TOO LATE!

The way Cecelia continued to show interest in her despite Juliette’s constant negativity towards the other girl would annoy her and most people under different circumstances. Sometimes, when she wasn’t busy dwelling on how her life was ruined, a conversation with Cecelia felt almost comforting. It was something consistent, she supposed. “I bet you say that to every girl.” Juliette smiles briefly. “Funny. That was actually pretty funny.” She had enough self awareness to know she had a critical demeanor. It was the result of years of getting whatever she wanted for most of her life. “Skater girl, horse girl, what next? Since my standards are dropping so rapidly.” Admittedly the idea of any of any of her old upper East sider friends coming across this scene would be less than ideal for her. “Is that all it takes? My gratitude? I’ll keep that in mind next time you’re especially getting on my nerves.”

Juliette nearly stops in her tracks, wide eyed for a moment at the idea of being taken to a literal dumpster, but is quick to recover after Cecelia’s laugh. “Let’s just say I’m a curious person. Also, I don’t like surprises.” Not untrue, it frustrated her endlessly to not know the outcome of something. There was perhaps some more judgement on her part as well as she doubted they had similar definitions of what a was anyway. “Trust me.” She scoffs. “If I had a nickel.” Juliette mutters before her full attention is back on her date. She wouldn’t admit it out lout but she didn’t mind the attention. “I know.” Giving Cecelia a once over, she keeps walking, eventually ending up a few paces ahead of her. “You don’t clean up too bad yourself.”

“I noticed.” Her eyes light up in amusement instead of being charmed. Manhattan girls always projected that they were just so above it all, but Cecelia knows the truth. Juliette’s type ended up in Crown Heights by way of mediocre dick or boredom with their designer drugs. They needed surprises and excitement, and that’s where Cecelia usually came in. She gave them the full Crown Heights treatment, including dipping without a break-up text. Cecelia might’ve been pestered by unfamiliar feelings but she could recite this movie from beginning to end. “Liar. You like some surprises. Like me,” Sliding forward on her board, Cecelia gives the pavement a little kick to scoot closer. “Like our date — that’s two strikes, Blondie.” She knows that she’s pushing it, but she can’t help herself. “Yeah, you heard me. I’d give you a nickel if I had one on me. It’ll be so good you won’t know what to do with yourself.”

“I know,” she parrots in a mocking tone, although she really means it. Cecelia’s effort paid off and she looked like a snack. “Part of me hoped you’d hate it so I’d have an excuse to take it off. Too bad.” Cecelia shrugs. She reachs into her back pocket and dug out a bag of Skittles. Wrinkled from motion but, hey, they say it’s what’s on the inside that counts. She rips the bag open with her teeth, blows away the stray plastic, and pours a few Skittles directly into her mouth. Kicking herself forward, she catches up with Juliette, admiring the sunlight caught in her hair before speaking again. “Have some,” she says around a mouthful, waving the bag at Juliette to put in her palm. Drinks and a snack — Cecelia was a catch. The two made it to the end of the block and Cecelia maneuvers her board to the left, veering towards the park a few blocks away.

On paper Cecelia was the exact opposite of Juliette’s type. She was persistent and irritating and had the kind of confidence that Juliette herself was never a fan of. Not to mention— ‘Sup Blondie —the way she didn’t listen to literally anything. Juliette’s eyes roll on cue the moment her date speaks. Not that this was a date. They were just going to hang out, whatever that meant. The girl was lucky she was indulging her at all. “Cecelia.” She sighs in response to the greeting before letting out a laugh. “You would have to leave me alone in order for me to miss you.” Her tone is cool, but the fact that she made an effort to look nice for Cecelia and was starting to walk down her steps was a sign of Juliette’s commitment to the night. She figured the only outcome that would come from this would be a headache. 

“I’m sure running people over with your board and trespassing to do tricks is extremely time consuming.” She’s about to comment more before she looks at the boxed wine that the other had brought. In all honesty she’s never had alcohol that wasn’t worth more than a car. When you’re raised by the best you get the best. Juliette’s nose scrunches up. “Everything about this tells me that’s exactly the kind of place you were raised.” Unfortunately, due to falling on hard times, she wasn’t going to say no to the free drinks. “You don’t want me answering that either. So, what alley are you taking me to?”

