"Come on. Five minutes. Five," Darlene pursed her lips, tapping her foot expectantly against the off-white tile.
"My mom said five o'clock. Not five o' five. She will literally kill me. I will be dead. Is five minutes in Hot Topic worth my life to you?" I raised my eyebrows to let her know exactly how ridiculous she was being.
"Puh-lease?" she moaned, "I need a new hair color. It's been red for a week and a half. I cannot look like the Little Mermaid for another week. I think I'm going for dark turquoise next," she mused, suddenly lost in thought.
"Dark turquoise?" I squinted at her, "Is that even a thing?"
"Yes come on," she grabbed the back of my blouse, tugging me towards the haven of band shirts and punk jewelry. The first haunting chords of 'Welcome to the Black Parade' echoed throughout the store, and walking inside was like submerging in a sea of lilting tones and angsty lyrics.
"Punk! Over here!" Darlene called from the back.
"Paige…" I mumbled half-heartedly, "My name is Paige," but Darlene's obsession with the edgy earned me the permanent nickname. It made little to no sense seeing that Paige wasn't even my real name, it was my middle name. But there was no way I was going by Winnifred so Paige it was and Punk it was. Pushing through racks of Attack on Titan merchandise and less than friendly looking customers, my mouth fell open.
"Yeah, I know. I'm sort of afraid it'll fade to like a regular turquoise after a couple of days but…" but I wasn't listening to her. I was eyeing the wrack of five dollar buy one get one free Disney bras.
"What happened to five minutes?" Darlene smirked after roughly ten of me throwing around canary yellow Beauty and the Beast bras.
"The art is awful and I don't want Belle on my tit," I glared at her, "But I'm not going to- oh. My. God."
"What? What is it?" Darlene peered over my shoulder.
In my hands lay a beautiful concoction of black lace, original Peter Pan artwork, and a tiny turquoise bow.
"Check the size," I held my breath.
"Huh? Why me?"
"Literally 34C does not exist and I'm not emotionally ready for it to be the wrong size. Check the freaking tag," I explained calmly.
Reluctantly she pulled the paper close to her face, gazing through her black hipster glasses. Her expression was unreadable.
"…Well?" I bit my lip.
There was a dramatic pause. Riding the tense silence, she placed the garment into my outreaching hands.
"34C," she confirmed.
Resisting the urge to jump and laugh and scream and all sorts of other indicators of joy, I sprinted to the cash register, slamming the bra onto the table. The lady jumped, ruby red lip piercings jiggling with the movement. Sighing, she raked her hands through her mint green curls, "With the purchase of anything in the one dollar or less bin," she monotoned, "You can earn fifteen Hot Bucks…"
"Fine," I practically threw a bottle of eighty-seven cent black nail polish at her.
"Including tax your order comes out to six dollars and twenty eight cents," she looked up a me through thick bangs. Too small to use my debit card I dropped a ten on the counter, shouted 'keep the change', grabbed Darlene's hand a bolted.
"Great," Darlene rolled her thickly lined eyes, "Now your mom's gonna hate me all because of your Peter Pan fetish. Thanks Punk."
"First off, this is completely your fault," I ducked under a tray of fast food, weaving through the food court, "Second of all, I do not have a Peter Pan fetish. He's like twelve."
"Touchy touchy," she mused, a slight grin shadowing her eyes.
"FIFTEEN MINUTES!" as soon as I threw open the double doors, a wave of hot air hit me like a slap. And I'm not talking about the June night.
"Fif. Teen. Minutes," my mom repeated, glaring at me with a bitter distaste. Usually my mother was perfectly lovely, unless it involved tardiness. Or sloppiness. Or immaturity. Actually maybe she wasn't quite as lovely as I thought. Her one week spot was Darlene. Usually you'd think that a parent would feel hostile towards, or even threatened by, a seventeen year old girl with fickle opinions towards hair color and enough piercings for half a dozen more traditional girls. But no, she practically worshipped my best friend.
"Frightfully sorry Ms. Darland," Darlene bowed her head.
"Oh no no no no," my mom cooed, "I'm sure it wasn't your fault."
Darlene straightened confidently, a blinding smile dashing her lips. I rolled my eyes, pushing towards the passenger's seat.
"Ahem," my mother's voice halted my venture, "Sit in the back with your friend," she tsked, "And what's that?" she pointed to the Hot Topic bag I'd been trying to hide in the folds of my red flannel coat.
"Um," I flushed bright red, "It's just…"
Striding forward she pulled the bag out of my hands, gazing inside.
"Really?" she raised an eyebrow, dangling the bra over the bag. I blushed furiously, shoving it back inside, "Yes. Really," my voice dripped venom. Throwing the bag back into my arms, she strutted past me, collapsing into the front seat.
After we dropped Darlene off at her house I ran upstairs to my room, ripping off my shirt. Unclipping my bra I pulled the Peter Pan one over. Replacing my previous outfit with a lacey black camisole and grey sweatpants, I collapsed into bed. Tousling my curly bob of pinks and blues, my fingers connected with a hard bit that wasn't there before. I realized it was the little black bow I'd clipped in earlier. Electing to ignore it I flopped onto my stomach.
The color was fading out of my hair, the lighter colors being replaced with the original blonde. I giggled to myself. Maybe Darlene would let me patch it up with some of her 'dark turquoise'.
"GO TO BED!" my mother bellowed from downstairs. She must've heard me. Rolling my eyes I snuggled my Peter Pan pillow close to my face. In big black block letters it declared 'Never Grow Up', decorated with the silhouettes of Wendy, John, Michael, and Peter. Arching my back I gave my mind away to thoughts of pirates, Indians, and lost boys.
...
"What do you mean… there are no more Darlings?" Captain Hook looked up slowly, eyeing the scruffy gentleman who had spoken with a bitter distaste.
"Well um, you see sir," William Smee stammered, "You've taken them all."
Captain Hook waved his hand dismissively, "I suppose I'd settle with a boy Darling."
"Sir, you've- you've taken them too," Smee wrung out his hands, "I do say, you've completely severed their family tree. And with that Peter Pan saving all of…"
"PETER PAN?!" Captain Hook roared, burying his hook in the wood inches from Smee's bulbous nose, "IF YOU DON'T MIND MR. SMEE, I DON'T CARE TO HEAR ABOUT PETER PAN!"
"W-well, I suppose we've never tried the Americas," Smee backed away.
"Hm," Captain Hook rubbed his chin with his good hand, eyeing the map on the far wall, "We sail…" he circled his hand over the map, "Here," he stabbed the paper at random.
"Mitcheegan you say?" Smee squinted through his full moon spectacles at the map, "I'll alert the crew."
"Very well," the Captain waved him out.
"B-BOYS!" Smee called. A group of ragtag men appeared like smoke, drifting out of the very woodwork of the ship. Each towered over Wiliam Smee by at least twice his height, and his throat suddenly went as dry as the salty air, "S-set sail for Meet-chee-gan."