Tara put her hands in her pocket and tried to look casual as she crossed the road to the Brigman’s house. As she did, she kicked a rock against the mailbox, hopped onto the sidewalk and finished her brief trip at the door. She rang the bell..

“Coming!” a man yelled, Mister Brigman.

Tara bounced on her heels, waiting for the door to open for a solid two minutes before pushing the button again, wondering if the man had managed to forget he was on the way.

“Go around!” was the new call, he sounded harried. The instructions were followed by a litany of curses, most of which were new to Tara.

Tara hopped off the porch and went along the right side of the house, passing the solarium which she had envied when the previous owner’s had it full of plants. Now it stood empty, and she felt she could see the dust dancing through the air.

When she entered the backyard, she saw black smoke coming from the kitchen door and she immediately rushed to see if the house wasn’t on fire.

To her relief, it turned out to just be Mister Brigman, dressed in a frilly blue apron, fighting over several boiling pots.

“Hi?” Tara tried.

“Oh, hi,” was the response as he frantically stirred… something, “Don’t mind the mess.”

It was hard not to mind it, the kitchen had been turned into a war zone. Pots stood waiting to be washed in the sink, the stove was covered in whatever he was attempting to make, and some other pots were on the floor. The man clearly had no idea what he was doing.

“Tara, right?”

Tara nodded.

“Looking for Chrissy? She’s upstairs. Just go on ahead.”

Tara nodded her thanks, covered her mouth and nose until she was through the kitchen and found her in the vaguely familiar house. She knew the basic layout, but the new interior, much more modern than what the Summers family had had, was slightly disorienting. She took the steps two at a time and looked around the upstairs hallway.

It had been painted a hideous shade of polka dotted green. A large rock stood on a table in the center of the hallway, though it seemed to lack much else in way of decoration.

At least she didn’t have to look at it long, as she could find Chrissy easily. Loud music came from her room, guitars and a woman raspily singing, or screaming, over it. Tara followed the noise and found the door slightly open.

She knocked anyway, hitting the wall next to it hard.

The music turned down, much to Tara’s relief, and the door cautiously opened.

“Dad?” Chrissy asked before it was open fully.

“Tara.”

“Oh! Come in!”

Chrissy threw the door open and Tara wondered if this was the mess he had told her not to mind.

She did not understand how Chrissy managed to turn the room, which Tara assumed had been cleaned and organized the day they moved in, into the disaster area she saw before her. Paper was scattered around the hardwood floors, here and there were glasses and cups, a bookcase that had more books in front of it than on the shelf, and several piles of laundry which had suffered from a lackluster attempt at organization.

“Are you mad at me?” Chrissy asked, her face falling.

Tara realized the face she had been making at the room and quickly forced a smile instead.

“Oh no! I’m here to say thanks.”

“For…?”

“The drawing.”

“Oh… Cool. Glad you liked it.”

Both girls stood awkwardly in the door for a moment. Chrissy was the first to come to her senses.

“Hey wanna come in? I was just…”

She didn’t finish saying what she ‘was just’, instead gesturing to her bare legs as if that would make sense to Tara. Her legs were covered in sharpie ink. She had drawn bats, flames and a single broken heart.

“You were just what?” Tara asked, her incredulity showing on her face.

“Trying out tattoos!”

“A...ha?”

“Want me to do you too?”

Tara hastily shook her head, “Mom would kill me.”

“It’s just pretend…”

Tara shook her head again, still staring at Chrissy’s legs.

Chrissy looked disappointed for a second, then shrugged and launched the marker she’d still been holding towards a cluttered desk. It hit the back of her chair, skidded off and landed in a pile of laundry.

“Come in anyway. We can… I don’t know. Do stuff.”

Tara considered if she had anything to do back home, hopefully checking her watch. It was a little past, not dinner time yet.

She resigned herself to being in the messy room and followed Chrissy in.

Chrissy gestured to a door on the other side of the room and hopped over a pile of socks. Her black shirt flicked up for a second, just long enough for Tara to get the briefest glimpse of her underwear.

She froze in the split second that seemed like an eternity. She saw the yellow cotton and for a moment she thought the thoughts she’d been repressing were about to come back full force. Then it suddenly clicked.

...Chrissy’s underwear wasn’t interesting. Chrissy wasn’t a gorgeous vampire, she was just… some girl.

She visibly relaxed and followed the girl onto the sleeping porch, which was mercifully a lot less chaotic. It currently held her bed, a nightstand, three more empty glasses and a handful of magazines on the floor. Tara wondered how many glasses the Brigman family had lost to the girl’s chaos.

“Come sit,” Chrissy said, patting the bed invitingly. Tara dropped won and looked out the window, feeling slightly envious of the nice room Chrissy had.

It was silent for a few minutes. Chrissy shifted her weight a few times, finally finding a neat way to sit with her legs under her. Tara meanwhile sat straight, her hands on her knees.

“so…” Tara said, unsure what to talk about, “Why did you give A’rat giant….”

“Boobs?” Chrissy laughed, “Hotter than flat…”

She added a second later, “And I can’t draw armor.”

Tara nodded, vaguely understanding, “I don’t know how to describe it either. I just write ‘chain mail’.”

“Oh! You write stories? Can I read some?”

Tara considered this, then shrugged her shoulders, “Sure, but you have to read them at my place.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to lose them,” Tara lied. In reality she was terrified of her notebooks ending up like Chrissy’s room.

“Oh well. Fine. Can I come by tonight?”

“Tomorrow. I have to pick the right stories first.”

“Ooooh” Chrissy said, poking a finger in Tara’s side, “Hiding the dirty stories?”

Tara felt herself turn red, muttering a protest, “I don’t write dirty stories.”

“Too bad…”

Tara cocked her head at Chrissy, then shook it before steering the conversation to school and other, safer, subjects.