Title: Science Project
Status: On-Going
Characters: Fang, Trish, Reed, Reeda and Anon
Rating: SFW
Classification: One-Off
Author: Anonymous


The warning bell rings through the hallway as I shamble into science class and drop into my usual seat. The graded midterm exam from Math class still mocks me from where I stuffed it into my backpack. That giant red "D+" Mr Delewski literally stamped in bold red ink is still fresh in my memory. Midterms were last Friday, and I bet it was an intentional cruelty to make everyone wait until Monday for the results. Things were already looking about as bad as I feared. Math was a complete wash, I only barely skated by English, and I only avoided disaster in music thanks to Fang's impromptu guitar lesson. Hopefully science would end the day on a high note and even things out. It was the one subject I actually had some confidence in.

Fang walked in just as the final bell rings, along with the rest of the stragglers in class. She takes her seat next to me without a word, crossing her arms over her stomach. Normally she would at least say hello or something, it doesn't take a genius to see she's nervous. I know science isn't her strong suit, but it's not like her to get nervous about a test result. She must have done even worse than I thought. Before I can think of something to say to Fang, Dr. Fernsworth takes his place behind his desk. The thick stack of papers he drops on the desk echoes like a guillotine throughout the classroom, everyone quickly falling deathly silent. He takes a moment to adjust his ridiculously thick glasses and clears his throat.

"Alright everyone, your exams have all been graded." He announces, a little unnecessarily. I doubt anyone couldn't have figured that out. "I'll hand them back in alphabetical order. Please come up an collect your exam when I call your name."
As usual, my name is called first. Fernsworth gives me a small smile as I collect the packet and read my score. Eighty-five out of a hundred, a solid "B". Pretty good, honestly. Fernsworth's tests are notorious around campus, so I'm not disappointed with a "B" in my best class. When I sit back down next to Fang, she immediately looks over my shoulder to read my score.

"You got a 'B'?" She asks, sounding a little surprised, "I thought you'd get an 'A'..."

"Yeah, well I didn't get to study as much an I wanted." I reply, instantly realizing how badly I stuck my foot in my mouth. "Not that I regret hanging out with you or anything! I mean, I only passed music because-"

"Hey, can I see your exam?" Fang asks, ignoring the verbal spaghetti coming out of my mouth. I hand the packet over to her, happy to sidestep whatever embarrassing thing I was about to say next. Fang must be really impatient about all this, her name is about to come up soon anyway. She flips the pages back and forth, skimming over my answers. Judging by her expression, she doesn't like what she sees. Her grip is actually starting to crinkle the paper a little, and she's so focused she doesn't even hear Fernsworth call her name the first time.

"Fang!" He repeats himself, finally getting her attention, "Please come up and collect your exam."

Fang marches briskly up to Fernsworth's desk, snatching back her exam with a scowl. Fernsworth kept the exam face down when he handed it back, but I can see the red ink staining the back of the pages from here. Fang barely glances at the front as she walks back before she angrily stuffs it into her backpack, not even bothering to look through it. Fang quietly growls in anger as she sits next to me, her fingers drumming hard against the table. Talking to her now might not be the best idea, especially considering how well I did on the test. I'll give her some time to simmer down before I try to approach her.

Fernsworth steadily hands back the rest of the class, each student either subtly groaning in disappointment or sighing in stressed relief. A quite murmur of conversation grows as everyone starts comparing scores, debating answers, or bemoaning their ruined GPA. After Fersworth hands back the last test, he adjusts his labcoat and clears his throat. Stepping in front of his desk, he taps the surface with a ruler to get everyone's attention.

"Now then, I know this exam was quite a bit harder than the rest of your classes." He begins, with what feels like the understatement of the semester, "I know many of you aren't happy with your current grades. For students who want to improve their scores, I have good news! As extra credit you may submit an additional science project, along with a minimum five page essay, due no later than next Monday."

