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superblysubparhuman · 1 year

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So Far, So Goode: Chapter 13

This book contains MEGA Gallagher Girls and The Listen Series spoilers. You have been warned. Do not pass Go, do not collect $200 if you wish to avoid said spoilers.

“Only visible at this new angle, small indents in the wood. Initials carved into the past to be found by someone in the future."

“So Far, So Goode” masterlist

Find it on Ao3 or Wattpad if you prefer

Warnings: See masterlist for overall warning in summary.

A/N: I had to take a break from Gallagher Girls writing, but I'm very happy to be back. Thanks for your patience if you've been following along!

💜Any love, interaction or feedback is greatly appreciated and welcomed.

Chapter Thirteen:

"I'm gonna puke!"

"Don't care. Keep going."

"Aunt Char-"

"Professor Woods, Goode."

I was gasping for air, stomach churning, trying to keep up with her pace as we ran around the lake. I've seen many a look on my Aunt Charlotte's face over the years, but none like the one that had been on it since I stepped into the foyer that morning for detention.

Aunt Charlotte is the most “real” Aunt I have. While not any of them are technically blood related (okay, well my great grandma Abby is technically also an aunt?), mom and Aunt Char have a bond that's sisters by every definition of the word. And Aunt Charlotte was currently not the fun aunt who took me to my first concert, or the one who often swung by to take us out for ice cream on a school night while growing up. Oh no, she was Professor Woods. The woman I'd heard stories about.

She was terrifying.

I truly thought I was about to cry as I gasped, "Really, Professor Woods, I'm going to barf."

She kept jogging, shaking her head, "Maybe you should. Sneaking out and drinking. I mean, my god, Joelene, if I ever find out you do this again, so help me-"

I finished the lap and collapsed into the wet sludge. The worst part of spring, not quite snowing anymore and not quite warm enough for green and soft grass. Brown, gray, and wet. Perfectly matching how my insides felt.

I shivered at the eyes boring into mine from above. Her and Elise looked eerily similar when they were both mad. And it wasn't just in that moment. Over the years, I watched as Elise adopted her mother's mannerisms, her style, her tendency to get along with the boys more than the girls, her fighting skills. I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I was suddenly curious when their voices had started to sound the same to me too. If I closed my eyes, it sounded like Elise was the one scolding me and not my Aunt, "You understand how stupid it was? How reckless? How dangerous? How-"

"You never snuck out?"

The way her mouth clamped shut at my accusation, a slight misstep on her part, was enough confirmation for me.

I rolled and groaned as I stood up, hands on my knees as I fought the urge to decorate my shoes with the bag of chips Lacey and I had devoured before bed, "Exactly. I know it was dumb. I won't drink again," I took a deep breath before standing up completely to face her, "But I'm getting really tired of you all treating us like we're the first ones to do this. I know grandma snuck out to date Mr. Abrams. I know Leia, Collins, and Bec snuck out for that midnight premiere the one time and probably many more times. I know Aunt Alice did so many crazy things, one time I saw her file and the words person and fire next to each other,” I sucked in a breath, pointing and punctuating my next sentence, “and don’t even get me started on my own mother, sneaking out with Uncle Matt and flying to Romania.”

Aunt Char didn't move or speak, she just stared at me. She'd always had this very uncanny way of reading my thoughts, and I waited for her to do just that but it never came, just her disappointed eyes driving what felt like a screwdriver straight to my heart.

I folded my arms to match hers, my voice breaking, a little of my confidence shattering under her stare, "I'm here. I'm gonna do the time for the crime. But I'm not the first Goode to fuck up, and I'm getting sick of feeling like I'm the only one, like I'm the big family screw up. I'm a kid. I'm allowed to make mistakes. I'm allowed to have bad days. I'm allowed to miss my dad, to scream at my mom, to fail a test, to kiss a boy!"

My fingers started to itch as I got myself worked up and I glanced at a tree wondering how hard it would hurt to punch it because no way I'd punch Aunt Char and live to tell the tale. When I couldn't control my emotions last night, I had the excuse of the alcohol. The crying seemed like a natural reaction to my drunken state. But today? All that anger, fear, and sadness I had before the party was back, rumbling under the surface of my skin and making me see red. I should have known Aunt Charlotte could see through it all.

She nodded once, "Finished?"

I bit at my nail and looked at the ground, "I think so."

She nodded again and reached out for me, her hands on my cheeks, "If you let this kind of anger keep building under the surface, if you sneak out and drink and do god knows what else to push down whatever you're feeling, it's not going to end well Joelene," she took a deep breath before continuing, "You are not the first Goode to feel this way, you're not alone. Okay?"

I nodded and she let her hands fall and she gestured inside, "Now get your butt to O'Reiley's office."

I sighed and closed my eyes, "Yes ma'am."

Doctor O'Reiley was one of many members of the medical staff at the Gallagher Academy. I've always known him as my mom's therapist, my best friend's Grandpa, my Aunt Bex's boyfriend, and the sweet man who reads and drinks tea and knows every student's name, whether they’d been through his office or not.

I just never thought I'd be one of the student's walking into that office. I knew from my parents that our mental health was their main priority. I saw the looks they shared when one of us did something out of the ordinary, or seemed off. I knew they had their own mental health that they dealt with. And I knew the speech by heart about telling them as soon as something felt wrong or not quite right with ourselves.

I knew that Collins had anxiety and OCD, and that none of us other kids had ever had a single thing that had prompted them to make us see Doctor O'Reiley.

That is, until now.

I pushed away my insecurities, my thoughts that I didn't need help, that nothing was wrong and I tapped on the open door with my knuckles.

He glanced up from his desk, peering over his red rimmed glasses and I smiled thinking about how much Jack and Lacey looked like him.

"Miss Goode, right on time," I closed the door and sat down in the chair across from his desk.

A fire in his fireplace and a teapot steaming at the little kitchenette behind him.

I smiled, "Mr. O'Reiley, please don't call me Miss Goode, you've seen me with a mashed potato Mohawk and this is already weirder than it needs to be."

His smile warmed, pointing, "I remember that Christmas. Lacey had the braids, you had the Mohawk, Elise had the beard right?"

I nodded, "Mhm."

He nodded and turned to the tea pot, "So, what would you prefer I call you for these sessions then? Jo, Joey, or Joelene?"

I shrugged, "Anything is fine Mr. O'Reiley."

He pushed a mug across the desk to me, "Okay, I’ll stick to Joey, if you call me Phineas."

I scrunched up my nose, but nodded, "I can try that."

I sipped the tea and glanced around the office I had never stepped foot in. Degrees on a wall. Family pictures, one that even I was in. Bookshelves overflowing. Blankets, mugs, pillows, and a couch in front of the fireplace.

I nodded towards it, "So how does this all work? Do I lay on that thing and you nod along to my ramblings and ask 'and how does that make you feel?' every once in a while?"

He smirked into his mug, "Well, you most definitely can lay on the couch if you want. And I don't typically ask that question in that exact way. But, basically we’ll just talk. Tell me what's on your mind."

I frowned down at the carpet, biting the inside of my lip. A loaded statement. What wasn't on my mind lately?

He spoke quietly, "Though, I suppose that could be too broad of a question. What if we start at the beginning. Why do you think your mom wants you to see me? How do you feel about coming to see me?"

I smirked, eyes fixed on the carpet, "Wouldn't that be a sort of roundabout way of asking 'And how does that make you feel'?"

I raised my thumb and bit at the skin around my nail and he stayed quiet and I huffed out a breath, closing my eyes and I let my head fall against the back of the chair.

"I don't know all the reasons she wants me to come see you Mr. O…Phin…Mr. O'Reiley. I suspect it has something to do with me failing some assignments, yelling at her, skipping class and sleeping for a whole day," I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling, "And the cherry on top: sneaking out and drinking last night."

He made a soft hmm noise and I smirked.

“Was that a ‘hmm, I think you’re right Joey, hmm I think you’re wrong Joey, or a hmm how does all that make you feel Joey?”

He laughed, “You are so much like your-”

I sat up and pointed, “Don’t finish that sentence.”

He closed his mouth, lips pressed together in a thin smile as he watched me with knowing eyes.

I waved a hand in his face, “Or look at me like that.”

He leaned forward, hands cradling his mug, “Look at you like what?”

I dropped my head back once more, trying to get comfortable, “Like you’re psychoanalyzing me.”

Doctor O’Reiley started laughing, quickly covering it up with a cough and clearing his throat. He nodded, “Right. Sorry.”

I stood, punching a fist into my open palm as I paced, “Why’d you laugh?”

“It involves the sentence you told me not to finish.”

I fell back onto the couch with a huff, eyes closing as I sighed, “Right.”

“You don’t like being compared to your mother?”

I scrunched deeper into the couch as I pondered his question.

“Joey?”

I spoke quietly, “I’m thinking.”

“Ah.”

Maybe it was the hangover, the run this morning. The events of the previous weeks, the ending of yesterday - my mother holding me as I cried last night, or my Aunt Charlotte’s words earlier. Or maybe it was the fire, the tea, the knowledge that I could finally get some things off of my chest and someone might finally, really listen. But I was tired of running, of not being heard, and so I opened my eyes.

Tears pricked at the corners as I whispered, “I don’t think I do.”

Doctor O’Reiley was silent and I took a deep breath, a weight slightly lifted off of me, “I love my mom, I do. My whole family. I’m incredibly lucky and I know that. But lately…”

I trailed off, lost in my own thoughts I didn’t dare speak out loud to anyone for days. Maybe a lot longer than the last couple of weeks if I’m being honest. Comforted by the warm fire as my sore muscles relaxed into the couch, I felt my walls crumbling down. Maybe Doctor O’Reiley made magical tea or something.

“Lately?”

Eyelids heavy, body and brain so tired for numerous reasons, I’m not sure I truly got the words out before fading into the darkness that was pulling me down.

“Lately I want to be anything but a Goode.”

I was falling, a hole that didn’t have a bottom, I didn’t see a top either to confirm it, but that familiar feeling was there. That pit in your stomach, tightness in your chest, that breathless feeling of the air being taken out of you before the landing.

