Chapter Text
LAUREL Chapter: 1
Montana Lee Payton, October 8th 2018, Laurel, Montana
The wind is stark against his exposed face, a blizzard, in October is just his luck Montana thinks to himself. It also would happen to be the day his father forgets to pick him up from color guard practice, again.
Montana Lee Payton hates his name and hates living here, he hated it when he was a kid and nothing ever changes in this town, that much he's certain of. He was born in California and just recently was dragged back here to finish high school. A development which was non-negotiable and it seemed like Montana would have to push his way through the year if not just to get away from here again.
The cold weather pierces his skin and reminds him just how dreary everything looks here, muted grey colors fill his vision as his glasses become fogged and damp. Pulling the hood of his hoodie over his beanie and long, messy auburn hair, wincing as he does so. “This weather sucks” he mutters to himself, voice lost in the rippling winds as he continues his walk back to his house, boots splashing in the grey mixture of snow and water.
Laurel has become a ghost town, Main Street now filled with empty shops collecting dust and homes that look abandoned, if not simply scarcely lived in. The population is around 20,000 and plummeting, but the problem isn't simply the people but that there is nothing to do that interests Montana, the town is bare and isolated, it’s suffocating and threatens to pull at his throat.
His boots slosh around the puddled mess, just as he’s turning a corner a beaten down truck pulls up and its driver rolls down the window. “You’re Payton’s boy?” A man's voice echoes through the air and Montana tenses, his father, somewhat of a local celebrity, previously an amateur wrestler, and his big sprawling family mean that most people have seen or know about them, for better or worse.
“What of it?” Montana replies already agitated from his father’s forgetfulness to want to deal with his reputation.
The driver smirks.“I’m offering you a ride, son, you know that’s how we do it here in Laurel, you know I haven’t seen you since you were a youngin, not that you look like you’ve done much growing though” the man, who looks about in his mid-forties, is probably old enough to have gone to school with his father. And the truck is seemingly quite dingy and beat-up.
“No thanks, I'll walk” Montana says gesturing with his hand in a shooing motion. “Fine, whatever then” the man says before speeding off, spraying slush over Montana Lee.
“Ugh” he groans and zips his hoodie up further, flipping off the man as he drives off, he's ill-prepared for the harsh climate, he'll have to do some impromptu shopping as soon as possible.
Montana would certainly rather keep a low profile for the time that he’s back than have everyone know who he is, it’ll be better for him once he graduates and leaves again. His phone buzzes and he checks it despite the cold and snowy weather, and he winces as the cold weather prickles at his hands and on his fingertips.
CaptainJessSparrow: hey did your dad ever show up
ML: no not answering his phone either
CaptainJessSparrow: that bitch
CaptainJessSparrow: this is like the third time since school started
ML: are you telling me that Derrick Payton isn't a perfect example of human life
ML: i for one, am shocked
CaptainJessSparrow: ok ok i know but like still
CaptainJessSparrow: what about Ashton
ML: what about Ashton
CaptainJessSparrow: can he pick you up
ML: I'm already walking home jess
CaptainJessSparrow: it's already dark out
CaptainJessSparrow: i can go tell my parents if you want they can bring you over
ML: it gets dark out at like 5 pm here
ML: no thanks i have stuff i need to get done at the house
Jessica Perot has been his saving grace these past few months, she’s his color guard captain and they instantly clicked. Jess looks like she was built to be a cheerleader, she has long, wavy blonde hair, blue eyes, and slightly taller than Montana, though that’s not saying much, she’s roughly 5 '7 and athletic. She had initially been on the freshman cheer squad but had a falling out with her then best friend Ana Yankowski, it was a big deal, he’s been informed.
Montana pockets his phone, though since he's been looking at his phone the surroundings have gotten more dark, only little bits illuminated through car headlights or street lights, as snow continues to pile on to the street and sidewalk. On any normal day he'd probably take Jess on her offer, but he really wants to confront his father for not answering his phone or picking him up. Though the argument would likely lead nowhere except for Montana to slam his door and lock himself in his room. He sighs and continues walking. Montana rounds the corner and up his familiar, but unwelcoming porch, the one with the giant american flag that says “support our troops” Montana hasn’t seen his father ever do something to help veterans though. The three-story house would be foreboding if not for its green painted trim and stairs and orange-red bricks filling the space. It’s a house fit for someone like THE Derrick Payton.