Several students groan audibly, dismayed at both the size requirement and the tight deadline. I can't help but agree with them. An entire project, and essay, due by next week? No chance in hell I'm putting myself through that, even if I had needed the help. From the sound of it though, some people might not have much of a choice in the matter. I turn to gauge Fang's reaction, but it looks like she's too busy staring out the window to pay much attention to Fernsworth's offer.

As usual, I decide to crash in the auditorium after school with the Fang Gang. It's not like I have anything better to do, I can shitpost perfectly fine on my phone while the band practices. Honestly 'practice' might be a bit of a strong word for it. Half the time we just talk shit and hang out, laughing at Reed's ridiculous song lyrics or just passing the usual campus gossip. Trish has begrudgingly accepted my presence by now, even if she still routinely insists I'm 'distracting' Fang from practice. For now though, the band is actually playing. They've been trying to get through one of Reed's new songs for some time now, and even I can tell they're having a rough time of it. They've had to restart more times than I can count, everyone keeps falling out of tempo with each other. Fang is visibly frustrated, Trish is losing her patience, and even Reed's chill attitude is starting to show it's edges. Finally after yet another false start, Trish unslings her bass in frustration.

"Fang, what is with you today?" Trish groans, throwing her head back, "That's the fifth time you were late coming in! Are you even paying attention?"

"Shut up Trish." Fang snarls, her wings starting to fan out aggressively, "I don't need more shit to deal with today."

"Woah, hey, c'mon guys." Reed holds up his hands defensively, trying to curtail the impending shouting match, "Let's just take a breather, you know? Just chill out and-"

"We can't just take breaks all the time!" Trish retorts, rounding on Reed, "We need to be perfect for our next show!"

"What next show?" Fang mumbles, looking down morosely at her guitar. That seems to snap Trish out of her tirade, as both she and Reed suddenly look very worried.

"Fang? What do you mean by that?" Trish asks, her anger evaporating in an instant. Fang visibly cringes, her hands subconsciously drifting to her wings as they pull close.

"My Dad said I can't play in the band anymore if I fail my midterms," Fang explains, her eyes locked on the floor, "and I totally bombed Fernsworth's test last week."

"H-He can't do that!" Trish shouts, clearly in denial. I can't help but imagine Trish angrily standing up to Ripley, and there's just no way that works out well. No amount of chutzpah can compete with that mountain of homicidal pteradon. Trish shakes her head, clenching her fists at her sides. "No, the band is too important. He can't just make you quit!"

"Well what do you want me to do about it?" Fang asks, exasperated, "I can't just sneak out every night!"

"Yes you can!" Trish retorts, getting desperate, "He can't control your life! We could skip class or-"

"What about the extra credit project?" I blurt out, interrupting Trish's tirade. I hadn't thought any of this through, I just said the first thing that had popped into my head. Now that I have everyone's attention, I just roll with it and hope for the best. "Maybe your Dad will ease off if you bump up your grade?"

"Heyyyyy that's a great idea Anon." Reed shoots me some finger guns, "Fang just needs to throw together a paper volcano or something, and it's all good!"


"It's not that easy, Fernsworth's a total hard-ass." Fang groans, "He wants a real project and everything, including a paper. I'd have to work like crazy all week."
"You don't have time for that!" Trish protests, "We need to keep practicing for our next show!"

"I didn't even say I was going to do it!" Fang snaps back, "Besides, my Dad might just ground me anyway, so does anybody have a better idea?"

Trish looks like she's about to say anything, but stops, staring angrily at the floor. Reed just scratches the back of his head and stays silent, unwilling to speak up at all. I keep my mouth shut as well. Despite Fang's reluctance, it seems like she already came to a decision.

"Fine then, I'm done with practice today." Fang announces, stowing her guitar back in it's case. Grabs her own bass case with a huff, glaring at me the entire time, as if this whole situation is somehow my fault. Reed just grabs his thermos and takes several big swigs, clearly intending to clock out for the rest of the afternoon. The mood in the room is pretty much ruined at this point, so I take the opportunity to bounce. I wave goodbye to Fang and Reed and head home, mentally debating on what I want to microwave for dinner tonight.

