Hawkins, Indiana is just some small town that nobody knows where to pin on a map. It's a small, close-knit town where nothing ever happens, and when it does, it's the only event of the year. Rebecca Newby lives in that town, and luckily enough - or...
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Rebecca's gaze was pinned down on the history textbook on her desk. That didn't mean she was reading it, though. There was no way she would be able to focus on any school work today. It was a miracle she had even managed to get out of bed, let alone get in her father's car and walk into class on time. She'd declined coffee. She'd turned the radio off in the car. She'd skipped her usual meet-up with Nancy. Why Bob had forced her out of the house was beyond Beck.
Sandra Clarke had never been the best mother - that much was a fact. Buying a child's forgiveness with new toys and trips to the arcade after blaming them for marital problems and alcohol abuse was probably one of the worst ways to go about parenting. No matter how badly she'd acted in the role of mother, though, and no matter how much relief set in after being placed with solely her father... it didn't change the fact that she was Rebecca's mom. Sandra was still a person. She was a member of Beck's family. Even after hating her for so long, for all the problems she'd caused, a maternal bond still stood. One or two memories of the good times stood out, more so now that the thought of never seeing Sandra again had been planted into Beck's head.
"Beckie, you home?" Sandra called out, shutting the painted-ivory door behind her. Tiny footsteps rushed through the second floor of the house, running down the twisting staircase. The house was set at the precise center of Maple Street, meaning it was formatted in a similar way to most of the other houses of the suburbs. Two floors and a basement, complete kitchen and island, three bedrooms and three bathrooms, the works... all meant for the American dream.
"Momma!" a nine-year-old girl, a tiny girl names Rebecca, shouted, a wide smile on her face. The raven-haired woman who stood in the doorway let a grin slip on her face as she leaned down and scooped up the child in her arms, groaning as she stood back up. Beck giggled, hugging her mother close. The smile on her mother's face was something the child had learned to make the most of.
"Oh, you're growing like a weed." Sandra said, pressing a kiss to the child's cheek. "How was school? Do anything fun?" Sandra put her child back down, beginning to rummage through her purse for something, while Beck smiled and started to rattle off the events of her fourth-grade life - playing tag with Nancy at recess, learning to multiply decimals, the like. "Oh, that sounds like a blast, honey."
Down the entering hallway of the house, Bob had entered to lean against the wall. He was watching carefully what his wife did - especially with the sight of a tiny flask poking from the woman's purse. Of course, their daughter was none the wiser - a good reason not to say anything - but the man was a careful father. He was a protective father. He wouldn't let Sandra do something she'd regret to their daughter.
Bob watched as Sandra knelt down on the ground after finding something from her purse. She had hid it behind her back, and was saying, "I brought something home for you." Rebecca's face lit up with excitement and anticipation, and she started giggling while bouncing on the balls of her feet.
