10th Grade, High School
Age: 15-16
June 2008
…
A black cloud hovers over the school building and Mikey heaves a heavy sigh at Mother Nature's symbolism. The end of the year should be a period of great jubilation. At Third Street they would even count down the seconds as the clock ticked toward the final moment of the school year. Now, time has slowed to a crawl.
He adjusts his backpack and turns away, walking toward the sidewalk to head home.
School sits heavy on his shoulders. Typically, with his backpack nearly empty and mere days left until summer vacation, Mikey's walk home feels light as air, as if he walks on clouds instead of sidewalks. But now, instead of gleefully discussing their summer schedules and the excitement of the next ten or so weeks, there is a chaos that has engulfed him and his friends. A disastrous tornado that has ripped them all from their typical routines and flung them into what remains.
Guilt sits in his stomach like curdled milk, causing it to ache and flip uncomfortably, because of anyone he thinks he should have seen this entire situation coming. His friends may joke that Mikey spends his days in the clouds, daydreaming about love and beauty, but Mikey knows that he is their group's one real connection outside of their bubble of popularity.
Mikey values his friendships that he has made with the choir and theater kids. It has been a wonderful experience to be around people with similar interests. He knows that this distances himself from his original group, but they have never made him feel any less for having other friends. They all have other friends too after all, but Mikey is the only one of the six to consider his friendship with his new friends to be on par with his friendships with the original gang.
He knows that this furthers him from the rest and that has always been okay for him. Vince, Spinelli, TJ, and Gretchen have always been the core and Gus's inclusion in fourth grade was better for Mikey than anyone else, because Gus gave Mikey that person, someone to duo with, like the other four had with each other. He didn't recognize it at the time, but in hindsight, it has always been that way. And because of this, Mikey has never had a problem making friends outside of their group. He can have many friends and still remain close to his original elementary school buddies.
But now, after everything that has happened in the last week or so, he begins to question himself and his spot in the school's hierarchy itself.
TJ, Vince, Spinelli, and Gretchen did not see it coming for obvious reasons. Not only are the four closest to each other, but when they converse with others outside of their group, it's with other popular kids. Gus may be lower on the totem pole than the other four, but Gus is also beginning to be a cute nerd exception, a quiet wallflower that doesn't really fit anywhere else that gets absorbed for his tokenism, if his budding friendship with Ashley T is to be believed.
Mikey is friends with his friends and other than that his place is with the choir and theater geeks. If there had been a mutiny against TJ forming among the school's proletariat, why did he not catch wind of any of it? He could have used his positioning to warn his friends and perhaps he couldn't have saved TJ from the election issues, but perhaps he could have stopped the circulation of his transcript.
It just seems preposterous to him still. As they used to say at Third Street, nobody doesn't like TJ. TJ is hard to dislike. What other popular boy learns everyone's names? What athlete sits with geeks, nerdy band students, and theater kids without looking over his shoulder to wonder who is going to dethrone him for his trespasses? If anyone can transcend the stereotype of a popular kid, it is TJ Detweiler.
Jealousy, which claws into the soul and is so difficult to defeat, is the only reason he can fathom.
He decides to stop at Kelso's on his way home. The neighborhood store has always been a good place to work through troublesome thoughts alongside a good milkshake. The store is nearly empty when he arrives, still far too early for the elementary crowd to filter in, but Mikey's eyes fall on the final booth where Gordy sits, his eyes focused on a handheld video game.
Gordy is one of the few people who has ever made his dislike of TJ known, but it was never of malicious intent. In fact, it may still be a secret if his group of friends hadn't pushed for it to come out into the open so many years ago. Gordy spends his life completely ignoring TJ, pretending the boy doesn't exist, only indulging in the occasional eye roll or click of the tongue when he is around someone praising TJ in his presence.
It doesn't feel like something Gordy would do.
But if not Gordy, then who?
He orders his milkshake and shares pleasantries with Mr. Kelso before taking a seat at his friends' typical booth, sitting on the side that faces Gordy. If the other boy senses his unwavering gaze, he doesn't make it known. Instead, he just continues his game, occasionally sipping on his float without breaking eye contact with his screen.
Mikey thinks back over the last few weeks and tries to remember if he had heard any rumblings, but nothing comes to mind. In fact, even now after the circulation of the transcript and the realization that TJ is being barred from running, he has heard some of his theater friends mention that it was unfortunate that they couldn't vote for him again.
