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THE DAYS AR WHEN I WOULD SHY—
chapter two
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Early summer reaches through the paned windows of Iris' bedroom, rays of sunlight playing over his chemistry notes in whimsical patterns, though none move so whimsically as his eyes, continually jumping from one unrelated word to the next.
Two days after his study date with Caitlin he still reels at the thought that they'd been in the same room alone together, that he'd been to her house without any elaborate invitation or condition attached to it. He'd simply asked her to study with him. Every time he closes his eyes he vividly recalls how her curls slipped from behind her right ear, fell like a curtain over her face, and the delicate finger that pushed it back behind her ear again.
"You bet her you could get higher grades?" Iris sits down on her bed, a fresh stick of red licorice she brought up from the kitchen between her teeth. "You really are a nerd."
"First of all, it was her idea." He catches her eyes over the rim of his chemistry book, sagged back in the large beanbag by Iris' tiny desk, trying his best not to sound offended. He considers his nerd-hood a source of pride, one he draws strength from, because in about a year from now it'll get him into a great college, and decide his future. "Second, you've known I'm a nerd our entire lives."
"True," Iris affirms, while she busies herself with a small pile of flyers. "So, what if you win the bet?"
"I don't know." He rubs at his temple, the skin worn from all the worrying he's been doing since coming home from Caitlin's. There's no doubt it'd been one of the best study dates he's ever had, but their bet now hung over his head like some ironic Damocles' sword, from a precarious thread. Sudden death. His choice might make or break their relationship. "I should make it something good, right? I mean, I might never get this opportunity again. God knows why she agreed to it in the first place."
"Do you ever hear yourself?" Iris raises an unimpressed eyebrow. "Stop putting yourself down. It's not attractive."
"You know, just because you're dating one of the Olympic Gods—"
A pillow hits him square in the face, uncontainable laughter bubbling in his chest.
"Barry Allen, we agreed not to poke fun at my extremely good looking college boyfriend."
They both laugh and return to their books, but not before sneaking each other a mischievous glance. He promised Iris several months ago he wouldn't do what her dad's been doing since she met Eddie: making fun of his good looks, smooth talking, or the fact that he's a star athlete with an actual brain.
It was Joe's way of disguising he didn't approve of Iris dating a boy three years older, but not saying it in so many words; Iris would either pitch a fit or give her dad a prolonged silent treatment. Last time she did it lasted two weeks—ever since grounding Iris for her junior prom for sneaking out after curfew, Joe's careful about the ways in which he disapproves of her boyfriends.
Eddie's a decent guy; he knew he was good looking and had a golden boy status at his fraternity, but he was also respectful and just, and made Iris happy. The two of them met at one of the football team's away games, a friendly match meant to strengthen the bond between the Mammoths and the Timberwolves. If he could believe Iris—which he did, if not only out of fear of getting kicked in the shins—the moment her eyes met Eddie's something sparked neither of them could deny. Cheesy as it sounded, they did have great chemistry.
"Maybe you should ask her out to dinner."
His eyes shoot up, quickly locating Iris' brown ones, one of her eyebrows arched in question. Why would he ask Caitlin out to dinner? In the entire realm of possibilities he had considered since last night, asking Caitlin out hadn't been among them. Unless he considered the countless 'be my girlfriend' fantasies. But those were nothing more than that, fantasies.
"Like, on a date?"
"Yeah, why not?"
"Because she has a boyfriend?"
A boyfriend twice his size with a whole bunch of oversized friends who could stuff him into a random locker and lose the combination. If Ronnie Raymond ever got wind that he liked his girlfriend he's loath to think where the police might find his body. If they ever did at all.
"Whom she ditched to spend the night with you," Iris argues, "studying for a chemistry test. I don't know about you but I can think of about a dozen other ways I'd rather spend my night."
"A chemistry test we're both highly invested in."
Iris knows how competitive Caitlin can be; they take French together. Neither of them was particularly good at French, but that didn't stop them from working hard. Caitlin had wanted a closer look at his study methods, that's all. At least that's what the tiniest voice of doubt at the back of his mind keeps whispering.
