Fic: Back At It 1/? (Veronica, ensemble) PG-13
Title: Back At It 1/?
Author: Joobie_Vienna
Pairing/Character: Veronica, Wallace, ensemble eventually
Word Count: 1,270
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Veronica is back at school after winter break.
Spoilers/Warnings: Through 2.10
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Continuing fics are new territory for me, so I'd love to get feedback of ANY kind. Positive, negative, confused, lay it on me. I'd really appreciate it.
Walking down the hall with Wallace, I give him a sidelong look and a sheepish grin. Damn, am I glad he's back. When he's around, it's easier to pretend things are normal. It's easier just to be normal. Of course, Wallace is oblivious to my beaming at him-he's too busy going on about how badly the basketball team was doing in his absence. I'm so glad to have him back, I'll humor his ego for a bit longer.
"…you know, they tried to find somebody to fill my shoes, but nobody else has hops like I do. Coach had no choice but to excuse my weeks of absences to let me back on as a starter." Wallace glows more than usual describing his b-ball skills, but I'm glad there's at least a shadow of guilt on his face when he mentions the long time he was away.
"We don't all need a wake-up call to remind us how valuable you are, you big baller. The Neptune sports faculty may be a bunch of frustrated middle-aged men trying to live vicariously through their athletes, but they know talent when they see it."
"You know Mars, I'm getting the distinct feeling somebody other than Coach missed me while I was gone. A blonde somebody whose hobbies include snooping, baking, and long walks on the beach." He grins at me. "Would you know anything about that?"
His smile is so open and disarming, I find myself beginning to crack, wanting to explain everything that's gone on these past few weeks with more than just a few pithy sentences in an email. Did someone order one soul-baring with an extra side of humble pie? Coming right up.
"Wallace, I know I'm not the best BFF, unless the B stands for boneheaded or blind or bribery-lovin', but I get what you've been for me this past year, and it means…well, it means…" You know, I get paid to serve pie four days a week. You'd think I'd be better at it.
Eyes on the floor, I take a deep breath and prepare to start again, but Wallace isn't even paying attention. My BFF has been distracted by none other than his moi-moi-moi ex-lunch-buddy-with-privileges, currently walking in our direction. From the look on his face, the siren call of repentant rich girl proves difficult to resist.
Ah, Jackie. So charitable of you to let Backup use your sweater as a chew toy and then wear it to school anyway…okay, retract claws, Veronica.
I pat Wallace on the shoulder. "That's my cue," I say, nodding at Jackie's approach. "I'll catch you at lunch."
"What?" His expression is dazed. "Oh, naw, you don't have to clear out," he protests.
"It's okay - I did my nails last night, so I'm trying to avoid getting in a slap-fight today. At least until after lunch." I give him reassuring smile #6, the "good luck with your awkward conversation" smile, and head towards class even as the tractor-beam pull of Jackie's trashy-chic outfit lures Wallace in.
I wish Wallace had been around to give me reassuring smile #6 before my little tête-à-tête with Duncan two weeks ago. Maybe then I wouldn't have choked so badly. Maybe Duncan and I could've had a serious conversation about what it means that Meg is - was - having his child. God, Duncan has a child. I can't even think about it without feeling like I've entered some alternate reality. Honestly, I'd probably feel more comfortable if I had. Some crazy reality that's all shrimp or ruled by sadistic bunnies or something. At least then I wouldn't feel like I had to be okay with all of this or my whole world would come crashing down.
Fuck, Veronica, don't cry. Normal girls don't burst into tears in the hall at school.
Wiping the corner of my eye with a knuckle, I dart into the bathroom. If I've ruined my eyeliner, I'm going to be pissed - makeup application has never been my forte. Stupid oppressive cultural standard of female beauty. A quick glance in the mirror reveals all quiet is on the eyeliner front, for now.
As I stare at my reflection, I hear my own voice in my head. "I'm fine with it." It sounds hollow and flinty. Of course I wasn't fine with it, Duncan. But what do you want me to say? You're not who I thought you were? Ass slaps and high fives for deflowering another virgin? Lie to me again and I'll fucking kill you? Maybe I should've gone all Jerry Springer on his ass. I chuckle, picturing myself throwing a chair across the set, then pregnant Meg joining in to-God. Meg.
Normal girls can cry in the bathroom, right?