He unlocks the door, warmth finally enveloping him, but all he sees as he takes stock of his surroundings is his dad laying on the reclining chair, tv on, football of course, fast asleep, with his mouth agape in the living room. The room is a mess, how one dad could trash a room like this but have the outside look immaculate is beyond him.
“Fucking ridiculous” he mutters under his breath, he decides better than waking his father to yell at him, his body aches from practice and his bed is calling to him after the long trek, he scribbles a note, goes upstairs and locks his bedroom door. pushing the dresser in front of it too. Just in case.
The room used to belong to his mother he remembers, she said it was her place for escape. He can relate to his mom on that front, he always feels like he’s been trying to escape, the dresser in front of the door allows himself that extra bit of security when his dad has been too agitating or when the house is flooded with Paytons. Which it is, constantly. His dad even had the audacity to throw a huge party with all the family that Montana didn’t like, as a welcome back party. He hadn’t even wanted to be back. And he made that perfectly clear with his father, it’s just… his dad doesn’t care what Montana wants.
Montana strips off his soaked hoodie and throws it in the corner, kicking off his boots with more force than necessary, urgently needing to pry the wet fabric from his skin. His room is the only space in this godforsaken house that feels even remotely like home since he’s returned—punk band posters covering ugly, dated wood-paneled walls, color guard flag, rifle, and sabre propped in the corner, the books and games he likes to escape into when he needs to be somebody else. He peels off his wet jeans, grimacing at how the denim clings to his legs in all the wrong ways. Standing in just his boxers and a fresh oversized hoodie, he catches his reflection in the mirror and immediately looks away. Wrong. All Wrong. His shoulders are too broad, he's too skinny from not eating, he already has stubble growing on his face. Derrick Payton's son, Montana Lee Payton, a name and a body that feels like a costume.
He should wax his face like he used to, he thinks, like his mom taught him…
Wait that memory doesn’t make any sense, he thinks, hard. He feels a splitting pain in his head the more he tries to think about it. He looks down at the pink can of monster that he’d half-drank since getting home. I should probably stop drinking these so late.
His phone buzzes again, snapping him out of a trance he hadn’t realized he’d been in.
CaptainJessSparrow: you make it home ok?
ML: yeah dad was passed out watching football
ML: shocking i know
CaptainJessSparrow: ugh typical
ML: yeah I didn't wake him…. better than getting screamed at for sorry let me check my notes
ML: him forgetting me at practice
Montana stares at the screen, thumb hovering over the keyboard. He wants to tell her everything, how he feels wrong in his body, how he can't stand to be Derrick Payton's only son, that the weight of expectation is killing him. His heart is beating rapidly and he can't bring himself to talk about this, about how he can't ever truly be himself. Before Montana can respond, there's a loud knock on his door. "Monty! Why the hell is this dresser blocking the door?"
"Fuck," Montana whispers, quickly deleting the conversation thread. "Just a minute, Dad!" He shoves the dresser back and unlocks the door. Derrick Payton fills the doorframe—six feet tall and too much of former wrestler bulk gone slightly soft around the middle. His face is red, whether from sleep or anger Montana can't tell, his dark brown hair is messy and his stubble is dark around his mustache. "You write this?" Derrick waves the note in Montana's face. "Walking home in a blizzard because you 'forgot' to pick me up? Real passive-aggressive, son."
"It's the truth," Montana says, crossing his arms over his chest, suddenly hyperaware of how thin his frame is compared to his father's.
"Watch your tone. I had a long day at work last night, fell asleep for twenty minutes—"
"Three hours, Dad. Practice ended three hours ago. Look outside." he can’t believe this is happening, this is the last thing he wanted tonight. His emotions are getting to him the last few days. All that he’s been trying to repress.
Derrick's jaw tightens. "Well maybe if you'd joined a real sport instead of prancing around with flags like a—"
"It's called color guard, and it IS a real—
""Whatever it is, it's making you soft." Derrick's eyes narrow, taking in Montana's appearance—the long hair, the oversized hoodie, the defensive posture. "When I was your age, I was captain of the wrestling team. Had colleges scouting me. What do you have? Some fruity dance routine?"
