#and then a doodle of reed who is missing an eye now!

[ghostcond]

a few doodles about family in a couple of ways

[ambereyesandwine]

We’ve Got Soul: Chapter 1

WC: 2362

Warnings: Cursing, Sass, Minor Crime, that’s all for now I think

Beta’d by: @teaspacebar

Notes: This is the first of a several part Detroit: Become Human OC Fic. Eventually there will be a romantic Markus x OC pairing and a platonic Gavin Reed x OC pairing. Have fun :)

Chapter 1:

June 20, 2036

11:34 A.M.

           When Fantasia arrived at her Aunt’s house, she marveled at the sight of the long driveways and property gates and lush landscaping that seemed to be included with every house on the street. She pulled the key from the ignition and hopped out of the small moving van to walk up to the intercom. She pushed the button, “Aunt Samantha? It’s Fantasia. Can you open the gate please?”

           A voice she didn’t recognize rang through, “Leave the van at the curb and make trips,” and the gate opened.

           “Alright, I guess that works.” Fantasia strode to the back of the van and opened the doors, pulling out closed boxes labeled ‘Books’ and ‘Electronics’ and ‘Paints,’ setting them down on the sidewalk to be brought into the house. She hummed while she rolled two suitcases of clothes through the front door and set them aside neatly by the wall of the entryway. When she went out to make another trip, she was stopped by a man’s voice.

           “Moving in?”

           “Yeah, I’m Fantasia.” She turned to find a gentleman in a wheelchair and his android companion had come over. “You’re Carl Manfred,” she said with shock and awe in her voice as she dropped the box she was holding.

           The android caught the box and looked over the small plants inside it, while Carl chuckled slightly, “Yes, and this is Markus. We live next door.”

           “Oh, wow.” She looked over to their house and then back at Carl and Markus, training her expression into calmness. “Well it’s really nice to meet you both. Um, I can,” Fantasia gestured to the box of succulents and reached for it slightly, “I can take those.”

           Markus happily passed them over, with a knowing smile, “Of course. You sure you have them?”

           Fantasia blushed slightly and held the box on her hip.

           “So, you paint?” Carl asked, nodding to the canvases leaning against the outside of the van.

           “Oh, uh, yeah,” Her attention refocused to Carl, “since I was a kid, or at least as far back as I can remember, anyway.”

           “Are they always monochromatic?”

           “No, just that set. The monochrome is supposed to show obsession with the subject of each painting.”

           Carl nodded slightly. “Bold statement.”

           “Thank you?” Fantasia’s head quirked as she questioned the intent behind his comment. “Well, I have to get this stuff inside, but it was really nice to meet you both. Thank you for stopping to chat.”

           “Have a good afternoon, Fantasia…?”

           “Jacobs.”

           “Jacobs. Alright.” Carl turned his chair and began to slowly wheel back to his own home, so Markus briefly turned back to Fantasia.

           “It was nice to meet you.” He nodded as a farewell and Fantasia waved as he walked away.

 June 23, 2036

1:12 P.M.

           Fantasia sighed heavily as she was escorted into the Detroit Police Station in handcuffs.

           “Here I was hoping for a quiet day in the office.” Officer Miller shook his head as he adjusted Fantasia’s handcuffs to hook her to Detective Reed’s desk.

           “And what, now it won’t be?” Fantasia shifted slightly in her chair to be more comfortable.

           “Not when Reed finds out you’re here.”

           She snorted. “I can handle Gavin.”

           Chris only mumbled to himself in response as he walked away from her.

Soon after, Fantasia heard a distinct, “Aw, fuck,” ring out from behind her.

           “What’s up Detective Reed?” She channeled as much sass into her voice as she possibly could as she watched the man come into view.

           “I don’t have time for your bullshit today. Here,” He pulled paper and a pencil out of his desk and pushed them in front of her. “Now stay here and shut up, I’ll deal with you when I have a minute.” And he stormed off.

           Fantasia sat in shock for a moment before shrugging the encounter off and doodling her time away.

           Detective Reed returned an hour and a half later. “What are you doing? What is that?”

           “It’s you.” She turned the paper around to show him angry chibi doodles of himself with all sorts of profane catchphrases in speech bubbles.

           “That’s not funny.”

           “It is objectively hilarious.”

           He looked ready to punch a wall but took a deep breath before speaking again. “This is the third time you’ve been in here just this month. You drive me up the fucking wall for hours every time, and now that I finally gave you something else to do with your time, you’re gonna use that against me too?”

           “Absolutely.”

           “Right.” He was unamused, “The report says ‘Vandalism.’ Again. Why do you keep doing it if you keep getting caught?”

           “The point of the art is to be seen. Why would I put it up with the intent of it not being found?”

           “You could just not vandalize shit.”

           “And you could just not show up to work hungover.”

           “Excuse me?”

           “You ever think you’d get more out of people by being less of an asshole?”

           Detective Reed was fuming. “You ever think you might have friends if you weren’t such an obnoxious bitch?”

           Fantasia feigned offense with a dramatic gasp.

           “Reed! Phone!” Captain Fowler called from his office.

           Detective Reed stared Fantasia down angrily while she returned the stare, smug, and when the detective’s phone rang, their eye contact didn’t budge.

           “Yeah.” He answered the phone. “Mmhmm, yeah. Great, I’ll let her know.”

           “Were you talking about me?” Fantasia batted her eyelashes at him.

           He groaned as he reached for her cuffs to unlock them. “Somebody by the name of Manfred just paid your bail.” He tossed her cuffs onto his desk. “Get out.”

           “Gladly.” She stood up and began to walk away, “Try not to miss me too much, Detective,” she called over her shoulder.

           Reed only balled up the paper Fantasia had been drawing on and threw it at her across the office, receiving a middle finger in return.

June 23, 2036

5:42 P.M.

           Fantasia locked the front door behind her. “I’m back!” She called out.

           “You missed dinner!” Martha, the woman who Fantasia learned was taking care of her aunt, called out from across the house. “You’re going to have to figure it out tonight!”

           “Okay!” As Fantasia began her ascent up the stairs, there was a polite knock at the door. She quirked her head in confusion as she walked back over to open the door. “Markus?”

           “Hello,” He stood patiently on the porch while Fantasia stepped out. “Carl would like you to join him for dinner this evening if you are available.”

           “Uh, yeah, I’d just need to change,” She started to go inside before turning back to Markus. “Did he say why?”

           “Just that he wanted me to collect you if you’re available.”

           Her nod was skeptical, but Fantasia replied, “Okay, give me just a minute.”

           “I’ll wait here.” Markus turned away from the door and stood still, looking around while he waited for Fantasia to change.

           “Okay, I’m back.” She locked the door and gestured for Markus to lead the way.

           As he began to walk, Markus looked over Fantasia’s new clothing, noting the adjustment from paint covered jeans and t-shirt to a sensible sundress. “You look nice.”

           “What?” Fantasia’s eyes went wide and she blushed.

           Markus held his gaze forward as they rounded the corner to Carl’s walkway. “Your dress.”

           “Oh,” She looked down at her dress and composed herself. “Thank you,” She said it softly and smiled to herself.

           Markus held the door for Fantasia as she crossed the threshold into Carl’s house, to find Carl waiting in the foyer.

           “Thank you for joining us. Please, come sit down.” Carl wheeled into another room without any explanation, so Fantasia followed.

           “Am I in trouble?” She asked Markus quietly.

           “I have no idea, but I’d follow him.” He nodded in Carl’s direction and then left the room through a different door.

           Fantasia sighed, “Great.” She walked through the door Carl had disappeared through and found him sitting at a dining table in a large room, seemingly meant for other things. She saw a piano, and tall bookshelves, and skeletons hanging from the ceiling, as she walked to the seat Carl gestured toward. When she sat down, Carl simply stared at her for a moment before speaking.

           “So,” He started sternly, “What art styles do you enjoy?”

           Fantasia was hesitant to answer, but replied, “Expressionism mostly. I only paint when I have something to talk about.”

           “Mmhmm, yeah, and what about vandalism?” Carl’s tone was perturbed, “That seems to be another something that you rather enjoy.”

           A nervous chuckle escaped her lips.

           “Imagine my surprise when I looked up the young artist who moved in next door, only to find that she needed bail money.”

           “Which was extremely unexpected but highly appreciated, by the way. I-”

           “Do you regret it?” He interrupted.

           “What?”

           “Do you regret having painted a piece called ‘Androids are people too’” He emphasized the title she’d left on it, “on the wall at the bus station?”

           She hesitated, trying to gauge what kind of response he was looking for.

“I’d like the truth, please.”

           Fantasia deflated, resigned to telling the truth. “I don’t. It needed to be said. So, I said it.”

           Carl nodded. “Excellent.”

           “What?”

           “Having something to say is the most important part of being a successful painter. I’d like to see some of your work.” He started to come around to the other side of the table.

           “I-”

           “Some of your non-vandalism work.” He stopped next to Fantasia’s chair. “I need you to bring me three pieces; one that shows significant growth, one that makes an unapologetic statement, and one that you consider to be your personal favorite, so I can see where we need to start.” He began to roll away, “Follow me please.”

           Fantasia began to follow him through yet another door. “I’m sorry, what is happening right now?”

           Carl ignored her completely and lead her into a magnificent art studio with floor to ceiling windows covering two of the walls. “You can work and keep your supplies in here while I’m teaching you and-”

           “Wait!” Fantasia stopped in her tracks, face frozen in confusion. “Seriously, what is happening?”

           Carl slowed and turned to face her in his chair. “I’d like to offer you an internship. If,” he raised his hand toward her in the ‘look at me’ motion, “and only if you stop the graffiti. Whether you have something to say or not, the law will view it as vandalism, and I won’t have my name attached to it. We can find other ways for people to see your message, but it can’t be illegally if you want me to teach you. Deal?”

           “Absolutely.”

           “Good. If you get caught it again, you can consider your apprenticeship terminated, and you should not expect to have your bail paid for. Understood?”

           She nodded, “Yes, sir.”

           “Good. Then I’m happy to have you here, but please, just call me Carl.” He started back toward the door he’d entered the studio from and motioned for her to follow. When Fantasia made no attempt to respond to him further, Carl filled the silence. “Would you like to stay for dinner?”

           “I’d love to.”

 July 10, 2036

3:19 P.M.

           Fantasia looked to her vibrating phone on the coffee table and saw the caller I.D. had come up as ‘Restricted.’ She skeptically answered, “Hello?”

           A gruff voice came across the line, “Is this Fantasia Jacobs?”

           “Speaking.”

           “Hi, this is Detective Gavin Reed of the Detroit-”

           She hung up and stared at her phone for a moment, startled by the identity of the caller. Her phone rang a second time, the caller again labeled as ‘Restricted.’ She clicked the accept button.

           “Don’t hang up.” He sounded peeved.

           “I didn’t do it.”

           “You’re not in trouble.”

           “I don’t believe you.” She said it matter-of-factly.

           He huffed. “Look, the DPD is formally requesting your assistance with a case, be here by 5 P.M. tonight.”

           “What if I have plans?”

           “What if I come pick you up in a patrol car with the lights and siren on?”

           Fantasia went silent for a moment, unsure of how to reply. “I don’t have a choice, do I?” She questioned.

           “Think less ‘favor for a friend’ and more ‘court summons.’” Detective Reed sounded smug. “I’ll see you in a few,” and the line went dead.

           She sighed heavily. “This is gonna be fun.” Fantasia pulled up Carl’s contact and pushed the ‘call’ button.

           Carl answered on the first ring, “Yes, Fantasia?”

           “I can’t make it for dinner this evening. I’ve been ‘summoned’ by the DPD.” She emphasized her irritation as much as she could.

           “Is that code for “Carl, I’ve been arrested again”?” He questioned.

           “No,” She defended. “Apparently they need my help with a case. I have to be at the station in a little while, and I have no idea how long I’ll be there.”

           “Alright. We’ll reschedule for when you’re available.” He sounded indifferent about the change of plans. “Don’t get into too much trouble.”

           “Yes, sir.”

           “Don’t-”

           Fantasia hung up the phone before she could hear the rest of Carl’s complaint. She grabbed her things and walked outside to catch the bus to head into town. When she arrived at the station, she waited patiently to speak with a reception android.

           “Hello, how can I help you?” The android asked with a fixed smile.

           “Hi, I’m here to see Detective Reed.” Fantasia stated coolly.

           “Okay, you can go through those doors whenever you’re ready.”

           Fantasia smiled, “Thank you.” She walked through the small security gate and into the back room, escorting herself directly to Detective Reed’s desk.

           “Woah,” He looked surprised when he saw her. “What’s with the getup?”

           Fantasia rolled her eyes. “I had plans, remember? Why am I here?”

           He smiled at the annoyance in her voice “I… have a job for you.” He dropped a small file onto his desk in front of her. “I need you to take a look at those,” He opened the file and spread out the pictures inside, “and tell me everything you know about that symbol and who painted it.”

[rosesisupposes]

Destined, part 8

aka Sweet Dreams are Made of These

Character Tags: Virgil/Anixety ; Patton/Creativity ; Patton/Morality ; Logan/Logic ; Remy/Sleep ; Dante/Deceit

Chapter Pairings: 

Chapter Warnings: lies, theft, negative self-talk

Reader Tags: @residentanchor​ @royally-anxious​ @brendonuriesguardianvirgil​

Summary: After centuries of acting as an oracle to heroes, quest-seekers, and villains alike, Virgil just wants to live as a normal, modern human. For someone who can see infinite probabilities, you’d think he’d know better.

<<Chapter 7 | Masterlist | Chapter 9>>

Read on Ao3

Flashback: central Europe, 1000 CE

Kat Baker was not a very good one. At the very least, she was the worst baker in the Baker family. And today she’d proved beyond a doubt that if she inherited running the family store, as she was expected to, Bakers’ Dozen would be out of business within the week. She could practically feel three generations of Baker women glaring at her in disappointment.

It had started with the sign.

Mama had asked her to paint a new sign after the old one rotted. She had been ecstatic. Finally, a chance to create something not made of icing! Something that would last!

She’d been very methodical about it, too. She’d sketched several designs and got Mama’s approval, and made a quick version on parchment paper before trying to recreate it on the wooden sign that hung outside the thatched-roof bakery.

But today, once she finally had gotten her paints out, she had gotten too caught up in it, and she’d forgotten to take the loaves out of the oven. The simple daily loaves. The kind that people actually depended on the Baker business for. The kind that were the staple of half their villages’ meals for the day. They had burned, and Mama and her sister Cythera had had to use up the extra dough to quickly get out as many as possible for the daily traffic.

All the pretty, fancy baking that Kat was good at helping with was just extra, the kind of thing that would help them maintain and expand their business. The village loved her sugar flowers and decorations, even the elegantly braided and twisted breads, but they didn’t live on sweetcakes. The daily bread was the backbone of the town and the store itself. Mama was furious.

Kat had run to the woods, crying. Why couldn’t she be a better daughter, a better Baker. Why was she so flighty when her family needed her to be stable, and dependable, and adult?

She ran down a barely-seen path to a small glade, and threw herself down on the mossy bank of the small pond there. This was her paradise, her tranquil pool. She sat and breathed in and out, listening to forest sounds and admiring the flowers around her. At least here she felt like she belonged, and there were no expectations to disappoint.

Relaxing, she doodled in the dirt with a reed plucked from the bank, sketching the water lilies gently floating on the pool’s surface. She started adding flourishes - a frog on a lilypad, a bird overhead, a butterfly in flight. Her concentration was entirely locked on the spreading patterns drawn in the dirt.

Right up until she heard a splash and a voice yell for help.

