RE: Trailer Trash 65, Open Invitation (Patreon)

/// The complete chapter 65.

   Tabitha found it a little difficult to come down from her buzzing overstimulation high of chattering away with all of the girls at lunch and focus when it came time to return to class for fourth period. So much of the school week had occupied her head as a melody of melancholy, but today—finally getting her cast off created an ascending chord progression. That turned out to be the final missing element that made this rhythm of repeated confrontation bearable, and even had her internal music bearing as positive, upbeat.

    I guess putting PLANS on the table just makes it that much easier to look past all the everyday annoyances of being a high school girl fighting out to secure her social space in the ugly stratum of girl politick? Tabitha thought with a small smile.

    She was supposed to be taking notes here in World History as Mrs. Reynolds spoke at length about the French Revolution, but as with the rest of the students sitting here… her mind couldn’t help but wander.

    Did I just personally reinvent a big life hack? Tabitha mused. It feels so incredibly insightful, but really when you come down to it, isn’t it just psychology at its most base? I’m constantly mired in life’s casual aggravations, so what I need to do is also always intentionally put something ‘nice’ on the table that I can look forward to? And then, I’ll subconsciously fixate on THAT, rather than the everyday tedium of dealing with… well, all sorts of bullshit? It really does feel like a life hack, but at the same time it’s so in your face and obvious that it’s more dumb that I WASN’T applying this to my life all the time before. Isn’t it?

    As Mrs. Reynolds droned on about the absolute monarchy being dismantled by economic collapse, Tabitha clung to the lingering impressions of contentment. But, also she battled back and forth with herself over whether constantly creating things to look forward to like parties or get-togethers was perhaps some sort of coping mechanism that could become unhealthy escapism. After all, wasn’t it basically amounting to creating a carrot tangentially divorced from the ‘stick?’ Wait, did carrot and stick need to be expressly related to one another in some unity of purpose? Or, was it enough only that positive and negative behavioral reinforcement were achieved in balance, such that the two opposing aspects didn’t even need to otherwise be part of some comprehensive character arc?

    I… probably need to quit trying to trying to plot my own life in terms of an author trying to create a cohesive narrative? Tabitha chided herself. If only life could be that ‘simple.’ Just, well, I mean. That’s the best mental hammer I have, so yeah I’m gonna try to approach every problem as one to be solved with that hammer. I don’t know what’s more frustrating, that it doesn’t always work, or that sometimes it actually DOES work…

    She was really, really looking forward to having fun this weekend with her friends. Flirting and teasing with Bobby, hanging out with Alicia and Elena again after so long, even maybe integrating her newer friends from the other classes into the mix and seeing what that turned into. As she really examined these bright, buttery feelings however, scrutinized them through the lens of a diligent author, maybe this carrot actually was strongly related to the stick she was trying not to think about.

    Because—isn’t the basic act of throwing a party a social power move? Tabitha quirked her lip as she tried to consider all of the implications. Proof positive that you’re popular, that you have THIS amount of friends, THIS amount of support? Isn’t that why the nobility hosted lavish balls back in those French days? Isn’t some teenage social soiree, at its fundamentals, not THAT far removed from what went on back then in design? Am I super excited to celebrate with friends because it’s a long overdue POSITIVE event in my life, after a doldrum week of navigating school nonsense? Orrr—am I hyped because it elevates and consolidates my status and standing here in the high school hierarchy? After all, nothing flies in the face of cheerleaders buttoning me into the role of a meek, isolated loser like being able to throw a big huge party where everyone has a total blast, right?

    It probably would have been nice to say that such avenues of thought never even crossed her mind… but also that wouldn’t be being particularly honest with herself. Tabitha contented herself with the fact that this was mostly about simply having a great time with her friends, and only partly because she could take grim satisfaction in proving her opposition wrong.

    So long as my intentions are MOSTLY pure here, this is fine, right? Tabitha almost had herself convinced.

    If I was to QUANTIFY why I’m amped up about this, the percentages would agree that I’m mostly looking forward to this for the right reasons! Okay, so I’m A LITTLE poisoned with the clout-chasing image and popularity thing. But, I’m also AWARE OF THAT enough that I’m not going to slip up and let all of that consume me! Right? Right. Okay, that’s—that’s decided and done with. I can not worry about it, and let fears of turning into exactly the kind of girls I hate eat me up from the inside.

    R-right?! I’ll—yeah, maybe I’ll just talk things through with ‘Licia and ‘Lena some, about this. Or, Bobby? Serve me up just the right amount of humble pie to keep a growing ego in check. The correct dosage of humble. Yeah. That’s settled.

    The idea of popularity as a poison that would eat away at the sincerity of everything she strove towards was still very unsettling, and although Tabitha’s pencil was still poised upon her notebook paper the lines remained barren of words, blank—empty of all of the specific dates and keynotes to remember about the French revolution they would be tested on later.

    ...Damn it all!

* * *

    Her attention fared little better in fifth period Biology, until the monomers and polymers, carbohydrates, lipids and proteins became a wash of technobabble untethered from contextual understanding. The paragraphs of the textbook their class was supposed to be reading from explained each term in clinical detail so abstruse that it felt like even the many words Tabitha did already have a strong basis with felt like they were blurring into the alien and incoherent. Whoever had been charged with arranging the material into these chapters was either some sort of sadist, or had such a depth of comprehension on the subject matter that they became unable to bridge their knowledge over to those unfamiliar with all of these different abstracts.

    Am I just having a bad day, and can’t focus? Tabitha couldn’t help but glance around at the other students. Is everyone else actually absorbing all this information normally, or are they just pretending to read along? I feel like—oh wait no, Jake over there DEFINITELY isn’t actually reading. And, the guy just past him is just sort of scribbling circles on his page. I don’t know why that makes me feel so much better!

    When it felt like no one was actually learning because the dense text of unfamiliar terms was so incredibly dry, she half expected someone to be brave enough to point that out. Instead, it seemed like one of those high school unspoken rules that everyone would pretend they were parsing all of this just fine, and that there wasn’t a major problem with the teaching method. Then again, as she looked around Tabitha did also find several studious students jotting notes into the margin of their college rule paper as fingertips held their place in the paragraph they were reading, so at least some of the kids were processing this stuff.

    Which made her want to pout.

    Hmm, I think maybe I must be the outlier? Tabitha flushed and lowered her gaze back to her Biology 1 book in embarrassment. I want to be like, what they SHOULD do is explain these concepts to us as if we were a young child, and only then once they’ve confirmed we have a basis of understanding? THEN they can build upon that foundation with additional explanation and clarification.

    The problem was, that probably was what was happening—for everyone except for her. The rest of the kids here just had a lot of this explained to them in much more simple terms in the years leading up to where they were now, because elementary and middle school Life Sciences classes brought them in succession through sixth, seventh, and eighth to prepare them for where they were now in this ninth grade freshman Biology course. For Tabitha however, that gradual leadup of basic preliminary coursework leading to this was almost fifty years ago, completely out of her memory.

    In subjects I continued to build upon throughout life, like English literature, with my reading and writing? Being taken from the future and plunked down here in the past gives me that huge, overwhelming advantage. In areas of math and science, where I had VERY little interest or engagement? It winds up having the completely opposite effect. And, I really HATE feeling dumb here despite all my apparent ‘advantages,’ which should be pushing me so far ahead in every course.

    Tabitha was struggling in this class, now.

    The realization shouldn’t have blindsided her with such sour despair and blind anger, but it did. The difficulty of all of this really crept up on her unbidden, with her not seeing that fact until she was already suddenly feeling in over her head. It wasn’t even hard to understand why she was struggling… although it was definitely hard to release her deathgrip on a lot of the excuses and blame-gaming and take personal accountability for what was happening here.

    Back in the first semester, I wasn’t having this problem! Tabitha couldn’t help but clench her teeth as she forced herself to walk through the logic of what had happened. Because… back then I was numb and in shock and isolating myself from family and social relationships in general of any kind. It was easy to put my nose to the books and just fixate on coursework and homework. Okay, maybe not EASY, but it was—it was one of my early coping mechanisms for all of THIS. I’m back in the past, yeah of course I have to buckle down and go through and get all of my assignments and grades absolutely perfect, or what’s even the point of my past life? I had that obsessive singlemindedness, where I could just hunker down in the library alone every moment at school. Where one would normally instead go out and socialize, and so yeah I at least tried to take grim satisfaction in getting my grades right.

    She had even allowed herself to feel some small sense of sick superiority over the foolish ‘in-crowd’ who followed their vanity to pursue superficial relationships, or play the high school pecking order game of popularity. At the time, she’d insisted to herself that what happened in high school didn’t really matter—that it wasn’t the capital letters Real World. Her perspective on that hadn’t quite inverted, but she was forced to admit that maybe there was quite a bit more nuance to it than all of that.

    Because, past me was socially maladjusted. I was too timid or traumatized to participate in navigating the big scary social side of high school stuff, when really that is just as necessary a component of your development as the ‘official’ coursework, all the stuff on paper. The friendships and rivalries, the petty drama, the heartfelt crushes, the cliques forming around proximity in classes, or interests, or the ugly struggling climb over others towards the perceived top of the pyramid—it is also an unofficial high school curriculum. It absolutely IS something we are also supposed to be learning alongside the basic math and science and language arts stuff. The unofficial course with the unspoken rules, where what and how you learn or even how you’re ‘graded’ is so maddeningly completely open to interpretation that only a rare select few ever really THINK they know where they stand...

    At least, that was the flowery way of interpreting events that didn’t strike mortal, humiliating blows to Tabitha’s pride. She also knew the less flattering way of admitting why classes felt so much more difficult now. Choosing to push herself out of her single-track safe library space and working towards instead becoming an extrovert meant her processing power was devoting itself in different directions. She was not some infallible story protagonist who could excel in all aspects at once, to have her cake, and eat it too—when Tabitha invested her analytical thought towards being outgoing, understanding people, understanding herself instead of putting all of that brain power on her schoolwork, it was pretty obvious that the courses and assignments were going to suddenly seem that much more difficult.

    How could they NOT seem more difficult now? Tabitha thought with a glum look at the gibberish that was several columns of science jargon terms in her textbook pages. I’m not studying anywhere near like I used to.

    Last semester, it was like I was trying to exploit my own mild case of autism, or whatever it is that’s wrong with me. Now, I’m trying to… well, to NOT be that. To climb way, way, WAY up out of my comfort zone. Be the popular outgoing girl everyone admires, to foster friendships and frenemies and fall and love and be at total ease amidst the crowd, no matter the situation. I want to be funny, and animated, charming, I want people to like me, I want some people to love me, to envy me, even. I want to be popular!!

    That’s just… yeah. It’s as simple as that. Popularity absolutely IS also this kind of mental poison, or at least it can be, but it’s part of the missing piece that made my life so incomplete before. The idea of being popular was that guilty pleasure wishful thinking FANTASY that over time fermented into this, this bloodcurdling regret as I aged in my last life. I think just popularity as a poison concept might be like that one idiom, where it’s both poison and medicine. It can destroy me like poison if I let it—that’s actually more and more easy to see now—or, maybe it can save me. It can be medicine and save me. I really want it to save me. It’s… probably going to wind up doing a little bit of both.

    Tabitha’s stewing thoughts about emergent popularity today made it all but impossible to focus on the sections of assigned reading in the Biology book, and fifth period passed her by in a total blur much the same as World History before it had. When the bell sounded and everyone rose from their seats Tabitha found that excitement bubbling up within her again, and before she knew it she had approached Jacob as everyone was filing out of their rows and queuing into a blobby crowd for the exit.

    “Jake!” Tabitha hailed him.

    “Jacob,” The boy corrected with a scowl.

    “Th-that’s what I said,” Tabitha insisted with a flustered smile. “Hah. I’m having a get together with a bunch of people this weekend—would you think you maybe might be interested?”

    WOULD YOU THINK YOU MAYBE MIGHT BE INTERESTED?! REALLY? Could I have possibly had that come out any less borked?! Ugghhhh—

    “Uhh?” Jacob stared at her. “A get together? What kind of a get together?”

    “To, um, to like—celebrate,” Tabitha held up her arm, which was now sans cast. “So like, a little party. Inviting some friends. Uh—we’re friends, right?”

    The question seemed to stunlock him for a moment, and Tabitha forced herself to rein in her smile a bit, because here in this new lifetime it sometimes had that strange paralyzing effect on teenage boys. She felt a little guilty for a sudden pressuring question like that, because in truth… they weren’t really friends. They were barely acquainted at all, and as recently as two interactions ago, Tabitha had mentally classified him simply as ‘that heckler friend of Gary’s from the bus.’ Heck, Gary wasn’t even really that much of a friend, just someone she knew by name and exchanged a few sentences with in the mornings now and then.

    “Who all’s gonna be there?” Jacob asked as everyone shuffled forward—people were moving more quickly now, and it seemed like their brief window to speak was almost up.

    “Oh uh,” Tabitha said. “Some friends from class? From my different classes. Just uh, you can think about it? And, if you want, I’ll write down the time and address when I see you on the bus. Or, like—yeah you already know where my bus stop is, hah.”

    “Cool,” Jacob gave her a nod.