"I love that you believe in me, Iris, but I think you may be overestimating my appeal."
Iris rolls her eyes, grabbing the next flyer in the small pile on her bed. "Whatever."
Picking at his lips he fails to focus on his chemistry notes again, too preoccupied by the singular thought. What if he asked Caitlin out to dinner? It didn't have to mean anything, he's had dinner with Iris, but the real question landed on his ability to form coherent sentences over breadsticks and pasta. What would they even talk about? He knew practically nothing about Caitlin's life outside of school, though that would arguably be a great reason to ask her out to dinner—lord, why's he making this so hard?
"Are those all your college brochures?" He lifts out of the beanbag and sits down on Iris' bed, studying the myriad of flyers now stacked in different piles on top of the sheets, each of them considered, then either discarded or accepted as possible schools to apply to. Iris dreamed of attending Drake after the summer, and she'd more than likely get in, but she'd applied to a lot of safety schools too. She wouldn't be able to relax without them.
"Yeah, I'm throwing some out. It's in fate's hands now." Iris grabs a pile and tosses it at the trashcan, missing its intended target. "The applications fees pretty much bankrupted me."
"Somehow I doubt that."
Between her job at the pet store over the weekend and her insane shifts at a local coffee shop Iris had saved more money in three years than he had his entire life—Iris knew her dad couldn't afford to send her to college on a detective's salary, and while she would get a loan she decided a long time ago she'd pay some of her own way. After thirteen years Iris West still surprised him at every turn. His work ethic would never come close to rivaling hers.
"Is it weird graduating high school while Eddie graduates college?"
Iris' subtle shrug tells him enough: whether she gets into Drake or not they haven't talked about what Eddie will do after he graduates. They've only been dating for a few months and Eddie lives relatively close by—after the summer that'll most likely change. It's funny to him how he's the one who's had that conversation with a girlfriend, despite college not being an immediate worry.
Felicity had known what she wanted too—MIT or nothing—and it'd caused quite a few stir-ups during the year they dated. She never asked him to follow her or considered that he would. In a way it was a comfort to know his decision wouldn't depend on Felicity's, but Felicity and his happiness had gotten so entangled that he never understood how it couldn't—how could he not want to be with Felicity after they graduated? How could their lives move apart when they could hardly spend half a day without each other?
"We're not super serious yet. Anything can still happen between now and then," Iris says. "He supports my decisions, and he believes in me. That's a really big thing."
"You know I believe in you too, right?"
Iris ruffles through his hair. "I think you might be underestimating your appeal, Barry Allen."
He can talk to girls. Of course he can talk to girls. They're not unfathomable creatures who aren't dealing with the exact same insecurities everyone else is, nor are they mythical or mysterious when no one makes them out to be. But he has placed Caitlin on a pedestal, her scientific mind rivaling his own, and while Felicity had brains to spare, while she knew the ins and outs of computers and computer systems, for some reason he deemed Caitlin far more unreachable to him. Maybe because somewhere in the wake of his break-up with Felicity, one neither of them wanted to face until the day of her leaving started fast approaching, he'd decided it was far easier to pine after Caitlin from afar than opening himself up to that again.
Now, months after Felicity's move to Starling City, he misses the trust and intimacy more than the cute blonde who'd meant the world to him. Moving on seemed such an odd thing after a relationship he thought would last well past high school, but these past few months proved it real. In his loneliest moments—even though they were rare—he accepted that love passed, that it came and went like much else in life, that the romantic notion of staying in love was nothing but a fantasy too. In his most delusional moments, now often fantasies that involved Caitlin, love still conquered all.
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Much like his nerves conquer him all over again when he sees Caitlin in class the next day, her floral skater dress as short as Iris' cheerleading outfit, the top covered by a fluffy blue sweater that makes him want to pull her into a hug—he blinks down at the black slab of the table he shares with Caitlin, watching her shimmy into the high chair from the corner of his eye. Dopamine, oxytocin and cortisol strand together in his veins and get his heart racing, his hands sweaty, one of his feet tapping impatiently up and down.
