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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
- 12
- 13
- 14
Life is awful.
Luna Loud slipped her hands into the pockets of her jeans and bowed her head as she walked up the gravel shoulder of Route 29, her homemade guitar slung across her back. It was getting late, and dark clouds were forming in the west. It would probably start pouring before she got home, but that was so in keeping with her day that she gave it no special thought. She drew a heavy sigh and kicked a rock, sending it skitting into the road.
She had been studying music at Royal Woods Community College for eight months now, and on the weekends, she played dorm parties for friends. They all told her she was good and tipped her when they could: A couple pennies here, a dime there, a quarter or two once the drinking really started – she allowed herself to believe them, she allowed herself to think she was good.
But she wasn't.
Mr. Jefferson, the owner of the 29 Roadhouse, told her so.
When she first saw the ad in the paper asking for a guitarist, she figured she had it in the bag. Sure, she wasn't the best, but come on, it's a bar, not Carnegie Hall. Mr. Jefferson apparently thought different: She sat on a stool in his dank, smelly little rat hole and played her three best songs: Lucille by Little Richard, Maybelline by Chuck Berry, and Rock Around the Clock by Bill Haley. Mr. Jefferson, a big fat man with a crewcut and a white button-up stretched tight over his gut, sat with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face. At first, as she played, she let the music flow through her the way she always did, entering an almost trancelike state. Then, after glancing up and catching a glance of his sour face, she started getting really nervous, and fumbled through Rock Around the Clock. Before she was done, he waved his hand and shook his head.
"Sorry, honey, you're not what we're looking for."
Those eight words crashed into Luna like a slab of concrete. "I-I can play something else," she offered.
But he just shook his head. "It's not the songs, sweetie, it's you. You're just not that good. Sorry."
He got up and went behind the counter in a clear this meeting is over gesture. Dazed and beginning to cry, Luna stumbled out and tried not to give in to the tears, but they came whether she wanted them to or not.
She was a fraud...a little girl plucking a shitty homemade guitar and building castles in the sky. She should throw the damn thing in the trash and get real: What chance did she have of being a rock star?
A peal of thunder rolled across the sky, and lightning cracked. Rain drops began to pelt her, slow and few at first, than fast and many. They mingled with her tears as she began to cry anew. She just wanted to play music; music was her life, and she loved it dearly. Before she heard Rock Around the Clock that first time, before the driving drums and crashing guitars swept her away, she didn't know who she was or what she wanted to be. Then...then she heard this new sound, and she knew...she knew and it felt so good to know who she was and what she was: She was Luna Loud, Rock Star in Training. What a joke. More like Luna Loud: Loser in Training.
A car flew by and a curtain of cold rain water splashed over her: She gasped and came to a halt. Goddamn it! She flashed and kicked the gravel. Fuck this shit, man! I hope you fucking wreck!
When the car stopped and backed up, her heart squeezed. Uh...can you read thoughts? It pulled alongside her, and the passenger window came down: A guy with curly blonde hair was leaning over the seat. "Hey, man, I'm real –" he blinked as he presumably realized Luna was a girl. A lot of people mistook her for a boy or a lesbian because of her short hair and shapeless frame. "- I'm real sorry, I didn't mean to, uh, splash you like that. You want a ride?"
"No," Luna said flatly.
"You sure?" he asked.
"Yeah," she replied. She started to walk away, but a loud crash of thunder shook the world, making her jump. "On second thought..."
The guy sat up behind the wheel as she slipped in and laid her guitar across her lap. She slammed the door and he started driving, throwing a couple glances at her. "What's that?" he asked, nodding toward the guitar. "It looks like a Bo Diddly guitar."
"It is," Luna said.
"Yeah?" he grinned. "That's cool. I like Bo Diddly. Cool guy. How much did it cost?"
Luna did not feel like making small talk. "I made it," she said.
"No shit?" he asked. "How does it play?"
"Fine," Luna said, "I'm the one who can't play."
The guy's brow furrowed and he looked at her. "Do you play?"
"Not very good."
The wipers clunked across the windshield, making a lonely tempo. Rain sluiced down the passenger window, and through it Luna could see nothing.
"Play something," he said.
"I suck," she said.
"Nah, I bet you're fine. C'mon. Play something."
Luna sighed. She held the guitar as best she could in the cramped space and played a couple cords. "There," she said.
The guy laughed. "That wasn't bad," he said, "I guess. You didn't play very much."
"I'm not really in the mood," Luna said and sighed.
