[ september 1986 ]

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"Did you hear that Vincent Bradbury's into animal sacrifice?"

"No way, man. You kidding?" 

"Nah, dude. Kyle saw her on the side of the road last weekend. It was after dark, and he said she was, like... picking up a raccoon carcass and playing with it or something. He figured it might've been some kind of witchy ritual."

"Huh. Crazy shit. I always thought she was kinda weird."

"Yeah. I could always tell that something wasn't quite right there." 

Vincent doesn't look away from the screen of the library computer. She bites the inside of her cheek a bit harder than she intended, only to be shocked by the taste of blood. 

She makes a pointed effort not to look up at the boys walking by, discussing her alleged occult weekend activities without realizing that she's right there.

She reminds herself that she doesn't care. 

As far as she's concerned, everyone at this shithole high school can think whatever they want to, — after the next two years, she'll be able to happily forget that any of them ever existed.

Except for Mickey Melchiondo, of course.

She tries to convince herself not to look up, but it's too late. She lifts herself from her seat slightly, peering over the top of the monitor.

Once she realizes that neither of the boys slandering her name happen to be Mickey, she slumps back into the chair with a quiet sigh of relief.

Worries eased, she allows herself to return to the mindless clicking of her computer game. This moment is likely the closest she will come to peace for the remainder of the afternoon, — although, considering the still-noticeable presence of a nagging pit in her stomach, that really isn't saying much. 

This near-happiness dissipates completely when she feels the tap of a bony finger against her shoulder. When she turns around, Vincent is greeted by the stern face of the school librarian.

"Your hour's over, Miss Bradbury," the old woman informs her. 

With a noncommittal hum, Vincent stands, picking her backpack up from beside the chair and slinging it over her shoulder as she heads towards the library door. 

She walks briskly down the corridor, keeping her eyes on her dilapidated blue Converse all the while. 

Finally, she reaches the light at the end of the tunnel in the form of the school exit. Almost gleefully, she pushes the door open. 

Though the early autumn air is still a bit humid for her liking and she knows a different type of frustration will surely afflict her as soon as she walks through her front door, she revels in this illusion of freedom. The rest of the afternoon is hers for the taking. 

With this thought in mind, she stops in front of the school bus stop. She shrugs off her backpack and drops it on the ground, bending over to unzip and rifle through it. Finally, she comes up with the exact thing that she was looking for: a box of cigarettes and a lighter. 

She selects a cigarette before dropping the box back in, zipping the bag, and throwing it over her shoulder once more. 

Placing the cig between her teeth, she lifts the lighter to the tip and watches as it begins to glow. With that, she takes a deep breath in, releasing it a moment later in a rather impressive puff of gray smoke. 

A cough that is very clearly not her own follows this action. "Jesus, man," someone complains. "Can you maybe not do that right in my face?"

Vincent cuts her eyes to her right side. Surely enough, the exact face that she had expected greets her. 

She pulls back, leaving the cigarette smoking between her fingers. "People smoke, Freeman," she says curtly. "It's a fact of life. Get used to it, you fucking pansy." 

The curly-haired boy rolls his eyes. "It isn't the smoking that's bothering me," he says. "It's the fact that you're right up on me. I barely have any room to breathe."

 "Yeah, okay." Vincent takes a few pointed steps back before lifting the cigarette to her lips again. She smiles smugly as she takes a drag, making an effort to look Aaron square in the eye all the while. 

When she releases the next puff of smoke, Aaron raises a hand. "Alright, alright, I get it," he says. "You can smoke wherever you want, whenever you want. You win." 

"Glad you see it my way." The sound of squeaking brakes rings through the air, followed by the stench of exhaust. As the school bus comes to a stop, Vincent turns on her heel, making her way up the sidewalk. 

"What're you doing?" Aaron calls after her. "The bus is right here!"

"I'm done with the bus!" she shouts back, not bothering to turn around. "I walk home now! It's good for my physique!"

"Suit yourself, I guess!" The doors squeak open, shutting with a harsh clatter a moment later. Vincent keeps a leisurely pace as she finishes off her cigarette. 

Within a matter of seconds, the bus catches up with her. She uses this moment of opportunity to shoot Aaron the bird as he glares down at her from the window seat. She doesn't get the satisfaction of seeing his reaction as the bus speeds off, a puff of black smoke escaping the tailpipe. 

