Chapter 17
He stabbed the tip of his shovel into the dry lakebed and used it to aid in standing to full height. He grumbled as he felt pops race up and down his spine. It eased some of his stiffness but not enough. Of course, after all this time Squid was used to the work that went into digging day in and day out but this was different. They dug deeper, dug harder, and lifted more as they ran back and forth from the dump site where they piled the extra excavated dirt. It never ended.
The holes all blurred into one, quite literally as they expanded X-Ray's, Armpit's, and his old holes as the week wore on. The holes became on massive crater as they chipped away at the edges and sifted through the dirt to be sure that they didn't miss anything. Not that they could with The Warden, Pendanski, and Mr. Sir all breathing down their necks and checking each wheelbarrow before it was carted away. The only thing Squid had found were rocks, roots, and maybe a tooth but he didn't think about the latter too long.
The Warden became impatient over time. At the start she had arrived early in the day and stayed as long as they did, calling off their shoveling when the sun began to set. They were awarded with extra juice and shower tokens as incentives to work harder. He even got regular doses of his insulin back—supervised by Mom of course. And it was welcomed with open arms, that is until they came up empty handed time and time again. Squid figured they were chasing after a dream. It was a one-time fluke that Caveman of all people would find something. As X-Ray had said, they'd all been there longer than him and they hadn't found a thing. He refused to get his hopes up for a pipe-dream. Not again; he'd learned his lesson last time.
The Warden, on the other hand, handled it much differently than he did. She began to arrive late and leaver earlier, seemingly frustrated with how long they were taking to find more of…whatever it was they were looking for. She barked orders, hovered over their backs, checked the dirt they'd already combed over two times, and tapped her turquoise-studded black boots on the ground as she surveyed the large hole they dug. But that was when she was there.
When she wasn't, and Mr. Sir and Pendanski lead the other tents away to their holes, D-Tent took their time. Their sleep-deprived bodies wouldn't allow them the power to stab their shovels into the dirt. But when the sun peeked over the horizon, outlining an odd thumb-shaped mountain in the distance before it was covered by haze, they went back to digging. Stabbing the earth, heaving the dirt away, scraping through the mounds in the wheelbarrows, and taking it away only to do it all over again.
The Warden didn't seem too fond of the repetition either, Squid noted. The one time they took a break, a well-deserved break in his mind, was the wrong time. They lounged around the large hole, some sitting at the bottom to bask in any sort of shade they would find, some sitting atop with their legs dangling above their heads, shooting the breeze and lamenting on forgetting what lemonade or ice cream tasted like. It was enough to get Armpit to his feet, dashing for an unoccupied hole to relieve himself. When they had to go, they had to go; after all, they had plenty of holes to choose from. Maybe he drank too much water or maybe he found something interesting while away, but The Warden had showed up before he came back and she wasn't happy about his break.
Squid looked away when The Warden struck Armpit. He heard Armpit's groan of pain, heard his heavy body fall to the ground and watched as The Warden tossed a pitch fork back on the ground as she muttered about them being given too much water. He couldn't claim that the actions surprised him; he'd been around Camp Green Lake long enough to know that The Warden was like the rattlesnakes that inhabited the dry lakebed. Interesting to look at, downright vicious when provoked. All the girls in his life seemed to be the same way. He grunted. Guess he had a type.
No one moved towards Armpit, no one dared to help beneath The Warden's watchful gaze. Squid kept digging. He was getting good at that, keeping his head down and digging. It got him this far in life. Hell, he figured he'd wind up dead with a shovel in his hands too. Metaphorical or physical, he wasn't sure. Though a part of him was surprised that he was still standing; he'd had many close calls back home and at the camp. It wasn't his first hypoglycemic "incident", as Mom called them. This was just the first time he'd been caught by anyone. He'd always been so careful to hide it. The weak were the first weeded out and, if there was something that he, Alan Carson, wasn't it was weak. He made sure of that. Many times, and look where he ended up. He spat at the ground.
Mom tended to Armpit the moment The Warden left for the day, muttering something about them being useless and digging slower than moles. (Squid and X-Ray exchanged a look at that comment, biting their lips to keep from laughing aloud at the joke that had been kicking around D-Tent for months now). Mom bandaged Armpit's chest up as well as he could and sent them back to work, telling them to "be careful." As if Armpit had just walked into a pitchfork and got himself stabbed.