Later that night, I'm awoken by the sound of my phone vibrating on the nightstand. Groaning in annoyance, I blindly flail my hand over until it slaps against the plastic case. I fumble with the power cord and the home button, blidning myself with the screen brightness as it turns on. Cursing and blinking my eyes clear, I squint at the new notifications. Looks like Fang has been texting me.

F: "Hey dork. You up?"
F: "My Dad said he'll lay off me if I do the project. I can't think of a topic though."
F: "You have any stupid ideas?"

Sleep deprived, I immediately type back the first thing on my mind

> A: "Fang, it's 2am. I was asleep."

Immediately after I hit send, I regret it. If Fang is still up this late, she must have been stressing about the project pretty bad. Rubbing my stinging eyes, I quickly type another message.

> A: "Yeah, sure. Let's meet up tomorrow. I'll try to think of something."

I turn the phone on silent and toss it back on the nightstand, blinking the afterimages out of my eyes. Hopefully I haven't woken up completely, and I can get back to sleep quickly.

The next morning I sleepily trudge to school, stifling yet another yawn. Climbing out of bed had been an absolute chore today, and I can tell I'll be fighting sleep all day. As I groggily climb the front steps of the school, I spot Fang waiting for me by the doors. Shit, that's right, I was supposed to help think of project ideas.

"Hey Anon. Damn, you look like shit today." Fang grins as I groan in response. I push the front door open with my shoulder and head for my locker, Fang taking up stride beside me. There's already plenty of other students in the halls digging through their lockers or grouchily nursing cups of coffee

"So..." Fang begins, leaning against the locker next to mine while I spin the lock, "Did you come up with anything for the project?"

I hesitate, taking my time collecting my textbooks and binders. I hadn't come up with any ideas since Fang's texts last night, but now that I think about it, should I? This is supposed to be her project, I can't just do it for her. Besides the fact Fernsworth would immediately notice and likely fail her, I just shouldn't patronize Fang like that. She's smarter than she thinks, I'm sure she can pull this off on her own.

"I don't know, another railgun is probably a bad idea." I begin, Fang chuckling as she remembers that particular disaster.

"Yeah, I think Fernsworth is still a little mad about the window." Fang agrees as I sling my backpack back over my shoulder, "Seriously though, no ideas? I'm totally stumped here."

She hits me those big pleading eyes, and I feel my willpower begin to crumble. No, stay strong Anon! This is for her own good, she can do this! I must resist those beautiful golden eyes! Fang softly flutters those big eyelashes, and I realize I never stood a chance to begin with.

"Well..." I concede, scrambling for an idea, "What if you built something cool and wrote the paper about that? I don't think Fernsworth is that picky about the topic, as long as you don't half-ass it."

"The only thing I can do with a hammer is smash stuff." Fang pouts, "Naser was the one who got all the handyman lessons from Dad." She actually sounds a little envious, she must have thought about this before.

"Trust me, holding the flashlight isn't as fun as it sounds." I reply, following Fang to her first class, "Listen, I'll catch you at lunch. If you don't think of anything before then, I'm sure someone will have an idea. Sound good?"

"Yeah, alright." Fang fistbumps me with a weary smile, waving goodbye as we part ways in the hall. I head for first period English, hoping Jin won't catch me sleeping in the back of class again.

Lunch period eventually arrives, and by now I feel much better. It's amazing what a few power-naps and the promise of food can do to perk somebody up. Fang is already at the usual table, along with the rest of the gang. Reed gives me his usual "Sup" in greeting as I sit down, while Trish tries for the hundredth time to murder me with her eyes. Fang looks lost in thought, staring off into space as she taps her fork against the table in an improvised beat.

"Hey Fang, did you think of anything?" I ask, snapping her out of her own head.

"Actually, yeah. I think so." Fang smiles, Reed and Trish turning their attention toward her. "I think I'm going to try to build an electric guitar."

