winchester.

[Lightning]

Mary Rothchild.

Chase knew her, hell, it was hard not to know someone in a town as small as Winchester. If you didn't know someone personally, you at least knew of them, heard their rumors, their stories told through the mouths of others who heard them from someone else who also heard them from someone else.

They weren't close by any means, not in the way that Chase would define being "close" anyway. He stayed distant with most, letting them know enough to feel like they knew him, but not enough to form those kind of friendships that were popularized in the books he read as a kid. He was no damn Hardy Boy, that's for sure.

Mary was popular, friendly, and not half-bad to look at when your eyes had to pick between her and the vocabulary posters their teacher put up on the white walls. He hadn't dated her, although he had thought about it, but found it too much trouble (dating tended to be). She ended up dating a fellow teammate, Thomas Winters, which was probably a good choice. Thomas was a decent, dependable guy that wouldn't be caught cheating on her behind the bleachers with some freshman cheerleader.

He'd done that twice, not his finest moments to be sure.

And now, walking into the cafeteria, seeing Thomas sitting alone, Chase wished he knew Mary better, maybe not the way Thomas knew her, but enough to be some kind of support, enough not to feel like a fucking stranger to it all.

But he was a stranger and that made him turn away, leave Thomas to his mourning, while he debated if the pizza in the cafeteria was really worth eating.

Turns out it wasn't, Chase looked the greasy slice over, plucking off a pepperoni. It didn't smell quite right and Chase pushed the plate away, deciding he'd rather starve in this instance. He'd chosen a booth, his usual spot in the cafeteria, although he typically wasn't sitting alone.

Today, however, things were different. It wasn't everyday that a sixteen year old girl died, and it left a mark at Winchester High, an ugly one. The police report wasn't out yet, nothing was official, other than the obvious fact that Mary Rothchild was indeed, dead. So far, the consensus was that it was an accident, but of course, there were rumors that it wasn't, some going so far as to say it was murder, suicide.

Chase stretched out on the booth, his legs dangling off the far edge of the seat, his head resting against the wall. He could sleep, he thought, no one would bother him. As far as everyone would know, his group of friends were in turmoil, still dealing with the death of one of their own. Chase was supposed to be in mourning as well, whatever that was.

He closed his eyes but sleep seemed far away, the hum of the noise of the cafeteria in his ears. Everyone was talking about Mary, whether they knew her or not. The funeral was supposed to be sometime next week, after they figured out exactly what happened, after the police had finished putting all the pieces together.

But Winchester High was already forming their own idea of what happened

murder.

[Verse]

Maiser washed his hands for the second time. He'd not even let the water get warm before, and had seen the smudges on the blade of his right thumb when he went toward the door. Now he was indulging, palms clean for sure. It had been three days since his last shower, and the pouring heat into the metal basin both sounded and smelled good. He'd slept in the studio again. Between the janitor, himself and the early bird teachers, usually Mrs. Holland in geography, nobody had any idea he'd use the school as his personal hotel.

He preferred the ambience of activity seeping through the door to the dead quiet of night, though. Made him feel private but not alone. This morning the silences between the chatter were more severe than usual. He'd heard why. When he left the room he wiped his damp hands on his jeans. The water smudged some old color on the denim and his hands were smeared again.

The light was not very inspiring yet, but he thought he could capture it like this if he wanted. It'd be more effort than it was worth. There was no relation between his heart and lunch time. Maybe he'd try for a sketch, see if it spoke to him later. Everyone could related to this, after all. There was a short but wide smile for Yvette serving him his meal. For that moment he looked childish, though the charcoal lines underneath one green eye might bring her mind to the football boys on game night, also.

He was hungry for once, having been away from home. Mom would send him off with food and he'd gladly take it, but not even the doting Eveline could contact him if she wasn't present. She'd sometimes expressed wanting a phone in the studio. They laughed about her joke that there should be pocket devices that could magically connect a call. He'd said it'd be better to just communicate through text, or even images. Would save them trips to the post office. Then again, if cameras were that small, wouldn't you always be taking pictures and send them off? Wouldn't that become distracting? Imagine photographing your plate of food and showing your friends all over the world.

The principal had already called the hard working Mrs. Thomlin and made sure she knew her son was alright in all the commotion and macabre turn of events. She'd not taken the day off. Somehow it had been too unreal if Maiser was hurt, so while she'd checked as soon as she heard the news, she never really felt worried. If she saw him now, molesting the greasy pizza with his painted hands, she might have tilted her head and smirked, the way she did when he was home, eating.

"Shouldn't you be eating?" he asked, cheek full, and nodded at the athlete sprawled out on the other side of the booth. Masters was a perfect person to talk to on most days. Not too engaging, and usually not too curious. Maiser imagined that was a charm that eventually became a flaw in the eyes of the girls he dated. "Sad day, right?" he took the bandana off and put it in his lap before attacking the crust of the second slice.

[Jill the Ripper]

Mary had once brought her golden retriever with her to school.  Max.  Mary and Max.  He'd been a puppy, then, with big paws and had somehow gotten loose and followed the blonde to school and the entire cheer squad had stood outside, awwing at his excitement, until her good-natured but harried father arrived to pick the "little monster" up. 

Max had whined from the backseat as Mr. Rothchild had started the car, the puppy's scrabbling at the window for Mary, who started to cry as her dad pulled away.  Sadie had laughed her.  "Are you crying?" She asked, delightedly. "You'll see him this afternoon!"

"He doesn't understand, though!" Mary had sobbed, half a laugh.  She'd wiped away her tears then and laughed a little easier, swatting at Sadie who shrieked -- and that was it.   That was all Sadie could think of, now, knowing that the girl in her memory was dead, and her puppy would never understand.

Some enterprising harpy from the PTA had seen fit to have Mary's last yearbook picture blown up and hung on the wall in the hallway outside of the office.  People had already attached notes underneath, and someone - maybe another harpy, or the same one responsible for the photo - had left a bouquet of pink carnations and baby's breath with a big, plastic-y blue bow.  It was sitting up against the wall kind of sadly, underneath the picture of the easily grinning Mary, her blonde hair brushed out and shining.   Sadie stood and stared at all, empty of anything, only mildly aware of how constricting her denim jacket suddenly felt.

She'd dressed carefully today.  It was weird.  She'd heard about the news last night, thanks to her mom, who'd been friends with Mrs. Rothchild.  She'd gotten the call before she left for work that night, in her blue vest, tired face.  Sadie didn't pay much attention, only vaguely aware that her mom was even on the phone.  The girl was in her room, listening to the radio - it had been a birthday present the year before, could hold two cassettes and was pastel pink, the real reason she loved it - and after awhile realised she could still hear the faint murmur of her mother talking.  It was odd, because her mother was not one for long phone conversations anymore, and whatever was happening sounded serious.   When she had ventured out into the kitchen, her mother had just hung up the phone, and her face was shining.  "Oh, honey."  She'd said, catching sight of Sadie.  "Baby, I've got some bad news."

