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“Ugh. I found your grill brush, Maury. It was right here! All along.”
Silence.
Complete, deafening silence.
Ruth exhales shakily.
The light is still pointed right at her.
Among empty seats, she’s all alone. Something strange spreads inside of her. A hollow feeling, a bad feeling, something she wants gone. She'd scratch it out of her skin if she could.
She doesn't move. Feels like she can't, she's stuck, she's frozen, she's a little girl again, dear God, curse her anxiety, curse her overactive sweat glands. She has been all alone for years. Maybe since she was born. The feeling is crushing, and—
...and then it’s interrupted.
A loud cheer, and applause. Ruth’s eyes widen and she looks around the room once more—hadn’t it just been empty?—following the sound of the cheering.
In the corner, the back row at the opposite end of the room, are two people. Save for the spotlight she stands in, the room is completely dark, and Ruth can only make out the silhouettes of them.
“Hell yeah, Ruth!”
“That rocked!”
They’re yelling. And laughing. Ruth is so irritated that she forgets to be embarrassed.
“H-hello?,” she calls out, “I’m just, uh. I just wanted to-”
“You’re a really good singer!”
“Yeah, come here!”
Ruth stands there, brows furrowed. Then, she climbs off the stage.
It’s like someone else is controlling her body when she makes her way towards the sound of the voices.
And if this wasn’t a really, really awkward situation to find herself in, Ruth maybe would’ve found it funny that the two people cheering for her happened to, in fact, be cheerleaders.
Brenda and Stacy sit there, an expression on both their faces that Ruth can’t quite place. And it’s not like she has enough time to try, either, because when she’s only five rows away, she notices something in Stacy’s hand. She’s seen this in movies.
“You guys are smoking weed in here?!”
At least that explains it.
“Yeah, Max never let us. Something about respecting theater?”
Ruth ignores the sound of his name. The way it doesn’t make her feel all that bad anymore.
“Why aren’t you in this year’s play?,” Stacy cuts in and shakes her head, “You’re like, a way better singer than that Trevor guy!”
“I fucking hate that Trevor guy.”
“Right?”
Brenda and Stacy break out into giggles. Ruth doesn’t know if they’re already high or if they’re just like this.
“I don’t like Trevor either,” Ruth says, unsure of what to do here, “I-I wanna be in the play. But I have anxiety. I can’t even sing in front of my friends.”
“You just sang in front of us, though?”
Ruth decides not to dwell on the implication that Stacy and Brenda are her friends. It’s true that they’ve started talking to her sometimes, greeting her in the halls of Hatchetfield High—once, Brenda even waved at her from the top of the pyramid at a football game. It was the first football game she’d ever been to. Their team sucked and they lost big time, but Ruth still cherishes the memory anyways.
“Well, I-I mean, I didn’t really know you were—actually, how-how long have you been here?”
Brenda and Stacy both ignore her. Stacy puts the joint back to her lips.
“You just need to chill,” she says after she exhales a cloud of smoke, “You’re, like, way better than most of the cast. And so much better than Trevor.”
“And Caitlyn.”
“Oh my God, I hate Caitlyn.”
Brenda chews on her bottom lip, squinting lightly as if in thought when Stacy hands her back the joint. Then she crooks her index finger of her other hand at herself, motioning for Ruth to come closer: “C’mere, Ruth. Take a hit.”
“What? Okay!”
Stacy laughs at Ruth’s enthusiastic nodding. When Brenda takes another hit and blows smoke rings into the air, and Ruth stares at her in awe, Stacy loses it for good.
Ruth can’t deny how fucking cool they look right now.
She wants to look cool like that.
She can look cool like that.
She can’t fucking believe the opportunity to be cool like that is being offered to her on a silver fucking platter.
Ruth almost stumbles over the leg of a seat with how fast she walks to Brenda.
“Have you ever?,” Brenda asks, already holding the joint out.
“No.”
She asked Richie once if they wanted to get high with her, but they’d been too worried about their asthma.
Brend and Stacy laugh again. Ruth does, too. She doesn’t really know why.
She shakes the thought that she’s seen lots of pornos that started just like this.
“Okay. Put it to your mouth.”
Ruth does as Stacy says.
“Inhale. Okay, hold it in.”
Ruth tries to, she really does, but it tastes weird and unfamiliar. Feels like powder on her tongue. She starts coughing.
And they’re laughing again. It doesn't feel hostile, and Ruth is unsure of how to react to this.
“Don’t worry,” Brenda says and gestures for Ruth to sit in front of them. She does and turns around, so that she’s face to face with them again, and hands Brenda back the joint.
“First time Brenda got high, she was coughing way more,” Stacy smirks, “Twenty minutes in, she tried to kiss me.”
“And you kissed me back, okay.”
Ruth feels like the protagonist in a coming of age movie. Two popular, pretty cheerleaders cheered for her, complimented her, asked her to get high with them—and now they’re talking about kissing?
What, did Ruth die and go to heaven? Had God finally decided she's been through enough and granted her her biggest wish to compensate for years of suffering?
She tries not to look shocked—or turned on? Who can really tell with her?—but evidently doesn’t do a great job of it.
Brenda and Stacy catch Ruth’s expression and break into a fit of giggles again.
“W-wait, sorry, I’m confused. Are you guys dating?”
Brenda takes another hit, contemplating, while Stacy shrugs: “Labels aren’t really our thing.”
Ruth’s mouth goes even dryer, if that’s possible, and she nods.
“We just, like, fuck sometimes.”
“Brenda!”
“What?”
Everything feels funnier, somehow. Ruth wonders if that single drag of the joint a minute ago is making her feel warm and fuzzy or if it’s just Stacy and Brenda.
It’s probably Stacy and Brenda.
Brenda points the joint at her: “You’re, like, dating that little anime kid, right?”
“Richie?,” Ruth lets out a laugh, “God, no. Gross. No, they’re like…my sibling. And they’re…kind of a bitch.”
“I can be a bitch, too,” Brenda pulls her legs up and puts her shoes on the seat, head resting on one of her knees as she smirks at Ruth.
“I-”
“Ignore her,” Stacy sighs and puts her head in Brenda’s shoulder. The atmosphere changes drastically. Ruth thinks there’s something strangely domestic about the image.
“She’s so bad at flirting when she’s high.”
“Flirting?”
“Hey, do you,” Stacy blinks a few times and puts her hand out, motioning for Ruth to let her finish her thought, “do you wanna do something with us sometime? We don’t have to be high. Even though, like, being high at Miss Retro’s when you get the munchies is totally heaven.”
“Yeah, and I get a discount ‘cause I work there,” Brenda says, her eyes closed.
Ruth doesn’t know what to say.
Or do.
Right now and ever again.
Is this a Carrie situation? Are they gonna pour pigs’ blood on her when she shows up at Miss Retro’s? Or is she hallucinating this? Can weed make people hallucinate? She must be, there’s no way-
“This Friday, maybe?”
Ruth lets it sink in. Then, she nods her head frantically.
“Yeah. Yes! I’m free, I’m free this Friday.”
“Cool,” Stacy smiles. Ruth isn’t sure if Brenda is sleeping until she starts to smile as well.
“I’m gonna…I need to head home, I think. Still have to get my things from my locker, and…everything.”
“See you tomorrow, Ruth,” Brenda says, and Stacy waves at her, both still smiling.
The entire walk home, Ruth is grinning from ear to ear, digging her nails into the straps of her backpack.
She thinks she should sing in front of people more often. Then quickly backtracks to maybe only Brenda and Stacy. Baby steps.
Just for once, Ruth can make this life hers.