(no subject)
Title: This Change
Author: Caitlin,
amor_demi_alma
Rating: G
Pairings: Mallory / Mary Anne
Summary: Mallory Pike is a freshman in high school when she makes and breaks her first relationship. But maybe that relationship is just a stepping stone on her path to self-acceptance.
Author's Note: Written for
elisabeth_grace
. Coincidentally, this is my second fic over at
short_takes
and both have ended up being for Lissie, which is doubly awesome because Lissie obviously owns. She requested: "Somebody insisting that Mallory has changed (whether she has or not), mention of Vanessa."
Also ... I haven't had anyone beta this, and I feel like there might be some tense issues. I apologize in advance!
If you know me, you know that I'm always practical, easygoing, dependable, calm, good-in-a-crisis Mallory Pike. I never keep secrets, I rarely cause trouble (unless you count that whole ordeal with gym class in the sixth grade) and I'm almost always cool, collected and in complete control of myself.
So maybe it's understandable that Mary Anne flipped out when she saw what she did. After all, she's known me for years. Sure, after the BSC disbanded, we drifted ... but she still knows me. I still see her in the halls and smile ... still chat online when we happen to be on AIM at the same time ... still call her one of my friends. But I do understand why she was so surprised.
* * *
Kristy's a junior ... and since I'm a freshman, I feel lucky that she even knows my name. The fact that she actually likes me still leaves me with that "too good to be true" glaze fogging my brain. When she hugs me, I feel like a typical starstruck freshman; when she kisses me, I still get those jittery butterflies; and when our eyes lock, and she tells me that I'm beautiful, I can forget my unruly red hair and my dorky glasses, and I honestly think that I'm definitely the luckiest girl in the world.
Summer heat seems to cloud the brain sometimes. Kristy and I both intend to come out eventually, of course ... but not yet. Neither of us knows just how our family and friends will react to our two pieces of news: firstly to our being gay, and secondly to our tentative status as a couple. (Vanessa knows that I'm gay, but she's sworn to secrecy.) So it must have been the muggy air that made us forget all that. That's why Mary Anne sees what she does.
Kristy and I are tangled together, mid-kiss, when we hear a gasp ... and then Mary Anne's there, jaw dangling, face paling, her lunch bag swinging, forgotten, from one hand.
"What ... what are you ... how ..." Mary Anne's questions taper off before they're fully formed.
Kristy and I trade anguished looks ... but before either of us can think what to do, Mary Anne bursts into tears (which isn't altogether unexpected, if you know Mary Anne), turns tail and runs.
And then I'm crying ... and that's out of character for me. Kristy hugs me ... and she tells me not to worry ... and she promises that we'll talk. But what Mary Anne doesn't know is that Kristy's and my kiss was saying goodbye. The words that proceeded that kiss were Kristy's: "Mal, I'm sorry ... but I think I love you as just a friend. Don't hate me ... I'm really sorry. I just need to figure things out." And then, with her arms open: "Can we still be friends, do you think?"
It was unlike Kristy to be so unsure ... so uncertain ... so lacking in self-confidence and gumption. But high school and its accompanying changes can do that to a person.
Now Mary Anne must think that Kristy and I are an item. What she doesn't know is that I've been having my own doubts. Unlike Kristy, my doubts aren't rooted in whether or not I'm gay. They're rooted in whether or not I liked Kristy ... or someone else.
But if Mary Anne knew that, she'd really be crying.
* * *
My house is as crazy as always after school that day. Nicky and the triplets are having a Super Soaker war in the backyard, Margo's painting Claire's nails on the porch, and Vanessa's doubtless holed up in the room the two of us still share.
"Hi, Mal." Mom hugs me rather absentmindedly as we knock elbows on the stairs. "I'm off to the store ... do you need anything?"
"No, thanks," I mumble distractedly.
Mom doesn't pick up on my preoccupation. "Keep an ear out for Margo and Claire, would you? I told the boys to watch them, but you know how they can be when they're involved in a game."
I sigh gustily, intone a grudging "Okay" and slog the rest of the way up the stairs.