The worst part was, in that terrible moment, Sadie had thought it was Chase.

But he was alive and Mary wasn't, and when she'd been told - drowned, was all her mother could say, in an accident out at the quarry - all Sadie could feel was that curious emptiness.  They'd been so close, once.  They even had best friend necklaces, stupid things, all the girls on the squad had bought them one Saturday afternoon.  Out of the team,  Mary had been the only one to smile at Sadie the same, unstopping, no matter how distant Sadie grew. 

And now she was dead, and there Sadie was, wearing the pink knit top Mary had always liked, and her half of the cheap best friend necklace.  She wore one of her pleated skirts, too - white, and her white sneakers, still clean, and felt entirely too bright now.

Suddenly irritated, Sadie made her way to the cafeteria, paper bag with her lunch in hand - she needed Chase, if the coward wasn't hiding.  He didn't deal well with - well, anything, and she knew that he would balk at the grief of his friends.  True enough, he wasn't at the usual table, and Sadie tried to ignore the terrible pang within her emptiness at the sight of Thomas, dependable, easy-going Thomas, sitting at the table, his face blank, his eyes puffy.  Why had he even bothered to come to school today - ?

Instead, her footballer was lounging in a booth, completely disinterested in everything -- unfortunately for him, another body fleeing the nexus of the tragedy had found him.  From across the hall, Sadie sized Maiser up.  He was one of the arty types, he practically lived in the art room.  And there he was in his loose-fitting clothes - a deliberate choice, as far as Sadie could tell - his light hair free from its' usual bandanna as he ate.   Smirking to herself, Sadie started towards them.

[Ara]

Her tongue rolled against her plush bottom lip, pushing at the new scab there. It wasn’t bleeding anymore. Hadn’t been since last night. But it still throbbed when she nudged it. It matched the cuts on her knuckles and the bruise under her right eye.

Jamie leaned back, hip pushing forward against the old chipped sink of the girl’s bathroom and looked at her full face rather than just that busted lip. Her cheek was a little swollen, an old scar in the corner of her mouth and another ghosting the fine cheekbone on the left side of her face. She felt a certain sense of relief when he face was a mess. No one could call her a pretty girl or tell her she looked just like her mamma at her age.

Jamie’s mamma hid her bruises, unwanted gifts from boyfriends and Johns. Jamie wore hers with pride, won in battle where she always gave as good as she got. These ones had been from Colby Beecher, former football star and now burnout working in the factory and wasting his money as soon as it was in his pocket. She’d gone by the club to pick up her mom after her shift on the pole and Colby had offered her twenty bucks for her first lap dance. Said he wanted to get in before she got too loose and jaded. She’d say he started the fight with his mouth but they both knew her knuckles kissed his face first.

She left the bathroom for the crowded hall. She’d come to class just in time for lunch and found out that Mary was dead only because of the big ass picture in the hall and all of the sobbing teens. She didn’t know Mary any more than another one of those prim faces that liked to snicker at the jokes of others. She always shied away a little when they used to pick on Jamie, so maybe that made her a good person. Either way, Jamie wasn’t going to lose her shit over a bitch she’d never exchanged kinds words with in all the long years of mandatory public education.

Amber, on the other hand, was wiping her mascara and eyeliner away with every sniffle and swipe of her tissue. “I just can’t believe it,” the red head with her big chest and tiny top found Jamie’s side as soon as she was out of the bathroom.

“That I’m late or that they let you in the school in that top?” Jamie tried to sidetrack this cliché conversation. Amber didn’t know Mary any better than Jamie did. The cheerleaders looked down their noses at Amber because Amber—cheerful, happy, poor Amber—was the girl their boyfriends tended to talk about. Amber was the girl all the boys bragged about sleeping with but no one wanted to actually date. Amber never understood why.

“What?” Amber missed some of that mascara runaway and Jamie pressed her smile into the corner of her mouth. “No. Mary! Poor Mary!” She wailed now, on the verge of one of her fits when Kyle came up behind her. He gave her one look and then tapped his cheek to signal that she had something on her face. Amber sucked a breath and hurried to the nearest mirror.

Jamie sulked loudly and started walking with Kyle toward the cafeteria. She wouldn’t eat of course. She hadn’t had a school lunch since she was thirteen and found out that her mom broke up the lunch lady’s marriage. “I was hoping she wouldn’t notice her mascara running,” she complained, weaving through the crowd.

Kyle shrugged, bag bouncing on his hip and dark hair a mess. “Who fucked up your face?” Kyle didn’t talk unless he wanted to. It pissed off a lot of teachers and even the principal when he found himself sitting in the office. No one could make Kyle talk if he didn’t want to. And when he did, his voice was always quiet, deep and soft like something secret.

She smiled then, too pleased to contain it. “Colby.” She led the way into the cafeteria, it was filling fast now. Kyle always had a bag lunch and she ate whatever he didn’t finish. “You should have heard him crying. I think I knocked a tooth out when—“ She collided with another body, both girls walking right into one another in the thick of the cafeteria.

Kyle reached out quickly to grab Sadie’s arm before she could fall. He’d let go just as quickly too.

Jamie hissed, brushing off her wrinkled Def Leppard t-shirt like Sadie might have dirtied it somehow. “Damn trailer park, just because we’re neighbors doesn’t mean I want you in my space at school too!”

[Jill the Ripper]

Kyle let go of her arm quickly but it was too late for the colour in her cheeks, already warm, despite the denim between his fingers and her arm.  She made the mistake of meeting his eyes, dark under equally dark hair, and he didn't look away. 

It would be just her luck if Jamie zeroed in on her blush and used that against her, somehow, so Sadie flipped her dark ponytail over her shoulder, haughtily, as she turned away from him to address the blonde.  "You walked into me.  If I had a choice we wouldn't even be in the same universe."  Scornfully, she turned to go, to race to the safety of Chase and his stupid indifferent face - and then she heard the small ping of metal hitting the cafeteria floor, and looked down just in time to see that her half of her necklace had come undone and clattered to the floor.  So much for an empowered exit.  Scowling, Sadie dropped to her knees to scoop it up, waiting for some kind of hypocritical comment.  Jamie must've known exactly what it was like to be on her knees in front of someone.

[Lightning]

Chase's eyes flicked open, looking at Maiser now filling the seat he had hoped would remain empty for the rest of the lunch hour. Unlike him, their resident school artist didn't seem to have any issue with chowing down on the rather unappetizing slice of pizza. Chase's plate was still in the midst of the table, untouched except for the piece of pepperoni he had plucked off earlier.

He should've been eating, Maiser wasn't wrong there. A student might have died but the world still carried on, classes were still going, and it wasn't as if he didn't have football practice later (Thomas was excused, clearly, as for the rest of them, their coach said a winning team wasn't built by missing practice).

