Disclaimer: See, I was going to ask Kill the Preps to write this for me, that way we could all have the Disney fairy tale ending of morbid Shenshen death, but then I realized my Sweeney razors were would get all jealous if I let a DAGGER kill anyone off in my stories (please don't tell them about "No Good Deed"), so we're just going to have to deal with the sad reality of the fact that she lives. For now.
She clutched her bag tightly to her chest, still feeling the judgmental eyes of others on her even in the empty common room. It had been about a week- well, a school week. Pfannee had never been good at keeping track of that sort of thing. All she knew was, she never wanted to go through it for any length of time, ever ever again. After all, it was costing her more than her social life-though that was a rather substantial blow too. But not only that, she was developing hideous purple BAGS under her eyes, since her roommates didn't trust her enough to sleep in the same room anymore and thus she had to stay on the futon in the common room.
Pfannee took her satin pink pillow out from underneath the crook of her elbow and began fluffing it, hoping that would help ease the stiffness the couch brought on her neck. It was easier, this time of night- only nine, but still. Being alone was one of her few allies during this time- though, ironically, loneliness was her worst weakness. Everywhere she went, raised eyebrows, intense stares- she fluffed the pillow harder- and no one as of yet had even had the guts to say anything about it- other than Shenshen, of course. The girl who was supposed to be her friend had started off her own cliché, presumably because Miss Ellieba (or whatever the freak's name was) had been elected as Pfannee's own replacement and Shenshen wouldn't stand to associate with her. Pfannee couldn't believe Shen had rebelled against Galinda anymore than she could believe the hideous disaster that Saturday afternoon, and felt vaguely as if the world had gone mad.
Galinda herself had not spoken to Pfannee since The Incident (not that she had in the least expected her to in the least), but she did give her sympathetic looks whenever they happened to cross paths and- she might have imagined this- even winked at her once after Shenshen had accidentally set her skirt aflame during Life Science (the shrieking and hysterics following, of course, being the highlight of Miss Pfannee's entire week). Still, Galinda didn't approach her, and Pfannee couldn't find it within herself to blame her.
Ellieba, however, had appeared to scold her for this, even making an attempt to go up to Pfannee herself! Thank Oz she had been standing right next to the doorway when she spotted her- bad enough she stood accused of liking girls, but to flirt with an ARTICOKE?!
She fluffed the pillow so hard at the thought of "artichoke" that the fabric broke, sending swan feathers everywhere and ruining imported silk from Filaan. Cursing (well, the socialites version of cursing, i.e. "Stars above!" ect.), Pfannee gave one of the feathers a kick and gathered up her robe, knowing that the only way she'd be able to get another was from the janitor's closet- located on the east side of the boy's dormitory.
Greeat. Maybe they could exchange tips on scoring with the "hotties".
Grudgingly, stopping stalk still every few yards to make sure no one was around to see her (though, admittedly, getting caught sneaking into the boys dorm after dark might debunk her current predicament quite a bit. Still, no one was going to see Pfannee de Pfan of the Eriks walking around in bunny slippers) she made her way to the closet. She stared at it for a moment, wondering anxiously how loud the squeak would be if she turned the kn- oh this was just ridiculous! Why should she let those harpies rule over her like this?! She gave the door a large, audible kick, just to prove her point.
Imagine her surprise when not two tick tocks later it opened.
"Um, can I help you?" its occupant asked, one eye brow raised.
Oh, Oz! She had the wrong room number, oh- blast it all, why did these things always happen to HER?! What was she saying- things like this NEVER happened to her! She was standing in public wearing nothing but a violet camisole and fuchsia robe in front of a boy- a boy who, oh dear sweet Oz, seem vaguely familiar to her now that her eyes had adjusted. Probably he was some ex-boyfriend of the week who, goodness knows, would be quite in the mood for some verbal blows, especially at this time of night.
"Miss?" he asked. His voice was polite enough, with a high note on the end that signified slight concern.
"Oh, um," she stammered, "Actually- I, I um- mistook this for the utility closet-"
"I don't blame you, it seems like it's getting more stifling everyday," the boy joked darkly, throwing a look over his shoulder at his (apparently unsatisfactory) dorm. "The real closet's on the left, though."
"Yes, right, thank you," Pfannee babbled, desperate to get out before she was recognized. "Sorry to disturb you-"
"-Tibbett," he supplied.
How it was conceivably possible to stumble over your own feet without even moving (much less in a pair of bunny slippers) Pfannee didn't know, but she certainly managed it. In fact, it was more less a stumble and more like an outright fall, which unfortunately sent her tripping into Tibbett's arms.
The curse words she was thinking now were not debutante-esque in the slightest.
"Whoa, easy there-" he blinked as the light from inside the room spilled out across her face, making her recognizable. "Oh, wow," he said, his voice slightly nervous now. "It's you. Um, Franny, was it?"
"Pfannee," she supplied, cringing. Okay, mind over matter. My heart will stop beating- now. I get will get some kind of split-second plague-now. Oh please, please, just let me die already…
"Right." He seemed almost as uncomfortable as her- not that that was physically possible. "So, um, were you actually looking for the closet, or like- I mean, if you wanted to- you know- talk, or whatever. I mean, if you need to talk, 'cause I totally get that…"
Please. A lightening bolt. A fire. The entire building crashing down onto my head and leaving nothing behind but my stupid slippers sticking out, please…
"Well, I- what I mean to say is- I- you see-" she faltered.
"You wanna come in?" he asked tentatively.
