I'm not totally sure where this came from. Maybe it's because I've definitely been reading too much Stephen King, Chuck Palahniuk and generally just watching too many scary movies recently. So, this is a nod to them. Please R&R- much appreciated!
Inhale.
Take in as much air as you can.
This story should last as long as you can hold your breath, and then a little bit longer. So listen as fast as you can.
Beca rose from the garden, where she'd been working, when a violent gust of wind sent her hair blowing into her mouth and she observed the dark grey storm clouds to the east. Surprisingly, she hadn't quite noticed how the air had changed; hot and lavender with a night storm coming in.
There had been a lot of storms coming in lately.
A moment later, she heard the knob of the back patio door clatter against the wood siding of the house; thrown open in a haste of anger. It makes her stiffen.
"Rebeca Mitchell!" And the piercing voice of her mother pushes through the humidity of the air and- oh god, she knows where this is going- Beca is kicking up the dirt around the magnolias she'd just spent the last hour planting as she flees the area- immediately. There are stomping footsteps coming down the patio stairs that she can hear, but she's already leaping the short fence around the garden and high-tailing it towards the bike resting against the side of her house. "You get back here, or I swear to God!"
She stutters to a halt around the bike, disengaging it from the wall and quickly hopping aboard, pushing the pedals into movement. It was only a matter of time before one thing too many stacked upon the crumbling pedestal and it came around to bite her.
This was that moment.
And Wendy can swear to all the Gods she wants- but Beca is swearing to her god that she is not going to be around to face that wrath when it's straight from the hell-fire.
Pinching the corner of her bottom lip between her teeth, she resists the urge to look back at the woman over her shoulder, instead opting to zoom out of the driveway. Dust following her tracks as she pedals her legs as fast as she can down the road, away from the shouts that had already ceased because if there's one thing Wendy Mitchell doesn't like to do; it's cause a scene in public.
Beca cuts through the dirt trail behind her neighbour's house, into the direction of the storm.
"Put your back into it, Chloe."
Groaning, Chloe heaves the pitchfork into the earth, using the moment to lean back- a series of cracks rippling along her spine. Next to her, Aubrey sighs, blonde hair spilling around her face as she tilts her head to look at the other girl.
As if sensing some of his owner's exasperation, the horse on the other side of the fence snorts impatiently. It prompts Aubrey back into moving, hefting a pitcher of hay over the fence and into the trough. "It's not," Aubrey grunts, repeating the action. "that difficult."
Throwing the girl a desperate look from the corner of her eyes, Chloe pulls the fork back from out of the ground and returns to the bail. "Says the girl who's been doing this every day since she was six." Furrowing her brow, she prods at the bail, a vain attempt at trying to loosen some of the hay from it. It sort of works, and she manages to loosen a few pathetic tufts. Another horse whinnies.
"We still have three more troughs to go," Aubrey points out, muck boots stomping over mud on the ground and old, rotting hay. The girl gently places a hand on Chloe's shoulder, guiding her away from the bail and raising her own pitchfork, expertly removing a layer from the bail and unravelling the thing. "and there's a storm coming in. Now," The blonde points to the heaps of loose hay now on the ground, moving back over to the one she'd been working at. "get that."
There's a soreness already blanketing her shoulders and biceps, and she sighs, folding her hands atop of the pitchfork for a moment, sulking down at the pile of hay now on the ground. But Aubrey was right. There was a storm coming in, could feel it's static undercurrent in the air, blowing through the wind that was gradually building strength. And so before her best friend can berate her again, she sends the fork through the pile, heaving up a clump and half-waddling towards the trough Aubrey had just dumped into.
"You're still coming with me in that music thing Mrs. Abernathy is doing, right?" Aubrey asks again, pausing to rub the back of her free hand against the perspiration on her forehead. Chloe nods, sticking the pitchfork into the hay on the ground again.
"Yeah. Of course." Aubrey smiles in response, heaving another clump into an empty trough.
