(no subject)

[anywhat]

Girls Just Want to Have Fun
(Except for When They Want to Fuck Your Shit Up)
nc17
alwaysagirl!boarding school au
10,530 words
authornote: okay, guys. this started as a totally self-indulgent au that i would write during my boring-ass workday so that i didn't start committing homicide on the customers that would come up and ask me stupid questions about various electronics. it kind of mutated, and even though it isn't finished, because i still have a ton of shit to clear up, i'm posting it. i'm going to go crazy if i don't. this is the first 32 pages. consider it the beginning installment of a various, cracked out au piece that has no definite ending. i'm writing this basically because i have a soft spot for boarding school au's and i feel there isn't enough genderfuckery out there. if there are any glaring errors, my apologies. since it's so painfully self-indulgent i didn't even bother having anyone beta-read it, although i did make microsoft word go over it a few times. enjoy!

eta: fixed some html problems. also, i can't stop listening to the song "whatever you like." yeah, guys, idefk.

An introduction and a riveting game of strip poker. (Or: Alicia and Mikey's first encounter.)

The Camberwick Institution for the Higher Education of Young Ladies was founded sometime during the bra-burner days of the sixties, when women were making their first forays into the mean streets of the business world only to realize they were wholly unprepared for what they found there. Rather than turn heel and scurry off with their tails tucked between their legs, a few forward-thinkers banded together to help one another learn and to accustom one another to the practices that a successful businesswoman must know and enact day in and day out. A few of them decided that rather than move on to become CEO's of major corporations or important chairpersons they'd prefer to stay behind and help future generations become successful and independent, just like them.

As years passed, Camberwick's enrollment list and dearly held reputation for turning out the finest young collegiates only grew.

There are currently over one thousand students attending the prestigious, notoriously strict school, either those who manage to claw their way in on scholarship, or those who are fortunate enough to afford the tuition and then some.

Maja is one of the latter. Her family is in the export business and their chocolate is world-renowned as the best, running at twenty dollars for a three and a half inch bar of dark. They pay tuition year after year because they want the family business to remain just such. The Ivarssons were delighted when their daughter got accepted. While Maja's grades range from C to B- (but only if she's really interested) her parents care enough about her education that they make formidable donations to the school every three months or so, which is plenty to turn a professor's head here and there. Sometimes Maja wishes that they wouldn't, that a teacher would have the balls to actually sit there and say, "I don't care what your parents are paying, you're worth more than that and you're intelligent and you can do better if you want to."

Mostly, though, Maja's content to just sit around planning rallies and challenging the authority of the establishment. She thinks that everybody should feel like more than a convenient pay raise and she thinks that the six inches below knee-length skirt rule is absolutely ridiculous -- you should be allowed to flaunt your god given gifts, within reason, and a skirt at the knees, or even mid-thigh, has never distracted anyone enough to really be a problem.

Camberwick highly discourages any unnatural appearance modifications, so Maja keeps her hair dyed platinum blonde, with the roots just barely showing. When she gets written up for it, she shows up to class with half her head practically shaved off. There are a gaggle of girls in the back who immediately start whispering behind their hands about how she just wants attention but most of the class sits and gapes. Billie Beckett, Maja's best friend who sits across the aisle, immediately starts catcalling and whistling. They both get sent to the principal's office, and Billie spends the next two weeks braiding half of Maja's head in detention.

*

The detention overseer is a twenty-something with reddish-blonde hair and a pouty mouth. Maja and Billie whisper to each other about who she could possibly be; they've never seen her before anywhere around campus. Neither of them comes to a conclusion until three days later when they attend their third hour music class.

It turns out that Patricia Stumph, who prefers to be called Trish thank you very much as Patricia is a name reserved for women over the age of forty, is actually a pretty cool teacher. She's funny and she also knows what she's talking about thanks to having a lot of experience in her preferred field. She graduated from some prestigious music school in London with a master's degree, and when she isn't teaching she does recording for big-label studios. She's done backing vocals for some of the hottest bands on the market, and she really genuinely cares about the students. (When Francesca Iero is out sick for a few days thanks to the flu, Trish buys a get well soon card and a little box of tea and has the whole class sign it. Germaine Way offers to drop it off that afternoon. Nobody is surprised.)

Maja sits in the back of the class, only half singing along with the choir because hey, she knows she really isn't that good. She glances up from her sheet music one day to find Trish watching her pensively and immediately she smirks -- let the new teacher challenge her; she always comes out on top.

Trish asks her to stay after class and Maja's pulse speeds up just a little at the excitement of a possible cause to fight for. So she's rather floored when Trish offers her a soda from the teacher's lounge and asks her why she doesn't try harder in the class.

Maja just shrugs and sips almost shyly at her Diet Coke. "It's no big thing," she says nonchalantly. "I'm not very good at the whole singing gig, anyway."

Trish frowns. "You mean keeping time and knowing note values and theory stuff like that?" Maja nods, watching Trish like Trish is stupid because really, what else is there to music?

With a sigh, Trish slips her glasses off, wipes them on the hem of her argyle sweater-vest and slips them back on. "Maja, you're one of the most charismatic students I've ever met. People find you immediately in a crowded room, they're drawn to you. If you just put that extra little bit of effort in," she pauses, possibly for dramatic effect, although Maja doesn't know her well enough to tell if she does that sort of thing on a normal basis, "you could have a show that the world wouldn't be able to stop watching."

Maja feels her cheeks heat up and she takes a long gulp of soda to hide her grin. She's quiet for a long time, gnawing thoughtfully on her lower lip, until finally she murmurs, "You really think so?"

Trish grins. "Of course."

Maja thanks her and heads back to her dorm. And if Billie notices the fact that Maja's been making faces along to the words of the choir songs in the mirror, or that she cut down from two packs to just a half pack a week, she doesn't say anything. Mostly just smiles to herself and harmonizes with Maja's raspy alto.

*

Whenever Billie isn't tagging along with Maja, she can usually be found sitting down by the small man-made lake on campus, usually in the company of Gabrielle Saporta. Gabrielle is a completely insane Latina who came all the way from Uruguay to attend Camberwick. The rumour is that she's descended from royalty and that they sent her to school outside of their own country to keep up with international methods and stuff like that. Billie thinks she's maybe one of two or three people in the whole world who knows that Gabrielle stays up at least four hours a night studying to keep the full scholarship she earned back at home. Gabrielle's parents aren't poor exactly, but money's been tight ever since she was a kid.

She calls her parents once every few weeks and writes them letters almost constantly. The only thing she brought with her from Uruguay is the bass guitar her uncle got her for her twelfth birthday. She plays it every time she's feeling lonely, and she and Billie have even written a couple of songs.

