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foreveralwaysanauthor · 2 months ago

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Same Trailer, Different Park

(Season 1, Episode 3 - Son Étoile and Su Luna)

September 10, 2024

The first thing that registers in Royce’s mind is warmth. Even with his eyes closed, he can tell he is surrounded by heat. Reaching a hand up to rub at his tired, almost weighted eyes, Royce lets out a noise of disgust at the smell of gasoline in the air. Had he fallen asleep in the backyard while Miles was working on the Jeep again? The next thing he notes is that his back is sore, presumably due to falling asleep on the grass, and stiff from not having moved in a while, but he finds himself somewhat grateful that his skin won’t turn the same shade of lobster that he knew Bentley would. His baby brother would turn the same shade as a crab if he so much as looked at the sun, let alone fell asleep under it.

As he groans and rolls onto his side, his back stiff from lack of use, he finds himself registering the heat around him differently as his hand presses into something hard. Even the dirt patches that speckled their backyard would give way under his hand at least a little, but this… this was something solid. Solid and uncomfortably hot. It is nothing like the warmth of the sun heating the ground or one of the heated blankets he had fallen in love with while staying at the Birch family’s cabin over the winter. This heat is deep and fierce, overwhelming. Borderline impending. Something groans under his hand as he slowly peels open his weighted eyelids, and Royce lifts his hand from the concrete slabs beneath him to examine it, finding himself choking on air as he discovers his hand covered in a thin layer of sooty ashes.

Blinking in shock, Royce looks up and finds himself staring not at the sun, but rather at the charred, crackling beams of a flame-engulfed ceiling. Thick black clouds of smoke billow toward the steadily burning ceiling, forcing a cough from Royce’s throat as he breathes in the fumes of charring wood and spilled gasoline. Quickly looking around for a point of exit, Royce discovers a window pane with a single, circular hole through it, the dark sky outside giving him little hope of using the outside light to guide him to the exit.

Tugging the collar of his shirt over his mouth and nose, Royce presses a hand to his aching forehead and struggles to force himself to remain calm, sucking in slow, shuddering breaths as he looks around. How did he get here? Where even was here?! Crawling across the concrete, Royce takes in his surroundings - old license plates from various states have fallen off of a nearby wall and settled in a heap on the floor; a heavy toolbox looks as though it had either fallen or been thrown as wrenches and various other tools had been scattered across the floor; a Castrol oil pump had been forcefully pushed over, the glass sign that had once been perched atop it now shattered on the floor; and a free-spinning car lift with what appeared to be the burning body of a Plymouth Belvedere is still looming in the air. It wouldn’t take a genius to figure out that the burning building he finds himself trapped within is a car workshop.

A distorted male voice echoes over the roaring crackle of the fire engulfing the building, and Royce flinches at the faintly familiar voice, ducking behind a stack of tires in the hopes of staying hidden. Who was that? He had to have known the person to know their voice, but as he takes the time to listen to the person call out once more, yelling for someone they referred to as “little bitch” to come out, Royce feels confusion wash over him. Maybe it’s the adrenaline keeping him from recognizing it, but no matter how hard he tries, he just can’t place the voice. It wouldn’t be Miles or Butchy, as they would never call out to him - or anyone in their close circle, for that matter - like that, and he knew their voices well. In fact, most of their friend group could be easily ruled out. Could it have been a customer at Big Momma’s? Royce quickly shakes off the ideas as the person hisses another sharp command, their taunting tone sending chills through Royce’s spine as the man laughs about him finding and killing someone.

Okay. Yeah, no. Definitely not anyone he knew.

Royce’s train of thought sails off the rails as a heavy groan fills the air, forcing him to look up. A thick beam used to support the ceiling cries out as the fire crackles away its structure and, as it gives a sharp jolt, Royce moves from behind the tires, ducking into a nearby doorway just in time for the beam to crack under the fire’s fury and crash down onto the concrete. Panting as he realizes just how close he came to being trapped under part of the ceiling as dust billows into the small office he’s entered, Royce’s wide eyes scan the room for another way out. Making his way to another door, he finds a long hallway that seems to be filled with nothing but offices and other rooms that have been closed off, Royce makes a break for it, ducking into the first open door he finds.

Glancing at his new surroundings, Royce’s eyebrows furrow as he takes in the dark room. Within the room is a single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling with a pull chain to turn it on, a folding metal chair in the center of the room, and a floor-to-ceiling metal cell with the door wide open and creaking softly. Inside the cell is a metal cot - cold and uncomfortable in the dark, damp-smelling room, Royce notes - with a single thin blanket and a pillowcase stuffed with newspapers. The lock on the door still has a key inside of it, a clump of various other keys and chains dangling from it. A few keys with car emblems catch Royce’s eye, and he realizes that whatever - or, rather, whoever - was once inside the cell must have either run or scared the person giving them freedom, so much so that they left the keys to their vehicle.

Hearing a loud crash followed by a scream that sounds far too much like his girlfriend telling someone to go fuck themselves for his liking, Royce whirls toward the door, ducking into the hallway and following the sound of the man’s taunting remarks. Running through the hallway as quietly as possible, Royce made his way to a large open area lined with various tools and equipment. Though he doesn’t get the chance to look around as the man’s voice grows frighteningly clear, Royce takes notice of a set of gigantic rolling metal doors - presumably to allow workers to perform repairs on bigger vehicles like big rigs or firetrucks - before ducking behind a relatively unharmed counter where he presumes people would pay for the services done to their vehicles.

Sparing a moment to think, Royce fights back another cough as smoke begins to settle in his lungs. The fire must have spread quickly due to all of the gasoline and oil in the building, but if the quick look around the room he got was anything to go by, it hadn’t gotten too bad in his area. If he could make it to the rolling bay doors, he could find one of the chains and roll it up, safely getting him out of the area. First things first, however, he needed Vivien. He wasn’t about to leave without her.

Sucking in a breath as he hears a hiss of liquid followed closely by the man letting out a grunt of pain and Vivien shouting at him to get fucked, Royce peeks around the counter and hones in on his girlfriend as she runs across the room toward his position. Her glasses are missing, her clothes are tattered and singed, soot coats her face and arms with dark purple marks that look startlingly similar to bruises, and she’s limping slightly as she runs. Still, as she ducks behind the counter with a huff and presses a hand to her chest, Royce finds he doesn’t really care what she looks like so long as he knows she’s safe with him.

“Viv,” he breathes into his makeshift mask, wishing nothing more than to reach out and hold her but refraining as he sees the wide-eyed fear on her face. “Viv, where are we?”

Although he would understand her not being able to clearly see him without her glasses, Royce finds his worry growing as she doesn’t even acknowledge his presence. Instead, she scans the area as the man hisses, “You can’t run forever, you bitch!”

“Viv,” Royce whispers, reaching out to touch her arm. To his horror, his hand refuses to come into contact with her soot-covered arm, instead passing through her skin. Jerking his hand back toward his body, Royce stares at the appendage with wide eyes as he breathes, “What the hell?”

Vivien turns, looking not at but rather through Royce as she scans the area. She pushes herself from the floor, grabbing a nearby four-way tire iron before bolting out from behind the counter, leaving Royce staring after her with wide, terrified eyes. Glancing down at his hand, Royce found himself taking in shuddered breaths as he examined his shaking hand. Had that really happened? Did his hand really go through her arm? Was any of this real? Before he can go too far down the rabbit hole, Royce jumps as the sound of glass shattering and metal clanging to the floor forces his attention back to the task at hand. Hearing the man cry out and Vivien let out a scream, Royce forces himself to ignore what had happened before pushing himself to his feet and running in the direction he had seen Vivien go.

Making his way through the heavy cloud of dust and smoke that has begun to fill the large room, Royce lets out a thick cough and looks around before lowering himself to the floor to get a better look around. Most of the room is hard to decipher with the smoke darkening the room, but as he spots a pair of frighteningly still bodies sprawled out on the floor of what had probably been a waiting area, Royce swallows his fear and pushes himself to his feet, propelling himself toward the bodies. Vivien’s long, coffee-colored hair is the first thing Royce takes note of, the messy braided ponytail resting limply across the concrete by her hands.

Vivien and the man are slumped on the floor, separated by a thick wooden table that had been tipped over. The tire iron Vivien had wielded was now discarded on the ground by her feet, and a hammer with a sharp pick on the other side now rested under one of the plush chairs near Vivien’s head, presumably the man’s weapon of choice. The man was on his stomach with blood leaking steadily from a gash on the back of his head whilst Vivien lay on her back, both of them passed out. Kneeling beside her, Royce looks Vivien over for injuries, and despite the bruises around her wrists, the bleeding cut across her cheek, and the limp he noticed earlier, he presumes she’s alright. His first instinct is to check her for a pulse, but despite paying enough attention in health class to pass, his inability to grasp her wrist forces a choked noise from his throat.

How is he meant to make sure she’s still alive, still breathing, if he can’t touch her?!

As his hand phases through her neck and lands on the concrete under Vivien’s head, Royce lets out a frustrated cry and thumps his fist on the ground as he feels himself choke on a breath. He’s useless. He can’t touch her. He can’t help her. She could die due to the smoke or the man with the hammer, and he would be forced to watch. Royce’s breath hitches as an idea fills his mind. What if she was already dead, and Royce just didn’t know it? He can’t roll her over to check her for any further injuries, and the man who was chasing her had been injured already, so it isn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility. She could be bleeding out before his very eyes, and he wouldn’t know until it was too late.

Choking on air, Royce feels his chest tighten in fear as he tries once more to pull Vivien to him, to no avail. Shaking hands reach for Vivien’s face, hovering just above the ash-covered cheeks he knew he wouldn’t be able to feel as Royce sucks in a sharp breath. “Wake up,” he manages to choke out. “C’mon, Viv, please. Please, you have to. Wake up!”

Feeling his lungs squeeze almost painfully as his breathing grows more labored, Royce feels tears burn tracks down his face as Vivien remains still and silent. Royce’s blurry eyes scan Vivien’s form, trying to find something - anything - that would signify she has life somewhere in her body. From what he can tell through tear-filled eyes, her chest remains unmoving, her breathing either shallow or nonexistent as Royce shakes his head, unwilling to believe she could be gone. They had only been together for four months; she couldn’t be taken from him this soon!

Then, as though he was watching something out of a horror movie, Royce turns as he hears the man on the floor groan, slowly coming to. Shaking his head as he glances over his shoulder and realizes Vivien is still unmoving, Royce turns his attention to the man and breathes, “No…”

Attempting to place himself between Vivien and the man - a sort of ghostly human shield - Royce hastily swipes at his eyes to rid them of tears. He watches as the man slowly pushes himself to his knees and coughs, pressing a hand to the back of his head and wincing at the sight of blood on his hand before looking around the burning garage and smirking as he looks through Royce to Vivien’s form on the floor. Royce’s eyebrows pinch together as he takes in the man’s deranged smile, his face coated in a thick golden liquid that looks like oil, but even without the fluid on him, Royce feels as though he wouldn’t recognize the man if he came across him in public. However, the thought of pinpointing the man flees his mind as the man’s leg swings back before sailing forward, passing through Royce and slamming into Vivien’s side as Royce yells, “No!”

Jolting upright with a gasp so sharp it burned his throat, Royce’s frantic eyes glanced around the room as an all too familiar throb stabbed at his forehead. Taking in a shuddering breath of relief as he spotted his younger brother’s face smushed against the folded pillow he was curled up with on the other side of the room, Royce placed a few icy fingertips on his forehead and forced himself to steady his breathing. Though Bentley’s obnoxious snoring wasn’t entirely reassuring, he tugged out the earbuds he had used to help him fall asleep earlier that night and listened to the steady breathing that lifted his baby brother’s chest and shoulders. After what he had just been through in his dream, he would take whatever small reassurance he could get.

It was just a dream… right? A horrible, twisted dream with an unknown villain made to torture him while his girlfriend was an entire world away, sleeping peacefully and oblivious to his struggle? It had to be. Although he didn’t have a way to communicate with her while they were in two separate worlds, he knew the time in hers was frozen while Mick and her parents visited. That was just the way things were. He would just have to live with it and move on with life. Besides, it wasn’t like he could steal the machine just to call her and check up on her.

Then, as he forced his eyes back open, Royce pushed himself out from under the tangled sheet that had wrapped around his legs. If he was going to have any chance of returning to sleep that night, he would need a drink or something to relax him. Quietly twisting the doorknob and pulling their bedroom door open, Royce spared a glance at Bentley to make sure he was still asleep before taking in a shaky breath and leaving the room, pulling the door closed once more before turning to the darkened hallway. Miles’ bedroom door was slightly open - a habit he kept from their old house that allowed him to hear if either of his brothers called out for him during the night - but if the deep, steady breaths coming from the room were anything to go by, the eldest of the Murphy brothers was fast asleep.

Allowing a ghost of a grin to tug at his lips, Royce headed for the stairs, rubbing his cool fingers against his forehead to ease his headache as his eyes slipped closed. By now, he was so used to wandering through the house that he could navigate nearly all of it with his eyes closed, but it was only on rare occasions that he dared test his abilities. Nearing the stairs, he gripped the railing with his free hand and opened his eyes, not feeling confident enough to test his luck with the staircase just yet. However, before he could round the banister and descend the carpeted steps, Royce froze as a pale white star danced across the floor before disappearing.

Taking a step back, Royce followed the dancing lights to the spare bedroom that Miles had been using for storage. The door was open as far as possible without putting a doorknob-sized hole in the wall, the wood propped open with a sneaker, and as Royce moved into the doorway, he discovered the source of light was a lamp shaped like an astronaut that was perched on the nightstand beside the bed. Stopping in the doorway, Royce froze as he found Vivien curled up in the blankets, Binx resting in a coil behind her back and one side of her black headphones pressed between her ear and the pillow while the other was more on her cheek than it was her ear.

Oh, right. She was staying with them for a while.

Allowing himself a moment to examine her, he found himself fighting back a twinge of fear as he realized she wasn’t moving. From where he was standing and the position she was in, he couldn’t see if she was breathing or not. She had to be breathing; she was the night before when she walked him through her entire day at the mall with the girls. Then again, Royce remembered, she had been breathing just moments before he saw her lying unconscious on the ground. Maybe she wasn’t breathing now, either.

Royce’s eyes slid closed as he shook his head, determined to rid himself of the leftover recurring nightmare that was the sight of Vivien lying dead before him. She was fine. She had to be. Slowly opening his eyes, Royce leaned into the room, hoping to see or hear something that would tell him that his girlfriend really was just sleeping. Despite everything in him telling him it was a bad idea, Royce inched further into the room, mentally apologizing to Vivien for entering without her permission as he crept across the floor.

Smiling down at Vivien as he approached her bed, he found himself admiring how peaceful she looked. Her hair was slumped in a pile against the pillow, a thick hair tie just barely keeping it all together, and her face was squished into the pillow she had wrapped her arms around, but Royce couldn’t think of a way she could have looked any cuter. Vivien’s soft breaths were followed by quiet mutterings, nonsensical comments, and occasional curses tumbling out of her without filter. Not that there typically was a filter when she was awake, but the way she called someone in her dreams a jackass under her breath made Royce smile nonetheless.

Reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from her mouth, Royce held his breath as Vivien’s head shifted and her eyebrows scrunched together. Pulling his hand back as Vivien lifted a hand to her eyes and rubbed at them, he debated running for the door, but felt as though he was rooted in place as his girlfriend stretched against the mattress and yawned. Slowly, her eyes blinked open, and she squinted lazily at the bedside table, glaring at the clock for a moment. Then, as she relaxed against the pillow once more, Vivien’s tired eyes drifted to the shadow lingering in her peripherals, jumping and letting out a sharp gasp as she found her boyfriend looming beside her bed.

Pushing herself to sit up and leaning over to retrieve her glasses from the small table beside her bed, Vivien whipped her headphones off and whispered, “What the hell, Royce?”

“I’m so sorry, Vivien,” he immediately apologized. Realizing just how bad his lingering might have looked to his girlfriend, Royce took a step back and quietly apologized, “I swear, it’s not what it looks like.”

“Really?” Vivien questioned softly, shoving her glasses on and turning to her boyfriend with a raised brow. “Because it looks like my boyfriend has resorted to Edward from Twilight levels of creepy stalking.” Letting out a yawn as she sat up, shaking her head to rid herself of some sleep, she asked, “Were you watching me sleep?”

“I-I was,” Royce hastily admitted, his fingers finding the tiny notch of skin around his fingernail that he tended to pick at when he was anxious, “but it wasn’t like that. I-I, uh… I was worried about you.”

Taking a moment to allow her sluggish brain to focus, Vivien scanned her boyfriend’s tentative gaze and the subtle shake of his hands before sucking in a slow breath and softly asking, “Worried about me? Why?”

Royce’s instinctual shake of his head was so tiny Vivien wouldn’t have noticed it had it not been for his curls bouncing with the movement. “It sounds stupid now that I think about it.”

Vivien reached out, tiny tingles dancing up her arm as she took one of Royce’s wrists in her hand and forced him to stop picking at his cuticles, shaking her head as she disputed his claim, “It can’t be stupid if it made you so worried you had to come in here to check on me in the middle of the night.”

Finding himself incapable of tearing his gaze away from the glimmering emeralds that made up Vivien’s eyes, Royce swallowed thickly and quietly admitted, “It was just a bad dream, that’s all.”

Letting out a noise of understanding, Vivien shifted, pushing the blankets away - much to the chagrin of Binx, who meowed in frustration as he wormed his way out from under the covers - and sitting on the edge of the bed before lightly tugging Royce to her. He didn’t need much convincing, stepping between her knees as she wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head against his chest, trapping him in her arms. Allowing his arms to come around her, Royce breathed a sigh of relief as his hands no longer passed through her skin, instead landing on the soft cotton of her Laconia Bike Week shirt, the worn image of a motorcycle grazing his fingers as he felt Vivien rub circles along his spine.

“You feel like talking about it?” she asked, lifting her head just enough to meet his eyes.

Royce took a slow breath and shrugged, “Can we just stay like this for a minute? It’s comforting.”

Vivien grinned but eased out of Royce’s embrace, taking hold of his hands as she did, “I have a better idea. Stay here.” Giving Royce’s hands a final squeeze, she released him and turned to her bed, picking up a disgruntled Binx and handing him to Royce before sliding back and pushing herself to the opposite side of the mattress. Leaving enough room for the both of them, Vivien pushed the blankets down and patted the space she had filled minutes prior.

Tentatively eyeing the bed with a raised brow, he ran a hand over Binx’s fur and asked, “Isn’t that sort of inappropriate?”

Vivien rolled her eyes and sent him a look as she pulled her hair down from the elastic and slipped the tie around her wrist, “It’s not like we’re going to be having sex, Royce.”

Almost instantly, Royce’s face flushed a shade of pink, and he shook his head, “N-No, I know.”

“At least, not until I have a proper ring on my finger,” Vivien teased, smirking proudly as the blood rushing to Royce’s face burned brighter.

Royce glanced toward the bedroom door before finding Vivien’s eyes once again, “What if my brothers come in?”

“So what? We’re just laying in bed together,” Vivien shrugged. Chuckling softly as Royce slowly nodded, she patted the bed again and said, “Now come on; you need to talk through whatever happened in your dream, and I want you to be my human body pillow for a while before we have to face the real world again.”

Chuckling, Royce relented, handing Binx back to Vivien before taking up the space she had vacated for him. Allowing Binx to wander down the bed and settle by the footboard, Vivien took the blankets and pulled them up over herself and Royce before settling in beside him, encouraging him to follow suit. As his head hit the pillow Vivien offered him, Royce stared up at the ceiling, watching stars and planets dance across the white paint. Smiling, Royce softly asked, “How on earth can you sleep with that on?”

A twinge of apprehension settled in Vivien’s skin before she shrugged and replied, “I don’t know. I just do.”

Royce chuckled through his nose, “I’d be watching this all night instead of sleeping.”

“You get used to it.” Vivien watched the shapes shift across the ceiling for a moment, simply enjoying the peace her room offered before tilting her head to look at her boyfriend, the sight of his cheesy smile forcing warmth through her veins. Determined to shift the subject away from her nightlight, Vivien turned to lie on her side and placed a hand on Royce’s cheek, turning his head toward her as she said, “Alright, come on, enough distractions. This is about you, Rolls; talk to me. Tell me what you need.”

Curiously, Royce raised an eyebrow. “What I need?”

Vivien hummed softly as she nodded, “Do you need to talk? Do you want to hold me or have me hold you? Do you need to borrow my headphones and block out the world? Tell me what you need to make you feel comfortable again.”

Unable to find the words to express how grateful he is for his girlfriend’s ability to completely rid him of the negativity that had been lingering in his mind, Royce placed a hand on top of the one on his cheek and smiled as he soaked in the calmness that seems to emanate from her. He briefly weighed his options before breathing, “Even this is enough for me.”

“Royce,” Vivien sighed, the ease with which he dismissed her, making her all the more determined to help.

“Seriously, Viv,” Royce began, rubbing circles into the back of her hand. “I mean it. In my dream-”

“Nightmare,” Vivien corrected.

“Nightmare,” Royce relented with a nod. “In my nightmare, I couldn’t touch you, so just being able to feel you is enough for me.”

Vivien felt a slight smile tug at the corners of her lips as she asked, “I was in your dream?”

Taking the opportunity to tease her with her own correction, Royce smirked, “Nightmare.”

