So one day I went on a 80's movie kick, and I as I made it through my third John Hughes film I thought Caryl deserved a 80's high school movie of their own! I hope you're ready for some fluffy corniness and teen angst!
Huge huge gigantic thank you to my beta sweettooth7 for whom without this story would be a whole lot of nothing! Like the Bender to my Claire, the Wats to my Keith, the Samantha to my Jake Ryan, she was just what this story needed! Also she gets full credit for that summary because I can't write those to save my life and she's apparently fantastic at them :D
If there was one sure way to tick her off, it was being late.
As of this moment, the bus was three minutes passed due. Carol tapped her flowered Keds against the sidewalk, subconsciously mimicking the rhythm that boomed out from her Walkman, her tongue sucking anxiously against her teeth. There was a simple solution, she knew, to this late bus problem. If she had her own car she wouldn't have to rely on the unreliability of public transportation. Or at the very least, Michonne could get a car, and then she could hitch a ride with her to school. If Michonne ever got her license she would drive the coolest car, probably some vintage Volkswagen that she'd paint herself in a cascade of colors and shapes. But, as it were, Michonne had taken her driver's test four times and failed. Carol thought of her own license, dumped carelessly into the bottom of her knapsack. She didn't have much use for it if she didn't have a car.
All it symbolized was that she was seventeen, and her curled hair took up most of the frame in the picture. It said that she lived at the edge of town just before the train tracks that rattled every night at 7:13 when the freight rolled through. It said she was a Libra. What the little plastic square didn't mention was that she couldn't get that car she had been saving up for after her father lost his job eight months ago. No word of how all the money went into the mortgage, and any bills left over. Her father was barely keeping them afloat, working extra shifts at Jergen's Hardware and rarely making it home for dinner. Really, it offered nothing of value and that's why it sat underneath her Physics book, slightly bent and forgotten.
The screech of the brakes came at four and a half minutes after the scheduled time. Carol breathed a relieved sigh, her ponytail bouncing high on her head as she hopped anxiously from one foot to the other, the blue scrunchie threatening to burst from the pure volume of those curls. She was up on the first step before the driver could even pull the lever all the way to open the accordion door. She sat in her usual spot right beside the back exit door. With a shaking jolt the bus took off, heading towards Wiltshire High School on the other side of town.
Michonne lived off of Main Street, about halfway between Carol's stop and school. Her combat boots clomped against the metal floor of the bus announcing her arrival before she made an appearance. Her dreadlocks whipped around, a bright colored scarf wrapped artfully around the crown of her head. She wore a jean jacket, a darker shade than Carol's, and filled with patches and buttons from artists and bands that Carol pretended to have heard of. Carol patted the empty mud brown vinyl seat beside her, giving her best friend a smile. She sat, popping a bright colored candy into her mouth and offering another one out to Carol.
Their friendship had formed over the benches in gym class where they both made up excuses to sit out. Volleyball was never really Carol's best sport, and Michonne could care less about the school wide competition. Claiming cramps and headaches, week after week, they found themselves making mock commentary of some of the more enthusiastic students in their class.
"Bus was four minutes late, huh?" she smirked, the round candy muffling her voice.
"Four and a half," Carol rolled her eyes, her voice just as garbled.
They could hear the bell ringing from where the bus dropped them off a half block away. Carol ran at full speed while Michonne leisurely strolled rolling another candy around with her tongue. She could barely suppress a smile as she watched Carol's jaunty form—she was always so cute when she was frenzied.
She took the stone steps outside the main entrance two at a time, the toe of her sneaker catching on the top step almost causing her to fall. Regaining her balance she skid across the tiled floors, red-faced and blotchy.
Her body slammed into something sturdy but soft. Smoke and gasoline filled her nose as she pulled away from the figure. She barely looked at him, not even registering his grunt as she tried to propel herself off him in a hurried fluster to continue down the hall to homeroom.
"Watch it!" the rough grumble followed her as she finally slipped into the classroom.
