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foreveralwaysanauthor · 1 year ago

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Camp Wanamaker (Ch. 9/10)

September 21, 2023

Notes - This didn't take nearly as long as I thought it would, but it still feels like it took me ages to finish, if that makes any sense haha. This was a lot of fun to put together and I hope you like it as much as I did writing it!

Chapter 9: Merely Players

Heavy thumps echoed throughout the grounds of Camp Wanamaker as hail poured from the clouds above. It had rained since the night before, but had turned to hail overnight. Thankfully, all those who had gone to the carnival on Saturday had gotten home before the hail had begun, but it wasn’t long after dinner that everyone began running for cover. It had started off simple - tiny chunks of hail coming in mixture with the rain. However, as the night progressed, the size of the hail grew to more than the size of a dime and inched closer to that of a quarter.

The cracked remnants of pavement in the parking lot took a battering as hail bounced off of the fifty-year-old tar and, as hail bounced off of the roof of the main office, a sigh drew from the lips of a particular brunette. Dark gray clouds overhead loomed with the threat of violence and, as green eyes scanned the parking lot, she wondered how well the cars would hold out from the beating. The poor Tesla sitting just outside of the border of an old maple tree would be lucky if it still had its windshield intact by the end of the storm while she was sure the trucks and old jalopies would make it out just fine regardless of where they sat in the lot. Maybe she would be able to get some dents out with hot water and a plunger if need be - she never got the chance to test it before.

Standing from her seat on the wrap-around porch, Hayley stood and made her way inside to grab another bottle of water from the cooler behind the desk. So long as none of the hail bounced its way through the screen door, she was fine to come and go from the building as she pleased. Holding the door open for her loyal companion, Hayley watched as Ding trotted his way into the office, a slobbered trail of drool marking his pathway as he spotted the glass jar of treats on the desk.

With a fond shake of her head, Hayley dropped into the swivel chair behind the desk as she inched the cooler out from its hiding spot. Tugging a bottle of Poland Spring from its spot nestled between chunks of ice and cans of slightly-above-room-temperature Baja Blasts, Hayley pushed the lid of the cooler shut and shuffled it closer before resting her feet on it for good measure. Reaching for the jar on the desk as she placed her dripping bottle on a folded napkin, she sent Ding a look and waited for him to sit before tossing him a taco-flavored treat.

As the slobbering dog inhaled the treat, Hayley chuckled and shook her head. For a Sunday morning, the camp was quiet. Normally, the local members of staff would make their way back to the grounds for work after spending the weekend home with family and would be running around the campus with their friends and the long-distance campers they had bonded with over the summer. That day, however, things seemed far quieter than normal. With the final day of the local carnival being the day before, she wouldn’t have been totally surprised to see carpooling parents dragging their hungover children to the grounds, but a majority of those that had left on Friday night had returned on their own volition. Sure, some wore sunglasses and clutched bottles of either water or aspirin, but most seemed chipper and eager to work through the final week of camp. There were some who hadn’t yet appeared that Hayley hoped were simply stuck in traffic or stumbling their way to the front door with the stereotypical grumblings of lights and sounds being far too much for them to handle, but if they weren’t there by lunch, she would call.

Twisting the cap of her bottle open, Hayley nudged the clipboard of campers and their emergency contacts closer. Some had called to opt out of the final week with claims of sickness - a common occurrence so close to the back-to-school season - while most called to confirm a bunk was still available. Setting her bottle aside and running an absentminded hand through Ding’s fur, Hayley reached for the paper Charlie had left on the counter and checked through it to make sure none of the call-outs were on the list of actors her wife had provided. The list had been thorough - not unusual for Charlie in the slightest - and had gone so far as to list the ensemble characters that didn’t even have names. What was odd, however, was that Charlie hadn’t listed any names for the understudies.

Hayley shrugged, maybe Charlie had simply forgotten to list them. Her wife often got so absorbed in her current project that she couldn’t think of much else unless it was placed in front of her on a silver platter. Taking another sip of her drink as she slid the paper and clipboard to their original places, Hayley gave Ding a good scratch behind his pointed ears and wiggled the computer mouse to wake it from its slumber. She had to update the camp’s website and send out a notification to all parents that the camp’s final hurrah for the summer would be that weekend. With the campfire awards on Friday night and the big show on Saturday, most of the nearby hotels would find themselves relatively full of eager families hoping to get a good spot at every available event.

Hayley snorted as the computer pinged with email notifications - she didn’t envy any of those parents in the slightest. A familiar tune filled the air and Hayley glanced away from the screen long enough to spot her sister’s name at the top of her phone screen. Picking up her device and accepting the call, she put it on speaker before saying, “Hey, Chels.”

“Hayley, have you seen Vivien today?” her twin asked. “I tried asking her about the show on Saturday and she hasn’t gotten back to me.”

“They’re doing Hairspray,” Hayley commented as she began typing out the email that would be sent to every parent and guardian on the roster for the summer.

“I know that,” Chelsea sighed and Hayley could imagine her rolling her eyes. “She was supposed to tell me when we should get to the camp for it.”

Hayley paused in her typing, glancing at her phone with a disapproving frown. Her sister and brother-in-law came to camp for the performances every year, regardless of whether or not one of their kids was in the show - how did they not know when to show up? It was the same every year. “Let me check real quick,” Hayley said, forcing herself to bite her tongue as she hastily typed something into the email and pretended to click around a few times. “It starts at six, so I would get here for four if you plan on having dinner here.”

“We won’t be,” Chelsea replied. “Damien and I are having dinner with the kids at that new Korean place in Laconia before we go.”

“Ah,” Hayley breathed, nodding to herself as she sent out the email. It wasn’t odd for her sister or her husband to pick the kids up for dinner on the last day at camp and Vivien had brought up wanting to try the new restaurant’s hot pot more than once. It would be fun for all of them. “Do you think Viv will be back in time for the show?”

Hayley heard a pause on the other end before her sister admitted, “We weren’t planning on taking her this time, what with her working and all. Figured she would be too busy to get time away.”

If the glare Hayley sent her phone would have shot through the screen and hit her sister, she would have been an only child. Taking in a slow breath to steady herself, Hayley said, “I thought Vivien wanted to try that place.”

“I didn’t know,” Chelsea said, to which her sister mouthed “Bullshit.” There was no way her sister hadn’t heard her own daughter’s excited ramblings in the car or the lengthy phone calls to her friends talking about how exciting it would be to try. To anyone else, it could have been just a simple show of ignorance, but to Hayley, it meant more than that, and her sister’s next statement only cemented that. “Abby and Oliver found some pictures and a few TikToks, so we decided we would try it. She can go with us next time.”

As much as Hayley wanted nothing more than to tell her sister off for disregarding the child she had literally begged for nearly seventeen years prior, Hayley resigned to a simple hum. She would be sure to tell their parents about the turn of events - their mom would handle her with a level of graceful rage that Hayley had never quite possessed. The verbal lashing would be worth her silence in the meantime. “In that case, maybe show up at five-thirty so you can get good seats.”

Chelsea hummed and Hayley overhead a faint scratch of pen on paper before her sister said, “Okay, see you then.”

“See you,” Hayley replied, but the call had ended before he had finished her sentence. Staring at her phone, she muttered, “Bitch.”

“Nice to see you too,” a voice chuckled, forcing Hayley’s gaze to fall upon her beloved niece. With a smile, Hayley relaxed in her seat as Vivien asked, “So, who pissed in your Cheerios this morning?”

With a roll of her emerald eyes, Hayley met her niece’s gaze and huffed, “Your mother.”

“Enough said,” Vivien snorted.

“Did you know she’s a raging cunt?”

“I live with her, so yeah.”

“More power to ya, baby girl.”

“So,” Vivien drawled as she leaned against the desk, “would you care to tell me why she’s being a bitch today?”

“Vivien,” Hayley attempted to correct, “please don’t call your mother a bitch.”

“Why not?” Vivien asked. “We both know she is and you’re the one who just called her a-”

“I know what I said,” Hayley quickly interrupted, “but if your Nonna comes in while you’re calling your mother a bitch, I’ll have to answer for it.”

With a snicker, Vivien pushed away the mischievous glimmer in her eyes and resigned, “Fine, but will you at least tell me what she did?”

Despite feeling more than tempted to do just that, Hayley shook her head, “Just know that you’ll be getting a front-row seat to a verbal lashing on Saturday.”

Intrigue flooded Vivien at once as she asked, “Nonna?”

“Nonna,” Hayley agreed with a nod. “Now, what are you doing here? I thought you, your boy toy, and my painting buddy were all spending the day cuddled up in bed, surrounded by books.”

“My boy toy’s brother is currently snuggling with the toilet,” Vivien sighed. “Royce thinks it was the lobster mac-and-cheese, but I thought it was the turducken.”

“Turducken?” Hayley echoed with a raised eyebrow. “Is that a-”

“Turkey stuffed with a duck, stuffed with a chicken,” Vivien nodded. “We all had at least a bite of Miles’ lobster mac, but Ben was the only one to try one of the samples of turducken. He said it was good, but he didn’t look so hot last night.”

Hayley nodded as she soaked in the information, “With any luck, he’ll get it out of him quick and be back to normal.”

“That’s why I was hoping to find Nonna and her magical bag of pills,” Vivien commented. “She always has something in there to make people feel better quicker.”

“That she does,” Hayley mused. Pulling one of the desk drawers open, she peered into the disaster area her father had created over the last few weeks and pulled out a box of tiny green pills before holding it out to Vivien. “I’m no Nonna, but here. Make sure to have Miles read the instructions before he gives Bentley any, but that should get his stomach settled. Have him drink some ginger ale while you’re at it - it helps all the same. If worst comes to worst, we’ll take a trip to the pharmacy for something stronger.”

“And you’re sure this’ll work?” Vivien asked.

“Like I said,” Hayley began, “I’m no Nonna; I don’t have a magic bag of pills. I do, however, know all too well how well those work. If he can keep it down, great. If not, don’t push it and stick to fluids. Gatorade and ginger ale are best for a sick stomach.”

Rounding the desk, Vivien brought her arms around Hayley’s neck, allowing the woman to reciprocate the hug before muttering over her shoulder, “Thanks, Auntie.”

“Anytime, munchkin,” Hayley breathed. Patting her niece’s back, she waited for Vivien to pull back before taking her hand and squeezing it. “Now, go get that to your friend, and let me know how it goes.”

Vivien nodded dutifully, giving her aunt a mock salute and thanking her once more before giving Ding a quick pat and making her way back outside. Hayley watched as Vivien ran under the cover of the large trees that lined the camp. She hoped the girl’s trip to the office would be effective in helping Bentley. As she watched her niece depart, Hayley sighed. She was sure she would hear all about it sooner or later. Turning her chair around once Vivien disappeared from her line of sight, Hayley looked at the lazy dog who had chosen to curl up on the wooden floorboards. All he had to do was eat treats and fall asleep in a drooling puddle. He didn’t have to answer emails or phone calls or worry about sick children all day. Lucky mutt.

As though someone was listening to her thoughts, the landline phone on the desk began to ring. Taking in a deep breath, Hayley righted her posture and picked up the phone, hoping her customer service voice had taken effect as she answered, “Camp Wanamaker front desk, this is Hayley. How can I help you?”

“Hi, Hayley, my name is Justin Collins,” the person on the other end of the line said. “I’m calling in regards to my niece Victoria.”

Picking up the clipboard from the desk and flipping a few pages in, Hayley nodded despite knowing the man on the other side of the call couldn’t see her, “I see her in our records.”

“Well, she just told me that she’s supposed to be in this year’s play,” he continued.

Leaning to the side enough to glance at the list of actors Charlie had supplied her with, Hayley hummed, “She is, yeah. Miss Tracy Turnblad herself. You must be proud.”

“Well, I hate to say this, but we won’t be able to make it to the show,” Justin said.

“Ah, well, we do record the show and send a copy to all parents once the audio has been edited,” Hayley said. “I can make a note to give her extra flowers during the final bows if you’d like.”

“Well, you see, I’m afraid she won’t be able to be in the show at all,” Justin said. “We got a call this morning that her grandfather fell down the front steps of his house and broke his leg. We’re heading down to Maryland in about an hour to stay with him and help him recover.”

Glancing wide-eyed at the paper Charlie had left for her, Hayley swallowed thickly and said, “I’m so sorry.”

“We are too,” Justin said. A voice in the background of the call said something Hayley couldn’t quite make out and Justin relayed, “Victoria wanted to apologize in person, but we can’t make it out before we leave.”

Despite her inner panic settling in, Hayley kept her voice even and calm as she said, “We totally understand. We’ll have Victoria’s understudy take over the show. Just tell her to help take good care of her grandpa and we’ll make sure to save her a spot in the next play we put on if she decides she wants to try out next year.”

“I don’t doubt she will,” Justin chuckled. “Thank you for understanding; especially on such short notice. We’ll see you guys for the arctic blast if you decide to host this year.”

“I think the camp in Northfield is putting it on this year, but yes, we will see you there,” Hayley said, offering some final pleasantries before setting the phone back on the hook. Tugging a pen from a cup on the corner of the desk, Hayley scribbled a quick note next to Victoria’s name on the clipboard before reaching for the note Charlie left her. Knowing Charlie wouldn’t have gone through with the performance without a lengthy list of potential understudies, Hayley scratched a single line through Victoria’s name and set the pen on the table as the phone began to ring once more.

Answering as she had earlier, Hayley smiled as a familiar voice came over the line, “Hey, Hails, it’s Annie.”

Annie Foster had been Hayley’s roommate in college and the pair had gotten immensely close during their time living together. More often than not, the pair had spent almost every evening on the couch, shoving ice cream or microwave noodles in their faces as they watched movies they borrowed from the next dorm over. After finding out her friend was back in the area for the summer, Hayley managed to convince Annie to let her kids attend her family’s camp to give Annie and her husband some time off before the next school year. “Annie, hey! How are you?”

“Could be better,” Annie sighed. “Rowan, his cousin, and some of their idiot friends got into an accident last night after they left the carnival. We’ve been at the hospital all night.”

“Oh no, is he okay?”

“Broken femur, but he’s fine otherwise.”

Hayley chuckled, “I’m surprised you sound so calm.”

“Yeah, well, I had the last ten or so hours to tear into him, so most of the initial rage is long gone,” Annie laughed. “Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that the hospital is putting him on bed rest for a while, so he won’t be able to go to camp this week.”

Flipping a few pages down on the list of campers, Hayley found Rowan’s name and clicked her pen before scribbling a note beside his information. “That’s alright, Ann; I get it. We’ll mark it down.”

“Thank you so much, Hails,” Annie breathed. “I’m so sorry about this. I hope you guys can find a replacement for him in the show.”

“The show?”

“Yeah, he said something about being in a musical this year,” Annie said. “I guess some girl he liked was trying out for the lead so he tried out and ended up in the show. We were supposed to see it, but with him laid up like this, I’m afraid he won’t be able to make it.”

Glancing at the paper Charlie gave her that morning, Hayley took in a breath and asked, “Was the girl’s name Victoria, by any chance?”

“That sounds familiar,” Annie offered. “It could be.”

“Well, tell him that, if it is her, she’s been called out as well,” Hayley stated, bringing Charlie’s list of actors over so she could take Rowan’s name off the list. “They had a family emergency in another state.”

“Wow,” Annie breathed. “Well, I’ll let him know. Thanks again for being so understanding. I’ll try to make it to drop-off for Micah, but if I’m not there today…”

“You can always bring her tomorrow if that makes it easier,” Hayley suggested. “A lot of the out-of-state people with too much money on their hands do.”

Annie graciously accepted the offer and gave a few brief words before ending the call, allowing Hayley to place the phone down before running her hands into her hair with a groan of frustration. With their production of Hairspray now up to the understudies, Hayley hoped Charlie had something good cooking in that brain of hers. With any luck, she picked someone who could handle the spotlight with grace and ease; someone who was up to the task of holding the whole show on their shoulders for the night.

“What do you mean you don’t have any understudies?” Hayley wondered with wide eyes as she watched her wife pace in front of their bed. Returning to their little treehouse apartment after dinner, the first thing she chose to tell her wife was that they would need to gather the understudies for Link Larkin and Tracy Turnblad. What she hadn’t expected in the slightest was for Charlie to start panicking, pacing the floor of their room and rattling off a bunch of nonsensical sentences before hesitantly admitting there were no understudies on the roster.

“I didn’t think I would need any!” Charlie exclaimed in astonishment. “They all said they would be here for the week and that they could handle it. I wasn’t accounting for any of this!”

“You couldn’t have known this would happen, Char.”

“What are we going to do?”

Hayley shrugged, “I don’t know if I’m the person you should be asking. I wasn’t with you at the auditions.”

Charlie was quick to shake her head as she said, “Most of the others who auditioned said they weren’t sure they would be able to make it. I might have to pull people from the staff to fix this.”

Hayley thought for a moment. It would be hard to find people on such short notice. Most of the actors had a month or so of rehearsals and prep; it would take a lot of hard work and dedication for someone to jump right in during the last week of practice. Off the top of her head, she could think of only a handful of young staff members who would be willing and able to make it through the week. “What about Carrie? She could fill in as Tracy.”

“She’s my assistant this week,” Charlie said with a shake of her head. “Riven’s working as stage manager and she’s helping me with everything. I can’t go through this week without her to balance things.”

“Okay, what about Vivien and Noah?” Hayley offered. “They’re both capable.”

“Noah sings like a wounded cat and we both know how Vivien likes the stage,” Charlie huffed.

Hayley shook her head. There had to be another way to get Vivien on stage. As a self-proclaimed theatre nerd, Vivien loved musicals and all sorts of plays, but couldn’t bear being on center stage herself. If only there was a way to convince her to get up there. “What if we bribe her?”

“Bribe her?” Charlie echoed. “Bribe her how?”

Hayley smirked, “I can think of a few ways.”

“Do you think they’ll work?”

“Only one way to find out.”

“Hell no!” Vivien shot down as she stood from her seat next to Charlie on the edge of the pier.

It hadn’t taken Charlie long to concoct a plan to get Vivien on board for the show, however, she hadn’t accounted for so much pushback from the girl. After talking it through with her wife a few times that morning, she made her way down to the Lakeside Lodge to talk with her niece one-on-one. As they walked to the pier, Charlie explained the situation before asking the girl to join the cast in the lead role. Her response, however, was not what Charlie had expected.

“Why not?” she asked as she pushed herself to her feet.

“I could think of a whole list of reasons,” Vivien began, “starting with the fact that there are enough to constitute a list.”

“But you would be incredible up there!” Charlie tried. Bringing an arm around Vviien’s shoulders, Charlie began gesturing with her hands as she said, “I mean, just imagine it; you standing on center stage with a big bouquet of flowers as the crowd applauds you on the best performance of your life.”

Copying Charlie’s motions, Vivien said in a similar tone, “The first few rows covered in my vomit during the first song as obnoxiously loud sixties music pumps through the playhouse.” Charlie grimaced and Vivien chuckled, “Exactly. Look, I love musicals - Hairspray is actually one of my favorites - but I’m not made to be on stage. I’m meant to sit in the audience and try not to sing along.”

“That’s exactly why I want you up there,” Charlie said, stepping away from Vivien and taking the teen by the hands. “I’ve heard you sing and I’ve seen you dance with Hayley when we’re watching the movie. You practically know the whole show by heart and you’d be perfect up there.”

“I just don’t see it,” Vivien said with an apologetic smile and a shrug. “I’m sorry, Char.”

As Vivien turned to walk back to the lodge, Charlie tried to think of a way to reel her in before blurting, “What if I can get Royce on board?”

Vivien stalled mid-step, slowly turning back toward her aunt with a raised brow. “What?”

“What if I can get Royce to play Link?” Charlie restated. “I mean, think about it. You two would be working together on everything and you’d have someone up there to keep you relatively calm.”

“I don’t think Royce would do it,” Vivien said with a shake of her head. “He doesn’t like being on stage either.”

Charlie paused before asking, “What if I told him about the kiss at the end of the show? Do you think that would change his mind?”

“I doubt it,” Vivien shrugged. “We’ve never kissed and I doubt he’d want to do it in front of everyone like that.”

“It would give you both the chance to practice on your own,” Charlie said with a wiggle of her eyebrows. “Besides, I’m sure I can come up with something that would get him on board.”

“I’m not so sure.”

Charlie was quick to brush her off with a wave of her hand, “That doesn’t matter. All I need to ask is that, if I can manage to rope him in, would you be willing to play Tracy for me?”

Vivien thought for a while; what did she have to lose? Royce would never agree to be in a show like that. He told her himself that he doesn’t even like being on stage back at Big Momma’s; why on earth would he be willing to play the lead role in a musical where he would have to be in front of a couple hundred people? Inwardly smirking, Vivien nodded, “Alright. If you can manage to convince him to play Link, I’ll have no problem helping out as Tracy.”

“Do you mean that?” Charlie asked, a glimmer of hope shining in her rich chocolate eyes.

Vivien hated knowing she was getting Charlie’s hopes up for nothing, but as she offered her aunt a smile, she hoped the woman wouldn’t be too upset with her. “Yeah, of course.” Vivien tried to hide her surprise as Charlie let out a squeal of excitement and brought her into a tight hug, thanking her repeatedly as she bounced them around the end of the pier. Chuckling over her aunt’s shoulder, Vivien hoped Royce would find it in him to let the woman down easy.

After spending the majority of his free time over the last week bingeing both available seasons of a show Vivien recommended to him, Royce had spent his time in the library pulling books about ghosts from the shelves to try to figure out if there was any truth to the CBS show. Ghosts had been a great show and, while he hoped it would be renewed for a third season, he just couldn’t understand how easily the main character adjusted to seeing dead people walking around her house. If that had happened to him, he probably would have admitted himself to the nearest mental institution and declared he had actually gone insane.

For the most part, it appeared as though everyone’s opinion on ghosts differed. Some found it spooky while others found it endearing, some found it dangerous while others reveled in haunted locations around the world. Fleetingly, Royce wondered if ghosts wandered the land the camp had been built on. In the show, a Native American ghost named Sasappis and a Viking named Thorfinn roamed the property long before the house had been built. It wouldn’t have been totally outlandish if old spirits still lingered.

Royce paused in his reading. Maybe that would explain why he always smelled sawdust and fish in the mornings. With a shrug, he returned to his borrowed book. Maybe sooner or later he would see if Vivien felt up to ghost hunting with him. They could set up camp in one of her favorite abandoned buildings and try some methods from one of the books. The spooky season would soon be upon them, after all, and according to a majority of the books he had read, something called a veil would be thinning as they got closer to Halloween, making it easier for ghosts to communicate.

As Royce turned to a page about the differences between types of hauntings, the door in front of his desk swung open, banging against the wall as a brightly-colored figure entered. Looking up from his book with wide eyes, Royce relaxed as he took in the image of his girlfriend’s aunt. “Sorry about that, Royce,” Charlie said, pushing the door closed behind her as she entered the relatively quiet library. “The wind snatched the door from me, I guess.”

Tucking a bookmark between pages, Royce smiled, “That’s alright. Vivien’s not here, though.”

Charlie shrugged, “Thanks, but I wasn’t looking for her.”

“You weren’t?”

Charlie shook her head, “Nope. I was looking for you.”

“Me?” This time, Charlie nodded. Royce glanced toward the window that gave him a clear view of the playhouse and sighed, “I don’t know what you’ve heard, but whatever it is, Carrie started it.”

Charlie paused as she pulled a chair over to Royce’s desk, looking over at the boy with a smile as she asked, “Was that a Hamilton reference?”

Letting out a nervous chuckle, Royce shrugged, “Maybe.”

With a snicker, Charlie sat down, “I take it you like musicals, then?”

“A few,” Royce agreed. “Viv’s made me sit through so many bootlegs that I’ve lost track of how many.”

“You know,” she began, “that’s actually something she and I bonded over way back when.”

“Really?”

“Mhm,” Charlie hummed. “I majored in musical theatre, so when I found out that Vivien had a literal wall of Playbills from over the years that she kept at Hayley’s old apartment, I went a bit overboard and started trying to bond over that more than anything else.”

Royce chuckled, “Did it work?”

“Not at first,” Charlie admitted, “but it was progress all the same. Nowadays, she’s just as crazy as I am about musicals and everything theatre.”

“So I see.”

Giving the boy before her a smile, Charlie said, “Actually, that’s sort of what I came to talk with you about.”

“You and Vivien’s shared love of Broadway?”

“In a roundabout way, yes.” Chuckling, Charlie shook her head and said, “You know how Carrie and I are in charge of the big performance this year, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, our leading actors just left us hanging,” Charlie stated with a sigh. “I am currently scrambling to find actors to fill the role, but with such short notice, I’m running out of options.”

Without much hesitation, Royce suggested, “Vivien would be a good fit. She’s told me before that she’s practifcally memorized Hairspray.”

“She would be great as Tracy, but she doesn’t want to.”

“What? Why?”

“Stage fright, mostly. I mean, I can’t blame her. I was terrified my first time on a stage. It’s just-” Charli cut herself off with a sigh as she rested her elbow on the desk and leaned her chin on her palm, “I know this role would be easy for her.”

“I’ve heard her sing ‘Good Morning Baltimore’,” Royce admitted. “She would be great as Tracy.”

“She would,” Charlie nodded, “but she doesn’t want to do it alone.”

Royce sighed, “I wish I could help you convince her, but since I’m in the same boat, I doubt she’d let me push her much.”

Lighting up as though Royce had come up with the most incredible plan known to mankind, Charlie leaned forward, grabbing Royce’s hands with a squeal, “That’s it!”

“What’s it?”

“You could play Link!” Charlie exclaimed.

“Huh?”

Ignoring Royce’s confusion, the woman with the pepto-bismol-colored braids continued, “If you join the cast as Link, that would help convince Vivien to be our Tracy. That way, you both have someone to help you on stage and, at the end of the day, you get to share one of the most memorable kisses in theatre history!”

While her statement might have been a bit of a stretch, the speed at which it stopped any further arguments from tumbling out of Royce’s mouth made Charlie’s smile spread only further. It took the boy a while to process the information, his mind stumbling to catch up with the words Charlie had verbally tossed his way. Eventually, he met her eyes and softly asked, “We would kiss?”

Charlie nodded, “Toward the end of the final song ‘You Can’t Stop the Beat’, there’s a kiss between Tracy and Link. Of course, it could always be just a stage kiss, but if we wanted realism…”

“She would have to kiss whoever is playing Link,” Royce finished.

Charlie hummed in agreement, watching the wheels in Royce’s head slowly turn as he took in this new information. For a while, Royce appeared to go back and forth, weighing the pros and cons of being in the camp’s production. Then, just as he seemed ready to regretfully shoot her down, Charlie squeezed his hands with hopeful eyes and a beaming smile, hoping it would break his already fragile resolve as she asked, “So, what do you say?”

“Well…”

“And you said yes?” Vivien asked in bewilderment as she followed Royce to the array of cooked eggs and pancakes.

“You didn’t see the look she gave me,” Royce tried, deliberately keeping his gaze on the spoonful of scrambled eggs he had just added to his plate. “She looked like one of those sad puppies in those charity commercials. I couldn’t say no to that.”

Shooting her boyfriend a blank stare, Vivien huffed, “Two letters; you couldn’t manage two letters, Royce?”

“It’s not my proudest moment, okay?” Royce sighed. “I just thought that it would be nice.”

“You hate being on stage.”

“Yeah, but when you and I were forced into karaoke back at Big Momma’s, it wasn’t so bad,” Royce offered. “I figured this couldn’t be too different.”

Mentally beating the butterflies in her stomach with a baseball bat, Vivien took in a breath and said, “As endearing as that is, I was hoping you’d tell her anything but yes.”

“I know I have no say in this,” Bentley began as he reached between the pair for a pancake, “but I think you both will be amazing in the show.”

“Thanks,” Royce said.

“Thank you, Beemer,” Vivien sighed. “I just wish it could have been a smaller crowd.”

Bentley glanced Vivien’s way as he backed up a step and swiveled around his brother, “Says the one who literally performs for arenas full of people almost every weekend in the winter.”

“That’s different,” Vivien claimed as she stepped around Bentley to grab some sausage patties. “On the ice, I can hardly see anything other than colorful blobs flying by. On a stage, I have no choice but to stare into the soul of some rando while acting as though I can’t see them.” She groaned, “Just thinking about it is making me feel sick.”

Royce placed a gentle hand on Vivien’s back as he walked behind her, offering her an apologetic smile as he said, “We can always say that we need to back out.”

“And leave them scrambling to find two other victims?” Vivien asked rhetorically. “It just wouldn’t feel right.”

Royce opened his mouth to agree, but was cut off as Bentley passed behind them and muttered, “Incoming.”

Before either Vivien or Royce could ask what was going on, a pair of arms landed on their shoulders, dragging them closer to the head of curly blonde hair that had settled between them. Carrie’s signature, mega-watt smile turned toward both of them as she cheerfully said, “Well, if it isn’t Miss Tracy Turnblad and Mister Link Larkin.”

“Hi, Carrie,” Vivien breathed, a ghost of a smile appearing as the blonde released her and her boyfriend. “I take it Charlie told you already.”

“She did and you have no idea how excited I am to work with you both,” the blonde practically squealed. “Not like you’ll need a lot of help. You both have incredible chemistry already; we’ll just have to move it into the limelight.”

As his girlfriend attempted to cover a grimace with a nervous grin, Royce said, “We were actually just talking about that.”

“Oh, good!” Carrie said with a cheery smile. “Rehearsal starts around ten and goes to eleven-fifty, but because you’re both joining late, Charlie said we might also be doing an afternoon session with some special emphasis on the two of you so you can get used to everything.”

Before Royce could argue that they were thinking of leaving the production, Vivien took his hand and sent him a subtle grin before saying, “That would be great. We’d hate to drag all of the other actors down because we missed so much.”

Carrie hummed approvingly before saying, “In that case, I’ll let you get back to making breakfast and we can talk more on the walk to the playhouse.”

As Carrie sauntered her way back to the table, Bentley snorted, “So much for dropping out.”

Royce elbowed his brother as Vivien reached for a cup to fill with juice and remarked, “It’s only one night.”

“Yeah,” Royce agreed. “It’s not like we’re signing our lives away.”

“Tell that to Carrie,” Bentley chuckled as he moved around Vivien to make himself a drink.

“We’re on stage for maybe a total of two-and-a-half hours and then we’re done,” Vivien sighed, more to herself than anything. Glancing between the brothers on either side of her, she offered them a grin as she said, “I mean, come on, what’s the worst that could happen?”

Vivien used a huff of air to blow her bangs from her eyes as Charlie helped her zip up the dress she had taken off the rack. It seemed as though the universe had taken her simple, rhetorical question as a challenge - something that had definitely not been her intention. While she knew that costumes played a big part in any musical, she had somehow forgotten that signing up to play one of the leading characters meant you were stuck trying on every single costume possible for your character and the era they lived in.

This dress, however, felt nothing like the soft fabrics she knew were popular in the early sixties. Though she couldn’t tell her aunt this, she had actually been to the sixties and knew for a fact that not everything was made of itchy, rough fabric that felt as though it would leave little red bumps everywhere if you let it brush your skin. Mick, Carrie, and some of their friends made sure Vivien felt comfortable in every outfit she bought in the first week of her stay with them. The dress Charlie was having her try on was nothing like the flowy, gentle fabrics she knew and loved from the long-gone era.

Staring at herself in the mirror, Vivien wondered if she could convince Charlie to change the costume to one of the ones she kept tucked away in her closet since her stay in the other world. Glancing at her aunt’s reflection, Vivien took in a breath and said, “It’s itchy.”

Charlie looked up and met the eyes of Vivien’s reflection before smiling, “I know, but this is just a mock-up. We’ll be going to a vintage store in a few days to find something that works.”

Deciding to bite the bullet, Vivien offered, “You know, I actually have a few legit vintage dresses at my house. Can we just use those?”

“We might be able to,” Charlie said as she nudged Vivien to turn toward her. “Do you have any pictures?”

Vivien nodded and stepped down from the platform, making her way to where she had left her belongings and grabbing her phone. It didn’t take long for her to find the folder dedicated to all the photos she had taken in her favorite sixties clothes. Tapping on the first image, she held the phone out to her aunt and said, “Just scroll through and you’ll see them all.”

