Keep Your Head Still, I'll Be Your Thrill
Chapter 1: Watching, Waiting
Clarke was a girl who had never excelled at first impressions. She had a tendency to come on too strong. Or, on the rare occasion that she could reel herself in, she tended to be overly aware of coming on too strong and not participate in conversations at all. But it was something she was aware of. As long as she didn't let herself start rambling right off the bat, she'd be fine.
She knew the transition was going to be bumpy; of course it was. She was growing up, living on her own, more or less. Her roommate seemed like someone she'd get along with - a little overly committed to her carefree attitude, admittedly, but Clarke was happy to chalk that up to first-week nerves. Plus, the roommate's older brother was in a fraternity on campus, giving them free access to all the biggest parties, so any minor character flaws were relatively easy to overlook.
College orientation had been kind to her so far; she had met lots of nice people, and when she looked closely, she could tell that other people were nervous too. It really was like everyone said: they were all making this huge transition. It only made sense that there was a tiny layer of fear in the eyes of the other freshmen she was meeting. It was in her eyes too.
She figured she was slightly more on edge than most, though, because her ex was coming to the same school. She hadn't seen him around yet, which she was enormously grateful for, but she was anxious about seeing him for the first time since their breakup. She wasn't even sure if she wanted to get it over with or not.
It wasn't that she hated Finn or anything - their breakup had been a mutual agreement that going into this new stage of their lives with strings holding them back in that high school mindset would be a bad idea. But feelings don't disappear overnight, and they'd both said some things since the split that left the waters a little murky. They had been well matched, as far as high school relationships went. They were both liked by each other's parents and their friends had gotten well into the habit of commenting on how cute they were together. They both enjoyed the other's company, spent many nights pretending to study at the other's house, and won prom king and queen by a landslide.
They'd never said they were in love.
Clarke looked herself over in the mirror that hung on the back of her door and mentally praised Octavia for being the roommate to think to bring one. Her jeans were tight but faded over a pair of red converse high tops. She tugged at the ragged hem of her homemade crop top, a plain t-shirt she'd taken a pair scissors to when she'd spilled some coffee on herself in Finn's car a few months earlier. He never was good at avoiding potholes.
She sighed and pulled her hair back into a simple ponytail, the pink-dyed ends swaying breezily behind her neck. She wasn't ever one to try too hard when she went out.
Clarke jumped when the door suddenly swung open to reveal Octavia sporting a devilish grin and a bottle of cheap rosé in each hand. She sauntered over to the desk on her side of the room and pulled a corkscrew out of one of the drawers, popping the first bottle with ease. She took a swig, then handed it off to Clarke so she could open the second.
"Let's get this party started."
...
The bass that bumped from the frat house reached them from about a block away. The school had bought and renovated a whole street of old victorian style houses that were then taken over by the school's greek system. There was an entire crowd of people already drunkenly stumbling around the lawn when they reached it and strode with a certain level of alcohol-induced confidence up to the front door. Two boys who were most definitely pledges acted as bouncers. One was lanky, his eyes bulging a bit when he saw the two girls approaching. He leaned an elbow on his friend's shoulder, slumping both of them against the doorframe when neither could keep their balance.
"Evening ladies, admission costs one kiss," the tall one slurred, slinging his arm around his friend's shoulders with a conspiratorial smirk.
Clarke and Octavia shot each other a look. The shorter boy noted the silent exchange and pushed the taller away, sending him knocking into the other side of the doorframe with a startled but amused expression. "Shut up, Jasper, no one's... wants to pay that fee." He giggled at himself for a minute, sensing his inability to properly articulate. He turned to one side, all but curtsied, and waved the two girls inside. "You may enter."
Her mouth still hanging slightly open, Clarke followed Octavia's lead, pushing past the two into the house with incredulity saturating her face. She was not drunk enough for this yet.
Bodies were packed into the house's entryway. Entering the building was like stepping into another reality. Or the interior of the world's largest oven. The lights were mostly off; the main source of light was the flashing of strobe light apps from the phones of guys perched on their tippy toes on the backs of the couches that lined the walls. The body heat was instantly overwhelming.
Clarke and Octavia made a beeline for the upperclassman dispensing beers from a keg under the stairs as soon as they were inside. They forced their way through the crowd, dim light obscuring their vision just enough to disguise whatever stickiness was trying to grab ahold of their shoes along the way. Clarke silently prayed it was just beer.
With red solo cups firmly in hand, the two surveyed their surroundings with vague apprehension. Octavia's eyes flicked rapidly over the faces around the room, searching for her brother; Clarke stuck close to her side, clinging to the one person in the room she knew. The wine that she'd had earlier was hitting her, but she was still aware of herself enough to be nervous talking to new people.
"Have you spotted Bellamy yet?"
Octavia shook her head, continuing to scan the crowd. Clarke spluttered, nearly choking on her beer when Octavia slapped a hand on her shoulder. "Even better." She pointed across the room to a tall, muscular guy with a shaved head and tattoos up his arm. "That's Lincoln. He's one of my brother's frat brothers. I'm going to go talk to him."
Clarke opened her mouth to object but before she could get a word out, Octavia was off. Clarke watched her go, slack jawed and unsure of what to do with herself.
She downed her beer and made her way into the next room where the music was louder. The speakers in the corner were gargantuan, and she could feel her bones vibrating under her skin with every beat of the Blink-182 song blaring throughout the house.
She stopped in her tracks the moment she crossed into the room.
Finn.
