Youth Novels

Chapter Five

Brian was worried.

Granted, he was usually worried. There was always something nagging at the back of his overworked brain. Most of the time, his worries and fears were allotted to school and the weight of his parents expectations. Sometimes, they lingered on other things that didn't bear thinking off and as of recently the sometimes had become the constant. Alongside the nagging voice now spoke a darker negative entity. It was a logical thing that whispered in a manner his parents had never quite managed. It made Brian listen to it that way; otherwise he'd never have taken the flare gun from his Dad's fishing boat in the first place.

After Saturday, he'd become determined to drown it out through music and work and conversation but still it held on, whispering. Tuesday morning was the first time he'd had silence in a week, and yet he couldn't enjoy the silence. He could not linger on the light weed induced buzz in his brain or the way his fingertips felt like leaden weights. He bumbled along the sidewalk behind Duncan and Garth, thoughts growing more and more paranoid. Brian was worried, he was really worried. What on earth had Bender gotten himself into this time?

"Garth?" he said, settling for who he thought was the more sensible of the operation (if indeed such a thing were possible). "What's Bender doing?"

The boy turned a glazed hazel eye his way, a knot of thought forming between his brows. "Wha' now?"

"Bender," Brian repeated patiently. "Why does he need to get money together?" 'How's he doing it?'

"You heard him," said Duncan, hitting a bush violently with a stick. Damaged leaves rustled through the air."Hospital bills for his Dad."

"Doesn't his Dad work?"

"Nope. Hasn't worked in five years. A truck went into the side of his when he was backing out of a truck stop, totally screwed his back up."

Brian thought about it for a moment. "…Is that why," he began carefully. "His Dad is…you know…like he is?"

Duncan glanced over his shoulder, considering him. "…No," he said eventually. "His Dad's always been like that. He's a bit worse now cause of the pain," he conceded. "And Bender sure likes to piss him off." There was a thwack as Duncan hit an overhanging branch. A bird squawked into flight overhead and the boy laughed.

To Brian, that made sense oddly enough. John had made it pretty clear from his depiction of his family life that he ran his mouth at his parents in the exact same way he ran it at everyone else. If only he could be so brave.

"How's he getting the money?" he asked curiously.

Duncan shrugged. "The same way he always does."

"Drugs?"

The skinhead grinned an irritating grin. "Sometimes."

"What about today?"

As Duncan opened his mouth to give what was likely to be another evasive reply, Garth cut across him.

"Dude, you know it's bad karma to talk about other people's business without their permission," Garth fixed him with what might have been an admonishing look if he hadn't been so stone. "If you wanna know so badly, ask Bender."

Brian nodded, feeling both a little ashamed and left out. He wasn't really one of them, even if he did get a ride with Bender the same as them. They'd only started speaking with him as of yesterday so they owed him no such information. To save face, he searched for an excuse.

"Sorry, it's just Claire's going to ask questions," he mumbled. "He told me to tell her he wasn't coming in."

"Let her ask him then," Garth shrugged. "It's not your problem. Just enjoy the high-" And he spread out his hands out to worship the grey March sky like a greasy Jim Morrison.

"So how'd a milk and cookies kid like you end up serving the old nine with Bender?" Duncan asked abruptly.

The question took him by surprise. Brian swallowed. He should've been expecting it sooner or later. But how to answer it?

"Forget to do your homework?" ribbed the boy at his silence.

"My locker…" he hesitated. His eyes dropped. Could he lie? He was awful at lying. "I…"

"Left your homework in your locker?" tutted Duncan with a grin.

There was a smack. Brian jumped in surprise.

"The fuck?!" Duncan rubbed the back of his head and glared angrily at Garth. "Are you looking to get your head kicked in?!"
But Garth lifted the joint from his lips and stuck it in between the fuming punk's ones. "Chill, Dee, it was just a slap," He turned to Brian. "Was that was your locker that blew up? I heard some science project exploded."

Brian regarded him cautiously, unsure of what to think. Was Garth was giving him a way out? Had Bender told Garth what happened and now he was taking pity on him? Brian swallowed. Even that seemed beneath Bender. He was the type of guy who preferred to humiliate people when they were still within earshot.

"Yeah," Brian took the lifeline, whatever it was. "It's was pretty embarrassing."

The boy nodded, cracked his knuckles with his thumb and shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. "These things happen. No need to be embarrassed."

And with that, Garth headed on ahead of them, sauntering along the sidewalk. Brian could only stare after him in dumb appreciation. Despite all odds and rumours to the contrary, Garth Volbeck appeared to be a pretty decent guy. So he hurried his feet to catch up when Duncan began chasing after the boy with a half-drunk can of coke he'd found abandoned on the side walk.

