Author's Note: I changed my penname from LibertyxIsxLove to LibertyBellJar between chapters, so hopefully that didn't cause any confusion
Working the graveyard shift of the local twenty-four-hour convenience store could not be said to be the most favorable job in the word. But, the way the young clerk saw it, you had your perks. Witnessing the craziest of the crazies, for example, as he was now.
One of the two soaking wet girls before him merely glared ferociously when he smirked, "Having a fun night, ladies?"
The one with black hair slurred, "You knooow you want in on this action," and gestured angrily at herself. Her friend sighed in embarrassment.
"Just get us some paper towels, please. Lots of them."
She didn't look like the type to be messed with, so he quickly headed to the inventory room to grab the econo-pack of paper towels.
Once he was out of hearing range, Daria gave Jane a sideways glance.
"Once we're, you know, not entirely drenched, how are we getting back to Boston?" she asked, taking on a harsh tone.
"I don't know." They had just been greeted with a glowing "CLOSED" sign at the bus terminal, so that was out of the question. Jane pondered for a moment before suggesting, "Hitchhiking?"
"I think that's a great idea. Ever since I was a little girl, I've dreamed about becoming another statistic."
The clerk returned from the back with the paper towels.
"Eight-fifty," he announced.
Daria threw a few crumpled up bills at him, picked up the paper towels, and mumbled something about keeping the change. She and Jane exited the store before he could stop them.
Once outside, they found a public restroom and went to separate stalls to tidy up. Daria chose this moment to begin ranting.
"Goddamnit, we're over an hour away from Boston, and now we're going to catch pneumonia because of your—your stupidity! And we can't even stay in a hotel because you gave all our money to the bum—!"
"Daria, calm down," hissed Jane. "People can hear you outside."
"It's three in the morning, damnit! The only people out right now are even drunker than you!"
"Stop it! We're gonna get out of here, okay?"
The restroom fell into silence after that, and Jane had to assume Daria was pushing her anger down inside of her, as per usual. They finished drying themselves and walked out to the dimly lit sinks.
Jane opened her mouth, and Daria, knowing she was about to propose a way out of town for them, told her sternly, "We are not hitching a ride."
"The more you refuse it, the more likely it is to happen. That's statistics."
"There really isn't any hope for you in math, is there?" Daria began wiping her glasses on her shirt, more to distract herself than anything else. As much as she was playing the part of the adult, her thoughts were crumbling fast and she was achingly sleepy. Jane wasn't going to hold up much longer, either.
Placing her glasses on her face, she put forward slowly, "Maybe—maybe—if we're really careful, and really focused-"
"Holy shit!" Jane gasped joyfully. "We're going to hitchhike!"
"It's not fun!" snapped Daria. "We're putting ourselves in a lot of dangg…" she was stumbling over the words, and her forcing her heavy eyelids to stay open. "A lot of danger, and this is only because we have no other rezzz…sort."
Jane slung an arm over Daria's shoulder, and the pair marched out of the bathroom, carrying the remaining paper towels and booze.
"We're going to look pretty suspicious," Jane remarked, looking at the liquor and paper tissue.
Daria cast a doubtful eye on Jane's red mini dress and jacket combo. "Yeah, but not for the reason you think."
Luckily, the central square of the town, where their night of activity had deposited them, was at an intersection of several major roads, and they were able to sit down in front of the "No Pedestrians" sign at the side of an on ramp.
"We should probably have some light," Jane mumbled, and she fumbled around in her pocket until she had her cell phone.
"Why aren't your calls going through?" Daria asked, too bored not to talk, and too tired to think of anything more stimulating.
"They aren't?" Jane cocked her head to the side. "Oh, wait. I think it's water damage."
"Figures."
Jane turned it over in her hand. "I think I'll keep it, though. It has a nice color-"
"CAR!" Daria screamed, jumping up and pointing at the highway.
Jane flipped her phone open, pointing the paltry ray of light at the road. Daria waved her arms frantically in the direction of the oncoming headlights.
