if it makes you happy

[ CLEMENTINE FONTAINE, SHE/HER, ELLA PURNELL ] is a TWENTY-TWO year old BABYSITTER from PROSPER, WV. They are AMBITIOUS and HARDWORKING but also CONDESCENDING and SELF-CENTERED. 

-

“What, Clem?” Riggs replied with an all-too-satisfied smile, stoking that fire he could tell was burning just below Fontaine’s skin. “Facts?” He questioned. His smile pulled into a pout and his brows pinched together, confused about what ‘facts’ she was referring to. And the fact is that you’re pathetic. Her reveal drew his mouth into a grin and a soft chuckle fell from his curled lips. Riggs’ amusement only grew as she went on to call him small, sad, and there it was again, pathetic. In a world where he wasn’t used to being called those things — by people far closer to him than she was — maybe they’d hurt. But he was quite familiar with that category of words. In fact, pathetic was one of his uncle’s utmost favorites. Her insults were like water off a duck’s back.

But what about your mama’s business? You gonna deny sweet Sylvia a visit from a paying customer? The words were right there. On the tip of his tongue. He could taste them. But knowing he might have poked the bear a little too much, pushed a little too far, Riggs simply held hands up and kept his trap shut. Sure, the shit-eating twist his mouth sat in was still plastered on his face but at least his would-be words suffocated behind lips that were pressed shut. He’ll give Fontaine a small win for the afternoon. He didn’t want her keeping his jacket hostage after all. He needed it. He could always push her buttons the next time he saw her ‘round town. Lockhorn wasn’t the biggest anyhow. They were bound to cross paths sooner or later. Especially since he and Fontaine were both vying for the same prize with Panic. 

“Whatever makes you happy, Clem,” he said instead. An unusually accommodating string of words from the mouth of one ‘Riggs Rigsby’.

.

She looked at him a moment longer—at his lazy, smug smile turned sham of a pout, his body language, at the words still dancing behind his teeth—and came to an old conclusion: Riggs was a douchebag. He could hand her coats when she was cold every day from now ‘til the Second Coming and she knew nothing would change that assessment. Clem’s eyes tracked him up and down, and then she scoffed and stepped through the door. She held her hand out behind her to stop it from swinging, so he wouldn’t catch a glance at her once she had left the room. She stood there in the quiet hall, her dad still dozing a matter of feet away down in the living room, then brought her hands up to her face. Clem wanted to yell into them but reminded herself that one of the men on either side of her would hear it.

-

It always amused Riggs when people said his name like that. Riggs Rigsby. Not quite knowing what his first name was. Even if people were to scour the drawers of the local high school’s cabinets, they’d only find the fake name his uncle registered him under — Earl Frank Rigsby — deeming it more appropriate. It was less… what did his uncle call it? Downright absurd? His real name was a secret between him and him. Well, him, his uncle and his aunt.

Did he call her bug-eyed? Damn, Riggs didn’t even remember that. A small chortle escaped him. He was right to call her that though. Bug-eyed little thing. Do you ever have anything good to say? Are you capable of it? The twist of his mouth expressed the disbelief he held for her opinion. “Course I’m capable of it.” A scoff followed his insistence. To make his point, he started to list of ‘good things’. “I think the coffee at the Cracker Barrel is ain’t half bad. And I think Koda pours a decent beer.” Not one but two nice things to say. Suck on that, Fontaine.

Riggs wasn’t going to lie: the squeak of that chair startled him, making him bounce in place just slightly before he got a grip on himself. Sheesh, what was it with Clem and this woman agenda of hers? Always hootin’ and hollerin’ about rights this and equality that. He’d sigh if he felt like wasting breath. Instead, Riggs made no attempt to answer her question and coolly shared what he thought the root of her issue with his humor was. “You know what your problem is, Fontaine? You’re way too serious. I think if you let me pull the stick out of your rear, you’ll feel a whole lot better.”

.

Clem’s hand white-knuckled the back of the chair. She felt her chest tighten, she was just so — angry. And it wasn’t like the emotion was entirely unfamiliar. Lots of things pissed Clem off, from the obvious misogyny the whole of Lockhorn reeked of to the wall of cacophonous noise she always walked into at Thanksgiving dinner, overstimulated and grouchy and pressing her palms to her ears in the upstairs bathroom. She felt that similar type of itchiness now, looking at Riggs. The kind of feeling that made her want to scratch at her own skin, or better yet his. She took a deep breath. She imagined how she’d walk barefoot into the creek in the woods out back, cool and calming against her flushed body in the heat of the summer. Clem willed her heart to settle. She let the breath out slow.

