11th Grade, High School
Age: 15-16
September 2008
…
Vince flops into the chair beside her, groaning with a long huff. Gretchen glances up from where she was writing tonight's assignment in her planner and sets her pencil down on the desk. Vince leans back in his chair, tilting it on the back two legs. The casual way he sits in the chair is juxtaposed by the way his arms cross over his chest and his jaw tenses.
She glances up at the clock. There's only one thing she can think of that would make Vince this frustrated so early in the morning.
"Not a great free throw day?"
He glances up at her and frowns. "What?"
She gestures to his body language. "You just seem upset."
"Oh." He shakes his head and crosses his arms tighter over his chest. "No. I did fine this morning. It's nothing."
Gretchen raises an eyebrow and Vince avoids her stare.
Vince has been focusing most of his free time on basketball recruitment. For as long as she can remember, Vince's goal has been to play basketball in college and, when they were younger, he desperately wanted to go pro. Now that they're older, his goals remain just as lofty but tempered in that he is focusing on one step at a time. The first step is to play in the NCAA and she knows his dream is to play for one of the big names, a school that goes to the March Madness tournament and wins championships.
So far, most of his interest has come from Division II programs and some of the smaller or newer D1s. If anything, it has made Vince more determined to get the attention of the bigger Division I schools. She has spent many weekends helping with his video editing and she thinks that he has sent his information to nearly every coach in the country.
She knows it weighs on him. From experience, she understands the price of ambition. As the saying goes, the higher the climb, the harder the fall.
"Are you sure?" she asks.
Vince returns her gaze and gives her a small smile, one that just tugs on the corners of his lips.
"It's really nothing," he insists. Then he rolls his eyes and shrugs. "Spinelli is in a mood this morning and I ended up on the wrong side of it. I just need to shake it off."
She blows out a breath and taps her finger against the table. Spinelli and Vince bicker on a good day, so she isn't necessarily surprised that the two might combust around each other. Both of her friends aren't necessarily in the healthiest of mindsets. Vince's uber-determination has given him a short fuse, while Spinelli's sleeplessness has made her fuse nearly non-existent. Since this summer, but especially over the last few weeks, anything can set either of them off with little warning.
"Dare I ask?" she says slowly, not knowing if she wants the answer. The last place she wants to be is caught between her two best friends.
"She just about ripped my head off," Vince grunts. He opens his mouth, appearing like he is going to start in on a rant, but holds off at the last second. There's a second of debate on his face before he adds, "I…suppose it's partly my fault."
Gretchen raises an eyebrow, encouraging him to continue. He crosses his arms.
"I made a stupid comment about her makeup," he mumbles. Then he shakes his head, finished with taking all the blame. "In my defense, I was caught off-guard."
But she barely registers his defense, instead keying in on the first thing Vince said. "Spinelli is wearing makeup?"
She supposes it isn't entirely out of the realm of possibility that Spinelli started experimenting with makeup. Most of the girls in their grade have and Spinelli is often one of the last to jump on any bandwagon, but especially anything that is seen as excessively girly. And for good reason. Every time the girl attempts anything feminine, the boys pick on her and she retreats, doubling down on the playground tomboy aesthetic to compensate.
Vince snorts. "I'm not sure you can even call it makeup. She has so much eyeliner on it looks like she took a Sharpie to her eyelids."
She knows the style. The soccer girls in particular have embraced the heavy lined look since the beginning of school, starting with Meghan Rigalli.
"That's not very nice," she says.
"I know," Vince mutters. "But she wasn't very nice to me either."
"She hasn't really been sleeping well," Gretchen starts to explain, but she trails off when she sees Vince's face shift into a frown.
"So that gives her an excuse to be a jerk?"
She shakes her head and is thankful when their teacher starts calling for their attention. She isn't sure anything she could say would help anyway. Any defense of Spinelli's behavior right now is futile, even if it were just to put her actions into context.
