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Monday, May 20th, 2019 - seventy four days until opening night

If someone were to ask Paul how many mentions of musical theatre would make his work day a good one, his answer would be zero. 

Unfortunately, that number has been exceeded more and more in the last week. Paul blames Ted. And Melissa, but Ted is easier to blame because he’s Ted, whereas Melissa is annoying but generally well meaning. Paul feels a little bad about rejecting her. Not that he regrets it, seeing as he’d finally given Emma his number later that day and secured a date with her, but Sylvia had taken Paul aside and chewed him out for turning Melissa down.

“Now she and Ted are going to that show ‘just as friends’,” Sylvia had scoffed. “I tried to warn her, but the poor girl doesn’t know what she’s in for!”

Paul had rattled off some lame response before making his escape. He does wonder, though. Maybe if he’d responded differently, it would’ve stopped whatever’s been happening with Melissa and Ted. Because they’ve been weirdly friendly—well, Melissa’s always friendly with everyone. Ted isn’t. Or he’s overly friendly, which is worse. Anyway, he and Melissa have been weirdly chatty. And much to Paul’s displeasure, nine times out of ten, the topic of their discussion is musicals. He expected as much from Melissa. Ted’s enthusiasm on the matter is frankly disappointing. Paul had assumed, as much of an asshole as Ted is, they could both agree that musical theatre sucks. Nope. Ted wouldn’t even allow him that one mercy, and instead debates the merit of Cats with Melissa in the break room. Ugh.

But despite the rampant increase of theatre talk at work, Paul is having a good Monday. He took Emma out to lunch on Saturday, and his niece Ruth had interviewed him about CCRP for a school project on Sunday. Which had mostly devolved into him bitching about petty workplace drama and her eating up every second of it. That was fun. And he’d swung by Beanie’s this morning for a coffee and some light flirting with Emma. So, Paul’s morning is going well…

…right up until he steps into the break room, only to be met with Charlotte exclaiming, “The Starlight Theater?!”

Paul quickly attempts to backpedal out the door without being seen.

“I know, it’s—” and of course, Bill just has to spot Paul and gesture him forward. “Paul! You’re not gonna believe this.”

“Actually, I was about to head to Beanie’s,” Paul says, ignoring the fact that he just arrived at work late and is already holding a Beanie’s cup. Very much aware of this, Sylvia grabs his arm and yanks him forward. Paul stifles a sigh.

“How is that even supposed to work?” Ted is asking Bill. “They’re just gonna give a kid free reign over the theater?”

“Alice is a smart girl, she can take care of all that,” Sylvia says, and now Paul’s interested. Because he doesn’t like theatre, but he does like Alice. She’d always been a good kid back when he’d babysat her, and she means the world to Bill. 

“What’s Alice doing at the Starlight?” Paul asks.

Bill’s eyes light up. “She’s directing a musical she wrote!”

“Oh… wow.”

“Dude, you don’t get it,” Ted says. “This is the Starlight’s last-ditch effort to bring in enough money to stay open. Alice’s show will literally make or break Hatchetfield’s theatre scene!”

“Wait, wait, the Starlight is closing?” 

“They’ve been losing money for months, apparently,” Charlotte says. “Right, Melissa?”

Melissa locks eyes with Paul, before quickly looking away. Her cheeks flush. Oh, right, she’s probably embarrassed about the whole rejection thing—she has been awfully quiet toward Paul ever since. Honestly, he’s been enjoying it. Melissa is so aggressively not his type that he struggles to feel an ounce of, well, anything over this crush of hers. A relationship between them has never been on the table for Paul. He does pity Melissa a little, for having false hope. But he can’t help but think her a little stupid for having it in the first place.

“Right,” Melissa says, refocusing her gaze on Charlotte. “My sister’s involved with a lot of their stuff, and she says Mamma Mia! was the last show they could afford to do before shutting down.”

“And I heard Mamma Mia! wasn’t even that good,” Paul says, immediately regretting it when Melissa lets out a scandalized squeak.

Huffing, Ted points a finger at Paul. “That was a good fucking show.”

“Okay, whatever. I didn’t even see it, my niece did. She wasn’t impressed.”

“Your niece needs to get her eyes checked.”

“Enough about my niece. How is the Starlight shutting down but Alice is still putting on a show there?”

“That’s what Bill was explaining before you walked in,” Sylvia says. “Late, I might add.”

“Come on, Mr. Davidson doesn’t care about that as long as I have my reports in on time.”

“You’re a decent guy, Paul, I don’t want you getting in trouble!”

“Thanks?”

“Seriously, explain to me how this shit’s supposed to work,” Ted is saying to Bill. “Alice’s show brings in enough money, the Starlight can stay open for another season, that I get. But how’s a kid supposed to run a full musical?”

Charlotte pats Ted’s arm, and Ted gives her a look Paul can’t quite decipher. “I’m sure Alice will do a great job.”

“She will! And it’s not exactly a full musical,” Bill explains. “Alice told me that, while she gets the theater and lights and whatnot, she’s gonna have to figure out a set, and people to build it, and all those technical things.”

Paul makes a mental note to tell Ruth this. He’s been dragged to—well, voluntarily shown up to support—enough of the school musicals she’d done various design elements for that it seems right he tell her about this opportunity. Even if it means sitting through another musical. He’ll do it for Ruth.

Oblivious to this, Bill continues. “And she’s the director, but this professor whose been helping her with writing music is also gonna be there to supervise. Because he’s involved with the theatre scene and is, you know, an actual adult. He’s a bit eccentric, but he and Alice get along well.” 

“Oh, that’s nice,” Melissa says. “What’s the show about?”

As Bill launches into an enthusiastic but vague description, Paul sips his coffee and does his best to tune him out. He likes the Woodwards, but he does not like theatre. And the thought of people jumping around onstage pretending to be… cowboys? (he’s only half listening) creeps Paul out.

His phone buzzes. Good, now he has a passable reason to not know what the hell everyone else is on about—he thinks he hears Ted say something about Oklahoma, but Paul can’t tell if he’s talking about the musical or the state. Whatever. His phone screen informs him that his latest text is from Emma, and Paul finds himself grinning before even reading it. One date, and he’s already smitten.

That’s a lie. He’s been smitten long before the date.

Emma’s text reads, my coworkers exboyfriend just ordered the most complicated drink known to man to piss her off but zoey refused to make it so i had to spend like ten minutes on the damn thing and the asshole didnt even tip

That sucks, Paul types back. Maybe you could sneak something out of the tip jar for yourself when no one’s looking?

lmao good idea

Paul smiles. And looks up to find Sylvia shooing everyone out of the break room and back to work. Charlotte digs into her pockets for a cigarette, Melissa skirts past Paul, avoiding eye contact, and Bill starts fixing himself a cup of coffee. Ted says something about the Donner Party (now Paul is a little curious about the conversation he missed) and Sylvia swats him with a folder before they both exit. 

Then it’s just Paul and Bill, the latter of which hums as he punches buttons into CCRP’s terrible coffee machine. Something twinges in Paul’s chest. He can’t actually remember the last time he’s seen Bill this happy.

“It’s really cool that Alice is getting to do this,” Paul says. Maybe that’ll make up for tuning out the theatre talk.

Bill lights up. “I’m so proud of her! And I know her show is going to be fantastic. She won’t stop talking about it. Not the actual plot, because she wants that to be a surprise for me, but all of her plans for staging and audience interaction—”

Paul actively has to fight back a wince at audience interaction. Sitting through musicals is bad enough, performers forcing you into their scenes sounds like his actual hell.

“—and Deb is gonna help paint the sets ‘cause she’s artsy, and you know I’m not crazy about Deb, but Alice is so excited to be able to spend the summer in Hatchetfield—”

That’s when Paul gets it.

“You’ve got custody of her for the summer?”

“I do! It took a lot of convincing on both our parts, but her mom finally agreed. We’ll be back to the usual arrangement once school starts, but I’ve got Alice for the whole summer!”

“Bill, that’s awesome,” Paul says. He’s not the most emotionally intelligent guy, but Paul considers himself fairly observant when he puts the effort in. And one thing he’s observed in the last sixteen months that Bill’s been divorced is that he misses his daughter. Badly. 

“She’s visiting this weekend, actually, to get prep done for her show. Then she’ll be in Clivesdale for her last week of school, and then here! For three months!”

“I bet that’s gonna be great. For both of you.”

“It is! I can hardly think straight, I’m so excited.”

That fact is evidenced throughout the rest of the workday when, four separate times, Bill sends his reports to Paul’s printer instead of his own. Paul can’t find it in himself to be more than a little annoyed. There’s a light in Bill’s eyes that even Ted’s snarky remarks can’t dim. 

It’s too busy of a day to make another Beanie’s run, but Paul keeps himself satisfied by texting Emma. He keeps a running count of every time his coworkers do something stupid, and she does the same. It mostly devolves into trash talking customers, including a lawyer who wants a latte without milk but doesn’t understand why he gets served an espresso shot, a fidgety schoolteacher who orders nothing but a cup of hot water, and a teenager wearing an honest-to-God bowtie and suspenders. Paul adores reading her bitchy yet vivid descriptions. And when she sends him a selfie of herself standing over a massive milk spill with a complete deadpan expression, he startles himself by actually laughing aloud.

He also startles Melissa, who drops a stack of papers. Paul debates going over to help her, and decides against it. It’d probably just make things between them even more awkward on Melissa’s part. Besides, Ted and Charlotte are coming in from a smoke break, so they jump in to gather papers for Melissa anyway. 

Paul’s phone buzzes. Expecting another text from Emma, it takes him by surprise to find it’s Ruth messaging him instead.

hey uncle paul would you be able to pick me up from school today? mom’s working late again and the last time i rode the bus someone put gum in my hair :(

Of course, Paul texts back. Mr. Davidson—and Sylvia, who sometimes acts more like his boss than his actual boss—is pretty lenient about ducking out of the office for family matters. And Paul certainly doesn’t mind an excuse to get out of work for half an hour. Most importantly, it’s Ruth. He’s been helping his sister Heather take care of her ever since she was born. She works some government job important enough that even her daughter and brother aren’t allowed to know the details. All Paul knows is that it keeps her busy. Sometimes he wonders if her wife, Miriam, knew what it was before she died, but that line of thinking gets him nowhere. At least he definitively knows she died from childbirth complications, and wasn’t murdered by the government for some crazy reason. Paul wouldn’t consider himself any kind of theorist, but he gets bored at CCRP, and his mind starts to wander into all sorts of ridiculous speculation. 

tysm! Ruth texts back, breaking Paul out of his daze. She’s a good kid. Anxious and theatre-enthused and a bit smelly thanks to an unfortunate antiperspirant allergy, but a good kid. Paul hates to think of her social difficulties, even if bullying is a reality of any high school. So of course he’ll do whatever small thing he can to make life a bit easier for her. 

I know summer break is soon, but until then, let me know if you need any rides home, Paul texts her. And then, not to make her feel like a burden, Anything to get out of this stuffy office!

Ruth sends a laughing emoji. 

is there still a mystery lunch thief?

Nah, I think one of my coworkers was just really hungover.

geez does that happen a lot?

Paul glances over at Charlotte, who’s unscrewing her flask, and Ted’s closed office door, which means he’s either drinking or jerking off.

Unfortunately, yes.

yikes! how come?

I’m not sure it’s appropriate to say.

come onnn uncle paul you already told me so much yesterday you gotta keep me in the loop!! i want the office tea!!

Fair enough. It’s really just two coworkers. One of them is having marriage troubles and the other is just an asshole. 

gotcha gotcha. what kind of marriage troubles?

Okay, now I know it’s not appropriate to tell you that.

aww fine

I’ll see you in a bit, Paul texts, before setting his phone down. Sylvia is marching his way, and he’d like to give off some semblance of professionalism. 

“Hey, my niece needs to be picked up from school again,” Paul says, before she can get a word in. “Is it cool if I take off around three-thirty for that? I’ll be back in half an hour, tops.”

Sylvia immediately softens. “Of course! Just as long as you have those reports on Mr. Davidson’s desk by five. Melissa’s been a bit glum today, don’t make her job any harder than it needs to be, ‘kay?”

“Yeah, of course.” 

“Is this the niece that does tech stuff for Hatchetfield High’s musicals?”

“That’s her.”

“You should see if she’s interested in Alice’s show!”

“I was actually already planning on it,” Paul says, hoping that’s enough to steer them firmly off the topic of theatre.

Thankfully, it is. Sylvia pats his shoulder, says, “Good idea,” and begins marching toward Ted’s office. She’s recently been on a crusade to get him to stop doing… whatever he’s doing in there when the door is closed. It’s mostly consisted of hammering on the door and yelling about how some higher-up wants to talk to him. Paul has no idea whether she’s been successful, and frankly, he couldn’t care less. 

Emma is dealing with the lunch rush and can’t chat, Bill is fiddling with his printer, and Charlotte is heading outside for another smoke break. So Paul resigns himself to an afternoon of actual work, which he reluctantly slogs through. Three-thirty can’t come fast enough.

But it does come, and Paul is thrilled for the break from the office. He pulls up in front of Hatchetfield High, spotting Ruth’s curls bouncing every which way as she waves goodbye to her friends. The short boy with terrible bedhead calls something after her, while the much taller boy just waves. Paul squints, and yup. That’s a bowtie and suspenders. 

As Ruth plods over to the car, Paul quickly texts Emma, I think I just saw the bowtie kid you mentioned earlier.

the plot thickens, Emma texts back. Before Paul can respond, Ruth is flinging open the car door and flopping down into the passenger seat.

“Hey,” Paul says. “How was school?”

Ruth makes a face. “It’s Monday.”

“I feel that.”

“Do I smell like garbage?”

“…No?” Paul says. She smells like B.O., which is par for the course, but he’s not detecting anything worse than usual.

“Oh, good. Kyle threw Richie into a trashcan and a bunch of stuff got on me and we had to spend second period picking gunk out of our hair.”

“That sucks. Did you tell a teacher?”

Ruth gives him an exasperated teenage look. “Telling teachers doesn’t do anything, Uncle Paul.”

“How ‘bout an iced caramel frap from Beanie’s, then?”

“Will your boss be mad if you’re late?”

“Eh, fuck him.”

That gets a laugh out of Ruth. A real laugh, one that shows off her braces for the brief second before she hides her mouth in her hand. Paul doesn’t blame her for being self conscious. Seems like every time he sees her, she’s got more and more wire and rubber bands on her stubbornly crooked teeth.

“Oh hey, Alice Woodward—you remember Alice?”

“Yeah,” Ruth says. Paul had often babysat both girls together back when they were in elementary school. He doubts they’ve kept up that friendship since, but Ruth does mention Alice on occasion. At least, she did, back when Alice was still going to Hatchetfield High and they both participated in the town's theatre scene.

“Well, I heard from her dad that she’s putting on a musical at the Starlight over the summer. And she’s looking for tech people, if you want to get involved.”

“Really? That sounds awesome!”

“You should reach out to her, she’s gonna be here all summer.”

“Cool. Yeah, that sounds fun. Wait, how come she gets to put a whole musical on in the Starlight?”

“I think it has something to do with the budget,” Paul says, because he honestly doesn’t remember half of what Bill told him. There might’ve been something about the Starlight shutting down, but there’s no need to tell Ruth that. She’s had a bad enough day as it is.

“Huh. It’d be super cool to design lights in the Starlight…”

Ruth begins rambling about technical things Paul doesn’t understand, and he drives them to Beanie’s. One would assume their polar opposite opinions on theatre would divide them, but Paul’s found the opposite to be true. He hates theatre, and will show up to every one of Ruth’s shows to support her anyway. Ruth loves theatre, but accepts that Paul hates it and will never try to change his mind. It’s a strange, mutual respect they share.

Beanie’s is fairly empty when they make their way inside. To Paul’s delight, Emma is behind the counter, reading what appears to be a botany textbook.

“Funny seeing you here,” Paul says, before internally cringing.

Thankfully, Emma just looks up with a slight grin. “Hey, Paul. It’s a good thing you take your coffee black, because we’ve got, like, half a cup of milk left after this morning.”

“That spill looked massive. What happened?”

“Zoey tripped and ate shit. It was actually pretty funny until we realized her knee got banged up pretty bad, and then I couldn’t make fun of her for being a drama queen. Nora sent her home early with an ice pack, so she should be fine. I still had to clean up the milk, which sucks.”

“Seems like everyone is having a bad Monday,” Paul says, pointedly nudging Ruth. “You wouldn’t happen to have enough milk for an iced caramel frap, would you?”

It’s usual to see Emma’s eyes narrow when told to make a more complicated drink, but this time, they soften. “I’m sure I can scrounge something up. You his little sister, or his kid?”

“I’m his niece,” Ruth says. 

“Ruth,” Paul adds.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Emma.”

“You’re, like, really pretty.”

Paul silently begs her not to get a crush on his hopefully-future-girlfriend.

“It’s the eye bags,” Emma jokes. “So, a caramel iced frap for Ruth, and a plain black coffee for you?”

“Perfect,” Paul says. He pays, and when Emma turns to start fixing the drinks, slips a five into the tip jar. 

“Is she your girlfriend?” Ruth whispers as soon as the blender begins to whir.

“Not exactly. But, uh, we did go on a date a few days ago, so that’s the hope.”

“I like her. She has good vibes.”

“Oh, yeah, she’s awesome.”

Far too soon, Emma hands them their drinks, and Paul finds himself having no further excuse to delay his return to the office. To his delight, she spots the five in the tip jar and pockets it. The wink she shoots Paul as he retreats outside is enough to keep him going for the rest of the day. 

He drops Ruth off at home. She’s in much better spirits thanks to the theatre news and coffee, so Paul considers that venture a success. And entirely worth the disapproving look Sylvia gives him when he wanders into the populated break room fifteen minutes late.

“Sorry, Sylvia, I’ll get those reports to Mr. Davidson before the end of the day. I will. It’s just, my niece gets bullied at school a lot, and I wanted to get her a treat to cheer her up.”

That instantly melts Sylvia’s heart. And Charlotte’s, who mutters, “Poor kid.” Bill and Melissa frown, and to Paul’s surprise, even Ted chimes in.

“Fucking Hatchetfield High bullies. I’d kick all their asses if I could get away with it.”

“Ohhhkay,” Paul says, as Ted trudges out of the break room.

“I think he’s drunk,” Melissa says.

Charlotte lets out a strained laugh. “Aren’t we all?”

“Uh, no,” Sylvia says. “What’s his deal?”

“Maybe he was bullied in high school too,” Paul suggests.

Bill shrugs. “Weren’t we all?”

Paul and the three women exchange looks that clearly read, No, we weren’t.

“If he was bullied, he probably deserved it for being a creep,” Sylvia says.

“Aw, c’mon,” Melissa frowns. “Ted can be a jerk, but he’s not that bad.”

“Seriously, Melissa, are you sleeping with him?”

Charlotte chokes on her coffee.

“Because I don’t care how good he is in bed, the personality is not worth it.”

“I told you, Ted and I are just friends,” Melissa insists, while Paul slaps the spluttering Charlotte’s back. 

“Thanks,” she gasps.

“He’s a sleazeball, but he has a nice side,” Melissa tells Sylvia.

She shakes her head. “I’m still convinced he’s trying to get in your pants.”

Charlotte, having gone to take another sip of coffee, begins coughing again.

“I don’t think this is a workplace appropriate conversation,” Bill says, thumping Charlotte on the back at the exact same time as Paul. She nearly falls over.

“Shit, sorry Charlotte,” Paul says. “You okay?”

“Yep! Good. I’m good. Coffee keeps going down the wrong pipe, that’s all.”

“I’m just trying to look out for you,” Sylvia says, patting Melissa’s shoulder before bustling back upstairs. 

Bill goes to follow her. “He makes you uncomfortable, you let me know, Melissa. I’ll have a word with him.”

“Thanks,” Melissa chirps. And then Paul is left with just her in the break room. Well, her and Charlotte, who’s wiping drops of coffee up from the table.

“That’s, uh,” Paul gestures at the door, “that’s nice of them.”

Melissa nods. “Yeah. They’re kinda like my work mom and dad sometimes! It’s sweet.”

“Cool.”

They stand there awkwardly.

“Um, make sure Mr. Davidson has those reports!” Melissa says, scurrying out of the room. 

Paul gives a thumbs up, and then realizes she can’t see him. Eh, fuck it.

“You want some water?” he asks Charlotte, who’s still gasping a bit. She nods, so he fills a cup from the cooler and hands it to her.

She gulps it down. “Thanks.”

“No problem. Sure is one of those Mondays, right?”

“Sure is.”

Thankfully, the work day ends quietly. Paul finishes his reports, drops them off with Mr. Davidson, and surfs the web aimlessly until five o’clock. Bill bids him farewell far too cheerfully for a Monday afternoon, until Paul remembers the whole deal with Alice’s musical. 

That should be good for the Woodwards, he figures, settling back into his car. And Ruth, if she ends up working on it. Which she probably will.

…Ugh, I’m gonna have to go see this thing, aren’t I?

Oh well. That’s a problem for future Paul.

Chapter Text

Tuesday, May 21st, 2019 - seventy three days until opening night

Melissa has three goals in her mind as she drives her red Volkswagen Beetle to work. One, make sure she does her job, and does it well. She genuinely likes all of her coworkers, but she has to admit, they can be slackers. Often it’s Sylvia attempting to whip them into shape, with varying degrees of success. Melissa worries that her efforts are making her rather cranky. And causing the rest of CCRP’s technical department to form a grudge. So she’s going to do her job, so Sylvia will stress less. And part of her job involves prodding various coworkers for Mr. Davidson’s reports, which means less prodding will have to be done on Sylvia’s part. That works out well for both of them.

Objective Number Two, try not to be horribly awkward around Paul. Melissa likes him. Really likes him, even if his opinions on musical theatre are wrong and need to be changed. And she’d barely been able to function around him yesterday. Blushing and dropping papers and avoiding eye contact—ugh, she’s a mess. He likes Emma, if the interaction she’d witnessed in Beanie’s last week was any indicator. That, and the observations that Melissa had begged Nora for.

“Sorry,” her oldest friend had said, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder. “He’s been coming in here for weeks to flirt with Emma. Pretty sure she likes him back too. It’s probably best you move on. There are tons of other guys out there that would kill to be with you.”

And would get killed in the process, Melissa had thought darkly, because dating anyone other than Paul is wholly unappealing to her. And after Boy Jerry and Stanley, she’s hesitant to flirt with any man she knows for sure isn’t a threat. But she thanked Nora for the advice, and asked about her love life. Which remains nonexistent. Hatchetfield is already a small town, and the lesbian dating pool is much smaller. As upset as she is about the whole Paul rejection, Melissa has to acknowledge she’s lucky in that regard, at least.

Her final goal of the day is to keep Charlotte and Ted from drinking at work. She’d insisted on driving them home yesterday. They weren’t much worse than tipsy, but Melissa was still worried about either of them getting behind the wheel, so she’d cajoled them into her car with promises of driving them to work the next morning. Ted had been sulky, Charlotte spacey, and Melissa left wondering what happened yesterday. Thankfully, she has time to question Ted alone, as she’s picking him up first.

She pulls up in front of his apartment and texts him, I’m here!

A minute later, he’s flopping down in the passenger seat. “Why are teenagers the worst?”

“Problems with Pete?” Melissa asks, pulling out into the road.

“Not with Pete. He’s a good little geek as always. But some assholes were messing with him and his friends yesterday, so this morning I was like, ‘Hey, maybe you could try not wearing the bowtie and suspenders to school? Might make you less of a target’.”

“Makes sense.”

“And this little shit is all, ‘You told me to pick a look and stick with it,’ throwing my words back in my face like I was talking about his getup and not the ol’ bush brush.”

“The what?”

“Bush brush,” Ted says, pointing to his upper lip.

Melissa actually has to pull the car over at that. “Ted.”

“What?”

“Never refer to your mustache as a ‘bush brush’ again.”

“It’s sexy!”

“It’s horrifying. Bush brush.”

“That’s what it is, it brushes the bush!”

“If you say ‘bush’ or ‘brush’ in the same sentence again, I’ll… I’ll…”

“Bush brush,” Ted says, looking her dead in the eye.

Melissa presses down on the horn. HONK!

The next minute devolves into Ted reciting, “Bush brush, bush brush, bush brush,” while Melissa lays on the horn every time he opens his mouth.

“Stop fucking honking!” a woman in a nearby car yells.

Blushing, Melissa obliges, pulling her car back out into traffic.

“It’s not the look itself that’s the problem,” Ted says, as if the honking exchange hadn’t just happened. “Like, it’s dorky as hell, but Pete’s a Spankoffski. He can pull it off. 

Melissa nods. “Sure. It makes him look spiffy.”

“Yeah, but I just know that’s putting a target on his back, and I fuckin’ hate that he can’t see it. He’s a smart kid. But he’s clinging onto the whole thing no matter what I say.”

“Maybe it’s comforting because it’s a routine? I wore nothing but cat-patterned dresses all three years of middle school, even when I got teased for it.”

“I’d think not getting shoved into lockers would be more comforting than a bowtie.”

“Hey, it’s high school. He’s gonna have to get through it like we all did. But, uh… if any of those bullies really hurt him, you tell me, okay?”

“Oh, if that happens, you’d know,” Ted says. “‘Cause you’d probably gonna have to keep me from going after the little prick.”

Nodding, Melissa begins to pull over again.

“What, can I not call teenagers pricks? That’s not fair, some of them are total pricks.”

“It’s not that.”

“Then what?”

“We’re getting close to Charlotte’s place, so I just wanted to ask…” Melissa parks the car, and turns to face Ted. “What happened with you two yesterday? I’ve never seen you drunk at work. Hungover, sure but not actively getting drunk. Are you mad at her?”

Groaning, Ted rubs his face. “‘M not mad at her. Actually, maybe a little, but it’s mostly her piece of shit husband. We were taking a smoke break and Charlotte kept going on about how he ditched their ‘cuddle night’ last week and she was all hopeful that next month it would be different. And I was like ‘He’s an idiot if he’s waiting a whole month to fuck a woman like you,’ God, the noises she makes when—”

“I don’t need the details!”

“Prude.”

“Slut.”

That actually gets a laugh out of Ted. “I like that one.”

“A bit more succinct than ‘horny bastard’.”

“Ah, but that’s a classic.”

“So what happened with Charlotte?” Melissa asks, regretting it when Ted’s smile drops.

“She got all sad and started defending Sam, I offered to come over, she said no and it wasn’t right for her to be doing this as if we haven’t been screwing around for a year. She was all guilty and sad about Sam, I was pissed at the guy, then we both got drunk. Pretty shitty Monday.”

“I’ll say. Don’t get me wrong, that all sucks, but can you please try to stay sober today? Sylvia’s gonna have an aneurysm if your reports are any later.”

“Alright, alright. ’S not like I make a habit of getting trashed at work anyway. That’s Charlotte’s thing.”

“Okay,” Melissa says, shifting the car back into drive. “Wait, where’d you get the alcohol anyway?”

“Keep some in my office.”

That’s unfortunate. If it were anywhere else, Melissa would throw it away, but she refuses to step foot in Ted’s office. As does the rest of CCRP. Sometimes she wonders if he actually jerks off in there or if he just uses his reputation as a ploy to guarantee privacy, but Melissa’s pretty sure it’s the former. Ted’s not half as smart as he is horny.

But his eyes light up with something softer than pure lust when they pull up to the Sweetly home and find Charlotte waiting outside. She’s wearing another excellent cat sweater, which Melissa immediately compliments as she piles into the backseat.

“Thanks,” Charlotte says. “Good morning, Ted!”

“G’morning, gorgeous.”

In the rearview mirror, Melissa glimpses the wide-eyed look of Don’t flirt with me in front of Melissa! that Charlotte shoots Ted. He just winks back at her. 

Once Charlotte turns to fiddle with her seatbelt, Melissa drops her smile and shoots Ted her own look of Charlotte doesn’t know that I know, so don’t act like that! You’ll freak her out.

Ted huffs. After another glare from Melissa, he gives her a grudging nod.

With that settled, and Charlotte buckled in, Melissa pulls back out into the street. That’s certainly a recent development she’s still getting used to. Knowing about Ted and Charlotte. A new light shines on their office interactions now—certainly not making Ted look any less horny, but a bit less creepy. Melissa’s not entirely sure what to do with this information. Nothing but observe, she supposes. There’s not much she can do about the situation, besides rein Ted in when he needs it, and laugh when she can. Sylvia’s suggestion yesterday that Melissa was sleeping with Ted in front of Charlotte was certainly hilarious in addition to infuriating. Melissa knows her and Ted’s new friendship might seem odd to their coworkers, but really? Sleeping with him? She has standards!

And those standards are blue eyes, nice hair, a brown or black suit (depending on the CCRP employee you ask), a polite demeanor, good with kids, terrible opinions on musical theatre, a thoroughly unfortunate crush on a crabby barista—

“This is so nostalgic,” Charlotte says, effectively breaking Melissa out of her pining. 

“What is?” Ted asks.

“Carpooling! Reminds me of going to dance classes as a kid. The moms worked out this schedule where all us girls would ride to class together with one of them. It was so fun. We were, what, eight or nine? It was me, Jane Perkins, Becky Barnes… I feel like I’m forgetting someone. But we’d jam out to the radio and have a blast. Must’ve been hell for our moms. Ah, we loved it, though.”

“That sounds so cute,” Melissa says. “Maybe we should carpool more often.”

Ted shrugs. “What do you even do, carpooling as an adult? Talk about what you ate for breakfast?”

“Eggs and toast!”

“I haven’t eaten yet,” Charlotte admits.

“Same,” Ted says. “Pete’s going through another growth spurt and ate all the fucking cereal before school, so I didn’t get breakfast… actually, Melissa, can we stop at Beanie’s? Grab something to eat?”

“Of course!” Melissa chirps. She dislikes being late, but she dislikes the thought of Ted and Charlotte drinking on empty stomachs more. But most of all, she dislikes the thought of them drinking, which is why she’s going to make sure that doesn’t happen today.

After pulling into the Beanie’s parking lot, Melissa glances over her companions. Ted’s describing one of Pete’s chemistry experiments that he left sitting on the kitchen counter—a mistake he’ll surely never repeat, seeing as he’d had to swat it out of Ted’s hands before he drank it. 

“I just thought it was a really weird soda,” Ted explains, and Charlotte giggles.

So does Melissa. “I don’t think you should drink unknown liquids, Ted.”

“It was on my kitchen counter! I figured it was safe.”

“Didn’t you say it was sitting next to a chemistry set?”

“That’s not—I was thirsty!”

“Aren’t you always?” Charlotte says with a slyness Melissa’s never seen from her. She does sort of ruin the image by immediately clapping her hand to her mouth, presumably scandalized by her own comment.

Ted laughs so hard he snorts. Even Melissa can’t suppress her chuckles at that.

“Seems like an accurate assessment,” she tells Charlotte. “But if I remember correctly, we’re here because you’re both hungry, so why don’t you two go pick something up? I’ll stay here.”

“You sure you don’t want to come in?” Charlotte asks.

Melissa feels her cheeks heating up. “I do not want to see Paul hitting on Emma Perkins.”

“Paul’s an idiot,” Ted says. “You’re way hotter than that crabby barista.”

“…Okay?”

“We can grab a coffee for you,” Charlotte offers.

Melissa smiles at her. “That’d be great, thanks.”

As they head into Beanie’s, Melissa sighs, and pulls out her phone. She has an Instagram folder of cute cat pictures saved specifically for times like these. 

A minute into scrolling, and a notification pops up from Nora.

i can see you just sitting in your car outside beanies what are you doing

Drove my coworkers here for food, Melissa texts back. I do NOT wanna go inside and see Emma. Because of the whole Paul thing. I know it’ll either make me really sad or really angry. Probably both tbh >:’(

fuck paul!! emma’s a loser you’re so much better if he can’t see that that’s his loss!!

Aww I appreciate the support <3 but maybe you shouldn’t call your employees losers?

if i weren’t in desperate need of extra hands around here (and not feeling bad about the whole jane thing) i would not have hired emma, Nora responds. she’s totally bitchy to customers i swear she drives them away on purpose at least your sister balances things out

What do you mean?  

pretty sure i get half of my revenue from ppl coming in just to hit on the latte hatte

Melissa considers throwing her phone out the window. 

DO NOT CALL MY FUCKING SISTER HOT!!!

yikes chill i don’t call her that other people do 

You JUST called her the Latte Hatte, Melissa argues.

just to prove a point! cmon melissa i’ve known her since she was a kid i definitely don’t think she’s hot

Good.

but other people do and as a businesswoman i have to keep tabs on what my customers like

You’d better also be keeping tabs on Zoey.

ofc i do and that’s actually the best part of having emma here, Nora replies. she does a great job of warding off creeps like i know she hates zoey and probably doesn’t like me either but if some asshole is getting too friendly with any of us then she’ll yell at him until he leaves

Melissa sighs. Well, my opinion of her has slightly improved knowing that she’s looking out for you two. Still don’t want to see her flirting with Paul.

me neither that man is horribly awkward idk why you like him

He’s nice and cute!!

he’s weirddddd you have such weird taste in men

Wasn’t Karen Chasity your lesbian awakening?

i was twelve!! she was my babysitter leave me aloneeeeee

Snickering, Melissa slips her phone into her pocket as Ted and Charlotte slide back into her car, munching on pasties. Ted hands her a coffee.

“Thanks!” Melissa says. Her first sip confirms it’s an iced vanilla latte. Ted remembered her order—remembered it, didn’t ask Nora, because she was texting Melissa nonstop. Something about that cheers her up more than any disparaging comments about Emma and Paul.

“So, do you think you’ll audition?” Ted is saying to Charlotte as everyone buckles in. At Melissa’s raised eyebrow, he adds, “For Alice Woodward’s musical. Charlotte was telling me about her dance classes as a kid.”

“Ooo, that sounds fun!”

Charlotte shakes her head, curls flying every which way. “Oh, no no no. I haven’t danced in years. And the thought of having to sing in front of other people…”

“I’m sure your voice isn’t half as bad as you think it is,” Melissa says.

“That still doesn’t—oh dear.”

“You okay?”

“I just realized my skirt is covered with cat hair, I completely forgot to deal with that before I left. And I just walked into Beanie’s like that…”

“Meh,” Ted waves his hand flippantly, nearly flinging his pastry across the car. “You can’t really see it.”

Melissa glances at Charlotte’s skirt in the rearview mirror, and then exchanges a look of pure exasperation toward men with Charlotte. Because the cat hair on her skirt is definitely noticeable.

“I’ve got a lint roller in the glove compartment,” Melissa says, and Ted thankfully takes that as his cue to root around in there. After Pumpernickel died, Melissa hadn’t adopted a new cat, but she still keeps a lint roller on hand for after her animal shelter volunteer shifts. Charlotte accepts it gratefully and gets to work on her skirt. Melissa asks about her cats, Charlotte eagerly responds, and Ted oscillates between teasing Melissa for all the cat talk and watching Charlotte with soft eyes. That conversation carries them into the office, where they’re immediately met with a strange noise. 

Thunk thunk thunk!

“The fuck is that?” Ted says, and they round the corner to find Bill and Paul watching Bill’s printer. Which Sylvia is beating to death with one of her heels. 

“Goodness,” Charlotte says. “Is everything alright?”

“Sylvia’s trying to fix Bill’s printer,” Paul says. Much to Melissa’s delight, she doesn’t spy a Beanie’s cup in his hand, or on his desk.

Ted snorts. “Yeah, because that’s gonna work.”

“Stupid fucking thing,” Sylvia mutters, whacking the printer even harder. “Idiot—awful—jerk—pushing around my son—throw you in the trash—”

“I’m not sure the printer is the issue,” Melissa whispers to Bill. His eyes widen, like he really hadn’t considered this was anything other than a genuine attempt from Sylvia to fix his printer.

“Okay, okay,” Paul says, “you seem angry, Sylvia—how about an iced caramel frap? Nothing better. I’ll run down to Beanie’s and grab you one.”

Melissa’s heart sinks as he scurries out of the room.

“Oh, Sylvia, you’re gonna break your shoe if you keep doing that,” Charlotte says. “And that’s such a nice pair—”

“Keep hitting it,” Ted says.

Melissa swats his arm. “Don’t encourage her!”

“Are you kidding me? This is fucking hilarious.”

“Hey, Sylvie,” Bill says, putting a gentle hand on her arm, “you maybe wanna put the shoe down and take a breath?”

Amazingly, she stops, looking over at her coworkers like she’s just realized they’re there.

“Everything okay?” Charlotte asks.

Sylvia slowly slides her heel back on. “Printer isn’t working.”

“Yeah, we know,” Bill says. His hand is still on her arm. “Are you okay? That was, uh… a lot.”

“Oh, you know. Bad morning. Some jerk wouldn’t stop honking on my drive here—”

Melissa and Ted shoot each other guilty looks.

“—which made this whole phone call with my ex-husband even worse than usual. And my son came home reeking last night because he got stuffed in a trash can again thanks to some bully. I swear, it’s just one thing after another—” 

“Not the fucking Hatchetfield High bullies,” Ted grumbles.

“What is wrong with that school? Richie’s a little weird, but he’s a good kid, he doesn’t deserve—”

“Wait, Richie’s your son? Short, messy hair, won’t shut up about anime?”

Sylvia stops rubbing her temples to look up at Ted suspiciously. “How do you know Richie?”

“He and Pete are, like, best friends.”

“Pete? Richie’s friend with the suspenders and—”

“—bowtie? Yeah, that’s him.”

“He’s your son?!”

“You have a son?” Bill asks Ted, who rolls his eyes so hard Melissa is genuinely surprised they don’t fall out of his head.

“Jesus Christ, no, he’s my brother.”

“That makes more sense,” Sylvia says. “I was wondering how on earth you’d managed to raise a kid as polite as Pete, but it’s far more likely that your parents would learn from their mistakes the second time around.”

Melissa winces. Sylvia’s got a sharp tongue, and Ted usually deserves as much respect as he shows in the office (which is little to none), but Melissa can feel the anger radiating off of Ted before he even speaks.

“Don’t talk about my fucking parents,” Ted snaps.

Locking eyes with Bill, Melissa jerks her head toward Ted’s balling fists. 

Bill’s gaze flicks over toward Sylvia’s shoes. 

Melissa raises her eyebrows. 

Bill nods back.

“Hey, Ted, join me for a smoke break?” Melissa says, already beginning to drag Ted outside before she finishes the question. He reluctantly lets her do so, while Bill steers Sylvia into the break room. Charlotte just stands in the middle of the office.

