Summary: "Average tilts over on its axis, along with the world." My take at a 'high school' fic. Elma/Lucil, one-shot. Inspired by Silvie-chan's portrayal of a teenaged Seymour. I can only hope I did this subject justice. Lines at the beginning are snagged from 'The Garden of Everything.'
Tilt
as rivers reach the sea/you'll reach me
Elma's not the best student, not the worst, but she isn't the best. Average. She falls somewhere in-between valedictorian and blitzball jock(who seem to be smart enough, and nice when she helps them with English, but they aren't geniuses). She tried out for cheerleading once, made the squad but decided it wasn't her thing(with the locker rooms and the too-much touching, giggling, flimsy clothing and the talk about boys, boys, boys) so she quit.
She works yearbook now. For all her bubbly cheerfulness, she is still somewhat reserved, and this suits her. She opted for a bit of teenage rebellion once, red and blue streaks throughout her dark hair, but her father ruined it when he said he liked it. She doesn't mind though, it's best when he's smiling(he hasn't done it in a while, since mom and the cancer, and she likes smiling. It means he's healing, her grandmother says.) It's not so bad, her life. It isn't happy, and it isn't sad, it's just what it is. Average.
Her life becomes a little less average one day, in the faint, dimming light of the editing room, and she's working late, because for all of her father's false cheer, her home is still somewhat subdued, melancholy(and she can't stand it, can't go into that house with all of those memories). The slight click of the door indicates a new arrival, and then there is a voice she knows and will remember always. Immediately, it etches itself into memory, because she knows, without looking, that this person will be important.
"I had no idea students stayed this late."
Elma frowns, just faintly, her concentration broken, turns, and stares at the most beautiful woman she's ever seen.
------
It's innocent at first. She stays that afternoon, and each afternoon after, asking Elma questions everyone asks("What college are you planning on going to?" "Have you considered editing as a career?") and then later, questions no one has ever bothered to ask("Are you depressed?" "Have you talked to your father?" "Why?"). And later still, all there is is Lucil, her soft voice and her beautiful eyes, all red hair and gentle, safe questions, tender words("I'm worried about you."), and suddenly, things aren't average at all, not anymore.
Her friends think she's in love, which boy it is(as if any boy could ever compare to her, and it doesn't matter that she's a teacher, because she'll tell her when she graduates, and everything will be perfect). She's not doing the things she used to, she's cut her hair again because Lucil said she liked it short, and every afternoon she's in the editing room, waiting.
Average tilts over on its axis, along with the world, on one of these afternoons. Lucil is talking, her voice bright and animated, something about a internship("It's just wonderful, we'll get you started over the summer, you'll be able to work under some of the best writers and editors in the country.") and the only thing that registers is her mouth, her perfect mouth, moving without sound, a mouth that Elma dreams about kissing, and in one swift movement, that dream becomes reality, and that becomes delight when Lucil does not pull away, when she returns the kiss.
When Elma pulls away, Lucil looks dazed but not horrified, and she whispers,
"We can't do this."
Elma shakes her head, and leans in again.
------
They have to be careful. People aren't watching yet, but soon they will be, but it's hard to think about that when she's propped up on Lucil's desk and slender fingers are fumbling with the clasp of her jeans, or when Lucil's back makes a perfect, graceful arch when she comes, over and over again. It's hard to concentrate, when she's feverishly whispering 'I love you,' or when Lucil plays with her hair after they're done, giving her that secret smile, with her half-lidded eyes and perfect hair(even when it's all mussed up).
It's bad, she knows that, Lucil's career could be ruined, she could go to jail, and so many things could happen, but it doesn't matter right now. She's happy, for once, smiling and glowing, and in love, and for now, that is the only important thing. In this world, her mother is still alive, and her father smiles, and she and Lucil will live happily ever after.
-----
It ends one evening, when she's skipping up the stairs two at a time on her way to their room. She opens the door and smiles, bright and dizzy and terribly stupid, but Lucil is curled up on a chair, shaking with sobs, and her father is there, and the counseler, the principal, the police, and the last thing she remembers before she starts to cry too is Lucil whispering, over and over again("So sorry. I'm so, so, sorry.")
-----
Later, when the police have taken Lucil away, and her father's kicked her out, after the media has stopped hounding her, she sits next to her last, and only friend, a quiet boy with sadness behind his eyes. He glances up from his drawings, and tenderly runs long fingers over the new bruises(she can take them calling her a dyke, but under no circumstances will they talk about Lucil, she must be suffering, they can't see each other anymore). He pauses, and gives her a look akin to pity, playing with a strand of blue hair that has escaped from his ponytail and quietly asks,
"If you could start over, would you do it again?"
And as always, the answer is yes.
-----
A/N: Okay, just so everyone knows, I really, really hate highschool fics. I know, "But you just wrote one!" Yeah, but I'd like to think it's a little different.
Secondary and tertiary characters are good because you can build on them. They're nice to play with, and Elma and Lucil are my favorites, with their subtext and red hair and hero worship. The media has been all over these teachers and these kids, and yeah, it's really wrong, but I don't know...when do you get to the age where you can safely say you're in love? Is it brainwash? Or is this geniune? There's no way of knowing, and it's sad, it's sad and it's ruining a lot of lives.
Please tell me what you think. This is unmarked territory for me, here.
Supremia