While Gabrielle is a hard worker, she also knows the value of occasionally going wild or winding down, so some weekends she'll grab Billie and Maja and whoever else she happens to run into that day and hold impromptu parties in her room. Her roommate, Alicia, doesn't usually mind. More often than not, she'll pull a handle or two of pilfered liquor from under her own bed and grin, "So, ladies, you ready to take it up a notch?"

At one of these parties, the girls end up playing strip poker. It's the biggest one that Gabrielle's had all year; because midterms are next week and they'll be super stressed, so they all need to start off with a huge relaxer just like this. So big that even the reclusive Way sisters show up. Gerry politely declines any sort of alcoholic beverage (which doesn't stop her from sharing a primo joint with Billie, who has the top ranking psych grade but can't seem to make above a C in anything else) while her younger sister, Mikaela happily accepts a vodka tonic courtesy of one miss Alicia Simmons.

Mikey Way is not a shy, naive thing by any means, although she's often perceived to be such. Mostly Mikey just stays unobtrusive and in the corner because a) she doesn't like the spotlight at all and b) it is much easier to pay close attention to her classmates if she's watching from the sidelines. If she wanted, Mikey could probably blackmail the entire school, professors and headmistresses alike. Luckily, she's not like that, and the only time she ever even attempted to use her skill for evil was when Germaine was threatening to put embarrassing baby pictures of Mikey up on the school's bulletin board. Mikey just smiled politely and offered to let one of the professors know what Francesca and Germaine were really getting up to that day they stayed out of class sick and ended up letting all of the dissection frogs free. Gerry had immediately paled and backed off because, hey, she hadn't known that anybody else knew it was them.

Anyway, at Gabrielle's big shindig, Mikey works her way through a vodka tonic and a half. She's sitting in a circle with all the other girls, choppy cut hair half-hidden under the slightly askew fedora that Gabrielle tossed onto her head about twenty minutes ago. Mikey's slightly embarrassed that she didn't think to wear cuter lingerie. Mikey's in just a plain black bra and this pair of boy-style Spiderman undies that Gerry got her one Christmas.

Mikey keeps looking down into her drink and blushing just a little bit as the other girls strip to reveal lace-lined braziers and thongs with rhinestones and sparkles. She feels so underdressed! Mikey doesn't notice that for once in her life she's the one being watched rather than the one doing the watching.

Alicia Simmons is Gabrielle's roomie. They don't do that girl talk bullshit except to occasionally mention who looks adorable in class on a given day and do they think the other could pull off a skirt that short? Alicia got into the institute on a partial scholarship. She and Gabrielle study chemistry together sometimes when there isn't anything more interesting to do. Gabrielle found out about Alicia's uncontrollable crush on Mikey Way one night when they were both high as kites after a big calculus exam.

"I just," Alicia had said, eyes half-closed and staring at the ceiling, "I just want to grab her by the face and make her pay attention to me."

Gabrielle had giggled, "Oh you want to fuck her."

Alicia made a vague hand gesture and wrinkled her nose, nodding, "No, yeah, that'd be good too."

Needless to say, Alicia thinks that Mikey in Spiderman panties is damn sexy. She says as much from her seat next to Mikey, leaning in and whispering against Mikey's shoulder, "You know, those are so cool." She discreetly runs her finger along the hem against Mikey's upper thigh, and Mikey shivers.

"Come on, come on," Alicia says, tugging Mikey up. All the other girls blink their attention away from their poker cards and onto the two girls suddenly center-stage.

Alicia throws her arms up in the air, not realizing that she's still holding Mikey's wrist, and announces happily, "Time for body shots!"

Gabrielle starts laughing and stands, shaking her hips a little. "I keep the tequila under my bed," she admits in a stage-whisper. All the girls grin and Alicia starts digging for limes. (Gabrielle sees Alicia on her way in from the grocery store and gives her a knowing little smile. Alicia heartily insists that she always keeps a stash of citrus. Gabrielle doesn't bother to correct her.)

It takes Mikey two shots - one out of Alicia's bellybutton and one out of her cleavage - to decide that yes, she really, really likes parties. They're great. And Alicia tastes nice. And she's funny and likes comic books. So really, it's no big surprise that when Alicia starts to tug on Mikey's hand and says, "C'mon, c'mon" and giggles, just a little slurred, in her ear that Mikey stands and follows.

*

By some divine intervention, all of the girls manage to make it back to their rooms generally un-mauled. None of the headmistress's night sweeps show anything out of the ordinary, and the hangovers the following day aren't too bad, so everyone's counting it an overall success. (Gabrielle may or not be planning for a secondary celebration the following weekend. Some would say it's pushing their luck, but honestly Gabe doesn't care much.)

The only weird thing - although, really it probably isn't that weird, it's just that it's not something they make a habit of - is that Alicia wakes up tucked safely into her own bed, wearing Mikey's underwear. Gabrielle and Billie start crowing with laughter when they see this, and Maja just snuffles sleepily and burrows further under the comforter on the floor and lets out a husky, slumber-rough, "Congratulations."

Alicia blushes, but then she remembers exactly why she's wearing Mikey's Spiderman boxers and she starts grinning right along with the rest of them.

*

"Shut up," Mikaela says, face tinged brilliant rouge at the tops of her cheekbones. Germaine ignores her and continues rolling around on the floor, laughing hysterically.

"Dude," Frankie says when she comes bursting through the door, "that's the bra Gabe got Alicia for her birthday!" Mikey's face gets even redder, if that's possible at this point, which Mikey sincerely doubts, and she pulls her comforter over her head and wishes she had a time machine.

Bizarrely enough, Pete Wentz was going to be the one who got to keep his dick, and then I realized just how ridiculous that would actually be...

Peyton Wentz hates her name with a fiery passion, much in the same vein as one miss Germaine Way. The two girls can often be found sitting on the curb of one of the myriad brick walkways in the courtyard, staring hazily up into the clouds and arguing - albeit mildly - who has the worse name.

"They call me Gerry," Gerry says, reaching up to run a hand through her chin-length black locks, bangs getting caught almost upright in the breeze. "Not only is it a boy's name, but it's kind of a shitty boy's name."

Peyton giggles from next to Gerry, tugging her skirt down a little bit because the coarse bricks are digging into her thighs, and says, "Oh, yeah, because Pey is a million times better." She leans over and rests her head on Gerry's shoulder, sighing dramatically. "Let's face it," Peyton whines, "we're both totally fucked."

Gerry bursts into laughter at that and reaches over to ruffle Peyton's dark hair.

"Somehow, I think we'll manage," she assures with a wink. Both girls jump when Gerry's phone starts screaming 'I want you to want me, I need you to need me' and so on. Gerry's cheeks are tinged pink and Peyton just starts to laugh hysterically.