As soon as he and Melissa step outside, Ted pulls out a cigarette and a lighter.

“Fuckin’ Sylvia,” he mutters. “She doesn’t know shit—”

“Of course she doesn’t, Ted, it’s not personal. She’s just upset about her family stuff.”

“No need for her to bitch about my family stuff—”

“You take out your anger on almost everybody in this office, and that includes Sylvia.”

Ted points his cigarette at her. “Stop fuckin’—therapizing me or whatever.”

“I’m just showing you the full picture,” Melissa says. “This is how I resolved fights with Zach and Zoey back when they were younger. Well, not so much resolved as tabled, but it can be helpful.”

“Fine, shove it in my face about how you’re suuuch a great big sister.”

“If you keep being a dick about this I’ll bite your fingers off.”

Such an absurd threat coming from sweet little Melissa (not that she necessarily thinks of herself that way, but Melissa knows how she’s perceived) is unexpected enough that Ted actually laughs, nearly dropping his cigarette. “How the fuck are you gonna bite my fingers off?”

“Isn’t it as easy as biting a carrot?”

“Not when you can’t reach them,” Ted says, holding his hands above his head. 

“Making fun of a girl’s height, how rude.”

“When have I ever been anything but rude?”

“Fair enough,” Melissa says. “But the whole Sylvia thing—let it go, okay? She doesn’t know anything about your family, so nothing she says really means anything. Right?”

Ted scowls. “Whatever.”

“She’s had a rough enough few days—”

“And I haven’t? She’s the one starting shit—” 

“I’m not saying what she said was okay, but she wasn’t trying to start anything.”

“Sure as hell seemed like it.”

“She was lashing out, something you do too.”

“I don’t criticize her parenting. Or Bill’s.”

“Actually, there was that one time—”

“My parents suck ass,” Ted says abruptly. “Pete’s a good kid ‘cause he’s a good kid. Not because of anything they did.”

“I believe you.”

Melissa waits for him to make another point about Ted himself raising Pete to be a good kid. She’s still not entirely sure what their family situation is, though it’s clear that Pete’s been living with Ted for the last year, at least. But Ted doesn’t say anything else—doesn’t credit himself—so Melissa doesn’t ask him to. They just stand there quietly in the warm spring air.

Until the door behind them swings open, and Paul emerges.

“No, like, completely whacking it with her shoe,” he’s saying to his phone. Upon spotting Melissa and Ted, he pauses. “Oh, hold on Emma—”

That’s all Melissa needs to hear. 

“It’s fine,” she says quickly, grabbing Ted’s arm and beginning to drag him back inside. “We were leaving anyway.”

“We—ow, okay, yeah, we’re leaving,” Ted grumbles, tossing down his cigarette butt before following Melissa into the office.

She shuts the door a bit harder than necessary. “Sorry, I cannot focus on work if I have to hear him talking to Emma in the office.”

“’S fine. Not like any of us have gotten shit done today.”

“And here I was hoping for a productive day.”

“Never,” Ted says, rubbing his arm. “Your nails are like claws, y’know that?”

“I actually used to want retractable claws as a kid.”

“Creepy.”

“Not creepy, like a cat!”

“Still weird to think about.”

Melissa sighs, taking off her glasses to polish them.

“Look, if I insulted your childhood fantasy of becoming a cat or whatever—”

“No, it’s not that,” Melissa says. “I just… want to be over the whole Paul thing. And I’m really not over it.” 

“Come on, you’re hot as fuck. Head to The Birdhouse tonight and I bet you’d get some guy taking you home in under an hour, tops.”

“Wh—it’s not about sex, Ted!”

Ted just shrugs. “Couldn’t hurt.”

“I don’t want a one night stand. I want a relationship. And I thought Paul…”

“What if I spoke to him? Man to man. Tell him you’re clearly the better option—”

“That sounds humiliating, do not even think about it!”

“Jeez, okay.”

They stand there, listening to the sounds of office chatter and bustle spilling into the hallway.

“What’s the longest relationship you’ve ever had?” Ted asks.

Melissa shrugs. “I don’t know. A few months, maybe?”

“Seriously?”

“I don’t date a lot.” 

She’s tried. There have been plenty of first date coffees, and lunches, and some dinner-and-a-movies, but nothing had really… lasted. Melissa figures she’s decently pretty, but not striking in the way everyone seems to think Zoey is. Which is fine by her. The less attention, the better, but even when guys seem well meaning, the attention still feels… unwanted. Once they make their intention to get in her pants (as Sylvia would say) clear, Melissa ends things. 

And then there are the guys who are kind, and let her set the pace, and that’s always been much nicer. Those relationships last longer. Sometimes, they even make it into the bedroom, as long as Melissa is in control. But they never last. Either they grow bored with one another, or Melissa scares them off. Not intentionally, and it’s not so much scaring off as it is off-putting when she goes on an angry tirade about whatever’s triggered her aggressive side. Nobody expects that from sweet little Melissa. Especially not whatever guy she’s dating, and then not dating, as the relationship always tends to end a little bit after they witness that part of her.

She thought things might be different with Paul. Heck, even now, she thinks things might be different with Paul. If grumpy Emma is his type. Melissa wonders if he would’ve still rejected her had she been more of a bitch around the office. Not that she would want to be, seeing as Sylvia and Bill and Charlotte don’t deserve that. 

Unlike Ted, who Melissa’s perfectly fine being a bit of a bitch to. 

“Maybe you just need to get out there more,” Ted says, and Melissa has to bite back a sigh. He doesn’t get it. It’s not sex she’s after, and the thought of combing through all the potential men wanting it from her is exhausting. There’s a reason she keeps piano wire in her pocket at all times: Hatchetfield is rife with monsters in men’s clothing. Handling Boy Jerry and Stanley was—well, not easy, but doable. Still, Melissa knows that would be a different story if she had been the target of their abuse, not Girl Jeri and Becky. The thought of someone like Stanley chasing her, someone like Boy Jerry cornering her…

“I have a feeling that wouldn’t do me much good,” Melissa responds. “And, no offense, but I’m not sure you’re the best person to be taking dating advice from. If I was looking for one night stands, maybe, but…”

“Nah, that’s fair. You’re still a fuckin’ catch, though.”

“It’s very weird when you compliment me without hitting on me.”

“I could if you wanted.”

“Please don’t.”

“Noted.”

“Hey, Melissa!”

Melissa turns to see Mr. Davidson ambling her way, mug of coffee in his hands. “Mr. Davidson, good morning! I was just telling Ted he needs to get those reports turned in.”

“Fuck you,” Ted mutters.

“Great,” Mr. Davidson says, taking an uncomfortably long sip of his coffee. “Melissa, can you start plugging last week’s numbers into this week’s spreadsheet?”

“I’m on it,” Melissa promises.

“Thaaanks.”

As he wanders away, Ted turns to Melissa. “Oh, been meaning to ask—you excited for that Cats movie?”

“Absolutely not,” Melissa says. “From what I’ve seen, the actors act like cats instead of artistically interpreting the behavior of cats. I get the sense that they were chosen for their celebrity status, not any actual skill. Not only is the CGI horrific, it’s an insult to costume designers everywhere. And there’s an utter lack of whimsy! That’s what Cats is all about!”

“…Why am I not surprised by that answer?”

“Because I’m very passionate about cats and musicals. And both of those things have been slandered in this joke of a movie. It isn’t even out yet, and it’s already a flop!”

“Christ.”

“I am mad about the Cats movie, Ted!”

“Yeah, no, clearly,” Ted says. “Look, I’m free tonight, you wanna order pizza and watch the one from the nineties? The good Cats film.”

Melissa smiles. “That sounds great, actually.”

“Cool. I really didn’t wanna cook tonight.”

“Well, that works out nicely… we should probably, you know, do our jobs now.”

“Ugh.”

After making a note in her planner of her new evening plans, Melissa starts on that spreadsheet. By the time work is over, her goals for the day end up only half complete. She does manage to get her job done, though helping Sylvia avoid office animosity went out the window much earlier today. After their morning interaction outside, Melissa mostly avoids Paul, having already failed on the awkwardness front. But Charlotte and Ted remain entirely sober, so Melissa considers that a modest victory.

That evening, she ends up on Ted’s couch, munching on pizza. And a small salad Melissa brought, because vegetables are important! Ted teases her for it, but eats some anyway. Melissa knew he would—she makes an excellent balsamic dressing.

They’ve just finished the first song when the front door swings open and Pete shuffles inside. He’s followed by a much shorter girl, whose curls stick out every direction imaginable. Melissa pauses the movie.

“We’re having pizza for dinner!” Ted calls in lieu of any sort of greeting.

Pete mumbles something unintelligible before beelining for the kitchen.

“His blood sugar’s low,” the girl explains, waving at Melissa. “Hi. I’m Ruth.”

“I’m Melissa, nice to meet you!”

“Are you Ted’s girlfriend?”

“No,” Melissa says, turning to Ted. “Why does everyone think I’m sleeping with you?”

He wiggles his eyebrows. “Because I’m a catch.”

“Catching STDs, maybe,” Pete says, walking back into the living room with a half-eaten chocolate bar. 

Melissa giggles. “Nice one.”

She holds her hand out, and after a moment, Pete high fives her.

Ruth sighs. “I’d love to catch an STD.”

“You really fucking wouldn’t,” Ted says.

“And you’d know,” Melissa adds quickly. This time, Pete holds his hand for a high five.

“Fuck off,” Ted says, pointing his slice of pizza at Melissa. “You can’t bully me in my own home.”

“I just did.”

“Can you be his girlfriend?” Pete asks Melissa.

“You’re very pretty,” Ruth chimes in. For some reason unknown to Melissa, Pete shoots her an exasperated look.

“Thanks,” Melissa says, “but I will not ever be dating Ted. No offense.”

Ted shrugs. “Eh, not the first person to say that. Won’t be the last.”

“Yeah, well…” Pete trails off, squinting at the TV. “What are you watching?”

“Cats,” Melissa and Ted chorus.

“Awesome,” Ruth says, plopping down on the floor. “That show is so wacky, and I love it.”

“Right?” Melissa says.

Ted snaps his fingers. “Dream role, go.”

“Ooh, Rumpleteazer would be so fun to play,” Ruth says, “but I’d love to sing ‘Memory’.”

“It’d be amazing to dance like Victoria,” Melissa says. 

“Yeah, I figured you’d wanna be her,” Ted says.

“And let me guess, you’d wanna be the Rum Tum Tugger?”

“Duh, but also Macavity.”

“Seriously?”

“Villains are fucking fun to play.”

“I could also see you as Mungojerrie,” Ruth says.

Pete just stares at them. “This conversation is more confusing than Richie trying to explain the plot of Evangelion.”

“You’ll understand it if you watch the musical,” Melissa says.

“Ruth and I were gonna do homework…”

Ruth pats the space next to her. “Watch Cats with us, Pete. This is a threat.”

“There’s pizza,” Ted says.

“…Fine,” Pete sighs. He settles in next to Ruth, and Melissa starts up the movie again.

Hearing Ruth’s excited commentary and Pete’s bewildered exclamations make the evening twice as fun. When the Rum Tum Tugger’s song comes on, Pete actually takes off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“I don’t understand. Just… why? The hip thrusts, the crotch shots… why?”

“Because that guy’s hot as fuck,” Ted says.

“Completely,” Ruth says.

Pete stares at them. “He’s a cat?”

“Don’t kinkshame, Pete,” Ruth says.

“Yeah,” Ted says, “some people are into that.”

“I’m not,” Melissa tells Pete.

He sighs. “You are the only sane person here.”

“In addition to yourself?”

“No, I think this musical is making me actively lose all sanity.”

Ruth pats his shoulder. “That’s exactly what it’s supposed to do to a first-time viewer.”

“You’re losing your Cats virginity,” Ted says.

“Never say that again,” Melissa tells him.

Pete buries his head in his hands. “I hate this movie.”

“Shush, it’s Grizabella’s entrance,” Ruth says, and the conversation dies down. Though he stays with them in the living room, Pete spends the next few songs on his phone, looking back up once Ruth and Ted begin to sing along to “Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer”.

Several songs later, Melissa slips into the kitchen when Gus the Theatre Cat is introduced. His song always makes her sad, thinking about shaky, decrepit older cats. 

She’s refilling her glass of water when she spots Pete following her into the kitchen.

“Do you know when it’s going to start having a plot?” he asks, jerking his head in the direction of the TV.

“Oh, it’s not,” Melissa says. “But there are some really great dance numbers coming up. And you might like the Skimbleshanks song!”

“…Right.”

“I take it you’re not into theatre?”

“No, not really. I just go to the school shows Ruth does lighting stuff for. She and Ted are the theatre people.”

“Trust me, I noticed.”

Pete snorts, and then pauses. “You’re really not dating Ted? Not even secretly?”

“Nope,” Melissa says. “He is so not my type.”

“Huh.”

“What?”

“No, it’s just… I’ve never really seen Ted hang out with friends. Girlfriends, sure, and it’s really awkward when he forgets to warn me that they’re coming over—”

Melissa is pretty sure girlfriends means women Ted are sleeping with.

“—but it’s never been, like. A friend thing. Which is cool, I just wasn’t expecting it. Honestly, I thought you two were watching really weird porn when I walked in, but that might’ve been the low blood sugar talking.”

Not sure what else to do, Melissa laughs, and Pete smiles back at her. 

Yeah, I think Ted’s right. He’s a good kid.

Chapter Text

Wednesday, May 22nd, 2019 - seventy two days until opening night

When Ted walks into the kitchen, Pete is staring at a bowl of cracked eggs like he’s trying to decipher the secrets of the universe. He’s a smart fucking kid, so Ted wouldn’t put it past him to actually be able to do that someday, but not today. And not by staring at eggs.

“Smell these,” Pete says, instead of something normal.

If it was anyone else, Ted would think he’s being tricked into smelling a bowl of rotten eggs. But it’s Pete, who has the ficklest sense of smell known to man. Sometimes he doesn’t even notice when Ted has burnt something in the kitchen, other times he’s asking if Ted smells something that definitely isn’t there. Ted once poked around on the internet to see if that had any connection to his low blood sugar, but he couldn’t find anything. Just one of Pete’s personal quirks, he supposes.

“They smell fine,” Ted says, shoving the bowl of eggs back to Pete. “You making scrambled eggs?”

“Yeah, we’re out of cereal.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“Yours, for not going to the store.”

“So sue me, I forgot.”

“Mmm.” Pete pours the eggs into a heated pan before thrusting a spatula at Ted. “Here.”

Ted bats it away. “Why do I have to make it? I—”

“—hate cooking, I know, but if you don’t let me grab a banana right now I’m going to start eating leftover pizza. Cold.”

“That’s my lunch, asshole.” 

But Ted takes the spatula and starts poking at the eggs while Pete devours a banana.

“I hate growth spurts,” he mutters, tossing the peel into the trash. “When does this stop?”

“No clue. Maybe soon?”

“When did you stop growing?”

After a moment of thinking, Ted’s pretty sure he hit his last growth spurt the summer before his junior year of high school. Because when he’d reunited with Jenny on the first day of school, she’d been indignant to realize he’d finally grown taller than her. They’d matched heights for the first two years of high school, and for the last two she’d often worn heels to still be at eye level with him. She stopped when they reached college, but sometimes she’d walk on her tiptoes. Jenny was weird like that. Ted loved her for it.

He’s brought back to the present when Pete grabs the spatula from him and starts attacking the eggs. “You’re gonna burn them!”

“That’s what you get for making me cook,” Ted retorts, opting to make a half-assed list of what they need from the store.

“We should try meal prepping. Cook everything for the week on one day so you have to do it less.”

“I’m not giving up my weekends to do a bunch of cooking.”

“Maybe I could give it a shot once school’s out.”

“Shit, that’s right, you’re done soon,” Ted says, grabbing some plates from the drying rack. “When’s your last day?”

“May thirty-first.”

“Damn, you get all of June off?”

“Yup.” Pete doles out their eggs and immediately begins scarfing down his, wincing at the heat.

Ted grabs a fork. “Don’t burn yourself, dumbass.”

Pete flips him off.

“So, any big plans for the summer?”

“Hang with Richie and Ruth.”

“That’s it?”

“What am I supposed to do? Not like there are any summer camps to go to.”

Ted shudders. “You wouldn’t want to go anyway. Summer camp’s the fucking worst.”

“Wait, have you gone to summer camp before?” Pete asks. “In Hatchetfield?”

“Yeah, Mom and Dad forced me, it sucked ass. Stupid place didn’t get shut down until after my last year. Shitty timing.”

“What was so ba—”

“No,” Ted says, because he doesn’t think about those horrible summers, and he isn’t about to start now. “Hanging with Richie and Ruth sounds good. You should do that.”

Pete gives him an odd look. “Yeah, I’m gonna.”

“Good.”

“Speaking of Ruth, I think she has a crush on Melissa.”

“Wouldn’t blame her,” Ted says. “She’s fuckin’ hot.”

“…But you’re not dating her. Or…”

“Nah. Used to try, but Sylvia and Bill wouldn’t stop bitching at me about it, and Melissa likes someone else anyway. S’cool. Nice to talk theatre shit with someone my own age.”

“I thought Ruth was your favorite friend of mine.”

“Yeah, and she’s great, but she’s also a kid.”

Pete shrugs. “Fair enough. She might be coming over a lot this week, her mom’s away on some work trip again.”

“Cool,” Ted says. “Oh, hey, did you know Richie’s mom is one of my coworkers?”

“Really? Are you guys friends?”

“Fuck no, she’s a total bitch.”

“You shouldn’t call women bitches.”

“She’s totally bitchy.”

Pete sighs. “She’s always been nice when I’ve seen her.”

“Yeah, she did say you were polite,” Ted says, choosing to gloss over the uglier parts of the conversation. Thinking too much—at all, really—about his parents just pisses him off. “I gotta head out soon, you want me to drop you off at school?”

“Uh, yes please. Bus driver leaves me behind half the time.”

“What an asshole.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying!”

So Ted drops off Pete, and spends the rest of the drive to CCRP wondering how his little brother is already finishing his sophomore year of high school. Two more years and he’ll be graduating. It’s hard for Ted to wrap his brain around. A part of him is always going to see Pete as a wide-eyed thirteen-year-old short enough to be an armrest. Pete hasn’t quite caught up to him in terms of height, but he’s getting close. Ted will be indignant if his little brother grows to be taller than him before he’s even out of high school.

After arriving at work a few minutes late, Ted finds Melissa pushing her mail cart through the office.

Upon spotting him, she beams. “Hey, Ted!”

“Hey, Melissa,” he says, ambling alongside her. How she’s able to be this cheery in the morning, he’ll never understand. Not that Ted considers himself a particularly grouchy person, but he’s easily frustrated. Maybe Melissa is too. If that’s the case, she’s much better at keeping it under wraps than him.

As he follows her on her route, she chatters about animal shelters and college stories, stopping to greet coworkers every few minutes. After a short conversation with Bill about Alice (because Bill talks about nothing else), Melissa turns to Ted and asks, “So, did Pete end up becoming a Cats fan?”

“Fuck no,” Ted says. “He went on Wikipedia to see what the names actually were and gave up once he got to Bustopher Jones. To be fair, it is a batshit show.”

“Not as weird as Starlight Express!”

“What’s that?”

“Oh, Zach—my brother—got really into it when he was, like, seven? He loved trains as a kid. And so a musical where all the characters were trains—”

“You’re fucking with me.”

“I’m not!” Melissa insists. “They’re all trains, and the actors have to rollerskate, and they built a theater with rollerskating tracks specifically for the show in Germany—”

“You’re definitely fucking with me.”

“I swear, I’m not! I’ll prove it’s real.”

As Melissa pulls out her phone, Ted surveys the room. Having his own office is great for jerking off or drinking or sleeping, but that comes with a level of isolation. Literally nothing about Bill’s life is enviable, but sometimes Ted resents the man for getting to work right next to Charlotte and Paul… the latter of which Ted and Melissa are standing mere feet from. He’s sitting at his desk, browsing FaceBook. Too absorbed by her search for this totally fake musical, Melissa doesn’t seem particularly concerned by the proximity. Ted figures she’s gotten over whatever funk she’d been in yesterday. Rejection is a part of life—a very frequent part of life when you’re as rampantly sexual as Ted—so you’ve gotta take it and move on to the next potential hookup, Ted figures.

“Starlight Express, there you go,” Melissa says, shoving her phone at Ted.

He squints at a video of the weirdest musical he’s ever seen. “What the fuck?”

“See, that’s the bowl they had to skate in, and that’s the giant bridge that would get lowered—”

“How did they not die on that set, Christ—”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure the actors averaged, like, three injuries apiece. Sometimes the timing of the set pieces would be off and they would fall into the basement of the theater.”

“What was it even about?”

“Pretty basic ‘underdog beats the bully in a race and gets the girl’ plot,” Melissa says. “But with trains.”

“Huh. You said it’s called the Starlight Express?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe the Starlight Theater’s named after this fucked up train show.”

Melissa opens her mouth, potentially to confirm or deny Ted’s (pretty good, in his opinion) theory. Before she can get a word out, Paul abruptly slaps his hands on his desk and spins around to face Ted.

“I’m gonna go to Beanie’s!” The smile on Paul’s face is bordering on manic. “Ted, you wanna come with?”

“Fuck yeah,” Ted says, because Paul always forgets to invite him on Beanie’s runs even though he’s made it very clear that he’d like to accompany him. 

Melissa mutters something and scurries off with her mail cart. Oh, right. Maybe she’s not totally over the rejection yet. 

Well, she’s lucky that Ted’s such a good wingman. Because as soon as he and Paul step outside, Ted asks, “So, the crabby barista over Melissa? Do you need to get your eyes checked?”

“I…” Paul rubs his forehead. “Ted, I’m not into Melissa.”

“Why not? She’s hot as hell.”

“You sleep with her then, if you haven’t already.”

“I’m haven’t, ‘cause she’s not into me. She’s into you.”

“I know, and she’s nice, but it’s not gonna happen.”

“You and your Latte Hatte,” Ted grumbles. “At least tell me you have a brother we can set Melissa up with.”

Paul’s lip twitches. “I have a sister.”

“Lemme text Melissa, see if she also likes girls—”

“No way.”

“Hey, it’s completely possible Melissa swings both ways, just ‘cause she asked you out doesn’t mean—”

“No, I mean I’m not setting her up with my sister.”

“Why not?”

“She hasn’t dated anyone since her wife died.”

Ted drops his phone back into his pocket. “Shit, that sucks. Sorry.”

“It’s fine, just… I don’t think I of all people should be wingmanning for Melissa. You’re on your own for this one.”

“Can you at least tell Sylvia—”

“I’m not getting involved with whatever beef you have with Sylvia.”

“She’s convinced I’m sleeping with Melissa! Which is total bullshit, because she’s only number three on the list of coworkers I would sleep with.”

Paul shoots him a look of horror as they enter Beanie’s. “Please, Ted, do not tell me who the top two are.”

“I won’t,” Ted says, because the top two are Paul himself and Charlotte, who he’s already sleeping with. Oh, that reminds him—he should pick up a mocha for her while he’s here. 

Fuck, he loves her. Too much for his own good.

Paul orders first, visibly disappointed that it’s not Emma behind the counter, but Nora—the true Latte Hatte according to Ted, only he can’t flirt with her anymore. Melissa, apparently a childhood friend of Nora’s, had informed Ted that she was a lesbian. Ted doesn’t flirt with guys he knows for a fact are straight, mostly because they’re a lot more likely to punch him than women. Lesbians included, though Ted supposes that fair’s fair, so he tends not to flirt with them either. For the sake of feminism or something. Pete would be proud.

After ordering an iced chai for himself and a mocha for Charlotte, Ted is met with a raised eyebrow from Paul.

“What?”

“Who’s the mocha for?”

“Charlotte,” Ted says with a shrug. “Figure this is better than whatever’s in her flask.”

Paul’s furrowed brow softens slightly. “Huh, that’s… I might have to start grabbing her drinks when I go to Beanie’s now.”

“Or you could just invite me, and I’ll be the one paying.”

“That’s actually tempting,” Paul says, grabbing his coffee after Nora calls his name. 

When they return to the office, Ted spies Charlotte sitting at her desk. His lips curl into a smirk when he notices she’s rubbing the back of her scalp—something she does when she’s horny at work and can’t do anything about it. If Sam ends up working all night, Ted’s evening could get interesting. 

Assuming, of course, she doesn’t have one of her guilty fits. That’s the problem with Charlotte—her dedication to Sam and her craving for intimacy are constantly battling one another. And Ted keeps getting caught in the crossfire. 

Well, more like he intentionally walks into the crossfire. The sex is great, and Ted’s never been one to let danger stop him from getting some. But when Charlotte is freaking out about Sam or brushing him off to sleep with another side piece… Ted knows. He knows he wouldn’t be dealing with all the extra complications that come with fucking Charlotte if he didn’t love her. People he’s just looking to screw don’t get invited on proper dates, or have their eating habits monitored, or get bought coffee just because. 

“Special delivery,” Ted drawls, setting the mocha down on Charlotte’s desk. She jumps, blinking at it like it’s appeared out of nowhere, before looking up at Ted with a smile.

“Aww, thanks Ted. You’re like my coffee fairy godmother.”

“Well, I hear Daddy a lot more often, but if you want to call me Mommy—”

He’s promptly smacked in the back of the head by a stack of papers.

“Not workplace appropriate,” Sylvia says, scowling at him.

Ted goes to flip her off, but thinks better of it. “Relax, I’m joking around.”

“Try doing the job you get paid for. Because today, I’ve seen you do nothing but go to Beanie’s and chat train musicals with Melissa.”

“Fine, I’ll get shit done,” Ted says, sauntering toward his office where he has no intention of getting anything done.

“Don’t close the door!” Sylvia calls after him.

Just to piss her off, Ted closes the door.

After lunch, spent in the break room with Melissa and Bill, Ted returns to his office to find Sylvia has propped the door open with an entire sandbag. He’s not sure where she got it. Maybe the basement? There’s a bunch of random junk in the labyrinthine halls that Ted had once thought would be a great place for a workplace tryst up until Melissa had walked in on him and Charlotte two weeks ago. 

As much as Ted hates letting Sylvia think she’s won any sort of battle between them, he leaves the door open. To stay focused, he tells himself. Work actually does need to get done in order to not get fired and continue paying the bills. He’ll be less distracted if he doesn’t have the opportunity to jerk off. 

Ted would also like to be a part of the workplace chatter, if possible. He doesn’t tell himself that.

It doesn’t matter, because the only person who stops by to chat is Charlotte, who has an issue with her printer and asks to use Ted’s instead. Fifteen minutes later, she wants to compare her report’s numbers with his. Then she needs help opening a new box of pens. After that, she notices something wrong with Ted’s collar, so she has to fix it with incredible care, fingers brushing against Ted’s neck.

And he may not be as smart as Pete, but that doesn’t mean Ted is stupid. So when she approaches his office for the fifth time, he speaks before she can.

“You mind proofreading this?” Ted asks, gesturing to his computer.

Charlotte nods, leaning over his shoulder and peering at the screen. “I don’t see—”

“There’s nothing there,” Ted murmurs, “just wanted to tell you to stop revving the engine if you’re not gonna take me for a ride.”

She shivers, rubbing the back of her scalp. “Well, I do love a late drive, and my car won’t be out of the shop until tomorrow morning…”

“Sam’s working overnight?” Ted asks, because he likes this sexy car metaphor they got going on, but he likes confirming he won’t get the shit beat out of him by Charlotte’s husband even more.

“Mmhmm.”

“How ‘bout I stop by tonight? Show you my exhaust pipe?”

“And you can use my cupholders.”

“Fuck yeah,” Ted says, having absolutely no idea what part of her body she’s talking about.

At the clacking of Sylvia’s approaching heels, Charlotte scurries back. “That, uh, that email looks good, Ted! You should send it!”

“Will do,” Ted calls as she scurries back to her cubicle. 

Moments later, when Sylvia passes his office, she gives Ted an evaluative look. He just shrugs at her, and after her eyes flick down to the sandbag, she continues down the hall without comment.

“Fuuuck yes,” Ted mutters to himself, glancing down at his phone when it lights up.

Don’t forget to go to the store, a text from Pete reads. Ruth’s coming over for dinner and we’d like to eat actual food

Ted responds with, Relax Ill get to it im still at work

Okay, just don’t forget

You dont have to remind me, Ted lies, because after that conversation with Charlotte, groceries had been the furthest thing from his mind. 

He sets a reminder on his phone to go grocery shopping after work, because he’ll probably forget again if he doesn’t. Ted would like to prevent any further badgering and/or teasing from Pete. And also feed his brother. 

When he arrives home, Pete and Ruth have already taken over the dining room table with their notebooks, laptops, and backpacks.

“What’re you two up to?” Ted calls, unloading groceries in the kitchen.

“We have to make a presentation on a Pride and Prejudice character for our English final,” Pete explains. “Ruth won the coin flip, so we’re doing ours on Lydia.”

“She’s slutty and misunderstood, what’s not to love?” Ruth says.

“That should be a shirt,” Ted says. “Slutty and misunderstood.”

“I’d wear it.”

“Great, I know what I’m getting you both for Christmas,” Pete deadpans. 

Ted tosses the last item into the fridge. “There’s lasagna you two can heat up for dinner. Or shit for spaghetti if you want to actually cook something.”

“Are you not eating with us?”

“No, I’m eating out,” Ted says with a grin that makes it very clear what exactly he’ll be doing elsewhere.

“Nice,” Ruth says.

Pete just looks like he can’t decide whether it’s cool or gross that his older brother’s getting laid. It’s an expression Ted sees him wear a lot. 

Ruth, on the other hand, is gazing off into space wistfully. Having once been a very horny, very virginal teenager, a pang of sympathy shoots through Ted.

“You hear about this new musical at the Starlight?” he asks her. “Might be fun to do stuff for it. Hang with theatre kids over the summer. That’s the time for flings.”

“I did hear about it!” Ruth says. “I need to reach out to Alice to see if I can do tech. Maybe she’ll bring some friends from Clivesdale to work on it…”

Pete frowns. “Would you really want to date someone from Clivesdale?”

“Fuck Clivesdale,” the three automatically chorus.

“If it’s just over the summer, it wouldn’t be serious,” Ruth says. “Not like either of us can afford to be picky.”

“Fine—but Clivesdale?”

“I’m desperate, Pete!”

“You need any help with pickup lines, just let me know,” Ted tells her. “I got tons.”

Pete wrinkles his nose. “Don’t ask him for help, Ruth, I’ve heard him practicing his pickup lines. They suck.”

“They do not!”

“Half of them involve cars.”

“You can make a lot of innuendos with cars,” Ted says. “Riding, backseats, exhaust pipes, cupholders—”

“What the fuck is the cupholder supposed to be?” 

“I actually have no idea, but that’s what’s getting me laid tonight, so—”

“Forget I asked,” Pete grumbles.

Ruth rubs her chin. “Car-related pickup lines… you might be onto something there, Ted.”

“Thank you,” Ted says, phone buzzing in his pocket. It’s a text from Charlotte—Come over at 7?

Ted responds, Sounds good, with a grin. It’s happening. Her guilt hasn’t won out, she’s not spiraling over Sam, she’s ready to get it on with Ted and he cannot wait.

But he’s in love, and it still doesn’t feel like enough. 

As shocking as it would be for anyone to hear him say this—Ted doesn’t just want sex. He wants to drive to and from work with Charlotte, his hand on her thigh. He wants proper dates where they get coffee or see a show at the Starlight together, he wants to spend the full night with his arms around her instead of slipping out of the Sweetly residence at an ungodly hour to avoid Sam’s arrival home—God, he wants what Sam has: the opportunity to openly adore and love on this woman the way she deserves. This kind of longing hasn’t consumed Ted since…

Since Jenny.

Fuzzy images seep into his head—red curls, streaked with clashing indigo. An acoustic guitar. Notes written in sparkly blue ink smattered across a script. Shooting straw wrappers at one another, warm under diner lights. 

Jenny. The best friend he ever had. The first person he truly loved.

And he fucked that up, because he was a coward. Ted likes to think he’s changed. Lord knows he’s not the same person he was at fourteen, at seventeen, at twenty… but he doesn’t think there’s any improvement he could make to convince Charlotte to leave Sam. 

Still. Ted refuses to become his younger self, refuses to be inert. He’s never gonna be Charlotte’s first priority, but… just one date, a proper date, would be nice. Might soothe the aching in Ted’s chest.

Wanna get dinner before, Ted texts Charlotte, before shoving his phone back in his pocket and running his fingers through his hair. Fuck. At least Pete and Ruth are too absorbed in their project to notice him acting weird. He retreats into his bedroom anyway. 

Charlotte hasn’t texted him back, and because Ted is incapable of shutting up, he adds, We could go to miss retros

He likes Miss Retro’s. Whatever’s playing on the jukebox is always good, and so’s the food. Ted doesn’t eat there often, mostly when he can’t stand the thought of cooking but still has the energy to go out, and then he’ll grab Pete (along with Ruth and/or Richie) and drag him into a booth. It’s nice. Especially when Miss Retro is working. Something about her presence is comforting—not that she particularly does anything special, just the general job of a waitress, but Ted always feels he breathes easier around her. Maybe it’s some weird maternal thing—she looks to be in her mid-fifties, just old enough to be Ted’s mom, but softer. Sweeter. 

That image of Jenny and straw wrappers pricks the back of his brain, and Ted wonders if Miss Retro’s was the same diner he would frequent with Jenny. The one her mom owned before she died. Did Miss Retro take it over from her, or did Jenny’s mom’s diner close down and this is a different place, or…

Panic leaps into Ted’s throat. Fuck. This is what happens every time he realizes his memories of Jenny have blurred. He doesn’t want to forget her. He can’t forget her. It’s been fifteen years since he last saw her, but he owes it to her, to remember her fully. Because she wasn’t just Ted’s everything, she changed everything for him. That was the kind of whirlwind Jenny was. 

Ted will never forgive himself if he forgets that.

His phone buzzes.

I already ate, the text from Charlotte reads, and Ted’s stomach sinks. What she’s not saying is that it’s risky, to go out just the two of them for dinner, and Charlotte doesn’t consider Ted worth that risk. He figured, but…

If you’re hungry, I’ve got something you can eat

Ted can’t help but grin at Charlotte’s second text. Hell yes. He loves it when she lets herself talk dirty, loves even more that he made a similar innuendo earlier and they’re on the same page.

Good thing Im starving, he shoots back. As excited as he is to spend the night between her thighs, Ted actually is hungry, so he heads back out to the kitchen to throw a shitty sandwich together. 

“—completely nonsensical,” Ruth is saying as Ted wanders past the dining room table.

“I’m not disagreeing with you, because I know nothing about it,” Pete replies. “Can we get back to the analysis slide?”

Ruth turns to Ted. “Can you tell Pete the Kate Hamill adaptation of Little Women sucks ass?”

“The Kate Hamill adaptation of Little Women sucks ass,” Ted says, because despite knowing just as much as Pete about whatever Ruth’s going off about, he’s obligated as an older brother to take his younger brother’s friends’ side in order to annoy Pete as much as possible.

“See?” Ruth says, as Ted starts assembling his dinner.

Pete’s head thunks against the table. “I was never disagreeing with you in the first place.”

As they continue slogging through their project, Ted scarfs his sandwich, freshens up, and is soon making for the front door.

“See you later, nerds,” he calls. 

Ruth fist bumps him, and Pete says, “Don’t wake me up at two in the morning.”

“That was one time.”

“I had a test that day!”

“And you got an A instead of an A-plus?”

“He still got an A-plus,” Ruth says cheekily. Pete glares at her, and Ted cackles, before throwing them a two-fingered salute and strutting out the front door. 

There’s much less talk when he gets to Charlotte’s—sometimes they’ll take it slow, but she’s been itching for this all day, and she lets him know it. Just like Ted, pining becomes immensely harder when she’s right there on top of him, frantically kissing down his neck. It’s a great end to the day.

Later, in those hours so early they barely count as morning, Ted cuddles her. He’s clingy, especially with Charlotte—he’s got his arms wrapped around her waist, head buried in the crook of her neck, legs tangled with hers—but she doesn’t complain about it, as long as he slips out before Sam gets back. He knows that time is coming soon. 

So Ted holds her tighter, drinking in those last few minutes.

Chapter Text

Thursday, May 23rd, 2019 - seventy one days until opening night

It’s a routine at this point.

Lock the front door behind Ted. Strip the bed. Start the laundry. Make the bed with clean sheets. Shower.

Charlotte examines herself for hickeys in the mirror. Per her request, Ted hasn’t left any in months, but it’s best to double check. Can’t let Sam find out…

A surge of guilt wells up in Charlotte, and she shoves it down. Just another part of her routine.

Her skin is blemish-free. After donning a nightgown, Charlotte brushes her teeth, careful to scrub out every last taste of Ted. 

Rinse her mouth. Spit out the toothpaste. Crawl into bed.

Even though she’s changed the sheets, Charlotte can still feel the warmth Ted’s body left behind. She pretends it’s Sam lying next to her.

“Please, God, let him come home safe,” she whispers. With the amount of disappearances and strange occurrences in Hatchetfield, there’s always police work for Sam to tackle late into the night. It takes its toll on him, she knows. He used to be fun and passionate, energetic and excitable. Charlotte loved him for that. Loves him, because she still does. Even when it’s been hard.

It’s been hard a lot, the last…

She starts counting back the years, and then stops herself. 

“Please, God, let us get through this rough patch.”

Living with Sam is like living with a ghost. Charlotte rarely sees him, and when she does, he hardly speaks. It’s those late hours. They’re dulling his shine, hollowing him out. She’s pleaded with him not to work so much. It’s not like they need the overtime pay—they’re already a dual income household with no kids. Two cats, Lilybeth and Truffle, that Charlotte adopted years ago. She loves cats. Not as intensely as Melissa, but she loves them. Sam hadn’t been enthused about the fluffy additions, but he hadn’t protested, just insisted the litter box was entirely Charlotte’s responsibility. Of course, two weeks after their adoption, Charlotte had walked into the living room to find Sam lounging on the couch, a cat loafing on each thigh. That memory always reminds her of those videos of dads who initially hated the new family pet and ended up cuddling with them anyways.

She doesn’t see Sam pet the cats much, now. Mostly just lint roll the fur off his uniform.

