I just wanted to make a simple little piece about how I think, canonically, Cat and Beck may have met each other. I tried to make it as realistic as possible to fit within canon, but obviously I included romantic undertones to basically everything because they are too lovely and I can't help it. I was also planning on making it longer to explore how Beck met Jade and where Cat fit into that, but I really just wanted to keep it sweet and simple. I might write a second and third part to it at some point to cover the extent of Beck's first day, but this is it for now.
Special thanks to Di (username: DiBye) for looking it over! Go check out everything she's written for Cat/Beck because it's all incredible.
The title comes from The Script's For The First Time.
Enjoy!
He's two weeks shy of fifteen when he meets Cat Valentine.
It's his first day at Hollywood Arts High School and he has about three and a half minutes to find his locker, put his coat and bag and extra books inside of it, and get to his improv class on the other side of the building. The task presents quite a challenge and seems nearly impossible, especially to the woman at the front desk who hands him his schedule and shoots him a look over the rim of her glasses. Beck doesn't mind because he sort of likes impossible things and he'd much rather be racing against the clock here than dragging his feet through the halls of the normal high school he'd been attending for the first semester of his freshman year.
He finds his locker without being able to ask for directions, everyone having already settled into their classes while he was in the office, and he goes to work on opening the lock. As his fingertips twist the dial, he starts making calculations in his head and decides that he probably only has about two minutes to get to class, so if he just hurries through putting his jacket away and keeps a quick pace while he's walking then there's a good chance he'll make it before the bell rings. A triumphant smile tugs on his lips, the feeling of success washing over him as he turns the dial to the last number of his combination and gives it a pull to open it.
But the lock stays closed.
He can feel the smile vanish from his lips, but he hurriedly tries the combination again and tells himself that he can still make it on time if he jogs. When the arrow on the dial points to thirty-two, he pulls on the lock again but it remains closed - but that's okay, he says to himself, because he can still run to class if he needs to.
Frantically, he begins spinning the dial a third time and his brow furrows in concentration. When the lock doesn't open again, he steals a quick glance back at the piece of paper in his hand with the combination on it to assure himself that he's using the right digits. He repeats them to himself and then grasps the lock, whispering the three numbers as he begins his fourth attempt. He somewhat notices that his fingers are shaking nervously as they twist the lock.
Lost in a state of mild panic, he isn't quite able to register the sudden laugh that sounds through the silence of the hallway. Part of him takes note of the airy quality it possesses and that it obviously belongs to a girl, but it doesn't last more than a few seconds and seems so far away from him that he doesn't turn to see who it came from and goes back to work on the lock.
"Hi!" a voice startles him, and he turns quickly on his heels, dropping the lock, to face the girl he hadn't realized was right behind him. The first thing he sees are her eyes, pools of chocolate brown that aren't quite as dark as his. She has to lift her gaze to meet his directly because he's so much taller than her, and the ceiling lights make her eyes glimmer in a way that makes his breath catch in his throat for a moment.
His gaze drops to her lips as she opens her mouth to say, "I'm Cat!"
It's only after she brushes a wisp of hair off of her face that he notices the red color of her curls. It strikes him as odd in a way, because it isn't the natural shade where there's a tint of orange or blond in it - hers is a solid, bold red. More like scarlet, he decides.
"Your lock won't open," she states, drawing his attention back to the problem at hand. He takes a look back down at the lock, taking it into his hand again and beginning to twist it for the fifth time. It still doesn't open when he pulls on it, and in a fit of frustration he starts forcefully pulling and pulling on it, hoping that it will somehow just break open when suddenly he feels the cool touch of a dainty hand on his. He turns to Cat and she's already looking up at him, laughing in a way that seems both sympathetic and teasing.
"I've run out of options," he explains. She laughs louder.
"I'll bet you haven't tried it like this," she replies, still beaming with a smile, taking the lock from his hands and gripping the knob. She glances at the combination in his hands and, humming loud enough for him to hear, she spins the knob four times to the right, twice to the left, and once to the right. He becomes so entranced by her rainbow nail polish that it takes a second for him to realize that she's pulled the lock open and placed in his hands.