"You alright? You look down. Downer than just from walking in the rain."
"I'm fine," Luna said, beginning to get annoyed, "I just thought I was good and apparently I'm not and I don't know anymore."
The guy nodded and turned back to the road. "Well, I'm sorry. Where are we going?"
"1216 Franklin Avenue."
The guy turned to her, his eyes narrowed. "I know that address. Is it...uh...big house on the corner?"
Luna blinked. Okay, that was creepy. "Y-Yeah."
The guy smiled. "Oh, you know Lori."
"Yeah, she's my sister."
"Alright," he nodded, "my buddy Bobby's dating her. I'm Alvin, by the way, but my friends call me Daggy."
"Luna. What kind of name is Daggy?"
Daggy chuckled and wiped his hand across his mouth. He glanced at her, and at the expression on her face, he laughed harder. "Promise not to laugh?"
"Yeah, I'm probably not gonna laugh."
"When I first met Bobby, I did something he didn't like – I can't remember what the hell it was. He said, 'You're a real fag, you know that?' I got offended, and I'm like, 'No, I'm not.' Then he says, 'Yes you are. Faggy.' He turned it into Daggy because the teacher heard him call me Faggy once and busted his ass."
Luna snickered.
"Hey, you promised you weren't gonna laugh at me."
"Sorry," she said, "I wasn't expecting that."
"Yeah, no one ever does. My Ma thinks they call me it after that comic strip. You know, the one with Dagwood or something? If I told her the truth she'd probably have a heart attack."
They crossed the truss bridge into Royal Woods. Up ahead, a police car sat in the middle of the street, its red emergency beacon flashing lazily in the rain. "Uh-oh," Daggy said, and turned onto State Street.
"You afraid of the cops?" Luna asked.
"It's probably my stepdad, and he likes to bust my balls."
"You're stepdad's a cop?"
"He's the sheriff."
Luna snorted. "That's gotta be rough."
"Nah, he's alright, he just likes to pick on me. If he sees me with a girl, he's gonna think we're together and drag up every embarrassing story he can think of. 'Hey, ya remember that time you shit yourself in the third grade?'"
Luna was shocked into laughter.
"Yeah, Gus, I remember."
Luna waved her hand; tears rolled down her cheeks. "You shit yourself in the third grade?"
Daggy shrugged. "I told the teacher I had to go, but she wouldn't let me. She thought I just wanted to cut."
"Were you a bad kid in school?"
"Not really."
Luna cocked her head. "Really?"
"I was a total piece of shit."
A few minutes later, they pulled up in front of Luna's house. "So, uh, hey," Daggy said as she reached for the handle.
"Yeah?"
"About what you said, you know, being down and all because you can't play or whatever: If playing guitar's what you like to do, do it. I like to draw pictures but I'm terrible. I still do it though. Practice makes perfect and all that."
Luna nodded. "Alright, yeah. Thanks for the ride."
He nodded. "Take it easy. Hey, tell your sister to tell Bobby Daggy wants to fucking hang out with him some time. I never see his ass anymore."
Luna laughed. "Sure."
When she got inside, she found Mom and Leni sitting on the sofa, one of those awful soap operas they liked so much on the TV. They both looked up, Mom's brows lifting and Leni's face brightening. "Hi, Luna!"
"Luna, why are you wet?" Mom asked. "Did you get caught in the rain?"
"Yeah, but I'm fine."
Mom nodded. "How did your...interview go?"
"Not so fine."
"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that, sweetie. Just keep at it."
"Lincy got a job," Leni said happily. "He's, like, saving up for a car or something."
"Nice," Luna said, "I'm glad someone had a good day."
In her room, she peeled off her wet clothes and changed into something dry, then sat on her bed with her guitar. Her mind flashed back to Mr. Jefferson, and instead of depression, she felt something else: Anger. You're not what we're looking for, honey, uh. Fucking asshole. She'd show him. She'd practice and practice and practice until she was so good he'd fall on his knees and beg her to play his smelly little bar...and she would say no.
She grinned and started to play.
"Can I tell you something, lame-o?" Ronnie Anne asked.
"Sure," Lincoln replied.
They were on their way to school. It was a bright, warm spring day, birds chirruped, and a fragrant breeze slipped through the budding trees; they held hands and walked as slowly as they could to prolong their time together before parting.
Ronnie Anne looked at him, and the light of the sun caressed her face. "This is probably going to sound kind of stupid, but...I miss you."
