8Thank you for your reviews, DrewSb! It means a lot :)
Chapter title: comes from Halsey's New Americana.
Blurryfaces
Chapter three - The city's ours until the fall
He picks up at the fourth ring. That's a good sign: it means he doesn't want to talk to her. There's plenty of reasons Charlie can list about why he should be scared of her right now. She's internally kind of proud that someone can be scared of her (she knows she should feel bad though), but she has officially declared that Stiles Stilinski is a pale annoyance that shouldn't be handled with gloves.
"Hey" he answers, a little hesitantly.
If he was physically in the room with her, she would have jumped at his throat.
"What happened?" she asks instead, her voice strained because of repressed anger.
There's a long gap between her furious question and his shaky answer. "I, huh..."
"Don't pretend like you don't know, Stilinski. Where the hell were you?!"
She hears like a bump on the other end, and she hopes he hurt his toe against his desk. "Fu- ah, I didn't – let me explain. I couldn't come-"
"There better be a good explanation for this because it's your fault we failed this project."
"I know, and I do! I do have a good explanation." She stops pacing around the room and lets herself drop on her bed, feeling the lethargy of her after-anger catch up to her. "Scott was sick."
"Scott was sick." she echoes, not believing him in the slightest.
"Yes. He was puking everywhere, from both sides! Like an explosive diarrhea, god, I can still see the little morsels of pizza floating in the green and brown-"
"Okay, that's enough!" Charlie stops him, suddenly feeling ill. "Ugh, thank you for the picture."
"Sorry. Couldn't stop myself. That was really horrible though, you should've seen it-"
"No, and I'm glad I didn't."
"So you believe me?"
"No."
"But-"
"No."
"Will every answer that come out of your mouth be no?"
"Yes. I mean – shit. You idiot!" She actually laughs but she can imagine Stiles's stupid smirk and that makes her want to hit him in the nose. "Was Scott sick again during the latest lacrosse match?" It's her time to smirk now, and she's proud of herself.
Stiles stammers gawkily. "Huh – no. I just- had a little problem. S'fine now. All solved. It doesn't matter to you anyway, why do you ask?"
She quirks an eyebrow up even though he can't see her. "Maybe because Todd, my best boy friend since middle school is part of the lacrosse team too, and as you failed the team, you also failed him?"
It's almost as if she can feel him trying to make himself smaller. It's laughable.
"I can't say anything, I'm sorry." he finally replies with a sigh. His fatigue and stress leak out of the phone, and suddenly she doesn't know how to react. She doesn't know how to be angry anymore. "I already apologized to Coach, I already apologized to my dad... Let's say I have big problems on my hands and I can't tell you about them. It's personal. Sorry."
For five long seconds, she can't believe he hang up. But he did. And she stays here, on her blue bed with the white lilys, too surprised to even move. She silently gets up and puts her phone to charge up, then gets back on the bed, lies down on it.
She stares at the ceiling for a while. On one hand, she's worried for the grade she's going to get in English since Stilinski wasn't there to present the project with her today; on the other, she's worried about Stilinski himself.
Well, it's not about Stilinski only. McSteroids is also a subject she needs to talk about with Todd and Amy. They're both acting weirder than usual. Of course, it could be nothing; she knows Stiles's father is Beacon High's sheriff, everybody knows that, so maybe it could be a family problem. That happens. Charlie herself sometimes doesn't get along well with her father, resulting in evenings where she doesn't even show up for dinner and stays locked up in her room, trying to block out the sounds with her pillow over her head. Every family has its own problems, nothing is perfect. If something seems flawless, then it's most certainly not real.
She stares at her phone where a Twitter notification lights up the screen (she didn't create an account by free will, Amy made her do it, and Charlie understands now that it's really efficient to keep up on the world news). She can always call Stilinski back. She suspects he might not answer, but that would show him that she's not as selfish or mean as he thinks she is, that she cares about people other than her friends.
Three knocks on the door make her raise her head.
Leon Zeidi enters the room as quietly as he can, and smiles at his daughter. "You okay? Seemed kinda pissed off earlier." he says as Charlie makes room for him to plop down on her bed next to her.
"Yeah, it's just a guy in my class. We were doing this Shakespeare project together, and he didn't show up when we had to present it in class today."
Her dad rolls his eyes. "So you called him to sort things out?"