"Not hungry." Chase sat up then, placing his legs back underneath the table, leaning back somewhat, the movement pulling at his letterman jacket. The answer felt oddly hollow, speaking for a sadness he knew he didn't have. Sure, his appetite was gone but it wasn't because a cheerleader died.

"Yeah, it's sad." Chase agreed, eyes elsewhere now, counting the paint specks on Maiser's clothes was quick to lose its thrill. He was sure there was nothing sadder than a sixteen year old girl dying, one that most of them had taken for granted that they'd see everyday.

He was about to say something else, ask if Maiser knew Mary well, when someone else caught his eye.

She was hard to miss, clothes bright, even more so under the fluorescent lights of the cafeteria. He made a mental note to comment on that later, he was sure she'd appreciate the remark. Sadie Jones and him went way back, further than he'd like sometimes, especially when she had a habit of bringing up stories he long thought were buried.They use to be neighbors, up till Sadie's dad lost his job anyway.

Now, even though she didn't live next door and wasn't a cheerleader any longer, their relationship hadn't changed much. Their contact in school varied, depending on classes and who was around. Chase typically didn't go out of his way to talk to Sadie during school hours, but he didn't do anything to avoid her either. After school and practice though was a different story, Chase would often rap at the trailer window of Sadie's bedroom till she let him in. He'd swipe a few beers from Sadie's dad's stash, and they'd goof off like they use to before Sadie moved away.

He almost snorted as Sadie and Jamie collided. They were about as different as night and day, their only connection being the trailer park they both lived in. Unfortunately, he was too far away to hear the exchange between the girls, although he was certain he would have gotten a good kick out of it. Sadie was quick, with a bit of a mouth on her, it was one of the things he liked about her, and he always liked to see when those wits were used against someone other than him.

Looking away, Maiser came into his vision again, Chase had somewhat forgotten his fellow classmate was still sitting there, although he finally noticed the smear of charcoal under Maiser's eye. "I see the sad day hasn't affected your appetite." He noted, not that it was the reason for affecting his, but painter boy didn't need to know that.

[Verse]

Chase came to life from his shallow rest. Maiser would have felt bad for stirring him, but the Masters son didn’t really seem bothered, either way. The state of nutritional satisfaction that Chase referred to seemed unimaginable to the painted boy across, then. It was important to Maiser’s craft that he could string out a moment or state for as long as he wanted to. Right now he was getting the most out of being hungry. The pizza swimming in the juices of its own conception only fueled his appetite, actually, his body waking from the hibernation he’d forced on its metabolism. He murdered the rest of his slice while the sports star sat up.
 
“Thought you guys only ate and ran.” He said and reached for the food the other conversationalist had rejected. There was a question in the gesture, and if Chase would reply in words or in spirit in any way that Maiser could read as possessive, he’d not take the wet triangle. If Chase kept up his usual disinterest, though, Maiser would be chewing on rubbery cheese and oil as soon as he could take his hand back. “Dfanks.”

When Chase agreed that the day was indeed sad, Maiser raised an eyebrow, the only unmoving thing in the face that worked to grind the mouthful down. Really? The expression said. It seemed a bit odd that Chase would find the day any less agreeable without Mary. Maiser supposed he’d thought the popular guy wearing the school’s colors was a bit too simple in his tastes to appreciate the gravity of another’s death. It made the painter feel a bit guilty. Too his own defense, though, Masters did not look all that broken up. Still, verbally admitting it was more than Maiser had expected.

His eye followed when Chase looked elsewhere. Surely Sadie and Jamie were a pretty contrast. How exciting it was to see the pink sweater hit the rock band t-shirt. He gasped when Jamie poised to strike. Kyle made it not so. By now Maiser and his brown eyes were fixed on the scene, pizza swelling, unattended, on his tongue. What vivid lives these people led. What could possibly be the outcome of this altercation in the overwhelming cafeteria light? Chase pulled him out of it, for a moment. Maiser laughed and shrugged at the observation and held one finger high, catching a drop of grease off the tip with his tongue. “I have to stay hydrated to cry, don’t I?” he added four fingers of oil to the growing mess on his shirt. He started at the plate again. Some coleslaw that required the fork on the tray. He turned toward the scene again, pointing the metal utensil at the girls and the interrupting boy.

“You a betting man?” He asked, mouth half full. “I guess you might be. So who do you like in this? I think big money’s on Jamie, but if I wrote this, Sadie would be scrappy, and she kind of has something to prove, wearing all bubblegum, doesn’t she?” he chuckled, but was careful not to spray any bits on the table or Chase.

[Ara]

Kyle stared back at the pretty brunet, head turned down just a little to make up for that height difference. Her cheeks colored and he almost smiled. He’d noticed her around the trailer park the last year. It wasn’t a place where you didn’t notice a new neighbor, especially since most of the kids tried to be anywhere but inside their dump with whatever disappointing adult they had on hand. He, and a few others, spent most of their afternoons at Jamie’s place since her mom worked most nights. When her mom was home, almost never alone, Jamie would show up at his door or he would find her sleeping in her car.

She once told him that that beat up old camero was freedom. At the time, the thing hadn’t even been running. Amber and Gary had made fun but eventually Kyle knew what she meant. Even if it wasn’t running, even if it couldn’t carry her away, she could get in and lock the doors. It was torn leather seats and rusted dashboard—junk to the world—but to Jamie Clark it was the only heaven she’d ever known.

She’d managed to keep two jobs for a whole summer just to buy it—a real achievement for a girl with a tendency to punch men for looking at her too long.

Sadie stuck out in the park because she wasn’t made of it or for it. He wasn’t willing to say that she didn’t belong there, because he wasn’t willing to admit that the rest of them did. It was just a bad hand dealt. And her cards just changed late.

He couldn’t resist smiling when she flipped her hair and made that grand exit. He tipped his head down and toward Jamie to try to hide it from the world. Jamie caught it and gave him a sharp look with the twist of the corner of her mouth. A very “the hell’s wrong with you?” stare, before the brunet came back to them.

Jamie lifted an eyebrow, blonde like that mess of hair pulled back from her face into a careless knot. “Back already?” She tipped her head to the side to see the girl picking up a trinket from the floor. She sneered, liking the way the gesture pulled at the tear in her lip and reminded her it was still there. “Is that yours or are you finding jewelry on the ground now? If you need some more hand me downs, you could dig through the lost and found.”

[Jill the Ripper]

That fucking whore.

Sadie could feel it bubbling, the necklace in her hand as she shot up, the white-hot prick of rage and embarrassment that nothing good was about to happen.  Fashion had been her one delight, before everything turned upside.  Most of her pieces, extensive in her collection, still kept well.  What did this trailer-trash even know?

"Better that than picking up random band shirts from the floor."  She nearly laughed with the pure hysteria of what she was saying, everyone knew that Jamie Clark had buttons, big ones that left her with souvenirs like the leering tear on her lip now.  This wasn't going to end well, not for Sadie, but it was spilling out before she could even care about stopping herself. "Although, it must be handy having so many come in and out of the house."