“Right.” Allowing his prior admission to sink into her sleep-deprived mind, Vivien pushed herself onto her elbow and peered down at him, his glimmering brown eyes doing nothing to sway her from asking, “How come you couldn’t touch me?”

“I don’t know,” Royce shrugged. “I just… When I tried, my hand went right through you.”

“Like that part in Casper where his hand goes through Kat’s arm?” Vivien made a face as she realized her boyfriend probably hadn’t seen that movie yet, her eyebrows knitting together as she tried to think of another analogy. Admitting defeat, she sighs, “You see, Casper is a ghost, and Kat is a girl who moves into the house he and his uncles haunt, and-”

“I know,” Royce snickered, “Mick made us watch that for movie night on Halloween. Besides, we have Casper the Friendly Ghost as a cartoon.”

“Oh,” Vivien breathed.

“Yeah,” Royce said with a hint of a smile. Reaching up, he gently straightened out her bangs before tucking some of her hair behind her ear, gliding his fingers through the messy, tangled strands. Meeting her eyes once more, he said, “Anyway, the point is that you were hurt, and I couldn’t touch you. I couldn’t tell if you were alive or not.”

Taking in a deep breath, Vivien glanced down and watched Royce’s fingers loop the ends of her hair around his fingers before she asked, “Is that how it started; you thinking I was dead?”

“No,” Royce admitted. Thinking back on the things he had experienced, Royce found his gaze drifting back toward the ceiling as he recalled, “I was wandering through what I think was a car repair shop of some kind. It was massive, but the building was on fire. There was smoke everywhere, and I couldn’t find my way out. A part of the ceiling nearly fell on me, but I ducked into an office.”

“Holy shit,” Vivien breathed.

Royce hummed, his attention falling back onto Vivien as her voice lulled him back to reality. Offering her a grin that she tried to return, he continued, “There were a lot of office rooms, maybe six or seven bay doors, and then there was this one room that gave me the creeps. It, uh, it was about the size of the walk-in freezer at Big Momma’s.”

Guessing the restaurant’s walk-in had to be about the same size as the one in the dining hall kitchen at her grandparents’ summer camp, Vivien slowly rolled onto her stomach and asked, “What was in it that freaked you out?”

“There was a huge cage that went from the floor to the ceiling,” Royce said, recalling the room as he watched Vivien move beside him. “And there was a bed inside that looked like it could fit a person, but the door was open like someone had escaped. I was going to check it out, but then I heard you tell someone to go fuck themselves, so I left.”

Despite herself, Vivien snorted softly as she placed a hand on Royce’s chest and rested her chin atop it, “Yeah, that sounds pretty on-brand.”

Royce grinned, peering down at her with a soft chuckle as he brought an arm around her back, his fingers gliding across the printed motorcycle on her shirt. “Even in my dreams, you cuss like a sailor.”

“I prefer truckers to sailors,” Vivien remarked with a sigh. “Truck drivers have more creative curses. But, anyway, it’s good to know that even your nightmares portray me accurately.”

“True,” Royce said with a smirk.

After a moment of relaxing in each other’s presence, Vivien asked, “So, what happened? How did I go from cussing someone out to you thinking I was dead?”

“I’m not entirely sure, honestly,” Royce sighed. “This guy was chasing you around, and I tried following you guys, but the smoke was too thick. Then I heard you scream, and I found you and the other guy on the floor. I couldn’t tell if you were breathing, I couldn’t feel your pulse, and I couldn’t move you to check for injuries since my hands kept going right through you. It… it was-”

“Scary,” Vivien offered in a whisper.

“Terrifying,” Royce agreed. “I just… I think I realized just how lost I’d be if something actually happened to you and you were taken from me.”

Moving her hand from under her chin, Vivien slid her arm around Royce’s middle, tucking it under his arm and squeezing him tight as she turned her head, resting her cheek against his t-shirt. As Royce’s arms come around her, one hand tangling in her hair while the other presses between her shoulder blades, Vivien’s eyes clamp shut, her fingers clenched into a fist, taking hold of his shirt, and she took in a breath before slowly letting it out and allowing her body to relax against Royce’s. “Never.”

Having been caught up in the feeling of his girlfriend holding him close, her silent reassurances being more than enough to anchor him to the real world, Royce glanced down at the top of her head as he caught a whisper of her voice. Unable to make out what was said, he asked, “What was that?”

“That’s never going to happen,” Vivien promised softly. Hoping to lighten both Royce’s mood and her own, Vivien tilted her head back to find his eyes and added, “I’m too badass to be taken out by some asshole in a repair shop.”

Royce smiled - his first genuine smile of the morning, Vivien noted - and let out a breath of a laugh as the hand on her back squeezed her close, “I know, Viv. I watched you pick up your brother and throw him into the snow when we went sledding; I have no doubt that you could beat anyone to a pulp if you wanted to.”

Grinning appreciatively, Vivien pushed herself up the bed and pulled her glasses back off, tossing them onto the pillow she had vacated so that she could press her forehead to Royce’s without them falling off and hitting him in the face. Taking in a deep breath and slowly letting it out, the scent of her bubblegum-flavored toothpaste fanning across his face as she closed her eyes, she lowered her voice to a gentle whisper and said, “Then believe me when I say nothing in any world - yours, mine, or otherwise - could ever take me from you.”

Feeling his breath catch in his throat as he takes in her appearance closer than he ever had the chance to before - the dimples in her cheeks as she grins, the hint of purple under her eyes from lack of sleep, the makeup she couldn’t entirely scrub off the night before, the slightly raised scar that makes up the slit in her eyebrow - Royce wondered how he had gotten so lucky. Love may be a strong word, especially only four months into a relationship, but what other word was there for what he felt toward her? The sheer adoration he had for the girl whose forehead was pressed to his, who had taken the time to sit with him and talk him through his nightmare, the girl who cared for him so openly, he wondered why he waited so long to confess to her in the first place. She was surreal - like something out of a novel that he refused to put down.

Taking in a slow breath, Royce allowed his eyes to slip closed and enjoyed his girlfriend’s presence as he muttered, ��And nothing will take me from you.”

“Good.”

They stayed like that for what felt like seconds and hours all at once. All the thoughts in the universe seemed to flee Royce’s mind as Vivien’s soft humming filled the air, forcing him to draw all his attention onto her. He couldn’t make out any song in particular, just a soft, nonsensical hum, but the feeling was more than enough. If he was being completely honest, he could stay like that for hours and never be tired of her. It must have been only a minute or so in actuality, but Royce couldn’t help but want more as Vivien slowly moved away. Then, before he could think of anything to say to draw her back in, she took his face in her hands and leaned in, pressing a kiss to the center of his forehead.

He relished in the sensation of warmth gently fluttering across his skin from where her lips touched him, waiting for her to pull back and meet his eyes before he asked, “A-Are we allowed to do that?”

“Why wouldn’t we be?” Vivien asked in return, a small, tentative smile tugging at her lips.

Royce shrugged, the remnant feeling of her lips on his skin sending warmth across his face as he slowly said, “We’ve never kissed each other before.”

“Not on the lips, no, but I’m not quite ready for that just yet,” Vivien admitted, twisting one of Royce’s curls around her finger before letting it spring back into place. Meeting his gaze as he nodded in agreement, she said, “But, in my opinion, there’s something sweet about little kisses like those. Like a sort of gentle serenity.”

“Gentle serenity,” Royce echoed curiously, the words rolling easily off his tongue as he attached them to the girl before him. “That’s a great way to explain it.”

“I mean, sure, it’s typically seen as a romantic gesture,” Vivien stated, “but if our families can do it to us, I don’t see why there would be a reason as to why we can’t do it to each other.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Royce muttered. Meeting Vivien’s gaze despite her squinting slightly back at him to see him clearly, Royce couldn’t resist returning her smile as he stretched up to press a kiss to her cheek. “Is that okay?”

Feeling happiness bubble up in her chest as she beamed down at him, Vivien nodded. As Royce gently nudged her bangs out of the way and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, she closed her eyes and let a wave of fuzzy warmth course through her skin. Once more, as Royce laid back against the pillow, her hand reached up and looped a few stray curls around her fingers before rubbing her thumb across his forehead and saying, “You know, in my Nonna’s tribe, the forehead is believed to be where your soul is.”

“Really?” Royce asked softly. When Vivien nodded silently, he hummed, “I like that idea.”

His words spread a grin across Vivien’s face, and soft giggles fell from her lips as she muttered, “We just kissed each other’s souls.”

“I guess we did,” Royce breathed, returning Vivien’s smile with one of his own. Running his hand through her hair and watching her close her eyes, he leaned up and pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead once more before pulling away and leaning his forehead against hers. As a yawn pulled its way out of her despite her efforts to contain it, Royce grinned and used the hand in her hair to pull her head back down to his chest as he lay back against his pillow and said, “Get some sleep.”

“You too,” she sighed, allowing her eyes to close.

“I’ll try,” he replied, placing a hand on her arm as she made herself comfortable beside him. Royce held his breath as she shifted closer, resting her head on his shoulder as her arm locked around his waist and one of her legs slid between his. As she finally relaxed, her body weight pressing into him like a weighted blanket, he smiled and kissed the top of her head, squeezing her close. Over time, her breathing began to even out, comforting Royce in a way he didn’t know he needed as he stared up at the ceiling, the dancing stars and planets luring him into relaxing.

After what felt like only a few minutes, Royce’s eyelids peeled open, his eyelashes fluttering as he was slowly pulled from the land of dreams. Blinking blearily as his eyes adjust to the golden light emanating from the window beside his bed, Royce took in a deep breath and yawned, his eyebrows scrunching together as the soft mixture of apples, pomegranates, and strawberry cream fills his senses.

Vivien.

It was a sweet, fruity mix that was just her. It was a combination of her perfume, shampoo, and favorite lotion. Her perfume - something a pop star with a signature high ponytail had come up with - was the only scent she had found that didn’t give her a migraine. Royce had bought her a bottle on a whim while shopping with the Birch family in their world and sent it to her for Valentine’s Day, along with a few other gifts he had picked.

Her Burt’s Bees shampoo was pomegranate and honey scented, but Royce and Bentley argued about which one they smelled more of any time Vivien brought up needing more. Bentley could only smell the honey, while Royce could only smell pomegranate, but Vivien argued that they both were crazy as she could smell both. In a way, Royce loved their little arguments about nonsensical things like that. Things that hardly mattered in the long run.

Then, there was the smell of her lotion. Royce’s first run-in with it had been the same day as their figure skating adventure when Bentley fell through the ice. After settling in by the fireplace and talking while Bentley warmed up, Vivien dug through her backpack full of skating equipment until she found a bottle of strawberry lotion she constantly used to keep her skin from getting dry and cracked while skating, pouring some into her hands and warming it before rubbing it into Bentley’s chilled hands and arms.

Royce had taken some of the excess lotion from her that afternoon, not thinking much of it until Bentley pointed out later that evening that he had been sniffing his hands like a lunatic for hours. He had brushed Bentley off initially, but after realizing it himself, Royce found himself smiling like a fool at the idea that he smelled like Vivien. They weren’t even dating at that point, but the thought of having something that smelled like her was already far more appealing than it should have been.

Hell, even then, as he smiled tiredly, Royce closed his eyes again and took another breath, not wanting whatever lingering dream he’d had that night to drift away, taking her signature scent with it. He could never tire of that scent. If he could bottle it up, he would, but the closest he would get was her perfume. Maybe he would have to buy himself a bottle of it to keep in his room for whenever he missed her, which, sadly, was often as of late.

Sighing through his nose, Royce forced his eyes open and allowed himself to adjust to the thought of another day, his eyes catching on a silvery line in the shape of the Little Dipper… or maybe it was the Big Dipper. Either way, Royce couldn’t tell. Blinking in confusion at the tiny stars and the silky purple material they decorated, Royce made an attempt to roll over, only to find himself anchored in place.

His first thought was that Bentley climbed into bed with him sometime during the night, but then his attention was brought to the leg between his and the thought of the person in bed with him being Bentley went out the window. Looking down, Royce found a tangled mass of caramel hair spread across himself, the bed, and his girlfriend’s back. The sun’s rays highlighted the strands of natural red and gold littered throughout her hair, something Royce always found himself admiring when he saw her in the sun.

All at once, memories of his overnight trip to his girlfriend’s temporary bedroom flooded back to him, forcing the remnants of his nightmare to the front of his mind as it went. Taking in a deep breath and pushing his fears aside, Royce forced himself to focus on the warmth his girlfriend radiated. For once, he didn’t feel the need to pull his blankets up to his chin and hunker down for a few minutes until he was warmer. Vivien was plenty warm enough for both of them.

Slowly lifting his hand from her head, Royce gently pulled her hair away from her face and settled it all on her back. As he moved to place his hand back where it had initially been, Vivien shifted, the arm around his waist tightening as she grumbled nonsensically. As Vivien finally relaxed again, Royce got a good look at her face. She looked so peaceful when she was sleeping. The faint dark circles under her eyes were more a shade of lavender than true purple, her mouth was open slightly as she breathed unintelligible nonsense in her dreams, and her eyes moved behind her eyelids, the subtle flicker of her eyelashes moving being the only sign of movement.

Smiling at her slumbering form, Royce lifted his head from the pillow and glanced at the clock, wincing at the time. Vivien was, for a good reason, always up before six. From what he had learned of her daily schedule, she usually had to be ready and out the door for figure skating practice by no later than a quarter of six to get to the ice rink just before seven. Now that it was half an hour after her average out-the-door time, he wondered how her body would react. She had told him that she rarely slept in, so he had to wonder if he should be concerned.

Determined to let her rest while she had the opportunity, Royce gently pried her arm from his waist and lifted her head, sliding his leg out from under hers before getting up from the bed and lowering her limbs to the sheets. Thankfully, instead of waking up, Vivien rolled over, grabbed her pillow, and curled into it, narrowly avoiding dragging Binx from his spot on the edge of the bed as she did. Smiling proudly, Royce inched his way out of the room, leaving her door open and making his way down the hall to the room he knew Miles would still be fast asleep in.

Miles’ alarm clock had stopped working around the same time his Jeep had. For a good reason, Miles was more concerned with fixing up his Jeep than he was replacing his alarm clock, and he tossed the useless clock in the trash before the idea of asking Mick to fix it for him had even crossed his mind. Instead, he had spent enough money on his Jeep to replace most of the necessities and began relying on Royce to wake him up instead. Seeing as Royce was almost always awake by the time Miles’ alarm clock went off - if it even bothered to go off in the first place - he had become a no-snooze-allowed replacement for Miles’ alarm clock long before the clunky twin-bell clock chose death.

Being woken up by his little brother had been a far better experience for Miles than snoozing his alarm clock until the point where he was running through the house like a chicken with its head cut off, trying to get everything together for work and making sure his brothers had everything ready for school. Royce’s approach was simple and effective - wake him up, shake him if needed, and bribe him with coffee. This morning, however, there was no coffee prepared and, thus, nothing to bribe with.

Slipping into Miles’ bedroom was easy as the door was always left open a crack just in case one of the boys called for him during the night. Waking Miles up, on the other hand, was never easy. Far from it, to be honest. Royce had determined years ago that Miles could sleep through World War III, but it wasn’t always that way.

Miles went through a lot when they lived with their dad, especially when it came to sleep. At first - when their mom had only recently passed - nothing really changed; he could sleep until noon without much issue unless it was during the school year. Then, as their dad took up drinking - and other substances, Royce was sure - Miles was constantly on edge and rarely slept well. After a while in St. Pete Beach, Miles’ letters home told of how he could finally enjoy sleeping in again, letting Royce know in his own way that he had found a safe place to stay without the looming threat of their father’s tirades.

Now, as Royce stared down at his oldest brother, he was glad he had.

Since leaving Myrtle Beach, Miles had finally relaxed enough to find himself as well as a new family that Royce and Bentley now claimed as their own. Royce loved seeing the difference between Myrtle Beach Miles and St. Pete Beach Miles; they were practically night and day. In Myrtle Beach, Miles did what he could to avoid going home, but in St. Pete Beach, he had become something of a homebody. Well, apart from the few nights when his friend from Carrie’s work would steal him away, that is.

How on earth his brother - the image of a well-rounded, blue-collar worker - had befriended that stoner from the studio Carrie worked at, Royce would probably never know, but he knew Ethan made Miles happy the same way Lake and Sandy made him happy, so he chose not to say anything. After all, he was in the same boat. Their friends were reckless and irresponsible, completely clashing with the by-the-books lifestyle both Miles and Royce lived, but they needed a bit of reckless abandon now and then, right?

Pushing the thoughts of their questionable choices in friends from his mind, Royce leaned over Miles’ sleeping form, shaking his head at the faint grease lines streaking into his hairline from his late-night repair session in the garage. “Really, Miles?” Royce muttered under his breath, “Couldn’t be bothered to wash up after working on the mac ‘n cheese machine?”

Miles, of course, didn’t respond; his steady breathing was the only response Royce received. Like most mornings, Royce made his way to the windows on either side of Miles’ bed and pulled back the curtains to prevent his brother from rolling to either side to escape waking up early. Returning to Miles’ side as his brother shifted, rolling onto his stomach with a groan, Royce grinned and rolled his eyes. This was somewhat normal now - the cat-and-mouse game they played to get Miles out of bed - but Royce found it far more entertaining than Miles ever did.

Perching himself on the sliver of the mattress beside his brother, Royce placed a hand on Miles’ arm and softly spoke, “Miles.” When Miles simply groaned into his pillow, the muscles in his back flexing as his arms slid under the thick pillow and held it close, Royce shifted on the bed, his knee nearly digging into Miles’ hip as he raised his voice slightly, “Miles, you need to get up.”

As Miles’ head turned to the side, his bleary, sleep-addled eyes blinking open just a crack, he muttered, “Five more minutes,” and allowed his eyes to slide closed once more.

Sighing as Miles relaxed into the pillow once more, Royce decided to pull out the big guns, quietly clearing his throat before shaking Miles’ arm and pleading, “Come on, Miley, please.”

Like a shot of espresso had been pumped directly into Miles’ veins, he rolled onto his side, blinking rapidly in an effort to keep himself awake as a yawn pulled from him. Finally, his gaze landed on Royce, and after shifting to sit up, he reached out and placed a hand on Royce’s cheek, examining him as best he could whilst still half-asleep. His voice still thick with exhaustion, Miles asked, “What’s wrong? You alright?”

“I’m fine, Miles,” Royce claimed, allowing Miles to take in a deep breath and nod slowly.

“What about Benny?” Miles asked. “He’s not sick again, is he?”

“No, he’s alright.” Royce glanced toward the doorway, just barely able to see the door to his and Bentley’s room. “When I left, he was still sleeping.”

Bentley had been woken up by random stomach pains in the middle of the night over the last few weeks, something that had scared everyone in their immediate circle whenever it had happened. It had been a few weeks since the last time it happened, but Butchy and Lela’s uncle had made it clear that if anything were to happen again, they could bring Bentley right to his house, and he’d check him over free of charge. The man’s best guess had been either gallstones or pancreatitis, but regardless, all three Murphy boys had been grateful he had answered their late-night call after getting his home number from Butchy. Without him, they would have spent the night in the emergency room twice already and been in some kind of debt with the hospital due to their shitty health insurance.

Miles let out a sigh of relief and yawned once more before asking, “And Vivien? Is she okay?”

“She’s good,” Royce said, a smile tugging at his lips. “Sleeping. And, before you ask, Binx is good too. He’s in with Viv.”

Miles nodded, glaring at the blinding light that penetrated his typically dark room before meeting Royce’s eyes with a tipped, tired smile and guiding his curly-haired brother’s head onto his shoulder, “So, was this a wake-up call, or did you just want company?”

Lazily bringing an arm around Miles’ middle, Royce breathed, “It’s quarter after six.”

With a hum and a disgusted look that he was glad his brother didn’t see, Miles sighed, “Guess that means we have to get up and out the door, huh?”

Nodding, Royce agreed, “It does.”

Bringing his arms around Royce’s middle, Miles lifted his brother and dropped him onto the mattress beside him as he collapsed back into bed. Curling an arm around Royce’s shoulders, Miles pulled him close and grumbled, “I don’t wanna.”

Royce snorted, lifting his head just enough to see Miles’ face, “You sound like Benny when he gets all whiny before school.”

“I am not whiny,” Miles argued.

“That’s debatable.”

Feigning shock at his brother’s quiet jab, Miles made a face and gasped, “How dare you?”

“Oh, I dare,” Royce chuckled. “You two are horrible in the mornings - all dramatic and crap. I swear, you two are worse than any of the actors in that show with the talking horse.”

“Did you seriously just bash Mister Ed?” When Royce grinned and nodded, Miles scoffed playfully, wriggling his fingers into Royce’s side to get a proper laugh out of him as he teased, “And here I was going to call into your school and get you two the day off.”

All too ready to call Miles’ bluff, Royce beamed, “No, you weren’t.”

“No, I wasn’t,” Miles relented, letting his head fall back into his pillow as he sighed deeply. “But it sure sounded good, didn’t it, baby?”

“It did,” Royce agreed in a breath, allowing himself to relax with Miles for a moment. Then, with a sigh, he pushed himself to sit up before taking Miles’ arm and pulling him up beside him. Standing from the bed and leaving Miles to his own devices, Royce took a few steps away and said, “Now, come on. I have to go get Benny up, and you have to get ready before Vivien comes in here with a bucket of ice water like she did back at the cabin.”

“Don’t remind me,” Miles grumbled, swinging his legs over the side of the bed with a groan. “I don’t know how she can be so atrociously perky so early every morning. I mean, I get she’s always up early, but damn. Sometimes, I wonder if she keeps an IV of coffee under her pillow or something.”

