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Reeling in the Years	By : Flagg1991 Category: +G through L > The Loud House Views: 5080 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own The Loud House or its characters and I am not profiting from this story in any way.

Chapter List
- 10
- 11
- 12
The best things in life are free
But you can keep them for the birds and bees
I need money
- Barrett Strong (Money, 1960)
Lincoln Loud spun the wheel and navigated the Ford around an orange cone, then spun it in the other direction, narrowing avoiding another. He grimaced and stole a sidelong glance at the driving instructor in the passenger seat, a big fat man in a plaid blazer, his beady eyes framed by large, black-rimmed glasses: He made no sign that Lincoln had done anything wrong, and the boy breathed a silent sigh of relief.
At the end of the course, he parallel parked between two cones and cut the engine. "How did I do?" he asked eagerly.
"Good," the instructor said, making checks on a clipboard with a pen. "You passed the written test, you passed the driving portion – son, you are now the proud owner of a learner's permit."
Lincoln beamed. He wasn't even fifteen and already he could drive. Poor Leni hadn't taken the test in over a year because she'd pretty much given up hope of passing. It made him feel kind of bad to have his permit when she still didn't, but that was blown away by the sheer joy of being legally allowed to operate a motor vehicle.
The instructor threw his door open and got out. Lincoln followed. It was a clear, mild spring day, and a light breeze redolent of flowers and honeysuckle blew from the west. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Ahhh...the smell of victory. Inside the DMV, he waited impatiently at the desk for his permit, his fingers drumming on the countertop. Grand visions of him pulling up to Ronnie Anne's house in a hot set of wheels (he was wearing sunglasses) floated through his head, and he smiled. Lincoln Loud: Cool Guy and Expert Driver.
He frowned.
Lincoln Loud: Cool Guy, Expert Driver...and No-Car Haver.
The vision in his mind turned to one of him proudly admiring his new permit while walking to the bus stop. True, he could probably use Dad's Packard, but he didn't want to use the Packard. He wanted his own car, a cooler car.
The only problem was this: He didn't have money for a car. His pockets were empty (except for a pack of gum, a lighter, and a pack of Camels). And borrowing from his parents? Forget it! They didn't have money either. Dough, like privacy, was rare in the Loud house: He couldn't count the number of times he and his siblings had beat the stuffing out of each other over pocket change. Dad did his best, and they never went without what they needed, but a lot of the times, they didn't get what they wanted.
What good is a permit without a car? A cool car?
The instructor returned with his permit, and he paid the fee (okay, he had that...but it was in his wallet, not his pockets, so technically he was telling the truth about having empty pockets). Outside, he slipped his permit into his wallet and walked the three blocks to the bus stop. He needed money. He passed the town bank, and briefly considered robbing it, but decided against it: He'd make a terrible criminal and an even worse inmate. He could start playing the lottery...but that would take forever. By the time he finally won, he'd need a pilot's license to drive.
He dropped onto the bench with a sigh. He could get a job.
He brightened...then darkened again. He was two months shy of fifteen. The only job he could get would pay minimum wage, which was 1.25 an hour (he only knew that because he heard on the radio that they voted to raise it last Wednesday). That wasn't a bad sum (man, all the stuff he could do with 1.25 an hour!), but it would take him forever to save up for a car, even a used one.
What other options did he have, though? Hope one dropped out of the sky and landed in front of him? 'Hi, Lincoln, I'm a brand new 1961 Chevrolet, please get in and drive me.' Like that was going to happen. It might take a while, but at least he'd be working toward his goal instead of sitting on a bench and feeling sorry for himself. Sigh. He hoped cars in the year 2000 were nice, because that's when he'd be able to afford one.
The bus pulled up and the doors opened. Lincoln dropped his fare into the box and moved to the back, taking a seat across from a fat woman in a pink muumuu. If he got a job at 1.25 an hour and worked, say, four hours a day after school, that would be five dollars in a day. If he worked every day, that would be thirty-five dollars in a week. He bowed his head at how daunting it was, but like they say, good things come to those who wait.
