Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

You don’t believe in luck – not exactly.

You believe in God and God created the world in all its perfection. And He’s watching over you, and everything that happens happens for a reason that only He knows, and it’s a good reason, and it’s supposed to happen because it’ll be good for you, because it’s God who made it happen and God is good and He can only do love.

But sometimes, on days such as today, well sometimes you just think you’ve got a shit luck.

The truck starts with the hiccups and the steam about ten minutes into your drive and it’s the last straw. You curse and slap the steering wheel and pray and beg for it to hold until you get somewhere – anywhere – that’s not just the middle of the highway and the sandy desert around it. Because, of course, your boyfriend had to live in a ranch in the middle of the desert, thirty minutes away from town, and you’d decided to go visit on the one day the only available car your family left you was the rusty old truck.

Luckily, or thanks to God, or whatever, you raise your eyes to find the silhouette of an old gas station up ahead. The truck finally breaks down about fifty feet from the actual gas station, but it’s close enough so you slam the old, squeaking door shut and head for the station on foot.

You sigh. Of course, the truck would break down on your way back. If this is some part of God’s greater plan, you wonder what exactly that plan’s final goal is.

Because getting stranded in the middle of the desert, on a hot July morning, after having caught your boyfriend with another girl in his bed and having to walk to a gas station in the middle of nowhere to try and maybe get help as a trail of sweat starts crawling down your back and the light desert winds pull at your sundress; well, it certainly doesn’t sound like the start of a fairytale, that’s for sure.

You reach the station and find it empty. There’s the gas pump, only one, and then the small convenience store beside it, its windows covered in years-old posters and dust, and you wonder if there’s anyone inside. The only sign of life is a girl, sitting on the dusty stretch of dirt between the station’s parking lot and the highway. One of those big, camping backpacks rests on her shoulders, an old-looking straw hat covers her eyes and her finger is stuck up on her outstretched arm, clearly asking for someone to stop and take her. A hitchhiker. You roll your eyes and start towards the store. Those are the kinds of girls who end up lost or murdered, you think. This is not the kind of place to be hitchhiking, not for a girl on her own. It’s like practically begging to be assaulted.

A small bell dings when you pull the crusty door open. Its hinges creak as you step inside. It’s dark and cool, compared to the blaring sun outside, and for a moment you fear it’s empty before your eyes adjust and you find a tall, lanky guy standing behind the register, eyes downcast, concentrated on something behind the counter.

“Hey you!” you greet, cheery. The boy looks up startled. His eyes are hooded and bloodshot, and his mouth hangs half-open. But his eyebrows are raised in question, though, so you step closer and lean on the counter, smiling as charmingly as you can, “Hello! How’s your day been? I was wonderin’ if you knew anything about cars?”

He sniffs a little before moving his lips, but he doesn’t speak, just sort of ‘uhm’s his way through a sentence. And your hopes in getting help plummet, but you try once more, “The thing is, my truck broke down a few feet away and I’m sure it’s an easy fix, but, you see,” you raise your hands and show off your nails, trying to play into the cute, blonde southern belle everybody loves, “I’m not really that good with fixin’ stuff. I was wondering if you could help me out?”

The guy considers you. His name tag identifies him as Jeanette, but you’re pretty sure that’s not his name. his hair’s long and matted and dark, there’s a faint sheet of sweat covering his temples and forehead, and his cheeks are covered in acne and a small stubble that prays to be shaved.

“Uh, I don’t–” his voice is shaky and panicky, and suddenly you realize this battle was lost way before you walked into the store. The boy’s clearly smoked his boots off before starting his shift, “I’m no good with cars, ma’am. But I can offer you some Snickers?”

He points to the counter where a couple of Snicker bars are on display. You roll your eyes internally, but smile at him, careful to keep up the sweetness, “Oh, that’s quite alright. Thank you, though!”

You turn, fuming, before he can speak again and head out the store.

“Jesus Christ, he shouldn’t even be attending, this is so stupid,” you’re muttering to yourself as you walk back to your truck and try to think of a plan B. Before entering the store, you’d noticed the pay phone outside, but it had an old sign indicating it was out of service hung on it, so it was a lost cause. Maybe you could ask ‘Jeanette’ for the store’s phone, but all you want to do for a moment is get away from him and let your frustrations cool down before you snap.

So, you stand on the station’s parking lot and sigh heavily before closing your eyes and reaching up to the cross on your neck, and you send a little prayer up into the sky, testing your luck.

Then, you decide to go back to the truck and see if there’s anything to be done. Following the phone train of thought, the only person you can think of calling is your father, but it isn’t a very appealing option. For starters, he’d be mad you interrupted his early Saturday’s bible course. Then, he’d be mad about the truck, and lastly, he’d ask about Andrew and you’re not in the mood to discuss it. You can’t even think about it yet.

So, you slowly head back to the truck, but you don’t make it far before you’re running, “Hey!”

The girl’s head pops up from where she was leaning over the truck’s open hood. She’s got her pack down on the ground, propped against the truck’s front tire, and her straw hat hung on the open hood’s corner. The slight desert breeze waves it around like a lazy flag.

You stop a few feet from the girl as she turns to you, wiping down her hands on the front of her jeans which are already covered in dirt and stains.

“What are you–” you mumble your question between heavy puffs of air as you try to regain your composure, “What– That’s my truck.”

“I know, Sunshine.” The girl counters, and her voice is surprisingly low and husk, sending a current of electricity down your back, “It’s the cooling system, there’s a leak and it’s run out of water. That’s why it stopped working. I can refill it, if you want.”

“Oh.” You stare at her dumbfounded. Her eyes are dark and frowning, her lips cracked and pursed. her hair is long and unruly and brown, cascading over toned shoulders, looking like it hasn’t seen a comb in almost two months. She’s wearing a tank top with some high school’s logo printed on it and a pair of old, biker boots, her jeans tucked into them. And for a moment you forget what’s going on because she’s looking at you and you’re lost in her intense, brown eyes. She looks like trouble, alright, but she’s also very pretty.

