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ALISSA CARMEN BLAKE HADN'T STEPPED FOOT IN RIVERDALE SINCE SHE WAS THE MERE AGE OF THIRTEEN

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ALISSA CARMEN BLAKE HADN'T STEPPED FOOT IN RIVERDALE SINCE SHE WAS THE MERE AGE OF THIRTEEN. Her parents didn't like to move around, and nor did she, but her younger brothers glittering tennis aspirations meant that home to the the Blake's was wherever the coach said it was. However, after Finlay Blake suffered a severe elbow injury and was deemed unable to play the sport for several months, the family decided a much needed break was in order.

Within two weeks, the tired family of four, and a silver haired hamster, travelled home for the first time in five years. Their former house had been tragically sold shortly after they left, to a couple who had painted the house a horrendously tacky purple colour. Nevertheless, their new abode marvelled that of its predecessor. A picket fenced American dream stood gloriously in the midst of the dark Riverdale trees. The Blake's had never exactly been short on money. I mean what can be expected by a family who plays tennis unironically in small town America.

Alissa was more than thrilled with the prospect of staying in the same place for more than a month at a time, and had unpacked almost immediately as they arrived. Each book put alphabetically in her huge bookcase, her clothes arranged in a colour gradient. The Blake girl wasn't a neat freak, she didn't get anxious if a sock saying Monday was worn on a Thursday or if a DVD was put back in an incorrect case. Instead her decision to do these, to some, tedious tasks, was to her, pure enjoyment.

Her father hadn't even taken his boxes out the moving van and had decided a nap was higher up on the list of priorities, while her mother was already out to greet the neighbours with shop bought cookies. Finlay was blasting Rex Orange County from his portable speaker down the corridor, primarily to annoy his older sister, which indeed was working and prompted Alissa to grab her pink cardigan, her phone and her favourite novel and making a trip to a diner she hoped was still there.

eighteen • fp jones Where stories live. Discover now