They continued to dig and Mr. Sir and Mom left to go on their rounds, to bring water and food to the other campers ways off. The dust cloud following Mr. Sir's truck had barely dissipated when they all seemingly came to life.
"You're alright man," X-Ray said, reaching out to bump his friend on the arm. Squid supposed he meant it as a question, but then again, anything X-Ray said goes. If he said Armpit was alright, he was alright. Everyone had their place.
"Whatever," Armpit grunted, stabbing at the wall of the hole they worked on, scraping off chunks of dirt from the wall.
"Man, this fuckin' blows," Magnet spoke up. He kicked at his shovel that lay on the ground nearby. "Wish you never found that thing, Caveman."
"You were singin' a different tune a few days ago," X-Ray pointed out.
Magnet glared at him. "Look who's talkin'. You had no problem takin' that tube off of Caveman if it meant you got things a little easy around here."
"Which, if you hadn't noticed, made things easier for all of us." X-Ray drew a circle with his finger as he spoke, motioning to them all. "You were reaping the benefits when it suited you too, dawg. Don't try and pretend you didn't."
Magnet shuffled his feet. His eyes darted around to their faces. Squid ran his tongue against the inside of his cheek, hoping nothing would come out of this little disagreement. He wasn't in the mood to remind Magnet why he should back off. Any energy he had left after digging he wanted to save for a good game of pool or poker. "Not pretendin' nothing," Magnet muttered.
X-Ray shrugged and put that oh-so-annoying smile on his face. "That's right. Because we're all in this together."
Magnet's jaw clenched. Squid was sure he could smell X-Ray's bullshit from a mile away, but he didn't say anything. Mumbling something in Spanish, Magnet picked up his abandoned shovel and went to the other side of the hole to dig there. It wasn't that far away from X-Ray, but it was far enough. Everyone else slowly followed Magnet's lead, turning away and talking among themselves. Mouse was the last to turn away from their leader, Squid noticed. She didn't say anything; then again, she didn't say a lot the past couple of days.
They went back to digging. Any leftover frustrations went into moving the dirt.
# # #
Alan let out a slow breath in an attempt to ease his racing heart, but to no avail. He couldn't calm down. Something like this didn't happen to him, happen to people like him. And every time he blinked he expected it all to go away, as if he were dreaming. But the paper clutched between his fingertips was the real deal, as evidenced by the way his hands shook.
He swallowed and folded the paper, shoving it into his pocket. He patted it, just to be sure that it was still there. It was. He couldn't contain the smile that burst across his face as it sunk in. He did it, he actually did it!
"Soooooo." Alan blinked only a moment after an elbow rammed into his side. He glanced down to see that dimpled smile on Mickey's face. She brushed her hair out of her eyes; they appeared brighter than usual due to the flush on her cheeks, a sure sign that she had ran to catch up with him.
"So, what?" Alan asked, adjusting the strap of his backpack on his shoulder. He didn't want to hurt the equipment he had stashed inside.
She rolled her eyes. "So what are you going to do with the money?"
His heart pounded against his ribs, as if to remind him that he actually had money to spend. For the first time in his life it was due to nice, clean, hard work. No strings attached, no conditions, his money. He'd always dreamed of actually having some of his own but now that he had it…he wasn't even sure he wanted to part with it.
So, Alan shrugged. "Dunno. Maybe get more toys for Mittens."
"Ah, come on! There's nothing you want? You can have anything!"
And he could. He could finally have new, sturdier shoes. He could have a few weeks' worth of decent food. He could get some new clothes. He could get a decent haircut. He could get that tattoo he wanted. He could pay off some of their bills. The sky was the limit. But even he knew, at a moment's notice, the sky could come crashing right back down on him.
Alan shrugged again. "I don't know."
"Alan, come on. Since when are you such a goody-goody. Live a little!"
"Easy to say when you actually have money."
That stopped her in her tracks. The flush on her cheeks burned a darker red and she hung her head; her hair fall in front of her face, shielding it from him like a drawn curtain. She wrung her hands. "Sorry. I…I shouldn't have said anything. I'm just…excited for you." She looked up at him, her lips turning down in a frown. "I know how much you wanted this."