“So?” she asks, irritated. You shake your head, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks, but you don’t remember what you were talking about, so you ask, “So what?”

The girl rolls her eyes, “So, do I fix it or not, Sunshine?”

“Oh, yeah, I mean, yes please. Thank you so much.”

“Name’s Toni, by the way.” Her tone’s even as she speaks into the truck’s insides. You smile, “Well you’re a godsent, Toni. I’m Shelby, Shelby Goodkind.”

You’re both leaning into the open hood now, although Toni’s elbow-deep trying to hook something up to some other thing, while you stand beside her and hold a few tools. You have no clue as to what Toni’s doing, but it beats calling for help, so you go with in. In a worst-case-scenario, you can always run to the store and call your Dad, as horrible as that might sound.

There’s a rumble and a grunt, and some clinking sounds coming from beside you then, and only a moment later, Toni pulls back with a triumphant smile on her face.

“Fuck yes!” she calls. Then, she smirks and winks, “Your truck’s all good again, dear Princess.”

She bows dramatically and you laugh, “Jesus, you’re a clown, you know that?”

“A clown that saved your life. You owe me now, Sunshine.” She steps towards you and you wonder if her eyes glint with just genuine mirth or maybe something more… flirtatious. In the way she eyes you from head to toes in a second before her eyes return to yours, you think maybe it’s the second one, but you can’t seem to be as bothered as you think you should be.

“Oh, yes. Gratitude.” And you choke a little as she steps closer, that glint still in her intense eyes, “May God multiply and give you back as much as you’ve given me now. Thank you.”

Toni cringes, pulling back and rolling her eyes, “Fuck, so you’re a Jesus freak, huh? Figures.”

You feel slightly irritated by her comment, but you’ve encountered people like her a few times before so the smile on your face doesn’t even quiver as your eyes harden a little and you speak, “I’m religious. You could try it too, ditz, it’s really helpful.” Then you give her a once over, focusing on her dirty, ill fitting jeans, the old boots and the sweaty shirt, “I think you could use the help.”

A scowl appears on her face immediately. A small part of your brain pouts, missing the small easy banter you’d started with. The rest just focusses on how rough and unladylike the girl looks with her fists clenched and her chin jutted out like that.

“You know religion is just a way to brainwash and enslave the masses, right? It’s the Man having you all wrapped around his finger, making you think you’re free and all.”

You smile then, bright and satisfied, and you revel in the way you can practically see her getting even more riled up by that simple action, “Well, don’t you think your brain could use a little…” you step closer, and her jaw drops a little as you enter her personal space, but you’re suddenly having too much fun to pull back now, “scrub?”

She scoffs and turns away. You smile triumphantly.

“Bite me.” you hear her say as she picks her straw hat from the open hood and places it back onto her head. Then she turns back to you and says, “Well, the truck’s okay to drive, but you should go see a mechanic once you’re back home. Tell ‘em to check to cooling system.”

She pulls down the hood and you almost jump at the sudden loud noise. Is she leaving?

“Wait,” you call, and maybe it comes out a little more anxious that you intended it, but you roll with it as her eyes are back on yours, “You’re leaving?”

There’s a shadow of a smirk on her lips before she frowns, “What, you need me to drive you back home too, Princess? Can’t do it yourself?”

You roll your eyes at that. Okay, so you’re back to doing this, then.

“From what I could see before, you’re the one who needs a ride, Sunshine.”

Her already reddened cheeks – from the scorching sun above, of course – darken and she scoffs, looking away. You notice her fists clench again. You smirk.

“I’m not taking a ride from you, Shelby. Thanks, but no.”

Your stomach flutters when you hear your name coming from her lips, from her husk, raspy voice, but you push it down and swallow hard instead, focusing on the conversation at hand, “Can’t you just drop your pride for a single second? I’m your best shot at getting somewhere safely. We’re in the middle of the desert, remember? A few more hours and you’ll dehydrate. Get in the wrong car, and you’ll be on the papers next morning.”

She crosses her arms over her chest and raises an eyebrow at you as if to say, ‘So?’.

You roll your eyes, feeling exasperation crawling up your dry throat. For a moment you consider leaving her here. It’s what she wants, apparently, but you can’t bring yourself to it. So, you just steel yourself, pulling your shoulders back and sighing before speaking again.

“As a thank you for fixing my truck, I’ll drive you into town. That way my debt to you is paid and we can go our separate ways without any unfinished business. Deal?”

She rolls her eyes and scoffs again, “If I accept, will you really leave me alone? I can’t stand a second more of your annoying voice and preppy clothes. It feels like they think they’re better than me.”

You clench your teeth but push a small smile and breath in before saying, “Yes. Promise.”

You extend your hand to her but, too late, you realize hers are still covered in oil and grease. She smiles knowingly as she reaches for your hand and shakes it enthusiastically. You pull it away as soon as you can, but it’s covered in the black substance anyways. Toni laughs.

“Okay Princess, you’re driving.”

She’s still laughing as she walks around you and picks up her pack before hauling it onto the truck’s bed. You try to clean your hand on the truck’s closed hood but end up making it worse by covering the sticky grease in the truck’s dust and rust.

So, into the cabin you go, trying hard not to touch anything unless it’s necessary. Beside you and already settled into her seat, Toni’s got an old rang on her hands and she’s scrubbing under her nails. She gives you a look, but you ignore her, turning the key on the ignition instead.

“Wanna clean that hand?” she asks, and you can hear the smirk on her voice, so you ignore her, eyes on the rearview mirror to check the nonexistent traffic before getting back onto the highway. Once you’re steady on the tarmac you look down to check on the truck’s temperature and, true to Toni’s words, the truck’s back to normal.

“C’mon Shelby, it’s just a rag.” You keep silent, “Gimme your hand.”