"Ready to be a sad second placement again, Allen?" Caitlin asks, and he looks up to meet with her beaming smile, the soft cutesie lines around her eyes, a subtle crinkle in her nose and his face falls underneath the weight of his surprise, the quiet shock that Caitlin's teasing him now.
What's gotten into her? Had their study date broken the ice?
Before his brain gets the chance to even think about a proper reply Dr Wells wheels into the classroom, smiling affectionately. "Remember, Miss Snow, it's not a competition."
Dr Wells signals Patty Spivot to start passing out the test papers, all placed face-down in front of them.
Caitlin bounces in her seat. "Actually, we made it one."
"Is that so?" Dr Wells glances at him, reserving the same affectionate smile for his second favorite student. In truth Dr Wells never plays favorites—he appreciates hard work and has great respect for natural talent, but he won't hesitate cultivating potential when he sees it either. At least two others taking AP Chemistry this year started at Dr Wells' insistence and have so far flourished under his guidance. Secretly though, he revels in the sort of healthy competition he and Caitlin have going.
"If I get the highest score Barry is coming to Ronnie's party," Caitlin declares with a certain amount of pride, but considering how she'd ditched Ronnie yesterday he's unsure where this excitement comes from—parties aren't his idea of fun, either. Could it be Caitlin's looking forward to spending time with him?
"And if not?"
"He hasn't decided." Caitlin shrugs. "A sure sign of defeat, if you ask me."
His jaw drops at Caitlin's continued teasing, followed by a small huff of a laugh that blooms red into his cheeks. He could most definitely get used to this, even if he fails to construct a proper reply.
"You have your work cut out for you, Mr. Allen." Dr Wells smiles, before pulling his sleeve back to check the time. "Everyone, you have exactly 45 minutes to outdo yourselves. You may begin."
The hushed flutter of a dozen sheets of paper wafts through the classroom, one of the sinks dripping to his right, the air permeated with a collective intake of breath: most of them can tell from a cursory glance whether or not the test will be passable—given the amount of relieved sighs that follow, no one had chosen to underestimate Dr Wells.
"Those who are about to die..." he hears Hartley sigh behind him, his lab partner Cisco quietly sniggering, "... salute you."
He doesn't need to turn around to see the quick fist bump they exchange before starting their hard labor.
The test, as most of Dr Wells' tests go, proves far more challenging than he expected; he considers it a blessing he asked Caitlin to study with him because her extra research definitely paid off. It was all part of Dr Wells' emphasis on expanding their knowledge beyond what the textbooks provided, because life, let alone college, would never be that clean cut. He demanded nothing but the utmost of all his students, but his rigor, professionalism, and the occasional chemistry pun earned him a lot of respect from his students and the faculty at large.
More than a few sighs blow through the classroom in the forty-five minutes that follow, barely registering through his intense focus—he rereads every question three times before sculpting an answer. Experience has taught him Dr Wells likes the occasional trick question or brainteaser and those that suss them out often get extra credit. Those that don't remain none the wiser.
It isn't until the bell rings and shakes him out of his concentration that he chances a look at Caitlin, her pen laying neatly next to her test, which she's meticulously rereading for any errors. Never in his three years since they became lab partners has he caught her correcting a single thing. It's unusual for teachers to keep pairing the same people in class, but even they had come to the conclusion that he and Caitlin matched each other academically and only a handful of others measured up; it's the same for Hartley and Cisco—mostly because Cisco's the only one who can deal with Hartley's sparkling personality.
"Mr. Allen, Miss Snow," Dr Wells calls as they're gathering their things. "I'll do my best to correct your tests first."
"Thank you, Dr Wells," he says, "have a nice day."
Dr Wells waves a hand. "Get out of here."
He and Caitlin laugh in unison and exit the room, falling into step next to each other, headed for Caitlin's locker right outside the chemistry lab, all rather organically. They work together well, know each other's rhythm and speed, strengths and weaknesses, and often complement each other in their science classes. Why it's taken them so long to strike up a conversation—well, he can guess; their names were Felicity and Ronnie.
"That went really well," Caitlin breathes gratefully, pulling some books out of her locker.
