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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
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Lyrics to Love Letters in the Sand by Pat Boone (1957)
"Kid's a real square," Bobby said. He tossed his cigarette out the window and rested his arm on the frame, steering with one hand. Cold air rushed in, and Ronnie Anne shivered. She started to reply, but realized the words 'fuck you' were forming on her lips, and stopped herself. If she said something like that, it would be painfully obvious that she liked Lincoln Loud, and she did not feel like catching gas from her brother.
"Eh. He's alright."
"He's a dork. Like Buddy Holly. You like 'em geeky, huh?"
Buddy Holly was her favorite singer. There was something about him that she liked, some indefinable quality that eluded her every time she tried to name it. He was tall and gangly with glasses and curly black hair. He was a good singer, but, you know...yeah, he was kind of cute.
"I sure don't like 'em with a shit ton of Brylcreem in their hair."
Bobby snorted. "Chicks dig the Brylcreem."
"Is that why you don't have a girlfriend?"
Bobby shot her a dirty look. "Drop dead twice, kid."
"And look like you?"
He jabbed his middle finger at her, and she jabbed hers at him. After that, they lapsed into silence, Ronnie Anne thinking back to that morning, when Lincoln asked her to the dance. She wasn't lying, dancing really wasn't her thing, but Lincoln Loud kind of was...like...she thought he was cute and all...not like she'd had her eye on him since fourth grade and sometimes really wished he'd ask her out because she was too chicken to ask him. Nope. Not at all. And she sure as hell didn't seize up when he asked her out...didn't tell him the truth instead of saying Sure, I'm not much into dancing but I'd love to go with you.
Where was she again?
Oh, yeah, she liked him. Not too much, though. And don't you forget it. Man...she should have said yes. Wow, she was dumb.
But you know what?
She felt pretty good right now, because the way he stammered cutely when he asked her out told her that he liked her too, and that was really cool.
Really, really cool.
Thursday morning, Ronnie Anne woke early and took a long, hot shower, the water feeling good against her chilled flesh. They didn't keep the heat on very high in the winter because Mom couldn't afford it; since Dad left and they had to move closer to Mom's family, she couldn't afford a lot of things. They had a phone, but no TV. There was the radio, which was alright: She liked a lot of the programs on the radio better than the TV anyway. Her favorite was The Adventures of Philip Marlowe, which was as hard-boiled as hard-boiled crime shows come. When she told Lincoln she missed Bandstand, she was telling the truth: She missed it every single afternoon. That was probably the only TV show she'd want to watch, but whatever. She didn't mention not having a TV because it was kind of embarrassing and she did not want to embarrass herself in front of Lincoln Loud.
When she was done, she grabbed the towel, dried off, and went to her room, the cold air painful against her flushed skin. God, she hated winter. At her closet, she pulled out a purple dress and laid it on the bed. She pulled on a pair of underwear, slipped the dress over her head, and then put on her socks and shoes. She pulled her hair back in a ponytail, then went to the bathroom again to look at herself in the mirror. She wasn't overly girly, but she liked to look pretty. Today, she really wanted to look pretty.
Finding that she was, indeed, pretty, she went into the kitchen, where Mom was making breakfast, the air scented with the smell of frying bacon. "Morning, Mom," she said brightly and sat at the table.
"Good morning," Mom said. "How did you sleep?"
"Good." She poured orange juice into a glass and took a sip.
"Did you have enough blankets?"
"Yep."
Mom nodded and didn't speak for a while. "Is your brother up?"
Ronnie Anne snickered. "Probably not." Bobby was a notorious anti-morning person. When he was younger, Mom would throw cold water on him to get him out of bed, then Ronnie Anne took over, because waking her brother up was fun.
"Can you go check, please?"
"Love to," Ronnie Anne chirped and got up, an evil smile on her face.
At Bobby's door, she knocked just in case he was awake and not decent; when he didn't answer, she opened it a crack and stuck her head in. He was lying across the bed on his back, his mouth open and loud snores rising from his nose. He wore his jeans and nothing else. She grinned. Perfect.
She crept to the edge of the bed and went around until she was standing over his head. He snorted as she leaned in. "Oh. Bobby..." she said in a singsong voice. Then, copying her mother's pronunciation, "Row-Bear-Tow..."