"I did." she sighs. "Got nothing from him though."
His big palm comes sooth her coiled hair. "Did you threaten him?"
"Dad!" she exclaims, pulling away from him with a laugh.
"But did you?" he repeats, an eyebrow raised.
His daughter rolls her eyes. "I didn't. He got away before I had the chance. He said his best friend was sick or something. I don't believe him, but I'm not getting with him on an other project next time, or all the other times to come."
"Good." her father good-naturedly laughs. "Your mother would have showed up at his house with a broomstick and beat him with it, but thankfully you're not a witch."
She squints an eye at him. "Oh, are you sure I'm not one?" she asks jokingly.
"Unless I see a suspicious devil trap or some goat bezoars in your drawers, you aren't one, Cha."
She smiles and lets her head drop on her dad's large shoulder. "God I still have my French homework to do."
Leon looks at the clock on the dark blue wall in front of them. "It's seven thirty pm and dinner is ready."
"Yeah, I'll do it afterward, you're right."
He pats her shoulder in a very awkward-dad-manner. "C'mon, I made lasagnas. You don't wanna miss that." He stands up and waits for her by the door.
"Can Amy come over tomorrow?" Charlie asks. "She sucks at French and she'll probably need me."
"You know I love Amy." her dad nods. "Now get your ass downstairs, Cha."
"Will do."
"You know what? We're going shopping."
Amy's sudden decision tears Charlie's mind out of her French homework. She was struggling to conjugate at the 'passé composé', or that's what those madmen of French call it. She seriously began to think that they needed a new revolution for a reform of their conjugation.
"No?" she suggests, lifting her pencil from the paper and looking up from this latter.
"Yes." says Amy, taking none of her eternal bad mood. "French is dull."
"You're only saying this because they used to be England's mightiest enemy." argues Charlie with a smirk.
Amy stares into the void for a moment before nodding reluctantly. "Okay, maybe I do, but it's also one of the hardest languages in the world and when exactly are you planning to travel to France, huh? Or Quebec." she adds when she sees her open her mouth.
"French might be complicated but it's also got an immense history and culture! Look at freakin' Baudelaire-"
"He translated Poe, right?"
"No, that's Maupassant."
"Oh my god-" Amy shouts, pulling at her braids and pacing around Charlie's room. She stops in front of her friend and points an accusative finger at her. "That is exactly why you need to get out of this house. You work too hard! You need to breathe!"
"At least I'm ready for my future!"
"And what about your near future?" asks Amy, now more persuasive than ever. "You don't know yet who you're going with to the formal. You don't know what you're going to wear..."
"Your skin once I'd tear it off your muscles." lets out Charlie.
Amy glares at her and goes on, taking none of her bullshit. "You don't know what you're wearing right now, and the formal is tonight. Seriously, a little bit of shopping is always good for your spirit. Lift it a little."
"Shopping also hurts my feet!" whines Charlie.
"That's because you always focus on the bad things, sweetie." smiles Amy, taking the armrests of her friend's chair and making it spin. One merry-go round. Two merry-go rounds. She stops at two when she sees Charlie's unhappy look. "Focus on the best things. Focus on how many shopping bags you're going to bring home. Focus on the new blouse I'm going to buy you."
"Focus on the prize." mumbles the pessimistic one.
Amy rolls her eyes, harder than Charlie ever did, which seriously impresses her.
"I'm giving you a ride to the mall." the redhead decides. She takes her hand and forces her up. "End of discussion."
"You're not leaving me there?" worries the brunette.
"Are you joking? You could accidentally kill someone."
Charlie nods in agreement and lets Amy lead her out of the house.
They hop on Amy's old Vespa, not forgetting to put on the white helmets. Amy's long braids slap happily Charlie's helmet while the girl's short black hair is safely hidden inside her own. She grabs her best friend by the sides, afraid to fall off and end up in the hospital, but Amy, even though she drives fast, is also perfectly in control of her Vespa. Charlie would rather be on a car, but she admits that the powerful wind wheezing against their tense bodies, knowing there's nothing but air around them, nothing to hold onto but each other, is kind of thrilling.
She follows Amy's advice and lets herself go, head resting on the redhead's back. She tries not to think about her french homework for a second. And it feels good.
"Chop-chop!" the British says as she parks on the bikes' parking lot. "Come on, loser."
