so here i am with this monster of a fic that doesn't really go anywhere. i'm claire/owen trash what can i say
Claire Dearing is good at high school. Or, at least, she pretends like she is. She may not particularly like it, but that doesn't matter. If having her shit together and getting good grades means that she can get into a good college, get a good job, and live a comfortable life, she'll deal with it.
So she wakes up at five-thirty every morning, flat irons her hair pin-straight, puts her makeup on like a pro, makes enough coffee for her entire family, and is out the door an hour before school starts each morning. Obviously there's no reason she has to be at school that early, but she kind of likes it.
It's nice and quiet in the cafeteria while she waits for the bell to ring and for other kids to be dropped off, the fluorescent lights not quite bothering her eyes yet, the quiet chatter of the lunch ladies as they get the food prepared for the day in the background. She likes to go over the carefully crafted lists she's created for her weekdays, making sure she has all her homework done, has studied for all of her tests, and studies even more if she has to.
High school is sort of nice, actually. Until all the kids get there. That's the part that she doesn't like. Everything is fine and good when it's just her and her notes, and, if she's lucky, the book that she's currently reading, but as the cafeteria grows more and more crowded she starts to feel more and more claustrophobic. She's never really liked crowds, and she tends to sink into herself for that last twenty minutes before class starts, wishing that it were quiet again.
Zara's not in school today, because of some dentist appointment or whatever, so Claire's stuck in the cafeteria by herself. Not that it matters, anyway, because Zara is perpetually late to school and always shows up to homeroom literally seconds before the last bell rings. But, anyway, now Claire is all alone in her first period class, which sucks, because she no longer has anyone to complain about Owen to.
Owen Grady. Big football star, annoyingly attractive, bane of her existence. The fact that she sees him every morning makes her want to gag, because she hates him. And not, like, in an "I hate you because I'm actually attracted to you" way like some of her classmates like to gossip about, but an actual "I hate you more than any human being I've ever met on this earth and I want to beat you up with my color coded binder", type of way. She just hates him, okay? And normally, in her first period History class, she likes to whisper rude comments to Zara about him every time he opens his mouth.
Don't judge, okay? It's cathartic. And it does make her feel better, most days, because she's not a great whisperer and every time she makes one of her comments the rest of the class laughs along with her. Her history teacher loves her, so he doesn't say anything, and she revels in the fact that Owen actually looks pissed off when she does it. He deserves it, to be honest, considering the fact that he literally makes her blood pressure raise on a daily basis. Asshole.
She likes to deliberately attack him, sometimes, when they're debating in class. Mostly because she extremely, emphatically hates him, but also because he knows almost as much as her about the subject, which is irritating to say the least. She wishes he were stupid, because that would be much easier. And then maybe she could actually ignore him. But he's not, so. A girl's got to do what a girl's got to do.
His teeth clench when she comments on the argument he's just presented. And her comment is, in her opinion, way better than whatever point he'd been attempting to make. He tries to make a comeback, but she just rolls her eyes and the rest of the class laughs, and his point is moot. Claire can't help but feel a little smug that she knocked him off his game, because considering his smarmy attitude, he needs to be knocked down at least ten pegs every morning. She's just proud to have contributed.
She texts Zara while Mr. Wu is handing out worksheets in Chemistry, after, not really caring about the "no phones" rule at this point, considering she's a senior and everyone else does it. She can break a rule every now and again.
8:18 AM, Me: totally handed owen's ass to him in first period
8:18 AM, Me: you should've been there it was incredible
8:19 AM, Zara: i hate the dentist. why do they always take two hours to get me in the fuckin chair when there's literally no one else here?
8:20 AM, Zara: did he cry tho
8:21 AM, Me: HA i wish. i would've filmed it and forced them to play it on the morning announcements
8:21 AM, Zara: "and now, evan with the breaking news: star quarterback owen grady cries like a baby because tiny redhead puts him in his place"
8:22 AM, Me: i"m SCREECHInG
Claire puts her phone away as fast as possible, trying not to laugh and looking down at the sheet of paper in front of her to conceal her smile. A smile which completely fades away when her brain finally absorbs the typed information in front of her. "Students will work in partners…" Fine. Zara's her lab partner, they sit together every day, it's cool. "… that I will choose by drawing names out of a bin." Oh God. No. Please Lord, please save me from this. I'm a good person, I don't deserve this.
She tries to pray to every deity she can think of in order for her worst case scenario to not come true. Worst case scenario aka being partnered with Owen fucking Grady for this goddamn project that has a lifespan of a month, all because Mr. Wu decided to be adventurous and wants to ruin her life.
She takes a deep breath, trying not to have a panic attack in the middle of class. The last thing she needs is to make a fool of herself and get sent to the nurse, because then her parents will find out and Karen will rag on her for a week, at least. Nope, she doesn't need that. She tries to calmly listen to Mr. Wu as he reads out the names for the project, heart beating faster and faster as more names get partnered up and she still hasn't been. "Zara Young and… Lowery Cruthers," he calls out, and Claire makes a mental note to text Zara that information later, the lucky bitch.
Lowery was basically a chemistry genius, Zara probably wouldn't have to do any work at all. But she would, anyway, because that's the kind of girl her best friend is. Which is why she's her best friend, because they're both annoyingly on top of their schoolwork, despite having extremely different interests for their life paths. Zara was really into art, she wanted to work in a museum or have her own art gallery, or something. She wasn't a particularly great artist, herself, but she didn't let that stop her. Claire wanted to go to business school, maybe, run a company or be a CEO of some sort.
They're high school kids, okay. They know what they want and not really how to get it, but it's fine. At least they both know what they don't want.
