2
~ Heard it Through the Grapevine ~
Man, can the clock go any slower? I think the sun will explode and scorch the human race before I get out of this hell hole.
Taking brief notes on geometry equations and how to decipher one from the millions of other ones by with hieroglyphics I swear aren't of this world, I sprawl comfortably in my desk with one leg bent into my chest and the other resting on the back of the kid's – Jake or Jeremy or Jerome…one of the zillion J names – seat in front of me.
Mrs. Kay rambles on about paring letters with numbers – something that goes against everything I believe in – while a jock up front snores akin to a freight train on his desk.
Someone's hungover. I bet he's drooling too and if I were Kay, I'd make him wipe down every table for it.
Quickly losing interest with the graying instructor's flimsy but gracious justification of why we need to learn this when a kid complains, I flip to a fresh page in my textured notebook and ponder things that really matter.
Kay's not too harsh for a brainiac, a bit socially awkward and way too serious for teaching high schoolers with raging libidos but hey, someone married her. … Is it possible that there's someone out there for everyone?
Along with the date, September 12th, I write that last part down.
Or maybe some people were built to be alone. Yeah, makes sense why Nicky and I never worked out, it just wasn't meant to be. Damnit. I have to stop thinking so hard about this shit or my head's going kill me. ...or I'm dry and need to wet my whistle. I wonder which one of these dumbasses has a stash.
Passing an eye over the crowd of idle bodies – so glad I picked a seat in the back row – I glance over a boy who's looking at me dead on and isn't hiding it either.
No, who's been looking at me.
Brow quirking in times of annoyance or wonder, I also convey my unfriendliness with a dry glance, internally screaming at him to take a hint.
I'm not in the mood, blondie.
I scowl as he folds a piece of paper, bumps the girl by him to pass it like a chain to me, all the while Kay limbos on about square roots and a variety of degrees. Snagging the paper from the boy on my left whose busy scribbling notes like a champ, I tear it in half without examination and toss the remains over a shoulder.
Thanks but no thanks, man.
I lag tired eyes at Donna up front as she sees me metaphorically pouting in the corner, clearly amused before she completes a double-take at my message sender across the room behind her, only to whirl astonishment and an open jaw on me.
I don't get why she's so giddy. Eric, insisting to carpool Donna and I, made me miss my morning cup of caffeine because he was so pumped to drive the damn grocery-getter to school for the first time. It's taking every fucking fiber in my body to not walk out on these duds and bug the lunch lady for a cup of hot water. I just want my tea, man!
Donna's hot on my ass when the bell screams, as the room drains of adolescence. "Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed."
I'm hugging a couple books unceremoniously, cramming a pencil between the pages for safekeeping. "I fucking missed my fucking cup of fucking tea. I need tea to fucking function, man," Remorse, I sigh a gentle, "Fuck."
"I'm pretty sure you can get a decent cup in drama club." She banters, attempting to sound smug.
She's the nicer Pinciotti out of the two of us so it always a treat when she puts extra effort to act all "rebellious", which we both know she's not. Besides Eric, my cousin's the most straight-laced square I know.
Exiting Satan's alphabet class, I go with the flow of a tacky gas station perfumes, body odor galore and – great. I was just crop dusted – crowded halls, simultaneously scanning the room numbers for my next class with mild discretion. "There's nothing dramatic about caffeine. My stupid radio clock didn't go off, damn thing probably got fucked in the move." I tuck my nose into my elbow and hold my breath, praying the kid ahead of me won't blow cut the month old dumpster cheese, that death by flatulence asphyxiation won't be the lame-ass way I leave this even lamer life.
Fuck this is worse than Fez' cologne, and I swear he wears half a bottle of milked beaver's ass a day.
"Someone fucked? You finally seal the deal with Foreman, Pinciotti?"
Hyde.
"Pretty sure that's for you." I prompt Donna who's too busy doing her best impression of a tomato.
Hesitant, she does that thing where she's angry but its awkward; as she growls, "get bent. Both of you", her foot stomps at us both to put the fear of God in us.
It's more adorable than threatening by all means.
He only simpers lightheartedly at her and shifts to adjust an armful of academics, certainly going out of his way to ignore me.
"'Sup, Hyde?"
Knowing he has a stick up his ass and doesn't care for me for whatever stupid reason considering he's never said a damn word to me, I hesitate to tear away from those grey thunderclouds spearing me in place, strangely. You'd think he would look different without the aviator sunglasses, but somehow he's managed to execute the same stoic and blank demeanor they provide without them. It's one hell of a pokerface and considering I lived in the most famous city in America where that brand's more common than it not, it's pretty damn impressive. It rivals mine when I'm not having any of anyone's shit. It's possible that if I catch him off guard, maybe he'll say something I can work with. I mean, I don't need to be buds with the guy but we have to be civil. We hang with the same group, may as well make the best of it. Peace before war, man.
No reply. Not even a glance. He just stands there busying himself with a distraction in the form of cheerleaders parting a juvenile sea, allowing his neck to crane after the skanky uniforms Jackie and her parade of morons sashay on by.