"Ah, wasn't that big a deal…" he dismissed. But it was. They both knew it. He didn't enter contests like that. He didn't win contests like that. But he entered and he won and he allowed himself to hope for that outcome and, for once, it didn't disappoint. He had been so stunned when his name was announced for the winner that it took Mickey and her friend, Alexis, shaking him and shouting his name for him to realize that he wasn't dreaming and that he was, in fact, going to walk away with $200.
"Shut up!" She rolled her eyes and gave his arm a push. "You're really good. Really good. Your pictures were so much better than everyone else's."
"You're only saying that because you're in them." He hadn't intended her for to be his muse or whatever, he just took pictures of what he saw. She was the only thing, the only person he saw every day. His mother became consistent with disappearing. So, he took pictures of her; the look on her face as she came down from a good laugh, when she was lost in thought, when she danced, when she was frustrated with him. He didn't want to submit them initially but he could only go for so long eating cold Spaghetti O's for dinner. He took a shot, maybe life would treat him well for once.
She shook her head. "You could've taken a picture of a bug and it still would've been better than the others."
"Maybe…"
She was quiet. Then, "You see things differently than everyone else. There's no gloss, it's just…unfiltered. Real."
He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. "Rose-colored glasses can't stay on forever."
She didn't say anything. Her eyebrows furrowed. He knew she was thinking of her mother. Prim, proper, put together on the outside, Mrs. Mason did her best to wrap herself in rose-colored foil, appearing shiny and reflecting the image back on everyone else. But he knew better, and she knew better. At least with his mother what you saw was what you got. It was the only time he found himself pitying her. More money, more problems.
They continued walking in silence. His thoughts turned back to the check in his pocket, what he would do with the money. He allowed his mind to fantasize what he could buy with it but, in the end, he always came back to the truth. What he would really spend it on. What he needed to spend it on. Not that he could ever tell her. She wouldn't understand; not anymore. Maybe at one point, when she and her family were like him, but they had managed to climb their way out of their hole. He and his mother were so far down the sun looked like a little piece of glitter.
"This is me," Alan finally spoke when they reached the corner where they parted and met up frequently. The line that divided them, him on one side with the rest of his kind and her on the other living in a world of fancy cars and flashy gadgets.
"Are you ever going to invite me to your place?" Mickey asked.
You wouldn't like it. It's not clean. It's not organized. It's not what you're used to; his thoughts shot through his brain rapidly but they always settled on the same thing. Shame. "My mom doesn't like visitors," he said. The same ol' lie slipped out easily.
She huffed. "I'm not a visitor though." He shrugged. "Our moms used to be friends." He kicked his shoe at the ground. The hole in the side of his sneaker allowed him a view of his sock-covered pinky toe. "Why did things have to change?"
That was the million-dollar question.
He didn't get a chance to answer, she had flung herself at him and wrapped her arms around his waist in a hug. His face contorted, his arms splaying out to his sides at the crash of their bodies. He sighed, scratched at his hairline and then ruffled her hair. "Okay, get you can get off me now," he said, his lip quirking ever-so-slightly in the corner.
"Sorry," she mumbled her apology right away. As she always did whenever she felt she crossed a line. When you were stuck in a box, closed so tightly around you, stepping over a line was inevitable. But as she backed away her smile was back on her face. "I'm just…really happy for you, y'know. I hope you keep taking pictures. You can do a lot with it."
Alan pushed a breath out of his nose. It must be nice, being able to believe in the future or see that far into it. Though, he supposed, someone had to. At least there was one person in his corner. He pressed his lips together. "Yeah, sure. We'll see."
She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Whatever. I'll see you later. Come for dinner if you want. Mom'll be at the Country Club tonight."
"Maybe."
"We're having my dad's pot roast," she said in a sing-song voice, a siren call if he'd ever heard one. Her dad's pot roast was the best thing he'd ever had; it beat the spam meatloaf his mother tried to smother in ketchup.
Still, he resisted the pull. She couldn't take care of him forever, couldn't try to fix him. The sooner she learned that, the better. The better off she'd be and the better he could breathe.
"I…gotta do something. Okay? I'll call you later."
He didn't wait for her to reply. He turned and kept walking in the direction of his house. He counted to one-hundred and then shifted directions, walking towards the set of stores a little ways away. He passed by Gus's convenience store, making sure to keep his head low so as not to show his face. A few feet down he spied the pawn shop. His hand stilled when his fingers curled around the doorknob. You gotta do this. Be a man! He sucked in a breath and headed inside.