The bell over the door rings and Mikey turns from Gordy to the new arrival. Randall walks straight to the refrigerator, grabs a soda, and pays at the front before finding his spot at the small counter against the window. Just as the booth Mikey sits in seemingly belongs to his friends, that spot at the counter looking out over the street is Randall's. When walking home from school or rehearsals, Mikey always sees Randall sitting there, sometimes doing homework but mostly looking out the window, spying on the community.
His friends are still convinced that Randall has something to do with it and Mikey has to agree that it feels more likely than Gordy. Randall has always had a chip on his shoulder and, growing up, TJ always seemed to be his weakness. The boy just could not let anything slide when it came to TJ, although some would argue that Randall tattled on everyone and TJ just gave him more to tattle on.
But something about it doesn't settle with Mikey. The other day, when they had cornered Randall about it, he sounded genuine when he said he didn't do it. In high school, Randall has retained his tattletale title, but Mikey can count on his fingers how often Randall has actually tattled.
Mikey sighs and grabs his milkshake, taking a step toward the counter.
"Good afternoon, Randall," he says, trying to sound jovial.
Randall closes his little black notebook and glances up at Mikey.
"Blumberg."
Mikey takes the seat beside him and taps his fingers on the counter. He isn't exactly stealthy and decides to come right out with his question. No use beating around the bush.
"The other day, you mentioned that you may know who was behind TJ's transcript getting out," he says.
"Yeah, and why should I tell you?" Randall sneers. "So you can all corner me again? Thanks, but no thanks."
"It just…doesn't make sense to me," Mikey says. "I've been trying to figure it out on my own. But I didn't hear anything and it just seems like everyone was blindsided."
Randall raises an eyebrow and shakes his head. "Not exactly Nancy Drew, are you?"
The boy chuckles at his own joke and Mikey sighs, looking down as he fiddles his fingers. At this, Randall grunts.
"Look, I have theories. Nothing concrete," Randall says. "Besides, what would you even do with the information anyway? Not a darn thing. So, my suggestion is to just forget about it. Whoever did it will get his karma when Vince and Spinelli win."
Mikey nods his head and sips on the last of his shake, watching as Randall looks out the window, apparently ending the conversation. The boy makes a valid point. What would he do with any information? TJ doesn't seem overly interested in pursuing it further, wanting to forget about it rather than bring whoever went against him to justice. If anything, the rest of them are more concerned. He shudders thinking of what Spinelli and Vince would do with the information.
So perhaps it is for the best.
He sucks down the last of his shake and bids Randall goodbye, but as he walks out, he wonders what Randall meant by his statement about karma getting the person when Vince and Spinelli win. That could mean anything, couldn't it?
…
Randall hadn't always been a snitch. The snitch life sort of found him.
For the first few days of kindergarten, he hadn't been much of anything. The first day he cried off and on from the moment his father left him at his brand new desk, sitting alone in the kindergarten classroom. By the second day he felt ready to be more social, but by then the cliques had already been made. There was a group of girls named Ashley. A couple boys that liked video games. A pair of boys who liked to dig in the sandbox. None of this interested him.
Soon, it was a week into school and he still hadn't found his place. It was then, during the reading circle, that Mrs. Klemperer had paired him with TJ Detweiler. The other boy had made a face and looked back at his group of friends but with five there's always an odd man out and that day it had been him. He stood up from where he sat beside Spinelli, who winced and gave him a sympathetic look, and he walked over to Randall.
He hadn't expected TJ to be nice, not after that, but the boy had surprised him. Randall was a little behind in his phonics and TJ didn't laugh when he stumbled over words he clearly should have known. Instead, he pretended not to know the word as well.
So, at recess, Randall thought that he might ask to play with TJ and his friends. He could round out their group to a nice even six members.
The kindergarten area of the playground wasn't very big, but it still took Randall most of recess to find them. After searching high and low, he found them in a far corner. They had somehow managed to bring one of the easels from their art section out to the play area as well as some paints. From the looks of it, they were trying to create some sort of map, maybe of the school. Gretchen stood behind TJ with her notepad, instructing the boy on dimensions, while Mikey and Vince gave their input. Spinelli sat on the ground looking bored.
"Are we gonna spend all recess doing this?" she whined.
"This will be useful in the future," Gretchen said. To this, Spinelli rolled her eyes and pouted.