I stumble into a stall, close the door and shut the lid with one boot. I collapse on the seat, elbows on knees, face buried in my hands. Eyeliner be damned. Meg is dead. No reassuring smiles, no quips and no sleuthing can make up for the fact that I've lost another friend.
I'm jolted from my regret-filled thoughts by the sound of the door swinging open. Immediately my ears are assaulted by the typical morning bitchery from the Neptune High rumor mill.
"I, like, cannot believe they're not letting students attend the funeral! I have this new black dress picked out and everything - it's cute, and it has this totally hot neckline, but it's, like, really somber and everything, too."
"Well, I heard the principal, like, wanted to have a service? And her family was all 'no you can't, our daughter is not, like, a spectacle' or whatever."
"Seriously? They're probably just embarrassed that everyone knows Meg's score on the purity test really was a 48. I guess she was just waiting for someone with a bigger bank account than Cole's so she could finally slut it up."
I can't take another second of this. I wipe hot tears from my face and throw open the door.
"Shut your mouths, both of you! Meg is dead-dead! Do you understand that? Do you get what it means to be dead? It means being separated from your precious Louis Vuitton clutches and your Vogue fashion spreads and your friends and from everything, forever." My voice is rising and I'm about to start screaming at two sophomores who I haven't ever said two words to before. Get a grip, Veronica.
"Sounds pretty grim, doesn't it? So show some fucking respect for a girl who was never anything but decent or kind to anyone in this Neptune hellhole." One last glare, and I'm out of there. Judging by their expressions as I push my way out the door, I'm guessing my icy diatribe had the desired result.
I make another half-hearted effort to wipe away my now-hopeless eye makeup before giving up and trudging to journalism. The light in there's dim enough anyway, maybe no one will notice. Maybe they'll think I've taken up the goth look. Maybe class will take my mind off of everything I've failed at these past few months.
"Why, Miss Mars, thank you for gracing us with your presence."
"A pleasure to be here." I slide into a seat toward the back gratefully as the teacher continues taking roll. I space out for a moment, until-
"Mister Kane? Is Duncan Kane here today?" She looks around the room, her eyes settling expectantly on me. That's what you get when you're practically glued at the hip to your boyfriend. Your honest, adorable boyfriend. I shake my head at her. No on both counts.
Want to know where my boyfriend is?
So do I.
----------------
TBC?
Author: Joobie_Vienna
Pairing/Character: Veronica, Wallace, ensemble eventually
Word Count: 1,270
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Veronica is back at school after winter break.
Spoilers/Warnings: Through 2.10
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Continuing fics are new territory for me, so I'd love to get feedback of ANY kind. Positive, negative, confused, lay it on me. I'd really appreciate it.
Walking down the hall with Wallace, I give him a sidelong look and a sheepish grin. Damn, am I glad he's back. When he's around, it's easier to pretend things are normal. It's easier just to be normal. Of course, Wallace is oblivious to my beaming at him-he's too busy going on about how badly the basketball team was doing in his absence. I'm so glad to have him back, I'll humor his ego for a bit longer.
"…you know, they tried to find somebody to fill my shoes, but nobody else has hops like I do. Coach had no choice but to excuse my weeks of absences to let me back on as a starter." Wallace glows more than usual describing his b-ball skills, but I'm glad there's at least a shadow of guilt on his face when he mentions the long time he was away.
"We don't all need a wake-up call to remind us how valuable you are, you big baller. The Neptune sports faculty may be a bunch of frustrated middle-aged men trying to live vicariously through their athletes, but they know talent when they see it."
"You know Mars, I'm getting the distinct feeling somebody other than Coach missed me while I was gone. A blonde somebody whose hobbies include snooping, baking, and long walks on the beach." He grins at me. "Would you know anything about that?"
His smile is so open and disarming, I find myself beginning to crack, wanting to explain everything that's gone on these past few weeks with more than just a few pithy sentences in an email. Did someone order one soul-baring with an extra side of humble pie? Coming right up.
"Wallace, I know I'm not the best BFF, unless the B stands for boneheaded or blind or bribery-lovin', but I get what you've been for me this past year, and it means…well, it means…" You know, I get paid to serve pie four days a week. You'd think I'd be better at it.
Eyes on the floor, I take a deep breath and prepare to start again, but Wallace isn't even paying attention. My BFF has been distracted by none other than his moi-moi-moi ex-lunch-buddy-with-privileges, currently walking in our direction. From the look on his face, the siren call of repentant rich girl proves difficult to resist.