'Kay. Be that way.
"Donna, did you hear something? Yeah, I believe it's the mythical man of few words. Legend is, if you're an ass to his face, he'll bark back. So tell me, man of few words, is it true?" Books slumped in my arms, I hold an equally blank stare with the delinquent before angling toward the uneasy redhead. "I'll catch you in fifth period."
"Sounds good. We can talk about Kent, too."
Who?
"Kent?"
She inches close and lowers her voice – I imagine so Hyde won't hear but for whatever reason why, I have no clue – her tone is excited and a bit higher than normal, indicating she's been spending waaaay too much time with a tiny stage four clinger. "The guy who passed you a love note."
Unamused, showing her that I don't care who hears what, I retort, "Guess you didn't see the part where I didn't read his bullshit and ripped it to shreds."
Pales orbs snap wide. "What?! Why on earth would you do that? It's Kent Trinke!"
"So? The guy could've been Lou Reed but you think Lou would've passed a flimsy note? No. He would've grew a pair and gone after it because it mattered enough to him to do it in the first place. And then he would've wrote a rad song about it."
A true man has the balls to talk face to face with the person he cares about no matter the risk or consequences. I don't do fake shit and I consider stupid notes small talk.
"God, Gabriella. How do you say such harsh stuff and sound so innocent at the same time?"
My head tips for a thoughtful moment; I ultimately shrug a shoulder. "I don't know. Guess I'm unable to give a shit."
She frowns at that and passes some math notes to Hyde before joining the flow of frolicking imbeciles.
Not caring about being late to biology or even showing up, I hold a notebook and two slim textbooks to my chest. I start to open my mouth but snap my jaw once I spot Kelso bolt sloppily toward us like a damn freight train and collide through several random bodies to haul ass in the hall, hollering something about Pam Macy and a cake passed us, a pulse of amusement lifts my spirts as his tall stature slaps into a teacher which sends paper flying everywhere and both of them on their asses. Mildly confused to spy Hyde studying me, I break the tension stirring uncomfortably between us. "We're never going to be cool, are we?"
"Probably not." He says blandly, a couple beats later when I doubted he'd say anything.
The way he tenses his shoulders clearly shows he's unsure of something or is at least anxious. And I get it, I do. It's not easy to deal with new people. It's best to not get close, that way if you have to bail it's easier on both parties to forget and move on.
I depart from the row of lockers he's leaning on. "Thanks, man."
"For what?" He almost sounds offended and actually crinkles confusion between his brows.
"Saving me the trouble from caring enough to like you."
The rest of the day was routine and uneventful. At least I know who I'll be doing group projects with so that's rad. In Biology, I'll do everything solo since Hyde and Kelso are in my second period and it's hard to concentrate with Kelso hitting on me despite his demeaning relationship with Jackie, who I met in sixth period Gym and is an absolute airhead, and Hyde's general disconnection to me. Whatever. Anyway, at least Eric's my Hail Mary at lunch and we can insult the hell out of Jackie or I can make him let me copy his homework. Her girly shrilly voice is piercing to the ears. I'd rather spend the day with Kitty's quirky optimism than be trapped in a room with Jackie's overwhelming flamboyance. A tiger will do too. It's not that I hate her, I hardly allow myself to hate anyone except for the whore Dad's shacked up with. Jackie's an acquired taste and to my surprise, she offered to go shopping with me after pissing on my hippie agenda. I bet she'll want to make her personal doll if her "my money, my pick" mindset means anything. But hell, she offered and I happen to have a high pain tolerance.
Savoring the spicy incense illustrating a line of smoke on a shelf neighboring a bonsai tree near my curtained window, I peel back the thin fabric and pin it on either side of the tall frame with a couple clothesline pins before raising the glass and straddling the sill. One leg freely swinging outside a two story fall, I bring scalding chamomile to my lips. Used to burning my tongue and not fazed by its rough texture – I kinda enjoy it actually – I reach back and set the pottery mug on the edge of a Cherrywood desk.
I don't listen to the Bee Gees often, but today seems right, especially with the fact that I'm going to spend the evening with Jackie. He's an idiot, but I hope Kelso comes to take the edge off. Hyde wasn't kidding when he said Kelso hurts himself and damn, it's fucking hilarious.
Winding twine around circular metal wire, I knot the end of the leather and unspool two feet of black yarn to fill the circle's void.
New place, new dreams. I may as well make a new dream catcher. Hell, maybe this one'll work.
"Gabriella! Which one of these giant doors is your room?" Jackie's screechy voice pollutes the carpeted hallway. Not a moment later, my door parts to a pink sweater, jean skirt combo with soot black hair pinned back by a glittery headband. "There you are. Ugh, what is that smell?" Her nose scrunches dejectedly, yet she sits in the crochet saucer chair in the corner. Dark eyes trace the white Christmas lights winding my bookcases, shelves and sticks her nose up at my dim but calming ambiance. She grafts over the giant multi-toned tie-dye blue rug consuming beige carpet.