I crash through Vanessa's and my door without knocking.
"Malloryyy," Vanessa whines, loudly snapping her notebook shut. "Could you please not do that? You just ruined my train of thought."
"Sorry." I collapse onto my bed, pull my copy of Hard Love from beneath my pillow, yank out my bookmark and prepare to read.
Ben Hobart recommended the book to me. "It's kind of our story," he said. "You knew you were gay ... I didn't want to believe it ... I fell in love with you ... and finally, I got it through my thick head that we needed to just be friends."
This memory always makes me smile, because Ben is the best friend a girl like me could ask for. But replaying the conversation isn't working today.
Unlike Mom, Vanessa picks up on my despondence. "Bad day at school?" she quips, casting aside her notebook.
"You could say that."
"Fight with Kristy?"
"Swap 'fight' for 'breakup', and you'll be right on."
"Oh, Mal!" Vanessa looks shocked. "What? What happened?"
Before I can answer, a flurry of water droplets pelts my window pane.
I rocket across the room, push aside the blinds and spot Jordan aiming his Super Soaker at the glass.
"I've told you not to do that!" I bellow.
"Mary Anne wants to know if she can come up," Jordan yells back.
My heart stalls ... but what can I say? Mary Anne must be down there with him; she can probably hear every word I say.
"Of course she can," I shout, trying to sound casual ... but in truth, I'm freaking out, worried about what Mary Anne might want.
Jordan zaps my window with his Super Soaker one more time for good measure. I gesture threateningly and he retreats.
Turning back to Vanessa, I see that her eyebrows are arched. "Mary Anne's here?"
"It's a long story," I reply hurriedly. I can hear footfalls on the stairs. "I'll tell you later, okay?"
"Sure." Vanessa grabs her notebook and pencil just as a soft knock rattles our bedroom door. "I'm out," she whispers to me. "Good luck." She gives me a bemused thumbs-up, opens the door, scoots past a seemingly frozen Mary Anne and disappears.
"Hey." I offer Mary Anne a smile.
Her lips tremble, and for a moment I'm afraid that I'll have to rehash the crying binge of this afternoon. But Mary Anne keeps her cool and manages a slightly wavery smile. "Hi, Mal." She hesitates ... wrings her hands a few times ... shuffles her sandaled feet awkwardly. "Can I ... um ... is it okay if I come in?"
I nod. "Yeah ... of course."
Mary Anne walks carefully forward, looking for all the world like she's entering the lion's den. This irks me, even though it shouldn't.
"Mary Anne ... I'm gay, not diseased," I hear myself snipe.
She flinches as though I've slapped her. Tears tap-dance on her eyelashes and her dark eyes show me just how much my comment has hurt her.
"Mary Anne, I'm sorry." I cross the room to her, all the while not knowing quite what to do: what to say, how to explain, how to fix this ...
I reach to hug her, expecting her to shriek or cry or draw away like I have the plague.
But she doesn't.
She bolts into my arms and clings to me as though I'm one of those buoys that keep people from drowning ... and as we stand there in the middle of my room, swaying from foot to foot as we hug without words, I begin to have an inkling of what this might be about. An inkling ... but nothing more. I can't let it be anything more because my being right about this would just be too good to be true.
Finally, we break apart. I initiate brief eye contact, but Mary Anne breaks it almost at once. I know now that she doesn't have a problem with my being gay; her refusal to meet my eyes can't be related to that. So maybe ...
But no ... there must be another reason. I'm just being dumb. Wishful thinking can do that to you.
"Do you want to ... um ... have a seat?" I ask Mary Anne a little hesitantly. I still have no clue what to say to her.
She shrugs ... nods ... sits down on my bed ... runs her fingers unconsciously over the quilt.
I take a seat on Vanessa's bed.
"Mal, I ... um ... I didn't know you were ... you know ... with Kristy." Mary Anne lowers her eyes. "I mean, I always thought that she was ... I mean, I knew that she was gay. But ... but you ..."