"Oh my God," she hisses teasingly. "You have it so bad!"

Gerry glares and reaches over to punch Peyton in the arm. "Shut up," she says, mock-furiously, hazel-green eyes narrowed. "Frankie picked the song out, not me."

Peyton rolls her eyes and rubs half-heartedly at the spot on her arm that Gerry hit - it's one of the few things that Peyton really, really hates about girls, the way that they always pull their punches. "Oh please, like you didn't start squealing inside the minute she even clicked past that song."

"Only a little," Gerry admits, and Peyton's laughter bubbles up once more. "Besides," Gerry continues, raising her voice to be heard over Peyton's giggles, "you're only jealous because you're so in love with that goofy stoner from Saint Bernard's."

Instantly, the situation is reversed, and Gerry's the one clutching her stomach while Peyton's cheeks heat to uncomfortable warmth.

"Shut up, he isn't goofy," Peyton mutters. Gerry leans over to kiss her cheek.

"Oh, Pey, sugar, you know I’m only teasing." She stands and brushes off the backs of her legs, her stockings, her skirt, and fluffs her hair a little. "Joe's a sweetheart. And he's totally into you."

"No, he totally is not into me," Peyton mutters under her breath while Gerry swivels on a heel and starts to walk away.

"I'll call you later or swing by your room or something. Frankie just got out of her last class," Gerry calls over her shoulder. Peyton nods and waves goodbye, watching her friend disappear into the distance for awhile before standing and sighing. Wiping her hands against her thighs and shaking stray dirt off her skirt, Peyton jogs back inside the academy to go and harass her new favorite teacher for awhile.

*

When Peyton peeks her head into Trish's office, she's really not surprised to find Maja already there, her hair, now grown out to what the Camberwick matrons refer to as an "acceptable length," in messy braids, grinning at Trish in a very faintly inappropriate way.

"Oh, hi Peyton," Trish says, and her face breaks into a smile.

Maja glances over her shoulder, flashing Peyton a quick grin and winking. "Hello, Pey," she says, accent pulling on her words here and there.

"Hey, guys," Peyton responds with a little wave. She'd totally wink back at Maja, but with Trish's eyes on her it'd be kind of a risky move. "Just stopping by to say hi, but it looks like you're busy so I'll let you get back to whatever you were doing."

Right before Peyton turns to leave she catches Maja mouthing 'thank you.' She smiles lightly back and hopes that Maja gets the implied 'you're welcome.'

*

A few times each year since as long as Camberwick's been open, the ladies of Camberwick have agreed to meet with the boys' school across the lake, a lovely little Catholic prep called Saint Bernard's, for nights of socialization. After all, just because your principles are founded on the belief that you don't need a man to be successful doesn't mean that the girls don't enjoy their company every now again.

This Friday the schools are renting out the local theatre and showing the third installment of Pirates of the Caribbean. It's the night after a big exam in almost every class. (Except for political science, since Andrea Hurley, the instructor, doesn't believe that tests are accurate representations of a student's capability. While most would assume that this would lead to a huge amount of students taking PoliSci, Miss Hurley's class rosters tend to stay below the twenties. Just because she doesn't test doesn't signify that her class is easy by any means, and she's got some nasty methods of weeding out the kids who don't really want to be there.)

Anyway, the Saint Bernard's/Camberwick socials are much-revered occasions for the majority of the girls at the Camberwick academy. After all, there's nothing quite like a good, healthy (non-violent) rivalry to really get your spirits stirring. And aside from that, most of the guys at Saint B's are pretty chill, too, and everybody needs to hone their flirting skills every once in awhile.

Gerry, Maja, Frankie, Gabrielle, and Billie are all scattered around Peyton and Maja's room, watching with amused interest while Peyton paces back and forth in front of her mirror.

"Is it too much?" she asks, gesturing to the knee length tulip skirt she stole from Spencer down the hall. It's green with gold sequins right at the top and totally flattering, but Peyton's still not sure.

"No, Pey," Maja says, like she's reciting something she's said a million times before. "You look really cute. The skirt shows off your legs, just like I said ten minutes ago when you asked."

"Sorry," Peyton says sheepishly, turning to glance at her friends, who all have matching 'we-know-where-you're-coming-from' smirks. "I just want to look good."

"For Joe," Gerry adds, batting her eyelashes while the other girls make varying kissy faces.

Peyton turns around, grinning but trying very hard to look upset, and sticks her tongue out at the other girls. Gabrielle stands up, taking Peyton by the shoulders and forcing her to look in the mirror.

"Honey," she says, tossing her hair and smiling seductively into the mirror alongside Peyton's face, "you look fabulous. Joe is going to eat you up." She pauses for a moment, adding, "Hopefully literally."

"Oh, gross!" Frankie squeals and buries her face in Germaine's shoulder, giggling along with everyone else. Germaine, for her part, tries her very best not to blush too hard, biting her lip to keep her smile from splitting her face in two.

"What?" Gabrielle asks, turning, faux innocence splashed across her features. "She looks good."

The girls all fall into fits of giggles, Peyton included, and almost end up missing the bus, they're so busy making faces at one another in the mirror.

*

Peyton's acceptance to Camberwick really isn't a memory that she's fond of revisiting. It isn't that she's not proud of herself, because the Headmistress has assured her again and again that it was her essay, and not her uncle's rather generous contribution that swayed the chair's collective opinion in favor of acceptance, and Peyton is seriously so proud of that essay. It's the relief that flew across her parents' faces when she opened her letter that really, really stings. Peyton knows that she was kind of a handful and that she had some problems, but feeling, even for just a second, that her parents were glad to see her go hurts more than she'll ever tell anybody.

And it isn't that Peyton doesn't like the school. Now that she's here, she actually really loves it. The matrons are a little strict sometimes, but Peyton's making friends and finding classes that she really likes and doesn't feel stagnant and misunderstood anymore. The school is totally awesome, and Peyton knows she isn't the only one who was sent here as a discipline case. Maja, the elder Way sister, Brenda Urie who Peyton's got first hour literature studies with. She feels a little bit like she's on the Island of Misfit Toys and every time that thought crosses her mind, it more than makes up for those two and a half seconds of 'oh-thank-God-she's-out-of-our-hair' that her parents shared.

Saint Bernard's is kind of in the same boat as Camberwick, as far as applicants go. On the one hand, they get the kids that are really good kids, serious about their program of study and work their asses off for their positions, and then they get the discipline cases, kids like Travis and Joe and Jon who aren't really bad kids, per se, they just didn't make the wisest choices in a few important situations. Peyton's pretty sure that's why she and Joe get along so well.