"Claire and Owen," Wu calls out, obviously done with the whole performance of saying their last names, and her stomach drops. Right now, this is what she doesn't want. It's like her worst nightmare come true. A month of Owen Grady, trying to convince him that her ideas for this project are better than his, having to deal with his stupid football practices, having to listen to his grating voice day in and day out; she wants to scream.
Claire doesn't know how they've managed to go through three and a half years without this happening before, but it's happening now, halfway through her senior year, and she feels sick to her stomach. Of course she's not surprised, because with her luck, this would happen right when she finally thinks she's in the clear. She's suddenly and vividly reminded of that one line from The Office, when Erin says "every word out of your mouth is like the squawk of an ugly pelican", because yeah. That's Owen.
She can't even focus for the rest of class, they're learning reactions or something, and it's going to completely bite her in the ass later because she absolutely sucks at Chem, but she's actually freaking out. She can't even look him in the eye, isn't even taking notes, and maybe going to the nurse wouldn't have been such a bad thing, after all.
Maybe she can talk to Mr. Wu after class about switching partners, or maybe doing the project on her own, but then she remembers her test next period and knows she'll need all the time she can get. Fuck. Maybe she can catch him after school? That's her best option. She tries to focus on the lesson as much as possible after she's decided, but at that point she's so lost she doesn't even bother. She'll have to ask Zara to ask Lowery to explain it to her.
She rushes to the Chemistry room as fast as she can after the last bell rings. Claire'd already texted Zara about the situation earlier, and about her lab partner, which her friend took very well. She'd also given her some really nice support instead of teasing her about Owen, which she could've done. Claire had really appreciated the gesture, considering this situation was different than her daily annoyances. This was basically like her pathetic high school version of Waterloo, or something.
She steels herself and knocks on the door before she goes in, trying to look as friendly as possible.
"Mr. Wu?" she asks, hating herself for sounding so weak, but he's actually her last hope.
"Ms. Dearing. What can I do for you?" he doesn't sound angry, which is a good sign. She can do this.
"I wanted to talk to you about the project?" She doesn't mean for it to come out as a question, but whatever. She keeps going. "I really don't think being partnered with Owen is a good idea."
"Mmm," her teacher nods, and she thinks maybe he's agreeing with her? Which is good. She needs him to agree with her. "That's actually really interesting. Mr. Grady spoke to me about the same thing after class."
He did? "He did?" she repeats out loud, not believing what she's just heard. At least he wants out of this as much as she clearly does, too.
"He did. Mentioned something about 'irreconcilable differences'?" Claire has to hold back a snort, because that's actually sort of funny. An understatement, really, but true nonetheless. What they had was more "blood feud" than "irreconcilable differences".
"Yeah," she breathes, nodding as convincingly as she can, kind of disgusted that she's actually agreeing with Owen Grady of all people. But if it gets her out of seeing his face for longer periods of time than necessary she'll agree with whatever. "We just can't work together—"
"Claire," her teacher says, and she takes a deep breath, knowing what's coming but still pretending that it might not happen. "I'll tell you the same thing I told Mr. Grady earlier this morning. I can't give you special treatment just because you two don't like each other. Not everyone in the class is happy with their partners, but it is what it is. You understand, don't you?"
She does, but that doesn't mean she has to like it. She gives her teacher a single nod, thanking him for his time and dragging herself out of the classroom. Well, fuck. What was she supposed to do now?
"That's hilarious," Zara says around a mouthful of ice-cream a few days later, a Saturday. It's still kind of cold to be eating ice-cream outside, but neither of them care, and they need this. Zara's teeth are still kind of sore, so the cold is good for that. For Claire, however, this was much more of a spiritual than physical healing. Her best friend and Lowery had already started on their project, the overachievers, and Claire hadn't spoken a single word to Owen since that day in class.
In fact, she's been avoiding him way more than ever. No more sniping at his comments, as much as it hurts her, because that would make him aware of her presence. It seems as though he's managed to become way more obnoxious over the past couple of days, like he's testing her, but she's kept her mouth shut. It was almost physically painful for her to not be able to tell him how wrong he was about, well, everything, but she did it. And now she's stressing because her mortal enemy is going to make her fail out of high school and lose her spot as valedictorian.
"I'm glad you find my pain amusing," she snaps, and Zara raises an eyebrow.
"Testy."
"I hate you."
"Okay, but listen. It won't be that bad. Just, like, do everything yourself, and then a couple of days before it's due meet up with him, tell him how it's going down, and be done with it. You'll ace that shit."
"That's actually… not a bad idea."
"I know," Zara's done her ice-cream by now, and is eating away at the cone. "I'm a genius."
"Yeah, yeah, genius. Get in the car."
There's no avoiding it, really. Zara's idea was great, but the thing was, Claire knew that he wouldn't take it lying down. Ew, excuse the weird innuendo. That is not what she needs to be thinking about right now. What she means is, Owen is never going to agree with her ideas. He's too confrontational, and they've spent too many years going at each other's throats for him to just back off and do what she says. And she's too much of a perfectionist to not have her project done weeks before it's due, anyway, so she needs to talk to him.
As much as the idea makes her want to bash her head against a wall. She feels dirty, standing outside of the boys' locker-room after football practice, waiting for Owen to come out. She doesn't want to go in because she's seen plenty of high school movies, and she doesn't want to risk being scarred for life from the horrors that she might witness. Plus, she knows what kind of weird, sexual things he might try to insinuate if she did walk in, and she really didn't need to deal with that on a Monday.
The rest of the school may think that they have "sexual tension", or whatever other obscene rumors are floating around about them, but she knows better.