Montana feels heat rising in his cheeks. His dad has always been like this, wanting a son who was just like him with no individuality that couldn’t be crushed out. "Just because I'm not some meathead jock—" he splutters out.
"Meathead?" Derrick steps into the room, and Montana instinctively backs up. "That 'meathead jock' put food on your table, has you in the best school in Montana. Maybe if you spent less time with that Jessica girl and more time with Brett and the football team—"
“Leave Jess out of this." Montana clenches his fists. "Oh, touched a nerve, did I?" Derrick smirks. "What, you sweet on her or something? At least that would be normal."
The word 'normal' hits Montana like a slap. He wants to scream, wants to tell his father exactly how far from his definition of normal he really is. Instead, he just clenches his fists.
"Get out of my room."
"Excuse me?"
"I said get out."
For a moment, they just stare at each other. Then Derrick shakes his head. "You're lucky your mother isn't here to see what you've become." He leaves, slamming the door behind him.
Montana waits until he hears his father's footsteps fade down the hall, silence settling over the house making the atmosphere oppressive; his adrenaline is still high; he quickly moves the dresser back in front of the door. His hands are trembling,cold and numb, he could spit bile, he sits on his bed and buries his face in his pillow, he screams into it, his hands tightening around it before letting go. He lays there motionless, the outside world becoming a distant hum, he can't move, it's like his brain has shut off his body to be somewhere, anywhere else.
There's another knock at the door, gentler this time but it still jolts Montana from his haze. "Monty?" It's his dad again, his voice softer. "Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that about your mom, April… I miss her too.... I know you’re having a rough time with it, the doctors told me, I’m sorry. Dinner's in twenty if you want some."
Montana doesn't respond, he's shaking, he knows he should cry, get it all out of his system but he can't. After a moment, he hears his father sigh and walk away. He's always like this, Montana thinks to himself, It's like there are two different versions of him.
His phone buzzes again, but this time it's a different notification.
SmashinAshton: yo monty
SmashinAshton: heard you walked home in that shit weather
SmashinAshton: you good?
Montana smiles despite himself. Ashton always seems to know everything that happens in this town, he's one of the few people Montana Lee can relate to, being that even Ashton's goal is to eventually get out of this shitty town too. They had talked a lot when they were kids, they were inseparable. They used to dare to dream of brighter days ahead, one's not muddied by the “American Dream” of Laurel. But now he’s been trying to avoid him, his heart hurts all the more for it, but he’s already left him once, he doesn’t want to break his heart by leaving again. And he is leaving again.
ML: yeah im fine
ML: how'd you hear about that already
SmashinAshton: small town bro
SmashinAshton: plus mrs chen saw you and told my mom at the grocery store
SmashinAshton: want me to kick your dads ass?
SmashinAshton: i could take him, he's washed
ML: lol sure you could
ML: he's got like 50 pounds on you
ML: And your mom said i was a bad influence
SmashinAshton: yeah but i got reach… and youth
SmashinAshton: she said that when we were kids, I’m sure she’d like to meet the new you
SmashinAshton: oh! and i actually show up when i'm supposed to
The last message makes Montana's chest tighten. Ashton's always been good to him, ever since they were kids. Part of Montana desperately wants to tell him everything, like with Jess, but how would he understand, he's just a guy and well Montana Lee is…. something else… maybe? The fear is too strong. What if Ashton, despite being an outsider in this town himself, can't understand this?
ML: thanks ash
ML: really im ok though
SmashinAshton: get some rest monty
SmashinAshton: and seriously next time you need a ride just text me
He wants to respond, but his fear has him as frozen as the snow he trudged in for hours on his way home, he lays there staring at the text working up courage that will never come.
