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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
- 14
- 15
- 16
Luna was sitting on her bed, her guitar across her lap. She had just gotten home from school and she was in a good mood, believe it or not: A friend of a friend wanted her to play his house party this weekend, and in return he was actually going to pay her. "I told him you're the best guitar player I know," her friend said. Her name was Lucy, and she was a beatnik like Maynard Krebs from The Many Loves of Dobie Gillis: She wore black turtleneck sweaters and wrote poetry that Luna didn't understand, but seemed popular with the other beatniks. "You should come to the coffee shop one Saturday," Lucy told her, "it's open mic night."
Luna didn't know much about beats, but she didn't think they'd like her kind of music. They liked jazz and stuff, and jazz was cool and all, but it wasn't what Luna played; she played rock and roll, pure and simple. She was surprised when Lucy's friend wanted her to play, but Lucy said he liked that kind of music, and that was enough for Luna. She didn't expect much money, but it was really cool to have a paying gig.
She picked the guitar up and strummed, producing a melodic sound. One of the strings felt a little loose, though; she'd have to tighten it before the party, which wasn't the easiest thing in the world. Well, it wasn't hard, it was just a pain in the ass. On a real guitar you can turn the tuning machines in a jiff, but with this one you had to use a pair of pillars. She strummed the strings again, and started to play a tune of her own devising. It was loose and hesitant, but it sounded nice, and she went with it, searching her mind for words to go with it. Fuck you, Mr. Jefferson, fuck you, I'm gonna show you, you fat fuck. She laughed out loud and stopped for a minute. You're a prick, go to hell, Mr. Jefferson. Yeah, imagine that being on American Bandstand. Everyone would shit. Kennedy would shit, the pope would shit, Elvis and Chuck Berry would shit. The whole country would be buried in shit...hell, maybe the world.
Shaking her head and grinning, she continued, letting the music wind through her. She hit a sour note, and the loose string came even looser. Alright, fine, I'll fix you now, you fucking square. She sighed and got up. In the garage, she sat the guitar flat on Dad's workbench and rummaged in a standing tool cabinet for pliers, sifting through nails, screws, looking under hammers and jumbles of other instruments she couldn't name. Where the hell were they? She stood back and put her hands on her hips, trying to remember where they were the last time she used them. She thought they were on the bench, out in the open. If so, they sure as shit weren't there now.
Five minutes later, she found them under the tool cabinet. Ha, there you are! She reached under, grabbed them, and was just getting to her feet when the connecting door to the kitchen opened and Lori poked her head in. "There you are," she said, "I was looking everywhere."
"Gotta fix my guitar," she said, "what's up?"
"You have a visitor."
Luna's brow furrowed. A visitor, huh? She didn't usually get visitors. "Who is it?"
Lori started to speak, then stopped. "A guy," she said after a moment.
A guy? Alright, Luna was confused now. She didn't hang with too many people, and though she knew a few guys, none of them knew where she lived, and none would have a reason to turn up at her door unannounced. Curious now, she followed Lori into the kitchen, then crossed the living room to the door. Maybe it was Mr. Jefferson; he came to his senses and realized what a huge mistake he made turning her away. I'm so sorry, Miss Loud, I'm a fool...please play in my house band!
Instead of Mr. Jefferson, she found a tall guy with curly blonde hair; he was wearing a short-sleeved button-up shirt and jeans, his hands in his pockets. She recognized him...he was...then it clicked: He gave her that ride. "Daggy, right?" she asked, knowing that it was, indeed, right even as she spoke, because it was originally Faggy. That made her grin every time she thought about it. What a fucking name.
"Yeah," he said, "look, I got something for you."
Luna's eyes narrowed. He leaned over and grabbed something that had been leaning against the house. "This was old man's," he said, holding it up: It was a guitar. "I was at my Mom's house getting some stuff outta the basement the other day and I came across it and thought of you. I can't fucking play it."
He held it out. Luna looked at it, then guardedly up at him. He flipped it over and showed her the front: It was reddish brown with ornamental inlays. Luna's eyes widened slightly. It was nice. "Why?" she asked.
Daggy blinked. "What do you mean why?"
"Why are you giving it to me?"
"Because I'm literally going to throw it in the trash," he said. "I don't have room for it, my mom doesn't have room for it, I don't know anyone who plays guitar – except you, so here I am." He shoved it at her, and she took it, turning it over and examining it. She strummed the strings, and was surprised by how different the resultant sound was to the sound hers made. It was higher, reedier; better.