He walked straight up to the counter and waited for someone to attend to him. He drummed his fingers against the strap of his backpack and looked around, his eyes ping-ponging from the guns to the jewelry to the art and everything in between. A throat cleared. He turned around and gaped at the tattooed, blond woman that stared at him, leaning over the counter with a pierced eyebrow raised. Waiting.
"Y'lost, sweetie?" she asked.
His mouth moved, uttering silent words until his voice came back to him. "I need to pawn something."
"Good thing y'came here, then, huh?" Her blood-red lipstick covered lips pulled back into a smile. She leaned back, standing at full height and looked him up and down. "How old are you?"
He kept a straight face as he replied, "Nineteen."
"Uh-huh." She clicked her tongue and looked him over again. "Got ID?"
He dug into his pocket for his wallet. He pulled out his ID and handed it over to her, rehearsing the birthdate in his mind that was stamped on the copy. The one that aged him up by three years. He waited as she looked it over, holding it up to the light, and then held it back to him. "What is it you wanna part with, sweetie?"
Alan retrieved the camera from his backpack. Barely a scratch on it, still in near-perfect condition. Just as it was when he opened the carefully wrapped box on Christmas a year ago. It came with a schedule for the classes he'd be taking that summer, he remembered, all covered and taken care of by 'Anonymouse' as the card read. He remembered just staring at it for ages, being too scared to pick it up. It took him even longer to finally pick up the phone and thank Mickey (and to call her out for trying to be clever with her misspelling and thinly veiled attempt at actual anonymity only to come off as so cheesy. Writing Secret Santa would've been better).
The woman whistled as she looked at it. "That's some hardware. And you wanna part with it?"
"Look, can y'give me somethin' for it or what?"
She turned the camera around in her hands, looking at it this way and that, peering at the viewfinder, testing out the buttons and checking the lenses. She hummed and then set the camera down. "It's about a year off, right?"
"Yeah. I got it last year. Took a few pictures with it. It's been wiped, nothing's on it." Just won a contest with it. He kept that tidbit to himself. She wouldn't care.
"Good brand." Her lips pursed and then she nodded. "I can give you about…two-fifty for it."
He clenched his jaw. It was worth much more; he knew, he did his research. But what other chance did he have to get money that fast? It wasn't like there were many other options for him. There may be other contests but who knew when they'd come around? If they even did.
"Fine," he said. He nodded and rubbed his hand against his lower lip. "That's fine."
The woman held out her hand and he gave it a firm shake. The next time he touched her was when she put the money in his palm. The time after that was twenty minutes later, after she slipped out the back of the pawn shop and they got into the backseat of her car for "some fun" as she said. And it was fun while it lasted.
Alan headed straight for the meetup spot. By the time he got there the gang were waiting for him, cigarette smoke curling from their lips and up into the air. The leader, Colton, grinned when Alan approached. A few of his gold teeth glimmered in the sunlight.
"There he is! Was worried ya weren't gonna show," he said as he flicked his cigarette away. He rubbed his tattooed hands together and approached Alan. "You got my money?"
"Yeah." Alan nodded and retrieved the bills from his pocket. "It's all there." His eyes darted around and he shoved his hands into his pockets.
Colton nodded as he counted the bills. "Knew I can always count on ya."
"Yeah." Alan turned to walk away.
"Hey, don't go too far there, Carson. I might need you to push some merchandise."
Alan turned around. "Can't y'find someone else?"
Colton laughed. "You're my best runner! What…you're not growin' soft, are ya?" All warmth left Colton's face and his stare hardened.
"Nah, man," Alan replied. "I'm just…busy."
"Look, we have an agreement. You run for me and you got first pickings of what we have left over."
"I know, but—"
"Let me put it to you this way." Colton clapped his hand down on Alan's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. Alan's bones creaked beneath Colton's grip. "You're only done…when I say you're done. Okay? Or do I have to put some sense into you?" Alan didn't reply. "Maybe I should pay that friend of yours a visit? Mickayla I think is her name?" He sucked in a breath, turning his wide whiskey eyes to Colton who grinned again. "Yeah, I know all about you. Have t'take care of my investments, y'know? So, unless you want her to have problems, we won't have problems? Got it?" He patted Alan's cheek and laughed, the rest of his gang joining in. He gave Alan's shoulder a push, turning him away. "Now get. I'll come callin' for ya."
