A/N: This is a rewrite of an older story I did about ten years ago, Casey Emerson Part One. It was one of my first few stories I was really quite proud of, and I figured this year being the anniversary of the trilogy I wrote for The Lost Boys, I thought I would do the Hollywood thing and remaster it, especially since my writing has come quite far since then. Enjoy! R&R, you know the deal :)

Chapter One

My mother and father's divorce became finalized in the very beginning of this year, around February or March of 1987. It was the very end or beginning of that time frame, and the judge drew things out a bit longer where the custody of myself and my twin brother was concerned. Our older brother, Michael, was already nineteen so he chose wherever it was that he wanted to go. It just so happened he wanted to try college out but when he graduated, Mom and Dad were already constantly at each other's throats. Part of the reason why Michael stayed around was because of Sam and me. Both of us would have more than likely gone insane by this point if he hadn't with this back and forth of having to go to the courts, explain where we wanted to live, dealing with our father trying to guilt us when we would explain we did not want to live with him, and our mother doing her best to protect us from that side of our father that we had never seen before until now.

When it came to regarding Sam and me, we were old enough to pick where it was we wanted to live yes, but it was all up to the judge. It wasn't a big legal battle by any means, even though our father, Jason Emerson, was not going to give up fifty/fifty custody without somewhat of a fight. This, in a way, however, was mostly a douche move. Mom already filed for full custody mostly because Dad was already out of the house and shacking up with some girl that was Michael's age out in Tucson. That was already an hour and forty-five-minute drive, and neither Sam nor I had our licenses yet. We were working on it, and Mom was teaching us how to drive, but we still had a good month, month and a half until we got our licenses. This would mean that either he or our mother would have to take us back and forth, and Mom was already tight on cash because of the divorce.
On top of that, we were still currently enrolled in Thunderbird High School here in Phoenix, and Sam and I both highly doubted we could be enrolled in two schools at the same time—it's never been allowed before to my knowledge at least—and we both knew that we would have to take a shuttle, a bus or something to get to school if fifty/fifty custody was granted. Dad wouldn't want to drive us, and I was around 95 percent sure that the bimbo he left Mom for could barely spell her own name, let alone fucking drive.

I sat there in my history class, glancing over at my brother who was seated next to me—we were placed in alphabetical order, it really only made sense—and my best friend who was near the back of the class minding her own business as she did he work. I saw Sam's jaw move up and down almost constantly as he chewed his third piece of gum of the day. He shifted in his seat and blew a small bubble before letting it pop and beginning to doodle on his paper. I looked up at our history teacher, Mrs. Snyder, before glancing back at my brother.

"Hey," I spoke quietly. Sam, who seemed a bit startled as he seemed to be a bit in his own head at this current point in time. "Think it's going to be Mom or Mike today who picks us up?"

Sam shrugged. "Probably Mike. Mom's been really busy lately with this whole court thing." I watched as he blew a second bubble, glancing over to Mrs. Snyder to see if she heard this one pop. She hadn't.

"That's true. She's trying to get it to where we could stay here with her. I'm sorry, but I don't want to spend half of my week in fucking Tucson with him."

"Neither do I." Sam grabbed a piece of notebook paper, beginning to fold it into what seemed to be the worst attempt of an origami bird I had ever seen before in my life. "Think Mike's borrowing Carly's car again?"

"If he's picking us up he'll have to. Mom can't just walk to the courts every single day she's got to go, you know."

Another bubble from Sam, the pop louder than the last two. He stopped chewing for a moment and the two of us glanced over at Mrs. Snyder again who looked up from her paperwork.

"Whoever is popping that gum, if I hear it again I'm making you spit it out." She threatened in her deep and raspy voice before turning her gaze back to grading what seemed to be Monday's test. Mrs. Snyder was an older woman, about early to mid-sixties. She wore these horrible sweaters every single day that smelt of a mixture of cigarette smoke and cedarwood, and Sam, Vanessa and I always made up fake little scenarios in our head about her. She was a smoker of course, that much was clear. It showed in her voice. She wore glasses that looked as if they came right out of the 1960's, with the jewels on the sides to boot. Her hair sat on top of her head in a salt and pepper curly mop that seemed to never change, no matter the year—Sam, Vanessa, Michael—his senior year was our freshman year, and we had our first encounter with Mrs. Snyder after she got onto us in the hallways for "goofing off"—and I went back through every single yearbook this school had to offer, and the first from 1972 had her picture smackdab in the middle of the teacher's section.
Sam thought she was a crazy cat lady. Michael took her as a pothead who had nothing better to do than to yell at students and get high. Vanessa assumed she had some kind of secret room in her basement to keep anything and everything that we considered creepy— "Like a church organ. The bitch definitely has a church organ down there!" I remembered her saying at the beginning of the year—but I simply thought that she was one of the ladies that was miserable regardless of the situation she was in. None of us ever saw a wedding ring, but even if she was married I highly doubt that she's been laid since at least 1957. There was a Mrs. in front of her name, so she more than likely was. That just gave all the more proof that her husband hasn't touched her in years. No one is that angry that has sex.

Sam slowed his chewing as he turned back to his little art project, now scrapping the sorry origami bird for a simple paper airplane.