Two cats. No kids. Probably ever. Sam’s never wanted kids, and Charlotte saw how pregnancy wrecked her older sister’s body. There’s no particular interest in going through that. And even if there were, Charlotte knows she couldn’t give up her drinking and smoking for nine days, let alone nine months. It’s those addict genes her family got saddled with. No, she can barely take care of herself sometimes, she couldn’t possibly put a kid through that. There were moments when she and Sam were younger, happier, that she thought maybe one day… 

“Please, God, let us be happy again.”

And those words taste sour in her mouth, because who is she to be making such requests? A woman who’s cheated on her husband more times to count. But there’s no emotional side to it—Charlotte’s wholly devoted to Sam. He’s the only man she loves, the only man she wants to be with. She just… hasn’t. Been with him.

“Please, God, understand where I’m coming from.”

Every man she sleeps with—it’s because she can’t sleep with Sam. She pretends they’re him, and it’s almost good enough. None of them mind when she moans his name instead of theirs.

That’s another one of her rules. Not a practical one, like her no-hickey policy, but a moral one. She doesn’t say any man’s name during sex but her husband’s. 

Charlotte’s only broken that rule once, on accident. It had been a terrible day, up until she had Ted’s head in between her legs, his tongue doing something marvelous. “Oh, Ted,” had slipped out, barely even a whisper, but Ted redoubled his efforts upon hearing it. She’d been wracked with waves of pleasure before she’d realized what she said.

She didn’t sleep with anyone for a week after that incident, too ashamed by her infraction. And then it was cuddle night, Sam was working overtime, and Charlotte was driving to her therapist’s house, the two of them about to breach some code of ethics but have a satisfying time doing so. 

A woman has her needs. Charlotte just wants to be taken care of, to be fully loved. And if she’s—just temporarily—not getting that at home with her husband, is it really so wrong to seek that elsewhere?

Deep in her heart, she knows the answer.

She’s asleep when Sam gets back, and he’s asleep when she wakes up and starts getting dressed. No doubt he’ll be heading into work late after last night, which, good. He needs his rest. 

Charlotte plants a soft kiss on his forehead before heading downstairs. 

After a minute of standing in the kitchen, staring blankly at nothing, she decides to make omelettes. Charlotte enjoys cooking, she’s just terrible at remembering to eat in the first place. It’s easier when she has someone else to cook for as well. And two cats, yowling to be fed as they wind around her legs.

Two bowls of cat food, one eaten and one carefully covered omelette on the kitchen counter, and three minutes of lint rolling later, Charlotte piles into her car and sets off to CCRP.

At the office, Melissa’s puttering around with her mail cart. A usual occurrence, but this time she’s roped Ted into pushing it while she distributes various papers. It’s odd how quickly he’s attached himself to her hip. After briefly wondering if Sylvia was onto something when speculating about Ted and Melissa hooking up, Charlotte dismisses the notion. Ted pretty much has two modes around his coworkers: irritated, and flirty. Having witnessed plenty of the former, and been on the receiving end of the latter, Ted’s behavior toward Melissa doesn’t fall into either category. It’s just friendly. Not the intense, off-putting friendly Ted is around Paul sometimes. An easy, natural friendly. 

It’s strange to realize Charlotte hasn’t seen Ted like this before.

Then again, she’s never heard him mention any friends. Just his brother. Perhaps he’s lonely. She’s lonely, with an absent husband and emotionally distant sidepieces and an estranged sister and coworkers who pity her but aren’t interested in seeing her outside of work. Maybe she should reach out to some old friend, like Becky Barnes, but she hasn’t spoken to Becky since…

Well. It’s been years.

Charlotte boots up her computer, soon clicking on tables and cells and typing in numbers. She likes the rote, simple, mind-numbing tasks CCRP has to offer. They don’t require her to concentrate particularly hard. Lord knows she needs that, seeing how weak her focus is these days. Probably has to do with the alcohol. Not that Charlotte will quit. 

She’s drawn out of her spaciness when Paul abruptly stands and bustles off. To Beanie’s, no doubt, because where else would he go? It’s sweet how much he likes that barista. And how everyone in the office knows it.

Charlotte tries not to think about whether Sam talks about her at the police station or not. 

“Hm-hm-hm-hm-hm-hm,” Bill hums. Has been humming for a little while now, Charlotte realizes. 

“What’s that tune, Bill? I can’t place it.”

Bill immediately brightens. “It’s one of Alice’s songs for her musical! Well, technically that music professor guy wrote for it. She did the lyrics, though.”

“Oh, that’s nice! What are they?”

“…I don’t actually know. She’s trying not to spoil anything for me, but she hums some of the songs when she’s back home, and they just get stuck in my head so easily. I can’t help it! They’re so catchy—and she’s so talented—and I can’t wait to see her! She’s stopping by this weekend to get some stuff sorted for the show.”

“That’s great,” Charlotte says. “I’m sure Sam will be excited to see it.”

Making a mental note to tell him about Alice’s show cheers Charlotte up immediately. Sam loves musicals. He used to act in them, back when they were much younger, but he never had the time for performance after becoming a rookie cop. Still makes an effort to go to every show at the Starlight. Charlotte’s gone to a few with him, but he usually ends up going with friends from work. The officers of the HFPD are huge fans of theatre, Charlotte’s learned. She doesn’t have anything against it—unlike Paul—but it’s not a big passion for her like Sam. Or Alice, or Ted, or Melissa. 

Melissa, who is reaching over to pluck a fuzzball off of Charlotte’s sweater. “Missed a spot!”

“Thanks,” Charlotte says. 

“How are the cats?”

“Good as ever. Excited for breakfast this morning.”

“Aw, I bet they were!” Melissa squeals, and not for the first time, Charlotte wonders why she doesn’t get another cat. She clearly loves them. Maybe too much, actually, seeing how sad she’d been after her last cat died. The first day after Pumpernickel’s death, Mr. Davidson had gently sent Melissa home from work, she’d been too distraught to function. It’d been a miserable month for everyone. When the light of the office is hiding away in the basement to cry, it’s not exactly easy to cheer oneself up, let alone her.

“And what’d you have for breakfast?” Ted asks, having followed Melissa over.

It takes Charlotte a few seconds to register the question. “An omelette.”

“Ooh, fancy!”

“It’s really just eggs,” Charlotte says, looking up at him and—ah. There’s a hickey peeking out from under his collar. A hickey she left on him, last night. She, a married woman, and him, her coworker, in the same building, surrounded by people they know, and God, what is she doing what is she doing what is she doing—

“—or not?”

Charlotte blinks. “What?”

“Just asking if you want any coffee from the break room,” Ted says. 

“Oh, no thanks.”

Nodding, Ted ambles off. Melissa goes to follow, giving Charlotte one last…

Look sounds too passive. Melissa’s lips are set in perfect, pleasant innocence, but her eyes make Charlotte feel like her skin is being peeled back and Melissa is examining the inner workings of her body. Her brains, her heart, her guts. It’d be an unsettling gaze on anyone, but the fact that it’s on sweet little Melissa makes Charlotte’s blood run cold.

And then Melissa blinks, and the look is gone. And so’s Melissa, trotting after Ted. 

Frozen, Charlotte sits at her cubicle. 

There’s no way Melissa would know… right? Even if she’s befriended Ted, he wouldn’t tell her about—no, he wouldn’t. Ted can be dumb at times, but he’s not an idiot. He wouldn’t jeopardize—if not for Charlotte’s sake, for his—he wouldn’t—this was a bad idea, him and her, not with someone at work, she shouldn’t have, that’s too risky, even if he makes her feel better than—Sam’s her husband, her husband, she only loves him, she only wants him, this was a bad idea, what is she doing what is she doing—

Charlotte shivers, before unscrewing her flask.

“Please, God, forgive me.”

Chapter Text

Friday, May 24th, 2019 - seventy days until opening night

Sitting through a day of high school in Clivesdale of all places is hard enough. 

Sitting through school knowing that, at the end of it, she’ll get to go home and see her girlfriend and her dad and work on her musical that’s actually getting put on in a few months is unbearable.

Alice hates getting in trouble with teachers (Deb thinks it’s cute, Bee thinks it’s lame) but she’s seriously considering ducking out of chem and hopping on the bus early. What’s the point in sitting through a lecture for a subject she’ll never pursue when her girlfriend, her dad, her passion, her home is out there waiting?

But Alice sits through chem, and then her world history class, and then lunch, and the rest of the school day that follows. It’s excruciating. But she has to be on her best behavior, so Mom doesn’t go back on the summer custody agreement. It’d taken the possibility of a trip abroad with her boyfriend Allan to get Mom to agree, and Alice can’t risk any snags in her plan when she’s already got her show lined up.

So she waits, and she waits, bouncing her leg so hard she’s surprised her foot doesn’t wear a hole in the floor.

It’s her last class of the day—geometry, ugh—when her phone lights up with a text from Deb. 

cant wait to see you!!

Checking to make sure the teacher isn’t looking, Alice types back, me too, i miss you!!!

miss you too!!

are we still good for saturday? Alice asks.

yup! i was also thinking we could hang out w ziggs on sunday?

sure, who’s ziggs?

oh, Deb responds, bee goes by ziggs now

cool, still she/they?

nah they/them now

got it!

Sighing, Alice slips away her phone. Great, just another change back at Hatchetfield she wasn’t there for. Not that whatever Ziggs goes by is of particular importance to her. She just hates the reminders. How an innocent text from Deb can slap her in the face with the looming anxiety of being forgotten, left out, by her friends, her girlfriend, her girlfriend moving on, her girlfriend growing interested in Ziggs instead—

The bell rings, startling Alice out of her spiraling. 

It takes an effort not to sprint through the halls as she jams unnecessary belongings in her locker, grabs her duffel bag, and scurries out of school. Thank God the bus stop is in walking distance—she does not want to deal with a car ride containing her mom, and even worse, Allan. He’s perfectly cordial to Alice, but still, she overheard enough fights before the divorce to figure out who exactly her mom had the affair with.

And now she’s back to thinking about Deb and Ziggs and how, back in eighth grade, Steph said Deb had such a big crush on Ziggs and Alice could totally see it—

“No,” Alice mutters to herself, marching toward the bus stop. 

She’s not gonna dwell on this. Not when she’ll be seeing Deb tomorrow, and it’s stupid, really, to think Deb would cheat. Deb’s nothing like Alice’s mom. And Alice is nothing like her dad. She puts effort into her relationship. She’s not blind to when things get bad, nor shocked when she can no longer avoid the fact that they’re bad. And when she has the power to change things, she changes them. She doesn’t complain whilst accepting things as they are, because they’re not set in stone. Custody isn’t set in stone, though her dad sure acts like it is.

The bus pulls up. 

After boarding it, Alice slides into an empty seat. Plops her backpack on the next seat, and her duffel bag on the floor. Leans back. And sighs.

She’s overthinking… well, just about everything in her life. Per usual. 

On the bus, she texts her dad, so he knows when to pick her up. 

Almost immediately, a notification pops up. Alice taps on it, expecting it to be a response from her dad, but it’s a message from Professor Hidgens.

Alice! I tweaked the ending of Dysentery World, the new version’s in the folder! Let me know what you think by tomorrow! But it’s definitely much better now! 

Sounds good! Alice types back. As kooky as he is, Hidgens has been a great collaborator for her musical considering she can’t write music. They’d met after the Starlight had a ten minute play night for the community. Her piece was about lesbian vampires, while his was a ballad about boyfriends battling a storm, complete with the electronic keyboard he dragged in himself. Afterwards, he pulled her aside to say that, except for his, her piece was the only good one in the lot. Harsh, but true, Alice had to admit. Hatchetfield isn’t known for its playwrights. The only other notable piece was a ten minute monologue performed by Zoey Chambers. Her acting was great, her writing… not so much. 

Knowing her theatre connections were slim, Alice had asked to keep in touch with Hidgens. He’d agreed, saying that he finally had a sliver of hope for the future of theatre because of her. Weird, but still a compliment. She’d tell him about her new pioneer comedy play, he’d tell her about the college boy musical he was slowly chipping away at. It wasn’t until Alice had finished her first draft and sent it to him for feedback that she’d realized she might have more than a mentor, but a collaborator. His response of, It’s impressive for a first draft, but the whole show would work much better as a musical! Mind if I jump in? had practically sealed the deal. 

And thus, Alice’s first musical, The Trail to Oregon, was born.

Now, all she has to do is cast it, direct it, and somehow have an incredible musical ready to show the world in less than two months. Oh, and if it doesn’t do well, the theater she’s loved as long as she can remember will go out of business. No pressure.

Alice groans, not sure if she’s nauseous from the bus or her swirling thoughts. What possessed her to ask Hidgens about a production opportunity, what possessed him to email that producer at the Starlight, what possessed her to say yes to a sixteen year old playwright and director—

“No one’s expecting you to singlehandedly save the Starlight,” Alice can imagine her dad saying. “They’re gonna shut down whether you put your show on or not. So now, worst case scenario, they still shut down but everyone gets to see your great show before they do!”

It’s not extremely comforting, the inevitability of the Starlight’s demise, but it helps somewhat. To know Alice won’t be the reason it closes down if her show is bad. She’ll just… be the reason it doesn’t stay open.

And there it is. That pressure.

Alice could spend her whole summer doing fun, lazy things, hanging out with her girlfriend, going to parties, enjoying herself. Instead, she’s signed onto what’s undoubtedly going to be the most stressful show of her life. Not that she’d have it any other way. Stupid love for theatre. Maybe it’ll make her as weird as Hidgens in fifty years. 

Considering that for more than five seconds makes Alice grimace. So she stares out the window, thinking of Deb and Dad and not of Ziggs and Mom and Allan. And then the bus is finally, finally pulling into Hatchetfield. 

Heaving a sigh of relief, Alice leans against the window. She can never really relax in Clivesdale, which, fuck Clivesdale. Hatchetfield is her home. The home that, sixteen months ago, her mom ripped her away from and her dad let her without so much as lifting a finger—

That resentment slides down in her throat when she steps off the bus to see her dad there, grinning and waving. Alice knows he loves her, and she loves him, it’s just… been hard recently. Especially when she never sees him.

Before she can even speak, her dad is taking her duffel bag, slinging her backpack over his shoulder, and wrapping her into a hug.

“Hey Dad,” Alice says, hugging him back.

“Hey, sweetie! I missed you… How are you doing? Was the drive here okay? Are you surviving Clivesdale—”

Alice chimes in for the obligatory, “Fuck Clivesdale,” before responding, “I’m okay, got most of my final papers turned in early so I could hang out with everyone this weekend.”

And by everyone she mostly means Deb, but she doesn’t want to jump into I don’t approve of your girlfriend territory in the first minute of seeing her dad. 

Who simply responds, “That’s smart of you!” 

“I still have exams for chem and geometry next week, but whatever.”

“Hey, I know you’re gonna go to college for writing, but you need good grades in everything to get in!”

“I don’t wanna think about college,” Alice groans. “It’s almost summer break!”

Her dad laughs. “This is the first time I’ve been excited for summer break since I graduated. You’re gonna be in Hatchetfield for three whole months!”

“I’d be—” —here a lot more often if you actually cared, is what Alice wants to say, but she doesn’t want to start a fight, she doesn’t want to start a fight.

Or maybe she does. A little bit.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Alice says, following her dad into his car. “What’s for dinner?”

“Growing girl!” her dad chirps. Which is a much better response than the one her mom gives when she asks about dinner before five o’clock—“You’ll gain weight just thinking about food too much!” 

Ugh.

“—if that’s okay?” her dad is saying.

Alice blinks. “Sorry, what?”

“Oh, I was wondering if you’d mind helping me with the lasagna? I swear, the noodles manage to slip outta my fingers every time—”

“Maybe you should use tongs.”

“I’ve tried! I tear them in half and then they slip out,” he shakes his head. “These noodles really keep eluding me.”

Alice laughs. She can’t help it. How strange it is, to go from resenting her dad for his passivity to giggling over his goofiness. And lasagna is her favorite meal. He knows that. How can he pay so much attention to the little things that matter when the big thing goes completely ignored?

She doesn’t get it. At least she has the whole summer to try figuring it out… and to avoid arguments like she’s making her way through a minefield. 

“So, you excited to get started on your show?” her dad asks.

Oh, right. She’s also got the whole summer to direct a musical that has the potential to keep the Starlight in business—or permanently out.

No pressure.

Chapter Text

Saturday, May 25th, 2019 - sixty nine days until opening night

Zoey Chambers dislikes a lot. 

Having three roommates. Emma Perkins' perpetual bitchiness. Her older sister Melissa’s feline fixation—crazy cat lady much? Her older brother Zach, period.

Oh, and she also very much dislikes working at Beanie’s. The coffee’s shit. The tips are shit. The customers are also, usually, shit.

At least they all think Zoey is hot (because, duh). And give her plenty of opportunities to show off her fantastic voice. 

But she’s in the back making tea when Professor Hidgens (great performer, terrible biology professor at Hatchetfield College, where Zoey currently goes) and some mousy girl order coffee, so Nora is working the counter. They don’t tip. Which is probably wise, because while Nora’s a good dancer, she’s barely a decent singer. But she doesn't pretend to be better than she is, unlike some people (aka Zach). Zoey likes that, as weird and overbearing as Melissa can be, she at least has decent taste in friends. Nora’s a sharp businesswoman. Especially to hire Zoey and her theatre friends, because now they get way more tips and an excuse to sing in public. Not that Zoey really needs one, as anyone would be blessed to hear her voice. 

As soon as she’s finished her tea, Zoey struts back to the register.

“Emma here yet?” Nora asks.

“Nope,” Zoey says.

“Can you text her?”

“I don’t have her number.”

“I don’t have her number.”

“Aren’t you supposed to? ‘Cause you’re her boss?”

“I have her email, but who would check their email when they’re twenty minutes late to work?”

“You have my number.”

Nora raises her eyebrow. “I have your number because you’re my best friend’s kid sister.”

“I’m not a kid,” Zoey scoffs. “I’m literally in my twenties.”

“Barely, and you’re always gonna be that six-year-old Annie to me.”

“You saw that? I thought you and Melissa were at summer camp.”

Nora shudders. “RIP, Camp Idontwannabang.”

“Camp what?”

“Oh, right, you were six, I guess you wouldn’t have known—it was abstinence camp.”

“Hatchetfield has an abstinence camp?”

“Hatchetfield had an abstinence camp,” Nora corrects her. “It got shut down after one of the counselors killed a girl and disappeared. That’s why we came home early.”

“How come I didn’t know this?” Zoey demands.

“Because you were six?”

“That’s crazy. I can’t believe you and Melissa went to camp with a murderer.”

“Yeah, Boy Jerry was a creepy fuck. I hope he died painfully in the woods.”

“Harsh,” Zoey says. She doesn’t actually think so, but she rarely hears Nora talk this way.

Nora just shrugs. “I really liked that girl he murdered.”

“Well, better her than you or Melissa.”

“Just work the counter,” Nora says brusquely, before marching toward the back. Sensitive much? Whatever fucked up thing happened was fifteen years ago, and objectively, Zoey’s right. Better some random girl get murdered than her sister or her boss.

Five minutes of sipping tea, scrolling through Instagram, and taking absolutely zero orders because Beanie’s is empty apart from Hidgens and the teenage girl (ick, Zoey hopes they’re not on a date, she may be dating a man over ten years older than her but it’s legal, thank you very much, and also super hot) Emma rushes in, tying her apron as she goes.

“Emma’s here!” Zoey calls to Nora, in lieu of actually greeting Emma.

Who glares at Zoey as Nora storms back to the front. “Where have you been? You’re thirty minutes late! I’m trying to run a business here, Emma—”

“What business? There’s nobody here, it’s fine if I’m a little late—”

“Thirty minutes is not a little late—”

Zoey looks up from her phone. This might get entertaining.

“Okay, I’m sorry!” Emma says, throwing her hands up. “Look, my brother-in-law called me this morning ‘cause his cat went missing and he wanted my help finding it. I told the asshole not to let it outside ‘cause it’d get hit by a car or eaten by a coyote or something, but he did anyway. Usually, I’d tell him to fuck off, but the cat used to be Jane’s. I had to help.”

Ugh, it’s no longer entertaining. Just lame and sad. Typical of Emma Perkins.

(Personally, if Melissa is brutally killed when Zoey’s in her thirties, there’s no way she’ll be back at Beanie’s and still in college. She’s gonna be long gone from Hatchetfield as a successful actress wayyy before that happens. Rather, if it happens, which Zoey hopes it doesn’t, because despite being frequently annoyed by her, she does actually love her sister or whatever.)

Nora purses her lips. “Ugh, that’s—well, still horribly unprofessional, but understandable. I’m still not paying you for the full shift.” 

“Come on, Nora—”

“Would you rather be fired? ‘Cause there are plenty of high schoolers looking for summer jobs.”

“I’ll get to work,” Emma grumbles, getting increasingly more foulmouthed as Nora heads to the back. 

With Nora gone, Emma subdued, and Zoey not giving a shit about either of their predicaments, silence soon falls over Beanie’s. Except for the conversation between Hidgens and that mousy girl. And Zoey is so totally uninterested in it until the girl says, “But if they’re not auditioning with songs from the show, how’ll we know the actors are right for the part?”

Okay, that’s interesting. Maybe it’s for the next musical at Hatchetfield High? Wait, no, school’s almost out. Zoey can’t wait until she’s done with classes—it’s hard to find time to spend with Sam when she has homework. Granted, homework for theatre majors is nowhere near as horrific as homework for botany majors (Zoey grimaces at the sight of Emma’s textbooks), but it’s still work.

“The songs are really more a way to get a handle on their singing abilities,” Hidgens says. “It’s the sides that’ll show us how well they perform the characters.”

The girl nods. “Gotcha. Sorry, I never performed in any shows in school—I did some crew stuff in middle school, but since most of high school’s been in Clivesdale—”

Hidgens joins in for the necessary, “Fuck Clivesdale,” as well as Zoey, who just mouths it. 

“—I haven’t exactly wanted to do theatre there.”

“God, I’m glad I’m rescuing you from that cesspit, Alice,” Hidgens says, clapping her on the shoulder. “With our combined talents, this will be the best musical Hatchetfield’s ever seen! We’ll save the Starlight—and then maybe have some funds left over for Workin’ Boys…”

“Cool,” Alice says, shifting slightly in her seat. 

Zoey’s head is spinning. Auditions? Musical? Saving the Starlight? She knew it was in bad financial shape from the chatter with her theatre classmates, theatre roommates, and theatre coworkers (a triple Venn diagram that’s practically a circle) but she had no idea that it needed to be saved, or that there would be some kind of summer production to attempt exactly that. This could be her big break!

As she strains to hear the rest of Hidgens and Alice’s conversation—something about picking out sides—that asshole customer in the trench coat dashes up to the counter with an incredibly complicated order that Zoey barely understands. But then he puts a dollar in the tip jar. And Emma gives Zoey that look that means, I would rather punch this guy than sing for him so you do that and do it beautifully like you always do while I suffer through making this awful order. And normally Zoey would roll her eyes and sing a lovely little ditty, but there are presumably directors for a future show sitting across the cafe. So she goes all out. By the time the ridiculous drink is completed, Zoey’s made it through the entirety of “Dead Mom” from Beetlejuice. 

And then a second customer comes in—another asshole, this time with a mustache. Zoey’s heard him hitting on Nora a few times, though he must’ve finally gotten the memo that she’s a lesbian because he’s recently stopped, to Zoey’s recollection. She’s pretty sure she saw him in here with a woman wearing an ugly sweater and cat hair-covered skirt—absolutely terrible combo, which is a shame, because the woman could probably be pretty enough if she put some actual effort in. Her curls were similar to Nora’s, who has great hair. Maybe Asshole Mustache Guy has a type.

“Can I get an chai iced tea?” he asks.

“Only if you tip me,” Zoey says.

“What?”

“Doesn’t need to be much, I just need an excuse to sing.”

He stares at her, baffled, before shrugging and dropping a dollar into the jar. “Sure, whatever. Just make it something from Cats.”

“…God damn it, you’re friends with my sister, aren’t you?”

“Melissa Chambers?”

“Yep.”

“Yeah, we’re friends. She told me about this crazy musical with rollerskates—”

“Do not fucking mention the Starlight Express,” Zoey warns him. “I’ll sing something from Cats, but if you say anything about that godawful train show, I will beat you to death with a shovel.”

“…Beat me to death with a shovel?”

“A vague disclaimer is nobody’s friend.”

His eyes light up. “Buffy reference! Nice.”

“You caught that?”

“Babe, I grew up with Buffy. Watched almost every episode with my best friend—man, those were the days…”

“Old person alert,” Zoey mutters under her breath, as Asshole Mustache Guy’s gaze gets all distant. In her customer service voice, she says, “We’ll get that drink right to you! Thanks for the tip!”

And then she bursts into “Macavity” from Cats, which startles the guy out of his nostalgia fest and causes Emma to glare at Zoey. Whatever. She wishes she had a voice this good.

By the time Zoey hands the tea to Asshole Mustache Guy, she’s made it a third of the way through the song—which is eight minutes long, so there’s no way she’ll reasonably get through the whole thing, which is no fault of her incredible talent. 

There’s another five minute lull, until Asshole Mustache Guy rushes back into Beanie’s and up to the counter.

“No, you can’t have my number,” Zoey says automatically.

He blinks at her. “I mean, if you’re offering, I wouldn’t say no—”

“I am explicitly not offering.”

“—but I actually came to order again. Forgot my brother’s hot chocolate.”

“Ugh, that hot chocolate boy’s your brother?” Zoey asks, ringing him up.

“Kid with the bowtie and suspenders?”

“Terrible sense of fashion.”

“Yep, that’s Pete.”

“He’s weird and rude,” Zoey says. “Tip me.”

Asshole Mustache Guy snorts. “Only if you sing something from the Buffy musical episode.”

“Fiiine.”

While Emma gets to work on the hot chocolate, looking like she wants to kill everyone and then herself all the while, Zoey belts out “Going Through the Motions”. Asshole Mustache Guy nods along enthusiastically. Not that Zoey needs his approval, but it’s nice to be appreciated.

“Thanks,” he says, as Emma hands him the hot chocolate. “Hey, if I tip double, do you two gotta do a duet?”

“I’m not fucking singing,” Emma snaps. 

But Zoey doesn’t really give a shit about Emma’s reluctance to sing, because Hidgens is finally making his way over to the counter. Good. Zoey’s throat was starting to get a little scratchy, she didn’t warm up properly for the amount of singing she’s been doing so she should definitely make a tea with honey after Hidgens begs her to be in his musical—

“Emma!” he exclaims, his gaze sliding right past Zoey and focusing on her grumpy loser coworker. “What a brilliant coincidence, running into you here!”

“I work here,” Emma deadpans. 

“Regardless! Alice Woodward and I—”

Alice, who’d trailed him to the counter, waves shyly.

“—have been working on a musical. We’re gonna put it up at the Starlight! To save it from financial ruin! You’ve got to audition.”

Zoey can’t help but snort at that. Emma? Be in a musical? She hates singing and dancing and generally being a talented person.

“That’s nice, Professor,” Emma says, “but I’m a grown adult with a job. I’m not doing a musical.”

“But it’s a comedy!”

“No thanks.”

“About a family on the trail to Oregon!”

“Nope.”

“We have three roles for women! Well, two, and one flexible role. But that’s really for a child. Or a short teenager. Or even a short adult, which you happen to be!”

“Still not interested.”

Zoey leans over the counter. “When are auditions?”

“Next Wednesday evening,” Alice says. “At the Starlight.”

“What do we need prepped?”

“A song, and we’ll do a cold read from the sides.”

“Good to know,” Asshole Mustache Guy says.

Emma glares at him. “Why are you still here?”

“That would also be good to know,” he says, before promptly sauntering out the door. Bye, loser.

“Should we provide a backing track or sheet music?” Zoey asks.

“Sheet music,” Alice says. “Professor Hidgens is going to bring his keyboard.”

“I’m the music director and composer,” Hidgens says, “and Alice here is our playwright and director.”

Alice gives another awkward wave.

“Really?” Zoey asks. “But she’s so… young.”

“And she’s got the best theatrical mind of her generation!” Hidgens declares. “Now, I gotta jet—Emma, I hope to see you at auditions!”

“You definitely won’t,” Emma calls, as Hidgens dashes away.

Alice steps closer to the counter, looking over at Zoey. “I, um. I heard you sing during that ten minute play night a few months ago. You have a great voice.”

“Thanks,” Zoey says, like she hasn’t heard this a million times before. 

“Would you consider auditioning?”

“Oh, you’ll see me there.”

Alice beams, nods, and scurries out of Beanie’s.

Hmm. Normally Saturday morning shifts are disgusting and awful, but this one has become far more interesting. Every musical—especially one with the potential to be notorious for saving the Starlight, fingers crossed—is another opportunity for Zoey to be noticed by someone who can get her on a big stage far, far away from Hatchetfield.

Yep. This requires some Amélie.

“It isn't where I am,

It's only where I go from here,

That matters now,

And I am not afraid!

As everything I'll ever need appears,

This is how my world gets made…"

“Nobody’s tipped you,” Emma says, scowling.

Zoey grins. “I know.”

Chapter Text

Sunday, May 26th, 2019 - sixty eight days until opening night

It’s a routine at this point.

Pretend to sleep in until Charlotte leaves for church. Text Zoey and get dressed. Pick her up and stop by Starbucks because Beanie’s coffee is shit and she’ll complain if he gets it. Drive out the edge of Witchwood Forest in his squad car. Talk. Make out. Talk. Fuck. 

Sam likes Sunday mornings. 

He and Zoey are lying in the backseat of the squad car. It’s where they always hook up. Can’t exactly bring Zoey back to the house he shares with his wife, and her apartment is always crawling with her theatre roommates. Sam doesn’t mind the squad car. It gets the job done, and it’s nice to have his own private space with Zoey. Right now, she lies on her stomach, staring out the window.

“Watcha thinkin’ about?” Sam asks. “Your eyebrows are all scrunchy.”

Zoey’s brow furrows further, before she forcibly relaxes it. “Fuck. I don’t wanna get wrinkles.”

That’s one reason Sam likes her. She’s not just hot, she cares about her appearance. Charlotte used to be hot. She used to dress up and do her hair and makeup. Now she just bundles herself up in those frumpy sweaters and long skirts. Sam doesn’t get it.

“The Starlight might be going out of business permanently,” Zoey says, and all thoughts of Charlotte fall from Sam’s mind.

“Fuuuck. You serious?”

“Heard about it at work yesterday.”

“Shit.” Sam slams his fist into the side of the car. “Shit!”

“Yeah, it’s pretty—”

“How much money do they need?”

“Uh, I dunno, but—”

“I could get a ransom fee,” Sam muses. “Kidnap some rich prick’s kid, get them to pay—maybe one of the Monroe boys—”

Zoey laughs. “You’re so bad!”

“Don’t fuckin’ laugh! I’ll do anything to keep the Starlight open. Anything. Like kidnapping—”

“—the mayor’s daughter?” Zoey suggests.

“Fuck yes!” Sam kisses her. “You’re so smart.”

“You’re so dumb. You didn’t even let me finish.”

“Finish what? ‘Cause, heh, I’m pretty sure I made you finish earlier.”

She shoves his arm playfully. “My sentence, you didn’t let me finish my sentence. They’re doing a production over the summer—Henry Hidgens and some high schooler—to raise money for it. I’m gonna audition.”

“And you’re gonna kill it,” says Sam, ‘cause Zoey’s literally the best performer ever. She has the shine. The charisma. And she puts herself out there. Charlotte stopped with the dance performances after college, and then she’d only ever dance in the living room. She wasn’t seeking out every possible opportunity to show her skills off. Not like Zoey. 

Zoey, who lies there looking so talented and confident and so fucking hot that Sam can’t help pressing rough kisses along her neck. “You gotta save the Starlight, babe.”

“That’s the fucking plan,” Zoey says, rolling her eyes. “Why are you so worked up about it anyway? Like, I know you love seeing shows at the Starlight, but even if it closed we could drive over to Clivesdale—”

Sam joins in for the mandatory, “Fuck Clivesdale.”

“—and see their shit. Which would be shit, but it’s not like Hatchetfield is crawling with talent either. Ugh, now that I think about it, I’m probably gonna be carrying the fate of the Starlight on my back if I already have to carry the show…”

“Then I’ll help you.”

“What?”

“I’ll audition,” Sam says, “and we can be in the show together and fucking kill it. And save the Starlight.”

Zoey snorts, propping herself up on an elbow. “Since when did you do theatre? I thought you went to Sycamore. Loser.”

“Hey, we didn’t have a theatre program, but we sure as hell didn’t have a bunch of religious nutjobs either!”

“What? Like the Chasitys?”

“Oh yeah, Hatchetfield High used to be crawling with them. Still was the Chasitys back then, but also the Fosters, the Mulberrys, the Kings, the Spankoffskis—”

“Christ.”

“Exactly. Now, my dad was a Hatchetman too, but it wasn’t ‘cause he was a Christian. Guy just wanted to fuck up some twisted weirdos.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about now, old man,” Zoey says.

Sam smirks, before rolling on top of her. “This feel like an old man to you?”

She grins, and they fuck for the second time that morning. 

“You were joking about auditioning, right?”

Sam glances over at Zoey in the passenger seat. He’s driving her back to her apartment, and then he’s gonna hit the gym for a shower. That’s where Charlotte thinks he is anyway, on Sunday mornings. He doesn’t get why she goes to church every week. She never did when her awful, tightass mother was around, it only started after she died… five years ago? Six? Then Charlotte became a fucking wreck. Which Sam doesn’t get, ‘cause he thought she hated her mother. And her older sister. Her whole family sucks. 

“Why would I joke about auditioning?” Sam asks.

Zoey scoffs. “Because you’ve never done theatre in your life?”

“The fuck you’d get that idea?”

“You went to Sycamore.”

“And I did community shows over the summer!”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, and in college. Til I decided, fuck school, I’m gonna be a cop.”

“A very sexy choice.”

Sam grins. “You know it, babe. Didn’t have much time to do theatre as a rookie, so I just kinda stopped. But fuck it, nothing ever happens in this town, and we gotta save the Starlight. I’m auditioning.”

“That’s an even sexier choice.”

“…Wanna pull over and—”

“No,” Zoey groans, “I mean, yes, I want to, but I can’t. Gotta get cleaned up before work.”

“C’mon, you can be a little late.”

“Not with the stunt my bitch coworker pulled yesterday. Nora’ll be on my ass if I’m late.”

Sam frowns.

“Keep driving the goddamn car,” Zoey commands.

He does. He likes it when she’s pushy. Nowadays, Charlotte’s all wishy-washy and hesitating and flittering about. Zoey struts and barks orders. And Sam loves a demanding woman. Which, while it sounds similar, is different than a nagging woman. A nagging woman is Charlotte when their stupid monthly “cuddle night” rolls around. Why can’t she take a look in the mirror and realize there’s absolutely nothing enticing about the crazy cat lady fashion she’s got going on? Sam went from an actor to a cop, but he stayed consistently sexy. Charlotte the nervous wreck is nothing like the fun, party girl Sam married. She used to be impulsive. Now she’s uncertain about everything. 

Zoey knows what she wants, and she goes after it. She doesn’t hesitate. She doesn’t take shit from people. She’s mean and hot and an incredible performer and Sam likes her for all of those things. If he thought about it too much, he might come to the conclusion that he loves her. So it’s a good thing Sam doesn’t think too hard. 

He just hopes she’ll take him with her when she finally makes it out of Hatchetfield.

Chapter Text

Monday, May 27th, 2019 - sixty seven days until opening night

It’s not like Deb wants to spend her Monday afternoon running around Hatchetfield.

But she hadn’t finished the poster design until Sunday afternoon, and then Alice was leaving that night, so they had to spend time together. Even if time together meant dinner with Mr. Woodward. Who’s nice enough to Deb’s face, but she just knows he doesn’t like her. She can tell based on vibes. And also Alice tearfully complaining about him to Deb, who simply snarked, “He’s just jealous you have way better taste in women than him.”

That made Alice laugh. Which made Deb happy, because she loves Alice, and because she’s also hoping Alice finally figures out she kind of hates her mom. Deb doesn’t blame her. If her mom cheated on her dad, moved to Clivesdale, and then fought for custody of a daughter she belittles more than she supports, Deb would probably punch someone. She’s not even particularly violent, but that shit would make her angry. Maybe one day, Alice will be able to recognize her own anger. It’s the first step to letting it go, Deb thinks. 

Anyway. She hadn’t finished the poster design until Sunday afternoon, and then when she showed it to Ziggs during lunch, they had a few suggestions for the color palette that Deb ended up changing during her free period. And then she had to print, like, a million copies (it was really fifty, but it felt like a million) and try not to get yelled at by a teacher for using all the colored ink. Thankfully, the only teacher who saw her was Miss Mulberry, who didn’t take an issue with it after Deb explained it was for Alice’s show.

“I hope it goes well,” she says, adjusting her glasses. “It’d be a pity to see the Starlight close.”

“Yeah,” Deb says, because she doesn’t really care about theatre, but she does care about Alice. 

Miss Mulberry skitters away, and Deb collects the stack of posters before frowning. Shit. They aren’t all going to fit in her backpack without getting crumpled, and she can’t carry them in her arms when she needs to ride her bike around town to post them in the first place…

Thankfully, a solution comes in the form of Ziggs bursting into the computer lab. Well, the solution isn’t really Ziggs, but the girl who trails behind them—Stephanie Lauter.

It’s not like Deb doesn’t know Steph—everyone knows everyone in Hatchetfield, or at least, everyone knows who the mayor and his daughter are—but they haven’t spoken much since middle school. Steph didn’t exactly ditch the artsy stoners for the jocks and cheerleaders, but… okay, she did. But Deb wonders if that has anything to do with her dad’s appointment as mayor. Something about keeping up appearances. If that’s the case, it isn’t exactly working. Steph sticks out like a sore thumb amongst the Brendas and Kyles and—ugh—Max Jägermans.

But here Steph is in the computer lab, as Ziggs flips through the stack of posters. “Dude, these are sick!”

“Thanks,” Deb says. “Hey, Steph.”

“Hey.” 

“I like the hair.”

Steph smiles, sweeping her purple braids forward so Deb can get a better look. “Thanks.”

“Steph’s gonna be our ride,” Ziggs announces.

“You are?” Deb asks.

Steph nods. “Yeah, Ziggs asked, and my dad has a driver. So he’s letting her take us around for this. Thinks it’ll be good for his image or whatever.”