When Juliette deadass turns up her nose, Cecelia gives the box another shake, as if to remind Juliette that she comes bearing treasure. She doesn’t take Juliette’s disparaging comments personally, though. Never has, never will. It made the chase all the more gratifying. “I knew you’d understand.” Cecelia treaded as normal. “Your empathy’s the second sexiest thing about you.” There’s a tinge of irony in her voice, ‘cause she’s seen Blondie be everything but empathetic. “Hey. If you’re into that, no loss, right? Can’t lie, I didn’t expect horse girls to be your type.” She brushes a shoulder against Juliette’s to signal she was kidding, even though she doesn’t expect the blonde to warm up anytime soon. “’Cause you would’ve said thank you and I would’ve died of shock. So, you’re welcome.”

“The finest dumpster money could buy,” Cecelia says with a laugh, just to jostle the other girl. “Jesus. You ask a lot of questions.” She lets her board drop to the pavement and letting a foot rest on top of it, rolling it back and forth as she put the boxed wine back under her arm. “What’s the point of giving up all my secrets upfront?” Cecelia was notoriously terrible at date-planning, preferring short entanglements that didn’t last a week, but, again, no bullshit, she made some effort. “Just trust me. No bullshit.” Drifting a little, she motioned with her head for Juliette to follow her. Or was that just an excuse to find a better view of her date? Cecelia wasn't sure. “Did I tell you you look hot tonight already? Fuck, too bad. You look hot.”

“Ha!” Trix laughed, surprised and caught off guard by how forward the other girl was, but Trix was into it. “Guess we’ll have to set it up and find out.” she shrugged, but figuratively rolled the ball slowly back in the other girl’s court. “Okay, I would literally die if you wrote a song about me. That’s got the be like, the most dramatic, cliché, and yet sexiest thing ever? Is that basic of me?” she laughed. “Let me know whatever I have to do to get a song out of you, I’ll do it.” Trix said softly, tilting her chin up at the end, almost like they were sharing the very secrets she had just promised to hide, dare in her voice. She pursed her lips into a smile and rolled her eyes when Zoe called her pretty, “I go by Trix, I prefer it. And I’m not worried about forgetting you.” Trix gave Zoe a quick once over before she started giggling, “Oh god, no, I’m totally fine. I’m just a fool and forgot where exactly I was headed. But honestly, guess it’s just not important now. Oops.” she shrugged while laughing, slowly swinging the earbuds in her hand as the cord wrapped around her finger. “Where were you headed, Zoe?”

Her next words left her mouth before she fully thought them through. “Guess so. One of us has to grow a pair and the ask the other out first. And you crashed into me.” Cryptically, her phone buzzed in her back pocket, but she ignored the vibration because Sio had a way of showing up at the most inconvenient of times — even if it wasn’t physically. Zoe swore that the man had a sixth sense, but she was too focused on how much she appreciated Trix's crinkling laugh and the features arranged so strikingly on her face. Zoe’s weakness for pretty girls sucked her in. “Not basic.” Zoe shook her head. “Numero one way to pick up girls? Join a band. Girls love a girl good with their fingers.” Tossing Trix a wink, she continued. “Too late. You told me your name already, Trix.” Zoe teased, stressing the syllables in her name. “Girl in Red Skates by Zoe Levin? RIP. But I’m sure I can think of other ways you could make it up to me.”

Okay, Zoe liked that. Not being forgotten, even by some freak accident with a girl who was cool as shit. “Trix,” she repeated. “What’s it short for? Matrix? Dominatrix?” Zoe was kidding but New Yorkers surprised her everyday. She breathed a sigh of relief. Steffo would’ve hated if she came back to her with a lawsuit. “If you got some blood on you, you’d probably be our next album cover. Run into me a little harder next time,” she said, only half-kidding. Like, a quarter kidding. “As long as i get to see you again.” Shit. Zoe kept getting cool, but Trix’s question admittedly jolted her back to what she was doing. She remembered it crystal clear. “Band practice. My band's Eraserhead and we fucking shred. You should....” An alarm went off in Zoe’s head. Luckily she heeded to it — for once. “Check us out sometime. Who knows? Our bassist might pull you on stage with us.”

“Sad.” Trix shrugged, not super butt hurt if the red head wasn’t hitting on her, but she wouldn’t have minded. Trix nodded at Zoe, “Depends, is it working?” a soft smirk pursed onto the blond’s lips. She waved her hand, “Besides, if I tell you all my pick up secrets, what’s the point?” Trix would be a liar if she said she’d never used her skates to sneak a date. Though that wasn’t what had happened moments prior, she wouldn’t of been upset if it ended in her favor. “It’s really so pretty! Like I could spot you in a crowd, hands down. It’s really rock & roll, too.” she complimented the girl, genuinely and not out of flirting. “Uh,” Trix put her hands to her hips and let out a raspberry, “I seem to have forgotten. That…can’t be good.” she laughed. 