Charlie hops off, letting go of Amy's waist. Her fingers are stiff and cold; she blows on them.
"How much do you have?" she asks while Amy hides her Vespa keys in her purse.
"Don't worry about that." she commands, which makes Charlie worry, obviously. "I have enough!"
"Okay." the brunette sighs, not wanting to show that she is, in fact, excited. "Where to first?"
"It's a mall. There's no 'where to', only 'whatever catches your eye'."
Everything catches her eye. That's the problem. She thinks about going into Hollister but she's not that wealthy and she's not going to the beach often anyway. She sees Mango, tries on a dress, finds out it's making her ass pop up too much, groans. Amy would look amazing in it but she doesn't even spare a glance at the dress and leads them to Primark.
"Did you know that Whittemore broke up with the Bee?" Amy says as she ruffles through an ocean of low-prize shorts. "Explains why she wasn't here to support him during the match."
"Yeah, everyone talks about it. I heard it almost got published in the school journal."
"It has?"
"I don't read it, sorry,"
Amy finds a shredded short with the American Flag. "Wow, such patriotism. I wonder why they broke up though. It looked like something that could have lasted for a while."
Charlie feels the fabric of baggy pants. "I don't really care. They were so cliché and so stupid. He was kinda harsh to her too."
"What do you mean?"
She looks at the floral shirt Amy's holding up in her right hand. "That would look good on you. I mean that he talked to her like she was some stupid ass little girl with cooties or like a sex slave, with no in between."
"Thanks." smiles Amy as she turns around and checks the dimensions of the shirt against her chest on a mirror. "I didn't see that." she comments about the power couple.
"Well I'm glad they broke up." Charlie continues. "Maybe they can change away from each other."
Amy turns to her, an amazed expression on her freckled face. "Did you just say something optimistic? I'm so proud of you!"
Charlie shrugs, smiling. "You were right. Shopping lifts my spirits up."
Amy beams. "So you think I should buy it?"
"If you have enough for the formal dress, why not?"
"Are you going to take something?"
"Nah, I'm good."
"Nonsense. You gotta treat yo self."
Amy ends up forcing her to buy this wonderful blue dress that looks like Alice in Wonderland's but without the underskirt and the white apron and ribbon. She makes her promise to wear it at least once every two weeks and they hurry to the waiting line.
"I'm going to find you a partner for the formal." Amy bets.
Charlie quirks an eyebrow. "You'll fail. I scare away the male gender with my demoniac gaze and tongue."
Amy pouts. "Then I'll try to make the female gender interested in you."
Charlie looks up at her, surprised, and catches Amy's deadly serious face. "Please- I scare away everyone with my attitude." she says, stammering a little.
"I'm still here. Todd's still here." Amy softly says. "The only one who's scared away is you, Charlie."
Her hands are suddenly moistened with sweat and the only thing she can think of is that she's going to have to wash her new dress as soon as she gets home. She clears her throat, and choses the only defense mode she knows: attack.
"You didn't tell Todd yet, did you?"
Amy, who was about to take a step forward as the waiting line shortened, stopped. "What?" she pretends lightly.
"You know what."
Amy stares at her feet like she always does when she feels ashamed. "He knows."
"He kn- you didn't tell him, how could he possibly know?"
"Because he didn't ask me." The British girl, who's ever so loud, is now probably considering to turn into a mouse.
Charlie rolls her eyes. "He didn't ask you to the formal because he's too scared of rejection and you know it. If he knew, by some kind of miracle, that you were possibly going to go out with Shaun, he sure as hell would've asked you."
"By the way you say it, it looks like he fancies me." Amy says like it's as unthinkable as swimming underwater in the Dead Sea.
Charlie's silence is as meaningful as a full sentence.
Amy stares at an invisible point in front of her, her face empty of any feeling.
Charlie often wonders what brought them together to begin with, and it's situations like those that she understands. They both hate to talk about their feelings. Charlie doesn't like talking about feelings at all, Amy doesn't like talking about her own.
It's not 'I fancy him', it's 'he fancies me', so she's able to avoid the 'me' problem. She pretends she doesn't feel anything romantic, Charlie pretends she doesn't feel anything at all. Different forms of angry passivity.
They both know it's going to fall back on them one day but right now they're too stubborn to do anything.