"I think studying together really paid off." He nods, picking at his lips as he prepares to strike his end of the deal. He's going to ask her out to dinner, as friends, because he desperately wants to make that work—friends with Caitlin Snow, who'd pass up that opportunity?
"So, I was thinking—" he starts, interrupted by the loud clatter of the football team crossing the hallway. He doubts they can do anything quietly, and who would, when they owned the school?
Ronnie makes his way over to them, any courage he might've had flitting across the field like a quarterback speeding towards the end zone.
"Hey, babe"—Ronnie wraps an arm around Caitlin's shoulders—"how'd your test go?"
"Aced it, of course." Caitlin beams up at Ronnie and brings their lips together in a quick kiss.
He averts his eyes, more out of a deep-seated need to not see the girl he has a crush on kissing her boyfriend than giving them their privacy.
But then Caitlin adds, "Oh, Ronnie, I want you to meet Barry," and he's forced to lock eyes with the quarterback, whose closest friend is none other than Tony Woodward, his junior high nightmare.
He and Ronnie haven't talked, in fact they've never even been introduced, unless he considered the amount of times he'd stolen Ronnie's girlfriend in his fantasies, and got beat up for his trouble. It's not a fantasy he wishes to see realized.
Ronnie offers him a smile. "About damn time."
His stomach churns. Football players don't tend to consort with his rung along the high school social ladder, unless maybe they were good at sports. How Caitlin, a self-professed science nerd, managed to escape fate and entered one of the higher echelons was anyone's guess.
"Nice to meet you, man," Ronnie says, "I've heard a lot about you."
And like that his discomfort with Ronnie pales in comparison to how his heart stutters around hearing those words. Caitlin talks about him outside of class? How often? To what extent? How long has this been going on? He hardly even minds when Caitlin gravitates closer to Ronnie and coaxes his arms around her, granting Ronnie the hug he'd craved upon seeing her earlier. Because Caitlin talks about him to her boyfriend. Who also happens to be the quarterback. Of the football team. As in, all twenty-five of them.
His throat closes up.
"I hope it's okay," Caitlin says, pushing back against Ronnie's chest, "but I invited him to your party."
"The more the merrier." Ronnie nods, and looks at him. "You should bring Iris. We don't see enough of her since she got herself a boyfriend."
"I'll see what I can do."
"See you later, Barry." Caitlin smiles, and while he almost follows right behind that smile, while he'd want nothing more than to lose orbital velocity and hurtle straight for the surface of Planet Caitlin, he watches her leave with Ronnie—and he can't chase after a girl with a boyfriend. He can't pretend Ronnie's simply in the way, and he can most definitely not assume Caitlin doesn't know exactly what she's doing. She's a smart girl. She makes her own choices.
"Barry! Barry!" Cisco jumps between a few warm bodies to reach him, Hartley close behind. A sophomore, Cisco has been one of his closest friends at school and outside of it for a few years now. "Did I hear you're going to Ronnie's party?"
"Only if Caitlin beats me."
Cisco scoffs, "Yeah, but—" and raises his eyebrows suggestively, as if there isn't a single measure of probability his grades will be higher than Caitlin's. He's fairly confident, especially after studying alongside Caitlin yesterday, that they were more than evenly matched this time around.
"You won't win, man," Hartley chimes in, eyes dark behind his light rimmed glasses, gripping the strap of his shoulder bag tightly—Hartley often left him with the distinct impression that he was at any given time uncomfortable with his surroundings, offended when they didn't give way, or his skin abrasive against the oxygen in the air around him. He tolerated Hartley for Cisco's sake, because Hartley once managed to reduce his scientific pursuits to a desire to fall into Caitlin's good graces. They were friends now, of a sort.
"Caitlin Snow is like the Kobayashi Maru," Cisco says. "She's a no-win scenario."
He frowns. "I have no desire to win Caitlin."
"Of course, you do." Hartley rolls his eyes, swaying closer to Cisco, their shoulders bumping together. "Maybe not on a conscious level, but deep down we're all driven by the need to win a mate. It's a biological imperative."
Cisco glances at Hartley, frowning as his lips part. "What he means"—Cisco looks back at him—"is that she has a boyfriend. No girl's worth getting your ass kicked over."