"Damn, really?" I ask, more than a little skeptical at the idea. I don't really know anything about electric guitars, or what went into building one, but I had the distinct impression it would be difficult. 

"Obviously not from scratch," Fang explains, tapping the table with her fork again, "If I find some spare parts and just assemble them, it shouldn't be too hard. I can write the paper about the wiring, sound waves, and the other technical junk. That should be enough for a project, right?"

"You're going to need a soldering gun." Reed chimes in, counting on his fingers, "Not to mention pickups, potentiometers, capacitors, and that's just the electrical. You might have to do a vintage wiring assembly if the parts are too old for- what?"

Everyone is just staring at Reed, wondering where the heck all that just came from. I know Reed does all the electrical work for the band, but I didn't expect that level of technical jargon from him. Once again I'm left wondering just what else is hiding behind that stoned dude-bro personality of his.

"Yeah, I'll need all that stuff." Fang agrees, looking a little unsure of herself now, "I'll also need a place to work, I don't think I can do this on my desk at home. Any ideas?"

"I think the shop class has a couple soldering guns." I answer, thinking back to the few times I walked by that rarely used classroom, "There's probably some other stuff in there we can use."

"So you'll help?" Fang asks hopefully, and I realize I had just committed myself. I nod in agreement along with Reed, who as usual seems perfectly fine with whatever the newest crazy scheme is.

"I still say this is a waste of time." Trish objects, crossing her arms. "Let's just keep practicing after school and you can tell your dad you're working on your project. He'll forget about all this eventually."

"Then you clearly don't know my dad." Fang scowls, "He's watching me like a hawk. He's not just going to let this drop."

"We'll probably have to ask the shop teacher to use the classroom." I interject, cutting Trish off before she can start another argument. "Who's the shop teacher anyway?"

"Mr. Delewski." Reed answers, much to my disappointment. Of course that slob would be the school shop teacher. Getting him to look up from his magazines would be hard enough, convincing him to do any kind of favor would be near impossible.

The lunch bell rings before I can reply, startling everyone at the table. The four of us quickly stand up while shoveling down the remnants of our neglected lunches. Discarding our empty trays, we split up in the hall and head to our next classes. Science was next, so Fang and I walk together to Fernsworth's classroom. 

"Hey Anon," Fang stops me outside the door, "You mind coming with me to see Delewski after school? He might cave more easily if there's two of us."

"Yeah, sure." I agree. I've already learned my lesson today about trying to deny her. I just don't have the willpower to compete with those pleading eyes.

"Thanks dork." Fang pulls me into a tight hug, my face immediately burning up. It only lasts a moment, Fang must have remembered we're in a crowded hallway, so she quickly shoves me away and practically runs into the classroom. I take a moment to collect myself, painfully aware of the several students looking in my direction. Hopefully that won't start any rumors, but I know better than to expect otherwise.


As the last bell rings for the day, I work my way against the river of students heading for the front doors. Finally squeezing past the last of the crowd, I head for Mr. Delewski's classroom. Hopefully he's actually still here, and didn't somehow leave campus before everyone else. Fang is waiting for me outside his door, leaning against the lockers. She nods towards the door as I walk up, opening it and heading in.

It seems Mr. Delewski's desire to go home had been outweighed by his sheer laziness. He's already asleep at his desk, snoring loudly with a magazine draped over his face. Now that I think about it, maybe he just lives in here, eating in the cafeteria and showering in the gym. It honestly isn't that far-fetched.

Fang clears her throat once, then twice, but Mr Delewski just keeps snoring. Realizing that something subtle won't work, Fang snatches the magazine from his face and immediately drops it in disgust. God, that damn thing looks a little crusty. Fang angrily wipes her hand on her jeans, debating her next move. She leans in to poke Delewski with her finger, hesitates for a moment, then jabs him hard in the shoulder.

"Huh? Whazza-?" Mr Delewski sputters, jolting upright in his seat, "I swear I didn't- oh, it's just yous twos." He hastily brushes the crumbs off his chest and wipes off his face, pulling together at least a thin façade of professionalism. Delewski folds his hands on the desk, looking between the two of us suspiciously.