Royce laughed softly, shaking his head as he backed toward the door, “Nah, that’s just how she is.”

“Just another thing about that child I will never understand,” Miles shrugged, pushing himself from the bed with a sigh. Waving Royce away with a hand, he yawned and stepped over to his dresser, saying, “Go wake Ben and try to get him to eat something before school. I’ve got to pick out some leather for Vivien to wear on the ride to work.”

“I thought she was coming with us to school this week,” Royce said.

“I never heard back from the school,” Miles sighed. “I guess, with your spring break being next week, they aren’t too concerned with temporary students. Either that, or they’re trying to find a record of her at the regional school in Tilton, which could be bad.”

“I doubt that’s the case.” Royce leaned against the doorframe and chuckled, “The office ladies don’t care that much about anything other than whatever new gossip they overhear. Chances are, they’ll call you sometime today.”

Miles sighed and shook his head, forcing his pessimism away, “Yeah, maybe. Either way, you two boys need to get a move on before Kona’s dad gets here.”

“Alright, alright,” Royce drawled, patting the doorframe before grabbing Miles’ doorknob and pulling it toward him, “I’m going.” Closing the door, Royce chuckled and turned back toward the hallway, only to jump as he came face-to-face with none other than his girlfriend. Placing a hand on his chest, Royce breathed a laugh, “Viv, you scared the shit out of me.”

Vivien gave him a small smile and breathed, “Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Royce said with a smile, wrapping his arms around Vivien’s waist and pulling her into a hug. Out of habit, Vivien’s arms came around Royce’s shoulders, but she didn’t quite curl into his embrace the way she usually would. Running his fingers over the fabric of her shirt, Royce said, “Sorry I left you alone. I had to wake Miles for work.”

Vivien ran a hand through Royce’s tangled curls, “I thought you went back to your room, so I was just going to check on you before going downstairs to make breakfast. I, uh, I heard you guys talking.”

“Well, that’s fine,” Royce shrugged. “Did you hear Miles? He’s going to let you borrow a leather jacket or something so you’re safe on his bike.”

“I did hear that, yeah,” Vivien nodded. Swallowing, she stepped back from Royce’s arms and said, “I’ll go make up some coffee for him. Maybe that’ll get him in a good mood before work.”

“Good luck with that,” Royce snorted as he watched Vivien make her way back toward her room.

“Thanks,” Vivien called over her shoulder before disappearing from his sight. As Royce chuckled softly to himself and headed toward the room he shared with Bentley, Vivien peeked around the corner, making sure he made it into the room before sighing and making her way to the top of the stairs.

Glancing toward Miles’ bedroom door as the light flicked on, illuminating the gaps around the frame, Vivien sucked in a breath and made her way downstairs. Was she really as annoying in the morning as he had said she was? Vivien knew the answer; she was abhorrently energetic every morning and she knew it, but that came with the territory of having early-morning skating practices for the last - what was it now? - twelve or so years.

Vivien knew she was like the Energizer Bunny on crack every morning, but hearing anyone other than her mother complain about it had hit something deep that Vivien didn’t know existed. She had no real reason to be upset about Miles’ statement as she knew it to be true, but normally, the only person to give her any biting remarks about it was her mother. Hearing Miles say her morning energy was atrocious had struck a chord within her. Brushing off her mother’s snippy remarks was one thing, but trying to ignore the dull, knife-twisting feeling in her chest from Miles’ statement was another. It hurt.

To make things worse, Vivien realized as she filled the percolator with coffee grounds that Royce hadn’t even bothered defending her. Granted, he had no reason to do so as all Miles had said was true, but still. He had laughed it off and continued with the conversation. While she wasn’t going to hold it against him as she knew how hard it was to stand up to the people you love, even a little rebuttal on her behalf would have felt nice. But did she even need that from him? She could stand up for herself if need be, and they both knew it. Besides, it wasn’t like Miles was spreading shitty rumors like some high school mean girl; his statement was factual - Vivien was energetic and bubbly every morning.

Pausing as she poured water into the machine, Vivien sighed and shook her head. Why was it bothering her so much? It shouldn’t. Miles wasn’t being rude; he was stating the obvious. She had no reason to be upset when he was simply talking with his brother. He didn’t even know that she was outside the room at the time. He wasn’t trying to hurt her. He just… did.

Setting the percolator on the stove and putting the coffee away, she took in a breath and calmed herself before making her way back up the stairs to her bedroom. Gently combing her fingers through Binx’s fur, she made her way to her closet and pulled out some shorts and a shirt she didn’t mind getting dirty before quickly getting dressed. Tugging on a pair of sneakers Lela had gotten her as a surprise during their trip to the mall, Vivien grabbed her phone, charger, and headphones, tucking them into her pocket before leaving her room.

With Binx slinking along by her heels, Vivien made her way to Miles’ room and hesitated for only a moment before knocking on the door, determined not to make him any more frustrated by her typical Kool-Aid man entrance. “It’s just me,” she said.

After a second, the door swung open, and Miles’ confused face came into view. “Since when do you knock?” he asked.

“Since I now reside in a house full of boys,” Vivien shrugged. “I started your coffee.”

“Thanks,” Miles said with a grin. Stepping aside, he gestured toward the room and said, “Come in for a second. I need to see if you’ll fit in my old leathers.”

Reluctantly following him into the room, Vivien glanced around the room and asked, “Why? I’m already dressed.”

Pulling some hangers down from his closet, Miles looked her over briefly before snorting, “Yeah, no. You need more protection than that, kid. If we get into an accident, you’ll look like roadkill.”

“Do you plan on getting into an accident?” Vivien pressed as she stood by the end of his bed, watching him deposit various pieces of clothing on his duvet.

“No, but I’ve been in and seen more than enough accidents to know how awful they can be if you aren’t prepared,” Miles sighed, placing his hands on his hips.

Vivien knew he was right, but before the instinct to tease him about being a mother hen could kick in, his words hit her, and she mused, “You never told me you’ve been in accidents before.”

“I’ve only been in one where I was injured, and it was a long time ago,” Miles shrugged. “Look, the point is, I don’t want anything like that to happen to you - especially not on my watch. Now, come here and pick out something to cover you up.”

With a dramatic sigh, Vivien sidled up beside Miles and looked over her options with a lopsided smirk. Picking up a leather jacket with ivy vines embroidered down the arms, she turned it over and looked at the back before scoffing, “What, no biker gang emblem?”

Miles quickly shook his head, “Definitely not.”

Put off by his instant dismissal, Vivien’s grin dissolved as she tentatively asked, “Why not?”

“Well, for starters, I can’t let you wear it if you aren’t in the group - Rodent rules,” Miles explained as he took the jacket from Vivien’s hand and pulled it off the hanger. Holding it out for her to try on, he added, “Besides, it’s basically a giant target to rival groups that you’re one of us, and I’m not willing to risk putting you in any danger.”

Slipping her arms into Miles’ jacket, Vivien sighed, “I guess that makes sense. Still, I think it would’ve been cool to pretend to be in a biker gang.”

Miles grinned, adjusting the jacket slightly before zipping Vivien into it. She would make an excellent Rodent if given the chance, but that wasn’t a call he could make. Until that day came, she looked just fine in his old jacket. “Maybe some other time, kiddo. For now, though, why don’t you find a pair of sweatpants to wear on the ride to work? We’ll hit the road as soon as Kona’s dad gets here to pick up the boys. They’re in the third drawer of my dresser.”

“Alright,” Vivien breathed as she stepped away from the bed and moved to the dresser that Miles had pressed against the wall. Tugging open the heavy drawer, she pulled out a pair of black sweatpants and tugged them on over her shorts before rolling up the legs to her ankles and tying the waistband. On her way out of the room, Vivien turned and asked, “What is Kona like, anyway?”

Miles hummed thoughtfully as he put away the extra jackets he had laid out, “Picture one of those nippy little chihuahuas, but with the sass of a husky and the protectiveness of a German shepherd.”

“Is that supposed to be a good thing?”

“As a whole, probably not, but she’d probably appreciate the analogy,” Miles grinned. He joined Vivien in the hallway and said, “Honestly, though, it suits her. She’s maybe five feet tall at most, exists on spite alone, loves picking fights with Zack for no reason, and doesn’t give a shit what people think about her. You’ll love her.”

“Okay,” Vivien drawled, following Miles to the top of the stairs. “So, who is Zack and why does Kona fight with him?”

“Kona, Zack, and August are Bentley’s friends,” Miles explained. “Zack is… well, he’s very headstrong, like Kona is. When the two of them butt heads, it’s like oil on fire, but they care about each other underneath it all. I think arguments are their love languages.”

Vivien let out a snort as she followed Miles downstairs, “Alright, good to know. So, what about August?”

“August is-”

“Bentley’s boyfriend,” Royce interrupted as he brought his bowl of cereal to the living room and took up a spot on the rug on one end of the coffee table.

“Shut up,” Bentley scoffed with a short laugh, kicking Royce’s thigh on his way back from turning the TV on.

As Bentley took his spot on the floor, Royce turned toward Vivien and explained, “He and Gus are practically attached at the hip. August was Bentley’s tour guide on our first day last year, but they’ve been inseparable ever since.”

“We’re just friends,” Bentley tacked on, swirling his bowl of milky cavities with his spoon before taking a mouthful of soggy marshmallows. “Just because we’re close doesn’t mean we’re dating. Besides, he’s a boy.”

“So?” Vivien questioned as she leaned against the back of the couch.

“Boys don’t date boys, Viv,” Bentley chuckled.

Raising a brow at her boyfriend’s younger brother, Vivien slowly asked, “You have met my brother, right, Beemer?”

Curiosity spread across Bentley’s face as he slowly replied, “Yeah, why?”

“He’s been with Markus for a while now,” Vivien admitted. Watching Bentley’s head tilt to the side as he tried to recall the dark-skinned boy, Vivien added, “The three of you talked about Bigfoot and Mothman for, like, two hours straight. He has two different colored eyes, has a bit of a limp ‘cause of his spine, and has his hair braided.”

Realization dawned on Bentley’s face as he nodded, “Oh, I remember him. I didn’t know they were together, though. They just seemed like good friends.”

“Nope,” Vivien said with a shake of her head. “They’ve been together a while, much to my mother’s disdain. But, the point is, anyone can date anyone.”

Bentley hummed softly, his gaze flicking back to his cereal as he breathed, “Guess I never thought of it that way.”

“Well, things are a lot different now than they are in the future, Ben,” Royce claimed as he scooped up some Honey Nutty O’s. “People in the future are a lot more easygoing with dating whoever they want in Viv’s time. Nowadays, people get harassed and beat up for acting that way in public.”

“Still,” Miles began as he entered the room with a half-eaten knock-off toaster pastry and a bowl of cereal he handed to Vivien, “so long as you love the person you’re with, what’s between their legs shouldn’t matter.”

“Exactly,” Vivien agreed, rounding the couch to sit with her boyfriend and his brothers on the floor as the intro song for The Jetsons began playing. Observing how quiet Bentley had gotten during their conversation, Vivien offered him a small smile and said, “Anyway, enough of that. What’s this August kid like, Beemer?”

Watching the blonde’s expression shift as his eyes practically glimmered, Vivien knew she had done the right thing. Allowing the boy to ramble as he shoveled cereal into his mouth, Vivien relaxed against the back of the couch and smiled as Bentley filled her in on all the observations he had made of his friend group. Though she was sure she would meet them in time, Bentley’s excitement was palpable. By the time they were done eating, Miles had left to find his work boots, and Royce had gotten up to give Binx a few treats before they left him for the day, but Bentley’s rambling had yet to cease as he followed Vivien into the kitchen and helped her wash up the dishes.

Following Bentley to the corner of the living room where he and Royce ditched their backpacks Friday afternoon, Vivien looked out the window as an olive green Ford Econoline van squealed to a stop at the end of the driveway. Raising a brow at the vehicle, she chuckled, “Someone should write ‘Free Candy’ on that thing.”

Zipping his backpack and moving to stand beside Vivien, Bentley asked, “Why? Do they have candy?”

“What? No,” Vivien laughed, gesturing to the windowless van sitting at the end of the drive, “it just- look at that thing!”

“Why do you think they should write ‘Free Candy’ on it, though?” Bentley wondered as he hefted his backpack onto one shoulder, leaning to see if he could look inside the vehicle. “Are you sure Kona’s dad doesn’t have candy in there? He always does.”

“Oh my gosh,” Vivien breathed in disbelief. “That’s your friend’s dad?”

“Yeah, why?” Bentley asked as he headed for the front door. Raising his voice, he called out, “RJ, Kona and Mr. Jon are here.”

“That van looks like something a creepy pedo would drive,” Vivien muttered as she followed Bentley to the door. As Bentley tugged the door dagger from the wood and tossed it onto the table beside the door, she peeked around the red, flaky door and said, “Thank God you guys don’t live in the eighties.”

“Why?” Royce asked as he jogged into the hallway.

“Because she thinks Kona’s dad’s car looks like a pedo van,” Bentley claimed with a shrug.

“It does!” Vivien whisper-yelled as she turned to Royce. “It looks like a stereotypical eighties pedophile van, for crying out loud! I swear, if it had a ‘Free Candy’ sign on the side of it, it would look straight out of some true crime show or something.”

Royce chuckled, shaking his head as he hauled his backpack onto his shoulders, “Well, Kona’s dad is far from a pedophile, but he does keep candy in the car for us to snack on when we get out of school.”

Turning back toward the outside world, Vivien muttered, “You’re not helping.”

Prying Vivien’s hand from the door as Bentley headed outside, Royce leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to her cheek as he squeezed her fingers. “It’s alright, Viv,” he assured her. “Why don’t you come meet them real quick? You can see for yourself that Mr. Jon isn’t some creep.”

Somewhat taken aback by her boyfriend’s featherlight kiss, Vivien nodded, allowing him to guide her outside before stepping aside so that he could close the door. Once her hand was captured by his once again, Vivien found herself glued to Royce’s side as he led her to the van that rumbled loudly on the side of the street. As the passenger’s side window cranked down, a girl with John-Lennon-esque pink sunglasses and shoulder-length blonde hair that was braided into two pigtails turned toward Vivien and Royce, lowered her glasses just enough for Vivien to make out her chartreuse eyes, and asked, “What happened to your imaginary girlfriend from New Hampshire, Roycey-poo?”

Royce rolled his eyes at the girl, but before he could offer her a snippy remark in return, Vivien raised her free hand and gave her a small wave, “That would be me. I’m Vivien, the imaginary girlfriend, but I’m afraid I’m not as imaginary as everyone assumes I am.”

Green eyes scanned Vivien’s frame for a moment before the door popped open, and the short girl jumped down, stepping up in front of Vivien with a level expression. All at once, Miles’ earlier analogy of a chaotic yet overprotective chihuahua flooded Vivien’s mind, and it took everything in her not to laugh at the short blonde. Examining Vivien once more, the blonde’s gaze locked on the stack of jumbled bracelets on Vivien’s wrist, and she pried the older girl’s hand from Royce’s grip, turning the girl’s wrist with a slight grin. Taking a step back and latching hands with Vivien, the blonde shook Vivien’s hand and said, “The sweatpants are definitely a choice, but I like your bracelets.”

Glancing down at her outfit, Vivien let out an awkward breath of a chuckle and said, “Thanks, I think.”

“I’m Kona Birr,” the girl introduced, perching her sunglasses atop her head. “I’m the smart one of our group.”

Bentley snorted as he tugged the back door open, “Whatever you say, Kone-head.”

“Dick,” Kona snapped in return without shifting her gaze from the older girl before her.

“Kona Elsie,” the man in the driver’s seat said warningly. “Be nice.”

Turning to her father, Kona sighed, “That was me being nice, Dad. I could have called him an imbecillic dickhead, but I didn’t. I was being nice.”

“Kona,” the man repeated. “If you keep this up, keiki, you and your friends won’t be allowed to hang out at the shop after school anymore.”

“Okay, okay, fine,” Kona sighed, lowering her sunglasses onto her nose once more so that her father couldn’t see her rolling her eyes as she turned back to Vivien. “Are you coming to school with us?” Lowering her voice to a whisper, she wiggled her eyebrows and added, “You can meet the rest of the dipshit squad.”

“Not today, she isn’t,” Miles called out as he pushed the garage door up. Turning toward the teenagers, he explained, “The school hasn’t cleared her to attend for the week, but she might be able to go tomorrow.”

Sighing, Kona shook her head, “Yet another day of me being stuck in a group full of dumbasses.”

“Kona!” Jonathan barked from the driver’s seat.

Turning toward the car with an innocent smile, the petite blonde asked, “What, Daddy?”

“Kona, you can’t just call them that. They-”

“It’s alright, Mr. Jon,” Bentley smirked from the backseat. “We’re used to it by now.”

Sighing, the man shook his head and said, “Just get in the car, keiki. We need to go pick up the other dumbass boys you call friends.”

With a snort at her dad’s resigned tone, Kona turned to Vivien and asked, “Will you be here when we come by to do homework?”

Vivien glanced over her shoulder at Miles as he walked his motorcycle out of the garage. Turning back to Kona and shrugging, Vivien said, “I don’t know. I’m going to work with Miles today and I have no clue what time he gets out.”

“She’ll be here, but we’ll probably see her if we swing by the record shop on the way back from school,” Royce stated. Finding Vivien’s gaze as Kona nodded and returned to her dad’s van, he explained, “Miles is usually back by four-thirty on Mondays if he’s not hitching a ride with the blonde she-devil he calls a girlfriend.”

“Hey,” Vivien complained, looking somewhat ready to argue. “That blonde she-devil happens to be my friend.”

“And I just don’t understand how.” Not wanting to argue with Vivien, Royce sighed, glancing away before squeezing her hand and meeting her eyes again with a small smile, “Have fun with Miles.”

Sliding her hand out of his, Vivien wrapped her arms around his shoulders and kissed his cheek, “Have a good day at school.”

“I’ll try,” Royce breathed as he tucked his face into her shoulder, relishing in the soft smell of her perfume. As they slowly separated, he smiled and said, “I’ll be looking forward to seeing you more than anything.”

“As will I,” Vivien beamed. Gently pushing Royce toward the car as she began backing up the driveway toward Miles’ motorcycle, she said, “Now, go. The sooner you leave, the sooner you get home.”

Royce laughed softly, offering her a small wave as he climbed into the backseat alongside Bentley. Without letting his brother’s sappy goodbye last any longer, Bentley called out a quick goodbye and slammed the back door with a smile. As the van shifted into drive and pulled away from the curb, the radio began to blast the latest hits, and, with a beaming smile, Kona waved out the window with her armful of colorful bracelets and yelled, “See you later, Royce’s imaginary girlfriend!”

Laughing as she waved toward the retreating van, Vivien made her way to where Miles was leaning against his bike with a grin. “That was, by far, the weirdest introduction I’ve ever had.”

“It won’t be for long, believe me,” Miles chuckled. Holding out a half-helmet for Vivien to take, Miles pushed himself off of the Harley and asked, “Ready to ride, kiddo?”

Vivien attempted pulling the helmet on over her ponytail before reluctantly removing it and pulling her hair back down. “I guess so.”

Stopping Vivien before she could pull the helmet back on, Miles placed a hand on the helmet and lowered it, “Ah, ah, ah. Not so fast.”

“What?”

Spinning his finger in a circle, Miles said, “Turn. I don’t want your hair lookin’ like a rat’s nest by the time we get to work.”

“It’s fine.” When Miles refused to budge, Vivien sighed and reluctantly turned as she rolled her eyes, “What are you going to do, then? Braid it?”

“Exactly,” Miles said as he combed her hair back with his fingers and began splitting it into sections. Making quick work of the braid as Vivien felt surprise seep through her veins, Miles said, “I don’t want you having to rip at your hair to get it straight again when I could easily just braid it and get it over with for you.”

Humming in understanding, Vivien allowed him to work in silence before muttering, “I didn’t know you could braid hair.”

Miles chuckled softly as he twisted the strands toward the bottom of her hair, “There’s a lot of things about me that you don’t know, kid. Elastic?”

Tugging the brown band off of her wrist, she held it out for him over her shoulder and said, “Thanks.”

“Mhm,” Miles hummed as he tied off her hair. Releasing her braid and patting her shoulders, Miles said, “All set.”

Pulling the braid over her shoulder, Vivien smiled at the neat plait before pulling her helmet on and clicking it into place under her chin. She watched as Miles swung a leg over his bike before offering her a hand as she stepped up beside him. Climbing onto the bike, Vivien waited for Miles to start the bike before bringing her arms around him, holding tight as he pulled out onto the street. As the motorcycle rolled down the street, Vivien looked around, leaning with the bike as Miles turned onto the main street and picked up speed, heading in the opposite direction from the way the girls had brought her to the mall the day before.

The wind picked up as Miles picked up speed, occasionally releasing one of his handlebars to place a hand atop Vivien’s - a subtle reassurance that she hadn’t let go for any reason. In return, she patted his leather jacket whenever she spotted a police officer lurking in the area. Emerald eyes scanned the city as blurry buildings flew by and palm trees danced in the early morning light. When Miles slowed to a stop at a red light, Vivien released him to stretch her arms and look around, gawking at the collection of vintage cars that stopped for the light. As the light turned green, her arms came back around Miles, and she smiled as she took in the city.

Maybe her day at his work wouldn’t be so boring after all.