“Hey, squirt, hey.”

My eyes blinked open. I was still in Doctor O’Reiley’s office, the fire burning low, my mug of tea on the table no longer steaming, and my Aunt/Grandma Abby curled up in a chair across from me.

Her mug was steaming, her hair pulled into a half hearted knot at the nape of her neck, a sweater that I recognized as my Grandpa Joe’s engulfing her. She looked worse than my Grandma Rachel. Eyes watching me curiously as she blew on the mug, “Bad dream?”

“What time is it?” I cleared my throat, my voice scratchy and sore like I had been screaming instead of sleeping.

She shrugged, “I dunno. After dinner.”

I shot up, “What?”

She rolled her eyes and stared at the fire, “What, have somewhere to be? Hot date?”

I felt the heat rise in my cheeks and she smirked without looking at me, seeing it all despite not even facing me.

Sometimes I really hated that my whole family were all the most talented in the business.

She spoke softly, “That’s right. I heard something about a new man in your life.”

I rubbed my temple and looked around the office and she spoke again, “He’s with your mom.”

I sat up even straighter and she finally looked at me, green eyes that weren’t quite mine, but mine, staring straight through my brain, “Relax. Not talking about you. It’s for her.��

I stood, “Did something happen? Is it my dad? Is he back? Is he okay?”

She stood and placed a shaking hand on my shoulder and it did nothing to ease my nerves as she pushed me back down, “No. Everything is fine. She’s just talking to him as her doctor, and they thought it was best to go somewhere else and let you sleep.”

She handed me the tea, “Here. I hate this stuff.”

I smirked thinking about how she married my Grandpa Ed, who loves tea.

She rummaged in a cabinet, “Yeah, I know, Europeans love their tea. I prefer something a little stronger.”

She found a bottle of Irish Whiskey and whistled. The mug paused on the way to my mouth as she took a swig out of the bottle and she held it out to me.

I shook my head and she flopped back into her chair, taking another swig, “Good. That was a test,” she motioned with her hand towards me, “I heard all about that too.”

I mumbled into my mug, “Of course you did. A Goode screws up and it’s probably broadcasted on a special number. Press one to hear how Joelene messed up this week."

She stood again and poured the whiskey into a new mug, “Kind of, yeah.”

I set the mug down on the coffee table perhaps a little too harshly, “Why?”

She took a sip and winced as she swallowed before asking, “Why, what?”

I ran a hand through my hair, well tried to. My curls were matted, tangled, and knotted beyond repair, “Why is it such a big deal if a Goode screws up? Why are you here? Why are you drinking whiskey? You don’t look good, Grandma.”

She moaned and closed her eyes, “Don’t call me that. Makes me feel old.”

I waited for her to respond to any of my questions and she sat up finally, setting her mug next to mine. She leaned her elbows on her knees, “My sister is sick,” I nodded and she watched me closely, “Right. She said you knew. Tell your siblings yet?”

I shook my head no and she ran her hands through her hair, “Good. She’s telling them tomorrow.”

I watched her silently, taking in how it looked like she was withering away in front of me, faster than my Grandma Rachel. And then I thought about how I would look if I found out any of my siblings were dying. It was quiet for a long time and she grabbed her mug again and I asked quietly, “How are you doing?”

She laughed, wiping at her eyes before anything could fall, “Oh, I’m just peachy.”

I patted the couch next to me and she smiled, coming over and hugged me and I whispered, “I don’t think it’s fair. Id’ take her place in a heartbeat if I could.”

Abby sat up and touched my cheek, eyes soft, but voice stern, “Absolutely not. You don’t think that. You’re needed right here. She’s had a beautiful, long and extraordinary life. You have things to do. Places to see. A whole person to become,” she smiled, “That is if you cut the crap and focus.”

I leaned into her side, her arm wrapping around me, “I am focused. I’m seventeen,” I played with the loose threads on the couch as I mumbled, “I’m allowed to sneak out and kiss boys.”

Abby shrugged, “Maybe normal seventeen year olds get to do that. Not you, squirt.”

I shook my head, “Yeah, well, who decided what my life gets to be without me even getting a say?”

She squeezed my shoulder, “You did. When you decided to come to school here.”

I shook my head, “I was twelve. Of course I wanted to be like my parents and be a spy.”

I stood up and started pacing and felt her eyes following me as she spoke, “You don’t want to anymore?”

I shrugged.

She mmm’d.

The door opened and I looked over to see my mom leaning against the doorframe, smiling but not reaching her eyes. She looked tired. She looked sad. She looked defeated.

“Is dad-”

She shook her head, “Honey, I’ll tell you anything I know when I know it. I promise.”

I crossed my arms, “Will you? Or will you tell me it’s classified and I’m not allowed to know because I’m too young and I won’t understand?”

Aunt Abby laughed and downed the rest of her mug, patting my shoulder and pushing me towards the door, “I love you both, but get out, my turn to talk about my feelings.”

I turned and hugged her tightly, her body stiffening at first, but relaxing under the embrace. Her hands in my hair as she kissed the top of my head, “Sneak out and drink again and even I can’t stop the second half of your namesake from coming and dealing with you herself.”

I smiled, “Aunt Macey would never yell at me.”

Abby and my mom laughed. Abby shook her head, "Your Aunt Mace yelling is nothing. It's when she's not that you should be very afraid."

Doctor O’Reiley stopped me, “I’ll see you next Saturday Joey, lots to catch up on. But come anytime before that if you want or need to.”

I smiled and nodded once, leaving the room. My mom was on my heels and she cleared her throat, “You hungry?”

I turned to face her. I wasn’t as mad as I had been, but I had this anger clinging to me still, despite my drunken apologies and tears last night. And I think she knew that, that we weren’t back to one hundred percent yet, despite both of us wanting to be.

I shrugged, “A little. But I-”

“Joey! There you are!” I looked down the hall to see Elise walking towards us, textbooks in hand and she smiled at my mom, “Hi Aunt Mag-I mean good evening Professor Goode.”

My mom smirked, “Hi Elise,” she ran her hand over the top of my head and kissed it, “I’ll catch up with you later then.”

I watched her go, walking towards my grandma’s office and I felt a pang of guilt in my stomach as I watched her walk off alone. She missed my dad. She missed us. But then a little of that anger reared its ugly head again, reminding me of all the days we were the ones missing her. How often my dad must have been wrought with the same worry with the roles reversed. I hated that a part of myself thought she deserved to feel sad and lonely for a bit, that she deserved to sit with that worry and fear.

Elise shoved the textbooks into my arms, “We are so behind on this project.”

I must have been really behind, because I didn’t even know or remember what project she was talking about. And so, I followed Elise down the sublevels, between the rows of books and artifacts to a table with my siblings, including Collins and Leia, surrounded by open textbooks and popcorn bags.

Leia looked up and started a slow clap and Collins gave her a look that could give my parents a run for their money.

Leia stopped clapping but winked at me, “Hello little rule breaker.”

Peter crossed his arms as he looked at me, Lacey looked extremely guilty, Sammy and Andy kept their heads down.

I set the books down with a sigh, “Who told you?”

I glared at Lacey but the boys shook their heads, Andy kept writing as Peter asked, “How you feeling?”

I crossed my arms, “Fine.”

Andy grunted, “Where were you? Getting your ass handed to you by mom I hope?”

I looked down, “Mandatory therapy actually, ass face.”

Andy’s pencil stopped, his face scrunched together but kept focused on the page in front of him, “About time fart breath.”

The rest of them looked up at me, with those pity eyes I was really starting to hate.

I sighed, “Well, this was fun. See ya around.”

I turned to walk away and Collins grabbed my arm, “Oh no you don’t,” she gestured between me and Andy, then to the rest of them, “Whatever is going on, settle it right here, right now. We’re your family Joelene. Stop running away from us.”

I looked around at them and I sighed, “Listen. I don’t know what’s going on with myself either. Hence the therapy. I snuck out last night and went to a high school party, I drank beer and tequila, I kissed a boy, and I got detention for a month. I don’t really feel all that bad about any of it to be honest. Anything else you need to know?”

I had my hands on my hips and Leia was desperately trying to fight her smile as Collins shook her head, sighing.

Peter glanced at Andy who was still gripping his pencil too tightly and then at me, “What’s really going on between you two though?”

Lacey, Elise, and Sammy all looked at me and then away and Peter threw his hands up, “So you told the girls but not me?”

Andy went back to writing and I shook my head, “Andy, just fucking say what you want to say. You’re going to end up telling them anyway. You already told Elise who told them, so, go ahead.”

Andy threw his pencil down, green eyes glaring at me. The flame and spark in him that rarely came out burning so brightly I’m surprised everyone’s clothes didn’t catch on fire as he yelled, “You can’t just do what you did and say what you said and expect me not to talk to someone about it Jo! You aren’t acting like yourself and-”

“Oh my god Andy, if you’re expecting some sort of apology or-”

“You were so far gone in the P&E barn you thought I was dad and you said you didn’t want to be here anymore and-”

“Hence the fucking therapy Anderson!”

“Oh! Don’t you Anderson me Joelene!”

“Enough!”

At first I thought it was Peter, but when they all clamped their mouths closed looking over my shoulder I turned to see my Uncle Matt standing there with his arms crossed.

He nodded his head backwards, eyeing me, “Joelene, come with me.”

I sighed and glared at Andy, “Good talk.”

He frowned, “Jo-”

“Save it,” I walked away from all of them, following my uncle quietly back up through the subs until we were surrounded by all the classified artifacts of my school’s history.

He sat on the edge of a table, his hands in his pockets as his eyes bounced around my face, eyes identical to Andy’s and I hated that everyone in my family shared everything. We weren’t even our own people, carbon copies of the ones before us, never making our own name for ourselves.

He sighed and rubbed his temple, “Jo, you’re behind on your report.”

I was surprised he was talking to me about schoolwork and not the fight he just interrupted or scolding me for sneaking out or drinking.

I scuffed my shoe against the ground, “Report?”

His eyes looked at me with that stupid pity again, “Professor Cameron’s report?”