As their teacher begins the lesson, her stomach rolls in a strange uneasiness. She had been warned by friends in her academic clubs that junior year was the worst year. Between standardized testing and college searching while still trying to maintain high grades and solidifying places in the school rankings, it was understandable that it would be difficult academically.
She had never expected this.
Spinelli has an underlying current of anxiety flooding through her at all times and Vince has such high expectations for himself in regards to sports and school and everything in between that Gretchen is afraid the both of them are going to burn out. She is trying to help in whatever ways she can – by being supportive and offering advice and researching for them. But there is still that pit of uncertainty in her gut that bubbles and burns like acid.
She is less worried about Vince than she is about Spinelli. Vince's behavior hasn't changed so much as it has intensified. Spinelli is beginning to make her nervous. But she doesn't have any concrete evidence, no specific moment that has her alarm bells wailing. It's more just a bunch of little things combining together.
She had been meaning to talk to TJ about her concerns, but she didn't want to say anything until she was sure. Perhaps she is overreacting. She hasn't even seen Spinelli today and the bickering between her two friends is normal. She needs to relax until she has evidence.
Throughout the lesson, she notices Vince eyeing her but she stares at the front. Luckily the concept their teacher is explaining is one she already knows because she cannot focus. Instead she stares straight ahead, trying to calm her nerves by breathing slowly through her nose and out through her mouth.
The bell rings to signal the change in class and before they stand, Vince catches her attention.
"I'm sorry," he says sincerely. "I'm mad at Spin and I took it out on you."
She shakes him off. "I was just trying to contextualize it, but like you said, it doesn't give her the right to be a jerk."
"Are you okay?" he asks as they stand. "You were staring off all class. It was very un-Gretchen-like."
She blows out a breath and debates telling him. Normally, she enjoys having Vince as a sounding board, but instead she shakes her head. She needs more time to observe and collect evidence before she airs her concerns.
Vince lets it slide, but she knows she'll have to be more focused in her next class to keep him from asking again.
…
The bell rings and TJ joins the flood of students in the hall changing classes. He doesn't have far to walk between the two rooms and so he takes his time, waving and saying hello to friends. A group of girls walk by him, smiling and giggling.
"Hey, Teej!"
TJ turns around in the crowded hallway as Sam pushes through a group of freshmen to walk beside him. The boy looks him up and down as they continue down the hallway.
"You look fine," he says. "So I guess the rumors aren't true."
He groans. It's only two classes into the school day and while he's not surprised about a rumor – their class in particular seems more gossipy than the seniors ahead of them and the sophomores behind them – he hasn't heard it yet. The last time he was on the wrong side of the school's gossip mill it ended up being about his grades, but this can't be the case this time. He hasn't even had his first exams yet. His grades are no better and no worse than anyone else's yet.
"What's the rumor mill have to say now?" he asks.
"People are saying that you and Spinelli broke up."
TJ frowns and quickly glances up at Sam, hoping it's just a bad joke, but Sam looks serious.
"What?" he splutters. "Why would anyone say that?"
Sam shrugs. "I dunno. The evidence people have is pretty damning."
TJ gestures for him to continue. "And what would that be?"
"She didn't wear your letterman to the game last week," Sam says.
No, she hadn't. TJ had noticed that on Friday she had worn what she had worn to school that day despite not having to rush from ballet. But he also saw how terrible she looked and so he hadn't commented. Her eyes were bloodshot and he thought she might actually be sick, so the idea that she even forced herself to come to the game at all in that state was enough support in his mind. In fact, he would have preferred she stay home and rest.
She has made passing comments about not sleeping over the last few weeks and he is beginning to wonder the true extent of it. Spinelli has always been good at hiding aspects of her life that she doesn't want people to know about. He just thought he might be an exception to her rule.
"That's it?"
Sam shakes his head. "Apparently – and I haven't seen her today so this is all just what I've heard – but apparently she just looks kind of sad and tired." Then he raises his hands in the air. "Oh, and someone also mentioned something about her looking like she's heading to a funeral, but, like I said, I haven't seen her so I'm not sure what that means."
