Chapter 21

Teenagers

OR

Master Anya's Crazy Explanation for Why Lexa Hates the Prettiest Douchebag Around

LEXA

"I mean, he's just SO inconsiderate." I say again, abandoning my chopsticks and grabbing my fork instead so I can properly spear my broccoli. I stab the little tree as if the vegetable itself has personally offended me and watch as one plastic prong breaks off my fork, sliding across my greasy styrofoam plate like a kid launching himself down a slip and slide covered in dish detergent. It comes to rest at the fluffy edge of my mountain of fried rice and I toss my ruined fork aside and, without hesitation or permission, reach for Anya's unused fork instead.

"I'm sure he knows she has a huge Bio exam tomorrow." I continue, now stabbing into the soft, gummy, mystery meat they call 'beef.' "I mean... We've been cramming for it for days. She must have told him. But does HE care if she gets four hours of sleep the night before? Does HE care if she falls asleep right in the middle of the exam? Just because HE'S an idiot who brags about just barely maintaining a 2.4 average so he doesn't get kicked off the football team... I mean... Not all of us can put all of our hopes into getting an athletic scholarship. Some of us actually care about our grades. He's going to pull her GPA right down with his."

"You know..." Master Anya says, holding a saucy square of tofu out before her, studying it like it is the world's tiniest Rubik's Cube. "This stuff really isn't half bad. I think Lincoln's on to something. Want to try some?" She askes, holding her chopsticks out until they hover over my plate. Before I can respond, she releases the tofu like a bomb from a jet and I watch it tumble down the side of my mountain of rice, feeling the corners of my lips descending with it.

"Are you even listening, Master Anya?" I sigh.

"Of course." She answers, licking the sauce from the tips of her chopsticks before tucking back into her plate. "Finn's an inconsiderate idiot who likes football... You do realize you've just described about half the men in America, right kiddo?"

"It's not funny, Master Anya." I scold her. "Finn's a real threat to Clarke's GPA. She's had a perfect 4.0 since first semester freshman year, and he could completely ruin it all."

"And another thing..." I go on. I know I'm rambling. I know Anya must be bored out of her mind. But I can't stop myself. I'm pissed... So pissed. And the more I ramble the more pissed I get.

Honestly, I'm kind of surprised by just how angry I am. I know Finn is a fairly decent guy most of the time. He's the best wide receiver our school's seen in years, and this skill alone is enough to garner him the adoration of nearly the entire student body, as well as half of the teachers. In the off-season, he also plays center on the school's ice hockey team, carving the ice with his skates as effortlessly as he cuts the turf in his cleats. He's good looking, with bright eyes and a charming smile and hair that flaps perfectly into his face in a devil-may-care sort of way. His parents are well-to-do, country clubbers. He makes friends easily, and though he's popular enough to bully anyone he chooses to, he's nice enough to just about everyone, as likely to smile at members of the AV Club or the Robotics Team as he is a fellow jock. To anyone looking in from the outside, Finn Collins is the absolute perfect catch.

But I'm close enough to see the cracks in his polished finish. Finn nearly always has a flask hidden away somewhere on his person, and though I'm pretty sure half the teachers know about it, he is never so much as reprimanded; not so much as slapped on the wrist. And though most of the time he is easy-going, friendly, even kind, when he's drunk... Truly drunk... Finn can transform into a raging, paranoid, jealous, bonafide A-hole who thinks everyone in the vicinity is trying to steal Clarke away from him; as if Clarke is some expensive treasure that has to be guarded like the precious mustard-yellow mustang his father gave him or the iPhone 7 he carries with him at all times; as if Clarke isn't a human being capable of making her own decisions or of practicing loyalty.

When he's drunk he throws punches at any guy who even glances in Clarke's direction. He accuses her of cheating. He makes her angry. He makes her cry. Then, when the hangover has passed, he gives her flowers and chocolates and pathetic excuses and empty promises. And she takes him back. She ALWAYS takes him back.

And I can't figure out why.

Because, since the day Clarke opened the floodgates of Ontari's nose and watched the blood drain from her face like her own fear, Clarke has always, ALWAYS, stood up for herself. She's no longer the shy little girl who kept her eyes glued to her desk in class and spent her lunches in self-inflicted solitary confinement in the library. She's friendly and warm and confident. She's quick to laugh and even quicker to give you a piece of her mind. At times she's downright bossy and sassy enough to give both Raven and Octavia a run for their money. And she never, ever, ever lets anyone walk over her. That is... Except for Finn.

