A/N: New story! I focus so much on Bucky Barnes in my stories, I thought it was high time I showed Steve Rogers some attention, right? This one is definitely be a shorter story…a "fic-let," if you will. I've made just slight changes to the original story of Captain America: The First Avenger. In this story, Bucky and Steve are seniors in high school when the war is going on and they enlist. That's pretty much the only major change; their ages have been lowered. Oh, and also, Steve won't be in love with Peggy Carter, because she will still be around her normal age of 26 (or whatever it was). I've already written the whole story so I'll be posting chapters on a routine schedule, most likely.
Disclaimer: I own no part of the Marvel Cinematic Universe or Marvel Comics. No infringement was intended and no money was made off of this story. The only thing I own is my original character, Alison Lynden.
Read, review, enjoy!
Alison Lynden had important things to worry about, such as: 1) Would she be invited to the college-aged party this weekend, and 2) Why hadn't she buffed her nails last night (She decided this very moment to pull out a buffer and begin shining her nails), and 3) Why hadn't Jimmy sent a letter home recently, and…4) Why was someone standing in front of her desk, tapping their shoes, and saying, "A-hem"?
Oh, damn. You've done it now, Alison.
She slowly looked up from her now-glossy-as-a-mirror nails to give Miss Thompson her sweetest smile. "Yes, Miss Thompson?"
"Alison, what was I just discussing in class right now?"
Truthfully, Alison had no idea what Miss Thompson had been discussing. She got good marks in school but her mind, as of lately, had been wandering more and more in school. She just didn't feel like it was as important to care about geometry or whatever they were learning, given all that was going on in the world. But she knew that was definitely not the right answer right now—and Alison always gave the right answer. So she smiled again and said, "The war effort?" She was blindly guessing, but there was a good chance it was the right answer, since most teachers seemed to harp about the importance of war effort as often as they could these days.
"Wrong, Alison," Miss Thompson said sternly. "I was announcing partners for the term project I told the class we'd be doing at the beginning of the year. Did you hear who your partner was?"
"No," she said cockily, making several girls near her giggle and some boys give each other appreciative looks. The thing about Alison was, she never lost her cool. She could give as good as she could get—and she gave more often than she got, since people were afraid of stepping on her toes or getting in her way. She wasn't exactly a bully the way Meredith Walker, the true queen bee of the school, was—but she was definitely higher up on the social ladder than most students. And everyone knew it.
"Steve Rogers," Miss Thompson said, her nostrils flaring. "Now, would you mind paying attention during the rest of class and attending to your nails in the privacy of your bedroom? The classroom is not the time for such frivolities." She moved back to the front of the classroom and began to resume calling out pairs of students as partners. Meanwhile, Alison was mystified. Steve Rogers? Who was Steve Rogers? She'd never heard the name before, had she?
She scanned the room, mentally checking off every boy in the class, until her eyes fell upon a boy in the back and she bit back a groan. Now she remembered who Steve Rogers was: the short, slender boy who was sickly and always getting into strange fights with people much bigger than him. He was an inch shorter than Alison and just as slender as her, if not a bit more. It was something that made Alison instantly scornful of him. Men shouldn't be shorter and skinnier than her, not even by a little bit. The reason he hadn't been on Alison's immediate radar like some losers were was because of his best friend, Bucky Barnes. Bucky was tall and handsome and popular enough that he kept people from messing with Steve—much. He didn't run in the same circles as Alison (she had always gotten an uncomfortable feeling around him, as if he disliked her, and it made her squirm) but he was well-liked enough that she never gave Steve Rogers a second thought.
Now they were partners for their important class project. He had been looking down at his desk this whole time but he looked up now and locked eyes with Alison for a second. She rolled her eyes and turned away from him, fighting to keep her pretty face from settling into a permanent pout. Mother always said that scowling was so unattractive and that she would never find a good boy if she kept that expression up.
Class ended and immediately her friends surrounded her desk, giggling. Cheryl, Denise, and Eliza. They immediately began exchanging gossip about their partners:
"I got Jack! Oh, swoon!"
"You are so lucky! I got that brat Shelly Reinhart, she always hogs all the attention—"
"You're one to talk, Denise! You never shut up! I got Jeanine Whatsherlastname, I guess she's okay? Does anyone know anything about her?"
"Nah, she's alright, my sister knows her brother. She's kind of quiet but she's nice enough—"
"Oh, thank God, I still have nightmares from the project I had to do with Eric Wentworth, do you remember that chump? Ugh!"
"At least we don't have Alison's partner," Cheryl cut in slyly. "Steve Rogers? That's awful, sweetie." And she patted Alison's hand.
"It's fine," Alison snapped. All three girls looked at her. She sighed. "Sorry—I'm just annoyed I got stuck with such a dweeb. But it's fine, I'll do the whole thing on my own probably and I'll barely have to talk to him." Cheryl still looked a little wounded so Alison immediately began damage control. She nudged Cheryl and winked. "But you got Jack, you lucky thing. He's so gorgeous, I always feel like I'm going to pass out around him!"