Owen gives her a sly grin when he walks out, back in his normal clothes after practice, and raises an eyebrow at her like he doesn't know what she's there for. Ugh. She'd had to sit through the entire football practice (in her car, of course, because she had dignity and wasn't some weird groupie that sat around watching the stupid high school football team practice, okay), so she'd heard the coach yelling at him. He had no right to be so cocky.
She decides to just blurt it out.
"I think we should, uh… consult," she says, mentally slapping herself right after the word leaves her mouth. "Consult". Nice SAT vocab, there, champ. You're really killing it!
He just gives her another knowing grin and she wants to stab herself, honestly. She can't do this, is it too late to change her mind? "So do you want to consult here, or in the locker-room?" he asks her, wiggling his eyebrows, clearly proud of his own joke.
Which is, she has to admit to herself, actually kind of funny. Not that she'd ever admit it to him. She tries to hide her smile by saying, "That's not funny."
"It's a little funny," he retorts, fixing the strap of his gym bag on his shoulder. "Come on," he says, finally getting serious, "let's go to my car."
"Um, I don't think so."
He just stares dumbly at her. "Why not?"
"Because I don't like you? Why would I get into your car? Who knows what kinds of things you've done in there," she avoids adding ya nasty at the end of that sentence, because she doesn't need him to know about her love for old-school Disney. That belongs to her (and Zara).
"Well what do want from me, then, Dearing?" she cringes when he says her name, ignoring the weird twist of her stomach, and shrugs.
"I kind of want you to let me do this project myself and put your name on it," she suggests, voice sickly sweet and purposefully condescending.
"Why? 'Cause you don't think I'm smart enough to help you?"
No, actually, but think what you want, is what she wants to say, with a nice eye roll thrown into the mix, but settles for, "No, because I don't want to spend my free time having to look at your face when I already get enough of that at school." She means it as an insult, but of course he has to twist every single thing that she says in his favor.
"You look at me, huh?" She doesn't dignify that with an answer, and he sighs.
"Okay, look. Let's just go sit on the bleachers, if you're so offended by my car."
She squints her eyes at him, trying to find his angle. After years of them hating each other, she has a right to be suspicious. Who knows what kind of prank he's trying to play. After a good thirty seconds of silence, she turns and makes her way to the bleachers, and after a quick jolt of surprise, he follows.
"And he didn't talk about himself at all?" Zara asks that night, after Claire texts her 911. (She's been doing that a lot lately, the 911 thing, but her life has become more and more like a train wreck lately. And her friend's not complaining, so.)
"Well, I mean, he talked about football. There's a game on Friday, or whatever. But other than that, he was weirdly… quiet."
"Huh." Zara takes a pause, flicking her long, dark ponytail over to her other shoulder. "Maybe he has, like, a thing for you."
Claire can't even process what she's just heard, and when she does, she chokes a little bit on her hot chocolate. "No. Ew, no. No fucking way. He hates me. He hates me!"
"I vaguely remember you deciding you hated him like two weeks into freshman year," Zara points out, and Claire feels some of her brain cells die, for real; "he didn't really have a choice in the matter."
"Okay, wrong. No. He was a total dick before I ever even said the word 'hate'. If he wanted me to like him he could've developed some manners."
Zara rolls her eyes. "Whatever, can we not talk about this? How's Karen?" Karen was graduating from college. Soon, actually. She was doing surprisingly well. She was going to law school, maybe, if everything worked out, which was kind of hilarious considering the fact that they were currently watching Legally Blonde.
"Of course it'll work out," Zara says, making a "What? Like it's hard?" joke, and Claire laughs for the first time in what feels like weeks.
"Shut up and watch the movie, loser," she laughs, shoving her.
"God, no. Zara, don't do this to me. Please, don't. I don't want to." Claire knows she's whining like a little brat, but she doesn't care. Zara's trying to drag her out of bed on a Friday night, literally tugging on her legs as Claire clutches onto her headboard for dear life.
"It's one football game, you ninny, it won't kill you."
"Yes it will," she whines, dragging out the word for impact. "Plus you-know-who will be there. And I hate football."
"Shut, up, you love football. And he's not fucking Voldemort, you can say his name. I don't care what you say, you're going. Your mother let me into this house to take you to the game, and I'm not leaving without you."
Claire sighs and lets go of her bed. "Correction, I like football related media. Like Friday Night Lights. That doesn't mean I actually know any of the rules to football, like, at all. Tim Riggins did not teach me this."
Zara rolls her eyes, probably for the millionth time that night. "Like I said, don't care. Get dressed."
"Yes, mom."
She manages to make herself look somewhat presentable, in jeans and a thermal t-shirt. She'd made the mistake of not dressing warmly before, and it was not a nice memory for her.
Claire's only ever actually been to a single football game during her entire high school career. It was cold and she had forgotten a jacket and all she wanted to do was go home, but Karen had wanted to stay and she was her ride, so Claire had to suffer through the cold for way longer than necessary. She had absolutely no fun, and the fact that she didn't know the rules didn't help anything. Like she said, she only liked movies and TV shows about football, not the actual game.
Plus, Owen being on the team really made her hate the sport in real life that much more. If the rest of the team was anything like him, she absolutely didn't want to be cheering them on for the better part of her Friday night. One that could have been spent catching up on her shows, or doing homework, or sleeping.
But no, here she was, stuck on the same bleachers that she'd sat with him on to talk about their project. Not exactly a fuzzy memory. At least she wasn't freezing this time. She'd learned from her mistake.
She's surprised by how many people are there. Football at her school had only really gotten big in the past few years, and it may or may not have something to do with Owen. So, whatever, he's good. Like, really good, from what she's heard. But she never expected this. The signs with his number on them, the aggressive cheering, the collective screams when he scores a touchdown. That's what you do with touchdowns, right? You score them? She asks Zara but she just rolls her eyes, which is no help at all, thanks a lot, best friend.
