A Conspicuous Conspiracy (Ch. 1)
This story is A/U: Your favourite Grey's characters are in high school! Yay! I did this partly because I've grown to think of young Arizona and Callie are rather cute but mostly becuase it lets me stay loose with the writing and doesn't make me have to deal with real adult issues lol.
Title: A Conspicuous Conspiracy
Author: clanket
Pairing: Callie/Arizona
Rating: PG
Summary: Callie and Arizona are best friends. As they navigate through their final year of high school, will they realize that they're more than just friends?
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libellous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
Without further ado...
Ch. 1
“Look, I really do like you - I do - but I’m not one-hundred percent invested in this relationship and that’s not fair to you.”
“So you’re breaking up with me?”
What’s the right response to that? All I could do was avert my eyes and nod slightly.
“Look Jackson, I know it sounds cliché but I still want to be friends. I really do like you as a person but I know for a fact that my feelings aren’t one-sided; I see the way you look at April.”
Jackson’s eyes went wide and his mouth opened slightly.
“You don't have to say anything, its okay.” He nodded slightly.
“Maybe this is your chance, too, to start something new and great with someone who will give themselves to you fully.”
“What about you?”
“What do you mean? I just told you I want to break up and you’re worried about me?” I couldn’t hold back a smirk. Jackson really is a great guy and I know he would go to bat for me at the drop of a hat and I know he will be just as protective of me once the shock of this has worn off.
“You know, a certain ‘best friend’ of yours that you can’t stop talking about?” His eyes have a twinkle - he’s teasing me! I guess my face gave me away because he laughs at me.
“We are just best friends. We’ve grown up together, and have even been in the same class nearly every year since grade one. When you grow up, you just don't make friends the way you do when you’re kids it’s -”
“Come on Callie, cut the crap. We’ve been dating...or I guess, we dated, for over half a year and have been friends since the first day of high school. Don't tell me you’re not into her as more than a friend.”
I’m pretty sure that my face is beet-red since it feels unusually warm.
“Okay, Callie, that bug-eyed fish impression mixed with that blush totally just gave you away.”
Is he laughing at me? Again? What should I do? How do I fix this? I know!
“Ow! What the hell, Callie! If we weren’t already broken up I’d file for spousal abuse after that hit!”
“Serves you right for making fun of me!” Apparently when I’m flustered I also make the ‘humph’ sound - literally. I’ve never heard a ‘humph’ quite so emphatic.
I get up the courage and finally ask, “If you knew then why didn’t you say anything?”
“I don't know. I guess I told myself the same things you just told me - that you’re friends and grew up together and all that - but after a while I figured you just weren’t ready to admit it yet. So I kept quiet.”
“And kept dating me anyway?” I ask with a snort.
“Yeah, well that was just fun,” he said with a wink. I gasped and hit him again.
“Ow! Quit it with the hitting! You didn’t let me finish!” He smirked again. “While the dating part was fun, I also really liked just being able to hang out with you, you know, doing regular stuff like watching movies and going bowling and camping and stuff. So even if we’re not dating anymore, I want us to be friends.” I had to smile at his sincerity even through his humour.
“Besides, I think you could use some advice with the ladies.”
After hitting him once more - but lightly this time, I had to have the last word.
“Suck it Jackson.”
xxx
After I left Jackson’s house following our break-up, I decided it was time to actually talk about my feelings toward my best friend. After all, if it was out there and obvious to anyone looking in I may as well go with it, right?
Walking homeward down the streets of Seattle, I dug my cell phone out of my purse and opened the phonebook to call the one person I knew I could trust with this.
“Hey Addison, it’s me.”
“Yeah, I got that from my caller display and the fact that some salsa song played as my ringtone.” I had to smile at that. I love switching around her ringtones.
“You really need to stop messing with my phone, Callie. Half the time I don't even realize I’m the one ringing.”
“Oh come on, Addison, it’s all in good fun,” I said with a chuckle.
“Not for me or the numerous other passengers on the bus that have to listen to the Backstreet Boys’ ‘Rock your body’ for three minutes before I realize it’s me again!”
She’s trying to sound all uppity but I can tell she’s just playing.
“Oh, come on, Addie, its funny!”
“No it’s not. And don’t call me Addie.”
“Look, Addie, I really need to talk to you. Can you come over to my house?”
“Sure. Is everything alright?” She sounds genuinely concerned.
“Yeah, fine. I just need to work through some stuff out loud. When could you be over?
“In about an hour. I’ll bring the coffee?”
“Sounds good. And could you pick up some Krispy Kremes? I’m in the mood for a pick-me-up.”
“Alright, see you in a bit.”
By the time I hang up with Addison I’m almost home. It’s kind of nice to be able to walk through the city without an umbrella, even if it isn’t sunny. The trees lining the sidewalk are a nice departure from the concrete and metal of downtown. I really like the suburbs we grew up in; it’s close enough to the heart of the city that we can go shopping or see concerts but far enough away to be quiet and feel almost quaint.
