Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The more you lie, the more it leads to complications. It can be the worst thing you can do to someone, her mother taught her that. But this technically isn’t lying, at least not completely. Some lies are beneficial. And what is it that Baltasar Gracián said, ‘Don’t lie, but don’t tell the whole truth.’

“You’re fucking insane, Shauna, you know that right?” declares Nat with a disbelieving look. “Do you seriously think this is going to work?” 

Shauna briefly glances at her without an answer before shifting her focus back to the mannequin through the transparent window. Her eyes span over the clothes with a calculating gaze. Hmm, it doesn’t seem too hard. Jeans, tops, caps, jackets. Easy. Though she’s limited in choice. There’ll be none of her flowy dresses, skirts or heels. At least she’ll be comfortable. She can’t say she’ll be sad to miss the heels though. 

“Shauna,” Nat hisses, leaning in close to her ear, “This? Worst idea ever, and trust me, there've been plenty. You think you’ll pull this off? They'll clock you from a mile away. And Jersey? Seriously? It's a shithole. Not worth the trouble.”

“They won't — besides, what other choice do I even have? It's either this or live with regret forever, and I refuse to let that happen.” Shauna's hand runs through her hair in frustration as she tries to convey her feelings. “I need this, Nat. I mean, I need it so damn much I can hardly breathe. It's like. . . it'll kill me if I don’t.”

“Damn it, Shipman, you never do anything by halfs,” Nat groans, throwing her head back. “For god's sake, fine, enough with the complaining before you make my ears bleed. But mark my words, when this all goes to shit, don't say I didn't warn you.”

She points her long forefinger, black chipped nails prone to nail-biting, and Shauna quirks an amused half-smile, a trickle of gratitude pooling inside her chest.

“Noted, now, are you going to ditch me in my hour of need? Or help me?” Shauna raises an eyebrow and smiles in delight as Nat sighs, resignation displayed on her face.

“Somebody has to.”

Shauna first hears about the opportunity when she is in eighth grade and raves about it every chance she gets until Nat threatens to sew her mouth shut. But who can blame her? It isn’t every day she’s able to go to a prestigious school like Wilder Academy, which has the best writing course probably in the whole of the US. If she takes it, she can get a scholarship to any chosen college, possibly an Ivy League too. It boasts of high school and an amazing success rate for students who enrol. 

Her heart is set in stone, aching like it never has but as she prints out the application form and letter detailing the information from the public library, Shauna watches with clear eyes as her mother’s face crumbles unwillingly when she reads over the faded inked letters. There is one thing Shauna hasn’t countered: the price it costs to enrol for even one year. After that, dollar signs and six-digit numbers follow her around like a stubborn price tag on a piece of clothing she can’t rip off no matter how hard she tries. It’s there as a persistent reminder. 

Shauna, therefore, learns to be grateful for the things she has. She doesn’t have a choice. She pushes aside beguiling images of beautifully structured architecture, marble flooring, polished uniforms, gleaming shoes and a library size that competes with the public one on Fifth Avenue, away from her mind. She can’t afford to lose herself, not when it’s too dangerous. Her mother’s trembling lip and shimmering eyes, which she tried hard to conceal from Shauna, linger in her mind, haunting and taunting her like mad. 

But then came the real kick. Her father announces one day that due to his promotion, he can afford for his son to attend Shauna’s dream school over family dinner, his glass of wine raised and a broad, slimy grin stretched to every corner of his face. It isn’t Shauna he wants to enrol — it’s her half-brother, specifically for the baseball program they run for ambitious athletes. She can’t believe her ears, thinking perhaps she is hearing things. But then her brother nods with a thin smile and her father claps his hands together, clamouring a vague sound of excitement while he encourages them to drink to happier days and bright futures. 

It’s all Shauna can do not to hurl her glass across the room — her fists clenched firmly on her knees — and watch it shatter to a million pieces, staining his beautiful tablecloth a vibrant scarlet, her body trembling with restrained anger and hurt. 

If Shauna was younger — more naive, more willing to believe the lie her mother feeds her that her father cares enough for her to change his mind  — maybe she would rail against the unfairness of it all; would scream, punch her fists until her knuckles turn bloody, and curse her father to hell and back. But she knows better. After all, she became his second choice when he left her and her mom for another woman in the middle of the night and started another family, empty promises spilling from his mouth like a leaking faucet. 

With their small shared apartment in Brooklyn, her mom, who works double shifts as a nurse, will never be able to afford to pay that amount even if they skip meals for a while. Money is tight currently and Shauna’s not going to put her mom through that level of stress and worry. 

So she’s forced to bear it and grits her teeth, smiling fakely as much as she can as she attends what will be her final upcoming year at the local high school, which contains a meagre cheap, outdated library with books missing huge chunks of pages and a non-existent school journal despite her vain efforts to persuade the principal to start one. Turns out that investing money in the boys’ football team is more of a priority. 

She is going to have mediocre qualifications from a shoddy, unbeknownst school when she applies for the next cheapest college while her half-brother goes off to the school of her dreams. A continuous monotony. She bites the inside of her bottom lip so hard that a faint metallic taste floods all around her mouth and settles in the back of her throat. 

Well, that is a reality for her until her half-brother meets her outside her school gate with a nervous expression, his hands shoved inside the pockets of his thick coat, scanning nearby faces until they land on her. He waves her over. It should be said that Shauna is indifferent to her half-brother; she doesn’t have much of an opinion as she doesn’t see much of her father’s other family unless it is a special occasion like Hanukkah. Shauna prefers to skip but her mom refuses to hear of it. He’s still her father or whatever and she has to see him. 

“Hey,” he says quietly, a wrinkle in his brow, shifting his weight from each toe. 

Shauna raises an eyebrow, wondering why he is here. “Er, hi.” 

Samuel Shipman, her half-brother, full of restless, nervous energy begins to explain; Shauna sees an opportunity grow in her mind though not at first. 

“Wait, you want me to tell Dad you’re not going?” she repeats slowly. “Why the fuck can’t you tell him yourself?”

Sam shifts on his feet, avoiding her gaze as he plays with the zipper on his jacket. “Look, Shauna, you know how Dad can get and I figured he’ll be less mad when he hears it from you and by that time I’ll be on a plane to London anyway. Our flight leaves at nine tonight.” 

“Oh great plan, genius,” Shauna sneers, crossing her arms as he flinches. “What happens when he turns his ire on me? Ever thought of that? No, I suppose not. Are you fucking crazy? London, Sam, as in Europe.” 

“Yeah. My band got a slot at a music festival. We’re gonna be gone for a couple of months at least.”

Her eyes narrow to slits. “You do realise you’re only seventeen, right?”

“So what? That’s old enough to travel. The minimum is twelve years. I’m not a fucking kid, Shauna!” Sam crosses his arms and looks as if he’s about to slam his foot on the ground like a child having a tantrum. 

“Then quit acting like one. You can't just ditch school whenever you feel like it — you got expelled from the last one for skipping, remember? This is not the best way to kick off at a new school, in case you hadn't noticed.” She tries to keep the bitterness out of her voice but it leaks through, not that Sam notices. 

“I don’t want to go to that stupid school,” argues Sam hotly, finally meeting her gaze. A scowl rests on his face. “I don’t. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for me and our band and I don’t wanna waste it, you know? This could be our big break, Shau. For me and the guys. If you want to chase your dreams, sometimes you have to break the rules, right?” His voice softens as he scratches the back of his neck. “And baseball — it’s just. . .” he sighs, “—it’s not me, okay. I know Dad and how he pushes but I just can’t. . .” 

He looks so miserable that Shauna rubs her temple, her will waning. “Jesus Christ — where are you even staying?” 

“One of my bros has an older cousin who has a spot down in London and I’m gonna crash with them. He’s fine with it and everything so you don’t need to worry. I’ll be safe. Just wait till tomorrow, and then break the news to him. Please, Shauna.” 

Shauna closes her eyes and then nods shortly with a sigh. She has a feeling she’s going to regret this. Ah, what the fuck? He’s not her responsibility after all. And maybe she’ll enjoy seeing her father’s expression, relish in him learning that his token golden boy isn’t as polished and good as he thinks.  Shauna catches her reflection in a similar set of deep brown eyes as Sam grins. 

“Awesome, thanks, Shau, I owe ya,” he yells, pointing a finger at her as he walks backwards. 

And that causes a little seed of an idea to grow in the corner of her mind, blooming more and more. A devilish voice whispers in her ear. Surely it couldn’t hurt? But she’ll never know if she doesn’t find out. As her brother said you have to break rules to chase your dreams. It’ll only be for a year, one final year and then she’ll be gone for college with a glowing recommendation and top grades from the Academy. Would it not be so satisfying to go behind her father’s back like this, taking advantage so recklessly and deliciously while he’s spending the money on his proposed ‘son’?

Tomorrow, she fails to tell her father about Sam but instead tells him that he already has packed and took a train to settle in. Her father is disappointed he didn’t get to say goodbye, of course, but proud as he puffs his chest out. He then asks curiously about her and Shauna quickly makes her escape, the sound of his voice grating on her nerves.

She only tells Nat her crazed idea, knowing she can be sworn to a secret over pancakes at a local diner. But Nat stares at her like Shauna’s set her hair on fire, pausing halfway through squirting a bottle of maple syrup. Naturally, she thinks Shauna’s batshit insane and outright tells her to her face but Shauna can’t let this go. It sticks to her mind like superglue. 

Her dad will believe that her brother is attending the school but he’ll be in London and her mom will know of a special course in another state she’s taking as a requirement. Both will be none the wiser and they’ll never know as they can’t stand to be in the same room as each other. No problem at all if she can pull it off. 

Applying to the school isn’t as difficult as Shauna imagines it to be. For a prestigious school like Wilder Academy, you’d expect there to be more complicated procedures than a few signatures, tick boxes and not much checking. Still, she’s not complaining if it works in her favour. 

She decides to write down officially on the application form as Samuel Shipman, in case her father checks to see if his son has enrolled or not. Nat points out that perhaps she should go by a name that sounds similar to hers so she doesn’t get confused. Maybe ‘Shaun’ or something. It’s close enough.

Being a guy doesn’t seem that hard, or at least she thinks so. Out on the streets of Manhattan, Shauna works on her “maleness” by watching their behaviour, mimicking the way they walk: thumbs attached to the hooks of their trousers, wide saunter, confident stride that did not move aside for anyone. 

One man accidentally catches her but she quickly lies and informs him that she’s studying for a ‘role’ in theater. She wonders briefly how easily she’s adapting to this whole lying business. Thankfully he believes her to her luck and even gives her a few tips. 

“Well, at least you don't have to do a complete overhaul on your style, Shipman,” Nat says, smirking as they stroll through the mall, eyeing the clothing shops. “Those flannels will suit you just fine. As for your hair on the other hand.”

Shauna frowns and smooths the back of her hair. “What about my hair? I was just going to get a wig for it.” 

Nat blinks and then gives a short, disbelieving laugh. “Oh, hell no. You can't be that clueless. No, Shipy. You can’t just slap on any cheap wig from a store; you'll be busted faster than you can set foot in that school. You need to chop it off properly. Down to the stem.”

Shauna’s stomach drops. “What that — that’s just—” she flounders. 

“Tough shit, come on, suck it up, Shauna. It’s just hair, it’ll grow by the time you come back. Unless you wanna back out? Not too late still.”

Shauna exhales sharply, closing her eyes for a moment before steeling her resolve. “No, no, let’s just — get this over with. The sooner the better.” 

Shauna knows Nat’s right. But she still can’t help pouting as she watches her long, dark locks fall to the salon floor. Her precious hair. Only a year, she comforts herself. Her mom almost drops a plate onto the floor when she sees her but Shauna mumbles that she’s trying something different; her mother simply smiles and gives her a soft kiss on the forehead and says she loves her. It nearly makes Shauna spill the truth but she can’t. Her mom will never allow her to go through with it. 

When the sealed letter comes through the mailbox, she intercepts it before anyone else can reach for it, shoves it inside her shirt and places the other crumpled leaflets and bills on the kitchen counter, which her mom picks up. She quickly makes her escape and rushes to her bedroom. Ripping open the letter, her eyes travel hungrily across the ink-printed words and she finally grins. She got in. A shrill, relieved laugh bursts forth from her lips and she feels so giddy she could jump up and down on her bed like a little kid. 

Lying to her mother is the hardest thing Shauna has to do. Her mother’s elation and bright smiles at the belief that she’s been picked to go to an exclusive course make her feel like the biggest scum on the planet like her chest has been ripped wide open. 

“Be good, Shauna, okay. Take care of yourself,” her mom says the night she’s due to leave. She won’t see Shauna after that as she has to be up early for her shift at the hospital. “Remember to call and don’t forget to wear your coat, I don’t want you catching a cold.” 

“I promise,” murmurs Shauna in a choked voice, afraid if she speaks any longer she’s going to get teary-eyed. “Don’t worry so much, Mom. I’ll be fine.”

Her mom caresses her cheek. “I’m your mother, honey, it’s my job to worry.” 

This will be the last time Shauna sees her mother for a long time before next summer. And then she’ll be off for college. She hugs her, soaking in the warm, homely feeling and etching it to memory like she can carry it with her in a tucked-away pouch. She turns her back and walks up the stairs before she genuinely bursts into heavy sobs. This is for her future, her dreams, her family.

Shauna pulls her suitcase and passes the line for the trains to find the nearest bathroom with Nat on her heels, who decides to see her off. They both agree that it’ll be easier to change here than when she arrives. She walks into the bathroom casually and pulls open the first stall. Her breasts are the main issue according to Nat but they’ve dealt with that by flattening them together with a chest binder. A little uncomfortable but she can deal with it. 

She strips to her underwear and pulls out her uniform, removing the green cap from her head, which hid her hair. The uniform is the only thing she bought out of her own money from working weekends of babysitting. It cost about months worth of pay and Shauna’s wallet is all the more empty but she doesn’t have time to complain about it now. Not when there are other things to worry about. It feels strangely weird to wear a uniform as Shauna has never had to but she’ll admit that boxers are comfy. She does up her tie and secures her laces tight. 

A knock comes. “Shauna, you done? Hurry up before your train leaves.”

“Coming,” she mutters. 

Opening the stall, she steps out and meets Nat’s gaze who blinks widely at her, mouth dropped open a tad. Shauna brushes her hair with her fingers — the messier the better. She stares at her reflection in the smudged mirror. Her hair is cropped short and her face is devoid of any makeup. But her eyes are the same as always — impossibly big and laced with a hint of nerves and determination. Her curves are gone and her breasts are practically non-existent. She passes as a guy technically: a soft-featured, more feminine guy than any other she’s come across but a passing one nonetheless. It’ll work, it has to. All her dreams are riding on this absurd plan. 

Still, she can’t get over how unsettling it is. 

“Fucking hell, Ship,” mutters Nat with a low whistle. “You look like you sprouted a twin brother.”

She stretches out her arms, posing. “So. . . what’dya think?” Shauna asks hesitantly. “How do I look? Good enough, yeah?”

“You look like a preppy fucking asshole,” says Nat bluntly, crossing her arms before smirking. “I kinda wanna punch you in the face.”

“Yeah, well, I’m sure you can resist the temptation,” says Shauna dryly, pulling at her tie and glancing at herself once more. It feels so odd to wear a uniform as if she’s wearing another’s skin and wishes she could wear a flannel and jeans instead. 

“No, Shauna, you gotta wear the tie properly, just — come here, stop fidgeting so much—” Nat steps closer and reaches up. 

At that moment, the bathroom door opens, revealing a short middle-aged lady, who halts when she sees Shauna, her features slackening. Nat and Shauna freeze, hardly daring to breathe. Then a piercing scream erupts and Shauna is quick to scramble, pushing Nat’s hand off her. Right, the whole guy appearance, she realises. Fuck. 

“Um, this isn’t what it looks like,” she says, swiftly grabbing her suitcase. In the woman’s eyes, she appears to be a teenage boy with a high-pitched voice lurking in the woman’s bathroom. Not a good impression clearly. 

“You — you—” yells the woman, pointing an accusing finger at her. “You pervert!”

“Oh, shit!” curses Nat and reaches for Shauna’s arm, hissing, “Let’s go before she calls for security!” 

You don’t need to tell her twice. They both sprint out of there in record time, not even pausing to look over their shoulder. They stop to catch their breath. Nat laughs in a raspy, out-of-breath tone. 

“That was a fucking close one,” she grins wildly, peering over at Shauna. “Least you know you pass for one.” 

Shauna grumbles and straightens up, smoothing out the wrinkles on her blazer. She checks her watch. Her train is going to leave soon. 

“I have to go, but look after my mom for me,” says Shauna softly. 

Nat nods, her features sobering up. “Hey, don’t worry about Deb, I’m sure she’ll be fine. Worry about yourself.” 

“I will, and thanks for everything. I couldn’t have done it without you, truly.” 

Nat shifts her eyes and shoves her hands in her pockets sheepishly. A burst of warmth bubbles in Shauna’s chest at the sight. “Aah, don’t mention it — don't start getting all sentimental on me already,” Nat says with a shake of her head. “Just go kick ass at that preppy school.” 

Shauna smiles and Nat ducks her head bashfully. “I’ll see you soon. I’ll call you when I settle in,” promises Shauna.

“You betta, Ship. I wanna hear everything.” They hug rather awkwardly, not used to such emotion from each other but Shauna can’t help herself. Nat pats her back and mutters, “Alright, alright — now get off before people think we’re a fucking couple.” 

Nat waves goodbye, a small lone figure in the distance, discernable from her bleached hair, as Shauna walks through the barriers. She’s here at last. The thought seems so surreal that Shauna pinches a bit of skin, sensing the sharp sting as she reminds herself that it’s real and she’s travelling on a train towards her future. One year, one year and then she’ll be free. She must have dozed off, head pressing against the window, when the train embarks before she is roused by a hand gently shaking her. 

“Sir.” A voice breaks her out of her trance. Shauna glances up at a weary ticket inspector looming in front of her with an expectant look. “Sir, your ticket please.”

“I—” Her voice cracks embarrassingly. She clears it and lowers it. “I’m sir?” she points at herself. 

The man sighs and taps his foot. “Sir, I just wanna see your ticket otherwise I’ll have to write you up.” 

“Oh, r-right.” She speaks more confidently. “Yes, right. Here you go.” 

Once he punched her ticket, the man tipped his hat. “Thank you. Have a good day.” 

“You too, er, you have a good day too — um, man, I mean. . . bro.” 

There is an unbearably long, awkward silence. Shauna wants to bury herself in her luggage and avoid the man’s burning gaze. He nods then peels away his eyes to the other passengers. She exhales deeply. Fuck, she needs to play it cool. 

The ride to the school goes smoothly; Shauna pays for a cab out of her leftover money in an envelope and arrives quicker than she expects. The moment she reaches the highly arched stone gates, complete with a secured fence all around, nerves are all aflutter in her stomach like they’re pounding their wings, aching to burst out. She adjusts the tie once more, feeling like it has purposefully tightened around her neck to strangle her. She loosens the material and finally feels like she can breathe. 

All she has to do is act like a guy. Doesn’t sound that hard, no biggie, right?

Chapter Text

The school is a labyrinth: large buildings, endless hallways, and mammoth pitches. It takes Shauna a while just to find the main office for registration and even then, she has to ask a passerby for directions. The map she is given, which comes in the envelope with her acceptance letter, is barely decipherable and poorly printed as she squints. 

The woman behind the desk takes her time to respond to Shauna, chewing languidly on her gum while she drolls in a lazy tone, “Name?”

“I, uh, should be registered under the name Samuel Shipman,” replies Shauna, hoping in a confident and clear voice. 

The lady sighs as she flicks through the stack of papers on her desk, stopping once to answer the telephone. Shauna feels somewhat awkward standing there, hands clasped and her suitcase by her side, staring at the hung posters and plants dotted around the stuffy office. The clock on the wall ticks loudly. An urge to tap her foot rises, which she resists. 

“Transferred from New York, I see, yes?” asks the woman, eyes reading over a file behind her old-fashioned moon spectacles. 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

It’s good to be polite. It’s all Shauna can do not to focus on her beating heart or the dampness pooling at her temple. This is the critical moment. She suddenly feels like she’s the main spectacle at a circus, dressed head to toe in clown makeup while people stare at her, waiting, assessing, examining, expressions twisting in judgmental scorn, their fingers pointing. She inhales deeply, ignoring the urge to snap angrily at the woman who is still looking over the papers. God, why is she taking so fucking long?

“Alright, sign here, please.” 

The office lady hands over a single piece of paper with a pen as she gets up from her seat towards the cabinets behind her. Shauna swallows and quickly scrawls her signature, hardly daring to believe it. 

“Now, this file is for you, it has your schedule and courses — the leaflet right here has some general information about the school. This right here is a key to your dorm, and you’ll see that it says you’re in 9B — that’s in the second building from the entrance, you can’t miss it. I’m sure you were also aware that you’ll be sharing the joint residence hall, yes? Good, well then — welcome, to Wilder Academy, Mr Shipman.” 

Shauna hugs the files to her chest, blinking at the lady who settles back in her chair. Her pulse quickens uncontrollably, and a sense of disbelief overcomes her; it’s hard to shake that anxiety that at any moment the woman will glare at her and discover that she isn’t really who she says she is, that her name isn’t Samuel or Shaun at all. But she clicks her tongue as she notices Shauna still standing there and impels her to move along and quit waiting for Christmas to arrive. 

So, yeah, she made it. She’s finally here, she’s through. Shauna grins, her heart feeling like it is dancing along her ribcage. She stares at the room number on the piece of paper. Room 9B. She stands in the middle of a long, lushly carpeted hallway. The corridor is lined with carved, wooden doors that swing open at intervals as figures dash from each room, greeting familiar friends with whoops and yells and dragging in suitcases and bags. Everything is spacious and fancy; everyone exudes an air of privilege and wealth. The corridors have fucking chandeliers. It is hard for her not to feel out of place as if someone has attached a flashing sign over her and etched on the words, ‘You don’t belong here, you’re not one of us.’ 

A stocky boy shoves past her with a huge kit bag and what looks like a baseball bat. She scowls at him and then shakes her head. She counts to ten mentally, takes a deep breath and begins to drag her suitcase with the rusty wheels along while glancing at the gold door plaque each time, her rucksack scrapping down her arm slowly. 7, 8, 9A — ah, 9B. She pushes open the door and walks in. 

It’s more than half the size of her living room: a big single bed, a desk, stone walls, and a huge bay window with trailing curtains and a tiny wrought-iron fireplace in the corner. It looks like something from a novel, and Shauna loves it. This place certainly has the budget for it though their maps can do with a little bit more work. She moves over to claim her bed, closest to the window and places her bag down on the bed. 

The fresh September breeze that grazes her skin when she opens the window is as soothing as the sound of her mother’s lullabies floating in her ear. The thought of her mom brings a wave of homesickness, one that claws at her chest. She inhales deeply, pushing away the longing, and focuses on bigger issues. Like whom she’s sharing the hall with. It’ll be whoever is in 9A. One year. She can do one year, easy as pie. 

A while later, she is sitting on a plush sofa in the communal kitchen, one foot resting on a chair while a soft melody flows from her prized Walkman, reading her Tolstoy book when the door opens. A sullen, slouching, dark-haired boy tramped into the room, his hands shoved in his jacket pockets and a frown playing on his lips. Shauna meets his eyes and gives a curt nod though the boy barely acknowledges her. Behind him bounds his mother, a short, stout woman followed by a younger boy, who appears related but looks much more spirited as he bounces on his feet, glancing around the room in wide-eyed curiosity with a yo-yo in his hand. Shauna continues reading but the corner of her gaze remains fixed on the newcomers. The woman gives her a brief hello, which she returns. 

“This looks so cool,” gushes the younger boy, pointing. “Look, Travis, they even have a fireplace.”

The other boy, his floppy hair overflowing like curtains across his eyes — reminiscent of the style of Nick Carter from the Backstreet Boys — grunts and throws an annoyed look at his brother. “You’ve seen it before, Javi. It’s the same thing every time. And quit fucking moving around so much.” 

“Language,” scolds the woman, smacking her son lightly on the head. “How many times have I warned you, Travis? Watch it. And be nice to your brother.”

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry. Jeez, Mom.” Travis rubs his head, grumbling under his breath. He shoots a furtive glimpse towards Shauna, who instantly occupies herself with the words on her page though she doesn’t absorb a single word. 

His mom mutters something, shaking her head. She walks around the room with a critical eye. She tuts and comments about how dusty the curtains look and wrinkles her nose at the stove. She motions for her son to follow her and bring in the last of his stuff. Shauna wonders how many things one boy needs. Only Javi is left behind as he fiddles with his yo-yo, his tongue sticking out in concentration. He looks no more than thirteen years old as he wears a striped t-shirt and a backwards cap on his head.

There comes a clatter and a rolling sound and Shauna peers up, her mind halting mid-sentence. Javi flushes and leans down to pick up his yo-yo, which lands before Shauna’s feet; he throws a sheepish look at her. 

“Sorry,” Javi says, clutching the object to his chest. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she replies, faintly amused. “Trying to practise some tricks, huh?” 

Javi nods, eyeing her with an inquisitive eye. “Yeah.” His face lights up as he fiddles with the orange object. “Have you done it before? Travis — that’s my brother — he says it’s lame. I can’t do the tricks yet, but I can catch it. Watch.” He flips his wrist like he is going to do a curl, encasing the yo-yo in his palm. “See.”

Shauna lets out a half-smile and shuts her book. She rises and trods over. “I know some tricks,” she says, reaching for the yo-yo. “Can I?” 

Javi presses it towards her in an excited flurry of motion. She sets up his yo-yo at the beginning position and throws it down forcibly, letting it whir near the ground instead of pulling it back up. Then she lets it hit the ground and walks with it before pulling it back up. She grins at the younger boy’s gaping mouth. 

“Woah,” he breathes in wonderment. “How’dya do that? Can you teach me?” 

“That’s called walking the dog,” she says, passing it over to him. “It’s all in the flick of the wrist if you practise enough.” She showcases the trick again, slower this time, and explains the steps. 

“Cool.” He stares at the yo-yo as if he can discover its hidden secrets before glancing back up at Shauna. “I’m Javi by the way.” 

“Sha—” she breaks off, knowing she was about to reveal her real name as a natural habit. She pauses and then clears her throat loudly. “Shaun. Yes, I’m, uh, Shaun.” 

God, that was going to be some getting used to. She can’t afford to slip like that again. Shaun. Shaun. Shaun. She’d almost forgotten her appearance for a second, that Javi probably thinks she’s a guy. Javi blinks then nods, brushing off her peculiar action. Always one to be proper, Shauna holds her hand out for him to shake. 

“Are you Travis’s friend?” he asks, jiggling her hand as a child would. “I haven’t seen you before.”

“Ah, no, I’m going to be sharing the hall with him I’m guessing.” 

Javi considers this. “Oh, okay. I think I like you much better. You’re nicer than his roommate from last year. I don’t think that guy liked me very much.” 

Before Shauna can reply, however, the door opens again and Travis and his mother come in, each carrying a box. Shauna turns her back, catching the curious stare her hallmate gives her and picks up her book, turning a page in the process. Javi smiles before playing with his yo-yo again, moving towards his mom. 

 The mom wraps her arm around her older son, ignoring his protests and attempts to shove her away. “Ah, hijo, I’m gonna miss you so much,” she says in a tiny choked-up voice, pressing kisses on his temple. 

“Mom,” Travis groans in utter mortification, face scrunched up. “Let go, please.”

“Javi, come here and say goodbye to your brother.” 

Javi walked over and engulfed his brother in a hug, his arms encasing around his waist. It’s almost certain that Javi will tower over other people in a few years when he already reaches the older boy’s shoulders. Javi muffles his obvious sadness in his brother’s shirt as he says his goodbyes. Travis shuffles uncomfortably and pats Javi with a hesitant palm, more eager to pry him off him. He shoots a look at Shauna as if he is embarrassed that she’s here to witness this scene, but Shauna doesn’t meet his gaze. 

She feels a pang of yearning grip ahold of her heart, so strong that she swallows the large lump in her throat harshly. She’ll kill to breathe in the comforting fragrance of her mother just then — to inhale the scent of rosemary, grapes and something like disinfectant but so achingly recognisable that she wants to kneel over. 

The woman’s tone lowers to a warning. “Remember to wrap up warm, Travis. I’ve packed some of your sweaters too. It gets cold here and you don’t want to catch Pneumonia, okay? And clean up after yourself. I won’t be here with you — esta no es un hotel, yes?”

Travis sighs as he walks them out of the kitchen. “Okay, yeah, I get it.”

“Good. Now, are you sure you don’t need me to help you unpack?”

“I’m good, thanks, Mom. Now, come on.” 

“Bye Shaun,” calls Javi, with a wave and a smile as he throws his yo-yo. 

Shauna gives a wave while Travis huffs, groaning and rolling his eyes. Shauna frowns but chooses not to comment. The family disappears as Travis leads them towards the front door, their voices disappearing further and further. It’s a few minutes later when he appears again. 

“Hey, man, sorry about that,” mutters Travis, facing Shauna with his hands on his hips. “They can be a bit much sometimes. Sorry, you had to deal with my annoying brother.” 

Shauna shrugs, turning a page. “He’s a good kid. I like him.” 

Travis blinks in surprise like Shauna is messing him about. “Right. .  .” he trails off. “Anyway, I’m Travis. I guess we’re hallmates this year. You must be Samuel.” 

“Shaun actually — I go by my middle name. Yeah, guess so.” Shauna doesn’t look up from her book. Her eyes scan over the words, her brow furrows. 

Travis stands awkwardly for a few seconds then nods and strides over to pick up the cardboard box containing the rest of his stuff. Shauna grips her Walkman, places the headphones over her ears, presses the play button, and allows the soothing, musical tones of Liz Phair to drown her thoughts out.

Travis isn’t a bad hallmate. He’s just such a boy, Shauna discovers over the weekend. Now granted she’s not the cleanest person there is and sometimes her mom tells her off for leaving her flannels lying on every piece of furniture, but neither is she a slob. Travis has no problem leaving his clothes or bumping his cassette player to a loud volume behind his closed dormitory. She comes to tolerate his presence though they weren’t exactly friends, which suits her just fine. Not once does she see him cook as most of his diet consists of processed or canned food and it baffles her. 

He mostly plays on his GameBoy — letting out whoops or disappointed groans at random intervals — while Shauna spends her time in her dorm, sitting on her desk scrawling in her journal or doing some reading on the dining table for a change in scenery, dotting some ink-blotted notes in the corner. They both silently agree to tolerate each other — they aren’t going to win the award for their meagre bromance or have burping contests or whatever the fuck it is boys do. As things stand Shauna could’ve had a lot worse like a hallmate she completely loathes. It will not be a pretty sight, for the other guy that is. 

She sends a silent prayer to whoever is in charge that their halls have a private bathroom that only two people share. She wonders what she will do if she has to share with a whole load of other boys from the other halls and does not fancy sneaking over to the girls’ building every time she wants to shower. That’s an astronomical disaster waiting to happen. 

But she cringes when she spots a labelled ‘3 in 1’ shampoo, conditioner and body wash bottle placed in clear view on the shower stall the next morning. Urgh. She doesn’t go overboard with her skin or hair products, but she brings more than just one bottle as she cares more than a simple swipe of deodorant and a shower every three days. She tells herself that this isn’t groundbreaking material, and neither is it a girl thing — she just cares about hygiene that’s all. 

She quickly showers, shaking herself out of her musings, and lets her hair dry naturally, allowing it to be damp and curled around the edges. Travis lies asleep still in bed with his door shut as she walks out already dressed, a red and blue flannel hanging from her shoulders and a pack of mildly expensive cigarettes — because she doesn’t do the cheap shit — shoved in her back pocket for a stress reliever. 

The sun crawls out from the clouds as she inhales the crispy, morning air. Despite it being a Sunday, people are still moving in, as boxes and cars line the courtyard and near the buildings. The school itself is massive as she begins exploring. She stumbles across acres of pitches and courts dedicated to different types of sports. She doesn’t run into many people; it is as if the school is slumbering. 

After much searching, she reaches her most anticipated destination yet. The picture in the brochure she sees all those years ago doesn’t do it justice. If she imagines the Library of Alexandria to look like anything, she supposes it looked something close to this. Marble columns, high, arched ceilings, large, open windows, plush armchairs and rows upon rows of multiple-storey shelves crammed with books. It looks like one of those old gentleman libraries from the past that Shauna secretly dreams of having. She gapes with a slack mouth, hardly blinking as she takes in the sight. It is virtually empty as she walks around. The librarian peers up from her counter and eyes her figure but swiftly looks back down. 

Shauna grins, feeling her heart inflate into a balloon. It is all she dreams of and more. She then proceeds to grab a table and check out some books from her syllabus. It doesn’t hurt to get far ahead and even though this is somewhere new, Shauna refuses to relent her A-grade average. 

It takes her well into the afternoon when she realises that the noise has grown considerably louder, and the library is packed with chattering students. No longer alone, Shauna scowls as a bunch of rowdy boys throw a baseball to each other across separate tables, large grins stretched over their faces and cheers escaping their mouths. Shauna snaps at them to shut the fuck up but sadly it goes unheeded. A sandy-haired, muscular boy with a goofy smile gives a loud shout, which catches the heads of those near them, but no one bats an eye, not even the librarian who leans back in her chair and flips over her magazine. 

Feeling her irritation levels rise, Shauna imagines catching the ball and hurling it at the boy with a strong enough force to make blood pour from his face like a spurting fountain. She grits her teeth, cursing herself for forgetting her headphones and catches the eye of an equally annoyed curly, brown-haired girl, who has what appears to be a heavy-set law book open on her table. They share a mutual despairing glance that speaks of joint suffering; the girl rolls her eyes as if to say, ‘Can you believe this bullshit.’ Shauna solemnly shakes her head and then huffs as another group breaks out into peals of full-blown laughter. She slams her books shut, grabs them in her arms and walks out. Clearly, she won’t be able to concentrate anymore. 

An hour later, without meaning to, she finds her hand reaching for a cigarette as she takes a walk, her journal tucked under her arm. The sun is at its peak and Shauna wants to bathe in its warm rays. She flips open the light blue lid of her Gauloises — a French type she believes them to be — and places a stick in the corner of her mouth. She ignites the end with a swanky metal lighter and inhales a puff, letting it fill her lungs and settle in her veins. Bliss drenches her body. It’s a bad habit she knows — and as her mom nags her — but it’s difficult to let go of as it’s like trying to remove deeply embedded carpet stains. 

Shauna sits on a bench under a maple tree and begins scribbling in her journal, ink covering the pages as she details her time, stopping now and then to take a puff of smoke with the other hand. She notes how she misses her mother and even complains about Travis and his annoying habits. She’s overall just grateful that he doesn’t suspect her of anything — that is the test. Perhaps this boy thing isn’t so hard after all, and she doesn’t even have to act that differently from how she normally is either. And her father’s none the wiser. If she can get away with it right under Travis’s nose, then anything else will surely be a piece of cake. Still, it’s not like he’s the most attentive of boys anyway. 

She writes about how she misses Nat and the familiar sight of her fishnets and signature leather jacket every morning at her old high school. It also reminds her that she should call her soon. Nat prefers talking over the phone to a handwritten letter, which Shauna favours. There is something more meaningful in it like the words have escaped her soul; it’s clearer than the aggravating static that she endures whenever she calls Nat’s family telephone. And letters feel more akin to someone being in the room, stamping the words on her heart and mind so she can’t forget. There is a landline in the communal living room she remembers seeing that she can use. 

All of a sudden, there is a loud, panicked shout, and Shauna glances up to see a black and white object flying towards her at an alarming speed. She jerks sideways, just barely missing the ball as it flies past her head, hits the bench and settles beside her like a new companion.

She whirls to the side to watch as the ball bounces with wide eyes. It is so close that she feels the wind whip by her cheek, rustling her hair as it rushes past. Her cigarette drops into the grass. She leans over — placing her journal beside her — to pick it up and twirls it around, staring dumbly down at the soccer ball that almost took her head off.

“Oh, fuck, shit, sorry about that!” A voice calls out, worry clouding the tone as they grow closer to the bench. “Didn’t mean for it to go so far off course.”

Shauna looks up and is greeted by the sight of a girl around her age, who strides over hastily, brow wrinkled in the middle while her expressive large eyes, ridiculously round like a Disney Princess, scan Shauna over, looking for any sign of injury. Shauna’s mouth feels uncommonly dry as the girl stands close with a hesitant expression, her bottom lip jutting out in the world’s biggest pout and her hands fidgeting. 

“Are you, like, okay?” asks the girl hesitantly, blinking widely, voice as soft as rose petals. She looks as if she expects Shauna to start yelling at her. “You aren’t hurt or anything, are you?” 

She wears a kind of thinly cropped t-shirt that flashes smooth skin and a belly button, together with shorts. Shauna’s gaze lingers on her pale legs for maybe a second or two before looking up. The other girl crosses her arms and swallows visibly.

“I’m okay,” Shauna reassures with a half-smile. “It barely grazed me.”

“No headache or bruises, right? You're not feeling like you're gonna pass out or anything? I saw it in a movie once, and, like, I think it happens in real life too, and I definitely don't wanna accidentally kill some random stranger or whatever.”

“You can’t die by a soccer ball,” remarks Shauna as if by reflex, staring at the girl. “I’m fine though, honest.” 

The girl makes a flurry of hand movements to make her point. “Really? Because if you need to, we can head to the nurse's office right now. I'll come with you if you're hurt. I'm truly sorry. I didn't intend to kick it so hard. Coach always says I underestimate my kicks, and I wasn't thinking when I did it just now. I didn't expect it to go that far, especially since no one usually comes around here this early, so I wanted to practice. I should've thought about it more, I know. I nearly hit you, and I'm sincerely sorry. I swear, I didn't mean any harm.”

Shauna stares with unblinking eyes as the girl seems to lose her breath. She knows she’s been told she rambles, but Jesus can this girl talk. And she has pretty eyes, she thinks. Like a light hazel that glistens as rich and inviting as an ancient olive grove. Her skin doesn’t have a spec of imperfection and her hair shines a light honey that looks golden beneath the reflected sunlight. An unfamiliar pang bursts in Shauna’s chest like a wild animal trying to break free. She swallows and pins the feeling down to envy. It’s natural, right? The other girl looks as if she’d come alive from a Renaissance painting or were the muse of an artist like Manet. So of course it’s normal to be a tiny bit jealous of her. Who wouldn’t be?

“I’m okay, truly,” says Shauna firmly, intercepting the girl mid-sentence. “No harm, no foul.” 

“Oh. . . right.” The girl eyes her curiously like a puzzle she can’t solve. “What are you doing here anyway? Didn’t think people came out here on a Sunday this early.” 

“I’m, er, doing some writing I guess,” shrugs Shauna sheepishly as she gestures to her journal.

“Oh, nice. So, are you, like, a freshman or something because I’ve never seen you around?” 

“No, I’m a senior — I just transferred from New York.” 

“New York! We haven't had anyone from there before. We've had folks from Ohio, Washington, California, and even Arizona once, if you can believe it, but never New York. So, you're a city boy, then? What's it like? I've always wanted to go there instead of. . . well, here.” She gestures vaguely with her hand.

“Noisy,” states Shauna drily and not very far from the truth. 

The girl breaks into a smile and a sweet laugh escapes her pink lips; a lock of hair curls over her temple. The creature in Shauna’s chest tears once again, bashing harder for attention. 

“You have really nice hair,” blurts Shauna without thinking, reaching an arm out like she wants to run her fingers through it but quickly realises how weird it seems and retracts her hand to her lap, bunching it in fists to act as a caged barrier. 

The girl blinks and pauses, taken aback, as her eyebrow raises. Against an amber light backdrop, her eyes sparkle like two emeralds in a haystack. “Oh, uh—” the girl falters. 

Shauna avoids the girl’s curious gaze while her cheeks burn like a furnace. “Sorry, I just — it’s so. . . soft and shiny.” 

A delicate smile encompasses the girl’s face. “Thanks, I use a special shampoo I get from the nearby store on campus.”

“Oh, no way. You can buy shampoo from there?” 

“Yeah, it's like, right by the bread section, near the back. They've got a ton of options, but the strawberry-scented one? Works wonders, trust me. No more morning battles with my hairbrush for me anymore.”

The girl giggles, rocking back and forth on her toes like she can’t stand to be still for long. Her voice speeds up as she explains, wrapping a curled strand of hair between two fingers. Shauna smiles to herself at the gesture. Cute, she thinks. 

“Huh, might have to check it out then.” 

The girl gives an odd two-fingered salute. “You should. I’m Jackie by the way.” 

Shauna makes a mental note as the other girl beams, eyes bright and glimmering. Fuck, she truly is a beauty, isn’t she? All soft skin and a mixture of golden and hazel. Inhuman almost. A halo and wings are the only thing missing. Maybe Jackie is right, and she actually is dead. What an obituary it’s going to make. Cause of death: a soccer ball. 

As soon as the thought crosses her mind, something slams into her brain like a whack of a baseball bat hitting the ball. Ah. Her smile slackens. She’s been so stupid and obvious. How can she let herself get distracted? She has wandered into dangerous territory. Boys don’t just simply ask about hair products; they simply aren’t interested at all. 

She clears her throat loudly and deliberately and then smacks a fist down across her chest, pounding it three times, not dissimilar to a caveman. She’s pretty sure some smoke gets caught in her throat because she coughs twice. Jackie raises a perfectly trimmed eyebrow. Shauna’s pretty sure the tips of her ears burn red from embarrassment. 

“Shaun,” she says roughly to save face, lowering her voice for added emphasis and giving a single nod. 

Jackie pauses as she narrows her eyes while Shauna crosses her arms and puffs out her chest, attempting to look cool. She thinks she nails it kind of. 

“Hm, I have a distant cousin called Shawn. But he lives in Virginia. So is yours spelt with a ‘W’ or. . .” sings Jackie, trailing off, placing her hands on her hips. 

“Spelt with a ‘U’ actually — you know, the right way.”

“Eh, you can tell him that.” 

Shauna chuckles and rubs the back of her neck. She takes a glance at her wristwatch and then grabs her journal and the soccer ball as she rises from the bench. 

“This is yours I believe.”

Jackie seems thankful. “Yeah, thanks; Coach Scott will have my head on a platter if I lose it so easily. Have a suspicion that he counts them all.” 

“No problem. Well, I — uh — I must — um — go and take care of some guy. . . stuff probably.” 

Shauna cringes as the words fall from her mouth. It’s a wonder Jackie hasn’t run away screaming at this point. She knows she would if she ever encountered someone like this — after she’d stuck a knife in his gut that is. Yet Jackie simply squints in a curious manner and nods slowly.

As Shauna walks off with her pen tucked behind her ear and one hand in the pocket of her jeans, she can’t help looking over her shoulder. A warm sensation spreads through her chest like she’s soaking in a hot bath at the sight of Jackie doing keep-ups with the ball, her face fixed in serious concentration. Shauna makes a sound of vague amusement and fascination. Shit, even when Jackie is being a graceless, clumsy figure she still manages to look like the most beautiful girl Shauna has come across. 

It’s genuinely quite annoying, she can’t help pondering. 

Chapter Text

Monday morning dawns misty and pale, with a faint stray of light beaming in and casting hues. Shauna, mostly accustomed to her mother’s wake-up call, rises to soft sheets and the musical song of the lark outside the window. She is dressed before Travis as usual, whose door is shut, but his tractor-horn snores resonate with a muffled sound. She thanks her blessings that the dorms block out loud noises, as she’s pretty sure she will storm over and shove a pillow over his head to make her aggravation known if she’s forced to listen every fucking night.

Her uniform — a requirement of the academy during the week — is fresh and clean; she fiddles with her scarlet and black tie but decides to let it hang loose with a frustrated huff. Flutters emerge in her stomach. She looks forlornly at the flannel hanging over her chair and wishes once again that she could just wear everyday clothes. It will make her life so much easier. She sighs, running a hand through her short hair. But no, that isn’t proper, apparently, as it doesn’t represent the image of the school.

Shauna stares at herself in the mirror one last time, smoothing her blazer which has the school logo etched on the right breast, a red crest comprising a wolf, the letters ‘W’ and ‘A’ and a tree. Below these are the words ‘Te Audimus’, something fancy in Latin she’s guessing. Shauna’s eyes flicker to her watch — the cheapest thing in this whole school, most likely; she’s early. The watch is a leather brown strap with a silver dial; her mother bought it for her a few years ago, and Shauna had beamed, believing herself to be sophisticated and classic — an old soul. It’s one of her most treasured possessions.

She rarely wears blazers or ties. She recalls a time when her father invited her to a birthday celebration for her youngest half-brother. He enjoys having these gatherings all the time, surrounding himself with admirers and close friends to worship him. A spotlight-seeking moth fluttering around the glowing flame of admiration. Shauna shakes her head with disgust. That’s what he is. Out of contempt for her father and to see him mortified, Shauna arrived in a suit, pure spite rushing through her blood, despite his very clear instructions to wear a nice dress. God, did she savour the way his face dropped like a hot candle wax in front of all his guests.

As she straightens the stiff white collar of her shirt, she is reminded of how much her father’s image reflects upon her like indelible ink on the pages of a cherished book. And that thought causes her chest to burn with a loathing to rival the power of a thousand suns.

Nat's right, she thinks with an inward sigh. She looks like a preppy fucking asshole. The two used to ridicule these types of people when they sat watching the Upper East, believing them to be ridiculous with their personal drivers and lavish outfits. But, most importantly, she looks good enough to pass as a guy, at least, and that’s all that matters.

Shauna turns to grab her bag, swings it over her shoulder, and walks out. She skips breakfast altogether, her stomach twisting into a knot, unable to attempt a morsel. Her mind is too occupied. It’s nerve-wracking to realise that the rest of the students will be here soon, and thousands of eyes will be on her, scanning, examining, and assessing her very soul. Having Travis believe she is a boy is one thing, but getting through the day surrounded by people she doesn’t know and who can very quickly decipher her secrets with a simple glance unsettles her deeply. She pushes away the scary yet lonely image of her dragging her suitcase out of the gates and catching the train back home.

Shauna also realises as she walks through the grounds with her hands in her pant pockets, that she barely knows anyone. Everyone will have friends or people they have known since freshman year; meanwhile, Shauna will be the outsider, the newcomer, the fresh meat for them to feast their eyes and ears upon and devour. Her chest tightens. 

Now, of course, she wasn’t exactly popular, but nor was she a total loser at her old high school — she and Nat ate their lunches on a small bench away from the others. But she had Nat with her then and didn’t feel so terribly alone as she does right now, with the breezy chill of the air settling in her veins. Here, she’s in completely new territory with kids from a wholly different spectrum than her. However, the fervent desire to become unique, to be an entity in her own right lingers just as it did then like freshly sprayed perfume.

It’ll be a challenge, but she resolves to fly beneath the radar. She must if she wants to make it to the end of the year unscathed. Her dreams and her future depend on the mask she puts on.

All the world’s a stage.  

She remembers Jackie — reminding her as one of those All-American girls in old commercials — who nearly tore her head off with a soccer ball. An unbidden smile creeps onto her lips. Perhaps she’ll be in class, a familiar face. But who’s to say that Jackie doesn’t have her own friends? She doesn’t want to hang out with the awkward new kid who she probably thinks is a creep, judging by their last interaction. Shauna knows that if the roles are reversed, she won’t either. And a girl as pretty and kind and, well, nice enough to be perceived as downright genuine has to be popular.

Shauna groans audibly, catching an odd look from a passerby. She quickly hastens her pace, avoids eye contact, and takes out her class schedule from her bag. Chemistry is located in a room she has no idea where. This will be great, she thinks sarcastically.

The school is undoubtedly a maze. Shauna can’t help thinking that Daedalus, a skilled architect and craftsman, would be jealous of its make with its endless hallways and abundance of space. She slams shut what feels like another empty classroom and checks her watch. She still has time, thankfully, as the bell hasn’t rung.

Eventually, she must’ve reached the right one because the door plaque matches the number on her schedule. Near the door, two girls lean against the wall with their heads huddled close, soft giggles coming from their mouths. The noisy squeak of Shauna’s patent shoes — so shiny that she can see her reflection in them — attracts their attention. One girl, a redhead, quickly shifts away, creating a distance from the other girl and plasters a neutral expression. Shauna raises an eyebrow at the peculiarity but chooses not to comment; the two stare at her as she approaches.

“Hey, uh, do you guys know if this is Miss Singleheart’s Chem class — it says it’s supposed to be in room 150?” asks Shauna nervously with a motion towards the closed door.

“Well, it says it on the door, doesn't it? So it should be,” the tall retorts, her gaze sharpening as she fixes it on Shauna, a hint of irritation seeping through her words. “Or can you not read?”

“Uh. . .”

Shauna blinks in bewilderment, wondering what she’s said wrong. She does a double take. It suddenly occurs to Shauna that she’s seen this girl before, in the library. She resists the urge to tug at her collar, which feels like it’s closing up her throat. Has she interrupted something? The redhead laughs brightly, breaking the heavy silence, and nudges the other girl.

“Ah, don’t mind Tai too much,” she smiles, and Shauna instantly feels at ease at the kindness in her eyes. “She’s just a big ol’ grump this morning because she woke up on the wrong side of the bed and her favourite teacher didn’t smile at her.” Her gaze twinkles with mirth.

Tai huffs, trying to throw a disapproving look but can’t help the upward curl at the edge of her lips. The two exchange a look as if sharing an inside joke. Shauna wonders if she should just slink away.

“But sure thing," Van says with a dramatic flair, akin to a waiter presenting a dish, “You've landed in the perfect spot, my friend. Classroom 150, ready and waiting for you.”

Tai snorts, rubbing a hand across her temple. “Van, stop.”

“Thanks,” mutters Shauna gratefully. “Thought I was in the wrong place and turned up too late to the class.”

“Nah, you’re good,” assures Van, crossing her arms. “Singleheart’s laid-back. It’s Mr Lee you gotta watch out for, man, woah — he teaches Math and bares you from coming inside the classroom if you’re more than a minute late, so you’re stuck wandering the hallways. Dude needs to loosen up a bit, seriously.”

“Okay, that’s a bit of an exaggeration,” scoffs Tai. “He’s just strict, that’s all.”

Van’s eyes land on a doubtful Tai. “Is not! Roberta Cormac told Mari that she saw him lock the door on Tim Spacer for a whole week — he ignored the poor guy the whole time he was banging on the door, begging to come in. Think he has it out for him.”

Tai shakes her head in disbelief. “Nothing that comes out of Roberta Cormac’s mouth is true half the time, Van, you should know that. She just likes to run her mouth.”

“Yeah, even so, not all teachers are saints, you know, despite your faith in them — some are walking, talking scumbags, especially in this school.” Van turns to Shauna. “Just a warning for you, uh. . .”

“Oh, um, Shaun,” she says, sticking out her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Oh, Shaun, like, Cassidy? Nice to meet you, superstar,” she says, offering a grin.

Before Shauna can answer, Van laughs and reaches out to grab her hand. The redhead is interesting with a warm, inviting demeanour. Shauna, however, cannot discern Tai, who examines Shauna like she would before a dissection. Shauna shifts uncomfortably. It’s slightly unnerving. A chiming bell rings at that moment, causing her to jerk in sudden surprise at the shrillness of it. Jeez, there goes her eardrums.

“Well, good to see you, Shaun. Stay fresh, dude,” says Van, then turns to Tai, her expression and tone softening as she poses her statement more like a question. “See you at lunch?”

“Of course,” smiles Tai, and Shauna marvels at how much softer she looks, more like a gentle purring tiger retracting her claws. “Oh, you should know that I bought those Dunkaroos you love so much — thought we could share. And thanks for walking me to class.”

Van grins widely. “Sweet, that’s awesome.”

She gives one last wave, hand flinging around like a windmill before she’s swallowed by the emerging gaggle of murmuring students.

Tai and Shauna avoid eye contact, an awkward atmosphere settling and the former’s gaze sharpening once more, as they go inside the airy, well-spaced classroom. It certainly makes a change from the stuffy, pungent closets her old school shoved them in like a pack of zoo animals in an enclosure. Shauna grabs a desk near the middle as the rest of the students filter in.

The academy is like nothing she has experienced before. The venerable school stands as a bastion of prestige and privilege, a beacon of refinement in the world of elite education. Or at least that’s how she sees it. Its sprawling campus, adorned with grandiose architecture, exudes an air of timeless sophistication. Besides the school flows a crystal-clear lake that reflects the changing colours of the sky. Throughout her day, she notes the regal, state-of-the-art classrooms and common spaces decked with rich tapestries and antique furnishings. Even the fucking cafeteria is grand looking.

It’s a Xanadu that she detests and adores. A physical reminder of everything she stands to gain and lose if she’s not careful.  

Shauna is perfectly happy not drawing attention to herself and seems to have achieved that. She isn’t here for a social visit. People throw a few curious glances here and there but mostly leave her to her own devices as they’re too busy reuniting with their friends, whom they haven’t seen since before the break.  

During her free period, she stares at the large wooden board on the wall full of posters and leaflets broadcasting a plethora of clubs and societies. A hidden, vibrant paper beneath the badly printed ‘Basketball Tryouts’ dominates her vision, announcing the call for new members to join the academy’s Literary Magazine. Shauna’s gaze scans every inch, and her interest is piqued; ‘Unleash Your Imagination!’ the headline proclaims in bold letters. She jots down the details in her notebook. This is what she wants, what she yearned for at her old school. To surround herself with like-minded individuals.

Naturally, certain aspects chaff on her nerves. Some doors creak loudly when a tiny breeze touches them; the walls hack and groan as if they are alive; but most of all, she resents being micromanaged. Shauna is used to making her own decisions as her mom works late hours, therefore the strict rules and regulations imposed by the school, from eight pm curfews to constant dress codes during the day, feel overly restrictive. The teachers annoyingly instruct her to pull up her tie properly. It’s certainly a change, but a sacrifice that she grins and bears.

She also hears curiously from gossip-mongers about a student or beast of some kind locked up in an unbreakable cage located in the left-facing turrets. She doesn’t believe a word of it, of course, just some bullshit made up by bored freshmen or something. But a flicker of interest sparks within her when she sees that the stairs leading to that section are boarded off.

Worse than anything, however, is the detestable janitor Mr Merry; despite the irony of his last name, Shauna considers him to be the most loathsome, unbearable, cranky man she’s ever had the displeasure of encountering.

The next day, while running across the large grounds towards the far building, the morning’s downpour shows no signs of abating anytime soon. Her hair and blazer are soaked through, dripping all over the vinyl flooring of the hallways. She shivers, feeling as if a persistent grey thundercloud looms over her head. The hallways are very much deserted as she practically jogs across the smoothly polished floor.

“Oi, you there, boy!” comes a wheezy, gravelly voice. “Stop right there, stop right now!”

Shauna halts in her steps and turns around, irritation blooming in her chest like a fully planted flower. A short, old man, with three thin strands of hair perched atop his balding head, sprints towards her. He has the alert poise of a bird. Shauna stares as the man wheezes and pants heavily as if he’s run a marathon, his face burning red either from exertion or fury, she can’t make out. His visage displays a sneer and his eyeballs bulge. When he speaks, his voice sounds like he has a permanent hairball stuck at the back of his throat.

“What — do — you think — you’re — doing?” hisses the old man in between large gulps of air.

“What?” says Shauna, furrowing her brow.

“I just cleaned this hallway not a moment ago. Now look at what you’ve done. A mess! No consideration at all, no manners, no respect.”

As he moves closer to snarl in her face, Shauna controls her gag reflex as the rank odour of rotten eggs and crusty cheese wafts close by. She wonders if a skunk has died in his mouth and instantly takes a step back, keeping her head well away from his vicinity. The man still glares daggers at her.

“I’m sorry,” mutters Shauna snappishly. “I didn’t mean for it; it’s just that I’m in a hurry and—”

“Oh, no, son — think you can just sell me a pie and be on ya merry way? No, sir, I can see right through you — through all you youngsters. This was on purpose, and don’t I know it?” His voice rises to a shout at the last word.

Shauna swallows back a lump of irritation and speaks through gritted teeth. “I’m selling no pies, it truly was an accident, I swear it.”

“Oh, accident my foot. I see the filthy making of your mind, boy. Do you think I toil and slave all day for someone like you to come along and ruin my perfectly mopped floors? Goddamn, right I don’t! I’ve had enough of all of you. I won’t stand for it any longer. You can count on that.”

“Sir, I’m truly sorry, honestly I am,” Shauna gestures to the muddy, wet floor, “but I need to go to class.”

“I think not,” snaps the old man. “You’re coming with me. The principal will hear about this. Don’t worry your head about it. She’ll know about it full well, so come with me, boy. I’m going to file a report about this incident and your deliberate hand in it soon enough.”

Shauna groans as the man ignores her pleas, his will stronger than stone. She can’t afford to get in trouble so soon. What if this comes back to bite her? Why the fuck did this old man come here out of all the hallways to exist? Anger rolls in her chest like an endless tumbleweed, and she longs for one of Zeus’s thunderbolts to strike the old fucking man on the head and leave a singed black hole in his wake if only to escape this scenario.

“Follow me,” he growls, shooting a biting look at the wet track marks Shauna has left. “Or I’ll personally make sure to have you kicked out and then you’ll be sorry.”

Shauna shuts her eyes for a second and then trudges gloomily behind the old janitor as if her feet are made of lead. It is impossible to sneak away because of the suspicious glances he keeps throwing. She wonders for a tiny moment if it will be considered elderly abuse if she pushes him down a flight of steep stairs. Surely any jury will act in her favour once they understand the troublesome circumstances. What is the old cunt doing working at his age anyway, grouses Shauna inwardly as she angrily peaks at her watch. She can practically sense each tick of the minute hand, the very mechanisms and cogs moving with each millisecond. He should’ve retired by now. 

When entering a windowless office, Shauna is greeted by a dim yellow glow that causes most of the littered objects to appear mustard-coloured. The smell of rotten eggs lingers, and she wrinkles her nose. Filing cabinets and numerous mops and brooms fill the room. The old man instructs her to sit on the chair, and Shauna crosses her arms, her jaw clenching, as she does so, foot tapping incessantly.

“You’re new around here, aren’t ya, boy?” sniffs the man, eyeing her with distaste.

Shauna grunts, willing him to hurry the fuck up. The bell is going to ring soon.

“Well, you’ll learn what’s right and wrong soon enough, that’s for sure. If I had it my way, I would’ve had you carrying heavy loads around each field in the school until your back breaks. It ain’t easy work but at least you’ll know how hard my job is, and it’ll toughen you up. You look as if you could use some. Hands as soft as a bloody daisy in May from what I can see.”

He mutters scornfully and whispers escape him from under his breath as he brings out a piece of paper. Shauna clenches her fists so tight her knuckles turn white. She resolves to keep her voice steady. She can’t draw attention to herself by getting into trouble before her first week is over.

“Is this going to take long?” she asks as politely as she can muster.

“It’ll take as long as it needs to,” the man retorts sharply. “I’ll keep you here all night if I have to. Maybe that way you’ll learn not to leave filth and dirt all over my newly cleaned floor.”

It will take just a slight lean of her body and a lift of her hand to grasp the large stapler lying on his desk; a single, powerful jerk to smack against his twisted, ugly face, and a few extra seconds of repetitive motion to create a mesh of flesh and blood. That’ll show him, she thinks darkly. Her hand twitches.

He coughs into his fist and then hovers the ball-point pen over the paper, his countenance expectant and eyes narrowed. “Name?” he barks.

“Shaun,” says Shauna stiffly. “Shipman.” 

“Right, now, criminal offence—”

A few cords hold the thin strand of patience. Her voice clouds with disbelief and mounting frustration.

“How is a tiny amount of water a criminal offence?” she argues. “It was clearly an accident, anyone would agree, and it was raining if you couldn’t see. And I don’t think it really constitutes an official rule here.”

The old man stares at her like she’s murdered his whole family. Shauna is feeling pretty murderous right now.

“It’s a crime in my eyes. All the extra hours of scrubbing and mopping I now have to do to fix your mistake. And not one bit of thanks or—”

She pinches the bridge of her nose. “Look, I’ve already apologised. I’m not sure what else you want.”

“Suggested punishment: expulsion,” he mutters, ignoring her and scribbling away.

The cord snaps, and Shauna rises to her feet abruptly, the chair slamming backwards with a noisy thud. “You can’t do that, old man,” she snarls furiously, slamming her fists on his desk.

His voice is cold and unsympathetic. “Oh, you’ll find that I—”

But before he could continue, a knock echoes and the door swings open with a loud creak. The old man jerks his head up and scrunches his nose at the interruption, much like a rat sensing the smell of cheese in the air. A familiar feminine voice reaches Shauna’s ears.

“Mr Merry, sir, I—”

Shauna meets the gaze of Jackie, whose expression can only accurately be described as deer-in-headlights when she stops in her tracks. A silence settles — one where Shauna can finally hear the enraged waves that crash over her. Her eyes meet large orbs and her heart quakes. Jackie wears a type of soccer uniform beneath her jacket and her honey-coloured hair is tied with a yellow ribbon. Shauna instantly becomes reminded of how bright and green the other girl’s spheres are.

“Yes?” says Mr Merry impatiently with squinty eyes.

Jackie looks away and clears her throat. “I, just, uh, Coach Scott needs the keys.”

“Hmm, does he? And he’s sent you, I see? Well, it’s in the small drawer over there — come on, girl, stop dawdling and get on with it.”

Jackie moves towards the cabinets and throws one last curious glance at Shauna as she turns her back. Shauna’s gaze lingers before the old cunt talks in his croaky voice.

“You don’t think I see through you, boy, oh yes, I do. I know what you hide. You won’t get past the likes of me, I can tell you that. You’re a liar through and through.”

Shauna’s breath hitches as his narrow beady eyes remain fixed on her, and panic rises in her chest. He can’t know, right? There’s no way. Her ears burn self-consciously, especially as she sees Jackie sneaking surreptitious peeks behind her shoulder at the scene. God, this is so embarrassing. For the other girl to see her like this: damp hair, shivering, dishevelled and furious while some old janitor scolds her. Impression of the century, she’s sure. She breathes heavily, hot air escaping her nose.

“Look, I understand that you’re upset,” begins Shauna, forcing her voice to be stable. “And it’s my mistake, I should’ve been more careful, yes. But can we just move on — I’ve learned my lesson, I have. I won’t spill a drop of water on the floor ever again. So, like, can you not file the report against me? It was an accident, please.”

“Yes, that’s what they all say,” sneers Mr Merry. “I’ve been here for years — since before you came into this world. All you troublemakers think you can deceive me — well, think again! This was some poxy scheme or hidden plot to get the better of me, wasn’t it? You and all your pals that you’re probably protecting. Admit it; I know all your little secrets that you hide, Sonny Jim, and the pranks. You won’t get the better of me, not today, and I will — oh, for god’s sake, girl!” His head snaps around. “What is taking you so damn long?”

Jackie jumps like a frightened cat as the old man directs his wrath at her. She swivels around and appears sheepish like she’s been caught with her hand in the fucking cookie jar or some shit. Shauna has a sneaky suspicion that she’s been eavesdropping. Great, this means she is here to witness this humiliation first-hand. Shauna will probably hear of this soon, once word gets around the school, people’s tongues wagging ceaselessly about—

“Mr Merry, sir, I just thought you should know something even though I’m not sure it is my place,” says Jackie sweetly, the very picture of innocence.

She fiddles with the key in her hand and looks around the room hesitantly. Curiosity bubbles in Shauna’s chest, her previous train of thought abandoned.

“Eh, what’s that?” Mr Merry is on her like a bloodhound smelling meat. “Have you got something to say, girl? Come on now, spill it out.”

“Well, it’s just that. . . I, uh, I saw some sophomores two floors down talking about spilling their coke down the stairs and seeing whose is faster to reach the bottom. Or something along those lines.”

Mr Merry shouts an explosive curse. “Oh, they’ll regret every — should hang them — sneaking, conniving — stupid — won’t let them—”

Mutterings of unintelligible phrases escape from his lips, and his face turns so blotchy purple that Shauna thinks she can spot steam coming out of his ears. He throws an irritated look at her and barks not to leave as the door swings shut behind him. Shauna growls and slams her foot against the leg of the chair, glowering. The urge to destroy every fucking thing in this office comes over her. What a surprise it’ll be for him when he comes back.

“Come on,” says Jackie with a sly smirk, gesturing with a wave towards the door. “Take the chance, you don’t wanna be standing around waiting for him to come back, trust me. Make a run for it.”

Shauna stares at her in wonder. She then looks at the report lying on the desk and, after a moment’s hesitation, she grabs it, shoving the crumpled paper in her pocket, as she follows Jackie out of the door. Fresh air and a huge sense of relief enter her lungs.

“Thanks. Good timing, huh?” she chuckles. “Would’ve been a disaster if I did get kicked out so early for leaving a bit of water on the floor.”

A pinkish flush coats the other girl’s cheeks, reminding Shauna of a florist’s bouquet.

“Yeah, there’s no group of sophomores, actually,” Jackie admits bashfully, biting her lip.

Shauna stares at the movement, becoming distracted for a split second (the creature in her chest roars faintly, awake from its slumber) before meeting Jackie's eyes.

“Wait, so. . .”

Jackie scoffs, crossing her arms. “Well, I had to make something up, didn’t I? Anyway, he’s bound to catch one thing or another along the way which displeases him and then he’ll have lost interest or forgotten you already. Simple.”

Jackie shrugs carelessly, as if she is stating the sky is blue, and Shauna admires her confidence. She lets out a breezy laugh, shoving her hands in her pockets. That’s one thing she likes about this uniform, at least — they have pockets.

“You sound incredibly sure of that,” she remarks, but then gives a grateful look. “But thanks, really. That fucker would’ve kept me hostage in there all day. Just between us, I swear I would've strangled him with my bare hands.”

Jackie snorts as they stroll next to each other, neither in a hurry at all.

“Don't sweat it over Old Man Merry. He’s just all bark, no bite. Loves to rattle the cages of every student he meets, throws out threats like confetti. Nobody bats an eye anymore. He’s like one of those ancient knick-knacks cluttering up this place, been here so long, we forgot to toss him out. Bummer that he caught you though.”

“Wish I’d known that before,” Shauna grumbles and groans audibly when she notices the time. “That’s just fantastic, now I’m late for class thanks to him.”

“Who do you have?”

“Uh, Math with Mr Lee.”

Jackie cringes and lets out a sound of sympathy. “Oh, fuck. That’s shit luck, Shaun. He doesn’t accept any excuse. Take my advice, you’d be better off not turning up to his class. He’s tough.”

“So I’ve heard. But you don’t mean, like, ditching class. . . do you?” Shauna’s voice comes out hesitant.

“It’s fine, and besides, you won’t miss anything. He just drones on about rules and expectations, you know, the usual spiel. Total waste of time,” Jackie comments casually, pausing in her stride. Suddenly, a flicker of amusement lights up her expression, and she turns to Shauna with a hint of disbelief. “Wait a sec. You've never skipped a class before, have you? Not even at your old school?”

Shauna keeps silent and shrugs, avoiding eye contact. Jackie lets out a musical laugh, her eyes glinting like two jewels as they begin walking again.

“Wowza, that’s. . . surprising actually — didn’t realise you were such a nerd, you don’t look like one,” Jackie teases, wriggling her eyebrows.

Shauna’s mouth drops in accusation. “Hey, I’m not a nerd!” she exclaims firmly with a scowl.

“Hey, no judgment here,” Jackie chuckles, giving Shauna a playful wink. “We're all a little nerdy about something, right?”

Shauna frowns, unable to speak, and Jackie claps her hands in a mixture of amusement and delight at having caught her out.

“You know, it kinda explains the look you had in Old Man Merry’s office,” says Jackie with a nudge against her shoulder, causing Shauna to ignore the faint tingle that erupts along her skin. “Your face was so red. Seriously, I thought for one second you were gonna throw the chair at his face.”

Shauna probably would have if Jackie hadn’t come in at that exact moment. She notes mentally to avoid the pesky janitor for the sake of her sanity. They reach the end of the hallway, and Jackie turns to her.

“So, I have soccer practice now, this is where we part. But it was good seeing you again.”

“Soccer, huh?” Shauna peers curiously at the faintly familiar logo on Jackie’s jersey. She swears she’s seen it before. It looks like some kind of bee. “Guess that explains that explains the getup. But practice in this weather? You guys are hardcore, aren't you?”

Jackie beams proudly — Shauna pictures daylight rising over the horizon from how luminous her smile is — and thumbs her jersey.

“Yeah, I play for the Yellowjackets. And, hey, the way I see it, we should be prepared for anything. We’re hoping to reach Nationals this year, so our fingers are crossed or whatever.”

“Spoken like a true athlete. Well, your funeral,” mutters Shauna playfully, shaking her head. 

Recognition then hits her like a weight train. The penny drops. She stares at Jackie as if seeing her for the first time. Of course. Nat’s soccer team played against them once, when Shauna came to cheer her friend on for moral support. It turned out to be a dismal affair, however, with the Yellowjackets crushing them five to one. She recalls Nat being in a foul mood for the rest of the week and ranting about their uptight, Barbie-looking captain of the Yellowjackets. Shauna listened with a sympathetic ear like any good friend and treated Nat to a stack of large pancakes afterwards.

“Well, I, uh, hope you guys make it to Nationals,” Shauna offers, wetting her dry lips and masking her expression. She doesn’t think Jackie will appreciate it if she echoes Nat’s angry words to her face. “Thanks for the tip and for helping me out there again. I greatly appreciate it.”

Jackie flicks her hair. She grins so brightly that Shauna wonders if she is the human embodiment of the sun coming to life.

“Of course, happy to help. I owe you for nearly ripping your head off the other day. Now we’re even.”

Shauna smirks and watches as Jackie walks off, spinning her head around twice to look at Shauna.

Shauna grits her teeth as she stands on the edge of the diamond-shaped playing field with her hands crossed, impatience violently rolling around in her chest. Fuck her father. Seriously, he can rot in hellfire for all eternity. She expected this, of course, distracting herself in the meantime, but reality is an irksome thing altogether. 

Samuel is supposed to be in her place — this is for him. Now Shauna is stuck taking this course just to keep up her disguise and not alert her father. It must be some form of sadistic punishment designed for her somehow from some sick fuck who wants to see her suffer. She taps her foot as she restlessly observes the Coach instructing one student with a clipboard and pen in his mighty grip.