Hmm, so Deb was probably right about the Lauters keeping up appearances. Steph doesn’t exactly look happy about her dad’s reasoning, if the slight scowl on her face is anything to go by. But she hasn’t fully given in to him. Deb can tell by the cut off shorts, the band tee. In the same way that Micro-Peter will always wear a bowtie, Grace Chasity will always be a nerdy prude, and Brooke will never let the threats of suspension, expulsion, and prison stop her from committing arson, Steph will always stand her ground. Deb likes her for it, even if she has been distant the last two years.  

So she smiles, and says, “Thanks, that’s cool of you. Biking around was gonna be a pain in the ass.”

“I bet,” Steph says. “Where are we going?”

“Alice gave me a list,” Deb says, pulling out her phone. “Let’s see… Starbucks, Beanie’s, the college, the mall, the rec center, the community center, Pasqualli’s, Miss Retro’s, Guitar Zone… oh, and the Starlight, of course.”

“Sounds good. Should we put some up at school? Like, around the auditorium? Since that’s where they do the school shows. See if we can attract some theatre geeks.”

“Hell yeah,” Ziggs says, snagging a few posters. “Be right back.”

“…They’re gonna need tape,” Steph says, as they dash out the door.

“They’ll figure it out eventually,” Deb snorts. “Smart thinking, putting some up by the auditorium.” 

Steph’s face blossoms into a smile. “Thanks! Hey, uh… I don’t wanna step on your toes, or Alice’s, ‘cause you’re doing this for her, but… have you considered marketing it online? Like, make a TikTok account for the show or—”

“Yes! Alice actually made an Instagram page, she’s gonna document the whole behind-the-scenes process and advertise it there.”

“Oh, sick! I gotta follow it.”

The door slams open. 

“I forgot tape,” Ziggs says.

“I figured,” Deb says tossing them a roll. 

“ThanksDebbye!”

Deb snorts. It’s nice having Ziggs as a friend. Things were wayyy too complicated in eighth grade, when she had a mega-crush on them but they were dealing with a whole gender crisis. Not to mention Deb being utterly oblivious to Alice’s crush on her. She prides herself on being observant, but she completely missed that until Ruth Fleming had muttered some passing comment about it that made Alice turn bright red. 

Thankfully, things have sorted themselves out nicely since then. Ziggs has gotten much more comfortable with being “not a girl, not a guy, but something vaguely floating in the ether” (their description after updating Deb on their name and pronouns while they were high last weekend, which was a relief ‘cause she personally likes Ziggs as a chosen name way more than Bee). Having a preference for the feminine, Deb’s feelings for them faded to purely platonic, and a requited fondness for Alice blossomed instead. She has a girlfriend. She has a best friend. And together, they make a great little trio.

Deb just wishes Alice was actually here for it all.

Next week. Next week she’ll be back for the whole summer, and it’s gonna be awesome. Yes, most of Alice’s nights will be in rehearsal, but they’ll have the mornings and afternoons all to themselves. Well, maybe just afternoons, depending on whether she gets that job at Beanie’s. Deb thinks it’s kinda bullshit that Nora made her apply when they’re literally cousins—not super close, the age gap makes Nora more like a young aunt, but still. Can’t she benefit from a little nepotism once in a while?

Anyway. Whatever happens with the Beanie’s job, she’ll still have more time to spend with Alice than she has in months. And she and Ziggs have already volunteered to do set design for Alice’s show, which is gonna be great. Deb’s still not sure how they’re gonna produce a wagon, but they’ll definitely have some killer painted backdrops. And more posters, for the actual show instead of just the auditions. 

“Found it,” Steph says, showing off her phone to Deb. @trailtooregon—Deb still can’t believe the name wasn’t taken before Alice snagged it—now has one more follower.

“Thanks,” Deb says. “It’s gonna make Alice so happy, I think the only people following it right now are me, her, and her dad.”

“Aw, that’s sweet.”

“…Yeah.”

“You don’t like her dad?”

“He doesn’t like me,” Deb says, and at Steph’s furrowed brow, adds, “not ‘cause I’m a girl, he just thinks Alice could do better. Like with Grace Chasity.”

“Oh, hell no! She’s such a nerdy prude!”

“That’s what Alice said!”

Steph laughs. “Good, that’s, like, the only correct response.”

“Yeah.”

“Is it hard?”

“What?”

“Not seeing Alice that much,” Steph says. “I don’t think I could ever do long distance. Even in Clivesdale.”

“Fuck Clivesdale,” the girls chorus.

Deb shrugs. “I mean, yeah, it’s hard. But we put the work in, y’know? Like, I know this relationship means a lot to Alice ‘cause she shows it, and I try to do the same. It sucks that we can’t be together, like, almost all the time. But she’s Alice. So it’s worth it.”

“That’s sweet.”

“Yeah, well—”

The door slams open again.

“I put up the posters,” Ziggs says, leaning over to catch their breath. “Oof. I hate running.”

“You literally didn’t have to run at any point during this,” Deb informs them.

“Ah, fuck, you’re right.”

Steph laughs, before checking her phone. “Ugh, Miss Tessburger is asking what’s taking so long. Are you good to go?”

“Yeah,” Deb says, as Ziggs exclaims, “Your driver’s name is Miss Tessburger? That sounds fake as hell.” 

“Not as fake as Beanie,” Steph says.

Deb rolls her eyes. “Nobody at this school has a normal fucking name. Chasity? Spankoffski?”

“You’re just making that last one up,” Ziggs says.

“Am not. C’mon, we gotta get going.”

So they pile into the shiny black car—it’s more like a van, with two rows in the back, the seats facing one another. Miss Tessburger surveys them critically, but doesn’t say much beyond confirming with Steph where exactly she’s driving to.

They hit downtown first, putting up posters at nearly every location on the list. Nobody really takes an issue with the posters once Deb explains the show. A trio of cops actually shake her hand, commending her for helping keep the Starlight open. One of them goes on a long tangent about the production of The Barbecue Monologues he saw in New York a few months ago, and Deb manages to slip away before they notice she’s gone. 

She, Ziggs, and Steph all make the journey into Miss Retro’s, mostly because Ziggs is clamoring for fries and Steph has to use the bathroom. While they fulfill their respective needs, Deb seeks out Miss Retro herself to explain the poster situation. 

“Oh, that’s lovely,” she says. “Good on you two for supporting local theatre, of course you can hang it up. I’ll come to the show once it opens.”

“Alice would love that,” Deb says, lifting the poster to tape it up, before— “Ah, shit! Ow. Paper cut.”

“Let me see,” Miss Retro says, and by the time she’s holding Deb’s finger, the stinging pain has completely faded.

Deb gently takes her finger back, examining it, but she can’t find the cut. “Huh. Guess it wasn’t a bad one.”

“Guess so,” Miss Retro says. Deb tapes up the poster, and by the time she looks back to Miss Retro, she’s gone. Ziggs soon bounds up to her, fries in hand, and then Steph emerges from the bathroom, complaining about the smell. Looking around the nearly empty diner, it doesn’t take a detective to deduce that the homeless man was likely the source. He’s sitting in a corner booth, scarfing down a meal he can’t afford and occasionally looking off into the distance with a terrified expression. 

“Let’s get out of here,” Deb says. She doesn’t want to be rude, ‘cause the guy probably can’t help being homeless or crazy, but he gives her the creeps. Ziggs and Steph are more than happy to pile back into the car.

By the time they make it to Beanie’s, the cafe’s fifteen minutes from closing.

The short, crabby barista behind the counter audibly groans upon seeing them. The taller barista, aka the Latte Hatte—who, okay, fine, Deb checks out sometimes ‘cause she’s hot, but Alice does too—just rolls her eyes. “You’re taking orders this time, Emma, I’m on vocal rest.”

“And yet you’re still talking,” the short barista—Emma—snarks. “What can I get for you?”

“Just a black coffee, dude,” Ziggs says. 

Emma’s scowl lessens ever so slightly.

“I’ll take an iced caramel latte,” Deb says. “With oat milk, please. I’m vegan.”

Emma’s scowl returns in full force.

“Same,” Steph says. “Except for the vegan part. I’m just lactose intolerant.”

Grumbling, Emma and the Latte Hatte get to work on the drinks. As soon as they set them down on the counter, two more women walk in.

“Goddamit,” Emma groans.

“Relax, they’re not here for coffee,” Nora says, stepping out from the back. “Just picking me up.”

“It’s movie night!” the redheaded woman trills.

The short, chubby woman waves at the Latte Hatte. “Hi Zoey!”

“Hey, Melissa,” Zoey says, barely glancing up from her phone.

Before her older cousin gets swept away, Deb chimes in with her own greeting of, “Hi, Nora.”

“Deb, hey, didn’t see you there!” Nora waves. “I gotta run, but we’ll catch up later, alright?”

“Can you at least tell me whether you’re hiring me or not before you leave?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“It’s been a week since I applied!”

“Yeah, and I have a bunch of applications to consider. I might do interviews. You should prep for that.”

“I’m your cousin! Just hire me!”

“We’ll see!” Nora calls, before tugging Melissa and the cheery redhead out the door.

Emma shakes her head sagely. “Sisters.”

“We’re cousins,” Deb says. “I literally just said that.”

“Right. I might be a little high.”

“Can I have some?” Ziggs asks immediately.

She laughs. “No.”

“We need to close,” Zoey says, thrusting a rag at Emma. “Can you three get out?”

“Jeez, we’re going,” Steph huffs, grabbing her drink and marching out. Deb and Ziggs follow, until—

“Oh, shit, I forgot to actually put this up,” Deb realizes, suddenly feeling the weight of the poster and the tape in her hand. “Be right back.”

She jogs into Beanie’s, only to be immediately be met with a scowl from Emma and Zoey.

“I’ll leave in just a sec, I swear, but can I put this up first? It’s about auditions for this show my girlfriend’s doing at the Starlight—”

“Oh, is she working on it with Hidgens?” Zoey asks, as Emma says, “Fuckin’ go for it.”

Deb nods, already beginning to tape up the poster with Emma’s approval. “Yeah, he’s been doing music and stuff for it, but Alice wrote the whole thing. And she’s gonna direct. It’ll be great.”

“I hope so,” Zoey says. “I’m definitely auditioning.”

“Hell yeah. Best of luck with that.”

“Thanks. Now, please, get out. We wanna go home.”

“Right, sorry,” Deb says, scrambling toward the door. Behind her, she hears Emma heave a sigh.

Once she’s slid back into the Lauters’ fancy car, Deb lets out a sigh of her own. It took the whole afternoon, but the posters are up. Everyone in Hatchetfield will know about auditions now.

“Is that all of them?” Steph asks.

“Yep,” Deb says. “Mission accomplished, and boy do my arms hurt.”

“I don’t think that’s how the joke goes,” Ziggs says.

“What joke?”

Steph turns around the Miss Tessburger. “Hey, can we head back to school now? These two gotta pick up their bikes.”

“Alright,” Miss Tessburger says, “but next time you go around getting involved in a community event, pick nicer clothes, will you? This is politics, Stephanie, and—”

While she goes off on some awful rant, and Steph rolls her eyes, Deb messages Alice.

just finished putting up all the posters! a beanies worker is already interested in auditioning

Alice responds, tysm you’re the best!! i’m so excited!!

its gonna be incredible, Deb texts, before pocketing her phone. Ziggs is telling Steph some story about seeing a squirrel and a nighthawk mating—“Definitely weird, but love is love, y’know?”—while Steph laughs so hard she nearly snorts coffee out her nose. In the rearview mirror, Miss Tessburger’s eye twitches.

Deb prides herself on being highly observational. It’s a useful skill, as a visual artist.

She just hopes she’s right in observing that this summer is set up to be a good one.

Chapter Text

Tuesday, May 28th, 2019 - sixty six days until opening night

If Bill told someone how much he looks forward to going to work every day, they’d probably think he’s crazy. But he’s got his reasons. Home is empty and quiet without Alice pattering around or bringing a friend over—usually Deb, which used to drive Bill crazy, but now he misses having the girls in his house. Really just Alice, but if having Alice means having Deb over too, he’ll take it. Even though Alice was never on her phone as much before Deb came into the picture, and he’s pretty sure he’s smelled weed on Deb’s jean jacket before. And Bill doesn’t want Alice smoking! He thinks that’s reasonable enough. But he’d rather worry about Alice smoking and have her home than barely ever see her. Which makes him feel like a bad dad, because it’s better that Alice doesn’t smoke, even if they don’t see each other as often. That’s the better parenting choice. Right?

Hmm. Alice might get her overthinking from him.

With an empty house and a daughter in Clivesdale, work has become the highlight of Bill’s average day. He gets to chat with Paul and Charlotte all day, and the work itself is pretty simple, even if he can never get the hang of the darn printer system. And Sylvia—oh, she’s lovely. Sharp and commanding, while still having a soft side. She’ll put Ted in his place, which Bill appreciates, because he doesn’t like Ted. At least he’s not sleazing on Melissa anymore. The two seem to have become actual friends, and while it’s extremely weird, it’s better than the alternative, Bill supposes. He likes Melissa. She reminds him of Alice—a little nervous sometimes, but a sweet girl. It’s a pity Paul turned her down. He really could do better than that crabby barista. 

Not that Bill says so when Paul brings him an iced caramel frap this morning at work. He accepts the drink gratefully, while Ted pours out a few mugs of coffee, passing one to Charlotte and one to Melissa. Who nudges Bill, and says, “I saw some kids putting up signs for Alice’s musical in Beanie’s yesterday!”

“Oh, yeah, I saw one this morning,” Paul says, sounding like he wishes he hadn’t. That makes Bill frown, until he realizes it probably has more to do with Paul’s distaste toward musicals than any unkind feelings toward the Woodwards.

“Yeah, apparently her girlfriend Deb put up a bunch of posters yesterday,” Bill says. “Alice put some pictures up on the Instagram she made for the show.”

And Bill still doesn’t like Deb, but he has to admit it’s sweet of her to help Alice like that. He just hopes she’ll follow through on painting backdrops as well. This summer is gonna be a big one, and Alice can use all the support she can get!

Especially if she’s not letting him get involved in the show. 

He knows she can get insecure about her writing before it’s finished, and that she wants him to go into opening night knowing nothing about the show, but still. It stings to be left out.

At least his ex-wife Rebecca is involved even less. 

(A lot of the time, when Bill says, “Fuck Clivesdale,” what he really means is “Fuck Rebecca.”)

“Aw, that’s cute,” Sylvia coos, and the lump in Bill’s throat melts away. Good old Sylvia. She knows what it’s like, getting a divorce after being cheated on. It helps to have someone around who understands. Sometimes she’ll talk to Bill about her custody battle with Gary—and that’s another thing Bill admires her for, fighting her lawyer ex-husband in court for primary custody, and winning. He supposes she’s always had that headstrong attitude, seeing as she not only kept her maiden name but gave it to her son as well. 

“I did all the work, so it only makes sense,” she’d told him. “And what good foresight it ended up being, with Richie’s piece of shit father cheating on me anyway.”

Bill still hasn’t found out who Gary cheated on her with, but that’s probably for the better. It wasn’t hard to figure out who’d cucked him, with Rebecca moving off to Clivesdale to be with Allan.

(Sometimes when he says, “Fuck Clivesdale,” Bill’s also saying, “Fuck Allan.”)  

But talking with Sylvia helps. 

Perhaps realizing his disdain was more than a little noticeable, Paul adds, “Maybe you could talk to Dan Reynolds or Donna Daggit, see if they’d put something on the morning news about auditions.”

“Yes!” Sylvia says, squeezing Bill’s arm. It makes him go all warm inside. “You should talk to Dan!”

“I could call him,” Bill says. As terrible as a wife Rebecca ended up being, her brother Dan has always been decent to him and Alice. Even after the divorce, he still wishes Bill a happy birthday, and calls Alice every month. Plus, he hates Clivesdale so much that as soon as he heard Rebecca was moving there, he cut off all contact with her. That’s a bonus. 

“Sam saw those kids putting up posters yesterday,” Charlotte says, sounding as if she’s just remembered. “He mentioned it this morning. All excited for the show—he loves going to the Starlight with his friends.”

She smiles into her cup of coffee, and Bill can’t help but smile back. Most mentions of Sam are usually about him working late, so to hear about a presumably pleasant conversation between the couple is a nice change.

From the way Ted is scowling, he must disagree.

“Does anyone know who’s auditioning?” Melissa quickly asks the group. “Is anyone here auditioning?”

To his credit, Paul waits a few seconds before responding with, “Not me.”

“I don’t have a musical bone in my body,” Sylvia says. 

“Alice doesn’t want me to see it until it’s finished,” Bill says. “There’s no way she’d cast her old dad. But it sure would be fun.”

“Sam probably won’t,” Charlotte sighs. “He hasn’t done any theatre since college…”

“Fuck it, I might audition,” Ted blurts out.

Bill immediately decides he hates that idea. Notorious sleazeball and womanizer Ted Spankoffski, spending weeks around his teenage daughter? Without Bill there? Absolutely not. 

Sharp as ever, Sylvia beats him to the punch with a laugh. “You, be in a musical? I’d like to see that disaster.”

“The hell’s your problem?” Ted snaps. “I can perform.”

“Is that some kind of innuendo? Because—”

“Maybe I’ll audition too!” Melissa exclaims quickly. “My sister Zoey definitely will, and I can talk to my brother Zach about it. He loves theatre!” 

“And my niece will probably reach out to Alice to do lights for the show,” Paul adds, and Bill beams at him. Ruth and Alice haven’t been particularly close for years, but it’d be nice to see them do theatre together again. 

“Remind me when auditions are?” Melissa says.

“June fifth,” Bill says. “There’s a QR code you can scan on the poster to sign up for a slot.”

“Gotcha! I’ll put it in my planner.”

As she bustles out of the break room—dragging Ted along with her—Bill pulls out his phone.

My coworkers are excited about your show! he texts Alice. Sylvie suggested you call your Uncle Dan and see if he’ll mention it on the morning news.

Alice’s response is almost immediate. Who’s Sylvie?

One of my coworkers. Sylvia Lipschitz! She’s great. I think her son Richie is your age.

Gotcha, I’ll text uncle Dan

I’m sure he’d love to hear your voice.

Dad I haaaaaate phone calls 

Kids these days, Bill types, adding a laughing emoji so she knows he’s only joking. Then he realizes—Hey, aren’t you supposed to be in class right now? Why are you texting in class?

You literally texted me first

Focus on class, Alice!

Stop texting me then

I will, Bill responds, sliding his phone away. Across the room, Sylvia is describing instructions for making some kind of egg and tomato dish that Paul dutifully takes note of on his phone. At the small table, Charlotte cradles her coffee, staring off into space. 

Bill nudges her gently. “You alright there, Charlotte?”

“Hmm?” she shakes her head, stray curls bouncing every which way. “Oh, fine, just tired.”

“Go to bed late?”

“No, I just tend to have strange dreams. Never seem to feel rested the next morning.”

“Don’t dreams mean you slept well?” Sylvia chimes in. “I’m pretty sure I read that somewhere.”

“It doesn’t look that way from here,” Bill says.

As if to prove his point, Charlotte lets out a yawn.

Paul nods at her mug of coffee. “I can run down to Beanie’s, get you something stronger.”

“I’ll run down to Beanie’s,” Sylvia counters, “because you’ve already gone down there once this morning, and that’s more than enough. Mr. Davidson needs those reports.”

“Hey, I always turn my stuff in on time.”

“Yes, but I’m sure Melissa’s sick of nagging you about it.”

“If anyone, I’m sure she’s sick of nagging Ted.”

Bill shakes his head. “No, they seem like they get along quite well now, which is… well, I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s weird.”

“I still think she’s sleeping with him,” Sylvia says grimly.

“She’s not,” Charlotte says, and when everyone looks at her, adds, “They really are nothing but good friends. It’s sweet.”

“You cannot have just used the words sweet and Ted Spankoffski in the same sentence.”

“Technically, she didn’t,” Paul points out. 

Sylvia just shakes her head. “Whatever. I do not like that man, and I do not think he’s a good influence on Melissa.”

“Maybe she’ll be a good influence on him,” Bill says. Best to look on the positive side, right?

“We’re the same age,” Paul says. “You two do know that, right?”

“You and Ted?” Sylvia asks.

“Me and Melissa. We’re the same age, she’s not, like, a twenty-something-year-old you have to protect.”

“That can’t be right.”

“Nope, we’re the same age. Both born in ’87.” 

Bill blinks at him. “Really? She seems so much younger.”

“I mean, she’s short?” Paul shrugs. “Don’t know why you both thought she was younger.”

“Must be because of Alice. She reminds me of her.”

“Aww, that’s sweet,” Sylvia says. 

Charlotte nods her agreement, though from her vacant expression, she probably doesn’t quite know what she’s agreeing with.

“Coffee,” Bill remembers, before turning to Sylvia. “Would you mind if I came with you? I could use a walk.”

“That’d be great,” Sylvia decides, and the two exit the break room together. It’s good to have a friend his age at work. Paul and Charlotte and Melissa are all nice people, but they don’t know what it’s like to be a divorced parent in their forties. Sylvia does. They even have the “cheated on” thing in common, which is great. Well, not actually great, because it sucks that both of them were cheated on, but at least they aren’t alone in the feeling. It makes their friendship stronger, Bill figures.

Sylvia grabs Bill’s arm, and he startles.

“You almost walked clear into traffic,” she informs him, and oh yeah, they’re now outside on their way to Beanie’s.

“Thanks,” Bill says. “I’ve been a little spacey recently… just thinking about Alice’s show.”

“Is she excited?”

“Very! She met up with that professor she’s working with this weekend, and she’s preparing material for the auditions—this is gonna be such a great summer project for her. But I think she’s also anxious about it.”

“I don’t blame her,” Sylvia says, squeezing Bill’s arm. She still hasn’t let go, but Bill doesn’t mind. “Directing a whole show’s a big undertaking for a teenager. Not to mention the money trouble with the Starlight.”

“Yeah. But she’s a smart kid. Even if it’s not enough to save the Starlight, she’ll do a good job.”

“I bet she will.”

“How’s Richie doing?”

Sylvia groans. “These bullies will not leave him alone! Some jerks peed on his clothes—peed! On his clothes!—during gym class and he had to spend the rest of the day in his very sweaty gym clothes.”

“Man, that’s shitty,” Bill says. Alice has never dealt with any bullying in Clivesdale—to his knowledge—so as much as he misses her, maybe it’s best she lives there. “Have you emailed the principal about it?”

“Of course, but nothing ever changes. I’ve been trying to convince Gary to threaten a lawsuit for the last month, but he doesn’t care. Of course he doesn’t, he barely spends time with Richie anyway. Prick.”

“Ah.”

“Ugh, I cannot wait for the summer. I bet Richie can’t either. Won’t be any more bullies then.”

“Yeah, that’s good,” Bill says. “Hey, would Richie be interested in acting in Alice’s show over the summer?”

Sylvia sighs, patting his arm as they enter Beanie’s. “Oh, Bill. That boy is interested in nothing but anime nowadays.”

“Gotcha. Probably just a phase.”

“I hope so. Because I cannot sit through another tangent about Jojo’s Bizarre Bebop or Cowboy Adventures or whatever it is he’s watching these days. I mean, I will, ‘cause I love that boy to death, but it drives me crazy every time.”

Bill laughs. “What won’t we do for our kids?”

Chapter Text

Wednesday, May 29th, 2019 - sixty five days until opening night

Charlotte forgets to eat breakfast again.

It’s these dreams she’s been having. She’s always had strange, vivid dreams she can barely remember, but they’ve gotten worse ever since her mom died. Unless Charlotte is drinking or fucking herself into exhaustion, she’ll wake up unrested, with an image floating behind her eyelids.

There are only a few she remembers. A hanged woman. Fingers twitching on the trigger of a gun. A bloody heart, freshly ripped out of someone’s chest. 

This morning, she wakes up seeing a heap of slaughtered pigs, with every bone in her body screaming at her to run.

So, yeah. She forgets about breakfast.

Sam is already off to work—he said something about going in earlier so he can get done earlier, which plants a seed of hope in Charlotte’s chest. Maybe they’ll eat dinner together tonight. Maybe have a proper cuddle night, schedule be damned. 

Please, please, please…

That’s all Charlotte hears as she goes through the motions of feeding the cats. She’s so out of it that she doesn’t realize she’s put her skirt on backward until she’s halfway out the door. Oops. 

She manages to make it to CCRP without completely spacing out and getting herself killed on the road. When she arrives, she finds Ted cowering as Melissa smacks him over the head with a wad of papers.

“Um,” Charlotte says.

Sylvia, who stands nearby, grins gleefully. “I love it when someone else punishes him for being a horny bastard.”

“You like seeing me get punished?” Ted asks. “That’s kinky.”

Melissa smacks him again.

“Ow!”

Paul and Bill take that as their cue to walk out of the break room to witness the chaos.

“Huh,” Paul says.

“Should I be worried?” Bill asks. “Ted, what did you do to Melissa?”

“I didn’t do shit!”

“She showed him a picture of her brother and Ted immediately said he’d fuck him,” Sylvia supplies.

“It was a compliment! Her brother’s hot!”

“Ew, don’t call my brother hot!” Melissa swats at Ted. “How would you feel if I called Pete hot?”

Ted ducks away. “Concerned, because Pete’s a kid.”

“You know what I mean!”

“Aren’t you gonna tell them to get back to work?” Paul asks Sylvia.

She waves him off. “In a bit. I’m enjoying this.”

While Charlotte certainly doesn’t enjoy seeing Ted get punished like Sylvia does, she has to admit, the entire scene is highly entertaining. Much funnier than when Sylvia attacked Bill’s printer with her shoe. Ted has managed to put the mail cart in between him and Melissa, and they circle one another around it.

Once Ted stumbles, Melissa darts over to him. She raises the stack of papers to smack him again—

Charlotte blinks, and suddenly Melissa’s holding a heavy black book.

What?

Charlotte blinks again. The book is gone—Melissa’s holding papers. Was she ever holding a book?

Must be a remnant from Charlotte’s nightmares.

“Uh, Charlotte, you good?” Paul asks, and Charlotte realizes she’s been slowly sinking to the floor.

“Oh!” she stands herself up. “Yes, sorry, just—didn’t sleep well again. Might be more tired than I realized.”

As if to add to her slight humiliation, her stomach choses that time to growl audibly.

“Hmm. Must be more tired than I realized, I think I forgot breakfast…”

Ted snaps his fingers. “We’ll run down to Beanie’s. Getcha something to eat. And coffee.”

“I’ll come with,” Melissa says, “because we are not done with this conversation, Ted.” 

“I thought the conversation ended when you started hitting me with the manual draft which, by the way, ow.”

As Charlotte follows the two out of the office, Ted makes a show of rubbing the back of his head and pouting.

“I’m not kissing it better for you,” Melissa deadpans. 

And maybe if she wasn’t stumbling through a stupor of sleepiness, Charlotte would’ve clocked Melissa’s unusual snark. But as it is, she just yawns and staggers into Ted’s side.

“Oh, shit, you are tired,” he says, straightening her. He leaves a hand on Charlotte’s back as they walk, which she appreciates. It’s nice to have something grounding her.

“Late night?” Melissa asks, and Ted’s hand stiffens on Charlotte’s back. 

“No, I was in bed before ten,” Charlotte says. “It was a quiet evening, I was just reading.”

Reaching out to tuck a curl behind her ear, she realizes—she’s not wearing her headband. Her pink one, the lucky one. She was reading last night in the living room and she must’ve taken it off and left it on the coffee table. And then forgotten to wear it today. Because she usually keeps it on her bedside table and it’s become muscle memory to put it on each morning after she wakes up. The nightmares seem to fade much faster when she wears it—hence the title of lucky.

The trio makes it to Beanie’s before Charlotte falls asleep standing up. Melissa gets in line to order, while Ted leads Charlotte over to a table.

“You sure you don’t need to, like, go home or some shit?” he asks. “Y’seem really outta it.”

Charlotte shakes her head. “No, you know me. Just get like this sometimes.”

“Having trouble sleeping?”

“It’s not that, I just… weird dreams. Make me feel like I was up all night, even though I wasn’t.” 

Ted hums, glancing over at Melissa by the counter. Charlotte follows his gaze, before turning back to him.

She nearly screams.

“Something wrong?” Ted asks, seemingly unaware of the gaping bullet hole in forehead. “You look like you’re about to throw up. Wait, shit, are you about to throw up? ‘Cause I dunno if they let you use the bathrooms here—”

Taking a deep breath, Charlotte closes her eyes.

When she opens them, Ted’s forehead is perfectly whole again. No bloody wounds. 

“I’m fine,” Charlotte says, “just sometimes…”

Sometimes, I think the dreams follow me out of sleep. 

But she doesn’t say that, because it sounds crazy. And Charlotte’s not crazy. She’s not. She’s just tired.

“—drinks!” Melissa is announcing, bounding over to the table. Huh. Charlotte must’ve spaced out again.

She shakes her head like she can knock the sleepiness out of it, curls flying everywhere without her headband. 

“Thanks,” she says, accepting the mocha Melissa hands her.

“I asked Nora to put in an extra shot of espresso,” Melissa says. “That’s actually my brother Zach’s favorite drink, ‘cause he likes chocolate, but not too sweet. Which reminds me—”

She turns to Ted. “You are not allowed to call my brother hot.”

“Technically, I only implied he was hot,” Ted says. “What I said is that I’d fuck him.”

“I will dump your chai on you.”

“It’s a compliment.”

Melissa groans. 

“I’m not sure you’re gonna get through to him,” Charlotte tells her, taking a sip of her mocha.

“Help me, then,” Melissa says. “You wouldn’t want Ted calling your brother hot, right?”

“Again, I said I’d fuck him, hot was implied—”

“Stop. Talking.”

Charlotte blinks. “What was the question?”

“Do you have a hot brother?” Ted asks.

Melissa swats him. “Not the question!”

“I have a sister,” Charlotte says.

“That still works—you wouldn’t want Ted calling her hot, right?”

“…I guess not? But we hardly speak, so I’m not sure I would really care.”

“My point exactly,” Ted says.

“That literally proves nothing,” Melissa pouts, tugging him up. “C’mon, we gotta get back to work.”

Charlotte follows them out as they continue their playful bickering. For some reason, she’s stuck on Melissa’s insistence on caring about how people speak of their siblings. There’s not much, well, anything she feels for Pamela left. They haven’t spoken in years—not since their mother’s funeral, after which the nightmares got worse. Before then, Charlotte would babysit when Pamela asked, but she didn’t reach out much. Neither did Charlotte. Something about Pamela had always rubbed Sam the wrong way, and the two couldn’t have a conversation without it turning into a squabble. Not that Charlotte was eager to take Pamela’s side. As soon as she left home, she never looked back, leaving Charlotte alone with their mother for the next four years.

Because Pamela had never been the kind of older sister that made sure Charlotte got fed. Grabbed her a drink and a cigarette when she needed one, sure, but not food. She was more concerned with sneaking out and fighting with their mom. Charlotte, she could take or leave. And so, when their estrangement had deepened over the years, Charlotte couldn’t muster up much anger or shock over it. Just slight sadness, and resignation. Pamela didn’t look out for her as a kid. Why start now?

Except…

With the decades that had passed, and her terrible memory, Charlotte had all but forgotten it. But she used to get nightmares as a small child. She couldn’t tell you of what, but she’d often wake up screaming. Her mother hated it—would yell at her for being a devil child—but Pamela… Pamela would soothe her. Not just after she woke up, but before she went to sleep. She’d sing lullabies. Lullabies that Charlotte can’t quite remember, but she knows were… strange, for a child to sing, even back then. But the melody was soft, and she’d fall asleep to her sister’s voice. Sometimes, when she woke up, she wouldn’t scream.

“You waking up at all?” Melissa asks, holding open the door to CCRP.

“A little,” Charlotte says, sipping her mocha. 

As they walk into the office, someone waves over at them. “Hey Melissa, I was supposed to get a new print of the schematics for—”

“Right, sorry!” Melissa grabs Ted’s arm and begins dragging him to her mail cart.

“Ow, hey, what do I have to do with—”

“You and your dumb comments about my brother are why I’m behind on—”

“They weren’t dumb, they were accurate.”

“Ted!”

As they disappear into the depths of CCRP, Charlotte wanders over to her desk. Nearby, Sylvia is chatting with Bill about who-knows-what. Probably their kids. They like to talk about their kids. It’s sweet. In another world, if Charlotte was less of a mess and had married someone who wanted kids, she could imagine having one of her own. Just one. Preferably a sweet little girl. Ugh, she’d probably be a terrible mom, though. It’s not like she’s ever had a good example. Nor has she been a stellar aunt to Lex and Hannah…

“You alright, honey?” Sylvia asks. “You’ve been looking dead tired this week.”

“Just not sleeping well, I guess,” Charlotte says.

Bill’s eyes light up. “Oh, maybe you could try that melatonin stuff! I know it helps Alice.”

“I don’t think I need to be medicated.”

“It’s not quite like that—”

“Is everything okay with Sam?” Sylvia asks.

Charlotte stares at her.

“I just—you’ve mentioned how he works late, and you don’t sleep well…”

“Oh, no, he doesn’t wake me up or anything,” Charlotte says. “And he’s getting home early today. I’m gonna make a nice dinner for us.”

“That’s nice,” Bill hums, and Sylvia pats her back. Elsewhere in the office, Melissa squawks, “Ted!” 

“Ow!” Ted shouts. 

As he passes by Charlotte, Paul sighs. “Hope they haven’t picked up that argument again.”

“It bit me!” Ted shouts again.

Melissa yelps. “Look out!”

“…No, I think this is something different,” Bill says, peering across the room. 

“I’ll take care of it,” Sylvia sighs. She begins bustling over to Ted and Melissa. “Spankoffski, what on Earth—”

Paul looks at Bill. 

Bill looks at Paul.

The men shrug, and settle down in their cubicles. 

Charlotte decides to do the same. Sipping up the last of her mocha, she starts on her pastry. Beanie’s pastries aren’t exactly good, by any measure, but they get the job done. By the time the noise of whatever commotion Ted and Melissa have tangled themselves up in dies down, the food and caffeine have settled in Charlotte’s stomach enough to make her feel almost normal again.

And then she finds herself bouncing her leg, grinning stupidly at nothing. Because Sam’s coming home early tonight. She can make dinner and they can talk and cuddle and maybe, finally, do a bit more than cuddle. Just the thought makes her far too flustered for a working environment, so she forces herself to focus on something else. Like what she’s cooking for dinner. It’s so much more fun when she’ll actually get to eat it with Sam. 

Before she quite processes what she’s doing, she pulls out her phone and clicks on Sam’s contact. After a few rings, he picks up.

“Hey Sam,” she says. “Is now a good time?”

“It’s fine,” he replies, “been a slow day. What’s up?”

“I was wondering what you wanted for dinner.”

“Eh, I dunno yet. Might pick something up after work.”

“Actually, since you’re coming home early, I was gonna cook up something nice.”

“I’m not coming home early.”

Charlotte’s heart sinks. “You’re not? I thought you said you were going in early so you could be done early—”

“To work on my audition,” Sam finishes. “At the community center. Didja not hear the second part?”

“…I guess not. I’ve been pretty out of it today.”

“No kidding. You looked like a zombie this morning.”

“You noticed?”

“Sure did after you tried to put my shoes on. While they were still on my feet. As I was walking out.”

Charlotte groans. “I didn’t realize it was that bad.”

“It was pretty bad. Hey, with me working on my audition, you can go to bed earlier.”

“But I’m better now! And I was looking forward to dinner…”

“We can do it another time,” Sam says, “but I gotta get this audition down tight. You know I haven’t done theatre in years, I can’t show up all rusty.”

Swallowing her disappointment, Charlotte nods. “Right. Well, I’m sure you’ll do great. And maybe we can do dinner tomorrow night?”

“Yeah, maybe, but I gotta keep practicing it… look, I have to go.”

“Right, okay. Take care, Sam, I—”

“Bye.”

“—love you,” Charlotte finishes, staring at her phone.

He’s already hung up.

Charlotte squeezes her eyes shut as tightly as possible to hold back the tears.

She gets down half of her flask before Paul notices, and gently pries it away from her.

“Hey, maybe save some for later, yeah?” he says, his scrunched up face clearly projecting that she should absolutely not be having any more alcohol for the rest of the day.

“I thought I was having dinner with Sam tonight,” Charlotte says. “Only I didn’t remember the rest of what he said.”

Paul makes what he probably thinks is a sympathetic smile, but is really more of a grimace.

“It’s just a rough patch.” Charlotte’s voice sounds very far away to her, for some reason. “Everyone goes through—”

Sylvia struts by, carrying a squirming trash bag. Which effectively kills Charlotte’s pretty one-sided conversation.

“…What’s in the bag?” Paul asks.

“Buncha frogs.”

“Why?”

“They were in Melissa’s mail cart.”

“Again… why?”

“Do you think I know the answer to that?” Sylvia snaps. 

While Paul looks like he’s seriously considering the question, Charlotte slips her flask off his desk and drains the rest of it.

“Oh, Charlotte, no—”

Sylvia thrusts the bag at him. “Take care of these. I’ll handle this.”

“What am I supposed to do with a bunch of frogs?”

“Figure it out!”

Holding the thrashing bag away from him, Paul shuffles over to Bill’s cubicle. “Help.”

“What the—”

While the two confusedly make their way outside, Sylvia drags over a chair and seats herself next to Charlotte.

“Talk to me, honey,” she says. “And leave the flask at home next time, I don’t wanna have to hound you about unprofessionalism like I do with Spankoffski. What’s going on?”

Charlotte swallows back the lump in her throat. “I’m just tired. And I thought Sam and I were going to have dinner tonight, and I spent all day looking forward to it, but…”

“Asshole,” Sylvia mutters, before scrunching up her lips like she hadn’t meant for that to slip out.

“It’s not his fault, it’s mine. I didn’t listen to all of what he was saying, I really don’t know where my head’s at these days…”

“Do you think you should see a doctor?”

“I’m not crazy!”

“…Never said you were, but if you’re this tired all the time—” Sylvia glances down at her watch. “Shit. Frog-catching took way too long—I have to run to a meeting. You go home early, okay? Ask someone to drive you. Even if you were sober, I wouldn’t trust you behind the wheel right now.”

“Okay,” Charlotte whispers.

Sylvia pats her shoulder. “Get some sleep, Charlotte.”