No Kelso? Damn, that's a bummer.
"Cinnamon, lemon, and eucalyptus. You sure you still want to go after seeing my vibe?"
"Totally. You're absolutely a grungy hippie but I can work with that. Hippies have a lot of color, which is what you have." Standing, she leafs through the drawers of my dresser, finding delicate thongs and a variety of bras, and continues peeling back different fabrics of patterned, solid, and stripped materials in my closet until she abruptly stops. "Ew! You wear band t-shirts?"
"So?"
"It's fifty percent polyester! That's poor people clothing, Gabriella."
Warm herbal tea finds its way into my mouth. "I'm pretty sure you think any fabric is poor people's clothing if it's not on you, Jackie."
Hand to her heart, she smiles approvingly and inhales a blissful sigh of satisfaction, overlooking the concern drawing my features. "Why thank you! I knew we'd be great friends. Well, you have to cut off all that skuzzy hair and then we'll be great friends."
I haven't had a pair of scissors near my scalp since I was twelve and I'm not going to start now. Besides, who ever said I wanted to be friends with a rich girl? ...eh. Maybe it wouldn't be too bad, she is rich after all.
Knowing Donna's lack of enthusiasm for the dwarf, I test the waters, "And Donna?"
Jackie dismisses a pair of splatter print joggers behind her. "Ew, she's a total goon. And red hair? Yuck. At least you have decent bone structure, not as symmetrical as me, no one is, but you're a step up from you're cousin. Hey, how are you related to her? Is it like an adoption thing or oh – are you from one of those love juice banks?"
Fuck, she talks a hundred miles an hour. How do they put up with her in the basement? I bet those bastards are laughing their asses off. Love juice banks?
"You mean a sperm bank? Nope. Not adopted either. RP wanted to travel after high school so he went out of country, met a girl. They screwed, he brought her over, she had me, she bailed, we lived here till I was about six until we moved to New York where he became a cop. Uncle Bob just never left the coop, I guess." I pour the last quarter of tea out the window into the backyard and shrink inside, hand over my mouth to contain my glee when the sunbathing wicked bitch below screams; the mug's aside for another steep before bed. "Wow. It almost doesn't sound complicated when it's put like that."
Jackie tilts her head quizzically, ultimately voting to disregard the complexity of that phenomenon. She squats on my thick queen mattress that's flush to the floor, making it lower than most frames considering I elected to ditch the box spring and frame for lighter packing and traveling. "And not very romantic. You left out all the juicy details. Tell me everything!"
"Why? So you'll run your big mouth to everyone at school?"
"No!" She interjects too quickly, proving I'm right. "If we're going to be somewhat friends, I'd like to know who I'm around."
Oddly, Hyde's cool carefree persona flashes in my mind.
Fucking life parallels, man. I know what I have to do and damn my hopeful, black heart for getting the better of me.
"If I tell you, you have to promise to not utter a word to anyone. If you do, the entire class will know you're a natural carrot top. And I pick what I want at the mall."
"But I'm not –" Rocketing to booted feet with a slight wobble due to the depth difference and those horrid heels, she gasps, "You bitch! You wouldn't!"
Threading a web effect in the inner circle of the catcher with yellow yawn, I nestle on the end of my mattress. "I wouldn't underestimate me if I were you, man."
Angry look shrouding her dark features, the popular girl concedes against my loftiness, "Fine! No one would believe you anyway."
"Then why'd you agree to it?" I can't help but evilly purse my lips.
"Shut up, Gabriella! And you only get to pick one thing."
"Everything."
Lilac arms crossed, she negotiates sternly, "Fine. But I pick one outfit and you can't say a single thing about it!"
If it's pink, I'll re-gift it to her or something, maybe pass it to Donna. She and I are more physically alike than Jackie and I. I'm taller than Little Mrs. Spoiled but Donna has a few solid inches on me and I'm a bit more voluptuous than Jackie and when I say "voluptuous" I mean my chest. My hair is so strikingly blonde, it's nearly white in some lighting, so obviously lighter than Dad and Uncle Bob's but closer in relation to Kitty, Midge and Laurie's honey blonde simply because we're in the blonde category. My heart-shaped face, thick lips, toasted fair complexion and quick metabolism is from my other half of genetics.
My mouth is ajar for a quip but a knock leads me to a door cluttered by a crowed coatrack.
On his way to change out of uniform from a day's work of busting the local dumbasses, Dad's voice vibrates equal parts strict and questioningly, "Brie, there's a boy for you downstairs."
A bo –
"Oh my god. You tramp! Who is he?"
"Have fun shopping, Buttercup."
Grimacing at my father, he turns around snickering but cringes at the pitch of Jackie's mindless chatter – and knowing him well, he cringes all the way to master bedroom at the top of the stairwell.
Serves you right for picking on me, Officer Smug-Ass. I still know he's never going let me live this down.