A tiny blue form was in the middle of the pool, struggling to stay afloat as sodden white wings threatened to sink it. With a start but no hesitation, she waded in, and used a lilypad to scoop up the small creature.

Kat brought it back to land, and deposited her tiny, soaked burden on the dry moss. Shakily standing, a tiny voice said “Thank you, you sweet thing! You saved my life!”

Getting a good look at last, Kat gasped. It was a fairy! A real-life fairy! She knew they existed of course, and everyone said this forest was mystic, but she’d only ever heard stories. The small creature had sky-blue skin, from tiny toes to dangling antennae. Moth wings, white with light brown dots, flapped out from a wee torso in an effort to dry them.

“Oh, toadstools- I haven’t introduced myself. Hello, human! I’m Baxter!”

“Hello, Baxter, I’m Kat. Are you alright?”

The little fairy grinned. “I’ve been wetter! I was almost in over my head in that situation! But thanks to you I’ll be all flight now!”

Kat giggled. The fairy grinned even more broadly. They loved it when people enjoyed their jokes.

“So, mister Kat!” they peeped cheerfully. “How can I repay you for saving my life?”

“Oh, it was no troub- wait, mister?”

“Fiddlesticks, did I get that wrong again? You humans and your non-fluid genders, I’ll never learn. Do you prefer miss, is that right term? More importantly, can I call you Kitty Kat?”

Kat scowled. “No one calls me Kitty. Well, except Cythy, and only because she’s my little sister. And Mama, but only to annoy me. I’m just Kat. Miss Kat, but only if you insist.”

Baxter shrugged philosophically. “Someday, I will find a kitty I can get along with. Actual cats keep trying to eat me. And - oh wait, I was asking a question back there wasn’t I. Oh yes. What can I do to repay you, my sweet Miss Kat?”

Kat grinned at the funny little creature. “You don’t need to do anything for me - unless you can turn me into not a disaster.”

“Exccuussee me?” the fairy asked, offended. They tested their now-dry wings, and fluttered up to Kat’s eye level. “Are you bad-talking my newest best friend?”

“Who’s your - oh. Me.” She shrugged. “It’s not bad-talking if it’s true. I am a disaster and my whole family - no, the whole village - knows it.”

“I will PHYSICALLY FIGHT YOU!” the fairy said, holding up tiny fists.

Kat eyed them with a crooked smile. The fairy’s body was all of four inches tall, their long curly antenna only adding another half inch. “I mean it!” they insisted fiercely. “You are great and perfect! You just saved my life! How could you not be!”

“Because I’m supposed to be a baker and I just can’t do any of it right. Not to mention actually running a business! I just mess everything up and make my family’s life harder.”

“You adorable wingless butterfly, I am sure that’s not true.”

“It is. Every last bread loaf burned today, all because of me. People needed those, and because of me Cythera and Mama will be exhausted tonight when they need to be preparing for tomorrow.”  

“I know!  I could help you! With just a pinch of magic, you won’t give loaf a bad name!”

Kat half-heartedly laughed at the pun, but couldn’t restrain her sighs. “But even then… I’d be dependent on that for everything. And it wouldn’t be fair to Cythera. She’s the one who can actually bake, and she’s so good at it. Plus, she’s already had so many good ideas about how to make Mama’s life easier. Why couldn’t she have been the oldest? She could inherit the store, like she deserves to. I just want to make beautiful things, without the pressure of knowing families rely on me every day to get food out early enough.”

Baxter frowned. “Have you asked if you can just… not inherit and let your sister take over? It seems like that would make everyone happy.”

“I want to, it’s just… I love my family so much, I would never want to do wrong by them. If I tell Mama I don’t want to run the shop… wouldn't that be rejecting all her hard work, and telling her it didn’t mean anything? And her mother’s work, and her mother’s mother’s work… they all took on the responsibility for our store and our family name. None of them shirked their duty. If I do, that’s who I’ll be my whole life. The Baker who wasn’t.” A tear fell from her cheek and landed on her stained apron.

Baxter sat on her shoulder, legs dangling past her collarbone. “Hey, kiddo, it’s alright! You would be happier, and so would your family - that’s all you could ask for, right?”

Kat shook her head, careful not to knock off her new friend. “It just feels wrong. I know I’m not the best at it, but I promised Mama I would. I promised Papa I would. How can I back out of a promise, especially if I don’t know it will work out? Or even what else I would do?”

“What do you want to do, Kat Not-a-Baker?”

“I want to create, but not from dough,” she whispered reverently. “I want to paint and draw, and make beautiful things. Permanent things,” she added, looking sadly at her drawings in the dirt. In the scramble to rescue Baxter, almost all the marks had been smudged or splashed away. “It always feels so natural and right, when I’m able to sketch, or doodle, or paint. But I don’t know if that means it’s what I’m really meant to do, or if I’m just frivolous and need to focus. That’s what Gran’mama always said, anyway.”

Baxter hummed. “I might be able to help you there,” they said, dangling their legs and swinging them a little. “With my help, you might be able to find just the right person who can tell you exactly what you’re meant to be.”

Kat turned her head to stare at the blue creature. “Like… like a Quest?!”

“Exactly like a Quest,” Baxter replied. They knew that techhhhhnicalllyy, they’re not supposed to be going off on Quests without becoming an official Fairy Godparent, but even official parents don’t get to choose their Godchildren. And Baxter liked Kat a lot.

Plus, the Elders were sticks-in-the-mud and kept saying that Baxter “wasn’t ready” and needed to “stop making so many puns” and “take this seeeeeriousssslyyy.”

All the younger fairies loved them, and thought their advice was great. Maybe if they proved they could be a really great Godparent to Kat, the Elders would finally see reason.

This was a great plan, they could feel it all the way to the tips of their wings.

“Have you heard of the Harz Forest, or the Fortuneteller of the Wood?” they asked, fluttering out in front of the teen.

“Only that humans almost never go in it, and that everyone who tries to enter gets lost. And Auntie Delinda says it’s because the magic folk scare or curse everyone to make sure only the worthy can reach the Teller, but Mama says that’s horseradish and that fortune-tellers are just regular people telling you what you want to hear.”

Baxter put their hands on their hips. “I am offended. Here I am, a real-life fairy, and you’re telling me the magic folk are horseradish?”

“Don’t blame me!” Kat said with a pout. “I’ve been looking for fairies, or unicorns, or even a dragon as long as it’s something magical, for my whole life, and I only just found you on accident today. If most humans have to go at least fifteen years without any clues, no wonder Mama thinks fairies have disappeared.”

Baxter looked chagrined. “The fae folk have been limiting our contact lately, it’s true. Does that mean your mother won’t let you come with me?”

“Not at all - when she sees you, and you tell her we’re going on a Quest! She’ll have to agree. She may be a skeptic, but even she knows the tales - that to be a fairy’s Goddaughter is special, and there are consequences of denying a fairy Quest.”

“That...is… absolutely right! Yes, what we’re doing is a true, official fairy Quest, because you, Kat Baker, are just too special to ignore, you delightful little cherub. Yessiree, you are indeed a Goddaughter, and I am your Official™ Fairy Godparent!” Baxter lied. It was for a good cause, after all.

“Did you say something after official? What is a tee-ehm? Is it like a fairy’s magic wand?”

“Uh, yes! Yes, that’s very wise of you to point out. I will need to stop by my colony to get my magic wand before we can leave. If you meet me here as early as you can tomorrow morning, we can go talk to your mother then. And then we can be off on our Quest - to find the Fortuneteller of the Wood!”

Kate leapt to her feet. “You mean it? Really? Tomorrow? Oh, I’m so excited! Yes, I will be here once the bread is out tomorrow, just after sunrise. I’ll see you tomorrow, Baxter!”

Baxter watched her go, then wheeled in midair to head back to the colony. He’d committed, now. All that was left to do was get a wand.

If Kat hadn’t been convinced that Baxter was magical, this proved it.

Her Mama, her skeptic, no-nonsense, stubborn Mama, had needed only 5 minutes talking with the little fairy to allow her to go off on her Quest. Mama had packed a haversack with the most durable loaves, and made sure she brought her Papa’s forest journal of edible plants.

“Take care of it, and yourself, my sweet Kat. I hope your Quest goes well, and that you find what you’re looking for,” she had said, hugging her tightly and kissing her forehead.

Cythy was jealous, but promised to support Mama. “Bring me back an extra prince, Kitty! Or tell Baxter to come live with us!” Their charm had clearly roped in the entire Baker family. It was something in those earnest brown eyes, and the wide smile. Plus, they seemed to give off respect like a perfume when they put their mind to it.

And now, not even a day later, they’d reached the edge of the Harz Forest. They knew that the Fortuneteller lived deep in the woods, at the furthest point from all the edges. Kat was dying of curiosity - what kept people away? Would it be scary? Would she be ready?

She and Baxter were following what path seemed to exist. It was faint, and definitely not commonly trod. But it definitely was moving steadily away from the edge of the forest, so it must be heading deeper in.

Baxter spent parts of the journey flying beside he, and parts sitting on her shoulder or on her pack, telling stories about antics they and their fae friends had gotten into, and slowly convincing the girl to let them call her Kitty Kat. They were in the middle of a rather entertaining story regarding Baxter’s first ill-fated attempt to befriend an actual cat when they suddenly pulled on Kat’s hair, squeaking “Pump the brakes there, kiddo.”

Kat looked around, confused. She didn’t see anything threatening - what was wrong?

Baxter flew out in front of her, soft wings flapping as they removed their wand from a tiny holster on their waist. Their eyes and wand glowed as they turned in a semicircle, continuing to hover. “Aha! Oh, that is just so clever,” they exclaimed. Turning to their human companion - no, their Goddaughter - Baxter explained, “It’s wood sprite magic. That’s what protects this forest. There are misdirection charms everywhere, designed to send any humans right back to the edges of the forest without realizing they’ve been turned around. It would work on anyone unable to cast spells, though magic folk like me might notice something funny. Luckily, I am your Godparent, and I am Prepared!”

A glow arose from the tip of their wand, spreading into a silvery bubble the enclosed fairy and human alike. It hung for a moment, then melted away. “We’ll be all set now - the spells won’t affect us. The sprites have gotten more strategic than I remember - time was they’d just try to strangle any intruders one by one. But this way, they only need to maintain the spell, and don’t risk losing any of their own!”

Kat rubbed her throat at the thought of wood sprites and strangulation. “Will they still try to stop us? Is there danger?”

“I don’t believe so. We just need to be careful to not harm any trees. Not that either of us wood,” they added, flying next to Kat just to elbow her lightly. She giggled. “No really! These wood sprites are all the same! No bite, all bark!”

“Baxter, you were definitely destined to be my Godparent. Papa used to make the same jokes all the time. I always groaned and complained, but I loved them. I wish I could have told him that.”

The blue fairy felt their heart squeeze. They flew up and stroke the girl’s head. “Kiddo, don’t you worry. He knew.”

As Baxter had predicted, they didn’t encounter any trouble. It was a far distance to walk, but they were able to find small clearings to sleep in. At night, Baxter cast a protection spell just in case, and included heat in the ward, so there was no need to harm any trees for firewood.

It took two nights and three days of walking before Baxter noticed heavier layers of magic, and Kat spotted a break in the trees ahead. “This must be it!” Kat said excitedly. “The center of the forest - we’re almost at the home of the Fortuneteller of the Wood!”

They were expecting a cottage, maybe a tower. What they found was a huge natural home built in the heart of a tree. A sprawling tree, at least fifteen feet in diameter, twisted up towards the clouds above. A hollow in the middle of the trunk contained what looked like a natural staircase as the tree continued to grow around it. The stairs twined within the trunk before disappearing into a dense canopy.

“Should we… go up?” Kat asked nervously. “I hate to barge in…”

“The Teller probably isn’t used to guests, so wouldn’t know to check for us,” Baxter noted. “Let’s see where the stairs lead.”

They climbed up carefully, both in awe of the massive natural being. They reached the top only to find a room made out of twined branches. The floor was a net of branches in all directions, curving up and around to create the walls. It felt a bit like standing in a wicker basket - a still-living basket that pulsed with green life on every side.

Kat made eye contact with Baxter, who nodded encouragingly. She took a deep breath, and called out “Mr. Fortuneteller? Teller of the Wood? I come seeking my destiny!”

They heard a rustling above them. Through the leaves and branches above her head, Kat saw a form swinging back and forth from branch to branch. It descended quickly, but with what was clearly ease of long practice. The form finally dropped deftly in front of the fairy and human guests in its home, bracing its landing with a bended knee.

The form rose to full height. It was a long way to go. Baxter’s first thought was a druid or a sprite grown to fifty times its size, but neither druids nor sprites could be fortune-tellers. No, this was just a Sage who’d chosen to blend in with his home. His skin was a dark, warm brown, made even darker by his leathery tan. His hair was a mixture of dark and light green, falling messily into his face and almost - almost - obscuring shockingly bright green eyes. His cheeks had what could have been greenish stubble, but could also be lichen. At his full height, he was at least six feet tall, towering over both his guests.

Baxter was absolutely overcome. They would have expected the Sage to stand awkwardly, but his body was well-proportionate to his height, and he was clearly in his element surrounded by his wooded home. When Baxter was finally able to pull his eyes away from the tall tree man, he noticed wood sprites darting in and out of the tree room, flitting around their giant counterpart and away.

“Welcome, Seeker,” the Teller said at last. His voice was rough with disuse, but shiveringly deep, and Baxter could feel himself swooning as he fluttered by Kat’s shoulder.  “I am the one some call the Fortuneteller of the Wood. My name is Devas.”

Kat gave a small curtsy. “Greetings, Devas. I am Katherine Baker, Kat. And this is my fairy Godparent, Baxter.”

“A Quest, is this? You must be very special to have a fairy Quest bring you to me. Particularly when I have not been an active Fortune Teller in over a hundred years.”

Kat beamed with pride. “They are an excellent Godparent, and have guided me here to help me find my destiny!”

Devas hesitated, and seemed ready to decline, but paused when the small blue fairy came up to just below eye level. Baxter felt their tiny heart beating much quicker as those emerald eyes inspected him. Devas rumbled, “I have been acting as protector to the sprites of this forest, helping the trees themselves repel advancing farmers and conquerors. Tell me, fairy, why I should resume the ancient duties I had left behind these many years?”

Baxter shivered, partly in fear, and partly not in fear at all. They drew a deep breath, and channeled their innate magic to sweeten the mood of the giant man. “Devas, great Sage, we have journeyed long to find you. My  young friend here - that is, my Goddaughter, is torn between duty and passion. She just wants to know which choice will be Right. Can you, Heart of the Harz, Teller of the Wood, please help her? It’s for her family!”

Devas had never seen a fairy with such striking brown eyes, made all the more startling by the contrast from their bright blue body. And the way the little thing looked at him as they asked, on behalf of their charge… Devas may have been committed to his forest home, but he didn’t have a wooden heart. He relented.

“Very well, young Seeker. Do you know the invocation?” he asked as relaxed his lanky form into a tailor’s seat. Sitting, he still almost as tall as the teen who cautiously approached him.

“I do, great Teller,” she said, taking a breath. “Sage, I entreat you, tell me my destiny.”

“Seeker, to know your destiny is to be bound by it. Are you prepared to risk your future?”

“I am.” Her small face was determined.

“Then give me your hands, and prepare to be bound.”

Devas’ huge brown hands enveloped Kat’s, the paler skin of his palms still not as light as hers. He closed his eyes and looked into the ether.

Kat Baker. What a relief. No dragons or quests or risking the world. She just wanted to know if she was wrong to have an ‘impractical’ passion. It reminded Devas fondly of the farmers from all those years ago at Delphi. No grand decisions of right and wrong - just hoping that life will go her way. And it was within her power - no magic needed. If only all destinies were like this, Devas might not have escaped to the woods for his current lifetime. He smiled internally, and spoke.