Charlie hummed as she scrolled through the pictures on her niece’s phone, “We could definitely use some of these.” Vivien smiled, hopeful that she would be dressed in something far more comfortable than the dress she was in. As Charlie reached the end of the folder, her eyebrows raised and she chuckled, “Where did you take this?”

Glancing over her aunt’s shoulder, Vivien chuckled nervously as she took in the image of herself and the Murphy brothers brandishing water guns on the beach. Gingerly taking the phone from her aunt, Vivien said, “Remember when I went to California for February vacation?” At her aunt’s nod, Vivien continued, “Well, Miles and the boys surprised me with a water gun fight while Mick and Butchy were having a date night.”

“Ah, well, it looks like you had fun.”

“We did until Bentley filled his with salt water and nailed Miles in the face.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah.”

“Anyway,” Charlie began, “those outfits could work. If you want, we can go pick them up after rehearsal this afternoon.”

Vivien nodded as she looked through her phone, “I think my dad’s going to be the only one there. Abby said she was going to the mall with Courtney and Becca later, and I think Mom said she was taking Olly to physical therapy and then school shopping.”

“We should be able to get in and out pretty quickly then,” Charlie mused. After a moment, she shrugged and made a gesture with her hand before sighing, “We can talk about it later. For now, let’s go see how Royce and Carrie are getting along.”

Following her aunt toward the stage, Vivien took in a deep breath and sighed, grateful to at least have been able to keep her sneakers on. Her lack of coordination in anything with a heel would have resulted in yet another actress leaving the production. Closing the door to the backstage area, Vivien winced as she heard Carrie let out a noise of frustration. Charlie stilled, glancing over her shoulder at her niece who merely shrugged as though the woman should have anticipated things going as well as they were. The closer they got to the stage, the more they could hear Carrie and Royce arguing, and with every step, Vivien watched the hope in Charlie’s eyes die just a little more.

Yeah, they were in for a fun week.

“I just don’t know what to do!” Carrie complained as she paced the playhouse’s front porch.

After lunch, the entirety of the cast had assembled in the playhouse, hoping to give the show the only fighting chance it had left. Their morning practice hadn’t gone so well as they watched Royce and Carrie argue about, well, anything they could think of while everyone else tried to keep at least some semblance of hope alive. Now that they had reconvened in the playhouse, Vivien and Royce were backstage with a majority of the cast, getting ready for their first full rehearsal with everyone, giving Charlie, Carrie, and Riven the chance to talk about how to handle everything being thrown at them.

Crossing one of her legs over the other, Charlie sighed from her seat on a tree stump, “It’s certainly going to be difficult with Royce at your throat the entire time.”

“I thought having Vivien around would calm him down, but no,” Carrie paused to place her hands on her hips. “It seems as though he just hates working with me no matter what.”

“It doesn’t help that Vivien is too focused on her fear to tell him to stop,” Riven mused, the old railing of the porch tilting to the side as he leaned against it. “Normally, she’s pretty quick with it, but today she’s so out of it that she never even tried.”

“I hate to say this,” Charlie began, taking in a deep breath as she glanced from Riven to Carrie, “but between your fights with Royce and Vivien nearly fainting under the lights alone, we just might have to call the show off entirely.”

Carrie’s frustration began to ebb as she met Charlie’s eyes and asked, “But what about ‘the show must go on’?”

Charlie shook her head, glancing at the leaves on the ground as she sighed, “If we don’t figure something out before the end of the day, there might not be a show at all.”

Riven glanced over his shoulder as voices carried from the inside of the playhouse. Turning back toward the women, he said, “I’ll try to talk with them. Vivien’s good about taking advice and minor criticism, so I doubt it’ll take much for her to want to work harder. Royce, on the other hand… I’m not really sure what to do there.”

The fire in Carrie’s eyes appeared to reignite as she rolled her eyes, but Charlie was quick to cut the blonde off as she spoke up, “Carrie and I will figure something out. We’ll give you some time to talk with them, and we’ll be inside in a few.”

Glancing between Carrie and Charlie, Riven nodded wordlessly and shifted away from the railing. Carrie watched as he made his way back inside the building and, once he was gone, she turned her attention back to Charlie as she moved to sit on the front steps. “So, do you have any advice for me here? Any words of wisdom from someone who has been there and done that?”

“Not really,” Charlie said with a chuckle as she moved to sit beside the blonde. “Vivien was nine and was sort of like an angry Chihuahua - all bark and hardly any bite. If I truly wanted to - and, believe me, there were many times when I did - I could have easily dropkicked her and called it a day.”

A snort left Carrie before she could stop it and the pair shared a smile as Carrie said, “But you didn’t.”

“There were days when it was very tempting, but no, I didn’t.” Taking in a deep breath, Charlie said, “With Royce, you’re dealing with an entirely different can of worms. He’s more like a wounded Rottweiler - ready to snap back if you approach him the wrong way.”

“And I don’t get why,” Carrie sighed.

“If you had asked me before, I would have said it was a power struggle. He didn’t want you to have a say in anything he did, and you both are very strong-willed; it only made sense at the time. Now, on the other hand…” Charlie allowed her comments to drift off as she thought for a moment. “Now, if I had to guess, I would say most of it is due to him wanting to protect himself and those he loves.”

Carrie took in the older woman’s words before sighing, “But I’m not a danger to any of them.”

Charlie shook her head, laying her hand over Carrie’s before speaking, “Listen, Vivien told me that you and the boys didn’t exactly get off on the right foot, and it isn’t hard to see that most of it stems from your relationship with Miles. Royce loves Miles with everything he has, and while a part of him knows that you make Miles happy, he doesn’t want to see him get hurt if the relationship goes down in flames. He pushes you to see how far you’re willing to go to keep your relationship with Miles.”

“That sounds about right,” Carrie mused, “but what do I do to keep him from trying to pick a fight in there?”

Allowing herself to come up with a few options for the evening, Charlie said, “We can work on it together for now and hopefully get him to focus on the big picture. With any luck, he’ll focus more on Vivien and keeping her at ease than he will on verbally tearing you limb from limb.”

“Using his love for her as a distraction,” Carrie spoke thoughtfully. “It could work.”

“Let’s hope,” Charlie agreed. “Then, in the morning, we’ll switch.”

“Switch?”

Charlie’s hair bobbed as she nodded, “I’ll work with Royce on his stage presence and maybe enlist Miles’ help getting him to sing without his voice shaking. In the meantime, you’ll work with Vivien to hopefully make her more comfortable on the stage and get her to really showcase her talents.”

“Do you think it’ll work?” Carrie asked.

“One can only hope.”

The next morning, Vivien found her usual morning with Royce and Bentley interrupted as Carrie asked her to help her set up some things in the playhouse. Though both Royce and Bentley offered to help, Vivien had told them to just relax and that she would see them in the mess hall before allowing Carrie to walk her to the playhouse. As they propped the doors open to allow some fresh air to circulate through the log building, she got a good look at the stage and attempted to keep the intimidation coursing through her veins to a minimum.

Sure, growing up, she had been in many little plays on that very stage, but she was never the main focus; that was something reserved for the older kids. Now that the time had come for her to be one of those “older kids,” Vivien didn’t know what to do. Though the stage had seemed huge as a kid, it felt no less intimidating, and standing center stage was no easy feat. The idea of a few hundred pairs of eyes staring up at her, watching her every move and every mistake in real time was daunting. This wasn’t like some video online that she could clip together in order to make herself look like a good actress - this was a legit performance in front of all of the friends she had made over the summer as well as their extended groups of friends and family.

As she begrudgingly followed Carrie into the building, Vivien tried not to shudder as panic swelled in her stomach. She would be lucky if she made it through another rehearsal without becoming a human pancake on the floor. Taking a deep breath as she followed Carrie onto the stage, Vivien shook her head and said, “I don’t know how you’re so comfortable performing in front of people.”

Carrie laughed, “Well, I've always wanted to be a star, so I guess it just always felt natural to me.”

Vivien made a noise of understanding as looked out at the rows of chairs they had set up the night before, but quickly turned her gaze back toward Carrie as she asked, “So, what did you need my help with?”

“Your confidence.”

The sixteen-year-old’s confusion was obvious as her eyebrow lifted past the edge of her bangs and her head tipped to the side. “I’m sorry; what?”

“I brought you here so that we can spend some time working on getting you more confident on stage,” Carrie explained. “Your Aunt Charlie and I both think that all you need is a bit of confidence to get you to show off your full potential.”

Vivien huffed, “You do realize that I never even wanted to be in this show in the first place, right? Like, the only reason I even said I would was because I thought she would never be able to convince Royce to join the cast.”

“I sort of figured,” Carrie shrugged. Smirking at the girl, she said, “You don’t seem like the type to want to be in front of thousands of people.”

“I’m not.”

“Says the competitive figure skater.”

“Well,” Vivien began, picking at her cuticles as she tried to avoid meeting the blonde’s gaze, “it’s not the same as competitions. On the ice, I hardly notice anyone and I don’t have to worry about the audience knowing me.”

“And you do here?” Carrie wondered. Before Vivien could answer, the blonde continued, “Most of the people that will be here are only here for their kids and won’t be bothered much by the performances.”

“Yeah, but-”

“Maybe Riven was wrong about you,” Carrie interrupted, hoping the advice the aforementioned male had given her would work as well as he claimed it would. Vivien tentatively looked up and Carrie continued, “He talks about you being this tough, take-no-shit, little badass, but I think she went into hiding because I haven’t seen her in days.”

“I’m just nervous,” Vivien muttered.

“And I totally get that, but,” Carrie sighed, a tone of disappointment obvious in her voice, “I was really hoping to see this firecracker lighting up the stage as the iconic Tracy Turnblad. Your aunts say that you’ve memorized the show since you were little.”

“I did, but that’s different,” Vivien claimed. “I wasn’t performing for anyone other than my family back then. Here, I’m in front of people I don’t even know.”

“And since when have other people’s opinions ever bothered you?”

“Since it would mean embarrassing myself in front of everyone I love,” Vivien admitted. “Here, it’s not just random people or just my family. I also have to worry about making a complete fool of myself in front of Royce and his brothers, Mick and Butchy, you, my parents, my siblings, my aunts, Riven and the girls, and practically everyone I grew up with here that’s now on the staff. It’s just,” Vivien paused to take in a deep breath, “the idea of letting them all down is making me physically ill.”

“If they truly care about you, they’ll love your performance regardless of how it turns out,” Carrie spoke softly. “Besides, you’re insanely talented. I’ve heard you sing in the car and at karaoke night; you dance freely to music even if you’re the only one who hears it; and you captivated everyone when the power went out and you and your friends were acting out scenes from that video game. I hadn’t even heard of it before and I loved it!”

Vivien slowly looked up as she muttered, “I don’t see how.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Carrie said, taking Vivien’s shoulders and encouraging the girl to meet her gaze. “What I’m trying to say is that, whether you see it or not, you belong up here.”

“You really think I do?”

“Yeah,” Carrie nodded, “and I totally get being too worried about screwing up - we’ve all been there before at some point - but just know that, even if you decide to quit, I would have loved to see you setting the stage on fire Saturday night.”

Vivien drank in Carrie’s smile before the hands on her shoulders disappeared and Carrie moved around her, heading for the stairs. The tapping of the blonde’s shoes on the wood was the only sound in the building, but Vivien could hear the gears spinning on overdrive in her brain as she turned against her better judgment and asked, “What number do you want to work on first?”

Stalling halfway down the center aisle, Carrie slowly turned, fighting to keep her smile hidden as she asked, “What?”

“What number do you want to see?” Vivien restated. “I know all of them.”

“You know all the songs?”

Vivien nodded, “And almost all of the dances, if we’re going by the movie’s choreography.”

“We can work with that.”

“Right here, right now?” Vivien asked.

Carrie nodded, “All you have to do is make me believe that you belong on that stage.”

“But you said-“

“And I meant it,” Carrie claimed as she began walking back toward the stage, “but you have to be able to make everyone else believe it too. Make everyone see that you own that stage and that nobody can take it from you.”

Vivien allowed the older girl’s words to sink in as the blonde approached the edge of the stage. Then, despite everything in her screaming to make her way off the stage and out of the building, she said “Pick a song. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

After looking Vivien over for a moment, Carrie smiled and called out, “You heard her, Riven. Give me ‘You Can’t Stop The Beat’ on Tracy’s rehearsal disc.”

Wide green eyes flickered toward the far side of the stage where the sound equipment was kept, yet found it nearly impossible as the lights above the stage came to life. Squinting at the sudden brightness invading her eyes, Vivien turned her shocked gaze toward Carrie who simply gestured for her to continue as she sat in one of the available chairs. Taking in a sharp breath, Vivien tried not to let her panic get the better of her as the music started and forced herself to sing.

“You need to project your voice, Royce,” Charlie reprimanded. “We’ve been over this.”

Royce sighed, placing the songbook back on the stand before him as he looked over at the woman, “Don’t you guys have microphones or something?”

“We’re building sets out of plywood and cardboard, the lights were a donation from the high school when they got an upgrade in the nineties, and the sound system is hanging on by a thread,” Charlie commented as she paused the CD player and flipped back to the beginning of Royce’s solo song. “What on earth gave you the idea that we have microphones for everyone?”

Visibly deflating, Royce muttered, “I just can’t find it in me to be that loud.”

Miles snorted from his seat, looking up at his younger brother with a smirk, “From what I’ve heard, you were plenty loud enough yesterday when you and Carrie were getting into it.”

Rolling his eyes, Royce scoffed, “That’s different.”

“How?” Charlie pressed. “Yesterday, you were fighting to be louder than her any time she spoke. Now, you have to fight to be louder than the music. There’s not much of a difference if you ask me.”

“Now, come on,” Miles said, gesturing to Royce with a hand. “Really push your voice.”

“I don’t want to yell.”

“You won’t be,” Charlie reassured. When Royce still appeared to be unconvinced, she moved the music stand away from him and took its place with a smile, “Try this; I want you to close your eyes.”

Royce looked between the woman and his brother, who merely shrugged, before closing his eyes, “Alright.”

“Visualize yourself in a room full of people,” Charlie began, “lots of silverware clanking, people dropping stuff, talking loud, and being generally obnoxious.”

Royce chuckled, “Like dinners in the mess hall?”

As Miles laughed around a sip of water, Charlie nodded, smiling as she said, “Exactly. Now, your voice has to be able to carry over the din. You have to get up over all of that to be heard in the back of the room where I’m sitting, listening, straining to hear you.”

With a small smile, Royce opened his eyes and breathed, “Okay.”

“Okay?” Charlie restated. As Royce nodded, she said, “Good. Keep all of that in your mind when we do this.”

“I’ll try.”

“That’s all I ask, sweetheart,” Charlie replied with a smile. Turning toward Miles, she said, “First note again, please. This time, Royce, just try to copy the note and hold it for as long as you can.”

Nodding, Royce listened to the note Miles pressed on the piano and attempted to replicate it. Shaking his head, he tried again, and as soon as he found the right note, he held it, watching to see whether Miles or Charlie would stop him. Then, as he tried to push his voice just a fraction louder, Charlie reached forward and pressed into his stomach, the action forcing his voice louder than he had ever heard it without a microphone. With wide eyes, he held the note until a laugh of disbelief passed his lips instead.

“What was that?!” he asked as he looked between Miles and Charlie as the latter took a step back.

“Your diaphragm,” Charlie said simply. “Normally, you’d only recognize it as the muscle that causes hiccups, but singers use it to make their voices stronger.”

Royce chuckled breathlessly, “How does that even work?”

“I don’t know all of the science-y details,” Charlie said with a wave of her hand, “but it strengthens your breathing and makes your singing voice that much better.”

Still reeling from the sound of his own voice, Royce looked to Miles and asked, “What do you think?”

“You sounded great, RJ,” Miles commended, a proud smile present as he stood from the piano seat. “Think you can do it again?”

“I can try.”

“You’ll be great,” Miles said as he dragged a folding chair closer to his brother and sat. “Just imagine how shocked Vivien will be when she hears you.”

Royce looked away, a timid smile and a dusting of red flooding his features at the thought. Before he could get too wrapped up in the ideas flowing through his brain, however, Charlie tapped him on the arm and asked, “You ready to try the song again?”

For the first time in their session, Royce didn’t feel as though he was lying as he nodded and said, “Yeah.”

Carrie kept her eyes on the ground as she followed Charlie to the main office. She hadn’t been there often since the summer started, but after Vivien’s grandparents pulled them aside after lunch to see how the play was going and asked them to attend a meeting that afternoon, she had no choice but to follow the older woman to the old log building. Carrie wasn’t necessarily worried about the meeting as the old couple had been nothing but nice to her since her first visit to the camp, but there was something in their tones - a sense of urgency, maybe - that gave her pause.

“So,” she began as she stepped over a partially exposed tree root, “what do you think this is about?”

Charlie shrugged, glancing back at the blonde, “They do this every year just to see how things are going and to see if we need anything. Normally, it would be done within fifteen minutes or so, but they like to talk with the new staff, so be prepared to be there for at least an hour.”

Carrie let out a breathy laugh, “Are you speaking from experience?”

“Oh yeah,” Charlie chuckled. “You should have seen how they were when Riven decided to help last year; I think that meeting lasted maybe two and a half hours.”

“I guess we’re in for it, then,” Carrie sighed as Charlie led her to the front steps of the main office.

“You could say that, yeah,” Charlie nodded, pulling the screen door open and stepping inside. Once Carrie was inside, Charlie led the way through the building to a room where George and Dawn were sitting on one side of a table, talking. “Mom, Dad,” she began, grabbing the couple’s attention, “Carrie and I are here for the meeting.”

“Good timing,” George said with a smile as he glanced between the two in the doorway.

Gesturing towards the chairs on the opposite side of the table, Dawn said, “Take a seat, girls.”

Taking a seat across from Dawn, Carrie smiled at the older pair and watched as Dawn nudged her husband, encouraging him to speak. George glanced at his wife before turning his gaze to Carrie and asking, “Did Charlie tell you what this is for?”

Nodding, Carrie said, “She did.”

“Good,” George began with a nod, “so I guess that means that, unlike the meeting I had when Riven joined the crew, I don’t have to tell you that you’re not in trouble for anything.”

“Not unless you want me to get in trouble,” Carrie offered.

“Not particularly,” Dawn chuckled. “We just want to see how things are going with the show. We heard you lost your leads at the beginning of the week.”

“We did,” Charlie confirmed, “but we got Vivien and Royce to cover.”

Dawn turned to her husband with a curious look before turning back to the pair before her as she asked, “And how is that going?”

“Fairly well,” Carrie said. “Vivien’s coming out of her shell a little more with each practice.”

“That’s impressive,” George mused. “She’s usually a shy little thing on that stage.”

“We noticed,” Charlie snickered.

Dawn smiled, “What about Royce? How is he holding up?”

“He’s getting better,” Carrie claimed with a shrug. “He’s never been a big fan of the spotlight.”

“But after some work on projecting his voice and a few basic dance lessons with Vivien and the rest of the cast, he’s improved a lot up there,” Charlie tacked on.

George’s eyebrow lifted as his curious eyes found Charlie’s, “How did you get him to agree to be up there if he doesn’t like the stage?”

“I told him that Vivien would join if he did, which was true,” Charlie stated. “She said that, if I managed to get Royce to play Link, she would join as Tracy.”

“So you tricked them?” Dawn said slowly, her tone a gentle reprimand as she stared down her daughter-in-law.

“I’m not exactly proud of it,” Charlie admitted with a nod, “but they’re doing amazingly together and I think that, for only having a few days of practice, they’re going to be wonderful Saturday night.”

With an amused shake of his head, George said, “Well, as long as they’re alright with it, I suppose it’s alright.”

Dawn nodded, glancing down at the paper before her as she asked, “Alright, well, next on my little list here - do you girls need anything before the closing night? Costumes, makeup, hairspray - anything like that?”

“We have plenty of makeup,” Carrie spoke up, “and we got a crate of hairspray from that dance supply company down in Manchester.”

“And most of the costumes are taken care of,” Charlie stated, “but most of the clothes for Vivien and Royce were ones we had gotten in Victoria and Rowan’s sizes, so I might need to sneak up to your house and grab some extra things from the attic.”

Glancing across the table at the older couple who nodded in understanding, Carrie asked, “You keep costumes in your attic?”

With a nod, Dawn explained, “It’s mostly just some of our old clothes from the sixties and seventies that I couldn’t be bothered to part with, but there are some more vintage items up there that I either made or collected from over the years.”

“You make your own clothes?” Carrie asked, a sparkle in her eyes as she met Dawn’s eyes.

“I used to do it all the time, but not so much anymore,” the woman shrugged. “Feel free to look around and try things on. Hell, bring the kids with you and let them see what they feel looks best for their characters.”

“Are you sure?” Charlie asked.

“She wouldn’t have offered if she felt otherwise,” George chuckled.

Dawn hummed her agreement before saying, “How about you go over in the morning and start searching through everything early so that you can get a final run-through in the afternoon?”

After glancing at Carrie who nodded, Charlie smiled and said, “That could work.”

“Good,” George stated with a grin. “We’ll make sure someone can cover for all of you while you’re gone.”

“Now,” Dawn began, folding her hands and resting them on the table with a beaming smile, “enough with all of this work business. Tell me, Carrie, how has this summer been treating you?”

“Are you sure we should be doing this?” Royce asked as Vivien tugged him toward the bubblegum pink Volkswagen Beetle her aunts had left in the shade of an oak tree. “I mean, we’re practically breaking into your grandparents’ house.”

“Relax, would you,” Vivien scoffed. “We’re not breaking in.”

“It sort of feels like we are.”

“It’s not breaking and entering if we have a key,” Vivien offered, tugging a set of keys from her pocket and holding them for Royce to see. “And, for your information, they told Aunt Charlie and Carrie to take us. Therefore, we can’t get into any trouble.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Charlie chuckled as she watched her car’s roof lower into the trunk. “With you around, there is always room for trouble.”

Pressing her hand to her heart with a fond smile, Vivien nodded, “I wouldn’t be myself if I didn’t cause at least a little mayhem from time to time.”

“Let’s try to keep the mayhem to a minimum this time,” Carrie said as she lowered an oversized pair of sunglasses onto the bridge of her nose and opened the car door for the kids to climb in.

“I make no promises,” Vivien offered with a shrug as she jumped inside the car.

Offering Carrie a somewhat apologetic grin as he settled into the seat behind the blonde, Royce said, “I’ll try to contain her.”

Despite her confusion at Royce’s almost friendly demeanor, Carrie offered the young couple a smile and slid into her seat as Charlie started the car. During the last week, she had noticed Royce acting far nicer toward her than he ever had before. There had been moments where they had been civil for the sake of those around them - Miles and Vivien particularly - but since they had begun working on the musical, Carrie had noticed a shift in Royce’s behavior. On Tuesday, working with him was like pulling teeth, but just a few days later, he was being exceedingly nice. At first, she had worried about him potentially pulling a prank on her, but after much reassurance from Miles, Bentley, and Vivien, she chose to accept it for what it was. She was still curious, of course. Something significant must have happened in order to make such a big change in Royce’s personality. It could have been his confidence or the surreal feeling of being one of the main focal points on stage, but whatever it was, she had no intention of pushing him to tell her what had changed. So long as he was being somewhat cordial with her, Carrie wasn’t going to question it.

Before long, Carrie found herself watching as Charlie flicked on her indicator and turned into the driveway of a house with large, white pillars in front. Glancing in her rear-view mirror, Carrie watched Royce’s eyes widen as he drank in the view of his girlfriend’s family home on the hill. The mansion stood in all of its glory, the morning sun illuminating the grassy hill just beyond the pristinely shaped bushes on the edge of the building. To someone that had never been there before, but knew the family, Carrie could imagine the old mansion would be a surprise. It had been to her. She could only imagine the thoughts racing through Royce’s head as he slowly turned toward his girlfriend with a smile and began talking in a hushed voice. Though she couldn’t hear much over the wind and the sound of gravel crunching under the car’s tires, Carrie knew he had to have said something funny as Vivien let out a bark of laughter.

The car rolled to a stop by the front steps and Charlie pulled her keys out of the ignition with a smile. “Home sweet home,” she declared as she stepped out of the car.

Carrie smirked, getting out of the car and pushing the seat forward to allow Royce and Vivien out. As he slipped out from the backseat, Royce found Carrie’s eyes and said, “You don’t seem surprised by this.”

Sensing his silent question, Carrie explained, “When Viv and I had our girl’s day, she took me here.”

“I did,” Vivien agreed with a grin. Looping her arm around Royce’s, she said, “Just wait until you see the inside.”

Royce chuckled, allowing Vivien to tug him toward the house as Carrie trailed behind. Pushing her sunglasses on top of her head, Carrie followed the others inside and closed the door behind her. With a smirk, she watched Royce’s wide, tawny eyes scan the expansive entryway, the shock obvious in his eyes as he examined the robin’s egg paint on the walls, the warm glow of sunlight passing through vaulted windows, and the ornate details of the chandelier that hung above the doorway. Though she hadn’t taken much of a look around in her previous visit, Carrie found it endearing how lived-in the otherwise extravagant house felt. Shoes discarded in and around a rack by the door, unopened letters scattered across the top of an antique cabinet, a fishing hat perched haphazardly on the knobbed end of the stair railing, and a wicker basket full of dog toys that all showed they had been loved by Dopey Ding at some point in the dog’s life.

Charlie glanced over her shoulder at the others as she made her way to the stairs, “We can give Royce the full tour later, but for now, we need to get into the attic and find some of Nonna’s crates of clothes.”

“Aye, aye, captain,” Vivien said with a mock salute, taking Royce by the hand and ducking around Charlie as she ascended the stairs.

Following close behind Charlie, Carrie lowered her voice and asked, “How long do you think this will take?”

“Vivien’s not the pickiest kid, so not long once we find where everything is hidden,” Charlie claimed. “I think trying things on will take the most time.”

“What happens if we can’t find everything we need?”

Charlie took in a slow breath as they reached the landing, turning to Carrie with a small grin, “We raid the nearest Goodwills and maybe the Salvation Army.”

As Carrie let out a breath of a laugh, Charlie brought her arm around the blonde and guided her down the hallway toward where Royce was standing, watching his girlfriend twist an old, metal door knob. “I hate this fucking door,” Vivien grumbled, giving the bottom of the door a soft kick.

“I think the feeling is mutual,” Charlie chuckled, stepping up to the door and nudging her niece aside. Pushing the knob inward and giving it a twist, Charlie pushed her shoulder into the heat-swollen door, shoving it open to reveal a steep staircase riddled with traces of cobwebs.

Glancing up at the ominously dark attic, Royce muttered, “Is it just me, or does this feel like one of those horror movies where there’s demons in the basement or something and the first one up the stairs ends up dead by the end?”

“It’s just an old house,” Carrie claimed, stepping around Royce and flipping on the light switch just inside the doorway before beginning to climb the steep steps.

Royce turned to Vivien with a grin, “Can I say it?”

Charlie’s eyebrow lifted curiously as Vivien chuckled and shook her head, “Nope, you promised.”

“But she makes it so easy,” Royce sighed with a roll of his eyes, only mildly upset at his missed opportunity.

Glancing between the pair, Charlie asked, “Am I missing something here?”

Vivien smirked, “I bet Royce that he couldn’t be nice to Carrie for the rest of our time at camp.”

“Really?” Charlie wondered.

Royce nodded, “So far it’s not as hard as I thought it would be.”

“Maybe that’s because you’re not seeing her as the enemy for once,” Vivien suggested.

“Doubtful,” Royce said before making his way up the stairs.

Turning to her aunt, Vivien said, “We started a couple of days ago when I realized how awful he was being to her. Yesterday, he was fine, but he’s actually making an effort to be nice to her today and I think she’s catching on.”

“Even if she does,” Charlie began, “I doubt she’ll have an issue with it. After all, I remember a certain someone doing something similar a few years ago.”

Vivien grinned, her cheeks warming as she began making her way to the attic in order to ignore her aunt’s fond smile, “Where do you think I got the idea?”

With a shake of her head, Charlie asked, “Is that what happened back then - Hayley bribed you into being nice?”

With a nod and a chuckle, Vivien confirmed, “Yeah, but I think the terms back then were a bit more lax.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhm,” Vivien hummed. “Back then, I would have lost my Gameboy and movie choice privileges if I acted out, but Royce is putting our alone time on the line.”

“That’s it?”

“Alone time for us includes reading together, cuddling, car rides, and just spending time together,” Vivien explained. “He’s putting all of that on the line until they head back home.”

“Ooh,” Charlie winced, “that’s a lot for you two. Are you sure that you could handle that if he loses?”

Vivien chuckled, “I deal with that every time he leaves; I can handle it.”

Glancing around the cluttered attic, Charlie’s gaze landed on the curly-haired boy before she turned back to her niece and shook her head, “Well, I wish you the best of luck, sweetheart.”

“Thanks,” Vivien said with a smile, “but I think Royce will need it more than me once the show is over and everyone else leaves.”

“Probably,” Charlie agreed.

As the pair split off to look around, Charlie joined Carrie near the back wall, opening old trunks full of men’s clothing and scanning through hanging bags of dresses. As Carrie began searching through clothing racks full of dresses, she smiled. Some reminded her of costumes she had worn in shows over time while others could have been pulled out of her closet and she wouldn’t have known the difference. Her mind raced with ideas of how to pull the outfits together with things she owned and loved - the checkerboard mini dress would go great with her knee-high boots and a pair of sparkly sunglasses she remembered leaving on her vanity back home while the pleated, floral-patterned Staccato dress would have been a perfect date-night dress and the pale blue sundress would have fallen perfectly into her rotation of clothes.

“Looks like someone’s in heaven,” Charlie teased as she set aside a stack of men’s clothing and joined Carrie at the clothing racks.

Glancing at the dark-haired woman, Carrie smiled, “It’s like stepping back in time.”

Charlie beamed, “I know, right! Back when Hayley and I were just good friends, she brought me here for the summer break and we raided everything. We spent a few days up here, going through endless clothes and shoes, trying things on, and only leaving the attic for food.”

“That sounds like fun,” Carrie mused.

“It was.” Charlie pushed another dress further down the rack before sighing thoughtfully, “I think that was when I realized what a real family was like.”

“What do you mean?” Carrie asked as she met Charlie in the middle of the double-sided rack.

“George and Dawn never pushed me to be anything other than myself while I was here,” Charlie explained. “They treated me like just another daughter and I quickly realized I never wanted to leave.”

Carrie’s head tilted as she asked, “What about your family?”

Charlie shrugged, “I don’t talk to them much anymore. They moved to the Bahamas, living in some gated community I’ve never even seen. After spending so much time here and seeing what I had been missing, I asked Dawn and George if I could stick around and, as I’m sure you can tell, I never left.”

Carrie didn’t bother fighting the smile that tugged at her lips, “Was that before or after you and Hayley got together?”

“Way before,” Charlie chuckled. “I met her at Harvard - I was studying to be a lawyer and she was studying engineering. We were roommates in Straus Hall in our freshman year, but moved into an apartment somewhere in the middle so that we had equal distance between our buildings.”

“That’s sweet.”

Charlie nodded, “Looking back on it now, I can see that Hayley was interested in me long before I thought of her in that way. Back then, I had only gone out with men. Then, after years of inadvertently dodging the idea, watching her go through the ups and downs of pregnancy, and being there for her and Vivien through everything, I realized there was something there that I couldn’t ignore.”

“Love?” Carrie wondered.

Charlie hummed as she nodded thoughtfully, “It hit me like a bolt of lightning and I went through all of the doubt and confusion in private before finally going up to her and telling her all that was going on in my head. We started dating, but kept it from Vivien for about four years before telling her, and the rest is history.”

Carrie stared thoughtfully at the woman opposite her before slowly admitting, “Vivien told me that you guys had only just started dating before she was told.”

Charlie shook her head, “That’s what Hayley told her, but no. She wanted to make sure things between us were going to be serious and that Vivien would be old enough to understand everything before I met her as anything more than her mom’s school friend.”

“So you two kept it a secret for four years?” Carrie asked, bewildered by the very concept of keeping something like that a secret for so long. She couldn’t imagine having kept things between herself and Miles a secret from everyone for so long.

