great because those morons made his car run better than it did when he first bought it.”
As the girls shared a laugh, Miles turned toward them and spoke up, “Kiddo, I need you to come sign this so I can get my ass to work and you can get to class.”
Turning toward her boyfriend’s older brother, Vivien opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by Sandy as the redhead guided her toward the front desk, “Don’t get your panties in a twist.”
“I’ll twist my panties however I like,” Miles shot back, sliding the papers across the counter to Vivien and handing her a pen. Pointing to a few lines, his tone shifted to a gentler one as his focus turned to Vivien. He lowered his voice to a whisper and said, “Just those, but you need to sign with Mick’s last name.”
“Why?” Vivien asked.
“She was your proof of residency in the state,” Miles muttered as Sandy called a teacher to send a student to the office. “To prove you’re related to her and staying with her for the time being, I thought it would be for the best.”
“I guess that makes sense,” Vivien sighed softly. Scribbling her signature on the lines Miles had pointed out, Vivien made sure her pretend last name was correctly spelled before handing the papers over to Sandy as she hung up the phone on the desk.
Using a stamp to mark that someone on the staff list had approved the paperwork, Sandy tucked the papers away in the filing cabinet before offering Vivien a smile. “You can sit by the bulletin board until your guide shows up,” she informed Vivien before smirking at Miles and shooing him away with a hand. “Leave now, grease monkey. Your oily presence is needed elsewhere.”
Vivien let out a snort, which she quickly disguised as a cough. Miles shook his head, clearly not bothered by the girl’s remarks. “Yeah, yeah,” he said, patting the desk with a hand. Turning toward Vivien, Miles reached out and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, hoping his half-hug gave her some form of comfort as he prepared himself to abandon her in an unfamiliar environment. Walking with her toward the chairs on the opposite wall, he softly asked, “You sure you want to go through with this, kiddo?”
“Yeah,” Vivien confirmed, leaning into him briefly before stepping away to face him. Seeing the borderline apprehension in his gaze, Vivien’s head ticked to the side, and her eyebrow lifted as she asked, “Are you?”
Hoping he didn’t appear half as nervous about the situation as he felt, Miles confessed, “Not particularly. I don’t like the idea of abandoning you with people you don’t know, in a place you don’t know.” He lowers his voice to a whisper, “In a time you aren’t familiar with.”
Reaching out to lightly thump her fist to Miles’ chest directly above his heart, Vivien offered him a smile and said, “You worry too much.”
“Always,” Miles agreed. “But still, my point stands. Just say the word, and we can leave. No questions asked.”
Closing the gap between them and wrapping her arms around Miles with a comforting squeeze, Vivien rested her head against Miles’ shoulder and whispered, “I’ll be fine, Miles. It’s just school.” Allowing him to return her small embrace for a moment, Vivien stepped back and grinned, “Besides, I’m only going here for four days; how much trouble could I possibly cause?”
Though her rhetorical question was enough for Miles to want to say “to hell with it” and drag her back out to Butchy’s truck as he knew exactly how much havoc the young brunette could wreak, Miles found himself trusting her to at least keep her mayhem to a minimum, if not for her own sake or his, but for his brothers. She wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize them.
Sighing, Miles nodded, relenting to the girl’s smile as he hoped she wouldn’t get into too much trouble during her only week in the school. “Fine,” he breathed. “But call me if you need me, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Vivien breathed, offering Miles a small smile. “I’ll try not to blow up the chem lab or anything.”
With a shake of his head, Miles sighed to himself, “Que le ciel m'aide.” Focusing his attention on Vivien again, he grinned and said, “Try not to do anything stupid.”
“I make no promises,” Vivien replied with a mischievous smirk. “But it should be pretty easy… considering you’re taking all the stupid with you.”
Miles heaved a heavy sigh, but Vivien could hear the undercurrent of fondness in his tone as he grinned down at her. Reaching for Vivien’s shoulder, he pulled her to his side and held her there momentarily before pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead and stepping away. “I love you, kiddo. Be good.”
“I will,” Vivien said, watching Miles give her a final nod before his departure.
Sandy stood from her chair as the office door closed, waiting for Miles to disappear in the hallway before calling out in a hushed voice, “Psst, Vivien.”
Turning to the redhead, Vivien grabbed her backpack and slung it over her shoulder before crossing the room again, “Yeah?”
“First of all, here,” Sandy began, sliding a piece of paper across the counter to the brunette. “This is your schedule. I mixed some of the classes so that you’ll be with either Royce or one of our mutual friends for the rest of the week, but sadly, you have to stay with your tour guide today.”
“Cool,” Vivien said as she examined the listing. Each class had a symbol beside it with a letter inside of it - a heart with an R for Royce, a crown with an S for Sandy, a star with a K, and a fish with an L. “Who are K and L?”
“Katrina and Laken Dubois,” Sandy replied. “Everyone calls them Kit and Lake, but you’ll probably only meet them in passing until we meet up for lunch.”
Looking up from the paper, Vivien felt a sense of unease in her stomach as she asked, “Neither one of them is my tour guide?”
“Sadly, no,” Sandy sighed. “None of us are. Usually, the student council takes care of the touring stuff. If you had come last year, I probably would’ve been your guide, but I dropped out of that crock of bullshit this year when they tried to get us to do a fundraiser for new cheerleading uniforms. Anyway - back to the tour thing. That’s sort of the second thing I wanted to tell you about.”
Nodding, Vivien murmured, “Okay. Is it someone you know?”
Sandy scoffed, rolling her eyes, “Sadly. Everyone knows her. She’s a bit… much. Her name is-”
The door to the office swung open and slammed against the wall, cutting Sandy off and knocking the bulletin board off the wall as a sing-songy voice called out, “Where’s my newbie?”
Vivien turned, finding a girl with reddish-brown hair standing in the doorway. A smattering of freckles dotted her face, accenting her pasty skin. Contrasting her reddened hair was her hazel, borderline blue, eyes, and a purple-on-purple outfit that would put Daphne Blake from Scooby-Doo to shame. If Vivien hadn’t known better, she would’ve presumed the short redhead was cosplaying the cartoon character.
The short girl’s purple mod dress had lavender buttons that matched the scalloped hem and the sweater draped over her shoulders. Her long, pin-straight hair was almost identical to Lela’s signature style - a small bump with an accenting headband. To complete the look, the auburn-haired girl wore a pair of white tights with a sort of zigzag pattern and a pair of square-heeled, lavender shoes that only added an inch or two to her height.
All in all, Vivien had to admit, she was pretty. If she didn’t already have Royce and was, you know, in a decade where it would be socially acceptable, she might’ve approached the girl with the intention of asking her out. However, there was something about her - the fierceness in her eyes, or the magnetism of her smile, or perhaps the way she carried herself like nothing could bother her? - that reminded her too much of a certain past flame of hers that had burned through her life like a wildfire and decimated everything in her path. As she locked gazes with the girl, Vivien found herself looking into a pair of hazel eyes that held the same fiery passion that once destroyed her.
It was in that very moment she realized just how fortunate she had been to have found Royce and changed her “type” before it became a pattern.
As the girl crossed the office, her heels clicking delicately on the tile, Vivien found herself forcing a smile as she extended a hand to the girl who simply stared at her. “I’m Vivien,” she chose to say. “Vivien Birch.”
The girl eyed Vivien for a moment, her eyes raking over Vivien’s choice of outfit, before she finally plastered a smile on her face and latched onto the taller girl’s hand. Her voice, though soft-spoken, held a sense of authority as she said, “Serena Sullivan. Head cheerleader, vice president of the student council, and co-captain of the soccer team.”
“Nice to meet you,” Vivien said as the girl released her hand.
“Likewise,” Serena said, giving the girl a once-over before smirking and flicking her gaze onto Sandy, who had chosen to bite her tongue the second the cheerleader entered the room. “Cassandra.”
Forcing her voice to remain level for the sake of her new friend as the poor brunette would be stuck with the auburn-haired girl for the rest of the school day, Sandy spoke, “Serena.”
With a grin even Vivien could tell was forced, Serena nodded to the other redhead before turning her gaze back to Vivien and beaming brightly, looping her arm with her new classmate. “Ready to start your first day?”
Taking in a small breath as Serena began pulling her toward the door, Vivien nodded, “As I’ll ever be.”
Umber eyes drifted back and forth, following the pacing footsteps of a tall figure that had, upon returning home, blocked her sunlight. It wasn’t often that Mick had a bone to pick with her new husband. However, his persistent pacing was beginning to grate on what few nerves she had left. After a long night spent pinned in various positions, in different areas of the house, she had taken a sick day from work, and all she really wanted to do was rest on the couch with a book, her heating pad, and a cup of tea. However, it seemed Butchy had other plans.
When he arrived home from dropping Vivien at school and Miles at work, she had asked him how they were doing. That was her first mistake. Her second was presuming that he would allow her to return to her novel after basically word-vomiting to her about how worried he was for Vivien. Despite how the pair poked and prodded each other’s nerves, Mick knew the two cared deeply for each other. It was only natural. Vivien was a magnetic kid with a rough relationship with her mother, and Butchy had a thing for taking in strays.
He was protective of the younger brunette from the start, something he readily admitted to once Vivien left the cabin on the first day he met her. At first, she was just another Lela to him - a young girl who needed a big brother to look out for her - and he was more than willing to step up. In return, Vivien found herself drawn to the boy who had chosen to love the girl she saw as an older sister. The two had an odd bond from the start - teasing remarks about brains and brawn, jabs about height, and occasionally sweet moments filling their relationship from the start.
Now, Mick was beginning to wonder if she should just hand him some adoption papers and call it a day.
Glancing at the clock on the wall, Mick tucked her bookmark between the two pages she had been unsuccessfully trying to read and set her book aside, her eyes following Butchy as he paced back across the expanse of the living room window. Kicking her blanket off and reluctantly moving her heating pad from her sore abdomen, she stood from the couch and moved into Butchy’s path as he turned around.
Jumping at the sight of his wife standing directly in front of him, Butchy sucked in a sharp breath before letting it out in a heavy sigh. With a soft chuckle, his hands fell to her shoulders as he breathed, “Hi.”
“Hi,” Mick replied. Reaching up, she took his face in her hands and gently rubbed his cheekbones as she asked, “You’re starting to drive me up the wall, you know.”
“Mi spiace, tesoro,” Butchy muttered softly, leaning into her hands as his fell to her waist. “I just… I’m worried for her.”
Sighing in a way that said, “Tell me something I don’t know,” Mick shook her head, “She’s a big girl, Biagio. Vivien doesn’t need a big brother interrogating her right now. When she needs us, she’ll tell us.”
An almost pained look flitted across Butchy’s face as he asked, “What if that was her asking? Like a cry for help? She looked so miserable this morning, Mickie. I can’t ignore that.”
“Smetti,” Mick said firmly, her gaze gentle. “You’ll worry yourself sick for no reason, thinking like that.”
“I’m already worried sick,” Butchy huffed, lowering his forehead to his wife’s shoulder as he pulled her close. “I’ve never heard Vivien talk bad about herself before. It scares me.”
“I have,” Makana whispers, a soft sigh passing her lips. “Back when she and Lexi were together. She would put herself down and talk Lexi up. When they broke up, it got better, but… she was in a bad place for a long time. This - her worrying if she’s too loud and obnoxious - that’s nothing in comparison.”
Butchy let out a long, heavy sigh, lightly shaking his head as he lifted Mick from the floor and carried her back to the couch. Laying down with her beneath him, he mumbled, “I don’t like it.”
Humming softly, Mick trailed her hands along Butchy’s back and breathed, “I know, caro mio. If you’re that worried, you can stop over once they get home from school and ask her if she wants to go for a ride, just the two of you. How’s that sound?”
After a moment of silent contemplation, Butchy nodded against Mick’s shoulder, kissing the side of her neck before whispering, “Better… but I’m still worried for her.”
Accepting her husband’s statement with a small nod, Mick said, “You could always show up at the school tomorrow and bring her lunch if you feel she needs a break. She’s pretending to be my cousin, so it wouldn’t be too outlandish for you to bring her something. Or you could go pick her up and bring her out for ice cream to celebrate her first day at school.”
Lifting his head from his wife’s shoulder, Butchy sent her a skeptical look and asked, “Don’t you think that’s crossing a line?”
With a small shrug, Mick smiled and said, “I doubt Viv will see it that way. Besides, it couldn’t hurt to offer.”
Heaving a sigh, Butchy glanced at the kitchen and pushed himself onto his knees as he said, “I guess I’d better think of something to make her for tomorrow, then. Something healthy, but filling that she might actually enjoy.” After pausing for a moment to think, he tentatively asked, “What about snacks? Does she like watermelon or nuts? I can pack those. Or maybe a granola bar. Do teenagers like granola bars?”
“You don’t need to go all almond mom on her,” Mick chuckled, smiling up at her husband as he rose from the couch. “She’s a laid back kind of kid. Whatever you make, just pack her some of the brownies we made. She loves sugar.”
“Okay,” Butchy said, nodding to himself. Leaning down, Butchy quickly kissed his wife’s cheek and muttered, “I love you.”
“Love you too,” Mick said softly. “Now, go pack some brownies and check up on our girl.”
With a smile, Butchy took Mick’s hand and brought it to his lips before thanking her in Italian and making his way to the kitchen. Watching him leave the room, Mick let out a sigh of relief. Having calmed her husband and gotten herself some peace and quiet in the meantime, she grabbed her mug of cooled tea from the coffee table and sipped it a bit before grabbing her book and settling in with her heating pad once more. Hearing Butchy set out a tupperware container and pull the glass container of brownies from the refrigerator, she smiled and shook her head fondly.
Worrywart.
Being a temporary exchange student in the 60s had its perks, Vivien realized quickly. Teachers never called on her, students went out of their way to be nice to her when she bumped into them in the hall, and nobody seemed outright rude. Her tour guide, Serena Sullivan, was in mostly A.P. classes, which Vivien was grateful for, but she seemed more interested in writing notes back and forth than she was in actually learning.
In one class, Vivien had learned that Serena’s dog’s name was Bitsy, she was a cheerleader, had won homecoming queen twice by attending the dance with an upperclassman, and was in the running for prom queen. In exchange, Vivien shared basic information - her siblings’ names, her dog’s name, a few things about her family’s winery business, and a few bits of information about her favorite hobbies - but she kept almost everything else under wraps.
Serena seemed… different. She was sort of like a book with sprayed edges - pretty, expensive, and interesting, but a lot deeper on the inside. In the hallways between classes, she would rant about her stepfather and how horrible he was for breaking up her parents’ relationship. She talked about her mom and dad like they could have ruled the world together, but after seeing the photographs - one of Serena and her parents and the other with her, her mother, a young boy, and a very obviously cut out man - Vivien could see the way the happiness in her mom’s expression shifted from the older photo to the new. However, Vivien simply played along, letting her new companion vent to someone she probably wouldn’t spend much time with in the future.
Despite Serena’s constant need to chat, Vivien found herself enjoying the classes she attended. The only one she didn’t particularly care for was the cheerleading practice she was made to attend instead of the history class she saw on the schedule in Serena’s locker. The cheer coach - a woman who sort of reminded Vivien of Sue Sylvester from Glee - was nice enough to let her sit out when she explained she wasn’t on the team.
The girls on the team were nice enough to introduce themselves to her - the co-captain, Violet Hilton wrapping an arm around her shoulders and showing her who was who. Normally, names didn’t really stick in Vivien’s head all that well, but old-fashioned names like Claudia, Maude, and Patsy were easy enough to remember. Even though the girls had made her feel welcome and had invited her to joining them for practice, Vivien could see the hint of disappointment in their eyes as she jogged up the steps and perched herself a couple of rows up the bleachers that surrounded the track and football field, pulling out her journal to write.
‘I saw Ben in the halls, but he didn’t see me,’ she wrote as the girls began working on one of their final pyramids of the day. ‘He was with August, and they were running up the stairs between classes. August waved, but Bentley was too focused on forcing his way up the stairwell. I haven’t had the chance to see anyone else, that I know of. I’ll see them at lunch, I’m sure, but I wish Serena had classes with Royce. I miss him. Serena seems-’
Looking up as someone yelled, “LOOK OUT!” Vivien dropped her pencil and ducked between the bleachers, narrowly avoiding a rogue football. As the ball thunked the metal seat she vacated, Vivien looked over to the field to find a tall football player with wavy blond hair jogging toward her. Placing her notebook on the bleacher below where she had been sitting, Vivien grabbed the football from where it wobbled on the metal floorboards and stood, throwing it back onto the field. The blond football player stopped mid-step to watch the ball arc over his head toward one of his teammates, who ran to catch it.
Turning back to Vivien with wide, almost impressed eyes as his teammates began wolf-whistling at her and complimenting her throw, he jogged the remaining distance between the field and the bleachers as he called out, “Sorry about that.”
“It’s fine,” Vivien claimed, righting her outfit before picking up her abandoned pencil and sitting back down with her journal. Giving him a quick once-over, Vivien noted his blond hair was tinged with brown at the roots, he had greenish-gray eyes, his nose was slightly crooked, and his teeth were almost too white. His face reminded her of a model she had seen in various cologne ads back home, but he had the broad shoulders and musculature of an average meathead who spent all his free time in the gym. Brushing off her assessment of the taller boy, Vivien said, “No harm, no foul.”
Climbing over the railing of the bleachers, the blond chuckled, “It was almost all harm, all foul.”
Chuckling halfheartedly, Vivien’s gaze returned to the page before her as she said, “Well, it didn’t, so…”
Silence filled the air for a moment, and while Vivien was grateful for it as she returned to writing her thoughts down in her notebook, she knew it wouldn’t last long as the boy cleared his throat. Leaning against the metal railing, the blond ran a hand through his silky hair and said, “You know, you’ve got one hell of an arm.”
Humming in acknowledgment, Vivien forced herself to focus on her journal as she simply said, “Thanks.”
Clearly not one to give up despite being stonewalled, the football player chuckled, circling his finger in the air as he pointed toward Vivien, “I think I’d remember such a beautiful face. Are you new here?”
Discreetly rolling her eyes, Vivien calmly said, “Yes.”
“You can talk to me, you know,” the blond said with a grin, kneeling on the seat before Vivien and peering over her journal at her. “I don’t bite.”
Meeting the football player’s eyes, Vivien nudged her glasses up her nose and rhetorically asked, “How do you know I don’t?”
With a chuckle, the blond pressed a hand to his heart and said, “I’m sure you do. A pretty thing like you… you probably have a long line of guys looking to court you.”
Trying her best not to snort at the terminology, Vivien said, “Nope, just one.”
Although Vivien wasn’t surprised the older boy hadn’t entirely caught on to her obvious distaste for the conversation and his rather annoying presence, she hadn’t been prepared for him to say, “Maybe we could make it two.”
Vivien’s response came quickly and easily: “No, thanks. I’m happy with my guy.”
A hand appeared at the top of her journal as the football player tried to push it down and get a good look at her face. Tugging her journal away from him and scooting away on the bleacher until she was by the metal railing at the end of her row, Vivien watched as a flicker of something she didn’t like shone in his eyes. As though he enjoyed her trying to escape him, he followed her to her new seat and chuckled, ignoring her look of obvious disgust. The football player leaned in uncomfortably close, and Vivien recalled her promise to Miles about not causing a scene as she fought the urge to palm-heel strike the boy and run.
Ignoring the chill of unease that ran through her spine at the almost predatory look in his eyes, Vivien wondered how on earth women acted calm and ignorant of this behavior in the past. Though she wished she had pepper spray or something to get the point across that she wasn’t interested, it was surreal to experience what so many women had to endure without it in the past. How they managed, she’d never know, but she was immensely glad things had begun progressing in her time. The “game” of cat-and-mouse these morons seemed to enjoy was disgusting, and it sent an eerie wave of goosebumps over her arms as she realized that the boy before her seemed to get off on her discomfort.
Once he was close enough that Vivien could smell his minty gum and something akin to one of the old cologne bottles in her Grandpa George’s collection, the blond said, “Come on. What’s the harm? Maybe we could go dancing or something. Your other pursuit doesn’t need to know.”
Trying not to gag at his blatant suggestion of cheating, Vivien found herself immensely grateful for whoever was working in the office as the bell rang and signaled the end of the period. She quickly stood from her seat, ensured she had her belongings, and said, “No.”
“Hey, wait!” the blond called after her.
Rounding the railing, Vivien made her way down the bleachers, just barely making it to the edge of the track as a hand wrapped around her elbow, spinning her around. Getting a glimpse of blonde hair and the taller boy’s thinly veiled frustration, Vivien wrenched her arm from his grasp and backed away from him as she hissed, “Take a hint, dude!”
Before the football player could say anything to sway her, the coach blew his whistle and yelled, “Osborne! You can chase skirts when you’re off the field.”
“Yeah, Darren!” called one of the other players, his practice jersey bunched up around the chest piece of his shoulder pads. “Get your ass over here before we have to run laps ‘cause of you.”
A sense of recognition boiled in Vivien’s chest as the blond huffed and skulked away, his chest puffed out like a freshly-preened peacock despite her rejection. Rolling her eyes, Vivien turned her back on the football team and hurried to join the girls as they followed the gym teacher back to the school. He was probably the same Darren that Royce had decked not long ago and, if he was, she could understand why Royce had such a short fuse with him.
‘Darren Osborne,’ she thought to herself with an internal scoff, recalling the pretentious asshole at her school back home with the same last name. ‘Of course, he’s a fucking Osborne. As if it wasn't bad enough I had to deal with Preston back home. I guess asshole-ry must come with the territory of that last name.’
The school day had seemed to drag on forever for Royce. He had figured his time with Vivien would be short on her first day at school with them, but he hadn’t anticipated not sharing any classes with her in the first half of the day. By the time lunch had rolled around, he had realized Vivien must’ve been put with someone on the student council with whom he never shared classes, but he wasn’t sure who. Most of them were in advanced placement classes he didn’t qualify for due to his credits at his last school, so it wasn’t hard to figure he wouldn’t see Vivien, but still, the thought of having her in the same building, yet unable to find her was frustrating.
To put it plainly, he missed her.
Vivien was his shot of espresso. His sunrise. Just that morning, he woke up to her slipping into the room he shared with Bentley. Her oversized hoodie made her resemble a dementor from Harry Potter as she stepped into the room at one-thirty in the morning, and Royce had, in his sleep-deprived fear, thrown a pillow at her and shrieked, waking Miles and Bentley and startling poor Binx. After calming things down and telling Miles to “put his fucking baseball bat away and go back to bed,” Vivien sat with the younger two brothers, waiting for Bentley to pass out with Binx purring on his chest before laying down with Royce.
For a while, they just lay there together, staring at the ceiling and waiting for the other to say or do something. Then, Vivien turned onto her side and told Royce about her inability to sleep that night. After discussing what was on her mind - her nerves about meeting his friends - Royce reassured her that they would love her and encouraged her to sleep. She confessed in the morning that she liked waking up to him holding her close, and although he admitted the same, he didn’t tell her that he had slept better with her by his side.
Later in the morning, when Miles’ Jeep didn’t start, and he and Bentley had to ride their bikes to catch the bus at the community center, he had tried to get her to join, but Miles had made her stay back as he needed to sign her paperwork before she could attend classes. Vivien had argued that she could just sit outside and wait for him to show, but Miles was already stressed from waking up late and had simply told her to wait outside for Butchy to get there. After kissing her cheek, Royce grabbed his bike from the garage and followed Bentley away, waving to his girlfriend until she sat on the front steps with her backpack at her feet.
Vivien could take the worst possible day and turn it around for him by just being by his side. If he was being honest with himself, that was probably why he missed her so much.
As the bell rang for lunch, Royce was startled out of his thoughts and scrambled to grab his books, filing into the hall behind Connie-Jean and Bruce - the couple that sat in front of him and passed notes all through class. Ducking around them once there was a gap big enough, Royce wove through the growing crowd of hungry Juniors and Seniors toward his locker. Looking around the corridor for any sign of Vivien, Royce found his view obstructed by the back of an Earth Science book.
“Looking for someone?” a familiar voice asked.
Without turning, Royce snatched the book from Sandy’s hand and sighed, “Not helping.”
“Wasn’t trying to,” the redhead said as she unlocked the locker beside Royce’s and yanked her sweater from inside it. Taking her book back from her friend, she tossed it inside and slammed the clunky door shut once more. “You know she’s probably already at lunch, right?”
Slipping his books onto the shelf inside his locker and tucking his wallet into his back pocket, Royce sent her a lifted brow and asked, “How do you know that? Did you check her schedule?”
Sending Royce an apologetic look, Sandy sighed and explained, “She’s with Fire-Crotch.”
A look of frustration and worry settled on Royce’s face as he realized what that meant. Vivien was with Serena Sullivan all day. The same Serena who was once someone he went on a date with—one terrible, shitty, mind-numbingly stupid date, but a date nonetheless. Even though Royce knew Vivien wasn’t the jealous type, if she found out what had gone down on his date with Serena, he was sure there wouldn’t be much left of the redhead once Viv was through with her. As much as he couldn’t stand the girl, he didn’t want her to eventually pop up on some unsolved cold case show.
Thumping his head against the door of his locker, Royce muttered, “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
“Wish I was,” Sandy sighed, patting Royce’s shoulder apologetically. “I called the student counsel meeting room and asked them to send down a tour guide for the day. My guess is Serena either volunteered or was the only one who wasn’t busy in their meeting.”
Groaning in frustration, Royce lifted his head and allowed Sandy to tug him toward the cafeteria as he huffed, “Something tells me this isn’t going to end well.”
Sandy grimaced, knowing all too well the damage Serena could do to a person. When they were younger, Serena was different. Her mom and dad had chosen to move in from Lafayette, Louisiana when Serena was seven, throwing her into second grade with a bunch of kids she didn’t know, in a city she didn’t know. Sandy and her friend, Violet Brinson, had befriended Sandy, choosing to eat lunch at the same table as her and making an effort to play on the playground with her during recess.
Middle school had changed things, of course, as it did to many friendships. They were fine at first - an unstoppable trio. Then, in fifth grade, after trying out for the junior cheerleading team, Violet and Serena seemed to grow closer, pulling away from Sandy more and more until, in sixth grade, their friendship was practically nonexistent.
Junior high didn’t help as Serena’s parents divorced when she was in seventh grade and her mom quickly got together with the high school football coach, David Price. All of Serena’s relationships took a hit those two years. Her dad moved away, her mom was now the devil for splitting up their family, she kept everyone at arm’s length, and, despite Sandy’s efforts to be there for her friend, the only person she let in was Violet.
After that, something changed. The Serena that Sandy knew was gone - replaced by who she was now. Using her stepfather’s money to buy a new wardrobe, and Violet’s advice to gain a new, bitchy exterior, Serena became a new girl entirely. Sadly, Sandy had seen it coming and managed to avoid being singled out by the new Serena, but as she surrounded herself with new friends and created a bubble of positivity in her life, Serena had tried to butt her way back in.
It was small at first - jabs at her choice of friend, remarks about downgrading, and general comments about abandonment. Then, she tore through Sandy’s first group of friends, spreading rumors and lies about Sandy’s past that spread like wildfire through the school - something Serena even confessed in a stairwell meeting wasn’t intentional. After that, however, nobody wanted to befriend her.
Nobody until freshman year, that is.
Having a school large enough to be a “school of choice” option for students in the area meant an influx of people nobody knew joining the enrollment list. Although most new people kept to themselves and found their way well enough throughout the first week of school, there was one person Sandy noticed who seemed to have a rough time - a coily-haired girl squished against the lockers in a crowded hall, trying to speak up and ask for help, but going unnoticed by the crowd.
Forcing her way across the hall to the girl with the curly hair, Sandy introduced herself, took the girl’s schedule, grabbed her hand, and pulled her to her next class - one they shared, thankfully. After that class ended, she guided the girl - Katrina, she learned - to the cafeteria, where Sandy then met the girl’s twin brother, Laken. The trio got along swimmingly, and despite Serena’s various attempts to separate them, they stuck it out.
Then, about halfway into the school year, they were introduced to a new friend, Royce Murphy. Glad to have another guy to hang out with, Laken clung to the new boy like glue after he was introduced to him at lunch. Katrina was also welcoming, though she was a bit more reserved than her brother was. Even so, the three of them were practically inseparable at school, making Serena’s friendship seem like a distant memory to Sandy
After only a couple of weeks at the school, Royce announced to his friends that he was going on his first date - with someone from their school. Upon further questioning from Sandy and Kit, Royce confessed he had a date with Serena Sullivan, one of the girls on the cheerleading team. Sandy had warned him that Serena wasn’t any good, but Royce had been determined to see the date through as he was never one to go back on his word.
When he had Miles drive him to Sandy’s trailer the next day, an apology on his tongue and two cups of ice cream in his hands, she bit back the urge to say “I told you so.”
Now, he had Vivien, and Sandy was happy for him. He seemed genuinely happy with her. In their short talk this morning, Sandy felt like Vivien could be a good partner for Royce. Vivien seemed smart enough to be able to handle Serena and her, well, everything. She just hoped Serena would keep her mouth shut and her opinions to herself.
Turning into the cafeteria entrance, Sandy stalled as she spotted the cheer squad surrounding their usual table. Spotting a head of auburn hair in the midst of the fray, Sandy dropped Royce’s arm and sighed, “Something tells me you’re right.”
Peeking around his friend, Royce spotted Serena sitting atop their lunch table, a familiar brunette sat on the bench beside her feet. Vivien, surrounded by cheerleaders, seemed at ease despite her usual discomfort in large tight-knit groups of people. Though Royce was happy to finally see her, his face fell as he realized just how hard it would be to get her out of the ring of athletes. She was their new, shiny toy, and they were a pack of dogs, ready to pounce if given the chance.
As Vivien laughed at something one of the girls said, her eyes flickered around the group in a manner that Royce quickly pinned as something she did if she was making sure she was reacting properly in a new group of people. He had only seen her like that a handful of times, but knew the awkwardness in her eyes all too well. She wasn’t entirely comfortable with the group, and Royce knew it.
As Vivien’s eyes flickered past him, he noticed the change in her demeanor, the subtle relaxation of her shoulders, the way her smile turned genuine, and her eyes sparkled. However, before Royce could find the courage to call across the room to her, Kit’s soft voice dragged his attention away and he found himself guided to the food line as Lake wrapped an arm around his shoulders. By the time he had gotten his food and made his way to the table where the rest of his friends were sitting, their usual table was clearing out and Vivien was dragged out of the room by a flock of giggling teenage girls.
Well, at least he got the chance to see her.
After eating lunch with a group of cheerleaders that were so surprisingly nice that Vivien pinched herself multiple times to remind herself she wasn’t in some sort of fever dream, she was led away to the girls’ bathroom on the second floor, where they sat her down on a stiff but comfortable bench and began asking her questions about her life in New Hampshire. The more she told, the more the girls seemed intrigued by her, something Vivien just wasn’t used to.
As the ten-minute warning bell rang and a couple of the girls began filing back into the hall, Violet, Serena's best friend and fellow sophomore, began stuffing her makeup back into a bag as she asked, “Do you need to touch up your makeup before we go? I always carry extra.”
“Thanks, but that’s okay,” Vivien said with a wave of her hand, eyeing the variety of makeup spread across counters surrounding the bathroom sinks. “I’m not the greatest at doing makeup.”
Although her intention had been to rid herself of any extra attention from the girls who had seemingly flocked around her, Vivien’s answer to Violet’s question had done the exact opposite. The pastel pink bathroom fell silent at once, as though Vivien’s statement had quite literally made time stop. Almost on cue, the remaining cheerleaders turned to Vivien with wide, questioning eyes, pelting her with questions until Serena held up a hand and silenced the room without a word.
Stepping up to the new girl, Serena placed a hand on her shoulder and asked, “How come? Do you not wear makeup to school?”
“No,” Vivien said simply. Hoping to dispel the cheerleaders’ desire to question her more, she tacked on, “My parents don’t really like the idea of me wearing makeup.”
Gasps of horror filled the room as the remaining cheerleaders swarmed around Vivien, dragging her toward the sinks and standing her before the mirror. As compliments of her skin and comments about controlling parents surged, Serena called out, “Girls, let her breathe!”