Alright. His mind was made up. He would get an after school job. When he got home, he snagged the newspaper from the kitchen table and took it upstairs. On his way to his room, Luna called his name, and he jerked. Darn it. "Yeah?" he asked, popping his head into her room. She sat in the middle of her bed in a pair of jeans and a blue and white striped shirt. The guitar she made three summers ago was in her lap, and her fingers strummed the strings.
"Hey, listen to this and tell me if it's good." She played a few notes, and, yeah, it actually did sound good. She was teaching herself to play, and while the going was slow, she was getting better.
"That sounds great," he said.
She looked at him, her eyes wide and hopeful. "Yeah?"
He nodded. "Yeah, you're improving."
She smiled wide. "Thanks. There's a bar on Route 29 that's looking for a guitarist on Saturday nights, and I was thinking of stopping in and seeing if I'm good enough."
"Go for it," he said, "I think you're great." That wasn't a lie, he did think she was great. Not the best, but great nonetheless. If she kept practicing, she would be a rock star one day.
She nodded. "Yeah, I think I will. Thanks, Linc!"
He saluted.
In his room, he dropped onto the bed and laid the paper out in front of him. Let's see, where's that classified section? Oh, here we go. He leaned in and squinted at the tight columns. WANT, FOR SALE, PERSONAL, JOBS. He scanned what was available, and sighed. Nothing he could do. 'Exp. Required,' 'must have car.' I don't have a car...that's why I'm looking for a crummy job in the first place!
He put the paper back together and returned it to the table. Well, that was a bust. He turned to leave, and Luan was there, startling him. "Hey, Linc!"
"You nearly gave me a heart attack," he said, clutching his chest.
"Sorry," she said and brushed past him. "How'd the test go?"
Test? What test? Oh! "Great, I passed."
"Good job!" she said as she bent into the fridge. "I bet you're excited."
"Yeah," he said, "I'm kind of bummed though. I don't have a car."
She bumped the door closed with her hip, a plate of leftovers from the night before in her hands. "Neither do I. Yet."
"I know...and you seem okay with it. I'm not. I want a set of wheels."
She grabbed a fork from the drawer and sat at the table. "Get a job."
"That's what I'm trying to do," he said. "I just checked the classified ads, but there's nothing. Maybe I should –"
An idea struck him, and he grinned. It wasn't a surefire thing, but it was worth a shot. In the living room, he sat on the sofa, picked up the phone, and dialed a number he knew by heart. After a few rings, a woman answered. "Hello?"
"Hi, Mrs. Santiago," he said, "Bobby wouldn't happen to be there, would he?"
"Yes," Mrs. Santiago said, "he actually just came in. I will put him on."
She sat the phone down, and Lincoln heard her calling for Bobby. He drummed his fingers on his knee. Come on, come on. A moment later, the phone was picked up and Bobby's voice came on the line. "Hello?"
"Bobby," Lincoln said happily, "it's Lincoln."
"Oh, hey, Linc," Bobby said, "how's it going?"
"Good, good," Lincoln said, "hey...you remember what you told me about friends helping friends?"
"Yeah."
"Well...I need some help. I just passed my driver test and I'm looking for a job. I was wondering if you could talk to Flip and see if he'll hire me."
Bobby worked for Flip for a long time and Flip loved him. If Bobby went to him and talked Lincoln up, Flip was sure to hire him.
"Uh, yeah, I guess I can talk to him tomorrow. I don't know if he needs anyone, though. How are you going to do that with school?"
Luan poked her head in from the kitchen like the nosey nelly she was, and Lincoln ignored her. "I was hoping I could work in the afternoons and on the weekends."
"Okay, well, I'll talk to him for you. I can't promise anythin' but I'll certainly try.
Lincoln smiled. 'Thanks, Bobby!"
"No problemo, little man."
"Is Ronnie Anne there?"
"Yeah, she's here. You wanna talk to her?"
"Of course."