“Not from everyone,” Charlie claimed. “Our parents knew - hers supportive and mine not so much - and our friends knew, but Vivien was the only one we wanted to wait for. She was only five when we started dating and I wanted her to know from the get-go, but I understood and respected Hayley’s wishes. After everything we went through with Viv, even she said it might have been easier to just jump right in, but we made mistakes and learned from them.”

Carrie let out a breath and shook her head, “That couldn’t have been easy.”

“Far from it,” Charlie chuckled, “but everyone involved has since moved on for the better and I don’t regret a thing.”

Carrie allowed herself to smile once again as Charlie began flipping dresses to the side once more. While she was glad things had worked out for Charlie and her relationships with everyone she loved, she wondered if things would have been different for herself if she and Miles had chosen to do something similar. Glancing over at Royce and Vivien who were busy laughing at an old tux from the eighties that Royce had found, she asked Charlie, “Do you think things with Royce and Bentley would have been better if Miles and I did the same thing you and Hayley did?”

Taking a look at the blonde and sparing a quick glance at the teenagers on the other side of the attic, Charlie shook her head, “Everything happens for a reason, Carrie. Your relationship with the boys may be strained now, but who knows? Maybe in a few months, this will all be behind you and you can grow closer.”

“I can’t imagine that happening,” Carrie said with a breath of a laugh. “Bentley may have moved on a bit, but Royce still can’t stand me, no matter what I do.”

“They won’t have it out for you forever, believe me,” Charlie said, reaching under the clothes rack to place her hand on Carrie’s. “As someone who has been there and done that, let me tell you that this rebellious, hate-your-guts phase will make way for a closer relationship than you’ll ever think was possible.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” Charlie smiled, giving Carrie’s hand a pat before moving away. “And, trust me, when it happens, you won’t know what to do at first. You’ll still be walking on eggshells for a while before things feel more normal. Then, you’ll be one big, happy family.”

“I can’t even imagine that being a possibility,” Carrie laughed.

Charlie smiled as she pushed another dress down the rack, “Just wait; your time will come.”

Before Carrie could say anything, a voice called her name from the other side of the attic. Vivien waved her over from her side of the attic as Royce looked over a crate of vintage men’s clothing on the opposite side. Making her way to the opposite side of the attic, she asked, “What’s up?”

“I need help trying this dress on,” Vivien said, holding up a black bag that looked ready to burst at the seams. Lowering her voice as Carrie neared her, she added, “I think it would be perfect during ‘I Can Hear The Bells’ and I don’t want Royce and Aunt Charlie to know about it until I know I can fit in it.”

Sending the brunette her signature, beaming smile, Carrie nodded and gestured to a room divider that someone had left leaning against the wall, “Let’s set that up and see if we can get it on you.”

Once they were sure the divider was steady enough on the uneven floorboards, Carrie stood guard as Vivien stepped behind the old screen and opened the dress bag. The blonde watched to make sure Royce stayed on his half of the attic and that Charlie was distracted enough with the clothing on the far side of the room while Vivien got into the dress. Before long, Vivien reached around the divider and tugged on Carrie’s sleeve to get her attention. Stepping behind the screen, Carrie’s eyes widened and she brought her hands to her mouth as she took in the sight before her.

She had seen Vivien in dresses before - a rare occasion in itself - but this was different. A tea-length, ivory gown graced the girl’s tan skin, the bateau neckline showcasing a layer of lace that capped her sleeves and ended with a silk bow under her bust. After some gentle ruching around her waist, the rest of the dress flowed in gentle pleats to her mid-calf - the fabric elegant and poufy with the help of a crinoline petticoat that was, no doubt, sewn into the dress. Atop Vivien’s head was a clipped-in veil that ended at her elbows, and a pair of lace gloves had been tugged onto the girl’s hands - something Carrie knew she must have been itching to pry away from her skin. The only semblance of Vivien’s typically casual attire was the pair of white Converse the girl hardly ever took off, but for some reason, it didn’t stand out as much as Carrie thought it would.

“Vivien,” Carrie breathed, hoping she would be able to stall the welling tears that burned her eyes as she smiled at the girl before her. “You would be such a beautiful bride.”

Despite her rosy cheeks and embarrassed smile, Vivien shook her head, “Thank you, but let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves, Carrie. Royce and I haven’t even kissed; I think that means a ring is still far in the future.”

“It better be,” Carrie said, her smile still present as she stepped closer to the brunette and took the girl’s hands in her own. “You two are still just kids - leave the weddings and proposals to the adults.”

“Tell that to Bella from Twilight,” Vivien scoffed, recalling the film series they had watched over the last few nights.

“Bella was a teenage girl who was obsessed with a boy in all the wrong ways and actively put herself in danger to get his attention and affection,” Carrie said, squeezing the girl’s hands before releasing them and encouraging her to turn so that Carrie could zip her in. “I doubt any of us have to worry about that when it comes to you and Royce.”

“She still got married just after high school,” Vivien mused.

“And I hope you at least wait long enough to find yourself before a ring comes into the picture,” Carrie said, adjusting the back of the dress a little before allowing Vivien to turn back toward her. “Regardless of that, I’m sure that, when the time comes, you will look absolutely stunning.”

“Thank you, Carrie,” Vivien said, wiping imaginary sweat from her lace-gloved hands onto the skirt of the dress. A hint of nervousness seeped into the girl’s voice as she asked, “D’You think they’ll like it?”

“They’ll love it,” Carrie reassured with a nod and a smile. “Do you want to show them?”

Although Vivien nodded, her apprehension was palpable. After a moment, she asked, “Can you go first and bring them over? Maybe tell them that I found a dress for the show?”

Nodding so quickly she worried her hair tie would burst under the strain of her bouncing curls, Carrie spoke, “You got it.”

Vivien listened from behind the screen as Carrie called the others over and explained that Vivien had found the perfect dress for the show, her thoughts racing as she wondered what they would think. Charlie had fought for years to get Vivien to let her use her as a makeshift mannequin, to no avail, so she could only imagine that Charlie would be excited before going into a rant about how she wished Vivien would let her pick out some clothes at the mall for her. Royce’s reaction, on the other hand, she couldn’t quite figure out. If life was a game of Uno, Royce would be the one hoarding all of the wild cards; there was no way she could gauge his stack of cards or guess how he would play things. This was no different.

A golden halo of stray curls poked around the edge of the screen and Vivien found it hard to fight Carrie’s infectious smile as the blonde held a hand out to her and wiggled her fingers invitingly. Hesitantly reaching out, Vivien placed her hand in Carrie’s and sucked in a breath as the blonde pulled her from the safety of the old room divider and into the dully-lit, dust-speckled attic space. Despite meeting Royce’s gaze first, Vivien found her aunt’s widened, sparkling eyes and asked, “What do you think?”

Looking a moment away from turning into a puddle of joyful tears, Charlie softly spoke, “Oh, Vivien, sweetheart, you look amazing.”

“You think?” Vivien asked, a hint of a grin tugging at her lips as she swayed from one side to the other. “I thought it would be perfect during ‘I Can Hear The Bells’ when Tracy starts going over the wedding toward the end of the song. Maybe when the girls walk in front of Tracy, they can cover long enough for me to pull away the skirt over it and we can have this under it.”

As Charlie approached her niece and began fawning over her, Carrie’s azure eyes flitted over to Royce, finding the boy in a state of shock as he stared at his girlfriend. Crossing over to where Royce stood with his jaw practically on the floor and his eyes about the same size as dinner plates, Carrie placed a hand on his shoulder and asked, “She looks lovely, doesn’t she?”

Taking in a slow, almost shuddered breath and swallowing thickly, Royce nodded and meekly agreed, “Yeah.”

“You should tell her,” Carrie said, giving the boy a slight nudge. “She was nervous to show you two.”

“But she looks-” Royce cut himself off as he looked at Carrie, almost as though he had only just realized who he was talking to. Resigning to his fate, Royce looked back over at Vivien and finished his train of thought, “She looks incredible.”

“Makes you want to walk her down the aisle right here and now, doesn’t it?” Carrie asked, only a smidge of a teasing tone evident in her voice.

Wide caramel eyes looked at Carrie as Royce adamantly shook his head, “No. I mean, one day, sure, but not now. We’re far too young for that.”

“Good,” Carrie smiled and, for a split second, Royce saw her take on the image of a proud older sister. Then, she continued, “It’s good to know you both are on the same page.”

“We are?” Royce asked, more to himself than anything.

“You are,” Carrie confirmed. “Now, go compliment your girlfriend before Charlie makes her take off the gown to play dress-up.”

Although he nodded, Royce didn’t move until Carrie gave him a gentle push, urging him to take the first step toward Vivien. Blinking himself out of his stupor, Royce glanced back at Carrie with an almost accusatory glimmer in his eyes before shaking his head as Vivien’s laughter reached his ears. Drinking in the sight of his girlfriend twirling with her hand latched onto Charlie’s, Royce smiled and imagined himself dancing with her for a fleeting moment. Feeling drawn toward his girlfriend’s contagious laughter like a magnet, Royce took a few steps away from Carrie before slowly turning back to the blonde, meeting her eyes, and giving her a small, grateful nod. Whether she knew it or not, Carrie had been nothing but kind and encouraging since his bet with Vivien began and, regardless of how he felt about the blonde, he was grateful all the same. It was the least he could do to show his appreciation.

Clack. Click-clack. Clack. A slow, shaky breath sucked in through panicked lungs and let out in a huff. Click-clack. Clack. Shaky hands with neatly manicured nails run over hair that had already been sprayed rigid. Clack. Clack. Click-clack. Another minute of this torture and she would be found with her head in the nearest garbage bin, expelling all of the food she’d nervously eaten her way through at both breakfast and lunch. She always had been a nervous eater. Clack. Click-clack. Clack. Eyelashes too long and too sticky to be comfortable flutter as a voice that sounds as though it’s a mile away calls out, “Places in ten!” Click-clack. Click-clack. Click-clack. Breath stalls in her chest and she swallows thickly to keep herself from gagging as her hands clench into fists. This must be what it felt like for Anne Boleyn or Katherine Howard as they prepared to walk to their untimely demise. If it’s not, it must be something close.

“If you keep pacing like that, you’ll wear out your shoes before you even get on stage,” an amused voice claims, startling Vivien from her thoughts at how close they sound. Whirling around, she finds Riven leaning against the doorway of the dressing room with a lopsided smirk on his face and his hands tucked into his pockets. If he was there to offer comfort, it wasn’t working. “Little nervous there, are we, Pipsqueak?”

“I think I’m dying,” she mutters before continuing her pacing between mirrored vanities. “I can’t breathe, I can’t think, I don’t know why the hell I agreed to this.”

“To help Charlie,” Riven claimed, pushing off the wall and taking a few steps closer to the girl before him.

“Some help I’ll be,” Vivien scoffed. “If I choke and die on my own vomit, I’ll be of no use to her.”

“You won’t choke and die,” Riven tried to argue.

“I will,” Vivien breathed. “Asphyxiation due to anxiety-induced vomit - that’s what my death certificate will say. Might wanna take your phone out and write down my final words, Riv.”

With a roll of his eyes, Riven stepped into Vivien’s path and caught her by the shoulders, stopping her in her tracks. “You do this everytime you have to be the center of attention,” he stated. “Solo skates, concerts, birthday parties.”

“And I don’t like any of them,” Vivien sighed.

“But you always come out on top,” Riven said confidently. “The more nervous you are before a solo, the better you place. The more scared you get before a concert, the better you perform. You just need to realize that, once you’re done that first song and get everyone in the crowd to love you, you’ll do amazing for the rest of the night.”

Finding nothing but sincerity in Riven’s hazel eyes, Vivien softly asked, “How do you know?”

“Because you’re you,” Riven said, tugging Vivien into a hug. “Once the first song is done, you’ll be fine. Besides, you’ll have Royce up there with you, and Carrie and I will be off to the side with Charlie. If you need us, we’ll be there.”

Hoping the makeup Carrie had helped her put on wasn’t smeared against Riven’s shirt, Vivien allowed herself to take in a deep breath and relax against her longest friend before pulling away and looking up at him. “Do you really think this will end well?”

“I do,” Riven nodded, “and I’m not the only one who does, but there’s someone else who might be able to convince you better than I would.”

Vivien’s raised eyebrow was met with Riven’s gaze flicking over her shoulder and, as she turned, she found Royce’s apprehensive smile encouraging her to give him one in return. Riven smiled and patted Vivien on the back before maneuvering around her and making his way to the door, determined to give the couple some time together before the show began.

Stepping up to his girlfriend, Royce reached up with a breath of a laugh and poked at Vivien’s beehive of hair, “Any higher and you’d put CheeChee to shame.”

Letting out a laugh, Vivien shook her head and asked, “How on earth are you so calm about all of this?”

“I have no idea,” Royce chuckled, “but your grandfather gave me a brownie earlier and I almost want to say it was one of his ‘special brownies’.”

With wide eyes, Vivien grabbed Royce’s arms and pressed, “Grandpa gave you weed?! Are you okay?”

Royce quickly shook his head with a laugh, “He didn’t, I promise. He and your Nonna brought me to the office after lunch and we talked. They helped me sort through things and realize that this is just for one night.”

“What do you mean?”

“After this is over, we’ll have an ice cream party in the mess hall and start cleaning everything up tomorrow like nothing happened,” Royce said. “After the show is over, we can relax and go back to normal. We don’t have to put on multiple shows like at school or on Broadway; it’s just a one-and-done thing.”

“I guess you’re right,” Vivien said, taking a moment to suck in a breath. “I’ve just been so worked up about it and I-”

“Don’t need to be,” Royce cut in. “You were amazing in the run-through yesterday and you’ll be incredible out there today.”

“We will,” Vivien corrected. “We’re in this shit show together.”

Before Royce could affectionately argue that the show wouldn’t be a shit show as long as they did their best, a voice called out, “Places in five!”

“That’s our cue to get on stage soon, right?” Royce asked. When Vivien nodded, he let out a chuckle, “Good to know.”

Vivien swallowed, offering another nod as she breathed, “Yeah.”

Taking Vivien’s hands in his, Royce rubbed circles into her skin as he said, “Relax, we’ve got this.”

“I know, it’s just…” she sighed, “I’m getting more nervous each time they say how close we are to showtime.”

“Just breathe,” Royce ordered gently. “It’ll all work out.”

Without giving Vivien the time to say anything, a voice from the doorway said, “Listen to him, Vivi. He knows what he’s talking about.”

The couple turned toward the doorway, finding Carrie smiling at them as she poked her head into the entryway. Offering the blonde a nervous smile, Vivien said, “I know he does; it’s just my nerves.”

“Well, what are you nervous about?” Carrie asked, shifting further into the doorway.

Vivien shrugged, “Everything, really. The singing, the dancing, the crowds, having to have my first kiss in front of a bunch of people I don’t even know...”

“You’re worried about that too?” Royce wondered.

As Vivien turned to Royce with a tentative nod, she said, “It’s not like I don’t want to kiss you - I do. It’s just… I want it to be something special.”

“Not something we have to share with a few hundred people watching us?” Royce finished.

“Exactly.”

Placing a hand on her hip, Carrie asked, “Why didn’t you guys say something? We could have fixed that for you ages ago.”

“Really?” Vivien asked.

“Yeah, absolutely!” Carrie said, a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. “You could have told us and we would have fixed it.”

Glancing between Vivien and Carrie, Royce asked hopefully, “So we don’t have to kiss on stage?”

“Of course not,” Carrie said with a determined shake of her head. “You could do a kiss on the cheek or a hug or something. I mean, hell, you could just hold hands and stand awkwardly to the side and it would still be fine.”

“Are you sure?” Vivien asked.

Carrie rolled her eyes, but smiled all the same as she said, “I wouldn’t have suggested it otherwise. But, before you two start worryting about what you want to do, you need to get out there before the show starts.”

“What do we do about the kiss?” Royce questioned as Vivien tugged him toward the door.

“Let whatever happens, happen,” Carrie said with a shrug as she followed the kids to the stage. “As long as you two do what you feel is right, the audience will appreciate it.”

Giving her boyfriend a final hug before the show, Vivien smiled in Royce’s direction before allowing Carrie to bring her to the center of the stage where she would open the show with “Good Morning Baltimore” and get the ball rolling. Carrie gave the younger girl a quick, sympathetic hug before making her way off of the stage to where Charlie and Riven were waiting in the wings. Meeting the blonde’s gaze, Riven asked, “So, how are they doing?”

“Nervous, but I think they’ll do fine,” Carrie said with a smile.

“They will,” Charlie said with a grin. “Once they get into it and forget everyone in the audience is watching them, they’ll have too much fun to be worried.”

“Just watch,” Riven began, “they’ll be so into the show that they won’t realize it’s over until curtain call.”

The trio laughed, but quickly stopped as the clock on the wall rang to alert them that it was time for the show to start. Riven quickly got into position and started the music, nodding to one of his friends to turn on the stage lights as the music began playing throughout the playhouse. Charlie took Carrie by the hand and tugged her to the edge of the stage to get a better view of the show as a pair of teenage staff members prepared to reel the curtains back. Vivien spared one last glance off stage, smiling as Carrie and Charlie sent her matching thumbs-up and encouraging smiles. Taking in a slow breath, Vivien readied herself as she watched Charlie nod to the workers to draw the curtains away from her spot on center stage. As the music for the opening number began, Charlie turned to Carrie with a hopeful smile and sucked in a deep breath, hopeful that they both would be able to make it through the musical without turning into teary puddles in the wings.

#Camp Wanamaker

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newyorkthegoldenage · 2 years ago

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If you opened the New York Tribune on January 15, 1921, what would you see? These are some of the articles and ads on that date.

Ad for the John Wanamaker department store at Broadway & 9th St., January 15, 1921, on the back page. The coat was on sale for $39.75--the original price was $59.50. The wrap, at $75, seems to be full price.

"White frocks for graduation," said Wanamaker's. "Be-ruffled frocks of imported organdie at $12.75. Adorable frocks of net--one trimmed with many little pointed bands of organdie at $18.50." They were designed for girls between 12 and 16.

Two news stories. The Tribune is indignant that neither the mayor nor the police commissioner has taken action on its exposure of wiretapping on grand juries (left). At right, a phony Frenchman claiming to be a general and a recipient of the Croix de Guerre is caught by two detectives as he tries to flee down the fire escape of his building on West 37th St.

An ad for the February issue of Vanity Fair, with articles by Walter Lippman, H.L. Mencken, and Hugh Walpole, among others, full-page portraits of celebrities (that sounds like the modern VF), a page of famous Greenwich Villagers, 24 new model cars, 4 pages of clothes "for the well-dressed man," and numerous cartoons and satirical sketches.

Source: Library of Congress

#vintage New York #vintage NY #1920s #Vanity Fair #magazines #vintage magazines #January 15 #Jan. 15 #vintage ads #NY Tribune #Wanamaker's

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thepastisalreadywritten · 1 year ago

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Shakespeare's Globe Theatre.

The story of Globe Theatre started with William Shakespeare's acting company, Lord Chamberlain's Men.

William Shakespeare (baptized 26 April 1564 – 23 April 1616) was a part-owner or sharer in the company, as well as an actor and resident playwright.

From its inception in 1594 AD, Lord Chamberlain's Men performed at Theatre, a playhouse located in Shoreditch.

However, by 1598, their patrons, including Earl of Southampton, had fallen out of favour with the Queen.

Theatre's landlord, Giles Alleyn, had intentions to cancel the company's lease and tear the building down.

While Alleyn did own the land, he did not own the materials with which the theatre had been built.

So, on 28 December 1598, after leasing a new site in Southwark, Cuthbert and Richard Burbage led the rest of the company of actors, sharers, and volunteers in taking the building down, timber by timber, loading it on to barges, and making their way across Thames.

Working together, the actors built the new theatre as quickly as they could.

The ground on the new site was marshy and prone to flooding, but foundations were built by digging trenches, filling them with limestone, constructing brick walls above stone, and then raising wooden beams on top of that.

A funnel caught rainwater and drained it into ditch surrounding the theatre and down into Thames.

The theatre was 30m in diameter and had 20 sides, giving it its perceived circular shape.

Structure was similar to that of their old theatre, as well as that of the neighbouring bear garden.

The rectangular stage, at 5ft high, projected halfway into the yard and circular galleries.

Pillars were painted to look like Italian marble, sky painted midnight blue, and images of gods overlooked balcony. It could hold up to 3,000 people.

By May 1599, the new theatre was ready to be opened.

Burbage named it Globe after the figure of Hercules carrying the globe on his back — for in like manner, the actors carried Globe's framework on their backs across Thames.

A flag of Hercules with globe was raised above theatre with Latin motto: 'totus mundus agit histrionem' ('all the world's a playhouse').

Shakespeare's plays that were performed there early on included:

Henry V, Julius Caesar, As You Like It, Hamlet, Measure for Measure, Othello, King Lear, Macbeth, and Antony and Cleopatra.

Here, the Lord Chamberlain's Men enjoyed much success and gained the patronage of King James I in 1603, subsequently becoming The King's Men.

During a fateful performance of Henry VIII on 29 June 1613, a cannon announcing the unexpected arrival of the king at the end of Act 1 set fire to the thatched roof, and within an hour, the Globe burned to ground.

Everyone escaped safely, save for one man whose breeches reportedly caught fire. Two different songs had been written about it by the next day.

Globe was rebuilt by February 1614. The company could then afford to decorate it extravagantly, and it had a tiled roof instead of thatched.

However, by this point, Shakespeare's influence had lessened. He was spending more and more time back in Stratford-upon-Avon.

Disaster struck again in 1642 when the Parliament ordered the closure of London theatres.

In 1644-45, Globe was destroyed and the land sold for building.

In 1970, American actor and director, Samuel Wanamaker CBE (born Wattenmacker; 14 June 1919 – 18 December 1993), set up the Shakespeare's Globe Trust to pursue his dream of reconstructing the original Globe Theatre.

For what would be almost the next 30 years, he and his team worked and fought to obtain the permissions, funds, and research necessary for a project of this scope.

Historians, scholars and architects all worked together in their efforts to build the Globe in the same way Lord Chamberlain's Men did, down to the green oak pillars and thatched roof.

Their work and dreams were fulfilled when the new Globe Theatre opened in 1997, one street away from where original stood.

Globe stands today as a living monument to Shakespeare, greatest English playwright, home to productions of his plays and many other new ones every season.

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hogwartiandecor · 1 month ago

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In Philly tonight and stopped by what to me will always be the Wanamaker's building ( even if Macy's owns it now) to check the eagle is still here. And saw these magical creatures "Gryphons" up on the third floor by the Christmas ornaments.

#fantastic beasts #magical creatures #gryphon

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papanitosfamilycircus · 11 months ago

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every time ive ever been in the wanamaker building in philly it is completely empty, dead silent and fully light for some reason, it has the most ps1 survival horror energy of any place ive ever been to, genuinely feels like i will need to solve a key card puzzle to get to my car in the garage

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mapsoffun · 1 year ago

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When I saw that Wegmans would be opening a store in the famed Wanamaker Building in Astor Place, I was extremely excited to see what it would be like. I didn’t get any pictures of the place inside, but I was completely floored by what I saw, including fish imported from Japan and the most extensive meat department I’ve ever found at a Wegmans, along with the biggest array of food stands on the main floor that had offerings including poke and mezze.

The only part that seems to still be in development is the champagne and oyster bar, as that’s slated to open early next year. Hopefully I’ll be able to make a trip during ramp season so I can check that out and spend some proper time fully exploring this store. Fun fact: this location was the longtime home of the Astor Place Kmart and you could access it from the subway. It was the oddest place!

#travel #travel photography #food #wegmans #manhattan #astor place #nyc #new york city #new york #astor place new york

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antonio-velardo · 1 year ago

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Antonio Velardo shares: Wegmans Stakes a Claim in Manhattan by Florence Fabricant

By Florence Fabricant The Western New York grocery chain has taken over the old Kmart space in the Wanamaker Building on Astor Place. Published: October 10, 2023 at 11:29AM from NYT Food https://ift.tt/0tixb2k via IFTTT

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#antonio velardo #IFTTT #NYT

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comicbooknerd21 · 1 year ago

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I remade a card for the Legendary Deck Building Game, the art without any of the the cards design is also on my redbubble shop! If this card interests you, please consider a personal tip of even just a dollar to @David-Wanamaker-921 on Venmo, it would help a lot!

#comics #movies #comic books #marvel #captain america: winter soldier #captain america #marvel legendary #legendary #upper deck #game #board games

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davemoon · 2 years ago

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Taking Control of Cloud Spending

UBS shared a lesson in understatement last week when analyst Karl Keirstead wrote, “Customer efforts to optimize/trim their cloud spend are well beyond any historical norm.” One could almost hear the frenzied IT staff yanking blue cables out of servers and powering down the racks. Amazon and Microsoft all fell 2% on the warning, and Google dropped 1.4%.

With tech layoffs coming in at more than 330,000 since early 2022 and about 168,000 job losses just this year, cloud spending is an obvious and looming target, but it’s also a hard target. It sometimes feels like what Wanamaker said about advertising: half of it is wasted, we just don’t know which half.

Brian Schechter at Primary VC brought together many sides of the cloud landscape for a panel on how cloud spending has developed and how to introduce accountability and controls. Here are a few select insights from the panel.

Party on, Cloud. According to Zachary Smith, Head of Edge Infrastructure at Equinix, “One of the biggest problems we see with Equinix’s customers is … they’re not in the business of metering and chargeback. They rely on a point of sale that people effectively put in once every three years to grab as much infrastructure as they can.”

Tail of the Dog. Dataminr Director of Engineering, Nitin Pillai warned that minimizing infrastructure costs can be more like the tail wagging the dog. “It's not just about infrastructure savings…Developers are also not going to be spending their hard-earned time managing infrastructure. They're busy writing code that makes your product and earns you money.”

Ask Me Anything, Please. Sometimes organizations owe their overbuying to a lack of controls. How about asking first? Pillai shared, “Because we don't have the right controls built into the engineering systems, people can just go and provision infra they want. After they're done, they don't really go and deprovision them. It's just sitting there. It's good for AWS, but it’s costing us a ton of money.” Pillai has saved hundreds of thousands just inventorying idle resources and turning them off.

Moar Services. Datadog Product Manager, Kayla Taylor has been helping with both price and resource optimization, which can help identify and decommission idle resources. For example, “we have a bunch of monitoring data systems. Most of what we're doing is telling our customers, ‘Hey, let's surface orphaned resources in a central experience where we can see particular EBS volumes that have been unattached for seven days,’ and we then address or delete them as needed.”

Bottomline – The move to the cloud led to massive, up-front purchases and probable over-builds. Don’t want to weigh your developers down with managing infrastructure when they should be writing code that makes you money, but it can’t hurt to introduce controls around spinning up and winding down services, so you know what’s operational or just idle and bleeding money. Make people ask first, and remind them to turn off the lights. There are tools such as Datadog to help manage this.

That said, it’s not an easy task, and you can see it in Wall Street expectations. UBS sees the problems lasting throughout 2023, suggesting a deep faith in companies' ability to reign in costs, but many analysts expect the slumping growth rates to bottom by midyear and begin improving through the second half. Maybe those costs are here to stay.

Read more, here

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oldmke · 2 years ago

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Where today the Railway Exchange building stands, a number of small Milwaukee firms did business back in the 1890s. On the corner of what is now W. Wisconsin av. and N. Broadway was John G. Lee and Co., merchant tailors, offering fine ready to wear clothing -suits from $10 and trousers from $3.50. Also visible in the photograph are other tailoring firms: Peter Frattinger, and Wanamaker and Brown. Dr. Swenk, "The Painless Dentist," was fitting his patients for best sets of teeth on rubber for only $6.50. Then there was the office of the Detroit, Grand Haven and Milwaukee Railway. You could pick up your tickets for a ride on "the shortest, quickest route to Grand Rapids, Muskegon, Saginaw, Detroit, Mount Clemens and Toronto." Other businesses included a floral shop, coal companies, photographers and a confectioner. (Picture, courtesy of Robert C. Lee, 3519 N. 64th st., and information from the local history collection of the Milwaukee public library.)

#Milwaukee #Wisconsin

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foreveralwaysanauthor · 1 year ago

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Camp Wanamaker (Ch 7/10)

August 13, 2023

Notes - First of all, Eleanor, I just want to say that I got the notification for your next part as I was getting in bed last night, and if forcing myself to not read it yet wasn't torture enough, I made myself finish this chapter so I'd have that as a reward. I'll probably have to read it in the morning now as I'm exhausted tonight, but I am so excited to get into it! You have no idea! Second, there are so many scrapped versions of this chapter, it's insane! I really just wanted to focus on the relationships and how they work. I was going to post this yesterday, but ended up deleting most of the last part so that I could really focus on the ending. In the end, this chapter is, probably, one of the most easter-egg-filled ones I’ve written so far, and I’m immensely proud of it.

Chapter 7 - Lay All Your Love On Me

For the first time in two weeks, silence permeated the air of Camp Wanamaker. It wasn’t unusual, per se, to have some semblance of quiet after the campers left the grounds, but after getting used to the noise and excitement that filled every open space of the camp, the silence was almost too much for many of the workers. Thankfully, the silence hadn’t been there for long as rain filled the area. A week of nothing but rain and cloudy, dreary days had been forecasted for the majority of New Hampshire as a storm from Nova Scotia loomed closer and closer to the coastal state.

Many of the camp’s staff were glad the clouds had waited for the campers to flee the area before unleashing their downpours, while others were simply glad to receive some form of reprieve from the scorching temperatures and chokingly thick humidity. Those with breathing difficulties had found safety in buildings with air conditioning units throughout the weeks, but as everyone adjusted to the cool rain, the metal window fixtures were found to be practically pointless.

As the familiar, chirpy rhythm of an almost too-upbeat eighties song echoed over the speakers as a wake-up call, Mick looked up from the novel she had been reading for well over an hour. Rolling her eyes with a smirk, she softly began singing along to the lyrics as Dead or Alive’s mega-hit song You Spin Me Round (Like A Record) played throughout the camp. She wasn’t too surprised by the choice as Vivien’s grandfather had played a majority of eighties hits over the last seven weeks of camp, but as Miles stumbled his way out of his room looking as though he would break the camp’s announcement system if given the chance, it seemed as though not everyone was as thrilled by the choice as she was.

Watching as Miles grumbled a greeting to those on the couch before making his way down the hallway toward the kitchen, Mick shook her head and returned to her book. She often wondered how he had managed to survive without Vivien’s coffee concoctions first thing in the morning. She could recall making coffee runs for him early on in their friendship, bringing him three cups of coffee throughout the workday just to get him functioning properly. Now that he had Vivien personally making him some of whatever blend she normally fixed for herself in the morning, he was drinking a bit less and still getting through just fine. Granted, even if Vivien’s mystery blend had tasted like nothing more than watered-down dirt in a mug, she was sure Miles still would have drunk it. He needed caffeine to function and, if that meant chugging his way through disgustingly mud-like sludge in a cup, Mick knew he would do just that to get some semblance of alertness.

As the main character of her book, Beatrice Prior, followed the tour guide through the Dauntless compound, Mick distantly overheard Vivien and Royce snickering in the hallway as they made their way to the living room from the kitchen. She couldn’t hear most of what they were saying, but she could guess it had to have something to do with Miles as Royce mentioned something about the flavored creamer they would have to replace sooner rather than later. As the pair made their way through the living room, prying Bentley from his spot on the couch as they went, Mick looked up from her book, making sure the young trio stayed out of the rain as they headed outside to sit on the porch swing.

It wasn’t odd for them to sit outside while it rained, but Mick knew they had a tendency to sit on the steps or on the sand near the deck, letting the rain soak them until they looked more like drowned possums than anything. The last thing she wanted was for one of them to get sick on their week off. However, much to Mick’s pleasure, they simply took their places on the porch swing and began reading together. Grateful that the screen door allowed her to observe them from a distance, Mick hummed softly to herself before returning to her book. After a while, Riven joined them outside and Mick’s senty-like watch fell as she relaxed further into the couch’s cushions. The kids were safe with Riven around; that was all she needed to know.

They wouldn’t have long to sit around and relax before breakfast, that much she knew, but the draw of her book was too strong to fight. After spending the last week standing in for a girl named Hayden who suffered a case of sun poisoning and could barely move, let alone act in their murder mystery plot, Mick felt she deserved a break. She wasn’t an actress and, despite how welcoming and reassuring everyone had been when she joined them in the mess hall for a quick practice every morning, the week had been nothing but stress for her. Getting thrown a new script after dinner every day and having to put on a good show for the campers wasn’t as easy as everyone else made it out to be.