"Now Anon," He begins, settling on me, "I thought I told you I don't do any of that whole 'extra credit' nonsense. If you want to pull your grade outta the trash barrel, you gotta put the work in. Or at least, you know, pass over at least three figures."

An awkward silence hangs in the air as I try to figure out of he's serious. 

"Ha ha ha! I'm just yanking your chain here!" Delewski laughs nervously, sweat visible on his forehead, "Although if you were down for that, I would not be opposed. Moe will, and I say this literally, break my arms next week if I don't pay him."

"No, uh... we just need a favor." I explain, trying not to think too much about what I just heard. I nudge Fang in the side, breaking her out of her stunned silence.

"Yeah, right." Fang composes herself, "We need to use the shop class after school for Fernsworth's science project."

"Uh huh, yeah. Sure you do." Delewski replies, already bored, "And uh... what does this have to do with me?"

"You're...the shop teacher?" I awkwardly answer. Delewski just keeps staring at me, so I press on, "I think we need your permission or something?"

"Yeah, you do." Delewski replies sternly, "And I don't feel like giving it, so there."

"Why not?" Fang asks angrily,  "I said it's for a school project!"

"Because I am a respectable fauciltor of this educating institution." Delewski answers, "That means I don't just hand out my friggin' keys to anybody who asks!"

"It's. for. a. project." Fang repeats, visibly losing her patience. I can see the feathers on her wings begin to puff out, she's close to snapping.

"Come on, this is important." I plead, getting desperate. "What do we need to do for this to work?"

"Anon, listen, I like ya. You're not a complete dumbass" Delewski replies, sounding almost sincere. "I get that you wanna sneak off with your, admittedly pretty hot, punk rock dino girlfriend here. More power to ya. Personally, I would not be willing to put my package within six inches of those little needle teeth. It looks like a meatball sub of pain. You're braver man than I am. Now I don't know what kinda freaky carpentry themed bdsm thing you two are into, and I don't judge you for that. You do you. That said, I can't afford to lose this job. Literally. So my answer is still no."

I sputter in embarrassment, a thousand denials and protests jumbling over each other. I should insist Fang and I aren't together, but she's right here! I mean, it's not like we are dating, but should I instantly deny the accusation? Is that a good idea, a bad idea, or neither? How can a teacher say something like that anyway??

"That means scram you two!" Mr Delewski stands up, pushing us out the door. "Go find some other place for your biology lesson. I have, uh... important literature to catch up on."

The classroom door slams in my face, lock turning from the inside. I stare at the frosted glass, mentally struggling to get a sentence together.

"What the fuck??" I shout. Yeah, that seems like a good one given the circumstances. "How the hell did he ever become a teacher?"

"Don't ask me dweeb, maybe it's a quota thing." Fang answers. She seems somehow unperturbed by that disaster, but I notice she's pretty intently looking away from me. "Screw him anyway, let's get out of here."

"Yeah, that was never going to work." I concede as Fang storms off. I trail behind at a distance, making sure to lock my gaze on the lockers instead of...anything else. "So where to now? Any other ideas?"

"Let's go meet up with Reed and Trish." Fang answers, heading down the stairs into the school's lower level, "They should be waiting for us outside the shop."

"You uh... planning on breaking in?" I ask. I don't know if Fang can pick locks, but I wouldn't put it past her. Lockpicking was one of those things I was mildly interested in for an afternoon, before I realized it was way more work than I thought. Fang though, I could see her really learning how.

"No dork, we'll just use these." Fang replies, twirling a keychain merrily around her finger. She turns back and gives me a big cheeky grin, looking triumphant.

"You stole his keys??" I sputter, surprised, "How the heck did you do that?"

"I just swiped them off his desk when he wasn't looking." Fang smirks, tossing the keychain in the air and catching it, "I doubt he'll even notice until tomorrow, and he'll never admit he lost them. I'll just slide them back when we're done next week."