He nods, and watches his friends droop off down the hallway, biting at his lip. Was Hartley right? Did he on some unconscious level harbor the same caveman-like desires as Tony Woodward? Did he strut around his scientific prowess in the hopes of winning Caitlin? That's not only demeaning toward Caitlin but paints him in a light he never wants to be caught in—maybe deep down he hides a dark sense of entitlement, maybe in some sick deluded way he felt more deserving than Ronnie, but he'd never voice those notions. In fact, he'd rather not have them near the surface now, brought up by Hartley's apt choice in words. He likes to think he's one of the nice guys, and that could very well include Ronnie Raymond. Who's he to say?
"What's a Kobayashi Maru?" Iris appears by his side like a genie out of a bottle, a welcome distraction from a train of thought he'd rather avoid. She sucks a lollipop into her mouth, the hard candy clattering against her teeth while she hooks their arms together. He and Iris fall into this even easier than he and Caitlin.
"It's from Star Trek. The training simulation?"
"Oh!" Iris perks up. "The one Chris Pine rigs."
"The one Kirk rigs," he corrects, vividly recalling the night they went out to watch the reboot and Iris had giddily clung to his arm all throughout the movie, because didn't Chris Pine have diamonds for eyes? It'd been a small victory after years of trying to make Iris understand anything about Star Trek.
"Chris Pine," Iris persists.
He sighs and shakes his head, smiling at his best friend. Iris liked having the last word, same as Caitlin, and who's he to deny her?
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Later that afternoon he comes home to an email from Felicity. They emailed each other a few times every week, managed a Skype call when they both found the time, and he cherished those moments. Talking to Felicity came easy; she didn't expect him to be The Guy and he didn't expect her to be The Girl, two entities clearly defined by society with their own prototypical traits—they often talked like they were still an 'us', like they'd gotten to know each other intimately in every way and that'd seeped into their bones, into their DNA, and remade them into people who could talk about anything without the threat of embarrassment.
Their break-up notwithstanding, Felicity remains one of his closest friends, if not only because they broke up more out of necessity than personal choice. They had their disagreements, mostly to do with where they both saw themselves and their relationship after high school, but he never lost Felicity, nor did she lose him. In a way, he thinks they might even still love each other.
He double-clicks the amusing subject line, Felicity's email appearing as a smaller pop-up.
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from: hackergrl67
to: barry allen
subject: This is your overlord, Felicity Smoak! [cue the Imperial March]
Hey Barr,
Don't know if you've heard but my aunt Sue's in the hospital L I'm visiting her next weekend and wondered if maybe I could stay at yours? Rather not spend money on a hotel or motel. It'd be a load off my mom's mind too. Can you let me know asap?
Love,
Your hot ex.
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He laughs at Felicity's message for a good five minutes, reading and rereading the finer details of the email, and runs downstairs to check with his mom. He doesn't expect either of his parents to say no, but it's better to make sure they haven't made other plans. They don't mind Felicity visiting, in fact he'd hazard to say they love her like a daughter, but he suspects that had a lot more to do with her being his first serious girlfriend rather than seeing her as part of the family.
He replies with a short email of his own:
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from: barry allen
to: hackergrl67
subject: This is your humble servant, Barry Allen.
Hello Hot Ex,
I'm sorry to hear about your aunt Sue L but can I say I'm a little excited about seeing you again?
Of course you can stay at my house. Mom says we'll come pick you up at the train station, so let me know when you'll be here.
Talk soon,
A lesser man since you've been gone.
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It won't be the first time Felicity stays over; last summer, not long after their break-up, they spent a few days weighing the pros and cons of a long distance relationship yet again—they'd talked about it before Felicity moved and decided against it, and came to the same conclusion.
Somewhere along the way, they'd fallen out of love. Maybe because they both figured they had to. Maybe because they weren't right for each other. He's yet to decide which.
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That Friday night Iris picks him up in her tiny red car. Dr Wells had informed him and Caitlin this morning that while Barry had clearly stepped it up a notch, Caitlin still scored higher than him.