My fortress being the final room at the end of the hall, I blow out the incense, remove the needle from a record, and slip a fringe poncho over the camisole I wore to school. Leather moccasins on and turquoise belt buckle tying the casualness together, I tuck a wallet in my back pocket.
"Gross. You use a wallet? Wallets are for boys, Gabriella. God, no wonder you agreed to go shopping."
"It's practical."
It's less bulky than having a strap strangle my shoulder that'll fall down my shoulder and I can't risk a back ache from an elbow bag or the annoyance of forming a uni-boob from a cross-body, that's for sure.
Stopping short on the stairwell to find Chelsea sitting provocatively on the couch and eyeballing Fez in something more modest than a bikini in the yard that nobody needs to witness, I fold my arms over a cropped poncho.
An aghast Jackie slaps a hand to her mouth. "You're doing Fez?"
That'd be a magic trick.
"Not that I know of."
Our voices present him an excuse to get away from her touchy-feely antics.
Chelsea literally licks her chops at the sight of his ass in too-tight bellbottoms as he turns to walk out the front door at my command.
Skank.
I usher them out and lock the door. "Let's get out of here."
I hop off a wide cement porch when Jackie bluntly asks Fez why he's here if he isn't doing me.
"Donna told me how you were going to do the shopping with Gabriella and I wanted to see you model no clothing."
Well, he doesn't have an issue being honest. And seriously, I can't handle the way he says my name. Knowing me, I'll be giggling every time he says it and I refuse being all bubbly like that. I don't know how our little excursion's gonna go and I don't want to lead Jackie on that I had a good time if really it was a disaster. I don't wanna be stuck with her out of obligation.
"What did he call you?"
Seconding Jackie's point, I lead the pair to the driveway where a baby blue Volkswagen Beetle awaits us. "Fez, just call me Brie."
His shimmer happily. "Brie. Oo I like that."
"Brie? What is that? A childhood fatty name? Wait, have you ever been fat?"
In shotgun of the convertible, I morph a flippant look. "You are the vainest person I've ever met, and I grew up in New York."
"Gabriella, you are quickly becoming one of my favorite people!" She flaunts a pearly smile, baffling me with her arrogance, and decks on oval sunglasses secondary to pink lip gloss.
WHY? That's not a compliment!
I toss a perplexed expression to the foreigner sitting in the middle seat behind us.
He leans forward, resting his arms on the bench seat Jackie and I share as the engine breaths life. "You have RP's eyes, Brie. They are beautiful."
"Word of advice, man, if you want to hit on a girl, don't start off with any male family members."
The driver snorts, "Yeah. You totally hit on her dad."
"I did not!" He slumps in the back bench, pouting with a crimson face, as the Beetle slows at a red light.
"Did too." Jackie makes an impressive left turn.
I try my best to memorize the directions via street names as we gravitate downtown two miles in the ride. "Did Kelso get detention for crashing into that teacher yesterday?"
"For a week. I can't even see him because his parents grounded him. How idiotic do you have to be to get in detention in the first week of school? They don't even hand out homework until the second week. Idiot."
Fez inches forward until he's practically in her ear. "Pretty stupid. Which is why you should dump his handsome ass and go out with me, my dear."
"He has a point."
"Ew! Like I'd date a weird foreign guy. C'mon, Gabriella, I can't be seen with someone like that."
Fuck, she's horrible. He's sitting right here! She truly is an airhead if it didn't click with the princess that my mom isn't from here either. From what I know about the guy, Fez is sweet, a little invasive to personal space and has the libido of a virgin in a whorehouse, but sweet.
"Someone like what? A person?"
"It's ok, Brie. Jackie's rudeness is how she shows affection. Isn't that right, baby?"
Pausing the Beetle at a crosswalk, the dwarf warns, "Buzz off, Fez."
"Right." He suddenly points to a humble brick building. "Hey. Donna, Eric and Hyde are at the Hub!"
"The Hub?" I echo.
"Yeah, it's ok for this side of town. They have pinball, a jukebox, and food. It's the hangout of the town."
"And it's a great place to pick up the ladies." His suspiciously perfectly groomed eyebrows wriggle excitedly.
"When have you ever picked up a lady?"
He mumbles, "Never. God, I will be a virgin forever!" His face falls shamefully into his palms.
People shouldn't take life so seriously, no one makes it out alive anyway. So worrying about sex, it's pointless. I'm not saying it isn't important, because it is when you're in that moment, but to revolve around it? I don't think so. I'd rather be free than chained to anyone. I learned that lesson the hard way.
"That possibility is highly unlikely, man. Everyone has the opportunity to fuck once, you just have to go for it." Punching the radio on, I cringe at the soprano of Olivia Newton John's voice.
Someone give me a pair of scissors so I can jab them in my ears.
"Oo I love this song! Turn it up!"
"No!" I exclaim. Eager to distract them, I change the subject, "Either of you have a cigarette?"
"You smoke, um, anything other than cigarettes?"
Jackpot.
Facing the backseat with a friendly closed-lipped smirk, I scale my sight over his striped shirt. "You cool, man?"