Mick didn’t look up again until the couch shifted, the newcomer’s weight tilting her slightly to the right. Glancing at Miles from the corner of her eyes, Mick placed her index finger between the pages of her book as a bookmark and closed it, leaning her head on Miles’ shoulder as he leaned his head back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. The two sat in silence for a while, the only noises in the area being the heavy droplets of rain and the occasional chirp of the kids’ voices. With everything going on, a majority of the camp’s staff hadn’t had the opportunity to sit in relative silence, but to Mick, it felt like something more meaningful than that.

She and Miles had known each other for over three years at that point and, despite the time they spent with everyone else, they hardly had the time to spend one-on-one time with each other. With how busy everyone was that summer, she wasn’t surprised that they couldn’t find the time to just relax and hang out, but even before the summer started, Miles was always with the kids or Carrie, spending little time with Mick or Butchy. She wasn’t one to complain as she knew the kids were Miles’ top priority, but she sort of missed being able to sit around on the couch, talking with Miles, or playing video games with him like old times.

Granted, it wasn’t just with Miles that Mick felt this way. Though she would hate to admit it, she had begun to feel rather lonely. She would never voice her feelings, though. Everyone had so much on their plates already and, if she were to unleash all that had piled up in her head, it would only add to the mounting levels of stress everyone was already under. That was the last thing she wanted. For the time being, she would simply have to suck it up and deal with her emotions on her own. She could handle herself. Besides, even if someone were to call her out on her behavior, she could easily blame it on her period; it was almost a week later than normal anyway and wouldn’t be an outlandish excuse.

Just as she was about to lift her head from Miles’ shoulder, she felt him shift, his head lifting from the couch and his arm pulling out from under her to wrap around her shoulders. As she brought her arm around her makeshift brother’s middle, a light pressure to her hair had Mick tightening her grasp on him. Miles sighed as he asked, “Are you feeling alright?”

Shrugging minutely, Mick breathed, “Just tired.”

Miles lightly squeezed Mick’s shoulder and rubbed at her upper arm as he snickered, “That’s supposed to be my job, Mickie.”

Allowing her eyes to close, Mick chuckled airily, “In that case, it sounds like you’d better put in for unemployment because I’m taking your job today.”

Miles allowed himself to smile, but as he peered down at the younger girl, he could feel his expression falter. Dark circles inhabited the usually tan skin under Mick’s eyes, her normally sun-kissed skin appeared paler than normal, and her lips were drawn together in a tight line. He had seen her like this before when she was sick, but as far as he knew, Mick hadn’t been sick for almost a year. She was far healthier than most people Miles knew and her immune system was something of an impenetrable fortress, so for her to look physically ill and drained of color, something had to be wrong. Granted, her appearance could have been due to stress or lack of sleep, but it still worried Miles all the same.

Just as he was about to voice his concerns, Butchy entered the room, tucking his cell phone into his back pocket as he smiled at the pair on the couch. Before the older of the two bikers could greet them, Miles raised his free hand and gestured for him to stop. Once Butchy had stilled by the end of the couch, an eyebrow raised questioningly toward his long-time friend, Miles pointed toward Mick before silently asking if she was okay. Butchy shrugged, not having spent much time with his wife in the last week due to their conflicting schedules. Leaning to the side slightly and taking a better look at Mick’s appearance, however, Butchy regretted not setting aside time for her sooner.

Meeting Miles’ worried gaze once more, Butchy opened his mouth to greet them when a certain blonde stepped into the room from the hallway, calling out a chirpy, “Good morning!”

As Mick’s eyes peeled open, Butchy attempted to act as though he had just entered the room, taking a place on the couch as his wife and Miles gave greetings of their own to Carrie. As Mick sat up to give Miles and Carrie the opportunity to spend some time together, Butchy watched from the other side of the couch, making sure she was moving well enough and checking to see if he needed to help her in any way. His wife settled in with her book as Carrie curled into Miles’ left side and, while Butchy would typically make some snide remark about her or try to goad her into an argument of some sort, he couldn’t find it in himself to try. Despite Carrie’s clipped remark about how quiet it was that morning - a sign that even she had noticed Butchy’s silence - he couldn’t bring himself to care. His focus was solely aimed at Mick as she turned from one page to another.

By the time the breakfast notice echoed through the grounds, Carrie and Miles had left the cabin to sit outside with the kids, leaving Butchy and Mick to their own devices. Butchy was almost certain that Miles would use the time to tell the others that something wasn’t quite right with Mick - his brotherly instincts toward the young woman too strong to fight - and he was grateful for the peace and quiet all the same. Mick either hadn’t noticed their solitude or simply hadn’t voiced her opinion on the situation, but either way, it allowed Butchy to move across the couch and get a closer look at his wife’s condition.

Apart from her tired outward appearance, Butchy couldn’t be sure if anything was wrong. She hadn’t coughed or sneezed, she hadn’t rushed to the bathroom to be sick, and she wasn’t shuddering from a cold shiver that nobody else seemed to have. If it weren’t for her skin taking on a pale, sunken-in appearance, he wouldn’t be worried. She looked exhausted and Butchy hoped that it was just that - exhaustion. He hoped it wasn’t something serious. He wasn’t quite sure how he would handle it if it was something more than that.

Regardless, as the call for breakfast came through over the speakers and the others came inside to grab raincoats or umbrellas, Butchy watched as Mick tucked a sticky note into the book she had been occupied with and rose from the couch, making her way toward the coat rack where she grabbed her trusty poncho. Butchy was quick to follow her, hoping to keep an eye on her as much as he could until he could figure out what was wrong. He would give her a few days and check in with her to see how she was holding up. Maybe she just needed to take a break and recuperate from the stress of the previous week. Yeah, Butchy thought to himself, maybe that was it.

Weathermen were good liars. Anyone in the northeastern United States could tell you that. It seemed as though all the news companies decided to band together one day and lie to everyone about the weather for the rest of human existence. If they forecasted hurricane-force winds or strong thunderstorms, the most any New Englander would feel were some light breezes or a drizzling of rain. It was when they reported sunshine that you knew something was up. Unless you were already dealing with a heat wave, you knew that smiling cartoon of a sun wearing sunglasses on the television screen would be taunting you with the idea of a nice, warm, sunny day.

The ever-changing, New England weather was nothing new to Hayley Mays. She had grown up in New Hampshire’s bipolar weather; her skin thickening with the winter cold and tanning with the summer sun. Almost all of her thirty-eight years of life had been spent either swimming in the nearby lake or shoveling snow out of her neighbors’ driveways with her sister. And she had done both of those things in the same week more than once.

Hayley had grown used to the weatherman’s constant lies. Brian Strzempko and his pack of lies greeted her nearly every morning when she would go downstairs for breakfast at her parents’ house, spouting off about the expected hail or “three inches” of snow. Every morning, she would roll her eyes; someone needed to get that man a ruler. Nowadays, Hayley and Charlie would get their news off of their phones and, even though Hayley still refused to believe whatever the forecast was, she knew Charlie still had the false hope that whoever made the forecast would be right. Granted, Charlie wasn’t from New England and presumably trusted the meteorologists back in Virginia.

Hayley had been fairly surprised when she discovered in college that the news anchors in Virginia didn’t lie nearly as much as they did in her home state. When she had questioned Charlie about it, her - at the time - twenty-year-old friend was confused, but it was obvious that the confusion had quickly washed away after she moved to New Hampshire a handful of years down the road. Regardless of the weathermen and the lies they fed the people, Charlie still checked her weather app religiously and Hayley still wondered why.

Take that Monday, for example. The forecast called for a party-cloudy day with a high of eighty-one degrees - a simple, sunny day with low humidity. Despite Hayley’s discrete eye roll as her beloved wife read out the forecast over their morning tea session, Charlie had chosen to wear her finest pair of overall shorts and a pink, frilly tee with lace lining. Hayley, on the other hand, kept it simple with a pair of gray shorts she’d bought from the men’s section for extra length and a shirt from an old bowling alley she had worked at, keeping her clear plastic, raincoat wrapped around her waist for the inevitable downpour.

She wasn’t going to admit defeat as they touched down on the pine-needle-laden ground, the sun blaring down overhead. Even as the sun rose higher and the heat began to grow, Hayley refused to hang her coat up. As she and Charlie parted ways - Hayley busying herself with painting while Charlie worked with the playhouse staff to set up for the next two weeks of play practice - she handed her trust raincoat to her wife with a knowing smile and a bid of good luck and made her way to the art barn.

Having gotten quite used to the presence of her biological daughter’s best friend, Hayley offered Bentley a gentle smile as the boy looked up from the lump of clay he was attempting to shape. “How’s it coming, little man?”

“It’s not,” Bentley sighed as Hayley approached him. “I was trying to make a coffee mug for Miles but my foot hit the pedal while I was smoothing it with the spatula thing and I ended up stabbing a hole in it and it caved in on itself.”

“Yeesh,” Hayley cringed, examining the blob of clay on Bentley’s tray. “Starting from scratch again?”

“I’m gonna try,” Bentley nodded, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.

Pushing the boy’s hair from his face, Hayley grabbed an extra elastic from her wrist and secured his hair in a little bump before pressing a kiss to his forehead with a smile of encouragement. “Well, you know where to find me if you need help.”

“And I probably will,” Bentley chuckled.

Hayley nudged the teenager as she began walking away, “You and I both know that isn’t true. You’re an incredible artist, Ben.”

“Thanks, Aunt Hayley.”

Hayley’s hand froze as she searched the drying racks for the canvas she had been working on recently. It wasn’t often that Vivien’s friends called her by anything more than her first name or “Vivien’s aunt” - save for Riven, who had always claimed he considered her the aunt he never had. While she welcomed the term with ease normally, this was the first time Bentley had chosen to do so. Turning to smile at the young boy, Hayley watched as he worked on the clump of clay before him, having already moved on from the conversation.

Taking in a breath, Hayley hummed softly and pulled her canvas from the racks, setting up an easel near the window so that she could watch the weather change and keep an eye on the youngest boy at the camp. While they worked, Hayley found herself listening as the young boy to her left began humming old songs, occasionally joining him when she knew the tune. Whether he noticed or not, she didn’t know, but the small, wordless interaction brought a smile to her face all the same. Just as they worked their way to the chorus of Elvis Presley’s famous “(You’re the) Devil In Disguise”, a deep growl of thunder rumbled overhead, signaling a storm inbound.

Glancing out the window at the playhouse where everyone began carrying things inside to keep them safe from the rain, Hayley snickered softly to herself, “Told ya so.”

“Huh?” Bentley wondered, looking over from his seat.

Hayley shook her head with a smile, “Just something I said to Charlie this morning.”

Shrugging, Bentley returned to his work and Hayley glanced out the window once more, watching as her wife hastily grabbed a piece of plastic from one of the nearby picnic tables and pulled it over her shoulders, tugging the hood over her head in disbelief as she began instructing her fellow staff members on where to put everything. Hayley grinned as she returned to her painting, allowing the gentle pattering of rain on the roof to ease her back into her work. However, it wasn’t long before the door of the art barn swung open and slammed shut once again, revealing a rather soaked Makana Birch.

As the girl turned to rest against the door, wide-eyed and out of breath from running, Hayley got a good look at her. The girl’s cheap, knock-off Converse squelched puddles on the hardwood floors, her hair clung to her skin as though it had been glued down, and her shirt would have been see-through if it wasn’t red, but that wasn’t what caught Hayley’s eye. Instead, it was Mick’s pair of recently tie-dyed, terry cloth shorts that clearly didn’t get rinsed out well enough as they dripped a myriad of colors down the girl’s legs. It didn’t seem as though Mick noticed the issue as she stared up at the ceiling and fought to catch her breath, but Hayley quickly realized Bentley had seen it as well.

Before Bentley could say anything, Hayley stood from her seat and put a hand on his shoulder, lightly shaking her head when he looked up at her. Nodding understandingly, Bentley watched as Hayley crossed the room and grabbed a towel from the closet where they kept some backup umbrellas and rain ponchos along with the cleaning supplies. Handing Mick the towel, Hayley made sure she was breathing well enough before asking, “What happened to you?”

Wrapping the soft towel around her shoulders, Mick sucked in a breath and explained, “We were cleaning the pool and got the town’s all-call about some potential tornados in the area. Noah and some of the others took off to warn the people in the music hall and dance studio while I put everything away. This is my first stop.”

“And your last,” Hayley commented, prying Mick from the door and ushering her to a chair that had enough dried paint on it that it could probably be kept in an art exhibit.

“What do you mean?” Mick asked, using the ends of the towel to dry her face slightly as Hayley led her away.

This time, it was Bentley who answered as he wheeled his seat over toward Mick, “You look like you’re bleeding a rainbow out of your shorts.”

Moving the towel from her face, Mick looked down and let out a shocked breath as she took in the state of her legs. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she whined. “I just made these shorts two days ago!”

Bentley attempted to hide his smirk as he said, “Now they look like the inside of a bag of M&Ms when you hold it too long.”

Mick let out a disgruntled noise as she dropped into her chair, examining her stained skin with a look of disdain. “How on earth am I going to get this off?”

“We’ll try some petroleum jelly,” Hayley spoke calmly. “That’s how I used to get hair dye of my skin. If it doesn’t work, we’ll get some rubbing alcohol or acetone. We’ll find a way to get it off.”

Mick heaved a sigh, glancing at her hands to make sure she hadn’t gotten dye on her fingers before running them through her hair, pushing clinging strands from her face. “I think I’m going to go back to the cabin. Maybe a shower will get some of it off.”

“Maybe,” Bentley commented. “I’ll bring some acetone just in case.”

Mick brushed him off with a wave of her hand, “I should be fine. I think there should still be some under the sink from when Vivien painted Miles’ nails while he was sleeping.”

Hayley let out a snort of laughter, “He sure has his work cut out for him with that kid around.”

Mick nodded, a ghost of a smile tugging at her lips as she rose from her chair. Handing the towel back to Hayley, she sighed, “I’d better go before everyone crowds the place. I’ll see you guys later.”

Though Hayley looked ready to argue for the girl to stay until the rain lightened, Mick made her exit quick, clicking the door shut behind herself before running down the path toward the beach. Making her way toward the front of the building, Hayley watched Mick run toward where the sand and grass met, keeping an eye on her until she disappeared from sight. “Hm,” she hummed to herself as she slowly turned toward Bentley, “did she seem alright to you?”

Bentley shrugged as he folded the chair Mick had sat on and set it aside. “She was probably just upset about her shorts.”

Hayley nodded thoughtfully; it was plausible. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.”

When Butchy arrived back at the lodge Monday night, his wife was nowhere to be found. Despite reassurances from both Bentley and Hayley that Mick had returned safely to the wooden cabin, he didn’t allow himself to relax until he saw her silently leave her room. He had followed her to the kitchen area, hoping to figure out why he hadn’t seen her, but she simply explained that she’d had a rough day and wanted time alone to breathe. After spending three years with his now-wife, Butchy understood the silent signal he had been given and allowed her to return to her room with the Hot Pockets she had heated in the microwave. The last time he had seen her that night was when he hesitantly knocked on her door to wish her a good night.

The fog that flooded the area on Tuesday morning brought with it the first sign of sunshine. The distant rays that glowed through the dense fog cast hazy shadows over most of the campground. Although the glowing ball of fire in the sky tried its hardest, it wasn’t quite strong enough to break through the thick clouds and the lingering fog. With more rain forecasted to come in the next few days, it was no surprise that the sky remained gray despite the rising sun pushing its way over the horizon.

Butchy sat on the edge of his bed as he took in the ominous fog that covered the lake like a thick blanket on a cold winter morning. Rainwater from the roof sloshed through the clunky white gutter pipe that rattled against the outer wall of his bedroom, but Butchy paid it little mind. He had listened to it every day it rained and the sound felt more like background noise than an annoyance. As he rose from his bed, Butchy smiled to himself. He was sure that, if Vivien’s grandfather chose the right song, it would feel like they had stepped onto the set of some sort of summer camp, slasher movie from the eighties. Then, just as quickly as the thought had come into his mind, it left as he heard the faintest click from outside his bedroom.

Inching his way to the door, Butchy slowly turned the handle and pulled the door of his room open just enough to see a head of wavy, caramel hair go through the archway into the living room. He glanced at the clock on his nightstand and sighed softly; he didn’t want her to feel ambushed first thing in the morning. Hoping to give Mick some time for herself, Butchy wasted a few minutes tidying his already fairly neat room and putting a few clothes in the hamper he would be bringing to the laundry all too soon. After checking his clock once more, Butchy tucked his cell phone into his pocket and grabbed a book from the dresser he had left by the door before heading into the hallway and making his way toward the living room.

Sure enough, Mick had tucked herself into the corner of the couch as she seemed to do almost every day, her nose buried in a book as she curled herself as close as she could to the back of the couch. The only light she had came from a small, clip-on lamp that Mick had bought ages ago at the dollar store - a cheap, plastic little light that just barely held its angled shape and flickered like a strobe light at a rave if she dared to shift her hands anywhere near the clasp - but after using it for so long, she had grown accustomed to the cheap light and its idiosyncrasies. Butchy had tried to replace the little lamp for her so she wouldn’t have to fight with it so much, but she had stated more than once that she was fine with it and would continue to use it until the light gave out on her. As Mick flipped a page and the light objected to the movement, Butchy heard her muttering a plea for the lamp to continue doing its job as he leaned against the archway.

“You know,” he began, a smile on his face as Mick lifted her gaze from the flickering light before her, “one of these days, that little thing just might electrocute you.”

Mick rolled her eyes, a small grin appearing on her face as she retorted, “If that were to happen, my gravestone would say I died doing what I loved.”

As he approached his wife, Butchy let out a breath of a laugh, “Ah, so you love books more than me?”

“No,” Mick replied with ease as she sat up, allowing Butchy to fill the space between her back and the arm of the couch if he desired, “but if my headstone said that and I died while I was ‘doing you’, that might change the meaning a little bit.”

“Maybe a little,” Butchy agreed as he slid into the space his wife offered him. Once they had relaxed into a comfortable position once more and Butchy felt Mick let out a slow, deep breath as she reclined against him, he asked, “How are you feeling this morning?”

Tucking her makeshift bookmark into the novel in her hands, Mick sighed and set the book aside, “Tired.”

“Did you not sleep well?” Butchy asked. Before Mick could answer, he added, “You could have come to my room for the night; you know that, right?”

“I know,” Mick reassured as she shifted, peering up at her husband, “I think it’s just the weather dragging me down. The heat and humidity were bad enough, but the rain the past few days has just added to it. Now, I feel so drained and I don’t know how to push past it.”

As Butchy threaded his fingers into Mick’s hair, a familiar tingle of electricity coursing up his arm at the contact, he took in a deep breath. He never liked to see Mick upset, especially when he had no idea how to help her. He couldn’t change the weather for her, he couldn’t alter her emotions, and, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t read her mind to figure out what was truly bothering her. Although he could feel the slightest hint of uselessness seeping into his skin at the idea of being unable to help his wife, Butchy swallowed thickly and pushed his thoughts aside, pushing a smile onto his face as he wondered, “Why do you have to push past it?”

“What do you mean?” Mick questioned, her eyebrow lifting ever so slightly.

“The last few weeks have been nothing short of overwhelming for you,” Butchy stated. “You’ve been an archery instructor, a lifeguard, and an accomplice to a made-up murder while also dealing with an absurd amount of children and heat. Why not just take the week to relax and let yourself recover?”

With a sigh, Mick shook her head, “I have to get the pool ready; I can’t take time off like that when they need me.”

“You and I both know that the other lifeguards are more than capable of getting everything there ready.”

“I also have to help with setting up everything in the playhouse this week and making sure everything moves the way it’s supposed to on stage.”

“And I’m sure that the kids would be willing to help if we asked them to,” Butchy tried.

“I can’t ask that of them,” Mick said. “Besides, I promised I would help - I can’t just not show up.”

Butchy tried not to sigh. It was times like these he wished he could make Mick see things through his eyes. Her determination to help people was something he adored about her, but it was also one of her greatest faults. She tended to spread herself paper-thin and would refuse to back down from any commitments she had made despite the overbearing stress that would mount on her shoulders. It was something he was trying to work with her on as she realized just how much of a toll it was putting on herself. However, Butchy knew that now was not the time to try to work things out as she seemed adamant and unwavering.

Instead of arguing his point with Mick, Butchy allowed a small grin to tug at his lips as he pulled her head down, resting her ear over his chest. “Alright,” he relented, “but we’re still going to get some extra help.”

“Why?”

“Because you and I are taking the day off on Saturday,” Butchy said. “We’ll hop in the truck and get away from everything for a day. How does that sound?”

“Heavenly,” Mick breathed.

“Good,” Butchy sighed. “It’ll give us both something to work toward through the week.”

Mick let out a long breath, shifting to lie on her stomach as she brought her arms around her husband’s middle, “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me,” Butchy muttered as he pressed a kiss to Mick’s hair. “You know I would do anything for you.”

“Mhm,” Mick hummed, nodding against Butchy’s shirt as she squeezed him. “And I would for you.”

With their books seemingly forgotten in favor of the comfort they absorbed from the other person’s presence, Mick and Butchy relaxed on the couch, curled up in the corner as they waited for the sun to rise. After an hour or two, the announcement system would crackle to life with some song off of the hastily thrown-together playlist Vivien had sent her grandparents after the first staff meeting seven, almost eight weeks prior. For the time being, they had each other and that was all that mattered. There was no need to rush the morning along. Besides, by the time everyone else chose to pry themselves from their blankets and join them in the living area, they would most likely be invested in their novels; still curled close to each other, but far more relaxed as they squeezed each other's hands before turning a page and celebrated the end of a chapter with a kiss.

Despite Mick trying to convince Butchy to leave well enough alone, he had still asked the kids to help out with the duties Mick had signed herself up for. With Bentley and Royce helping in the playhouse and Vivien dragging Noah and his girlfriend into helping her at the pool, things seemed to finish a lot faster than they normally would have. By noon on Wednesday, everything in the playhouse was set for the upcoming performance, and the pool had been drained, cleaned, re-filled, shocked, and prepped for the upcoming weeks. With nothing else to do for the rest of the day, Mick was stationed with Vivien and Riven in the main office, the three of them trying to figure out what the next week would bring.

It wasn’t odd for the three to be pulled aside and asked to help in the office as they were three staff members who had grown up in the camp and knew what most kids wanted. However, as the mid-week rush of phone calls from eager parents practically glued Riven to the chair by the phone as he reassured everyone that their payments had gone through and that their children were on the roster for the upcoming weeks, the task of figuring out something to do for the next week or so was left solely on the shoulders of two brunettes.

“We can’t just do water balloon fights every day of the week, Viv,” Mick argued with a roll of her eyes. “Not only would it get boring after a few days, but it would also be a pain in the ass to clean up.”

“Not if we got those reusable ones off of TikTok!” Vivien tried. When she took in the unwavering look in Mick’s eyes, she sighed and scratched the idea off of her list, “Fine. How about doing a gold rush?”

“We did that last year,” Mick sighed, tapping her pencil on the table. “Five teenagers got into a fight in the makeshift saloon and we had to bring two of them to the emergency room with broken body parts.”

“Okay,” Vivien breathed, crossing out yet another of her ideas.

“How about we do a monster mash?” Mick suggested, resting the eraser of her pencil next to the idea. “We haven’t done that in a few years.”

“And with good reason,” Vivien snickered. “Remember that kid who dressed up like a Demogorgon and snuck into Kittery Cabin in the middle of the night? Grandpa and Nonna had to deal with calls from angry parents for weeks afterward because of all the nightmares the kids were having.”

“Guess we can cross that off too,” Mick muttered as she blocked off another idea. After scanning her list again, Mick crossed off a few more ideas and sighed, “I think that’s all of my ideas. Please tell me you have something good on yours.”

Vivien hummed thoughtfully, looking over her list and sighing as she crossed a few off the list. Bringing everyone figure skating or horseback riding wasn’t the greatest of ideas, water balloon dodgeball was off the table, they didn’t have enough time to put together a Ninja Warrior course, game show weeks never went well, and junkyard wars always ended up with broken friendships as everyone fought to have their machine made a certain way. With everything else crossed off, Vivien was left with a total of three ideas on her extensive paper, and, to her dismay, only one of them seemed good enough to be used.

“Well,” Vivien drawled hesitantly, “the carnival is coming to Laconia next week.”

“The carnival?”

“Yeah,” Vivien nodded, “you know, like with the Ferris wheel, the Round-Up, and the Yo-Yo? Someone always gets sick after one of the Pharoh rides and the whole place has this overwhelming smell of fried dough, snow cones, and popcorn?”

Of course, Mick knew what she meant. She had been to the carnival every year for as long as she could remember. Whether it was riding in the spinning pumpkins or zipping along on Rockstar Racers, Mick had always enjoyed the local carnival. Taking everyone to the carnival for the week would be a fun break from the norm and, in theory, it could work. Every camper was supposed to have money on them for excursions and, even if the camp needed to pitch in to get some kids into the fairgrounds, it wouldn’t be an outlandish amount of money.

Slowly, Mick nodded. “We’ll have to run it by Chief and Nonna first to see if they’d be up to it, but I think that just might be our best shot at having a plan for the week.”

Holding her hand out palm-up, Vivien beamed as Mick high-fived her. “A week full of rides, fried food, and children screaming at the tops of their lungs.”

With a soft chuckle, Mick nudged the girl as she asked, “You plan on being one of those screaming children?”

Vivien shrugged as she tugged her elastic from her hair, “For one reason or another, yeah.”

“What do you mean?” Mick wondered as she picked up her pencil and wrote Vivien’s idea on her notepad.

Vivien sighed as she pulled her hair into a ponytail, “Well, I’ll either be screaming because of the rides or because of the insane cramps I’ve been getting. Either way, there will be screaming.”

“Did you take anything for them?”

“Tylenol,” Vivien confirmed.

“But it isn’t touching it?”

“Nope.”

“You could have asked me for some,” Mick sighed. “Me or Carrie. We would have given you something.”

Once again, Vivien shrugged, “It doesn’t really matter. I’ll work out some and drink extra water and I’ll be fine. Besides, it’ll be over in three days anyway.”

“That’s it?” Mick asked as she rose from her seat. When Vivien nodded, Mick scoffed, “You lucky little shit. My period lasts at least a week.”

Vivien smiled, chuckling as she stood and followed Mick to the door, “Yeah, well, I don’t get my period often at all, so it usually hits hard and then goes away after maybe two or three days.”

“Oh,” Mick breathed. “Do you have an IUD? I heard that those stop your period.”

“No, I just don’t get them a lot,” Vivien admitted. “I don’t need birth control anyway.”

“Be grateful you don’t yet,” Mick sighed. “When I was testing the waters, I tried one that basically destroyed me. When you start looking around, make sure to check the side effects before you jump in.”

Although Vivien nodded, she let out a breath before swallowing and admitting, “You know, I don’t think that will be a problem for me.”

“Maybe not,” Mick shrugged, “but it doesn’t hurt to be cautious.”

“I know, it’s just…” Vivien stalled as her voice drifted off, her fingers twisting nervously in the strings of her hoodie. “I won’t need birth control.”

Mick stopped, turning to the younger girl with a smile that looked as though she knew everything going through the young brunette’s mind. “Vivi, I know you and Royce aren’t there quite yet - and to that, I applaud you both - but there may come a time where that could change. If it does, you’ll need to be looking into those things.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Vivien said with a shake of her head. Stepping close to the older girl, Vivien reached out a hesitant hand, slipping her fingers into Mick’s hand as she lowered her voice and admitted, “Mickie, I won’t need it because I can’t get pregnant.”

As though she had been caught in a game of freeze tag, Mick stood still, looking over the girl before her with wide eyes. “What?”

“My mom took me to the doctors before summer started to see about birth control because Royce and I were spending the summer here,” Vivien stated. “Something about her knowing what the staff members get up to when the adults aren’t looking.”

“Understandable,” Mick breathed. After all, she knew all too well just how easy it was for counselors to sneak off when they had nothing better to do.

Vivien shrugged, “Yeah, well, when I brought up to my doctor how irregular my periods are, she decided to run a few tests to see if there were any underlying things going on. They tested me for endometriosis, a few autoimmune disorders, and a bunch of other stuff while they were at it.”

“And?”

“And they found I have PCOS,” Vivien admitted. “It won’t kill me or anything, but it causes infertility. They put me on a medication to test how it works on me and, while I still won’t get pregnant if it helps, it should make things a bit easier as time goes on.”

Mick nodded as she took in the information. Then, with a tentative look in her eyes, she asked, “You’re okay with not having kids?”

“They’re cute and all, but to be honest, I never wanted them,” Vivien chuckled. “I’d rather be the cool aunt who babysits, spoils them silly, and sends them back to their parents. Besides, I only recently started getting more confident in how I look, and the idea of my stomach expanding and having to push something the size of a bowling ball out of my vagina sounds horrifying to me.”

With a chuckle, Mick shook her head before sending a smile Vivien’s way and wrapping an arm around the teen’s shoulders, pulling her close as she began walking toward the office door. “You’d rather be the auntie, huh?”

“Only the coolest auntie to ever walk the face of the earth,” Vivien agreed. “I’d take them to the mall and to the movies, teach them to skate, and do all the fun stuff with them that their parents don’t wanna do.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Absolutely.”

Mick snickered, squeezing Vivien to her side as she opened the door to the front desk, “Well, then you’ll have your work cut out for you once the rest of us start popping out kids left, right, and center.”

Vivien let out a snort, “Did they not make you watch that nightmare-fuel movie in school because, believe me, you won’t be popping anything out of anywhere.”

Rolling her eyes, Mick nudged Vivien into the office and allowed the conversation to drop as the younger brunette made her way to where Riven was sitting, talking on the phone with someone neither of them could make out. From the look of it, however, Mick had gotten the better end of the deal as Riven ran a frustrated hand through his hair. As Vivien perched herself on the desk and began taunting Riven by mimicking whoever was on the phone, Mick smiled, shaking her head at the girl’s antics as she pulled out her phone. Unlocking the device, she sent a quick message to Vivien's grandmother about the idea the girl had proposed before switching to the conversation she had been having with her husband.

After rereading the last messages they had sent each other, Mick smiled to herself and brought up her keyboard before typing, ‘How do you feel about having a movie night with everyone? We can get some popcorn, string up a sheet in the living room, and just spend time together.’

The response came quicker than she had anticipated as her phone pinged. ‘Sounds good to me,’ Butchy had typed. ‘Might have to wait until tomorrow, though. Someone fell from the rock wall and we’re waiting on an ambulance.’

‘Does it look that bad?’ she tapped quickly.

‘Worse,’ was Butchy’s first response. ‘We’ll probably have a staff meeting on safety once they get back from the hospital.’

‘Oh yay,’ Mick typed, hoping her sarcasm came through loud and clear. By Butchy’s quickly sent laughing emoji, she guessed it had. ‘Guess we’ll pick out a movie tomorrow then.’

‘Guess so,’ Butchy replied. ‘Sorry.’

‘Don’t be,’ Mick quickly sent. ‘It happens. I’ll see you after.’

‘Ok, love you.’

‘Love you too.’

The overpowering stench of charred popcorn filled the air as the window above the kitchen sink was pushed open. Most of the cabin would smell the blackened remnants of the buttery snack within a few minutes if they couldn’t already and, although the window was open, it wouldn’t do much to rid the log cabin of the overwhelming smell. While Royce was immensely glad he was the only one close enough to have to face the full force of the stench, he still felt as though it choked him, resulting in him taking a quick gulp of air before making his way to the microwave.

Quickly opening the silver and black box, Royce grabbed the bag by the corner and hastily closed the microwave before making his way to the window where he held the bag of decently scorched popcorn outside to air out. He could have easily taken it out the back door, opened the bag, and thrown the inedible food out on the grass for the birds and squirrels, but he wasn’t sure they would take it either. The only thing he was sure about was that he was going to have to avoid the kitchen for a few days until the smell no longer permeated every inch of the space.