“To trust that beauty will be recognized, you must commit with all your heart.”

Kat withdrew her hands, her eyes shining. She looked up at her fluttering companion and grinned. “Baxter, did you hear that! That sounds like a good sign!”

“It sure does kiddo! I can hardly be-leaf it!”

Something was bothering Devas. This wasn’t his first interaction with a fairy Godparent, and this one was… different. Much less polished. Far more scattered than fairies tended to want Godparents to be. And Devas was just a tad suspicious.

“Fairy - Baxter, was it? Do you seek a destiny as well? On behalf of your Quest, I will Tell it for you, if you wish.”

“Ohhh I don’t know that that’s necessary, my future can really stay a mys-tree!”

“Oh Bax, don’t be silly!” Kat piped up. “Even if you know you’re going to keep being a fairy Godparent, don’t you want a hint for how things will go?”

A strained look flashed across the little creatures’ blue face. They fluttered up towards the leafy ceiling, muttering to themself. Finally, they descended, and landed on Devas’ large palm. “I… suppose there are questions I have for the future. Here goes nothing. Sage, I entreat you, tell me my destiny.”

“Seeker, to know your destiny is to be bound by it. Are you prepared to risk your future?”

Baxter’s face turned a much lighter shade of blue, but they proceeded nonetheless. “I am.”

“Then give me your hands, and prepare to be bound.”

Two tiny hands wrapped around the Sage’s thumb as the ether clouded his vision once more.

As he gazed through flashing futures, Devas immediately felt his suspicions were well-founded. There were possible future Godchildren, yes, but far more were ending up selfish, or cruel, or cowardly than fairies were supposed to allow. And in the futures without Godchildren, Baxter was exiled entirely, shut out of their colony. Devas frowned. He didn’t see any future choices that caused it. What could the fairy have already done? Was it worth it to check?

A sudden voice, high-pitched but firm and filled with disdain. “Once a thief, forever a thief.” It came from a grave-looking fairy, clearly much older than Baxter, surrounded by a group of stone-faced elders. That was it. Devas was going to look into the past.

Devas is Baxter, sitting with a smaller, younger fairy. “Now Felics, I know you didn’t mean to hurt Poppy, but you did hurt them, and you need to apologize. “But Bax, what if they are still mad at me? Can’t I just wait until they feel better?” “No, kiddo, you can’t. Sometimes doing the right thing doesn’t feel all that great.”

The world shifts, to only hours later. Devas feels their fairy heart fluttering as quickly as their wings with nerves. Their prank went wrong, and their best friend is furious with them. Why can’t they understand it was a joke? Devas always meant it to be a joke, they should know that. If they don’t understand that and don’t want to be part of the delights that are Devas’ brilliant pranks, maybe it’s best they not be friends anymore.

Devas paused in his visions. He recognized the sentiment - feelings always threatened to overpower better judgment. But to give in to the emotional reaction just after urging the impressionable not to? No wonder their potential future Godchildren could be so… petty.

It is night, just a few days ago. Devas flies silently through the colony. They’d slipped through the illusion on the huge, mossy boulder during the ritual hour, as everyone was out in fairy circles. Their luck is doubly in - only one Elder is guarding the inner vault, and it’s Blunda. She is old and sleepy, and it takes just a whispered suggestion with a tiny twist of magic to have her snoring. Devas grins to themself. Clearly, this is why they would make a great Godparent. They’re so resourceful! The Elders really didn’t know what they were missing, delaying their first deployment. They fly into the vault, and found racks upon racks of magic wands. Bee-ee-ay-youtiful. They select a belt and holster from the tray, then reach for one of the magic objects. As they snatch it, they sense alarm spells going off, zooming to the Elders. Time for their escape. They race past Blunda (still sleeping) and take a hidden shortcut through the colony walls, escaping into open air. They feel a slight twinge against their conscience. They know stealing is Wrong, but who else would help Kat? The Elders were so particular in which children were named Godchildren. Baxter likes Kat a lot, and she was so kind to them. So helping her must be Right, and anything they do that helps her is also Right.

Right?

Devas drew back, frowning. Now the futures all made sense. But the fairy can’t be beyond all help, are they? Devas knew he was likely overstepping, but he asked Baxter a clarifying question.

“Fairy, what do you want your destiny to be? What do you want to be your life’s work and legacy?”

Baxter smiled cheerfully.  “I want to be a Good Fairy and Godparent, and help as many kiddos as I can, and bring smiles to their faces!”

“Can a Godparent be Good if their idea of Good shifts?” Devas asked quietly.

The fairy went pale. Devas nodded, then spoke Baxter’s destiny.

“A willow that bends without end supports no weight. An unforgiving oak will break those that oppose it. Only if you can resist these extremes will the forest path be revealed to you.”

Baxter’s tiny mouth hung open, processing what the forest Sage had said. They had a lot to consider.

As fairy and girl made their way along the long journey home, Kat asked Baxter what they were thinking, unnerved by their uncharacteristic silence.

“Kitty Kat, have I been a good Godparent to you? Have I helped you figure out the Right thing to do?”

“Of course you’ve been good! You got us to the Sage and now I know what I need to do! At least I think I do.”

“But do I do what’s Right? Or just what I think will make me happy?”

“Both, I think!”

“What about when they’re not the same?”

Kat frowned. “I don’t know. I don’t think that’s happened, has it?”

Baxter’s insides twisted. Should they have admitted to Kat that the wand was stolen? But that would mean admitting that they hadn’t been assigned to her, that she hadn’t been picked as a Goddaughter. Would that hurt her? Wouldn’t she feel liked Baxter had betrayed her?

Their sudden realization caused them to fly straight into a tree branch.

They were asking themselves entirely the wrong questions. They couldn’t focus on the perceived outcomes of their actions, but on what was the right thing to do. And the right thing to do was to tell Kat the truth. All of it.

They had betrayed Kat, by lying, and convincing her to leave her family on false pretenses. The forest hadn’t been dangerous, but it could have been, and Kat would have been at risk of her life without even knowing why.

“Kiddo? I mean, Kat? Can we take a break for a second,” they asked nervously.

“Of course, Baxter. Are your wings tired?”

“No, I just… need to get something off my chest.”

“We’d better sit down then. Wouldn’t want you to get crushed!” Kat replied with a goofy grin. The cheesy joke, so like their own, made Baxter grin back in spite of themself.

Kat settled carefully in a mossy clearing, checking for saplings before sitting gently. Even though there was no longer a threat, she didn’t want to harm Devas’ forests.

Baxter found a sapling, barely over two feet tall, and alit on the top-most branch. Leaning against the slender trunk, they let their wings fall back into a rest position. They looked down at their tiny blue feet, not wanting to make eye contact with Kat just yet.

“I… I want to apologize, Kat. I have not been a good Godparent to you.”

Kat looked at him quizzically. “Bax, what do you mean? You’ve been so nice! And we succeeded in our Quest to find the Teller, and we’re practically home already. That all sounds like a great Godparent to me!”

“That’s just it, Kat. It wasn’t a Quest, not truly. And… I’m not a real Godparent. I just really, really wanted to be one. I’m so sorry,” Baxter said sadly. They looked up. Kat’s face was one of confusion, but her eyes still radiated trust for her magical companion of the past week. They felt their heart squish itself into an even tighter corner of their chest.

“The fae folk have a lot of very strict rules over who can be deployed as a Godparent, and who can be a Godchild. I’ve always resented those rules, because the Elders kept telling me I wasn’t ready, and I was so sure that I was.

“But now I understand, finally, why I never was. Kat, I… I lied to you. From practically the moment we first met. I was never chosen to be your Godparent. And to the best of my knowledge… you were never chosen to be a Godchild.”

Kat’s confusion shifted into clear self-doubt, and her eyes started to mist over with tears. This was even harder than Baxter had feared it would be.

“Kitty Kat, I promise you, it’s not because you aren’t brilliant, or talented, or delightful. There are just very exacting standards. It always feels like the Elders have some weird measuring cord - ‘Must Be This Miserable or Have This Much Potential Greatness or Must Have Been This Much Switched At Birth to Get a Fairy’. It’s not about who deserves one, I don’t think, but about whose life absolutely needs magical help to spread the most good in the world. And we don’t want to admit it, but we fae folk are shrinking in number. We live for hundreds of years, yes, but almost all our colonies are aging, and we don’t have as many potential parents to deploy. I’ve never heard of a fairy living over 1,000, and my Elders are all well into their 900s...”

Baxter shook their head. “Sorry, I’m getting distracted. That’s not the point. The point is… I wanted so badly to have the title of Godparent, to skip the process and go right to the glory, that I lied to you. I justified it because I was helping you, but I was really just trying to help myself. I lied to your family, and brought you out to these woods. What if they had been truly dangerous? If you’d been hurt… Kitty Kat, I would never forgive myself. And it would have been all my fault. I even stole this wand from my colony’s vaults, and told myself I deserved to have one. I am glad that you got to hear your destiny, and that you feel confident in your path moving forward. I really am. But you deserved better than me - as a Godparent or as a friend. And for that, I am truly sorry.”

They took a deep breath, still avoiding the girl’s eyes. “I understand if you are mad at me. I hope you will still allow me to accompany you until the end of this journey, so that I can at least protect you until you are safe at home.”

Long moments passed. Kat still had not made a sound. Baxter cringed. She hates me. She must. How could she not - I am a thief and a liar and I risked her life for my own ego.

Or maybe, she is just nervous. I should reassure her. If she needs to be reassured, I need to be the one to do it. I owe her that much, at least.

They peered up, still cringing, prepared for anger and disgust. They instead saw disappointment. Somehow, that was even worse.

“I… don’t know what to say. Thank you for telling me the truth.” Kat looked down, fiddling with the frayed hem of her apron. “I’m glad that I did get to meet the Teller, at least. And the sprites. I’m glad I know there is a destiny where I am happy, and pursuing my dream. I just wish… I wish I’d actually deserved it.”

Baxter’s heart broke.

“Kitty Kat… you did deserve it. And you do. Kat, please look at me,” Baxter pleaded. The girl reluctantly met their eyes, her own bright with unshed tears. “Kat, you deserve all of this and more. Certainly more than this shoddy excuse for a fake Godparent. I… know I haven't exactly been trustworthy. Ask me to swear by anything, though. I really and truly mean it.”

Kat frowned. “Swear by your destiny, then. The tales all say that breaking an oath will destroy the magic of what you swear by. Will you risk it? Or will you take the easy way out again?”

Baxter swallowed. Her tone hurt, but they knew they deserved it. “I will, Kat. I will swear by my destiny that you deserved this quest, and you deserved a Godparent. Even if I wasn’t the one you deserved.”

Both fairy and human regarded each other in silence for a moment. The only sound was the whispers of wind in the treetops above.

Finally, Kat nodded. “Thank you, Baxter. I believe you. And… I forgive you.”

“Why? I mean, really? You don’t have to, I know it was wrong and hurtful, you don’t have to be okay with it already…”

“But that’s just it, Bax,” the girl said. She stood, and reached out a hand for the fairy to step on. “You know now. I think, maybe, you knew before too, but you didn’t want to admit it. Because it was too hard, or too painful. But now you have, despite that.” She held small blue being up to her eye level. “You made mistakes, Bax. And your mistakes hurt others. But I don’t think you’ll ever make those mistakes again, now that you see that. I think you’re a Good fairy, and have always been one deep down. You just know to listen to that deep-down voice more now.”

Baxter tried to swallow the quickly-forming lump in their throat. She believed in them. After everything they’d brought her through, and everything they’d admitted, she believed. They’d never felt like anyone believed in them before. Even before they’d become a prankster, no one in the colony had ever seemed to expect them to be anything special or Good.

“Thank you, Kat. I am going to try my best, and keep trying even when I don’t quite get there. I hope you’ll be proud of me.”

“I know I will be. Swear on my destiny,” she said with a smile.

Baxter flew closer and hugged as much of her face as they could. “I’m sorry I was a fake Godparent, but I am so glad you were my fake Goddaughter. When we get back - will you be my not-fake friend?”

Kat carefully pat their head as a hug back, smiling. “Just you try and stop me!”

Fairy and human set off to the forest’s edge, heading home again. The sprite spells helped guide them away from the heart of the woods, and away from the Sage who’d given them both hope. Baxter was sorry they would likely never see Devas again, but one destiny was enough for anyone’s lifetime.

Besides, the Sage could only get so much credit. Finding him had been a grand adventure, but it was their young human friend who’d truly helped them find what they’d been missing.

Kat had rescued them, the first day they’d met. Now, she’d rescued them again, but for the rest of their life. If it hadn’t been for her, they might never have found their morality.

Notes:

Baxter’s wings are based on the moth Eudeilinia herminiata. Fun fact - this type of moth feeds exclusively trees from the dogwood genus

(did I specifically surround Baxter with Kat and Dog(wood)s yes, yes I did)

Baxter: Anglo-Saxon/Scottish origin, means “baker”

[silkclient90-blog]

#691 The Story of Blues Label Alligator Records & Conversation with Buddy Guy

Show 690Show 691

February 22, 2019

This week, Jim and Greg explore the history and legacy of the almost 50-year-old Chicago blues label, Alligator Records, with its founder Bruce Iglauer. They'll talk to him about his new book Bitten By the Blues: The Alligator Records Story and discuss some of the landmark artists who came through, from Koko Taylor to Albert Collins. Jim and Greg will also revisit an interview they did with Chicago blues legend Buddy Guy.

Subscribe via iTunesDownload This Episode

interview

Alligator Records' Bruce Iglauer

Alligator Records is a Chicago blues label that's been around for almost 50 years. While not necessarily a household name, Alligator Records has captured some of the most potent artists Chicago has offered since 1970, and has always championed a raw and unvarnished sound - not unlike punk in that way.

In 1970, 23-year-old Bruce Iglauer came to Chicago to work for the jazz and blues label Delmark Records, but quickly decided to stake out on his own. At a time when the blues was waning in popularity and prominence, Iglauer recognized that there was an audience of young rock fans who were interested in expanding their musical tastes. So, this young white guy assembles a roster of some of the most iconic artists of the genre, people like Albert Collins and Koko Taylor, and gets people excited about the music again. In his recent book Bitten By the Blues: The Alligator Records Story, Bruce Iglauer, along with co-writer Patrick A. Roberts, tells the story of the evolution of Alligator, its landmark artists and its importance in music history.

interview

Buddy Guy

Blues legend and fellow Chicagoan Buddy Guy visited the show back in 2007. One thing that makes Buddy Guy's music so unique is his sense of melody. He explains how he will listen to spiritual and gospel music on the radio as inspiration. As Greg states: he's trying to imitate the voices. He learned this from B.B. King. Another musician who inspired Buddy was Guitar Slim. Before seeing Slim play, Buddy didn‘t know how far he could go with a“strat.”Now he is known for his violent, high-energy style. This style wasn’t appreciated by his former label Chess Records, but was adored and emulated by British blues fans like Eric Clapton, Jeff Beck and Andy Summers. This week, we revisit the 2007 interview and are also treated to a rare, acoustic performance from Guy and his bandmember at the time, Rick Hall. Listen to the whole interview, featuring two aditional songs, here.