As Crystal, a blonde began shepherding the others away so that Serena and Violet, their co-captains, could step up behind Vivien, Vivien turned, smiling tentatively at the two girls before her. Softly, she chuckled, “It’s okay, really.”
Taking Vivien’s chin in her hands, Violet grinned and said, “For a girl from the middle of nowhere, you do have good bone structure.”
“Thanks, I-”
“And a symmetrical face,” Serena said as Violet turned Vivien’s face toward her. “If I took a meat cleaver down the center of your skull, I'd have matching halves. That's very important.”
Vivien’s emerald eyes glanced between the pair as she muttered, “And concerning.”
“We could work with this,” Violet said, more to Serena than to Vivien. “She could be our new project.”
Lifting her head from Violet’s grasp, Vivien offered the pair a small smile and said, “You really don’t have to do that.”
“I know,” Violet said with a grin, pressing a hand over her chest.
“That’s what makes us so nice,” Serena added, her almost pearlescent smile glittering in the fluorescent lights.
Then, the sound of something similar to a triangle being tapped echoes through the bathroom and Violet turned Vivien toward the mirror as she sang, “Whenever I see someone less fortunate than I, and let's face it, right? Who isn't less fortunate than I? My tender heart tends to start to bleed.”
Vivien fought the urge to roll her eyes as Serena took up the space on her left, gesturing in the mirror toward Vivien as she sang, “And when someone needs a makeover, I simply have to take over. I know, I know exactly what they need.”
“And even in your case,” Violet began, looking over Vivien for a moment as the brunette bit her tongue and forced a smile onto her face. Violet contemplated for a moment before she sang, “Though it's the toughest case we've yet to face-”
“Hey!” Vivien interrupted, taking offense to the lyrics as her eyes raked over her reflection.
Ignoring her and continuing with the song, Violet sang, “Don't worry, we’re determined to succeed.”
Serena beamed, wrapping an arm around Vivien’s back as she sang, “Follow our lead, and yes, indeed! You will be…”
“Popular!” the rest of the cheerleaders chimed in.
“You're gonna be popular,” Serena and Violet sang in unison.
One of the girls - a blonde named Poppy - twirled Vivien around to face her and looped her arm with Vivien’s as she began, “We'll teach you the proper ploys when you talk to boys. Little ways to flirt and flounce-”
“Ooh!” Claudia, a short brunette with her hair cut to her chin, cut in, stepping up and fluffing Vivien’s hair over her shoulders as she added, “We'll show you what shoes to wear, how to fix your hair.”
“Everything that really counts to be popular,” Serena sang as she circled the swarm of cheerleaders.
Violet nodded as she perched herself on the counter between the sinks, “We'll help you be popular.”
“You'll hang with the right cohorts,” Maude sang, gesturing to the group of girls who all seemed to nod in agreement.
“You'll be good at sports,” Beatrice added, twirling in her cheer uniform.
Stella spoke up, “And know the slang you've got to know.”
“So let's start,” Violet cut in, “'cause you've got an awfully long way to go.”
“Don't be offended by our frank analysis,” Serena sang, placing a hand on Vivien’s arm with a small smile. “Just think of it as personality dialysis.”
“Now that we've chosen to become your pals,” Poppy began.
Claudia excitedly interrupted, “Your sisters!”
“And advisers,” Violet sang, her legs swinging back and forth over the edge of the counter. “There's nobody wiser.”
Serena smiled and sang, “Not when it comes to-”
“Popular!” the rest of the team exclaimed.
“We know about popular,” Serena said, guiding Vivien in front of the mirror again. Pulling a compact hairbrush from Violet’s bag on the counter, she began brushing through Vivien’s ponytail, guiding the ends into a flipped curl. Smiling at the brunette’s reflection, she sang, “And with an assist from me to be who you'll be-”
“Instead of dreary who you were,” Violet said as she gestured to Vivien’s rather bland, plain outfit. “Well, are… There's nothing that can stop you from becoming popular.”
Glancing around at the girls that had begun picking her apart like vultures digging at roadkill, Vivien chuckled nervously, “What if I’m okay with not being popular?”
The girls laughed, and Serena chortled, “Who would think such a thing?”
Seeing that she was getting nowhere fast with the cheerleaders, Vivien sighed and allowed them to do with her as they pleased. After all, she was only here for a week. After that, her chances of spending any time in the popularity ladder that was high school would drop significantly. So, instead of arguing, she simply let them play with her like a new Barbie doll.
Vivien found herself staring into a pair of oceanic blue eyes as Violet grabbed her chin and turned Vivien’s head toward her, dabbing a faint layer of lipstick on Vivien’s lips with her finger. “When I see depressing creatures with unprepossessing features-” Vivien struggled to keep herself from rolling her eyes at that remark, “-I remind them on their own behalf to think of celebrated heads of state-”
“Or especially great communicators,” Serena interrupted.
“Did they have brains or knowledge?” Vivien’s mouth opened to speak, but Violet placed a finger over her lips and said, “Don't make me laugh!”
Serena began, “They were-”
Vivien quickly interrupted, grateful Violet moved her finger for her to speak, “Popular?”
Serena and Violet’s eyes gleamed as the room practically erupted with a shout of, “Right!”
“It's all about popular,” Violet confirmed, patting a light blush across VIvien’s cheeks as Serena finished working on Vivien’s hair.
Serena nodded, placing her hair tools on the counter as she sang, “It's not about aptitude, it's the way you're viewed.”
Turning Vivien around for the approval of the rest of the cheer team, Violet sang, “So it's very shrewd to be very, very popular…”
As Violet and Serena gestured for the girls to finish their captain’s lyrics, they called out in unison, “Like me!”
Overwhelmed and somewhat taken aback by the team’s insistent desire to change her appearance and “help” her fit in more, Vivien softly said, “Girls, this is really nice of you and all, but I’m fine with how I look.”
“And it’s great that you have the confidence to feel that way,” Serena said, placing a hand over her heart and offering Vivien a somewhat condescending smile - like a parent telling their child “That’s nice, sweetie.”
“But-”
Violet cut Vivien off with a wave of her hand, “And though you protest your disinterest…”
“We know clandestinely,” Serena continued.
As the two co-captains shared a beaming smile, they sang, “You're gonna grin and bear it, your newfound popularity!”
Violet turned to the other girls and declared, “Girls, we have one week to turn this rather plain duckling into a magnificent swan! This is a DEFCON 1. Start plotting!”
“Woo!” the other cheerleaders exclaimed, fawning over their new friend as their captains stepped back to allow them room.
As Vivien gradually grew accustomed to the gaggle of teenage girls swarming her on all sides, telling her various ideas for how they planned to skyrocket her popularity, Serena turned to Violet and said “We did well.”
“Mhm,” Violet hummed, smirking as a couple of the girls adjusted Vivien’s outfit, a few of them making an offer for her borrow their jewelry or sweater. “She’ll be popular, alright.”
Turning back to the mirrors, the two captains touched up their makeup before shoving their things in their bags and zipping them as they said under their breaths, “Just not quite as popular as me.”
As the school day came to a close, Vivien followed the horde of students out the front door, stumbling down the stairs as Serena pushed her way through the crowd. The warm Floridian air slapped her in the face as they abandoned the cool school hallways and forced their way outside. As Serena tugged her away from the crowd and over to the parking lot on the edge of the campus, Vivien watched the growing crowd for any sign of a familiar face when Serena chuckled, pulling her attention away from the school’s entrance.
“Bizarre how many people fit inside that building, isn’t it?” the redhead remarked as she placed her hands on her hips and shook her head.
“Yeah,” Vivien agreed, glancing back at the herd of teenagers on the front lawn, “it’s like a clown car or a can of sardines.”
Serena snickered, nodding slightly before saying, “Are you going home on the bus? They don’t come for another five, maybe ten minutes.”
Vivien shrugged. She hadn’t really thought to ask Miles as she was sure she’d be able to ask Royce at some point throughout the day. Sadly, she’d only had the chance to see him fleetingly at lunch. “I don’t know,” she replied honestly. “My cousin and her husband never said.”
“Do you want a ride home?” Serena offered. “My step-dick usually takes me home, but I wouldn’t mind a bit of company to keep him from talking to me the whole way back.”
“Step-dick?” Vivien echoed with a soft laugh. “Am I right in guessing that’s your step-dad?”
Serena rolled her eyes and huffed, “Sadly. He’s the football coach and a total asshole.”
Vivien grinned sympathetically, “I know the feeling. My mom can be a bit… bitchy.”
“Another thing we have in common,” Serena said with a somewhat grateful smile. “But, yeah, if you’d like a ride, just hop in and give him directions. He’s basically an unpaid chauffeur.”
“That’s alright,” Vivien chuckled. “I’ll just take a bus.”
Nodding, Serena glanced around the vicinity before lowering her voice and murmuring, “I’m sorry about the girls cornering you in the bathroom like that, by the way. I know they can be a bit pushy, but I swear, they have the best of intentions.”
For the first time since she’d met the redhead, Vivien felt as though she was starting to see the real Serena - the one underneath all of the glamour of being a captain of the cheerleading team. This Serena seemed friendlier, a bit more blunt, and more like an average girl. If Vivien was being honest, she could see herself spending more time with her like this. She didn’t seem so intimidating and theatrical like this. She seemed… normal, which felt odd to say about someone who literally sang a musical number about popularity in a high school girl’s bathroom earlier.
Offering Serena a genuine smile, Vivien smiled and said, “Thanks. It was… interesting, to say the least, but they seem nice.”
“They are,” Serena agreed quickly. “Maybe, sometime, I’ll invite you to one of our slumber parties. We usually go to Violet’s place because they have an indoor pool and a butler, but I can let you know in advance.”
Finding herself nodding before half of Serena’s words had registered in her head, Vivien said, “That sounds like fun.”
“Great,” Serena said before a horn cut her off, making her groan and roll her eyes. Turning to see a banana yellow Chevy Impala rolling toward them with the man from the football field sitting behind the wheel, Vivien asked, “Step-dick?”
“Step-dick,” Serena sighed in agreement. Hauling her backpack onto her shoulder, the redhead placed her hand on Vivien’s arm and said, “See you tomorrow, yeah?”
Vivien nodded, stepping back from the curb as Serena headed for the car, “Yeah, see you.”
Serena gave Vivien a quick hug goodbye before pulling open the door of the car and sliding into the passenger seat, sending her step-father a look that told Vivien that the ride was going to be a long, arduous one for both parties. As the car pulled away, Vivien waved, but her gesture went unnoticed by both parties as Serena began complaining to her step-father about something Vivien couldn’t make out.
With a snort, Vivien turned back toward the slowly dwindling crowd in front of the school, searching for any sign of her boyfriend and his friends. Spotting a pair of blond boys with a short blonde girl and a dark-skinned boy at a table, Vivien began making up the distance between them before the rev of an engine distracted her. Turning, she spotted a motorcycle pulling into the parking lot and smiled, tempted to pull out her phone and take a picture to show Miles later on.
However, as the bike grew closer, she spotted a familiar face under the helmet. Butchy’s brown hair was tucked neatly beneath the helmet, but his smirk was unmistakable as he rolled to a stop by the sidewalk. Digging into his saddlebag, Butchy held up a small Tupperware container with something in it that had slid around, smearing what looked like chocolate inside the tub. Making a face at the smudged chocolate, he muttered, “That doesn’t look appetizing, does it?”
With a smirk, Vivien made her way back to the curb and snickered as she teased, “Even if it did, I ordered lunch hours ago, big guy. You’re not getting a tip.”
“It was a brownie Mick and I made,” Butchy sighed. Slipping the Tupperware back into the saddlebag with a shake of his head, Butchy pulled out a helmet instead and held it out to Vivien. “Hop on, piccola. We’re going on a drive.”
Glancing back at her friends, Vivien asked, “But, what about them?”
“They can take the bus, half-pint,” Butchy said. Seeing Vivien’s expression falter as she thought about her friends being stuck on the bus while she got a ride home on a motorcycle, he nudged her with the helmet and said, “Really, Viv, it’s okay. I wouldn’t offer if it wasn’t. Come on.”
Vivien’s mouth opened and closed for a moment as she glanced back and saw Bentley watching her. As he smiled and waved, Vivien waved back before turning to Butchy, ready to turn down his offer. However, seeing the reassurance in Butchy’s gaze, she found herself accepting the helmet from him. Turning toward Bentley and finding Royce standing beside him, she held up the helmet to show them she was leaving with Butchy.
Royce offered her a thumbs-up as Bentley nodded and guided the rest of their friends onto the bus. Heaving a sigh, Vivien turned to Butchy who had already gotten back onto his bike and was watching her expectantly, and asked, “What’s this all about, anyway? Couldn’t I just ride the bus?”
“You could,” Butchy shrugged as Vivien clipped her helmet into place and swung her leg over the back of the bike. Waiting to feel her arms around his middle, he started the engine and called over the noise, “But the bus doesn’t stop for ice cream on the way home.”
Smiling to herself, Vivien allowed him to pull away from the curb, enjoying the feeling of the wind on her skin. She had only ridden a motorcycle three times in her life - once with her Papa Angus and twice the day before with Miles. This time, without a jacket, it felt almost as though she was flying.
Butchy’s motorcycle, a blue Harley Davidson, roared loudly, the engine significantly louder than Miles’ Indian. As Butchy slowed to a stop at a red light, Vivian called out over the engine, “Why’d you come get me anyway, big guy?”
Glancing back at the younger brunette, Butchy raised a brow and asked, “Am I not allowed to pick up my wife’s little sister?”
Rolling her eyes, Vivien said, “Not without telling me why. I’m naturally curious, you know I won’t let this go.”
“I do,” Butchy chuckled, patting Vivien’s arm before he pulled away from the stop as the light turned green. Before the engine could overtake his voice, Butchy confessed, “You worried me this morning, piccola.”
Taken aback by his statement, Vivian took a moment to process it. After a while, she recalled that morning and how… broken she felt. Miles’ statement the day before about her being ‘atrociously perky’ she could be in the mornings had unintentionally gotten to her. He hadn’t meant it in a bad way, she was sure, but still… it had bothered her so much that she barely talked to him.
Even now, it was eating at her.
As Butchy pulled into a parking lot by a long pier, Vivien’s attention swayed away fromher thoughts and onto the snow-white sandy beach to her left and she asked, “Where are we?”
Parking the bike and cutting the engine, Butchy glanced back at Vivien and chuckled before tapping her leg and saying, “Other way, kid.”
Tearing her gaze from the ocean and the stray people wandering the sand, Vivien turned her gaze to the large building on her right and read aloud, “Astro Scoops?”
“Best ice cream and gelato on the Gulf Coast,” Butchy said with a somewhat hopeful grin. “Figured we could chat over ice cream if you want.”
Confused but not against the idea, Vivien softly asked, “About this morning?”
“Only if you want to,” Butchy shrugged. “I’d listen even if you only wanted to talk about the Titanic. I’m here for you regardless, piccolina.”
After a moment of hesitation, Vivien swung her leg over the back of the bike and stepped away, pulling her helmet off and offering Butchy a small smile as she said, “Only because I get free food out of it.”
“Fair enough,” Butchy said with a grin, dismounting his motorcycle and taking Vivien’s helmet from her. Shooing Vivien away, he said, “Go check out the menu. I’ll grab my wallet and put our helmets away first, then I’ll meet you over there.”
Nodding, Vivien wandered off, her smile never leaving her face as she headed toward the small building. The building was more of a long shed than anything - presumably a beachside hut turned into a shop of sorts. It looked almost like the shed in her grandparents’ backyard, long, but not overly wide. Maybe twelve feet wide and twice as long, if Vivien had to guess.
The whole thing had a space theme to it - lights in the shape of planets, rockets for signage, and a few lava lamps by the order and pick-up windows - but the building itself was a dark shade of navy blue with specks of white and gold paint splattered on it to represent stars. Off to the side were a few picnic tables as well as a few wooden patio swings with awnings covering them from the sun, but most were occupied by couples and high school students.
Stepping up to the menu list by the ordering window, but making sure she was far enough from the waiting line that others wouldn’t presume she was cutting in front of them, Vivien nudged her glasses higher up her nose and grinned as she read over the list of space-themed flavors. Midnight Moon, Caramel Comet, and Mercury Madness were among the fray, boasting flavors like triple chocolate, caramel crunch, and cherry swirl. It vaguely reminded Vivien of a dairy bar in her hometown that had some funky names of its own.
Hearing footsteps approach her from behind, Vivien remarked, “I think I might try the Cosmic Brownie flavor, big guy. Something to go with that slimy mush in the container you brought me.”
“Oh, so now you give me the time of day,” a gravelly voice said far too close to Vivien’s ear for comfort.
Feeling a chill of instinctual fear rocket up her spine, goosebumps flashing from the back of her neck down her arms, Vivien whirled around and stepped back, stepping closer to the menu board as she glared up at the tall blond before her. Scoffing as she took in his unnaturally white smile and piercing greenish-grey eyes, Vivien hissed, “What, are you stalking me now?”
Darren Osborne, the arrogant jock from the football field stood before her, a letterman jacket replacing his football uniform and a cocky smirk on his face. Vivien had to clench her fists at her side to keep herself from straight-up punching that smirk off of his face. He leaned closer, his overwhelmingly strong cologne invading the air between them and nearly gagging Vivien.
“We were rudely interrupted earlier,” Darren spoke, his smirk never leaving his face. “I never caught your name.”
“Good,” Vivien snapped in response. “I wasn’t planning on giving it to you.”
Darren chuckled, the sound forcing a chill up Vivien’s spine, “Feisty… I like a girl with some sass, but you should tone it down when you meet my father.”
Taken aback by his response, Vivien made a face and asked, “Why the fuck would I want to meet your father? If he’s anything like you, my first instinct will be to punch him in the dick to stop him from procreating.”
“Watch it, girl,” Darren hissed, his tone a soft snarl. “My father owns most of this town, and I’m his only son. I always get what I want - one way or another, and now, I want you.”
“I don’t care what you want,” Vivien said with a mocking laugh. “Get this through that thick skull of yours: I. Don’t. Like. You.”
A flicker of something Vivien could only label as pure rage flashed through Darren’s eyes as he surged forward and hissed, “Why you little-!”
As his hand gripped onto Vivien’s hair and yanked, she let out a pained gasp and reeled back her fist, punching him in the face. A sickening crack filled the air as Vivien swiftly kicked between his legs, making him release her hair as he let out a groat of pain. Butchy, who had chosen to let Vivien’s talk to the boy he presumed was a new friend she made at school, stormed over, meeting Vivien halfway as she ducked around Darren and jogged across the sandy grass to him.
“You alright?” Butchy pressed, turning to position himself between Vivien and Darren.
Rubbing at her scalp, VIvien muttered, “I’m fine. He’s just an asshole from school. Can we go?”
Butchy glanced back at Darren as a few of his football buddies scurried over from their car on the other side of the parking lot and began pulling him off the ground. “Not yet. I have something to say to him first. But, for your sake, stay close to me. Do you know if he’s eighteen?”
Shrugging, Vivien said, “I don’t know, but he’s the same guy Royce punched, so…”
“He is,” Butchy said, an almost excited grin tugging at his lips. As he turned toward Darren and his friends “I’ll handle him.”
Although Vivien sort of wanted to watch Darren get what was coming to him, she also didn’t want Butchy to potentially get arrested for beating the crap out of some random teenager. Reaching for his wrist, Vivien said, “It’s not worth it. He’s not worth it.”
“Maybe not,” he replied with a small grin, “but you are. Besides, you’ve had a long day. You deserve some entertainment.”
Letting Butchy pull away from her, Vivien stepped back, leaning against his motorcycle as she watched him approach Darren. One of Darren’s friends, a younger-looking boy with near-black hair, looked up and stepped back at the sight of Butchy as he breathed, “Uh, guys?”
Darren looked up just in time for a fist to connect to his already once-broken, barely-healed nose, sending him to the sandy grass. When he looked up, grasping his bloody nose with a look of shock, Butchy loomed above him with a look in his eyes that made Darren shrink back slightly before asking, “What the hell, man?”
Butchy scowled down at the jock, grabbed him by the collar and lifted him just enough for them to make proper eye contact before Butchy hissed under his breath, “Leave my sister alone.”
Dropping the cocky boy, Butchy walked away, a grin spreading across his face as he saw Vivien nearly choking on her laughter. Vivien watched Darren and his friends scurry away, piling into a Chevy Bel Air that quickly sped off, kicking up a cloud of sandy dust. As Butchy let out a heavy breath and wrapped a paisley-patterned rag around Vivien’s slightly bleeding knuckles, he muttered, “Royce was right, that kid has a hard face.”
Finally letting out a soft laugh, Vivien said, “I’m surprised your knuckles aren’t broken.”
Butchy shrugged, watching Vivien’s face for any sign of pain as he tightened the rag around her hand. Even if they were, he was almost positive she wouldn’t have minded. It would’ve been worth it. “I could say the same about you, piccola. You decked him first.”
“He deserved it,” Vivien muttered softly, inspecting the back of her hand.
“He did,” Butchy agreed. Glancing at Vivien from the corner of his eyes, Butchy asked, “Did you, uh, did you get a chance to look at the ice cream flavors before that dickhead yanked your hair?”
Slowly nodding, Vivien sighed, “Yeah, I had one in mind, but I can’t remember which one.”
Glancing around the parking lot, Butchy nodded to himself and brought an arm around Vivien’s shoulders as he guided her toward the building. “Let’s go find it, then, kid.”
Once they had gotten their ice cream and a baggie of ice from the older man at the shop window who refused to let either of them pay, Butchy led Vivien to the sandy beach where they sat under a palm tree. Looking up at Butchy as she took in a spoonful of ice cream, Vivien leaned her head on his shoulder and said, “Thanks.”
With a small grin, Butchy hummed in acknowledgement and chose to divert her attention elsewhere as he asked, “How was your first day of school?”
“Alright,” Vivien said with a shrug, taking in a mouthful of ice cream. “I spent most of my time in classes with this girl from the cheer team. She wasn’t half bad.”
Butchy licked a melted stream of his ice cream from the waffle cone he’d chosen before asking, “Oh, yeah? What’s her name?”
Using her spoon to trace her brownie-flavored ice cream over her lips like lip gloss, Vivien replied, “Serena Sullivan.”
Butchy’s ice cream froze halfway to his mouth as he processed the name. Vivien had unknowingly spend her entire school day with the only other girl Royce had gone out with, and had actually enjoyed herself. Hurriedly licking melting ice cream from his hand, Butchy asked, “Did you… talk much?”
Vivien shrugged and swallowed a mouthful of brownie bites covered in rainbow sprinkles. “Between classes, yeah. She kind of looked like that redheaded girl from Scooby Doo, and she sort of invited me to their next sleepover.”
“She did?” Butchy wondered, mentally noting the information so he could relay the information to Mick and Miles later on. “Do you think you’ll go?”
“I might,” Vivien said with a smile. “Her cheerleader friends seem nice, and we had a bit in common, so it wouldn’t be too awkward if we hung out again.”
Trying to keep his tone as neutral as possible, Butchy remarked, “Nice.”
“Yeah,” Vivien grinned as she looked up at Butchy. “I can’t wait to tell the guys I made a friend at school. Do you know if they know her?”
Butchy swallowed a mouthful of ice cream before cautiously shrugging and saying, “Her name is definitely familiar, but I’d have to see her. They have friends over all the time.”
Nodding in understanding, Vivien sat up, scooped up some of her ice cream, and asked, “So, did you do anything fun today?” Glancing at Butchy’s face from the corner of her eyes, she waited until he had ice cream in his mouth before adding, “Other than your wife, I mean.”
Butchy’s eyes widened as he choked mid-swallow, Vivien’s question making his brain freeze. Coughing to clear his throat, his gaze snapped down toward the smirking girl and he croaked, “What?!”
Using her spoon to gesture in a chocolatey circle, Vivien’s grinned and said, “Looks like Mickie likes to leave love bites.”
Butchy’s hand flew to his neck, memories of Mick’s giggle flooding his brain as he covered where she’d nipped at his neck. “Vivien…” he began, unsure of what to say to the girl both he and his wife saw as a younger sibling. “I-It’s not-“
“It totally is,” Vivien’s said, stabbing her spoon into her ice cream. “And by the amount of bruises you’ve got, I’d say you both enjoyed yourselves.”
Swallowing his embarrassment, Butchy muttered, “I’m not sure Mick would like us talking about this.”
“Maybe not,” Vivien shrugged with a smirk, “but she’s not here, and I’ve heard more than enough about your sex life when we have sleepovers. She says you have a huge-”
“Vivien!” Butchy squawked, an almost affronted look flashing across his face as an almost unnoticeable redness burned under his skin.
“Heart,” Vivien finished with a grin. Giggling as Butchy glowered her way, Vivien elbowed him in the side and said, “Get your mind out of the gutter.” Taking another scoop of her ice cream, she wiggled her eyebrows and teased, “But, by your reaction, I’m not wrong in either regard.”
Sighing reluctantly as he shook his head, Butchy muttered, “I have half a mind to throw you in the ocean and let the undertow take you back to California.”
Making a face as she slowly pulled her spoon out of her mouth, Vivien slowly decided, “I think you need to go back to school and re-take geography, big guy. There’s a whole country called Mexico separating the Gulf of Mexico and the Pacific Ocean.”
Moving past his prior mortification, Butchy let out a soft breath of a laugh and said, “No, I mean sending you back to the future.”
“That’s a great movie,” Vivien claimed in passing. “But what does it have to do with the ocean? How will that send me back to my world?”
The question gave Butchy pause. Did Vivien really not know about the original way Mack and Brady had traveled to their world? Surely, she had heard the story before. Mack and Brady were usually very detailed when they talked about their first trip to the movie realm. Maybe she just hadn’t been paying attention, but Butchy ruled that out pretty quickly. He knew from experience that Vivien was a very detail-oriented person, especially when it came to the people she cared for.
Shifting his gaze toward the water across from them, Butchy said, “When Mack and Brady first came here, they came on accident. A large wave took out their surfboard and, next thing they knew, they were here.”
Vivien’s eyes sparkled with curiosity, her scientific mind racing with probabilities and the confirmation of other universes that mirrored her own. Glancing out at the lapping waves, Vivien breathed, “Seriously? I… I didn’t know that.”
Both surprised and confused, Butchy asked, “How did you think they got here, piccola?”
“The machine,” Vivien said, picking at her ice cream a bit and digging out a bite of the brownie Butchy had brought from home for her that she had mixed into her dish. Fascinated with the idea of being able to practically swim into another world, she took a few spoonfuls of ice cream before chuckling, “I just thought Uncle Brady was really into science or something and created some kind of accidental portal.”
“Sounds like something he would do.” Butchy gave a soft chuckle through his nose, grinning at the younger girl and her innocence when it came to his world. Shaking his head, his eyes drifted back to the crystalline shore as he began, “There’s a lot you don’t know about this world yet, but… it’s a strange and wonderful world that I know you’ll fit into perfectly.”
Vivien’s viridian eyes flickered up toward Butchy’s face, a smile gracing her lips as she followed his gaze toward the ocean. Shifting closer to the biker, she nudged her way under his arm and rested against his side, watching the waves crash on the sand. As they worked on finishing their ice creams in relative silence, Vivien found herself finally relaxing. Maybe this trip would be a lot more entertaining than she originally thought it would.
As the front door opened to the house perched at 6833 Bay Street, the warm, rich aroma of garlic and tomatoes wafted through the air, promising a fresh pan of hot lasagna within the hour. Hanging his leather jacket on the hook by the door and taking the time to pull off his work boots, Butchy followed the warmth and the sound of soft singing to the kitchen, where he found his wife spreading freshly made garlic butter across some slices of bread and setting them on a baking sheet. He stopped in the doorway of the kitchen, leaning against the arch as he observed her in the midst of domesticity.
Despite her earlier efforts of putting on her coziest set of pajamas, she was now clad in little more than one of Butchy’s old shirts and a pair of fuzzy socks. Makana’s hair, despite her recent choice to cut it just past her shoulders, was clipped back to prevent it getting into the food, giving Butchy a full view of the small bruises he had nipped into her neck and shoulders. Her voice carried the melodic tones of Oh, Pretty Woman by Roy Orbison as it played over the radio on the counter. Her hands made quick work of the garlic spread, smearing the slices of bread with the homemade spread and quickly policing the sheet pan they were on into the oven to bake for a few minutes.
As she got to work cleaning up her area, Butchy pushed off from the wall and crossed over to stand behind her, joining in on the song as his arms wound around her middle, swaying with her to the song. One of Mick’s hands fell on top of Butchy’s as a smile spread across her lips. She leaned back against his chest and let him sway her from side to side as she swiped her wash cloth across the tile countertop, soaking up remnants of butter, garlic, and tomato sauce.
Once the song came to an end, Mick set her cloth on the counter, tipped her head back, and asked, “How was Viv?”
Butchy leaned down to kiss his wife’s forehead and murmured against her skin, “Alright. Some idiot football player harrassed her a bit, but she handled it.” As Mick turned in his arms, his hands splaying across the small of her back while she draped her arms over his shoulders, Butchy sighed, “Her tour guide was Serena.”
Mick’s eyes narrowed, “Serena? As in the girl who went out with Royce?”
“One and the same, yes,” Butchy replied, a heavy sigh leaving his lips. “Apparently, Vivien doesn’t know about the date. If anything, she seemed to like spending time with Serena.”
Mick let out a frustrated groan, her head tipping back in agitation as she grumbled, “Of course, she did. I don’t know if I’d be able to handle her talking Serena up or bringing her over after school.”
With a snort of irony, Butchy commented, “Y’know, for someone who constantly tells me off for disliking Carrie so much, you sound a lot like me.”
With a stern, no-nonsense glare, Mick silenced her husband and muttered, “That’s different. You have no real reason to dislike Carrie. You and I both have a very good reason for disliking Serena.”
“We do,” Butchy agreed, letting out a sigh, “but Vivien seems to like her, so we need to at least try to accommodate her if she comes around.” Holding up a hand as he realized Mick was going to call him out for contradicting his own behavior towards Carrie, he grinned and said, “I know. I know. I can already hear you chewing me out, but… maybe this is something we both need to work on as a team.”
Mick’s head tipped ever so slightly to the side as her mouth opened and closed in complete confusion. After a moment of silence while she stared up at Butchy, her lips closed in a tight line, she reached up and placed her wrist against his forehead, gauging his temperature as she muttered, “Are you catching a cold or something?”
With a shake of his head and a soft chuckle, Butchy reached up and gently pried her hand from his face, bringing her knuckles to his lips for a gentle kiss before pulling her to his side and guiding her away from the kitchen and toward the living room. “I’m fine, cara mia. I’m just thinking of trying to be the better person. You know… for the children.”
“Yeah, okay.” Mick let out a snort as she rounded the couch and took up her usual spot on the center cushion, “‘For the children’, my ass.”
Settling on the couch beside Mick, his hands already starting to wander under the hem of her shirt, Butchy leaned in, tucking his face into the crook of his wife’s neck. Humming against her collarbone, he smirked and breathed, “Finally, a topic I can get behind… or in front of.”
Carding her fingers into Butchy’s hair despite wanting to continue their conversation, Mick faintly argued, “You should know I still want to talk about… all of that.”
“And we will. In the morning.” Butchy confirmed as Mick felt his lips trail featherlight kisses up the column of her throat. Knowing her husband always tried his best to keep his word, Mick gradually relaxed and allowed him to continue, a soft sigh leaving her lips as he slowly eased her onto her back on the couch. “For now, however,” Butchy continued, lifting his head from her neck only enough to smirk longingly down at her, “I’m cashing in that rain check we agreed on this morning.”
Notes - I wrote the last half of this over the weekend, but I wrote some tonight as well, and I'm exhausted now. The first half has remained largely unchanged since February, when I last updated this story. I wish I could've updated this sooner, but I'm working on getting back into the swing of things, even if chapters don't come frequently during the summer. I hope you haven't lost interest in this. I know I haven't lost any interest in your story despite my absence!
Eyeing the being before her with teary, bloodshot emerald eyes, Vivien felt her fingers tremble as she softly breathed, “Riven?”
Riven’s eyes scanned Vivien’s expression as her eyes flickered over his face. After a moment of debating whether or not Vivien was actually seeing him, he asked, “Vivien?”