TJ sighs and stuffs his hands in his pockets. He also hasn't seen her today. She told him she had an early meeting with a teacher, which he assumes was probably for math, and so they had gone to school separately.
Of course, everything that Sam has told him is through hearsay, but his gut is churning. This summer, and especially the last few weeks, he hasn't been able to spend as much time with her as he normally has. Between work and their activities, it's been a logistical nightmare. So he figured that the off-feeling he had was more to do with their scheduling difficulties than anything else.
But he had been able to spend a little time with her over the weekend and all she had wanted to do was curl into his side on the couch in his basement and watch a movie. That wasn't necessarily the weird part. She just seemed exhausted, like it took all her energy to make the slightest movements.
"Well, I'll start circulating that the rumors are wrong," Sam says, pulling him out of his thoughts.
"Please," TJ tells him.
He pulls out his phone from his pocket and debates texting her, hoping to intercept her from finding out from someone else, but he pockets his phone instead. She won't check it. She has a huge game tomorrow and if she gets caught with her phone out she'll get detention, causing her to miss her practice and be unable to start the game.
They approach TJ's classroom and Sam goes to continue down the hall. But as the boy starts walking away, TJ calls him back.
"Oh. And, Sam?"
The other boy turns around.
"Can we cool it with the teasing for the time being?" he asks. "I think it's starting to bother her."
He knows that it's bothering her, but he also knows that she doesn't want him involved. She had told him as much the other day. She insisted that she could handle it herself, but he knows that part of her is always worried about her reputation. He knows that it's probably the reason why she didn't wear his letterman and why she's been so insistent on wearing all black to school the last few days.
He wishes she didn't care so much about what other people think about her, but she does. She always has. But if people outside of himself and their group of friends are starting to see the strain that it's taking on her, it's high time that he gets involved. He doesn't want her running herself into the ground for the sake of her image.
"Sure thing," Sam says.
"Thanks."
He doesn't really learn much in his class. He doesn't pay much attention. His mind is focused on Spinelli, worried about what he's going to see at lunch. He can't imagine that she would look much worse than she did at the football game the other night – or that her mother would let her out of the house if she did.
Gretchen and Vince are the only ones at the table when he arrives for lunch. He takes his normal seat beside Vince and looks around him briefly to Gretchen. She is finishing saying something to Vince but does turn to meet his eye and he tries to read her without interrupting.
Are you as concerned as I am?
He's not sure he knows what answer he wants – whether he wants Gretchen to wave him off for being a worrier or for her to agree that something has been off. But when Gretchen looks at him with slightly widened eyes, he realizes the answer is the latter.
"Have either of you seen Spin today?" he asks when they've both turned to him.
Vince snorts. "Oh, yeah. She's in a great mood. Bit my head off this morning."
"Well, both of you are a little high strung right now," Gretchen says, giving Vince the slightest nudge. She turns back to TJ. "I have yet to see her, but I have heard."
"You've noticed too though, right?" he asks. "It's not just me."
"She's not sleeping," Gretchen says. "For how long, I'm unsure, but it has definitely been affecting her, yes."
"It has to do with her reputation," he mumbles. He looks to Gretchen for agreement. "It has to be, right?"
"I think it's probably multifactorial, but knowing her, that is likely one of them."
"I'm just worried."
Vince grunts. "It's Spin. She's impulsive and always has been." He crosses his arm. "She probably got it in her head that this makeup makes her look badass or something."
TJ nods slowly. Vince is probably right. Everything Spinelli does goes back to her reputation and recently she has been going into overdrive trying to convince the school of it. The last few days are just evidence of it.
"I just wish she didn't care so much about what other people think," he tells the others, letting his frustration come to the surface. He runs his hands over his face and groans. "She would be so much happier if she just forgot about everyone else."