“Sleep isn’t the problem,” Charlotte wants to explain, as Sylvia bustles away. She doesn’t have any trouble getting to sleep. It’s just the nightmares. How they seem to linger. And how she never feels fully rested anymore. Unless she…

Rubbing her face, Charlotte stands. Sylvia was right about one thing. She should go home, and she should get someone else to drive her. Because while the caffeine kicking in helped with the exhaustion, the alcohol is beginning to take its effect. By the time she stumbles into the break room, she’s already lightheaded and dizzy.

“Hey, Charlotte,” Ted says. He’s got a bandaid plastered awkwardly on his nose, while Melissa is vigorously washing her hands in the sink.

“Hi,” Charlotte leans against the doorframe. “What happened?”

“There were frogs in my mail cart and one of them peed on me!” Melissa shudders. “Cute, but ick!”

“And, Ted, your nose—”

“It bit me,” Ted says. “But according to Melissa, frogs don’t carry rabies, so I’m good.”

“Good.”

“What’d Sylvia do with the frogs?” Melissa asks.

“Handed ‘em off to Bill and Paul,” Charlotte says. “Don’t know what happened from there.”

“Oh, I hope they didn’t hurt them.”

Ted snorts. “I think the only way Bill could hurt a frog is by accidentally sitting on it.”

“Sitting sounds nice,” Charlotte says, going to sit down. She finds herself sprawled on the floor because, right, there’s no chair.

“You need more coffee?” Ted asks.

“I need you to drive me home,” Charlotte replies, “because Sylvia says so.”

“…Sylvia wanted me to drive you home. Right.”

“Not you, anyone, but I’m choosing you because your car is blue. Like, a really good blue.”

That puts a funny little smile on Ted’s face, which makes Charlotte smile in return. With an outstretched hand, he helps her to her feet.

Melissa dries her hands on her skirt, with an almost manic smile of her own. “Well, you two have fun with that.”

“Make good choices,” Charlotte swears she hears Melissa hiss to Ted as they exit the break room. Soon enough, they’re in Ted’s excellently colored car, humming along to the radio. Yeah, Sylvia was right not to let her drive. That liquor is really starting to hit her.

Ted helps her out of the car and into the living room, where Charlotte immediately jams on her headband.

“I forgot it this morning,” she tells Ted. “It’s lucky.”

He shrugs. “You’re hot with or without it.”

“Mmhmm?”

“Yeah. Curls are fucking sexy.”

From where she’s flopped down on the couch, Charlotte grins. Ted hovers nearby, seemingly unsure whether he should leave or sit beside her.

“Alright,” he says. “You want me to get you some water, or—”

“Fuck me.”

“...Are you serious?”

“Yes,” Charlotte pleads, rising to cup his jaw in her hands. “Today’s just been—really shit, and I thought I was gonna have dinner with Sam but I’m not and I don’t sleep as bad after—just, please, Ted, I need this.”

Without hesitating, Ted leans down to kiss her hungrily, and God, it feels so good. He makes her feel so good, as they stumble their way to the bedroom. Keeping her eyes closed, Charlotte can almost believe this is Sam touching her. Kissing her. Like he used to. 

She goes to bed early that night, sore and sated. 

And she doesn’t have a single nightmare.

Chapter Text

Thursday, May 30th, 2019 - sixty four days until opening night

As Ted rummages through the fridge for an easy lunch, and Pete scarfs down his third bowl of cereal—Christ, Ted can’t remember his growth spurts being that bad—his phone rings.

“Phone,” Pete says unnecessarily, and Ted closes the fridge door to grab it.

Charlotte’s calling him. 

So of course, Ted answers the call with, “Hey, gorgeous.” 

Pete eyes him like he’s not sure whether he should be taking notes on Ted’s flirting technique (he totally should) or rolling his eyes at his big brother.

“Hey Ted,” Charlotte says, “I hate to ask you so late, but it didn’t occur to me until Sam already left—would you mind driving me to work? My car’s still in the lot…”

“Yeah, sure. My car is a ‘really good blue’ according to some hottie I saw yesterday.”

She stifles a laugh. “I said that?”

“Yeah. Wait, how much of last night do you remember?”

“Enough to know it was really more afternoon. And I don’t want to talk about it, Ted, it’s not right to—I mean, I’m with Sam—”

“Doesn’t look that way to me,” Ted can’t help but mutter.

“Ted—”

“He’s a fucking asshole, you could do so much better—”

“Sam’s a good man!” Charlotte insists. “He’s just busy, we’re going through a rough patch—he’s my husband.”

“Right. Yeah. Forget I said fucking anything. I’ll pick you up in twenty?”

“Thank you.”

“You better eat something before I get there,” Ted says. “See you then.”

“Bye, Ted.”

He hangs up, only to be met with Pete’s curious stare. 

“You’re gonna miss the bus,” Ted tells him.

“What was that about?”

“Just gotta pick up my coworker on my way to the office. Drove her home yesterday and her husband already took his car—”

“You’re sleeping with a married woman?” Pete exclaims. “I mean, Ted…”

“Hey, I’m not the only one she’s sleeping with.”

“Geez, the poor guy.”

Ted snorts. “Yeah, the poor scumbag cop—”

“You’re sleeping with a cop’s wife?! Ted, you’re gonna get shot.”

“I’m not gonna get shot.”

“Beat up, then.”

“What’s sex without a little danger?”

“Healthier,” Pete grumbles. “It’s healthier without danger.”

“You can preach to me once you actually get some,” Ted says, enjoying how Pete squawks and drops his spoon.

“I bet you were still a virgin at fifteen,” he mutters.

Ted chooses to ignore that comment, because yikes, he does not want to think about his fifteen-year-old self. And because he doesn’t want to give Pete the satisfaction of being right.

After managing to somehow finish getting ready in under ten minutes (which involves changing the bandaid on his nose from that stupid frog bite), Ted finds himself driving to the Sweetly residence for the second time in twenty four hours. Looking at his car, he can’t help but snort. Drunk Charlotte was right about one thing—it’s a great color.

He’d named the car Willow, from Buffy the Vampire Slayer. That was his and Jenny’s show. He’d always privately thought of them as Willow and Xander anyway. Two best friends, one a redheaded witch, the other a horny brunet. Seemed accurate. Except in Ted’s version, Xander was the one in unrequited love with Willow, not the other way around. 

And then he remembers, right, his love for Jenny was requited. They were both just too scared to say anything until it was too late.

The thing is, Ted could’ve lived with never saying a word about his feelings. For years, he’d all but resigned himself to that. But it fucking guts him that Jenny felt the same way and, as soon as she confessed it, she dropped off the face of the planet. He spent years calling, writing letters he didn’t quite know where to send, even spent a week traipsing around Clivesdale in hopes of finding her. Nothing. 

He’s snapped back to the present at the sight of Charlotte standing outside, skirt fluttering in the wind. Her token pink headband is perched atop her curls, and as she slides into the car, Ted is pleased to see the bags under her eyes are less pronounced.

“You look better,” he says, in lieu of something like “Good morning.”

She smiles a bit hesitantly at him. “Got some good sleep last night.”

Ted bites back the urge to say, “You’re welcome,” because he doesn’t want to start bickering with her again even if he really, really has some choice words to say about Sam. And Charlotte’s insistence on staying with him.

“How’s your brother doing?” 

Dammit, she always knows what to say to make him love her a little bit more.

“Hungry little fucker,” Ted replies. “Worse growth spurts than I had—I’ll be pissed if he ends up taller than me.”

Charlotte laughs. “You’ll have to keep me updated.”

“Will do.”

“Is he out of school yet?”

“Last day’s tomorrow. Bet he’s gonna come home with straight A’s again.”

“Much better than I was in school.”

“Same here.”

Lips set in a lopsided frown, Charlotte cocks her head to the side.

“What?”

“You went to Hatchetfield High, right? Class of ’02?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Me too,” Charlotte says. “And I was thinking, I can’t remember ever speaking to you before working at CCRP. How did that happen?”

Ted snorts. “Oh, my parents were hardcore Presbyterians. Hated Methodists for some reason, so I wasn’t allowed to talk to you Fosters. Which was weird, ‘cause they were fine with me hanging out with Mark Chasity, and he’s Lutheran.”  

“Huh. My mother was always a bit—well, that’s an understatement—very religious. I wasn’t supposed to speak to any boys.”

“Wait, did she ever send you to Camp Idontwannabang? ‘Cause I never saw you there either—”

“No, I wished I could’ve gone!” Charlotte sighs. “Abstinence camp sounded so much better than abstinence staying-shut-in-my-room.”

She chuckles to herself, but dread pools in the pit of Ted’s stomach.

“Be glad you didn’t go,” he says roughly. “Camp fucking sucked.”

Charlotte glances over at him quizzically, and Ted knows he really can’t go down this road, so he clears his throat and asks, “You eat something, or do we needa stop at Beanie’s?”

“Oh, no, I’m good. Had a bagel.” 

“Cool,” he says, and they’re soon pulling into the CCRP parking lot… where Melissa is gently banging her head against the side of her car.

“Hey Melissa, you okay?” Charlotte calls.

Jerking upright, Melissa turns toward them and plasters on a grin. “Totally fine!”

“Right, ‘cause that’s a normal fucking thing to do,” Ted snorts. Then he spots the Beanie’s cup in Melissa’s hand. “You run into Paul flirting with the crabby barista or something?”

“Why couldn’t I have just gone to Starbucks?” Melissa wails.

Charlotte pats her shoulder. “Oh, Melissa.”

“I stayed up late last night reading so I needed some coffee this morning, and I have to support Beanie’s ‘cause of Nora, only Emma was working the counter. Which would’ve been fine, but then Paul came in after me and I had to stand there and watch them flirt while I waited for my drink. Absolutely awful.”

“Yeah, I still don’t know why he picked her over you,” Ted says.

Sighing, Melissa pats down her hair. “Ugh. I’ll get over it eventually, I know I will, but it’s just so frustrating. Of all the places, why my best friend’s coffee shop?”

“I thought I was your best friend.”

“You’re my best work friend. Nora’s my best childhood friend.”

“I want an upgrade,” Ted complains.

“You’ll get an upgrade when you stop calling my brother hot.”

“So you want me to lie to you,” Ted says, and Melissa groans. He knows he’s right—Zach Chambers has some nice hair. And arms. Ohhh yeah, those are some good arms.

Sylvia and Bill perk up when the trio arrives in the office. Probably because Charlotte doesn’t look like an absolute wreck anymore. That line of thinking is only confirmed when Sylvia asks, “You feeling better, Charlotte?”

“Uh huh," she says, smiling in a way that stabs Ted through the heart because, fuck, he’s so far gone on this woman. He wants to see that smile more. “Finally got some good sleep.”

“That’s great!” Bill exclaims.

Ted snorts. “Christ, calm down, Bill. You sound like you just won the fucking lottery.”

“I’m just excited—Alice is coming home tomorrow for the whole summer, and I’ve missed her! I haven’t spent that much time with her in a year and a half!”

“Awww,” the women chorus, and Ted fights back an eye roll that Sylvia will surely give him grief over.

Paul takes that as his cue to walk into the room, which means Melissa quickly excuses herself to deliver mail. Much more interested in bitching to her than listening to Bill ramble, Ted follows her into the next room. 

“I hate this,” she mutters, sorting through the various packages and papers in her cart. “How do you deal with it?”

“The sex helps,” Ted says, remembering yesterday afternoon. Might use those images to jerk off in his office later today if Charlotte doesn’t want to go for round two tonight.

Melissa sighs. “Honestly, I think that would make it worse for me.”

“How could sex make anything worse?”

She stares at him for a moment, before shaking her head.

“What? It’s a legit question!”

“Just different priorities,” she says. “I’ll get over Paul, I will, but why is it so hard to find a good man in Hatchetfield?”

“‘Cause we’re a tiny fucking town?”

“Yeah, that might be it.”

“Well, if you ever do just want sex, I can help with that.”

Her face crumples in disgust. “Ted!”

“What? I mean wingman! Talk you up to some guys at the Birdhouse.”

“Oh.”

“Trust me, you’ve made it crystal fucking clear you won’t sleep with me.”

“Good,” Melissa says. “I’d probably catch something if I did.”

“Prude.”

“Slut.”

They grin at one another.

“Were you serious?” Melissa asks. “When you said you might audition for Alice’s show the other day.”

Ted shrugs. “I dunno. It just popped into my head, and then Sylvia started bitching at me. Haven’t really thought about it since.”

“I think you should.”

“Really?”

“Yeah—probably be good for you to have something outside of work and Pete and…”

Charlotte hangs in the air between them, unspoken but known. 

“I haven’t even done theatre since college.”

“What made you stop?”

Ted hesitates.

“Got my heart broken,” he says, roughly, “and I’m not saying more than that. Don’t you dare fucking tell anyone.”

Melissa raises her hands in surrender. “I won’t! You think I’m in a position to judge?”

Frankly, Ted doesn’t think her Paul thing has shit on what went down with him and Jenny, but explaining that means explaining what went down with him and Jenny, and Ted’s not fucking doing that. So he just pats her shoulder and says, “You’ll find someone way better out there. Someone who likes musicals.”

“I hope so.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You gonna audition?”

“Oh, I doubt it,” Melissa says. 

“I thought you were asking Bill when auditions were and stuff.”

“That was so I could tell my siblings about it. I mean, I’m an okay singer, but I didn’t perform much in high school. Zach and Zoey did a ton of stuff, so my parents were always too busy to pick me up from school late or go see more shows or anything. So I only did musicals that Nora was also in.”

“Crazy idea,” Ted says.

“What?”

“I’ll audition if you do.”

“I don’t know…”

“C’mon, it could be fun!”

Melissa straightens a stack of papers. “What would I even sing?”

“You kidding me?” Ted snorts. “You’re a theatre geek surrounded by theatre geeks, you could definitely find something.”

“Did you just call yourself a theatre geek?”

“No.”

“You so did.”

“Fine, I’m a theatre geek, but don’t go around advertising it.”

Melissa laughs. “Ted, I don’t need to. Everyone in this office knows.”

“They do not.”

“I’ll prove it,” she says, wheeling her mail cart into the next room. Bill is showing something on his phone to Charlotte, Sylvia, and Paul—probably more shit about Alice, if Ted had to guess. She’s all Bill talks about. It’s annoying. Like, everyone gets it, Bill’s such an involved and loving parent. Ugh.

“Hey guys, quick question,” Melissa calls. “Do you think Ted likes theatre?”

“Yes,” everyone says, without looking away from Bill’s phone.

Ted splutters. “Wh—okay, fine, I talk about theatre sometimes—”

“It’s literally all we hear you and Melissa talk about,” Paul says, looking quite displeased with the fact. 

“See?” Melissa tells Ted. “You’re terrible at hiding it.”

“Fuck you,” he says. 

Cackling, she merrily pushing her mail cart along.

Ted jogs after her. “So does this mean you’re auditioning with me?”

“…You know what, Ted, sure. If you audition, I will too.”

“Fuck yeah!”

As he trails her throughout the office, Ted’s mind buzzes with potential audition songs and monologues and wondering what the hell kind of role is even available to him in Alice’s musical. And what Melissa could sing. Maybe they could practice together. That’d be fun. He hasn’t rehearsed with someone since Jenny…

And even though this morning has just been a pendulum of bitter longing swinging between Charlotte and Jenny, Ted finds himself smiling. He misses Jenny, and he misses performing. While he can’t have the first, he might be able to get the latter back. Yeah, he misses theatre. And he misses…

Melissa plops a package in his arms. “Hold this.”

“Why is it vibrating?” Ted asks, peering at it curiously. 

“It’s full of bees.”

“Ha.”

“No, I’m serious,” Melissa says, pointing at the label on the box that says WARNING: LIVE BEES.

“What the fuck? First frogs, now bees?”

“Well, the frogs weren’t supposed to be there. The bees are.”

“Why?”

“I’m just the delivery girl,” Melissa says. “And sometimes that means I deliver live bees.”

“Is this not the weirdest thing you’ve ever delivered?”

“No, there was this one time where some new prototype of who-knows-what had to be delivered, only it looked like a three-foot-long dildo made of titanium and red LED lights. And it wasn’t labeled! So I had to ask everyone where to deliver it, and I was just walking through the entire building with this giant dildo in my mail cart—”

Chuckling, Ted follows onto the elevator as she describes her quest through CCRP to find the rightful owner of the dildo machine.

And that feeling—of missing a best friend—fades just a little more.

Chapter Text

Friday, May 31st, 2019 - sixty three days until opening night

Like every high schooler in the history of high school, Ruth can’t wait for summer break.

The last month always sucks, because they closed their school musical at the end of April, so Ruth hasn’t even had rehearsals to look forward to every day. Just class and ducking wayward gum in the hallway. And the bus. Which, thankfully, Ruth doesn’t have to take because her Uncle Paul is driving her, Pete, and Richie to Pete’s place.

She waits for the boys on the front steps, trying to appear as inconspicuous as possible. At least the warm weather means plenty of miniskirts that the teachers haven’t bothered to dress code on the last day. Checking out senior cheerleaders’ legs isn’t the worst way to pass the time.

“Hey, Ruth,” someone says, and Ruth turns to find Pete jogging up to her. “Richie’s gonna be a little late—Max Jägerman was being—well, Max Jägerman and now Richie’s hiding in his locker until he leaves.”

“Typical,” Ruth groans. “I just wanna get outta here.”

“Same.”

“Hey, at least you actually enjoy final exams! I’ve had nothing to live for since closing night.”

“Aren’t you gonna do stuff for that Starlight show, though?”

“I was thinking about it,” Ruth admits, “but those posters only have info for auditions, not tech stuff, and they haven’t said anything about it on the Instagram either.”

“Could you message them or something?”

“I haven’t spoken to Alice in ages, it would be weird to—”

“Oh, ew!”

Ruth turns to see Brenda and Stacy staring at her. Hot girl alert!!! Well, shallow, dumb, and petty girl alert, but still. A hot girl is a hot girl, and Ruth is but a horny bisexual with limited options.

“You have, like, gum in your hair,” Brenda says.

Stacy makes a face. “Gross!”

“Didn’t your sister blow up a toilet?” Pete asks. “Seems grosser to me.”

“Whatever, Micro-Peter.”

The girls flounce away.

Ruth sighs longingly. “I want her.”

“Which one?” Pete asks.

“Both. At the same time.”

“…Yeah, I shoulda seen that one coming.”

Richie takes that as his cue to sprint outside. “Okay, successfully evaded Max on the last day, can we get the fuck out of here now?”

“Did you have to Naruto run?” Pete asks, as Richie begins tugging him down the street.

“Did you have to whack off to the MEAP test?”

“That was never proven.”

“I wish I didn’t have Miss Mulberry breathing down my neck that whole test,” Ruth mutters. “All those melons…”

Richie shakes his head. “How is it that you two will get hornier for math questions than Rei or Asuka?”

“Don’t talk about being horny when we get in my Uncle Paul’s car,” Ruth says, dragging the boys toward exactly that.

“You were the one who said you wanted a threesome with Brenda and Stacy,” Pete points out.

“Again,” Richie says, “Rei and Asuka are clearly the superior choice for a threesome—”

“Both of you, shut the fuck up,” Ruth yanks open the passenger door. “Hi, Uncle Paul.”

“Hey Ruth,” Paul says, nodding at Pete and Richie as they pile in the backseat. “How was the last day?”

The trio groans.

“Sounds about right. Where am I taking you?”

“Pete’s place,” Ruth says, leaning over to type into the GPS. “I’ll put in the address.”

“What’s so great about Rei and Asuka?” Pete asks Richie.

“Oh, you’re gonna regret getting me started.”

As Richie goes off on a ramble, Paul turns to Ruth and mutters, “At least when you’re talking about theatre stuff, I can kind of understand it.”

“Don’t worry, Pete and I don’t understand much anime stuff either,” Ruth whispers back. 

Before long, they’re pulling up in front of the Spankoffskis’ apartment complex.

“Have fun,” Paul says. “Lemme know if I need to pick you up later, I gotta get back to work but I’m done at five.”

“Gotcha, thanks Uncle Paul!”

“Oh—Ruth?”

“Yeah?”

He winces. “You’ve got some gum in your hair.”

“I know,” Ruth sighs. 

“I think we’ve got peanut butter,” Pete says. “That’s supposed to get gum out, right?”

“We’ll find out,” Richie says.

So when they get inside, they put some peanut butter on Ruth’s hair. And then they end up slathering her entire head in peanut butter, because it’s surprisingly fun. They can’t tell where the gum is anymore, which Ruth supposes is good? 

The trio is spread out in the living room, Richie absolutely destroying Ruth and Pete in Settlers of Catan, when Ted gets home. He stands in the doorway, staring at them.

“Look,” he finally says, “I appreciate the boldness, but if you three are gonna explore new kinks, can you at least do it in Pete’s room?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Richie asks.

“The insane amount of peanut butter.”

Pete buries his hands in his face. “There was gum. In Ruth’s hair.”

“What’s a peanut butter kink?” Ruth asks. 

“Don’t answer that!”

Ted just cackles. “Look it up. I gotta work on my audition.”

“Audition?” Richie asks.

“For Alice Woodward’s musical?” Ruth asks. 

“Yep.”

“Huh,” Pete says. “I didn’t know you could sing.”

Ted scoffs. “The hell are you talking about? I know you’ve heard me belting in the shower.”

“Our apartment acoustics are fucked, I couldn’t tell if you were any good or not.”

“You heard me sing shit from Cabaret!”

“Once, when you were drunk.”

“I literally did so much theatre when I was your age,” Ted says. “Of course I can fucking sing.”

Pete throws his hands up. “I’m not doubting that! You just never told me.”

“Really? ‘Cause apparently I talk about theatre all the time, according to my coworkers.”

“You do,” Ruth says, “but you never said anything about performing.”

“Huh.” 

“Richie, you good?” Pete asks, and Ruth turns to see Richie staring into space, brow furrowed like he’s trying to decipher a very difficult math problem.

Richie looks over, and very seriously asks, “What the fuck is a peanut butter kink?”

“Okay, it’s when—”

“No!” Pete actually jumps up and slaps a hand over Ted’s mouth. “Do not ruin peanut butter for me, Ted!”

He promptly falls on his ass. 

Richie snorts. “Jesus, Pete.”

“Urgh. Low blood sugar.”

“Don’t die, dumbass,” Ted says, swiping a chocolate bar from the kitchen and tossing it to Pete. It smacks him in the face.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, flipping Ted off.

Ruth turns to Richie. “So how do we get the peanut butter out?”

“Out of the kink?”

“Out of my hair.”

“Ohhh… I have no idea.”

“Then why did we put it in in the first place?!”

“Use mayo,” Ted says. “That shit’ll get peanut butter outta hair no problem.”

“You’re fucking with us,” Richie says. 

“Nah, I’m not.”

“How do you even figure that out?”

“My best friend in high school had long curly hair and her mom owned a diner,” Ted says. “Chaos with condiments went down sometimes.”

“There’s already peanut butter and gum in my hair, why not add mayo?” Ruth decides. 

Pete shoves the last of his chocolate bar in his mouth. “Was that Miss Retro’s?”

“What?”

“The diner your friend’s mom owned. Was that Miss Retro’s?”

“Wait, is your friend’s mom Miss Retro?” Ruth asks. “She’s hot.”

“She’s, like, fifty,” Richie points out.

“She’s a MILF!”

Ted frowns. “No, my friend’s mom died in… what, 2002? Yeah, had to be, ‘cause we started college like a month later…”

“Was she a MILF?” Ruth asks.

She has very little shame asking such a question, because Ted will always match her horny bisexual energy. But when his gaze stays sad and distant, Ruth starts to squirm a bit. Yeah, maybe asking if his friend’s dead mom was a MILF took it a little too far.

“Never saw her that way,” Ted finally answers. “I mean, I’m sure she was pretty, but she was always like a second mom to me. A better mom.”

Ruth can’t argue with that. She doesn’t know how Mr. and Ms. Spankoffski treated Ted, but she was close enough friends with Pete in middle school to witness the “my parents are moving across the country without any input from me whatsoever and I can either go with them or beg my older brother that I barely see to let me move in so I don’t have to be ripped away from my home” debacle. That was a rough year. And yeah, Ruth gets what it’s like to have not-very-present parents, but that’s because one mom died when she was two days old and the other has some intense secret government job. The Spankoffskis are just, like, a totally normal couple that really don’t care about their younger son’s life. Ruth wonders if they were as dismissive toward Ted. It’s really none of her business, but hey, she’s nosy. 

“I still don’t understand the peanut butter kink,” Richie says.

“You have the internet, use it,” Ted says. “Also, mayo.”

“There’s a mayo kink too?”

“No, for Ruth’s hair,” Pete sighs. “I’ll check the fridge.”

Ted throws a peace sign over his shoulder before retreating to his bedroom. 

As Pete ambles into the kitchen, Richie slides out his phone, no doubt to attempt sating his curiosity. Ruth does the same, but opens Instagram instead, pulling up the account for Alice’s musical.

They were friends, in elementary school, because Uncle Paul would babysit for Alice in addition to Ruth. No doubt the poor man was endlessly exasperated by how they’d dance around and sing along to movies like Annie and Hairspray. Once the girls hit middle school, Alice started hanging out with Deb and Ziggs and Steph (who’s Stephanie Lauter now, but used to be just Steph) while Ruth became fast friends with Pete thanks to their tap classes together. Honestly, Ruth was jealous. Alice grew to be pretty and smart and got her first girlfriend before half the boys in their grade did, and Ruth was just a stinky loner with bad hair and worse teeth.

And now, what, Alice is directing a whole original musical at the Starlight while Ruth is contemplating begging her to let her run the lights?

That’s not even what she really wants. Well, it is, because Ruth genuinely enjoys lighting design and watching the show from the booth, but she’d like to be on that stage one day. The center of attention. Being properly appreciated, properly seen. She can act and sing—she spends hours every week doing exactly that at home. It makes the house feel a little less big when her mom’s away and her uncle is busy. Performing at the Starlight would eliminate the fear of getting bullied by other theatre kids, because it’d be a real show, not just a school one. She could get up onstage and belt her face off and finally prove to everyone that she’s more than just an ugly loser.

Ruth could totally do it.

If not for every bone in her body screaming that she can’t.

Chapter Text

Saturday, June 1st, 2019 - sixty two days until opening night

Family dinners suck.

Especially when they’re on a Saturday night, so Zoey can’t hang out with friends or hook up with Sam. If it weren’t for the dinner part, she’d probably try to wiggle out of the obligation. But alas, she’s a college student, and will take a good, free meal wherever she can get one. And her mom has a craving for Italian, so the Chambers family ends up at Pasqualli’s. 

Zoey’s five minutes late, because even though she wants food, she doesn’t want to wait around for the rest of her family. Her parents are just getting there when she arrives, and Zach and Melissa have already found them a table. Melissa is telling Zach about some kitten antics that’d occurred during her shift at the animal shelter earlier today. When nobody’s looking, Zoey rolls her eyes. If there was ever a crazy cat lady in the making, it’s her sister.

“Hi honey,” their mom says, rushing over to give Zoey a hug. “How’re you doing? When’s school over?”

“Soon,” Zoey says, seating herself next to Melissa because even though she’s weird, Zach sucks more. “Next week is the last week.”

“Exciting!”

“Are you cramming for finals yet?” Melissa asks.

Zoey raises her eyebrows. “It’s a theatre degree? We don’t have final exams. Just performances, which everyone knows I can crush.”

“That’s right,” her mom hums, while Zach shakes his head.

“You do have final exams, ‘cause you have to take gen-eds—”

“Which I’m done with—”

“—so it’s not unreasonable for Melissa to think you have actual finals.”

“Well, since you already graduated, she should know there aren’t exams after the first two years,” Zoey retorts. “Unless you failed a class or two and had to retake them.”

“I didn’t fail anything—”

“Except for your driver’s test—”

“The first time, and you—”

“Okay!” their mom chirps. “What’s everyone gonna order?”

“Might get the ravioli,” their dad says.

“I like the look of the fettuccine,” Melissa says.

Their mom clicks her tongue. “Are you sure? That’s a lot of carbs, honey.”

“Maybe I could save half for lunch tomorrow, then…”

“I’ll get the lasagna,” Zach says, and with a pointed look at Zoey, “I had it on a date with Josh a few weeks ago. It’s fantastic.”

Zoey bristles at the mention his boyfriend, aka her ex. It’s not like she was in love with him or anything, but damn, he was good in bed. And now her brother gets to enjoy that instead of her? Prick. Secretly, she hopes Josh is way worse at gay sex than straight sex. He probably isn’t. It’s annoyingly easier to please men. At least Sam’s decent at getting her off. 

“You been on any dates lately?” their mom asks Zoey. 

Zach smirks, and Zoey wants to reach across the table and throttle him. Or at the very least, spin a sob story for her parents about how Zach stole Josh from her. It’s not actually that dramatic—they’d been hooking up casually until Zach swooped in, and Josh didn’t want to hook up with siblings at the same time, so he ended things with Zoey. She can understand the sibling part, but choosing Zach over her? Unforgivable taste. 

While they’ve aired plenty of squabbles for the rest of their family, the details around Josh have remained between the two of them. It’s just a little too inappropriate and weird, and Zach doesn’t want anything getting back to Mima. Zoey doesn’t mind that—outing him to their grandma is the leverage she’ll hold over him until the last possible second. Keeps him from getting too out of line. Though he certainly toes it.

“Just a few dates here and there,” Zoey says, purposefully keeping her tone light and unaffected. “Nothing serious. What about you, Melissa? Finally ensnare a crazy cat gentleman?”

“I wish,” Melissa chuckles, completely missing Zoey’s jab. “No, I asked out a coworker a few weeks ago, but he turned me down.”

“Wait for him to come to you next time,” their mom says. “Men like to be the ones approaching women.”

Their dad shoots her an odd look, which she ignores. Zoey doesn’t know what that’s about. Parents make zero sense.

“I don’t think there’s going to be a next time. Not with him, at least.” Melissa fiddles with her napkin. “He ended up asking out someone else later that same day…”

“Oof,” Zach says, and something clicks in Zoey’s brain.

“Oh my God, did you ask out Emma Perkins’ boyfriend?” she demands. “Is that why you were being so weird in Beanie’s the other day?”

Melissa groans. “Yes, and we really don’t need to get into it.”

“Ugh, be glad he turned you down. That man is painfully awkward.”

“Paul’s not awkward! …I mean, he is, but in a sweet way.”

“He’s bizarre,” Zoey insists. 

“Bizarre can be good!”

Their dad frowns. “If this man’s already in a relationship, I think you’d better move on. It’s downright disrespectful to keep pursuing—”

“No, Dad, I’m not still—”

“—and I did not raise you to come between a proper—”

“Dad, I’m over him!” Melissa exclaims. “I mean, I’m not, but I’m not doing anything about it. He has a girlfriend. And does not like me that way, as I’m very aware, so can we just drop it?”

“I’m sure you’ll find someone better soon enough,” Zoey says. “Someone like Josh!”

What she really means is just Josh, because if Melissa manages to steal him from Zach, Zoey would gain so much more respect for her older sister.

“I think Josh is a little too young for me,” Melissa says.

“Also, my boyfriend?” Zach adds, a tad too smugly.

“That too.”

“I said someone like him,” Zoey retorts. “And if you want kids, you better find someone soon, ‘cause you’re already in your thirties—”

“I’m not even dating anyone, why are we talking about having kids—”

“Oh, we don’t have to,” their mom says. “Don’t worry about the kid thing, girls, either of you—I had Zach and Zoey when I was nearly forty.”

Zach grimaces. “We don’t need to hear about how fertile you are, Mom.”

“Don’t say fertile!” Zoey whines. “You’re making it grosser!”

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” Melissa says, tossing down her napkin.

“To throw up after Zach being totally disgusting?”

“Zo, don’t mention puke while we’re eating,” their mom says.

Their dad shakes his head. “We’re not even eating. Where’s our waiter?”

“Right here,” the waiter in question says, “are you folks ready to order?”

“I think so,” Zoey’s mom says, and Zoey tunes out her family’s food choices until it’s her turn to order the eggplant parmigiana. Melissa’s still in the bathroom, so she adds, “And I think Melissa wanted the fettuccine—”

“We’ll get her the Caesar salad,” their mom tells the waiter. “I’ve been telling that girl for years, she’d look so much nicer if she just lost a few pounds…”

Zach shoots Zoey that universal look siblings share when their parents are behaving in a way that makes them want to audibly say “yikes” but they can’t without starting a fight. 

She just shrugs. Her mom’s blunt, but she’s not wrong. Zoey’s five inches taller than Melissa, and she probably weighs twenty pounds less. Melissa just needs to put a little more effort into her appearance. How’s she supposed to get a man if she’s a crazy cat lady and in her thirties? That’s, like, already married and having kids age, aka old. 

“So,” their dad says, as the waiter scurries away, “any job prospects beyond barista and bartender?”

“Dad,” Zoey and Zach whine.

“I want my kids to be able to support themselves, a family, be able to buy a house—”

“Ed, they’ll do just fine,” their mom insists. “They’ll make it to Broadway one day, I just know it.”

Melissa, who slides into her chair just in time to hear the last bit of their mom’s declaration, adds, “I heard the Community Players are doing Les Mis this summer, are either of you auditioning?”

“Josh is,” Zach says immediately, and Zoey tries to light him on fire with her eyes. “He’s so good, I bet he’ll get Jean Valjean. There’s really no competition.”

“Especially not from you,” Zoey snarks. Come on, he handed that one to her!

Their father frowns. “Zoey.”

“Daaad, I’m just joking around!”

“And technically, she’s not wrong,” Zach says, “because I’m auditioning for something else. Have you seen those new posters around town?”

“The ones for Alice Woodward’s musical?” Melissa asks. “Yeah, I—”

Their mom squeals. “Zach, are we gonna see you onstage at the Starlight?”

“You’ll definitely see me,” Zoey says, “because Alice Woodward personally asked me to audition. Just as a formality, I’m sure I’ve already secured the lead.”

“Oh, honey, that’s amazing!”

Now, Zoey actually doesn’t know what the hell Alice’s musical is about, but the Starlight is a step up from the community center any day. Plus, Les Mis only has, like, three good roles for women, and Fantine is only in the first act. Any musical written by a teenage girl will probably have way more stage time for Zoey. 

But ughhh, she went for it over Les Mis because she does not want to suffer through a show with Zach and Josh as the leads (because as much as she dislikes Zach, he could probably land Javert due to the severe lack of talent in the rest of Hatchetfield). And now Zach’s auditioning for the Starlight musical too? Asshole. She’s sick of doing shows with her obnoxious older brother.

“I’m auditioning too,” Melissa says, and Zoey has to snort at that.

“You? You’ve literally never done theatre.”

“Yes I have? I was in Brigadoon and The Sound of Music in high school.”

“I don’t remember seeing either of those.”

Zach furrows his brow. “I might’ve seen Brigadoon…?”

“You two would’ve been pretty young,” their dad says, “probably busy with your own school shows.”

Their mom squeezes his arm. “This is so exciting! We could see all three of our kids in the Starlight for the same show!”

Zoey bites back a groan. No, no, this is supposed to be her big break! This is so totally not supposed to be a family bonding activity with her lame, way less talented older siblings. Melissa works an office job, for fuck’s sake! There’s not a musical bone in her body!

That actually assuages Zoey’s annoyance slightly. If Alice Woodward was sharp enough to notice Zoey’s obvious skill, surely she won’t cast Melissa for her lack thereof. Though as for Zach, he’ll probably make the cut. The Hatchetfield Community Players are surely snatching up every decent male actor for Les Mis, so Alice will be left with slim pickings. Ugh, so even if Sam is accurate about being a decent actor and he gets cast alongside Zoey, Zach probably will too. Meaning she and Sam will have to be extra sneaky about hooking up, because if Zach gets evidence of her fucking a married man, he’ll be able to show it to Mima. Which will cancel out her leverage of outing him if he gets out of line, and they’ll be at a stalemate—fuck. 

Jesus, she needs to chill. Literally none of this has happened yet. Best case scenario, she and Sam get cast, Zach and Melissa don’t, and Zach is stuck without a show to do the whole summer while Zoey saves the Starlight. Well, no matter who else gets cast, it’s guaranteed to be Zoey who carries the show. 

Their food arrives while Zoey’s mom babbles on and on about all three of her kids being in a show together. Zoey doesn’t get the big deal. She and Zach are, unfortunately, in most shows together. Why her mom thinks Melissa has a shot at joining them, Zoey has no idea. Her big sister was a business administration major, has there ever been anything less creative?

Chatter dies down as everyone begins to dig into their food. Melissa’s disappointed eyes match the color of her salad—and that’s something Zoey thinks is cool about her siblings, as annoying as they can be. They all have the same brown hair, but Zoey has their mom’s blue eyes, Zach has their dad’s brown eyes, and Melissa has green eyes from some random recessive gene. Personally, Zoey thinks the distribution is fitting. Zach’s got the most boring combo, Melissa’s got the decent but slightly weird one, and Zoey’s got the best one that makes her look great in blue. Maybe that’s Melissa’s problem, always wearing reds and neutrals when green would go better with her eyes.

Zoey actually feels kind of bad for her sister. She’s fat, single, and is tragically lacking in pasta, musical talent, and clothes that match her eyes. And while Zoey can’t help with most of those, there is one thing she can do.

“You wanna go shopping next week?” she asks Melissa, who’s nibbling on a bite of lasagna Zach had graciously offered. “I need some new stuff for the summer.”

Melissa lights up. “I’d love to! Are you free on Friday afternoon? I’m at the animal shelter all weekend.”

“Sure, we can do Friday,” Zoey says, even though she’d much rather hang with her friends. Or Sam. 

Ugh, the things she does for this family. 

Chapter Text

Sunday, June 2nd, 2019 - sixty one days until opening night

It feels so good to be back in Hatchetfield.

Even though her dad insisted on another family dinner on Friday, and she had to spend all of yesterday in the Starlight reviewing procedures and schedules with Professor Hidgens, Alice is finally on a proper date with Deb. At Beanie’s, to celebrate Deb finally getting hired there, despite her older cousin’s endless teasing about not doing so. Alice isn’t really sure why Deb wants to go on a date in a place she’ll soon grow to hate thanks to working there, but she’s not complaining. She’s on a date. With her girlfriend. In Hatchetfield. 

Her dad wasn’t exactly happy with her skipping church, but Alice told him that surely, God wouldn’t mind, and there were plenty of other Sundays when she would attend, and love is love! He didn’t really have any response to that last one, so he’d let her go. It wasn’t like Deb was also skipping church, the Beanies not being religious. 