    Then, they spilled out of the door into the hallway and were headed in separate directions. Tabitha now wasn’t even sure Jacob had realized what she meant when she raised up her arm to show there was no cast or if he would have noticed the difference. They weren’t that close. Why had she felt a sudden compulsion to invite him? Some part of her feared she was just intoxicated with the idea of having a party, being someone who hosted parties, and somehow wanted to flaunt it. To prove that she was social and well-connected, even to that random bunch of fifth period kids which she for the most part didn’t even have a strong impression of.

    It’s no big deal! Tabitha told herself as she adjusted the strap of her book bag and followed the flow of students pressing on down the hallway. It was polite to offer. Right? He probably won’t even go. Isn’t that usually how most meet ups wind up? For every ten you extend invitations to, maybe four will show up, and that’s if you’re lucky. Might be even worse here at this specific age grouping, where we have to rely on others to get a ride anywhere.

    Subconsciously, she wanted it to be a big cool party where everyone had a blast and her sudden social cred would hit the snobby cheer team girls like a brick to the face—that was a given. Why was it that her most immature flights of fancy were also the most absolutely intoxicating to her fourteen-year-old mind?! Tabitha knew that it was probably prudent to temper any expectations and not get her hopes up too high. Bobby would probably be there, hopefully. Alicia and Elena she could probably count on. Maybe a couple of the others that had attended the theater and skating rink stuff with them before would show. It would be cool if some of the Personal Fitness girls showed, but she wouldn’t blame them if they couldn’t make it.

    “Oh lookie lookie, if it isn’t Tabitha,” Amber announced to the rest of the art room as Tabitha entered. “Maybe there’s—”

    “Hey, haters,” Tabitha kept her greeting casual and friendly, but she immediately brushed past Amber and some other girl there without breaking stride.

    The quick response had chambered into mind and fired off before Tabitha had any time to aim or even realize she was pulling the trigger. One part of herself wanted to kick herself and rush to dwelling endlessly on both her wording and delivery, while another part of herself seemed intent on telling herself it had been a cool comeback. Or… cool enough. The important thing was that she was brusque with them, that she did not linger and get tripped up falling into Amber’s pace—pushing past them and out of earshot as soon as possible was the smart decision.

    That situation felt like a fortunate set of different circumstances lining up, probably working because today the before-class chatter of students talking as the art room filled was just loud enough. Amber raising her voice another notch to still have whatever jab or tirade she’d been cooking up be heard after Tabitha disengaged seemed to be more of an escalation than Amber was willing to commit to—this time, at least—so instead the girl just let it go.

    Past me would have frozen right there in front of her and been completely unable to think up anything at all to say, Tabitha thought to herself. Not even like PAST LIFE me, I mean like the me of just a month or two ago. Always HATED that. The way my thoughts stalled out, when for them it seemed like they already had everything they wanted to say already figured out. Or, that they had enough experience always bickering back and forth with each other that they never HAD to think before they spoke.

    She made a point to not be seen glancing back to check Amber and the other girls’ expression, but Tabitha was able to somewhat see them in her periphery as she stepped around the edge of her usual table and took a seat on her bar stool there. The girls over there weren’t watching her, neither did they seem miffed. They had already moved on and were talking about something else. That was enough of a personal victory for Tabitha for now; it felt like a very successful defense play that immediately shot down whatever nonsense Amber had been ready to rile her up with.

    Wow, that actually helps a lot, Tabitha quirked a small smile. Because I DIDN’T stop and listen, I have no clue what she was even gonna throw at me. Ignorance is bliss? It’s like I’m sure she had some nasty thing to say that would have occupied my thoughts rent free all night, but this time I was able to just pre-emptively shut it down. But, don’t let it go to your head! Don’t feel TOO proud of yourself, Tabitha. Always have to stay on guard and be ready, because any random bitches can still pounce in with snide comments at any moment. It’s ninth grade, after all.

    Eric arriving to join her at table six snapped her out of her ruminations, and Tabitha gave him a friendly wave.

    “Hey!” Tabitha beamed. “So, uh. Are you doing anything this weekend?”

    The boy’s look of casual indifference became one of suspicion or even alarm.

    “No wait, I—okay not like that, I mean like,” Tabitha let out a nervous laugh. “Throwing a little party with friends. Are you interested?”

    “Um,” Eric paused. “Who all’s gonna be there?”

    “My friends Alicia and Elena,” Tabitha answered. “Bobby. Probably a couple girls from my first period class? And, we’re trying to get Lurch to go. Do you know Lurch?”

    “The super tall dude?” Eric nodded. “I mean I don’t know him, but I’ve seen him around, I guess. It’s like a party, party? Your birthday, or something?”

    “Finally got my cast off, really wanted to celebrate,” Tabitha admitted, holding up her arm and giving it a waggle. “Thought it’d be cool, I dunno. Think about it?”

    “Uhh, yeah, sure,” Eric nodded again. “Where at? What kind of party?”

    “Stacy, hi!” Tabitha greeted the girl as she stepped up to the table. “Are you busy this weekend?”

    “Not really?” Stacy blinked. “What’s up?”

    “Having a little get together,” Tabitha explained. “I can write down the address, will probably be around noonish. Uhh, I know Bobby wanted to watch Willow. He got me Willow on VHS back for my birthday, but I haven’t made time to see it, yet. There’ll be food and stuff?”

    “Oh, um,” Stacy set down her bag and took a seat on her stool. “Sure? Maybe? You said Willow?”

    “With Val Kilmer?” Eric asked.

    “Yeah, I think so,” Tabitha agreed. “I haven’t seen it, yet.”

    “I haven’t seen it,” Stacy said. “So—sure?”

    “It’s an awesome one,” Eric chimed in. “Willow is. I have it—s’definitely one of my favorites, yeah. I’m down. Hell yeah. My friend Pete was always saying Willow was like the off brand, non-copyright-version of Lord of the Rings, because George Lucas couldn’t get the rights but really wanted to adapt Lord of the Rings.”

    “Wait—really?!” Tabitha perked up. “I hadn’t heard that. I thought it was just like a Conan the Barbarian sorta popcorn flick. Bobby just said sword and sorcery, so I thought like—”

    “I mean yeah once you see it, you’ll be able to tell,” Eric said with enthusiasm. “He had to combine some people all into just one character in some places though, and obviously there’s—”

    “No! Nooooo! No no no you did not invite Eric—did you?!” Vanessa protested as she pushed her way in towards their table. “You didn’t. Tabitha tell me you did NOT.”

    “Vanessa…” Tabitha gave her an exasperated growl. “Come on. Eric’s cool! Eric—you’re cool, right?”

    “Wait, Vanessa’s going?” Eric pretended to roll his eyes. “You shoulda warned me first, she’s—”

    “I’m going, you’re not!” Vanessa pouted. “It’s not even like— Tabitha, come onnn. We have like, actual cool guys going to the party. We don’t need Eric. Eric’s a loser. Did you never hear about him being a total creep around Mary? Way back when? Well—”

    “What cool guys are going?” Stacy asked, her eyes brightening.

    “Eric’s cool—I’m inviting him,” Tabitha said. “Since when does—”

    “Matthew Haynes is going,” Vanessa ticked off her fingers. “Liam will be there. Bobby, obviously. Brett is going to be there—”

    “Lurch,” Eric supplied.

    “Eric shut uppp,” Vanessa scowled. “God.”

    “Brett like, the super super tall one?” Stacy smiled. “He’s cute! He’s in my fourth period class, I just saw him earlier today.”

    “Yeah,” Vanessa said. “Bobby’s not bad, either. I guess.”

    “I just invited Jake, too,” Tabitha added. “I’ll see if Gary can go when I see him on the bus.”

    “Jake, Jake who?” Vanessa asked with a frown. “I don’t know any freshman Jakes.”

    “Jake, uhhh, Jacob,” Tabitha corrected herself. “Jacob. He’s—”

    “Jacob, he’s friends with Gary and Lurch and all them,” Eric nodded. “They’re all part of the basketball dudes, who’re over there all the time. I’ve talked with them.”

    “Nobody asked you,” Vanessa sniffed. “It’s not like—”

    “Eric?” Tabitha interrupted with a grin. “The biggest reason we’re inviting you, is because Vanessa will not stop flirting with you. So, yeah, you definitely have to see if you can make it, to—”

    “Oh, as if,” Vanessa huffed. “As if! Pfft, yeah right. Not even. Not even close. Since when have I ever even—”

    “Eric’s pretty okay?” Stacy played the mediator. “Eric, you’re pretty cute? Cute enough.”

    “...Thanks?” Eric seemed taken aback. “I guess? You too?”

    “Don’t flirt with Stacy right in front of Vanessa!” Tabitha teased, holding up a hand to her mouth in mock outrage. “Eric, you—”

    “Hurr durr durr, yeah, you’re all so funny,” Vanessa crossed her arms. “Fuck. Are those stupid freaking still life bottle drawings due today?”

    “Think so,” Eric shrugged. “We’re all pretty much done with them, aren’t we? What more is there to—”

    Clarissa was once again the last to show up at their table—just before the bell for the start of class resounded through the intercom—and Tabitha noticed Eric and Stacy both looking from the new arrival to Tabitha and back again, watching to see if Tabitha would invite her as well. Before she could explain that Clarissa was already in the know on this event however, Mr. Peterson clapped his hands and began barking for the class to settle down.

    “Alright, alright, quiet down, quiet down, folks,” Mr. Peterson stood from his desk and ambled over towards the middle of the classroom. “Table leaders, up up up, grab your table folders. Bring ‘em all up to my desk, not your tables. Gonna be going through your progress one by one and putting in grades today, people. If I have questions about the completion—or lack thereof—I will be calling you up individually so that we can discuss things. Alright? Alright, let’s go, move move move it people, let’s get a move on.”

    For the first fifteen minutes of their sixth period Art 2D class the tables were free to quietly socialize while Mr. Peterson occasionally called up specific students to discuss their work—including Amber. From their corner group, only Vanessa was pulled away. Tabitha, Clarissa, Stacy and Eric all surreptitiously peeked over past the other kids to see that their amused teacher appeared to be asking Vanessa to explain why she wasn’t able to finish drawing her still life assignment in a week. The short girl looked on the verge of tears as she tried to muster an explanation—until he finally gave her a long sigh and a nod and waved her back to her table.

    When Vanessa turned away from him her pitiful expression evaporated into thin air with an eye roll and a scowl, and she hurried back to the table to reclaim her bar stool.

    “C minus,” Vanessa huffed. “Just because I didn’t finish drawing like, the one last stupid bottle. Which is totally bogus!”

    “You had a whole week,” Eric said, speechless at her lame excuse. “And, he could tell you were just talking instead of drawing like, the whole damn class every—”

    “Eric, I just got a C minus,” Vanessa held up her hand. “I’m in no mood for your nonsense. Can’t a girl get a little moral support, here? Geez.”

    “Do the rest of us get As if we didn’t get called up?” Stacy asked with a hopeful smile. “That’d be cool.”

    “Mine wasn’t that good,” Tabitha sighed. “I think it’d be weird if I got an A for it.”

    “That’s not your fault, though!” Vanessa insisted. “It’s not any of our fault if our drawings sucked. He’s supposed to be teaching us how to draw. He didn’t freakin’ teach us anything!”

    “You learn by doing,” Eric argued. “He had us practicing, and that’s the—”

    “Eric,” Vanessa warned. “You’re fixing to get on my last nerve today. I’ve had it up to here with all of your backtalk. Okay? Okay.”

    “My drawing sucked,” Clarissa shrugged. “I thought for sure he was going to call me up.”

    “Yours and mine looked about the same,” Tabitha judged. “Stacy, yours looked a little better than ours, I think. Eric, yours was really good!”

    “Thanks?”

    “Oh, yeah?” Vanessa crossed her arms. “Then what about mine?!”

    “...I found it bold and provocative,” Tabitha teased. “Glasswork in caricature—with unapologetic finesse Vanessa Smith levies her pencil in the fight against the ever-encroaching authoritative norms that suppress artistic integrity! Should students be constrained by cutoffs and deadlines when in the pursuit of true creative expression? Is her artwork non finito an accidental abandonment, or a deliberate and meaningful aesthetic statement?

    “With this unfinished, or some might say interrupted piece, Vanessa brings controversial questions into the light—should her work be interpreted through the lens of her own intent as its author, or instead by established external principles defined by a so-called ‘instructor?’ Her daring lines terminate unexpectedly in blank canvas—perhaps as a scathing commentary on the paradoxical nature of our young, impressionable minds being taught to create art only through the framework of arbitrary, pre-determined criteria for ‘success,’ and a tragically limited window of time within which we must create!”

    What had began as a quick joke somehow morphed into an entire witty monologue as Tabitha saw that her entire table was watching her with huge smiles and rapt attention. Eric and Stacy both broke into genuine laughter before she was able to finish, Clarissa wore a look of stunned surprise for the second time today, and Vanessa was now blushing red. Their reactions were strangely intoxicating for Tabitha, and she couldn’t help but lapse into giggles herself.

    Tabitha had never considered herself any kind of loquacious person—usually there were specific niches within which she could talk with exceptional confidence, and the rest of the time she found herself frustratingly tongue-tied when it mattered. For some uncanny reason here she was able to activate just the right part of her dormant writer-brain and unintentionally became a rather riveting speaker. Deep within the hidden literary machine in her mind a satirical bullshit engine had suddenly spooled up and delivered an entire diatribe before she even realized she had it in her to do so.

    “Hahaha—damn, Tabitha—” Eric wheezed out.

    “Oh my God—!!” Stacy was beside herself.