[Ara]

The students around them had frozen, no one good at being sneaky when they all craned their necks to see. Eyes bulged and mouths stopped chewing. More than a few smiled, animals excited to see fire—like it wouldn’t burn them just as quickly.

Kyle’s smile faded easily, pressed back into that mask of indifference. He sighed and looked away when the former cheerleader spoke, turning toward Jamie but pretending to look past her, around at the cafeteria as though bored. He saw Maiser at a booth on the other side of the room, greasy mouth and interested eyes, sitting with a jock. Channing? Charles? He was the one Sadie usually hung out with, wasn’t he?

Kyle winced at that second sentence, like a door slamming. He didn’t have to look to know that Jamie would smile.

Her bright blue eyes practically sparkled and her wide, plush, broken mouth pulled into a grin. It was one of those moments when people might imagine how she could have been pretty, before the wild in those eyes flared to terrible life and that smile grew into a terrible mashing of teeth that wasn’t a grin at all.

Kyle was going to grab her, before she could do more than ball her sharp fist and draw her arm back. He was going to pick her right up off her feet and haul her out of the cafeteria. She would burn with rage over it, probably call it treachery, but he would tell her it was because he didn’t want her to get expelled again—she didn’t want to be expelled again. As terrible of a student as she was, coming to class gave her life some kind of order. Staying home with her mom or running wild in the park always made things worse for her. And she couldn’t exactly sling hash to the student body if she wasn’t allowed on the grounds.

He had that whole plan ready the moment pretty Sadie spit those sharp words. Pink, she might be, but a push over she was not. And then someone caught his eye, outside the windows, past the booths, in the dim courtyard under the haze of rain that had driven them all indoors. A man was standing out there, wearing a slick black rain poncho and holding a sweater. It was soaked through but it was still bright with their school colors--like the ones the cheerleaders wore to match their jock boyfriends. He didn’t just hold it, he hugged it, clutching it to his chest and standing like a statue out there, staring in at them all. It sent a razor chill up Kyle’s spine and before he knew it, the cafeteria exploded into action and shouting. He had forgotten to grab Jamie.

Her fist swung, sharp knuckles rough with scabs and colored in bruises, aimed for Sadie’s cheek. If she dodged it, Jamie would still tackle her to the ground, try to get on top of her and swing again. If she did kiss that cheek with her fist, she would still follow her to the ground, and maybe get a fistful of hair before taking another swing.

[Lightning]

Chase shrugged, letting Maiser take the slice without any fight. If he wanted a smelly piece of pizza, by all means, the guy could have it. The footballer supposed he could try one of the vending machines later if he did find himself with an appetite, hopefully he had enough change on him.

His thoughts about the white powered doughnuts in the vending machine down the hall ended quickly, the raising of voices in the cafeteria quickly catching his attention. Maiser was saying something about a bet, and Chase quickly realized what the artist was referring to.

In all the time that he'd known Sadie, he knew there was a lot of things the girl was but a fighter was not one of them. Sure, Sadie had a mouth on her, but that was about all she had. She was all bark and almost no bite. No one could say the same for Jamie though, who wore bruises like trophies, and if they gave out medals for fights, she'd probably have several of those as well.

Chase knew Sadie wasn't stupid, but he also knew that sometimes the girl didn't think before she spoke. Not that he had never been guilty of that, but Sadie, she was almost famous for it. And although Maiser was right, Sadie always seemed like she had something to prove either to everyone or to herself, getting the snot beaten out of her by Jamie Clark was not the way to do it.

He was about to tell Maiser he wasn't taking such a one sided bet when the noise in the cafeteria went from loud to almost ridiculous, which was not a good sign. His eyes flickered back to the girls just in time to watch Jamie Clark make a wild swing at Sadie's face.

That fucking idiot.

Chase stood up, eyes meeting Maiser's for just a moment, paint boy's mouth still working on Chase's slice of pizza. To be honest, Chase didn't like the idea of getting in the midst of a fight between girls, but it wasn't as if he could simply stand by and watch his friend learn the lesson too many others had already learned. He wasn't sure how he was going to stop the altercation, but he would at least attempt to. At best, he'd like to keep Clark from smashing Sadie's face in.

"Get a teacher, Maiser. This might get ugly."

[Jill the Ripper]

The muted noise Sadie made when Jamie's fist connected with her face made her - fleetingly, barely aware of it - think of Mary's puppy whining for her. 

She stumbled back, dropping the broken necklace and sick to her stomach, feeling like every bone in her body was made of jelly before the blonde tackled the Jones' girl to the ground of the cafeteria, the impact against the dull floor stinging, even through her layers.  Sadie was vaguely aware of the roar of noise around them, their follow students erupting into a frenzy at the first smell of blood.  She yelped again as the bitch grabbed her hair - her long, dark hair, which she was always so proud of for it's shinning straight beauty.  It was now being used against her, Jamie using it to twist Sadie, currently thrashing under her, so that she had to follow it least the whore pull it out of her head. 

There was no coherent thought in the brunette's head, just a panicked, indignant need to grab something of the blonde's, anything, before she could punch her again: she grabbed her stupid shirt, vaguely aware of the flimsy cotton under her nails and as Jamie sharply tugged at her hair again Sadie screeched and did the only thing she could think of - headbutted the other girl, blind and furious, hoping to strike her anywhere that'd hurt, her busted lip, anything to get her to drop her grip on Sadie's ponytail.

[Ara]

Her fingers knotted in that brown hair, pulling and twisting to try to get the space between them to pull back her fist and color one of those eyes. Other students had pressed back just enough to give them the space on the sticky cafeteria floor to kick and jab at one another, while still pressing up to that line in new numbers and watch the fight.

They hooted and hollered and Jamie hated them all for it. Boys liked to cheer when she got into fights with other girls like it was a show for them. She recognized one or two voices and would be sure to give them an up-close view of her knuckles later.

Sadie’s face shot up at her, one hand in her shirt to keep her from leaning back and out of the way of that forehead. Her brow cracked into Jamie’s mouth, opening up that scabbed lip to have it rolling red down her chin and over her bottom teeth. She lashed out, jerking Sadie’s head back by the ponytail and swinging her arm again. She aimed for her eye socket but only got her mouth because someone was picking her up, prying her off of her. She clawed for Sadie, wild to keep her position but Kyle had hauled her up and off of the other girl, her t-shirt ripping in Sadie’s fingers.

She kicked but her legs couldn’t reach the ground, knocking the air out of one of the boys standing to close. Finally, she elbowed Kyle in the chest and he bent forward. He dropped her the moment her feet hit the ground, knowing well enough to let go before she could launch her head back against his face. They’d done this enough times to have a routine. She was still pissed though, still sucking breath through blood coated teeth.

