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“This is bullshit!” Natalie spews venom as she's pulled roughly through the parking lot of a local hole-in-the-wall.
It's May 2003. The town of Wiskayok, tucked into a small corner of New Jersey is as uneventful as ever. There hasn't been a winning sports team since 1997.
“Ma'am.” The officer is a scrawny middle aged man. Looks like Nat could snap him like a twig. Eyes her with something like a mix of tired irritation and sympathy as he guides her along toward his squad car. “This’ll be a lot easier if you’d cooperate, please. I have to take you in for public intoxication.”
The yellowjackets are both famous and infamous. They exist in the purgatory of local Sunday morning diner gossip as both the team who made nationals and the traumatized girls who returned from the Canadian wilderness and refused to talk about how.
Well, today, Natalie gives them something to talk about. The scene she's making in the middle of second street is the most exciting thing to happen in weeks.
“Public?” Nat scoffs “I got drunk in a bar. They threw me into public. So sue me.”
She glares at the bystanders watching the scene unfold as the officer walks her past.
He rubs the bridge of his nose in exasperation. This has been going on for some time and his patience is growing thin.
“That may be the case, Ms. Scatorccio, but the fact is, you were intoxicated and you were in public when I pulled up. Now, unless you want charges for disorderly conduct and resisting arrest, I suggest you get in the damn car.”
Nat just smirks deviously at that.
“Now who's being disorderly, officer?” She spits the word out with as much scorn as she can muster. Dares him to respond.
He stops in his tracks. Patience finally gone. Sympathy only extends so far and there are people looking. Watching him be lenient. Watching his mercy be taken advantage of. His blood boils as he whirls on her.
“...the hell did you just say?”
Nat knows in some deep part of her consciousness where sense still exists that she should just let it go. Keep her mouth shut.
The alcohol still coursing through her veins has other plans though. She's itching for a fight because the one she's already had today just wasn't enough, apparently.
“Is this because I wouldn't fuck one of your little buddies last week?” She slurs out before she can think any better of it. He turns an interesting shade of red and his mustache bristles as he stomps his foot authoritatively.
“Get in the car!”
Nat’s stomach comes up then and she promptly hunches over to puke right on his shoes.
__________________
Booking is as boring and uneventful as it ever is.
It's a slow day at the jail and somehow processing still takes the better part of an hour. There's one lone officer behind a desk who keeps juggling between filling out her intake forms, answering the telephone, and filling out a fucking crossword puzzle.
It's as if Natalie being arrested is distracting him from his puzzle.
Still, they get through the bulk of it. There's another mugshot added to her growing collection, the usual questionnaire about medications, tattoos, and piercings, and then she's excused to sit handcuffed to a chair while she waits for the intake to be finished.
She bounces her leg impatiently as minutes stretch on. Not like she has anywhere else to be, but if he'd hurry she might be able to get a nap in before someone else gets brought in and she has to share a cell.
“Excuse me?” Nat says, trying to get the cop’s attention. “Is this gonna take much longer?”
The old guy behind the desk actually laughs at that as he scribbles on another line of her form.
“Don't tell me you have somewhere else to be, sweetheart.” And almost as an afterthought he adds, “and if you're gonna be sick again, use the trash can.”
Nat turns to look and sure enough, there's a small black Rubbermaid next to her chair. She just scoffs and resigns herself to brooding silence for another few minutes until the cop finally stands and files her form.
“Do you have anyone you'd like to call?” He asks as if he's barely paying attention. Nat's pretty sure the crossword puzzle is on the clipboard he's holding.
She considers it for a moment. It's pointless to call her mom. Vera is just as likely to be in jail on an average Friday night as she is these days, provided she's actually awake. The apple didn't fall far from the tree apparently. They share the same addictions, though the temper she's got can only be blamed on her dad, the rotten piece of shit.
She's lost touch with Travis for the time being. Tai’s still pissed at her for the stunt she pulled at rehab.
Shauna? Fuck no.
There's always one option…
She shakes her head of the thought before it can fully form.
Not happening.
“Not just yet.” Nat mutters “Just show me to my room, will you?”
“As frequent a flyer as you are, it might as well have your name on it.” He laughs.
Fucking asshole. Nat flips him off behind his back as he walks ahead of her.
The big metal door on the holding cell clinks shut after she's led inside and Nat is left with nothing but her thoughts and the flicker fluorescent light above her.
She could sort through her situation later. Natalie lets herself slump down onto the cardboard-thin mattress.
Right now, the adrenaline of her afternoon has worn off and she feels her head start swimming.
A nap sounds real good right about now.
