Disclaimer: I do hereby disclaim all rights and responsibilities for the characters in this collection. Kudos to Bryke, indeed.
Word Count: 7,971
Author's Notes: 8/23/13. After this chapter, there are only three more chapters left! Personal Record ends with 5.0.
Musical Inspiration: "I Don't Wanna Be In Love (Dance Floor Anthem)" by Good Charlotte. ;_; Middle School throwbaaaaack.
Beta'd by ebonyquill and Chey.
4.75
That night, Korra ran. She left the house after an early dinner, dressed in her dark blue hoodie and long black leggings. Her sneakers pounded into pavement, struck clouds into dust; they were still coated and caked, covered with last week's mud. She ran until they didn't much resemble sneakers at all. She ran through parks and under streetlights and through vacant lots filled with oceans of rainwater.
(She ran and she ran and
she ran.)
When Korra returned home, she stretched for what seemed like forever. It calmed her breathing and soothed her muscles, even if it didn't do either for her mind. Afterwards, she took a long shower, washed away the dirt and sweat and grime of the day until the tap ran cold. When she finally laid down on her bed, the remaining tension in her muscles left her body in one giant release, seeping out of her in one long, shuddering exhale.
She soon fell asleep, exhausted.
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It was Wednesday morning, and she was already running late.
Given the lateness of the previous night's board meeting, the ever-punctual Tenzin wasn't doing so well with punctuality this morning, himself, which meant that the house was a chaotic whirlwind of activity; no (real) tears were shed from anyone (Meelo), but there was an awful lot of frantic shouting, a very expressive pregnant lady, and at least one or two missing shoes. Korra texted Asami that it wouldn't be worth it for both of them to be late for school, and told Asami to go on ahead without her; Korra sort of needed Tenzin to write her a late pass, anyway. (It wasn't exactly all fun and games, eventually walking into Mr. Shinobi's English class a half hour later with a written excuse for both that morning's tardiness and the previous morning's absence, but at least she wouldn't get detention.)
At least that's one thing mom and dad won't have to worry about, Korra thought blandly, as she slipped into her seat.
The rest of the day was sort of a waste.
She couldn't focus. Couldn't concentrate. One minute Korra would be recalling which formula was needed to solve a math problem and the next she'd be wondering what the hell she was even doing in a classroom in the first place. She didn't belong at a desk. She didn't need to be talked at all day, instructed by hordes of teachers who all thought they were smarter than her, who wanted to give her tests and point out her mistakes. What good was any of this doing her, anyway? What was she really going to do with a functional knowledge of solving mathematical proofs?
She was angry.
Every so often, Korra tried a breathing exercise or two, long and deep, the way Asami had taught her, and even some of the visualization and quick-meditation techniques that Tenzin had tried to teach her as well; she tried her hardest in the hallway, between barrages of lectures; she tried them during class, when she was supposed to be working independently on her in-class writing assignments; Korra even snuck away to the bathroom at least four times before lunch, just so she could have a moment alone. Each time, she found herself wishing that she'd paid better attention, but then that disappointment only made her angrier. Each time, the frustration would become too much to handle, and Korra would be left feeling even more restless and disoriented than before. This isn't helping anything. She didn't want to sit and meditate. She wanted to run, but the end of school was still two and a half hours away. And she had a race that day, anyway. The only real run she'd get would be a heavily supervised one and, if the state of her head was anything to go by, probably a very, very quick one.
(What did she need school for, really? To get into a college that would give her a fancy degree? To make my parents feel less guilty about raising me in the wilderness? asked a tiny voice, hidden deep within the trenches of her mind. Why was she even here? Just who was she doing this for, really?
Because she wasn't convinced that it was for herself.)
Mako found her during study hall.
She hadn't exactly been trying to hide, but that didn't mean that she'd been looking forward to seeing him either. Truthfully, she didn't really want to see anybody.
"Is your phone not working?" he asked, by way of greeting. Concerned tilt to his brow, disappointed slant to his lips; ever-serious Mako, concerned as always, she thought, heaving a heavy sigh. She'd been so freaked out by his break-up with Asami when it'd happened the day before, but now all Korra felt was tired. Tired and angry, she thought bitterly, feeling her lip curl.
"My phone is fine," she answered quietly, drawing thick ink circles into her notebook. She glanced up at him, then just as quickly returned her gaze to her work; the words in the textbook stared up as blankly at her as she stared down at them. "I just haven't felt like checking it much today."
