Ducky Sage needed a job.
When you live in a place like Forks, it's hard to find the right box to lock yourself in for 6 days and 42 hours a week. You have to approach the potential workplace with style, attitude. You have to be confident, but never cocky. A little makeup and a dress that will camouflage your inexperience with the concept of work. Once you get the job, be helpful and cooperative. Make sure no one knows you're a dick in real life. In the workplace, you are being held captive. So don't screw anyone over, because you'll be rotating around each other for the rest of the day. And then the rest of the year, after that. Ducky Sage needed a job, but how far would she go to disguise herself?
As far as I have to, she told herself, and made for Bella's room.
"Hey," she said awkwardly. Bella was hauling a cardboard box, overflowing with clothes, around to the closet. She dropped it on the ground with a huff, and turned around to meet Ducky's unexpectedly warm, brown eyes. Bella was 24 years old, a good eight years apart from Ducky. They were half-sisters, Ducky being born from a run-away teenager that Charlie had found lying out by the road one night. His only wife had divorced him and moved straightaway to Phoenix Arizona with his other only child, Bella, who he only saw once a year or less. He had become dirty and lonely. Picking her up that night, he hadn't planned on doing anything with the girl.
After discovering her name to be Angelique, 17 years old, and how she had fled from Canada to escape an abusive foster family, he became closer to her. He let her sleep in Bella's bed and told nobody of her. She trusted him. Her trust was misplaced. After a week of housing the girl, he began to fantasize about her. He set out to make his fantasies a reality.
Charlie now lived in the Forks County Prison, arrested for rape. Angelique had reported him, and as a result, was brought to the Runaway Sanctuary in the next city over. She told nobody where she had come from, and until anyone could form a decent investigation, she turned 18, and abruptly left with her child. For 16 years, Angelique raised Ducky in an abandoned van, a tent, and, around Ducky's 4th birthday, finally found a one-room-apartment complex with a rent cost of 50 dollars. It was moldy, outdated, and the carpet had been ripped out of the total 3 duplicated rooms. There wasn't even a bathroom, air conditioning, or a heater. But, there was a single mini-fridge, sink, and a working light bulb in the center of the room. Ducky lived with Angelique in that apartment for most of her life. Until Angelique's health began to deteriorate, with obvious signs of disease. She tried to use home remedies, since a doctor's visit was out of the question.
Eventually, Angelique was covered in patches of open gashes, where the skin ate away and nearly exposed her bones. It was on her scalp, legs, back, and worst of all, stomach. At that point, Ducky and Angelique were frantic. Nobody was hiring her or her coworkers out of the phone book, since she arrived at the designated home painted in giant dry, open wounds. Cleaning other people's homes paid for everything; the rent, groceries, and daily necessities. Without that, Angelique would die and Ducky would be left alone on the streets. She would end up just like her mother; a wanderer, until someone picked her up and she became pregnant with a child she didn't want, just like Angelique. Frantically, she urged her mother to find help. After days of begging, Angelique lied half-eaten away and finally understood that, more than anything, she wanted her daughter to succeed in life. She didn't want her to follow the same path, either.
And so they contacted the one person Angelique had any memory of from her visit at Charlie's; his daughter Bella.
She died only days later, after a meeting had been arranged. Bella was Ducky's legal guardian now.
"What is it?" Bella asked her, startled once again by how much they looked alike. The biggest difference was in hair; Ducky's was golden, edging on dirty blonde. And her whole face was smaller, petite. She stood there in the doorway of Bella's old room, arms folded, looking down, and then back up again.
"Do you think I could borrow...a dress, maybe?" She asked, obviously uncomfortable. The first thing Bella had discovered about Ducky was her attitude; she wasn't built to be tough, but she acted it, anyways. The first day they arrived at Charlie's house with the two policeman behind them, she scrunched up her nose and said, 'Wow, I'm so excited. I've always wanted to see where I was conceived. Does anyone have a camera?' And for the rest of the four days they'd been settling in, could not stop make snarky comments and snorting with laughter at Bella whenever she tripped or fumbled with something in her typical clumsy way. But she was being polite, right now. Bella wondered why.
"Yeah? What kind?" Bella asked nonchalantly.
"I don't care. Something nice. Modest, I guess." She said, and with that she glanced down at her shirt, adjusted the front. Bella was taking her shopping soon. All of the girl's clothes looked uncomfortable and wrong. Right now she was wearing a shirt that nearly hung off her shoulders, and dipped low over her front. Her jeans were too big, and torn around the bottoms.