Three hours later Carol groaned, her face falling into her open palms as she sat across the cafeteria table from Michonne.
"Are you sure?" she asked, spreading her fingers just enough for her blue eyes to peek out from between them.
"Oh I'm positive," Michonne chuckled, crushing her emptied carton of milk into the plastic tray.
"It was definitely Daryl Dixon?"
"Definitely. Do you feel itchy? 'Cause I heard he's got fleas," her teasing smile flooded her dark eyes as she watched Carol's face color three deeper shades of red.
"Be nice," Carol reprimanded, drawing her hands away. She bit her lip, looking anxiously around the crowded lunchroom but not spotting any sign of the elusive boy in question.
"Did he look pissed?" she asked, her voice pitching nervously.
Michonne shrugged, "When does he not? I don't know what you're so worried about, I already told you he cut. He walked out right after you rammed into him."
Daryl Dixon was an enigma, but not one that she had the time or desire to unknot. He was quiet, reserved, and always sporting a leather vest with angel wings that many said made him a part of an out of town biker gang. That may just be a rumor, but it was true that his older brother just got out of his first stint in county. Merle Dixon, who was just barely twenty-one, had been supposedly clean for three years after his last round of juvie but robbed a liquor store seven months ago that landed him in the big house. Most people just figured Daryl was headed down the same path and when he'd go missing from school for days at a time it was always said that he had been carted off to the boys detention hall a few towns over.
Even though Carol had never seen Daryl Dixon beat anyone up, there was still a curling fear in her gut that he would seek vengeance for her blunder. She rested her head against the table with a thump, whispering incoherently to herself, as the feeling of Michonne patting her now loose and wild hair attempted to comfort her. A quiet throat clearing shook her, and Carol looked up from her despairing pose.
Lori Sanders, tall and graceful in her light sundress and sweater, stood at the end of their table smiling sweetly. She held a flyer out to them, letting it land with a balletic sway between their lunch trays. Carol moved the curls away from her face in a desperate fling, angling her head to better see the bright paper. Bold colored bubble words surrounded by drawings of a tree and little golden leaves advertised next week's dance, the Fall Fling.
"Hope you guys can make it," Lori said, her smile still plastered on her sharp face, "Student Council will start selling tickets next Monday." There was a slight bounce to her as she swished away to the next table. Her boyfriend, police academy hopeful, Rick Grimes lingered behind her. His eyes seemed to flit to Michonne for a fraction of a second too long before he followed after Lori. Michonne smirked at the way he shifted his gaze all around the room just to shake off the eye contact he had let linger, before sliding her eyes back to Carol.
"You want to go to this?" she poked at the flyer.
"Are you still making eye-sex with Rick Grimes?" Carol pursed her lips.
Michonne rolled her eyes, sliding the flyer more directly under Carol's gaze, "Do you or do you not want to go?"
Carol shrugged, "I can already tell you what's going to happen. Lori and Rick will dance uncomfortably while Shane Walsh stalks by the punch bowl growling like a bulldog; Phillip Blake will get on his soap box and start complaining about how if we elected him as Class President the dance would be so much better. Mr. Greene will try to get in between couples that are "too" close. And then Andrea Harrison will make eyes at Mr. Horvath for half the night as he tries to dictate the rules and regulations to her."
Michonne frowned, "I like Andrea."
"Me too, but you know it's true."
"So you don't want to go?" Michonne asked, her eyes lingering on the paper for a second too long.
Carol sighed, "Of course we're going! Wouldn't want to miss all that would we? Besides I heard they're getting the good cheese platter this time."
Michonne smiled, giving her shoulders a small shake of glee. She snatched up the flyer and folded it into her side bag. "Don't worry about the ticket, Carol. It'll be your birthday present!"
Carol waved her off, "No, 'Chonne, I got it. I'm babysitting this week anyway so I'll have the cash. And, besides, I already told you what I wanted for my birthday."
Michonne cocked her head to the side.