He noticed her mood, and tried to crack a smile. "Yeah... Said no high schooler, ever."
She jerked a shrug, but even that came off as slow and sluggish. And she banged her elbow into the library desk, too. "I've only been a high schooler for a few weeks," she reminded him, ignoring the pain crawling up her arm, as well as his attempt to lighten her up. Inevitably, Mako's frown returned.
"Hey," he began anew, slowly sliding into the empty seat beside her. Softly, he said, "Asami's worried about you, you know. She says you've been pretty stressed out this week."
A beat passed. Shoulders stiffening, Korra finally looked at him, eyes skeptical and narrowed. "How would you know?" she asked suspiciously.
"What? You thought she and I were gonna just stop talking to each other?"
Korra frowned. "You just broke up," she said, feeling incredibly stupid for feeling the need to remind him.
"Yeah?" he sighed, offering a shrug to rival her own. "We did. Which is something that came as a surprise to no one, in the end. We were friends before we started dating, and we're still friends now. Yeah, we both want space to figure things out on our own, but... It'd be pretty pointless to pretend like the other didn't exist. We're still on the same team, after all."
Korra was still frowning. Not that he'd really have known this, but Korra was surprised by their break-up—shocked, even. And the surprises just keep on comin', it seems. "I don't get it," she snapped, trying her best to bite her tongue before the words jumped out on their own. "You two dated. You decided that you guys didn't actually like each other anymore. You decided that you might actually like somebody else, and then you two broke up. Yesterday. Right before you might become the royal King or Prince or whatever—"
"King," Mako corrected gently. "And that's only if we win the vote."
Korra did not appreciate being interrupted. She snapped her textbook shut, sending the harsh sound of slapping pages all throughout her corner of the library. Mako winced, and she noticed.
"So what?" Korra huffed, absently twirling her pen as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat and tried to play casual; she was feeling a little embarrassed by her little outburst. She'd thought she was getting better at this. "I'm supposed to just believe that you two are okay with each other all again? That things will go back to normal, only now the both of you aren't going to be all lovey-dovey during practice?"
Ouch. Okay, so maybe instead of better, she was actually, really getting much, much worse.
Mako's jaw tightened. Just as Korra was about to open her mouth and apologize, he said, "Asami and I will be fine... eventually. I told her I'm sorry that things got so messed up between us and she knows much I still care about her. I think she still cares about me too, even if it's not the same as before. But whatever happens next... I just," he swallowed hard, snapping his eyes to the floor, then back to hers, shifting the air around theme ever so subtly. Heart suddenly in her throat, Korra cowardly lowered her gaze to the table. One and a half breaths, and then— "I just want you to know how much I care about you, too," Mako finished meaningfully, ducking his head down to try to catch her eye. Unfortunately, as Korra scarcely had enough air to breathe, she certainly didn't have the oxygen to spare for the words she didn't even know how to say. Almost reluctantly, he plowed forward: "You've been kind of... out of it lately. Asami and Bolin are both really worried about how you're doing. And so am I."
"Mako," she sighed, a hint of warning laced through her exhaustion. "I just... I can't really think about... stuff, right now."
Mako frowned. "Did something happen?" he asked immediately, looking her over—as if he might be able to spot the cause of her sudden change, right there on her face. Korra didn't exactly like the idea of that, so she turned away, staring glumly at her textbook.
"No," she snapped, feeling her frustration grow. Color flooded her cheeks, stinging her skin with unwanted evidence of her stupid embarrassment and her stupid hope and god, what the hell was I even thinking calling him last night? I am such an idiot. And who the hell does he think he is, that he can talk to me that way, after all the stress I've gone through these last few days over whether or not he's even gonna be able to—
Panic flashed across Mako's eyes. "Did I do something?" Her blinking confusion, mistaken for hesitation, only made his eyes widen further. "God, Korra—if this is about Monday morning, I am so sorry—I really didn't mean—"
"Mako—don't."
He stopped. Instantly.
Korra bit her lip thoughtfully, forcing herself to take a deep, calming breath. She felt her fingers start to shake, ever so slightly. I'm being a bit ridiculous... aren't I? she thought sadly, feeling another wave of heat wash over her neck and cheeks.
When the silence had stretched on for too long, Mako jumped at the chance to explain himself again. "Korra, if I overstepped my boundaries in any way—"
"When I get angry... one of two things can happen," she admitted softly, slowly turning her gaze to meet his. Eager and concerned, Mako unconsciously leaned forward; determined to open up a little more, Korra refused to let her defensiveness make her back away. Instead, she held her ground, let herself fidget with the corners of her worn and ruffled textbook pages, and focused. "I either lash out... Or I shut down." Korra huffed an embarrassed laugh, squinting one eye shut. "There really isn't—isn't much of an in-between."