So here he was, dressed for Ronnie's party after fussing over his outfit the better part of half an hour. He decided against wearing a jacket but went back and forth on whether or not to add a button-down over his t-shirt, and exactly which he should wear. Losing to Caitlin yet again wouldn't bother him so much if it hadn't been attached to a well thought out bet—he's not a sore loser, not like Caitlin is, and frankly it's this party that'll be the real challenge. He's not fast on his feet in social settings, he's not athletic and knows little about sports, and would hardly be considered funny outside the safe vestiges of his science jokes. He can't even dance properly, courtesy of his last two growth spurts.
"What are you wearing?" Iris eyes his meticulously composed outfit while he fits his legs in front of the passenger seat.
Looking down at his shirt again, the colorful block lettering outlining a perfectly understandable chemistry pun, he can't imagine what's wrong with it. Maybe it hadn't been the right choice after all, maybe he should've gone with the blue shirt his mom suggested, or the red perhaps; he looked great in red. "You bought me this."
"Not to wear to the biggest social event of your high school career."
"Great." He sighs, throwing his head back. As if he needed anyone else pointing out what an unmitigated disaster tonight could become. Caitlin may have had the best intentions asking him, but she might as well have asked him to recite Shakespeare in front of the entire student body. Naked. "Thanks for that."
"You'll do fine." Iris pats his leg, driving them across town to Ronnie's house. "You were invited by Caitlin Snow herself."
Even passed off as a joke the thought doesn't comfort him. A kegger isn't exactly his scene and the fact that Caitlin invited him still confounds him. All this because he mustered up the courage to ask her to study with him? If he'd known that's all it took he would've asked her a long time ago; two years ago when Dr Wells issued his first test and he thought he'd drop dead from the level of anxiety jittering through his veins; or finals, last year, because studying with Hartley and Felicity together had proven challenging, to say the least. Hartley thrived on arguing about the finer points of asymptotic behavior until Felicity's head spun and she'd pout at him to make Hartley stop—easier said than done when up against a math genius.
"Whom I can't seem to beat," he muses, stringing his fingers together in his lap. He has no need to beat Caitlin at anything, much like he feels no need to own her, no matter what Hartley liked to claim. He'll show his face at this party, try and have some fun, maybe find some time to talk to Caitlin. That's all he'd like from tonight.
"Yeah, what's up with that? I thought you were supposed to be some kind of genius."
"I am." He cocks an eyebrow, and laughs. "There just isn't a word for what Caitlin is."
Ronnie lived in one of the richer parts of town, where storefronts and warehouses gave way to large cul-de-sacs surrounded by impressive mansions. The front lawn of the modern two-story house they pull up to stands packed with people whose faces he fails to recognize—it stands to reason word of this party spread well beyond the school, and it fills him with more dread. If there are more people he's less likely to run into Caitlin. If she even wants to see him at all.
He follows Iris inside the house, his best friend weaving through the crowd far more gracefully than he does—according to his father the first thing to do when arriving at a party should be greeting the host, but he has no idea where they'll find Ronnie in this chaos. People line the hallways left and right and litter all the rooms of the house, loud music making it impossible to be heard by anyone.
But he doesn't need to hear anything to notice her.
Caitlin Eleanor Snow.
He catches her coming down the stairs, wearing a black dress down to her knees embroidered with sequins, her hair styled in long curls, like she's been to the beach. She waves at him and smiles and he swears a whole world opens in his chest; she's speckled in every color of the spectrum and everything else blurs into a boring gray. What he wouldn't give to be the one to meet her at the bottom of the stairs, pick her up in his arms and kiss her. Sadly that honor goes to Ronnie Raymond, yet again.
Iris tugs at his sleeve. "You're drooling."
He draws the back of his hand over his mouth involuntarily, a Pavlovian response brought on by his own special brand of awkward. He doesn't mean to stare, he never does, but when it comes to Caitlin it's often hard not to.
"Here." Iris pushes a beer into his hand. "Go mingle."
He sighs. What is he doing here? What made Caitlin think he'd have fun at a party thrown by her boyfriend? He should be at home with his computer, catching up on the latest episode of Dark Matter and Killjoys, not alone in rooms filled to the brim with people. He's aware that losing a bet shouldn't necessarily land him in a comfortable situation but he got the impression Caitlin wanted him here, or that she thought she'd be doing him a favor. Only goes to show how little they know each other.