Shit. I really had been letting myself fall behind on everything.

I nodded, “Right, I knew that, I…I’ll catch up tonight and-”

He placed his hands on my shoulders, “Hey, relax. You’re fine. But, we can’t bend the rules for you for this kind of stuff if it continues okay? Slacking on schoolwork isn’t like you, kid.”

I closed my eyes and pulled away from him, wrapping my arms around myself, feeling the remaining anger from fighting with Andy still boiling beneath the surface. I couldn’t help the bite in my tone, “No, I know I'll-”

"I miss him too."

"Where is he Uncle Matt? I know you know," I blinked back my tears as I watched him shake his head.

"He's fine, and-"

"Weren't you his partner? Why is he out there alone? Isn't that the number one rule you all tell us? You never go anywhere without-"

"He has backup," he sat on the table again and crossed his arms and I matched his position while standing, faking confidence as tears streamed down my face.

"Who's The Gathering?"

My family are good at what they do. Trained by the best, legendary and powerful in this business. They lie easily and guiltlessly for a living. Their tells almost imperceptible to even each other. But something about the air around my uncle felt so wrong even I was able to tell. I knew he was about to feed me a lie, about to tell me the word classified and I shook my head and walked away from him before he even got the chance.

I turned to look over my shoulder at him, holding back a sob, "You know the main reason I miss him? Because he doesn't fucking lie."

I ignored his calls for me to wait and slipped into the sublevel elevator, ducking almost immediately into the first passageway I could find when I exited, the tears streaming down my face, choking on the sobs I was trying to hold back.

My family hated me. I was a disappointment. A failure. A screw up. A Goode who didn't know how to Goode anymore. Blindly making my way through cobwebs and dusty corridors, following the branches until I somehow ended up in the one I had found only the night before.

A familiar voice falling out of the crack in the bookshelf. I wiped my eyes and sank to the floor, listening to my mother through the wall.

Report of Overheard Intelligence:

Transcribed by Joelene Goode hereafter referred to as Operative Goode.

Mom: Hey, do you remember when you asked me if you were any good at the whole dad thing?

Operative Goode hears her Grandpa Zach’s voice, cracking a little as he replies.

Grandpa:Yeah.

Operative Goode hears her mother crying. Her own tears start to dry on her cheeks because she believes somewhere her father’s heart would be breaking if he knew they were both crying at the same time.

Mom: Am I any good at this whole mom thing?

Grandpa: Mags, of course you are. Just because your kids are going through some things doesn’t mean-

Mom: (a quiet laugh can be heard before her reply) One of my daughter’s has PTSD and another is sneaking out and drinking at the age of seventeen and that’s not even the tip of it all with her and she doesn’t want to talk to anyone. At this rate, I’m expecting every single one of them to have a panic attack at the same time. I think I failed them so terribly, there’s no way I can come back from this. And it’s all my fault. Luke never would have let it get this bad, dad.

Operative Goode’s heart thrums in her chest, crashing loudly in her ears making it hard to focus on anything but the pain in her chest. Who had PTSD? Leia probably. Something with the Air Force. Panic attacks? What did her mother mean?

After a long pause, Operative Goode’s grandfather responded softly.

Grandpa: Mags, Luke is an incredible dad, honestly, I’ve never met someone who’s so…dad. It’s like he was made for it.

Operative Goode feels the threat of tears about to spill over on the edge of her lashes as her mother laughed around her own tears.

Grandpa: Seriously, he makes me doubt myself all the time, but even he would be struggling to handle all of this happening at once, as if from out of nowhere.

Operative Goode swears she can hear her mother shaking her head no.

Mom: It can’t be from out of nowhere, dad. It was all happening, under our noses, and we failed them. I failed them. And I don’t think Luke would have.

*End transcription*

I wanted to step in that room and tell her she was right, that she did fail us, fail me. I wanted to ask why she didn’t see it sooner, why she didn’t come home and stay home sooner. I wanted to ask about who had PTSD, I wanted to ask about panic attacks. I even wanted to walk in and tell her I forgave her, that I didn’t understand, but I would if she would just sit down and talk to me about it all.

But I didn’t do any of that. Instead, I turned back around in the passageway, pushing deeper through the darkness, remembering my dream about falling. This time I welcomed the feeling of it, letting myself fall down that hole, sobbing as I kept pushing deeper and further into my sadness and the school.

The light started to change and I knew I had somehow traveled under the school, to the outskirts of the grounds. I was on the opposite end of the lake and I held my breath as I saw a ladder at the end of the tunnel. I climbed and pushed a rusting and falling apart grate up and peeked over the ridge of the opening that was spilling moonlight through it.

It looked like a place frozen in time, a greenhouse I had never seen before. We had one down in the labs, and this must have been one that had long ago been put to rest. Decaying plants, soil bags with faded logos, a hose letting out a quiet drip into a grate. I pulled myself up, and looked around, seeing a small window seat. I curled up into it, a perfect view of the mansion from the spot. It’s lighted stained glass windows sparkling in the moonlight.

The greenhouse felt heavy. With history? Importance? Something about sitting on that spot, in a forgotten part of the school, it felt like I was sharing a moment with the past. Connected to older generations of Gallagher Girls before me. Had anyone else curled up in this spot and watched our school from afar, almost as a stranger? Had anyone else ran towards their loneliness instead of allowing those within the walls of the school to comfort and surround them? What happened to them?

I leaned my head against the window, and I squinted, reaching my fingers forward. Only visible at this new angle, small indents in the wood. Initials carved into the past to be found by someone in the future.

I traced the letters and peered at the school from this angle. I whispered, almost afraid to disturb the past with my voice, “Who were you LGC?”

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dandylion240 · 29 days

Text

“Is that so?” Jolene scoffed, eyeing the two boys. A knowing grin spread across her face as she said “prove it.”

Swallowing audibly Ezekial stammered “I .. I …”

“You can do it?” she asked, giving him a wide eyed, almost innocent looking gaze.

“He doesn’t have to prove anything to you,” Ephy asserted “besides we’re not supposed to do magic without Mama Cecil…”

Pointing at the mess on the floor, Joelen shrugged, “that didn’t stop you before.”

“Fine,” Ezekiel said. “I’ll do it.” He closed his eyes trying to see the words as he began to recite them.

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charonlee · 1 year

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sunshinies · 8 months

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hihihihihiiiii if u could pls do some pronouns & name suggestions related to Lynette from genshin?? It's fine if u don't want to!!!

🐈 Lynette name suggestions:

Phoebe , Luna , Sylvie , Adele , Athena , Brigid , Dana , Epona , Aisling , Aura , Clio , Esme , Fleurine , Francine , Henriette , Isabelle , Joelene , Jolie , Lizette , Madelyn , Margot , Risette , Salomé , Vivienne , Yves

🪄 Lynette pronoun suggestions:

magi/magis/magiself , spark/sparks/sparkself , glitter/glitters/glitterself , mew/mews/mewself , purr/purrs/purrself , hush/hushs/hushself , zeph/zephyr/zephyrself , ae/aer/aerself , shy/shys/shyself

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enpr-ss · 1 month

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I feel there’s a really good opportunity to remix Joelene for the whole boat boys Lizzie Mumbo situation

#etho #smallishbeans #ldshadowlady #Mumbo #you don’t even have to change the name lol

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axarmae · 4 months

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Naming Characters

Naming characters can be challenging when you have other things figured out for them.

Start by looking at popular or rare names from their home country (if it is not a world you made up)

If it is a fantasy setting you can still do the same thing, just tweak the names if needed to better fit your world

Mix preexisting names together (e.g. Maelynn)

Pick a word that fits them/contrasts with them and find a name that means that word (e.g. I wanted the character's name to have something to do with victory)

Pick a letter you want their name to start with

Add letters/double up letters (Joelene to Joelenne or Joelenee)

Add some accent marks to spice things up (just look up what they do to the name/the sound they are)

Use multiple of these to narrow your search down.

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froggisarethebest · 1 year

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Dorlene headcanons since no one else is doing them

Marlene is a Gryffindor and Dorcas is a Slytherin

Both have played in the Quiddich team since their second year

Marlene as beater and Dorcas as chaser

sorta had a slow rivalry in there for a while

Marlene is taller and always gives Dorcas shit about

and of course Dorcas does NOT like when Marlene leans over hear or when she has to lean down to kiss her or when she lifts her up…

Dorcas is NOT a fan . of course

they switch clothes sometimes

Dorcas with Marlene’s denim jacket and Marlene using her girlfriend’s sweaters

and they have matching tattoos

and Dorcas serenades Marlene with the somg Joelene and replaces the name Joelene with Marlene and Marlene pretends to hate it but she smiles and watches her girlfriend spin away (I got inspired by this from The Hand that Feeds by Rollercoasterwords on ao3 ABSOLUTELY BEAUTIFUL)

they go on double dates with Remus and Sirius and of course it always ends with all drunk or high and singing karaoke

#dorlene #dorcas meadowes #marlene mckinnon #lesbian marlene #marauders #the marauders #wolfstar #remus lupin #sirius black

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fuchinobe · 3 months

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(2023, Aloha Got Soul, AGS-080) Cover of 1978 song by Mackey Feary Band.

#Your song is good #Mackey Feary Band #soul #Reggae #Dub #Japan

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superblycaffeinated · 2 months

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We're back and ready to share the new and re-written story! I hope those that were reading the original So Far, So Goode are still with me, and for those of you that are new, welcome 🧡 I can't wait to hear what people think and I hope you enjoy it! Head on over to the So Far, So Goode masterlist here for information on the story, general warnings, and last, but certainly not least - the music. I'll be posting here and on Ao3 (under superbcoffeedrinkersubparwriter) - but you need to be a registered user to read over there. CW: description of guns

Chapter One:

To be honest with you, I used to think I was the furthest a person could possibly be from lonely.

Which, I suppose, is because I had never really been alone long enough to ponder the true depth of all that surrounds the word, feeling - state. The more I think about it, the more I start to doubt if I’ve even touched the surface of what it means to be alone.