And Clarke deserves better; SO much better. I can see it so clearly. But somehow she can't.

And that knowledge leaves a bad taste on the back of my tongue, more bitter than the broccoli, more salty than the soy sauce drenching my beef, more sour than the gelatinous pinkish-red sauce clinging to my pork. And I try to wash this taste from my mouth by venting my frustration to Anya, but each word only intensifies it.

"Another thing..." I grumble again. "For someone who drives a vintage mustang and lives in a house with a four car garage... You'd think he could afford to take her to the movies on the actual weekend for once. Hell... He shouldn't even be taking her to the movies. He should be taking her to concerts and fancy restaurants and..." I pause, wracking my brains, trying to imagine a lifestyle full of leisure unlike any I've ever experienced. "Art galleries and plays and amusement parks and... Operas and... Where the hell else do rich people go to waste their money?"

"Beats me, kid." Anya laughs with a shrug. "I wouldn't know. I've never stepped foot into an opera house. Maybe ballets? Museums?"

"Whatever." I shrug. "The point is he should be able to do more than just drag her to 'Five-Dollar-Tuesday' at Regal Cinemas every time. I mean... I just don't get it." I sigh, half angry, half plain exasperated. "Why is she still with him? Just because he has a cute smile and a thousand friends who practically worship him because he's good at catching a stupid ball? Doesn't she realize she can do so much better than that? Better than Finn Collins? Doesn't she realize she DESERVES better than that?"

"Maybe she doesn't." Anya remarks.

"What?" I say, taken aback. "Of course she deserves better. She's crazy smart and pretty and funny and kind..."

"No..." Anya laughs. "That's not what I meant. Of course I know she is all of those things; all of those things and more. What I meant is maybe SHE doesn't know that she is all of those things. Maybe she doesn't KNOW she deserves better."

I let my pathetic plastic fork sink into my fried rice, its handle rising from the greasy mountain like I'm staking my claim on its summit, and turn my confused frown to Anya. "What?" I ask again. "How could she NOT know? How could she possibly not see she's so much better than him?"

"Sometimes people have trouble seeing the best bits of themselves, even when they're obvious to the rest of us, Lexa." Anya says through a bite of chow mein. She slurps in a stray noodle and licks the oil from her lips with a flick of her tongue. "Sometimes they need to be reminded who they are and just what they deserve."

"What are you saying?" I ask, confused.

"I'm saying..." Anya sets her chopsticks down, purses her lips, and leans forward onto her elbows. "Isn't it time you told her?"

"Told her what?" I ask.

Anya's gaze is suddenly intense, hot as a mid-summer sun, and I feel myself reddening under it as if her dark eyes also have the power to radiate UV rays. I lean back in my chair to avoid their heat, but she only leans closer, raising her eyebrows and cocking her head in a way that says 'You know just what I'm talking about... Don't make me spell it out for you.'

"You think I should tell her she's too good for Finn?" I mumble and I wonder if she can tell I'm terrified of the idea.

I don't even know myself why it is that I'm so scared. Clarke and I discuss all major life decisions together, asking each other's opinions on everything from which flavor Pop-Tart to get out of the vending machine to what college programs we should apply to. I had no problem advising her not to buy those dollar-store tampons, or telling her 'Commmander' is a ridiculous name for a teddy-bear hamster, or that trying to cut fifteen pounds to get down to feather-weight was a stupid, even dangerous idea. I had no problem telling her that she could choose to study art OR go into Pre-med, but it had to be her own decision, not her mother's. Hell, I told her she could up and move to L.A. to pursue acting or move to the Australian Outback to take up kangaroo-farming, as long as it was her OWN decision.

So I still have no idea why, when she asked me whether or not she should let Finn Collins... THE Finn Collins... Football superstar, two-time-recipient of the school's ridiculous 'Most Charming Smile' award, yada, yada, yada... Take her to Homecoming, I had suddenly found myself unable to formulate a response. My tongue had felt as fat and useless in my mouth as Octavia's had once been after her tongue-ring had become so infected her whole tongue had swelled up like a bratwurst. (The flesh around her piercing had become a greenish black and we were all half convinced by the rank of her breath that she might just die before the antibiotics kicked in. For three days she couldn't form words any clearer than a two-year-old's, though Lincoln insisted this was an improvement in the quality of our lives).