Bella lifted the two flaps over her boxes of clothes. She had a dress from when she was fourteen, somewhere...never had she been able to give it up; she had made too many good memories in it. First kiss, first night out at a fancy restaurant, and that time she met celebrity Lucker Talk, and he had complimented it...there it was, at the bottom of the box. Bella drew it out, hung it in front of Ducky. It would fit her. She was small for 16.
Ducky had never actually worn a dress before, except in kindergarten, when she had been introduced to the costume bucket. Bella's dress was lacy white, with roses etched into the fabric and a round collar that buttoned down to the mid-waist. It wasn't the kind of dress you could find at the stores anymore; it was slightly outdated, with no resemblance to modern taste. But Ducky didn't know that. Ducky shopped at the gas station for groceries and the thrift store for cheap clothes. This dress was gorgeous.
She took it into her hands carefully, like it was a newborn baby rather than a bundle of old fabric. Bella held back a smile, and put her hands on her hips when the dress was out of them.
"Anything else?" She asked. Ducky snapped out of her trance with the dress, and threw it over her shoulder like it was a sack of manure. Trying to seem careless.
"Shoes." She demanded. Bella obliged, scoping out the smallest box, where she had packed up her shoes. Surely she had some shoes to fit her. Size eight would not do.
"And...makeup," Ducky said suddenly, remembering the importance of makeup in an interview. Although she hated asking Bella for it.
Bella froze mid-dig through her shoe pile. Finally, it was acceptable, or even required, that she ask why.
"What's all this for, Ducky?" she asked. Ducky cringed; her name coming out of Bella's mouth sounded like nails on a chalkboard. It made her want to kick the lady in the designer-jean-knee. Plus, she didn't want to tell her why. Couldn't she just trust her?
"Well," Ducky began, licking her lips, furrowing her brow. What was she going to say? She looked up at Bella, waiting, genuinely curious. She'd have to tell her. "Job interview, okay?" She snapped finally, face heating up. Why did it make her feel so embarrassed? If she told her mom that, she'd be singing it, they'd be dancing together around the house together, rejoicing. With Bella it was like a dirty secret.
Bella nodded, a smile slowly forming in her lips. Now it was funny. God, if Ducky could only slap that smile right off, pull her hair out by the roots and pinch her nose. She felt heat reach more than her face; her whole body felt as if it were suspended over a pit of lava.
"Nevermind," She snarled, snatching the dress off her shoulder and clutching it harshly. Bella was suddenly worried Ducky would sabotage it; that she had made a terrible mistake. "Go to hell. I hope you jump off a cliff and smash your brains out." And with that, she twirled around on her heel and stomped down the stairs, to Charlie's old room. It was hers now.
There was something messed up about that, and she knew it. For the hundredth time since she arrived at the house, she felt like hurling.
"So, no work experience. No emergency contact number. Address...1113, centennial drive?" The man looked up at her from the job application, one eyebrow raised. Ducky swallowed thickly, and smiled with a nod of her head. Things were heading off to a bad start. First of all, Ducky was screwing with the rules of getting a job. She didn't have any makeup on. She was wearing wrinkled, black Converse with the heel covered in duck-tape, and in addition, she lied all over the application. She wasn't being confident enough, either. Men always intimidated her. Men were rotten, conniving things. She squirmed in her seat, ignoring the trickle of perspiration running down her forehead.
Mr. Forman leaned back in his office chair, and pinched the bridge of his nose. Ducky Sage was the talk of the town; Charlie Swan's mystery daughter, shipped back to Forks after her mother's tragic, un-diagnosed death. Business would be good with her around; people would probably come in just to get a look at her, and then maybe she could convince them to buy a tire or two. But her application was written in pink frosting. He had smelled it before the interview, feeling suspicious about the crystal-sugar bits in her name. And, she was lying. He wanted to hire her, but what excuse could cover up this big of a mess? He glanced back at her, in her strange attire and twitchy hands.
"Ducky, my best friend lives on 1113 centennial drive. Look, kid," he took a deep breath, as Ducky's heart sunk. "I know you live with Miss Swan. Everyone does. There's no reason to go out of your way, trying to hide it."
