Chapter Text
The Past: August 7th, 2017
It happens three weeks before Shauna leaves for Brown.
The temperature in New Jersey had reached the high 80s, and, frankly, it was too hot to move. Deb had been so kind as to sacrifice a few more dollars on the water bill, and let Jackie and Shauna spend a lazy Monday lying underneath the cold spray of the sprinkler in the Shipman’s small yard.
Justified by the fact it was simply too boiling to wear anything but as little clothing as possible, Jackie had batted her eyes enough to get Shauna into a bikini. (Or instead, an old pair of underwear, which was a matching navy color, at least). They consumed nothing but ice pops and poorly made virgin mojitos while Jackie attempted to wrestle a battered copy of Little Women out of Shauna’s hands. To the darker brunette’s dismay (but also secret delight—Jackie knew she loved her books looking extra worn) the novel inevitably got soaked in the tug-of-war.
Shauna and her wide, chocolate-eyed attention was all Jackie’s. As if it ever hadn’t been.
Despite being back together for nearly a month, Jackie consciously maintained an effort to not bring up Jeff. Shauna’s eyes had gotten a glazed-over, watery kind of look every time Jackie mentioned his name in the last couple of months, and Jackie was self aware enough to realise she had spent the best part of senior year talking her best friend’s head off about their tumultuous epic-novel length relationship.
Instead, they spoke about anything else. The conversation even almost passed the béchamel test, (or was it ‘the Bechdel test’? Jackie couldn’t quite recall what Shauna said when she went off on one of her smart rants).
Admittedly, Jackie did try and pimp Shauna out only once, musing about ‘Coach Martinez’s cute son Travis’ who was newly single. Her best friend immediately shut this down, slapping a finger that was sticky with strawberry popsicle juice on Jackie’s pouting mouth.
(Normally Jackie would find Shauna’s seeming unbothered-ness about getting a boyfriend kind of worrying, but that day she’d found it endearing.)
Jackie flipped onto her front and prodded Shauna’s bellybutton—"Screw Wiskayok anyway. There will be plenty of guys to choose from at Rutgers.”
Shauna’s head was angled away, buried between tall blades of uncut grass, but Jackie caught a small smile on the girl’s face.
It turned out it was easy to not talk about Jeff. Really, something would have felt deeply wrong about doing so, as if it would create one grey cloud that could break up the perfect summer sun, turn the cold stream from the sprinkler uncomfortably warm, or add a sour taste to their fake mojitos, which they’d added far too much sugar to.
In moments of comfortable silence, Jackie started to think too hard about this, about how talking about Jeff was maybe a social anxiety thing, something she did because she had to fill gaps, because she had to talk, be extroverted, or, she just had to.
There was something about the perfection of the beautiful summer day and the lack of Jeff that was ever so slightly haunting.
Then the evening rolled around, and it all shattered anyway.
As was routine, Jackie was foraging through Shauna’s drawers for a sleep shirt while the other girl had her turn in the shower. In the spirit of things, she settled on a classic grey WHS Yellowjackets tee, which smelt of the Shipman’s lavender washing powder and was neatly folded in a pile with other pieces of old kit. Jackie felt a bit tearful at the sight of this; all their successes and memories as a team now naturally relegated to the bottom drawers of their teenage bedrooms before they all move out to college. A small part of her prayed that winning Nationals wouldn’t be her peak in life. She knew, of course, that it wouldn’t be Shauna’s.
Her eyes narrowed. Poking out from under a pair of shorts was something hard, the corner of some sort of book. Assuming it was a yearbook, or some soccer record, Jackie gently tugged it out, careful not to disturb the folded pile of clothing.
Her finger looped into the metal binding.
It was Shauna’s journal.
Jackie knew she kept one. Her best friend’s mind was always whirring, signalled by dark furrowed eyebrows and slightly parted full lips. Clearly, Shauna always needed some kind of outlet for her brain. Jackie recalled times at sleepovers, where her eyes would adjust in the dark to the shadowy figure of her best friend scribbling away in the corner of the room, and she’d turn over in bed, thinking nothing of it.
With the sound of the shower still in full force next door, the thing beckoned her in a way it hadn’t ever before. Twin enchantments of lingering nostalgia and a newfound inquisitiveness reeled her in. Jackie’s fingers pried inside, and the book flopped open on a dog-eared page dated to about a week ago.
28/07/2017
I’m spinning out. I fucked Jeff. It happened and I can't change it. I can't take it back. I can't change the fact that it happened more than once.
And I’m acknowledging it here because it’s something I haven’t been able to face.
It’s hard—almost impossible, actually—to see yourself in the mirror when you’re standing in someone else’s shadow.
Going to Brown will be stepping out into an unknown, but it will be the unknown of finally knowing myself. Untangled from Jackie. A role that isn’t an extra in the movie of her fucking life.
And as fucked up as it all might be, being free feels closer than it ever has.
The journal fell on the floor with a soft thud. Jackie stood there staring at her outstretched hands, which were stone-still. It felt like if she moved them, they’d shake like jelly, or shatter like ice. Her mind whirred with the sound of sharp static.
She barely registered that the shower had turned off in the background, and Shauna was standing behind her, clad in only a towel, a pool of water seeping around her feet.
Shauna’s voice was laced with confusion. “Jackie, why are you standing like that?’ She paused for a second. “Are you okay?”
Jackie didn’t move, even when she felt the other girl stepping closer toward her.
“You’re like, frozen, Jax. What’s going on with—?” Shauna stuttered abruptly. Jackie didn’t need to turn to sense the girl had seen her journal splayed open on the floor.
Silence ensued, maybe even for a few minutes. Neither of the girls could tell; Jackie frozen and Shauna trembling slightly, despite the heat in the room.
“You…you… You read my journal, Jackie.” Shauna spoke first, her tone was soft but filled with a mixture of disbelief and accusation.
Jackie finally spun round and looked at her best friend.
The girl looked the same as she did all day. Her hair was wet and slicked back gracefully, revealing those silver hoops she wore all the time. Her lips were pursed, slightly open with puzzlement and fear. Her big brown eyes were like invitations—and if Jackie was honest, she was as beautiful as she always had been. But where she was beautiful like the moon before, something that Jackie could stare at for ages, now her beauty was like the sun. Something that hurt to look at. That could potentially even blind her.
Jackie felt heat the heat from it all build from within her, scorching its way up her throat and curling her lips into an iron scowl.
“You fucked Jeff. My boyfriend .”
The pale skin of Shauna’s knuckle was turning even luminescent as she clutched her towel around her body, “I promise I was going to tell you—"
“When? When you were halfway across the fucking country at Brown, Shauna? You know, which is something else you also forgot to tell me?”
The next thing that left Shauna’s lips was an inaudible mumble, which Jackie’s ears were ringing too loudly with fury to catch.
“Speak the fuck up, Shauna.”
“I said, I’m not going to apologise for that,” Shauna’s mouth twitched.
Jackie tipped her head back slightly, letting out a shrill, manic chuckle, “Oh, I think we’re beyond an apology at this point.”
Shauna held her head up, meeting Jackie’s eyes properly, “Fine.”
Jackie felt herself almost explode. “You smug little bitch,” she spat back, fighting the prickling feeling in her eyelids.
“I’m literally like a whole fucking inch taller than you.” Shauna’s retort was laced with equal venom.
“But not tall enough to escape living in my shadow, right?” Jackie’s voice had started to go hoarse.
“Fuck you, Jackie,” Shauna bit.
“Fuck you, Shauna. How could you do this to me? You were my best friend.”
“I don’t—" Shauna’s voice broke again, but she pushed through it. “I don’t take back any of what I said. It’s how I felt. You were just too caught up in your own fucking life to see it, Jackie.”
“You are such a fucking cliché, Shauna. That shit you wrote about movie extras? Seriously? I never asked you to do shit for me. You turned yourself into a fucking sidekick if that’s how you see it.”
Shauna matched her anger word for word. “But you just fucking assumed I’d go to Rutgers with you. And after all this time, I don’t even like soccer.”
“You did all of it because you were following me.” Jackie felt her throat scratch with exasperation. Her voice lowered in volume. “It’s so clear to me now. You’re jealous of me. You want my life. That’s why you fucked Jeff. You’re so obsessed with me you can barely breathe.”
Shauna crosses her arms. “Are you seriously quoting Beaches at me right now?”
Jackie mirrored her posture, folding her arms tightly over her chest and scowling deeper. “What, no?”
Something clearly snapped inside Shauna. Maybe before she seemed too weak and feeble to wield the sword of malice, but in this moment, she’d known exactly where to slit Jackie’s throat—as if expert with a knife.
“No one except me will ever know how tragic, and boring and insecure you really are,” Shauna dug deep into her, “Or how high school was the best your life was ever gonna get.”
Jackie’s eyes darted slightly, searching for at least some remnant of the girl she’d always known. But it seemed like it had all slipped away. Shauna, the sun, was a dazzling stranger.
The dark brunette let out a pained breath as she bit out again, “I’m done with this, Jackie. You can go. Get out, please.”
Jackie tried her best to freeze her face, not wanting the girl to see the flash of hurt that would inevitably creep across it. Shauna always saw her details.
“You’re telling me to get out? You were the one that fucked my boyfriend, Shauna.”
“It’s my house, Jackie. Now leave.”