His eyelids fluttered.
Poor Bobby. He was totally and utterly defenseless. What was that about Lincoln and Buddy Holly being geeks? She shoved her index finger into her mouth, got it nice and wet, and then jammed it into his ear. He jumped up with a cry and jerked away, his shoulders hunching. Ronnie Anne burst out laughing, holding her stomach because it honestly felt like it was going to burst.
"What the hell?" he asked, and turned; he sighed and his shoulders sagged. "I shoulda known: My alarm clock."
"If you bought one we wouldn't have to do this," she said as he slid out of bed and grabbed a green drab green T-shirt from a pile of dirty clothes by the nightstand. "Although I kind of enjoy it."
"Can't," he said. He was at the mirror over the dresser now, turning this way and that to examine his hair. "I got other expenses." He plucked a black comb off the dresser and ran it through his ducktail.
Ronnie Anne dropped onto the edge of his bed and kicked her legs. "Like?"
"Like cigarettes," he said, "'cuz all mine have a bad habit of walkin' away when I'm not lookin'."
Ronnie Anne shrugged. Hey, a girl needed something other than torturing her brother to start the day.
"I'm not payin' for darts for two people, you know."
"It's not me."
"Oh, yeah? What, we got a ghost in this place?" He dropped the comb onto the dresser and grabbed his jacket from the floor.
"Maybe."
"Yeah, well, that ghost better watch herself or she's gonna wind up gettin' exorcised, and Father Bobby don't use no cross, he uses a belt."
Ronnie Anne snickered. "C'mon," he said, "get outta here."
In the kitchen, he dropped in front of a plate and draped his arm over the back of the chair. "Good morning, Roberto," Mom said. She was sitting across from him, a mug of coffee in her hands.
"Mornin', Ma," he said, eyeing his breakfast and nodding appreciatively. "You really gotta sick that little girl on me every mornin'?" he asked, glancing at Ronnie Anne, who stuck her tongue out.
"If you would get up by yourself, I wouldn't have to," she said.
Bobby sat forward, grabbed his fork, and dug in. "She practically dug my brain outta my head. I thought I was bein' killed."
"What brain?" Ronnie Anne asked, and both she and her mother laughed.
"Alright, I see how it is," Bobby said, the corners of his mouth twitching up in a grin, "next time you want me to run somewhere, Ma, forget it. As for your daughter over there, why don't you ask her about my expenses?"
Mom shook her head. "You're loco."
"As a sh –" he stopped himself. As a shithouse rat, Bobby? Ronnie Anne thought and giggled.
"Speaking of running somewhere," Mom said, "I need you to take Ronnie Anne to school today. It's snowing."
Bobby leaned forward to try and see out the window over the sink. When he realized he couldn't, he got up and went to it: Several inches of powder covered the ground, more falling from the sky. "I see the snow," he said, coming back to his chair, "but I don't see where it says 'taxi' on my car."
Mom cocked a dangerous brow, and Bobby put up his hands. "I'm just playin'. I'm not gonna let my beloved kid sister walk in the snow. What do you think I am?"
"A dork," Ronnie Anne said.
"Yeah, maybe I am," Bobby said, and started eating, "but I look good doin' it."
When breakfast was over, Mom kissed both of them on the cheek. "I'm goin' to the drive-in after school," Bobby said, "you want me to get you guys somethin' to eat? Burgers? Chicken?"
"No, I'll make dinner," Mom said.
"You sure? I figured you're tired from work and all that."
"I will make dinner. And it will not be grease-fried."
Bobby shrugged. "Alright. Love ya."
At the door, an idea stuck Ronnie Anne, and she raced back to her room. "Hey, we're goin'! Come on!"
"Wait a minute!"
At her dresser, she opened the top drawer and rifled through her socks and underwear until she found a stocking that bulged slightly. She pulled out a wad of bills, mainly ones with two fives and a ten: Every once in a while she babysat for a little dough, and she was very thrifty with her cash...just like Mom.
She took one of the tens and slipped it into her pocket. The drive-in sounded like the perfect after school treat...with Lincoln, of course.
She sighed happily as she thought of him. He had that same something, she realized, that Buddy Holly had. Some...feature, trait, whatever...that drew her. It was like he was...she didn't know...vulnerable but kind of not? Who knows?