“What the fuck?” Kona breathed from the doorway, her eyes wide as she took in the scene before her. “She can-”
Interrupting the little blonde, Riven hesitantly reached out as he asked, “Pip, can… can you see me?” Too stunned to speak, Vivien jerkily nodded, too scared to look away in case the boy before her disappeared. Nodding back, Riven said, “Okay… okay… Y-You can hear me, right?”
Vivien’s mouth opened and closed a few times before a small squeak left her throat as she managed to nod. Her mind reeled as she took in Riven’s appearance, her mind honing in on her years of watching true crime shows as she took him in. He looked… surprisingly okay. He didn’t look disheveled or as though he’d been gone for three, almost four days. He didn’t seem like he’d been starved or dehydrated, but his clothes were the same ones she remembered him wearing the day that he went missing.
She had so many questions. Why was he here? And why now, of all times? Why hadn’t he come home sooner? However, before she could find a voice to ask her questions, Riven’s head turned toward the doorway as he asked, “Why isn’t she talking? Is she okay?”
As she stepped into the room, Kona snorted, “I think she’s forgotten how to breathe, doofus.”
Vivien glanced at the doorway, her eyes flicking between it and Riven as she asked, “Who- W-Who are you talking to? There’s no one there, Riv.”
Riven turned to Vivien before looking back to Kona as she explained, “As far as I know, this hasn’t happened before, so I-”
“Someone you can’t see, I guess,” Riven said to calm Vivien as her breathing hitched.
Vivien’s eyes flickered to the doorway once more before her eyes met Riven’s again, and she said, “To be totally honest, right now, I’m not sure what the hell I’m seeing.”
With a shake of his head, Riven said, “It’s just me, Pip.” Reaching out a hand, but not quite touching Vivien’s arm, he added, “You’re seeing me, and you have no idea how happy I am that you can.”
“Wait,” Kona began, a smile tugging at her lips as she approached the pair, “me too. I have, like, a million questions.”
“Me too,” Vivien muttered hoarsely, wiping her face with her sleeve as she choked out, “I have a million questions.”
Watching his hand phase through Vivien’s arm, Riven pulled back slightly and said, “Sadly, Viv, I don’t think I have the answers you’re looking for. Not yet, at least.”
Nodding, Vivien took a moment to process Riven’s statement, her mind still reeling as she asked, “Can you… Could you tell me what happened to you? W-Were you hurt? Are you in any pain?”
“I don’t…” Riven slowly shook his head, watching Vivien’s eyes as tears slipped down her cheeks. “I-I don’t know what happened to me or… if I was hurt. And… I’m not sure if I’m in pain. There was blood in the boiler room, so, maybe. I can’t remember.”
Vivien was silent for a while, taking in slow, deep breaths to try to calm herself as she asked, “Are you… alive still, or is this some sort of - I don’t know - poltergeist situation?”
Riven looked away, glancing at Kona before answering, “I’m not sure. I don’t think I’m fully dead, but I can see other ghosts, and I can’t leave the school property, so…”
“You can’t go home?” Vivien asked in a voice so soft Riven would’ve missed it if the room hadn’t been so quiet.
Minutely shaking his head, Riven said, “No. I can’t go past the edge of the school property. We’re all stuck here.”
“We?” Vivien asked, her eyes flicking toward the door. “Is that who you were talking to? Another ghost?”
“No, Sherlock,” Kona said with a roll of her eyes, “he’s talking to Jesus.”
Riven tactfully ignored Kona’s remark and nodded, a small grin tugging at his lips, but before he could explain Kona’s existence, a voice in the doorway interrupted their conversation. “Viv?” Royce called into the room, making Vivien turn toward the doorway. He looked around the otherwise empty classroom before saying, “Your dad said I might find you in here. The vigil’s over, and we’re splitting up to search the woods. Do you feel up to coming?”
Before Vivien could say she wanted to stay, Riven told her, “Go with them. There could be answers out there that I don’t have yet.” Vivien’s mouth opened before snapping shut as Riven added, “I’ll still be here tomorrow, I promise.”
Taking in a contemplative breath, Vivien closed her eyes and wiped her cheeks dry before saying, “Yeah, I guess.”
“You don’t have to,” Royce reminded her as he stepped up and took her hand. “If you don’t feel like it, we can just… hang out here until everyone gets back.”
Sparing a glance at Riven as he shooed her away reassuringly, Vivien sighed, “No, I’ll go. We need to bring Riven home.”
“If you’re sure,” Royce said, allowing Vivien to pull him into the hallway. “By the way, who were you talking to?”
Shrugging, Vivien squeezed Royce’s hand and glanced back into what looked like an empty classroom. Taking an extra flashlight from her boyfriend, Vivien shone the light into the room, searching for any sign of her tall best friend. When she found none, she clicked off the light and said, “Just Riven.”
Used to hearing similar statements from his girlfriend, Royce nodded, humming softly as he commended her for being in tune with her emotions. As the pair walked through the halls, Vivien occasionally glanced back over her shoulder to see if Riven was somehow following her. Riven stepped up to the open doorway, looking down the hall after them as he asked, “Why couldn’t she see me from the hallway?”
“I don’t know, dipshit,” Kona snarked, rolling her eyes. “I’m still trying to figure out how Point Break didn’t win more awards. I mean, come on! It had Patrick Swayze and Keanu Reaves!”
“Kona,” Riven groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Focus.”
“Okay!” Kona huffed. “Look, this whole, unofficial undead tour guide gig doesn’t exactly come with a guidebook. I don’t know what the hell’s going on and I may be freaking out about it!”
Turning back to the blonde as she began pacing, Riven said, “Vivien could see and hear me.”
“Which makes no sense what-so-freaking-ever considering how hard all of us have tried over the years, but fuck us, I guess,” Kona grumbled under her breath. Taking a breath to rein in her emotions, she looked over at Riven and said, “I’ll admit, it was pretty freakin’ cool, but what if it was just a one-time kind of thing? Like, a hiccup of some kind or a-”
“It can’t be,” Riven breathed, turning on his heel and jogging out of the classroom.
Following him out into the hall, Kona called after him, “Where are you going?”
“I’m joining my search party,” he called over his shoulder, pushing open the door to the stairwell before breaking into a run.
Standing in the hallway, staring at the door Riven ran through, Kona sighed and shook her head. Riven wouldn’t be able to cross the boundary line, and they both knew it, but he’d remember that soon enough when he got zapped back to the boiler room. Shoving her hands in the pockets of her jean jacket and turning on her heel, Kona muttered, “Dumbass.”
Meanwhile, Riven shoved open the door leading outside and forced himself to run down the front steps and across the grass as he yelled, “Vivien! Viv, wait!” When Vivien didn’t respond, he picked up the pace and shouted, “Wait up!”
Passing the memorial that people had set up with pictures of him, candles, and flowers, he ran to catch up with the others, only to slam into a concrete floor, sliding across it until he slowed to a stop. Pushing himself onto his elbows, he let out a frustrated noise and grumbled, “Motherfucking barriers.”
Making his way up the stairs and into the empty hallway just outside the boiler room, the light flickering above him as he entered, he found Kona leaning against the wall, checking her fingernails and blowing bubbles with her gum, her jean jacket tied around her waist, showing off what looked like a light blue, one-piece Speedo. As she turned her gaze toward Riven, she smirked and said, “Yeah, I could’ve saved you that trip, dingus. Can’t hop the fence, remember? If you try to leave campus, you’ll zap right back to wherever you croaked.”
Kona joined Riven as he walked the now-darkened halls, his frustration radiating from him in almost tangible waves. As they entered the West Wing, Riven asked, “Is there anyone who might know why Vivien can see me, but nobody else can?”
“Doubt it, big guy,” Kona sighed, offering him a stick of gum. As he took it, she said, “If they had, I’m sure they’d have said something by now.”
“Not even Mr. Fletcher?” Riven wondered. “If he’s been here since the fifties, wouldn’t he know? Maybe we could ask him.”
Kona sucked in a breath through her teeth and shook her head, “I love the guy, but honestly, I wouldn’t tell him just yet.”
Raising an eyebrow at the younger-but-older blonde as she sort of guided him through the halls, Riven questioned, “Why not?”
“Think about it,” Kona began, “if the others find out someone can talk to you, they’ll start using you as some sort of messenger service. One moment, you’ll be chillaxing in the band room, and then bam! You’re being set up at a desk, writing a stack of notes to tell your friend to tell some rando from, like, seventy years ago who’s probably already dead.”
In a way, Kona’s statement made sense. If the others found out he could communicate with the living, they could use him to get in touch with their relatives and friends from who knows when. Not like he wouldn’t love to help them, but… Riven was supposed to be figuring out what had happened to himself. If they found out now and got greedy, his use of Vivien’s ability to communicate with him could be pulled in a million different directions. If that happened, he may never figure out what actually happened to him.
Heaving a sigh, Riven confessed, “Alright, I guess you’re right.”
“Of course, I am,” Kona chortled. “Now, for the time being, we’ll keep it between the two of us and your psycho-psychic friend. The Three Amigos, yeah?”
Riven laughed softly through his nose, “Yeah… alright.”
Vivien sighed as she scanned the area, her flashlight catching on dead leaves and twigs as she walked. Others called out for Riven, hoping to encourage him to show himself, but Vivien kept quiet, her mind stuck on the fact that she had seen Riven in her classroom as clear as day. She knew, deep down, that if she said anything to anyone about it, she’d probably end up in an asylum somewhere, but she also knew there was a small group of people who would listen to whatever she had to say.
Whether or not they believed her was another story entirely.
Glancing over at Royce from under the cover of her bangs, Vivien wondered what he would think if she told him what she’d seen. Would he trust her? Yes. Would he think she was losing her mind? Also, yes. Royce trusted whatever Vivien told him, and vice versa, but something told her that talking of ghosts and wandering souls would be a bit… much for her boyfriend to accept.
Royce was the type of guy who liked facts and reasoning, but he had admitted to her in the past that, whenever she gave him one of her crystals before a test, he did better than he imagined he would. Maybe he’d take her supernatural claim as a fact if she proved it to him. Then again, what proof did she have? It wasn’t like she had evidence that Riven was floating around their school in a spectral form identical to the one that went missing.
With a heavy sigh, she returned to the search, scanning the ground as she muttered, “We’re not going to find him here.”
Royce glanced over, stepping closer to his girlfriend as they searched the woods. Lowering his voice to match hers, he asked, “What do you mean?”
“Even if Riven did run away,” Vivien began, “he hated the woods.”
Taking in a breath and glancing at his older brother as he walked between their mother and Bentley, Royce whispered, “Viv… they’re not looking for him. They’re… They’re looking for anything that might’ve belonged to him or… his body.”
“He’s not dead,” Vivien said sternly, a firm shake of her head emphasizing her statement.
“I know,” Royce breathed. “I’m just… telling you what they told us.”
Sparing a sideways glance at her boyfriend, Vivien simply swallowed her argument and said, “I get that, but… I know for a fact he can’t be dead yet. I’d feel it, Royce.”
Nodding knowingly, Royce took Vivien’s free hand and whispered, “I believe you. If you say he’s not dead, then he isn’t.”
The two walk for what feels like an eternity, following the perimeter the police have set for them as their flashlights scour the ground for clues. Every time someone thinks they have something, either Riven’s dad or Vivien is called over to confirm or deny it, and nothing seems to belong to Riven, which only fuels Vivien’s need to get back to the school. After yet another item was dismissed, Riven’s dad chose to return to the school, distraught and overwhelmed by the lack of evidence.
After another hour, the rest of the search party returned to the school, evidence bags empty and flashlights flickering as their batteries began to die. Heading to the parking lot, Vivien’s eyes drifted up toward the school, searching the windows of every classroom for a sign of Riven’s presence. To her dismay, she found nothing. After handing in her flashlight, Vivien headed over to where her dad’s minivan sat, the 2003 Dodge Grand Caravan starkly contrasting Mrs. Murphy’s 2015 Toyota RAV4.
As Vivien rounded the front of the minivan, she noticed her dad and Mrs. Murphy talking behind the cars, their voices hushed. Waiting for Abby to settle in the passenger seat and Oliver to sprawl out across the middle bench seat, she said goodnight to Royce and his brothers as they climbed into their mother’s car. Climbing into the far back seat where she always sat, the fabric seats worn from years of long road trips, she unhooked the vent window and pushed it open, holding it in just shy of the locking mechanism as she listened to the adults’ conversation.
“I don’t know, Dotty,” her dad sighed. “You didn’t see the way she broke down up there.”
“I know,” Mrs. Murphy began, “but if you think she’d be better off doing remote work until they either find Riven or she’s ready emotionally and mentally… suggest it. Vivien’s a smart girl, but we both know how deeply she feels about this. It might be worth looking into or - at the very least - talking to her about it.”
Damien heaved a sigh, “Yeah. I just… I don’t want her to feel isolated. She’s my little social bug.”
Dorothea hummed, and Vivien could almost picture her resting a hand on her dad’s shoulder. “I’ll talk to my boys and see if they’d be willing to do remote work too. Maybe Vivien can come to our house and stay with me and the boys until you’re out of work.”
Silence filled the air for a moment before Vivien heard her dad softly say, “Yeah, okay. I’ll, uh, I’ll try to get through to her.”
Vivien heard a soft patting before Mrs. Murphy said, “If you need me, call me.”
“Okay,” Vivien’s dad sighed, a sense of relief in his tone. “Thanks again, Dotty.”
“Anything for our babies,” Dorothea replied. “Goodnight, Damien.”
Vivien quickly pulled the window shut as her dad headed for the driver’s seat, hoping she didn’t get caught snooping. However, as her dad climbed in behind the wheel, Vivien’s phone dinged, and she found herself looking at a picture of herself in the slightly tinted window, her fingers pressed to the glass. The image had been sent from Miles’ phone to the group chat Bentley had added her to when she started spending nights at their house - Sibs R Us.
Miley Cyrus: Snoopasaurus Rex (Image Attached)
Beemer: 😂 caught im 4k
Vivien’s fingers flew across the keyboard, an amused yet frustrated sigh falling from her lips as she typed out her halfhearted response.
Vivien: stfu, dick.
Vivien: not you, beemer.
Miley Cyrus: 🖕
Rolls 💕: I’m telling Carrie you flipped off a child
Beemer: ooh some1s in trooooiubleeer
Miley Cyrus: I hate you all
In quick succession, the younger trio sent a unanimous message.
Rolls 💕: Love you too
Beemer: lobw u 2
Vivien: ♥️ you too, dick.
Smiling at her phone, Vivien relaxed into her seat, buckling in as her dad started the car and began backing out of his parking spot. She knew her dad had her best interests at heart when it came to suggesting her doing remote work, but now that she knew a part of Riven was stranded in the school with no way out, she couldn’t allow herself to be kept at home.
Glancing down at her phone, she wondered whether or not she should warn Riven of the possibility of her being kept at home until he was found. Would he even get it? His phone was in her locker. Even if he got it, could he send a message back? Figuring it wouldn’t hurt, Vivien unlocked her phone and opened her thread with Riven.
Looking over the last two messages she had received, she found herself lost in thought. How had he sent her those messages? If his phone was in her backpack at the time she received them, had he found a way to use it? Deciding she’d ask him tomorrow if she had the chance, Vivien’s thumbs hesitated over the keyboard before slowly tapping out a text.
Vivien: My dad is thinking of having me do remote learning until they find you.
Pocketing her phone as her dad pulled into their neighborhood, Vivien found herself no longer waiting for a response. She knew he couldn’t type back. Once the well-loved van was parked in the garage beside her mother’s pristine Cadillac, Vivien followed her siblings inside and made her way up to her room to work on her homework in peace. With an ambient Minecraft ASMR video playing on her headphones, Vivien sat at her desk and worked until almost all her work was done.
She had been slacking off on most of her homework, leaving projects unfinished and essays unwritten as she focused on Riven and her back-and-forth feelings of grief. Now that she knew there was a chance that she could help him, her desire to complete her work to stay in school with his ghost - or whatever form of him that was - had been kicked into hyperdrive. Finishing her essays was easy enough, and most of the teachers who had assigned projects had been lenient with her due to her close relationship with Riven. The only one who hadn’t - her Spanish teacher - was a bit of a bitch anyway, so she expected that.
After shoving her assignment for calculus into her folder and tucking it into her backpack, Vivien froze as a knock on her door gained her attention. Knowing only one person in their home liked to knock, she called out, “Yeah, Dad?”
To her surprise, a soft voice that certainly wasn’t her dad called back, “It’s me and Olly.”
Surprised her siblings had suddenly learned how to knock, Vivien said, “Oh… uh, yeah, come in.”
Abby twisted the door handle and pushed the door open, stepping into her sister’s room with their brother right at her heels. Sitting at the foot of her bed in their pajamas, they waited for Vivien to put her things away and close her laptop before glancing at each other. Never being one for stating the obvious, Abby nodded to Oliver and let him take the wheel.
“You didn’t sit with us in the living room to help with homework,” he said, his voice not accusatory but rather confused. Glancing at the bag stuffed with school papers, he asked, “Did we do something?”
Vivien shook her head, “Of course not. I just…”
“Riven?” Abby asked in a whisper.
Nodding slightly, Vivien glanced at her phone before turning her gaze back onto her younger siblings. “I’ve been slacking off,” she explained. “Dad said something tonight about having me do remote work, but… I’m not ready to give in yet. I need to be at school.”
Although both he and his twin nodded in understanding, Oliver said, “You could’ve said. We would’ve done our work in here with you.”
“I know,” Vivien said with a small grin, “and I love that you would, but… I needed time to breathe and process. Tomorrow, after school, I’ll make it up to you guys. Ice cream or Girl Scout cookies or something.”
The twins shared a look, weighing their options before Abby hesitantly asked, “Can we do something else instead?”
“I’m not helping you two rob a bank,” Vivien joked. “I may have a car, but that thing is blue and it won’t blend in well if I need to be your getaway driver.”
As her siblings laughed, encouraging her to let out a soft chuckle, Vivien watched as they visibly relaxed and the air grew calmer. With a smile, Oliver said, “We were wondering if we could stay in here with you tonight.”
“Like when we were little,” Abby added, her smile a bit more tentative than her twin’s. “Remember when we did sleepovers? We’d have popcorn, watch pirated PG-13 movies on your laptop, and pass out on the floor but still wake up in bed.”
“I remember,” Vivien breathed.
Those sleepovers had become a thing of the past - a distant memory of when things were simpler and life was easier. Vivien couldn’t remember the last one they had done, but she recalled watching their dad carry them to bed when they fell asleep during the movie. He seemed to love those little moments as much as they did. Realizing they all needed a reprieve from the rollercoaster their week had been so far, Vivien offered her siblings a small smile.
Clearing her throat slightly and swallowing the glob of unshed emotions that had begun filling her throat, Vivien said, “Let’s do it.”
Sitting around the table in the library, the ghosts of Boca Ciega High listened as their leader, Mr. Fletcher, told a story from his youth. Riven’s gaze was locked on a notch he’d found in the table, his mind wandering back to thoughts of Vivien and his conversation with her. He had tried listening to the teacher discuss his younger days, but had ultimately lost the plot of his story a while ago. Forcing his focus back onto the topic at hand as a box was handed to him, Riven pulled a donut from the box and tried to listen as he handed the box over to Juliet.
Glancing around the table, Riven realized everyone seemed relatively bored. There were a few unfamiliar faces this time - a dark-skinned girl with tightly curled hair in a pair of teal bell-bottoms with a brightly-colored paisley shirt peeking out of it, a boy with sandy blond hair wearing a t-shirt over a long-sleeve who had barely spoken other than to thank the girl beside him for handing him the donut box, and an asian girl in a pastel pink shirt and floral jeans.
Mr. Fletcher had made them introduce themselves to him when they sat down for their last meeting of the day. Katrina, the girl in the teal bell-bottoms and patterned shirt, had been killed in a home economics fire back in 1977. Smoke inhalation and an asthma attack, she said with a smile that was almost too chipper for someone who died in such a tragic way. Naomi, the toothpick-thin girl in the floral pants, had died during a volleyball match in 1991. She had been born with a congenital heart defect, and when the other team spiked the ball, it hit her in the chest and she died despite the efforts of her coach. Then there was poor August, the freshman who had gone into anaphylactic shock in 2002 after eating some French fries that had been cooked in peanut oil without his knowledge.
Riven felt bad for everyone at the table; he truly did. They were all just kids, except for himself, Mr. Fletcher, and maybe Ethan and Juliet. They’d never live out their lives, fulfil their dreams, or make something of themselves. They would be stuck in this high school purgatory forever. Maybe that was why Mr. Fletcher tried so hard to make them see the positives in their otherwise dreary situation.
“There was this winery and vineyard in Shady Hills, just off of Route 589,” Mr. Fletcher began. “My mother would let me sit up front with her in the Thunderbird, and we’d drive up there with her sister and my cousins. We’d pick grapes for a dollar a bucket, then on the drive home, we’d stop for donuts and milkshakes at this little diner by the beach. That was my idea of nirvana.” As he glanced around the table, he asked, “Does anyone want to share their idea of nirvana?”
Before anyone could speak up, Ethan held out the nearly-empty box to Makana, watching her nose wrinkle in disgust as she eyed the only remaining donut. “Why do you keep doing this?”
Mr. Fletcher looked over as Ethan glanced in the box. Glancing between the students, he asked, “Is there a problem?”
“He always leaves me with the worst possible one,” Makana said, gesturing to the box.
Makana made a face and asked, “Who in their right mind enjoys lemon donuts?”
“Guys,” Mr. Fletcher began, “the subject is nirvana.”
“No,” Makana began, shaking her head and crossing her arms over her chest. “The subject is entitlement.”
Ethan glanced at the donut in his other hand and said, “I’m entitled because I like squishy, jelly donuts? Yeah, that totally makes sense, dudette.”
Turning in her chair, Makana’s caramel eyes landed on Ethan, and she hissed, “I swear, if you take the last jelly, I will rip your arm off and beat you with the wet end.”
“I’m the one who five-finger discounted these from the teacher’s lounge,” Ethan reminded Makana, unbothered by her threat. “I should get to pick my favorite.”
“Guys-” Mr. Fletcher tried to interject.
“Entitled asshole,” Makana said with a roll of her eyes.
“Okay, flower power,” Ethan chuckled, almost amused by her behavior.
“Guys,” Mr. Fletcher tried again. “We’re discussing nirvana.”
“Technically,” August began softly, “there wouldn’t be a wet end because we don’t… bleed.”
“Whatever, little dude,” Ethan said as he dropped the box on the table in front of Makana and pulled a joint from his pocket, intending to light it and relax a bit while the meeting droned on.
Makana slapped the tightly-rolled joint from Ethan’s hand and exclaimed, “Ugh! I can’t stand you!”
Pressing a hand to his chest, Ethan pretended to get emotional as he said, “I’m wounded.”
Makana’s eyes practically glowed with rage as she hissed, “Listen here, you degenerate stoner, I-”
“Has anyone here ever talked to a living person?” Riven interrupted, cutting through the tense conversation with ease. As everybody’s attention fell on him and Kona choked on a piece of her Boston creme donut, Riven tried to clear up his question, “You know, like by manipulating a phone or something? I’ve seen on ghost hunting shows that spirits can manipulate frequencies and sometimes get messages across to the other side.”
Makana, still mildly ticked off from her interaction with Ethan, forced a sense of calm into her voice and offered Riven an apologetic grin as she said, “That doesn’t happen often, hon.”
“Like with me and your friend in the dance studio,” Juliet said softly. “It’s… difficult, but I can sometimes change the song. There’s no concrete way to get an actual message through though.”
Thinking for a moment as he glanced over the others around the table, carefully avoiding Kona’s gaze, Riven asked, “Has anyone ever been seen by a living person?”
From his seat beside Kona, August coughed and pointed at his donut as he asked, “D-Do you guys think this is a blueberry or a raisin?”
Kona sent August a look Riven couldn’t quite decipher and asked, “How many things could you possibly be allergic to?”
“You can’t die twice, darlin’,” Juliet reminded the younger boy with a gentle smile. “And if you feel your throat closing again, remember, you’re safe with us.”
Shaking his head, August muttered, “It’s just a preference, really.”
Mr. Fletcher shook his head, glancing around the table before saying, “Okay, I think we may have gone a bit off track here. Let’s try to rephrase the question. How do we say goodbye to the living?”
Riven sighed, shaking his head slightly as he muttered under his breath, “That’s nowhere close to my question.”
“How do we close the proverbial book?” Mr. Fletcher asked as he looked around at the students. Turning his gaze back onto Riven, he said, “Well, I’ll tell you how. Before we wrap up today, I’m giving you an assignment.”
Riven’s eyebrow raised as he asked, “What, like homework?”
“Sort of,” Mr. Fletcher nodded. “It seems to me like you’re struggling to come to terms with your death, and I understand how hard that is. My assignment to you is to write your obituary. Everyone at this table has written one, even Ethan. It can help us to focus on the highlights of our lives.”
“No offense, sir,” Riven began with a sigh, “but I’ve come up with excuses not to do essays for years. I’m pretty sure death is a good excuse, isn’t it?”
Mr. Fletcher chuckled, “Normally, I’d agree, but I think this could be good for you. It might be worth giving it a shot.”
Sparing a look around the table as a few others nodded in agreement, Riven asked, “Is there a due date?”
Again, Mr. Fletcher let out a soft laugh, his head shaking as he said, “Not really, no. As a shop teacher, I never liked deadlines, so why start now? It’s just… a way for you to work through grieving yourself. Write it when you’re ready.”
As the topic of the meeting went back to nirvana and things began to calm once more, Riven glanced over at Kona, who was already looking at him. She offered him a small, almost sympathetic grin before whispering something to the blond boy beside her. August looked up from his donut, and his eyes flickered toward Riven, widening as he realized Riven was looking at him already. He quickly looked away, his gaze locking on Mr. Fletcher as he fidgeted with his donut. Riven’s eyebrows furrowed.
Maybe August knew something.
Shards of glass rained down on the tiled floor as the killer’s axe swung into the enclosure of a large snake. As the bloody-faced killer stalked closer to where Ziggy and Nick were hiding, the snake slid out of its shattered case and slid to where the pair were hiding. Ziggy’s eyes widened as she patted Nick’s leg, warning him about the snake just as it chose to slither up her leg and onto Nick. Her eyes closed in a bid to stay as calm as possible, but it was all for naught.
Vivien’s hand landed on Abby’s head as the killer on her laptop yanked Ziggy onto the table by her hair. Abby jumped, letting out a shrill screech as she whirled around to see her older sister laughing. “You scared the shit out of me!” Abby said in a huff, whacking Vivien with her pillow as her eldest sibling cackled.
The Fear Street series had been a unanimous choice when they were picking out movies, but after blasting through the first bowl of popcorn with the first movie and the second bowl halfway through the second film, Vivien had excused herself to make more, knowing it would be gone by the end of the film. Oliver always stress-ate when scary movies were on. Returning with some candy as well, Vivien grabbed a bag of mini peanut butter cups from her hood and tossed them at Oliver before climbing onto her bed and lying on her stomach between her siblings.
With a soft laugh, Vivien said, “You have to admit, it was perfect timing, Abs,”
“Yeah, yeah,” Abby chuckled, snatching her Sour Patch Kids from the hood of Vivien’s sweatshirt.
“Shh!” Oliver hissed on Vivien’s left, his eyes glued to the screen. “I love this part.”
Vivien looked back at Abby with a knowing look and rolled her eyes, Abby following suit as she said, “You love any horror movie if it has a conventionally attractive guy as the killer.”
“True,” Oliver said with a shrug, not bothering to fight the allegations, “but still. I love this movie, so shh.”
Settling between her siblings, Vivien rested her head on her arms as her feet swung back and forth in the air behind her. They hadn’t done this in what felt like forever. It was nice. She loved spending time with her siblings, especially when it felt like life was running them over. They wouldn’t make it through the third movie in the series, Vivien knew that for a fact, but just being able to spend time with Abby and Olly made her night less stressful.
As the movie grew closer to the end, Vivien felt her phone vibrate in her hoodie pouch. Sitting up to check her phone as Nick gave Ziggy CPR on the grass beside the hanging tree, Vivien pulled her phone out and found a text message notification. Unlocking her phone, she found a message from Riven.
Big Idiot: We can’t let that happen. I’ll help however I can. I love you always, pipsqueak. Remember that.
Vivien’s thumbs hovered over her keyboard. She typed out a message before deleting it with a sigh and trying again. She had to be vague. After talking with Riven’s dad about the messages that had been sent to her during the school day, she was beginning to grow paranoid. If the police were able to read any of Riven’s incoming texts, she could be in trouble. After figuring out what she wanted to say, she slowly typed out a message.
Vivien: I will. I miss you. Hope I see you soon.
Not long after she hit ‘Send,’ Riven’s response came in.
Big Idiot: You will. Now, get some sleep. You’ll need it.
Staring at her phone for a moment, Vivien heard the movie come to an end as Oliver groaned in dismay at the large “To Be Continued” that flashed across the screen. Pocketing her phone as Abby paused the video before it could show previews of the next movie, Vivien watched as Oliver rolled over onto his back and asked, “Can we please watch the last movie?”
“Tch,” Vivien scoffed, “as if you could make it through the last one, Mr. In-Bed-By-Ten.”
Glancing at the clock on Vivien’s nightstand, he argued, “But it’s midnight already! I can make it another two hours.”
“First of all, no you couldn’t,” Abby teased, having caught her twin yawning more than once during the last movie. “And second, it’s a school night. Mom would kill us.”
Grabbing a handful of what little popcorn remained in the bowl and tossing it at his twin, Oliver groaned, “Boo!”
Tossing a few kernels back at her brother, Abby scoffed, “I’ll castrate you in your sleep.”
“I don’t even know what that means,” Oliver retorted, tossing a mini peanut butter cup at Abby.
“Good,” Abby smirked, reeling back a handful of gummy sharks.
“Woah, woah, woah!” Vivien laughed, stopping the food fight as she latched onto her siblings’ wrists. “First of all, you guys are going to make my bed look like the floor of the Pizzaplex movie theater after a new Marvel movie release. Second, don’t throw the gummy sharks; that’s animal abuse.”
Oliver, the human vacuum, began picking up pieces of popcorn from the bed and tossing them into his mouth as he muttered, “Sorry.”
Watching her brother pick up shreds of popcorn, Abby sat back against the headboard beside Vivien, toying with the gummy sharks in her hand as she asked, “Is it still considered animal abuse if I’m hitting another animal?”
“Abs,” Vivien said with an amused yet still slightly reprimanding tone in her voice. “Be nice.”
“Look at him,” Abby said, gesturing to their brother as he shoveled the remaining popcorn into his mouth. “He’s practically a raccoon. Scouring for any morsel of food in every room.”
Letting out a soft snort, Vivien elbowed Abby and whispered, “Just be grateful he didn’t eat you in the womb.”
Choking on one of her snacks as she barked out a laugh, Abby covered her mouth with her hand and sent Vivien an accusatory look. Vivien merely smirked as Abby eventually grinned and said, “Maybe he’s like Kirby. He gains HP every time he eats something.”
Snagging one of the gummy sharks from Abby’s hand, Vivien took a bite of its tail and sighed, “At least I won’t have to worry about creepy crawlies in my bed. He never misses a crumb.”
Shrugging, Abby placed the rest of her gummies in the bag they came in, rolling it up tightly and setting it on the nightstand as Oliver put away the laptop and remarked, “I’ll have you know, I think being compared to Kirby is a compliment.”
“You would,” Abby teased as she pulled back the blankets and settled under the covers.
Waiting for their brother to flop onto the bed, Vivien pulled back the blankets and stood to grab a final drink before bed, but was interrupted as a figure filled her doorway, knocking on the door frame as they stepped into the room. Looking up, Vivien smiled and said, “Hey, Dad.”
Glancing around at his three children as they settled in for bed, Damien said, “Hey, kiddos. How was movie night?”
“Good,” Abby yawned, stretching slightly before curling up on her side. “We finished two of the Fear Street movies.”
“Yeah,” Oliver chimed in as he filled up the other side of Vivien’s bed, leaving just enough space for his older sister to slide in between him and Abby. “We were gonna go three-for-three, but it’s a school night.”
Smiling fondly at his twins, Damien said, “Well, I’m glad you three enjoyed yourselves.” Turning toward Vivien, he lowered his voice and softly asked, “Can I talk to you while they get settled in?”