Outside, the snow continues to fall, blanketing Laurel in white. Montana closes his eyes and tries to imagine himself somewhere else, someone else and before he knows it he's slipped into slumber. In his dreams, he's wearing a sundress on the beach, back in California, his mother by his, or rather her, side. Talking, laughing and enjoying each other's company in the warm salty air, the warmth spreading across them both, enveloping them as if the moment will last ages. She’s tanning with her on the beach, Montana looks down at herself to find her freshly shaven and smooth legs, she smiles. She doesn’t want to go back, she’s relaxed, bathing in the sunlight, talking to her mom as if nothing has changed.
But morning always comes too soon in Laurel, Montana, and with it, the reality of being Montana Lee Payton, Derrick Payton's disappointment of a son, trapped in a body that feels more like a prison with each passing day. And the cold air hits harder this morning than others.
Montana Lee Payton wakes up with a shivery groan, tears in his eyes, he's never had a dream like that, it felt…so real. He hasn't been thinking of his mom as much lately, like he's been on autopilot since she passed, she had spent so much time with him when they were still in California, everything had felt worse without her, less real. Back in California, after she'd taken him away from Derrick - away from Laurel, away from all the suffocation, away from the ‘incident’, away from the suicidal thoughts he confessed to her when he was twelve, she'd been his anchor. Everything felt hollow without her. She committed suicide last year and Montana was sent to live with his grandparents temporarily until the end of his junior year, and now he's back in Laurel to finish his senior year.
He reaches for his phone from underneath his still warm blankets, 5:30 am, he's getting up sooner to leave before his dad could interrogate him about his choices in life. The house is quiet, Montana knows that his father works night shift at a detention center so if he's out of the house by the time his dad gets home then that's just a happy coincidence. He’s pushing his dresser back and hurrying downstairs in a nirvana shirt that fits loosely on him and in grey ripped skinny jeans. As he reaches the bottom of the stairs he peers into the living room, it's still a mess from how his dad left it, except the tv is off, there's a blanket on the recliner and for a second he's wondering if he slept there last night. But he shrugs off his concern. Pushing through the heavy front door and into the frigid Laurel weather. He puts his earbuds in, Blink 182’s ‘I Miss You’ bursts from his earbuds like a cannon shot and he walks out to catch the bus. The dream fading from his mind, he reaches for it, wanting desperately to pull it into reality, the warmth, his mom, and… He looks outward at the morning sky, he wants more than anything to have her back.
The bus ride is quick because Montana is zoning out, he's trying not to think too hard about last night. so he's fidgeting with his phone, skipping songs, checking social media only to close it and reopen it a second later.. It's not like he didn't know how his dad felt about him, it was evident in how he treats him. But it's another thing to be put to words. Montana slumped into the faded seat near the back of the bus, music blaring in his ears, staring out the window. The snow outside blurred into a gray-white haze, the mountains looming, silently watching, closing in, he thinks. Wishing desperately to move on was a fool's errand but he had tried not to think about last night—the argument, the dream, his father’s words.
The cold from his jeans seeped into his skin, reminding him of how long he'd walked home. His fingers traced the edge of his phone case, itching to text Ashton again. But what would he even say? “Hey, thanks for offering to fight my dad. Also, I don’t know who I am anymore.”
The thought made him laugh bitterly under his breath.
A sharp turn jolted him against the window, and he winced as the icy glass pressed against his temple. He closed his eyes, willing himself to picture California. The beach. Warm sand between his toes. His mother’s voice, soft and full of love.
But no matter how hard he tried to hold onto the memory, it slipped away like water through his fingers. When he opened his eyes again, all he saw was the snow-covered town of Laurel, Montana, beaten down and ragged, and the reflection of someone he didn’t want to be. Two Montanas, neither the right one.
He quickly walked into school, the large brown building with glass walls showcasing the stairwells, two mezzanines at either side of the large main hall, head down and shoulders slouched, staring at the marbled patterns of the floor, earbuds still playing punk music in his ears. The earbuds are yanked from his ears and there is Ashton, looking like he just stepped off the pages of a fashion magazine. Ashton was Montana's childhood friend from the first time he lived in Laurel, he's since grown to be 6 '3 his dark skin, long legs, afro, and goatee made him the splitting image of a young Julius Erving. dressed in white pants and a tight black button up shirt that showed off his muscular upper body. It feels like the whole school is looking at him, nobody dresses this well without expecting eyes on them, which included mine… which definitely did not check him out, Montana thinks, having to repress a smile.