"I think so, yes."
Stuck in small town traffic, Jackie hands me a tube of lip gloss. "Here."
"No thanks. Skincare and mascara's the only wingman I need."
The brunette snorts, "Not from where I'm sitting. You're in public with me. Put some on."
Just when I'm about to tell her where to go, Fez chimes, "If you do not like it you can take it off. What's the harm in looking hot, Brie?"
People will stare at me.
Folding up the mirror once applying a thin coat of rosy pink, I home the tube in a cup holder and look up just in time as the Beetle parks.
"It's actually not too ugly. C'mon, I bet blues will pop your eyes!"
I guess in Jackie Talk that means "you're actually pretty". Hell, I'll take what I'm offered from this girl because god knows Jackie Burkhart does not give out compliments like its candy.
Passing Fez as he holds the door open for Jackie to sway inside, I whisper to him, "Let me know when you want to bail and we'll high tail it to the Hub. Maybe find a guy and blaze it up?"
"I can't believe I'm saying this," Moistening his lips eagerly, he matches my pace in pursuit of a boutique Jackie gleefully skips ahead to stalk racks of blinding colors in a manner very reminiscent of a lioness. "But keep your clothes on. We'll escape faster."
I don't get why he's making a big deal over nothing, Fez is a good guy. He'll find someone.
Bumping shoulders with him, I tone nonchalantly, "I'll put in a good word for you at school."
"A good word about what?"
Man, he'll be in for a pleasant surprise.
"Never mind."
The next day at school I'm getting a lot more looks than before. It's the boots, I know it is. Jackie said they would "elongate my legs". Well, they seem to be doing their job. I like them, I do, but they're not made to be worn in a place with a large population of guys. … Or maybe they are? If so, I have to give credit where credit is due because maybe, just maybe she isn't that big of a dumbass. Maybe. I won't admit it unless she tries to burn me by calling me something tacky among "lady of the night" or if I'm asked how much I charge. Hopefully not though, so I can enjoy them because damn, they're fucking glorious.
Squeezing through swaths of bodies to a green carpet freshly manicured, I find Eric sitting on the plaid blanket he keeps in his locker for such occasions. Seeing that the view overlooks a caged baseball field and a decent sized football field in the distance, I wet my finger and cram it in his ear.
"Ugh! C'mon!"
"Hey, you didn't notice me first. It's fair game, man." Noticing the Biology book on the blanket and a flapping notebook in his lap due to the breeze, his pencil moving diligently, I plop diagonal to one of my closest confidants in the gang while dunking a ginseng teabag in a steaming cup. "Why're you trying so hard?"
"Gee, I don't know. It's not like my entire life rides on how well I do in high school. Forgive me if I don't want to live with Red for the rest of my life."
Honestly, I bet Red would smother Eric in his sleep before he'd let the grown kid be a dumbass for the rest of their lives; in a poetic way, it'd be a mercy kill.
Inhaling the scent warm in my palms, I take a tentative sip. "That's a myth."
"What?" His pencil stops wiggling on dead trees.
It's so fun fucking with him, he's too easy.
"People only say that because they want to scare you so you'll panic and stress yourself out to be the best. No one's perfect, Eric. Then you waste money on some fancy school and apply for the career you went into just to be rejected. These things start out small at first. They get you to start worrying about meaningless shit like tests and essays because it gives them control. You become programmed now so you won't question any of it later because if you do, you don't trust the system and then they bill you and eventually leave you with nothing. Fuck the system. Take my word of advice and don't let anyone, especially a useless number on a piece of paper, measure your worth." Biting into my favorite sandwich and washing it down with steeped tea, I pop a slice of cantaloupe in the feeding hole and cross stretched legs as Jackie approaches. "Jackie incoming."
Eric returns to work, hesitating to do so as he pinches a thoughtful brow. All too soon, he makes that paper his bitch.
"Eric. Hi, Gabriella! Oh my god, you're wearing the boots!"
I wince at the fawning squeal of her voice.
I guarantee every dog in a five mile radius just had a seizure. I know I did.
"So, I was thinking we should get our nails done after school. A French manicure would do you good."
I glare at Eric's snarky little smirk and tear my hand from her scrutiny, unaware she even touched me.
Man, she's sneaky.
Dusting my hands of crumbs once polishing peanut butter on butter, I offer Eric a slice of melon that he chomps. "Hard pass."
"Why?" Her arms pout across her chest. "I had fun dressing you in clothes that'd flatter me better."
Polishing my teeth via tongue, I tip the remains of my drink. "Because there's this thing called 'freedom' and I don't have to do anything I don't want too and I don't want too."
"Eric, are you interested in a manicure? I mean, you're half girl anyway so it's only fair to offer."
I'd be lying if I said he doesn't have delicate hands. Because he does; they're nicer than Donna's.
To be a smartass, he examines his own nails and waggles them looking so much like Red, but only for the briefest of seconds. "You're a little late, I just got mine done. Did you ask Donna?"
"No. I didn't think she'd want to go."