Despite the disjointed nature of Mary Anne's statement, I know what she means.
"You knew about Kristy?" I still feel that I need clarification.
Mary Anne nods again, smiling a little. "Probably before she did." And then she laughs that soft, self-depricating Mary Anne laugh of hers ... that laugh that always makes my insides do acrobatics of which Jessi would be proud.
"But you didn't know ..." I trail off.
"No! Mal, of course not." Mary Anne flings up her hands as though to depict her complex emotions. "I mean, with Kristy, it's so black-and-white. I mean, I can see that she checks out girls and not guys." Mary Anne's eyes still don't connect with mine, but there's a new intensity in her gaze that I don't quite know how to interpret. "But you ... you look at everyone, Mal. Everyone and everything." A tentative grin flits across her face, and she adds, "I think that's the writer in you. The observer ... you know? You're like a book that's hard to read. Not hard as in ... you know ... a pain. Hard as in challenging. Puzzling. Does this make sense?"
I can feel myself aching to smile back, but somehow, I'm not ready to. I need to know the whole story. I need to know if she means these things to be compliments or insults, something in between, or something else altogether. "What do you mean?" I venture.
"You've changed, Mal," Mary Anne expounds. "When you were little, it was so easy to understand you. You were just so open about everything. You were easy to talk to. You were always just so ... I don't know. So levelheaded ... and sensible. But now it's like you don't talk to anybody. You're so closed-off. And none of us knows why ... or how to talk to you ... or why you're hurting ... or how we can make it better."
My own eyes fill with tears then. Mary Anne's right--she's so right--and I know that I should have talked to her before, like I always wanted to. I'd always known, deep down, that I should talk to Mary Anne ... that Mary Anne, of all people, would understand. And because Mary Anne was older, she would doubtless give advice that Vanessa, despite her kindness and her book smarts, just couldn't provide.
And then, like she always does, Mary Anne gets up, closes the chasm between us and gives me a hug ... and I hold her tight and wait for the tears to run their course.
Mary Anne lets me cry ... and when I'm done, she hands me one of those little Traveling Tissue packets from her purse. Trust Mary Anne to carry around stuff like that.
"There's more," I blurt out.
Mary Anne nods. "I know that you and Kristy broke up."
I bite my lip.
"I'm sorry." Mary Anne touches my wrist. "Do you want me to try and talk to her? I think that if she just came out to her parents ..."
"It's not that," I interrupt. "I mean, it is ... partially. But ... but what I mean is that ... well ... Kristy's breaking this off was probably a good thing."
Mary Anne doesn't look surprised.
She already knew?
How could she?
How could she have known?
She's too perceptive for her own good.
But wait ... how much does she know.
"There's someone else," I admit. "I mean ... I think I like someone else. But ..." I swallow. "But I don't know if she likes me back."
Mary Anne's looking out the window, but now she glances at me quickly.
Our eyes meet ... then lock.
She knows.
She knows all of it.
I can just tell. I can read Mary Anne Spier like a book in this moment ... and I can tell.
She must be able to read me, too, because she smiles and holds out both hands, and I take them, even though I feel kind of goofy for doing it.
Mary Anne's fingers squeeze mine, I squeeze back, and then we lean forward and kiss so quickly that I almost can't believe it really happened. But then I see that Mary Anne's beaming ... and she murmurs, "She does like you back," and I fall back into her embrace knowing that she means every word she has just said.
Our lips meet again, and I know then that some changes are good.
Kristy and I will always be friends ... but Mary Anne has unearthed a secret that has lain in hiding for far too long. She unearthed it ... and she didn't reject it or mock it.
She understands ... and she feels the same way.
Maybe this will last ... maybe it won't ... but in this moment, Mary Anne's arms around my waist, her hands in mine and her lips pressed against my own are honestly enough.
I'm happy. I'm at peace. I don't have to be the Mallory I've forced myself to be for the past three years: the quiet, reserved, inhibited Mallory Pike. Now I can be myself. I can exist without holding anything back. I can change ... and I believe that this change is going to be a positive one. I believe in that with everything I have.