Mako considered this very seriously, which Korra... strangely appreciated. She held her breath as he struggled to find his response, trying to ignore the quickening of her heart as he shifted the tiniest bit closer. Finally, he looked up at her, perhaps even more intrigued than before. Speaking very softly, Mako looked her in the eye and asked her, very seriously, "What is it that you're so angry about?"
(Korra remembered the sight of a busted-up cell phone resting in her palm
and a Call Ended signal flashing across a battered screen.)
There were many ways she could answer that question truthfully, Korra realized.
So she returned Mako's steady, honest gaze and whispered, "I guess... A little bit of everything."
"So," Mako said sometime later, as they were walking together to her locker. "You're just about the only person who hasn't asked me about the interrogation."
Korra nearly dropped her books. "The what?"
"Well, why'd you think I left so early after practice yesterday?" he asked, sending a sidelong glance her way.
There was something awfully pointed about the way he looked at her, but Korra was not yet an expert in picking up subtle nuances from meaningful looks from boys. Besides... amidst all the fear and freaking out over whether or not she was going to lose Asami's friendship over this awkwardly-timed break-up, she hadn't really noticed his early departure after yesterday's practice. Okay, so that's a lie. She had noticed, but had pretended not to, because she figured staring after her best friend's newly-made-ex-boyfriend as he left a meet-prep session before anyone else probably wasn't going to help matters. And after she'd thought about it—sure, she'd been a little thrown off-guard but she also hadn't been completely shocked; he had just been dumped, after all. I probably wouldn't want to stick around either, she'd thought to herself. And didn't she want some space, herself? (Hadn't she told him exactly that?) Yes, but that was when he had a girlfriend... and now, he doesn't. Which brought her straight back to all of her recent concerns with Asami, and her conflicting feelings over whether or not it was even okay to talk to Mako in the first place, let alone continue to admit her feelings for him, let alone assume she had the right to still pursue him, anyway. No matter what Asami said. No matter what Mako said that Asami said about being worried about her and—holy Naga, why did no one tell me that high school was going to be this hard?
It's not that she'd thought he was avoiding her yesterday afternoon. And it wasn't like she expected him to jump straight over to her, either—of course not—because he'd only just ended things with Asami earlier that afternoon and she knew that he had more decency than that. (Did he? Korra's mind whispered. His decency didn't exactly stop him Monday morning.)
"There wasn't really much left for me to say after that," Mako shrugged, finishing up whatever story Korra had just completely missed. "So they sent me home. I really don't know much more about the case than anyone else. Except maybe for Asami, but she said that her dad has actually been pretty tight-lipped all of a sudden since his last meeting. Tenzin hasn't mentioned anything to you, has he?"
She snorted before she could stop herself. "Yeah, right," Korra mumbled, still letting the little that she'd heard process through her mind. Interrogation? Mako had to answer more questions about what happened on Saturday? Then—maybe—won't that mean that they'll also ask—?
"Do you know how the rest of the investigation is going?" Korra asked carefully. "I mean—with the questioning part, at least."
Mako's expression darkened. "From what I've heard, these Northside Brothers are pretty sketchy. I still don't know much about their backstory, but it's looking like there's a lot more to the situation than we originally thought. We weren't the only team affected by this whole mess, after all."
Korra swallowed. "Any news on... White Falls?"
This time, Korra did understand the edge to his gaze. "You mean Tahno?" he scoffed.
She shrugged, grateful that they'd finally reached her locker; now, at least, she would have somewhere else to hide her gaze. She wasn't entirely sure at this point how she was supposed to be feeling about what Mako might tell her, but one way or another, she knew she was invested in his answer.
"I haven't heard anything about the case and the slime himself, but talk around the other Fox teams is that he actually showed his face at school on Monday. They're saying that he's banned from practices."
Korra's brows furrowed as she pointlessly shifted one book from the left side of her locker to the right; Mako was so entrenched in his rival's fate, he didn't seem to notice that she'd rearranged that same book three times already. An uneasy feeling was worming its way into Korra's gut, as hard and cold and heavy as a rock.
"They're also saying that the Wolverines are gearing up for something," Mako went on, voice lowering to a dark rumble in his throat.