I say a bit harsher than I mean, "And you think I would?"
"No need to be bitchy. You had your swamp water, get over yourself."
I need to get over myself? She's the damnedest hypocrite I've ever met!
"Ok so change of subject," Eric cranes to me. "I see you have no problem making problems."
"Your point?"
"Nothing. I was just going to ask why you hate Hyde."
I hate him? Wow. I love how everyone thinks they know what I'm feeling or what I'm thinking. I really hate that actually.
"I doubt he cares what I think of him. So that leaves you, Eric. But for the sake of 'what if', let's pretend I care about his perception of me; why do you care?"
He shrugs dismissively, sipping on chocolate calcium from a carton. "Oh, no reason. It's just, you're part of the gang and I want all my friends to be friends or at least be civil."
"Peace before war, man. I'm as civil as civil gets." My gaze runs lazily over a handful of groups eating their lunch conversing, laughing and studying. Hyde nowhere in sight, I glance at Jackie nibbling on a bag of petite carrots on her corner of the blanket examining a stray piece of paper from someone or whatever. Swallowing a sip of tea and basking in the warmth of summer's final breaths amplify the afternoon sunlight as the incoming crisp air of fall lingers closer with each day, I lean back on my hands and cross my legs Indian style before inhaling deeply. Eyes closed in a ray of heat, white waves flagging freely in the gentle breeze, I assume, "He skip or something?"
I hear Eric reply, "He didn't have a ride and he refuses to walk ten miles to school."
Peeking an eye at the uncharacteristically glum and dead tone of his voice, the sharp movement Jackie's French braid flipping behind a shoulder catches my eye. "Why don't you pick him up, Eric? That degenerate is your best friend."
"Hey, cool it on the 'degenerate' talk."
She says confidently, "You can't be a degenerate if your Dad's a cop, Gabriella."
"I most certainly can. Only reason I don't have any charges is because he can't stand the idea of putting his little girl behind bars. RP and I, we got a good thing. Well, good for me, I don't know about him."
"Wait, so what you're saying is that you get a 'get out of jail free' card if you're busted?"
I nod positively, shrugging noncommittedly.
It's really not that big of a deal because I don't plan on having to use it; in the same breath, I'm not saying that I may need too either. Shit happens.
Eric and Jackie share a look I can't quite decipher.
Ok, that's freaky. For the majority of the time I've observed their commentary and body language, these two hate each other. Well, I'm sure Eric doesn't really hate anyone, he's too well-rounded and kind to stoop there. He has his stern but loving parents to thank for that. Now Jackie, she doesn't need to verbalize her hate, her eyes and disgust says it all. But from what I know about her, she'd say she hates you anyway just for the hell of it and burn your wardrobe as a bonus. So it's a bit bizarre for me to see them exchange a look, a moment of nonverbal communication on some level of understanding, from one nerdy boy scout to one cheerleader princess.
"What'd I miss?"
"Come by the basement after school. I have to show you something."
Yeah, I can do that. I heard Dad make a man-date with Red to watch a Packers game at my place so whatever stupid thing Eric wants to show me, the neighborhood hard-ass will be occupied.
"If it jumps out, my first reaction is to punch. Don't say I didn't warn you, Eric."
"And while you do that, I'll see if Donna wants to go to the salon. Hey, you think they have nail clippers big enough for her giant Sasquatch feet?"
And just like that, my moment of entering the Twilight Zone is over. What the actual fuck just happened?
Loftily, I swing the tail of a floral scarf threaded in denim loops after abandoning my bike to scale Red's driveway. I decent the cement stairwell.
"Gabby? Holy hell you got hot."
Gabby? Midge and Bob own the rights to that nickname and this girl is neither the former nor the latter.
Blinking to a honey blonde cleaning her lower lip with a polished thumb, cheeks flushed like she just finished sucking face, I give her a neutral look neither conveying interest or dismissal.
"It's Laurie."
Laurie? Oh. Yeah, I see it now.
"Hey, Lore. How've you been?"
"Graduated. Parties. Boys. Y'know, the usual."
"Actually I don't, but cool story. Excuse me."
At the top of the stairs, she snorts, "Seriously? All those clubs in the big apple and you've never snuck in?"
A couple times, but only because Nicky's two years older than me and he managed to get both of us fake IDs from a friend. It was fun, but mainly because I was so hyped to go out with him…damn that was a long time ago.
I shrug unceremoniously in response to the Foreman daughter who's looking like the cat who caught the canary at my half-truth.
"So I'm hitting this bar in Kenosha tonight if you want to go. I could use a good wing woman."
"Raincheck."
"Kay, but you're missing out on a great scene. And if you ever want a good lay, I got a little black book full of gold stars. Just give me a call, girl."
I'm highly doubtful I'll need Laurie's second rate one-nighters, but thanks for thinking of me? I think.
"Sure thing."
Blouse tied high under her bust and flat stomach bare, the blonde saunters out of view in wedged heels.
Sex isn't the answer to everything, man. Love? Hell yeah.