Featured Songs

Koko Taylor, I'm A Woman, The Earthshaker, Alligator, 1978

Albert Collins, Honey Hush! (Talking Woman Blues), Ice Pickin', Alligator, 1978

Mississippi Fred McDowell, You Got to Move, You Gotta Move, Arhoolie, 1965

Hound Dog Taylor & The Houserockers, Walking the Ceiling, Hound Dog Taylor and the HouseRockers, Alligator, 1971

Hound Dog Taylor & The Houserockers, Give Me Back My Wig, Hound Dog Taylor and the HouseRockers, Alligator, 1971

Hound Dog Taylor & The Houserockers, Phillips' Theme, Hound Dog Taylor and the HouseRockers, Alligator, 1971

B.B. King, The Thrill Is Gone, Completely Well, Alligator, 1969

Hound Dog Taylor & The Houserockers, Wild About You Baby, Hound Dog Taylor and the HouseRockers, Alligator, 1971

Koko Taylor, Wang Dang Doodle, Wang Dang Doodle (Single), Chess, 1966

Koko Taylor, That's Why I'm Crying, I Got What It Takes, Alligator, 1975

Koko Taylor, I Got What It Takes, I Got What It Takes, Alligator, 1975

Albert Collins, I Ain't Drunk, Cold Snap, Alligator, 1986

Albert Collins, Johnny Copeland, Robert Cray, The Moon Is Full, Showdown!, Alligator, 1985

Toronzo Cannon, Walk It Off, The Chicago Way, Alligator, 2016

Toronzo Cannon, Bad Contract, The Chicago Way, Alligator, 2016

Shemekia Copeland, Would You Take My Blood, America's Child, Alligator, 2018

Shemekia Copeland, Ain't Got Time For Hate, America's Child, Alligator, 2018

A.C. Reed, She's Fine (feat. Bonnie Raitt), I'm In the Wrong Business!, Alligator, 1987

Buddy Guy, Baby Please Don't Leave Me, Sweet Tea, Silvertone, 2001

B.B. King, Don't Answer the Door, Don't Answer The Door (single), ABC, 1966

Buddy Guy, Good Morning Schoolgirl, Hoodoo Blues Man (Live On Sound Opinions), Delmark, 2007

Cream, Strange Brew, Strange Brew (single), Reaction, 1967

Buddy Guy, First Time I Met The Blues, I Got My Eyes On You (single), Chess, 1960

Shawnna, Can't Break Me (feat. Buddy Guy), Block Music, Disturbing Tha Peace, 2006

Buddy Guy, I've Got Dreams to Remember, Bring 'Em In (Live On Sound Opinions), Silvertone, 2007

The Stooges, Down on the Street, Fun House, Elektra, 1970

Fats Domino, I've Been Calling, What A Party, Imperial, 1961

Quintron & Miss Pussycat, Swamp Buggy Badass, Swamp Tech, Tigerbeat6, 2005

The Troggs, Wild Thing, Wild Thing (single), Fontana, 1966

The Cure, Killing an Arab, Killing an Arab (single), Small Wonder, 1978

Peter Gabriel, Mercy Street, So, Geffen, 1986

Source: https://www.soundopinions.org/show/691

[unpopcorned]

.

.

“How would thee count the stars?”

No response. 

“I said, how would thee count the stars?” 

Nothing.

Khalil looks as if he’s close to having a migraine, “Hayden, say your lines.” 

Hayden looks up, surprised to see that pretty much everyone in the room is looking at her. The Drama Teacher - Mrs. Reed - Khalil, Jade, Nate, and the rest of the theater kids. One glance down to her paper, Hayden can see that she was indeed next. Nate, in front of her, is giving her the stink eye. 

So, raising her voice, she says, “By only one and two and three--” Her eyebrows crease, she looks towards Khalil for help, “Do I have to count all the way to ten?” 

“Do what you think is best, Miss Winters,” Mrs. Reed tells her, hands on her hips, “Improvise.” 

She’s guessing that means she doesn’t have to. Hayden looks back down towards the paper, “By only one...and two and three. If you were ask for more, I would not be able to...bear the weight...? My body is weightless, as in - Bethany falls to the floor to show her distress - do I have to fall to the floor?” 

This time, Khalil speaks up, “Yes, Hayden. Fall to the floor.” 

Hayden hesitates for only a moment. She has something to do after this, she doesn’t want to get her clothes dirty. But, she falls to her knees first ( carefully, of course ), curling her legs underneath her before lying on her side. Nate is giving her an even worse look, throws an exasperated glance in Khalil’s direction. Her friend only makes a ‘go-ahead’ motion with his hand. 

Nate, knowing his lines far better than her, continues, “Oh, beloved, you must feel what I harbor for you. Your loves pricks thy heart like a stubborn rose, and I can only fall for each one,” And then Nate is on the floor with her, much more graceful and dramatic with it, “Each night I pray and wonder, why thee love hurts the most.” 

Hayden sits up straight after a moment, “I don’t like being on the floor. It’s cold.” 

“The rest of the scene is on the floor, Hayden,” Khalil says, he’s standing from his chair now - his own script is sticking out of the back of his jeans, “We can’t make anymore changes,” He steps onto the stage next, and Hayden takes that as a chance to stand. Nate appears disgruntled, but he does the same, “If we do, we won’t be able to start doing costume rehearsal next week. I’m not pushing it back anymore.” 

Hayden could forget how bossy Khalil could get. He was one of the leads in almost every play Mrs. Reed put on. This time, he decided to go a more backseat approach and keep to a stage manager presence. Still, he drafted almost every scene, he took care of lighting, and he was always on time for rehearsal. Hayden can’t help but wonder how he manages it all - schoolwork, rehearsal, and band practice. 

“What do you expect?” Jade mutters from the end of the stage, she’s sitting cross-legged, “Hayden is a replacement. You can’t expect her to get it all in three days.” 

“She can’t act!” Nate’s voice has become high-pitched, as if that statement has been sitting on his chest for weeks now, “We should just call Jessica. If you just talked to her nicely--” 

“I’m not going to baby her,” Khalil’s tone is final, he even crosses his arms, “If she wants to be a diva and hold up production, then there should be a replacement.” 

“Hayden is nothing like the character,” Nate isn’t finished, “She’s...” He looks towards Hayden, catches her beginning to doodle on her script with a yellow highlighter, “It isn’t going to work. Bethany’s character is described as--” 

“Hardworking, attentive, beautiful,” Khalil names off each with his fingers, “Hayden’s all those things.” 

“Let’s agree to disagree,” Nate makes a face at him, “we should’ve held auditions. Cast understudies.” 

“Understudies are for people with no talent,” Jade pipes in, looks a little too amused to watch them go back and forth, “If you want to quit, Nathaniel...” 

“I’m not,” Nate presses his lips together, trying to control his tone, “I’m not quitting. It’s just...Johnathan and Bethany are supposed to have chemistry. Do you see anything like that with me and Hayden?” 

“No,” Khalil shrugs a shoulder, “But you could try a little harder.”

Hayden isn’t paying attention, she’s stopped doodling on her script, and is now paying close attention to her shoes. She draws stars on them, big stars and little stars, she wishes she’d had more colors. Tonight, she’ll probably wash them so her mother won’t complain. With one glance, she can see they are all still arguing, Jade has joined in now and Nate is growing red in the face. Well, she wouldn’t be in this situation if it wasn’t for Khalil - Nate was right about one thing, she was nothing like the character. Even if they put her in a wig and dress ( which they would be doing when they started costume rehearsals ) she wouldn’t come close. After Jessica had thrown a fit and decided to quit in the middle of production, Khalil had come to Hayden with the favor. 

She supposes she still owed him for last time. 

“--fine! Fine,” Nate is huffing, moving past Jade and Khalil both, “This is unprofessional.” He ducks behind the curtain, Mrs. Reed looks worried and she goes to follow after. 

Khalil rolls his eyes, turns to face Hayden, “Don’t listen to him,” ( she wasn’t ), “He’ll get used to it.” 

Jade snorts, mutters something under her breath that Hayden can’t catch, “He’s a drama queen. Always begging for attention. If I could try out for guy roles, I would’ve taken Johnathan. I gotta bigger dick than Nate, trust me.” 

Khalil nudges her, even when she keeps laughing, “Go and see if you can find Peter, I need help with the lighting later. The orange and yellow are too bright,” When she is gone too, he returns his attention to Hayden, “You’re doing a good job, don’t worry about it.” 

She doesn’t think that. She doesn’t think she’s a very good actress, it reminds her of lying. Which she is also bad at. But she shrugs her shoulders a bit helplessly, “I’ll practice more tonight.” 

“I thought you had a date.” 

Hayden blinks at that, seeming to recall, “Oh--” 

“Hayden!” The call of her name is from the side of the room, towards the two main doors. Hayden and Khalil both look up and over, find Luis standing there. He heaves his book bag up higher on his shoulder, looks fairly annoyed, “You comin’?” 

“Hey, what did I tell you?” Khalil points a finger at Luis, “No interrupting rehearsal.” 

Luis flips him off, “Fucking bite me, asshole. You’ve been in here for two hours, it takes you this long just to figure out your lines?” Khalil starts to say something back, Luis doesn’t let him, “Hayden, let’s go.”

When Luis is in a bad mood, it isn’t very wise to say no to him. She stands from her spot, grabbing her script and backpack on the way down. Khalil says after her, “Thursday, same time, Hayden.” She’s nodding, even when Luis takes her arm and drags her out of the auditorium. 

Luis seems talkative, she notices it only a few seconds in, “I was thinking, since we’re going to be covering the song anyway, we should get Khalil to try and change the sound. Lyle’s been--” 

“I can’t practice today,” Hayden tells him quietly, lingering when they stop at his locker for something, “I have something to do.” 

“Like what?” Luis gives her a dirty look, “Don’t tell me you’re meeting with that guy again. You like him or something?” 

“Luis,” she says, “we’re dating.” 

“You don’t even know him,” he slams his locker closed with far more force than necessary, “He’s probably playin’ you.” 

Hayden hesitates before following him - because that hurt a little, “...he’s not. And I know enough.” 

“Like what?” 

“He likes soccer.” 

“Yeah, that’s fuckin’ obvious. Probably all the meat-head talks about.” 

“He likes movies.” 

“Who doesn’t?�� 

“He likes studying.” 

“Whatever--” 

“He likes me.” 

That makes Luis stop for a moment, he turns to look at her, must spot a bit of frustration because he sighs, looks off to the side, “I’m just sayin’ - I’ve never met him.” 

“Because you don’t want to.” 

“I’m your best fucking friend, he should extend some courtesy to me.” 

“Courtesy?” 

“Yeah - buy me a fucking fruit basket or somethin’.” 

They stop as they get closer to the practicing room, Lyle and Finn are already inside, bickering over something. Hayden rocks on her heels and toes, stares at Luis as he seems to think, “Fine, I’ll let you skip this last time. But no more after this - you guys need’a go on dates every day or something? It’s fucking weird.” 

Hayden’s lips tilt up at the corners, “I’ll see you tomorrow?” 

“Sure.” 

Hayden ends up going alone. And the walk is pretty uneventful, she keeps her headphones on and the music loud enough to drown out any noise. She waits in her usual spot, only looking up when her headphones are tugged on gently. Pulling them from around her head, she lets it rest upon her neck. 

Hayden can’t help but smile when she sees him, “Hi.” 

Andrew looks a bit winded, she hopes he didn’t rush to get here, “Hey. Sorry, I’m late - practice ran a bit longer--” He stops talking when she reaches out, takes his hand in her much smaller one, “My bad.” Still, a smile blooms across his face at the contact, and he doesn’t shy away from her. 

“It’s okay.”

Around thirty minutes later, they sit together on a bench, both with ice cream cones. Hayden had chosen strawberry with sprinkles, and she wishes she hadn’t because the sprinkles had a bitter aftertaste. Andrew lets her try some of his, helps her with cleaning her face when she smudged chocolate onto her nose. He looks at her almost strangely ( or, it seems strange to her ), affectionately maybe. 

And it makes her feel a little weird - like this light feeling inside of her chest that won’t go away. She feels as if she may float away sometimes. 

“Did you have fun at practice?” 

Andrew looks up at the question, “Oh. Yeah, I guess.” 

“What’s wrong?” She tilts her head some, he blinks at the question, “Did something happen?” 

“No - just...sometimes, the guys can be at odds when they’re frustrated. It doesn’t help that...Osmond is so headstrong too. I try to keep things easy, but when you’re training so much and you’re stuck with the same guys all day...I guess sometimes things can be frustrating,” He stops there, seems to consider his words, “You know what I mean?” 

“Sometimes Khalil and Luis argue. When we’re practicing. Is that the same thing?” 

“Yeah, just like that,” There’s a small break in their conversation, not because they are bored or are too busy to talk, but because silence is always welcomed between them. It’s not awkward or strange, Hayden likes that she can still think when she’s around Andrew. That he gives her opportunity to speak whenever she pleases, “When’s the next time you guys are playing?” 

“Hm?” She looks up from her ice cream, her fingers are getting sticky. 

“Your band.” 

“Oh,” Hayden frowns some, shifts in her seat, “Khalil has been really busy with...the play. And I’m in it now--” 

“You’re in a play?” He sounds surprised, staring at her now, “When is it?” 

“Not until next month. Khalil doesn’t cast understudies, so he asked me to take the lead role for him. The character’s name is Bethany,” and then her nose wrinkles up some, “But I’m nothing like her. I don’t think.” 

Andrew is watching her a bit fondly, “What’s so different between you and Bethany?” 

“Well,” she thinks on it, licks at her thumb to get some of the ice cream off, “she talks differently from me. And...she’s smiling all the time. And she has really, really long hair. Khalil is making me wear a wig, since before Jessica had long hair.” 

“A wig?” Andrew frowns now, he’s done with his cone so he chucks it into the nearby trash, “Did you tell him you don’t need one? A wig, I mean.” 

“Yeah, but he says I do,” Andrew doesn’t seem pleased with that, but he more or less keeps it to himself, “He wants me to look like Bethany, at least. Jessica looked more like her than I do.” 

“You look fine,” Andrew reassures her. And he does that a lot. Though, it seems, a lot of people disagree with him. Nate, her mother, most of the people in school. Hayden’s ears feel warm, she looks back down at her ice cream, rocks her legs back and forth underneath her. 

“I wanted to ask you something.” 

Andrew reclaims his seat next to her, a little closer than before, “Okay. Go ahead.” 

“My mom...” Hayden trails off at first, she feels a little nervous. Which should be silly, but she supposes it’s normal, “My mom really wants to meet you. My dad, too. And they wanted you to come to dinner on Thursday.” 

Andrew doesn’t say anything for a moment. 

So, Hayden opens her mouth again, “You don’t have to--” 

“Really?” To her surprise, he looks a little - excited, “Your parents want to meet me? You want me to?” Hayden nods, she doesn’t know why that would come as a shock, “Thursday is good. Thursday is perfect, actually.” 

“Really? You don’t have practice?” 

“No. No, it’s fine. I’ll definitely be there.” 

And Hayden’s shoulders relax, she smiles some, “Okay.” 

.

.

“So what’s he like?” Hayden looks up at the question, blinks for a moment. As if Urja can tell she’s confused by the question, she smiles, “Andrew. I haven’t gotten to meet him.”

Hayden thinks about it. What was Andrew like - she thinks of him very fondly whenever he’s brought up. Her expression softens after a moment, and she scribbles at the edge of her notebook in thought, “I guess he’s--” 

“He’s great,” Imogen butts in, leaning towards the both of them, “Andrew never dates, I didn’t know Hayden was his type.” 

“Type,” Jade pipes in, raises her eyebrows high on her forehead, “Do rich people hear themselves talk?” 

“I didn’t mean it that way,” Imogen says, rolling her eyes, “I only meant that the last girl Andrew dated - well, she was nothing like Hayden. Which is a good thing in my opinion.” 

Hayden grows curious, she’s watching Imogen now, “What was she like?” 

