The Great Candy Caper

Featuring Sally and Elliot (M!Button) 

Set in high school, two years before game

“I didn’t want to go anyway.”

Sally’s kick sends an empty soda can skittering down the sidewalk until she walks close enough to kick it again.

“Litterbugs,” she grumbles. “I bet you this came from Veronica. She probably chucks cigarette butts out of her car window, too.”

Elliot holds back a smirk. Sally is more transparent than the window shield of Veronica’s aforementioned car—and since said automobile is a Porsche, Veronica takes it through the car wash more times per week than most people wash their hair.

“Moronica has asthma,” he reminds Sally, “and she’s allergic to cigarette smoke. Remember that time she had an attack after Mr. Adams came to class right after smoking?”

Sally scowls at him. “Whose side are you on?”

“Yours, always and forever,” he answers distractedly. The soda can is Diet Surge, which means it’s been littering the street since at least before 2003 when the drink was discontinued; in other words, before Veronica was even born. Side bar: why does he even know the exact year that Surge was discontinued? And why doesn’t his ability to retain useless information extend to calculus. Maybe Gray is right, and he should try out for Jeopardy.

Eventually, Elliot realizes that Sally is no longer beside him. He turns back; she’s standing several paces away, arms crossed and staring at him with exasperated amusement.

“You disappeared again,” she says. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Given her aggravated reaction to his reminder that Moronica doesn’t smoke, Elliot isn’t about to explain that he’s also deduced that Sally’s hypothesis on the can’s origin is incorrect. He loves his best friend, dearly and truly, but Sally isn’t the most receptive to unemotional facts when she’s upset. And, given how hard she’s kicking that Surge can, she’s definitely still upset about being one of the few people in their entire senior class not invited to Veronica Peterson’s graduation party.

“You don’t even like Moronica,” Elliot says instead of getting into a dissertation on extinct carbonated beverages and the implications thereof. “Why are you so upset that she didn’t invite us?”

“I’m not upset!” Sally snaps.

Elliot’s brows rise skeptically.

“I know that we would’ve skipped her dumb party anyway.” Sally keeps her eyes riveted on the soda can in order to not meet his gaze. “But we’re practically the only two people in class not invited! We were ostracized! Exiled! Snubbed! How are you so unbothered by that?” She gives the can a particularly vicious kick, sending it clanging across the road.

“Being bothered takes too much energy,” Elliot says, faking a yawn. “Besides, there were like eleven other people that didn’t get invites.”

Most of the other persona-non-grata were people that had annoyed Veronica in some way: Evan Futterman refused to do her chemistry homework, and Parth Ahuja asked Kelly Murphey to homecoming. Elliot and Sally never interacted with Veronica much, but neither had most of the other students in their class. Yet everyone else had been invited. 

Elliot knows exactly why he and Sally hadn’t received invites: Veronica Peterson is a Ment. Not a strong one, but a Ment nonetheless.

And Elliot gives her headaches.

In Veronica’s defense, she never complains directly to him about the headaches. But her parents did ask Principal Davalos if Elliot could switch classes. Ment bullies were bad, but behind-the-scenes Ment complainers like Veronica Peterson were the reason that Elliot had to fight to attend his own graduation ceremony after Principal Davalos suggested that his “unfortunate condition” might distract "certain other students" from “the otherwise joyous occasion.”

Go to Moronica’s party? Elliot would rather chug twenty gallons of expired Surge.

Still, it sucked that Sally was being isolated by association. Not that Sally would ever stop being his friend (Elliot tried to pull away back in junior high for her own good, only to have her to abuse her position as yearbook editor and include a two-page spread dedicated to their friendship where the cheerleader team roster was supposed to go). Sally had been banned from yearbook staff ever since, but to this day she argued that the drastic measures had been worth it if it successfully disabused Elliot of the absurd notion that she would be better off without him.

His best friend deserves the world, or at least some cheering up. Maybe he can buy her a Milky Way at the corner store? Caramel and chocolate usually do the trick when it came to making Sally happy. He would’ve bought her one at school, when they first heard about the party that they weren't invited to, but the school convenience store only sells Stevia-sweetened protein bars that taste like stale bran and suffering.

After a quick stop at the corner store, Sally squeals as she unwraps the Milky Way.

“I love you,” she moans.

Elliot doesn’t respond, fully aware that she’s addressing the chocolate bar.