She smiled. "Wow, that's really cool. Puts mine to shame."
"I think it was really expensive, but I dunno. My old man got it in Spain or Italy or something during the war. He left it behind when he took off and I tried to learn, but, man, it's just not gonna happen."
"Thank you," she said, genuinely touched.
"Figured someone could get some use out of it. Enjoy." He turned and started down the stairs.
Luna looked down at the guitar in her hands, then up at him. She surprised herself when she spoke. "Hey."
He stopped and glanced over his shoulder. "Yeah?"
"You wanna hang for a minute?" She nodded to the porch swing. "Jam?"
Daggy grinned. "I'm telling you, I'm bad."
"Come on," Luna said and found herself grinning back, "I wanna see how bad."
Shrugging, Daggy turned around and came back up the steps.
Lori Loud picked up the handset, took a deep breath, and dialed a number. On the fifth ring, a woman answered. "Hello?"
"Hi, Mrs. Santiago," Lori said, putting on the biggest smile she could muster, "is Bobby there?"
"Yes. Give me a minute."
Four days ago, Lori found out that she was pregnant. She had not told Bobby yet: She wanted to that evening, but the possibility, as remote as it might be, that he would react badly stopped her. She loved him, and she could see herself being very happy marrying him, but did he want to marry her? He hadn't asked yet even though she'd dropped more than a few subtle hints. If he really wanted to marry her, wouldn't he have asked by now? They had been together almost three years now...why didn't he ask her?
When his voice came on the line, she blinked back tears of fear. "Hey, babe, what's up?"
"Hey," she said, "I-I was wondering if we could do something tonight. Like go to the drive-in or something."
"Yeah, sure," Bobby said, "I was actually about to drive over your way anyway. You wanna grab something to eat first?"
"Yeah, that sounds nice."
When she hung up the phone, she took a deep breath. Tonight, she decided, she would tell him, come hell or high water. If he wanted to marry her, then no one had to know they conceived out of wedlock. If he didn't, well, she would have to face her parents and come to terms with being a single mother. She went upstairs to get her shoes, and found Leni standing in front of their bedroom door, looking confused. "Leni?" she asked, and Leni turned. "You alright?"
For a moment the younger girl made no sign that she had heard, then she shook her head. "I'm fine," she chirped, "I was just, like, trying to remember what I was going in there for. I forgot." She pouted, and something about it struck Lori as contrived.
"Are you sure you're okay?" Lori worried.
"Yup."
In the room, Lori dropped onto her bed and pulled her socks and shoes on. Leni crossed to her vanity and sat before the mirror. She picked up her brush, turned it over in her hands, then ran it through her long blonde hair. "I'm going to tell Bobby," Lori said.
"Tell him what?" Leni asked without turning.
"About –" Lori looked around to confirm that they were definitely alone, and lowered her voice – "me being pregnant."
Leni tilted her head quizzically, then smiled at her reflection. "Oh, right. I, like, wouldn't be nervous if I were you. He loves you lots."
"I know," Lori sighed, "I'm just worried that maybe this might...change him. It's a pretty big deal."
Leni shrugged. "It probably will," she said. "For the better. I don't know much about guys, but it's, like, babies and stuff make mommies –" she stopped, flicked her eyes up to the ceiling, and scrunched her lips. After a moment of thought, she said, "It will bring out his paternal instincts the way out it will bring your maternal instincts." She grinned at herself and nodded.
"I hope," Lori fretted.
"You worry too much," Leni said, ranking the brush through her hair and tilting her head left then right. "You're as bad as Lincy."
"Lincoln doesn't have to worry about this yet," Lori said, standing. "He and Ronnie Anne are too young for...that kind of thing."
Leni shrugged one shoulder. "I don't know. He's almost fourteen – I mean fifteen – and he and Ronnie really like each other."
"Let's hope not," Lori said. She crossed to Leni and threw her arms around her shoulder, kissing the side of her face. "I love you."
Leni beamed at their reflection. "I love you too, Lori."
"You give really good advice."
"Thank you. I try really hard to help."
Lori hugged her tighter and kissed her again. "You succeed." For a moment they simply held each other, Lori's arms around Leni's neck and Leni's hand resting on her sister's. When she pulled away, Lori squeezed the girl's shoulder. "Wish me luck?"
"Luck," Leni said.
She waited for Bobby in the living room, dividing her attention between the front window and the TV set, where President Kennedy was addressing a joint session of Congress: He stood at a lectern, Vice President Johnson and the Speaker of the House sitting behind him. "...This nation should commit itself to achieving the goal, before this decade is out, of landing a man on the moon and returning him safely to the earth." Was it her imagination, or did Johnson roll his eyes?