"How did you…" The question fades as he turns to face her.
"I'm magic!" She throws her hands in the air in explanation and laughs. He realizes then that she is different - not in a bad way, he decides. She just seems to be so unlike anyone he's ever encountered before, and the thought that everyone else in this school may be just as eccentric as her crosses his mind but he has a hard time believing it. He finds himself wanting to laugh along with her despite A) his tendency to maintain a calm, collected demeanor and B) the fact that he doesn't really know what she's laughing at.
Throwing all inhibitions to the wind, he jokes, "I thought you said your name was Cat."
She doubles over with laughter and grips his forearm for support, leaving a trace of warmth that he feels long after she pulls away. He feels this strange sense of pride at having been able to prompt such a reaction and allows himself to chuckle quietly. Neither of them know then that they'll share many moments like this in the future, moments of pure and unabridged joy for a simple joke that most others would scoff at.
"I like you," Cat says after their laughter dies. Beck just smiles, but somehow she knows that in his own way he's saying he likes her too. "What's your first class?"
"Oh," Beck stops to look at his schedule again because for some reason he'd forgotten all about it in the past few minutes. "I have Improv 101 with Mr. Blackwell."
"Me too!" Cat claps, jumping with excitement. "We can walk there together! Hurry!"
She bounces on the balls of her feet as she waits for him to slip off his leather coat and place it into his locker. After tossing a few extra books on the top shelf, he closes the locker but hesitates when it comes time to lock it. He turns to Cat.
"Will you teach me how you unlocked this?" he asks, gesturing at the lock in his hand.
"There's plenty of time for that later!" She takes the lock and quickly puts it in place on his locker. "Let's go!"
She grabs hold of his wrist and begins pulling him down the hallway. He tries to keep track of their path so that he'll be able to find his way on his own, but he has a feeling she'll be walking with him tomorrow anyway.
"How late are we?" he asks, more so to himself than to her. She starts singing the rabbit's song from Alice In Wonderland, and he isn't surprised. He can tell she's gifted in singing despite her voice being somewhat drowned out by all of her giggling; there's a lightness to it that comforts him. He focuses more on tracking the way it rises and falls through the air than on the fact that he, the always prompt and efficient Beck Oliver, is late. He doesn't even mind that he has to slow his pace because she can't keep up with him in her heels.
After rounding their third or fourth corner (he lost count after she let go of his wrist) she slows to a stop in front of Studio 318. He follows her lead and stands next to her as she reaches for the handle of the door. Just before her hand grasps the handle, he instinctively reaches out pull it back.
"What was that for?" she whispers, her eyes wide with curious confusion. He peers trough the glass windowpane of the door and sees Mr. Blackwell turning toward the class, so he grabs her by the shoulders and lightly guides her out of the professor's line of vision.
"We can't just waltz in there," he explains, dropping his hands to his side.
"Why not?" Her eyebrows furrow.
"We would look suspicious," he says, "especially if we walked in there at the same time. We'll need to think up a strategy to get us in there without Mr. Blackwell noticing us."
"Oh, like secret agents!" she gasps with excitement. "What should my codename be?"
"Cat-"
"But that's already my name!"
"I know, but I was just going to say-"
"If you think my codename should be Cat, then your codename needs to be your real name too."
"We don't really need code-"
"Hey, what's your name! You never told me!"
"I'll tell you when-"
"No, don't tell me! Let me guess! Is it…"
"Cat, we-"
"Keith."
"No."
"Cooper."
"No."
"Blake."
"Beck."
"Your name is Beck?"
"It's really Beckett," he admits. He thinks Cat is the only person who knows this besides his parents. She squints her eyes as though she's trying to judge how well the name fits him, and after a few moments she smiles.
"I like your name," she says honestly. "Why do you say your name is Beck if it's really Beckett?"
"I'm not sure," he replies. He's never actually given thought to the origin of his nickname. Now that he thinks about it, he remembers that everyone in elementary school called him Beckett but that he started writing Beck on his papers in fifth grade. That was the year his mom left.