“Point is, it’s a good thing they broke up,” Imogen tells her, tossing dirty blonde hair over her shoulder, “He’s better off.” The four of them sit together in Hayden’s room - with all of the people, it seems a bit cramped now. Jade had commented on the lack of decoration ( and she’d said it looked like the room had been put together by a twelve-year-old, and well, Hayden guesses that’s right since the last time she’d decorated her room was when she was ten - but only because she never left it ). Now, all four of them worked on their schoolwork - besides Imogen, she’d finished hers much earlier. 

Jade stays on the bed, leaning forward to be able to hear their conversation. And Urja stays beside Hayden, on her back and hair spread out around her like a dark halo. Sometimes, Hayden feels like the odd girl out, they seem to know a lot more about being - normal maybe, was that the right word? 

She bets Jade’s parents don’t argue. And she’s sure Imogen has kissed a few boys before. And she’s absolutely certain that guys don’t mistake Urja for a boy all the time. But she keeps her thoughts to herself - she’s never been so self-conscious of herself, not since meeting Andrew. She wonders what type of girls he’s dated before. 

“Have you kissed him yet?” Imogen asks, the question reminds Hayden of her mom for some reason. In reply, Hayden shakes her head silently. Imogen’s mouth falls open, “What? No way - he hasn’t made a move on you?”

Jade pulls a face, “Can this conversation get any straighter?” 

Imogen ignores her, “Well - it is Andrew we’re talking about here. He’s the perfect gentleman, all the time,” She thinks on it for a few seconds, “You might have to just kiss him. I mean, you do want to kiss him, right?” 

Hayden blinks again, “I’ve never kissed anyone.”

There’s a beat of silence, Imogen is staring at her, Urja has slightly sat up, and Jade looks interested now. Jade is the first to speak up, an impish grin coming across her face, “I could show you.”

Imogen speaks up next, “Really? Never?”

“It’s not that surprising,” Urja gets comfortable again, touches Hayden’s knee briefly, “And it’s not a big deal, Hayden. Trust me.” 

“Lemme guess,” Jade interjects, amused, “You’ve never kissed anyone either, Urja.” 

Urja ducks her chin, “I mean - no. But that’s not important. It’s not important. Boys aren’t important, in general.”

“I guess so,” Jade concedes, shrugging her shoulders. 

Imogen huffs at the both of them. Hayden watches, quiet. And then she says, “Do you like kissing Osmond?” Imogen looks taken aback by the question, Urja raises her eyebrows, “You’re dating him, right? So you kiss him.” 

Imogen pulls a face. For the first time, she doesn’t seem to like the spotlight. She pulls at a loose thread on Hayden’s floral-printed rug, shrugs one shoulder, “It’s...nice, I guess. I mean, he’s not bad at it, you know?” 

Hayden doesn’t know. 

Jade wrinkles up her nose, “Guys kiss like wet dogs.” 

“Not Osmond,” Imogen states, “If the right guy is kissing you, trust me - you’ll like it.” 

“And if the right girl is kissing you--” 

Imogen faces her, “Thanks for the input, Jade.” Jade only sticks her tongue out at her. 

Hayden hadn’t really thought about it - kissing Andrew. It was like a foreign concept, uncharted territory. She’d never been interested with those kinds of things, never really crossed her mind. But she guesses it isn’t that bad to think about, not if it’s Andrew. Her stomach feels warm, so do her ears. She’s so distracted that she almost misses the sudden fixation on her bedroom window. Urja jerks upright in a sitting position, Jade is frowning, and Imogen looks alarmed. 

“Someone tapped on the window,” she whispers to Hayden, “What kind of--” 

“Maybe it’s a pervert,” Jade says, though she doesn’t seem that fazed by it. 

“In this neighborhood?” Urja mutters, “Likely. Very likely.” 

Hayden is the only one who isn’t that bothered. She stares over at the window, sitting up straighter when she spots the face peering back at her, “Luis,” she stands from her spot, crosses the room to get to her window and unlock it. When it’s pulled open, she speaks, “You could fall.” Her room was on the second floor, after all. 

“Lemme in,” Luis grunts, and without waiting for her permission, he pulls himself inside of the room. Hayden moves aside to give him room, the girls are staring now, “Hell took you so long--” When he notices the others in the room, his frown deepens, “Fuck is this? A slumber party?” 

“Oh,” Imogen admonishes, “What’s he doing here?” 

Urja looks surprised to see him, holds her textbook close to her chest, “Luis?” 

“Oh, great,” Jade mumbles, “Just what we needed.” 

Luis looks around, spots the backpacks and textbooks all over the floor. He kicks pointedly at Jade’s bag, which she protests at, “You buddy-buddy now?” He directs the question towards Hayden, she looks up at him. He appears irritated, she doesn’t know why, “I need to--” 

“Girls? Everybody decent?”

Hayden starts - her father’s voice is just outside the room, very close to the door. Jade makes a face, Imogen stands, and Urja throws a panicked glance towards Luis, “Hide!” She whispers quickly, pushing herself up on her knees to point towards Hayden’s bed, “Get under.” 

“What--” Luis looks offended that she would even say that, “No fucking way.” 

The girls don’t give him much of a choice. Hayden is quiet while Imogen and Urja work together cramming her friend underneath her twin bed. Trying to make the covers look as neat as possible ( and cover Luis ), Urja turns back to her book, Imogen reclaims her spot on the floor, and Jade picks listlessly at her nails. 

“Girls? Hello?” 

Hayden looks towards the door, “You can come in, dad.” 

He does, peeking inside tentatively before he offers a smile, “You guys still doing homework?” Her dad seems happy to have people over - a distraction, if anything. It’s really rare for Hayden to invite students to her home, especially girls. He places his hands over his hips, looking around, “Anyone staying for dinner? I can whip up something.” 

“Uh--” Imogen exchanges a look with Jade, “Actually, Mr. Winters, I have to get home soon. I have swim practice in the morning.” 

“You’re heading out?” Jade pipes in, “Mind dropping me off at home?” Imogen shrugs a shoulder, nonplussed, “Then I better get going too.”

“Yeah,” Urja says, “My dad will start to worry if I’m not back by nine.” 

“Oh,” he watches them all gather their things, doesn’t seem that upset over it, “Well, alright. Come back anytime, really. I’ll make my world famous tacos, huh? How does that sound?” 

Imogen cracks a bit of a grin as she stands in the doorway, “That sounds really nice, Mr. Winters.” 

“I love food, especially free food,” Jade tells him, “So count me in.” Urja merely nods along with Jade, glancing over Mr. Winters’ shoulder to stare at Hayden’s bed. Hayden follows her gaze, spots Luis poking his head out. When he notices her staring, he lifts his head, hitting it sharply against the bottom of her bed. 

“Ow!” 

Hayden’s father looks up, turns his head. Hayden stares back at him, expression neutral.

“You okay, sweetheart?” 

She blinks. And then nods, “...yeah. Bit my tongue.” 

Jade looks close to laughing. When her dad walks them to the door, Urja lingers behind, looks at Hayden, “See you tomorrow?” Hayden merely nods, she looks at Hayden’s bed next, “See you, Luis.” 

There’s a muffled reply from underneath, and she’s soon following the rest of the girls out. When they are gone, her dad comes back upstairs to her room, keeping by the doorway, “I didn’t know you had so many friends.” Hayden doesn’t know whether to take that as a compliment or not, “You should invite them over more often, it’d make your mom happy.” 

Hayden only nods her head again. 

His eyes drift from her, and something catches his attention fast, “Oh, Hayden, don’t leave your window open,” he crosses the room, past her, and closes the window firmly before returning his attention to her, “Don’t want anyone peeking in, okay?” Again, another nod. He smiles, “You said Andrew will come Thursday, right?” 

“Oh,” Hayden murmurs - she didn’t think he would remember. It was more pressing for her mom, though, “Yeah. I think he’s excited to meet you guys.” 

His smile widens, “Let’s hope we make a good impression.” 

Yeah. She’s hoping that, too. 

When he finally leaves and closes her door, Hayden gets down to her knees, crouching beside her bed and pulling up the comforter. Luis stares back at her, agitated. She helps him up, mumbling an apology. Luis doesn’t linger on that, “Fancy guy is coming to your house?” 

“You mean Andrew? Yes.” 

“Why?” 

“To meet my parents.” 

“Yeah - why?” 

Hayden only tilts her head at him. 

“I’m just sayin’. It’s only been a month, ain’t you guys moving a little fast?” 

“I don’t think so. My mom’s been asking to meet him for the last couple weeks.” 

He rolls his eyes, “Yeah. Sure,” he stops there, considering her for a few seconds, “You really like him?” Hayden nods her head, “You guys...doin’ anything?” She must look confused, because he continues speaking, “Like - kissing and shit?” 

Hayden doesn’t understand why everyone’s so interested in that type of thing. Even her mom had asked her before. She shakes her head though, shrugging her shoulders listlessly, “No,” she pauses for a moment, “Is it important?”

“If you’re datin’, yeah. You’re not supposed to make the move though - you’re a chick. He’s supposed to. Probably ain’t got any balls.” 

“Make...a move,” Hayden repeats quietly.

He frowns at her, crosses his arms, “I’m not gonna explain first base to you.” 

“First base.” 

“Look - this isn’t why I came here.” 

“Okay.”

“I need you to talk to Khalil. Tell him you can’t do the play anymore.” 

“Why?” 

“It’s cutting into band practice, that’s why. I can’t play without drums.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

He huffs at her, seemingly annoyed, “Tomorrow, talk to Khalil.” 

“I can’t back out. I already promised him.” 

“Ask Jessica to take the spot back.” 

“Khalil doesn’t like her.” 

“Khalil doesn’t like a lot of shit, the asshole.” 

“I can’t, Luis. I made a promise,” When he continues to glare at her, Hayden opens her mouth again, “Is it something else?” 

He looks a bit put off when she says that, “What.” 

“Is something else bothering you? About the play.” 

“No,” his response is quick - a little too quick. The customary defensive look comes over his face, “I don’t give a shit about the play.” 

“Okay,” a pause, “But if something was bothering you, you could tell me, okay?” 

He presses his lips together, stares at Russo’s cage for a few seconds, and then back to her, “Yeah, sure.” 

Hayden does bring it up to Khalil the next morning. He’s waiting for her by the school entrance, and greets her as soon as he spots her. Hayden shoulders up her backpack higher, turning to face him, “Luis wants me to quit the play, I think.” 

“You think,” Khalil says, “He’s such a--” He stops there, shakes his head, “He just doesn’t know when to quit.” Hayden follows Khalil to the auditorium, and both are surprised to see Luis and Lyle both sitting on the stage, they looked as if they’d been waiting for them. Lyle is the first to stand, Luis lifting his head slightly to glance in Hayden’s direction before he looks away, “You guys aren’t allowed in here during rehearsal hours.”

Luis scoffs, “No one’s here.” 

“We scheduled to use the auditorium for blocking the set for first period. Me, Urja, and Hayden.” Khalil tells him pointedly, setting his backpack down, “So you can leave.” 

Lyle looks between the both of them apprehensively. Even Hayden is a little confused, her eyes haven’t drifted far from Luis though, “Luis,” he looks over at her at the sound of his name, “what’s wrong? Why’re you being...” She isn’t sure how to finish it, but Khalil catches her drift. 

“Yeah, Luis. Why’re you being such a jerk?” 

Lyle speaks up before Luis can, “He just thinks--” 

“Luis can talk for himself,” Khalil barely glances in Lyle’s direction, “Go ahead. Say it.” 

“Why don’t you stop actin’ all high and fuckin’ mighty all the time,” Luis snaps, clenching his jaw, “If you got somethin’ to say then say it.” 

“You’re the one who told Hayden not to do the play.” 

“That’s ‘cause it’s a load of shit! Suddenly you all care about who lives and who fucking dies! Just ‘cause of Junior!” 

Hayden blinks several times - she can’t really follow the turn of the conversation. What did Noah James have to do with anything, with them arguing? Luis spits his name so venomously, she almost flinched. Khalil’s expression doesn’t change, he only crosses his arms over his chest and regards Luis and Lyle both with a cold look. 

“The school board thought it’d be refreshing to switch it up once and awhile--” 

“That’s bullshit and you know it, Khalil.” 

“You can’t bully Hayden, you can’t push anyone around. We’re your friends, Luis.” 

“Sure doesn’t fuckin’ feel like it,” Luis says, stepping closer to Khalil in the process in an almost threatening manner, “I’m tellin’ you right now to cancel it.” 

“I’m not canceling the play. Not when Hayden’s put so much work into--” 

“I’m not gonna tell you again--” 

“You should watch what you say, Luis.” 

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” 

“It means you should remember who’s on your side here.” 

“The only reason you still talk to me is ‘cause the band.”

Khalil’s expression becomes harder, he narrows his eyes, “So?” 

“So! You’re just fucking pretending, too!” 

Khalil’s voice is suddenly so loud, it makes Hayden’s shoulders jerk up, “I could tell everyone! I could tell everyone what you did!” 

“Yeah? Why don’t you go ahead and do that, huh! Tell everyone how you covered it up, too! How you know why Junior tried to kill himself in the first place and didn’t say shit to anyone!! Go ‘head and tell ‘em!”

Khalil goes quiet. Hayden is staring, Lyle has kept his eyes down throughout the entire argument. She watches Khalil closely, his shoulders have lifted in a defensive manner, and she’s never seen such an angry look on his face. Yanking his backpack from the floor, he shoves past Luis and Lyle, “Fuck you, Luis!” 

And then he’s moving towards the double doors, forcing them open. He leaves quickly, and he must’ve bumped into Urja along the way because she peeks her head in curiously, glancing over her shoulder the way Khalil had went, “...is everything okay? What’s wrong with Khalil?” 

No one answers her. Luis is tentative with turning back around and glancing Hayden’s way. Hayden stares right back at him, eyes filling up her face. She looks as if she’s never seen him before, and it’s enough to make him curse and grab his things as well. 

He leaves the both of them there without another word. 

.

.

“Hayden!” 

She looks up, surprised to see both Finn and Lyle, already at her locker and waiting for her. It’d been a couple days since she’d last gotten the chance to talk to them, which was abnormal enough in itself. They were all such a close-knit group. She comes to a slow stop at Lyle’s side, head tilting curiously in questions, “I have rehearsal today.” 

“Skip it,” Lyle tells her, and he looks very serious. He hasn’t been in the best mood either ever since what happened. Meanwhile, Luis and Khalil prefer to avoid it all like the plague, Khalil hadn’t even sat with them at lunch, “This is much more important.” 

Lyle doesn’t really give her a chance to ask just what the big deal is, he moves past her swiftly and down the hallway. Perplexed, she glances in Finn’s direction, but he doesn’t give her much to work with either. He follows after Lyle, and after dumping the books she doesn’t need for the night into her locker, she’s going after them. 

Lyle’s in such a rush, he almost runs straight into Brent and Amos, “Hey, slow down.” 

“No running in the halls,” Amos mumbles, he’s pointedly not looking at Lyle, though. Even as he scolds him, “Ms. Rucker will see.” 

“Not if you don’t tell,” Lyle says, crossing his arms. And then his attention is on Brent, “Can you make up an excuse for Hayden? We have practice today.” 

“Thought you guys only had practice on Mondays and Tuesdays,” Brent notes. Of course, he would be the type to remember something like that, even though they don’t talk to him very often, “Khalil’s gonna be pissed if you can’t make it. You’re the lead, Hayden.” 

Before she can apologize, Lyle is speaking up for her, “She doesn’t want to do it anymore anyway.” 

Brent blinks fast, casts Hayden a frowning glance, “Why not?” 

