Notes: I literally just finished writing this chapter so I'll do my second proofreading later and replace the chapter if needs be. Feel free to point out any mistakes I didn't catch on my first go. Edit: Done! IMPORTANT: I can't say when exactly, but updates may become slower or sparse in the next few weeks/months – personal frowny face stuff. I'll start putting notes on my profile if there are going to be chapter delays.

Disclaimer: Cobras, Bannerman and the boy are Stephen King's, everyone else isn't.

Chapter Twenty-Six.

I spent the next two days lost in wonderland, a constant flow of 'earth to Jude's and 'is anything wrong?'s dragging me out of my daydreams. I went to bed earlier and stayed in bed later, mom had to call me down for dinner – something that hadn't happened since elementary school. I couldn't even face Davey. I either hid in my room and stared at the ceiling, or sat in the front seat of my car without even pretending that I was going somewhere. I'd just sit there, drinking in the smell of Ace Merrill and panicking over what I should do. Kissing Ace. Not kissing Ace. Questioning which one was right, questioning if there was something so simple as right and wrong in that kind of situation.

Mom hadn't failed to notice my odd behaviour. Showing her concern during Thursday night's dinner, she asked, "Are you okay, sweetie?" glancing at the food I'd been moving around for the last ten minutes.

Her voice brought me from my thoughts and I looked down at my plate. Everything had been mashed and mixed together into an indiscernible slop. Briefly, I forgot what it should have looked like, until I looked at mom's plate and saw potatoes, broccoli and ham. I hadn't even eaten any, my mouth was void of any taste and my throat was dry, causing my voice to crack when I spoke, "Yeah, just not much of an appetite." Nothing further was said - mom wouldn't push further at the table and dad and Davey probably thought it was something to do with that time of the month.

Later that night, mom let herself into my room to find me sat on the bed and failing to concentrate on a book. "Here," she said, placing a mug down on my bedside table, "I made you some cocoa."

"Thanks," I said, closing the book and resting it in my lap, realizing mom wasn't ready to leave the room just yet.

She sat on the edge of the bed by my side, smoothing her skirt. "Now, I know it can't be school or-" she gestured with her hands and looked about my room, searching for words. "Academics," she decided on, and turned to look back at me. "So what is it?"

Truthfully, I wanted to confess everything – bury myself into her lap and cry and complain about how everything was changing like a brat. Moms just made things better, that's what they do – but I'd barely divulged anything to her from my first and only boyfriend, Princeton (everything that she knew was from guesswork, or from the girls gossiping) – how could I suddenly tell her that I was caught in some strange non-existent relationship thing with Ace Merrill? I wasn't even sure how to explain it to myself without feeling embarrassed or ashamed - there was no one I could tell.

Mom, who had been studying my face the entire time, calmly said, "There's a boy." It wasn't a question – trust mom to hit the nail on the head, and trust me to be too surprised by her statement to deny it. Her eyes shone at my silence and a giddy tone found it's way into her voice, "It's John Merrill, isn't it?"

The excitement she was going through at her discovery only added unease to the terror I was experiencing – if mom had figured it out so easily, how long would it be before everyone else did? The girls knew me inside out, they knew how useless I was at lying, at hiding things, and they knew how to get the truth out of me. I recalled the times Barbs and Rebecca had been openly suspicious when the subject of Ace Merrill cropped up – and even Marie had given me advice on how to avoid answering such suspicions. What if they already knew? Even if they didn't, they at least had to have some idea – surely it was just a matter of time. The very thing I had been straining to prevent from happening was already unravelling. I had to stop it. I had to stop mom.

"It's complicated," I looked down, unable to look into her eager and curious eyes.

"Oh, it's always complicated."

"No, mom-" I wanted to explain. "He-" But what could I say? Tell her that she'd let the leader of a gang into her home? That she'd left a guy, that had slept with countless girls from around the county, alone with her daughter? That she'd made small talk with and sandwiches for someone who'd bullied her own son?

Unexpectedly, there was a sudden look of understanding on mom's face. She put her hand to her mouth, as if trying to hold back the terrible realization. "He has a girlfriend?" She asked, her blue eyes growing wide with concern.

I would have laughed if the situation were any different – I doubted the word girlfriend was even in Ace Merrill's vocabulary. I couldn't imagine him taking any of those girls – the ones that had been left wanting more, spending weeks pining after him – seriously. But there was an opportunity in mom's misunderstanding – I could let her believe that was the truth and that would be the end of it, she'd just mourn for her daughter's unrequited love. She was too close to the girls though, she wouldn't hesitate on bringing it up if they were around the house – getting them altogether for some sort of sympathy party because it's such a shame John Merrill has a girlfriend, poor Judy. I couldn't risk it.

"It's not that," I quickly said, and began praying for forgiveness. "He dated Barbs." It wasn't a complete lie.

"Barbara?" Mom seemed to mull it over, "When?"

"Before summer."

"Barbara was here when he-" she gasped, the 'reality' dawning on her. "Oh, that poor girl." Mom looked to me, placing a hand over her heart, "Oh, my poor Judy." She pulled me into a hug, tightly pressing her hands against my back.

"Please don't tell anyone." I murmured into her hair, adding, as an afterthought, "For Barbs."

"Of course, sweetheart." Mom said, pulling out of the hug and kissing me on the forehead. "It'll be our secret."

I'd averted a disaster but still felt unsettled in regards to the girls picking up on it as easily as mom had. I'd either have to avoid them whilst I tried to clear my head or come up with one heck of an excuse for why I was being such an airhead lately. Confessing what had been going on between Ace Merrill and I wasn't even an option to be considered – especially not when Marie was still in New York, I had no doubts that she'd be the only one who wouldn't see me as an idiot or a traitor.

