Chapter Text
Heather liked routines because routines didn’t surprise her.
Sometimes, they ending up surprising her anyways.
The janitorial closet at work smelled like lemon disinfectant and damp mop heads, and that smell meant the shift was almost over. She always counted tiles while she worked. Fourteen across, twenty-three down, then counted again if someone interrupted her train of thought. The fluorescent lights hummed in a way that crawled under her skin, but she had headphones in, music low, something she’d listened to possibly over a hundred times before. Familiar was good. Familiar meant she could finish her job without her shoulders locking up too tight, or getting stressed to the point of crying.
Her coworkers didn’t talk to her much. That was fine. She felt like they knew about her autism without her saying anything anyways. Talking took energy she didn’t always have, and explaining herself took even more. She smiled when she passed them anyway, because smiling seemed to smooth things over. Cheerful-but-quiet was a role she’d learned early on.
By the time she clocked out, her feet ached and her brain felt like it had been wrung out like a sponge. Still, she felt a little spark of relief. Work was over. Now finally came the part of the day that belonged to her.
The walk home took exactly twelve minutes if she didn’t stop. Heather always stopped.
Elwood City was loud in the evenings in a way she’d grown used to. Cars passing, people yelling greetings across the street, dogs barking at absolutely nothing. She walked the same route every day, counting steps between lampposts, watching the cracks in the sidewalk so she didn’t trip. Her purse was heavier than it looked, full of leftovers from the night before. Star-cut peanut butter jelly sandwiches wrapped in wax paper, Capri Suns carefully chilled with a little ice pack.
She told herself, as always, that they were for her. Emergency dinner. Comfort food. That was technically true.
She heard the skateboards before she saw them.
The clatter echoed down the street. Wheels smacking pavement, the sharp crack of a board hitting the ground, followed by laughter and yelling. Heather slowed automatically, shoulders hunching just a little. Loud noises weren’t bad, exactly, but sudden ones made her heart jump.
Molly’s voice cut through everything else, confident and sharp. Binky laughed, big, booming, impossible to miss. Rattles shouted something that sounded like a challenge, and Slink responded with a half-thought out joke that made Heather smile despite herself.
She heard they called themselves the Tough Customers.
They were gathered near the buildings she lived by again, right where the sidewalk dipped and the curb made a perfect little ramp. Heather had noticed them there weeks ago, maybe months. Time blurred when days followed the same pattern. At first, she’d been nervous. Four kids, loud, roughhousing, skating way too close to parked cars, but she’d never seen them hurt anyone. They were messy, sure, but they didn’t seem cruel.
Heather unlocked her front door and slipped inside, grateful for the brief quiet of the first ten minutes of her walk. Her family’s house was small but predictable. Shoes off by the door. Purse on the hook of her wall. She washed her hands for exactly twenty seconds, she counted in her head. She came back to her room, taking a glance outside her window.
They were still out there.
She leaned against the frame, watching from the second floor. Molly was demonstrating something, board tucked under her arm, gesturing wildly. Binky tried it next and wiped out almost immediately, sprawling on the pavement. Rattles laughed so hard he nearly fell over too. Slink filmed the whole thing on his phone, probably already planning to replay it a hundred times.
Heather felt that familiar tug in her chest. Affection, nostalgia, mixed with distance. She didn’t belong in their circle. She knew that. She was an adult. Barely, but still. She was nineteen, and adults complicated things. She didn’t want to be that person.
But she also didn’t want to just watch forever.
She grabbed the backpack and headed back downstairs.
The front door creaked when she opened it. The kids noticed immediately.
“Oh great,” Rattles said, glancing up. “We’re gettin’ evicted.”
Heather froze for half a second, then forced herself to keep moving. “Um.. no. I mean.
I’m not-“ She stopped a few feet away, holding the straps of her purse tight. Eye contact was hard, so she focused on their ears instead. “I just… I have extra sandwiches.”
There was a pause.
“Like,” Binky said slowly, “sandwich sandwiches?”
Heather nodded. “They’re cut into stars. If that’s okay. I can go if-“
“Stars?” Rattles repeated, already interested.
Molly stepped forward, curious but guarded. “Why?”
Heather blinked. She’d prepared for this question, but her brain still scrambled a bit. “Because I like them. And I made too many. And you guys are.. here.”
Another pause. Then Slink shrugged. “Free food is free food!”
Heather nodded, carefully unzipping her purse and pulling out the ziplock bags. She set them down on the concrete between them, along with a few Capri Suns. She stepped back immediately, smiling calmly, hands clasped together, rocking just a little on her heels.
They descended on the food like wary pigeons.
Binky took a huge bite and froze. “Whoa.”
“What?” Molly demanded.
“..It’s good!”
Heather’s smile was small, but real.
They ate in companionable chaos, still skating between bites, arguing about tricks and whose turn it was. No one asked Heather to leave. No one asked her to stay either. She hovered by a nearby pole, content just to be there.
When the sandwiches were gone, Heather cleared her throat. “..I should go. Um. Have a good night guys.”
“You too, Sandwich Lady! Thanks!” Slink said, waving.
Heather didn’t correct him.
She headed back inside, going to rest in bed. She was content with her choice.