This is such a waste of her time as she could’ve made progress with a few more chapters of her book, written in her journal perhaps, or even revised some of her subjects’ course material. She’s never been keen on baseball, and this just solidifies her hatred for it. Her pants are too tight and uncomfortable, the helmet on her head is too big as it keeps slipping, and her boobs ache — the cherry on top.

Every optimistic person there appears excited and determined, eager hope glinting in their eyes as they bounce elatedly on their feet. Looks like she’s the only anomaly, in more ways than one. Shauna huffs and peeps at her watch, willing the hour to hurry the fuck up so she can leave and get some food. Apart from a single piece of toast a while ago, Shauna hasn’t eaten, and it’s impacting her senses. 

She isn’t a sports person, to tell the truth. It never struck her interest. At her old high school, she mostly signed up for debate, as there was no offer of a school magazine or writing club. The most she’s ever done — if it’s considered as one — is a single session in a game of hockey as a one-off, and even then she quit because she didn’t like it (although it might also have been because she whacked her stick so hard at her opponent that she broke their nose, causing them to be rushed to hospital). Sports fall more onto Nat, who loves soccer for some reason she cannot understand, perhaps because of the thrill of scoring or something, but Shauna is perfectly fine with being a spectator in the stands, cheering her friend on.

A frustrated yell sounds from a sandy-haired boy, whom Shauna recalls seeing in the library; he whacks his bat on the ground in vexation, leading the Coach to warn him to calm down. It reminds Shauna of her youngest half-brother’s tantrums when things didn’t go his way. She sneers at the boy behind his back. What a huge fucking baby. Just accept it and move on. Preferably sooner, so she can finally go eat. She adjusts her helmet once more.

“Shipman!” shouts the Coach and Shauna snaps to attention. “You’re up, come on now. Let’s see your swing, son. Don’t be shy, come on. That’s it.”

Heads spin in her direction, and she hears one or two mutterings of good luck, which she appreciates, nonetheless. She grips the bat and moves past the ruffled-looking boy, towards the batter’s box. She peers up and spots one or two people dotted in the stands. Gripping the smooth handle of her bat, Shauna directs her calculated eye towards the pitcher, who is gearing up to throw the ball. Her heart pumps in anticipation, muscles poised, hardly blinking. Even in an activity that she has no proclivity for, it’s in her core nature to give her best.

When the first ball hurdles towards her like a bullet fired from a speeding train, Shauna is caught off guard, so she swiftly swerves to the side, avoiding the power and speed of the ball by the rustle of a single piece of hair.

“This isn’t dodgeball, Shipman!” yells the Coach with a frown. “You have to hit the ball with your bat, just like we practised, remember? Good, now bend your knees like so and hit the ball. Let’s go again.”

Feeling more and more like she wants to thwack the bat against the face of everyone there as the poorly concealed snickering filters through, Shauna ignores the heat from her flaming cheeks, burning hot like a furnace, and resumes her position with a dark look across her face. This time, when the second ball comes, she doesn’t hesitate and — feeling as if the strength of Hercules lies in her arm — her bat strikes the ball with a loud blow and spans far, far, far. . .

“Good, good!” praises the Coach, with a clap. “Now that’s what I’m talking about, people. That’s great, Shipman! Keep it up.” He checks his wristwatch and straightens up. “Alright, and that’s a wrap for today — good job, everyone, I will see you all here next week, same time, same place.”

Shauna, allowing herself a tiny smile, gives a nod and moves towards the main grounds. But the sandy-haired boy from earlier blocks her way as he makes a beeline towards her with an awestruck grin plastered over his dumb face; he claps her on the shoulder. She steps back and narrows her eyes at him.

“Hey, man, that is quite a swing you’ve got there, I gotta say,” he gushes, and Shauna peers up at him with annoyance. Her stomach clenches and complains about the lack of food.

“Thanks, if you’ll excuse me, I just—” she mutters but then swallows back the groan threatening to escape as he continues speaking without taking the hint. Fuck’s sake. 

“No, seriously, where did you learn to swing like that, dude?" 

“Mmm. . .”

The boy shakes his head and clicks his tongue. “Can you believe that pitcher? It was completely unfair — you saw his last throw, yeah? Fucking unbelievable, amirite?”

Shauna grunts and wonders if it’ll be too harsh to shove him to the ground so she doesn’t have to listen to his grating voice anymore. She pictures him falling like a tall oak tree on the forest ground.

“Oh, I’m Jeff, by the way, bro. Have you thought about joining the official team?” he asks cheerfully, placing a hand on her shoulder. “We could also use a guy like you, you know.”

“No, I haven’t,” Shauna replies dryly.

Before Jeff can open his mouth to say anything, a voice interrupts him.

“Jeff!”

Jeff turns with a moronic expression, making him appear like he’s constipated, and catches the figure leaping into his arms. Shauna blinks, momentarily forgetting the growl of her hunger when she catches sight of Jackie with a radiant, glowing white smile as Jeff lifts her off the ground. It seems the lack of food must be getting to Shauna because her stomach twists and rattles, making her feel nauseous. Jackie squeals and Shauna longs with a passion to wipe away Jeff’s goofy, dumb smile from his face. It can’t get more cliché than this, she thinks, rolling her eyes when the two aren’t paying attention.

“Hey, babe,” he drawls in a tone that makes Shauna want to take a hundred showers. “Did you come to see me?”

In the midst of slinking away from the Barbie and Ken figures, Shauna hears Jackie’s voice address her. 

“Shaun.”

Shauna shuts her eyes and then masks a smile as she turns around. “Uh, yeah, hey, Jackie.”

“Hi!” 

Jackie grins, and its infectiousness isn’t lost on Shauna, who returns it without meaning to. She peers curiously from Shauna to Jeff. 

“I didn’t know you two knew each other,” continues Jackie, tilting her head. 

“We don’t,” says Shauna bluntly, preventing Jeff from opening his mouth. “I was just leaving.”

“Wait, you know Jackie?” asks Jeff stupidly, like the cogs in his brain are processing. 

“Briefly.”

“A little,” supports Jackie, “We ran into each other.”

“Oh, nice,” nods Jeff and shrugs. His voice shifts to excitement. “Did you see his swing, babe? How cool was it?”

“I saw it,” says Jackie, turning to look at Shauna with huge green eyes.

Shauna swallows, conscious of the immense dryness of her throat. She can’t get over how unsettling those eyes are, like hooks piercing her very soul. There is an undeniable magnetism to the honey-haired girl, leaving Shauna with every encounter feeling as unstable as a ship caught in a storm-tossed sea, buffeted by the relentless waves. She finds she doesn’t like it very much, feeling so out of control. 

Jeff chimes in, clapping a thick hand on Shauna’s left bicep, and Shauna turns her gaze away from Jackie, flaring her nostrils as she flings him a hard stare. 

“Oh, I’m Jeff, by the way. Good to meet you, Shaun. This is Jackie, my girlfriend.” 

He puffs his chest out proudly. Shauna looks away as Jeff paws at the other girl’s tiny waist with a bruising clasp and then presses a kiss on Jackie’s peony-coloured cheek. Oddly enough, she witnesses Jackie wrinkling her nose, and Shauna raises an eyebrow at her reaction. Still, she can’t help but loathe the degrading way Jeff claws at Jackie with those entirely caveman-like hands like she is some sort of trinket or ball he can grip and squeeze whenever he feels like it. She’s encountered boys like him before, and she will bet that Jeff has not one iota of intelligence in his brain.

“Okay, great, good for you,” she says quickly and tries to move past him, but he must be brain-dead or something because he blocks her way and completely misses the fiery glare she throws at him like a red-hot pincer. 

Now, he’s just truly testing her patience. Despite his stature being as tall as a redwood tree, Shauna longs to punch him and watch his face crumple. Every urge in her body is screaming at her to do it. She inhales sharply. 

“You’re new around here, aren’t you? I haven’t seen you before,” Jeff asks heartily, moving his tree trunk of an arm across Jackie’s shoulder and caging her into his side. “Yeah, I could tell — but hey, listen, man, there’s a party at my buddy Randy’s on Friday night. You should come, it’ll be cool, and I can introduce you to some friends of mine. It’s gonna be such a fucking rave, bro, like, I’m talking insane. And we gotta talk more about your batting technique. I can give you some pretty good tips, a thing or two I could share with you.”

He winks playfully. Shauna can think of nothing worse and would rather endure one of her dad’s dinner parties than spend her time discussing hitting techniques with Jeff and his friends. What a fucking waste of her evening.

“Thanks, but no — parties aren’t really my thing,” Shauna shrugs. “And I’ve got work to be doing.”

Jeff whines like a rabid dog. “Oh, c’mon, dude. It’ll be awesome — leave that nerd shit for another day, it’s gonna be the weekend soon. Let loose, find a hot chick, get laid.”

She swallows back the rising anger with difficulty. Jackie, unusually quiet and resembling more of a passive observer, finally speaks.

“You should come,” Jackie encourages softly, and Shauna turns her attention to her in surprise. “It won’t be a total bust, I promise.”

There is a beat of silence. 

“I. . . I will think about it,” Shauna settles on after her tongue has loosened. 

Jackie offers a tender half-smile and there goes that uneasy feeling once again. Like she’s oddly off balance. Shauna dismisses the faint, almost demanding knock of the creature’s talons against her ribs.

“So, tell me, how’s it going?” greets Nat over the phone, her deep voice surprisingly clear compared to the usual static Shauna is used to. “Punched anyone yet, Shippy?”

Shauna leans against the wall near the landline, which is placed on a tall counter. She wraps the twisty cord around her fingers and holds the receiver to her ear.

“No,” Shauna answers in a dry manner and then sighs. “But hello to you, too. It’s. . . good, different, but good. Everything’s going well if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Different how?”

“Just different. And that you were right, okay? Most of them here are preppy assholes and fancy enough to make you hurl. But the architecture, the size of the fucking place, and, my god, Nat, the library — if you saw it, it’ll take your breath away — it’s better than the picture on the brochure I showed you, that’s for sure.”

Nat snorts in amusement. “Nerd, always the one to care about the stuffy old books,” she teases fondly. “But that’s great, Shauna. I’m really glad for you.” 

“Thanks, Nat.”

Nat’s voice lowers as if she is afraid someone is going to hear. “Also, how’s it, uh, going with. . . you know with the whole thing. Shit, this makes us sound like we’re spies in a fucking Bond movie.”

“Yeah, except I would be James Bond,” snickers Shauna. “And you would be Felix Leiter.”

“Not with that ridiculous fuckin’ hair and those flannels, you ain’t. Bond has style, Shauna. Can’t say the same for you.” After Nat’s giggles come to an end, she asks soberly, “But, seriously, how’s it been?” 

Shauna considers her words. “It’s okay, I guess. I mean, people aren’t suspicious or anything.” She pauses. “Well, actually, there was a close run-in with some old cunt who I thought was on to me but turns out I was mistaken. And I—”

“Wait, what?” interrupts Nat, her tone shifting to high-pitched worry. “Does he suspect you?”

Shauna shakes her head, then remembers that Nat can’t physically see her. “No, of course not. I just got too paranoid.” A laugh escapes her. “Relax, he’s an old bastard, but he suspects nothing. No one will, I have it all under control.”

“Alright. . .” Nat relents, but a sense of concern still lingers in her voice. “You can always call me, Shauna, you know that, right? If this gets too much or, fuck, I don’t know, anything, yeah. . .”

“Yeah, I know.”

Nat exhales, causing the phone to crackle. “Okay, good. That’s good. Listen, dude, I gotta tell you something.”

“What?”

“Uh, so like, I've almost got enough cash saved up from the video game store to swing by your school. Thinking if I hustle for some extra shifts or something, I might just make it happen. You're always on my case about not blowing dough on weed and stuff, right? Figured this could be my big chance to prove you wrong, you know? So, are you gonna give me some props for this or what?”

She hears the smirk in Nat’s voice. Shauna’s eyes widen once the words register.

“What? Nat, no!” she hisses. “You can’t waste your hard-earned cash just to see me. That’s fucking insane!”

“What’s the problem? I thought you'd be stoked to see me?” Nat’s tone shifted slightly, a hint of defensiveness creeping in. “Or are you suddenly too high and mighty to hang out with your old pal from Brooklyn? Tryna ditch me, Shipman, is that it? Sorry to break the news to you, pal, but it looks like you’re stuck with me.”

Nat laughs unsteadily, and Shauna winces. She knows Nat means it as a joke, but it falls flat because she can’t help noticing the insecurity that filters through in Nat’s tone. She hurries to speak before Nat can slam the receiver down on her because of a misunderstanding.

“I don’t—”

Shauna breaks off when she hears the door open and sees Travis walk into the communal room with grey sweatpants and a t-shirt with a large, faded stain on the front. He has his earphones hung over his shoulders. Shauna curtly nods when Travis meets her eyes, and he then throws a curious gaze at the phone she’s using. Shauna watches him walk over to the table, pick up his GameBoy, and exit with the door slamming shut behind him. She raises the phone to her ear and feels relieved when she realises Nat is still there, her breath coming out in slow puffs.

“Look, Nat,” she sighs in a quieter tone. “I just meant that I want you to really think about this, alright? You’re my friend, and that’s never going to change. But don’t you think there are better things to spend your money on? Like, I don't know. . . maybe food or something?”

“Our fridge is stocked with plenty of food, Shipman.” Amusement clouds Nat’s deep voice. “Mom finally went shopping yesterday. Listen, I wanna visit, okay? I miss you, can’t believe you asshole got me to admit that, but it’s true — it’s a fucking bore-fest around here without you. Sure, Kevyn and Rich are cool, but they’re not you. So just stop overthinking your Ivy League brain so much, I’m coming.”

“I haven’t got into an Ivy League yet,” smiles Shauna, her chest feeling incredibly warm like she’s sunk into a hot bubble bath.

“Ah, you’re a practical shoo-in at this point. I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you. But tell me also, have you made any friends yet?”

Shauna thinks of Jackie as she replies. “Uh, not really, no,” she says.

Nat makes an exasperated sound. “You’re fucking kidding me — it’s been nearly a week, Shauna.”

“I’ve been busy,” Shauna defends. “There’s a lot to do, alright, and it hasn’t exactly been a priority right now.” 

“How do you expect to make friends if you’re too busy, probably brooding in a corner?”

“I don’t brood,” counters Shauna with a frown.

“Uh, huh, sure, and my name isn’t Natalie. Well, have you at least been invited to a party yet? I’ve kinda always wondered what fancy school shindigs are like.”

Shauna scowls. “Yeah, some asshole of a guy invited me for this Friday, but I think I’m gonna skip this one out.”

“You fucking what?” gasps Nat, jaw most likely dropped. “Shauna, how are you not going to go? This is a killer opportunity.”

Shauna scoffs, leaning her head back against the wall. “He just wants to discuss baseball, Nat, that’s all. And I’d rather swallow a cactus than deal with that.”

“Yeah, but they have free booze,” says Nat slowly, like Shauna is some kindergarten child who needs words spelt out for her. “And probably the expensive stuff too, I’d wager. None of that cheap shitty beer Paul Jones used to get from the liquor store, which tasted of straight-up ass. Shauna, listen to me, you gotta go.”

Shauna groans, rubbing her temple. “Nat. . .”

“You’re the one who wanted to experience everything that school has to offer — I remember because you talked my fucking ear off half the time — and doesn’t this count as one?” Nat points out rather annoyingly. “And who says you have to deal with this prick, anyway? Just go, hang out, meet some other people and drink single malt whiskey or whatever the fuck they have, okay? Come out of your shell.”

A smile plays on Shauna’s lips. “Wow, you practice that one in the mirror then? Okay, fine, you win this one. I’ll go, but only because you’re insufferably persuasive.”

Nat scoffs. “Is this your lousy way of saying I’m right?”

“Yes, yes, alright, fine, if it’ll stop you from acting like a whiny brat, then I guess I’ll go.”

“Oh, you’ll thank me someday, Shipman, best believe it,” Nat laughs breathlessly. 

Chapter Text

For Shauna, Friday nights are calm and relaxing; it speaks of lazy evenings, lounging on the sofa and watching old movies when her mom comes home early; it is the skyline sprawling out in a dazzling panorama from outside their apartment, with the city’s heartbeat echoing through distant sirens and the occasional blare of taxi cabs.  

The pervading silence that echoes from her dorm room causes Shauna to realise just how much she misses the bustling, everyday noise of the city that never sleeps. Here, she’s by herself. No Nat or her mom to tell her if things are going to work out well. 

A bird coos, and from her bay window, she sees the wind rippling the lake’s surface. A pang of longing grips her chest, squeezing tightly, and she’s forced to inhale deeply and push away the memory. She’s never been away from her mom for this long, and it’s hard to avoid her thoughts. 

Perhaps it’s part of why she decides to go to this start-of-school party everyone is talking about. Well, that, and because Nat has sworn her to a promise. She hears the topic whispered in class, through the hallways, and everywhere she turns. People are excited, apparently, because it’s to kick off the new semester. 

And if Shauna’s being honest then she is a tiny bit curious. Maybe it’ll be good to get out of her room, as truthfully she’s been slightly bored recently. She’s already read her course books and made notes. No one has assigned anything so far, so perhaps it’ll be a chance to do something. Plus, she’s sick of hearing Travis’s game make a loud noise every time he loses — isn’t he bored of that yet?

Dressing for the party has never been so easy. Shauna throws on a typical red and blue flannel and a jacket over it, knowing it’s going to be chilly tonight. Her boobs are hidden, and she doesn’t need to do her makeup anymore, which is a welcome reprieve. She checks her image in the mirror, running a hand through her messy, dark hair. Eh, good enough. 

Shauna knows she somehow needs to figure out a method to get a haircut further down the line. It’s not too bad right now, but her hair typically grows at a fast rate — it always has from genetics, she guesses — which is bad news for her. Surely, the town outside of the school should have a barbershop or something. Maybe she can ask around. 

A few flutters emerge in her stomach; she can’t afford to get wasted tonight. It’s dangerous and there’s no predicting what she’ll do if she is drunk. Probably punch someone, but Shauna is hoping to avoid that. Nat usually received an unsavoury comment from some pricks whenever they used to go to a block party in the neighbourhood, and Nat always ended up having to pull Shauna off the asshole that pissed her off. But now, she doesn’t need to draw any unwanted attention to herself that’ll make people suspicious. She can’t afford to. Maybe a cup or two will be okay. Possibly. She’ll just go, check out the scene for an hour or two and then come back. Simple. 

Shauna sprays some perfume, grabs her Gauloises, and then walks out, checking her watch. She bumps into Travis, along the way. She mutters a quick apology but then notices that he hasn’t moved. Travis stares at her for a second, removing his headphones and letting them hang over his shoulders. Shauna raises an eyebrow. 

“Are you going somewhere?” he asks, eyeing her curiously. 

Shauna is surprised at the sound of his voice as it’s the first time they’ve properly spoken to each other that isn’t a nod or civil wave. She wonders why he’s so interested in her evening plans. 

“Uh, yeah,” she mumbles, feeling awkward. 

“Oh, cool, cool.” He looks away surreptitiously. “Are you going to — to the party tonight then?”

His voice comes out hesitantly with an undertone of wistfulness as he shuffles his foot. Shauna stares at him while he avoids meeting her gaze. This is the longest that they’ve spoken since the first day. 

“Uh. Yeah. . . why do you wanna know?” 

He is quick to reply. “No reason.” 

“Right.”

“So did someone invite you or. . .?” 

“Yeah, just some guy I think.”

Travis watches her with wide eyes and then nods his head as if muttering to himself. A long, awkward beat of silence settles. Shauna considers him with a watchful gaze. He appears skittish, his hands shoved in his pockets, his eyes shifty, and his gait drooping as if hiding some great secret. She pauses. Wait, does Travis want to go to the party? Is that why?

“Are you not coming then?” Shauna asks quietly. “It could be fun, you know.”

“Huh? No, I, uh, I wasn’t invited,” mutters Travis, face flushing red as he rubs the back of his head. “You’re new here so I just wondered how, you know.”

Shauna lets out a short, incredulous laugh. “You need an invitation? To a party? You can’t just turn up or anything?” 

“You need an invitation, yeah, or at least I think so. That’s what the guys told me.”

“Wait, so you’ve never gone to one? It’s just a party, dude. Nobody’s gonna care who comes or not. They’re too busy getting wasted to truly give a shit much less remember who’s there, that’s what usually happens.” 

Travis’s cheeks flush red, and he scowls as if annoyed at the question. Shauna feels like she’s said the wrong thing. She sighs and shoves her hands inside her jacket pockets when it appears that he isn’t going to say anymore, taking a deep breath. God, she really hopes she doesn’t regret this later. 

“Hey. Do you, er, wanna come with me?” she suggests.

Travis blinks as if he can hardly believe his ears. “Wait, seriously? Are you sure, man? That’s okay with you?”

Shauna shrugs and grumbles offhandedly, “Yeah, it’s just a dumb fucking party. Nothing special. Just hurry up, okay.” 

Travis smiles brightly for the first time as he thanks her and rushes back into his dorm. It’s kind of surprising that he hasn’t gone to a party in the years that he’s been here. She barely sees him in the hallways or the cafeteria, and they don’t share any classes. She figures that he likes being alone, just like her. Whatever. Shauna would rather spend her time shut in her room most evenings, so she’s not one to judge.

The walk across the grounds is quiet with their feet rustling the fallen, brown leaves. Shauna’s breath escapes in a mist as pure as the driven snow. She shivers and is grateful to be wearing a jacket. God help anyone who thinks to wear a dress in this weather. A thought occurs to her as she glances at Travis. 

“So, do people not get in trouble for these parties? I mean like calling the cops. Surely, they must know that it’s happening, right?”

He glances over at her. “I reckon they mostly keep to themselves, ya know? Coach Scott's usually around on Fridays, but he's pretty chill about it all. Turns a blind eye for a bit. If things start to get outta hand, he steps in.” Travis chuckles, shaking his head. “Yeah, I heard ‘bout this one guy who downed his whole body weight in booze on a dare. Ambulance had to haul him outta here. Just got detention and a call to his folks. That was the deal.” 

“That’s. . . odd,” replies Shauna, trying to find the right words. 

“Yeah, I know. I’d be in deep shit if they call my mom for anything around here, like if I ain’t wearing the tie properly. Jeez, she’d fucking kill me.” Travis shivers at the dreaded thought, then says, “Also, uh, thanks for letting me come, man. I appreciate it.” 

Shauna nods and gives an awkward smile. “It’s no problem.” 

It turns hush again and they finally reach a crowded place near the outskirts of the woods. Towards the grassy area, there’s a crowd of people laughing and chatting, some holding cups in their hands while others smoke a roll of something that doesn’t smell like cigarettes. Shauna stares as she spots one guy holding a fucking cigar. Of course, there’d be pretentious fucks like that. A fire log burns beside the lake with a few people huddled by it. A boombox plays La Bouche’s ‘Be My Lover.’ 

“Yo, Flex,” shouts a slurred voice. “Who invited you?”

“What’s the matter, lost your way? Want me to show you? The pussy parade is over there in case you missed it.” 

A loud, derisive chuckle sounds, and Shauna turns around to see two stocky guys approach on either side of Travis, sneering at him while they high-five. Travis stiffens and appears like he wants to bury himself into the ground like a startled rabbit seeking refuge in its burrow. She frowns as they snicker and jeer. 

“Fuck off, will you, bro,” mutters Travis quietly, with a dark glare. 

“Sorry, Flex, didn’t hear you there. You know, come to think of it, I don’t remember letting you come.” 

“I invited him,” Shauna says to them coldly, squaring her shoulders. “What’s it to you, assholes?”

“Woah, cool it, midget, it’s just a joke,” says one of them, raising a hand and laughing. 

The guy takes a swig of his cup and shoves Travis aside with a bump of his shoulder as he walks past, his friend on his heels. Travis doesn’t look at all as happy or relieved as she expects and scowls at Shauna like a thundercloud brooding over the horizon. She wonders what his problem is. 

“I don’t need you to defend me,” he snaps. “Quit acting like you’re my fucking babysitter.” 

“Hey, what the fuck’s up with you?” she frowns, crossing her arms. Ungrateful much? “Who were those jerks anyway?”

“Nobody, just — just mind your business, will you? Get off my back.” 

Travis glares and storms off, resembling more like his grumpy self. Jeez, what’s up with him? Is he bipolar? One minute he’s fine, the next he acts wound up. Shauna watches him skulk away and then shakes her head, scoffing. Not her problem that he’s acting so butthurt like she’s murdered his cat. She thinks for a second that maybe he wasn’t so bad and that they could be friends but evidently not. 

She walks slowly, watching one or two familiar classmates desperately try to hold onto their cups as they stumble along after their friends. A group of people laugh and encourage their already drunk friend to chug a whole transparent bottle, to which he, of course, complies and promptly passes out face-first on the ground, groaning. The group cheers and tries to pull him back up to his feet. Shauna wrinkles her nose. Is this why she never bothers to go out that much, unless prompted by Nat? She stops as a strawberry blonde-haired girl brushes her, her curiosity rising.

“Oh, sorry,” the girl apologises and then halts, staring at her. “Hey.”

“It’s fine,” Shauna replies politely. She takes the chance. “Um. Where — where is everyone getting the drinks from?” 

It’ll be better if she has something in her hand. Shauna knows for sure that she’s sticking out like a sore thumb just moseying around.

“You must be new here,” grins the girl and then points behind her. “You get it from that spot over there, right by the huge oak tree.”

Shauna sighs. “That obvious, huh?” 

“It’s cute, don’t worry. Come, I’ll show you where it is.” 

Shauna smiles, feeling surprised that the girl is willing to help her so easily. It’s quite nice she has to admit. 

“Thank you,” Shauna says, as they weave through groups of people. “I’m Shaun, by the way. Nice to meet you.”

“Isabella.” 

Shauna hums, and, in an attempt to be friendly, says, “That’s a very nice name.”

Isabella giggles, her blue eyes twinkling. “Thanks. So, like, where have you transferred from? You’re a senior, right? I’ve never seen you before. I don’t think we share any classes.” 

“Oh, uh, I’m from New York.” 

“New York! That’s cool. Have you lived there for a long time?”

“Yeah, we live — well, my mom and I actually — we live in Brooklyn. Not exactly glamorous, but it’s home, you know.” 

Isabella places a hand on her arm and nods. “Oh, totally, I get it. Must be different from what you’re used to in the city, no? You probably think it’s boring and quiet here I bet.”

Shauna chuckles. “Not at all. Tranquil I would say. But, I suppose, yeah, it’s like being transported to a whole other world.” Her smile fades and her voice lowers to one of soft longing before she can think. “I kinda miss my mom, too, if I’m being honest. She’s always been there for me, you know? Makes me worry, wondering if she’s okay all by herself.” 

Isabella blinks at her in surprise, and Shauna worries that she’s said something wrong. She needs to start thinking before she speaks. 

“Wow,” Isabella says in a fascinated tone. “Most guys would never admit that. Probably too afraid or some bullshit.” 

Shauna’s face drops and she’s lost for words for a moment, sharply inhaling. Fuck. It’s cool, all good. She eyes Isabella, wondering if perhaps she suspects her, but the girl simply stares back with those ocean eyes, so striking. Shauna swallows the emerging lump in her throat as she keeps her voice steady.  

“Shit, you might be right,” Shauna mutters, mostly to herself. 

Isabella laughs as they reach a shaded corner that is set up with various kinds of alcohol. She reaches out to stroke Shauna’s arm softly with a half-smile playing at her lips. 

“No, don’t worry, I think it’s very adorable for one. Besides, I love sensitive guys.” 

Shauna furrows her brow. “Sensitive?” she repeats. That’s not a word anyone would use to describe her in the past. Aloof, yes. A wallflower, maybe. 

“I mean it as a compliment. Sensitive and the whole mysterious thing, it works for you, trust me.”

“Ah, I see, thanks.” 

Shauna exhales in relief, her chest lightening from the previous apprehension like a burden lifted, akin to the easing breeze after a turbulent storm. She’s in the clear. Isabella doesn’t seem to suspect anything so far. She says ‘guys’, right, that’s her exact phrasing, which means she still believes Shauna to be a guy. Shauna gives a shaky laugh, rubbing the back of her head. Act normal, she urges herself. Just a regular, normal guy. 

“Which one do you want? Sadly, you’re not gonna get Champagne, wine, or martinis around here — we only have beer and whiskey, I’m afraid, so take your pick,” remarks Isabella, motioning towards the gathered drinks. “We got lucky with the last one. It was all very last minute.” 

Shauna nods. “Yeah, alright, whiskey will be good for me.”  

“Oh, good choice, one of my favourites.” 

“How are you guys able to get away with all this stuff?” questions Shauna with a wave of a hand. “Surely someone will notice all this.”

It’s been lingering in her mind ever since. A big, crowded group of underage teenagers and even a drop of alcohol will get the cops called on them quicker than they can blink. Shauna can’t remember half the times Nat has had to pull her by the arm before they’re caught by the blinking tail lights. She is not inclined to spend a night in a jail cell over here. How the fuck will she get out of that if she does? Not like there’s anyone she can call to bail her out. 

Isabella laughs as if she’s a child who has asked a silly question. It makes Shauna feel annoyed as she purses her lips. 

“I wouldn’t worry about that, Shaun. Some of the guys have bribed people to keep quiet and most of the cops don’t care about what goes on in here. They’re afraid of what the parents would say and just don’t think it’s worth making a hassle about. Too much paperwork and all that.” 

Shauna chews on the inside of her cheek. That checks out. Bribery seems fitting, of course. She should not have thought any better. The world really does operate in favour of the rich and it’s people like her mom and Nat that bear the brunt of its attack. Disheartening but nothing new. 

“Good news for the rest of us, eh?” Isabella nudges her shoulder as Shauna takes a sip, feeling a pleasant burn in the back of her throat. “Least we don’t have to worry. If anything, you have to worry about Old Man Merry.” She scrunches her face, making a noise of disgust. “Urgh. But he’s not here tonight as he’s gone home thankfully. Wish it was for good, but you can only get so many miracles, you see.” 

Shauna scowls at the reminder. She still wants to wring the old man’s neck. Still, she’s glad she’s not alone in not being able to stand him.

She glances at Isabella and suddenly realises how near the girl is standing. When did she get that close? The girl’s eyelashes are hooded, and suddenly, Shauna feels a low heat settle in her gut. She blinks rapidly and resists the obvious urge to step back. Isabella’s hand reaches out to stroke the back of her hair, and Shauna ponders what she’s doing. Isabella must be very affectionate to people or something. It’s kinda weird, she won’t lie.

“You smell really good, has anyone told you that?” says Isabella in a low voice. “Like cinnamon.” 

“Uh. . . not particularly, no,” mumbles Shauna oddly, moving her head back in case her nose bumps against the other girl’s. 

“Shame — did you spray something?”

Shauna finds it hard to swallow for some odd reason. “Yeah, uh, some. . . some perfume.” 

“Hmm, well, you smell good enough to eat,” Isabella purrs, her eyelashes fluttering. “Cinnamon rolls are my favourite dessert, did you know that?” 

Shauna wonders what in the ever-loving fuck is going on. She doesn’t know how to reply to that. How can her words escape her now? Why is Isabella standing so close that she can practically sense the faint waft of whiskey and something floral? Personal space much? And why does Shauna suddenly seem all hot despite the chilly breeze earlier? The weather can’t have shifted that quickly, can it? She resists the urge to pull her collar, feeling her cheeks begin to warm. 

Wait. A thought occurs to her, causing her to look as if she's been struck by an epiphany, a revelation hitting like a sudden burst of clarity. Is. . . is Isabella flirting with her? Her brain spirals. She doesn’t know how to feel about a girl flirting with her. Matter of fact, how do they go from a nice, amiable conversation to whatever the fuck this is? Was she reading the wrong vibes?

Shauna clears her throat and answers, “Uh. I don’t—” 

The soft touch of lips lands on hers before she has a chance to finish her question. Two bold hands wrap themselves around her neck, pulling her even closer. All her senses are overwhelmed, and Shauna is—she can’t. . . 

Shauna freezes. 

There’s a faint tingle in her body. It takes a moment before she returns the kiss, a dazed thought floating in her mind that this feels rather great. So soft and smooth and the floral scent takes over her entire being. Groans escape her mouth as a wet tongue slides over her bottom lip and she grants access. 

Shauna has only ever kissed two people in her life. One was with a boy named Ruben Silva — whom she had a crush on — when she was ten years old at a birthday party. It was a disaster, however, because of their height difference as she jerked her head up too fast and his nose collided with her chin, causing him to gain an impressive bloody nose. He couldn’t look her in the eye properly all through middle school. And she was too embarrassed to muster any apology. 

Her second one was with Adam Martin in freshman year, some wannabe tortured artist whose notebooks were covered with pictures of her. Purely driven by the need to not feel left out — and because he was the only boy who didn’t crack jokes when the teacher mentioned Uranus — Shauna ended up asking him out on a date. He was too nervous to even make the first move, so Shauna sighed and pulled him in. All she could think about was how dry and chapped his lips were and the overcooked beef patty rolling around in her stomach from the cheap diner they visited near her block.  

Safe to say, neither made a good impression on her. She has always felt like she’s standing at the edge of the field watching all the players score goals, but she can’t understand why everyone is whooping and cheering. Simultaneously ahead in terms of intellect and maturity whilst lacking in various ‘firsts’ common to her peers. 

Isabella pulls back and leans to whisper in Shauna’s ear. “Do you wanna go back to my room? I can sneak you into the girls’ dorms?”

Shauna shakes her head. Shit, shit shit. This is fucked. She shivers at the tone of voice but suddenly becomes aware of what Isabella asks of her. She knows because boys have asked her this same question, albeit their voices and mannerisms leaned into dirty, suggestive leers and an unsubtle roll of the hips. It left her feeling disgusted and as if there were a million worms and cockroaches crawling down her back. But Isabella. . . 

No. No, she can’t. This is wrong. 

“I can’t,” says Shauna firmly, straightening herself upright and taking a step back, and Isabella pouts.

“Why the fuck not?”

Shauna inhales a shaky breath, closing her eyes for a second before meeting the other girl’s dark gaze. She can’t do this; she can’t deceive the poor girl. Isabella thinks she’s a boy, but she’s missing some of her favourite parts in actuality — the one tiny aspect that she has somehow conveniently forgotten about herself in the past few minutes. What’s going to happen when Isabella reaches down into Shauna’s pants and discovers she doesn’t have a dick? And Shaun is Shauna. God, this is all a fucking mess. She needs to fix it, quickly. Before it all gets out of control.  

“No, I really can’t. Look, you’re beautiful and everything — and a really good kisser, yeah, I’ll admit — but no. . .”

Isabella’s fingers trail down the back of her neck as she leans in close, smirking, her eyes twinkling with sly teasing as if Shauna’s playing hard to get on purpose. 

“Are you sure, Shaun?”

“I-I have a girlfriend!” blurts Shauna loudly without thinking. “That’s why I can’t.”

Isabella pulls back abruptly, her expression slackening into one of shock, and blinks blankly. “You — you have a girlfriend?” the blonde-haired girl repeats slowly. 

Shauna laughs nervously. “Yeah. . . strictly committed, you know. Uh, matching rings and necklaces and the — the whole lot. Yeah. Sorry.” 

“Ah. . . what’s her name then?” 

Shauna says the first name she can think of, her voice cracking and her heart thumping. “Nat.” She clears her throat and clarifies, letting out a quivering laugh. “Um, Natalie, Nat, that — that’s her name. That’s my girl. So, I’m, like, taken and whatnot.”

Isabella frowns. “I don’t know if there’s a Nat at our school.”

“She’s from Brooklyn. She doesn’t go here.”  

God, Nat’s gonna fucking murder her if she ever gets wind of this. Isabella smirks in amusement and doesn’t look annoyed, which makes Shauna incredibly wary. 

“Suit yourself.” She moves closer and presses a tiny kiss on Shauna’s lips. “You betta tell your girlfriend to keep a close eye on you then.” 

And with that, she winks and joins a crowd of people playing card games. Shauna shuts her eyes and rubs her temple. Jesus fucking Christ. What the fuck? She never expected that in all her life. And yet, startlingly, there is some remote part of her that wants to take Isabella up on her offer because it felt good to kiss her and she wanted more. 

Shauna shakes her head, to clear her nonsensical thoughts. Yeah, this whole boy disguise is seriously beginning to affect her. She’s definitely starting to lose it. 

A loud thump resonates across her back, and she turns to see Jeff’s pleased, grinning figure. Shauna bites back the groan rising in her throat. Shit, she forgot to look out for this fucker. Judging by his tone, Jeff already sounds drunk. She prays he doesn’t bring up baseball anytime soon. 

“Shaun, my bro,” he slurs, “You made it. I almost didn’t see you there.”

“Yeah, looks like it,” she mumbles with a sigh, already regretting coming here in the first place. 

Jeff moves to sling his dead-weight arm across her shoulder, unaware of the grimace she makes as she shifts to accommodate his weight. Her head stays far back as his beer breath wafts in her face, a stark contrast to Isabella’s minty breath. She shakes her head, trying to stop thinking about that. It’s weird. 

“Good turnout, no?” asks Jeff, motioning in a circle with the hand that clutched a transparent bottle. 

“Uh, huh.” 

“Let’s get you a drink — oh, you do have a drink — didn’t see that,” he laughs drunkenly. 

Shauna can’t help the question from escaping her lips. “Where, uh, where’s Jackie?”

Jeff frowns in confusion as if she’s asked him to solve a complicated algebra equation and scratches his head. It may be endearing to some girls, but for Shauna, he’s never looked so much like an idiot. 

“Jackie? Wait, is she here? Have you seen her, man?”

“No, Jeff, I'm asking you where your girlfriend is. You know, Jackie.” 

Concern begins to lace her tone. She’s appalled at how little he cares. What if she’s potentially hurt? Stuck in a ditch somewhere? Has he not thought about that?

“Oh!” exclaims Jeff loudly, quite near her ear, and she pulls back with a wince. “Jackie! Right! No, she’s still getting ready I think — it’s what she always does. She just wants to make herself pretty.” 

“Oh, and—”

Jeff scoffs and his voice turns garbled as he rants. “God, women, amirite? They’re such headaches half the time, I don’t know what to do. I just can’t understand them. Jackie, I love her okay — we’ve been dating since freshman year and she’s fucking hot, right, bro?”

“Um—”

“Yeah, exactly! She's smoking hot, man! Like, you know how many guys around here and in Wiskayok would wanna get with her? It’s crazy. Too bad I haven't had the chance yet. Oh, shit, sorry ‘bout that, Shaun.” He stumbles and Shauna heaves him up, gritting her teeth. Jeff shakes his head and continues with a faint whine; “Man, I just don’t know what it is with her, you know. She’s a total fucking mystery. One minute she's all over me, and then boom, she's acting like I can't even touch her. And it's not like she's PMSing or something. At least, I don't think so. I'm her boyfriend, for Christ's sake! Explain that to me, bro. I mean you’ve fucked a dozen girls I bet. At your old school, I mean.” 

Shauna stares at him. Jeff’s features twist in vexation and perplexity. She presses her lips together and ponders on one of the world’s mysteries. She badly wants to know why the fuck Jackie is dating some douchebag like this when she can very clearly do better. Better than someone who complains about her behind her back. 

“Fuck, everyone’s slept with someone lately. Even my best buddy Randy got some from Tammy O’Donnell over the summer. It’s just — I’m tired man, I dunno how long I can keep going with her. You know how it is when we’re blue-balled, right?” Jeff nudges her with his shoulder. “It’s torture and it’s really starting to hurt my dick, and Jackie just can’t understand that. I think I should see a doctor.” He pauses. “But hey — earlier she promised that we could go further tonight, but I never really know with Jackie. Maybe people are right about her, I mean, she probably is a prude. She’s never in the mood.” 

Shauna shoves his arm off her forcefully, and Jeff stumbles back a few paces, face scrunching in bewilderment as if he’s just been abruptly awakened from a deep slumber. She glares at him, and her words cut like a surgeon’s precise scalpel, sharp enough to slash the dick he is so fond of.

“You shouldn’t speak of your girlfriend like that. It’s demeaning and vulgar,” she snaps. 

“De-what?” says Jeff, a wrinkle in his brow. 

A nearby shout interrupts them, and they both turn around to see a group of people clapping and cheering excitedly. Jeff lights up and grins at Shauna. 

“Oh, they’re starting — come on, I’ll introduce you to my buddy, Randy. You’re gonna love him.”

Shauna closes her eyes, longing for the comfort of her bed, and then follows an expectant Jeff. Jeff introduces her to a brown-haired, intoxicated boy who burps loudly, causing them to laugh as if it were the joke of the century. She can see why the two of them are friends. 

“What a rager, huh? Look, on a classic rating out of ten, honestly, tell me what would you give Lisa R? I mean, let’s be real here,” asks Randy, not bothering at all to look discreet as he gestures to a short brunette. They all look over. 

“Ah. I don’t know. . .” says Jeff hesitantly. 

“Aw, come on bro,” whines Randy. “Stop being a pussy. Jackie isn’t here. Look, look! You see the shape of her ass, the way it curves. That’s a solid seven, I’d say. Wouldn’t you agree?” 

Ah, classic objectification, thinks Shauna dryly. How refreshing. 

“I mean, yeah, I guess so, but her boobs aren’t that big, Ran.” 

“Nah, fuck that. I’m telling you I’ve had dreams about that ass.” Randy’s eyes widen. “Wait, don’t tell Tammy, okay? She’d kill me.” 

Jeff snickers and throws a punch at his shoulder as they playfully wrestle. Shauna feels her skin crawl and is ten seconds away from leaving or punching the both of them. These two shockingly make her wish for Adam Martin because at least he kept his mouth shut most of the time and simply stared at her with a brainless expression. 

“Alright, you vagrants, sit the fuck down on a log if you wanna play, no ugly people allowed,” shouts a guy with a growing moustache to the circle that has formed. “Now, who’s got a bottle? An empty one, Timmy. Ah, thanks.”

Jeff grins and looks at Shauna. 

“Come on, bro, this is gonna be fun, I promise. You’re gonna love this.” 

She sits down on a log, which has a bunch of people perched on it, and frowns, wariness creeping into her chest. Some people are spread on the floor between their friends’ legs, drinking and smoking. She waves stoically as Jeff introduces her, offering a thin smile. She always hates it when there are too many eyes on her as it makes her feel self-conscious. A hush settles as many eyes run over her form. She swallows, her left foot starting to tap. This is the last fucking time she goes out. 

“So, what’s exactly happening?” she mutters to Jeff as the moustache guy sets the ground rules. 

“It’s Seven Minutes in Heaven,” he explains excitedly. “Well, there’s no closet, obviously, but there’s a hidden spot you go to in the woods.” He nudges her and winks. “You could get lucky bro if the bottle lands on you. Think Tim Spacer and Olivia Wang fucked once, too, because he told us all about it afterwards.” 

Shauna’s heart quickens. Fuck, this is a total fucking nightmare. She just has to pray that the bottle doesn’t land on her. That’s her only way out. There’s no way she can leave now without making a scene. Fucking Jeff, she scowls inwardly. 

“I’m going first,” declares a tall, blond guy. 

His friend next to him is quick to complain. “You just wanna make out with Allie.” 

Hoots and squawking ‘ooos’ sound from the individuals. 

“Fuck off, Tom, will you.” 

“Ha! See, can’t even deny it.” 

“Suck a dick.”

“Only if it’s yours.” 

The first time they spin the bottle Shauna is lucky. She watches the two chosen figures disappear into the woods with a relieved feeling in her heart. When they leave, people cheer and make suggestive comments and gesticulations, and one of the chosen people throws a middle finger at them. The time seems to go by. Shauna shifts to Jeff with a frown as the bottle lands on the next two people, missing her by a slight inch. 

“Why are you playing this anyway?” she asks him. “You have a girlfriend, don’t you?” 

Jeff meets her eyes as he turns away from Randy. “Hmm. Oh, Jackie doesn’t care. As long as I’m still her boyfriend at the end of the day, it’s all cool. Besides, she’s not here, she’s still getting ready.” 

“You didn’t think to wait with her? You’re seriously gonna make her come all this way, alone?” 

“I’m telling you, bro, it’s fine. Jackie doesn’t mind. And she takes fucking forever to get ready, I don’t wanna wait that long. You know how it is with girls. Probably still doing her makeup or shit, I don’t know. Relax.” 

Jeff shrugs carelessly and Shauna clenches her jaw as she pictures Jackie walking in this misty breeze, hands clutching her arms as goosebumps arise, her teeth chattering. A rush of fury and indignation on behalf of Jackie rises within her at Jeff’s careless attitude. Her mouth flies open to defend the girl. 

“How can you—”

“Fucking hell, who the fuck invited her?” yells an annoyed voice. 

Shauna is interrupted by groaning and cursing. Her curiosity is quickly grabbed. In the distance a frizzy-haired girl with glasses walks towards them with a quick pace, her arms waving furiously at them as her voice echoes loudly. Jeff curses under his breath.

“I didn’t invite her, don’t fucking point at me. It must be Mari, you know, seeing as you’re on the same team and everything.” 

A sharp voice cuts across. “I didn’t! Leave me out of this! Why the fuck would I invite Misty fucking Quigley to this?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you’re on the Yellowjackets together and I figured you’re her friend or something.” 

“She’s not my fucking friend, you asshole. And she isn’t on the team. Not really. She’s only the equipment manager.” 

“God, I really can’t stand that loser, she’s gonna rat us out to Coach Ben.”

“Hey, let’s calm down, alright. We’re all children of Jesus here, we don’t discriminate.” 

“Yeah, sorry Laura Lee, but we do when it comes to that fucking freak!”

“Damn, that’s cold.” 

Misty approaches in muffles and the thickest coat Shauna has ever seen. Her cheeks are flushed tomato red, and her teeth are alarming white as she smiles widely at them.

“Hey, folks! Looks like a chill hangout you got here,” Misty says with a cheerful tone. “I was just passing by. Seems like it’s gonna be a cold one tonight. Hope you've all bundled up. Mind if I join?” 

Someone mutters something too quiet for Shauna to hear but others sitting close by burst into giggles. Misty’s smile drops but she swiftly beams again. Shauna checks her watch, it’s almost close to eight. She drowns out the sound of Misty’s voice and people’s poorly veiled mumbles. Jeff rises from the log and beams, waving. Shauna glances up to see Jackie, her hair perfectly curled, wearing a pink dress with a jean jacket. Even from this distance, she looks a sight. Shauna feels another pang of envy run through her like a lance. 

“Alright, bro, I’m going,” says Jeff, turning to Shauna and Randy. “Jackie’s here, and I can’t keep her waiting.”

“You guys aren’t going to stay?” asks Shauna for some reason, furrowing her brows. 

“Nah, besides, might be my chance, if you know what I mean. She promised it’ll be tonight.” 

He winks with a crooked smirk and Shauna unclenches her fist, which she holds unconsciously. She imagines him taking his fill of Jackie, her spread out for him willingly, her honey-hair mussed while his fists paws and tugs at her, a clumsy, unappreciative bear. Something sharp grips her chest, piercing through her like a shard of glass, leaving behind a lingering ache. 

“Oh, are you sure?” mutters Shauna, some inexplicable urge rising within her. 

She doesn’t know why but she needs to keep Jeff here. Bound his feet to the ground like Excalibur’s sword in the stone, where no one could let him leave but only on Shauna’s word alone. But why? She’s baffled and a tiny bit unsettled. That’s his girlfriend and she has no claim over either of them. Shit, maybe this drink is causing her brain to become skewed even though she only had a sip or two. She is even more of a lightweight than she thinks. 

“Jackie says she has plans — romantic and that bullshit. I dunno, man. Girls, you know, and the ideas they get,” Jeff shrugs. “You know how they are, yeah? But figured she’d reward me. I’ll let you know afterwards if she’s a woman of her word.” 

Shauna thinks that Jeff can look a little bit more thrilled with the idea. He’s acting like it’s a huge inconvenience for him and that he has to waste his time. He’s lucky his girlfriend makes so much of an effort. Because it’s glaringly obvious that Jackie can do a lot better. Shauna seriously doesn’t understand what she sees in him. It has to be his muscles and looks (because yes, he is good-looking in a boyish way, she grudgingly admits, she’s not blind) because his personality isn’t one for the history books. 

But she can’t afford to think like that. She needs to get a hold of herself. Jackie and her boyfriend have nothing to do with her. So what if they fuck tonight? Many of the people surrounding her are going the same route by the end of the evening. They’re not the only special ones. Just hay in a haystack.

“Cool,” she replies and smiles — though it feels like two pegs are forcing her facial muscles to stay upright — while making her voice sound playful and not strained at all. “Hope — it goes well with — with Jackie.” 

“Thanks, man. Appreciate it.”

As soon as the words leave her mouth Shauna wants to die. She cringes inwardly but Jeff gives her a clap on the back and bounds away towards Jackie, ignoring the jeering that rises as he passes by and the telling motion of a cracking whip from Randy. 

“Someone’s dick’s getting wet tonight,” remarks a dark-haired girl. 

“About fucking time.” 

Shauna can’t turn her gaze away. She watches as Jeff hugs Jackie and pulls her into a kiss that doesn’t seem comfortable at all. She raises the almost full bottle to her lips and takes a swig, feeling the burn in the back of her throat, which leaves her buzzing and warm. Jackie beams, looking so pretty and shiny that Shauna’s vision nearly blurs. She wants to reach out and touch her hair; wants to feel each strand flow through her fingers like liquid sunshine, a cascade of golden silk streaming through her grasp. She mulls if it’ll be soft and velvety, or if Jackie still smells like strawberries. Something ineffable burns in her belly, one she can’t decipher, but—

“Shaun. Brooo. Fucking hell, is he deaf? Shaun, hellooo. Shaun!”

Shauna spins her head around to see the rest of the circle staring at her. She blinks, completely bewildered. What? Why the fuck are they staring at her?

“Huh? Yes?” she says.

“C’mon, man, it’s your turn.”

Shauna is as blank as a sheet of paper. “My turn for what?”

“Yo, I think he’s fucking wasted. Look, he’s daydreaming.”

“No, no, I’m good,” Shauna answers firmly and clears her throat. “Genuinely, I’m okay.” 

“Whatever, alright, it’s your turn then, bro. The bottle landed on you.”

Shauna glances down and true to word the end of the green bottle points in her direction. There is no other way around it. Her heart sinks and dread enters her stomach. 

“Yeah, okay. Uh,” she begins rather intelligibly. “Who — who am I going with?”

“You got Lottie, bro. Quit stalling, come on.” 

Randy leans closer to him. “You’re lucky, buddy, she’s fucking hot.” There is a tone of envy in his voice that Shauna catches. “You missed Misty by about an inch, so count your blessings.”  

Shauna gulps and rises from her seat, her feet slightly numb. She glances around for who Lottie can be. A tall, dark-haired girl (and rather pretty, a voice whispers in her head), who towers over Shauna, stands up from her position. Lottie stares back at her blonde-haired friend, and the latter gives her a soft squeeze of the hand and a comforting smile. Not for the first time, Shauna wishes that Nat was here to crack a joke at her expense. The loneliness feels as immense as it can be.

Shauna and Lottie trudge deeper into the woods until they come to a tiny clearing and the sounds of their classmates’ teasing have faded to a distant murmur. Okay, seven minutes, she can do seven minutes. Piece of cake. Not too bad. She leans against a tree and crosses her arms, hearing each second tick by on her watch, but not fast enough. Shivering, she cuddles her hands together and blows hot air through her mouth. She then lights the end of one of her cigarettes, placing the stick between her lips. This should warm her up a bit. 

“So, did you wanna start. . .?” begins Lottie with a soft voice, dark eyes glancing over at her. 

Shauna looks at her, breathing a puff of smoke out. “What? Oh, um, no. No, we don’t have to if you don’t want to,” answers Shauna awkwardly. “Let them believe whatever.” 

Lottie blinks like she hasn’t expected this. “Oh. Are you sure? They might check on us.”

“Yeah, ‘course. They didn’t check for the others, which means they’re dumb enough to believe whatever, anyway, so might as well.”  

Lottie blinks and exhales like a huge weight has lifted off her. Her expression clears and she appears much more relaxed. Shauna is almost glad that Lottie wants this just as much as she does. 

“Did you get roped into this too?” asks Lottie curiously after a moment’s tense silence. 

“Yeah. Couldn’t say no.” Shauna chuckles, shaking her head. “You too?”

Lottie smiles though it doesn’t reach her eyes. “My friend, Laura Lee, wanted to join in. Thought it’ll be fun, and I didn’t wanna ruin the night.” 

Shauna nods and takes another drag. She offers her hand out to Lottie and asks courteously, “Want one?” 

Lottie considers her and then shrugs. She moves closer, but before Shauna can reach for the light-blue packet to offer her a stick, Lottie’s long fingers grasp Shauna’s own cigarette from her mouth and place it between her pouty lips, inhaling slowly. Shauna blinks at the unexpectedness, her mouth parting. 

“How is it?” Shauna can’t help questioning. 

“Bitter. And a bit too much French for my liking.” 

Lottie laughs and Shauna is surprised by how throaty it sounds. They look at each other and Shauna feels a warmth in her chest. Lottie’s eyes seem kind and curious as she continues. 

“You’re a smoker?”

Shauna shifts and accepts that her cigarette has been taken when Lottie doesn’t look to be relinquishing it any time soon. She lights another one. 

“Occasionally,” Shauna nods; “I try not to too often, it’s bad I know, with the health risks and all that, but it’s hard sometimes when you’re stressed and it’s so liberating at times—” 

“Hey, I’m not judging,” Lottie interrupts gently. “Do what you gotta do, I say.” 

Shauna nods, and it’s a few seconds before the other girl fills the silence again. 

“They do this at every party, this game — it’s kinda like a tradition around here,” says Lottie. “People come to make out most of the time.” 

Shauna raises an eyebrow. “They’re not afraid or stopped to question what could be in here? Like wolves or some shit.”

Lottie snorts. “It’s not a tropical rainforest or some faraway wilderness, Shaun. There’s only ever deer and squirrels in these woods.” She pauses. “Actually, I saw a woodpecker once too.” 

Shauna smirks. “What fearsome animals they are, I’m shaking in my boots.”

“Everyone’s scared of the ghost that haunts one of the turrets anyway,” mentions Lottie thoughtfully. “The Wandering Lady.” 

Shauna’s smile drops. “Wait, what? Sorry, did you just say ghost?” 

An unbelieving laugh escapes her mouth. Lottie, however, simply tilts her head. She shrugs like she’s dead serious or spouting a science fact. 

“Yeah, it’s a popular topic. Some people claim to have seen her walking through the hallways, and I — well, anyway, don’t certain legends have some truth to them?”    

“Uh, I’m not exactly sure. . .”  

There is a beat of silence. Shauna frowns at Lottie, whose eyes have glazed over, lost in another realm. What the fuck? But before she can ponder on whether to make a run for it, Lottie inhales sharply and looks at Shauna, her doe-eyes shining brightly in the moonlight. She smiles and Shauna blinks at how normal she seems now. 

“You’re in my English class, right? I’ve seen you around,” says Lottie. “How are you finding this place?”

“Um. Yeah, yes. It’s unusual, not what I’m used to, I’ll say that.” 

“Change is always daunting. But you shouldn’t fear it.” 

“Hmm, I suppose so.” Shauna grins teasingly. “Have you ever thought of becoming a Preacher? You could inspire the masses with your words.” 

Lottie crosses her arms and throws her head back to giggle. 

“No, uh, public speaking isn’t for me. I get nervous when too many people look at me.” 

“Yeah, tell me about it,” nods Shauna. “It’s a fucking nightmare.”

“Thank you,” says Lottie. “For the cigarette. And making these seven minutes to not be as bad as I thought it was going to be.” 

Shauna raises an eyebrow. “Why, what did you expect?” 

“I don’t know, probably the usual gross, horny guy who can’t keep his hands away, something like that.” 

“Ew, thanks for the image.” Shauna wrinkles her nose. “You must care about your friend a lot then.”

Lottie turns quiet, an unreadable expression flickers across her face. She swallows and nods, her hands fidgeting. Shauna is reminded once again how tall she is when she spots a glimpse of her shadow. A shout rises behind them, warning them that they are going to come over, and they both straighten up, chucking their stubs somewhere in the distance. 

“Guess that’s seven minutes,” says Shauna, and they start making their way back. 

“You know, you’re easy to talk to,” says Lottie. “I’ll see you around then.” 

Shauna grins and gives a wave as Lottie walks off to join her inquisitive blonde-haired friend once again. 

“Guess it’s my turn then,” Shauna hears Misty say with far too much enthusiasm as she leans forward to spin the bottle. 

Faint groans echo. 

“Alright, pack it up, guys, I’m getting tired of this now.”

“Yeah, bro, right with you.” 

Mutterings and chatter are heard as people break off into smaller groups, and Misty’s smile fades as she discovers that she’s left kneeling on the cold, hard ground by herself. 

Shauna’s eyes feel heavy, indicating that it’s time for her to go. She shoves her hand in her jacket and starts strolling towards the school, waving goodbye to a few people who watch her pass. She’s grateful tomorrow is a Saturday so she can sleep in and not wake up with a pounding headache. She can see the buildings when her hearing sharpens and she narrows her eyes, pausing mid-step—a bird. No, a tiny sniffling resonates, and she walks closer to the sound. 

Her eyes widen and her heart quakes as she lands upon Jackie, who sits on a lonesome log with her knees pulled tight to her chest and her head shoved between them. Nobody seems to be paying attention to her as the inky shadows of the trees cloak her in a veil of obscurity. Shauna stares, wondering why she’s here and not with Jeff. Shauna freezes, thinking if perhaps she should just ignore the girl and go on her way, or ask why she’s crying. A branch decides to do the job for her; Jackie’s head snaps up and tear tracks shine in the moonlight glow. Of course, she’s a pretty crier, Shauna thinks in disgruntlement. Everything she does is fucking perfect. 

“Um. Hi,” Shauna says hesitantly. 

Jackie scrambles to wipe her face and rises to her feet. She appears flustered, her cheeks adorned with a delicate flush as if touched by the brushstrokes of a rosy watercolour palette.

“Oh, hi!” says Jackie. “I, uh, hi. I didn’t—” 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just walking past.”

“No, no, don’t worry about it. Were you at — at the party?” 

“Yeah, I was just leaving.” 

“Oh. Cool, cool. . .” 

Jackie gives two thumbs up and Shauna resists the urge to laugh. There’s an awkward pause before Shauna fortifies her courage and opens her mouth. 

“Why are you crying? Is something wrong?” 

“No, no, sorry, I look a mess, I know.” Jackie gives a watery laugh. “It’s nothing, I just—” She breaks off, unable to finish but Shauna is patient. Jackie takes a deep breath. “Did you see Jeff on your way? Was he with — with someone?”

Shauna frowns. “Er, no, I haven’t seen him since I saw him leave with you.” 

Jackie nods. “Of course, yes, thank you.” 

She looks over at the clear lake. Her eyes glimmer with swirlings of distress and fear, and Shauna wants to erase it. 

“Jeff wanted to have sex tonight,” declares Jackie abruptly, and Shauna is so taken aback that she fails to respond. Jackie continues as if she hasn’t noticed someone is even listening. “He kept talking about it all week and just kept pushing and pushing, all through class and lunch. I finally gave in to make him happy because that’s what I should do, right? Make him happy like a good girlfriend should.” Her voice is tinged with desperation. 

“Jackie, you—”

“I had it all planned, that’s the worst thing. You wanna laugh, I know, it’s kinda sad, yeah, but I had everything ready: how the night was going to go, what I was wearing, the candles and everything. But it — I-I couldn’t and now—” 

Shauna watches Jackie choke, her bottom lip trembling, and she hardly dares to breathe. Jackie swallows, crossing her arms like a shield and looking so small that Shauna wants to wrap her up in a blanket and lock her safe in a closet. 

Jackie sighs sadly. “He’s upset, and I get it, I do. He’s probably gone off with Tiffany or something, and I know it’s because of me. I mean he was getting impatient, and he says he has needs like most guys so—” 

“No,” replies Shauna firmly enough that Jackie turns to her in shock. “That’s bullshit. This isn’t your fault, Jackie. So fucking what if he has needs? That doesn’t mean he can treat you like shit he can just discard. He’s an asshole, Jackie, you — you shouldn’t blame yourself. Seems like you dodged a bullet to me.”

Jackie stares at her with those big, bug-like eyes, her lips pouting. 

“He’s a. . . a man-baby,” nods Shauna. “Yeah, a huge one. You see the way he waddles. Big, big baby.” 

Jackie laughs genuinely, showing her teeth. “That’s mean to Jeff, Shaun, but thanks,” she mutters, looking much better. “Sorry that you have to see me like this. I look a mess, I know.” 

“You don’t.” Shauna notices the goosebumps rising on her skin. “Hey, where’s your jacket? You were wearing one before.” 

Jackie blinks in surprise and looks down as if she’s just noticed. “Oh, I don’t know actually; I must’ve lost it when Jeff—” She shivers and rubs along her skin. 

Shauna doesn’t hesitate as she tears off her jacket and wraps it around Jackie. “Here, take this,” she suggests. “It’s chilly tonight, you don’t wanna be catching a cold right now.”

“What? No, Shaun, you could get cold,” Jackie protests. 

“No, it’s fine, trust me. I have this flannel to keep me warm, see?” 

Shauna smiles as she watches Jackie melt into her jacket, which looks slightly too big for her. Jackie smiles softly and again Shauna feels the talons along her ribcage, demanding her attention. She’s never seen anyone who looks so much like a painting even when upset. 

“Oh. . . thanks.” 

“No problem.” Shauna clears her throat. “So, did you want a drink or anything, some water? You must be dehydrated.”

Jackie crosses her arms and nods. “Uh, yeah, water will be good. . . and I wanna get out of here to be honest. Before I run into Jeff anytime soon.” 

“Okay, I’ll get your water and then we can go. Stay here, I’ll be right back, yeah?” 

All plans of going back to her room evaporate from her mind. She threads past groups of drunk or high teens. Between some trees, she notices Jeff with a girl on his lap, making out quite enthusiastically like they’re eating each other’s faces off. Her stomach rolls in disgust and she clenches a fist, a deep bolt of anger rushing through her as she wants so desperately to approach them and slam a tree branch against his fucking face. But she can’t. Jackie is waiting for her, and Shauna has promised herself no fighting. She’s gonna stick to her word. 

She finds the water shoved beside the beer and whiskey bottles and raises an eyebrow. Jeez, they even put their water in a glass bottle so it looks fucking expensive. She grabs one and makes her way back. 

Shauna frowns as she spots Jackie looking very uneasy as two meatheads loom over her. She can’t make out what they are saying but Jackie tightly pulls Shauna’s jacket over her and takes a step back. Shauna doesn’t like this, not one bit. Her pace quickens and she catches a few slurred sentences. 

“Aw, c’mon, baby, don’t be like that. I know you’ve broken up with Sadecki, I saw it. His tongue is shoved in some other bitch’s throat right now?” one of the meatheads drawls. “So fuck him and fuck me instead. What’dya say?” 

“Joe, let’s go, bro,” urges his friend tensely, gripping his arm and trying to pull him away. “This ain’t cool.” 

Shauna assumes the first guy must have hearing issues because he yanks his arms away and moves closer to Jackie.

“One night is plenty, baby — you won’t ever forget I promise. It’ll be fucking unforgettable.” 

“Yeah, in your fucking dreams,” scoffs Jackie, forcing her voice to seem unruffled. She takes another step back but stumbles a tad because of her heels. 

Shauna inches nearer, and Jackie’s eyes swell with relief as those round eyes land on her. She turns to stare at the two meatheads.

“What are you doing?” Shauna asks in a warning tone, narrowing her eyes. 

“Fuck off, man, this is nothing to do with you,” snaps the first guy. “Mind your fucking business.” 

He then leans closer and grips Jackie’s wrist; Jackie whimpers quietly as she wrenches her hand back and huddles it to her chest. But Shauna hears it all the same. There’s a faint ringing in her ear. She untwists the cap of the bottle and pours the water onto the grass, all the while never taking her eyes away from the guy. 

He turns towards her with an angry scowl as some drops of the liquid splash onto him. “Hey, man, I thought I told you—”

He doesn’t get the chance to finish because, at that moment, propelled mostly by impulse, Shauna swiftly retracts her arm and smashes the glass bottle onto his head, watching the fragments shatter to pieces. The sound of his pained cry composes a perverse harmony that serenades her ears with sweet music. 

Chapter Text

“You got into a fucking fight!” Nat hisses over the phone, tone laced with exasperation. “What the fuck, Shauna. Are you out of your mind? It literally hasn’t even been two weeks.” 

Shauna, still half-drowsy, attempts to downplay the situation. “It wasn’t technically speaking an actual fight. And like I said, he bugged me,” Shauna replies nonchalantly with a shrug, the landline cord twisting around her finger. “Dumb jerk deserved what he got anyway.” 

“Oh, of course. Because getting into a brawl is clearly the best way to handle annoyances. I mean, who needs rationality when you can just throw punches, right? Next time someone ticks you off, maybe try a different approach, like, I don’t know, dude, talking it out? Just a thought.” 

“I didn’t plan on it, Nat, it just happened. And could you keep your voice down, please? It’s way too early.” 

Shauna rouses abruptly to the jarring sound of the phone ringing on a late Saturday morning. She relates the previous night’s events to a curious Nat with a casual air, still unable to shake off Jackie’s uncomfortable, nervous expression from her mind. That fucking asshole is lucky that all he got is a dazed concussion. Shauna should’ve blinded him so he never lays eyes on another girl again. She can tell that Nat is holding the bridge of her nose between two fingers. 

“Oh, sure, I’ll just whisper into the void then, shall I? Shipman, you’re not even sorry, are you?” Nat’s voice turns high-pitched with incredulity. “I mean, a fucking glass! That’s a first.”

Shauna snorts, lightening her tone. “I’m only sorry I didn’t hit him harder with it.” 

Nat’s frustration is palpable. “Seriously, this isn’t a fucking joke, dude. C’mon, what happened to laying low? What the hell did he even say? You should’ve just brushed it off, Shauna. It’s not worth risking getting kicked out for. What if the school decides to call your dad? Huh, genius, ever consider that? That’d pretty much be game fucking over.”

Shauna strides over to the kitchen counter, reaching for the stovetop kettle to pour its steaming contents into her waiting cup. She stirs the mixture together as she holds the handle to her ear. Her tone is mellow as she remarks, “Oh, they won’t, will you relax? I didn’t ask for a lecture this morning.” 

“How the fuck do you know that? What, you suddenly got psychic powers or shit?”

“Yeah, real funny. But no. I know because he doesn’t even go here. Turns out he’s just some townie who managed to sneak in past the gate when nobody was really paying attention. Plus, he was wasted beyond belief, he’s not gonna remember. And no one’s making a big deal out of it. Why would they? Trust me, I’m in the clear, alright? No one’s shedding a tear over him, it’s all good.” 

Nat’s voice comes out in utter disbelief. “Townie. Oh, Shipman, you’re even starting to sound like them.” 

“Hey, you’re the one who wanted to know. And I’m not like these people, not really, okay?” 

“You’re underestimating how quickly gossip spreads, especially in a place like that. It’s not just about whether the guy remembers or not; it’s about who else saw or heard what happened. And trust me, people notice when outsiders show up, especially if they’re causing a scene. Just. . . keep your head down, okay?”

Shauna smirks. “I’ll be sure to write ‘avoid random townies’ on my to-do list. But I’ve got it handled. Aren’t you supposed to be telling me to lighten up? What’s crawled up your ass this morning?”

“Nothing just. . .” Nat groans. “My boss is driving me up the wall. And, look, I still can’t wrap my head around this insanity. Seriously, Shauna, out of all the options, you chose this? You could’ve gone the classic route — drugs, booze, or heck, punched your dad in the face. That would’ve made more sense. But no, you went for the whole disguise-as-a-guy gig. Do you realise how messed up that sounds? And then you go and crack a bottle over some random dude’s head without batting an eye, while—”

Shauna stares up at a tall building similar to the one that houses the boys’ dorm, its facade reaching towards the sky. From this angle, it very nearly rivals the World Trade Centre complex in Lower Manhattan. She’s willing to bet that it probably smells better than the boys’ one too. Not at all like unwashed socks, body odour and whiffs of heavy deodorant that clog her nostrils every time she enters the hallways. 

“Thanks for walking me, Shaun,” says Jackie quietly. “You didn’t have to. You could’ve got into serious trouble for. . . that. And I’m sorry for ruining the night.” 

“Jackie, you didn’t ruin a damn thing,” Shauna asserts firmly, her voice tinged with frustration. She then scowls fiercely, her brows creasing. “That creep did. He had no right to lay a hand on you. It was crystal clear to everyone that you weren’t interested, and he should’ve respected that.”

“Except him, apparently.” Jackie sighs tiredly and crosses her arms, ruffling the sleeves of Shauna’s jacket. “I’m used to it, don’t worry. It’s nothing new — it just happens sometimes.”

Shauna swallows the lump in her throat the size of a boulder, weighing heavy with anger. “Well, you shouldn’t have to be.” 

Jackie shrugs non-committedly and looks so tired and small, her eyes flickering a tad with sadness, underneath the moonlight glow that something aches in Shauna’s chest. If someone flicks her with their finger at that moment, Shauna bets that Jackie will topple over. And it’s all thanks to Jeff and that meathead. 

Shauna briefly remembers audible gasps and clamouring in the aftermath as she holds onto the shattered piece of glass in her hand. Someone must’ve grabbed her in panic before she could direct a well-aimed punch at the stocky guy, who appeared dazed as if not knowing his own name. Shauna’s pretty sure he passes out for a little while. His friend instinctively throws up a hand in Shauna’s direction, a desperate attempt to ward off another potential blow. With a swift motion, he squats down, effortlessly pulling his staggering companion to his feet. She observes as he practically hoists the asshole of a friend onto his shoulder and apologises profusely on his way out. 

There were stares, a lot of them. But they all pale compared to the stunned, open-mouthed look that Jackie aims at her. Shauna feels the adrenaline pumping through her veins, clouding her mind. And that wide, emerald hue is the only thing that ensnares her attention while the voices around her turn into a symphony of whispers, their words blending into an indistinguishable melody.

“Are you okay?” Jackie asks. “Are you hurt? Your hands didn’t. . .”

“Hmm, oh, no, no — they’re fine. Promise.” Shauna offers a smile and flexes her hand. She’s grateful that no tiny shard decided to impale itself into her knuckles. Still, what she would’ve given to deliver that cunt a bloody nose. 

Jackie swallows nervously, and Shauna watches the way her long, stately neck bobs. “Thank you for helping me out of that. I don’t know what he would’ve done if you hadn’t come at that moment, and most people wouldn’t have interfered.” 

