A/N: Thanks to Kendall for her beta-ing, and letting me bounce ideas off her. This probably would have stayed in a notebook forever if she didn't encourage me to put it up here. Thanks, K!
I recognize her the moment I see her, though it's from behind, and I haven't seen a picture that isn't at least 5 years old. Her hair is a dark shade of reddish brown, and falling straight down onto her shoulders. She is wearing black canvas shoes that look like they've seen better days, and a few layers of factory torn, black clothes. I can see the outline of a pack of cigarettes in her pocket.
"Just fuckin' tell John Bender that Taylor Standish is here to see him." She sounds angry. I wonder if she has a Bettie Page haircut, like all the other girls that pretend to be tough. "That shouldn't be too hard, should it?"
"Look kid, he's a busy guy, he's not gonna take the time to train up some young girly like you," Travis says. He's one of the few people I enjoy talking to. Though no one comes close to the other four. The four I've managed to distance myself from over the years.
"I got it, Travis," I say, walking towards my office. She whirls around, her expression still angry from her dealings with Travis, but there is something a little more to it as well. Surprise maybe, or hope.
I hold open my office door for her, and she looks me over as she passes through. She doesn't have bangs, thank god.
"Your mother know you're here?" I ask as soon as the door is closed. She flops down on the grungy couch.
"No," she grunts.
"Good," I sit on my desk.
"I want a job," she says quickly. Straight and to the point.
"Can you work on a car?" I ask, raising one of my eyebrows just slightly.
"What are you, stupid? You think I'd ask for a job I can't do?" she raises the same eyebrow. It's eerie, almost like me controlling her mother's face. I try not to smirk at her, since she was trying to offend me. I can't blame her.
"Why should I give you a job?"
"Cause if you don't I'll sue in October for backed child support." It's been eighteen years already. Shit.
We're both silent for a while, judging each other.
"Fine. You can start Monday. But you're not allowed to wear that black shit on your eyes." Allison. Thoughts of Allison. And that day.
She says the worst thing possible;
"I like the black shit."
Her mother told me the story. I have to wonder if maybe she hears the stories too. It takes me a moment to speak again.
"Why aren't you leaving?"
"I need a place to crash until I can get my own apartment." Her brown eyes are digging into me. They're not soft and innocent looking like her mother's were.
"Fine." I said. It was settled.