“Hey Monty!” he said pulling me into a hug, “Good to see you, I was worried about you last night” his muscular frame and height practically swallow me whole, I'm almost a full foot shorter than him, and while color guard has kept me in shape, it's a different kind of shape to the lean muscularity of a star athlete like him.
“It's fine Ash” an obvious and unconvincing lie, “It's fine i got home and he was asleep before his shift started so, i got to cool down in my room” just drop it, just drop it, just drop it. he persists, shifting to bring me closer and our eyes meet.
“Yeah well it shouldn’t be you having to cool down while he just ignores you” Ashton looked me over again, his eyes peering into me and the concern playing over his face “Promise you’re okay? You've been avoiding me since you got back. If there's something going on then let me help.” and tears pull at the corner of Montana’s eyes, hot and sudden, threatening to spill out, a flood of emotion comes over him, everything from the dream of his mother and of a future he can never have and his father pressuring him to conform, the wrongness of it all. His face flushes. “I’ve got to get to class” he says, lowering his head and walking away briskly, brushing past him as he goes, nearly barrelling into Ana Yankowski, Jess would be proud. Ashton could easily catch up, long legs and athletic, but he doesn't push, and lets Monty have his space.
Montana hurries into a crowd of students heading to their homeroom. Fuck, fuck he thinks. God that was awful, he needs a break from this mess, he’ll try to see if he can go to Jess’s later before practice. He really needs some quiet, everything in his mind is too loud. Like a loud buzzing that keeps getting harder and harder to ignore.
After Montana's proclaimed “autopilot mode” kicks in, he goes about his day with little fanfare looking like the depressed angsty 17 year old he is, he doesn't get approached. It's normal right? Before he knows it he's in History class, halfway through the day is a class which Montana typically enjoys but he’s finding it particularly difficult to sit through as Hunter Stevens is in front of him practically relaying to every one of his shitbag friends what his girlfriend is sexting him, gross. Montana peers out the window and stares at the mountain outside, the city is surrounded by mountains on all four sides and while most people would find the view to be beautiful, to him it just feels suffocating, like all of them are moving in to crush him, with no escape in sight.
“Mr. Payton?” Mrs. Anderson cuts through his inner thoughts, Montana looks up sheepishly, blushing slightly from embarrassment. “S-sorry could you repeat the question?” Mrs. Anderson sighs, “Mr. Payton you really shouldn’t be daydreaming, the question was can you tell me the significance of Stonewall when it comes to influential riots in the US?” of course she’d call on me for this question, Montana thinks.
“Oh. Stonewall. 1969. Police raided the Stonewall Inn… a gay bar. Targeting trans people, drag queens… looking to arrest them, that's uh when the riot broke out. Or, uh… so I’ve heard.” He squirmed under the sudden classroom silence.” Montana looks at the silent room and squirms in his chair “Very well then” Mrs. Anderson says, directing her attention to the board to elaborate further. Hunter looks over at me and says “fag” under his breath and covers it with a cough. Mrs. Anderson pretends not to notice. And Montana just glares at him. He bites down on his tongue to avoid lashing out, nothing will ever change about this town.
As soon as class is dismissed Montana is the first out the door and he immediately finds Jess in the west hallway,
“hey Monty” Jess says before her face contorts as she takes hold of the situation “oh shit did something happen Monty? you look like shit”
Montana Lee cringes, “can i come over before practice, i need to not be here and not be home, please” his face is red and his jaw clenched. “Yeah sure are you alright though?” Jess puts a hand on his shoulder and he recoils at the touch.
“oh uh sorry” she says startled and looks at him with cautious eyes.
“Hunter Stevens is an asshole” he says through labored breaths.
“What else is new?” she responds without thinking “uh sorry…. Again, yeah please come over. I'm sure my parents would love to have you over. Are you okay?”
“No…”
Jess leads Montana over to her bus as soon as the final bell rings, they pass by Ashton but he doesn't say anything and his eyes are difficult to read as Jess leads Monty by the hand through the doors and onto the faded yellow bus. He collapses into the seat, and swings his cross body bag onto his lap and puts his head down into it. Jess doesn't say anything, just gently rubs his arm until they get to her stop.