"A plate of soggy, salty fries and a whole night of Rob Lowe movies!" Carol smiled, her eyes widening as if it was the most obvious request. Snorting, Michonne shook her head as the bell rang and they hurried off to separate classes.
On days where the evening air was cool, and the sun made its descent lazily, Carol liked to walk the last few blocks home. It was cozy enough and sometimes she'd stop in at Jacqui's Kitchenette for a candy bar if she had the extra dollar.
"You get to where you were rushing off to?" the practically incoherent drawl grumbled from the hollow between Jacqui's and the neighboring music store. Carol recoiled from the unexpected voice, moving backwards towards the music store's door. Daryl peeled himself from the shadow, taking a step towards her and flicking a still burning cigarette butt to the side. "You always in such a hurry?!" he pried as she spun quickly and slipped through the door.
The bells plinked above her as the door closed and she moved swiftly through the rows of cassette's and vinyl records.
"Something going on out there?" Tyreese, the manager of Smooth Tunes, waved his hand in front of Carol's blank expression as she stared at the door.
"Huh?" she looked back at him, blinking. Tyreese had the kindest face she could think of, his smile always reaching his deep brown eyes. He wore a beanie cap and a chord necklace that bounced happily as he danced to the various music that he blasted in the store, and his voice as smooth and calming as the jazz he played. Carol and Michonne made it a habit to visit the shop every third Sunday of the month when they had their fifty cent sale.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," Tyreese tilted his chin against his fist as he leaned over a rack of cassettes, grinning at her. He was somewhere in his early thirties, and Carol often found herself blushing around him. It was a silly crush but if he ever caught on (which he already had) she would melt into the floor and wish to become one with the maroon carpet.
"I…might have," she sighed, searching again for a silhouette at the door but it seemed that Daryl had disappeared.
"I was just about to close up shop in fifteen minutes, you need a ride home?"
"No," Carol said slowly, allowing a huff of air to pass through her lips and decompress her. "But thanks anyway, Ty," she turned back to him, smiling.
"You know if it's a boy ghost giving you trouble, you can bring him on in. I'll straighten him out," Tyreese stood back from the rack, swinging a hammer in his hand, and Carol gladly took in how sturdy and strong he was. She smiled at him, heading just as quickly out the door as she entered.
She twisted her head in both directions but didn't see Daryl in sight. The sun was hanging at its lowest point, barely winking between the buildings of the street. Carol hurried, her feet stepping in quick succession down the sidewalk.
Carol made it down the block without a hitch, her sneakers squeaking by the various buildings as they readied themselves for the night crowd. The glaring fluorescent glow from the corner gas station illuminated the darkening street with an electrical buzz. Carol took a deep breath in before making her way to cut through the station and take the back of the next side street to get to her house faster. Most of the attendants and the one customer ignored her. The unmistakable sucking sound of a low whistle reached her ear but she pressed forward, refusing to turn towards the taunt.
"Aw, come on little mouse. Don't walk away so fast!" the scratchy voice chuckled, the laughter rumbling louder as she quickened her pace. When Carol reached the edge of the station she looked back for just a second. Merle Dixon, his overalls greased from car oil, and his face half hidden behind a beer bottle as he puckered his lips at her and blew a kiss. A few others turned to look at her, shaking their heads or laughing along with him.
"Cut it out, Merle," Daryl's voice snarled next to him as he glared at his brother.
"You gotta learn the ways of chasing tail, little brother. It's like I ain't taught you nothing!" the grating rasp of his laugh was like a slow knife scraping down her spine.
"Just leave her be," Daryl was quiet, almost gentle as he moved in front of his brother to draw his attention away from her. He turned his head slightly.
She caught Daryl's eye as he glanced at her and Carol gasped, moving quickly out of the station's glow. The Dixons were like steel, poking through her, but there was something about those piercing blue eyes that she couldn't shake off. She could still see them, like two dark and cold stars, when she climbed into bed, closing her eyes to the night. Rolling over to her stomach, she shoved her head beneath a pillow, hoping that any and all thoughts about Daryl Dixon would be gone by morning.