Tiny dams visibly broke inside Shauna’s eyes, but Jackie couldn’t bear to look. She grabbed her phone, not caring to look for the rest of her stuff that was inevitably scattered across Shauna’s bedroom, deep inside her closet, her laundry basket, in the cupboards of her bathroom, in the fibres of her duvet and pictures on her dressing table, and she turned on her heel, making sure to slam the door behind her. Her legs made quick work of the stairs, and, praying she wouldn’t alert Deb, she dashed out of the front door.
Barefoot the street outside Shauna’s house, in a Yellowjackets t-shirt and a pair of cotton sleep shorts, Jackie finally let herself cry. The sun had gone down; the sky still light, but muted. A chill passed through the air.
Through shaking, tear-stained fingers, whose nails Shauna had painted red two-days previous, Jackie dialled her mom’s number.
---
“Oh honey, look at you. It’s Jeff, isn’t it?” Considering their on-and-off track record as a couple, it was inevitable when faced with the puffy, soaked, reddened face of her daughter Mrs Taylor would jump to this conclusion.
As she nodded and got in the passenger seat of the family’s white sedan, Jackie hoped that her mom wouldn’t question the fact that she has never once reacted like this through all her break-ups with Jeff.
Mrs Taylor sat in silence and let her daughter sob for most of the ride, until they were a couple of blocks away.
“I’m assuming you’re this sad because this is it now, darling? Your last break up?”
Jackie mustered enough energy to respond a quiet “Yes.”
“All is best though, sweetheart. You’re about to go to Rutgers anyway.” Jackie let out a small wail at this, sniffing violently into her hand. Mrs Taylor took a hand from the wheel to place on her leg.
“And you didn’t want to stay at Shauna’s? She’s always been good with you with stuff like this.” She said sympathetically.
Jackie continued crying loudly and unabashedly.
“Awwwww, my love. You just wanted your mommy, didn’t you?” Mrs Taylor patted her knee soothingly.
“Stop the car.” Jackie blurted suddenly.
She flung open the door and puked soured mojito and warm ice pop all over the sidewalk.
---
When they got in, Jackie’s mom forced her down on the couch and threw a bunch of blankets at her.
“They’ve added Beaches back on Netflix. Your old favourite Jackie, and mine too! And I’ve got some ice cream in the freezer. You know, not actual ice cream but that low calorie stuff that goes straight through you. We can't be compromising that post-breakup revenge body, honey.”
She reached over and tucked a piece of hair behind Jackie’s ear.
“We’ll have you feeling better in no time.”
Jackie sniffed at her, staring vacantly, “Actually, mom, I’m just gonna go to bed, I think.”
----
Bed, it turns out, is where Jackie spent the next few weeks. She lives through most of August in the same grey t-shirt and shorts from the night at Shauna’s, never bothering to wash it. She watches Beaches eight times, three in a single day. Her eating is sparse at first but gets better when her mom starts offering her real food that’s not chemical-laden zero calorie protein bars.
Sleep becomes the hardest thing. Having spent all day in her stuffy room, an extra layer of claustrophobia rears its head at night, prying her eyes open, and flipping her over and over in her sheets like a burnt bbq rib.
Something scratches at her from the inside. Threatening its way out. She scrolls her own Instagram, zooming in on pictures of Shauna, of her and Shauna, of Shauna and Jeff, searching for clues of betrayal, feeling almost as crazy as Misty Quigley after Coach Ben rejected her promposal.
What doesn’t feel like Misty, however, is what she ends up doing two nights after Shauna’s--that is, pause for too long over a picture of her ex-best-friend in her underwear.
She’s found it in Shauna’s tagged photos: a picture from Lottie’s account that had been taken earlier that summer, when the Yellowjackets travelled to a lake for one of their celebratory end-of-year get togethers after Nationals. Most of them naturally forgot swimsuits and ended up splashing around in their bras and panties. The photo was mainly of Shauna, who was in that same damn navy-blue set from two days ago, riding on top of Tai’s shoulders, her arms outstretched as she batted off Van, who was being lifted by Lottie.
Jackie could see why Lottie posted it, despite the fact the other three, including Lottie herself, were pretty much obscured in the frame. Shauna looked fucking amazing. Between dark wet locks of hair, her face was lit up with laughter, her nose scrunched, a smile stretching to her cheekbones. It had been a while since Jackie had got that kind of reaction out of her. She sure got a lot of Shauna’s smiles, but they were taught and fleeting. They weren’t this full face and body bliss that the person behind the camera (presumably Laura Lee) had managed to capture.
Then Jackie’s gaze travelled downward. Resting on Shauna’s sternum, between two perfectly symmetrical and stunningly protruding collarbones, was that godforsaken heart necklace. It taunted her, that heart, swinging down from Shauna’s elegant neck, beckoning her eyes to fall below it, down to Shauna’s bra, where Jackie found that if you looked hard enough, you could see her nipples, erect and pushing against the dark fabric.
Fuck.
Jackie’s finger hovered against the button on the side of the phone, but her eyes dropped further by their own accord, down Shauna’s ribs to the soft, silky-looking skin of her stomach. Jackie’s fingers tingled with the memory of tracing it 48 hours ago lying in the grass. She gulped, trying to pull away from staring at Shauna’s panties next, but it was far too late. Soaked with lake water, they were tight against her body, but not tight enough to stop Jackie imagining what was underneath, and what Tai’s head was obscuring, wrapped between those gorgeous snowy thighs…
Jackie slammed the phone onto her chest, breathing heavily. It was half past one and adrenaline was ringing through her ears despite barely having slept in almost two whole days.
The air was hot, but worse was that she felt hot. She felt something burning, a light feeling like nausea and simultaneously a heavy feeling, like fullness, taking stock just below her navel. Pushing her legs together and beckoning her to prise them apart at the same time.
One hand, as if on autopilot, slid down her body reaching towards the waistband of her (or Shauna’s) sleep shorts. She let out a deep breath as her fingers hooked under the fabric, sliding, until they reached her centre. Jackie’s eyes blew wide at how drenched she was. Shit, this can’t be right. She fought against bubbling panic as her fingers started to move, rubbing circles against her clit. Her lip found its way between her teeth, and she bit down hard.
Fuck, fuck, she wasn’t going to get there unless she…
With her free hand, she clumsily flipped the phone up from her chest--the phone she hadn’t locked, that was still on the picture of almost-naked Shauna.
Her legs began to shake as white light crept into the peripheries of her vision. Her fingers rubbed herself faster, and more furiously, until, stifling what had the potential to be a deep, uninhibited moan, she let go.
Well, shit.
When her breathing finally began to steady, Jackie locked her phone and frantically tossed it across the bed, watching it land on the comforter by her feet. She pursed her lips, and sighed through her nose, pausing for a second, before reaching down beside her bed to lift her laptop from the mess of empty popcorn bowls and tissues.
Her fingers made quick work of the keys, typing into Google the words: ‘am I gay quiz’. She darted her eyes back and forth over the search results, the top three all in purple text, indicating they were already in her history.
“Shit,” she cursed aloud. A bright orange screen flashing ‘100% Gay’ back at her the day she’d first slapped Jeff’s hand away from her left boob was still clear as ever.
Things were slotting into place in this disastrous and chaotic way. In the stuffiness of Jackie’s depression cave, in her bed-ridden August that was supposed to be the biggest summer blow out of her life post-senior year, she finally understood herself:
She understood her repulsion towards Jeff when he did anything other than behave like a ‘Sims’ character or a stick man. When he’d actually attempt to touch her and remind her that he is in fact, three-dimensional, and not at all like the Harry Styles cardboard cut-out she had in middle school.
She understood her furious protection of her own chastity, that surpassed even the likes of ankle-length skirt wearing Laura Lee.
She understood that pausing the TV at that point of ‘The Colour of the Night’ was to stare at Bruce Willis’ appendage more out of morbid curiosity than actual attraction. To be able to tell the girls in the locker room that she’d seen ‘one of those’ without having to face one that wasn’t on a TV screen.
She understood her behaviour in the locker room in general, how she’d swan around, flaunting her body like a peacock, nailing that ‘confident in her own goods’ straight straight straight act, all while avoiding the stares of Van and Tai, Nat by deduction, and even that junior Melissa, those laser detectors that said in code—"I know what you are.”
She did, however, always position herself towards Shauna, peeling off her shorts and shirt and sports bra, directing every word she said at her, bathing in the warmth from the scarlet blush that would build up on her best-friend’s cheeks.
Maybe Shauna had been like the sun for much longer than Jackie had thought, warming her up like this. It was still too bright and too blinding to confront, compared to these other things though.
Jackie understood then that she was a lesbian.
She didn’t understand how she felt about Shauna.
----
Over the next few days, Jackie did what only seemed right to do, and de-activated all her social media accounts (only after she has screenshotted a certain picture).
The same thing happened more times: Jackie’s fingers naturally found themselves creeping under the cotton of her shorts, pressing against where felt good, where was already wet from the one image she stared at on her phone.
It felt deeply wrong. It felt sinful almost. Doing that while looking at that picture. Getting off to her best friend.
But another, previously hidden place within Jackie, that was rearing its ugly vicious head, enjoyed how wrong it felt. Somehow it was like she was getting back at the girl. Taking away the power of Shauna’s hideous secrets by replacing them with her own, that her ex best-friend, and the source of her ruin, will never find out.
---
Deleting social media didn’t stop the calls from Tai, Lottie, Van, Laura Lee, Mari, and even Nat, successively come through for a period of five days. She ignored all of them and spent a lot of time hovering over the block button under Shauna’s contact. She never pressed down though. This made her painfully aware, for the following while, that Shauna could have reached out to her, but never did.