You catch movement from the corner of your eye and turn just in time to see her reach for your wrist and pull at your hand until you’re letting go of the steering wheel and she’s cleaning your fingers with the rag. Your breath catches on your throat and, for a moment, you forget you’re driving, your whole body melting at the contact of her warm skin against yours. Toni doesn’t notice, her eyes fixed on your hand, on making sure there’s not even a small spot of grease left on your tanned skin.

You turn back to the road and swallow, but your throat’s drier than you think it’s ever been so you cough a little to try and get it back to normal.

“So, what brings you to the middle of the desert?” Toni’s voice, a little higher than normal, brings you back down to reality as her fingers drop your hand. Clearing your throat again, you return it to the steering wheel. You chance a look at Toni but she’s watching you expectantly, seemingly as if nothing’s wrong, except for her cheeks that remain colored even under the truck’s roof – she must’ve gotten sunburned, “Uh.. oh, yeah, I was visiting my boyfriend.”

And suddenly Andrew’s back on your mind and you feel bile start climbing up your throat, so you turn to the road again and miss Toni’s reaction to the statement.

It takes her a moment to respond, but her words are teasing, “Oh, so this was a little victory lap, huh?”

You frown, “A what?”

“Y’know, the ride home after a night with your boy.”

You almost crash the truck with the swerve you pull from the surprise, “Fuck, Shelby!”

“God, sorry!” You say, your heart beating wildly. You clear your throat, but don’t turn to Toni as you speak, trying to hide the pink on your cheeks, “Uh, no, no.” you breathe out an attempt of a laugh, “It was nothing like that. I was actually supposed to go pick him up for a little surprise I had for us but he, uh, forgot.”

Toni’s silent for long enough for you to turn to her. You find her observing you with pursed lips and a raised eyebrow. She’s got her right forearm out the window, too, you notice, and her hand seems to be playing with the wind that slips through her fingers.

“That doesn’t sound like the whole truth.” She says, but the teasing tone in her voice is gone, replaced instead by a softness that catches you off guard. Instinctively, you smile and chuckle, “Oh, no don’t worry, everything’s just peachy, he just needed a bit more rest since he stayed up late last night so…”

You don’t know why, but you feel the need to hide the mess that is your relationship right now from Toni, a complete stranger. Why do you care what she thinks of you? She’ll be gone as soon as you reach town.

“Oh, okay I get it,” and the teasing tone’s back, “He’s cheating, and you’ve just caught him red-handed, huh?”

You pale as you feel every single organ in your body drop. Is it that fucking obvious?

“Oh, shit, Shelbs, I didn’t– I was just– I didn’t mean it. I was just messing around.”

You chuckle because she sounds completely honest. But she hit the nail straight on and it’s ridiculous.

“Yeah, but you’re right.” And your voice sounds watery, so you breathe in and try to get yourself under control. You school your features, grip the steering wheel a little tighter, and straighten your back, “He was…” but your voice dies before it escapes your lips.

There’s a long silence then, but you’re unable to get yourself to fill it and you’re not sure why. One part of you wants to assure Toni that everything’s fine, that you’re indeed halfway to fixing it all already. Another part wants to cry, feeling betrayed by the image that’s been seared to the back of your eyelids of Andrew’s naked butt peeking through the sheets and her hair sprawled onto his pillows and back as the rest of their limbs tangled into each other’s. And another part wishes to leave the whole ordeal behind and just enjoy the trip because Toni’s voice has the exact husk that makes your spine tingle and your chest jump every time she speaks.

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” Toni finally says. You turn to watch her, but she isn’t looking this time. Instead, she’s got her whole arm out the window, up to the shoulder, and she’s watching something out into the horizon with a calm frown shielding her eyes from the sizzling sun.

“Okay,” you mutter, feeling your mood lift a little, “So, what brought you to that station?”

Toni smirks, “I hopped onto the wrong train.”

You blink a few times before speaking, trying to figure if she’s joking or not. Train-hopping? Like in the movies?

“Train-hopping?” you ask.

She turns to you with a defiant look in her eyes, “Yeah, Shelby, you got anything against runaways?”

You clench your jaw for a moment, unsure of what to do with that information. Honor thy father and thy mother. But then you also see the mistrust in Toni’s eyes. She’s waiting for you to judge her and, for some reason, the last thing you want is her mistrust. So, you’re quick to raise an eyebrow and say, “Not as much as you’ve got against my religion.”

She cracks a smile at that before turning back to the window and leaning out, one hand outstretched towards the sky and her other one coming up to hold down the straw hat, so it doesn’t get blown away, “Fuck this desert air’s drier than a camel’s fart, isn’t it?”

It takes you a moment to realize it’s joke, a bad joke, but you laugh nonetheless.

“You’ve never been to Texas before, huh? This is nothing, we’re still in July. Wait for August and you’ll see.”

“Oh, nah. I’m not staying that long, Princess. As I said, wrong train. I was headed for California, but it was dark, and I just hopped onto the first wagon I found.”

“California?” your heart races a little as a small memory reaches your mind’s eyes.

A couple walking along the beach, going the opposite way you and your parents were. You’re small, maybe five years old, gripping your mom’s hand to one side and your daddy’s to the other, and you’re happy. You’re on your way to buy some ice-cream, you think. The couple smiles down at you, but your father’s hand yanks you away and you hear him mutter some words. You don’t remember the words, but you remember the anger in his voice. You turn to watch as the offending couple walks away and they hug, and one woman reaches up to cradle the other’s face and kisses her forehead. Your chest feels tight for a moment.

“Yeah, the land of the free.” But Toni smiles fully at that, for the first time since you two met. And you feel in your chest the same warmth you’d felt when you saw the couple, thinking maybe Toni wants to go there for the same reason you’ve dreamed of the place since you went there all those years ago. It makes you a little sad.

“Do you live there?” you ask, turning back to the road and swallowing the bitterness in your throat.