Author: Caitlin,
amor_demi_alma
Rating: G
Pairings: Mallory / Mary Anne
Summary: Mallory Pike is a freshman in high school when she makes and breaks her first relationship. But maybe that relationship is just a stepping stone on her path to self-acceptance.
Author's Note: Written for
elisabeth_grace
. Coincidentally, this is my second fic over at
short_takes
and both have ended up being for Lissie, which is doubly awesome because Lissie obviously owns. She requested: "Somebody insisting that Mallory has changed (whether she has or not), mention of Vanessa."
Also ... I haven't had anyone beta this, and I feel like there might be some tense issues. I apologize in advance!
If you know me, you know that I'm always practical, easygoing, dependable, calm, good-in-a-crisis Mallory Pike. I never keep secrets, I rarely cause trouble (unless you count that whole ordeal with gym class in the sixth grade) and I'm almost always cool, collected and in complete control of myself.
So maybe it's understandable that Mary Anne flipped out when she saw what she did. After all, she's known me for years. Sure, after the BSC disbanded, we drifted ... but she still knows me. I still see her in the halls and smile ... still chat online when we happen to be on AIM at the same time ... still call her one of my friends. But I do understand why she was so surprised.
* * *
Kristy's a junior ... and since I'm a freshman, I feel lucky that she even knows my name. The fact that she actually likes me still leaves me with that "too good to be true" glaze fogging my brain. When she hugs me, I feel like a typical starstruck freshman; when she kisses me, I still get those jittery butterflies; and when our eyes lock, and she tells me that I'm beautiful, I can forget my unruly red hair and my dorky glasses, and I honestly think that I'm definitely the luckiest girl in the world.
Summer heat seems to cloud the brain sometimes. Kristy and I both intend to come out eventually, of course ... but not yet. Neither of us knows just how our family and friends will react to our two pieces of news: firstly to our being gay, and secondly to our tentative status as a couple. (Vanessa knows that I'm gay, but she's sworn to secrecy.) So it must have been the muggy air that made us forget all that. That's why Mary Anne sees what she does.
Kristy and I are tangled together, mid-kiss, when we hear a gasp ... and then Mary Anne's there, jaw dangling, face paling, her lunch bag swinging, forgotten, from one hand.
"What ... what are you ... how ..." Mary Anne's questions taper off before they're fully formed.
Kristy and I trade anguished looks ... but before either of us can think what to do, Mary Anne bursts into tears (which isn't altogether unexpected, if you know Mary Anne), turns tail and runs.
And then I'm crying ... and that's out of character for me. Kristy hugs me ... and she tells me not to worry ... and she promises that we'll talk. But what Mary Anne doesn't know is that Kristy's and my kiss was saying goodbye. The words that proceeded that kiss were Kristy's: "Mal, I'm sorry ... but I think I love you as just a friend. Don't hate me ... I'm really sorry. I just need to figure things out." And then, with her arms open: "Can we still be friends, do you think?"
It was unlike Kristy to be so unsure ... so uncertain ... so lacking in self-confidence and gumption. But high school and its accompanying changes can do that to a person.
Now Mary Anne must think that Kristy and I are an item. What she doesn't know is that I've been having my own doubts. Unlike Kristy, my doubts aren't rooted in whether or not I'm gay. They're rooted in whether or not I liked Kristy ... or someone else.
But if Mary Anne knew that, she'd really be crying.
* * *
My house is as crazy as always after school that day. Nicky and the triplets are having a Super Soaker war in the backyard, Margo's painting Claire's nails on the porch, and Vanessa's doubtless holed up in the room the two of us still share.
"Hi, Mal." Mom hugs me rather absentmindedly as we knock elbows on the stairs. "I'm off to the store ... do you need anything?"
"No, thanks," I mumble distractedly.
Mom doesn't pick up on my preoccupation. "Keep an ear out for Margo and Claire, would you? I told the boys to watch them, but you know how they can be when they're involved in a game."
I sigh gustily, intone a grudging "Okay" and slog the rest of the way up the stairs.