He was posted up against the wall directly opposite her, leaning confidently with his hand by the head of a girl who seemed more interested in her drink than whatever he was saying to her. There was no denying that the girl was pretty. Her dark hair fell past her shoulders in unfairly smooth-looking waves, and her face looked like one you'd find on the cover of a magazine.
Clarke felt her chest tighten. Alcohol thrummed in her veins as she chugged the remainder of her beer, and her feet began a march in the direction of the two without her realizing what she was doing. Her brain felt fuzzy inside her skull. Her shoulders bumped nearly every person she passed, and she held up her hands in apology only to wind up accidentally smacking someone's drink out of their hand. Her eyes couldn't focus on anything except her ex and the girl he was making a strong effort to chat up.
Her face was hot. Her hands were in fists; she wondered briefly where her cup had gone before remembering that she hurled her cup on the ground when the last of her beer had dribbled into and around her mouth.
When, after what felt like several minutes, she reached Finn and his companion, the girl was turning to walk away. Clarke heard her say something about "going to get another drink." Her eyelids were hooded with inebriation, but her intent to exit the conversation with Finn was clear.
Clarke, hands firmly on her hips, walked right up into their space, partially blocking the girl's way. She felt herself swaying slightly and steadied herself with a couple staggered steps. The two finally noticed her presence and faced her expectantly.
Clarke opened her mouth and the words "I wanna talk to you" tumbled out from between her lips. Finn blinked at her, taken aback.
The girl, noticeably (even to Clarke's drunken eyes) unbalanced, grabbed her shoulders. Clarke stilled in surprise. The girl's words were slurred but still understandable when she uttered, "Talking's overrated," and immediately leaned in.
Clarke, unable to hold the both of them up, fell a step backward and the girl's lips landed sloppily on her chin. Unable to steady herself, the girl's momentum carried her to the ground. The crowd around them clapped rowdily as someone yelled "Party foul!"
Clarke looked on, wide-eyed and dumbfounded as the girl got back to her feet with extra caution, chuckling at herself the whole time. Without another word, she was off in the direction of the makeshift bar in the other room.
Speechless, Clarke watched her go. It struck her then that maybe talking to Finn tonight wasn't the best idea. Without another word or a glance back, she tripped her way back through the mess of people toward the front door.
...
When Clarke woke the next morning, it was with a somersaulting stomach and a jackhammer in her skull. Memories of the night before flooded her mind and she groaned, mentally kicking herself for drinking so much and the situation she almost got herself into with Finn.
She rolled over and reluctantly checked the time on her phone. Her alarm was set to go off in exactly two minutes. She quickly unlocked her phone and turned the alarm off, knowing the pain her head would be in if she had to listen to the harsh beeping of her wake up call.
She let herself lie in self pity for another thirty seconds before she forced herself to rise and face the day. She pulled on a pair of shorts and a tank top. As an afterthought, she slipped a flannel on over her shoulders.
Slow-moving because of her hangover, she didn't have time to stop in the dining hall before her first class, which was a freshman philosophy seminar that she had no real interest in. She arrived with the crowd and ushered into the most innocuous seat she could find near the middle of the room.
The professor entered a couple of minutes after the rush of students. He placed his bag off to the side against a small podium and took up stance in front of the blackboard.
Clarke shrugged off her flannel, hunkered down and sucked at her water bottle, willing the class to go by quickly.
Just as the professor was beginning to introduce himself to the class, the door opened again as a latecomer trudged in. A girl who was clearly at least as hungover as Clarke was paused at the front of the classroom, looking for a seat. Clarke couldn't stop herself from smirking. Damn, her night must've been rough, and that's coming from me.
The girl was still wearing pajamas and a pair of sunglasses despite being indoors, and she had a serious case of bedhead. She moved toward the empty seat in front of Clarke, sipping from a to-go coffee cup in the largest size the student center offered. As she got closer, Clarke raised an eyebrow. Still, she's kind of hot.
The professor, making no effort to mask his annoyance at the interruption, called the girl out on her sunglasses. Clarke could practically sense the girl rolling her eyes behind the shades. She pulled the sunglasses off her face and tossed them onto the desk that she then dropped into.
Clarke froze for a moment in her chair.
It was the girl from last night. The one Finn was talking to.
The one who fell on the floor after she tried to kiss Clarke.
With everyone securely in a desk, the professor resumed his monotonous prattle about himself and what the class would be like. Clarke lost focus almost immediately.
She found herself staring at the back of the girl's head in front of her. They were seated close enough together that if Clarke leaned forward just a bit, she'd be able to smell the girl's hair. She started to inch forward, then stopped herself. That would be creepy.
The girl reached behind her head and flipped her hair over the back of her chair, granting Clarke a whiff anyway. It was a surprisingly nice scent. Clarke had been sure the girl would still have a leftover booze stench clinging to her given her appearance that morning.
For a moment Clarke questioned why she was even thinking about what the girl smelled like. No, you know what, this is normal. She can't try to kiss you and then not expect you to be curious about her. That's all there is to this.
The professor droned on for another couple of minutes, going over each bullet point on the syllabus, before the girl pulled a laptop and a pair of earbuds out of her backpack. Clarke watched in awe as she signed into Netflix and blatantly checked all the way out of the lecture. She had to be insane. It was only the first day, did she really not care about making a bad first impression on the professor?
What is she even watching? Who is this girl?
When at last the lecture ended, Clarke heaved a relieved sigh and stood. She bent down to pick up her flannel, which had slipped onto the floor; just as she straightened back up, the girl in front of her turned to collect her own things. They locked eyes and froze simultaneously.
Clarke swallowed, opening and closing her mouth a couple of times before she could speak.
"Hi."
The girl blinked once, eyes wide as an owl's.
"Shit."