She does, anyhow, receive a call from fucking Jeff. It was about two weeks after Shauna’s, at 3am in the middle of one of her sleepless nights. In her delirium, hatred, and utter disinterest about the consequences, she pressed green.
“Jackie! You… You answered,” Jeff’s slurring voice sounded like he was stuffing cotton wool into his cheeks and chewing on it, a tell-tale sign he’d been at one of Randy Walsh’s kegs for the greater part of the night.
“Why the fuck are you calling me Jeff?” Jackie tried to sound slightly intimidating, and not as bored as she felt. She splayed her hand out in front of her and inspected the chipped red nail polish on each of her fingers.
Jeff rambled on, the pace of his speech increasing. “Look, I… I’m not looking to get back together. I’m just wondering if you’ve spoken to Shauna. I’ve heard it all, and that you know, and I—"
“I’m not looking to get back together either, Jeff,” Jackie butted in.
There was a pause on the line before Jeff responded squeakily: “You’re not upset.”
“No, I am upset. But I couldn’t give less of a shit about you.”
“Oh right, um—"
“I’m a lesbian, Jeff.”
Deep mouth breathing down the line indicated her ex-boyfriend had been rendered momentarily speechless.
“…Well, shit Jackie. I… I won’t tell anyone I promise—"
“Kay. Bye.”
She hung up and tossed the phone across the room. What on earth had compelled her to come out to Jeff first, of all people, she wasn’t sure. But this was it, the first clear sign maybe.
That she, well and truly, no longer gave a fuck.
---
The Present: September 1st, 2017
4am. Jackie cannot sleep. The summer heat is relentless and the early dawn light creeping through her window was turning the darkness behind her eyelids to a mockingly cheerful pink color every time she closed them.
In her eighteen-and-a-quarter years spent on this planet, Jackie Taylor has never once been impulsive.
Well, she reasons, neither had Shauna Shipman. Until she made the decision to fuck her best friend’s boyfriend.
She throws on her old varsity jacket, ruffles her hair, and slides on a pair of sunglasses resting on her nightstand, then tiptoes downstairs, past her parent’s bedroom on the landing. Her first stop is the living room, bee-lining for the well-stocked alcohol cupboard situated next to the fireplace. She quietly shuffles around a full wine bottle and reaches to the back; toward a half-full bottle of whiskey she’d seen go untouched for at least half a year. Next is the kitchen, and, looting her dad’s secret drawer (that her mom doesn’t know about), she grabs a pack of cigarettes and a plastic lighter with the American flag on it.
Finally, she quietly opens and closes a side door leading to the garage, where she is met with the dusty red Toyota that she was gifted for her sweet sixteen (it was technically her mom’s, because Jackie was a hazardous driver and rarely ever uses it). She clicks open the garage door via a button on the wall and slides into the driver’s seat, turning on the ignition and pulling out, slowly and quietly, over the sidewalk and onto the road.
She drives at a snail-like speed while she’s still on her block, careful not to alert her parents with the sound, or any other of those nosy middle-aged bitches from her mom’s dual weightwatchers/neighbourhood watch Facebook group- ‘ladies against crimes and growing waistlines!’
With her free hand, she fumbles with her phone, connecting the AUX to Spotify. Immediately, it starts blaring out Jeff’s playlist entitled ‘Sad boi Energy’, greeting her with the screeching rap and roaring guitar notes of Limp Bizkit’s ‘Break stuff’. She throws the phone onto the passenger seat, letting it play, and continues to drive slowly while she sips her whiskey and lights a cigarette.
The sun continues to rise, casting a muted orange over everything, and Jackie’s foot slams harder and harder on the pedal. She presses skip on the car radio and the next song shuffles to what is obviously one of Shauna’s picks—Nirvana. Too mainstream for the indie kids post ‘Sub Pop’, but perfect for an in-between like Shauna, of course.
Jackie throws the whiskey bottle onto the passenger seat, and types in the full ‘Nevermind’ album, settling on the song ‘Territorial Pissings’, her foot still revving on the accelerator. She swaps the phone with the whiskey again, letting the cigarette dangle and twist in her lips as she puffs in and out without removing it. Her foot slams harder, smoking and sipping from the bottle as the car swerves side to side, and she bellows along to the song.
“NEVER MET A WISE MAN, IF SO IT’S A WOMAN!”
She barely registers that she has managed to drive far out of town until a whole half hour has passed.
The sun has almost fully risen when Jackie realises, she is desperately drunk, driving, and in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere.
The whiskey is almost gone and the car swerves manically across the road as Jackie attempts with one hand to skip another one of Jeff’s songs, this time from his mumble rap phase. During this scramble, a ray of sunlight hits the windscreen at just the perfect angle to sneak past Jackie’s sunglasses and stab upwards into her eye. Manically, she slams her foot down on the break, but has no idea where the car is lurching.
All she registers is the softness of the airbag against her nose, her sunglasses digging into her forehead, and an ominous, muffled crunch.
She paws at the puffy fabric in front of her, leaning back and groaning. Something reeks, which might be her seething drunk self, but it smells slightly too musky, like smoke.
Out of the corner of her eye she makes out a flash of bright orange.
“Damn, are you okay?” Someone is leaning in through the passenger seat window. Their voice sounds… familiar. Jackie pushes down the air bag further and turns her head, lifting her sunglasses.
“Van?”
“Jackie?” Van says at the same time.
The first thing Jackie notices about the figure peering through the passenger seat window are the large red stiches snaked across their cheek and jaw, bright and angry against their pale, freckled skin.
“Van, shit, what happened to your face?” Jackie simultaneously gasps and slurs.
Van purses their lips, the giant scar moving along with the muscles in their cheek. “Jackie you just smashed your car into the signpost of my 7/11 and that’s what you’re wondering?”
Jackie throws her glasses onto the seat, pulls at the door next to her helplessly, her arms practically unusable in her drunken stupor.
“Here, shit, let me help you.” Van’s beige chino pants make a scuffling noise as they scurry around to Jackie’s side of the car. Van clicks open the door and Jackie grabs their arm for leverage as she stumbles onto the concrete drive of the gas station, thankfully managing to remain upright.
She takes in her surroundings. For what looked like a minimum of a six-mile radius in every direction, the place was deserted. Someone had decided to whack a 7/11 down next to a mostly empty freeway that cut through sprawling hills and distant pine forests.
“Shit.” Jackie runs a hand through her hair. The car and signpost have practically intertwined, its bonnet enmeshed into the wooden post holding up the glaring 7/11 logo. She turns to Van, taking in their bright green polo, brandishing the same familiar red and orange emblem across the chest.
“Sorry about your sign.” She says meekly.
Van shoots her a small smile. “I don’t care about the multi-million-dollar corporation that pay me like three cents a shift.” They move past Jackie, toward the wreckage, and bend down, running their finger over the smashed-up bonnet of the vehicle. “Sorry about your car.”
Jackie pinches the bridge of her nose, sighing. “Technically it’s my mom’s.”
Van spins back round, clenching their teeth. “That’s not good.”
“No, it’s really not Van.” Jackie laughs breathily, then puts her hands on her hips, her head still buzzing with the effects of the whiskey. “Now make me feel better and tell me about your face.”
Van purses their lips, then tilts their head, gesturing toward the shop. “Come on, let’s go inside. I’ll get you some snacks. You know, sober you up a bit.”
Jackie narrows her eyes, staring Van down.
“And I’ll tell you about my stupid fucking face.”
Jackie concedes.
---
The door of the shop makes a jingling sound as the ex-Yellowjackets keeper pushes through it, Jackie staggering in tow.
She watches Van move methodically behind the desk, chuck a pack of Hostess’s powdered donuts onto it and slide them towards her. The redhead looks away and begins to type loudly at the keys of the cash register.
“It’s on me. Now fill your boots.” Van says, not looking up.
Jackie fumbles with the packet, then pulls one of the synthetic baked rings out and chews lazily. The inside of the shop is a bit worse-for-wear. Packets and boxes of snacks are stacked haphazardly on shelves surrounding the desk, clearly secondary in importance to the array of tobacco paraphernalia displayed behind the cash register. A bluish glaring light emits from what looks like quite dangerously placed ceiling tiles, and Jackie tries not to cringe at the brightness, having left her sunglasses in the car.
Van’s head swivels, and they stare the girl down. “I haven’t questioned why you are drunk, alone and driving on a Wednesday at 5am. I heard, you know, about the stuff that happened with Shauna—"
“Shauna, that fucking asshole?” A deep voice echoes from the back of the shop.
Jackie and Van spin around, and with bulging stares watch the top of a bleach bond mop-do and a pair of smoky eyes sticking out from the chips aisle.
Their eyes follow the moving head and the clumping sound of a stocky pair of black over-buckled combat boots, until they are greeted with the full form of Natalie Scartorccio, torso shrouded by multiple packets of processed snacks clutched in her leather-clad arms.
Nat drops them on the ground in front of her, shooting them a look that is not quite a glare, and not quite sheepish.
“I’m not gonna fuck with you guys, I was trying to sneak out of here with as many Funyuns as I could.”
Van’s eyes blow wider, and they point an accusing finger at the girl, leaning over the desk in what Jackie assumes is their attempt to be intimidating. “Wait, YOU’RE the Funyun-thief? Me and my boss have been trying to catch the guy for weeks!”
Nat rolls her eyes, unphased. “Um, no. This is my first time in this shit pit. Funyuns are just good.”
Van leans back, folding their arms. “So why are you here at the crack of fucking dawn?”
“Fucking touché guys, seriously.” Nat smirks in amusement. “Jackie, you look shitfaced, and Van, you could have picked a better summer job.”
