"Would you rather…" He paused, watching Coraline squish the top and bottom part of her belly button together in boredom. "Get your belly button pierced or your…" He glanced at the very tops of her breasts showing from her orange tank. "Nips."

"Wybie! Geeze." She pulled the neckline of her shirt up further. "Why do you always have to be such a… guy?"

"I always thought it made sense."

They were sitting in Wise Guy, the defeated pickup in La Bande Morte.

"Niether."

"Come on! That's not fair! You made me answer all your dumb questions!" He wined, sitting straight up in his seat.

"Yea, but not everyone has the same sick addiction to getting holes in their skin." She said eyeing the bar through his ear.

"If you would just get one thing pierced your eyes would be opened to the amazing sensations that come with having a mean ass hollow needle forced through layers and layers of your skin." He saw the condescending look on her face. "It's great. Really."

"I have something pierced. Four, actually."

"Lobe piercings don't count! Unless they're gaged."

"Okay. Ew."

"And you got them done at the mall. With a piercing gun." She was offended.

"You got yours done in your bathroom. By a guy named Big Mo."

He gave an exasperated sigh, threw his hands into the air, hit them on the corroding tin roof with a bang, and pulled them back down quickly to his chest with something that sounded like "Fak." She reached over and brushed rust dust, trying not to giggle at the simple thought of rust DUST, from his hair. And then tried again not to laugh, this time not as successfully, at the faces he was making.

"Fuck shit! Ugh! What?"

"You're the most unusual person I know."

"Ummm… what?" He tilted his head to the side, almost to where his ear touched his shoulder.

"When you fell out of my aunt's tree last year, and broke your leg so bad that the bone was sticking out of your skin, you barely even yelled."

"Yea, well… this hurts!" He stuck two of his knuckles in his mouth. "An yef, Coval. 'Am okah. Fanks fo yeh confern."

"Lol, sorry."

"Or… ARE YOU!" He shouted, followed by a stream of theatrical laughter, and then throwing his hands in the air like a madman. Resulting in him hitting his knuckles again. "Fucking Christ!" And suddenly Coraline couldn't stop herself from laughing.

"You're a meanie!" He gave her puppy eyes and sucked on his knuckles again. His eyes widened and began watering, staring unblinkingly at Coraline leaned against the door with her knee up to her cheek, and tilted his head down. I'm not falling for it. He's a big boy. We're not going through this. His bottom lip quivered just ever so slightly. He can't make me! Don't look into his eyes, girl. Even If they are big and brown and have those little black flecks and… no! Be strong! Nope, no, no! Ah hell! It was over when he began whimpering softly in the back of his throat.

"Okay. Le'me see."

He slowly pulled his hand from the crook of his neck and extended it toward her. She took the tip of his fingers in hers, being careful of the inflamed skin near his knuckles. They were a bit worse than she thought they would be. There was a flap of skin hanging off his middle finger knuckle, and a cut on his ring finger one that was trickling blood between the two. She sighed, and reached down with her left hand and pulled a hello kitty band-aid off her ankle. She pushed down the squeamish part of her, gently put the piece of skin back where it was suppose to be, stuck the band-aid over it, and kissed it better.

"Only the manliest of manly men rock Hello Kitty," he declared, grinning widely from ear to ear.

"Yea, yea you're welcome." She leaned forward and put her elbows on her knees. "You know, you'd think we were getting too old for th- oh no." Wybie was sitting on the edge of the driver's seat, poised like Cat about to attack a fire fly. Her face fell.

"Don't do it Chip." And of course he did. He, quite literally, lept at her. Grabbed her sides, and began to tickle her. Mercilessly. "Sto- MEH! No! I'm begging you! MERCY!-"

"Not gunna save yoouu!" He singsonged.

"-Ack!" She was laughing so hard she couldn't breathe. Her arms and legs were flailing around helplessly and her abdomen was trying to sink further into her seat. Her hand hit the window of her door, her feet kicked the roof, causing loud noises and dust to fall onto their faces and hair. She tried making a mad dash for it and attacked what she thought was the window crank, because the door wouldn't open unless it was from the outside, but instead grabbed a different lever on the side of the seat. There was a loud noise like snapping plastic, and the back of her seat crashed backwards. Coraline's breath was knocked out of her, but he was merciless. Through her torture she could foggily remember their first time hanging out in there. When they had found the well, they had found the truck. The truck had been in bad shape, and they had done nothing to repair it. The entire wall that separated the truck of the bed and the cabin was completely gone, and all that was left of it was a fine line of powdery brown dust. The only thing they had done for old Wise Guy was secure a blue tarp onto the roof and the hatchback with heavy cinderblocks. But that was more for them, to keep the inside dry, not for Wise Guy. They were selfish. And Wybie was still laughing through her peels of hysteria.