Vincent stops in her tracks as she watches the bus disappear into the distance. Not long afterwards, an orange car rounds the bend from the parking lot, coming to an abrupt halt next to the spot where she stands. 

Vincent opens the door and hops into the passenger seat without hesitation. By the time that she reaches for the seatbelt, the vehicle is in motion, careening down the road even quicker than the bus had gone. 

"Slow down, Brandi," Vincent chastises. "I know that being seen with me would be social suicide and all, but we're still in a school zone."

The girl driving the car chuckles. "You're only worried about it because you know you'll be scraping dead things off the road this weekend," she says.

"Exactly," Vincent agrees. "And I don't want to have to stuff one of my classmates into a trash bag and throw them in the back of my dad's truck." As she secures the seatbelt over her shoulder, a grin spreads across her face. "Besides, we won't be able to get to that party tomorrow night if you're in prison for vehicular manslaughter."

"So that's it, huh?" Brandi asks. "You're worried that you won't get your chance to talk to your boyfriend?" 

Vincent scoffs. "No," she says halfheartedly, though she knows this is technically half-true at best. "It's not about— Well, he isn't my—"

"He isn't your boyfriend," Brandi finishes as she stops at the intersection exiting the school's parking lot. "How many times have you mentally planned out your wedding, though, Vince?  Named all your children?"

Vincent rolls her eyes. "Never. Marriage and kids aren't my thing, Brand. Have you seen my parents? They're fucking miserable." 

"You're not telling me anything. This car was a consolation prize from my daddy dearest, remember?" Brandi sighs dramatically. "But, oh, you and Mickey wouldn't be like that, would you? You'd be perfect. Not a care in the world. Just mountains of money from the Melchiondo family dealership and fantastic sex, forever and evermore."

Vincent reaches into the floorboard, picking up a used fast food napkin to toss at Brandi. "That came from your mouth, not mine, you deviant." 

"Is it not true, though?" Brandi doesn't even flinch as the ketchup-stained paper bounces off her cheek and into her lap. "I can see it in your eyes whenever he comes up, Vince. You are absolutely horny for him." Stopping at a light, she shoots Vincent a mischievous grin. "I would hate to see your parents' water bill. There's no telling how much time you spend with the showerhead every night."

Despite the heat rushing to her face, Vincent tries her best to hold her ground. "Like I'm supposed to listen to the biggest nympho in New Hope." She gives her best friend a quick up-and-down before offering a final insult. "The new cheerleading uniforms are very skanky, by the way. Suits you."

"Cute, right?" Brandi takes a hand off the wheel to hike her already-short skirt a bit further up her silky-smooth thigh. "I took the liberty of buying matching panties. You know, since the whole school will probably see them when I get thrown in the air." 

"Half the school is gonna see them, anyway," Vincent adds. 

"You're just mad that it's you and your fingers, Bradbury." Glancing down at her dashboard, Brandi frowns. "Shoot," she says. "Looks like I'm running off less than half a tank. Probably about time we fill her up." 

Not long after she says this, Brandi pulls into the parking lot of a Mom-and-Pop convenience store that Vincent vaguely recognizes. Though she knows that they've ridden past the place a few hundred times since Brandi received the Pony from her father five months prior, Vincent can't remember ever stopping at the place. 

She turns to Brandi as she pulls the car up even with the gas pump. "You don't usually stop here."

Brandi shrugs. "Better prices." She unbuckles her seatbelt before reaching into the backseat and retrieving her bag. She unzips it and pulls out her wallet. She withdraws a twenty-dollar bill and pushes it into Vincent's hand.

Vincent looks from the cash to her friend. A nagging feeling tells her that there's something weird about all of this, — she just isn't quite sure what. "What are you—"

"You go in and pay for it," Brandi interrupts her. "My skirt is too short. One of the old pervs here might try to cop a feel." 

Vincent eyes her suspiciously. "So you'd rather I get groped?"

Brandi waves a hand flippantly. "Your ass is so small that you have trouble finding pants that fit right," she says. "You'll be fine."

With an indistinct grumble of displeasure, Vincent unbuckles, throws her door open, and steps out onto the pavement, slamming the passenger door behind her. 

As she stomps towards the door, she registers the sound of Brandi shouting after her. "Buy me a Coke, would you?"

Though Vincent doesn't reply as she pushes the store's door open, she immediately heads in the direction of the soda fountain. 