I spot Reed and Trish waiting outside one of the few classrooms down on this level. Most of the doors in the school's lower level lead to janitorial closets, storerooms, or the cesspool of sweat and cheap deodorant known as the gym locker rooms. The lockers are old, rusted, and unused. The only classes that take place down here are those that barely have enough students to justify existing. Nobody comes down here unless they have a good reason, or they just don't want to be seen. Back in the corner is the shop class, tucked away where the sound of power tools won't disturb anyone. Not that there was really any risk of that to begin with. Reed is lounging against the door next to Trish, who is busy angrily tapping something into her phone.

"Sup Fang?" Reed asks, capping his thermos and tossing it in his bag, "We all good?"

"You know it." Fang grins, unlocking the door. The four of us head in, fanning out and inspecting the room. I flick on the the overhead fluorescent lights, which sputter to life and emit a low droning buzz as I look around. It looks just like the shop class from my old school. Cheap wooden tables are arranged around the center of the floor, all covered with scratches, paint splotches, and vulgar amateur carvings. The floor is crossed here and there by thick power cables, scotch taped to the linoleum. Against the walls are all the saws, drills, lathes, and other potential finger removal devices I would expect to find in a school shop class. The large cabinet in the corner must be full of hand tools, Fang and Trish are already rummaging through it and assembling a pile. Reed has his head buried in one of the low cabinets, tail swishing across the floor like a giant fluffy broom as he rummages around.

"Hey, I found it!" Reed shouts from inside the cabinet. He pulls himself out, holding an abused soldering gun and a thick roll of silver wire. He drops the bundle on one of the tables, along with the various tools Fang and Trish gathered.

"Right, so. Um..." Fang looks around uncertainly, the scale of the task starting to sink in, "I guess we better get started."

"We still need parts, and a working wiring diagram." Reed points out, slipping back into his technical expertise. "I can look around my usual place for spare parts while you draft up a plan."

"Yeah, we can do that!" Trish chimes in, suspiciously enthusiastic, "Anon can come with and help out while Fang and I work here."

"Sure, no problem." I agree, gritting my teeth. Trish you duplicitous bitch, is there anything you won't do to get rid of me? I'll take the hit this time, since hanging out with Reed actually sounds alright, and this is supposed to be Fang's project. I can't just babysit her the entire time.

"Sweet, let's go Anon!" Reed slaps my shoulder, heading back out into the hallway. I follow after him, stopping reluctantly for just a moment. I look back at Fang, who smiles and waves me off with a vague 'shoo' motion. She'll be fine, Fang can look after herself. I should really have more faith in her. 

I follow Reed outside and across the parking lot, toward what I can only assume is his car. If I had been forced to describe Reed's car before today, I would have been pretty much spot on.  I can't tell where the rust ends and the faded red pain begins. No two tires match, the trunk is held closed by bungee cords, and the bumper looks like it's one speed-bump away from completely falling off. This thing was probably a junker when my dad was in high-school.

Reed opens the door and jumps in, leaning over to the passenger seat and tossing a pile of empty cans behind him. I wrench the passenger door open, the rusted metal screeching in protest, and settle into the musty seat. At least the upholstery is mostly intact, more or less. Reed turns the key and the engine sputters to life, spewing acrid black smoke out the tailpipe. Before I can ask what happened to the missing seatbelt, Reed slams the gear into reverse and peels out, careening around the parking lot and flying onto the road.

"So, Reed. Where are we going?" I ask, pushing myself off the door and climbing back into my seat. I hope this rolling scrapyard doesn't get us pulled over. Judging by the amount of glass audibly clinking together in the trunk, the police wouldn't just us off with a stern warning.

"Just a little pawn shop down by the waterfront." Reed answers, popping an honest to god cassette tape into the radio. After fiddling with a few knobs, the familiar sound of Fang's band begins crackling through the abused speakers. At least it's one of their newer songs, or so I think anyway, it's hard to tell through all the popping and static. Bouncing over a pothole, a particularly loud creak of metal draws my attention down to my feet. I notice a small draft on my ankles, and as I look closer I glimpse speeding asphalt through a peephole in the floor.