If it hadn’t been for her brand-new Jeepers tapping repetitively on the sticky metal of the gymnasium bleachers, Kona would have lost her mind nearly an hour ago. Nobody in their right mind wanted to be there, listening to the principal and student council drone on and on about fundraisers and dances. Assemblies were stupid in general - wastes of time for students who actually gave a shit about their classes - but having an entire two-hour block of their school day set aside for some ridiculous pep rally that nobody other than the airheaded cheerleaders and pea-brained football players cared about, was idiotic at best.

The whole thing should have been optional for the junior high kids who didn’t even get a say in the senior high’s politics and dances, but alas, it wasn’t. Instead, Kona was stuck sitting with her homeroom class, fighting the urge to roll her eyes every time the redheaded co-captain of the cheerleading team spoke into the microphone. It was bad enough the cheer team and football players had to wear their uniforms once a week to “show school spirit” or whatever bullshit the school board had put in the student handbook, but having to listen to them at school-wide assemblies just made her hate them even more. It didn’t help that while the “star athletes” - if you could even call them that - were in the center of the gymnasium, standing on the relatively creepy-looking mascot that someone had painted on the hardwood years before Kona even arrived in Florida, the rest of the student body was forced to sit like sardines.

She did have to give some of the athletes credit, however. Not all of them were assholes. There was this one girl on the cheer team - Kathy, she believed her name was - who was incredibly kind and was a volunteer at a local soup kitchen. A few guys on the football team were regulars at her family’s record shop - namely Trent Bukowski, Leo Martinez, and Perry, some sophomore guy she only knew by the last name on his jersey - and they tended to just hang around, minding their business and chatting quietly in the back of the main room while listening to her dad’s radio station blare over the speakers. A majority of the drill team didn’t care much for drama and were genuinely nice in passing, but Kona only ever really ran into them in the bathrooms, listening to them gossip with their friends while they smoked.

As the microphone screeched with feedback, Kona’s hands lurched to cover her ears and her eyes rolled in frustration as the redheaded cheerleader tugged the microphone back toward her mouth and began spewing more nonsense about the upcoming prom. Honestly, the only thing that made listening to her bearable was the fact that she could pass notes to her friends in the next class over. It wasn’t exactly hard to pass notes undetected when they sat so close. She was practically shoulder-to-shoulder with Bentley, which gave her access to Gus in the next row down who, in turn, could pass messages along to Zack in the next class over.

Bentley’s knuckle nudged Kona’s knee and she flipped her hand over to receive his note, feeling him shove the paper into her palm as she grinned. Discretely opening the note, Kona fought a snort as she saw the drawing Bentley had made of the cheerleader as a dinosaur. Folding the paper back up, she tucked it under the hem of her shorts and scribbled out a quick note in return on a sticky note before passing it to Bentley, telling him she was going to frame his drawing later.

With a soft laugh under his breath, Bentley pocketed the paper and leaned forward to whisper something to August. Kona glanced at the giant clock on the wall above the gymnasium doors. If the attention whore with the microphone kept to schedule, the whole thing would be over in two minutes, but because Serena Sullivan was notorious for being anything but punctual, Kona highly doubted that would be the case. Sighing through her nose as the redhead began spieling off reasons for people to be excited about the dance that wasn’t even for another month, Kona felt her teacher tap her shoulder from behind her, silently telling her to stop putting up a fuss before returning to her conversation with another teacher.

Willing to sit for another few minutes, Kona spared a glance at her friends before making a face and crossing one leg over the other, resting her chin in her palm as she searched the other side of the gymnasium for the older half of their friend group. Arranged by grade rather than class, it was particularly easy for Kona to spot Royce’s gaggle of sophomores sitting against the back wall. Cassandra Wheaton - the oldest and worst behaved of the bunch, had plastic headphones over her ears, no doubt connected to her Luxtone transistor radio, as the redhead had stated multiple times that she would rather listen to dying cats screeching than have to listen to another assembly about stupid shit. Next to Sandy was Laken Dubois - the gangly idiot with an arm over his face who was probably too hungover from the weekend to know what was going on around him. After Lake was Royce - Bentley’s older brother, who had his nose so far into the book in his hands that it would be a miracle if he would even hear the bell ring. Then, on Royce’s other side was none other than Katrina - or Kit, as she preferred to be called - Dubois, the only one paying any attention to what was being said as her friend, Ellie Clark, the student council president, took the microphone back from Serena and began concluding the assembly with a strained smile.

As the lunch bell rang midway through Ellie’s concluding statement, the blonde hastily thanked everyone for attending before handing the microphone back to the principal with an apologetic look. Grateful to finally be done, Kona nudged Bentley and nodded toward the exit as the rest of the student body began to file out. “You coming?” she asked over the crowd’s jumbled conversations.

Bentley nodded as he tugged August away from a herd of seventh graders who shoved their way down the bleachers from the upper stands, “I just have to find Royce.”

“He’s heading outside with his friends,” Zack said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder as he shoved his way up the bleachers to join them.

“He is?” Bentley leaned around Zack, watching Lake sling an arm around Royce’s shoulders and pull him toward the back door of the gym as the girls held the doors open for them. “They’re probably going to get something from the grocery store or something.”

“Why don’t we go with them?” August offered. “It’s not like the cafeteria is going to have anything good today.”

“I think it’s supposed to be tuna surprise today,” Kona sighed as she headed down the bleachers. “I’d rather not find out what ‘surprise’ they expect us to choke down.”

“Gross,” Bentley muttered as his face twisted in disgust. Following his friends down the steps to the squeaky wooden floor, he asked, “Do you think they’ll mind us tagging along?”

Zack laughed, turning to walk backward across the basketball court as he spoke, “As if.”

“Yeah,” August chimed in. “That’s like asking Kona if she minds making us all matching keychains.”

Turning toward her friends, Kona pulled her sunglasses from where she had slotted them on her shirt and placed them on the bridge of her nose as she said, “And the answer for that will always be ‘no’.” Turning back around, the short blonde shoved open the door to the outside world and allowed her friends to exit after her before letting it swing shut. “Speaking of making things for people-“

“Seriously, Kone?” Zack chuckled, seeing the glimmer of anticipation in the blonde’s expression. “Don’t you have, like, eighty projects you’re already working on and complaining about?”

Kona’s eyes rolled behind her pink sunglasses lenses, “So? This one is going to take precedence.”

“What did you have in mind?” Bentley asked with a smirk, knowing that, after school, they would probably be dragged to the nearest craft store for her to find whatever it was she needed.

“Yeah,” August chipped in, “Are you making something for Teacher Appreciation Day?”

“Pfft,” Kona scoffed with a shake of her head, “no way. The only teacher I’ll ever appreciate enough to make them something is my hula instructor.”

“So what is it then?” Zack asked as they reached the sidewalk. “Gonna make up some bracelets for all the cheerleaders?”

“Bite me,” Kona snipped. Turning toward August and Bentley, she sighed, “I want to make something for Royce’s imaginary girlfriend.”

Bentley snorted a laugh as August made a face, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to think of how to respond to Kona’s statement. Instead, Zack spoke up, a laugh falling from his lips as he smacked a hand to Kona’s forehead, “You alright in there, Kone-head? You’re making less sense than normal.”

Shoving his hand from her face, Kona hissed, “Touch me again and you’ll lose your hand.”

Zack rolled his eyes, “As if.”

Seeing Kona tip her head to the side with a scoff, fire burning in her eyes as she readies herself for a fight, August took the chance to speak up and cut through the argument before it could become unbearable, “Why are you planning on making something for someone who’s imaginary?”

Kona turned toward her fellow blonds and replied, “Because I want to.”

With a chuckle and a shake of his head, Bentley explained, “As it turns out, his imaginary girlfriend is real.”

“Wait,” Zack said, stopping his friends in their tracks as he slowly turned to Bentley, “so you mean to tell me that pretty girl on his wall isn’t just some random girl from a magazine he claimed was his girl?”

Slowly nodding, Bentley smirked, “Yeah.” Letting out a laugh as Zack’s expression shifted into one of utter disbelief, he asked, “Did you guys seriously think he and I were lying about visiting her and stuff?”

Despite the somewhat apprehensive looks on his friends’ faces, they chose not to reply. However, Kona was never one to hold back. “Duh,” she replied. “Just look at your brother. He’s conventionally attractive, sure, but he has no interest in any girl at school despite them vying for his affection, and he’s got two girls with him everyday but neither one is interested. I think half the school thinks he just made her up to avoid being picked on or something.”

Bentley let out a chuckle, “You guys really thought she was fake!”

August offered him a nervous smile and softly muttered, “Well…”

“Kona’s not wrong,” Zack slowly agreed. Glancing at the cockily smirking blonde, he rolled his eyes and quickly added, “Not this time, at least.”

Glancing between his friends, Bentley barked out a laugh and continued walking toward the edge of the school’s property line, “I can’t believe it! Guys, I showed you pictures of us in her hometown.”

The trio followed behind Bentley, muttering excuses that turned into a jumbled mess as they reached the crosswalk at the edge of the sidewalk. “Honestly,” Kona began, “I didn’t think she was real until I saw her in the driveway.”

“Hang on, you actually saw her?” August asked, a smile spreading across his face as he placed a hand on Kona’s arm. “What does she look like?”

“Does she look like the pictures?” Zack asked before Kona could speak.

“Yeah, but-”

“Did you get to talk to her?” August interrupted. “Is she nice?”

“Guys,” Bentley chuckled, checking to make sure traffic had stopped before stepping into the crosswalk. “Viv is staying at our house; you’ll probably meet her after school.”

As the trio jogged into the crosswalk to catch up with Bentley, August thanked the stopped drivers with a slight wave as he said, “I can’t believe Miles is letting her stay with you guys. Isn’t that kind of a big deal?”

“Not really,” Bentley shrugged. “She couldn’t really stay anywhere else. Mick and Butchy have a full house right now with her parents staying over, Carrie’s still fixing up her apartment, and it was either our house or a hotel.”

“I could see her staying with Carrie,” Kona claimed thoughtfully as they reached the other side of the street. “But why would she stay with Mick and Butchy?”

Scouring his brain for something to work with, Bentley turned to his friends and explained, “Mick and Vivien are cousins.”

Although Zack and August easily accepted Bentley’s statement, heading into the Winn Dixie and sighing as the building’s air conditioner blasted them in the face, Kona didn’t seem convinced. Walking alongside Bentley as she watched August retrieve a basket to carry through the store, she crossed her arms over her chest and asked, “Mick doesn’t have a lot of pictures of Vivien at her house, does she?”

Bentley shrugged, “She has a ton at her family’s cabin in New Hampshire. I guess she just hasn’t brought any into Butchy and Lela’s place yet.”

“That’s odd, don’t you think?”

“Not really,” Bentley muttered as he ventured into the potato chips and soda aisle behind August. “When Royce and I moved in with Miley, we didn’t have much for decorations. Maybe Mick is just waiting until they finish renovating before she puts anything up.”

“Maybe,” Kona sighed. Despite the urge to press for more, the pleading look in Bentley’s eyes makes her drop the subject. “So, what’s she like anyway?”

“Did you not listen to Royce ramble on and on about her when we got back from vacation?” Bentley asked, placing a can of Pringles into the basket August held.

“To be fair,” August began, “we all thought he was just making her up as he went.”

With a smirk and a shake of his head, Bentley sighed, “Well, Vivien’s the type of girl to stand up for what she believes is right, she’s insanely smart, she’s a figure skater, and, even though we all say she and Riven should be in the Olympics, she just enjoys it for fun.”

Tossing a soda can into the basket, Zack asked, “Who’s Riven?”

“Viv’s skating partner,” Bentley replied as he followed August into the next aisle. “He’s tall - like, Butchy tall - and, from what Viv says, he’s like an older brother to her. He’s also really nice. He bought me and Royce hot chocolates from Dunkins one time.”

“What’s a Dunkins?” Zack asked.

“It’s a coffee shop chain up in New England,” Bentley explained. “They’ve got this really cool drink called a coolatta, and I like the strawberry one, but Royce always gets the vanilla bean, and-

“Anyway,” Kona interrupted, dragging the spiraling conversation back onto the topic of the girl she had only just met that morning, “Does Vivien have a favorite color?”

“Purple,” Bentley replied. Then, as he thought for a second, his expression shifted, “Or was it green? No, wait, that’s the color of her eyes. Her favorite color has to be purple.”

“Whose favorite color is purple?”

Turning toward the new voice, Bentley smiled as Royce’s friend, Sandy, joined them, grabbing a box of fruit snacks from the bottom shelf as she stepped up beside Zack. “Royce’s girlfriend, Vivien.”

Sandy snorted, “Is he still rolling with that?”

“What do you mean?” August asked.

The ginger girl tucked her fruit snacks under her arm and shoved her hands into her pockets before sighing, “C’mon, guys, we all know he made her up.”

“Actually...” August drawled slowly.

“She’s real,” Kona finished plainly as she plucked a can of maraschino cherries from the shelf. “I met her this morning at their house.”

Sandy chuckled, shaking her head at the idea before meeting the girl’s eyes and allowing her smirk to fall. “Wait, seriously?”

Kona nodded, the tips of her braided pigtails bouncing against her collarbone. “She’s legit. I even shook her hand.”

Disbelief combined with excitement flashed across Sandy’s face as her eyes sparkled with delight. “No fucking way.”

“Way,” Bentley said with a grin.

Shoving her box of fruit snacks into Zack’s hands, the fourteen-year-old scrambling to catch them as he sputtered out confused noises, Sandy turned on her heel and ran out of the aisle, her hand-me-down sneakers squeaking against the linoleum as she raced to meet up with her friends once more. Turning to his friends with a raised brow as the redhead ran from sight, Zack asked, “Is she on crack or something?”

Bentley shrugged as Kona replied, “Wouldn’t surprise me.”

Zack inspected the box he had been tossed and held it up for his friends to see, “The hell am I supposed to do with this?”

“Put it on the shelf for her to find later?” August offered.

Bentley took the snacks and placed them in the basket tucked into the crook of August’s elbow with a sigh, “Chances are, we’ll see them before we leave the store.”

As the group continued onward, their basket slowly filling with snacks and things they could eat on the drive to Bentley and Royce’s house, Kona sighed, “So, what do you think Vivien’s doing right now?”

Bentley shrugged, “Miles’ boss never let me or Royce anywhere near the cars when we used to go with him to work, so she’s probably stuck sitting in the waiting room, bored out of her mind.”

‘If I have to be subjected to these morons singing Oh, Pretty Woman by Roy Orbison one more time, I’m going to burn this place to the ground.’ Glancing up from her phone, where she hastily typed out an entry in her notes folder, Vivien took a deep breath and tried not to roll her eyes as Miles and his bumbling band of baboons horsed around. Their boss for the day, Jeff Woodard, was a chill guy, which Vivien discovered when he brought sandwiches and coffee back for lunch earlier, but how on earth he tolerated them all day, she would never know.

Not much had happened so far that day. An elderly lady whose car smelled like a bag of cats had come in and chatted with her while she waited for her car to be fixed, but that was about the extent of her entertainment during her so-called “fun time with Miles” day. The lady needed to be convinced that her brake pads were as bad as the boys said they were, so Vivien put it into terms the elderly woman could understand, helping her decide to pay for the service so the guys wouldn’t have to struggle with her any longer. After the woman left, thanking Vivien graciously for her help and offering her some purse candies she had never seen before, she had been relocated from the waiting room to the shop floor, perching herself on a stack of tires the guys had fashioned into a chair. Thankfully, Jeff didn’t give a shit where she set up camp for the day so long as she didn’t constantly bug his workers like “tweedle-dee and tweedle-dum” had a few months back - whoever that was.

At first, Jeff and Miles’ coworkers for the day - Raymond and Joshua - had been a bit… well… standoffish toward her, but after netting them a good sale with the elderly lady and her cat-scented car, they warmed up to her presence. According to the brief run-down she’d gotten from Miles before the guys showed up, Jeff’s youngest daughter was about her age, and he was, despite the gruff exterior she had originally been met with, the definition of a girl dad. Raymond - the thirty-something-year-old, walking spaghetti noodle of a man who looked like a strong wind would blow him away - was apparently in a garage band that played hit songs for birthday parties and other events in the area. The youngest of the bunch, eighteen-year-old Joshua, looked like Simon from Bridgerton, but shorter, and had the crackheaded temperament of a husky. When Vivien offhandedly brought up the fact that he looked as though he walked off of a photo shoot for some ritzy cologne company - the kind in magazines that give anyone walking by a migraine - he had snorted a laugh and told her that he was sure he’d break any camera pointed in his direction. Eyeing him as he hefted two truck tires down from the upper racks on the wall with little to no effort, Vivien found herself immediately disagreeing.

It wasn’t long into her time there that Vivien found out why the waiting room door had a sign on it that told anyone who entered to close it afterward. She had figured the waiting room was soundproofed or something to keep the loud noises of their machinery from bothering customers while they waited, but as the radio was cranked up, she discovered the actual reasoning - the mechanics’ singing voices. Every time a new song came on the radio - whether over the speakers or in someone’s car - the gaggle of grease monkeys would sing along, allowing her a front-row seat to the next season of Hillbilly American Idol. From what she had heard of their rendition of Heat Wave by Martha and the Vandellas, Raymond had a decent singing voice so long as it wasn’t brought to his attention that he was, in fact, singing aloud; Joshua - or Joshy, as the guys called him - had the vocal range of an injured cat, but was very enthusiastic and unapologetic with his lack of singing talent; Miles refused to sing solo, but his underlying, unmistakable, southern twang underneath his friends’ voices was something Vivien had picked up on immediately.

Miles had a good singing voice, that much Vivien was sure of, hastily typing her thoughts on the matter into her notes folder to compile into her evening journal session when she got back to their house. Apart from humming along to the radio in the car and singing a few lyrics to get help remembering a song title, she had never heard him sing. It was a rare gift, she was sure, but why? He literally came from a world revolving around music. Wouldn’t it be easy for him to take to the stage?

Shaking her head as House of the Rising Sun began to play and Joshua began singing along in what she assumed was his signature, off-pitch-but-proud voice, Vivien pocketed her phone and watched as another car rolled to a stop outside. The car wasn’t parked in the shop’s immediate waiting lot - a subtle sign that the person wasn’t there for work on the car - but Vivien hoped more than anything that she would have enough time to sneak a quick walk around the car once the person left their vehicle. If the style of the vehicle was anything to go by, it was from the mid-to-late thirties, but it was the torpedo hood ornament glistening in the sun that caught her attention. Pushing herself from the admittedly quite comfortable seat she had made out of a stack of tires, Vivien hid her phone in the folded-up sweatpants she had taken off after dismounting Miles’ motorcycle and began walking toward the open garage bay door.

Ducking under equipment and hopping over the gasoline line Miles was using to fill up their last customer as the man driving the car got out and walked toward one of the shops to the left of the repair garage, Vivien edged her way to the exit, her eyes widening as a smile spread across her face. Taking in the pale, robin’s egg blue car and the little red circle on the bumper with LaS carved in silver on it, she felt the desire to reach out and touch it.

It was real.

Her great-grandfather’s fabled LaSalle. When her Grandpa George and Nonna had taken in her great-grandfather, Papa Angus, Vivien had clung to him like ivy on an abandoned building. Papa Angus was born in the midst of The Great Depression, but he was anything but the stereotype of his age range. One of Vivien’s greatest memories with the man was going to local car shows, examining them and listening to her Papa’s stories relating to each one he had owned in the past - which, because of his age, was a lot.

Her favorite thing to do was listen to his stories and his adventures, which he would describe in such detail that she felt as though she was there with him. But, of all the stories he would tell, the one that always stood out was about “his baby” - a 1937 LaSalle. The “poor man’s Cadillac,” as it was often called, was a cheaper version of a Cadillac, but, according to Papa Angus, it was actually built better and tougher than any Cadillac on the market.

Vivien had never gotten the chance to see one while her Papa was alive. At least, not in anything more than a picture. He had sold his long before her birth. She had never gotten the chance to buy him back his prized possession before he passed. Now, two years later, nearly fifteen hundred miles away, she was staring at an exact replica of her Papa’s baby. The only thing she was sure it was missing was the hand-embroidered details her great-grandmother had sewn into the seats. Everything else matched the black-and-white pictures she had been shown over the years, but now, it was sitting before her in vivid color, the paint shimmering in the Florida sun.

Whoever owned the car must have loved it, seeing as they had taken such impeccable care of it. The silver chrome of the hubcaps shone, the pale blue paint had few, if any, scratches or chips, and everything about the interior screamed immaculate despite her inability to see anything past the steering wheel. Even if the car had been sitting in some junkyard, rusting away for fifty-odd years, the tug in her chest drawing her to the car would have felt the same. After all, it was her Papa’s car.

Feeling her eyes burn slightly at the idea that, even in another universe, she had some form of a connection to her Papa Angus, her eyes raked over every curve of blue paint and flash of silver metal, wanting nothing more than to commit the car to memory. The paint shone in the sunlight, glittering specks of light dancing within the shades of blue as Vivien leaned against the open bay wall and drank it in. The bubbled wheel wells, the red and gold V8 emblem on the left side of the grille, the suicide doors, the silver line down the center of the windshield she recalled her grandfather saying was the only downside to the beautiful car, and, of course, the white wall tires that gleamed elegance as opposed to the dull black wall tires cars had resorted to over the years.

Smiling at the hood ornament - a silver torpedo that seemed to gleam back at her - Vivien fought the urge to dash across the concrete sidewalk to pat the colorful hood as she muttered to no one in particular, “Hey, Papa. Good to see you’re here too.”