Lincoln had been working at Flip's for almost two weeks: He went straight there from school, washed dishes until seven in the evening, then went home. Though they still walked together in the mornings, and ate together at lunch, they no longer had time for study dates...or any kind of dates. Before, they would stop at Flip's and share an order of French fries or a milkshake: A quick, simple thing...but it meant so much because she was with him.
He nodded sadly. "Yeah. I miss you too."
"I don't want to sound needy or anything," she said, "but...I like being with you."
He grinned and lifted her hand to his lips. "I like being with you too. We're both in luck: I'm off today so maybe we can do something."
"Oh, we're definitely doing something," she said, "even if it's just watching paint dry." They stopped at an intersection to let a Cadillac pass. Watching paint dry didn't sound like a fun activity to do with the girl he liked...he was sure he could think of something better. But what?
Hm. "How about we have dinner at that Italian place by the bowling alley?"
Ronnie Anne bobbed her head back and forth. "Eh, I'm not really a fan of Italian food. I mean, if you want we can." She looked at him and smiled. "I'm willing to watch paint dry as long as I can do it with you, I can handle eating something I'm not over the moon about."
"Yeah, but you deserve the best," he said and squeezed her hand.
"I already have it," she replied and squeezed back.
He let go and put his arm around her shoulders. She leaned into him and he rested the side of his head against the top of hers: She was just shorter than he was...and the way she fit in his arms was perfect.
Just like everything else about her.
He opened his mouth to tell her that he loved her, but stopped himself. By unspoken consent, they had had agreed to take their relationship slow, and he didn't know if now was too soon or not. It was true – he loved her, and he thought she loved him back – but why rush headlong into it? They had the rest of their lives ahead of them, a long, unbroken expanse of sunny days, soft kisses, and gentle touches...and he intended to enjoy the journey.
By now, they were crossing the street. Royal Woods High stood before them, a long, narrow brick building with windows along the front. In the middle was a bump-out with ROYAL COUNTY HIGH above the door. At the foot of the walkway, they stopped and turned to each other, the dreaded moment of parting come at last. She put her palms flat on his chest and leaned against him, her head tilted up. "See you at lunch?"
"No," Lincoln said, "I'm going to hide from you in the bathroom."
"You better not. I will hunt you down."
"The chase is half the fun, though," he said.
"If you want to be tackled, go ahead and run."
He put his hand on her cheek and bent forward, this lips touching and their tongues dancing across one another. She fisted his shirt and he threaded his hand through her hair, his nails grazing her scalp. The world seemed to move, and his passion rose, the kiss deepening. He felt himself beginning to stir, but he didn't care anymore. All that mattered was her, and one time she touched him through his pants, so he doubted she'd mind too much.
She pulled away from him and looked into his eyes, the corners of her mouth turning up in a grin and her chest rising and falling with her ragged exhalations. Kids streamed by on either side of them, but neither was aware, and neither would have cared, for they had eyes only for each other. "I'll see you later, Lincoln," she said.
"Not if I see you first." He kissed the tip of her nose, and then watched her go, a bounce in her step: Her ponytail swished back and forth and the hem of her dress fluttered against her legs.
I love her, he thought dreamily and sighed, beginning to make his way inside, I love her with everything I have.
In the hall, as she wove in and out of the crowds, Ronnie Anne had a similar thought. I'm in love with him. It was the kind of thought that comes to you from nowhere, the kind of thought that you don't expect, but welcome nevertheless. She did love Lincoln, and had for a long time. How long, she couldn't say – for all she knew she had been since the day they shared their first kiss. And it wasn't puppy love, either. It was real and deep and pure, like a mountain stream. She loved his smile, his laugh, his touch, his caring nature, his – his everything. She wasn't blind, he had faults (he was a little too anxious for his own good) but she loved those too, and she had her own; everyone does. The day you find a prince charming without flaws is the day pigs sprout wings and fly around while whistling The Andy Griffith Show theme song. Lincoln made her happy and she loved him.
And one day, she decided then, she was going to marry him.
Lori Loud sat nervously on the examine table, her hands resting on her knees. She wore a long blue skirt that almost reached her ankles and a white blouse: Before she left the house, her father said she looked like Alice from Alice in Wonderland, and for some reason that made her cry. She took a deep breath and stared at her lap. Was it cancer? Her grandmother on her mother's side died of stomach cancer, and though Lori was too young when it happened to remember, Mom said she was sick and in pain for weeks before she finally passed. Lori was twenty-one, she had had her fair share of stomach aches, and she imagined having stomach cancer would be like the worst stomach ache she had ever had times a hundred.
