What Becomes Of The Broken-Hearted? (A Spoby AU)

The Guilty Girl's Handbook

The following excerpt is from the Rosewood Citizenship Guide, issued by Rosewood City Council on the 5th April 1962. It outlines the most significant laws in the Rosewood Manifesto:

-One must not not stay out after Curfew.
-One must not abuse illicit substances.
-One must not speak out against the authority.
-One must not have sexual intercourse before/outside of marriage.
-One must not purchase a plane, boat, or bus ticket.
-One must not watch the following films (see back of book).
-One must not read the following books (see back of book).
-One must not host any unauthorised, informal event.
-Students must not miss school.
-One must not learn a new language beyond their native tongue.
-One must always look their best.
-One must leave their house at least once a day.
-One must abide the Alarms.
For full list, see pages 345 to 362, or visit www.rosewoodcitizenship.gov.us

The consequences of breaking any one of these laws is determined on a Two Strike basis.
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"You shouldn't be having salt, dad," Spencer reprimanded her father, watching him sprinkle a drizzle of salt onto his bacon. It was the early morning - outside, birds sang, a car hummed, and the wind whispered through the leaves. Honeyed light swept aside the curtains, forming puddles on the floor of the Hasting's sitting room, and at the table, for what felt like the millionth time, Spencer urged her father to stop eating salt. And like every other time, Peter looked up, put a finger to his lips and said, "Sh. Don't tell your mother."
Her elbows on the table, Spencer pushed her fingers through the roots of her hair and sighed.
"Fine," she blew away a lone strand of hair that hung limply in her face, "but make sure you take your medication. Or I will tell mom."
Almost in disbelief, Peter laughed and shook his head. "Don't you have school to attend?" He asked.
"Yes," Spencer agreed, "but I intend to have breakfast first." As if to prove a point, she reached for the charred piece of toast resting on the cooling rack, and began to lather butter on it. When she put it to her mouth, it tasted like ash, crumbling on her tongue, burning up her insides. With disgust, Spencer set the toast back down on her plate.
"You know?" She said, "I think I'll get something to eat at the Brew. A coffee too."
"Not so fast," a voice cut through the air. Veronica was striding towards them, her footsteps falling in the pool of light, distorting and fragmenting it. Hastily, Peter swept the salt boat aside and smiled at his wife. Veronica pretended not to notice.
"Good morning," he said nonchalantly.
"Good morning," Veronica replied. "Spencer, before you go to school I need to ask something of you."
Spencer turned around in her seat, carefully dropping her school bag back onto the floor as she did so.
"Yes?"
"Don't talk to our new neighbour, please."
"Mom, I don't even know what he looks like. Why would I talk to him?"
Veronica spread her arms, "I don't know," she enthused, "it's a small town. I heard he's retaking his senior year at RHS. If he comes towards you, go the other way. I don't want that family or that boy anywhere near ours. Understood?"
"Sure mom," Spencer said tiredly, "I don't even know what he looks like, but sure."

As it turned out, it was pretty easy to spot Toby Cavanaugh, regardless of whether Spencer knew what he looked like or not. It seemed that it hadn't been just her parents who'd warned their child to stay away from the boy, and the poor kid had a five foot radius of empty space wherever he went. Spencer couldn't help but feel sorry for him. He didn't look dangerous and unstable. When she looked at him, all Spencer saw was a sad, lost boy, who'd been cheated by the world itself.
Her friends, apparently, did not share that opinion.
"God, would you look at him," Hanna commented that lunchtime, wrinkling her nose in disgust. "Can't believe they even let him into the school. He looks dangerous."
Alison snorted. "He looks like one of those hairless cats. It's pathetic." All traces of the lost girl from last night seemed to be gone, apparently. Spencer's eyebrows shot up, and she turned to look at Ali.
"I don't think he looks that dangerous. Or pathetic." She sniffed and waved her fork at Alison, "And what makes you say he looks like a hairless cat?" She challenged. Since that morning, the mood between Ali and Spencer had been, though not exactly frigid, anything but warm and fuzzy. More tepid. Or like the hairless cat Alison was describing. In response, Ali shrugged.
"He's just so pitiful. Like something that had the opportunity to be beautiful, but couldn't quite manage."
"Well," Spencer smiled at Ali, "welcome to the real world."