She whirled back toward Sadie on the floor but before she could throw herself at her again, Kyle bent and picked the former cheerleader up off the floor. Her turned her in his arms, holding her to one side and pivoting to put his body between her and Jamie, one arm out and fingers fanned toward his best friend. He watched Jamie’s fist curl, Sadie’s brown hair soft against his cheek. He could see her thinking, trying to decide whether to use her fist to knock him out of her way or to try to jump on him too. If the weight of two girls brought him down, she could attack Sadie even if he held on to her. She’d never punched him before, but, in the heat of the moment, with blood on her tongue, he could see her thinking about it.

[Verse]

He swallowed just in time to drop his jaw when Jamie assaulted Sadie verbally. He supposed that subject should be sore for the girl that seemed to take pride in her appearance, which she’d chosen to be light and colorful. Sadie’s story quickly flitted through Maiser’s mind. Condensed gossip. Ah. That was right. The two girls were neighbors now. He’d depicted their park once, in dusk. He quite liked the result, but he thought the moment he caught wouldn’t be as appreciated as it was truthful. Observes know best. Subjects, especially unknowing ones, could become volatile. He guessed Sadie did not find her gritty existence as endearing as he.

The clean cut girl replied in kind, though. Maiser gasped and took a drink of water. There was food on the outside of the glass when he put it down.  Jamie throwing her fist wasn’t much of a gauge, but by her expression, she was more affected by it all. Either way, the reaction was larger. He was glad he’d come out of the studio for this. So engrossed was he that Chase had to pull him out of it. The scene had prompted the uncaring Masters to stand. Maiser considered the suggested course of action and then nodded to himself, wiping his face clean with his sleeve and grabbing his bandana. “You gonna be a hero? I don’t wanna miss that.” He said, scooting out of his seat and tying the cloth over his head again. “try not to be a hero until I come back.”

As the resident painter moved along the walls, Mr. Beaumont stood. Math and biology. His mustache was as peppered and salted as his carrot sticks were not. Crunch in his jaws, still working on the healthy snack. His eyes were a faded gray, on the verge of milky. He looked his fifty years of the era. Brown sweater vest and khakis that were just barely long enough to touch his loafers. No glasses though. Reluctantly he moved from where he’d been sitting by the window. Students cleared his way toward the ruckus. None of them saw the leer beneath the graying spot of hair on his upper lip when he registered who’s daughter was on top of Sadie. Even John Beaumont stopped in his track when the muted clap of forehead to mouth elicited more cheer from the hungry kids.

When the Hart kid picked Jamie up, after having returned blunt trauma to lips, John all but booed with the crowd. He remembered he was a teacher, and had a role to play in all of this, when the rough girl was thinking up new punishments for the boy who’d lifted the pink mess off the floor. In the opening to the cafeteria, Tim Johnson, arts and crafts, was striding in, favorite student in tow. This prompted John to act, and he quickly stepped in to the ring and grabbed Jamie’s arm, which was noticeably tense. “Hey, you lady! That’s quite enough of that.” He said sternly and pulled her back. By the time Tim reached the little hole in the crowd the audience was thinning. Jamie would notice his grip was more intrusive, fingers rather than palm, than it should be. If she resisted he’d just yank again.

“Alright, what’s going on?” Tim demanded as students scratched their heads and turned back to their food. “John?”

“Just this one here picking on poor Sadie.” John said, assuming that’d be the story anyway. “We talk with our words, not our fists, Ms. Clark.” Overly dramatic, maybe, but then again, John was always compensating for being a bad person. Jamie should know. No doubt, the good teacher would spin this in a way that would require him to speak with her mother. Tim shook his head and swatted lightly at John’s grip.

“Obviously this is about… what’s happened.” He said and turned to the students. “Anyone need to talk, any teacher can help you.” Tim was still passionate to teach his students. It angered John who was looking for another passion. He did let go of Jamie’s arm though.

Maiser had found his way back to Chase’s side quickly, whispering. “Guess you weren’t the hero after all.” He noted, nodding at Hart still holding Sadie. “Don’t know if I would have won that bet. Seems like I missed the show.”

[Lightning]

She could have run away, the opportunity was probably there for the taking, but Chase also knew he was deluding himself if he thought Sadie would ever consider that option. The former cheerleader seemed more keen on getting a broken nose than losing any bit of her pride. Although, he wouldn't deny he wasn't somewhat impressed by the girl's decision to headbutt Clark, reckless as it was.

Chase knew he needed to intervene, with every second that passed, this was only getting worse. However, Hart interfered instead, prying Jamie out of the fight, although she wasn't pulled away easily, putting up quite a fight against the guy she was usually attached at the hip to. Chase could only imagine what Clark would have done to him in such a situation.

For a second, he thought about thanking Hart, a strange thought and probably one he never thought he'd have. Still, if it wasn't for the burnout, Sadie would likely have a broken nose by now, if not worse. Then again, if Hart could have stopped the fight now, it only begged the question of why he didn't stop it sooner.

His eyes flickered away from Hart to Mr. Beaumont, mustached and vested, who seemed to finally decide now to make an appearance. Maiser had yet to return, which meant whatever teacher he decided to return with was probably going to be far more useful. Mr. Beaumont was boring and unimpressive, and although he never gave Chase much trouble, Chase still didn't care much for him.

Of course, Mr. Beaumont didn't make much of a move till Mr. Johnson appeared, the resident art teacher, typical of the art kid to pick the arts and crafts teacher. Suddenly the math and biology teacher seemed to care an awful lot about two girls beating each other senseless. He stupidly grabbed a hold of Jamie's arm, something Chase wouldn't even want to do, but surely the girl wasn't so reckless as to hit a teacher, even if it was Mr. Beaumont.

Picking on? More like beating the shit out of, old man. Chase thought to himself, maybe the sciences teacher needed a pair of glasses after all. Of course, Mr. Johnson was better about placating the situation, although the choice of his words was a bit poor. Talking and running her mouth off was likely what got Sadie into this situation in the first place, and he doubted Jamie Clark had anything nice to say either. Those two talking would just be another repeat of what they just stopped.

Maiser then reappeared at his side, almost like a ghost in his entrance. "I wouldn't call Hart a hero." He muttered back, words he didn't quite mean. Despite the circumstances, Hart had saved his friend after all, there was no denying that. But hell if he was saying that out loud.

"I'll take Sadie to the nurse, Mr. Johnson." His eyes switched back to Kyle, still holding onto Sadie and offered the girl his arm if she was willing to take it.

[Jill the Ripper]

For a few moments there, Kyle Hart had almost lifted Sadie off the ground entirely in his effort to get between her and Jamie.

Sadie could only cling to him, burying herself against his foreign mass for a moment or two to stop the spinning.  It felt like everything she could see and hear was far away, tunnelled.   Her cheek was throbbing and her mouth felt fat and vaguely numb.   This wouldn't be good.   