If she had to choose just one best friend, Peyton's positive that Gerry would win out at the end, but she thinks that Joe would probably be a top contender. He's the only person who sees her driver's license picture - back when she had a buzz cut and those ridiculous nipple rings, even though you can't see the latter - and doesn't burst into hysterical laughter. He just sort of regards it coolly for second and then smirks, "That's hot," and hands it back. She calls Joe sometimes when she's feeling down and they occasionally go out for pizza and arcade games on free afternoons. And one time Joe calls her at three a.m. just to tell her about a passage from some book he'd picked up at the thrift store that is "really, Peyton, seriously so intense!" Granted she's exhausted in class that day - because hello waking up at three a.m. is not exactly conducive to being coherent - but still. It was probably one of the best conversations she's had in her entire life.

Peyton isn't sure exactly when her crush started, but she'd bet that it was sometime around the night that Joe socked her square in the arm and didn't hold back at all. (Peyton maybe swooned a little on the inside, which she guesses makes her a masochist, but she'll never tell anybody, ever, so she doubts it matters.)

Since then, she's formulated an unpleasant habit of blushing every time Joe grins at her, she laughs just a little too loudly at some of his lamer jokes, and she finds herself regretting making stupid comments when before she would just grin and shrug and say, "Well, at least I'm pretty, right?"

All in all, it's annoying - there's a reason Peyton totally hates being a girl some days, after all - and Peyton thinks that Joe probably suspects what's going on. The more pessimistic side of her says that he doesn't mention anything because he's trying to be nice and take pity on her and her pathetic feelings, but for once in her life, her optimistic side won't shut up either. It keeps murmuring little things like 'Did you see the way he looked at you right there? He wants you!' and 'Oooh getting a little handsy with the popcorn, isn't he? Maybe he's trying to brush your fingertips.' Come to think of it, Peyton's optimistic voice sounds a lot like Germaine and Gabrielle.

When they get to the movie theater (they rented the entire thing out so the lines at the snack bar are the shortest any of the kids have ever seen them and Peyton is so, so down for some Red Vines) Joe is already seated in the ninth row back from the screen, craning his neck upward in order to see the ads flashing therein. He's got a big bucket of popcorn and a drink off to his right. His best buddies Bob and Travis are off to his right and there's an empty seat on his left just begging Peyton to claim it. And, of course, she does.

She flops down next to Joe without a word, ruffling his hair for a split second before dropping the Red Vines into his popcorn.

"I come bearing provisions," she says solemnly. Joe grins and digs the Red Vines out.

"Aha, I see you've chosen Red Vines this evening," he states in his best imitation of a formal tone. He holds up the package and turns to Bob and Travis. "What dost the coven have to say about this offering?"

Bob just rolls his eyes and goes back to whatever it was he and Travis were discussing before while Travis nods, "Red Vines. Sweet, dude," and grabs the package.

Joe laughs and shakes his head, turning to Peyton once more.

"Apparently I chose the right snack, huh?" she says, quietly, and Joe shrugs.

"Looks like it," he responds, grinning.

Peyton is about to settle in for a comfortable evening of movie-going and subtle flirting when she realizes that in her haste to procure a package of Red Vines, she completely forgot to order an Icee. They're her favorite guilty pleasure and Peyton gets one every night they spend with the Saint B's boys, as a treat to make an awesome evening just that much better.

"Oh, shit," she mutters, and goes to stand. When Joe looks at her quizzically, handful of popcorn paused halfway to his mouth, she offers sheepishly, "Forgot my drink."

Joe's eyes widen a little and he jams the popcorn into his mouth, pausing to wipe his hand off on the thigh of his jeans.

“Dude, dude,” he grins, turning and grabbing the drink from the arm rest on his other side. He spins back around, a gargantuan Icee clutched in his hand. “Totally beat you to it.”

He moves the popcorn and jams the Icee down into the armrest between them and Peyton smiles, ducks her head, and takes a sip.

“Thanks,” she murmurs. Joe smiles back, muted and almost shy - which is a look that Peyton doesn’t see from him very often. It’s nice.

He leans over and nudges her shoulder with his and murmurs, "Anytime, Pey."

The freshman may be Gabrielle's favorites! Also, Cash may or may not want into that geeky Alex girl’s pants.

Gabrielle has a wicked soft spot for the underclassmen. They're so precious, and the majority of them have a problem holding their liquor, which always makes for adorably endearing shenanigans. Billie gives her shit sometimes about being a pedophile, but Gabrielle just makes simpering faces and gestures down the hallway at the tiny one with the silly tattoos and short, shaggy haircut making a fool out of herself in front of the one that disappears when she turns sideways.

"I just," Gabrielle sighs, "they're so young and new and I just want them to have all the best things in life." Billie rolls her eyes and leans up to stick her tongue in Gabrielle's ear just to hear the resounding shriek.

*

Contrary to popular belief, Cash Colligan's name actually is Cash Colligan. It says so on her birth certificate, and while she sometimes catches shit for it, she's actually sort of fond of her name. It's unique, and Cash thinks it gives her an extra excuse to be as weird as she is.

One of Cash's favorite things to do with her time is to annoy the living hell out of the girl that has the locker next to hers. The girl is sort of awkward, in that way that suggests she'll be tall and graceful someday, with curly hair and braces and some of the biggest, fiercest blue eyes that Cash has ever seen. They don't have any classes together this term, so the only time Cash really sees her is when they happen to be going between, exchanging their books. Usually she doesn't say anything, just stares discreetly until the girl rolls her eyes and snaps, "What?"

To which Cash never replies, just smiles and shakes her head and goes about her business.

Today, though? Today Cash is feeling good. She's feeling confident and her hair is laying just the right way and she had Alicia secretly hem the skirt she's wearing just the slightest bit so it's a few inches higher than the general issue length.

Cash twists her combination lock shut and then leans against the cool metal surface, grinning at what she can see of the girl from the next locker over. She's currently leaning forward so that the front half of her body is disappearing inside her locker.

Cash not-so-subtly clears her throat and the girl jumps, elbow slamming into the open door. Cash winces in sympathy.

"Ow, fuck," the girl hisses, stepping back and rubbing her elbow furiously, pursing her lips. Glaring at Cash, she mutters, "Can I help you with something?"

Cash chuckles.

"You're sassy," she states with a nod, "I can respect that." Bouncing forward, she offers a hand, flashing the girl a winning smile. "I'm Cash. Cash Colligan," she greets.

The girl eyes her suspiciously for a long moment, and while Cash is pretty sure the look is supposed to say 'oh-God-you're-an-idiot' she's going to take it as 'you're-very-pretty-and-have-great-hair.' Cash flicks her eyes meaningfully toward her hand and the girl blinks and reaches out to give it an awkward shake.

