Chapter 6: Our Lips Are Sealed

"It doesn't matter what they say

In the jealous games people play

Hey, hey, hey

Our lips are sealed"

Friday. January 10th, 1986.

POV: Winter Reid

I'm back in my room on Friday evening, having just crossed the date out on my calendar in red marker. I take a deep breath. I'm nervous because tonight the basketball season resumes at Hawkins High, and I'm the newest addition to the cheerleading squad. All week I've walked down the hall, taking my same path along the lockers with my head down, but this time people waved to me and called out my name. They pretend as if they knew me before, but I imagine for most of them it must've seemed like I appeared out of thin air, as if my normal clothes were an invisibility cloak but the shiny new cheer uniform I adorned broke the spell.

I never blame anyone at school for not noticing me, their ambivalence was largely in response to my own doing. I liked to wear that cloak of invisibility, remaining polite and cordial with the rest of the student body, but always on the outskirts. Never speaking out of turn, never skateboarding down the hallway, never starting food fights in the cafeteria or daring to crush on the most popular boy.

No, I just watched the world pass by from my seat next to Eddie Munson. Now that was someone who loved being noticed. Whenever he didn't ditch class, he would challenge the teacher, slam textbooks, and flirt with the girls who sit in front of him. Most people call him a freak because he dresses differently and listens to heavy metal, but he doesn't care. Let them call him a freak, he thought, it's better than being a poser.

I agreed with him for the most part. Are we in the midst of a decade full of rampant conformity? Yes. Are we in a small town that ignores anyone who isn't from a white picket fence, cookie cutter home life? Also, yes. Is pop music bad? Ehh, despite all of his rants, I can't agree with him on that one. I really love Whitney Houston and Elton John.

Eddie Munson was rejected by everyone before he even had a chance to speak solely because of where he comes from. He is poor and from the wrong side of the tracks, so that's all people needed to form an opinion of him. It hurt him at first, back when he was in middle school and didn't have anyone to sit with at lunch. There were no birthday parties for him to attend, no baseball games. At some point, he decided to take up the mantle they gave him, outsider, white trash, freak. And he ran with it. It didn't hurt him anymore, in fact, he loved it. He loved that he wasn't a Hawkins stereotype. He loved playing by his own rules. Life felt better at the edges. He had nothing to lose, which meant he had more freedom than anyone else.

I see what Eddie Munson does in the face of rejection. He seeks disruption. I, on the other hand, have always sought acceptance. Maybe it's backwards, but having a tumultuous childhood and seeing the actual worst of people only makes me believe more strongly in the best of people. I refuse to believe that the adults in my life entirely represent the human race. If one house can contain so much pain and terror and mayhem, then surely there's a house out there full of love and understanding and patience. Right? I want to escape just as much as Eddie does, but I don't think I have to run away from people or push them away in order to survive. People can be fucked up and still be good, deep down. And other people can seem perfect on the surface, but are a complete mess underneath.

Sometimes, when I am finally alone in my room, I often float outside of myself, thinking about all the different versions of who I could be. The people I would talk to, the witty things I would say, the impressive things I would do. I hold on to these dreams, but I've never felt like I could become the girl who could actualize them. Maybe, though, accepting more things into my life isn't conformity, it's just trying to find that version of myself that is actually me. Most days I look in the mirror and I'm not sure who is staring back at me. So why shouldn't I try and figure out just who I am?

Before the start of winter break last year, one spot suddenly opened on the Hawkins High varsity cheer team. I had watched as Marissa Randall, the head cheerleader, hung a signup sheet on the bulletin board the day after the girl officially quit. The cheerleader in question was Emma Smith.

Emma Smith was a prom queen in the making. When she walked down the hall, her long red hair swished down her back. Her hips naturally swayed atop a pair of long, freckled legs, and she always walked on a tiptoe, reminding me of a gazelle approaching a watering hole. She was totally popular, naturally, with her envious combo of both beauty and brains. She was Marissa's right hand and always perched perfectly next to her at the front of routines. They wore matching friendship bracelets and performed in sync tumbling passes during games.

However, poor, sweet Emma had unfortunately contracted mono from some unwashed basketball player, an uber jock by the name Jake Hartman. The kissing disease wasn't a rare occurrence at Hawkins High, but she didn't quit the squad because of cold sores. No, she took one week off from school to recover and while she was gone, somehow, the story of her absence changed dramatically. When Emma came back, gliding down the center of the hallway again with her lips healed and plump, she suddenly found that no one would say hi to her. And as she walked past, people would turn and whisper behind her back.