Claire assumes it's a touchdown, anyway, because he's at one end of the field. She doesn't even know which side they're supposed to be scoring on, which is annoying, but she just goes off of what everyone else does. And she refuses to stand up and cheer for him. Zara might've forced her to come to this thing, but she still wants to retain some dignity.
She wants to leave immediately after the game, but Zara wants to talk to some guys on the team, which makes Claire sort of nauseous, but she follows her friend down the bleachers and onto the field anyway. A lot of the guys stuck around for a few minutes after each game, or so Zara told her, to chat with their adoring fans.
Claire looks at her phone while Zara chats up a really tall, muscular kid, jersey number thirty-four. She jumps in surprise when she hears someone clear their throat next to her, and almost bolts when she sees who it is.
Owen Grady, sweaty and drenched in what she can only assume is water that he dumped on himself (in this freezing cold, honestly?), his helmet in his hands. Claire locks her phone and shoves it in her pocket, hoping he didn't see her text conversation with Zara from earlier. They hadn't said anything particularly bad (and really, she's said worse things about him to his face), but it was a private conversation. She was weirdly protective about that kind of stuff.
He clears his throat again, and she almost thinks he's embarrassed, but then remembers who she's looking at. "How did you like the game?"
"Do you want me to tell the truth or do you want a lie? I'm equally capable of both," she tells him, because she's not in the mood for games and pretend politeness.
He actually laughs, which makes her feel weird, and she's seriously itching to run away. "Truth," he says, and she pretends to make a big fuss about it.
"Well, I don't actually know the rules of football… so I can truthfully tell you that I had no idea what was going on and that I was bored out of my mind the entire time."
Owen actually looks so scandalized that she wants to laugh, because it's just football. Calm down with your weird alpha male bullshit, would you?
"That's so unacceptable. I can't believe you've been an American your entire life and you don't know the rules to football. I thought you knew everything."
She's a little insulted, especially because of the tone that he'd just used. She's about to launch into a tirade, really, starting out with a classic, "Excuse me?", but Zara bounds over just in time to diffuse it.
"Am I interrupting something here?" she asks, with a sly little grin, and Claire's so angry that she's seeing red at this point, so she can't even be sarcastic.
"No," she snaps, grabbing her friend's arm. "Can we please leave?" But she doesn't even wait for an answer, practically dragging Zara off to the car, not caring that it's not her car and she doesn't have the key, just desperately wanting to leave.
"Are we going to talk about it?" Zara asks when she pulls into Claire's driveway.
"Nothing to talk about," Claire deflects, because she's good at it.
"Mhm, sure."
"Seriously. He was just being an asshole, like always. God, he can never have one nice thing to say to me, can he? Always acting like he's just so much better because he plays football, wow, isn't he just the savior of the human race? Sick."
"Alright then," Zara says, dragging out the words. "I think you need some Jim/Pam action tonight because you are seriously riled up."
Claire laughs, feeling herself calm down, and hugs her friend.
"You really get me."
"Yeah. Maybe no more football games for a while, okay, killer?"
Her phone pings with a text that night from Owen, of all people. It's way past midnight, so maybe he was expecting her to be asleep, but she'd been too busy stressing over assignments that she hadn't even realized the time. She looks at the little demon emoji that she'd put next to his contact name and smiles a little to herself.
12:43 AM, Satan: did you still want to come over tomorrow to work on the chem thing?
It's really straightforward, but she can't help but think he wants her to say no. Why else would he text her so late at night? Even though she still felt sort of weird about what happened after the game, he could've just texted her then, like twenty or thirty minutes after. Obviously he had no shame, so why did it matter? Either way, the answer would've been the same.
No, obviously, she doesn't want to go to Owen Grady's house, nor did she ever want him to have her phone number, but this was her life now. She texts him one word, not really caring what kind of impression he gets from it, and goes to bed.
12:56 AM, Me: yeah.
The alarm shocks her awake in the morning, and even though it's not as early as she normally wakes up for school, Claire still feels like death. Still, she manages to get out of bed and ready for a day of torture—er, schoolwork—with Owen. She doesn't bother with her hair and puts on a pair of yoga pants and a hoodie, not caring if his parents think she's a bum. Maybe if they do he'll never invite her over again, and she can blame her bad grade on them.
She pulls up to the address he'd texted her a few days ago, a small but not awful looking green house not that far from her own. She doesn't know if she should ring the bell or knock, so she does both, hoping that it's not too annoying. But, with her luck, he'll probably still be asleep. Her heart leaps in her throat when she hears a pound pounding of feet coming towards the door, accompanied with equally loud barking. Great. He has a dog.
Claire hears a swear and then the lock wiggling, and then the door's open and Owen Grady is standing in front of her, hair and clothes disheveled, a small dachshund in his arms. The dog barks even louder when it sees her, and Owen snaps at it.
"None of this shit, Blue, what did I tell you? Go to mom's room." Surprisingly, the dog does as he says when he puts it on the floor, all the while Claire is standing on his front porch like an idiot. He gapes at her for a second before opening the door wider and inviting her in.
"Do you, um, want a drink or something?" He seems nervous, which is new to her, because the only emotions she's ever seen from Owen are smug and condescending. Sometimes both at once.
But she just nods. "Some water would be fine."
His mother's in the kitchen when she walks in, which makes Claire feel queasy. She seems a lot nicer than her son is, (Claire assumes that he's learned his bad habits all on his own), offering her breakfast and a place to sit.