Jess’s apartment is much smaller than the Payton house, not that the Paytons are rich, just that her family is more on the financially struggling side of the equation. After a quick and obligatory greeting to Jess’s parents, she nearly drags him into her room, he takes stock of his surroundings before being led to her bed and forced to sit. Her room is painted in lilac and mint green, it's kind of garish to look at, her walls are filled with posters and her shelves are spilling out with books. It's a bit cluttered but it's definitely Jess. After some light prompting, Montana opens up about everything that happened last night, including the dream.
“My condolences I had no idea, you never talk about her much so i just thought…” Jess trails off. “It's fine, I mean we're all dealing with it. It uh, the depression runs in her side of the family, I… I had told my mom when I was 12 that I…” he pauses and chooses his words carefully “wanted to die. I told her all the stuff about Laurel, and how I hated it here, I hated being Montana Lee Payton, and she decided then and there to leave my father, and take me back to California.” Montana's shaking, his head is spinning “and then…” his breathing quickens and Jess wraps him in her arms. “It's okay you don't need to continue if you don't want to, we can stay like this as long as you need.”
They ended up not speaking for about a half hour as Montana tried hard to cry, every fiber of his being urged him to cry but the tears wouldn't come. Eventually Jess got up and grabbed Monty a water and gave him the remote to her smart TV and they watched “Friends” on Netflix. They started chatting about less heavy topics, school stuff, shows they were into at the moment, and as they were talking Jess offered to put nail polish on him and do his makeup for practice how she normally had been for away competitions. Any time Montana knew that his father wouldn't be there for his performances, he'd want to be made up like the rest of the girls, it had started like that in California. Jess felt more than happy to oblige, they'd only known each other a few months but they'd gotten close, Montana was color guard captain as a junior in California, and Jess had been anointed captain before Montana Lee had returned to Laurel, they've really bonded over their love of their performances and their combined expressiveness shared through it.
“Wow you look… so pretty!” she exclaimed after finishing applying mascara on his lashes,” you're putting me to shame” and his face went hot.
“You really think so” he says trying to cover his face with his hands but is stopped by Jess holding her phone camera towards him and snapping a picture “I know so” she whips the phone around to show him.
“fuck” Montana stared at the screen at his reflection, eyes widening, lips parting. he sees her. But he’s not scared, not like how he used to be, not like how he was when he first tried to be her.
“Told you I'm good,” Jess grinned.
By the time they were about to go to practice, Montana's mood had lifted. Getting to express himself around a trusted friend, will do that to you, he thinks. Grabbing his guard bag, filled with perfume, gloves, uniform, practice clothes, rifle and sabre - he turned to Jess and flashed her a smile, probably his most genuine one in a while. And he pulled her into a hug, and Jess admired him for a moment. He had always been pretty, Jess held him for a beat admiring the way the makeup accentuated his soft features before the door opened and they quickly separated. It's Evelyn, a color guard member, here to drive them she flashes a knowing smile to Jess, “you did a good job on him”
Evelyn's car was kind of trashy, it's a hand-me-down filled with her brother's junk but it gets the job done where it counts, or so she says, and as they climb into the car, Evelyn starts “Should i bring up what i walked in on earlier?”
Montana's face flushes “It was nothing like that” he says defensively,
“We were just hugging! we're friends i hug you all the time” Jess protests
Evelyn smirks “You and I both know that's different” she glances over at him “Montana is a boy, despite how good he looks in that makeup” fuck fuck fuck. A look of disappointment crosses Montana's face as it feels like all the wind has been sucked from the cramped car he lets in a sharp intake of breath, hands tightening around his guard bag before he looks out the window looking for escape. Jess gives him a concerned look letting out an almost inaudible “oh” she tries to subtly reach for his hand but he pulls away.
The rest of the ride was suffocating. Montana wished himself anywhere else. Trapped in this junk-filled car with Jess, unable to control the visceral reaction to being labeled. As a boy. As different. The word churned his stomach. Why? Not the time. Not the place. The mantra repeated. A sharp pain registered in his hand – nails digging into his palm around the bag strap. He looked up. Jess was watching him, eyes wide with concern. Stop looking at me like that. He wanted to scream. He didn’t want this. Not tonight. Not ever.
