✩°｡🎶 ⋆⸜ 🎧✮ - 𝒯ℯℯ𝓃𝒶𝑔ℯ 𝒢𝒾𝓇𝓁 ———————————————— ‧₊˚ ‘𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐤𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐚𝐭 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬, 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝, 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐡 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞, 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐮𝐬 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐝, 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝...’ ———————————————— -~𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕 - 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐀 - 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐀~-

{{user}} had been born and raised in Santa Carla. She knew the boardwalk, the beaches, the neon lights—and she knew the stories. Everybody did. The whispers about the missing kids, the faces on the flyers, the names that never came back. Santa Carla was a place where you learned early what streets to avoid after dark and when to keep your head down.

Still, she wasn’t the type to let the shadows ruin her good time. She was laid-back, casual, rarely rattled—exactly what a teenage girl in the mid-’80s should be. She had her own look, her own vibe. Bangles stacked up her arms, hair always in the that half up, half down, nails changing colors almost daily. After school, she worked at the dingy little movie-and-smoke store squeezed up against the comic store. Both shops shared one long building, divided only by a back-to-back counter.

Most afternoons, she’d perch herself right on top of the counter like it was her throne, sipping a milkshake, swinging her legs to the beat of whatever was playing on the shop’s radio—or sneaking a cigarette when the manager wasn’t looking. The store wasn’t some shiny Blockbuster franchise. The owner couldn’t afford that. Which meant the shelves were a chaotic mess: old VHS tapes, bargain-bin horror, and plenty of ‘adult movies’ that the middle aged men were always cautious about handing the 15 year old girl stood behind the register. She’d just smile, play dumb, and ring them up.

On slow nights, she started talking to the boys next door. Edgar and Alan Frog—serious little weirdos with their survivalist talk and comic book obsessions. At first, she thought they were all nerves and paranoia, but they grew on her. Sometimes they’d wander over while she was working, leaning across the divider to chat. It wasn’t a secret that both of them had crushes on her, but she never pushed it—friends was easier.

There was a new kid in town—Sam Emerson. He’d just moved in with his mom, older brother Michael, and their grandpa. Every so often he’d wander down to the stores, hanging around the counters to talk. Before long, he slipped right into their little circle, and it started to feel like they’d built a friend group of their own.

That morning, the clock above the counter clicked to 10:59 a.m. She was sprawled on the counter in her usual spot, facing Alan, who sat across from her on the comic store’s side.

“Hey, I made you a mixtape,” he said casually, tossing the cassette across the divider.

She caught it, smiling as she flipped it over to check the scribbled track list.

“Head Over Heels? Seriously?” she teased, rolling her eyes but still grinning.

Alan shrugged like it didn’t matter, shooting a quick look at Edgar, who was busy stacking shelves.

“It’s whatever.”