Of course, the car had nothing to say in return.

Vivien stood in the doorway for a while, contemplating speaking to whoever owned the vehicle when they returned, but her thought process was halted as a hand landed between her shoulder blades. Glancing over her shoulder, she met a pair of concerned blue eyes that seemed to ask what Miles’ mouth refused to. Nodding to the older boy, Vivien turned back to the car and said, “I’m fine, Miles.”

“Talking to yourself while staring at a random car isn’t what I’d qualify as ‘fine’, kiddo,” Miles retorted softly. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Vivien replied. “Nothing’s wrong. I just…” Taking in a deep breath, she crossed her arms over her chest, nodding toward the old car as she spoke, “That’s my Papa’s car.”

“Your Papa?”

“Mhm.”

Raking through his limited memories of Vivien’s family tree, Miles faintly recalled visiting Vivien’s family’s house and searching everywhere for the then fourteen-year-old, only to find her crying in an old treehouse in the backyard, clutching an old flannel like it was her most prized possession. He sat with her, allowing her to curl into his side until she was ready to go back inside, but that wasn’t until long after her other relatives had left. After confiding in him that her great-grandfather, a man whom half the town - both related and not - referred to as Papa, had passed away, Miles encouraged her to cry as much as she needed to all while fighting back tears of his own at how distraught the younger girl was. He had only ever seen her as this strong, feisty little girl who handled everything with a strength even adults had yet to possess. Seeing her so broken and fragile was something he hoped he never had to see again.

Swallowing another question of her wellbeing, Miles brought his arm around her shoulders and instead asked, “Is that who you were talking to?”

“Yeah.” Vivien eyed the car for a while, grateful for the silence Miles offered her. He had never been one to push her to talk, and she was grateful for that more often than not. Leaning her head on his shoulder, she sighed, “I think he’s proud of me for coming here and exploring his old stomping grounds.”

Glancing down at the top of Vivien’s head before allowing his gaze to flicker back onto the car, Miles asked, “Your Papa lived here?”

With a small nod, Vivien agreed, “He and Grammy Gloria were snowbirds - come for the winter and go back north in April after it’s done snowing. Even when they had kids, they came down here and would transfer their credits back and forth. Then, the kids got to high school, and they chose to settle up by where Nonna Dawn and Grandpa George’s summer camp is.”

Biting back a snort at the thought of the old stoner and his take-no-shit wife running a summer camp, Miles claimed, “I’ve never been there.”

Lifting her head from Miles’ shoulder and turning her widened emerald eyes onto him, she asked, “Seriously?” Nodding wordlessly, Miles found himself smirking as Vivien sputtered out a nonsensical string of disbelieving noises before her gaze leveled and she turned back into the shop, taking his wrist in her hands and dragging him behind her until she reached the stack of tires she had chosen as her throne of choice for the day. Releasing him just long enough to snatch her phone from its hiding spot and scroll through her photo albums, Vivien forced the phone into Miles’ hand and said, “Scroll through. You’ve gotta see it.”

“Viv,” Miles said in a low tone, placing his hand on hers and glancing around before shaking his head. “We can’t risk someone seeing this.”

Sending Miles a tilted look he could easily tell was a “you’re kidding, right?” stare, Vivien said, “Dude, I’ve been on that thing all day. Nobody gives a shit. Besides, two seconds isn’t going to kill us.”

Offering the girl a pleading look, Miles tried to shove the phone back into her hands just as Jeff called out from the front desk, “Miles.”

Tucking the phone into the pocket of his grease-stained coveralls, Miles whirled around and asked, “Yeah?”

“Take a twenty and get sandwiches for lunch, will ya,” Jeff responded, glancing away from the clock on the wall to his worker. “And get the girl something extra while you’re at it. Cookies, a brownie, somethin’ from that record shop all the teenyboppers hang out at - I don’t give a fuck.”

“Teenyboppers?” Vivien whispered as a bewildered grin tugged at her lips. “I’m a teenybopper now?”

Nudging the young brunette with his elbow in an effort to get her to shut up, Miles stepped up to the counter and took the money Jeff offered before joking, “Says the man who said he didn’t want another kid hanging around the shop.”

Glancing past Miles to where Vivien was softly snickering to herself, Jeff pointed in her general direction and met Miles’ gaze as he said, “That one, I like. She knows her shit and she put up with those two imbeciles you call coworkers for the last few hours without any fuss. Now go get her somethin’ special’ fore I change my mind.”

As Miles grabbed Vivien and guided her toward the door, he snorted as Josh teased their manager, “Adopted another one, eh, Jeff?”

“Fuck off,” came the man’s reply.

Making sure Vivien knew to duck under one of the lifted cars, Miles took her hand and led her through the shop, directing her over the oil hose Joshua had forgotten to hang up before leading her out of the shop and onto the sidewalk. Squinting as the sun glared down on him, Miles stepped into the fresh air and sucked in a breath before releasing Vivien’s hand. Pulling his wallet from the pocket that held Vivien’s phone, Miles slipped the twenty into the back pouch and took a ten out before holding it out for Vivien to take. “Here, teenybopper. Go waste some money at the record shop while I order lunch. You can take your sweet-ass time and just meet me back at the shop when you’re done, if you want.”

Pushing the money back toward Miles, she asked, “What even is a teenybopper?”

“Apparently, it’s a stubborn little shit who won’t take money when offered,” Miles quipped, pushing her hand down and offering her the money once more.

“I don’t need it,” Vivien shrugged, taking Miles’ hand in hers and shoving his fingers into a fist around the dollar. “If anything, I have far too much already. My dad and aunts gave me more money on top of the thousand bucks I already set aside for this trip, so…”

Although Miles could hear the sincerity in her voice and see the humor in her eyes, he couldn’t resist the feeling as though she had punched him in the gut. A literal child - someone just barely old enough to have a part-time job in her home state - had more money in her pocket than he probably earned in three, maybe four months, if not more with what her dad and aunts had given her. As she said, she felt she had too much for her vacation to their little pocket of Florida. He would kill to have that problem - too much money, not enough things to spend it on. Hoping Vivien couldn’t see through his almost nonexistent grin to the pit of wistfulness he had learned to cover over the years, Miles nodded and sighed, “You don’t want more.”

Almost wishing she had kept her mouth shut about how much money she had just sitting in her NASA wallet, Vivien watched Miles shove the bill back in his wallet and tuck the peeling leather wallet back into the pocket of his grease-stained coveralls before correcting his statement, “I don’t need more. Put it toward bills or groceries or claim it is as a portion of my rent or some shit.”

“You’re not paying rent while you’re living with us, kid,” Miles argued despite the desire to thank her for putting something toward the growing grocery list he wasn’t sure he would be able to handle once he cashed the check Jeff had shoved in his jacket upon his arrival that morning.

Eager to move away from the topic of money and the Murphy’s struggle to make ends meet, Vivien waved him off with a hand, “Whatever, Miles-per-gallon, just keep it. But… I’ll take a meatball grinder, if that makes you feel any better. With extra sauce and either mozzarella or parmesan shredded cheese, please.”

Grateful for the change in subject as the tension within him began to lessen, Miles nodded and glanced back at his workshop, knowing all too well that Jeff wouldn’t be pleased with her just wanting a sandwich. Jeff wasn’t one to show affection outright, but anyone who worked with him knew he liked to spoil his crew. His brothers hadn’t passed Jeff’s sit-still, shut-yer-yaps, and don’t-ask-questions test, but Vivien had unknowingly passed it and surpassed the man’s expectations the moment she sealed the deal with Miss Patsy - the cat lady who had come in earlier - thus earning her ‘something special’ on Jeff’s dime. He would make sure Vivien had something upon their return. Miles just had to figure out what that something was.

Miles ran a hand through his hair, smudging grease across his forehead in the process, and asked, “You want a brownie or something with it? Jeff’ll kill me if you don’t get something extra.”

Vivien had never really been a big fan of chocolates, but brownies were a soft spot in her book - right up there with hot cocoa and Ferrero Rochers - so she relented with another shrug. “Yeah, sure. Can I check out the record place while you get lunch?”

“I already said you could, kid.” Slowing to a stop outside the sandwich shop, Miles stepped aside to let a man with a bag of food leave the store before gesturing to a sign that was hung just beyond a pale yellow awning. “It’s right down there. Kona’s dad will be doing his broadcast right now, but her mom should be working. With any luck, you’ll meet Trixie and Loony.”

Jerking back slightly and sending Miles the most bewildered look she could muster, Vivien asked, “Who the hell names their kid Loony? Trixie I can kind of understand as a nickname, but Loony? That’s just torture.”

“I never said they were kids,” Miles said with an air of mystery lacing his words. However, before Vivien could question him further, he ducked into the sandwich shop, the bell above the door tinkling to signal his entrance.

Blinking at the place Miles had vacated, Vivien contemplated his words for a moment before rolling her eyes and shaking her head as she turned in the direction he had pointed her in. Maybe it would be better if she didn’t ask questions. After all, she’d find out soon enough. Passing a few small shops and other businesses on her way down the strip - a florist, a laundromat, a pharmacy, and a few coffee shops that, if the signs were anything to go by, were rivals - Vivien found herself peering in windows to see what each business had. It wasn’t until she found herself staring at the psychedelic designs drawn in chalk on the sidewalk that Vivien realized she had found the record shop.

From what she could see through the random advertisement posters in the window, a lava lamp glowed and flowed by the front of the shop, casting shades of oranges, yellows, and reds across the parts of exposed glass that weren’t plastered with papers. Pressing a hand against her forehead and leaning in to get a better look through the window, Vivien saw the shop was mostly empty, bar from maybe two or three shoppers and a woman with tanned skin and almost white blonde hair who sat behind the counter, reading what Vivien could only assume by the man on the front was a romance novel of some kind. The same kind her Nonna would read that Vivien’s parents insisted she never try reading. Now that she was old enough to understand what was going on between those pages, Vivien was glad she never picked up one of those books.

Shaking her head to rid herself of that train of thought, Vivien took a step back and looked at the storefront. Despite the rainbow array of records hung in the front window on the opposite side of the door, the front of the store didn’t really scream “record shop.” With the over-the-top swirls of white and black, the funky welcome mat with unusual stains on it, and the “Buy, Sell, Trade,” sign glowing in the window, it looked less like a record shop and more like a sketchy pawn shop on the wrong side of town that drug addicts would go to in order to borrow money for their next fix. In a best-case scenario, it sort of looked like a pot shop back in Sanbornton that was mostly frequented by the older generations of hippies who loved the fact that their favorite strains of Mary Jane were now perfectly legal.

Not that she knew any of those… or was related to one of them.

Willing to take her chances, Vivien made sure she had her wallet tucked into one pocket and her taser pen from Riven’s dad in the other before gripping the door handle, taking a deep breath, and pulling it open. Stepping into the shop, she instantly found the shop much more welcoming on the inside than it was on the outside. Music pumped from boxy speakers in the upper corners of the walls, and Vivien found herself easily bopping her head along to the beat of some song by The Kinks as she edged further into the shop, stepping around a relatively tall man with light brownish-blonde hair as he talked to the woman at the counter. Juicy watermelon and freshly cut cantaloupe wafted through the air, presumably coming from the fruit salad the woman behind the counter was halfheartedly jabbing her fork into as she discussed shipping options with the man before her.

His leather jacket had a small logo on the shoulders - orange and yellow streaks in a flashy circle with something written in gold in the center - and Vivien wanted to ask him about it, but seeing as the man’s jacket definitely wasn’t from the rat gang Butchy led, she steered clear. Miles’ warning from earlier about rival groups having it out for her if she mentioned any association with any specific gang rang through her head as she stepped around the man, following the funky fonts above the crates of records until she found herself stepping up to a crate full of foreign rock music.

The Beatles, The Animals, and The Kinks filled out most of the crate, but having only seen the records in their modern, remastered forms - or exceedingly overpriced on eBay - the price tags taped to each sleeve made Vivien feel as though she had found the motherlode. Scanning over various other genres, Vivien felt like a kid in a candy store. Three bucks for a Beatles record? Two for Etta James? Four for The Beach Boys? That was unheard of!

Grinning to herself as she realized she could probably buy one of every record she wanted and still have money left over, Vivien began pulling records from the crates and stacking them on her arm. Bob Dylan, Dionne Warwick, The Beatles, Leslie Gore, and The Shangri-Las all made it into her stack of choice records before her outstretched hand bumped another. Turning to see a man who seemed to embody the hippie movement, Vivien took a fleeting moment to take in the shorter man’s appearance as they both took a step back from the stack of records. He stood maybe two or three inches shorter than her and reeked of the same stench her grandfather did. He wore an oversized jean jacket, a psychedelic shirt that made Vivien’s eyes twitch, and a pair of faded, flared corduroys that Vivien swore she would have bought if she’d seen them on a rack at the thrift store. All in all, the man looked - and, frankly, smelled - like what she thought of when she envisioned Woodstock, but his dopey, laid-back smile and his bleary brown eyes sort of reminded her of her grandparents’ dog, Dopey Ding.

Gesturing to the vinyl they both had reached for, Vivien smiled and said, “All yours, my dude.”

Reaching wordlessly for the record, the man’s bloodshot eyes scanned Vivien’s form from head to toe before drifting back to her eyes as he cradled the record to his chest. As his weed-addled mind began to process and the gears in his head ground to life, he pointed at the tiny peace symbol dangling from her choker necklace - an accessory she had unknowingly received during her mall trip with the girls - swirling his finger in a circle toward the silver emblem on her collarbone with a soft chuckle, “Hell yeah, dudette.”

Both amused and intrigued by the short pothead, Vivien raised her free hand in a peace sign and said, “Peace, man.”

“Fuck yeah,” the almost comically stereotypical stoner drawled.

“Ethan!” a woman’s voice snapped, forcing Vivien to turn toward the woman at the counter who had seemingly been observing whilst talking with the biker. The weeded-out hippie - Ethan, she supposed - raised his hands in the form of surrender as the woman snipped, “It’s bad enough you come in here to harass my daughter’s cats on your lunch break every day. Quit bothering my customers.”

“He’s not bothering me,” Vivien insisted with a smile. “We’re just chatting about this new record from a rock band from England.”

The woman glanced between the two, scrutinizing the interaction before sighing and shaking her head, returning to the conversation at hand as the biker before her said something Vivien couldn’t quiter make out. Turning back to the shorter man, Vivien grinned as his bloodshot eyes met hers, a gleam of something between pride and amusement flickering underneath the obvious signs of his high. He leaned close enough to Vivien that she was sure she’d get a contact high and, in a not-so-quiet whisper, said, “The cats hate my disco ball.”

“You carry a disco ball with you?” Vivien asked, her eyebrow lifting ever so slightly at the concept.

With a nod that bobbed the curtain of unmanaged curls surrounding his shoulders, Ethan pulled his keys from his jacket’s absurdly large inner pocket and allowed a tiny disco ball to dangle between them. “Loony hates it.”

Finally realizing why Miles was acting so mysterious about the names earlier, Vivien laughed and asked, “Is that the only reason you have it? To bug the cats?”

“‘Course not.” Ethan looked around as though someone might hear him before muttering, “Got it at a concert I snuck into. Teasing the cats is just an added perk.”

Vivien let out a breath of a laugh, but Ethan gestured for her to follow him before she could say anything. Glancing around, Vivien shrugged. What was the harm? Following the short stoner through the shop, Vivien looked around for the cats, checking under shelving units and inside empty crates before she was stopped, slamming into Ethan’s back and nearly toppling the unsuspecting pothead over. Waving off the girl’s quick apology, Ethan stepped to the side and gestured toward a fluffy cat tree in the same manner Vanna White would the board on Wheel of Fortune.

With a poorly contained snort, Vivien stepped up beside the shorter brunet and found two cats staring back at her - a ginger Maine Coon with piercing golden eyes and a slinky tortoiseshell with heterochromatic blue and green eyes and a half-black, half-orange face. Vivien’s grin grew as the tortoiseshell cat rose from its perch and stretched itself out before sitting on the tower's edge to observe her. Stretching out a hand, she said, “Hello, pretty kitty.”

“That’s Bellatrix,” Ethan stated. “The other one is… well, I’m not really sure.”

Glancing over at the hippie as the cat ducked under her palm, Vivien’s eyebrow raised beyond the edge of her bangs as she asked, “I thought you come here every day?”

Ethan nodded in confirmation, his shaggy, loose curls bobbing at the action, “I do, but that cat’s got a lotta names, dudette.” Counting on his fingers, he said, “Luna, Loony the Maine Coony, Grand Larceny-”

“Grand Larceny?”

“It’s because she steals things from unsuspecting shoppers,” a man’s voice piped up from beyond the cat tree, making Vivien jump as her eyes snapped up to the wall. Her eyebrows scrunched together in confusion as she looked around for the person to match the voice, but it wasn’t until a roller blind the same color as the walls around it moved that Vivien realized their conversation was overheard by the same man who had driven the creepy pedophile van from earlier in the morning. Kona’s dad - Jonathan, was it? - smiled at her startled expression and said, “Sorry to eavesdrop, kids. I was just checking on the cats now that I’ve got a new record on.”

Peering into the room as music thumped from within, Vivien grinned, “The guys said you run a radio show.”

“They’d be right.” Nodding as he hooked his clunky, oversized headset on a stand that seemed to teeter on the edge of the table in the center of the room, Jonathan crossed the room and opened a door a few feet away, leaving his studio room and offering Vivien a smile as he held out a hand in greeting. “I’m Jonathan, Kona’s dad. I was a bit preoccupied this morning, so I never introduced myself Are you related to the Murphy’s?”

“Vivien,” she replied, latching hands with the older man. “And, no, I’m dating Royce. I’m just staying with them for my spring break.”

“Ah,” Jonathan breathed, nodding to himself as he allowed Vivien to take her hand back. Jonathan’s hazel eyes flitted from the girl before him to the stoner behind her as Ethan dangled his disco ball keychain above his daughter’s cat, Luna. Sighing and shaking his head at the shorter brunet, Jonathan cleared his throat enough to drag Ethan’s attention away from the enthralled felines as he tapped his watch and spoke, “Shouldn’t you be back at the studio by now, Ethan?”

The pothead’s eyes widened, and he whipped around, bleary eyes scanning the wall for clocks before latching onto the one above the counter. Squinting at the clock for a moment, he slowly registered the time before breathing, “Oh fuck.”

“Yeah,” Jonathan chuckled. “Better get going, hoaloha.”

Turning back to the man, Ethan looked at the record sleeve he had tucked under his arm and glanced toward the front counter where Kona’s mom was sitting, still talking in a hushed voice with the biker Vivien had narrowly avoided slamming into earlier. He seemed to debate purchasing the record for a moment before reluctantly holding it out for Jonathan to take. The man took the record from Ethan and inspected it for a moment before grinning to himself - he knew it was only a matter of time before Ethan snatched up the record he had been eyeing since they got it in the week before.

Seeing the stoner’s reluctance as he turned to leave, Vivien turned to Jonathan and asked, “Can I buy it?”

Although she wasn’t looking at him, Vivien heard Ethan let out a noise similar to a wounded cat as she caught him whirl around through the corner of her eye. Jonathan glanced between the pair before lowering his gaze to the rock vinyl in his hands. While the genre of music wasn’t something he assumed a girl of her age - and rather innocent appearance - would be interested in, Jonathan was never one to judge, let alone when it meant a sale. Meeting the girl’s eyes, a pair of emerald pools that seemed to border on pleading, Jonathan’s eyebrow raised, and he asked, “You want it?”

Glancing over at Ethan and his kicked-puppy expression, Vivien shook her head, “No, but he does. And, if he’s not gonna buy it for himself, I’ll buy it for him.”

Examining the confused look on Ethan’s face, it was easy to see that he was either too high to comprehend the girl’s intentions or was simply trying to figure out why she was doing what she was when she didn’t even know him. Then, as Jonathan took in Vivien’s pleading smile, he nodded, handing Vivien the record and turning to Ethan with a grin, “I’ll have Nalani put it aside for you to pick up after your shift. For now, get going before they threaten to fire you. Again.”

Watching Jonathan walk between them on his way to speak with his wife, Vivien turned to Ethan and added his vinyl to her growing stack before telling him, “He’s right, you should go.”

As Vivien breezed by him, her fruity perfume masking his cloud of marijuana for a fleeting moment, Ethan jerked out of his stupor and sputtered, “You’re seriously buying me that?”

“Yup.”

“You don’t know me.” He paused for a moment, halfheartedly examining the girl before him as he muttered, “Or do you?”

Turning to the somewhat coherent stoner, hoping his moment of clarity was long enough to break through to him, Vivien said, “Your name is Ethan, you work at a studio nearby, you smoke some serious kush, and you must be nice if these guys haven’t kicked you from their store for harassing their cats.”

Half-giggling, Ethan smirked, “The cats love me.”

“I’m sure they do,” Vivien snickered, somewhat grateful that he ignored the rest of her statement as she stepped up to the register and slid her stack across to Jonathan. “Now, shouldn’t you get to the studio before they fire you?”

Dazed tawny eyes flitted to the clock once more as Ethan breathed, “Shit.”

As the cogs in his brain slowly rattled to life, steam figuratively bursting from his ears as they worked overtime to get his point across, Ethan stretched out a hand in a closed fist, his eyes expectant beneath the haze of weed. Tapping her fist against his, Vivien introduced herself, “Name’s Vivien, by the way.”