At school, once they'd all gone their separate ways, Brian's worries began to resurface. By third period, the drug haze had lifted and Brian was back to the negative entity and his schoolwork and the pressures that his parents piled on him. He needed to talk to Claire. He knew like everyone else in the school knew where she and her friends hung out during lunch but the thought of approaching her then, as she sat in the centre holding court was too daunting even for him. They'd laugh at him, he knew that; Claire had told him as much. She'd also told him that she'd laugh too.

So he waited near where he knew her locker to be at the end of lunch. One of her friends, Amanda Jones was with her. Brian didn't know much about her but he knew enough to know she wasn't as bad as Caroline Mulford or Shayne Shrewsbury. Larry Lester had tutored her in algebra one time. He said she was nice.

"Claire?" he asked as he approached.

She turned suddenly. "Brian?" Her eyes widened. Even in her surprise, she looked tired. There were dark rings hiding beneath her makeup around her eyes. Brian didn't let the silence linger long enough to gage the level of her embarrassment at being seen speaking to him.

"Em, John-" he said hurriedly, least she sneer and turn him away. "He asked me to tell you something."

Claire led him out of earshot of her friend. "What?" she demanded. "Is he hurt?"

"No, he's-he's not in today."

"I gathered that," she replied, somewhat annoyed. "His van wasn't in the parking lot this morning."

"He told me to tell you that he'd be in tomorrow. He gave me a lift in with Duncan and Garth this morning."

"And? Is that it?"

Brian frowned at the coolness of her tone. So she was back to her usual icy self. Claire adjusted her purse on her shoulder, waiting.

"Brian, is there anything else because I need to get-"

"He said something about needing to-" he glanced around for any listeners as he dropped his voice to a whisper. "…hustle together some cash."

Claire froze. "Oh."

"And Duncan and Garth won't tell me how he's doing it. It's not…you know… grass. It's something else."

"Oh!" her eyes lit up in sudden realisation. "That fucker, he's gone to play pool!" Then she turned his anger on him. "God, Brian! You like totally nearly gave me a heart attack."

He blinked in confusion. "Pool?"

"He pool hustles."

Suddenly Duncan's grin made sense. "Is that even legal?"

"I think so," She looked a bit worried. "I mean, it's skill not outright cheating, right? I've never heard of anybody being arrested for it."
"Bender could probably manage to be arrested for doing just about anything."

Her dark eyes narrowed. "He's not that bad, Brian. You of all people should know that," she reprimanded him sharply.

Brian's cheeks burned with shame for the second time that day. "I didn't mean it like that. I'm just saying…" He stopped and sighed. He didn't know what he was saying. "So he's not in trouble then?"

Claire nibbled on her bottom lip. "As long as he doesn't start a fight, I guess. He nearly started a fight last night at a pool hall while we were out on a date."

"Sounds romantic." When Claire's eyes narrowed, Brian shifted awkwardly. "I meant him starting a fight. It was a joke."

"Yeah, I got it," she replied flatly. Then her expression softened. "… You're okay other than that?"

"Yeah, um, I-I'm better all things considered, thanks to Saturday."

Claire smiled. "Saturday was good. Well, see you around. Thanks for letting me know about John."

And with that she was off down the corridor with her friend. Brian stood for a moment afterwards. Claire and he were never really going to be friends; not on their own anyway. Their dynamic didn't work unless everyone was there.

Mr O'Neill's call to hurry to class shook him from his reverie. He sucked in a deep breath and reminded himself that he still needed to ace the rest of the semester. He spun around and walked in the direction of Shop as the second bell went.

The bell tinkled lightly as the door clicked closed behind her with a soft thump. Allison breathed in the familiar scent of freshly pressed vinyl and cardboard and quickly hurried to the punk section at the back, head down, least she be asked if she was looking for anything by the shop assistant and her tomboyish friend in a fisherman's cap by the counter.

It was half six on a Tuesday night and TRAX was deserted, even the kid who usually loitered by the tapes trying to pinch one wasn't there. Allison preferred it that way. Her upper lip curled as she ran her fingers over the sleeves one by one, flipping them forward until she reached the final one in the shelf. She didn't read album reviews, didn't listen to the radio: Allison picked her music by album sleeve. She liked to go through them all individually and try to imagine from the artwork and the feel of the song tracks what sort of sound of music inside made. And if she liked her deductions well enough, she'd buy it.