With a slow, hesitant nod, Vivien set her drink down on her nightstand and said, “Yeah, sure.” Flicking on her star projector and turning the lights the rest of the way off, Vivien told her siblings, “Be back in a few. Don’t screw with the lamp, Olly.”
Scoffing dramatically, Oliver laughed, “I wasn’t going to!”
“Yeah, right!” Abby chuckled, earning a pillow to the face from her twin as Vivien followed their dad into the hallway and closed the door.
Stepping past the laundry room and toward Abby’s bedroom, Vivien wrapped her arms around herself and asked, “What’s up?”
Damien sighed, taking in her guarded stance briefly before placing his hands on her upper arms. “Look, I… I was talking with Royce’s mom and the guidance counselor earlier.” Vivien’s stomach flipped as she realized what this conversation was about. “They think it might be for the best if… you stay home for a bit while they search for Riven.”
“Dad,” Vivien breathed, looking up at him with the most pleading look she could muster, “you know I can’t do that. I can’t just sit by while everyone searches for him. I-I have to be out there, helping.”
“I know you do,” Damien said, rubbing small circles with his thumbs on Vivien’s arms. “But… Riven’s dad just called me to say they matched his DNA to the blood on the walls of the boiler room. I don’t want you snooping around down there, trying to search for clues.”
Vivien’s mouth opened, an argument on her tongue, but as she thought for a moment on his statement, she realized she couldn’t say that he wasn’t right. She absolutely would’ve gone down to the basement to look for clues. Slowly, her mouth closed, and she softly said, “I promise I won’t go down there until the police are done with their search. I just… I can’t stay home all day, Dad. Not while Riven… while he’s gone.”
Offering his eldest an understanding smile, Damien ran a hand over her hair and sighed, “You’re as stubborn as a damn mule, and I knew you wouldn’t go down without a fight. That’s why I thought of a compromise.”
Slowly letting her arms fall by her sides, Vivien took in a breath and asked, “What is it?”
“You can work remotely-”
“But-”
“In the library at school,” Damien finished before Vivien had a chance to argue. Watching the fire in her eyes flicker out as she took in his words, he added, “That way, you’re getting your work done without anyone bothering you.”
Vivien’s voice, which had grown fierce, was now soft as she whispered, “Really?”
Damien nodded, “You can still have lunch with your friends, and after you’re done your work, you can read or swim or dance, or whatever you feel like doing as long as you don’t leave the grounds.”
“Are you sure?” Vivien asked softly, placing a hand over her dad’s on her arm.
“I’m sure,” Damien said with a nod. “Tomorrow morning, you can head down to the AV room in the basement and get a school laptop, then you can start doing work in the library.”
Grateful for the efforts her father had gone through for her, Vivien surged forward, wrapping her arms around her dad’s shoulders and muttering, “Thank you, Dad.”
Squeezing his daughter in return, Damien ran a hand over her hair and whispered, “You’re welcome, bean.” Letting Vivien lean away, Damien lightly kissed her forehead and said, “Try to get some sleep now, yeah? Things will be better tomorrow.”
With a small nod, Vivien walked backwards toward her bedroom and said, “Thanks again, Dad.”
Smiling at his eldest child, Damien said, “You don’t have to thank me for prioritizing your mental health. I’m your dad. It’s what I do.”
Placing her hand on her bedroom doorknob, Vivien said, “Still. Good night.”
“Good night, baby girl,” Damien said, watching Vivien enter her room, leaving the door open for the night. Once he heard her settle into bed, he turned and headed back downstairs to his office, ready to type up a permission paper for Vivien.
Riven sighed as he watched the skyline fill with lights, homes and businesses glowing in the distance. Thankful for the flatness of Florida’s terrain by the coast, Riven tried his best to squint in the direction of Vivien’s home. He could sort of make out the golf course by her home, the almost neon green grass standing out like a beacon. Somewhere down there, in a pristine white house on the peninsula that was Dolphin Boulevard South, Vivien was probably sleeping. One peninsula over, his dad was probably poring over reports about his disappearance, keeping himself up all night with worry.
Staring over at the bay as he swung his legs against the side of the building, Riven wondered if he’d ever get the chance to go home. It certainly didn’t feel like it, but he wasn’t ready to give up just yet. Especially not when he finally had a connection with the living world. He had gone into her locker and used Siri to message her again, pocketing a version of his phone in the process. It couldn’t make calls or do anything useful, but he could at least listen to music and play games on it. Plus, the battery refused to drain, so that was a bonus.
Riven shifted to sit cross-legged as he watched the streets grow less populated. The sky had already darkened, the sun setting overhead, but he wasn’t tired. He spent the last few hours on the rooftop, watching the sun set, and was waiting for exhaustion to settle in, but it hadn’t. Maybe that was a perk of death… never being tired.
Staring out at the beachside city, Riven didn’t hear the door to the rooftop open or notice someone walking up behind him until he heard someone clear their throat. Turning toward the noise, he found Mr. Fletcher approaching with a manila folder in his hand. “May I interrupt?” the teacher asked.
Riven shrugged, “I guess.” As the teacher approached, he glanced at the folder in the man’s hand and asked, “What’s that?”
Mr. Fletcher tapped the folder against the palm of his free hand and said, “Just some sample obituaries. Figured you could use the inspiration.”
With a heavy sigh, Riven turned back to the skyline and said, “Sorry, Mr. Fletcher, but I don’t exactly want to work on that. Especially not right now.”
Mr. Fletcher sat on the edge of the building beside Riven as he sighed, “I know death is not the easiest thing to wrap your head around, and that this project is a lot to ask of you, especially when you’re only newly deceased. I just… I ask that you at least try at some point. Trust me when I say it might help.”
Riven let out a snorted scoff, “Yeah, well, I’m sitting here in hell now because I might’ve trusted the wrong person.”
Turning his gaze from Riven to the skyline, Mr. Fletcher said, “If this is hell… I must say that it’s got better views than my old condo in South Pasadena.”
With a soft huff of a laugh, Riven closed his eyes as the breeze blew past and muttered, “My sister’s place has the best views of the ocean.”
Raising an eyebrow, Mr. Fletcher asked, “She doesn’t live at home?”
“She does,” Riven said with a small shake of his head. “Vivien’s not technically my sister. She’s my best friend and skating partner. We grew up a neighborhood apart and… she’s the closest thing I’ll ever have to an actual sister. Now, though…”
“I see,” Mr. Fletcher said. Allowing the wind to blow away the topic of conversation, the pair fell silent for a while before Mr. Fletcher placed the manila folder on the stucco between them and said, “This assignment might bring you some kind of closure, kid. You never know.”
“I’m not looking for closure,” Riven said with a shake of his head, glancing over at the teacher. “At least, not until they find my body. For now, I just… I want to talk to my best friend again. I have to figure out what happened to me. I can’t just end up on Unsolved Mysteries.”
Mr. Fletcher placed a hand on Riven’s shoulder, “I get it, kid. I do. But all of that won’t change the fact that you’re stuck here now.”
“I don’t think I’m exactly ready to be here,” Riven sighed. Looking out at the beachside city, he said, “I-I wasn’t done with my life, Mr. Fletcher. I still have things I want to do, places I want to see, and… there are people out there who need me.”
Watching Riven’s gaze as it settled out on the peninsulas by the ocean, Mr. Fletcher asked, “Am I right to assume those people live near that there golf course?”
“Yeah,” Riven breathed. “They do. Vivien, my dad, my bandmates… they need me. My band can’t function without me telling them off for doing dumb shit without supervision, Vivien’s already a broken mess after just a few days, and my dad…” Riven swallowed thickly, fighting the burn in his eyes as he softly said, “Losing my mom was hard enough. Losing me, his only physical, living connection to her… that will break him.”
Thinking back on how Riven’s father had spoken in the library earlier in the day, Mr. Fletcher said, “He did seem rather… rough earlier. However, he might surprise you. He may be stronger than you think.”
“Doubtful,” Riven said firmly, shaking his head. “He just barely held it together when my mom passed. Chances are… he’ll barely pull himself together this time.”
Humming softly, contemplating how to approach this, Mr. Fletcher slowly said, “Riven, this… situation is still very fresh. It will get easier with time, especially for those who loved you.”
“Right,” Mr. Fletcher sighed. “Still, my point stands. It’ll get easier.”
Riven turned toward Mr. Fletcher and asked, “Will it? Who will make sure he doesn’t work himself into a coffin? Who’s gonna bring him lunch when he forgets it because he slept past his alarm? Who’s going to check his insulin for him while he’s on patrol? Who’s going to walk him to bed after a long night to make sure he doesn’t trip over the stupid fucking dog I begged him for three years ago?”
Feeling his throat constrict as the thought of his father tripping over Moxie, his Boston Terrier with an IQ equivalent to a Goldfish cracker, Riven looked away, pressing a hand to his forehead as he felt it begin to throb once more. His dad loved Moxie as much as he did, but after a long day of patrols and paperwork and arrests, he never really looked out for the pup on his way to his room. It didn’t help that Moxie never barked in the house and matched the runner in the hallway, making her damn-near impossible to spot in the dark.
Now, his dad would probably trip over Moxie every night without Riven there to hold the tuxedo dog.
“Look,” Mr. Fletcher began, keeping his tone as calm as possible. “All I’m saying is that clinging to what you’re leaving behind will only give you more pain, and give a lot of the others false hopes. It’s sort of cruel to let them believe they can go back after they’ve worked so hard to keep moving forward.” With a small, almost humorless chuckle, he added, “Trust me, you don’t want ‘Teasing the Dead’ on your resume.”
“Yeah,” Riven muttered hoarsely, swiping at his face.
Noting the way Riven turned away, presumably wishing to be left alone, Mr. Fletcher turned away, swinging his legs back over the side of the building and standing on the roof. Sliding the manila folder closer to the teen, he said, “Alright, bud, I’ll leave you be. But, just know that we’re all rooting for you to find some peace under all the pain.”
Riven hummed softly, listening to Mr. Fletcher’s footsteps recede and the door to the roof open and slam shut again. Once he was alone, he allowed himself to cry freely as the cool night air helped him stay somewhat sane. As he took in a shuddering breath, the manila folder beside him fluttered open, and he glanced at the papers inside. As much as he didn’t want to write his obituary, he supposed the reasoning Mr. Fletcher had said made sense. Maybe clinging to life the way he had been would make things worse for those around him. Closing the folder, he pulled himself away from the roof and slowly ventured inside, tossing the folder in his locker before wandering aimlessly through the halls.
Finding the teacher’s lounge, the only room in the building with a moderately comfortable couch, Riven settled in and found himself staring at the ceiling for a few hours before finally falling asleep on the couch, curled up on his side to actually fit on the old leather cushions. Before he knew it, though, the smell of coffee filled the air and sunlight filled the room as the creaky blinds twisted open.
Wincing as the sun roused him from his slumber, Riven tried to force himself awake. The door opened, and he heard Ms. Rodriguez say, “Please tell me the coffee’s ready.”
“It is,” Vivien’s dad’s voice replied.
Feeling a foot nudge his thigh, Riven twisted onto his back to find Makana sitting on the back of the couch with a book in her hand, watching as teachers filled the room. “Wake up, Tootsie Roll. This is the best time of the day.”
Groaning as he stretched, sat up, and looked around at the teachers, Riven asked, “What’s happening?”
Dog-earing her book - an action Vivien would’ve had her head for - Makana said, “This is the lounge - the one place in this hell-hole where these underpaid sad sacks let their guards down and say whatever they want about whoever they want. We get to hear the drama, the gossip, who they think is dating or cheating, and most importantly, who in this room is boning who.”
Riven made a face of clear disgust as Makana bounced off of the couch, and he muttered, “Gross. Why on earth would I want to know that? They’re all in their forties or close to it. That would be like asking my dad.”
“It’s like a soap opera, actually. It’s sort of entertaining,” Makana said. As she sauntered over to Vivien’s dad and leaned close, she muttered, “Kona thinks I’m insane, but there’s no way this guy is half as nice as he seems outside of school hours.”
“He is,” Riven argued quickly. “That’s my second dad. He’s a genuinely nice man.”
Glancing between Riven and one of the female teachers, Makana said, “Some of the other teachers thought he was banging Ms. Dodds two years ago. If he’s cheating on your dad-”
Riven quickly shook his head, then winced at the way the movement made his head spin. “Not like that,” he said. “He’s my best friend’s dad. He’s not dating my dad, he’s just… he’s like another dad to me.”
“Oh, boo,” Makana sighed, almost sounding disappointed by the lack of drama in Riven’s statement. Turning back to Mr. O’Brian, she said, “Anyway, there’s no way he didn’t get a hair transplant or something. His forehead was three inches higher last year.”
Sending the brunette a look, Riven asked, “You measured his forehead?”
Makana chortled, “Hun, I followed him to the lavatory, that’s not all I’ve measured.”
“I can’t believe you’d actually do that,” Riven muttered, shuddering at the thought.
Stepping away from the teacher, Makana shrugged, “Not the worst thing I’ve seen or done in my afterlife. Besides, Ms. Dodds said he was packing, and she wasn’t wrong.” Making her way past Riven, she glanced down at him and smirked, “Don’t be discouraged, though. You’re not so bad yourself.”
Instinctively covering his lap with a pillow as Makana headed toward the coffee machine, Riven tried to pretend his face wasn’t flushed with embarrassment as Makana grabbed a cinnamon roll from the counter and began eating it as she perched herself on the edge of the counter and listened to the teachers' chatter. Had the other ghosts been so… snoopy? He sure hoped not. One was bad enough.
“Ugh!” the guidance counselor, Mrs. Campbell, groaned as she took a whiff of the creamer she pulled from the fridge. Turning toward Ms. Rodriguez, she sighed, “Guess we’re having black coffee, Pheebs.”
Phoebe Rodriguez was a student teacher who bounced from classroom to classroom, helping wherever she was needed. However, since Riven went missing, it seemed as though she was glued to the office, helping the principal and guidance counselor with the various children who needed to talk about their fears and grief.
Phoebe made a face, “Gross. I meant to pick some up on my way in, but I didn’t get much sleep last night, so I guess it slipped my mind.”
“Sleep is overrated, even in the afterlife,” Makana muttered, glancing at Riven as she watched the teachers interact. “I don’t think I’ve had a proper nap since that weed-loving, knock-off munchkin died in 1973.”
“About last night,” Rodriguez began, turning to Vivien’s father, “I can’t believe that they already matched the blood on the basement wall to that missing boy.”
Makana’s cinnamon roll froze on the way to her mouth, her chocolate eyes flicking from her food to Riven as he registered the young woman’s words. “Sounds like you, Buttercup,” Makana said, sliding off the counter to listen in closer. “Unless there’s some other missing boy who left blood on the basement wall that I don’t know about.”
“Shh,” Riven said softly, standing from the couch. “I need to hear this.
“I was really hoping you weren’t going to say that,” Mrs. Campbell sighed. Turning to the principal, she said, “The kids are going to be a mess, Damien. Especially yours.”
Heaving a sigh, Damien set down his phone and coffee from home before glancing at the growing crowd of teachers. “Look, everyone, I know that news like this will spread quickly through the school, but… we need to remember that this isn’t some random case we can talk about freely. Riven is our student. There will be some - like my daughter - who will be fishing for any evidence we’ve got. We need to keep them focused on learning while they’re in our care, no matter how hard it’ll be.”
“As for the ones who can’t handle that?” Mrs. Campbell asked, tossing the carton of creamer in the trash. “Riven’s bandmates will be distraught, no doubt. His girlfriend, too, if they’re still together this week.”
Glancing down at his phone screen, his conversation with Vivien running through his mind as he stared down at the lock screen of himself and his kids–including the ones he had unintentionally adopted via his biological children–at his in-laws’ summer camp up north, Damien sighed, “Let them grieve. Riven’s our student, but he’s their best friend, their boyfriend, and their bandmate. A majority of these kids haven’t dealt with this situation or death before. They’ll need support.”
“And if they start acting out?” Mrs. Kalish, the librarian who was only one school year away from retirement, asked.
Damien sighed, “I’ve talked to a few of the kids who are most affected by this–my daughter and her friends, namely. They’ve agreed to use the study rooms in the library if need be, but for the time being, send them to me if you feel the need. The superintendent approved the hiring of a grief counselor. The kids can talk with them if they want to.”
Edmund Gula, Riven’s favorite English teacher in the building, asked, “Can this person also grade Riven’s last paper? I… I can’t. I’ve tried.”
“Poor kid,” one of the substitutes breathed as she sipped at her tea.
Makana watched from the window as the room fell silent, everyone’s reactions to Riven’s disappearance blanketing the break room in silence. Sighing softly as she tore open a few sugar packets and dumped them into an empty coffee cup on the counter by the wall, she said, “Soak it up, Tootsie Roll. By next Friday, you’ll be a fleeting memory.”
Riven’s gaze lifted from the table of silent teachers as he asked, “What’re you talking about?”
Brown eyes met hazel as Makana looked up, throwing some salt packets over her shoulder for good luck as she said, “I was strangled on December nineteenth, 1964. By January third, my supposedly grieving teachers were talking about their vacation and how drunk they’d gotten for New Year's.” Tearing open a packet of Splenda, she tapped it into her mouth and swallowed it before adding, “When the police asked my teachers if they’d seen any warning signs about Maxwell - my psychotic ex-boyfriend and murderer, who just so happened to run the yearbook with me - not a one of them said anything bad about the bastard.”
Riven’s gaze flickered over the teachers at the faculty table, watching them pore over assignments and worksheets. If any of them knew what happened to him, would they say something? Would they be able to say anything bad about the person who killed him? Glancing back over at Makana as she hummed to herself, Riven felt his throat tighten with emotion as he croaked, “I’m sorry, Makana. That… That’s fucked up.”
Looking up as though she’d only just seen Riven for the first time–or, rather, that she had felt seen for the first time–Makana’s eyes raked over his expression before her expression softened slightly and she murmured, “Thanks. And, uh… Call me Mick.” As a look of mild surprise crossed Riven’s face, Makana shrugged and returned her attention to the variety of sugar, salt, and other additives on the counter as she cleared her throat and said, “My friends call me Mick. You know… like Mick Jagger. Or is that too old of a reference for you?”
Allowing himself to smile as he chuckled and shook his head, Riven replied, “No, no, I know who Mick Jagger is. I may be a few generations younger than you, but I know good music.”
Glancing up at the auburn-haired boy, Mick allowed a ghost of a smirk to grace her lips as she scoffed and said, “We’ll see about that, Goober.”
Vivien sighed as she stared down at the breakfast options sitting in the heated tubs beyond the cafeteria glass. Normally, Riven would get their food and bring it to a table while she talked his ear off about something that happened at skating practice. She had avoided the cafeteria like the plague since his disappearance, bringing food from home and eating in her car. Today, however, she had ventured in with the vain hope of seeing Riven among the students vying for Miss Jill’s famous vanilla ice cream French toast.
Mumbling a soft thanks to the lunch ladies, Vivien grabbed a scoop of scrambled eggs and a few sausage patties, placing them on her tray along with some fruit salad and a cup of coffee from the pots by the vending machine that was almost always burnt so badly it would grow hair on your chest. Hiding away at a table by the far wall where she and Riven would perpetually sit, Vivien found she wasn’t alone for long as Royce and his younger brother, Bentley, joined her.
Bentley, having missed breakfast and almost missed the bus, sat on her right with a tray full of food and a cup of orange juice. Picking out a strawberry from Vivien’s fruit salad and eating it without apology, used to her pestering him about it, Bentley’s ever-present smile faltered when she remained silent. Glancing past her to Royce, the brothers shared a worried look before Bentley said, “Good morning, Viv.”
“Morning,” Vivien muttered softly, poking at her eggs with no real interest. Glancing at Royce to see he had no food in front of him, she slid him her tray and kept only her coffee, asking, “Did you guys hear about the DNA match?”
Royce nodded slowly, taking one of Vivien’s sausages as he said, “Yeah, Mom told us.”
“That doesn’t mean Riven’s dead, though,” Bentley said, swallowing a mouthful of corned beef hash. “Just that he got hurt down there.”
Vivien nodded, her mind still racing with conspiracy theories and the memory of seeing Riven in the school the night before. “Yeah…”
Royce nudged Bentley’s shin with the toe of his shoe under the table, sending him a look. Shaking his head, he said, “It’s okay, Viv. I’m positive Riven’s still out there somewhere.”
“He’d better be,” Erica’s voice decided as she and Jade approached the table, dumping their backpacks on the floor as they sat down.
“Yeah,” Jade agreed. “Otherwise, I risked potentially getting disowned for nothing.”
Vivien glanced up at Erica before finally catching a glimpse of the uranium green head of hair beside her. Her eyes widened as she breathed, “Holy fuck, you dyed your hair.”
Jade nodded, tugging at her hair slightly as she grinned sheepishly, “I told Riven I would. I was supposed to do it for the film festival, but… in the chaos of everything, I didn’t.”
Erica smirked, seemingly proud of herself as she declared, “I helped.”
“It looks cool, JJ,” Bentley said, instinctively reaching out to touch the girl’s abnormally colored hair. “Suits you better than blonde.”
“Says the only blond at this table,” Royce snorted.
“Yeah, well…” Jade glanced at Vivien before murmuring, “I had a bit of a mental breakdown when your dad called us about the DNA crap, and… the next thing I know, Erica’s dyeing my head radioactive green.”
Sensing that her friends were walking on eggshells for her mental stability, Vivien offered Jade a performative smile and said, “It looks great, Jay. I’m sure Riven will love it when he comes home.”
Finally feeling the air clear of thick tension, Erica whipped out her phone and said, “Speaking of Riven…” Pulling up her Snapchat, she quickly found her memories and asked, “What are we supposed to do when he suddenly pops up out of nowhere?”
Vivien froze, her gaze slowly shifting from Jade’s hair to Erica’s face as her mind wandered back to the classroom where she had seen Riven the night before. “What?” she asked, her voice tight.
Turning her phone toward Vivien, Erica showed her a few pictures of a band practice from the year before. “See? Weird, right? Like, why now, of all times?”
Seeing the look on Vivien’s face and feeling as though the topic may be pushing her a bit too far, Jade placed a hand on Erica’s arm and said, “Look, we don’t have to talk about blood or DNA or whatever those stupid-ass police have to say. Riven’s still alive. They don’t know him like we do.”
“Yeah,” Erica said with a nod, quickly trying to find a way to change the subject. Spotting a woman a few tables away, glancing at their table, she added, “Also, more importantly, who’s the lady staring at us like we’re a bunch of sad puppies in a kennel?”
Royce shrugged, eyeing the woman in the paisley shirt as he muttered, “I don’t know. Maybe a sub?”
“Grief counselor,” Vivien said, barely glancing at the woman. “Dad said the superintendent hired one for the school in case we need to talk about our feelings.”
“Emotions,” Jade muttered. “Gross.”
Vivien snorted slightly, sipping at her quickly cooling coffee. Picking a chunk of honeydew from the fruit salad she had barely touched, Vivien took a bite of it and glanced around the cafeteria, her heart sinking into her stomach as she watched a familiar face speed-walk into the room, his hoodie clutched in one hand as his eyes scanned each table for any sign of a familiar face. Slowly sitting upright, her posture turning rigid as Riven’s eyes locked on hers, Vivien tried to keep herself calm as conversation at the table continued around her.
“Pip?” Riven called out as he crossed the room. “Oh, thank fuck, you can see me here!”
Royce, having watched Vivien’s face pale and her breathing stop, looked around the cafeteria before asking, “You okay, Viv?”
Unwilling to pull her gaze away from Riven as he wove through students, Vivien nodded and muttered something incoherent as she stood from her chair and let her feet carry her toward Riven. Royce watched her duck around other students before coming to a stop by the vending machine, his curiosity thoroughly piqued.
“What was that about?” Bentley asked.
Royce’s eyebrows furrowed as he softly said, “I… I don’t know…”
Vivien swallowed thickly, tucking an earbud into her ear to appear like she was on the phone as she moved close to the vending machine and asked, “What happened? Why did you disappear last night when I stepped into the hall? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Pip,” Riven said, hoping his voice came off as something soothing. “Breathe.”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” Vivien quickly sassed, earning a chuckle from her taller friend. “I stepped into the hallway and you fucking disappeared. Where did you go?”
“I was still there,” Riven said with a grin. “Look, I think the places where the other ghosts died are like wifi routers.”
Vivien’s mouth opened to respond before she quickly closed it and muttered, “Okay, you lost me. There are other ghosts here? How many? Are they nice?”
“Very nice,” Riven said, cutting Vivien’s rambling questions short. “There are… shit, I don’t know, maybe twenty or so. Anyway, I talked with Kona-”
“Who?”
Exasperated, but willing to slow down his explanation for Vivien, Riven sighed, “Kona Birr. She’s a freshman who died here in the nineties.” Once Vivien’s mind wrapped around that concept, she nodded, and Riven continued, “Anyway, she thought there might be a few places where some of us died that we could talk. If you’re in one of those rooms, you can see me, and we can talk. When you leave that area, though, the connection is gone. The death rooms are where the wifi is, but every other area has a jammer. Make sense?”
Vivien thought for a moment, her sleep-deprived mind struggling to absorb the idea. Then, with a small nod, she murmured, “In a weird way, yeah. So… where else can we talk?”
Riven’s proud smile fell as he sighed, “Other than here and that one classroom, I don’t… know…” Slowly, Riven’s expression shifted as he suggested, “Maybe the theatre.”
A look of absolute horror spread across Vivien’s face as she whisper-yelled, “Someone died in the theatre?!”
“Shh!” Riven reminded her, gesturing for her to keep her volume down. “Yes, back in the eighties. That’s not the point. Look, we need to talk somewhere somewhat private. The theatre group doesn’t use the auditorium until after lunch. Between classes, you can come sit with me and we can discuss theories.”
Nodding to herself, Vivien breathed, “Okay…” Thinking about her schedule, she lit up as she explained, “My dad is having me get a laptop from the tech guys in the basement. I might be able to sneak off to the theatre instead of working in the library.”
“That could work,” Riven grinned, glad for once that Vivien had an odd childhood obsession with true crime documentaries. “We can start trying to figure things out while you work on school stuff.”
“Yeah,” Vivien said with a nod. “So, do you have anything else for me? Do you remember anything that happened that day?”
Taking a deep breath, Riven said, “I left your dad’s class to put the roof up on the Miata, and I got a text from you before my phone died, then I went back inside and stopped to tell you I had to call my dad after homeroom, but I don’t remember anything between that and waking up dead.”
“Riv-”
“Maybe he knows something,” Riven offered. “Maybe he heard something when I talked to him.”
Shaking her head slightly, Vivien said, “I had your phone. I took it from your back pocket before you left. Your dad told me he never got the chance to talk to you. You must’ve already…”
Trying to connect the dots, Riven’s gaze fell to the floor as he groaned, “Why can’t I remember anything after that?”
Seeing the evident frustration in Riven’s eyes, Vivien asked, “What about when you woke up… like this? How did you leave the basement?”
Riven met Vivien’s eyes, his eyebrows scrunched together in concentration as he tried to recall that night. “The first thing I remember was waking up on the floor.”
Drip.
Riven’s eyes moved behind his eyelids as he slowly came to, his head throbbing and his mind fuzzy. ‘Five more minutes,’ he thought to himself, wondering when his bed had gotten so hard to sleep on. It felt like he’d fallen asleep on the living room floor during movie night. Again.
Splat.
Something warm dripped onto his temple, followed soon after by another drip. Sluggishly opening his eyes, Riven groaned as his head throbbed. Taking in his surroundings with a grimace, he found himself staring at a door in the basement with a sign on the door declaring it as a fallout shelter. He truly had fallen asleep on the floor, but… this wasn’t his living room.
Drip.
As another droplet splattered by his hairline and slid across his forehead, Riven slowly sat up, his eyebrows scrunched together in confusion as he looked around. Where was he? Hearing a distant bell ring, Riven jumped, finally realizing he was at school. Swiping at whatever had dripped across his forehead, he pulled back his hand only to find it smeared with crimson.
Blood.
Slowly pushing himself to his feet, Riven swiped at his face to rid himself of the bloody droplets, feeling his head for any sign of injury as he slowly turned in place, looking around the damp, musty basement. Eventually, he turned toward where he had been lying and found himself face-to-face with the boiler - a large, metal tank that Riven had only seen in passing on his way to band practice.
The beige metal was old and rusted in some areas, the paint on the outside peeling and cracked with age, but now a large streak of red lined the paint. Blood dripped slowly off the side of the tank, and some splattered on the ceiling, painting a mildly gruesome picture in the dark of the barely-used basement.
Wanting to report his findings, Riven slowly ascended the stairs, finding his way back to the main concourse of the school. Ducking dazedly around his fellow students, Riven glanced up at the wall above the cafeteria doors, discovering he had missed most of the school day. It was already almost 1:45. Only one period left in the school day. One half hour. The responsible part of him hoped he hadn’t ticked off any teachers by skipping out. The friend in him hoped he hadn’t missed band practice.
Seeing Vivien leaving a classroom with Royce, he pressed a hand to his head and dazedly mumbled, “Pip?”
Instead of turning to her best friend and acknowledging the blood smeared into his auburn hair, Vivien joined up with the rest of their friend group - Cassandra, Bentley, and Zack barely registering in his mind as they started laughing and heading for the stairwell. Seeing Erica glare at a girl with black hair - was it his girlfriend? - Riven tried calling out to her, “Erica… I think I need help, but-”
Erica scoffed as Brooke said something to her, making her storm off down the hall, ignoring Riven entirely. Jade followed quickly after, glancing down the hall before typing something on her phone and jogging to catch up with Erica. Riven stumbled toward the lockers in an effort to follow them, but stopped as his head throbbed and his vision blurred. Realizing his best bet would be to find a teacher, he waited for his head to stop spinning before pushing off of the lockers and heading down the hall to the principal’s office in search of Vivien’s dad.
Finding Mr. O’Brian leaving another classroom, shoving paperwork into a folder, Riven asked, “Dad, I think something happened in the basement, and…” As Damien continued onward, greeting other students as he passed them, Riven’s voice faltered, and he stopped in his tracks. Turning slowly in an effort to find someone who would talk to him, Riven found his head tilting to the side as a blond boy, who looked like he had come off the set of some Disney Channel show from when Riven was little, approached him, asking if he was alright.
August, Riven realized as he finished retelling his day to Vivien. August had been the first of the ghosts to greet him, not Kona. How could he have forgotten that? In the one meeting they shared, August appeared timid, but seemed as though he knew something the others didn’t. Maybe he preferred to observe. That idea alone was enough for Riven to decide that his next course of action would be to talk to the young blond.
“So,” Vivien began, piecing together everything Riven had said, “what you’re saying is that this all happened between my dad’s class that morning and… the end of seventh period?”
Riven shrugged, unsure of whether or not his answer would help matters. “I guess so. That’s the first time I remember seeing after waking up in the basement.”
“Well,” Vivien sighed, “if you were in the hallway between seventh and eighth period, you must’ve seen Brooke leave, right?” When Riven slowly nodded, Vivien added, “She left with Preston Osborne. They… They’ve been hooking up for a while, I guess.”
“Do you think they had anything to do with what happened to me?” Riven asked, ignoring the sting of betrayal in his chest.
Vivien shrugged, “Maybe. If she wanted you out of the picture so she could be with Preston without any hassle, maybe she enlisted his help.”
Though the idea of his girlfriend - or rather, ex-girlfriend - enlisting the help of the school’s richest douchebag seemed unlikely, if the two had been together behind his back, maybe he didn’t really know her as well as he thought he did. Brooke had been growing more and more manipulative over the course of their relationship, and if she put that to use, Riven could see her getting her way with Preston or his daddy’s bank account.
Seeing the look in Riven’s gaze, Vivien said, “Erica said Preston skipped Bio that day and Jade said he wasn’t in eighth period either. Fifth period to kill, eighth period to hide the body. It’s a slim timeframe, but it could work. Nobody apart from our band goes down to the basement during school anyway, so…” Pretending to hang up her phone, Vivien pulled her earbuds out and whispered, “Now, we just need to find evidence.”