"FIRE!" Tears were beading at the corners of her eyes. And of course Wybie was loving it, or at least he was until her feet caught him square in the stomach, lifting his whole weight over her, and vaulted him into the bed of the truck. He rolled a few times until he hit where the blocks were. Stomach down he let his tongue hang limp from his mouth, and pretended to be dead. It didn't take long before he cracked a big grin and began laughing until his body shook. The truck bed was semi-dirty, dirt in the corners and brown, ugly leaves scattered around it. Coraline rolled out of her seat and crawled over to him.

"Just wait," she laughed, "I'm gunna get you back one of these days. Mark my words!"

"And how do you plan on doing that." He said lifting himself onto his elbows.

"Pffftt, like I'm going to tell you." She honestly had no idea. She reached over and picked a helicopter out of his tangled hair and twirled it between her fingers.

"I'm not ticklish. I'm not afraid of heights." He had a secret dream of becoming an acrobat. "I'm not afraid of bugs, especially slugs. Ha. That rhymed. I'm not afraid of odd numbers. Or disgusting food. Clowns. Small spaces excite me. I'm not afraid of dying. Or homework. Maybe I'm a little afraid of being alone." A lot. " The monster under my bed has been gone since I was ten. I'm afraid of rape though. But your not going to rape me." He raised an eyebrow at her contemplating expression. "I would beat you with a string. I'm not afraid of being fat. I keep eating and eating and I just keep getting thinner."

"That might come back to bite you some day." She let the helicopter fall from her hand and she watched as it spiraled, spiraled, spiraled down to the dirty truck floor. She turned over onto her back and crossed her hands over her aching stomach.

"If I ever get stuck speaking in public, I'd either imagine them all with sunglasses or just fart and carry on. And I'm afraid of double chinning in pictures," Coraline only had one ear open to him. She was watching a bead of rain slowly make its way down the blue tarp. She watched it pause at a leaf stuck to the plastic, part around the center and continue on. And when the sun hit it, she arched her back and marveled at the way it sprayed jewels of color onto his face and hair. He smiled as he spoke, and his front teeth sparkled slightly before disappearing behind his lips. And she could see the shadow of a dragon fly behind his head hover, then take off again past the truck.

"But what are you going to do? Grab my face and make me double chin during my wedding photo? You'd be better off throwing spitballs at the back of my head at the altar."

"You'd just try catching them in your mouth."

"Day-em straight!"

"Ha ha! Okay my turn."

"But you still haven't answered mine!"

"I don't care, it's still my turn. Would you rather… be able to fly, or be invincible."

"Fly. Hands down."

That night, Coraline was sitting at her vanity, and her room was completely dark save for her night light sending witches and stars spinning on her walls. She was brushing her hair repetitively with her horse hair brush. It had been her grandmother's, and she didn't like to think about the fact that sixty years ago, she had been brushing her hair in her own vanity. It chilled her, and sometimes she felt as if she could feel thin fingers curl over her own on the handle as she brushed her hair. She had to put the brush down. Coraline could hear her parents in the kitchen doing dishes, and if she left her room Mel's Mom-dar would go off and she'd be roped into doing them instead. So all that was left to do was stare at her dark reflection. Through the light from her lamp creating sharp angles and shadows across her nose and cheek bones, she could make out the features of her face. All the way from her wide, dark eyes to her sharp nose to her thin lips and boney chin. And her two front teeth that were a little too far apart for her liking. Everything about Coraline's thin face and body was grotesque to her. She slammed open her drawer, pulled out a pack of cigarettes, and slammed it shut again just as roughly. She lit one on a candle, stuffed the box in her bra, angrily crossed her legs, and swiveled her chair toward the door, finding that she couldn't look at herself anymore. She felt cheap, because she knew that she was only suppose to use them with Wybie, once a week at the well. But lately she had gotten into the habit.