Emma Smith stood there in the middle of the hall, the whispers around her growing louder and more vicious. She couldn't take it any longer and ran to the nearest restroom. Slapping her hands on the porcelain sink, she pushed her face into the mirror until her breath appeared on the reflection. She scanned her forehead, cheeks, and chin for a hideous zit or welt that must've grown without her notice, but she found nothing on her face but a splatter of pale freckles. Outside of the bathroom door, she heard a group of approaching voices, and decided to dash into a stall, pulling her knees up onto the toilet seat so she wouldn't be found.

A gaggle of freshmen came crashing in. "Oh my god! Did you see her strutting in here, as if none of us know what a slut she is?" a chirpy voice hissed.

"I can't believe she didn't just completely switch schools, I would never be able to show my face again!" A voice with a lisp responded.

A third voice rang out, "Wait! What happened? Did I miss something? I hate missing gossip!"

The chirpy one then began to explain, and as she framed it, Emma's once mild case of mono actually turned out to be a severe STI, contracted by a threesome with Jake Hartman and his older friend who attends Purdue. The group of freshmen broke out into heartless giggles.

"God, that is so slutty. No one is ever going to want to touch her again!" The one with a lisp shouted.

I know how this all unfolded because I happened to be in there too, doodling on the stall wall with a sharpie, biding my time until the bell rang for lunch.

When the prattling girls finally left, Emma mournfully walked to the sink and blew her nose into one of the scratchy paper towels. I slowly unlocked the stall I had been hiding in. Emma jumped and turned toward me, her eyes wide and frightened. I put my hands up to show I meant no harm. She let out a broken sob and turned back to the sink. She didn't know me at all, but I still felt the need to comfort her.

"Hey..." I hesitated. "Are you alright?"

"Please just leave me alone, okay? I'm clearly not alright." She let out another choked sob, her tears fell straight down into the drain.

"Okay, sure no judgment!" I said quickly. "We all have our days."

Her head jerked up and a searing gaze that seemed to burn through the film of tears in her eyes shot out of her corneas. It was like the cheerleader somehow possessed Superman's heat vision, and I was about to be reduced to a pool of wax on the bathroom floor.

I put my hands up again. "Right. Sorry. You're in a shitty situation, a totally shitty situation that I have never been in before - not like I couldn't be in this situation, I mean - it could happen to anyone right, mono? Everybody gets that, it's like death or taxes y'know? Guaranteed in life!" I offered her an open mouth smile and forced out a lighthearted chuckle.

Emma Smith let out a loud groan and backed into the wall, then slid down and plopped onto the floor. She blew her nose into the paper towel again.

Okay, I am not good at this.

She stared ahead blankly. I stood there not entirely sure what to do, I turned my gaze to the door and then back to Emma who sat on the floor, tears streaming down her pale face. I looked down at the floor. The bathroom floor. There's probably a colony of germs on those tiles. An army of bacteria.

I looked desperately over at Emma, who had now picked up on my hesitation and was watching me inquisitively. I gave her a small smile and bent my knees, then paused. I was halfway between standing and sitting. She raised her eyebrows at me, wondering just exactly what I was doing.

The ground is so gross, but you need to help her, okay? Suck it up.

With a final push, I sank to my knees. I awkwardly wiggled into a criss cross position with my hands still held up like I was in the middle of a bank robbery. Honestly... if I was in a bank robbery, I would be the first to succumb to Stockholm Syndrome. I'm such a people pleaser I'd probably hold the bags open for the robbers as they emptied the safe.

When I was finally seated, I looked over at Emma who was staring at me, completely unamused.

We sat in silence for a long moment. "Do you even know my name?" I blurted out suddenly.

Emma was startled by this random line of questioning, "What? No - I'm sorry-"

"It's okay!" I quickly said. "I didn't mean that in an angry, weird, loner kind of way, I just mean, you don't know me." I shrugged and she nodded slowly.

I nodded my head and bit my lip. Emma still looked forlorned. The sadness didn't seem to align with her striking features. Some people are pretty criers, but I've come to realize that most pretty people look like bruised tomatoes when they cry. It's as if the years of smiling and laughing have created a smooth canvas that can't support the weight of melancholy. They all look like Dorian Gray, until their visage crumples and they morph into the portrait in the attic.