“You know what, Riggs?” she started, not as calm and put together as she’d like to sound but close enough to the mark for her to continue. “You can make your jokes and have your fun and treat everyone around you like shit under your shoe, but that don’t change the facts.” Clem finally let go of the back of the chair and flexed her hand by her side, sore from how tight she had held on. “And the fact is that you’re pathetic.” She stepped away and rounded the table to the other side of the small kitchen. Just outside the swinging door were the stairs to the bedrooms upstairs. There was a good chance her laundry basket was left at the bottom of them. “You’re a small, sad, pathetic man. You always have been.” She reached a palm out to the door, starting to push it open. “Now I’m gonna get that jacket of yours, then I want you out of my house. And I don’t want you coming ‘round anymore. I mean it this time.”

-

“Yeah, it says I’m fun and you’re not.” The retort fell out of Riggs easily. He could do this all day. Go back and forth with Fontaine. If she didn’t react in that quintessentially ‘Clem’ way she did, he wouldn’t have any interest in keeping up with it. But without fail, each and every time, Clem grumbled or denied or huffed. It was far too amusing to Riggs for him to even consider stopping. 

Clem whipping around to face him sent Riggs halting to a stop. His brows jumped up his forehead at the unexpected motion, figuring he had far more to go before he got Fontaine to snap. She seemed close though. The sight of that stick going up then dropping delighted him more than he cared to admit. His wry smirk widened into a proper grin. “Aw, you care about me. Couldn’t hurt me if you tried.” He just had to rub it in as Clem turned to open the backdoor.

Just as he was about to step in after her, Clem’s hand met his chest, stopping Riggs in his tracks.  A joke was on the tip of his tongue about her being inhospitable and what her Momma would say about it, but then, just like Auden a damn near week ago, Clem scolded him for his humor. God, what was it with these girls? Was being bad at taking a joke a prerequisite for their little friend group? He let out a bit of an exasperated noise. “It was funny,” he insisted plainly. “You wouldn’t know what that was if it bit you in the face like one of those giant mosquitos out by the Devil’s Mouth.”

What made you think it was okay to talk about me like that? The question nearly had Riggs’s eyes rolling to the back of his head. “Relax, Fontaine. As much as you think you are, you’re not special. I talk about everyone and anyone in whichever way I please. I’m equal opportunity like that. You just happened to be the name on my tongue because I know you, Auden and Collier used to be tight back in the day. Whatever happened to you guys anyway? One of those sleepovers y’all never invite me to finally went wrong? Hair braiding disaster that none of you could get over? Did a pair of scissors have to be brought out? Was it Alex? Would explain her hair.”

.

“Oh yeah, a real barrel of laughs, Riggs Rigsby is,” Clem said. “That’s why I’m always seeing you ‘round town absolutely bombarded by admirers. You’re so popular, it’s a mystery how you’ve got the time of day to keep down that difficult job of grilling hot dogs.” It was a miracle to Clem that Riggs would have anyone he could call an actual friend. He was all performance; exasperating wisecracks, insincerity, and an ingratiating grin. To her, he was a barely a real person. She didn’t want to dignify the claim that she cared about his physical wellbeing any more than she would a random person picked off the street with a response. She really didn’t. 

“You wanna test that theory? Because it’s just as easy to pick that thing right back up as it was to drop it.” Standing inside the kitchen, looking at Riggs backlit by the sun out the backdoor, she squinted. You wouldn’t know what that was if it bit you in the face like one of those giant mosquitos out by the Devil’s Mouth. “I’m boring, I haven’t got a sense of humor,” Clem started, listing his insults impatiently. “And who could forget when you called me bug-eyed?” The offhand comment on the night of the Jump still bothered her. Unfortunately. “You’re racking up a real laundry list of complaints there. Do you ever have anything good to say? Are you capable of it?”

Clem bristled as he spoke. It wasn’t that she thought she was unique in her unpleasant experiences with Riggs. She didn’t think that. She knew he went around giving nine out of ten people the same amount of shit he gave her, and it wasn’t even what she was getting at. But she bristled just the same. You’re not special. She crossed her arms. “I don’t reckon that’s really any of your business,” she said flatly, absolutely resolute in her stance to not touch the subject of her falling out with Alex with him of all people. “But, fine, I’ll rephrase the question. Since you’re so distracted by the particulars. So how about this: what makes you think it’s okay to talk about any girl like that?”