“Nope. Runaway, remember?”

“Oh, right.”

“I plan on getting a job there, maybe, and get a house and, I don’t know, settle there, maybe.”

“There were a hell of a lot of ‘maybe’s in that sentence.” You chuckle, trying desperately to forget those vacations from so long ago.

Toni smiles boldly, “Yeah, I don’t really know. It’s just a destination.” And then her voice softens again, and she pulls her arm back inside the truck’s cabin, “To be honest, I’m surprised I’ve made it this far.”

“Where did you start?”

She turns to you and, from the corner of your eye, you catch her thinking over her answer, her eyes glued to the broken cassette player on the truck’s dashboard, eyebrows furrowed, and bottom lip trapped by her teeth.

“Minnesota.” She finally says.

“God, that’s so far away.” You mutter. You’re about to say something else but then your town’s exit appears on the highway, nothing more than a smaller pavement track veering off to the right, but you slow down and signal your exit turn before speaking again, “Why– why did you leave, if it’s okay to ask?”

“Well, isn’t that a long story, eh Princess? Sadly,” she clears her throat and sits up as the first few buildings appear at a distance. The motel and Lloyd’s Diner are the first to appear, their familiar silhouettes signaling the beginning of your known universe and the end of your conversation. Your heart drops a little, “Sadly, we’ve arrived. You can just drop me off wherever, I’ll be fine.”

“Oh, okay.” You panic a little. For some reason you don’t want to drop her off. Maybe it’s because you’re running from Andrew’s cheating ass, or pushing back the moment you’re bound to get home and explain to your parents exactly why you’re so early, or the curiosity that’s suddenly nestled into your chest about Toni’s life, Minnesota, California and everything in between, so you ask, “Well, what do you say about a coffee?”

You pull into Lloyd’s parking lot. In a worse-case scenario you can drop Toni off here and leave; in the best case, you get coffee, and she can tell you more about what she’s seen, out there.

“Coffee?” she asks, uncertain, before adding with a skeptical look on her face, “With you?”

You roll your eyes, “Oh please, I’m not that bad company, Sunshine. I saw you smile once or twice even, back at the highway.”

You park the truck before she answers, “Well that’s because I was laughing at you, not with you. Sorry to break it to you, Princess, but I’m a woman that’s extremely hard to please.”

“Well, I’m a very hard-working woman, so I bet I can please you just fine.” You don’t think before you speak, obviously, and the inuendo flies straight over your head until you hear Toni’s explosive laughter. You’re beet-red by the moment she settles enough to open her eyes and, at the sight of you, she goes right back into another raucous fit.

After a few moments you laugh too, feeling intoxicated by the sound of her mirth.

“So, you’re hard-working, huh? I think I’m up for the challenge.”

“That is not what I meant Toni, and you know it.”

“Do I?”

You turn away then, rolling your eyes and deliberately ignoring your burning cheeks in favor of getting off the truck, pulling your purse onto your shoulder as your feet touch down on the burning tarmac. There’s an uneasy, acidic sensation that’s settled into the pit of your stomach, too, accompanied by a pair of hard, blue eyes that burn into yours, judging and unblinking, but you ignore it.

The hinges creak as you close the door and hear Toni’s closing too. But she isn’t reaching for her pack on the truck’s bed. Instead, she’s walking round the front, her hands on her trousers’ pockets, a cocky smile on full swing and that glint back on her eyes. The apprehension rises again, and those eyes almost seem to materialize right over Toni’s shoulder, watching you, and, as if it was some kind of twisted game, you push it all back down. You force your eyes to concentrate on brown and forget the blue.

“Coffee sounds nice.” She says, her voice soft.

You smile, a burst of excitement masking over the anxiousness bubbling on your chest. So you grip your purse and look for your wallet, “I’ll pay!”

“You sure will, considering I’m basically homeless and penniless.”

//

She mocks you for your dress and hairdo, and you counter by noting her dirty jeans. She calls you privileged, and you call her a homeless boho. She insists on calling you Princess and Sunshine until you tell her about that 10-point buck you took down last winter. Then you ask about the high school shirt she’s wearing, and she gets defensive, calling you a couple of harsh names, getting you riled up about religion and successfully deviating from the subject, but thankfully Lloyd’s waitress, Mable, comes with your coffees so the tension’s cut for a moment and she apologizes.

You talk about everything and nothing. She tells you about the shirt eventually, about basketball and about how she’d tried out for the school’s team – which was, obviously, only for boys, even if it wasn’t a written rule – and how they’d turned her down, three years in a row, even if she was the best player by far. You tell her about your pageants, and of course she laughs calling you a ‘picture perfect Princess’, but you see in her eyes the nickname’s not cruel anymore. Maybe it never actually was.

She doesn’t mention Andrew again, which you’re thankful. And you don’t ask about the reason for her running away, and you think she’s thankful, too.

You ask about her travels, instead, and she’s more than happy to tell you.

She speaks with her eyes more than anything. You can quickly tell if the story will be funny or scary or impressive by the way the brown turns dark or glints with excitement. All the while her hands twist and pick at a poor little napkin that ends up in shreds on your table. She’s burning with a feral kind of energy that makes you think that where you found her – a highway in the middle of nowhere – is exactly the place she belongs at, where she can be free and roam and move. In the diner she looks almost caged, like an animal at the circus, turning and turning, shredding that piece of paper, leg bouncing against the linoleum floor, pacing the same few feet for eternity. It makes sense that she run away, you think. No one with that amount of vibrant stamina, of curiosity, of will to live, could ever stand still.

So, it’s easy for you to imagine her on long train rides across pastures and mountains, sleeping under the stars and trekking across highways, sleeping in old motels in towns forgotten by time, eating whatever she can get her hands on, all the while with that forceful, nearly mad grin pasted on her face.

You envy her, of course. As she’s telling you about this gorgeous sunset she saw while traveling on top of a wagon on her way here your heart aches as you picture yourself beside her, nothing but the clothes on your back and her company to call your own.