“They used to be,” Deb had said years ago, when she’d first mentioned it to Alice. “But my aunt and uncle sent Nora to some abstinence camp, like, a year after I was born, and the whole place got shut down because one of the counselors murdered a girl and then ran off. Totally spooked my parents out of raising me religious.” 

Alice doesn’t remember what her exact response was. Probably something like “Yikes.”

They're not talking about anything as gory today. Mostly just school gossip and plans for Alice’s musical. And what they’ll be up to outside of that, when Deb asks, “What d’ya wanna do while you’re here?”

“Well,” Alice’s leg bounces, “some date nights at, like, the only three restaurants in town sound nice. Or we could go to the farmer’s market—”

“—and have a picnic after?”

“Yes! We could also hang out at the mall, see a movie…”

“Ooo, you’ll be here for the Honey Festival this year!”

“I didn’t even think of that! I totally missed last year’s.” 

“Maybe we could even spend a weekend at my parents’ lake house,” Deb says, squeezing Alice’s hand.

She blushes. “I would like that… my dad, not so much.”

“Maybe you could tell him you’re having a sleepover with Ziggs?”

“I doubt he’d buy that.”

“Why wouldn’t he?”

“Because I’ve definitely ranted to my dad about how devastated I would be if Ziggs stole you from me because I was missing a potential date for some dumb family bonding activity he insisted on,” is what Alice absolutely cannot say without sounding lame and insecure.

“I’m not a great liar,” Alice says instead, and it’s kind of true, so she’s technically not lying? “And, like, the few times I get to see him, there’s always some kind of fight about curfew. I was kinda hoping to avoid anything like that this summer.”

Deb’s eyes glint mischievously. “Well, maybe we hang out in the lake house during the afternoon… but it’s coincidentally on a stormy day because we forgot to check the weather… and it’s too dangerous to bike back in the rain… so we have to spend the whole night there.”

“Oh my God, that’s, like, something out of a Jane Austen novel.”

“Weird?”

“Romantic.”

Alice’s little lesbian heart tries not to explode when Deb squeezes her hand again.

“We could also go to Pizza Pete’s,” Deb says. “Ziggs loves the arcade.”

Alice’s heart promptly deflates.

Why bring up Ziggs when they’re discussing potential dates? They were literally just talking about a romantic weekend getaway, so what’s Ziggs doing on Deb’s mind? This is supposed to be about Alice and Deb. As a couple. Unless Deb wasn’t thinking about these outings as dates. Just hangouts with Ziggs—wait, did Alice totally misinterpret the lake house thing? Does Deb think she’s weird or horny or—

“You okay?” Deb asks.

“Just nervous about my show,” Alice says, and oh God, she’s lying to her girlfriend again! That’s not a healthy relationship! Well, she is actually nervous about the show, so it doesn’t really count as lying, right?

“I know it’s a lot, but it’s gonna be great.”

“Thanks. I’m worried, though, ‘cause apparently all of the college kids are auditioning for the Community Players’ production of Les Mis—which I totally understand, it’s Les Mis, and my show is brand new—but what if that means I don’t have enough actors for it? What if nobody even auditions?”

“Hey, I’m sure there’ll be people who are interested. Not everyone is gonna get cast in Les Mis, and besides, it’s not like nobody will know about your show. Ziggs and Steph and I put posters up everywhere.”

Alice’s eyebrows shoot up. “Steph helped you put up posters?” 

“Yeah,” Deb says, “Ziggs roped her in somehow.”

Alice mulls this over. She and Steph were friendly in middle school. Not super close—Alice was straddling the line between the nerdy baby gays and the artsy stoners-to-be, and Steph definitely fell closer to the second category. Though her dad’s appointment as mayor in eighth grade definitely spiked her popularity. Alice and Steph haven’t really spoken since. Not out of any malice, just life moving them in different directions. But maybe that could change. If Steph had readily helped with the posters, maybe she’d be interested in participating more in the show. Maybe she’d even audition. Alice has never heard her sing, but she had been eagerly dragged into Alice’s Heathers phase in seventh grade…

Ah, shit, she’s just gone dead silent for a whole minute on what’s supposed to be a date.

“Sorry,” she tells Deb. “I was thinking about auditions and spaced out.”

“Don’t apologize. I love people watching. Beanie’s is great for it.”

“Is that why you wanna work here?”

“That, and the money.” Deb sips her drink. “It’s good for inspiring art. Like, that girl at the door. Her outfit is great—yellow button-down frog shirt, matching green shorts with yellow sneakers—it’s gay and color-coordinated. Perfect. But her hair? Absolute mess. It looks like she’s been brushing out her curls, but stopped halfway through because she realized it wasn’t getting any better, just frizzy. Honestly, it’d probably look great if she used a little product, but she probably doesn’t know that. Yet her clothes are clearly well thought out. I like putting those kinds of contradictions in my art.”

Alice could listen to her talk like this forever. Her girlfriend is so smart, and thoughtful, and creative. Enraptured by Deb’s words, it takes Alice a moment to process that the girl in question is actually Ruth Fleming. Another friend she hasn’t spoken to in ages. Well, Alice supposes she and Ruth didn’t exactly have a choice in the friendship matter, seeing as Ruth’s uncle used to babysit the two of them back in elementary school. But they still had fun. Watching musical movies and putting on their own productions in the backyard… and a few years later, Alice started writing her own shows, while Ruth took dance classes and worked lights for school productions. Alice wonders why she’s never seen her perform onstage. If her elementary school memories hold true, Ruth’s a great singer.

Deb is happily watching the next group that enters Beanie’s, so Alice turns her attention to Ruth, who approaches the counter.

“Can I get—hey, you’re my uncle Paul’s girlfriend!”

“Well,” the barista says, “we haven’t put a label on it.”

“But you’re still together?”

“Sure are. What can I get for you, Ruth?”

Ruth beams, before covering her braces with her hand. “You remembered my name!”

“Your uncle talks about you sometimes.”

“He’s really cool.”

“He’s a dork,” the barista says, but she’s smiling. “Now, did you want a drink, or…?”

“Oh, yeah! An iced caramel frappe, please.”

As Ruth pays, she drops a crumpled dollar in the tip jar.

“Fuck, am I gonna have to sing for tips when I work here?” Deb mutters. 

Alice shrugs. “Maybe?”

“I might have to reconsider this job.”

After punching Ruth’s order in, the barista looks over and frowns. “You can take that back if you want. Nora insists on it, but I don’t really do the whole singing for tips thing if I can get away with it. Not really what I signed up for.”

“I getcha,” Ruth sighs. “Keep the tip. You’re, like, really pretty, and you make Uncle Paul happy.”

Her face softens. “Thanks.”

As she turns away to make the drink, Alice just barely catches Ruth humming under her breath.

“Hold on,” she tells Deb, sliding out of her seat. 

Normally, the thought of spontaneously approaching someone would mortify Alice, but it’s just Ruth. And she’s got a show to put on!

“Hey, Ruth,” Alice says, internally wincing when Ruth startles at her voice. “How’s it going?”

“…Good?”

“What are you up to this summer?”

Ruth just shrugs, her gaze on the floor rather than on Alice herself. “I dunno. Hanging out.”

“Well, I’m back in Hatchetfield until the end of August to do this show I wrote at the Starlight—”

“If you want someone to design lights for it, I guess I’m available,” Ruth says, folding her arms over her chest. “‘Cause I’m not doing any school shows right now—”

“Actually, I was hoping you would audition.”

“…Audition?” Ruth asks, finally looking up.

“Yeah, I know I haven’t heard you sing since we were kids, but Ruth—you sounded so good. And it’d be great to catch up and do some theatre together this summer!”

“You want me. To audition?”

“Uh huh.”

Ruth stares at her for so long, Alice is ready to start squirming out of her skin. Oh God, this was such a weird ask, and why would she even approach Ruth randomly about this, they haven’t spoken in months—heck, maybe not even since Alice left Hatchetfield and even then they weren’t particularly close, this was so stupid of her to—

“I can’t,” Ruth says. 

Alice’s face falls. “Why not? You sound incredible, and the rehearsal schedule wouldn’t be too crazy—”

“I just can’t, okay? I get stage fright.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll do lights, if you need it,” Ruth says, retrieving her drink from the counter. “Just text me or something.”

“Okay,” Alice says, as Ruth scurries out of Beanie’s.

Sighing, she trudges back over to Deb.

“What was that about?” Deb asks.

“Thought I might be able to convince Ruth to audition.”

“Any luck?”

“I mean, she might do lights? But no audition.”

“Doesn’t surprise me,” Deb says. “I haven’t ever seen her in a school show. Maybe you should ask some of the theatre kids like Caitlyn or Trevor…”

“Maybe,” Alice says. Approaching Ruth was awkward enough, she doesn’t really want to beg someone she has even less rapport with to be in her show. “Or maybe I should ask Steph.”

“Can Steph even sing?”

“I have no idea.”

“You could shoot her a text.”

“I dunno if I have her number.”

“A DM, then. She’s always on, like, every social media platform to exist.”

Alice pulls out her phone. “Am I following her on Instagram?”

“She should be following the account for your show,” Deb says.

Lo and behold, when Alice pulls up @trailtooregon, there’s Steph in her vey short list of followers.

“That’s nice of her,” Alice says, going to follow Steph on her personal account. “I’ll send her a message.”

She quickly types out, Hey Steph, it’s Alice Woodward! I heard you helped put up posters for my show (ty btw!!) and I was wondering if you’d be interested in auditioning as well?

np! is Steph’s almost immediate answer. i cant act or sing to save my life (rip me if theres ever a musical apocalypse lol) but i could do other stuff for a show? like make tiktoks to promote it and stuff?

“That’s a no on the audition front,” Alice tells Deb, “but I think she’s willing to do marketing?”

“A win’s a win.”

Alice responds, Gotcha! If you’re willing to do stuff online for the show I would super appreciate it!! Absolutely no worries if not!

no it sounds so fun im in, Steph shoots back. my dad will probably hate it though lol

Ugh dads can be so overbearing

ikr!!

Alice likes her message, before sliding her phone away. If the mayor’s daughter is so willing to advertise her show, maybe she’ll sell enough tickets to save the Starlight.

Assuming she actually has a decent show by opening night.

“Maybe caffeine wasn’t a good idea,” Deb says.

Alice frowns at her. “Why do you say that?”

“You’re super anxious.”

“How do you—”

“Your leg is bouncing like crazy.”

“Oh.” Alice forcibly settles the leg in question. “I just get so nervous, thinking about my show. Are we gonna get a good cast, is it gonna go smoothly—”

“C’mon, Alice, you can’t control any of that. Especially not now.”

“Right. You’re right.”

“So how about we go for a walk?” Deb stands. “Burn off some of that nervous energy.”

Alice follows her up. “Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. Sorry, I’ve just been rambling on and on about this—tell me about that animation project you wanna try.”

“So, I’m gonna make these painted paper dolls,” Deb begins, and as they walk outside hand in hand, the tightness in Alice’s chest lessens slightly. 

Chapter Text

Monday, June 3rd, 2019 - sixty days until opening night

Working at Miss Retro’s isn’t so bad. The hours are better than Zach’s old job of bartending at the Birdhouse, especially if he’ll be committing to evening rehearsals for any shows he’s managed to get cast in. The pay is decent, the diner is never overcrowded, and Miss Holloway is nice enough. Plus, Zach gets discounted meals, which is the perfect excuse to take Josh there for dinner. And then make fun of him for eating a burger with a knife and fork.

“It’s classy,” Josh argues.

“It’s ridiculous,” Zach says, swiping one of his fries. “You look ridiculous.”

“I look spiffy.”

“What does that even mean?”

“Like, chic.”

Zach takes another fry. “You’re the opposite of that.”

“Stop lying, stop stealing my fries, and stop trying to distract me from the tragic news that you’re not auditioning for Les Mis. Which is insane.”

“It’s not insane.”

“Skipping out on what’s sure to be the Players’ best show isn’t insane?” Josh demands. “I mean, there are so many roles for guys this time. And if we get cast as Valjean and Javert, we can make it really homoerotic.”

“Okay, that’s always a bonus, but I’m still not auditioning. I wanna give that new show at the Starlight a try.”

“Seriously? Zach, what’s more interesting about a kid’s new musical than Les Mis?”

Zach narrows his eyes. “If I tell you the truth—a secret I’ve never told anyone—will you keep it to yourself?”

“Ooo.”

“Josh.”

“Yes, yes, I promise. What’s your secret?”

“…I actually really hate Les Mis.”

“No,” Josh gasps.

“Yup.”

“How can you hate Les Mis?”

“It’s long, boring, sad, and really fucking French.”

“Isn’t your family French?”

“Maybe in the sixteen hundreds,” Zach snorts, “and that’s not a good argument. My family sucks.”

“Your sister seems alright.”

At Zach’s scowl, Josh elaborates, “Your older sister. Melinda?”

“Oh, Melissa. She’s fine. It’s really Zoey I can’t stand.”

“No, really?” This time, Josh’s shocked gasp is entirely feigned. “I had no idea! It’s not like you stole her boyfriend or anything.”

“You didn’t seem to have an issue with that.”

“Are you kidding? It’s hard enough to find guys to hook up with in Hatchetfield, let alone hot ones.”

“Yeah, I’m still looking for them,” Zach deadpans.

“You wound me, Zachariah.”

“It’s just short for Zachary.”

“Oh, so you admit it’s short?”

“Dammit, stop being wittier than me!” 

Josh smirks. “And you also admit I’m wittier.”

“Ughhh.”

“Witty enough to get you back on the Les Mis train?”

“Nope, ‘cause I was never on it to begin with,” Zach says. “Starlight Express, however—”

“Is that the train show?”

“You’ve heard of it?”

“Oh, Zoey absolutely hates it.”

“Of course she does.”

Josh takes a sip of his milkshake. “What’d she do to you, anyway?”

“Who, Zoey?”

“No, your great aunt Bertha—yes, Zoey. What’d she do to make you hate her?”

“I mean…” Zach shrugs. “It’s not like there was one big thing. She’s just always needed everyone’s attention on her, all the time, and me existing gets in the way of that. So she tries to get me out of the way. Constantly stealing the spotlight, constantly undermining me—she’s a total narcissist.”

“What theatre kid isn’t?” Josh says wryly.

“The tolerable ones.”

“There are no tolerable theatre kids. My case in point.”

“Maybe, but they’re not all nearly as bad as her.”

Josh picks up a fry and points it at Zach. “I’m really not gonna be able to change your mind about Les Mis?”

“Absolutely not. Even Zoey auditioning isn’t bad enough to outweigh my hatred of Les Mis. And I can’t stand doing shows with her.”

“Hmph.”

“Hey, it could be cool,” Zach says. “Y’know, getting to see each other in shows instead of being in the same one. Give us a chance to surprise each other.”

“I do like a sexy surprise…”

“I don’t know how sexy mine will be. It’s a kid’s show. And it’s not like I’ve been cast yet—”

“You will be,” Josh says firmly, and Zach’s chest warms. “What’s your audition song?” 

“‘Mister Cellophane’,” Zach says. “From Chicago.”

“Hmm.”

“What?”

“Just wondering if whatever’s going on with your sister is seeping into your performances.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Josh raises an eyebrow. “I’m just saying, this is the second time this week you’ve complained about her being a total attention hog—”

“She is—”

“And now you’re singing a song about being the invisible one—”

“What’s wrong with that? Doesn’t emotionally connecting to the material boost the performance?”

“It can also be made worse if you’re too emotional.”

“I’m not too emotional!”

“…Uh huh,” Josh says, eyebrow creeping up even further.

Zach sighs. “It’s just frustrating. She’s a great actress. I’ll never, ever say it to her face, but she’s better than me. No matter how hard I try. I’m still good. But that just get overlooked ‘cause she’s a little younger and pretty and will do anything for attention. And it’s always been that way. As long as we’ve done theatre—which I did first, and I got her into—she’s always made it a competition. Which is fine. I can be competitive. But she doesn’t have to work as hard ‘cause she’s naturally better and she acts like she earned that when I try just as hard and compared to her, I suck!”

“Zach. You do not suck.”

“On my own, I know I’m decent, but compared to her—”

“So don’t play into her comparison,” Josh says. “Actually, crazy idea: what if you just tried getting along with her?”

“You’re right. That is a crazy idea.”

“I’m just saying, if you make it clear you’ve stopped caring about her competition, then she’ll stop caring too.”

“That is literally the most only child response I have ever heard.”

“Not even the point, but I’m not an only child.”

“You’re not? I thought—”

“I am, but I’m not. I had an older sister. She kinda, uh… got murdered when I was a kid.”

“Shit,” Zach says, reaching over to take Josh’s hand. “I’m so sorry—”

Josh brushes him off. “It’s fine, it’s like, I literally barely remember her.”

“Still…”

“Whatever, I didn’t mean to make this a whole thing.”

They pick at their food in silence.

Feelings of inadequacy sufficiently set aside, Zach tries to imagine it. Having a sibling get murdered, and so young. He’s never been particularly close with Melissa—the nine year age gap, not to mention “close” and “Chambers family” are a bit antithetical—but losing her would be devastating. That’s his sister. Probably the only person who doesn’t get sick of his ramblings about Starlight Express.

Sometimes, when she’s being really awful, Zach thinks Zoey could use a little murdering. But he’s not, like, serious about it.

“So do you know anything about this kid’s musical, or what?” Josh asks, and then Zach is pulling out his phone and going through the currently sparse Instagram page with Josh. Then a funny video about an angry frog pops up on his feed, and they promptly get sucked into silly animal videos for the rest of dinner. 

When they finally leave the diner, Zach is feeling full, and warm, and considerably more lightened. They walk hand in hand toward his parked car. 

Josh opens his mouth, and Zach waits for some kind of innuendo to get him revved up for the ride back to Zach’s place (and the much more intimate ride to follow. Ha! Maybe Zach should be making the innuendos). 

But instead, Josh says, “Hate to stop the night here, but would you mind taking me home instead? I have an early morning shift that is going to end me if I stay up all night. As much as I enjoy that…”

“Yeah, totally,” Zach says, unlocking the car.

And so the night ends, not with some fantastic sex in Zach’s bed, but with a goodnight kiss outside of Josh’s.

As Zach drives home, he realizes—that was a date. A proper date, not just a prelude to sex, which is most of what makes up his and Josh’s relationship. Because this was never meant to be serious. Zach stole his sister’s hookup, that doesn’t exactly lead to a “meet the parents” situation, and everyone involved knows it. Even if they want more.

Zach wants more.

He likes Josh. He likes how great of an actor he is while still keeping his ego in check, he likes how meticulous Josh is about his aesthetics, he likes how Josh knows how to play nice while still being a bit of an asshole. Because Zach knows he’s also a bit of an asshole. It’s good to be with someone who can dish and take in equal measure. Zach likes Josh.

And he knows Josh doesn’t feel as strongly as him. But that’s alright. Zach knows what he signed up for. He’ll take what he can get.

Which, tonight, was a proper date.

Zach smiles.

Chapter Text

Tuesday, June 4th, 2019 - fifty nine days until opening night

It’s not Alice who convinces Ruth to audition.

Well, she was swayed by Alice asking her directly to be in her show… after Ruth got over the whole “Oh God Alice is talking to me out of nowhere and she’s tall and pretty and her cool hot girlfriend is sitting over there they must be on a date fuck I wish that was me I’m so lonely why is Alice talking to me fuck fuck fuck I am not prepared for this” inner monologue conjured by none other than her ever present anxiety. Once she’d scurried out of Beanie’s and chugged half her iced caramel frappe—the caffeine of which did nothing to calm her pounding heart—Ruth had taken a moment to sit down, breathe, and actually process Alice’s offer. 

She thinks Ruth is a good singer. Something Ruth happens to agree with.

She wants Ruth to audition for her show. Something Ruth is terrified of.

So she told Alice no, her default answer when asked to perform in, well, anything and everything. Class presentations are gut churning enough, Ruth couldn’t possibly get onstage and perform in front of an audience. Even if she wants to, she couldn’t…

Still, the conversation bounces around in her brain all day.

“I was hoping you would audition.”

And the next day.

“You sound incredible.”

And the next.

Then she’s scrolling Instagram idly when, lo and behold, a video crossposted by Stephanie Lauter (ugh, she’s so hot) pops up on her feed.

It’s a compilation of musicals. Women swish in colorful dresses, men tap dance, entire ensembles sing and dance and bow. And they’re all in the Starlight Theater.

THIS COULD BE YOU, the overlayed text shouts. There’s more in the caption—about auditions,  and saving the Starlight, but all Ruth can focus on are the people shining onstage.

THIS COULD BE YOU.

And maybe it’s because she’s lonely—her mom’s out of town again, Uncle Paul is busy, and Pete and Richie both have colds, so Ruth’s spent the last two days alone in her house. Maybe it’s because of Alice’s encouragement that a tiny seed of hope is lodged into her brain. Maybe it’s because Ruth can’t remember a time in her life when she wasn’t longing for something, and can hardly see a future when any of those longings are satisfied.

THIS COULD BE YOU.

Maybe Ruth is just really fucking sick of being invisible. It’s what Pete wants, it’s what Richie wants. But Ruth wants more. She wants appreciation. She wants recognition. Just one moment of her life where she’s in the lights instead of shining them on other people would be enough.

THIS COULD BE YOU.

So she signs up to audition. Finds a backing track. And gets to work.

It’s not until six hours later, Ruth realizes—oh, yeah. Auditions are tomorrow.

She immediately breaks out into a cold sweat. 

What was she thinking? She can’t do this! She can’t get up in front of Alice and a professional theatre guy and sing! She can’t do this, she can’t do this, she can’t—

Ruth really wants to, though.

Her breathing quickens. Oh, fuck, please don’t let this be a panic attack. Most of the time, she has her friends, or Uncle Paul, or sometimes even her mom around to help talk her through it, but they can’t help. They can’t convince her she can do this. None of them know theatre well enough for Ruth to believe their platitudes about how she’s totally got this! 

She could call PJ? No, she can’t call PJ. They’re not close enough, and PJ isn’t into acting, just tech stuff. Plus, that would require a whole phone call, and is anything more anxiety inducing than that?

No PJ. No Uncle Paul, or Mom, or Richie, or Pete—

No Pete, but there’s another Spankoffski.

There’s Ted.

Ted, who’s cool, and older, and likes theatre just as much as Ruth. Who’s confident and gets laid. And is auditioning! 

He’ll know how to encourage Ruth. He’ll know how to help her. And if she’s actually terrible and shouldn’t ever step onstage, he’ll tell her straight up without sugarcoating anything.

She has to talk to Ted.

It’s not until she’s made it halfway out the door that Ruth thinks to text Pete about whether his brother is actually home. Thankfully, according to Pete, he is.

What do you need to talk to HIM for? Pete asks.

Ruth simply types back, THEATRE EMERGENCY!!!

…I’m not even gonna pretend I know what that means.

Sliding her phone into her pocket, Ruth mounts her bike and pedals like a maniac. 

When she finally makes it to the Spankoffskis’ apartment, she doesn’t even get the chance to knock before Ted opens the door.

“What’s the emergency?” he asks. “Did they already pull the plug on the Starlight?”

“Holy shit, no. That would be a theatre apocalypse.”

“Then what—”

“I wanna audition for Alice’s show!”

“Fuck yes,” Ted says.

Ruth gulps. “But you know I have really bad stage fright and auditions are tomorrow and I just started practicing today and there’s no way I can sing in front of other people—”

“What’s your song?”

“‘Memory’. From Cats.”

“Sing it for me.”

“What?” Ruth glances around. “Like, outside?”

“Nah, come in, but then sing it to me.”

Ruth follows him inside, hovering in the middle of the living room as Ted flops down on the couch.

Pete pokes his head out of his room. “What’s going on?”

“Stay in there,” Ted says. “I told you not to get me sick right before auditions. This is serious theatre business.”

“…Okay?”

Once he disappears, Ted turns back to Ruth. “C’mon. Lemme hear it.”

“I…”

“It’s just me, and trust me, I too was once a theatre kid full of anxiety.”

“You, really?”

“Ohhh yeah. So don’t sweat it if you suck ass. I’ve been there.”

Ruth takes a deep breath. “Okay. Okay.”

Pulling up the backing track on her phone, she reminds herself—it’s just Ted. Her friend’s cool older brother, but cool in a way she can just hang out with. He’s Ted. He gets her theatre-ness in a way her actual friends don’t. She can sing to just him. It’s Ted.

She hits play, and closes her eyes.

“Midnight, not a sound from the pavement…”

It’s just Ruth, singing alone in her room, like she’s done a thousand times before. Ted is silent throughout the song, which makes it easier to pretend. It’s just Ruth. 

“I must think of a new life, and I mustn't give in…”

She keeps her eyes closed until she reaches the last line.

“Look, a new day has begun…”

Then, she opens them to see Ted crying. 

Ruth’s stomach drops.

“Was it that bad?” she whispers, as the backing tracks fades away.

Ted wipes roughly at his face. “Jesus, Ruth.”

Oh no, it was terrible. She hasn’t sung in front of anyone else in years, what was she thinking? How has she deluded herself this whole time? Clearly she’s a horrible singer! Alice must’ve asked her out of desperation, or pity, or even worse, as a joke. Yeah, that sounds a lot more likely than someone actually thinking Ruth was good at something and wanting her around for it. Nobody wants her around. And why would they? Alice clearly—

So caught up in her spiral of self loathing, Ruth doesn’t notice Pete emerging from his room until he breaks the silence with, “What the fuck? Since when can you sing that well?”

“…What?” 

Ted heaves a sigh. “Shit, kid, you made me cry. That’s not easy.”

“Wait,” Ruth says, “you thought I sounded good? Both of you?”

The Spankoffskis stare at her in disbelief, before chorusing, “Yes.”

“Really?”

“If you don’t audition for that show, I’ll kick your ass,” Ted says.

Pete winces. “Maybe don’t threaten violence against teenage girls?”

He promptly dissolves into a coughing fit.

“Get back in your room! Auditions are tomorrow, you’re not getting us sick!”

Grumbling, Pete obeys.

Once he’s retreated, Ruth asks Ted, “It was good? I was good? You promise?”

“I swear it. How the fuck have you not done any school shows before?”

“Anxiety,” Ruth responds, emphasizing her answer with jazz hands. 

“Fuck your anxiety,” Ted says. “Audition.”

“I want to. I really do. But what if I choke and I’m bad and everyone hates it and—”

“Worst case scenario, you don’t get cast. That’s it.”

“Or I do get cast but my stage fright causes the entire show to fail and the Starlight to close!”

Ted clicks his tongue. “Frankly, kid, you’re not important enough to completely destroy the Starlight.”

And weirdly, that harsh honesty from Ted comforts Ruth. Because he’s right. She’s not important. She’s never been important. If she’s never made an impact before, how could she realistically make one big enough to bring the downfall of the Starlight? 

“Okay,” Ruth says. “I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna audition.”

“Fuck yes!”

“Actually, if you’re auditioning too, would you mind driving me? My mom’s outta town again and I don’t wanna bike ‘cause I’ll be all sweaty—”

“I gotcha,” Ted says, waving his arm lazily. “I’m already driving Melissa over anyway, we’re both gonna be coming from work.”

“Melissa’s auditioning? She’s hot.”

“I know, right?”

“Are you two…”

Ted snorts. “Nah. I mean, I tried at first, but she was sooo not interested. We’re still friends. She’s totally hung up on this guy who rejected her so I’ve offered to set her up with other people but she’s just moping about it.”

“More guys for you, then.”

“Ha! Good thinking.”

“Yeah,” Ruth says. “Wait, what are you two singing?”

“I dunno about Melissa, but I’m singing ‘It Hurts Me’ from All Shook Up.”

“Huh. Don’t know that one.”

“It’s this Elvis jukebox musical. Actually saw the original show in, what, 2004?” Ted’s eyes soften. “My best friend was so excited to see it. Soon as we were done with final exams, we did this whole road trip to Connecticut…”

Ruth waits for him to continue, but he just stares off into the distance. She can’t tell if the wetness in his eyes is new, or a remnant from when he cried over her song. 

“Anyway, it's a good song to belt out in the shower,” Ted finally says. 

“Cool,” Ruth says. “Can I hear some?”

“Fuck it, sure. It hurts me to see—”

Pete’s door bangs open.

“NO!” he shouts. “I’m sick of that fucking song, and I’m trying to sleep.”

“It’s seven in the evening,” Ted points out.

“I don’t care! If I hear that song again, I’m coughing on you.”

“I’ll sing it for you tomorrow,” Ted tell Ruth, as Pete yanks his door shut.

She nods, and then gulps. “Sure. Tomorrow. At auditions. I’m auditioning.”

“You got this, kid.”

“I’m going to throw up.”

“Just don’t do it during your song. Or in my car.”

“No promises,” Ruth says, partially to be cheeky, and partially because she really can’t make any promises when it comes to her anxiety. Ted just rolls his eyes, claps her back and leads her out the front door.

As she bikes back home, Ruth can feel the tension slowly seeping out of her shoulders. She can do this. Ted is super cool, and he thinks she can do this, so she can do this. Probably. And even if she can’t, she won’t do more harm then horribly humiliating herself. Which isn’t that uncommon for Ruth.

But maybe something rare—something practically unheard of—will happen. 

Maybe Ruth will finally end up onstage. 

And maybe, just maybe, she’ll be a star.

Chapter Text

Wednesday, June 5th, 2019 - fifty eight days until opening night

Alice is, admittedly, a bit overdressed for auditions. And for summer, she realizes, as sweat trickles down the back of her plum-colored blouse. But she’s having actual adults audition for her show. If a sixteen-year-old director (and playwright) scares them off, then she’s screwed. There’s already a severe lack of men on the audition schedule. And a severe lack of high schoolers. Just Ruth, Trevor, and Caitlyn.

But that does ease Alice’s nerves. Seeing Ruth Fleming slotted right after a Ted Spankoffski. She doesn’t know whether Ruth’s change of heart was because of her, or another factor, but Alice is grateful regardless. That gratitude hinges on the verge of desperation after the first handful of auditions, which mainly consist of teenagers and unemployed college students. Everyone else is just getting off of work. And is also hopefully more talented, because the current prospects aren’t great. From the look of pure yikes Hidgens shoots Alice, she’s certain that he’s holding out for some adult ringers, just like her.

That yikes turns into oh thank God when Zoey Chambers struts into the room. Zoey is sooo good. And pretty, which Alice has definitely notices but is not gonna think about because she has a girlfriend and unlike her mom, Alice isn’t a cheater, and shit, Zoey’s handing her sheet music to Hidgens, did Alice totally tune out her introduction—

“Hi, I’m Zoey Chambers,” Zoey says, smiling slyly, like, you already know who I am, “and today I'll be singing the beginning of ‘The World According to Chris’ from Carrie.”

While Hidgens bangs out the opening on his keyboard, Alice readies her notebook. He’s got a much better understanding of music than her, but she needs to act professional! Which she can do by taking her fair share of notes on Zoey’s acting as she begins to sing, starting with powerhouse, commanding.

“The world according to Chris is: better to strike than get struck,” Zoey sings. “Better to screw than get screwed!”

As she continues, Alice jots down: Could definitely see her as Mother…

“You probably think it’s bizarre,

BUT THAT’S THE WAY THINGS ARE!”

“Excellent,” Hidgens says.

“Seriously,” Alice says. Ugh, did that sound too eager? “We have some sides here, Professor Hidgens is gonna read with you—why don’t we start off with the Mother/Father scene, and then do the Daughter/McDoon one?”

Zoey accepts the pages Alice hands her with a self-assured smile. “Sounds good.”

And Zoey does indeed “sound good” as she and Hidgens read the scenes. She transitions effortlessly from the strong, jaded Mother to the defiant, naive Daughter. As soon as she thanks them for their time (are they supposed to thank Zoey back?) and leaves, Alice turns to Hidgens.

“So, we’re casting her, right?”

HIdgen’s hair flips with how aggressively he nods. “You’d better believe it! It’s hard to find that level of talent in Hatchetfield.”

“Do you think she should be Mother, or Daughter? I could see it either way.”

“Me too—guess it’ll depend on who our other candidates work best as.”

“Right, yeah, that makes sense,” Alice says, flipping to a new page in her notebook. As erratic as Hidgens can be, she can’t deny the comfort that comes with having someone who knows what he’s doing by her side.

The next person auditioning introduces himself as Sam Sweetly. Alice is actually so distracted by his incredibly defined curls (what conditioner does he use?) that, before she gets a chance to, Hidgens asks, “Haven’t I seen you at the Starlight before?”

“I never miss a show,” Sam grins. “Sure as hell not gonna pass up an opportunity to save the theater.”

“That’s the spirit!”

“What’re you gonna be singing today?” Alice asks.

Sam hands Hidgens his sheet music. “‘There Is a Sucker Born Ev’ry Minute’ from Barnum.”

While the men get situated, Alice quickly jots the song title down. She’s never heard of it.

“There is a sucker born ev’ry minute!” Sam sings. “Each time the second hand sweeps to the top, like dandelions up they pop—”

As he continues, Alice writes, lots of energy, could see him as the fast talking salesman.

“'Cause there's a sure-as-shooting sucker born a minute,

And friends, the biggest one, excluding none, is MEEEEEEE!”

Sam carries the infectious energy into his readings (for Father and McDoon), before sauntering out the door. 

“He’d make a great Father,” Hidgens says immediately.

“Really? I was thinking he’d be good as the salesman. And he can really put on the scumbag vibe for McDoon…”

“Alice, don’t let the fast-talking salesman song trick you into thinking that’s the only role Sam can play. You don’t see that kind of energy onstage every day. It’s perfect for Father.”

“Maybe…”

“Come on, it’s not like we have any better actors for the part.”

“Don’t remind me,” Alice groans.

But potential arrives thirty minutes later in the form of a stocky twenty-something-year-old. He looks vaguely familiar—the way everyone in Hatchetfield does, must be a small town thing—so after he introduces himself, Alice glances down at the audition sheet. “Hey, you’re not the first Chambers we’ve had audition. Are you and Zoey related?”

“She’s my little sister,” Zach says, smile tightening. “My older sister, Melissa, might also be on your list. We’re all auditioning.”

“Musical family,” Hidgens muses. “Well, if you’re half as good as Zoey, the future of Hatchetfield theatre isn’t completely abysmal.”

Zach’s eye twitches.

“What are you gonna be singing?” Alice asks quickly. She may not have any siblings (for the better, considering her parental situation) but that doesn’t stop her mom from comparing her to every other teenage girl on the planet. It sucks.

To his credit, Zach is able to smoothly shift his smile into something more natural as he answers, “‘Mister Cellophane’ from Chicago.”

“Excellent,” Hidgens says, arranging the sheet music at his keyboard. And, they’re off.

“If someone stood up in a crowd, and raised his voice up way out loud, and waved his arm and shook his leg,” Zach sings. “You'd notice him.”

As he continues, Alice writes, He doesn’t pop like Zoey does—and then she scratches that part out, because right, comparison sucks.

“Shoulda been my name, Mister Cellophane!”

Alice returns to her notebook. He doesn’t pop like Zoey does but he’s skilled, and he has this kind of subtle charisma.

“Cause you can look right through me, walk right by me,

And never know I'm there!

Never even KNOOOW I'm there!”

When he reads sides—for Grandpa in addition to Father and McDoon—Alice finds herself writing, theatrical chameleon. Sure, Zach isn’t a powerhouse, but he morphs from character to character with an impressive ease.

“He was definitely good,” Alice says, once she’s certain Zach has left. 

“We’ll probably have to cast him,” Hidgens sighs.

“You don’t sound happy about that.”

“Why is it that almost no men have auditioned?”

“The Community Players are doing Les Mis, remember?”

“Right, right. Ugh. Well, Son will probably end up being played by a high school girl, based on this horrendous casting pool.”

“That’s fine,” Alice says. “Worst comes to worst, Grandpa can also be Grandma.”

Worst might actually come to worst, if the next handful of auditions are anything to go by. Cassie King is decent, though she won’t stop talking about some god named Az’zoxish, and her distant stare gives Alice the creeps. Thankfully, Hailey Dilmore is less off-putting. Unfortunately, she’s stinkier.

The final Chambers sibling to audition is Melissa. Who Alice expects to be a slightly older version of Zoey, and is instead surprised by a much shorter, chubbier woman in her thirties. Where Zoey is all sexy edge, Melissa is soft and girlish.

“Hi, Alice!” Melissa chirps. “I’m Melissa. I actually work with your dad.”

Alice can’t decide whether that’s mortifying or not. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah! He’s super excited for the show. I haven’t done theatre since high school, but I figured why not give it a go?”

“Wonderful,” Hidgens says in his voice that means he’s either being genuine but is tired, or he’s completely sarcastic (and probably still tired. Maybe it’s an old guy thing.) “What’ll you be singing today?”

“‘Pirate Jenny’ from Threepenny Opera.”

The name is unfamiliar to Alice, but Hidgens’ eyebrows shoot up. “Well, it’s nice to hear a song that’s older than me, for once. Whenever you’re ready.”

Melissa nods, handing him her sheet music, and Hidgens begins banging out an unsettling tune on the piano.

And Alice watches a… shift come over Melissa. It’d be impossible to pinpoint when exactly the transformation takes place, but suddenly, there’s no longer a cheerful woman in front of her—there’s a resentful murderess.

“You gentlemen can watch while I'm scrubbin' the floors,

And I'm scrubbin' the floors while you're gawkin’,

And maybe once you tip me and it makes you feel swell,

On a ratty waterfront in a ratty old hotel!

And you never guess to who you're talkin’,

You never guess to who you are talkin’.”

So absorbed in the story Melissa spins, Alice completely forgets to take notes. All she can imagine is this angry hotel maid turning into a pirate queen as her ship sails into the harbor. When Melissa’s haunting voice commands the death of every man in town, a shiver runs down Alice’s spine.

“Then the shiiip, the black freighter, disappears out to sea,” Melissa sings, “And on it is meee…”

The bloodlust lingers on Melissa’s face as the last note from Hidgens fades out. Then she smiles, and Alice can’t imagine how this unassuming woman had just creeped her out of her mind.

Having taken approximately zero notes during the song, Alice compensates as Melissa reads for Mother and Daughter. Her version of Mother is more realistic than theatrical—could that work? Plays Daughter very sweetly, Alice scribbles down.

“Thank you guys so much!” Melissa says, after Hidgens dismisses her. “Good luck on the show, Alice!”

“Thanks,” Alice says, as Melissa exits.

“Well, she’s better than either of those blonde girls from earlier,” Hidgens says. “Beth and Katie?”