She swallowed, looked down and nodded. "Okay," She croaked. He looked at her expectantly. She wasn't making this easy.
"And since this tire company is my life, it's my duty to hire people with promise. And, honey, I'm not seeing much promise here." He said, and looked at her directly in the eyes.
Ducky had to get this job. Oh no, oh no, oh no, I've screwed up, she thought helplessly, as he grew wary and finally broke the contact by standing up, pushing his chair into his desk. She had to say something. She had to stop him.
She rose to her feet swiftly, and blocked the way to the door. I have to get this job! It's my only chance! Her subconscious cried.
"Actually, sir, I..." Her chest felt heavy, and she huffed. "I'm sorry. I can assure you that being employed at this tire company would be a steady change of pace for me. While I don't have much experience, I promise I'll work especially hard to learn, and to keep learning, after that. If you hire me," she took a deep breath, and smiled painfully. "I won't let you down."
Mr. Forman watched her, nervous as a trapped cat, and smiled. It was refreshing to see such persistent, determined kids like this again. There was nothing visibly noncommittal about her, nothing to dissect or uncover. There she was, a chance just waiting to be taken, and he had doubted her so harshly only minutes ago. He held out his hand in front of her, and she stared at it blankly for a moment until dawning reached her eyes and she grasped it eagerly, too thrilled to be afraid of him.
"I guess you're hired, then," he said simply, still smiling. She smiled back at him, although this time it wasn't false at all.
"Wow. Thank you, sir. Thank you so much," she purred, feeling as though someone had just shot ecstasy into her veins. She laughed smoothly, and turned to open the door to the office. Her nerves were calmed, and her legs had ceased to shake.
"Hey, Ducky?"
She turned back around to him, eyes expectant.
"You'll have to bring in some cookies sometime. Your coworker, Danny, he's got a thing for frosting. Maybe not pink frosting, but..."
Ducky's face flushed with heat immediately. Damn, he knew?
"Ah, right. You know, I couldn't find a pen..." she began.
"Go on now, Miss Sage." he said cheerfully. She nodded quickly, and finally swung open the door and began running more so than walking down the hall, towards the entrance.
"I'll be looking forward to your cookies," He called out, before closing the door and sinking back into his office chair, feeling accomplished.
Finally they were taking a step forward. The tires couldn't have a better babysitter than Miss Ducky Sage.
School. Ducky would be hitching a ride with the goose-head; Swan; to Forks High.
She sighed and laid out her three nicest outfits on the unmade bed. The bed was too soft; too warm. She hated the way her back sunk into it just so, and how the quilts stored heat around her body, making the surface of her skin scald like burning bread. Back home, they slept on the floor. At first it gave Ducky back pains, and since the place was swarmed with cockroaches, she had memories of remaining upright all night, crushing roaches before they reached her mother's sleeping form.
"What are you doing, duckling?" Angelique would ask her hoarsely, rising from the floor at dawn. They had four nice blankets, the kind with fluff inside. Angelique slept with two blue ones, one beneath her and one on top, while Ducky slept with the yellow ones.
"Roaches. Stupid, smelly, ugly roaches," Ducky muttered bitterly, Angelique's boot in her hand, suspended mid-air. Angelique rose, stood up, and gathered up the yellow and blue blankets to wash out in the sink. She also stripped down out of her dress, put it in the sink too. She washed everything with baking soda, dark sea salt, and lemon zest. It made things smell good.
"Need to go potty? I know I do," Angelique said cheerfully, kneading the fabric in the sink. Ducky did need to go, but she didn't like going with her mom around. She was committed to privacy, even at a young age.
"Mama? I wanna sleep on something soft," she whined, and set the shoe down. The roaches all but disappeared at daybreak.
Angelique looked back at her daughter, and something inside her stomach tightened up. She was so little and frail, golden hair tied in a loose pony-tail that hung over her shoulder, all stringy. Her eyes were always so wide, like she was waiting for someone to sneak up behind her and take her away, with pretty brown eyelashes and simmering, hot chocolate eyes tucked beneath them. She looked awfully tired, though, with purple bags hanging off her eyes and a crinkle dryness in her lips. Angelique took a deep breath, and tried to direct her sadness far, far away. The last thing her baby needed was a lifeless mama, a hollow mama with more frowns than smiles. So she turned around, reached into the wire basket and retrieved the bathing sponge and shampoo.
