𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋

𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕖

 Randy watched as you walked away, still collected the tapes into one tall pile on the floor. When you finally left through the door and disappeared from sight, he sighed longingly and started to chew on the inside of his lip, slowly starting to sort the tapes back onto their stand.

"What's the matter, Meeks?" Stu pestered. "You and (Y/N) weren't having a somewhat meaningful conversation before I stepped in, were you?"

He glared up at the taller boy before standing back to full height, clapping his hands together to get rid of the dust that caked onto his skin. "As a matter of fact, we were," he huffed. Even when he stood up, Randy was still at least five inches shorter than Stu. Not that he would ever admit to it, of course. 

The ex-athlete batted his eyes in mock sympathy, hands joined together under his chin. "Aww, where you gonna ask her on a little date?"

The tips of Randy's ears immediately darkened to a beet red and he turned back to the empty shelf to hide his embarrassment. "I don't see how that's any of your concern," he scoffed, arms full of blocky tapes. 

 If he had turned around just a second later, he would have seen how Stu's eyes darkened at the mere idea of him being involved with you. "Oh yeah?"

None-the-wiser, Randy continued to stock the shelf until all of the tapes were back in their rightful place. He then wheeled around to snap at Stu for getting all up in his grill but stopped himself short when his eyes caught on a figure standing a few aisles away. Forgetting whatever point he was about to make, Randy crossed his arms in front of his oversized uniform shirt. "Now that's poor taste."

Stu spun around curiously. "What?"

He looked to where Randy was pointing at the other end of the store. There stood Billy Loomis with his shoulders slumped forward, surrounded by three or four doting girls that they recognized from a few of their classes. Billy stood far enough away that whatever he was saying was drowned out by the conversations of others. But by the way he flashed his canines every so often, Randy knew that he was probably flirting.

Through his squinted eyes, he gestured wildly in Billy's direction. "If you were the only suspect in a senseless bloodbath, would you be standing in the middle of the horror section?"

"It was all a misunderstanding," Stu shrugged, stepping back so Randy could pace between him and the aisle. "Billy didn't do anything."

"You are such a little lap dog," the shorter boy seethed, hands flexing at his sides. "He's got killer printed all over his forehead." He dared to look over at Billy one more time. The girls had stepped a little closer, tugging on the front of his plain white tee, twirling strands of hair between their fingers as they nodded along with whatever he was saying.

It bothered him that Billy could wrangle so many girls at once. First Sid, then (Y/N). By the time Randy finally gathered up the courage to talk to a girl, Billy had them wrapped around his stupid little football-playing finger.

He grumbled and pretended to flip through the movies in front of him, adjusting the rows so that they were perfectly lined up with each other. Stu followed almost helplessly behind him. "Then why'd the police let him go?"

"Because they obviously don't watch enough movies. This is standard horror stuff." Randy paused, zoning out for a split-second before shaking his head. "I'm surprised (Y/N) hasn't connected the dots. She's almost as big a geek about this crap than I am."

"Alright smart guy," Stu challenged, cocking his head to the right to study him from a different angle. "Even if it were Billy, why would he want to kill his precious little (Y/N)?"