Bobby wasn't in the living room, so she figured he was outside. When she stepped out the door, a blast of cold air hit her, and she shivered. Bobby's Coupe pulled out of the driveway and stopped. Barren trees shook in the wind, the houses screened beyond huddled against the falling snow. Rushing, she crossed the yard, threw open the door, and climbed in, where it was warm. Bobby lit a Camel and turned the radio on:
With every wave that breaks
Over love letters in the sand
Bobby sneered in disgust. "What's this crap, Pat Boone or somethin'?"
"That's exactly who it is," Ronnie Anne said as Bobby changed the station.
"You like that guy?" He laughed. "You're somethin' else, you know that? One minute you're kickin' my ass, the next you're listenin' to Pat Boone and his Candy Ass Orchestra."
"I never said I liked it," she said. She did, though. Kind of.
"How come you know who it was?" he asked, spinning the wheel and pulling out into the street. The smoke from his cigarette reached her, and the back of her throat pinched ever so slightly as saliva flooded her mouth.
She tossed her shoulder. "I pay attention. Maybe you should try it someday."
"That'll be my New Years' resolution," he said. For a while they drove in silence, Ronnie Anne trying to ignore the warm, fragrant smoke filling the car...then trying not to stare at his cigarette like a dog staring at a side of beef...then chewing her bottom lip.
Then squirming in her seat. "Hey, Bobby?"
"What?" he asked around his smoke.
"C-Can I have a drag?"
"You wanna race?" he asked, knowing damn well what she meant. "I don't really do that. You ain't gonna catch me wreckin' this bad boy." He grinned and patted the dashboard.
"Please? I'm dying over here."
Bobby glanced at her, and she gave him the biggest puppy dog eyes she could. He sighed, shook his head, then took his cigarette between his thumb-and-fore finger and handed it to her. "Throw it out when you're done."
"Thanks!" She plucked it away and took a hit, the harsh smoke filling her lungs. "Ahhhh, that's the stuff."
"They taste much better when someone else buys 'em, huh?"
"Yeah."
"That's it. After that you're cut off."
"Okay," she said, unperturbed.
"I mean it. Those things are bad for you."
"Okay."
When she was done, she rolled down the window and tossed it out. A minute later, Bobby pulled to a stop in front of the school. "Alright, here we is," he said.
"Thanks," she said, and started to get out.
"Hey!"
She turned, and he leaned in, pointing at his cheek. Rolling her eyes, she pecked him and he ruffled her hair. "Have a good day."
All morning, Lincoln was acutely aware of Ronnie Anne's presence. Well...he always was, but today, it was different, and a couple times he went to sneak a look at her, only to find that she was already looking at him. Every time he caught her, she looked quickly away, and Lincoln was confused: Was she eyeballing him for good reasons...or bad? Did she think he was a pathetic dork? After all, he bombed when he asked her out yesterday...then she found him on the ground after getting beaten up. God, he must look pathetic. Of course, she said she wanted to be friends, so maybe she was just looking at him because you look at friends? He really didn't know.
At lunch, he grabbed his tray and paused by the door. Clyde was sitting alone, as he had before. Across the cafeteria, Billy Mason and his goons were sitting in a group, Billy leaning against the table and facing out, his elbows propped behind him and his legs thrust out. Lincoln's stomach tightened at the memory of being socked. He did not want to do that again...but he liked Clyde and he wasn't going to have some loser like Billy boss him around...come what may.
Decided, he went over to the table and sat across from Clyde. "Hey, Lincoln," Clyde said happily, "how's it going?"
"Alright," he said truthfully. All things considered.
"That's good, that's good. Who's that guy in the leather jacket?"
Lincoln's heart clenched. "Why? Is he looking over here?"
Clyde's brows furrowed. "Uh, no, but he said something this morning about cleaning my boyfriend's clock, and you're the first one who came to mind – not because I like you, but because you're the only guy I've talked to."
Lincoln blushed. "That's Billy. He, uh, he beat me up yesterday."
Clyde's eyes widened. "What? Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine."
Clyde sighed troubledly. "So...he did it because of me?"
"He did it because he's an asshole," Lincoln said. "I'm not worried about him."
"You sure, man? I don't want someone messing with you on account of me."