“No problem. I’m just glad I was there.” 

Jackie nods and turns her head towards the building, but she sharply hisses as she shifts her weight. Shauna reaches out to grip her arm before she can stumble. Jackie grabs onto her shoulder, and Shauna ignores the tingles dancing along her skin like flickering shadows in the periphery. 

“Woah, steady. You okay?” Shauna questions with a tone of vague worry. 

“Yeah, sorry, just blisters,” Jackie winces, gesturing towards her sleek, black heels that probably cost more than Shauna’s several months’ worth of babysitting earnings. “They’re new — Prada heels and all that — so they’re gonna take a while to break in. You know how it is, my mom always says ‘there’s pain in beauty,’ so. . .” She offers a demure smile, accompanied by a shrug. “Guess it’s just one of those girl things, Shaun. Not really your scene I would think.”

“Take them off,” says Shauna with a frown. 

Jackie blinks. “What?” 

“You’re in pain, and it’ll only get worse, trust me. Come on. You don’t want to be fucking limping tomorrow, do you? No, exactly.” 

Jackie furrows her brow and looks down. Shauna notices that the heels appear tightly strapped and look pretty hard to take off. A pang of sympathy erupts in her chest. She can’t fathom the appeal of those shoes, no matter the price. In a split second, Shauna drops to her knees, the concrete greeting her like an unforgiving lover, its coarse texture imprinting itself upon her skin. 

“Shaun, what—” 

Shauna’s eyes lift, meeting Jackie’s wide-eyed gaze against the backdrop of a twinkling starry sky. She then looks down and starts to unstrap the buckle of one of the heels. She taps Jackie’s leg and feels a hand on her shoulder, gently placed there for balance, as the girl raises her foot and rests it on Shauna’s stomach. With practised ease, Shauna delicately removes the heel, her heart pounding so intensely that its rhythm reverberates in her ears. She does the same for the other one and then rises to give the shoes to Jackie, the ground scraping against her knees.

“Here. They’re pretty, yeah, but not worth wearing if they’re just going to hurt you. The best thing to do tonight is to wash the blister with soapy, warm water,” Shauna explains. “Then use a soft washcloth to gently dab the blister. That way you’ll remove some of the bacteria. Trust me, I know from experience.” 

“Um, you. . .” exclaims Jackie, mouth parting. 

Shauna notices the odd look she receives from the honey-haired girl. She flounders, “Uh. My, er, my fri-mom, is — uh—” She clears her throat and speaks more clearly, “She’s a nurse. And she wears heels sometimes. As — as part of the uniform.” 

“Oh, right,” Jackie says with a curious glint in her orbs, hugging her heels to her chest. 

There’s a beat of silence where Shauna wonders what the other girl is thinking. Jackie then speaks. “So, like, did you want your jacket back or—” 

“No,” says Shauna loudly. “Uh. No, that’s okay. You — you can keep it, it’s cold, you know.” She gives a short chuckle and Jackie smiles shyly. 

“Thank you, Shaun. You should probably skedaddle before the dorm supervisor catches you. You don’t want her to think that you’re trying to sneak in. She’s got an arm like a pro pitcher. Tim Spacer can vouch for that, he’s still rocking that tiny scar on his forehead from her shoe encounter.” 

“Ah, thanks for the tip.” 

Shauna waits patiently, her eyes fixed on the building, until she notices a gentle flutter of the pink curtains two floors up. With a gentle wave of her hand, Shauna’s eyes catch Jackie’s, her radiant smile lighting up her face as she returns the gesture, the warmth of their connection tangible even from a distance. 

“Hellooo, Earth to Shauna, are you even listening to me, asshole?” 

“What? Oh, yeah, I am. Look, Nat,” says Shauna, rubbing her temple and fighting back a yawn. “I’m gonna be very honest, all you’re saying is going in one ear and out the other. It’s eleven in the morning, cut me some slack, alright? Can we not discuss the reasonings behind my bad decisions at this moment? Please.”

Nat sighs. “Alright, fine. So, come on, what else happened? Made any friends?”

“Some,” replies Shauna vaguely, taking a sip of her coffee. She jerks back with a hiss when the liquid scalds her tongue.    

“What? What’s wrong?” 

“Oh, nothing. I just burnt myself accidentally. Anyway, tell me, what’s been happening with my mom? Is she okay?” 

“Deb’s fine.” There’s a pause from Nat before she speaks again. “Well, actually, I’ve noticed she’s been off somehow.” 

Shauna frowns, her ears sharpening. “Off? What do you mean? She’s not ill, is she?”

“Nah, nothing like that. She’s just. . . I dunno, kinda down, I guess. But when I swing by, she seems alright.” Nat pauses for a moment, her tone softening. “I reckon she misses you. Your place can feel pretty empty sometimes.”

Shauna lets out a deep exhale against the receiver, her cup held in mid-air. There’s usually no one at home except her and her mom. She can’t imagine how empty and vast their tiny apartment must seem when her mom comes home after work without Shauna there. It’s not like her mom talks to Shauna’s father — they pretty much ignored each other after the divorce a few years ago. And it’s Shauna who is left feeling the brunt of the aftermath to this day. Guilt bubbles in her chest and she feels the present ache all over again. All her mom has is her. Whatever relatives she had died before Shauna was even born and her mom was left to fend for herself. It’s going to be months until she sees her mom again; until, she’s enveloped in those warm, loving arms. 

“Look, it’ll be fine, okay?” says Nat brusquely. “Just worry about yourself, Shipman. Don’t get into any more trouble. You can’t afford to.” 

“I’m fine,” Shauna mutters, feeling the handle of the kitchen drawer dig painfully into her back. She sharply inhales, clearing her head. “Forget about me. What’s been happening with you? How’s school and work?”

“Nothing special. Same old shithole as always,” Nat replies with a sigh, noticing Shauna’s attempt to change the subject. Amusement creeps into her voice. “Although, last week, someone — no idea who — hired a mariachi band to follow Miss Rogers around all day. No one would spill the beans on who hired them, either. Her face was priceless, man, like she was gonna explode. And then they saran-wrapped the staircases and lockers. It was a damn riot. My stomach hurt from laughing so hard. Should’ve been there to see it.”

Shauna snickers and takes a sip. “My money’s on Scotty E — I saw him flashing a wad of cash the day before I left, around Downtown.”

“Yeah, Kevyn’s been singing that tune too. The old bat can’t prove squat anyway. She’s had a stick up her ass since forever.” A loud, unintelligible noise interrupts Nat’s speech, likely her responding to something, but it comes out muffled. “Look, I gotta bounce. This jerk won’t give me a moment’s peace, keeps yammering about customers or whatever. Ugh, my boss is such a slimeball. Can’t stop staring at my ass.”

“Nat, what—” Shauna frowns and straightens from her slouching position, gripping the handle tighter as she processes Nat’s final words.

The noises in the background become louder. “Alright, jeez, I’m fucking coming!” Shauna hears Nat yell as if far away. Her voice then becomes clearer but more hurried. “Sorry, Shauna, can’t talk now. I’ll talk to you later, yeah? See ya.” 

The dial tone chimes in Shauna’s ear, prompting her to delicately replace the receiver before she could press Nat for further details, leaving her stomach churning with unease and confusion.

The back of Shauna’s neck prickles like a spider’s delicate legs tiptoeing across her skin, leaving a trail of shivers in their wake. Multiple sets of eyes are on her, heads leaning in to exchange mutterings and muffled giggles. Or at least that’s what it feels like. Some can’t meet her eyes properly and someone flinches when she passes by. She feels as if people are pointing at her, her name the topic of conversation on everyone’s lips. Shauna knows she’s been dramatic, but she’s not seeing things when looks are thrown her way when she raises a hand to answer a question or weaves through the hallways. Maybe it’s because she’s new but she suspects it’s because of her knocking out that boy. 

When she accidentally brushes past a guy to walk towards her desk, the boy’s gaze lands on Shauna and he turns as pale and nervous as a sailor facing a stormy sea, his face drained of colour like the foam-topped waves. His grey eyes widen, and he spins but his leg accidentally catches the foot of a nearby desk, causing him to topple over, much to the laughter of those walking into the classroom. He puts distance between himself and Shauna as if purposefully choosing a desk as far away from her as possible. She stares at him for a second and then shakes her head. Fuck, it’s like she has the bubonic plague or something. What the fuck’s wrong with these people?

Even Taissa, who typically keeps her distance when they sit next to each other during class, has been acting strangely. Shauna notices her stealing furtive glances from the corner of her eye as if assessing Shauna’s every move when she believes that she isn’t looking. It’s fucking weird. Does she have something on her face, or are her clothes different? She also hasn’t seen Jackie lately. They don’t share the same classes and Shauna barely sees her without being surrounded by a group of people. Still, she can’t help but feel the shard of disappointment that latches itself into her chest. 

Jeff, however, is present and visible everywhere Shauna turns to, with a wide, goofy smile on his chest as he high-fives Randy while they jump down the hallways, uncaring of their boisterousness and who they bump into. Not at all torn up about Jackie, that absolute jerkwad. Shauna instantly avoids him and turns on her heels in case he spots her. She doesn’t know if the pencil she’s holding in her hand is going to end up being embedded in his eyesocket. 

Other than that, Shauna enjoys her classes. She notices that the pace is beginning to properly pick up as the teachers are designating essays and assignments left and right to the groans of the students. She can’t complain, this is what she wants. It’s nice to be heard for once. She also can’t help but notice the minor differences between the Academy and the public school she and Nat went to in Brooklyn. 

Firstly, the number of pupils here is way less than there were in the city. At her high school, they could barely fit all of them into the auditorium, and some students were forced to kneel on the steps or crouch on the dirty, shoe-marked floor that probably hadn’t been cleaned since it was first opened in the ‘40s. Here, she finally gets a chance for her voice to be heard and for teachers to provide their full attention when she’s discussing a point rather than trying to control a bunch of rowdy teens who think it’s hilarious to throw spitwads at others.   

Secondly, whoever’s parents or individuals that are funding this Academy must be fucking loaded because the resources and state-of-the-art technology that are available blow her mind. Like, her high school still had fucking chalkboards and textbooks from the ‘50s that hadn’t been replaced and were missing large chunks of pages. 

Yet, Shauna can’t help but feel that she’s the only one who’s aware of the privilege. She overhears one girl in Biology moaning to anyone who will listen about the fact that her dad got her a Mercedes instead of a Lexus over the weekend for her birthday because her name was Lexi, and it would’ve been “soo cool!” The worst part is that the majority surrounding her hum in sympathy and fully agree. A guy in Calculus complains to his friend that a thousand dollars isn’t going to last him one week let alone two. 

Shauna bites her inner cheek and draws blood to avoid screaming as she scribbles furiously in her notebook, her vision nearly blurring. How can people like this exist, stuck in their own bubble? Have they ever left this school, this town, and faced the real world, the city? She thinks of her mom working double shifts at the hospital, the deep bags and her eyes drooping with fatigue; the stack of bills that pile up every month on the counter; of the mobile home parks near the outskirts of Brooklyn when she goes over to Nat’s place. The chasm separating her from these rich folks deepens even further, and she’s very consciously aware that the flannels that lie in her dorm are mostly bought from JCPenney — some having a tiny, barely noticeable tear in them that she’ll probably sew later on.

What the Academy’s members of the Literary Magazine consist of is barely enough to fill a round table. Shauna counts three people in total and it seems like she’s the only one that decides to sign up. She rocks back and forth on her toes awkwardly, her notebook held in front of her stomach. She can’t tell whether that is a good or bad thing. 

A dark-skinned girl, her curly hair framing her face, remains focused on her task, writing intently on a piece of paper. Fashionable square glasses adorn her nose, and she wears stylish suspenders. Shauna believes her to be the one in charge seeing as the other two girls stare at her, waiting for her to speak. 

“You must be Shaun — from the sign-up sheet,” she begins. Her voice is curt and clear, one that brokered no nonsense. Shauna likes her from the onset. 

Shauna clears her throat and nods. “Yeah.” 

One of the other girls, a redhead with a raised eyebrow and one foot outstretched on a chair, regards Shauna with a curious, intent look. “How do you get your skin to look so soft? Seriously, there’s barely any spots.” Her voice fills with wonder. 

Shauna blinks at the odd question and raises a hand to her cheek. Huh, she’s never really noticed. “Oh, er—” 

“And how the fuck do you have better lashes than me?” 

“Mila, focus,” says the curly-haired girl peering up from her paper. 

Mila smirks. “Wait, aren’t you that guy that stabbed the townie on Friday night?” She notices the look she receives from the brown-haired girl next to her. “What? He totally is, Lizzie. Look at him.” 

“Uh. . .” Shauna is rendered speechless. Stabbed? What the fuck has the rumour mill turned into at this school?

“Hang on, you’re not, like, here to — to stab us . . . are you?” 

“No! Of course not. Jesus,” cries Shauna, feeling a hot flush rise to her neck.

“Mila!” 

“Hey, I’m just checking, you never know, alright? Cool it.” Mila raises her hands in surrender. “So, you didn’t stab him then?” 

“No! What the fuck?”

“Okay, enough, we’re not here to discuss what we do in our free time — whatever that may be,” interjects the curly-haired girl dismissively before turning her head to face Shauna before she can speak. “Shaun. Welcome to the team, I’m Asma. Take that lanyard card from the desk and take a seat, please.” Shauna blinks, and Asma looks up again. “Well, what are you waiting for? Come on.” 

“Uh. I’m. . . does that mean I’m in then?” Shauna’s voice tinges with surprise. She expects there to be some kind of test, like she has to write something for them to prove her abilities, but apparently not. She grabs the card, hangs it around her neck and then grabs a seat facing the other three. “In the — the Literary Magazine.” 

“Well, of course, you’re in,” Asma frowns at her as if she’s asking a stupid question. Her voice sharpens. “And it’s not a magazine. Are you trying to be a smartass? Who told you it’s a magazine? We’re a newspaper. One which we take seriously.” 

“Sorry, it’s just the announcement on the board said Literary Magazine, so, like, I just figured.” 

Asma’s head spins around to glare at the red-haired girl on her right, who appears sheepish and tries to sink into her chair. “Mila, I thought I made it very clear. We’re the Academy’s official paper, we’re not some trivial magazine. We print news and literary articles, remember? You were supposed to advertise that.” 

“We’re literally the only paper to exist in this school.” 

“You know what I mean.” 

“Sorry. It’s just. . . alright, look, I thought it’d get more traction if we said we were a magazine. People read them more than they do newspapers. And we obviously need more people, so I just thought it’d be a good idea.” Mila sighs, throwing her head back. “Clearly not. So then, Shaun, was it? Can you even write? Or read for that matter, further than third grade maybe? No offence.” 

Shauna tries not to be offended. What, she’s disguised as a boy and suddenly appears as if she isn’t literate. What kind of bullshit is that? “I can write, you know,” she retorts, trying not to let offence creep into her tone. “And I damn well know how to read.”

Asma places the pen down and links her fingers, her eyes boring into Shauna. “Okay. That’s good to hear at least. Good. Well, Shaun, as you can see, we’re tightly short at the minute, so we all have to pick up several roles at least. No slacking, no excuses, no hand-holding. We’re a team here, and we need everyone pulling their weight if we want the paper to be a success, including you. Understand?”

Well, that isn’t daunting at all. “Um. Yeah, yes, ma’am.” 

Asma sits up a little straighter, a pleased glint in her eye. “Hmm. Well, now.” She gets up and crosses her arms behind her back, eyeing each of them. Shauna opens her notebook and hovers her pen on a fresh new page. “Okay, people, listen up. First order of business: as you can see Marcus isn’t here. He had to deal with a personal request from Mr Claren. But he’ll be back next week.”

“Wondered why it was so quiet,” Mila mutters.

Asma continues. “Now onto our second order: Ladies — and well, Shaun, too, I suppose — I’ve received word from the principal this morning regarding an assignment that’s come our way. They want us to cover the girls’ soccer team this year, documenting their journey from start to finish. Whether they emerge victorious or face setbacks in the championships doesn’t matter; the emphasis here, as you can tell, lies in capturing their story. We’re expected to produce a minimum of three pages. Bear in mind that this is not an obligation to pass down, it’s out of my hands, which means we have to do it, no matter our personal reasons.”  

“Wait, as in the Yellowjackets?” asks Mila with a raised eyebrow. “Not, like, the boys’ baseball team or anything along those lines? Seems unfair, no? A bit sexist that we’re only focusing on one of our sports teams.” 

Asma rolls her eyes, placing her hands on her hips. It reminds Shauna of when her mom would get angry at her. “There’s nothing sexist about it. Be serious, Mila. Nobody wants to read about a constantly losing baseball team. Besides, we haven’t got a choice. I promised the coaches and the principal we’d be up to the task. Which means taking photographs and doing interviews, and I’m sorry to say that, yes, most of their practices take place before or after class time. So one of us needs to take the responsibility.” 

Mila groans audibly. “Before class. You gotta be kidding me. Asma, I struggle to get up for classes normally. And I’m busy afterwards, okay?” 

“And by busy you mean busy doing Lyle,” snorts Lizzie in amusement. 

“Some of us have social lives, Elizabeth.” Mila’s voice comes out dryly. 

“Can you guys just help me out here? Please. We’re meant to be serious journalists. This isn’t kiddie play, okay, I can’t do this and run the paper at the same time.” Asma rubs her temple, and Shauna feels a stab of sympathy for her. Can’t be easy to run a whole club by yourself without extra hands. “Lizzie?” 

The other brown-haired girl, who sports a bob that surprisingly suits her, appears less than pleased, resembling a startled cat caught off guard. “Yeah, I-I don’t know, Asma. Mari annoys the fuck out of me, and I just don’t wanna cross paths with her anytime soon. What about Marcus? Isn’t he meant to be our sports writer? Why can’t he do it?” 

“Marcus is already on the Yearbook Committee, I promised him that. He can’t handle another load of work on his plate.” Asma wrinkles her nose. “Anyway, that idiot gets weird around Jackie Taylor, everyone knows that.” 

“Yeah, saw him faceplant into a pole once because he was staring at her,” says Mila, shaking her head with a chuckle. “I mean, it’s kinda sad you gotta admit. Poor kid doesn’t have a chance in hell.” 

“Precisely, so you see. I think it’ll be better to have someone who can do their job properly without causing unnecessary distractions or drama. So? Which one of you will it be?” 

There is a long silence. The two girls avoid eye contact with Asma and shuffle around in their seats. Asma sighs in frustration and crosses her arms. 

“Oh, come on, you two. It’s not that hard. I said that we all need to pull our weight.” 

“What about him, the newcomer? What about Shaun?” Mila suggests suddenly, and Shauna’s head snaps up. Her mouth hastens to speak. 

“Me? What? No, wait, I—”

“What about him?” asks Asma. 

“Well, he could do it, no? It could be a chance for him to show what he’s capable of. See if he’s serious about this.” 

Lizzie furrows her brow. “Don’t be stupid, Mil. He’s a newbie. We don’t even know what he’s capable of.” 

“Exactly, all the more reason. Plus, I saw him go off with Lottie Matthews at the party. So he knows her at least. Come on, you know I’m right. This will be better for all of us, it’s a win-win.” 

“He is sitting right here,” says Shauna, frowning, as the girls’ eyes all land on her. 

Asma looks thoughtful. “You know Lottie Matthews?” she asks slowly. 

Shauna flounders, “Well, not. . . not particularly, but, yeah, we did have one conversation but that doesn’t mean—” 

“Cool, so it’s settled.” Mila claps her hands together and uncrosses her legs, grinning like a fox who’s just found its way into the henhouse. “Shaun will be happy to do the task. Satisfied, Asma?” 

“Oh, alright. But if anything goes wrong, Mila, I know who I’m blaming.” Asma rolls her eyes and then turns to Shauna. “Shaun, what do you think? Think you’re up for the job.” 

Shauna considers the weight of their gaze and has no choice but to sigh. She doesn’t appreciate being roped into the task, but she can work with it. It won’t be too bad, she hopes at least. She prays. 

“Yeah, I — I can do it. No problem.”

The sun, a vibrant ball of light, sinks toward the horizon, its brilliance fading as dusk approaches. Shauna sits at the communal kitchen table, her gaze thoughtful as she considers her half-completed Austen essay for Lit class. The cup of coffee beside her has been sitting there for quite some while and has most likely turned tepid. Her pen moves across the paper with purpose, the words flowing onto the page like a river finding its course through the landscape of her thoughts, bursting with ideas on morality and misperception:

A widely accepted familial and societal code of conduct existed, encompassing a shared morality that embodied universally acknowledged moral truths. This code was founded on the inherent value attributed to all individuals. Austen did not explicitly proclaim moral—

There is a slight shuffling. The wooden floorboards make it easy to know if someone is there. Shauna suspends her pen, the freshly written ink shining over the paper and glances up. Travis stands there with a hesitant expression as if he doesn’t know whether to flee or stay. They’re both quiet, not quite sure what to say.

“Hey, man,” Travis is the first to begin though it appears like this is causing him pain. 

Shauna has no choice but to reply. “Hi. . .” 

“Whatcha doing?” 

“Writing an essay for class.” 

“Oh, cool — that’s cool.” He shoves his hands in his pant pockets, his gaze scanning the wall. “For English, right? Think I might have one too.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Right.” 

Shauna hasn’t exactly seen Travis since the party. He’s gone half the time she’s here and neither of them has made the effort to speak to the other. Shauna is perfectly fine with that. It’s not like Travis is the most approachable person, and he clearly has issues she can’t find in herself to care about. Travis exhales deeply and then reaches into his pocket and pulls out a dark packet. 

“Here, do you want this?” he offers her, moving towards the table. 

Shauna stares at the brownie packet and then shrugs, grabbing it from his outstretched hand. Travis smiles awkwardly, a flicker of relief in his eyes as he goes to take a seat opposite her.

“It’s one of the good ones, trust me. Got it straight from the store,” he starts, his tone casual before shifting slightly. “Hey, listen, man, about the party. . . I didn’t mean to ditch you like that. It wasn’t cool, I know. Just wanted to say that. So, yeah.” He shrugs. “Sorry you had to witness all that bullshit.”

Shauna blinks. Wait, is this a fucking apology? Travis looks genuinely contrite for perhaps the first time, his usual grunts and dark glares replaced by a genuine expression of guilt. She purses her lips together to stop herself from laughing. As far as apologies go, it’s not the lousiest she’s received. That wound is still raw from her father forgetting to pick her up from school on her birthday, leaving her waiting alone in the rain until a sympathetic teacher intervened and called her mom from work. 

“No worries,” answers Shauna. “Those, uh, those guys were real assholes, huh?” 

Travis chuckles, crossing his arms. “I didn’t mean to snap at you, really. Just had a lot on my mind.” His expression briefly shifts to a darker one, reflecting on past experiences, before clearing as he looks directly at her. “Anyway, none of the other guys I shared with ever bothered inviting me anywhere, so I just wanna say I appreciate you doing it, you know?”

“Oh, that’s okay. They didn’t? Really?”

“Yeah. I don’t think they really clicked with Javi either. He can be an annoying little shit at times, so I get it, but he’s still my little brother, you know?” Travis pauses briefly before continuing. “And hey, I just wanted to give you props for not dissing him or anything. Respect.” He then adds, with a hint of curiosity, “You got any siblings?”

“No, no it’s just me. Well, me and my mom truthfully.” 

“Your dad’s not around?”

Shauna’s stomach clenches. She wets her dry lips as she replies, “My parents are divorced. My dad has another family, but I still see him some of the time.” 

“Oh, that’s cool.” 

Shauna sighs, gripping her pen so tight that her knuckles turn white. “Well, not really, no. He’s a fucking douchebag. I mean, bottom-of-the-barrel scum. If I ever had to rescue him from drowning, I’d probably ‘accidentally’ toss him an anchor or something.”

Travis laughs out loud. “Ha! Ain’t that a surprise? My old man’s in the same league. Biggest damn piece of garbage around. Runs the soccer team like it’s his kingdom, with his precious band of elite jocks. You’ve probably seen them around. That’s the only reason I’m even allowed in this dump of a school.”

Shauna’s eyes widen. “Oh, no shit.” 

“Yeah.” 

Travis crosses his arms and looks curious. “Hey, so, uh, Shaun. I’ve been meaning to ask you. Do you like video games?” 

Shauna is taken aback. “Video games. Oh, um. . . yeah, I like video games, sure. They’re fun sometimes.” 

“Awesome, man. Because I was wondering if you’d be down for it with me and my friend tomorrow. He’s got his own personal PC in his dorm room, and he just scored the latest Command & Conquer game that just dropped. We’re pretty psyched to give it a spin. But only if you’re not busy that is.” 

Shauna feels surprised. “Ah. . .” 

Travis backtracks. “I mean you don’t have to if you don’t want to or — or if you think it’s lame or anything.” 

“No, I, er — I’m cool with video games.” 

Travis appears relieved. “Alright, dope.” 

Shauna places her pen down. “Do you know how to cook?” she asks inquisitively. 

Travis’s voice comes out hesitant. “Uh. I mean, I guess my mom taught me how to whip up some mean enchiladas when I was a kid, but that’s about the extent of my culinary skills.” He chuckles lightly. “My dad’s always been strict that we shouldn’t be in the kitchen while Mom’s cooking, or something like that.”

Shauna rises from her seat, grabs the cup off the table, and gestures to Travis, who stares back with wide eyes. “Okay, show me. I’m getting pretty hungry right now, and I think my coffee’s gone cold anyway. We can eat some tonight. Let’s see if you remember.”  

Shauna admits with heavy reluctance that Travis isn’t so bad. Not who she usually casts as a friend, but he also wasn’t the worst. Or perhaps she’s just too hasty in judging people, who knows? She stands next to him as Travis knocks on the room labelled 40A. 

Prominently displayed at the centre is a large poster of the Starship Enterprise from Star Trek; surrounding it are posters of movies like Jurassic Park and Jaws. Adorned with a simple yet striking decoration is a meticulously crafted replica of the One Ring from The Lord of the Rings trilogy, hanging proudly beneath it. Shauna eyes the decoration with curiosity, wondering how much it cost to make. The door creaks open a bit and grey eyes peek out through the gap warily at the two newcomers. 

“Yes,” comes a fairly soft but curious voice. 

“Hey, man, it’s me,” says Travis. “Open up.” 

“Travis. Okay, hang on.” 

Shauna watches as the door shuts again and she hears multiple locks opening. Her eyebrows rise. What the fuck? Talk about security. The door swings wide open. A lanky boy with floppy blond hair stands there and nods at Travis. He then lands on Shauna and his eyes unexpectedly bulge and his mouth drops like a fish. 

“T-Travis,” gasps the boy, struggling for breath as he clutches to the edge of his door like a sailor to a lifeboat. 

“Yo, Marcus, you good, bro?” frowns Travis, taking a step closer. 

“It’s — it’s — it’s him!” Marcus points a shaky finger at Shauna, his voice high with fear and nervousness. “Look!” 

Shauna turns to a bewildered Travis. “Um. . . is he, like, having an aneurysm?” 

“I don’t know,” Travis mutters with a furrowed brow. “He’s not usually like this. Dunno what’s wrong with him. Marcus, man, what the fuck is up with you?” 

“Travis, get away!” the boy hisses. “Don’t you know who he is? How could you bring him here and let him know my room number? Don’t you know he’s murdered someone?”  

“Wha—?” Shauna gapes.  

Travis groans. “Okay, Marcus, I think you’ve been watching too many movies. This is Shaun. I told you he was coming, man. Stop acting so weird.” 

“Yes, but I didn’t know it was — was him!” Marcus swallows, his beady, grey eyes narrowing on Travis. “You know what they’re saying, don’t you — he’s been in jail for killing someone! And he knocked that guy unconscious at the party. And he’s here to kill us most likely.” 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake—” 

“I haven’t killed anyone!” snaps Shauna, feeling a vein throb in her temple on why she’s even entertaining this ridiculous notion. Stabbed and now killed? What the fuck is wrong with people at this school. “Look, just — just calm down, yeah. I’m not here to hurt anyone.” 

Marcus eyes her warily, still clutching onto the door. “Y-You’re not?” he asks uncertainly. 

“No!” scowls Shauna. 

“And you — you haven’t hurt anyone. . .?” 

Shauna shrugs and can’t help remarking, “Not if they haven’t deserved it.” 

“Shaun, cut it out,” frowns Travis, shaking his head, as Marcus’s Adam’s apple bobs. “Look, we’re just here to check out the new game, alright? Quit with the weird vibes. Now, are you gonna let us in or what? I’ve been dying to see this thing.” 

The blond-haired boy eyes the two of them for a second longer and then steps to the side. Shauna crosses the threshold and finds a room more scattered than her own. It is kinda similar in the bed and the bay window and the desk, but with some differences too. A threadbare rug sits in the centre, its colours muted with age. She notices the computer on the desk, its monitor bulky and the keyboard showing signs of heavy use. She wonders how much that costs — can’t be cheap. A stack of floppy disks rests beside it, each one labelled in faded marker with titles like Doom, Wolfenstein 3D, and Oregon Trail. Discarded Coke cans, a teetering stack of unwashed plates, and an assortment of heavy books lie on another table. Shauna wrinkles her nose.  

Travis walks over to the desk, his gaze scanning the disks on display. Marcus sits on the ledge overlooking the window. Shauna can’t help thinking he chose the position furthest away from her. She stays standing near the doorway, feeling awkward. 

“I seriously didn’t believe you when you said you have the new game. I swear this just hit the market,” says Travis with wide eyes, his voice filled with admiration.  

Marcus instantly becomes animated. “Yeah, I have a buddy who knows my dad, and he let me get my hands on this. It’s supposed to be one of the best strategy games out there. The graphics are awesome, and the gameplay is so immersive, you gotta see it. It’s set in the near future — somewhere between 2017 and 2020 — and you get to build bases, gather resources, and command armies in real-time battles. Trust me, bro, this is the real deal.” 

“Shit, Marc, that sounds intense. Can I have a go first?”

“Yeah, ‘course. Knock yourself out. Let me know what you think?” 

Shauna strides over towards the books, her curiosity piqued. “Hey, mind if I take a look at these?” she asks, reaching for the nearest one.

Marcus, still eyeing her with caution, hesitates for a moment before nodding reluctantly. “Sure, go ahead.” He looks like a bird about to take flight.

Shauna picks up a tome and flips through its pages, her fingers tracing over the edges. “Huh, The Art of War,” she murmurs, intrigued. “Classic choice.”

Marcus’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “You know Sun Tzu?”

Shauna nods, a small smile playing on her lips. “Yeah, I’ve read it twice. It’s kinda fascinating how the principles of strategy outlined here still apply to modern warfare, even in a game setting.”

Travis, who has been engrossed in the game on the monitor, looks over with interest. “You’re into strategy?”

Shauna shrugs, setting the book back down. “I dabble.”

Marcus’s scepticism begins to wane as he watches Shauna’s genuine interest in the books. “What about this one?” he asks, pointing to another volume.

Shauna picks it up, scanning the title. “Ah, The Prince by Machiavelli. Now, this is a classic too,” she remarks, flipping through the pages. “Controversial, but undeniably influential.”

Travis groans as the screen fades to black. “Fuck! You gotta be kidding me.” 

“Ah, tough luck, man,” laughs Marcus. “It’s challenging, I said so.” 

“Yeah, yeah, asshole, we’ll see who’ll be laughing when—”

“Dudeeee,” Marcus breathes like he’s choking on a hairball, gaze fixed out of the window. 

“What?” 

Curiosity bubbles in Shauna’s chest and she walks over to the window, Travis joining her, as they all look. Below, Shauna spots Jackie walking across the grounds in the Academy’s uniform for the first time. Her mouth turns dry. She takes in the way the white shirt and skirt accentuate her curves, the fabric clinging to her figure with a tantalising allure. Her hair is curled perfectly like a wave of satin ribbons with each lock bouncing with effortless grace. Shauna finds herself mesmerized by the subtle sway of Jackie’s hips; a fluttering sensation takes root, one which she can’t exactly pin down. 

“Marcus, you’re staring,” Travis comments, breaking the silence and drawing Shauna’s attention.

Shauna notices a shift in Marcus’s demeanour. His expression is replaced by one of quiet awe. He may as well have his tongue hanging out like a panting dog with how intense his gaze is fixed upon Jackie. Shauna can’t shake the feeling of discomfort that settles in the pit of her stomach, a persistent itch, scratching at her insides with relentless insistence, refusing to be soothed or forgotten. Jesus fucking Christ what is it with Jackie that makes people act like this? Herself included. 

Marcus quickly tears his gaze away, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “Sorry,” he mumbles, though there’s a hint of defensiveness in his tone. “I can’t help it.” 

“What is it?” Shauna can’t help asking.

“Jackie Taylor, that’s what,” Travis groans with a hint of irritation, wanting to return to the game. “He’s been hung up since she flashed him that smile freshman year, won’t shut up about her. Gets on my damn nerves sometimes. Especially when she’s already with someone else.” Travis rolls his eyes. “I don’t get it, really — she’s like this weird mix of Cindy Mancini and Angela Chase.”

Shauna raises an arched eyebrow. “I didn’t know you watch My So-Called Life,” she says.

Travis is quick to deny it. “I don’t. I just — know of it.” 

“They broke up actually,” says Marcus, snapping his head around. “She’s not with Jeff anymore, Trav. Good news. You know what this means.” 

“No,” Travis groans.

“It’s a killer opportunity. I’ve been waiting for this for so long. Now’s my chance. Jeff’s not in the way anymore. You know, sweep in, show her my moves.” 

“Chance to do what?” prods Shauna with a frown, but Travis runs a hand through his hair and answers. 

“For fuck’s sake, Marc, can you just drop it already? She’s never gonna give you the time of day, and you? You’re like a bumbling fool whenever she's around. You don’t have moves, man. You freeze up and can barely string a sentence together,” Travis says, frustration evident in his tone. “Just face it.”

“I just need to find the right moment to show her who I am. You’ll see, she’ll come around. And I’ve been working on it, alright, don’t be so quick to dismiss it.” Despite his bravado, there’s a hint of uncertainty in Marcus’s voice. “Maybe — maybe her type has changed, yeah, perhaps she doesn’t go for ripped, popular guys like Jeff anymore. Maybe she’s just waiting for the right guy to come along, sort of like a Prince Charming. Someone sweet, and sensitive but mysterious too. Someone who’s in touch with their emotional part and — and is passionate.” 

“And you know that how?” asks Shauna in faint amusement.

Travis snorts loudly, causing Marcus to scowl at him. “Sure, because nothing screams Prince Charming like a guy who trips over his own shoelaces. Dude, I think you’re more the court jester than the prince in this scenario.”

“Fuck off, Travis. And, I just do, okay,” says Marcus, throwing a short wounded look at Travis. “Look, it’s not fair, I’ve been waiting years for Jackie Taylor. And I’m not gonna let some other dude sweep in, someone like Jeff. Not when I already had dibs before him and his perfectly cut abs.” 

“You can’t call dibs on a person,” Shauna’s voice sharpens. “And you’re being a creep talking about her like this. It’s fucking weird.” 

“Okay, can we get back to the game now? Please,” sighs Travis. “Shaun. Marcus.” 

Marcus pauses on Shauna, shutting his mouth from whatever he is about to say. “Wait a minute. Shaun. As in the Shaun that’s joined our school paper.” 

“Uh. Yeah. . .”

Marcus looks as if he’s won the jackpot. A too-big-for-his-face smile creeps onto his lips. “Oh, my god. This is perfect, man. You’re supposed to be doing the Yellowjackets story, right? Dude, I need you to score me an in with Jackie Taylor.” 

“Marcus,” Travis grunts. “Seriously.” 

“Wait, I — what—” Shauna’s eyes widen and her jaw drops.

“Please, Shaun. Just put in a good word, that’s all. Just, like, drop a hint or something.” 

Shauna glares, crossing her arms. “No. I’m not your personal connection to Jackie Taylor. Do it yourself.” 

“I’ll give you the latest games that I have. Or — or any signed collectable. You can have your pick. Just not the limited edition Pikachu card — it’s the only one I have. Paid a lotta money for it. But anything else, you can have. Help a guy out.”

Shauna lets out an annoyed huff. “Look, I—” 

“If it’ll get him to shut up then just do it, Shaun,” remarks Travis dryly. “Trust me, you don’t wanna hear him blabbering on and on about her. You’d be doing us all a solid, even yourself. Just drop mention of his name, and he’ll be bouncing off the walls like a kid on a sugar rush.” 

Shauna turns quiet. She feels conflicted. Why is she so against this? Sure, she isn’t particularly close with Jackie, but there is something about the whole situation that doesn’t sit right with her. She tries to make sense of her thoughts. Hang on, she did say that Jackie deserves better than Jeff. And Marcus seems. . . earnest in his feelings at least. It doesn’t seem so bad, truly. Perhaps it can’t hurt to give him a chance, she reasons. After all, what harm can it do? She stares at the hopeful gleam in his eyes. 

“I’ll — I’ll think about it. . .” she mutters. 

“Thanks, man. I’ll owe you for this big time. Truly.” Marcus grins, his grey eyes, like a storm cloud, glinting with excitement and anticipation. It leaves a growing pool of unease to seep into Shauna’s stomach.

The camera hanging from her neck is heavy, and it feels as if it’s dragging Shauna down with it. She won’t mind, actually, not if it’ll get her away from the multiple stares and mutterings aimed at her from the circle of girls. She shifts awkwardly on her feet and fiddles with the strap holding the object as one of the coaches drones on. 

“Alright, girls, remember our game plan for today. Stay focused, okay?” 

A loud voice comes from behind the two coaches. “Coach Scott, do you need me to check the air pressure in the soccer balls again? I can do it right now, no problem!”

The girls stifle giggles, exchanging amused glances. Coach Scott's smile strains slightly, trying to remain composed despite the attention. 

“Um. . . thank you, Misty, but I think we’re good for now.” 

She nods eagerly, though her gaze remains fixed on Coach Scott like a hawk tracking its prey. Shauna’s brows rise to her temple. Jeez.

“Hey, Misty, I think Coach Scott can handle his balls just fine.”

The girls erupt into laughter, and the coach’s cheeks flush crimson with embarrassment. He clears his throat, shooting a warning glance before the other coach, the more serious-looking one, speaks. 

“Okay, enough. So, any questions before I hand you over to the captain?”

“Um, yeah, so, like, is anyone going to tell us why he’s here?” asks a dark-haired girl bluntly, raising a hand and shooting a curious look at Shauna, who suddenly feels a wave rushing through her ears. 

“Oh, yes. This is Shaun, girls,” Coach Martinez points out gruffly, his voice carrying a stern demeanour. With a striking resemblance to Travis, Shauna assumes he must be Coach Martinez, his dad. “Don’t pay him too much mind; he’ll be joining for the foreseeable future to take a few photos for the school paper.”

Shauna gives a hesitant wave at the circle of girls formed on the field, all donned in their soccer uniforms. Only one of them, a blonde-haired girl next to Lottie, gives a friendly wave. Lottie offers a nod. Shauna recognises Van and Tai, but the others she has no idea.

“More like take pictures of our asses, am I right?” the same girl mutters, her tone dripping with sarcasm, earning a giggle from the girl next to her.

“I didn’t know there were going to be donkeys on the field today. Do you think they’d let me pet one?” 

“What, no, Mel, she’s talking about—”

“Mari,” interrupts Coach Martinez sternly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “This will be good for us. And let’s be clear, this is not a negotiation. It’s an insight for others into what makes a winning soccer team. And we are winners, yes, ladies?”

“Yes, Coach,” they all chime. 

“Good.” 

Coach Martinez turns his head around. Shauna has been very aware of the presence of the honey-haired girl next to her for quite some time. Jackie looked surprised when Shauna walked onto the field with a camera and notebook. Shauna senses Jackie’s gaze. It feels like a laser beam, searing through the air and grazing the side of her face, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. She resists the urge to glance back and focuses on Lottie, who looks way too tall when she kneels like that. The same blonde-haired girl leans in close and whispers something and they burst into giggles, heads huddled together. 

“Okay, then, Jackie. All yours.” 

Coach Martinez looks over and all eyes settle on Jackie. Shauna expects her to falter under the weight of their gazes but Jackie inhales deeply, puffing her chest out and placing her hands on her hips. Her gaze sharpens, and she straightens as if to appear tall, poised and in her element. Shauna envies the natural confidence she inhabits. 

“Everyone,” Jackie asserts firmly. “You all heard Coach. Shaun’s just here to snap some photos of our practice today, so let’s welcome him with open arms like I know you all can, understood? We’ve got a major battle coming up, and I know we can get through it. We’re aiming for Nationals this year, remember? Believe me, we’ve got what it takes. I believe in each and every one of you. So, what’s the verdict?”

The girls nod in unison, some more enthusiastically than others. Shauna notices Mari rolling her eyes, but she doesn’t say anything this time. Jackie’s authoritative tone seems to have silenced any further objections, at least for now. She beams, a ray of sunshine. Shauna can sort of understand why Jackie is the captain. Her influence is strong with the girls, even those who seem reluctant don’t say much in disagreement. 

“Good, now. Gather around me all of you,” motions Jackie. “C’mon. I meant everyone, Tai, that includes you too.” 

Tai huffs and mutters something under her breath but does as Jackie dictates. As the team gathers around in a tighter circle, Jackie takes a step forward, her demeanour shifting into focused determination. Shauna watches from the sidelines, unable to pull her eyes away. There is a certain allure to Jackie, one that transcends the boundaries of the soccer field. As she stands there, her words ringing, her confidence radiates like a beacon, drawing everyone in with its magnetic pull. There’s a quiet intensity in the air as the girls wait for Jackie’s words. Shauna readies her camera to capture the moment, fiddling with the buttons that Asma taught her. She knows how a camera works, of course, but this one looks heavy and professional, and she doesn’t want to think about how much it costs. 

“Alright, listen up, everyone,” Jackie begins, her voice strong and unwavering. “I know today’s just a practice, but let’s not underestimate its importance. Every moment we spend on this field is an opportunity to improve, to grow stronger as a team.” She looks around at each of her teammates, making eye contact with each one to ensure they feel included in her words. “We’ve all got our strengths and weaknesses, but that’s what practice is for, right? To hone our skills, to work on our weaknesses until they become strengths. So, let’s give it our all out there today. Let’s push ourselves, push each other, and see what we’re truly capable of.”

A ripple of determination passes through the team as they nod in agreement, inspired by Jackie’s words. Shauna zooms in with her camera, capturing the power in Jackie’s eyes, the fire in her soul. Shit, no wonder Nat’s team lost against them. 

“Aye, aye, O Captain! My Captain!” grins Van and earns an elbow to the arm from Tai, who can’t help the amused roll of her eyes. Shauna smiles. 

Coach Martinez nods in approval, giving Jackie a satisfied look before turning his attention back to the rest of the team. “Alright, let’s get started then. You heard the girl. We have a lot to cover today.”

Shauna watches as the team disperses, some heading to the field, while others start stretching and warming up. She feels a bit out of place, not quite sure where she fits into this dynamic. She’s used to being in the stands, watching and cheering for Nat, not on a soccer field surrounded by a group of girls she barely knows. Jackie must sense her awkwardness because she turns to her instead of following the other girls. 

“Hey, stranger,” she says with a warm smile, her voice carrying a sense of familiarity. “I’m glad to see you again. Signed up for the school paper, huh?” 

Shauna snorts, looking at her. “Yeah. I figured I’d give Woodward and Bernstein a run for their money with my hard-hitting exposé on the Academy’s cafeteria food quality. Pulitzer material, I tell you.” 

Jackie laughs. “We’re counting on you to bring justice to our lunch trays starting with the meatloaf they serve. So, do you know much about soccer?”

Shauna shakes her head. “Not really. I mean, I’ve watched a few games here and there, but I’m no expert.”

Jackie laughs. “Don’t worry about it. You’ll pick it up quickly. Just focus on getting some good shots, and if you have any questions, feel free to ask.”

“Thanks. I — I really appreciate that, Jackie.” 

“Oh, make sure you get me from my right profile, it’s my best side.”

“Noted,” Shauna adds with a playful smirk. “Right side it is. Can’t have anything less than perfection, right?”

“You have no idea,” Jackie mutters, less playfully than Shauna expects. Jackie then crosses her arms and clears her throat. “So, um, I was thinking do you have any. . . plans this weekend?” 

“This weekend? Oh, uh, not really, no. I was just planning on reading and doing some studying. Super thrilling, I know.” Shauna smirks. 

“Wow sounds like a wild time,” says Jackie. “But I was kinda thinking of heading into town this weekend. I was supposed to be going to the movies with Lottie but think she’s helping Laura Lee out with something, so she bailed out.” 

“Oh. . . me?” 

“Yeah, I don’t wanna go alone, and also, I need to, you know, avoid Jeff and all. Don’t want to run into him anytime soon after that whole episode. And, uh, I thought maybe you’d wanna come along? I mean, we’re gonna be working on that paper together anyway, so. . . it could be a chance for us to, I don’t know, hang out a bit more. What do you think?”

“You’re allowed to leave for the weekend?” asks Shauna curiously. Figures why there are fewer people around during that time. 

Jackie blinks. “Well, ‘course, you can. It’s not a prison.” 

“Good to know, Jackie.” Shauna rolls her eyes playfully and then nods. “But, uh, sure that — that sounds good. I’ve been meaning to get a new book soon too anyway. So, yeah, I’ll come.” 

A gruff shout interrupts before Jackie can respond. “Jackie, let’s go, leave the flirting for now, we’ve got a game to practice.” Coach Martinez scowls and motions as he holds his whistle to his mouth. 

Shauna’s cheeks flush with embarrassment, and she clears her throat awkwardly. Jackie, however, seems unfazed, bounding to her starting position with confidence, her hair tied up in a scrunchie. It takes a few seconds for Shauna’s brain to reboot, and she raises the camera to her eye just as the shrill blast of the coach’s whistle cuts through the open air, signalling the start of practice. The girls burst into action, their movements fluid and purposeful. 

Despite her best efforts to concentrate, Shauna’s gaze inadvertently drifts and halts at Jackie’s form, momentarily captivated by the curve of her toned behind. Shauna tugs at her tie, feeling hot all of a sudden, as it digs into her throat and a low heat settles below. 

A voice cuts through the air, sharp and commanding. “Hey, what do you think you’re doing?”

Startled, Shauna lowers her camera, meeting the girl’s eyes behind her glasses with confusion. She glances to the side and sees that Coach Scott is preoccupied with the game. “Uh, just taking some photos. Like I’m supposed to,” she says. 

She frowns at the frizzy-haired, spectacled girl and a burst of recognition rushes through her. Wait. Isn’t this the same girl from the party? What’s her name again? Misty? Misty’s eyes narrow, a hint of wariness evident in her expression as she studies Shauna. 

“Yeah, well, just keep your focus where it belongs. We don’t need any distractions.”

Shauna’s brow furrows in confusion at Misty’s cryptic warning. “Distractions? What do you mean?”

“Nothing. It’s just that. . . well, we’re a tight-knit group here, you know? We’ve been through a lot together. And we don’t want anything to unbalance that.” 

With that, Misty pivots on her heel and walks away, leaving Shauna feeling unsettled amidst the cheers and shouts of the practice field.

Chapter Text

The classroom buzzes with the hum of Madame Dubois’ voice, the air heavy with the scent of old books, while pens scribble feverishly on paper. 

Jackie taps her crossed leg against the foot of her desk, her pen poised over her notebook, staring blankly at the front of the classroom. The rhythmic drone of the French teacher’s voice washes over like a lullaby. With her impeccable Parisian accent and perfectly coiffed hair, Madame Dubois seems to derive immense pleasure from discussing the intricacies of French grammar. 

Jackie stares at the clock, swearing that the seconds move that slowly just to spite her. A huff escapes her mouth. The walls close in, suffocating her with their beige monotony. Outside, rain pelts against the glass in a relentless barrage. She longs to escape the confines of the stuffy classroom and feel the refreshing coolness on her skin. Still, Madame Dubois’ lecture holds her captive like a prisoner in a dull, linguistic dungeon as she tries to decipher the sea of French sprawling across her notebook. 

French isn’t exactly her forte, a fact that’s glaringly obvious. She can’t shake off the nagging question of why she needs to delve into this ancient, mind-numbing subject. Sure, it’s essential for tests, but beyond that? It feels about as useful as a snowboard in the Sahara. She certainly isn’t plotting to whisk herself off to Paris to morph into the next Brigitte Bardot any time soon.

A wistful smile curves her lips as her mind wanders. Idling away in a quaint Parisian café, delicately sipping espresso while donning a chic beret, and effortlessly bantering with charming locals holds a certain romantic allure. Perhaps, by some twist of fate, she might enticingly stumble into the arms of a suave French boy, with his vocabulary hopefully stretching far beyond the realms of baseball stats. Some days, enduring Jeff’s relentless diatribes feels more tiresome than slogging through this lesson. She’s lost count of the times she’s nodded along, forcing a faux smile, only for him to finish up with a coaxing grin, his damp, touchy hands — that often made her stomach tie in knots — trailing along her skin in hopes of a blowjob.

The sole reason she picks French is because she thinks it to be her ticket out of her mom’s incessant nagging. You know, to shut her up. Jackie can hear her high-pitched, nasal voice ringing in her ear like a broken record: “Jacqueline, think how sophisticated, and elegant you could be if you could speak French. Oh, it’s so exotic! So much like a proper lady.” Desperate for a compromise, Jackie struck a bargain. She agreed to take French, but only if she could also try out for soccer, a sport her mother deemed too ‘rough’ and ‘masculine.’ Discovering that Lottie also enrolled eased Jackie’s initial apprehensions. 

It seemed like a reasonable decision at the time. However, four years later, Jackie still finds herself grappling with comprehension issues. The teacher, with a penchant for immersion, has a habit of communicating mostly in French and expects her students to reciprocate in kind, even for basic requests like using the restroom. She’s a full-on Military Commander. 

And now, trying as much as she can to focus, Jackie succumbs to the temptation of distraction. She steals a glance at Lottie, whose expression, a perfect blend of pure boredom and bewilderment, mirrors her own. Madame Du Blah (as Jackie has aptly named her), currently demonstrates the conjugation of some verbs that seem to have more twists and turns than a goddamn soap opera plot. She’s given up listening ages ago. 

Jackie’s gaze drifts down. Lottie’s lips glisten with a layer of bubblegum-flavoured gloss that probably tastes so delicious when it hits your tongue; she can’t help but be mesmerised by the shiny, pink perfection. In a totally objective way, obviously. There’s just something oddly captivating about them, though she can’t quite pinpoint why. Maybe it’s the way they catch the light, or the subtle hint of sweetness lingering in the air. Jackie averts her eyes. She’s learnt to push odd thoughts like these away like sweeping dust under the rug. 

With a sigh, Jackie tries to refocus on Madame Du Blah, but her mind keeps drifting back to Lottie’s lips, like a moth to fluorescent light. She licks her own sudden dry lips.  

“Psst, Lot,” she whispers, and Lottie’s brown eyes land on hers, raising an eyebrow. She continues, “Do you have some more gloss? My lips are getting chapped?” 

“Oh, sure, here.”

“Thanks,” Jackie murmurs, taking the offered tube from Lottie and applying it with care. She smacks her lips together twice and catches Lottie’s dark gaze. Her stomach clenches.

“So, do you know what she’s talking about?” asks Lottie in a hushed whisper, gesturing towards the teacher.

“Not a fucking clue. It’s, like, actual gibberish right now.” 

“Oh, totally.”

There’s a beat of silence as they consider each other with a shared, mischievous look. They simultaneously reach for each other’s notebooks, hoping to copy the other’s. Their pens hover over the pages, ready to mimic the intricate convoluted vocabulary. But to their surprise, they find themselves staring at nearly identical jumbles of words.

Jackie pouts. “Aww, shit. Well, this is awkward. I thought maybe you had some secret stash of knowledge hidden away.”

Lottie stifles a giggle, shaking her head in disbelief. “Sorry to disappoint, Jackie. Looks like we’re both in the same sinking boat.”

“God, this is such a snooze fest,” sighs Jackie and then grins as something occurs to her. She leans close to Lottie, the scent of perfume — Chanel No. 5, judging by the fragrance — filling her nostrils. “Hey, listen to this. Why did the French artist go to jail?”

Lottie looks intrigued. “Uh. I’m not sure. Why?”

“Because he refused to draw within the bord-à-ligne!” Jackie covers her mouth to stifle her snorting laugh, earning a few looks from those around them. 

Lottie blinks. Then blinks again. She opens her mouth to remark with a shake of her head, “Jackie. . . that — that was, like, so. . . bad.” 

“Hey, don’t diss the joke. It’s a classic and—”

“Jacqueline! Charlotte! Stand up. Would you both care to enlighten us with your private jokes?” 

Madame Du Blah’s tone is as icy as a scoop of glace à la vanille. The two girls snap their heads around and quickly mask their features with a neutral expression. They rise to their feet, and Jackie reflexively smooths down her skirt in case it rolls up. She remembers when she was fifteen after her parents had dropped her off at the school gates — hesitant to step inside due to their ‘schedule’ (which Jackie now understands is code for her dad’s poorly kept rendezvous with his secretary and her mom to day drink and pump herself full of valium pills) — her mom, lips curled with disdain, remarked that the uniform skirts are scandalously too short, making Jackie look like a downright whore. 

Jackie feels a bead of sweat trickle down her forehead. She hates disappointing people. “Um, Mrs — uh — Madame Du Bla—Dubois, we were just. . . practising our French dialogue! It’s a new technique for enhancing our pronunciation. It’s, uh, très profound.”

Madame Dubois raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “I see. Well, perhaps you’d like to demonstrate your newfound expertise.”

“Madame?” 

“Allez, Miss Taylor. Please translate the sentence on the board. And clearly. We would all like to witness this new technique of yours.”

Frantically scanning the board, Jackie tries to summon her confidence as panic settles in her chest. She clears her throat and reads aloud, “Um, ‘Le chat noir. . .’ The black cat—” But before she can continue her voice cracks, and she squeaks out, “Le chat. . . non, non! Noir! Le chat. . . noir. . . est. . . uh. . . est ass. . . assis! Oui, assis! Which is the cat — is, uh, not black.”

Madame Dubois’s expression shifts from disapproval to utter disbelief. “The cat is not black? Oh, but Jacqueline, I assure you, in Française, le chat noir means the black cat.”

Jackie’s face flushes crimson with embarrassment as the realisation of her mistake sinks in. A few titters arise in the background. Lottie shifts awkwardly beside her. 

“Oh! Um, right!” She smiles brightly. “Of course! That’s what I meant. Le chat noir. . . is. . . um. . . the black cat is um. . .”

Madame Dubois sighs deeply, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration. “Clearly, your technique needs a bit more refinement. How about you, Charlotte?” 

Lottie fiddles with her fingers, gaze fixed on her desk. “No, Madame Dubois.”

“No? Well then. Perhaps next time, you should both stick to traditional methods of study. How about that?” 

“Yes, Madame,” both mutter quietly and take their seats. 

“And Jacqueline, pull your tie up properly, please.” 

Jackie sighs and pulls her tie tighter along her collar so it isn’t loosely dangling anymore. Madame Du Blah needs to get that stick out of her ass, she grumbles inwardly. Jackie checks the clock and is thankful that there are only ten minutes to go. They may as well go now, what was the point of waiting? 

A disruption shatters her fragile peace as soon as the teacher steps outside. Randy saunters over with an air of misplaced confidence. His smirk is crooked and his eyes flicker to a sheepish Jeff sitting behind him, who avoids Jackie’s sharp gaze like the plague. Weighed with guilt, Jeff embodies the cliché of a remorseful puppy, his expression slumped and apologetic. It’s a scene played out more times than Jackie can count. She bites the inside of her cheek but does nothing to dissuade Randy from coming over. She knows what this means. It’s only a matter of time. She’s become attuned to these interruptions, sensing their arrival like a looming storm. 

Jeff is going to say that he’s sorry, that he doesn’t mean to call her a prude, to get angry for not wanting to have sex in the woods on a log that had bird shit, mud and all kinds of dirt stains; that he didn’t mean to abandon her in the icy cold with a missing jacket as he shoves his tongue and dick most likely in Tiffany Whitlock, a sophomore. He’s going to say sorry (please baby, she means nothing to me), that he made a mistake, (please, Jackie, I fucking love you, you’re the only girl for me, I promise), that he’ll never do it again (I was drunk out of my mind, I didn’t know half of what I was doing. Please, babe). 

Randy’s arrival is just the opening act in Jeff’s predictable playbook of forgiveness. Instead of facing things head-on, he opts for the cowardly route of sending his best friend to do the dirty work. Jackie can’t help but roll her eyes at the predictable pattern. It’s disappointing but not entirely surprising. Very manly of him, Jackie can’t help scoffing. She knows what comes next — the clichéd gestures: wilted flowers and stomach-churning chocolates that once made her miss practice just to recover. 

Randy clears his throat and then drawls, “Hey there, ladies. How are you this fine afternoon? Beautiful day, no?” His smirk oozes with insincerity. 

Jackie’s irritation simmers beneath the surface that she quickly masks. Lottie glances up with a furrowed brow at the interruption. 

“It’s raining, actually,” Lottie mutters dryly, causing Randy to falter and peer outside the window. There’s an awkward beat of silence. He blinks and then quickly composes himself and grins. 

“Well, you know what they say, rain or shine, it’s always a good time to see two foxy ladies,” he says, his voice dripping with faux charm.

Jackie raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. It’s as if there were slime trickling down her back with the way she shivers when he says that. “Cut to the chase, Randy. You’re not fooling anyone. What do you want? Or what does Jeff want this time? Make it quick.” 

Randy’s smirk fades slightly, but he quickly recovers, leaning against the table with a casual air. “Just thought I’d swing by to see how you’re doing, Jackie. You know, make sure everything’s cool between us. Well, also, Jeff just wanted me to extend an olive branch, you know? He’s feeling pretty rotten about everything on Friday.”

“Save it.” She crosses her arms. “I’m not interested in his pathetic apologies.”

Randy’s expression shifts, his facade slipping further. His voice comes out in a whine. “Aw, come on, Jackie. He really messed up this time. He’s genuinely sorry. Can’t you cut him a break?”

Jackie’s gaze hardens. “Sorry isn’t going to cut it this time. Tell Jeffrey if he wants to make things right, he needs to do more than just send his lackey to deliver half-hearted apologies.”

Lottie watches the exchange with a mixture of concern and curiosity but remains silent.

“Look, Jackie, I get it. Jeff messed up big time. But he’s really torn up about this. He’s not just sending me as some lackey or whatever, you know. He’s genuinely trying to make amends.” There’s a hint of desperation in Randy’s voice as he tries to plead Jeff’s case. “He’s been fucking beating himself up over what happened. He knows he screwed up, and he’s willing to do whatever it takes to make things right with you.”

“Take a hint, dude,” says Lottie, tapping her pen against the notebook. “She already said she’s not interested.” 

Randy switches between Jackie’s stony expression and Lottie’s tilted head and then slumps his shoulders with a sigh, raising his hands in surrender. “Alright, fine, damn, my bad. Jeez. Must be that time of the month, huh,” he mumbles under his breath as he walks over to an expectant Jeff, whose face falls as Randy shakes his head.   

“Asshole,” Lottie mutters under her breath, causing Jackie to smile.

Jackie thanks her lucky stars that she doesn’t run into anyone as she walks through the carpeted hallway of the boys’ dorm, her steps light but her nerves jangling like wind chimes in a storm. Memories of past visits with Jeff send a shiver down her spine; she’s always had a stray sock or t-shirt that probably hasn’t been washed in weeks fly over her head. Her eyes gaze over the door numbers. Which one did Shaun mention? Ah, yes! Number 9. 

Jackie hesitates for a moment before rapping her knuckles against the door of Shaun’s dorm. The sound resonates down the hallway, reverberating like a drumbeat in the silence. She shifts nervously from foot to foot, her heart pounding. It’s just a simple trip. Shaun had remarked that he needed to go to the bookstore soon, so Jackie had impulsively offered to take him to the nearest mall. She was originally meant to be going to watch a movie with Lottie, but she’d asked for a rain check after Laura Lee needed help with a last-minute project. Whatever.

As the door creaks open, Jackie expects to see Shaun’s familiar silhouette framed against the doorway. She envisions him, clad in one of his flannels, his dark locks tousled in that effortless way, and his brown eyes pinning her in place with their intensity. 

Jackie blinks, momentarily thrown off balance. A boy with floppy hair that falls in disarray stands there, his wary expression and alert gaze fixed on her. A pair of headphones lie on his shoulders as he wears cotton pants paired with a plain t-shirt. Her eyes linger on a dark, noticeable stain before peering up. What was his name? Flex? No, Travis, that’s right — Coach Martinez’s oldest son. Surprise strikes Travis’s face as he recognises Jackie. 

“Yeah?” Travis greets roughly, his eyebrows furrowing. “Did you, uh, want something?”

Jackie, never one to be rude, plasters on a dazzling smile. “Hi! Travis! You’re Coach Martinez’s son, right? I’m Jackie.” 

She sticks her hand out for him to shake but he looks at it oddly and ignores it. Jackie pulls it back and clears her throat. Not a touchy type, she thinks. Got it.  

“Yeah, I know that. What are you doing here?” His voice carries a slight tone of accusation, like a sharp arrow piercing through the air. “Did my dad send you? What does he want from me now?” Travis’s expression twists into a knot of vexation, prompting Jackie to twist her hands together in a nervous flurry of motion as she gestures emphatically.

“No, no. I’m just looking for Shaun that’s all. So. . . do you, like, know if he’s here?”  

Travis narrows his eyes, one hand gripping the half-closed edge of the door as if trying to shield her from the inside. “Why? What do you need from him?” 

She crosses her arms, letting out an airy giggle. It doesn’t appear to settle Travis. “Oh, nothing serious. Figured I’d just swing by and say hi. But hey, if he’s busy or something, no worries. I can catch him later.” Her voice is casual yet confident. 

Travis watches her for a moment then steps aside, allowing Jackie a glimpse inside. “Yeah, he’s here. Come on in.”

“Thanks, Travis. Appreciate it.” 

She walks inside the communal kitchen and feels Travis’s eyes on her back like a hawk. She peers around. She can actually breathe in here, thank god. The kitchen appears much cleaner than Jeff’s and Randy’s ever was; smells nicer too like disinfectant and cleaning supplies.

Back in Jeff’s dorm, she swears she caught sight of a fucking rat, its monstrous size rivalling that of a bowling ball, darting past the heaps of putrid garbage callously shoved into a shadowy recess. Jackie had screamed bloody murder at the time and refused to come inside until Jeff had promised that he’d disposed of the filthy rat. She ponders just how neglected their kitchen must have been for the situation to become so dire. But now, peering around this particular kitchen, she wonders if it’s Shaun who cleaned. He seems the most likely candidate considering Travis doesn’t know how to change out of his own shirt. 

“He’s taking a shower,” says Travis, his hands shoved inside his pant pockets. “He’ll be out soon. He takes a while getting ready for some weird reason.” 

“Oh. . . cool.” 

Jackie rocks back and forth on her toes as the two of them fall into silence. An image of Shaun’s wet hair flashes like the time when she caught him disgruntled, furious, and soaking wet from the rain in Old Man Merry’s office. She wonders if he spends as long perfecting his look as she does, gazing into the mirror, meticulously brushing for it to gleam with perfection — until the memory of her mother’s critical expression fades when she closes her eyes.

Most curiously, however, is that Jackie realises she’s not wholly against his whole dishevelled look, which is surprising. It’s. . . nice in the sense that it suits him. A queasy unease used to settle in her stomach when Jeff’s body, slick with sweat from baseball practice, grazed her eyes, and the viscous bile rose to the back of her throat when his lips and hot breath would press against her skin. After a while, she simply figured that she preferred a well-groomed, neatly shaved man instead. Most days, she convinces Jeff to shave his beard, as she despises the way the prickly hairs would bunch against her delicate skin like tiny barbed wires, leaving red patches that have to be hidden by concealer — a marred blemish on her otherwise polished, pretty appearance. 

She quickly shoves her thoughts away — out of sight, out of mind — and turns around when Travis speaks again. 

“Where are you going exactly?” Travis asks, trying to sound as if he doesn’t give two shits that she’s there. “With Shaun I mean. He never mentioned it.” 

“Hmm. Oh, we’re just going into town, the usual.” 

A subtle shift in Travis’s gaze hints at an underlying emotion and his tone is veiled with something that Jackie can’t decipher. “Oh. . . so, like, a, uh. . . a date then?”

Jackie laughs, and to her chagrin, an unexpected rush of warmth inundates her cheeks like a sudden flare of embarrassment igniting within her. She keeps her tone light. “Whoa there, jumping to conclusions already? We’re just hanging out, nothing serious. But, if you’re worried about him, I promise to bring Shaun back in one piece.” 

“Right.” 

The door swings open, and Jackie’s eyes catch Shaun’s. He strides in with relaxed confidence, clad in a green and white flannel that hangs to his form (every day, the colour of his flannels changes — he must have a huge number of them), hinting at the definition of his upper arms. Beneath, a crisp white shirt is neatly tucked into faded blue jeans, cinched by a brown belt. Her eyebrows rise to her temple.

His hair, still slightly damp from the shower, is styled with deliberate care, yet rebellious curls at the ends add a touch of effortless appeal. As her eyes travel over him, a spark of recognition ignites in Jackie’s mind. There’s something about the way the flannel drapes on him, reminiscent of Marlon Brando’s rugged allure — a stark departure from Jeff’s lauded golden-boy appearance, so readily approved by her mother. It’s a fleeting thought, but one that adds a layer of intrigue to Shaun’s presence. He looks. . . well, good, Jackie has to admit with a flare of curiosity. Like he’s made an effort. 

“Jackie,” says Shaun, his wide, bottomless brown eyes caught in wonder. “You’re here.” 

“Yeah,” replies Jackie, clearing the lump in her throat and pinning a relaxed smile across her lips. “Sorry, am I early?” 

“No, you’re fine. It’s all good. Ready to go?” he asks with a half-smile. 

“Yep.” 

“Cool. You look great by the way,” he says sincerely. 

Jackie, caught slightly off-guard by the compliment, responds in a bright tone of voice. “Thanks, Shaun. You’re not looking too bad yourself.” She smirks, trying to maintain her cool demeanour despite the minuscule fluster in her chest.

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Jackie, but it’ll take more than a few smooth words to win me over. I have high standards, you know.” Shaun scoffs lightly before deftly snatching his jacket from the hook by the door. With a practised fluidity, he effortlessly slides his arms into the waiting sleeves. “Hey, I’ll see you later, man, okay?” mutters Shaun, turning to Travis. 

Jackie forgets that he was also there.  

Travis stares at them. “Yeah, see you later, bro,” he answers, giving a nod. 

As Shaun graciously holds the door open for her, Jackie feels a rush of warmth and gratitude. As she glides past, a playful impulse overtakes her. She lightly brushes against him, her senses drawn to the subtle scent lingering on his shoulder. With a discreet tilt of her head, she leans in, inhaling deeply. He smells. . . clean, evoking freshly laundered linens, and his cologne blends into a lush tapestry of leather and spice with an undercurrent of. . . surprisingly enough, jasmine. The fragrance dances delicately, teasing her senses and leaving a trail of allure in its wake. It’s unusual but Jackie finds that she likes it all the same. 

They encounter Coach Scott near the front gates, who waves them on. Others in groups of three or four huddle with coats and scarves as they walk past and he jots down their names.

“Remember the curfew, Jackie, and I’m sure you’re aware of the consequences,” says Coach Scott in a bored tone, peering up from the notebook he’s scribbling on. “I don’t want to be sending out a statewide search if you fail to meet it.” 

“Of course, Coach Scott,” she says. “Curfew’s locked in. You can count on us to be back on time. Wouldn’t want to let the team down, right?”

“Yes. Well, on you go. Be back before nine.” 

It’s a convenient ten-minute walk from their school to the centre of town. The morning is breezy with light clouds though there might be a slight chance that it’s going to rain later. Jackie crosses her fingers that it won’t. It’ll be such a bummer if all the time spent curling her hair is a waste when it turns frizzy.  

Jackie watches as Shaun takes in the local mall with a curious gaze. Though some of the paint has diminished, a towering sign proudly displays the name ‘Wiskayok Mall’ in bold lettering. Outside lies neatly manicured lawns and flower beds that frame the entrance in some kind of bullshit attempt to make it look all-natural and welcoming. 

“Don’t get too excited,” snorts Jackie. “I mean it’s not exactly Bloomingdale or anything you’re used to but sadly enough it’s the most interesting thing next to the school around these parts, probably. Well, that and the occasional tumbleweed rolling down the street. This is the place to get your books I suppose.” 

Shaun grins at her. “Well, I guess if you’re into tumbleweed couture and bestsellers, this is the place to be. Who needs big city glamour, eh?”

They laugh as they push open the glass doors that have a small, discernable crack in the middle, most likely the result of some high school boys throwing a rock. Inside, the air hums with the buzzing of fluorescent lighting, casting a stark glow over the linoleum floors. The scent of freshly popped popcorn mixes with the sweet aroma of cinnamon from the nearby pretzel stand. Jackie spots the occasional glimpse of security guards patrolling the area. TLC plays from the speakers. 

Jackie stares at some display decorations in nearby stores, boasting about their new range of Halloween costumes. A huge sign beckons shoppers for the ‘Sale’ that’s on. She raises an eyebrow. It’s only September and Halloween is next month but these shops like an early head start. She guarantees that Christmas decorations will also soon be up before anyone can blink. 

But Halloween reminds her that she needs to decide on a costume sooner rather than later. She’s not going to buy anything from any of these stores, obviously. Her mom would sooner walk barefoot through a field of fucking thorns than have her purchase clothes from the same place as the townies. She’d presumably have a stroke if she even knew Jackie was here with a boy that wasn’t Jeff. Jackie pictures her familiar expression where she appears like a sour lemon and launches into a nagging lecture that makes Jackie feel like she wants to pluck her hairs off one by one. 

The problem is that Jackie doesn’t know who she will dress up as for Halloween this year. It’s been grating on her mind incessantly for the past few days like the relentless buzz of a mosquito in a quiet room. Prior to this, she meticulously planned an awesome couple’s costume where she’d transform into Sandy Olsson and Jeff would embody Danny Zuko from Grease. From the perfectly tailored leather jacket to the slicked-back hair, every detail was carefully curated to ensure they stood out as the epitome of ‘50s coolness, that they matched. She excitedly picked out the jacket he’d wear, ensuring it mirrored her costume flawlessly, envisioning the admiration and envy they’d elicit as the best-dressed couple at the party.