"Uh, I'm Alex," she says.

Cash shoulders her messenger bag and nods her head, patting Alex's shoulder. "Awesome!" she crows as she turns on her heel. "We're totally friends now, Alex, this is so great!"

She practically skips off down the hallway, and if she hears Alex's shocked spluttering behind her, she doesn't acknowledge it whatsoever.

*

When Cash flops down in her homeroom class, Brenda Urie looks up from the essay she’s writing, one eyebrow arched, corners of her mouth turned up in a sharp smirk.

“You look happy,” she observes, and Cash just smiles wider, reaching over to tap out a beat on Brenda’s desk.

“I just made a new friend!” Cash announces brightly. Spencer, the really bitchy-looking girl who always sits next to Brenda in homeroom, shoots Cash a dirty look, but Cash just ignores it. She doesn’t really understand the point of doing homework during homeroom. That’s what they have a twenty-four hour library for, after all.

“Oh?” Brenda asks, setting her essay aside, chin resting gently on her palm, “Do tell!”

Cash scoots her desk over and leans forward on her elbows and she is so, so glad that she has somebody who loves to gossip just as much as she does.

“You know that girl from science last term?” she asks, and despite what Brenda may later recount, she totally doesn’t waggle her eyebrows.

Brenda gnaws on the tip of her pen for a minute before snapping her fingers and replying, “Oh! The tiny one? With the, uh, the hair!” She gestures at her head and Cash grins and nods.

“Yeah, that one! Well, we’ve been locker neighbors all year and I finally got her to talk to me today!” Cash beams proudly and Brenda whistles low and high fives her and really, the lingering feel of Alex’s palm in hers makes it so worth it when Professor Hurley invites Cash to work on her homework up at the front so she doesn’t get distracted.

*

Unfortunately for Cash, it seems that Alex doesn’t really get the concept of being friends the way that Cash does. Despite their formal introductions and Cash’s rather blatant exclamation of the fact that they are currently friends, whenever Cash drops her books into her locker with a thud and groans, “God, history was so dull today,” Alex tends to just sigh exasperatedly and mutter, “Bummer.”

One day, while she’s munching happily on her cafeteria-grade macaroni ’n’ cheese, which will never stop being delicious no matter how hard the lunch-ladies try to ruin it, Cash sees Alex making her way to a table in the back corner of the room, a tray balanced precariously on her tiny arms. Swallowing hastily and trying not to choke, Cash sits up and waves her hand in the air, shouting, “Alex! Alex, over here!”

Alex glances around, eyes wide and shocked, brow furrowed in confusion. When her gaze finds Cash, her eyes narrow a little, and she purses her lips thoughtfully, canting her head toward the table in the corner almost subconsciously, like she’s wondering how fast she’ll have to run to get there without either getting caught or spilling her food. Cash doesn’t give her the chance to even finish the thought though, just bounds up, grinning and takes Alex gently by the elbow.

“Come on, come sit with us,” she offers, tilting her head at the table she’s sitting at with Brenda, Spencer, Germaine, Peyton, and Maja.

“I, uh,” Alex mumbles. She sighs in something that sounds an awful lot like defeat - but which Cash prefers to consider progress - and says, “All right. Fine, fine. I’ll sit with you.”

“See,” Cash beams as she leads the way, “that wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

Alex sits down and offers a quiet greeting to the rest of the girls at the table while Maja smiles, lithe and slightly menacing as per usual, and leans forward.

“Darling, you are absolutely precious,” she purrs, and Cash chuckles, batting a hand at Maja.

“You’re going to scare her away, you shameless Swede!” she mock-reprimands, and Maja laughs, husky, and leans back again.

“I was merely making an observation,” she states, and there’s a soft, teasing lilt to her words.

Out of the corner of her eye, Cash notices that Alex’s cheeks are stained pink, and she reaches out to pat the back of Alex’s hand. Scooting over a bit, she whispers, voice low, “She doesn’t mean any harm, I promise.”

Alex looks at Cash for a moment, eyes clear like she’s weighing the scene in front of her before a shy, tentative smile curls at the corners of her mouth.

“Thanks,” she replies, and Cash shrugs.

“Anytime,” she answers honestly, taking a massive, theatrical bite of her macaroni. Across the table, Spencer wrinkles her nose and stabs her plastic spork - complete with salad dangling from the end - at Cash.

“You are vile, Colligan,” she spits, and Cash opens her mouth, sticking out her tongue with a heap of half-chewed noodles on top of it. Spencer hisses, “Gross,” and turns her attention back to her salad, but Cash knows she isn’t really mad. That’s just how Spencer makes jokes. Brenda told her so once.

When she glances back over at Alex, Germaine is gesturing animatedly with half a PB&J sandwich, doing a voice that Cash is almost certain is supposed to be their chemistry substitute while Alex laughs, bright and open, and leans into Cash’s side for support.

Cash grins. She always picks the best friends, seriously.

A night at the arcade with the boys from Saint Bernard’s...

Robert Bryar wasn’t necessarily a bad kid during middle school. He just doesn’t get along with most people, and the majority of the kids from Bob’s previous school preferred to try and solve their problems with violence. When he finally got the boot, it didn’t even matter that Bob never started anything. It was enough that he finished it, and that his GPA wasn’t high enough to make the school fight to keep him. It was his grandfather, a wealthy Irishman, who suggested Saint Bernard’s in the first place. He even offered to pay, assuming Bob kept his grades up enough to get into a decent university after he graduated. When Bob asked why his grandfather wanted to give him a chance, his grandfather just shrugged and said it was because nobody ever gave him the one he deserved and he didn’t want to make the same mistake.

Now, Bob writes to his grandfather every week, letting him know what’s going in Bob’s life, what his grades are, what he’s considering as far as a career and such. It’s kind of cool, having someone to talk to. His parents were always just a little bit too busy with their own lives to pay much attention to Bob’s, and he wonders if maybe that was part of the problem.

Either way, Bob’s happy with where he is now. He has a group of friends that he actually meshes with - probably because half of them come from the same situation that Bob does - and he’s finally proving, both to himself and to the rest of the world, that he’s not destined to be some loser for the rest of his life.

The nights that the Saint Bernard’s guys spend hanging out with the girls from Camberwick are some of Bob’s favorite times. At first, he was nervous, because he never really got along with the fairer sex, but the Camberwick girls are unlike anything that Bob has ever seen. He clicks instantly with this tiny little spitfire who goes by Frankie, and Frankie comes as a package deal with Germaine and her younger sister Mikey, who in turn comes as a package deal with Alicia.