“Too soon to tell. I might be sure after the first date,” Zoe teased. It was harmless flirting! That wasn’t criminal! At least, that’s what Zoe was feeding herself to ward off the awareness that she shouldn’t be flirting with strangers. Or anyone who wasn’t her boyfriend, really. “Ugh, fine. Keep me guessing. If you’re not careful, I’ll write a song about you, mystery girl in red skates.” Being a musician was great, because it meant that Zoe could spin this encounter into something profitable later if she’d gotten nothing else out of it. Very intentionally sweeping her hair over to one shoulder, she continued to preen from the girl’s praise. “You’re so pretty. I could say the same about you,” she responded with equal earnest. “Rock and roll? That’s a tier under ‘punk rock’ but, by Courtney Love, I’ll take it.” Her eyes, which haven’t left the other, held her question before she verbally asked it. “Who are you? I’m Zoe Levin, babe, and you’ll wanna remember me.” Oh, fuck. That didn’t sound good. “Yikes. How hard did’ja hit your head? Will you even remember your name?” She wanted to ask, will you even remember me, but it didn’t feel like the time to ask about herself when the other girl potentially had amnesia.

Trix was relieved the stranger laughed too instead of yelling at her (which she expected from good ol’ New York). When the other girl commented, she tilted her head to the side and scoffed, “Are you…hitting on me? That’s cheesy.” she shrugged with a grin, “I mean cool if you are, and too bad if you aren’t, this would be a top tier Rom-Com Meet Cute.” she reached out to grab the girl’s extended hand, sliding as she balanced herself on her skates to rise. “Oh, see now that’s a compliment. God, your hair is so red. Is it naturally that color? It’s so fucking bright. Damn, I love it.” 

She wasn’t and she shouldn’t. But. "I’m not saying I’m not, but...” Zoe trailed off coyly, pulling the other girl to her feet — or, well, to her skates. The bewilderment at the girl’s forwardness passed after a fraction of a second. “Is busting your ass how you pick up girls? I mean, if that’s what they’re into, rights. I won’t kink-shame.” At the attention drawn to her hair, she gives her hair a flip, a ripple flowing through the curtain of red. “I know, right? All natural ginger, baby!” It was a scientific fact that her red hair was her best feature. “It says ‘I was born to be seen.’ Except by skaters, obviously, but I’m not mad. Where are you dashing off to?”

“I’m not turning anything on you! I’ll take the blame. I’m an asshole. You know that.” Alexa sneered, growing more defensive by the minute which only frustrated her further. It was the first time she’d been with someone while she was dating Rooney but certainly not the first time she’s been caught in the act. Alexa had plenty of practice in these sort of situations and knew she was more than capable of wrapping it up before the night was over. “Do you think maybe there’s a reason I was?” There wasn’t. Not in regards to Rooney, at least. “You were with a fucking punk singer shitty dye jobs are kind of my thing. Please, I’m sure that’s not the first time you thought I was tasteless. You’re so fucking stuck up.” She remains calm, alarmingly calm, as her now presumably ex-girlfriend continued to scream. The corner of Alexa’s lips pull up and she laughs at the last comment. “Wouldn’t you like to see it one last time.”

“Fine by me.” She replies to Rooney breaking up with her. Alexa wasn’t particularly optimistic about the outcome and she knew they were done the moment Rooney stepped in. She was known for her strong opinions and not budging when she made her mind up on something, a trait that they actually shared. “I can put your shit in a box but whatever makes you feel better.” She merely watches as Rooney begins to tear the room apart, she wasn’t going to stop her in her fit of rage.

Alexa furrows her brow together. “Oh, that thing you’re looking for? Yeah it’s up my asshole. Are you done?”

Empirically speaking, Rooney should have expected this. Filth doesn’t just become clean on its own; she let herself down by expecting Alexa to treat her any differently. Before they officially became a couple, Alexa caught Rooney’s eye, a rare occurrence, and Rooney studied how she moved. Unapologetically. Relentlessly. Detachedly. She approached Alexa with this knowledge at the forefront of her mind, but somewhere in the two years that they've known each other, Rooney decided to soften at the edges and blind herself to the pattern. How could she be so stupid?