"Owen's told us a lot about you, Claire," Mrs. Grady says to her, smile wide and welcoming. Claire doesn't understand why that would be something to smile about, considering she hasn't been anything remotely resembling nice to Owen in her entire life, but she just laughs awkwardly until Owen ushers them to his room.
It's weird, to say the least. And nothing like she'd expected it to be. For one, it's clean, which throws her off right away. There are some books lying around, and considering she liked to pretend that he didn't know how to read, that was also surprising. There were some video game and dinosaur posters, which she sort of figured there would be. She realizes it's the first time she's ever been in a boy's bedroom and tries not to panic.
"Do we, uh, sit on the floor, or…?" She trails off, not really knowing what to say, but he just gestures towards the bed.
"It's pretty big, and I just thought… if you're uncomfortable we don't have to. But my mom washed the sheets and everything, so you won't catch any diseases." He smirks when he's done, acting more like the Owen she knows, and she sits on the bed without saying anything.
"I brought some supplies, if you wanna see them. I figured we'd start with figuring out the reactions and stuff and then after we get all the 'mathy' stuff out of the way we can actually work on the poster."
"Yeah, that's cool."
It's so weird, sitting this close to him and not actively making gagging sounds or pretending like she has to vomit. When he's quiet, he's not… sobad, but it's just. Weird. Really weird. And he keeps looking over at her like she's going to bite him, so after an hour of working she just snaps.
"What are you looking at?"
He looks like a deer caught in headlights, and normally causing such a stunned expression on his face would make her laugh, but now she's just irritated. "Do I have something on my face, or what?"
"No, you just… look different, is all. I've never seen your hair like that."
She self consciously fingers the ends of her frizzy curls, narrowing her eyes. "Well, I can't straighten it every day or it'll fall out," she huffs. She hadn't bothered with makeup, either, and it's not her fault her face is naturally hideous.
"I never said it looked bad."
Oh. That was unexpected. She doesn't know how to reply, so she just looks back down at her work.
"This is wrong," he says after another hour or so of silently scribbling away. They're almost done, really, which is great for her. She thought they'd have to meet at least one more time, but if not then she'd finally be free. His words make her jump and she almost falls off the bed, but he grabs her at the last second. She shakes his arm off, feeling odd and jittery.
"What is?"
"This equation. You balanced it wrong."
"Are you sure?" This is disgustingly embarrassing. She's almost never wrong, and to be wrong in front of him is probably going to give her nightmares for weeks. "Let me see it." She snatches the paper out of his hands. He's quiet as she checks it over, mentally cursing herself. Fuck, he's right. She'd made a stupid computation error. "You're right," she sighs, handing it back to him. "Just fix it."
"Claire Dearing, admitting that she's made a mistake. Who would've thought." If she'd tried to retort something witty at this point all that would come out would be, "Owen Grady, looks like he finally advanced past first grade math", but she didn't feel like starting a fight and really just wanted to finish the assignment today.
So she just rolls her eyes, telling him, "Take a picture. It'll last longer."
He seems surprised by that answer, grinning at her in response, and she ignores the warning bells going off in her head. She hadn't told Zara about today, but she knows if she did she'd get some weird lecture about how Owen's always had feelings for her. She needs to not have her Jim/Pam goggles on right now, thanks. Not every single person is hiding their emotions. Especially Owen Grady.
"Do you want to take a break?" he asks her at three in the afternoon, after they've been working for a good couple of hours. It takes her a moment to understand because she's already taken four bathroom breaks (she has a small bladder, okay), but then she realizes that he means like, an actual break. From working. She wants to tell him, no thanks, actually, I'd rather finish this as fast as possible so that I never have to see you again, but she doesn't, and just nods instead.
"What do you want to do?"
She shrugs in response. Claire's not really that elegant around people she's uncomfortable being with, and he's no exception.
"Oh my God," he says, eyes widening in a child-like glee she's never seen on anyone before. "I know exactly what we can do. I'll teach you how to play football."
Her eyes widen for a completely different reason, almost bulging out of her head. "I don't… think that's a great idea. Maybe we shouldn't."
"Oh, come on. It'll be fun." She wants to ask him why exactly he thinks so, but bites her lip instead.
"Fine, fine. I guess. But not too long, okay, because I really want to get this thing done."
"Yeah, yeah," he waves her comment off, grabbing her hand and dragging her out of his bedroom door.
She yanks it away as fast as she can, trying to ignore the way his eyebrows knit together when she does. He grabs his football from the living room, and his mom looks over the couch to give Claire an encouraging smile.
And that's how she ends up pressed against Owen Grady's chest, in his backyard, learning how to throw a football. It's still so weird (she can't think of any other word, sue her) to be in such close proximity to him, considering about two weeks ago she couldn't even look at him without pretending to gag. And it was weird, because he didn't smell bad at all and she could feel all his… muscles pressed against her back, and she could feel his breath in her ear, and it didn't feel awful.
"So then you just throw it," he's saying now, and she really wishes she'd been paying attention to his little spiel. However, right as she's getting ready to throw the darn thing, Owen's dog comes bounding out of the house, all cute and excited, nipping at their heels. Claire lets out a breath she didn't know she was holding, steps away from him.
"Um, I think I should go." Yeah, she really needs to get out of there. She feels suffocated, almost, and she doesn't know why and doesn't really want to deal with it.
"Oh, yeah. Sure. I'll help you get your stuff." Is that disappointment she hears in his voice, or is she just projecting? This is why she doesn't talk to boys, because she's constantly projecting her own weird ideas onto them and she's just better at hating them, anyway.