They’re all clustered around a booth at the arcade, laughing loudly and sucking down sodas, two large pizzas split between them, just generally having a good time. Bob’s sitting right on the edge of the bench, making a valiant attempt to laugh and chew a bite of cheese pizza at the same time, when suddenly Gerry slams her fist down on the table and starts waving animatedly at someone over Bob’s shoulder.

“Schechter!” she yells over the pop music playing on the arcade speakers. “Get your ass over here, girl!”

Bob turns his head slightly as someone comes walking up, and he can’t help but stare when she comes fully into view.

She’s not exactly beautiful, not like Marilyn Monroe or something, but she’s captivating. Dark hair cut into a faux-hawk, shining blue eyes, a hoop through her lip, and are those tattoos peeking out from underneath her shirtsleeves? Bob thinks he might be staring, because Mikey nudges him with her shoulder.

“Miss Schechter,” Gerry says, grinning, “you know all the ladies already, but it is my pleasure to introduce you to Bob Bryar, one of Saint B’s finest.”

“Nice to meet you,” the girl grins, extending her hand. Bob shakes and offers what he hopes is a smile but feels more like a grimace. Judging by the way her own smile falters, Bob’s guessing it’s probably the latter.

“Okay,” she states brightly, pulling her hand back and running it over the thigh of her jeans subconsciously, like she’s wiping it off, “Ray challenged me to a Skeeball tournament so I’m just going to go over there. Later, Gerry, guys.” She nods her goodbyes and then disappears down the aisle, Bob trying his best not to watch the swing of her hips as she goes and failing miserably.

Gerry frowns a little and turns her big, shimmering eyes on Bob, reaching out to slap him half-heartedly on the hand. “Robert Bryar, you scared her!”

“I - what?” Bob asks. He’s pretty sure all he did was shake the girl’s hand. It’s not his fault if she didn’t like him.

“Schechter’s new, Bob,” Frankie says solemnly, nodding and sipping her Coke. “She spooks easy.”

Bob wrinkles his nose, eyebrows drawn down in confusion, and takes another bite of pizza. “Uh, okay?” he says.

“Don’t worry,” Gerry continues, grinning, “just give it time.”

Bob looks to Mikey, but she just shrugs like she doesn’t have the faintest idea as to what the fuck is going on, either.

*

Cash Colligan is like something out of a cartoon, Alex thinks to herself as she attempts to beat the current high score on the old Galaga machine in one of the more secluded corners of the arcade. She’s vibrant and loud and obnoxious, and she’s kind of an asshole, too, if Alex is really being truthful, but she manages to pull it all off in such an endearing way that it’s nigh impossible to keep from getting sucked into her vortex of friendship. Alex should know, because that’s currently where Alex is stuck.

She and Cash don’t really have anything in common. They like the same kind of music, sure, and they tend to agree on what authors are really awesome and what authors suck, but that doesn’t really mean anything. It’s starting to be a problem though, because even though they don’t have anything in common, and even though Cash has stupid tattoos and even though the first day Alex arrived at Camberwick Cash was really rude - which she conveniently doesn’t remember - it’s still somehow getting to the point where Alex texts Cash at midnight about some stupid cat macro she saw while she was putting off her bio essay.

Alex is so lost in thought about the odd friendship she and Cash seem to be developing that she almost actually leaps into the air when a heavy hand lands on her shoulder.

Whipping around, Alex feels her cheeks go red when she’s greeted with Cash’s smiling face.

“Dude, calm down, it’s just me!” Cash says, and Alex doesn’t particularly like the tone Cash is using so she just scowls and rolls her eyes and turns her attention back to Galaga.

She can almost feel Cash roll her eyes back, and then Cash’s arm is settling around her shoulders even though Alex tries to shrug it off. Cash can be surprisingly clingy when she wants to.

“Alex,” she whines after a few minutes. Alex doesn’t answer, just ignores the heat of Cash’s cheek against her neck and jerks the joystick to the left a little bit harder than usual. “Alex,” Cash says again, this time drawing out the ‘e’ and nuzzling her forehead against Alex’s neck.

If she had a controller, Alex would totally throw it down in defeat. As it is she has to make due with flailing her hands a little and crossing her arms over her chest.

“What, Cash?” she demands, spinning on her heel so that Cash’s arm is no longer over her shoulder.

“Aren’t you hungry?” Cash inquires politely, smoothing out a non-existent wrinkle in her pinstriped pants. Alex frowns a bit, because Cash is acting far too controlled to not be up to something, but now that Cash mentions it Alex remembers that she hasn’t eaten since lunch.

“A little, I guess,” she admits grudgingly. Cash’s smile grows even wider and she reaches down to take Alex by the wrist.

“Great, let’s get pizza!” she beams, and even though she’s still got at least a good ten minutes of prime gaming time left, Alex finds herself being towed along in the wake of Hurricane Cash.

*

Two slices of deep-dish three cheese and a half a Diet Coke later, Alex is feeling marginally less worked up than she was when she was beating the shit out of alien bugs in deep space, but there’s still an uncomfortable feeling niggling at the back of her mind. Cash is seated across from her at the two-person table they snagged - mostly because it was one of the few clean tables available, even if Cash had seemed oddly adamant that this table looked “sturdier and more trustworthy than its other table-y counterparts” - grinning and chewing at the same time and somehow not looking completely disgusting. Alex doesn’t understand it.

“So, Alex,” Cash states, smirking as she sips at her soda, “you are, of course, planning on going to movie night next week?”

Alex rolls her eyes. “It’s a night I don’t have to spend falling asleep with my face in a Chemistry book, of course I’m going,” she points out, as though it ought to have been the most obvious thing in the world. Cash just shakes her head a little and taps her foot against Alex’s ankle.

“Right, right, sorry,” she says sheepishly. She’s quiet for a few minutes before adding, “We should hang out beforehand. Study or something.”

Alex arches an eyebrow because even though they haven’t known one another for very long, Alex knows that Cash rarely ever talks about studying, and when she does it’s only to complain about how much of it she’s yet to do. Cash just grins and pokes absently at her pizza as she waits for a response.

“Okay,” Alex says slowly, “I guess we could study beforehand. If you really want to.” She wrinkles her nose in distaste at the thought but Cash’s grin only grows as she takes a massive bite of pizza and chirps, “Awesome!”

*

Maja loves arcade night. She’s not very good at videogames, and sure she gets a little bored after watching her friends play for hours, but there’s something about the atmosphere of the place that she finds endlessly appealing. Everyone knows how much Maja loves arcade night, so when she announces to Peyton and Gabrielle that she’s going to skip arcade night, both of them stare at her like she’s just grown a second head.