Alan did as he was told, turned and started walking. He walked all the way back home. The moment he got in through the front door his mother came out of her room with a big smile on her face and bright eyes.
"There you are! I was wonderin' when you'd get home!" Her southern accent twanged as she approached him.
"What's goin' on, Momma?" Alan asked.
"I got a job interview today!" She exclaimed. Her lipstick-smudged lips stretched into a smile. "Your momma's gonna get this one, I can tell. It's at a bank, a teller but it's somethin'." She smoothed her hands on her wrinkled pants and finger combed her hair. "How do I look? Do I look okay?"
Alan set his backpack down on the couch, taking time to lean over and affectionately scratch behind Mittens ears. Mittens purred and curled against his hand. "You look fine, Momma," he said, standing up. Was this finally it? Was she going to get her act together and keep this job this time? This was the most coherent he'd seen her in weeks; her eyes weren't glassy and her speech wasn't slurred. But who knew how long it would last this time?
"I really think I'm good for this one. Not that I don't like doin' hair at the salon but…this is a better chance for me. For us," his mother continued. "I know things haven't been…the best, lately. But I'll make it better for you, baby. You'll see." She clicked her tongue and messed with her clothes again. "Think I'll make a good impression? I had to pull what I had but I think this will do fine."
Alan's eyes went to his mother's clothes again and his stomach twisted. When was the last time she tried this hard for a job interview? He couldn't remember and he knew that he couldn't just let her walk into the bank with winkles and creases in her clothes. Easy come, easy go. With reluctance, he reached into his pocket and held the check out to his mother.
"Momma, go get something for your interview," he said.
She took the check and opened it, her eyes widening at the numbers on the paper. He had done the same thing. "Baby, where did you—"
"Doesn't matter," he interrupted her. "Just…go and get better clothes. So you can get that job."
She reached out and took his face in her hands. He tried to squirm out of her grasp but she leaned forward and placed a kiss on his cheek. His skin burned at the touch, a foreign one with instances few and far between. "I love you, baby. We're gonna be okay."
He didn't say a word as she grabbed her purse and rushed out of the house. With a resigned sigh, Alan carried Mittens into the kitchen where he went for the cupboard and grabbed a can of Spaghetti O's for dinner.
# # #
Squid dragged his weary body back to the camp. His shovel dragged on the ground behind him, finding every rock along the way and scraped over it. Every bump, every reverb up the shaft shook him like an earthquake. He trailed behind the others, peering at the six backs in front of him through half-lidded eyes. His free arm swung by his side, limp like a noodle. When was the last time he ate? He thought back. Too long. Dinner was soon but he wasn't sure he could wait that long. His body was telling him that he couldn't, anyway. He didn't want a repeat of what happened before. He could slip in and out of the kitchen before anyone noticed. Making up his mind, he tossed his shovel on the nearby pile and changed direction.
"Hey man, where ya goin'? Thought we were gonna have a game of dice," X-Ray called out to him.
They really couldn't call it dice, they had no dice so they played with a few rocks that they had scratched marks into. Nothing special but he was pretty good at the game. They had to find any way they could to entertain themselves.
"I'll be right there. I need to do somethin'," he replied.
The rest of his tent headed towards their lodgings while Squid continued onto the Mess Hall. His boots had barely clomped up the stairs when he heard the muffled shouting from inside. The door banged against the wall due to the strength in which Squid threw open the door. He strode inside and barely allowed the sight in front of him to register in his mind before he grabbed Eagle by the collar of his shirt and shoved him away from Mouse who sat curled on the ground, her fingers gripping her hair.
"What the fuck did you do?" Squid shouted in Eagle's wide-eyed, stunned expression.
"Nothin', man! I didn't do nothin'!" Eagle replied.
"Bullshit!"
"I didn't! She just started freakin' out!"
"She's having a panic attack, dipshit!" Squid shoved Eagle away, who stumbled over his feet and nearly fell over.
"I didn't know! I tried to get her to Mom but—"
Wrong. Squid wanted to kick Eagle's ass for that idea alone. "Man, just leave her alone. Get the fuck outta here."
"Hey man—" Eagle's words withered away beneath the sheer ferocity in Squid's glare. He looked as if he were about to protest but then thought better of it and scurried away.