You could never, of course.

You’ve got a life here: parents, siblings, school, friends, Andrew, a future. A future house with a white picket fence, and future children you’re already responsible for, a future husband to be faithful to, a future everything, already happening, already happened. Already here, almost tangible.

But you still ache with a wistful what if.

“What about you, Shelby?”

Her question pulls you out of your head. You turn to her and find her sipping her coffee, looking at you over the rim of the cup with her eyebrows up. “Sorry, what?”

“I said, have you ever left this forsaken town?” Toni smiles and its lopsided but kind.

“Oh,” you blush a little, “Not really. My family’s not the kind to cross the state line. As far as I’ve traveled is the mountains to hunt or my grandpa’s ranch, up north.”

The trip comes back to you again, the couple, but you push it to the back of your mind until you catch Toni’s eyes as she raises her eyebrows and smiles, a teasing comment hanging from her slightly parted lips, so you add, “Oh and once, on vacations with my parents right before the twins were born. We went for a week on the beach in California.”

She’s surprised, the question leaving her mouth before she seems to even process it, same parts excited and dumbfounded.

“So, you’ve been to Cali?”

You roll your eyes, “Yes, but I was five, Toni. I think it hardly counts when you can barely remember anything.”

“Tell me what you remember.”

You hesitate, looking around for a moment. There’s Lloyd in the kitchen, working over the fryer, and Mable behind the counter, fixing something on the register, and on a few tables away there’s an old man reading the paper. Not many, but still, they could hear.

“Well, I only remember the beach and the sun,” you chose to keep that moment to yourself then, but immediately wish you wouldn’t, “the heat was different. Here in Texas, it’s humid and heavy, like a wet blanket draped over your shoulders at all times. But over there, God. It was hot alright, but there was always that breeze blowing, with the smell of the sea and the warm sand. It was so refreshing and fun. There was this little place that sold popsicles right by the beach, I would just nag my daddy so goddamn much until he’d buy one for me…”

You don’t realize you’re staring until Toni blinks, a small smile pulling at the corner of her lips. You look away then, a blush creeping up your cheeks as your palms start to sweat so you pull them back and hide them on your lap, under the table. You hear her clear her throat as a truck slowly makes its way down the road outside.

“That sounds amazing.” She says, “Serves to prove I chose my destination correctly.”

You chuckle.

“You just always do everything right, don’t you?”

“Can’t help perfection, Sunshine.” she leans back on the booth, arms behind her head and eyes closed, and smiles cockily. You roll your eyes.

You end up having lunch there, too. And then another coffee because Toni’s telling you about this dog she befriended somewhere near Reno and you just can’t bring yourself to interrupt her.

The sun’s setting, painting the horizon some shade of orange and pink, by the time the diner finally starts filling and, as the people slowly start dripping in, Toni gives you a look that’s at once sad and thankful.

“Thanks, Shelby.” She says after a moment’s silence, the conversation coming to a natural lull as the two of you sipped the almost-cold remnants of your coffees, “I really needed this.”

“Food? Well, I would think so, Boho.” you chuckle, trying to lighten the mood, trying to hide from that feeling inside your belly that’s mirroring Toni’s forlorn smile. Toni rolls her eyes.

“Not that, this.” And she gestures between the two of you then, “An honest conversation. I was starting to feel like my vocal cords were only good for screaming obscenities at those who refused to give me a ride.”

“Oh, would you’ve screamed at me if passed by you and I didn’t stop?”

She nods, smiling, that glint back in her eyes, “Of course.”

“Thank you too, Toni.” You smile as your chest fills with something mushy and warm and you breathe in a little because it’s pulled out the air from your lungs for a moment, “I– I needed it, too.”

She nods, smiling.

You call Mable over and ask for the check and, even if you’d said you’d pay, Toni digs through her jean’s pockets until she comes up with a few coins, and she looks over apologetically until you laugh good-naturedly and take them, thanking her before fishing your own wallet and putting in what’s missing.

You’re standing outside the diner then, the day’s warmth slowly slipping away, not fast enough to grant the need for a jacket but enough to allow for a small, dry breeze to cool off your burning skin, and you ask the inevitable, “So, where do I drop you off?”

Toni doesn’t answer for a moment, her eyes searching the main road, surely looking for somewhere to settle for the night. After a second, she points to the motel across from where you’re standing, “There?”

“Oh, God no.” you call immediately, your insides cringing and the mere thought of Toni spending the night at the motel with the paint that’s falling off, the sleezy attendant and the reputation for hosting prostitutes and drug addicts exclusively, “You are not staying there, and that’s the end of that.”

“Well considering I just spent my last dime paying for that coffee, I say it’s that or the desert.” She scratches the back of her neck then and smiles at you but somehow you can tell the smile’s not genuine this time, and it reminds you of the mask you’re always wearing so as not to trouble everyone else, so as to assure everyone that everything’s okay, that you’re okay, that you’re perfectly okay.

“Come home with me,” you say before you can stop yourself, because you’re not about to leave this girl out on her own, even if she’s pretty capable. And you see yourself in her, even if for a moment, and you can’t seem to let go of her just yet.

“Oh! So we are doing this, then?” She winks at you and you can’t help but beam so you frown too and hope the grimace that turns out hides the flattered smile and the blush.

“Come on now, Casanova.” You turn to the truck but her hand on your arm stops you, “Hey, no it’s okay really. I can sleep down at the motel. I’d hate to barge into your life any more than I already have. Honest.”

“You’re not barging, I’m offering. Now haul your ass back into the truck and let’s go.”

“Rad.”

//

Toni smells nice. Which is a surprise since she just told you she has been living at a train station for the past three days and spent last night on a cargo train. But as the two of you roll out of the parking lot, the truck’s windows closed for the first time that day, you catch a small whiff and it’s intoxicating. She smells like sun baked skin, coconuts, and sand. It’s warm and cozy and surprising and you can’t help closing your eyes for a moment to breathe it in.