In Coraline's calmed state, she let her gaze wander over her alcove windows, with their striped seats and blue cushions, and looked over every trinket and memory on the shelves in the corner near her door. The first shelf had her jewelry and music box, along with some candles and a plastic candelabra from Halloween. It had a pile of the earrings that she wore most, her tie and a black and white picture of her parents wedding photo. The second shelf up was packed with stuffed animals and bug samples, shiny green beetles pinned to rice paper behind panes of glass. The next shelf up was her favorite, and most occupied. Running along the top was a string of party lights. It had an orange ticket from the Festival of Leaves taped onto the backboard, a purple stuffed giraffe with beady buttons for eyes, a blue beta fish (named Tobi) in a mason jar, and a picture of her and Wybie, laughing. She was sitting on his lap on a swing, hanging almost upside down and the photo was filled with their teeth and hair. There was a glowing green kissy mark on the upper right hand corner, and Coraline involuntarily rubbed her cheek. She remembered Wybie sitting on the edge of her vanity, while she sat in the chair, and him painting designs on the tabletop with glow in the dark paint. She remembered him looking into the paint thoughtfully, sticking the whole lower half of his face into it, scooping up the picture and kissing the edge girlishly. And then she remembered laughing with her eyes closed, and when she least expected it, having her face grabbed and sloppily kissed under her eye. There was also a snow globe with a penguin inside it, a lei from the school luau, an empty chocolate box, a half drunk can of soda, some body spray, a strip of photo negatives, Wybie's school picture, an assortment of nubby candles, and pushed far to the back in the corner, a dusty frame with a barely recognizable picture of a boy and girl. If you cared enough to wipe away some of the dust with your sleeve you would see a sign from Pontiac Junior High with the words, CORAL1NE GOOD-BYE!

Many, many things had changed since the banishment of the Beldam. For one, Mr. Bobinsky had died, from a heart attack of all things, about a year and a half earlier. She still had one of the yellow daffodils pressed between the pages of one of her books from his funeral. As a matter of fact, everyone but the Jones' was gone now. Spink had a stroke shortly after the death of Bobo, and Forcible stayed with her when she was forced into a nursing home. Now there was a nice family that Coraline didn't interact with, complete with an eight year old and a baby, staying in their part of the house. No one had bought Mr. Bobinsky's flat. Something about the smell. Charlie had been fired by his publisher, while Mel had remained under their employment. And Coraline had almost forgotten about her old friends from her old town, when she was her old self. She remembered, as she crossed her eyes and watched the burning red embers at the end of her now short cigarette, the last time she had seen them. When she had taken Wybourne with her for one last, disastrous visit. And then she heard footsteps clomping up the stairs. Her heart nearly leapt into her throat and she almost swallowed what was left of her contraband. She, as quickly as she could, lit a stick of incense with her lighter, threw the lighter down her bra, yanked open a random drawer, put her cigarette out in the corner and threw it to the back, slammed it shut again, threw open one of her windows, flopped onto her bed, and hastily opened up the magazine sitting on it. When her mother appeared in her doorway, Coraline had to struggle not to look out of breath. Mrs. Jones sniffed the air and looked suspicious, but otherwise didn't show any signs of knowing. Which Coraline was fairly certain she did. She loved her mother, and she knew her mother loved her. She could tell in the few times that she fumbled into reaching out to Coraline. Coraline never pushed her into it, and they had an unspoken rule between the two of them. Make it through high school, don't get pregnant, follow curfew, and don't get hooked on drugs. Don't hover, cook dinner every once in a while, don't pester about grades and they'll remain passing, and we can both stay out of each other's way. Coraline felt awkward every time Mel tried acting motherly and thanked her stars it didn't happen often. She loved her in her own way, but she knew that her mother had all the warmth of an empty parking garage. Mel moved silently to her bedroom at the end of the hallway, with little more than a Goodnight, Coraline. Her dad fallowed a few minutes later, just when she was getting into the quiz part of her mag. He appeared in her doorway much like Mel had before, but sitting in his squeaky computer chair, pushing himself backwards over the hardwood.

"Hey, pumpkin pants."

"Hey Dad."

"Everything, uh, chill?"

"Pft. Yea, everything's fine."

"Okay, night puddin'."

He wheeled himself out of sight and Coraline could just faintly hear Mel yelling at her dad from down the hall before she threw the magazine to the floor, flopped right side onto her bed and decided that her nightlight was too far away to turn off before nodding to sleep.

"Honestly, Charlie! Put the chair back in the study. I swear. Sometimes I think our daughter is more mature than you! Jesus!"