Everything came together slightly easier when Mr. Beaumont - gross Mr. Beaumont, universally hated by all the girls on the cheersquad, at least - started scolding Jamie.  Her heart was still thumping hard - how could Kyle not feel it? - but she manage to pull away a little, just enough to take in the ashamed, gleeful chaos of the spectators.  She was still dazed - it was hard to take anything in, and even as she stared directly at the science teacher's smug face as he kept ahold on Jamie, who looked like a tiger about to maul, she couldn't really take it in.  Mr. Beaumont is such a freak, Sadie thought distractedly.

Likewise, Kyle's quiet intensity was also on his best friend and the teacher, dark brow creased - he seemed worried, and Sadie pulled away from him, gently, just as Chase appeared.  Kyle glanced back to her, dark eyes unreadble - Sadie was aware of Chase saying something, to someone, but she couldn't focus, couldn't think.  She thought she should at least say thank-you to Kyle, for jumping in -- her head was throbbing.  How could Jamie do this all the time? 

Her hair was half pulled from it's ponytail and Sadie pushed it back before glancing at Kyle again.  "Thanks."  She managed, before wincing and lifting the back of her hand to her mouth.  That didn't feel... promising.

Chase will never let me hear the end of this, she thought as she let her gaze drop from the Hart boy's to her best friend.   He stood there with his arm out and she took it easily enough.  She was about to say, take me home instead, but remembered home was that awful box in the trailer park where her dad would be out and her mom asleep and that shut Sadie up instead, slipping in close to Chase without comment, her eyes downcast.

[Ara]

Jamie tried to jerk her arm free of gross Mr. Beaumont but he held fast. For the corner of her eye she saw the little twitch in his mustache, hiding the snicker beneath when he enjoyed her struggle. She hated that hand, palming her arm and pressing fingers in to tight skin. She would have parroted “Poor Sadie” with a little more emphasis on the poor if all her focus and contempt wasn’t focused so completely on the science and biology teacher.

She kept pulling and he kept tightening that grip. She hated herself for it because she knew, she knew him and men like him and she knew the more she pulled the more he’d squeeze. But she had never been the kind of girl that could stop fighting to make it easy. When she was younger, she might have tried tattling on one of her mamma’s Johns, but she’d learned over the years that tattling to mamma didn’t change anything. Mamma would look sympathetic and nod, maybe even cry, but Johns still came around all the same.

John the John was no different. In fact, he was exactly the same as the others. It was like they came falling out of a perv vending machine, already mustached and leering. Fuckers.

He let go of her arm and she slid back from him with no hidden contempt, eyeing him in disgust. Oh, the things she had planned for Mr. Beaumont just as soon as she graduated. Some of those plans involved a baseball bat. Some involved her car, though she wasn’t yet sure she wanted to deal with a Beaumont sized dent in her hood.


Kyle looked down just long enough to lock eyes with Sadie, hoping she was all right but knowing there wasn’t much else he could do for her now. Added exposure to a kid most wrote off as a burnout, wouldn’t help her already struggling reputation—and that seemed like something that mattered to her, so, in a way, it mattered to him.

He let her go with a soft, apologetic, smile and nodded before turning back to Jamie and the teachers. Mr. Johnson, the art teacher, arrived and the situation seemed to defuse at last. Kyle came in closer to Jamie, a tower close by, dark eyes boring into Mr. Beaumont that seemed to shout, ‘I know you’ in the worst way.

Jamie forced a smile, flashing blood painted teeth. “Yeah, sorry Mr. Johnson. Feelings and shit.” She shrugged, lifting both hands with an added ‘what can we do, we’re just stupid teens’ expression. “I’m sure Mr. Beaumont probably wants to talk to my mom though, right?” That smile grew real and feral, mad eyes turning toward the mustached teacher. “Should I tell her you’ll be by at the usual time or will this be an extra visit?”

More than a handful of the students still lingering went wide eyed with giggles and snickers. Mr. Beaumont turned a certain shade of red.

“Ms. Clark, you’re distressed,” Mr. Johnson intervened, flushing at the sight of her broken lip and shirt ripped open at the lower half, exposing her middle. “You really should see a nurse, maybe even a doctor. Perhaps you should take the rest of the day and go to the doctor’s office for that lip?”

[Verse]

Maiser smiled when Chase corrected him. In many ways Kyle was indeed the hero. It was endearing, the way Chase protested, though. The paintsplattered boy was left to shrug when the other went to petition for Sadie's hand from the one who'd saved her. Sadie did take Chase's offer, and it was sweet. Girls in pink are helped well. He wished he'd seen more of it all. Hopefully some of the people who frequented the art studio would gossip, and he'd catch some while he did his work.

Beaumont was not pleased with Jamie's response, and looked around to see the amusement in the others before he shook his head and laughed nervously. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Ms. Clark." he insisted and then folded his arms over his chest. "Be certain, though, that someone will speak to your mother about this. If it should be me, then at least I was here for it." he added. It wasn't like he was going to condemn visiting their trailer. There was no Mrs. Beaumont that could serve as an alternative for the neighborhood sheath where Jamie had sprung from. Tim took care of the rest, and the science and biology teacher went on his way to teach science and biology, leaving the food he'd not been enjoying where it was on the plastic table by the window. Leaving work for the people that work here had always been a lesser of the evils he liked to indulge in.

The teens did not have much else to see here, and so they sunk back into their own bubbles, exchanging reactions over this ordeal until that energy fractured into hundreds of smaller, completely separated topics, leaving the actors of this theater to their own. Cheap light and the smell of cheaper food became the frame of the usual festering of the collective social corpse. One said something that started to sound meaningful about Mary, and then, two tables away, someone said something about her tits when she was in the human pyramid. The give and take of punishment between two girls would remain the most honest interaction in the room, today.

"Got some painkillers if you have something for me." December said behind her, when the lull of breaking voices in broken conversations were at their common level. One finger came out from underneath the hanging sleeve to flick her hand. Dec smiled beneath the purple unsleep that stayed under his green eyes, always. The light color of iris made the gaze refreshing, despite their lethargic setting. Black hair unruly, the haphazard cut making his neck seem longer, where it and his collarbones held the artfully starved jaw up over the fringy neck of the sweater. That long neck was decapitated once with a close leather thread, holding on to a lithe silver tube. He patted his jeans, and there was a promising rustle. "Or we can just celebrate your fight, champ."

They had some good hiding places. He was sure he was part of some rebellion of hers, but they both knew he wouldn't care, as long as she brought guides for his chemicals, and he played nice and payed right.

[Lightning]

Chase headed for the nurse's office for all of a solid thirty-five seconds, enough to be out of prying eyes, and most importantly, out of the sight of Mr. Johnson and Mr. Beaumont. His eyes glanced behind him down the empty hallway, everyone still at lunch, probably settling back into routine since the "show" was over. Sadie was still holding onto his arm, but he was sure she was quick to realize they weren't heading for the nurse's office anymore.