The silence that settled over the room was broken by Mouse's sharp intakes of breath every now and then. It downgraded from the loud sobs he'd heard only a few moments before. He carefully approached Mouse and sat down on the floor in front of her. He studied her for a moment, listening to her breathing. And it all came back, like it was yesterday. "You'll be okay," he told her. "Everything's going to be okay. You just have to breathe with me. Alright? Just…breathe on my count, if you can do that." If Mouse heard him she didn't reply, her head still faced downwards but her fingers, he noticed, had loosened their grip on her hair. "Okay? Breathe in…two…three, now breathe out…two…three."
He kept breathing and counting, despite not seeing any sort of response from Mouse that indicated she heard him. And then her hands slowly dropped from her head and she looked up and him…and she started breathing on his count. He eventually stretched his breathing and counting out to six and by that point her shoulders had slumped and her breathing returned to normal.
They looked at each other and Squid was the first to turn his eyes away. He cleared his throat and then got to his feet. Her eyes followed him, watching. He went into the kitchen, grabbed a random can of corn and a couple spoons. He popped the lid open and threw it away. He searched around the kitchen until he found a stash of Snickers, of which made him take pause, but he grabbed one and went back into the front to see Mouse still sitting on the ground.
"Here." He held the can out to her until she took it in trembling hands. He sat down in front of her once more and tore the paper off his candy bar. He took a bite and closed his eyes at the rush of sugar that hit his tongue. Fuck, he missed it. He chewed and watched her slowly lift the spoonful of canned creamed corn up to her mouth.
"You still have panic attacks?" He made a face right after the question left his mouth. Because no shit she still had them. But he remembered her having them when she was younger too, usually around a dance competition and he didn't get it. But after the party…he didn't know much about her anymore.
Her wry look shifted from his face to the candy bar in his hand. "You still have diabetes?"
"Touché."
Silence.
"Did he do anything?" Mouse's eyebrows crinkled. "Eagle." She shook her head. "You can't trust him."
"Great advice coming from you."
He didn't miss the bite in her words. "We're all criminals, Mouse. He's one too." Mouse shoved the spoon into the can. "You can't trust everyone."
"Rose-colored glasses can't stay on forever," she commented, her words now a rasp. He didn't say anything. She let out a little bitter laugh. "I've learned that lesson, you'll be glad to know."
Maybe he would have been glad, once upon a time, but not now. Not if he knew how she'd learn it. "Then why're you still bothering with him?"
She shrugged. "Friends close, enemies closer?"
"Fuck, you don't even know why he has his name!" She frowned. "Eagle's a fucking coward. He'd do anything for his freedom. Anything. It's only a matter of time until he throws you to the wolves too."
"You'd know all about that, right?" Mouse asked. This time Squid flinched at the way she looked at him. Like he was worthless, as he'd always feared she thought of him. No matter how many times she told him he wasn't. But this time, he knew he was. "Pack mentality at its finest." She shook her head. "Try to take one out, there's always back up."
He sat up straight. Wait… He looked at her, really looked at her, and his previous thoughts about why she was there came back to him. Assault, she had said. And he'd laughed at it. Who would she assault? But now it made sense. "You beat up Brett?"
She licked her lower lip. "I tried. He's still bigger than me. Stronger." Her eyes squinted. "More connected than I'll ever be."
"Your mom's the top divorce lawyer in town."
"And Brett Walker's dad is the best judge. He has more connections back home; knows more people. You really think anyone was going to take my case against him again?"
Squid blinked. "What do you mean again?" She sucked in her breath, a sharp hissing sound that filled the empty room. She let it all out in one loud woosh, staring down at her shaking hand. "What do you mean again?" he pressed. She didn't reply. "You took him to court once before?"
"I tried," she admitted, her voice now a whisper. "I tried. I had…told my dad what happened. I couldn't tell Mom. I knew the way she'd…the way she'd look at me. The way she'd talk about me. I just…couldn't tell her. But I had to tell someone. And I told my dad and…" She squeezed her eyes shut. He saw a tear building on her lid but it didn't fall. "And we tried to do something about it. Have Brett face what he did. Nothing happened. No pressed charges, nothing. The entire time I reported it they were asking me questions. What was I wearing? How much did I drink? Didn't I know what would happen if I went to that party?" She shook her head. "Like it was my fault what he chose to do. Nothing stuck and everything went away. And so I figured I had to do the same, act like nothing happened, if everyone else was. I went to baseball practice—I made the team by the way—and I saw him and I just…snapped. Tried to beat him up with the bat. I was arrested and charged with assault.