She was already half-in anyway, thanks to her stupid feet, and it would be less risky for them to be spotted if they were in an enclosed space- and it seemed unlikely that the trauma of this moment would ever ease enough for her brain form a decent excuse to bolt, so she quickly dashed inside so quickly that she nearly didn't break in time before colliding with a piece of furniture.
This is not happening, she thought panickedly as Tibbett muttered something about getting drinks and left her in the main room. My Oz, I'm un-chaperoned with a boy- who, admittedly, wouldn't be interested in me anyway, but a BOY!- after dark on a weeknight- Friday's a weeknight still, isn't it?-IN NOTHING BUT MY UNDERCLOTHING! I AM NOT THAT GIRL!
"Who was that, dear?" a new voice asked, and as Pfannee craned her neck she saw the other boy from the lake emerging out of the extending rooms.
"Her?" Crope cried incredulously.
"You live together?" Pfannee shrieked in the same instant, jumping to her feet. "Oh that's it, I am so out of here, I don't know what I was thinking-"
"Oh, get your head out of the gutter," Crope snapped at her. "Yes we live together, just like you and that homophobe heiress lived together back before she slighted you- in separate bedrooms."
"Crope-" Tibbett started sternly.
Crope made a noise of disgust. "Give it a rest, Tibs," he snarled. "The girl is obviously straight, she must have just done something to piss her little posse off, and they labeled her as something apparently disgusting to them to get back at her. So don't worry about giving her your stupid little mentor 'everything's gonna be okay, cuz I'm here for you speech'. Though I wouldn't mind as much as that whole thing with Peter Winters six months ago, seeing as she isn't eligible for the 'We-Were-Just-Experimenting-Honey-It-Didn't-Mean-Anything-When-I-Shoved-My-Tounge-Down-His-Throat' speech." And without another word he turned around stormed back to his room, slamming the door echoingly behind him.
"Um," Pfannee said, because she felt like she had to say something. The poor boy looked as though he had been slapped in the face. "What's that thing he called Shenshen? A homophobe?"
Tibbett looked at her with tired eyes. "Oz, you really are straight, aren't you?" he groaned suddenly, covering his face with a hand.
Pfannee nodded. "Yes," she admitted timidly. "But I'd still like to know- if that's okay."
He uncovered his face. "A homophobe," he said slowly, his voice like gravel. "Is the scientific name of a person of a person who hates and or despises those who prefer the company of the same gender in a romantic genre."
Pfannee blinked. "And the non-scientific name?" she asked hesitantly.
"Is not appropriate to say in the presence of a lady." But his eyes- emerald, she noted, almost as bright as the city- were twinkling.
"Right." She flopped down on the coach again, letting her arms slay out widely. "Oz, why does there have to be so many labels for everything?"
Tibbett collapsed next to her. "You, my dear, are asking the wrong person," he said with a humorless snort. "And I doubt you've heard even half of them."
"Really?"
"Sure," he replied easily. "There's homo and dyke- I'm sure you've heard of that one at least once this week-"
"Is it like 'lesbo'?" she inquired. "Shenshen said that one to me."
Tibbett nodded grimly. "Yup, same thing. Though dyke's a bit stronger. It's like the female version of the F-word."
"Frugal?" Pfannee inquired.
He stared at her for at least thirty seconds before throwing his head back and laughing as though she had told him she was planning on dying her hair black, or something.
"Thank you," he said earnestly after he had collected himself somewhat. "I really needed that."
"Um, you're welcome?" Pfannee replied, puzzled but pleased to be of service.
"Anyway," he said, continuing with a smile, "And of course you have the basic labels of gay, straight, and bi-sexual."
"Bi what?" she asked, not sure if that one should be mentioned in the presence of a lady either.
"It means you like both," Tibbett elaborated, barely managing to suppress a chuckle; he'd caught on to the tone in her voice.
"You can like both?!" This was too much. She grabbed one of the couch cushions and pressed it to her face, frustrated. "Oz, how did I not know all of this?!"
Tibbett patted her hand reassuringly. "It's not exactly something that's out in the open these days," he said soothingly. "Besides, no offense, but your kind of sheltered. It's not your fault, it's just how the upper class is pretty much raised."
"So how does Shenshen know about it? She's of finer blood than I am."
He cocked his head to the side thoughtfully. "Does she have any siblings?" he asked meaningfully. Although just what the meaning was Pfannee couldn't put her finger on.
She shrugged. "Just the one sister, but she never talks about her. I think there's some scandal out about her that her family's got hushed up, but I don't-" her eyes widened "OH MY OZ!"
Tibbett nodded. "Yup," he said sagely, "That'll about do it."
Pfannee shook her head. "Wow," she said softly, "Just…wow." She looked up at him. "So I know bi-sexual now, but what about-" she hesitated a moment "straight?"
He looked at her funny. "What about it?" he asked perplexedly.
"Well, is it, like, extra bad?" she asked timidly. "I mean, it's what Crope called me, right?"
Tibbett did an odd thing then- he bit his lip, looked up at the ceiling, and appeared to be holding his breath. Almost like his was forcing back an involuntary reaction, or something. Once he got a hold of himself, however, he said simply, "straight means you like the opposite gender."
"So wait, that means gay is when you only like the same thing as yourself?" Pfannee asked blankly. "But gay means happy, too."
Tibbett closed his eyes and propped his feet up on the coffee table. "Well, maybe," he said quietly, "one day…we can all be happy. Regardless."