"Do you want to know a secret?" Cat interrupts his train of thought. He doesn't bother to show any sign of response because somehow he knows she'll understand that he wants to know. Laughing quietly, she takes a step forward and grabs hold of his shoulders to gain the height needed to lift her lips to his ear.
"My real name," she pauses to laugh, and he feels her breath on the side of his neck as the sound of her breathing echoes in his eardrums; his senses are flooded with her. "My real name is Caterina."
As she pulls away, he wonders why this is a secret and why she was inclined to share it with him. He doesn't stop to think about his own inclination to do the same. She stands before him, her shining eyes remaining fixed on his and her bold red hair swept over her shoulders and her chest rising and falling with waves of light, unfaltering laughter and she becomes a sort of puzzle to him. He's nearly overcome with the urge to ask her questions, to conduct an investigation (like they do on all of those crime shows that his dad watches) in order to figure out how all of the pieces connect. Before he even has a chance to formulate one in his head, he is interrupted by the click of an unlocking door.
"Miss Valentine and Mr. Oliver, I presume," Mr. Blackwell looks down on them with disapproving eyes.
From the corner of his eye, Beck sees Cat take a step closer to his side.
"That's us," Beck answers for both of them.
"Can I ask why you two are not only late to class, but chatting right outside of the classroom door?" The professor's dark eyes travel from Cat to Beck, and before either of them have a chance to respond, he adds, "It's my understanding that it's your first day here, Mr. Oliver. I would expect you to want to make a good first impression, but all I can see in front of me is a boy who doesn't intend to take his Hollywood Arts career serious-"
"It's my fault that he's late," Cat interrupts. Mr. Blackwell's eyes widen as he turns to face her, and Beck imagines there's a similar expression on his own face.
"Excuse me?" Mr. Blackwell sputters in surprise.
"I blocked him from the door because I thought it would be more fun to stay out here," she says with a firm voice. He seems unconvinced, his line of sight shifting between Cat and Beck as though he is trying to imagine how such a small-framed girl could possibly overpower such a tall boy. Before he voices any doubt, Cat raises her eyebrow expertly as though she's challenging him to try and prove her wrong, and she looks so uncharacteristically intimidating that Mr. Blackwell starts to believe the possibility of her claim. He still hesitates, though, and turns to Beck.
"Is this true, Mr. Oliver?" he asks.
Beck wants to tell the truth. He really does. He doesn't want Cat to get in trouble for something that was entirely his fault.
Mr. Blackwell clears his throat as he waits.
Beck turns to Cat, hoping that she'll recognize his pleading expression as a hint to take back what she said. She remains adamant; her intimidating glare never leaves Mr. Blackwell's face. He's not even sure she's blinked once in the ten or so seconds he's been looking at her.
Deciding that he really should just come clean himself, he turns back to Mr. Blackwell and opens his mouth to address him - but he's interrupted by a quick, sharp jab to the side. Cat's elbow is a rock.
"It's true," he blurts out in a reactionary impulse. After the initial pain dulls and he collects himself, he repeats more firmly, "It's the honest truth."
Mr. Blackwell looks between the two once more before saying conclusively, "In that case, I'll see you after class Miss Valentine."
Turning on his heels, the professor disappears into his classroom, leaving Cat and Beck to themselves for a brief moment. He turns to her, ready to ask her why she would ever put herself on the line for him like that, but she gets the first word in.
"Aren't I a fabulous secret agent?" she asks in a whisper, laughing. "You almost blew your cover! But I saved you!"
Beck can't help but to laugh along with her. Their moment is fleeting, lasting no more than a few seconds, but he thinks to himself that it's a good feeling - letting the laughter build and bubble up in his chest, letting it wash over him. He can't remember the last time he's shared such a moment with someone. It's then that part of him recognizes the fact that in less than an hour of his first day at Hollywood Arts, he's expressed nearly every emotion that, over time, he's trained himself to suppress: nervousness, confusion, worry, stress, happiness…
Cat pokes his arm as her laughter dies down, repeating, "I saved you."
She turns away to start walking toward the classroom, but she throws a quick glance over her shoulder at him before passing through the doorway. He follows her lead.
So, what did you think? Leave a review! Constructive criticism is always appreciated. (: