true colors - jb & ag 《completed》

{four}

Justin turned onto Main Street, and a cluster of people his age rushed toward him. Not ready to make a comeback while wearing his dad's old clothes, he tugged his cap lower over his eyes and focused on the scuffed toes of his boots. The group funneled around him without a backward glance and filed into Gino's Cappuccinos. Justin blew out a breath and raised his head, pushing down his nerves. Not that they would've recognized him anyway. He'd grown almost a foot since he'd gone away.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and strolled down the familiar tree-lined street. The town felt different but looked the same. This place that had once been his wonderland had become a means to an end.

He walked around a group of musicians squatted cross-legged in the middle of the sidewalk having an impromptu jam session. Then he peered into the bookstore with the same old dust-coated volumes piled to the ceiling and the same tired Christmas track blaring from the open door. He paused, shocked to see the fat orange-and-white tabby in the window. Memories of a girl with wide dark eyes and a long ponytail petting the enormous cat caused an uncomfortable expansion in his chest. That girl no longer existed to him.

Forcing his fists to unclench, he turned away and almost smacked into a guy wearing a pink tutu and black high-top Converse. "Excuse me, sugar." The guy's black-lined eyes gave Justin the once-over as he passed.

Patting the string bag on his back to make sure it was still secure, he continued on.

His father used to say that if the people of Gilt Hollow got any more open-minded, their brains would fall out. Justin didn't know if he agreed—he just hoped their open-mindedness extended to him. Otherwise his plan would end with him driven out of town by an angry pitchfork-wielding mob, or, worst case, back in lockup.

When he'd returned, he hadn't expected to find the house inhabited. So he'd snuck in through the kitchen window, grabbed some supplies, and headed to sleep in the tree house. Considering he had zero experience with breaking and entering, it was no surprise that he'd totally botched it. And when he turned back to see if he'd woken anyone, the outline of a girl stood in the upstairs window. He was lucky whoever it was hadn't called the cops.

But in desperate need of cash, he'd snuck back into the house earlier that day, grabbed some clothes, and searched the attic for something he could sell. When he'd found Gram's old record collection, it felt like an answer from heaven. He had been his grandparents' favorite, and they'd left him all of their belongings, including his grandfather's motorcycle collection—which he planned to dig out of the garage as soon as he figured out how to convince the current tenants that he wasn't some random kid off the street.

But first he needed to see if Twisted Beauty was still in business. The store was so "exclusive" it didn't have a sign. Justin turned into the tiny clothing boutique and climbed the narrow stairs to the second floor, where the pounding guitar riff to "Back in Black" greeted him. Justin smirked at the irony.

Rock posters lined the walls of the small landing. Justin poked his head around the corner. Wooden bins of LPs filled the room, and the familiar smell of molded plastic laced with dust and a bit of herbal remedy drew him in. Justin had spent many hours in this stuffy, second-floor shop, running his fingers over the accordion of colorful covers, helping sort stock, and learning to appreciate real music. Behind the counter, the owner, Jeff White, screeched into an invisible microphone.

"Still rockin' the classics, old man?"

Jeff glanced up mid-headbang, flicked shaggy bangs out of his eyes, and then lowered his fist by slow degrees. "Justin? Is that you?"

So much for not being easily recognized.

Justin tugged off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. "Yeah."

Jeff leaned over and turned the music down. "How you doin', kid?"

Justin met Jeff's unwavering gaze. When he saw no fear or condemnation in the man's clear gray eyes, the tightness in his chest released. "I can't complain." He shrugged and thumbed through the movie soundtrack section.

"Are you in town to stay?" Jeff leaned on the counter, the sun streaming through the windows behind him highlighting the silver streaks in his brown hair.

"For now." Justin picked up a double album of an old musical he'd liked as a kid. He and Ariana had watched the DVD until it warped. He dropped it back into its slot like it burned his fingers.

"If you need anything, kid, anything at all, just say the word. My couch is open if you need a place to crash. It ain't much, but it's cushioned more important butts than yours." He chuckled at his own joke.

Justin slanted a glance at the shop owner. "You still giving cash for vinyl?"

"You know it! Whatcha' got for me?"

"How about the Beatles's Can't Buy Me Love?"

Several beats of silence passed. Justin glanced up to find Jeff's jaw unhinged. "You better not be yankin' my chain, kid."

A grin tilted up one side of Justin's mouth as he lifted the record from his bag and placed it on the counter. "Nope. It's the original 45."

"Hot dang! This thing's worth a small fortune." He ran his fingers over the mint-condition cover reverently. "Where'd you get it?"

Justin's jaw locked up. He couldn't tell if the guy thought he'd stolen it or if he was just curious. But he sure as heck hadn't come here to defend himself. He narrowed his gaze and growled, "Do you want to buy it or not?"

Jeff's eyes widened and he took a step back. "Sure . . . sure . . . of course." Then he blinked, as if remembering he'd known Justin most of his life, and a goofy grin spread across his face. "Does Steven Tyler wear leather pants?"

The tension left Justin's shoulders. "How much will you give me for it?"

Jeff moved over to his computer and typed in silence for several moments. Practically vibrating with excitement, he turned back to Justin. "How does five hundred sound?"

Justin knew his records, and this thing may not be the holy grail—that would be John Lennon and Yoko Ono's Double Fantasy—but he wasn't about to get screwed on the deal either. "You know it's worth four times that, Jeff."

"True . . . but I have to put up the cash not knowing what I'll make in return." He perched on a stool and began typing again. Justin thumbed through the selection of singles, a dull pain radiating through his lower back. He lifted his arms and stretched, popping several vertebrae. He'd slept like a baby the first night. The fresh breeze flowing through the tree house tasted like freedom. The second night had been a different story. Crashing on a stoner's sofa wasn't the answer though. Jeff may be cool, but Justin needed to stay as far away from illegal activity as possible. Maybe he could convince the tenants living in his house to break their lease early. He had a home visit from his parole officer coming up in less than a week.

"Eight hundred is my final offer."

Justin strolled back to the counter. "I've got more where this came from . . ." He let his words trail off as Jeff's gaze sharpened like a laser. The others weren't worth as much as this one, but together it would be enough for food, school fees and supplies, and some clothes that didn't stink like mothballs. "Make it a grand, and it's a deal."

"Okay, kid, but just because I know you."

Justin nodded, already imagining the reaction of his "friends" when he walked through the doors of Gilt Hollow High. It was time for some payback.

sorry that you have to put up with this awful filler but it'll get better I promise

pls leave a vote if you're excited for more haha

it'd be rlly cool if we could get this chapter to 10+ votes!

k love you guys