Owen's mom offers to let her stay for dinner but Claire kindly declines, lying about the fact that her parents are expecting her home for dinner. Anything to get out of there faster. She runs up the stairs to his room, not even bothering to take any of the project stuff, just getting her phone and keys. She trips in her haste to leave, and she feels his arms on hers before she sees him coming, steadying her. Claire's breath catches in her throat when she looks up at him, heart stuttering in her chest.
"Claire," he breathes, and he leans down just a fraction of an inch, and that spurs her into action. She ducks her head, and basically sprints out of the room, thanking his mom for having her as she closes the door on her way out. She turns the keys in her ignition and swears that she doesn't take a breath until she's back home, in her room.
She gets a text from him a few days later, telling her that he'd finished the project himself and sending her pictures of it for final approval. It feels like a weight off her chest, but at the same time, it feels… off. Like something's unfinished.
They present the project and then move on. At least she thinks they do. Zara keeps throwing her looks every time he talks in class and she doesn't say anything. He just doesn't seem as annoying as he did… before. Before what? She still doesn't know. A month passes before anything else happens, and she thinks she's gotten over it. Not really sure what "it" is, really, but she's still over it.
Until her car breaks down.
She'd stayed an hour after school to help a couple of freshmen with their algebra, something she did every once in a while. She wasn't a great teacher, and she wasn't really great with people, but it felt nice to help. That nice feeling, however, was completely squashed when she turned the key of her car and nothing happened. More accurately, the car sputtered a bit, and then completely died.
She couldn't call her parents, because they both worked late. Kate was in college. Her grandparents were both and work and didn't own cell phones, anyway. Zara was visiting a college. She literally had no one to call.
Unless… the football team was still at practice. She could just wait until it was over and… No. She couldn't. Claire would literally rather die than ask Owen Grady for a ride home. Dammit, she should've listened when her dad tried to explain to her the proper way to jumpstart a car, but it was so boring and she had homework to do.
Why did the universe hate her? Honestly. Knowing she has no choice, she marches herself down to the football field and plops down on the bleachers. And not seconds after, number thirty-four trips over his own feet and the football goes flying.
"Grady!" she hears the coach yell, and covers her mouth with her hands to keep from laughing. Oops.
He doesn't even bother going to the locker-room after practice, running over to the bleachers after his coach is done yelling at him.
"Claire, what are you doing here?" He's all sweaty, and she wishes that she didn't think that was attractive. But after that day at his house she just can't stop thinking about it. He's not ugly, okay? And she's a teenage girl.
"Can't a girl just appreciate some football without people thinking she has ulterior motives?"
"Not a girl that doesn't like football."
"Okay, you got me. My car decided to hate me, so I need a ride home. Or a jump start. Or maybe to throw myself off these bleachers, I'm still deciding."
He laughs, then, and she's surprised by how much she likes the sound. This was completely irrational, on her part. There was no way feelings could change this fast, could they? But it's not like she's in love with him, or something. She just suddenly wants to jump his bones, maybe. It's different. She can control this, at least. Has been controlling it for the past seventeen years of her life. It's fine, she's fine.
"Don't abandon all hope yet, let's go see what's wrong with it."
Claire waits while Owen showers and changes out of his uniform, then leads him to her car. He really has no right to look that attractive leaning over its hood, but here they are, and she's freaking out.
"Tell me something," he says, fiddling with the parts of her car that she can't name, "anything. What do you like to do?"
She's staring at his hands. "Um." She wishes she had something to tell him, but admitting that she watched over a hundred television shows and had tons of YA fiction piled up in her room (or that she sometimes read the dictionary for fun) probably wasn't the greatest idea.
"I'm not hearing anything," he prods, and she crosses her arms.
"I don't really have a thing, okay?"
"What, like a penis? 'Cause I kinda figured—"
"No, you idiot. Like, something I care about. Something I'm good at."
"But you're great at everything." He pauses to look up from the hood of her car, and she feels weak. This was a really, really bad idea.
"No, I—I'm not. Not like you."
"Claire, what are you talking about? You're the freaking valedictorian of our class. People would kill to get grades like yours."
"Is that all I have to show for myself, though?" She feels like she's going to cry, which just sucks. Because she's not supposed to be talking to Owen Grady and she's not supposed to be asking him for help, and she's absolutely not supposed to be crying in front of him. This is ridiculous. "I didn't even get into any decent colleges. Memorizing things for tests is one thing, but what am I actually good at? I have no talents. None."
She can't look at him, because if she looks at him, she knows she's going to cry.
"You didn't get into any ivy leagues, so what. You're still better than every single one of—" he stops in the middle of his sentence, suddenly getting an idea. "Listen, Claire." She looks up at him, anyway, because something in his voice makes her feel like she has to. "Do you have to go home right away? Do you wanna go somewhere?"
She shakes her head quickly, croaking out a response. "No, I don't have to be home yet. Where are we…?"
"Just trust me," he says, and surprisingly, she does.
They end up in a diner she's never been to before, which is crazy because she thought she knew every inch of their shitty, tiny town. Apparently not.
He buys her a strawberry milkshake without her asking, which is her favorite flavor. She doesn't even want to know how he knew that. The waitress sets it down in front of them with two straws in and Claire blushes all the way down her neck while Owen laughs and politely corrects the teenage girl, who then proceeds to write her name and number on a napkin and slides it over to him.
He smiles at her, but doesn't attempt to flirt, which is not really… typical Owen behavior.
"Do you remember freshman year?" he asks out of the blue, and she looks up from the half-finished shake, letting out a surprised laugh.
"Um, yes. Vividly." It wasn't a good time for her, to say the least. But high school in general, surrounded by people she wishes that she'll never have to see again, isn't a good time for her, anyway. Her grades are the only thing she has going for her, but she's sure to have a breakdown over them at least once a week. She quirks an eyebrow at him. "Why?"