"Jesus man, do you have a raccoon living in here?" I ask, warily checking seats behind me. Who knows what's buried under all those soda cans, cannibalized speakers, and fast food bags.

"No man, of course not." Reed laughs, swerving around a corner and bouncing over the curb. "Not since the opossum moved in at least."

Thirty harrowing minutes later Reed careens into an old, abused asphalt lot down in the waterfront district. I haven't been through this part of town before, but it reminds me a little too much of Skin Row. Too many boarded up windows, too much graffiti, and too many people warily looking over their shoulders. Most of the buildings are squat, utilitarian concrete structures, probably former warehouses and factories from back when the port was more active. Reed picks a random patch of asphalt to park on and kills the sputtering engine, climbing out and stretching his arms overhead. I try the broken handle on my own door a couple times, before resorting to just kicking the damn thing open. I doubt Reed minds the abuse, he doesn't say anything about it at least.

"You said you've been here before, right?" I ask, trying not to look like a lost tourist. Normally I would be worried about leaving a car out here, but who in their right mind would steal this piece of junk?

"Oh yeah, this is where I get all the stuff for our shows." Reed replies, leading the way toward one of the nearby buildings. I follow after him, determined to not get left alone out here. It doesn't look like a store or anything to me. There aren't any signs or windows, just some old weather-worn posters stuck to the walls. This honestly looks like the back door to me. Unperturbed, Reed strides up to the thick metal door and pulls it open, holding ajar for me to follow him inside. A pair of faint electronic pings signal whoever must own this place that we walked, and a feminine voice calls back from further inside the building, "Hey! Who just came in through there?"

"It's me!" Reed shouts back, "Just need to pick up some stuff, be out in a sec!" Reed must really come here often if the owner recognizes his voice. Surely that means I can afford to relax, if only a little bit. I follow Reed deeper into the building, squeezing past crowded metal shelves stacked with old cardboard boxes containing who knows what. The yellow tinted fluorescent lights overhead add to the stuffy atmosphere, the air thick with the swirling scents of mold, oil, and cigarettes smoke. This place looks like the backroom of a warehouse, or some hoarder's basement. l I don't know how anyone is supposed to find anything in here, but Reed seems to know where he's going.

"What are we looking for exactly?" I ask, peering into one of the nearby boxes. Just looks like a pile of mismatched scrap metal to me, I have no idea what any of it's for.

"Like I said, guitar electronics." Reed answers, rummaging through several boxes on a low shelf. "Pickups, potentiometers, capacitors, not to mention spare wiring. Plus jacks, knobs,-"

"Right, yeah." I interrupt, squatting down and trying to look over his shoulder, "I don't know what any of that looks like, how am I supposed to help?"

"Check that shelf." Reed points across the room, past a pile of faded magazines stacked against the wall. "There should be some junked instruments over there, I'll see what we can rip out."



The next couple hours pass by quickly as Reed and I fall into a rhythm. I rummage through the boxes Reed mentioned, pulling out scraps of old busted guitars and other electronic instruments. Once I have a decent pile, I haul them over to Reed for inspection. Most of them he dismisses as useless, but several are in decent enough shape for salvage. Once we've got enough to work on, Reed shows me how to get the cases open and dismantle the interior electronics. We have to go rummaging for tools we could use, but luckily Reed knows where to find those as well. Once he shows me how to do the first couple, I start working on several myself. Slowly I learn how to differentiate the more generic pieces we're looking for, and Reed moves on to look for more particular things. I'm starting to get more of an appreciation for everything Reed does for Fang's band. How many hours has he spent rummaging around back here, dissassembling and reconstructing all the equipment they use for a show? Do Trish and Fang even know how much effort he's putting into this? It's clear he's entirely self taught, which is damn impressive.