Randall watched as TJ slowly smirked and dipped his brush back in the paint. Rather than put the brush to the easel, he spun around and splattered the red paint on Spinelli's cheek. The little girl squealed and jumped up out of the way as Vince snickered. Spinelli glared at both the boys, hands on her hips, as Gretchen's eyes widened and Mikey begged for peace. They hadn't been friends very long, as school had only just started, and Randall wondered briefly if he was witnessing the first friend group disintegration right before his eyes.
Then Spinelli took two steps forward, looking TJ right in the eye. She stuck her entire hand in the green paint before pressing her hand to his face, leaving a giant green glob in her wake. Within a few moments, the two had turned and started painting the others as well and an all-out paint war had begun amongst the five, all of them laughing as it went.
Randall's jaw dropped as he watched. That paint was for their class and the five were going to waste it all on each other. He quickly turned around and ran to his classroom, but Mrs. Klemperer was nowhere to be found. He didn't know what else to do. He needed to stop them somehow before they ruined all the paint, but he didn't know how.
He peeked his head out of the kindergarten area and looked out at the big playground. It seemed so vast and dangerous. But, standing at attention with her whistle was a teacher, so he thought she might know where Mrs. Klemperer was and could help him find her. He started his long journey across the blacktop, careful to avoid a group of first graders running around like maniacs and only stopping for a moment to listen to a boy in a hockey jersey telling his other second grade friends a story of a prank he had pulled on his sister.
Finally, he reached the teacher and he tugged on the edge of her yellow dress.
The teacher didn't even let him talk. Instead, she just started to lead him away from the big playground, telling him that the kindergarteners were supposed to stay in the kindergarten area for their own good. She brought him back and when they arrived, Randall could see the corner where TJ and his friends were fooling around was quite visible from the gate entrance.
So, he didn't even have to say a word. The teacher saw the whole thing and proceeded to go over. The five, now covered almost head to toe in a rainbow of colors, were marched by the teacher though the playground area and up the stairs, clearly in trouble.
Once the door shut behind them, Randall felt a lot of eyes on him. He wrung his hands together and winced, finding everyone in the kindergarten area with their arms crossed.
"You're a snitch," Ashley A sneered.
And, since that day, Randall hasn't been anything else.
He doesn't mind the title. In fact, since that day he has learned to embrace it. When he was younger, it had given him a purpose and at Third Street having a purpose had been everything. To be nothing, to be just a random boring kid on the playground, was some sort of awful purgatory. Being the snitch of the playground had always given him a sense of belonging. When he hadn't fit in with the other kids, he formed a bond with Ms. Finster. The praise that she had given him had just been a lovely bonus.
Now he doesn't do much snitching at all, even if his former grade school title precedes him. The high school administration doesn't really care to look into his tattles unless someone is in mortal danger or if it's something that could cause the school trouble. But, regardless, he still keeps a watchful eye on the hierarchy, making sure the school runs how it's supposed to run with no one getting what they don't deserve.
Today he is on a mission. One that, in all honesty, he doesn't want to be on, but he is taking one for the team.
He lurks in the shadows of the gym entryway. The cheerleaders have just finished their practice for the day, the music having been cut a few minutes before and the first of the girls beginning to leave. He steps forward, just enough to be visible, and waits patiently as the girls file out. Finally, after what feels like a small eternity, the four Ashleys walk out, giggling and talking amongst themselves.
He makes eye contact with Ashley A.
"Oh, shoot," he hears her say. The girls all stop. "I, like, totally forgot something in my locker."
"We'll wait here," Ashley T offers.
Ashley A waves her off, looking so nonchalant that Randall almost believes her.
"That's okay. You girls, like, go ahead. I'll see you later!"
The three other girls take the bait and head off, skirts swishing as they jump right back into their giggling. Once they've exited the gym, Ashley A turns toward him.
She crosses her arms and takes a step forward, the two stepping back into the shadows and away from any prying eyes.
"What is it, Weems?"
"I have dirt you want."
She raises an eyebrow. "What will I owe you for it?"
Ashley A is not one of Randall's usual partners. Of course, his partners rarely realize that they're his partners. When he has information that he wants to disperse around the school, he has a few kids who he knows are gossips and can't help themselves. All he has to do is say something in the general vicinity of these people and the school becomes a giant game of telephone. It has proven to be extremely useful.
Those fools aren't as cunning as Ashley A. None of the Ashleys have been reliable gossipers in years. When the rare opportunity arises that he wants to work with them, it typically includes a barter.
"This one's free."
She frowns.