The cash register randomly pops open with a clang. Van awkwardly pushes it closed as their lips quiver in silent protest.
Nat continues.
“I’m here because I went to a bar outside of town. Hitchhiked with some truck driver an hour ago.” At this point Jackie recognises the woody, almost Christmassy scent of weed, and judging by Nat’s loose talkativeness, pinpoints its origin.
“He had one of those pens with a girl on it, and when you rotate it, her tits come out.” Nat speaks animatedly, clutching her chest for illustration. “It was fucking gross. And then he made some sexist-ass comment about me doing the walk of shame. Didn’t even need to call me a slut. It was heavily implied. So, I asked him to drop me at the first gas station we passed.”
She reaches down for a bag of Twizzlers amongst the packs of Funyuns on the floor, then sweeps her other hand around the shop, theatrically gesturing to their surroundings. “And here we are.” She takes a red twisted candy out of the packet and points it in Jackie’s direction. “Now Jackie, what you been drinking, and how did you get it?”
Jackie feels her neck go red and reaches to scratch behind it. “I stole my dad’s whiskey. It was like, half full.”
“Hmmm… so from the state of you, I’m guessing you finished that.” Nat narrows her eyes in serious thought. She tips her head up. “Van, what you got out back?”
“Let me go turn the security cameras off.” Van huffs quietly. “I don’t get paid enough for this shit.”
As a pair of chinos and fluorescent green polo disappear into the stock cupboard, Nat quirks an eyebrow at Jackie, a Twizzler dangling out of her mouth. “Do you know what happened to their face?”
Jackie pinches the bridge of her nose, exhaling with irritation. “I was just about to find out.”
Van sticks a head and arm out of the cupboard door, brandishing small bottle of whiskey in their hand. “It’s a fucking hot September. Let’s go outside, finish this, and talk. Nat, I’m assuming you’ve been here long enough to hear that massive crashing noise out front.”
Nat lights up, eyes fixated on the bottle. “I didn’t question it.”
----
A wisp of smoke curls from the smashed-up bonnet of Jackie’s (mom’s) car, which the three of them pretend not to notice, as they sunbathe on the concrete beside it. Van and Nat sit with their legs spread, Van hunched over and drawing patterns on the dirt floor with a stick, while Nat leans back and gives Jackie (to her dismay) a view of lacy red knickers through the rips of her meshed tights. Jackie sits beside them, pressing her legs together in a ladylike posture and trying to remain as vertical as possible as she puts more whiskey into her system.
Van lets out a forlorn sigh, “Do you ever worry you peaked in high school?”
Nat cackles, short and sharp. “Couldn’t tell my peak from rock bottom.” She tips both the bottle and her head back as she gulps.
“It would be us three though, wouldn’t it?” Van says in almost apologetic tone.
Jackie cringes and physically shivers, catching Nat’s attention.
“You’re quiet,” Nat observes.
“She’s fucked up,” Van responds. “In more ways than one.”
Jackie registers pale fingers holding the bottle out in front of her and takes it from them.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Nat asks, titling her head along with the question.
Jackie shakes her head, then tosses the bottle back, feeling an unpleasant burn down her throat, which, no matter how much she drinks, never really seems to get better.
“That’s okay.” Van says lightly. Jackie doesn’t need to look at them to see the worried, puppy dog look in their eyes. She takes a deep breath.
“I just really fucking hate Shauna Shipman.”
“Well, no shit,” Nat says breathily.
“If it helps, we’re all shocked,” Van pitches in.
“I mean seriously, why? Jeff Sadecki? No offence,” Nat speaks as if it’s the first time she’s ever thought about it properly.
“She’s a backstabbing bitch,” Jackie spits numbly.
“Too right.” Van’s reaches out and flexes their fingers at Jackie, who passes them the bottle.
“And she didn’t even tell me she was going to Brown. She was just gonna like, run away. Like a complete pussy,” Jackie snaps.
She braces for the others to protest, to call her choice of language derogatory, as Shauna would, but no one speaks, and the scene descends into a comfortable, embittered silence. Nat turns to look at her again.
“It’s fine to like, react like this and stuff. Cause, I would, you know?” Nat says softly. “But don’t you wish you could like, get her back?”
Jackie furrows her brow at the girl. Before she can retort, Van interrupts.
“I did that, and I do not recommend it, guys.”
Nat’s peroxide head swivels. “To who? Tai?”
“Yeah.” Van looks forlorn.
“I remember hearing you guys broke up back in July,” Jackie thinks out loud.
Van sighs, rubbing their forehead, “Yeah, it was rough as fuck.”
Jackie had first caught Van and Tai the night before Nationals, clearly having some sort of good luck kiss. Although it was 2017, and people really shouldn’t give a shit, Wiskayok was a small town, and its high school girls and nonbinary soccer team an even smaller unit. Jackie had completely gotten why the pair of them were tucked into a dark corner of the hotel hallway away from the prying eyes of the other yellow and blue clad girls.
She wasn’t sure if Van and Tai had seen her, their eyes not visible amongst the tangle of hands in ginger hair and dark curls, but her neck had prickled for the entire short journey back to the room her and Shauna shared.
When she climbed into her single bed, parallel to the dark-haired girl’s, who was sat up and devouring Catch-22 under dim lamplight, she thought about doing two things: the first being, tell her what she saw Van and Tai doing just then, and the second, asking if they can both stay in Shauna’s bed.
For some reason, Jackie felt as if she couldn’t do both, as if the first would have some weird knock-on effect, freak Shauna out, and stop her from doing the second. She decided to keep Van and Tai’s secret for them, pushing it down and out of her brain, as she peeled back Shauna’s duvet and slid in next to her, resting her forehead on the girl’s shoulder.
It turns out Jackie didn’t need to hold onto it for a long time anyway. After they won Nationals, Jackie looked over Shauna’s shoulder during their victory hug to see Van and Tai kissing again, right in the open on the white centre point of the field, smiling into each other’s mouths. Jackie’s fingers bunched into Shauna’s shirt tighter, clutching at her waist. Shauna had turned her head, following Jackie’s gaze, and when she faced Jackie again, she was doing that small fleeting, toothless smile only reserved for her best friend.
“That’s really cool,” Shauna said softly.
Jackie’s breathlessness was excused by the fact they had just played a 90-minute game, plus extra time, and penalties, as she quietly replied:
“It is.”
Considering the Yellowjackets had missed prom, when they returned to Wiskayok they decided to hold their own party out in the opening of a nearby woods. Jackie clapped proudly when Van and Tai walked in holding hands, Van’s earth-coloured slacks matched to Tai’s beautiful long dress. Her chest was genuinely warm at the sight, but she still felt that odd, shivering feeling that crept up on her occasionally.
She heard about the break-up through Mari, obviously, who explained why neither of them were at Lottie’s pool party a month later. Bobby Farleigh’s ‘jungle juice’ (a horrible mixture of schnapps and something much much harder) almost quelled the returning iciness that passed through Jackie’s body as she watched Mari’s lips move.
The sound of Nat’s voice snaps Jackie from her reverie. “So, she dumped you?”
“Thanks Nat.” Van says sardonically, visibly annoyed at the assumption. “But yep, she did.” They pops the ‘p’, iterating the obviously bitter taste of admitting this. “Didn’t want anything tying her down before college.”
“That’s classic. Sorry dude,” Nat swivels the whiskey bottle around abashedly.
Van scoffs at her. “Seriously, dude?”
“What?” Nat chokes, glaring at them. “I’m being sympathetic or whatever.”
“Big words there, Nat.” Van mocks her with raised brows.
Jackie interrupts their back and forth: “What do you mean when you said you tried to ‘get her back’ Van?”
“Well,” Van gulps as they snatch the whiskey away from Nat with a strong arm. “I tried two things. The first was actually trying to, you know, get her back. I went to her house, drunk as a skunk at about midnight after a shift here at 7/11, and stood on the grass outside her window—"
“Oh my god,” Nat’s face lights up. “Don’t tell me you propped a stereo on top of your head.”
“It’s 2017 Nat. I used a Bluetooth speaker to play ‘Fade into you’ by Mazzy Star.”
Both Jackie and Nat clasp a hand over their mouths in attempt to hold in laughs. Their bodies vibrate shamefully, as they stare down at the concrete, refusing to look at one another.
Van struggles to keep a straight face, their lips trembling, unable to hide their own amusement. “It’s fine, bitches. You can laugh.”
Nat removes her hand first, cackling loudly out into the air. Jackie follows, sniggering unashamedly, holding onto her knee to stop her rolling forward off the small ridge of the sidewalk.
Jackie looks at Van, eyes prickling with tears. “Did you sing?” She squeaks out through her giggles.
“I started to yes. But then that alerted her neighbour’s dog and—"
“No!” Jackie gasps, slamming her hand back over her mouth. Nat’s jaw also drops, and her eyes widen.
“Yeah, it went apeshit. Mauled the living fuck out of me.”
The girls stare at their ginger friend in slack-jawed silence.
“Her parents didn’t even wake up. I remember Tai and her neighbour sitting in the back of the ambulance with me. Even though my vision was a little blurry, Tai was in that fucking nightdress, she looked so hot it wasn’t fair. I remember wanting to leap up off the stretcher and—"
“Ew! That’s enough Van,” Jackie tries to stop them.
“—Strangle her. What did you think I was gonna say, you perv?” Van smirks, handing Jackie the last of the whiskey. Jackie tries and fails to stop a slight blush rising in her cheeks.