He scours the party for familiar faces for a few minutes, and while he spots Patty and Jax, Shawna and Lisa, he secludes himself to a quiet corner of the study, where the music isn't quite so loud and he can wait out his time. Iris will be at least an hour or two and he'd hate to leave without her, so this corner will do fine to lick his wounded pride.
He's always so quick to assume things are different than what they really are; Caitlin's just his lab partner, and while they get along, while they might even be friends, she's never going to see him as anything else. Why would she, with the school's quarterback on her arm? But that line of reasoning reduces her to a high school stereotype she's decidedly not; she's a nerd who's in with the jocks, a well spoken beautiful girl who nearly flunks Phys Ed every other semester because of her poor upper body strength and uncoordinated limbs. She's not what anyone says she is. So why would she be anything like the girl in his dreams?
"Hey, Allen. What does your shirt say?"
He looks up to meet two pairs of eyes, Len and his friend Mick, older brothers to two girls a few grades below him—they may look tough with their short cropped hair and dark clothes, but they're harmless. They only show up at these parties to make sure their little sisters don't get in any trouble, even though both those sisters could probably kick their asses.
"It's a chemistry joke," he answers, finally convinced he made the right decision wearing Iris' birthday present. "Ar is the symbol for Argon, so if you read it out..."
"I tell bad chemistry jokes because all the good ones Are Gone!" Mick reads the blue and green neon printed on his shirt, and slaps hard at his shoulder, rattling his bones. "That's hilarious!"
Len pulls up a chair and pushes another beer into his hand. "What else you got?"
His eyebrows shoot up. "Chemistry jokes?"
Len shrugs sourly. "Haven't got anything better to do."
It's the first time anyone has willingly sat through more than three of his jokes, but for the next hour or so he entertains Len and Mick with about every chemistry pun he ever learned—Did you hear Oxygen went on a date with Potassium? It went OK; If you're not part of the solution, you're part of the precipitate; Why can you never trust atoms? They make up everything! He has to explain a few of them to Mick in greater detail, but Len's amused throughout, though a lot more sober in his laughter.
"Len, Mick"—Iris' voice draws him out of a carefully worded Silver Surfer and Iron Man alloy joke—"mind if I borrow Mr. Popular over here?"
Len raises his beer. "Anything for you, beautiful."
He hops off the heavy leather chair and over to Iris, a little unsteady on his legs. Iris hooks her arm in his and takes away his empty red cup. He must've had three or four of those by now, far too many for someone who rarely drinks—Felicity had raided her mom's liquor cabinet a few times, but they'd only ever gotten drunk once, and severely regretted it the morning after. He should probably drink a lot of water before he heads to bed later.
"Why aren't you out there looking for Caitlin?" Iris asks, pulling him into the crowd again, all somewhat swimming before his eyes. He assumed Caitlin was busy, or that she'd come to find him if she really wanted to see him. Even still he did his duty; he came to this party and even had some fun.
He can talk to her in class on Monday.
"This is not an opportunity you pass up, Barry Allen," Iris says. "Boyfriend or not, you need to remove your head from your own ass when it comes to Caitlin Snow."
"No really, Iris"—he scoffs—"tell me what you really think."
"It's true." Iris' eyes set around an apology, even though her words are anything but. "If you don't start seeing her like a real girl you'll end up heartbroken over someone you're not even dating."
He'd hazard to say his heart's already in shambles, down in the dumps, melancholy and dejected, but that would sound a lot more convincing if he weren't drunk. At least Iris doesn't mean to hurt his feelings or tear his pride down any further; she's being the best friend he needs right now, and that includes bringing him to his senses where girls are concerned. If it weren't for Iris he might have never asked Felicity out; he'd still be the sad excuse of a boy who never had the pleasure of knowing someone as perfect as Felicity Smoak existed.
"There she is." Iris points out the window at the backyard, one lonesome figure clearly silhouetted against the dark. "Go!"