Amy gets to the cashier and Charlie has no choice but to follow her in silence. If her best friend's pissed at her, it's her fault and she's aware of that. She just couldn't shut up. Sometimes her mouth speaks way faster than her brain functions, and it has no filter.
"New Girl's over there." she declares.
Thankfully Amy plays at her game.
"She's trying on dresses." she notices. "We should do the same."
"God, the blood red dress she's holding is horrendous." Charlie says, wrinkling her nose in disgust.
"I suggest silver for her skin tone. Black would be awful."
"No one would see me in the dark if I were to wear a black dress." comments Charlie.
"Not unless you smile." Amy smiles.
This awkwardness fades a little as they laugh and walk together to the prom dresses stands.
Immediately Charlie panics. She looks around and all she sees are clothes only suited for people like New Girl or Amy: thin, almost flat-chested, small butted, Caucasian, pretty.
The redhead grips her arm and takes her to an other section of the shop.
"Okay, what we need for you is a small one. But not too revealing though, I know you don't like it."
Charlie shakes her head vigorously, and Amy shuffles through the different dresses. There's everything here, and too many choices.
"Maybe we should start with your favorite colour?" Amy asks.
"It's blue. But that won't help."
"I bet blue would look amazing on you."
"I'm not sure..."
"Let's not go for the white ones, or else you're going to be the center of attention."
Charlie sighs, feeling as lost as the day she finished the Deathly Hallows. "Look, just... try and look for a dress for you. I can handle it myself."
Amy frowns. "No, I can help you, and in exchange, you do the same for me, that's how it works!"
Charlie taps her foot twice on the ground, now awkward again. "You should choose your dress with Shaun, not me, or else you aren't gonna be color-matched for the dance."
Amy purses her small lips, taken aback by her friend's argument. "Hell." she murmurs. "I didn't think about that."
"Hey girls!" says an high-pitched voice that sounds like honey.
They turn around, only to fall on Lydia Martin who seems honestly enthusiastic. For once, Charlie can't decide if she's faking or not. Behind her wheezes Stiles loyal puppy Stilinski. Only the upper part of his head can be seen above the enormous pile of dresses he bears in his arms. Charlie briefly wonders if he works here, before she remembers she has to be angry at him and therefore not talk to him.
"Hey, Lydia!" Amy fakes a genuine smile. "How are you? How's it hanging? Going?"
Lydia doesn't seem weirded out by Amy's babbling. "Fine!" she says, all with a grin. She's wearing red lipstick today, and Charlie can say that it suits her better than the glossy pink. Her hair is fine too and she seems to have given up on the fake curls.
Maybe she used to do all of that when she was dating Jackson. Charlie could have been right after all: they changed away from each other.
"Is he your ostler or something?" asks Charlie, eyeing Stiles who seems to be half-having the time of his life half-wanting to die on the spot.
"No." Lydia answers, barely sparing him a look. "In fact, he's my suitor. But that doesn't matter; what are you girls going to wear at the formal?"
Maybe it's because they aren't at school and that no one else they know but Allison Argent is in the mall, but Lydia has probably decided to drop the popular act and talks to them.
"Why do you ask?" Amy blurts out.
"I just thought you were worth talking to, not enough of a lost cause. But you seriously need to wear something better than that." Bee adds as her glares up and down Charlie's sweatshirt. Charlie looks down at herself, eyebrows furred together. "And you, is your style always that vintage or is that just for the fun of it?" she asks Amy.
"I like vintage stuff." the British replies.
Lydia nods. "Anyway, that handbag is a killer."
Amy nervously pats her cherry-red and white polka dot purse. "Thank you."
"Can I ask you why you came to us? I mean, it's not like we're friends in real life..." Charlie asks spontaneously.
Behind the Queen, her knight lets a dress fall on the ground accidentally. He struggles to knee and get it back. Lydia ignores him royally.
"I saw you struggling to find the perfect outfit. I'm born a matchmaker."
"Can't deny that." Charlie grumbles between her teeth.
"So." Lydia says, almost rubbing her hands together with jubilation. "For you. Charlie, right? I suggest a beige one, given your melanin. That would look awesome on you. Maybe with a corset-like top... The skirt not too long, above the knees, maybe a la Lolita with a short petticoat." While she talks, she buries her hands inside the colorful row of dresses, ignores the prom ones and the most flashy ones, goes for the shortests. Charlie fears the worst.