The daydream cycle continued for the rest of the night after mom left me alone - too many choices to make without any easy answers. There was no solution where everyone was happy – I wasn't even entirely sure what it was about Ace Merrill that would make me happy in the first place. Apart from cars, everything he touched broke apart – expecting anything more than what was the norm for him was just setting yourself up for heartbreak. I knew it - I'd been repeating it to myself constantly – but it did nothing to deter my thoughts from focusing on him.

Charlie Hogan was never too far from my mind either. I kept thinking of the appointments Ace hadn't elaborated on, and whether or not any of the Cobras would have actually kept an eye on the stitches since I'd left. I had images of the leg getting infected, Charlie getting sick, Charlie's parents finding out, Charlie being taken to the hospital, Charlie telling the doctors who gave him the stitches, Sheriff Bannerman knocking on our front door and telling mom what her daughter had done. I was confident that I'd done a good job – despite being an amateur - and that an infection wouldn't spread that quickly, but I had become afraid of the repercussions I'd so conveniently ignored when Ace had taken me to the junk yard.

The next morning, after a night filled with harrowing dreams of Charlie Hogan having his leg amputated, I told myself I couldn't sit around and wait. Whether or not Ace had planned to pick me up and take me to visit Charlie after a few days at regular intervals, I made the decision to see Charlie without Ace escorting me and felt suddenly relieved – I sincerely doubted that I'd cope being alone in the car with him on the drive up to Castle Hill Road – it only made going immediately seem like an even better idea.

The only problem I faced was finding out where he lived – something I only realized after I'd gotten in my Buick and started driving down Town Road #5. All the Cobras lived in the Castle Hill area – it was talked about being a place to avoid because of them enough that it became common knowledge, pinpointing where one of them – specifically Charlie – lived would actually be much harder. As I slowly turned the corner, I kept an eye out for the familiar Ford, Vince Desjardin's Studebaker and Eyeball Chamber's Ford Custom. There was nothing to guarantee I wouldn't end up accidentally knocking on one of the Cobra's doors, the only reassurance I had was that it was an early Friday morning – hopefully Ace would be at the garage and all the others slept late through the summer. Coming in the car had been a slight risk, but only Ace would recognize it as mine.

I'd struggled on deciding a speed to drive. I wanted to go slow enough to actually look at the houses - that by some miracle Charlie's house would have 'Hogan' stamped on it somewhere - but didn't want to draw further attention to a shiny green car by going five miles an hour through the poorest part of Castle Rock. The street so far had been dead – apart from a mean looking dog going through a trash can – everyone was either at work or doing an excellent job at staying inside through the ever increasing heatwave. After a dozen or so more houses, I finally saw the first person outside on Castle Hill Road – a kid playing in the dirt a few houses in the distance.

I doubted I'd get a better opportunity – adults tend to gossip after all – and if he was one of the many kids who'd been terrorized by the Cobras, he should know exactly which houses to avoid. As I drove closer, I noticed how young he was – six, maybe even five years old. I tried to seem natural as I let the car come to a halt, trying to remember how I would have felt at that age if some stranger had pulled up in a car and asked me where one of the local bullies lived.

"Hi," I called out, realizing he hadn't even noticed I was there – humming engine, green paint-job and all.

The boy stayed on his knees, poking at the earth with a stick – the yard was nearly void of any grass, some patches were dead and yellow and others looked like they'd been host to a few fires, everywhere else it was bare dirt. The boy was covered in it too, when he turned to look at me, I saw that he even had black-brown smudges on his face – he'd look like a chimney sweep if it wasn't for the oversized t-shirt. He eyed me and the car with disinterest, and turned back to whatever it was he was stabbing at with the stick - ants, I guessed – without saying anything.

He certainly wasn't like any kids I'd ever seen – or remembered from my days of being that young either for that matter. Maybe he was just shy, I thought, or following orders about not talking to strangers. I decided to at least give it a shot before driving away and trying to find someone else more cooperative. "Do you know where the Hogans live?"

The name grabbed his attention, he was immediately on his feet - the stick left on the ground, forgotten. My previous guess about him being one of the kids that had had run-ins with the Cobras seemed to be right – despite his alarmingly young age – judging by the anxiety that suddenly filled his face. He took a few step forwards, examining me once again for a few moments. "Charlie?" He finally said, and pointed further down the street without taking his eyes off of me or waiting for confirmation.

I glanced down the street – at least I knew I hadn't passed the house, but I still had half of Castle Hill Road to drive through. "Can you tell me which one?" I asked, noticing as I turned back to face him that he hadn't stopped staring at me.

The finger he had been pointing with changed it's target, and was aimed at me. "I want that," he said, looking at my hair.

Reaching with my hand, I felt the barrette clipped into my hair – a birthday present from an aunt I barely saw, it was my second time wearing it. "Will you tell me where Charlie lives if I give it to you?"

He nodded eagerly, letting his arm fall to his side as he watched me unclasp and remove the barrette from my hair. Once I held it out for him, he ran the remaining short distance to my car and snatched it from my hand, brushing his small dirty fingers over the glossy surface. I waited for him to tell me where Charlie lived as he marvelled over how the clasp worked and how the light shined through the tortoise shell. He looked back up after what seemed like minutes, his eyes – blue and full of wonderment – gave away that he'd completely forgotten I was there. He remembered what I'd asked without me needing to remind him, suddenly saying, "Yellow house," before running across the yard and disappearing behind the house's front door before I could say anything.

Looking ahead, I searched for a yellow house only to wish I'd called out to the boy before he'd ran off – out of the next half a dozen houses along the street, three were painted yellow – all in a row and mocking me.

This chapter was brought to you by MOTHERS KNOW ALL.