[ potential trigger warnings for the following: cannon typical violence, strong language, somewhat creepy behavior/stalking, sexual content, maybe religious trauma depending on your background but it's minimally mentioned, multiple love interests, and cheating ]
☆︎
GUESS SHE MADE FRIENDS.
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☆︎ JUNE, 1995 ☆︎
Woodsboro, California was a small town, and because of that, it fell victim to the same curse that troubled every small town in America — there was fuck all to do for quality entertainment. On Fridays when football was out of season, your options were limited. You could hit up the movie theater or Blockbuster, you could gather your friends and harass a diner worker, or throw shit off the water tower while getting high. And if there was a party being held, it was tame in comparison to the ragers they'd all grown up seeing on television.
So, Indiana Winger knew that her summer before her junior year of high school would be boring as shit when she and her older sister packed up to move to the small town that was nothing like Raleigh, North Carolina, where they came from. Summer vacation had only started two weeks ago, meaning the young girl had two full months of having no friends and being alone before school started back and she could really get settled in.
She didn't like being alone — the extroverted sixteen-year-old craved people and crowds to keep herself distracted from thoughts about the real reason why she and her sister moved.
But, since Indiana didn't have any friends in Woodsboro yet, as they'd only been fully moved in for a day and a half, she settled for blaring music from her Walkman through her yellow headphones. The Runaways were so loud that she couldn't hear herself think, which was exactly what she wanted as she danced around the new living room that was almost void of furniture, as the Winger siblings chose to pack light and fill the house with things once they got to California.
Because of Cherry Bomb destroying her hearing ability, Indiana missed how her name was being repeatedly called. She was too focused on splitting her time between dancing and painting a coat of light blue paint over the previously gray walls. After finishing up the third wall, she held the blue-covered end of the paint roller to her mouth like a microphone.
"Hello, world, I'm your wild girl. I'm your ch-ch-ch-ch-cherry bomb!" she wailed before spinning the paint roller and positioning the stick like it was a guitar, strumming the invisible strings to the riff in the song. "Hey, Street Boy — DUDE!"
All of the sudden, something hit Indiana directly in the face, bouncing off her forehead and hitting the drop cloth on the floor. She froze her impromptu concert to look down at the object — a wooden spoon from the kitchen. Then she looked up and saw her sister was the so-called attacker.