“Anyway, I woke up the next day to a note which just said ‘sorry’ in Tai’s neat-ass handwriting. Nurse said she sat with me all night in the hospital and then snuck back home around 7 before I woke up.”
“That’s so rough man, I’m so sorry,” Nat says sincerely, despite still wiping her eyes in the comedown from laughter.
“Yeah,” Van says with a heavy breath. “It was like I was going through the stages of grief or some shit. If that was denial, you know, where I thought I could get her back, as soon as I could move again and they’d stitched up my face, the next thing that came was anger. I was pissed the fuck off.”
Van leans forward, darting their eyes between the girls next to them.
“I wanted to get her back. In the second sense—you know, revenge. So, I stink-bombed her. Being a keeper doesn’t hurt, you know, in terms of throwing skills. Managed to get one right through her bedroom window.”
Jackie’s mouth falls open again, while Nat bursts into another expansive grin.
“You stink bombed her? What flavour was it?” Nat asks excitedly.
“Got it from the joke shop in town. Think it was called ‘someone pooped in the pee bucket and now the whole creepy cult-y cabin smells. Unsure if it is a male poop or a female poop, but the culprit should go dump it outside in the snow’.”
“Nice, I’ve used that one before,” Nat leans back, eyeing the redhead with pride.
“Well, it didn’t work. No word from her at all and now I’m blocked on Instagram too.”
“So, you can't jack off to her photos now?” Nat teases, jabbing at Van’s bicep. Jackie sucks in a breath remembering her own guilt with--
“Fuck off, Nat. I heard you’re not even over your three-month situationship with Coach Martinez’ son.” Van shoots back.
Jackie yelps in surprise. “Travis?”
Nat pulls at strands of her bleached bangs, refusing to look at them both. She picks up the empty bottle from between her and Jackie, and gets up without a word, moving towards the site of the wrecked car.
Jackie and Van recoil as she swings the bottle back behind her head and smashes it against the cracked windscreen. Shards of glass spray violently in all directions.
“Lottie Fucking Matthews!” Nat yells, slamming her fists onto the desecrated bonnet, which coughs up a cloud of smoke that snakes toward the top of the 7/11 sign.
Van leans over to Jackie’s ear and murmurs through the corner of their mouth, “I’m lost, what does Lottie have to do with this?”
Sensing their confusion, Nat, turns back to them with her nostrils flaring, holding out each of her fists. Multiple glittering specks of glass have embedded into her pale skin, twinkling amongst droplets of thick red blood. Jackie swallows, attempting to keep the whiskey down.
Nat, however, is sporting a devious smile that doesn’t quite match the fires emblazoned in her blown-out pupils. “See, Van. Now we match.”
Van trembles slightly. “Get back here, you idiot. I’ll go grab a rag from the store.”
Jackie doesn’t dare poke the beast as Van disappears and Nat walks slowly back toward where they were sitting.
Jackie kicks a small rock around with a pointed foot to do anything but meet the blonde’s eyes. When Van returns, things ease slightly.
“You gonna tell us what the fuck that was about?” Van puts their hands on their hips, watching tiny dots of Nat’s blood seep through the cleaning cloth in her hands.
Nat swallows, anger still etched across her features. She side-eyes the pair as she speaks again. “It’s Lottie, okay? That smug piece of shit.”
“What’s she done?” Jackie asks quietly.
“Listen, right. I… I don’t know. I just feel like she had something to do with it. With me and Travis.” Nat balls her fists, clutching the cloth in her hand tighter, squeezing out specks of glass, which rain down silently into the dirt. “Ruining the only good thing I have.”
“There’s more to you than Travis, Nat.” Van gently reasons.
“Fine. He was… the only stable thing I had. And she’s fucking destroyed that somehow.”
“So, you suspect she’s done some kind of voodoo shit, or?” Jackie’s smart (and still drunk) mouth is struck down with a sharp glare from Nat.
“No.” Nat looks back at her fists, the corners of her mouth turning down slightly. Her expression, oddly, looks shy. “I… I don’t know.”
Van runs a hand through their red locks. “That’s valid I guess, Nat.”
Jackie, still unconvinced, physically has to restrain her lips from spluttering out something which would provoke the blonde further. Thankfully the silence is quickly broken by the girl in question.
“And now she’s fucked off to who-knows-where. Probably Princeton, Stanford or one of those shit-brained colleges. Just like Tai and Shauna, actually,” Nat looks at them.
Silence descends over the three of them, as the conversation stifles itself. The air is so humid Jackie feels like she can see individual particles vibrate, and she wipes at the perspiration sticking her baby hairs against her forehead. Her tongue feels heavy and sour, tinged with the vinegary aftertaste of too much alcohol.
It’s not fair really, that this is them: Van, Nat, and Jackie, at what is probably half 5 or 6 in the morning in early September. Awaiting the disastrous consequences of a crashed car, damaged sign, stolen underage bottle of whiskey, and whatever trouble Nat likely got herself into last night at the bar. Stuck out here in the oppressive late summer heat.
It’s not fair that Shauna, Tai and Lottie are probably at their respective universities now, unpacking their stuff, meeting their roommates, being roped into extra-curriculars by smiley blonde and ginger people waving behind stalls (maybe Jackie had seen Pitch Perfect one too many times). Their movie-montage life would be a stark contrast to the literal trainwreck that these three were currently enduring.
None of them, not Shauna, not Tai, not Lottie, would have to face any repercussions for whatever they did-- except from lose the people they wronged, which is likely what they wanted anyway. Jackie knew it’s what Shauna wanted. She’d seen it in writing.
Seething, she muses aloud: “What do you think they’d do if we turned up?”
Twin puzzled looks are cast in her direction. Jackie elaborates.
“If we didn’t let them fuck off? If we turned up to haunt them at their colleges, and, you know, actually made them face some kind of punishment for the shit they’ve done to us. Physically and emotionally.”
Van smiles at her. “It’s not a bad idea.”
Nat looks amused as she regards Jackie with bloodied hands on her hips. “I’m not following.”
“Jackie’s got a point. I could maybe join a political party, the youth version of it, just like Tai is doing, and run against the bitch. Turn up to Howard and crush her in a debate,” Van muses.
Nat’s lips curl into a taunting smile. “Are you… you know?”
Van casts her a glare. “What, Nat? Just fucking spit it out, okay?”
The blonde’s smirk disappears and scratches the messy locks at the back of her head awkwardly, chewing on her lip. She shoots Van an apologetic look.
“Well, are you smart enough for that shit?”
“Fuck you, Nat,” Van spits. Jackie darts her eyes between them nervously.
Van holds up a finger at them, then jabs it back into their own chest, tapping as they speak. “I was actually a straight C student. Apart from a D in chemistry. And… and an E in Home Ec. But I’m hardly gonna win a political debate by baking a fucking cake, am I?”
Jackie crosses her arms, lifting her nose up in defiance. “Hey, a D? Seriously? I thought you and me had a solidarity thing going with our F minuses? You’re a fucking traitor Van.”
Nat sighs and buries a hand in her hair, staring at the ground. “Don’t you see? This is my fucking point guys. How are we ever gonna get to these bitches when we don’t even have half of their academic prowess?”
Van nods, slowly. “You’re right. It’s not like I could have the guts or smarts to follow Tai across the country to some prestigious university when I was thinking of begging for her back anyway.”
Jackie furrows her brow at them, “Are you over it now?”
Van huffs. “Over it as in, I want to ruin her fucking life.”
Natalie slaps the bloodied cloth on the ground. “I’m glad we’re all on the same page, dickwads. But just to fact check with you guys--currently we’re sitting in front of Jackie’s moms smashed up car that slammed straight into a 7/11 that you’re supposed to be in charge of, Van, all while drinking shit we stole in broad fucking daylight!” She holds both hands up in the air, shrugging her shoulders. “I’m not normally one to say no to a party, but I don’t want to have to speak to a cop today, or ever… after those last few times…”
There is a beat of quiet.
Jackie twirls her hair with her finger. Her voice is hoarse and high pitched. “Guys, what are we gonna do? Someone will drive past soon.”
Van looks up at them with a sincere expression. “I don’t want to use the store’s phone. Or mine. But there’s an old payphone just down there.” They gesture toward the side of the building.
Nat picks at her lip. “Who are we even gonna call?”
Van gulps. “You know who.”
Jackie’s eyes bulge. Nat tips her head back, storming off. Jackie watches her cross the empty road, then stop once she’s reached the other side, planting both her feet firmly in the dirt. Into the surrounding hilly landscape, Nat yells:
“Fuck!”
----
The three of them had been sitting on the sidewalk nervously for an hour, profusely sweating, when a silver Volvo leisurely pulls up in front of them.
Its window rolls down, slowly revealing a voluminous blonde mass of curls, then a large pair of translucent specks, before, finally, the Cheshire-cat grin of none other than Misty Quigley comes into view.
“Ladies and gentlethey. What a fine morning!”
Nat gets up first. “Misty, Hey….”
“Get in.” Misty barks, without so much as a twitch in her smile.
Nat gingerly looks back to the others, who silently make the collective decision it is best she takes shot gun. Van opens the door and crawls across the back seats, Jackie at their tail.
Once they are all in, Misty pulls on the gear stick. A red Jellybelly air freshener swings from the rearview mirror and ‘Greatest Broadway Hits’ blares out at a medium volume from the radio.
Nat turns to the driver. “Wait, Misty, what are we gonna do about the car? And the sign?”
Misty tilts her head innocently. “Oh, Nat, that’s why I’m so late, silly!” She giggles, as the car begins to pull away from the disaster site.
