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Heather wasn’t sure where she was.
It wasn’t so much of a problem; she didn’t know where she was going. Was away a location? Could it be, just for tonight?
Sherwood wasn’t exactly large enough to get lost in. Heather was fairly certain she was only one or two streets away from something familiar, but she didn’t want to find that right now. There was a part of her that wanted to run into the woods. If this was a fairytale, she would discover a castle, or a cursed village.
Maybe somewhere there was a princess for her to kiss.
Heather coughed, something halfway between a sob and a laugh as she thought of it. Her life was hardly a fairytale.
“More like a horror story,” She muttered under her breath, tugging her thin jacket tighter around her shoulders.
That’s what the Remington party had been for Heather. Every second had gotten worse and worse until she’d simply run away.
Tomorrow, she would have to spend all day kissing Heather’s ass, but tonight she could…
Tonight, she was going to end up sleeping in a gutter because she had no fucking clue where she was.
In the distance, between houses and empty streets, she saw lights, which at least gave her a direction to go. It was better than nothing, she supposed.
She finally arrived at the eerily brightly lit Snappy Snack Shack, which was familiar, though it didn’t help her much when it came to finding her way home.
Not that home sounded much better than just sleeping in the parking lot here.
“Are you… okay?”
Heather looked up. In the shadow of the neon lights, she made out the figure of a boy leaning against a motorcycle. A faint cloud of smoke hung around him, trailing back to the cigarette in his hand.
Clenching her fists, Heather tensed. Should she run? Try to fight? There was no way a man that spent his nights loitering in a convenience store was someone she wanted to talk to.
He stepped closer, into a puddle of light from the windows, and she saw that he wasn’t a man, just a boy, probably her own age.
“You’re the weird guy from the cafeteria!” The one Veronica had been into.
“And you’re a Heather,” He said, with a touch of disdain that still gave her the impression that he couldn’t have cared less. “Now that we’re introduced, are you okay?”
Heather shrugged, surprised to find that she no longer felt threatened by him. “Yeah.”
“So you’re just wandering around late at night for fun? In that?” He gestured to her party dress and jacket, neither of which fit the weather very well, to say nothing of her shoes.
Heather glared at him and fished around for a plausible lie that would explain her arrival in the Snappy Snack Shack parking lot at one in the morning. “I was hungry.”
“Cool.” He stood for a second, waiting for something. “Do you need an invitation or something?” He gestured towards the store.
To maintain her lie and her dignity, Heather walked into the story and searched for a snack. Aisles full of calories, sugars, and fats filled the store and Heather’s stomach turned. She couldn’t eat something like that. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she thought about it and she swallowed hard.
“You look pale, are you sure--”
“I’m fine!” She snapped, seizing a cup and filling it with diet coke. “This is all I need.”
He looked skeptical, but he didn’t say anything.
The bored cashier didn’t look at them while he rang up her drink. “That’ll be eighty cents.”
Heather’s hands went to her empty pockets, and her stomach twisted, the panic coming back, but the boy tossed a bill on the counter, took her drink and carried it out. She followed, fighting to keep her breath normal.
“Here, drink it.” He shoved the cup into her hands, and she took a few long sips. The syrupy taste and carbonation settled her stomach, and a few long breaths of night air later, she felt better.
“I’m not okay,” She said to him. “Since you asked.”
“I figured.”
She sat down on the curb, and was surprised when he joined her. “I throw up whatever I eat. My friends hate me. Sometimes I want to kill them. Sometimes I hate myself.”
He nodded as if everything she’d said made perfect sense to him. “Do you want a smoke?” he held out a pack of cigarettes.
Heather took one cautiously. She’d never smoked before, though she knew Veronica sometimes did. She lit it and took a drag, immediately doubling over to cough.
The boy bit back a laugh, patting her back lightly until she finished. “First time?”
“Shut up,” She grumbled, taking a sip of diet coke before attempting another-- slightly more successful-- drag. “What about you? I don’t want to be the only one confessing.”
He laughed. “I hate your friends too, except the dark-haired one. I like her a lot.”
Heather met his suggestive smile with a glare that could’ve peeled paint. “Veronica doesn’t date high school guys.”
Nodding, he continued. “I’ve been to seven high schools in seven states, and the only thing different is my locker combination.”
“I can’t decide what’s worse; four years at Westerburg, or moving from school to school and realizing they’re all like Westerburg, and the grass isn’t actually greener anywhere.”
He just shrugged. “Life sucks.”
Heather nodded sagely in agreement. “So it does.”
They sat in silence, letting time go by.
After a while, he stood and held out a hand. “Do you need a ride home?”
She let him help her up, nodding, even though her stomach twisted at the thought of getting on his bike. “Um, sure.”
“I’ll take it slow.” His eyebrows wiggled suggestively.
“I’m gay,” Heather blurted, and the stunned expression on his face almost made her sudden terror worth it.
“Right. Yeah… me too, kind of. That… I wasn’t expecting that.”
“Neither was I,” Heather admitted. She’d never told anyone. “What do you mean, kind of?”
“I’m into guys and girls.” He shrugged like this was normal, though Heather hadn’t realized that was possible. Suddenly her situation with Veronica didn’t seem so hopeless.
“Right,” Heather said, unsure of what else to say.
“Yeah.” He nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets.
Something occurred to her then, as she realized she knew something with which she could utterly destroy him if she wanted. “I don’t know your name.”
Funny, how they could know each other’s darkest secrets, and she hadn’t even asked for his name.
He held out his hand. “Jason Dean. JD.”
Heather shook it. “Heather Duke.”
A minute went by and neither of them moved. Finally, he said, “Still need that ride?”
“Right, yeah. Yes, I do.” She took the helmet he offered her and scrambled clumsily onto the bike behind him.
He dropped her off in front of her house, which they managed to find after some trial and error. Heather watched him drive away and disappear into the dark.
They would see each other in school on Monday. Maybe he would wave. Maybe she would wave back. Or maybe they would pretend this had never happened. That they’d never crossed paths in a parking lot past midnight and told each other secrets. But they had, and neither of them would forget those moments spent sharing their darkness.