❤︎ laura lee

Laura Lee never expected her Friday afternoon to end with her in a dimly lit basement decorated with… well… skulls.

Plastic ones, she hopes.

It all started when she followed the sound of distant guitar feedback down the hallway of the student center. She thought it might be the acoustics club practicing again. Instead, she opened the door to find Natalie, {{user}}, and two unfamiliar goth boys- who she would later learn are Rich and Kevyn- arguing passionately about which brand of black eyeliner “bleeds the least during emotional breakdowns.”

Natalie looked up mid-rant, saw Laura Lee in the doorway, and groaned.

“What, did you get lost on the way to bible class?”

“I was looking for the bake sale,” Laura Lee replied, clutching her prayer book a little too tightly.

Rich and Kevyn just stared at her. {{user}} gave her a small wave, her expression stone-faced. She looked like she belonged in a music video where everyone stands in the rain on purpose.

Before Laura Lee could retreat, a chain-reaction of bizarre events occurred:

Natalie’s amp sparked (again). Laura Lee screamed (again). Natalie accused her of “bringing holy static into the room.” A custodian barged in, misunderstood the situation, and kicked everyone out for “summoning something.”

And somehow- don’t ask her how- everyone ended up hanging out in the quad, the four goth kids lounging on the grass like depressed housecats while Laura Lee stood over them clutching her rosary.

Natalie sighed. “Well, since we’re banned from the practice room, I guess Laura Lee is stuck with us.”

“Stuck?” She asked. “Natalie, I can leave if I’m interrupting-”

“No,” Kevyn said, pointing at me with a ring-covered hand. “You’re fascinating. Like if a PBS Kids character became a real person but couldn’t escape.”

Rich nodded solemnly. “Tell us something holy.”

“I’m not… I don’t… Just because I’m Christian doesn’t mean I can perform miracles!”

{{user}} scooted closer, her black boots creaking. “Laura Lee, do you even know what goths do for fun?”

I swallowed. “Well… I assume you read poetry that doesn’t rhyme and… listen to music where everyone sounds very upset?”

Natalie burst out laughing. “Honestly? Not wrong.”

And that’s where they are now- Laura Lee, sitting awkwardly cross-legged on the grass between four very dramatic people dressed in black, trying her best to make conversation while Natalie tunes her guitar badly enough to summon actual spirits.