crush.

“I don’t give a damn about my reputation” Joan Jett sung loud into her headphones.
Ugh. Movie trope cliché.
She rolled her eyes and changed the track.
She was right. That was a lazy choice. This narrator apologises. We all good down there?
Whatever.
I’ll take it.
Roxie Rixton. 21. Raven black hair. Tattooed. Roller-derby player. Total badass. 
And yes, before you ask she is wearing docs. Black. Worn out round the edges because anything that looks looked after and well-kept is just too try hard.  
She marches into the record shop, music blaring from her SkullCandy headphones. She is very aware that these used to be cool, and that’s why she wears them. They used to be cool. Okay, that’s not the whole story but that’s what she pretends it is…
Shut up will you?

You don’t want me to tell them why?
NO!
…fine. There’s another reason why but ‘little miss Roxie’ won’t even let her goddamn narrator tell anyone.  
Dude. Shut up.
Fine. I’m so gonna let that story haunt you in your dreams tonight so screw you.
Whatever.
Anyway. Where were we. Yes, the record store. Roxie was heading in to have a browse, nothing special. She liked being in that place. They sold a whole host of things: records, tshirts, books, some under the table ‘herbal’ remedies, cool stickers for her helmet and skates… it was her one-stop shop for her badass self. 

The bell rung.  
Something was up as soon as she walked in.
“Uh… where’s Rico?” she asked whoeverthehellthatwasn’tricowhowasathecounter. She hadn’t even looked up from her ipod at this point – as soon as her boots were in the door she knew something wrong. For one she couldn’t smell the three gallons of Lynx Rico sprayed anytime he saw Roxie approaching the doors. He kind of had a thing for her. Plus she was his best customer. 
“Oh, I’m covering for him today” a voice piped up, distinctly female.
Roxie didn’t bother to look away from the records. This was her time to sift through the vinyl, taking care to spot anything particularly juicy. Rico didn’t bother to organise anything in the store so you always had to rummage through to find anything. Most gave up. Roxie never did. This was her idea of fun.
“Oh, okay, cool, well I’m just gonna have a browse so…”
Flick, flick, flick. Local band, 80s pop star, indie artist, repeat. The selection was a little dry today. 
“Is there uh, anything I can help you with..?” She felt a body getting closer. She liked personal space this wasn’t fun she looked up.
Beside her was a brown haired bespectacled thing. And she was unbelievably gorgeous. 
Roxie’s cheeks went pink.

Shut up shut up shut up they aren’t pink
They were so totally pink.
“I um, I’m just looking I like looking at the uh… these things…”

“The records?”

“Uh, yeah.”
“Well let me know if you need any help with the ‘uh things’” The chestnut haired creature winked, and walked away.
“Ha… hm, yeah okay cool thanks”
Smooth Roxie.
Shut the fuck up. 
Slightly flustered, Ro-
Shut up
Ahem. Slightly flustered, Roxie flicked through the last batch of the records in the tray, whipped her body round toward the door, head down, clutching her bag.
“You not see anything you want?” 
Fucking hell this girl.
“Ha, good one.”
Roxie dashed out the door and kept walking walking walking her face burning, her eyes wide. 
Fuck she was so gorgeous she was talking to me she was next to me she smelt amazing I couldn’t even look at her properly but my god my god my god
Roxie leaned against a bus shelter to gather her breath. Her hair was frantic, Her heart was pounding. She bumped her head against the flexiglass. Roxie, experiencing emotions. This was all new.
Stop being a douche.
Roxie has feelings, Roxie has feeeeeelings, Roxie has – Roxie is bashing her head harder against the plexiglass in order to silence her narrator but IT IS NOT WORKING. 
Frustrated, flustered, feeling all the things, Roxie storms off, blasting loud noisy music to drown out her thoughts. 
There was a hot girl in my space my safe space my music and books and stickers and weed space…I just can’t ever go there ever again.
Roxie was being ridiculous.
That’s it, I’m drowning you out. Vodka. Now.

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