But now. . . 

Now, Jackie’s on her own. Jeff isn’t going to be there. With her, at least, for the first time. She isn’t going to belong, she’ll just be sticking out like an eyesore. The thought scares her a tad. Perhaps she should’ve taken Randy up on his offer. Forgiven Jeff like so many times before. 

“So I’m guessing it’s the big sign that says ‘Quills and Quire’,” says Shaun, narrowing his eyes. 

Jackie shakes her thoughts away and glances to the side. She can’t help quip, mouth pulling into a smirk, “Wow, Shaun, I’m impressed. You cracked the case of the century. Next, you’ll be telling us water is wet.”

Shaun rolls his eyes but smiles all the same. The only time Jackie steps foot in a bookstore is when she needs to get her coursebooks for school. She isn’t one to dive into books, especially romance novels gifted by her mom. Yet, Jackie has a soft spot for listening to other people’s tales. It takes her back to her favourite memories as a kid, back to first grade with Miss Brooks’, who had a knack for storytelling, her animated gestures captivating Jackie’s complete attention. And oh, how Jackie was enchanted by Miss Brooks’ shiny hair, almost begging to be touched, and her melodious voice.

Shaun appears to be in his element. It sparks a curiosity in her at his evident enthusiasm; the smell of old paper and ink envelops them as they enter the store. Shaun’s eyes light up, scanning the rows of neatly arranged shelves. A label underneath one shelf indicates ‘Classics’ in white lettering against a dark ground. His hands graze over them, mouthing the title of each one under his breath. 

“Shall I leave you guys to get a room?” Jackie teases, crossing her arms. 

“Don’t be so jealous,” says Shaun airily. “I’m sure you can find your own perfect match.” 

She watches him closely as he carefully selects a heavy copy of Jane-Something. He flicks the book over, reading over the blurb in a concentrated manner, eyes scanning back and forth. 

“Jane Eerie?” she asks, wrinkling her nose and moving closer to him to read over his shoulder. 

Shaun snorts. “Jane Eyre.” 

“Sounds gloomy.”

“Mmm, you might be right about that.” His eyes latch onto hers and he continues with a soft yet conviction-filled voice. “You know, most people actually think it’s just a sappy romance, but it’s deeper than that. It’s about this chick who refuses to let society’s rules hold her back, who fights tooth and nail for her own freedom and dignity.” He punctuates his words with a knowing nod, his gaze intense yet inviting. “It’s good, really. You should give it a try.”

Jackie swallows and then casts a playful smile. “So basically, she’s the original badass before it was cool,” she says with a hint of mischief in her tone. 

Shaun laughs and it surprises Jackie at how guttural yet delicately harmonious it sounds. She finds it as refreshing as a cool breeze on a summer’s day. 

“People can surprise you in all types of manners,” he remarks. 

Shaun’s enthusiasm is infectious as she watches him. He spends at least an hour in the store, and she’s mesmerised at his need to browse and comment on every book he finds like a child in a candy store, eyes wide with marvel. It’s kinda, well. . . cute, she admits. His explanations are clear and patient, delivered with a kindness that puts her at ease, and not at all feeling like she’s dumb. Despite her initial uncertainty, she finds herself asking more and more questions. With each answer, Shaun’s enthusiasm only seems to grow. 

“What? Why are you smiling, Jackie?” he pauses, staring at her. “Patricide is not a laughing matter. Not getting any ideas, are you?” 

“Don’t tempt me. But no, no, don’t worry,” she rolls her eyes. “No ideas here.” 

There is an enigmatic quality about Shaun that draws Jackie, an elusive charm. It’s akin to a gravitational force, a phenomenon Mr Edgers touched upon in Thursday’s physics class that Jackie was half-listening to. He’s different from most boys she’s come across. His gaze doesn’t drift to her breasts when she speaks; he doesn’t make crass jokes. Jackie discreetly views the side of his face when he isn’t paying attention. Even his facial features possess a unique quality, more. . . delicate-looking. He looks refined. Pretty even. Fuck, his skin is smooth, smoother than hers. 

Most of all, however, Jackie doesn’t know how to read him — he’s a puzzle with missing pieces, a total fucking mystery. Most boys are easy to understand. She’s studied them and knows what makes them tick. She’s aware that their eyes linger constantly, like she’s a medium-rare steak they can’t wait to get their teeth into. She knows to ignore the knots rolling down her stomach, making her want to take a shower every time because she feels unclean. The general gist is that she flicks her hair and bats her eyelashes and they’re putty in her hands. They’re either thinking about food, baseball — or asking for the millionth time when she’d be ready to have sex because it’s been way too long. And amidst it all, there’s the relentless chatter about Die Hard or the latest Mortal Kombat movie, a tedious drone that leaves Jackie yearning for silence. 

But everything Shaun does or says goes against her common knowledge. That night she’d felt sure that he was going to persuade her to invite him into her dorm room so that he could get a little reward. She’d been resigned to it, bracing herself as if going into battle. Sure, he got that creep away from her but he might have done it solely to get something in exchange. She’d been expecting the words to slither out of his mouth. They always want something: an under-the-shirt makeout session or a handjob in an empty classroom for public dates or buying jewellery or flowers. And Jackie always gave in because what else was she supposed to do? The persistent refrain of her mother’s voice rings in her ears, reminding her that if she doesn’t keep Jeff happy then he’ll leave her (You already play soccer, Jacqueline, you don’t want people to get the wrong idea, now, do you?).  

Now she isn’t so sure that she wants Jeff back. He was so annoyed when she pushed him that night after a sudden wave of panic and encroaching fear that consumed her. She remembers faintly that he snarled in frustration and said that he was totally over this, over her. He couldn’t wait anymore. He turned his back and stormed off. Jackie doesn’t know anything other than Jeff. She’s familiar with him; he’s safe and normal. Does she even want him back? There’s a sort of balloon-sized relief that sits in her chest now that he’s not attached to her anymore. But she’s not looking forward to seeing her mom’s reaction when she finds out that they broke up. 

Jackie wonders what type of guy Shaun is. Is he lazy or energetic? Arrogant or vain? He clearly doesn’t smell unpleasant, nor does he douse himself in cologne like Randy does to overpower the faint musky, booze scent that emanates off him. She chews on her bottom lip. What if this is all a mask, though? What if Shaun’s kindness is a shield against his true character? And he’s just biding his time for her to give up pieces of herself for him, ready and ripe for the taking? 

Suddenly, a pang shoots through her stomach, and she sharply inhales. Then comes another and she realises that these aren’t the typical knots that arise every time she’s forced to let out ear-splitting giggles with Jeff or one of his baseball friends after they make a crude innuendo. This is different, more intimately familiar. Jackie winces, doubling over as a sharp cramp pierces through her abdomen like a red-hot poker. She grits her teeth, trying to ride out the wave of pain, but it feels like an impossible task. She bites her lip, trying to steady herself, but the pain is relentless. Fuck, not now, she groans inwardly, trying to mask her pain. Please not now. It’s supposed to come next week, not this early. 

To her dismay, she must not be doing a good enough job to stifle the distress, as Shaun looks over at her with a frown, pausing in the flicking of his book, as an audible whimper escapes her mouth.

“Jackie. You okay?” he asks in a tone of light concern, placing the book back on the counter and taking a step towards her. 

Jackie manages a strained smile, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Nothing, don’t worry. Just. . . just a girl issue, that’s all,” she breathes out, each word punctuated by another stab of pain.

“Are you sure? You look quite pale.” 

Jackie forces a giggle despite feeling like she wants to huddle in a foetus position. Shaun’s expression doesn’t change. 

“It’s fine, honestly. Uh, just. . . just period cramps.” She rolls her eyes as if this is all an inconvenience. She wills her stomach to stop, her cheeks flushing red. She won’t be surprised if he recoils from her at this point, completely put off. Men are prone to shy away from touchy topics like this. Especially as it doesn’t concern them. 

Shaun’s countenance softens, and he gently places a hand on her trembling shoulder. “You should’ve said so. Look, I’ll snag you some water and meds, alright? It’ll help ease some of those cramps, trust me,” he offers earnestly.

Jackie blinks, startled at his immediate offer of assistance. What the fuck? It starkly contrasts Jeff’s usual reaction — avoidance of the subject altogether. Jackie watches him rise to his feet. She wonders if he’s merely stringing her along but his face looks serious and concerned. Oh, he’s not joking, she thinks with a touch of puzzlement. 

“You don’t have to do that,” she murmurs, not knowing what to feel, but the mounting wave causes her grip on her shirt to tighten.

“I know, but I want to,” Shaun insists. “Come.” 

“You — you didn’t get to buy your books,” she protests weakly. 

Shaun shrugs dismissively. “We can come back later or another day. Not the end of the world, promise. It’s not gonna disappear.” 

Shaun leads her to a bench outside, the fresh air a cooling balm on her flushed cheeks. Jackie watches as he heads back inside, a whirlwind of conflicting emotions swirling within her. She’s not used to this kind of care and consideration from someone else, especially not from a guy she’s only recently started getting to know. She leans back, trying to process what just happened. She can still feel the dull ache in her belly, but it’s overshadowed by the warmth spreading through her chest at Shaun’s gesture. 

Lost in her thoughts, Jackie startles when Shaun returns holding a bottle of water, a small packet of pain relievers, and some tampons. Jackie stares, her lips parted. He offers them to her with a gentle smile.

“Here you go,” he says softly. “I hope this helps.”

Jackie accepts gratefully, her heart feeling strangely light despite the discomfort she’s in. She takes a sip of water and pops the pills, already feeling a sense of relief washing over her.

“Thank you,” she replies, her voice laced with genuine sincerity. “I really appreciate it.”

“It’s no trouble. How are you feeling now?” 

“Uh. Better.” Jackie nods. “Definitely better.” 

“Do you want to go back to the school? We can if you want to.” 

“No, it’s fine. I just need a moment.” 

“Okay.” 

Shaun moves to sit next to her, his leg brushing against hers with a subtle tingle. Jackie can feel the pain dulling and is immensely relieved. She can’t fathom how she would have managed the rest of the day, enduring the pain with clenched teeth, had Shaun not taken notice. And he isn’t acting as if she has some contagious disease or anything like that. There’s no hint of pity or discomfort in his demeanour. It’s rather comforting; Jackie releases the tension she’s been holding, her muscles easing as if they’ve been granted permission to relax at last. Like her head has burst through the surface of the ocean and she isn’t drowning anymore. 

Jackie absurdly wonders for a brief moment if Shaun is a figment, some spectre or imaginary friend she’s fucking conjured up in her mind when in reality she’s underneath Jeff’s crumpled sheets as he paws at her like he’s getting his fill of a meal. Jackie knows it sounds insane and that Shaun is real, but she can’t help it. She takes a peek at his side profile. From this angle, his skin appears as smooth as polished marble, while his hair gleams a dark chestnut silk. Her hand twitches with a sudden urge to reach out, to feel the texture beneath her fingertips. She imagines the sensation of running her hand through his hair, anticipating it to be as bristling and rough as she’s accustomed to, yet instead, she envisions it as velvety and soft, akin to a field of delicate wildflowers.

Shaun’s gaze curiously scans the steady stream of people passing by, some walking briskly with purpose, others meandering lazily. A mischievous glint sparks in his eyes, causing him to then turn his head and lean in conspiratorially towards her.

“You know,” he says, his voice low, “we could play a game in the meantime. I used to do this with my friend when we’d sit on the steps and watch people walk past.”

“Aren’t we a bit too old for games?”

Shaun shrugs. “Never too old for a little fun, are we?”

Jackie arches an eyebrow, intrigued. “Okay, yeah. What kinda game?”

He turns his head back around and surveys the periphery with a narrowed gaze. His eyes land on a woman with a towering stack of shopping bags, her arms struggling to maintain their precarious balance.

“Alright, see her?” Shaun points discreetly. “Think of the most outrageous reason for who she is. Beauty of it is that it doesn’t have to be true, just make something up.” 

“Uh, I don’t know. She’s just a woman going shopping.” 

Shaun sighs. “No — okay, I’ll go first, alright? That’s, uh — that’s Felicity. Yes! Felicity, the world-renowned treasure hunter. She’s just returned from her latest expedition in the Amazon, where she discovered an ancient civilisation hidden deep within the jungle. Those bags you see? Filled with priceless artefacts.”

Jackie scoffs, crossing her arms, her cramps pushed to the back of her mind. “You know, unless Macy’s started stocking ancient relics alongside their handbags, I’m not buying it, sorry, Shaun.” 

“Come on, who’s to say Macy’s hasn’t expanded their inventory? Maybe they’re diversifying into the antiquities market!” He grins mischievously, clearly enjoying the game. “But hey, if you’re not buying it, let’s hear your wild tale.”

“Fine.” Jackie squints at a man with a peculiar hat who is whistling with his hands in his cargo shorts. “Alright, see him?” she nudges Shaun, trying to muster up some creativity. “That’s uh. . . that’s Bob. Yeah, just Bob. He works. . . at the uh. . . pickle factory down the block. Yeah, he’s probably on his way to get some dill pickles for lunch or something.”

Shaun stifles a laugh, trying to maintain his composure. “Bob from the pickle factory, huh? Wow, Jackie, you really outdid yourself with that one.”

Jackie shrugs, unable to contain a grin. “Not everyone can be a world-renowned treasure hunter or a spy, okay? Some of us are just living the ordinary life, one pickle at a time.” 

They both laugh, and Jackie realises that her stomach isn’t clenching in pain anymore. The relief quickly dissipates as a group of rowdy teenagers spill out from a Ford Escort that pulls out in front of them in the parking space with a braking screech. Their laughter, loud and grating, slices through the air. She narrows her eyes, recognising them with a sinking feeling in her chest.

“What the fuck?” mumbles Shaun with a frown, staring at them.

Jackie wishes they’d just walk past but luck is never on her side. One of them catches her eye and a slow smirk creeps onto his lips. 

“Hey,” a voice jeers, holding a shake cup. “Princess, fancy meeting you here. Shouldn’t you be on your knees for your asshole boyfriend? What’re you doing here? Sadecki’s not satisfying you enough, huh?” 

Shaun stiffens beside her, but Jackie can hardly look at him. She scoffs loudly despite the hollow feeling in her chest. 

“Wow, real original. You must have rehearsed that all the way here. Congrats on figuring out how to form a sentence without drooling all over yourself.”

They sneer, their features twisting. Jackie tilts her head, trying to look unbothered. 

“You think you’re better than us, don’t you?” one of the girls spat, her eyes narrowed with malice.

“Better than a bunch of pathetic, small-minded losers?” Jackie smirks, crossing her arms. “Yeah, I think so.”

A wet sensation smacks across her face like a weight train before she can blink, splashing onto her shirt and causing her to gasp.

“Princess got a little makeover,” one of the boys sneers, his tone dripping with derision. “Suits you. An upgrade I would say.” 

Shaun leaps to his feet but Jackie swiftly grabs his wrist, pulling him back, and shakes her head. Shaun can’t get into another fight no matter how much the idea pleases her. This isn’t just one intoxicated guy — Shaun doesn’t have the advantage of a glass bottle this time. There are a bunch of them and it’d be unfair. Besides, she doesn’t want to see his pretty face marred with purple bruises. The group erupts into derisive laughter, their voices echoing in the parking lot as they stride away. Jackie wipes the sticky residue off her face, letting out a tiny shiver. She’s not going to rise to the bait. Jerks like that are simply jealous, that’s all. No point crying over spilt tea or milk or whatever the fuck the saying is. It’s not the first time she’s had to deal with those types of people. Assholes, she mutters under her breath.

“Leave it,” she mutters. “It’s not worth it, Shaun.”

Shaun’s jaw clenches so tight she worries for a moment that it’s going to break. His eyes are unsettlingly dark like the depths of a bottomless abyss, swallowing up every hint of light and casting an eerie shadow over his gaze. Jackie’s throat constricts and she can’t look away for some reason. 

Later, when she exits the bathroom after cleaning up, her face as fresh as a newly bloomed rose, she sees Shaun waiting there with a bottle of what appears to be charcoal lighter fluid. She frowns in bewilderment. Her dad used that for his backyard barbecues when she was in middle school. Her mind flashes like a projector: a neatly mowed suburban lawn, her Mary Janes pulled so tight that it hurt when she walked (her mother strapped them, of course), the faint scent of roasting meat and the intoxicating smell wafting off Amanda Williams (who’d notoriously purchased her first real bra — a fact that Jackie couldn’t shake off her mind all through seventh grade) that made her feel light-headed and flushed the rest of the afternoon. 

She shoves the image away, not liking the uncomfortable sensations it stirs up. Jackie stares, wondering why the fuck he bought that. She throws him a questioning look as she approaches but he simply shrugs, his mouth pulled into a thin line. 

“Uh, Shaun, where are we going?” she asks him as they walk out into the empty parking lot again. “Didn’t you want to get your books?”

Shaun doesn’t answer at first. He reaches the same muddy, beat-up Ford Escort with a calculating gaze as if dissecting a frog. He then scans the surrounding area and leans down to pick up a heavy-set rock. Shaun moves closer to Jackie and holds out the rock. 

“What—” 

“Take it. Go on.” When Jackie hesitantly grabs it with wide, baffled eyes, he motions towards the car. “Now throw it as hard as you can at the window.” 

Jackie’s hand trembles slightly as she clutches the large rock, feeling the weight of it in her palm. She glances at Shaun, his expression hardened, his eyes burning with a fierce intensity she’s never seen before. His quiet anger is tangible, radiating off him in waves that make her step back involuntarily.

“What — what do you mean by throw it?” she asks, her voice barely a whisper, her heart pounding in her chest. “Like at the car. . .?”

He doesn’t answer her, just nods, his jaw set in a grim line. Jackie’s mind races, trying to make sense of the situation. Taking a deep breath, she steadies herself, her fingers tightening around the rough surface of the rock. Without another word, she winds her arm back and hurls the rock with all her might at the window. The glass shatters with a loud crash, sending shards across the curb. For a moment, Jackie is frozen, the adrenaline coursing through her veins, her mind reeling from what she’s just done. But then she looks at Shaun, and his cold, unwavering gaze sends a chill down her spine. The fucking crazy thing is that Jackie doesn’t feel any remorse whatsoever. 

“I hate fucking bullies,” he mumbles. “It’s gonna cost those assholes big time to fix this. They deserve it. It’s about karma, you know? What goes around comes around, or some shit like that.” 

“Shaun. . . I — I don’t know if this. . .” she stammers, but she can’t finish her sentence as she watches him pour almost the whole bottle over the car, the pungent scent of the fluid permeating the air. 

Shaun pulls out a lighter and flicks it open. His eyes hold hers for a second and her heart quakes. He then tosses it into the car, igniting the lighter fluid in a burst of flames. A blazing inferno ignites, casting a weird glow over the parking lot. Shaun smiles in satisfaction, his face illuminated by the flickering flames. 

This lasts for about a second before a loud shout shatters the peace. A security guard, his eyes bulging and mouth gaping as wide as a fish, runs out to see the commotion and yells for them to stay right there. 

“Fuck,” says Shaun, groaning. “We need to go. Don’t look around or he’ll see your face,” he adds with a hiss. 

Without hesitation, Shaun grabs her hand, his grip tight and urgent, and they run, their footsteps echoing against the pavement. Shaun’s hand tightens, his touch grounding her amidst the chaos. As they dash through the parked cars until they turn around a block onto a main street, Jackie steals a glance. His expression is unreadable, a mix of determination and something darker lurking beneath the surface. She can’t help but notice the contrast between Shaun’s usual kindness and his outbursts of violence. She wonders how he can go from being so kind, funny and good-natured into such brutal savagery as if something dark is brewing inside him. He appears like a different person, reminding her of the ocean: a constant surprise, never following a predictable course. Her heart squeezes. God, they just committed fucking arson, which she’s pretty sure is a felony. Tai must’ve mentioned that somewhere. 

They come to a slow stop, and a few cars pass but there are barely any individuals on the street. Shaun pants and leans his hands on his knees while he peers behind him.

“I think we lost him. Don’t think he’s following us any longer,” he says. 

“That — that was insane,” breathes Jackie, shaking her head. “And reckless. And stupid. We’re lucky we didn’t get caught.” Shaun looks at her and offers a small smirk. 

“You seemed to enjoy it,” he points out. 

Jackie crosses her arms, rolling her eyes. “That’s not the point. You — we could’ve got arrested for that. We broke, like, a hundred different laws just then.”

“Hundred is pushing it. Maybe just one or two.” Shaun snorts. “It felt good though, didn’t it?” 

Jackie replies after a moment of silence. “Yeah. . . it felt fucking awesome. Only wish I could’ve seen their faces.” 

“Yeah, that’s a bummer.” Shaun checks his watch. “Hey, we still have a while until curfew. Shall we start heading back now?” 

“Not yet. Fancy a movie?” 

“Now?”

“No, next year, of course, I mean now.” Jackie tilts her head in amusement. 

“Alright, smart-ass,” Shaun chuckles, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Sure, let’s catch a movie. Got anything in mind?”

In the dimly lit theatre, the glow of the screen illuminates Jackie and Shaun as they settle into their seats with a sense of anticipation lingering in the air. The opening credits of The Net flicker onto the screen, casting shadows on the faces of the audience. She reaches a hand inside the bag of buttery popcorn. Shaun had let her pick the movie and she’d immediately chosen the poster with Sandra Bullock; she’d been obsessed after watching Speed with Jeff. She’s gorgeous, there’s no doubt about that. Keanu Reeves was good too but Jackie couldn’t pull her eyes away from the actress. 

Jackie is pleasantly surprised that Shaun doesn’t argue against her decision. She thought for one second that he was going to select Mighty Morphin Power Rangers but apparently not. She can’t count the number of times she has to give in just to avoid an argument with Jeff no matter how much his movies bore her to tears. 

After the credits roll and the lights brighten, Shaun turns to grab the empty bag off her lap to throw in the trash. He was considerate enough to let her finish most of the popcorn despite paying for it. As they emerge into the crisp embrace of the evening, Shaun’s gaze finds hers.

“Well, that wasn’t half bad,” he says. “What did you think?” 

“Yeah, it was good. I think Sandra Bullock was great in it,” she replies truthfully.

Shaun chuckles, his laughter mingling with the night air. “Oh, absolutely. Not bad for a spontaneous pick. I mean, yeah, it was. . . intense. But I found it fascinating. But isn’t it crazy to think how much of our lives could be vulnerable to something like that?” 

“Vulnerable?” Jackie’s voice shifts to scepticism as her nose wrinkles. “You mean, like, our whole lives ending on a screen basically? That. . . that’s kind of sad, don’t you think? Come on, Shaun, you don’t actually believe all that stuff could happen in real life, do you? I mean, sure, it’s entertaining as a movie, but in the real world?”

“Why not?” He shrugs. “We already rely so much on technology. Our personal information is out there, floating in cyberspace. It’s not that far-fetched to think someone could exploit that. There are definitely some sickos in the world who’d take advantage.”

“I just — I find it hard to believe that our entire lives could be reduced to data points on a screen. It’s out there, sure, but it’s protected. Secure. Right?”

“Is it, though? We hear about data breaches all the time on the news. Companies getting hacked, information leaked. It’s like playing with fire.” 

“Now you’re just sounding like a conspiracy theorist,” Jackie teases.  

“Think what you want but we’re living in an age where technology evolves faster than we can keep up. Who knows what could happen out there in the digital wilderness is all I’m saying?” he says with a light tone. 

As she meets Shaun’s soft brown eyes, their hue of a deep, rich caramel, and his gentle, pretty smile, Jackie’s heart trembles unexpectedly in a way she’s never experienced. Not with Jeff, Matt Rodriguez, whom she pretended to have a crush on during freshman year, nor the countless nameless, faceless boys she careened between in middle school like riders on a carousel. 

Her breath catches, and she blinks rapidly, trying to make sense of the fluttering in her chest. This feeling is foreign, overwhelming, and utterly unanticipated. Oh. Oh, this is new, she thinks reverently. This is new territory, and Jackie finds herself wholly unprepared. The familiar tactics she relied on in the past with Jeff — crafted from scenes in movies — suddenly evaporate from her mind. It’s as if she’s been thrust onto a new stage, where the lines she once memorised have vanished, and the spotlight now shines on a different story altogether. How is she supposed to figure this out now? 

Caught between the urge to cry and the desire to laugh with unbridled delight, she grapples with the profound realisation that perhaps, just perhaps, she is a normal girl, as her mother so desperately desires. She can harbour real, raw, heart-gripping crushes on boys just like everyone else. She’s not some anomaly, some elusive Big Foot, some fucking freak standing further away from everyone else. In that fleeting moment, amidst the crisp evening air and the gentle glow of the streetlights, Jackie wonders if there’s nothing wrong with her after all.

She nudges him playfully. “Yeah, yeah, next time I’m picking a rom-com. Preferably one with Bruce Willis.” 

“Next time?” Jackie hears Shaun mutter but her brain freezes when she checks her pink watch. 

“Oh, fuck! Shit!” she curses loudly. 

Shaun’s eyes snap to hers, scanning over her form. “What? What is it?” 

“We’re fucking late, that’s what. Curfew was half an hour ago.” Shaun’s face pales considerably and his mouth parts. 

“Fuck. . .” he echoes. “What’re we going to do? We could get into serious trouble for this, no?” 

Jackie bites her lip. “Well, yes. And no. . .” 

“Yes and no. What does that mean exactly?” Shaun furrows his brows. 

“We. . . we’re gonna have to . . . to, well, kinda, like, channel our inner ninjas and sneak in. And pray we don’t get caught.” 

Shaun blinks. “Why? What happens if we get caught?” 

“Oh, you know,” Jackie shrugs. “Detention, grounded for eternity, maybe a dramatic lecture from the principal about the importance of punctuality.”

“You’re not making me feel any better,” grumbles Shaun worriedly. 

Jackie stares at him. “You can torch a car, smash a bottle over a guy’s head but you’re shaking in your boots over detention?” 

Shaun’s cheeks blaze with an intense tint of crimson. “That’s. . . that’s not what. . .” He takes a deep breath. “Let’s just get this over with then, shall we?” 

As Shaun and Jackie approach the school, they exchange nervous glances. The school grounds are eerily quiet, with only a few dim lights flickering in the distance. Knowing they have to act fast to avoid getting caught by Coach Scott, they scan the perimeter for any sign of movement.

“Alright,” Jackie whispers, entering captain mode because the situation demands it. “We need to be quick and quiet without setting off any alarms.”

Shaun nods, looking nervous but oh-so-pretty yet sombre in the glowing light. Jackie spots a small gap in the fence just big enough for them to tightly squeeze through. This must be how that townie snuck in before. 

“Over there,” she murmurs quieter than an ant, pointing to the opening. “We’ll have to be careful not to make too much noise. It’s not Coach we have to worry about, it’s Old Man Merry. He’s probably watching us through binoculars right now.”

“I can’t believe this, just when I think we’ve hit the peak of absurdity,” says Shaun with incredulity. “I just hope we don’t find ourselves face-to-face with a pack of guard dogs on the other side.” 

“Well, if we do then you better hope that you’re a fast runner,” Jackie mutters off-handedly and then gestures with a wave of her hand. 

“That’s so not making me feel any better.” Shaun pauses, his eyes widening. “Wait, there are guard dogs here?” 

Jackie smirks. “I’m kidding, obviously.” 

“Right, yeah, I knew that,” he says nonchalantly. 

They move stealthily towards the gap, staying low to the ground to avoid detection. Holding their breaths, they squeeze through the opening, relieved to find themselves on the other side without setting off any alarms. They turn to stare at each other and grin widely, letting out a tiny laugh. Easy as pie. 

“That was a close one,” she mutters, looking at him, who appears incredibly relieved. Nerd, she thinks fondly. 

“Tell me about it.” They start making their way closer to the buildings and their arms brush together. “Well, congrats on your first time sneaking into school, Shipman.” 

Shaun stares curiously. “How do you, uh, know my last name? Don’t think I ever told you. You’re a stalker now too, Jackie?” He grins, earning him a tiny nudge to the shoulder. 

“Come on, you know I’ve got my ways,” Jackie replies with a playful wink. Her chest feels as light as a feather floating on a gentle breeze. “Let’s just say I have a knack for picking up on things. But no need to worry, I promise I won’t go full-on detective mode on you. . . unless you’ve got something to hide?” She teases, raising an eyebrow mischievously.

Shaun instantly begins coughing. It’s so sudden that concern creeps into her expression momentarily before she quickly masks it with a light chuckle.

“Hey, you okay?” Her voice tinges with genuine worry as she reaches out to pat his back gently.

Shaun’s response is a strained smile, his eyes watering and flickering with unease before he manages to compose himself. “Yeah, yeah, just a tickle in my throat, you know how it is,” he replies. 

“Oh. Did you wanna go get some water or something? Cafeteria should have some bottles stocked.”

“No, I’m — I’m fine, honestly, it was just—” Shaun stops in his tracks mid-sentence. His eyes narrow and he turns his head to each side, brown eyes darting everywhere. He reaches out to grab her wrist. “Wait. What the fuck was that? Did you hear it?”

“What—”

“Shush! Listen!”  

Jackie listens with bated breath, which releases a misty whiteness in the twilight. A bird coos and something howls. Wait. She becomes aware of an odd prickling sensation at the back of her neck. There is something. . . A faint rustling sound from nearby. Her heart pounds in her throat, and Jackie reaches for Shaun’s hand that is gripping her arm. His hand is warm and unnaturally soft, bringing her some comfort in his presence. Thoughts of wild animals race through her brain. 

“It’s. . . it’s probably just a squirrel,” mutters Shaun, trying to add some confidence to his tone. “Nothing for us to worry about.” 

“Hello,” calls Jackie as bravely as she can muster. “Is that you Mr Squirrel?” 

Shaun makes a sound of choked mirth. “Jackie, appreciate the help, but it’s a squirrel, it’s not going to answer you.” 

“You don’t know that. And, well, a squirrel with manners would certainly be a refreshing change from the usual forest critters. Who knows, maybe he’ll even offer us some nuts as a peace offering.” 

This time the sound is louder and definitely nothing resembling a squirrel at all. It’s getting closer and closer to them. Neither move out of sheer fear. Jackie digs her nails into Shaun’s hand, most likely leaving half-moons into his skin, but he doesn’t seem to notice as his eyes are fixed on the direction of the sound. 

“Squirrels have footsteps?” she mutters questioningly, her voice wavering, and Shaun has no retort. 

It is unmistakably footsteps belonging to something. Or several someones. Then comes murmurs like the sinister whispers of unseen phantoms, each syllable sending a chill down their spines as they stand frozen, clinging to each other, their hearts pounding in fearful unison. Shaun tugs her closer until her breath hits the side of his face. She swallows the lump in her throat arising either from fear or proximity — she’s not particularly clear on that right now. Shaun tenses as if bracing for something. They are approaching nearer and nearer. . .

Jackie screams, her voice piercing the night, and so do the figures belonging to the footsteps. 

“Jesus — Jackie! Fucking hell!” 

“Fuck me, I nearly shit myself then!” 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” 

“Me? What about you guys?” 

Jackie realises that her wrist has been released from Shaun’s hold, and he’s staring into the faces of some of the Yellowjackets with sheer disbelief, his eyes blown so wide that they look like pits. Jackie crosses her arms and turns her ire to her teammates, hating being caught so off-guard from the scare she received. 

“I’m still waiting for an answer.” Her voice is stern and high-pitched. “Come on, one of you, fess up. What are you all doing at this time on the grounds? We have practice in the morning. Well?” 

Tai and Van immediately turn shifty and avoid eye contact. Lottie becomes quiet, and Akilah peers at the ground, fiddling her fingers together. Mari, however, scowls at her. 

“Us? I could ask you the same question?” demands a disgruntled Mari. 

“Mari.” 

“Alright, fine, we were just taking a stroll.” Mari looks nonplussed, shrugging.

“At this time?” 

“Yeah, so what?” 

Jackie glares, resisting the urge to stamp her foot. “I’m not joking, somebody better own up before I assign you all laps tomorrow.” 

“We already told you—”

“We meant no harm. We were just going to see the haunted turret.” 

“Lottie!” cries Mari with a groan. “Thanks a lot.” 

Lottie looks sheepish and apologetic amidst the chorus of protests from the others. Jackie’s eyes practically bulge out of her head. 

“The haunted turret? You mean the out-of-bounds tower?” she snaps. “Are you kidding me? So you’re looking for ghosts basically.”

Lottie fidgets nervously. “I-I didn’t mean to blurt it out like that,” she stammers, “but we were just going to see, you know, for fun.”

Tai sighs, unable to contain herself. “Yeah, because nothing says ‘fun’ like potentially conjuring an angry ghost in the night.”

Van chimes in, trying to lighten the mood. “Hey, Jackie, it’s all in good spirit, pardon the pun if you will. We figured it’d be a good team-building exercise! What better way to bond than by facing the wrath of the undead together?”

Akilah nods solemnly like she is on trial for a crime. “Yeah, we were thinking it could help us channel our energy for the next game.”

Mari frowns at Van and Tai as if a question has just occurred to her. “Hang on, what were you two doing out of dorms this late? You guys bumped into us, you weren’t with us before.” 

“Nothing, we weren’t doing anything,” replies Van quickly. “Just getting a snack.” 

“Mind your business, will you, Mari,” says Tai rather snappishly, wrinkling her nose. 

Jackie pinches the bridge of her nose, trying to stave off a headache. “Look, whatever, okay. I don’t care. I can’t believe I’m hearing this. Do you realise how crazy this sounds? We’re not the — the Ghostbusters or some shit.”

Van chuckles, unable to resist the opportunity for a jab. “Well, who you gonna call then, Jackie?”

“Guys, we don’t have time for this. I think we should go before Old Man Merry or Coach Scott hears us,” says Lottie, eyes scanning the distance. 

“Are you going to report us to the Coach?” asks Akilah pleadingly. Her eyes look wide and her voice is quiet enough that Jackie falters, blinking. 

“No. . .” she admits with a sigh. “Of course not.” 

“Uh, ghost?” says Shaun warily, turning all their attention to him. “Sorry, did you actually say ghost?” 

Mari eyes him. “Yeah. That’s what we said. Why — do you wanna come?” 

“We’re not going anywhere?” says Jackie, frowning. “We’re all heading back to our dorms right now.” 

“So, you’re free to go on your little date and miss curfew, but the moment we mention the turret, it’s a no-go? Give me a break,” Mari mutters, rolling her eyes.

“It wasn’t a date!” interrupts Shaun quickly. 

“Come on, Jackie, it’ll only be for a minute or two,” urges Van. “You can come with us if you like.” 

Shaun looks at Jackie with a shrug. “I mean it couldn’t hurt. You can even time it,” he suggests, and Jackie can’t find it in herself to say no. This. . . this is a problem. 

As they cautiously peer up the stairs to the forbidden turret, the group’s hushed whispers echo in the dimly lit corridors. Mari can’t resist stirring the pot.

“Hey, do you think the Wandering Lady can sense us?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes wide with excitement.

Lottie furrows her brow in thought. “Uh, I don’t know, Mari,” she says softly, her voice wavering slightly. “It’s. . . it’s probably not a good idea to. . . to talk about her when we’re so close.”

Tai rolls her eyes dismissively. “Oh, please. Don’t start with that nonsense. The Wandering Lady is just an old fucking ghost story. Grow up, will you?”

“What’s the, uh, the Wandering Lady?” Shaun asks curiously beside her. 

“Just some bullshit people make up for fun,” sighs Jackie, “I wouldn’t pay any attention to it.” 

“It’s based on a legend so there are some elements of truth to it,” argues Lottie softly, looking at him. 

“Go on, Lottie, tell him,” urges Mari. “Can’t believe he still doesn’t know yet. You tell it the best than any of us.”

Eyes swivel to Lottie and Shaun looks interested as he stares at her, gaze focused. Jackie frowns when Lottie and Shaun’s eyes fix on each other. She wonders why Laura Lee didn’t come too. 

“Her real name was Agatha when she was alive,” Lottie starts, her voice carrying a weary resignation. Even Tai, usually one to interject, doesn’t interrupt. “She used to be a teacher here back in the late ‘40s, early ‘50s, I reckon. Miss Schulz, they called her. Always tottering around in those high, high heels, making that clackity-clack noise down the hallways. Folks say she was a nightmare in those days. Would whip the kids, smack ‘em around, ‘cause, you know, it was all legal back then, what with corporal punishment and all. She had this whole aura of terror about her. Everyone practically loathed her.”

Shaun gives a short sound that sounds like a chuckle. He seems faintly amused. “Sounds like a real charmer then. She could’ve given Darth Vader a run for his money.” A few laughs break the tension. 

“Yeah, except Darth Vader probably had better people skills,” says Jackie, catching the glint of his eyes as they settle on her. Her mouth turns dry as she notices how his two front teeth are longer than the rest of them. Cute, she thinks fondly. Like a bunny. She’s always adored bunnies. 

“Shush!” says Mari, glaring at them. “She’s not done yet. Listen.” 

Jackie rolls her eyes but continues listening as the group turns hushed again when Lottie continues.

“She fell in love with a man in the nearby town one day apparently,” Lottie continues, her voice dropping to a whisper. “But it wasn’t meant to be. He was already promised to another, and Agatha, well, she couldn’t handle the rejection. They say she went mad with jealousy, spending her days locked away in that turret, staring out at the world with hollow eyes. Whenever someone would approach she’d scream at them.”

Mari shivers — her excitement from earlier now tinged with unease. “And then what happened?” she whispers, her eyes wide.

“Well, they say one day, a student — nobody knows who, really — pushed her from that same turret,” Lottie murmurs, her voice barely audible now. “Some say it was an accident, others believe it was deliberate. But regardless, Agatha fell to her death. And she cursed that place eternally because if you listen closely you can hear her heels clicking around the chamber sometimes.”

Jackie’s fingers brush against someone’s hand. Startled, she glances over to find Shaun looking back at her, his expression unreadable in the dim light. For a moment, their eyes lock, and Jackie feels a strange sensation flutter in her chest. The cold fear of the moment seems to thaw slightly, replaced by a warmth she can’t quite explain. Shaun’s lips twitch into a small, reassuring smile, and Jackie feels a sense of reassurance wash over her. 

Tai loudly scoffs, breaking the tension. “Are we really going to buy into this cursed turret nonsense? It’s just a story to scare freshmen. I mean, sure, maybe some old teacher kicked the bucket here, but that doesn’t mean her spirit’s haunting the place. Get real.”

“I-I don’t know,” says Akilah uncertainly. “I mean I’ve heard a clacking noise when I’m near and sometimes the windows fly open and—”

“It could be the wind,” Shaun points out, and Tai throws him an appraising look. Jackie squeezes his hand tighter. 

“Precisely,” says Tai breezily. “Let’s use some common sense here. Wind gusts can be pretty strong, especially in this part of the building.” 

“Really, Tai?” says Mari, flicking her hair and giving a loud, shrill laugh. “I guess you’re just jealous because if there are any spirits around here, they’re probably avoiding your negative energy. But if you’re so sure it’s all a load of crap, why don’t you go spend the night alone in the turret? We’ll even leave some snacks for the ghost to munch on while she listens to your lectures on wind patterns!”

“Hey now—” interjects Van with a frown. 

Tai glares. “You know what, Mari, I—” 

Jackie, sensing the tension escalating, takes a step forward, ready to diffuse the situation, but suddenly a bright light glows on all of them, cutting her words off. For a hot second, they all believe it’s coming from a phantom. She shoves herself against Shaun, fingers desperately racing to grasp at his flannel, as gasps of fear and screams escape their mouths. 

“What the hell are you all doing here?”

Coach Scott’s looming face stares at them disappointingly as he shines a torch at them. His tone is stern, his disappointment palpable. The group squirms under his piercing gaze, feeling like naughty freshmen caught red-handed. Old Man Merry stands behind him with a slimy grin on his face, his eyes twinkling like the glint of a serpent in the shadows. His smile is as unsettling as nails on a chalkboard. 

“Dear, oh, dear,” says the janitor, tutting. “We are in trouble, aren’t we? I said there were students out of their dorms, didn’t I?” 

Jackie plasters a smile on her face. “Uh, Coach Scott. We were just, uh—” 

Coach Scott shakes his head, grimacing. “Sorry, Jackie. But you know the rules. No excuses. Two weeks detention, for all of you. Oh, and Jackie, make that double for you and Mr Shipman there for missing curfew.” 

“Damn,” mutters Mari under her breath.

Jackie’s smile falters slightly but she maintains her composure, nodding in understanding.

“Understood, Coach. We’ll accept the consequences,” she replies, her tone measured and compliant. “We’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Chapter Text

The fluorescent lights buzz incessantly, casting a sterile, pallid glow across the dormitory hallway. Exhausted, Shauna yearns for the comforting embrace of her bedcovers. With a weary sigh, she tugs at her tie and unfastens the top button of her crisp white shirt, relishing the small relief after a gruelling day of classes. The simple act feels like liberation, allowing her to breathe freely once more. She frowns as people race to and fro and narrowly avoids a ball being thrown over her head. Assholes, she grumbles, throwing daggers at the back of a mullet.  

In the centre of the hallway, she notices a small slip of paper pinned to the communal bulletin board that wasn’t there in the morning. She slowly approaches, gaze running over the papers. One leaflet boasts of the annual fall festival. As she leans in closer, her eyes scan the details. The list of activities seems endless: hayrides, a kissing booth, and a pie-eating competition. A small map at the bottom indicates the festival’s location, with arrows pointing to various attractions.

Just beside the leaflet, she notices another announcement catching her attention. It’s a beautifully designed flyer, adorned with intricate spiderweb patterns and dripping with spooky charm. Bold letters declare: ‘Halloween Ball: A Night of Enchantment.’ Shauna’s eyebrows raise. Avoiding a night filled with sweaty, overly enthusiastic teens is definitely on her priority list. No thanks, she’d rather steer clear of that scene altogether.

Her gaze shifts. Suddenly, a knot forms in Shauna’s stomach, her heart sinking as her gaze skims over the bolded words:

Dorm Room Inspection — Saturday 19th, 10:00 AM

An inspection? Why? The words stare back at her, stark and unforgiving. Her grip tightens on the straps of her backpack. Shauna glances around, her eyes darting nervously from door to door. The other boys bustle about, oblivious to her inner turmoil. How can they understand the fear that grips her lungs at the mere thought of a stranger invading her personal space? They’re going to take one glance at her and know that she doesn’t belong, that she’s not a fucking boy after all. She bites the inside of her cheek. There must be a way where she can avoid this scenario. She can fake being sick and put it down to being contagious. 

Something. Anything. 

Her eyes flick away nervously as her mind races. How the fuck is she supposed to manage this? Travis emerges from the crowd and stands beside her, his stoic expression a stark contrast to Shauna’s furrowed brow and panicked demeanour. His hands are stuffed nonchalantly into the pockets of his jeans.

“Oh, hey, Shaun,” Travis greets, his voice laced with the carefree air of someone with no immediate worries. 

Shauna envies that for a mere moment. She wishes she could borrow some of his calm, even for just a heartbeat, to soothe the whirlwind in her mind. To be as carefree and untroubled as Travis, so untouched by the chaos around them. Shauna bites the inside of her cheek, drawing blood. If only I had been the first son my dad always wanted, she thinks bitterly. Maybe then, she wouldn’t feel this relentless pressure gnawing at her every step. Wouldn’t have to leap to drastic measures. 

“You good, bro?” Travis continues, “It’s been one hell of a day, right?”

Shauna offers a tight-lipped smile in return, her attention momentarily drawn to the note on the board before flicking back to Travis. “Hi,” she replies, her tone lacking the usual warmth. “Yeah, good.”

“Mmm. You know, Rodgers was an absolute nightmare today, seriously. You won’t believe the crap he pulled. Dropped a pop quiz on us with all this stuff we haven’t even touched yet. You’re lucky you don’t have him for Chem.”

“That sucks. Sounds a real piece of work.” 

Travis’s eyes briefly flit to the notice board, but his gaze quickly returns to Shauna, seemingly uninterested. “What’s got you looking so serious?” he asks, his tone casual.

Shauna hesitates. “Nothing. Just — did you know about this dorm room inspection thing we have apparently?” she says, gesturing towards the wall.

Travis’s expression shifts, a hint of annoyance flickering across his features. “Oh, right. That,” he mutters flatly, his carefree demeanour faltering for a moment. He shakes his head. “No, but, it’s a pain I’ll tell you that,” he sighs, his tone distracted. "But you’ll be fine. It’s standard. Just means we have to get up earlier on a Saturday. A total buzzkill. Not exactly how I planned to spend my weekend, eh?”

Shauna rubs her temple. “Early on a Saturday? Fantastic, because what I really need is less sleep and more scrutiny.”

Travis snorts dismissively. “Look, it’s not ideal, but you’ll be fine. They barely check anything if you shove some of your stuff into the closet. They don’t really look there, trust me.”

Shauna raises an eyebrow. “And that works?” 

“Yeah, sometimes, I guess, depending on who you have inspecting. If it’s Mr Moore then he’s pretty much blind as a bat. Last time, I left my dirty laundry out, and he didn’t even bat an eye. Just gave the room a quick once-over and moved on,” Travis explains with a smirk.

Shauna’s lips twitch into a small smile. “Maybe I should leave some pizza boxes lying around then,” she says, a hint of humour colouring her words.” 

“Whatever works, right? Cheer up. Come, I wanna show you this new level on the game I got to.” 

Shauna hums and looks away, but it still doesn’t lessen the coil twisting in her chest. Saturday is a few days away — there’s still plenty of time to worry about it later. Shoving the thought to the back of her mind, in a box that also has all the ways that her father has disappointed her growing up, she follows Travis to their dorm.

In the bright classroom, Mr Peterson, the history teacher with a penchant for paisley ties, stands at the forefront, beaming behind his glasses. They glint in the light as he flashes a smile that could only be described as infectiously enthusiastic. Shauna wrinkles her nose in distaste, barely able to suppress a groan. The ties, each one more garish than the last, seem to taunt her with their loud patterns.

“Alright,” Mr Peterson begins, tapping the board with the pen for emphasis. “Today, we’re diving into a spirited discussion about gender roles through history. How have they evolved? What impact have they had on society?”

A few groans fill the room, mixed with the shuffling of notebooks. Shauna, sitting somewhat slouched in her chair, perks up. The topic strikes a chord. 

Mr Peterson points to a boy in the front row. “Mr Spacer, kick us off. What do you think?”

The boy, scratching his head, ventures, “Well, uh, back in the day, guys were like hunters, right? And women were gatherers? Seems like jobs were pretty split.”

“Good start. Historical division of labour,” Mr Peterson nods, scribbling on the board. He then turns. “Anyone else please, your thoughts?”

Another voice chimes in with a slow drawl. “Well, in the 50s, it was all about men working and women being housewives. Pretty straightforward and, dare I say, simpler times?”

A few nods and a laugh from some meatheads have Shauna’s fists clenching around her pencil, resisting the urge to jab it in the asshole’s eye; some roll their eyes. Shauna feels a surge of irritation at the comment. Simpler times, she thinks sneeringly, biting her lip to keep from retorting. 

Mr Peterson smiles, “Interesting point. Simpler for whom, though?”

Before the voice can retort, Tai, sitting next to Shauna, snaps her hand up sharply. “But that’s just a stereotype, right?” she interjects. “Women were also working, especially during and after the war. It wasn’t all Tupperware and aprons.”

“Okay, that’s a valid point about the post-war economic boom inviting women into the workforce,” Mr Peterson says, his glasses slipping down his nose as he enthusiastically gestures towards the board covered in scribbles. “How about other perspectives? Anyone else?”

Shauna suddenly sits upright. Clearing her throat, she begins, her voice a bit more animated than she intended. “Uh. . .” Heads swivel around to stare at her. She keeps her gaze focused on the tawdry tie. “Actually, if you think about it, the challenges women face have been huge. Even today, we still fight for equal pay and recognition. It’s like no matter how much progress we make there’s always this glass ceiling that’s just waiting to be shattered. It wasn’t all pearls and vacuuming for us, you know?”

A few eyebrows lift around the room, and whispers flutter like mischievous butterflies. Shauna catches Tai’s arched eyebrow as her gaze bores into her. Shauna’s heart races as she realises her slip, the words ‘we’ and ‘us’ hanging in the air like too-bold graffiti on a pristine wall. Fuck. Shit. Her cheeks become aflame and she swallows harshly. 

Panicking internally but trying to keep a cool exterior, Shauna quickly adds, “I mean, I’ve basically read a lot about this stuff. My sister from. . . from back home — she’s, uh, really into like gender studies and stuff, always leaving her books around. I guess I’ve picked up a lot from her!” She chuckles awkwardly, trying to paint herself as a supportive brother deeply influenced by his sister’s feminist ideology. At least that’s what she hopes it sounds like. 

Mr Peterson, either missing the undercurrents or choosing to ignore them, claps his hands together and remarks, “Ah, the influence of family on our perspectives! Very good, Mr Shipman. It’s important to have open discussions about these issues, and sometimes, family can be our first window into bigger societal debates.”

The class nods, some still slightly puzzled, but the moment of suspicion seems to pass as the discussion moves on to other students. Shauna exhales quietly, her heart still pounding. That was a close shave. God, she needs to check herself more often. One slip-up like that and people will be onto her quicker than bees on honey. 

Shauna senses Tai’s eyes still fixed on her while the classroom murmur continues. There’s a probing glint in them like she’s piecing together a puzzle. Shauna throws her a questioning glance as if she’s being nonchalant about the whole thing.  

Leaning closer, Tai whispers, just loud enough for Shauna to hear, “So, your sister? Must be pretty enlightening books I’d wager. Freudian slip, or should I call it a sisterly slip?”

Shauna’s face heats up again, her palms suddenly clammy. She shoots a glance at Mr Peterson, hoping he’s too engrossed in another student’s comment about global gender norms to notice their quiet exchange.

“Yeah, well, you know how it is,” Shauna stammers, her mind racing for a comeback. She rolls her eyes and punctures her tone with playfulness. “When you’re stuck with someone who’s all fired up about something. It’s contagious, like a bad rash. My sister, she’s practically a walking inferno, and I guess some of that heat’s rubbed off on me. But hey, empathy’s a rare gem these days, and we could all use a hefty dose of it, don't you think? In this country at least.”

Tai narrows her eyes slightly, but there’s a hint of amusement playing at the edges of her lips. The classroom buzzes with the background noise of teenagers arguing points and counterpoints, but for a moment, their little bubble seems isolated, quieter. Tai leans back in her chair, crossing her arms. 

“Empathy, huh?” she says. “That’s a big word for a big concept. Sounds like you’ve been doing more than just picking up books left around.”

Shauna’s mind whirls, and she hesitates before replying, wary of digging herself deeper. “Yeah, well, isn’t that the point of all this?” She gestures broadly in the classroom. “To get beyond just seeing things from our own corner?”

“True,” Tai acknowledges, tilting her head and studying Shauna more intently. “It’s about walking a mile in someone else’s shoes, even if those shoes don’t fit quite right. I get it. But sometimes, people talk a good game because it’s just that — a game. You seem different though. Like you actually mean what you’re saying.”

Shauna can’t help but smile, albeit nervously. “I hope so,” she mutters. She may just have got away with it by the skin of her teeth.

In the quiet hush of the room, they sit at spaced desks, each engrossed in a task assigned as penance. The only sounds are the soft scratch of pens on paper and the occasional shuffle of feet. The room’s supervisor, a stern but fair teacher, paces slowly between the rows, offering quiet advice or correcting a miswritten word here and there. Shauna sits at her desk, her brow furrowed in concentration as she tackles an essay on historical leadership. Jackie thinks her to be crazy starting on homework when it is just assigned, especially during detention, but the earlier the better in Shauna’s opinion. Jackie sighs, shaking her head. 

“You’re an odd one, Shipman, let me tell you that,” she whispers from the desk next to Shauna, shaking her head in mock disapproval. “Torturing yourself in detention of all places.” 

Shauna glances at her briefly, a faint smile playing at the corners of her lips. “Call it dedication,” she replies. 

Every so often, Shauna glances up, catching the supervisor’s assessing gaze, and her hand tightens around her pen. The weight of scrutiny quickens her heartbeat. Beside her, Jackie radiates a serene composure, settling comfortably into her chair with a casual lean. She rhythmically taps her foot, capturing Shauna’s fleeting attention. Adorned in her uniform skirt, Jackie crosses her legs, revealing an expanse of smooth skin that momentarily mesmerises Shauna. A subtle warmth simmers in her abdomen as she inadvertently locks onto Jackie’s hazel eyes. Flustered, Shauna clears her throat and averts her gaze, hastily returning to her writing with renewed focus. Couldn’t Jackie just stop bothering her and get some of her own work done too? 

Like a moth to a flame, Shauna’s gaze drifts to the side once more and Jackie winks at her. Shauna narrows her eyes, knowing the girl is up to something. With a quick, mischievous glance to ensure the supervisor is turned away, Jackie slides a folded piece of paper across the small gap between their desks. It’s a bold move, and Shauna’s breath catches as she unfolds the note.

Inside, Jackie’s handwriting dances across the page — whimsical strokes treated with delicate care. Shauna stares in disbelief, captivated by the way Jackie dots hearts to the i’s and crosses the t’s with playful precision. ‘Girly’ is the only thought Shauna can conjure — so unlike her own large, angular scrawl that resembles more of a hurried chicken scratch than anything elegant. Envy strikes her like a blade before she shoves it aside and reads the words, which offer a challenge: ‘Bet you’d lead a revolution in another life,’ accompanied by a doodle of a tiny crown. A smile spreads across Shauna’s face, warmth blooming in her chest. It’s a simple gesture, yet it sparks a lightness she hasn’t felt since detention began. Quickly, making sure they remain under the radar, Shauna scribbles a reply, her handwriting shaky with suppressed laughter, ‘Only if you’re my general.’

She passes the note back just as the supervisor makes another round, turning away just in time to miss the exchange. When the supervisor finally steps out of the room, signalling the end of detention with a nod, Jackie leans closer, her voice low but tinged with excitement.

“Hey, wanted to ask, are you going to the annual fall festival this weekend?” Jackie’s eyes sparkle with anticipation. 

Shauna, still new to the school’s traditions, gives a slow blink. “I saw the notice for it but haven’t heard much about it, what’s it like?”

“It’s awesome — games, food, the works. And, uh, I kinda have to participate in this charity kissing booth,” Jackie admits with a slight blush. “It’s a good cause, though, it raises a lot of money for local charities, and it’s a good reflection on the school, especially since I’m the captain and whatever.”

The idea of Jackie at a kissing booth stirs an odd feeling in Shauna, something scalding and burning her insides like she’s been slow-cooked by a roasted fire, but she masks it with a curious smile. “Oh, er. . . sounds like fun. I’d love to see what it’s all about.”

“It’s like our own little slice of chaos.” Jackie’s voice lowers and her eyes twinkle. “Plus, you get to see yours truly in action at the kissing booth. You know, I could use an extra pair of hands to fend off the admirers. What do you say?” 

“I don’t know. . . I’m not really a fan of crowds.” 

“Come on, Shaun. It’ll be fun, please.” Jackie’s pout intensifies, her eyes wide and pleading and something inside Shauna crumbles like the walls of a sandcastle meeting the relentless tide. Shauna’s resolve weakens, her heart tightening at the sight of Jackie’s imploring expression as she lets out a resigned sigh. 

“Uh. . . maybe I’ll, uh, think about it.”

“Great!” Jackie’s enthusiasm is infectious. She reaches out to grip Shauna’s arm. “I’ll show you around. Trust me, it’ll be great.” She grins, and her casual promise feels like a secret pact to Shauna.

A flutter of excitement — or is it nausea she can’t really tell — grips her as she realises that she’ll be with Jackie outside of school hours.

Shauna wraps her scarf a little tighter around her neck as a gust of chilly autumn wind sweeps through the park, rustling the multicoloured leaves overhead. Children laugh and scamper around, clutching sticks of candy apples. Nearby, the scent of pumpkin fills the air, drifting from a stall that sells hot beverages and baked treats. Shauna has never seen anything like it. Apart from the street vendor who added extra sugar to her doughnut, Shauna’s time during this season used to be fairly quiet.  

“Yo, what do you both wanna try first?” asks Marcus, gazing around in wonder. 

Travis shrugs, pursing his lips at the sight as if he’s above things like this. “Whatever, man. Anything, I don’t really care.”  

“Is it usually this crowded?” asks Shauna curiously, peering around. 

“Oh, yeah. People love shit like this all the time like you wouldn’t believe.” 

Shauna wonders if Jackie is here yet, but she can’t spot any sign of the honey-haired girl. Her heart sinks. At the park’s far end, a smaller crowd gathers around an unusual game: ‘Apple Slicing Spectacular’ is etched into the wooden board. A row of sturdy wooden blocks is set up, each equipped with a securely fastened apple and a hefty, but blunt, training knife. Shauna stares inquisitively. That can’t be totally safe, right?

Marcus points to the sign with a chuckle. “Now that’s more my speed. A knife that can’t actually cut you? It’s like cooking with training wheels.”

Shauna raises an eyebrow sceptically. “Knife games? Really guys? What’s next, juggling fire?”

“It’s all in good fun!” Marcus insists, heading towards the stall with enthusiasm. “They say if you can slice the apple in half with one strike, you win a giant caramel apple.”

Travis eyes the knives, his interest piqued. “Fuck it. I’m in if you are, Shaun. Maybe you’ll discover your hidden talent as a ninja.”

With a reluctant sigh and a playful roll of her eyes, Shauna agrees. “Fine, but only because I want to see Marcus try to handle a knife without causing a disaster.”

“Ha! Keep dreaming, assholes! Not likely.” 

They each take turns with Marcus going first. He lifts the blunt knife, gives a dramatic warrior yell, and brings it down. . . only to barely nick the apple, causing it to wobble comically on its block. Travis booms in laughter as a few groans ring out from the crowd. Marcus’s face slackens and he frowns. Shauna smirks, crossing her arms. He looked so sure before. 

“That apple looks more like modern art now. Abstract, with a touch of disappointment!” Travis laughs, clapping him on the back. “Dude, that was fucking awful.” 

"Quit your yapping. Let’s see you do better,” Marcus challenges, stepping aside.

“Oh, I guarantee this is gonna be a piece of cake. Watch and learn, nerds.” 

Travis goes next, taking a more measured approach, though the assured smirk on his face was anything but. He squints, aims, and swings. The knife hits the apple with a dull thud, splitting it in two. “See. Looks like I've got a knack for this,” he boasts, picking up the halves with a grin. “Beat that.” Travis hands Shauna the knife with a gloating look on his face Shauna can’t wait to erase. 

Gripped by a blaze of competitive fire, she takes the knife, eyeing the apple as if it’s a challenger in a duel, about to be cleaved in a swift, decisive strike. The knife’s weight feels steady in her hand, provoking a thrill at the thought of holding a real blade, slicing through skin, feeling the rush of crimson blood warm her fingers. All that power, that decision to give or take away life right at the edge of your fingertips. . . With a quick inhale to quell her rising thoughts, Shauna refocuses as Travis and Marcus observe with keen anticipation. She raises the knife, hesitates for a dramatic pause, and then chops down in a swift motion. To everyone’s surprise, the apple splits perfectly in half, even neater than Travis’s. Shauna grins and looks up. 

“What was that I heard before?” 

Travis scowls and crosses his arms. “Yeah, yeah.” 

“No one likes a sore loser, Martinez.” 

The crowd around them cheers, and the stall owner hands her a giant caramel apple with a wink. “Seems like we’ve got a natural here. Think about a career change, maybe?”

Shauna, grinning widely, takes a bow. “Thank you, thank you. Remember to tip your apple slicer!”

As they walk away, Marcus nudges Shauna. “So, ninja school applications start when?”

Shauna laughs, biting into her prize. A sweet taste oozed onto her tongue. “Right after you graduate from warrior training.”

She gives the rest of the giant apple to Marcus and Travis, whose eyes light up like a pair of vultures as she offers it. She shakes her head. Boys. 

At the centre of the excitement stands a kissing booth, draped in strands of colourful bulbs and garlands, drawing a bustling crowd eager for the thrill and novelty of a kiss. The lights were off, however, meaning that it must not have started yet though there was still a line already. Shauna looks on with a grimace, her face contorting in distaste. The very idea of a kissing booth repels her — the mixing of tongues, lips, and saliva with countless strangers is certainly not worth her two dollars. As she observes the lengthy queue snaking towards the booth, she can’t help but feel sympathy for Jackie. She checks her watch, wondering if she can make some conjured excuse to the boys and hover around without getting teased. She just wants to see her friend, that’s all.  

“Oh, I love fall festivals,” says Marcus with a dreamy tone of reverence, throwing his head up to the sky and shutting his eyes as if in prayer. 

“Uh, you do?” replies Shauna, raising an eyebrow. 

“Best, best period of the year.” 

“Oh, no,” groans Travis, and Marcus turns to him with a wide, pleading expression.

“We have to.”

“No, no, we don’t need to.” 

“Travis, please.” 

“What do we need to do?” prods Shauna with a questioning glance. 

“He wants a try at the kissing booth, that’s what,” grumbles Travis, jabbing his thumb at Marcus.  

“What’s wrong with that?” Marcus’s tone and face are stubborn. There’s no moving him. “I just wanna see.” 

Travis shakes his head, scoffing. “You have no chance, Marc, face it. You’ve seen that line — you’d be lucky to reach the front. And how do you know if she’s even there?”

“She’ll be there, I just know it. Come on.” 

Travis groans. “Do we seriously have to? I thought we were just gonna go grab some food. It’s just some cheap, tacky booth. Who gives a shit?”

“I give a shit.” Marcus scowls. “Look, I know you don’t care about typical school bullshit as you call it but I need this very much,” says Marcus firmly. His head switches from a disgruntled Travis to an amused Shauna. “Besides, aren’t you both curious?”

Shauna snorts. “Curious? About swapping spit with strangers for a buck or two? Hard pass. There’s nothing romantic about a conveyor belt of kisses.”

“What would you know about romance?” Travis scoffs at her, and Shauna feels a tad defensive. 

“More than you, obviously,” Shauna retorts with a sardonic smile, her words cutting but composed. “I’ve seen you practise flexing your muscles in the mirror in the mornings. And I don’t need to waste money on some crappy booth to get someone to want to kiss me.”

Travis splutters, his face falling and blooming scarlet. “At least my efforts are paying off. Can’t say the same for some people’s investment strategies.”

“Ah, fuck both of you, seriously,” frowns Marcus as Shauna and Travis snicker. 

Travis sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Fine, if it’ll make you happy we’ll go. But after that, we’re hitting the food stalls. I’m fucking starving.”

“Deal,” Marcus agrees, his voice eager as he leads the way.

The trio makes their way toward the kissing booth, weaving through clusters of people. As they approach, the line seems longer, and Shauna’s frown deepens. 

“Look at that crowd. We’ll be here till Christmas.”

“Sacrifices can be made in the name of true love,” mutters Marcus. “This could be my chance, you know.” 

“Chance to catch mono?” 

“What? No! My chance with Jackie Taylor.” 

Shauna sobers, her eyes widening. Fuck, she’d forgotten about his crush. “Jackie. . .?” she mumbles. “That’s who you wanna see?” 

“Uh, duh, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. They said she would do it this year, the booth I mean.” Marcus tilts on his toes and cranes his head for a closer look. “Think they’re not open right now. I want to look closer to ensure she’s there. Come.” 

Travis and Shauna share a pained glance but follow after Marcus. Shauna halts in her steps and widens her eyes. There, draped over the booth like a velvet curtain, is Isabella — her lips painted a scandalous shade of cherry red. Marcus’s face falls in disappointment. 

“Booth’s not opened for business just yet, folks,” drawls Isabella in a bored tone, examining her nails. “You’ll have to join the line for now and wait your turn. Four dollars each.” 

Travis’s figure slides to the side, causing the girl’s head to lift and spot Shauna immediately, a mischievous glint lighting up her eyes. Shauna resists the urge to groan and then plasters on a wary expression now that Isabella has seen her. 

“Shaun, darling, don’t you want a kiss for charity?” Isabella calls out, her voice dripping with playful flirtation.

Shauna feels her cheeks flame. She doesn’t know why Isabella gets her to be so flustered. “I—I think I’ll, uh, save my charity dollars for the pie-eating contest,” she stammers. “If that’s okay?” 

Isabella pouts exaggeratedly, pressing her hand to her heart. “Oh, but a kiss could be sweeter than any pie, I promise, handsome!” she teases, leaning forward onto her elbows, causing several bystanders to turn their heads. 

Shauna’s face burns hotter, and the ground beneath seems to wobble. “Thanks, but I’m—uh—not really in the—”

“Relax, I’m kidding,” laughs Isabella. “It’s so fun to see how your face turns red.” 

Shauna smiles. “I think I’ll just make a direct donation, you know, actually help the cause. Kissing booths aren’t exactly my scene.”

There’s a flicker of something—disappointment?—in Isabella’s eyes, but it’s quickly masked by her customary smirk. “Your loss,” she quips, but there’s a casualness to her tone that wasn’t there before. “Donate here, and I’ll spare you the kiss. Though I’m told my kisses are quite a charitable experience.”

The corner of Shauna’s mouth lifts in an amused smile. “I bet they are. But keep the kisses for someone braver than me.”

Isabella nods, her gaze lingering on Shauna a moment longer than necessary before she waves a hand towards the transparent donation jar. “Every little bit helps.”

Shauna steps up, dropping a few bills into the jar. The chime feels like a verdict, sealing her decision.

“Thanks. So, how have you been by the way?” Isabella asks calmly. 

“Oh. Uh, good. Good really.” Shauna nods, shoving her hands inside her jacket pockets. She rocks back and forth on her toes.

“Cool.” Isabella tilts her head. “Still with your girlfriend then? Growing strong I bet.” 

Shauna blinks and licks her dry lips. “Uh. . . my girlfriend. . .?” Her voice comes out questioning. 

“Yeah, Nat, wasn’t it, right?” 

“Oh! That’s right! Yes, Nat! Natalie, my, er, my—” Shauna chuckles nervously as Isabella raises an eyebrow. “My girlfriend. She’s — she’s good, really good. Still in New York.” 

Isabella looks even more amused, a sparkle in her eyes. “That’s quite the distance for romance. Must be something really special between you two.”

Shauna, who is improvising wildly now, nods vigorously. She completely forgot about that tiny, important lie she told Isabella a few weeks ago. “Oh, absolutely, it’s — it’s like magic, you know? We call. A lot. About, uh, stuff.” Her voice wavers as she grasps at straws, causing even Isabella to stifle a giggle.

Travis whispers to Marcus within earshot, “Did you know Shaun had a girlfriend? This is news to me.”

Marcus, equally shocked and looking slightly envious of Shauna’s apparent ease, nods, “Me too. He’s just full of surprises I guess.” 

Shauna’s ears burn as she opens her mouth, wishing she could sink into the ground and disappear. Isabella shoots her a knowing look at the boys’ remark, and Shauna opens her mouth, ready to speak with an inexplicable urge. “Nat and I, we—” 

Before she can reply, her voice falters, interrupted by the sudden appearance of the honey-haired girl — the very one who had occupied her thoughts countless times — standing next to Isabella like a vivid daydream stepping into reality. Shauna’s voice comes out high-pitched. 

“Jackie!” She clears her throat and then settles for a simple, “Hi. Hello.”

Jackie smiles brightly, her eyes looking so big and wide beneath the backdrop of the lights and hearts surrounding her. “Shaun! Hey. You’re slightly early.”

Isabella straightens from her position. “Hey, babes, see you finally made it. Still dressed like a little sailor boy though I see.” 

Jackie’s mouth drops and a whine escapes her mouth. “What, no! I don’t look like a — that’s not even—” Her eyes swivel until they land on Shauna with a pleading expression and a pout. “Shaun, tell her I’m not dressed like a sailor boy!” 

Shauna smirks. “Only thing missing is your captain’s hat, Jackie, I’m afraid.” 

Isabella’s laughter rings out sharply, causing Jackie to mutter a complaint under her breath. Shauna fights to keep her expression neutral, pressing her lips together tightly to suppress a wide grin. Jackie’s pout only makes her look more adorable.

Marcus, with a hopeful twinkle in his eyes, shuffles toward Jackie, clearing his throat with a nervous, overly loud cough. All eyes turn to him. “Jackie, hey, er, great seeing you here. So kissing booth duty, huh?”

Jackie turns toward him, her smile friendly but reserved. “Yeah, it’s for a good cause, you know? Trying to do my part.” She glances over at Shauna, then back at Marcus, who is struggling to find his next words.

“Right, right, totally. So, um, you think you’ll be. . . busy all night?” Marcus attempts a casual lean against the booth, only to clumsily knock over a stack of flyers. Papers flutter down around him like mismatched autumn leaves. 

Jackie walks over and bends to help gather the flyers, her laughter light and musical. “It’s okay, really. Accidents happen.” She hands the stack back to Marcus, which only makes him turn a deeper shade of red.

Shauna watches him closely as he stumbles over his words in front of Jackie. She wants to smirk, but an irritating knot tightens inside her.

“Smooth as ever,” Shauna mutters, her voice a blend of amusement and irritation. She glances back at Isabella, who openly chuckles, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “You’re enjoying this way too much,” Shauna says quietly, although her tone lacks any real heat.

Isabella shrugs, her lips curved in playful mischief. “It’s like live entertainment, but better. Plus, it’s free. I get to see another guy tripping over his toes for Jackie Taylor. Fucking classic. I mean I don’t blame him — I get it really. She’s fucking hot, like out of this world. You’d be crazy to miss that opportunity, know what I’m saying.” 

Shauna swallows, her gaze flickering over to Jackie, who’s already looking at her while Marcus has turned scarlet. “O—Oh you think so?” she stammers. “I, uh, never truly noticed. . .” 

Isabella snorts. “I mean, yeah, you’d have to be a fucking blind person to not notice.” 

Shauna can’t deny it. Why would she? Jackie is undeniably beautiful — strikingly so, perhaps one of the most breathtaking individuals she’s ever encountered. Yet, knowing that Marcus is acutely aware of Jackie’s allure stirs a fiery unease within Shauna. A wave of heat washes over and her fists clench tight with tension. With a conscious effort, she unfurls her palms and draws in a deep, steadying breath. 

“You seem to spend a lot of time around kissing booths for someone who claims to despise them,” Isabella observes with a hint of curiosity. “Thought you’d have scarpered by now.” 