Korra glanced at him, frowning. "Like what? And who's been saying that?" she demanded, picking out a book she didn't really need and sticking it in her backpack. "Why would the Wolverines do something that could get them into even more trouble? Wouldn't they want to keep their paws clean?"
Mako held up his hands, seemingly unsurprised and unperturbed by the possibility. "Obviously the Wolverines don't follow the same moral code as the rest of us," he muttered. He jumped when Korra's locker slammed shut beside him.
"What the hell would they even do?" she countered, growing more and more frustrated as she jammed her too-big textbook into the too-small space at the back of her bag. "Egg another car?"
Mako frowned at her. "It was your uncle's car, if you remember." Korra deflated; she'd forgotten that part, actually. "And you might not take the rivalry as seriously as the rest of us because you haven't been here for very long, but believe me: the White Falls Wolverines are not taking this loss lightly. They have not been known for their sense of understanding."
"Yeah, well—from what I hear, neither have we."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Korra sighed. Why was she getting so defensive? "Nothing," she muttered, yanking the zipper shut. Hoisting her backpack over her shoulders and her duffel bag strap across her torso, she nodded down the hall. "Let's go. I can't afford any more tardies on my record."
"Fine," Mako huffed after a beat. He fell into step beside her, stuffing his hands awkwardly into his pockets. He still seemed a little mad, which Korra didn't like, but she wasn't sure how to fix it.
Struggling to come up with a safe subject, Korra glanced at the walls; they were a little difficult to see behind the mass of students walking in either direction, but luckily, her peers managed to present her with a topic... Stuck traveling down the middle of the hallway as she was, Korra had to lean to the side to avoid brushing into the shoulder of someone walking past, someone who was wearing a wig that was three shades beyond platinum blonde. She avoided the wig-wearer, but bumped into Mako's shoulder by mistake and immediately flitted away without so much as a glance. It felt awkward all over again, which was exactly what she was trying to avoid.
"Um," Korra began uncertainly, taking hold of the strap that ran across her front. She kept her eyes forward. "So I get that we're wearing our team uniforms and windbreaker suit-things today because we have a home meet after school, but why is everybody else—?"
Oops. She stumbled when she accidentally clipped someone else's shoulder, anyway. She muttered a hasty apology to a short boy dressed as an old man and carrying a cabbage, but nearly got knocked over by a tall guy who had painted his face to make it look as if he were foaming at the mouth. Mako caught her elbow and steered her away from the center of the hallway just in time, leading her closer to the river of students following a current alongside the lockers. "Thanks," she breathed, blinking at the faces and costumes that passed by. They'd all been nothing but a bunch of blurs before, but now that she actually looked...
"Mako?" Korra tried again, still eyeing her dressed-up peers. "What day of Spirit Week is it again?"
Using his full height to his advantage, Mako scanned the crowd. It was then that Korra noticed.
He hadn't let go of her arm.
Breath suddenly caught in her throat, Korra swallowed hard and fidgeted with her tight grip on the duffel bag strap cutting across her torso. She hated the sensation of warmth flooding into her cheeks, and—while Mako mentioned something or other about Dress Like a Celebrity Day—she absently wondered if he would believe an excuse about her hoodie being too warm. But he never commented. He just walked along, chattering amiably and pointing out the names and faces that Korra didn't recognize, celebrity or no. Two of his fingers—index and middle—were resting just underneath her elbow, hooking ever-so-gently under the bend, so light that she'd barely even noticed.
She was very careful not to move her arm.
"So what's tomorrow?" Korra asked, feeling her tongue stick to her dry, cotton mouth. Her plan worked, however, because Mako started up again, and began to tell her all about the final stages of Homecoming—Class Color Day, School Spirit Colors on Friday, the pep rally, the dance—and Korra mostly listened and smiled, and sometimes nodded, and occasionally asked another question, and couldn't have stopped thinking about how warm he was, even if she'd tried.
They walked like that all the way to her class.
Neither the Wolverines nor its King were mentioned again.
Later that afternoon, Korra found herself packed into a school bus, en route to the Fire Fox home course located in a little reservation around a small pond with a little, family-friendly beach. After the grandeur of last Saturday's invitational, Korra didn't think their modest little course would really feel like much of a race at all. She and Asami nestled themselves together on the bus seat, warm and cozy in their thick hoodies and sweats; for all intents and purposes, it seemed like nothing between them had changed. Asami made an effort to get her laughing while Bolin was busy keeping his brother occupied up front, and Korra made an effort to smile and joke just as much as ever.