"I live in the trailer park, at the edge of town. It's really shitty there."

She looked over slowly and pushed her Rapunzel like ginger locks over her shoulder. "Um... Okay..." she hesitated.

"You have really pretty hair, by the way," I said. Her eyes were still watching me carefully, but her lips twitched upwards in a half smile.

I leaned forward and tilted my chin down, "Like a gazelle."

This caused her to laugh out loud. I was shocked by this reaction but I offered her a small smile. She continued to roar, the tears in her eyes now sprang from laughter.

I let out a small, nervous chuckle and glanced quickly towards the bathroom door. My eyes bounced back to the cheerleader who sank lower against the tile wall and wrapped her arms tightly around her stomach.

"What is your name?" She asked and wiped the tears off of her pink cheeks.

"Winter," I replied.

"Like the season?"

"Yeah, my mom really loves Christmas," I said with a shrug.

Emma snorted loudly in response, then her hand flew to her mouth, embarrassed that such an unladylike sound came out of her. I threw my head back and laughed loudly. She caught on and began laughing again, too.

After we calmed down she said, "Hey... did... did you just say random things until I stopped crying?" She looked over at me and seemed almost impressed.

"Yeah, um, my best friend taught me that tactic," I said. "He said the brain can only handle so much input, so if you sit there and plug in the same thing again and again, you'll get stuck and spiral. But if you try to trick your brain, throw it off with confusion, it does a pretty good job at bringing you back down to Earth."

I offered her a shallow shrug.

Eddie is always eager to impart wisdom onto me, but 75% of what he says involves breaking laws of human decency or laws set by the federal government. However, on occasion, he will utter something that I file away in my head alongside other bits of important information. That piece of advice I just extracted was wedged between my CPR training and Chevy Chase's rant about Wally World from National Lampoon's Vacation.

"Huh," she said, sounding impressed. "That's smart. You hang out with... Eddie Munson right?"

I'm not surprised she knows Eddie, but I am surprised she has noticed me there next to him.

"Yeah, he's kind of the only person I hang out with," I responded quietly.

"I've always thought he was so cool, so... unhinged," Emma continued. Her voice took on a more dreamy tone.

"Yeah. He's a bit of a rapscallion," I answered.

She laughed at this. "I can see that," she smiled to herself and bit her lip.

The air around her seemed lighter and her face had faded from splotchy crimson back to smooth beige. The bell for lunch rang out and I flinched. Emma reached her hands up to the lip of the sink and hoisted herself to a standing position.

"Are you... going to be okay?" I hesitated. "Those girls that were in here... they're probably deeply, deeply insecure. Everyone wants to take someone else down a peg, just to make themselves look better."

Emma smiled at me, "You didn't do that."

"Sorry?" I replied, confused.

"I mean you found me crying in the bathroom, this could've been your moment." Her hip pressed against the sink and her arms crossed tightly over her chest, she stared at me challengingly. "Really take me down a peg, boost yourself up to the next rung in the social ladder."

I felt uncomfortable under the weight of her stare.

"I wouldn't do that-" I began to respond, not sure if she believed me at all.

Emma suddenly flung a hand out to me and I flinched back, almost falling onto the bathroom floor. I looked up at her. She shook her hand and motioned for me to grab it. I took it slowly and she pulled me onto my feet. She squeezed my hand tightly and I felt my palm begin to slick with sweat, then she turned and fluffed her hair in the mirror.

"I'm better now, thank you." Emma gave me an appreciative nod in the reflection.

I felt giddy over the positive social interaction. My face broke out into a wide smile.

"You know..." She said with her head cocked, "You're actually very pretty. How have I not noticed you before?"

I awkwardly shifted from one foot to the next and looked down.

"I guess I mainly keep to myself," I finally said, feeling my cheeks flush.

She shrugged in the mirror. She took the ends of her hair and folded it up, pushing the length against her cheek, "Hey, do you think I would look okay with short hair?"

I was suddenly the one caught off guard. Was she asking for my advice on beauty?

"Um... yeah, of course. You would look great with short hair," I replied. "Like Molly Ringwald!"

"Ugh I loved Sixteen Candles," she said and smiled at me in the mirror.

She tilted her head back and shook out her locks. They settled perfectly in waves down her back. She pursed her lips in the mirror and pinched her cheeks twice, causing them to flush, then reached down for her backpack.