Shauna rolls her eyes dismissively. “I’m just here to offer moral support,” she insists, gesturing loosely towards Marcus. “He’s pretty damn keen on donating his dollars. Couldn’t pull him away.”

Isabella’s laugh is soft and knowing. “Moral support, huh? It looks more like you’re gearing up to join the queue yourself — or maybe tear someone apart.”

“Very funny,” Shauna mutters, her tone laced with slight vexation. Despite herself, her eyes are drawn to Jackie once more, who is laughing at something Marcus has said. Why does that irk her so much? Marcus is hardly a comedian, especially given his penchant for odd nerd jokes. Shauna frowns, a troubling thought dawning on her. Could Jackie find that amusing?

Travis, catching the tail end of their conversation and still clearly confused, scratches his head. “Are we supporting Marc or making fun of him? I can’t tell.”

“Both,” Isabella and Shauna say in unison, then share a surprised look.

Jackie finally walks over and Shauna draws her complete attention over to her. 

“It’s good to see you,” Shauna says, her words accompanied by a warm grin that mirrors the gentle smile spreading across Jackie's face.

“Come to see little ol’ me, eh?” Jackie teases, her eyes a vibrant green that momentarily captivates Shauna, causing her to lose her train of thought. “Couldn’t keep away?”

“Yeah, well, I heard a rumour that the school’s best soccer player would be manning the kissing booth,” grins Shauna. 

“Who, me? I think you’re overestimating my skills, Shaun. I’m not David Beckham sadly enough.” Jackie’s smile doesn't waver, but there’s a curious tilt to her head, her eyes scanning Shauna’s face as if searching for something. It annoys Shauna somewhat as if she’s some sort of rare species under a microscope to poke and probe at. 

“Never,” Shauna says, more earnestly than she intends. She clears her throat, looking away briefly before meeting Jackie’s gaze again. “I’ve seen you play, remember? I think someone reporting on the Yellowjackets knows what they’re talking about, right?” Shauna responds, her voice light but her heart pounding fiercely in her chest. “Besides, can’t be too careful around here, especially with all these flying soccer balls.”

Their eyes lock, and for a moment Jackie’s expression softens. “I’m glad you decided to come. It’s nice to see a familiar, friendly face.” 

That earns her another laugh, and Jackie’s hand lightly touches Shauna’s arm, a brief contact that sets her skin tingling. “I’ll make sure to aim better next time,” Jackie promises, her eyes twinkling.

The moment stretches on, the fair noises around them fading into a backdrop. Even the air feels charged, and Shauna wishes the world would just stop, leaving them in this bubble. The simple touch sends a jolt through Shauna, grounding her and sending her heart racing all at once. She nods, unable to stop the smile that spreads across her face. 

“We’re friends?” Shauna says.

“Duh? Don’t think we were enemies last time I checked,” smirks Jackie, green eyes twinkling. 

Shauna feels her chest warm like the gentle bloom of spring after a harsh winter. She didn’t think that Jackie thought about her as a friend. 

A sly grin spreads across Isabella’s face. “Look at you two, exchanging glances like you’re in some kind of sappy movie. Should I leave you alone to write your own love story?”

Shauna’s cheeks blaze with colour, her blush vivid even beneath the twinkling lights. She can hardly look at Jackie and keeps her eyes peeled on the heart-shaped wallpaper of the booth. Damn her, she thinks. Why is she so set on embarrassing me like this? And in front of Jackie too? Did she want to scare away Jackie? “It’s not like that,” she stammers, her words tripping over themselves in her haste.

Jackie rolls her eyes but there’s a playful edge to her voice. “Please, don’t mind her, Shaun. Isabella’s just jealous because nobody’s writing epic poems about her.”

“Oh, honey, they do,” Isabella retorts with a dramatic flip of her hair, “It’s just that they’re too steamy to publish.”

“Too steamy to publish, or just too unbelievable? Come on, keep it in the realm of possibility.”

Isabella lets out a low, teasing chuckle, her eyes glinting mischievously as she leans a bit closer to Jackie. Her voice lowers to a tone that makes Jackie visibly swallow. “Unbelievable, you say?” purrs Isabella, “Maybe I should give you a private reading sometime — see if it changes your mind.” Her words are silky. 

Jackie’s cheeks rival the pink hearts strewn across the entire booth. She blinks rapidly, and her laughter comes out loud and a bit scratchy. “Oh, um, a private reading? That’s. . . really something. I just — wowza, yeah. I mean, I guess, you know, I—”

Shauna raises an eyebrow. This version of Jackie — nervous, flustered, and completely unsteady — is a stark contrast to the confident, self-assured, and bold girl she’s accustomed to. A pang of discomfort slams against Shauna’s ribs as Jackie avoids eye contact with Isabella, her fingers anxiously twisting the fabric of her shirt. Shauna suddenly despises the curved smirk that Isabella directs at Jackie, as well as the teasing glint in her eyes. It feels too fake like the girl is toying with Jackie. Feeling her jaw clench, Shauna looks away, struggling to suppress the growing lump in her throat, a flash of heat rising to her cheeks and something else she can’t name. It’s as if her body is betraying her in a way she can’t control. She shifts uncomfortably, trying to shake off the sensation, but it clings to her like a heavy blanket, weighing her down with each passing moment.

Jackie clears her throat and changes the subject. Shauna’s posture straightens as the other girl directs her focus once more towards her. 

“So, are you here to give the kissing booth a chance?” Jackie questions, her voice light and hopeful, though the pink blush still clings to her cheeks like the last glow of a sunset.

Before Shauna can muster a clever retort, Isabella, leaning flamboyantly against the booth’s colourful garland drapery, chimes in with a theatrical sigh. “Oh, darling, he’s already donated — both money and dignity,” she announces, earning a chuckle from Travis and a mortified groan from Shauna.

Jackie’s smile falters slightly, her eyes darting between Shauna and Isabella, a flash of something like disappointment — or was it jealousy? — crossing her features. Shauna blinks, wondering if her mind is playing tricks on her.

Just then, a brusque voice cuts through the tension. “Hey, when’s this going to start? Some of us are actually here to get kissed!” a man in the line shouted, annoyance dripping from every word.

Isabella rolls her eyes and then aims a deep scowl at the man — shit, if looks could kill. “Sir, your romantic life is obviously in dire need, but we’re on a charity mission here, not a speed dating service,” she retorted sharply, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Free country, dude, and the exit is that way.” The crowd snickers, and even Jackie can’t suppress a grin.

Jackie walks over to nudge Shauna, whispering with a mischievous grin, “You sure you don’t want to give it a try? You might break a few hearts, you know. Mine included.”

Shauna, feeling bolder —maybe it’s the sweet taste of the caramel apple from earlier — retorts, “Oh, I’d hate to start a riot. But, I might just risk it for you. Just don’t hold it against me if I end up stealing the show — and maybe a kiss or two.” The words are out before she can stop them, and she braces for Jackie’s reaction.

Jackie blinks, surprised, and then her face splits into a wide smile. “I’d consider that a charitable contribution for sure.” Her tone is playful, but Shauna detects a hint of sincerity that makes her heart skip a beat.

Marcus steps forward rather abruptly, a determined look plastered awkwardly on his face. “Jackie! You know, I’ve been thinking about how much the booth could use some. . .  management insights. Thought I might lend a hand!”

Jackie, trying to maintain politeness, manages a strained smile. “Oh, uh, thanks, Marcus. We’re actually okay but—”

Isabella, unable to help herself, cuts in with a smirk. “I mean, managing to stand upright without tripping over and dropping a bunch of flyers doesn’t exactly qualify as management now, does it?” 

Marcus’s face turns a vibrant shade of tomato red. Travis grabs him by the elbow, his voice laced with pity. “Come on, man. Let’s go grab some churros. I hear they’ve got a new cinnamon twist available just now.”

Marcus, still a bit flustered but realising he’s getting nowhere, nods. His gaze shifts from Jackie to Travis and his shoulders slump as he mutters, “Right, sure. Food over. . . flyers.” He stumbles over his words, earning a sympathetic pat from Travis as they wander off toward the scent of fried dough and sugar.

Travis stops and looks over. “Yo, Shaun, dude, you coming?” he asks. 

Shauna nods and then waves a hand. “Yeah, sure.” She aims her gaze at the honey-haired girl, her voice hopeful. “I’ll see you later then. You promised to show me around, remember?” 

“Yeah, definitely,” smiles Jackie, causing Shauna to linger for a moment longer, staring.  

“See you soon. I’ll even save you a kiss — just in case you change your mind.” Isabella’s tone is teasing, but there’s a gentle amusement in her eyes that makes Jackie frown. 

Shauna laughs, a bit too loud. “I’ll take my chances. See you around.”

“Counting on it,” Isabella replies, her laugh echoing after Shauna as she turns to leave.

Travis dashes off for a quick trip to the bathroom, and Marcus grabs Shauna’s arm, pulling her slightly away from the commotion. His face is earnest with just a hint of desperation. Shauna stares at his sudden motion. 

“Shaun, wait,” Marcus starts, his voice low, as if sharing a secret. “I need your help, man, seriously.”

Shauna raises an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued despite her reluctance. “With what? If it’s about the booth, you saw how that went down.”

He shakes his head, brushing off the embarrassment. “No, not the booth. It’s Jackie. I really want to. . . you know, make an impression. You saw her, right? And you — everyone listens when you talk. I saw it. Girls like you, they listen to what you have to say.”

What in the actual fuck? Shauna scoffs in disbelief, her mind twirling, and crosses her arms. “I don’t know — I just — what?” she blurts. Shauna grimaces, uncomfortable with the question. She fidgets with the hem of her jacket, looking for the right words.

“Come on. I’m not crazy, I know what I saw.” 

“Uh, well, it’s not like I’m totally smooth or anything,” she stammers, her cheeks colouring slightly. The image of girls laughing and liking what she has to say causes her head to spin. “I just — sometimes I think too much, and then I try to not think at all. It’s like I’m walking a weird tightrope between being totally awkward and just, you know, being myself. Which is also awkward, by the way. So if you think I’m some spiritual guru or whatever then you’re sorely mistaken.”

Marcus blinks. “Right, so, you can help me out then, yeah? Just for a little while.” He continues hurriedly when he sees Shauna open her mouth to argue. “Please, I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t sure. I saw the way you spoke to Jackie Taylor so easily. It was fucking sparks and shit. And you’re not even into her like I am.” 

Shauna rubs her temple wearily. She resists the urge to shove him away forcefully. “Marcus, I’m not some. . . some kind of girl whisperer or shit. What do you expect me to do?”

“Just write to her for me,” he blurts out, his gaze intense. “Maybe I’m not cut out to speak to her face-to-face straight away. Or any girl really.” He sighs, placing his hands on his hips. “I get that. They just make me so. . . so tongue-tied. It’s easier with guys. But maybe we can start slow with — with writing. Or poems and shit — they’re romantic, right? But, like, as me. You know how to talk to them, to say things that are interesting and funny. I saw both of them laugh probably about five times. And you ain’t even that funny, bro, no offence.”

Shauna’s mouth drops and she tries not to take offence. She is funny. Jackie thinks so. And that’s all that matters. “First of all, ‘bro,’ I am that funny, you people just don’t get my humour,” she retorts. “And secondly, writing messages as you? That’s sketchy as fuck don’t you think?” Shauna’s tone is sceptical, her brow furrowed in disapproval.

Marcus’s expression softens, and he places a hand on her shoulder. “Please, Shaun. It’s not like I’m asking you to outright lie. Just help me get the conversation going. I’m awful at this stuff, and you know it. Once I break the ice, I can take it from there. Promise. Scout’s honour.”

Shauna looks at Marcus, noting the genuine anxiety in his eyes. With a resigned sigh, she nods. She’s going to fucking regret this later on. 

“You’ve never been a boy scout,” she grumbles, shaking her head. “Alright. I’ll help you out. But just the start, okay? Then you’re on your own. You have to be yourself with her eventually — if you want anything real, anyway.”

Marcus’s face lights up, a grin breaking across his features. “Absolutely! I swear, just a nudge in the right direction. Thank you, Shaun, you’re the fucking best. Fuck Travis, honestly.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” laughs Shauna as Marcus looks around in sudden alarm as if Travis has materialised beside him. 

A while later, as she walks through the park while Travis and Marcus rave about Chrono Trigger, Shauna catches sight of the kissing booth again. A middle-aged man was at the front. Jackie’s smile falters as he approaches, her discomfort is evident in her rigid posture and the nervous drumming of her fingers. Taking in Jackie’s unease, Shauna knows she has to act. The two boys are distracted and won’t pay any attention to her. Sweet. She edges toward the side under the guise of tying her shoelace and surreptitiously reaches for the main power switch hidden behind a fluttering curtain of streamers. With a quick glance around to make sure she is unobserved, Shauna flicks the switch off.

Instantly, the booth plunges into darkness, the cheerful bulbs flicker out, and the music cuts off mid-chorus. The crowd gasps and murmurs in confusion, their faces illuminated by the soft glow of twilight.

“Oh dear, what’s happening here?” Isabella, managing the booth, exclaims with well-feigned shock. She claps her hands, drawing everyone’s attention. “Seems we’re having a bit of a technical snag, folks! Why don’t we take a little break? Refreshments, anyone? Or maybe try your luck at the raffle stall!”

As people start to disperse, Jackie slips back, her shoulders visibly relaxing as she turns to Isabella. At that moment, Shauna catches Isabella’s eye. Her heart quickens and she steels herself for the reproach she’ll receive. But the corner of Isabella’s mouth twitches upwards and she throws a subtle wink at Shauna before turning towards a relieved Jackie. 

Shauna glances at her watch. It’s only six — though it feels as if she’s been sitting here for ages. What time had Jackie mentioned she’d be free? Around six-thirty, wasn’t it? That leaves Shauna with some time to herself. She stirs her hot chocolate, the steam curling up into the cool air, as she half-listens to Travis and Marcus heatedly debate the merits of a new video game. Initially, she had her heart set on the Spiced Rum Punch, but when she ordered it, the stall guy simply chuckled and said, “Nice try, kid,” nudging her toward a more age-appropriate choice.

Finally, it hits six-thirty, and Shauna can feel the anticipation building within her. She mumbles an excuse to Travis and Marcus, who are too engrossed in their latest silly contest — balancing churros on their upper lips — to pay her much heed. With a shake of her head and a slight crinkle of her nose at their antics, she turns away and begins weaving through the crowd. 

As Shauna nears the kissing booth, Jackie’s laughter cuts through the ambient noise, sending a familiar flutter through her chest. She rounds the corner, and. . . and there’s Jackie, radiant as ever, her smile bright and inviting. Shauna’s heart skips, momentarily caught in the gravitational pull of the girl’s presence.

“Shaun,” Jackie greets, her tone playful yet sincere. “Was starting to wonder when you'd show up.”

Though the line at the booth still snakes around, Shauna notices a new face manning it — a guy she doesn’t recognise. It doesn’t matter; Jackie’s attention is all she seeks, all she burns for.

Shauna returns her smile, stepping closer. “I couldn’t stay away, especially since you promised a personal tour,” she replies, her voice light, teasing.

Jackie’s laugh is melodious, ringing clear and true in the crisp air. Her eyes sparkle mischievously under the lights. “Look at you, such a charmer,” she teases, stepping closer. 

Her presence fills Shauna with an inexplicable warmth that the autumn chill can’t touch. She supposes that she should examine it more closely, figure out why she’s so eager to be alone with Jackie, but she can’t bring herself to care — not when Jackie’s mouth curves like that when she reaches out to grab Shauna’s wrist.

“You up for a hayride?” she asks. “Lottie and Laura Lee — saw them earlier when they passed by — they said it was good, so I thought we could check it out. It’s meant to be haunted apparently so I gathered with the spirit of the season and everything you’d be into that.” 

Shauna feels a surge of curiosity at the suggestion. “Sure,” she replies. The idea of being with Jackie, isolated from the rest of the festival, sends an exhilarating shiver through her. They leave the booth and the clamour behind, walking towards the quieter end where the hayride starts.

As they walk, Shauna’s mind races. There is a current that thrums through the air. Jackie’s proximity and her occasional touches stoke a fire Shauna hadn’t realised was kindling. She locks eyes with the other girl and then turns as if burned. She awkwardly clears her throat. The noise of the festival fades into a backdrop. They reach the hayride, a rustic wagon lined with bales of hay and strung with soft, ambient lights. They climb aboard, finding a secluded corner where the hay is piled high. 

“Uh. Are you sure this is safe and practical?” asks Shauna warily, looking over the side towards the rusty wheel. 

“Relax, it’s totally safe. These things might look a bit rustic, but they’re sturdy.” 

Shauna nods, then shrugs off her concerns and scoots next to Jackie. The hay is scratchy against her jeans, but the closeness to Jackie makes it worthwhile. She breathes in the earthy scent mixed with Jackie’s faint, fruity perfume, which somehow calms her racing heart. The driver lurches the wagon forward, the gentle jostling throwing them slightly against each other. Jackie’s hand finds Shauna’s in the dim light, her grip warm and firm. Shauna looks at Jackie, her heart thunderous against her ears. The soft glow of the lights illuminates Jackie’s face, her eyes reflecting a mix of mischief and something tender.

“You know,” Jackie starts, her voice low, drawing Shauna in, “I was really hoping you’d come to find me.”

Shauna smiles, squeezing Jackie’s hand. “I’m glad I did,” she admits, her honesty surprising even herself.

“Also, just a heads up, I might scream,” Jackie chuckles, her breath visible in the chilly air.

Shauna tries to ignore the very obvious warmth of Jackie’s side pressing against hers. “It’s all fake, you know,” she says. “Just props and some very keen drama students most likely.”

Jackie grins, her eyes twinkling with humour. “Well, if I do scream, it’s just my way of saying you’re supposed to protect me. Heroic duty and all that.”

Shauna laughs, shaking her head. “Oh, so now I’m your personal bodyguard?”

“Exactly,” Jackie says, pretending to look serious. “Consider it your noble quest.”

As they move deeper into the woods, actors dressed as ghosts and ghouls jump out at intervals, eliciting shrieks and laughter from them. Jackie clutches Shauna’s arm during a particularly loud scare — a figure cloaked in black lunging towards them, its face hidden beneath a hood. Her grip is tight but not unwelcome.

Amidst the laughter, the wagon suddenly groans to a halt, the truck sputtering out a distressing cough before falling silent. The driver called out in an annoyed voice, “Just a sec, guys! Little glitch here! Hang tight and I’ll be right back.”

Shauna snorts, watching him amble off in the distance. “So much for sturdy.” 

“Hey, I didn’t think it would give out on us. Guess nothing’s reliable these days.”

Shauna, with a mischievous smirk, teases, “Now, imagine if the Wandering Lady appeared right now — that would really spice things up!”

Jackie smacks her shoulder, shaking her head and throwing her a look. “Not funny, Shaun. Seriously, don’t jinx us. It’s already creepy enough as it is.”

“Alright, alright.” Shauna exhales deeply, the scent of Jackie’s rich perfume swirling around her, leaving her slightly dazed. Despite the distant murmur of the festival, a serene stillness embraces them. She sinks back into her seat, resting her head against the back of the wagon, her eyes drifting upward to the inky sky, speckled with stars. It’s perfectly tranquil here.

She finds herself wishing to pause time, to dwell at this moment indefinitely — Jackie’s comforting presence radiating warmth beside her, their thighs touching in a quiet testament to their closeness. The world around them fades into a soft hum, crafting a secluded sphere that feels almost poetic. A smile creeps onto her lips. This is the stuff of sonnets and songs.

“Look at the stars tonight,” Shauna says quietly and then feels Jackie’s gaze resting on the side of her face. “They’re really showing off, aren’t they? So big and bright. It’s a shame we don’t get to see them that often.”

Jackie follows her gaze, her expression softening. “Yeah, they’re pretty. Makes you feel small, though, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, it does.” Shauna murmurs, her eyes tracing the patterns of light. “It reminds me of a quote I read once. Something about ‘the stars, like dust, encircle me in living mists of light; and all of the space I seem to see in one vast burst of sight.’”

“That’s. . . beautiful,” Jackie whispers, her voice a mix of wonder and warmth.

“It’s from Isaac Asimov,” Shauna adds, her voice barely above a whisper. “It captures that feeling of being part of something much larger than ourselves. Like they’re reminding us there’s still something beautiful out there, beyond all this mess we find ourselves in. Makes you wonder what we’re missing out on, being stuck down here all the time.”

Jackie is quiet for a moment before she sinks to Shauna’s level, their heads almost touching as her gaze focuses upwards. Her voice is low and laced with a tinge of sadness. “It’s easy to forget there’s a whole universe out there when we’re just trying to survive the day-to-day,” Jackie answers as if sharing a secret. “We get so overwhelmed sometimes and it’s difficult to feel that because most people are sure of themselves and who they are and I just. . .” She sighs. 

Shauna watches Jackie’s profile, the dim light casting shadows that play softly across her features with a furrowed brow. The sight tugs at something deep within her — perhaps it’s a recognition of the complexity behind Jackie’s seemingly carefree demeanour. Jackie, with her perfect hair and even more impeccable life, had always seemed untouchable in a way even from the onset that Shauna met her on that golden-rayed morning. Still. . . Why does Jackie sound sad? Could it be that despite everything she feels trapped in her golden cage? Is her perfection just a veneer for others to envy while she battles her own unseen struggles? Shauna feels a surge of empathy mixed with a newfound curiosity. What does someone like Jackie Taylor even struggle with? Her life already seems perfect, too polished. 

An urge overcomes her, one where she longs to reach her hand out and wipe away the lines across Jackie’s face and watch those hazel eyes blossom with joy once more, like stars reappearing in a clearing night sky. She clears her throat and Jackie tilts her head, their eyes locking, causing Shauna’s beating heart to pound beneath her ribcage as if wanting to escape right into Jackie’s hand. They’re so close that she can feel the honey-haired girl’s hot breath wafting onto her face, something that smells like breath mints. 

“Jackie. . .” Shauna whispers, her voice soft but firm, cutting through the quiet of the night, “It’s okay, you know, to feel overwhelmed sometimes. None of us need to have everything figured out all at once.”

Jackie turns to her, a trace of surprise in her eyes, quickly softened by something else. She nods and squeezes Shauna’s upper thigh before letting go. Shauna feels a sharp pang of disappointment at the loss of contact, an ache to pull Jackie’s hand back to her thigh. She forces herself to focus on Jackie’s face instead, captivated by her ethereal beauty. The other girl seems otherworldly, almost divine, and Shauna can’t help but wonder if somewhere, celestial beings had carved out time to craft Jackie’s flawless features. It’s a fanciful thought — Shauna has never been one for religious beliefs — but in Jackie’s presence, she could almost believe in goddesses walking the earth. 

The wagon creaks softly under them, a gentle reminder of the stillness around them as Shauna speaks.

“I know it might seem like I always have it together, but honestly, I don’t. My dad. . .” Shauna hesitates, the words catching in her throat. The weight of her confession hangs in the air, thick and palpable. She swallows hard, mustering the courage to continue. “He left us when I was younger. I remember my mother’s silent tears. He just up and left for another family like we were nothing but a fleeting thought, a temporary detour on his path to what he considered a better life. I still see him sometimes, but it’s like there’s this whole part of him that I never really knew, and now I never will.”

Jackie’s expression shifts. “Shaun, that’s awful. . . I’m sorry.”

“It is,” Shauna admits, her voice a whisper. “Sometimes I worry that I’ll just be a perpetual second choice to everyone, not just him. It scares me, you know? And he’s always been so damn unhappy with his life, with us — though I was just a kid back then, clueless as hell. But it pisses me off so much that now he’s all sunshine and rainbows with his new family. Like me and my mom were just baggage, dragging him down from his perfect life, his perfect family.”

Jackie reaches out, her hand brushing Shauna’s arm in a comforting gesture. “You’re not a second choice — not to me. It’s brutal how some people can just walk away, but that’s on them, not you. You and your mom, you’re your own family now, and you’re strong, Shaun — stronger than you think.”

The warmth from Jackie’s hand seeps through Shauna’s skin, a soothing balm to her aching heart. Shauna finds herself leaning into the touch, craving the connection and sincerity that Jackie offers so freely.

“You think I’m strong?” Shauna’s voice is hopeful as it wavers, seeking confirmation.

“I know so,” Jackie affirms, her voice steady and sure. She pauses, then adds, “And if it helps, you’re not totally alone. I’ve had my own share of not being good enough.” Her voice turns quiet. “Sometimes, I feel like I’m just putting on a show, trying to meet everyone’s expectations but never really fulfilling my own.”

Shauna turns to face Jackie fully now. She chuckles though the humour doesn’t sound sincere. “It’s exhausting, isn’t it? Always trying to prove something, even if you’re not sure who you’re proving it to anymore.”

She watches as Jackie’s lips tremble, the sight stinging her with regret and making her want to take her words back. But then Jackie nods, humming softly, the shadow of upset fading from her features as quickly as it has appeared. Silence wraps around them again, their eyes drawn upwards to the vast sky. After a moment, Jackie breaks the quiet once more.

“You know, I was just thinking,” Jackie begins, her voice tinged with a hint of hesitation, breaking the tranquil reverie. “Who. . . uh, who are you taking to the Halloween dance?”

Shauna is taken aback by the question. “No one,” she replies, a bit too quickly. “No one at all. I, uh, haven’t really thought about it.” She chuckles as her mind races.

Jackie looks down, her fingers fiddling with the hem of her jacket, a crestfallen shadow crossing her features. “Yeah, me neither. I. . . well, Jeff and I were supposed to go, but that’s not happening now. Obviously.”

“Wait, no one’s asked you?” Shauna doesn’t believe that for a second and it filters through in her voice. 

“Some but I don’t really know them enough to go with them, you know, but I don’t wanna be alone either. It’s quite a jam.” She offers a half-smile.  

Shauna’s heart twists at the sadness in her voice. In a moment of boldness — or perhaps reckless hope — she blurts out, “Do you wanna go with. . . with me? We could just go as, like, uh, friends. If. . . if that’s okay with you of course.” The word ‘friends’ feels heavy, almost foreign in her mouth, especially now.

Jackie’s gaze snaps up, her eyes are wide with a bashful surprise. “Really? You’d do that?”

“Yeah, I mean, why not? No biggie, yeah.” Shauna tries to smile reassuringly, feeling her stomach churn with nerves.

Jackie’s lips curl into a shy smile, and she nods. “Okay, yeah. Let’s do that. As friends.”

The hayride jerks back to life, the engine sputtering as it resumes its path through the dimly lit woods. Neither of them had noticed the driver come back. The unexpected motion jolts them, cutting their conversation short and sending a wave of disappointment through Shauna. She watches as Jackie readjusts in her seat, shifting her leg away from hers. The festival’s distant noises grow louder as they approach the main area, the jovial atmosphere contrasting sharply with the intensity of their secluded encounter.

As the wagon trundles along, Shauna finds herself caught in a whirlpool of thoughts. The ease with which she had asked Jackie to the dance is unlike her; it felt significant, more poignant than when she asked out Adam Martin on a proper date. Yet, she reminded herself firmly, this isn’t a date. She needs to be clear on that. There is nothing wrong with taking your friend. Nothing at all. Still, it doesn’t stop her mind from racing, from dissecting every glance, every touch, every word exchanged between them. The way Jackie’s eyes had lingered on hers, the warmth of her touch, the softness of her voice — it all seemed too much, or was she reading too much into it?

Chapter Text

Travis is six years old when he discovers for the first time what weakness truly is. 

He stumbles home during a late afternoon, tears streaming down his face like a river overflowing its banks, his nose bleeding and his treasured comics torn to shreds. A gang of older boys had ambushed him, ridiculing his beloved comics as worthless and uncool.

His father sits in his usual worn-out armchair, remote in hand, flipping through the limited channels on their old CRT television, the static crackling between each flicker of the screen. The air is thick with the scent of motor oil and sweat, and a single bulb flickers in the room. His mother is at the store with Javi. The late sun casts long shadows across the living room, and as Travis enters, inhaling deep, gulping breaths, his father barely glances up.

“Qué es esto, Travis?” his father demands, his voice rough and impatient like the crack of a whip. “Why are you crying?”

Travis tries to speak, but his sobs choke the words in his throat. He holds out the torn comic books, hoping his father will understand.

A deep sigh escapes his father’s lips, a sound of profound disappointment. “Ay, Dios mío! What happened? Come on, speak.” 

His eyes well up again, and he clutches the ruined pages to his chest. “I didn’t do anything wrong!” Travis stammers. “Those boys a street away. . . they just. . . they just came out of nowhere. They — they took my comics. And then they pushed me and. . . and I fell. I’m sorry, Papá.” 

“So, what did you do next?” his father asks. 

“I. . . I couldn’t do anything. . . I didn’t know what to do,” replies Travis confusedly, halting his tears for a mere second for bewilderment. 

His father’s eyes narrow into slits, and he scoffs loudly. “You let them walk all over you because you don’t know what to do? No! You stand up for yourself, Travis. You fight back! This is not how we raise men in this family. You have to be strong, not weak like this,” he mutters, shaking his head. “And a bloody nose? You let those boys do this to you, and all you can do is cry?”

Travis wipes his nose with his sleeve, feeling smaller than ever under his father’s intense gaze while his bottom lip trembles. He wishes his mother was there to embrace him in her arms but all he has is his father. “But they. . . they said my comics were stupid and lame,” he repeats as if his dad doesn’t understand the first time, his voice shaky. Maybe he didn’t hear properly. “They hit me and—”

His father stands abruptly, the sofa creaking under his weight. He grips Travis’s collar and pulls him closer until they are eye-to-eye. Travis stops crying in pure shock. “You listen to me now, mijo,” he snaps, his voice growing colder, jerking him until Travis’s teeth rattle. “In this world, you cannot afford to be weak. Entiéndelo? You can’t let people walk all over you and just cry about it. You have to stand up for yourself. Fight back.” 

“But. . . but they were bigger than me,” Travis protests weakly, his tears beginning to flow again. He pictures them in his mind. The leader, a lanky middle schooler with dark hair and a cruel sneer; the broad-shouldered boy with a buzz cut and a scowl; and the shortest one, still taller than Travis, with a mop of curly hair and an arrogant smirk. 

His father’s voice softens slightly. He sighs, but his dissatisfaction is still evident. “It doesn’t matter. Size doesn’t matter when you have courage. You can’t let anyone disrespect you like that. You hear me? You fight back anyway. Nobody respects a weakling. Better to go down fighting than to come home crying like a baby. Next time, you hit them back. Make them think twice before they mess with you again.”

Travis nods, fear and confusion swirling inside him. He doesn’t understand why his father can’t simply scoop him up in a warm hug, whisper that everything will be alright, or promise to replace his ruined comics. Sometimes, after school, he watches Josh Williams’ dad effortlessly toss him in the air and playfully shoulder him like they were on an adventure. 

Travis tries to make sense of it. He wonders why his father doesn’t do half the things that Josh Williams’ dad does — why he can’t even manage a gentle hug or a reassuring pat on the shoulder. Maybe his dad is just different, he thinks. Perhaps he’s too busy, or maybe Travis is too troublesome to deserve such gestures. His mother says that his father is an important man. So, if Travis is a good boy, then his father will smile at him more often instead of telling him off for things he shouldn’t be doing. He’ll hug and kiss him like his mother does.  

But that isn’t his father. His father is hard and unyielding.

“Now, go clean yourself up before your mother gets home,” his father orders, returning his attention to the television. “And stop that crying. No son of mine is going to be a coward.”

Travis turns away, sniffles subsiding as he heads to the bathroom to wash the blood and tears from his face. It’s the last time he willingly cries in front of his father. He doesn’t think he can, even if he wants to. No, he leaves all the crying to Javi. 

As the years slip by, Travis stretches taller, his once-soft features giving way to a hardened resemblance of his father’s stern visage whenever he catches his reflection. At times, an urge to smash his fist against the mirror overwhelms him. 

One afternoon, when he sees Javi immersed in a comic book with a smile on his face as he flicks through the pages, Travis feels a familiar pang of irritation. He stops in his tracks and curls his lips into a sneer. He leans against the doorway and crosses his arms. Javi looks up with a curious, wide and grating expression. 

“Seriously, Javi?” Travis scoffs. “You’re still into those dumb comics? You’re such a child. When are you going to start acting like a grown-up, huh?” 

Javi blinks, a wrinkle appearing on his brow. “I. . . I like them. They’re fun.” 

Travis walks over. “You’re, like, a walking cliché. We’re not kids anymore. Time to put away the toys and grow up, bro.” He grips the comic book and tries to pull but Javi grabs hold of it with two hands and tugs back harder. 

“Travis, let go!” Javi scowls, straining. “It’s mine!”

“You let go — stop being such a lame nerd! I’d be doing you a favour by throwing this away.” 

“Boys! Stop fighting before I come over there,” warns their mother from the other room. They both ignore her. 

Travis yanks harder on the comic book, the pages tearing under the strain. Javi lets out a gasp of dismay, his eyes widening in horror as the cover rips a tad. “No, Travis, stop!” he cries out, his voice tinged with hurt and anger.

The sneer on Travis’s face grows, fueled by his frustration and the foreign surge of aggravation. “See, Javi? This is exactly what I’m talking about. You’re stuck in a childish fantasy world.” 

Javi’s grip tightens desperately, his knuckles turning white. “Travis, please, just leave it alone!” he pleads, his voice cracking.

Travis scoffs, his disdain palpable. “Understand what, Javi? You’d rather waste your time on this junk than act your age?”

The comic book tears further, the sound of paper ripping echoing in the room. For a moment they’re both still and their faces slacken with shock. Then, Javi’s features contort with anguish, his eyes welling up with tears. “I hate you,” he whispers, his voice trembling with betrayal. 

Travis freezes, momentarily taken aback by Javi’s words. His sneer falters as he sees the hurt etched across Javi’s face. Perhaps he went a bit too far. “Javi, I. . .” He starts, but the damage is done. Javi wrenches the torn comic book from Travis’s grip and retreats, clutching the tattered remains to his chest.

“I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!” screams Javi at the top of his voice as he rushes out of the room. 

Travis stands there, ignoring the sound of his mother’s yells, staring at the shredded comic book pages scattered on the floor, the echoes of Javi’s anguished cries ringing in his ears. He feels a pang of guilt mixed with a simmering anger he can’t quite understand like oil and water swirling together in a turbulent sea. 

Javi has always been softer, kinder, less tainted. It’s up to Travis to make sure he sheds that skin. He’s only looking out for his brother. Because the world and people are cruel. Travis understands that and so does their dad. It’s time Javi did too. 

His father is always hard on him. When he was younger, Travis’s dad pushed him into sports he didn’t enjoy, expecting him to be strong, to be tough, to never show weakness. Football, baseball, basketball — even soccer. All he received were bruises and sprains, twisted ankles and fractured fingers. The memory of those long, gruelling afternoons in the hot sun, his father’s disappointed gaze boring into him, makes Travis’s stomach churn. Nowadays, he tends to avoid all sports entirely; instead, he immerses himself in video games, retreating to the sanctuary of his bedroom or dorm, where he can find peace, away from anyone’s demands.

His father has given up on him, that much is clear. 

Travis is not a jock, obviously. Or perhaps he just doesn’t have the fucking will or effort for it. Whatever. He knows that his dad will never look at him with pride like he does with the Yellowjackets; he would rather clap and cheer on a bunch of stupid girls than his son. It’s a brutal truth but Travis has learnt to swallow the bitter pill. 

With Javi, it’s different. His father is softer, more forgiving. He never yells at Javi the way he yells at Travis. Instead, he ruffles Javi’s hair, calls him ‘mi niño,’ and sometimes, he even sits down and watches those stupid cartoons with him. Travis doesn’t understand it and never will. What makes Javi so special? Why does he get to be the favourite?

Travis’s hands clench into fists as he moves to the kitchen, trying to shake off the anger. He hates feeling this way, but he can’t help it. He resents Javi for being the softer, sweeter, more lovable one. He resents his father for showing Javi the kind of affection he never gets. And most of all, he resents himself for caring so much about it.

Some nights, as Travis lies in bed, he imagines a different life. He dreams of waking up one morning to find the police at their door, telling them his father has been killed — stabbed, mugged, or maybe in a car accident. The details don’t matter. Not really. What matters is the aftermath. His mother would cry and scream and sob, devastated by the loss. But Travis imagines he wouldn’t feel anything. Maybe he’d even feel relief. The tyrant would be gone, and maybe then, life would be different. Maybe then, he could find some semblance of joy.

These thoughts terrify him, make him feel like some kind of psychopath. Who the fuck dreams of their dad’s death? He knows it is wrong to think this way about his father, no matter how harsh he is. But the resentment is like a poison inside him, eating away at his soul.

Travis tries to be a wolf. In his mind, wolves are fierce and resilient, creatures of the night that fear nothing. They move purposefully, eyes glinting in the dark, muscles rippling under their fur. But as he watches his reflection in the bathroom mirror, he doesn’t see a wolf. His eyes lack the predatory gleam; his frame is too awkward, too fragile.

He considers being a crow, a bird that thrives on intelligence and adaptability. Crows are survivors, clever and resourceful, finding ways to navigate a world that doesn’t care about them. Travis likes the idea of being clever, outsmarting those who belittle him, particularly the guys at school who taunt him, sneering right in his face like he’s some fucking joke. But as he walks through the halls, it’s very obvious that he isn’t. He feels out of place, lubberly, always a step behind. The other kids, with their easy laughter and confident strides, seem to belong to a world that he can only observe from the outside. So, no, he’s not a crow.

An eagle, then. Majestic and proud, soaring above the chaos, untouchable. Eagles command respect with their sheer presence, their eyes sharp and unyielding. Travis tries to stand taller, tries to project that same aura of strength and confidence. But when he catches his father’s disapproving glare across the soccer field or the school hallways, he feels small again. The weight of expectations presses down on him, grounding him. 

Maybe a cat, stealthy and independent. Cats move through the world with a certain grace, an aloofness that suggests they need no one. Travis tries to mimic that grace and tries to cultivate an air of detachment. But he craves connection, yearns for the warmth of a kind word or a gentle touch. He longs for the affection that seems so effortlessly given to Javi. 

A dog. Loyal and dependable, a creature of steadfast devotion. Dogs are loved for their unwavering fidelity, their ability to bring comfort and joy. Travis tries to be loyal, to be the son his father wants. But his efforts never seem enough. The harder he tries, the more he feels the sting of his father’s dissatisfaction. No, he’s very clearly not a dog.

Still. . . It doesn’t matter what he is because he’ll never be a lion: the king of the jungle — powerful, commanding, respected. A lion in his domain, ruling with an iron fist and expecting nothing less than perfection. Travis will never be that. He goes to Wilder Academy because his father is a coach for the soccer team there. He’ll never have that raw, untamed strength, that undeniable presence.

Javi, however, was undeniably a lamb — a soft-eyed, innocent one.

Javi’s innocence is a fragile thing, a flickering light in a dark world. Travis feels a fierce need to protect it, to shield Javi from the harshness that he himself has endured. But he also resents the way Javi is spared the harsh lessons that Travis has had to learn very quickly.

The first time Travis meets the Yellowjackets, it is a warm afternoon at the Academy after he’d moved into his dorm room, the sun casting a golden glow over the meticulously maintained soccer field. The school is a world of privilege, a realm of gleaming cars, expensive clothes, and an air of casual superiority. It is nothing like the rough-edged neighbourhood Travis comes from. The kids here seem to glide through life, their confidence unshaken, their smiles effortless. 

Travis despises them on sight. What a bunch of smug assholes. 

He trails behind his father, hands in his pockets, headphones placed on his shoulders, watching as the man strides with purpose, his coach’s whistle hanging around his neck, his presence requiring respect. The Yellowjackets gather around in their crisp, clean uniforms, their faces bright enough with excitement to cause nausea to roll around in his stomach. 

His father is in his element here, surrounded by his prized team, the kids who bring him pride and joy. He watches the Yellowjackets move with precision and skill, their every motion a testament to the hours of practice and dedication. They are everything his father has always wanted him to be — strong, disciplined, and talented. The realisation pierces him like a surgeon’s scalpel.

Travis senses a twinge of jealousy mixed with a deep sense of inadequacy. He knows he doesn’t belong here, amidst these rich kids who seem to have everything handed to them on a silver platter. He tries to navigate the halls of Wilder Academy, surrounded by kids who seem to have it all figured out, while he feels like he’s drowning in expectations he can never meet. He wonders at times, lying in his dorm bed and staring up at the ceiling, if it’s possible to feel lonely and suffocated at the same time. 

Marcus is probably the only true friend he has. It’s comforting to be in his presence, just playing video games together. His past roommates either ignored him or talked behind his back. Once, he even punched a guy for making a snide comment about Javi during a visit. 

When he meets Shaun, however, Travis doesn’t know what to make of the guy. He’s fucking weird, to tell the truth, nothing like Travis has never known someone to be. Shaun mostly keeps to his room and throws a nod now and again when they come across each other in the communal kitchen. It’s awkward at first when he walks into the hall with his mother and Javi and practically sees this mysterious, cool-looking dude just sitting there with an effortless sprawl. It stirs uncomfortable feelings inside him like he’s being perceived under a microscope. As if Shaun can sense just how uncool and how much of a loser Travis is. Bitterly, Travis wonders if Bobby Farleigh has already filled Shaun in on his less-than-impressive reputation.

But he slowly discovers that Shaun is an alright dude, if a bit odd. 

Travis is sprawled on his bed, staring at the ceiling, his GameBoy clutched loosely in his hand. He hasn’t touched it in a while, too lost in thought. He hears movement in the hallway, and a moment later, the door to Shaun’s room creaks open. Travis lifts his head just enough to catch a glimpse of Shaun through the slightly ajar door. Shaun is standing in front of a small mirror, meticulously adjusting his flannel shirt, his movements precise and unhurried. Travis frowns, his curiosity piqued. There’s something about the way Shaun carries himself that doesn’t quite add up.

For one, Shaun’s grooming habits are different from those of any guy Travis has known. It’s not just that he uses more than one bottle of product, though that in itself is a novelty. It’s the care he takes with his appearance, the way he seems to take genuine pleasure in the small rituals of self-care. There’s a grace to his movements, a fluidity that Travis finds both intriguing and unsettling. 

Travis watches as Shaun finishes adjusting his shirt. There’s a softness to his expression that Travis can’t quite place. It’s almost as if Shaun is seeing something in himself that Travis has never been able to see in his reflection. Confidence? Self-assurance? Qualities that always elude Travis, despite his father’s relentless efforts to instil them.

As Shaun turns away from the mirror, Travis quickly averts his gaze, pretending to be engrossed in his GameBoy. But his mind is still racing, piecing together the small, subtle clues that have nagged him ever since Shaun moved in. The way Shaun’s clothes fit — slightly loose, yet still somehow flattering. The way he sits, with casual elegance, seems at odds with the rough-and-tumble world of other guys he sees. He can’t imagine Marcus ever acting like that, though perhaps Marcus would probably trip over his feet if he even attempted to. And then there are the little things: the way Shaun’s eyes light up when he talks about books or music; the way he sometimes hums to himself when he thinks no one is listening. 

Travis tries to shake off the unease, telling himself it’s nothing, that he’s just overthinking things. But the feeling persists, a nagging doubt that refuses to be silenced. There’s something different about Shaun that sets him apart from everyone else at Wilder Academy. And it’s not just the way he looks or acts or the fact that he’s from New York. 

Shaun leaves his room, his blue flannel shirt hanging loosely from his shoulders, a pack of cigarettes tucked into his back pocket. Travis has never attempted to smoke. He thinks about his mother’s stern warnings, her face lined with worry whenever she talks about the dangers of smoking. He imagines the disappointment in her eyes if she ever found out and the sharp sting of her hand meeting his cheek. 

Shaun is so different and yet he considers Travis as a friend. Well, sort of. He’s never outright said it, but he doesn’t get annoyed with Travis hanging around him. And he did invite him to the start of the school party, something none of his hallmates had ever bothered to do before. He even stood up for Travis. He remembers the crushing wave of humiliation that evening as Shaun eyes the two guys who are part of Bobby Farleigh’s gang. 

Travis’s anger swells like a storm, clouding his mind as he stalks off. He knows his reaction is irrational, but the emotions have tangled too tightly to untwine. In front of Bobby Farleigh’s cronies Shaun’s defence stings. Not because he stood up for him, but because it made him feel weak — again. The echo of his father’s harsh words from years ago rang in his ears: “You can’t let people walk over you and just cry about it.” Because Shaun has thrown him off balance, made him feel like he can’t defend himself, that he’s too puny — not man enough — to stand up for himself. And Travis is fucking enraged. He doesn’t need some city boy who barely knows how to grow hair on his chin to defend him like he’s some prissy fucking girl. 

He feels bad later, of course, he does. He apologises and brings Shaun a brownie. Food always makes things better according to his mother. He’s relieved when Shaun accepts. 

It gnaws at him, this quiet confidence that Shaun exudes without even trying. Unlike Travis, who always feels like he’s stumbling through life, Shaun moves with a certain grace, an ease that draws people in. Even Marcus, who typically scoffs at anyone outside their small circle, seems genuinely interested in his stories about New York. 

Shaun blurs the lines of what Travis has always understood about the world. 

He watches from the corner of his eye as Shaun reads a book of poetry, his expression serene. He flips the pages slowly as if savouring each word, completely absorbed in his world. It’s not the kind of thing that Travis is familiar with. His father’s voice echoes in his head: “Men don’t waste time on useless things.” 

Later that evening, as they sit in the common room playing video games in Marcus’s dorm, Travis is taken aback by Shaun’s skill. Shaun moves with precision, a focused intensity in his eyes. He beats Marcus and Travis effortlessly, yet there’s no arrogance in his victory, just a casual shrug and a soft chuckle. “Good game,” he says, offering them both a genuine smile. It’s a stark contrast to the aggressive competitiveness Travis is used to.

Marcus, on the other hand, is different. He’s loyal and steadfast, but he doesn’t have Shaun’s flair or versatility. Travis appreciates Marcus’s friendship — they share a bond over video games and a mutual understanding of being somewhat out of place at that Academy even if they haven’t grown up in the same spheres. Travis wonders if Marcus ever feels the same pressure to conform to expectations, the unspoken rules that Travis has struggled against for so long.

Yet, Marcus lacks Shaun’s ability to effortlessly straddle different worlds. How Shaun can boldly meet an arrogant dude’s gaze with a fierce glare, his eyes unwavering and sure, yet also have his ears flush red with embarrassment when all eyes are suddenly on him in a crowded room.

They’re both made of the same blend, him and Marcus. Travis knows he doesn’t fit the mould of the typical guy here — the confident athlete or the smooth-talking charmer. Instead, he’s branded with a nickname that serves as a constant reminder of his perceived inadequacies. 

Flex. 

The moniker stings with its implications, a cruel twist of fate that he can’t seem to shake off. One of his ribs had to be removed so that he could be flexible enough to suck his own dick. Or at least that’s what Farleigh told everyone. Such fucking bullshit, he scoffs derisively. Of course, the dumb fucking brats here believe an asshole like that. He thinks even Marcus thinks so even though he doesn’t exactly say it to his face. He knows but it doesn’t hurt any less.

Travis trudges through the lively fall festival grounds, his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets. The crisp autumn air carries the scent of fried food and laughter. He hates these kinds of events — too many people pretending to enjoy themselves, too many fake smiles. Marcus, for some reason he can’t understand, soaks up everything. He loves shit like this. 

Shaun walks beside him, engaging with a bunch of people passing by. He greets them with a nod or a friendly remark, his charm evident in every gesture even if he doesn’t realise it. Travis can’t relate. He finds the whole scene nauseating — the way people pretend to be interested in each other, the superficial conversations that mean nothing.

Two girls approach them, their laughter ringing out as they chat about the various attractions at the festival. Travis recognises one of them from the Yellowjackets, her blonde hair shining in the moonlight. Beside her is a tall, dark-haired girl. The blonde glances over and waves at him. The blonde’s bright smile reminds him of cotton candy — so sickly sweet it’s like consuming an entire cloud of spun sugar in one bite. Truthfully, Travis has never seen the need to learn their names. He doesn’t give two shits about his father’s special players. He’s only aware of Jackie Taylor — because who the fuck isn’t? — and that’s only because Marcus never shuts the fuck up about her. 

Shaun smiles at the two. Travis, meanwhile, stands to the side, toeing his feet in the gravel. 

“Oh, hey, Flex! Having fun?” the blonde calls out cheerfully.

Travis clenches his jaw, irritation simmering beneath the surface. “Yeah, sure,” he muttered, his tone dismissive. The dark-haired girl frowns at him. 

The blonde searches his face for a hint of warmth. “You know, they have a pumpkin painting station over there. You folks should check it out!” she suggests.

Travis scoffs inwardly, his thoughts turning cynical. Of course, she would suggest something like that. Probably thinks I’m too dumb to find something to do myself.

“Ah, no thanks. I’m not really interested in those kinda things,” he replies curtly, brushing past without a second glance.

He feels their puzzled stares at his back as he walks away. He hears Shaun say something to them before following him to meet Marcus, who spots them in the distance, arms waving around like a large windmill. Travis peers around and sees groups huddled together. They’re laughing at me, they have to be, he thinks, scowling. Isn’t it in the nature of most girls to whisper and gossip? Most of the time Travis can’t stand their wailing and high-pitched squeals. He imagines them, probably sharing some amused commentary about his sullen demeanour. It feels like they have an unspoken code, a shared language that he’s never been able to crack.

He remembers the times in class when they’d huddle together, whispering and giggling. To him, their conversations revolve mostly around trivial matters like fashion, celebrities, and crushes. It baffles him how they could invest so much energy in things that seemed so inconsequential. So, yeah, most girls are stupid and vapid and altogether exhausting. Half of them are worth more trouble than anything. 

In middle school, during group projects, he notices the way the girls exchange glances and roll their eyes when the teacher assigns him to their group because he couldn’t find his own partner. They would glance his way, whisper something to each other, and then burst into giggles. The looks they gave him weren’t mean-spirited, but they held a kind of amused curiosity that made him uncomfortable as if he were some sort of fucking freak of the circus. And it pissed him the fuck off. 

He once tried to ask someone to the dance, mustering the courage to approach a girl he thought might say yes. She was friendly enough in class, but when he stammered out his invitation, her face fell into an expression of polite discomfort. She hesitated, then offered a vague excuse about already having plans. He saw her later at the dance, laughing with a group of friends, clearly not bound by any prior engagement. Whatever, he knew she was trouble anyway. Hanging off Brad Jenkins like some giggly cheerleader straight out of a teen flick with a stupid, giddy smile on her face. His father always says they’re just distractions, and for once, Travis agrees. These girls ain’t worth a dime, not even for a burger joint visit. Maybe he’ll hit up Shaun for some intel on New York chicks; surely they’d be different — a new scene, fresh prospects, or some such nonsense.

Travis sometimes finds himself staring at Shaun, wondering if he has fucked a girl yet. Shaun mentioned a girl back in the city, so maybe he has. Unlike Travis, who is still a virgin — a label that feels like a hot brand against his skin. Not even a handjob or a blowjob even. It's downright embarrassing, he know. But the thought of finding someone he’d be willing to sleep with seems almost impossible. With so many people at school sleeping around like it’s a candy store giving out free samples, Travis suspects most of the girls are ‘loose,’ a term he hates but can’t shake off. The idea of being with someone who has been with everyone else repels him. He doesn’t want some dude’s sloppy seconds, and the weight of his inexperience presses on him, isolating him further. 

Travis doesn’t get Shaun, to be honest. The dude is fucking weird at times and doesn’t react like Travis expects him to. He freaks out over a freaking dorm room inspection of all things. And he always smells a kind of way, which Travis suspects has to do with the perfume he dabs on himself. He doesn’t get it. It’s not like Shaun has a date or if there’s a dance or anything, so why the fuck would he spray perfume?

On Thursday evening Travis is lost in the pixelated world of his GameBoy as he sprawls across the sofa, the repetitive music and blips providing a mindless backdrop to his thoughts. Across from him at the table, Shaun sits with his journal open, pen scratching softly against the paper as he writes and occasionally reaches out a hand to grab a cookie from the packet beside him. His expression remains calm and focused. Travis can’t understand how Shaun finds any interest in writing down his thoughts like that without getting bored. 

Suddenly, there’s a knock on the door. Shaun pauses and looks up and they catch each other’s eye for a moment. Then, Shaun rises to open the door, and Marcus bounds in, his usual energy palpable. He’s practically vibrating with excitement, a mischievous grin plastered on his face as he holds something behind his back.

“Hey, bro, what’s up?” asks Travis without looking up. If he can just get this one pesky shot, then he’s completed the level. 

“Guys, you won’t believe what I got,” Marcus announces dramatically, bouncing on his feet. “Guess, guess!”

“The secret to finally calming down?” smirks Shaun. He closes his journal with a soft thud, looking up at Marcus with raised eyebrows.

“What, no! Come on, guess properly.” 

Travis glances over, mildly curious, but doesn’t pause his game. “What did you smuggle in this time?”

Marcus dramatically reveals a crumpled magazine from behind his back, waving it around like a trophy. “Behold assholes!” he proclaims, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Read it and weep.” 

Travis squints, trying to make out the cover. As Marcus straightens out the pages, Travis’s eyes widen. His jaw drops, and flickers of excitement lick at his chest like wildfire catching dry tinder. “No fucking way. . . dude, is that a Playboy?”

Marcus grins, clearly pleased with himself. “Yup! Traded my Warcraft game for it. The guy was excited to have it. Pretty sweet deal, right?”

Travis throws his GameBoy to the side, his interest fully piqued now. He walks over and leans over Marcus’s shoulder as he places the magazine on the table like it’s some precious keepsake, eagerly flipping through the glossy pages. The air is filled with a mix of excitement and curiosity as they ogle the images. Sweet Jesus. He’s never seen so much skin on display. It’s a forbidden thrill, seeing these images that he’s only heard about in hushed conversations with some dudes in the locker room or seen glimpses of in movies. The glossy photos seem to leap off the pages, each one a new revelation of curves and skin that he can’t tear his eyes away from.

“So, worth it or what?”

Travis smirks, not wanting to reveal how much the experience has shaken him. His voice lowers. “Yeah, man, definitely something.” Now fully engrossed, Travis whistles low. “Man, these girls are unreal. Look at this one,” he says, pointing to a particularly striking image. “How do they even look like that? She’s got that whole beach babe vibe going on.”

Marcus chuckles. “Right? They don’t make ‘em like this around here, that’s for sure.”

Travis looks up. “Yo, Shaun, come check this out, bro.”

Shaun watches them from across the table, his expression one of intrigue, caught in a deer-in-headlights moment rather than one of excitement. He shuffles next to them until he’s standing next to Travis. He leans over, flipping through a few pages before his face starts to flush as red as a tomato fresh off the vine. Travis notices the change in Shaun’s demeanour and glances at him curiously. Shaun’s ears flush crimson, his fists tightly clenched at his sides like coiled springs. He looks as if he’s about to bolt. 

Travis sees what he’s looking at. The bold words at the tops boast of ‘Revved Up Desire’. The image sprawls across two polished pages, featuring a blonde woman with a provocatively alluring presence. Her platinum hair is styled in voluminous waves. She’s dressed in a skimpy, neon pink bikini that is sheer enough for them to see her nipples, accentuating her curves and sun-kissed skin. His mouth dries. Her pose is tantalising: she leans forward over the hood of a classic, cherry-red sports car, her back arched dramatically to emphasise her tits and toned backside. One hand is splayed across the car’s windshield, her long nails painted a matching neon pink, while the other hand rests suggestively on her hip, fingers grazing the edge of her bikini bottom.

“What’s wrong, Shaun? Not your thing?” Travis teases, throwing him a grin. There’s something so fucking satisfying to seeing Shaun so flustered, so off-balance in contrast to his normal smooth, cool persona. 

Shaun’s flush deepens slightly, and he clears his throat. “I just, er. . . it’s. . . uh, kind of gross, don’t you think?” he mutters, closing the magazine and pushing it away gently. His voice hardens after he clears it. “We — we shouldn’t be looking at this, alright? It’s. . . it’s objectifying women.” 

Travis chuckles, shaking his head. What the fuck is he on about? “Come on, it’s just a bit of fun. It’s just us, man. You don’t have to impress some teacher or whatever. You don’t have to pretend to be all high and mighty.”

Shaun’s voice is quieter but there’s an edge to his irritation. “It’s not funny.” 

Travis sighs and rolls his eyes. “Lighten up, man. We’re just checking it out. No harm in appreciating her tits.”

Shaun’s jaw tightens visibly, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. His cheeks still bore a blush of embarrassment, but now his voice drips with frustration, its sharpness cutting through the air. “But it’s not right. I mean, look at this,” he gestures vaguely towards the magazine, which lies on the table like a gauntlet between them. “It's like they’re. . . I don’t know, reducing women to objects for us to gawk at. Don’t you see it?” 

Marcus shrugs uncertainly, while Travis remains puzzled by Shaun’s reaction. Most guys would leap at the chance to catch a glimpse, perhaps even losing it on the spot by jizzing their pants — it’s enough material to fuel fantasies for months.

He raises an eyebrow, his grin widening as he leans forward, his tone taunting. “You getting all philosophical on us now, Shaun? Thought you were Mr Cool, not Mr Moral Police.”

Marcus blinks, shifting his weight. “You’re making this into a whole thing. It’s just pictures,” he adds quietly. 

Shaun’s frustration is tangible now, his voice tinges with disbelief. He runs his hands across his face, fingers trembling slightly as they graze his cheeks. “Pictures that portray women in such a. . . such a shallow way. It’s demeaning.”

Travis shrugs, affecting nonchalance though his eyes gleam with amusement. “It’s just eye candy, Shaun. Nothing more.”

The two spots of red on Shaun’s cheeks become larger as he stands there for a while, looking as if he wants to punch both of them. Travis suddenly tenses, realising he’d rather avoid having a bottle smashed over his head. He decides to stop needling Shaun, though he still can’t comprehend why he’s so adamant about avoiding a glimpse of hot, naked women. The dude seriously has a major problem. 

Shaun inhales sharply and looks away. “Whatever.” He moves to grab some juice from the fridge, but Travis sees the way his eyes dart to the magazine discreetly. Travis can’t help but prod Shaun a bit, just to see him squirm. It’s kind of fun, in a way. He knows Shaun isn’t as unaffected as he likes to pretend. No one is, really. A nice pair of tits and ass does that to a guy, no matter how much they try to hide it. He’s sure Shaun will be jerking off to it in no time. 

Marcus waves a crumpled piece of paper in the air, catching Shaun’s attention as he returns from the fridge. “Hey, Shaun, I also wanted to run this by you. Check this out, I wrote something for Jackie. Tell me what you think, yeah?”

Shaun eyes the paper warily, still simmering from the earlier exchange but curious about Marcus’s attempt at romance. He takes a seat, arms folded defensively across his chest. Travis’s eyes flicker up now and then from the magazine, waiting for Marcus to speak. He knows his friend is not the best at words even if his enthusiasm is there. This is going to be good. 

Marcus clears his throat dramatically, then begins to read in a somewhat shaky voice: “Jackie, oh Jackie, you’re really quite hot, like a spicy jalapeno in a pot, your smile is bright, like the sun at noon, makes my heart race like a, um, a. . . a cartoon raccoon.” His voice dwindles to puzzlement by the end as if he isn’t quite certain while he glances expectantly at Shaun. 

Travis snorts audibly, unable to contain himself this time. Shaun stares, blinking repeatedly. 

Marcus looks slightly offended. “What the fuck are you laughing for? I thought it was good! I spent a while trying to come up with that, dipshit.”

Travis shakes his head, a grin spreading across his face. “Oh, it’s — it’s. . . something, alright. Bro, she’s gonna take one listen to that and then wish the Wandering Lady pushes her off the tower soon.” 

Shaun jumps in quickly before Marcus can defend his masterpiece further. “Okay, okay. It’s a, uh, a good start. How about we tweak it a little? Or, um, a. . . lot?”

Marcus sighs reluctantly but throws Travis a nasty look that promises a punch in the gut. “Fine, but it’s gotta stay romantic.”

Shaun reaches for his pen next to his journal and takes the crumpled paper from Marcus. He leans forward, his expression thoughtful. He taps his chin. “Alright,” Shaun begins, his voice deadpan, “let’s see if we can turn this into something that won’t scare Jackie away.”

Travis, lounging nearby with the magazine still in hand, snickers. “Yeah, man. Last thing you want is for her to think you’re comparing her to a cartoon raccoon.”

Marcus shoots Travis with a glare. “Shut up, Travis. It was a metaphor! And it rhymed!”

Shaun continues writing, his pen moving swiftly across the paper as he murmurs to himself, making adjustments and corrections. Marcus leans in, trying to catch a glimpse of Shaun’s writing, his earlier offence melting into curiosity.

Shaun finally looks up, meeting Marcus’s expectant eyes with a faint smile. “Alright, how about this? It’s not perfect but, uh, it’s decent I suppose.” He clears his throat and reads with a flourish: “Within your eyes, a colossal universe unfurls, each glance, a constellation that swirls. Yet in my silence, my heart curls. . .” Shaun swallows and then continues. “Jackie, you’re poetry, I’m simply words in pearls. That’s where I’ve pretty much got to.”

Travis, still lounging nearby, lets out a low whistle. “Definitely better than the cartoon raccoon. Not that I care about fucking poetry or shit, but at least this won’t make her laugh in your face.”

Marcus’s eyes widen, and he looks at Shaun with large eyes that always make Travis think of a squirrel. “Bro, that’s actually really good! Jackie’s gonna love it. You’re, like, a poetic genius or something.”

Shaun shrugs modestly, though there’s a hint of pride in his eyes. “It’s just about finding the right words.” He writes once again. “There I’ve put ‘Yours Truly, Marcus’. So, you good with that?” 

Marcus eyes the paper warily. “Uh, I’m not sure really about signing my name just yet.”

Shaun sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Marcus, you can’t just give this to her and not put your name on it. That’s the whole point!”

Travis chimes in, chuckling. “Yeah. Otherwise, it’s just a creepy anonymous note from some random freak. Come on, don’t be a chicken. Man up.”

Marcus fidgets nervously, ignoring him. “But what if she doesn’t like it? I don’t want to scare her off if she finds out it’s from me. Can’t we keep it anonymous? Just. . . just for now, I promise. I’ll slip it in her locker or something.”

Shaun sighs deeply, the sound filled with exasperation. “Fine. We’ll keep it anonymous for now. But you’re going to have to tell her at some point.”

Marcus looks relieved. “Thanks, I, uh, I will.” 

Travis notices that Shaun looks hesitant all of a sudden, staring at the paper in his hands as if it’s a bomb about to go off. His fingers tremble slightly, his knuckles whitening as he grips the edges.

“Shaun?” says Marcus obliviously with an expectant outstretched hand. 

Shaun snaps out of his daze, blinking rapidly. “Uh, yeah, sure.” He hands the paper over reluctantly, his eyes lingering on it for a moment longer before letting go.

“You sure this is worth it?” asks Travis, making his voice heard, looking at Marcus. He sneers, his tone dripping with disdain. “You know, I seriously don’t get what’s so special about preppy princess Jackie Taylor anyway or why you bother. She’s just another one of those stuck-up Yellowjackets, prancing around like she owns the place.”

Marcus shakes his head, used to Travis’s antics as he frowns. “Come on, man. Jackie’s not like that. She’s cool, alright? I know it.”

Travis rolls his eyes. “Yeah, sure. Just because she doesn’t spit on the ground when she sees us doesn’t mean she’s not looking down on everyone. Trust me, by next week she’ll be back with her jerk boyfriend anyway. Chicks like that always move like that.” 

“She won’t,” scowls Marcus. “Have a bit of faith, will you? You know, be supportive for once.” 

Travis couldn’t help but roll his eyes at Marcus’s starry-eyed optimism. This whole idea is bogus. He’s not one for deep thoughts or moral debates like Shaun. And he certainly doesn’t share Marcus’s unbridled enthusiasm. But he knows that Marcus, always the optimist, thinks this is going to win Jackie over like some sort of romantic hero out of a cheesy chick flick. Travis has seen enough of her type to know the game: they smile politely at the right moments, maintain a carefully curated social presence, and always seem to be dating the most popular guy in school. To him, they’re predictable, shallow, and ultimately uninteresting.

But Marcus? Travis can’t fathom what he sees in her. He’s a bit of an anomaly in Travis’s eyes — a borderline hopeless romantic. Travis has known Marcus long enough to understand his genuine nature and his tendency to see the best in people, especially in someone like Jackie. Girls like her don’t date guys like Marcus — they date baseball players, guys who fit neatly into their picture-perfect lives. He doesn’t have much experience in the romance department himself, but he knows enough to realise this isn’t going to be a fairy-tale ending. And perhaps Marcus needs that, needs to stop being so emotional and not display his weakness so often. 

“I just don’t want you to get your hopes up if she rejects you is all I’m saying,” he explains casually. “You know because she’s got that whole, homecoming queen vibe going on. She’s into guys who can give her the attention she craves.” 

Shaun’s expression hardens, his voice stern as he crosses his arms. “That’s an impressively awful comment.”

Travis scoffs. “Whatever, bro? I’m just stating the facts. Girls like her want guys who can show them a good time. So, Marcus, don’t say I didn’t warn you if this blows up in your face.”

Marcus sighs. “Travis, not everything is about sex, dude, I mean—” 

“You shouldn’t speak about her like that,” snaps Shaun, his voice slicing through the room like shards of ice. His brows furrow into a deep crease, eyes darkening with intensity. His gaze bores into Travis, lips pressed into a thin line. Travis resists the urge to shiver. Jeez, Shaun can be scary when he’s angry. But for what reason, Travis has no idea. 

“What?” 

“Jackie. Don’t talk about her like that. You don’t even know her properly to be making bold fucking statements like that, alright? So quit it.”

“What’s your deal, man?” Travis finally shoots back, his tone tinged with annoyance. “You act like I’m the one who’s committing a crime here. Lighten up, will ya?”

Shaun’s jaw draws visibly, his hands alternating between clenching into fists and trembling slightly at his sides. He sighs. “Look, it’s. . . it’s not about that. I just meant — it’s about respect. You talk about Jackie like she’s just some conquest.”

Travis rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “Respect? You sound like my fucking mother. Come on, man. We’re not in Sunday school.” Shaun is usually calm and unfazed, but today he seemed genuinely riled up for reasons Travis can’t understand. 

Shaun’s gaze stays locked on Travis for a moment longer, his expression unreadable. Then, he turns away abruptly, his shoulders tense. “Just watch what you say, Travis. I don’t wanna hear it again, you hear me? Not about Jackie.” It seems like an unspoken threat. He then rises and closes the door behind him with a loud thud that rings in their ears. 

“Dude, what the fuck has got into Shaun?” Travis is quick to break the uneasy silence, staring at Marcus like he has the answers. 

Marcus shrugs, worry etching his features. “I don’t know, Trav. Maybe he’s just in one of his moods. He’s usually chill. Maybe it struck a nerve or something.”

Travis rubs his temples. “Yeah, but it’s not like I said anything that bad. Just stating the obvious.”

Travis already feels the upcoming dance looming over him like a dark cloud. It isn’t like he has any plans to ask someone — he finds the idea of going with any of the girls at school uninspiring at best. The whole affair seems like a big deal over nothing. Travis lounges on his bed, flipping through the latest issue of GamePro magazine. He’s not gonna bother with costumes, which seems like a waste of time. 

Marcus fumbles with a belt, trying to thread it through a series of loops. “This thing is a fucking nightmare.” He stands up, tugging at the oversized polyester jacket that is supposed to transform him into Marty McFly from Back to the Future. The puffy wig atop his head looks more like a bird’s nest than Marty’s signature hair. He groans in frustration. “Why did I think I could wear this?”

Travis chuckles, leaning back against the headboard. “Because you’re a nerd with delusions of grandeur?” 

Marcus lets out a sigh, deflating a bit. “I know, I know. I thought it would be cool, you know? But this jacket is so bulky, and this wig is just. . . ugh.”

“Dude, you look like Marty McFly from the Bizarro Universe. Are you sure you want to go out like that?”

Marcus scowls, though there’s no real anger in it. “Yeah, laugh it up, asshole. At least I’m trying to have fun with it. You just look like you’re ready to go to a football game, not a costumed ball.”

Travis shrugs, unperturbed. “Well, I won’t be the dumbass tripping over my costume and making a total fool of myself. And keep saying ball, I’m sure you’ll blend right in with the rest of the assholes.”

Marcus frowns at him as he adjusts his makeshift wig, trying to smooth down the unruly strands. “Hey, Marty McFly is a legend. I’m paying homage.”

“Well, just hurry up, will you? I wanna get this over with.” 

“Calm yourself, Trav. There’s no rush.” 

Travis knows his dad will be supervising the dance alongside Coach Scott, and Travis dreads the idea of seeing him across the hall, eyes boring into him with a glare etched on his face as if he can sense the weakness emanating from Travis. Fucking asshole, Travis thinks. He plans to shove himself into a corner, down a couple of cups of spiked punch, and then crash back at his dorm. 

If Marcus hadn’t begged him to go, he wouldn’t have bothered going in the first place. Marcus wanted them to dress up in outlandish costumes, but Travis would rather be caught dead than sling on a couple of nerdy costumes. If anyone asks then he’s a rebellious loner, he decides. The thought of dressing up in something ridiculous, only to be scrutinised by his dad and everyone else, makes his skin crawl. No way is he giving his old man another reason to mock him. Or worse, having Farleigh and his cronies see him. He’d never live it down. 

As he reluctantly pulls on a black hoodie, Travis grumbles to himself. This night is going to fucking suck balls. He checks his reflection, the dark circles under his eyes more pronounced than usual. Perfect, he thinks sarcastically. If anyone asks, he can always claim it’s part of his costume.

As they make their way to the large building in the centre of the grounds, Travis can’t help but scoff when he sees people dressed in tight-fitting corsets or glittering suits, laughing and chatting excitedly. The atmosphere is thick with a mix of perfume, sweat, and a hint of nervous energy. Travis feels out of place, despite Marcus’s attempts to drag him into conversation. He retreats into offering grunts and one-word answers. 

He spots his dad near the entrance, talking to Coach Scott. The two men are dressed casually with a simple mask over their faces, but their presence feels imposing to Travis. He avoids eye contact and slips past them, seeking refuge behind a group of squealing girls whose voices rattle his nerves. 

“Shaun said he was coming, right?” asks Marcus, looking around. 

“I don’t know,” says Travis before his gaze lands near the entrance once more. 