Smacked in the face by a wall of pungent smoke, I wave the cloud aside while scooting past Fez in the lawn chair to collapse between Hyde in his chair and Eric on the sofa. "Eric, I don't know whether to slap you for not telling me sooner or to congratulate you. You're not as lame as I thought." I bump shoulders with him appreciatively.
Blue eyes a bit glassy and smile uneven, my cousin's crush exhales a gust of herbs. His voice is a little emotional, "Thank you. I wasn't sure about you moving here. I kinda thought you were bitchy at first, but you're so awesome, Brie."
He's so fucking toasted.
"Yeah, I thought you were a bitch too and I'm not the girl you should be saying that too." Teetering at Hyde eating peanut butter by the spoonful and passing it to Eric who uses his index finger to scope inside the jar's walls, I accept the blunt from Fez across me and expertly puff two drags. Locking onto Hyde and mentally assessing him for visible dislocation through the smog, I'm tempted to take off those damn aviators but root myself in place on the pancaked cushion. My voice lowers as I hold in the high and a thick stream of ghostly white exhales as I ask, "You all right, man?"
Man, someone knows how to roll a tight blunt. For all I know, Eric's delicate fingers are good at something useful. Yay.
Hyde doesn't bother the two seconds it takes to look at me. He grunts, "Fine, man."
What crawled up his ass?
"You." Fez scoops a finger full of peanut butter.
A weightlessness envelops my stomach and hazes my consciousness, bringing my guard down like a high typically does. "Oh, I said that ah' loud?"
"Sure did. So what're you thoughts on Hyde?" Eric sucks a hit, holds it impressively long, and then stretches it to me.
Burning the reefer to the halfway point – inhale, inhale, hold, exhale, inhale escapees, then fully exhale – I wipe a hand over my melty-feely face and aimlessly hold it outward for someone to pluck.
Someone does.
Expelling a couple "o" clouds from plump lips when my final drag appears, I giggle at the imagery of his curly hair. "Y'know who's sexy as hell? Elvis. Tall, dark, and handsome. The guy didn't give a flyin' fuck 'bout what people thought of his riffs and it made him the king of rock n' roll. Mmm…those sideburns were his crown too. I dunno y'guys, but if Elvis had a love child with the rebellious James Dean, I'm sure his name would be..."
What's his name?
"Who're we talkin' 'bout?"
"Why does she sound like that?" Fez's muddled voice chuckles.
"Gentlemen, proof you can take the girl out of New York but you can't take New York out of the girl." Eric pats my shoulder, seeing that I'm holding my face and totally spacing. He murmurs, "It'll pass, just relax."
"Brooklyn. Dad and 'ah lived in Manhattan for a bit but then 'ah met Nicky in junior high and he's from Brooklyn and Brooklyn's a lot cheaper and surprisin'ly pretty close-knit so we moved to Brooklyn and man, I miss Brooklyn."
"Brie, it seems that these fumes make you a bit honest. Wouldn't you say, my dear?"
"I dunno, man. Eric, y'got any snacks down here? 'Ah could eat a horse."
He shoves saliva covered peanut butter cream in my direction but lowers the jar confusedly when I gently angle his chin toward me and suck in the exhale of his final drag. Looking a bit dumbfounded from our mouths being barely apart if only for a second, he blinks wildly with a flush to his cheeks. "There's some Popsicles in the freezer."
His breath tastes like peanut butter.
Leaping the sofa's back, I readjust the sleeve of a pale peasant top that's slumped down my arm and retrieve a cherry pop. I dial up "Whole Lotta Love" before hiking back in position with the guys. "What do y'call this batch?"
"Radical Dream."
I turn to the voice on my right and furrow owlishly at Hyde's cloudy aviators. "That's some fuckin' dream, man."
For a second, I think he smirks but I don't exactly trust myself to remember things true to truth on this stuff so whatever. Everythin's all smoggy to know for sure anyways.
"How was your play date with Jackie?" Eric chuckles to himself about nothing or something.
Kicking up red boots with menacing gold dragons threaded in leather on the pinwheel table, I explain, "She paid for everythin'. Man, it's insane how far people'll go to save their image. Hell, people should be more concerned with their character than reputation. But is the Man gonna let us do that? Nope, because they're brainwashin' bullyin' bastards seekin' control." Stewing for a moment to suck and rotate the cold Popsicle around my tongue, I murmur, "Government pigs."
"Fellatio…" A mushy accent whispers on my left.
"You gotta guy, Brie?"
Not since Nicky.
"Nada. Hey, so I ran inta' Lore outside. She invited me to go bar hoppin' which shouldn't be too hard." Jutting a nude Popsicle stick from the corner of my mouth and loudly sucking, I glance to the trio grinning oddly for reasons beyond me and flash a fake ID from my wallet.
"Lore? Oh! That's right! Gabby and Lore! How sweet!"
"Gabby," I scoff. "'Ah always hated that name. Makes me sound like all 'ah do is flap my jaw gabbing on about unicorn's glittery shit and fairy tears or somethin'."