Nodding more to himself than anything, Riven muttered, “Go relax for now. I’m going to go ask one of the other ghosts what they remember from that day. I’ll meet you in the theatre.”
“Okay,” Vivien muttered softly, pocketing her phone and turning back to where some of her friends had gathered. Grateful for the distraction that Sandy and Zack provided for their group, she only had to answer a few questions from Royce as Riven slipped out of the cafeteria, heading somewhere she’d ask him about later on.
Searching the school was a lot easier when there weren’t a bunch of teenagers roaming the halls. Riven had checked most of the classrooms anyway, scouring the rooms for any sign of the blond boy he had only met the night before. On the second floor, he ventured into the art classroom to find Katrina, the sophomore from the seventies who seemed a bit too used to being dead, spinning a lump of clay on a wheel while humming softly to herself.
Her clothes were protected from the wet clay by a simple brown apron covered in paint and clay splotches, but her seventies style was still peeking through. A pair of high-waisted, teal bell-bottoms peeked out around either side of Katrina’s pottery wheel, the toe of her chunky wooden heel tapping the floor in time with her hummed song, whilst her other foot pressed the pedal of the pottery wheel. Katrina’s teal pants matched some of the flowers on her eccentric button-down shirt, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, and clay smeared across her hands and wrists.
Her hair was braided away from her face and pulled back into matching afro puffs adorned with specks of golden glitter, something that vaguely reminded Riven of the little girl across the street who consistently strutted around with stars and rainbows clipped into her untameable curls. Looking up as the door closed behind Riven, Katrina stopped humming and nodded in his direction, a silent sort of greeting.
“You’re the new boy, right?” Katrina asked softly as he approached, glancing up from her work as she slowed the wheel. “River, was it?”
“Riven,” he corrected gently, almost used to hearing people in the hallways call him anything but his name. “And you’re Katrina, right?”
With a nod of confirmation, Katrina wet her hands slightly before returning to her clay, “Call me Kit, if you want. Sorry for calling you River, I’m terrible with names, and, sadly, I can’t blame that on the fact that I spend most of my time huffing glaze fumes.”
“That’s okay,” Riven said with a chuckle, stepping closer to the girl. Watching her eyes rake over the pyramid of glistening clay, he pulled up a stool and sat down at one of the sketching tables near the pottery area. “Do you… do this stuff often?”
“Pottery?” Katrina asked, slowly guiding the clay outward as she formed her lump into a bowl shape. “Every day. It’ll reset before I have the chance to kiln it, but I don’t mind.”
Riven’s smile faltered at how bleak her response felt. Everything they made or did in this ghostly, in-between world didn’t really matter. Nothing stayed. Watching Katrina’s hands guide the clay upwards into a sort of vase, Riven asked, “Isn’t that sort of disappointing?”
“My life was disappointing, Riven,” Katrina remarked, barely glancing up at him. “I plan on making the most of my afterlife, even if that means endless pottery.”
Riven watched as she slowly manipulated the lump of clay into a proper vase, opening the spout so that it could hold flowers. Then, with a smile on her face, Katrina lifted her hands away from her project, slowed the wheel to a stop, and giggled as she brought her fist down into the center of the freshly-formed pottery vase. As the clay slumped down into a lump of wet terracotta mud, Katrina turned to Riven with a look that silently asked whether or not he could see the meaning behind her actions.
With a small nod, Riven stood and asked, “Do you know where I might find August?”
Beginning to pile the clump of reddened clay into a ball, Katrina shrugged and said, “Probably tending to the tomatoes in the greenhouse. He likes to linger out there.”
“Thanks, Kit,” Riven said softly, making his way to the door.
“Mhm,” Katrina hummed, going back to her pottery. Watching him reach for the door handle from the corner of her eye, she called out, “And Riven?” Katrina looked up, watching him turn at the door and look back at her before she added, “I’m sorry I couldn’t help you more. I would, if I could, but I was here the day you died. I hope you get your answers.”
Offering the girl a smile and an appreciative nod, Riven said, “Thank you. I… I hope you find what makes your afterlife meaningful.
Nodding in silent gratitude, Katrina went back to her pottery wheel as Riven left the room, finding the wheel dry and the box of unopened clay still sitting on the shelf, still untouched.
Juliet wasn’t one to blame her problems on others, especially not when her problems revolved around something to do with a living student. However, she was beginning to get fed up with the lack of energy permeating the dance studio. The dance club was only so entertaining with their monotonous routines that never varied from year to year, the cheerleaders only ever used the space if they needed to do an indoor practice due to rain, and the theatre club wasn’t in need of the space until rehearsals began in November for the spring showcase.
And none of those inhabitants were the one that Juliet desperately wanted to see.
The former majorette and theatre club assistant director was in search of a particular living. One with green eyes, brown hair, and a collection of shiny rocks that she meticulously placed in a precise arrangement specifically for Juliet. Juliet had observed the young girl over her years at the Junior-Senior high school, watching her blossom from a shy little thing outgrowing her braces to an outspoken, fierce protector of all those she cared for - and even those she barely knew.
The girl was a shy twelve-year-old, wandering aimlessly through the halls of the junior high when she stumbled upon the dance studio for the first time. Juliet had been in the room already, warming up on barre despite not really needing it anymore. She had half expected the young girl to turn around and leave. However, the brunette set down her backpack, smiled at her reflection, and began humming a song only she seemed to know as she danced for a few minutes. Then, as the bell rang, she jumped and scrambled to gather her things before running from the room to her next class of the day.
Needless to say, Juliet had been rather impressed. Over the next few weeks, the girl would poke her head in during her free period or study hall, hum her own song, and dance in secret before taking off again. On the girl’s birthday, Juliet followed her. She waited for the girl to get off the bus and followed her throughout her day, observing the then thirteen-year-old like she was the main character in Juliet’s favorite show. Juliet observed for a while before watching her enter the principal’s office for lunch. She and another boy, the one she now knew as Riven, sat and talked with the principal while eating their home-packed lunches. It was there that Juliet discovered the girl’s name. Vivien.
Not long after that, Vivien and Juliet began dancing together without the former’s knowledge. By her freshman year, Vivien had begun occasionally playing music from her phone while they danced, talking to herself when she got things either right or wrong, and bringing a few colorful lumps of rocks with her.
It started with a small, reddish-gold stone the same length as her pinky, the colors shimmering iridescently in the sunlight peeking in through the windows on the opposite side of the room. Then came a lump of jagged purple crystals inside of a dull, gray rock. Gradually, pinks and blues joined the crew, but then came the day the two began to bridge the gap between life and death.
One day, while Vivien was dancing, Juliet realized the girl was being more aggressive toward herself when she got something wrong in the routine, which led Juliet to suspect was for some sort of competition. After screeching in frustration and slumping to the floor by her bag, Juliet sighed and sat beside her, wishing she could offer her some kind of comfort or distraction. Rambling to the girl despite knowing the brunette would never hear her, Juliet began rambling about how, if they had lived during the same time frame, she would’ve taken Vivien out for ice cream or to the mall and how they would blast her favorite pick-me-up songs.
Then, as Juliet placed a hand on Vivien’s back, wishing for once that it didn’t phase right through her, she said something about playing some Madonna for the girl to cheer her up, and a familiar melody began playing from the younger girl’s back pocket, making both of them jump. Vivien pulled her phone out of her pocket, staring at it in confusion for a while before unlocking the device just in time for Madonna to begin singing her iconic hit song Material Girl.
Vivien, to her credit, smiled slightly and began singing along, tapping her faded white Converse on the floor in time with the beat of the song. Juliet beamed as her favorite song began blasting through the room, singing along with Vivien as the chorus began and the brunette got back to her feet, dancing in a freeing, choreography-less way. Toward the end of the song, as the song dipped, the pair continued singing for a bit, echoing the lyrics with ease. However, Vivien slowly stopped singing as she swore she could hear another voice singing along, and not the iconic mezzo-soprano she knew all too well.
Glancing around the empty room, Vivien raised an eyebrow and softly muttered something about the school being haunted before the bell rang and she was forced to leave.
After that, Vivien began bringing more crystals to school and keeping them in her locker for the dancer spirit she had begun basically performing seances for in the studio. She had brought a pendulum to school once, encouraging Juliet to answer by swinging the crystal on the end of the cord. When she got no answer because Juliet couldn’t figure out how to work with the shimmering, pink rock, Vivien put her belongings away and asked her phone to play some music for her. Having gotten fed up with the crystal earlier, Juliet sat by Vivien’s phone and huffed something about wanting to listen to some “real music” like Blondie, surprising both herself and Vivien when the younger girl’s phone began blasting Call Me instead of the song Vivien had chosen.
Gradually, Juliet’s song changes became an almost daily occurrence, and the pair had grown accustomed to each other’s presence. Nowadays, Juliet had grown accustomed to Vivien’s schedule. Juliet wandered aimlessly until the block just before noon, then she headed to the dance studio and waited for Vivien to arrive and set out her crystals in a unique array before taking control of the girl’s playlist and blasting songs she had only been able to hear in snippets after her passing.
They had a system. Now, with Riven missing, Vivien had broken their system. Juliet understood, of course. Grief was difficult. However, she had begun mourning her friendship with the living girl who brought her an extra strawberry frosted donut with sprinkles, a handful of shimmering rocks, and a sort of one-sided conversation about the drama in her life. For the first time since 1989, Juliet felt as though she had a friend who genuinely cared about her. Now, her friend was in the midst of grief over the loss of her figure skating partner and best friend, Riven, and Juliet was forgotten. Again.
Juliet didn’t blame Vivien for needing time away to grieve. She had been there and done that. However, she missed her dance partner and wanted her to come back. It was selfish, she knew that, but that didn’t stop her. She had begun following Vivien around like a lost puppy, and the routine monotony of it all was getting tiring.
Today, however, Juliet had lost Vivien.
Vivien liked to wander, something Juliet discovered quickly after meeting her, but after following her to the basement to get a computer from the tech lab, she had gotten distracted by the school band’s noisy - and, frankly, awful - practice and lost track of Vivien. It wasn’t until she reluctantly headed for the theatre to wait until lunch that she stumbled upon the brunette. Juliet knew that Riven and Vivien’s band had occasionally used the theatre to practice, but she had rarely seen the girl willingly venture into the spacious hall. If anything, she seemed to avoid it.
Today, however, Vivien was accompanied by her father, the principal, in place of Riven.
“Are you sure you want to study in here, babygirl?” Juliet overheard the girl’s father ask as he looked up at the stage lights overhead. “You could always use one of the private study rooms in the library, like we talked about last night. Those are quiet.”
Vivien sighed, opening her backpack and pulling out a few textbooks, placing them on the floor. She looked as though she hadn’t gotten much sleep - dark circles ringing her eyes, her tanned face now a few shades paler. With everything going on, Juliet figured she was having nightmares of some sort. Maybe Vivien just had a rough night, but with how snippy she had gotten with her friends and teachers as of late, Juliet chalked it up to the same thing that plagued her co-stars when the spotlight had killed her - survivor’s guilt.
Sitting cross-legged on the stage, Vivien opened her school laptop and murmured, “Too quiet, Dad. I need music to study properly, and I’m not allowed to play music or use headphones in the library.”
Juliet leaned on the wall separating the wings of the stage from the audience as she watched the pair. She could relate to Vivien in that aspect. After all, music was the only reason she passed her biology exam - having created a song about the names of each bone in the human body. Years later, in the early oughts, she’d heard a similar song sung in the hallways by a handful of young teen girls, hearing some actress named Hannah Montana had sung something similar on her show.
The blonde with the neon lycra watched curiously as Vivien’s father glanced warily up at the stage lights again. Did he know what had happened to her on this very stage? Probably not. Juliet had died thirty-five years ago at this point, and, even if he was old enough to remember what happened, he was probably in elementary school at the time. The man was in his early forties, if memory served, so at most, he was probably between six and eight when she died. He had probably only heard rumors about a girl dying under the same light his daughter had chosen to sit under.
Damian shook his head and sighed, “Alright, sweetheart. I’ll let you get to work. I’ll be in my office if you need anything.” Stepping away and heading toward the door by the end of the orchestra seating on the left side of the stage, Damian turned back toward his daughter and said, “Remember, baby, the drama club will be here after lunch, so you need to work somewhere else if you’re not done by then.”
Vivien gave her dad a mock salute and said, “Aye, aye, Captain. I’ll probably be done by then anyway.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Damian said with what could only be described as a proud dad smile.
As he slipped out of the room, Vivien plugged her phone into the school laptop and began playing songs while she worked. Juliet stepped onto the stage, watching the girl work until she had finished her third assignment of the day. With only four more projects to turn in and a note from her robotics teacher to “take it easy and work on simple coding,” Vivien grew bored quickly.
Juliet was in a similar state. Somewhere between the paragraphs about the Chernobyl disaster, she had gotten up and begun wandering the stage, pacing mindlessly and occasionally humming along to the music with Vivien. After a while of watching Vivien type nonsense on her laptop, Juliet shook her head and ventured backstage until she heard the telltale screech of agitation that Vivien tended to let out whenever she had exhausted all her efforts and still gotten something wrong.
Heading back to the stage with a tentative look in her eyes, Juliet watched as Vivien slammed a textbook shut and tossed it toward center stage. It wasn’t often the young brunette reacted so strongly to her schoolwork, but it was evident that she had tried her best and failed so miserably that she couldn’t handle another minute of whatever it was she had been working on. Watching Vivien pull her glasses off and rake her hands through her hair, Juliet moved closer, wishing for the umpteenth time that she could offer the girl some comfort.
Setting her laptop aside and turning off her music, Vivien lay back on the stage with her eyes closed, her eyebrows scrunched together as though she had gotten a migraine while working. Kneeling beside the stressed girl, Juliet hovered a reassuring hand over her hair and softly sighed, “Oh, Viv…”
Vivien’s eyes peeled open, and she jerked back at the sight before her. “Holy shit!” she squeaked, rolling away from Juliet and scrambling onto her knees. Pulling on her glasses to get a better look at the face before her, Vivien took a deep breath and said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t even hear you come in. Is lunch already over?”
Juliet opened her mouth to answer, but stopped short as realization struck her like a slap to the face. “You…” she began slowly. “You can see me?”
Fixing her bangs with a roll of her eyes, Vivien scoffed, “Yeah, sorry, I’m not a part of whatever improv group this is. I just came here to study.” As she began gathering her textbooks and shoving them into her backpack, Vivien said, “I’ll be out of your hair in a minute.”
“No, please don’t!” Juliet pleaded, watching Vivien close her laptop and grab her belongings. Trying to figure out how to keep Vivien there, Juliet reached for her arm, her hand phasing through Vivien’s skin, sending goosebumps rippling up the younger girl’s arm and settling a chill in her spine.
Vivien’s full-body shiver ended with her staring wide-eyed at the blonde before her. Glancing down at her arm and Juliet’s hand, the blonde’s ghostly skin rippling like a mirage, Vivien swallowed thickly and shakily whispered, “What was that?”
Thunder hung low on the horizon as an older woman with graying blonde hair and a light sweater tucked a few ten-dollar bills into her cash register. Glancing up, her gray-green eyes caught the yellowing overhead lamp outside of her little booth as she nodded goodbye to the girl at the window and watched her leave. Looking up and spotting a single figure standing by the lamp post, looking at a map, she called out, “Last call for tickets to Fort Lauderdale!”
Jolting as though he’d been startled awake, the figure under the lamp post moved, shoving something into his pocket as he approached. The tall young man wearing a hoodie under a jean jacket stepped up to the counter, his hands fidgeting with something inside the kangaroo pocket of his sweatshirt. “Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention, ma’am,” he said, his voice cautious but calm.
“Not a problem, son,” the woman said, clicking a file on her computer that brought up a blank sheet for another ticket. The man - if she could even call him that - looked to be around the same age as her eldest grandson, who was just about to graduate high school. She could only hope he wasn’t a runaway. She had seen a few in her time as an attendant for the bus station. “Now, do you want to go out by Orlando and down through West Palm Beach, Boca Raton, and Pompano Beach, or would you rather go down through Fort Myers, toward Naples, then across?”
The woman - whose nametag read Martha - didn’t miss the way the man’s eyes lit up at the mention of Boca Raton, but she chose not to mention it. “The Orlando route, please,” he said, glancing at the map on the wall behind Martha’s desk.
With a nod, Martha’s fingers flew across her keyboard as she filled in the information for the young man’s ticket. Before hitting the button to print it out, she met his gaze and asked, “One way or round trip?”
The man glanced at the bus, debating his options before deciding, “One way. I’ll… find my own way back.”
Taking a sip of her water, Martha bit her tongue, keeping her desire to prevent the young adult from boarding the bus to herself. Instead, she sighed, “That’ll be forty-four dollars and ninety-three cents.” His hands trembled slightly as he pulled out his wallet - whether it was due to anxiety or not, Martha couldn’t be sure. He handed her a fifty-dollar bill, watching as she sighed and said, “We prefer small bills here, son.”
When she turned to verify the bill with a marker, he tucked his wallet away and tentatively murmured, “Sorry, ma’am.”
Martha shook her head as she tucked the honest dollar into her register and handed him his change. Pulling her glasses up from the chain draping them over her chest, she turned to her computer and said, “Never mind it.” After typing a few more details in, she spoke again, “We need a name for the ticket purchase, but that’s all.”
As Martha hit the button to print out the ticket and rolled her chair over to the printer, the young man spoke softly, his voice drowned out by a roll of thunder. Turning back to him as the ticket printed into her awaiting hand and she rolled her chair back over to him, she said, “I’m sorry, son. What was that?”
Catching a glimpse of his reflection in the plexiglass that separated him from the woman in the sales booth, the man spoke again, his voice more confident this time. “Riven,” he said. “My name is Riven.”
Guess who’s tearing her way out of her seasonal depression pit! It’s been ages, especially considering I’ve left so much unsaid. If you haven’t gotten my notifications on a couple of your posts, I’m sorry, but you will soon. I’ve been working 40-hour weeks at work and attending various field trips with my school kids (Mystic Aquarium, Quabbin Reservoir, Old Sturbridge Village, etc.) We now have nearly 40 kids in our program, and I adore them all individually, but having so little time to work through my mental health and writing has been taxing. I have a week off this week to help out at my church for the summer program, which means I’m home by noon and can finally start working on everything I’ve meant to do for forever.
I was finally able to type out my comments for TMM, which I swore I’d done, like, eight times for Part 3 alone. I posted them this afternoon, but our internet updated around the same time, so I’m going to check in a bit if they posted or not. If not, I shall send them again! I’m so immensely sorry that I’ve been offline for so long. It’s not fair to you in any way. I’ll get better at being active more often, and I promise, things are looking up.
I finally finished my clipboard for work! I brought it in this morning, and I’m proud of how it came out, The lyric stickers (thanks to LettersToJulyShop on Etsy) are so cute, and I tried so hard to match the fonts for the Playbills for each show on the back, as well as the designs and stuff on the front.
I made my own stickers for the Hufflepuff badge and District 3 logo because my painting skills aren’t the greatest and both my brushes and my paint markers are too thick for all that detail lmaooo.
Still, I’m proud of it! It took forever to work on, but it’s done and I’m happy. Hopefully, this will work for the summer when we’re off on field trips and stuff. I did forget to fill in the top white parts on the front by the clip, but that’s okay. I’ll fill it with stickers, no doubt.
Also, some details you can’t really see in the picture, but can see irl - Starlight Express has a color shift paint from green to blue to a hint of purple, Hamilton has a black backing so the gold paint looks more faded and worn like the Playbills, and each of the Six girls has a color shifting glitter on their segments. I had a lot of fun with it, if you can’t tell 😜
PS, I definitely recommend watching the 1969 movie version of Hello Dolly on Disney+. Barbra Streisand is an ICON as Dolly Levi, and I can see parts of all our characters in the characters in the movie. It’s a wonderful movie rendition that very closely follows the original musical, and if you like Wall-E, you’ll recognize some of the scenes/songs from the old show Wall-E himself loves in the movie. Also, Carol Channing was the OG Dolly, and Bette Middler was also Dolly, so they had some epic actresses for the leading lady.
Also, this is far out in left field, but did you see the new Stranger Things trailer??? I’m so hyped and I’ve got theories out the wazoo, especially with the episode titles!
Not only did I not expect this to happen, but I feel like Odysseus returning to Penelope, apologizing for making her wait, and understanding if she wants nothing to do with him anymore, but asking if she’d still love him. Yes, that’s a reference to EPIC: The Musical, so I’m well enough to make small references, but honestly, that’s just about the best thing I could think of right now.
It’s been months since I did anything noteworthy, and well over a month since I last posted. It’s been about the same amount of time since I’ve even touched my computer. Between long hours at work preparing for the new summer schedule, caring for sick, injured, or disabled relatives, and trying to keep myself somewhat sane, I didn’t realize at the time, but I had been growing increasingly depressed.
Whenever I picked up my laptop, I felt that nothing I wrote was good enough. My hands literally shook whenever I tried to write, making me type like a child in their first-ever computer class in elementary school. My writing skills felt like they’d taken a nosedive despite my best efforts. Even the times when I had weekends off to do literally anything, I would end up deleting more than writing.
Some of the middle school kids at work (ages 9-12) asked me to write a book about them. I said yes. I’m determined to finish it, but I started it back in November and only have about two chapters written. I can’t tell them that or why that is, though. I don’t want them to worry too. They’re just kids… happy, intelligent, innocent (for the most part) kids. I want them to stay that way for as long as they can.
I don’t really know what happened or when the shift began, but I feel like it started back in February when I got hit with that stupid waffle maker. I could barely think straight that entire time, and despite trying to think of things to write afterward, my focus was solely on making sure I didn’t make my concussion worse by straining my eyes or mind - something my doctor warned me about. I take full responsibility for the lack of, well, everything that came afterward. I know that, once I was healed fully, I could’ve written or replied to your posts or even just messaged you, but I just… didn’t.
I still don’t know why. I don’t know what happened to throw me so far off that I couldn’t be arsed to get online, but I know it affected a lot. I still got good performance reports at work, but I closed myself off everywhere else. Maybe I’m just an antisocial person when I’m depressed. But still, that doesn’t give me the right to ignore everyone I care about. I didn’t even respond to anybody’s birthday wishes this year unless they texted me directly or physically saw me that day, and I never get that bad.
Things got worse after that. I’ve been mechanical, robotic, and all over numb. It was like I just couldn’t feel anymore, like my life was meaningless. It was rough. My mom was constantly worried about me, but never said anything. I could see it in her eyes, though. My eldest niece had to stay in a mental ward recently for severe depression, and I think Mom was worried I’d end up the same way. I didn’t, but still.
Things have been getting a bit better, I guess. I’m not skulking around in dark clothes, hiding in my room, and only leaving the house for work anymore. Seasonal depression is a pain in the ass, but so is regular depression. It eats away at your interests, your mental health, and your soul. But… I’m still here, so it hasn’t won. I’m not going to let it win. I’m too stubborn. Sometimes, that’s a good thing.
I’m trying to get better now. I painted my clipboard for my summer teaching hours (field trips, local tours, etc). It’s theatre themed on one side, naturally, and some other fandoms on the other, and I’m proud of it. I also started cleaning my room again, which is taking a lot of effort, but I’m okay with it. I’ve boxed up a bunch of my books and moved them to my office to put them on the bookshelves I got in January, but never built. I’m going to start clearing out the stuff I no longer want or need, donate the stuff I can, and repurpose the stuff I can’t.
Eventually, my room will feel less like a pit of depression and more like a place I can call mine again. I’ll have room for my dancing equipment, I’ll push my bed over by the window so I can sleep next to the air conditioning, and I’ll learn to treat myself better than I have been. It won’t be easy, but I’m going to do it. I may not post anything for a while until my room’s cleared out and I feel well enough to write something other than a few words I’ll later delete, but I hope that’s okay. I might post little things here and there - updates, maybe a chapter if I can wrap up the ones I’ve already started, or maybe even just a post about something I’ve found in my room whilst cleaning (I know there’s a mini disco ball in here somewhere!).
I’m looking forward to moving past this. I miss… me. I miss the energy, the joys I had in little things, and the desire I had to write from dawn to dusk. I’ll find myself again, probably in the cracks of the walls I built around me. I’m twenty-five now, and that fact has hit me like a big rig going ninety on the highway, but it’s time for me to accept reality and grow. I planted tomatoes, cucumbers, and zinnias recently. Maybe I’ll grow with them. I’ll need one of those support sticks, but that’s okay. Everyone grows differently, especially when it takes a while to break through the soil.
Until then, however, I can only hope that my disastrous mental health over the last few months hasn’t completely driven you away and that you’re willing to put up with my nonsense just a bit longer. I swear - on my favorite ice cream, my love for dogs, and a bag of those damned Twisted Cheeto Puffs I can no longer find in a grocery store but would sell my spleen for - that I’ll be back to my usual self sooner or later. I’ll be back to writing in between my shifts at the school and writing comments as soon as I see a new post from you (btw, I only just checked this morning and saw you posted another part of MM and nearly screamed at work, so I’m excited for that!).
Summer is fast approaching, which means 40-hour weeks for me at the school, but I’ll find time to reclaim myself when I can. Maybe I’ll do more on the weekends when that time comes. I spent time at the park after church today. Yesterday, I pet a few dogs, sat on the boat dock, and explored an abandoned funeral home. I’ve begun tearing down my walls recently to make room for my new and improved self. It’s not easy. I’m no Hulk. But… I’m trying, and for now, I can only hope that’s good enough.
I’m still alive. I’m still connecting songs to story ideas. I’m still a writer. I’m just… working on myself before I work on my stories. My mom says that’s more important right now, but she doesn’t realize how many times I’ve tried desperately to write, but come up dry. She’ll understand someday. Maybe I’ll understand her side of things, too. I’ll try, at the very least.
Now, I’m going to go work on cleaning my room a little more. I want to get rid of some old clothes before returning to work this afternoon. It may not seem like much, but I’m trying.
I’m sorry it took me so long to say anything. I’m sorry that it feels like I’ve been stonewalling you. I’m sorry I never asked for help… even when I needed it. I’m not the greatest at asking for help, but that’s another thing to add to my to-do list. Just… know that I’ll go back over everything I’ve missed (which seems like a lot) over the next few days, and I’ll write the comments that should have been there all along.
I’m sorry, Eleanor. I can't apologize enough, but I promise that I’ll do better this time around.
So, after spending a few weeks recovering from a mild-ish concussion and some whiplash from the waffle maker hitting me in the head, one of my coworkers brought strep throat to school with them and I caught a mild strain of it. I recovered the week before my birthday, thankfully. Two days after my birthday, however, I got sick from one of my relatives, and I'm almost entirely back to feeling normal again. My drive to write is pretty high now, which is nice after suffering the worst bout of writer's block I've ever had.
Also, I got the chance to read the new Sunrise on the Reaping book while I was down for the count, and I just feel like screaming and crying and throwing myself down the rabbit hole of yet another Hunger Games AU.
Not happening... yet.
However, I do know when, who, and what it would cover when I choose to do so, which is great. If you care to join me in the rabbit hole at least a little bit, I'll put a bit of what I've got for it so far down below, but for now, here's a not-so-short update on my current stories.
Same Trailer, Different Park:
I am currently on page 29 of the next part of STDP. I've been working on it off and on, but seem to have found a sticking point, so that's an issue I'll get around to once my drive to write the next segment of The End Is Near has come and gone. I will say, though, that there are quite a few things I'm excited about in this chapter. I won't say too much because then I'd spoil the whole thing, but some keywords will be entertaining for you to try to deep dive on, I suppose.
Populer... lar.
Osborne.
Mercedes.
That last one is one that I've been working on for quite some time and probably will only make sense if you go way back in my posts to—I don't know—July 22, 2022. There is one thing that hints at it—only one. 😉
The End Is Near:
I keep going back to this one because of how the last season ended, but I'm only on page 22. I will say, I have a lot planned because, from the second chapter onward, I go almost completely off the rails from the original source material because I have different characters and plot points than the show. The first chapter followed pretty closely, but from here on, there are only occasional mentions of events from the show because my characters and their families are vastly different from the ones in the show. However, I'll give you a brief character comparison and maybe a blurb or two.
Riven = Maddie. The main character who somehow ends up in the afterlife with no recollection of their death. They're trying to remember how they died, but all they get are small flashbacks of the day they reportedly went missing.
Kona = Charley. Both nineties kids who are very sweet and kind to those they care about, but aren't afraid to speak their mind. Their deaths are different - Charley died of anaphylaxis and Kona of drowning. Kona died in December of 1994 at only 14.
Juliet = Wally. Our fabulous 80s babes! Wally died during a football game and Juliet died from a falling stage light, but both give off the same jock-ish vibes with their neon Spandex (Juliet) and letterman jacket (Wally). They both were known at the time to be a bit mean to others for their reputation's sake, but Juliet was more a Heather MacNamara than a Heather Chandler, if you get what I mean. Juliet died in March of 1989 at 18.
Makana = Rhonda. Rhonda is much more on the dark academia side of the sixties than Mick is. Though Mick loves her music and poetry, she is less dark than Rhonda is, though her humor can, at times, be on the darker side. Rhonda was strangled by her guidance counselor in Spring of 1963, whereas Mick was strangled by her boyfriend in January of 1968. Both were killed for the same reason - leaving their hometown to attend college. Mick had been accepted to Berklee College of Music in Boston.
Ethan = Dawn. Dawn and Ethan are from 1972 and 1973, respectively. Everyone assumes Ethan died because of drugs because of the decade (like they did to Dawn in the show), but his actual cause of death was something innocent. He was at the school, helping his band set up for a fundraising concert over the summer. Someone came through while he was setting up speakers and knocked his drink over, spilling it onto a plug without him knowing. The speaker started glitching and the volume started spazzing out, so he tried to change the frequency, only to electrocute himself. He doesn't care what the others say about his death as he knows the truth about what happened and doesn't like blaming his death on others. He just enjoys the fact that he has an endless supply of blunts in the afterlife.
Butchy = Janet. Butchy died on April 14, 1956. Fell down a flight of stairs and broke his neck. They're not totally similar, but close. I will say, though, Butchy definitely had a thing going on between himself and Mick. That's all you get for now.
Mr. Fletcher = Mr. Martin. Mr. Fletcher died on May 4, 1956, in an explosion in the automotive wing of the vocational building. Only one character of mine fits this role, and it'll be fun to explore.
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Blurb 1 - The Teacher's Lounge:
Feeling a foot nudge his thigh, Riven twisted onto his back to find Makana sitting on the back of the couch with a book in her hand, watching as teachers filled the room. “Wake up, Tootsie Roll. This is the best time of the day.”
Groaning as he stretched, sat up, and looked around at the teachers, Riven asked, “What’s happening?”
Dog-earing her book - an action Vivien would’ve had her head for - Makana said, “This is the lounge - the one place in this hell-hole where these underpaid sad sacks let their guards down and say whatever they want about whoever they want. We get to hear the drama, the gossip, who they think is dating or cheating, and most importantly, who in this room is boning who.”
Riven made a face of clear disgust as Makana bounced off of the couch and he muttered, “Gross. Why on earth would I want to know that? They’re all in their forties or close to it. That would be like asking my dad.”
“It’s like a soap opera, actually. It’s sort of entertaining,” Makana said. As she sauntered over to Vivien’s dad and leaned close, she muttered, “Kona thinks I’m insane, but there’s no way this guy is half as nice as he seems outside of school hours.”
“He is,” Riven argued quickly. “That’s my second dad. He’s a genuinely nice man.”
Glancing between Riven and one of the female teachers, Makana said, “Some of the other teachers thought he was banging Ms. Dodds two years ago. If he’s cheating on your dad-”
Riven quickly shook his head, then winced at the way the movement made his head spin. “Not like that,” he said. “He’s my best friend’s dad. He’s not dating my dad, he’s just… he’s like another dad to me.”
“Oh, boo,” Makana sighed, almost sounding disappointed by the lack of drama in Riven’s statement. Turning back to Mr. O’Brian, she said, “Anyway, there’s no way he didn’t get a hair transplant or something. His forehead was three inches higher last year.”
Sending the brunette a look, Riven asked, “You measured his forehead?”
Makana chortled, “Hun, I followed him to the lavatory, that’s not all I’ve measured.”
“I can’t believe you’d actually do that,” Riven muttered, shuddering at the thought.