I’m a triplet, so I haven’t been physically alone even before birth, save for the one minute and forty seven seconds both my brothers were out in the world before I arrived. Also, not only am I a triplet, but one of five Goode kids. Plus, there are my two cousins, and all of the Goodes that aren’t Goodes, but hell, yell the name in a room and they’ll all be turning their heads (a phenomenon I’m told goes well into the past). Long story short, I have a lot of family, making it almost impossible to ever be alone.

Since there are so many of us, I guess I should clarify which Goode I am for the official record or whatever? Believe it or not, I haven’t actually written a formal CoveOps report before this. Despite receiving a superior education in the field I wish to enter, I’ve never once encountered any training on how to write one of these things. My educators (and family) claim paperwork is the worst part of the job, so maybe they hold off until it’s too late and it just never gets taught? I don’t know. All this is to say, don’t judge me it’s not up to, like, professional standards, okay?

My name is Joelene Macey Goode, but everyone calls me Joey or Jo. I know most people hate nicknames, but I honestly prefer it over my full one. Not that Joelene is a bad name, but you try living eighteen years with people singing terribly offkey at you while you stand there awkwardly. So, no offense to Dolly, but I can’t hear Jolene without wincing now (but if you read this Ms. Parton, from one Gallagher Girl to another - you rule!).

And yup, that’s me. A Gallagher Girl. My identity, my cover, my school - all for the last five and half years of my life.

Since you’re reading this, I’m sure you know exactly who we are and what we do at The Gallagher Academy for Exceptional Young Women, and you may be thinking you know all there is to know about us Gallagher Girls, but I am no ordinary one.

I’m a legacy, a fourth generation one to be exact. Meaning, a lot of Goodes (in one form or another) have walked those hallowed halls. They slept in the same rooms, they took the same classes, they ate the same creme brulee and then crushed records or did impressive enough things to end up with their pictures in our hallways and their names in our history textbooks (the ones that tell the real history that is). And they did it all before graduating.

It’d be one thing if it was just their accomplishments to live up to, but it’s the footsteps attached to the person attached to the name, that I’m truly scrambling behind.

Because, yes, you’ve been reading that last name correctly.

Goode.

Maybe you’ve heard of us? The best family in the biz, as Grandpa likes to boast.

I don’t like to phrase it quite that way too often as Grandpa usually gets a look from Grandma and mom that could kill him. And I mean, literally kill him, if Peter and I hadn’t accidentally broken the specific pair of glasses meant for such a thing on our fourteenth birthday.

Because, as I’m sure you’re very aware of, by the “biz”, Grandpa and I mean that martini shaking and pouring while dodging a bullet, running from the explosion in a suit hand in hand with a girl in heels, passionate kiss or dramatic monologue before jumping out of the moving train kind of stuff.

Spy craft.

Espionage.

The cool shit.

But don’t worry, I know that stuff doesn’t really happen and it’s all for the cinematic experience.

Why my Grandpa gets the looks, is because saying that “we’re the best in the biz” goes against everything my parents have told me and my four siblings our entire lives. That the name doesn’t mean we carry and wield this magical power. Being a Goode doesn’t allow us to assume we’re the best without working towards anything.

My parents weren’t wrong, and I’ve never, ever, once taken my last name to mean I could do what I wanted with zero consequences. In fact, it’s made me believe the exact opposite. It isn’t zero consequences when we mess up, it’s an astronomical amount. Because, when you’re a Goode, you’re not just messing up, all Goodes are too.

Instead of skating by on the merit of the name, I’ve spent my entire adolescence feeling as if I need to rise and thensome to earn the name that was simply just given to me because of my blood.

Oh you’re their daughter? So you can do this like that? Why yes, as a matter of fact I am the daughter of agents Morgan and Luke Goode, and while I can do it like that, I’ve been forbidden from doing it in the house, or from using it on my brothers, thanks for asking.

Also, yeah, you read those names correctly too. The best agents (in my totally unbiased opinion of course) the CIA has ever seen, are my parents.

So, you see, I’ve got Goode blood, and not just any. I have to do this. I have boots to fill and make my own impressive steps with - a name I have to live up to.

I’ll admit though, that the name, the legacy of it all, the movies I love, the training - none of it compares to the real reason I have to be a spy.

It’s a word, pretty well known around these parts, maybe you’ve heard of it?

Classified.

Now, I don’t know about you, but when someone tells me I can’t know or that I can’t do something, I cannot rest until I know all the information or I do the thing.

I’m told this lovely trait of mine comes from my mother, and a little bit of my dad, and potentially a whole lot from a great grandmother I’ll never know. So, I take breaks. I've learned when it’s time to take a step back - a breather - before I let the need to know or do swallow me whole. But I can’t let it go fully, not really, not until it’s done.

Which is why I have to be a spy, and not only a spy, but the best. Because if I’m the best, then that word is never going to be in my way again. Knowledge is power, and power is privilege, and privilege is responsibility.

So, when my mother was home for my entire Summer break, I knew it was my responsibility to -

Hold on. Let me backup. I don’t think that came out with the emphasis it requires to get my point across.

My mother, current and working agent Morgan Goode, of The CIA was home, doing “nothing”. All. Summer.

Something stunk, and it wasn’t just Andy and Peter’s disgusting socks that quite literally could have been radioactive.

All summer, the feeling that my great grandpa - Grandpa Joe - always tells me to never ignore, sat heavy in my gut.

A spy’s gut is their number one weapon, Joelene, and the longer mine felt off, my nerves frayed and sparked until the slow, incessant heat of something wrong, finally caught fire and I couldn’t ignore the burn any longer.

As mom took hushed phone calls and locked herself in the office of our safe house for hours, I felt the inside of that room and its contents calling to me like a flame does to a moth, or in my case, the opposite. I was the flame, engulfed, consumed by my need to know and that office and what was happening behind its closed door was the moth I was destined to devour.

And that was all before she used that awful, horrible, no good for shit word.

The classified of it all would have tipped me over the edge regardless, but it was the fact that it was my mom who said it that really sealed my fate.

I can count, on my two hands, the total number of times my mother has said that something was classified to me, without my dad prompting her to do so. She’s always been a little…shall we say looser? with information. She is the one who always sort of half answers our questions until dad is stepping in. He’s constantly reminding her that her children are not supposed to know that she stopped a bomb in Brazil or saved an ambassador to France and that she’s, “making us think it’s okay for them to sneak out of their heavily guarded and safe schools and fly to foreign countries when it is absolutely not okay and don’t even think about it.”

I’ve heard dad’s speech so many times, that I promise you, even if I wasn’t trained to recall intimate details and information, I would still be able to tell you it verbatim.

That speech wasn’t gonna stop me because it never has, and, as I’ve previously stated, I have that trait that makes it so I can’t let things go.

My dad shoved puzzles and code-breaking books at me all Summer. I beat Peter and Andy at Super Mario Brothers (the old one, from the 80’s, as Luigi - do you know how hard that is?). I beat Grandpa at Scrabble twice (which, okay, wasn’t that hard to do), and was forbidden from playing Monopoly with Peter inside the house ever again. I watched twenty-two spy movies, sixteen rom-coms, and five westerns. I learned the dance to Push It by Salt ‘n’ Pepa, mastered the Swift maneuver (that’s Taylor, by the way) and none of it worked.

At my wit’s end is when mom caught me staring at a vent in the hallway between bites of Fruit Loops. Calculations and assumptions of what would stand between me and the other side seemingly apparent on my thinking face as my milk turned pink and the cereal turned squishy, because mom shook her head slowly without lifting her eyes from a newspaper.

While, when she did lift her gaze, there was a distinct glint in her green eyes that could have you believing she was amused, her tone told me all I needed to know when she said, “Don’t even think about it if you love your eyebrows.” Which I really do (I have part of my namesake to thank for that - she never once let me take a tweezers to them no matter what the trends said) so, Operation Vent was out.

But a threat such as this was an obstacle of child’s play proportions. Potential eyebrow removal standing between me and information? It was fuel to an already raging fire, a carrot in front of a bunny, a tailored suit and a shaken not stirred martini before the finest double o seven.

So, on the morning of my mother’s birthday, the day before me and my brothers were to head off to school for our Senior year, I knew it was my last chance.

I was careful to avoid the creak of the floorboard directly to the left of my bed as I semi-rolled off of it.

Landing on socked feet, I held my breath as I glanced up at the bed across from mine. The eldest of all my siblings and us Goode kids, my sister Collins, was still asleep. Her chest rose and fell evenly under a buttercup yellow duvet and flat palms, her straight brown hair fanned over her pillow and framed her peaceful face.

She looked like a goddamn Disney princess even in her sleep and I’ve hated her since we were kids for it.

I hated her even more when my fingers had barely touched the cool metal of our door knob and her whisper sliced through the silence sharper than any knife my Grandpa had taught us to throw.

“Whatever it is you’re about to do, it’s not a good idea and you should go back to sleep.”

“I’m just going pee,” I lied easily.

She rolled her gorgeous eyes from her pillow, still laying on her side.

Collins, of all my siblings, is the most made to be a pavement artist. She is a natural at blending, at becoming whoever she needs to be, but her eyes have always given her away. They’re a soft and warm brown most of the time, but depending on what she’s wearing or the lighting around her, touches of green and blue come out. But no matter what color they are, they’re far too expressive.

Amusement and maybe a little pride shown in them then, her hands roamed under her cheek and her legs tucked up under the sheets as she spoke. “You have your lucky shirt on, and your lock picking set in your pocket. But sure, you’re going to the bathroom.”

“You never saw me,” I whispered, and practically somersaulted (to avoid the door hinges squeaking) out of the closest thing either of us had known to a childhood bedroom.

Spies aren’t totally devoid of feeling and emotion like the movies and novels would like you to think. They’re humans too, and crave and need a place to call home - they just need to be more careful about it, is all.

Growing up, we moved around DC a lot, but I’m sure our actual address was in California or Idaho or something. Grandma and Grandpa took care of us quite a bit when we were really little. One of my earliest memories is Grandpa teaching me the signs for when grilled cheese is ready to flip while also teaching me the exact spot to press with a precise pressure that makes your enemy release without control (a method he so humbly calls The Zach Attack, by the way) at their ranch in the Midwest.