Even with her friendships, Rooney navigated them with varying degrees of superficiality. She loved her best friends, dearly, in fact, but she did so from arm’s length. Maintaining her distance made it harder for them to inevitably stab her in the back. Which, if she were being honest, Rooney respected, because she would have done the same thing if it would benefit her in the long-run. Alexa slipped through the cracks of Rooney’s critical eye and Rooney was rewarded with a glaring reminder that everyone should remain at arm’s length. That’s the sweet spot where Rooney had nothing to lose.

She yanked clothes along the rod, hangers scraping against metal, until she found what she was looking for pressed against the back of the closet space. “Bingo,” she murmured, reaching for Alexa’s beautiful guitar. She knew that Alexa owned it for a while and, from what Rooney gathered, it was the closest thing that Alexa owned that mimicked a prized possession. Scrawled on the headstock was the brand name, Fernandes, and it was still sleek and shiny. Relatively good condition, from Rooney’s assessment, and surprisingly well taken care of. Rooney pulled it out roughly, letting it bang a little on the closet door. In the absence of any warm feeling, Rooney felt a smile of satisfaction blossom on her face. “Save the rectal exam for your next hookup.” she said dismissively, admiring the instrument in her hands. She held it by the neck, bringing the body up like it was a baseball bat. “This is coming with me, I think. At least you have good taste in guitars. It’d be a shame if I—,”

Discord erupted from the strings as Rooney slammed it against the corner of wooden dresser. The weight started lifting from her chest. Breathing evenly, she lifted the now cracked body into the air again. “Oops.” She shrugged before slamming it down harder against the hardwood flooring. The loud cracking was music to her ears.

Dot beamed as she watched her rat friend and human friend bond. It was like something out of a Hallmark–– a pretty obscure Hallmark of course, but it was wholesome nonetheless. “Aw, Whiskers likes you. He’s a good judge of character, y’know.” she gave a proud nod, tapping the top of his head with a single slender finger as Zoe fussed over the rodent. “Of course we’ll collab, it’d be an honor.” And Dorothy truly meant it. Being a punk princess definitely meant keeping up with the local talent, and that included Eraserhead. The blonde nodded slowly in agreement. Part of her charm as a musician was how badly she fit in. Even now, bleach blonde and sporting an overall dress with bears? were those teddybears?? on the front pocket??, and mismatched striped thigh-highs, Dottie truly resembled somebody Zoe was babysitting. “Oh, ever since I was a kid. My parents were really into the whole punk thing.” And by into, what she really meant was that somewhere in her photo album was a picture of an infant Dorothy being held by Courtney Love. And somehow, that wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. 

Tilting her head, Zoe tried to envision a yell ripping from Dottie’s trim frame. In her brain, it sounded akin to fairy’s sneeze. Precious. “And all my parents gave me was a shitty violin,” she joked, feeling a pulse of jealousy at the briefest mention of good parents. By extension, a good childhood. Where was the fun in that? “You should’ve crossed over to the dark side ages ago. Hell, maybe I would’ve joined your band.” It’s funny, imagining Zoe and Dottie sharing the stage: one in leather and black, the other in pink and frills, both wearing huge grins and having dexterous fingers that spring effortlessly from chord to chord. Okay, it actually wasn’t that hard to imagine. At all. “We could’ve been, like, Blackpink! Wait, fuck, that’s taken.”

Ding! There went the bell, and Zoe had to relinquish Whiskers to his rightful owner. “Already?” she cried, scooping him out of her shirt. “He likes me so much ‘cause I’m a stack of rats in a trench coat. Don’t tell anyone, that’s my secret.” She gave Whiskers a final parting kiss at the top of his little head, then handed him to Dottie. With her hands now emptied, she placed both of her palms on either of the Dottie’s shoulders and gave her a serious look. “If you’re serious about this punk thing, be gay, do crimes, don’t fool around with any pop-stars.” Somehow, Zoe managed to smile facetiously. No big deal. "And a kiss for good luck.” She pressed a quick kiss on Dot’s cheek. When she pulled away, there was a slight remnant of her red lipstick on the other’s pale cheek. “I’ll see you around, Tink.” And, like that, Zoe moved on to meet her next partner.

Juliette leans back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest in a more closed off position. The opposite of Cecelia’s movements. She scoffs. “Blondie? At least be original if you can’t act like a normal person.” Her brow raises, showing slight interest. “Okay I’ll bite. What did you have in mind for our first date?”

“Yeah, Blondie,” Cecelia said with emphasis on her new nickname. “You’re in New York. You’ve heard worse.” At the question, her thought process came to a screeching halt. Her mouth clamped shut to keep from externalizing an uh. “And ruin the suspense? It’s something... romantic. Like you’ve never had before. Guess you’re gonna have to come and find out.”