    “Yes,” Vanessa attempted deadpan delivery. “Like, exactly. Tabitha gets it. That’s exactly what I was going for. Obviously. The whole time.”

    “Oh, obviously!” Stacy laughed, bursting into laughter once again.

    “Glasswork in Caricature,” Eric repeated, doubling over in mirth. “Holy shit.”

    “So uh, whenever we think we might get a bad grade in here, we need to bring Tabitha up to the front desk when he calls us up?” Clarissa suggested with a small grin. “And, she can like—she can say all that. Have a better, um, better…”

    “A more charitable critique?” Tabitha offered.

    “Yeah!” Clarissa said. “Exactly. Because—wow.”

    Giddy with glee over how much they had liked her joke, Tabitha couldn’t help but think that maybe she was actually predisposed towards being outgoing. Sort of. Perhaps most of her life she had simply been applying the wrong parts of herself towards things, falling short, and then allowing herself to freeze up because of those failures. Why was it that in some areas like with her cousins, or with Hannah, with the snarky goth girl at the Hot Topic desk, that Tabitha could be confident and outspoken? While the other times with cheerleaders or Carrie or facing her own parents all of that easy bravado seemed to vanish and the many witty rejoinders she knew she had within her somewhere made themselves scarce. 

    If I can just, I don’t know, Tabitha thought. Figure out how to apply the right parts of me to even the difficult, scary conversations—it’s like I’ll have it all worked out. Need to find a way to mentally recalibrate? To think of all of the people who intimidate me as kids, maybe. I mean, even if I mess up and embarrass myself, so what? I’m still just a kid, too. Right now, at least. It should be no big deal. I mean, obviously it IS a huge deal and I can’t really diminish that for myself because that’s a psychological hill I’m still climbing. Just. Aggh, I don’t know!

    “Alright, alright, pipe down, you animals,” Mr. Peterson hollered, rising up from his desk. “I’ve got in a bunch of preliminary grades for your first week here, and right now you’ll get your one last chance to bump up your score. I’m gonna ask questions, and if you think you’ve got an answer you quietly raise up your hand and wait for me to call upon you. Understood? Outstanding.

    “First up! What did you learn drawing these bottles this past week?”

    A dozen hands shot up, and Mr. Peterson sighed in anticipation as he first selected Eddie—a boy at one of the other tables who was shaping up into something of their class clown.

    “I learned that I suck at drawing?” Eddie didn’t disappoint.

    There was some scattered laughter, but it hewed more towards reacting because Eddie was being intentionally disruptive than because his answer itself was that funny. Still holding the sheaf of collected drawings in his hand, Mr. Peterson used the papers to give the boy a dismissive swipe through the air.

    “Nynnnhhh, I don’t think so,” Their teacher mimicked that negative buzzer noise. “Har-de-har-har, haven’t heard that one a thousand times today already. It’s the same jokes every time I ask that! I learned drawing is hard! I learned I suck! I just learned the assignment was due today, even though I’ve barely done anything! Very funny, people. Next person—you.”

    “I learned that, uh,” The girl Mr. Peterson pointed to floundered when actually being called upon. “That um, that recreating still life portraits… is more challenging than we might have first thought? After trying to actually do it ourselves?”

    “That’s the same dang thing Eddie just said, but in more words, so no,” Mr. Peterson decided with his trademark toothy grin. “How about—you.”

    “I was trying to do mine by lots of shading,” A reedy looking guy answered. “Instead of outlines like it seemed everyone else was doing. So, when you go into doing this like that—you kind of realize that when you express everything through darks, like, through penciling it onto paper, you then have to commit and make the darker parts even darker, until you—”

    “When James turned in his paper it was twice, three times as heavy as the rest of y’all’s papers,” Mr. Peterson chuckled, flipping through the drawings in hand to find a particularly dark one and pulling it out to show the class. “Look at this. Poor kid burnt through what, three or four whole pencils, doing this. A minus.”

    “That’s an A minus?!” Another kid wailed in disbelief. “What the heck?”

    “He did great work, look at the shadows and light,” Mr. Peterson slowly turned so that everyone could see. “In doing so, he also discovered some of the limitations of his number two pencil there, where putting down too much shading starts to make any of the details hard to make out. Those of you who’re the whole way across the room are just gonna see—what? A washed out mess of pencil scribble.”

    From where Tabitha was seated, that was an apt descriptor for what she could see of the kid’s drawing.

    “So! James,” Mr. Peterson challenged. “What could you have done better? Correct answer’ll bump you up to that A plus!”

    “I mean, I tried to go back and uh, like redefine where the edges were, with eraser?” James explained. “And, I liked that effect—it’s uh, like a rim lighting effect, in photography? But I don’t think I erased enough, maybe? There was—”

    “Yeah yeah yeah, okay, is that your final answer?” Mr. Peterson waggled the artwork in question.

    “Uhhh—final answer, I just would have started off with a much much much lighter hand, when I was shading,” James answered. “So that when I did get to the dark areas, I would have more room for darker shading for contrast?”

    “Boom! A plus,” Mr. Peterson slipped the paper back into the stack and bent over his desk to change the grading mark. “Who else can tell me they learned something?”

    Even more hands went up now that it was more clear what Mr. Peterson’s expectations here were, and after a moment of self-evaluation Tabitha also volunteered her slender and cast-free arm up into the air. Mr. Peterson chose several students at random, with one of them giving a meandering response about not knowing what else to do or how to improve once she had all of the bottles outlined, and another citing that he had learned to appreciate defining positive and negative space to recreate three dimensional objects onto a flat sheet of paper.

    To Tabitha’s surprise, after a suspenseful moment of searching the room with his cheshire grin Mr. Peterson turned and pointed right at her.

    “I didn’t spend enough time looking at what I was supposed to be drawing,” Tabitha confessed. “It’s like once the bottles and glassware were in my head, I stopped actually observing them, and started to instead draw my idea of what I thought they looked like, and focus on that. Taking my eyes off of my own drawing and checking the models became an afterthought, an aggravation. Because—the more I drew, the less my drawing adhered to what I was actually supposed to be drawing.”

    “Good! Great!” Mr. Peterson boomed, again taking the time to search through the stack of papers for Tabitha’s sheet. “This is something I saw with not just some of these, but most of these. In still lifes they often say there’s an eighty-twenty rule, where you should be eighty percent of your time observing what you’re drawing, and twenty percent drawing what you’re observing. Tabitha here failed to properly observe what she was drawing, and what happened?”

    To her absolute mortification, when he found her drawing and turned back and forth to display it to the room her childish work earned chuckles and mocking looks from everyone.

    “Her proportions went all wonky!” Mr. Peterson explained. “She looked at it for a little bit, and then drew her idea of it. Most of you did this. You saw a bunch of bottles, and drew that, instead of look look looking at the bottles, and breaking down what those were to observe their specific shape, their height, the contour angles, the positive and negative space they created. But, having recognized her folly, and maybe learned something—we’ll go from a B to a B plus, for Tabitha.”

    “Glasswork, in Caricature~!” Eric sniped under his breath.

    “Wait!” Amber spoke up without being called upon. “That’s totally not even fair. Mine’s not great, yeah, but it looks way better than that whole mess. How do I not get a B?!”

    “Great question—and what did you learn?” Mr. Peterson asked. “What did drawing bottles this week teach you?”

    “That your grading is super unfair,” Amber retorted.

    “And what else?” Mr. Peterson was unphased by her accusation, and if anything his grin only widened.

    “That Tabitha can’t draw for shit,” Amber said.

    “Don’t swear in my classroom young lady, or your C minus will become a D,” Mr. Peterson warned her without breaking stride. “I think what you might take away from this is that for you, instead of even looking at the bottles in front of you, or even your own drawing? You were all caught up in what everyone else around you was drawing—how theirs looked, how they were doing. Who was drawing better than you, who was drawing worse.

    “Now, one can learn a lot through cruel, cruel comparisons—but, did you?” Mr. Peterson asked. “Did that teach you something?”

    “I mean… yeah?” Amber answered.

    “Go on then, tell us,” Mr. Peterson urged her on with a wave of the stack of papers. “Tell us something you learned.”

    “...I don’t freaking know?” Amber finally shrugged. 

    “Better keep your attention on your own work next time, then,” Mr. Peterson advised. “Like several of you—and I’m not gonna name any names, but if I did it might sound a lot like Steven, Christopher, Vanessa,—Amber did not manage to complete her assignment! Despite being given an entire school week to do so! And thus, Amber here receives a C minus. That’s already incredibly merciful and generous on my part, here, folks.

    “Y’all had a whole dang week to scribble out a couple l’il bottles. That goes especially for you, Christopher!” Mr. Peterson pulled a page out from his handful of papers. “I like you, and even I couldn’t even give you a C or a D in good conscience. What is this? Can you explain what it was you were up to, here? And, what you might have learned?”

    “I learned that I am very easily distractible?” Christopher guessed with an uneasy laugh. “Uhhh but no seriously, I actually wasn’t here on Tuesday or Wednesday, so—”

    “Absent some days or not, you drew PART of ONE bottle!” Mr. Peterson waved the drawing in question—an almost completely blank page—around the class. “You’re telling me this is all you got done?! Get up and go sit at the kiddy table, Christopher. Go on now, get up, get up. Everyone, it’s rude as heck to point fingers and laugh at a classmate, but if there was a time to do it, it would be now.”

    Unsurprisingly, audience participation in Mr. Peterson’s classroom remained at an all time high, because everyone was eager to join in jeering at the poor kid. The blatant shaming seemed a little bit much to Tabitha’s somewhat more modern sensibilities. But, then again, on the other hand it was genuinely appalling that the guy hadn’t drawn much more than a single line in an entire week. Even with some absences, it should not have been hard for him to get something done, but instead the table over there on that side mostly always had loud people chattering away with each other.

    “I mean—the little part he did draw looks great, though!” Eddie was either trying to defend his friend, or kick him when he was down—Tabitha couldn’t quite tell which.

    “Hah hah, very funny,” Mr. Peterson paused and looked at the single drawn line on the paper again. “You know, you actually have a bit of a point. And, that only makes it worse!”

    “I at least mostly finished mine,” Vanessa muttered under her breath. “Those guys over there were talking instead of working like literally every day!”

    “Vanessa, I sure hope you’re whispering all hush hush ‘bout what you learned this past week!” Mr. Peterson noticed her and called her out right away. “Or, would you care to join Christopher Robin there, at the kiddie table?”

    “I um,” Vanessa glowered. “I learned I should just keep my mouth shut?”

    “Good answer,” Mr. Peterson said with an approving nod. “Not changing your grade, though. C minus for Vanessa. And, I’m only being so lenient this first week! I will not be grading so graciously after this, people. I hope this is your wake up call. You do good work, I’ll stay out of your business. You do not so good work, you better be prepared to tell me why and what it’s teaching you.

    “Okay, Art Show! From sixth period here, we’re putting James and then… Ellen’s pieces up for display, there. Rest of you lot can all take your drawings home with you, show your parents, stick ‘em up on your fridge, or what have you. But, if you do go to see our school’s upcoming big production of The Wiz, as in Wizard of Oz but all musical-like, you can also appreciate some of the more outstanding work your classmates here worked on there at our Art Show.”

    Mr. Peterson then began making the rounds returning the rest of the assignments to everyone personally. As he did so, Tabitha couldn’t help but internally grimace, because Amber was glaring daggers across the room at her in a blatant show of animosity.

    It’s not MY fault you didn’t finish your work! Tabitha pretended not to notice. Or, if it IS, it’s because you and your stupid friends are wasting all your time talking about me instead of doing what you’re supposed to!

* * *

    Claudia and Shirley sure are nasty pieces of work, Mrs. Moore thought to herself. But, otherwise the bakery really isn’t too bad!

    This department had a foul reputation amongst the other Food Lion workers, but after that initial day of stress and anxiety, in her second shift she found things tedious but uncomplicated. Claudia didn’t trust the new hire to not muck up any of the real work—anything to do with proofing or baking, and they insisted she just ignore the cacophony of oven timers whenever they went off.

    Which was constantly.

    Over the course of the day it became apparent to Mrs. Moore that the older bakery ladies here had gotten together to discuss all of the work they didn’t want to do, and then promptly divvied all of those tasks up for Mrs. Moore to handle instead. Anything to do with all those pesky people who kept bothering them throughout the day was fobbed off onto her; answering the phone for cake or catering orders, helping customers over the counter.

    Those were to be Mrs. Moore’s priority, and the rest of her time would be filled with systematically cleaning all of the areas and going through the ‘break out’ checklist. Which meant her job turned out to be keeping an eye on the front area, sweeping, cleaning and wiping down everything in the entire bakery, and then constant trips into the nearby freezer room to pull out and portion dough to thaw for tomorrow.

    While all of the bread and pastries were baked here, nothing was made from scratch. Dough for everything arrived in shipments, unorganized stacked heaps of boxes which lined the walls of the absolutely jam-packed walk-in freezer. The shipping labels detailing their individual contents had tiny print and were often on the inaccessible sides of the boxes—opening them and pulling back the plastic liner revealed piles of pale, frozen lumps that could have been mistaken for oblong chunks of ceramic. The department’s breads, buns, rolls, bagels, and donuts all came in frozen and just needed spaced out on one of the broad baking sheets atop parchment paper in preparation for tomorrow. These were then to be slotted into one of the rolling racks to pull across the store into the back proofer later on. Even their sheetcakes arrived by the stack and only required the department to spread on icing and decorate them.