Ah, Jackie. So charitable of you to let Backup use your sweater as a chew toy and then wear it to school anyway…okay, retract claws, Veronica.
I pat Wallace on the shoulder. "That's my cue," I say, nodding at Jackie's approach. "I'll catch you at lunch."
"What?" His expression is dazed. "Oh, naw, you don't have to clear out," he protests.
"It's okay - I did my nails last night, so I'm trying to avoid getting in a slap-fight today. At least until after lunch." I give him reassuring smile #6, the "good luck with your awkward conversation" smile, and head towards class even as the tractor-beam pull of Jackie's trashy-chic outfit lures Wallace in.
I wish Wallace had been around to give me reassuring smile #6 before my little tête-à-tête with Duncan two weeks ago. Maybe then I wouldn't have choked so badly. Maybe Duncan and I could've had a serious conversation about what it means that Meg is - was - having his child. God, Duncan has a child. I can't even think about it without feeling like I've entered some alternate reality. Honestly, I'd probably feel more comfortable if I had. Some crazy reality that's all shrimp or ruled by sadistic bunnies or something. At least then I wouldn't feel like I had to be okay with all of this or my whole world would come crashing down.
Fuck, Veronica, don't cry. Normal girls don't burst into tears in the hall at school.
Wiping the corner of my eye with a knuckle, I dart into the bathroom. If I've ruined my eyeliner, I'm going to be pissed - makeup application has never been my forte. Stupid oppressive cultural standard of female beauty. A quick glance in the mirror reveals all quiet is on the eyeliner front, for now.
As I stare at my reflection, I hear my own voice in my head. "I'm fine with it." It sounds hollow and flinty. Of course I wasn't fine with it, Duncan. But what do you want me to say? You're not who I thought you were? Ass slaps and high fives for deflowering another virgin? Lie to me again and I'll fucking kill you? Maybe I should've gone all Jerry Springer on his ass. I chuckle, picturing myself throwing a chair across the set, then pregnant Meg joining in to-God. Meg.
Normal girls can cry in the bathroom, right?
I stumble into a stall, close the door and shut the lid with one boot. I collapse on the seat, elbows on knees, face buried in my hands. Eyeliner be damned. Meg is dead. No reassuring smiles, no quips and no sleuthing can make up for the fact that I've lost another friend.
I'm jolted from my regret-filled thoughts by the sound of the door swinging open. Immediately my ears are assaulted by the typical morning bitchery from the Neptune High rumor mill.
"I, like, cannot believe they're not letting students attend the funeral! I have this new black dress picked out and everything - it's cute, and it has this totally hot neckline, but it's, like, really somber and everything, too."
"Well, I heard the principal, like, wanted to have a service? And her family was all 'no you can't, our daughter is not, like, a spectacle' or whatever."
"Seriously? They're probably just embarrassed that everyone knows Meg's score on the purity test really was a 48. I guess she was just waiting for someone with a bigger bank account than Cole's so she could finally slut it up."
I can't take another second of this. I wipe hot tears from my face and throw open the door.
"Shut your mouths, both of you! Meg is dead-dead! Do you understand that? Do you get what it means to be dead? It means being separated from your precious Louis Vuitton clutches and your Vogue fashion spreads and your friends and from everything, forever." My voice is rising and I'm about to start screaming at two sophomores who I haven't ever said two words to before. Get a grip, Veronica.
"Sounds pretty grim, doesn't it? So show some fucking respect for a girl who was never anything but decent or kind to anyone in this Neptune hellhole." One last glare, and I'm out of there. Judging by their expressions as I push my way out the door, I'm guessing my icy diatribe had the desired result.
I make another half-hearted effort to wipe away my now-hopeless eye makeup before giving up and trudging to journalism. The light in there's dim enough anyway, maybe no one will notice. Maybe they'll think I've taken up the goth look. Maybe class will take my mind off of everything I've failed at these past few months.
"Why, Miss Mars, thank you for gracing us with your presence."
"A pleasure to be here." I slide into a seat toward the back gratefully as the teacher continues taking roll. I space out for a moment, until-
"Mister Kane? Is Duncan Kane here today?" She looks around the room, her eyes settling expectantly on me. That's what you get when you're practically glued at the hip to your boyfriend. Your honest, adorable boyfriend. I shake my head at her. No on both counts.
Want to know where my boyfriend is?
So do I.
----------------
TBC?