AUTHOR'S NOTE:
There are a few things I'd like to say about this fic before I begin.
-In this story, Castle, Beckett, Esposito, Ryan, and Lanie are all high school seniors. I realize that on the show they're all different ages – especially Castle, who was already writing bestsellers when Beckett was in high school – but for the purposes of this fic, they are all eighteen or nineteen. It makes my life much easier.
-Some character names may be slightly different. Most noticeably, Castle is still Richard Alexander Rodgers, having not changed his last and middle names yet. Lanie is Elaina Parish (something Lanie could easily be a nickname for), and Gina is Regina Cowell (same deal as with Lanie).
-Beckett is only eighteen, so her mother is alive.
-This fic takes place in present time rather than whatever year it would've been when Beckett and Castle were in high school, because I wasn't alive back then, so I'll be able to provide a much more realistic story using a modern high school environment.
-This IS a Caskett story, but it simply wouldn't do the incredible will-they-won't-they couple justice to bring them together right away. Same goes for Esplanie. So don't freak when you see Rick, Kate, Javi, and Elaina in relationships with people they're not supposed to be in relationships with. I know what I'm doing.
-If something in this fic doesn't line up exactly with what we know from the show (other than what I've already mentioned), please try not to kill me. I've probably deliberately changed it to make the story flow more naturally.
Feel free to shoot me a PM if anything confuses you, or if you have any advice for me on how to make this story better. I'll try my best to keep everyone in character, despite the extreme AU-ness of this fic. Don't be shy if you've got a problem with something in this story. I love constructive criticism.
Anyways, enjoy the ride.
-0-0-0-
"Mads, I need a haircut."
Madison Queller stepped away from the rack of brightly colored dresses, turning to face her best friend, who was staring in the mirror perched at the top of a rack of sunglasses, running her fingers through her dark bronze waves, her expression edging into agitation.
"Would you like me to do it now?" she asked cynically. "I'm sure I can find a pair of scissors somewhere."
"I don't want you to cut my hair," Kate Beckett protested, grabbing a hank of her hair and tossing it into the air; it flew upwards, but seeing as it was attached to her head, it couldn't get far before it dropped back down and landed beside her cheek.
"Probably a good call," Madison agreed, taking a gold sundress off the rack and holding it up to herself. "What do you think?" she called.
Kate turned away from the mirror, barely glancing at her friend before she went back to messing with her hair. "It's nice," she said simply.
"That's what you said about the last one," Madison complained. "And the one before that. And the one before that. And the one before that."
"Maybe shoulder-length," Kate said, oblivious to Madison's griping. "That'd look better if it weren't wavy, but Mom's got a straightening iron I could use…"
"I like the style," Madison mused, still acting as though she were talking to Kate. "But I don't know if gold is my color. What do you think?"
"Maybe just a few inches off the bottom. Just so it's different."
"No, it's not my color." She lifted the dress with one hand; with the other, she grabbed a handful of her long blond curls and held it up against the gold. "Too matchy-matchy," she said disdainfully, dropping her hair and putting the gold dress back on the rack. "Too much yellow."
"Or maybe really short. That'd be a change. I can't make a pixie cut work, but maybe a bob."
"Becks!" Madison blurted out the nickname, having finally noticed that her friend wasn't paying her any attention.
"Huh?" Kate blinked, twisting a few strands of hair around her pointer finger; without looking over at Madison, she said, "It's nice."
"Look at me, brainless." At this, Kate turned to see Madison staring at her with raised eyebrows, her arms crossed in front of her chest, all of her weight on her left foot.
"We both need new clothes," Madison stated. "It's a new year and we have men to impress. You've got your hottie boyfriend, and I've got the rest of the damn school. So snap out of it and come shop."
"I'm bad at shopping."
"No teenage girl is bad at shopping." She stepped over to Kate and linked arms with her. "You simply haven't discovered your passion for it yet."
"Actually," Kate said, "I'm pretty sure that I'm bad at it."
"Nonsense," Madison sang. "You must let your inner shopper roam freely, Katherine Beckett. You must allow her to soar!"
"I don't have an inner shopper."
"Of course you do."
"No, I'm very extra sure that I don't. You've been trying to find her for four years and you still haven't."
"I'm not giving up hope," Madison said grimly.
"You never do."
"Nope."
-0-0-0-
"I still can't believe you're transferring." Regina Cowell's expression was a perfect pouty face without the actual pout – her eyes wide, her eyebrows raised innocently, her lips full and pursed – a naïve, pleading vision of sadness. "Can't you stay?"
"It's done, Reg," Richard Rodgers replied – the nickname was simply the first syllable of her name, with the g pronounced like a j. Rej. "All the paperwork, everything's done. I can't come back now."
Regina frowned. "Why are you doing this, anyways?"