She thought back to high school, when word got around that she and Eric Weekley had gone parking. Suddenly two other boys in her grade claimed they’d done the same with her and every other girl gave her a wide berth for the next month. She was easy. She didn’t go to Church. Her Mamma was wicked. It was the same thing, again and again and again. Riggs had hit more than one sore spot. Clem placed her hand on the back of one of the kitchen chairs, left pulled-out and crooked. She pushed it back into the table; it squeaked suddenly across the floor. “Women aren’t a punchline, never mind your nonexistent conquests with them.”

-

“Ain’t no age limit to fun,” Riggs stated with a shrug. “You know who says shit like that? Boring people. Old husks with no soul. That what you are, Fontaine? Soulless husk?” He would argue that she did have the eyes for it. Large and sunken. Like a cartoon skeleton with the skin still fitted on. The unspoken thought made Riggs’s mouth twitch, lips curling into an amused smirk as he followed her around the Fontaine property. Into the backyard, where the clothesline was but where his jacket wasn’t. “You leadin’ us on a wild goose chase to spend more time with me, Fontaine? If that’s what you wanted, you coulda just asked, you know. I was raised on them good Christian values. Thou shall spendeth time with those less fortunate and all that.”

A barking laugh left Riggs when Clem reminded him of how he spent the night of Solstice. Clearly he didn’t find it as unamusing as she did. In fact, Riggs found it hilarious. “It was a dare,” Riggs explained easily once he got a hold of his laughter, hand pressed to his middle. “Loser had to go butt-naked in the creek. I’m a man of my word.” At Clem’s question, Riggs gave it a moment’s thought. Did he remember anything else about that night? He did recall Auden leaving in a huff, abandoning him with a perfectly good bottle. A bottle they worked hard for. Or rather, she did. Why was it that she left again? “Oh yeah,” Riggs said when it occurred to him just why Auden left in a hissy. “Auden left all upset. Couldn’t take some jokes I made about you and Collier. Surprised me actually. She’s usually really cool.”

.

“You think I’m a soulless husk because I don’t go around makin’ trouble? Think that says more about you than it ever will about me,” Clem said, ending her complaint in a half-grumble as she stepped onto the small back porch. Her dad’s work boots were left on the side of the door, a solemn reminder that he was taking a nap out in the living room. She’d have to keep things quiet to keep from waking him; he wouldn’t judge her for having a boy in the house so much as having this particular boy waltzing around. George Fontaine’s discernment was sharply honed and wielded without shame, sometimes skewed and oftentimes mocking. Clem never asked for his opinion on Riggs, but she felt she could fill it in like a Mad Lib. And she couldn’t imagine her dad thought highly of a boy who worked at Hometown Hotdogs and toted discourtesy like a badge of honor. Said boy’s next words nearly made her eye twitch. She turned to him. “Let’s make one thing clear, Riggs, you are not doing me any favors here. You never do and I doubt you ever will. And there’s near nothing Christian about the way you go about your days.”

As he laughed, Clem lifted the last bit of the stick as if to whack his arm, then thought better of it. She opened her fist mid-air and let it fall to the old wooden decking with a dull clatter. She smiled thinly, then turned to test the back door knob. It was unlocked. She was a little disappointed. Clem had fantasized briefly about making him stand in wait while she rounded back to the front door and took her time getting his jacket and well away from him. The door creaked as she opened it and entered the kitchen. A lukewarm pot of tea still sat forgotten on the center of the table; two cups left dirty and half-drunk beside it. She’s usually really cool. Yeah, because that was the problem, Clem thought. Alex hadn’t been cool enough for such a hilarious joke. She put a hand out toward Riggs before he could step in after her, giving him a solid nudge to the chest to keep him out on the porch. “That’s the thing about a joke, Riggs. Usually they’re meant to be funny. And from what I heard, yours ran more along the lines of a sleazy lie.” She felt her face warm as she mentally repeated the words Alex had told her. Belatedly, her voice lowered to an angry hush: “What made you think it was okay to talk about me like that?” 