You arrive at your driveway about ten minutes later, and you park right outside near the fence, the gravel path that leads up to the front door right ahead, the old cypress trees that line the path swaying lightly with the breeze, but you start sweating lightly again inside the truck’s cabin. Toni turns to you with a confused frown.

“Why are we stopping here?”

You clear your throat and turn to her, clasping your hands together over your lap to keep them from trembling.

“I have strict parents,” Well that’s an understatement, “so I can only offer you our barn. By this time in the evening no one goes in, so it’ll be perfect. There’s a bed there and a small outdoor shower. Usually the caretaker, Billy, uses it, but he’s out for the summer so it’ll be empty.”

She looks surprised but you beg for her to understand, to not pry any further. Of course, she does.

“What do you mean, ‘strict’? Will they come at me with a shotgun if they see me meddling about their little farm?”

“No!” you immediately call, “Well, no, I don’t think so.”

You bite your lip at the way she huffs and rolls her eyes, “Well, if you ‘don’t think so’ it’s probably super safe for me!”

“Hey, no, it is safe, okay? Look, they’re strict, but they’re good Christians. If they find you, which they won’t, the only choice they have is to help out, alright?”

You see her consider it for a beat, then she speaks,

“Christian’s honor?”

She smirks a little, looking up at you with that glint of mischief and charm back in her dark eyes and you can’t help a smile as you roll your eyes and put your hands back on the steering wheel. You don’t know when exactly, but from one moment to the next you’d started to become an expert in reading Toni’s eyes and now you know she’s sold on the barn idea, so you turn the key on the ignition before responding.

“Yes, Christian’s honor. Just don’t make too much noise and keep the lights out. That’s all.”

//

You suddenly find yourself at the dinner table and your father’s asking about Andrew. He says he called asking for you before lunch and you rush to explain how you’d stopped by the gas station to buy him some snacks before getting to his house and that’s why he called asking for you after you’d already left. They don’t know the half of it and, even if you didn’t even think it through, you find yourself covering for him, back to pretending everything is fine. So you lie, you say you spent the whole day with him.

But you don’t linger too much in the disgust that the whole ordeal incites inside of you, because Toni’s in your barn and she’s the only though on your mind.

You rush up to your bedroom as soon as desert is finished. Your mom reminds you to call Andrew about that dinner on Sunday while you climb the stairs painfully slow so as not to give away the fact that you’re dying to go outside, but you forget about it as you reach the top.

Upstairs, you pick an old comforter from the spare closet and a pillow, and patiently wait for your parents and siblings to vacate the kitchen so you can raid it for a few snacks.

Once you’re safely outside, through the kitchen’s back door, with everything in your arms, you slowly stalk your way towards the tall, wooden structure about a hundred feet from the house. Thankfully, it’s a full moon tonight and it illuminates the prairies and woods around the house almost as brightly as the sun itself. There are no lights on the barn, though, and there’s not a sound coming from inside. For a moment you fear Toni’s actually left, but then you’re crossing the threshold and you catch movement inside and, clear enough, there she is, standing at the other end, behind the cattle and horses’ stalls where the old bed lays. You walk over, passing by the few horses your father still owns, Captain Sally, Shoelace, and Butterscotch. Yours, Spencer’s, and Mel’s.

Butterscotch’s the only one awake and she huffs when you pass by her stall, so you reach in and lightly scratch her muzzle before continuing towards the back end where the office, the workshop and the bed are.

“Hey, Sunshine, for a moment there I thought you’d left.” You breathe out once you’re close enough, your drawl thick as you try to flush out your anxiety through teasing words and a small chuckle. As she comes closer, you see Toni’s changed her clothes and her hair’s wet.

“Nah, just tryin’ not to get shot by your dear ole ‘Daddy’.” She jokes. You roll your eyes, smiling, before offering her everything on your arms.

“I see you’ve already showered. Here are some sandwiches I managed to sneak out, a comforter if you get cold, and a pillow.”

“Wow,” she eyes the pile of things incredulously before taking it off your arms and turning away, back towards the little bed that’s been pushed up against the barn’s wall, between the animal stalls and the little workshop, “This is a lot, thanks.”

You feel yourself blushing as you walk up behind her and you’re glad she’s turned away so she can’t see the smile that creeps up your lips.

“It’s not really, but it’s the most I could get my hands on.”

“Considerin’ I’ve been sleepin’ on my jacket for the past three nights, believe me, it’s a lot. Thanks, Shelby.”

You watch her make the bed in silence, instead focusing on the room around you. There’s enough moonlight streaming in through the open windows and the open door at the other end of the barn, enough for you to make out almost everything. You notice she’s cleared the area around the bed from any old tool or stray stack of hay, and she’s set up a small cord from one of the empty stalls’ wall to the other, from it hanging a few wet shirts. She’s got her backpack set on the table beside the bed, too, right under the hangers where you and your family drape your riding hats, her ragged straw hat beside it looking especially rough.

“Which one’s yours?”

Toni’s voice makes you look away and you realize she is watching the row of Stetsons, too, sitting on the already made-up bed.

You point to the third from left to right. It’s a caramel brown color, with a small feather tucked into its leather cord. You’d found the feather on one of your first rides when you were about five or six and your father’d insisted it was an eagle’s, a sign from God himself, so you had to keep it. The hat was still too big for you then, but you’d still worn it, so you’d tucked the feather into it for safekeeping and just never bothered to take it out. “That one.”

Toni chuckles.

//

You end up talking about nothing and everything, Toni laying back on one end of the bed and you on the other. And you laugh like you hadn’t laughed in a while. She reminds you of Becca, in a way. Not in her attitude or mannerisms – God, if anything Toni’s everything Becca wasn’t; rough, foulmouthed, and lived. Whereas you and Becca always talked about visiting new and exciting places, Toni had had the guts to actually go out and do it. But it’s in the way they both make you feel calm that you find their connection. With them, the never-ending checklist of things you have to do and have to say, and the ways you have to act is silenced, finally shut up, and all you hear is their intoxicating laughter and the way they weave whole worlds around you with stories and snippy comments and questions and jokes. Like your own little bubble of gentle companionship.