    The longtime bakery employees hated to be in and out of the cluttered, claustrophobic, and absolutely frigid walk-in freezer, and they loathed having to deal with the heavy boxes of frozen food for daily break out. None of that was much of a bother for Shannon, however. She was here to work, and having a cleancut list of basic work to do made things rather straightforward. Going down the checklist to count out everything Claudia wanted pulled for tomorrow and place it all on sheets for the rolling rack was easy, mindless work.

    Without any customers lingering by the counter area or a phone ringing, Mrs. Moore spent the rest of the time bundled up in her coat back in the walk-in freezer. The small enclosure was positively choked with an excess of boxes, and the wall to manage on her side was sometimes three units deep and required shifting a lot of product around back and forth a lot to find what was needed. She had no earthly idea why this was the case however, because many if not most of these boxes were either half-full or almost completely empty, and in those cases the boxes were often torn or partially crushed by the weight of other boxes.

    Well SOMEONE needs to do something about all this! Mrs. Moore thought, trying to wring the chill out of her hands.

    For the top case of frozen donuts, she immediately pulled out the plastic liner containing less than a dozen remaining apple fritters, twisted the bag neatly closed, and transferred them to share space in the box of chocolate donuts. Jelly-filled, maple, cinnamon, and crullers left over from other already-opened boxes joined shortly after, which meant she could remove and flatten five entire boxes from the overstuffed freezer room right away.

    One entire row clears out, just like that, Mrs. Moore thought with a wry smile.

    She took the black sharpie used for jotting down cake orders and simply wrote the donut names on the outward face of the box in large letters. Digging down another layer of boxes, she was likewise able to combine twists with blueberry into the glazed donut box. The bagels were next to consolidate, because they were also all easy to tell apart even when many different types had their liner bags moved into the same box. The rolls weren’t quite so easy to discern from one another when they were all still frozen blobs of dough—at least not for a new worker on her second day, so Shannon left them alone.

    There was no way anyone would confuse the dark pumpernickel dough with the sourdough or rye, however. So, she worked her way down that stack, shifting bags of frozen goods into a single merged box and then scrawling the different names onto the cardboard. By the time she realized there were only fifteen minutes left of her shift, it seemed like she had cleared a huge portion of the walk-in freezer. All of the opened and partially spent boxes of product on top—there had been several dozen of these—were repacked into seven now very weighty boxes. Heavier even than the unopened boxes of product along the back, but she saw no reason to fuss around with those. 

    Taking in the sight of the now much more roomy and better yet organized walk-in freezer, Mrs. Moore allowed herself a proud harumph that turned into a cloud of vapor in the air before her. She hadn’t ever understood the satisfaction and relief her daughter must have felt in the past six months when Tabitha was going around like a girl possessed cleaning and organizing things. Now it felt like she really got it, she empathized on a deep level.

    Even if those old bakery crones would never thank me or show any hint of appreciation, Mrs. Moore decided to herself, I know what I got done. And, my job will be even easier tomorrow, having done this!

* * *

    Far across the other side of Springton, almost the whole way to Fairfield Mrs. Macintire was also at work, shoving her office chair back from her desk and allowing its natural tilt to pull her into a lazy spin. The Safety Plant’s offices here were a large shared endeavor with everyone’s desks and computers and the rows upon rows of filing cabinets they had yet to digitize in the systems upgrade making the workplace here feel disjointed and chaotic. Her bosses were all engineers, and they spent their days clicking away at CAD with little thought towards anything else but the specifications and material tolerances of linemen's belts and harnesses.

    As two of the few women working in the entire company, Sandra and Marcy kept their work stations next to one another, and this frazzled, mousy-looking blonde with her thick glasses by default became the person she chatted with the most. Marcy looked like what Sandra would consider a ‘college nerd,’ but she had this absolutely vicious acerbic humor—delivered with deadpan stoicism—that made Mrs. Macintire think of the woman as more of a cranky old aunt, even if in reality they were the same age.

    “Marcy,” Sandra remarked. “I’m thinking about putting Tabitha in therapy. What do you think?”

    “Therapy?” Marcy hummed, looking up from her computer. “Geez, is it that bad? You getting a lot of, uh, warning signs?”

    “Yes,” Sandra nodded, paused, and then shook her head. “...No. I don’t know. Maybe? She’s just so—strange. Half the things that come out of her mouth just make me go—”

    Rather than finish the sentence, Sandra performed a face with her brows all the way up and her eyes wide in an alarmed, judgemental stare.

    “How old is she, again?” Marcy asked with a half smile.

    “Too young for some of the things that come out of her mouth,” Sandra groaned. “Fourteen. Recently fourteen, mind you. Like, the candles on the cake are practically still friggin’ smoking.”

    “Hope you’ve got birth control for her,” Marcy commented—her expression was half snide and teasing and half serious concern. “Oh, brother.”

    “God, no, no—it’s not like that, blegh!” Sandra made a show of gagging. “I hope? No, it’s really not. She’s just like—she’s like a miniature adult. In the weirdest ways. While at the same time being, well, the dumbest girl. Kind of. Not dumb, but like—I don’t know how to explain it.”

    “So—she’s a teenager,” Marcy nodded, returning her attention to her keyboard. “Sandy… ya can’t therapy your way out of that. She’s just gotta grow up, you know? Get through it. Teenagers are miniature adults, ya know? While also sorta being children. It’s their whole thing. The lucky ones grow out of some of that. Many never do at all.”

    “No, it’s—aggh,” Sandra groaned. “I was thinking this would be like. Like taking her in with us would be this great trial run. Of how to deal with having a girl. A girl that’s growing up, you know? The way to do things right. Because, once we got off on the wrong foot with Hannah, it was so damn hard getting our uh, our parenting back on track. You know? You know?”

    “I told you and told you,” Marcy shook her head in dismay. “You can’t spoil a child rotten and then just unspoil them. Once you have them expecting the sun and the moon as if that’s the normal, then—”

    “Right right right, and I couldn’t fix that,” Sandra said. “But—but Tabitha could. She did. She was just the right person to come in and—I don’t know. Have this different other perspective, to be fresh out of poverty and just be full of appreciation for all the little simple things Hannah took for granted. Hell, that hubby and me took for granted! She’s been so great!”

    “But, you also think she needs therapy?” Marcy arched an eyebrow. “Even though you trust her so much with Hannah?”

    “I don’t know,” Sandra admitted. “Maybe? She’s such a weird one Marcy, I swear.”

    “Yeah, and you’re just the most normal woman I know,” Marcy teased. “A regular Abbie Normal.”

    “She’s disturbingly self-aware,” Sandra explained. “To a fault. While also being completely blind about certain things about herself. But, she recognizes that, too. And she’s always, I don’t know, groping around for the answers, for the fixes, desperate to—to—I don’t even know. Structure something? She’s so weirdly structured. Organized. Her brain is. It’s so baffling. Kids aren’t like that.”

    “Surely some kids are?” Marcy chuckled. “You’re already leaning on her for Hannah. Maybe you’re the one who needs therapy, Sandy. Have you been venting to her about all your problems and struggles?”

    “No, I—okay actually I guess a little?” Sandra paused. “I guess some, I’ve been relating my issues to hers. That’s normal, though. Right? Just—whew boy, does she have issues.”

    “So I’ve heard?” Marcy drawled. “Yeah, I think that’s completely normal, still.”

    “I think you need to meet her,” Sandra sighed. “To really get what I mean. How crazy structured her mind is. She’s more grown up than most of the grown ups I know, Marcy. In some ways, at least. But then, the rest—”

    “She grew up in poverty,” Marcy summarized with a thoughtful finger upon her lip. “Parents were a mess, from everything you’ve said. Absent, or unstable, or too caught up in their own sink or swim struggles to do anything about their own kids drowning in problems. So this Tabitha girl grew up in chaos. Without a life jacket. So, then in turn she craves order, structure. Fixates on internal regulation, I don’t know. She got a front row seat in how to drown yourself in misery at a real young age, now she’s obsessing on how to like, not do that.”

    “I really want you to meet her,” Sandra said again. “I know you don’t want to—”

    “I’m not a therapist anymore!” Marcy reminded her with a tight smile. “Even thinking about it again makes me feel all burnt out. All over again. It’s—yep, there it is. My anxiety is rising. Skyrocketing. Thanks for that. So, no. No way, José. Everyone’s in crisis now, here have some pills. Take a prozac. It’s the nineties, everyone is leading lives of quiet desperation. Medicate yourself into oblivion, there you go. Problem solved, right?”

    “I don’t think she needs to go on pills or anything like that,” Sandra said. “I feel the same way you do about—”

    “Then, you’re already a better parent than most!” Marcy said. “Sounds to me like she just needs someone who’ll listen to her, and you’re listening to her. She already has a therapist; you.”

    “Yeah, but—” Sandra groaned. “I really feel like I don’t have all the answers when I should. I don’t understand what’s going on in her head the way you would. I don’t—”

    “Then, just keep listening?” Marcy suggested. “If even one percent of our problems had simple, straightforward answers, we wouldn’t all be in this total mess we’re all in! That’s just life. From what all you’ve told me, this girl was drowning, and you became her life jacket. You’re doing fine. You’re doing great. Keep doing that.

    “Just, don’t ever go expecting Hannah to grow into the same issues Tabitha’s having in the first place, because she won’t. At all. Hannah is a completely different monster. Actually, I should ask already—have you ever put your foot down with Tabitha? Established a firm boundary? Had to tell her a firm no about something?”

    “No… not really,” Sandra admitted with a sheepish look. “I can’t even imagine ever having to, with her. She’s not like Hannah, like you just said! She’s—”

    “Okay, well,” Marcy sighed. “Great. You’re gonna have two monsters, then, Sandy. There you go. More monsters of your own making. I salute you.”

    “I really want you to meet her,” Sandra insisted.

    “What would I even say?” Marcy made a face. “It’s honestly so bizarre to me that you think I, of all people can fix anyone’s problems. When you know for a fact I can’t even handle my own problems! The last time I was on a date, the damn—”

    “You’ve done more for me than the literal psychiatrist I went to ever did,” Sandra said. “I trust you more than I trust—”

    “Your psychiatrist was a quack!” Marcy scowled. “He wasn’t even listening to you. He wasn’t observing basic—”

    “Exactly! Exactly,” Sandra groaned. “You do listen. You listen and understand. Whereas I just listen, and… don’t know what to make of most of it. I feel like I’m floundering, and the idea that I might ever let this poor girl drown in what’s going on with her terrifies me. Because I don’t understand what’s going on with her, not like I should. Please please please Marcy, just meet her? You’ll like her! I promise. You might love her. In a lot of ways, she’s like a… a little, miniature you.”

    “What a terrible thing to say,” Marcy scoffed. “You go on and on about her, but I’ve never heard you just flat out insult the poor girl, until now. Wow! Wow.”

    “When she called me mom, for the first time—” Sandra said. “It was like she reached right into my chest and tore my heart out. Yeah, I’ll listen to her. I can’t not listen to her, not when she lets herself be more vulnerable with me than she did her own fucking parents. When that happened, I really became her mom—which. I don’t even know how to put that into words. But, at the same time, I do know enough to know when I’m getting in over my  head. I really want you to just meet her and listen to her. I’ll pay you?”

    “She doesn’t need me,” Marcy said. “At best she needs someone she can better relate to—older teenager, or a girl just out of high school. A role model figure, not some random fucking other clueless mess of an adult who she doesn’t know, and has no reason to trust.”

    “I’ll pay you!” Sandra insisted again. “Please.”

    “Stop saying that!” Marcy scoffed. “S’not about the money? I just don’t do well with kids, Sandy. They’re their own whole separate field of study in the first place, and I was—”

    “Okay, well she’s having a get together with some of her friends at my house tomorrow,” Mrs. Macintire said. “I just know hubby is going to use that as an excuse to fire up the grill for everyone. So—come by for lunch? At least? I just want you to meet her, I won’t ask you to—”

    “Grill—grilling what?” Marcy finally appeared to be letting her resolve be worn down. “Burgers, hot dogs?”

    “Steaks, porkchops, sausages, you name it,” Mrs. Macintire promised with a grin. “We can do burgers, sure. He flew off to the grocery store and piled up a whole damn cart full the moment he was up and about again.”

    “Ughhhh fine,” Marcy threw her hands up. “There better be beer, Sandy. I’m not a real therapist anymore!”

    “Just… meet her,” Mrs. Macintire said. “Listen to her a bit, I don’t know, watch her. Observe. There’s something I’m missing there, I swear, and that scares the shit out of me. I was terrified that she was being abused, remember? I—I don’t know what to do, or what’s going on with her. Every time I think I do, she says something else, and just confuses the heck out of me all over again.”

    “She’s a teenager, Sandy,” Marcy repeated. “They’ll do that, that’s normal. You’re probably just overthinking things?”

* * *

    When the final bell resounded throughout the art room, Tabitha slung her bookbag over one shoulder and waved her goodbyes to her friends. She hoped she would see at least some of them show up at her impromptu party, but realistically speaking she didn’t have much in the way of expectations. There wasn’t much of a reason or purpose to host an actual get together—structured events celebrating the removal of a cast weren’t really a thing.

    Tabitha just wanted to throw a party.

