cherry gets out of the car in a huff that makes bob's alcohol logged brain angrier by the second. he thinks about the greasers, about the way she had gone with them so much easier hours before. thinks of their slick greasy hair, the way those clothes seemed years out of date, the shitty shoes they wore all in comparison to him. she wanted to hang out with trash, while he did everything and more to impress her?

the anger burns in his gut. he and randy cruise around in the dead of night, passing the alcohol between them, looking for greasers to beat, to show them that they had to stay on their side of town. they're not lucky enough to find them, and he goes home with bitterness searing in him.

wasn't he good enough for anyone at all?

sneaking back in is easier than it should be, always is. his father is off, out late again with another woman he found and once again, his mother is passed out in the living room, on the expensive sofa. he tries to pass by her, but seeing her form curled up so pathetically, waiting for his father, forces an about face. she would always wait on him, always try any and everything to bring him back to her whether it was running up store purchases, trying out makeup that made her look more garish than before or look at any magazine that has a supposed secret to beauty, happiness, marriage.

it's pathetic.

the book in her hand slips to the floor as bob throws the duvet on her. he picks it up with a bit of difficulty, squinting at the cover. it's something a little more morbid than before- witch's brew. it looks more like a dime store novel rather than instructional.

he takes it up with him to his room after divesting his father's cabinet of more alcohol he won't miss. flipping through it is a bit of a laugh: spells for middle aged women to get their husbands back? curses, jinxes for revenge against other women?

It's laughable. he's glued to every page of it, in the absurdity it gives him.

in his stupor, he looks at the curses, at their instructions. it's simple enough to think about those stupid greasers, drawing their likenesses on the page. saying the words on the page, and placing x' s on their throats, their wrists, their legs, stomachs, eyes, pencil scratching down until they're almost unrecognizable in his rage.

bob thinks that he feels the room swim around him for a moment, stomach roiling. thinks his vision swims with the image of their faces, contorting in pain.

he groans as his vision clears and decides that maybe he needs water. that the hangover in the morning is going to be awful.

he's not wrong. it sits awfully on his head, lasting the entire day. he rings cherry's house three times regardless and each time, her mother says she's indisposed.

on monday, he and randy meet up again. randy looks less angry than before as their eyes track the greaser kid, the one with the auburn hair in the school hallways. he's not protected well here, and bob sneers as he walks past. the kid speeds up, and bob laughs.

cherry still avoids him during lunch. bob's jaw sets itself in a clench, fighting the urge to hunt her down, make her pay attention to him. going to biology, however, just makes him all the more annoyed.

he had forgotten that the greaser kid shared that class with him. bob sits on the other side of the class, eyes focused on him. he's halfway through writing a note, taunting him, when the coughing starts. it's deep, harsh, and makes him look up in amazement as they keep coming.

it's the greaser kid. his face looks red as he coughs and coughs in almighty, awful heaves that seems to come from deep within him. people are starting to look as his frame racks with the coughs, each cough sounding deeper and wetter. it sound like something is coming up from his throat, and his hand flies up to his throat, eyes bulging from his head.

"cat got your tongue, grease?" bob sneers.

scattered laughter comes- and dies as the kid actually begins to choke. a stab of real… fear? concern? hits him then.

the teacher rushes forward, hand clapping the back of the kid. there's a great, rattling heave, then bob sees the kid retch. it's disgustingly wet as blood gushes up from the kid's mouth, choking wetly as he coughs out something long, getting longer.

a girl gives a scream as gold knitting needles emerge from the kid's mouth and clatter onto the table. a horrified silence descends on everyone as they take in the view before them and bob feels confusion settle on him.

even though they're covered in blood and bile, bob knows those knitting needles anywhere: they belonged to his mother. they were tipped exactly the same as hers, inlaid with pearls at one end. he had always admired them.

here they were, coughed up by some mangy greaser in biology.

the teacher yells for assistance.

the kid collapses, face drained.

the rest of the day, it's all anyone talks about. the way the kid had coughed and wheezed, the blood that had surged up in impossible redness. bob says nothing, keeping the terror of the needles clattering onto the desk to himself. he bears about the kid being taken to the hospital, about how the other greaser kids were just as spooked.

when he gets home, he looks for his mothers needles.

they're exactly where she left them. doubt surges in bob. maybe he hadn't actually…

he eats dinner with his mother. he doesn't mention the biology incident, nor does he pick up the book again, still in his room.

It wasn't her needles, he decides. they're here, safe and there's no such thing as curses, no such thing as witchcraft.

he tells himself this over and over again. no magic. no curses. he's more concerned about cherry, about living up to his parent's expectations than occupying himself with one small incident, one piece of oddness.

he tells himself that, and holds his breath, just in case.