For once, the horrendously burned food wasn’t due to Mick’s dad attempting to cook and he was almost positive that he was going to end up being the focus of his friends’ teasing for a while as a result. One thing Royce could never manage to properly make in the modern world was popcorn and, despite Vivien’s many efforts to teach him not to trust the instructions on the backs of the bags, he simply couldn’t manage to make a bag without burning some. If it had been something like Jiffy Pop where he could make the popcorn on the stove like they did back home, he would have been fine. However, the modern world had changed and, although the stovetop popcorn was still available in stores, not a single shop in Sanbornton kept them in stock and he wasn’t about to make anyone take the trip out to a bigger store just so that he could make popcorn. After all, he wasn’t even supposed to be in charge of the popcorn.

Miles had originally been tasked to make the snack as he had some magical knowledge as to how to add butter throughout the bowl without it all getting soggy and gross. However, as he was pulled away to help Butchy and Vivien hang up the sheet in the living room, Royce was left monitoring the bag of now-burnt popcorn. Thankfully, two other bags had already been made up, but Royce wasn’t sure anyone would want him searching through the cupboards for another packet that would just end up charred.

Before he could attempt to bring the bag back inside and dispose of it, a voice from the hallway got his attention. “Royce?” a voice he knew all too well asked. Rolling his eyes, Royce turned to see Carrie entering the kitchen with her nose crinkled in disgust. “Is everything okay in here?”

Royce took in a deep breath and sighed before pulling the burnt popcorn inside and tossing it in the trash, “Peachy-fucking-keen.”

“What happened?” Carrie asked as she reached for the refrigerator door.

“Have you lost all sense of smell or something?” Royce questioned, sarcasm filling his tone.

Grabbing the tray of jiggling Jello cups from the shelf in the fridge, Carrie tried not to sound snippy as she replied, “I can smell the burnt popcorn, but I wanted to know if everything was alright.”

“It’s fine,” Royce sighed. “I’ll just have Miles make a new one when he’s done with whatever he’s doing.”

“They’re trying to figure out how to hang up the sheet without it falling down again,” Carrie chuckled as she set the tray of Jello cups on the counter. “If you want, I can make up the next bag if you want to take this out there and try helping them.”

Although Royce could have easily said no and pushed off the blonde’s offer with a snarky response, he didn’t particularly feel like starting a fight, especially not when Miles had recently praised him for working so well with Carrie in the playhouse. In all honesty, the pair had spent little time together as Riven kept him distracted, but the way Miles had smiled when he sang Royce’s praises that night made him feel as though he was doing something helpful. If sucking it up and dealing with Carrie’s, well, everything would make Miles happier with him, he could manage. Stepping up to the counter, Royce eyed the jiggling snack with a raised eyebrow as he asked, “What even is that?”

Carrie smiled as Royce glanced her way, prepared to explain, however, her words remained in her throat as an excited squeal brought their attention to the doorway of the kitchen. “Jello shots!” Mick sang.

Royce glanced down at the cups before asking, “Like, alcohol shots?”

“Not all of them,” Carrie commented as Mick grabbed a handful of spoons from the drawer. “Most of them are just Jello and juice.”

“These ones, however,” Mick began as she grabbed a cup with a tiny, toothpick flag sticking out of it, “have vodka.”

“And you guys can’t have them,” Carrie added.

Mick shrugged, “Technically, they can if they get permission and don’t plan on leaving camp, but I doubt Miles would want them getting drunk.”

“Not like we’d want to anyway,” Royce said with a small smirk.

“Good,” Mick commented, placing her handful of spoons on the tray. “Were you taking these to the living room?”

Before Carrie could say that she was planning on doing just that, Royce said, “I can. Do you want me to?”

“I need to grab the sherbet and a big bowl for Charlie’s infamous punch, so yeah, that would be great,” Mick said with a brilliant smile.

The girls watched as Royce took the tray from the counter and headed out of the room with a small smile tugging at his lips. Once he was gone, Mick turned to grab the sherbet from the freezer and Carrie reached into a nearby cupboard for a bowl. Glancing over her shoulder at the brunette who was elbow-deep in the freezer, Carrie asked, “How do you do it?”

Pulling herself and a plastic tub of orange sherbet from the freezer, Mick’s head lilted to the side as she asked in return, “Do what?”

Gesturing toward the doorway, Carrie clarified, “Get Royce so at ease around you. I swear, he must think I’m some cartoon villain or something.”

Mick let out a soft chuckle as she hefted the tub onto the counter, “You’re probably not far off.”

Carrie sighed as she placed a large bowl on the counter, “I mean, Bentley is finally starting to warm up to me, but Royce still can’t stand me unless someone’s there to break things up.”

Taking in a deep breath, Mick grinned as she admitted, “Well, if it gives you any comfort, I know the feeling.”

“You do?” Carrie questioned. When Mick nodded, she asked, “How? They both adore you.”

“They do, yeah,” Mick nodded. “But I’m not talking about them.”

If Mick’s previous confession hadn’t confused Carrie already, her new statement certainly did. “If not them, then who?”

Mick chuckled, “Normally, I’d say ‘like father, like son’, but since they’re brothers…”

“Miles?” Carrie asked incredulously. It was hard to imagine Miles being anything but the brotherly figure in Mick’s life. The two got along so well that, if Carrie hadn’t known the relationship between them prior to meeting Mick, she would have guessed they were related by some extension. She couldn’t picture the oldest of the Murphy brothers being anything but protective and loving toward the brunette before her.

With a nod, Mick smiled, “Bingo.”

“But you two are like siblings.”

“We are.”

“What happened?”

Mick chuckled as she pushed herself to sit on the countertop, “Well, as I said, it was a lot like what’s happening with you and the boys. I started dating Butchy when I was almost eighteen and, by that time, Miles had been living with Butchy and Lela for almost a year. They were as close as close could be, but then I came along.”

Leaning on the counter and looking up at the brunette who was normally right around her height, Carrie asked, “Did he not like you?”

“At first, we were fine,” Mick admitted. “We were friends - the four of us. Then, when things between me and Butchy started to change, Miles grew overprotective of him and Lela and began pushing me aside.”

“I can’t imagine that lasted long,” Carrie chuckled.

“Longer than I would have liked,” Mick mused. “Maybe half a year at most.”

Carrie nodded slowly; it seemed as though Miles was the easiest of the brothers to rope in. “How did you manage to make it to where you are now?”

“Not easily,” Mick snorted. “He fought me tooth and nail while all I wanted was for us to go back to the way things were. It wasn’t until I showed up at their door, bloody and bruised, that he finally stopped.”

“What happened to you?” Carrie pressed. “I mean, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but-”

Mick’s laugh cut the blonde off, “I don’t mind. It was actually kind of dumb. I was playing volleyball with some of the surfers and, when I dove for the ball, it bounced off of my arms and slammed into my face. It looked a lot worse than it was, but I insisted I would be fine after cleaning myself up, so I went to Butchy’s house to see if I could clean up and use their first aid kit.”

“That must not have gone over too well,” Carrie mused. Lela on her own probably wasn’t bad - she would have probably allowed logic to drive her into helping her friend once the panic wore off - but Carrie could only imagine the chaos that came from having both Butchy and Miles fussing over Mick’s bloodied face.

“About as well as you’d expect,” Mick shrugged. “Miles opened he door, took one look at me, and all of a sudden, it was like a switch had been flipped. He pulled me inside, led me to the couch, called for Butchy and Lela, and started trying to stop the bleeding while he questioned me as to what had happened. After that, things calmed down considerably and now we’re practically family.”

“I can’t imagine Royce and I getting to that point,” Carrie breathed. “I think he’d probably enjoy seeing me all broken and bloody.”

“Yeah, no,” Mick snorted with a shake of her head. “Royce may not like you yet, but he certainly wouldn’t want you to get hurt. He might not react quite the same as Miles would, but he would still try to help. He knows how much you mean to Miles.”

Though Carrie wasn’t entirely sure she believed Mick’s hopeful words, the thought was nice. If the situation was reversed and Royce had been injured, she would try to help him despite how strained their relationship was; she could only hope he would do the same for her if she needed him to. “Maybe you’re right.”

Mick hummed as she pushed herself off of the countertop and grabbed the tub of sherbet, “Well, let’s hope we don’t have to find out anytime soon.”

Carrie chuckled, nodding as she grabbed the large bowl she had taken from the cupboard, “No injuries for me, please.”

“Yeah,” Mick nodded as she led the way out of the kitchen, ready to finally sit down and watch a movie with the group that had gathered in the living room.

Despite the light rain showers that came in short bursts throughout Friday morning, the sky began to clear after lunch, bringing brilliant hues of blue through the breaking clouds. Warm breezes brushed through the camp as many staff members donned their swimsuits and spent the afternoon on the beach or in the lake. A select few had taken to dragging some of the canoes and kayaks from the boathouse to cruise around the lake while the majority either tanned or swam through the cool lake water.

The sunshine didn’t last long, however, as gray clouds decorated the horizon by the time everyone was preparing to head to dinner. While most chose to wrap towels around their already drenched swimsuits so they didn’t have to worry about getting any more wet on the way back to their cabins from the mess hall, others chose to change into dry clothes and keep an umbrella or rain poncho with them on their walk to the mess hall.

As groups formed and friends began talking about everything and nothing all at once, Riven made his way to the end of the line and grabbed a tray for his food. Although Erica and Jade were with him, spouting off about midnight swimming and a game they wanted to play soon, Riven’s mind had wandered. Once the summer was over, he officially had nothing to do. He had done an eight-week college course and gotten his photography degree online before the summer started, and his job at the tattoo shop in Laconia was infrequent as he was still in training. Once the summer was over, the only thing he had to do was train on the ice.

Sure, he could have taken a summer job at the police station where his dad worked, but he didn’t exactly like being there every day. It was insanely boring sitting at a desk, helping answer phones, and cleaning up after the small group of K-9 dog officers was no fun. How his dad managed to do it almost every day, he didn’t know. It wasn’t like their town was riddled with crime to keep him occupied all day. Riven’s dad was adamant that he didn’t need help paying the bills, but his weekly photography job for the local paper was more than enough to cover the cable and electric bills he had swapped into his name without his dad’s knowledge. It was the least he could do. However, with not having to do much work to get paid and practically nothing else to do, Riven wondered just how boring the rest of the year would be.

Riven sighed as he took another step forward; at least he had the band and their little Dungeons and Dragons party to keep him busy. Without them, he would be bored out of his mind all the time. With Jade and Erica working at the mall, it was easy for Riven to snatch Vivien and drive her to the mall for a quick session while the others were on their lunch breaks, but with the school year starting and Vivien taking on a joint year to graduate early, those days of fighting magical beings while sitting around a sticky booth in the food court would be coming to an end.

Sure, they still had their weekends where they could sit in Erica’s apartment and play a bit of their campaign or settle down in Riven’s basement to practice their music for the concerts they had yet to play, but it just wasn’t the same as the summertime hangouts they used to have.

Maybe he would ask the girls to meet him in the music hall to go through some of the songs he had been working on. Normally, he left the songwriting to Erica as that was her specialty, but he had written a few songs himself here and there. Maybe they would feel up to spending some time playing music like they used to. Hell, everyone could be there for all he cared. He just wanted to do something before the summer ended and everyone went back to business as usual.

As Riven stepped up to the first section of the buffet displays, a hand waved in front of his face, jolting him from his thoughts. “Yo, dipshit, are you in there?”

Turning toward Erica with a raised brow, Riven asked, “What?”

"You were spacing out there for a while," Mick mused as she rounded Riven in search of some waffle fries.

"Yeah," Erica confirmed.

“Mick and Bentley said you guys are having a game night tonight,” Jade spoke. “We were wondering if we could come.”

“Yeah,” Riven nodded automatically despite not having known about the game night. “Of course you can.”

"Told you so," Bentley said with a smile.

“Cool,” Erica mused. “You guys planning on breaking out Cards Against Humanity again?”

"We might," Mick said with a shrug.

“Please do,” Jade begged with a cackle. “I would kill to see Butchy’s face!”

Erica choked on a laugh as she grabbed some cutlery, “I know, right! He acts like some forty-year-old virgin with some of those cards.”

“Says the one who gave him half of the dirty cards in the deck,” Riven chuckled.

“It was so worth it,” Erica claimed with a contented sigh.

Mick shook her head with a fond smile, “I wasn’t sure he was going to make it through the night without bursting a blood vessel or something.”

Riven smirked, “I thought he was going to when he found out Bentley was the one that had given him that card about having a threesome with Shaquille O’Neal.”

“And I’d do it again,” Bentley remarked as he walked behind Riven to grab some french fries.

“Do you even know what that card means?” Erica questioned the boy, leaning forward slightly to see him.

Bentley slowly nodded, “I made the mistake of googling it after I handed it over.”

Jade let out a bark of a laugh before slapping a hand over her mouth as Riven snickered, “Big mistake, kid.”

“You’re telling me,” Bentley sighed. “I wanted nothing more than to bleach my eyes after that.”

Mick snickered, “Next time we play, I can sit next to you and we can just swap cards if you want.”

“Maybe,” the fifteen-year-old shrugged, a smirk growing on his face, “but I kind of liked watching Butchy freak out like that.”

“Welcome to the dark side,” Erica smiled, nudging the blond boy with her elbow as she reached between him and Mick to grab some waffle fries. “We’ve been expecting you.”

Bentley smiled and began making himself a burger as Mick maneuvered around him to pour herself some ketchup and Riven stepped up beside him, taking some potato wedges from the metal dish they sat in. Glancing at his bandmates, the older boy cleared his throat and said, “You know, I was thinking we could go up to the music hall tomorrow and work on some new songs. You guys feel up to it?”

Jade readily agreed as Erica sighed, “I haven’t been writing much at all this summer.”

“That’s alright,” Riven reassured. “I know it’s been a bit hectic for you guys at the pool. Besides, I’ve got a few that I’ve been working on in my free time; maybe we can work on those.”

“Sure,” Jade nodded.

“That works,” Erica decided.

“Can I listen to the new songs?” Bentley piped up, placing the top of his burger bun on his carefully constructed sandwich. “I always love your music.”

"Me too," Mick agreed as she set the ketchup bottle down.

“You guys have heard our music?” Jade asked.

"Most of our cabin has at this point," Mick said as she left to find a seat at their table.

Bentley nodded, moving aside so the others had access to the rest of the buffet as he said, “Viv plays recordings for us on the TV now and then. It’s kinda like watching a concert.”

“Someday, we’ll play an actual concert,” Erica stated as she piled a handful of chips onto her plate. “We’ll perform a setlist we’ve created on a huge stage with bright lights, brand-new instruments, and rows and rows of screaming fans.”

“I hope I’ll be there when it happens,” Bentley said with a smile. “It sounds incredible."

“Are you kidding, half-pint?” Riven asked rhetorically, ruffling Bentley’s hair before wrapping an arm around the boy’s shoulders and guiding him toward the table they always sat at. “You’ll have a backstage pass.”

There were some days that Mick felt as though she had lived through many lives as a parent. Not only had she worked as a babysitter in her preteen years, but she had also been somewhat of an older sister figure to Vivien, her siblings, and their respective gaggles of friends. Once she was old enough to be left home alone, she was tasked with going down the street to the O’Brian household to babysit their kids while the parents worked in the winery. As they grew older and gained friends, Mick grew accustomed to seeing random kids show up at the house, asking for one kid or another to come out and play. She also grew used to the ups and downs of living like a parent.

More than once, she had woken up to a sick child asking to cuddle up to her or had to drag an exhausted teenager from the comfort of their bed. Despite no longer needing to babysit for cash to blow on the weekends, Mick was still living like a child-wrangler and, although they were old enough to handle themselves, she still treated every child she came into contact with as though they were her own. Vivien, Royce, and Bentley were no exception.

Mick adored the young trio. Of course, she had grown up knowing Vivien as her next-door neighbor’s kid and the little sister her parents never gave her. Royce and Bentley, on the other hand, were brought into her life far more recently than Vivien had been. Despite only having known them for the better part of a year, she had grown to adore them just as deeply as she knew Miles did. That was why, when she woke up to the three of them quietly carrying a tray of food and some assorted items into her room, her suspicions were high.

“What is all of this?” she asked as she sat up, allowing Royce to place the tray over her legs.

“We’re not supposed to say,” Bentley claimed, earning a nudge from Royce, who quickly smiled back at Mick.

“We were told to give you the stuff, tell you ‘good morning’, and leave,” the brunet stated.

Understandably concerned, Mick closed her eyes and sighed, “Who did something and - follow-up question - what did they do this time?”

“Nobody did anything,” Vivien snickered. “Well, not yet at least.”

Slowly peeling her eyes open, Mick glanced at the trio before asking, “Do I wanna know?” Instead of getting a direct answer, Mick earned a shrug from Vivien, a knowing smirk from Royce, and a snorted laugh from Bentley. Sighing once again, Mick shook her head, “I’ll take that as a ‘no’, then.”

“It’s nothing bad,” Bentley reassured.

“Yeah,” Vivien nodded. “You’ll see.”

Mick glanced at the teenagers and gave them a small smile. “Alright, but if anyone miraculously gets magical powers and ends up lighting something on fire, you three are my scapegoats.”

“How would someone get magical powers?” Royce wondered as Mick picked up her fork and took in a piece of a syrup-coated pancake.

Pointing her fork between Royce and Bentley, Mick lowered her voice and said, “You two are from a parallel universe where it’s nineteen-sixty-three - at this point, anything is possible.”

“Touche,” Royce relented.

Taking her friends by the wrists, Vivien tugged the boys away from Mick’s bed as she said, “Alright, alright, enough chit-chat. Let the girl eat so we can move on with our day.”

Despite her rising intrigue with the situation, Mick silently watched as the trio left her room, each of them wishing her a good morning before disappearing into the hallway and being separated by the door. Choosing to allow the day to continue as it should, Mick turned back to her food and took in some fruit before looking at the two wrapped gifts Vivien and Bentley had brought into the room. They hadn’t said anything about the gifts, but she wasn’t exactly going to tell them to collect them either.

One red and one blue, Mick vaguely wondered if the colors were intentional. If so, she knew they could have been from Butchy. Her favorite color and his - red and blue, respectively - were opposite to what most people assumed and had become something of a running joke between them. Tugging the red-wrapped box toward her, Mick picked it up and examined it, lightly shaking it like one would a Christmas present before setting it beside her on the bed without a clue as to what was inside. The other gift was larger than the first, rectangular, and, although she had copied her previous attempt, she had no notion as to what was inside.

Despite her rising curiosity, Mick set the presents aside and returned to her food, determined to eat it before it got any colder than it was already starting to be. After taking the chance to eat, Mick pushed the tray to the end of her bed and shifted to sit cross-legged before reaching for the two presents she had been given. Although she debated for a moment as to which she could open first, the red one was quick to be unwrapped, revealing a small box with a necklace inside, her first initial and Butchy’s delicately engraved into the face of a heart-shaped locket.

The golden heart was no bigger than the pad of Mick’s thumb and swung from a dainty chain that she feared would break far too easily. All the same, Mick stood from her bed and made her way to the mirror she had hung on the back of her bedroom door, taking a minute to secure the chain at the nape of her neck and examine the delicate new accessory. Smiling at her reflection, Mick ran a hand through her hair to somewhat fix it before making her way back to her bed and perching herself on the edge of her mattress before grabbing the blue gift.

Peeling away at the tape, Mick pulled back the wrapping paper. However, after the final piece of tape was torn away and the blue paper fell away, Mick found herself staring at a newspaper-wrapped object with a folded paper taped to the top of it. Tugging the folded page away from the newspaper, Mick opened it and began reading the cleanly-written note inside.

“‘If I know you the way I think I do, you’ll have opened this second.’” Mick let out a breath of a laugh; her predictability was unwavering and Butchy could read her like a book, so it was no surprise that he had gotten that right as well. “‘Another thing I know is that you’ve probably forgotten our date today since you never asked me about it the last couple of days, but just know that I didn’t. I’ve got it all under control, so all you need to do is show up. Dress cool - it’s supposed to be hot today - but bring your cozy sweatpants since we’ll be out after dark. Meet me at the truck when you’re ready to go.’”

Tipping her phone up from its spot on the nightstand and checking the time on her lock screen, Mick ran a hand through her hair. Sooner or later, everyone would be heading to the mess hall for breakfast. Setting her phone down and placing the note in the drawer of her nightstand, Mick quickly unwrapped the newspaper from the gift and found a novel she had been looking forward to reading - How To Survive Your Murder. With a grin, Mick placed the book beside her phone and stood, making her way to her closet. Pulling out a loose shirt and a pair of simple shorts, she smiled and dragged her hair into a loose bun before getting dressed and taking the opportunity to braid her hair.

Tucking her phone into her pocket, slinging a pair of sweats over her arm, and grabbing her book from the stand by her bed, Mick beamed to herself as she left her room. Though it was no surprise that Butchy was nowhere to be seen in the cabin, she was very surprised to find nobody sitting in the living room, waiting for the breakfast alert to blare throughout the campground. Looking around curiously, she found Miles’ and Carrie’s rooms open as they typically were during the day, letting her know that they had left the cabin already. Making her way to the door, Mick stepped outside and quickly found that almost everyone had gathered on the beach, throwing water balloons at each other like an all-out war.

Chucking at the group that had suddenly turned their aggression on Miles who had chosen to lounge on the sand in the hopes of falling asleep despite the chaos around him, Mick made her way through the sand to the pathways that wound throughout the grounds. As she passed a few counselors who had taken to sitting outside and talking on the porches of their cabins, Mick waved, earning herself a myriad of hastily-given greetings as she continued walking toward the main office. Once the building was in her sight, Mick felt a smile tugging at her lips once more.

Just beyond the office was the parking lot where a few of the local staff members had left their cars to accumulate pine needles in the shaded spots of unpaved ground. It was there that she spotted her husband’s familiar truck sitting with the hood up. Approaching the vehicle with a raised brow, Mick tentatively deposited her belongings on the passenger’s seat through the open window and stepped around the front of the truck to find her husband holding one of the dipsticks and a napkin they had gotten from a nearby fast food restaurant.

“Everything alright?” she asked, watching as Butchy slid the stick back into its rightful place.

Butchy turned to her with a lopsided smile and nodded as he wiped his hands on the napkin he held. “Just checking the fluids before we head out,” he claimed. “I had to add some transmission fluid when we went shopping the other day and I think there might be a leak in the line somewhere.”

“Not good,” Mick commented. While she was good with machines, cars were like the Italian language to Mick - she knew enough to get by, but nowhere near as much as Butchy did. Taking a step back as Butchy reached for the hood and lifted it off of the support beam to close it, she asked, “Are you sure you want to go today? We can wait and do it some other time if you want to fix the truck first.”

Shaking his head as he dropped the hood into place, Butchy sent a smile in Mick’s direction as he said, “It’s nothing serious. Miles and I can take a look at it some other time. Today is for the two of us.”

Despite the sincerity in Butchy’s eyes, Mick still found it necessary to ask, “Are you sure?”

Taking Mick’s hand in his, Butchy leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead, muttering against her skin, “Positive.”

The warm summer air did nothing to stop the tingling shivers that raced through Mick’s shoulders as Butchy’s deep tone rumbled through her. Finding herself incapable of speaking her mind, she simply nodded and allowed him to guide her back to the truck, standing aside as Butchy opened her door for her and helped her climb in. After closing his wife’s door and rounding the truck, Butchy climbed in behind the wheel and buckled himself in, checking to make sure Mick had done the same before turning the vehicle on and backing out of his parking spot.

Once they had reached the end of the bumpy road, Butchy placed his hand palm up on the middle console out of habit, relishing in the gentle glide of Mick’s fingers as she slid her hand into his. Regardless of who was driving, the two almost always held hands while out and about. Whether it was Mick’s flower-power-themed, Volkswagen bus or Butchy’s cherry red, Ram pickup, they could be seen with their hands intertwined over the center console. It was just how they were. The only time they couldn’t hold hands properly was on Butchy’s motorcycle, which was fine as he still had her arms around him as he drove. At first, it was just for protection and a hint of a connection for the two of them as they went places together, but as they swapped cars on vacations, they found ways to keep themselves grounded in each other’s presence.

As Butchy drove, Mick watched out the window at the scenery that blew by. It was times like these they didn’t need words; they only needed each other. The radio, which had connected to Mick’s phone the moment the car turned on, softly played a song she had forgotten she added to her most recent playlist. As trees shifted to buildings and the main stretch of Sanbornton came into view, Mick turned her gaze to her husband, who had a hint of a smile on his face and seemed solely focused on the road before him despite his wife’s soft singing. Lifting their joined hands, Mick pressed a kiss to the back of Butchy’s hand before lowering them to their resting place.

“So, hotshot, where are you taking me?” she asked as the song ended.

Rolling to a stop at a red light, Butchy chuckled as he glanced her way, “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“I would,” Mick remarked. “That would be why I asked.”

“Smartass.”

“Don’t let the kids hear you say that.”

“They aren’t here.”

“True,” Mick nodded. “So, are you going to tell me, or is this a surprise?”

“Surprise,” Butchy confirmed, “but I will tell you that you’ll have a good time.”

Mick hummed, leaning her head against the back of her seat as she mused, “I always have a good time with you.”

Butchy smiled as he squeezed Mick’s hand ever so slightly, “Good.”

The drive only stopped once as they pulled to a stop at a Dairy Queen to get some ice cream - Mick’s statement that ice cream was good any time of day ringing through Butchy’s head as they pulled up to the drive-thru order screen. Once they were back on the road with their ice creams nestled in the cup holders, Butchy continued driving north, bringing them away from the hustle and bustle of the city of Laconia and onto the back roads. Few houses lined the streets as they glided down the road, potholes being the only signs of life as they cruised along the empty streets. By the time their cups of ice cream were empty, they had passed rows of trees and bushes and come to a sparsely populated area. Eventually, Butchy slowed as the GPS warned him that he was approaching their destination and Mick found herself looking around in confusion. On their left was an RV park filled with rows of trailers and the only thing on their right was an empty, obviously unmaintained, parking lot with foliage filling the cracks and a metal gate blocking the entrance.

However, as Butchy pulled a bit further down and flipped on his turn signal, Mick only found her confusion growing. Butchy pulled to a stop outside of a metal gate and told Mick to stay in the truck as he climbed out with a set of keys in hand. Rounding the truck, he slid one of the keys into the rusty lock and twisted it, dragging away the chain that held the gate in place before pushing it open and heading back to his truck. Once Butchy was back in the truck, Mick asked him what was going on, but he brushed off her concerns with ease as he pulled into the run-down parking lot and passed an old, red building with a moss-coated roof.

Stepping out of the truck once it was parked, Mick looked around, searching for any sign that she knew where they were. As Butchy led her toward the old red building, however, she spotted something that made the location click into her mind like a cassette in a Walkman. “White Oaks?” she breathed. “I thought this place closed down years ago.”

“It did,” Butchy confirmed. “I was talking with Vivien about things to do in the area and she brought up that you guys would come here a lot in the summers. I figured it would be nice to tour the place.”

With a laugh of disbelief, Mick stared at the building before her with wide eyes, “How did you even get a key?”

“I called the number on the for-sale sign by the road,” Butchy shrugged. “The guy was really nice and said we could look around as much as we want so long as we don’t go in the water. Something about it needing to be cleaned.”

“I’d say,” Mick scoffed as she took the lead, wandering into the building. “This place was closed seven years ago. Whatever’s in the water is probably sludgy and toxic by this point.”

Butchy followed his wife as she wandered into the old ticket center with practiced ease. As she looked around the crumbling remains of the building with a smile, Butchy felt the urge to whip out his phone and take a picture of her, but then again, he always felt like that. Before long, Mick got bored of the building and climbed over the ticket turnstiles, prompting Butchy to follow suit as she began making her way into the open air once more. The dilapidated remnants of a water slide loomed in the distance, its rusted metal creaking as the wind blew, rustling the leaves of the vines that crawled up the sides of the structure. Despite its rickety appearance, Mick smiled as though it was brand-new.

Further down the overgrown, concrete trails, they found an old pool with a decaying roof overhead - more than a few ceiling tiles having fallen into the murky abyss that was the lingering swamp of water in the pool. Half filled with rain water and a few chairs that had been unceremoniously dumped by trespassers, the pool had once stood proud and shimmering with glistening, crystalline water and welcomed people of all ages to take a refreshing dip. Now, all that remained were tadpoles and crumbling tiles. Mick had spent most of her childhood behind the pool’s waterfall, pretending to be a mermaid in a shimmering cave-like on one of her favorite shows. Now, however, she couldn’t imagine willingly swimming to the far side of the square pool and waiting for an arch of sludge to come over the embankment to seal her in.

Following the cement paths, they discovered what had once been a splash park and playground. A few of the play structures remained and, if Mick listened over the wind, she was sure she could hear the faintest screeches of laughter emanating from the large pirate ship that she and Vivien had spent hours playing on growing up. In the center of the play area was a pole with a circle at the top. Buckets used to hang from it, dumping water on unsuspecting children once they were filled. The soft ground under the splash park still had some semblance of color to it - its old, floral pattern was now nothing more than sunburnt shades of faded red and blue. Distantly, Mick wondered if the water spouts still worked, but she soon decided she wouldn’t want any of the remaining tank water to spray her down.

Down a set of stairs, Mick made her way to what was once the best wave pool in all of New Hampshire. Or, at least, the one she had deemed to be the best. The large mouth of the pool remained somewhat similar to how she remembered it - a dingy shade of gray with a rope across the front of it, blocking people from entering. Cartoonish signs still hung from the ropes, a little lavender bear wearing pool floaties pouting at the words “Closed for Cleaning and Maintenance.”

Chuckling, Mick held the corner of the sign and said, “It’s Helpy.”

“Helpy?” Butchy repeated.

“Mhm,” Mick hummed. “He was their maintenance mascot who would come out to let everyone know they needed to close something and fix it up. More often than not, it was the wave pool that needed fixing.”

Butchy chuckled as he sarcastically remarked, “Sounds like a great attraction.”

“It was,” Mick nodded, “it just broke down a lot.”

“So Helpy was their solution?”

“No,” Mick began with a shake of her head, “he was there long before they started having issues. You see, they used to have this party hall where you could have birthday parties and stuff. They had these animatronic animals that would sing and put on shows for everyone, but they broke down a lot, so Helpy would come out and try to guide everyone out back while they worked on the animatronics.”

Butchy nodded, “Sounds like that game you and Vivien were into.”

Mick snickered, “Five Nights at Freddy’s?”

“Yeah, that one.”

“Why do you think I liked the games so much?” Mick questioned rhetorically. “I loved going to parties here growing up and, when the games came out, I just fell in love. I may not be as much of a gamer as Vivien and the boys are, but I will forever be invested in Five Nights at Freddy’s.”

With a fond smile, Butchy allowed Mick to guide him throughout the rest of the water park, showing him all of her favorite locations and telling him all about the fond memories she had from over the years. After spending a few hours wandering the property, looking in the remaining buildings, and taking as many photographs as Mick desired, they made their way back to the entrance and made their way to Butchy’s truck. Once they were inside and had the air conditioner on to cool them from the heat of the blistering sun, Mick gave a contented sigh.

“What’s up?” Butchy asked as he rolled out of the parking lot.

“That was a lot of fun,” she said with a smile. “I haven’t been there in ages.”

Butchy chuckled as he pushed open his door to lock the gate of the property, “Well, don’t think we’re done yet.”

“We’re not?”

“Not even close.”

Smiling to herself as her husband got out of the truck, Mick relaxed into the leather of her seat, her fingers tracing the stitching of the material out of habit as she distantly listened to the scrape of metal behind the vehicle. Once Butchy was back in the truck, they were off again, driving further from the towns she knew. A few minutes down the road, Butchy pulled off into a parking lot and rolled to a stop before parking the car and tugging the key from the ignition. Although there was a small beach nearby, Mick couldn’t see the reason for him to want to go there without telling her to bring a bathing suit, so, as Mick turned to Butchy with a raised eyebrow, she was glad to see him already chuckling knowingly at her.

“I figured we could stop and have some late lunch,” he explained. Looking around, he scanned the area before pointing across the lot to a building with a blue roof and a sign with a sun over the water. “There, at Niko’s. It’s a Greek place, but there are som enormal things on the meal like pizza, pasta, and nachos. I figured it would be nice to try something new.”

Smiling at the hopeful glow in Butchy’s cinnamon eyes, Mick took in a breath and nodded, “Sounds great to me.”