    My big birthday thing really opened my eyes, I guess, Tabitha mused. I’d never really had a big thing like that. Now, I want more. I want to have stuff like that going on all the time.

    The Tabitha of her past life would have been terrified or at the very least extremely anxious facing that kind of overt extrovert behavior. But, Tabitha now had the itch. She wanted to socialize. She wanted to have fun with her friends, she wanted to meet up with everyone outside of school. It was like she’d gotten a taste of life finally, and now it had instilled a craving for more deep within her. It was a dangerous, intoxicating feeling, this sudden desire to burn so brightly that she held everyone’s attention, captivated them, engaged them, drew them in.

    The proverbial fly in the ointment being that her fledgling attempts at becoming outgoing had immediately made her a target for the in-crowd of popular girls who aggressively defended the status quo of social standing. Nobodies like Tubby Tabby weren’t supposed to turn around and suddenly have some sort of meteoric rise through the ranks—at least not without a healthy amount of pushback and pressure.

    Changing her appearance, losing all the weight, putting thought into what she wore every day, arranging her hair just right, putting in the work to take care of her skin and apply just the right subtle amount of makeup, that had been easy. Well, not easy. In fact, at the time it felt like attempting to squeeze blood from a stone. Changing her mindset, though? Overcoming her immediate anxieties, daring to step out of her comfort zone, meeting new people and making friends, making enemies, being confrontational with the popular girls? That was less squeezing blood from a stone, and more like squeezing a stone into a diamond. Not just difficult, comically difficult, virtually impossible.

    I’m slowly learning, Tabitha thought with a wince as she walked down the hallway. Slowly but surely.

    She already knew not to fall into the opponent’s rhythm and let them speak when there was any chance to interrupt. There was a sort of dry wit she could bring to bear in countering arguments or building up assertions, but it wasn’t completely reliable—sometimes it was right there when she needed it, sometimes the right words were nowhere to be found. As her mind turned towards an inevitable review of how things had gone, she thought that what she probably needed to work on more was insults. In fact, after the initial stabs, it seemed like most everything directed their way was just insults. Abuse ad hominem seemed to become the bulk of what got thrown around between teenage girls in a squabble, and that was one of those areas where Tabitha felt woefully underdeveloped.

    There should be great roasts or disses I remember from the future I can take advantage of, Tabitha pondered. Right?

    None came to mind right away.

    It felt like she should have a natural advantage in this particular arena, because so much of the slander she heard the cheerleaders use felt so obviously dated. The catch-phrases and lingo and comebacks they used were all so nineties-specific that they stood out to Tabitha, yet at the same time they didn’t exactly prompt recollection of more modern insults. Nothing was coming to mind. When Tabitha turned her attention to the subject of roasts, disses, and vicious mockery, she drew a near-total blank.

    I guess calling some ‘mid’ was kind of a thing for a while? Tabitha thought with a sheepish smile. That’s… not exactly overwhelming anyone. It’s like saying they’re just kind of meh, middling, rather than illustrating how extremely terrible or lame they are. It feels like it’s only halfway to being an insult, very half-hearted slander. I wonder how it caught on so well in the future? Maybe that was part of the appeal? Somehow? Like saying that someone sucks so much that you can’t even be bothered to define why or even care. Judgemental while also being indifferent.

    Maybe that was a good angle to lean into—Tabitha could adopt the mentality that anything and everything they threw at her bored her, that their words were unimpressive, that she couldn’t even be bothered to put in effort putting them down in return.

    Bothered! Tabitha’s eyes lit up. That was definitely a thing! In comments at least, I dunno if it was ever got as much traction in real life trash-talk. Insisting that they’re BOTHERED. ‘Why are you SO MAD? Calm down, wow. LOOK AT HOW MAD SHE IS. So basically, I play up the act of being amused at how RUSTLED THEIR JIMMIES ARE, whether or not they actually even seem phased. While I assert myself as the indifferent, cool and composed one. Because, any response to that or attempt on their part to deny BEING SO BOTHERED makes them look like they’re being defensive. Like they actually are bothered. Puts them on the back foot.

    Some part of her died inside at realizing she was drawing from her memories of internet discourse, while another small part of her roused with vindictive glee. Perhaps the next time she got into it with Desiree and Faith, Tabitha could simply channel recollection of the most vile and inane comment threads that came to mind. It was in all honesty a lot more similar to the puerile nineties insults that all seemed to incorporate references to poop or dicks somehow.

    Although… yeah I can capture that right FEELING, but moreso than that what I need are the specific WORDS to use. Phrasings. Which for now remain elusive. Maybe once some come to mind, I’ll write them down? So far I have ‘bothered,’ and I have ‘mid.’ Which is honestly… pretty mid. Hah. I need some better material.

    Tabitha found herself flowing along with the crowd as it poured in a noisy throng through the school towards the bus loop. She felt wary but not particularly attentive. Her mind was wandering and her gaze passed from the backpacks of those walking in front of her to the teenager’s hair from one person to another in a bit of a trance. Several months ago here at the bus loop she’d been pushed and broken her wrist—now she was finally back to this point with her hand healed.

    Rather than things coming full circle or feeling conclusive it felt like she’d resolved a little personal recursive loop in her own story. A little strange snarl amidst the tangled strings of fate, a miniature loop within the larger loop that was her coming back in time. So much had happened since that October day back then.

    She’d withdrawn from school. Then there was that Halloween party and the attack there, which seemed to finally lay bare how real the situation with bullies and psychopaths was to everyone around her. The hospital time and that agonizing pace of recovery, Aunt Lisa sensing blood in the water and circling in. That unhealed rift in her family coming to a head when she finally butted heads with her father.

    Thanksgiving, Christmas. Moving in to stay with the Macintires being so transformative—growing a little Hannah-shaped shadow that I fell in love with. Going to the mall with my friends, and how it made me realize that in the right light of circumstance, being the more outgoing ‘extrovert’ Tabitha is actually like CRACK COCAINE All of us teasing Bobby through the McDonald’s drive-thru window that one night. The whole birthday thing at the theater, the skating rink. Returning to high school here but with the right MINDSET, finally.

    In her attempt back at the start of the school year, Tabitha had been a butterfly who still had the mind of a caterpillar. Her wings had been present and they were indeed beautiful, but she could not fly—she did not dare to. Like a frightened little caterpillar she clung stubbornly to her twig, while wondering why everything wasn’t magically working out. Confused and annoyed at how she wasn’t somehow suddenly dancing through the air like she was supposed to be.

    So, in this metaphor was letting go of the twig finally—letting go of my family? Tabitha mused to herself. It doesn’t quite feel like that. Although that was maybe part of the whole process? Leaving home, leaving the comfort of the familiar. Back before, part of what made it so hard for me to change and start really moving forward was that stubborn cautious need to always have one foot planted firmly on the ground.

    Although her thoughts drifted she did pay more attention to everyone around her, especially walking up the length of the bus loop in search of the bus with the J-13 placard in the front window. No pushers accosted her, no sneering cheerleaders materialized to corner and berate her, and Tabitha was able to clomp her way up the big steps of her bus without triggering any random battles with combative Poketrainers. She gave a polite smile to the driver, then worked her way down the aisle towards her usual spot.

    Pokemon! I’ve had my Gameboy and link cable in my bag for what seems like days now, and I never remember to bring it out and challenge someone. There’s always everything else popping up and getting in the way, Tabitha thought as she sunk into her seat. Yeah, now that I’m a Butterfree instead of a Caterpie or Metapod, it’s like everyone wants a piece of me. I need to learn more moves now that I’m fighting with people all the time. Could Butterfree learn Taunt? I forget what gen that was, but I think Taunt was for sure a TM. Butterfree could probably learn it. Ooh, but which of my four moves would I have to sacrifice to learn Taunt in its place?!

    The pleasant buzz of inconsequential, sometimes incoherent thoughts hummed along as Tabitha observed other kids boarding the bus and hustling down the row with their jackets and backpacks to find a spot to sit.

    But then, a strange giant rose—and rose—and rose from the schoolbus stairwell. He was a teenager but a towering one, his poofy nineties heartthrob-cut hair brushing the metal ceiling of the bus. It was probably a trick of her imagination, but in the moment it even seemed like he was stooping a bit to avoid banging his head. His absurd height didn’t seem to be because he was an adult or even one of the high school juniors or seniors—her shocked, wide-eyed study of his features seemed to tell her that despite his somewhat absurd stature, he was also a younger teen. One of Tabitha’s peers—if a gangly, super fucking tall one.

    Gary followed the giant up the bus, and then Jacob, and then Bobby, and although Tabitha now found herself flustered she realized that the super tall kid must be the infamous ‘Lurch.’ Bobby’s unexpected presence on its own had all of Tabitha’s thoughts rabbiting away in every direction, especially because Gary gestured her way with his basketball and the group of four boys zeroed in on her with their full attention.

    “Tabitha!”

    “Yo, Tah-BEE!”

    “Hey hey hey!”

    “Uh-mhh?” Tabitha enunciated her response with the calm composure and cool eloquence of  someone who’d just been passed a live grenade. “Hiiii?”

    “Tabs Tabs Tabs,” Gary jostled Lurch over into Gary’s usual seat across from Tabitha, and then followed him in, sitting but turning the whole way to face her. “So, what’s all this about a part-ay?”

    Lurch regarded them with an embarrassed smile, his view of everyone in no way obstructed by being forced into a seat and then blocked in by Gary. He seemed amicable enough and also used to Gary being so familiar with him—which was honestly unsurprising. Lurch wasn’t just tall, he was tall, he seemed like a real life gag character.

    Like someone the small-time crook in Kung Fu Hustle would point out from the crowd to pick a fight with, only for the scene to reveal said someone had actually been seated the whole time and rise up to reveal he was actually a giant. Of course Gary, the basketball guy of Springton High, would be possessive of Lurch. Lurch already seemed like a shoe-in for any NBA draft.

    “I’m ah, I’m celebrating!” Tabitha amped up her cheery smile, and she brought up her freshly uncasked hand to show them. “Got my cast off. Finally. So I uh, yeah, thought it’d be cool to have a thing. A big thing. With lots of everybody around, uh, you know?”

    “Cool cool, hell yeah,” Gary nodded. “This is Brett—you can call him Lurch. He’s way too damn white for us to call him High Tower, you know?”

    That felt like some sort of intentional nineties reference of some sort, but whatever it was it went right over her head. Probably something to do with a sports guy? The nickname tickled her brain for a moment, but she wasn’t able to successfully connect it to anything.

    “Hey,” Brett gave her an awkward wave. “Uhh—some girls came and invited me to your thing? Somehow? Your party thing. If that’s cool.”

    The wave of his hand was even distracting, because compared to the more normal teens around him Brett seemed to have an enormous wingspan and incredible reach. Tabitha didn’t think she was attracted to him per se—actually it was the presence of Bobby dropping into the seat behind Gary and Brett made her mind feel like a jar of butterflies that had been given a violent shake—but Brett was definitely a little fascinating to look at.

    “Oh! Uh yeah,” Tabitha said, giving them a wince and then a grin. “One of my friends has a total crush on you! So, yeah. Great if you can be there! It’s uh—it’s tomorrow.”

    It felt really weird and mortifying to point that out, but she felt that she needed to clarify that, just in case they were all riding on the bus here today expecting her party to also be today.

    “Yeah, they’re crashing at my place tonight, then we’ll be there tomorrow,” Gary assured her. “I mean—hey, I’m invited too, right?”

    “Of course!” Tabitha agreed. “Definitely. Yeah. I was gonna ask you soon as I saw you! Just, I uh, I wasn’t on the bus this morning. Was getting my cast off, then we had to go to the hospital too and get my head checked, um, X-rays, make sure it was all healed up enough there so that I could be clear for physical stuff again.”

    “Everything good?” Bobby asked. “You’re all cleared?”

    “All cleared!” Tabitha turned her megawatt smile his way, and his face immediately began to color. “So—yeah, I’ll be able to run with everyone in Personal Fitness finally. I’m excited! It just ah, it sucks that it’s Friday already. Was looking forward to it and, yeah.”

    “Who has a crush on Lurch?” Jacob asked.

    “Oh, uhhhh—” Tabitha trailed off into a nervous giggle. “Guess I probably shouldn’t say?”

    “What, is it you?” Gary put her on the spot.

    “No, oh—no,” Tabitha waved her arms in front of her. “No, sorry. I don’t think I’d ever even seen Brett before, and, yeah. I would have definitely remembered him! How tall are you?”

    “Almost six eight!” Brett answered with a wry smile. “Almost. I’m gettin’ there!”

    “Just… wow,” Tabitha said.

    She didn’t have any other words besides that.

    “Well damn, she’s crushing on him now,” Gary snorted. “I’m tellin’ you Lurch, once we get you—”

    “Oh no, sorry, sorry,” Tabitha interrupted in a panic. “I mean uh, no offense? You seem cool, Brett. I’m actually kind of already crushing on Bobby, though? Yeaaah.”

    “Hoooooo~!”

     “Wheeewwww~!”

    “God damn—!”

    The teenage boys all erupted into jeers in unison at that, while Bobby’s smile was frozen in place and for once it seemed like he had no idea what to even say. The admission hadn’t exactly been easy for Tabitha either, but it was also somehow quite liberating. Those sudden unbidden feelings for Bobby seemed to gather in her chest as a form of pressure, and admitting that she liked him—with all these people here, no less—was an incredible form of release.

