DISCONTINUED.
❝ WE'RE YOUNG! WE'RE
SUPPOSED TO RAISE
SOME HELL! ❞
When a supernatural rift in Valerie Fairchild's
complacency causes the veil covering her
complicated history to be swept a...
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EARLY NOVEMBER RAIN pitter-pattered over Val's head as she stood behind the counter at Benny's Burgers, her shoulders relaxed and her hands thoughtlessly fiddling with a napkin dispenser, its corners corroded with copper rust. The space behind this counter had become the center of her small universe, where she spent countless afternoons and evenings since Jolene had lowered her metaphorical gavel and decided it to be so.
Her punishment ended a month or so ago, once Jolene's pity finally outweighed her anger. But Val liked working at Benny's, she liked (mostly) her customers and her one-sided banter with Chuck the Head Cook. Most of all, though, she liked having a paycheck every week. Extra pocket cash did wonders for a teen in these times, she came to realize, and it seemed to ease some of the financial tension off of Jolene's narrow shoulders.
Val pushed a stack of paper napkins into the spring-loaded opening of the silver rectangle in her hands and sighed in the direction of her co-worker-slash-best friend. "Jonathan, Leatherface would totally whoop Michael Myers' ass."
"How do you figure that?" The lanky teen had a rag draped over his shoulder and a plastic bin of dirty dishes tucked up underneath his lean arm, and his voice carried to Val from the other side of the counter.
She wasn't exactly sure when or how it happened. One day, they were distant acquaintances, unaware of either one's intricate and complex inner life. And the next, Jonathan was picking her up after school everyday, eating lunch with her on the bleachers that overlooked the football field, never tiring of her unrelenting drive to always be right or the way she sometimes seemed to like talking to Will more than him.
"He has a chainsaw," she argued, "duh." Jonathan's eyes rolled up to the paneled ceiling and he huffed. His nimble hands lifted dirty ceramic plates and bowls and empty glasses into his bin as he thought of his response.
"But Michael Myers is clever. Brains beats brawn, always."
"But...chainsaw beats brains," she said, as a matter-of-fact. Jonathan could only shake his head while giving the table a wipe down and actively fighting off a grin. "You know I'm right. Plus, the guy doesn't even run. Leatherface would catch him, and then wear his skin like flannel pajamas."
"That's gross," he commented around a laugh. Val shrugged, refilling the last of the napkin dispensers. They were lined up along the countertop, with tomorrow's salt, pepper, and ketchup, all ready for the late morning opening shift.
"What about Leatherface and Freddy Krueger?" A small, giggling voice asked from the counter, his endearing lisp capturing Val's sapphire stare. Val contemplated her answer, making a show of squinting in thought as she shared a competitive glare with Dustin Henderson.
"Freddy Krueger can get you in your dreams," Lucas Sinclair quickly said, "he would obviously win."
"Can Leatherface have his chainsaw in his dreams?" Thoughtful looks were shared between the four boys at Val's query. They had taken to tagging along with Jonathan when he worked afternoon shifts. Well, at least when they didn't have intense, hours long Dungeons and Dragons campaigns taking up their precious, pre-adolescent time. Maybe they enjoyed being around people who didn't make fun of them, people who didn't make them feel like outcasts or weirdos. Val could empathize. Mostly, though, they were there to haggle free french fries out of the big softy Benny Hammond.