Stepping away from the teacher, Makana shrugged, “Not the worst thing I’ve seen or done in my afterlife. Besides, Ms. Dodds said he was packing, and she wasn’t wrong.” Making her way past Riven, she glanced down at him and smirked, “Don’t be discouraged, though. You’re not so bad yourself.”
Instinctively covering his lap with a pillow as Makana headed toward the coffee machine, Riven tried to pretend his face wasn’t flushed with embarrassment as Makana grabbed a cinnamon roll from the counter and began eating it, perching herself on the edge of the counter and listening to the teachers chatter. Were the other ghosts so… snoopy? He sure hoped not. One was bad enough.
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Blurb 2 - Movie Night:
Grabbing a handful of what little popcorn remained in the bowl and tossing it at his twin, Oliver groaned, “Boo!”
Tossing a few kernels back at her brother, Abby scoffed, “I’ll castrate you in your sleep.”
“I don’t even know what that means,” Oliver retorted, tossing a mini peanut butter cup at Abby.
“Good,” Abby smirked, reeling back a handful of gummy sharks.
“Woah, woah, woah!” Vivien laughed, stopping the food fight as she latched onto her siblings’ wrists. “First of all, you guys are going to make my bed look like the floor of the Pizzaplex movie theater after a new Marvel movie release. Second, don’t throw the gummy sharks; that’s animal abuse.”
Oliver, the human vacuum, began picking up pieces of popcorn from the bed and tossing them into his mouth as he muttered, “Sorry.”
Watching her brother pick up shreds of popcorn, Abby sat back against the headboard beside Vivien, toying with the gummy sharks in her hand as she asked, “Is it still considered animal abuse if I’m hitting another animal?”
“Abs,” Vivien said with an amused yet still slightly reprimanding tone in her voice. “Be nice.”
“Look at him,” Abby said, gesturing to their brother as he shoveled the remaining popcorn into his mouth. “He’s practically a raccoon. Scouring for any morsel of food in every room.”
Letting out a soft snort, Vivien elbowed Abby and whispered, “Just be grateful he didn’t eat you in the womb.”
Choking on one of her snacks as she barked out a laugh, Abby covered her mouth with her hand and sent Vivien an accusatory look. Vivien merely smirked as Abby eventually grinned and said, “Maybe he’s like Kirby. He gains HP every time he eats something.”
Snagging one of the gummy sharks from Abby’s hand, Vivien took a bite of its tail and sighed, “At least I won’t have to worry about creepy crawlies in my bed. He never misses a crumb.”
Shrugging, Abby placed the rest of her gummies in the bag they came in, rolling it up tightly and setting it on the nightstand as Oliver put away the laptop and remarked, “I’ll have you know, I think being compared to Kirby is a compliment.”
“You would,” Abby teased as she pulled back the blankets and settled under the covers.
-----
Now, if you've hung around this long, I thank you for your dedication and interest! I got distracted by a bag of Doritos while writing this, so honestly, you're better than I am! As I mentioned at the start of this long-winded post, I have a bit of a Glory and Gore/Scattered Screams prequel idea.
In one of the two stories (I believe I was more detailed in Scattered Screams), I mention that Mack and Brady were victors and what their arenas had been like. I've decided to expand that to also include Lela and Butchy's stories. My original outline was pretty... simplistic. It was a basic, bullet-point note on my phone that had little to no hearty information. Revising this wasn't difficult, but figuring out their timeline further on was, for some reason.
Just a quick note before we jump in:
The 25th Hunger Games (the first quarter quell) was made so that those reaped were voted on by district members. There were (presumably) no volunteers allowed. President Snow said in Catching Fire, "On the twenty-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that their children were dying because of their choice to initiate violence, every district was made to hold an election and vote on the tributes that who would represent it."
Anyway, by my calculations of their birthdays and ages, Brady and Mack would have been born the years of the 23rd and 24th Hunger Games, respectively. Brady was born the 30th of September, putting him at 12 almost 13 for his first reaping, and 18 nearly 19 for his last eligible year. Mack, however was born the 19th of March, making her in the same age bracket as Brady due to their birthdays.
Keeping true to the storyline of Mack being raised by her grandpa, Mack's mom, at 18, is reaped for the 25th Hunger Games. She begs for someone to volunteer because she needs to take care of her baby, but nobody does. She is still sent into the arena and ends up second overall, dying after an hours-long fight with the only other tribute remaining, a seventeen-year-old Career from 2.
Fifteen years later, Mack is a young programmer at a factory that makes programs that eventually become the tools the Gamemakers use to control the arena. Being younger than everyone else in her unit, she works alongside some of the people who grew up with her mother, something she takes great pride in. They tell her stories of her mother and how excited she was to be a mother.
When the reaping comes, Mack is relatively unbothered. She has very few slips in the bowl, nobody she cares enough for to volunteer, and has always followed the rules per her grandpa's instructions. However, as we all know, she is reaped. Despite her family's legacy, as her mother's death looms over her family's name, Mack is not volunteered for.
Two years later, one of the boys on her team of programmers, a guy she vaguely remembers from school - Brady - volunteers to take the place of his younger brother (I swear I wrote that he has siblings, but I can't remember their names anymore lmao). Although Brady seems to know more about Mack than she does about him, her way of mentoring him actually seems to work.
When he's thrust into the arena, she sends him reassurances alongside his sponsor gifts. Naturally, when he wins, she advocates for him to be left unchanged by the Capitol surgeons, and they gradually end up falling in love and having Mick.
Along the way, during their trips to deliver supplies to District 6, Mick meets a boy a year older than her who happens to be Butchy, her future husband.
Now, I do have a lot more to go with, especially with Butchy and Lela's games, but I won't go too off the rails right now as I kind of want to get back to writing STDP.
Butchy had volunteered to save Miles when Miles was fifteen and Butchy was sixteen. Mick, knowing this, freaked the fuck out and asked her parents to help protect him in the arena (a casino). Butchy doesn't know this, but the pair saved him at the cost of their own tribute.
Lela, on the other hand, won at 14. Like her brother, she volunteered for a friend. After scoring only a four, she went to the arena (an abandoned castle) and managed to hide out until she was one of the last two tributes. Given her appearance in my AUs, she clearly won.
So, yeah, I have a bit of a thing planned, and it will tie them all together in the end, but for now, this idea will remain on the back burner until I have some more of my current stories done. I'm stuck between this and a WandaVision/Agatha All Along AU for Halloween, but we'll see if either of those ends up happening.
Anyway, this has been a longwinded post and I hope you enjoyed this little sliver of me getting back into writing again after taking such an extended break!
Took the corner of a waffle maker to the head yesterday at work. Wish I was joking. Thankfully, I only have a minor gash and seemingly no concussion, but I’m never going to look at a waffle maker the same way again!
Notes - I had a lovely snow day on Thursday, and this weekend has been nothing but snow, so I've hunkered down and edited this a bit for your reading pleasure! Hopefully, you enjoy this first part as much as I did! Hopefully, I'll get some time to work on the next part, but we shall see. For now, though, I hope you enjoy! Also, I'll be adding more songs to the playlist as I go, but for now, it's got a few songs for the vibes of what we're dealing with.
No one gets out of life alive.
Like a tightly packed can of sardines, Boca Ciega High School students filled the gymnasium. Chairs in neat rows lined one half of the gym, and those were filled rather quickly by the cheer squad and the seniors who were fortunate enough to leave class and get to the gym before anyone else. By the time most students got there, the gym was standing room only. Teachers and students alike lined the back wall, waiting for the assembly to begin as they played on their phones and texted friends.
Some eyes were drawn to the blank screen in the center of the basketball court, but most were busy with conversations. The whole school had been abuzz for the last few days, people talking about their theories on what happened while others focused on forgetting what happened and moving on. A select few lingered toward the back, itching to leave the nonsensical event. Nobody really wanted to be there—not under these circumstances, at least.
A few people had perched themselves on the bleachers to be closer to their next classes and away from the chaos, but only a couple of them seemed genuinely invested. Looking out over the metal railing to the court below, a pair of hazel eyes scanned the crowd, searching through the sea of students for any sign of familiar faces.
Before they could lock onto anybody in particular, however, an electric screech filled the room, making everyone cover their ears as the principal tapped his finger on the microphone in the center of his podium. Apologizing softly over the speakers, Principal O’Brian began his speech, “Everyone settle down, please. Settle down.”
As a few students sat back down and others pocketed their phones, a couple of teachers encouraged Freshmen and junior-high kids alike to quiet down and focus on their principal. Once everyone was seated, Principal O’Brian said, “Thank you, everyone.” Clearing his throat, he turned toward the large screen in the middle of the gym and pointed a remote to it, clicking a button before looking out over the crowd, his gaze locking on a pair of withdrawn green eyes.
“Now,” he said as the screen lit up, “it has been a very trying last few days—as we all know.” As his eyes drifted over the sea of students, he continued, “The Pinellas and Hillsborough County Police are considering this a missing person investigation.” Murmurs filled the room, forcing the principal to raise his voice slightly as he spoke, “I know this is alarming news for all of you, but we have every hope that he will be found safely.”
“What was his name again?” one of the cheerleaders whispered to her friend, making the brunette behind them roll his eyes.
“River something,” the other cheerleader whispered back, taking a sip of water from her Stanley as the principal continued talking. The first girl hummed thoughtfully, trying to recall the student. “They found a bunch of blood smeared all over the janitor’s closet.”
“I thought it was the boiler room?” the first girl said curiously.
Shrugging, the second cheerleader said, “I don’t know, but they think her phone is still somewhere in the school. Like, I guess they tried-”
“Oh my god,” the first girl gasped softly. “He doesn’t have his phone? I’d rather die than lose my phone.”
“Hey,” the cheer captain hissed from the end of the row, gaining the pair’s attention. Her green-tipped blonde hair fell over her shoulder as she snipped, “Can you two please just shut up and focus?”
“Sorry, Jade,” the two whispered, slumping back in their seats as though they’d been caught with their hands in the cookie jar.
Shaking her head, Jade turned her focus back onto the principal’s speech as he clicked on a picture of the missing student. Hearing a soft noise behind her, Jade glanced over her shoulder at her friends as they huddled together a row behind the cheer team. Reaching back, Jade offered her girlfriend her hand, something the blue-haired, grunge girl readily accepted. Turning her gaze onto the brunette beside her, Jade’s girlfriend asked, “Did you get any sleep last night, Viv?”
“No,” Vivien breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. Not daring to tear her gaze from the screen in the middle of the room, she asked, “Did you, Erica?”
As her gaze falls on the image before them, Erica whispers, “No…”
From above the basketball court, hazel eyes flickered between the principal, the students, and the screen. As the principal spoke again, telling the students that, if they knew anything, to speak up, those same hazel eyes rolled before focusing on the brunette with the purple sweater as she stood from her chair and left the room with her arms wrapped tightly around herself. The boy with hazel eyes nearly followed her, but then the image on the screen changed, and his gaze was drawn to it—a missing person’s poster.
“Now, for a little levity,” the principal said as he looked out over the crowd, grateful, for once, that his eldest child had already left the gym. He knew for a fact she would hate this. “A cheer for our missing friend, created by our Pirate cheer squad. Girls?”
As the cheerleaders began filing up to the gap between the screen and the chairs, a few more somber than others, hands drove through auburn hair as he scoffed, “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
The upper bleachers rattled as a pair of footsteps echoed through the area. Sitting two rows back from the boy whose picture was used for the missing person’s poster, a young blonde girl in a too-big jean jacket with her hair pulled up in a scrunchie softly said, “Hey, at least they used a good picture of you.”
“Shh,” the older boy said as he glanced back at her. Turning back to the assembly, he said, “I’m trying to focus, kid.”
As the cheer team began some half-assed cheer that could’ve easily been used at a football game instead of an assembly for a literal missing student, the boy with the auburn hair let out a snort. After a moment, the younger blonde girl joined him, leaning on the railing slightly. She shook her head and said, “If you ask me, what’s really ‘missing’ here is a little tact.”
Letting out a noise of agreement, the boy’s hazel eyes scanned the crowd as the cheerleaders continued. As the cheer ended with the girls spelling out the team’s name - the Pirates - and the crowd began clapping, one of the girls called out, “For River!”
From above, the auburn-haired boy's frustration grew as he snarled, “It’s Riven!”
With a snort, the little blonde beside him patted him on the arm and said, “Okay, buddy. Say it with me now.” Her voice raised slightly over the crowd's noise as she gestured to the students and said, “They can’t hear you.”
Riven glanced at the girl before letting his eyes scan the crowd. Vivien had left, rightfully fed up with the bullshit that was this stupid-ass assembly, but Jade - who had been forced into doing the cheer Riven knew she must hate - and Erica - who hated assemblies on a normal day - had remained along with a few of Vivien’s friends. Principal O’Brian, Vivien’s dad, who had always treated him like another son, was going through the typical assembly nonsense - fundraisers, honorable mentions for different groups, and discussing the upcoming grade closure due to report cards coming out. Despite his ramblings, Riven could see how much the man hated having to speak about anything that wasn’t his disappearance.
The short girl beside Riven blew a bubble with the gum she perpetually chewed, letting it pop before saying, “The good news is, it’s only a matter of time till they realize you’re dead. Then, the people who were really your friends can actually grieve instead of doing this bullshit.”
Riven’s gaze fell on the younger girl, seeing her roll her eyes as the principal kept talking. Having had enough and wanting to track down Vivien, Riven turned on his heel and left, hearing the blonde make a small noise of surprise before popping her gum once more and trailing after him like a clingy little dog.
“Where are you going, Riven?” the girl asked, jogging to catch up.
“To find Vivien,” he replied, not bothering to look at the shorter girl as he led the way through the halls.
With a soft sigh and a somewhat wounded expression, the petite blonde said, “You’ve been trying for days. You and I both know she can’t hear you.”
“I know, Kona,” Riven sighed, turning into the stairwell and jogging down the stairs. “I just… I need to check on her, alright? She’s not okay.”
Resigned to following the newly deceased ghost, Kona sighed and followed him through the stairwell and into the hall downstairs. Mr. Fletcher had warned her that new ghosts liked to wander, but she hadn’t quite expected this new kid to be so… clingy with the living. Riven had been following his friends to all of their classes, hoping one of them might give him some kind of sign that they noticed his existence.
Though some of the other ghosts said that was normal, Kona just didn’t understand how. She had never been that way. Granted, when she had died, she only had two sort-of-friends in the school, and they barely tolerated each other, but still. The petite blonde just didn’t understand how friendships could be so strong that you would actively seek them out in the afterlife.
Kona let out a soft squeak as she nearly slammed into Riven’s back, his abrupt stop making her stop her chase. Peeking around the walking wall that was Riven, Kona found herself watching as the tall boy’s friend plastered missing person posters on a few lockers. Grinning slightly, Kona said, “You know, I give her points for dedication. My friends didn’t even go to the pep rally the school did in my honor.”
Reluctantly tearing his gaze from Vivien, Riven glanced down at Kona and asked, “Seriously? That’s shitty.”
“Tell me about it,” Kona scoffed. “Bunch of posers.” Heaving a sigh, Kona crossed her arms over her chest and muttered, “Yet another reason why I like going to the group things.”
“I’m not going to some ghosty AA meeting,” Riven sighed, knowing the girl was only trying to rope him into the weird afterlife therapy sessions the other school ghosts held in the library. Though he knew the others said they benefitted from the meetings, he couldn’t be bothered to attend. He was far more concerned about figuring out how he was supposedly dead and how to get a message through to his friends. From the corner of his eye, Riven spotted a teacher heading down the hall and instinctively pulled Kona to the side of the hallway as he stepped aside. “Watch it.”
Kona snickered, shaking her head, “They can’t touch you, doofus. You’d know that if you attended the meetings.”
Riven sighed, turning his attention back onto Vivien as she made her way down the hall with a stack of fliers and a roll of tape. Following Vivien, Riven spoke, knowing Kona was following him without needing to look back at her, “What’s so great about them anyway? The meetings, I mean.”
Kona shrugged, “For some, it helps them to come to terms with their death and try to figure out what their unfinished business might be.”
“What about you?” Riven asked, following Vivien into the science wing. “You don’t seem like the type to enjoy therapy.”
“I don’t,” Kona snorted, reaching up to tighten her swaying ponytail. “It’s just… after spending the last nearly thirty-one years in a literal teenage purgatory, I’ve realized it’s sort of nice to make friends with other people who also don’t get a choice in this hellscape we call home.”
As Vivien ventured into the girls’ bathroom - the one room he refused to follow anyone into despite his technical ability to do so without reprimand - Riven leaned against the lockers, turned his head toward Kona, and sighed, “I already have friends, kid.”
“First of all, I was born in 1980, so technically, I’m old enough to be your mother,” Kona argued with a smirk. “And, second, all I’m asking is that you try one meeting. Just one. And if you don’t totally dig it, I’ll never bug you about it again. Okay?”
Riven contemplated the idea, glancing back toward the door Vivien disappeared through. He could handle one meeting if it meant Kona would stop pestering him, and he could go back to trying to get someone’s attention. Bringing his gaze back to the small forty-something trapped in a fourteen-year-old’s body as she popped another bubble with her gum, Riven heaved a sigh and shook his head. “Fine,” he muttered. “I’m holding you to that.”
“Cool beans,” Kona said with a knowing grin. Turning on her heel, she grabbed the sleeve of his plaid overshirt and said, “Come on, pretty boy. Time’s a tickin’.”
Glancing back at the bathroom door, Riven looked ready to argue. Then, he heard a soft sob echo from the room and let his mouth slide closed as he realized Vivien would be in there for a while. Relenting to the pushy blonde, Riven let her drag him down the hall, away from Vivien. The walk to the library was silent on his part, simply listening to Kona as she softly sang an old Boyz II Men song that he only vaguely recognized from one of Vivien’s various playlists. He knew very little about the blonde, but one thing she always did was sing to fill the silence around her. Maybe it was a nervous tick from when she was human, but regardless, Riven didn’t mind. After all, it kept things entertaining.
Pushing the door to the library open, Kona called out, “Look who the cat dragged in!”
The room was empty, except for a group of people standing around a table with coffee and snacks. The librarian - Mrs. Kalish - filled up her cup and returned to her desk, opening a book Riven was sure was an old romance novel like the ones the elderly lady next door collected. She seemed utterly oblivious to the nearby group, but as Kona dragged him over to them, he realized why.
A man in a dark red button-down and black slacks turned toward the two of them, a warm smile on his face as he said, “Ah, Kona, we were wondering when you’d get here.” Turning his gaze toward Riven, he extended a hand and said, “You must be Riven. Kona’s told us a bit about you.”
Despite the awkwardness of now having all eyes on him, Riven swallowed thickly and latched onto the man’s hand, shaking it slightly as he breathed, “Yeah. She’s, uh, she’s mentioned the group a bit too.”
As the others slowly filled the seats at a nearby round table, Riven tried to take up the seat beside the one Kona placed her jean jacket on, only to have a hand land on it. Following the hand up to a face, he found himself staring at a girl wearing orange checkered Chinos with a white shirt and a matching orange sweater draped over her shoulders. She had blunt bangs cut just above her eyebrows and a thick headband.
The girl’s eyes scanned Riven before saying, “Sorry, but this is my seat.”
Nodding half-awkwardly, Riven looked for a seat before Kona sidled up beside him and said, “That’s Makana. Not long after I died, we found out she’s my aunt and now she can be very… protective.” Tugging Riven over to an empty seat at the table, wedged between a guy in bell bottoms who reeked of weed and another empty chair, she said, “This seat’s open. It used to be Butch’s.”
Glancing down at the small girl, Riven asked, “What happened to him?”
Before Kona could answer, the door to the library burst open, and a girl dressed in an outfit that screamed of eighties Lycra ran in, her blonde hair flowing in the wind as she bounded up to the table. “Sorry I’m late!” The girl called out, dropping into the other empty chair with a heavy exhale. “The girl I usually mess with in the dance studio wasn’t there, so I was trying to find her.”
As Riven's eyes raked over the girl’s abhorrently neon outfit, Kona smirked up at him, a knowing gleam in her eyes. Turning to the older girl, Kona said, “Hey, Jules.”
The blonde’s head turned, her eyes shimmering upon seeing the younger girl. “Kona, hi!” As Kona sauntered back to her seat, sending Riven a suggestive wiggle of her eyebrows, Juliet leaned back in her chair and held a hand out to him, a welcoming smile on her lips, “You must be Riven.”
Slipping his hand into Juliet’s, Riven nodded, “Yeah, that’s me.”
“I’m Juliet,” the blonde started, “but you can call me Jules.” Patting the empty seat beside her, Juliet said, “Have a seat, darlin’.”
Taking up the space between Juliet and the stoner, Riven watched her for a moment before Kona’s wiggling eyebrows caught his attention, and he rolled his eyes. Before he could come up with a retort, the teacher rested his folded hands on the table and said, “Glad you all could be here. As you all can see, we have a new student with us today.” The teacher’s hazel eyes shifted onto Riven as he spoke, “I’m glad you decided to join us. I’m Mr. Fletcher. I was an automotive teacher back in fifty-six. Would you like to introduce yourself?”
Feeling the eyes of those around him, Riven shrugged and muttered, “I’m, uh, I’m Riven Hewlett. I’m… I was a senior.”
“Hi, Riven,” the group said in surprising unison.
Nodding somewhat awkwardly, Riven glanced around until Mr. Fletcher spoke up, “Welcome to the Boca Ciega High Afterlife Support Group. Coming here takes a lot of courage, especially when you’re new.”
“Thanks,” Riven breathed, hoping the focus would shift off of him and onto something new.
Offering the new student a small smile, Mr. Fletcher asked, “Would you like to tell us a bit about yourself? It could be anything. How your day is going, if Kona’s been a good guide, your interests, hobbies, or maybe-”
“How’d you die, man?” the stoner beside Riven asked bluntly, interrupting the teacher as he tilted his head toward Riven, his perpetually stoned eyes as glazed as a fresh donut.
Riven turned to the stoner as Makana hissed, “Ethan, I swear to fucking-”
“Language, Makana,” Mr. Fletcher lightly scolded before turning his gaze toward Ethan. “And, Ethan, maybe we should raise our hands if we have a question, next time. Okay?”
Before the stoner could say anything else, Riven said, “I, uh… one minute, I was skipping study hall to meet up with my friends in the band room, and then the next… I’m here. But… I don’t know who did this to me or… or why.”
“Oh, wow, you were murdered?” Juliet breathed.
“Welcome to the club,” Makana sighed, toying silently with the locket around her neck.
“Same,” Kona added with a small grin.
Trying to cut through the growing tension that the talk of death brought about, Mr. Fletcher suggested, “Can we maybe exchange basic details first so Riven feels a bit more welcome?”
“They, uh…” Riven began hesitantly. “They haven’t found my body yet, but I know there was blood on the walls of the boiler room and that I’m here now, but… I don’t exactly know how I died.”
Silence hung in the air like the smell of old books as those around the table quieted, their expressions filled with various depths of confusion as they observed Riven. “Huh…” Juliet breathed, breaking the silence softly.
“Huh?” Riven echoed. “What’s ‘huh’?” Looking around the table as most of the others tried to pull together their expressions, he asked, “Is– is that weird or something? Not knowing?”
Kona leaned forward, gently stating, “It’s a first, big guy.”
“So,” Ethan began, “what do you remember, man?”
Riven’s gaze fell to the table, his eyes zoning in on a divot in the wood as Mr. Fletcher started speaking, his words melting into background noise as Riven tried to recall what happened that day. “Okay, Ethan, clearly Riven doesn’t want to talk about what happened, and besides, he doesn’t remember.”
“Do you think it hurts?” a soft voice asked, cutting through Riven’s train of thought.
Slowly opening his eyes, he stared up at Vivien as his fingers deftly unlaced her skates for her. Following her emerald gaze over at where their coach was talking to her mother, he asked, “What’s that?”
“The stick up my mom’s ass,” Vivien said with a small grin as she looked down at Riven. “Honestly, it’s a miracle she can even sit down with that thing up there.”
With a snort, Riven tugged Vivien’s skates off and tucked them into her skate bag for her. He smirked and replied, “I’m surprised your dad never tried prying it out of her.”
“Are you kidding?” Vivien scoffed, tugging on her sneakers. “He tried for eleven years before giving up and divorcing her. She’s Jerry’s problem now.”
“Poor bastard,” Riven sighed, zipping up their bags and hauling them onto his shoulders. As Vivien stood and began following him out to the parking lot, he said, “I actually like Jerry.”
“Me too,” Vivien said, taking the keys from Riven’s back pocket and unlocking his car. “I feel bad for him. My mom will take his money, crush his soul, and leave him the second he tries to change her into anything less than a ferocious, man-eating bitch.”
Riven sent her a look before sighing and shaking his head, “Look, I know better than to say anything about your mom-”
“Then don’t,” Vivien interrupted, opening the passenger side door and staring at Riven over the roof of his Miata. “I’d rather focus on the two loving, biological parents I have instead of the homophobic narcissist who did a half-assed job raising me.”
“And I get that, pip,” Riven said, leaning on the car as he spoke. “It’s just… I don’t want her overhearing one of your rants and canceling the payments for your skate time.”
Glancing back at the building, Vivien sighed, “I guess you have a point.”
“Sometimes,” Riven chuckled softly. Patting the roof of his car, he said, “Now, come on. We’re already late.”
Sliding into her seat and buckling up as Riven started the engine, Vivien pulled out her phone and said, “You’ll only miss Spanish and I’ll only miss calculus. Who gives a shit about calc anyway?”
Riven pulled out of the parking spot as he tried to think of anyone who genuinely cared about the subject. “Calculus freaks, I guess. I don’t know. But since your dad has our joint class and has to submit our attendance sheets, we should at least try to get there before Mr. Baldwin gives you any more shit for missing some of his precious class time.”
“You say that like he gives two shits anymore,” Vivien snorted. “The guy’s ancient and sleeps half the class.”
Riven let out a soft laugh, knowing she was right, but let the conversation go as Vivien turned on the radio. Her phone dinged as they pulled into the school lot, and Riven spared her a glance as she giggled at her phone. Nudging her with the back of his hand, he asked, “Is that the boyfriend?”
“Maybe,” Vivien said, waiting for Riven to park the car before pulling up her phone’s camera and snapping a shot of the two of them before sending it to Royce. “He, Bentley, and I are in a group chat, and Ben noticed I wasn’t at breakfast, so he wanted proof that I was alive.”
Riven glanced at her as she hastily typed out a message, grabbing their backpacks from the backseat as he asked, “Did Royce not tell him you were with me?”
“No, he did,” Vivien chuckled, taking her bag from Riven and slipping out of the car. Turning as Riven rounded the car, she said, “It’s just that Ben has a memory the size of a goldfish cracker.”
“Sounds about right,” Riven remarked as they walked toward the front of the building.
Splitting off from Vivien as he headed for his locker upstairs, Riven hummed to himself, his mind still stuck on his conversation with Vivien. Sometimes, he worried about her home life. Her dad and siblings were great and all, but her relationship with her mother was… less than stellar. The woman had always been - for lack of a better term - a bigoted asshole, but her blatant homophobia and aggressive behavior toward Vivien made Riven worry more than once.
As Riven reached his locker, unlocking it with practiced ease and pulling books for his first two classes from it, a voice called out, “Riven, wait up!”
Turning as he began walking down the hall toward his homeroom class, Riven caught a glimpse of Jade’s unruly blonde hair before she all but slammed into him. “Fucking hell, JJ,” Riven grunted as she stumbled into him. “You really oughta try out for the football team with a tackle like that.”
“Yeah, right,” Jade scoffed, tugging her backpack further up her shoulder. Shoving him with her shoulder as she fell into step beside him, she asked, “So, did you watch it last night? What did you think?”
Knowing exactly what his friend and bandmate was talking about, Riven smirked and said, “Meh, I think you overhyped it a bit.”
“What?” Jade practically squawked. “Bullshit, I overhyped it. It’s a classic!”
“Correction,” Riven began, “the original Mean Girls with Lindsay Lohan and Rachel McAdams is a classic. That was a movie musical with half a cast of good singers.”
Jade scoffed, “You can’t be serious.”
Riven chuckled as they made their way past the student council office, “Yeah, I’m serious. Reneé Rapp, Auli’i Cravalho, and the guy who played Damian were the only redeeming qualities that thing had. Everything else was just sort of mid.” The look on Jade’s face told Riven he had officially struck a nerve, riling the blonde up as her mind raced with arguments. However, he decided to offer her one final blow, “I mean, seriously. What bold new statement do you get from this reboot? Lesbian pride? The story’s practically the same, but all that’s changed is Janis actually is a lesbian instead of being Lebanese.”
Expressions flitting between confusion, mild rage, and astonishment flickered across Jade’s face as she processed Riven’s statement. Then, she caught a glimpse of the smirk on his face and scoffed a laugh, shoving him hard, “You dick.”
“The biggest,” Riven chuckled. “I actually liked it.”
“Good,” Jade said with a grin. “You still up for the film festival tonight?”
Wrapping an arm around Jade’s shoulders, Riven said, “Yeah, wouldn’t miss it, J. Are you still planning on dying your hair green for your Beetlejuice cosplay?”
“Duh,” Jade retorted. “I can’t not go all out. Besides, I want to look good for my favorite photographer from the town paper.”
Riven let out a snort, her remark about his side gig of working for the paper making him roll his eyes. “Actually, Viv said something this morning about getting us a private meet-and-greet with the cast of that russian spy movie for the paper, so I might be covering that a bit more than the event itself.”
Jade let out a soft snort, “Seriously? Like Carrie needs an ego boost.”
“Someone’s jealous that Goldilocks can finally leave this shithole town,” Riven taunted. Patting Jade’s head like a small child, he said in a baby voice, “It’s okay, princess. Your turn will come soon.”
“Don’t make me punch you in the dick,” Jade retorted.
“Why are we punching Riven in the dick?” Erica asked as she joined them, the door to the stairwell slamming shut behind her, only to be pushed open again a second later by a panting Vivien.
“Dude!” Vivien huffed. “Not cool!”
“Dude!” Erica mimicked with a cheesy grin. “I don’t give a shit. Apparently, we’re going to punch Riven in the dick again, so get your bony little ass over here.”
Jogging to catch up to the others, Vivien asked, “What did he do this time?”
“Literally nothing,” Riven scoffed, shaking his head.
“He’s just being a dick today,” Jade chuckled, brushing off the issue with a grin.
Turning into the hallway where their classes would separate them for an hour, Vivien grinned as she spotted her dad standing outside of his homeroom class. As the principal, the man had the choice to step away from teaching and relax in his cushy office downstairs. However, he chose to fill in for a few of the teachers who went on maternity leave, giving them ample time to watch their newborns grow.
“Here comes my favorite sound,” Mr. O’Brian said, glancing at the watch his children had bought him for his birthday. Looking up at his daughter and her friends as the bell rang, he put on his best “upset teacher” face and teased, “You menaces to society are officially late.”
“We’re not even in your class, Mr. O,” Erica said with a smile, taking Jade’s hand as they split off from the group and headed down the hall toward their classroom.
“You’re late as well,” Damien said, waving Riven and Vivien into his classroom. As the girls passed, he added, “Both of you are menaces. Get your butts to class.”
The girls shared a laugh as they offered the principal matching mock salutes. Sighing and shaking his head despite the fond smile on his face, Damien entered the classroom and shut the door, stepping up to his desk as a few students headed to their seats. By the window on the far wall, Riven stood, scanning over the sky as clouds began rolling in. Glancing down at his car, the windows and convertible top rolled down, Riven sighed and debated asking for a chance to run down to his car before the rain began as Vivien’s dad called out to him.
“All good, Mr. Hewlett?” Damien asked as he signed the bottom of his attendance sheet.
Turning to the older man, Riven said, “Sorry, Mr. O’Brian, I just, uh, I forgot to go to the restroom before class.”
Glancing knowingly between the window and Riven, Mr. O’Brian shook his head and said, “Go, but at least try to be back before the bell rings.” As Riven pulled his keys from the jacket he draped over his chair and headed toward the door, the principal held out the attendance sheet and said, “Drop this off at the office for me while you’re out, alright, bud?”