“Brooke and Courtney,” Alice corrects. “And, yeah. Her song was creepy, but it sounded good. And she pulls off the ‘beleaguered older sister’ thing well.”

“I can imagine it’s natural, having two divas for younger siblings. But, yes, she’d make a good Mother. Or Daughter.”

“I do like the idea of having the Chambers sisters as Mother and Daughter. Either way you cast it, they certainly look related.”

“She’s got chops. Not as good as Zoey, but there’s something there,” Hidgens says, before shaking his head. “As much as I love ‘Pirate Jenny’, it is not an audition song.”

Alice frowns. “How come? I thought she sounded pretty. Haunting, but pretty.”

“That’s the problem! ‘Pirate Jenny’ is supposed to be gritty. Gruesome! It’s about murderous fantasies! Too many singers miss the point trying to make it sound pretty. Go watch the Nina Simone version. That’s how it should be sung.”

“...Okay, but we’re still interested in casting Melissa, right?”

“Oh, yes. Just not in the role of Jenny.”

That’s all the time they have to discuss Melissa’s performance, as the next actor—a tall, lanky guy the audition schedule names as Ted Spankoffski—strides into the room.

“Hey, I’m Ted,” he says, handing Hidgens his sheet music. “I’m gonna be singing ‘It Hurts Me’ from All Shook Up.”

“Isn’t that an Elvis song?” Hidgens asks.

Ted clicks his tongue and shoots finger guns. “Jukebox musical.”

“Again? We just did Mamma Mia…”

“And Mamma Mia was good!”

Not wanting to set Hidgens off on one of his rants, Alice quickly says. “Whenever you’re ready, Ted!”

“It hurts me to see him treat you the way that he does,” Ted sings, voice earnest and clear. “It hurts me to see you sit and cryy-yy.”

From there, his song evolves into something more grungy and intense. Alice writes, Good energy, good voice, unsure what particular role stands out to me for him.

“Waiting to hold you so tight!

Yes, waiting to kiss you goodnight!

Yes, waiting to find someone like you-OUUU!”

Hidgens seems to forget his distaste for jukebox musicals when reading sides with Ted. The two bounce off each other well, Ted carrying the earnestness from his song into his reading for Father. He makes a snarky Grandpa, and then a hilariously sleazy McDoon. 

Once Ted ambles out of the room, Alice expresses that much to Hidgens. “He was funny, while also creeping me out.”

“Yes, he’d make a good villain. Or comic relief, with Grandpa…”

“Was he our last guy auditioning?” Alice glances down at the schedule. “Yep.”

“Looks like you’ll be shuffling him around with the Chambers brother and Sweetly.”

“They do seem to be our best bet for the male parts…”

“Who’s next?”

This time, Alice doesn’t have to check the schedule—she knows Ruth is the last person auditioning. 

“Haven’t heard of her,” Hidgens says, when Alice relays this information. “You know her?”

“She’s a friend of mine. Got a great voice. But I had to do a lot of convincing to get her to audition, and she’s anxious, so please don’t scare her off.”

“No promises,” Hidgens mutters, as Ruth peeks her head into the doorway.

“Can I come in?”

“Yeah!” Alice chirps, as Ruth scurries onto the ‘X’ taped to the floor. Once she’s finally still, Alice can see her arms—pressed tightly against her sides—shaking. Poor girl must be terrified, but she’s here and she’s standing with a determined pinch to her brows, so Alice shoots her a thumbs up. Ruth gives her the quickest, tiniest smile in return, before thrusting her sheet music at Hidgens.

“What are you gonna be singing?” Alice asks.

“‘Memory’. From Cats.”

Hidgens raises an eyebrow at that, but blessedly doesn’t comment, just begins playing the opening notes.

Still shaking, Ruth takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and sings:

“Midnight, not a sound from the pavement

Has the moon lost her memory?

She is smiling alone…”

Alice’s pen falls from her fingers, tumbling lightly onto her notebook. How could Ruth have ever been so hesitant to audition? She’s good. Better than anything Alice can recall from their childhood afternoons belting out Disney songs on the drives home from school. 

“I remember the time I knew what happiness was!”

Let the memory live again…”

Maybe it’s the song, maybe it’s because she’s hearing Ruth sing for the first time in years, but tears spring to Alice’s eyes. God, she misses being a little kid. Misses the days when her parents were together and happy, when there was no anxiety plaguing her, driving her further and further away from everyone she loves.

“Burnt-out ends of smokey days,

The stale cold smell of morning!

The street lamp dies, another night is over,

Another day is dawning!”

Everything is painful and complex and terrifying now. Alice just wants to be eight years old and jumping on the couch as she and Ruth reenact “Be Our Guest”. 

“Daylight!

I must wait for the sunrise,

I must think of a new life,

And I mustn't give in!”

And Alice knows that’s not possible. Knows life will never be as simple and happy as it was back then. But… it could be better. With Alice back in Hatchetfield, if only for the summer, and Ruth in her show—and Ruth has to be in her show, she can’t not be in her show, if her performance here is any indication.

“If you touch me, you'll understand what happiness is!

Look, a new day has begun…”

As Ruth’s voice fades out, and Hidgens plays the last few notes, Alice looks over to find tears trickling down his face.

“Wow,” Alice says, when it’s clear Hidgens is staring off into space. “That was… that was really good, Ruth.”

Ruth shrugs, looking half startled, half pleased. “Well, I’m two for two with making people cry now.”

“It is fucked up that someone so young is allowed to sing that song, make me remember my youth, and, subsequently, devastate me,” Hidgens finally declares.

“...Sorry?”

Admittedly, Ruth is less impressive when reading sides—her acting is decent for Daughter and Son, but her nerves get the better of her, and she stutters through several lines. Still, Alice thanks her profusely before Ruth nods and darts out the door.

“Well, we have to cast her on voice alone,” Hidgens says. “Acting, however… she’s a wreck.”

“It’s just anxiety! I’m sure she can improve during rehearsals. I don’t think Ruth’s ever performed in a show before.”

“That’s hardly a sell.”

“But her song…”

Hidgens huffs. “Again, kids should be banned from singing ‘Memory’, and they certainly shouldn’t have the ability to do it well. We need her voice in the show. But even taking acting out of the equation, I can’t see her as anything other than Son. She’s too tiny.”

“Ruth as Son could work,” Alice says, “though I wouldn’t completely discount Daughter, with the Act Two opener…”

“Good thing that was the last audition, because Christ. I need to go home and write for Workin’ Boys now.” Hidgens begins packing up his piano. “I’ll email you my notes—you need to take the vocal ones into account, we can’t have someone like Caitlyn playing McDoon—but the rest is up to you. Let me know if you want any additional thoughts. I have plenty.”

“Thanks,” Alice says, as he quickly shakes her hand before marching out of the room. She can’t blame him for an abrupt exit—she knows what it’s like to be struck by writing motivation. You gotta ride the wave before it washes out.

Not long after Hidgens departs, Alice finishes packing up her bag, and heads out to the parking lot. Her dad is supposed to pick her up.

To her surprise, she finds Ruth outside, standing by a baby blue car—as well as Ted and Melissa. Huh. That’s an odd trio. 

“—told you so,” Ted is saying to Ruth.

Melissa smiles at her. “He roped me into auditioning too.”

“Speaking of which, what song didja end up singing?”

“You don’t know?” Ruth asks. “I thought you guys were, like, besties.”

“Yeah, but she kept switching up her song choice. First it was ‘There’s A Fine Fine Line’, then it was ‘Pulled’—”

“I went with ‘Pirate Jenny’,” Melissa says.

Ted blinks. “Pirate who now?”

“Jenny. ‘Pirate Jenny’, from Threepenny Opera? It’s an old one.”

“Huh…”

“I’m so glad that’s over,” Ruth says, fiddling with the hem of her shorts. Alice’s heart sinks—she must’ve messed up the audition process, causing Ruth to realize her show was a waste of time—until Ruth continues, “Now I just have to stress about the cast list. I’ve never had to stress about a cast list before. Ugh, how do actors do this?”

“They drink,” Ted says.

Melissa smacks his arm lightly. “She’s underage.”

“I didn’t say she should drink, I said—”

For a brief, bizarre moment, Alice feels like she’s watching two parents argue. She blinks, to find Ruth saying, “—really, really want to get in. The scenes were super funny, even if I flubbed them.”

“They were fucking hilarious,” Ted says. “Who knew Bill’s kid could write like that?”

The annoyance of being referred to as Bill’s kid is significantly outweighed by hearing people compliment Alice’s writing. And they don’t even know she can hear them!

“Do you have to get home soon?” Melissa asks Ruth. “‘Cause if not, I was thinking dinner at Miss Retro’s could be fun—kind of a post-audition celebration—”

“I could do that,” Ruth says, grinning shyly.

Ted claps her on the back. “Fuck yes. You auditioned for your first show. I’m buying you pie.”

“Did I tell you I made the music guy cry?”

Still chattering, the trio begins piling into the car, before speeding away. Alice watches them go. How strange it is, that Ruth can talk to these two random adults with such ease, but she and Alice can’t seem to get through a conversation. Does Ruth not like her anymore? They’ve grown distant, sure, but… but Alice doesn’t think either of them have changed that much. 

She wants to cast Ruth. Not just because of her great voice and mediocre acting—though the former is definitely a factor—but because she’s Ruth. One of Alice’s oldest friends. And she’ll never get back the family she once had, but maybe she and Ruth could become friends again, and—

And what?

Alice doesn’t live in Hatchetfield. Not anymore. This summer is a dream, a one-off chance to return to normalcy, before she’s shipped off back to her mom, back to Clivesdale, back to the friends that aren’t really her friends because she’s still very much the new girl, and besides, Clivesdale sucks. Fuck Clivesdale.

Does it even matter, then? Saving the Starlight Theater, if Alice won’t ever really be around? One week a month lasts an eternity when it’s her period, it lasts a second when she’s with her dad in Hatchetfield.

And speaking of her dad, there he is now, pulling into the parking lot.

“How’d it go?” he asks, as soon as Alice slides into the passenger seat.

“Good, I think? There were enough people to properly cast it, which is a relief. And Ruth auditioned!”

“That’s great! Did you meet my coworker, Melissa? She’s been talking about the show all week, so has—” her dad’s expression sours slightly “—Ted, those two love chatting about theatre in the break room.”

“Yeah, she mentioned you,” Alice says, nestling her bag in between her feet. 

Her dad reaches over and squeezes her shoulder. “Hey. Al-pal. I’m really proud of you.”

“Really? I mean, you haven’t read the show and it hasn’t been put up yet either…”

“But it’s gonna be great! I know you, so I know that. And even if I didn’t, I’d still be proud. You’re the only person who’s taken the initiative to do something big. To save the Starlight!”

“Which I haven’t done yet—which I don’t even know if I’ll do,” Alice reminds him.

“That doesn’t matter. You’re trying. Out of everyone, you were the one to see something needed to be done, and you’re trying to do it. That’s something to be proud of.”

A lump wells in Alice’s throat.

“Yeah,” she chokes out. “I guess not everyone can do that.”

Chapter Text

Thursday, June 6th, 2019 - fifty seven days until opening night

Pete’s still sick. It’s just a cold, and it’s only been a few days, so Ted shouldn’t be worried. Summer break means the kid doesn’t have to stress about missing school—not that Ted would care if he did. Pete’s the nerd, not him. He does the responsible thing and pops his head into Pete’s room to check if he’s alive. Pete’s passed the fuck out, but his chest rises and falls, so Ted sticks half a loaf of bread and an ancient box of tea on the kitchen counter for when Pete’s awake. Then he gets ready for work.

Halfway through his drive to CCRP, he decides to treat himself to Beanie’s. Well, “treat” being a relative word, seeing as Beanie’s is kinda shit. But it’s become cheaper than Starbucks, whose prices only seem to rise by the second, and Ted wants his iced chai. He deserves it, after auditioning for the first time in… has it really been fifteen years?

Almost. Almost fifteen years. Because Jenny didn’t leave until October of 2004, and the summer before was when they’d roadtripped to Connecticut. Which means it’s also been fifteen years since Ted’s been on a roadtrip, because roadtrips were his and Jenny’s thing. Ever since the summer she saved him from…

And Ted actively pushes that out of his mind, because despite the fond memory, thinking on it will make him really fucking sad. And a bit angry—at Jenny for leaving, at himself for letting her—but mostly sad. Which isn’t great, ‘cause Ted is the inverse of a sad drunk. Instead of getting sad when he drinks, he drinks when he gets sad. Seeing as it’s not even nine in the morning yet, alcohol isn’t exactly an option. He hasn’t reached Charlotte levels of pathetic.

Thinking that makes him feel worse. Because yeah, he knows the rest of CCRP not-so-privately thinks of her as pathetic, and she’s enough of a mess that they’re not wrong. But she’s had a rough go of it. Her husband’s a scumbag, she never gets enough sleep, and there’s definitely some religious guilt going on. Still, Charlotte keeps showing up to work. Keeps hooking up with multiple guys—which Ted hates, but as a horny bastard himself, has to admire the work she puts in there. Now if she could just leave Sam…

“Um, are you gonna order, or…?”

Blinking, Ted finds himself in front of the counter. Behind it is a teenage girl who stares at him. She bears a striking resemblance to Melissa’s friend, The Real Latte Hatte (Who Is A Lesbian So Hitting On Her Is Going To Get You Nowhere), aka Nora. 

“Yeah, I’ll get an iced chai, an iced vanilla latte, and one of those croissant thingies.”

Not-Nora frowns. “Any… specific pastry, or—”

“Surprise me.”

The girl shrugs, before ringing up his order. After paying, Ted shuffles off to the side to wait. Looking around the cafe, he observes some teens glued to their phones, Mark and Karen Chasity (ugh, avoid eye contact, because Karen hates him and Mark is uncomfortably friendly) and, oh, that must be Miss Retro. No one else in Hatchetfield looks like they’ve stepped straight out of the eighties. She’d been at her diner last night, when Ted and Melissa took Ruth out for a celebratory dinner—the post-audition adrenaline drop causing Ruth to babble a mile a minute—but she hadn’t waited their table. Just commented, “Nice choice,” to Ted when he put “Could’ve Been” by Tiffany on the jukebox. Jenny liked Tiffany songs, would try to learn them on her guitar, and Ted was feeling nostalgic. Diners do that to him. 

Miss Retro has already left with her drink by the time Ted gets his. And a cheese danish haphazardly shoved in a paper bag. Ted nearly spills everything getting back into his car, but the drinks survive, and so does the pastry. When he gets to CCRP, he promptly thrusts the vanilla latte into Melissa’s hands.

“So you don’t have to watch Paul flirting with the crabby barista,” he says, in lieu of something normal like, “Good morning.”

“Oh my God, don’t say that when Paul is literally right over there,” Melissa hisses, but she accepts the drink whilst dragging Ted further away from the break room. He tosses the danish onto Charlotte’s empty desk in the scuffle. 

Once she’s deemed them out of earshot, Melissa leans against the wall and sighs. 

“Shitty morning?”

“No, I’m just tired. Zoey and I are going shopping tomorrow so she spent all night texting me different outfit ideas that are, uh… really not my style. Also, very green.” 

Ted doesn’t pretend to know anything about fashion besides “mustache good, suspenders and bowtie bad” but he’s still able to comment, “Kinda weird, seeing as you already wear something red, like, every day.”

“Right? I think she was saying it’d bring out my eyes.”

“Makes sense. Jenny loved blue clothes, and she had blue eyes…”

“Who’s Jenny?” Melissa asks, and Ted wishes he could simply restart the day, if only to avoid this conversation. He doesn’t fucking talk about Jenny with people. Maybe allude to some memory involving her, if it’s relevant, but he doesn’t talk about Jenny. Because unless they met her—unless they saw her and Ted hanging out at least fifteen years ago—they just wouldn’t get it. Wouldn’t get who Jenny was, what they were to each other. And explaining what drove them apart—no. Fuck no.

Thankfully, Melissa follows up that question with, “An old girlfriend of yours?”

“Something like that,” Ted says, desperately searching for something, anything, to steer the conversation as far away from Jenny territory as possible. What pops into his head—and subsequently tumbles out of his mouth—is, “D’ya know when Bill’s kid sends out the cast list?”

“Hopefully before Tuesday, because that’s the first rehearsal.”

“It is?”

“You checked the schedule before you signed up for auditions, right? To make sure you could do the show if you got cast?”

Ted shrugs because no, actually, he hadn’t. Not that he particularly does anything outside of work besides hitting up The Birdhouse when Charlotte won’t sleep with him but jerking off isn’t enough. Sometimes he’ll drive Pete and his nerd friends places. Go see a show at the Starlight or the community center. Or just… aimlessly roam around town.

Unlike Melissa, with her planner and her sisterly shopping sessions and her childhood friends and animal shelter volunteer shifts. Ted bets she probably visits her parents every Sunday night for a happy family dinner. Just her and her hot younger siblings telling Mommy and Daddy how great their lives are.

Oblivious to the weird, jealous rage churning in Ted’s stomach, Melissa continues. “Who do you wanna get cast as? I know the bad guy is right up your alley, but I think you’d be great as the dad as well.”

“Yeah,” Ted says. “But villains are fun as fuck to play.”

Mr. Davidson takes that as his cue to pop his head out and say, “Hey, Melissa, we’ve got some packages for the fourth floor that need to be delivered—”

“I’m on it!”

“Thaaanks.”

Melissa scurries away, and Mr. Davidson retreats into his office (Ted briefly wonders what the hell he actually does, with Sylvia acting like the true boss of CCRP more often than not). Regardless, Ted takes that as his cue to go shut himself away and sulk. Oh, and also slog through the work they’re paying him to do. 

As he passes Charlotte’s desk, he can feel his lips curving toward a smile at the sight of her nibbling on her danish.

His face crashes back into a frown when Paul settles down into the cubicle next to her, and she says, “Oh, thank you, Paul!”

Paul? She thinks fucking Paul gave enough of a shit to buy her that?

To his credit, Paul furrows his brow and asks, “For what?”

“Did you not get me this? I saw the Beanie’s logo on the bag, and I thought…”

“No, I didn’t go to Beanie’s.”

“Your barista girlfriend not working today?” Bill jokes.

“No,” Paul says, completely straight-faced. 

Charlotte frowns at her half-eaten Danish. “Then who…?”

“You’re welcome,” Ted says, plastering on his most charming grin. Melissa and Pete have both called it sleazy-looking, but he’s the one getting laid and they’re not, so what the fuck do they know?

He’s rewarded with a sweet smile from Charlotte, and an, “Aww, thank you, Ted!” that morphs his own grin into something more genuine. God, he’s weak for her. Especially when she looks happy. Which is so rare, and Ted knows he’s a bastard, but he’s certain he’d spend the rest of his life trying to make her smile like that if they were properly together. 

“That’s… nice of you,” Bill says, looking more confused than anything. Clearly scrolling through FaceBook, Paul doesn’t even try to pretend he cares about the conversation.

“—don’t have the budget for that type of component!” Sylvia is snapping into her phone as she marches by. “Especially if there’s no guarantee it will work—”

Ted promptly slinks away into his office, because dealing with Sylvia on the warpath is never pleasant. And he actually does have work to do if he wants to keep his job. It probably says something about how whipped he is that the mental image of Charlotte’s smile is enough to buoy him through a morning of tech troubleshooting for higher-ups that don’t know what the fuck they’re doing. Ted doesn’t consider himself particularly above-average intelligence (especially compared to Pete, who’s a little genius) but he’s got enough common sense to operate a computer and a printer. Unlike half of CCRP. Not that Ted is complaining—it keeps him in a relatively easy job.

Come lunchtime, when Ted goes to the break room to snag the sandwich he stashed in the fridge, he finds Melissa and Bill chatting. Whatever lingering annoyance toward Melissa fades when she wordlessly hands him a cookie from her neatly packed lunchbox. And it’s chocolate chip. Fuck yeah.

“—hilarious,” Melissa is saying to Bill. “I won’t say any more than that, because you mentioned her keeping it a secret—”

“—until I see the show, right,” Bill says. “Which, I get, but c’mon! It’s gonna drive me crazy all summer, knowing nothing about it!”

Charlotte wanders into the break room. “Knowing nothing about what?”

“I don’t know,” Ted says, and then rolls his eyes when nobody reacts to his joke.

“I was just telling Bill about the auditions for Alice’s show yesterday,” Melissa says.

“Oh, yes, how were they?” Charlotte asks. “Sam got home late after his audition, but I heard him singing in the shower. All that practice has paid off, he sounded fantastic.”

Ted takes a vicious bite of his sandwich. Fucking Sam Sweetly. 

“Auditions were good!” Melissa chirps. She glances over at Ted, who is physically incapable of saying anything due to the massive amount of sandwich in his mouth, and continues. “Reading through the scenes was fun, I really hope I get cast. The whole show seems like it’s going to be a hoot.”

Finally managing to swallow, Ted adds, “Starlight’s gonna be in stitches once the show goes up. It’s funny as fuck.”

“I’m so proud of Alice,” Bill says. “Putting up her first play at the Starlight…”

“Do you know when the cast list comes out?” Melissa asks.

“Sometime before Tuesday, I think?”

“I hope Sam gets cast,” Charlotte hums. “It’d be good for him to have something besides work, he’s always working…”

Ted resigns himself to eating his sandwich as fast as possible, if only to escape the topic of Sam fucking Sweetly. Probably hoping he doesn’t choke to death, Melissa steers the conversation toward her latest shift at the animal shelter. Which gets Charlotte chattering about her cats, and Bill wondering if he should adopt a dog. Having never owned a pet, Ted doesn’t have much to contribute. He has nothing against them—dogs are fine, cats are better purely because they make Charlotte and Melissa happy—but Ted can barely take care of himself at times. Adding Pete to the mix (who Ted loves, but quite frankly, didn’t ask for) probably shouldn’t have worked out as well as it has. Thank God years of parental not-quite-but-bordering-on-neglect made Pete fairly self-sufficient before he even showed up on Ted’s doorstep three years ago. 

Once everyone starts peeling off after their lunch break, Melissa pulls Ted aside.

“Did you catch that?”

“Catch… what?”

“That thing Charlotte said,” Melissa explains. “About how Sam got home late after his audition, which doesn’t make any sense, because you, me, and Ruth were the last ones to audition. How could Sam have come late because of auditions?”

Ted doesn’t know how she picked up on that, and frankly, he doesn’t care. “I’m not talking about Sam Sweetly unless it’s to plan his murder.”

At that, Melissa freezes, and oh great, is someone gonna complain about him getting violent again? He’s not actually doing anything. A guy can talk!

“Do you think he’s abusing her?”

“What?”

“Sam,” Melissa whispers. “Do you think he’s abusing Charlotte? Is that why you want to murder him?”

Ted blinks. “No? He’s just a dick, and I’m in love with his wife. Of course I fantasize about killing him.”

“Oh. Right. That makes sense.”

She still looks concerned and… strangely calculating. It’s an odd expression on Melissa’s face.

“He’s not, like, hitting her or anything,” Ted says. “If there were any marks, I’d know. I see her naked often enough.”

“TMI. I mean, that’s a relief, but still.”

“You asked!”

Melissa sighs. “I can’t wait until she leaves him.”

“Me fuckin’ too,” Ted says, and Mr. Davidson is calling Melissa away, so he heads back to his office. Back to boring work and dwelling on the cast list and half-heartedly planning out how he’d kill Sam Sweetly. Melissa taking the whole thing seriously somehow makes it less fun. So Ted builds out his ideal cast list. Melissa and Ruth would be great for the mom and daughter roles, especially considering Melissa’s big sister energy. He doesn’t particularly care about Zach Chambers, having never met him, but he hopes he gets cast. Ted won’t say no to sharing a dressing room with a hot guy. Oh, and it would probably make Melissa happy. For Zach to be cast, not Ted thinking he’s hot. She gets so huffy about that. 

Yeah, that’d be good. Melissa and Ruth as the leading ladies, Ted as… well, it’d be fun to play the dad. Seems like he’s the main character, and Ted will happily eat up the attention of the audience. It’s been too long. But he also has fun with a villain, so maybe he’ll play the bandit guy, Zach will be the dad, and Sam Sweetly won’t set foot in the Starlight. Maybe he’ll run off to Clivesdale, never to be seen again. That’s the ideal scenario.

Before Ted realizes what he’s doing, he reaches into the very back of his desk drawer. Past the porn mag hidden in a stack of papers, past the flask. It’s not until his fingers are curling around an old Polaroid that his mind catches up to his body.

Ted yanks his hand out of the drawer. Looking at a photograph of him and Jenny is not going to make him feel better. It’s going to drive him to drink, actually, and Pete gets worried when he comes home tipsy too many times in a row.

Speaking of Pete, his phone is lighting up with a text from the little brother in question.

Can you pick up the chicken noodle soup from Miss Retro’s on your way back?

Yeah, Ted texts back. You dead?

Don’t have a fever but I feel like shit.

Great way to start summer break

Ughhhhhh, Pete responds.

Honestly, Ted would rather be sick than deal with the day he’s been having. Ughhhhhh indeed.

Thankfully, he gets out of work without any more aggravating conversations, and remembers to swing by Miss Retro’s for Pete. Lo and behold, Miss Retro herself is behind the counter, looking even more eighties than she did this morning. She smiles at Ted, and some of the anger in his chest washes away. Then he realizes—Jenny’s mom, that’s who she reminds him of. 

This must be one of those days where he can’t escape Jenny. A rare occurrence, but a painful one every time.

“Hey there,” Miss Retro says, snapping Ted out of his funk. “What can I get for you?”

“Chicken noodle soup to go.”

“That all?”

“Yeah, ’s for my little brother. He’s sick.”

“I’ll make sure it has extra noodles, then.” As she rings him up, Miss Retro gives him a wink, and he smiles back at her. 

Once she’s off in the kitchen, Ted shuffles over to the bar and leans against it, waiting. It’s early enough that the place is mostly empty, but Hatchetfield’s resident homeless man sits in a booth, staring at nothing. A waiter in his twenties sets a burger down in front of him, before walking past Ted.

“He can pay for that?” Ted finds himself blurting out.

The waiter looks over at him and shrugs. “Nah. But the boss takes pity on him as long as he’s not a nuisance.”

“Fair enough.”

As the waiter heads to the back, Ted shamelessly checks him out. He’s got great arms. And looks kinda familiar, but that’s just standard for Hatchetfield. 

“Don’t follow her!” the homeless man suddenly exclaims. “She’s not real!”

Ted edges further away from him.

“One chicken noodle soup to go,” Miss Retro announces, placing a plastic bag on the counter. Ted scoops it up, quickly thanks her, and bustles out of the diner. He doesn’t spook easily, but something about that homeless guy freaks him out. 

When he gets home, Pete immediately takes the soup from him and starts chugging it straight out of the container. Ted forces him to grab a spoon and bowl. Not that he particularly minds Pete being a slob, but the slurping noises are gross. 

They end up on the couch, watching White Rabbit Project because Pete loves anything Mythbusters-related. Ted munches on some microwaveable mini pizzas while Pete finishes off his soup. He must be on the mend, because Ted doesn’t hear a single sniffle or cough for the rest of the episode.

“Ruth texted me and Richie about it, but I don’t think I actually asked you,” Pete says, once the credits start rolling. “How’d auditions go?”

“Good. I mean, I didn’t bomb, and the script was funny as fuck.”

“That’s cool. I hope you guys get cast.”

Ted smiles at him. “Yeah, me too.”

Chapter Text

Friday, June 7th, 2019 - fifty six days until opening night

As nice as it is to spend time with her little sister, shopping with Zoey is always an ordeal. Her taste in clothes is very different than Melissa’s. Not to mention she just doesn’t understand that most of Melissa’s wardrobe needs to be office appropriate. No, she can’t wear a miniskirt that barely reaches mid-thigh. 

“But it’s cute,” Zoey cajoles, holding up the plaid piece of fabric that Melissa is certain won’t cover her ass if she bends over even an inch. “At least try it on.”

Melissa shakes her head. “That is way too short. Also, green. Why are half the things you’re picking out green?”

“‘Cause it brings out your eyes!”

“I guess Ted was right about that…”

“Don’t take fashion advice from a guy,” Zoey says, putting the skirt back up on the rack. “Even if he’s gay. You’ve seen how Zach dresses—atrociously.”

Rolling her eyes, Melissa thumbs through the next rack. Zach doesn’t dress loudly enough to be anywhere near atrocious—he mostly sticks to simple styles, with fairly neutral colors. But when Zoey starts baselessly trash talking Zach, Melissa knows interfering won’t get them anywhere. And vice versa, when Zach calls Zoey ugly and talentless. Best to let them get it out of their systems. Especially when this shopping trip is already wearing on both their nerves. 

“What about this?” Zoey asks, pulling out a silky dress. “Come on, it’s red. Your favorite.”

“Where on Earth would I wear that?”

“On a date, duh.”

“That’s… a lot for a date.”

Zoey pushes her toward the dressing rooms. “Humor me and try it onnn.”

“Fine,” Melissa says, taking the dress from her. She’ll try it on to appease Zoey, and then not get it because she has absolutely no reason to wear it. While Melissa changes, two teenage girls debate who should try on the last pair of white jeans. They’ve chosen whichever one of them is named Stacy by the time Melissa emerges.

Zoey glances up from her phone, and then does a double take.

“That bad?”

“Holy shit, you actually look hot.”

The not-Stacy teenage girl in the dressing room frowns at Zoey, but Melissa knows her sister well enough to tell that’s a genuine compliment. 

“You think so?” she asks, turning around in the mirror. 

“Definitely. Plenty of guys would take you home in that.”

“…That’s not what I’m looking for.”

“You’re so prudish,” Zoey whines. “Is this ‘cause you got sent off to abstinence camp as a kid?”

Melissa freezes. “Where’d you hear about that?”

“Nora mentioned it once. Said you both went.”

“Yeah, that was… an interesting summer.”

“She also said some random girl died?”

Not-Stacy is definitely eavesdropping, if her wide eyes are anything to go by.

“Like I said. Interesting summer,” Melissa snaps, “And it’s not why I don’t put out on the first date. Which is something I don’t need another person nagging me about.”

The gamble of being snippy with Zoey is that she might fire back something ten times as venomous. Thus, Melissa usually keeps the peace. But it’s been a long week, and Melissa’s sick of having the same conversation with Ted and her mom and—

“Fine,” Zoey says, “but you still need to get the dress. This is literally the sexiest you’ve ever looked.”

“Thanks.” Melissa retreats into the dressing room, silently grateful that Zoey went with Option B this time—letting Melissa assert her older sibling status. Sometimes, all she can do to get through to Zoey is being a bitch right back. 

In addition to the dress, Melissa ends up buying a scarlet blazer and an emerald green button down Zoey insists brings out her eyes. She’s not wrong, and Melissa figures she can pair it with some black or brown pieces. Might be fun to mix up her wardrobe a little bit.

“Let’s stop at Victoria’s Secret,” Zoey says, dragging Melissa further into the mall. “I need to get some new lingerie for my OnlyFans.”

Melissa freezes. “Your what?”

“Don’t be weird about it.”

“You started an OnlyFans?!”

Huffing, Zoey tugs at Melissa’s arm. “Yes, ‘cause I don’t wanna keep living with a million roommates. Can you move? You’re like, in the middle of the walkway.”

“You could do literally anything else for money,” Melissa hisses. 

“Calm down. I’m not a hooker.”

“You’re getting pretty damn close!”

“Stop slut-shaming me,” Zoey says. “It’s not like I’m showing hole.”

“Oh my God.”

“Just tits.”

“Zoey!”

“What? You have a cushy office job. I’m going into theatre, so I need to get creative. Use my assets.”

“Yeah, her ass-ets!” Melissa can imagine Ted joking, and is met with the strong need to punch him. Or at the very least, make sure he never discovers Zoey has an OnlyFans. If she found out he was whacking off to her little sister’s videos, she’d saw his dick off with piano wire. 

Trying to rid her mind of that horrible imagery, Melissa takes a deep breath.

“Are you done freaking out?” Zoey asks. “Can we go to Victoria’s Secret now?”

“I don’t think this is a good way to make money, Zoey.”

“Ugh, you’re still on that?”

“You want to be a Broadway star, right?” Melissa says. “I’m just thinking, if people find images of you that you don’t want circling—say you get cast on a family-friendly show, like something Disney—”

Zoey rolls her eyes. “How dumb do you think I am? I crop my head out of everything. So in ten years, people can say it’s me, but they can’t prove it. I’ll’ve gotten my big break by then, so the account will be deleted. Will you stop freaking out now?”

“…Fine, but I am not helping you pick out lingerie.”

“Whatever, I’ll just get Sa—someone else’s opinions.”

That was a… weird slip-up, but frankly, Melissa doesn’t want to learn anything else about Zoey’s private life right now. 

“Just be safe,” she sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Let me know if anyone starts, I don’t know, stalking you or something.”

Zoey snorts. “What, ‘cause you’ll kick their ass?”

“I would!”

“You’re, like, five one—”

“Five two!”

“—there’s no way you’re kicking anyone’s ass.”

“You don’t know what I’m capable of,” Melissa half-jokes. 

Girls’ night with Nora and Becky is, thankfully, a lot less aggravating. Melissa considers extending a last minute invite to Charlotte—she’d gotten coffee with her and Becky once or twice on the weekends, and that was always pleasant—but decides against it. Charlotte, poor girl, is a mess. And Melissa desperately needs socialization that doesn’t feel like she’s trying to put out fires. 

They meet up at Nora’s place, because Melissa’s apartment is tiny and Becky’s house is a bit of a drive, being at the edge of the Witchwood and all. Though Melissa tends to avoid Becky’s house for other reasons. It’s hard to shake the image of her friend being chased by a knife-wielding maniac. 

When Melissa arrives, Nora is asking Becky, “Did you ever end up finding Tom’s cat?”

“No,” she sighs. “Poor Tim, he really liked Cardamom.”

“Wait, what?” Melissa asks, still kicking off her shoes at the door. 

“The Houstons lost their cat,” Becky calls.

“What?”

As Melissa scrambles into the living room, Nora groans. “I told you not to bring that up around her.”

“They lost their cat?!”

“…Yes?” Becky says. 

“Did they let the cat go outside? Because it is not safe—”

“Breathe,” Nora says, placing a hand on Melissa’s back. And then a glass in her hands. “Also, drink.”

Furious, Melissa obliges.

“From what Tom told me, she’s not an outdoor cat,” Becky says. “Just managed to slip out the front door while Tom was hauling stuff outside, and he wasn’t able to find her. I was at work, so I couldn’t help. But he called Emma Perkins, and they looked together. I think she hates me.”

“The cat?” Nora asks.

“No, Emma.”

“Fuck her,” Melissa says. “Also, fuck Tom. You can’t just leave the front door open if you have an inside cat—”

“It was an accident! I know Tom feels terrible about—”

“Let’s just stop talking about the cat,” Nora says. 

Melissa doesn’t want to stop talking about the cat. She wants to keep talking about the cat, actually, and how it doesn’t matter if Tom feels bad, he still made a mistake. You can’t just forget about a cat and let it run off into the woods because the woods are dangerous and now you can’t protect the cat. Melissa hates it when people don’t protect their cats. Fuck Tom Houston. 

But Becky is frowning, and Melissa also hates making her sad. So she takes a deep breath, and says, “I’m working at the animal shelter this weekend. I can keep an eye out for…”

“Cardamom,” Becky says. “She’s a really light brown.”

“Awww.” 

“Other than that,” Nora says. “How are things going with Tom?”

Becky brightens. “Good! I mean, we’re still taking it slow, for Tim’s sake and everything, but it’s been really good. We all went to see Mamma Mia! at the Starlight a few weeks ago. Tim loved it. I think Tom was just kinda confused, but he was happy that Tim was happy. And that I was happy. It was sweet.”

“That’s great,” Melissa says, and she means it. Apart from being a terrible cat owner, she hasn’t heard a single bad thing about Tom from Becky. 

“You guys are so cute,” Nora sighs. 

“Any updates on your love life?”

“Nooo. Why are there no queer women in Hatchetfield? Am I the only one?”

“I think Emma’s bisexual,” Becky says.

“Oh, definitely, but I’m her boss,” Nora says. “More importantly, she’s a bitch.”

Becky makes a face that Melissa knows means you’re not wrong, but I wasn’t going to say that.

“Also, she’s dating Paul, a fact I will never forget,” Melissa says.

Nora nudges her with her foot. “Are you still moping about that?”

“Yes! I really liked Paul!”

“He’s the most mediocre man in the worlddddd.”

“I’m sure you’ll find someone else,” Becky encourages. “What about your other work friend? The one who got you to audition for that play?”

Melissa starts choking on her drink when she realizes Becky means Ted.

Thankfully, Nora beats her to the punch. “Oh, God, do not date Ted Spankoffski. He’s hit on every Beanie’s worker, like, seventeen hundred times. Except for Deb, ‘cause she’s underage. At least he has some standards.”

“I’m not going to date Ted,” Melissa says, coughing one final time. “I’ve made that very clear to everyone who’s ever implied it.”

“Good.”

“Okay, forget the guy,” Becky says. “How were auditions?”

Melissa grins. “Really fun! I haven’t done any theatre since high school—”

“We killed it in Brigadoon,” Nora adds.

“—so I was a little nervous, but I did okay, I think. Plus, the script was hilarious. Even if I don’t get in, I’m excited to see the show.”

“Aw, that’s great,” Becky says. “Either way, I’ll have to drag Tom and Tim along to see it.”

“…Maybe just Tom. I’m not sure it’s kid-friendly.”

Nora reaches for a handful of crackers. “You’ll get in for sure, Melissa.”

“I don’t know—”

“No, you will. You’re so fucking talented. I wish I could sing like you.”

“Oh, come on, you’re a great dancer. Wait, maybe you could choreograph the show!”

“I’d love to, but I do not have the time for rehearsals,” Nora says. “I’ve got my hands full with Beanie’s. Need to see if I can hire any theatre kids for the summer, because Deb refuses to sing when she’s tipped, and I can’t have anyone else taking after Emma.”

Melissa considers suggesting Ruth, and then immediately scraps that idea. From what Ted’s told her, Ruth’s got a great voice, but the poor girl is bursting with anxiety. Working a coffee shop and having to publicly sing might just make her little head explode.

“What about your brother?” Becky asks Melissa. “He does theatre, right?”

“Absolutely not,” Nora replies.

Melissa frowns. “What’s wrong with Zach?”

“Nothing. But I refuse to let his and Zoey’s dumb rivalry tank my business.”