“I already logged into the store records and changed it, so Van wasn’t on duty today. I also wiped the security footage. As far as the managers know, the shop should be closed for ‘refurbishment’.” Jackie cringes as Misty lifts both hands off the wheel to make air quotes, before carrying on.
“Then I quickly went round to Jackie’s and pried open her garage door, with extra force of course. Just to give that ‘break in’ kind of vibe.” Misty hums as the car bobs along the road. “And don’t you worry, I had gloves on, of course.”
Van’s nostrils flare. “Damn.”
“Oh! I also hacked into your iCloud and changed all of your locations. Van, you’re at the gym, Jackie, you’re at Mari’s, and I just turned Nat’s off, because that seems pretty much in character.”
Nat frowns. “I thought mine already was turned off.”
“Not on a federal level.”
“Okay,” Nat sucks in a breath.
Jackie leans forward, her mind returning to the discussion they were just beginning to ignite. “Listen, Misty, um, we need your help really. This is about more than just the…you know… crash this morning.”
“You’re all spiralling! I’m aware,” Misty remarks in a sing-song tone.
Nat scoffs at her. “Spiralling? That’s fucking harsh.”
“We were all doing fine before this morning you know Misty,” Van seconds, folding their arms.
“If Jackie is implying what I think she is implying, I am happy to help you all. There is nothing to get out of a mental rut like the taste of sweet, sweet revenge.” Misty points her finger in the air prophetically.
Nat reaches over and turns down Lin Manuel Miranda’s voice blaring from the car radio, the tiny scarlet cuts illuminous on her pale fingers. “Okay… let’s just get something straight. We were just talking about—"
Misty interrupts her. “Look. I know the facts. And I know you’re all suffering because of the facts. Shauna slept with Jeff,” She states, then eyes the ginger-haired passenger through her rear-view mirror. “Tai, dumped you, Van.” Her knuckles go whiter at the steering wheel. “And Lottie ruined Nat’s relationship with Travis.”
Nat protests weakly, “she didn’t, she just—"
“Oh, if only you knew,” Misty says in a menacing tone.
Van pipes up, craning their head in between the front seats. “Was that an objection I heard? You’re not Lottie’s number one fan now are you, Scartorccio? I thought that was Mari?”
Jackie sniggers silently into her hand.
Nat reaches round and flips her off. “Go suck a dick.”
Jackie quips in quietly, “Neither of us in the back seat want to do that, thanks.”
Misty’s eyes go wide. She slams her foot on the brake, lurching the passengers forward in their seats.
“What the fuck Misty?” Nat yells, hands braced against the dashboard.
“Um, Misty? Was there a deer or something?” Van looks puzzled.
Misty ignores them and turns to face the brunette behind her, locking her in a wide, sincere gaze.
“So you know now.” Misty ominously says it like a statement rather than a question.
“You sound like fucking Lottie, all menacing and shit. Am I missing something here?” Nat snaps.
Jackie feels a crimson flush invade her cheeks, now feeling the others’ gazes on her.
“I saw all the Am I Gay quizzes when I went through your internet browsing history sophomore year, and also that one masterdoc… I just didn’t realise… you’d accepted it yet,” Misty says slowly, studying Jackie with big eyes.
Jackie hears Van audibly gulp as they murmur, “What. The. Actual. Fuck.”
Jackie’s eyes prickle. She blinks rapidly, feeling panic invade her senses.
Nat looks thoroughly bamboozled, her voice stuttering. “Wait, I thought you said that just then cause you’re a prude. You… you don’t like dick?”
Jackie places a hand over her eyes and tilts her head down. A manic laugh bubbles its way up her throat, and Jackie lets it slip between her lips. Van reaches out and rubs Jackie’s shoulder lightly as her body shakes.
“Hey, it’s ok,” Van whispers softly. If taken aback by Jackie’s weird hybrid laugh-cry combo, they are hiding it well.
Jackie mumbles back. “Yeah, so…” She tilts her head up, sniffling, cheeks flushed. “I’m a lesbian. Surprise guys.”
Before any of them can respond, Misty turns quickly and yanks her key in the ignition, re-starting her piece-of-shit car. “That’s it guys. I’m not taking any of you home. This is bigger than I thought, and you’re all coming with me.”
“I—" Van half-protests, but stops. The three passengers share a muted look between them, all recognising that going home is not necessarily the better option, even when they are essentially being kidnapped by Misty Quigley.
Quietly consenting to her fate, Natalie leans back in her seat, kicking her feet up against the dash. “Where are we gonna sleep?”
Misty beams, eyes not leaving the road ahead. “You guys are extra lucky! I have three spare bedrooms.”
“Three?” Jackie’s face lights up, momentarily forgetting her anxiety surrounding the whole ‘coming out’ thing.
“You rich or something Misty?” Van raises a brow, hand still comfortingly resting on Jackie’s shoulder.
“No. It’s my dead uncle’s house.”
“Whoop, there it is,” Nat breathes out loudly through her nose.
------
They pull up outside a bungalow that clearly has not been touched by a single builder, renovator, or for that matter, plumber, since around 1996. The peach paint on the outside walls is peeling off in large sections. A rusting set of windchimes holds on for dear life as it dangles from the rickety-looking wooden porch. The view inside of each of the windows is obscured by drawn floral-patterned curtains which appear to be made of the thick material used for black outs. Adding to this, the door number has been fastened on with metallic duct tape. The place looks either as if it is preparing for the apocalypse, or it has already been through it.
Following their host, Nat walks confidently up the porch steps, while Van and Jackie take more tentative steps behind.
“Home sweet home!” announces Misty, bending down theatrically to pat the chipped head of a garden gnome placed haphazardly by the doormat.
“You’ve been living here alone?” Van tries to adopt a casual stance, stuffing their hands in their pockets as they nervously watch Misty fumble with multiple fluffy keyrings.
“Only for a little while,” Misty says elusively. Her face remains bright and unwavering. “But alas, no longer! I have three whole roomies now! It will be like college!”
Misty unlocks the front door. Instead of opening the curtains, Misty flicks on a light switch, casting the room in a dim glow.
While taking it all in, the others clearly refrain from commenting on the house’s décor. Not from, like, a snobby point of view, at least probably in Van and Nat’s case (Jackie is occasionally impartial to finer things), but more from the fact that the interior of Misty’s uncle’s is more like a traditional ‘man cave’ and bore no touch of their specky permed classmate.
Directly in the middle of the living room is a large PC computer with three monitors, two large speakers and a three-foot tall central processing unit. The set-up is complete with a reclining sleek leather gaming chair. Other pieces of furniture are scattered around this like afterthoughts, a fading orange couch is pressed against one of the far walls next to a CD rack, and a TV is balanced on top of what looks like a repurposed bedside cabinet. Across the other side of the room is an open plan kitchen, complete with a small island and two mismatching bar stools—one compliments the dark shade of the wooden cabinets, while the other, mint green and leather, looks like it has been looted from a 50’s style diner.
Ignoring their faded yellow color, the walls are bare, except from a large empty whiteboard positioned between the TV and PC.
Jackie walks in and awkwardly stations herself between the couch and the intimidating computer desk. Behind her, Van cordially pretends to wipe their tennis shoes on the doormat before stepping in and making light conversation.
“Speaking of college, Jackie, weren’t you supposed to go to Rutgers? You know, like the majority of our senior class?”
“Yeah, about that.” Jackie admits softly, staring at the green carpet. “I was actually supposed to be leaving today.”
“So instead of packing clothes, books, you know, maybe a toothbrush, you decided all you needed was your old varsity jacket and a bottle of whiskey?” Van studies her with amusement.
“She had cigarettes too,” Nat says, walking towards the couch. “I know cause, I stole them from her car when you guys weren’t looking.”
“I don’t know where I was going,” Jackie says. “I think I got in the car thinking about Shauna and Jeff, and also the whole lesbian thing…”
“Honestly, crashing your car drunk into a signpost is perfectly normal behaviour in response to finding out about comphet.” Van reaches out and pats the small of her back reassuringly.
Nat’s fingers rifle through the CD rack with the posture of a hungry racoon as she pitches in without looking up. “It’s actually one of the tamer reactions I’ve seen.”
Jackie is both shocked and comforted by the lack of interrogation from her old teammates, after this revelation about her sexuality. On the one hand, she wonders if it was maybe just that obvious, that they all just knew. But upon closer look at a bleached mop of hair and ripped tights (that weren’t originally fishnets), a sweaty 7/11 uniform and mismatched socks, and the fact that Misty was still wearing her 80s style Yellowjackets windbreaker, Jackie realises something important: none of these people cared.
She feels something akin to how Shauna used to make her feel, although less strange, less confusingly charged. She feels at home.
Jackie rubs at her eyes before turning to address the host, who is drumming her fingers on the kitchen island, studying her guests expectantly. Jackie tries not to be put off. “I’d really like to stay here Misty, I… I need to sort stuff out. But I’m just so tired. I haven’t really slept since like, August 7th—"
Misty clasps her hands together. “Jackie, stop right there. You have your pick of rooms. I’ve been washing the sheets weekly lest something like this befell me.”
“That’s a little weird, but thank you Misty,” Jackie says sincerely. A series of physiological effects that can be summed up as a ‘hangover’ are beginning to dawn over her, and she carries her sluggish limbs down the bungalow’s hall in search of the first possible thing resembling a mattress.
She hears Misty call after her. “You go collapse and we can start drawing up plans. I’ll start cooking some stew too. Do you guys like cabbage? What about strawberry jelly, occasionally I add in a drop of that too if I’m feeling fancy—"
Jackie hears what could be muffled protests coming from Van as she faceplants straight on top of a floral duvet.