"Your hair was long then," he says, like it's important.
"That it was."
"Do you remember Madison's party?" Ha! Did she remember Madison's party, of course she remembered! It was when she decided for sure that she hated him. She's surprised that he's bringing it up, actually. She hadn't thought about it in a long time. "I didn't mean it the way it came out, then. But you were so mad and I just made a complete idiot of myself and you left before I could explain it."
Oh.
She remembers how upset she was, after it all went down. Thirteen years old, younger than all the other kids, leaving early because a group of guys were making fun of her. Owen had asked her out during the party, but it was obvious that it was a complete lie. His friends were all snickering behind him as he did it, and she'd been so embarrassed that she'd spilled her ice-cream cone down her brand new dress. It was humiliating, and she'd called her mom right after to come pick her up as fast as possible.
Karen had come instead, bringing her a sweater. They'd stayed out late together that night, playing pop music at top volume and laughing until she felt better. But Claire was good at keeping a grudge, and so, here she was.
She was kind of over it now, though.
"Forget about it."
"I really was asking you out."
"Wait. What?"
"I genuinely wanted you to go out with me," he says it so simply that she has to believe him. "You look so surprised."
"I just— I don't know."
"You don't like being wrong," he teases, and she just gives him a thin smile in response.
"Why's your dog named Blue?" she asks, surprising herself. It had been at least two months since the incident at his house, but she'd desperately wanted to change the subject, and it was the only thing she could think of. He looks a little sheepish, and she has to prod him to get him to answer.
"It's dumb," he pleads, but she's unrelenting. "Okay, okay. I was really obsessed with Monsters Inc. when I was little, and Boo was my favorite character. And when my parents got the dog they asked me what I wanted to name her, and I said 'Boo'. They thought I said Blue, so it just stuck."
It's not a particularly funny story, but she bursts into laughter anyway, imagining a tiny Owen Grady running around yelling "Boo" all day. It was kind of a cute image.
Oh, help. She was thinking of Owen Grady as cute now. There was definitely something wrong with her. She doesn't like how quickly her heart is beating, and after she finishes the drink she asks him to take her back to her car.
He drives them back to the high school in silence, looking over her car one more time to make sure it was safe to drive. After it successfully starts, he closes the hood and walks over to the side of her car. She bites her lip and rolls down the window.
"You should come to the game on Friday," he starts, hands in the pockets of his jeans. "It's our last one."
"Because I had so much fun the last time," she mutters, and he gives her a half smile that she finds way too endearing. Why is she so gross now? Who knows. Maybe he put a spell on her.
"But you know the rules now, don't you?"
Heh. It's so funny how he thinks she'd been paying attention. "I, uh, don't think they really sunk in when you tried to teach me. It's been a while, remember?"
"Yeah."
"But, um, I'll go. If you want me to."
He perks up at that. "Yeah?"
She nods. "Sure."
"Okay, I'll, um, see you in class."
"Yeah."
He gives her a small wave as he jogs back to his car. So eloquent, the pair of them.
Zara has a nice long laugh when Claire finally tells her what's been going on. "You know, that didn't happen between me and Lowery. I wonder why. It's almost like we didn't have years of suppressed feelings and sexual tension to work from."
"I wish I could slap you, I honestly do."
"Mmm, yeah. You can come over any time. But really, are you going to the game?"
"I don't know, are you coming with?"
"Duh. Also, did you finish Johnson's homework? 'Cause I'm drowning."
"I don't know. Do I see Mrs. Young's infamous brownies in my immediate future?"
"You're in luck, she made some last night, you greedy bitch."
"You love me."
"Yeah, yeah. Start reading off those answers."
So she goes to the game. It's almost exactly like the last one, but warmer. And she's paying attention to Owen's jersey number, this time. She watches as he sprints back and forth across the field, yells orders, gulping down bottles of water. The scores are close to tied when she bothers to check, and when she asks Zara about it her eyes go wide.
"They're, like, our biggest rivals, Claire, where have you been? Oh, right, at the library." Claire nudges Zara's side with her elbow for that one. "But yeah, they're really good. I'm surprised we're even ahead, we haven't beaten them in years. Winning this game means going to playoffs."
No wonder it looks like everyone's dying out there.
Claire watches anxiously as the game starts to wind down, the players looking more and more haggard as time passes. Owen in particular looks exhausted; she can see his chest heaving even from where she's sitting in the stands. He's been taking a lot of hits, more than she's ever seen on TV or anywhere else. The team just needs one more touchdown and they can win. She knows they can, she's seen him do it before.
She's never been this stressed watching a sports game, ever, but now her heart is practically beating out of her chest as she watches someone throw Owen the ball. Oh, God. Run, you idiot, run!
She doesn't realize she's standing up until he makes it to the end of the field, and the entire crowd goes wild. She's never felt anything like it in her life. They won! He won! Before her brain catches up to her, she's flying down the stairs and onto the field where the team is celebrating. She watches as Owen takes off his helmet and runs over to her.
"Hi," she breathes, her face warm as he gets closer, "that was ama—"
She can't get the rest of the words out, though, because his hands are on his face and he's kissing her. Wow, she was not expecting that. She can't move for a good thirty seconds, because this can't be real. She cannot be kissing Owen Grady right now, in front of all of these people. She can practically hear Zara screeching in the background, but she doesn't care. She doesn't care and she kisses him back, tugging his uniform closer, and he lets out a small moan against her mouth that makes her gasp in response.
She has to pull away to catch her breath, and he's just looking at her, completely in shock of what he's done, blood on half of his face, and she freezes. The rest of the world swims back into focus and she can see Zara barreling down the stairs, and she can see some of his friends looking at them, and she can't breathe.