There I was last fall, frozen under Clarke's eager gaze, as speechless as Octavia. Unable to make my mouth form actual human words, I had merely shrugged and made some absurd, non-committal noise that Clarke apparently interpreted as a 'yes.' And by the time my tongue returned to its normal size and I found my voice again, she had already made up her mind and all that was left for me to weigh in on was what color dress would best match the brilliant blue of her eyes.

I didn't understand it at the time... Hell, I still don't understand it now... But I was scared then and I'm still scared now. And over the months I've made excuses for my cowardice by convincing myself that it's not my place to tell Clarke who she should or shouldn't date. As her best friend, it's my job to support her, right? Even if she does choose the prettiest douchebag around.

"You think I should tell her that she deserves better?" I ask, biting my lip nervously at the prospect.

Anya lets out a small laugh, her smile still cocked as if she's in on some little secret that I ought to know but don't. "You could certainly start with that." She says. "Maybe add the bit about how you think she's smart and pretty and funny and kind... But what I mean, Lexa, is that I think you've waited just about long enough. It's time you just go ahead and tell her everything."

"Tell her everything WHAT?" I ask, completely confused as to what she is referring to.

Anya eyes me up and down, frowning pensively. "You really don't know, do you, kid?"

"Don't know what?" I say, my anger with Finn now spilling over into impatience with Anya. "What are you talking about?"

"I've known it since the day you beat me up Nutcracker Hill." Anya says, completely oblivious to my growing frustration, smiling absently at the memory of our run up Mt. Tabor four years ago. I still have no clue what she is actually talking about. Why is she bringing up Mt. Tabor? I'm surprised she even remembers that day. Of course I'll never forget the first (and only) time I beat Master Anya at anything remotely athletic. But what does this memory have to do with anything?

"What are you talking about, Master Anya?" I huff.

Master Anya fixes her gaze on me in a way that is almost sympathetic, almost pitying. "You love her, Lexa." She states, matter-of-factly. "It's time you told her."

"What?" I reply, feeling all of the anger and frustration rush out of me like helium from a balloon, punctured by a needle of sheer surprise. I stare at her, blinking in utter incomprehension.

"You're in love with her." Anya says again, the words ringing in my ears as if she shouted them. "It was written all over your face the day you grinned your way up Mt. Tabor."

"I... I was twelve." Is all I manage to say in reply.

"Yeah, so you were." Anya laughs. "Hate to break it to you, kid... But you were a lovesick twelve-year-old. And now you're a lovesick sixteen-year-old. Nothing's changed."

"I... I don't know what you're talking about." I stammer. "I'm not lovesick. We're best friends, that's all. I mean... She's a GIRL..." I argue, completely flustered.

"She's a GIRL." I repeat, as if this is something Anya might not have noticed or cannot understand. "And I'M a girl... And... We're... We're both girls." I finish stupidly.

Anya releases another chuckle, leaning back in her chair again and popping another clump of tofu into her mouth. "You don't say." She says, the sarcasm dripping from her tongue as thick as sweet and sour sauce. "Tell me something, Lexa... Have you ever had a crush on a BOY?"

"Of course I have." I answer, taken aback by the question, by this entire conversation.

"Yeah?" Master Anya replies, unconvinced. "Care to tell me about any of them?"

"Well... There was..." I pause, thinking back, frantically searching my memories for a face or a name. "There was..." Crap... I've got nothing. And Master Anya knows it.

"You know I don't have time to think about boys." I argue. "I've got training and school and teaching and-"

"Trust me, Lexa..." Master Anya laughs. "There's ALWAYS time to think about boys. That is, of course, unless you are spending all your time thinking about someone else." She adds, arching a brow and cocking her smile.

"It's OK, you know." She adds when all I can do is huff, blustering, searching for words. "Clarke is... How'd you put it?... Funny and smart and pretty and kind. And you're absolutely right... She does deserve so much better than Finn. You ask me... She deserves someone who's as smart and funny and pretty and kind as she is. She deserves someone like YOU."

"I... She... I..." I'm still stuttering, struggling to form words like an old lady at a scrabble board with nothing but vowels and an X to work with. "We're best friends." I repeat.

Anya just shakes her head, still wearing that annoying smile. "I swear, Lexa... The two of you are worse than Lincoln and Octavia. Honestly..." She sighs with a roll of her eyes. "Teenagers."

And with that, she pushes up out of her seat and heads towards the counter where the to-go boxes are stacked like a Styrofoam model of the Leaning Tower of Pisa. And I know she's going to box up this smorgasbord of greasy Chinese food and send it all home with me. And I wonder if I will ever find my appetite again. Because right now, I am far too confused to eat.