Campbell was furious. She was distraught. And she was done. Done trying to be good, trying to be perfect at it.
Campbell looked up at a poster on the wall. It had started the mess, and it would get her out of it.
It was red and black, emblazoned with the fictional character Harley Quinn. She had struck a sassy pose, a massive hammer in one hand, cheeky grin staring Campbell in the face.
A villain. Insane, sexualized, bad.
"Not a good role model," her parents had said, time and time again. "Waste of time. Bad obsession."
Harley Quinn had become an inspiration to Campbell over the months. Harley Quinn was free. She didn't give a crap, except about her Puddin'. She was obsessive and insane. But something changed in that moment.
Campbell didn't see a poster of her role model; she saw a mirror.
It had all started with her boyfriend.
Jackson was always introducing her to new, nerdy things. She loved it, and it made her cool in his crowd. Star Trek, Sword Art Online, Supernatural. Just before moving away, he gave her the poster.
"Here's a new one for ya," he'd said with one of his rare grins. He pecked her on the cheek and was gone, a state away, just outside of Las Vegas, Nevada.
They texted constantly. Then as Jackson drifted off, replies growing far and few between, Campbell became more obsessed than ever with both her Jackson and the idol she felt so close to. Campbell thought she knew why he'd abandoned her. She just couldn't voice it.
"Visit me in Vegas," he had said.
Well she would.
Like all spur-of-the-moment capers, this would require some for-thought and action. Minus the thinking part. She reached for her driver's liscence, then said an alternative for "screw it" that would've gotten her grounded for a month. Campbell got into her parents car. A quick stop at CVS and the local Goodwill later and she looked nothing like before.
Pale skin. Dark lips. Twin ponytails. And a black and red outfit so skimpy that Campbell would have blushed to her skull.
But Campbell wasn't Campbell anymore.
The drive was long enough that it was nearly nine o'clock by the time she got to Jackson's house. She'd never seen it in real life before, and this certainly wasn't how she'd planned on doing it.
He's in there, she thought, eyes settling on a brightly lit, second-floor window.
With gritted teeth, she began to climb up the side of the house via a water spout, window sills, and sheer willpower. With a final grunt, she pulled herself up to the window.
She could nearly feel the fire in her eyes when she saw exactly what shed known she'd see.
Jackson had a girl pinned to his wall. Their lips were passionately interlocked. She was redheaded and busty. A gaming t-shirt. A tattoo of a vine on her ankle. Gorgeous, judging by what Jackson wasn't covering up with those wandering hands.
With the warm desert night, the window was cracked. She took advantage, sliding her fingers under it before thrusting it sky-high. The startled pair broke apart as the black-and-white girl climbed through the window, beaming triumphantly.
Red-head's eyes widened. Jackson squinted, then stammered.
"C-Campbell?"
"Wrong name, Puddin'!" The voice came out high-pitched, laced with a Brooklyn accent. The make-up, the voice... they hid the coward that would have stood stammering in her place. She was bold. She was exposed.
"Harley Quinn," Red murmured.
"Ya got that straight, Red," Harley Quinn beamed. "Speakin' a Red... what the hell, Mistah J?" The name rolled out of nowhere. It just fit.
Harley pulled a baseball bat off her back and stepped towards Jackson. To her shock, Jackson stepped back. That wasn't the jackson she new. The Jackson Campbell had known would have taken any attacker and stabbed them six times, ripped out their windpipe, and dropped them out the window. He wouldn't have cowered.
But the Jackson Harley knew was very, very different.
"Sorry to break it to ya, Red," Harley said, advancing on Jackson again. "But you ain't his type. I prefers what you'd call a petite frame." Smack! She hit the bat against her hand. "Or so he told me."
"Cam-" Jackson started.