"Nothing's ever free," she says. She narrows her eyes. "What's the catch?"
He should have known it wouldn't be that simple. He sighs. Really, all he wants to do is offload his information to someone he thinks could utilize it, but he hasn't exactly earned the trust of his classmates. It's one of the occupational hazards of being a snitch, he supposes.
"No catch," he says. She continues to stare at him through slitted eyes and he morphs his face into a sly smile that he knows she'll appreciate. "Let's just say, this will be mutually beneficial for everyone involved in your little scheme to get LaSalle and Spinelli elected."
She raises an eyebrow.
"And why do you care?" she asks. "I didn't think you'd have any investment in Vince and Spinelli getting elected."
In the grand scheme of everything, he doesn't care. If there were multiple individuals on the ballot, he probably wouldn't have bothered. But the last couple of weeks has been a hideous trainwreck to watch and if he has to be the whistleblower in order to restore some semblance of order, he supposes he has to do it.
He doesn't hate TJ Detweiler. As a kid he longed to be friends with him and as a teen, he finds himself frustrated by TJ's moral compass. Since kindergarten, TJ has essentially represented all that's good about the world – he's kind, he's thoughtful, he remembers every kid's name after meeting them once. And, in return, the universe rewards him with amazing friends, a pretty girlfriend, and all the benefits of popularity. He has never started anything with Randall, only reacting when Randall inevitably caused the issues, but like the other day when Spinelli had him cornered, TJ very well could have blamed him. But he didn't. He believed Randall despite the fact that Randall really has never given TJ a reason to do so.
TJ exhausts him.
So, seeing TJ falter sometimes is something he enjoys, but the punishment isn't fitting the crime on this one. TJ didn't do his six-week sit out and now the student government is going to be run by someone else. If it's not Vince and Spinelli, it'll be that idiot Adam Hamilton and his crony James Phillips. Even if TJ deserved it, the student body certainly doesn't.
His moral compass doesn't always point north, but he will begrudgingly follow its direction this time.
"Let's just say, I don't want a president that's a cheater," he says, hoping that Ashley A catches on. Then before he can stop himself, he smirks and adds, "in more ways than one, I guess."
It is absolutely the wrong thing to say, but Randall has been known to put his foot in his mouth trying to one-up others. It's his Achilles heel to overstep and ruin his own position. Of course Ashley A knows that he knows what happened between her and Hamilton freshman year. The Ashleys may have done a decent job of covering it up, thinking it would tarnish their popularity or some other nonsense if people knew that Hamilton cheated on her with a no-name girl. In reality, the girls probably helped his image more than hers, but it had been so early in their high school career that they hadn't wanted to risk it, or so he imagines. That's the only logical explanation he can come up with to explain it. Now it's too late to bring it up and so a secret it remains.
Ashley A immediately crosses her arms and Randall finds himself on the opposing side of a fiery glare.
"Or maybe it's because you still have a crush on Spinelli," she sneers. She laughs. "Must suck, liking someone who will never give you the time of day."
This time, it's his turn to cross his arms and glare, despite the fact that he knows he walked right into it.
"Don't jump into the fire if you don't want to get burned, Weems," she says.
"Touche," he tells her and after a moment, the fire between them dies down.
"You're sure he did it?" she asks.
He does not have concrete evidence. Menlo refuses to see if there is any foul play in the computer system. But, it makes sense. Phillips runs track and would immediately know that TJ didn't. Randall knows from his snooping that Hamilton is still upset about losing the last election. Plus, he has heard snippets of conversation about the kid's tyrannical reign as playground king at Fifth Street School. It all makes sense, much more than anything else.
Randall nods his head. "It was him. I know it."
She considers the information. "Do you think leaking it would be beneficial for Vince and Spinelli? Some of our classmates are stupid enough to think that might sound impressive."
He debates it. TJ is extraordinarily popular and when people found out he was out of the running for president, people had been upset. He hadn't considered that people would view this information as favorable to Hamilton. Of course, if he wasn't involved, he might think the same thing. Someone finally knocking practically perfect TJ off his pedestal? He might just vote for that kid himself in an alternate reality.
"That's a good point."
Ashley A nods.
"I think they have it. Vince on his own carries a lot of weight and if I tell people to vote for him, they'll do it," she says. "So, keep it in your back pocket and we can figure out a way to use it if we need to."
He nods his head in agreement.
"You're good at this," he says.
She flips her hair over her shoulder.