"Come wash yourself, le plus cher," she called in her sweet, chipper voice. Ducky stood up and ran to her her mama's side, and tugged at the bottom of her sweater.
"You won't look, will you, maman?" she asked quickly, before her shirt had been tugged over her head. Ducky loathed being naked around her mama, or around anyone. She was so...cold, and vulnerable.
"Of course not!" her mama cried, as if that were the most absurd thing she'd ever heard, though she had to look, to get Ducky thoroughly washed. She wrung out the sponge over her head, and Ducky was soaking in water.
Ducky unfolded the blankets out of the boxes now, the yellow and blue. That night, she slept on the floor with the blue blankets.
"It's soft enough, mama," she whispered into the dark. And for a moment it felt like she was somewhere else.
"Are you ready?"
Ducky stared at herself in the mirror, adjusting what she decided to be her nicest article of clothing; her little denim jacket, white tank top, and her old jeans, rolled up around her knees. Bella said she'd get Ducky some new clothes soon, but it was time to go already and still she had the same messed up ones. It didn't really matter, anyways. You don't get scholarships for how nicely you dress.
"I'm ready to walk, if you can't leave me alone," She called back at Swan through the door, and tossed her backpack over her shoulder.
"I just don't want you to be late," Bella mumbled to herself. She could never please Ducky, no matter how hard she tried. It was getting to be depressing, but daunting more than anything. Bella wasn't sure how to take care of her properly. Ducky's mother just died. She read once that teenagers can develop alternate personalities and behaviors in response to a loved one's death; and perhaps it was heightened by moving, as well. Bella caught herself before she tried to dissect the girl more than necessary. The last thing Ducky needed was someone making assumptions about her. But, really, had she always been this difficult?
The door flew open and Ducky came marching out, backpack slung over one shoulder, wispy golden hair flying around her face. As she breezed by, Bella caught a heavy, sour smell through her nose...like lemon, but richer; addicting.
"Whoa," Bella found herself trailing after her, sniffing like some kind of dog. "That's some impressive perfume, Ducky," she said, voice all breathy.
Ducky paused at the fridge, throwing it open and poking her head inside. Apples, spinach, an old casserole, gross, gross, gross...hey, instant orange chicken. She pulled it out and slapped it against the counter top, tearing off the plastic.
"I don't wear perfume like you. I have better ways of smelling good. You smell like you rolled in chemicals," Ducky snorted, and stuck the orange chicken in the oven, punching in the time and pressing start. Bella smiled mechanically, and tightened the straps on her purse as to keep from strangling the kid.
"So what's your secret, then?"
Ducky stared down at the orange chicken in the oven, melting in the heat.
"If I told you, you'd abuse your power..." she rose up, and noticed the microwave in the corner. She squinted her eyes at it, like it was some kind of voodoo-technology. "What the heck is this?" she asked, striding over to it. Bella thought she might have to check her ears, or check Ducky's eyes. There was no way.
"You've never seen a microwave before?" Bella asked, dumbfounded. Ducky looked over her shoulder at the goose, annoyed that this was a surprise. Not all of us our rich and privileged, she wanted to say. But she had orange chicken to tend to.
She opened the oven, took the instant chicken out with only her thumb and pinky-finger. Bella didn't even know what to say. The oven had been set to 500 degrees.
"Eat in the car," she said, already exhausted with attempting to understand. "You'll be late."
Ducky climbed out of the goose's shiny, box-like car, slammed the door shut, and took her first tentative steps toward Forks High.
The whole ride there had been silence, while Bella precariously applied makeup in the mirror as she was driving, and Ducky busied herself with the orange chicken. She left the juicy tray on Bella's floor; just to be cute and leave her a little surprise for later. Ducky smirked to herself, and unfolded the school's map from her pocket; Bella had picked up all of her classes a few days before.
The school was so small. Ducky found herself becoming slightly nauseous, willingly stepping into this deathtrap, swarmed by people that tripped and fell from craning their necks around to look at her. Back in Seattle, the city, the school she attended was massive, and she found herself drowned out by a sea of people that didn't know her and didn't really care to. She preferred it that way. Why was everyone watching her? It was unnerving. Ducky fell into a fast-paced stride towards the opposite end of the school, where the biology room was. She had memorized the map at home already.
"Hey!" A boy shacked up in her clear pathway, less than a foot away from her face. "Ducky Sage, right?"