There, and here, are the only two safe houses I’ve returned to. This one, close enough to school and DC, but not too close, is my childhood home if the life of a spy allowed such a thing. Sometimes, when I think about this place, I’m filled with an undeniable grief that makes my chest ache with something heavy. Because I know that one day, and maybe one not so far off, I’ll never return to it.

This is not where, if I choose to have them, my kids will take their first steps. A boyfriend won’t show up on this doorstep with flowers and a handshake for my dad. There aren’t lines of mine and my siblings' heights tracked, there aren’t framed photos hung on the walls, there is no attic full of boxes of baby clothes or memories too fond to get rid of.

Sure, there’s still little touches of our family here though. A dent in Andy and Peter’s room from where I flung open the door repeatedly hitting the knob into the wall. Peeling stickers of rock bands Peter and I plastered on the underside of the shelf in my closet. Scratches and scuffs on the hardwood from chairs being pushed away from the huge gathering table. A bright blue nail polish stain on the carpet in mom and dad’s room where Leia and I spilt it. We all give the fridge an extra bump with our hip to make sure it stays closed and we hit the top of the entrance to the living room as we pass underneath it.

It’s my home. And like any girl in her home, and like any spy, I know its sounds, its tricks and secrets, its shadows.

And sure, Collins caught me before I even left the bedroom, but that didn’t matter. If I avoided certain floor boards, if I kept low, and I worked slowly, I was convinced I could break into the office without anyone, particularly my mother, ever knowing.

I had managed to slip down the entire hallway without a hitch, and was knelt in front of the office door with my compact lock picking set (an actual compact with the ability to unlock anything, thanks to my Aunt Macey) when I heard something.

Hearing something, in the early hours of the morning, before the sky has really even transitioned from black to indigo, isn’t out of the ordinary.

But hearing something, at a remote safe house, when your entire family should be asleep, is out of the ordinary.

While I noticed the noise outside, I had failed to notice things, plural - my family’s number one rule.

Because I failed to notice the lack of a competing snore with Peter’s and the smell of cinnamon, I’m not proud to admit I jumped when my mother’s figure slipped around the corner from the kitchen and her voice calmly and quietly asked me, “Did you hear that?”

“Yes,” I answered immediately, because I knew if my mother was clarifying if she wasn’t alone in hearing something, it was serious. There would be time to discuss how I was literally caught in the act of breaking and entering later.

My mother stood at the end of the hallway, a steaming cup of coffee nestled between her hands. I snort and roll my eyes whenever anyone tells me I look like her. My mother is gorgeous, undeniably so, and while I may have her dark brown curls and green eyes, there’s no way I look like her.

Especially then, when she looked so much like a regular mom. My dad’s old SIX sweatshirt hung from tense shoulders. Worn navy fabric engulfed her frame, slightly covering rumpled pajama pants covered in penguins. Her brown curls were piled high on top of her head, loose pieces falling free and erratic.

But I knew about the scars under the sleeves, and the prosthetic beneath the penguins, and the look behind the green eyes. She was the furthest thing from a regular mom, especially when a louder thunk happened outside in what could be considered our driveway.

Mom knelt slowly, her gaze on the front of the house that I couldn’t see, as the door knob in front of me started to twist. Before I could even tell her, she calmly and quietly just said, “Dad.”

I’ve always known my parents were good spies, but I never thought I’d see it in action, like this.

The office door slowly opened, and dad barely looked at me, completely unphased as he called, “Morgan?”

He was equally fresh from sleep. A Blackthorne shirt pulled tight across his chest where letters faded and his plaid pajama pants wrinkled, looking so exceptionally dad, except for the black pistol in his hand.

I was suddenly and acutely aware of a real threat. This was not CoveOps. This wasn’t P & E. This wasn’t a fun field trip Grandma had taken us on to Roseville with Uncle Matt. The gun without a safety ready to shoot in my father’s hand spoke the words I’d been fearing for years - this is real, and you’re not prepared, are you Joelene?

“Here, I’m fi-”

Two doors at the end of the hallway opened, cutting her off.

My brothers blinked, heavy lids opening and closing sleepily but awake enough to assess the severity of the situation. Shirtless torsos tense as they both stared at the gun in my father’s hand and then at me with matching hard frowns. Their expressions were the beginning and end of their similarities. Peter’s brown hair was disheveled, curls flattened in some spots and sticking straight out in others. Andy’s blond was slightly less askew, if only because it was shorter. His green eyes landed exactly two inches taller than Peter’s brown, but his shoulders took up far less space in the doorway than Peter’s broad frame. One made to slip in and out of places he wasn’t supposed to and the other to barrel into anything that got in his way in the process.

Collins, who must have determined I’d need the assist, was dressed for the occasion in all black and glaring at me from her spot crouched in our doorway.

“I told you it was a bad-”

The front door knob rattled and my father was pushing me behind him as he stepped out of the office fully. He quickly made his way down the hallway, and I felt more than heard the steps of three of my siblings backing me up.

Dad made to grab for my mother until she held her hand up, all of us freezing at her silent command.

I’m convinced my parents have two different bodies.

There’s the mom and dad bodies. The soft spot on my dad’s chest that’s perfect for a cheek to rest while listening to him read Shakespeare. The hands my mom gently runs over our heads, carefully detangling my curls. Arms and hands that twirl bodies around the kitchen in time with old music, heads that throw back in laughter with ease.

Then, there are their highly trained take no shit I’ve seen things you can’t even imagine spy bodies.

I hadn’t really seen these versions of my parents until then. Sure, I’d seen them fight, we all have dad to thank for our own stances. But this was different. These were shoulders and hips that stood with purpose, strong, planted, but ready to move. Arms that held a gun steady and sure. Eyes that communicated with each other without mouths saying a word. Bodies that were inherently made to protect, to fight.

To kill.

It was in less time than it took me to blink that their bodies transformed back into their mom and dad versions.

The gun dropped to my dad’s side, their shoulders fell, tears quickly made my mom’s eyes glassy and both of them breathed out a name in the way only parents can.

“Leia.”

I’d never seen my dad move so quickly, disappearing around the corner before my mom could.

A quiet and familiar giggle burst out from the entryway, thick with tears as she whispered, “Hi, daddy.”

The four of us barreled down the hallway, tripping over each other and shoving, not believing it was her without seeing it for ourselves.

Mom disappeared next, accompanied by the voice that couldn’t possibly be there, louder, and happier than her first words, “Happy Birthday!”

“What is wrong with you? Why didn’t you call? Why didn’t you tell us? Your dad could have -”

“Because it was a surprise,” my other sister interrupted my mother in a way I’ve never been brave enough to do so and I knew it was really her. Here. Especially when she said, “Where are the idiots?”

If Collins was made to blend, Leia was born to stand out. Even in an olive green t-shirt and camo government issued pants, Leia Goode sparkled, she glowed. Her blonde curls were pulled into a uniform low bun, and I had never seen her so tan, or her muscles so defined. Her green eyes practically glittered when the four of us rounded the corner, and her dimple poked out on her cheek and her freckled covered nose scrunched as she smiled.

Collins managed to reach her first, but we all slammed into her, tripping over the two large green duffles at her feet as we all fell to the ground in a laughing and crying heap of chaos - our speciality.

Leia winced under all of us, quick and quiet enough that if we weren’t who we all were, if we weren’t all still a little on edge, we wouldn’t have noticed.

“Are you hurt?” Collins pushed all of us out of the way, gaze roaming over Leia protectively. Nurse Collins activated and assessing.

“No,” Leia shrugged. But not the kind of shrug that admits you’re lying, the kind that, delivered properly, and with the right expression she currently wore, made you think you were crazy for asking. Of course she wasn’t hurt, why would you think such a thing?

Normally, this expert lie delivery could win awards, and I’m sure Leia thought she was in the clear, on her way to The Academy to collect hers. But, the thing is, our parents are not normal parents. And while many parents seem to have this, like, engrained skill to suss out a lie, spy parents are worse.

Way worse.

Each of them took a step closer, crossing their arms as they stared down at Leia like they weren’t thrilled to have her home.

It was a shared look we’d all come to know extremely well. Without moving or saying anything, they seemed to circle you, pulling out your lie with only their eyes, making you spill your guts easily.

They were good and highly trained, and we were no match for them. We all knew it was easier to fold - don’t lie when you’ve already been caught, don’t lie to the people who know your tells better than you do.

But Leia stood with ease, and smiled. She shrugged again and looked at my parents without wavering.

“I’m fin-”

“Don’t,” my mom narrowed her eyes with the word. She sucked in a breath, and I knew a speech was coming, but Leia threw her hands up in the air with a groan.

“Alright! There was a tiny incident. It’s already healing.”

Andy’s fist clenched at his side, his jaw pulsing as he asked, “What happened?”

Leia pinched the bridge of her nose with her forefinger and thumb, closing her eyes in the process so she couldn’t see how my mom’s lips twitched in the fight of a smile or how her gaze made pointed contact with my dad’s.

It was something we’d all seen him do a hundred times at least and before Leia could answer, Peter snorted, hands covering his mouth as his shoulder shook.

Collins bit her lip, unable to hide her grin. Andy shivered, muttering “That’s scary.” I sucked in a breath, fighting a wheeze and Peter fell against me, laughing harder.

Leia’s eyes flew open, looking around with a frown. “What? What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” my mom shook her head, tucking one of Leia’s stray curls back behind her ear, “What happened?”

Leia frowned, placed her hands on her hips and huffed.

“It’s classified.”

Mom snorted and we all lost it. Dad grinned and kissed Leia’s forehead right above where her eyebrows knit together as she whined about how she didn’t get it and that someone needed to tell her what was so funny right now.

It didn’t matter why she was home, or that she hadn’t answered the question, not really. It didn’t matter that I still didn't know what was going on in the office all summer. It didn’t matter that my dad had a gun and had been ready to use it.

All that mattered was that we were laughing, and safe, and together for the first time in a long time.