The man inside the car slowed momentarily, gave them a surprisingly frightened look, and sped off into the night.
"Damn." Jane dropped her cellphone to the ground and took a seat beside it.
Daria leaned against the sign post, and began counting the dashes on the road until they all blurred in the distance. Her counting didn't last long, of course, because it seemed everything was blurring.
"I think there's another car!" Jane yelled out, after what felt like an eternity.
The two jumped off the ground, and began waving hands and lit up cell phones, though not as aggressively as previously.
A dilapidated station wagon pulled to the side of the ramp, and a frantic but genial young woman rolled down her window.
"Do you guys need a ride?" she asked, slurping down a can of gas station energy drink.
The elated expressions on Daria's and Jane's faces were more than enough explanation, and the woman babbled on, "I'm Shania, and I'm not, you know, a creeper driving around at this hour." She drank some more of her concoction. "I'm just soooo into my work, and yadda yadda, I actually live in the Boston suburbs. Weird, right? My job's at the state college here, and I needed to transfer onto the other road to get back-"
"We're at Raft and BFAC," Daria cut in, after her and Jane's anticipation had gotten too high. "Can you get there?"
"Of courrrse," she smiled broadly at them. "But first things first…" she paused ominously. "Neither of you are murderers, are you?"
Daria and Jane gave each other uneasy looks, and Shania burst out laughing. "I had to ask! Oh my god, when is the next time I'll be picking up hitchhikers in the dead of night! Oh lord!" She unlocked the doors. "Giiiit in!"
Without any objections, they did as they were told.
"You drive a lot?" Daria asked, her usual sarcasm replaced with sincere fear. Shania had just taken a hairpin turn at a breakneck speed.
"Yeeah," she giggled. "I used to drive semi's, but I had to quit 'caussa the trucker culture. I mean, amphetamines get to you after awhile."
Jane nodded solemnly, as if she understood exactly what Shania was talking about.
Daria rested her head on the window, the blur of street lights and gas stop signs doing nothing to quell her nausea. She was frantically trying to reel in memories of what she'd done, but her recollection came in patches. She'd gulped down some tequila, and felt like dying, she remembered that, and then—there was something with a bookstore.
"Jane." Daria tugged on her jacket. "What were we doing at a bookstore?"
"I dunno. Why would we go to one of those? I'm waaaaay too cool to spend my night out like that."
"Whatever you say," Daria muttered, rolling over and slumping down.
She was close to falling asleep when she heard Shania exclaim, "Oh fuck!"
Both Jane and Daria sat straight up.
"What? What happened?"
Shania began muttering vehemently, "Those money grubbing, dickheaded…"
Daria and Jane gazed out the window, and saw a solitary BP gas station.
"Oh. That's all." Daria fell back into her trance.
Jane, however, was not so nonchalant about the matter, and quickly rolled down her window and leaned out.
Daria opened one eye. "Jane..?"
Much to her alarm, she was sticking herself out the window at waist's length. To Daria's further alarm, she extended a middle finger and began shouting, "Hey, you bastards!"
"Goddamnit!"
Daria yanked Jane back inside the cabin, and reached over her to roll down the window. "Goddamnit."
Shania was whooping and pumping her fist, and a horrified Daria shouted at her to keep both hands on the wheel.
"It's like dealing with two babies," she griped at them.
A few minutes later, she had to ask Shania to pull over so she could throw up.
She half fell out of the car, and bent over a thicket of wildflowers, yelling at Jane to get out and pull her hair back.
Jane placidly stood behind her retching friend, and remarked, "If this was a bad teen comedy, this would be the moment that officially makes us BFF's."
"Goddamnit, Jane!"
Daria had to brush her aside and knelt down on the ground after noticing her glasses had fallen off her face.
She found them, but not before inadvertently digging into an ant hill and Jane had asked several times if she was done puking. Once she was confident that there would be no more sickness, she led Daria back to the car.
Shania turned around in her seat. "You okay?"
Daria shook her head, and replied dryly "Not until I wash my mouth out with bleach."