Eventually we have an entire milk crate filled with scrap electronics and mismatched guitar parts. I stand up, cracking my sore back, and grab our box of salvage. Following Reed through the labyrinth of shelves, we head to what I assume is the front of the shop. Things up here actually look a little more presentable, at least by comparison. There's room to walk, and some of the "finer" products for sale are actually on display. This place is definately some kind of pawn shop, or maybe an antique store. I actually spot some old retro SNES games locked up in a glass case, but I know we don't have the time to just browse. Maybe I can come back another time with Reed.

I drop the milk crate on the counter and get my first look at the cashier. If I didn't know better, I would have sworn that is Reed. If Reed was a girl anyway. She has the same pink scales, fluffy mane, and laid back sense of style. She leans over the glass countertop, obscuring the display of mall-ninja cutlery, and gives me a friendly smile.

"Hey, you must be Anon right? Name's Reeda." She introduces herself, her tied off tanktop not leaving much to the imagination. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that she's Reed's sister, which explains how she's so familair with him. The resemblance is uncanny, except for the longer mane and the stunningly feminine figure. Those half-lidded eyes are starting to make me a little nervous, but she seems friendly enough. Perhaps too friendly, she's even twirling her hair around her finger.

"Hey sis." Reed interjects, literally stepping between me and the counter. He slides the milk crate over, slapping the rim. "Just some junk parts from out back. What do you think, twenty bucks?"

"That's big sis to you." Reeda smirks, looking over the crate and rummaging through the pile. She takes a closer look at some of the larger parts, tossing them back into the crate. "Yeah, twenty sounds about right. Let me guess, tell Dad to take it out of this week's pay?"

 "Five minutes doesn't make you my 'big sis' Reeda." Reed retorts, pulling out his wallet. He flips through some tattered bills, counting them over a couple times, before putting the wallet back in his pocket with a sigh. "Yeah, tell Dad to just take off my next check."

"No problem." Reeda rolls her eyes, punching something into the old register and slamming the drawer back shut. Reed grabs the crate and heads off immediately, and after an awkward pause I follow him back into the storage room.

"See you at home Reed!" Reeda calls after him as Reed shoulders the back door open. We step out into the cool evening air, the sun already dipping far lower than I expected. Reed wrenches the back car door open and pushes the crate inside, shoving old soda cans and an amplifier out of the way. I pry my own door open and climb inside as Reed drops into the driver's seat. Reed fishes out his keys and sticks them in the ignition but stops, one hand still on the steering wheel. 

He turns to look at me, his expression cold and serious. That far-off disinterested look in his eyes is gone, replaced by an interrogating intensity. I swallow down a lump in my throat, staring back at him. Somehow, I can't bring myself to look away, no matter how much I want to.

"So, Anon." Reed begins, staring into my very soul, "What do you think of my sister?"

My mouth feels like it's made of leather, and I nervously swallow again. I can tell giving Reed the wrong answer here will bring terrible consequences. Is he the overprotective brother type? Is that why I never heard anything about Reeda before? Should I answer honestly, tell him I'm not interested? I had only recently come to terms with my feelings for Fang, and that took some work. I'm not going to jump at his sister after just one meeting. I can't just blow her off though, she's still family. I'm going to have to walk a fine line here.

"She seems...friendly?" I reply, instantly regretting my choice of words. Oh god, that can be construed in all the wrong ways. I can see Reed's eyes narrow, the leather steering wheel creaking under his grip. Backpedal Anon, backpedal!

"I just mean, she looks laid back. Chill." I hastily continue, instinctively leaning toward the door, "I definitely see the family resemblance. Twins, right?"

"Yeah, twins." Reed finally turns the ignition, reversing out of the parking spot and skidding across the asphalt lot. He stops an the curb, turning to face me one more time. "So, are you going to ask if she's single?"

"No..?" I awkwardly answer, "Why would I?"

Reed shrugs, bouncing over the sidewalk and peeling out into the street. I push myself off the door again and settle back into my seat, bracing my feet against floor. Reed turns the abused stereo back on while I crank down the window, letting the salty seaside air blow through the cab as we head back up into the bluffs.