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Charlie pushes open the door to Dee's room. He expects to see her angrily pacing around, cursing and squeaking. Instead, he sees her laying in the middle of the bed, surrounded by a pile of blankets and stuffed animals.
It sounds like she's crying, and shit, he's never seen Dee cry before. He wasn’t sure if she even knew how. He wants to turn around and leave, pretend this never happened. Save them both the embarrassment.
A muffled voice cuts through the air, "What?!"
Charlie jumps a little at the sound. He's suddenly aware that he doesn't know why he's there. He shifts uncomfortably. "Oh, um, Dennis said you weren't going."
"My mom's being a bitch again," she explains. "What do you care?"
Because you never act like this. Dee getting pissed and ranting about how she's going to show up everyone is normal. This is not.
"What'd she do this time?" He asks. Charlie's become used to hearing Dee complain about her mother's insults. Usually before she cracks open another beer, finishing it at an impressive speed.
Dee sits up. "She called me fat. That stupid thing wouldn't fit under my dress," she jerks a thumb at her back-brace discarded in the corner.
"That blows, dude," he comments, leaving the doorway to stand next to her.
Charlie remembers his mom gushing over him and Mac as they were trying to leave the house. About how they looked so handsome, how proud she is. He thinks about how it's opposite for Dee. How her mother was saying such different things. He feels a pit in his stomach.
"I bet you would've looked real pretty," he shrugs. That's something you say to girls, right? He wonders, for a moment, how she would've looked that night, all dressed up. He shoves it down, like so many other things in life.
"Like a princess," Dee smiles wistfully.
Charlie gets it. He used to love fairytales; still does some. The bad guy always got what he deserved, and the good guy got a nice, happy ending.
The understanding subconsciously pulls him to sit next to her.
"I guess I just thought this was gonna be my last chance to show them. Look past the back-brace for once. It's bad enough that I have to start college in that thing." The mention of her leaving elicits a sense of dread that Charlie couldn't explain if he tried. "Just wait until I'm a famous movie star, then they'll all be begging for some Dee Reynolds."
"You really think you're gonna be a movie star?" Charlie asks.
"Yeah, I do," Dee snaps. She rolls her eyes. "Whatever. You wouldn't get it.”
"I have plans, too," he adds defensively.
"Huffing glue all day instead of just after school?" Dee teases. She never expected Charlie to have plans for the future. If she were honest, it was kind of hard to imagine him becoming an adult.
"I want to make music," he says. The admission stirs up a feeling of self-consciousness, "I don't know, maybe it's stupid."
Dee remembers all the times the two of them would hang out, mostly by default, after being deemed too big of losers to join Mac and Dennis in their plans. He'd tap out little melodies on the Reynolds' piano that nobody ever used. Sometimes it was random notes strung together that Dee thought sounded kind of nice. Other times he'd sing along, mostly drunken nonsense that he made up. They'd make Dee laugh, but always leave her feeling a little impressed, nevertheless.
"Really?" She asks. It's a little strange seeing Charlie, the small, weird kid as someone who could be admired. She's always had a thing for musicians.
Charlie continues, "I don't want people to be able to see me, though. I don't want them to boo, or laugh at me."
"Well, you should probably stop trying to be the class clown, if you don't want them to laugh," Dee advises.
"No, that's different," he explains. "If I make them laugh, they leave me alone. But, I don't want them to when I'm actually trying at something."
Dee nods; it makes sense. She's seen it before; careless teachers randomly calling on him to read out loud for the class. Kids sniggering and blatantly whispering as he struggles. She's been on the receiving end of that; impaired mobility, struggling to navigate the hallways in a metal cage. Both victims of ridicule for things beyond their control.
"They wouldn't have anything to laugh at. You're good at music," Dee responds softly. She continues, "I'm a good actress, but nobody comes to my plays to know that."
"I do," Charlie says. "To the last one, anyway. You made a good monster. And it's kind of cool how you got up there in front of everyone."
"Thanks," she murmurs. It's nice knowing someone was there to see her. Even if she didn't know it.
"Hang on," Charlie mutters, reaching into the pocket of his jacket. He pulls out a joint. "Do you still have-".
Dee answers his question before it's over. She reaches into her side table and pulls out a book of matches. She strikes one, and stares at the flame for a moment before lighting the tightly rolled paper between his fingers. They both share a love of fire; Charlie claiming that watching things burn is awesome, while Dee often commented on the sense of release from igniting a flame.
When she leans back against the headboard this time, they're a lot closer. He's never been this close to a girl before, and it creates a feeling of nervousness. Charlie tries to calm himself, reason that it's just Dee, but somehow the thought makes him more nervous. They leisurely pass the joint back and forth, and it doesn’t take long for their proximity to feel normal. The odd mixture of weed and Dee's vanilla shampoo becoming a comforting combination. It's not the first time they've smoked together, but somehow it feels different this time.
“Oh, shit,” he exclaims, taking in their location, and nearly jumping up. “Your dad’s not gonna, like, kill me for being here, is he?”
Dee shakes her head. “He’s not even here. He never is. Off on some business trip, again.” She continues, “And my mom doesn’t care. Says I’m not pretty enough for a boy to like me that way.” She doesn't sound so sad anymore. Her tone becoming too casual for Charlie's liking. She adds a much softer, “Besides, it’s not like she’d come in to say goodnight, anyway.”
They sit in silence for a moment. Her words hanging in the air.
"At least you have a dad. I never met mine. I don't even know who he is," Charlie whispers.
"Yeah, well, you're not missing out on much." Frank was gone most of the time. When he wasn't on shady overseas trips, he was at a strip club or with his creepy friends. The times he was home, he either ignored his kids, or mentally tormented them.
She figures being abandoned by a parent can't be much different than one who always insults you. Different types of rejection resulting in the same feeling.
Dee sighs, circling back to the thing that brought them here, "This whole night is ruined. I was supposed to look hot. Show those assholes I'm not the Aluminum Monster. And it's prom. I was supposed to have sex with someone tonight. It's a tradition."
Charlie's never thought about it before. But the idea pops into his head and out of his mouth before he can control it. "It's not too late. I mean... we... could."
A look of surprise flashes across her face before she laughs. "Yeah, right."
It's not bitter or cruel like when the popular kids laugh at him. She thinks it's a joke, so ridiculous and farfetched that it's funny, he realizes.
"Haha, that'd be crazy, right?" Charlie smiles, hoping his surprising disappointment doesn't show.
They fall into a contented silence again, a feeling of a real friendship and sleepy from the weed.
“You know you’re not staying all night. When those two dickbags get back, you’re gone,” Dee speaks up, but there's no harshness to the words.
"Yeah, obviously," Charlie snorts.
"Thanks for staying with me, though. It was nice," Dee adds after a moment.
"Yeah, it was."