I crash through Vanessa's and my door without knocking.
"Malloryyy," Vanessa whines, loudly snapping her notebook shut. "Could you please not do that? You just ruined my train of thought."
"Sorry." I collapse onto my bed, pull my copy of Hard Love from beneath my pillow, yank out my bookmark and prepare to read.
Ben Hobart recommended the book to me. "It's kind of our story," he said. "You knew you were gay ... I didn't want to believe it ... I fell in love with you ... and finally, I got it through my thick head that we needed to just be friends."
This memory always makes me smile, because Ben is the best friend a girl like me could ask for. But replaying the conversation isn't working today.
Unlike Mom, Vanessa picks up on my despondence. "Bad day at school?" she quips, casting aside her notebook.
"You could say that."
"Fight with Kristy?"
"Swap 'fight' for 'breakup', and you'll be right on."
"Oh, Mal!" Vanessa looks shocked. "What? What happened?"
Before I can answer, a flurry of water droplets pelts my window pane.
I rocket across the room, push aside the blinds and spot Jordan aiming his Super Soaker at the glass.
"I've told you not to do that!" I bellow.
"Mary Anne wants to know if she can come up," Jordan yells back.
My heart stalls ... but what can I say? Mary Anne must be down there with him; she can probably hear every word I say.
"Of course she can," I shout, trying to sound casual ... but in truth, I'm freaking out, worried about what Mary Anne might want.
Jordan zaps my window with his Super Soaker one more time for good measure. I gesture threateningly and he retreats.
Turning back to Vanessa, I see that her eyebrows are arched. "Mary Anne's here?"
"It's a long story," I reply hurriedly. I can hear footfalls on the stairs. "I'll tell you later, okay?"
"Sure." Vanessa grabs her notebook and pencil just as a soft knock rattles our bedroom door. "I'm out," she whispers to me. "Good luck." She gives me a bemused thumbs-up, opens the door, scoots past a seemingly frozen Mary Anne and disappears.
"Hey." I offer Mary Anne a smile.
Her lips tremble, and for a moment I'm afraid that I'll have to rehash the crying binge of this afternoon. But Mary Anne keeps her cool and manages a slightly wavery smile. "Hi, Mal." She hesitates ... wrings her hands a few times ... shuffles her sandaled feet awkwardly. "Can I ... um ... is it okay if I come in?"
I nod. "Yeah ... of course."
Mary Anne walks carefully forward, looking for all the world like she's entering the lion's den. This irks me, even though it shouldn't.
"Mary Anne ... I'm gay, not diseased," I hear myself snipe.
She flinches as though I've slapped her. Tears tap-dance on her eyelashes and her dark eyes show me just how much my comment has hurt her.
"Mary Anne, I'm sorry." I cross the room to her, all the while not knowing quite what to do: what to say, how to explain, how to fix this ...
I reach to hug her, expecting her to shriek or cry or draw away like I have the plague.
But she doesn't.
She bolts into my arms and clings to me as though I'm one of those buoys that keep people from drowning ... and as we stand there in the middle of my room, swaying from foot to foot as we hug without words, I begin to have an inkling of what this might be about. An inkling ... but nothing more. I can't let it be anything more because my being right about this would just be too good to be true.
Finally, we break apart. I initiate brief eye contact, but Mary Anne breaks it almost at once. I know now that she doesn't have a problem with my being gay; her refusal to meet my eyes can't be related to that. So maybe ...
But no ... there must be another reason. I'm just being dumb. Wishful thinking can do that to you.
"Do you want to ... um ... have a seat?" I ask Mary Anne a little hesitantly. I still have no clue what to say to her.
She shrugs ... nods ... sits down on my bed ... runs her fingers unconsciously over the quilt.
I take a seat on Vanessa's bed.
"Mal, I ... um ... I didn't know you were ... you know ... with Kristy." Mary Anne lowers her eyes. "I mean, I always thought that she was ... I mean, I knew that she was gay. But ... but you ..."
Despite the disjointed nature of Mary Anne's statement, I know what she means.