---
“Wake up, Snackie Taylor, Sergeant Quigley is calling us to meeting on the couch by her dead uncle’s creepy porn computer,” Nat’s booming voice echoes in her ear.
Jackie aggravatedly rubs at her eyes, turning over and cringing at the bright light from an (unshaded) lightbulb dangling from the ceiling. Her throat feels like she has swallowed a thousand nails as she croaks back.
“Urgh, what time is it?”
“5pm. I’d let you sleep longer but Misty won’t let us on the Wi-Fi until you’re up, for detection purposes.” Nat rolls her eyes.
“Great.” Jackie flops up off of the springy mattress and follows the blonde down the hallway. Nat has now shed her leather jacket and Jackie comes to her senses more by reading each of the bands listed on the back of her girl’s black festival t-shirt.
“Weren’t you like one when Woodstock ’99 happened?” She asks the girl, puzzled.
A single smoky eye glares at her as Nat’s side profile swivels into view.
“Yes, dipshit. My deadbeat parents took me as a baby.”
Jackie stretches her arms as they reach the kitchen. Nat moves aside to go and flop onto the couch, before calling back to her: “I’m joking of course, that didn’t happen. Limp Bizkit have always been dogshit, but seeing Rage Against the Machine as a new-born might have been cool.”
Jackie flares her nostrils and shakes her head, warding off flashbacks from the soundtrack to her little car journey that morning.
She takes in the scene at the kitchen; Misty fiddling around at the stove, her windbreaker resourcefully tied around her front to make an apron, while Van sips a cup of coffee, swiping at an (offline) game of Candy Crush on their phone.
Van looks up at her, eyes twinkling. They gesture to a plate and glass set out on the island. “Here’s some water and aspirin for you m’lday. Oh, and a ham and cheese croissant. A 7/11 special.” Their eyebrows raise with amusement, as they tilt their head in a silent gesture to the girl occupied by the stove. “Don’t worry, we’re not gonna put you through any cabbage soup.”
“It was so good actually. Misty, can I have another bowl?” Nat calls from the couch.
“Sure!” Misty spins round, ladle in hand.
Jackie attempts to close her nostrils, feeling her stomach turn.
“She’s just saying that cause she found, and smoked, another joint matted into that blonde mop,” Van jibes, smirking.
“There was a whole joint in Nat’s hair?” Jackie shrieks.
“Yeah, and like six m&ms,” Nat says proudly, slurping at the soup Misty hands her. “I ate three but there are a couple left if you want one.”
“I’ll, um, pass, thank you,” Jackie says hoarsely, and reaches for the pill, gulping it down with the miraculous taste of water.
“Ladies and gentlethey, if you could all assemble on the couch, please.” Misty unties her ‘apron’, and hurries toward the whiteboard. Van eyes Jackie and stands up, nudging the stool back under the counter with their hip. Reaching the couch, they prod at Nat’s legs, which are splayed across it, gesturing for the girl to move.
“Scooch up squirt.”
Nat groans and balances her half-full soup bowl on her legs while she swivels round to make room for the others. Van sits at the other far end at the couch, leaving Jackie, awkwardly clutching her croissant with a tight fist, to slide between them.
Sat in line and chewing on plastic ham and cheese wrapped in faux-French pastry, Jackie watches Misty draw several strange lines on the whiteboard with a fading black marker. First, the girl sketches a triangle, and then she adds a circle, overlapping the top point. She intersects the triangle with one long line, and then adds three others sticking out of the top two sides. Finally at the bottom, she draws a small hook, with a short line crossing over it.
“The fuck’s that?” Nat says through a slurp of soup, but quickly gets distracted, smacking her lips together. “Misty, is there oregano in this?”
Misty spins round, tucking the pen behind her ear in a bed of curls. “Yes! And a tiny dollop of leftover tiramisu!”
Nat grins widely. “You sure know how to impress an Italian, Quiggs.”
Jackie elbows Nat. “Can we stop talking about the cabbage soup please, before I hurl?”
“Yeah seconded, even though I love you, Misty,” Van flirts from beside her, wiggling their eyebrows.
Jackie scrunches her nose in distaste. “Since when did you three become besties?”
“Don’t be so against it, you were looking at us with lovey dovey eyes when you were all drunk this morning, Jackie Cakes.” Van pinches the top of her ear. Jackie flicks her head away, huffing at them.
“I’m glad all that beauty sleep brought back that ugly Taylor charm we’re so used to,” Nat says while licking her bowl.
“Guys! Attention! Do none of you care about this?” Misty waves her hand wildly at the odd symbol she has just drawn on the whiteboard.
Van leans back with their hands behind their head, still smirking at Jackie. “Go ahead.”
“Tribal tattoos are kind of for hipsters and posers, Quiggs,” Nat remarks, putting her empty bowl on the floor.
“It’s not a tattoo, it’s a plan! It stands for revenge.”
Jackie stares in puzzlement.
“So the three points of the triangle stand for Tai, Shauna and Lottie”, Misty taps at her diagram with a (too long) fingernail. “And these other lines I’ve drawn, these represent you, you and you.” She casts her finger at the guests sat on her couch.
“Nat,” Misty turns her head to the far left first. “You are this hook, here, at the bottom.”
She makes a strange, almost martial arts inspired gesture with her fist, pushing it upwards into the air. “You go, bam! Like this! And take down the bottom part of the triangle.”
“Van,” the curls of Misty’s perm bounce as her head twists to the redhead on the far right of the couch. “You are these lines going across and in like this.” She flattens out her hands and cuts at the air in large diagonal sweeping gestures. “You go slash, slash, slash. Destroy the triangle from the sides”.
Jackie hears Van snigger, and is about to join the mirth, but Misty’s gaze has already locked onto her.
“And Jackie, you are this circle,” she points to the top of the whiteboard, before adopting a yoga pose, where she stands on one leg and sweeps both of her hands around in large circling motions. “Your job is to eclipse the top point.”
Before a speechless Jackie can even collect her thoughts, Nat snorts. “Misty, you are the gift that keeps on giving, honestly.”
“I think I’m the most confused I’ve been all day, which is saying something,” Van chips in, their tone sharing Nat’s amusement.
Jackie scoffs at the other two, but focuses her attention on Misty, asking in as sincere a tone as she can muster: “So this is your revenge plan?”
Misty blinks at them. “Yes, metaphorically.”
“I don’t do well with metaphors,” Jackie purses her lips. “How are you going to help us exactly?”
“Ugh,” Misty rolls her eyes and sweeps her sleeve over the board, wiping away the diagram until all that is left is a giant black smudge. “Scrap this.” She turns back around. “What I’m trying to say is, I did some research while you were asleep. Let’s move to the computer.”
Misty crosses the room to the desk, then tugs at the gaming chair and plops down into it. Equal amounts entertained, confused, and transfixed, Van, Nat, and Jackie follow.
The curly blonde opens a browser before pulling up a website entitled ‘Brown University Soccer Teams’.
“What’s this for?” Nat questions, darting a side eye at Jackie.
Misty taps to a name listed on the screen amongst a bunch of others, “Number six, Shauna Shipman. She’s made the third reserve team at Brown.”
“Already?” Van asks, surprised.
“They hold their try-outs in late August,” Misty responds.
“Beats me why she’s on the third team,” Nat interjects, “She could do a little better among all those nerds surely, she’s got fucking wheels and—"
“No, she couldn’t,” Jackie fires back, fury rising in her cheeks.
Why was Shauna even on the soccer team? Jackie can clearly remember the words, clear as day, the admittance, by her ex best-friend, that she ‘didn’t even like’ the main thing that had brought the two girls together over the years and years and years of their friendship--
“I mean, come on Jax, she was one of the best—" Van says before Jackie cuts them off.
“She lacks passion for the sport,” The words taste bitter as she spits them out.
“I wish I had your delusion, Taylor,” Nat digs at her.
“Whatever it is, it’s a good thing,” Misty intervenes before Jackie can think of a slut-shaming jab to throw back at the girl and rapidly escalate the situation.
The mouse clicks through the ensuing silence as Misty presses on another tab, which leads to the ‘Sports’ section of Brown University news. She reads the subtitle of the webpage aloud.
“Coach Bryan, of the Brown University Women’s Third Reserve Soccer Team, goes on paternal leave in January 2018. Brown is currently searching for his replacement for the rest of the academic year.”
Misty pauses, and spins round, her eyes glimmering at Jackie through the frames of her glasses. “That replacement, Jackie, will be you.”
Jackie splutters, feeling heat creep up her neck. “I… I don’t know…” She gulps against a dry throat. “You’re asking me to go to Brown and coach Shauna’s team?”
“It’s the perfect revenge plot really,” Misty states coldly. “I read under section 4.6 of the Brown Academic Achievement Code, that playing for the top three reserve teams for any sport counts as one whole credit per semester.” She drums her fingers over the top of the seat, evidently full of energy.
“You could get her kicked off the team, Jackie.”
Jackie’s heart speeds up momentarily as she fully computes Misty’s words. The promise that her old assistant coach was making did fulfil what Jackie was only dreaming about doing in the early hours of that morning, sat outside the gas station. It just… didn’t feel real. It didn’t feel possible.
Misty continues. “But you’d need to do it late in the year, of course. You’d have to spend a bit of time with Shauna first. If you wanted the desired outcome.”
“What do you mean by ‘desired outcome’?” Van questions in a cautious voice.