"So, you turn into Jackie?"
I don't know why said that but please, someone shoot me if that happens!
"'Ah swear to the circle if any of you ever call me that or say I'm like that tart, you can bet your ass I'll shove my foot up it. Got it?"
In unison, three traces of various agreements circulate through clouds of smoke.
"Rad."
After what feels like twenty minutes of Hyde going on about a water-running car the government's keeping from us, he mellows from his tirade brought out by a passion induced high and looks at my figure slumped comfortably on the couch with my legs splayed across Eric's lap. "For a daughter of the government, I didn't think you'd be so mischievous."
I snort, "Being promiscuous got nothin' to do with the sign ya' born under. Just because RP's a badge doesn't mean I agree with what he represents." Discarding the wooden stick and picturing Nikcy's jet black hair in messy trundles after a session of ecstasy, I dissolve into the sofa and rush a ringed hand in pale strands, still savoring his phantom taste on my tongue. Heat rumbling down south at the memory of such solidarity roaming within me and the heat radiating masculinity surrounding me, I realize my legs are so tightly pressed together, softly rocking to encourage the sensuality my buzz yearns for that I erratically remove my legs from the lap of a dozing Eric and deny the remains of a blunt Fez offers. Grabbing my scarf I doubled as a belt that I don't quite remember removing to use for something or another is swiped and hung around my neck before I bolt out the door.
The hell was that?! I practically got off. C'mon, Brie, be cool.
"Brie? You ok?"
I proceed to straddle my bike, unable to bring myself to look him in the eye, and grip oval handles. "'Ah have a, um, thin' – thing. I'll see you later, Eric."
"Bank job in the city
Robin Hood and William Ted and Ivanhoe and Lancelot, they don't envy me
Sitting till the sun goes down, in dreams the world keeps going round and round
And I can't get it out of my head - no I can't get it out of my head
Now my old world is gone for dead 'cos I can't get it out of my head - no, no-"
Restarting the ELO record, I flatten on a cozy mattress, blinking contently at the carnal ambiance colorless Christmas lights emanate.
Radical Dream isn't an exaggeration, it's definitely rad. Only one thing sucks about it: I totally spaced out and I hope I didn't let the drug lower my defenses too much. I know I smoked. Duh. I ate a damn good Popsicle. I pulled out my wallet to...? Yeah, the ID. Why did I bust that out? Eric want me make a beer run? Did we even drink beer? I'm still a bit spacey but no, this isn't a sloppy drunk burn in my stomach. This is a tingly feeling like you're feet aren't even touching the ground.
Propping up on my elbows, I glint to the half a dozen plants of all different sizes hanging from the ceiling or resting on decorative shelves.
I should water those babies, but I'll be bored after. This junk wares off too fast. I don't know what's floating through their heads as an explanation for my runaway act but I didn't mean to ditch them. I remembered Nicky's warm body atop mine and his darling mouth...I panicked in the basement and bolted. I'm not the best at talking about my feelings but at least with Nicky, he could read me like a book. There was no need for words between us, just contact. Way to go, Brie, you totally screwed yourself on the best thing in your life.
Phone ringing, I crawl across the mattress and press a cherry blossom patterned receiver to my skull. "Yeah?"
"Brie?"
Eric. What's he calling me at this house for?
"Hey."
"Hi. You left really abrupt earlier. You're ok, right? The weed didn't bother you did it?"
"Nah, I'm fine. I've had better but it wasn't bad. There's this guy in New York who owns a medicinal and wellness shop. I bet I can score a quart of his finest batch, if you're interested."
His voice perks in surprise, "You can send that through the mail?"
"You can do anything if you're not caught."
"Ok. So you're ok? You sound better. Less Brooklyn, more Gabriella."
Pushing a Polaroid of a shirtless Nicky in bed kissing my temple the morning after sharing our first night together, my throat swells involuntarily at the sight of his arms around me. "Never better."
Why does it hurt so much? Can't he just go away?
"Gabriella –"
"Is a quart going to be enough?"
"...should be. I'll see you at school. You're going to be at school tomorrow, right?"
"Sure, man. Till then." Cutting the music, blowing out the incense on the desk, and discarding my shirt, I level the window to crack and turn for bed when a shadow appears on my floor and grows onto my bedroom door.
The hell?
Making out the distinct shape of telltale curls, I take a subtle step back at the sight of him leaning against the spine of Red's garage.
Oh. What's he doing checking me out in at nightfall? What? Does he want to be friends all the sudden? Yeah, he knows about all the trouble I can get into without taking the fall. I don't care what anyone says, people don't like to be used.
Shutting the curtains, confident he won't be able to see anything but my silhouette as I strip, the lights switch off and I climb beneath layers of comforters.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Yaaassss! It's a long 1, I know, but I love writing Brie. Face Claims are posted below. CC during R&R is always encouraged! Thanks!
GENTLEMEN:
Brad Pitt ('90s style) - Kent Trinke