-

“And you’re telling me you hate the smell of French fries? It’s one of the top three smells in the world. Everyone loves French fries.” Riggs countered back quickly. Clem’s words didn’t faze him. He took good care of that jacket. He knew it didn’t smell like that. And if it did, then surely it was only faintly and probably because of all of those times he shrugged it on right after working a shift. With a soft shake of his head, he followed after Miss Huffy McHuffpants, slipping his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Least he was finally going inside. Then he could ask for some juice. With extra ice cubes, his brain thought to remind him.  Y’know, you’ll never guess who I got to talking to at the Jump. Riggs opened his mouth, about to give an answer before Clem beat him to it. Alex Auden. He blinked. Okay? Was that supposed to surprise him or something? The sound of the twig in Clem’s grip snapping in half did more to pull a reaction out of Riggs, making a brow of his quirk upward. “Oh. Uh, cool? I guess.” Did she expect him to cream himself over that information? Because it wasn’t all that exciting, no offense. Whatever got Clem all bushy tailed weren’t the same things that got him all sparky. “Yeah, we kick it back now and again,” he revealed to Clem with a shrug of his shoulder. “Drinks, pranks, stupid shit like that. You jealous me and your ol’ girlie are hangin’ out? Ain’t nothing to be green over, Fontaine. You can join us if you want to. I’d love to see you knock back a jar of Homeless Bob’s special moonshine. Stuff is lethal. It’ll have you coughin’ up a lung and forgetting your middle name.”

.

Clem continued down the side yard. A short walk, for which she was grateful, as she batted a bug away from her face—some mayfly or mosquito obnoxiously buzzing around. The air was hot and sticky. It was another thing for her to hold against Riggs: dragging her away from where she had just been lying prone on her bedroom floor in front of a standing fan she’d directed to point right down at her. Windows open, a Belle and Sebastian tape playing quietly over the stereo, she had the silly thought that her day would be a quiet one. Oh. Uh, cool? I guess. His dismissive non-interest irked her, that something that bothered her so much wasn’t even what would first come to his mind made her neck flush in frustration. “Drinks, pranks, stupid shit...” she repeated back flatly. “I’m an adult, so no thanks. Aren’t you a little old for at least two out of three of those things?” She pointed the end of one of the twig-halves toward him. “And I’m not jealous.” She dropped it again, then tossed it aside entirely. “Jeez Louise.”

-

Feeling Clem’s shoulder bump into his, Riggs made an amused face. Was that–? Was that Clem trying to be aggressive towards him or something? If anything, all it did was tease a chuckle out of his thraot. Well, okaaaaay then. Riggs let out a low whistle, shaking his head lightly as he turned around and moved to stand beside Clem. If you rack your brain real hard, do you think you’d be able to put together why that’d be? Not that I’m holding my breath over here. Riggs scoffed a little, lips taking on a delighted shape as he brought a hand up to the back of his neck and rubbed. “Look, I know…” He started, pushing out a sigh. “The frustration, the anxiety. I get it.” He looked over at Clem, knowing she must have been really confused about whatever the fuck he was going on about. But that only fueled his fire, kept him in the direction he started in. “You probably sleep with it. And hold it real close at night… Probably means more to you than your entire left arm, but…” A dramatic beat passed. “I’m gonna need my jacket back.” 

.

Clem’s brows pulled together as she frowned. What the hell was he talking about? She dropped her arms to her sides, sock-clad and grouchy in the grass. You probably sleep with it. And hold it real close at night... A beat passed and then it dawned on her. She scoffed over his next words. “Please, as if I didn’t take that foul thing off as soon as possible. It reeked of hot dog water and French fries,” she said, though that wasn’t strictly true. For one, it didn’t smell all that bad—or at least not enough for her to notice when she was drenched in dirty water herself. Secondly, she had been drunk and cold and did, in fact, fall asleep in the jacket atop her old quilt-covered bed. It was by no means on purpose, but she still wasn’t going to tell him any of that. Clem pressed her lips together, then exhaled noisily. “Whatever. Follow me,” she ordered, and started on a trek that took her around the front of the house. As she walked, she noticed a twig had fallen from one of the birches and picked it up. Just to have something to occupy her. “Y’know, you’ll never guess who I got to talking to at the Jump,” she started again, holding the twig with her two hands. Clem didn’t give him time to make any guesses. “Alex Auden.” She brushed her thumbs against the familiar bark, then snapped the twig in half. “Didn’t know the pair of you’d been hitting it off, chit-chatting here and there.”