“Getting her kicked out of Brown. Preventing her from getting enough credit to complete the year.” Misty speaks smoothly.
“But can’t she just like, repeat the year?” Nat raises a brow.
“She’s there on early admission. On scholarship,” Misty states. “She’s from a single parent home, guys. She would lose the thing that’s keeping her there.”
“Fuck, that’s cold.” Nat takes a step back, tugging at her hair with both hands.
Jackie’s mind whirs. “Even if I wanted to,” She sucks in a breath, “I… I’m not qualified.”
Misty laughs. “Oh, don’t be so humble Jackie Taylor. You were only Captain of the varsity soccer team that won Nationals. Plus—"
She turns round and grabs the mouse, opening another webpage. A picture of young boys kicking a ball half the size of them flashes onto the screen. “This is for the peewee soccer team in the park just down the road from here. They’re looking for a new coach, which you can do until December. Then we can ham up your CV, you know, tell some little white lies that won’t hurt anybody, except well, Shauna Shipman!” Misty hoots a laugh, “And get you the job at Brown easy as pie!”
“This is giving me a headache,” Van butts in, “But, speaking of pie, you said you had leftover tiramisu, Misty?” They are already beginning to step backwards toward the kitchen.
“Tiramisu is not pie, doofus,” Nat barks. “But could I have some too?”
“It’s in the fridge, help yourselves.” Misty says, airily. She presses on the small blue ‘minus’ icon, closing the webpages, and pivots the gaming chair so she is face to face with Jackie.
“So, what do you think?” Misty says quietly under the noises of the two squabbling ex-teammates who are loudly looting her fridge in the background.
Jackie stutters, her brain still well and truly scrambled. “I think… I think…” her bottom lip vibrates slowly as she answers honestly, “I think I need to think about it.”
Misty smiles at her in a curiously nurturing way. “That’s fine, Jackie.” Her attention shifts rapidly, and she spins toward the kitchen, raising her voice. “Van, get over here, I need to show you what I found for Tai.”
Van looks back at her with wide eyes and a cream moustache above their upper lip. A fork clangs dramatically as they drop it in the bowl of tiramisu.
---
Misty takes her three guests on another short tour of web pages. The first set of links show Taissa Turner climbing the ranks of the Young Democrats organisation. Multiple news sites indicate Tai is already in the running for Youth Leader, which Misty mathematically demonstrates ‘she will win well before Christmas’, showing off several charts and spreadsheets of data as well as poll predictions.
They are then led to a web page advertising self-nominations for Youth Leader of the Young Greens, a party which conveniently hold their meetings only a short drive outside of Wiskayok, New Jersey.
“So, you want me to nominate myself for leader of the Green Party?” Van picks at their lip in thought.
“Sure, I can drive you to their election debate next week, Van.” Misty says pragmatically.
“You totally look the part, green is your color,” Jackie tries to joke. Van’s hand reaches down to tug awkwardly at the collar of their polo.
“Okay, I am following… kind of,” Van says cautiously.
“In January next year, Tai will likely be running for a competition called National Youth Voice, which several presidents and many state senators have won early in their political career. Like George Bush,” Misty explains.
“Ew,” Nat squirms.
“Anyway, it’s like, totally important for anyone who wants to be in politics. And you have to win a series of debates in order to win this title.”
“So, I go and debate her ass to get that trophy thing?” Van speaks with a distinct lack of confidence.
“Yeah, pretty much.” Misty nods.
“I was kind of imagining that this morning, I guess.”
“Aside from Van being a dipshit, I can't remember the Greens winning as far as we’ve been alive,” Nat interjects.
“Okay, you’re done,” Van says coldly.
“Hey look, I accidentally littered an m&m on the floor! President Palmer, can you pick it up for me please, or the world will totally explode, and the ice caps will melt?” Nat jests in a high-pitched voice, pointing at a mini blue chocolate disk scattered among the green carpet fibres.
Van scowls. “Misty, what’s your plan for Nat getting Lottie back, then? Considering this one here’s such an excellent joke maker, she’d be great at this.” They slap a hand on Nat’s back slightly too hard. The girl winces and recoils at the pressure.
“It’s true,” Jackie joins in, “If Shauna’s at Brown, and Tai's being all political at Howard, what about Lottie?”
“I don’t have tabs on Lottie,” Misty says, her head hanging slightly in shame.
“Dude, seriously? You have tabs on everyone!” Nat exclaims in disbelief.
Misty shrugs a shoulder in defeat. “The more money you have the more untraceable you are. If you want to be.”
“She has always been… elusive,” Jackie rationalises.
“Do you think she’s gone to college?” Van asks.
“She could’ve flunked out or something,” Nat suggests.
“Unlikely,” Van fires back.
“No, that’s not possible. Her GPA was 3.74, which I can break down by semester AND subject if you guys want proof—" Misty conjects.
“No that’s--, never mind. I don’t need her perfect-ass grades flaunted in my face, thanks,” Nat groans.
Misty drums her fingers on the desk in thought. “I do know one way we can find out, guys. If you’ll stick by me for a bit longer, Nat. We can totally do this. Just like these two.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you’re gonna turn Old Kwik-E-Mart and Miss Prissy Pants here into raging Revenge machines,” Nat snaps.
“Totally uncreative nicknames,” Jackie rolls her eyes.
“I’ve never even seen The Simpsons,” Van protests.
Nat ignores them, “But fuck it, Quiggs. I’ve got nothing better to do.”
Misty smiles, her eyelids fluttering, “Nice.”
“What’s your plan, then? For pinning down Lottie?” Nat asks her, tapping her booted foot impatiently.
“Well, Randy Walsh is throwing a party next week, and I think there’s a high chance Laura Lee and Mari may be there, which means---"
“Randy Walsh is still having parties in Wiskayok?” Jackie splutters, shuddering slightly at the thought.
“Hey, we’re not the only ones who peaked in high school,” Van purses their lips matter-of-factly.
“Can you stop saying that?” Jackie practically yells.
“I would rather be eaten alive than go to Randy Walsh’s party or see fucking Lottie. It seriously sounds like the tenth circle of Hell,” Nat groans at Misty.
“There are only nine circles of Hell, if we’re referring to Dante,” Misty replies.
Nat taps her boot on the carpet again. “I mean, is there any other option for getting at her? One that preferably doesn’t involve seeing her?”
Misty narrows her eyes, and looks straight through them, clearly deep in thought.
Maintaining this vacant stare, she speaks: “Listen guys. Remember three years ago, there was that guy going round Wiskayok dumping cats in trashcans?”
Slightly stupefied, they all nod. Misty carries on.
“I obliterated him. I found where he lived and got illegal drugs off Craigslist shipped straight to his apartment. I convinced the dealer to break in, hide them under his couch and take off.”
A smile spans Misty’s face, as her eyes remain cast off into the distance.
“Then I watched the consequences unfold. His court proceedings. Prosecution ‘found’ the security footage of him dumping the cats which didn’t help his case. He ended up with a much bigger sentence than normally because he was, well, an unlikeable guy.”
“You can say twat Misty,” Van sniggers.
“Or cunt, to take a leaf out of Laura Lee’s book,” Jackie giggles along.
“Or we could go British, I just learned the word bellend,” Van banters again.
“Sick,” Nat lightly punches the redhead with appreciation.
“Yes, he was all of those things,” Misty says, “My point is that my revenge was nowhere near as satisfying as it could have been, because I was watching all of it unfold through a screen. I wanted to see his face in person, see the fear creeping into his eyes, see him tremble, see the pee trickle down his leg—"
Cries break of “EW!” and “Gross!” erupt from the others. Jackie feels bile rise in her throat.
“Too far? Sorry. But you get what I mean. It has to be hands on, Nat. If you’re going to get any kind of revenge. You have to see it for yourself,” Misty argues.
“So that’s what you’d get from all of this huh Misty? Vicarious pleasure watching us take down our enemies?” Van says under a quirked eyebrow.
“I was trying to get through the day without having to think about Misty Quigley’s kinks, but thank you, Van,” Nat says gravely.
Misty protests feverishly, “Guys, this is not about—this is not about that!”
With a hand pinching the bridge of her nose, she recollects herself, then says: “Listen, Nat, are we going to this party or not?”
Nat sighs. “What the hell, sure.”
“Great!” She turns to the others. “Agents Van and Jackie, you have your own briefings to think about.”
“Fucking great, that sounds like some twisted role play. Now I’m thinking about your kinks again Misty,” Nat complains.
“No one asked you to do that, Natalie. If you have feelings for me, just say.” Misty winks at Nat, whose mouth flies open in shock and cheeks flush crimson.
After Van has recovered from a laughing fit that can only be described as a threat to the proper functioning of their lungs, they soberly addresses Jackie with widened eyes.
“Wait, Jackie, you don’t have long to think about it, right? You’ll have to decide if you’re actually going to Rutgers, like soon?”
Jackie breathes in and out. She thinks of navy underwear sets, sprinklers, Limp Bizkit, Nirvana, Instagram, the taste of whiskey, smashed bonnets, scarred faces and fists, and the end of summer. Under it all, Shauna’s smug and pretty face lurks, having escaped, and transcended all of it. Having gotten the fuck away.
Jackie’s voice doesn’t feel like anyone else’s but her own when she says: ‘I’m not gonna go to Rutgers. I’ll email them saying I’m not coming.’
She gazes at the others, stoic and defiant: ‘I’m going to Brown. Misty, please help me get there.’
Under the translucent frames of her glasses, Misty’s eyes sparkle as bright as her white teeth