“‘Cause!” Lyle shrugs his shoulders in a defensive manner, “It’s not like...the play is a big deal or anything, geez.” He’s starting to sound like Luis. 

Brent lifts a brow, “It’s to raise awareness. For Junior. Suicide prevention is kind of a big deal, man.”

“The faculty is just shoving it down our throats. Which is why we’re gonna talk to Principal Bailard today. He’ll hear us out,” Lyle seems very sure of that outcome, even though Principal Bailard is pretty much notorious for being a grouch. Hayden can’t help but doubt he’ll ignore whatever they have to say.

Though he seems hesitant, Amos speaks up from beside Brent, “He...he probably won’t listen,” He adjusts his thick-rimmed glasses, “Last month, he denied Jared and Erin’s idea to start a gardening club at school.” 

Finn looks curious enough to ask, “Why?” 

“He said it wasn’t good for budgeting or something,” he says, shrugging his shoulders, “And the band was supposed to have this big showcase last week, it got cancelled. Which sucked...we were all practicing a lot for that.” 

In comfort, Brent nudges Amos a bit on the shoulder with his own. Hayden didn’t know they were such good friends, “I don’t think they’re shoving anything down our throats,” Brent aims it mostly in Lyle’s direction. It wasn’t very hostile, but Hayden can tell Brent is far from agreeing with him, “In fact, more people should care. Like you.” 

“I do care,” Lyle protests, his voice sounds an octave higher, “It’s just--” 

“And, Hayden,” Brent is looking at her again, “You should do the play. If you want. You make a good Bethany.” 

She blinks again. The statement is offhanded, because it sounds a lot like a compliment. Many times throughout the script, Bethany is described as being very beautiful and kind, people naturally gravitate towards her. Like Jessica, and definitely not like Hayden. She finds herself ducking her head, focusing pointedly on her shoes. 

Lyle doesn’t like that. He’s already finished with the conversation, continuing towards the office. Finn follows after him again, and Hayden is left alone with Amos and Brent. Brent watches them go, “What’s up with them?” 

Hayden shrugs her shoulders. 

“They’re not pressuring you to drop out, are they?” 

She shakes her head. 

“Well,” Brent looks as if he wants to ask more, but he doesn’t want to pry, “I’ll give Khalil a good excuse for you. Doubt he’ll believe it though.” 

“You’re going to lie?” Amos seems offended at even the mention of it. 

“White lie,” he assures him, “Not a big deal.” 

“Still a lie.” 

“Thanks,” Hayden says to the both of them. After that, she’s going the way Lyle had went, albeit much slower and preferring to take her time. The school is emptying out at a snail’s pace, most of the jocks are gearing up for the season. 

In the principal’s office, there’s a long line of students. Some discussing their new schedules, others checking the announcements for the week, and most in trouble. Mel, Jenny, and River are occupying the might-be-suspended seats in the far left corner of the office. 

“Melvin,” Mrs. Rosher says from her desk, she’s one of the assistants that handles most of the students, “Are you going to call your mother this time? Or should I?” 

Mel pulls a face, Jenny whispers ‘good luck’ to him, and River looks close to falling asleep in his seat. He makes it to the front desk, before Hayden, “She isn’t gonna answer.” 

Mrs. Rosher crosses her arms, “Humor me,” and then leans around Melvin to point a finger in Jenny’s direction, “You’re next, Missy.” To which Jenny only rolls her eyes. While Mel makes his phone call, Mrs. Rosher turns her attention onto her, “Did you need help with something?” 

“Did Lyle come in here?” 

“Already left,” Charlene says, she’s standing behind Jeremy in line, who’s clearly hashing it out with Ms. Alan, the principal’s main secretary. Over what, who knows, “Told ‘im it was a lost cause.” 

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Mrs. Rosher butts in, “Stop bringing your skateboard to school, young lady.” 

“It’s how I get around.” 

“Get a bicycle.” 

“Forcing me into your conformative box, I see.” 

“Next time I see that skateboard, you’re getting detention.” 

Hayden doesn’t stick around to listen to the rest. By the time she leaves the office, the halls are more or less cleared. She takes a look around, moves to the window across from her, and from there - she can spot the football field. The jocks are already starting their laps and tosses, there’s a couple kissing underneath the bleachers ( she’s pretty sure it’s Zach Hill and a girl, she can’t get a good look of her face at this angle ), and the cheerleaders are busy lining up for roll call. 

A few feet away from the bleachers, Hayden can see Lyle and Finn. By the time she makes it to them, they both look terribly intimidated to take a step further. Finn is the first to voice his concerns, “I’m scared.” 

Lyle gives him a look, “Don’t be. Not like she’s gonna bite you or anything.” 

“What if she does?” 

“She’s a cheerleader. Cheerleaders are supposed to be nice.” 

“I guess...” 

Hayden watches the both of them. And true to his word, Finn does look fairly anxious. Lyle is really the only one who can keep him from running off. She looks away from them, towards the main field, where the cheerleaders are beginning to practice.

“This is useless,” Lyle finally concludes, Finn is hiding slightly behind Hayden, even though the cheerleaders had yet to notice them, “She’s not gonna listen to us.” 

“Brent said I’m fine as Bethany,” Hayden tells him, her voice quiet. He gives her a semi-frustrated look, “I don’t see what the big deal is.” 

“Jessica would play it better. Besides, she needs the ego boost. Probably.” 

“How do you know?” 

“Girls like her love to be talked up. If we  just make her feel like the play needs her, she’ll come running back.” 

“But--” 

“Hayden should do it,” Finn says suddenly, his hands are curling nervously into the fabric of his Spiderman t-shirt, “Girls listen to girls, right?” 

Hayden frowns. She’s never talked to Jessica before. Unless you counted the time in the beginning of the school year - Jessica had bumped into her and told Hayden to watch where she was going. They aren’t exactly best friends. She’ll probably have as much luck talking to a brick wall. But, if it means the group will stop constantly arguing, she supposes she can make an attempt. She crosses the field before either one of her friends can stop her, Becca and Brooke are the first two to notice. 

“Oh, gosh,” Becca is already rolling her eyes, “Can we help you?” 

“Try-outs results are final,” Brooke speaks from beside her, “Better luck next year.”

“I didn’t try-out.” 

Both Becca and Brooke stare at her, like she’s grown a second head and they’re unsure of how to take it. 

Jessica doesn’t look happy to have practice interrupted, “Band geeks aren’t practicing today. What do you want?” Even though the blonde is only a couple inches taller than Hayden, she is awfully intimidating, she guesses. And pretty, very pretty. Maybe she’s the type of girl Andrew would date, “Earth to weirdo, are you listening to me?” 

Hayden blinks at her, “You should come back to the play.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“The play. You should be Bethany.” 

Now, she looks amused, pink lips quirk upwards, “Khalil sent you then?” 

Should she lie? She guesses so, “...yeah.” 

“I knew it,” Jessica tosses blonde hair over her shoulder, “I mean, I heard he got a replacement, but I didn’t think he’d come crawling back this fast.” 

Hayden kind of wants to tell her that she’s the replacement. But Jessica probably wouldn’t believe her. And if she did, she would laugh outright in her face, “So you’ll be Bethany again?” 

“Sure,” Jessica shrugs her shoulders, “When Khalil apologizes.” 

Hayden stares at her for a long time. Because there was no way that would be happening any time soon. But she nods, watches as Jessica turns ( she almost smacks Hayden with her hair ), and walks away. Brooke is still making a face in Hayden’s direction, “Are you brain-dead? Convo over. Move.” 

Hayden does what she says, goes back over to join the both of her friends. 

“So what did she say?” Lyle is the first to speak up, “Was she mean to you or anything?” 

“She said Khalil needs to apologize.” 

Finn’s expression visibly falls, “Totally not going to happen.” 

And they were right. Because when the three of them caught Khalil during rehearsal, he barely acknowledges them. He’s busy talking with Nate and Urja when they enter the auditorium - Urja is covered in paint, Nate is already taking off his overly stuffed costume to reveal his pink t-shirt underneath, and Khalil has his customary rolled up script in his hands.

“Hayden!” Urja is the first to eagerly greet her, a jarring turn-around to the cheerleaders outside, “You made it.” 

“You’re late,” Nate’s tone is sour, he pulls Johnathan’s prop crown from off his head, “If you’re not going to take this seriously--” A pen is suddenly thrown in his direction, nails him right on the shoulder, “Very funny, Brent.” 

Brent, from the piano, gives him a thumbs-up.

“I hope you have a good excuse,” Khalil says, glancing at Hayden, “Better than Brent’s anyway.” 

“I...was busy.”

Urja appears curious, “With what?” 

“Talking to Jessica,” Finn blurts before anyone can stop him, “She wants an apology from Khalil or she’s not coming back.” 

Khalil barely blinks, “An apology? For what?”

Hayden can already tell by his tone that he’s nowhere near in the mood. She shifts on her feet uncomfortably, Urja is glancing at all of them in surprise, and Nate definitely looks amused. Lyle leans forward, “Who cares. She wants the stupid role back, so let her have it.” 

“It isn’t stupid,” Urja protests quietly, “And besides, we already have Hayden.” 

“And she doesn’t want it back. She just wants an apology,” Khalil says, “Which isn’t going to happen. Ever.” 

“Look, I get that you’re--” 

“Do you? Do you really get it, Lyle? Or do you just do whatever Luis says all the time? I don’t think you understand the meaning of the play.” He lobs the questions at his band mate like projectile spit-balls, and Lyle is defenseless, “Have you even asked how Hayden feels? Do either of you even care?” 

Finn looks sheepish, Lyle has stopped talking.

“Hayden,” She looks up at her name and surprisingly, everyone is looking at her. Even Brent, from across the room, “Do you want to be Bethany or not?” 

The question isn’t that hard to answer. She takes a look in Lyle’s direction, who’s staring over at her pleadingly. Back to Khalil, he’s waiting. Brent, Urja, Nate - all watching, giving her plenty of time to reply. And after a pause, she does, “I think so.” 

“Then it’s settled,” Khalil says, fixing Lyle with a cold look, “So, if you’re not apart of production, the auditorium is for cast only right now.”

When Lyle leaves with Finn, she feels bad. Every decision she makes, it seems, just makes it worse for the group.

.

.

The doorbell rings. 

Almost immediately, her mother is quick to rise from her chair. She takes one more sip of her wine, then she’s scampering off to the door, only to make a sudden U-turn and wave Hayden over. She feels too dressed down now, after taking a good look at her mother ( who has on heels, a nice skirt, and pearls ). Hayden hadn’t taken the time to even change out of her clothes from school. 

“You do it, sweetheart,” Hayden casts her a confused look, “Answer the door, answer the door! It’s your boyfriend, remember?” 

Oh. Hayden didn’t know that was a rule. So, she stands from her seat as well, goes to the front door and pulls it open. Andrew is there, he’s dressed pretty casual, but he always looks nice. He lights up when he sees her, “Hey, am I too early?” Hayden lets him in, he shrugs off his jacket and hangs it on the coat hanger by the entrance. 

Hayden shakes her head, “You’re on time. My dad isn’t here yet.” 

“Oh,” he takes time looking around. She imagines her home is much different from his - small living room with couches too big that stretches into the dining room, the throw rug that her mother refused to throw out because of the sentimental value, and the many, many pictures of family dotting the wall over the old fireplace that they never used, “Is this you?” 

He’s moved closer to the portraits on the wall, pointing to one in particular. It’s Hayden around her tenth birthday, skinny beyond belief and giving a less-than enthusiastic thumbs up from a hospital bed. Her hair has more or less grown back to ear-length at that point, and she remembers the summer she lost it all over again. Her mother had opted to shave it, rather than let it fall out on its own again. Hayden has a feeling that the hair loss during it all was harder on her mother than herself. 

She nods, “It is.”

From a quick glance over the wall, she can see there aren’t many pictures of herself. Maybe three or four. One is more recent, a school picture from eighth grade. Other than that, just her in a hospital gown. She can see the questions on Andrew’s face. But her mother interrupts before he gets the chance. 

“You must be Andrew,” she’s eager to greet him, holding out her hand for him to shake. And he takes it, “I’m Hayden’s mom. It’s very nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“It’s nice to meet you too, Mrs. Winters. You have a lovely home.” 

“Oh, you’re so sweet. Hayden, you didn’t tell me he was such a sweetheart,” She touches Hayden’s shoulder affectionately, but doesn’t look away from Andrew, “I was just about to finish up. You’re okay with--” 

The front door opens, and in steps Hayden’s father. He spots them fast, removing his jacket and stepping further into the sitting room to shake hands with Andrew as well, “Hey! Andrew, right?” 

“Yes, sir,” Andrew takes his sudden arrival all in stride, polite as always, “Thank you for having me for dinner.” 

“Sorry I’m late,” Her father says, “Got here as fast as I could.” He takes a glance in his wife’s direction, only to see she’s pointedly ignoring him, “Is dinner ready, by the way?” 

“Yes,” Mrs. Winters purses her lips sourly, “Let’s all go take our seats.” Hayden can tell that she’s trying, at least. She can’t remember the last time she actually sat at the table with both of her parents present, not in the last year or so, “As I was saying, Andrew, I hope you’re okay with roast.”

“Anything is fine, Mrs. Winters,” Andrew assures her. He waits until Hayden takes a seat, and goes out of his way to sit beside her, even scooting his chair closer by a couple inches, “It smells great.” 

Her mother takes her time serving them all. First Andrew, then Hayden, dad, and herself. Prayer next, and then they’re allowed to eat. Hayden has found her appetite diminishing over the week because of the constant pile of stress. But she tries hard to not to let it show, taking hearty bites out of her steamed carrots and potatoes. 

“So, Hayden tells me that you play soccer at your school,” Mrs. Winters pipes in, “Is it fun?” 

“Oh, yeah?” Mr. Winters seems interested, “How long have you been playing, Andrew?” 

“Awhile now. And yeah, it’s really fun. Once you get good at something, it’s kind of hard to stop.” 

“I used to play football when I was your age,” Her dad gestures at Andrew with his fork, “Was gonna get a scholarship.” 

“I’m sure he doesn’t want to hear about that,” Her mom says, smiling, “That was ages ago.” 

“Yeah. We ended up having Hayden right after high school,” her dad continues as if he hadn’t heard her, “I said I was just gonna take a year off, and well - you know.” He laughs some, but there’s a certain edge to it. It’s quiet some after that, Andrew is poking his tongue into his cheek and casting Hayden a meaningful glance, “Anyway, so what about your team, you guys any good?” 

“Andrew is Captain,” Hayden says, “And...I went to his games before. He’s really good at it.” 

“You don’t even like sports,” Her dad points out, like her mother had done a few weeks prior. 

“I like watching Andrew play.” 

Her mother practically beams at that, “That’s good, that’s really good. It’s always good to have a girlfriend that supports you, you know.” 

“I know,” Andrew is looking in Hayden’s direction again, he looks close to smiling. Underneath the table, his free hand nudges against hers. She’s almost tempted to take it, but maybe her parents would notice, “Ever since I invited her the first time, she’s been coming to every one since.” 

“If you’re as good as you say you are, I might head on over to that fancy school of yours too.” Andrew and her dad laugh together, even though Hayden didn’t find it very funny. They must’ve done their own digging, or at least heard gossip around their very small town. Hayden hadn’t ever mentioned that Andrew’s school was an expensive one, she doesn’t even think she told either of them the name. 

The conversation continues on pretty normal. Her parents could be a little embarrassing, but they weren’t being rude and overbearing, and that was all that mattered. Well - until her mother took a hearty drink of her wine to finish it off, and reached across the table to refill her glass. 

Her father speaks up, “Don’t you think you’ve had enough of that for tonight?” 