    She could already talk back to Brittany Taylor, so confessing that she had a bit of a crush on someone suddenly didn’t feel like it was such an insurmountable ordeal. It was part of riding that same edge of youthful insanity that she felt whenever she intentionally turned up the power of her smile on Bobby, just so she could elicit that super satisfying stunned reaction from him.

    “I uh, yeah,” Tabitha babbled out. “I couldn’t even go over today at lunch and invite him to the party myself! It was too scary.”

    “Too scary?!” Jacob heckled in disbelief. “Shit, yeah right.”

    “Well,” Tabitha put on a meaningful look. “There were all those other girls there! Girls are unbelievably scary! Jake, you’ll find that out the hard way, one of these days.”

    That only had them all bursting into laughter all over again, slapping at the leathery vinyl of the seat benches, jostling their shoulders into each other and altogether overreacting. Tabitha thought it might be a funny thing to say, but it wasn’t that funny, and she wore a sheepish expression as the other kids boarding had to try to squeeze past the big commotion they were making to find seats in the back.

* * *

    Bobby still felt shell-shocked as he followed Gary and Brett off of the bus, their worn sneakers scuffing the flagstones as they trooped down the sidewalk together as a trio. Jacob had already disembarked a stop or two ago, but would be meeting back up with them to shoot hoops once he’d dropped off his bag and changed. Gary and Brett’s back and forth banter wasn’t even registering for a while there, and Bobby even had the urge to raise his hands up in front of himself and stare at them in disbelief as if questioning his reality.

    “Bobby-boy, you good?” Gary flicked his hand out in a quick snap that stung against Bobby’s shoulder. “You good, man? You good?”

    “I’m uh,” Bobby said.

    “I’m uhhh,” Brett echoed.

    “You’re uh-uh-uh freakin’ us out, man,” Gary got in another quick snap before Bobby was able to shrug himself out of the way. “You buggin’?”

    “Talk to us, Bobby,” Brett teased. “Breathe, man. Just breathe.”

    Bobby indulged them by making a show of doing quick breathing exercises and then stooping over as if needing to catch his breath, but even though this kind of gag was rote for him, his mind was still a million miles away. Tabitha maybe really liked him. He’d thought she did, but the distance between suspecting—or maybe he should say hoping, and having her just outright say it... he couldn’t put it into words. It was hard to unscramble any of his thoughts, right now. He couldn’t even remember the rest of what happened on the bus.

    Everything seemed to pinwheel together into a giant blur.

    “Alright, you and Tabitha,” Gary prompted. “What’s the deal, man? What’s the four one one. What’s the dealio. You like her?”

     “I uh,” Bobby said.

    Brett laughed again.

    “No, I uh—” Bobby rubbed his hands down his face. “Uh. Gimme a minute. Damn. Where even are we right now?”

    “Earth,” Gary said. “Come on back down and join us, son.”

    “I just,” Bobby tried to form his churning morass of thoughts into sentences somehow. “I didn’t expect uh. I mean I kinda knew, maybe, I figured that—I don’t know. I just…”

    “Hey, one of her friends has a crush on me?” Brett asked. “I don’t think I really know any of them except Elena. She’s cool.”

    “Elena the lesbo chick?” Gary asked. “The one that dresses up in all everything black now?”

    “Elena’s not a lesbian,” Bobby said. “She used to have a thing for Matthew, I think?”

    “Matt Haynes?” Brett guessed.

    “Matt—” Bobby groaned. “No, not Matt Haynes. Fuck Matt Haynes. Matt Williams. Matthew.”

    “Don’t know him,” Brett shrugged.

    “I know him,” Gary said. “He’s alright. He’s not a freshman, though—sophomore, I think? Elena’s into older guys?”

    “Matt Haynes is gonna be at the party,” Bobby remembered. “Tiffany invited him. But—but Matt really thinks Tabitha’s into him. Ha ha hahhh, holy shit.”

    “I know Matt Haynes, too,” Gary said.

    “You know everybody, G,” Brett chuckled.

    “We’ve played with him before, you’d know his face,” Gary said. “Haynes got that hero complex. Ball hog. Thinks he’s the one that’s gotta be in the spotlight, thinks he’s the shiznit. Worst guy to have on your team, don’t even bother setting him up for passes. That guy even left Lurch in the lurch. He’s not trying to win if he’s not the one winnin’, know what I’m sayin’? Smarmy motherfucker.”

    “Yeah, so—what about me?” Bobby asked. “I’m better than fucking Matt Haynes.”

    “You’re not great,” Gary admitted, casually dribbling the basketball as he walked. “You play, but you don’t practice. Meaning, yeah alright you can shoot, but you’re not exactly putting on the pressure when it comes to defense. Felt like you only ever really got serious back when Joe was around. Hey man, don’t look at me like that—you asked. I guess I do remember you dropping dimes, sometimes? Better than Matt Haynes, sure. Fuck that guy.”

    “Fuck that guy,” Bobby said.

    “Fuck that guy,” Brett agreed.

    “You don’t even know who we’re talking about,” Gary rolled his eyes.

    “No, but I definitely remember a lot of dudes leaving me in the lurch for what coulda been easy passes,” Brett said. “Now I got a name to put to some of those faces.”

    “Never leave Lurch in the lurch,” Gary confided in Bobby. “This man’s got freaky fifteen-foot long arms. He’s right outta Space Jam. You can just be like ‘hey dawg, can you put this in the basket for me real quick?’ And he’s like, ‘yeah, here you go.’ Just like that. It’s fuckin’ hilarious.”

    “Ain’t no thing,” Brett gave them a solemn nod. “Was headin’ that way anyways. Easy buckets, Bobby-boy.”

    “Bobby-bo-o-o-ooy,” Gary drawled out. “You guys gotta call?”

    “Yeah,” Brett said. “My mom. She’ll be cool, though. Just so long as I check in with where I’m gonna be tonight.”

    “Fuck,” Bobby swore. “I gotta call Mickey-Dees. Supposed to be day shift tomorrow—there’s no way in hell I can go in now.”

    “Naw, you’re gonna be busy gettin’ jiggy with it,” Gary laughed. “Hey, Tabby’s cool. She’s pretty cute, right?”

    “She’s cute,” Brett confirmed. “Probably? Redhead for sure.”

    “Lurch only really gets dat top-down view, so that’s all he’s seen so far,” Gary said. “Blonde, brunette, redhead. S’all they are to him.”

    “S’not true,” Brett deadpanned. “Sometimes they wear hats.”

    “She’s more than just cute,” Bobby explained. “She’s cool. She’s funny. She has an actual sense of humor. She’s interesting. Weird. Vulnerable, tough. She’s crazy smart, and also kind of dumb sometimes. She’s just…”

    “I guess?” Gary shrugged. “I mean, we were just jokin’ around man. Now it legit sounds like you’ve got it bad.”

    “She doesn’t play basketball, Gary don’t care about her,” Brett laughed. “Gary don’t give a damn.”

    “Naw, s’not like that,” Gary chuckled. “I’ma get me a girl that’ll cheer me on from the sidelines someday. Me and this one girl had a thing goin’ on, once. Basketball with ‘em, though? Nah, I keep all that shit separate. Can’t really play serious with girls, not my thing. Don’t want to be all worried about dunkin’ on her too much and hurtin’ feelings, or none of that. When I’m in the game my head’s in the game, you feel me?”

    “I feel you,” Brett nodded. “You coming to the party, then?”

    “Oh, hell yeah,” Gary said. “Can’t miss it. You know ‘bout all the cheerleader drama there, right?”

    “Nope,” Brett answered. “All that bullshit is like everything else—beneath me.”

    “Hah,” Bobby laughed.

    “Elena the wicked witch was trying to join Cheer or something, so all of the cheerleaders flipped out,” Gary said. “They were all like no way in hell. So, then Tabitha was Elena’s friend and gets into it with them—or, something. I don’t really know, but all the girls are always goin’ on about it in a bunch of my classes. Saying what a psycho or fat freak or like how unhinged Tabitha and them all are. But like, I actually meet Tabitha myself on the bus like, just this past week? Shit, I like her more than I like any of the rest of them. She’s cool.”

    “She’s cool,” Bobby said.

    “She seems cool?” Brett shrugged. “Elena’s cool, too.”

    When they had reached Gary’s driveway, it was a double wide one without any cars parked in it—the only vehicle in sight on this property was a truck parked over in the grass past the driveway, because this area was always kept clear for everyone to play basketball. Although the pavement was ordinary beige concrete, the lines for a perfect half-court had been put into place with care using tape and spraypaint, and a half-dozen lawn chairs were set up on the side closest to the house where an overhang that wasn’t quite a full porch offered some extra shade.

    Bobby had been over here three or four times over the years—his older brother Joe used to play basketball with Gary’s brothers back in the day, and it had long since been one of those fixtures of Springton where one could always expect to find some kids hanging out. Although the regulars here changed up a bit once some of the older guys graduated, Gary and his friends had ensured this would still be one of the places to be during his generation.

    “You in it for a girl, then, Lurch?” Gary asked, tossing his backpack and jacket onto one of the lawn chairs. “Didn’t expect you to jump into that mess the second you hear ‘em having a party or whatever. S’not like you.”

    “I mean, I don’t mean to brag, but…” Brett made a show of checking both ways down the sidewalk before he leaned in close to confide in a whisper. “Elena once asked if she could borrow a pencil.”

    “No shit?!” Gary’s eyebrows rose in mock surprise. “Daaaamn.”

    “Wait, wait—” Bobby interjected. “She asked if she could borrow a pencil?! Dude, that’s not fucking messing around. Most girls don’t start sending those kind of hints until like, sophomore year.”

    “I know,” Brett nodded. “I know.”

    The three boys exchanged grins and then broke into laughter once again. Gary dribbled the ball casually and then tossed it to Lurch—Lurch swiped it out of the air, bounced it once, and then it was headed Bobby’s way.

    “Whereas, with me—with Tabitha saying she’s maybe crushing on me?” Bobby sighed, dribbling the ball for a moment. “That could mean anything. Who even knows what kind of hint that’s supposed to be. I mean damn, I really do like her, but I just don’t think we’re like at that stage where she’d ask to borrow a pencil, or anything super serious like that.”

    “Hey, you’ll get there, you’ll get there,” Brett encouraged with a straight face. “Just play it cool. You like her?”

    “I—yeah,” Bobby admitted. “For a while, now. I wasn’t sure about… damn, I dunno, I guess. Like, I know I like her, but when she smiles at me—my head just goes completely blank, and I’m not really sure what’s a go for it signal and what isn’t, anymore. She’s leery about starting to date or have things get serious, I know that. And, she’s got a lot going on with—yeah, everything. Cheerleaders. All that. Family stuff.”

    “Go for it bro, she’s cool,” Gary said. “I’ll keep my ears open. We talk on the bus sometimes, she’s usually right there across from me.”

    “Thanks, man,” Bobby said. “Lurch, you really going tomorrow just to figure out who’s crushing on you?”

    “I mean, all kidding aside?” Brett shrugged. “I’m pretty sure it really is Elena.” 

    “Uh-huh,” Gary snorted. “She asked for pencil. Ding-ding-ding, yeah that’s wedding bells I hear, my man.”

    “I do just get that vibe from her,” Brett said. “Even yeah, right there with the pencil thing. Felt purposeful. Like she wasn’t askin’ around to anyone, because she wouldn’t do that. She’s all prickly with the girls in that class, one of them woulda had some smartass remark if she was just like, asking if someone could help her out. Was more like she’d made up her mind to ask me specifically for a pencil. And yeah, she doesn’t even seem like someone who’d lose or forget her pencil in the first place.”

    “Uh-huh,” Gary sounded a little less skeptical this time. “Yeah, bro. Maybe.”

    “Then there’s like—her body language and all that,” Brett continued. “When you’re not on their mind? Or, they don’t give a damn? Girls could care less ‘bout whether they’re presenting their best side to you. But Elena’s always turned just a bit towards me in like, perfect three-quarter pose. And, that wouldn’t be weird if I sat over to the left of her—that could still be kind of natural. But, I’m on her right. All the chairs have that desk bit that wraps around as an armrest on your right. She wouldn’t normally get comfy or relax in them facing over my way.”

    “Could be your imagination,” Gary said.

    “Could be,” Brett said. “I do get stared a lot, but seems different when she glances over. Could be she’s just keepin’ tabs on me ‘cause some other friend she knows likes me. I dunno? Gut instinct, though? It says she’s maybe into me.”

    “She’s definitely not keepin’ Tabs, Tabs is into Bobby, apparently,” Gary joked. “Maybe soon Bobby’ll be keepin’ Tabs?”

    “So, Lurch—what’re you doing about it?” Bobby asked. “Elena. Are you into her?”

    “Kinda want to get to know her, yeah,” Brett said. “She’s interesting. She’s cute. Don’t really feel like I can get anywhere talking to her there in class, though. She’s always all hackles up, and I kinda see why—s’like all the other girls are eyeballing her, just waiting for her to do something they can pick on, or criticize, or go on about. So like, between us it’s been subtle signals only, and then maybe sometime like tomorrow we can meet up and chat a bit. You know?”

    “I’m gonna laugh my ass off when it turns out you’re reading all that whole situation wrong,” Gary sneered. “And, in the first place—you don’t mind stickin’ your neck into all that ongoing nonstop drama with them?” 