“Thanks, dad,” Riven said under his breath, nodding as he took the paper and left the classroom. With nobody in the halls, Riven took off in a jog, his keys jingling in his hand as he made his way to the stairwell. Stopping in the office, he dropped off the attendance paper with Vivien and Royce’s friend at the front desk before taking off for the parking lot, unlocking his car just in time to hear a soft rumble of thunder in the distance.
Glancing over his shoulder at the gradually darkening sky, Riven sighed, “Fucking bipolar weather.” Muttering comments about lying weathermen and forecasts that say nothing about storms, Riven was just barely able to click his roof into place and roll up his windows as rain began pouring over the parking lot. Sighing to himself as the initial downpour trapped him in his car, Riven heard his phone ding in his pocket and pulled it out.
Seeing a notification for a text from Vivien, Riven tapped it but was interrupted by his phone alerting him to a nearly dead battery. Recalling he had used his cellphone for their music during practice and hadn’t charged it since, he muttered, “No, no, no, no, no.”
Trying to tap away the notification and open his texts, he let out a sigh of defeat as his screen turned black in his hands. “Piece of shit phone,” Riven breathed. With a shake of his head, he pocketed the phone and relaxed into his seat, turning his gaze toward the building just in time for the first bolt of lightning to streak across the sky.
Staring out at the parking lot from the side entrance stairwell, his cherry red Miata still parked in the spot he’d left it in. The day after Riven ended up in the afterlife, his dad, as the police chief, had gone through the car with a fine-toothed comb, picking apart everything. After returning Vivien’s skating bag, he locked the car and pocketed the keys, telling Vivien to keep the spare set in case she needed to move the car for the school.
Habitually, Vivien had parked in the spot next to Riven’s car, her surf blue Hyundai Kona standing out against the cherry Mazda. Vivien never drove herself to school anymore. Riven always went out of his way to pick her up in the mornings. Seeing her car in the parking lot was like a punch to the gut.
Vivien slid out of her car and stood, wiping her face as she grabbed her bag from the convenience store down the street and headed toward the building at a snail’s pace. Riven sighed softly, watching his best friend with worried eyes. Vivien was usually like a bright, energetic, and optimistic beacon of light. However, her typically bright closet had begun growing darker since his disappearance. She looked… devoid of color.
On top of that, she hardly ever left campus for lunch. Every weekend, her dad would meal-prep for the week, making sure her and her siblings had a well-balanced yet tasty meal for school. Lately, however, she had been taking every opportunity to either sit in her car or leave campus altogether. Vivien loved school, loved learning. But this… Leaving campus just for the sake of it… It just wasn’t like her.
Suddenly, a voice from behind cut through Riven’s train of thought. “Are you going to stare at her all of your afterlife, or…?”
Not even sparing a glance at the young blonde, Riven kept his eyes locked on the numb brunette in the parking lot and breathed, “Huh?”
“I mean, she’s pretty and all, don’t get me wrong,” Kona said softly, watching Vivien swipe at her face again, “but you’re like, nineteen, and she’s, oh, I don’t know, underage.”
“She’s my sister,” Riven said, keeping his gaze locked on the brunette until the windowsill blocked her from view. Turning on his heel, Riven jogged down the stairwell and breathed, “She’s not holding it together very well.” Making their way down a flight of stairs to the landing where the building’s east-wing stairwell connected to the first floor, Kona and Riven watched as Vivien pushed her way into the building, her eyes bloodshot and expression blank.
Watching Vivien jog up the short flight of stairs to the landing they were on, Kona sighed, “Poor thing.”
As Vivien stepped into the hallway as other students came and went from class to class, Riven stood in the stairwell doorway and remarked, “I just wish she knew I was here.”
“Sadly, she never will,” Kona said, stepping up beside Riven. “None of the people who knew you will have a clue that you’re here. They can’t see us, can’t hear us, and tragically, they will most likely not have any clue we’re haunting them unless they also die here.”
Stepping into the hall as he watched Vivien disappear into a classroom, Riven muttered, “This sucks.”
“Yeah, but them’s the breaks,” Kona breathed, swaying back and forth on her feet.
Riven stared after Vivien for a second, watching her boyfriend follow her into the classroom before asking, “Are you sure there’s no way to go back?”
Kona sent him a raised brow, “Back? Like, ‘back to life’ back?” Waiting for Riven to nod apprehensively, Kona scoffed, “Psh, I wish. That life you used to have is done and over with, big guy.” As Riven’s face fell, the idea of being stuck in teenage purgatory settling in his gut, Kona slipped her arm around his and began guiding him into the hallway. “But… there might be a way to go forward from here.”
Finally glancing down at the younger girl, Riven asked, “Forward? How? I’m already dead.”
“For real? I had no clue,” Kona said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. Rolling her eyes, she said, “Ghosts can cross over once they figure out their unfinished business or whatever. That’s sort of why we’ve got our support group. We’re trying to help each other by sticking together and working through our deaths as a team. I mean, Butch did it, and he had been here since 1956. He was, like, a total group diehard.”
“Since 1956?” Riven asked, the thought of being stuck here for that long making him both frustrated and sympathetic to the man he never got the chance to meet.
“Well,” Kona began, stopping midway through the hall to gesture at a figure staring up at the ceiling as they lay on the bench outside the library, “the alternative is drifting around like Ethan.”
“Ethan?” Riven murmured, eyeing the stoner from the group meeting. His copper bell bottoms and patchy jean jacket were well-loved and an obvious sign of his decade of passing.
Kona hummed thoughtfully, “He’s a nice guy, really, but he hardly ever comes to meetings. You caught him on a good day today. Normally, he just wanders aimlessly.”
Riven examined the stoner, glancing up at the ceiling to see if there was anything there before looking back down at the guy on the bench. “Is he… okay?”
“He’s okay-ish, I guess. He died in the seventies,” Kona explained. “Nobody knows what actually happened to him, but my best guess is either a bad acid trip or maybe he drank the wrong Kool-Aid.” Tugging Riven away, Kona pulled a tin of Hubba Bubba Ouch gum from the pocket of her jean jacket and took out a couple of sticks wrapped in paper, placing one in Riven’s hand and another on Ethan’s chest before opening a third, slipping it into her mouth, and pocketing the tin.
Slowly unwrapping the gum and popping it into his mouth, Riven followed Kona toward the classroom Vivien had entered and asked, “Is there still a way he can cross over?”
Kona shrugged and leaned against the classroom doorway, not quite knowing the answer herself. “Nobody knows, but I’d like to think so. It’s less depressing that way.” Nodding toward the window across from the door, she said, “However, if you want to depress yourself, look no further than the quad.”
Stepping up beside Kona, Riven glanced past the students in the Advanced Placement History class Mrs. Kartowski usually taught, staring down at the quad where a group of six students sat on the grass, each dressed like they were heading to some kind of emo convention. One girl with raccoon-tail stripes in her hair turned to a boy with a purple mohawk, offering him something Riven couldn’t quite make out as he asked, “What happened to them?”
“Hurricane season, 2005,” Kona explained with a sigh. “Some concert they were going to attend got canceled because of the weather, and they wanted to just… end it all.”
Riven turned to Kona with a raised brow and asked, “And they chose to do it at school?”
“Teenage angst,” Kona shrugged. “From what I overhead when the cops found their bodies, they told their parents they were going to hunker down with each other’s families, but instead came here to ‘watch the world end’.”
Glancing back out the window, Riven breathed, “Their poor families.”
Kona nodded, humming in agreement as she pulled her scrunchie out and fixed her hair. “It was horrid, but those guys just sit there all day, every day… waiting for the end to come. It’s like they’re stuck on a never-ending loop of tragic days.” Looking up at Riven as he took in all she had said, Kona added, “Working with Mr. Fletcher, being a part of our little club of dead weirdos… it helps. Keeps you from getting stuck in the past like they are.”
Riven stood in the doorway, watching as the scene kids took pictures on an old camera. Pictures they would never be able to upload to MySpace or put angsty quotes on. They would never see their families again, and for some reason, Riven almost wished he could have the lack of care they did. He wished it didn’t hurt as much as it did to think about gradually losing his family and friends because he was stuck in the building he died in while they chose to move on with their lives.
Riven’s heart ached as his gaze drifted from the window to Vivien as she rested her head on her arms, her forehead pressed to her forearm. Noticing Riven’s silence, Kona looked up, following his gaze to Vivien and rolling her eyes once she realized who he was now looking at. “Oh, yay. We’re back to staring.” Patting him on the arm, Kona sighed, “Come find me when you’re ready to chat, okay?”
As Kona left, not waiting for an answer, Riven stood in the hall, leaning against the lockers beside the door as he peered in, watching Mr. O’Brian write the lesson name on the blackboard. His eyes flitted back onto Vivien as Royce whispered to her from the desk behind her. Though he couldn’t hear the conversation they were having - if Vivien even bothered participating at all - it seemed as though Royce was genuinely worried.
With a clap of his hands, Mr. O’Brian placed the chalk down and leaned against his desk for the day, gaining the class’ attention. “Okay,” he began, waiting until Vivien had lifted her head from her desk before going any further. “Before we get started, are there any questions on the reading Mrs. Kartowski assigned you?”
Behind the desk that Riven usually filled, one student raised his hand and said, “I’ve got a question, Mr. O.”
“Yes, Jackson?” Damien asked.
Pointing to Riven’s desk with his pencil, Jack asked, “Do we seriously think that guy is gonna come back for his jacket?”
As Riven glanced at his chair, his eyebrows scrunching as he realized there was a jacket draped over his chair, but it definitely wasn’t his, he heard Jade pipe up, “Don’t be a dick. Besides, Riven wouldn’t wear that.”
“No, but I would,” Mr. O’Brian said, his voice unwavering as he glanced between the two students. Vivien’s eyes locked on Riven’s chair as her father spoke to the class, her eyes burning as she took in the empty seat beside her for the fourth day in a row. “That’s mine. That is Riven’s seat. We’re going to save it for him until he gets back.”
As Jade nodded slightly, accepting the statement, Vivien stared blankly at her desk and let out a soft scoff that seemed to echo in the classroom, “Bullshit.”
Royce glanced wide-eyed between his girlfriend and her father, leaning in to mutter a soft warning, “Viv, it’s okay.”
“Vivien,” Mr. O’Brian started, pointedly ignoring her murmured curse in an attempt to let her cover for herself, “did you have a question?”
In a voice that seemed empty and almost hollow, Vivien’s voice raised enough to be heard as she stared blankly ahead and asked, “How is that supposed to help?”
Taking a breath and reminding himself that his daughter was going through a lot, Damien said, “It’s a reminder to keep Riven in our thoughts.”
Scoffing once more, the brunette shook her head and said, “I’m so sick of all this stupid virtue-signalling bullshit. It’s ridiculous.” Looking up at her dad, her eyes filled with vitriol, Vivien hissed, “Two seconds after keeping Riven in our thoughts, and we’re doing fucking cheer routines, draping coats over desks, and pretending that everything is normal.”
“Vivien,” Mr. O’Brian warned, raising a hand placatingly as his daughter stood from her desk.
“People are laughing about it!” Vivien exclaimed, obviously enraged. As Vivien looked around at their classmates, Riven watched as her piercing green eyes glared daggers around the room. “There’s a sign-up sheet for a search party, but nobody’s put their name on it apart from our band and our friends. No one!” Finally, Vivien’s eyes landed on a raven-haired girl named Brooke, Riven’s girlfriend of three months, and he felt his stomach drop as Vivien hissed, “Not even you. Shouldn’t your name be first on that list, Brooke?”
As the two girls glared at each other, Vivien’s emerald eyes locked with Brooke’s cerulean ones, Mr. O’Brian spoke up again, “Vivien, please. We don’t know what happened yet, but we can’t give up hope.”
“You know something, don’t you Brookie?” Vivien snipped, not moved by her dad’s words in the slightest.
“Vivien,” Royce tried, slowly standing from his seat and reaching for Vivien’s arm.
“What do you think I know?” Brooke snapped.
Not wanting a fight to break out in his classroom, Damien said, “Look, girls, I need you both–”
“No, no,” Brooke interrupted. “Nancy Drew over here thinks she’s cracked the case, and I wanna know what she thinks I’ve–”
“You know something, you arrogant bitch,” Vivien hissed. “You’ve always got your nose in everyone’s shit and I–”
Before either of the girls could escalate the situation, Jade pulled her cheerleading whistle out of her backpack and blew it, the noise piercing the air of the classroom. Jade stood as the other students covered their ears, her voice sharp and clear as she ordered, “Brooke, just shut the fuck up. Vivien, hallway, now.”
Glaring between Brooke, Jade, and her father, Vivien scoffed, grabbed her bag, and stomped toward the door. As she left the classroom, Jade followed, taking her backpack with her and muttering an apology to Vivien’s dad on her way out. Royce stood awkwardly between Vivien and Riven’s desks before nervously asking, “Mr. O, can I–?”
“Go,” Damien breathed, closing his eyes in an effort to keep himself from following after his daughter. “Just go, Royce.”
Scrambling to grab his belongings, Royce gathered his bag and books before speed-walking toward the door, managing a quick, “Thanks, sir,” on his way out. Riven followed behind Royce, keeping an eye on Vivien and Jade as Jade pulled her into the library. Catching the door just before it could swing closed, Royce pushed into the room, following the girls to the enclosed study room on the far side of the library.
Stepping into the room as Royce turned to close it, Jade turned to Vivien and said, “Look, Viv, I get it; you’re pissed, and rightfully so. But taking this out on Brooke–”
“She knows something, JJ,” Vivien argued as she slumped into a chair. “I’m not going to play nice with her just because Riven’s missing.”
Standing beside Vivien, Royce placed a hand on his girlfriend’s back and asked, “How do you know she knows anything, Viv? I don’t doubt your intuition, but… you’ve never liked Brooke.”
Vivien sighed, shaking her head, “Look, I know I don’t have the best track record with her, but…” Vivien glanced outside the room as her voice drifted into silence, seeing only the librarian at her desk. Taking in a breath, she dropped her bag from her shoulder to the floor between her feet, unzipping it as she said, “You guys have to promise that what I’m about to show you goes no further than us and maybe Erica. I mean it. No siblings, no parents, nobody. I don’t need to drag anyone else under the bus with me.”
Royce glanced over at Jade, their gazes locking as they debated Vivien’s statement. After a moment of silent hesitation, they nodded, turning back to Vivien and muttering their agreement. “What is it?” Jade asked.
Digging into her backpack, Vivien fished out a cell phone with a clear case, a Polaroid picture Riven took of one of their band practices proudly displayed through the case. The silence of the room felt deafening as even Riven held his breath. Feeling the back pocket of his jeans, he realized for the first time since he woke up in the afterlife that his phone wasn’t on him. It was in Vivien’s hands.
In a hushed whisper, Royce asked, “Is that… Riven’s phone?”
“Why do you have it, Pipsqueak?” Riven breathed, stepping up to Vivien as she nodded in response to Royce’s question.
“It is,” Vivien confessed in a breath, flipping the phone over and looking at his cracked screen protector.
“Why?” Jade asked softly. “Why didn’t you bring it to his dad?”
Looking somewhat reluctant, yet truthful, Vivien admitted, “I was going to once I finished my own investigation, but… it was dead and I can only charge it here at school since I don’t want them to see it traveling.”
“Pip, no,” Riven breathed, shaking his head. “That’s a surefire way to get yourself in trouble.”
Eyeing the phone in his girlfriend’s hands, Royce asked, “Did you find anything?”
Taking a deep breath and staring at the phone, Vivien said, “Brooke messaged him - I’m guessing by accident - the day he disappeared. She was telling someone she couldn’t wait to meet up and sent an eggplant with a peach emoji. It’s not rocket science that she was trying to hook up with someone while we were in band practice.”
Riven stared between Vivien and the phone as he murmured, “What?”
“That little skank,” Jade huffed. “So she was cheating on Riven?”
“Looks that way,” Vivien sighed. “The message was sent around the time they think Riven was taken. Sandy said she last saw him going into the stairwell on his way to the basement for band practice. When I talked to her, she said she saw Brooke running past the front office about two minutes later. My guess is that she sent the text to Riven, realized her mistake, and was chasing after him to see if she could delete it before he saw it.”
Riven scoffed, running his hands into his hair as he began pacing the space by the door, “What the actual fuck…”
“So, wait,” Royce began, pointing between Vivien and the phone in her hands. “How come you have it?”
Riven stopped pacing, the question echoing in his mind. Why did Vivien have his phone? Did Brooke somehow manage to get it and Vivien stole it back? Was Vivien just borrowing it for music and never had the chance to return it? But… if he had it when he had gone outside
Appearing somewhat sheepish, Vivien said, “I accidentally sent a message about his surprise birthday party to him instead of the group chat while he was out making sure the Miata wouldn’t get flooded. He told me when we met up after homeroom that it had died, so I snuck it out of his backpack when he wasn’t looking and was going to give it back at lunch, but…”
As the room fell silent once more, the implication of the last part of Vivien’s sentence not needing to be stated, Riven muttered, “You never had the chance.”
The room fell silent for a while before a new voice spoke up, catching the attention of only one, “Are these some of your friends?”
Jumping slightly at the new voice, Riven turned, finding Juliet standing behind him in her 80s spandex and a colorful windbreaker. “Uh, yeah,” he began. “Yeah, they are.”
Looking around at the three living students as they continued talking about Riven’s phone, Juliet pointed to Vivien and said, “That’s the girl who lets me control her music in the dance studio.”
Glancing between the blonde and his best friend, Riven asked, “Vivien? Can… Can she see you?”
Juliet sighed with a shake of her head, her fluffy, Farrah-Fawcett-esque hair bouncing animatedly with the movement, “Sadly, no, but I’m sure we would’ve been good friends. She leaves her phone and some fancy rocks by the speakers and lets me pick a song sometimes.”
Smiling fondly as he recalled the few times Vivien had said she was bringing her crystals to school to summon the ghosts with good music taste for her time in the dance studio, Riven remarked, “That was you this whole time, huh? The ghost with good taste in music.”
“I guess so,” Juliet chuckled with a small shrug. “She bribes me with shiny rocks and, and I give her good songs to dance to. We have an arrangement.”
Riven let out a soft laugh, his first since his death. Watching his friends gather their things as the bell rang throughout the building, Riven pulled Juliet out with them and let her lead the way. As they walked, he said, “She collects crystals just for you, you know. Tourmaline and rose quartz and amethyst - basically whatever she thinks you’ll enjoy in the hopes that it’ll ‘summon’ you.”
Letting out a very unladylike snort that she quickly tried to cover, Juliet softly said, “She doesn’t have to try very hard. I enjoy her energy, and she enjoys my taste in music. It’s sort of… like having a girlfriend again.”
“Girlfriend, huh?” Riven asked softly. “I hope yours was better than mine. I just found out mine’s been cheating on me.
Juliet made a noise of surprise, placing a hand on Riven’s arm as she breathed, “I… I was talking about girl friends, as in female friends, not dating, but… I’m so sorry. That’s gotta hurt, especially when you’re only newly dead.”
Riven nodded slightly, heaving a sigh as he muttered, “That’s another thing I’ve gotta get used to. The whole… being dead thing.” Juliet hummed softly, letting him process in silence for a moment before he asked, “Are you sure there’s no way for me to go back? Are we sure there’s no possible way I could just be in a coma somewhere?”
“I wish,” Juliet chuckled. When Riven remained silent, she explained, “You see, I died while doing a practice run for the school’s production of Starlight Express, and-”
“I love Starlight Express,” Riven interrupted, his eyes practically glowing at the idea of a school performing it. Realizing he’d cut the blonde off, he quickly muttered, “Sorry. Continue.”
With a grin, Juliet shrugged, waving off his apology as she said, “No, no, it’s fine. I love the show too. Our theatre teacher had visited her family in New York and got to see the opening Broadway performance, and my dad took me to see it after it was announced that it would be the show we were doing.” Letting out a soft chuckle, she shook her head and continued, “Anyway, one of the stage lights fell midway through U.N.C.O.U.P.L.E.D and killed me. I was brain dead upon impact and was in a coma for a week before my dad had to tell them to pull the plug. The minute my brain died, I woke up here. I never woke up, so… I don’t know whether or not there’s some zombi-fied form of my ghost in the hospital or something, but I stayed here, even after my death.”
Riven let Juliet lead him through the halls as he took in her words. What a horrid way to go. In a way, he was glad he didn’t remember his death, especially if it was half as brutal as poor Juliet’s was. “That’s awful. And you… you remember how it happened, don’t you?”
“Mhm,” Juliet hummed. Looking up at Riven, she placed her hand on his arm and said, “Maybe it’s a good thing you don’t remember everything that happened to you.”
Riven thought for a moment before agreeing, “Yeah, I guess so, but… it couldn’t have been that bad if you died on impact, right?”
“Come on, I’ll show you,” Juliet answered, pulling open the door to the auditorium. Taking Riven by the hand, she pulled him down the gap between seating sections and climbed the stairs to the stage. Standing in center stage, the room dim and curtains drawn back from the stage, she said, “I was right about here when it happened. I was decked out in this blue, checkerboard waitress dress with a little apron and hand-painted silver rollerskates. Then, just after I sang about Dinah wondering whether she was corroded or overloaded, I heard something creak and people screaming.”
“And you died then and there?” Riven asked softly, glancing up at the lights above the stage.
With a small, barely noticeable nod, Juliet said, “I looked up just in time to see my own spotlight careening toward me. I heard and felt my neck snap, got this coppery, blood taste in my mouth, and, next thing I know, I’m waking up as a ghost.”
“Shit,” Riven breathed, watching Juliet nod in agreement, her gaze firmly locked on the rows of seats that made up what would’ve been her final audience. Hoping to pull her focus from the reminder of her untimely death, Riven asked, “Wait a second… if you were dressed in your Dinah costume, how did you end up looking like you’re ready to teach Jazzercise?”
Glancing down at her outfit, Juliet let out a snort, “I got sick of the skates pretty quickly and remembered I had this in my locker. It’s a good thing, too, or else I would’ve been rocking shoulderpads for the rest of my afterlife, which would’ve sucked because I’m, like, ninety-five percent sure those aren’t in style anymore.”
Riven shook his head and offered her a smile, “Yeah, no, definitely not.”
“At least I brought my Walkman with me that day,” Juliet said as she began walking toward the backstage area. “When your friend, Vivien isn’t in the dance studio, I can play the some of my favorite songs on that. Don’t get me wrong, though, it’s far more entertaining dancing with a partner.”
Riven’s smile faltered as he followed Juliet through the backstage area, his mind wandering back onto Vivien as he wondered whether or not she had been going to skate practices without him there. If her demeanor at school was anything to go by, he guessed probably not. For a moment, his mind was trapped on thoughts of Vivien letting herself deteriorate without him around. Then, as he glanced over at Juliet, he found himself wondering how long the two had been interacting in the dance studio.
“Jules,” Riven began, “how… how did you find out you could use Vivien’s phone?”
Flipping through the costumes for the school’s upcoming performance of Heathers, Juliet looked up and said, “I wasn’t trying to, at first.”
Raising an eyebrow, Riven wondered, “How’d it happen, then?”
Juliet shrugged, thinking back to the first time she had interacted with Vivien as she spoke, “I was trying to take some of the shiny rocks she had brought that day. I reached over her phone, said something about wishing she could put on My Prerogative, and suddenly, it was playing. She was a bit scared at first and tried to change it back, but I fought her on it. Eventually, she gave in and now we have a jam sesh, like, every other day.”
Thinking of the circumstances, Riven’s eyes sparked with understanding as he breathed, “Siri.”
“Who?” Juliet asked, her hair falling over her shoulder as she looked at him in confusion.
Shaking his head, Riven said, “I’ll explain later.” Turning on his heel, he called back, “Thanks, Juliet!”
Taking a step toward him, Juliet’s mouth opened as though she was going to call out to him, but with a shake of her head, she grinned and simply said, “Happy to help.”
Running through the school was easy when you didn’t need to stop to catch your breath anymore. Riven had run through most of the first floor and made his way up to the second before finally catching a glimpse of Vivien as she made her way into the stairwell. Following her down the stairs to the first floor, he kept his hand close to the cellphone in the water bottle pouch of her backpack. “Hey, Siri,” he said, hoping for some kind of reaction from her phone
One stair.
Two.
Three.
Nothing.
“Come on,” he muttered as they reached the landing. “Hey, Siri.”
Nothing.
Finally, he placed his hand over the pouch he had seen her place his cell phone in and tried, “Hey, Siri.”
To his relief, he head a ping alerting him that the phone’s assistant was listening. “Mhm,” it hummed, the sound muffled through the thick backpack material.
Smiling as he let out a breath of relief, Riven said, “Text Pipsqueak ‘I can’t leave school.’”
Hearing nothing more from the voice as he followed Vivien to her locker, Riven grew nervous that his message wasn’t going through. Then, as Vivien pulled off her backpack and unlocked her locker, her phone pinged. Riven let out a victorious cheer as he watched Vivien pull her phone from her bag, the message appearing on the lock screen. Watching her expression shift from blank to surprise, Riven chanted, “Come on, come on, come on…”
As though realizing she was the one who had his phone, Vivien’s eyes flitted to the backpack as she whispered, “What the hell…?” Glancing around nervously as everyone began heading outside to go home, Vivien shoved her backpack into her locker, digging setretly into the front pouch and feeling for the phone before taking out her lip balm and quickly applying some to not appear suspicious.
With his only form of communication now gone, Riven shoved his hand into the locker and said, “Siri, send Pipsqueak ‘I’m right here. Always.’”
As another message appeared on Vivien’s screen, her eyes flickered over the screen. Her eyes clenched shut as she breathed, “I’m fucking losing it.”
Pulling some books and Riven’s phone from her bag, she dropped them into her locker and took her bag out before turning on her heel to leave. Riven’s eyes widened as he realized his chance was gone. Reaching into Vivien’s unlocked locker, he found himself reaching for his phone. Pulling out the phone from between her books, he looked back into the locker to find everything still in its place - phone and all. With the realization that he’d probably never get a chance to message her if she wasn’t at school, he turned and ran after her, following her out toward the parking lot.
“No, no, no,” he breathed as he jogged down the steps, seeing her toss her backpack into the backseat with her brother. As she settled into the front seat beside Abby, Riven took off in a run, getting to her car just as she began pulling away. Running after her car, Riven called out, “Vivien, stop! Please!”
Not hearing him, Vivien pressed into the gas and pulled out of the parking lot. Riven ran after her, his speed picking up as he ran toward the street. Not caring if his ghostly body got slammed by a car, he picked up speed to chase her car, only to find himself falling to the ground and sliding across a concrete floor. Slowly lifting his head to look around, Riven found himself in the boiler room, the damp smell flooding his nostrils as he registered his surroundings.
Huffing, he pushed himself to his feet and turned toward the stairwell out, making his way up the central stairwell. Pushing through the doors to the first floor, he made his way through the empty halls, passing Sandy and a few others on their way out of the office. Shoving the front doors open again, Riven turned toward the eastern parking lot and took off in a run, determined to make it off of school grounds.
However, much to his dismay, as soon as he propelled himself over the edge of the sidewalk to the street, Riven found himself letting out a throat-aching scream of frustration as he found himself colliding with the concrete floor again. Disgruntled but fiercely determined, he picked himself up, dusted himself off, and made his way back upstairs. This time, as he passed the library, he found Ethan, the stoner from the meeting, smirking at him.
“What’s so funny?” he asked, his frustration lacing his tone unintentionally.
“You, my guy,” Ethan replied with a snicker. “Whatcha doing?”
Riven glanced back at the doorway down the hall, shaking his head as he stopped and turned toward Ethan breathlessly. Shrugging, he said, “I have no idea what’s going on. I keep-”
“Ending up where you died?” Ethan surmised, nodding to himself as though he’d made some grand discovery. “That’s what happens when you jump the fence, man.”
Too frustrated and out of unnecessary breath to think clearly, Riven asked, “What?”
Ethan shrugged, digging into the pocket of his well-worn jacket and pulling out a tightly-rolled blunt. Lighting it with the lighter in his pants pocket, Ethan took a hit before saying, “You can’t leave this place, new guy. Every time you step over that make-believe line, you poof back to where you died. Happens every time.”
“Every time?” Riven asked in a breath, his tone disbelieving despite the fact that the soner’s words made sense.
Nodding, Ethan took another puff of his weed cigarette and sagely said, “It’s kind of weird at first, but after the third or fourth try, you get kinda used to it. After the fifth try, though… it starts to hurt.”
Riven took in a breath before regretting it as he sucked in some of Ethan’s pot cloud. Coughing a bit, he stepped away from the stoner and muttered, “I think I’m gonna lose my mind.”
Letting out a childlike giggle, Ethan said, “Sounds fun, man. Next time, invite me.”
Shaking off his interaction with the stoner, Riven made his way through the halls and outside, deciding this time to cut through the football field for his third attempt. Dodging cheerleaders at their practice and a few football players doing warm-ups, Riven broke out in a run, his determination fraying as Ethan’s words echoed in his head. Would it hurt if he kept trying? Would he give up and admit defeat if it did?
Deciding to give it a shot, Riven propelled himself over the boundary, just in time for him to catch a glimpse at the pipes on the wall of the boiler room. Slamming and skidding across the concrete, Riven slumped against the cool floor for a while, contemplating his existence and his will to continue fighting the bounds of his purgatory. Slowly pushing himself to his feet, this time, Riven looked around the boiler room.
As he scanned the room, his hazel eyes landed on some crime scene tape blocking the boiler from being touched. Hearing the soft patter of water hitting the floor, Riven approached the taped-off boiler, he took in the bloody scene. Specks of blood dotted a pipe above the tank, a measuring tape placed beside it for any pictures the forensics team may have needed. A streak of blood sprayed across the boiler itself, streaking lines down from it. Dried blood covered pipes and the wall beside the boiler, making it evident that Riven had to have hit the tank hard enough for blood to spray from whatever wounds he had sustained.
Stepping closer to better examine the scene, Riven felt his head begin to throb as he found himself mentally returning to that day. Rubbing the back of his head, he turned, hearing himself yell, “NO!” Flashes of memory filled his mind - a clock hanging on the wall signalling it was time for band practice, a call from his dad coming through on his phone, and a door creaking open.
Through his haze, Riven slowly made his way upstairs and back out to the street in front of the school, standing on the edge of the sidewalk. The setting sun across from him seemed to taunt him as he gradually admitted to himself that he couldn’t escape. Stepping off the sidewalk with a sense of finality, Riven sighed as he found himself in the basement yet again, this time standing at the bottom of the stairs.
Taking a moment to process his feelings and collect his thoughts, he slowly sat on the bottom step, staring at the pipes across from him as though they held the answers he was looking for. Riven glanced at the boiler, his own crime scene glaring back at him. Would he ever be able to leave? Given his many attempts at escaping, he didn’t think so anymore.
Slowly standing, Riven made his way upstairs, hoping to find someone to talk to. However, as the halls were empty and the campus was eerily quiet, he found himself doubting he would find anyone apart from maybe Ethan or another lingering spirit. To his dismay, Ethan wasn’t perched outside the library anymore, his source of gossip and entertainment gone now that the students had gone home for the day. Instead, as he pushed his way into the library, he found everyone gathered around the same table they had earlier in the day, listening to Makana talk.
“I don’t feel bad for Heathcliff,” she said, crossing her arms as she leaned back in her seat. “He was abused, sure, but that doesn’t give him any right to take out that anger on a child who had nothing to do with it. I mean, I was abused by my ex-boyfriend for two years before he snapped my neck, and I’m not so much of a flake that I’d take it out on someone.”
Stepping up to his chair, Riven asked, “You were killed by your ex?”
As his words caught the attention of those at the table, Makana chuckled and said, “Yeah. He was a bit… theatrical.”
“Riven,” Mr. Fletcher began, gesturing to the seat before Riven, “welcome back. We were just discussing Wuthering Heights. It may have gotten a bit derailed, but feel free to comment if you feel up to it.”
Instead of speaking up about the book, Riven slowly sunk into what was now his designated chair, met Makana’s gaze, and asked, “How can you laugh about it? Your death, I mean.”
“Would you rather I cry?” she asked in return. With a shrug, she said, “I’ve had the last fifty-six years to grieve. I’m done with the tears.”
Placing a hand on Riven’s atop the table, Juliet said, “Think of it as encouraging. It may seem totally bogus now, but give it some time, and maybe you’ll be able to laugh about it too someday.”