Ethan chuckled with a grin that told Vivien she was in for something straight from the caboose of the short pothead’s weeded-out train of thought, “You look like that thing from that song.”

“Song?” Vivien echoed. “What song?”

Ethan seemed to wrack his brain for a while, wrinkling parts of it that had long since been smoothed out by his weed usage. Finally, through the fog of his high, Vivien could see the light in his eyes flicker on like the electricity back home after a storm knocked the power lines down. Thoroughly proud of himself for remembering the Sheb Wooley song, Ethan snapped his fingers and pointed at Vivien’s outfit as he declared, “The Purple People Eater.”

Scrolling through the recesses of her mind for the song in question, Vivien let out a snorted laugh, shaking her head as she looked down at her outfit. Although unintentional, her ringer tee and sneakers were a light enough shade of purple that her jean shorts made them look the same hue of French lilac. She could see the reasoning behind his declaration, but as the woman behind the counter once again cleared her throat to gain the stoner’s attention, Vivien found herself withholding her approval of his comment.

“Ethan,” the woman - presumably Kona’s mom, Nalani - ground out in an exasperated sigh. “Go to work.”

Like a soldier given an order from his superior, Ethan snapped to attention, offering the woman a salute that looked more like a first-year boy scout than anything militaristic. He then turned toward the door and half-walked, half-stumbled toward it. The bell above the door jingled as the door opened, and with a crooked grin, Ethan turned toward Vivien as he stepped outside and waved, “Later, Purple People Eater.”

“See ya, Ethan.” As the pothead grinned, tucked his hands into his pockets, and wandered away, Vivien turned back to Jonathan, who was shaking his head despite his fond smile. Waiting for the man to manually input her purchase in the register while his wife talked with the leather-clad biker who now stood beside her, Vivien subtly examined the biker from the corner of her eyes, hoping her glasses didn’t betray her secret observances. Rocking back on her heels, Vivien took in the back of his jacket in clearer detail. Streaks of lightning that looked somewhat similar to the tattoo on the side of Riven’s ribs jolted across the back, but it was the giant letters written just under the collar and just above the bottom hem that Vivien took a while to process. Finally, after reading the words “Leader of the Pack,” Vivien decided to avoid talking to the man altogether.

He obviously wasn’t from Butchy’s gang - despite Vivien’s teasing remarks that he legitimately led the first Rat Pack - and she had no desire to get into any type of interaction with anyone outside of the small group of friends the people she cared about had introduced her to. That didn’t stop her from looking, though. She had seen far too many true crime documentaries and podcasts over the years for her to simply not. If the need arose, she would tell Miles about the man later, and she wanted her information to be as accurate as possible.

The first thing she noted was that he was tall, presumably landing somewhere between Miles and Butchy, if she had to guess. After that came his voice. He certainly wasn’t Corpse Husband - one of her favorite, deep-voiced Youtubers - but his voice alone was deep. If she had to equate it to something, he’d sound closer to her Papa Angus’ favorite singer - Johnny Cash. Then came the hair - not dirty blonde, but not quite brunet, with no visible tinges of red or black, and clearly not dyed. Next was the unopened pack of cigarettes in his pocket, the plastic seal line at the top untouched and the V-shaped label giving her practically nothing to go by, but she still made a mental note to ask Miles later on. Maybe he knew someone who smoked that brand. Then, as her eyes moved off of the man’s cigarettes, Vivien found his fingers subtly twirling the black and silver ring on his ring finger - a nervous tick or a habit of some kind, she was sure.

Glancing up at the man’s face, she found his expression almost blank, schooled, and stoic. Almost. The only thing that would give away his feelings to an untrained eye was his eyes, but Vivien could see more than that. They were hazel, from what she could tell, and were more expressive when his face wasn’t. He seemed frustrated. Whether that was to do with the conversation he was having with Kona’s mom or not, she couldn’t be sure, but the tensed muscle in his jaw, the slight squint of his eyes, and the way his head was tipped slightly down gave it away.

Returning her focus to Jonathan as she reached into her pocket for her wallet, Vivien tried to brush off the unease she felt around the man. For all she knew, he was just an average guy having a bad day. People had bad days all the time: who was she to judge whether or not a person was good just based on how they looked? Still, the lingering feeling that something about him just wasn’t right kept her on edge. Maybe it was the fact that he was a leader of a biker gang she didn’t know of or the way he carried himself, but whatever it was, Vivien fought down her unease and waited for Jonathan to tuck her stack of records - bar the one she purchased for Ethan - into a brown paper bag before telling her the total.

Pulling a couple of bills from the side pocket of her wallet, Vivien handed them to Jonathan and accepted her change before tossing her wallet and the change into the bag and taking it down from the counter. Thanking him and wishing him luck on his radio show, Vivien made her way to the door, only to hear the clang of a metal chain following her as she pushed the door open. The sunlight blinded her momentarily as she glanced around, her gaze landing on a cherry-red Indian parked just across from the door. To her dismay, it was parked facing the building, making it impossible for her to read the plate screwed into the back. Glancing over her shoulder to see if she needed to hold the door for the person behind her, Vivien got a quick look at the man who had been standing at the counter as he jogged up and held the door open with one hand and fished his pack of cigarettes from his pocket with the other.

“Thanks,” she muttered as she stepped away, ducking her head in a sort of nod.

“Sure thing, darlin’,” the man replied in an almost bored tone, a thick southern accent looping through every syllable as Vivien heard him peel the wrapper off of his cigarettes.

Despite the well of knowledge from her true crime shows telling her to wait for him to pull away, Vivien continued onward toward the safety of the mechanic shop, checking only briefly for Miles in the sandwich shop on her way by. Thumbing her taser pen as she heaved her bag of records onto her hip, she hoped the man wasn’t following her - or worse, waiting for her to get into a car so he could stalk her all the way home and kill her. She hoped her instincts were just going haywire since she was in an unfamiliar town that was, apparently, overrun with biker gangs, but she was never one to ignore her gut. And sadly, her gut was telling her to be on the lookout. Thankfully, she didn’t have to wait long before the engine of the motorcycle roared to life, and the bike rolled past, cherry paint glimmering with specks of gold as the sun danced across the metal.

Grateful for once that she had to wear glasses, Vivien squinted at the plate and whispered under her breath, “ALF 1943.” As she watched the bike pull out onto the main streets and peel off with a loud rumble, Vivien repeated the man’s license plate to seal it into her mind just in case she needed it later on. Once the bike was out of sight, she ducked into the shop through the open roller door and made her way through the bay to where the guys had congregated in the break room, setting her bag of records on a chair that had seen better days.

“Where you been, chica?” Raymond asked around a bite of a chicken bacon ranch sandwich so thick Vivien found it a miracle he could unhinge his jaw wide enough to take a bite.

“Yeah,” Josh began with a smirk that smudged the teriyaki sauce on his face into one of his dimples, “you get lost tryin’ to find The Beach Boys in there or somethin’?”

Attempting to appear as normal as possible, Vivien scoffed, “Yeah, right. I was looking for some new Kinks.”

Hacking on his half-swallowed bite of food, Jeff coughed before asking, “New what?”

“It’s a band, you old fucker,” Josh claimed as he thumped the older man’s back. “Part of that British Invasion shit all the girls are going apeshit for lately.”

Rising from his seat and setting his sandwich down on its wrapper as his coworkers bickered about music, Miles ventured over to the rolled-up bag on the counter by the microwave, pulling Vivien’s messy meatball grinder from it before making his way over to her to check out all that she had bought. With a small smile and a fond roll of his eyes as he stepped around Raymond’s chair, Miles watched Vivien’s eyes as they flickered up to meet his. Having known her as long as he had, it took about three seconds for him to clock on to the undercurrent of unease in her eyes, much to her dismay.

Holding the sandwich out for her to take, Miles softly asked, “You alright, Viv? You look pale. Do you need to check your blood pressure?”

“No, I’m fine. There was this guy at the record shop and I just…” With a pointed glance past Miles to his coworkers, who were still shooting remarks at each other from around the wobbly circle table they congregated at for lunch, Vivien offered Miles a small grin and pulled her sandwich from his hand as she said, “I’ll tell you later. But, seriously, I’m fine.”

Despite wishing the girl would say more, Miles nodded, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and guiding her over to the table. Shoving Raymond’s feet off of the chair he had set aside for Vivien, Miles gestured for her to sit before making his way to the refrigerator to get her something to drink. As he expected, it didn’t take long for Vivien to fall into conversation with the guys - the kid could make friends with a brick wall if she wanted to - but Miles allowed the conversation to continue without adding his two cents unless prompted to, his attention directed solely at the brunette who somehow managed to end up the cleanest of everyone at the table despite her sloppy, marinara bathed grinder. Glancing at the clock above the open doorway, Miles wished time would move faster.

He needed to know what on earth happened.

Boca Ciega High School prided itself on being one of the best schools in all of Pinellas County. With its state-of-the-art labs, flourishing extracurriculars, and impeccable sports teams, it was known in the community as a great place to send students who could someday go on to be great. Parents, teachers, and administrators always spoke highly of the school, but anyone who looked for more than a second at most of the children in the pictures plastered around the school’s lengthy, winding hallways could tell the soul had been sucked out of them.

The thing was, if you were pretty, popular, or had some connection to either one of the sports teams or a teacher, the school was as great as it was rumored to be. The classes weren’t too hard if you had the right teacher, the other students would leave you alone for the most part, and the lunches weren’t half bad if you could afford the premium meal card. Teachers smiled at you in the hallways and people congratulated you on being a model student, ready to take America by storm when the time came. People looked at you like you were something to be adored.

However, if you were a nobody and had no way to climb the social ladder, you were - for lack of a better term - fucked. For the lowest rung on the ladder - the freshman with no known status in the hierarchy, the school was a prison. Lunches sucked and were usually cold by the time they got to the cafeteria, teachers were typically either really good or really bad, and if you didn’t have an older sibling with some notoriety, nobody cared about you. To make things worse, most of their classes were either on the top floor or in the basement with nothing in between, making it damn near impossible to get from one class to the other between bells.

The one thing every student had in common, regardless of status, was the love they shared for the dismissal bell. Every school day, 2:15 pm was like a grand exodus. The final bell of the day would chime - a wheezing, scratching melody that signified the sweet sound of freedom - and within moments, the building would go from relative peace to chaos at every corner. All at once, classrooms were abandoned as students scurried into the hallway to meet their friends, leaving teachers scrambling to assign homework as their pupils fled the room like it had been set ablaze.

The junior high kids - the poor souls in seventh and eighth grade who were forced to share space with the senior high kids in their final four years of school - would run from the building as fast as their legs would carry them, hoping to somehow make it out before the older, larger kids got there and started shoving their way through to the front yard. Then there were the senior high kids, the ninth through twelfth graders who needed to escape the grueling monotony of the school most of them had been trapped in since they were little twelve-year-olds wandering into seventh grade for the first time. On their way through the gaggles of younger kids, they would talk with their friends about pretty much anything, finally able to discuss the ups and downs of their days as they gathered in the halls and on the front lawn. The lucky ones who could drive would take off instantly, whilst the unfortunate majority was stuck waiting on the lawn to hitch a ride on one of the bright yellow buses that shuttled students somewhere in the general vicinity of their homes.

Although some things changed with time, the reckless abandon and freedom of speech that came with the final bell of the day never did.

“Y’know what, Mr. Campbell can suck a big bag of hairy dicks for all I care,” Kona hissed as she pushed open the front door of the school, shoving her detention slip into the front pocket of her backpack as she began pushing her way through the group of seventh-grade students that had begun gathering on the front steps. “Who the hell gives out Saturday detentions when they know they’re wrong?! It’s such bullshit.”

“I mean, you did call him an asshole to his face,” Bentley argued lightly, despite knowing how justified the blonde’s insult was. “Technically, he has the right to give you detention for that.”

“Technically, he’s an asshole.” Shoving a path through the crowd until they could make their way to a stone bench by where the school buses would soon line up, Kona dropped her backpack onto the table and sat on one of the seats around the table as she scoffed, “I mean, my Uncle Calvin was on the beaches of Normandy and never shuts up about it when we visit him, I think I’d know what day it happened on.”

Although August chose to remain silent for most of the conversation while they were still in the school building, he took the opportunity to finally declare, “He’s just upset that you called him out for being wrong. He hates being told he’s wrong.”

Huffing as he sat on the opposite side of the table, Zack grumbled, “He’s also a racist piece of shit. I heard him call Christie Kim ‘Ching Chong’ in the hall today.”

“Isn’t she Korean?” Kona asked.

“I don’t think he cares,” Bentley sighed as he reached into his backpack for some leftover Pringles from lunch. “He hates anyone who isn’t white.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Zack scoffed, reaching into Bentley’s canister and tugging out a few potato chips. “I bet he wishes everything was still segregated.”

“I don’t doubt it,” August sighed, unzipping his bag to pull out some leftover candy from lunch. “It’s a miracle the school hasn’t fired him yet.”

“I doubt it’ll be long.” Kona smirked, leaning over the table and lowering her voice as she said, “My mom said the PTA has reported him to the admins and superintendent a few times already, so chances aree he won’t be here next year.”

Brushing chip crumbs and salt from his fingers onto the concrete bench, Zack rolled his eyes, “By then, we’ll be Sophomores. We won’t have to put up with his shit anymore.”

Licking the residue of his caramel cream bullseyes from his thumb, August cut in before Kona could say anything, “Yeah, but that means the kids after us won’t either. Even though it doesn’t help the people in our year, it’ll keep people later on from being tormented.”

“I guess you’re right,” Zack huffed, reaching for another handful of chips as Bentley slowly inched the tube of Pringles away from his grabby hands. “It just sucks that we’re stuck dealing with him and his shit until the end of next month.”

Before anyone around the table had the opportunity to say anything, a backpack was tossed onto the concrete table, and a head of fiery red hair flopped dramatically over the top of the bag, a muffled scream coming from the person as they knelt in the gap between Kona and August. Looking up from the redhead, Bentley found the rest of Royce’s friend group approaching, his brother tucking a folder of papers under his arm as he rounded the table and ran his hand through Bentley’s hair. Looking up at Royce, Bentley asked, “What’s up with Sandy?”

“Her class had to run the mile because of Serena,” Kit admitted as she reached over August’s shoulder for a caramel cream. “They didn’t even get time for showers before the bell.”

“The hell did fire crotch do this time?” Kona asked as she halfheartedly patted Sandy’s back.

Lifting her head from the backpack she had shoved her face into, Sandy’s expression seemed to be toeing the line of rage as she hissed, “She called Coach Sidur a forty-year-old virgin dyke when we were in the locker room. Someone told Sidur who, of course, got pissed, and said that, because of Serena’s shit, all the junior girls were going to run the mile. Then, Serena and Violet started making comments while running, and they got held back after class, but the rest of us had to run until ten minutes before the bell.”

“I still don’t get why teachers punish everyone just because one person acted out,” August said with a shake of his head.

“Because teachers just don’t give a fuck,” Lake said, reaching into his bag taking a sip out of a labeless bottle. “Never have, never will.”

“Laken,” Kit hissed, batting at his hand, “is that alcohol?”

Sending his twin sister a somewhat amused grin, Lake replied, “On a Monday? Fuck no. It’s just that drink I nabbed from the store earlier.”

“You stole that?” Kona asked.

“If I did, are you gonna tell on me like this one did?” Lake asked in return, jerking his thumb toward his sister as he lifted the drink back to his lips.

Kona raised a brow at him and opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted as Kit turned to her twin and snipped, “You’re the one who came home blasted and broke Aunt Bonnie’s lamp.”

“Buzzkill,” Lake retorted with a grin.

“Dipshit.”

“Narc.”

Kit turned to her brother incredulously, ready to defend her actions despite her brother’s teasing smirk, but as a handful of buses began pulling into the school’s parking lot, Royce cut off the one-sided argument and declared, “Time to go, guys.”

Chuckling to himself, Lake capped his drink and tossed it back into his backpack before hauling it onto his shoulder and sauntering off. Kit turned to the others with disbelieving eyes as she breathed, “Please tell me you guys think he’s leaning a bit too far into this ‘badass’ shtick too.”

Despite the nods from the younger teens sitting at the table, it was Sandy’s statement that reassured Kit the most. Pushing herself from the table, the redhead linked arms with her best friend and said, “He’s probably just spending too much time at the wharf, showing off for those jackasses with big boats and even bigger wallets.”

“Probably,” Kit sighed as she allowed Sandy to guide her toward the bus Lake had boarded.

As his friends began making up the distance between the table and the bus, Bentley fell into step on Royce’s right and waited for the others to jog ahead before nudging his brother with his elbow and softly saying, “You’re awfully quiet, RJ.”

Heaving a sigh, Royce glanced around before saying, “It’s been a long day.”

“Why?” Bentley pressed. “Missing Viv that much?”

Rolling his eyes at his baby brother, Royce grinned, “I mean, yeah, but that’s not the whole reason.”

After a few steps of silence, Bentley stepped up at the end of the line of students waiting to board the bus before asking, “Then what is?”

“Well,” Royce began, “I had three pop quizzes, almost all of my teachers sent home enough homework to keep me up for the next month, and I had to run drills with Coach Calahan since Coach Martinez was out sick today.”

Coach Martinez was a retired Navy Chief Petty Officer who used his old military training to help push kids to be good with physical education. Typically, he was a calm and kind yet firm man, a good opposite of Coach Calahan. Calahan was the football coach - a big, burly man with enough facial hair to make a Viking jealous. He wasn’t a particularly mean man, but he never went easy on anyone, especially if he thought they had some kind of potential. Since starting ninth grade, Bentley had only the misfortune of Calahan’s gym class three times, each one seemingly worse than the next. Wincing at the thought, Bentley shuddered as he boarded the bus, “‘Nuff said.”

Dropping into the seat Kit blocked off for him, Royce moved his bag from his shoulder to his lap and sighed as the bus began to fill. Thinking it would be a relatively quiet ride, seeing as Sandy and Lake were busy talking in the seat behind them, he watched others pile into the remaining empty seats and relaxed as he realized Bentley had filled the gap next to August in the row diagonal from his. A tap on his arm made Royce turn, and he smiled as he accepted the stick of bubble gum Kit offered.

As Royce unwrapped the gum, Kit pushed the rest of her packet into her backpack and asked, “So, what’s your girlfriend like?”

Royce grinned, “She’s incredible.”

Rolling her eyes at her friend’s head-over-heels adoration for his girlfriend, Kit chuckled, “I kinda figured that much out myself, idiot. I mean, what’s her personality like; what’s she into?”

Royce let out a breath of a chuckle as he dug into his backpack and tugged out his wallet, flipping it open and proudly showing Kit the picture of himself and Vivien that he kept in the clear fold intended for his ID. The picture was taken in the photo booth at the mall - his first trip there with just her and the other members of Blissful Chaos. They weren’t yet a couple, but Vivien had invited him along to explore with her while the other members of her band talked with the mall’s director about performing there for the annual winter showcase. After the meeting with the director had been successful, the band took turns in the photo booth just outside the food court, taking pictures as a group before Riven pushed Erica and Jade into the booth, paying to let them take a strip of pictures together. Then, once they were done, they swapped out for Royce and Vivien, insisting that they do some together as Royce claimed he had never even seen a photo booth before.

After they split their photo strip in half, he tucked one picture into his wallet and pinned the other image to his bedroom wall, insisting to Bentley that it was just to commemorate the day he’d spent with Vivien and her friends. Even though he knew it was a pack of lies, Bentley had let it slide with minimal teasing, simply happy to see his brother fawning over something other than books and schoolwork. Royce had her picture in his wallet before they were a couple, but now that they were together and had taken many pictures together since, the cleanly cut photo booth picture felt irreplaceable.

“For starters, Vivien’s briliant. And, I mean, not just because she’s got high grades,” Royce claimed as Kit pried his wallet away and smirked at the picture. “She’s kind and welcoming to everyone she meets, she’s constantly standing up for what she believes in, and she’s probably one of the bravest people I know.”

Tracing her thumb over Vivien’s image, Kit grinned, “She’s pretty.”

“Yeah,” Royce breathed as he peered over her shoulder at Vivien’s photo. “She’s got the most insanely beautiful green eyes, and a smile that outshines all the stars in the sky, and don’t even get me started on her hair. It’s long and majestic, and she sits on it all the time, but she’s scared to cut it, so she finds ways to keep it up. Sometimes, when we’re just hanging out, she’ll leave it down and I just want to sit there and play with it while she does other stuff, and-”

Kit lets out a snort of laughter, cutting Royce off as she turns to him with a knowing gleam in her eyes. She holds out his wallet for him to take and grins, “You are so in love with her.”

“I’m not in love with Viv, I just-” Royce shook his head, “-we’re just dating. That’s it.”

“Let me guess, you’ve already got the wedding planned too?”

“We’ve been together for almost four months, that’s not-”

“Love doesn’t have a time frame, Royce,” Kit cut in, rolling her eyes at the somewhat dumbfounded look on his face. “Gosh, and here I thought you were the smart one in your family.”

“Hey!” Royce laughed, shoving her toward the window. “What makes you think I’m not?”

Kit let out a soft snort, shaking her head, “Says the boy who didn’t know he was in love with his girlfriend.”

Royce looked ready to defend himself, but the fire in his eyes died out almost as quickly as it appeared. Sitting back in his seat, Royce thought for a while about Kit’s claim before softly asking, “You really think I’m in love with Vivien?”