Glancing out the window, she saw Bobby pull up. She stood, smoothed her skirt, and went outside. Luna and Daggy were sitting on the porch swing, Luna playing a guitar and Daggy leaning forward, his forearms resting on his knees. Lori was surprised when he asked for Luna. She assumed he was looking for Bobby. Luna did mention something about him giving her a ride and telling her he wanted to hang with Bobby or something.
She went down the walkway and slipped into the passenger seat. "What's this?" Bobby asked, glancing in the review mirror at Daggy's car. "You seeing Daggy behind my back?"
"He's here for Luna."
Bobby leaned forward and kissed her. "Luna, huh? Not surprising, I guess. You and your sisters are like, what, 95 percent of the women in this town?"
"There aren't that many of us," Lori said.
"Seems like it sometimes. You wanna swing by Flip's? Grab some burgers or something?"
Lori nodded. "Yeah, okay." Truth be told, she probably wouldn't eat a burger (for some reason, baby didn't like the smell of meat), but she'd eat some fries.
Ummm...fries smothered in peanut butter sounded really good.
Ronnie Anne looked up from her homework and craned her neck, hoping to catch a glimpse of Lincoln through the little window into the kitchen. She didn't...not that she really thought she would. Sigh. It had been nearly a week since they...watched the stars together (heh, that's not all they did, but don't tell anyone), and even though she saw him in the mornings and at school, it just wasn't enough. If anything, after their little tryst, it was worse than it was two weeks ago. She didn't want to be needy, but, damn it, she was needy. She needed her Lincy-winky. Pout.
Most days, she came in after school, grabbed a booth by the jukebox, and did her homework or munched on fries while waiting for Lincoln to come out with the plates or cups. Invariably, he would stack them then look over: She would smile, and then he would smile. Sometimes they even waved to each other.
Today, she was on her period and feeling extra clingy: All she wanted was for Lincoln to hold her in his arms and stroke her hair. That would be so amazing. She glanced down at her algebra and then crossed her arms. She hated being on the rag because it made her so emotional, and right now she felt like she was going to start crying because she didn't get to see her Lincoln enough and she felt bloated and achy and he wasn't there to make her feel better...and...and...
She was so lost in her own self-pity that she didn't realize Bobby and Lori had come in until Flip sighed loudly. "Two Louds, two Santiagos. How could this day possibly get any better?"
"I hear Daggy's putting the moves on her sister," Bobby said, "so maybe they'll come down. Quadruple date."
"That's only a triple date, dumbass," Flip said.
"Hey," Bobby said, leaning in, "that includes you and your hand – if you wanna join."
"Me and my hand are fine, thank you."
Ronnie Anne sighed again and closed her textbook. A basket of fries and a fizzy glass of Coke sat before her. She didn't order a milkshake because that was something she only did with Lincoln.
She wiped tears from her eyes. Go home and go to bed or something, she told herself. True, sleeping always made her feel better when her aunt Flo was in town, but she didn't want to leave: She hadn't seen Lincoln enough.
And speak of the Devil, there he was, coming out of the kitchen door with a stack of plates in his hands. He was wearing jeans and a white t-shirt with a white apron around his waist. He looked kind of like Flip, only far, far more attractive. He noticed Lori and Bobby, and nodded. "Hey, Linc," Lori said.
"Hey, guys."
He sat the plates on the shelf and turned, his eyes locking with Ronnie Anne's. Her heart soared and a big, goofy grin spread across her face. He blew her a kiss, and she caught it. Flip came up behind him just as she responded with a kiss of her own and scowled. "Stop bothering my dishwasher, Santiago."
Ronnie Anne flipped him the bird. He put his hands on his hips and shook his head. Shoving a fry into her mouth, she went back to her homework, but startled when something hit her shoulder. She glanced at it, and saw a spit ball: She looked up just in time to see Flip duck into the kitchen.
"You're gross, Flip!" she cried and flicked it off.
"Hey!" Bobby yelled, causing people to look up from their plates, "will ya shut up? Some of us are trying to have a decent meal here!"
If she could reach him from here, she would have shot a spitball at him. Instead, she shoved another fry into her mouth and washed it down with Coke. They tasted off too. Cardboard mush flavor. The Coke didn't have the same sweetness it normally did. She bet if Lincoln came out and sat with her, they'd taste much better.