“I wish everyone in the world could have an Elliot,” Sally says through a mouthful of caramel. “The others who didn’t get invited need to buy their own pity prizes.”

Elliot begins to smile slowly.

“Oh, no.” Sally groans, half because her chocolate bar is now finished and half because she recognizes that sly look on Elliot’s face. “You have another plan.”

“Kelly Murphey still runs the ASB store, right?”

Sally nods. “Until graduation.”

“You two are friends?”

“Ish. We used to be in the same ballet class.”

“The one that you got kicked out of?”

Sally smacks his shoulder. “I didn’t get kicked out. Ms. York simply thought my talents would be put to better use . . . on anything that didn’t involve dance. Or physical coordination in general, really.”

“Give Kelly a call,” Elliot says. “I have a plan.”

* * * *

The hallway of their high school is dark and empty—as it should be, given the time is 1am.

“I can’t believe where doing this,” Sally hisses. “When did you learn to pick a lock?”

“I wanted to break into Nick’s diary,” Elliot replies blandly.

Sally chokes on air. “Nicholas keeps a diary?”

No, but Elliot gets a devilish glee at the knowledge that Sally won’t be able to sleep tonight due to agonizing over what Nick may have written about her. Amusement aside, Elliot can’t help but wince as Sally’s rolling suitcase creates a thundering echo throughout the abandoned school.

“Couldn’t you have used your backpack instead?” he asks. “Someone is going to hear us.”

Sally glares at him. “Other than us, who’s going to be here in the dead of night? I bought all the candy bars that Costco had for sale, and buying bulk is heavy. Thankfully, my dads love me too much to interrogate me about why I spent my last nannying paycheck on sixty-five pounds of chocolate.”

Elliot slows his steps in order to boop her on the nose with his index finger. “You’re very lovable,” he confirms.

“I’m aware of my extreme lovability,” Sally says. “You printed out the invitations?”

“All two-hundred and seventeen.” Elliot pats his messenger bag. “One for every member of our senior class. Even Moronica.”

“She won’t attend since it’s the same day as her own party, thank God.” Sally’s giddy laugh becomes a nervous chuckle and ends as a disheartened sigh. “What if no one attends?”

“It’s a party held by a mysterious host, at the Amphora Hotel, with invitations wrapped around free chocolate bars that are surreptitiously handed out by Kelly at the student store,” Elliot points out. “Who wouldn’t attend? Thankfully, Nick loves me enough to reserve the Amphora ballroom, because no amount of nannying would cover the fees that they charge.”

In truth, Nick had been near tears of joy when Elliot informed him that he wanted to throw a last-minute graduation party. It’d been all Elliot could do to convince Nick that, no, a high school party did not require renting out the entire hotel, nor were acrobats necessary in addition to the DJ. 

Sally’s quiet. Elliot uses his phone as a flashlight to illuminate her conflicted expression.

“You don’t have to do this for me, you know,” Sally says. “Most of our classmates aren’t exactly nice to you.”

Ugh. Elliot hoped to avoid this talk.

“I don’t take it personally,” he says, praying that she doesn't note the uncertain quiver in his voice.

“Even so, why are you throwing a party for them?” Sally asks. “Why go through all this effort to create a buzz? Is it just to one-up Veronica Peterson when everyone comes to our party instead of hers?”

Elliot rolls his eyes. “Please. I plan to forget Moronica’s name within a week of graduation.”

“Then why?” Sally presses. “I probably should’ve asked sooner, but I went along because it sounds like fun.”

“That’s your answer,” Elliot says. “It’s fun.”

“To me,” Sally finishes. “It sounds like fun to me. Your idea of fun is taking out a one-person kayak or hiding in the library with a new book. So why the sudden urge to throw a graduation party?”

Maybe this gesture is too much, and he should’ve stuck with buying her the Milky Way. But if Sally could steal two pages in the yearbook for him in eighth grade, then Elliot could damn well make sure she got the big graduation bash of her dreams.

“I’ve decided to try becoming an extravert,” he lies, knowing that Sally’s future enjoyment of their party likely hinges on her belief that it’s what he wants as well. Relief hits as they arrive at the cafeteria, providing him with a way to change the subject. “Did Kelly give you the key?”

Sally nods. Elliot puts out his palm, expecting her to give him the ASB store key. Instead, she instead yanks him down into a tight hug.

“What was that for?” he asks once she releases him.

“For being a bad liar,” Sally replies, “but a really great friend.”