A few moments later, Ronnie Anne's voice came on. "Hey, lame-o," she said, and Lincoln could hear her smile, "how's it going?"
"Alright," Lincoln said. "You got anything going on today?"
Ronnie Anne sighed. "Actually, yes. My aunt and uncle are visiting from Mexico and I'm kind of stuck."
"Oh," Lincoln said, frowning. He was kind of hoping to see her.
"I'm sorry," she sighed.
"No, it's fine," he said, "family's important. I'll see you tomorrow."
"I'll walk over."
"Okay," he grinned.
Lori Loud woke early on Thursday, May 11, to the sensation (and sound) of her stomach rumbling. Oh great, so it starts. She sighed and brushed her hair back from her forehead, then glanced at the next bed over when Leni muttered in her sleep. Lori listened carefully, but didn't hear anything about spiders, which was good, because when Leni had spider dreams, she was literally a wreck the next day. Lori didn't get it: Why was she so afraid of spiders? They were just bugs. Ugly, sure, but centipedes were ugly too, and Leni had no problem with those.
Whatever. Lori got up went into the hall. Everyone else was still asleep (except for Dad, he would already be at work), so she used the bathroom and crept down the stairs as silently as possible. In the kitchen, she opened the fridge and rummaged around. Hm, what sounds good? Eggs? Maybe. Bacon? Most definitely! There wasn't very much, and if she made some for herself, she'd have to make some for everyone, so...eh, if she broke the strips in two there would be enough.
She took a package of bacon and a few eggs out then grabbed a cast iron skillet from the cabinet. She sat it on the range, turned it on, and threw a few pieces of bacon in: They instantly began to sizzle. Now we're cooking with gas! What else did she want? Toast? Pancakes? A steak? She was hungry.
Her stomach rumbled and she patted it: She didn't like the way it jiggled slightly. Her mother said she was gaining weight, and even though Lori adamantly denied it, she was. She couldn't help it, though, she was hungry a lot lately. What was she supposed to do, starve herself? Yeah, let me get right on that. While I'm at it, why don't I shove a fork into an electrical outlet?
The bacon was popping now. She took a big whiff – and instantly regretted it: Her stomach lurched and twisted violently. She clamped a hand to her mouth and tried to fight back a rush of bile, but the bile won out, and she barely made it to the sink, where she puked, her hands gripping the edge and her knees shaking. The stream cut out, and she pushed herself back, only to lean forward again when another wave of nausea crashed over her. She puked again, her chest burning and her stomach rolling: The hot smell wafted back to her, and she threw up a third time, splattering the sink.
For a long time she leaned heavily against the countertop and took deep, evenly spaced breaths. Her heart slammed wildly and her guts roiled sickly. When she thought she was okay, she turned on the faucet and cupped her hand under the flow. She splashed water in her face, then onto the steaming pile of vomit. Her stomach clenched again, and she closed her eyes lest the sight send her off puking again. When the sink was clean, she cut the faucet and pushed away, stumbling to the stove on shaky legs. Oh, jeez, what was that about?
She didn't know, but she did know one thing: The bacon was burned and she didn't care. Food was literally the last thing she wanted right now. Using a pot holder, she picked the skillet up, carried it to the trashcan, and dumped the horrible, horrible bacon in. Strange. She loved bacon. Why did the smell of it make her hurl?
In her room, she dropped onto her bed and curled up. Her stomach was still iffy, and, suddenly, she felt drained. The clock on the nightstand said it was 6:21. In less than ten minutes everyone else would start to get up and the day would commence. Ugh. She didn't feel like commencing her day. She felt like cancelling it.
At 6:30, the alarm went off and Leni slapped it with a moan. Someone opened and closed the bathroom door. Luan cracked one of her dumb jokes, and Luna groaned. Lori felt a little better, but still not 100 percent. Maybe if she laid in bed until Bobby came to pick her up, she'd be okay.
She wasn't.
As she went down the walk to where Bobby was parked at the curb, her stomach clenched and growled. Today is going to be lovely, she thought, simply lovely. She opened the passenger door and Bobby grinned. "Hey, babe."