As I round the final corner to home, my house finally comes to view. I know it’s only natural to be fond of your childhood house, but I like it even more now that I can appreciate its design.
The calming light yellow double-car garage plays nicely with the light grey stone of the house. The small garden out front is teeming with colourful flowers that my mother picked specifically to withstand Seattle's climate, though I couldn’t name a single one. My mom could tell you the common and Latin names for each then explain to you their history and where they originated and their typical lifecycle. I know they’re pretty.
I’m more of a daddy’s girl. Behind the double doors of my garage lie three cars: my mother’s BMW M335is in a custom green that’s kind of like a metallic yellowish-lime. It sounds weird, but it’s gorgeous. My dad picked that colour to reflect mom’s love of nature but also her kind bubbly nature. Next is my father’s two-door Cadillac CTS. It’s a deep maroon and suits him perfectly: passionate and powerful but understated.
Finally, up on a lift is our pride and joy: a 1965 Chevy Impala in candy apple red with a lace-textured white racing stripe down the middle. My grandpa bought this car for my dad when I was born, kind of a ‘congratulations, you have a daughter - here’s a crappy beat-up car.’ But that crappy beat-up car has been my dad’s dream since it was released. He and grandpa used to work on it on summer weekends. I can still remember waking up to the sounds of the radio being blared in the garage. I would walk downstairs in my pyjamas, eyes puffy from sleep, and sit on the tool bench just watching them work.
Then, when I was old enough, I would help them, too. At first I would pass the tools they asked for - and I did it with pride. I’m sure I passed the wrong ones sometimes but dad would always take it anyway and pretend to tinker with something under the hood. After he was satisfied that I believed I did well, he would hand it back and point to the tool he actually meant. When I was old enough to safely stand on a small ladder, I graduated to holding the lamp over the motor as grandpa dove in headfirst, adjusting the timing on the pistons or changing the spark plug. Whatever it was, it was the most fun I had growing up. Well, aside from the trouble I would get into with Arizona, of course.
And now that I’m a high school senior I get to work on that baby with my dad, just like he worked on it with his. We still tweak it now and again, more for the time together than anything else. Recently we put some sweet whitewall tires on my Dorothy (her colour reminds me of the ruby red slippers, even if those were a few shades darker than my baby). I’m thinking it may be time to get a new project. Either that or he could just finally give me the freakin’ thing!
I’m brought out of my reverie by the sound of the front door opening.
“In the kitchen, Addison,” I shout.
“Hey, Calliope, sorry to disappoint,” a vibrant voice announces. I spin around in surprise, really not having planned on having to deal with this situation.
Title: A Conspicuous Conspiracy
Author: clanket
Pairing: Callie/Arizona
Rating: PG
Summary: Callie and Arizona are best friends. As they navigate through their final year of high school, will they realize that they're more than just friends?
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libellous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
Without further ado...
Ch. 1
“Look, I really do like you - I do - but I’m not one-hundred percent invested in this relationship and that’s not fair to you.”
“So you’re breaking up with me?”
What’s the right response to that? All I could do was avert my eyes and nod slightly.
“Look Jackson, I know it sounds cliché but I still want to be friends. I really do like you as a person but I know for a fact that my feelings aren’t one-sided; I see the way you look at April.”
Jackson’s eyes went wide and his mouth opened slightly.
“You don't have to say anything, its okay.” He nodded slightly.
“Maybe this is your chance, too, to start something new and great with someone who will give themselves to you fully.”
“What about you?”
“What do you mean? I just told you I want to break up and you’re worried about me?” I couldn’t hold back a smirk. Jackson really is a great guy and I know he would go to bat for me at the drop of a hat and I know he will be just as protective of me once the shock of this has worn off.
“You know, a certain ‘best friend’ of yours that you can’t stop talking about?” His eyes have a twinkle - he’s teasing me! I guess my face gave me away because he laughs at me.
“We are just best friends. We’ve grown up together, and have even been in the same class nearly every year since grade one. When you grow up, you just don't make friends the way you do when you’re kids it’s -”
“Come on Callie, cut the crap. We’ve been dating...or I guess, we dated, for over half a year and have been friends since the first day of high school. Don't tell me you’re not into her as more than a friend.”
I’m pretty sure that my face is beet-red since it feels unusually warm.
“Okay, Callie, that bug-eyed fish impression mixed with that blush totally just gave you away.”
Is he laughing at me? Again? What should I do? How do I fix this? I know!
“Ow! What the hell, Callie! If we weren’t already broken up I’d file for spousal abuse after that hit!”
“Serves you right for making fun of me!” Apparently when I’m flustered I also make the ‘humph’ sound - literally. I’ve never heard a ‘humph’ quite so emphatic.
I get up the courage and finally ask, “If you knew then why didn’t you say anything?”
“I don't know. I guess I told myself the same things you just told me - that you’re friends and grew up together and all that - but after a while I figured you just weren’t ready to admit it yet. So I kept quiet.”
