Firsts can have a special bloom. They can be cute, or maybe romantic. Sometimes awkward. Like a flutter of eyelashes; an exchange of innocent regards with a shy, obstructed smile. Sometimes feet bump beneath a table awkwardly, but neither party has the proportional amount of courage to break the contact. Gazes lock, but words die under their tongues because they aren't needed. These first interactions are special. They're cute, they're romantic. They're memorable.

The first time Beca spoke to Chloe was the first day of sophomore year. Chloe lurched to a breathless halt outside her history class; she was two minutes late, but the entire class was lazily lounged outside the shadowed room. Chloe leered on her toes to glance over the heads still lingering around the door and through the window, before promptly smacking her heels onto the linoleum with a tick of her tongue defeatedly.

"Is he not there, or something?" she had inquired, more a general question that everyone apparently felt wasn't worth their time to answer. Chloe helplessly attempted to meet anyone's gaze, and she almost flipped any hopes away with a dusty finger.

But Beca was leaning against the edge of a locker, closest to the door with lanky arms crossed beneath her torso against her ribcage. She looked bored. She connected Chloe's lolling eyeballs a bit lazily. She nodded. "Door's locked." Braces peaked through her parted lips.

It was a first. No one could deny that. Beca had never seen this girl before. Her red hair was unfamiliar and she had a smudge of crusted drool in the corner of her lip. But she initiated their firstfirst. It wasn't cute, it wasn't special, it wasn't romantic. But it was first.

"Can I borrow a pen?" Beca hissed between crooked teeth. It's been thirteen days and a three units have already gone by in History. She still had braces and there was a zit in the corner of her nose now. Chloe barely looked up from her notebook she'd doodled a boy's name from chorus on. Hearts surrounded it like beating butterflies; synchronized, precise, abstract.

Beca didn't notice and Chloe handed her a purple pen.

But Chloe glanced from her paper for a crackling second to watch Beca scribble Mr. Handlet's name on the inside of her history binder, and again on her notebook. Nothing clicked, and she finished her hearts.

"So, are you doing anything this weekend?"

She couldn't exactly pin a name to his unfamiliar face, but she knew she knew him personally from the way his eyes glowed when he'd approached her, and his voice sounded like something she'd heard before.

He was tall and scrawny. If he wanted to kiss her, he'd have to buckle those bony knees and tilt his head at an awkward angle. He'd probably try when they were sitting in ugly theatre seats with root beer spilled on his sneakers, smelling like burned popcorn. But he didn't have braces and he had a cute smile. Beca quirked her jaw to prepare an easy shaking of the head, maybe offer some words further proving her gesture, but a blur of red nudged her shoulder and staggered her back.

Chloe mumbled "Sorry," as she jogged down the hall, her hand lingering slightly on Beca's shoulder in apology. Beca barely paid her attention.

"I'm not busy."

She still had braces, though.

Mr. Handlet stood at the front of the room. His hips were crooked, one end slanted towards the ground. He broke his hip last February on a hiking trip, and now he walked like a billboard was strapped to his ass. But he was old, and Chloe didn't like to think about that. He didn't have a lot of hair either. His hips were still awkward when she raised her hand.

"Are you going to give us the prompts for the debate before, or is it supposed to be improvised?"

He clasped his hands together, rubbing coarse palms respectively. There was a burn beneath his left index knuckle from the ashes of a cigar, and Chloe was convinced his fingers would feel like chopped scraps of metal if she touched them. But she didn't, because she liked to pretend the world was perfect and everyone had soft hands. Mr. Handlet didn't help, because his hands didn't look supple enough.

"No, I'll give them to you. You can prepare with a partner for the rest of uh..." his eyes flickered to the clock on the right side of the room, dull eyes squinting. He mumbled to himself a few scattered, incoherent words. After a stiff clearing of his throat, he continued. "For the rest of today's period and tomorrow. The debate will be on Friday. Make sure to prepare three sets of rebuttals for an argument against your topic."