-

Someone was determined to not let him inside to get some juice. It was sweltering out here. No matter, Riggs supposed talking out here was fine too. It wasn’t like he was actually here for juice. Though, it would have been nice. “Well, I want a lot of things. The new Les Paul, one of them cars where the headlights are hidden until you pop ‘em out… Also saw an ad for one of them memory foam mattresses too. Wouldn’t mind one of those.” But that’s not really what Clem meant. He knew that. He just wanted to waste her time. Like he always did. “Also some juice wouldn’t hurt,” he added. “With extra ice cubes…” A final poke to the bear to see if it’d make Clem rip her hair out. He stared at her for a long moment to see if she’d offer him beverage then before he shaped his lips into an uneven tilt and spoke. “You really not havin’ it today, huh?” Maybe it was her time of the month. Probably why she was so prickly. 

.

Clem snorted as he listed things off, rolling her eyes up and away. Annoying annoying annoying, she thought on repeat, her jaw clenched. Her gaze caught on one of the windchimes hung from the porch. A circle woven from brush and twigs, with five bells hung at different lengths. It rang dulcetly in the breeze, alongside the others that littered the perimeter of the Fontaine family home. Kept the haints away, but let Riggs Rigsby walk right on up to her front door. “Yeah, Riggs, I’m really not having it today,” Clem answered, arms still crossed as she side-stepped around him and toward the few steps that led back down onto the grass. Her shoulder mildly bumped into his arm as she went, done on purpose, though the gesture didn’t bring her any real satisfaction. It mostly made her feel silly. And it wasn’t until her foot came down onto the stone path did she realize she’d gone down with just socks on. Annoying annoying annoying. Looking back over at him, she continued: “If you rack your brain real hard, do you think you’d be able to put together why that’d be? Not that I’m holding my breath over here.”

-

Sheepishness swept through Pippa at the compliment but she moved past it quickly. “Well, it sounds like you’ve got the beginnings of an empire well underway. I’m very excited for you. How’s your momma these days anyway? Haven’t had a opportunity to run into her.” She crossed over to other table, positioning herself on one side and ready to give it a push to meet Clem’s table halfway. “On three? 1…2…” She pressed the piece of furniture forward on 3, hearing it groan against the floor of the community center before it met with the table Clem manned. 

I believe in the power of manifestation. Setting intentions, and working hard on them. Like a vision board? Pippa almost wanted to ask but didn’t for fear of coming off ignorant or condescending. Instead she nodded her head slowly, listening and letting herself find assurance in Clem’s words. If you’re fixing to bring twelve sets of hooks, twelve people’ll eventually come. Just have to have the faith and keep plugging away. It was a very hopeful process but Pippa wanted to commit to it. It seemed far better than worrying herself silly.  “A handful of people. Some ladies outside the salon. Some girls from the hospital. I told my cousin about it and gave him some flyers to share with the folks over at the police department. And I, uh,” she chuckled. “I actually went by the fire department to spread the word. Figured they would appreciate learning something they could do in their downtime in between waiting for fires. So hopefully something comes from it. Fingers crossed.”

Has she been to the Crack Barrel since she’s been back? The answer was yes. But she hardly remembered it. It was when she had freshly returned, drenched in misery over her break-up. Dom wanted to do something nice for her. But she was still at that stage where she couldn’t find joy in most things and her appetite was practically non-existent. She had a water and probably two spoons of the soup she ordered. Hardly counted as as ‘going’ there. “Err, yeah but not properly. I was mostly keepin’ my cousin company, didn’t get much of anything for myself.” It wasn’t a lie. “Less like dishwater? Never thought I’d see the day.” She giggled. “Can’t wait to taste it for myself.” It would have been the kind of thing she wanted to share with Matt if they were still talking. If they were still ‘them’. “You go there a lot?”

.

Clem smiled at the mention of her mom, finding comfort in the knowledge that that sort of question from the likes of Pippa Rossi didn’t come with mockery. “Mamma’s doing well. Still a bit—” she waved her hand vaguely to somehow communicate all over the place. “She’s real into pottery these days. Keeps saying she’s gonna make my dad build her a studio on the property, or make one outta his office. But we’ve got all these... misshapen bowls and things all over the place now. So just let me know if you’re in need of something lopsided and leaky to have your morning cereal in. We’ve got ‘em in spades.” Clem smiled. “She’d be glad if you stopped for a cup of tea sometime.” Her smile turned a little effacing as she continued. “Walk-ins welcome, y’know.”