“So, I was there, and these asshole kids were all laughing, so I just reached over with a tissue covering my hand, picked the dog’s poop up and threw it at them!”

“Jesus Christ! Toni!”

“What can I say?”

You don’t know how but you end up getting closer. At first, she’s reaching out because a piece of hay has fallen onto your hair and she tries to get it out. Then she starts telling you about her trips again and, as she gesticulates and you listen, you find yourself slowly crawling closer, being pulled by the magnetic sound of her voice.

“…and then I pushed past this huge branch that was totally on the way and this massive beach appeared! I swear I almost fell on my butt; it was so beautiful with the sun barely rising and the open sky all pink and all.”

“Gosh, I wish I could see it.”

“Y’know, if you gave me your address then maybe I could, I don’t know, send back some post cards or photos? Maybe even a letter. You know, to show you all the places I will visit.”

You write your address on a piece of old gum wrapper Toni had inside her jacket’s pocket and she stuffs it back into it afterwards.

Then, you suggest trying to comb her hair a little because, honestly, could she look more like a five-year-old after an evening at the park on a windy day? But she won’t let you so you jump on top of her and try to mess with her hair while she’s reaching for your wrists, grumbling and complaining but, still, you can make out a small smile on her pursed lips, so you tease, obviously.

“Hold still, Tarzan! I’m just tryin’ to make you look decent!”

“You should know by now I’m not decent!”

And you struggle and giggle like ten-year-olds on top of the small, dimly lit bed.

So, once you have her pinned down, with her hands behind her head and your faces inches apart as the two of you breath hard with mirth and delight, you don’t think twice before covering the small distance between the two of you with a kiss to her lips.

And you don’t think, that’s the problem.

you’ve kissed boys before. Alex Fulton in eighth grade, Peter Grey at sophomore year’s prom, and then Andrew. But it’s nothing like that. She’s not brusque or demanding or unsure. She’s steady underneath you, even if for a small moment, and she’s soft all over. Her wrists, her cheeks, her nose as it bumps into yours. And her lips. Oh God, her lips. She smells fresh, like rainwater and hay, and you vaguely think about her showering on the outdoor shower. But then you feel the brief contact of her lips on yours and you close your eyes, basking in the feelings, like explosions, that blossom inside your chest. Your heartbeat rises incredibly so, your fingers and toes start to tingle, and you can’t help but smile.

Then, of course, your bravery – or stupidity – is suddenly gone and you freeze. What have I done? You pull away slightly and then you’re lingering millimeters apart for a moment, her breath tingling the skin of your lips, and you don’t dare make a move, and she stays still, too. Your eyes are still closed for fear of what you might find if you open them.

Toni’s breath hitches for a moment before you hear the fabric beneath you shift and suddenly, she’s kissing you back.

Ever since you were a kid you had this bonkers fantasy about the communion. In the way people described it – receiving the body of the Lord, Jesus Christ Himself, becoming one with him, body and soul, etc. – you always thought you’d feel a certain way once you actually tried it out. That maybe you’d be washed in this freezing realization, your eyes would open, you’d feel all warm and fuzzy and sure, about everything. Like it’d open some kind of magical third eye, some kind of almost-physical connection, like a straight phone line between you and the big man Himself. That everything would suddenly fit into place and there’d be a moment, as your tongue made contact with the bread, where you’d physically feel enlightenment coarse through you.

The disappointment was clear in your face as you actually took the communion, and it was nothing more than a stale piece of bread with absolutely no taste. The only thing you felt back then was the dryness of it, sitting stuck against the roof of your mouth for the rest of the mass.

But you think of it now, and you feel that now. All of it, and more. Toni’s lips are soft but sure. She kisses like she argues and you’re dying to keep up, maybe even overtake her. Painstakingly slow, then picking up pace, deviating for a moment from your lips over to your cheek, your jaw, and then back. You feel your chest grow lighter at the same time it tightens, and you’re confused but you’re also so sure that it’s baffling in of itself.

You don’t know at what point you released her wrists but suddenly you feel her hands come up to your face, one at your cheek, caressing lightly, and one behind your neck, pulling slightly to deepen the kiss. You can’t help the giggle-turned-sigh that escapes your mouth when she does that.

You hear her groan in response, “Hold up,” she pulls away for a moment, but you push almost immediately, smudging her next words with your lips.

“Shelby,” you hear her try again when you move you face to your left, changing the angle. A small part of your brain – the only part not rendered useless by the current situation – tells you it’s a warning, but her voice comes out soft and breathy and it pulls at something on your belly, something warm and tingly so you groan before swiping your tongue over her lips and she shuts up immediately, letting out a breathy whine before kissing you back, openmouthed.

It takes her a few moments before she tries again.

“Shelby.”

But this time it’s more forceful, with a hand to your shoulder to stop you from chasing her lips once she pulls away. You pout, for obvious reasons. But then you hear it.

“Jesus!”

You scramble off the bed so fast that you basically stumble back, but you catch yourself at the last minute while Toni reaches out to try to steady you. Your heartbeat’s racing, pounding against your ears, but for a whole different reason now. There’s adrenaline coursing through your blood, adrenaline and fear, and you feel your stomach dropping as the voice rings again, far away but approaching,

“Shelby! Where are you?”

“It that–” but you don’t let Toni finish her question as you turn to her with panicked eyes, “Yes.” then you add, “I have to go.”

You’re out of the barn in seconds, stumbling through the pasture outside. You head towards your father’s figure, stark against the trees behind him with a flashlight on his hands. He’s looking into the shed behind the house.