He then notices Shaun standing near the entrance, nervously adjusting his costume — an elaborate ensemble. The deep burgundy coat with its intricate gold embroidery, paired with the perfectly tailored trousers and polished boots, makes Shaun look like he’s stepped out of a historical film. There’s a kind of circular shape on his head that looks like a crown. Travis can’t help but contrast Shaun’s bold attire with his black hoodie, feeling a pang of self-consciousness. He squints, trying to make out the costume. Of course, he’d be dressed as Prince fucking Charming, he thinks, rolling his eyes. 

Marcus nudges Travis, breaking his train of thought. “Hey, Shaun’s there!”

“What is he meant to be?” asks Travis causally. “Some kind of fancy pants from another century or something.”

“He’s decked out as Prince Hamlet, you know? From the Shakespeare play or whatever. Interesting,” says Marcus thoughtfully. “Thought he’d come as Mega Man or one of those Street Fighter dudes. Wonder if he’d let me swing that sword around for a bit.” 

“But who dresses up as Hamlet for a costume party?”

Marcus shrugs. “Maybe he’s into Shakespeare or something. You know, intellectual vibe. Besides, I heard Shaun mention it once.”

Travis nods. Hmm, figures. Shaun seems restless, fidgeting with the cuffs of his coat and shifting his weight from foot to foot. Travis can’t help but wonder what might be bothering him. Is he looking for them? Despite their infrequent interactions, Travis knows him well enough to recognise that this behaviour is out of character. Shaun is usually composed and self-assured, not someone who would be jittery at a school event, especially one where he stands out so conspicuously.

“Why didn’t I think of that?” mutters Marcus. “He looks decent though.” 

A pang of resentment stirs within Travis. He knows Marcus means well and all but Travis can’t shake off the feeling of being trapped in a situation he’d rather avoid. The dance, his father — everything feels suffocating.

“Go to Shaun, I’m gonna grab a drink first, I’m parched,” Travis mumbles abruptly.

Chapter Text

Shauna sits at the kitchen table, her small hand clutching a pencil as she diligently works on her math problem for school. The dim light from the overhead bulb casts a warm glow over the modest apartment, making the space feel cosy despite its simplicity. The clock on the wall ticks steadily, a familiar background noise to her concentrated scribbling. She is proud of herself for understanding the material this time, thanks to the extra help she received from Mrs Andrews during recess.

Her concentration breaks by the sound of the front door opening. She looks up, her countenance lighting up as her father enters the apartment. He’s come home early. Despite the tension in his features, Shauna feels a surge of joy at seeing him. He’s often away, working long hours. His grey suit sags on his frame and deep lines itch his expression but he still smells like her dad, the pungent aftershave that he sprays in the morning. 

“Hi, Dad!” she beams. 

Her dad glances at her briefly and manages a brief smile, like a sad balloon that barely floats, the corners of his mouth lifting in a way that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Hey, kiddo,” he says, walking over to her. “Whatcha got there, eh?” 

“It’s Algebra. Mrs Andrews says I will be top of the class soon.” 

He nods distractedly. “That’s nice, sweety. Hey, where’s your mom? Is she here?” he asks, running a hand through his messy, dark hair. 

Shauna’s smile falters slightly at her father’s question, but she quickly recovers. “She’s in the bedroom, I think. She was resting when I got home from school.”

Her father nods absently, the tension in his features seeming to deepen. “Alright, you keep working, okay? You’re doing great. Proud of ya.”

“Okay,” Shauna replies, though she watches him as he heads down the hallway towards the bedroom. She turns back to her homework, but her concentration is broken. The steady rhythm of the clock ticking in the kitchen suddenly feels louder, more insistent.

She hears the muffled sounds of her parents' voices trickle from the bedroom. At first, the conversation is low and indistinct, but then her mother’s voice rises slightly, shrill and harsh, carrying through the apartment’s thin walls. Shauna can’t make out all the words, but she catches snippets that make her stomach churn with unease.

“. . . can’t keep doing this. . .”

“. . . trying my best. . .”

“. . . never here. . .”

Shauna’s pencil hovers over her paper, her hand trembling slightly. She tries to focus on the numbers and equations, but the voices from the bedroom keep drawing her attention. She hears her father’s voice, softer but strained, pleading.

“. . . don’t understand the pressure. . .”

Her mother’s fiercer and high-pitched. “. . . not about understanding, it’s about being here. . .”

Shauna’s heart races. She knows they’ve been having problems; she’s heard bits and pieces before, but this time feels different. More profound. She swallows hard, her mouth dry, and forces herself to keep working, her small hand clutching the pencil so tightly that her knuckles turn bone-white. After a while, the voices lower again, and she hears the door open and close. She averts her gaze instantly to her paper. Her father returns to the kitchen, his face even more weary and drawn than before. He pauses by the table, looking down at her with a forced smile that only deepens the lines on his face.

“How’s. . . how’s the math coming along, Shauna?” he asks, his voice gentle but awkward.

“Good,” she replies quietly, not meeting his eyes. “I’m almost done.”

“That’s my clever girl,” he says, patting her on the shoulder. She tenses but doesn’t flinch back. “Keep it up, okay?”

He walks away, heading towards the small living room. Shauna listens to the TV turning on, the low murmur of a news program filling the silence. She glances towards the bedroom door, then back at her homework, a heavy feeling settling in her chest like a stone sinking slowly into a deep lake. 

Late at night, the apartment is wrapped in a blanket of silence, disturbed only by the faint hum of the city outside. Shauna stirs from her sleep, her dreams unsettled. She hears a noise — a rustling, the soft clinking of metal. Her heart thumps against her chest as she slips out of bed, her small feet making no sound on the cool, worn linoleum floor. 

Tiptoeing down the hallway, Shauna reaches the edge of the living room. Her eyes, wide and alert, peek around the corner. The dim light from a single lamp throws large, dancing shadows against the walls. There, amid these looming figures, is her father. His movements are hurried, almost frantic, as he stuffs clothes and a few personal items into an open suitcase. The sound of zippers and the shuffling of fabric fill the quiet room. Her brow furrows. Is he going on a trip for work? But it’s so early — she can still see the dim streetlights. He never goes to work now, not even her mom does and she goes at random hours. 

Shauna’s breath catches in her throat as he zips the suitcase shut. He turns, his face drawn and tired under the harsh light, and freezes when he sees Shauna standing in the hallway. His expression softens, resembling the guilty look Shauna had when her mom caught her with frosting on her lips after sneaking a cupcake. He kneels to her level, trying to mask his turmoil with a calm demeanour.

“Shauna,” he begins, his voice delicate yet cautious. “What are you doing up this late, sweetheart?” he asks. “You weren’t reading, were you? Because your mom would kill you if you were. You know how she feels about you being up at this time.” 

Shauna shrugs. “Where are you going?” she asks, not accusatory but curious. 

He sighs deeply, running a hand through his already dishevelled hair. His eyes, drooping and glum, looked into hers, trying to convey reassurance. “It’s complicated, grown-up stuff. Listen, I. . . I have to go away for a little while, kiddo, and take care of some important things right now. But I’ll come back to visit you soon, I promise. We’ll do all those things we talked about, okay? We’ll go to the bookstore and pick out a new series for you to read.”

Shauna looks up at him, her small face set in a thoughtful frown. She remembers the other promises — ones just like this — and how they had fizzled out, one after the other like fireworks fading into the night sky. Her dad’s voice holds a hopeful note, but Shauna hears the underlying tension. The last time he had promised a trip to the bookstore — a simple thing, really — it never happened. He’d been too caught up at work, and then he was too tired, and eventually, Shauna stopped bringing it up. 

She nods and relief washes over his face. 

“You’re gonna have to be a brave girl like I know you can be, okay, Shauna? Take care of your mom, yeah? Help her out around here,” he continues, rising from his position with a subtle grimace as he clutched at his knee. “It’s going to be a lot quieter around here now with just the two of you.” 

“I always do,” Shauna replies quietly. 

As he stands and grabs his suitcase, his eyes linger on her for a moment longer, perhaps sensing the shift in her, the subtle hardening of her heart. “I—I’ll call when I can. And I’ll, uh, be back before you know it.”

Shauna watches her father leave, the sound of the door closing echoing in the quiet apartment. She stands there for a moment, staring at the door as if willing to open again, but it remains stubbornly shut. Her chest tightens, the familiar sting of disappointment creeping in, but this time, it feels different. This time, she doesn’t allow the tears to flow. She unclenches the fist she didn’t realise she was holding and exhales deeply. The apartment feels all too vast and the shadows lurking in the corner much larger. And yet, Shauna cannot muster any form of fear, anger or sorrow. She feels numb like the last flicker of a candle flame before it goes out.

Shauna stands near the entrance, her pulse thrumming as she waits for Jackie to arrive. She fidgets with her costume, feeling the weight of the deep burgundy coat with its intricate gold embroidery. The tailored trousers and polished boots, which once seemed impressive, now feel overly ostentatious. She adjusts the circular shape on her head that resembles a crown, hoping it sits correctly, though it only adds to her discomfort. She starts to tap her foot. 

She can feel the eyes of passersby on her, their curious and amused glances making her more self-conscious with each passing moment. She wonders if they think she looks ridiculous. She certainly feels ridiculous. Irritation claws at her chest. Where the fuck is Jackie? Why is she taking so long? The seconds drag on, each one heightening her anxiety. Shauna tugs at her collar for the umpteenth time. She wants to blend in, but her elaborate costume makes that impossible.

Perhaps Hamlet is slightly overkill. She should have just come as a video game character like Marcus suggested. 

She watches a group nearby dressed as various spice girls — typical, she scoffs — their bright colours and easy laughter making her feel more isolated. They look comfortable, happy. Shauna pulls her coat tighter around herself, ignoring the gnawing doubt. It’s not like everyone can appreciate the finer nuances of a Hamlet costume. That’s the problem, really, it goes over their heads. But Jackie didn’t seem to have a problem with it. She just smiled and nodded when she casually asked Shauna what she was coming as and Shauna told her. But now. . . 

Maybe Jackie finds it weird. Maybe she decided that she didn’t want to come with Shauna lest she embarrass her. She sighs. Why is picking a costume as a boy so difficult? It’s not just about the costume itself — it’s the thought of being lumped in with the other Neanderthals around her. The ones who picked superheroes and athletes without a second thought. That’s precisely why she chose Hamlet. Well, that, and also because Hamlet isn’t just any character — he’s complex, introspective, a thinker caught between action and inaction. 

If everyone knew she was a girl then maybe she could’ve dressed as someone like Joan of Arc, a known saint, or St Catherine. The saints were all so tragic. There is a certain allure to them, their stories woven with threads of sacrifice and suffering. They were revered, their pain turned into a symbol of strength. Shauna wonders if dressing as one of them might have lent her some of that strength, or at least made her feel more understood. Maybe then, in the guise of a saint, she would have felt less out of place. She would have found the comfort and confidence that seemed so elusive. But here she is, wrapped in Hamlet’s melancholy, feeling every bit the tragic figure she had hoped to escape.

And still no sign of Jackie, she groans angrily. What could possibly be taking her so long? Her hair? Her makeup? 

Her thoughts are interrupted by a familiar voice calling her name. She turns to see Marcus approaching, his tall, gangly arms waving at her. His costume is highlighted by a wild wig that looks more like a bird’s nest than anything else. She bites her lips and resists the urge to groan. There is no sign of Travis with him. 

“Shaun, there you are,” says Marcus, grinning as he slams a hand against her shoulder in greeting, and she grimaces. “We were just wondering where you were.” 

“We?” mutters Shauna, wrinkling her nose. 

“Yeah, me and Travis. But, well, he disappeared to get a drink right about now but should be back soon. Hey, nice costume, bro. You look fully rad.” 

Shauna forces a smile, the corners of her mouth barely lifting. “Thanks, Marcus. You look, uh, very. . . bird-like,” she says, taking a moment to eye the wig and raise an eyebrow.

He sighs and raises a hand to pat down any unruly strands. “It’s supposed to be Marty McFly.”

“Right, from Back to the Future. Got it.”

Marcus’s gaze sweeps over the hall. “Wow, they really outdid themselves this year, huh? Last year was cool, but this place looks way better.”

Distracted, Shauna nods slightly, her gaze flicking constantly toward the entrance. “Yeah, it’s nice,” she murmurs. Despite the vivid decorations and the buzz of excitement filling the room, her mind is preoccupied with the thought of Jackie’s arrival. Marcus’s presence is like a fly she can’t bat away. 

“Just nice?” he chuckles. “It’s better than last year’s sad attempt at a haunted house I’ll tell you that. Look, they even have a fortune teller booth this time!” He gestures broadly towards the far corner, where a line of students waits to have their fortunes told by a dramatically dressed senior.

Trying to match his enthusiasm so he’d go somewhere else quicker, Shauna forces a smile, though it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Yeah, really cool,” she replies, scanning the crowd. She spots someone entering the gym who briefly matches Jackie’s silhouette, but her hopes deflate as the figure turns out to be someone else.

Marcus raises an eyebrow. “Yo, everything alright? You seem a bit on edge. What are you doing standing here like a fucking loner anyway? Come, let’s go look for Travis.”

“Oh. . . I, er, I can’t.” 

“Why not? Are you waiting for someone or something?” 

Shauna bites her lip, then exhales. Fuck it. “Yeah, I’m. . . I’m waiting for — for Jackie,” she shrugs. 

Marcus goes quiet, his eyes widening slightly. “Oh,” he says, a hint of surprise in his tone. “That’s. . . that’s cool. Like, here? Right now? Here?”

“Just as friends,” Shauna quickly clarifies, feeling the need to smooth over any potential misunderstanding. “We’re just hanging out. As. . . as friends.” She feels like a parrot. “That’s all.”

Marcus nods, though he looks a bit hesitant. The silence between them grows, thick and awkward. Shauna’s gaze returns to the entrance, but there’s still no sign of Jackie. A white-hot bolt of anger grips her chest, stronger than before. She doesn’t know if it’s aimed at Jackie or Marcus. Why should she feel nervous that she’s going with Jackie? Friends go with friends all the time. She doesn’t have to feel as if she owes Marcus something. Jackie belongs to herself. 

“Hey, uh, Shaun,” Marcus starts, glancing around nervously. “Thought you should know that I, uh, I finally did it.” 

“Hmm? Did what?”

“You know, the poem? I had it placed in her dorm room.”

Shauna’s head snaps to look at him, her eyes wide with alarm. “What?” she exclaims, her voice sharper than she intended. “You. . . you went to her dorm room?” She pictures him sneaking in and feels the urge to shove him and hurl a bruising fist at his face. 

Marcus must’ve seen her expression because he flushes, raising his hands defensively and shaking his head. “No, no, I didn’t go in! I just slipped it under her door, that’s all. I swear to you.”

Shauna takes a deep breath, trying to calm herself. She closes her eyes for a moment, her mind racing. “Oh,” she sighs. “I. . .”

She doesn’t know what to say. Part of her hoped that the poem somehow got trampled on or forgotten, buried under a pile of other notes or discarded without a second thought. But another part of her wonders why she feels that way. She wrote that poem for him. So why does the thought of Jackie finding it make her so anxious?

“Shaun?” Marcus’s voice pulls her back to the present. “Are you, like, mad at me or something?”

“No,” she replies quickly, shaking her head. “No, I’m not mad. I’m just. . . surprised. Sorry, I’m just. . . it’s been a long day.”

He relaxes a bit, the tension easing from his shoulders. “Ah, good. I didn’t mean to freak you out or anything. I just thought. . . I mean, you wrote it so well. I figured she should get it. So?” He rocks back and forth on his feet like a child begging for candy.

“So what?” she says in a short tone. 

“Well, do you think she’s read it already or. . .?” he asks, fiddling with the zipper of his jacket. 

Shauna grits her teeth. “I don’t know,” she says tersely. “Probably who knows? I’m not a fucking mind reader.” 

Shauna’s irritation mounts as Marcus continues to prattle on, oblivious to her growing frustration. He rambles about the decorations, the people, and the activities, barely pausing for breath. Each passing second feels like an eternity. Shauna feels like wringing her hair. Where is she? Why isn’t she here yet? Did she forget the day or the time? She throws an angry glance to the side. And why would he not shut the fuck up? Marcus chatting near her was like a relentless drip from a leaky faucet. 

Then, as if her thoughts conjured her, Jackie arrives. Shauna’s heart nearly stops as she sees her making her way through the crowd, her costume a vision of ethereal beauty that could have inspired the brushstrokes of Botticelli or brought Dante to his knees. Jackie’s dressed as what seems to be Ophelia, her flowing white gown adorned with delicate floral embroidery. A garland of flowers rests gently atop her hair, cascading in soft waves around her shoulders. Her face lights up when she spots Shauna, and she moves with an almost excited grace.

“Ah, there you are!” Jackie says, her voice cutting through the din of the crowd. “Just couldn’t get this garland to sit right.”  

Shauna’s attention lingers on Jackie, the surroundings blurring into an indistinct haze. Marcus’s words become a distant murmur, almost imperceptible. Jackie’s presence is magnetic, pulling all of Shauna’s attention towards her. She sharply inhales. 

“Hey, Shaun, you look amazing!” Jackie exclaims, hazel eyes scanning over her. Her eyes sparkle as she takes in the elaborate costume. Shauna knows her ears flush red and she reaches a hand to tug at an earlobe. “I knew you’d pull off that Hamlet or whatever perfectly!”

Shauna feels a rush of warmth flood her cheeks, a mix of pride and embarrassment. “Thanks,” she manages, with a small smile. “You, uh, look stunning. . . um too. Ophelia suits you.”

Jackie beams, her confidence shining through. “Oh, thank you! I thought we’d make a great pair, you know? Hamlet and Ophelia, tragic but beautiful together.”

She opens her mouth to respond, but Marcus clears his throat awkwardly, reminding them of his presence. Shauna had forgotten for a moment that he was also there. She fights the urge to glare at him. 

“Um, hey, uh, Jackie. . . you’re looking, uh. . . swell,” says Marcus and then grimaces as he finishes his sentence. 

Jackie looks at him, or more like the wig on top of his head. “Hi, um. . . what’s going on with your hair?”

Marcus offers what he assumes to be a charming smile though it comes out looking like he’s constipated in Shauna’s opinion. He runs a hand through the tangled mess. “Oh, this? It’s supposed to be Marty McFly’s hairstyle. From Back to the Future. You know, the whole time-travelling thing?” Even his laugh sounds aggravating. 

Jackie crosses her arms and nods in curiosity. “Right, got it. Well, it’s certainly. . . unique.”

Shauna rolls her eyes, feeling a surge of resentment. She can’t pinpoint why, but something about Marcus’s bumbling attempt to impress Jackie rubs her the wrong way. He acts differently than when he’s alone with Shauna. Maybe it’s his stumbling words, the exaggerated gestures, or the way he seems to shed the person she knows. It can also be his easygoing demeanour being replaced by a strained eagerness and his tone shifting from familiar genuineness to a forced enthusiasm that feels off-kilter. Maybe it’s the way he fidgets or how his sentences trail off awkwardly. Or possibly it’s just the fact that he’s here at all.

Marcus shifts nervously from foot to foot. “So, uh, Jackie, did you see the fortune teller booth? Maybe you’d like to. . . check it out? Together?”

Jackie raises an eyebrow, her eyes twinkling with amusement. Shauna is two seconds away from telling him to scram and find Travis. Why is Jackie paying him so much attention in the first place anyway? Did she not agree to go with Shauna to this ball? 

“Fortune teller?” she says thoughtfully. “Sounds fun. But actually, I was hoping to hang out with Shaun first. You don’t mind, do you?”

Shauna feels a burst of relief mixed with triumph. She bites her lip hard to stop herself from bursting into laughter right in his face. “Yeah, Marcus, you go on ahead. We’ll catch up with you later.”

Marcus’s smile falters, but he quickly recovers, nodding enthusiastically. “Sure, sure! No problem at all. I’ll just, um, go find Travis. See you guys around!” He turns on his heel and scurries away, his wig bouncing comically with each step.

As he disappears into the crowd, Shauna exhales. “Finally,” she mutters under her breath.

Jackie turns to her, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “Was he being a bit much?”

Shauna shrugs, trying to play it cool. “He’s just. . . I don’t know. Full of energy sometimes.”

Jackie laughs softly. “Yeah, he’s a bit over the top sometimes. Anyway, I’m glad we’re here together.” She takes a step closer, her eyes locking onto Shauna’s. “You really do look incredible, by the way. Hamlet suits you.”

Shauna feels her cheeks flush again. She feels nervous all of a sudden, all irritation forgotten. “Thanks, Jackie. You look good too. Like, really spectacular.”

Jackie’s smile widens and Shauna can’t tear her eyes away from the green ones for a moment. 

“So, Hamlet, what’s your plan for tonight? To be or not to be. . . what?” 

Shauna raises an eyebrow. “You’ve read Hamlet?” 

Jackie giggles, a musical sound that makes Shauna’s heart thump oddly. “Well, not in those terms. I read the Cliff Notes version, like, a week ago. Good enough, right?”

Shauna smirks, feeling some of her nerves melt away. “Good enough for a pop quiz maybe. But you’re missing all the best parts.”

Jackie tilts her head, pretending to be deeply interested. “Oh really? And what would those best parts be?”

Shauna takes a moment, thinking about how to sum up Shakespeare’s genius in a few sentences. “Oh, you know, the usual. Murder, madness, existential dread. All the things that make high school feel normal.”

Jackie laughs, the sound warm and infectious. “I think Lottie and I get enough existential dread in our French class, thanks.” 

Shauna motions towards the far table. “You, uh, wanna get a drink?” she asks. 

“Yeah, sure.” 

Jackie gently loops her arm through Shauna’s, her touch light but anchoring. They weave their way through the throng of costumed students toward the refreshment table, where Jackie reaches for two cups filled with punch. Handing one to Shauna, she raises her glass, her eyes gleaming. “To a memorable time,” she toasts, her voice carrying over the hum of conversations around them.

Shauna meets her gaze, feeling a surge of warmth. “To making it through the night without turning into actual zombies,” she quips, raising her cup with a mischievous smirk.

Jackie’s smile lingers, softening her features. “I wasn’t sure you’d be up for matching costumes, but I’m glad you were,” she says, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. The casual gesture seems to draw the light from the open windows, highlighting the floral embroidery of her gown.

Shauna feels the air catch in her throat, her reply hesitant yet honest. “Why wouldn’t I?” she murmurs, her gaze briefly dropping to their intertwined arms. 

A laugh escapes Jackie, light and unforced, as they make their way to a quieter corner of the room. “I don’t know,” Jackie admits, “Just a silly thought. But,” she drags out the word, “this might be the first time I’ll enjoy myself probably.” 

“Oh?”

Jackie’s gaze shifts towards the bustling dance floor, her voice dropping to a more contemplative tone. “Well, I used to dread these things, honestly,” she begins, her words slow and thoughtful. “Every time, it was the same routine, same expectations. It gets pretty dull if you know what I mean.”

Shauna’s expression is curious yet concerned. “Why’s that?” she asks. 

Jackie’s shoulders drop slightly, a shadow of old frustrations crossing her face. “It was always with Jeff. You know, going to every event together.” Her fingers trace the rim of her cup, her movements absent and reflective. “He could be sweet some days and such an annoying asshole the other. And he’d always make a scene, whether it was about my outfit not being right or not paying enough attention to him.”

Shauna’s grip on her cup tightens, the plastic bending slightly under her fingers. She nods, keeping her face impassive, encouraging Jackie to continue.

Jackie sighs, her gaze distant. “One time, at the spring dance, he got drunk and decided to challenge everyone to a stupid arm-wrestling contest. He wouldn’t stop until he won against everyone. It was so fucking embarrassing.”

“What a jerk,” Shauna scoffs, keeping her tone neutral.

Jackie gives a small, bitter laugh. “Yeah, but, you know, just what boys do.” Her eyes glance up and her tone shifts. “Well, not you, obviously.”

“Right. . .” Shauna feels a heavy stone fall into her stomach. 

“Unless you’re tempted to,” shrugs Jackie teasingly. 

“Urgh, no thanks,” says Shauna wrinkling her nose. “I think I’ll pass on the whole arm-wrestling champion title. I still don’t understand why you were with him in the first place.” Jeff clearly isn’t in the same league as Jackie. Anyone with eyes can see that. Shauna pauses. Although perhaps money in a place like this does wonders for anyone who has enough, even goofy, sandy-haired assholes who throw cash around like confetti. The dim lighting makes it easy for wealth to mask a lack of substance, turning even the most ordinary people into desirable companions.

Jackie is quiet for a moment, the words caught in her throat. Shauna can see the struggle in her eyes, the reluctance to voice something deeply personal.

“It was just. . . my mom liked him, like, a lot,” Jackie says finally, her voice barely above a whisper. She looks away, focusing on the distant chatter and laughter. “And it was kind of expected.”

Shauna tilts her head, her brow furrowing. “Expected?” she echoes softly, her gaze searching Jackie's face.

Jackie nods, her eyes still distant. “You know how it is,” she begins, her fingers playing with the hem of her sleeve. “The right family, the right connections. It was like. . . a path laid out for me. And I just followed it, without really questioning it. I don’t think I could question it to be totally honest.”

Shauna’s heart aches for her. She can’t fully grasp the kind of expectations Jackie faces; her upbringing is starkly different. No one ever expected much from Shauna, and her mom was simply relieved that she was healthy. It frustrates her at times that her parents never demanded excellence from her, almost as if they didn’t believe she was capable of it — that she’d have to claw her own path ahead. They were content with mediocrity, never pushing her to strive for more. It’s what Dad expects from Samuel though, thinks Shauna bitterly. His focus was always on Samuel, his golden child, the son he always wanted. A bitter taste fills Shauna’s mouth as she recalls the countless times her father showered him with praise, pushing him to achieve more, to be better. She was left in the background, a spectator to her brother’s minor successes and her father’s expectations. It felt as though she was an afterthought, her potential dismissed before it could even be recognised.

“But you’re not with him now,” Shauna points out gently, hoping to offer some comfort.

Jackie’s lips curl into a small, wistful smile. “No, I’m not,” she agrees, her voice gaining a bit of strength. “And I think this might be the first time I’m actually having fun at one of these things.”

Jackie’s wistful smile lingers as Shauna feels a warmth spreading through her chest and something else she can’t quite name. The murmur fades into the background, their shared moment cocooning them in a bubble. Before Shauna can respond, the bubble bursts as Lottie and Laura Lee approach, their presence drawing attention even in the crowded room. Lottie, with her dark hair styled in glamorous waves and lips, painted a striking red, exudes the aura of a 1950s Hollywood starlet. Laura Lee, on the other hand, seems to float in her angel costume, her soft features and serene expression completing the ethereal look.

“Hey,” Lottie greets them with a playful smirk, her red lips curling as she takes in their matching costumes. “Nice outfits. Very coordinated.”

Jackie chuckles, her grip on Shauna’s arm tightening briefly before letting go. “Thanks, Lottie. I see you went all out with the Hollywood glam.”

Shauna can’t help but stare at Lottie’s lipstick, the bold red contrasting sharply against her pale skin. The glossy sheen catches the light every time she moves, making it impossible for Shauna to look away. Lottie’s dress, a form-fitting vintage piece, accentuates her curves and adds to the aura of old-school glamour. It transports Shauna back to memories of Nat, who always dressed with a fearless edge, whether at school or any event. Nat’s fishnets, striking eyeliner, and the confident way she carried herself were indelible. A pang hits her chest and she faintly smells weed and patchouli from memory. The ache of missing Nat is immediate and deep, the recollection so vivid it feels like the other girl is right there beside her. 

Shauna then notices that they’re staring at her as if expecting an answer. “Huh?” Shauna says dumbly. 

Lottie laughs richly. “I said are you meant to be Mr Darcy or whatever?” 

“Oh, er, no, um, wrong century actually,” Shauna chuckles and adjusts the crown. “I’m Hamlet.” 

“Oh cool.”

“Yeah, it was either Hamlet or a giant banana costume, and I figured brooding Danish prince was a safer bet.” Shauna tugs at her collar, feeling a little self-conscious. The heavy fabric and intricate design are a far cry from her usual flannels and jeans. 

Jackie grins, her eyes twinkling as she gives Shauna a playful nudge. “Well, you’ve got that intense, brooding look down perfectly.” 

Shauna frowns suddenly. “I don’t brood,” she says defensively, eyes wide. 

Jackie’s eyebrows hike up, a silent laugh shaking her shoulders. "You don’t, huh? I bet you even rehearse your brooding in the mirror. You’re the brooding soul of the party.” 

Shauna rolls her eyes, but a reluctant smile tugs at her lips. “Okay, maybe I have a ‘thoughtful’ face, but brooding is stretching it.”

“Shaun, your costume doesn’t help your case that much. But, it’s better than coming as a ghost. Can you imagine trying to drink punch with a sheet over your head?”

Shauna laughs, the tension in her shoulders easing a bit. “Yeah, that would’ve been a disaster. At least this way I can actually see where I’m going.”

Laura Lee’s soft voice cuts through. “Well, I think the costume suits you.”

“Thanks, Laura Lee,” Shauna replies, managing a smile. “An angel, right?”

Laura Lee’s serene expression brightens with a smile. “Yes, thank you. It’s simple, but I like it. It feels good to wear something that reminds me to be kind and look out for others. Plus, the wings are kind of fun!”

Shauna listens as they start chatting mindlessly. She takes a sip of her punch, her eyes wandering over to Laura Lee and Lottie. Laura Lee is laughing at something Lottie said, her expression one of pure delight. Lottie’s eyes are soft, almost tender, as she looks at Laura Lee, and Shauna can’t help but notice the subtle ways they gravitate towards each other — Lottie’s hand brushing against Laura Lee’s arm, the way they lean in closer to share a private joke. Shauna looks away and swallows hard, feeling as if her mom had caught her watching an illicit DVD again. Not fun times. 

The noise from Coach Martinez shouting at a bunch of guys dressed in football uniforms cuts through the chatter. The girls trade amused glances before bursting into laughter, their mirth infectious. 

Lottie tilts her head, her curls bouncing. “Coach never misses a chance to play drill sergeant, even at a Halloween ball.”

Jackie chuckles, shaking her head. “Honestly, I don’t think he even knows it’s a Halloween ball. He probably thinks it's just another practice session.”

Laura Lee grimaces. “Urgh, please don’t remind me. My limbs still ache from the last session when he made us run multiple laps.” 

“Ugh, tell me about it,” Jackie groans, rolling her eyes. “I swear, I thought my legs were going to fall off. But, hey, no pain, no gain, right? At least we’re getting in shape for the real party season.”

Shauna tunes them out, her eyes drifting to a group nearby. The boys’ laughter rings out, carefree and loud, as they shove each other playfully. How easy it must be to be a teenage boy, she thinks wistfully. No worrying about appearances or the constant pressure to fit into a mould. They seem free, unburdened by the weight of her own expectations that always seem to follow her. Shauna wonders what it would be like to let go, to laugh without a care, to exist without the invisible chains that tighten around her every day. And yet, they also don’t notice the harm they cause others. They live in a world where their actions are seldom questioned, where their mistakes are brushed off as boys being boys. Their freedom is much to be envied. 

“Okay, I’ve had too much to drink, I need the bathroom,” says Jackie, placing her plastic cup on the table. “You coming?” Her tone sounded expectant. 

“Yeah,” Laura Lee replies. Lottie follows suit, brushing a stray curl away from her face. 

Shauna, acting on habit, says without thinking, “Yeah, sure, I’ll go with you.”

There’s a brief silence as all three girls turn to look at her, confusion etched on their faces. Shauna realises her mistake, a cold rush of panic flooding her chest. She freezes, feeling the weight of their eyes on her.

Jackie’s brow furrows slightly. “Uh, Shaun?”

Shauna’s mind races, scrambling for a way out of the sudden scrutiny. “I mean,” she stammers, her voice higher than usual, “I. . . I’ll wait for you, of course.” She forces a chuckle, hoping it sounds casual. Her voice deepens purposefully. “I’ll. . . uh, I’ll be around.” 

Lottie and Laura Lee exchange glances, then shrug, seemingly accepting the explanation. 

“Alright, be back soon,” says Jackie. 

Shauna — now uneasy in her skin — slips away from the looks she is getting. The boisterous laughter and the clinking of plastic cups against the Halloween-decorated tables fade into a soft drone. The glare of the lights appears too bright, the conversations around her too sharp. With each step, her heart echoes louder in her ears, a reminder of the mask she wears, not just the costume.

She navigates through clusters of classmates, their faces painted with glee and ghostly makeup, toward a quieter corner of the venue. The shadows grow longer here, the crowds thin, and the music turns into a remote buzz, more felt than heard. Shauna’s footsteps slow as she approaches a dimly lit alcove, her sanctuary from the swell of the crowd.

Just as she rounds the corner, a hushed exchange stops her. Ahead, in a secluded alcove, she spots Tai and Van, caught in a moment so private it seems to warp the space around them, making Shauna feel even more like the intruder. They stand close, much closer than friends typically would, locked in a tender, earnest moment. Tai’s hand rests gently on Van’s cheek.

Before Shauna can retreat, a floorboard creaks under her hesitant weight.

Tai’s head snaps around, her eyes widening in shock, then narrowing in suspicion. She steps in front of Van, a protective gesture that stiffens the air between them. “Shipman? What the fuck are you doing here?” Her voice is a low growl, barely containing a threat.

“I—I didn’t mean to. . .” Shauna stammers, her words stumbling over each other. Her heart is racing and her cheeks heat like a furnace. “I was just looking for a quiet place. I’m sorry.”

The silence that follows is taut, loaded with unspoken warnings. Tai’s stance remains guarded, her eyes searching Shauna’s for any sign of deceit. Van, quieter and less confrontational, sets a calming hand on Tai’s arm, her touch light but firm.

Shauna’s breath catches in her throat as the weight of Tai’s stare bears down on her. She shifts her gaze to the ground, the flickering shadows playing tricks with her vision. She wishes she could disappear into them.

Tai takes a step forward, closing the distance, her posture rigid. Shauna can almost feel the tension rolling off her in waves. “Quiet place, huh?” Tai’s voice is steady but edged with a sharpness that cuts through the dim light. “You sure you’re not just snooping around?”

Shauna’s mouth opens, but no sound comes out. She swallows hard and meets Tai’s eyes. “No, I swear. I just needed a break.”

Van, still standing slightly behind Tai, shifts uncomfortably. Her eyes flick between Tai and Shauna, worry etched into her features. She bites her lip, then gently tugs on Tai’s sleeve. “Tai, it’s okay.”

Tai doesn’t relax. Instead, she narrows her eyes further, scrutinising Shauna as if searching for hidden motives. “You always have a way of showing up at the worst times, Shaun. Funny how that is, isn’t it?”

Shauna’s cheeks burn, and she takes a step back, the urge to flee almost overwhelming. “I didn’t mean to intrude,” she mumbles, her voice barely audible over the thudding in her ears.

“What, you’re not gonna run and tell your little buddies about two Yellowjackets making out?” 

Shauna’s head snaps up and she scowls, irritation starting to bloom in her chest. She doesn’t like the accusatory tone thrown at her. “I would never fucking do that!” she snaps. 

Is that how low Tai thinks of her? As someone who would turn a private moment into public fodder? Her suspicion feels like a slap. Did she believe her to be homophobic? The accusation stings, not just because of the mistrust it implies, but because it feels like a complete misreading of her character. As a child, Shauna often walked through the vibrant streets of the West Village, where same-sex couples holding hands or kissing was an everyday sight. Yet, there is something else there, too — an unspoken feeling she can’t quite name. A stirring inside her, a sense of recognition or longing perhaps. But it is never disgust. She’s very much aware of that. Far from it. It is more like a quiet acknowledgement, a whisper of something deeper. 

Tai’s eyes stay locked on Shauna, her expression hard and unyielding. It seems like she might lash out further for a beat, but then she softens, just a fraction, as if a part of her recognises the sincerity in Shauna’s outburst. She steps back, but the tension remains thick in the air.

“Fine,” Tai says, her voice low and controlled. “But keep your mouth shut. Understand? Or we’re going to have a problem.”

Shauna nods quickly, relief and frustration warring within her. “I understand. I won’t say a word. Promise.”

Tai’s eyes flicker with lingering doubt, but she lets out a slow breath, her shoulders easing just a bit. “You’d better not,” she mutters, her tone softer now, but still edged with caution.

Shauna takes another step back, her hands slightly raised in a gesture of surrender. She glances at Van, who offers her a tentative smile.

“Really,” Shauna adds, her voice steadier. “I get it. I won’t say anything. You can trust me.” She tries to make her eyes convey what words cannot — a mixture of an apology, understanding, and an earnest promise.

Tai’s posture relaxes, though her eyes remain wary. She studies Shauna for a long moment as if weighing the truth of her words. Finally, she nods, a small, reluctant gesture of acceptance. Shauna, grateful for the reprieve, turns, her footsteps light as she retreats, letting out a slow breath. What the fuck? Well, that at least explains the looks the two girls throw at each other on occasion. She’s happy for them. They suit in an oddly matched kind of way. She is still slightly miffed that Tai thinks that she would do something as cruel as that. But she gets it, kind of. Shauna spotted a moment of fear in the girl’s eyes before it was superseded by lashful anger. And, besides, Shaun is a stranger to her — who knows what he would’ve done? Or how accepting he is with two girls making out that isn’t for male validation. Shauna herself has heard the whispers, seen the disapproving glances, and witnessed the outright hostility from one or two individuals directed at those who dare to love differently even in a city as diverse as New York. She swallows harshly. She understands now — fear often masks itself as anger, especially in situations where trust is so fragile. 

Shauna wanders back to the main area of the party, the din of laughter and music growing louder as she re-enters the crowd. She spots Jackie returning from the bathroom, her eyes scanning the room until they land on Shauna. A smile spreads across Jackie’s face, bright and inviting. Shauna’s heart skips a beat as if a bird has taken flight in her chest, soaring towards the sun. 

“There you are!” Jackie calls out, weaving through the throng of people toward Shauna. “Everything okay? Didn’t miss me too much, did you?” A smirk rests on her face. 

Shauna shakes, trying to shake off the lingering uncertainty from her encounter with Tai and Van. “No, I just needed a breather that’s all,” she replies.

Jackie, ever perceptive, eyes her for a moment before letting it go. “Well, we’re about to dance. You in?”

Shauna hesitates, her eyes darting to the crowded dance floor. Dancing has never been her thing, especially not in the glare of so many eyes. She and Nat have always preferred the quieter moments on the sidelines, where they could share a laugh or a deep conversation. “I, uh, don’t know, Jackie. I’m not really—”

“Nonsense,” Jackie interrupts, grabbing her hand. “Come on, it’ll be fun. You can’t just stand on the sidelines all night.”

Shauna feels a knot of anxiety tighten in her stomach. But Jackie’s enthusiasm is infectious, and the genuine warmth in her eyes makes it hard to say no. “Alright,” she relents, a small smile tugging at her lips. “But don’t blame me if I step on your toes.”

Jackie beams, tugging Shauna toward the dance floor. “Shaun, if you step on my toes, it’ll just give me an excuse to wear those cute band-aids I bought! Besides, you can’t be worse than Jeff at least!”

“Don’t hold your breath.” 

Bobby Pickett’s familiar tune of Monster Mash croons around the room. As they begin to dance, Jackie steps closer, placing her hands on Shauna’s shoulders while Shauna tentatively places her hands on Jackie’s waist. The proximity makes Shauna acutely aware of Jackie’s presence. She feels Jackie’s body press against hers, her light, expensive perfume filling her senses. 

The closeness makes Shauna nervous and self-conscious, causing her heart to race. She’s never been this close to another girl before — not even with Nat. Kissing most of the guys she had dated was different. Sure, it was nice to feel the warmth and touch of another person, but this. . . this was something entirely new. A strange fluttering sensation fills her chest, like a cage of butterflies yearning to escape the confines of her ribs. Jackie’s fingers begin to trace small, soothing circles on Shauna’s shoulders, and Shauna can’t help but feel a shiver run down her spine. The sensation is electric, stirring emotions she’s never quite felt before. 

Fuck, she feels like she drowning and gliding at the same time. 

Jackie’s face is close enough that Shauna can feel her warm breath against her skin, and see the way her eyes sparkle under the fuzzy lights. Shauna struggles to maintain her composure, feeling both flattered and awkward. Her fingers twitch slightly against Jackie’s waist, betraying her unease. She tries to focus on the rhythm and the music to calm herself, but the closeness continues to unsettle her. Jackie’s delicate smile and reassuring touch help her relax slightly, but she remains aware of the intensity of the moment. As if she can fall apart at any moment like a house of cards, delicately balanced yet on the verge of collapse with the slightest gust. 

Her gaze flashes down to Jackie’s lips, then quickly back to her eyes. The butterflies in her chest are practically in a frenzy now, beating their wings wildly against her ribs; her cheeks warm. Jackie’s eyes feel heavy, almost as if they can see right through her, to her very soul. Shauna swallows hard, her mouth dry, and forces a small, shaky smile in return. Jackie’s presence is equally calming and overwhelming, a confusing blend that makes Shauna’s heart flutter erratically. Still, she doesn’t like it very much — feeling so out of control, so out of her body. 

When the songs end, Jackie steps back, giving Shauna some space. She smiles warmly at her, seemingly unaware of her internal struggle. Shauna’s hands drop to her sides, and she takes a deep breath, the tension slowly ebbing away. She offers a genuine, if slightly strained, smile back to Jackie, her chest still heaving.

But the moment is abruptly cut short when Jackie’s eyes glance past Shauna. Her face, once glowing with laughter, shifts to a tense expression. Before Shauna can react, Jackie’s hand grips hers tightly, pulling her through the throng of dancing students.

“Jackie, what—”

“No time!” Jackie’s voice is a rushed whisper, her eyes wide with urgency. They weave through the crowd, dodging outstretched arms and sidestepping gyrating bodies. Shauna turns her head and catches a glimpse of Jeff, his frame next to a smirking, leering Randy, but she doesn’t have time to process of recoil in disgust before Jackie tugs her through the exit.

The cool night air hits them like a splash of water, stark and refreshing against the heat of the dance floor. The melody and voices are muffled as the door swings shut behind them. Jackie doesn’t stop until they reach a secluded grassy area, shielded from view by a line of trees.

“Jackie, what is it?” Shauna pants, trying to catch her breath.

Jackie turns her head to look at Shauna. Her eyes are softer now, the tension fading but not entirely gone.

“Jeff,” she finally says, the name heavy on her tongue. “I just don’t wanna see him right now, you know, or let him ruin this night. I think he’s looking for me.” 

“Oh, um, right. . .”

Jackie sinks to the ground, kicking off her shoes and letting out a sigh of relief as her bare feet touch the cool grass. She lies back, staring up at the night sky, her chest heaving as she calms herself. Shauna watches her in wonder, her dress billowing out and making her look like a dreamlike figure in the moonlight. The delicate fabric of her dress spreads around her like the petals of a flower, shimmering softly in the glow of the stars. 

Jackie looks up at Shauna with a playful glint in her eye, a mischievous smile curling on her lips. She pats the ground beside her, urging Shauna to join her. “Come on, Shaun. Lie down. It’s actually quite nice.”

Shauna hesitates, glancing back towards the building they had just fled from. But then she removes her burgundy coat and crown and carefully lowers herself to the ground, feeling the cool, soft grass through the linen fabric of her shirt.

“See? Isn’t it better out here?” Jackie asks, her voice a faint whisper now.

“Yeah,” Shauna admits, her eyes fixed on the stars. “It is.”

Jackie turns her head slightly to look at Shauna, her smile widening. “You’re clever, aren’t you, Shaun? Throw me something new, something I haven’t heard before.”

Shauna snorts. “Oh, you want something new? How about this: What do you call a bear with no teeth?” She pauses, her lips curling into a smirk. “A gummy bear. Bet you didn’t see that one coming, did you?”

“Unbelievable,” Jackie says, pretending to be unimpressed. “Here I am, baring my soul, and you hit me with a gummy bear joke. Come on, give me another.”

“Alright, alright. . .”

Shauna thinks for a moment, feeling the weight of Jackie’s curiosity. She wants to say something that would match the charm of the night, something that would make Jackie’s eyes light up even more.

“Well, um,” she starts slowly, “you see the light we’re seeing from the stars right now. That’s actually millions of years old. Some of those stars might not even exist anymore. So we’re, um, sort of looking at the past in a sense. A piece of history every time we look up.”

Jackie’s eyes widen with genuine surprise and delight. “Wowza, that’s incredible! So, then we’re kind of time travellers, then?”

Shauna chuckles. “Yeah, I guess you can look at it in that way.” 

“Tell me another,” Jackie prods, childishly poking a finger at Shauna’s cheek, causing her her smile. 

“You ever hear about the constellation Lyra?” Shauna asks.

Jackie shakes her head, her eyes wide with novelty. “No, I haven’t. What’s it about?”

“It’s one of my favourites because it’s kind of tragic,” Shauna begins.

“Of course it is,” Jackie snorts teasingly. 

“Lyra is the lyre of Orpheus, the great musician and poet. Orpheus is so talented that his music can charm anyone — even stones and trees. Wait, before you make that face, listen before you judge, Jackie, okay? So, he basically falls in love with a woman named Eurydice, and they’re incredibly happy together. But one day, Eurydice gets bitten by a snake and sadly dies. Orpheus, understandably, is devastated.”

Jackie’s eyes soften. “Oh, that’s so sad.”

“Yeah, it is,” Shauna agrees. “I mean the love of your life dying, ‘course. But it gets sadder. Orpheus doesn’t give up. He decides to travel to the underworld to bring her back. He plays his lyre and sings so beautifully that he convinces Hades and Persephone, who are essentially the rulers of the underworld, to let Eurydice return with him to the living world. But there is a condition: he can’t look back at her until they have both reached the surface — not even once otherwise he’ll lose her.” 

Jackie listens intently, her grip on Shauna’s hand tightening slightly. “Does he make it?”

Shauna sighs. “Almost. He leads Eurydice through the dark tunnels of the underworld, but just before they reach the surface, he turns to make sure she is still with him. And because of his mistake, as I said, because at that moment he looks back for a tiny millisecond, she is pulled back into the underworld forever. And is lost to him for eternity.”

Jackie frowns, her brow furrowing. “But, like, why does he look back? He was warned, wasn’t he?”

“I suppose because he distrusts and fears and worries just like any mortal,” Shauna says softly. “He can’t trust that she is really there, following him, or just a figment of his imagination. In the end, it’s his fear and doubt that makes him lose her.”

Jackie is quiet for a moment, absorbing the story. “Do you think we all have moments like that? Where our doubt makes us lose something precious?”

Shauna hums, her eyes reflecting the starlight above. “I think so. Sometimes we doubt ourselves, or the people we care about, and it can make us act out of fear.”

Jackie turns to face Shauna, her expression thoughtful. “Have you ever doubted like that?”

Shauna hesitates, then nods slowly. “Yeah, I guess. . . I don’t know. I just sometimes wonder if I’m good enough, you know? Like, can I achieve what I want? And. . . do people see me for who I really am.”

“I think you're more than good enough.”

Shauna smiles. “Thanks, Jackie. That means a lot.”

Jackie beams, her eyes shining. “So, go on. What happens to Orpheus or whatever after that?”

“Well, he’s heartbroken and doomed to wander the world playing his lyre, singing songs of sorrow. But ultimately, he’s taken up into the sky, and his lyre becomes the constellation Lyra, hence the name, so his music can be heard forever.”

“Jeez, that’s fucking depressing.” 

“Mmm, not necessarily, I believe there’s some beauty in tragedy. Otherwise, our lives would be unbalanced, don’t you think? The sorrow makes us appreciate the joy even more.”

“Spoken like a poet, I’d gather.” 

Jackie’s gaze is intense, searing into the side of Shauna’s face. There’s an undercurrent in her tone, something elusive and charged that Shauna can’t quite grasp. She swallows hard, trying to quell the lump rising in her throat.

Jackie sighs and looks away. “But I suppose you’re right. It’s just that sometimes, it feels like the sadness outweighs the happiness, you know.”

Jackie’s gaze momentarily flickers down to Shauna’s lips, a subtle shift that sends an unexpected thrill through Shauna’s chest. Her heart, a startled captive, begins to thrum wildly. There’s a ringing in her ear as Shauna leans closer, slow and inexorable, the world blurring into an indistinct whisper. She imagines the softness of Jackie’s lips and a low heat begins burning near her pelvis. Then— 

Footsteps. Multiple footsteps — a harsh, grounding percussion against the gravel. 

Shauna pulls back so sharply that the breeze stings her eyes. She blinks. The sudden intrusion sends a rush of adrenaline through her veins, and she sits up quickly, glancing towards the source of the noise.

A group of figures emerges from the shadows, their faces lit by the dim glow. It’s a bunch of unfamiliar faces from the party, laughing and chatting animatedly. 

Jackie, too, sits up, her expression a mix of irritation and amusement. “Looks like the party followed us,” she mutters, her voice low and playful.

Shauna scrambles to her feet, her movements clumsy and frantic. She grabs her discarded coat and throws it on haphazardly, her breath coming in short, quick bursts. Jackie looks up at her, bewildered. “Shaun, what’s wrong?”

“I just. . . I think we should go inside,” Shauna stammers, not meeting Jackie’s eyes. Her heart pounds loudly in her chest, and she can feel the heat rising to her cheeks.

“Why? We were having a nice time here,” Jackie protests, but she slowly gets to her feet, dusting off her dress.

Shauna avoids her gaze, staring resolutely at the ground. Her voice is snappier than she expects it to be. “It’s pretty getting late, okay? We should probably head back.”

The group from the party approaches, oblivious to the pair of them. As they draw closer, Jackie glances at them, then back at Shauna, her confusion deepening. “Alright, if you say so,” she says quietly and rises to her feet, patting down her dress for any grass marks. 

As they walk back towards the building, Shauna keeps her eyes firmly fixed on the ground, each step feeling heavier than the last. She can hear Jackie’s light footsteps beside her, the swish of her dress brushing against the grass, but she doesn’t dare look up. The racing pulse in her wrists, the rush of blood in her ears — everything is heightened, intensified. She can’t shake the feeling of Jackie’s eyes on her form, even without looking. Those big, hazel eyes, so clear and penetrating, seem to see right through her facade as if they can read the secrets she keeps hidden. They’re like hooks for the soul, pulling Shauna in, demanding her attention, demanding the truth. 

Shauna feels a spasm of fear mixed with something she can’t quite name, something deep and inexplicable. This fear isn’t the kind that comes from a tangible threat. She can deal with that, no problem. This is more profound, more insidious. It’s the fear of the unknown, of relinquishing control. She’s always prided herself on being composed, on having everything under control. But now, with Jackie so close, with her presence so overwhelming, that control slips through her fingers like sand. She’s also very aware that this isn’t something she can simply walk away from. This puzzling sentiment is something she has to face. And that realisation, more than anything else, is what truly terrifies her.

Because she couldn’t. . . couldn’t like her, could she? Fuck. Could she really be attracted to Jackie? To a girl? The idea is both terrifying and exhilarating. Shauna has always considered herself straight, always assumed she’d end up with a guy. But now, those assumptions feel flimsy, insubstantial. 

She’s not a stranger to these kinds of emotions, don’t get her wrong. Nat blurted out two summers ago in the middle of being high that she might, maybe, but not entirely certain, be into girls too. Shauna remembers that conversation vividly. Nat had been so scared during the aftermath, so unsure of herself. Shauna had been supportive, of course, offering comforting words and a reassuring presence. She had told Nat that it was okay to feel that way because it was. It is. 

But she had never considered that those same feelings might one day surface within herself. And why Jackie, of all people? If she imagined herself liking a girl she never imagined it’d be someone like Jackie Taylor — the kind of girl who seems predestined for a happily-ever-after with a husband and a family, living out the quintessential suburban dream. Jackie is everything Shauna isn’t. She’s confident, outgoing, always at the centre of attention simply because she’s the captain of a championship team. Shauna has always been the quiet one, the dependable one. It’s a label that has been branded on her. 

And yet, Shauna suddenly remembers the small detail that she so conveniently missed. She’s sitting on a goddamn throne of lies. Jackie believes her to be a boy. The disguise, once a shield, now feels like a prison, trapping her in layers of deception. Her stomach churns with dread as the weight of her deceit settles in. She is completely and irrevocably fucked. 

Chapter Text

Jackie feels a simmering annoyance she can’t quite place. Her eyes drift unwillingly to the dark-haired boy by the bleachers, standing near Coach Scott and Coach Martinez, a camera hanging around his neck, his oversized plaid shirt catching her attention more than it should. His presence tugs at her focus, throwing her off. This week’s soccer practice isn’t up to her usual standards — her passes are sloppy, her footwork is uncertain. Everything feels off, and it’s driving her fucking mad. 

Tai throws her an odd look as she misses an easy shot, but Jackie doesn’t meet her gaze. Heat rushes to her cheeks. She never messes up like this. She’s captain for a reason. But today, nothing feels right. Not the game, not her body, nor her mind. He’s ignoring her, she can sense it like the wind shifting on the field. But why? He hasn’t even looked at her once. The thought gnaws at her brain, twisting in her gut. The other night, things had gone so well — hadn’t they? He’d laughed at her jokes and seemed genuinely interested in everything she had to say. And then, out of nowhere, he shut down. The moment replays in her head like a broken record: the flicker in his eyes, his shoulders stiffening, his gaze suddenly elsewhere, like he couldn’t wait to leave, to leave her. 

“Jackie!” Coach Martinez’s voice snaps her out of her thoughts, sharp and disapproving. “Focus!”

She nods quickly, biting her lip and running a hand through her sweaty hair. Focus. Right. She’s the captain. This is her team. No messing up. She can’t afford to get distracted if they want to make it to Nationals. But her legs feel heavy, her movements sluggish. Nothing about today makes sense.

The smile she plasters on slips from her mouth when she sees Shaun lift his camera from the corner of her eye, snapping a picture of something — or someone — beyond her. The shutter click feels like a jab to her ribs. It’s pointed nowhere near her as if on purpose. Why does it bother her so much that he’s not paying attention to her? And why does it feel so much like rejection? 

When practice ends and the girls slowly start trickling off the pitch, Jackie lingers near the bleachers, her cleats scuffing the grass as she paces slowly. Her muscles ache, but it’s nothing compared to the clawing frustration curling in her chest like vines tightening around a pillar. The other girls are laughing, already grabbing their bags and heading out. She catches sight of Shaun near the far end of the bleachers, leaning against one of the posts, his camera resting on his hip. He’s talking to Tai and Van now, a slight smile pulling at his lips.

Jackie’s jaw tightens. There’s something too easy about how he’s standing there for her liking, too relaxed. Too open with anyone that isn’t me, she thinks bitterly. His hands motion as he talks, gesturing casually like he doesn’t have a care in the world. The boy who had seemed so sincere just nights ago now feels distant, walled off behind an impenetrable silence. Oh, that’s right. But not with Tai or Van, obviously. They’re like, inseparable now — basically joined at the hip or whatever. Jackie watches with a sour taste as Van playfully fists his shoulder, his chuckle sounding like he’s totally at ease. Last time she checked, Tai didn’t like him, not one bit. She believed Shaun to be a creep who wanted to perv on a bunch of soccer girls for his own sick pleasure, but Jackie strongly disagreed, insisting that wasn’t who Shaun was at all. So then what happened? Did he win her over with his charms or something? Has she woken up in an alternative universe where nothing makes sense? 

The way his head tilts, like he’s fully absorbed in their conversation, which is what he used to do for her, makes Jackie’s stomach knot tighter. She doesn’t understand. At the Halloween ball, there had been a moment — no, several moments — where it felt like there was a connection, something real. His words had been raw, exposed like he was letting her see a part of him no one else did.

Yet now, it’s clear that she’s the last thing on his mind. 

They’re meant to be friends or perhaps he’s forgotten; woke up one morning and decided that no, actually, they aren’t. She couldn’t have imagined everything. Sure, maybe she isn’t great at keeping up with French conjugations or figuring out calculus, but she isn’t downright delusional. Shaun’s as real as the cold metal of her captain’s armband, as solid as the sting of a missed penalty kick. She has to believe that. Jackie kicks a loose ball, sending it skidding across the field. She should walk over. Say something. Anything. But her feet stay rooted in place, her fingers curling and uncurling around the strap of her duffel bag.

Jackie’s teeth grind together, her gaze narrowing as she watches Shaun turn slightly, glancing at Tai, his plaid shirt swaying a little in the breeze, their laughter hitting her like a slap. Her chest tightens. What do they have to laugh about? It’s not like those two had anything in common. Her knuckles turn white from gripping the strap of her duffel bag too hard, tension building up in her neck. She doesn’t get it. Why’s it so easy for them? Shaun isn’t supposed to be their friend. Not like this, anyway. That connection she thought she had with him felt personal, unique — not something he’d casually share with everyone else. Okay, yeah, sure, Shaun can be really funny at times and witty but for super serious and determined Tai to laugh just doesn’t add up. 

Her heart races, pumping frustration through her veins. She should’ve talked to him earlier, after the Halloween ball, after that moment. Why had she held back and watched him stride away without a glance in her direction? It isn’t like her to hesitate, to second-guess herself. And now she’s stuck here, watching from the sidelines while he. . . seems entirely over it.

“Urgh,” she mutters under her breath, rubbing her hand over her face.

This fucking sucked, big time. Her pulse hammers in her ears, and she glances down at her feet, trying to ignore the messy storm brewing inside her. Maybe Tai and Van aren’t doing anything wrong. It’s not their fault Shaun is acting weird. But it still stings, this sharp-edged feeling she can’t shake off. 

He’s pulling away from her — she can feel it in every glance he avoids, every word he doesn’t say. The sharp sting of it hits her again, just like it had at the party. Her teeth graze her bottom lip as her mind circles back, replaying the night. That moment when his expression shifted, his body stiffened like a wall went up between them.  His smile had faded so fast, and then he’d excused himself, slipping into the crowd, leaving her with too many questions and no answers.

Now, standing alone near the bleachers, she feels the weight of his silence pressing down on her. She isn’t supposed to care this much. Not about him. Not about any of this. But she does; she hates that she does because it’s driving her fucking insane. 

As if sensing her gaze, Shaun suddenly turns, his eyes flicking in her direction for the briefest second before darting away like a startled bird fleeing from an unseen predator. It’s a quick movement, barely noticeable, but to Jackie, it’s a slap. She clenches her fists, the hurt and confusion bubbling beneath her skin. Has she done something wrong? Does she look bad? But surely, whatever it is, he can talk to her about it. She knows it’s irrational — one look, one fleeting glance shouldn’t mean anything. Her mind spins, dissecting every interaction they’ve had over the past few weeks, every word exchanged, every laugh shared. Could she have missed something?

She wipes the back of her hand across her forehead, the sweat stinging her eyes. The sun’s dipping low, casting long shadows over the field, and everyone’s slowly packing up to leave. Maybe she does look bad. Her hair is a mess, stringy locks sticking to her forehead, and her jersey clings uncomfortably to her skin. She hears her mother’s voice in her head, sharp and disapproving. You can’t just let yourself go like that, Jacqueline, appearance matters. People notice when you don’t put in the effort. Trust her mother to be right. She begins making her way toward the benches by the locker room. Her steps are unhurried, deliberate, her shoes crunching in the gravel by the grassy area as she walks past them — close enough for them to notice, but far enough away to pretend she’s just doing her own thing.

She can feel their eyes on her, or at least she imagines them glancing her way. She sneaks a peek, unable to resist. Shaun’s smile is wide, his face animated in a way that twists something deep inside her. Tai’s leaning in closer, saying something Jackie can’t quite make out, but whatever it is, Shaun’s laugh rings out in response. She watches the way his eyes crinkle at the corners, the way his shoulders relax, and it’s so different from the stiff, awkward manner he’s been around her lately. She’s also struck by how pretty he looks. His shirt is slightly wrinkled, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, revealing pale forearms. And his skin — god, his skin. Shaun is beautiful, and it’s not just the sharp jawline or the curve of his lips, but the way he moves and inhabits the space around him as if everything he does is imbued with this casual grace he’s completely unaware of. 

Jackie’s chest tightens, and she quickly looks away as familiar warmth stirs deep in her stomach — the same rush she felt the first time she saw Lottie in that curve-hugging dress, looking all perfect, like some Elizabeth Taylor movie star. She wonders when she started noticing these things about him — the softness, the details, so different from Jeff’s roughness. Maybe it’s always been there, simmering beneath the surface, but now it’s as if a light has been switched on and she can’t stop seeing him this way. Her fingers dig into the fabric of her jersey, crumpling it, her pulse beating too fast.

Does he feel something for Tai? Or Van? It’s ridiculous, she tells herself. Shaun’s never shown any interest like that. At least, not that she’s witnessed. But then again, what does she know? She swore someone mentioned a girlfriend he left in New York, but people around here like to make up things. Keeps them from being bored. Maybe she’s missed the signs. Maybe she’s been so focused on trying to read him that she hasn’t noticed how easily he’s slipped into someone else’s orbit. The thought sours in her stomach, makes her fingers twitch with the urge to march over and demand answers, demand an explanation for why he’s leaving her behind, making her feel like she’s the one who’s out of place.

The slip of paper in her duffel bag feels heavier somehow. That stupid poem. She’s read it a dozen times, the words spinning around in her head, taking on new meanings every time she tries to decode them. The reference to the stars, the universe, like when they were on that ride — it totally comes from him, right? Because who else can it be? She swears it means something — something more than just friendly lines scrawled out on a whim. It feels personal, the way he shared it with her, slipping it under her dorm room like a secret, like something just for her. But now. . . Fuck, maybe she’s been wrong all along. Maybe he regrets it, regrets making it seem like there was something between them. 

What kind of bullshit is this? Was the universe messing with her? Gee, let’s make Jackie’s life a fucking nightmare. The first guy — an actual boy I could stand to be with — I want to spend time with and he acts like I’ve got a continuous disease, she sighs bitterly. Why can’t he just say something? She’ll take even a hint over this deafening silence, this guessing game where the stakes feel too high for her heart to handle. Does he ever think about her like she thinks about him, or was he just messing around? Some guys like to play the role, she knows that. To feel all tough and in control. But Shaun’s different, though. He doesn’t come across as toying with people’s feelings. Or at least, that’s what she wants to believe.

But then there’s the way he looks at Van and laughs with Tai like they’re part of some inside joke she’s not in on. Jackie bites her lip until the metallic taste of blood soaks her tongue. It’s stupid, so stupid to feel this jealous, but it’s there all the same, gnawing at her ribs and lungs, leaving this bitter flavour in her mouth. They all seem to fit so naturally into their lives, like they know exactly who they are and don’t have to think twice about how they carry themselves or how people see them. What a thing to envy. Meanwhile, she’s stuck, always on the outside looking in, trying to catch up, to earn her place, to try not to feel like she’s falling behind in every direction.

Why is it so effortless for them?

It’s the same sentiment she’s always had. She’s tried so fucking hard to please everyone — her mom, with her constant criticisms and impossible standards; Jeff, with his endless demands for her attention as if her life is just an extension of his; Coach Martinez, with his relentless expectations. All Jackie has ever done is try to fit in, to mould herself into what everyone else wants her to be. She’s spent years crafting the perfect version of herself, making sure no one ever saw her crack. Not an anomaly, not a freak, god forbid. She’s meant to be a snow globe, perfectly polished on the outside — just a pretty decoration in a frozen world, shaking but never escaping. She tries hard to keep that glass from cracking but it’s been getting harder as time passes. Everything was simpler as a child. 

Tai and Van disappear, their laughter fading as they head toward the locker room, leaving her alone on the field with the fading light and the hum of crickets in the distant woodland. She knows she should follow, grab her bag and go, but her feet stay rooted to the grass, the cool evening air brushing against her sweaty skin. Shaun is still there, fiddling with his camera, the lens catching the last glint of sunlight. He doesn’t look up or seem to notice her watching him.

Something keeps her there — maybe it’s the harrowing feeling in her chest, the way his silence has wrapped itself around her thoughts like a thorny vine. 

She takes a slow, calculated step forward, her cleats barely making a sound on the grass. Another step. Her body is moving before her mind can stop her, drawn toward him like a wolf stalking a rabbit. He’s hunched slightly, focused on his camera as if it holds all the answers, his fingers adjusting the lens with a care that feels almost too precise. Jackie’s steps lag, her eyes tracing the tense line of his shoulders, the way his plaid shirt shifts with each movement. He’s completely absorbed in whatever he’s doing, unaware — or pretending to be unaware — of her presence. The field feels eerily quiet like the world has narrowed to just the two of them, the soft crunch of grass beneath her feet the only sound breaking the stillness. 

His hands pause on the camera, fingers freezing mid-adjustment. Her gaze narrows. There it is. He knows she’s there.

She’s close enough now to catch the subtle shift of his expression — a brief tightening around his mouth, the clench of his jaw. She lingers on how the muscle flexes before tearing her gaze away. He doesn’t turn to face her, but the air between them shifts, thick and palpable. It’s the same tension that’s been grinding at her all week, the same tension that makes her feel like she’s standing on the edge of something fragile, ready to break.

And he’s still not looking at her. 

She wonders, for a second, if he’s angry with her. The thought catches her off guard, but it’s there, suddenly impossible to shake. There’s something about the way his body is so tense, the way he’s deliberately keeping his eyes anywhere but on her. It feels. . . hostile, almost. Is he mad? Did she do something?

Jackie bites her lip, hard enough to sting. “Hey,” she finally says, her voice more subdued than she intended, almost lost in the growing dark.

Shaun doesn’t respond right away, but his shoulders turn rigid. A flicker of irritation sparks inside her. Why’s he being like this? She can never figure him out. Boys are supposed to be simple; Jackie can instinctively know what they want from her with a single glance, so why can’t Shaun be too? Then again, maybe she’s overthinking it, acting batshit crazy like Jeff claims she is sometimes. Maybe he’s just tired or stressed about something else. She swallows the bitter taste in her mouth and forces herself to stay positive.

“So, uh, everything okay?” she asks, her voice lighter this time like she’s trying to convince herself as much as him while smiling. 

Shaun’s hands flex on the camera strap, his knuckles whitening before finally lowering it to his side. His face is still turned away, his body tense, shoulders pulled tight like a bowstring. He hesitates, just for a second, but when he speaks, his voice is flat, deflective.

“Yeah. Fine,” he mutters, but the words sound clipped and forced.

Jeez, talkative much. Jackie takes a slow inhale. She hates this feeling, this. . . uncertainty. She’s used to being in control, to knowing exactly how to handle situations like this. But with Shaun, everything feels off balance, like she’s walking on a tightrope that keeps swaying beneath her.

She steps closer, her brow furrowing slightly. She doesn’t want to push him, but she can’t just leave it like this. “You sure? You’ve been, like. . . different lately,” she says, her voice gentle but probing.

Shaun’s jaw clenches again, and Jackie catches the way his eyes dart to the side, avoiding her gaze like she’s the last person he wants to see. His silence stretches, thick and heavy, before he finally speaks.

“I’ve just been busy, that’s all,” he says, but there’s a cold edge to his voice now, a wall going up between them.

Jackie’s stomach twists, the hurt creeping in despite her best efforts to stay calm. His words don’t match the tension in the air, don’t match the way he’s acting. She knows it, can feel it deep in her gut. But the more she tries to reach him, the more he seems to pull away. 

She compels a smile, though it feels hollow like it’s slipping off her face. “Busy with what? Like studying? The article — are they giving you a hard time about it?” she jokes lightly, but her voice sounds a little too sharp.

His pools of brown dash towards her, and for a second — just a second — they soften. His gaze travels over her face, lingering on the corners of her mouth, and the faint furrow of her brow, like he’s memorising every detail. Something flashes in those eyes, something warm and conflicted before he quickly looks away like a thief caught in the act. His lips tighten, the irritation brewing just beneath the surface. He adjusts the strap of his camera, his fingers moving restlessly over the fabric; Jackie swiftly notices the trembling of his hand like he’s trying too hard to keep it steady.

“Yeah, something like that,” he mutters, his voice low, dismissive.

Jackie’s heart sinks. It’s like he’s shutting her out, piece by piece, and no matter what she says, she can’t break through. A pang of frustration and hurt shoots through her, and for a moment, she feels the urge to snap back, to demand answers. But something in his expression stops her — his eyes harden and his shoulders tense like he’s bracing for a fight. She bites her lip, trying to keep her emotions in check, but it’s hard. So hard. Why is he doing this? What’s changed? Why the fuck won’t he talk to me?

She opens her mouth to ask him something more personal, but the words stick in her throat. She’s never been this tongue-tied around anyone before. “You seem really friendly with Tai today,” she says, trying to sound casual but failing. “And Van. You’re not. . . writing a second article, are you?” 

She means it as a joke, of course, well, kinda. 

He shakes his head, crossing his arms defensively over his chest. “Seriously, Jackie? It’s not like that,” he snaps. There’s a nervous, restful energy emitting from him. “I’m not writing another article or whatever you think I’m doing. I just have stuff to deal with.”

“Shaun,” she says abruptly, the thread in her chest snapping, “if I did something, just tell me, okay? I don’t wanna—”

But Shaun cuts her off, his voice harsher this time. “You didn’t do anything, Jackie!” The words come out faster like he’s trying to get rid of them. Like he’s trying to get rid of her.

She flinches, feeling the bite of his tone. 

“I’ve gotta go,” Shaun says suddenly, his voice curt as he shifts his feet. “Promised Travis I’d meet him later.” He slings the camera over his shoulder and turns without waiting for her response, his back to her now, already walking away. Jackie’s eyes drift to his fists — clenched so tightly that the skin stretches pale over his knuckles, stark white against the fading light. She watches, rooted in place, as he disappears around the corner, leaving her standing in the growing darkness, his absence like a door slammed shut.

Shaun’s strange behaviour persists, at least in Jackie’s eyes. Sure, he’s physically present — laughing with his friends and whatnot — but emotionally, he’s always somewhere else. Never really with her. He keeps his speech at a minimum and rarely looks her in the eye never mind the fact that merely grazing against her arm seems like pure, unadulterated torture for him with how he flinchs and creates a large gap. God, it’s like she has the fucking plague.

Jackie produces a thin-lipped smile, the tips of her fingers tapping restlessly against the table. The small classroom feels suffocating, the air thick and stifling, despite the cold creeping in from outside — warned off by distant broadcasts. Yet, no one else seems to notice the discomfort. Across from her, Tai leans back in her chair, arms draped casually over the backrest, laughing easily at something Shaun states. Jackie can barely hear the conversation over the low buzz of her thoughts, but she notices how comfortable Shaun appears — his hand moves smoothly across his notebook, scribbling notes with relaxed confidence, the faintest smile at the corner of his mouth. The coaches had insisted they spare a few minutes to answer Shaun’s questions for his article, and so here they are.