He ventured on about more miniscule details, going in about the little improvisation that would be expected of them (the side they were taking would be anonymous until the given day) and a brainstorming idea he hinted at for preparing an outline.

Chloe's chin was in her palm and she scratched the back of her neck, because she didn't care. She needed a capable partner, someone who had a grasp at the material and could support themselves. The worst part about the class was its mandation; every sophomore was required to take it, no exceptions. What it basically meant is half the students in any given class didn't know what they were doing and were one of the many contributions to a lower grade in any group assignment or project.

She looked about the circular formation of desks, counting off. Mr. Handlet typically chose partners by some sort of numbering system. Whether it was naming off straight pairs who sat consecutively, or people with a matching number would work together. Usually it was easy to decide how he'd figure it, but Chloe was swamped with nearly half the class as possible answers, and so far her options weren't looking good.

It was three months into the school year. The first quarter has just ended, report cards were flagged in the hallway, and the rare, early rejection letter was printed and sealed. The Wall of Shame was already in place in the guidance hallway, the piece of school where friends would snatch rejection letters from beneath their friends' feet and slab them on that wall. The Wall of Limbo, for wait-listed students, remained empty.

When Mr. Handlet began announcing partners, Chloe tuned in intently. "Stacie and Cynthia... you two will be debating with Donald and Amy... yes just sit on the opposite side... yep... Lily and Chloe... how about you dispute with Bumper and Beca..."

Chloe lifted her chin and silently dropped her hand to the desk. She hastily scanned the desks again, looking for Lily who... was asleep? Chloe frowned.

Chloe scooted her desk joltingly against Lily's a few minutes later, before sitting back down. The girl calmly looked up with wide, dark eyes, an uneasy composure to her that made Chloe wearily retract as she deliberately flipped open her notebook. Lily's long hair was tangled in the spiral of her own notebook. It dangled like a broken ornament and the girl's lazy eyes were swollen. She had a sticky note stuck to her face.

"What are we doing?" she whispered in a daze, looking around her hurriedly after stoically slipping her notebook and the paper down onto her desk.

Chloe pulled her binder out. "Debate." Her answer generated on the tip of her tongue for a few minutes as she reevaluated and focused on Lily's words, making sure she'd heard correctly.

"Oh."

Friday eventually turned on its headlights, and Lily and Chloe had both come to a mutual decision on the divided work in preparation. They were both familiar of each given topic enough for if Mr. Hadlet individually selected either of them to present and rebut, they'd give it right back with no problem. Mind you, he might lean in with propped elbows and an ear fluctuated out to catch anything Lily says, but he'd take it.

However, when they tracked muddy shoes into the history room fourth period, a short, thin man with a goatee and a nervous mustache was standing at the front of the room. He was young, maybe mid twenties, but his hairline was pushing the limit. His forehead was small and concise because of this, and with all the facial hair, it made his round face seem ridiculously small, like an awkwardly reversed cartoon character.

Chloe had her notes organized in a folder, venn-diagrams scribbled, comparisons and contrasts, pros and cons. It was prepared, shuffled into practical file. Anticipated formation swirled around her in a pretty little blue sundress with a look determination. Chloe Beale was going to crushthis debate. She had curls tucked into a hair tie and her breath tasted fresh inside her mouth. She could do this. She could nailit.

"At least they have a chanceto gain a higher status in society. In Sparta, slaves - and not to mention women - they're going to be dirt for their entire lives with no other options."
Okay, first of all, it's not like either of them had a personal attachment to these conflicts and defenses. But Chloe was getting so obsessive about defending Sparta to Beca and Bumper that her nails were clawing into the skin where her dress ended at her thighs and she was leaning forward across the desk towards the short, skinny brunette. Lily was simply sitting erected in her seat, mildly regarding Chloe as she filled in the figurative slots needed for them to ace the project, and occasionally chewed on the end of her erase. In the midst of one of Bumper's rebuttals, she'd taken a marker and written Diebackwards on the end of the eraser, tapping it on her sheet like a stamp. Chloe had begun to stammer as she stared incomprehensibly at the Asian before finding a state of equilibrium and embarking confidently back into the quarrel.
Bumper was just as disinterested as Lily, and he sat back in his chair, picking at a scab on his elbow before shifting every now and then. His hand would disappear for a second under the table occasionally, and Chloe did her best to ignore it.
It might as well have been a one-on-one solo for Beca and Chloe. The substitute for Mr. Handlet wasn't throwing in any spontaneous bonus rounds or challenging partners. He'd been more than glad to let the partners go at it, since they'd all seemed to have a more or less intellectual understanding of what was required of them that day. A tripod was set up right beside them, filming the scene displayed to the entire class, for Mr. Handlet to review for himself.