Lincoln waved him off. "It's fine, really."
Clyde shook his head. "Well, I –"
He cut off when Ronnie Anne Santiago dropped into the seat next to Lincoln, startling him. "How's it going, square-for-brains?" she asked playfully.
"Uh...it's-it's good. You?"
"Alright. Who's your friend?"
Every time he was around Ronnie Anne, thinking – like breathing – was hard. Friend? Oh, yeah. "It's...this is Clyde."
"Hey, Clyde," she nodded. "I'm Ronnie Anne."
"Nice to meet you," he said, his eyes darting from her to Lincoln and back again. Guess he got the girl after all.
She turned to Lincoln. "I was thinking...you know...maybe we could hang after school. Go to the drive-in and eat something." She looked at Lincoln's tray. "Something that isn't slop."
Was...was she asking him out on a date? Oh my God, she's asking me out on a date!
No, no, you're friends, remember? Friends do stuff like hang out at the drive-in. That's all it is.
That took some of the wind out of his sails, but not much. "Yeah, that'd be great," he said. "After school?"
"Yeah." A mischievous light came into her eyes. "Unless you wanna ditch and do it now."
Lincoln blinked. Ditch? As in...skip school? Uh...no, no, geez, his dad would whip his hide if he found out he ditched class to go to the drive-in. "W-We can wait."
She shrugged. "Alright. I don't mind. Whatever." She turned to Clyde. "How you liking it so far?"
"Eh, it's alright, I guess," Clyde said. "That janitor really doesn't like me. I was walking to class earlier and I guess I dropped my pencil or something, and he came out of nowhere. 'Hey, nigger, you dropped something.'"
Ronnie Anne nodded. "Mr. Sandborn. He called me a spic once. Once."
"Why once?" Lincoln asked.
She grinned. "Because I shoved him down a flight of stairs."
Lincoln and Clyde both gaped. "It was a little flight. Come on, the guy's, what, seventy? I could whip him with one arm tied behind my back."
Clyde shook his head, then froze. "Uh-oh, speaking of whipping."
Lincoln and Ronnie Anne both turned as Billy Mason passed by, giving them a dirty look. Scut and Harry were with him. "Got a regular NAACP meeting over here," Billy said, and shook his head. "And always that one white traitor in the middle."
"Drop dead, loser," Ronnie Anne said.
"Yeah, we'll see who's dropping dead later," Billy said, and then he and his goons were gone. Lincoln didn't realize he was holding a breath until it exploded from his lungs.
"Screw those sons of bitches," Ronnie Anne said, watching them depart with slitted eyes. "I'd love for him to try something. Fucking jerk."
For the rest of the day, Lincoln alternated between worrying about Billy and his friends and looking forward to his date –stop calling it that, you and a friend are just hanging – with Ronnie Anne. He had a little bit of money on him, but not much. He could pay for her to have something at least. He didn't care. He'd sit there and drink motor oil as long as he could look at Ronnie Anne across the table while he did it. When the final bell rang, he gathered up his books (he flunked his homework yesterday, so he had to do today's) and waited by the front door. She was one of the last kids out, and when he saw her, he couldn't help breaking out in a goofy grin.
"Hey," she smiled, "you ready? I'm starved."
"Yeah," he said, "let's go."
The snowing had stopped that morning, and the sidewalks in front of the school had been shoveled sometime during the day. It was a sure bet that the sidewalks were clear between Schoolhouse Road and Main Street, so at least they wouldn't get their feet wet.
"You ever notice how after lunch the day just drags?" she asked.
Lincoln nodded. "Yes, I have. It's like a law of physics or something: The second half of the day will pass much slower than the first."
Ronnie Anne snickered. "What's that, Lincoln's Law?"
"Sure," he said, "why not?"
"My law is school sucks and I can't wait to graduate."
"Class of '64," Lincoln said.
"Is that when it is?"
"You're eleven too, right?"
She nodded.
"You started kindergarten in 1950?"
She crinkled her brow and looked into the sky as she thought, the murky light of the hidden sun touching her face. "I think."
"Then you're graduating in 1964."
"Huh. Cool. I guess –"
A cold voice spoke behind them. "Hey, asshole."