After filling two large styrofoam cups to the brim with ice and cola, she trudges up to the counter, grabbing a couple of candy bars on the way. As she places her purchases on the countertop, she casts a cautious over her shoulder, in search of the perverts Brandi had told her about. 

"Vincent Bradbury, right?"

She startles at the sound of her name, — after all, when spoken by a voice she can't place, it's usually with negative connotations. She feels the blood drain from her face as she turns around, only to find herself face-to-face with none other than Mickey Melchiondo himself. 

"Uh... Yeah. Yeah, that's... me," she stammers. She feels her heartbeat beginning to pick up. "And you're..."

The boy behind the counter smiles, — the same smile that Vincent has snuck a glimpse at countless times in passing, always directed at something else. 

Suddenly, breathing is substantially more difficult than it was a few moments before. 

"Mickey." He pulls at his vest, drawing attention to his nametag. Oh, duh.

"Mickey," she echoes back, pretending as though she had the slightest bit of trouble recognizing him in hopes of saving face. "Right." 

She watches as he punches in the prices of the drinks and rings up the candy. She doesn't even note the numbers that make up her total, absentmindedly pushing the twenty towards him.

"Vincent?" 

Once again, she has a knee jerk reaction to hearing him say her name. This all feels like a fever dream. "Yeah?" 

"Will this be all?"

She blinks. "What do you—"

"This is a big bill," he continues. "I mean, I can break it if I have to, but... we're kinda running short on change. Slow day." He shrugs. "So is there anything else you'd like?" 

"Oh!" she exclaims. "Yeah, right, sorry, — Brandi needs to fill up her tank." 

His smile grows wider. "Brandi?" he asks. "As in Brandi Warrens?" 

Her stomach sinks as his face lights up. 

Brandi. 

Hot Brandi.

Cheerleader Brandi. 

Popular Brandi. 

That Brandi. 

"Yeah," she says quietly. "She's giving me a ride back from school."

"Awesome." Mickey punches a few more digits on the cash register before throwing the candy bars into a plastic bag and dropping a few pieces of change into Vincent's hand. With that, he steps out from behind the counter and heads towards the door. 

Attempting to slow the shaking of her hands, Vincent drops the money into the bottom of the bag before looping the handle over her arm and picking up the drinks. 

Pressing her body against the side of the door to push it open, Vincent begins her walk of shame across the parking lot, only to find that this surreally embarrassing nightmare had not yet come to an end. 

Mickey speaks to Brandi as he pumps the Pony full of gas. Brandi's pink-painted lips curve up in a self-assured smile that tells Vincent this was her plan all along. 

Feeling thoroughly defeated and more-than-slightly pissed, Vincent cries out to her. "Brandi!" she yells, holding their sodas up. "A little help here?"

Brandi tosses her hair over her shoulders with an eyeroll dramatic enough to be seen from miles away. "Hold your horses!" she shoots back before rounding the front of the car and opening the door. 

As Vincent slams the door and returns to her seat, she makes out a few of the words that Mickey speaks to Brandi. "I didn't know that you and Vincent Bradbury were friends."

"Oh, well, y'know," Brandi says. "Stranger things happen every day."

"Yeah. That's true." 

Not wanting to look at either of them, Vincent sets the drinks down before focusing her undivided attention on peeling away her chipped black fingernail polish. 

She can't help but look up at the sound of Mickey yelling across the parking lot as he headed back inside. "Catch you later, girls!" 

As the door of the store closes, the driver door opens. Vincent immediately turns her glare towards Brandi. "Fuck you, Warrens," she says.

"What?" Brandi turns the key in the ignition and shifts the car into drive. "I thought that went well! He even knows your name."

"Just because word on the street is I'm a Satanist, probably." 

"Chin up, buttercup." There is no semblance of real comfort in Brandi's voice as she continues. "Look on the bright side. This'll make it easier tomorrow night. You won't have to do the awkward introduction thing. You can jump straight into the conversation."

"No," Vincent groans. "I'll probably just spend the whole night avoiding him. Hang out with the dog or something."

"Alright. Keep feeling sorry for yourself, then," Brandi responds. "It might be good for your art, after all."

Within a short amount of time, Brandi pulls into the driveway of the Bradburys' house. Parking the Pony in the side-yard, she trails Vincent to the front door, loudly slurping her soda, likely just to spite her.