"What if we have to move?" I leaned my head on my palm, and Sam looked up at me. "I mean, honestly. I'm not just saying it for shits and giggles. What if we have to?"

"I'm not moving. I'm staying right here in Phoenix." Sam finished his paper airplane and turned back to look at Mrs. Snyder, who was still working on our tests. He then turned his attention to Vanessa, smirking to himself as he threw the paper airplane her way. I watched as it did a small flip in the air before landing in the mane of hair around her head. Sam started laughing and Vanessa moved her head up, narrowing her eyes at him. She grabbed the paper airplane out of her hair and crumpled it into a little ball, tossing it his way. Sam shielded himself with his arm, chuckling to himself. Vanessa mouthed, "Fuck you" and discreetly flipped him off, a smile on her face the entire time she did so. I smiled at the scene as the bell rang. The kids around us gathered their things and began to file out of the classroom one by one as Mrs. Snyder reminded us in her croaky voice that whatever we didn't finish would be homework for tonight and due first thing tomorrow.

Sam and I stood by the door as Vanessa took her choir folder out of her bag and kept it against her chest as she tossed her backpack on her back.

"You're so slow," Sam teased her.

"I'm short, I have little legs." Vanessa retorted. Sam laughed as the three of us made our way out of the classroom—Sam's destination was math while I had the joy of going to typing class.

Vanessa was quite short—she stood at four foot eleven, though her hair made it look as if she were closer to five feet. Her morning process was the same as mine, or close to it. Curl hair, or take curlers out of hair, comb, tease, hairspray, flip hair, hairspray some more, flip again, style to your liking. Vanessa always had the big bangs. I myself had big hair all around my head, though styled with a bow to give off the illusion that it was contained. Think Molly Ringwald in Pretty in Pink but with slightly bigger hair, longer, blonde and a hairbow. Other times I would just leave it bouncy around my head in a Brooke Shields type of look. Or if I felt particularly lazy, side ponytail and a scrunchy.
Vanessa, while being quite short, had a big and loud personality. She made herself heard no matter where she was, and she made sure people knew who she was. I do think part of it came from being in choir like she was, because you're told you need to be loud to be heard, and as long as I had known her Vanessa was in choir. She was in it as soon as you could be in elementary school, and even before then she sang in her children's church choir. She just always sang, and I had no idea why. She always sang and wore the same high top converse tennis shoes every single day. I didn't have room to talk. To be honest, my current high tops were the ones I got for Christmas back in 1985 when I was in my first year of high school and they were beginning to look a bit rough but still had a lot of wear left.

Sam and I met Vanessa when we were all in the same kindergarten class together. Somewhere my mother has a picture of us at our first field trip to the local zoo with the three of us cheesing so hard you would think someone had candy behind the camera. On the back of it she had written in her annoyingly beautiful cursive handwriting—Sam, Casey, Vanessa, Phoenix Zoo, Friday, October 7, 1977. That day at the zoo was our real bonding day. We met before and played together on the playground, but that day the three of us wanted to be partnered up together and go along with our Mom to see the animals. Sam enjoyed the wolves, I enjoyed the gorillas and any of the other primates in the park, and Vanessa went crazy for the penguins. That was all I remembered, but it solidified our friendship. To this day, my favorite animal is still gorillas.

"So." Vanessa started. "Safe to come over after school today?"

Sam and I exchanged glances and I shrugged. "I would assume so. Jason's with his bimbo while Mom's got him kicked out of the house so there shouldn't be any shouting or anything. So, coast's clear."

"Sounds good." I watched her nod her head, her dark brunette hair moving along with it. Big hair was mesmerizing at times. I loved it. "Today's the day, huh?"

"You mean judgement day?" Sam rolled his eyes, stopping outside Mr. Harrison's math class.

"Yeah." Vanessa nodded again.

"Yup." I sighed. "We find everything out tonight when we get home if Mom's there."

"It's going to work out." Vanessa nodded reassuringly. "I swear."

"I hope so. Tucson does not sound very appealing."

"God no." Sam muttered. "Neither does coming to school here on the city bus."

"Yeah." I nodded.

"If push comes to shove, maybe you two and Michael could get a place? In between?" Vanessa suggested.

"Mike works at the mall. In a Hess's. I don't think he makes enough for that. Besides, I don't want to leave Mom behind just yet." I explained. "I would hate to leave her alone after all of this mess she's gone through to keep us with her."

"And I probably wouldn't be able to bring Nanook. You know how apartments are with pets sometimes." Sam added. Vanessa grimaced a bit.

"That's true. I didn't think about that." She sighed. "It'll work out, I swear. But I have to go to choir. You know how Mrs. Foster is if we're late or even close to being late. I'll see you guys after school."

"See ya." Sam gave a small and brief wave. I sighed, leaning on the wall. "You got two minutes, Case, you might wanna get to class." He advised me. Typing class was a good ways away from this math class, but I had my ways of getting around the school.

"I'll get going here in a second. I hate typing." I sighed softly. "You think everything's going to work out?"

"Hopefully yeah." He nodded.

"Reassuring, Sam." I stood up straight again. "I'll see you after class."

"Alright."

I gave Sam a small wave, hurrying over to the shortcut to typing class.