“This is my first glass,” Even Hayden can tell she’s lying from the flush in her cheeks, her dad makes a face at her, “What? You don’t believe me?” 

“You really want to be wine-drunk now? While we’re having dinner?” 

“I’m not--” She looks outright offended, glancing fast in Andrew and Hayden’s direction before she redirects her anger at her husband, “I’m not drunk.” 

“How many glasses have you really had?” 

“You would know if you were home on time.” 

“Oh. So that’s what this is about--” 

“Don’t make this about you, okay?” 

“You just said--” 

“You were the one late to meeting your own daughter’s boyfriend. And you think you have the right to use that tone with me?” 

“I’m not using a tone. Let’s not do this now.” 

“You started it.”

Hayden has already stood from the table. And Andrew hesitates before following her. Done with her plate, she dumps it in the kitchen, along with his, running them both under the faucet to soak. Andrew appears to be increasingly uncomfortable as the anger escalates, Hayden is pretty sure she even hears her mother curse. 

So, she decides to take his hand, ducking them through the living room and up the stairs. 

.

.

In her room, it’s much more quiet. Peaceful almost. When the door is closed, she can barely hear them. With that thought in mind, she turns to face Andrew, who’s lingering by the foot of her bed, “You can close the door.” 

He appears hesitant, “You sure?” She must look curious because he says, “To close the door, I mean. We aren’t going to get in trouble?” 

“Why would we get in trouble?” 

He stares at her for a beat longer, then decides to do what she says. He closes the door, steps further in the room and takes a look around. She tries to see her room through his eyes - the walls are pink, the floor is an old wood, and her bed is small. Barely decorated, and with the limited decorations, it does look like a preteen lived here. Like Jade said. Hayden had never really thought of it that way before. 

“It’s...cute,” Andrew finally says, his lips are tugging into an amused grin, “And pink.” 

She tilts her head. 

“I didn’t know you liked pink.” 

“It’s an okay color. My mom painted it. I think she likes it more than me.” 

He smiles wider, “What color do you like?” 

She has to think on it, “Blue.” 

“Blue.” 

“Yeah,” Hayden takes a seat on her bed, its so old that the springs creak to life. When Andrew continues standing, she pats the bed for him to sit. He plops down beside her, he’s not as close as he was at the dinner table, but Hayden’s fine with it. She turns to face him halfway, he’s still looking around in interest, “I have something to show you.”

Her tone is enough to catch his attention, “You do?” 

“It’s very important.”

“I’m listening.” 

“Close your eyes,” His amused grin grows, he eyes her for only a few seconds before he’s doing what she says, “Keep them closed.”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

There’s some shuffling, “Okay, open them.” 

And when he does, there’s a very hairy face staring at him. Andrew blinks, Russo blinks right back at him. Hayden leans him close enough where his twitching nose touches Andrew’s, and he laughs, carefully taking the rabbit into his arms, “Who’s this little guy?” 

Hayden reclaims her seat beside him, keeping a eye on the two of them, “Russo. Do you like him?” 

“Sure,” Andrew holds him closer, lifting him to eye-level so he can get a good look at Russo’s face, “He’s cute. I mean, not as cute as you or anything, but comes pretty close.” 

Hayden’s ears grow warm, she doesn’t think anyone is more cute than Russo. Or maybe, well, Andrew. Maybe. 

“He likes you.” 

“You think so?” 

“Yeah. He bit Lyle the first time he held him.”

Andrew’s eyes get wide, “Geez. Remind me not to get on his bad side.” 

“Russo doesn’t have a bad side.” 

“Mhm,” She watches Andrew for awhile - Russo is docile in his arms, sniffing curiously at his face when Andrew allows him to get close enough. She smiles some, she can’t really help it. Because she likes Andrew, and it’s a little bit of a relief to have him here, especially when the week’s been so hard.

“Thanks for coming over,” She says, “I’m sorry about my parents.” 

“It’s okay,” Andrew reassures her, he lets Russo down to explore the expanse of the room on his own, “I’m glad I could meet them. Seriously, Hayden. Your parents are really nice.”

Not to each other, but she doesn’t say that out loud. She only looks to the floor, “And...I’m sorry I haven’t called you. I’ve been busy with the play.” 

“You don’t have to call me every day or anything, it’s cool.” 

“My mom says I’m supposed to.” 

“You can call whenever you feel like it.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah.”

“Just to say goodnight?” 

“Yeah,” He shifts closer, his hand is lying on the bed and is really close to hers, “Whenever you want.” 

She watches Russo stop by Andrew’s feet to sniff at them, and speaks up again, “...I think Luis is mad at me. Lyle, too.” 

“For what?” 

“Because of the play,” His eyebrows lift, “They don’t want me to do it.” 

“Why?” 

“I don’t know,” And she really doesn’t, nobody ever really tells Hayden anything unless they’re confiding into her. Because she’s just Hayden - she has two working ears and she never tells anybody anything, so she’s good with secrets. But she always feel out of the loop at most points, like everyone knows something and she’s the only one oblivious. People only really tell her stuff when its convenient for them, “I feel like I’m doing the right thing by being in the play, but no one else seems to think that.” 

“Are you okay with being Bethany?” 

A lot of people have asked her that question, or something similar to it today. And she thinks she’s just been saying what people want to hear in hopes it won’t stir too much trouble. Most of her life has been that way - doing whatever she could to satisfy the people around her. Luis, Lyle, Khalil. And there’s never been a point where she asks herself what exactly she wants, in life and in her friends and practically in general. Because she can’t remember a time when her opinions really mattered in the same sense everyone else’s. She’s more of a fade to the background type of person, someone you didn’t really look twice at, or expect to speak much. Like an extra in a movie. 

Andrew doesn’t make her feel like that though. Even when her own friends, her own parents do. Andrew never has. 

“Yeah, I thi - I know I am okay with it.” 

Andrew looks at her, “Then you should do it.” 

“Mm.” 

“I believe in you. I’ll even help you practice your lines.” 

Hayden blinks at him, “You will?” 

“You come and support me at my games all the time, right? It’s the same thing,” She must look unsure, because he smiles at her gently, “I’m serious. Anything you wanna do, I’m behind you one-hundred percent.”

She eyes him, “What if I want one-hundred-ten percent?” 

“Oh? That’s pretty high.” 

She thinks he’s trying to get her to laugh, and it’s working. Soft smile comes first, he’s watching her, and the familiar warmth is back to her ears. Stomach too. That’s the first time throughout the conversation that she notices how close the two of them are, her knee is pressing delicately into his thigh, he’s angling his upper body towards her, and his face is close. His eyes drop down and then back to hers, and he’s leaning in, and she thinks she’s okay with that until -

“Hayden, sweetie--” Her mother opens the door and immediately stops when she sees the two of them. Andrew nearly dives on the other side of the bed, Hayden merely looks up at the call of her name. She stares for a long time, “Don’t close the door when you have boys over,” Hayden nods, “Andrew, are you staying for dessert?” 

“Ah, no,” Andrew is quick to right himself, standing from the bed and sliding his hands into his jeans. He makes sure not to step on Russo when he does, “No, thank you, ma’am. I should be heading home, it’s getting pretty late.” 

“Oh, that’s too bad,” her mother says, expression slightly falls, “I wanted to at least apologize for earlier. We didn’t mean...It got out of hand. But we’d love to have you again.” 

“Of course, Mrs. Winters. And it’s fine. Thank you for having me.” 

Hayden is the one who walks Andrew to the front door. Her dad gives him one of those boyish handshakes and a goodbye. It’s a little cold outside, Hayden grabs her sweater on the way out and shrugs it on. As soon as the door is closed, she’s apologizing again, “I’m sorry.” 

“About what?” He stops on the stoop, glancing over at her. 

“Them.” 

“Are you trying to ask me not to come over again?” 

“I want you to come over again. I do really need help with my lines. I’m not good at...acting.” 

“I’m sure you’re a great actress.” 

She makes a face at him. He grins. She’s starting to like his smile more and more, which she finds a little strange. She’s never much paid attention to anyone’s features, much less their smile, “I like you coming over.” 

“I like spending time with you. I like you, Hayden.” 

In all those books she’s read, there’s been plenty of times where the lead compares the warmth in their belly to butterflies. Hayden can relate to that some now, “...I like you too.” It’s quiet between the both of them, Hayden is back to studying her yellow-striped socks - she’d left her shoes inside since she’d only be standing on the porch. But she can feel him staring at her.

“Is it okay if I kiss you?” 

The question causes her to look up at him. He’s staring back, expression open. The butterflies might as well be compared to wasps at this point. She’s unsure of what to say, heart in her throat, mouth opening and then closing. It’s the first time someone’s ever left her speechless, not that she ever really has anything to say. 

“It’s okay if you don’t want to. It’s just - I thought I’d ask. Because I’ve been thinking about it.” 

“...really?” 

“Nonstop.” 

She smiles timidly, and he smiles back. Without a word, Hayden nods. 

Andrew looks visibly relieved to see that. He’s slow with stepping towards her, he’s close enough where she can see each freckle across his face and the specks of different color in his eyes. Carefully, he leans in, holding her eyes. It’s only a second or two of a pause, and then his lips touch hers. 

She’s unsure of what to do, hesitant to close her eyes just yet. And Andrew pulls back slightly, touches her cheek, his voice is very gentle, “Is this alright?” Quietly, she nods, swallowing once. He’s watching her closely, “You okay?” 

Again, she’s nodding, “I want to...try again.” 

They do. 

Andrew’s lips are really soft and tender, coaxing with her own. After awhile, her eyes do fall shut, without a thought. She focuses on the feeling - of his lips pressing against hers, his hand curling around her cheek and big enough where his fingers touch her nape, his warm breath when he pulls away for just a second. This time, she’s the one kissing him again, lifting on her toes to get a better angle.

Once. Two times. Delicate kisses to his mouth until she is satisfied. When she opens her eyes, Andrew is smiling again. It’s kind of dazed and goofy, and she flushes a warm pink. He touches her hair, pulls her closer into his chest. Hayden likes how he seems more comfortable touching her by the end of the night.

And when he says goodbye, she watches him go. 

Imogen was definitely right, kissing a guy that you really liked was nice. Very nice, and she hopes they get time to do it again soon. After awhile, Hayden glances over her shoulder and spots her mother peeking out the window, only to swiftly duck out of the way once she’s caught.

 .

.

“How about this one?”

Hayden is unable to see, but only for a moment. Bangs are swept aside from her eyes, and she stares at herself in the mirror. From behind her, Mrs. Reed is peering over her shoulder, waiting ‘

“It’s...big,” The wig was big, or maybe Hayden’s head was too small. The hair is almost too-shiny, the curls large and princess-like, and it was blonde, “Is there anything else?” 

“Sorry, Hayden. That’s all we’ve got. This school doesn’t exactly put all of its money into drama clubs,” She gives her a toothy smile, braiding her fingers through the wig, making it even bigger and fluffier, “It looks great on you.” 

It doesn’t. Or rather, Hayden is just used to seeing herself on way. She hasn’t had long hair since she was around six. She vaguely remembers that it used to reach her lower back before it started falling out. She used to wake up with chunks of it sticking to her pillow. She stares at her reflection, and her reflection gazes back, nonplussed. 

“This is how Bethany is supposed to look?” 

“It says it in the script,” Mrs. Reed leans over her to pick up a can of hairspray, “She’s a blonde.” 

“What’s so great about blondes...” 

“Who knows! Ask my ex-husband,” The spray momentarily blinds Hayden again, she can feel Mrs. Reed plucking and tidying up the hair to her liking, “Okay. Let’s go get the stamp of approval from our trusty stage manager.” 

Khalil is currently backstage, digging through an old chest of props. Urja is sitting on the floor at his feet, blowing dust on a particularly worn-out stethoscope prop. She holds it up for Khalil to see, “We can use this.” 

“It looks like it’s from the sixties.” 

Urja, optimistic as always, puts them into her ears and stands. Then proceeds to try and listen to his heart, “Works just fine to me.” 

Mrs. Reed interrupts them, “What do you think?” She gestures melodramatically in Hayden’s direction. The wig definitely looks off-putting on her, in the casual clothes and makeupless face. But Khalil and Urja don’t seem to think so. 

“I like it,” Urja says, removing the stethoscope from her ears. Khalil looks as if he’s relieved to have the attention off of him for once, “The curls are so pretty.” 

“Yeah,” he obviously agrees with her, “All we need to do is get you fitted for the dress. Then we can start dress-rehearsal finally.”

“Oh! I forgot the glitter,” Mrs. Reed suddenly exclaims, turning on her heel. Urja goes to follow her, but not before putting the props back. 

Hayden is quiet. Khalil takes that chance to touch her shoulder, “Don’t look so nervous. You look fine, Hayden.” She gives him a dubious look, “Okay, yeah. We can work on the disco curls. Other than that, you don’t look bad blonde. Your boyfriend might even like it.” 

“Hey, Khalil!” Matt pokes his head behind the curtain, “Khalil, hey!” Lightly, he jogs over to them, but stops short when he catches sight of Hayden, “Nice hair.”

“Didn’t I tell you to check on lighting with Peter?” Khalil’s tone is exasperated. From her short time in the drama club, she can tell Matt is the one who needs the most guidance. And also has the most energy. 

“Yeah, but I thought I should tell you--” 

It’s too late, whatever he’d been trying to warn them about makes an appearance. Jessica Crimson practically tears through the curtain, Nate trailing after her to try and calm her down, which he is obviously unsuccessful with. She’s pink in the face, coming to a stop in front of Khalil. 

“Are you serious?” Her voice is seething, “Are you really serious?” 

Khalil isn’t bothered, it seems, “Cast and production only, sorry.” 

“You can’t replace me, Khalil! You know you can’t. To even have the guts--” 

“You quit, Jessica. Finding a replacement was my only option.” 

“You’re full of it. Who even--” She catches sight of Hayden, it stops her dead in her tracks. She’s quick to move around Khalil, stopping in front of her, “You cannot be serious. You’re totally joking,” Hayden leans away from her. Like she thought earlier, Jessica is awfully intimidating this close up. Even more so when she’s angry, “This? This is my replacement, really? Who even are you?” 

“You quit and then throw a tantrum,” Khalil points out, “How many times do we have to go over this?” 

“She can’t even act!″ 

“How would you know?”

“Just look at her! And by the way, she’s shaped like an eleven-year-old boy.”

“I don’t know why you’re still here when I said cast and production only.” 

“Classic Khalil and Jessica Argument 101,” Matt says from beside Hayden, he’d slunk away as soon as the arguing became louder, “Always stay outta the line of fire.”

Hayden doesn’t listen to that, she watches Khalil and Jessica go back and forth for awhile longer before she speaks up, “I think...” Both of them glance over in her direction, “I think I can play Bethany better than you.” Nate’s mouth falls open, Khalil’s eyebrows go up in surprise, Matt takes two steps back, and Jessica turns even more pink.

“What did you just say?” Her words are threatening, precise. If looks could kill. Before Hayden can say anything, Jessica continues, “You don’t talk to me. Girls like you, don’t talk to girls like me. And by you, I mean girls that look like they belong on my brother’s little league team. And--” 

“You heard her, Jessica,” Khalil says, crossing his arms over his chest, “Guess this conversation is over then.” 

Jessica looks as if she wants to say more, she’s darting her eyes back and forth from Hayden and Khalil. Finally, she tosses her hair over her shoulder, makes a show of bumping her shoulder with Hayden’s on her way out. This time though, she actually does smack Hayden with her hair. Khalil follows her out, just to make sure she actually leaves, and Nate is going after the both of them, but not before giving Hayden a slightly impressed look. 

“Whoa,” Matt says, he looks mesmerized, “You’re way cooler than I thought you were, Hayden.” 