As soon as Vincent sticks her house key in the lock, the knob turns on the other side. The door opens to reveal Chris, — Vincent's brother, a year her junior. His lazy eyes, — perpetually red-tinted, despite his religious Visine usage, — move past his sister to the girl standing behind her. 

"Hey, Vee," he says halfheartedly as Vincent steps past him. Then, with much more enthusiasm: "And hey, Brandi." 

"Hi, Chris." Though she uses her usual sickly-sweet tone, Vincent can recognize the disgust in Brandi's voice as she squeezes past the boy. 

Chris closes the door behind them before offering a clumsy invitation. "Yo, Brandi," he says. "You ever play Super Mario Brothers? I've got an extra controller. It's not as fun, playing alone..."

"I really wish I could, Chris," Brandi cuts him off. "But me and Vincent have, like, a ton of homework to do. I haven't been able to keep up with it as much, considering everything with the cheer squad..."

"Yeah," Vincent interjects. "I've gotta help her out, seeing as how I'm the brains of the operation." As the words leave her mouth, Vincent knows full well that they're complete bullshit. 

Chris just rolls his eyes, none the wiser. "Yeah. Okay." Dejected, he skulks back to the couch, picking up the game controller on the way. 

As the sound of the Mario theme music fills the living room, the girls head up the stairs. 

Brandi giggles as she follows Vincent into her bedroom. "Fucking moron," she mutters. "Thursdays are, like, the driest day when it comes to homework. I swear, I could tell Chris the sky was green and he'd probably believe me."

"We can't all be you, Little Miss Straight A's," Vincent replies. Despite her sour mood, she huffs out a laugh that turns into an unbecoming snort. "Come to think of it, I'm not even sure Chris actually went to school today." 

She crosses the room, stopping at the small amplifier in the corner. The device is a bit worse for wear, although nowhere near the level of distress as the electric guitar attached to it by a cord. The drum machine across the room is the best-looking out of Vincent's collection of musical equipment, although that's not saying much at all. At the end of the day, however, she supposes that it all looks pretty good to have been lifted from the town's dump.

As Vincent plugs in the amp and strums a few shoddy but acceptable chords, Brandi begins to fiddle with the buttons on the drum machine.

"So," she speaks up, absentmindedly filling the room with a clumsy pattern of cymbal crashes. "What new composition awaits me today? "I Want to Fuck the Class Clown?" "Ode to Self-Pity?" " 

Vincent momentarily places the guitar on the floor to pick up an open two-subject notebook from her bed and throw it at her. "Take a look for yourself, jackass." 

Deftly, Brandi manages to catch the book before staring down at the exposed page. She reads the title aloud. " "Toxic Shock Syndrome." "

Save for the faint sound of video game music blasting downstairs, the room is silent as Brandi reads the lyrics on the page to herself. Vincent bites back a grin as Brandi's carefully-plucked brows climb further and further up her head.

"Jesus, Vince," she says when she's done. "That's fucking gruesome." A genuine smile appears on her face, reminding Vincent why, in spite of all their surface-level differences, the two girls happen to get along just fine. "I like it."

"Good," Vincent says before returning to creating a makeshift chord progression. "Wanna take it for a spin, then?"

"Sure."

In a matter of moments, all the previous calmness melts a way in a fit of clumsy, improvised chaos. 

Knowing that the door is locked and Chris couldn't care less, Vincent raises her voice over the cacophony, shouting the words that she had written days prior. 

Put it in my snatch / Then it snatched my arms and legs / Put a fog over my brain and oozing blisters on my hands / They put a warning on the box / But I still got Toxic Shock

After three odd minutes, the music came to a stop. Brandi pressed a button, halting the sound of the drum machine as she beamed at Vincent. "I'm gonna be so good at this once I get an actual set."

Vincent clears her throat in response, grabbing a bottle of water from her nightstand. Though she gulps down half the bottle in a matter of seconds, her throat still feels raw when she pulls away with a cough. 

"I hate to say it, Brand," she says. "But we might ought to call it quits for a day. I think I might've done something to my vocal chords."

"Weak, but okay." Brandi stands up, pushing the drum machine away as she reaches for her backpack. "By the way, what I told your brother about homework wasn't a complete lie... Will you look over my English paper? I've read it over like twenty times, but I want to be sure..."

With a sigh, Vincent flops onto her unmade bed.  "Bring it here."