The pen in his hand moves steadily across the page but every so often, he glances up, making eye contact with Van or Lottie, his dark eyes bright and interested. The warmth in his voice when he asks them questions — it all sits wrong with Jackie, twisting uncomfortably inside her like a shard of glass she can’t dislodge. She shifts in her seat, legs crossing and uncrossing, trying to shake the feeling.   

It doesn’t help that Misty, across the table, looks just as sour, when she finds the time to flick her lovelorn gaze from Coach Scott to Shaun, her mouth pursed into a thin line. Misty doesn’t say a word, but Jackie catches the way she’s watching Shaun, with an uneasy glint in her eyes. It’s so dumb, Jackie tells herself, this whole thing. Shaun’s just doing his job. That’s it. But the way he’s laughing softly at one of their jokes, the ease with which he’s scrawling down their answers — it’s driving Jackie insane.

“Jackie?”

Tai’s voice cuts through her haze, pulling her back to the present. The whole team is looking at her now, the easy flow of conversation paused as the room falls into a steady silence. She blinks. Lottie’s eyes are also on her, expectant, curious. Shaun’s asking something about team dynamics, but Jackie can barely recall the exact question.

“Sorry, what was that again?” Jackie asks, a bit too quickly. Her tone comes out sharp. She can feel the edges of her smile faltering, slipping away like a pitiful balloon losing air. 

Shaun’s brow lifts in mild confusion, but he repeats the question with that same patient, detached tone that Jackie wishes she didn’t notice as much as she does. “Well, I was just asking how you, uh, feel about the team’s chemistry this season. You’ve mentioned before how important leadership is to maintaining it, but we’re more or less wondering about the personal relationships between everyone. How do you think that plays into things?”

Tai leans forward, her body language open, ready to jump in if Jackie stumbles again. Tai has always made it clear that she’s wanted the captaincy long before it was offered to Jackie. She knows she should answer diplomatically and professionally, as the team captain should. But something about the way Shaun’s eyes flit back to Tai, something about how casual everything feels — everything except this tension between her and Shaun — burns like molten lava caving her insides. 

“The chemistry’s all fine and dandy,” Jackie snaps, her voice clipped, her words coming out faster than she means them to. “We’re all. . . getting along just fine. It’s not like we have to be best friends to win these games.” Her tone is snappier than necessary, laced with something she can’t quite suppress, something petty and not at all like her. 

Shaun’s pen pauses mid-note. He glances up, his eyebrows raising just a little, lips parting like he’s about to say something, but he doesn’t. Instead, he watches Jackie for a beat too long. There’s a subtle, almost imperceptible shift in his expression — a glimmer of confusion and something close to concern. It grates on Jackie. Oh, so now he wants to act all interested, is that right? 

Next to her, Tai clears her throat, shooting Jackie a quick, sideways glance before jumping in smoothly. “I believe what Jackie means is that we do get along well, though,” Tai says with an easy smile. “Everyone’s been working really hard this season, and I think we’ve found a good rhythm as a team. Jackie’s done a great job keeping everyone on track.” She throws Jackie a quick, encouraging smile, but Jackie can feel the way it digs under her skin, like a reminder of how out of sync she feels at this moment.

“Yeah,” Jackie mutters, forcing a tight smile, though her jaw clenches. “Like I said, everything’s fine.” Her gaze flickers back to Shaun, who’s scribbling something down; the sound of the pen scratching at the page scrapes on Jackie’s nerves.

The interview wraps up, and as the team gathers their things, Jackie catches Shaun’s eye one last time. There’s no warmth there, not for her at least. Just the same distance, the same walls. And she hates how much it stings. She sees Misty hovering over her like a shadow and she blinks in surprise. Misty’s face is all angles, eyes narrowed and lips tight as she locks her gaze onto Shaun before he slinks out of the room without throwing a backward look.  

“Uh. . . Misty. . . you okay?” Jackie asks. 

Misty leans in, just enough that Jackie can sense the faint scent of her shampoo, something floral and slightly too sweet that borders on sickening. “I’ve been watching. He’s not so special, you know. He’s just a boy with a camera. He doesn’t get it, doesn’t get the team. You see that, don’t you?”

Right, not creepy at all. Jackie blinks, thrown off by the sudden comment, unsure how to respond. Misty’s gaze shifts to Jackie, her eyes narrowing slightly like she’s dissecting something Jackie can’t quite grasp. But there’s something. . . defensive in her tone, conspiratorial as if Misty has seen right through everything and knows what Jackie’s feeling.

“Yeah, I mean. . . I guess.” Jackie fidgets slightly. “But it’s not a big deal, I mean, he’s just, like. . . doing his job.”

Misty tilts her head, a faint smile curling at the corners of her lips, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. Her fingers play with the ends of her frizzy, blonde hair, twirling them absently while her gaze remains locked on Jackie. Jackie swallows, suddenly hyper-aware of how close Misty is standing. She takes a half-step back, trying to create some distance, but Misty mirrors her movement, inching forward like she’s closing in on a secret, and the scent of fabric softener and chlorine follows Jackie. 

“He doesn’t get it, Jackie. But we do. We’re a team. We’re in this together. He’s a distraction. A complication. You don’t need that. We don’t need that. But you’ll handle it, won’t you?” Misty prods, her eyes gleaming as if looking for validation. 

Jackie’s instinct is to push back, to create space between them, to breathe again — but something in Misty’s eyes holds her captive as if breaking eye contact would somehow make everything worse. 

“Look, I’ll. . . I’ll keep an eye on things, alright? But it’s not really my call. I’m sure Coach or someone will deal with it if there’s a problem.” 

Misty’s smile widens, just slightly, but the unsettling feeling remains. “That’s all I needed to hear, Jackie.” Her voice is soft, almost endearing, but there’s a strange, steely edge to it that makes Jackie’s stomach twist.

Jackie nods, feeling the suffocating closeness of the moment, wanting nothing more than to put some distance between them. “Yeah, okay. I’ve gotta, uh, grab my stuff. I’ll see you around, Misty.”

“Bye, Jackie, see you at the next practice.” 

As much as Misty creeps her out, something she said echoes in Jackie’s ear that evening in her dorm after she gets out of the shower. He’s not so special. He’s just a boy with a camera. 

Jackie sits cross-legged on her bed, the soft hum of the dorm room’s heater barely registering. Her gaze locks onto her reflection in the vanity mirror across the room. Damp strands of her hair cling to her shoulders, dripping faintly onto her shirt, but she hardly notices as she absentmindedly runs a brush through her hair. The brush catches on a knot, but Jackie doesn’t wince. Shaun’s face hovers in her mind like a ghostly echo in an empty room; that same half-averted gaze he’s been giving her lately is at the forefront, his eyes never quite meeting hers.

It doesn’t make sense. The poem he left for her — each line carefully penned, each word full of something raw and personal — felt so sincere. She’s sure it comes from him. How can someone write something that feels like lightning and then pretend it never struck? Jackie’s fingers tighten around the handle of the brush as it snags in a knot, and this time, she pulls harder, not flinching when it tugs painfully. She tosses the brush onto the vanity with a frustrated sigh, hearing it clatter against the wood. Leaning forward, she rests her chin on her knees.

It wasn’t like this with Jeff. She can practically feel her younger self grinning at the memory of how easy it had been. It’s a game with him — flash a smile, toss her hair, brush her fingers lightly against his arm, and he lights up like a spark in dry grass. He’s easy to figure out, predictable in the way most guys are. She’s used to attention from them, and while most of it doesn’t exactly light her up inside, she knows how to handle it. Boys are easy to figure out, even if they are exhausting. But Shaun’s. . . different. She pauses, pursing her lips. He’s like trying to read a book with half the pages ripped out. Every time she thinks she understands what makes him tick, the next chapter twists in a way she doesn’t see coming, leaving her scrambling to catch up. Something is up with him. 

Her chest tightens with that familiar, uncomfortable sense of uncertainty she hates feeling, especially when it comes to guys. She’s not used to being unsure. Jackie has a way of reading people — knows when they’re into her and when they’re not. It’s a skill, really, something she’s always prided herself on. But now, with Shaun, all her usual instincts are failing her. What sets Shaun apart from the others? She’s felt it from the start, the way his gaze lingers a second too long before flickering away, the quiet intensity in the way he listens. The fact that she can have a conversation with him without feeling like her skin is crawling with ants all over her body. Jackie shifts on her bed, feeling a knot of confusion tightening in her stomach. 

Maybe he’s just shy?

The idea feels flimsy, even as she considers it, chewing her bottom lip contemplatively. She’s seen shy before — shy is a closed door you can knock on and gently push open. But Shaun isn’t shy. He’s distant, and the space between them grows wider with every passing day, no matter how much she reaches for him. Shaun doesn’t seem like the type to shrink away from people — he always carries himself with confidence, talking to everyone as if he belongs, flashing that kind smile that draws people toward him. So why can’t he look at her anymore? He’s pulled back just when things seemed to be going somewhere.

What does it even mean to truly feel for someone?  

It’s a question that hangs in the air, heavy and unanswered. Would it feel like a warm embrace, a balm for her soul? Or would it be a storm, fierce and unrelenting, leaving her breathless in its wake? She thinks of all the boys who have thrown themselves at her, their gazes hungry like they’re scoping out their next meal. She’s never been the type to enjoy that kind of attention, dealing with it as if it’s a chore. But, she likes Bruce Willas, she knows that much. His swagger, the confidence, the no-nonsense, rugged masculinity that’s so easy to admire from a distance. But liking an action star doesn’t mean anything, an inner voice whispers in her ear. It’s safe because she doesn’t know him. It doesn’t require her to feel anything real, nor does it demand anything beyond a casual, detached admiration. 

She remembers reading once in a magazine that girls mature faster than boys, and Jackie had always clung to that idea, using it to logically explain the lack of connection she felt with Jeff or any of the other boys she’d ever considered as romantic interests. It made sense, after all — maybe that’s why things with guys had always felt so. . . hollow. They were just too immature, not on her level. That’s what she tells herself. It’s why she connected — connects — with girls more easily, why hanging out with them felt natural, effortless.

With girls, there’s no need to put on an act, no need to pretend to be interested in things she wasn’t. They understand her in a way the boys never do, and there’s comfort in that. Plus, there’s no denying that girls smell and look much nicer. Everything about them is softer, more welcoming — like slipping into a warm, familiar space after spending too long in the cold. 

She’d always thought that college would be the place where everything would change. The pool for dating would be bigger, more diverse, and she could finally find a guy she actually liked. She had always pictured herself meeting someone there, someone who made her feel something more than just a mild interest in Jeff or the others. Someone who can look at her and not give off that feeling of expectation, like they’re waiting for something she isn’t sure she can give. College guys are supposed to be more mature, right? Not like high school boys with their one-track minds and awkward advances. College is where people figure themselves out and grow up. Love’s the destination — everything else is just the journey. 

She gets up from the bed and paces across the room, the plush rug beneath her feet offering little comfort.  Jackie’s stomach churns at the thought of Shaun again, at how her feelings toward him swirl like oil and water. Her frustration with his distance isn’t just because she wants him to be closer — no, there’s more to it. She isn’t sure if she even wants the kind of closeness she’s supposed to want. Not in the way everyone around her talks about it. She just wants to understand him, to dissect him as they did in Biology class last year as if unravelling him will somehow reveal the missing piece in her own life. If she can only figure him out, she’ll know what’s wrong with her. She chews on her lip again, frustration rising as the same unanswered question circles back around: Why does it matter so much?

There’s a reason why this is messing her up. He isn’t playing by the same rules. Maybe that’s why he’s so distant, why he can’t look at her anymore. Maybe he just isn’t interested. The idea pinches at her heart, but it also feels wrong. He — Shaun — has to be interested, right? Otherwise, why the poem? She thinks about it again, the way it made her feel when she first read it — the rush of something unfamiliar, like a jolt straight to her heart. It’s beautiful and earnest. It didn’t sweep her away into some fantasy of romance the way it should’ve. It felt more like. . . validation? Like proof that someone could see her, could understand her in a way that made her feel less alone in her confusion. Jackie tilts her head, staring at her reflection and her huge amber eyes that she’s always thought were too big and clunky for her face. Shaun’s pulling away because he doesn’t know how to handle his feelings. That’s got to be it, right? He’s different from Jeff — softer, more thoughtful, so he’s wired differently — but still, he’s a guy. They get all weird and confused when it comes to emotions. Maybe that’s what all this is.

An idea starts to form, and the knot of frustration in her chest loosens just a bit. If he doesn’t know what to do with whatever he’s feeling, maybe she just needs to help him along, give him a little push. A smile, a cute outfit, a little teasing here and there. She tugs at the bottom of her shirt, thinking. She doesn’t need to go overboard, just something subtle. Start small. Tomorrow, she’ll wear one of her best outfits, the ones that always made Jeff and the other guys turn their heads. Not too obvious, obviously as her mother’s going to catch a fit if she catches wind — just enough for Shaun to notice. She can already picture it: catching his eye, making him remember why he wrote that poem in the first place. And once she’s got his attention, she’ll be her usual self, laughing at his jokes, leaning in a little closer, teasing him just enough to make him think.

She’s not naïve enough to let him slip away, to watch him fall through her fingers like sand. What if he’s her only chance — her only option? Her heart races at the thought, but not in the way she’s read about in books or seen in movies. It’s not that giddy, lovestruck sensation that sweeps people off their feet. No, it’s something quieter, more insistent. She catches her expression again and frowns, turning away from the mirror. What does she even expect to happen? That Shaun will suddenly come to his senses, fall for her the way everyone says guys are supposed to? The thought makes her uneasy. It doesn’t feel right, but then again, nothing about this whole situation does.

If she can just get his attention back, everything will fall into place. She’ll remind him. She won’t let him drift away like this, not when Shaun’s the first guy who’s ever made her feel something genuine, something that isn’t just boredom or annoyance. Even if she doesn’t have a name for it, if she isn’t sure what exactly she’s feeling, it’s a start. That has to mean something.

Chapter Text

Shauna sits cross-legged on her bed, staring at the worn-out plaid shirt draped over the chair by her desk. The dim glow of her desk lamp casts soft shadows over the fabric, the creases catching the light in uneven folds. The shirt still smells of sweat and grass. It still smells like him  — or rather, the version of herself she’s been forced to construct. Shaun presses heavily against her ribcage, suffocating and relentless.

She didn’t realise things had become so complicated. Or maybe they always were. Even now, alone in the dorm room, she struggles to let go of him. Shaun is easy. Shaun fits. He moves through the world easily, his voice steady, his presence unchallenged. But Shauna — Shauna is raw edges and unanswered questions. She is hesitant where there should be certainty, discomfort in the spaces where Shaun stands without fear.

Her eyes drift to the mirror across the room, and for a moment, she holds her own gaze. Pale face. Dark, cropped hair curling near the end. The reflection is familiar, but it isn’t comforting. Jackie knows Shaun, she thinks. Shaun is the one she trusts, the one she jokes with, the one she calls a friend without hesitation. With Shaun, things are simple. Predictable.

Shauna is a stranger here.

The thought settles in her throat, thick and unwelcome. She wonders if Jackie would notice the difference if Shauna sheds the skin and bares herself like a moth slipping free of its cocoon, if she would see the unevenness in her smile and the falter in her voice, or, most likely, if she would pull away, confused and uncertain of what had changed. Shauna swallows hard, curling her fingers into the fabric of her sweatpants. How can she even explain it? Hey, Jackie, surprise — I’m not the person you think I am. I’m not Shaun. Not entirely at least. I’m Shauna really. And, oh yeah, I think I might have feelings for you. Still want to be friends? Shauna lets out a bitter scoff. Yeah, right. Jackie would go screaming in the other direction and who could blame her? 

Shauna wonders how different her life might have been if she had enrolled as herself from the start, if everyone had known her as Shauna rather than Shaun. Would Jackie have noticed her then? Would they still be friends? Or would she have faded into the background, just like she had in the schools back in New York — another girl swallowed up by the noise, overlooked and unseen? The thought gnaws at her, a bitter ache deep in her chest. And then, like an ember catching fire, that bitterness flares into something sharper, hotter. Fury curls in her ribs, rising like a tide she can’t hold back. 

She knows exactly where to place the blame. Her father. It all comes back to him. To the way he has always favoured her half-brother, always made it clear, even without saying it outright, who is worth investing in, who matters more. Would she have had the courage to be Shauna if he hadn’t spoken those words? Would she have fought harder, and refused to let the idea of Shaun take root? Or is it inevitable?

Her fists tighten. Because the truth — the awful, suffocating truth — is that if he hadn’t done it, if he hadn’t forced her hand, maybe none of this would have happened. Maybe she wouldn’t be here, drowning in this version of herself that doesn’t quite fit, smothered under the weight of a name that isn’t hers. Shaun wouldn’t have existed at all. Shauna would have been free. She’s spent so long being Shaun that she doesn’t know if Shauna can exist outside of him. And the scariest part is that she’s not sure if anyone would even want her to — or if she does herself. 

But what choice did she have? If she had let herself be Shauna — truly, fully Shauna — where would that have left her? Back in Brooklyn, stuck in a school that didn’t care, watching her dreams slip through her fingers while her father toasted to his son’s bright future? No. Fuck no. She couldn’t stomach that. She still can’t. But god, the price of it — this anchor pressing down on her, this stifling lie sometimes feels fucking unbearable.

She swallows hard and drags a hand through her hair, staring at her reflection in the mirror. The sharp angles of her face, the short, messy crop of dark hair.

She looks like him. Like her father.

The thought makes her stomach churn. It creeps up her spine like ice and settles behind her ribs like something rotten. The same sharp cheekbones. The same dark, deep-set eyes. She wonders if that’s why he could never love her properly. If he saw too much of himself in her. Or maybe, she thinks bitterly, that would have required the bastard to see me at all. He only ever saw what he wanted to see: a son who didn’t exist, a girl who was never worth considering. She was always just something in between — an inconvenience, an afterthought.

Her nails dig into her palms. She should be satisfied. She played the game better than he ever expected. She took his money, his school, his damn approval — twisted it into something for herself. He still thinks he won. Still thinks his son is off making him proud. If she had it in her, she might even laugh at the irony of it.

But all she feels is hollow. Because this isn’t supposed to be the price. She never wanted to become him. Would there even be space for Shauna anymore? Shauna. The name tastes strange now, like something foreign on her tongue. When was the last time she’d heard it spoken out loud? Not whispered in secret, not crammed into the depths of her mind, but really spoken, acknowledged? Doesn’t matter, she tells herself, shaking her head. She made her choice. She’s here. There’s no undoing it now.

The other half of her problems stem from Jackie. Well, perhaps her whole issue rather than just half now that she thinks about it. Jackie who she never expected in the first. 

Jackie likes him. She trusts him. And if Shauna were to pull back the curtain, if she were to step forward as herself — not Shaun, but Shauna — what then? Shauna presses her fingers to her temple, squeezing her eyes shut. Shauna doesn’t exist. Shauna is Nat’s friend, the girl who lets her rant about the idiots they go to school with. She’s her mother’s daughter, the one who used to help fold laundry in their cramped Brooklyn apartment, who knows exactly how many sugars to stir into her mom’s coffee after a long shift. 

And maybe that’s why the ache in Shauna’s chest feels like it might split her in two — because for the first time, she’s built something that feels solid, something that isn’t slipping through her fingers like everything else always has. But it isn’t hers, is it? It belongs to Shaun. Even Jackie. She drags her hand down her face and forces herself to open her eyes, to meet her reflection head-on with a burning glare, anger burning in her gut. It’s all her and it isn’t — a trick of light, a half-truth given shape.

Jackie will never know Shauna. Because Shauna doesn’t get to exist here and that’s for the best. Perhaps it’s why it’s so easy to avoid Jackie. 

Shauna has to set a boundary. She can’t risk getting Shauna mixed in with Jackie’s Shaun. Still, Jackie wasn’t stupid. She must have noticed how the responses had grown clipped and how ‘Shaun’ had started keeping space between them, dodging glances like they might land too hard. Jackie’s voice from the team meeting still rings in her head: “You’re acting weird.” Simple. Direct. The words had been edged with something sharp, something hurt. Shauna’s fingers twitch against the hem of her shirt. She should’ve said something, should’ve smiled, should’ve let Jackie tease her like she always did. But Jackie’s voice had sounded too close to the edge of knowing, and Shauna had panicked.

That night had been a mistake. Too much. Too close.

Shauna still feels it — Jackie’s laughter curling against her skin, her fingers laced through her own, the way the night had blurred into something soft, something dangerous. In the low-lit hum of the room, surrounded by spinning bodies and the thrum of music, she had let herself slip. Just for a moment. Just long enough to forget who she was supposed to be.

And the worst part? She liked it.

Shauna’s jaw tightens. Her breath comes too fast, too shallow, and she doesn’t know if it’s anger or panic crawling up her throat like bile. What the fuck is wrong with her? She’s been feeling off for days and it’s only getting worse. She can’t shake it, can’t stop the way her stomach twists whenever Jackie so much as looks at her. Every glance, every nudge, every stupid, stupid touch burns like a brand, sinking under her skin until she can’t think about anything else.

It’s infuriating.

It’s humiliating.

This isn’t meant to happen. She isn’t supposed to be like this. She’s got enough shit to deal with — being here, keeping her secret, making sure no one figures her out and now this? Now she has to deal with. . . whatever this is? Her teeth grind together as she stares at the ceiling, her vision blurring at the edges. She doesn’t know what to call it. She won’t call it anything. Because if she does, then it’s real. And if it’s real, then what does that make her?

Her father would hate this. If he knew — if he ever knew — he’d probably pretend she didn’t exist altogether. Not that it would be any different from how things already are. But it’s not just him. It’s Sam, too. Perfect, golden-boy Sam, who got everything handed to him. Who never had to fight, never had to prove he deserved the things that were just given to him. Wilder. Their father’s attention. A path set out like a fucking golden road. And he threw it away. And now here she is, taking his place, lying through her teeth, twisting herself into something that fits, because what the hell was she supposed to do? Go back to Brooklyn, to nothing? Watch her dreams slip through her fingers?

No. Fuck that.

Shauna sits up abruptly, pressing her palms against her face. The frustration in her chest has no place to go, and it’s making her feel like she’s coming apart at the seams. She wants to blame someone. For this. For all of it. Her father, for making her feel like she had to become someone else to matter. Sam, for wasting everything she ever wanted. Jackie — bewitching, hazel-coloured eyes Jackie — for looking at her with that stupid, bright-eyed smile and making her feel things she does not want to feel. And herself. Most of all, herself. For letting it get this far. For letting the idea of Jackie — of Jackie’s laugh, Jackie’s voice, Jackie’s fucking hands on hers — get under her skin so much that it’s unravelling her from the inside out.

She’s not supposed to want this. She’s not even sure what this is. But she knows it’s dangerous. She knows it’s something she can’t afford to think about, not now, not ever.

So she won’t.

She won’t.

She clenches her jaw, shoving it all down, deep, where no one can see it. And if it festers there, if it claws at the edges of her mind like a caged animal, she’ll just have to learn how to live with it. She exhales sharply, shoving off the bed. The sudden motion knocks the plaid shirt from the chair, sending it crumpling to the floor. Shauna stares down at it. It doesn’t belong to Shaun, not really. But Shaun is all Jackie sees. All she’s supposed to see.

Shauna runs a hand through her hair, tugging at the strands, grounding herself in the pull. The room feels smaller, pressing in around her. The disguise was supposed to keep her safe, to keep things simple. Now, ‘Shaun’ is an intruder, a third presence between them. Shauna is losing control of where she ends and where he begins.

She presses her knuckles against her ribs as if she can push it all down. Jackie can’t know. It’s safer this way for both of them. If only Shauna could follow her own advice at times and Jackie too for the matter. 

The next Monday, one that dawns misty and chilly, Shauna stands near the bleachers and does her best to focus. She adjusts the lens, zooming in on the field. This is what she’s supposed to be doing — observing and documenting. Not standing like an idiot, acutely aware of the girl stretching in her periphery like some goddamn sports drink commercial.

Jackie is impossible to ignore. It’s the way she moves — fluid, confident, stretching with exaggerated effort like she knows exactly how she looks. Like she knows exactly who’s watching. Shauna swallows hard, tightening her grip on the camera. She tries — really, really tries — to keep her gaze fixed elsewhere, anywhere but on the long, slow curve of Jackie’s back as she arches into another stretch, her form-fitting jersey rising just enough to reveal a sliver of toned stomach.

Jesus Christ.

Shauna exhales sharply through her nose and turns her lens to the left, pretending to check the camera settings. Her pulse is a slow, dull throb in her ears, too loud, too present. She shouldn’t be noticing this. Shouldn’t be feeling this. This is just Jackie being Jackie: always at the centre of attention, obliviously cruel in the way only beautiful people can be. Because who the fuck decides to wear a shirt that thin or shorts that short in early fucking November? The air is sharp and cold, pressing against her skin like a reprimand. Jackie should be shivering and instead, she stretches, arms above her head, back arching just enough to make Shauna’s stomach twist with something hot and unwanted. 

This has nothing to do with Shauna. It shouldn’t have anything to do with Shauna. And yet. . .

She risks a glance over the top of her camera, just for a second, just long enough to confirm what she already knows — Jackie is smirking. The kind of smirk that says she knows exactly what she’s doing. The kind that makes Shauna’s stomach drop through the floor. She clenches her jaw; her hands are unsteady, fingers twitching over the buttons. This isn’t fair. She came here to do her job, not to be taunted like this. Not to feel like she’s coming apart at the seams just because Jackie decides to be—

Distracting.

A shadow falls over her, and she knows before she even looks up. Jackie’s voice is light, teasing. “Getting good shots?”

Shauna forces her expression into something neutral before lowering the camera. “Yeah.”

Jackie tilts her head, pretending to consider. “You sure? Looked like you were just staring off into space.”

Shauna keeps her grip tight around the camera strap, fingers digging into the fabric. She shrugs and murmurs, “I was checking something.”

“Uh-huh.” Jackie takes a step closer, just enough that Shauna catches the faint scent of her lotion, something berries. Jackie’s eyes flick down to the camera, then back up to Shauna’s face, her smirk deepening. “You know, if you wanted a close-up, you could’ve just asked.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

Shauna swallows hard, forcing herself to roll her eyes. “You’re not that photogenic.”

Jackie gasps in mock offence, pressing a hand to her chest. “Rude.”

Shauna shrugs again, trying to act like the heat crawling up her neck isn’t there. Like her pulse isn’t thrumming in her throat. She sees Shaun, she reminds herself. But Shaun isn’t here, Shauna is the only one suffering all the feelings. 

“Just calling it like I see it,” she says. 

Jackie hums, unconvinced, but thankfully she doesn’t push. She tilts her head toward the field, hands on her hips. “Well, try to get my good side. I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

Shauna mutters something noncommittal, lifting her camera again, using it as a shield. Jackie lingers a moment longer before jogging back to the field, and Shauna lets out a slow, measured breath the second she’s gone. She hates this. Hates how much space Jackie takes up in her head. No girl had done that before. Jackie has somehow lodged herself under her skin in a way no one else ever has, in a way, Shauna doesn’t have the tools to deal with it.

And it didn’t end there. It’s as if Jackie has a vendetta to get Shauna to acknowledge her despite Shauna’s resistance. It’d been happening all week. Jackie’s been watching her. More than usual. It’s subtle — not enough for anyone else to notice, but Shauna does. It’s in the way Jackie’s eyes flicker to her across the room, in the way her voice loses its usual sharp edge when she asks Shauna a question, in the way she hovers just a little too long when she thinks no one’s paying attention. It’s driving Shauna crazy. And it’s not just the attention, it’s the shift. The difference. Because for all that Jackie is watching, she’s also waiting for something. For Shauna to break, maybe. To give herself away.

The first time she clocks it is in the hallway between classes. Jackie’s wearing something different, not drastically so, but enough to be noticeable. A fitted sweater, the kind that hugs close and makes her look softer somehow, and jeans that sit just right on her hips. She’s always been pretty, but this is intentional. The way she tosses her hair when she laughs, the way she leans just a little too close to the guy she’s talking to, her fingers barely brushing his wrist before she pulls away like she’s measuring his reaction.

And when Jackie turns, scanning the hallway like she’s searching for someone, Shauna barely has the sense to duck her head, pretending to rummage through her locker. Her heart is beating too fast. Fuck. She doesn’t know what Jackie’s trying to do, not exactly. But she has a sickening suspicion. She spends the rest of the day trying not to look at her, not to notice every calculated move, every flicker of an eyelash, every time Jackie shifts just so like she’s waiting for Shauna’s attention. She won’t give it to her. She won’t. She can’t.

She spends the next few days avoiding Jackie with renewed determination. She doesn’t have time for this. The whole point of being Shaun was to escape all of this — to make life easier, to keep herself safe. And Jackie, with her amber eyes and knowing smiles and whatever the fuck this is, is ruining that.

The rain arrives out of nowhere, a sudden, furious downpour that drowns out the usual sounds of Wilder Academy’s grounds. Shauna curses under her breath, already huddled under the narrow cover of a stone archway that connects one courtyard to the next. The cold mist creeps in sideways with the wind, dampening the edges of her uniform blazer and making her shirt sleeves stick to her skin. 

Shauna exhales sharply. Leaning back against the cool stone wall, her camera bag is pressed protectively against her side. She watches the water collect in puddles, rippling from the force of the drops. But before she leaves, as if the universe wants to punish her further, Jackie appears like one of the four horsemen. She bursts into view from around the corner, sprinting through the downpour, books held above her head as a pitiful shield, with a reckless kind of freedom Shauna could never allow herself. Her honey hair is plastered to her face, darkened with rain, and her clothes cling to her in ways that make Shauna’s stomach twist. She’s laughing — that effortless, bright laugh that cuts through the storm like it belongs there.

Shauna’s breath catches. She hates how her body betrays her. Jackie skids to a stop under the narrow cover, shaking out her hair with both hands. Droplets scatter everywhere. Her chest rises and falls with each breath, and her skin flushes from the cold and the run.

“Shit,” Jackie gasps between laughs, wiping water from her face. “That came out of nowhere.”

Shauna doesn’t respond immediately, her throat tight. She forces herself to shrug, pretending to be unaffected, her fingers digging into the strap of her camera bag.

“It’s called weather,” she mutters, keeping her eyes fixed on the rain ahead, not on Jackie’s damp shirt clinging to the curve of her collarbone.

Jackie snorts, unbothered by the sarcasm, and leans against the same wall, just a foot away. The small space feels even smaller now. Annoyance stabs at her insides. Of all the places to go, why did Jackie have to choose this one? Had she known that Shauna would be here? 

“Well, thanks for the meteorology lesson, Shaun.” Jackie tilts her head, her hazel eyes glinting with something that feels dangerous. “Didn’t know you were such an expert.”

Shauna rolls her eyes, but it lacks conviction. I need to get out of here, she thinks suddenly. But her feet are stuck in a sinking sandpit. There’s an umbrella in her bag but Jackie’s fruity scent overpowers anything thought. She feels like those dumb, stereotypical girls in horror movies, the ones who freeze up right before the killer gets them. Except the killer isn’t some masked psycho with a machete — it’s Jackie’s stupid, perfect, strawberry lip gloss and the way her hair smells like citrus and something sweeter underneath, something that’s gonna drive Shauna insane if she breathes in too deep. 

She should go. Should say something. Should move.

She can feel Jackie’s presence like static electricity, an invisible thread pulling at her. She shifts slightly, creating the illusion of space without actually gaining any. The silence stretches between them, filled only by the steady drum of rain against stone. Jackie doesn’t seem in a hurry to leave, and Shauna’s pulse refuses to slow. Jackie’s looking at her like that, and her body isn’t hers anymore, it’s Jackie’s plaything, Jackie’s little game. 

“You’ve been weird lately,” Jackie says abruptly, her voice softer, the teasing edge dulled. “Did I do something?”

Shauna’s heart kicks against her ribs. She keeps her gaze on the rain, her jaw tightening.

“No.”

Jackie huffs, crossing her arms over her chest, which does nothing to help Shauna’s focus. 

“Liar.”

Shauna glances at her then, just a flicker, but it’s enough. Jackie’s expression isn’t playful anymore. It’s open, searching, her brows slightly furrowed like she genuinely wants to understand. Like she cares. And that’s worse.

Shauna swallows hard. “You’re just imagining things,” she says.

Jackie steps closer, her voice dropping to a quieter register as if the rain might overhear. “I’m not. It’s frustrating, honestly. I never know what you’re thinking.”

“Most people commonly don’t know what other people are thinking,” said Shauna dryly. “Maybe you should stop trying to figure me out.” Her voice is low and flat. She keeps her eyes on the rain because looking at Jackie feels too much like looking directly at the sun — blinding and dangerous.

“Maybe I don’t want to stop,” Jackie says. 

It’s the kind of thing Jackie says easily, like it’s nothing like it doesn’t mean anything. But it sinks into Shauna like a stone in water, ripples spreading out. She keeps her face impassive, eyes fixed on the sheets of rain, but her fingers curl tighter around the strap of her camera bag until her knuckles ache. She really needs to get the fuck out of here and soon.

Without thinking too hard, before she can stop herself, Shauna blurts out, “I have an umbrella.”

The words feel foreign on her tongue. Jackie blinks and then a grin blooms across her face, bright and immediate.

“Well,” she says, teasing laced into her voice. “Chivalry isn’t dead after all.”

Shauna snorts under her breath, shaking her head, but she digs into her bag anyway, pulling out the small, battered umbrella she keeps tucked away. It’s barely big enough for two people, the fabric stretched and slightly frayed at the edges, but it’ll do. She flips it open with a sharp snap and steps out from under the archway, the rain tapping a quick, frantic rhythm above them. Jackie falls into step beside her without hesitation, sliding closer than necessary. Their arms brush — a quick, accidental thing — but it sends a jolt of electricity down Shauna’s spine, her skin prickling. She keeps her gaze fixed straight ahead, pretending not to notice, pretending her heart isn’t racing like it’s trying to escape her chest.

“Well, look at you,” Jackie says, grinning sideways at her. “All gallant and shit. Didn’t know you had it in you, Shaun.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“Oh, trust me, I won’t. Wouldn’t want you to pull a muscle or anything from the sheer effort of being nice.”

“I think I’ll survive.”

“Will you, though? I mean, you’re out here in this” —Jackie gestures dramatically with one hand, raindrops flying off her fingers— “with your sad little umbrella. It’s tragic. Like, ‘guy who listens to The Smiths unironically’ tragic.”

Shauna finally glances at her, arching an eyebrow. “This ‘sad little umbrella’ is currently the only thing keeping you from looking like a drowned rat, so maybe don’t bite the hand that’s keeping you from getting pneumonia.”

“I could totally survive without your stupid umbrella.”

Shauna shrugs. “Okay, go ahead.”

Jackie hesitates for exactly half a second before rolling her eyes. “That’s not the point.”

“Oh, no, that’s exactly the point. You wanna talk shit, but you don’t wanna commit.” Shauna gives her a sideways glance, smirking. “Coward.”

Jackie gasps again, all dramatics, one hand over her heart. “Wow. So rude. And after I’ve been nothing but charming and delightful.”

Shauna bites back a smile, shaking her head. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet here you are.” Jackie glances sideways, her expression softer now. “ I meant it, you know. You have been weird lately.”

Shauna keeps her eyes ahead. “You’ve been paying too much attention.”

“Trust me, it’s not that hard to notice.”

Shauna feels the words like a jab, sharp but not entirely unwelcome. “Maybe I’m just allergic to small talk,” she mutters.

Jackie tilts her head, studying her like she’s trying to solve a puzzle. “Yeah, well, you didn’t used to be.”

Shauna’s chest tightens, a dull ache spreading under her ribs. She doesn’t have a response to that, so she stays quiet, letting the sound of their footsteps fill the space. They reach the dorm steps too soon. Shauna collapses the umbrella with a quick flick, droplets scattering. Jackie steps back, her hair damp and curling slightly at the edges.

“Well,” Jackie says, “looks like you’re not as emotionally unavailable as you pretend to be.”

Shauna forces out a scoff. Jackie doesn’t wait for a comeback. She just flashes that infuriating, bright grin — the one that always looks a little smug, a little too confident, like she knows exactly what she’s doing — and turns toward the dorm, her damp shirt clinging to the curve of her back, her strides easy and unbothered. The door swings shut behind her with a hollow thunk, leaving Shauna standing there with nothing but the rain and the echo of Jackie’s laughter lingering like an aftershock.

She’s still holding the handle of the umbrella, but her fingers loosen their grip, letting it droop to her side, useless now. The drizzle sneaks in, cold against her face, seeping into the fabric of her shirt. She barely feels it. Her heart’s pounding, which is stupid because this isn’t anything. It’s just Jackie being Jackie — loud, relentless, clawing her way under Shauna’s skin. It’s not new. Shauna’s become used to this.

Except she’s not.

She’s not used to this ache, this tightness in her chest that feels like it’s growing roots. She’s not used to the way Jackie’s voice sticks in her head long after the conversation ends, or how every glance feels like it’s pulling at threads Shauna can’t afford to unravel. She’s not used to the want because that’s what it is, isn’t it? This persistent, gnawing creature in her ribs, was impossible to ignore.

Shauna sucks in a breath like she can just exhale the feeling away. It doesn’t work. The ache is still there, stubborn as ever.

Shauna runs.

The ground beneath her is uneven and shifting like sand, but she keeps moving, her feet pounding against something that doesn’t quite feel real. The air is thick, clinging to her skin like smoke as if it’s alive. She doesn’t know where the fuck she is. The trees around her are unfamiliar — tall, skeletal things stretching into a grey sky, their branches twisting like grasping fingers. The world is hushed, muffled. If she screams, no one would hear her. But she doesn’t. She just keeps running. Her uniform is torn in places and smeared with mud and slime. And then she sees him.

He’s standing in the clearing, his back to her, shoulders squared, hands in his pockets like he’s waiting for something. He’s wearing the Academy’s uniform and the sight of him sends something cold down her spine, not fear exactly, but something close. Something worse. She slows her steps, her breath sharp, her heartbeat a frantic, uneven thing in her ribs. She doesn’t want to go closer, doesn’t want to step into his space, into his shape. But she doesn’t have a choice.

Because the second she stops moving, the ground shifts beneath her, pulling her forward, forcing her toward him. The clearing is empty except for the two of them. That face — her face — smiling like it knows all her secrets; it’s lived inside her skull for too long and made itself comfortable. His eyes gleam with something sharp and endless. And he’s humming. A low, tuneless thing that coils around her like a serpent, slipping under her skin and settling in her bones. When he turns, his smile is already there, stretched too wide, his teeth stark white against the dark smear of blood at the corner of his mouth.

“Took you long enough,” he says, his voice smooth, dripping with something sticky and sweet, like syrup gone rancid.

Shauna doesn’t speak. Words feel useless here. Instead, she lifts the knife she’s grasping in her hand — an ugly, rusted thing with a jagged edge. It feels heavier than it should, the handle slick with sweat or blood. Maybe both.

His smile widens. “You think that’s going to work?” he asks, tilting his head just slightly in a curious manner like she’s nothing more than a bug under glass.

Shauna snarls and then lunges. The reflection of the edge catches in her eyes right before the knife sinks into his stomach with a wet, tearing sound. Warmth spills over her hands, thick and dark, soaking through her uniform blazer sleeves. She twists the blade, shoving it deeper, feeling the resistance of muscle and bone. He laughs. It’s soft at first, a chuckle that bubbles up from somewhere deep in his chest. But it grows louder, sharper, until it echoes through the trees, bouncing back at her from every direction like the forest is laughing with him. She pulls the knife out and slashes at him again. And again. Over and over, her arms aching, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Vivid crimson splashes onto her face, warm and metallic, dripping down her neck.

But he won’t stop fucking laughing.

Even when he falls to his knees, even when she drives the blade into his throat and his voice gurgles, choking around the blood filling his mouth, the sound is still there. She keeps going. His skin tears. His ribs crack. She carves into him like she’s trying to dig something out, something rotten festering underneath. But his face — her face — is still smiling, his eyes wide and glassy, reflecting something she doesn’t want to see.

“You can’t get rid of me,” he whispers, voice wet and broken but still there.

She screams, pressing the blade into his chest with all her strength, trying to cut the laughter out of him. But the sound doesn’t stop. It slips under her skin, crawls into her ears, and echoes inside her skull.

“You need me,” he croons softly, blood frothing from his lips. “Without me, you won’t have her.”

She lets go of the knife. Her hands are shaking, slick with blood. His and hers. It doesn’t matter whose anymore, it’s one and the same at this point. Shauna stumbles back, gasping for air that won’t come. His body collapses onto the forest floor, limp and broken, but his eyes stay open.

Still watching.

Still smiling.

She wakes up with a gasp, her hands clutching her chest like she’s trying to hold herself together. The room is dark, the air thick and heavy. She can still hear the echo of his laughter, faint and distant as if it followed her back.

The reflection in the mirror across the room is watching her. Not smiling. Not laughing.

The dorm room is suffocatingly quiet. Shauna paces back and forth, her bare feet cold, her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her hoodie. She stops, staring out the narrow window, the glass fogged slightly from condensation. Beyond it, the school is drenched in darkness, punctuated only by the occasional flicker of a distant corridor light or classroom. The weight in her chest doesn’t ease — it never does.

Shauna moves toward the landline phone hanging on the kitchen wall. She hears Travis’s foghorn snores from behind his door as she walks past. She picks up the receiver, the cool plastic familiar against her palm, and dials Nat’s number from memory. The rotary clicks faintly with each number, the mechanical sound grounding her and pulling her out of her head for just a second.

It rings. Once. Twice. Three times.

Then a groggy voice snaps through the receiver, rough around the edges with sleep and irritation. “What the fuck, dude,” Nat rasps, not even bothering with a hello. There’s the faint rustle of sheets and a muffled groan. “Do you know what time it is?”

Shauna exhales slowly, her thumb tracing the frayed edge of the cord. “Hey. It’s me.”

A beat. Then a groan. “Jesus, Shauna! What — did the school catch fire? Did you get expelled? Are you in jail? Blink twice if it’s jail.”

Shauna almost smiles. Almost. But the tightness in her chest doesn’t leave enough room. “No. None of that.”

Nat makes a disbelieving noise, the sound of fabric shifting as she probably sits up. “So you’re just calling me at—” a pause, likely squinting at a clock, “—3:13 in the goddamn morning because you missed the soothing sound of my voice? Bullshit, you’re spiralling or having some kind of crisis.”

Shauna exhales sharply, dragging a hand through her hair. She’s not spiralling. She’s fine. This is fine. “It’s not a crisis.”

“That’s what people say right before telling you they joined a cult or accidentally set something on fire.”

Shauna pinches the bridge of her nose, fighting the urge to hang up. “Jesus, Nat. Can you be serious?”

Nat snorts. “Oh, I’m sorry I’m not serious enough for you at buttfuck in the middle of the night.” She sighs. “Come on, just spit it out. What’s going on? Is it. . . like, school shit?”

Shauna swallows, her throat dry. “No, I. . . just couldn’t sleep.”

Another pause. Then Nat sighs again, the irritation softening slightly. “You’ve got that weird tone. The ‘I’m thinking too hard about something’ tone.”

Shauna shifts, sliding down the wall until she’s sitting on the cold floor, knees drawn up. The receiver cord stretches taut, reaching as far as it can.

“It’s nothing.”

“Oh, so you woke me up because of nothing. Cool, cool. Glad to know we’re maintaining our standard of late-night emergencies.”

Shauna bites the inside of her cheek, staring at the shadowed outline of her reflection in the darkened window. She can see just enough of herself to feel that familiar dissonance — the sharp angles of her face, the too-short hair, the way even in the dark, she doesn’t look like she remembers. 

Nat’s voice cuts through the static of her thoughts. “Seriously, though. What’s going on?”

Shauna lets the silence stretch. She pictures Nat, sprawled out in her small bedroom, probably half-buried under a thin, scratchy blanket, one leg hanging off the bed, scowling at the ceiling like it personally offended her. Shauna gazes at her reflection in the window, her eyes following the delicate paths of rain as they slip down the glass. She considers lying, really considers it. But her throat feels too tight for that as if the words would get stuck on the way out.

“Hypothetically,” she says slowly, “what if. . . someone you know makes you feel—” She pauses, searching for a word that doesn’t sound like a confession. “—off.”

“‘Off?’ What the fuck does that even mean?”

Shauna rubs her temple, frustration bubbling under her skin. “I don’t know. Just. . . off. Like, you’re not. . . yourself.”

Nat snorts. “Okay, first of all, Shauna, you’re never ‘yourself.’ That’s, like, your whole thing.”

“Not helping.”

“Fine, fine. Okay, so, hypothetically.” Nat’s voice shifts into that tone she uses when she’s about to be an asshole — playful, smug, and a little too sharp. “Is this ‘off’ like, ‘I wanna punch them in the face’ off? Or ‘I wanna make out with them behind the bleachers’ off?”

Shauna’s pulse spikes, panic flashing hot under her skin. She fumbles, her mouth opening before her brain catches up.

“What? No! Neither.”

“Oh my God!” Nat says, cackling now. “Now I know it’s the second one.”

Shauna slams her eyes shut, gritting her teeth. “It’s not.”

Nat’s laughter crackles through the line. “You’ve got a crush. This is hilarious. Is it some preppy rich boy? Please tell me his name is, like, Blaine or something.”

Shauna groans, burying her face in her hands. “Fuck sake, no.”

Then, in that careless, offhand way she always does, Nat says, “You know, I think you’ve been stuck in your shell for too long. You need to, I don’t know — have a little fun. Get out of your head. Maybe even have a fling or something. Jesus, Shauna. Loosen up.”

It’s a joke. Nat’s voice dips into that familiar, mocking lilt like it’s all just harmless fun and nothing at all. But Shauna goes still. She doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t roll her eyes. Doesn’t fire back some sarcastic remark she’s meant to. Instead, her fingers tighten around the phone receiver until the plastic creaks faintly under the pressure. 

Stuck in your shell. Loosen up.

As if she’s just. . . some stiff doll. Wound too tight or some tightly coiled version of herself that could be fixed with a casual hookup or a spontaneous night out. Like Nat’s cracked the code on Shauna’s entire existence, summed her up into a neat little box: the serious one, the predictable one, the one who can’t seem to get out of her own fucking way. She feels something hot crawl up her throat, a quick, ugly burst of anger she doesn’t have time to swallow back.

“Yeah,” she snaps, her voice sharper than she intended. “Great idea, Nat. A fling. Super easy. You think I’m just — what? Some repressed loser who needs to get laid to find enlightenment? Like that’s my problem?”

“Okay, damn. Chill. Why are you—?”

“I’m disguised as a fucking guy, Nat, in case you’ve forgotten.” The words come out harsh and jagged, her voice rising before she can stop it. She’s standing now, pacing across the room, the cord of the phone stretched taut behind her. “You think I can just have a fucking fling? You think I can, what did you call it, ‘loosen up’? Newsflash, I don’t get to have fun. I’m too busy making sure no one figures out who the fuck I really am.”

Shauna presses her free hand to her forehead, her skin clammy with sweat she hadn’t noticed until now. 

She’s tired. God, she’s so tired.

“I didn’t know,” Nat says, her voice low. “I didn’t — fuck, Shauna. I didn’t know it was like that. Look, I’m sorry, dude, okay. I. . .”

Shauna lets out a shaky breath. “Yeah. Well. Now you do.”

“What — Shauna, did you need—?”

“Nothing, sorry, I’m sorry for — I didn’t mean to yell at you, that wasn’t my intention I just. . .” 

“Shau—” 

“Look, I’ve gotta go.”

She doesn’t wait for Nat to respond — doesn’t give her the chance to say anything that might make this worse, or harder, or real in a way Shauna isn’t ready for. Her thumb slams the phone back into its cradle with a sharp, hollow click that echoes too loud. Her hands are shaking by the time she goes back to her dorm room. Her mind is a mess. It’s like all her thoughts are loud but muffled at the same time, overlapping until they’re just white noise, buzzing under her skin. She wants to scream. She wants to punch something. She wants to run until her legs give out.

Instead, she grabs a pen. Not because she wants to, but because it’s the first thing her hand finds on the desk. She flips to a blank page in her journal. The words pour out before she even knows what she’s writing. Not neat, not pretty — just raw, angry, ugly. She glares at the paper as if she could scorch the whole fucking place with the level of fury bubbling in her veins. The ink digs into the paper, letters etched in hard strokes like she’s trying to carve them into something permanent:

You think you know everything.

You think because you can flash that smug little smile, tilt your head just right, and toss out some half-clever joke, you’ve got people figured out. You don’t. You don’t know shit. You don’t even know the people right in front of you.

You walk around like the world owes you something, like attention is your birthright. Like if someone doesn’t orbit around you, there must be something wrong with them. But maybe — just maybe — it’s you. Maybe you’re the problem. Have you stopped to realise that, huh? 

You’re not as special as you think.

You’re like a fucking whore, you know that? Latching on, feeding off attention like it’s oxygen. Like if no one’s looking at you for five seconds, you’ll disappear. Maybe you would. Maybe that’s why you’re always so loud, always needing to be the brightest thing in the room — because you’re terrified of what’s left when nobody’s watching. Like it’s some game. 

You’re a whore for my attention, aren’t you, Jackie? That’s why you’ve been going around teasing me this whole time, begging for it. 

Well, congrats, you win. You’ve gotten under my skin. You’ve been there for a while, and it’s fucking annoying. I hate it. I hate the way you talk like you own the room. I hate the way you look at me like you’re trying to see something I don’t want you to. I hate that I notice you even when I don’t want to.

I hate that I care.

But the truth is,

If I could forget you, I would.

If I could un-feel whatever this is, I’d do it in a heartbeat.

But I can’t.

Shauna doesn’t have a plan. She just has this reckless, stupid urge buzzing under her skin like a live wire, and for once, she doesn’t want to smother it. She folds the note in half. No name on the outside. No signature inside. But it doesn’t need one.

Chapter Text

Winter arrives with a hush, blanketing Wilder Academy in a stillness that feels almost sacred. Overnight, the first real snow of the season dusts the campus, and by morning, the world outside has softened, its edges blurred beneath thick layers of white. Lottie draws in a breath. She can still taste the remnants of last night’s dream which was fleeting and strange. Someone was calling her name but when she turned, no one was there. She shakes it off. Dreams don’t mean anything. Or at least, she tells herself that.

Lottie sits up slowly, pushing back the heavy quilt. The air carries a particular sharpness — clean, cold, and tinged with the scent of distant woodsmoke. She presses a palm to the glass, and her fingers leave ghostly imprints on the fogged surface. Beyond it, the campus looks untouched like something out of a half-remembered dream. The stone pathways leading to the main hall have disappeared beneath a thick, unbroken layer of frost. There are no footprints yet nor distant laughter from students rushing to class; there was no whispered gossip in the hallways, no melody from the music room, or Jackie’s voice cutting through with some exasperated complaint about the cold.

Lottie exhales, watching her breath cloud the glass, momentarily obscuring her reflection. Winter always feels like something separate from time. She wonders how long the stillness will last before someone breaks it. She shuts her eyes. She likes this part of the morning before everything stirs to life. Sometimes, she exists outside of it as if she’s the only person in the world, watching from some faraway place. 

The dorms are old — historic, as the admissions brochures say — but that just means drafty. The radiator in her room rattles every night like it’s working out some kind of personal grievance but it never actually warms anything. She slips her feet into a pair of cashmere-lined slippers, Moncler, last season, but still perfectly fine, and drapes a thick cardigan over her shoulders. Lottie thinks about the mornings at home in the halls of her family’s estate. The staff would already be up by now and someone would have brought her breakfast before she even asked or drew her a bath. The silence here at the Academy is different. No one is waiting on her or ensuring she’s wrapped in warmth before she steps outside. It’s strange but she likes it — it tastes almost like freedom. 

She crosses the room and the flooring is cold under her feet. She picks up her brush from the vanity and runs it through the soft waves of her hair with an absent hand. She dresses without urgency — cashmere over cotton, wool over silk; deep colours, warm textures. A heavy coat, not her favourite, but practical. It’s cold enough that her breath lingers in the air even inside.

Yumi is still asleep across the hall, undoubtedly cocooned in layers of blankets, undisturbed by the chill. Lottie doesn’t bother waking her. Yumi will wake when she wants to and when she does, she’ll appear in the dining hall hours later, still looking half-asleep. “You should’ve woken me,” she’ll say like it’s Lottie’s responsibility to do so. “You wouldn’t have gotten up,” Lottie will reply, knowing it’s true.

Lottie steps into the corridor, pulling the door shut with a quiet click. The halls are still, the air thick with the hush of early light. The sky is pale, tinged with the soft lavender hue of dawn. She makes her way down the stairs, careful to avoid the step that always creaks, even though there’s no one around to hear it.

She meets Laura Lee in the courtyard near the library steps, bundled in a thick coat, her blonde hair escaping in wisps from beneath a knit hat. She’s clutching a book to her chest, something worn, the pages softened with time. Lottie has never minded Laura Lee’s devotion as there’s something about the way she believes so wholly and certainly, so fearlessly, that Lottie finds it almost enviable. Laura Lee greets her with a smile.

“Good morning,” she says.

“Morning.” Lottie tugs her gloves on, flexing her fingers against the cool fabric. They step outside together, boots sinking into the fresh snow. The world is still untouched. Lottie inhales deeply, the air crisp enough to clear sleep from her mind.

Breakfast is in the dining hall, the long tables mostly empty. The room is warm, the scent of fresh bread and coffee heavy in the air. Lottie slides into a seat across from Laura Lee, picking at a croissant, watching as the world slowly begins to wake around them. More students filter in, boots clumping snow onto the checkered floors, scarves unwinding, sleep-heavy voices layering into something more alive. Someone complains about the chill. Someone else groans about a quiz they forgot to study for.

Laura Lee is stirring honey into her tea. Lottie watches the way she holds the cup, fingers wrapped around it like she’s absorbing the warmth, the steam curling up against her pink cheeks, making her skin look softer somehow. It makes Lottie want to sit here forever, just watching her. There’s something oddly mesmerising about it. Or maybe it’s just that Laura Lee has that kind of presence: gentle but certain as if she’s exactly where she’s meant to be. Lottie can’t imagine feeling that way. She’s always hovering outside herself, watching her own life play out from a distance, unable to step fully into it. 

“You’re staring,” Laura Lee says suddenly, not accusing, just observant.

Lottie blinks, heat creeping up the back of her neck. “Am I?” she asks, feigning ignorance as she takes a slow sip of coffee. It’s too hot and burns her tongue.

Laura Lee smiles, tilting her head slightly. “Thinking about something?”

Lottie shrugs, trying to look unbothered. “Just tired,” she replies, though she isn’t. 

Laura Lee takes another careful sip of tea. “Did you finish your lit essay?” she asks, the question casual, but with that hint of concern Laura Lee always has when she thinks someone might be falling behind.

“Barely. I don’t even think it made sense.”

Laura Lee frowns. “What was the prompt again?”

“Something about fate versus free will in Macbeth. I bullshitted my way through it.”

“You could’ve asked me for help.”

Lottie smiles. “Would you have told me what to write?”

Laura Lee looks almost scandalised. “Of course not.”

“Exactly.” Lottie pops a piece of croissant into her mouth, chewing lazily. “I just needed to turn in something. Anyway, it’s not like I’m failing.”

Laura Lee sighs but it’s more fond than disapproving. “You know, Lottie, if you actually tried—”

“I do try,” Lottie interrupts though even she knows it’s a half-truth at best. She tries at the things she cares about.

Laura Lee offers her a look that says I don’t believe you, but I’ll let you pretend I do. Lottie observes as a group of juniors shuffle in, bundled in thick sweaters, talking about Seventeen Magazine and whether Leonardo DiCaprio is actually that cute or if everyone just thinks he is because of Romeo and Juliet. Someone brings up Joshua Jackson, and that gets a bigger reaction.

“Are you going to the winter formal?” Laura Lee asks suddenly. 

Lottie makes a face. “God, I forgot about that.”

Laura Lee laughs. “How? People won’t stop talking about it. Claire Yates was saying they’re trying to convince the committee to get a chocolate fountain, but they probably won’t because last time someone tried, it—”

“—clogged the drains and almost set off the fire alarm,” Lottie finishes, smirking. “Yeah, I remember. Mari was the one who tried to stick a whole piece of cake in it.”

Laura Lee shakes her head, but she’s smiling affectionately. “Of course she was. She said she thought it would ‘soften.’” 

“‘Melt,’ she said,” Lottie corrected. “It was some kind of science experiment.” She leans back, stretching her arms over her head. “God, that was such a mess. The maintenance guy wouldn’t stop talking about it for weeks.”

“Because he had to take apart half the kitchen plumbing,” Laura Lee points out. “And the cake was red velvet. That stuff stains.”

“I think that was the year someone requested Kiss from a Rose as the last slow song,” Lottie adds, face scrunching a little with the memory. “People were sobbing like it was a funeral.”

Laura Lee laughs again, brighter this time. “You do remember more than you’re pretending to.”

They lapse into a comfortable silence. Lottie plays with the rim of her cup, feeling the heat seep into her fingers. “I don’t know if I’m going really,” she says eventually.

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. Just seems. . . predictable, you know.” 

“Well, yeah,” Laura Lee says, grinning. “It’s a dance, Lot. That’s kind of the whole point.”

“Are you going?” Lottie asks before she can stop herself.

Laura Lee hesitates, looking down at her tea. “Maybe. I mean, I guess I should, right? It’s our last year. Could be fun.”

“Yeah, fun. . .” Lottie murmurs. She isn’t sure if she means it.

Laura Lee glances up at her, something unreadable in her expression. “You could go. With me. We could go together, it’s no big deal.”

Lottie arches a brow. “You asking me or telling me?” She says it teasingly, but her heart stutters a little.

“I’m saying you shouldn’t just skip it because you think you’re too cool for it.”

Lottie scoffs, feigning offence. “I am too cool for it.”

Laura Lee just shakes her head, smiling into her tea. “Mhm.”

Lottie watches her, then glances away, focusing on the light slants through the tall windows, spilling gold across the floor. It’s weird, though. She’d never truly thought about it before — not just the dance, but the who of it all. It’s not that she actively avoided the idea of going with a guy, it just. . . never crossed her mind. Not once. Not in all the years she’s been alive. She’s had people ask, of course, fumbling with folded notes or half-mumbled invitations between classes. She always smiled politely and declined. Blamed homework, timing, not feeling well. The truth was never no — just not interested.

“Okay,” Lottie says, leaning forward slightly. “So if you had to pick someone to go with, hypothetically, who would it be?”

Laura Lee’s lips quirk up. “I don’t know. Hypothetically. . . maybe someone nice?”

Lottie rolls her eyes. “Oh, wow, what a bold choice. You sound like a yearbook quote.”

“Well, what about you?”

Lottie hesitates. There’s a flicker of something in her mind, something half-formed, something she doesn’t have a name for, and then. . . You asking me? Her own teasing words from just moments ago, loop back in a way that makes her feel weirdly uneasy. She meant it as a joke, obviously, but, sitting here, looking at Laura Lee — her blonde hair slipping loose from her hat, the steam from her tea curling up around her face, the way she’s watching Lottie with that comfortable, knowing expression — Lottie realises she can’t think of a single guy she’d rather go with. Or any guy she’s ever wanted to go with. Her heart does something strange and unhelpful in her chest, tightening like she’s just tripped over something in her own brain.

“Uh. . .” Lottie says, covering it with a smirk. “I don’t know. Hypothetically, maybe someone interesting and, like, cool.”

Laura Lee laughs again, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”

Lottie walks to class with Laura Lee, their breath curling into the air as they step between buildings. The campus feels small in the winter, corridors of cleared pathways cutting through the endless white, leading them to where they’re meant to be. The air is tinged with old stone and pine, and Lottie breathes it in like she’s trying to absorb something from it. She doesn’t talk much on the walk. Laura Lee doesn’t seem to mind. They walk in rhythm, shoulders occasionally brushing. When they part at the stairwell, Laura Lee says, “See you after,” and Lottie pretends the heat that spreads through her chest is from her scarf.

French class is on the third floor of the old humanities building, which has the draftiest windows and the worst heating. The room smells faintly of chalk dust and lavender, the latter thanks to Madame Dubois, who keeps a sachet of dried lavender in her desk drawer and insists it helps the mind focus. Jackie is already there with a half-bored expression when Lottie enters, her breath tinted with peppermint from whatever gum she was chewing before class. She doesn’t bother looking up when Lottie sits beside her, only nudging her foot under the desk in silent acknowledgement.

“Bonjour,” Lottie says dryly, just to be annoying.

Jackie makes a face. “God, don’t. My brain isn’t ready.”

“Is it ever?”

Jackie finally glances at her, arching a brow. “That’s rich, Lot, coming from you.”

Lottie smirks, unbothered, shrugging off her coat. “I function on caffeine,” she says, pulling out her battered French workbook. “You, on the other hand, spend hours highlighting your notes and still act surprised when Madame Dubois gives you a pop quiz.”

Jackie scoffs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “That was one time.”

“It was last week.”

“Still one time,” Jackie mutters, but there’s a flush creeping up her neck, the kind she gets when she’s annoyed, or something close to it.

They’re both terrible at French, which is unfortunate considering Madame Dubois has no patience for students who don’t take it très sérieux. And Lottie does try — kind of. But languages have never come naturally to her, and there’s something particularly cruel about having to navigate verbs and conjugations and some ridiculous distinction between masculine and feminine nouns before noon.

“Where’s Madame Dubois?” Lottie asks.

Jackie nods toward the front of the room, where their teacher is having an animated conversation with someone at her desk. A look of deep displeasure has already settled on her face. 

“Dieu nous aide,” Lottie mutters under her breath.

Jackie smirks. “Ooh, look at you. One whole phrase.”

“Bite me. You want me to say that in French too?”

Jackie blinks, caught off guard. “What, ‘bite me’?”

“Mords-moi. ”

Jackie’s mouth opens like she’s about to say something — another joke, probably — but nothing comes out. 

“Tu rougis.”

“What?”

“You’re blushing,” Lottie translates, lips twitching.

“It’s the heater.”

“There’s no heater.” Lottie’s smile is smug but not unkind.

Jackie narrows her eyes and mutters, “I’m writing je déteste Lottie on the board.”

“You’ll have to spell it right first.”

Jackie doesn’t answer, rolls her eyes and flips her pencil between her fingers like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. But Lottie can still see the pink blooming just under her cheekbones. It reminds her of something — another flush, darker and far less deniable.

There’d been a party a few months back. One of those stupid, rule-adjacent dorm gatherings someone’s roommate’s cousin managed to pull off in the west wing of the arts building. Someone brought a boom box and someone else smuggled in peach schnapps in a water bottle. They’d played Spin the Bottle because that’s what you do when you’re seventeen and stuck on a campus where everything smells like old books and polished wood and you’re desperate for anything to break the monotony.

Lottie had been curled beside Laura Lee, drink in hand, pretending not to hate everything. Laura Lee had pressed her shoulder against hers just enough to ground her, mouthing quiet commentary over the rim of her cup. She remembers Jackie sitting cross-legged on the floor, all sharp angles and lip gloss, the bottle landing on Isabella Delacroix. Isabella, with her perfect eyeliner and drawl, made everything sound like a dare. She was dangerous in the way that the pretty and the very bored can be. Jackie had laughed a little too loud, cheeks already flushed, but leaned in anyway, and Isabella had cupped Jackie’s jaw. The kiss lasted just long enough to turn a few heads, including peaking Lottie’s interest. Jeff had whooped, loud and dumb, shoving someone’s shoulder like it was the hottest thing he’d ever seen. Jackie had pulled back laughing, cheeks burning, hair tangled in Isabella’s fingers for a second too long. 

“Hell yeah, babe!” Jeff cheered. “That was so fucking hot! Do it again.”

And Jackie had laughed — too high-pitched — and turned her head into his shoulder. “You wish,” she’d murmured, and then kissed him. 

Lottie had watched it all from where she was half-curled on the old corduroy couch. Laura Lee, who’d been drinking soda, held Lottie’s hand like it was the most casual thing in the world. She’d squeezed it once, tightly, when Jeff said something crude. Lottie hadn’t said anything. She’d just watched. She remembered how Jackie wouldn’t meet anyone’s eyes afterwards, not for long. Not even Isabella’s. Especially not Isabella’s.

At the front of the room, Madame Dubois claps her hands once, sharply and breaks Lottie’s thoughts. “On y va, mes étoiles!”

Lottie props her chin on her hand, already zoning out as Madame Dubois launches into an impassioned explanation of irregular verbs. Jackie sits beside her, twirling a pen between her fingers, looking about as engaged as a houseplant.

“Jacqueline,” Madame Dubois says sharply, and Jackie startles, her pen slipping from her grip. “Conjugate the verb venir in the passé composé, s’il vous plaît.”

Jackie stares at her like she’s just been asked to recite the entire Bible from memory. “Uh. . . “ She scrambles, clearly pulling words out of thin air. “Je. . . suis v—venu?”

Madame Dubois looks unimpressed. “Avec accord?”

Jackie glances at Lottie like she’ll somehow telepathically supply the answer. Lottie just raises her brows and shrugs.

Jackie sighs. “Je suis venu. . . e?”

There’s a beat of silence before Madame Dubois pinches the bridge of her nose. “Je suis venue,” she corrects. “Félicitations, Mademoiselle Taylor, you have remembered the basic rules of French grammar. Barely.”

Jackie slumps in her chair, huffing under her breath. “Jesus, it’s not that serious.”

Madame Dubois narrows her eyes. “It is precisely that attitude that will ensure you do not pass my class.”

Jackie mutters something too quiet to hear and drops her forehead onto her desk. Lottie nudges her with her foot.

“You are so bad at this,” she whispers.

Jackie lifts her head just enough to glare at her. “Like you’re any better.”

Lottie’s attention drifts. A few kids are half-asleep. A guy in the front row is writing something in the margins of his notebook. Her eyes land on Jackie. She’s hunched slightly over her desk, her hand moving beneath the surface, something crinkling in her grip, out of reach. Lottie frowns. Jackie’s got a note. Lottie can’t make out the words but as Jackie unfolds it, her expression flickering through something unreadable, then something unsettled, and then. . . Jackie presses her lips together. There’s colour creeping up the column of her throat, high on her cheeks like she’s trying not to react too obviously. But her face betrays her when she’s genuinely surprised, caught off guard or — pleased. 

The realisation clicks in Lottie’s head. It’s probably a half-assed love letter from Jeff, maybe; he’s been trying to win Jackie back since they broke up, and he’s always been a little pathetic about it. This is probably some grand gesture, his way of throwing words at her because he doesn’t know what else to do. Lottie can already picture it. Some overdramatic, overwritten plea about how he still thinks about her every night, how she’s so special, how no one else gets him the way she does. Add in some dumb line he stole from a movie about fate or soulmates or whatever sentimental garbage he thinks she wants to hear. The thought alone makes Lottie want to gag. High school boys were terribly unromantic, a tale as old as time. They thought romance was merely volume — bigger, louder, more dramatic. They didn’t understand nuance, or subtlety, or the way some people’s attention feels like a slow-burning candle instead of a neon sign.

Jeff makes sense. Jackie looks flustered, sure, but there’s a smug little thing in the corner of her mouth that appears like amusement curling at the edges. The note has unsettled her, but it’s also delighted her, and honestly, Jeff writing anything romantic is surprising enough that Lottie kind of wants to see it herself, just for the entertainment value.

Jackie folds the paper back up neatly, slipping it into the side pocket of her bag discreetly. She doesn’t say anything about it, just sits up a little straighter in her chair and flips a page in her textbook like nothing happened. 

Lottie leans over slightly, voice low. “What’s that?”

“Nothing.”

“Doesn’t look like nothing.”

Jackie finally turns, arching a brow. “It’s private. You jealous?”

Lottie makes a face. “Absolutely not.”

Jackie snorts, flipping her pen between her fingers again. “Then mind your business, Lot.”

Lottie watches her for a moment longer, trying to make sense of whatever the hell just happened, but Jackie doesn’t offer anything else. Whatever was in that note, she’s keeping it to herself. Fine. Whatever. Jackie isn’t usually subtle about stuff like this. If it were from Jeff, she’d be making a whole show of it, waving the note in the air and making some peformed, exaggerated complaint about ugh, why does he still care so much? But she’s not. Jackie folds the note into the pocket of her bag.

It starts with someone being just bored enough to cause trouble. The snow’s been layering the stone paths and manicured lawns in glittering white. It’s not enough to cancel classes — it never is — but enough that the maintenance staff hasn’t cleared the quad yet. A few students loiter between buildings, stamping their boots and pretending they’re not already running late. And then, suddenly, someone screams. Not the bad kind. The hit-by-a-snowball kind.

Lottie looks up from where she’s walking just in time to see a perfect arc of white explode against the back of Mari’s head. She spins around, stunned, clutching her head like it betrayed her. People laugh and start rolling snow into their palms. A little way ahead, Van scoops up a handful of snow and launches it at Tai, who yelps as it explodes against her arm. Van’s cackling, already halfway through forming another snowball, and Tai’s charging at her like it’s a duel.

“Jesus, can we go one day without acting like we’re in middle school?” says Jackie.

She’s standing near the edge, arms crossed, pristine wool coat, perfect lip gloss, not a flake of snow on her. Her gaze sweeps over the scene like she’s assessing damage at a crime scene.

Tai throws a snowball half-heartedly in her direction. Jackie doesn’t flinch — just arches an eyebrow. “Try that again and I’m telling Coach you skipped training last month.”

Van cackles. “You hear that, Tai? She’s pulling rank.”

Jackie rolls her eyes then, without warning, she stoops down, scoops up a clean clump of snow, and starts packing it together with surgical precision.

Tai stares. “No way.”

Jackie straightens, snowball in hand. “If I’m going to be dragged into this, I’m at least going to win.” 

Jackie’s already moving as she zeroes in on Van. There’s something determined about her — the way she winds up, pivots, and releases the snowball like she’s practised the arc in front of a mirror. It hits Van square in the chest. A puff of powder blooms out like a firework.

“Holy shit!” Van clutches her side in mock pain. “You’ve been lying to us. That was a professional-grade assault.”

Jackie’s smirk is barely there. “I used to play softball.”

“No you didn’t,” Tai says.

Jackie shrugs. “I did for, like, three weeks. It was boring.”

