Disclaimer: That '70s Show copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC.

WELCOME TO HYDEVILLE

or

ONE DIFFERENCE:
HYDE DOESN'T TOSS JACKIE'S BAG

Part I

Hyde shielded his eyes from The Hub's back exit. It was brightly lit, and his shades weren't dark enough. He opened the door, expecting the night to take over, but the bulbs shone on the building outside, painting the graffiti-scrawled bricks red.

He scoffed. This neighborhood was decidedly unseedy, despite some petty vandalism. But add in ripped-up fliers, dead leaves, and un-chucked garbage, and The Hub's parking lot resembled the worst part of town.

Still, he had no regrets. The front entrance might've been cleaner, classier, but it was also Jackie-er. She'd left The Hub a half-hour before him, but that meant little. She was a master skulker. Catching him alone in the basement, in the school cafeteria, and tonight at The Hub. But she wasn't content in just pursuing her prey. She sought to pen him inside her world. Her latest stunt: signing them up for roller-disco lessons, a class starting right about now.

He walked further into the parking lot and rolled his shoulders. They were tensing up. A Lincoln Continental was parked a few feet from him. A white, expensive-as-hell ride. A perfect canvas for juvenile delinquents like him. It didn't belong here.

"Hey, Hyde."

That voice didn't belong here either. His neck stiffened, but he refused to crack it. Point Place's map needed a significant revision. Screw Here Be Dragons. The only warning he needed was Here Be Jackie.

She was leaning against The Hub, against the graffiti-scrawled bricks and ripped-up fliers. Arms crossed over her chest and legs crossed at the ankles. A look of apathy deadened her face, an expression she'd stolen from him.

Ignoring her was useless. Feigning indifference only inspired her to work harder. He thought he'd scared her off earlier. Had told her a truth that wasn't quite the truth, hurled a rejection hard enough to bruise. It should have kept her away, not just tonight but in perpetuity.

"Oh, no," he said now, loading his voice with sarcasm, "is the roller-disco craze over already?"

"Of course not," she said, and he turned back around. Attention was what she craved. He wouldn't give it to her. His eyes locked onto the Sedan beside the Lincoln, but her boots scraped the pavement She was following him. "Look, Hyde, I just wanted you to know I'm not a square cheerleader."

He scrapped Plan A—retreat—and faced her. She'd pursue him to the ends of the parking lot, to the ends of the damn earth if he didn't torch her illusions about him.

"I'm on the wrong side of the law," she said before he could speak, "because I have this."

She held out a brown paper bag, the kind lunches were packed in. Wrong side of the law? Maybe the wrong side of nutrition. Packing candy bars instead of carrot sticks.

"Oh, no, a paper bag," he said with the same attitude as before, "run!" He tried to match the apathy on her face, but disgust seeped in. He was the reason for her dead expression. If she couldn't rope him into her world, then she'd try to fit into his.

He wouldn't let her. His next rejection would draw blood, but she opened the bag. Inside it was another bag, a clear plastic one filled with pot.

"Jackie—!" Her offering struck him like lightning. It fried all pretense, and his indifference became a smoky burn mark.

"Oh, yeah," she said with an air of cool. "I bought it. In the ghetto."

"Jackie, there is no ghetto here." He balled his hands into fists, to keep himself from snatching the paper bag. "I mean there's, like, that one house that needs to be painted."

"Okay, fine." She crossed her arms over her chest again, and the bag skimmed her hip. "I bought it from my housekeeper. Whatever."

Hyde's throat hurt. Anger and fear scorched it like stomach acid. "So what're you saying? You wanna be, like, a burn-out now?"

Finally, her face quit playing dead. Her eyes widened, and she appeared more alive, more pleading than maybe he'd ever seen her. "No—no! Hyde, I just wanna be with you, okay? I think you're one of the coolest, sweetest guys I've ever met."

No, she didn't. She was damn delusional. He reached out for the paper bag, intending to toss it as far away from her as possible. His hand clamped down on her wrist instead. "You wanna be with me? Okay, I'll show you what bein' with me is really like."

He pulled her, not gently, past the Lincoln. "My car!" she said. "I can't leave it."

"No fancy cars in my life, doll." He let her go. "Your choice."

She started to answer, but a cop crept out of the shadows. He was a skinny guy, a rookie whose oversized jacket made him look like a kid. Hyde understood the logic. Point Place P.D. had sent its youngest to patrol teenagers.

"Is there a problem here?" the cop said.

"No, sir, officer," Hyde said, fixing his gaze squarely on the cop. A wrong flick of the eyes would be the same as confessing. Blindly, he felt for Jackie's hand, and a rustling came from her direction. Then her fingers wrapped around his palm. "There's no problem at all. Right, Jackie?"

"No problem at all," she said, "except for you being a jerk."

The cop's sparse mustache twitched, and she continued. "You see, officer, my boyfriend and I were just arguing over our date tonight. I signed us up for roller-disco lessons at Skateworld, but he refuses to go. That has to be a finable offense, doesn't it? At least a misdemeanor—"

The cop tugged on the brim of his hat. "Sorry, miss. I'm afraid it's not."

Hyde tightened his grip on Jackie's hand and led them toward the cop. "You know what's a finable offense? Expecting me to wear one of those pansy-ass skating outfits."

The cop chuckled as they passed him."You two have a good night," he said.

Once they were free and clear of the parking lot, Hyde checked Jackie over. She'd hidden the paper bag beneath her armpit. "Quick thinking," he said, "but I will never be your boyfriend. So you can flush that little idea out your—"

"Oh, my God. Oh, God..." She was talking over him, nearly hyperventilating, and probably hadn't heard a word he said. "I could've been arrested—and I have to cheer tomorrow!" She cupped her forehead and waited until her breathing calmed down. "I almost blurted the wrong thing. If you hadn't grabbed my hand ... I've never had to deal with the police before!"

"Yeah, and if you quit tryin' to be somethin' you're not, you won't have to deal with 'em again." He gestured for the bag. "You can start by handing over the goods. Then you can go back to your car and drive home like none of this ever happened."

"No, I'm going with you."

"You're going with me," he said flatly. Their run-in with that cop should've made their little trip unnecessary.

"But if one inch of Daddy's Lincoln gets vandalized—"

"Then your ride'll be that much cooler."

"Hyde!" She swatted his shoulder, but he didn't wait for her. He headed down the street. Lampposts lit his way, each carving a bright hole in the night, and Jackie's shadow streaked ahead. It stopped in a few lampposts in front of him, posing as if the pavement were a stage. "Where are you taking me anyway?"

He cocked an eyebrow. She probably thought they were going on their first date. "Not the roller disco."