"Hey," she said and got in. They kissed.
"How's my best gal today?" he asked as he pulled away and started down the street.
"Sick," Lori pouted.
He glanced at her, concern in his eyes. "What's wrong?"
"My tummy feels icky."
"Aw, I'm sorry." He stroked her face with the back of his hand, and she smiled as she leaned into it. Since graduation, Bobby had started working for Blades' father full time, and she started taking financial accounting classes at the college. They rarely got to see one another, and sometimes Lori really missed him.
She sighed and pulled away. "It's okay. I feel a little better now. It was really bad this morning."
"I hear there's a bug goin' around," Bobby said. "Blades said he was so messed up he shit himself." Bobby laughed, and Lori couldn't help but snicker. Blades was seeing some girl from Milton now (an actual girl and not his hand, Lori thought with a blush – Bobby, you've corrupted me!) and every once in a while they double dated. Her name was Clara, and she was a cute redhead with green eyes; they seemed to get along well, and Blades even told Bobby he was thinking of marrying her. Poor guy pooped in his pants, huh? God, she hoped that didn't happen to her. She would literally die of embarrassment.
"He wasn't with his girl was he?" Lori asked.
Bobby shrugged. "I dunno. He didn't say. He's seein' her tonight so probably not. If he shit himself in front of her she'd probably dump his ass."
Lori cocked her head. "I don't think she'd do that. She's a nice girl."
"Maybe. I dunno. If you pooped yourself and I caught wind of it, this thing would be over in a heartbeat." He looked at her and winked. She slapped his arm. "Come on, you wouldn't break up with me?"
"No! I'm caring and understanding unlike some people I know."
"Who's that?" Bobby asked.
"I'll give you a hint: He wears a leather jacket and drives a car with flames on the sides."
Bobby nodded. "Sounds like a cool guy."
"Despite his flaws, he is. I like him very much."
"Well, that presents a problem, because I happen to like you too. Tell me where this guy lives, we're gonna have to have a talk."
Lori shook her head and rolled her eyes. By now they were pulling onto Wyman Street. Royal Woods Community College was ahead on the left, a wide brick building with tall, arched windows and Grecian columns. Kids in dresses and sweaters milled in the wide commons, standing by the fountain and under trees budding with the colors of spring. Bobby stopped in the middle of the street. "You should ditch," he said, "and hang out with me." There was a twinkle in his eye, and Lori laughed. So far, they had 'hung out' only once, and it wasn't something they planned. They were in at the drive-in seeing The Absent-Minded Professor and it was a real snoozefest. Bobby touched her, she touched him, and then they moved into the back seat. In a way she regretted it, but in a way she didn't. She wanted to wait until they were married (she had already decided she would say yes if he asked), but she felt closer to him now than ever before, and her love had only increased. She didn't plan on doing it again, though; she wasn't that kind girl.
She leaned forward and pecked him on the lips. "If you want to hang out like that, you're going to have to marry me."
Bobby shrugged one shoulder. "Alright. Why not?"
Lori tilted her head forward. "Is that a proposal?"
"Sure," he grinned. "I gotta get a ring, though." He looked around, then patted his pockets and pulled something out: A silver Zippo with his initials engraved on it. "Here, until then, take this." He held it out.
"A lighter?" she asked playfully.
"Just until I get the ring," he said.
Shaking her head, Lori took it and slipped it into her pocket. "Alright," she said, then kissed him again. "I guess it'll do. For now."
She got out of the car and crossed in front of it, waving at Bobby as she did. He watched her until she was gone, then sat back and raked a hand through his hair, his face paling. Oh, man, marriage? You know, he planned on marrying her – every time he tried to picture himself in ten or fifteen years, Lori was always there – but...wow. That's a big step. They'd have to get a house...and the wedding itself (those things aren't cheap)...it was intimidating.
Very, very intimidating.
Feeling shaky and nervous, Bobby chewed his thumb nail and drove to Flip's.
- 10
- 11
- 12
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Reeling in the Years