Settling her hands on her hips, Clem hummed in acknowledgment and nodded as Pippa listed the places she’d stopped by. “Nice. See? You’re showing your face around, letting them see a little piece of what they’d be getting out of something like this.” She rubbed at the corner of her eye with the tip of her finger, then pointed toward Pippa as she stepped away from the table. “An awful kind instructor. I think that’d be one of the things I’d be nervous about. Who’s doing the teaching.” Though historically Clem’s preferences for teachers had always prioritized efficiency over kindness, agreeability wasn’t worthless. Besides, Pippa helped her with her times tables once upon a time to great success. But the fire department. Clem smiled again. “Listen. I know I said some real optimistic things about attendance but if we see one those macho firefighters walk in through that door on day one, I’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

You go there a lot? Clem shrugged as she puttered around the table, both looking for a tablecloth and waiting for some next instruction to stack in her queue. “Go there some days with my dad,” she explained. “Just about every other Sunday, I think. We split a pot of coffee between us and try not to have simultaneous caffeine-induced heart attacks on the drive home. It’s a tried and true bonding technique.” She paused and reminded herself that Pippa mentioned her cousin and Clem could probably spare a bit of breath to talk about Pippa’s family too. “How’s living with your cousin? Or, well. Near your cousin. Nearish-adjacent.” She sighed lightly, and quickly failed in her mission. “My cousins’re all pretty loud. Some of ‘em stay over sometimes and they just stomp stomp stomp around. Yelling across hallways, putting things away wrong. And I’m always catching Harper flirting with whatever client’s on the line. Which, fine, but this here’s a business.”

-

did alex care about things, really? well, of course - of course she did, but she tried very hard not to. she put a good deal of effort into maintaining a heavy cover of apathy, if only so that she’d never have to feel any ache again - but she historically did a terrible job at it, and often times everything hurt her, though she tried not to show it. everything that she wanted and hated and miss floated around the crown of her head like a veil of winged summer bugs. and so, what? should she say that? write about how she’s only twenty and she’s pretty sure she’s already torn down every good thing in her life because of the wrong thing inside of her? choke out her secrets under a pen name and say that she’d give anything to go back? she could. she wouldn’t. alex shrugged in response, tried to consider it for clem’s sake anyways. “i don’t know,” she said, combing a hand through bleach-fried hair, “i mean, who knows, right? long summer. maybe i’ll find something to write down.” how was it that alex could go cliff diving, but somehow, the mere concept of writing down some thoughts was just a little too much for her? that’s just the kind of person she was, maybe.

alex accepted the bag willingly. she didn’t much like receiving gifts, honestly, especially if she wasn’t giving anything in return - aside from the fact that she didn’t feel all the worthy, there was the uneasy feeling of trying to perfectly regulate her reaction; even if she was happy with something, it was hard to know how to show it, and this, here - clem of all people, offering something to alex after all of this time, when alex doesn’t deserve it - it’s a lot to handle. still, she let the necklace slide out into her palm, a warm weight, and when she saw it, she grinned unabashedly. “holy shit, this is really cool,” she said, and she meant it wholeheartedly. it was just the right balance between being a little strange and a little mystical and very pretty. alex was a little overwhelmed with a rush of something she couldn’t quite name, and it took a second of blinking before she could draw her eyes back up to look at clem. “it’s seriously great, clem. like - i love it. thank you,” alex said, and she tried to let her sincerity shine through as best as she could in the words - no apathy here - but still, she worried it wouldn’t be enough. 

.

I love it. Thank you. Clem never expected five words to hold the power to lift a weight from her shoulders she hadn’t known was even there—or maybe she had known, once, but gotten used to it over time. An old bruise, a faint ringing in her ears. Old wounds and background noise, their absence only noticed when some outside factor refocuses you on them. I love it. Thank you. Clem let out a breathy little laugh, then shrugged. “Well, it was easy stuff,” she started, an effusive, bubbly feeling growing in her chest. “You should see the rate I go at making these things—I end up taking more apart than I end up keeping together. Though I did take special care with that one. I’m just glad you don’t think it’s silly. Or ugly.” With a sigh, she turned in a circle, looking around at her room in one quick sweep. She unclasped her hands and they lifted from her sides before she let them fall back down again, her fingers tapping at her shorts. “Now we could go back down and finish that tea, if you’d like,” she started, though she took a step back and sat on her bed, one leg folded underneath her. “You’re not in any real hurry, are you? I feel like...” She crossed her arms loosely, the palms of her hands cradling her elbows, and smiled at Alex. It was giddiness, she realized. The feeling that popped and fizzled inside of her. “I dunno. We’ve got a whole mess of things to catch up on, don’t you think?” A direct reference to their estrangement, carefully toeing around the cause of it. “Feels like we used to spend hours up here just talking about anything. School, family, movies...” She trailed off, and then a thought occurred to her. “Books! Remember when I found my Aunt Carol’s pile of steamy novels when I had to go over and feed their cat? All The Innocent Rose and Trapped in Lace. I smuggled a couple back over here and we scanned ‘em that night after my parents had gone to bed.” She pressed her lips together, a phrase that had them laughing to tears coming back to her. “‘Trouser snake.’” Clem snorted again. “So stupid. You remember that, right?”