Of course, even she wasn't immune to influence: it was the very thing that had brought her to the record store that evening. In her hand she clasped the hastily scrawled recommendations Duncan had given her. It felt nice to have a friend to recommend things. So Allison hummed along to Morrissey's crooning voice in the background as she made head way into punk section. Every now and then, her eyes would wander towards the red headed shop assistant, engrossed in what looked to be schoolwork while her tomboyish friend busy slapped out beats on her thighs and every other available surface with a pair of drumsticks.

She knew them, or more correctly, she knew them to see. The red head in her flowers and lace was in her art class and the drummer girl was a regular fixture at Keith Nelson's side. Allison had never spoken to either of them; she'd never learned their names. Neither girl had noticed when she'd come in, absorbed as they were in their conversation and Allison had said nothing because she didn't know what to say. She didn't know how to talk to someone to make them like her. It had been easy on Saturday when she'd never intended to make anyone like her at all. She'd only gone in order not to be alone. Taking a gambling, she moved towards the end of the album shelf, closest to them and hoped that perhaps they might look up and take notice of her.

They didn't.

"You going to the Rave-Ups on Thursday?" She heard the Drummer girl ask as she tapped along to the beat of Pretty Girls make Graves.

Her companion shrugged, noncommittedly and wrote something down on the pad in front of her. "Maybe after I finish my algebra homework."

"I thought you were big into them."

"I am, it's just I have work."

"You're always working."

"GPAs don't maintain themselves."

"…Keith says he'll probably go," said Drummer girl, and suddenly she grew agitated. "If he can manage to remember something other than A-man-da Jones for five seconds… l don't get it. All she's done is won the genetic lottery."

The red head didn't take her eyes off her work. "Maybe she's nice as well as beautiful?"

"That's an oxymoron-" Drummer girl tossed the drumstick in the air. "-Beautiful people aren't nice, they've got no reason to be-" She caught it and drummed up a furiously paced beat. She looked furious too, her thin upper lip curled in an ugly frown which Allison highly doubted was from concentration. The red head didn't seem to notice, or maybe she did but she no longer cared. "-I just can't believe that my best friend, the guy I've known my whole life has gone and fallen for a pair of long legs and a concept just like every other douchebag in our grade. I always thought he was above all that bullshittery."

"Puberty makes fools of us all," drawled the red head, still not bothering to look up.

"Yeah, no kidding..."

That finally got her friend's attention. She raised her brown eyes and put down her pen. "Did you guys fight?"

Drummer girl's shoulders fell and deflated like a balloon. "I just can't be around him when he's like this. He's all loved up over a big fat nothing."

"You don't know that. He hasn't even asked her out yet."

"Exactly. She's going to say 'no' and then he's going to get all depressed and then I'm going to be the one stuck dealing with his tortured soul for the remainder of High School."

"…Or maybe she'll like him and say 'yes'?"

"Girls like Amanda Jones don't say 'yes' for anything less than American Express."

"That's funny because she lives on the same street as me and Keith. Her Dad's a plumber."

"And she's already dating Hardy Jennings."

"For as long as that lasts. Everyone knows he treats her like shit."

"Some girls are prepared to sell their dignity for a meal ticket to the high life. Amanda Jones is one of them."

Andie rolled her eyes but Allison couldn't help but feel that perhaps the blonde girl was correct. Amanda Jones, pretty and sweet with big brown eyes and long legs, was one of Claire's friends, and from what Claire had said about her friends, they weren't particularly nice people. But then again, Claire had proved herself to be far more complexed than the shallow girl they'd all taken her for on Saturday morning.

She dropped her eyes again as Drummer girl looked around, twitching for something to do. Allison smiled a little, thinking of Andrew and then of John. Neither of them could sit still if their lives depended on it. Andrew was more contained however. She liked the neatness there was about him. She liked his eyes too and she liked the salty taste of sports drink that always lingered on her lips every time they kissed.

Drummer girl drummed her sticks again and when that didn't work for her, she snatched the open textbook from the counter and began flicking through the pages.

"Can you believe the shit they make us learn?" she asked her friend. "Like this here; chemical equilibrium? When am I ever going to use that?"

"Maybe you won't use it but someone else will, Watts." The girl yanked her book from her and placed it back down.

"I don't see why I should have to suffer for their education. Andie, newsflash, graduation isn't until next year. You can afford to take a night off."

"Em, I'm working?" she gestured to the deserted store.

"And creating more work for yourself by studying."
"Like I said, GPAs don't maintain themselves. Besides, no one's here."

Allison wondered if the red head, 'Andie' really hadn't noticed her presence or if she was just talking about the general emptiness of the shop that evening. It wouldn't have been the first time she'd been overlooked. Still it hurt. What made it worse was that she desperately wanted to be noticed. Had she tried, Allison knew she could be noticed but it would've been in a weird way, the wrong way. She didn't want to be weird anymore. Weird people didn't have any friends.