As soon as the car is stopped, he exits, taking no time to gather his things, Jess hurriedly follows after him as Evelyn takes her time in the car. “Hey Mon-” she cuts herself off, “wait no” she grabs his hand before he can enter the door and he looks back at her.
He flinched, pulling back slightly “um” is the only thing that escaped his lips.
Time stretched. Snowflakes drifted between them in the freezing air. Jess held his gaze. “We’ll talk. After practice. Just you and me. Okay?”
Montana nodded, a shy, quick dip of his head, their visible breaths mingling in the cold. He grabbed the icy metal handle and pushed into the music room. Ignoring the band kids warming up, he walked onto the auditorium stage – their temporary practice space while the football team claimed the frozen field. The color guard was down to nine down from 14 last year Jess had told her. Members: Jess, Montana, Evelyn, Charlotte, Hannah, Zoey, Daisy, Chase, and Drake. The usual chaos of pre-practice chatter felt distant, muffled by the storm still raging inside her.
Practice was an unusually messy blur of flags and counts the usual chaos only heightened by the buzzing in Montana's head. He moved through the routine without grace, a bit stiff and robotical. His body is not cooperating with his head elsewhere. It's like he's watching from the seats in the auditorium, someone else in his own skin. Jess kept shooting him glances, but she couldn't just focus on him, she's the captain and had to make sure everyone else was performing well too. He pretends not to see her staring.
“Payton you're off today, you've dropped 3 tosses in a row, sit.” Miss Vick, the color guard instructor with dyed shoulder length purple hair, called to him pointing at a spot next to her assistant after Montana's flag came clattering to the floor.. Montana sighed, hair glistening with sweat, he packed his things and sat next to Jane. and looked at the rest of the team, Evelyn showed a look of concern and Jess looked worried and stressed. Jane, the assistant, looked at him confused and whispered “what's going on with you today? I've never seen you this rattled”
“I’m good” he says dismissively,his head in his hands, before doing cooldown stretches off to the side and going and getting dressed out of his practice clothes.
Montana leaves the stall from the men’s room that they got dressed in, not daring to get changed in the locker room section, even while alone. He steps out into the hall outside the band room while checking his phone 9:45 pm, “they still have fifteen minutes”
“Leaving early?” Ashton says leaning against the wall next to the band room.
“A-Ash!” he stutters out. Surprised to see his former best friend standing there. “What are you doing here?” Montana looks him up and down, he’s in the same clothes as earlier but with a purple and pewter varsity jacket with the Laurel High School emblem emblazoned on it.
“Today was film study, so we got out earlier than usual, and I wanted to talk,” Ashton said leaning closer. “You’ve been avoiding me… in fact you’ve been avoiding me since you got back.”
“Oh Ash it’s not like th-” he’s cut off by Ashton
“Not like what Monty? We used to be inseparable but now it’s like any time I see you, you’re looking to escape and about to bolt every time I see you and I don't know why. I heard about your mom, and I’m so sorry, man. But you can’t just run and hide from everyone. It’s like you don’t trust me and what's worse is you're hurting yourself.” His voice cracked on the last word. “I don’t want to lose you again. When you left, I didn't hear from you.”
He’s getting more and more upset and Montana has never seen the side of him that’s so emotional. As a kid it seemed like he barely had emotions and that Montana had been the one who was overemotional. Montana’s gaze meets his dark eyes.
Montana froze, the white walls of the hallway closing in on him. He had never seen Ashton so vulnerable. The cool, confident athlete was gone, replaced by the kid he used to spend nearly every day escaping his dad with.
“I… I’m sorry I just, I’ve had a lot of stuff going on and I hadn’t initially intended on pushing you away. It just sort of happened. I promise I can talk more after practice but, I uh, have to go. Can you drive me home and we can talk then?”
Ashton’s eyes soften and he leans back against the door “I’ll be outside. Text me.” he paused at the exit. “Oh, your makeup looks good by the way” he says before exiting the building and walking over to his car. Montana’s face flushed, in the heat of the moment he’d forgotten he was even wearing it and now he was like this, in his clothes from this morning with Jess’s makeup on, hair messy and unkempt but his heart was racing.