Lily and Bumper might as well have been just like the rest of their audience, however, because people were whispering lazily to each other, having nonchalant sidebars through their hard work. None of them cared, and when each of them came up and it was time for their ticket to be slashed, no one else would either.

But Beca was snorting through her fingers as she shook her head. "Sparta didn't even haveslaves. They were at least decent enough human beings to not result to thattype of cruelty."

Chloe crunched her molars together like she was eating, and needles rose in her throat and nostrils. "Fine, Hetlots. Maybe they weren't legally classified as actual slaves, but they were treated just as harshly as slaves in any other city-state. Athens treated their own so much better than most."

It was a boomerang soaring back and forth, a pendulum rocketing in one direction before swerving back to the other as the ugly yellow-stained walls crumbled in on her like bread crumbs. It was the most informal debate either had gotten themselves riled into, probably because Mr. Handlet wasn't there to tighten the stitches and fix ties.

But maybe it was also because this girl with crooked teeth but an oddly cute smile was sitting across from Chloe, challengingher 4.2 GPA with rebuttals she already knew by heart. God, if she'd just been given the side Beca was elected for, she'd be kicking more ass than she was now. It was simply poor luck and a malfunctioned history, because neither could change how their views and actions had played out. And neither chose which side they were on, which side they believed in more.

And Chloe definitelywasn't on the right one then.

She scowled; her lower lip jutted inside between prominent teeth as the timer beeped, cutting Beca off mid-sentence. It didn't matter, because she still won. Chloe had clearly and deliberately given an entire lifetime of dedication to this project that would probably have a 1%, if not less, impact on her overall History grade, which was only a seventh of her GPA. She knew she would get in the A range, maybe an an upper scale of that portion. But still, it wasn't satisfying to have this scrawny little girl seize her jewels and break a set of tallies especially reserved for personal gains.

It was a first argument. It was a first lash of not-so-viscous words; but maybe it would be a first conversation, too.

"Hey!"

She didn't stop.
Shit.
Beca didn't know her name. Shit. She was so unbearably familiar whenever she looked at her, unlike so many empty faces. But the name was blurry.
A handful of heads had already turned when she let out that yelp as she jogged through the hall, but none of them were the redhead she'd had a bit too intensely affronted in what was meant to be a professional and educational withdrawal from normal classes. The bodies were slipperily flowing too fast and raggedly, and she was having difficulties lugging her bulky sack along with her over her shoulder as she tried to inch between close spaces to catch up with the read head.
Charlotte?
She tried it, shouting it out, but her curls were still bouncing in the same rhythm, and she didn't even flinch.
Fuck.
And she was gone.

Chloe pushed her fries around on her tray, lifting a delicate eyebrow into her forehead as she met her friend's eyes. "I don't need a boyfriend," was her retort to the petite blonde, the ultimate Barbie of looks with her long legs and mature face.