She missed him so much.
Ugh. She didn't like being clingy, damn it. Lincoln was her sunshine, though, and she couldn't help it. If he wasn't so amazing, she wouldn't be clingy. It was his fault, really. He needed to do something bad, like slap her around a little...though he'd probably look so cute doing it she'd get even more clingy.
I'm a weirdo, she thought as she jammed another fry in and followed it with a splash of Coke. An idea struck her, and she grabbed her notebook and opened it to a fresh piece of paper. Taking up her pencil, she poised the tip over it and thought for a minute. She started to draw, and lost herself in the strokes and shades of artistic...attempt. She wasn't very good, but what she lacked in talent she made up for in passion. She was vaguely aware of Bobby calling out that he was leaving and something about a ride (did she wave or did she flip him off?), and kind of realized it was getting late, but she didn't care. When she was done, she sat her pencil aside and admired what she had:
LINCOLN
RONNIE ANNE FOREVER.
The words were big and outlined heavily; little hearts floated around them like embers from a fire. Below was a drawing her Lincoln's smiling face next to her smiling face: Their eyes were closed, upside down U's of happiness. She kissed her hand and touched his face.
God, I'm such a sap.
She couldn't wait to show it to Lincoln. He should be going on break soon. He could come over, they could finish the fries, kiss, and then, sigh, she would have to go. She waited...
...and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Seriously, where is this guy? She craned her neck and tried to see through the window, but couldn't. Screw it. She grabbed the paper and got up, crossing the dining room and slipping behind the counter. The window was juuuust high enough that she had to stand on her tippy-toes to see in. Ernie the cook was dumping fires into a basket and Lincoln – heart bounce, there he is! – stood at the prep table, chopping onions. She grinned and started to whistle, but jumped instead when Flip spoke behind her. "Come on, Santiago, you can't be behind the counter. You don't work here."
Lincoln looked up, and when he saw her, he smiled, and she smiled back.
"Outta here," Flip said.
Ronnie Anne sighed. You know, if she...
A thought struck her, and it was so simple yet brilliant that she could not believe it hadn't occurred to her earlier.
Flip went over to the register to talk to an old man with his pants hitched up over his nipples, and Ronnie Anne waited impatiently, her hands behind her back and her body rocking back and forth on her heels. She was pleased with herself...now only if nipple pants would hurry the hell up and go away, she could ask Flip and see what he thought.
After what seemed like an eternity, the old man left, and Flip turned, jerking when he saw her sly, smiling face. "I thought I told you to beat it."
"Well...I have a question."
"Oh, this should be good," Flip replied and crossed his arms. "What?"
"I was thinking," she said, trying to ease into it, "that maybe...do you need a waitress?"
Flip's eyes widened. "Oh, Jesus God."
"Please?" she begged, balling her hands and holding them up in supplication. "I really wanna work here."
Flip snorted. "Yeah, so you can goof around with your boyfriend."
Heh. Well, kind of. "No," she said, "I wanna make money...and provide good customer service."
Shaking his head, Flip took a deep breath. Things didn't look good, so she brought out the big guns: A pout/kitten eyes one-two that left everyone she used it on so punch drunk they could barely stand. She could see his resolve crumbling, and knew she was close to getting her way. "Knock it off," he said and glanced away. "Come on, kid, you're killing me."
She stuck her bottom lip out.
"Goddamn it," Flip sighed. "Alright. If it was literally anyone else, I'd say no, but your brother was a good worker, so...fine. I'll put you on...tomorrow."
Ronnie Anne smiled. "Thanks, Flip."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah."
As she walked back to her booth, she fisted her hands in excitement. This was great. Working with Lincoln, she'd see him more often and get paid to do it. Her mom didn't want her staying out too late just hanging around, but she wouldn't be hanging around, she'd be working; all of her problems were solved.
When Lincoln finally went on break, he walked over and sat down with a weary groan. "My feet are killing me," he said.
She smiled widely, and his brow clinched. "What?"
"Two things," she said.
"Okay."
"One: I got a job. Here. We're going to be working together."
A grin spread across his face. "Hey, that's cool."
"And two." She lidded her eyes and slid the drawing across the table. "I made you something."
He picked the paper up and looked at it, his smile getting even bigger. "It's cute," he said.
Something occurred to her. "Give it back. I forgot something."
He handed it back, and she scrawled a message in the bottom right corner. She returned it, and he read:
I LOVE YOU, LINCOLN: FROM RONNIE ANNE 5/25/61.
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Reeling in the Years