Once they had climbed down from the truck, Butchy locked the doors with a beep that echoed through the quiet town and took Mick’s hand in his. The restaurant, though small, was welcoming as cool air pulsed throughout the seating area. The establishment wasn’t anything spectacular - no crisply ironed linens on the tables and certainly no maître d' to guide them to their table - but it was comfortable and the service was great. As the waitress took the menus and headed back to the kitchen to hand in their order, Mick reached across the table for Butchy’s hand and smiled as music flowed through speakers she had yet to find.

Though Butchy’s contentment was palpable as Mick talked about how pleased she was with the date so far, she had to wonder why he was consistently checking his watch once the food arrived. By the time they had eaten and Mick had gotten some baklava for them to share, she could feel her husband’s foot bouncing against the floorboards; a subtle sign that he was growing more and more anxious as time went on. Choosing to ignore it as she was sure he had to have something bigger in mind if he was so worked up over it, Mick worked her way through her portion of the baklava before letting Butchy get up to pay for their meal at the counter.

Once he had returned, Mick grabbed her phone from the table and made sure he had everything he needed before letting him lead the way outside. The air was thick with humidity and made both Butchy and Mick want to go back into the cool, air-conditioned restaurant, however, as Butchy checked his watch once more, they both knew that wasn’t a possibility. Instead of leading the way to the truck, Butchy led her toward the little beach and across a bridge to where a small shack sat on the end of a pier.

“What is this?” Mick asked as Butchy guided her toward the shack.

Rounding the shack with nothing more than a smile, Butchy stepped aside and gestured toward the water with a flourish. In the water was a small, blue and white square with two seats and a blue canopy secured above it. There were a few similar floating squares tied to the dock, but none of them had a canopy like the blue one did. When Mick looked no less confused than she had been, Butchy’s smile faltered ever so slightly and he explained, “It’s a pedal boat. I figured we could ride out on the lake for a while.”

Glad to finally know what was going on, Mick beamed, “Let’s do it, then.”

With newfound excitement, Butchy led his wife to their trusty little boat and stepped aboard before offering Mick a hand and helping her settle into her seat. Once they had gotten away from the shore and far enough from the beach that they no longer had to worry about people crossing their path, the pair slowed their pedaling and allowed the water to pull them where it wanted. Relaxing in her seat, Mick looked at her husband with a smile as she watched the water shimmer behind him. Although it wasn’t exactly quiet as they were still near the beach, the air between them was calm and quiet - a sort of peace that brought feelings of simple joy. Serenity filled the air as the water’s gentle flow inched them further from the shore.

Taking in a slow, deep breath as she tipped her head back to examine the fading design on the canopy above them, Mick spoke contemplatively, “You know, I think I made a mistake.”

“You did?” Butchy asked, peering over at Mick with curious, almost concerned, amber eyes. Mick nodded and, in return, Butchy asked, “What would that be?”

“I brought my new book.”

Lifting an eyebrow, Butchy wondered, “How is that a mistake?”

“I’m not exactly getting any reading done,” Mick explained with a hint of a smirk as she met Butchy’s eyes. “I thought we were just having a picnic or something and that I’d have all the time in the world to read, but I’ve left it in the car all day.”

Allowing the building tension in his shoulders to release as Mick’s statement eased his mind, Butchy chuckled, “Well, in that case, maybe I'll just have to cancel the rest of my plans for the day so that you can get some reading done.”

“No!” Mick exclaimed. Finding the mirth in his eyes, Mick huffed, “You wouldn’t.”

“Is that a dare?” Butchy teased.

“No,” Mick began, “it’s a fact. You’ve had this whole day planned out and I know that, if you have something planned still, you’ll stick to it unless I ask you not to.”

Butchy chuckled, nodding his agreement to her claim, wondering if she knew just how true it was. Discreetly checking his watch as Mick began talking about how excited she was to finally start reading the book she had heard so much about, Butchy wondered how long he could keep her occupied. They still had another two hours on the pedal boat if they wanted and, if he knew Mick at all, she would want to search the beach for shells to add to her ever-growing collection. With any luck, it would be eight in no time and they would be on their way to the final event of the day.

Once he stopped checking his watch, time began to flow like sand in an hourglass. Before he knew it, they were on Weirs Beach, searching the shoreline for sea shells and sand dollars as the sun began to sink over the horizon. Once Mick had filled not only her pockets, but also Butchy’s with a collection of shells and shiny rocks she would share with everyone once they arrived back at the camp, he led her back to the truck where they emptied their pockets into the glovebox, Mick traded her shorts for warmer sweatpants, and the pair allowed the cooler, evening air to fill the humid cabin before closing the doors.

Their drive didn’t last long as Butchy joined the main stream of traffic and followed the curve of the street to a small dirt road. Pulling up to a small building with a single light above it, a myriad of mosquitos and other insects bouncing around the lamp, Butchy rolled to a stop and reached into the pocket of his jeans for his wallet. Pulling out a couple of bills, he held out the money to the attendant who looked positively thrilled to be stuck manning the gate.

“Screen one has Barbie and The Haunted Mansion. Screen two has Insidious and Mission Impossible,” the exhausted worker listed off as they slotted the money into the register. “Which would you like?”

Butchy looked to Mick who, despite the darkening skies, was positively glowing as she excitedly held up a single finger. Turning back to the worker, Butchy replied, “Screen one, please.”

“Mhm,” the worker hummed. “Go left after the gate and try to park somewhere in the middle or back rows. Leave the front for the smaller cars. The snack shack and ice cream stand will be open until the second movie starts, but the bathrooms on the sides of the building remain open until we close. Remember to keep your headlights off and radio on since the movies will play over station ninety-seven-point-five.”

“Thanks,” Butchy said as Mick began fiddling with the radio. Once the worker nodded and waved him off, Butchy put the car back in gear and began rolling down the dirt path again, turning to the left and following the pathways made by other cars until he reached the parking area for the screen they had chosen. Finding a spot near the middle where Mick always liked to park when they went to drive-ins back in St. Pete Beach, Butchy drove in so that the tailgate face the screen before telling Mick she could turn the radio back off once again.

“But we need to have it on the right station or we won’t hear the movie,” she argued gently as she tried to find the right channel.

“We will,” Butchy agreed, “but not on that. I brought a radio from camp to use while we’re in the back.”

“The back?” Mick wondered as she finally looked up. Looking around, she realized Butchy had parked them facing away from the screen. Glancing through the back window at the covered tailgate, Mick asked, “How, exactly, are we going to sit back there?”

Butchy chuckled, taking the opportunity to kiss Mick’s cheek before suggesting, “How about you go get some snacks and drinks and I’ll figure that out?”

With a somewhat skeptical shrug, Mick relented and slid out of the vehicle after Butchy insisted she take his wallet with her. Once there was a bit of distance between his wife and the vehicle they had arrived in, Butchy climbed out of the truck and quickly unclipped the cover of his truck bed, rolling it back into place and examining the setup he had placed in the back end earlier in the day. The mattress and pillows Vivien had helped him smuggle from the storage shed were still snuggly secured in the back while the stack of blankets he and Miles had arranged in a sort of makeshift nest had shifted around quite a bit in their travels. Still, it looked alright and, as he dislodged the radio from its hiding place, he realized it wouldn’t matter much to Mick how it looked. It was the thought that counted.

By the time Mick had returned with two buckets of popcorn, a set of drinks, and her back pockets filled with boxes of cheap theater candy, Butchy had gotten everything set up and arranged the radio to stay on the right channel. Stepping around to the back of the truck, Mick’s eyes widened in disbelief as she breathed, “When did you have the time for all of this?”

“I have my ways,” Butchy stated as he gingerly slid the snacks from Mick’s dumbstruck grip. “Are you ready for a movie night?”

Letting out a breath of a laugh, Mick nodded eagerly, “Hell yeah!”

Without thinking to let Butchy help her, Mick moved to the side of the truck, stepped on the rim of the tire, and hauled herself over the side. Dropping onto the mattress, she held out her hands and took back the snacks so that Butchy could climb in and make himself comfortable. Once he had settled, she relaxed beside him and allowed herself to relax as he brought an arm around her shoulders. Peering down at his wife, Butchy smiled, pleased with how happy she seemed to be. As Mick lifted her head and met his gaze, Butchy brought a hand to the side of her neck, rubbing his thumb along her jawline as he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her lips.

Slowly retreating from the gentle kiss, Butchy asked, “Was it worth the wait?”

Mick hummed, slowly peeling her eyes open once more as a giddy grin tugged at her lips, “Absolutely.”

#Camp Wanamaker

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rabbitcruiser · 4 years ago

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Department Store Day

Department Store Day is celebrated every year on 16th October. Department stores are the driving force of the world’s economy, and these Department Stores have a combination of multiple varieties of resources and products into one easily approachable store, so we don’t want to go to many small stores. You can buy everything you want in just one place and that’s the strength of Department Stores and that is why people love to shop at department stores.

“The department store was a product of the 19th century and became a very important institution as America went into the 20th century. It provided show places in developing towns like Terre Haute, Sacramento, and Dallas” – Stanley Marcus.

History of Department Store Day

The origin and history of Department Store Day are not known, but this is a day to acknowledge the benefaction these stores have made to the world’s shopping culture. This day is established to honor the significant benefits these Department Stores have brought to our lives. Since the early 19th century these stores provided the customers with safe and clean environments to shop. Department Stores always provided many firsts, combining products with wide-ranging style and ease. Another amazing thing is that some department stores also have lunch counters so that customers can take a break for a snack, drink or lunch. Many department stores almost fill all the floors making moving escalators, lifts and rich looking luxurious seating a must at these stores.

How to Celebrate Department Store Day

Celebrate Department Store Day by just stopping at your nearest department store and take this day as an opportunity to shop and try appreciating the employees as well.

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Department stores have become the powerhouses of the world’s economy, combining multiple types of resources into one easily navigable store. Rather than having to go to multiple small specialty stores, you can get everything you need in one place, and that’s the magic of Department Stores. Department Store Day is a day to recognize the contributions these places have made to the world’s shopping culture.

History of Department Store Day Department Store Day was established to occur on the 16th of October every year, established to recognize the great benefits they have brought to our lives. Some of the most memorable features of Department Stores were their use as a social location. There was a tradition of having a large clock on the front of the stores, often in an elaborate mounting. Here was a common place for people to meet and share the news of the day and catch up on the happenings within their increasingly busy days. Names like Pomeroy’s, Woodward & Lothrop, Macy’s, and more have become household words as the source of culture and comfort in the home. These stores became institutions of shopping ease, with multiple departments handling everything from household appliances to men’s and women’s clothing.

How to celebrate Department Store Day Celebrating Department Store Day is a piece of cake, simply stop by your local department stores and take advantage of the ease of shopping they’ve brought to your life. Take some time to appreciate the employees as well, thanking them for the convenience these big box stores have brought to your life. You can also spend some time researching the history of Department stores, it’s rather fascinating and has brought about institutions like the Macy’s Day parade that are some of the most major festivities in certain cities. You’ll also be able to learn how department stores were responsible for some institutions that we now take for granted, like the rise of Santa Claus and his reindeer. The history of these stores and their effect on modern culture is fascinating!

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cherrygorilla · 1 year ago

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The Mixtape Mysteries: Chapter 1 (Part 2)

Crazy Train - Ozzy Osbourne - 4:53

Yes, it is a ridiculous amount of time since I last posted anything to do with this (or anything at all really), but I've been dying to write for this story again, so I thought it would be a good way to help me get my groove back. Plus, I wanted to wait until Camp Wanamaker was done before I went back to working on Acting School Drop Out (because I feel like I might be able to use some stuff that's been mentioned in the next part lol). So, after months and months of uni stress that's kept me away from my google doc, here's the next installment of the story that's kept me going through it all.

Listen along with the gang here. Enjoy!

Heavy eyelids dropped over a pair of umber eyes trying, and failing, to focus on the computer screen in front of them. Whilst the radio often felt like Butchy's only co-worker, today it just seemed to be functioning as a lullaby machine - and the smooth, fade-out ending of Electric Light Orchestra's 'Evil Woman' just proved the point further. One second he was staring blankly at a page of pixelated text on a fuzzy screen, and then the next thing he knew he was drooling into the palm of his hand and almost falling off his chair at the sound of a car racing past his window.

It's not even that he was tired - it was barely even 11am for Christ's sake - he was just so bored his brain was shutting down from lack of stimulation. And considering the latest turn of events, his body wasn't far behind. The roaring engine disappeared as quickly as it had arrived, leaving the incessant ticking of the plastic wall clock in its place. It didn't matter what kind of car it was, or where the hell it was going; all Butchy knew was that he wanted to be in it. Hopefully travelling far, far away from this crappy, dead-end town, and this shoe box of an office, that was more dust than desk, and smelled like a wet rat.

Begrudgingly, he gathered himself together and finished typing out the latest file he'd been working on - something about trespassing in the old steel mill, he didn't care enough to look into the details. Tipping his head back, he rubbed his palms across his eyes, trying to press as hard as he could to draw some sort of alertness to the forefront of his mind. If anything, it just made him more tired.

One glance across his desk let his gaze settle on the dorky Star Wars mug Royce and Bentley had gifted him on his last birthday, and for the first time since he'd slumped in the splitting leather swivel-chair that morning, a ghost of a smile graced his features. He took a swig and drained the mug of the last of its contents: bitter, room-temperature coffee. Wincing at the taste, he picked up the next file to work on, but swiftly dropped it in favour of refilling his mug. After all, the walk to the coffee pot in the main office was the only change of scenery he got all day. Sometimes he watered the dying yucca plant beside him with the rancid liquid just so that he had an excuse to get away from his desk.

The tapping of keyboards and mumblings of the same, tedious phone calls he overheard every day met Butchy's ears as he lumbered down the hall and pushed open the office door. Lurking behind the frosted panel, caked in as much dust as the rest of the building, was the rag-tag reception team, consisting of three women Butchy had absolutely no intention of even looking at, let alone speaking to. He'd given up trying to make conversation with his co-workers pretty quickly after every meagre attempt on his end had been ignored. Most shifts passed without him uttering a single word. However, Lela ditching his ride that morning must have thrown him off more than he realised, because this shift was about to become an anomaly.

"So I said to him: If you know so much about the damn sausages, why don't you cook 'em yourself?"

"I bet he knows a lot about one kind of sausage."

"Oh Jen, pull your mind out of the gutter, you sound like a teenager."

"She practically still is one."

"I'm right though, aren't I?"

A strained sigh slipped past Butchy's lips before he could stop it. The nasal drones from the women behind him were enough to make his eye twitch at the best of times, but the added scraping of Jennifer's nail file made it inevitable. Before he could short-circuit altogether though, one of the adjoining doors to the main office was pushed open, and the conversation unfolding behind it immediately caught his attention.

Heaving a sigh that put the young trainee's to shame, the fourth, and final receptionist, led the charge into the room - two officers hot on her heels. "Well, you'll just have to go alone then, won't you, gentlemen?"

"We can't just 'go alone', the chief's the only one that goes on solo investigations. What if it's dangerous? What if we need back-up?"

"And what, pray tell, Officer Reynolds, is so 'dangerous' about a broken store window?"

"Well from the sounds of things it's a pretty clear-cut robbery. What if the culprit's still on the scene? What if he's armed?"

"Why are you assumin' it's a 'he'?" Jennifer piped up with a smirk, punctuating her question by blowing the acrylic dust from the tip of her nail.

As expected, neither officer batted an eyelid at her interruption.

"We got the call last night. You've got a higher chance of him sticking the damn window back together."

"But what if it's like that time when Old Man McRoberts'-"

"Enough, boys. I don't want to hear it," she finally snapped, slamming the stack of paperwork down on her desk so hard it even made her glasses chain quiver. Turning to the pair with her hands planted firmly on her hips, she continued. "Callahan, you're on patrol with Officer Powell; Reynolds, you're investigating that store window. Alone."

"But Fran, that never-"

"No, I don't want to hear another word. You're going solo, Reynolds, and that's that."

"...Uh, I could go with you."

The whole office fell silent. Even Jennifer's nail file seemed to pause for thought. But all too soon, six pairs of eyes fell on Butchy, whose grip on his mug instinctively tightened under their bemused glares. He couldn't exactly blame them; even he couldn't believe that he'd dared to speak - let alone suggest such a thing. But then again, this was a perfect opportunity - perhaps the only opportunity he'd get (at least for the foreseeable future) to prove himself a worthy member of the team. Being stuck behind a computer screen all day was getting him nowhere - in fact, he was pretty sure he had even less respect now than when he'd first set foot through the door over a month ago. But working on a case, a real case, meant he could put all the skills he'd learnt in his training to the test - show everyone that potential he'd promised in his interview. This could be the making of Officer Bandoni. This could be his ticket out of that godawful, stuffy office. This could be-

"Oh my god, look at his face; he's serious."

God, he hated Jennifer. But he hated that cackling laugh of hers even more.

"Jennifer," Linda, the crotchety receptionist to her left, scolded. If Butchy hadn't known better, with her brusque, hushed tone and sharp glare from over the top of her tortoise shell glasses, he'd have thought the woman was her mother.

"Yeah right," Officer Callahan snorted. But a pause, followed by a brief glance in the new recruit's direction soon had his confidence faltering. "I- Oh…"

"Hey, cut him some slack, Jen; the kid's still learning the ropes," Officer Reynolds piped up, ignoring Officer Callahan's attempts to hide his smirk by smoothing out his moustache, and instead sending the smarmy receptionist a blasé, yet stern frown. "Of course he wasn't being serious."

"Actually, I was," Butchy corrected. He set his mug down and stood his ground opposite the two officers, gently nudging his chin up and puffing out his chest in an attempt to outwardly show some of the confidence he was so desperately trying to scrounge together. At least that would help to mask the stubborn rage bubbling away in the pit of his stomach. The staff's dismissiveness was frustrating enough on its own, but being reduced to a 'kid' was downright infuriating. 'Kids' did not single-handedly raise their little sister. 'Kids' did not give up their weekends to go and work in a shitty garage for two bucks an hour all throughout high school just so they could have food on the table. 'Kids' did not shoulder the responsibility of four adults after stepping up to parent, not only his own sister, but the three boys next door too. Butchy hadn't felt like a 'kid' in years. He had always been the oldest - the most mature, the most dependable, the most capable… So for these six adults, who had barely given him the time of day in the month he'd been working with them, to stand there and tell him he was nothing more than a 'kid'...it was insulting. And he was determined to prove them wrong. "If you need another officer for back-up, and no one else is free, then why can't I go with you?"

"Well, for one, you're not an officer-"

All Reynolds had to do was hold up a hand for Callahan to snuff out his snickers. "Because you haven't finished your training yet, son," he plainly explained. At least his withering look was softened by a bored tone.

"But I've aced every part of the course I've completed so far," Butchy argued. "And this could be a chance for me to learn on the job, out in the field-"

"Son, let it go."

"You said, yourself, that I've got potential. Why can't I just show you-?"

"Look, kid, you're not ready - you won't be for a long time. I admire the optimism but we've gotta look at the facts here. And truth is: the dirt on Callahan's shoe's got more experience walkin' 'round a crime scene than you do. I know you want to get out of the office and get a taste of the action, but I can't work the case and babysit you at the same time. It's just not realistic."

'Babysit'? Butchy could feel the word in the palm of his hand as he clenched his fingers into a fist around it, crushing it, along with all its juvenile connotations. "I'm not a 'kid', I'm eighteen years old," he insisted, choosing his words and tone very carefully as he fought not to lose his cool.

"Yeah, and I'm not a chainsmoker neither," Jennifer sniggered, appearing to have swapped her nail file for a cigarette during the confrontation. She took a long drag as her, deep, carob eyes latched onto his, lashes sprawling across a rough sea of streaky kohl, before letting the smoke leak out through her crimson-painted smirk.

Butchy didn't know what was more nauseating: her attitude or the stench of tobacco hanging in the air.

Officer Reynolds let out an exasperated sigh that soon stole back the trainee's glare though. "That's all well and good, but it's not gonna change my mind. You need more experience before you go out in the field, Bandoni," he explained, with an expression that told Butchy he was well-weary of the conversation now. "You can't learn to run before you learn to walk. It's just not realistic - if anything, it's naïve."

"But how am I supposed to get more experience when I'm stuck behind a desk all day?"

Butchy's question was shot down though as the pair of officers crossed the room to the office's main door, back to their usual routine of barely acknowledging his existence. "If I'm not back by two for your CPR training, Officer Powell will handle it, okay?" Reynolds said as he plucked his hat from the coat stand in the corner and secured it atop his head of thinning, taupe hair. Knowing the new recruit wouldn't be satisfied with any answer he could give him, he'd just decided to brush the question aside altogether.

And knowing that defiance, and further provoking, would get him nowhere, Butchy finally relaxed his hand, and gave a stiff nod. He silently watched the officers announce their departure to the room and felt his shoulders slump in defeat, his chest aching with betrayal. Officer Reynolds was supposed to be his mentor, the one who would take him under his wing as he learned the ropes - and yet he'd kicked him to the curb and spat in his face the one time he'd tried to do the right thing. At least that's how it felt to him anyway.

"Bye boys," Jennifer trilled with a flirty giggle as the office door closed behind them. Tapping the ash from the end of her cigarette, she turned her vampish smirk to Butchy. "Nice little show there, Bandoni. And there I was thinking today was gonna be boring."

Butchy's frown deepened as her scornful laughter battered his ears. The thick-headed she-devil wasn't worth his breath though - even the sickened huff that escaped his throat felt like a waste. His fingers once again closed, although this time they at least found the warm ceramic of his mug beneath them. Letting the heat seep into his skin, he took a deep breath in through his nose and tried to focus on anything else other than the anger boiling in his chest. At least the Star Wars mug, and the memory of receiving it, gave him something to anchor himself to: a way to discharge all the bitter resentment that had been steadily building for weeks, but had finally come to an ugly head. One more snarky comment from Jennifer and he'd have hurled the coffee at her sloppy up-do, he knew it - he could feel himself teetering on the brink.

And yet, a friendly hand in the centre of his back was all it took to draw him back from the edge. "I should be thanking you," Fran said with a sympathetic chuckle, and roll of her eyes at the officers' expense. "I thought they'd never leave."

Managing a weak, but grateful smile to the receptionist, Butchy finally picked his mug up from the drink station and took his leave before he could draw any more unwanted attention to himself. Jennifer's squawking voice still rang in his ears as his footsteps pounded down the hall, desperate (for once) to shut himself away in his office. At least in there he knew he was safe from further embarrassment, even if the only thing waiting for him was a stack of files on petty traffic crimes. Apparently reading about speeding fines and parking tickets was all the excitement his life could afford him for the time being. But, for once, he actually found some comfort in that.

"Well, Wuthering Heights, you were fun while you lasted, but I am not going to miss you," Vivien snorted, holding the worn paperback out in front of her, as if to address it like an old friend.

The gentle chuckles that bounced the soft, chocolate brown curls beside her set her innocent little middle-school heart aflutter, and she caught herself clamping her lips shut in case it tried to escape. Craving the thrill of that sensation again, she snatched a shy glance in his direction before plastering the jovial grin back on her face. "Thank you for the 'A' though, Emily."

"What are you thanking her for? We did all the hard work," Royce scoffed. "I wrote so many notes on the moors I'm pretty sure I almost gave myself Carpal Tunnel."

A snicker crinkled the brunette's nose. "Well you do have the neater handwriting."

"And you have all the good ideas," Royce chuckled, praying desperately that the prickling he felt across his cheeks wasn't what he thought it was.

Stopping in front of a set of painted metal doors, Vivien turned to him with a disapproving frown. "Not all the good ideas."

"Fine… most then."

Whilst Royce may have been able to keep his blush at bay, Vivien felt hers raging like a wildfire as she downplayed his compliment with an affectionate eye-roll and pushed her way out into the crisp autumn air of the Hawkins Middle parking lot. Hopefully a bracing breeze like the one that smacked her across the face the second she set foot onto the asphalt would help her systems stop running on overdrive, because right now she felt like a live wire about to catch light. One wrong move from Royce and he'd be fried to a crisp.

Wrapping her free hand around the forearm that flanked him, protecting his arm from being barbecued should he decide to fondly bump her as they fell into stride once more, Vivien, composure regained, offered him a smile. "I guess that makes us a pretty good team then, huh?"

"Yeah, I guess it does," he agreed, holding her gaze for a beat and letting the sincerity of the moment swell alongside the tingly, warm feeling spreading through his chest. "...And we've got the A to prove it." Terrified by the sensation, he snorted out a laugh that shattered the tenderness of the moment just as awkwardly as how he almost tripped over his own feet because he was spending more time looking at Vivien and her freaking dimples than where he was walking. Damn his stupid hand-me-down sneakers from Miles and their stupidly long laces.

More awkward, cheerful chuckles tumbled from the middle schoolers' lips as Royce steadied himself again and they made their way over to the cluster of trees by the soccer field. It didn't take Vivien long to break the comfortable silence that had fallen over them though. "I don't know what we're going to do with ourselves now that project's finished; it completely took over our lives for like two whole weeks there."

"I'm sure we'll find something."

But Royce's laidback grin was the complete antithesis of Vivien's tense shoulders and skittish gaze. Then again, he had no idea what she was planning, or what her skating friends had been begging her to do for weeks.

It couldn't be that hard, right? It was just one little question. She asked him questions all the time, this one didn't need to be any different. And besides, there wasn't really anything Vivien felt as though she couldn't talk to Royce about; he was her best friend, he was always her first port of call for anything that was bothering her - well, unless it was about something like her period; that was strictly for her mom…

But this was just a question: one that could very well have been asked without another thought had she not attached all the extra weight to it in her mind. And yet here she was, fighting her own tongue, trying to persuade it to recite the script she'd meticulously planned out in her head the night before, because for some reason it wasn't convinced by her promised ability to brush the sentiment off as 'just a friend thing' should Royce take it badly. And neither was her mind, really.

Realistically though, what was the worst thing that could happen if he had a weird reaction? It's not like a meteor would crash out of the sky and strike them both down or anything, no matter how much she may want it to in the moment - she knew; she'd checked and it wasn't the right time of year for it. The worst that could happen is things might be a little awkward between them for a couple days, right? He wouldn't-

-Actually, scratch that. Vivien didn't want to think about it.

"Well, actually…" she began, before she could talk herself out of it any further.

Vivien felt Royce's gaze land on her the second she stopped to clear her throat, which had become inexplicably scratchy ever since those last words had left it, clearly so reluctant to be said they'd dug their heels in the entire journey out into the cool, October air. And as soon as it did, it felt as though all her sweat glands released at once, adding a glistening sheen to her already crimson skin. Horrified, Vivien kept her gaze on the ground a few paces ahead of her to avoid having to find out if Royce had realised, and pushed her round, silver-rimmed glasses further up the bridge of her nose in an attempt to shield herself from further embarrassment as a result of her thirteen-year-old hormones wreaking havoc in her own body.

Fearing that the longer she dragged this on, the more her subconscious would betray her, she swallowed her nerves and ploughed ahead. "Do you remember how you missed out on going to watch The NeverEnding Story this summer because you had to spend your ticket money on a new wheel for your bike?"

In her periphery, Vivien saw Royce's hand shift up to play with the fraying fabric of his backpack strap. He only ever did that when he felt uncomfortable. She didn't even have to look at him to confirm it either, the pause before he responded told her almost as much as his tone of voice did.

"...Yeah, but what does that-?"

"Hey nerds!"

Despite their disdain for the term, both Vivien and Royce's heads whipped around to try to locate the source of the voice, mentally cursing themselves for even acknowledging that the phrase could have been used to refer to them, let alone responding to it. But as green and brown eyes scanned a sparse sea of middle schoolers, searching for signs of anyone with ill-intent, they came up short.

"Over here!"

The voice, carried on the wind, drew the pair's gazes to a figure, practically standing on the bench of a rotting, wooden picnic table to try to grab their attention and their disgruntled grumblings fell from their lips within seconds of one another, replaced by fond sighs.

Bentley waved the duo towards him so spectacularly that, for all they knew, he could have been directing a plane to land. And whilst Vivien couldn't help but smile at the blond's boundless energy, she also couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment with how easily Royce shelved their conversation by letting out an almost relieved: "Duty calls."

"Yeah," Vivien agreed with a forced smile and a breathy, awkward laugh to match his. Although it dropped from her face the second he turned his back to head over to the shaded seating area.

Once he was a good few paces ahead of her, and she was sure he was out of earshot, Vivien let out a frustrated huff, so hot she was surprised it didn't steam up her glasses. "Goddammit, Bentley," she muttered, shoving her library copy of Wuthering Heights into her backpack as she started trudging along behind Royce. "I almost got through it all that time."

But Bentley was none the wiser to Vivien's grand plans; too excited by his own news to consider that the pair may have been busy. And besides, the easygoing grin his older brother shot him as he approached made him none the wiser.

"You've gotta come up with something better to call us, Benny," Royce said, fondly shaking his head as he climbed the last few steps of the hill leading up to the picnic table, adorned by Bentley's friends, the contents of at least three up-turned pencil cases, and enough sheets of paper to paper mache a small child. Thankfully, the table was sheltered from the worst of the breeze, so the most that a stray gust could do was flutter the edges beneath the various, makeshift paperweights (dog-eared textbooks and unopened juice boxes) strewn across the splintering surface.

"Why? You are 'nerds'," the boy laughed as he bounced back down into his spot on the bench seat beside August.

"We are not," Royce protested.

"It got you to come over here, didn't it?" Bentley replied with a cheesy smirk.

Royce let out a slightly bitter sigh as he fumbled through a response. "Well- yeah, but it's… demeaning."

"Then why'd you respond to it?" Kona snorted, apparently more focused on selecting the right shade of crayon than bothering to look Royce in the eye as she insulted him.

The bluntness of the eleven-year-old's comment drew a snort of laughter from him before he could stop it, whether it was in amusement or incredulity though he'd never know. But the smile that threatened to envelop his disapproving frown stayed firmly in place as he said, "Because I'm so used to everyone else calling us it, that's why. And you shouldn't be contributing to the problem anyway; I thought we were all on the same side here."

"You calling us nerds, RJ?" Zack piped up with a challenging quirk of his eyebrow.

"Pot calls the kettle black," Royce smirked.

"White boy says what now?" Zack retorted with a confused frown that soon gave way to a mischievous grin the second that Royce rolled his eyes and playfully ruffled his hair, insisting through shared laughter that the boy knew what he meant.

"What are you guys doing up here?" Vivien asked with a breathy laugh of her own as she arrived at the picnic table and caught the end of the boys' friendly roughhousing.

"Having fun until you nerds showed up," Zack scoffed as he shoved Royce's chest in an attempt to get the older boy away from him. But the bubbling giggles that tumbled from his lips as Royce expressed his disdain for the name once more told everyone all they needed to know about how much he enjoyed the brunet's company - proved even further when he resorted to wrapping his arms around his torso and tackling him into a hug from his spot on the bench.

"Looks like it," Vivien noted with a bemused chuckle. "What's all this then? You writing out your own comic book or something?" she continued, gesturing to the vast collection of paper spread out before the quartet.

"We're designing our characters for this cool new game Gus brought in," Bentley raved, holding up his sheet of paper for Vivien to see. "Look at my guy, he's got a wand that's disguised as a paintbrush and this magic flute that lets him talk to animals."

"Damn, Benny, that's so cool," she grinned, marvelling at the artwork with almost as much care as the blond put into creating it.

"And look, here's the one I'm doing for Gus," Bentley continued, shuffling the papers around until he selected the right one.

"You didn't want to draw out your own?" Vivien asked the boy, whose sandy blond eyebrows were furrowed in concentration.

"Nah; Ben's better at art," August admitted, only glancing up from his work to shoot his oblivious friend a shy smile. "And I enjoy the planning part of it more anyway," he went on to explain. "So he's doing the drawing, and I'm filling out his character sheet for him."

"Yeah, 'cause there was no way I was gonna be able to deal with all that," Bentley snorted.

"This looks like a lot of work for just one game," Vivien noted, inching another piece of paper towards her and finding it covered from top to bottom in meticulously written words, numbers, and the occasional, scribbled doodle.

"Tell me about it," Kona scoffed. "I feel like we got extra math homework with this stupid number system we've got to work off of," she added with a huff that blew a straw strand of hair away from her eyes. Begrudgingly tapping the open, yellowing pages of an intricately illustrated book with the end of a pencil, she brought the thirteen-year-old's gaze to the table she was drawing from.