"Oh good. I think it'll be beneficial to have some more extracurriculars." And then she ponders for a moment, before shrugging. "Even though we don't really need them."
"I think the music thing will be cool." Chloe winces as she hauls the hay over the fence again, the nearest horse throws it's head back in response to nearly being pegged in the face. Glancing over her shoulder, Chloe inspects Aubrey, who had her back turned, thank God.
Within a few minutes, the first crack of thunder broke out. It rains a lot in September.
There were good things and bad things to be said about the situation.
A good thing being that Beca no longer needs to take Grade 12 Chemistry, like she would have had to otherwise. Which- no. The bad thing being literally everything else about the circumstance she now finds herself in, with her 'D' block class being spent in an uncomfortable blue plastic chair in the old band room at the back of the school that went mostly unused ever since band was cut back in her freshman year. Since then, it had been sort of re-purposed into a multi-use room.
She's got nine other women in a similar position, and at the front of the room, Mrs. Abernathy. In all of her blonde up-do, high-heeled glory. In Beca's humble opinion, she was much too good looking to be a high school teacher but hey, what did she know?
After yesterday's panic fueled flee from her house, she'd spent the night at Amy's- who also happened to be in the room today- the only person who she somehow, some way, managed to tolerate enough to call a friend over the past seventeen years of her life. Of course, her mother had called the house looking for her, but since Amy's mother was a brute force who gave absolutely zero fucks, the woman had gone ahead and spewed out the lie that Wendy's daughter wasn't actually there- not caring how unconvincing it may have been. Wendy didn't care enough to actually come over there and drag Beca out by the ear, though, so. It might as well been sold.
"Alright," The woman greets, once everyone has been seated. Awkwardly, Beca takes in the other's in the room.
Barden isn't a big town. Beca knows everyone there, although half she'd never had a conversation with.
"You're all in here today because you don't have enough extracurriculars to graduate." The woman pauses, pondering for a moment. Shifting in her seat, Beca tilts her head towards Amy, who does the same. "Well, most of you."
She already knows who the woman's talking about. The blonde in the front row, with the posture of a British royal, and who was the spearhead of literally everything- and that alone could have deterred Beca from joining all extracurriculars, had she not already been unable to care. But well, maybe she should have sucked it up because look where she is now.
And beside Aubrey; her lapdog, Chloe. Who, Beca could admit seemed slightly less intolerable due to the fact that she was nowhere near as loudly opinionated or obsessive. But still, nonetheless; a lapdog, padding along at Aubrey's heels, obeying her every beck and call, as far as Beca is concerned.
And so it's no surprise that mega-kiss-ass Aubrey Posen was so over the top that she'd willingly want to join any and all extracurriculars, and that her pet would be joining her. Even if it was meant as a passing grace for those less... keen.
The look of distaste Beca is giving Amy is mirrored, and she finds a silent solidarity in that. They were totally going to complain about this later- and by the sounds of it, they're going to have a lot of Posen-related remarks over the next few months.
"It's an all year course," Mrs. Abernathy continues, pulling up another one of the plastic blue chairs from the sidelines of the room and sitting down, crossing her legs over one another and planting her hands atop of her knees. "Which means every 'D' block, you will be here, with me. Our goal," And then she prattles on and on about music and the joys of it- which Beca gets. She's all about the music, really; but this isn't her mixing program on her laptop, and outside of that, her interest sort of plateaus. Because she's certain that whatever this course was going to be offering was not the kind of music she was gung-ho about.
She's just glad that they skip all the introduction bullshit because Mrs. Abernathy is smart enough to realise that everyone knows everyone and therefore, that's totally unnecessary.
It becomes clear that it would pretty much be a sleeper class if it weren't for Posen, however. And her uptight, yet absurdly chipper outlook on the whole thing. Her sole focus alone seems to be enough to keep the teacher motivated, and therefore, pressing. Pressing sheet music, pressing ideas in form of a brainstorm on the chalkboard that was mostly just a conversation between her and the other, younger blonde. But when the bell rings, Beca is snatching her jacket from the back of the chair and zipping out of the room faster than you could say 'Bellas'- the word amidst the middle of the chalkboard-brainstorm-bubble.