date: june 30th, 1997 location: lockhorn library availability: closed || @clemfontaine​

The third time she checked her watch she nearly left the meeting spot completely. It was a prime example of why she hated making some of the less than legal deliveries for her parents. Every time they were in some remote area and they were late more often than not. Willow was usually very patient and it only irritated her a little bit. But today, she had plans. She hated being late, so when the people finally showed up she was irritated and made it known. They didn’t look more than apathetic to her complaints, which was to be expected. It irked Willow, but her ten minute drive back into town to the library got it out of her system so it didn’t mess up the mood of her plans.

Composition notebook, hemp pencil case, and a few of the latest environmental magazines wrapped in her arm, she entered the library. A quick scan of the tables and she spotted Clementine. Willow rushed over. “I am so sorry I’m late, I had to do something for my parents and it took a little longer than I expected.” Her tone a bit louder than it should be in their environment as acknowledged by the shushing sound the elderly librarian made after. Willow raised a hand and gave them an apologetic smile. She took a seat at the table and set her things down in front of her. “So, tell me Miss Amazing, how are things coming along so far?” She was excited to hear about the zine. Clementine’s mind gave Willow hope for their generation and the future of the world. People like her were just the type that Willow wanted to work with, because they got things done in a way that encouraged everyone to care. No matter the topic.

.

The fact of the matter was that nine times out of ten Clem didn’t mind waiting. She liked getting someplace early and having a few stolen moments to herself. To read, to think, to doodle bouquets of rhododendrons on a page in her journal. She liked those moments especially in the library, quiet save for the standing fan that wheezed and whirred in one corner of the room she sat in. A librarian would putter by once in a awhile, a cart of books in front of them, and walk up and down the rows of bookcases as they reshelved. She liked those sound too. The squeaky wheel of the cart; the tune of ‘John Henry’ hummed under the librarian’s breath; and the rasp of the books sliding into place. On the table where she sat, she had a book laid out flat. Around her, she had her journal for specific zine-planning ventures, an extraneous notebook, three pens (2 black, 1 red), and a granola bar. Wrapped up in the story she was reading, she was pleasantly surprised when she heard Willow’s voice. She looked up with a warm smile.

—

Banks dropped his gaze for a moment, finding it easier to hide the way that the thoughts crossed his mind without anyone looking for them. Or seeing exactly what was in his head. “I might be thinkin’ if I need to walk towards one of them bonfires to make sure you’re warm enough,” he thought out loud, feeling the hold that she had on him before he lifted his gaze finally. Why did anyone want this to be real? It was the money. The way that it would change any of their lives, right? Though he could imagine there were a few that had made the leap just to prove to themselves that they could do it and would again, seeing the way that plenty eyed the cliff’s edge as if it contained all the answers to the questions that rose up about the legitimacy of the game. “The same as anyone else, I guess.” Banks shrugged slightly, not feeling the best about putting it into words how much he needed it to be real so that he could fix all the shit that messed up with his family. If they were set for a better future, then he could possibly get rid of some of the guilt that he carried around with him. Still, he managed to piece together a faint smile towards Clem, seeing all the ways that she wasn’t the one that surprised him the most by taking the leap and early on too. She was a leader, even if not everyone realized it as her words left him with a small chuckle as he moved slightly closer towards her in hopes that she wasn’t as cold as she seemed despite how quick her hair had dried. “I just know better than to try an’ stand up to you, ‘cause I ain’t ever gonna win an argument with you. I might as well wear a neon sign around my neck to tell the world that you’re right an’ I’m wrong.” A joke, but one that he could take when it came to them as his gaze fell once again but this time to his hand against her side that she’d been the one to put there as he didn’t move away or question it. “You sure ‘bout that?”

.