“Daddy!” you call, voice strained. He turns to you, “Hey sweetheart! Where were you?”

You wait until you’re closer to answer, “Sorry Daddy, I was at the stables. Wanted to spend some time with Captain Sally is all.” You chuckle lightly, begging to God above that he can’t see the swell in your lips, the rumple in your clothes and hair, the fear in your eyes, and the shake in your voice.

He smiles looking up at the building behind you for a moment, “All alone, in the dark?”

You smile brighter, “Yeah, I wasn’t gon’a stay too long, but I wanted to be alone for a bit.”

“Somethin’ on your mind, Shelbs?”

You shake your head, turning to the house. He follows your lead and starts walking.

“Not much,” you say as your mind’s eyes flash back towards Toni’s figure as she sat up on the bed and watched as you run off, her hair even a worse mess than before, her shirt pulled up, exposing her stomach a little, her lips slightly bruised from kissing, her mouth parted slightly, her pupils blown, and her cheeks flushed red.

“Hmm.” He mutters and you turn to him, searching his face for any kind of indication that he is onto you, “Well, you know you can always talk to your good ole Daddy, or to God. We’ll always be here with you. Always.”

You force a small smile and look away and up towards the full moon hanging over you. It’s made its way across the heavens already, sitting high at its cusp, indicating just how much later than when you left your room it is – probably close to midnight. You silently curse yourself for forgetting to take your wristwatch with you to keep track.

//

You barely sleep more than an hour that night. You’re still awake when the light in your room turns from pitch black to a mushy grey, and then to some kind of medium grey, and then the birds start chirping but the hands on your bedside table’s clock still mark five thirty, so you force your eyes closed and chase some sleep.

Your alarm rings, loud and clear, at exactly seven AM. You reach over immediately, almost as if there’d been a spring on your arm ready to let loose, and you turn it off.

Your brain feels foggy and pounding, and your limbs are slow, but you drag yourself out of bed and into the kitchen in a second. You find it empty and, as fast as you can, you spring towards the back door, across the pasture, and into the barn.

The summer night’s dew skirts across your bare legs’ skin, freezing it, as the early morning air burns your lungs. The day’s heat is still to come, and you curse yourself for forgetting a jacket, or shoes, as you run.

You stumble into the barn and make a beeline for the cot, but you find it empty.

You don’t know what you expected, but the staggering drop in your chest isn’t exactly it. then, you think about the kiss again.

It’s not a surprise, although it should be. Mostly, it’s just a disappointment, a frustration, and a fear.

First Becca, now this.

It had clawed at your throat for hours on end as you alternated between lightly crying, thinking of Toni’s soft lips, her husky voice and her tender eyes; and memories of Becca and her soft hair, her bright smile; and of your father’s stern blue eyes, his sermons, the way he had spoken to that one couple on that trip to California. You went through all of them as if it a rotation and they all made you cry harder than the one before. All until you’d run out of tears and you heaved and sniffled, and clenched your jaw and eyelids closed, praying to God to come down to earth and fix you for once and for all. You’d though the first time it’d been enough, that you’d been cured after everything, after that camp, after the endless hours of… of reading and sermons and discussions and therapy…

So as dusk came a single thought manifested into your brain.

It didn’t matter what had happened, as long as it didn’t happen again. And as long as no one found out.

Which is what got you rushing out the house at seven in the morning in nothing but a flimsy nightgown.

But there is no one there.

The only sign of any presence there are the comforter and the pillow, neatly piled under the bed. You approach it, sitting down on the mattress, pulling the pillow onto your lap and pressing your fingers into the soft fabric. The impulse overcomes you, for a moment, to lean down and smell it. It would probably smell of Toni, of fresh rainwater and coconuts and sun kissed skin. You scold yourself, shutting down the thought as fast as it had appeared. You force yourself to feel thankful instead. She’s gone and no one found out. That is good, and you should be happy. You’ll never see her again, and that’s good.

You ignore the disappointment that spills through the barrier you hastily try putting up.

A sigh escapes you and you close your eyes for a moment. There’s relief there, in spite of the turmoil and the fake thankfulness. She’s gone so no one will ever catch you in your sinful ways again.

Only God above and yourself as witnesses. And Toni.

When you open your eyes, you notice something else.

Right beside the bed, on the perches where your family’s riding hats lay, there’s one that looks slightly off. The third from left to right. It’s not yours, you realize. Yours is gone and in its place there’s a ragged, old straw hat with piece of paper pinned to it with a rusty nail.

July the 21^st, 1984

Dear Shelby,

Consider this my first letter to you.

Hi! What’s up? Good morning Sunshine!

Hello, how are you?

Rise and shine! Good morning, Princess.

To be honest I had never written a letter before so I don’t really know what I should put into it. There aren’t really that many people to write to when you’ve grown up the way I have. And before you ask, no, I don’t intend on elaborating, so you’ll just have to live with it. Maybe I’ll tell you about it, someday, but not right now.

Anyways, I saw your Dad lurking about ‘round four AM so I just picked everything up and made my way out. I was lucky. Just as I was reaching the fence, I saw his flashlight dip into the barn. I hope he didn’t find the pillow and comforter. I tried hiding them but there’s really not many places to hide such a big fucking comforter.

So yeah, I’m headed west for now. As soon as I can I’ll write again. Don’t really know when that will be, but I hope it’s soon. We didn’t really get a chance to finish our conversation. Or that I didn’t get to tell you about that tree that fell onto the train tracks near some town called Pueblo in Colorado, and I got to spend a whole morning swimming on a freaking waterfall near the tracks. I’m sure you would’ve loved that.

So yeah, I’ll try and write soon. Hope I didn’t cause too much trouble up in the Goodkind house (imagine me winking at that). And for real, thank you for everything.

Greetings,? Regards? fuck

Have a good one,

Your favorite massive hottie, Toni Shalifoe

P.S. sorry for the crossed-out words, this was the only piece of paper I had.