"I just wanted you to know. Even if you don't—I just… I wanted you to know."
"I—" Fuck, fuck. And she runs.
Even after having the entire weekend, Claire doesn't go to school on Monday. It's the first time in her entire life that she's missed a day, but she just can't. She'll ask her mom to get her a doctor's note, or something, so that she can still get her perfect attendance award. She hasn't completely given up on school yet.
She thumbs through her text messages, half from Zara, half from Owen, buries her face in her pillow, and screams. She's so dumb, honestly. How mad was she at Pam when all she said was "I can't" after Jim told her he loved her? Like, so mad. She'd cried for days, even. So why couldn't she take her own advice?
Claire realizes that it's a lot harder in real life. (Actually starts to understand Pam's decision, even, which she never thought she could. Season three was the worst torture that she's ever been through in her entire life.) Real life is so hard. Claire can't understand why people like it so much.
She decides to suck it up, and sends him a text.
Me, 2:15 PM: you home?
Owen, 2:15 PM: yeah
She'd changed his contact name after the car thing. It just felt right.
Me, 2:18 PM, can i come over?
Owen, 2:18 PM, if you want
He sounds so upset, which is dumb, because you can't read emotions from phones, but still. Even when she hated him they'd had better conversations than this one. She gets out of bed and tugs on a sweater, even going as far as putting on some eyeliner and concealer. Crying all day could really mess up a girl's face, okay, and she needed all the help she could get.
Pulling up to Owen's house is harder than she expected. Way harder than the first time, at least. It takes her what seems like hours to actually make it to his door, and he opens it before she even knocks. Probably so that Blue doesn't come running at her.
"Hey," she says, tugging her sweater sleeves over her hands. It's not even cold.
"Hey." He looks like he hasn't slept in days, and she hates that it might be her fault.
"Can I, um—?" she gestures inside the house.
"Sure."
He takes them up to his room, and she swallows and sits on the bed. He stays by the door, arms crossed. She can't even look at him, just looks at her hands, tangled together on her lap.
"Are your parents home?"
"No, they both work till five. And I don't have football practice for a few days, to let us heal and stuff, so." She notices the bruises now, since he pointed them out. The large scratch on his face, a bruise peeking out of his t-shirt sleeve, probably more underneath. She wants to see them.
"Owen, I—"
"If you're just going to tell me that you hate me and nothing will ever happen, don't bother. I kind of figured out that much." Ouch. "You didn't have to come all the way over here for that, either." Double ouch.
"Wanted me to know what?" she blurts, and he looks angry, almost.
"You're kidding, right? You really don't know."
"Well if you could just tell me, that would be great."
They're both angry now. Not good. He looks hurt, both physically and otherwise, and she doesn't want it to be like this. She wants to do something about it, but she doesn't know what. Being a teenager is the worst. Emotions suck.
"I'm so tired of fighting with you, Claire." That hits a nerve that she wasn't expecting. They never really fought, though, did they? They just argued, kind of. And yelled a lot. And tried to outdo one another. And aimed to make each other cry. Okay, okay. They fought.
"I don't want to fight, either. That's not why I'm here."
"Why are you here, exactly?" Good question. She doesn't really… know. She wants to kiss him again, she knows that. But everything else is just. Blurry. She doesn't know. So she just goes for what she does know.
His face softens as she walks towards him. Even more when she runs a hand over his scraped face. She moves it down to his chest, and he lets out a sharp breath.
"Sorry," she breathes, quietly, understanding that he's probably hurt there. "Sorry." And then she's kissing him.
God, will she ever get used to it? Will she ever get to do it again, after this? His lips are so soft, and he's so tentative, and she just wants him to kiss her, like he means it. Like he did Friday night. So she fists her hands in his shirt again and bites his lip.
He growls in surprise, deep in his chest, and she silently celebrates. His arms wrap around her and suddenly she's being carried to the bed, pressed into the mattress, his lips hard and insistent against hers.
"Owen," she whines, and he sits back, dazed.
"Never thought I'd hear you say it like that in real life," he rasps, his voice deep and warm.
"Been dreaming about me, have you?" She means it as a joke, but his face closes off again.
"Pretty much since freshman year," he sighs, and her heart is speeding up again. "Did you really never notice?"
"Notice what?"
"Fuck," he groans, and he's back on her, tongue and all, hands pressed against the bare skin of her back underneath her sweater. It feels so good, she wonders why she hadn't done it sooner. But way too soon, he's pulling away again. "Shit," he mutters, but he's grinning at her. "Never could concentrate with you around."
Claire blushes, looking at the bedspread.
"I really, really like you, Claire. You get that now, right?"
"I don't know, I might need more convincing."
"You're killing me."
"Okay, okay, on with it, Romeo."
"You know that one skirt you wear? The white one? God, the first time you showed up in that I thought I was going to shit myself."
"Oh my God," she's laughing, she can't help it. He's so Owen. It's never been a good thing in her eyes before.
"And, shit, I remember this one time you were in the library reaching for a book, and your shirt kinda lifted up. That fucked me up for weeks."
Claire can't stop laughing, so much that tears are streaming down her face and she's clutching her stomach. He joins her until it dies out, and they're both laying down on his bed, facing each other.
"Am I really worth all of that?" she asks him, suddenly nervous all over again.
"You're kidding. Of course you are." His hand is warm as it brushes her elbow, and she shivers. It feels nice.
"So what do we do now?"
"Probably stick together. You know, for survival."
yup that's it. tell me what you guys think! also as a sidenote, part 2 is posted on my profile, it's called "i will be desperately awaiting when my tongue won't fall apart", so give that a read if you liked this one :)