Lincoln and Ronnie Anne both came to a sudden halt, Lincoln's heart sputtering in his chest. Next to him, Ronnie Anne's face darkened and she took a deep breath.
"Turn around, Loud. I got something for you."
Lincoln didn't move. He was petrified with fear. Instead, Ronnie Anne turned. "Why don't you leave us alone, shithead?"
"Stay outta this, spic. Loud...turn around."
Lincoln took a deep breath and turned, ready to take his lumps like a man. Billy stood on the sidewalk ten feet back, Harry and Scut on either side. Billy took a deep breath and stepped forward. "You know, Loud, I told you to stop hanging with that nigger, and not only did you not listen, you're hanging around with this bitch now."
"Fuck you," Ronnie Anne growled.
Billy ignored her and took another step forward. Was Lincoln trembling? He felt like he was trembling. "Are you trying to piss me off, Loud?" He took another step forward, and grabbed Lincoln by the front of his jacket, his teeth bared and spittle flying from his lips. "Are you trying to piss me off?"
"Let him go!" Ronnie Anne screamed, and shoved him.
He didn't let go.
"Let him go, you son of a bitch!" She threw her palm against the side of his head, and he reacted, bringing his right arm around and backhanding her across the face. She cried out and fell to the ground.
Royal Woods, like the rest of the country, lived under the constant threat of annihilation from Soviet nuclear bombs. Lincoln had wondered often what an A-Bomb going off would be like. He imagined a nice, sunny, peaceful day then, suddenly, BOOM.
Something similar happened to Lincoln that day.
His eyes widened as Ronnie Anne fell back, her hands flying to her wounded face. Deep inside him, a hitherto unknown bomb detonated, and suddenly he was filled with nuclear rage, the world going dim as a primal scream bubbled up from his throat and past his lips. Billy frowned...then Lincoln's fist crashed into his mouth. He yelled and stumbled back, his grip on Lincoln's shirt releasing. Behind him, Scut and Harry looked like they'd just seen a ghost.
Lincoln followed the punch with another, this one catching Billy in the ear. He went to throw another, but Billy, issuing his own scream, lunged at Lincoln, crashing into him and knocking him into a snowbank.
"Hey!" someone cried, and started running across the street. "Hey!"
Billy grabbed a fistful of Lincoln's jacket and brought his fist down, hitting Lincoln below the right eye. Stars burst across Lincoln's field of vision, but he was so high on adrenaline that he didn't feel any pain. Billy drew his fist back again, but something big and red crashed into him, knocking him off. Billy cried out, and Lincoln sat up just as Lynn straddled the bully and hit him with a mean right hook: His nose burst under Lynn's fist, and he screamed like a woman. Lynn hit him again, holding the front of his leather jacket in his other hand.
"Stop!" Billy wailed. "Please, stop!" His legs kicked, the heels of his boots clicking against the pavement. Scut and Harry both broke and ran in the other direction, going as fast as their legs would carry them.
Lynn hit him one final time, then pushed himself up, his shoulders shaking as he drew deep, ragged breaths. On the ground, Billy Mason – the school tough – wept and bled. "You ever touch my brother again, you're a dead man," Lynn said, jabbing a finger at the pathetic puddle of greaser. "Now get the fuck outta here!"
Billy got hurriedly to his feet and stumbled after his friends, drops of blood and tears staining the snow.
When he was gone, Lynn turned, his eyes softening when they fell on Lincoln– just a little. "You alright, Linc?" he asked, holding his hand out.
"Yeah," Lincoln said, taking it and getting to his feet. Ronnie Anne was already standing, looking after Billy Mason with wide eyes and a ghost of a grin. "T-Thanks."
Lynn clapped him on the back. "Hey, what're brothers for? I saw that punch you threw." He beamed. "It was good. I bet you loosened a few of his teeth. Come on, I was just heading home..."
"Actually," Lincoln said, "me and Ronnie Anne were going to the drive-in...if she's still in the mood."
Ronnie Anne nodded. "Hell yeah, I am."
"Oh," Lynn said, and Lincoln thought he detected a trace of disappointment in his brother's voice. "Okay. Cool." He wrapped his arm around Lincoln's neck and gave him a noogie. "Just don't stay out toolate, killer."
Lincoln pulled away. "I'll try not to."
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Reeling in the Years