Ducky wanted to strangle someone. Preferably him.
"Right." She said, deadpan. The boy's smile faded, as if he'd just been slapped in the face. He shoved his hands in his pockets.
"Sorry. It's just that, you know, everyone knows about you. But nobody's ever met you, either, and I was curious! So-"
A twig-like boy flew past Ducky, and collided right with the front-side of the boy in front of her. She stifled a fit of laughter, and held her mouth in her palm.
"Mike! What a fuckin' coincidence! Gimme some love, babe!" He cried, and drew painful-looking noogies in Mike's hair, like he was drilling in a nail with his knuckles. Mike's face looked horrified, and he untucked himself from the other boy quickly, and attempted to re-define the tips of his hair. This time Ducky actually cracked up a bit.
"Go away, Santa!"
"Why, hello there, miss. What's your name?" He asked smoothly, resting his elbow on Mike's shoulder. This Santa boy was ridiculously tall, towering over Ducky with greasy black hair tied into piggy-tails. He wore a grey hoodie advertising some band she didn't know and cream-colored skinny jeans to match a pair of worn-out, black sneakers. His skin was slightly tan, like he could be half-Latina and half-American. Just as Ducky was beginning to tell him, Mike sighed, like he was the only one with the real brains around here.
"Her name is Ducky. You know, Charlie Swan's...daughter." He looked at Ducky apprehensively, as if he had said something wrong. He hadn't, though. Which sucked; Ducky would kill to correct him, to tell him someone like Charlie Swan could never be her father. Unfortunately, someone like Charlie Swan happened to be the main contributor to her existence.
"Let the lady speak for herself, Michael," Santa said in a disciplinary voice, poking around Mike's forehead. Mike swatted his hand away, like a pesky fly. "Sorry, he can be a bit..." Santa spun his finger next to his head, the sign for crazy, and widened his eyes. "You know."
Mike shoved Santa away from him, and adjusted the straps on his backpack, like a fed-up child. He began to take off in the opposite direction, his nose pinched up like crinkled sand paper, before he paused next to Ducky.
"We're not friends. He acts like this with everyone." he whispered fiercely in her ear. "Good luck."
Ducky watched him pace away, throwing a look over his shoulder, before he got swallowed up by the crowd. Ducky was definitely not a fan.
"Have you got a voice?" She heard Santa ask quizzically from behind her. "I haven't exactly heard it yet."
Something about him was refreshing. She already liked him.
"Here it is," She said clearly, loudly, as she turned around to face him. "Is that all you need? Or do you need me to give you my social security number, as well? Maybe an article of my clothing?"
He smiled widely, shifted on his feet.
"Well..." he said mischievously. "An article of clothing would be very satisfactory. Perhaps, say...your shirt?" he asked, a glint in his eyes. She snorted, and folded her arms, suddenly feeling self conscious, and at a loss for comback.
"I'm sorry, I don't remember offering to strip down for you," she said. He laughed, approached her, and patted her shoulder.
"You're a real party-pooper, you know that?," he said, and began leading her down the hall. "Please tell me your first class is Biology."
Ducky had to tip her head backwards to look up at him now, and unknowingly breathed up his neck. He shivered slightly, and coughed into his opposite elbow.
"Actually, yes, it is," she said, shock evident in her voice. "Did your piggytails tell you that?"
He cracked up into a loud, throaty laugh, to Ducky's surprise. Since when did anyone think she was funny?
"Well, no," he said, voice unsteady with laughter. It seemed she caught him at a loss for words. "What does my hair have to do with anything?" he asked finally, genuinely curious.
Ducky looked down, feeling her face grow hot.
"Maybe they're radioactive?" she said with embarrassment. "Or they help you read minds." Santa cracked up again, shaking his head back and forth.
"Brilliant theories," he said. "But my pigtails serve only one purpose; to complete a bet."
Ducky laughed; that seemed like the type of thing he'd get himself into.
"Classy," she said. The bell blared, and people began scrambling past the two of them into the classroom. He smiled with half of his face, and patted her head before he sauntered in with the rest of them. She followed quickly, like a faithful little dog. Did they have to stop talking?
It was lunch time. Ducky had avoided an abundance of stares, whispers, and Mike-like approaches all day. Finally, she could escape them all and rest her peace in the cafeteria. When she lived in the city, she'd either take a lunch or mooch off of skinny girls that couldn't be bothered with finishing their food. Today, she was actually going to load up her tray with anything her heart desired, since Bella had payed lunch fees out of her fat wallet. She jog-walked to the front of the lunch line in a rush, hoping to get the first pick.