"You guys are willingly doing math over lunch and you're calling us nerds?" Royce asked with a teasing incredulity that earned him further, playful bickering from Zack.

"So what do you do with all this when you've created your characters then?" Vivien continued, feeling a fond smile tugging at her lips as Royce's unbridled laughter tickled her ears. Fighting the urge to swat the imagined sensation away, she focused her attention on the other children at the table. "What's this dorky wizard math game called?"

"Dungeons and Dragons," Bentley explained.

Vivien’s ears perked up. “Dungeons and Dragons? That weird roleplaying game Riven plays with his sweaty high school friends?”

“Who’s Riven?” Kona asked.

“My skating partner,” Vivien said, throwing the explanation away like a used napkin so that she could get back to the main point at hand.

“Ew, so is he like your boyfriend then?” Kona teased with a devilish wiggle of her eyebrows.

“No!” Vivien blurted, maybe a little too quickly if everyone turning to look at her was anything to go by. "No, not like… It's just- He's like my brother, ok?" she hurriedly tried to explain, trying to ignore the bile now creeping at the back of her throat the very thought alone had placed there.

"Ok," Kona snorted, smirking to herself as she caught Royce's shoulders slump in relief in her periphery. Making the ninth-graders squirm was a favourite pastime of hers, and lately, all this girlfriend-boyfriend talk around them, despite making her want to hurl, had been a homerun every time.

"I didn’t know Riven played DnD,” Bentley piped up, earning himself a grateful smile from Vivien for taking some of the heat off her.

“Neither did I until he made us switch our practice days so that he could go play pretend with a bunch of dorks out the back of Eddie 'the freak' Munson's trailer."

"Riven's in that weird Hellraiser club?" Royce asked, bushy eyebrow raised in disbelief.

"My sister says they're all devil worshippers," Zack mumbled.

"It's Hellfire," Vivien corrected. "And they're not devil worshippers - well, Riven's not anyway. As far as I know they're just losers in matching shirts who play make believe like they're still in first grade."

"It's more than just playing make believe," August dared to pipe up with a somewhat defensive frown, immediately toying with the corner of Bentley's character sheet the second the group's attention landed on him. A sideways glance in the blond's direction earned him a reassuring smile that breathed some much needed confidence into his lungs, and as he released it, he said, "There's this whole world you can build your own stories around with all these super detailed characters and a bunch of lore you can discover. I spent my whole weekend reading through the books my cousin gave me and that doesn't even cover half of it. It's like one big choose-your-own adventure story, but everyone gets a say in what happens, and gets to feel like they're a part of it."

A beaming grin and steel blue eyes, sparkling with excitement, found Royce with startling ease. "Doesn't that sound cool?!" Bentley enthused.

"...It actually does," Royce admitted, even surprising himself with his answer.

"Hear that, Auggie? You didn't even have to mention dragons to convince someone that time," Kona snickered, firing the curly haired boy beside her a smirk.

"Whatever," Zack scoffed, rolling his eyes. "You thought they sounded cool too," he added with an accusatory nudge of the blonde's elbow that had her cursing him under her breath for making her pencil skim across the page.

Ignoring his friends' sibling-like arguing, so used to it by now that it honestly would have been stranger to acknowledge it, Bentley kept his attention, and his toothy grin, focused on his older brother. "I knew you'd like it! You're always borrowing those old fantasy books from the library and writing your own versions of them."

"Well- yeah, ok, but what does that have to do with this?" Royce stuttered, cheeks tinged pink with embarrassment despite Vivien's small, amused smile.

"Well this is just like that! Gus wrote out our first campaign all by himself," Bentley gushed before leaning into the shying blond beside him. "That's like the story, right?" he checked in a hushed tone. And after receiving a confirmatory nod, he turned back to Royce with renewed enthusiasm. "The plot, the monsters, the bonus quests - he came up with it all!"

Bentley pushed a stack of papers towards his brother, bound by treasury tags and bearing enough ink to have drained an entire pack of ballpoint pens. "Holy shit," Royce breathed as he picked it up and began flipping through the makeshift book, becoming more and more stunned with every turn of a page. "You wrote this whole thing by yourself?" he asked August, who timidly nodded. "In one weekend?" Again, the boy nodded, this time a little more eagerly. And Royce could see why. "...Wow," he marvelled, smiling as he watched the younger boy swell with pride. "This is really impressive, August."

"You put some serious work into this, huh?" Vivien noted.

"Yeah, I guess," August admitted as his steadily reddening cheeks were pulled aside by an appreciative grin. "It's not like I minded though," he went on to hurriedly explain. "It all came together pretty quickly once I got into it. Plus it gave me an excuse to shut myself up in my room away from my stuffy aunt and that stupid dog she carries around in her purse," he added, earning himself a bright laugh from Bentley that completely stalled his train of thought. Luckily, it was nothing that clearing his throat and refocusing his gaze on the blond's character sheet couldn't fix though. "I guess I just thought it would be something fun for us all to do together, you know?"

"Yeah, it sure sounds like it," Vivien said with a warm smile. But there was still a little, nagging thought hammering away at the back of her head, and she feared that if she didn't use this opportunity of an out as her last-ditch attempt at getting Royce alone before the end of the school day then that nagging thought would break right through her skull and puncture her brain with its pesky little pickaxe. And she needed all the brainpower she could muster to get through this, so she did not want to take any risks. "Anyway," she continued, snagging the attention of the table of eleven-year-olds as she clapped her hands together. "We'd better let you guys get back to planning. We wouldn't want to be the reason for you guys delaying your first adventure now, would we?" she asked rhetorically, firing a knowing look across at Royce that was not-so-subtly hidden behind a theatrical grin.

If Royce picked up on the intensity behind Vivien's gaze though, he didn't show it, instead remaining as blissfully oblivious as he always seemed to be when it came to her intentions as he took his turn to offer a fond smile to the table of his brother's friends. "You'll have to let us know how it goes," he said, before adding with a chuckle: "I'm invested now; it sounds awesome."

Breathing out a sigh of relief between her teeth as Royce rounded the picnic table to join her, Vivien kept her almost clown-like smile plastered to her face as she thanked whatever great powers were at work for making Royce ever so slightly more perceptive than the other, gormless teenage boys in their class. But just as she was inching her way back down the hill, and readying her opening line for the brunet once they were out of earshot of the eager little gremlins, one of them piped up with a perfectly pointed pin to burst her bubble.

"Why don't you just play with us then?"

Bentley's wide-eyed, hopeful grin was the only thing keeping Vivien from snatching up Kona's muddy jump rope and strangling him with it. Besides the years upon years of sibling-like friendship, obviously.

Forcing out a strained laugh, she managed a tight, "It's alright, Benny, we don't want to crash your fun."

"You're not crashing anything; we want you to join in. Right, guys?"

Ok, so Bentley can't read social cues… Good to know.

It would have made things a hell of a lot easier if Vivien could have known about that before she set the wheels of her master plan into motion though, because right now she felt like they were so out of sync they were about to derail the handcar she'd strapped this grand idea of hers to. But even if she could have brought herself to get mad at Bentley, Zack jumped to the blond's defence before she even had the chance.

"Yeah, we're gonna need all the help we can get because Kona can't add up for shit and I'm not about to let my guy Omar Scale Crusher die after I've spent all this time working out his stats."

"I can't add up for shit?! What the hell are you talking about? You're the one who got put in Math 2!"

"Only for a week! And I totally got a better grade than you on that test last week."

"No you didn't!"

"Did too!"

"Bite me!"

As the pair energetically bickered about Zack's accusations, which Kona steadfastly claimed were built on entirely false foundations, Vivien found her frustration with the picnic table occupants crumbling away. After all, they weren't to know that she'd been practising for this lunchtime conversation with Royce for weeks. How could they? The only others she'd confided in were her three skating friends and the balding Big Bird stuffed animal from the end of her bed that had taken on the role of Royce during her many rehearsals. And she couldn't blame them for their excitement over the game either; even she had to admit that it sounded pretty cool. Plus, after hearing Riven rhapsodise about Hellfire's epic campaigns for weeks now, she was starting to get a little curious about the game and how it was played.

"Omar Scale Crusher, huh?" she eventually chuckled, raising a quizzical eyebrow at Zack that soon ground his and Kona's squabbling to a halt. "How'd you come up with that?"

"Isn't it sick? Auggie had this big list of names with cool meanings to help us decide."

After shuffling through the endless sheets of paper around him, August found the right one and went on to explain for a very enthusiastic Zack: "Omar means 'one who has a long life'."

"Yeah, so he'd better live up to his damn name! I'm not planning this whole thing out to have him die in the first round," he declared with a hearty laugh, before tagging on: "Plus my uncle's called Omar and he's awesome."

Vivien couldn't help her snort of laughter at the blunt innocence. "Very creative," she noted. "What is he then? Like a viking or something?"

"No, he's a wizard," Zack stated matter-of-factly. "'Cause why would I bother using a sword when I could just kill an enemy with magic?"

"How come your guy's holding a sword then?"

Royce's frank delivery, from over the younger boy's shoulder, had a laugh spurting from between Vivien's lips before she could stop it. And Bentley, August, and Kona were all quick to follow suit.

However, as to be expected, the brash brunet soon scrambled a retaliation. "Well I'd still want one for backup."

"No duh," Kona chuckled as she finished shading in the metallic sheath of the dagger her character clutched in a leather clad fist. "Magic or not, you still need a weapon."

"Is your character a wizard too then?" Vivien asked Kona, but the incredulous snort the blonde let out could have told her all she needed to know on its own.

"No, Andromeda doesn't need to rely on magic to keep herself out of danger; her dexterity's off the charts."

Before another argument could break out between Zack and Kona as a result of her roundabout dig at him, August decided to speak for the table. "Zack’s our mage, Kona's our thief, Ben's our Bard and my guy's a ranger."

"But you're the dungeon master too, right?" Bentley checked, mischievous blue eyes peeking out from beneath furrowed bows.

August's own eyes were drawn to Bentley's the second that he'd opened his mouth, but the smirk tugging at his friend's lips was what captured his attention. "What's so funny?" he challenged through a chuckle that coaxed one out of Bentley too. "You don't think I could be a dungeon master?"

"I never said that," Bentley laughed. But the look the boys shared meant they both knew that's what his tone had implied.

"You didn't have to."

"Well can you blame me? It just sounds so menacing and scary. I know you read all those horror books and stuff, but come on, you're about as intimidating as Winnie the Pooh - who, last time I checked, was still tucked under your comforter next to your pillow and your old baby blanket."

Jaw dropped in incredulity, August lightly elbowed Bentley in the ribs. "I can so be intimidating," he retorted. But if he was pretending to be mad at the boy, his true feelings were soon revealed by the smile he couldn't seem to keep off his face.

"Yeah, well, we've yet to see it," Kona bluntly noted, which once again set Royce and Vivien off giggling at the sixth graders.

"You sound like you've got a pretty well-rounded group then," Royce carried on, drawing the conversation back to August's point from earlier. "Are there even any roles left for us? Or are we going to have to start doubling up?"

"You can double up if you want, but there's still a bunch of classes that haven't been picked yet," August explained, flipping through the large book spread out before him until he got to the right page. "We've not got a druid, a cleric, or a fighter."

"What does a fighter do?" Royce asked.

"Fighters are weapons-oriented warriors, who fight using skill, strategy, and tactics," August recited from his handbook, bringing the group's attention to the detailed illustration of an armoured swordsman, wielding what looked to be an incredibly heavy shield with almost no effort at all.

The second Vivien's eyes met the page she knew it was game over; her imagination kicked into overdrive and tossed all other thoughts about how she could have been spending this lunchtime to the curb. Racing at a million miles an hour, her brain plucked ideas from seemingly thin air and began piecing together a muscular young woman, strong enough to knock an ox clean off its feet in one quick shove, although you'd never know it since her frame was cleverly disguised in roughened leather padding, tarnished silver armour, and rich, violet robes fashioned into a sort of cape. Her face was weathered, but kind, and her vibrant, emerald eyes sparkled with determination, and the promise of adventure. Like the picture in August's book, the woman carried a large, battle-scarred sword by its ornate handle, and kept a hefty shield vigilantly by her side, painted in, again, deep shades of indigo, violet, and the blood of her enemies, naturally. She also had a quiver of arrows slung over her shoulder though, nestled beside a crossbow, just peeking out from behind a head of flowing, chestnut locks. The heroine had no time for preening, so her hair was tousled with grease and grime from combatting the elements on her journeys, but as it fluttered in the wind, it was kept away from her face by intricate braids, weighed down by silver rings and stolen jewels of amethyst and topaz. She smiled at Vivien from the forefront of her mind, as if marking her territory there, and Vivien felt her heart skip a beat as she breathed out a quiet, and hopefully nonchalant: "Hmm…cool."

"That sounds like a good one for you, Viv. Strategy and tactics? You're great with planning stuff out," Royce noted. But one glance in her direction and his face broke into a knowing smile the second he clocked her eyes, glazed over in thought, and lips, parted in awe.

"Yeah, and look, you'd make a great cleric," Bentley continued, pulling Royce's gaze away from Vivien, albeit reluctantly. Flipping the page of August's handbook, he excitedly tapped at a drawing of a tall man, draped in heavy, fur pelts and bronzed chainmail. A glowing staff was held in one hand, and a massive axe was thrown over his shoulder as though it weighed no more than a sack of flour.

"Clerics are versatile figures, both capable in combat and skilled in the use of divine magic," August recited from the page after a light, nudge from Bentley. "They're also powerful healers."

"See? That's perfect for you! You're always helping patch us up if we fall off our bikes," Bentley enthused, undeterred by the amused chuckles that his brother unleashed as a result of what he thought was an adorably innocent explanation.

"Yeah, and we could use a healer on our team, especially with those two and their lack of impulse control," August snorted as he gestured to Kona and Zack, who jumped at the chance to express their indignation.

As the group of friends returned to jovially bickering amongst themselves, Royce and Vivien's minds were quietly whirring with ideas. Ideas which, upon glancing at one another, they soon realised were all too perfectly aligned.

"What do you say then, losers?" Kona finally asked once she'd finished fighting her ground against the boys, snapping the eighth-graders out of their heads and bringing them back to reality with a knowing smirk. "Are you playing with us or not?"

Royce, as always, left the decision to Vivien. But the hopeful glimmer in his caramel eyes, paired with her own, itching curiosity made that decision all too easy. And besides, even if she wasn't spending time alone with Royce, she was still spending time with him. And that was good enough for her.

…For now.

"Well… I guess one game couldn't hurt, right?" she said with a smirk that soon broke out into a grin as Bentley's face lit up like a firework display. And it only grew when she glanced across at Royce for one last confirmation that she'd made the right decision, only to find him beaming with almost as much enthusiasm as his brother.

If this nerdy little game brought Royce this much joy, and was even half as much fun as it sounded, then Vivien knew it would be worth another few hours of crippling anxiety. Besides, she hoped that she could immerse herself in the story so much that she'd forget all about her predicament with the brunet anyway. But as they took their places at the picnic table, and Royce's sneaker brushing against her shin shot a jolt of adrenaline up her leg with such a force that she almost jumped straight back out of her seat, she knew that that was just wishful thinking. Covering up the brief waver in her cool, confident exterior with a quiet cough, she tried to refocus her mind on the endless streams of information August was unleashing on the pair of them.

"-and so the group our characters all belong to is called The Circle of the Emerald Torches, but part of the first campaign is about how we get our name, so I'll explain more about that later. Before you start, and before I give you your character sheets though, if you want to be in our party then you'll need to recite the Oath of Noble Heroes so that we know you're serious about this."

"Don't worry, we had to do it too. But it's so cool, you'll love it! And then there's a declaration of loyalty for you to sign somewhere too," Bentley tagged on before the boys started animatedly babbling amongst themselves about the ins and outs of their party's rules again.

Shaking his head at the pair, Royce took the opportunity of them being distracted to lean over to Vivien and teasingly chuckle, "What the hell have you just gotten us into?"

Fighting the urge to roll her eyes at the boy, knowing that his enthusiasm for the game was a major driving factor in her decision to play, and that he was also well-aware of that fact, she looked him square in the face and hid her smirk behind a deadly serious, blank expression, "I'm pretty sure we just joined a cult."

American History, Volume 2, lay open on page 38. And it had laid there like that for the past 45 minutes, having been abandoned by its current owner almost as soon as it had been removed from their backpack. Because instead of completing the assigned history homework, the desk's occupant was using their study hall period much more wisely: by shredding a solo, courtesy of Ozzy Osbourne, on possibly the most prestigious instrument of all: the air guitar.

Ethan's eyes slid shut, and a blissful smile curled his lips as he mashed the volume button on his Walkman with practised ease. Bar after bar of 'Crazy Train' pounded through his skull at a staggering volume, rattling what little of his brain was left in the mostly vacant space between his ears, helped along by the bopping of his head in time with the song's beat. When his fingers weren't plucking out riffs on imaginary strings, they were banging out the drumline on a drum kit that was just as real as his Gibson SG. And all the while, he was passionately miming the lyrics for his audience of the pencil shavings and dust mites that hugged the wall beside his desk.

He felt the music in his bones. The bass line pumped through his veins. Every note that was played resonated through the chambers of his heart until it felt like the song was as much a part of him as his left arm. And the deeper he let himself sink into the music, the less aware of his surroundings he became - or the less he cared to remember them anyway. Until a sharp elbow to the ribs shattered his rockstar illusions, that is.

Bleary brown eyes met earnest, steel blue, and held nothing but confusion for the several seconds it took him to realise that Miles’ mouth was moving without making a sound.

“What?” Ethan bellowed, prying a wailing headphone speaker away from his ears as he leaned closer to the exasperated brunet.

“Jesus, man!” Miles exclaimed under his breath as he reached across to his friend’s Walkman to frantically turn the volume down. “Are you trying to blow your eardrums out or something?”

“That would be pretty metal, so maybe,” Ethan chuckled, entirely unphased. But Miles’ disapproving frown soon had him rolling out an explanation. “You’ve got a front row seat for my biggest show yet and you’re choosing to lecture me about volume control? I can care about my hearing when I’m in the retirement home.”

“You’ll be lucky if you make it to a retirement home," Miles snorted. "You've got the survival skills of a two dollar house plant."

Instead of arguing back, or even rolling his eyes at his best friend's dig, Ethan just continued chuckling along in agreement as he slid his headphones down to rest around his neck - still blaring out Ozzy Osbourne's vocals, although they were only just audible over the hubbub of chatter and laughter that filled the rest of the classroom. "What were you saying before anyway?" he went on to ask. "Did you want something?"

"Yeah, the answer to number four."

"Pfft, you think I've even made it past one?" Ethan guffawed, astonished and highly amused that Miles thought highly enough of him to assume he hadn't been shirking his responsibilities all afternoon. "I've got no fucking clue. What chapter are we on again? Abraham Lincoln?"

The mix of despair and disbelief Ethan was faced with when he glanced back across at Miles told him his guess might not have been as accurate as he'd pitched it to be. "...Are we not on Abraham Lincoln?"

"We haven't done Abraham Lincoln since freshman year," Miles deadpanned before letting out a chuckle of his own. "When was the last time you actually paid attention in one of Mr Bishop's classes?"

"Probably freshman year," Ethan noted with a laugh, slumping back in his seat and starting to rock on the back two legs of the flimsy, plastic chair. "I think the only chance I've got at retaining any of the information in that textbook for this month's pop quiz is if I eat it."

The look of reproach Miles shot the carefree stoner could have fooled any passerby into thinking that he was the boy's father, but he blamed that on the past however many years of having to act as a sole parental figure for two young boys - who, on several occasions, had actually proved to be far more mature than the lank-haired brunet before him. More often than not, Ethan felt like a third child he had to keep alive. And somehow, his lack of height was not one of the driving factors behind that reasoning.

"Oh come on, don't give me that look," Ethan groaned, ever the resentful teenager in their relationship. "You've not exactly been Mr Studious yourself today."

"What are you talking about?"

"Well you've been stuck on that same question for the last twenty minutes 'cause you keep making goo-goo eyes at you know who," Ethan smirked as Miles' eyes widened in horror and his forehead started to prickle with sweat.

"No I don't," he indignantly tried.

"I thought you said you were over her," Ethan teased.

"I am! It's not like that anyway," Miles muttered, then added. "And it's not been twenty minutes."

"It totally has."

"How the hell would you know? You've been listening to Motorhead since we sat down."

"Yeah but my fuckin' eyes still work," Ethan snorted, hitting Miles with a loving grin that had him rolling his eyes before Ethan had even finished his sentence. And yet, the boy's frustration did nothing to deter him from probing further. "What's the stalking for this time then? You know, if you're not trying to get in her pants anymore."

Miles was at as much of a loss as Ethan. His eyes found the head of bouncing, blonde curls with almost no effort at all (likely a result of an entire study hall period of practice), searching for some sort of answer. But all he found was a dull, fluttering in his chest.

Even the giddy, lovestruck butterfly that had been trapped in there for months seemed to have admitted defeat.

Still, his gaze never wavered. He watched airy laughter spill from her glossy lips, and her nose crinkle beneath brilliantly blue eyes, framed by thick, black lashes and copious amounts of mascara. Whilst before, Miles could have eaten through a movie theatre's entire popcorn supply and still want to look just a little longer, in that moment he just felt empty. And that’s when he realised it wasn't actually Carrie herself that was occupying his mind, it was everyone else around her, and how she was treating them. Plucking a proudly presented flyer for a house party from one, impishly teasing another, waving at Sharon Frye on her way out the door, firing a flirty wink in jest at Steve Harrington after giggling at one of his jokes…

Miles was certain she'd looked at every other person in that room at least once since their study hall period had begun, and yet the closest her eyes had ventured over to him was when she glanced at the clock on the wall. Every thought in his head was plagued by her smile, or her voice, or her laugh… Had he ever even crossed her mind?

"Do you think she actually cares about us?"

Miles hadn't been able to bring himself to tear his forlorn gaze from the blonde in question, but that didn't stop Ethan from snorting out an answer. "Well yeah, I'd hope so; we spend enough time with her."

"Not by choice," Miles huffed.

“Well she talks to us now, and that’s more than we could have said before we worked with her, so that’s got to count for something,” Ethan chuckled. “But if this is about what I think it’s about, then she absolutely cares about you, dude. Like way more than the rest of us.”

“You really think so?”

“Dude, it’s like you two are glued at the hip. I can’t get you away from each other for shit once we close every night,” Ethan replied. And when Miles still looked unsure, he added, “Why else do you think I always get stuck cleaning the kitchen with Mick? She hates my guts!”

“No she does not,” Miles softly chuckled.

“Well I definitely don’t think she likes me, not like Carrie likes you anyway,” he retorted with a smirk and a wiggle of his eyebrows. “I’m telling you, man. There’s something there. There’s no way she’d laugh at your crappy jokes like she does if she didn’t at least have a little interest in you - I don’t care if Mick thinks it’s bullshit, I know I’m right.”

Miles just rolled his eyes, but a hopeful smile desperately pulled at his lips, no matter how many times he tried to dismiss it. “I don’t know, I think she probably just does it to be nice,” he mused, watching as Carrie animatedly responded to Rachel Price before turning back to resume her conversation with the girl sat beside her - the very girl that Miles still had an irrepressible urge to swap lives with: Juliet Harmon. Now faced with nothing but the back of her head, he quickly lost interest in the view. “…She seems to act like that with most people.”

“She definitely does not, man. Why do you think the entire marching band is scared to look her in the eye? She’s like one of the biggest bitches in school,” Ethan scoffed. But he paused when he realised Miles wasn’t laughing along with him. “Why does it matter how she acts around other people anyway?”

“It doesn’t,” Miles huffed. “…Not really.”

But the second he dared to make eye contact with his oldest friend, the floodgates opened and the truth came tumbling out.

“I just…feel stupid for letting her get in my head, and for actually thinking that we had something special - that I was somehow different to all the other idiots who throw themselves at her to get a second of her attention. But here I am, thinking about her constantly, hanging onto every interaction we have like my fucking life depends on it, only for her to… Ugh, I don't know. I just…don't want it all to not mean anything to her, when it means so much to me - no matter how much I try to convince myself it doesn't. I mean, yeah, she's nice to me at work - really nice - but she barely even acknowledges me outside of All Skate… It's like I don't even exist, like she doesn't even realise I'm there. And it makes me feel like shit."

"She barely acknowledges anyone," Ethan absentmindedly mused. "I wouldn't take it personally."

"That's a lot easier said than done," Miles huffed dejectedly. There was something freeing about Ethan's nonchalance over Miles' feelings though; it made them feel less suffocating. And whilst he still felt entirely hopeless about the situation, he did feel a little bit of the pressure ease off as he rested his chin on his hand and let his mind start to wander. "...You think she actually considers us friends?"

"Sure; she calls us her work friends all the time."

"No but like her actual friends," Miles clarified.

"Dude, I don't fucking know; the female mind is a mystery to me at the best of times, but hers is on a whole other level," Ethan scoffed in incredulity. "Do you not remember that like thirty minute debate I had with her about diet sodas? Actual insanity.”

Miles' quiet chuckling as he reminisced about what had started as an innocent question, yet progressed to a full-blown screaming match, with each participant equally as confused and frustrated as the other, was soon silenced by Ethan's next prompt though. "I know a way you can find out though…"

"...No!"

"Oh come on, man. Don't be a sissy. It'll be so easy. And then you can stop getting hung up on all these bogus hypotheticals."

Miles' initial horror slowly dissipated as Ethan's reasoning started to lure out a far greater force from its hiding place in the corner of his brain: his curiosity. "...You really think I can just go up and talk to her? In class?" he asked, as his eyes once again found that jumble of golden curls.

"Sure, why not? It's only study hall."

Again, Ethan's nonchalance, which was only heightened by the fact that he was trying to balance a pen on his curled upper lip as he responded, did far more for Miles' confidence than any pep talk of his own could have. And besides, maybe he was onto something - maybe it really was that simple; it always was in his world.

"It wouldn't be weird?" Miles double-checked.

"Why would it be weird? All you're gonna do is talk to her. And we already established you two are friends, so what could go wrong?"

Miles shuddered at the very thought. "So much."

Ethan glanced across at him, ready to fire out further encouragement like a sixth grader with a penchant for making spitballs, but when he clocked his friend's nervous fidgeting, he reconsidered his situation and gained a little clarity. "Ok…yeah, fine, stuff could go wrong. But are you gonna die?" he proposed.

"No," Miles begrudgingly mumbled.

"Are you gonna break something?"

"No, but-"

"Then how bad can it be?" Ethan cut in with a lopsided, optimistic grin before Miles could tie himself up in any more self-conscious knots. "Just get over there and scratch that itch that's been bugging you for weeks; it's not gonna stop until you do. And you'll feel so much better after."

It took Miles by surprise every time it happened, but yet again, it seemed as though Ethan might actually be…right. This question of Carrie's loyalty had been eating away at him for weeks now. And, as he'd stressed earlier, it was making him feel shittier and shittier with every day he let it drag on. Asking her outright was a definite way to get his answer… It was just going to require him growing some balls, as anything to do with All Skate's resident disc jockey apparently made his own shrink to the size of peas.

"...Just walk over and talk to her?" Miles checked. Although, between us, he was just stalling to give himself more time to muster some courage.

"Yeah, as a friend," Ethan confirmed.

"You really think I can pull that off?" Miles asked with a dubious, but hopeful quirk of his eyebrow that had Ethan melting like a bomb pop that had been left out in the 4th of July sun.

"Absolutely," he grinned, totally enamoured by his friend's giddy trepidation, and the promise of a relationship he so steadfastly defended. "She's got a major soft spot for you, man. I see it like every night," he went on to reassure. "There's no way she's gonna blow you off. You'll be fine."

And as a result of that dopey grin, complemented by the ratty, chestnut locks, and vacant, dark chocolate eyes… Miles believed him.

"...Ok, I'm going in," he breathed through a determined smile.

"Atta boy," Ethan chuckled, fist-bumping Miles before tipping his chair back onto all four of its legs again, as though to signal the resolution of their predicament. "Go scratch that itch," he added, finishing their little handshake with a bolstering point before lifting his headphones back over his ears and disappearing back into his wildest rock star fantasies - totally oblivious to the disaster about to unfold right behind him as Miles took a deep breath and waded into the wild, uncharted waters of the female mindset.

"So now that we know that y=7, we plug that into this side of the function, that we've already simplified, to give us this…which then means that we can carry this over here, giving us x=3."

…Silence.

"Right?" Juliet checked, although the satisfied smile that had settled on her carnation pink lips as soon as she finished the sum was beginning to falter into one of desperation as she turned to her tutee. "Did you follow along ok that time?"

But all Juliet was met with was a glassy stare and an infatuated grin, smushed between two fists as its owner rested their chin on their palms. "You're so smart, Julie," Carrie breathed.

Juliet just rolled her eyes, although she did little to hide the bashful blush tickling her cheeks. “Never mind that, did you understand how I worked it out that time?”

"...Kind of?" Carrie tried, offering a lopsided, hopeful grin to try to lessen the blow.

If Juliet's exasperated huff was anything to go by though: it didn't work. But her frustration dissolved the second that she met Carrie's gaze. "Where did I lose you?" she asked with a gentle, patient sigh.

"The whole reversing the function bit," Carrie admitted as she bit her lip and braced herself for Juliet's reaction. Although the blonde's expression never wavered, the dismay that flashed in her eyes soon had Carrie barrelling through an explanation. "I swear I was getting it before that this time, but then it all started to sound like you were talking in another language, and then I got distracted by that pretty way you write out the 'x' again, and then I just…"

"...Stopped listening all together?" Juliet teasingly offered with a fond smirk.

Carrie scoffed in mock-defence. "No, I listened the whole time, I just stopped taking it in," she went on to clarify. But as soon as she drew a giggle from Juliet's lips she melted into that same infatuated grin from earlier as she admitted, "I'd never stop listening to you. You know I could listen to you talk for hours."

"Even about algebra?" Juliet teasingly tested with an affectionate smile of her own.

"Of course about algebra," Carrie gushed with a glittering honesty that soon had Juliet giggling again. "Believe it or not, this is the most I've ever understood a math module," she carried on, straightening up in her seat to help give her point a little more credibility, before tagging on a jovial, "And it's all thanks to you, smarty pants."

"Would you stop calling me that? It's so lame," Juliet protested, hiding her smile behind a frank eye roll. "And besides, I'm not that smart."

"You so are; you're like the smartest person I know," Carrie gushed, never one to let her friends downplay their successes, much to Juliet's disgruntlement. The blonde's frown didn't deter Carrie from continuing to lovingly babble straight through her stream of consciousness though. "That brain of yours has to be huge - no wonder you get headaches all the time, it's because it doesn't have enough space in there."

Carrie's knack for making herself giggle never failed to make Juliet smile, but yet again she found herself trying to cover it up with a bashful roll of her hazel irises as she let out a sigh and attempted to get their conversation back on track. "You wanna try another question then?"

"Don't try to change the subject," Carrie fired back with a mischievous grin.

"I'm not, you are!" Juliet retorted, biting back an incredulous laugh. "We're supposed to be doing algebra, not Juliet 101."

Carrie's mischievous grin only broadened. "Now that's a class I might actually get an A in."

Rolling her eyes for the third time at her best friend's antics, Juliet teasingly tried, "What? Not an A+?"

"Maybe," Carrie smirked. "But then again, I might get distracted by my teacher." Her wiggling eyebrows soon had Juliet reprimanding her and attempting to draw her focus back to her school work, but Carrie's mind was already wandering off too far down a different path altogether. "...Do you think you'd ever wanna be a doctor, Julie?"

The comment, that fell slap-bang in the middle of Juliet's offer to rewrite the steps of the previous algebra equation, baffled her into silence - so taken aback by the suggestion that she almost thought she'd misheard the golden-haired girl. "What? No," she spluttered, looking at Carrie as though she'd just sprouted a third nose. "Where did that come from?"

Juliet's confusion didn't seem to faze Carrie though, because her dreamy smile stuck it out through her whole, rambling explanation. "I don't know, I just figured you should use your big brain for a job one day. You know, like one that actually actually makes you think instead of just like a working a cash register, or stacking books or something. And you need to be super smart to be a doctor, so…"

Juliet was quick to shoot down Carrie's optimistic grin. "I do not have what it takes to be a doctor, trust me."