Aubrey plucked a greasy stick from Chloe's tray, twisting it like a pencil between her thumb and forefinger, before stuffing the tip between her perfect teeth. She wiggled her eyebrows. "You do for the Holiday dance. And I'm not going to let you third-wheel my date again this year. It was depressing enough last year."
Chloe's eyes melted as she sunk into her tan skin and she sat up straighter with an objection lurching. "You said you were fine with it! A-And that I wasn't a third wheel." A stricken pout manicured her contorted features, and she continued to play with her food after looking down.
A pretty smirk lit Aubrey's face, and she shrugged gracefully. "I didn't want you to feel bad. It was your freshman year. But this is myjunior year, and I want to get alonewith Luke this time, if you know what I mean." She winked dramatically, snapping her teeth at the air for an added effect. Chloe's cheeks rouged but she rolled her eyes.
"There's no one I wantto go with," she claimed sincerely, palming the table softly. The boy from Chorus stopped coming to classes, and the only time he ever spoke to her was when he tried to get her to do his homework.

She didn't.

Her eyebrows lifted as she waited for Aubrey to challenge that, or perhaps slap at her hand and spin around in her bar, look around the cafeteria as she gave Chloe an ultimatum of decently enough guys for her to take her pick with.

She was actually more or less correct with her augury, because Aubrey began to twirl in her seat, but she was cut off by a familiar, small brunette circling around the table like a vulture and slipping into the seat beside Aubrey, leaning into her space as she began to nervously spew words out with a hushed tone.
"Jesse wants me to meet his mom," she deadpanned to the blonde, teeth clenching irritably after shaking her head.
Beca was crossing her arms now, leaning against the table as she faced the rest of the room, ignoring Chloe and ranting off to Aubrey. "Dude, how the fuck am I supposed to meet his mom? She owns a bakery. Like, sugary sweet shit. She's probably this round little fairy godmother I'd feel guilty speaking to with my nose ring in."
Aubrey hastily put a pause to her conversation with her redheaded best friend, leaning closer to the brunette as well with a triumphant and scandalous grin. "This is a goodthing Beca. Most guys don't even want to think about sealing the deal like that."
"What deal?" She looked genuinely annoyed now, panic squirming under her fair skin. Her eyes briefly acknowledged Chloe, before quickly fleeting back to Aubrey. She committed a double-take, eyebrows furrowed as she abnormally recognized her, but the frown didn't fade, even when she focused on Aubrey again, saying nothing to Chloe. "What if he ends up wanting to meet mydad?"
Aubrey chuckled, feigning sympathy as she put a hand on Beca's shoulder. "Beca, sweetie, this is absolutely not bad. He likes you, he thinks you're important. You should be thrilled."
But Beca snorted sarcastically again like she had in the debate, and shook her head, looking a dozen octaves below pleased as she snapped "Yeah, well, I'm not." At that, she pushed herself to her feet and trotted off, head shaking from side to side. Chloe watched her walk off momentarily, wondering why she'd never seen Aubrey speak to her before then. As far as she knew, she'd been the only sophomore Aubrey would allow herself to speak to - something about a an upperclassman reputation she insisted on remaining golden - but they spoke as if they had an odd, but close, bond forged easily and smoothly.
Chloe was going to ask her about it with a clicking mash of eyebrows, but Aubrey was resurrecting their old conversation. "So, how about him?"
And thus began her offerings of sophomore and junior boys like they were dresses in a store. Beca fell from Chloe's mind and she continued to insist she didn't need any arm candy for a stupid dance.
First connection: check.

Beca was juggling her cemented messenger back, overfilling the brim and leaking dusty papers, overdue projects, and battered textbooks when a girl she had no recognition for stuffed a black and white flier under her nose. But from the way she met Beca's eyes and her chirpy pitch was a commonplace in her ears. "Hey Beca! You should consider joining crew, it's really fun and everyone loves it." Beca bit on her lip and raised her eyebrows like she remembered who this brunette was as she looked down on the flier advertising a team freshly started their new rowing year.

But the redhead's face was on it, and Beca knew it. Again, she frowned like she had in the cafeteria, this girl unwittingly native to her eyes. She had her arm slung around Aubrey, someone Beca had so commonly conversed with it was impossible to forget her face anymore, at least with her specific structures.

Beca nodded with feign enthusiasm, a perfunctory smile intact. "Sounds fun. I'll think about it."