There was so much to choose from...macaroni, potatoes, tacos, grilled cheese sandwiches...Ducky was so intent on the food that she rammed right into one of the two people in front of her.
"Watch where you're going," she barked on impulse, even though it was her fault and she knew it. She forced herself to step back a little, and preparing to offer a half-assed apology, gripped her backpack strap expectantly.
The boy turned around, with fascinating, golden eyes and clear, pasty-white skin. His face was arranged abnormally perfect, with lovely, soft lips and eyelashes that dipped in front of his eyes and brushed against his cheekbones on the bottom. Ducky's heart froze, and then came rushing back to life, throwing itself around her body without distinction. She took another step back, as he furrowed his brow at her, and a bronze lock of hair fell out of it's wild formation into one of his eyes. Something about him was...bizarre, she thought. Just a little bit out of place.
Then he smiled, in a forced way, she knew. "Excuse me. I got excited, seeing as how it's Taco Monday," he said. Tacos seemed to be the last thing on his radar, the way he talked about them. This made a part of her want to throw something, since Taco Monday had to be the best thing invented since fried chicken. He was abusing the privilege of having lunch money if he wasn't really excited about the food being served.
But Ducky simply nodded, because something about this boy made her feel uneasy, the way he stared at her. Directly into her eyes, only straying to find the other features and attach them together into one picture. She felt naked. Vulnerable.
Finally, he turned back around, and Ducky relaxed slightly, breathing out steadily through her nose. The food, she reminded herself. She decided she would stack her plate with as many tacos as she could get away with, and book it to the other side of the cafeteria, where there was an empty table.
She watched the boy in front of her gather up some corn, and then a yogurt. See, he didn't care about Taco Monday. Ducky always had an infatuation with warm, rich food. She could not understand why he would lie about something like his excitement for tacos. Or how he wasn't excited about tacos in the first place.
She humphed almost imperceptibly, and yet he caught it, glancing back at her. His face was potentially frustrated, it seemed, but he masked himself well, and turned back around so quickly that Ducky wasn't sure he'd even looked back at all. He marched away in an elegant, sophisticated stride, towards a table filled with others. Ducky did a double take. There were four others just like him, all arranged around the benches, with impeccable, attractive matches. All of them were too exotic looking. Too perfect. They exceeded the mainstream beauty in the magazines; they looked other-worldly and unapproachable. Like she'd witnessed before, there was definitely something a little bizarre about them. Something hidden behind layers (A/N, insert shrek joke here) of dismissable abnormalities.
"Move! Some of us are hungry, Duck!" Someone yelled from behind her in the line. She had become too preoccupied with that table, where all of them were laughing and leaving their food untouched on their trays. She fell back into reality with a painful achy-shiver in her bones, and turned around at the boy behind her.
"Fuck off!" She spat into his unsuspecting, stunned face. She moved forwards to the tacos, and loaded them onto her tray with a determined look on her face.
"Only one," A lunchlady called from somewhere inside the kitchen. There's two, three, four...okay, there she comes.
"Only one, I said!" she called, marching out from the kitchen, heat risen up her face and her heels attacking the floor noisily. Ducky held her plate for dear life and took off towards the other side of the cafeteria. "Dammit," she heard the lunchlady sigh, and felt her mission was complete. Her running faded into a walk, and she headed cheerfully towards the designated table, slightly out of breath.
For some reason unknown to her, she glanced off in the direction of that table again. And there, already watching, was the boy in front of her in line, a smile barely gracing his face. She swallowed, and turned back around to sit down. She was out of breath again, but not because of her running.
She lifted her taco with shaky hands, and dumped the inside-meat into her mouth. She always started with the best part, saved the others for last.
"My duckling!"
She froze, suddenly feeling ill. She turned around slowly, meeting the eyes of Santa. Of course. It was only Santa.
Ducky couldn't help but wish it was someone else. She smiled mechanically.
"Hello, Saint Nicholas," she said. She wasn't totally sure their little conversation in the hall had meant anything. She was relieved to find that he had remembered her. He sat down next to her, and a coupling of two or three other people followed his footsteps. Ducky suddenly felt self conscious.