"You knew about Kristy?" I still feel that I need clarification.
Mary Anne nods again, smiling a little. "Probably before she did." And then she laughs that soft, self-depricating Mary Anne laugh of hers ... that laugh that always makes my insides do acrobatics of which Jessi would be proud.
"But you didn't know ..." I trail off.
"No! Mal, of course not." Mary Anne flings up her hands as though to depict her complex emotions. "I mean, with Kristy, it's so black-and-white. I mean, I can see that she checks out girls and not guys." Mary Anne's eyes still don't connect with mine, but there's a new intensity in her gaze that I don't quite know how to interpret. "But you ... you look at everyone, Mal. Everyone and everything." A tentative grin flits across her face, and she adds, "I think that's the writer in you. The observer ... you know? You're like a book that's hard to read. Not hard as in ... you know ... a pain. Hard as in challenging. Puzzling. Does this make sense?"
I can feel myself aching to smile back, but somehow, I'm not ready to. I need to know the whole story. I need to know if she means these things to be compliments or insults, something in between, or something else altogether. "What do you mean?" I venture.
"You've changed, Mal," Mary Anne expounds. "When you were little, it was so easy to understand you. You were just so open about everything. You were easy to talk to. You were always just so ... I don't know. So levelheaded ... and sensible. But now it's like you don't talk to anybody. You're so closed-off. And none of us knows why ... or how to talk to you ... or why you're hurting ... or how we can make it better."
My own eyes fill with tears then. Mary Anne's right--she's so right--and I know that I should have talked to her before, like I always wanted to. I'd always known, deep down, that I should talk to Mary Anne ... that Mary Anne, of all people, would understand. And because Mary Anne was older, she would doubtless give advice that Vanessa, despite her kindness and her book smarts, just couldn't provide.
And then, like she always does, Mary Anne gets up, closes the chasm between us and gives me a hug ... and I hold her tight and wait for the tears to run their course.
Mary Anne lets me cry ... and when I'm done, she hands me one of those little Traveling Tissue packets from her purse. Trust Mary Anne to carry around stuff like that.
"There's more," I blurt out.
Mary Anne nods. "I know that you and Kristy broke up."
I bite my lip.
"I'm sorry." Mary Anne touches my wrist. "Do you want me to try and talk to her? I think that if she just came out to her parents ..."
"It's not that," I interrupt. "I mean, it is ... partially. But ... but what I mean is that ... well ... Kristy's breaking this off was probably a good thing."
Mary Anne doesn't look surprised.
She already knew?
How could she?
How could she have known?
She's too perceptive for her own good.
But wait ... how much does she know.
"There's someone else," I admit. "I mean ... I think I like someone else. But ..." I swallow. "But I don't know if she likes me back."
Mary Anne's looking out the window, but now she glances at me quickly.
Our eyes meet ... then lock.
She knows.
She knows all of it.
I can just tell. I can read Mary Anne Spier like a book in this moment ... and I can tell.
She must be able to read me, too, because she smiles and holds out both hands, and I take them, even though I feel kind of goofy for doing it.
Mary Anne's fingers squeeze mine, I squeeze back, and then we lean forward and kiss so quickly that I almost can't believe it really happened. But then I see that Mary Anne's beaming ... and she murmurs, "She does like you back," and I fall back into her embrace knowing that she means every word she has just said.
Our lips meet again, and I know then that some changes are good.
Kristy and I will always be friends ... but Mary Anne has unearthed a secret that has lain in hiding for far too long. She unearthed it ... and she didn't reject it or mock it.
She understands ... and she feels the same way.
Maybe this will last ... maybe it won't ... but in this moment, Mary Anne's arms around my waist, her hands in mine and her lips pressed against my own are honestly enough.
I'm happy. I'm at peace. I don't have to be the Mallory I've forced myself to be for the past three years: the quiet, reserved, inhibited Mallory Pike. Now I can be myself. I can exist without holding anything back. I can change ... and I believe that this change is going to be a positive one. I believe in that with everything I have.