“Why aren’t you going?” Peyton asks for clarification, wrinkling her nose in confusion.

Maja shrugs. “I have too much studying to do.” It’s not a lie, exactly, even though it slides smoothly off her tongue just the way that lies usually do. She really is planning to study, sort of. And, well, if nobody else knows about the private music lessons she’s asked about except for Billie, then it isn’t Maja’s fault Billie’s slacking on her gossip duties.

Gabrielle arches an eyebrow and murmurs with a smirk, “Oh, I’m sure you have plenty of studying to do.”

Maja glares half-heartedly at the other girl while Peyton just looks more confused and shakes her head in defeat, turning her attention back to meticulously applying eyeliner.

“Is Joe going to be there?” Gabrielle asks, changing the subject and making sure that Maja’s aware that she knows something’s up.

Peyton’s cheeks flush pink and she pauses in her eyeliner application. “Yeah, we’re going to duel at that racing game that Alicia and Mikey always play. The motorcycle one.”

“Oh?” Gabrielle asks, voice too nonchalant to truly be unconcerned. “You guys made plans in advance?”

Peyton shrugs and pushes her bangs a little way out of her face. “Not like, plans plans, we were just talking about it when he called earlier,” she responds, wrinkling her nose at the mirror. Maja smiles knowingly at Gabrielle and absently scrolls through her e-mail account, watching the scene before her with growing amusement.

“That sounds like a date, Pey,” Gabrielle mentions off-handedly, flipping a page in the magazine she’s reading, sprawled out on Peyton’s bed.

Peyton turns red and it’s all Maja can do to keep quiet and smile at her computer screen. “It’s not a date,” Peyton squeaks, dark eyes huge and bewildered in the mirror. “It’s not, is it?” she asks, clearly terrified.

Gabrielle sighs. “Honey, why does it matter if it is? You like Joe, and Joe’s crush on you is so obvious it hurts me to see. Would you really do anything different if he told you it was a date?”

Peyton considers this for a moment, tugging at the hem of the black v-neck sweater she’s wearing before toeing at the carpet and muttering, “Fuck it up, probably.”

Gabrielle frowns and stands, reaching out to squeeze Peyton’s shoulder. “Oh, darling,” she murmurs, “you aren’t going to fuck anything up. You and Joe know each other better than most couples I know.”

Peyton smiles half-heartedly and inquires hesitantly, “Do you really think so?”

Maja leans forward, chin in the palm of her hand and elbow on the desk, and offers over her shoulder, “You two stay up giggling on the phone until two in the morning. It’s disgusting.”

“Exactly,” Gabrielle agrees. When they grab their purses and head out to catch the bus, Peyton’s smiling, so Maja figures it was probably the right thing to say even if it was a little bit ruder than usual.

She waits fifteen minutes after the two girls leave to jump up from the desk in the corner and strip off her ratty sweatpants and tank top, staring at the closet she and Peyton share with pursed lips while she considers what to wear. It has to be casual, but still cute; something that’s different enough from the school uniform that it’ll be obvious, but not so ridiculous that it looks like she’s overdressed.

After much deliberation, Maja decides on a pair of cyan leggings that fall to just below her knees with a cute, summer dress-reminiscent top with cranes printed in red down the side. She pairs it with some sandals that have thin red straps and makes sure that her make-up is even, that her hair looks okay. Tucking a neon pink binder into her oversized black purse, Maja gives herself a quick once-over in the full-length mirror and then blows a kiss at her reflection, stepping into the hallway.

When Maja reaches the music conservatory, Trish is already there, tapping absently at a piano and making some notations in what is undoubtedly a notebook full of blank staff paper. She’s wearing a long-sleeved burgundy shirt that makes her hair shine even more strawberry than usual, a fitted gray vest and a pair of pants that match. Her heels have been kicked off to the side after standing in front of a class all day, and she’s pressing the pedals of the piano with her bare toes - the nails of which are painted sparkly purple, Maja notes with a grin. She doesn’t notice Maja’s approach until Maja’s only about three feet away, and she jumps a little when she looks up. Maja smiles and tosses her hair.
“Hello, professor,” she greets amiably. “I’m not too early, am I?”

“No, not at all,” Trish says, smiling back. “Right on time, actually,” she adds, glancing back at the clock. Maja blinks at the empty portion of the piano bench and bites her lip.

“May I…” she starts, gesturing at the space, and Trish peers over at it, curious.

“Huh - Oh! Of course!” she laughs, shaking her head with slight embarrassment. “Please, take a seat.”

Maja smirks and glances at Trish from under her long lashes, daintily perching on the edge of the bench and internally doing a dance of triumph.

*

Brianna Schechter is totally kicking ass at Skeeball, and she feels like the entire world should know this. Crowing about her victory, arms thrown up into the air, she does a little spin, the heels of her battered old Chuck’s skidding slightly on the carpeting, and laughs, grabbing Ray’s shoulder for support.

Transferring into Camberwick halfway through the term wasn’t as difficult as Bri - pronounced so that it rhymes with “rye” because she’s a girl, not a foreign dairy product - thought that it was going to be. After her parents offered her an ultimatum to either clean up her act, and try to actually stay in school or get the hell out and never look back, Bri was fairly certain that her life was, for all intents and purposes, over. After all, Camberwick sounded like some stuffy school full of stuck-up princesses and spoiled rotten trust-fund babies - Bri likes to forget that she’s technically part of that latter demographic - and that wasn’t anywhere that she wanted to be.

Luckily though, she’s adapting relatively well. Or so the guidance counselor she’s supposed to meet with bi-monthly tells her. She’s already made friends with some really awesome girls thanks to Frankie being the loud, obnoxious type that she is, and she’s not getting into fights every other day. Bri kind of assumes that it’s only a matter of time until she gets pissed enough to throw-down against some unsuspecting hussy, but she’s not one to look a gift horse in the mouth so she’s trying to roll with it.

“You’re such a pro,” Ray jokes, “how do you even stand it?” She grins and Bri laughs some more, stepping away.

Ray is Frankie’s roommate, and they live across the hall from Bri and her roommate, a no-nonsense chick who the general populace refers to as Vicky T. While Germaine and Frankie are kind of a lot to handle, and more than ten minutes of Mikey and Alicia in the same room results in ridiculous puppy-eyes and cuddle-fests, Ray is just a really chill, generally awesome girl who wears Metallica t-shirts without being ironic and can shred like a champ when it comes to guitar.

“C’mon, let’s go get something to eat, dude, I’m starving,” Bri offers, nudging Ray’s shoulder with her own. Ray nods, her waves of curly hair bouncing, and follows along, matching Bri’s leisurely stride.