"What's up?" she asked. One of the others, a girl, wore a stained, over sized-tee, and thick black eyeliner was smothered around her eyes. Her hair was like blades, covering almost all of her left eye stiffly. She was staring at Ducky with a small smile on her face, whilst chewing gum. The smell of cigarettes overcame Ducky, and she began mushing her taco with a spork.
"Just wanted to say hi to my homie, is all," Santa said with a broad smile. "How's your first day coming along?"
Ducky shrugged.
"Hmm," she pretended to think. "Only one lunchlady tried to kill me today,so I'd have to say, it's pretty disappointing." Santa grinned. Whenever Ducky made him smile or laugh, she felt like she'd just been injected with teddybears and jellybeans. It was exhilarating.
"I saw that," one boy said. He had a bulbous nose, brown teeth hanging off the hinges of his bottom jaw. There was nothing on top. "Can I take one? My parents don't buy me lunch."
Ducky, feeling as if she could relate to that more than anyone else, nodded, and handed him a taco immediately. He smiled bone-toothedly, and took a massive bite. She wondered what he lived off of. For her, it had always been things like poptarts, Cosmic brownies, mini-yogurt cups, knock-off brands of chips and so on. Basically, the cheapest things in the store and the only things at the gas station. They didn't have an oven to cook anything in, on top of that.
"So, either nobody can afford lunch, or you're all just anorexic." Ducky said, pointing at everyone around the table with her spork. The girl with eyeliner cackled, and flipped her hair out of her eyes. Santa had gotten out his phone, and was texting into the keyboard feverishly. He had a phone, and yet, no lunch.
"I'm not hungry. My mom makes, like, the best brownie-pancakes ever. They're all chocolatey and stuff..." she stopped and shook her head animatedly, and gestured with her hands all over the place as she talked. "Anyways! They're delicious. She makes about three tons every morning, and then when I get home, she's made even more. So I like to hold off until I get home, so I can eat them fresh. I don't like taking them in containers because that's just so gross, am I right?" she paused for breath. It seemed physically painful for her to speak, let alone make a speech about pancakes. Her voice was heavy and thick, and often broke when she changed pitch. Yet, it had a perky, girlish undertone to it...smoking must have added a layer of ash to her throat, sabotaging her natural voice.
"So, yeah. If I'm an anorexic, I'm a sucky one." she concluded, folding her hands in her lap. Ducky smiled and nodded, although the words an anorexic bothered her. You don't become a disease. You carry it. She looked off to the only person at the table she hadn't heard from yet, and he was gnawing on an unpeeled mango. He was African-American, probably the only one in the entire school, she guessed, with a huge, muscled chest lying outside of his white shirt. He was glaring at her, scraping his teeth over the mango still.
"You're supposed to peel it," she told him.
"I like it like this." he said, and that was that. She looked expectantly at Santa, who was still texting. She'd die to know who, but she knew better than to snoop. Finally, the girl with eyeliner cleared her throat loudly for Ducky. Or maybe she cleared it just to clear it. Ducky wasn't sure.
Santa glanced up at her. He hadn't heard anything they said.
"Why don't you have a lunch?" she asked him, nudging his shoulder. He shrugged and scratched his head.
"I was gonna get one, but I saw you running over to the table and thought I'd get first dibs."
"First dibs?" she asked. He raised his eyebrows at her.
"You don't think some other snazzy man would take my place next to you?"
For some reason, his saying this made her extremely happy. She looked down at her jeans, and picked at a loose thread, hiding the heat in her face.
"Hey," he said, and she looked up at him. He glanced around diligently, and slipped something out of his backpack.
Weed.
"Do you wanna shack up by the dock tonight? Me and these losers," he gestured to the rest of the table playfully, "Have a date to get baked."
Ducky swallowed, her throat tight. Memories of coming home late, drunk and bruised, hit her like fresh, wet pavement.
"She's so wasted," Gail Platinum had wheezed to her friend. They were in the Electric Theatre bathroom, where underrated bands came to fill in venues and play for stoners like Gail, Marcey, and Ducky. Right now, some band was playing heavy metal, screaming at the top of their lungs. The bathroom was clogged up with smoke, and at least three Vodka bottles were littered all over the floor. Water was running and spilling over the sink. Ducky coughed, and her stomach rejected whatever pill they had made her take yet again. She folded onto the floor and spilled her guts out, while Marcey and Gail Ewww! Oh, shit!-ed simultaneously.