"Mom tried to find a lawyer that would take me, but no one wanted to go against the Walker family So it was court-assigned. And my judge was a 'non-biased party', so they claim. but my lawyer barely stood a chance. And I lost." Her lips curled inwards. They pressed into a line. Squid ducked when she drew her arm back and threw the can. It smacked against the wall behind them, corn bursting out in all directions. It was no wonder she made the team with a throw like that. "I always lose! I'm so tired of losing! I tried to get Brett to face what he did, I lose. I tried to take it into my own hands, I lose. I'm just a stupid girl who couldn't handle a party. Who couldn't handle a drink. Who made a bad decision and regretted it. Had too much fun and regretted it. My problem, my fault, my failure. Back home I'm just the girl who fought and lost. And that's all I'll ever be. So, maybe, being here isn't entirely bad. Because they don't know, and they can't judge me and I can have my name back. I want that at least."
Squid put the candy bar down just so he had something to do and wasn't just staring at her. How was it possible for someone to feel such rage, shame, guilt, frustration, and sadness all at the same time and not explode? He wondered if it burned inside her as much as it did him. And then he mentally slapped himself for thinking something so stupid. And he opened his mouth to respond, say something about getting it, about understanding what she meant, but instead what came out was "I'm sorry, Mickey."
Everything stilled. The distant dripping of cream from the wall onto the floor amplified. Her mouth twisted to the side and she sniffed, brushing her nose against the sleeve of her shirt. Her tongue swiped against her bottom lip and she lifted her chin, motioning towards the door as she said, "You can go. I'm feeling better."
He clenched his jaw. There was his out but if he was going to stop digging his own grave he'd have to put the shovel down sometime. He picked up his forgotten candy bar, barely allowing his thoughts to shift to the dirt that probably now dusted the candy, and took a bite. "I'm good," he stated and got comfortable.
a/n - Hey there! If there's anyone still around reading this, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Man, I just love writing Squid's back story (btw, I hope the jumps through time when it comes to the past aren't too confusing! The flashbacks aren't linear to any degree but I think I'm writing them in a way that it isn't too hard to piece together). More B-Tent is coming up; Squid's not joking when he says that Eagle will do anything for his freedom. How far he goes is yet to be seen but let's just say B-Tent takes care of their own like D-Tent are known for. Being swindled by X-Ray won't earn them any favors. But we have some break through with Squid and Mickey! He apologized! What happens next, well, you'll see! ;)
Thanks for being patient between updates; please read and review!
~Musings
Review Replies
LittleBlueSweater: Imagining that gif playing made me laugh, thanks for putting a smile on my face! I come back to it a lot when I need a pick-me-up. I wonder where you'll be this time when I get the update/a chance to read. Hope it makes/made your day! Thanks so much for that! I work hard to show their development not just through flashbacks but as they go through the events of the book in the background as well. Having them be three dimensional and being real is a goal I put a lot of work towards and I'm glad to know it shows! Thank you for the review! And as to answer your question: I like to think that I could adapt and make my way through the situation (hint hint towards Mickey's CGL name actually!) but I think I would end up calling it quits at some point, to be honest. Physically I think I'd be fine but it would be such a challenge mentally. Thanks for asking!
ThornNB: Aww, dude, the fact that I've made someone speechless made me speechless! Seriously, it took me a few tries to figure out how I wanted to reply to this. I come back to your comment a lot when I feel stuck writing something (for this fic and for others) and it's helped me have enough motivation to finish this and get another chapter out. Thank you so much for your kind words! I hope this one lives up to expectations!
Guest 3: Thanks so much for the kind words! I try my best to differentiate myself in the fandom; though the girl goes to CGL trope is used a lot (which honestly I see why, the appeal is hard to ignore) but I do my best to give it a little more substance and make it my own with how the girl relates to the characters and works through her own self and past to come out in the end different. Romance stories are great, but I wanted to read something more about the campers and their platonic relationships with each other and I really wanted to dive into Squid's backstory so, I figured, may as well write it!