"Did you listen to anything in there?" Amy asks, idly and without any sort of judgement in her voice as she manages to fall into step with the shorter girl.
"Yeah, uh, no- not at all." Beca admits with a laugh, crossing the mostly empty cafeteria while the few others continued to filter out of the room behind them. "Not my thing, Amy."
"Right," Fat Amy- which should be an insult, but considering the girl introduces herself as Fat Amy to anyone who asks, it just kind of sticks, and it's actually a little bit empowering. Beca's not sure how it started, even after all this time- all she knows that when Amy moved here from Tasmania back in the eighth grade, that was how she had introduced herself to the class, and whenever a teacher tried to curb the negatory reference to herself, she only did so more passionately. Eventually, they stopped. And Amy was happy. "But- all year?"
Beca shrugs. "I've bullshitted my way through courses all year before," Taking a right turn down the hall, Beca begins pulling her arms through the sleeves of her jacket. "this is nothing new. We're just getting the credits." Stopping at her locker, she lifts her hand to the lock, routinely spinning the combination.
Amy sort of hums, walking a few lockers down before stopping at her own. Tugging open the lock, Beca grabs her bag and shoulders it, slamming the thing shut just as fast. Amy glances at her over her shoulder as she opens her own locker. "Are you going home?"
Beca sighs. "Yeah." She really wouldn't like to, but she can only avoid for so long. "Have to at some point. Might as well not drag it out."
Pulling her own, horrifically furry coat from the depths of her equally horrifying locker- somehow full of wrappers and papers despite it only being a week into the school year- Amy pulls her arms through it. "Well, phone me, yeah? Let me know the big BM hasn't been murdered."
Grimacing at the nickname, Beca agrees anyway. Maneuvering the halls and pushing her way out of the front doors, she heads towards the bike she has chained to the fence on the far side of the parking lot. Like a total dork. But whatever- she just hasn't gotten around to getting her license yet, partially due to the fact that she's positive that she will fail because she maybe has a collective three hours of driving experience under her belt.
Getting the chain undone, she drops her backpack onto the ground and stuffs it inside before climbing on, pedalling her way out of the lot and in the direction of her home. She passes a few students heading towards their vehicles, and pointedly avoids the puddle near Posen because she's not a total dick; no matter how much satisfaction she thinks it'd bring her.
"I hate her." Aubrey hisses, pulling open the driver's side door of her yellow Jeep Wrangler with much more force than necessary. Chloe, hand patiently resting on the handle at the passenger's side, resists the instinctual urge to ask 'who?' because really, she already knows.
Aubrey doesn't like a lot of people, but she doesn't hate a lot of people, either.
When she hears the telltale click of the door unlocking as Aubrey slides into the driver's seat, she opens up, hopping inside and shutting the door behind her. Again, with much less force than her friend on the other side of the vehicle was treating it with. "The mangy," Aubrey starts venomously, stabbing the key into the ignition and bringing the car to life. Chloe disagrees with mangy being a descriptor for the girl in question, but says nothing. "conniving, evil little trollop!"
In all honesty, as far as Chloe knows- and being Aubrey's best friend, she knows a lot- Stacie Conrad has never done anything blatantly to the girl to deserve such a heinous reaction from the blonde-haired peer. Sure- the two of them had been in silent competition ever since the fifth grade as far as marks went; they were tied for first place for a very long time until Stacie's interests seemed to have taken... a different route. But the girl was damn near a genius- Chloe would know this after being in the same Physics class with her.
Stacie Conrad was the whole package. Beautiful, smart, rich, and she had a high seat on the ranking of Barden popularity; which was a pedestal she and Aubrey sat on, as well.