He went back into the auditorium just as the team was finishing their cooldown stretches. Jess gave him a concerned look, and he managed a small smile back. It wasn’t better, but it was a start.
Soon, the auditorium was empty except for them. Jess had offered to lock up.
“Feeling better?” she asked.
“Yeah. I think so.”
“Good because this extra practice isn’t for me. It’s for you.” She reached into her gym bag and pulled out the women’s color guard uniform—a sleek, shimmering silver and gold bodysuit adorned with sequins, it shined under the stage lights. “But this time, you’ll be practicing in this.”
Montana’s heart hammered against his ribs. “Here? Are you sure that’s okay?” he had worn her uniform once before in her room, after some prodding from Jess of course.
Jess just smiled, gesturing for him to sit. She gently touched up the makeup that had been smudged by his stressful practice. “I have the keys. The doors are locked. Miss Vick trusts me, and I trust you. You’re safe here. Promise.”
He nodded, sitting perfectly still. When she was done, she pointed to the heavy stage curtains. “Go on.”
He changed behind the velvet curtain, his hands trembling as he pulled on the cool, smooth fabric. It fit like it was made for him. He stepped out.
Jess had put a playlist on the main speakers, the music swelling to fill the vast, empty space. Montana looked at his reflection in the dark glass of the auditorium doors. He was beaming.
And then, he began to move.
He was no longer stiff, no longer a robot. He was fluid, graceful, and alive. The flag was an extension of his arm, painting swirls of color in the air. He spun, a blur of gold, black, and silver, a grin plastered on his face. The warmth he’d felt in his dream—the California sun, his mother’s love—it was here. It was real. He was spinning, and he wasn't slowing down, lost in the music and the moment, finally, warm.
April M. Payton October 10th 2013 Laurel, Montana
-5 years previous-
The blizzard had turned the roads into a blur of gray slush and reckless Montana drivers. April Payton white-knuckled the steering wheel, her breath fogging the windshield. Three more miles. Just get home. Her shift at the hospital had been hell—a paramedics job is never easy, not even in a town like this.
Her phone rang, cutting through the silence. Unknown caller.
A voice shattered the quiet just as April hit the accept button: “Mrs. Payton—please—it’s Monty—”
Ashton Brooks, she recognizes his voice. The boy her son wrote about in his journal, the one he's been spending so much time with, the too-easy smile. Now his voice was raw, gasping.
“Davidson Park—he’s bleeding—”
The world narrowed to the pulse in her ears.
fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. she's spiralling, her car speeding along the barren, snow slush filled roads. She arrives at Davidson park, snow plummeting from the sky, fog enveloping the world. She stops and spots a figure laying in the snow with another. She pulls over and runs to see what's happening. Montana Lee is laying in the snow, unmoving, blood spilling from his head and all over the hoodie he’s wearing, it’s Ashton’s Laurel football hoodie, Ashton hasn’t noticed her arrival and has Montana’s hand in his own.
“Ash get up.” the words come out but they feel acidy against her tongue “Get up!” she says as she gets closer, she's in disaster mode, she knows Montana’s been getting bullied but she didn't think it would escalate this far. Ashton jolts and stands, his eyes are panicked and teary.
“What the fuck am i going to do” Ashton starts to tremble, he looks to Monty for the contact but April shakes her head. It takes her less than a minute to come up with a plan. years of working in a high stress job will do that to you.
“I'm going to get him to the hospital. You're coming with me. I'm going to drop you off at our house, there's a key under the mat. As soon as you get there, discard your clothes, they have blood on them.” She bites her tongue, not just any blood, Montana's blood. “grab some of his clothes, you were never here, you can't be here, understand?” Ashton nods, he's stiff and rigid barely moving but with heavy breaths. “Car. Now. I'll get him there, trust me”
As she's securing his neck with a brace she has in case of emergencies, he's slipping in and out of consciousness “Mom?”
“It's okay I'm here, you're safe”
“I'm not a boy.” the words come out like a guilty whisper.
“I know hun” she wipes her blood soaked hair from her face gently. “...I know”