    “S’all beneath me,” Brett joked again, spreading his long arms wide. “I mean, if me and her start going out, what’s anyone gonna say? That she’s all gothic? Yeah thanks, I noticed. That she’s a lesbo? ‘Cause, if that’s the case, then I wouldn’t really be her type, no? Anything else, and—man, I just really don’t care. S’beneath me.”

    “Bobby, what about you?” Gary turned. “Tabitha’s always in the middle of some big damn mess with everyone.”

    “I’m taking her side, no matter what,” Bobby shrugged. “You know how some of those girls at school are. With their fake fuckin’ laughs, and all the constant posturing, and myah myah myah look at me and all that B.S. all the time. Whereas Tabitha’s like… genuine. She’s real. Also just like, bro. When she smiles in my direction, I forget my own damn name and I’m just… yeah.”

    “You are both some sorry sacks of shit,” Gary shook his head in apparent dismay. “Like—Bobby you say all that, and what’s your plan, even? You pack a change of clothes, or are you gonna just show up with us tomorrow wearing whatever all sweaty shit you had on today? I mean, we’re playing basketball tonight.”

    “Me and Lurch’re gonna raid your dresser, borrow whatever looks nice,” Bobby laughed. “Some cologne from your bathroom cabinet, and we’ll be all set, right? Wait, shit. Would you even have anything that’s gonna fit Lurch? What size did your brothers wear?”

    “Fuck, you’re counting on me to have any laundry done?” Gary scoffed. “On a fuckin’ Friday?”

    “Last time I had to look nice, I borrowed Liam’s shirt,” Bobby shrugged. “Maybe we should just call him up? He lives right there over off Elm street.”

    “Is he invited to the party tomorrow?” Brett asked. “How big is this thing supposed to be, like, how many people?”

    “I’m sure it’s fine,” Gary said, glancing over Bobby’s shoulder and then gesturing for Bobby to pass him the ball. “She invited Jacob, for crying out loud. No one even fucking likes Jacob, and I’m saying that as his best friend.”

    “Now I know you’re not just sayin’ that ‘cause you saw me walking up,” Jacob yelled. “She invited me first, remember. You? You were like, an afterthought. She was all like oh yeah, I GUESS I should invite Gare-bear, too. Out of fuggin’ pity.”

* * *

    Officer Macintire’s squad car wasn’t present outside when Tabitha arrived home, and with Mrs. Macintire still at work and Hannah in elementary for another hour this meant it was one of those rare times where she had the place completely to herself. Her coat was hung by the door, her clean new shoes were carefully removed, and then Tabitha brought her bookbag over to the dining room table of the eerie empty house. Going from the noise and jubilant chaos of everything with her friends at school and then the loud bus ride to this felt like a splash of cold water to the face.

    How very peculiar, Tabitha thought with a small smile.

    She had to wonder if this meant some core part of herself had fundamentally changed. The introverted her had only ever found peace when solitary. Going out and dealing with people had been mentally draining, and afterwards she needed a good deal of time strictly to herself to recharge her social batteries. Whereas, now as the fledgling extrovert Tabitha, being alone she felt a bit at a loss. Uncomfortable. Like she was wasting precious moments of her achingly brief teenage years of youth that could be spent bonding with others, becoming a part of something.

    Looking out across the table towards the living room, she imagined it full of her friends and newfound family. Perhaps if enough people showed up, they could fill the entire long sectional couch! While this Willow movie played. She was quite a bit more interested in the film now that she heard it was maybe a George Lucas homage of sorts to Lord of the Rings. This would have even been from back when Lucas was in his prime creative years! Would everyone be fascinated and spellbound as the movie played out? Or would it be more of a struggle for her friends and new friends to really engage with that sort of genre? Most of the teens she had invited were girls, after all. 

    I really just hope we all have fun, Tabitha sighed. Although I guess I also hope it doesn’t wind up feeling like we’re having fun at Bobby’s expense. Talking over the movie, or poking fun at bad effects or cliches or such. I know what it’s like to really, REALLY love a movie, and then feel pretty devastated when you try to share that with someone and they’re just sort of indifferent to it or even look down on it.

    A lifetime ago she had been a little too excited to show the dark fantasy film Mirrormask to Julie and some other author friends, so they had streamed it together for their server writing circle. Her friend had found the writing unforgivably cheesy and the admittedly somewhat dated CGI effects absolutely awful, and never really was able to immerse herself in the movie.

    Man. Looking back on how I’d somehow HYPED MYSELF UP into thinking that she would somehow adore it as much as I did, and then how crushed I was by how she actually reacted to it… I still just feel so devastated! I never even replayed Mirrormask after that, and it used to be one of my absolute favorites, a real comfort food watch.

    Every time she’d considered what movie she might put in for the night and her eyes scanned across the familiar title, she had remembered Julie making fun of it and glowered with shame, embarrassment, and hurt. Then, she would always choose some other movie instead from that point on, and do her best to push all of those bad feelings down to where she could stifle them and forget. Tabitha wasn’t even sure she would ever be able to enjoy Mirrormask with the same honest innocence again now that the experience had been discolored by those other memories.

    Just you wait, Julie, Tabitha put on a pout. THIS TIME I’m going to get custody of you somehow when you’re still little. It’ll be the kind of movie you GROW UP watching, I’ll ingrain all the classics into you at a young age. Princess Bride, Labyrinth. Dark Crystal maybe, if I’m feeling particularly vindictive.

    It was a fun thought experiment for a moment, but then again the idea also soured quickly. She did want to somehow save Julie from the life she’d had before, but forcing her own movies and books on her old friend as a child felt like it was crossing some sort of line. It was just so strange to try to wrap her mind around the weird different role Tabitha was aiming to fill and what that would mean for their relationship. She still found herself determined to adopt Julie no matter what, because the alternative seemed to be leaving the girl to the fate of the life she had before.

    Which was unthinkable.

    Okay okay okay, Tabitha slapped at her own cheeks—with both hands now, which still felt like a marvelous development. I have homework. Need to lock the fuck in, Tabitha. Don’t let yourself get carried away by however the party might wind up tomorrow. There’s that stupid math assignment from the book, and if I do both odds and evens he said it’d be extra credit.

    When she did finally crack her Geometry book open and begin powering through the prescribed problems, it felt like most of her brain powered off and went dormant. The silence and solitude of the big house around her ceased to be jarring and discomforting and slipped back around her like a glove—for all that she was somehow miraculously outgoing now, that same old single-minded introvert Tabitha was still in there deep down. It just took a rather obnoxious amount of triangles to bring that old Tabby back up.

    Decide whether each set of numbers can form a triangle.

    Decide which set of numbers can NOT form a triangle.

    Two sides of a triangle have the following measures. Find the range of possible measures for the third side.

    Triangle XYZ is shown. What is the measure of angle of YZX?

    In triangle DEF, what is the measure of angle FED in degrees?

    Brian is baking a birthday cake for his friend Mia in the shape of a slice of pizza. If two sides of the pizza are 15 inches and 16 inches long, what length would NOT work for the third side?

    Tabitha knew that many were able to find a deep natural beauty in the perfect precision of mathematics… but over the course of her new life, it was actually beginning to fill her with loathing. Her mind did not feel correctly wired to appreciate the bare simplicity of these mechanical rules, and even began to resent being used as a gopher with which to resolve even the relatively easy high school equations. She was eventually able to bull on through both the odd and even problems in the book and finish writing, and in the end she clapped her pencil back down upon the different answers filling her page of notebook paper with a groan of frustration.

    Math and Science are great and I respect them and all, but I really want to say that they’re none of my business and we should just go our separate ways.

    The paper was inserted into the front pocket of her binder with care, then placed with her textbook back in her bag and carried to her room. It was already just about time to go back to the bus stop and wait for Hannah to get home from school, so she did a quick trip through the house tidying things up, then donned her coat again and headed out.

    Need to talk with Elena tomorrow about running, Tabitha reminded herself. I’m cleared for active exercise again, and it’s something I promised we’d do! Have to break in these new running shoes for real.

    There was also food for tomorrow’s impromptu party she needed to consider—but the whole event was so spur of the moment she had no idea how many people would even show up. It felt like she had cast invitations far and wide, but some part of her felt sure that either almost no one would show up—which would feel pretty devastating but should probably be expected—or too many would show up. No get together ever seemed to fall into a happy medium between the two, so logically it should either be one extreme or the other.

    Pizza? Is that boring and lame? Tabitha wondered. I do have some money left still, so we could order. My head still feels calibrated to automatically assume 2040s prices, but we’re actually in the 1990s still right now. Could get a large pizza for what, like, just ten bucks here? Feels like an absolute steal.

    She couldn’t really plan on cooking for everyone herself without having a better idea of what size group she might be hosting. Although, she also remembered that she was harboring all sorts of romantic notions about baking enormous batches of cookies for the Art Club’s art show—maybe tonight would be a good practice run? It wasn’t really a meal, but what teenager would say no to trying homebaked cookies at a party? It might be something good to snack on during the movie.

    Arriving back at the curb of the bus stop shook her mind out of finger foods and appetizers, because it made her remember how forward she’d been there on the bus. She had admitted she liked Bobby. Out loud. In front of him and a bunch of friends. That felt weird, in an alien sort of out-of-character for her to do sort of way. In her last life she had carried those sort of sentiments to her grave, but somehow today she was just so opened up that it felt like there were no barriers to keep things like that from just dropping out of her.

    “Was I too… forward?” Tabitha asked the empty street with a tinge of embarrassment and a small smile.

    She had no baseline for what might be normal there, except for how wildly different it was from her previous self. That seemed like it was part of the point, though—that prior Tabitha had grown so closed off and emotionally reclusive that she wound up in abject misery for it. Maybe she had been too forward right there in the moment, but so what? Where else was she to learn to walk, learn to run, to stumble and fall and learn to get back up if not when she was here in her youth?

    That’s just how things are, Tabitha told herself. Need to be okay with, well. PUTTING MYSELF OUT THERE, even if I mess up sometimes.

    Yeah I’m going to embarrass myself now and then. Or say the wrong thing. Hurt someone’s feelings without meaning to. Probably fall in love at some point and make all sorts of stupid, rash decisions there. I’m going to be mindful as I can still, yeah—but I do still need to let myself actually TRY at things, let myself fail. Not be too terrified by the idea of failure, so scared that I never even let myself try.

    She enjoyed the self-satisfaction of feeling both wise beyond her years and at the same time justifying to allow herself to be stupid and reckless. Some small fraction of herself shared some self-aware amusement at her own folly there, but Tabitha felt too smug right now to measure the angles and determine how large or small that side of herself might be if it was a triangle.

    After all, wasn’t she endeavoring to be less cautious and calculative? She was forcing herself to be more outgoing, and a large part of that was just winging it. Once reality started slapping her in the face with the consequences of her missteps, then she would pause and rethink things. It didn’t make any sense to try to preempt the error of her future ways when she wasn’t even sure where she was going to go wrong just yet.

    Right? Tabitha paused. That sounds like it’s probably just a boatload of excuses, ‘cause I’m enjoying living in the moment right now. Is this one of those things that I’m going to be sobbing and wailing into my pillow a couple nights later over, cursing myself for how ignorant and brainless I let myself be?

    What a conundrum.

    She was a mind of questionably advanced maturity, however she seemed to be running on the hardware of a fourteen-year-old girl—all Tabitha could do right now was send sympathy to tomorrow’s Tabitha for her future regrets. Because those those regrets had not yet come to roost for her now, and she did not know them. That sane, exasperated part of her knew that this was one of those unique areas where her future experience was going to have to let her down, because she did not go through any of this in her previous lifetime.

    There’s nothing I can do but just blunder forward as best I can, Tabitha decided. Fuck. I want to put my brain back up into the OUTGOING gear again. Feels like my thoughts just cycle endlessly over nothing, IDLING—the engine is running and I’m burning fuel while getting nowhere useful at all, when I fall back into my old frame of mind. I think I’m starting to hate it.

    Hannah’s school bus appeared around the bend of the street finally, however—Tabitha could regain her seven-year-old-shaped shadow that was like an angel of innocence and enthusiasm. She could show off her freshly minted new hand, they could bake an enormous batch of cookies together, and Tabitha was even excited to do all of the dishes tonight herself now that she could put both hands in the sink water again.

* * *

    “Brittany came and yelled at me during lunch,” Ashlee reported. “In front of everybody. Calling me retarded. Saying I’m too dumb to be in school. She’s trying to start trouble with Tabitha, all of the stupid girls are, and all I did was tell them to leave me alone this morning.”

    “You two just need to steer clear of each other if you’re not gonna even try to get along,” Aunt Kimberly said with a tired scowl. “Okay? Can you do that? Please?”

    “I’m freaking trying to!” Ashlee all but exploded. “She won’t—it’s like no one will just leave me alone. I just want her to leave me alone!”

    “Lower your voice,” Aunt Kimberly snapped. “I can’t deal with this right now. You have homework? Surely? Go on into your room and make sure that’s all done. I’ll speak with Brittany.”

    “Tabitha invited me to a party,” Ashlee interjected before her Aunt could finish dismissing her. “I want to go. Everyone else is going. I don’t want to get left behind. I always get left behind and don’t get to do anything.”

    “A party,” Aunt Kimberly glared at her. “What day is it? Another party? She just had her birthday last time.”

    “Tomorrow,” Ashlee admitted. “She got her—”

    “And you’re only telling me NOW?” Aunt Kimberly asked in indignation. “How long have you known about this?!”