"Well, duh. I run this place," she says. Then she smiles. "Now, toodles, Randall. I have other, better places to be than talking to the school snitch."
She spins on her fluorescent white sneaker and heads toward the door.
Randall glances down at his watch and groans when he sees the time. He takes off, scurrying around the schoolyard and powerwalking the rest of the way to Kelso's. When he arrives, he grabs a soda and takes his usual spot near the window.
He would be loathed to admit that he does this. It's pathetic. He sits in the same seat every day, grabs a soda and lays out his homework, stopping around the same time each day to look out the window as Spinelli rides by on her bike. Menlo, who is the only person he considers a friend even if friend may be too strong of a word, is the one person who knows he does this and is always telling him that it's masochistic behavior.
But he thinks that may be that's why he does it. He probably only likes her because he knows nothing will come of it. It's easier to watch someone from afar than actually have a chance with them only to have his heart broken.
In fourth grade, when his father had come to school and he had quickly informed him about his 'friends' to ensure his father didn't think he was a weird loner, he hadn't realized that his father had been keeping track of who he spoke about at home. On their way home, his father had put a hand on his shoulder.
"I can see why you like her," he had said.
At the time, Randall hadn't even realized he liked her, but after that he couldn't stop it. And that's part of the reason why he's jealous of TJ as well. Because as long as he has liked Spinelli, she has liked TJ. The two of them are also so disgustingly sweet together that it's hard to imagine a world where they aren't together. They will probably get married, pop out a couple of kids, and live in their little town forever, oblivious to anyone else besides each other.
He sighs and looks out the window, resting his chin on his hand. At least with liking Spinelli he can't get hurt. There's nothing for him to lose because he will never have anything with her.
Her typical timing passes and he keeps glancing at his watch. Maybe her rehearsal was canceled today. Or, God forbid, TJ's baseball practice was canceled and the two of them are walking together from her ballet. He rolls his eyes. It has been a glorious few months for him since TJ failed his class. Spinelli has been going home alone and so he doesn't have to see them together.
Spinelli finally shows up, slowing down on her bike as she approaches Kelso's store. She hops off her bike and walks by the window. He frowns and tries to crane his head to watch her. Most kids just dump their bikes right out front, none of them afraid of someone stealing it in their idyllic little neighborhood. Randall locks his bike up because bullies like to steal his tires, but most kids don't think twice.
She disappears from his view and then when he leans back, she reappears, walking back in the other direction. He hears the bell over Kelso's door jingle and he quickly looks over his shoulder to see her enter the store. She beelines it toward the small paint section and he watches as she grabs a can of black spray paint.
Randall is too nosy for his own good. He should just ignore her, but he is far too curious now. He grabs his soda and backpack before scurrying out of his chair.
Spinelli has hidden her bike on the side of Kelso's store out of view of anyone walking by. Her handlebars are pressed against the brick wall and he steps forward to take a look. Nothing seems out of the ordinary and the spray paint must be for some sort of project. Had it been Mundy grabbing the spray paint, he would have followed him to see what building the boy was defacing now, but with Spinelli it's probably something mundane. The girl tries to convince everyone that she's bad to the bone but really she's more girl next door hiding in a black leather jacket.
"What are you doing?"
He startles at her voice. She stands in front of him with a big scowl, the spray paint in her hand as she crosses her arms across her chest.
"Just checking out the alley," he says.
He reaches for her bike, thinking he'll hand it to her and she won't kill him for snooping around. She'll just grab it away from him and ride off.
Instead, she takes an audible breath in and rushes forward, grabbing her handlebars away from him. He frowns at her unusual behavior and keeps a hold of her handlebars, glancing down before she can snatch it away. It's then that he sees something written in black sharpie across the red handlebars. Slut-nelli. His eyebrows rise.
"New nickname?" he asks, trying to sound disinterested but failing.
Her jaw tightens. "Get lost, Randall."
His curiosity has now been piqued and his brain is going a mile a minute trying to figure out the cause and effect.
"Who did this?" he asks, again trying to sound disinterested. He doesn't though – he sounds like a man in the desert looking at a water fountain.
"Aren't you the class snitch? Knows everything about everyone?" Spinelli grumbles. "Shouldn't you already know?"
He can make an educated guess.