Rick sighed – they'd been over this many times before. "I told you," he said. "Marlowe High is a great school. Really exclusive. I've been trying to get in since freshman year. El and I only got in this year because some people opted out at the last minute. This is our only chance to go – next year, it's off to college with us." He paused for a second before adding, "MHS looks really good on a college application, too."
"Our school is a good school," Regina told him, a slight whine creeping into her voice. "Our school looks good on a college application."
"Marlowe has a really good creative writing program."
"You and writing!" She stomped on high-heel-clad foot against the polished wood floor of his room. "You know, Rick, you should probably consider some other career options. You might not get published. A lot of people don't!"
Rick frowned. "You've always been supportive of my writing."
"I'm not going to be supportive if it takes you away from me," she replied. "Here. Look." She pushed past him, walking over to his cluttered desk and pulling open the overfull top drawer. Quite a few pens and pencils spilled out and fell to the floor as she reached inside, rifling through the many papers until she found what she was looking for. Pulling it out (and sending a bunch more writing utensils flying out of the drawer), she held it up so he could see it – a two-inch-thick stack of papers. It barely took him a second to figure out what it was.
"You know what this means, Rick?" Regina tried to dramatically slam the stack of rejection letters down on the desk, but soon discovered there was no space to slam them down on; hurriedly, she pulled out the chair and dropped them on that instead. "It means you are never going to make it in that world. That world is for adults, for people who can think for themselves and make rational decisions and act their age." She laughed, a single 'ha', one short note dripping with sarcasm. "It's not a world for people like us."
"It could be," he insisted. "Someday."
"No." She shook her head. "Not for us. Not for you. You're too…" Unable to find an adjective that expressed what she was trying to say, she finished lamely with, "You're too… you."
Rick's eyes narrowed, and he scrunched up his eyebrows suspiciously. He was adorable when he frowned like that, Regina thought, but she didn't like it so much when the frown was directed at her.
"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked.
She shrugged, attempting to smile casually. "Nothing," she said, trying for a light, offhand tone of voice. "You're just… I can't see you as someone who could stand to sit in front of a computer for hours every day."
"Then you don't know me very well."
The pause that followed was long. Too long.
Eventually, he couldn't stand it anymore. The silence was too great, too crushing, too loud. The noises of the city could not drown out the pounding of his heart. Only words could do that.
"You know," he began, "there are ways that my writing could bring us closer."
"Oh, yeah?" She flipped her golden hair haughtily. "Like what?"
He shrugged. "Like… you could be my agent. Or my publisher. You could be my publisher."
Regina sighed; she seemed to deflate a bit, and he got the distinct impression that she was disappointed in him. "I don't want to be your publisher, Rick," she said, her tone just a little condescending. "I want to be your girlfriend. Maybe someday your wife."
"Who says the two are mutually exclusive?"
She groaned, crossing her arms in front of her chest and turning away from him. There was another pause, a silence he couldn't figure out how to break. Eventually, he settled on just stating the point of the conversation. "Look, Reggie. I know you're not too happy about it, but El and I are going to Marlowe."
As he spoke, Regina almost smiled. A new tact was presenting itself to her, handed to her on a silver platter by none other than Rick himself. A new way to maybe convince him to stay.
"Well, if El and you are going," she spat, spinning around with an angry expression on her face.
"What are you talking about?"
"Don't play dumb."
For a moment, his expression remained puzzled; finally, she saw comprehension dawning on his face, and he shook his head wildly. "No. El and me? No. Come on, Reggie, you know it's not like that."
"Don't bother lying," she told him. "I've seen the way you look at her."
"Then you've seen wrong," he replied. "It's not like that."
"It sure as hell looks like that."
"She's my friend."
"You're awfully close."
"I've known her forever. Come on, Reg, this isn't like you."
She sighed; he was right. Who was she kidding? This wasn't working at all. "Okay," she said reluctantly. "I'm sorry, okay?"
His face split into a grin. "It's fine," he told her. "Someday, we'll laugh about these arguments of ours."
Damn him. Damn him and his cocky, reckless, headstrong, immature, childish attitude. Damn him and his disregard for her feelings.
"Everything's a joke to you, isn't it?" she said. "Can't you ever be serious? Don't you realize that this is important to me?" She closed her eyes and turned her face away – not much, just enough that a curtain of blond hair could fall into place and block him from view.
He stepped forward, his expression concerned; reaching out, he swept her hair out of the way with one hand, but she just turned her face further away. Quickly, he caught her cheek and gently turned her head back so she was looking at him. "Hey," he said quietly, allowing a small smile to pull at the corners of his lips. Keeping one hand on her cheek, he lifted the other and pushed the hair that had fallen in front of her face back behind her ear. "It's not like I'm moving across the country."
"I won't see you every day."
"You'll see me plenty."
"It won't be the same."
"You're right," he agreed, gently running his thumb along her jawline. "But we'll be okay. We always are."
"Always," she repeated softly.
"That's right," he murmured. "Always."