“Bentley said you two were in love ages ago,” Kit admitted as she shrugged. “At the time, we all brushed it off, but it’s clear as day, really. Besides, love makes people do stupid shit - like travel fifteen hundred miles just to see some girl you didn’t know you were in love with.”

Flushing a faint shade of pink, Royce attempted to appear nonchalant as he rhetorically asked, “How was I supposed to know?”

Eyeing her friend, a knowing smirk tugged at Kit’s lips as she said, “I’m not sure, honestly, but I’m sure a part of you knows exactly when it happened because you, my friend, are in love with Vivien.” Taking a second to watch the flurry of thoughts and emotions flicker in Royce’s caramel eyes, Kit smiled and elbowed him in the side before teasing, “And, if she has you wrapped around her finger this badly, I know I’m gonna like her.”

Grateful for the way Kit almost always seemed to know just what to say, Royce allowed himself to breathe a laugh and shoved her back, “Oh yeah? What’re you guys gonna do?”

“Other than talk shit about you and trade gloriously embarrassing stories of yours?” Kit asked with a laugh. “I don’t know, probably get milkshakes or have a sleepover or something.”

Rolling his eyes as the bus stopped to let off a load of kids before getting on, Royce chuckled, “You’ve been spending too much time with Sandy.”

Unable to argue with the truth, Kit smiled, “Maybe a little.”

Rushing into a newly evacuated seat, Sandy plopped down by the window and asked, “You two talking smack about me?”

“Talking shit, but yeah,” Royce agreed.

“Fuck yeah,” Sandy cheered softly enough that the crotchety old bus driver couldn’t hear her and give her yet another bus behavior slip for her to forge her grandparents’ signatures for.

Taking up the rest of the seat, Lake chuckled at his red-haired friend, “Yet you give me a hard time for talking shit about you.”

“Because you’re a dick,” Sandy shrugged. Brushing off the boy’s idiocy, Sandy leaned forward to get a better look at Kit before asking, “Did you get anything out of him?”

“Other than the fact that he’s obviously obsessed with her and didn’t realize he was in love with her,” Kit tilted her head side to side before shaking it, “not really.”

Turning back toward Kit with a look of disbelief, Royce hissed, “Kit!”

Tactfully ignoring Royce, Kit pushed his head back toward the seat so that she could see Sandy and Lake and said, “Royce keeps a picture of the two of them in his wallet.”

“Ugh, gross,” Sandy said with an exaggerated shiver. “Sounds like my grandad. All mushy and shit.”

Turning to kneel on his seat as the bus pulled onto another street, Bentley looked over the back of the bench at Sandy and Lake, adding his two cents to the conversation as August turned with him, “You should see his journal. That thing is full of things about Viv.”

Letting out a snort, Lake’s head swiveled toward the boy he shared a desk with in chemistry class and asked, “You’ve got a diary?”

Before Royce could scramble to find a retort, Bentley snickered, “Yeah, he does. And every page is devoted to her.”

“Bentley,” Royce hissed, “shut up! You and I both know that’s not true.”

“Okay,” Bentley relented before turning back toward Lake and Sandy, “he’s right.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s every other page.”

Laughter bubbled up amongst the group as agitation washed over Royce’s expression. His frustration was short-lived as the bus rolled to a stop outside of the South Pasadena mobile home park, and Sandy hefted her backpack onto her shoulder. Waiting for the rest of the kids to line up and make their way off the bus, she chuckled at Royce’s disgruntled expression and said, “Tell your girlfriend I look forward to meeting her. I can’t wait to tell her about the day you fucked up Darren’s face. I bet she’ll be so proud.”

“She already knows,” Royce confessed with a shrug. “And, for the record, she was very proud.”

“I’m sure,” Sandy chuckled, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. Shoving her way into the walkway between seats, Sandy turned back to her friends and began walking backward toward the front of the bus as she called out to Kona, “Give my babies a treat for me when you get home.”

Scrambling into the seat a pair of seventh-graders had evacuated behind Lake, who had since turned sideways to lay back on his bench, Kona offered Sandy a thumbs up and shoved Zack into the seat before answering, “I’ll call you later if your Roy Orbison came in.”

As she reached the top step, Sandy glanced back at Royce and wiggled her fingers at him as she teased, “See ya, lover boy.”

Royce let out a scoffed laugh as Sandy jogged down the steps and headed out toward the mobile home park where she lived with her grandparents. Typically, August would have gotten off at the same spot and walked to the next street up to go home, but seeing as he was going to be brought home by Kona’s father after getting their homework done at the Murphy’s house, he simply waved to the ginger girl from the window seat and watched her jog into the mobile home park. As the bus lurched forward and the mobile home park disappeared down the street, Royce relaxed in his seat and sighed, thinking back on how far things had come in the little over a year since their arrival.

Sandy was the first friend he made in St. Pete Beach, and he wasn’t quite sure why he enjoyed having her around - not that she had really given him a choice in the matter to begin with. She was sarcastic, loved to sneak out of class and never return, and she seemed fiercely determined to do anything she put her mind toward, giving him no wiggle room when it came to becoming her friend. Two days into knowing Sandy, Royce realized she had two very different personas depending on who she was around. When she was with her grandparents, she was the image of the “girl next door” stereotype - sweet, well-educated, mild-mannered, the whole package. However, the second she was away from her straight-laced, by-the-books relatives, she was free to be whoever she wanted to be.

Beyond her split personality issue, Cassandra Wheaton was a genuinely nice person to have on your side. She was an assistant in the school’s office, giving her access to all of the demerits, grades, and detentions given out in the buildings, which she occasionally used to help her friends get out of trouble. During Royce’s first week at the school, she had been tasked with showing him all the classes they now shared, guiding him through the building as she gave him a good understanding of which teachers to avoid at all costs and what classes to swap out of if given the chance. When she sat with him at lunch on the first day and saw he had little more than a hastily thrown-together sandwich and a Ziploc baggie of Cheez-Its, she made her way back up to the lunch counter and snuck an extra pudding cup and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for him.

After that, Royce found it nearly impossible to avoid the redhead. Her small extension of friends - a set of fraternal twins named Katrina and Laken Dubois - soon joined their little lunch sessions in the courtyard, sitting on the grass by the fountain and filling him in on all the things he had missed in the first half of the school year. Their parents had been killed in a hurricane back in Louisiana, so they were uprooted from their home in the heart of Lafayette Parish and shipped off to live with their godparents - their aunt and uncle - in a gated community bordering the Pasadena Yacht and Country Club. The loss of their parents, their closely-knit Creole community, and their sense of belonging had sent the siblings for a loop, but it was that same sense of confusion that bonded them to Royce so easily. The trio understood each other.

Katrina - or, rather, Kit - was taller, smarter, and better at hiding her streak of rebellion, regardless of how faint that streak was. She excelled in all of her classes, particularly French, which was, after all, the language they spoke back in Louisiana. Kit was hardworking and constantly busy when she wasn’t in school, working afternoons at Sandy’s family’s ice cream and snack shop inside Roll-A-Way Lanes bowling alley and spending weekends tutoring groups of kids at the local library. She was on the honor roll, was perpetually at the top of every class, and had the trust of almost every adult who knew her name. It took all of two weeks for Royce to find out that Kit had a bit of a temper, but seeing as her brother was the main target of her ire, nobody really got the chance to see it. Then came the day he got the chance to watch her verbally rip a soccer player apart for trying to grope one of her friends in the hallway. Of the twins, Kit was the more reserved, silent type who preferred to listen rather than speak, something her brother made up for in abundance, but she wasn’t afraid to fight for what was right, regardless of the cost.

Laken, who preferred to be called Lake, was a dock hand at the local marina where their uncle worked. Right off the bat, Royce figured out Lake wanted more out of life than what had been handed to him. He constantly spoke of wanting to be something great one day, whether it be a famous athlete, a rock star, or an actor of some sort. Regardless, he wanted to be something more than Barnacle Boy - a taunting jab made by the prissy rich assholes who spent their afternoons yachting around the marina, throwing empty bottles of alcohol into the water for Lake to swim out and clean up. Lake’s uncle begged him to be practical, but he was far from it. In fact, more than once, he had been taken aside by some of the marina’s most high-paying customers to flirt with their wives or in-laws in exchange for money, free drinks, or basically whatever Lake requested despite being underage. He insisted the job was alright, but anyone who knew him, knew he would take pretty much any offer of a new job if given the chance.

The trio had grown inexplicably close to Royce in the year and two months since their arrival in St. Pete Beach, but, then again, so had Bentley’s little gaggle of friends. Like Sandy had guided Royce around, August had been Bentley’s tour guide around Boca Ciega Junior High. However, unlike Royce’s initially reluctant friendship with Sandy, August and Bentley instantly got along. The two were relatively similar in terms of personality, but August’s shy, introverted tendencies were polar opposite to Bentley’s eagerness to make friends, making their friendship an easy one. By the time lunch came around and August showed Bentley to the table where he and his friends, Zack and Kona, ate every day, the two had discussed almost everything under the sun.

Bentley had first been introduced to Kona in the hallway on the way to the first class the three of them shared - English. The first thing Bentley told Royce about Kona was that she was a bit nosy. She had sort of appeared out of nowhere, started pestering Bentley for information about himself on their walk, and sat directly behind him in class, scribbling notes in a journal filled with highlighted notes and fancily swirled cursive. August had reassured him that Kona was harmless but curious and creative, and when he arrived at the lunch table, only to be handed a hand-woven bracelet with a golden sun dangling from it, he realized that Gus was right. Kona was weird, for sure, but she was the kind of weird that Bentley enjoyed being around.

Zack was relatively easygoing as well in terms of friendship, but that was primarily because August had introduced them during basketball drills. Bentley wasn’t exceptional at basketball by any means, but after August had lost and the two of them had come to a draw whilst playing Horse, he had gone from “new kid” to “new friend” with Zack in a matter of minutes. Afterward, on their way to the World History class they shared, Zack defended Bentley against a group of sophomores who had tried pushing him into the stairwell wall, nearly getting into a fistfight with the aggressive tenth-graders before a teacher came to break things up. After that, Zack became a constant presence, a fierce friend and protector, even when Bentley didn’t know he needed one.

Without either knowing of the other’s triumphs, Royce and Bentley had both formed their own, individual friend groups within a week of living with Miles. By the end of that first week, they asked Miles if they could bring their friends home after school to work on projects together and get caught up on assignments as a group. At first, Royce and Bentley had been worried that their friends wouldn’t get along all that well, but they were quickly proven wrong when the gaggle of eight latched onto members of the opposite age group. Kona took to Sandy like a fish to water when she discovered the older girl had a penchant for sneaking out of her grandparents’ home to go visit her friends, Kit took August in during a cookout on the beach and hadn’t been able to pry him from her hip since that day, and Zack and Lake were particularly close after the two went head-to-head at the town pool’s basketball court and refused to give up until well after sundown. Now, over a year later, they were still just as close as they had been then - if not more.

The more Royce thought about their friend group and how much time they spent together after school, the more he wondered how Vivien would react to their eclectic personalities. Her own friend group back home was… different, to say the least. Although Vivien and Kona had seemingly gotten along well, her potential friendship with the others was still in the air. Would she like Sandy’s, well, everything? Would she mind Zack’s perpetual need to argue? How would she react to one of his closest school friends being a teenage alcoholic?

Chewing lightly on his lower lip, Royce’s mind raced until the bus screeched to a stop in the parking lot of the Pasadena Shopping Center - a strip mall bordering the marina where Lake and his uncle worked. Stepping into the aisle to allow Kit to move from their bench, Royce smiled and clapped hands with Lake before telling him he would see him around. Then, as she stood from her seat and hefted her bag onto her shoulder, Kit stepped into the aisle and patted Royce on the shoulder.

Upon receiving a curiously raised brow from the taller boy, Kit grinned and said, “There’s this really sweet book at Bookends that I borrowed last week. I think your girlfriend might enjoy it, so I’m going to see if I can pick it up before my shift, and maybe you can bring it home for her tomorrow, okay?”

“Kit, I-”

“Don’t argue it, Royce,” Kit cut off with a wave of her hand, quickly turning on her heel and starting toward the front of the bus. “She’s going to love it, and when I turn around, you’re going to shut up and nod because you know I’m right.”

Sure enough, as Kit stood at the top step and turned back toward her friends, her expression challenging Royce to speak up, he simply smiled and offered her a nod. “Thanks, Kitty.”

“Atta boy,” Kit said with a proud smile. Turning her attention to the others, she gave a final wave and said, “See y’all tomorrow.”

As a chorus of farewells followed the dark-skinned girl off the bus, Royce transferred his belongings to the seat Laken had left empty behind August and Bentley, giving his friends a final wave as the bus peeled away from the sidewalk. Once they were on the street out of South Pasadena, Royce checked his watch and sighed. Despite their home being a seven-minute drive from the shopping center, they had another half an hour before they would go home. After dropping off a group of students at the Harbor Side Condos just over the bridge from St. Pete Beach, the bus usually dropped the rest of the students off in the community center's parking lot and made them walk home. The old man driving the bus didn’t care for teenagers and made his disdain obvious to all pupils aboard, making the rest of them walk regardless of how far they lived as long as the weather was above fifty degrees.

Thankfully, they weren’t far from home - a fifteen, maybe twenty-minute walk if there wasn’t much traffic - but for those who lived closer to Egan Park or Punta Vista, the late-spring, early-summer weather made their walks home dreadful. Once the handful of students who lived in the condos were let off, Kona dragged Zack up to the seat across from Bentley and August and struck up a conversation with them while Royce listened in, hearing them pester Bentley for more information about Vivien and her interests.

Why they chose to ask Bentley instead of asking him directly, he wasn’t quite sure, but he wasn’t necessarily complaining. Although he would be more than willing to talk about his girlfriend and tell everyone he knew how much he adored her, his revelation with Kit had thrown him off. Was it really that simple? Could he really be in love with her after only a couple of months? Would Vivien think it ridiculous if he was?

As the bus screeched to a stop in the parking lot of the community center, Royce stood and waited for his brother and friends to gather their things before stepping off the bus behind them. Joining them by the edge of the parking lot, they waited for the bus to leave the lot before using its traffic-stopping length to cross traffic and reach the sidewalk on the other side of the road. Though the walk was filled with conversation, Royce remained relatively silent, occasionally laughing when one of them made a joke or telling them to watch where they were going if they stepped too close to the edge of the sidewalk. Thankfully, none of them pointed out his silence, allowing him time to think before they got home.

As per usual, Bentley, Kona, and Zack took off in a run as soon as they crossed 67th Street, using the straight shot as a time to race to the front door. August, however, lingered with Royce, not wanting him to walk home alone. Falling into step with the older boy, August offered him a small smile before softly asking, “Is Vivien really as nice as Bentley says she is?”

Taking note of the way August’s eyes flickered to the sandy sidewalk as he turned toward him, Royce nodded, “I might be a bit biased, but yeah, she is.”

August let out a soft laugh, “Ben said she’s the one with the pants in your relationship.”

With a snort, Royce peered down the street at where his brother and their friends were bounding down the street, arguing over the wind as to who would reach the front door first. “He’s not wrong. I would do anything for her and I’m sure she knows that by now.”

“Was Kit right?” August asked as Royce nudged him to cross the street after a car passed. “Are you in love with her?”

Taking in a breath and shoving his hands into his pockets, Royce shrugged, “I think I might be, but I want to think it over before I tell her.”

“Good idea.” As they passed a house with a small boat in the driveway, August asked, “Is she really a figure skater? Like the ones in the Olympics?”

Royce chuckled, “Yeah, like the Olympians, but better. I’ve seen her and Riven do some pretty crazy jumps and stuff.”

“Who’s Riven?”

On instinct, Royce’s eyebrows scrunch together, the question registering as ridiculous before the realization that August had never met Vivien or her partner occurred to him. Grinning, he reached for the wallet in his pocket and pulled a group picture from behind a few dollar bills. Taken at Vivien’s Christmas party, the image had just about everyone Vivien held dear, including himself and Bentley. Vivien stood near the center with her arms around Royce and Bentley, Riven had a pair of bunny ears behind Jade’s head while he and Erica flipped each other off, and Abby and Oliver were crouched in front of everyone.

Holding the picture out to August, Royce began pointing people out, slowly adding information as to who everyone was before finally pointing out Vivien and Riven. “He’s pretty much Viv’s older brother. They’re on the ice almost every day and they’ve known each other since she was - I think - three or four.”

“And now she’s your age?” August asked as he examined the photo. As Royce nodded, humming in confirmation, August smiled at the brunette between his two friends and said, “They must be close.”

“They are,” Royce chuckled. “They rag on each other all the time, calling each other names and stuff like actual siblings. In reality, though, Riven doesn’t have any siblings, and Viv has the twins.”

Bringing his finger down to where Abby and Oliver were crouched in front of the group in matching Spiderman poses, August asked, “Oliver and Abigail, right?”

“Yeah, but she only goes by Abby unless she’s in trouble,” Royce said.

August hummed thoughtfully as his eyes scanned the picture. As his gaze shifted onto Vivien’s bandmates and Royce guided him across the sandy grass to the front door of their home, August pointed to Erica and Riven and wondered, “Do they not like each other?”

“Oh, no,” Royce laughed, “they’re about as close as close can get.”

“Then why are they flipping each other off?”

Hoping his train of thought didn’t take as long to come up with a cover story as he felt it did, Royce turned to August with a smile and said, “That’s just how people are in New England. When you’re really close to someone, it’s common to do that.”

“Really?” August asked as he stepped into the house and handed Royce the picture.

Diligently, Royce nodded as he put the picture back in its rightful spot and tucked his wallet away, “Yeah. I once saw a driver honk at a pedestrian just to flip them off while they crossed the road, then they started chatting like old friends.”

With a shake of his head, August turned toward the living room and sighed, “And they say Floridians are crazy.”

Watching August venture into the living room and join the others around the coffee table, Royce dropped his backpack by the door and lifted Binx from the table Bentley had deposited his keys on, cradling the cat to his chest as he made his way to the kitchen. Allowing Binx to climb onto his shoulder as he unlatched the door leading into the garage and reached into the pantry for the tub of cheese balls, Royce spoke softly to the cat, telling him of his school day as he moved around the kitchen with practiced ease. Grabbing a bowl from the cabinet and pouring some cheese balls into it, Royce pulled one from the container and allowed Binx to nibble away at it as he twisted the lid back into place and stored the snack away before Zack found where their new hiding spot for it was.

Softly humming an ABBA song Vivien had blasted during their last visit, Royce brought the bowl of cheese puffs to the living room and placed them in the center of the chaos before making his way to his backpack and pulling his homework binder from within. Binx, ever the patient cat, waited for his owner to get close to the couch before launching from Royce’s shoulder and perching himself on the armrest as Royce settled cross-legged beside him.

Checking his watch as the others began discussing their respective projects for their upcoming state project for Social Studies, Royce grinned and opened his binder. In less than an hour, Miles and Vivien would be back, and he would finally be able to show her off to some of his friends. Granted, she had already met Kona that morning and had been introduced to a large group of their extended friend group at Big Momma’s, but allowing her the chance to sit in the comfort of their home and chat like they would if they were back in Sanbornton would probably be easier for her to adjust to than having a big meeting with everyone at school.

As Royce got to work his math homework, pumping out answers for algebra problems he was almost sure he would never need later in life, he found himself more easily distracted than normal, checking his watch habitually and glancing toward the front door every time he heard the slightest creak. It didn’t take long for Zack to call him out on his unusual behavior, sending Kona and Bentley into a teasing fit that only August could efficiently put a stop to, but despite the way he rolled his eyes in return and told them to shove it, Royce knew he had to chill. After all, it wasn’t like he hadn’t been away from Vivien for longer. It just… after having to be away from her for so long, the draw to be with her at all times now that he had her was strong - inescapably so.

Taking in a breath as he absentmindedly ran a hand through Binx’s shiny fur, Royce realized Kit might have been right. Maybe he really was in love with Vivien. Maybe he had been for a while and simply hadn’t realized it. Maybe he needed someone with Kit’s gentle yet direct approach to smack some sense into him. If Royce was honest with himself, he’d felt a strong connection with Vivien for a long time - longer than they’d been in a relationship, he was sure of that - but how, exactly, was he supposed to tell her as much? He couldn’t just outright tell her he was madly in love with her, could he?

Sighing internally, Royce returned to his homework and, for the first time in a long time, found himself struggling to focus on any of the information before him. His mind kept wandering back to Vivien. How was she? Was she having fun with Miles? Were they on their way back from the shop yet? Tapping the rubber tip of his pencil’s eraser against the homework sheet before him, Royce found himself admitting defeat. Maybe Miles was right to tell him he was wrapped around Vivien’s finger and had been for a long time. And, if Miles - of all people - was right about that, it was time for Royce to admit that he was totally, utterly, mind-blowingly-stupidly screwed.

Waving goodbye to Raymond and Josh as they settled into Raymond’s shiny, purple Studebaker Starlight - a vehicle that vaguely reminded Vivien of a musical Riven had made her watch bootlegs of any time he found a new one online - Vivien tugged on the leather jacket Miles had loaned her, tucking her cell phone and other belongings into the inside pocket before zipping herself in. “You know,” Vivien began as she pulled her borrowed sweatpants out of Miles’ saddlebag, “if I knew how to drive a stick shift, I would have stolen that car.”

Crinkling his nose in obvious disgust at the vehicle’s appearance, Miles turned to Vivien with a raised brow and questioned her sanity as he asked, “Why? That thing is the definition of social suicide.”