#we're back baby #gallagher girls #gallagher girls series #gallagher girls fanfiction #the listen series #so far so goode #goode intentions

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superblysubparhuman · 1 year

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"So Far, So Goode" : Chapter 12

This book contains MEGA Gallagher Girls and The Listen Series spoilers. You have been warned. Do not pass Go, do not collect $200 if you wish to avoid said spoilers.

“Was it pity? Was it love? Was it maybe, just maybe, a little of her own doubts about the future? A little of her own teenage rebellion that made her smile a little…”

“So Far, So Goode” masterlist Find it on Ao3 or Wattpad if you prefer

Warnings: See masterlist for overall warning in summary. A/N: So sorry, I thought I had this scheduled for this last Friday to post on tumblr automatically, knowing I had a busy weekend and I actually scheduled it for this Friday. Thanks for your patience if you've been following along!

💜Any love, interaction or feedback is greatly appreciated and welcomed.

Chapter Twelve:

Covert Operations Report Summary conducted by Operatives in Training: Joelene Goode, Samantha Jones, Lacey O'Reiley and Elise Woods, hereafter referred to as The Operatives/Operative. Operative Goode informs the Operatives she will be setting off on her most important mission to date: sneaking and breaking out of her top of the line security protected school to attend a normal high school party. Operatives Jones, O'Reiley, and Woods want it stated for the record that they thought Operative Goode and her mission were "delusional", "bat-shit insane", and that she had a "death wish" and that collectively, they did not think this was a good idea. However, as Operative Goode’s best friends, they insisted that 1) She could not go without backup, a basic, hard and fast rule of covert operations and 2) Operative O'Reiley would get to fix her makeup because "Honestly Joelene, when one has beautifully matched and top of the line cosmetics courteous of half of their namesake and never uses it, one should be locked up." It is decided that Operative O'Reiley will be Operative Goode’s back up and Operatives Jones and Woods will cover for the two while down in the sublevels for a movie night with the boys. After Operative Jones and Woods approved their outfits with the following comments: “It should be illegal to look as good as you do," and "I'm sorry, where do you keep the audacity to look this good?" ,The Operatives set out to a secret passageway that tunneled out and below the wall, heading off for their mission.

The clicking of Lacey's boots on my feet filled the silence as the two of us walked towards the sleepy and normal little town of Roseville (note to self: never let Lacey O'Reiley convince you to walk miles in a pair of her shoes no matter how cute they are).

Lace and I didn’t normally sit in a silence like this for very long. The past few weeks had definitely left me feeling disconnected to myself, my family, and my best friend, and I wondered if I wasn’t the only one. I could feel the words on the edge of her lips, wanting to spill over, everything she wanted to say but couldn't figure out which part she should start with. So I picked for her.

"Grandma Rachel is sick."

I glanced over at her and she frowned, pushing a curl behind her ear, the moonlight splashing across her face and illuminating all of her freckles, "What?"

I turned my face away and wrapped my leather covered arms around myself more, "She's sick. And dying. Has known for six months and didn't tell any of us," I laughed a little, blinking away my tears, "Well, at least any of us kids. Your mom and grandma couldn't figure out how to stop it. I assume all the adults know besides them too."

Lacey cleared her throat and looped her arm through mine. Grandma Rachel was my great grandma, but she was Lacey's family too. You didn't have to be blood related to feel the heartache that came with the knowledge of a not too distant future that involved losing Rachel Morgan-Solomon.

Lacey whispered, "How long until..."

I shook my head, "Don't know. She said not too long. Don't tell Elise or Sam or the boys. I'm sure she wants to tell them herself."

Lacey squeezed my arm, "J, let's not go to this party. I think we should go back and-"

"Please don't become some voice of reason for me all of a sudden. I need the Lacey that dared me to steal Collins’ lucky pair of jeans and then helped cover for the stain on them. The Lacey that helped me figure out how to sneak out of the house and go to that concert the summer before ninth grade. The Lacey who is my partner in crime."

Lacey smirked but her eyes stayed insistent, this was a bad idea in her opinion. I probably should have thought a little bit more of what it meant for Lacey O'Reiley to think breaking the rules wasn't a good idea, but I pressed on.

"Besides, Grandma Rachel told me to not stop breaking the rules and to keep pushing against things I thought felt wrong. And Grandpa Joe told me I don't have to do what my family does. Even Jack told me to break rules. Sneak out. Be a teenager. So that's what we're doing. My grandma got to sneak out and date a boy from Roseville and she's the headmistress now. Why can't I? It's in my blood right?"

Lacey stopped and waved her hands, "Joey, I don't think this is a good idea. You've had a tough week and..." She shook her head as she trailed off.

I turned around to face her, my hands in my pockets, her blue eyes piercing into mine, my green ones matching the severity of her gaze right back at her.

There's something about Lacey and I that has always felt different than my other friendships. It's an all I have to do is give you a look, read your exact thoughts, clichéd we finish each other's sentences kind of a friendship. And maybe it's because of our mom's and our grandmother's friendships. A bond that's truly been passed down, gaining in strength and love every generation. Whatever the reason, she was my best friend, my sister, the one person who I needed to understand, or at least come with me and back me up even if she didn't quite get it.

I tapped into that connection. I tried to express everything I'd been feeling, thinking, and dreading all in that one look to her. A final plea to let me be normal, just for that night and then I would focus. Check the boxes. Fill the boots. Change the world. Be the Goode I was supposed to be and do it alongside her as her partner at the CIA.

Was it pity? Was it love? Was it maybe, just maybe, a little of her own doubts about the future? A little of her own teenage rebellion that made her smile a little, grab my hand and pull, asking, "I need the story of your Grandma dating a townie right this instant Joelene Macey."

I laughed, "I don't really know the story, she just said it's complicated and happened during her sophomore year. But, he’s the pharmacy owner, like Abrams and Son pharmacy where we get all of our candy. And Jacob is his grandson. And Jacob’s sister Ellen works at the diner, she seemed cool."

We turned onto the street and I bit my lip at the sight of the open garage door, kids in the driveway around a bonfire, music and lights coming from inside.

I hesitated and Lacey took a deep breath, "They're just normal teenagers. We can take em," she glanced at me, a slightly worried face, "Right?"

I almost grabbed her hand and turned straight back around when I caught the eye of a familiar blonde boy. He grinned and jogged down the driveway and towards us.

Lacey smirked, "He's a cutie. I knew from his voice but now..." she cleared her throat, “I get it. I’d sneak out too.”

He was a little breathless, his cheeks and nose a little rosy from the cold and a dimple sticking out on his left cheek when he grinned wider, "You came. I didn't think you would."

I smiled and shrugged, "I may get detention for two months for sneaking out but..."

He somehow grinned wider his hand to his chest, "You snuck out just for me? Aw, Gallagher Girl you shouldn't have."

I raised my eyebrows and winced, “Oh man, this is awkward. I’m actually here for Drew."

Jacob laughed and glanced at Lacey who stuck out her hand, "Lacey. Best friend of the girl you're stalking."

He smirked, "Nice to meet you Best Friend Lacey. Jacob," he nodded towards the party and started walking backwards, "And not stalking. Fate. Destiny. The universe’s divine intervention."

We both groaned and I placed my hand on his shoulder, "You were doing so good too. Fate? So cheesy."

He laughed and cocked his eyebrow, "I thought girls liked cheese?"

I sighed, "Well, if you haven't figured it out yet, I'm not like most girls. I prefer my cheese in the literal sense."

He grinned, pulling us into the garage, "What's your favorite?"

Lacey and I shared a look and replied at the same time, "Gouda."

He nodded, "She's the Man, right?"

Lacey raised her eyebrows, "I'm impressed."

He did a little dorky bow and then grinned, "Sister and cousin," he gestured to the table full of food, "Fresh out of gouda I'm afraid, but can I interest you in some pretzels?"

A group of girls from across the room were giving us the Gallagher glare and one of them yelled, "Jacob!" He turned and she waved her hand frantically for him to come over.

He sighed and rolled his eyes, "I'll be right back. Can I get you guys something to drink?"

We nodded and he grabbed my wrist, "Please don't leave because of my metaphorical cheese comment and lack of literal cheese?"

I laughed and he squeezed my wrist with another grin before weaving his way through the groups that had clumped together.

I turned to Lacey and I whispered, "Thank you for coming with me and dealing with the Gallagher glare."

She nudged me, "Of course. You owe me though."

"Well, if it isn't reeses, sour patch, and red vines girl."

I turned to see the boy from the booth at the hockey game, a red solo cup in his hand, the other shoved in his pocket and a not so subtle eyebrow lift towards my best friend, his cheeks turning almost as red as her hair.

I grinned, sticking my hand out, "Joelene, actually. But I go by Jo."

He shook it, smiling, "Michael. But I go by Michael."

Lacey laughed and I rolled my eyes as I gestured towards her, "This is my best friend Lacey," I looked back at him, “Michael was at the pharmacy booth where I got candy from at the hockey game.”

He shook her hand too and she smiled as he said, "Nice to meet you Lacey."

She took her hand back and stuck both in her back pockets, "You too. So, you make it a habit to memorize all of your customer’s candy orders?”

She glanced between me and Michael and he pointed, "Well, only the really cool ones. Jo here made a family," he rocked back on his heels and blew out his breath, "I would say friend but at this point it's a tolerable nuisance, flounder around at the hockey game in response to her wit. I think my cousin Jacob fell in love on the spot."

Jacob's hand appeared out of the corner of my vision and smacked Michael on the shoulder just then, a little forcefully, "Wow. Just wow. Thanks. You can leave now."

Michael laughed into his cup and Jacob glanced at me, "I never said those words. I am extremely worried that you think I told him I’m in love with you or something.”

I grabbed the cup from his hand and I smirked, "I dunno Jacob, you seem pretty defensive. And you did make that extremely cheesy comment about fate and destiny."

Michael snorted into his cup, trying to cover it up with a cough as Lacey took another cup, "You also stalked her."

Jacob held up his finger, "I did not stalk her. I happened to see her again at the hockey game and took my shot. The diner was completely..."