She wouldn't, and she threw the flier with Chloe's face on it away. The girl began to cheerily skip away, pasting fliers out in others' faces with the same high-pitched avidity as before. Beca never joined crew, and the fliers dressing the walls never got her attention again.

But none of them had Chloe's face on them, either.

"Attention all sophomores; please meet in the auditorium for a meeting discussing your financial plans and future fundraisers."
There was more, and the first semester was shutting its gates, but Jesse's hands were grabbing Beca's hips forcefully he had her pinned against a wall outside the art room. His rough fingers were scrabbling under her shirt as his sloppy, wet kisses tasted like tuna on her tongue. She'd grimaced once or twice when his tongue slicked across her the back of her teeth. He was too rough and her shoulder blades hurt, but he was distracted about his proposition of introducing her to his mother. He began to fumble his hands underneath the waistband of her jeans, and she pushed his hands away, her mouth retracting slightly. He swooped right back in, biting uncomfortably at her lip, but his hands moved upward to her hips and was safer boundaries.
She shivered not out of pleasure and ended up pushing him away, wiping her lips. Her braces had been tightened last week and her mouth had a throbbing ache burrowed in her gums. The Holiday dance was in three weeks, and - if luck graced its presence in her fingertips - she'd have them screwed off and forgotten before then.
She kissed Jesse goodbye one last time, wiggling her fingers towards the ceiling in gesture of the overhead speakers as she backed away slowly. Her smile felt too forced for a farewell to her boyfriend of a four months, and she bumped into a wall. Jesse chuckled with his arms crossed. He had some lip gloss smudged on his chin, and she would have told him but - she... simply didn't. He probably thought her clumsy and awkward feet were continuous curties as a homage to their relationship, but he read too many lines because there was no layering connotation to her crumpling and wobbly knees; she just was clumsy.
He thought he knew her. Jesse definitely could memorize the miniscule freckles painting Beca's face, however few there were, and had the color of her eyes tucked into his back pocket. But he didn't know the first thing about her. If she had the motivation and was unusually inspired, she could record every little aspect of his life from every possible corner to boast about to the world, and they would all know him wholly too. But the most he could sum of Beca without redundantly repeating himself would be a few sentences, or a short essay at the most. Hewas tucked into her back pocket, because he fell under such an inconspicuous spell Beca never even meant to cast.
**

Beca was one of the last to enter the auditorium. In fact, she was the last, and their class administrator had a thing about punctuality. His words died like wasps in the air, and his cold glare shooting across the room. A brisk glimpse at the clock on the wall was confirmation of her assertion, except it boosted her nerves because she was supposed to have been there ten minutes ago. Mr. Goodwin liked to endlessly crack that he'd rather you cut one of his classes - because of him, Science was her least favorite class - than be late. His reasoning was open-ended, therefore always dripping out her other ear as soon as it slipped inside. Whether she remembered it not, it wouldn't ever make sense.
And so there she was - standing at the top of the auditorium with knitted fingers and awkward posture. Even from the distance, Mr. Goodwin gave her a skeptical look, and she balanced from foot to foot, riffling through the crowd of faces. None leaped out at her - she wasn't particularly friends with many people her own age. Since she began seeing Jesse, a junior now, she melted into his group of friends, and upperclassmen didn't view her as fresh-meat anymore. It was part of the reason she detested arriving to these gatherings, late or not, because it was impossible to find a place to sit. She was never early enough to find a section of seats isolated enough to avoid the awkward lip-shrugs and greetings, and so being thislate would prove to be embarrassing. If there was one thing Beca hated, it was all eyes on her and drawing a circle around herself as a brand new center of attention.
But then - Chloe was there. She'd been sitting in one of the upper rows, having also arrived last minute (otherwise she definitely would prefer the front row), and now she shimmied out of her aisle and jumped up the top step, grabbing Beca's hand. It was... soft. Like whipped cream.
"It's about time," she'd greeted feignly, a voice just high enough to travel around the auditorium. Mr. Goodwin's face rose slightly as Chloe pulled Beca into an empty seat beside where she'd sat prior. Beca resisted Chloe's pull primarily, but the girl yanked on her to sit down. When Mr. Goodwin resumed his speech, occasionally tossing a cynical look at Beca, Chloe hissed to her "If you piss him off any more, you're done for."
Beca didn't reply, curiously regarding over Chloe's waterfalling features. She wasn't returning the look, facing straight ahead into the crooked delves of the room expressionlessly, elbows on armrests with her wrists overlapped in her lap. Beca uncomfortably stirred in the cushioned seat, wishing she could find an unwashed dignity to also placethis memorable face with a name. It was frustrating to the core, because this ginger was blinking in the background of every picture frame on her walls.