There wasn't much pain, though. Mainly she was nauseous...very, very nauseous. Sometimes she would wake up that way, and sometimes it would hit her in the middle of the afternoon like a sniper's bullet. There were days when she couldn't get enough to eat, and days where she puked at the faintest smell of food. Her mother commented on her new feeding habits. You're constantly grazing, Lori...are you trying to eat us out of house and home? The last time she said something like that, Lori broke down crying. No, I'm just hungry! Lori wasn't an overly emotional girl, and her new habit of swinging back and forth between moods bothered her. Was the cancer in her brain, too?
Her stomach turned, and she hugged herself, bending forward as if by doing so she could rearrange her insides or something and make it stop. That's all she wanted...to not be sick.
Tears welled in her eyes, and she wiped them away with the heel of one hand. And to stop crying!
Hopefully the doctor found out what was wrong, and hopefully it wasn't stomach cancer. Bobby said there was a bug going around, and for a while she told herself that that's what it was, but after two weeks? Bugs don't last that long. Unless, maybe, they cause an infection or something.
Can you die from a stomach infection?
She rocked back and forth. She didn't want to think about dying or having an infection or anything else...she just wanted to be okay: She wanted to go to school, graduate, and marry Bobby. Is that really so much to ask? Was she such a bad person for wanting a normal life that the universe had to strike her down with stomach cancer? It wasn't fair! Everyone else was okay: She didn't see Lincoln or Luan or Luna dying.
You're not dying, calm down, she told herself.
But she didn't want to calm down.
She blew a puff of air that stirred her bangs. She glanced left and right. The examine room was small and sparsely furnished. Posters of skeletons and the human nervous system hung on the walls. An eye chart was pinned up above a sink: She squinted and read every line perfectly. At least I don't need glasses.
Something about that struck her as darkly funny, and she laughed until tears rolled down her cheeks. She went to school with this girl named Lisa who wore cat-eye glasses, and they were ugly. She was a nice girl, though. Very smart. Lori got paired with her in chemistry class once, and Lisa said "Just sit there and look busy while I complete the task at hand. Your attempts at rending assistance will only hinder me, and I would appreciate it if you refrained from interfering." Okay, sure: It was the easiest A Lori ever got.
Presently the door opened and Doctor Hartfield came in. A tall, scrawny man with glasses, a mustache, and curly brown hair beginning to gray, he had been the Loud family's physician for as long as Lori could remember. He wore a white lab coat over a blue shirt, a yellow bowtie, and brown pants. A cigarette jutted from between his thin lips. "Lori," he said around the filter, "I'm glad you could make it back."
This was her second appointment. Her first was on Monday; he ran a battery of tests for everything from plague to VD (shudder). Lori didn't like taking two days off from school to come in (she didn't even like taking one), but her health was more important. She told him as much, and he nodded. He crossed to the sink, tipped his cigarette, and came back over, plopping it into his mouth and taking a drag. Bluish smoke filled the air.
"Well," he said, "I have news."
That's it? 'News'? Not good news or bad news, just news? Oh, it must be terrible. Lori's heart started to pound and she twisted her hands anxiously in her lap. "B-Bad news?"
He shrugged. "That depends."
Lori didn't understand, and stared at him blankly.
"You're pregnant," he said.
For a moment the words didn't register – then when they did, her blood ran cold. "P-Pregnant?"
He nodded. "Yessiree, as pregnant as they come." He took another puff and then held the cigarette between his fore and middle fingers. "Almost three months."
Lori's head spun. She lifted her hand to her forehead and tried to prevent panic from overwhelming her. Pregnant? How could she be pregnant? They used a condom!
"I know this probably comes as a shock," Dr. Hartfield said, "but you are indeed pregnant." He rocked back on his heels and crossed his arms, the cigarette sticking up from his fingers. "You aren't married, are you?"
Lori shook her head. "N-No, we're going to, though, I think."
"Well," he said, "I suggest getting on that as soon as you can."
She looked up at him. "W-We used a condom, though. I don't...I don't understand."
"Condoms are not one hundred percent effective," he said, "sometimes...things get through...and accidents happen, especially if it's expired."
Lori's brow furrowed. "They expire?"
Dr. Hartfield nodded. "They do. You are not the first girl this has happened to, Lori, and it happens a bit more than people let on, but marrying this boy is the right thing to do. For yourself and for your child."