"Sure you do," Carrie defended. "I'd let you be my doctor."

"Oh well then hand me my diploma," Juliet sarcastically replied, once more fondly rolling her eyes and chuckling at her best friend's enamoured stare and incessant bolstering.

"I'm serious," Carrie pressed on though, determined to get through to Juliet despite her doubtful smirk. "I'd trust you with my life, you know I would. I'd let you save my life any day of the week," she grinned. But, after giggling to herself and absentmindedly twirling her pencil between her fingers, when she finally latched onto Juliet's hazel gaze again, only to find it significantly less jovial, it was her turn to express her confusion. "What? You don't believe me?" she teasingly challenged, with a quirk of an eyebrow.

But Juliet still didn't seem to be in the mood to joke back, as her lips fell in line with the horizon and her gaze darted to Carrie's right before finding her again.

Ok, now Carrie was really confused.

"Huh?" she murmured, clearly not as in tune with her best friend's thoughts as she assumed she was.

However, this time, Juliet flicked her eyes to Carrie's right with a touch more resolve, and paired it with a slight, but very purposeful nod of her head in the same direction. And finally, Carrie seemed to get the message.

Following Juliet's line of sight, Carrie turned to look over her shoulder, only to find herself face to face with a person that almost caught her off guard as much as Juliet's sudden shift in dynamic had. "Oh," was the first word to jump from her lips, startling her back into what Juliet lovingly dubbed as 'show-mode' as she rolled her shoulders back and fixed a brilliant smile to her face. "Hey, Miles."

The second that Carrie acknowledged Miles, any confidence he'd managed to trick himself into conjuring fled. And whilst he had a Herculean urge to do the same, he too plastered what he hoped was a convincing smile to his face as he finished his approach to the blondes' shared desk. "Hey, Carrie," he said, breathing a sigh of relief for even managing to get the words out. And yet, he still pushed a little further to add, with a nod of acknowledgement too, "Juliet."

The entertained smirk that started pulling at the corner of Juliet's lips in response caught him off guard, and he felt his stomach gently clench in defence. But he chose to ignore it, returning his gaze to Carrie's bright smile - its familiarity putting him back at ease and igniting that usual fire in his chest that sent warmth spreading throughout his-

Wait, why was she turning back around?

"Right, where were we?" Carrie said, dazzling Juliet with a grin as she readied her pencil on the page. "I've got a good feeling about this next one; I think if you just take it slow-."

"Ahem," Juliet interrupted. Her gaze caught Carrie's once again and held onto it for a beat before she tilted her head forwards, signalling with her eyes that there was still something - or rather, someone - behind her. The confusion, almost disbelief, swimming in Carrie's eyes made Juliet have to bite the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing, and locking onto Miles' look of bewildered dismay just made it even harder. But luckily, Carrie was quickly able to decipher her visual message once again, with little prompting this time.

Turning around to find that, to her surprise, Miles hadn't just been greeting her as he passed by her desk, he was, in fact, standing there - well, expectantly shuffling from foot to foot anyway - Carrie remounted her smile. Although now, Miles realised, it wasn't so welcoming. It felt almost…uncomfortable.

"Oh, sorry. Did you want something?" she offered.

He did - desperately so. And yet, he felt as though the sudden shift in tone had already started to write out his answer.

The hairs on the back of his neck started to twitch as the walls of his stomach steadily closed in tighter. But, determined to stand by his heart, and prove to himself (and Mick) that his feelings weren't all built on fantasies he'd created in his head, he brushed the unease away and stood his ground. "No, not really. I just thought I'd…stop by…see how it's going."

Carrie's smile faltered again, giving way to further confusion. "...See how what's going?"

"...Study hall?" Miles said. But the response came out as more of a question than an answer, which he supposed was down to the fact that he wasn't even sure of it himself. And despite his hopeful grin, which he feared was now looking more like a grimace, he couldn't seem to stop trying to rub the growing discomfort from the back of his neck.

God, he hoped that he didn't have any sweat stains.

"Oh, uh, it's going fine," Carrie politely replied. Although her awkward fidgeting with her pencil's eraser told a different story. "We're just going through the algebra homework."

It was weird; it wasn't as though the conversation was making her seem 'off', it was like…the very fact he was talking to her was so distracting she couldn't settle. She was the centre of Miles' universe. And apparently he was just an asteroid in hers: a misshapen hunk of space rock, hurtling past in the blink of an eye, and completely blindsiding her with his very insignificant existence.

A fellow asteroid must have collided with him at some point, because he could feel this weird twinge in his chest, by his heart, almost as though the impact had chipped a corner off. He swallowed thickly, pushing the creeping discomfort away. "The one for Mr Moreno's class?"

"Mhm," Carrie confirmed with a nod.

"Oh, nice…" Miles trailed off with an awkward chuckle and what he feared was now looking like a rather desperate smile. And he was sure his expression only got worse when his gaze was pulled off-course by Juliet, who gave him a look that made him want to give up altogether. How her hazel irises had managed to harness the ability to hiss 'you are totally blowing this' in his ear, he had no idea. And yet, the urge to prove her (and everyone else) wrong gave him the motivation to plough on. "Well, if you still need any help with it later, I don't mind going through some of the answers with you at wo-"

"It's alright," Carrie bluntly cut in, slicing out a chunk of Miles' self-esteem as she did so. "Julie's got it covered," she added, turning to dazzle the blonde with a brilliant grin.

By the time that grin made its way around to Miles though, it felt cold. And it seemed suppressed, like she hadn't really wanted him to see it. What he feared was the beginnings of a smirk were tugging at the corners of her lips too. And whilst he wanted to believe that it wasn't at his expense - some cruel inside joke the pair of blondes had whispered with their oh-so talkative eyes in the second that Carrie's back was turned - something in the pit of his stomach told him otherwise.

"Thanks though," Carrie lazily tacked on, with a brightness in her tone that just felt hollow to Miles now.

"No problem," he breathed. But there was a problem, and he was staring right at her.

Miles tried to find it in him to mean the smile he sent her, but he just couldn't. Somehow, what was supposed to have been a simple conversation between 'friends' had left him feeling more insecure than ever. Why was she so difficult to talk to? And was she making it so difficult? If they'd been at All Skate, cleaning the rink after their shift, he'd have had no trouble talking to her - their conversations flowed like the Mississippi River when it was just the two of them. And yet here, he felt like he was trying to coax water out of a rusty garden tap in the peak of a summer drought.

He couldn't find the words to piece together what he wanted to ask - he didn't think such a sentence existed, not one that he could construct anyway. Carrie seemed hellbent on getting rid of him, which did nothing for his creeping fear that she was only nice to him at work because she had no other option for company. And the damn heat radiating from Juliet's pitying smirk had so much sweat running down his back he contemplated running to the nearest bathroom to wring out his underwear.

And somehow, those glittering, sky blue eyes of hers still threw him a line - a glimmer of hope to cling to. After all, she'd surprised him before - countless times - maybe she'd be able to do it again.

Just as Miles was moving to open his mouth to try one last time though, he was beaten to it.

"Was there anything else you wanted? Or was that it?"

Any hopes of a redemption for the blonde were snatched from Miles' grasp, and the reality of it felt like a punch to the gut. Thoroughly deflated, he accepted his fate with a heavy sigh. It may not have been the outcome he wanted, but at least he had an answer now, and there was a silver lining to that, he supposed.

"...No," he breathed through a forlorn, but relieved smile. "That was…that was all."

Miles felt he must have imagined the concern that flickered in Carrie's gaze - wishful thinking, he supposed - because the airy giggle and laidback grin she flashed him certainly didn't marry up with it. "Oh, alright then. See you later!" she chirped with a wave as he started the walk of shame back to his desk. Again, just as he was turning back to offer a farewell of his own though, she managed to get her words in first. "Don't forget your thick socks."

Miles stopped in his tracks. Now he was more confused than ever. The cheeky glint in her eyes, the knowing smile, the reference to a throwaway joke from their closing shift last night… Everything he'd just come to terms with about her vehement disinterest in him had been called into question with those five, simple words, and a wink that just about made his heart stop.

…Maybe she did really care after all.

With his heart leaping up from its dejected slumber, Miles shot her a grateful smile and chuckled an earnest, "I won't." Breathing out a contented sigh, mind already racing with ways to talk to her about this more that evening, Miles finally felt his shoulders relax as he raised the hand that had been rubbing the back of his neck his whole time. "See you la-"

Nevermind, she'd already turned around to talk to Juliet again.

Again the brunet was flummoxed. The only thing he felt truly confident about as he slunk back to his desk was the very thing he'd been warned of before wading into that mess: the female mind was a mystery. And he had never felt further from figuring it out.

Turning back to Juliet, Carrie couldn't help but shake her head and chuckle under her breath. "That was weird," she noted, tilting her head in the direction of her retreating co-worker.

But Juliet's eyes had never left the bumbling brunet. "Mmm… He's kind of cute," she mused. Although her prompting smirk was lost on her tutee, since her sapphire gaze was immediately pulled to the back of Miles' head.

"Yeah." Carrie's breathed response fell from her lips with startling ease, so much so that it even surprised herself. Hoping to catch it before it slipped into Juliet's ears though, she shook the starry-eyed gaze from her head and scrambled together a cover-up. "Uh, yeah? I can try to set the two of you up if you want. You know, put in a good word at work and stuff."

If she expected Juliet to accept her optimistic offer with open arms though, she was soon proved wrong.

"Yeah something tells me he's not interested in me," she snorted.

Carrie looked at her, perplexed. "What are you talking about? Why wouldn't he be? You're like a total babe."

"Oh come on, Carrie. Please tell me you know that he's got a major crush on you," Juliet said with an almost disapproving frown. "Like major major."

Carrie scoffed at the accusation. "It's not major," she tried, rolling her eyes in a further attempt to downplay the gravity of what Juliet was implying.

"Carrie," Juliet pressed as she knitted her brows. "The guy could barely speak."

Caving under the blonde's hardened gaze, Carrie let out a resentful huff. "Ok fine, so he's got a little crush," she finally conceded. "What's so bad about that? It's not like anything's gonna happen; he knows I've got a boyfriend."

"Mhm… And what does Eric have to say about Miles?"

Carrie rolled her eyes so hard Juliet thought for a second that they might never come back down again. "Why does it matter?" she groaned, her skin prickling with irritation.

"Well he's not exactly got the best track record when it comes to being understanding about you hanging out with other guys," Juliet sighed, with a sneaking suspicion that her tutee's frustration had been triggered by the mention of her boyfriend's name alone: a welcome sign that their relationship was as healthy as ever. Not.

Carrie scoffed as a bitter scowl settled into place. "It's not like I'm 'hanging out with him', we just work together. I barely talk to him during my shift anyway, only when we're clearing stuff up at the end."

"Oh yeah?" Juliet started, curiosity piqued. "And what happens then?"

"Nothing!" Carrie insisted. "We just talk - you know me, I can't keep my mouth shut even when I want to, so of course I'm gonna talk to the guy." Letting out a sigh to try to blow off some steam, she softened under Juliet's gaze and allowed the blonde to lead her through her haze of thoughts. And if Juliet's gentle nudge in the right direction wasn't already enough to do the trick, one glance at Miles' retreating form completely burst the dam. "We've been talking for like the whole last hour of every shift since I started - about school, movies, whatever really - it's like the only thing in that dump that's worth sticking around for. I kind of just did it because I was bored out of my mind at the start, but turns out he's actually really fun, and sweet too - you wouldn't believe some of the stuff he does for his little brothers, Julie; I've literally gone and cried in the break room before after he was telling me about it. It's that cute."

"You cry at everything," Juliet countered with a fond, teasing chuckle.

"Oh come on, not everything," Carrie retorted. Naively hoping that their conversation on the matter had ended there, she let her eyes settle on Juliet's again, only for them to inch open the floodgates once more with a simple bat of her lashes and a tilt of her head. "We just talk and…goof around," she tentatively began - defensive, despite her nonchalance. "You know, make each other laugh about weird things customers have said, or stupid things we did. It's not like we're fooling around or anything. And before you say it, because I know that face: no, I am not leading him on. It's all totally platonic, I swear."

"Ok…" Juliet softly trailed off, taking a moment to choose her words before raising her next point. "Does Miles know it's all 'totally platonic'?"

Carrie let out a groan of despair, as she always did when her best friend lovingly lectured her. "I don't know, Jules. I'm not a mindreader. He's not grabbed my ass or spiked my water bottle, if that's what you're getting at," she grumbled, before promising, "I've got it all under control, I swear."

Somehow, Juliet didn't seem to be buying it; as impervious to Carrie's confident charm as ever.

"So Eric's totally chill about this whole thing with Miles?" she tested, arching a perfectly plucked eyebrow.

"He knows I work with him…" Carrie mumbled.

Juliet nodded understandingly - almost too understandingly - in Carrie's periphery.

"...And does he know how he makes you feel?"

Daring to challenge Juliet's calculated point with ignorant defiance, Carrie whirled around to meet the blonde's smug expression with a gasp of indignation, and an argument that fell away the second she realised that she didn't have a single word in her head to back it up with. Admitting defeat, she sighed and let her body slump, along with her hopes of her vindication in her best friend's hazel eyes. "Ok, yeah, fine. I know Miles has a crush on me," she confessed. Although the guilt laced into her words steadily morphed into hurt the more she tried to defend herself. "And yeah, I do lean into it sometimes because it makes me feel good about myself. Is that really so bad? Is it such a bad thing to want someone to be extra nice to you for once? Or to give you some positive attention?"

"No, of course not," Juliet assured, assuming a fierce determination of her own. "I just think your boyfriend should be able to do all those things and more, and clearly he's not."

Carrie sighed, exhausted by the very thought of him. "This isn't about Eric."

Juliet sighed back, exasperated by her best friend's submissiveness, especially when she was usually so domineering. "How can you still want to defend him, Carrie?"

"Because, I love him, Julie," Carrie replied, finally finding the contented smile the thought of him should have immediately slapped on her face. "And because he's a good guy."

"Really? Because he's been nothing but a dick to you lately," Juliet flatly countered, hoping that with a little pushing her friend would see sense.

"We've just had a couple of arguments, it's not a big deal," Carrie casually defended. "And they're all resolved now, so I don't know what you still have to complain about."

"Just because you had make-up sex does not mean that the problems were resolved," Juliet rolled her eyes before fixing the golden-haired girl with a more earnest look. "Did he actually apologise this time?"

"We talked it out first-"

"Did he apologise?"

Carrie squirmed under Juliet's gaze before muttering a reluctant, "No."

"Ugh," Juliet groaned, rolling her eyes again as she wound up to unleash a rant she'd been working up to for weeks. But, to her dismay, Carrie's defences beat her to it.

"Neither of us did, really. We just agreed to forget it and move on."

"How is that resolving anything?" Juliet asked with an annoyed frown that Carrie was starting to take personally.

"Well I hadn't thought about it until now, so it must have at least kind of worked," she attempted to justify.

But Juliet's nettled scoff told her that her stance on the matter wasn't budging. "You and Eric might as well speak two different languages; I've seen a pig and a fly communicate better than you two."

The comment drew a giggle from Carrie's lips before she could stop it. "Don't try to distract me with your cute, Southern lingo," she said as the amused smile settled on her face and she affectionately bumped her friend's arm - the act bringing both their tempers back down to Earth. Before Juliet could launch into another lecture though, Carrie hoped to diffuse the situation once and for all. "Anyway, we worked it all out and everything's back to normal," she said. Although Juliet's questioning glance made her correct herself, "Better than normal. In fact, we're going to go look for Halloween costumes together this weekend," she finished with an optimistic grin.

Now that was an improvement. For the first time since they'd sat down, Juliet found herself pleasantly surprised. "The Barbie and Ken costume's back on? I'm impressed. You two really must be getting along." Knowing how excited Carrie had been about the idea, she couldn't help but smile at the prospect of it finally coming into fruition.

"Oh no, the Ken idea's long gone. I think he's going as a firefighter or something now."

Juliet's optimism shattered in a split second, and yet she stayed frozen in place, mouth hanging open in disbelief. "...You're kidding, right?"

"No, but I don't really mind. I'll just find something else to go as," Carrie sighed through a small, indifferent smile. If she'd spotted the disgust hidden in Juliet's eyes after her last revelation, she chose to ignore it. "It'll be fun getting to plan out my own costume anyway; I've got so many more options now. And plus, the Barbie one was only gonna be a pain in the ass to-"

"You're not even doing a couples one?" Juliet asked, far too concerned with what she was learning to care about hearing out Carrie's excuses.

"He thinks couples costumes are lame," she explained with a huff. "Or at least that's what Adam told him anyway. He said he wanted to just do his own thing."

"But Carrie, you've been excited about doing a joint costume with him for like a whole year."

"So?" Carrie asked, with an eyebrow quirk of her own, shoving the accusation aside as though she was kicking an ice cube under the refrigerator. "It's just a dumb Halloween party, it doesn't matter what we wear; everyone will probably be too drunk to even pay attention anyway."

"Yeah, but it matters that he doesn't care about stuff that's important to you. He never has, and it's selfish, Carrie - super selfish…" Juliet trailed off with a frustrated sigh, praying that she might finally get the ditzy DJ to see sense. "You need to stop defending his shitty behaviour."

"And do what?" Carrie mumbled, unknowingly giving Juliet just what she wanted: a chance to unleash her anger with the infantile blond bozo and the mockery of a relationship he had roped her best friend into.

"Hold him accountable," she urged, hazel eyes blazing with passion. "Relationships should not have to revolve around making excuses and placating your partner with blow jobs - it's a fucking joke. I don't care about all the 'good times' you guys have, or all the memories you've made; the way you've been treating each other lately is appalling, and you deserve way better," she said, pausing to let Carrie absorb everything she'd just thrown at her before delivering the finishing blow. "And I know you know that too, because you're already looking for it in someone else."

Carrie's blood stilled in her veins. Sometimes it scared her how deeply Juliet understood her, and other times it felt comforting. This was not one of those times.

She took in a slow, shuddering breath as Juliet's words seeped into her skin, carrying a deep sense of guilt with them. As much as she wanted to denounce Juliet's observations and stand by her own, joyously declaring her undying love for her boyfriend at the top of her lungs…her mouth made no attempt to move from its crestfallen frown. It couldn't, because she knew she was wrong.

The despondency in the blonde's vacant, blue eyes soon drew Juliet down from her soap box though. This time she approached with a gentle, almost apologetic, smile as she entwined their fingers and began rubbing circles into the back of her tanned hand with the pad of her thumb. "I just want what's best for you, Car," she quietly promised.

"I know," Carrie murmured, mustering a grateful smile as she squeezed her hand back, as though to say a 'thank you' her mouth wasn't quite ready to commit to yet. "I'm fine, Julie, I swear," she went on to profess. But when she started to get a sneaking suspicion that the statement wasn't all that convincing, she decided to switch up her tactic. "Now can we please get back to algebra?"

The genuine laughter that tumbled from Juliet's lips was music to Carrie's ears. "There's a sentence I never thought I'd hear you say," Juliet chuckled as she picked up her pencil again.

"I'll do anything to get us talking about something else," Carrie admitted with a woeful chuckle of her own. "And besides, I think I've got a better chance of wrapping my head around this than anything to do with my love life at the moment."

"Boyfriends suck, huh?" Juliet snorted with a knowing smirk.

"Try all boys suck," Carrie countered with a smirk of her own, at last feeling as though some of her signature confidence was leaching back into her frame. Although the pair's giggles took a few seconds to die back down, a mischievous glint remained in Carrie's eyes before she let them glaze over in thought. Mind idly wandering down untrodden paths, a wistful sigh escaped alongside a rogue proposal. "Wouldn't it make life so much easier if we could take them out of the equation altogether?"

Carrie was too lost in thought to notice, but the words that left her mouth forced an entire systems reboot in Juliet's brain. She had to do a double take, certain that she must have misheard her, or had at least missed the joking undertone. But no, the glassy, pensive blue irises held nothing but sincerity. And that confused Juliet more than ever. Her mind whirred with possible explanations for the brainless musings that definitely didn't sound as though they came from a girl in a committed, heterosexual relationship, but before she dared to question her on any, a tanned hand, the size of a frying pan, pulled her prospective interview subject right out of her seat.

Carrie's eyes widened as she was whisked into a pair of cotton-clad arms the size of tree trunks, hardly able to catch her breath before it was being exchanged for someone else's. A faintly stubbled smile pressed into hers several times before she fully regained her bearings and was able to catch the frying pan hand from travelling too far south of her waist. "Eric," she giggled once she finally managed to inch their lips far enough apart to mumble a greeting against his skin. A subsequent flurry of kisses kept her from elaborating any further though. It was a wonder they didn't pass out from lack of air.

"Hi, beautiful," he eventually greeted with a smitten grin. But their lips didn't stay apart for long as the dopey quarterback seemed hellbent on keeping his coated in his girlfriend's saliva. "You have a good study hall?" he mumbled, nuzzling his nose against hers. His roaming fingers shattered any hope of his interest in her life being genuine though.

Even if Carrie had wanted to answer Eric's question, his tongue was shoved so far down her throat she couldn't get her words out. "Eric," she finally gasped, jerking her head back from his with a breathy laugh as she felt his thumb start to lift the hem of her cheerleading skirt. "You're gonna get us both detention."

"I can't help it," he chuckled, pulling her back towards him for another seemingly endless stream of kisses. "I missed you." And whilst a stupefied grin played at his constantly interlocking lips, something didn't feel quite right with Carrie. Her kisses were lazy, almost reluctant, and whilst her body normally felt like putty between his palms, today it felt…stiff. She seemed distracted. And because Eric's head was only ever swimming with thoughts of her, this worried him. "Hey," he gently prompted, nudging her chin with his knuckle to bring her gaze up to meet his. "Everything ok?"

Carrie's breath stuck in her throat, too scared of getting caught in the crossfire of two sets of brown eyes to dare to leave. Eric's sat beneath a pair of thick, furrowed brows, marred with insecure concern, and she could feel Juliet's boring holes into the back of her skull, begging her to remember everything they’d just spoken about. Tensions were high in her usually spacious brain - thoughts flying back and forth too quickly for her to make sense of as she tried to let her conscience guide her in the right direction. And although she felt herself inching towards a blonde ponytail-bolstered confession, her conscience's valiant efforts were all for naught. Carrie's fingers found purchase in the bristly blond hairs at the nape of Eric's neck, her cheeks were dusted in the scent of spearmint and the sweaty must from his football helmet. The profound warmth of his embrace seeped into her bones, and she curled up into it like a cat in the glow of fireplace embers - helpless to resist. "Everything's great," she promised, drawn in by the comfort of familiarity. "I just missed you too."

Disappointed, but not surprised by her best friend's decision, Juliet sighed as she tore her gaze away from the stomach-churning couple and began gathering together her and Carrie's things. She'd get through to her eventually, she had faith in the pit of her steadily grumbling gut. She just needed to be patient…or to find something that could drive a wedge between them once and for all.

"Ethan!"

The pint-size pothead almost jumped out of his skin at the barked greeting, which actually felt more like an accusation than a 'hello'. He didn't know what was more offensive, the girl's tone or the fact that she'd interrupted his concert-for-one.

"Jesus, Mick! You scared the shit outta me!" he cried.

Rolling her eyes, Mick let go of the headphone speaker she'd had to pry away from Ethan's ear after he'd blatantly ignored her fifth call of his name, letting it thwack the side of his head. The look on his face as he recoiled in bewilderment did have a faint smile tugging at her lips though. But it soon disappeared when he slumped back in his seat and readied himself to tune her out again.

Moving to stand in front of his desk, Mick didn't give him a chance. "Where's Miles?"

"What?" Ethan squeaked.

"Where's Miles?" she reiterated, crossing her arms across her chest and nodding at the empty seat beside him.

"He's talking to Carrie," he revealed with a blasé wave of his hand in the vague direction of the pair.

Even with AC/DC blasting through his headphones, Ethan swore he heard Mick's face crack.

"He's doing what now?" she demanded, flames roaring in the mahogany logs that made up her irises.

"He's just asking her something, it's no big deal," Ethan said - although his attempts to reassure the brunette were ham-handed at best given his lazy grin and total lack of concern.

This was further backed up by Mick's growing urge to strangle him. "Can I not trust you to do anything?" she hissed.

"What did I do?" Ethan squawked in indignation.

"Nothing - that's the problem! All you had to do was keep his mind off her-"

"I don't know what fucking mind-control powers you think I've got, Mick, but that was a bogus plan in the first place."

"Oh so what? You just weren't gonna go along with it at all?" Mick scoffed. "I just said to try to keep him distracted."

"And I tried, so I don't know what you're getting all pissy at me for," Ethan retorted. "What's so wrong with him talking to her anyway? I thought 'working through your feelings' was supposed to be a good thing."

Scowling at him for using her own advice against her, she snapped, "Talking to her is not helping him distance himself from her." But when her eyes scanned the room for that familiar mop of coffee brown hair, the sight it settled on made her heart drop to her collegiate green Campuses. "And neither is a run-in with Eric Brennan."

Trailing back to his seat, muttering to himself about the mystifying female mindset and what the hell all of that could have meant, Miles soon realised he wasn't looking where he was going when he collided with what felt like a wall of meat.

"Shit, sorry," he muttered.

When he looked up and saw who it was that had almost knocked him off his feet though, he realised his assumption hadn't been too far off.

"Woah, watch it, man," Eric guffawed.

The amused twinkle in his eye, and the smirk that blossomed as soon as his gaze landed on him, made Miles' stomach twist. Something told him that this interaction wasn't going to be nearly as quick as he'd hoped.

"Miles, right?" Eric went on to ask, eyebrow cocked in recognition.

"Uh, yeah," Miles stammered, although he was more confused than concerned at this point.

"Why you in such a hurry, bud? You got somewhere to be?" he continued, a charming smirk still sitting proudly on his chiselled jaw.

"I'm just going back to my seat."

"Oh yeah?" Eric probed, steadily turning up the pressure. "And why were you out of it?"

Miles immediately regretted the exasperated huff that fell from his lips, but he couldn't help his frustration. "Why does it matter?"

To Miles' surprise, the jock didn't snap back at his remark - there was no sign of meat-headed defensiveness at all. Instead, the guy just laughed. "It doesn't," he reassured with a jovial smile. "I just thought I'd ask 'cause, you know, from here it kind of looked like you were going over there to talk to my girlfriend."

Any relief that jovial smile had filled Miles with steadily leaked out as Eric's words sunk in. "I was just asking her about our work schedule," he explained with a careful, albeit tight smile of his own.

"Yeah?" Eric tested.

"...Yeah," Miles confirmed. Although he could feel his bravery slowly shrinking under the hulking weight of Eric's arched eyebrow, he stood his ground, hoping that a nonchalant tone and a set of squared shoulders was enough to convince the dopey blond.

"Oh well, that's a relief," he said with another booming guffaw. Miles' wishes were seemingly granted as the warning smirk slipped from Eric's face, replaced with a laidback grin. "There I was thinking you might have been trying to make a move on her or something."

Miles managed to eke out a chuckle, more at his own expense than anything. "I wouldn't do that, man," he promised through a freshly starched smile. "I know you're both very happy together."

Eric's shit-eating grin must have been powered by at least three AAs with the way it lit up his face. "That we are, my man," he proudly proclaimed. "And that's good to hear 'cause I know you spend a lot of time with her at the end of your shifts, and she says you two get along super well, so I'd hate to think that you were getting the wrong idea or-"

"Not at all," Miles assured, cutting the blond off before he could drive the knife any further into his chest. Fixing a plastic smile to his face to cover up the wistful sigh that escaped between his teeth, he delivered an admittedly painful, "We're just friends."

Eric's rich brown eyes seemed to scan every inch of Miles for any sign of a lie before he proceeded, and the brunet's lack of acting skills left him squirming like a worm on a hook as a result. But the satisfied grin that soon surfaced, dropping the tensed shoulders to help it rise, told Miles the quarterback probably needed an eye test.

"Good," Eric said with a contented sigh. "'Cause you and I both know that it'd be stupid to think anything else, right?" he went on to cockily taunt. "Like, no offence, but she'd have to be fucking insane to choose you over me… Right, Miles?"

Although his ego was severely bruised, to save his face from meeting the same fate, Miles forced himself to maintain a smile, albeit reluctantly. "Right," he confirmed.

"That's what I thought," Eric smirked, finally satisfied that Miles had taken enough of an emotional pounding if his lazy grin and affectionate arm bump was anything to go by. "Alright, nice talk, bro. I might catch you tonight if I drop by to see her, ok?"

"I'll be there," Miles verified with a strained sigh. Finally daring to drop his gaze from the sturdy blond, he made his escape without so much as a goodbye.

Apparently Eric thought he could take a little advice on the road with him though.

"Remember, watch yourself, Murphy," he hollered.

But the words didn't even register with Miles, because the swift shove between his shoulder blades was so jarring his entire focus was dragged to keeping himself upright.

Miles kept his eyes trained on the scuffed linoleum as he hastily lumbered back over to his desk, cheeks burning with self-hatred as he tried to push Eric’s no doubt smirking face out of his mind. It wasn’t until he heard a familiar voice that he finally dared to lift his head again.

“Are you ok?” Mick asked, expression overrun with an almost frantic concern. “What was that about?”

“I’m fine,” Miles brushed off, retrieving his threadbare backpack from its spot, slumped on the floor in one swoop. Haphazardly shoving the books from his desk into the main compartment, he mumbled a quick, “Can we just go?”

But Ethan’s glassy-eyed intrigue held him firmly in place. “Yo, what happened, man? Did he bust you for flirting with her?”

“No,” Miles sighed, wearily shaking his head at the stoner’s excitement.

“Did you flirt with her?” he pressed.

"No, I just- ugh," Miles huffed, quickly giving up on trying to explain the situation he didn't even fully understand himself. "It doesn't matter. Let's just go."

"I told you to just forget about her," Mick sighed.

"Yeah, well, that's a lot easier said than done, Mick," Miles retorted, returning her disapproving frown with a defensive one of his own.

"Did you at least get some closure?" Ethan offered as he rose from his desk - partly from curiosity, partly to try to prove a point to Mick.

Whilst Miles' tongue instinctively prepared to shoot Ethan's optimism down, his brain jumped in to tell it to hold fire. And after a few, brief seconds recalling the interaction, his answer soon changed. "Actually, I kind of did," he admitted with a chuckle of incredulity.

"You gonna try to talk about it more with her tonight then?" Ethan asked, smirking to himself at Mick's look of disbelief.

"Fuck no," Miles snorted with a nonchalance that took both of his friends by surprise. "I just want to forget it ever happened- just…move on."

"From her?" Mick asked, trying to hide the hopeful edge in her tone with a gentle smile.

Sparing the blonde in question one last glance over his shoulder, only to catch the tail end of her and Eric getting pulled up for their excessive PDA by their (up until now) entirely uninterested study hall supervisor, he let out a wistful sigh. A chorus of voices swelled in his head - Mick's, Ethan's, Carrie's, Eric's - each one telling a different side to the same story. He couldn't have picked one to listen to if he'd tried. So, in the end, his own took over, steering his heart down a path that promised the least damage in the long term, and that Carrie's indifferent dismissal of him had already forged in his mind. "...That's the goal."

#I know this part may seem a little boring because there's so much talking and so little 'doing'#but i promise that these conversations are all setting important foundations for stuff further down the line #you'll just have to trust me for now though #plus a lot of *interesting* dynamics are established in this part #*wink wink*#and get excited because in the next part we're heading back to All Skate #and the *real* action's finally going to start kicking off...#also I'm super sorry about being so inconsistent with my posts #finding time to write over the past few months with my crazy schedule and pretty poor mental health has been virtually impossible #but I really want to be better about that by the time I go back to uni in september #so hopefully I can find more time for myself and get some real progress made on this story and ASDO #anyway i've rambled too much #i'll let you go but I hope you enjoyed the chapter #and i hope it was a nice surprise after all the chaos you've been going through lately <3 #p.s. i know the order of things gets a bit weird at the end but I didn't know how else to write it without it sounding super choppy #basically eric bumps into miles before he goes over to greet her after class #his whole chat with miles is happening whilst carrie's having her little heart to heart with juliet #just thought i'd mention it because I wasn't sure how clear it was and my 2am brain is not a trustworthy resource

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