“And kept dating me anyway?” I ask with a snort.
“Yeah, well that was just fun,” he said with a wink. I gasped and hit him again.
“Ow! Quit it with the hitting! You didn’t let me finish!” He smirked again. “While the dating part was fun, I also really liked just being able to hang out with you, you know, doing regular stuff like watching movies and going bowling and camping and stuff. So even if we’re not dating anymore, I want us to be friends.” I had to smile at his sincerity even through his humour.
“Besides, I think you could use some advice with the ladies.”
After hitting him once more - but lightly this time, I had to have the last word.
“Suck it Jackson.”
xxx
After I left Jackson’s house following our break-up, I decided it was time to actually talk about my feelings toward my best friend. After all, if it was out there and obvious to anyone looking in I may as well go with it, right?
Walking homeward down the streets of Seattle, I dug my cell phone out of my purse and opened the phonebook to call the one person I knew I could trust with this.
“Hey Addison, it’s me.”
“Yeah, I got that from my caller display and the fact that some salsa song played as my ringtone.” I had to smile at that. I love switching around her ringtones.
“You really need to stop messing with my phone, Callie. Half the time I don't even realize I’m the one ringing.”
“Oh come on, Addison, it’s all in good fun,” I said with a chuckle.
“Not for me or the numerous other passengers on the bus that have to listen to the Backstreet Boys’ ‘Rock your body’ for three minutes before I realize it’s me again!”
She’s trying to sound all uppity but I can tell she’s just playing.
“Oh, come on, Addie, its funny!”
“No it’s not. And don’t call me Addie.”
“Look, Addie, I really need to talk to you. Can you come over to my house?”
“Sure. Is everything alright?” She sounds genuinely concerned.
“Yeah, fine. I just need to work through some stuff out loud. When could you be over?
“In about an hour. I’ll bring the coffee?”
“Sounds good. And could you pick up some Krispy Kremes? I’m in the mood for a pick-me-up.”
“Alright, see you in a bit.”
By the time I hang up with Addison I’m almost home. It’s kind of nice to be able to walk through the city without an umbrella, even if it isn’t sunny. The trees lining the sidewalk are a nice departure from the concrete and metal of downtown. I really like the suburbs we grew up in; it’s close enough to the heart of the city that we can go shopping or see concerts but far enough away to be quiet and feel almost quaint.
As I round the final corner to home, my house finally comes to view. I know it’s only natural to be fond of your childhood house, but I like it even more now that I can appreciate its design.
The calming light yellow double-car garage plays nicely with the light grey stone of the house. The small garden out front is teeming with colourful flowers that my mother picked specifically to withstand Seattle's climate, though I couldn’t name a single one. My mom could tell you the common and Latin names for each then explain to you their history and where they originated and their typical lifecycle. I know they’re pretty.
I’m more of a daddy’s girl. Behind the double doors of my garage lie three cars: my mother’s BMW M335is in a custom green that’s kind of like a metallic yellowish-lime. It sounds weird, but it’s gorgeous. My dad picked that colour to reflect mom’s love of nature but also her kind bubbly nature. Next is my father’s two-door Cadillac CTS. It’s a deep maroon and suits him perfectly: passionate and powerful but understated.
Finally, up on a lift is our pride and joy: a 1965 Chevy Impala in candy apple red with a lace-textured white racing stripe down the middle. My grandpa bought this car for my dad when I was born, kind of a ‘congratulations, you have a daughter - here’s a crappy beat-up car.’ But that crappy beat-up car has been my dad’s dream since it was released. He and grandpa used to work on it on summer weekends. I can still remember waking up to the sounds of the radio being blared in the garage. I would walk downstairs in my pyjamas, eyes puffy from sleep, and sit on the tool bench just watching them work.
Then, when I was old enough, I would help them, too. At first I would pass the tools they asked for - and I did it with pride. I’m sure I passed the wrong ones sometimes but dad would always take it anyway and pretend to tinker with something under the hood. After he was satisfied that I believed I did well, he would hand it back and point to the tool he actually meant. When I was old enough to safely stand on a small ladder, I graduated to holding the lamp over the motor as grandpa dove in headfirst, adjusting the timing on the pistons or changing the spark plug. Whatever it was, it was the most fun I had growing up. Well, aside from the trouble I would get into with Arizona, of course.
And now that I’m a high school senior I get to work on that baby with my dad, just like he worked on it with his. We still tweak it now and again, more for the time together than anything else. Recently we put some sweet whitewall tires on my Dorothy (her colour reminds me of the ruby red slippers, even if those were a few shades darker than my baby). I’m thinking it may be time to get a new project. Either that or he could just finally give me the freakin’ thing!
I’m brought out of my reverie by the sound of the front door opening.
“In the kitchen, Addison,” I shout.
“Hey, Calliope, sorry to disappoint,” a vibrant voice announces. I spin around in surprise, really not having planned on having to deal with this situation.