Shaun trudges across the courtyard, his hands buried in his coat pockets. He looks out of place against the picturesque scene, his ever-present flannel peeking out from under his jacket. His dark hair is tousled and windblown. Jackie spots him mid-step and comes to a sudden halt, her mouth parting like she’s forgotten what she was about to say. For a second, she just stares, unguarded. Then her expression shifts. Amusement flickers in her eyes like a match catching flame. The corners of her mouth lift into something dangerous: not quite a smile, more like the idea of one. It means trouble for whoever’s on the receiving end. Shaun, oblivious, keeps walking, head ducked slightly, a cigarette dangling from his fingers. He doesn’t notice Jackie or register the way she quickly packs the snowball between her palms. Jackie rears back slightly, her form perfect, like a pitcher about to throw a fastball. Then, with a sharp flick of her wrist—

SMACK.

It hits Shaun squarely in the shoulder, exploding in a soft puff of white. He stops in his tracks, shoulders tensing. For a moment, he just stands there, as if processing the betrayal of it. He looks so offended like the snowball personally insulted his family. Lottie bites down on a grin.

Jackie grins, utterly unapologetic. “Oh, come on,” she calls. “You’re a sitting target. At least try to defend yourself.”

Shaun turns toward her, his expression is unreadable at first, blank in that deadpan way of his, then something flickers across his face — something dry, unimpressed, but maybe a little begrudgingly amused. “You’re real mature, Jackie.”

“You looked like you needed to wake up.”

“Right,” he says. “And this is your version of a wake-up call? Throwing things at people?”

“Better than letting you sulk around like some tragic novel character.”

“Didn’t realise I was sulking.”

“You kinda always are,” Jackie says, a little too fast.

It happens in an instant but Lottie manages to catch it. It’s fleeting, a second, maybe two, but the intensity of it makes Lottie take a step back. Shaun stares at Jackie, his expression twisting like he’s drinking her in and he can’t help himself. He’s parched and she’s the only thing that will quench him. He blinks and looks away, stuffing his hands deeper into his coat pockets. But Lottie sees it. They used to be close. Not in a way anyone talked about out loud, but Lottie had seen it. The way Jackie used to glance at Shaun when he wasn’t paying attention like she was checking if he was still there.

She’d seen it happen a hundred times: Guys falling for Jackie. It’s inevitable like the seasons changing or the tide rolling in. She’s used to the way they orbit her, caught in her pull. The way they get that look — half hopeful, half hopeless. Shaun surprisingly doesn’t look at Jackie the way Jeff does — or well, did — full of boyish infatuation. Other guys wear it differently — with wide-eyed admiration or lazy desire. No, Shaun looks at Jackie like it hurts. Every second in her presence is a slow, exquisite kind of torture. He never lingers too long because he’s afraid of being caught, but when he does let himself look, it’s with a hunger so fierce it almost startles Lottie. 

Shaun rolls his eyes but steps off the path toward them, boots crunching. “And you looked like you need payback,” he says, bending down, scooping up a handful of snow himself.

Jackie’s grin falters and takes a step back as if already anticipating an attack. “Shaun—” Too late. It bursts against the side of her arm, sending a fine spray of snow into her hair, causing her to squeal.

The cold nips at Lottie’s cheeks, and she exhales, breath curling into the air. She wonders, vaguely, if she should join them. Sometimes, it’s easier to watch from a distance, to let the world move around her rather than push herself into it. But then Jackie catches her eye, raising her brows in an unmistakable challenge. Lottie bends down to gather her own handful of snow.

The moment is punctured by the sudden, sharp crunch of hurried footsteps. A small, stocky figure bursts onto the scene like a heat-seeking missile.

“All right, that’s enough of that, you little worms!”

The group turns to see none other than Mr Merry, the janitor, sprinting toward them at an alarming speed. Lottie blinks. It’s honestly impressive. For a man his age, Mr Merry moves like a bird of prey. He stops just short, practically wheezing, his face flushed an unnatural shade of red. She can’t tell if it’s from anger or the effort of moving that fast, but either way, he looks on the verge of combusting. When he finally speaks, his voice sounds like he’s been choking on a hairball since 1973.

“You kids think this is funny?” he rasps, his breath coming out in heavy, laboured huffs. “Running around, acting like damn fools, making a mess for me to clean up? I ain’t spend my morning clearing these paths just so you little brats could turn it into a goddamn warzone.”

Jackie raises her brows, clearly amused. “It’s just snow, Mr Merry.”

“It’s my job to keep this place clean, Miss Taylor,” he snaps, pointing a gnarled finger at her. “And you — all of you are a damn menace. ”

Tai steps in. “Didn’t mean to cause trouble, Mr Merry,” she says, hands raised. “We’ll wrap it up.”

Mr Merry narrows his eyes at her, sceptical. “You better,” he mutters, still panting. “I got enough messes to clean up without you making more work for me.”

Shaun shoves his hands deep into his pockets, head lowered. He still hasn’t looked at Jackie. Jackie is unbothered. Or maybe just oblivious. She still has that smug little grin on her lips, brushing stray flakes off her coat. She thrives off attention and basks in it. Boys are easy and predictable. Shaun is neither. Maybe that’s why she pokes at him and tilts her head just so when she looks at him because he doesn’t give Jackie what she wants. 

Lottie doesn’t know what to make of the two of them. Jackie is a restless thing, never one to sit with discomfort for too long, never one to let something go if it’s got its hooks in her. And right now, something has. She brings it up to Lottie alone in the locker room during practice the next day as they are getting ready for practice. Jackie flops down beside her in the locker room, breathing out like she had been holding something in for too long. The room smells faintly of worn leather and old sweat, the air thick with the usual post-practice haze. 

“Can I ask you something? Do you ever get the feeling that someone’s, like. . . actively avoiding you?” she asks, stretching out her legs in front of her, absently tugging at the laces of her sneakers.

Lottie tips her water bottle to her lips, taking a slow sip before answering. “No,” she answers flatly, just to be annoying.

Jackie groans. “Oh my God, Lot.” She shoved Lottie’s shoulder lightly, then sighed, slouching back against the lockers. “It’s so fucking annoying and just weird. Shaun’s weird.” She pauses, frowning as if testing the thought, trying to put it into words. “Not in a bad way, just. . . sometimes I feel like I know him, and then other times, it’s like he’s a total mystery.”

Lottie hums, swirling the dregs of her water bottle absently. She has noticed it too. He was always just on the edge of something, never stepping in or stepping out, caught in some limbo that only he seemed to understand. Shaun had decided to be a fucking asteroid, existing in some far-off orbit where Jackie’s pull wasn’t strong enough to reach him. And Jackie hates it.

“It’s not, like, a huge deal,” Jackie continues, sighing. “It’s slightly strange. One second, I think I get him, and then the next, he’s. . .” She stops, shaking her head like she is trying to knock the thought loose. “I don’t know. I think he’s shy or whatever, but then he says something so —” Her fingers flex against her knee, restless. “I don’t know. Meaningful. Like he sees everything but won’t say it. Or like he’s — ugh, I don’t know.”

“You’re not making a great case for yourself here, Jack,” Lottie said dryly.

“I just don’t get him,” Jackie admits, frowning as if the thought alone offended her. “It’s dumb I know.”

“It’s not dumb. Maybe he doesn’t get himself either. . .”

Jackie blinks, turning her head to face Lottie, confusion flickering in her gaze. She looks as if to argue or dismiss her words outright, but then something in her expression shifts. Lottie could almost see the thought settling in, taking root. Jackie doesn’t say anything else.

The cold makes the Academy feel even more like something out of a gothic novel. If she were the dramatic type, Lottie might even say it was romantic. Instead, it just reminds her of home. Not in a way that makes her feel warm inside but more like in a haunted mansion full of unresolved childhood trauma kind of way. The sort where you can still hear echoes of past lives in the halls, where everything is grand but cold, and people exist in rooms without ever actually being together. The school is old, but it has life. It creaks and shifts and breathes. And for all its strangeness and unspoken hierarchies, Lottie has always felt more seen here than she ever did within the pristine halls of her childhood.

Lottie’s never gone home for Christmas — not once in all the years they’ve been at Wilder. She doesn’t talk about her family much. Not because she’s harbouring some dark, mysterious secret — though if she wanted to, she could probably spin it that way and make it sound interesting — but because there’s never an easy way to explain it. How do you sum up a childhood spent in a house that never felt like home? Laura Lee, being who she is, can’t let that kind of thing go unexamined. It’s not an accusation but an observation, soft but pointed.

Lottie shrugs, swirling her tea idly in its cup. “Wilder’s kind of home.”

Laura Lee frowns. “You don’t really mean that.”

Lottie arches a brow. “Why not?”

“Because. . .” Laura Lee hesitates, choosing her words carefully. “You don’t talk about your family. At all.”

Lottie lets out a quiet, amused breath. “Maybe they’re just boring.”

Laura Lee gives her an unimpressed look. “I don’t believe that for a second.”

Lottie sighs. She should’ve known Laura Lee wouldn’t just let it go. She means well, but she’s like a dog with a bone when she senses someone needs something — even if they don’t want it.

“What about your parents?” Laura Lee presses, voice still gentle. “Don’t they miss you?”

“What about them?”

“Lottie. You know what I mean. You’re their daughter.”

“Yeah,” Lottie says, unable to help herself as the words slip out, “and I’m also a complication.”

There’s a pause. The room feels suddenly too quiet. 

Laura Lee reaches for her hand, tentative. “You’re not a complication here, not to me.”

Lottie doesn’t pull away. But she doesn’t squeeze back, either. She just stares at their joined hands, like she’s not sure what to do with the gesture. She doesn’t want to talk about it truthfully or sit here and try to put words to something she’s spent years trying to ignore. She’s not going to tell Laura Lee about her mother’s nervous energy, the way she flitted around their house like a bird trapped in a gilded cage, clutching at crystals. She remembers the way her father looked at her. Like he already knew. He’s always known. 

She doesn’t remember when exactly she realised that her mother was afraid of her. Maybe it wasn’t always fear, not at first. It was something softer, close to desperation. She used to clutch Lottie’s hands in her own, press amulets into her palms and whisper in the dark like they could ward something off before it took root. “You have a gift, Lottie.” That was what she always said because it was a blessing and it wasn’t terrifying. And maybe it wouldn’t have been if it had stayed small. If this thing inside her had stayed manageable. But it didn’t. The shadows stretched longer. The whispers got louder. 

She remembers the first time the world went quiet after she started taking the meds, after the appointments and long stares across too-bright rooms. How unfamiliar it felt, how empty like something had been carved out of her and replaced with static. She wonders if she was better like this — if this was what they wanted from her. She was supposed to feel relief. She didn’t. So when the opportunity came to go to Wilder — boarding school, distance, a place where she could just be without feeling like she was being studied — she didn’t hesitate. She packed her bags. She left. And she never went back. Of course, Laura Lee has noticed. Instead, of telling her all this, Lottie just glances toward the window, where snow drifts lazily.

“Some people just aren’t meant to go home,” she says finally.

Laura Lee looks at her for a long moment, and Lottie wonders if she’s going to press and say something comforting, warm and full of faith like she always does. But in the end, she lets it go. For once, she doesn’t try to fix it.

The weekend comes, bringing with it a pale, washed-out sun and a sky stretched thin over the grounds. It’s cold enough that the air stings but not so bad that Lottie and Laura Lee can’t make the walk into town. Laura Lee’s the one who suggested the trip. She didn’t say it outright, but Lottie knows she’s checking in, making sure she’s not curling too deep into herself again. It’s a habit, noticing when Lottie starts retreating. If she were anyone else, it would probably annoy her. But it’s Laura Lee, so it doesn’t. It’s a slow, quiet thing, the two of them stepping carefully where the snow has turned to ice, breath curling white in the space between them. Lottie keeps her hands in her pockets, gloves forgotten somewhere back in her dorm. She doesn’t feel the cold the way other people do. She wonders if it’s the meds, dulling the edges of sensation, pressing her thoughts into softer shapes. 

The chapel is small, tucked between a bookstore and a café that smells like burnt coffee. Lottie has passed by it plenty of times. She’s not sure she believes in religion the way Laura Lee does — not in the way that makes people feel safe like they’re wrapped in a blanket, warm and familiar. If she believes in anything at all, it’s something bigger, more unknowable that watches but not with kindness. A presence at the edge of her vision, in the spaces between things.

Laura Lee holds the door open for her, stepping inside like it’s second nature. The quiet is different in here, heavier. Lottie hesitates on the threshold, fingers twitching at her sides. She’s not afraid. It’s just. . . She remembers the way her mother used to clutch her hands, whispering prayers, pressing charms against her skin like they could stop the inevitable. The hush of this place reminds her of that, the way belief can be both comforting and desperate, a plea disguised as devotion.

The chapel isn’t grand, just a small stone building with stained glass and a wooden door that creaks when it opens. It’s empty except for a woman lighting candles near the altar. Laura Lee moves forward with purpose, but Lottie lingers, gaze sweeping over the space. It’s strange. She expected to feel something here. The presence, the shape of something pressing against the edges of the world. But there’s nothing. Just the flicker of candlelight, the distant hush of wind outside. She lets out a breath, stepping forward. The wooden pews groan beneath her as she sits. Laura Lee kneels at the altar, head bowed, hands folded neatly. She looks at home here, comfortable in a way Lottie never is. Lottie looks up. She doesn’t know what she’s looking for. A sign, maybe. Some acknowledgement that she isn’t alone in the way she sometimes feels she is. But the ceiling is just a ceiling, and the silence is just silence.

Laura Lee stands up, brushing off her knees, and makes her way back, settling beside Lottie. “You didn’t pray,” she says, and it’s not a question. “You’re with me every time, and yet you don’t pray.”

Lottie snorts, tilting her head back against the pew. “Yeah, I don’t think God’s a fan of me.”

Laura Lee makes a face. “That’s not how it works.”

Lottie hums, noncommittal. “Yeah? Then how does it work?”

Laura Lee shifts so she’s facing Lottie more fully. “God doesn’t just pick favourites. That’s not the point. We are all precious in the eyes of our Lord.” She pauses, studying Lottie’s face like she’s trying to find the right words. “You don’t have to believe in all of it. You just have to believe in something.”

Lottie scoffs under her breath, shaking her head. “That’s easy for you to say.”

Laura Lee frowns. “What does that mean?”

“It means you don’t get it,” Lottie says, voice sharper than she meant for it to be. She exhales, rubbing a hand over her jaw. “You don’t see things, Laura Lee. You don’t feel the world shifting under you, don’t hear shit that’s not there.” She gestures vaguely. “You don’t have to second-guess yourself every time you feel something.”

Laura Lee is quiet for a long moment. She doesn’t look angry, doesn’t even look particularly shocked. She just looks at Lottie, like she’s actually thinking about what she just said.

“I think I get it more than you think I do,” she says finally.

Lottie lets out a dry laugh. “Yeah?”

Laura Lee leans forward, resting her forearms against her knees. “I used to be scared of flying,” she says suddenly.

Lottie raises an eyebrow. “Flying? You serious?”

Laura Lee nods. “Terrified. Not just planes, but like, the idea of it. Of not being in control, of just trusting something to hold me up.” She glances at Lottie, then back at the altar. “But I decided that if I believed I’d be okay, I would be. If I had faith in it, in myself, in God to not let me fall — that would be enough.”

Lottie watches her, something twisting in her chest.

Laura Lee turns back to her, and her voice is softer when she speaks again. “You don’t have to believe in God, Lottie. But you should believe in you.”

Eventually, Lottie murmurs, “Yeah. I don’t know if I can do that. What if I can’t? What if I want to believe, but. . . nothing shows up?”

Laura Lee smiles. “Then you keep going anyway. You keep looking.” She shrugs a little. “Sometimes belief comes slow and it doesn’t look how you thought it would.”

Lottie glances at her, uncertain. “And if it never comes?”

Laura Lee holds her gaze. “Then I’ll still be here. I’ll do it for you.”

Lottie doesn’t think she’ll ever have faith the way Laura Lee does. Lottie doesn’t find comfort in places like this. In symbols. In stained glass and scripture and the shape of hands folded in prayer. But she finds comfort in Laura Lee, in the steady warmth of her beside her and how she always meets Lottie exactly where she is instead of trying to pull her somewhere else. So maybe — for now — Laura Lee’s faith is enough. 

The wind has picked up by the time they step outside. Laura Lee talks about some play the church is putting on, something about a live nativity scene and how she swears it’ll be cute, even if Lottie already knows she’ll have to drag most of their friends there reluctantly.

“They do it every year,” Laura Lee explains voice bright, breath puffing into the cold air. “And I swear, Lottie, it’s cute. Last year, one of the little kids dressed as a sheep got stage fright and just stood there frozen the whole time. And the year before that, the guy playing Joseph fainted in the middle of the performance. And honestly, It’s not even about the play. It’s about community. About people coming together to—”

“Sit in a freezing church and watch a bunch of snooty-nosed kids dressed as barn animals?” Lottie deadpans.

Laura Lee gives her a look. “That’s what you got from that?”

Lottie grins, tilting her head up to watch the snow swirl against the dimming sky. “I think you’re just mad I’m right.”

Laura Lee sighs heavily, in that way that means she’s only pretending to be exasperated. “Lottie, please. . .”

Lottie turns toward her, walking backwards a few steps. “What? You’re the one who wants us to come to this thing like it’s the second coming of Christ.”

“It’s the first coming actually,” Laura Lee corrects, and Lottie laughs brightly.

They reach the dorms, the building looming ahead.

Laura Lee frowns. “I was gonna go drop this off,” she says, lifting the scarf she’d been carrying. “Someone left it in the chapel, and Mrs Hill asked me to bring it to lost and found, but they lock up after seven, and I didn’t want it just sitting out all night.” 

Lottie smirks. “You’re so noble.”

Laura Lee glances toward the path curving around the side of the building. “I’ll just run it up and leave a note. Should only take a few minutes.”

Lottie nods, adjusting her coat. “I can come with you.”

“What, to protect me from scarf thieves?” 

“No, just the dark. It’s. . . louder at night.”

Laura Lee pauses, her expression softening. The teasing slips away, just a little. “It’s fine,” she says gently. “I’ll be quick. Promise. Meet you in the dining hall for hot chocolate?”

Lottie hums, pretending to consider. “Hmm. I could go to my nice, warm dorm room and stay there, or I could drink weird, powdered cocoa with you.”

Laura Lee crosses her arms. “Lottie, quite joking around.”

Lottie grins. “Yeah, yeah. Five minutes.”

Laura Lee points at her. “Don’t flake.”

Lottie gives a half-salute. “I’ll be the one hogging the radiator.”

Lottie watches her go before turning and sighing softly. The halls are empty, the silence pressing in around her. For a beat, she just stands there, listening. Nothing. The distant hum of the heater drones on, but the creak of an old floorboard makes her pause. It’s not hers. 

Lottie stills, tilting her head slightly. The sound isn’t coming from a classroom or one of the common areas. It’s further down, near the stairwell. Urgent. Low and sharp, the words coming fast, overlapping like neither person is willing to let the other finish a thought. Something about it prickles at the back of her neck, though she can’t explain why. It takes a second for Lottie to place the voices. 

Jackie and Shaun.

She steps forward instinctively, but then she stops, listening. The way they’re speaking — too close together, too fast, their words overlapping — it doesn’t feel like an argument. It’s not the kind of tense familiarity that comes with friends bickering over something dumb. And it’s not the playful, loud flirtation she’s seen Jackie use on Jeff. 

Lottie moves carefully, peering around the corner before she can stop herself. Jackie is gripping Shaun’s blazer, fingers curled into the fabric as if she doesn’t know whether she wants to pull him closer or shove him away. Her knuckles are pale, jaw clenched. There’s a fire in her eyes, something fierce and stubborn and vulnerable all at once. And Shaun — he isn’t moving. His shoulders are squared, his jaw locked tight like he’s bracing for something. His head is tilted slightly downward, watching Jackie with an expression Lottie can’t read. It’s too much, and yet, not enough. Lottie doesn’t know what to make of it. She only knows she shouldn’t be here. She’s not supposed to see this. 

Jackie says something low, her voice dipping beneath the quiet hum of the hall. Lottie doesn’t catch the words, but she sees the way Shaun reacts. It’s quick — a movement in his stance — but it’s there. His fingers twitch at his sides and his throat bobs with a swallowed response. It looks like he might say something or close the impossible space between them. But then Jackie lets go of his blazer like she’s been burned. She turns sharply on her heel, crossing her arms as she walks away, her steps fast. Lottie presses herself back against the wall to avoid Jackie running into her. Shaun doesn’t follow. He stays where he is, his hands curled into fists, jaw tight. He watches Jackie go but doesn’t move after her.

Lottie doesn’t know what the fuck just happened. She stays pressed to the wall, her heart rattling against her ribs as Jackie’s footsteps retreat down the hall. Lottie peers around the corner again, quieter this time, breath caught in her throat. Shaun’s face is twisted — brows drawn together, his eyes dark and storming. Not cold or distant like she’s used to seeing him. Angry. Wrecked. Whatever Jackie said cracked something in him wide open. He’s furious at her. At himself. At all of it.

A few days later, Lottie encounters an even odder scene. The school is quieter now, most students tucked away inside, reluctant to brave the cold unless absolutely necessary. Lottie pulls her coat tighter around herself, boots crunching against the fresh layer as she moves toward the dorms. She takes the long way, cutting through the courtyard, needing the time to settle her thoughts. The wind picks up, rustling through the bare trees, and she lets it press against her to ground her back into herself.

She spots Shaun suddenly. He’s near the entrance of the main building, standing just outside the archway. He’s not alone. Lottie slows instinctively, slipping into the shadows where the ivy curls along the stone wall. It’s not intentional — at least, she tells herself it isn’t — but something about the scene makes her pause.

The girl with him is unfamiliar. She’s not from Wilder — that was Lottie’s first thought. She would know as she’s not dressed like anyone here, not in the stiff, preppy way most of them are. Her hair is dyed blonde but with dark roots coming in, a little grown out, tangled in places like she doesn’t care enough to brush it properly. Her face is striking and not delicate — cheekbones high, jaw sharp, freckles scattered faintly across her nose. She’s wearing a leather jacket that’s seen better days, the sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal black chipped nail polish. Lottie’s second thought is that the girl’s hot. That part feels almost secondary, an afterthought, something she only registers after the fact. But once she does register it, Lottie’s focus sharpens.

Shaun is standing with hands buried deep in his coat pockets, head bowed as she speaks. The cadence is sharp, quick like she’s teasing him or reprimanding him, maybe both. Shaun, for his part, doesn’t look amused. His shoulders are tight, his mouth a thin line, his usual guardedness dialled up to something unreadable. He doesn’t interrupt her. Just listens like he’s waiting for her to finish before he decides how to react. The girl moves her head, something flickering across her face — frustration? Amusement? It’s hard to tell. She steps closer, close enough that her boots nearly touch his. Shaun tenses but doesn’t pull away.

The girl says something else, softer now, her expression shifting to something almost. . . fond. It’s brief, but Lottie catches it. And then, just as quickly, she steps back, adjusting her jacket, shaking her head like she’s already dismissed whatever just passed between them. Shaun speaks, his voice too low for Lottie to catch. Whatever he says makes the girl snort and roll her eyes. It’s a good laugh. Low and rough, the kind that sounds like it belongs to someone who’s smoked a few too many cigarettes and stays up late listening to music that makes them feel something. Lottie’s stomach dips, and that — that’s when she knows she should really stop watching.

Laura Lee would say this is a moment of temptation. She’d say it with that look, the one where she’s both exasperated and vaguely curious, the one she gives whenever someone says something particularly blasphemous in the chapel. She’d probably mention something about purity of thought or whatever. 

Shaun’s entire body has gone still, his stance like someone has pressed pause on him mid-breath. Something clicks in Lottie’s mind. Ohhh. So this must be Shaun’s long-distance girlfriend. It makes sense, she supposes. The girl looks like the type of person who would be with someone like Shaun — cool in a way that isn’t curated, rough around the edges but effortlessly so. She smokes behind gas stations and doesn’t give a shit about whether her boots leave streaks of dirt across polished floors. 

Lottie never actually believed she existed. It wasn’t like Shaun talked about her all the time. He barely ever mentioned her at all. But the few times he did, it always sounded half-hearted, something he was saying just to get people to stop asking questions. Yeah, I have a girlfriend. She doesn’t go here. She’s in New York. Which — sure. Okay. Lottie figured he made her up. Not in an obvious, desperate way for some loser spinning a story to make himself seem more interesting but more a convenient excuse. Something vague enough that no one could call him on it. The assumption for everyone else had always been that she was some cool, sophisticated city girl. Probably someone who went to Columbia Prep or Dalton, drank black coffee, read The New Yorker and never had to try to be interesting. But this girl — she doesn’t fit that version at all.

She’s known Shaun long enough to know that he doesn’t do personal. Except — here she is. Standing right in front of him. And suddenly, everything makes sense. Because of course his girlfriend would look like that. Lottie doesn’t let the thought linger or bother dissecting what that even means. It’s just another thing she accepts, as easy as breathing.

The tension in Shaun’s shoulders fully doesn’t disappear but it loosens enough for him to laugh. Not the sharp, sarcastic scoff he usually gives when someone says something stupid but genuinely as it carries over to where Lottie is. Shaun steps closer and reaches out and pulls the girl into a hug. It’s quick but it’s a real embrace, not the awkward, one-armed half-hug guys give when they feel obligated. Shaun’s grip is firm like muscle memory.

Lottie still finds herself taken aback. It makes her wonder, not for the first time, just how much they actually know about Shaun. Either way, though. . . It’s none of her business. She tells herself that as she finally steps away from the wall she’s been lingering by. She should go. She should’ve already gone. She has no reason to be standing here, no reason to care, no reason to be watching at all. She’s got an essay on The Crucible due by Monday, practice at four, and a call to return to her mother, who left a message on the dorm voicemail. 

Except. . . One thing’s clear: Jackie is going to be pissed as hell. Lottie almost laughs to herself at the thought. Jackie never outright said she didn’t believe in Shaun’s girlfriend, but she never fed into it either. And when she did mention it, it was always with a sharp, dismissive edge. Right. His girlfriend in New York. Like she was humouring a kid who still believed in Santa Claus. But now she’s going to lose her mind. Lottie stuffs her hands in her pockets. She’s definitely not going to be the one to tell her.

Chapter Text

Shauna has never wanted to commit murder more than she did right now. Not in a poetic or dramatic, angsty sort of way, but a very real, very violent, very specific way. She can picture it: grabbing the nearest chair and bringing it down on Marcus’s oblivious, square-jawed face, right in the middle of his sentence. 

“—and then she laughed, dude, I’m telling you, like really laughed, like — like she got it, you know?” Marcus’s voice is too loud, cutting sharply through the air, hands moving wildly as he paces. 

Shauna can hear the wet crack of bone under wood. She can see the way his stupid mouth would hang open in that last dumbfounded second, that wide, gaping bro expression, just before the blood started to pour. She wonders if it would be fast, or if he’d have time to stammer out a shocked little dude, what—? before his teeth scattered across the tile. Her hands itch. God, she wants it so badly she can almost taste it, copper and sharp, like biting your tongue too hard. The fantasy is so vivid, so there, it’s like a second heartbeat thrumming under her skin.

Not that she will, of course. Shauna is many things — a liar, a faker — but she’s not a killer. Still, the violent urge settles in her jaw like a ticking time bomb, teeth grinding into her molars as she sits on the edge of the sofa, leg bouncing. 

Marcus speaks too loudly. His voice grates on her nerves like sandpaper over bone as he paces across from her, practically glowing, a halo of hope above his floppy-haired head.

“. . . and then I said, ‘You liked it?’ and she said, ‘I loved it.’” Marcus laughs, dimples creasing like punctuation marks on a punchable face. “You guys, I think it worked. I think I have a good shot.”

Shauna exhales through her nose, slow and thin, like steam leaking from a cracked pipe. Of course it worked. It was her words, her poem, that worked. Shauna stares at the space between Marcus’s eyebrows and imagines a crater forming there. Nothing lethal. Maybe a dent. 

Travis is halfway through a bag of sour cream chips on the couch, watching Marcus like he’s just grown a second head. “Wait — you’re serious? This isn’t one of your dreams or whatever, man?”

Jackie said yes. Of course she said yes. Of course she did. Why wouldn’t she?

Marcus lets out this sharp, barking laugh, shoving a hand through his floppy hair. “No, dude! Dead serious. She looked at me. Like, really looked. And she said she loved it. I mean—” he spreads his arms wide, pacing again, eyes bright with that dumb, weightless hope — “that’s basically her saying she’s into me, right?”

Shauna wants to throw up. Or scream. Or disappear into the fabric of the sofa and never resurface.

Across from her, Travis snorts. “Don’t get your hopes up. She probably smiles at everyone like that.”

Marcus waves him off, grinning so wide it looks painful. “Nah, nah, you don’t get it, Trav. This was different. She touched my arm, man. She doesn’t just — she doesn’t do that with everyone.” He turns to Shauna, eyes shining like he’s just won the goddamn lottery. “Right, Shaun? You saw it, right?”

Shauna’s vision tunnels.

“Right,” Shauna says, the word sticking in her throat like a swallowed shard of glass. She doesn’t look at him. If she does, she might do it, launch the nearest lamp across the room or take Travis’s half-eaten chip bag and suffocate Marcus with it until the smile slides off his face.

Marcus keeps talking, and Shauna wonders if he can hear her jaw grinding or the pressure building across the room like a barometric shift. The air’s gotten thicker. Or maybe that’s just her stuck in this flesh, this skin that doesn’t feel like hers anymore, heart pounding so loud it’s almost rhythmic. She stares at a spot on the carpet and tries to breathe through it. In. Out. She fantasises about kissing Jackie. Now she envisions killing Marcus. It’s a natural evolution, really. 

The worst part is that it worked. Her words — Shauna’s words — folded and dressed up in Marcus’s cheap cologne and borrowed confidence, tossed out like bait. And Jackie bit.

She should’ve never written the damn poem. Shauna stares at the veins on her wrist, pale and blue and humming just beneath the surface. She imagines dragging a pen over them, watching the ink settle into her skin, deeper than it’s supposed to go. Maybe if she writes something ugly enough, raw enough, it’ll burn through the paper and take her with it. She used to think jealousy was sharp. A flare. A flame. But this is duller. Deeper. It’s something buried under her fingernails, sinking in her chest like wet cement. She’s drowning and smiling at the same time.

“Yo, you good, man?” Travis asks her, crumpling the chip bag in his lap.

Shauna jerks her head in a nod, too fast, too tight. She doesn’t trust herself to speak. Across from her, Marcus grins like he’s just been handed a prize he didn’t even know he’d entered to win. He flashes her that dumb, grateful look, all dimples and shining eyes, like thanks, bro, like you’re the real MVP. She just hands Jackie’s heart on a silver platter and walks away smiling.

All she can think about is the hallway. The hum of the lights, faintly flickering. Jackie standing there, flushed and breathless, looking at her like she was seeing her for the first time, like something electric had cracked open between them.

“It was you,” Jackie had said, half-whisper, half-laugh, disbelieving and so damn hopeful. “Shaun. . . it was you, wasn’t it? Come on, just admit it.”

Shauna had felt the words rise in her throat like a wave, wild and sharp and yes, God, yes, but then they’d stuck there, choked, twisted, poisoned by the cold spike of fear lodged in her chest.

Jackie took a small step closer, her voice dropping softer, trembling at the edges. “You wrote it. That poem. I thought. . .”

Her hands were shaking. Shauna could see Jackie’s hands, curling slightly at her sides. Shauna’s mouth had gone dry. Her heart slammed painfully against her ribs. Say it. Say yes. But instead — instead—

She let out this awful, brittle little laugh, shaking her head hard. “No!” she blurted, too fast, too sharp. “No, Jackie. It wasn’t me. Marcus wrote it. He — he likes you.”

Jackie froze. Her face fell in slow motion, brow creasing, lips parting like she wanted to speak, but the words stuck, breath catching in her chest.

“Marcus?” she repeated faintly. “But. . . I thought. . .”

Shauna clenched her fists. She could feel it breaking inside her, everything she wanted, everything she couldn’t have, slipping through her hands like sand.

“You were wrong,” she said, her voice flat, almost cruel. “Okay? It wasn’t me. You’ve. . . you’ve got it all wrong, Jax.”

Jackie flinched like she’d been slapped, eyes shining too bright. She blinked hard, shaking her head like she was trying to clear it, pulling her arms tight around herself. “Oh,” she murmured, almost to herself. “Right. Never mind.”

She let out a shaky breath, blinking again, mouth trembling like she was fighting something back, and then, like a door slamming shut, her expression snapped into place. Jackie stepped back. She didn’t say anything else. Shauna had just stood there, staring at the floor, feeling the heat crawl up her neck, the sick weight settle in her gut, the heavy, gnawing knowledge that she’d done it, she’d ruined it, she’d smashed her own stupid heart with both hands and for what?

The memory hits like a bruise that she has pressed too hard. Fresh again. She wants to peel her skin off and crawl out of her own body. Marcus laughs. Travis groans. Somewhere, the clock ticks. Shauna imagines the weight of the chair in her hands, the satisfying crunch of it against bone.

“Hey, man, thanks again for helping me out with that,” Marcus says.

Shauna swallows. Her throat burns. The poem wasn’t even that good. But it was hers. Every line, every phrase, crafted with Jackie in mind, Jackie’s voice echoing in her head. The cadence of her laugh. The stupid way she chewed the caps of her pens when she was bored. The way she smelled like strawberry shampoo and sun-warmed linen. And now it belonged to Marcus. To his dimples and his fucking hair gel and his bullshit.

“Right,” she repeats. A little quieter.

The laughter blurs around her like static. Shauna thinks, absently, that she could live a hundred lives and still never hate someone as much as she hates him at this moment. Not because he’s done something unforgivable. But because he’s stupid and lucky and full of other people’s words, and he doesn’t even know it. Because Jackie smiled.

The sofa fabric scratches the back of her thighs. Her foot bounces harder. Its beat starts to sync with her pulse and memory. Jackie in the hallway, close enough to kiss. Jackie’s breath catching in her throat. It was you. And God — Shauna had almost said yes. The truth of it had swollen in her chest like a secret waiting to burst. She’d wanted to see what Jackie would do. Would she have touched her? Would she have pulled her closer? Would she have finally seen her, not just beside Marcus or behind Jeff or under some borrowed name, but really seen her?

Across from her, Marcus rides the high. His hands move like he’s conducting an orchestra only he can hear, painting some grand, romantic gesture in the air. Shauna watches the trail of his fingertips, imagines snapping each one. One sharp twist. A pop. Something final. But even that feels too clean. He doesn’t deserve quick. He deserves the slow, creeping shame of realising he never had a single original thought in his head. The thing Jackie likes isn’t even him.

Marcus chuckles again, soft, self-satisfied. His gratitude is worse than his gloating. She doesn’t answer. Just nods, once. A motion so slight it could be mistaken for a tic. She’s sure he takes it as modesty.

The room keeps going without her. Marcus and Travis fall into the rhythm of it. They’re boys with time to kill and nothing real to say by talking in loops, half sentences, movie quotes, or weird inside jokes from some video game Shauna barely remembers. The air tastes stale, like someone microwaved something they shouldn’t have, eggs or tuna or betrayal. The kind of scent that follows you and settles in your clothes, your sheets, your hair. And somewhere beneath it is strawberry shampoo in her throat. Memory has a smell. Jackie’s memory always does.

Just what the hell is Jackie doing? What kind of girl gets handed something real, something raw, and then turns around and wraps her arm through Marcus’s like he’s the second coming of fucking Ethan Hawke? The anger flares sharply inside Shauna, suddenly. If she were a boy, maybe she’d punch a locker. She’d be allowed to throw something, to break something and not have it mean she’s hysterical or hormonal or ‘not handling the breakup well,’ like this is some WB after-school special and she’s the sad brunette nobody roots for. 

What the hell was that smile from Jackie anyway? That look? That yes? She could’ve said no. She could’ve laughed it off and told Marcus it was weird or too much or not really her thing. Shauna knows how Jackie talks when she doesn’t like someone: breezy and amused, like the whole thing is a little sad and a little funny and already over. She could’ve done that. But she didn’t. She said yes. She looked at him. Her stomach turns. She imagines Jackie smiling in that awful striped shirt she always wears, shoulder pressed too close to Marcus’s, laughing at one of his non-jokes, telling her friends, “He’s sweet,” in that voice she uses. God. Shauna wants to bite something. Break something. She wants to look Jackie in the eye and say, Really? Him? The words fester behind her teeth like a mouthful of battery acid.

Marcus gushes, “The way she looked at me? I don’t know how to describe it. It felt. . . real. Like, I saw her and she saw me back.”

Shauna hums, noncommittal. She leans back on the couch and angles her body just slightly away, as if the upholstery is more deserving of her attention.

Travis lets out a little laugh under his breath, shaking his head. “Man, you’re so full of shit.”

“I’m not! You ever feel that?” Marcus glances her way. “Like a. . . click with someone?”

Shauna tilts her head like she’s actually considering it. “Mmm,” she says. “Once. But then I realised it was just heartburn.”

Travis laughs through a mouthful of chips. 

“C’mon, Shaun,” Marcus says, shoving at her knee with his foot. “I’m being serious, man.”

Shauna’s heart lodges somewhere behind her ribs. “I know. It’s. . . it’s, like, cool or whatever,” she says, picking at a loose thread on her sleeve. “She’s always liked. . . projects.”

Marcus looks confused for a second. “What?”

“She likes to fix people,” she says lightly. “It’s kind of her thing. Strays. The emotionally constipated. Like. . . like Jeff, you know.”

Marcus shifts, still frowning. “Yeah, but Jeff’s, like, chill. He doesn’t, like. . . make a big deal about stuff, you know, even though half the school thinks he’s the shit ‘cause of baseball.”

Travis snorts, sprawled sideways on the floor. “Dude, he barely even plays half the time.” 

“Yeah, but you gotta admit, the guy’s smooth. Jackie Taylor’s been into him since, like, middle school, right?”

Shauna doesn’t look up. Her fingernail keeps worrying at the thread like she’s trying to dig something out of herself. “Yeah,” she says, voice even. “Doesn’t mean she liked him.”

Marcus lets out a soft laugh, like he thinks it’s a joke. “You sound like you’ve got a vendetta against Jeff.”

Shauna’s eyes stay fixed on the thread unravelling. “Have you ever talked to him?”

“No, but he’s. . . solid, I guess?” Marcus shifts again, suddenly less sure of his own words. “I mean, I didn’t really know him.”

“Exactly,” she says, almost to herself.

Marcus blinks. “Right. . . hey, you think she’ll tell people about me? Like her friends or something?” There’s a pause like he’s hoping for validation or halfway to picturing Jackie doodling hearts in the margins of her textbook with his name inside them.

“Dude, you haven’t even gone out yet,” says Travis, shaking his head. “I’m surprised she even knows your name.” 

“She might tell them,” Shauna replies. “Depends on how much she wants them to laugh.”

That one lands wrong; even Travis sits up a little.

Marcus blinks. “What?”

“I’m joking,” she mutters. “Sort of.”

Marcus lets out a shaky chuckle. “Right. Okay. You’re just messing with me.”

“Sure,” Shauna says. “Let’s go with that.”

“Look, I know I’m not, like, the type of guy she usually goes for, but guys, I’m telling you, I don’t think this is nothing. I don’t know. She laughed at something I said — not like, pity laughed. Real laughed. That’s gotta count for something, right?”

Travis wipes chip dust on his jeans and gives a sceptical grunt. “She laughs at Old Man Merry. Doesn’t mean she wants to bang him.”

Marcus groans. “Dude.”

Shauna says nothing. She tucks her hands between her knees, fingers clenching tight.

“I’m just saying,” Travis goes on, “you might be reading into it a bit too much. She’s like that with a lot of people. Flirty. It’s like. . . her default.”

“She wasn’t like that with me when she spoke to me,” Marcus insists. “Well. . . a little bit, I guess, I don’t know, but I know what I’m talking about, okay? Just trust me on this.” 

Shauna arches one eyebrow and scoffs under her breath, crossing her foot on he knee. 

Marcus catches it. “What?”

She shrugs.

“No, seriously. What was that?”

“I didn’t say anything,” she says, the way a snake doesn’t hiss before it strikes. Her tone isn’t sharp. Just flat enough to be felt as a chill.

Marcus looks to Travis as if there’s a translation he’s missing. Travis just shrugs and keeps chewing. Shauna watches him from the corner of her eye as he glows, all full of something he didn’t earn. He wears Jackie’s attention like a new varsity jacket. She imagines ripping it off him — figuratively, literally — and setting the whole thing on fire.

Instead, she casually suggests, “You should bring her flowers. She loves that.”

Marcus lights up. “Yeah?”

“Lilies,” Shauna emphasises. “They’re her favourite.” 

He nods like it’s gospel. He’s already picturing the bouquet, her smile — the one Shauna’s seen, the one she used to know before it got twisted and handed off to someone else.

“Seriously? I never would’ve guessed that.”

No, of course not. Shauna smiles faintly, hands still tucked tight between her knees. “She told me once.” 

“I like poppies. Not for any weird symbolic reason. I just think they’re honest. Bright and dramatic. I haven’t told anyone this but. . . uh,” Jackie had whispered, mouth close to Shauna’s ear, breath warm. “I hate lilies. They look like funeral flowers. Jeff used to bring me lilies all the time. He thought he was being romantic, I don’t know. I think my mom told him or something. I just didn’t have the heart to tell him they made me nauseous because I felt bad.”

“Cool,” Marcus says. “I’ll remember that. Thanks for the tip, Shaun.”

Shauna smiles. “Yeah, anytime.”

Travis, never the master of tact, leans back with a smug grin, chip grease glinting on his fingers. “Well, you think you’re finally gonna score, then, huh?”

“Travis. . .”

“Nah, for real. I’m rooting for you, bro. You bag Jackie Taylor? That’s like. . . climbing Everest, man. That’s legend status.”

The words hang there, vulgar and heavy and grotesque in their simplicity. Score. As if Jackie were a game, a number, a final goalpost to slam into, panting and triumphant. Something inside Shauna buckles. She doesn’t say anything at first. Her hands are still folded neatly between her knees like she’s afraid of what they’ll do if left to their own devices. The laughter creeps back in — Marcus’s stupid chuckle, Travis’s low snort — and then something breaks.

“Shut the fuck up.”

It isn’t loud. It doesn’t have to be. The words drop like stones, dense and final, breaking whatever easy rhythm the boys were riding. Marcus blinks. 

Travis turns. “What?” he says, more startled than offended.

Shauna turns to him, jaw clenched so tight it hurts. Her voice is colder than before. “Just don’t, alright. Don’t say shit like that.”

Travis raises both hands, palms out. “Okay, damn.”

Marcus is looking between them now, awkward and unsure, his glow starting to dim. Shauna doesn’t care. Travis is staring at her like she’s gone off the rails. She wants to peel the skin from her face.

“Touchy much?” Travis mutters under his breath.

Shauna stands suddenly, her vision blurring in front of her. She mumbles about going to the bathroom. The bathroom door clicks shut behind her. Shauna twists the lock until it bites and leans her weight against the wood, spine pressed flush, like she needs the wall to keep her upright. Her eyes stay shut. She counts the seconds by the thud of her heart. One. Two. Three. It doesn’t help. Her chest is still too tight. Her skin doesn’t feel like hers. Her thoughts scream over each other like a classroom after the bell.

When she opens her eyes, the mirror waits. It catches her in pieces, jaw clenched, mouth downturned, shadows like bruises under her eyes. Shauna leans in closer. The bind compresses her ribs. Her button-up collar scratches her throat. Her jaw looks too square today, her mouth too straight. A boy stares back at her. He looks tired. Not in the messy-hair, brooding, cigarette-ad-jawline sort of way. Not in a cool way. In the real way, the wrong way, where your eyes are ringed with sleep you didn’t get, and your mouth is set in a line so sharp it could slice you open if you’re not careful. The kind that seeps under your skin and stays there. She palms the edge of the sink, fingers clenching. The porcelain is cold. There are pen marks on her wrist, smeared blue loops from earlier. She traces one, just to feel something.

Jackie smiled.

She turns on the faucet and cups her hands, splashes her face. It doesn’t help. Her cheeks are still burning. She can still feel Marcus’s voice ricocheting in her head, every word wrapped in her intention and Jackie’s name. She mouths the words in the mirror: I thought it was from you. 

It’s not about the poem. Not even about Marcus. It’s Jackie. It’s always Jackie. Jackie, with her stupid laugh and her too-bright eyes and her way of looking at you like you’re the only person who matters until she turns around and proves you’re not. Until she smiles at the wrong boy. At any boy. Shauna gave her something real. And Jackie gave it back like a receipt. The worst part is how close she came. A second more and she would have said yes. A second more, and maybe Jackie would’ve leaned in and touched her. Maybe she would’ve stayed.

Instead, Shauna buries it. Like she always does. It never happened. She never wrote the damn thing on notebook paper late at night, thinking of Jackie’s laugh, her voice, her dumb socks with strawberries on them. Shauna exhales, and it sounds like something dying. Her shoulders shake, but she doesn’t cry. Her eyes go glassy, but nothing spills. She bites down on the inside of her cheek until she tastes iron.

She yanks a paper towel from the dispenser. Wets it. Dabs it over her face like it’ll erase the heat crawling up her neck, the red blooming along her cheekbones. Her reflection looks worse, somehow. She doesn’t recognise herself like this — not as Shaun, not even as Shauna. Just this in-between. This half-something. This thing Jackie almost saw. And for a moment, she wishes she could shed all of it. The skin. The name. The lie. Step out of it like a ghost escaping its body. Leave Shaun in the sink. Let someone else wear it for a while.

“Fuck,” Shauna whispers. Her voice sounds foreign. Too low. Too not-hers.

She slides to the floor. Her knees pull up to her chest. The tile is cold through her corduroys. She tucks her head down, arms wrapped around herself like a cocoon, like she can hold the girl in if she tries hard enough.

Eventually, Shauna leaves. Her feet take her to the library. 

The library is too bright. It’s the first thing Shauna notices when she slips inside. The lights buzz with a quiet insistence above her, too white, too clean. Her sneakers squeak against the floor as she walks past the rows of shelves, each spine neat and ordered. Somewhere down the aisle, a radio wheezes out a brittle version of Stay (I Missed You), someone’s Walkman bleeding through their headphones. The sound crackles through the stillness. 

Shauna tries to concentrate, but her mind keeps unravelling, slipping sideways into the same place it always goes. She sinks into her usual corner, third table by the window, near the old copy of ‘Leaves of Grass’ with its cracked spine, and opens her notebook. Shauna stares at the blank page in her notebook. The header reads: Compare and contrast the themes of isolation and identity in The Bell Jar and Catcher in the Rye. Underneath it, a single sentence: Both protagonists experience— She taps the end of her pen against her temple. Once. Twice. The third time, she presses harder, like she’s trying to puncture something. If she stabs hard enough, a thought will fall out. 

Instead, the image rises of Jackie at a diner. One of those greasy booths with the red vinyl peeling and a jukebox at the table. Marcus says something stupid, and Jackie laughs, tossing her hair and leaning forward, chin in her hand. Shauna knows that lean. Jackie laughs too loudly. She touches his arm. She looks at him like she wants to ruin him sweetly, and he’s too stupid to know he’s already ruined. 

Her pen hangs motionless above the paper, ink bleeding slowly at the tip. She imagines it like blood, imagines it staining. The paper is cheap and thin, and she can almost see the words through it, like skin stretched too tight.

Jackie orders a milkshake. Cherry on top. She dips the spoon in and lifts it to her mouth slowly and theatrically. Marcus watches her like he’s just discovered fucking fire. Shauna watches him watching. Her jaw aches. 

Shauna scribbles something on the page. Holden hates everyone except Phoebe. Esther hates herself most. Jackie loves—

She doesn’t finish the sentence. Her pen hovers, then strikes a line through it so hard the paper puckers. She tries again. She tries to switch gears and think about something else. But all she sees is Jackie: Jackie smiling across the table; Jackie pretending to listen; Jackie in a stupid flowery dress with the strap slipping off one shoulder just enough to seem accidental. She’s just doing it to get a rise out of me, Shauna thinks. It’s so transparent. Jackie doesn’t even like Marcus. She’s bored. She’s bored and she’s petty and she wants to see me squirm. The words scrape against her ribs. Shauna grips the pen tightly.

Everyone wants to be seen. But not all of us can be.

She scrawls it out, too. She closes her eyes.

Jackie’s laughing, but it’s tighter now. The kind of laugh she uses when she’s bored but doesn’t want to look mean. Marcus has spinach in his teeth, which he doesn’t know. He thinks this is going great. He says something about his dad’s car. He makes a joke about curfew. Jackie plays with her straw. Shauna sees her foot tapping beneath the table. Boredom. A silent SOS. She imagines barging in and then sitting down beside them. Stealing a fry. Saying something so sharp it slices through the tension and makes Jackie look at her the way she used to before.

She opens her eyes. The words on the page are smeared.

Maybe Holden and Esther just needed someone to kiss them like they weren’t broken.

She stares at that one. Her stomach flips. The radio buzzes faintly from someone’s headphones, Lisa Loeb again. The air smells like dust and pencil shavings and stress. Her breath fogs slightly on the window beside her. It’s too warm inside. 

She tears the page out and folds it into a tight, trembling square. She tosses it at the bin. It misses. She presses her fingers to her temples. A headache’s blooming right behind her eyes where Jackie’s name lives. She flips to a clean page and writes one word in the top corner:

Jackie.

Then another:

Jackie at the dance.

Then:

Jackie, mouth slick with lip gloss, laughing into her soda like she’s in a commercial. 

Jackie looking at me like she knew. 

Jackie saying yes to him.

She scratches out the last part so hard she tears the paper.

She stares down at the page, breathing shallow, and feels the heat crawl up her neck. It’s stupid. It’s pathetic. She’s pathetic. Shauna yanks the page out. The paper tears unevenly, a ragged rip that echoes in the library’s hollow spaces. She crumples it into a tight, angry ball and hurls it at the trash can. It bounces off the rim and rolls under the nearby table. Perfect. She slumps back in her chair, rubbing the heel of her hand against her forehead. Across the room, someone flips a page too loudly. 

In her peripheral vision, two guys in letterman jackets — ones that still smell like damp wool and Axe body spray — are huddled over a stack of Cliff Notes for ‘The Scarlet Letter’, whispering and passing notes on the back of an old folder. One of them has Suck It Trebek scribbled on his backpack in silver Sharpie.

She stares down at her shoes. They’re scuffed, and her socks don’t match. Her stomach aches, but she knows if she eats, she’ll throw up. Jackie smiled. That’s what started this. The thought loops like a VHS tape stuck on replay, warping slightly at the edges each time. 

Jackie smiled. Jackie smiled. Jackie smiled.

The cigarette burns down before Shauna even remembers to flick the ash. It’s the kind of cold where her fingertips go numb, but her nerves stay wired. She tucks herself into the lee of the art building, back against the brick, knees pulled close, smoke curling from her mouth in lazy spirals. Her sneakers tap rhythmically against the gravel. Her journal’s open in her lap, pen clutched like a weapon. The ink’s running low. She presses harder. Maybe if she presses hard enough, the truth will come out whether she wants it to or not.

I hate her. I miss her. I hate that I miss her. I hate that she looked at him like that. I hate that it wasn’t me.

She scribbles it out. The paper buckles beneath the pressure. There’s a cigarette burn in the corner of the page from last week. She likes it better that way. A flaw she can feel with her thumb. Shauna lights another cigarette. The flick of the lighter sounds too loud in the hush. There’s a poster peeling off the back door of the building, some old flyer for a weekend arts club, the kind with sparkles in the font and a promise of free punch.

Somewhere across the quad, the loud crack of laughter cuts through the air. Boys, probably. They move in packs, reeking of too much deodorant and entitlement. One of them shouts something about a movie, Clerks, most likely. Something they think makes them sound cool, older. The gravel crunches. Shauna doesn’t look up. She knows who it is before the shadow reaches her. The rhythm of it. The way it slows right before the corner, like it’s giving her time to prepare.

“Shaun, there you are. I thought I’d find you here. You know, you’re gonna get lung cancer by the time you’re twenty,” Jackie says.

Shauna looks up slowly. “Guess I better make it count, then.”

Jackie laughs, that soft, familiar chime Shauna knows too well. “You’re such a little ghoul sometimes, you know that?” Her breath puffs visibly in the cold, cheeks pink from the wind.

“Didn’t know you were looking for me.”

“Yeah, well. . .” Jackie shifts, rocking on her heels. “You kinda disappeared.” Jackie kneels suddenly, boots crunching against the gravel as she crouches beside Shauna, peering at the open journal like she’s trying to read upside down. “What’re you writing?”

Shauna’s hand snaps the cover closed quickly, with more force than necessary. “Nothing. Homework.”

Jackie blinks, her smile twitching uncertainly. “Okay, geez. Chill.”

She moves to slide down the wall beside her, knees drawn up, skirt bunched around like a careless crown. She doesn’t ask to join. Jackie never does. She just arrives like the weather, a goddamn storm that doesn’t check the forecast first. She sits down beside Shauna, thigh brushing thigh, who in turn ignores the tingle.  Jackie smirks. Shauna knows that look. It’s the one Jackie wears when she wants attention.

“What’s in there? A manifesto? Something about the alienation of youth and, like, the crushing weight of capitalism?”

“Something like that.”

Jackie plucks the cigarette from the corner of Shauna’s mouth, takes a drag. Her mouth wraps around the end, and Shauna has to ignore the sharp heat that arises in her lower stomach. The smoke escapes her lips like a dare.

“So,” Jackie says, exhaling, “you, like, hear about Marcus?”

Shauna doesn’t flinch. “Hard not to. He won’t shut the fuck up.”

“Mmhmm.” Jackie watches her, all lashes and mischief. “He’s sweet.”

Shauna makes a noise. Just a vague grunt that she hopes sounds neutral enough to pass. Jackie exhales a little puff of smoke, legs stretched out now, the toe of her sneaker tapping some invisible beat. She looks like a goddamn model in a magazine — windswept hair, collar popped, the flickering outdoor light hitting her just right. Shauna stares at the gravel, jaw tight. Jackie hands the cigarette back. Their fingers brush. Brief. Electric. Stupid.

Jackie nudges her boot against Shauna’s knee, a little kick. “Come on, Shaun. You’re no fun lately.”

“Didn’t realise you noticed.”

Jackie leans back, eyes narrowing slightly, still smiling but with a sharper edge now. “Of course I notice. You’re, like, one of my best friends. Duh.”

Shauna’s throat tightens.

Jackie sighs dramatically, arms stretched behind her, fingers splayed against the cold ground. “God, it’s freezing. Why are we even out here?”

Shauna shrugs one shoulder. “Why’d you come find me?”

Jackie turns her head to look at her, honey-blonde strands falling across her face. “I dunno. Just. . . felt like it.”

Shauna watches her, but her thoughts are rushing, louder and sharper than they should be. She presses her tongue to the inside of her cheek. “So,” she says carefully, voice lighter than she feels, “are you, like. . . actually going out with Marcus?”

Jackie lifts an eyebrow, smirking. “Why? You jealous?”

Shauna lets out a short laugh, too thin, too quick. “Yeah, right.”

Jackie exhales. “I just thought it’d be fun, you know. Retro. Something out of a John Hughes movie. Milkshakes. Vinyl booths. Jukebox in the corner. He’s not really my type, but I figured — why not?”

Shauna doesn’t say anything. Her teeth grinds in her head like gears misfiring.

Jackie leans back on her hands, the movement slow, deliberate, a stretch that lets her shoulder brush Shauna’s. “You think he’ll wear cologne? I feel like he’s a cologne guy. You know him better than I do, no? He’s your friend?” 

Jackie’s voice is sugar-laced bait. Sticky sweet and strung between syllables like a tripwire. 

“He wears too much of everything,” she mutters finally. “Hair gel, aftershave.”

Jackie smirks. “Confidence is hot, though.”

“Not when it’s store-bought.”

“Maybe I’m into that,” Jackie says. “Maybe I like the effort.”

Shauna presses her thumb into the side of her journal. “If you’re asking whether he’ll try too hard — yeah. He will. He always does.”

Jackie leans in slightly. “Good. I like being impressed.”

Shauna scoffs. “Since when?”

Jackie’s smile twists, almost soft. “Since now.”

It’s infuriating. The way she says it. The way she just decides who she is from moment to moment, like trying on different outfits in the mirror. Shauna wants to shake her. Or kiss her. Or vanish into the pavement. It’s hard to tell which.

“Anyway,” Jackie says, drawing the word out like a ribbon, “he told me he might bring flowers.”

Shauna freezes.

“What?” Jackie presses, all mock innocence. “You think that’s too much?”

Shauna exhales through her teeth. “I think it’s a waste.”

“Oh, come on.” Jackie nudges her knee, almost playfully. “You don’t think it’s even a little bit romantic?”

Shauna turns, meets her gaze for the first time in minutes. Her eyes are hard and flat. “No.”

Jackie leans back, smile cooling into something more brittle. “Wow,” she says. “Okay. Forget I asked.”

Shauna picks at a loose thread on her pants, eyes fixed like it might give her an excuse not to look up. Her jaw aches from the pressure. There’s a bitter taste of ash and adrenaline and the humiliation of almost caring out loud. Jackie’s looking at her, still, but not saying anything. The air between them smells like cold brick and the tail end of tobacco, like the scarf Jackie sometimes wears when she forgets it’s not fall anymore. There’s frost laced across the corners of the windows behind them, the kind that curls like veins, like something alive and creeping.

If Shauna were brave — if she were anyone else — she’d ask. She’d corner Jackie behind the dining hall or in the music room or wherever she hides when she’s bored of smiling and pretending, and she’d ask, straight out: Why are you looking at me like that when you’re talking about him? But she doesn’t. Because she’s not brave. She’s a walking contradiction — Shaun outside, Shauna inside, and nothing in between but secrets and swallowed truths. Asking would mean admitting she’s jealous, and jealous of what? Of a date that hasn’t even happened? Of a boy who doesn’t even know he’s being used as a step-in for Jeff? She’s not sure what Jackie sees when she looks at her. She’s scared to find out.

The wind howls. Somewhere across the quad, someone’s yelling about a snowball fight. She doesn’t want to go back to the dorm yet. Not with the echo of Marcus’s giddy voice still fresh in the air or with Jackie’s eyes — sharp and curious and bright like headlights — following her down every hallway like she’s waiting for something. What, exactly, does Jackie want? She presses her palms to her eyes. Maybe it’s not about Marcus at all. Maybe Jackie’s just bored. This is fun for her — a game. Maybe she knows. Not all of it. Not the real truth. But enough to poke at the bruise. To see what happens when she pulls the thread.

Shauna swallows. The cold burns in her lungs. She doesn’t know whether she wants to run or stay exactly where she is until the sky falls. She’d give anything to be brave. She wishes, suddenly, violently, that Jackie could see her. The parts no one looks at. The parts that ache in ways no boy ever could. But Jackie’s looking at Marcus now. And Shauna is still pretending not to notice.

Jackie shifts her weight like she’s considering something. “Tai says you brood.”

“Tai says a lot of things.”

Jackie smiles like it’s an inside joke and they’re sharing something.

Jackie’s eyes shine with some private amusement that Shauna can’t quite name. She tugs her sleeve down over her wrist, glancing sideways. “Look, if you’re that worried,” Jackie says, voice light, airy, “you could come with us. You know. Supervise. Keep me safe. Be my—” her mouth curves, “— chaperone .”

Shauna stares at her. “Why would I want to do that?”

“I don’t know,” she says, lifting her shoulders with feigned innocence. “Moral support? Or, you know—” her head tilts, lashes fluttering, “if you’re worried, I’ll eat him alive. I’ll be gentle to your friend, Shaun, promise.”

Shauna’s eyes narrow. “I’m not worried.”

Jackie hums, amused. “You say that, but your face always gives you away.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

Jackie moves a little closer, her boot crunching the gravel between them. “You’ve got this look,” she says, smiling like she’s savouring every word. “All tight-lipped and murdery.”

“I’m not.”

Jackie grins wider. “So come prove it. Sit at a table. Sip a Coke. Watch Marcus try to guess my favourite colour and get it wrong three times.”

Shauna’s pulse jumps. She shakes her head, sharp and fast. “You don’t need an audience.”

“Don’t be like that,” Jackie purrs, still playful, still dangerous. “You’re always lurking around the edges anyway. Might as well make it official.”

“What would I even do there?” Shauna asks. “Can’t exactly double date, can I?” 

The words come out smoothly. Practiced. A shield she’s learned to lift without thinking. Shauna watches them float there for a second, hovering like breath in the cold. She doesn’t lie about Nat often. Not like this. But she knows the shape of the story. She’s used it before, an invisible girl in a different zip code, too far away to prove or disprove. She’s real. Just not like that.

Jackie goes still beside her. Just a tiny hitch, the absence of movement. Her expression doesn’t fall, not right away, but something shifts. A pause. A skipped frame. The smallest flicker of something raw. Then it’s gone. She smooths it over like she’s flipping to the next page of a magazine, glossy and bored.

“Well,” she says, voice too sweet, “Glad to hear you’re, you know. Committed,” she says like it tastes sour. “That’s cute. Guess that means I don’t have to worry about stealing your attention.”

Shauna forces a grin of her own, dry and tight. “Right. You’ve got Marcus for that.”

Her jaw is tight. Her hands itch. Every muscle in her body feels like it’s bracing for impact.

Jackie leans in a little. “So you’re not jealous.”

“Of Marcus?” Shauna scoffs, sharp and low. “Not even a little.”

Jackie tilts her head, faux-thoughtful. “Because I think he’s kinda endearing. In that lost puppy way. Dumb, but earnest. Makes you want to pat his head and toss him a bone.”

Shauna stares straight ahead, teeth clenched behind a tight, closed-lip smile. “Yeah. You’ve always had a thing for strays.”

Jackie laughs, light and false and laced with something mean. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just finally into guys who, I don’t know. . . like me.”

“Everyone likes you,” Shauna mutters, more bitter than she means to be. “It’s kind of hard not to.” 

She watches Jackie’s profile now — lashes, smirk, the slight pink flush on her cheeks from the cold — and wonders if Jackie even knows how much power she has. Or if she does know, and just likes to pretend she doesn’t. Shauna suspects the latter. Jackie’s the kind of girl who holds your gaze just a beat too long, and then looks away like it meant nothing, and you practically imagined it. Shauna could’ve said it. She could’ve unspooled everything — the words, the want, the whole damn truth — right there in the hallway. But she folded the moment up like a note passed in class and shoved it in the back of her locker, crumpled and half-opened.

Jackie brushes the imaginary dust off her skirt like it’s suddenly urgent. “I gotta go. Coach asked me to help with inventory or whatever. I said I’d stop by.”

Shauna doesn’t move. Jackie steps back, half-turned, her voice lighter now, breezier, like she’s tossing it over her shoulder.

“Don’t miss me too much.”

Shauna stays frozen, breath caught shallow in her chest, every nerve buzzing hot, skin prickling. Jackie disappears around the corner, and Shauna tips her head back against the cold brick, eyes squeezed shut.

“Fuck,” she mutters under her breath, hating how easy it is for Jackie to get under her skin, every single time.

Shauna hadn’t expected Nat to actually show until suddenly she was there, standing in front of her.

The light casts Nat in deep shadow, the glow cutting sharply across the leather of her jacket, the scuffed toes of her boots, the messy tangle of sleep-rumpled, bleach-blonde hair falling into her face. She looks like she just stumbled off a late train, like she’s not sure if she’s arrived or if she’s still halfway somewhere else. One hand hooks lazily around the strap of her bag, the other shoved deep into her coat pocket, shoulders hunched slightly against the cold. Her breath drifts in faint clouds, curling softly in the sharp night air.

Shauna stares, pulse fluttering, heart catching up to the fact that Nat, against all odds, came.

“You gonna hug me or just keep looking like you saw a ghost?” Nat calls out, loud and casual like she doesn’t feel like a thunderstorm in a room full of fine china.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Shauna blurts out. It wasn’t the best greeting she could’ve offered.

Nat shrugs. “Field trip,” she throws. “Needed a break from Brooklyn’s finest mouldy cereal.”

Shauna doesn’t smile, but something cracks a little at the edge of her mouth. “You’re out of your mind.”

“Debatable. But also,” Nat tilts her head, squinting, “you look like shit.”

Shauna exhales through her nose. “I’m fine.”

“Sure,” Nat says, unconvinced. “And I’m Miss America.”

Shauna swallows. Hard. “Your name’s not on the list of visitors, Nat. You’re not supposed to be here.”

“Yeah, well, neither are you,” Nat laughs. “But here we are.”

They stand there, the cold pressing in from all sides. The quiet isn’t awkward. It’s just full of all the things Shauna can’t say. 

“I thought you said you couldn’t afford the trip,” Shauna says eventually.

“I lied,” Nat replies simply. “Or I begged. Details.” She shrugs again. “Didn’t want you going full ghost mode on me. And I wanted to see the place. This fancy snow globe you’ve shoved yourself inside.”

“It’s not a snow globe.”

“Yeah,” Nat murmurs. “I figured.”

Another silence. Shauna rubs her palms over her thighs, skin prickling. She feels wrong in her bones.

“So, you miss me or what?” Nat goes on. 

A breath slips out of Shauna, half a laugh, half surrender.

Nat grins. “Come on, dude, you gonna show me around or what?”

The hallway smells like lemon cleaner, the kind the janitors only break out for special occasions. Most of the dorms are quiet now, the kind of quiet that feels padded, like walking through snow. The end-of-semester bulletin board still says “Happy Holidays!” in peeling construction paper letters, and someone’s taped a crooked menorah beside a sagging paper tree. A candy cane is tacked where the exclamation point should be. It’s bent in the middle, like someone tried to straighten it and gave up halfway. The campus is quiet in a kind of way where the last stragglers have either been collected by town cars or tucked themselves into other people’s rooms.

Shauna walks beside Nat, footsteps too loud in the hush. Nat’s steps are uneven, a kind of slouching strut, like she dares the floor to give way.

Nat whistles, low and unimpressed. “Place smells like Catholic guilt.”

Shauna snorts. It sounds wrong in the hallway. “It’s not even a Catholic school.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” Nat jerks her chin toward a nearby trophy case filled with plaques and a weirdly aggressive nativity scene. “I’m pretty sure that baby Jesus just gave me side-eye.”

Shauna’s shoulders twitch like a laugh might break free. They reach her room. Nat flops onto the bed like she owns it, boots and all. Shauna shuts the door behind them.

“You gonna sit, or just pace like someone’s dad waiting on SAT scores?” Nat asks.

Shauna sits. Slowly. On the edge of her desk chair, palms pressed to her knees like she’s bracing for turbulence. The room feels too small now that Nat’s in it. Nat is sprawled across the bed like she grew up in it. Shauna notices not the lingering perfume, or the smell of smoke, but the metallic bite of transit. That faint chemical chill that clings to coat sleeves after hours pressed against fogged windows and strangers with too many bags. It hits her like déjà vu. Not just Nat, but New York in the doorway. Grimy, electric, always moving.

“Seriously,” Nat says, unzipping her jacket. “You weren’t kidding about this place.”  Nat rolls onto her side, chin propped on one hand, eyes flicking over the books on Shauna’s shelf. “Do they issue you these, or do you pick them out yourself?”

Shauna follows her gaze. A battered copy of ‘Dubliners’. A spine-cracked ‘Brave New World’, ‘Leaves of Grass’, which she only reads on bad nights. The books are lined up too neatly as if they’re trying to behave.

“I picked them,” she mutters.

“Huh,” Nat says. “Figures, such a nerd.”

Shauna raises an eyebrow. “Thanks.”

“It’s a compliment.” Nat grins, wide and crooked. “You’ve always had that vibe. Kind of like if Holden Caulfield didn’t suck.”

Shauna huffs, surprised by the warmth behind her ribs. “I’m surprised you even read Catcher in the Rye.”

Nat smirks, stretching one leg across the bed, boot heel knocking lightly against the headboard. “We read it in class last year, you know. Regular English, not your fancy AP bullshit.”

Shauna lifts an eyebrow, surprised. “You actually did the reading?”

“Hey, just because I didn’t spend every afternoon kissing up to the English teacher doesn’t mean I don’t read, Harvard.”

Shauna shakes her head, a crooked smile ghosting at the corner of her mouth. “Alright, alright.”

“I didn’t like it, though. Holden’s a little shit. Acts like he’s the only one in the world who sees how fake everything is. I mean, cool, dude — welcome to the real world.”

“I missed you,” says Shauna, realising how true it was. It was good to be in the presence of something that knew her as Shauna, not Shaun, where she didn’t have to pretend. 

Nat tilts her head, eyes softening. “Yeah,” she says quietly, “I missed you too. So much so that here I am, braving suburban New Jersey for your moody ass.”

Shauna opens her mouth. The words keep jamming in her throat, too raw or too late. She settles for, “You really didn’t have to.”

“Yeah,” Nat says, and the grin slips into something smaller. “I kind of did.”

Shauna leans forward, elbows on her knees, head down. Her shoulders are still tight, like she’s waiting for someone to knock on the door and say hey, wrong room, wrong life, wrong version of yourself. But Nat’s here and she hasn’t said a single wrong thing.

“You know, for someone pretending to be a dude, you’re real twitchy.”

Shauna scowls. “I’m not twitchy.”

Nat snorts. “Sure. And I didn’t spend an hour on a bus next to a guy who picked his nose with his keys.”

“How did you get here anyway?”

“Got on the train,” she says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Wasn’t that hard. Manhattan to the middle of nowhere, with a scenic detour through Jersey’s finest strip malls. You know, a journey.”

Shauna raises an eyebrow. “You hate trains.”

“I hate people on trains,” Nat corrects, reaching over to flick a crusty sock off a copy of ‘Brave New World’. “The guy next to me smelled like salami and kept humming something that might’ve been Celine Dion. I survived. Barely. Then I got a guy named Dave to give me directions. He sold me a lighter for two bucks and called me sweetheart, so I might be engaged now.”

Shauna glances over. “You don’t have a suitcase.”

Nat shrugs. “I travel light.” She taps the strap of her duffel, slouched against the side of the bed. “Toothbrush. Socks. Mace. Priorities.”

Shauna frowns, arms crossed over her chest. “You should’ve called. I would’ve come and got you myself.”

“Oh, what, met me at the gates with a sign? I’m not the president, dude.”

Shauna smiles and says earnestly. “It’s really good to see you, Nat.”