“Oh, hey,” Ray says when they draw up to the cafeteria-reminiscent portion of the arcade, “Gerry and the girls are already here, let’s go sit!”

Bri frowns a little, pursing her lips as she remembers the tall ginger-haired boy sitting with them, the way he’d just stared at her like she didn’t belong, and hesitates.

“What’s up?” Ray asks. “You and Gerry have a fight or something?”

Bri chuckles and shakes her head. “No, just,” she shrugs and lets the thought peter off, taking a self-conscious breath before trying again. “That guy they’re sitting with, Bob something-or-other, I get the feeling he doesn’t like me much.”

Ray glances at the table for a moment, brow furrowed in confusion. “You mean Bryar?” she asks, and Bri shrugs.

“I guess,” she murmurs, and Ray starts laughing. If Bri was prone to blushing, her face would be flushed pink right now. As it is, she just arches an eyebrow and waits for Ray’s giggle-fit to subside.

“You done?” she asks. Ray holds up a hand, laughs once more, and then nods.

“Man, I can’t believe you think Bryar hates you,” Ray teases. “He seems all tough but he’s a big softy on the inside.”

“He looked at me like I kicked his puppy or something,” Bri insists, following Ray as she strides forward despite the fact that she still doesn’t think voluntarily associating with this Bryar character is a good idea.

Ray snorts. “Just, come on, hang out for a few minutes. If he really hates you, which I doubt, then we can just leave. No big deal.”

Bri rolls her eyes and follows along, trying not to look too put-out about it as she goes.

*

Bob thinks he must be the most awkward guy in the whole fucking universe. He’s sitting there all nice and happy, eating pizza with his friends, when all of a sudden the Schechter girl walks up and sits down and starts actively hanging out. It’s like every time he looks up he catches her eye, even though he doesn’t mean to, and it’s making him feel like some kind of creep. Based on the downward slant of her mouth, it’s making her feel like he’s some kind of creep, too.

Ray is gazing at him curiously from across the table, only halfway paying attention to the story that Frankie’s currently telling around a half-chewed mouthful of veggie pizza. He arches an eyebrow at Ray, who just cocks her head to the side and smirks. Gerry leans over so that her head is on Ray’s shoulder and proceeds to waggle her eyebrows at Bob, gaze occasionally swiveling over to Schechter.

His friends are so fucking weird, seriously. He doesn’t know what they’re on, but they definitely aren’t helping him save any face in front of the new girl. He feels his features slip into a scowl, thoughts centered around the whole peculiar situation, as he shifts his weight and tears his eyes away from Gerry and Ray.

He almost actually slaps his own forehead with his palm when he realizes that he’s sudden scowling furiously in Schechter’s direction. Her eyes are wide and blue and a little panicked, and she rises to her feet, smiling once, tight, and says, “I have to, uh…”

She stares at Ray, looking like a deer in headlights, and mumbles hopefully, “Bathroom?”

Ray nods and stands, following as Schechter practically runs down the aisle and around the corner. Bob gazes after them as they go, bewildered. He knows girls are weird - contrary to popular belief, Bob isn’t actually an idiot - but this is getting to be a little bit ridiculous.

He looks to Gerry for some support, but she’s just frowning with disappointment and shaking her head at him. Frankie’s grinning like she finds something hilarious, and before Bob can ask what it is, she blurts, “God, and people think I’m the socially retarded one.”

Bob sighs and sips at his Barq’s root beer. He officially gives up on ever actually understanding women.

*

Trish’s laugh rings, loud and bright, across the span of the empty conservatory, bouncing against the various instruments strewn about the space and ricocheting back. Maja smiles and absently taps at some of the higher keys of the piano, glancing slyly at Trish from out of the corners of her eyes.

“I can’t believe I’ve never heard that one,” Trish grins, shaking her head, strawberry locks shimmering in the dim light.

“I can’t believe you’ve never heard it, either,” Maja agrees, mock-astonished, which sends Trish into another fit of giggles. Maja bites her lip and forces herself to look away from Trish. It’s easier said than done, though. Trish might be the most beautiful thing that Maja has ever seen.

She’s like something out of a 1940s movie, all soft curves and lush lips and thick eyelashes over impossibly innocent eyes. And aside from all that, she’s one of the kindest, most open-minded people that Maja has ever met. She can understand why Peyton likes to come to Trish when she has a problem.

“Okay, do a C scale for me, and then F minor, yeah?” Trish requests, smiling brilliantly. Maja valiantly does not swoon.

She plays the aforementioned scales, fingers stumbling once, and then sits back, Trish nodding happily and making a mark in the spiral-bound notebook she’s constantly scribbling notations in.

“Excellent!” she praises, grinning. “You’re already improving.” Maja smiles, lazy and contented, sharp at the corners as per usual, and Trish just stares for a second. Huh, Maja thinks, tossing her hair and telling herself that she probably just imagined it. After all, Trish is a professional musician and a teacher to boot. That Maja keeps encouraging her own deluded fantasy is nobody’s fault but her own, as she’s well aware.

“So,” Trish says, as she flips through a beginner’s music book, “why aren’t you at the arcade with the other girls?”

Maja shrugs. “Videogames aren’t really my thing,” she responds honestly. If she doesn’t mention anything about how she’d clearly prefer to torture herself by staring at Trish for two hours then, really, nobody can hold it against her.

“Aw,” Trish teases absently, half her attention focused on the music book in her hands, “no cute boys to flirt with?”

Maja actually laughs at that, the husky chuckle that she personally hates but that Gabrielle assures her is sexy. Trish is smirking, bemused, as Maja replies, “Hardly, professor. I prefer girls.”

Trish freezes for the briefest of seconds, and something like anxiety uncurls in Maja’s abdomen. She can see a spray of pink across Trish’s cheeks and wonders if maybe she’s said too much. Clearing her throat a bit, she asks softly, “That is not going to be a problem, is it?”

The laugh that wrenches itself out of Trish’s mouth is clipped and harsh, more a surprised exhalation of breath than an actual chuckle.

“That would be a little bit like the pot calling the kettle black,” Trish mutters, gazing intently at a beginner’s rendition of Amazing Grace. Maja’s eyes widen at the sudden revelation, but she carefully schools her features back into polite attention, trying desperately to keep the self-satisfied smile off her face.

Although they’re apparently on the same playing field as far as unexpected admissions go, Trish won’t meet Maja’s eyes and her cheeks are possibly even brighter pink than they were thirty seconds ago. Curiouser and curiouser, Maja thinks, leaning forward so that her elbow is resting on the surface of the piano, pretending to glance down at the music Trish is looking at and inwardly cheering when Trish blushes harder at the sudden lack of space between them.

Senior year is starting to look better and better.