Iris all but shoves him out the door and he stumbles over his own two feet, nearly breaking his face colliding with a small angel statue. Somehow he straightens by the time he enters Caitlin's field of vision.
"Barry"—a smile magics itself along her lips—"Hi."
"Hey." He sits down next to her, eyes registering the empty red cup in her left hand, the slight downward slope of her shoulders, the general disinterested look in her eyes. Did she even want to come to this party herself? She'd avoided going to Tony's earlier this week, using their study date as an excuse—maybe Ronnie hadn't allowed her any excuses this time. "What are you doing out here?"
"Just getting some fresh air." Caitlin shrugs, and bumps their shoulders together. "Are you having fun?"
"Yeah." He shies away a smile, Caitlin's camaraderie chipping at his wounded pride. She enjoys his company.
Caitlin's eyes settle on his face while her smile grows bigger. "You don't sound very sure of that."
"Yeah, well"—he chuckles—"it's not exactly my scene."
"I know what you mean." Caitlin nods and stares out in front of her, a hint of dejection touching her face.
More than ever he wishes he could read her mind.
Where does she go when her eyes go out of focus? What worlds does she imagine? One where her mother's alive? One where she's not here tonight but in bed with a book? Or watching a movie with Charlie?
What about a world out there in the hypothetical multiverse where he might stand a chance with her?
Caitlin shakes out of her stupor and turns her head. "Love your shirt, by the way."
"Thanks." He rests his elbows on his knees. "Iris seemed to think it wouldn't win me any points."
Caitlin winks. "You know those only count in class."
Good God, what he wouldn't give to keep up with this girl. "And I'm well aware you win most of those."
"Just out of curiosity." Caitlin purses her lips. "What would you have made me do if you'd won?"
"I would have asked you out."
Caitlin blinks. "What?"
"Doesn't really matter anymore, does it?"
He doesn't realize the full extent of what he let slip until Caitlin's subtle, "You're serious," echoes in the ensuing silence. A silence that trips along every stupid thing he's ever said or thought, every offensive remark or alpha male behavior.
His heart drops to his stomach.
What did he just say? And why is he stuttering, "Y-yeah" when he can easily explain this? It wasn't meant to be a date, he would never assume she'd do that to Ronnie nor would he want her to betray her feelings for him. For all he knows Ronnie's a standup guy who he's only ever cast as the big bad of his high school misadventures because he fit the part.
"Barry, even if—" Caitlin stands up. "You could have never asked me out. I'm with Ronnie."
And even after all that, after he decidedly knows he should stop speaking, all his lips do is, "Yeah, but—"
"But what?" Caitlin's eyes go wide, and he has an answer, he has the next unfortunate thing lined up to answer her question, but Caitlin beats him to it. "He's just a dumb jock?" she says, the words someone else's, his own perhaps, and in her eyes he can read it so clearly; Barry, why? You were meant to be the nice guy.
Who else has asked her this? Who else questions her and Ronnie's relationship? Her anger's so dazzling but sad, because who would question Caitlin's judgment?
"He doesn't love me?" Caitlin rants. "What do you see in him?"
"What do you see in him?"
Holy. Hell. Is this why people avoided alcohol?
Caitlin's lips press together in a tight line. "He's not a caveman."
The reproach lands not unlike Caitlin intended, he suspects, right at the center of his insecurities. He's no different than the next horny teenager who beats at his chest and shows his teeth, all in the hopes of winning a prize.
"Then why did you—" He scrambles up, not the nice guy but as bad as the next delusional tool who thinks he's entitled to someone's love and care. "Why did you agree to study with me?"
"Because you asked me."
It's as simple as it is sobering. He asked Caitlin to study with him and she agreed; just because he's set up this elaborate fantasy scenario where that means Caitlin Snow falls for him the same way he's crazy about her doesn't mean it'll come true. That doesn't mean Caitlin even sees him that way. She has a boyfriend, what's he thinking? Why did he even come here tonight? Bet or not, he's not part of this crowd, he's not popular, he's not athletic, he can't even dance. And he shouldn't have drunk so much beer, either.
He's a loser, that's what. One sad delusional loser.
.
.
tbc
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