When he opens his eyes, he notices Vince and Gretchen both looking over his shoulder. He turns in his chair and immediately frowns. Spinelli stands right behind him, her eyes narrowed and her arms crossed over her chest. Gus stands next to her, bouncing on his heels uncomfortably.
"You're talking about me behind my back?" she sneers.
The first thing he notices are her eyes. The whites are red and irritated. That, paired with the circles under her eyes that it appears she tried to conceal, signify to him that she didn't get any sleep the night before. Again. Sam's report from this morning was unfortunately accurate.
She must have snuck out of the house earlier this morning because there is no way her mother would have let her leave looking like this.
"Spin," he starts but she cuts him off.
"No, by all means, continue," she snarls. "Don't let me interrupt."
"Spinelli, we weren't talking about you behind your back," Gretchen says. He watches as Spinelli turns her contempt from him to the other girl. "We were discussing our concern."
"Discussing our concern," Spinelli mocks. "Wow. That actually sounds palatable. But maybe you should take your own advice and be less concerned with people." She turns back to TJ as she adds, "I am."
Then she turns on her heel and storms out of the cafeteria, garnering the looks of nearly everyone as she makes a scene of leaving.
"Jesus," Vince exclaims under his breath. "What the fuck is wrong with her?"
TJ presses his face into his hands.
"I'm going after her," he says, but he stays in his position, keeping his head in his hands and remaining seated.
Gus shakes his head and sits down. "I don't know, Teej. Maybe you should just let her break some stuff first. Like we used to at Third Street." He takes out his lunch bag and winces. "I haven't seen her like this in years."
"I agree," Vince says, clapping TJ's shoulder. "Let her vent. It won't do either one of you any good to reason with her when she's like this."
TJ sighs and settles into his chair. Maybe they're right. He'll let her release some steam and he'll collect his thoughts so when they can have a conversation, it can be meaningful. It feels wrong, but he isn't sure that running after feels right either.
…
The bell rings and she slips her backpack over her shoulders. When she leaves, she bypasses her locker. She has practice today, but she has more important business to attend to first.
If nothing else, Butch is predictable. He still spends the majority of his time hanging out by the stairs, waiting to spread the next rumor or scare a naïve freshman with one of his far-fetched tales. Only now, the boy with the silver streak in his hair leans against the brick wall of the school with a cigarette in his mouth rather than a toothpick. Butch carries this air of mystery to him that it might seem odd to be able to find him so easily, but it's harder to find Randall in the sea of nameless, faceless nobodies than it is to search out Butch.
She finds him exactly where she expects to find him – leaning against the school with a cigarette in his mouth, looking like he has never been more bored than in this very moment. His eyes dart to her and he takes a long drag of smoke before pulling the cigarette from his mouth and puffing the smoke out in a ring.
"Ashley Spinelli," he says. "What a pleasure."
The use of her first name reignites the small kindling of fire in her gut that had disappeared when she came to stand in front of him.
"Can I bum one?" she asks.
He gives her a once over, from her boots up to her face. Then he snorts and shakes his head, looking back out as their fellow students file out to the parking lot or the practice fields.
"I don't think so."
"Come on," she hisses, crossing her arms and glaring at him. "Give me a light."
He just shakes his head again. "Is this about what happened at lunch? Trying to get back at TJ for your little rift by smoking in an alley?"
"I don't care about TJ right now."
This makes him raise an eyebrow. He looks over his shoulders and then pulls out a red and white carton, flipping the lid and offering it.
"I take it you've done this before?"
She hasn't, but she nods anyway. This type of thing was never on her list of things to do – alcohol, smoking, drugs. Gretchen would lecture her for days if she knew what Spinelli was doing, going on and on about addiction and whatever else. TJ will probably rip her head off. But at this point she doesn't really care.
She finds that there are very few things she cares about anymore, but her reputation is one of them.
She sticks the cigarette in her mouth and Butch lights the end of it. When the smoke hits her throat she coughs, nearly dropping the cigarette on the ground. She catches it with her fingers and waits until the coughing subsides to put it back in her mouth.