She pulled the strap over one shoulder and gave herself a final look in the mirror.

"Yeah. I think it's time for a change," she said and nodded assuredly to herself.

As Emma turned to leave she reached out and squeezed my upper arm. I smiled back, a little confused at her sudden shift in attitude, but I was happy she wasn't crying anymore.

"Bye, Winter," Emma said and stomped out of the restroom. I caught the door before it closed fully to watch her sashay away.

She marched down the hallway, her hips swishing again to their natural rhythm.

Something caught her eye and she paused in the middle of her catwalk. She turned to speak to someone around the corner and twirled her hair around her finger. I hoped she was yelling at Jake, but the expression on her face seemed too inviting.

I shrugged and stepped back inside the restroom. I was suddenly invigorated and felt a deep tug toward action pull inside of my chest. I think some justice needs to be served.

I tugged the zipper of my backpack open and pulled out my math notebook. I flipped open to a blank page and used my teeth to pull the cap off of my sharpie. I had been using it to decorate the stall wall with Pac-Man and ghosts as my Calculus class wrapped up a pop quiz in the classroom. I scrawled a quick message, tore out the page, and folded it neatly. A shiny wrapper caught my attention and a cartoon lightbulb illuminated above my head. I pushed the piece of loose spearmint gum into my mouth and turned to exit the restroom.

I found myself rushing towards the cafeteria with an eagerness I had never felt before, mainly because I found the food inedible and the student body far too loud and irksome.

The double doors slammed open and almost smacked me in the face.

Two boys with trays ran past me, talking hurriedly about a new debate team topic. I could hear a cacophony of teen voices just inside, the cafeteria is too overstimulating for me usually, but I have a mission to complete. I stepped inside and a waft of fish hit my nose. I held my hand to block my nostrils. I turned and saw a girl sitting alone at a table near the trash cans, eating a can of tuna with a small spoon. I pitied her silently, but, c'mon tuna? You're not doing yourself any favors, my fellow freak.

Moving quickly away, I scanned the room.

There are two rows of tables in here which create an open aisle between them. I looked to the row nearest the windows and saw a boy at the middle table, in his usual head of household seat. Eddie Munson was surrounded by members of his Hellfire Club. He caught my eye and raised one hand to beckon to me.

"Winnie!" He shouted with his hands cupped around his mouth.

I swatted one hand in the air at him, dismissively. He slapped the table with an annoyed huff, causing Dustin Henderson to flinch and drop a spoon full of jell-o.

I will wander over there eventually, but he's not the subject of my search.

I moved forward down the line of tables. Finally, on the opposite side of the cafeteria, I spotted my target... the jocks.

Walking with determination, I unfolded the paper I had quickly written in the bathroom. I turned it over and pulled the chewed gum from my mouth, spreading it across the back.

Perfect.

"Hey boys!" I called out to the group of jocks.

Almost none of them acknowledged me, but the ones that did looked seriously confused. They have no idea who I am. The one I wanted had his back to me. His green letterman's jacket is one size too small, he probably thinks it stretches perfectly to highlight his biceps. He was shoving mashed potatoes in his mouth, smacking loudly and spraying gravy on the table. What poor Emma Smith saw in him I sincerely do not know, but hey, I don't judge.

"Hey buddy," I said, poking my head next to Jake Hartman. A dribble of potato rolled down his chin. I tried not to scrunch my face in disgust. "Great throw at the game the other night, you really know how to handle that pigskin." I raised my left hand and slapped my homemade sign onto his back.

A basketball player next to me said, "Pigskin is football."

I ignored him.

"Thanks..." Jake Hartman said slowly.

"Ooh, you got a little," I squished up my nose and gestured to the potato on his chin, slapping his back with my fist once more for good measure. "It's alright buddy, eating is hard, we can't be good at everything!"

I slapped my hand down on the table and turned away. I checked back over my shoulder to be sure my gum worked well enough as an adhesive. It seemed okay.

I smiled and ran over to Eddie's table, sliding into the seat he had left open for me. I realized now that I hadn't bothered to get lunch so I turned toward Gareth.

"Hey, are you going to eat your orange?" I asked him. He shook his head politely and handed it to me. "Thank you!"

Eddie was unusually silent. I took a slice of orange and bit down on it, the peel covered my teeth as I sucked on the juice. Suddenly a hand snapped twice in front of my face.