"Well, I'd say you're just an idiot, but I think that's an understatement at his point." He smirked then, grey-blue eyes taking in Sadie's clearly bruising face. Well, one thing was for sure, Clark had one hell of a right swing. He knew Sadie probably wouldn't appreciate the comment, but he was also sure she saw it coming from a mile away. There was no way he'd let an opportunity like this pass him by.

His free hand pressed on the door to the back school parking lot and he led Sadie out into the crisp, cool air of mid-October. To the right, he could see his motorbike, just where he'd left it this morning, parked where he'd been told at least ten times, if not more, not to park there.

But convenience was hard to give up. Committing truancy though was a far easier venture.

His grin grew wider at the sight of his prized possession, he'd worked hard to obtain it, something he wasn't use to doing. His parents refused to help out, but hell if that was going to stop him from getting exactly what he wanted. He saved up his money, worked odd jobs, and subjected himself to working part time at the town pool as a lifeguard over the summer. It wasn't fun but it was worth it.

The bike itself was black, the details a shiny silver, all of which Chase kept clean and waxed. His father constantly told him it was a waste of money, said he should've bought a car, but Chase ignored him, more than pleased with his choice.

His eyes went back to Sadie, her face in good need of a pack of ice. He made a note to pick some up when they had the chance. "So, we can head back inside or we can commit some good ol' fashioned truancy. Your choice."

He didn't think it'd be a hard choice to make.

[Ara]

Her hand twitched when his finger flicked her palm. Her knuckles were pink, scabs flared to life but not broken. Jamie heard Dec’s voice—his offer, but waited until she’d watched Beaumont leave before turning to take in the other student. She might have told him he looked like shit, if she wasn’t looking a hundred times worse.

She managed a smile, not a crazed grin to show off the blood in her mouth making her teeth look pink, but a small pull of broken lips and a tired glint in her eyes. “Not much of a fight.” She looked down and exhaled a short laugh at her torn shirt and the globs of blood on that ruined cotton and smeared on her pale stomach. “Though she managed to make a mess…” Jamie couldn’t help but sound a little impressed. She licked her broken lip, looking that it was open again, cut spread and raw. Oh, it was definitely going to scar now.

She saw something bright on the old tile floor, between thick drops of red and bent long enough to drag up the chain with her fingers. She rolled the necklace into her hand, giving it an odd luck before stuffing it into her pocket.

She rolled her shoulders and turned back to December, Kyle standing with him—ever casual. If you hadn’t seen him come in with her, it would look like he just happened to be standing there and everyone else just circulated around him. She tapped December’s arm, starting toward the exit. “Walk me to my car?” She smiled a little more then and used the back of her hand to rub the blood from her chin. She always kept a stash in her car, hidden under the floor of her trunk in a compartment she’d built herself. “Mr. Johnson said I should see a doctor.” She tossed Dec a look, not meaning to flash long lashes and eyes made smoky by fading and growing bruises. “How about Kyle play doctor and you can be my pharmacist.”

Kyle looked disinterested but followed her out. “I’m not putting stitches in you again. You threw a bottle at me last time.”

In the hall she pulled off her torn shirt, using it to rub the blood off her stomach and her face, leaving her skin pink. Strange, how similar lipstick smears and rubbed away blood looked. She walked down the hallway in dark ripped jeans and a black bra. Her ribs were bruised and a few old scars visible. She might not have taken her shirt off in the hallway if she wasn’t confident that her torso was a mess of blue and purple and sickly green from the last couple fights. But she was a mess, so she walked with endless confidence, throwing her bloody shirt away in the garbage before they hit the parking lot.

[Verse]

Dec rolled the blade of his sole against the quieting battleground while she stared Beaumont down on his way out. To entertain himself, waiting for her to melt the teacher with her eyes, he slapped Kyle’s shoulder. The small affection didn’t warrant a response. December looked her over when she turned and agreed with a nod, also impressed. “Cheerleaders are spry.” Sadie hadn’t been one in a while, but if she wasn’t petitioning to be categorized as such, she should have chosen another color of grief than cotton candy. He had his hands in his pockets by the time Jamie had collected the trinket off the floor. The usually low hem of the large shirt, loose knit, folded many times to allow his wrists this high. He popped his lips, aware of them because of the grotesque state of hers, when she requested his company to her car.

He grinned with one side of his mouth at the offered game. “Fuck, I wish I was a pharmacist. Could you imagine?” he laughed, low in his chest, longingly. He shoved Kyle and  laughed louder. “You sew, Hart? Good to know.” He got quiet, however, when she opted out of her shirt. Looked at Kyle to see if either of them should lend her something to cover up with. She was walking before any such gesture could be extended. It was amusing to see the reactions of those who lined the corridor. Hard not to feel like some kind of right hand man trialing behind royalty with Jamie walking as though she ruled all of Winchester.

Outside was perfect weather for his attire. Dec drew a finger over his exposed collarbone as he looked around. “Hey, you got some other stuff?” he asked, handing her the silver and clear plastic that encased a handful of the pills he’d promised her. Pressed to the back of the half-used map of medicine was two folded twenties. “I feel kinda romantic.” He said with a distant smile. “For me. So not frat-boy stuff. Thinking I wanna dance on Mars or something.” Jamie wasn’t a hardcore dealer, but she was interesting. Maybe she had something dreamy in the grassy stash. “last time I did, I meat a girl that kinda looked like my mom. Weird. Have to talk to her again, kinda."
 
In the noon sun, the Attila offspring had shadows beneath his prominent cheekbones. Shaped like fangs. Inside light would soften his severity. Starved artist, sure, if his astral self was his canvass. There was a boy who’d returned to his studio that would disagree. So in the end, Attila was just starved artistically. Sick poet without a leather bound journal. He was youthful for a this moment, one they’d all get to share with him, and then he – with an overwhelming certainty – would be gone. The wilting tulip put sot on its petals. Nobody really knew where he’d produce cigarettes from. Fingers made for the task though. He ashed expertly toward her car. “Comon, Jamie.” He mumbled thought the smoke. “let’s see your treasure chest. Kyle here’s getting antsy.”

Silver in his other hand. That metal clapped closed and he put it back into his pocket. The glare would linger in the air as he courted the filter and exhaled its favor.

[Jill the Ripper]

Mute, Sadie couldn't reply to Chase, not straight away, only clinging to his arm tighter.  "Truancy."  She said at last.  There would've been a time before all this - before Mary, before her father's fall from grace, before when things were normal - that she would've squealed with delight if he'd suggested it.  When she would've been thrilled just to clutch at him as they sped through the quiet streets of their town before hitting the diner just outside the limits, where they weren't going to be seen by any adult who cared.  She would've stolen his fries, drank four pepsis before he called her fat -- and it would've been perfect. 

But now there she was, pathetic and half beaten up and her head throbbed and she couldn't feel her face anymore, and all Chase could say was that she was an idiot - she knew she was, she'd been there - and what she really wanted him to do was cup her face and tell her things would be alright, but that wasn't Chase at all, and unbidden her eyes began to water.   