He didn't know how to finish and I grinned, "Divine intervention?"

Lacey laughed, "Destiny?"

Michael chimed in, "Fate?"

Jacob threw his head back, "I hate you all."

"Joelene?"

I turned to see Ellen, the waitress from the diner and she waved and skipped over, wrapping me in a surprising hug and I'm pretty sure Jacob groaned and whispered, "Oh my god."

She pulled away, "I'm so happy you came. I didn't get a chance to say goodbye to you at the diner," she sipped her cup and hooked her thumb at Jacob, "My brother hasn't shut about you since that night."

Lacey and Michael laughed into their cups and I bit my lip, trying to hide my grin. Jacob grabbed Ellen's solo cup, "And you're done," starting to walk away with it.

She winked at me and turned, stealing the cup back from his hand and disappeared. He watched her go and shook his head and then glanced at me, "I may have mentioned that I thought it would be really cool if you ended up coming. That's all. And only once.”

I nodded, "Right."

Lacey wrapped her arm around my shoulders and gestured to a table at the back of the room, "Alright, let’s leave the poor sap alone,” she grinned at his sigh of relief, “for now. Do you guys wanna play against us?”

Jacob and Michael exchanged looks and then grinned, Jacob pretended to brush his knuckles off on his shirt as he replied "I don't know, we're pretty good."

I smirked into my cup, "He's humble and a cheese ball. I sure know how to pick em.”

He beamed at the comment and Lacey raised her eyebrows, "Oh, I think Jo and I can take you.”

After several cups of not quite cold, foamy beer, Lacey and I sufficiently annihilated Michael and Jacob and had moved on to any challengers. The boys became our cheering squad, revving a small group around us up and egging on our opponents and jumping into trash talk with us. Unfortunately, the current team on the receiving end of their antics was Drew and some other awful and annoying boy I’d already forgotten the name of.

We were all fairly tipsy and each team was down to one cup.

Jacob grabbed my shoulders, “Jo. This is serious. Is your head in the game?”

I grinned, “Yes sir, Mr. Bolton, sir.”

Lacey snorted and Jacob laughed, but then tried and failed to make his face and tone serious, “Gallagher Girl, now is not the time for High School Musical references.”

I put my hands on his shoulders, both of us holding each other and I whispered, “How many times have you seen that movie? Cause that was a pretty minor reference. I’m worried about you.”

He swatted my hands away laughing and he started bouncing, holding his fists up like he was Rocky and then he actually said, “So what you’re gonna do is you’re gonna throw the ball and it’s gonna go in the cup and you’re gonna win. You’re gonna float like a butterfly and sting like a bee. You’re going to crush Drew and his stupid little face and-”

“Hey! Abrams! Watch It!”

Jacob was still bouncing and I glanced at Michael and Lacey and pointed at him, “Do you guys get free candy or something from your grandpa because how is he so hyper all the time?”

Drew groaned, “Come on, stop stalling. You’re going to lose, so just throw the ball.”

“You seem pretty sure of yourself Mr. Jones.”

He leaned on the table, “Oh, I am sweetheart.”

I scrunched up my nose at the sweetheart and leaned forward too, “Wanna put your money where your mouth is?”

He raised his eyebrows and then looked at Michael and Jacob, “Normal bet?”

Jacob hesitated, “Drew…”

Drew grinned, “What, your new girlfriend can’t handle a little tequila? She can’t be worse than you Abrams” I narrowed my eyes at him and Drew gestured to the boys, “Normally, the losing team takes tequila shots.”

Lacey glanced at me, and I gave her a reassuring glance before I replied, “Deal. That is, if we lose.”

Drew smirked right back, “And we drink if the other gets a rebuttal shot.”

I nodded and stuck out my hand and shook as Lacey and Jacob both protested and I waved them off.

I grabbed my ball and shot it right into the cup and Drew sighed and then did the same. We both raised our cups and I drank until he stopped, refusing to let him win.

It happened again. Another drink.

Again. My cup was empty.

When I took the third shot, the ball missed and I closed my eyes as I heard his ball land in the cup.

“Well, Gallagher Girls, drink up.”

I opened my eyes and he was pouring it into two cups. Jacob held up his hand, “Woah, hey that’s way more than a shot.”

I groaned, “Jacob, stop, it’s fine.”

I took the cup and tipped the drink back and willed myself not to cough it all up. Lacey shook her head glancing at the cup and I grabbed it from her and took the second one too.

The liquid burned down my throat and I willed myself to breathe, gripping the table. Jacob’s eyebrows were raised and Michael let out a whistle.

Ellen glanced at Drew’s shocked face and whispered, “You got his face to look like that twice,” then she screamed, “Joelene! Holy shit!”

I grinned and then they all cheered and someone turned the music up louder. Someone filled my cup with more beer and I kept drinking, dancing and singing with Ellen and Lacey.

I started to realize it was all a mistake when the lights felt like they were dancing too. When the music’s lyrics faded and all I could hear and feel was the bass of the music. I felt a hand on my shoulder and blinked Jacob’s face into focus.

His lips were moving, his eyes wide and I shook my head. He pulled my hand through the group, my body jostling between people, my neck feeling clammy and part of me knew I’d start crying if I gave in to the feeling.

We stepped to the side of the house, and I already felt better with the cold air on my skin.

Jacob’s hand was still in mine and he squeezed it, his eyes wide, “You good?”

I nodded and took another deep breath, “I think so.”

He started to pull away, “I’ll go get you some water-”

I gripped his hand tighter, “No. Please don’t go.”

He stopped and squeezed my hand back, “Okay.”

I sunk down to the ground, the muddy grass beneath me destroying my favorite pair of jeans most likely, but I was too focused on taking normal breaths and getting the world to not spin to care.

Jacob came with me, brushing his thumb against the back of my hand, smiling a little, “I’d have puked almost immediately from that tequila, so if you need to get sick just let it roll.”

I laughed a little and fell onto my back in the damp grass, pulling him with me, and I felt a tear in the corner of my eye fall and he brushed it away gently and then quietly asked, “You okay?”

It was different than the you good. It wasn’t him referring to my drunk state but to the tear. To my feelings. My emotions. Me. Was I okay? Was I good?

I laughed a little, “That is a great question. And a loaded one.”

He turned his head, his thumb still rubbing soft circles, “I don’t wanna brag, but I am a pretty good listener.”

I turned my head to him and whispered, “Have you ever felt like you’re two different people sometimes? Or like…” I blew out my breath and closed my eyes, “Like, your future kind of got picked for you? Like you’ve been told your whole life what you’re supposed to do and yeah, your family has told you you don’t have to, but like, they all do it, so do you really have a choice?”

He laughed a little and pointed to himself, “Hi, Abrams and Son Pharmacy grandson who literally lives down the street from his grandparents. Currently at his cousin’s house which is actually his grandfather’s old house. All in the same town they’ve been in forever and will never leave.”

I smiled a little and laid on my side and he rolled too, our hands still clasped together and I played with our intertwined fingers, “So that’s it? You’ve accepted it? That’s your future?”

He shrugged, “I don’t know yet. My grandpa has never really forced it upon us,” he nodded his head towards the garage, “Michael in there and his sister left this town. I think me and El both kind of feel like we had or have to stay. I applied to a few different colleges, we’ll see. I get what you mean, two different people. Part of me could stay here, it wouldn’t be bad, but the other part of me really wants to leave and never look back.”

I scooted closer to him as he played with my fingers that were playing with our held hands and whispered, “Can I tell you a secret?”

He grinned, “I love secrets.”

I closed my eyes, “I applied to a bunch of colleges and haven’t told anyone. Part of me kind of wants to get accepted to one really far away, go, and never tell my family.”

When I opened them he was staring at me so intensely and he nodded, “I get that,” he smiled, “Let’s just leave together and create totally new identities, they’ll never find us.”

I laughed, “My family would. They’re kind of good at finding people.”

He shook his head, “Nah, I’m like a ninja, or a spy, they’ll never find me.”

I smiled at the irony of his statement and he smiled back. We scooted closer to each other, his breath warm against my cheek and he whispered, “How ya feeling? Should we sit up?”

I nodded and I started to sit up again and he followed. I noticed a few people at the bonfire a few feet away watching us, some of them being the girls that called him over earlier.

He reached out, playing with a curl that fell in my face. He cleared his throat, “Would it be really incredibly cheesy of me to push this curl behind your ear and kiss you right now?”

I smiled, “So cheesy.”

He leaned in and it did feel cheesy, and cliched, like we were the only two people there and it was all happening in slow motion as he brushed the curl behind my ear. His thumb stayed on my cheek as he kept leaning, his lips finally brushing against mine.

It was different from my first kiss with Jack. It was different from my kiss with Nick. We were both unsure, slow, a smile breaking out onto both of our faces before my hands wrapped around his neck and he pulled me closer, gaining confidence to kiss me more. I understood the music and movies suddenly. The fireworks. The butterflies. The your breath becoming one and the world fading away.

“Joelene Macey!”

I gasped as I turned to see my mom with her arms crossed at the foot of the driveway and Lacey slouching in the backseat as the door closed.

I looked at her and turned to Jacob and whispered, “Is it really wrong of me to want to kiss you more just to make her mad?”

He smirked and his hand cradled my jaw and leaned in and kissed me harder. A few of the kids around the bonfire whistled and then yelled oo’s when my mother yelled louder, “Joelene!”

I broke away from Jacob breathless and he whispered, “I would very much like to make her mad again. Can I…can we…please can I see you again? Can I take you on a date?”

I kissed him again and nodded, “I’ll figure something out.”

I stood and walked away from him backwards, towards the van. He grinned and I bit my lip as a bunch of people cheered. I bowed and my mother opened the passenger door, practically shoving me inside before slamming the door.

Lacey whispered from the back seat, “How was it?”

I fell back against the seat and looked out the window, breathless and grinning as I replied, “Amazing.”

My mom was getting in as I spoke and I was grinning still and it started to fall as I looked at her expression. She looked out the window, then at me, her eyes softened just a little but then she turned back to the steering wheel, “Get your seatbelts on.”

