sh; it started with a cigarette

xxiii|a ghost?

"Three days, thank God," I reply, slipping into the passenger seat. I've sat here so often that the cushion of the seat is beginning to become a mold of my body, fitting me perfectly. The visor is perpetually left hung down with the mirror up to accommodate the nervous checkups of my makeup and hair. A tiny bottle of perfume stays tucked under the seat, a way to cover up the smell of nightly cigarettes and occasional blunts when Eddie is in town. 

"Never thought you'd be happy to see Dustin," Steve remarks, flashing his white teeth against pale pink lips. 

"I know," I sigh. "He's annoying, but I miss him. Little shit." 

"Don't worry, soon enough you'll be back to bickering." his prediction is likely and I nod. He shifts the gear into reverse, my plastic-beaded hair ties wrapped around it clattering. 

"I can't believe he'll be in high school this year," I groan, slapping my hands on the side of my face and tugging on the skin. 

"You're graduating this year," Steve reminds me. 

"That's even worse," I retort. 

Steve laughs. "Why would you say that? You hate going to school," 

"Yeah but--I mean, I just wish I had more time. Feels like life's moving too fast, y'know?"  

He doesn't respond. Instead, he bites his cheek and nods silently. 

We pull into the parking lot of Marrie-Anne's, a cafe in the center of Hawkins. It's nearly empty, only a few stragglers here and there. Since Starcourt Mall opened, strips of local businesses look like ghost towns. 

It's a horrible time to be starting my new job at Off The Record, a record and tape store downtown. I'd only been hired because Mr. Harrington knew the owner--who owed him a sizeable cash amount-- and all but made them fire someone to make a spot for me. The money is nice, but it doesn't do much for my guilty conscious. 

A tiny bell tied to the front French doors jingles when we enter the Cafe. A round-faced, middle-aged woman waddles her way to us, menus in hand. 

"Double Trouble, walkin' in!" the woman greets us by her appointed nickname. 

Her husband calls to us from the kitchen as he sets steaming hot plates of breakfast in the service window. "Hey, kids!"  

"Mrs. Marrie-Anne, Mr. Hayes," I greet, waving to the elders. 

"Where have you two been?" Marrie-Anne scolds, but she keeps a warm smile on her face.

"Working as always," Steve tells her as we sit. 

She had us each a menu. "Don't tell me you're workin' at that damn mall," 

I snort a bit and Steve glares at me. 

Steve and I have been coming to the Cafe for months now, usually every day though we've staggered a bit more now. Since he started working at Scoops it's been harder to find time outside of studying. 

"Boy, you know better than to work in that evil place," Mr. Hayes appears seemingly from the air behind his wife, throwing a stained white towel over his shoulder. 

"Oh hush, Harold," she tells him. 

"They got somethin' buried under that place, I know it. Why else would you build a mall in the middle of nowhere?" 

Marrie-Anne pushes him away before leaving to grab our coffees. 

"That old man always has the wildest conspiracies," I lean in and whisper, biting back giggles. 

Steve grins, nose scrunching. "What do you think it is? Aliens?" 

I shake my head. "Government experimentation. On raccoons."