But from an outsider's perspective, here's the thing; Stacie was just a lot more likeable than Aubrey. Aubrey, who was overbearing at worst and just a little bit straight-laced, at best. And she was competing against Stacie; who was blunt at worst and irresistible at best.
And the girl can deny it all she wants. She's jealous of Stacie.
Who wouldn't be?
"Should you really drive when you're so... worked up?" Chloe offers instead, throwing a reassuring look in Aubrey's direction. Who, in turn, sighs heavily, and the anger appears to deflate from her chest as she absently reaches for the knob on the stereo.
"I was actually planning on doing some breathing exercises before we actually went anywhere." She admits, a hint sheepish. "I understand the possibilities of driving under the influence of rage."
Chloe hums, understanding. "Nothing good." She muses, resting one hand gently against the blonde's shoulder.
"I shouldn't be surprised," Aubrey says, more to herself than Chloe. "that Stacie is in need of extracurriculars. The girl hasn't done anything since ninth grade volleyball, I mean-" Throwing her head back on her shoulders, green eyes search Chloe's helplessly, but with a fiery scorn simmering underneath the surface. "what are her hobbies? Cuticle care and the E! Network?"
Chloe shrugs. In truth, she doesn't know much about Stacie Conrad. She doesn't know much about a lot of people, other than what she can read from them, and what she's heard. But, she doesn't really know a lot of people. "I think her family has a lot of Mastiff's?" She suggests half-heartedly, wringing her hands back together in her lap. Upon briefly glimpsing them, she decides she doesn't really think there would be anything wrong with having a hobby in cuticle care. She is in some serious need of it.
Imploringly, Aubrey sighs again, turning her attention to the steering wheel and shifting the car into reverse. "I don't really think that has anything to do with anything, Chlo." Aubrey looks over her shoulder as she slowly backs up the automobile, waiting as a truck passes in the opposite direction before pulling out all the way. Chloe just shrugs again.
"Maybe she knows stuff about Mastiff's, that's all." Aubrey snorts.
"She knows how to be a bitch, that's all."
The sound of sirens cut off Chloe's reply before she can get to it, and she cranes forward in her seat, trying to spot the cars. However, she quickly resorts to just rolling the window down and sticking her head out, just as Aubrey rolls to a stop at the end of the road. "Chloe!" The girl scolds, but she can see the cars. All four of Barden's police force barrelling full-speed in their direction.
"They're headed this way," She informs, glancing at the blonde over her shoulder. Furrowing her brow, Aubrey leans forward in her seat, before quickly dropping back and turning her left-hand blinker on.
Surely enough, a moment later the cars were pulling onto their street- zooming past them, and continuing their course down the road. "I wonder what's going on," Sitting back into her seat, Chloe rolls the window up, but keeps an eye on the retreating vehicles through Aubrey's rear-view mirror, before the girl is completing the turn and they're on their way.
"Probably Wheelchair Richard trying to rob the gas station again." After a moment of quiet thought, Aubrey finally delivers. Chloe isn't sure if she agrees, but laughs anyway.
"You think?"
Aubrey shrugs. "My best guess. Someone needs to stop that man," But she says it through a smile. "Honestly, he's a wackjob."
"Yeah, who cares if he's sixty-two and in a wheelchair. He's already tried robbing that place twice,"
"Exactly!"
"Hey, thanks for driving me home, by the way."
She hears the sirens long before she sees them.
Pedalling to a halt, Beca drops one foot to the ground and stops, craning her neck over her shoulder to listen to the sound of them echoing among the hills. It sounded like there was a lot of them- but it was hard to tell if it was just the distortion of sound. After a few moments of quiet contemplation, however, she saw them turning onto the highschool road. One after the other- granted, there were only four, but that was the entire Barden force- all with their sirens blaring and roaring along the school zone at a much faster speed than what she would ever be able to get away with.
When they passed her, she was buffeted by gusts of wind following them.
And well, this was interesting.
Much more interesting than going home, she thinks slyly, before she places her feet back on the pedals and struggles to keep pace with the vehicles.