Beca cleared her throat, sinking back into the seat. God, her face felt so red. She'd so hastily slapped Chloe's hand away, and now she kept it cringed away from her, opposite rest. She wanted to scrounge an apology; yeah, for being abruptly snide and rude, but because she didn't know her name still. She didn't know who she was, except that she was good at debates and wore muddy shoes a lot. And sometimes she liked to squeeze into cute little dresses in the winter while her knees wobbled from the cold. Beca felt a 'sorry' mumbling on her crusty lips, but just as she opened her mouth, Chloe was on to her, darting narrowed eyes like a humming bird's as she leaned her face too close in with a breath too hot down her neck.

"What did I just say? Don't talk."

And so they didn't.

The meeting ended with surmising words Beca couldn't bother to lean her attention span towards. Beca crawled out of the seats with a gnawing desperation, leaping over the plastic railing. She jogged across to the wide-set doors, bearing no acknowledgement to the people swimming around her, when Mr. Goodwin leaned across the plastic white table with a hand holding his tie back as he called her name over the speakerphone. She jutted to a halt like she'd been gutted, and chomped down irritably on her lip.

She fell back with her chin raised, and as she turned, Chloe's head was lifted towards Mr. Goodwin and his stupid tie. She was fumbling with her backpack and a purple scarf around her neck that matched her jacket too much. She was surprisingly close in trail behind her, with her cinnamon scent and crazy eyes. As Mr. Goodwin slowly - very, very slowly - sailed up the steps with his ugly mustache, Chloe alas slipped out the doors last.

He rocked on his heels and jutted his tongue out against the inside of his cheek, looking Beca over condescendingly. "You were late."

No shit. "I was indeed."

"Can it, Mitchell." His mustache twitched.

Beca propped her jaw ajar with a sarcastic jab already rolling off her tongue, when another flash of skinny red hands breathed down her shoulders and tugged off her jacket. Beca lurched, swivelling her neck behind herself to see the double doors swinging shut silently, and Chloe smugly snatching her jacket off her shoulders. Chloe waved her a look not unlike the one she'd given during the meeting, and Beca felt a noose clamp her mouth shut as Chloe instantly smoothed out her vocal chords in the air.

"Here you are! I couldn't find you outside, I'm freezing - gimme that." She was already shrugging on Beca's jacket - Beca double-taked, sheering her eyes over Chloe's briefly bare shoulders. She'd shredded off the purple jacket at some point, the scarf too, and she looked naked without it. She hesitated in the midst of slipping Beca's jacket on, appearing innocent as ever. "You're not in trouble, are you? Oh, Mr. Goodwin, I just asked Bella- Beca!" She shot Beca a jittering look. "Beca, I just asked Becaif she'd run to my locker and grab my coat. You know how cold it gets in here... I didn't mean to make her late." She started waving her hands around in distracting movements, pulling them away from her words. "And then she came in and you were mad and she didn't have time to find me and I'm absolutely freezing."

Beca never heard her talk so much under one breath.

As if to correspond with Beca's thoughts, Chloe inhaled sharply, her chest rising between the flaps of Beca's jacket. She narrowed her eyes at Chloe inside her tight leather jacket. It looked somewhat out of place on a girl with splattered freckles, bright eyes, bright jeans, bright hair, bright everything- wearing something so dark that belonged to a pale girl and her dark eyes and dark jeans and dark hair and dark everything didn't fit in her routine. Beca fell into a pit of admiration around that, because Chloe was so easily capable of slipping into something dingy and cold, and grip it with a twist to dramatically reduce its negative aspects. She gave it this glowing flair Beca would look silly and sheepish if she tried to mimic it.