“Or not,” Mr. Fletcher said, glancing around the table. “But, either way, holding on to the past - what happened or didn’t - can only hold you back. Sometimes, it serves you better to look ahead. At least, that’s what we’re working here together for.” Turning toward Makana, he asked, “Right, Mick?”
Humming softly, Makana nodded and quoted, “‘Nothing behind me, everything ahead of me as is ever so on the road.’ Jack Kerouac, 1957.”
Thinking over Makana’s quote, Riven breathed, “Everything ahead of me…” Before he could think much more, the door to the library opened and he turned, seeing a few of his fellow students, some teachers, and a couple of his dad’s coworkers from the police station enter the room. Looking over the room, Riven asked, “What is this? One of those school board meetings?”
Having seen this sort of thing twice in her afterlife, Juliet said, “I think it’s your memorial.”
“Vigil,” Kona corrected softly, glancing between the crowd and Riven as he slowly stood from his chair. “No body, no burial.”
Stepping away from the table, Riven looked over those in the room, his gaze catching on a man who looked as though he hadn’t slept in a week. Dark circles haunted the man’s face and his hands shook as a brunette approached him, wrapping him in a tight embrace. Vivien released him only to softly ask him questions, but was brushed off with a small, forced grin. “He looks like shit…” Riven whispered. “They both do.”
Kona looked between the man and Riven, seeing the similarities almost instantly. “Is he…?”
“My dad,” Riven breathed. His dad looked every bit the haggard, broken man Riven had only seen once when he was very little… just after his mom’s passing. “He’s the police chief, so regardless, he has to be here, but… I’ve never seen him look this… awful.”
Watching Vivien stand with his dad as Mr. O’Brian helped roll a wooden podium over to where he normally stood for school meetings, Riven slowly made his way into the crowd, standing near Royce, Bentley, and Miles. Mr. O’Brian cleared his throat as people settled in, “Thank you all for coming. As you know, we’re here to spread awareness about the disappearance of Riven Hewlett while we work to bring him home. After a brief message from our chief of police, Chief Hewlett, we will head out onto the quad for a candlelight vigil before we start a brief search of the woods surrounding the school.” Then, as he turned toward Riven’s dad, he said, “Now, we have a few words from Riven’s father, Anthony.”
As Vivien reluctantly pulled away from Riven’s dad, stepping over to where her siblings stood with their mother, Anthony took to the podium, the microphone echoing slightly as he said, “As the chief of police, I want to assure everyone that we’re doing all that we can to search for Riven. However, as his father, I wish things would move faster and that we could bring him home.”
“Dad,” Riven breathed, weaving through the crowd and standing beside his dad as he saw the man’s eyes begin to burn with tears.
As the usually gruff man avoided the gazes of those in the crowd, he said, “As his dad, I know he’d probably be embarrassed to have me here, talking about him, but I hope that, someday, he’ll forgive me for ruining his street cred.”
Riven let out a wet laugh, his eyes stinging as he echoed, “Streed cred? Get with the times, Dad.”
As the sparse chuckles in the room died down, Anthony took in a shaky breath and said, “He, uh… He’s all I’ve got left.”
Reaching for his dad’s hand, only to phase right through it, Riven felt a burning tear drip down his cheek as he choked out, “Don’t cry…”
Anthony’s hands gripped the podium like a lifeline as his voice wavered, and he croaked, “I just want him to come home. I, uh…” Taking in a shuddering breath, he swallowed thickly and sighed, “I just… I-I’m sorry. I-I… I can’t…”
As Anthony tried and failed to hold himself together, his normally solid wall of emotions crumbling under the circumstances of his son’s disappearance and potential murder, Damien stepped up and softly said, “It’s okay, Tony. It’s alright.” Glancing out at the crowd, Damien searched for his eldest and called out, “Vivien.”
Understanding the need for someone else’s strength, Vivien jogged up, taking Anthony out into the hallway and pulling him into a hug. Riven watched, his heart breaking for his dad as Vivien’s father announced, “Thank you, Chief Hewlett. We’re all here for you.”
As Riven stepped away from the podium, almost in a daze, Kona walked up to him and placed a hand on his back as he said, “We’re here for you, Riven. For real.”
Riven nodded numbly as he moved away from the crowd, Mr. O’Brian’s words echoing in his head like background noise, “Okay, everyone, let’s reconvene out on the quad in about ten minutes. There will be boxes with candles by the front doors – please, feel free to take one. Before we go outside, however, I need to go over some safety rules before we head out. You will see, uh, several different county and town police outside as they’re joining us for this search. If you see anything you think may be of interest, please-”
Riven pushed the door open and stepped into the hallway, tuning out the rest of Principal O’Brian’s speech as he found Vivien standing by the window with his dad. Moving closer to them as they spoke in hushed voices, Riven overheard his dad as he asked, “Are you sure?”
“Positive,” Vivien replied in a whisper, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. “From what I’ve heard through the grapevine, they’ve been hooking up for at least two months. That could be motive, right?”
“It could be,” Anthony said. “But it could just be two idiot teens fooling around behind my son’s back.”
Nodding reluctantly, Vivien took in a deep breath and sighed, “There’s… there’s something else, Dad.”
Riven glanced between the two, fleetingly wondering what Vivien may have had before his dad asked, and she reached into her hoodie pouch. His stomach dropped as he realized she might hand over his phone. His only form of communication with her. Wishing he could stop Vivien from handing over the phone, Riven exclaimed, “Viv, no!” and the lights overhead flickered.
Looking up for a second, Vivien sighed and pulled out her phone, making Riven sigh with relief as she unlocked it. Turning the screen toward the older man, she explained, “Riven’s phone texted me today. I… I doubt it was really him since this is nothing like how he types, but… I wanted you to see it.”
Taking the phone from Vivien, he looked over the message before asking, “Can you send this to me? Screen save it or whatever and send it over?”
Sliding her phone from his hands, she quickly took a screenshot of the texts and sent them to Riven’s dad’s number before saying, “I’ll let you know if I find anything else or if anything else comes through, yeah?”
“Thanks, baby girl,” Anthony replied, his phone dinging to alert him of an incoming message as he leaned in and pressed a light kiss to the top of Vivien’s head. Placing a hand on her cheek, he softly said, “Riven would be proud to see you in full-out detective mode for him. I just know it.”
Though he was right, and Riven would readily admit it to them if he could, he stayed silent as the two headed back into the library, Riven’s dad wrapping an arm around Vivien’s shoulders as they walked. Riven followed them inside just as the crowd began to disperse, a few people venturing up to his dad and offering him some words of encouragement. As everyone began splitting up and heading out, Riven followed Vivien, Royce, Erica, and Jade as they trailed behind the group.
Though they didn’t talk, the tension in the air was palpable. Walking out from the library and through the halls toward the eastern stairwell, Royce clutched Vivien’s hand, squeezing it every time he felt her loosen her grip even slightly. Sniffling softly, Erica kept her arm around Jade as the blonde leaned against her for support. Despite all of them vowing to never believe the idea that Riven could be dead, it was hard for them to keep it together. After all, Riven was one of their best friends, their bandmate, and their brother. Him being gone had left a void that could only ever be filled upon his return.
Passing a window overlooking the quad, Riven saw people filing out of the building, white candles in their hands and somber expressions on their faces. Shaking his head, he jogged to catch up with the others. He wasn’t dead, and they didn’t need to do all of this for him… but he couldn’t not be there with his friends while they struggled to come to terms with what could be.
As Jade and Erica jogged ahead to use the restroom before the vigil and search, Vivien saw her dad slip into the A.P. History classroom he taught in earlier in the day and waited until they were by the door before she softly said to Royce, “I’ll, uh, I’ll meet you guys out on the quad. I need a minute.”
Stopping in his tracks, Royce turned to Vivien and asked, “Are you okay?”
Taking a deep breath, Vivien confessed, “Not really… but I will be.”
Squeezing her hand, Royce breathed a soft, “Okay,” before leaning in and kissing her cheek. “Text me if you need me.”
“I will,” Vivien whispered, slipping her hand from Royce’s grasp and watching him head down the hall toward where Erica and Jade had disappeared into the bathroom. Once he was far enough away, Vivien turned toward the History classroom and stepped over the threshold, rapping her knuckles on the door slightly.
Looking up from his briefcase, Damien O’Brian found himself staring at his eldest daughter. “Vivien,” he said, keeping his tone mildly professional as he took in the regret on her face. Watching her step into the room and slowly walk toward the desks, he asked, “Back for round two of your verbal lashing, are we?”
Letting out a soft, breathy “No,” Vivien sat down at Riven’s usual desk, her hands tucked into her hoodie pocket. “Not really.”
Stepping up to the classroom as Damien clicked his briefcase shut, Riven watched as Damien rounded the desk and made his way toward Vivien, his voice softening to its usual, fatherly tone as he asked, “What can I help you with, my little bean?”
Vivien stared at the desk, a carving of Riven’s initials in the wood staring back at her as she began picking at her fingernails. Slowly looking up, her face pale and her eyes glassy, she whispered, “I’m sorry.”
Offering his daughter a small grin, Damien stepped forward and said, “I know you are.” Riven stepped into the room, keeping close to the wall as he observed his best friend’s interaction with her dad. Damien could never stay upset with his kids for long, and everyone close to them knew it, but it was hard to watch Vivien - the strong, independent child who hardly ever got in trouble - be the one on the receiving end of his mild discipline. “For the record, though,” Damien continued, “it wasn’t an empty gesture. You should know I’m just as worried about Riven as you are. He’s just as much my son as he is Tony’s.”
“I know,” Vivien said in a broken, cracked voice that tore at Riven’s heartstrings. He had never heard her sound this… destroyed. “I’m sorry, Daddy. For… for everything.”
Kneeling beside Vivien, Damien took her face in his hands and swiped the tears as they fell from her eyes, vaguely reminiscent of when she was little and had called him that all the time. Leaning close, he pressed his forehead to hers and whispered, “I know, bean. You’ve been under a lot of stress, and I know that, too. I forgave you hours ago.” Brushing back her bangs, he placed a kiss to her forehead and said, “It’ll be okay.”
Shaking her head, her bangs shifting back into place from the movement, Vivien murmured, “Something had to have happened, Dad. I know it.”
Ready to argue on behalf of Riven and his father, Damien began, “Vivi, baby-”
Riven watched as Vivien’s eyes closed tightly, and she said, “I’ve known Riven longer than almost everyone else in my life, and he’s a lot of things.” Looking at her dad, she listed on her fingers, “He’s my brother. He’s the best guitarist int he world. He’s strong, and smart, and kind, and brave. He’s not a runner. He wouldn’t just up and leave town. Not without telling me first.”
“Maybe he couldn’t,” Damien offered softly, running a hand up and down Vivien’s arm. “Maybe he was scared.”
“Riven doesn’t get scared, Dad,” Vivien said firmly, shaking her head slightly. Riven watched from by the wall, his chest aching and his eyes burning with unshed tears as Vivien’s praise shot arrows directly into his undead heart. “Even if he was, he wouldn’t run. And, if he did choose to run away, he’d take me with him or at least tell me first. He promised.”
Damien deftly wiped the tears from his daughter’s face as he asked, “And he said nothing at all?”
“No,” Vivien breathed, her voice cracking as her throat grew tight with tears. “That’s how I know something had to have happened. He… He’s never left me behind before, and he… he wouldn’t just disappear.”
Damien took in a slow, deep breath, looking away for a moment as he tried to figure out how to comfort his daughter. Riven watched as Vivien’s eyes drifted back onto his desk, her fingers trailing the letters of his name engraved in the wood. He had always been there for her in the past. Whenever she fell apart, he was there to put her back together again. This time, she was broken because of him, and that fact made everything feel worse. This time, no matter how hard he planned to try, he couldn’t fix her.
Then, in a voice so quiet Riven almost didn’t hear it, Vivien whispered, “I don’t know… how I’m going to survive this life… without him.”
Riven’s mouth fell open as Vivien’s words hit him, his hands slowly moving to press against his shattered heart as he watched Damien try to comfort his daughter. As Damien’s arms wrapped around Vivien and he softly whispered to her, Vivien let out a wailing sob - a heartbroken, soul-shattering sound that almost sent Riven to his knees. Riven stumbled back until his spine hit the wall, sliding down to the floor as he felt himself give in to the emotions he had spent days fighting.
There was nothing he could do. Nothing to help his friends, his dad, his pipsqueak… He was stuck. Stuck in a void between life and death where he could see everyone and everything moving without him, but couldn’t touch anything, couldn’t make a difference, couldn’t help or even cry out for help. There was no escape.
It was torture.
Riven wasn’t sure how long the three of them stayed like that, but all too soon, Damien’s phone buzzed, and he quickly checked it. “It’s your mother,” he muttered, pulling Vivien’s glasses off to clean them with his shirt before drying her cheeks and placing her glasses back on. Kissing the top of Vivien’s head as she folded her arms on Riven’s desk and rested her cheek on her arm, he whispered, “I’m going to head to the quad to start the vigil, okay? Take your time. If you need me, call me.”
Nodding numbly, Vivien hoarsely whispered, “Yeah.”
Though Damien appeared reluctant to leave his daughter crying in a classroom, he had no choice. Gathering his jacket and keys to the building, he turned back and said, “I love you, baby bean.”
Not bothering to move her gaze from the scratchy letters carved into the wooden desk, Vivien mumbled, “Love you, Daddy.”
Taking a steadying breath, Damien left the room and jogged to the stairwell, heading down to the quad as he turned his phone back onto ringer mode in case Vivien needed him. Riven watched with red-rimmed eyes as Vivien rested against his desk, her tears gradually stopping as she grew exhausted. Her shoulders still shook with every breath, but as a song she and Riven had written caught her attention, she slowly stood on shaky legs.
Riven pushed himself to his feet as Vivien stumbled toward the window on the opposite side of the room. She looked out over the vigil, her breathing ragged as she took in the candles lighting the area, and realized the organizers of the vigil had chosen to play one of their band’s songs. Listening to Vivien as she began softly humming along to the music, he wordlessly followed her to the window, the sight of his own vigil bringing him close to the brink of tears once more.
Having gone out to the quad for the vigil, yet not finding Riven, Kona ran down the hall before stopping in her tracks and jogging back to the History classroom. At the sight before her, the petite blonde relaxed against the classroom doorframe, watching from just outside the room as her new friend stood peacefully with his best friend. Letting them have their moment, Kona lingered just beyond the room, giving Riven space to grieve not only himself but his bond with the girl he’d known practically his whole life.
As the song came to a close, Vivien heaved a sigh as she swiped at her tears, her voice a hoarse, raspy whisper as she muttered, “I’m so sorry, Riven.”
Glancing down at Vivien for a moment, his heart aching and his face burning from his tears, Riven shook his head before softly saying, “I love you, Pip.”
Vivien’s breathing caught in her throat, and she swallowed thickly as her gaze shifted, her eyes flitting toward the window. Emerald eyes caught a glimpse of a faint reflection that made her blood pressure spike, her breathing growing faster and shallower as her head lifted slightly to find the reflection’s eyes. Slowly, her head turned, and Riven found himself staring into Vivien’s eyes. For the first time in days, green met hazel, and, for once, it didn’t feel as though she was looking through him.
Realization seemed to dawn on the girl’s face as she took in the figure before her, making Riven’s eyes widen with hopeful confusion. In a voice hoarse from tears and filled with disbelief, Vivien breathed, “Riven?”
Hoping it wasn’t too good to be true, Riven whispered in turn, “Vivien?”
Notes: I don't usually post these things until I feel like I can finish off the series in quick succession, but I wanted to post this as a little thank you for sticking around despite my inactivity and being such an incredible friend. Due to how much I've written for it and how late it actually is, I figured I'd give you a 3-page snippet/prequel of my project that I was planning to post in October, but I got sidetracked with work and never ended up posting it. The End Is Near is based on the show School Spirits (highly recommend) and follows the first season somewhat closely. I still plan on working on it because I just can't get the idea out of my head - especially with season 2 finally out and my drive to write more for it basically gnawing at the bars of its enclosure in my brain - but I have a long way to go on anything else, so I wanted to give you a taste of it before I go back to work. Technically, this is part of the first part, but it doesn't give away too much, really, and I sort of hope to post the first part soon if I can actually sit down and edit the first few parts again over the next week or so. I just really want to get it out of me so I can go back to STDP again lmao.
Like a tightly packed can of sardines, Boca Ciega High School students filled the gymnasium. Chairs in neat rows lined one half of the gym, and those were filled rather quickly by the cheer squad and the seniors who were fortunate enough to leave class and get to the gym before anyone else. By the time most students got there, the gym was standing room only. Teachers and students alike lined the back wall, waiting for the assembly to begin as they played on their phones and texted friends.
Some eyes were drawn to the blank screen in the center of the basketball court, but most were busy with conversations. The whole school had been abuzz for the last few days, people talking about their theories on what happened while others focused on forgetting what happened and moving on. A select few lingered toward the back, itching to leave the nonsensical event. Nobody really wanted to be there—not under these circumstances, at least.
A few people had perched themselves on the bleachers to be closer to their next classes and away from the chaos, but only a couple of them seemed genuinely invested. Looking out over the metal railing to the court below, a pair of hazel eyes scanned the crowd, searching through the sea of students for any sign of familiar faces.
Before they could lock onto anybody in particular, however, an electric screech filled the room, making everyone cover their ears as the principal tapped his finger on the microphone in the center of his podium. Apologizing softly over the speakers, Principal O’Brian began his speech, “Everyone settle down, please. Settle down.”
As a few students sat back down and others pocketed their phones, a couple of teachers encouraged Freshmen and junior-high kids alike to quiet down and focus on their principal. Once everyone was seated, Principal O’Brian said, “Thank you, everyone.” Clearing his throat, he turned toward the large screen in the middle of the gym and pointed a remote to it, clicking a button before looking out over the crowd, his gaze locking on a pair of withdrawn green eyes.
“Now,” he said as the screen lit up, “it has been a very trying last few days—as we all know.” As his eyes drifted over the sea of students, he continued, “The Pinellas and Hillsborough County Police are considering this a missing person investigation.” Murmurs filled the room, forcing the principal to raise his voice slightly as he spoke, “I know this is alarming news for all of you, but we have every hope that he will be found safely.”
“What was his name again?” one of the cheerleaders whispered to her friend, making the brunet behind them roll his eyes.
“River something,” the other cheerleader whispered back, taking a sip of water from her Stanley as the principal continued talking. The first girl hummed thoughtfully, trying to recall the student. “They found a bunch of blood smeared all over the janitor’s closet.”
“I thought it was the boiler room?” the first girl said curiously.
Shrugging, the second cheerleader said, “I don’t know, but they think her phone is still somewhere in the school. Like, I guess they tried-”
“Oh my god,” the first girl gasped softly. “He doesn’t have his phone? I’d rather die than lose my phone.”
“Hey,” the cheer captain hissed from the end of the row, gaining the pair’s attention. Her green-tipped blonde hair fell over her shoulder as she snipped, “Can you two please just shut up and focus?”
“Sorry, Jade,” the two whispered, slumping back in their seats as though they’d been caught with their hands in the cookie jar.
Shaking her head, Jade turned her focus back onto the principal’s speech as he clicked on a picture of the missing student. Hearing a soft noise behind her, Jade glanced over her shoulder at her friends as they huddled together a row behind the cheer team. Reaching back, Jade offered her girlfriend her hand, something the blue-haired, grunge girl readily accepted. Turning her gaze onto the brunette beside her, Jade’s girlfriend asked, “Did you get any sleep last night, Viv?”
“No,” Vivien breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. Not daring to tear her gaze from the screen in the middle of the room, she asked, “Did you, Erica?”
As her gaze falls on the image before them, Erica whispers, “No…”
From above the basketball court, hazel eyes flickered between the principal, the students, and the screen. As the principal spoke again, telling the students that, if they knew anything, to speak up, those same hazel eyes rolled before focusing on the brunette with the purple sweater as she stood from her chair and left the room with her arms wrapped tightly around herself. The boy with hazel eyes nearly followed her, but then the image on the screen changed, and his gaze was drawn to it—a missing person’s poster.
“Now, for a little levity,” the principal said as he looked out over the crowd, grateful, for once, that his eldest child had already left the gym. He knew for a fact she would hate this. “A cheer for our missing friend, created by our Pirate cheer squad. Girls?”
As the cheerleaders began filing up to the gap between the screen and the chairs, a few more somber than others, hands drove through auburn hair as he scoffed, “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
The upper bleachers rattled as a pair of footsteps echoed through the area. Sitting two rows back from the boy whose picture was used for the missing person’s poster, a young blonde girl in a too-big jean jacket with her hair pulled up in a scrunchie softly said, “Hey, at least they used a good picture of you.”
“Shh,” the older boy said as he glanced back at her. Turning back to the assembly, he said, “I’m trying to focus, kid.”
As the cheer team began some half-assed cheer that could’ve easily been used at a football game instead of an assembly for a literal missing student, the boy with the auburn hair let out a snort. After a moment, the younger blonde girl joined him, leaning on the railing slightly. She shook her head and said, “If you ask me, what’s really ‘missing’ here is a little tact.”
Letting out a noise of agreement, the boy’s hazel eyes scanned the crowd as the cheerleaders continued. As the cheer ended with the girls spelling out the team’s name - the Pirates - and the crowd began clapping, one of the girls called out, “For River!”
From above, the auburn-haired boy's frustration grew as he snarled, “It’s Riven!”
With a snort, the little blonde beside him patted him on the arm and said, “Okay, buddy. Say it with me now.” Her voice raised slightly over the crowd's noise as she gestured to the students and said, “They can’t hear you.”
Riven glanced at the girl before letting his eyes scan the crowd. Vivien had left, rightfully fed up with the bullshit that was this stupid-ass assembly, but Jade - who had been forced into doing the cheer Riven knew she must hate - and Erica - who hated assemblies on a normal day - had remained along with a few of Vivien’s friends. Principal O’Brian, Vivien’s dad, who had always treated him like another son, was going through the typical assembly nonsense - fundraisers, honorable mentions for different groups, and discussing the upcoming grade closure due to report cards coming out. Despite his ramblings, Riven could see how much the man hated having to speak about anything that wasn’t his disappearance.
The short girl beside Riven blew a bubble with the gum she perpetually chewed, letting it pop before saying, “The good news is, it’s only a matter of time till they realize you’re dead. Then, the people who were really your friends can actually grieve instead of doing this bullshit.”
Riven’s gaze fell on the younger girl, seeing her roll her eyes as the principal kept talking. Having had enough and wanting to track down Vivien, Riven turned on his heel and left, hearing the blonde make a small noise of surprise before popping her gum once more and trailing after him like a clingy little dog.
Now, I hope you enjoyed this little prequel! If you're into it and wouldn't mind me ramble-posting this story just to get it out of my head, let me know. And if not... still let me know lmao! Here's a little moodboard I made up for this ages ago:
Anyway, as thanks for sticking around until the end, here is a 3-page snippet of the next part of STDP!
Unlike the typically overcast early spring weather that graced the New England region of the United States, Florida was typically dry in late winter and early spring. As there was no snow in the area to wash away with heavy rain and thick rolls of fog, the state was usually at its most tolerable in April. However, that Tuesday, the state seemed to revolt against its historic dry spell, and thick clouds seemed to blanket the state, keeping a touch of winter’s chill in the breeze.
Despite residing in the tropical state his entire life, Butchy wasn’t one for overcast days, and not just because that meant his wife and sister would forbid him from riding his bike to work. Granted, that played a big part in it, but it wasn’t the main reason for his distaste toward the lingering gloomy sky. His main reason was his boss, Joe - a seventy-year-old man who had served in both world wars and refused to retire despite half-heartedly passing his company on to his son. Joe had issues with loud noises like fireworks and thunder, and although the guys Butchy worked with were understanding that the man’s time in the service was the cause, it was still frustrating that the man closed up shop any time the forecast said they had even the smallest chance of rain.
It was easier to deal with in the summer. Joe and his wife would fly up to New York and stay with their daughter’s family in Long Island while their son, Caleb, took over the shop. Thankfully, the change in management over the summer meant they avoided closures and missed pay due to the thunderstorms that frequented the area during the warmer months. However, from October to May, Joe’s control of the company reigned supreme, and they were occasionally woken by 5 am phone calls from Joe’s wife. Marlene was a sweet woman and always made sure to write out checks to each of the workers on the roster if they missed a day due to Joe’s post-traumatic response to the weather.
That was why, when she called Butchy to let him know to take the day off, he didn’t mind it so much.
According to Marlene, she and Joe had listened to the weather report on the radio while having their morning tea with their dog, Guinness. A storm coming in from the Gulf of Mexico had forced Joe to close the shop until it passed, but Butchy was fine with it regardless. Having the day off gave him time to drive up to the Italian market in the Ponce de Leon neighborhood. With a promise of a paycheck regardless of whether or not they stepped foot into the store during the week, Butchy chatted with Marlene for a while before wishing her and her husband a good day and returning to his still-sleeping wife.
If she wasn’t too sore to move by the time she got up, Mick would be spending her day at Big Momma’s, waiting tables until the local vocational high school let out at noon and the teenage staff could take over for the afternoon, but being able to stay with her just a little while longer was an opportunity Butchy refused to pass up. Sadly, their time together didn’t last nearly as long as they wanted it to, as the phone rang once more a little over an hour later, and Butchy was forced to answer.
“Hello,” he spoke into the phone. “Bandoni residence.”
“Butch, it’s me,” a soft, somewhat groggy voice spoke on the other end of the line.
Sitting up and smiling apologetically at his wife, Butchy swung his legs over the side of the bed and asked, “Something wrong, Miles? You never call this early. Is Ben alright?”
“Oh, no, he’s fine, man. Thanks, though. It’s just…” A heavy metal clang rattled on the other end of the call, and Miles sighed heavily, “This piece of shit won’t start and I’m supposed to bring Vivien to the school today. I was supposed to fill out paperwork for her to be able to attend this week.”
Taking in a breath, Butchy turned slightly toward Mick who had slowly sat up upon his mentioning of who was on the other end of the line. Raising an eyebrow in confusion as he met his wife’s curious gaze, Butchy slowly asked, “Let me get this straight. Vivien came all this way for spring break, only to ask to go to school?”
Mick let out a soft snort, not surprised in the slightest. Sending his wife an amused grin, Butchy shook his head fondly. With a sigh, Miles replied, “Yeah, I was confused too, but she wants to meet the boys’ friends and thinks it’ll be fun. Is there any way you can swing by and pick us up? We have to be there for seven. I’ll give you-”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” Butchy cut off, his tone daring Miles to offer gas money. “I’ll be there. Make sure you have everything they told you to bring, and double check that the little rugrat isn’t sick before you bring her to school. I’d hate for everyone else to suddenly get the great idea that going to school is more fun than spring break.”
“I can hear you, you dick!” Vivien called with a laugh, letting Butchy know she wasn’t bothered by his remark.
Laughing over the line, Butchy remarked, “Love you too, piccola.”
“I still don’t know what that means, but I’m not a fucking flute!”
“I’m pretty sure that’s a piccol-o, but-” Miles let out a laugh he poorly disguised as a cough, “She’s, uh, she’s flipping you off, Butch.”
“I’m shakin’ in my boots,” Butchy teased, earning him a dramatic scoff from the young brunette on the other end as he envisioned her rolling her eyes, that half-tilted grin of hers plastered on her face as she walked away. “Anyway, I’ll be there. See you guys in a few.”
“Thanks, man,” Miles breathed.
“Always.”
As her husband set the phone back on the hook, Mick slid out from under the blankets and wrapped her arms around Butchy’s waist, pressing her front to his back with a sigh. “So much for that massage you promised me last night,” she huffed as she rested her chin on his shoulder.
Placing his larger hands atop the ones on his abdomen, Butchy lightly kissed her cheek and offered, “Rain check?” Seeing her dejected pout as he turned slightly in her arms, Butchy cupped her cheek in his hand and suggested, “Lela’s going to Cheech’s tonight. The second you get off of work, I’ll make it up to you; I promise.”
With a reluctant nod, Mick allowed him to stand as she knelt on the bed, peering up at him with a look in her eyes that he knew all too well. Pulling him into a kiss, she breathed against his lips, “Me and my new babydoll will be waiting.”
Groaning huskily, Butchy allowed her to pull him in once more, sealing her promise with a kiss that had him debating whether or not he had the time to give her something, anything before he had to leave. Then, to his dismay, she pulled away, sitting back on her feet with a smug grin as she drank in his expression. Coming back to his senses, Butchy pointed a finger at her and lightly tapped the tip of her nose as he let out a breathy chuckle, “Not fair.”
Licking her lips, Mick smirked, “Consider us even. I’ll be looking forward to seeing how you manage to make this up to me.”
Leaning back down to her height, Butchy braced himself on the mattress and asked, “Have I ever told you how grateful I am that I married you?”
“A few times,” Mick replied in a breath. Lightly kissing him once more, she carded her fingers through his hair and said, “Now get going. Our siblings need you.”
Butchy let out a grumbling complaint before grabbing a pair of jeans from the laundry basket he had tossed onto the dresser the night before and taking a shirt from the closet, quickly getting dressed while his mind was occupied with anything other than the woman wearing nothing but a smile and one of his old shirts, sitting in his bed, waiting for him to return. No… it was their bed now, not just his.
It was nice to finally be able to say that.
After kissing his wife goodbye, Butchy left the room, closing the door behind him. Stepping over a shirt that he knew Mick would be upset had stayed in a crumpled mess on the floor all night, he realized just how quickly things had gotten heated the night before. There was no rhyme or reason to it, either, as far as he could remember. They made tiramisu after dinner, she sprayed him with whipped cream, and, well… everything else was a bit of a blur. Not that he was complaining, but still, he would have to clean up the mess they had left when he got home.
It's been a while, hasn't it? Between work, taking care of loved ones, and trying to fight my way through seasonal depression, these last few months have been long and exhausting.
Of course, not all of it has been rough. I've made my way up to teacher status at work (hell yeah, extra pay!), and my mom was finally accepted for widow benefits after a 10-year struggle with the state. Some things have been great!
Others, not so much. My Great-Uncle Bernie (86), my grandpa's younger brother, passed away recently, leaving only my Great-Aunt Margaret (93) as the only sibling out of what was once twelve children. I've been her caregiver for the last six years, but I was the sole caregiver for both of them from just after Thanksgiving (November 28th) to the 12th.
Needless to say, it hit me hard.
I've also come to the realization that, once Auntie Margie passes, I'll be part of my family's second-oldest generation. Granted, I'll be the second-youngest member of that generation, but still... it hits different.
There are some other positives that I'd like to mention, though! Apart from my job and my mom's ten-year-late victory, I mean. I started up a D&D group in the after-school program I teach in, for one. I write all of the campaigns on my own, draw all the maps and battle arenas by hand, and print the material for it all, so that takes up a lot of free time, but the kids love it, so I don't mind it as much. We started off in October with a short Stranger Things campaign before moving onto Home Alone for Thanksgiving into Christmas. Now, we're doing Five Nights at Freddy's: Security Breach, and I'm realizing that I'd actually love to have a little one-shot with our characters in that type of setting. Maybe on one of my days off I'll do a playthrough of the game or something and see if I can pinpoint where I could see everyone 👀
Also, I finally saved enough money for a good-quality laptop and a new phone! Ya girlie now has a pink iPhone 15 and a shiny HP Pavilion! I know it's nothing huge, but it's a nice accomplishment for me, so I wanted to share it. I'm hoping to save up for a flight to visit my family's homestead in County Cork, Ireland, and take a trip through different areas of the UK, visiting friends and places my relatives have stayed, as well as maybe seeing a performance of Starlight Express. It's a long shot, but who knows?
Now that things are starting to go back to normal again, I'm going to try to relax a bit more and focus on what makes me happy, not what I think will make everyone else happy. It'll be a long road, but for the sake of my sanity and happiness, I look forward to the journey.
I'm sorry this has taken me so long, but I'm here now, and I'm fighting off the seasonal bullshit as best as I can. Spring can't come soon enough, but I'm willing to fight for myself for once, so that's new and, for the most part, exciting.
For the first time in a long time, I look forward to what this chapter of my life has in store for me.