"That ain't my name!" Harley screamed. Her voice went back to overly chirpy and cheerful. But it wasn't faked; she honestly felt elated. High on adrenaline from doing something Campbell would never have done. "So whadya do to woo this one, Mistah J? D'ya tell her she made ya whole? Kept back your depression? Made life worth livin' again?"
Fear flashed across his paled face. He'd told Red those things exactly.
Campbell too.
"So why was wooin' me not enough?" Harley asked. The cheer began to fade till a scream took it's place again. "Was she less blond and ditzy? Less clumsy? Less a fake geek, maybe? Do her parents let her watch Deadpool? Did she promise you her first kiss too?! To show off that impressive rack at ComiCon in whatever skimpy costume you choose next?!"
Jackson was no longer watching the insane Harley. His eyes were glued to something behind her.
Harley whirled around. Red had one of Jackson's many knives, one pried off the walls.
"Is she braver than me?" Harley asked in a whisper. "Cause Campbell wouldn't have thought to do what Red's doin'. She wouldn't be brave enough. But I ain't Campbell! And I put on this, stole my parents car, and drove without a silence to see you. And Puddin', you ain't worth it!"
Red lunged with the knife.
Campbell would have frozen, then screamed, then bled.
But Harley was a different story.
Harley sidestepped, then brought her bat up sharply against Red's arm. She slid the bat down, driving it into Red's defensless torso, pulling the busty redhead up against Harley's chest. Harley wrenched the knife out of Red's hand and pressed it to her throat.
Jackson swore softly.
"So here's the dealio, Puddin'," Harley said brightly. "You let me take Red here, an' I won't set off the explosives planted in the first floor of your house. Your parents'll escape the blast, thank heavens, but your darlin' sisters won't fare too well."
Jackson paled to the shade of Harley's makeup.
"Do it," Red gasped. "Your family. I'll go with C- Harley Quinn." Harley kept up her psychotic grin, but inside she raged. Why was the girl so... perfect?
Jackson was frozen, like he never thought he could get in this situation.
"Your sisters or your new sex toy, Puddin'," Harley beamed.
He gave the tiniest of half-nods.
Harley grinned.
Harley Quinn stood in the dark street, facing the redheaded girl.
"What do you want to do to me?" Red asked.
Harley turned around. "Nothin'. I mostly just wanted to scare the crap outa Jackson."
"But... you must hate me."
"I'm tryin', believe me," Harley said, waving a hand. "But you're everything I wanted to be. Gorgeous. Nerdy. Obviously smart and brave," Harley added, thinking of Red's quick work with the knife. "And you have my Puddin'. Hard to hate an idol."
Red frowned. "There were no explosives, were there."
"Nah."
"Bluffer."
"I was in a rush," Harley said defensively, getting into her car.
"Where are you going?" Red stepped closer. "I mean... is this just a regular nightly thing for you?"
Harley Quinn snorted. "I ain't gonna see my parents ever again. Not unless I wanna end up dead. I figure I'll turn to a life of crime and chaos." And freedom, she thought, thinking of the rigidity of her previous, sterile life.
Red's face was a storm of emotions before one won out; defiance.
"I'm coming."
Harley paused. "I'm probably gonna end up in Juvie. Troubled mind, wasted life. Lotta potential not goin' to good use," she said.
"If I don't come, I'll end up a shell of a person with a useless education in a job I hate, wondering what happened to special snowflake teen me," Red retorted. "That is a waste."
Harley blinked. Then her dark lips, coated in lipstick for the first time, spread into a grin.
"I couldn't 'a said it better," she said. "Get in shotgun, Red."
Red ran around the car and threw open the door. "My name i-"
"No!" Harley smacked the dashboard. "I don't wanna know your name, or about your family. You're Red."
Red hesitated, then grinned.
"Poison Ivy." She pointed to the tattoos on her ankle. "It fits, I guess."
"Darn straight," Harley hooted.
They were done. Done trying to make the Template of a Normal Life work. Both of them were.
Time to go a little insane.