    “Just today!” Ashlee said. “I just found out today. She only even told anyone she was having a thing just today!”

    “Uh-huh,” Aunt Kimberly shook her head. “And, what’s this all about? Her party.”

    “She’s getting her cast off,” Ashlee tried to explain. “Or—well. She just got her cast off today, actually. But, that’s why. It’s—it’s not like a party, party. It’s not like uh, going somewhere or like a whole big planned thing? She just—she invited her friends over to come hang out tomorrow at her house. It’s more like that.”

    “Okay,” Aunt Kimberly seemed to calm down a bit at that. “Fine. Is this an overnight thing? A slumber party?”

    “I—don’t think so,” Ashlee answered. “Not that I know of? Uh, if it is, I’ll just call?”

    “Where is it, and when is it,” Aunt Kimberly asked. “You can be on your best behavior?”

    “One of them wrote down the address for me,” Ashlee remembered. “I can go get it.”

    “Go get it,” Aunt Kimberly said. “What do you mean ‘one of them?’”

    “One of Tabitha’s friends—Clarissa,” Ashlee made a face. “She was helping invite some people. She sits with me in the mornings or at lunch sometimes I guess.”

    “Clarissa,” Aunt Kimberly stared. “She’s one of Tabitha’s friends? Not one of your friends?”

    “I don’t know,” Ashlee threw her shoulders up in a shrug, feeling suddenly annoyed. “She’s whatever.”

    “Who all is going to be there?” Aunt Kimberly pressed. “Is there going to be trouble? Anyone there you’ve been having conflicts with?”

    “No,” Ashlee insisted, feeling defensive now. “Not really. Just a bunch of Tabitha’s friends.”

    “You’re one of Tabitha’s friends,” Aunt Kimberly pointed out. “Are they not also your friends?”

    “I don’t know,” Ashlee scowled. “I don’t need any friends.”

    “Ashlee…” Aunt Kimberly’s neutral face fell, and she put her hand to her brow and closed her eyes like she was about to be angry again. “Do you remember what Mrs. McDonnell said? About you, about making friends?”

    “That I’m supposed to,” Ashlee huffed. “So, then—I can go to the party? If there’s friends?”

    “What did Mrs. McDonnell say?” Aunt Kimberly asked. “We went through this with you again and again. Why are you back in school?”

    “Grow?” Ashlee remembered.

    “To grow, yes, and what else?” Aunt Kimberly sighed.

    “I don’t know,” Ashlee made a face. “Grow as a person? To get along and stuff? All that?”

    “We want you to socialize more so that you can have some emotional growth, connect better with children your own age. You’re supposed to be working on your communication skills and learning to better empathize with your peers, interacting—getting along. Creating friendships. Have you been doing that?”

    “Yes,” Ashlee answered immediately.

    “With whom?” Aunt Kimberly arched an eyebrow, because to Ashlee’s annoyance she’d become a lot better at realizing when Ashlee was providing what she thought was a ‘correct’ answer rather than an honest one.

    “Tabitha,” Ashlee blurted out. “Clarissa? Elena. The uh—the black girl, too. I don’t remember her name. Aisha?”

    “Okay,” Aunt Kimberly sighed again. “Go and fetch me the address, you can go tomorrow. You remember that you’re back in school so that you can grow, right? Socialize and help you be more normal? Better adjusted to everyone? And, you promised us you were going to work on it and take this seriously. Do you remember the acronym Mrs. McDonnell gave us for all of that?”

    “I, uh,” Ashlee searched her memory. “Not… really? Not the acronym, no. I’ve been with friends, though! Tabitha’s friends. I’m doing what I was supposed to.”

    “Fine,” Aunt Kimberly relented. “I don’t remember the acronym, either. It’s in all those papers somewhere. I’m very proud of you for making some friends your age. You do need to stop fighting over every little thing with your sister, though. I’ve really had it up to here with you two.”

    “She started it!” Ashlee insisted. “She came up to us, we were all just—”

    “Okay, okay, I get it,” Aunt Kimberly waved her off. “Whatever. I’ll talk to her, and we’ll see what’s going on. Go get me that address. Make sure you get all of your schoolwork done, and I mean tonight. You also need to pick out something nice to wear tomorrow. Do we need to RSVP?”

    “What?” Ashlee paused. “What’s RSVP stand for?”

    “It stands for—” Aunt Kimberly also had to stop and think for a moment, but in the end she also seemed stumped. “Well. It means, do we need to call and confirm with them that you’ll be there. Do we need to do that?”

    “Oh—no, I already told them I was gonna be there,” Ashlee said.

    “You hadn’t asked me for permission yet,” Aunt Kimberly frowned.

    “I did as soon as I got home!” Ashlee huffed. “Do I get to go, or not?!”

    “Calm down, and lower your voice when you’re inside,” Aunt Kimberly said with forced patience. “Did they give you a phone number when they gave you an address? So that I can speak with somebody’s parents?”

    “I don’t know?” Ashlee said. “Maybe?”

    “Go get me whatever they gave you,” Aunt Kimberly gestured. “Good God, Ashlee. Just—bring me your whole backpack. I need to see what schoolwork you have due. You have homework?”

    “Some,” Ashlee grudgingly admitted.

    She had not actually planned on doing any of it—in her first week back at public school she’d already discovered that you could get away with not doing anything if she just claimed that she tried to do it but didn’t understand. The remedial courses at Springton High were like that, and Ashlee was already established as one of the problem children that the adults had to puzzle out how to reintegrate into the school system. There would maybe be problems later on as she fell further and further behind from where she was supposed to be, but—so what?

    Ashlee didn’t care about school or grades in the first place.

    Instead today her mind had been grinding away at what the fake Tabitha had said. It had been a whole long spiel that she wished someone had written down because it was too much to remember word for word, but the imposter had all at once let a whole bunch of important details slip. She’d said the real Tabby was living a miserable existence wallowing in inadequacy and regret and was maybe already about to kill herself. Apparently when the two had switched identities, the real Tabby was now going by ‘Julie.’ Maybe that had been the fake Tabitha’s name originally, maybe not.

    At the very least I finally have a clue, Ashlee knew. Now I just need to keep asking around about a girl around here named Julie. Fat girl, orange hair, miserable existence. They think she’s suicidal or probably crazy—they MUST think that, if the real Tabby has been trying to explain that she got switched! They must think she’s completely mental. But, I know the truth, now. I just need to find her.

    As for the fake Tabitha—Ashlee’s feelings were all of the sudden very mixed on her. She had stood up to Brittany for her a couple times, now. That didn’t make them friends, they would never be friends. But it did mean something. She knew that what was going on was really more like Ashlee had gotten caught up in the different sides of some popular pretty girls feud that was going on and that none of these girls actually cared about her, but at the same time… it was hard to keep feeling indifferent about it.

    When fake Tabitha wasn’t there this morning, the goth girl friend of hers Elena had stood up for her. It was like that little clique of girls that Clarissa kept trying to desperately attach them to actually did consider her one of them already. Which was stupid. But, it also wasn’t nothing. It wasn’t meaningless. Ashlee knew she was an ingrate who only really kept proper accounting of the grudges she held for everyone, but she also knew she wasn’t going to be so biased against Elena and the fake Tabby anymore.

    The enemy of my enemy is my friend? Ashlee thought as she grabbed up her backpack from the other room. Is that how I’m making friends, now?

    Even if the imposter Tabitha and her little group of sycophants were vicious weirdos who were somehow part of the switch or replacement or whatever that had stolen away the real Tabby—they were also completely at odds with Brittany. It was hard not to start to like them just for that. If Ashlee could find a way to pit that group against her sister even more, that would be even better.

* * *

    “The fishnets with the skirt are a bit much,” Mrs. Seelbaugh said, unable to keep the concern out of her voice.

    “Mom,” Elena warned. “It’s sexy. Look.”

    “It’s sexy,” Mrs. Seelbaugh said. “Maybe. Maybe it’s a bit too sexy?”

    “I’m comfortable with it,” Elena said. “And, it’s not going to be at school, so dad can’t say anything about it. We’re just going to be hanging out there at the Macintire’s.”

    “With boys there,” Mrs. Seelbaugh said through gritted teeth. “Honeyyy…”

    “Mom,” Elena glared. “It’s not going to be a big deal unless you make it a big deal. Everyone wears stuff way worse than this all the time.”

    “What if,” Mrs. Seelbaugh suggested. “What if we let you wear the fishnets, but underneath pants, instead of the skirt?”

    “Mom,” Elena groused in total exasperation.

    “Wait wait wait, hear me out!” Mrs. Seelbaugh said. “I’m not asking you to completely hide the fishnet. Why don’t we just try them out with the acid washed pants I bought you? The ones with all the crazy rips? The fishnet will show through all the gaps, and be looking extra cool with—”

    “The like, eighties pants?” Elena made a face. “Those are all tight. Goth—”

    “I’ve seen all sorts of girls these days with tight pants,” Mrs. Seelbaugh argued. “It’s still a thing!”

    “Not for goths, we wear more like big raver pants,” Elena countered. “The whole point is to not be like everyone else or following the crowd.”

    “The fishnet with the skirt is just a bit much,” Mrs. Seelbaugh fretted.

    “Oh, but it’s fine wearing skirts without the fishnet to school?!” Elena’s voice rose. “Is it just, what, fishnet plus skirt equals slutty, now?”

    “No no, not… necessarily,” Mrs. Seelbaugh winced. “Just, look at them now. They’re a bit much.”

    “A bit much of what?” Elena turned this way and that in her bedroom mirror. “You’re saying I look slutty?”

    “I’m saying… you’re still just fourteen, and I get very very uncomfortable when I see you dressing like you’re eighteen or nineteen?” Mrs. Seelbaugh admitted. “Can we—please, can we just try the fishnet with the acid wash pants? I promise it’ll still look really really cool. I promise you.”

    “Will anyone even be able to notice the fishnet, then?” Elena remained skeptical. “This is—there’s going to be more than just like Tabitha and Alicia, this time. It might be a bunch of other girls from school, mom.”

    “And boys,” Mrs. Seelbaugh added.

    “And boys, yes, exactly,” Elena examined the way her legs looked in the dark mesh again. “You think they’ll all think I look like a prostitute?”

    “I never said that,” Mrs. Seelbaugh shook her head. “I just… I think the fishnet and skirt is too much for right now. That’s my opinion.”

    “Why is it too much?” Elena asked, frustrated. “It’s fine with just the skirt and my bare freaking legs, but then with fishnet it’s suddenly too much? Then, you say the fishnet is fine if it’s with the eighties pants. What about the fishnet and skirt paired together makes it ‘too much?’”

    “It’s too provocative,” Mrs. Seelbaugh finally said. “Let’s—we can revisit it when you’re seventeen, eighteen maybe. When you’ve grown into all this a bit more. Please? It’s, it’s great to feel sexy and confident, but. But, I feel like there are some limits to that because of your age, and being too provocative when you’re fourteen? Elena, I know you’re confident. I know you dress so that you can prove you’re confident. But—going just that tiny bit too far with it, makes it seem more—I don’t know. Overconfident.”

    “Overconfident,” Elena repeated, staring at her reflection.

    “I don’t mean that in a sort of—”

    “Okay,” Elena said. “No fishnet with the skirt, fine. I—I’m going to trust your judgement. We’ll try this out again in another year or so. I guess. Or, the end of this year, maybe. I also want to have my friends’ opinions on it first, before I wear it out anywhere. Should we just pack away the fishnet entirely for a while? If it’s too much?”

    “Let’s try it with the acid-wash pants, first,” Mrs. Seelbaugh tried again. “I really do think it’ll look cool if the netting is visible through the torn bits at the knees and then the thigh there. I promise you, it’ll look really cool. Really rad.”

    “Fine,” Elena sighed. “We can try it.”

    “We’re doing lots of cleavage?” Mrs. Seelbaugh guessed. “The boat neck one, maybe?”

    “The—no, no, absolutely not,” Elena froze. “One of the boys that might be there is really tall. So, no. I’m going to wear one of the Hot Topic tees. I don’t need to be worrying about anyone seeing the whole freaking way down my top.”

    “Okay?” Mrs. Seelbaugh said, looking confused. “Okay, okay. You look great in your tees, too. You’ve worn your tops with the ah, the more generous necklines to school before, though?”

    “I just—” Elena pursed her lips. “They’re okay in controlled circumstances. I don’t know how things might be tomorrow. So.”

    “Whatever you want,” Mrs. Seelbaugh promised. “I really do think you’ll like the look with the torn up acid-wash jeans Leny, I promise you. Those were a big hit back in the day too, the rockers really knocked them dead. With the layering underneath? It’s going to be so cool!”

    “I’ll try the eighties pants—but, I’m not doing eighties hair!” Elena rolled her eyes. “Nothing like all of that. Mom. If I say it doesn’t work, I’m just gonna need you to trust me. It’s not the eighties, anymore. Heck, the nineties are already almost over.”

    “Yeah, it all really just starts to fly on by…” Mrs. Seelbaugh said with a wistful look at her daughter. “But, seriously Leny—some things really just never go out of fashion!”

( 64, They Don't Stop Coming | RE: Trailer Trash | 66, Young Kentucky Girl in a Push Up Bra. )

/// Our new longest chapter at 77 pages, somehow? I had meant to wrangle in the sizes of these things somehow back to more normal installments, but they keep seeming to get away from me.