____________
She's not sure how long she's been dozing when she's woken up again. A hand rubs at her bleary eyes as the sound of the heavy metal door clinking open rouses her.
“Rise and shine, satorkio! You've got a roommate.“ It's a different officer. Shift change. This one's a young redhead woman not much older than she is.
Her observations are shoved aside by the immediate irritation she feels stirring in her gut.
“It's Scatorccio.” She corrects as the officer steps aside to reveal…Misty Quigley? The fuck?
“I'll remember that.” She says in a dismissive manner that indicates she couldn't give less of a fuck about the semantics of Italian pronunciation.
“Anyway, I'll leave you kids to it.” Nat has to fight the urge to point out that she's almost the same fucking age.
“I hear you go way back.”
The door slams shut once again and Natalie is immediately showing her teeth.
“Misty, what did you do?” She grinds out through gritted teeth, arms crossed. The possibilities are truly endless with Misty and, on top of everything else, Misty getting arrested for something truly bat shit is the last thing she or the others need right now.
But something in her gut tells her this isn't what that is. Something tells her Misty is still in control here. She knows her far too well to entertain the notion of Misty caught by her own slip up for more than a split second.
It's then that she truly takes notice of Misty. Looks her up and down. She hates herself for the next question before it leaves her lips but sometimes…sometimes curiosity just wins. So sue her.
“And…what the fuck are you wearing?”
Misty looks down at her own outfit as if she's also surprised to find that she's dressed like a bad imitation of Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman.
Fishnets. Knee high stilettos. A red mini dress and cartoonishly bad make up. Nat would never have thought Misty actually owned any of these clothes, let alone went out like this in public.
“I had to look the part, silly.” Misty says as if nat is in on whatever scheme she's concocted.
She isn't and she's thoroughly baffled right now.
“Wha–what part? What the hell are you talking about?”
“Prostitution.” Misty stage whispers in her direction and Nat has to fight not to burst out laughing with how absurd that is. Just absurd enough to work.
“Well, legally, anyway.” Misty elaborates. Officially, I'm here to get you out.”
“Oh?” Nat shoots her an arched eyebrow in challenge. “And who says I need you to spring me from jail?”
There's so much more she could say. She feels indignant. Annoyed even, that Misty is once again swerving into her lane when she's perfectly capable of handling her own shit. Nevermind that she had actually entertained the notion of calling Misty to bail her out. She sure the fuck wasn't calling Tai or her mom.
Everything she could say rolls around in her throat and before Misty can get a word in, Nat finds herself asking the obvious.
“How the fuck did you plan on springing me out from this side of the cell, exactly?” She scoffs as Misty looks all too eager to share the details of a perfectly mapped out plan. “Don't tell me you've got a bobby pin stashed in that corset somewhere.
Her eyes linger just a second longer than necessary on the swell of Misty's breasts in that ridiculous get up. Has Misty Quigley always been hot?
She shakes her head of the thought immediately and instead finds Misty's gaze.
“I'm glad you asked.” She laughs. It's her real laugh. As if she finds their situation genuinely amusing.
“Coach Martinez was a close friend of the chief of police.”
“And…?” Nat doesn't follow.
Misty shoots her a dramatic little pout as if to say “come on, Natalie. Keep up.”
“Aaand I used my one phone call to remind our dear police chief that it would honor the memory of his lost friend if he were to show some leniency to two survivors of the same crash.”
Nat just looks at her like she's gone completely insane. She's at a loss for words. After a moment of silence she manages to crack the hint of a fond little smile.
“You know you could've just paid my bail, Quigley.”
For a moment, Misty looks at her as if she's just now realizing that that was an option.
“But then I wouldn't be able to share a cell with you. And where's the fun in that?”
“Fun??” Nat scoffs. “You're fucking unbelievable, you know that?”
She finds her eyes dropping again to Misty's chest. Unbelievable indeed.
Get it together, Nat. Stop ogling Misty like a horny teenaged boy.
She slumps against the wall with a sigh. Fuck it. It wouldn't kill her to show a little gratitude for Misty's effort.
“Anyway, I'm dying for some food. You wanna come with when we get outta here? I'll buy.”
“Really?” Misty looks at her apprehensively, like it's the first time she's been invited anywhere. Nat realizes it may well be. She forgets sometimes the lonely, attention-starved girl that exists underneath all the cat sweaters, poodle hair, and the true crime fixation.
It's dangerous feeding that attention seeking beast. Nat knows that better than most, but she's made a habit of flirting with danger lately. What's one dinner between two trauma bonded former teammates?
“Yes, Misty, I'm serious. Come hang out with me.”
It's not like the red string of fate is going to choke them any time soon. They've got years for that yet. They can afford one lousy dinner.