"Where's Duckie?" she heard Watts ask abruptly. "Normally he'd be sniffing around you like a mastiff by now."

"He'll be here soon…" then Andie let out a frustrated sigh, her nose screwing up beneath her oversized reading glasses. "He's flunking European History."

"So am I... I think?"

Andie shook her head in disbelief. "Don't either of you guys wanna finish high school and be done with this shithole?"

"Andie, all I want to do in life is play the drums. I don't need a high school diploma for that. And all Duckie wants to do is hang off you for all eternity."

"Well, I don't plan on hanging around."

"Tell him that."

"I have!" she frowned. "…I don't know what is wrong with him."

"I can maybe think of a few things," replied Watts cryptically.

"So can the whole world."

There was a pregnant pause. "…At least you can always rely on him to be around. Keith seems to be permanently on planet Amanda Jones these days."

"Well, so are you," replied Andie. "All you've talked about since you came in here is Amanda Jones."

"I have not."
"Um," the girl pretended to think about it. "You have."

"Then that's only because he's so bad he's infected me too," said the girl pointedly. "She's like Aids."

"Maybe he could have a shot? I mean Claire Standish and Bender are together. Who saw that one coming?"

Allison nearly dropped the albums in surprise. Now they were talking about people she knew, people she really knew, not just names and faces. It shouldn't have surprised her though. Everyone talked about Claire; she was the diamond girl of Shermer High. Bender was talked about too, but for very different reasons.

"The denizens of hell?" replied her friend. "I reckon Princess Diana is only dating him so that he'll beat the crap out of anyone who goes up against her for Prom Queen."

As Andie laughed, Allison frowned and slipped a copy of The Slit's Cut onto her ever growing pile. She should say something, she decided. John and Claire were her friends after all, and they weren't entirely bad people when you got to know them. As she began to approach the counter with her intent in mind, the door opened with a tinkling sound. In walked Duckie, the boy who talked too much and too fast and Allison knew she had missed her chance.

"So ladies, will you or will you not both be present for the Rave-Ups this Thursday?" He moved like a slightly stouter Mick Jagger, his creepers sliding across the floor as he went.

Watts stared at him incredulously. "Will you even get in?"

"He never gets in," interjected Andie.

"I will have you know that me and the Dice Man are tight these days!" he waved a finger at them. "He'll let me in… this time… probably," he put his hands on his hips and cocked his head to the side doubtfully. "We'll talk."

"Don't sound so confident, Duckie," teased Watts as she worked up a rhythm on her thighs. Then she caught sight of Allison before turning to Andie. "Customer."

Andie shooed her off the counter. There was no hint of recognition in her eyes. Allison's stomach sank. As the girl went through each album, ringing the price up in the till, Allison felt the overwhelming urge abandon ship. She was still nondescript, an invisible entity floating along in the void that no one ever noticed. No matter what way she wore her hair or how bright her clothes were, she'd always be invisible. Suddenly, she was all too aware of how ill fitted the headband was on her, of how blue Andrew's sweater was. No matter how hard she tried, she could not make herself be noticed. The weird always found a way to cover it. She gritted her teeth together nervously.

"Hold on-" Allison turned her head. Duckie was standing very close to her, eyes peering over his the top of round rimmed sunglasses into hers, an arm propped upon the sticker covered countertop. "-Are you or are you not the very same girl who stuck a sanitary pad to Bender's sunglasses in art class this morning?"

Interest was raised. Andie was smiling a little. Watts was giving her an approving once over.

"I also took the lock for his locker," she blurted out before she could stop herself. "And his knife."

Drummer girl turned to regard her. "And you're still alive?"

"I-I," her mouth was running away from her. "I can do whatever I want to Bender and he won't get mad. He's my friend."

Eyes narrowed, there was a look exchanged. Watts tossed her drumstick in the air and caught it again. "You're friends with that asshole?"

She made it sound like she had the plague.

"Oh," Duckie sounded disappointed, annoyed even. He leaned back against the counter with a sigh. "Then I guess I should hold the handshake."

"Duckie!" hissed Andie, appalled.

But Allison understood too well. They didn't like Bender, and by extension, they wouldn't like her either. She paid for her albums without a further word, and left the store. It was only later that she kicked herself for not saying something. For not telling them that whatever their beef was with Bender, it had nothing to do with her.

A/N: It's been a while, I've been very busy. Away, if so inclined drop a review or a message on your thoughts so far. Feedback is the only way I can write better. Yes, I will go back over it again and grammar check over the next coming days. I find half the time I only find the mistakes after I've uploaded.

Thanks for reading.