"Chase," She started.  "I really - "

And that's when the glass doors to the main building burst open, leaving none other than Jamie - wild and fearless, shirtless and in all her bruised, slim glory - and Kyle and December (who oozed along, lean and dangerous) standing there, heading to the cars.   

It was too much.  Sadie thought she was home free.  To her utter shame, she burst into tears.

[Ara]

Kyle smiled easily at December and shrugged in answer to his question about sewing. He had put stitches in a couple of kids and adults around the trailer park. If you didn’t break a bone, there was no point in going to the doc and paying when you could buy medical care from a teenage boy for a six pack and a bag of burgers from the local drive through.

He still wasn’t sure if Jamie didn’t like him stitching her up because she wanted to make sure those cuts scarred, or if she was just a wuss about needles. Either way, the one time he’d tried, he’s almost taken a half empty beer bottle to the head.

Her fingers were still pink from blood she’d rubbed off in her torn shirt when she took the plastic back, folding it into her palm and giving it a quick look before stuffing it into her back pocket. When they came outside, Sadie and Chase were standing there. They might have looked like the perfect couple if Sadie weren’t looking so ruffled. Kyle looked worried, especially when she burst into tears. Jamie looked away as soon as the tears started and headed for her car. It wasn’t far enough away to not hear the little heaves of breath.

She raised an eyebrow and shot Dec a hard look when he mentioned romance, that look turning to a smile when he clarified it was for himself. One of the footballers had asked her about getting ruffies last year. She wasn’t sure if he was joking or not—but she’d broken his nose on principal. She would have been suspended for that one if he had told. She guessed he didn’t want to take the risk of her explaining why her elbow had made acquaintance with his face.

She tugged her keys from her front pocket, beat up converse scarping the pavement when she came to a stop behind the old Camaro. The trunk opened with a violent creak, bobbed twice and then stayed upright while she dug around the contents to pull out a wrinkled, gray Van Halen tshirt. She pulled it on and then tugged her leather jacket out next. It was worn. Her arms had almost grown into the sleeves over the years—the guy that left it on the floor of her mom’s room had been lanky too. The shoulders were still too big and the zipper broken, but she didn’t care.

She laughed when Dec said Kyle was the one getting antsy. She’d never seen Kyle antsy in her life. She pushed some of the junk in the trunk of her car aside and found the seam in the rough carpet, almost invisible. It pulled up to expose the rusted metal hatch she’d talked one of the guys in the park into welding for her. It came up to expose a metal square filled with small packets of pot, joints, a variety of bright pills—mostly prescription pain killers and some E. She turned and leaned to the side like a shop keeper to let him take a look.

She pulled the baggie he’d given her out again, looking it over to calculate it’s worth and take it off whatever he picked out. She gave Dec good prices anyway. He had an ease about him that she liked and they’d partied together plenty over the years. It was a small town, after all, and there were only so many parties. She pushed a couple of the pain killers out into her palm and dropped the rest into the cubby of illegals. She ate the pills and reached down to pull out the little plastic bags of bright squares of paper—like small, fragile stamps. Each had one square that could—and should—be broken into four. The blotter paper was decorated. Most just with a yellow smiley face, a couple with hearts. So far the hearts were selling the fastest. They looked innocent enough, but each was soaked with LSD. “If you’re looking for a trip, you want these.” Jamie managed to sound impartial. “From what I’ve heard it’s been a good batch.”

She dug her keys and cash out of her jeans pockets to move them over to her jacket pockets, surprised when she pulled out a necklace until she looked at it and remembered picking it up from the floor of the cafeteria. She hesitated, looked up and saw Kyle looking back from the other side of Dec. Without words he asked what she was going to do, if she was going to give it back or if she’d be cruel. Surely she was done being angry. Jamie got over most grudges once fists flew.

She tossed the necklace up and Kyle caught it, already walking around Dec and her and back toward the motorbike, the footballer, and the former cheerleader. His bag bounced against his narrow hip, heavy with books that had nothing to do with his classes. The chain tangled around his fingers, warm from Jamie’s pocket and maybe from the rage that had flown all around it today. Long legs made short work of that parking lot and he came to a stop beside them. He gave the footballer a nod and the thinnest of smiles, awkward manly recognition between almost-men that weren’t friends but weren’t yet enemies either. And then he looked at Sadie, the corner of his mouth pulling hard to try to taper down his smile at her full on bawl.

His arm extended between them, the necklace a puddle in his palm. “She picked it up off the floor after you left. Wanted to give it back.” He didn’t usually try to sooth anyone after Jamie pulled a wrecking ball on them. It felt uncomfortable because he couldn’t apologize for someone else—especially since Jamie wouldn’t apologize herself. “She’s pretty happy about the busted lip. She’ll forget the rest.” Kyle added, voice quiet but hopeful when his mouth split into a small grin. “The head butt was impressive. Not everyone has the skull for it.”

[Verse]

December was quick to hear the girl cry, and twisted his head toward her so fast ash was disturbed to tumble back from the tilted up cigarette, hurrying down the steps of his knuckles and crumbling so thoroughly in the air the flakes would never touch the parking lot asphalt. Eyebrows lifted in sadness, hers, and then he drank some of her distress. He connected to her malady almost as well as he did the chemicals he sought, and the empathy let him sample what she must be feeling. For a few seconds he was madly distraught because she was, and then he took another taste of his burning trick, and exhaled Sadie Jones.

“You did a bad thing, Jay.” He said, the moist of his eyes that the moment had produced spent quickly by the proximity to the ember at the end of the white roll. His free hand tugged at the sleeve of her shirt as though he was in the business of twice vintage shirts, too. But he didn’t want the clothes off her back, really. He smiled with his teeth hooked into his lower lip when she opened up her store. With glee that his being was too tired to support, he flicked the cigarette outward, drawing a red line in nothing – done with you for something better – and pumped the last of its dusty soul out of his lungs and into the trunk as he bent over the sweets.

He greedilly pocket two pills he shook out of a cylinder. He'd had those colors before, they had been good to him. And then he took the stamps she recomended. Two, also. He held them on his hand and his skull was already itching to be abused. "How much? Can I owe you?" he said. He didnt want to get on her bad side, and he was a forgetful mind, but he really wanted this purchase. He didn't expect any favors from Jamie Clark, but she knew he wouldn't much mind if she robbed him blind in a stupor.

The hand holding up the two papers lowered when he looked over at Kyle. December chukled at the scene. Perhaps it was not so obvious for the participants, being so close. At this distance they looked like quite the triangle. He gave Sadie back his attention and danced fingers of the palm that kept the little adventures. "Would you take one with me?" she had some, sometimes, he'd seen it. He didn't trust sellers that didn't sample. He'd bought from many people he didn't trust, though. Recreational hazard.