"That sounds like something my grandma would do to me if she heard me swear," Jane joked, but Daria didn't seem to find the humor in it, preferring to recline horizontally in the seat.
Jane frowned. "Yeah, don't leave any room for me. Jesus."
Daria had come to pass into a stupor, so she didn't respond to this comment, and Jane accepted her lot and tried to get comfortable.
Shania smiled wistfully at them.
"God, I miss the stupid crap I did in college," she sighed.
Jane opened her eyes for a moment.
"Shania," she spoke up. "I-I love you and all, but put the Monster down…while you're driving. Mmmmm'kay?"
"Of course, honey," Shania soothed as if addressing an infant. Jane relaxed and closed her eyes.
Their driver smiled at them once more, and she reluctantly secured her drink in the holder, watching the moonlight glint off the dented aluminum.
The members of Mystik Spiral piled into the convention center, eventually finding the one ballroom that hadn't been locked. All of the lights were out, but they could sense a certain buzzing energy that indicated they were not alone.
Jesse scanned the entire room, but he couldn't see anyone.
"Helloooooooooooo..?"
Nick tugged at his sleeve and pointed to a makeshift stage at the end of the hall, with a curtained off area behind it, presumably to create some sort of back stage.
The three of them walked the length of the ballroom, eventually circling the stage. There was some rustling behind the curtains, but it was still shrouded in darkness.
Abruptly, they heard someone clear their throat, and the lights came on.
Their eyes widened at what they now saw lying on the stage.
"Our instruments!" Max shouted ecstatically.
The other two could only stand there dumbfounded, seeing their frontman appear on the platform.
"Hey! You're s'posed to be in Australia!" Nick called out, looking peeved and expectant of a satisfying explanation.
Trent only gave him an ambiguous grin and answered, "Yeah, but there was something waiting for me here in Lawndale." He stopped for a moment of reflection before adding rhythmically, "Something rarer than…a mermaid's tail/Like Helen of Troy set a million ships to sail."
"Couldn't you just get a mermaid's tail from a regular fish?" Jesse cut in. For this observation, he received a sharp glare from Trent.
"The point is," he growled. "I have someone I really want you to meet."
At this, a girl stumbled out from behind the curtain, her unsteady gait caused by black high heels to which she clearly hadn't adjusted. She flattened the frizzles in her hair and smiled vacantly at them.
"Hiiiiii, band."
The three other members stared blankly back at her.
"Trent..?" Max felt his voice squeak higher than he'd like to admit.
Trent put an arm around the girl, who appeared to be swaying in the very slight breeze.
He introduced them after coughing for a bit. "Guys, this is Tiffany. Tiffany, guys."
Tiffany widened her vague smile. "Hiiiiii, guys."
Trent gave her a warm look and continued, "Tiffany's been a good friend and inspiration to me, and even though we've only known each other a few weeks, she's already agreed to do an awesome favor for the band…"
"Right," Max cut him short, crossing his arms. "I remember you gushing on about the same things about a certain member of The Harpies."
Trent bristled at the mention of his former girlfriend, but regained his coolness.
"Monique and I had a very…troubled relationship. I realized I should stay away from romance and that stuff for awhile, and Tiffany's been helping me with that."
"Yeeeah," she smiled at him. "It's soooo coolhow we talked about your problems on the internet. It was, like, a meet-cute"
Seeing that his bandmates were puzzled by this, Trent quickly explained, "Tiffany and I met on a chatroom about Lawndale life while I was on vacation."
Max raised an eyebrow. "Soooo…you met someone you wanted to hang out with who lived in the same town as you…through the internet…while you were on a different continent?"
Trent nodded. "Yeah. So?"
Max shook his head. "It's like when they make a novel out of a movie that was based on a book. Just cut out the middle man, man."
Trent's expression darkened again. "I thought you guys would be supportive."
"Yeah," Tiffany agreed, placing her hands on her hips. "You guys would suck if you were bras."
Max and Jesse grew very uncomfortable at this allegation, and an exasperated Nick piped up, "Trent, we're real glad that you're making new friends and whatever else, but if you're going to let someone else get involved in the band, we're not gonna take part in it."