"There was a sink!" Gail reminded her. She knocked back another bottle of Vodka, and let it spill down her face and stain her white blouse. Stains from previous nights already stained the fabric. Marcey stumbled towards Ducky, and grabbed her by the arm, lifting her up.
"We have to clean it," she said, as if on the verge of sleep. "I'm getting laid in here tonight," she said, but she sounded sick, too. Ducky had just turned 15, like Gail, but Marcey was 16. She boasted all the time about how she had already 'done it' three times. Ducky thought it sounded slutty, rather than impressive. Neither her nor Gail had ever done the deed, and admitted in private to eachother that they never planned to, either.
There was a knock on the door that hit them harder than the screamo-music outside the door. They all froze at once, stared at eachother. Was it security? The police? They monitored every nook and cranny. They had doubled in security over the past week, since more and more minors were coming in and doing a handful of dangerous drugs. You had to be 16 at least to get in, but minors could come, if you accompanied them and had a member's card. That was where Marcey came in.
"Babe, you in there?" someone asked. Marcey unfroze, and a goofy smile came over her face. Ducky moaned and wetted a paper towel unconsciously, and got down on her knees to clean up the vomit.
Marcey stumbled over to the door, and opened it. The sounds of sloppy kissing could be heard, and Gail sighed.
"I'm gonna go bang my head now," she informed Ducky. Ducky nodded, feeling drool fall down her chin. She wiped it away and stared at it. Where am I? she remembered thinking. It was like the universe had just swallowed her soul, and left her hollow body on the earth. The smell of vomit made her want to hurl again, but there was nothing left in her stomach.
"Ducky, go...lock yourself in a stall or something," she heard Marcey saying, right next to her ear. Ducky. Ducky. That name sounded familiar. She looked up at Marcey, eyes glazed over. Marcey sighed, and kicked her shoe.
"Please, Ducky," she said. The guy that knocked on the door came up from behind her and wrapped his hands around her stomach, kissed her neck. Ducky stood up shakily, and began to move aimlessly. She left the bathroom, crashed into 20 sweaty, screaming people, and finally stumbled out of the theatre, and made her way up the road. Home was eight miles away, but at the time, she didn't know what time meant or where she was going.
At 4 AM, she collapsed onto the concrete, just as rain began to fall.
Angelique found her an hour later, curled up in the middle of the side walk.
"My duckling," she whispered, and fell to her knees, lying her daughter in her lap. "Wake up, right now. Wake up."
Ducky opened her eyes painfully, the sun in the distance hitting her pupils harshly. Her clothes were soaked, and she shivered intensely, feeling as though she'd been submerged in ice water.
"What happened?" Her mother cried, tears adding to the wetness in her daughters clothes, as she rocked her back and forth.
"I'm sorry, mama," Ducky mumbled, clinging to Angelique's work-clothes.
"So?" Santa interrupted her memories, shaking the weed-baggy in his hand. "You up for it?"
Ducky had never felt more dead than she did that night. Her body shook, tasting the memories on her tongue and the ice in her veins. After that night, what had to be the seventh night, she swore she'd never take up anything again.
But Santa's face, so close to hers in this dirty town with dirty people like Charlie Swan, it seemed so clean. So friendly, welcoming and warm. He wasn't Marcey, or Gail at the electric theatre, feeding her every flavor of wrong in the smoky bathroom. He was new and sweet, with all the right kinds of fun. He wasn't a dead mama or a half-sister she'd never met and wished she hadn't. He was just Santa. She had no one and nothing left to hold onto any more, except for this chance, this chance of Santa, that she just had to take.
"Yes," she said, and took the bag gingerly in her hands. She glanced around as Santa had done, meeting the taco boy's ever-watchful eyes. She shoved the chance into her backpack, and pretended she hadn't seen him at all.
A/N: Finallyyyyyyyy. I've finished chapter one.
I swear I didn't mean to make this so goddamn long. I just wanted to cover the main part, so you'd catch a fatal case of suspense, and actually WANT to read the next chapters. I'm not sure what to think of this fanfic. It's definitely eating up all my time, but if anyone out there actually likes it, I'll be willing to update as often as possible. So tell me straight up, losers. xD
Sincerely, me.
Er...Grapandjellygates.
ps: this is my first fanfic, ladies and gents. don't beat me up. :)