It could have happened at school. There is a contingency of girls who act like Vince's fangirls and perhaps her potential new identity as Vince's vice president would cause the vandalism. But it doesn't make sense. No one has vandalized Gretchen's belongings. He knows some of the girls may not find Gretchen to be a threat mainly due to a popularity scale, but clearly they're not paying attention. He doesn't know if Gretchen and Vince will actually get their act together, but people are blind if they don't see the chemistry. So, if the fangirls haven't targeted Gretchen, there's no way they target Spinelli.
Which leaves ballet. He only knows four of the girls in Spinelli's ballet class, but he supposes that's all he needs to know. Spinelli basically gave it away already when she insinuated it was someone from their class – or someones he should say. That puzzle was too easy.
The real puzzle is how the girls have been able to get away with it. If the Megans did this, he assumes they're the culprits behind Spinelli's slashed tires at the beginning of the school year. And, knowing them, those two events were not isolated incidents.
"I would have expected those airheads to stop once Saintweiler and LaSidekick came to defend your honor," he says.
He nearly gags at the thought of TJ and Vince striding in to save the day, just as they've done for years. How many times had he witnessed the two wonder boys coming to Spinelli's defense against the Ashleys growing up – from getting the entire playground to change their names for a day in fourth grade to pranking the girls for teasing Spinelli about her picture day dress in fifth grade and so many other times in between.
He turns away from the bike and back to Spinelli, but finds that she is staring at the ground, digging the toe of her boot into a crack in the asphalt of the alleyway. She has on sheer pink tights with a sheer pink skirt over her black leotard, which disappears under her leather jacket. Everything about her is a contradiction. The girly ballet outfit juxtaposed with her typical boots and jacket, her usual scowl absent as she bites her bottom lip.
He frowns.
"They don't know," he says. "And neither does Grundler."
He sees her jaw clench and despite the fact that she doesn't respond, that's the only answer he needs.
"Which means Blumberg and Griswald are clueless," he continues. He frowns. "Why don't you tell them?"
"I have it handled," she hisses through her teeth.
He raises his eyebrow and looks down at her bike and then up to the spray paint in her hand. Everything clicks in his head all at once, the puzzle complete. She is going to spray paint her bike black to hide the graffiti, claim that she was just sick of the red – she's had it red for years, it was time for a change – and everyone would believe her. Why would they not? She has spent her entire life keeping up appearances, even lying when necessary to garner the image she so desperately desires.
So, of course, she has to keep it from her friends because her friends would absolutely make a big deal of making sure the Megans stopped bullying her and that doesn't sit well with her precious reputation.
"Sure you do," he says, shrugging his shoulders as if he doesn't care.
He lets go of her bike and starts to walk away before he gets attached. He cannot find common ground with Ashley Spinelli. That would be an absolute disaster for him. But he knows what it feels like to be bullied and it makes his stomach bubble uncomfortably with an empathy unfamiliar to him. He shakes his head and keeps moving. Bullying is not something he can share with her. Spinelli lives in an entirely different bubble to himself and that is the way he needs it to stay.
"Randall?"
He turns around at her frantic voice and sees her staring at his retreating form, eyes wide like a deer in headlights.
"Don't tell TJ and the rest," she pleads.
He looks at her and shakes his head, suddenly angry. Randall has no friends so when he gets bullied, shoved in dumpsters, name-called during assemblies, there is no one there to pick him up after. No one is there to tell him that it's just high school, that it will all be over when he leaves for college and sheds his tattletale title.
She has friends. She has the best group of friends in the whole town. Friends that would go to the ends of the earth to help her. Mikey Blumberg, the school's biggest space cadet, even came over to him yesterday, frantic to figure out who was behind TJ's transcript being leaked in an effort to help out his friend. Those six literally do anything for each other.
And yet this is so on brand for Spinelli he almost has to laugh.
"I wouldn't dream of it," he tells her. "That's your story to tell."
He stuffs his hands in his pockets and rolls his eyes as he turns away. That's a story she'll take to her grave and, apparently, now so will he.
…
Notes
Episodes mentioned: Nobody Doesn't Like TJ, Randall's Friends, First Name Ashley
Welcome to Mikey's first narration. I find him the hardest to write, he just has such interesting diction, so hopefully I did him some justice.
I've had the scene with kindergarten Randall written for years and finally the time has come to use it. I thought Randall might be a good narrator for this chapter for a few reasons. I like the idea that he sort of knows everything in the school but isn't really an active snitch anymore, but I also knew that Spinelli would never narrate this scene herself, hence Randall.
Hope you enjoyed! Next stop, junior year!