"I'm noooooot a Yoko," Tiffany insisted.
"Would it be that bad if you were?" Max wondered aloud. "I mean, she was very good with money. I'm not opposed to someone else handling our finances."
"And if she's really good, I could quit my day job!" Jesse gasped in wonderment.
"Nobody's quitting their day job!" Trent yelled over them. "Tiffany's just gonna try to get us gigs."
Tiffany nodded her head. "I haaaave these connections. I think." She paused. "Maaaaybe they're contacts. Oh well. I can stillll get you shows."
Max and Jesse bobbed their heads happily at this, but Nick crossed his arms.
"We're real artists," he countered. "And we don't need some mainstreaming PR chick to try to sell us out."
Tiffany looked crestfallen as she replied, "But I had to work reeeeeeeally hard to get my dad to let you play at the tattoo convention."
"Well that's all well and good, but—" Nick froze when he comprehended her last statement. "Wha—wait; did you say tattoo convention?"
Max's eyes flashed. "The Mid-Atlantic Tattoo Artistry Convention? That one?"
Tiffany seemed perplexed. "Uhhhh, I guess so."
Nick's hand flew to his mouth, and he sputtered, "You don't mean—your dad didn't—we have a gig at MATAC?"
Tiffany shrugged. "He coordinates the, like, conventions and stuff her, and since you guys are all alterrrrrrnative, I figured-?"
Max, Nick, and Jesse circled around her and began cheering. Trent gave them a "told you so" smile.
"We'll have to, actually, you know, practice regularly," he reminded them.
"Yeah, I know," Max replied. "But we're playing at MATAC! It's so badass!"
"Yeah, badass!" Jesse intoned happily.
"Hey! Let's get that keg out of the Tank!" Nick suggested.
Max and Jesse responded agreeably, and the trio ran out of the ballroom.
Trent and Tiffany sat down at the edge of the stage, relieved that Tiffany's reception had gone well, if not smoothly.
"Are they gone?" a voice whispered from behind the curtain.
"Yeeeeah." Tiffany playfully kicked the air.
"Sandi…Sandi, get up!"
Trent and Tiffany turned around, and saw Sandi being dragged from behind the curtain.
"We were back there for ten minutes! How did you fall asleep?" Stacy hissed.
Sandi pulled herself free from Stacy, only to fall onto her side, grumbling all the while about her family disturbing her beauty sleep regimen
Trent raised an eyebrow. "Is she okay?"
Stacy kneeled beside her, sighing, "Yeah, probably." She glanced over at Trent. "Would you mind driving us home? There's no way she's making it back by walking."
"I can still hear you," mumbled Sandi.
"Shhhhh." Tiffany put a finger to her lips. "Don't panic when we throw you into the backseat, okaaaay?"
Sandi panicked. "The backseat?"
Trent and Stacy hoisted Sandi up while Tiffany rolled her eyes. "And you complain about meeeeeee repeating things like an idiot."
Sandi squirmed about, and, after being carried into the lobby, grudgingly agreed to walk herself to Trent's car.
"Praise the lord," Stacy muttered, rubbing her lower back.
They made their way to the parking lot, where the other members of Mystik Spiral were too busy inside the Tank to notice the outside world.
"That's a reeeeeeeally nice keg," Tiffany remarked, evidently impressed. Stacy and Sandi did not share the sentiment, and plopped themselves into their seats as soon as Trent unlocked the car.
"Tiffany, you don't want to miss your curfew, do you?" Trent asked in exasperation.
"Noooooooooo," she replied, not looking away from the Tank.
Desperate to get home and crawl into her own bed, Sandi barked, "TIFFANY. Get in. NOW."
"Fiiiiiiiine." Tiffany slipped in beside Stacy, who was fervently hoping that Sandi would not be given any further reasons to shout.
"Okay. All aboard," Trent affirmed. The car sputtered, but it pulled out onto the main road without incident, and wound its way up to the rolling, manmade hills of Lawndale's residential sector.