Lori's hand covered her mouth. This couldn't be happening. What would her parents say? Unwed and pregnant? Her cheeks burned with shame and she could have curled into a ball and died.
"Please don't tell Mom and Dad," she said suddenly. "Please don't."
Dr. Hartfield held up his hands. "You're a grown woman, Lori, and when you're an adult a little thing called doctor-patient confidentiality kicks in. I have no place to tell them, and won't. I do, however, encourage you to. You're not really showing yet, but soon you will, and you won't be able to hide it."
Lori nodded dumbly.
Dr. Hartfield forced a weak smile and clapped her on the arm. "Best of luck."
On the walk outside, Lori was battered by an array of emotions: Shame, guilt, terror, and, as strange as it may seem, happiness. It was muted, but it was there, nestled deep down in the coils of fear, a tiny, glowing ember that would, she vaguely suspected, eventually ignite into a roaring inferno. A baby...wow.
What would Bobby say?
Her stomach quivered with dread as she imagined him getting angry or abandoning her. This was shot through with guilt: Bobby was a good man...he wouldn't do that to her.
Would he?
If he did...what would she do? Society did not look kindly on unmarried mothers...and if she was alone, how would she make a life for her and her baby? How would she support them?
Outside, the day was clear and warm, but inside Lori was cold. Bobby was parked near the street: While she was inside, he went grocery shopping for his mother. Lori walked up to the car on shaky knees, and slid into the passenger seat. Bobby lounged behind the wheel, the radio on and a cigarette in his mouth, which he now took out and tossed away. She didn't mind that he smoked as long as he didn't do it around her. "How'd it go?" he asked.
Lori nodded. She tried to speak, but her vocal cords were frozen. "F-Fine," she finally managed. She started to tell him, but couldn't bring herself to do it. Not yet, not while the shock was still fresh and she needed to lie down. "It's just a bug."
"You're pale," he said worriedly. "You okay?"
She nodded and forced a smile. "Just sick is all. I kind of need to lie down."
"Okay, sure," he said.
When she came through the front door, Leni was sitting on the couch and knitting and humming, her head bobbing from side-to-side. On TV, a rerun of Make Room for Daddy played unwatched.
Lori started up the stairs, but sudden weariness overcame her, and she went to the couch instead, sitting against the arm and resting her head in her palm. If she and Bobby got married, maybe no one would have to know the baby was conceived out of wedlock. And if they suspected, she could always deny it.
"Hi, Lori," Leni said, "when did you get here?"
"Just now," Lori said.
"Oh," Leni replied, then went back to knitting, but stopped and turned after a moment. "Are you okay?"
Lori nodded. "Yeah, I-I'm fine. Just sick."
Leni's brow furrowed, and she sat her knitting aside: She scooted closer until her leg pressed against her sister's. "You sure?" she asked, concern deep in her voice. Lori looked into her big, kind, loving eyes...and lost it. She pressed her hands to her face and sobbed. Frowning, Leni put her arm around her sister's shoulders and held her close, shushing her and whispering words of comfort. Leni could be a real ditz sometimes, but she was always there when Lori needed her, and that made Lori cry harder.
When the tears tapered off to sniffles, Leni asked, "Do you need to talk about something?"
Lori nodded. "C-Can you keep a secret?"
"Of course, silly," Leni said and stroked her big sister's hair, "I'll, like, probably forget it anyway."
Lori looked up at her. "I'm pregnant."
Leni's eyes brightened and her mouth opened. "You're gonna be a mommy?" she asked lowly. "That's g – wait." Her eyes clouded with confusion. "You're not married. How can you be a mommy?"
Lori blinked. "What?" Leni could be kind of...absent-minded, but Lori knew for a fact that she had a working understanding of sex: Their mother gave them all a talk when they were younger.
The younger girl tilted her head, and for a moment she seemed to be trying – and failing – to process what she had just been told, and Lori began to worry. Then it was gone and she was smiling. "That's great."
Lori sighed. "Yeah, but I can't tell Mom and Dad. Me and Bobby aren't married."
"Then marry him. You love him, right?"
Lori nodded. "I do. We have to be quick, though. I don't want anyone to know."
"Then, like, go to the school – I mean courthouse – and get married. They do that there. You can have a big fancy wedding or something later."
"What if Bobby doesn't want to marry me?"
"I'm sure he does. Just tell him."
Leni made it all sound so simple. Lori sighed. If only it was...
- 12
- 13
- 14
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Reeling in the Years