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on the way to the county fair, tracy's volkswagen craps out on her and though her dad's taught her everything he knows about cars, he never covered this. she's stranded and frustrated, and in the middle of nowhere, wyoming, her cell phone doesn't have any signal.
then along comes jo, with an extra seat in her truck and a wicked knife collection in the back. tracy accepts the ride, thinking once they made it to the fairgrounds that they'd go their separate ways and that would be that. but that's not exactly how it goes.
One minute, Jo’s day is as normal as they come: wake up, eat breakfast, go to school. The next, Tracy Bell approaches her as she’s pulling her psychology textbook out of her locker and says, “Jo Harvelle?”
One minute, the biggest concern Jo has is whether or not she remembered to bring her football socks for practice that afternoon. The next, a stone drops in her stomach, her whole body quivers in the most terrifying way, she feels completely self-aware of how her mouth’s hanging open too much, her cheeks burn gracelessly and not even shaking her hair in front of her helps.
Tracy Bell, the most gorgeous girl at school, stands next to Jo as if it’s commonplace for her, lips pursed into a smile that pushes up her tinted cheeks. Not a wave of her dark hair is out of place. When she bites her lip, her lipstick doesn’t even smear; that’s how stunning she is.
And Jo just stands there, caught off guard, for the worst three seconds of her high school life.
Tracy smiles, dark eyes flitting down between them. Jo follows her gaze to Tracy’s hand, which holds a black phone that Jo immediately recognizes. A quick pat of her pockets confirms her suspicions. “My phone.”
“Yeah.” Tracy’s eyes are mirthful as she passes the device over.
Relief washes over Jo, though she didn’t know she lost her phone. She must have left it on the table where she and her group of friends congregate before first period; her pockets aren’t so shallow as to spit her phone back up when she walks, not like other girls’ pants tend to. Though how Tracy got her phone and gave it back to Jo is a mystery, since the rest of the gang was still at the table when Jo left to get her textbooks, and Jo sees Castiel in first period; he could’ve given it to her then.
However Tracy got her phone, Jo’s mom raised her with manners, so she says, “Thanks so much. My mom would’ve killed me if I lost it. It’s my fourth phone already.”
“Fourth?” Tracy repeats, astonished eyebrows shooting up. “What are you doing to them? Feeding them to alligators?”
Jo huffs a laugh. “Believe it or not, not losing them.” Then, sobered, she looks down. Tracy’s wearing tan cowgirl boots that run up half her shin. The rest of her legs are gloriously bare, her shorts much too short to fit school code. Jo breathes in. “I threw the first one at the wall when my dad died. I meant to hit my friend’s dad.”
Immediately, Jo locks up. That’s too much. Jo’s not one to start babbling in front of crushes like Dean or Charlie are, and she’s usually more in control of what she says. Another blush runs through her cheeks, just as the last one died down.
Tracy’s shoulders fall and her expression becomes one of sympathy. “Oh, I’m sorry.”
Jo bites her lip and looks away. It’s been five years since her dad passed, but the pain never goes away. She blinks fast to get rid of her welling tears. “It’s okay,” Jo says, voice thick and low. “It’s been a while.”
“Yeah, but it’s not easy,” Tracy says, and Jo snaps her gaze back to Tracy’s downcast eyes. “I lost my parents when I was ten. Homicidal crackhead on the loose.”
Jo’s eyes widen. “Holy shit. Fuck. I’m sorry. Did they catch the guy?”
Tracy smirks at Jo’s tact, but she still looks sad. Why did Jo have to bring up her dad? Now both she and Tracy are dispirited, and during their first real conversation together, too. “A year later. His fingerprints matched someone in CODIS after he blew up a convenience store in Missouri.”
“Oh.”
The conversation lulls there, though neither Jo nor Tracy seem to want it to end there. It’s Tracy that breaks the silence, saying with an apologetic wince, “This conversation is getting a little morbid, isn’t it? What happened to your second phone?”
“You really want to talk with me about my busted phones?” Jo asks incredulously.
Tracy shrugs. “You’re interesting to talk to. Anything wrong with that?”
“Only that I’m not. I’m a freak with a knife collection and three fallen phones.” She said too much. Again. Eyes wide, Jo backtracks. “Forget I said that. Thanks for finding my phone. I’ll see you in calc.” She smiles as brightly as she can, though she doesn’t feel it. Before she can make even more of a fool of herself, Jo tries to walk around Tracy, but Tracy only falls into step with her.
“You really think so?” Jo grabs the straps of her backpack.
“Yeah.”
They stop on the edge of the main hallway, letting the wave of students pass by as they stare into each other’s eyes. Tracy’s are deep, genuine, open, so very easy to lose yourself in.
Jo blinks, catching herself leaning forward when Tracy’s tongue licks her bottom lip.
“So, I’ll see you in calc?” Jo says. Her voice dips to flirtatious, and it makes her feel fearless. She could do anything, and right now, she really wants to kiss Tracy’s full lips, really wants to ask her out for burgers and fries, really wants to blow off first period English to just talk to her about anything and everything possible.
Tracy’s gaze roams up and down Jo, and she smirks. “Yeah, I’ll see you.”
+
Tracy is the last one to enter Abaddon’s first period history, seconds before the final bell rings. Abaddon gives Tracy a steely look all the way to her seat on the other side of the classroom.
After the Pledge of Allegiance, in the din of shuffling students, Dean turns around in his seat to look at Tracy.
“How’d it go?”
“Good.”
Dean smirks. “What’d I tell ya?”
Tracy makes a faux annoyed face at him and slaps his shoulder. “We didn’t start making out in the middle of the hallway like you said.”
Rolling his eyes, Dean says, “Whatever. Don’t I deserve a ‘thank you’ anyway?”
“Thank you, Dean Winchester, for stealing your best friend’s phone so I can give it to her and have an excuse to talk to her. Is that good enough?”
Abaddon’s sharp morning instruction interrupts Dean from replying. “Good morning, class. Before we begin, pass your take-home quizzes forward….”