I slowly turned toward the boy at the head of the table, my mouth still full, "Hmph?"

His arms were crossed and he looked so offended, you would've thought I had just told him that Dungeons and Dragons was only for 8 year olds. I raised my eyebrows and annoyedly rolled my hand around. Eddie and I often communicated in over exaggerated hand gestures. He raised his eyebrows in response, causing rows of wrinkles to form across his forehead.

I pulled the orange out of my mouth. "What is your problem?"

He pointed to the jocks at the table. I looked over and saw that no one had noticed the sign, but I could still see the white paper attached to Jake's back.

"Oh. I was saying hi to some new friends," I said. This caused him to sputter.

I noticed the other Hellfire boys at the table were quiet, hanging onto Eddie's reactions, waiting to support whatever he says next. He really does have the charm of a cult leader and his freshmen regard him like devout subjects. I ate the fruit clean off of the peel in my hand and reached for another.

"I have more friends, y'know, I am very popular," I said and leaned back in my chair, bringing both of my legs up to a criss-cross sitting position.

Before he could respond, I heard a commotion across the room. Jake Hartman stood up from his table to dump his tray in the trash can. Despite there being a trash can closer to him by the front door, the path he decided to take was directly down the center aisle.

I'm sure in his mind he wanted everyone to see him, so they could stretch out their hands for low high fives and the girls could stare up at him, blowing bubbles of gum flirtatiously. None of that happened though. I nervously chomped on my orange slice and gnawed at the peel like a mouse.

Jake Hartman walked, chest out and head held high. His strides were slow and confident as if he was in an action movie and a building just exploded behind him. As he passed tables, whispers and small giggles bubbled up, the chorus began to grow louder as he marched forward, and soon fingers began to point toward his backside. Poor Jake, though, he didn't seem to notice that the attention he's getting was any different today. He smiled confidently and walked right past us, getting to the end of the aisle and dumping his tray in the trash can. He stood there with his back to the entire cafeteria, and I saw that, surprisingly, my sign stuck to his back very well.

"What does that say?" Dustin Henderson said and leaned forward, squinting.

Eddie tilted back in his chair. His mouth was open and his eyes trailed from the sign, to me, then back to the sign.

I focused on pulling off another orange slice and stuffed it into my mouth. I heard a loud squeak, my eyes snapped to Jake, waiting for some moment of realization. The sound was from his shoes. He turned back to face the cafeteria, with the same dopey, overzealous grin on his face. Please tell me he's not going to... before my own thought finished, Jake Hartman began walking down the center aisle again, like a model doing a turn on a catwalk. He strode right down the middle, allowing everyone another glance at him.

Jake walked more slowly this time and I watched with secondhand embarrassment as he gave everyone who may have not clocked the sign completely the first time another chance to read it.

As he walked past us, Dustin Henderson read out loud, "Ask me about my venereal disease."

Gareth next to me snorted out a laugh. My block handwriting was neat and bold. The chorus of giggles turned to full chuckles now. Jake stopped in the middle of the room, finally sensing that maybe something was wrong.

Dustin squinted again, "There's more on there but it's smaller and I can't read it."

Eddie leaned forward, turning his head to me, "Winnie..." I looked over at him sheepishly.

Dustin continued, "Do you think he even knows what venereal means?"

Eddie let out a scoff, "Probably not. Hey, Winnie, care to share with the table what the second part of that sign says?" I shrugged innocently and the Hellfire boys turned to look at me.

In the center of the cafeteria now, Jake Hartman locked eyes with some poor freshman sitting at the end of a table. The kid was laughing like a hyena at Jake.

"Hey kid. Something funny? Why are you laughing at me, huh?!" He spun around, the white note fluttered upwards and sat gently against his back again. Everyone was hollering now.

"It's on your back, dumbass!" a voice called from a distant table.

Jake turned. He slapped his back trying to rip the sign off. He finally succeeded and held it in front of his face, reading it once, then twice.

"No Dustin... I don't think he knows what venereal disease means," I said.

"Are you fucking kidding me-" Jake Hartman bellowed from his spot at the center of the circus.

That's why I wrote the second part, just for good measure. Jake shook the paper angrily.

"I do NOT have warts on my DICK!" He screamed, causing everyone to go silent for a moment. He breathed heavily and waved the sign above his head.

"Holy shit," Eddie said. He sounded very proud and amused.