When we’ve gotten in trouble in the past, my mom has never really yelled or raised her voice at us kids. It’s always been a fairly quiet interrogation, a “I’m so disappointed in you” kind of scolding, never yelling as she handed out a punishment. Usually because we all knew we were in the wrong, we knew to expect the speech - you do the crime, you do the time. Simple. A law of the universe.

So, I was fairly prepared for the silent treatment before she got really upset, but I don’t think she was prepared for a slightly drunk teenage daughter who hadn’t really spoken to her in a week to ask to see a boy again.

“Jacob asked me out on a date and I’d like to go.”

She shook her head, mumbling under her breath, before replying, “Excuse me?”

Lacey hiccuped in the backseat before letting out a long sigh, “Aww, he asked you out on a date?”

My mother’s grip tightened on the steering wheel, “How much did you two drink?”

I sighed and waved my hand, ignoring her question and asking one of my own in response, “What was your first date like?”

She didn’t glance away from the road, “What?”

I turned to her and rested my chin in my palm and my elbow on the console, “Your first date. Did you go on one? How about a first kiss? Was dad your first kiss?”

The rest of the ride was silent and I stayed in my spot on the console, watching her profile. Maybe it was the beer and tequila, maybe it was the high from kissing a cute boy, but all I wanted to do was soak up my mother in this moment, not take her for granted anymore, and to stop fighting.

Her jaw was set down hard, her eyes on the road. I reached over and touched a curl that fell in her face and I saw her shoulders go down slightly.

I was exhausted from our fighting. Was she exhausted? I wanted to tell her everything but I didn’t even know where to start. I was still mad at her about my dad being gone, but I wanted my mom back. Could I have her back? Could we come back from the words we had said to each other? Or rather, the words I had said?

She pulled into the long driveway, my mom nodded at Lou as I waved with a grin on my face and she pushed my hand down.

I grabbed her hand and frowned, the words falling out faster than my brain could keep up, “I’m sorry mom.”

She sighed, squeezing my hand, “I know.”

“No, I really, I’m sorry. About our fight. Not about tonight, I’m not sorry about tonight at all actually. But I am sorry.”

She sighed as she parked and turned to look at Lacey, “Go straight to the headmistress’ office. If I find out you went anywhere else, made any stops, or talked to anyone on the way your detention will be doubled, is that understood?”

Lacey nodded, “Yes ma’am.”

She got out and I started to get out too and she locked the door and I smirked, “Oh, so you are still gonna yell at me, just wanted to do it without an audience. Gotcha.”

She shook her head and faced forward, her hands on the wheel like she’d start driving again, “I was going to answer your question.”

I sat up, “My question?”

She smiled a little, “My first date.”

“Oh,” I sat back, waiting.

It was quiet for a long time as she looked up at the roof of the car and sighed, “It was with your dad. And we just ended up punching each other in the P&E barn,” she smiled a little, “Aunt Alice did my hair all tight and curled and put me in this dress and he made a picnic and our hands were sweaty and it was all wrong.”

I watched as her hand went up to her necklace, her wedding ring, a boxing glove, and a jet. She twirled the wedding ring in her fingers, “Our first real one was a lot better. Take out burgers and tator tots. A carnival fair thing. A movie,” she smiled, “But we already had been through a lot and knew we loved each other.”

I smiled, “What about your first kiss? Was dad your first kiss? Did you kiss anyone else?”

She cleared her throat, “Um, I kissed your Aunt Alice,” I grinned and she waved her hand, “And your dad claims our first two kisses weren’t real, so if that’s true, I also kissed your uncle Scout before him.”

I sat up, “What?!”

She laughed and pressed her hand to her cheek and I grabbed it,, “Where, what? Were he and uncle Matt dating? Did you know uncle Matt liked him?”

She opened her mouth and then held up a finger, “Now hold on, you’re still in trouble, you’re distracting me.”

I bit my lip and fell back against the seat and nodded, “I really did want to know though. I wasn’t asking to get out of a punishment. I just…” I closed my eyes, “I just wanted to be normal for once. I wanted to hear a normal story,” I wiped my eyes, “Please can I go on a date with him?”

She sighed and looked out the window, her hands twisting in her lap, reminding me a lot of Collins, or I guess it would be Collins who reminded me of her technically.

She finally spoke, her voice so quiet I had to lean in, “Honey, I’m sorry, but you can’t date him. And you can’t sneak out and do this again. And the drinking? What would your dad say?”

I shook my head and pulled my legs up onto the seat, “Dad’s not here.”

She reached over and brushed a curl away from my forehead, and nodded, “No, he’s not.”

I closed my eyes and leaned into her hand, letting her play with my hair, “He’s going to come back right?”

Her hands ran through my curls and she whispered, “I hope so.”

It was quiet for a while and she finally broke the silence again, “What’s going on with you honey? I know…” she trailed off and then she cleared her throat, “You were right. I wasn’t here. But I am now. And I want to help. Tell me what’s going on so I can help.”

I kept my eyes closed, tears sticking to my eyelashes, “I shouldn’t have yelled those things at you.”

Her hands never stopped running through my hair, “I’m glad you did.”

I opened my eyes and saw she was crying too, our heads on the seat cushions facing each other and her thumb brushed my cheek, “He’s so much better at all of this than I am, isn’t he? He’d know what’s going on. He’d know how to help, right? That’s what you’re upset about? You want to talk to him? You want him to fix it all?”

My chin started to wobble and I wiped at my eyes and I shook my head no, “I don’t know what I want mom, I was feeling like this when he was here too. I don’t think anyone can fix it.”

Emotions I didn’t want to come out, were released full force, big gasping sobs falling out of my chest, like a dam inside of me broke. A tidal wave of tears, and frustration and anger shooting out of me. I hated feeling this way, I hated being incapable of controlling the tears. I hated that I couldn’t control the universe, see the future, know my dad was okay, date who I wanted to date, have a foot in both worlds. Everything I had been feeling and thinking was coming out in those tears.

She suddenly got out of the car and came over and undid my seatbelt, pulling me onto her lap and sliding back into the car. My tears fell faster and I clung to her like I wasn’t seventeen, like I wasn’t mad at her or the world. I think sometimes a girl just deserves to cry in her mother’s arms. It won’t solve everything or maybe anything at all, but it was a part of the process to feeling better.

She held me and let me cry as the minutes ticked by, as my tears and hiccups finally slowed. I wiped at my face and choked out, “I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s going on.”

She kissed the top of my head, “Well, from the smell of it, tequila is what’s going on. But I…” she sighed and kissed my temple, “Joelene, do you remember when your dad and I made you all promise to tell us if anything ever felt wrong, bad or different in your head or your body? Something you might not be able to explain with words?”

I blinked and sat up, “No. I’m fine. Don’t-”

She smiled sadly, her own tears on her eyelashes, “I think you should start talking to Doctor O’Reiley once a week.”

I shook my head, ready to protest more but she kept going, “You can talk to him once a week and he won’t tell me anything you tell him, unless it’s something life threatening or a diagnosis that requires medication if you decided that’s something you wanted. Otherwise you talk to me, and you tell me everything right now.”

I looked into her eyes, my eyes staring back at me. I wanted to yell, to scream, to get mad at her for ruining a perfectly good mood and night by requiring me to go talk to a therapist. But I knew she was right, so I sighed and I nodded. I didn’t even know what I’d tell her if I chose the other option. I meant what I said, I didn’t know what I wanted anymore, I didn’t think anything or anyone could fix this, and most importantly, I was exhausted of fighting it.

She opened the door, pulling us both out of the car. She kissed the top of my head again and squeezed me, whispering into my hair, “We’re okay right? You’re not mad at me anymore?”

I laughed through my tears and squeezed her back, “That depends, can I really not see Jacob again? Because I think I really like him. He’s so funny, and kind of dorky, and normal and a really good kisser and-”

She shook her head laughing a little, steering me towards the steps, “Oh honey, just because we made up and I’m a cool mom and didn’t yell at you does not mean you are off the hook for sneaking out of school and drinking. No matter how good of a kisser he is, now is not the time to negotiate a relationship. We’ll talk about it when you’re not grounded anymore.”

I looked up at her, my head on her shoulder, “And how long will that be for? I just want to get it in my calendar.”

She laughed again, “I’d say about when you’re forty.”

I nodded and sighed, “Right.”

She nodded towards the door, “I hope he was worth it.”

She opened the door to my grandmother’s office and I stepped in to face my punishment. I had been expecting a guilty looking Lacey. A disappointed grandmother/headmistress. I did not expect to see my Grandpa Zach’s disappointed face, shaking his head and then closing his eyes and I tried to turn around and run away.

My mom turned me around, “Oh no, you’re not going anywhere.”

My grandpa groaned, “No, no, no, do not tell me you’re wearing what I think you’re wearing.”

I looked down at my outfit confused, I was covered from head to toe, it could have been a lot worse, I saw how half the girls there were dressed. Even my mom looked like he had lost it. My grandma covered her mouth as he exhaled.

He pointed, “You did not wear my leather jacket to go hang out with an Abrams!”

I could tell from the grin my grandma was holding back that he wasn’t actually upset and then my mom nudged me forward as she said, “Oh she kissed him pretty good in it too.”

My grandpa banged his head on the mantle and he pointed at me, “Cam, give her detention for twenty years.”

“Twenty? Thirty seven is less than forty,” I grinned at my mom, “I’ll take it.”

My grandma looked at the chair next to Lacey, a silent instruction to sit down, opening a fairly big file, repeating my mother’s words, “Well, Miss Goode, I hope he was worth it.”

I looked at my mom, a weight off of my shoulders, at my grandpa who was ripping a pack of m&m’s open, my grandma who had a slight twinkle in her eye and my best friend sitting next to me.

Then I thought back to the sweet, cheesy, and normal boy I had spent the evening with and decided I didn’t have a single regret.

Jacob Abrams was definitely worth it.

#so far so goode #gallagher girls #the listen series #joelene goode #lacey o'reiley #jacob abrams #morgan goode

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