"Right?!" Cheryl shrieked. "I don't know how I'm going to—oh, shoot!" She checked her wristwatch. "I'm late to pick up Anna!" Anna was her younger sister who went to the elementary school down the street. "My mother's going to kill me! See you later!" She rushed off and Denise and Eliza made their goodbyes as well and they all parted, going their own ways.
Alison exited the high school after gathering her books, thanking the Lord it was Friday, and hurried out into the street. She heard the sounds of some type of altercation coming from around the corner and her natural curiosity got the best of her. She peeked around the corner—to see Steve Rogers surrounded by four boys twice his size. Four boys who were also in their history class. She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. What was wrong with this stupid boy? Did he have some sort of death wish? If that was the case, he should have enlisted.
She listened closely to what they were saying and her heart sank when she realized they were talking about her.
"So we saw that you got Alison Lynden as a partner!" one of the boys, Mike, said. He nudged Steve very roughly. "What do you think about that? Sound good to you?"
Steve was silent. Alison felt slightly offended. He didn't think she was good enough? A moment later, her common sense caught up with her. He was being silent out of self-preservation.
"Do you think she's pretty, Rogers?" another one of the boys asked. "Long golden hair, blue eyes, and a figure like—" And then he made a disgusting grunting sound that made Alison want to wretch a little bit. This was definitely Eddie McVeigh. Eddie had harbored a crush on Alison for years, one that made her stomach turn. She wanted a popular, handsome guy, and Eddie was all of those things—but he also had a cruel streak that was alarming. She didn't mind an ambitious man, a winner—in fact, she preferred it (she thought, never having actually had a real steady)—and she didn't want a loser, but she also didn't want someone who would have no problem beating someone smaller than him to death. And Alison had the strangest feeling Eddie would have no problem with that. She'd seen him aim a kick at a neighborhood dog once, when they were fifteen, and she'd never forgotten it.
"Why aren't you saying anything?" one of the boys asked sharply and Alison heard a dull thud and closed her eyes again. "What, you don't think she's pretty? Too good for her? What do you think about that, Eddie boy?"
"I think she's my girl," Eddie said, "and you'd better keep your hands to yourself, Rogers, if you know what's good for her."
Alison had had enough of this nonsense. She definitely wasn't in the habit of sticking up for the picked on kids—it would ruin her reputation and besides, they deserved it, didn't they, for being weak?—but she wasn't about to let Eddie call her "his girl" and get away with that. "That's enough, boys," she said, stepping into view and crossing her arms. "Get moving."
"Aw, come on, Alison," Eddie said, coming up to her and trying to put his arm around her. "We was just having a bit of fun!"
Alison shook his arm off and give him a derisive glance. "We was, Eddie? Perhaps you need to re-take elementary English. It's we were. Oh, and I'm not your girl, so don't call me your girl. Now leave Rogers alone. Thompson won't allow for partner changes, you know that, and I'm going to have a hard time getting my project done alone if my partner is in the hospital."
She shooed the boys away and they left, grumbling and shooting Steve dirty looks as they went. He just stood there silently, dusting himself off. He didn't look much worse for the wear. All they'd done was push him against the wall a little. Alison was already regretting stepping in because now she might get a reputation as a loser lover, which was why her words came out more harshly than she intended when she snapped, "Well?"
Steve looked up in shock, as if surprised she was talking to him. "What?"
She tapped her foot impatiently, reminding herself of Miss Thompson. "Aren't you going to say thank you?"
"For what?" he asked.
"For—for saving you!" she said, outraged.
"But you didn't save me," he said simply. "You just didn't like McVeigh calling you his girl. Otherwise you wouldn't have stepped in."
This was all true but Alison could only stare at him in rage. What an insolent bunch of tosh, she thought furiously. You'd think he'd be grateful—but no, he's trying to act like I'm the bad one, the shallow one!
"Okay," she said icily. "Maybe that's true. But you still have a face, right? So I think some thanks are in order."
"Fine," he said. "Thanks."
"Right," she said after a moment, unnerved by his flat tone and blank expression. What was wrong with him? Didn't he feel things? Maybe he had some sort of problem. Maybe that was why he got into fights. Maybe he didn't feel things like normal people? "Well. We're partners for the project."
"I know," he said.
"So we should—" She took a deep breath through her nostrils, reminding herself of her mother when she was anger, "—we should meet sometime. This weekend. To plan our project."
"Okay. Where do you want to meet?" he asked.
"The public library," she decided. "We can pick a topic and start looking things up."
"Fine," he said. "When? Saturday…night?"
Alison stared at him as if he were mad. Saturday night? Did he honestly think she had nothing better to do than do research with him on a Saturday night? "Sorry, I actually have a social life," she said meanly. "Let's do Sunday afternoon, after church. Four." Then she turned and walked away before he could say if it was fine or not. She'd decided on the time, now he would have to work with it. She wouldn't let the likes of Steve Rogers upset the perfectly planned predictability of her life.
She just wouldn't.