The cafeteria all looked at Jake, who stood in the middle with his eyes bulging out of his face.

Then laughter roared through the room so loud it sounded like a jet engine. Jake helplessly looked into the crowd, then crumpled the paper, threw it to the side, and stormed out of the cafeteria.

Eddie stood up suddenly, his chair screeched back, and he began to bring his hands together in thunderous applause.

"YEAH!" He yelled.

The rest of the table began to clap, and then the entire cafeteria. Eddie walked around the tables, clapping, and bent down to retrieve the crumpled white paper. He walked slowly back to our table and slid back into his chair. He smoothed the sign out and slapped it onto our table. The boys leaned up on their elbows in anticipation, and I sank back into my chair.

The sign read:

Ask me about my venereal disease!

Then in a smaller script towards the bottom it said in parentheses:

(I have warts on my dick)

Admittedly, I know that sticking a sign to Jake Hartman's back was childish and something that only happens in cheesy teen comedy films. And I had no real obligation to defend Emma Smith against the rumor mill. But, I hate that teenage boys get away with things while teenage girls get crucified. What can I say? I'm a sucker for vigilante justice.

The Hellfire club burst into laughter, and Eddie turned to me, "Does this handwriting look familiar to you at all?" He had a knowing look on his face, I just shrugged, gathered my orange peels in front of me into a neat pile, and squinted at the letters.

"No, not really."

Eddie chuckled lowly and folded the note, stuffing it into the pocket of his jacket. The Hellfire club began talking excitedly about the note, I felt a light kick on my calf under the table. I turned to look at Eddie and he was smiling widely. He slowly lifted one thumb in a gesture of good job, kid. I gave him a bewildered look, scooped up my pile of peels, and slung my backpack onto my shoulder. I quietly exited the cafeteria, smiling a little just to myself.

Emma Smith didn't return to school all week. When she finally did the next Monday, her long red hair was now chopped at her shoulders. It framed her face somehow better than her long mane had, showing off her sharp cheekbones and piercing almond eyes. She moved down the hallway, wearing fishnet tights, a black mini skirt, and an oversized band tee. A silver chain necklace hung around her throat, and a skull ring encircled her pinky finger.

I watched her stride with my locker open and my binder half pulled out. Eddie leaned against the lockers next to mine, and his eyes took every inch of her in. She passed us and met my gaze, giving me a small nod. I returned the gesture, feeling like we just communicated in a secret language. She slowed down in front of Eddie, and their eyes bore into each other for a long moment. She smirked, and kept walking, her boots pounding the floor.

If she was selling that confidence bottled, I would have give her all of my money.

I shut my locker and noticed Eddie was frozen, still staring down the hall, even though the girl had already rounded the corner. I took one hand and waved it in front of his face, "Earth to Eddie?"

He didn't look at me, he was still staring at where she had gone. "Was that... Emma Smith?"

"Yup," I said with a smile and hugged my binder to my chest. "She's really nice."

He turned to look at me, his face was drawn in his signature wide smile. "Well... she certainly looks different."

"She looks like Molly Ringwald!" I exclaimed. "If Molly Ringwald started listening to Bad Brains."

Eddie snorted, "Well, that was definitely new. I wonder what made her bounce back... perhaps she heard the whole school stopped talking about her and started talking about Jake's warts..." He gave me a cheeky smile.

"Maybe..." I shrugged and pushed myself off of the locker. "I have to go meet with Ms. Kelley, don't leave without me okay. Not like last time."

"Why does she insist you meet at the end of the day?" Eddie asked, annoyed.

"She's a busy woman, okay? I'm not going to ask her for a different meeting time." I fidgeted with the ends of my hair.

"No, no, you can't do that," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Then she might tell the teachers in the staff lounge that you don't respect authority, and I'd hate to see your reputation crumble like that."

I reached out and punched his arm. He pretended to fall backwards, colliding loudly with the lockers.

"I'll meet you outside of the office, I'm going out for a smoke." He smiled and scooped up his bag.

I turned down the hall and walked toward the counselor's office.

Author's Note:

1) my high school colors were orange and green & our mascot was a Tiger so every time I see s4 I get war flashbacks

2) it is a crime that the Go-Go's were only just inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame last year. they gave us the beat & feminist anthems.

I'm on a pilgrimage to see a moose. Praise Marty Moose! Holy Shit!