Hayden doesn’t know whether she should take that as a compliment or not. 

When rehearsal is over, Hayden is beyond tired in every way possible. Khalil is waiting for her when she comes out, standing from his chair, “Good job today. You’re getting better at your delivery.”

“Heard what happened,” Brent speaks up from the piano, he’s playing a short-lived tune that he seems to have written himself but never finished, “Stick it to the man, Hayden.” 

“She told Jessica off,” Khalil is rolling his eyes at him.

Brent shrugs, “Same thing.” 

Khalil returns his attention to her, quirking up at the eyebrows, “I’m serious, by the way. You did really good today, Hayden.” 

She glances at him, he’d been a little stern today. She’d thought he was angry with her, maybe she’d been a little unprofessional with Jessica. Maybe she should apologize. She’ll consider it more tomorrow, “You really think so?” 

“You’re kidding, right?” He has a small smile now, “The role was written for you.” 

Those words stick some, even as she’s leaving the auditorium. The walk to her locker is a very quiet one, just her and her thoughts and her near-silent footsteps. When the school is empty like this, it almost has a post-apocalyptic feel and she’s always kind of preferred it like this. Near her locker, she slides down and takes a seat against the wall. 

She hadn’t been lying when she said she was tired. 

The last thing she expects is someone to sit next to her. When she lifts her head from atop her knees, she spots Luis. He’s quiet, not looking at her, pointedly staring at the row of lockers across from them. 

“Hey.” 

“Hi.” 

“You just got outta rehearsal?” 

She nods, watching him.

He works his jaw for a moment, “I’m sorry. About before. Snapping on you and everything.” 

“...you should probably tell that to Khalil. He still seems pretty mad.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.” 

Curling her arms around her legs, she brings them closer to her chest. Even with him so close, he still feels painfully far away. Which is something she isn’t used to, out of the entire group, Luis and her have always been fairly close. That’s just how things are. But recently, she’s beginning to realize she doesn’t know much about him anymore, not like she used to. 

“What did you mean when you brought up Noah before?” 

Luis pulls an ugly frown, scoffs underneath his breath.

“...I guess you don’t have to tell me now or anything. But soon, okay?” He glances at her out of the corner of his eye, gives her the smallest of nods. Quietly, she asks, “Will you walk with me to work?”

He’s quiet. And then he snorts some, “If I don’t, you’d probably end up kidnapped and on the eight o’clock news or something.” 

After she retrieves a few things from her locker, the two of them walk together. First, a little distance. And then, Luis throws his arm over her shoulders and practically yanks her into his side. 

“So, how did dinner with meat-head go?” 

“Can you not call him that?”

“What else am I supposed to call him?”

“His name. Maybe.”

“Yeah, right. I don’t even know the guy.” 

“You should. Get to know him, I mean. He would like you.” 

“I doubt it.” 

“I don’t.” 

“You really think so, huh?” 

“I know so.”

.

.

[ambereyesandwine]

We’ve Got Soul: Chapter 2

WC: 2416

Warnings: Cursing, Sass, that’s all for this one

Beta’d By: @teaspacebar

Notes: I don’t actually know much of anything about spray paint and graffiti, so if I sound like an idiot, whoops. This part is 90% Gavin and Fantasia being assholes to each other while they work on a case. Markus is not in this one, but I assure you he will be back shortly :)

Chapter 2:

July 11, 2036

7:24 A.M.

           Fantasia arrived at the police station to find the parking lot was mostly empty except for a section of five parking spots against the wall that had been blocked off with cones and a ‘Do Not Cross’ projection line. “That must be the space I asked for.” She entered the station and showed her temporary access badge to the reception android so she could go straight into the back. The lights were on, but the only occupied desk was that of Captain Fowler. She knocked lightly on his open door, “Captain?”

           “Miss Jacobs, good morning.” He didn’t look up from his computer. “I had the workspace you requested sectioned off this morning.”

           “I saw that, thank you.” A pause filled the room. “Did you want me to get started?”

           He made eye contact with her. “Yes,” he stated with a finality.

           “Yeah, alright.” Fantasia nodded to herself as she made her way back outside. “That was kind of a dumb question.” When she got out to the parking lot, Fantasia set her bag down on the concrete and pulled her paint cans out. “Okay, it’s been a little while since I did this.” She looked at the reference photos again, put in her earbuds, and started painting. She had six of the same symbol up on the wall when she was interrupted by a figure at the edge of her vision. She paused her music.

           “Hey, how’s it going?” Officer Miller asked with a smile.

           “It’s going,” she sighed. “I don’t think these were all painted by the same person.”

           “What do you mean?”

           “Well look,” Fantasia grabbed the photos of the graffiti that had been left at each of the crime scenes and fanned them out. “I got a couple of them to match the photos you guys gave me, and-”

           “Talking about my case without me?” Detective Reed strode up with an unwarranted amount of confidence.

           “Ugh.”

           Officer Miller intercepted, “Fantasia was just telling me that she doesn’t think it’s one person.”

           “Oh, yeah? And what lead you to that conclusion, smarty-pants? It’s the same tag.” He cocked his head expectantly at her.

           “This one was painted by somebody left-handed; it’s heavy on one side” She flipped to the next one, “This one was done by somebody who doesn’t drag the can fast enough; the paint is dripping. This one,” She pulled another, “used something as a shield so there’d be clean lines even though the paint is so thin, and this one, was the person who designed the tag; it’s the only one that doesn’t have clear hesitation or mistakes in the paint movement.” She shoved the stack of photos into Detective Reed’s chest. “One tag, four artists, smarty-pants.” She stared him down, and Reed bitterly returned the look until Officer Miller broke the silence.

           “We should go report this to Fowler.” He said it timidly, like he was afraid they’d turn on him if he spoke too loudly.

           “Thank you, Chris, I’ll get right on that.” Detective Reed spoke through his teeth.

           Officer Miller hurriedly walked back into the station, leaving Detective Reed and Fantasia to stare each other down.

           “You plan on reporting to your captain anytime soon?” Fantasia cocked her head at Reed.

           His eyes narrowed. “You better watch the attitude, or-”

           “Or what?” Fantasia raised her eyebrows and extended her arms outward, “I’m the expert the DPD called in. You can’t touch me.”

           “Keep it up, I’ll figure something out,” He looked enraged.

Detective Reed turned and walked back into the station while Fantasia stayed outside for a moment to clean up her paint. When she went inside, Fantasia heard Detective Reed talking to Captain Fowler about her findings. She sat down in her usual chair by Reed’s desk and pulled the stray pencil and stack of sticky-notes over to her.

           “He shouldn’t miss these too much.” Fantasia started to doodle angry chibi versions of Detective Reed on each of them, sticking them to his desk wherever she could fit them. When he finally returned, there were only three of the neon-colored squares left in plain sight.

           “What the hell is all over my desk?” Reed questioned.

           Fantasia shrugged, “More doodles of you being a prick. I got bored.”

           “It still isn’t funny.” He crumpled them up and threw the drawings into the trash.

           “It’s still hilarious.” She stated with certainty.

           “Will you quit bickering and just get your shit done?” Lieutenant Anderson called out from his desk. “Jesus, it’s like every time you two are in the same room, the whole world gets a migraine.”

           Detective Reed rolled his eyes and grumbled to himself, which made Fantasia snicker.

           “I’m gonna start rerunning through footage from the scenes now that we know we’re not looking for the same guy at all of them.” He said it more to himself than to her.

           “Does that mean I’m good to go?” Fantasia’s tone was laced with indifference and boredom.

           He huffed, amused, “No. You can sit there and stare at these pictures of spray paint until you can tell me more about ‘em.” Detective Reed tossed the stack over to Fantasia with a ‘get on it’ hand gesture.

           Fantasia only sighed before spreading out the stack and looking at each of them more closely. After a few moments of scanning over them again, she quirked her head as a realization hit her. “Reed.”

           “What now?” He groaned.

           “Do you want me to tell you or do you want to keep being a dick?”

           “What is it?” He managed a slightly calmer tone.

           “I’ve seen this before.”

           “What are you talking about?”

           “Or at least a version of it, hang on.” Fantasia pulled her phone from her pocket and pulled up her photos, scrolling until she found the one she was looking for. “I knew it was familiar. I did a piece over top of one of these, look.” She pointed to the photo where the tag was partially visible under her work.

           Detective Reed squinted at the screen. “I know this one.”

           “Yeah, that’s cause this is the piece you arrested me for the first time.”

           He laughed, “Oh, yeah. So?”

           “So, I know who painted it, or at least who they belong to.”

           “What does that mean?”

           “There’s a gang downtown that uses a tagging system for initiation. It used to be a dragon or some shit, but they just changed leadership. This one is a kid…” She trailed off in thought and snapped to herself a couple of times “Joseph Palmer.” She leaned back, satisfied with herself. “This was his tag before he was in the gang, he must have taken over.”

           “Wow,” He looked absolutely taken away by her answer.

           “What?”

           “Nothing, it’s just the first time I’ve ever heard you say something useful.”

           Fantasia’s fists clenched and her nostrils flared, but she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

           “I’ll be back in a minute, try not to miss me too much.” As he rose from his chair, Detective Reed gave a wink and finger guns before he walked away.

           Fantasia sat quietly for a few minutes until Detective Reed returned. “Well?”

           Reed grabbed his jacket from the back of his desk chair. “We got a hit, and we’re gonna go get him.”

           “We are?” Confusion clouded her tone.

           Reed’s features contorted as if he’d heard the dumbest thing in the world. “No, stupid, we are.” He gestured to himself and Officer Miller. “You’re not a cop, you don’t count when I saw ‘we.’”

           She rolled her eyes.

           “You hang out here, we won’t be gone very long, and we might still need your help.”

           Her eyebrows shot up. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

           “What?”

           “Did you just say you need me, Detective Reed?” She smiled cunningly at him.

           He scoffed, “No, I said you’re not allowed to leave. We’ll be back in a little bit. Stay here.” Officer Miller followed him out of the station, leaving Fantasia alone at Reed’s desk.

           After she was sure he was gone, Fantasia moved to sit in Detective Reed’s chair behind his desk. She checked her phone to find a text from Carl that read ‘How’s the “not in trouble” thing going?’

           She laughed to herself. ‘It’s going well. I’m pretty sure we know who’s been leaving the graffiti tags.’

           ‘Oh yeah? Maybe you should be a detective instead of a painter.’

           ‘Are you firing me?’

           ‘Only if you miss another dinner with less than two hours of notice.’

           Fantasia audibly scoffed. ‘Not my fault. Besides, wouldn’t you rather me be called ‘The Expert’ for the first time than be ‘The Arrested’ for the fourth time?’

           ‘Very true, at least you aren’t in handcuffs this time.’ The text came through immediately followed by an upside-down smiley-face emoji.

           ‘Rude.’

           ‘Get back to work, I’m sure you have things to do.’

           Fantasia shook her head as she put her phone down and looked around to see if she could find where the smell of coffee was coming from.

           “Lieutenant Anderson?” She called out.

           “Hmm?”

           “Where might one find coffee in this place?”

           He barely looked up from his computer when he replied, “Down that hall and to the right, help yourself.”

           “Awesome, thank you.”

           When Fantasia returned to the desk area, steaming cup in hand, Lieutenant Anderson called her over.

           “Yes, sir?”

           “Please don’t call me that.”

           She took a small sip of her coffee before asking, “What would you prefer me to call you then?”

           “Just Hank is fine. Take a seat.” He gestured to the chair by his desk.

           “What’s up?” She sat down with one foot tucked under her.

           Hank looked her over once and saw the inside of her cup. “I have some- wait, is that straight black coffee?”

           “Yeah, why?”

           He looked surprised for a moment before shaking his head and getting back on his previous train of thought. “I have some questions for you.”

           “I will answer to the best of my ability. What’s on your mind?”

           “What do you do for a living?”

           “I’m a painter.”

           Hank squinted, “Actually a painter, or you just like to think you are?”

           A laugh left Fantasia’s chest. “No, I’m a real painter. I have an apprenticeship with Carl Manfred.”

           “Oh, he’s pretty good.” He nodded to himself for a moment. “Then why do you do graffiti?”

           Fantasia sighed lightly, “I don’t anymore. I had to quit; It was part of my deal to get the apprenticeship.”

           “Oh, that’s why we hadn’t seen you in a while. A couple of us started taking bets that Reed had buried your body somewhere.”

           “Nah, he couldn’t kill me. I’m the closest thing he has to a friend.”

           Hank chuckled and the two enjoyed a moment of quiet before returning to their own space and tasks. Fantasia pulled some paper from her bag to doodle and found herself drawing Detective Reed. She occasionally sipped on her coffee as she drew his resting grumpy face, until there was a commotion at the door of the station.

           Reed waltzed in with one Joseph Palmer in handcuffs and escorted him directly to the holding cells around the corner. They were quickly followed into the room by Officer Miller, carrying drive-thru bags.

           “So, I see you got him.” Fantasia commented as Officer Miller approached Detective Reed’s desk.

           He had a smile on his face. “Yeah, we did. You were right about it being more than one though.”

           “Oh, yeah?” She did her best to look surprised as she took another sip of her coffee. “I’m shocked.”

           “Hey. Tiny terrorist.” Reed called out as he walked over to his desk. “I found this,” He pulled a crumpled sticky-note from his pocket, “in my jacket. How many more are there?”

           “Several.” She thought for a moment. “At least 20 more.”

           “Where?”

           “It’s a surprise.”

           He gave her a glare. “Get out of my chair.”

           “Gladly.” Fantasia rose from the seat and sat in her usual place, sliding her notebook across the desk.

           Reed caught a glimpse of what she was working on. “What was that?”

           “Absolutely none of your business, is what it was.”

           A dissatisfied hum escaped him. “That’s for you,” He said with a gesture to one of the bags Chris had left behind.

           “You brought me food?” She quirked her head. “Is it poison?”

           “What? No. It’s a burger.” He shook his head as he started into his own food. “Eat. I know you’ve been here for hours.” He took a bite slightly bigger than he should have and pretended it was fine.

           “Wow. That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.” Upon receiving a middle finger and fake smile from him as a response, Fantasia threw a napkin at Detective Reed. “Gross, you have sauce dripping down your face.”

           “Leave me and my sauce alone.” He wiped his face with the napkin and continued to eat.

           The two ate in relative quiet while Detective Reed filled out paperwork and Fantasia continued her drawing, sitting with her knees propped up in front of her on her chair.

           “You’re good to leave if you want.” When he didn’t get a response, Detective Reed peaked out from behind his computer to look over to Fantasia, who was hunched over her sketchbook, scribbling away. “What are you doing?”

           “I’m drawing.”

           “Can I see?”

           “No, you always hate my drawings.” She clutched the book to her chest.

           “No, I hate it when you draw me as an angry cartoon.”

           “Is there any other way to draw you?”

           Detective Reed scoffed.

           “Thank you for lunch.” Fantasia’s tone was hushed.

           “What was that?”

           “You heard me.”

           He smirked, “I don’t think I did, would you repeat that?”

           “I said I prefer chicken nuggets,” she said as she stood up from her chair, “just for future reference.”

           “Oh, good to know, for the never again that I buy you food.”

           Fantasia made an affirmative hum, “Yeah.” She shook her head with a small smile.

           “You know, if I liked you more, I might say good job today, and thank you for help.” Reed turned back to his computer. “Good thing I don’t like you.”

           She snorted. “Yeah, otherwise I might’ve told you to have a good rest of your day.” Fantasia ripped the finished drawing of Detective Reed out of her sketchbook and slid it across his desk. “See you around, Detective,” was all she said as Fantasia left the police station to head home.