“Do I look like I give a fuck?” Vivien asked in return as she tugged the pants on over her shorts. “It’s purple and shiny, therefore, it should belong to me.”

As if realizing something for the first time as Vivien pulled her helmet out of the saddle bag, Miles grinned and asked, “Is that the reason why you have so many of those purple rocks in your room?”

Placing the helmet on the seat of the bike, Vivien turned to Miles with one hand on her hip and the other pointed accusatorily at him as she shot back, “First of all, they’re crystals, not rocks. Second, I have more than just purple ones. And, third,” she glanced away, her hand dropping to her side as she admitted, “maybe.”

“You obsess over fancy rocks because they’re shiny and colorful?” Miles asked, trying his best to withhold the snort of laughter that ached to be let free.

“Look, Major Dickhead,” Vivien began, her amusement at Miles’ disdain for the nickname undeniable as she smirked in his direction, “I don’t pick on you for collecting pressed pennies like an old lady at a tourist trap, you don’t pick on me for having a rock collection.”

Snorting at her jab at his habit of collecting pennies from random spots like the zoo or museum, he stepped up and took her helmet from the bike, dropping it onto her head and clipping it in place under her chin before wiggling her head affectionately. “Alright, kid. Truce?”

“Truce,” Vivien agreed with a grin, tucking her braid under the leather jacket.

“Good,” Miles said as he tapped the side of Vivien’s helmet. Pushing aside the stack of records he had her set inside the saddle bag, Miles pulled his jacket from the bottom of the bag and watched her climb onto the motorcycle, making sure she was settled on the back before taking in a breath and asking, “So, what happened earlier while you were at the record shop? You never finished what you were saying.”

Watching Miles pull his fingerless gloves from the pocket of his jacket, Vivien shrugged, “I’m sure it was just me being paranoid, but there was a biker guy in there that sketched me out. He left the shop the same time I did and it creeped me out, so I tried to ignore him and keep walking.”

Miles hummed thoughtfully before offering the younger girl a small smile, reaching out to pat her arm as he said, “Good job, kiddo. Any idea whether he was from a gang or not?”

“I’m not sure,” Vivien shrugged as Miles pulled on his jacket, “but his jacket said he was the leader of the pack, so I think he might’ve been.”

Although that didn’t narrow the playing field at all in Miles’ mind, he attempted to appear reassuring as he zipped his jacket and approached his motorcycle. Clicking his helmet into place, he said, “There are maybe four or five gangs in our area with arrogant leaders like that. For the most part, they act like tough shit, but they’re not much more than a group of guys who ride around maybe twice a week and consider themselves a gang.”

Vivien sighed, pushing herself back enough to allow Miles to slip onto the bike before settling in behind him, “So I was plotting my episode of Unsolved Mysteries for nothing?”

“Yeah, probably,” Miles snorted. Slipping the key into the ignition, he glanced over his shoulder and asked, “What would the episode name be?”

Gesturing into the empty air beside the bike, Vivien lowered her voice to mimic that of the show’s host, Robert Stack, and declared, “Mystery: Vivien O’Brian, Kidnap or Murder?”

Letting out a soft laugh, Miles shook his head, “That’s one hell of an attention-grabber.”

“That’s the point,” Vivien grinned. “Just imagine Robert Stack going over my life history and disappearance because some rando biker dude in another universe decided I was ripe for the picking.”

“Then,” Miles tacked on, “in your times, you’d be covered by that YouTuber girl you watch all the time.”

A dramatic gasp dragged its way from Vivien’s lips, and Miles turned to see her eyes practically sparkling at the idea. Giddily slapping Miles’ back as she beamed, Vivien squealed, “I would kill to have Kendall Rae do an episode about me!”

Miles let out a snort and started his bike, calling over the roar of the engine, “Isn’t her whole focus on telling the victim’s stories, not the murderer’s?”

Vivien thought for a moment before visibly deflating, resigning to wrap her arms around Miles’ middle as she sighed, “Oh yeah.”

Shaking his head at the girl’s desire to become the topic of a true-crime show in some way or another, Miles patted the hands she had wrapped around his waist before gripping the handlebars and pulling away from the shop’s employee parking. Apart from the roar of the engine and Vivien’s occasional taps on his helmet to alert him of a nearby cop, Miles was only mildly concerned with how quiet the ride back to town had been. Chalking it up to the girl’s nervousness about her earlier encounter with the biker in the record shop, he resorted to taking the time to check on her anytime they stopped at a red light. After making a quick stop at a small shop run by an older Hispanic couple that Vivien insisted on getting snacks at, Miles drove them home, pulling into the driveway and cutting the engine before rolling to a stop in the garage.

Once she was off the bike, Vivien heaved a sigh of relief as she peeled her now-sweaty leather jacket off. Setting the coat on the seat Miles soon vacated, Vivien unlatched her helmet and set it aside before sighing, “You know, you really should get a radio for this thing. Then, you could sing when you ride.”

Miles let out a snort as he hung his helmet from the handlebar, “And that’s exactly why I don’t have one. Nobody needs to hear me sing.”

“Why not?” Vivien asked as she watched Miles lower the garage door. “You sing along to the radio at work.”

“Yeah,” Miles chuckled, “badly. Just like other guys.”

Smacking Miles with a scoff, Vivien rolled her eyes, “Liar. You sound like either Hunter Hayes or - oh, hell, what’s their name?”

Grinning, Miles watched the gears in Vivien’s brain grind as she squinted, her nose scrunching up as she tried to figure out the singer she was thinking of. Hoping to convince her to drop the subject, Miles nudged her and joked, “You better not say Rebecca Black or some shit.”

“I was trying to be nice, but, now that you mention it, I can kinda see the resemblance.” Vivien giggled maniacally, pitching her voice into a nasal tone before singing, “Friday, Friday, gotta get down on Friday.”

Placing a hand on the girl’s face and shoving her away, Miles chuckled, “Shut up.”

Following Miles to the door leading into the house, she asked, “One thing I gotta ask, though, is when the hell you got a southern accent? I can understand the phony New York accent the other members of the Rat Pack have, but since when do you talk like a cowboy?”

Turning back toward Vivien, Miles' eyebrow raised and he replied, “Since always. I was raised in South Carolina.”

“I knew that,” Vivien scoffed. In a sigh, she muttered, “Dumbass. But you had an accent when you sang earlier. Why don’t you have it when you talk?”

With a shrug, Miles reached for the doorknob and twisted it, shoulder-checking the door to shove it open as he replied, “I try to rein it in, especially around the boys. When I was younger, I was told I sound like my dad. After all the shit he put me and my brothers through, I don’t want that, so I try to speak without an accent as much as possible.”

As much as Vivien wanted to hear what Miles sounded like with a deep, southern accent, his reason for forcing himself to sound different made sense. Allowing him to hold the door open for her, Vivien ducked into the kitchen and thought for a moment. Come to think of it, she hadn’t heard much of an accent from Royce or Bentley either. Did they fight their accents for the same reason? Turning to Miles as he locked the door with a shove, she asked, “Did they have accents too?”

Miles nodded, running a hand through his hair as he headed for the refrigerator for a drink, “They used to, but I haven’t really listened to see if they still do. Why?”

Feeling somewhat giddy at the idea of hearing Royce with an accent, Vivien pocketed the information for later and giggled as she headed toward the archway that led into the hall, “Just wondering.”

Miles opened his mouth to question her as she left the room but resigned to shaking his head as he made his way to the phone on the wall, instead opting to call his girlfriend to make sure she had gotten home safe. Meanwhile, Vivien crept toward the living room and peered around the wall, listening to Bentley and his friends discuss homework from around the coffee table as she took in the sight of Royce on the couch. Although his back was to her, she could tell he was smiling as Bentley’s friend - a boy with dark brown, tightly-curled hair - cracked a joke about one of the teachers he had been saddled with.

Looking around the small table as she crept into the room, Vivien found a pair of sea-green eyes on her, and she frantically shook her head in Kona’s direction, tapping her index finger to her lip in a silent plea for the girl to keep her presence a secret. Smirking, Kona’s attention fell on Royce as she asked, “Hey, lover boy, when’s your girlfriend coming back? I want to give her the bracelet I made at school.”

Without looking up from the homework on his lap, Royce shrugged, and Vivien used his distraction as an opportunity to sneak up behind him on the couch. “Hopefully soon.”

“Why hopefully?” Bentley asked, glancing up at his brother only to catch Vivien gesturing for him to remain silent before dragging a finger across her throat. With a knowing grin, he added, “You gonna tell her you looove her?”

Royce let out a snort, kicking Bentley’s shin as he shot back, “Dude, no. Quit it.”

Before either of the other boys at the coffee table could speak up, Vivien wrapped her arms around Royce’s shoulders, interlocking her hands over his chest as she leaned close to his ear and whispered, “What; so you don’t love me?”

Jumping at the unexpected voice in his ear, Royce turned enough to see Vivien smirking back at him. Feeling his face burn as his mouth opened and closed like a fish, he stumbled over his words as he tried to think of how to respond, “No! I-I mean, yeah, b-but no. Viv, I-”

Quickly leaning in and pressing a kiss to his cheek, effectively shutting him up, Vivien giggled softly, “You love me.”

Royce’s caramel eyes pool with affection as he slowly reaches up to touch the braid that drapes over Vivien’s shoulder. The hastily made braid Miles wove is loose and wind-blown, straggly strands fraying out of it, however, to Royce, its beautiful. Meeting Vivien’s emerald eyes, Royce smiled and softly nodded, “I do.”

Before giving Vivien any chance to process Royce’s words, her focus too drawn on his smile at her presence, a soft voice broke the silence with a hesitant cough, and Vivien searched the floor until her gaze landed on a blond boy sitting in front of the couch, turned halfway toward her and Royce. Nervousness filled the boy’s eyes - a hesitant, kicked puppy look that instantly made Vivien want to wrap the younger boy in a hug and shield him from the outside world - but still, he piped up, “I take it you must be Vivien?”

Lightly squeezing Royce and pulling away, Vivien stood and climbed over the back of the couch, settling in beside her boyfriend before offering the blond boy a hand. “Guilty as charged.” Before the kids around the table could speak up, she beamed and said, “Now, don’t introduce yourselves. I want to guess. I already know Rolls and Beemer, of course, and I met Kona this morning.”

“Nice to see you got rid of those ugly-ass sweatpants,” Kona remarked with a nod of greeting.

With a snort, Vivien beamed at the girl before looking between the boys and humming to herself. Pointing hopefully toward the shy boy before her, she presumed, “I’m going to guess that you’re August,” her gaze swiveled toward the dark-skinned boy who had previously joked about a teacher, “and you’re Zack.”

“Damn,” Zack breathed, looking over Vivien before turning his gaze to Royce. “She’s good.”

“I know,” Royce agreed, pride shimmering in his eyes as he looked over Vivien, soaking in her presence as she slowly leaned against his arm.

Kona rolled her eyes at Royce’s lovesick expression and dug into the front zipper pocket of her backpack, fishing out a chevron-patterned strap with a loop on one end and two braided strands on the other. “Hey, Vivien, catch,” she called out, making sure she had the older girl’s attention before tossing the bracelet over August’s head and into Vivien’s lap. “I made it for you during history class. I was going to do a gradient of purples since your dumbass said that’s your favorite color, but I only had one shade, so I worked with what I had in my bag. I’ll make you a proper one when I get home, but that one’s just a welcome gift.”

Looking over the bracelet with a grin, Vivien internally giggled at the irony of the girl’s color choice - cerulean blue, lavender, and bubblegum pink. quickly tying the band around her wrist, she twisted her arm around and beamed, “Thanks, Kona.”

“You’re one of us now,” the blonde shrugged, brushing off the girl’s gratitude and returning to her homework.

“You know,” Zack began, closing his workbook with a grin, “none of us thought you were real. We all thought Royce was making shit up.”

Vivien let out a snorted laugh, turning to Royce as he shook his head with a sigh, “That seems to be a common thread.”

“I don’t get why,” Royce sighed. “It’s not like I’m some antisocial hermit. I can have a girlfriend.”

“I think it’s more about the fact that Vivien was from another state,” August piped up. “Nobody had seen or heard of her as anything more than a friend before you guys went on vacation, but then you come back from Christmas break with pictures of a girl that you just don’t shut up about? It’s kind of suspicious, if you ask me.”

“I gotta say,” Bentley added with a grin, “even I would’ve been sus of your story if I wasn’t involved behind the scenes.”

“Sus?” August echoed curiously.

“What did you do?” Zack asked Bentley incredulously. “It’s their relationship.”

“Yeah,” Bentley shrugged, “but I’m the one who made them realize they were stupidly into each other.”

Kona opened her mouth to press for more information, but a honk from outside made her stop. Turning toward the picture window and stretching to see out of it from her spot on the floor, she sighed and turned back to her friends, “My dad’s here.”

Zack snorted, “Did he bring the warden?”

“Don’t think so,” Kona shrugged, shoving her books and notebook into her backpack. “She was talking about making huli huli chicken tonight, so she probably stayed back.”

Laughing softly through her nose, Vivien asked, “Ah, you call your mom ‘the warden’ too, huh?”

“Yeah,” Kona beamed, glad she had something in common with the older girl.

“Yeah, but unlike yours,” Bentley began as he dropped onto the cushion next to Vivien, “her mom is actually nice.”

“Bentley!” Royce hissed, reaching behind Vivien to smack the back of his brother’s head.

Instead of being offended by Bentley’s remark, Vivien turned to Royce and gave him the same smack upside the head, defending her friend from his brother’s attack. “He wasn’t wrong, Rolls. I got to meet Kona’s mom earlier. She’s way nicer than my mom.”

“Why do you call Royce ‘Rolls’, Vivien?” August asked as he zipped his backpack and stood from the floor.

Turning to the younger boy with a smile, Vivien shrugged and said, “Rolls Royce.” Then, jerking her thumb in Bentley’s direction, she said, “I screwed up poor Benny’s nickname back in November. I forgot that Beemer is the nickname for a BMW, not a Bentley.”

“But I love it anyway,” Bentley claimed as he shoved his homework and school books into his backpack. “It’s something only you get to call me, so it’s special.”

With a bright smile, Vivien brought her arms around Bentley’s middle and squealed, “Aww, Benny! That’s so sweet!”

Despite the laughter tumbling from his lips, Bentley wriggled in Vivien’s grasp, attempting to throw her off as his backpack hit the floor with a thump. Giggling as Vivien’s fingernails attacked his sides, he laughed, “Shut up! I’m not sweet, you weirdo! Get off of me!”

Feeling rather proud of herself, Vivien released a now breathless, pink-cheeked Bentley, allowing him to fly off of the couch and walk his friends to the door as they teased him. After waving goodbye to the kids she had only just met, Vivien leaned back against the couch and turned toward Royce with a smile. He lifted his arm to the back of the couch as an invitation, and Vivien slowly shifted, tucking herself into the gap under his arm and resting her head on his shoulder. Taking in a deep breath, the faint smell of cocoa butter and vanilla flooding her senses, Vivien sighed, “I missed you.”

Bringing his arm around Vivien’s shoulders and squeezing her close, Royce replied, “Not nearly as much as I missed you, I’m sure.”

Looking up at Royce with a grin, she snickered, “I was subjected to Miles and his work buddies singing along to The Supremes and Lesley Gore all day. I think I win.”

Royce let out a snort, “At least you had something entertaining to keep you distracted. I was stuck in boring classes, with boring subjects, and nothing to do but think of you.”

“Sounds like an average day at school for me,” Vivien chuckled. Turning toward Royce with a grin, she softly said, “You consume my every thought, especially when I have to sit through English with Mr Orszulak.”

“English is fun,” Royce argued with a laugh. “It’s pretty much the only class I don’t want to fall asleep in.

Pulling a face, Vivien shook her head, “It’s fun for people who can read without having to focus on every single letter. Honestly, I find Spanish easier than English.”

Raising a brow, Royce asked, “You like Spanish? I couldn’t take it for more than a quarter and transferred to French when report cards came around.”

Vivien rolled her eyes and scoffed, “It’s only easier for you because that’s one of your native languages, cariño.”

Confusion lightly knitted Royce’s brows as he slowly smiled, his eyes glittering at the prospect of being given another nickname by his girlfriend, “What does that mean?”

“That French is easier for you because your mom probably spoke it a lot at home when you were little,” Vivien shrugged. “Isn’t that how native languages work?”

“Not that, mon cœur,” Royce said with a shake of his head. “That last part - the car… car-nino part. What does that mean?”

Feeling her eyes widen a fraction behind her circle frame glasses as she nudged them further up her nose, Vivien nearly froze. She had understood what he called her. Feeling as though her heart could melt out of her chest and into Royce’s hands, she found herself suddenly grateful for all the painstaking hours she had put into Mrs Duran’s class. Praying her face didn’t betray her feigned nonchalance, Vivien shrugged, “You took Spanish, shouldn’t you know?”

“That’s not fair!” Royce laughed, twisting so that he was able to properly see Vivien’s eyes. “I took one semester and I barely remember how to ask people their names. You can’t start calling me things in a language I can’t understand and expect me not to want to know what it means.”

“You called me something in a language I can’t understand,” Vivien shot back with a smirk. “Are you going to tell me what ‘mon kur’ means?”

Grateful Royce’s red-tinged face was more of a traitor than her own, Vivien grinned as he visibly scrambled for something to say in response. Then, finally, he shook his head and hesitantly smiled her way, “Not until I figure out what yours means.”

Squinting back at him, Vivien leaned closer and said, “Tú me frustras, mi todo.”

“I have no idea what you just said,” Royce breathed, “but it sounds pretty, even if you look like you’re mad at me.”

“No estoy enfadada,” Vivien replied with a shake of her head, tapping Royce on the nose with a smile. “Me vuelves loco, pero en el buen sentido.”

Thoroughly confused but somewhat enjoying hearing Vivien tell him things in a language he didn’t understand, Royce hoped she was saying good things to him as he slowly replied, “J’aime quand tu me souris. Les étoiles pâlissent en comparaison de l'éclat de tes yeux.”

“What level of French is that?” Vivien giggled in disbelief. “I understood maybe five words out of everything you just said.”

“You’re a step ahead of me,” Royce laughed. “I didn’t get a single thing out of yours.”

As the young couple shared a laugh, Bentley joined them, bringing a few glass bottles of soda from the kitchen as he reported that Miles had just gotten off the phone with Carrie and was cooking dinner. What they were having was a mystery, given the lack of smell lingering in the air, but none of them seemed to mind as Bentley turned the television on and changed it to a channel where Leave It To Beaver was playing. As Bentley found space on the last free couch cushion, Royce and Vivien relaxed into their seats to watch the show with him, putting aside their bilingual conversation for the time being.

Dinner didn’t quite go as planned as Miles was taken away from the stove by a call from the school, telling him Vivien was allowed to join for the rest of the week. The smoke alarm and Royce’s quick instinct to grab the fire extinguisher from under the sink made it easy to save the walls from catching on fire, but their charred chicken wasn’t so lucky. Having to order from the only place in the area with delivery as an option, Miles called the local Chinese restaurant, and they were stuck waiting another forty-five minutes before the food arrived.

After dinner had been eaten and the plates were taken to the kitchen for Miles to clean - his least-liked chore on the list they hung on the fridge - the trio returned to the living room to watch TV. Not long after curling up in Miles’ recliner with Binx purring contentedly on his chest, Bentley fell asleep, his choice of The Flintstones still playing on the screen. Royce and Vivien had stolen the entirety of the couch, Royce’s head resting on the armrest while Vivien laid against him, her head turned to the side so that she could watch the show even though she wasn’t really paying attention to what was happening.

Royce’s hands fiddled with her loosely braided hair, his arms wrapped around her to keep her close as he relaxed in her presence. Glancing down at her as the show turned to commercials, he noticed how one side of her glasses had been smushed between his chest and her face, forcing the lenses off-kilter. Chuckling softly at how little she seemed to care about how her frames sat, Royce quickly apologized as the sudden movement made Vivien lift her head, peeking up at him with a curious look in her eyes.

“It’s okay, mi corazón,” she breathed with a small, tired smile.

Snorting quietly, Royce asked, “Did you just call me a calzone?”

Mindful of the fact that Bentley was passed out just a few feet from her, Vivien attempted to contain her laughter, shaking her head as she repeated, “Corazón. Not calzone.”

“Are you going to tell me what that means,” Royce began, “or am I just going to have to ask the Spanish teacher tomorrow?”

“That depends,” Vivien said softly, stretching up to lightly kiss Royce’s cheek. “Are you going to tell me what you called me earlier, mi todo?”

With a definitive shake of his head, his curls bouncing with the movement, Royce breathed, “Absolutely not, mon étoile filante.”

Vivien’s mouth fell open as she reached up and took Royce’s face in her hands, smushing his face in her palms as a look of amazement sparkled in her eyes, and she remarked, “I think I saw something like that on the packaging for my telescope. That was ‘something star’, wasn’t it? You called me a star!”

Chuckling at her excitement, Royce brought his hands up to cover Vivien’s, grinning as he leaned into her palm and nodded. “A shooting star. Well, actually, my shooting star.”

“Yours, huh?” she questioned softly, adoring how a light flush of red danced across Royce’s face. Giggling tiredly, Vivien slid her hands away from his face and brought her arms around his middle as she tucked her head under his chin, snuggling into his warmth. With a contented sigh, she breathed, “I like the sound of that, mi luna.”

#Same Trailer Different Park #stdp #it is officially time for me to scream. cry. and watch The Outsiders #I'm not ready #I just know I won't be able to emotionally recover from it

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