“…That’s fair. Besides, he works at Miss Retro’s now, so—”

“Oh, I love Miss Retro’s!” Becky exclaims. “It’s super cute. Plus, the burgers…”

“Amazing,” Melissa and Nora chorus.

“Right? I know we were gonna do pizza tonight, but if you guys wanna get burgers—”

“Fuck yes,” Nora says. “Call them.”

While Becky retrieves her purse from the kitchen, Melissa turns to Nora. 

“Why did you tell Zoey about that summer we went to abstinence camp?”

“Uh…” Nora blinks. “Honestly, I don’t remember. Probably just came up.”

“How does that just come up?”

“I dunno, it did. Why? Was that supposed to be a secret?”

“No, it was just—a shitty summer.”

“At least you got to enjoy it before the…” murder goes unspoken. “Benefits of being a prude.”

“I’m not a prude!”

Nora raises her eyebrows. “Melissa, you’re my bestie, so I say this with love. But you are such a nerdy prude.”

“I am not!” Melissa isn’t sure why this is pissing her off so much. She is a nerd, she is a prude, she’s fine with that. But she’s sick of people reminding her. Prude, prude, prude, from Ted, from Zoey, from Nora—

“Did you guys want regular burgers or cheeseburgers?” Becky calls.

“Cheese!” Nora shouts back.

Melissa takes a deep breath. “Cheese for me too, please!”

“Look, I’m sorry about the prude thing,” Nora says.

“It’s fine. I don’t care. It’s just—why is that what you focus on when we’re talking about the summer when I literally found a dead body?”

“Because I don’t like to think about the dead body thing.”

“Then why’d you bring it up to Zoey?”

“I don’t know! She probably asked!” Nora huffs. “Look, you know I had a massive crush on Gertrude, I hate thinking about her getting axe-murdered by Boy Jerry. And I also hate to think what could’ve happened to you!”

“What do you—”

“He attacked you and didn’t take off until you hit him with a shovel! You could’ve died!”

“Right,” Melissa says, the aftertaste of wine turning terribly sour in her mouth. It’s been long enough, and irrelevant enough, that she’s forgotten. Forgotten her cover story, forgotten what she told the police. Not that she expects anyone to find Boy Jerry’s body—no doubt decomposed after fifteen years—and start questioning her for murder, but still.

She must look ashen, because Nora comes over to hug her. “Sorry to freak you out. And bring up the prude thing—”

“It’s fine,” Melissa says. “You’re not wrong. I just get told that all the time—like earlier today, when Zoey kept going on about her OnlyFans—”

“Oh, God. I mean, good on her for making money, but she doesn’t have to tell her big sister that that exists.”

“What exists?” Becky asks, plopping back down on the couch.

“My sister’s OnlyFans,” Melissa says grimly.

Becky blinks. “…Oh!”

“Yeah, I’m not sure there’s a better way to respond to that.”

“On the… bright side? Burgers should be ready for pickup in twenty minutes.”

“I can’t wait,” Nora says. “This was the best idea ever, Becky.”

“Yay!”

They keep chatting—Becky saying something about barely getting to eat during her hospital shift—but Melissa can’t bring herself to join in. 

Nora thought she could’ve died. Maybe she would’ve, if she hadn’t gotten the jump on Boy Jerry, if she hadn’t beat him to death with a shovel. But she’s not sure Boy Jerry has ever actually killed anyone. Treated Girl Jeri terribly, and covered up murders, sure. But killed someone? Melissa doesn’t know. Lumber-Axe, on the other hand…

Her breathing gets faster. She and Nora never really talked about that incident. Cried over Gertrude, sure, but not talked. After they left camp, the police spent a week combing the Witchwood for Boy Jerry only to come up empty. Melissa stayed locked in her room, terrified they’d find his bloody corpse and figure out what she’d done, but nothing ever came of it. Camp Idontwannabang got shut down, Gertrude’s family held a funeral, and Melissa never saw Girl Jeri again. Nora went to Zach and Zoey’s production of Annie with her. Which was totally surreal, sitting in an audience during a kids’ musical after weeks of nothing but woods and not-sex talk. And a murder (or two). 

Melissa and Nora didn’t talk about it. They just moved on, even though Melissa was a lot warier of guys and Nora was too scared to ask out her high school crush. They just moved on.

And Melissa never realized Nora thought she could’ve died. 

What about Becky? What doesn’t she know about Becky? She saw the bruises, sure, but was that the extent of what Stanley did to her? Does Becky think he’s dead, having stabbed him in the woods? Or does she lie awake at night, petrified that Stanley might return with another knife? Does Nora think that about Boy Jerry? Does she worry he might emerge after years of hiding, ready to take his revenge on Melissa? 

If they do have those fears, Melissa can’t erase them. Can’t say, “Boy Jerry’s dead, Stanley’s dead, I killed them in the Witchwood,” because that’s a one-way ticket to jail. Not that she thinks Nora would turn her in. Becky probably wouldn’t either, but she’s so rules-abiding, Melissa can’t know for sure. And even if they wouldn’t do it on purpose, they could always slip up…

So she can’t tell them. 

“Hey Melissa, you okay?” Becky asks, and Melissa realizes she’s crying. Because even though she’s protected Becky and Nora, it’s still not enough.

“Oh, I’m fine, I just…”

And Melissa does what she does best. 

Lie to her friends.

“…feel so bad for Tom’s poor cat!”

Of course they believe her. Of course they hug her, and comfort her, because Melissa’s the girl who gets overly emotional about cats. 

Not the girl who murders men in the woods.

Chapter Text

Saturday, June 8th, 2019 - fifty five days until opening night

It is great having Alice home again.

Bill had begun to forget what it’s like. Coming home from work to see his daughter sprawled on the couch, writing. Cooking alongside another person, getting to eat dinner with her. Without Alice and Rebecca (the latter of which he does not want to be around), the house had become far too empty for just Bill. 

He has his garden out back. After Rebecca whisked Alice away to Clivesdale, Bill realized he had nothing to do on the weekends. But he’s always liked plants, and gardening means he’s spending time outside in the sun. That’s healthy! 

Yesterday, he’d been discussing his garden with Paul. They were on a Beanie’s run together, because Bill actually was craving a caramel frappe, as well as a friend to vent to about growing green beans. Having planted them in the early spring, they weren’t sprouting nearly enough as he’d expected by now.

“I’m watering them the right amount, I’ve been using compost in my soil,” Bill explained to Paul, “but I just can’t figure out what I’m doing wrong.”

As she handed them their drinks, the barista asked, “Did you transfer them?”

“Sorry?”

“Did you transfer them?” she repeated. “Grow them in a small container and then replant them outdoors?”

“Yeah, I did do that!”

“Green beans have delicate roots. That probably killed most of them off.”

Bill’s face fell. “Oh.”

“Hey, there’s always next year,” she said, giving Paul’s hand a quick squeeze before scurrying over to take another order.

“Emma’s studying botany,” Paul said proudly. 

“That’s nice,” Bill replied, because he still thinks Melissa would be better for Paul than Beanie’s token crabby barista, but maybe he’d misjudged Emma. 

Now, Bill is back in the garden, prepping a small plot of dirt for cucumbers. Alice had announced she was spending Saturday with Deb. Which was disappointing, and Bill’s sure it showed on his face, because she’d then promised to spend Sunday with him. He’s looking forward to it. They’ll go to church, get a nice lunch—maybe with the Chasitys, Karen and Mark are a bit younger than Bill but they always get along well, and Grace is such a nice girl—and then come home and plant cucumbers. 

He’s just finished digging out the last hole when his phone rings. Wiping his hands on his jeans, Bill pulls out his phone. A smile creeps across his face when he sees the caller is Sylvia.

The thing is, Bill doesn’t have a lot of friends. He’s always gotten along with Dan, though after divorcing his sister, it’s become a bit weird to hang out with him. There’s Paul, of course, and Bill and Paul are buddies, but Paul’s a decade younger and doesn’t really understand the woes of a divorced dad. Of anyone, Paul’s older sister Heather might get it, being a widow with a daughter of her own. But according to Paul, Heather spends most of her time out of town working on secret government projects. Having babysat the Matthews siblings in his teen years, it honestly doesn’t surprise Bill. Heather was always the one coming up with crazy conspiracies, while Paul would either pick at her logic or ignore her theories about cults in the woods. Bill just figured she had an active imagination—Alice is the same way about fairytales, and look at her, she’s becoming a writer!

All that to say—Bill doesn’t have a lot of friends, and of those friends, very few are both around his age and understand what he’s been going through the last few years. Sylvia, the absolute angel, does. He likes chatting with her, and he’s pretty sure the feeling is mutual. More than once, he’s wondered if that’s the reason why Sylvia spends so much time in his CCRP department rather than her top floor office.

They don’t exactly hang out on the weekends, outside of work. There have been a few special occasions, such as last year’s Honey Festival, and one exciting afternoon where Sylvia couldn’t get a temperamental nighthawk out of her house and recruited Bill’s help. But they rarely interact outside of working hours. It’s not that Bill doesn’t want to. He loves spending time with Sylvia, but he’s just not sure if making weekend plans with her would be weird, or inappropriate, or if she would even want to. 

But she’s calling him on the weekend. After the nighthawk incident, Sylvia had gotten her window screens replaced, so hopefully this can be a friendly chat and not “please help me get this bird out of my kitchen without hurting it because it’s a protected species and I would rather die than ask my ex-husband to defend me in court.” 

Still, Bill braces himself for a possible bird-related emergency as he answers the call. “Hey, how’re you doing?”

“I’m good!” Sylvia chirps. “Just been running errands. I have meal prep to do—Shavuot starts tomorrow, which means I can’t do any cooking for the next two days. I’m also trying to get Richie some proper summer clothes because he’ll overheat if he keeps wearing two shirts, but he’s very particular—it’s a whole thing, don’t get me started. How’re you? How’s Alice?”

“Alice is off with Deb right now. Says she’s been spending the last few days agonizing over her cast list. I suggested she go do something fun, take her mind off of it and come back with fresh eyes.”

“Good thinking.”

“Thank you!” Bill beams. “I’m gardening right now. Hopefully I’ll be able to get some cucumbers in tomorrow.”

“Ooh, once they’re grown, you can make pickles.”

“I didn’t think of that! I’ll have to try it.”

“Keep me updated,” Sylvia says. “Actually, I’m calling because I’m curious—you don’t have to answer if it’s personal, but… what was it like when Alice came out to you?”

Bill blinks. Of everything she could’ve asked, that wasn’t particularly wild, but he certainly hadn’t been expecting it.

“Well… she didn’t exactly come out to us.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, I don’t know… there was just a certain point in middle school where Rebecca and I could sort of… tell. But Alice has always had a lot of anxiety, and we weren’t sure she was ever gonna come out to us, and then I started worrying that she didn’t know we’d be supportive, so I spoke to her privately and said that I loved her no matter what.”

“How’d she react?” Sylvia asks.

“Poor girl started crying. Turns out she was really scared we wouldn’t accept her. I promised her that was not the case, and the next morning, I tried making rainbow pancakes for her. They were a complete mess, but it made Alice really happy.” 

“Aww, that’s so sweet!”

Bill chuckles. “I try my best. Why d’ya ask?”

“Uh… personal reasons,” Sylvia says. “What else are you planting?”

“Just cucumbers for now, but I might plant some peas next month. I think they’re good for late summer, but I don’t want to plant them too late…”

Bill rambles on about his garden, Sylvia makes suggestions for possible meals to make, and then they’re bouncing recipes back and forth until Sylvia has to jet off to grab Richie and go clothes shopping.

It’s not until Bill hangs up that it hits him—Sylvia must be a lesbian.

That has to be it, right? Why else would she ask about Alice coming out? Bill’s made it very clear that he loves his daughter even if he thinks she could do better than Deb, and if Alice is the only lesbian Sylvia knows, of course Sylvia would call him for advice. Maybe she wants to come out to Richie, or her parents—actually, Bill doesn’t know much about Sylvia’s parents. She’s not originally from Hatchetfield, having moved here sometime in the early 2000’s to live with Gary. Wait, Gary. Sylvia has an ex-husband, meaning at one point she had a husband, meaning she definitely liked guys then. But now she’s a lesbian?

Well, Bill supposes, Heather didn’t realize she was trans until her twenties, so maybe it takes some people a while. Like Sylvia. Who he’s definitely, totally going to support once she officially comes out to him!

…So then why does he feel disappointed?

He ponders this as he tidies up after gardening, and as he runs a load of laundry, and as he vacuums the house. One cleaning spree fraught with overthinking later, and Bill has come to a terrible conclusion.

There’s a teeeeeeny part of him that’s homophobic.

That’s not good. That’s really, really not good. Bill doesn’t want to be homophobic! He wants to support Sylvia without feeling a shred of disappointment over her sexuality, because it’s none of his business if she likes women and only women. There is absolutely no reason he should be disappointed by that.

But he is.

Telling himself it’s not because he’s compensating for that even though it totally is, Bill makes Alice’s favorite dinner that night. This time, he uses lasagna noodles he doesn’t have to pre-cook, and manages not to tear them in half or drop them on the floor. Alice would be proud.

She’s certainly pleased to come home to lasagna, garlic bread, and Greek salad. “You went all out, Dad.”

“I like cooking,” Bill replies, pulling out plates for the two of them. “I did a lot of stress baking in college, actually.”

“Really? I feel like baking would stress me out more. All that measuring, and then cleanup, and what if you accidentally leave the oven on…”

Dinner consists of chatter—mostly about Deb, who Bill doesn’t say anything disapproving about, definitely not because he’s overcompensating for the Sylvia-lesbian thing—and then a game of Scrabble. Alice trounces him, per usual, but Bill manages to snag a few Triple Word Score squares in the process. Then he does the dishes, while Alice returns to her cast list. She’s still at it while Bill is getting ready for bed. And groaning loudly in the process.

“What’s the problem?” Bill asks, plopping down next to her on the sofa.

Alice sighs. “I can’t decide where I want to put the girls. I mean, I know I want the Chambers sisters to play mother and daughter, I just can’t figure out which should play which. Either way, I have to cast Zach as Grandpa, ‘cause siblings playing husband and wife would be icky.”

“Right. Wait, so Melissa is definitely getting cast?”

“Oh, of course! She can sing really well, and she can kinda… I dunno, transform when she’s acting. She sang a scary song for her audition and totally freaked me out.”

“But… she’s Melissa. She’s not scary.”

“Exactly! And I think she could play a really good mom, but so could Zoey, but Zoey could also play a really good daughter, but so could Melissa—so I don’t know what to do! And I have the same problem with the other two guy roles. Both guys would be great at both roles.”

Bill furrows his brow. “So… there’s no wrong choice, is there?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, if the girls are gonna be good in either role, and so are the guys, then you can put them wherever and it’ll still work out!”

“I… guess?” Alice frowns. “But I want to put them in the right role. I don’t want to pick one and hope for the best.”

“So, what else do you have to think about for casting? Besides talent?”

“Maybe… looks? I know Hidgens said that he couldn’t picture Ruth as anyone besides the son, ‘cause she’s so short—hey, yeah, maybe that’s how I can cast Melissa and Zoey! Melissa’s much shorter, so she should be the daughter, while Zoey’s the mom!”

Beaming, Bill squeezes Alice’s shoulder. He did it! He actually managed to help his daughter with a theatre thing!

“What about the guys?” he asks. “You gonna cast them based on height as well?”

“Based on hair, actually,” Alice says. “Melissa, Zoey, and Ruth all have curly hair, and so does Sam, so he should be cast as the dad—that’s it! I figured out the cast list!”

“Way to go!” 

“Now I just have to email it out, and then email everyone the rehearsal schedule…”

“Try not to go to bed too late,” Bill says, giving her shoulder another squeeze before standing. “We have church tomorrow, and I was thinking we could grab a nice lunch after. Maybe invite the Chasitys. And then plant some cucumbers!”

Alice gives him one of those… looks. Bill can never tell if she’s happy, or disappointed.

“Okay, Dad,” is all she says, returning to her computer. “G’night.”

“Goodnight.”

Chapter Text

Sunday, June 9th, 2019 - fifty four days until opening night

Ruth wakes up, immediately checks her phone, and screams.

It’s one of those instances where, if she wasn’t so excited, the dull throb that comes with having an empty house would pound against her ribcage even harder. As usual, there’s no one to hear her scream, and then come rushing up to her room calling, “Ruth! Ruth! Are you okay?!” 

Because Mom’s at work. She’s always at work, doing top secret government stuff, which is fine. It’s totally fine. Ruth gets it, okay? It’s like Uncle Paul said once—some depressed people are alcoholics, others are workaholics. (She’s pretty sure she wasn’t supposed to hear that, but it’s true.) Mom still makes it to all of Ruth’s shows—well, almost all of them, but even if she’s not there, Uncle Paul is. Uncle Paul always babysat Ruth before she was old enough to be home alone, and now he checks on her when her mom is away on a work trip. Sometimes she gets anxious, all alone in a big house, especially once it gets dark out. But Ruth has a system. She closes the curtains once the sun sets, keeps all the lights on the second floor on, and sleeps with her bedroom door locked and Richie’s old Little League bat propped up against the wall by her head. Not that anything’s ever happened, but an overactive imagination and a dark house are more than enough to work Ruth into a tizzy. Though, in recent years, Ruth’s found masturbation to be a decent way to get her mind off of things that go bump in the night. And she doesn’t have to worry about someone walking in on her. Especially when she’s trying something new and weird. Bonus!

…She’s not mad at Mom for always being gone. Some depressed people are alcoholics, others are workaholics, right? And it’s no wonder Mom’s depressed. Her wife died and left her with a baby that will always be short and scrawny due to the medical complications that took Miriam Fleming’s life. Ruth knows it’s not her fault her other mom is dead, because it’s not like she had any say in the matter. She didn’t ask to be born. Still, there’s something especially fucked up about looking at her mom’s gravestone and seeing her birthdate staring back at her.

That’s not the kind of stuff she’s thinking of right now, though. Because right now, she’s skimming the rest of Alice’s email, just to make sure the cast list with Ruth’s name on it isn’t some kind of a joke. And, nope! There’s no HAHA GOTCHA YOU TALENTLESS HACK at the bottom. Just Congratulations! and Here are the rehearsal dates: and, in the most beautiful sans-serif font Ruth’s ever seen, her name listed next to the part of Son. 

She got cast.

She got cast!!!

Ruth screams again, dances around on her bed, falls to the floor, extracts herself from the tangled blankets, and continues dancing. She’s in the show!! She’s good enough for the show!! And, scrolling back through the cast list, she’s the only teenager listed. So that means she’s a better actor than everyone else in Hatchetfield High!

“Caitlyn and Trevor, you can suck my dick!” Ruth yells triumphantly, before briefly considering playing out that fantasy, because as bitchy as they are, Caitlyn and Trevor are hot. But no—she has to tell everyone ever that she got a part, and enjoy this burst of confidence before it’s inevitably extinguished.

i got a part in alice’s musical!!!!!! she texts Uncle Paul.

He responds, Wait, like an acting part? I thought you were gonna do lights.

no, i decided to audition last minute and i got in!!!!!!!!

Congratulations! Make sure you let your mom know so she can get the time off work to see you. 

i will

The text Ruth sends to her mom—hey mom i auditioned for this show alice woodward is doing at the starlight, and i got in!!! the show runs for like three weeks in august so please make sure you get a night off to come see it!!!—doesn’t get an immediate response. Which is fine. Mom’s working. Even though it’s a Sunday, she’s working. 

She contacts Pete next, because Richie is in synagogue for Shavuot service all morning. He’d asked if she wanted to come with (and made a goofy joke about how there’d be “a reading from the Book of You, get it, ‘cause it’s the Book of Ruth”) but she’d declined, not wanting to wake up early. And she always feels like the odd one out in places of worship. Visits to Hatchetfield’s Episcopalian church were few and far between as a kid, what with her mom being busy and Uncle Paul being what Grace Chasity would call a “Chreaster”. And her other mom was always too dead to take her to synagogue. Until she met Richie, Ruth’s pretty sure the only Jewish thing she ever did was place stones on her mom’s grave. 

And when she mentioned that, he was all, “You know your mom being Jewish makes you Jewish too, right?” So she’d gone to a few services with him, as well as his little cousin’s bar mitzvah. His mom was always happy to see her tagging along. And it’s nice. Having a mother figure dote on her a little bit, even if Ms. Lipschitz is intense and, according to Richie, overbearing. She also makes amazing food. Ruth had mentioned that to Uncle Paul once, and he got a funny look on his face. The next week, he’d made fish patties for dinner with Ruth. It’s sorta turned into a semi-weekly occurrence, Uncle Paul coming over to try out a new Jewish recipe for dinner with Ruth. He’d made this egg and tomato dish last week. It was pretty good.

So Uncle Paul cooks and the Lipschitzes take her to synagogue every once in a while. And it’s nice. Ruth still feels—well, she still feels lost, and like she doesn’t quite belong anywhere, but that’s a pretty normal state of being for Ruth. Besides, it’s not like she has the Fleming side of her family to teach her anything. For one, they live on the mainland (where her moms met). Also, they didn’t exactly approve of her mom Miriam being a lesbian. Or marrying a trans woman. Which Ruth thinks is stupid—because if they don’t see her mom Heather as a woman, then how can they be mad at Miriam for marrying a woman? Whatever. Probably for the better that they’re not in Ruth’s life considering, y’know, bisexuality. And all that. 

Ruth avoids phone calls as much as possible, but this is a special occasion, and Pete’s a lot less daunting to call than, well, almost anyone else. 

As soon as he picks up, he says, “Congratulations!”

“I got cast in Alice’s—wait, you knew?”

“Ted’s been dancing around the apartment all morning. It’s really fucking weird.”

“He’s in it too?” Ruth squeals, switching back to her email app. “I was so excited I didn’t process—”

“I think he’s the villain,” Pete says. “And Melissa—you know Melissa, right?”

“Yeah!”

“She’s the daughter, so you two are playing siblings? I guess? I know nothing about this show.”

“We are!” Ruth says, scrolling through Alice’s email. “Ooo, it looks like Melissa’s actual siblings got cast as the mom and the grandpa… and the dad is being played by some guy I don’t know. Sam Sweetly?”

“I don’t know him either.” There’s some shuffling on Pete’s end. “Hey, Ted—Jesus Christ, you’re gonna slip and die—I’m talking about the cast list with Ruth—do you know who Sam Sweetly is?”

Ted yells something indecipherable.

“Great, thanks,” Pete deadpans. More shuffling. Then, to Ruth, “He says this Sam guy is Charlotte’s dickbag husband.”

“Who’s Charlotte?”

“Probably someone Ted’s sleeping with.”

“Ooo, details!”

“No,” Pete says immediately. “I do not know the details of my brother’s sex life. I do not want to know the details of my brother’s sex life. And I will not be telling you the details of my brother’s sex life.”

“Prude,” Ruth whines.

“I’m the prude? Which one of us whacked off to the MEAP test?”

“So you finally admit it!”

She and Pete continue bantering as Ruth gets dressed and fixes herself a bowl of cereal. A little bit after noon, Richie texts their group chat a selfie that includes his bared, and more importantly, multicolor teeth. Rather than text back, Ruth adds him to the call.

“What happened to your teeth?” Pete asks immediately.  

“My mom made rainbow cottage cheese pancakes,” Richie says.

Ruth flops down on her couch. “Is that a Shavuot thing?”

“Cottage cheese pancakes, yes, rainbow, no. I don’t know why she did that. But she used way too much food coloring and now I’m gonna have purple teeth until I die.”

“Are either of you free today?” Pete asks. “I need something to get me out of this apartment before Ted kills me with showtunes.”

“I’m free, let’s get ice cream,” Richie says. “Why is Ted murdering you with showtunes?”

“Ruth, you wanna explain?”

Her grin nearly splits her face in half. “We both got cast in Alice’s musical!”

“Holy shit! Like, you’re cast cast? Like, you’re gonna be jumping around singing onstage?”

“I don’t know about jumping, but definitely singing!”

“Holy shit,” Richie says again. “Now we have to get ice cream.”

So Ruth bikes to Hatchetfield’s one and only ice cream shop. She arrives nine minutes early, because the thought of getting in trouble for being late relentlessly gnaws at her even when she’s literally just hanging out with her friends, one of which is chronically late. 

The one who isn’t chronically late strolls up to Ruth at one o’clock at the dot.

“Congrats again,” Pete says. “I don’t really get the whole theatre thing, but it’s cool you’re doing this. Ted’s excited.”

Ruth bounces on the balls of her feet. “Me too! I can’t believe it’s actually happening!”

Her babbling continues a mile a minute as they stand outside the shop, waiting for Richie. There’s no hiding the exasperation on Pete’s face—it’s always a little present—but he’s nodding and smiling, so Ruth figures that’s just from Ted being a nuisance this morning. Not that she can blame him. She won’t stop talking until Pete physically forces her to. Which, honestly? Would be kinda hot. 

The appearance of Richie bounding out of his mom’s car finally prompts a change in subject, as Pete says, “Your teeth are still purple,” instead of something normal like “hi”.

“My mom’s being weird today,” Richie responds, as the mom in question waves before driving away. “She keeps saying I can tell her anything. I’m worried she wants to ask me what hentai is.”

Pete furrows his brow. “Why the fuck would she do that?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what’s going on with her!”

“If she asks, play dumb,” Ruth says. That’s her go-to move. She’s pretty sure Uncle Paul thinks she’s way more innocent than she actually is.

They pile inside the tiny ice cream shop, where Pete thinks way too hard about what flavor to get, Ruth stumbles over her words when talking to the cashier, and every other person waves at Richie, who waves back.

“A lotta people get ice cream during Shavuot,” he explains, after Pete demands to know whether he’s joined the ice cream mafia. It’s a joke, but Ruth starts wondering if Hatchetfield actually does have a mafia. It’d explain all the strange disappearances…

Her mom would probably know. Secret government job, and all that.

The trio settles on a bench outside. Pete wolfs down his ice cream and subsequently gets a brain freeze, which Richie mocks him for. 

“You literally bite ice cream,” Pete retorts. “I’m not taking this fucking slander—”

Ruth’s phone buzzes, and she looks down to see… a text from her mom.

Congratulations honey, that’s amazing! Should be able to see it on August 9, will make sure I don’t get called away. I can’t wait!

A glob of ice cream drips onto Ruth’s hand. She’s beaming. 

Chapter Text

Monday, June 10th, 2019 - fifty three days until opening night

Sam was out late last night, which led to Charlotte having sex with Barry Swift. Meaning she was exhausted enough to properly sleep. Or rather, what counts as properly sleeping for her these days: just one short nightmare where the trees screamed at her to run.

When she wakes up, Charlotte can’t remember whether she fled or stayed rooted to the forest floor.

It takes three tries to put on her blouse before she realizes it’s upside down. Hmm. Maybe she needs to start taking melatonin or something. Just to help her sleep. Not medication medication, because she’s not crazy. She’s not. Even if she sees an arm sprouting from her bedroom wall, offering her a dagger.

Ignoring it, she trundles into the kitchen. It’s just left over from the nightmare. It’s not real. It’s not real. 

The excuse sounds flimsier every time she tells it to herself.

A face that can’t possibly be her mother’s glares at her in the reflection of the microwave. Dawn Foster never did like excuses.

Charlotte had visited her mom a few times in the month before she died. They were short, unpleasant visits. Her mom would rave about God striking down demons and witches, and then call Charlotte a whore (even though she didn’t know about the affairs, she couldn’t know about the affairs). It was, unfortunately, par for the course for the fractured Foster family.

Charlotte can’t blame Pamela for getting out of that house as soon as she could. Still, those late teenage years alone with her mother are hard to look back on. She’s never understood what fears possessed Dawn to keep her daughters locked inside as much as possible. Charlotte was never as headstrong and rebellious as Pamela, but she too chafed under her mother’s thumb. Jetting off to college—even if it was still in Hatchetfield, as that’s all she could afford—was the best decision of her life. She was finally free.

And that’s where she met Sam.

Pamela never liked him. Not that Pamela’s ever had particularly good taste in men. Nor was her and Charlotte’s sisterly relationship halfway decent since they were little. Charlotte hopes Lex and Hannah take better care of each other. She hopes Pamela is a better mom to them. And, as difficult as her mom was, Charlotte hopes she’s resting easy now. At least her death wasn’t long, or painful. Heart attack in her sleep. 

Sometimes Charlotte worries the same thing will happen to her. That the nightmares will be too much to bear and her body will just give out.

(She wonders if that’s why they’ve gotten worse, after her mom’s death. Her fear becoming a self-fulfilling prophecy.)

Incessant meowing from Lilybeth and Truffle prompts Charlotte to feed them, which reminds her to feed herself. Breakfast is hard to remember when she has to drag herself out of sleep every morning. Actually assembling breakfast (a bagel sandwich) is easier. She pops it into some Tupperware to eat at work. Ted seems to have caught onto her poor eating habits, as he’ll often return from Beanie’s with a pastry for her, which is nice, but… he doesn’t do that for anyone else. Not even Melissa.

Granted, he’s not sleeping with Melissa—Sylvia might still think otherwise, but as someone Ted is sleeping with (which Charlotte will never, ever admit to her coworkers, or anyone for that matter), Charlotte’s certain whatever strange friendship Ted and Melissa have struck up is strictly nonsexual. He doesn’t give her the same looks he gives Charlotte. Or breakfast pastries. So the pastry thing must be an attempt to seduce Charlotte. Not that she minds being chased after—God, it feels good, it’s been so long since Sam—

Because they’re married. Sam doesn’t need to chase after Charlotte anymore, they’re married. There’s no point.

And it’s because they’re married that Ted needs to ease up on the whole pastry thing. Because if their coworkers start to suspect, then it could get back to Sam. And if it got back to Sam, and he confronted Charlotte, she simply couldn't bring herself to lie to him. Which would mean the rough patch they’re in would get even worse, and they can’t handle worse because worse would lead to something Charlotte cannot bring herself to think about.

Lilybeth rubs against her leg. Grateful for the distraction, Charlotte pets her.

She never should’ve started up this thing with Ted. Her therapist only offered after her third solo session spent ranting about Sam missing cuddle night, promising strict doctor-patient confidentiality. Charlotte and Barry’s social circles have little overlap (because Hatchetfield may be a small town, but Charlotte’s social circle is minuscule in proportion). 

The trouble with Ted is that he’s so close. Every weekday, in the office with Charlotte. She knew when she went for him that it was a bad idea, bound to blow up in her face. But Barry is brusque and fast, and her therapist tries to keep them both as clothed as possible. Which was hot once or twice, but then turned annoyingly inconvenient. Despite Ted’s obnoxious nature, penchant for arguing, and rampant crudeness, he is, sadly, some of the best sex Charlotte’s had in years. 

(Not that she’ll ever tell him that. He does not need the ego boost.)

Charlotte’s utter lack of focus fails to cause any traffic accidents on her morning drive, and she makes it to work unscathed. Upon settling down at her desk, she makes a point to place her bagel sandwich right next to her keyboard. A clear deterrent to any pastry-based seduction.

It turns out to be an unnecessary precaution, as Ted ambles in seven minutes late and immediately dives into a conversation with Melissa. Definitely not feeling disappointed by that, Charlotte munches on her unobserved bagel and listens in.

“—never actually done a show with Zach and Zoey before,” Melissa is saying. “So I’m hoping they’ll be less at each other’s throats if I’m there—”

“Hot,” Ted says, and then immediately chokes on his coffee as Melissa elbows him in the gut.

“Stop calling—”

“Ack!”

“—my siblings hot!”

“I’m just speaking the truth,” Ted wheezes. “Jesus, you hit hard. Almost as hard as—”

“Do not finish that sentence.”

“—me when—”

Melissa elbows him in the stomach again. Spluttering, Ted doubles over.

Yeah, Charlotte’s certain they aren’t sleeping together.

She turns back to her sandwich before the two can notice her watching. Having a friend in the office sounds nice. Having a friend outside of the office sounds even better. Melissa’s invited her to get coffee with her and Becky Barnes before, and Charlotte has accepted a few times. It was nice, but… they were just so happy and bubbly in a way that feels utterly foreign to Charlotte. She’s not friend material. She’s hardly even wife material.

But she’s trying. She’s trying so hard. If she could just get rid of the nightmares, if she could just be normal again—

“Betrayer.”

Charlotte freezes.

A voice, a woman’s voice, whispers in her ear.

“Betrayer of the line.”

Slowly she turns around in her cubicle.

No one’s there.

Trembling, Charlotte clutches the edge of her desk. She can’t start hearing voices. It’s hard enough seeing things that aren’t there, that she knows aren’t there despite how tangible they look. If she starts hearing things too—

“Hey, Charlotte, you good?”

She’s terrified to look up, terrified that this is another voice in her head. But it’s just Bill, leaning over with a concerned smile.

“Oh—yes!” Charlotte says, tightening her lips in a desperate attempt to hide their quivering. “Just. A little shaky. Need to eat something. A bagel. I have a bagel!”

“...Good!” Bill says, as Charlotte takes a big bite.

She nods, mouth too full to properly respond.

“I think I might’ve also sent something to your printer…”

Charlotte’s printer tray proves to be empty, prompting Bill to take a stroll around the office. She decides to hunt for his papers with him. Anything to get her mind off that voice.

Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was her own guilt about cheating on Sam. Maybe…

Two empty printers later, and Bill still can’t find his papers.

“I hope they didn’t go to Ted’s printer… that is not an office I want to be in.”

“Mmm,” Charlotte hums, rather than make any acknowledgement about the smell of Ted’s office. Because that would be alluding to the multiple times she’s stopped by to proposition him. For after work. Definitely not at work. And definitely not in his office. Too risky. They’d gotten handsy once in the basement, which nobody goes to, so of course Melissa happened to walk in on them. Thank goodness she’d assumed it was general Ted harassment. Charlotte would’ve shriveled up with shame on the spot if she’d been caught reciprocating.

“Uh, Bill?” Paul calls, looking over at Bill’s computer.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t think you ever actually hit print.”

“...Oh,” Bill says, hurrying back to his cubicle. “That would explain it.”

He clicks something, and the trio is promptly met with the sound of general office work and absolutely zero printers.

“Huh. Wonder where that went.”

Paul frowns. “Can I take a look at your settings?”

While the two huddle around Bill’s computer, Charlotte returns to her desk. She’s going to eat her breakfast, and feel better once she has food in her stomach. She’s going to do her work, and go home, and have dinner with her husband. Or just talk to him. Or maybe see him?

How many late night shifts does a man have to pull?

She shouldn’t think like that. She shouldn’t be bitter. Sam’s out there working hard, putting himself in danger to keep Hatchetfield safe. She shouldn’t take that for granted.

Just one nice night. That’s all she’s asking for. Why is it so hard—

“Bill!” Melissa calls, bustling toward the cubicles. “You sent these to Mr. Davidson’s printer.”

“Oh, that’s where those went!”

Charlotte finishes the bagel sandwich while Melissa hands over the papers and chats with Bill. Paul is glued to the computer screen, no doubt hoping to fix Bill’s printing problems once and for all.

“—really excited for the show,” Melissa is saying. “I haven’t done theatre in ages, this is gonna be so fun!”

Bill beams at her. “I’m glad you got cast! Makes me feel a lot better knowing you’re gonna be there with Alice. She’s pretty nervous about the rehearsal. I keep telling her she’s gonna do great.”

“I’m sure she will.”

“Is this for her musical?” Paul asks, not looking up from the computer. “My niece texted me about that yesterday. I thought she was gonna do lights, but I guess she’s acting in it. She’s really excited.”

Melissa’s excitement about the musical seems to outweigh any lingering awkwardness over being rejected by Paul, as she simply grins at him. “We’ve got a great cast! Me and my siblings, Ruth, Ted—”

“Ted’s in the cast?” Bill’s eye twitches. “Alice did not mention—oh, I don’t think I like—”

“I’ll make sure he behaves himself,” Melissa says firmly.

“I’m still going to have a talk with him—I do not want any of his—behavior—around my daughter!”

“I’ll look out for Alice—and for Ruth, poor thing was so nervous at auditions.”

That reminds Charlotte—Sam auditioned. And if the cast list is out…

“Did Sam get in?”

Melissa blinks at her, calculations flitting across those piercing green eyes. Charlotte’s stomach sinks. She’s made a mistake.

“Sam’s the lead,” Melissa says, her voice pitched an octave higher than usual. “Didn’t he tell you?”

And now Bill is staring at her, eyes wide with pity.

“Oh,” Charlotte forces out, “he must’ve—must’ve been so excited he forgot. Was out late last night with some buddies from the precinct. Celebrating! …That must’ve been it. What they were celebrating. Sam getting cast. That’s it.”

Melissa and Bill are still staring at her.

“Your computer is weird,” Paul says, oblivious to the tension around him. Or maybe he’s just ignoring it—hard to tell with Paul, sometimes.

“What kind of weird? Bill asks, blessedly breaking eye contact with Charlotte.

“Weird weird, come look at this.”

Melissa is still staring at Charlotte—God, her gaze is unsettling, why is it so unsettling when this is just Melissa? But just Melissa is opening her mouth to say something that Charlotte just knows she can’t handle right now—

“Hey, Melissa!” Mr. Davidson calls. “Can you take a look at next week’s calendar? I think there’s been some double booking. Possibly triple. Quadruple?”

“Got it!” Melissa chirps, giving Charlotte one last look before scurrying away.

“Thaaanks.”

Once she’s certain Bill and Paul are too distracted by whatever’s going on with Bill’s computer, Charlotte grabs her purse and slips down the hallway. Everyone gets uncomfortable when she drinks at her desk. They don’t see that it’s good, that it’s helping her.

She’s so distracted, she nearly runs into a woman stepping out of the elevator. Definitely someone important, if the sharp pantsuit and impeccably styled bun are anything to go by.

“Sylvia thinks that’s not the kind of thing you should be experimenting with in the building,” the woman is saying into her phone. “Keeps insisting on test sites—which aren’t in Hatchetfield, when that’s the whole point—”

Charlotte slips into the bathroom. It’s a stroke of luck that Sylvia is out for Shavuot today, because Charlotte cannot deal with her particular brand of pity right now.

The bathroom is empty, but Charlotte still shuts herself in a stall before slipping her flask out from her purse. God, she’s pathetic, sneaking a drink in the office bathroom. It’s not even noon yet.

She caps her flask once the burn in her throat aches too much to bear. Curls dance in her face, taunting her, and—oh. She’s forgotten her lucky headband again.

Charlotte takes a deep shuddering breath. 

Just get through the day. She just needs to get through the day. And every other day after it.

Until her heart gives out.