Mr. Goodwin alternated his gaze between the two of them uncertainly, prodding his tongue underneath his upper lip. It made his mustache shiver again, like a caterpillar. Maybe he had a collection of them burrowing in that greasy shrub stuck to his face. It wouldn't surprise her.

"Very well." He cocked his chin again a little like he was trying to escape the bugs. Beca felt a twitch at her lips and she smothered the smirk. He pulled at the tie. "I'll let you off with a warning this time. At least you're finding good company." He submerged his neck into a polite nod before flicking his eyes towards the door in dismissal.

Giddy with a feigning excitement, Chloe beamed as she grabbed Beca's hand again and tugged her along towards the exit. Beca stammered in trail as she looked bewilderedly back at Mr. Goodwin, expectations smithering to a pile of ashes as she doors shut behind her.

"How the hell did you dothat?" She pulled her hand from Chloe's grasp and rubbed the imprint Chloe left in her wrist.

Chloe mockingly dipped a curtsey before giggling. She shrugged and began to peel off Beca's jacket, which was a size too small for her. She bent over and scooped her own with respective scarf off the floor. "He plays golf with my dad sometimes, and I have an A in science." She brushed it off like it was a simple task. Beca was brimming at a C+ at best, and she was far from stupid.

Beca nodded, taking her jacket in turn as she slipped her lanky arms through the sleeves. Glancing over her shoulder at the hall she was ready to skate down, she kicked the skateboard she'd left by the door up into her hands and awkwardly nodded again at Chloe. "Thanks. But next time, I would just leave it if I were you."

Chloe inclined her neck, a frown dripping from her forehead.

Beca clarified. "I mean - you heard what he said. I'm bad company. You're good. Just.. you don't want a reputation like that screwed up." She forced a small smile, eyes flickering over this plain-Jane girl. She was nothing special, ostensibly. Beca gulped as every imprint of this girl's face bled easily in her memory.

"I-I'll see you around."

And oh, how they definitely would.

Chloe looked up from her exam packet. Her hand was matting through her sweaty hair and she could feel the exasperated pumps of blood her heart pounded through her. She had another smudge of drool on her chin. She knew, but she couldn't bother to wipe it off. The clock was drowning in too much time and her answer sheet had too much space on it. Too much unanswered space. She groaned.

Beca perked at the sound, glancing back at the incoherent mumbling. Everyone else was bent over their desks with scratching pens and pencils. But Chloe was flat on her face, cheek squishing out against her paper. Beca frowned, shooting a look at Mr. Handlet, because the minutes were chewing by and Chloe wasn't lifting her head. Mr. Handlet was thumbing through pages absentmindedly. He wasn't looking.

Beca crumpled one of the note-sheets she'd been given. It was mostly definitions she'd already used that were no longer worthy to her - or they were, but she didn't care. It smothered and condensed in her palms, and with one last shot across the bow at Mr. Handlet, she chucked it at Chloe who was gradually falling asleep.

The girl jerked her knees beneath the desk and against the metal legs, lurching awake. Beca turned back in her seat, away from the redhead, away from the witness.

Chloe apologetically met their teacher's eyes before bending over to pick he crumpled paper up and stuffing it in her bag.

She managed to drag herself through the rest of her history exam, a triumphant lick to her lip when she etched in the last bubble of her test. She managed to turn it in, and she managed to leave the door. Beca was long gone, and they were both transferred into new history classes for the second semester of their sophomore year. But she managed to let the crumpled note sheet drop from her bag at her feet when she rested at her locker before her next exam. She retrieved it, ravelling it open and flattened it against the wall.

And so she also managed to read Beca's name scribbled at the top.

But she didn't really see her again that year. And for right then, that was okay.