"You have an amazing butt, so we shouldn't go for something tight to the body, that only makes it worse. I know because I'm myself gifted."
"Okay?" Charlie hesitates.
"Maybe something a little fancy." Lydia continues, not interested in Charlie's disapproval. "How's your date like?"
Charlie hasn't realized the Bee is talking to her. "What? Oh, huh – I don't have a date."
Lydia seems to silently judge her. "Okay, usually you need to chose with your date, so when you'll find one, tell him to wear cream beige." She finally pulls The One out of the mass of different dresses. It's definitely cream beige. A soft maroon ribbon surrounds its middle, separates the tank top from the petticoat skirt. Brownish flower petals strew the latter.
The first thing Charlie thinks is that she's going to have to shave her legs to wear this.
The second thing that crosses her mind is that she's never put on something that remotely looks like this and never will. It's supposed to be on someone like Lydia or Amy or even New Girl, not a petite chubby girl like Charlie Zeidi.
"You should definitely try this on." Amy suggests, seemingly impressed by both Lydia's skills and the dress' beauty.
"I don't..." Charlie stammers, feeling insecure. "I'm not sure. It's maybe too revealing..."
"You can always wear a transparent pantyhose." Lydia says, proud of her find. "It's not like you're going to bend forward so everybody sees your thong."
"You can't be sure if you haven't tried it." the British says with a wink. "An old mummy quote."
Charlie stares at the both of them waiting for her consent. Finally she sighs. "Okay, I'm going to give it a try."
Amy high-fives her and Lydia nods, a victory grin conquering her face. For a moment, Charlie thinks that the strawberry blonde and the redhead make an amazing pair. That is until she realizes that Amy's too stuck in her daydream for Lydia and that Lydia's a narcissistic popular bee who'll forget all about them once the weekend's over and they're back in school.
Lydia hands her the dress and pushes her in the direction of the changing rooms.
"Don't peek on her and don't let them drop." she says. "I'm going to help out Amy here."
"Sorry, what?" Charlie calls out.
"Not you. Him." Lydia responds with a vague gesture before disappearing along with Amy.
Charlie turns her head and faces the loyal puppy. She swears under her breath.
"Yep, still here." he says, his voice a little muffled by the pile of clothes he has to hold.
Charlie looks up at the ceiling of the mall that she would have preferred to be a sky, and asks the gods why this keeps happening to her.
Unfortunately they don't reply.
She has no choice but let the boy accompany her.
"C'mon."
He trails her to the changing rooms and collapses on a purple pouffe, putting down gently the dresses on an other seat nearby. Exhausted, he runs a hand through his buzzcut as if it's covered by sweat.
"Do your business, I'll just be here and think about the meaning of life." he says. He doesn't seem that disturbed by her aggressive behavior.
She opens a random changing room's curtain and disappears inside it with the dress. For a moment she struggles with her sweatshirt, her hair too big to pass through the collar, but eventually she manages with a grunt. She then proceeds to put on the dress after she's done with her pants and shoes, finds out she also has to get her bra off first because it won't fit.
"Everything okay in there?" Stiles's voice asks, sounding worried.
"Yeah, fine." she groans back, her mouth stuck in a scowl. "Have you ever tried putting on a dress?"
There's a few seconds of silence before... "Actually yeah, I used to try on my mother's clothes when I was a kid."
Charlie stops fighting against the skirt and stays still for a moment. "You know what, that doesn't even surprise me."
Stiles chuckles. "Weird people herd together."
She rides up the low-cut neckline with ferocity. "We don't herd together. And I'm not weird. Shut it."
"That's what you keep telling yourself. Everyone's weird." Then he says, lower: "Lydia's weird too."
"I've never seen her do anything weird, ever."
"That's because you don't know her."
"What the hell are you talking about, you don't know her either!"
"I'm in her class since the third grade!" he replies, offended.
"You know what, I don't even want to talk to you." she says as she faces the curtain. "You messed up big time with our English project."
"Oh, so you're still milking that?"
"Yes." she scowls. "And even though you had an excuse, that doesn't mean it was valid-"
"Heya Scott!"