Butch chuckles. "I feel very honored to have given Miss Goody Two Boots her first cigarette," he jokes.
She glares. "Shut up."
He glances down at the cigarette that she has poised at her lips and she takes that as her cue to try again. This time she sucks in a smaller amount and puffs it out of her mouth as soon as she finishes breathing it in. As she blows out her breath, she coughs twice, but is able to manage it better. Butch rolls his eyes.
"There you go," he congratulates flatly. "You're getting there."
"How do you get them?" she asks, gesturing to the pack in his hand.
She doesn't even know if Kelso carries them and even if he did, there's no way she could go there.
"Hustler Kid," he tells her and she could kick herself for not coming to that realization herself. "He should be able to give you an empty box."
"What does that mean?" she demands.
He shrugs. "I don't think for a minute that this is a hobby you're actually planning on picking up."
She narrows her eyes, but Butch doesn't recoil. He doesn't react in any meaningful way. He crosses his arms and pushes off from the brick wall to stand.
"I don't like being used in a lover's spat," he says, towering over her.
Spinelli mimics him and crosses her arms. "This isn't about TJ. It's about me."
Butch stares at her, his gaze unwavering. He stays like this for so long that her resolve to stand tall and strong begins to falter and she fidgets uncomfortably. She digs to the toe of her boot into the dirt and Butch gives a single laugh, the ha more ironic than jovial.
"You think smoking with me will make you look bad?" This time he chuckles, a small smirk tugging at his lips. "What's next? You gonna go tag buildings downtown with Mundy?"
She glares at his sarcastic tone. "Hey," she growls.
He shakes his head at her. "Spinelli, you've never been bad."
"Of course I was!"
"Tough, maybe. Bad, absolutely not." He continues to shake his head. "You and Detweiler and the rest of your little friends were always good. No amount of makeup or cigarette smoking will change that."
She raises a fist, trying to make a point, but all Butch does is raise an eyebrow.
"Why don't you just embrace who you actually are rather than hold onto an identity you had when we were nine? It's not like you're not popular."
"I don't want to be popular," she says. She presses the cigarette back to her lips and breathes in. It's the first time she doesn't choke on the smoke. "I just want my reputation back."
He shrugs and nods over her shoulder. "Well, I think you did something."
She turns. A few of the girls from her soccer team are standing in their practice clothes, bags slung over their shoulders with their mouths hung open. Meghan Rigalli drops her bag and stomps over from the group in the parking lot, coming to a stop in front of her.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" she hisses.
"Spinelli and I are just catching up," Butch says. Meghan doesn't even turn to him. "You know, for old time's sake. Third Street forever."
Meghan keeps her eyes firm on Spinelli's. "We have practice."
"I'm not going," Spinelli tells her.
"What do you mean you're not going," Meghan hisses. "We have a huge game tomorrow. If you don't go, you can't start."
"I'm sure you can live without me," she says.
"You're the goalie!" Meghan exclaims.
Spinelli takes the cigarette out of her mouth, a breath of smoke following out of her mouth and up into her nose. It's strong and while she coughs, Butch grabs the cigarette out of her hand.
"Go to practice, Spinelli," he says, almost as if he's annoyed at her. "You're wasting my smokes. And my time."
Butch presses the half-used cigarette in his mouth before pushing by the group of girls, leaving Spinelli empty handed in front of her teammates.
"Come on, let's go get your stuff," Meghan says.
Spinelli walks to her locker with an entourage, the entire group behind her as if they don't trust her to go on her own. Which, she supposes, is probably wise on their part. If they had left her to her own choices, she might not have gone to the practice field. She isn't sure where she would have gone, but the last place she wants to be is at soccer practice with all her teammates heatedly staring at her like she is about to ruin everything.
…
Notes
No direct episode tie-ins here, but I did watch Spinelli's Masterpiece to get into character for this chapter.
Sorry for the long wait!