Clem fractionally ducked her head as his gaze dropped as if she’d be able to catch it again. She couldn’t. Not until he let her. And when he looked back, she grinned—loose and pliable. Relaxed. How often did she let herself relax? “More evidence,” she started, pressing a finger to his chest and then dropping it. “Gentleman. Feel free to lead the way.” The same as anyone else, I guess. She hummed in acknowledgment. “Oh, so to live like the rich and the famous?” she joked easily, though the idea of going off to live the life of Brad Pitt or Michelle Pfeiffer on 30k was laughable at best. “Buy yourself one of those above-ground pools? Fill it with one dollar bills, then dive in like Scrooge McDuck.” Clem thought about what Riggs said he wanted. A new car, functioning and filled with gas and ready to take him across state lines. Far, far away from Lockhorn County, West Virginia. “Or maybe you’re keen to get a replacement for that truck of yours? Not that I don’t like it, mind you. Don’t think it’d get you very far though if that’s what you’re planning on outta the blue. Y’know, a mad escape with the cash in hand.” Though the thought sat sourly in her stomach. Regardless of anything else that occurred between them, she really did think of Banks as a friend. A good one, even. She’d hate to lose another. Instead of focusing on that, Clem worked to smile again. “You say the sweetest things.” She ran her hand from the one he had on her waist and up the length of his arm, thinking. “And yeah, I’m awful sure about that. Unless you’ve got some other social commitments you’re keen get to that you haven’t told me about. Guy like you, well, I imagine you’ve got loads of conversations teed up,” she teased. “What? A couple dozen people you’re hankering to jab away with? Exchange the same old how’re you doing’s and my oh my what a night we’ve walked into’s.” She paused, then raised her brows curiously. Her fingers moved; she liked the feel of his shirt under her hand. “Or maybe some other girl to say those sweet things to?” She figured it shouldn’t matter so much if there were someone else. They never made any promises. She didn’t intend to make any to anyone, really. But still, she asked. “You’re looking real popular in this little scenario I’ve cooked up.”

-

Pippa let out a good-natured laugh, positively amused by Clem. “I would never,” she said through her giggles despite it not being necessary. She listened intently as the other woman spoke about Faith Wilding and her scheduled exhibition in Boston. A recreation of the Womb Room! The news of it made Pippa perk up, feeling as though things aligned just so that she and Clem could see it. But then: Busy, busy, busy. Y’know? Pippa’s lips slanted but she nodded in understanding. That’s adulthood for you. “I get it. You’re kind of a big deal around here now, huh? From being baby sat to being the babysitter.” She giggled. “I’m so proud of you,” she said casually as she ruffled through the materials in her basket. At Clem’s question, Pippa recalled the task at hand. “Right. Well, I was thinking we push these two tables together so it makes one big square and lay out some cloth over it–” Just so it looked pretty. “–and then set up some chairs all around. I got 12 pairs of hooks–” She gestured to them in the basket. “I figure we lay a pair in front of each seat along with a ball of yarn? Or two?” Twelve felt like a very eager number. Would 12 people even show up? The question was written across Pippa’s face. “Do you think twelve pairs of hooks is presumptuous?” She couldn’t help but ask. It would be so embarrassing to prepare this much for only one or two people to attend on the day.

Hearing Clem’s offer for coffee after setting up at the Community Center, Pippa jumped at the opportunity. More than happy to spend some time with her. It was either that or go home and work on that scrapbook that really wasn’t shaping up to be what she wanted. “Of course. And I do have the time. For you? Always.” She made a face, as if she was in disbelief that Clem could even ask such a thing, before nodding her head with a smile. “It sounds like a plan.”

.

I’m so proud of you. Clem blushed, both flattered and a little overwhelmed by the statement even said in passing. It wasn’t that no one ever said it to her before. Her mamma held Clem’s face in her hands once in a while and said it slow like she wanted Clem to really hear the words. To believe them. Her daddy told her she was smart or that she was a big help around the house. He looked pleased when Clem got all no-nonsense or when she said something a little judgy about a neighbor or some folk from over in Hazzard he didn’t like. He never mentioned pride. “I had some mighty big shoes to fill,” she said. “I had to step up my game. Though I’ve got a few people on the team, so I can’t take all the credit.” Much as she wanted to. “And now Vanessa Hendricks is interested in joining, too. She’s just turned fourteen. Got her doing some Mamma’s helper jobs, sort of a trial run...” She trailed off in her ramble, then nodded when Pippa turned toward instruction. She was grateful to feel useful. Clem looked from one table and then the next, then nodded once again. “I like the sound of it. It’ll look nice,” she said and moved to stand on the far side of the table on the left, ready to push it toward the other.