Charlie fights to open the curtain and gets out of the dressing room. "Don't change the topic, Stili – oh. Hey, McCall." She straightens her spine in front of Stiles's best friend, trying not to look like a giant mushroom in a dress. She may not know McCall very well, she still doesn't want him to think she's a frog who believed she could become a princess.
"Hey, Charlie." Scott smiles, and she begins to understand what New Girl sees, or saw in him: he looks so much like a lost puppy with those big brown eyes, this floppy brown hair, this crooked jaw, this Latino skin, these baggy clothes that most likely hide new lacrosse muscles...
No, she's most definitely not checking Scott McCall out. She's just observing the fact that he'll grow to be an handsome young man in a few years, what's so bad in that?
"What are you doing here? It's the women's dressing room." she says, using her repulsive power to make him think she did not just think he's great boyfriend material.
He turns around, eyeing the room with curiosity and finally noticing the few stares from two girls chatting on an other pouffe.
"Oh." he says lamely. Great face, little mind. "Sorry. I just need to tell Stiles something, I'll be fast."
Charlie grabs the curtain, just to have something to protect her body in case he sees a few unshaven hair on her legs. She shrugs. "He's Lydia's anyway, you can do anything you want with him. Even torture him, see if I mind." she adds in a murmur.
Scott doesn't seem to hear her last words and looks at Stiles whose cheeks suddenly splatter with red. "No way." he says with a grin. "How come?"
"She asked me out, dude. I didn't have the time to open my mouth that she had already buried me with dresses." Stiles replies, unable to mask his lopsided smile.
"Holy shit." Scott laughs, patting his friend's shoulder. "Wow. I'm impressed, buddy! You finally got the girl! What did it take you, eight years?
"Seven and a half!"
"Lydia said you are her suitor?" Charlie barges into the discussion.
"Yeah." Stiles says and stars shine in his eyes. Charlie finds this incredibly stupid, but she doesn't voice it. "I'm taking her to the formal."
She doesn't understand why Lydia got suddenly interested in Stiles as she hasn't paid the slightest attention to him in almost ten years now, but maybe miracles do happen. She's not fond of miracles though. They prefer living in old and dusty books, wonderful books, rather than bearing the unnatural reality.
"Holy shit!" Scott repeats, before his grin turns into a wince as he seems to remember something important. "I gotta tell you something." he adds, lower.
Stiles looks at Charlie who shrugs like she doesn't give a care. "Go talk about boy stuff that is none of my business."
Stiles nods and Scott takes him out of the dressing rooms. Charlie shakes her head, murmurs a faint "unbelievable" and is about to pull out her phone to take a selfie and send it to Amy, but Stiles Stilinski's head suddenly appears on the corner of the entrance of the room.
"You look nice by the way. Scott thinks so too but he's too blinded by Allison to say it."
"Stiles!" Scott's voice shouts.
"A sec, buddy!"
He disappears along with Charlie's will to live. She wishes she had the strength to tell him to go away sooner, but Scott's puppy eyes had strangely soothed her.
She hesitates in front of the mirror, takes note of her petite figure and the beautiful gown wrapped around her body. She observes the imperfections on her dark skin and the uneven nails.
She presses send. Amy replies in the ten seconds following.
Amy -looking good, princess! where's ur prince? -
Charlie- i'm rapunzel and i'm not eighteen yet-
Amy - saving urself for marriage huh?-
Amy - lydia says that shell personally watch if you bought that dress-
Charlie - that's my worst nightmare-
Amy - Id never thought id say that but im with her this once. that dress IS awesome-
Amy - whats the prize?-
Charlie - I can afford it!-
Amy - txt me when u get to the queue!-
Charlie - I AM in the queue -
Amy – hell
Amy – im coming sweetie! dont panic without me
They make a bet on the way home. "How many years do you think it's going to take for Lydia to notice Stiles?" the redhead asks.
"She's already beginning to notice him." the other replies, clenching hard her hands around Amy's stomach.
"I bet that's going to be the slowest slow burn ever."
Charlie nods. Amy's braids continue gracefully slapping her helmet. The houses are fuzzy as they pass next to them. "Are you aware that slow burn means that they eventually end up together?"
"I'm aware."
"How long do you think it's gonna take then?"
"Give it two or three years."
"That's optimistic."
"I bet you my favorite curly chips."
"Bet taken. You're going down."
Charlie ends up losing the bet. She places the french fries on the tombstone, and walks away.