But they both knew that there was a silent edge between them, a small barrier that wasn't there the day before. It was full of unspoken questions, which normally wouldn't have been a problem. Obvious solution? Simple, in Korra's book. Ask them. But that was the thing.
Korra was afraid to ask.
Which was stupid. Which was all levels of incredibly stupid, and yet she couldn't make herself bite that fear down. She wasn't even entirely sure what it was that she was so afraid of, aside from the fact that she was suddenly doubting whether or not she could trust Asami to answer her questions honestly—again, stupid—but there it was.
Did Asami really mean what she said, about being okay with Korra's choice, either way? (And what a presumptuous thought, to choose between people. Korra was disgusted with herself. Not that she even had much of a choice anymore, but—) Yeah, Asami had said it was okay if Korra liked Mako, but did she really mean it? And even if she did, did that really make it okay for Korra to start moving in on her best friend's ex—the same week he became one?
(Wasn't there some kind of unspoken code of female solidarity against this? They didn't just expect her to know this, did they?
And even if there wasn't... Well, Korra was by no means the most soundly moral person on the planet, but even she felt that something ought to be said about dating a friend's old boyfriend. Right?)
Somewhere in the midst of all of Korra's thoughtful pondering, Asami mentioned that they were going to have to look up their scores from last Saturday's meet. She went on to say that she had actually forgotten to look up her own, what with all the chaos of the incident, and that she was curious about how both of them had done. Korra nodded along, but was secretly glad that she wouldn't have to worry about it until she got home—at least until Asami told her that they'd no doubt look up the records once they arrived at the course. The knowledge wouldn't do much to alter the outcome of that afternoon's meet since it was going to be a private race with much fewer runners, but it would help them see the line-up for the Wildcat invitational, Asami told her.
The race itself was uneventful. Korra took away three main things from the whole experience, but hell if she could manage to put any sort of coherent thought to any of them.
Firstly, the Wildcats seemed all right. She remembered a few faces from when Asami had pointed them out last Saturday, and from what she could tell, they seemed like a pretty laid back bunch. Korra thought it might be nice to show up at an invitational of theirs, and found herself looking forward to Saturday in a way she hadn't expected.
Secondly, nobody mentioned the events of last weekend—at least, not in so many words. Everything about it seemed so... hushed. Nobody said anything around Mako, especially, though she did see a couple of sympathetic pats on the back and a handshake or two in solidarity. Not to mention a few extra pairs of eyes not-so-discreetly stationed at multiple areas on the course. She also saw Mako without the bandages on his leg for the first time.
Four long gashes tore diagonally across his calf. Four nearly-identical jagged lines, ripped into his skin, almost equally distanced apart. They were pretty gruesome to behold, especially considering the nature of just how they appeared there, and yet, Korra couldn't help thinking to herself, Tahno's lost everything...
For this?
And thirdly, she'd made varsity.
She was so surprised when she heard her time that she had to ask Asami to read it twice. She'd made varsity-level—seventh place on the team—and she hadn't even realized it. She'd qualified. She was one of the top seven Fire Fox finishers. When had that happened?
"Um, apparently twenty minutes and forty-nine seconds after the race started!" Asami laughed. "Good for you, Korra! Looks like you'll be starting at the front with us and running with the varsity heat this Saturday at the Wildcat Invitational."
Bolin laughed right along with her, slinging a strong and heavy arm jovially around Korra's neck, almost as if he were about to reward her with a noogie—and then thought better of it. "I knew all of our good influence was sure to be rubbing off on her," he remarked with a wide grin, casually dusting off his shoulder. "You can't escape this much talent for long."
"Yeah," Korra agreed quietly, laughing weakly through her aching smile. "I owe you, all right."
She was proud of herself.
Really.
Asami offered to drive Korra home on Wednesday, but not until after they'd paid a little visit to a certain coffee shop with an extra shipment of cookie-biscuits. Tenzin happened to overhear and smiled meaningfully as he passed on by. It was over tea and biscuits, of course, that Korra found the perfect opportunity to get over herself and just ask Asami about a potential girl code, plain and clear. Asami laughed at her, to which she pouted, but admittedly, it did make Korra feel a little better.
After another round of reassurances, Korra finally started to believe that—just maybe—Asami was really saying what she meant. Or meaning what she said. Whatever, she grumbled, crunching into another Biscotti. But at the same time, their conversation didn't feel real. It was... too easy. Too clean of a break. She said so to Asami.
"Korra, in all fairness, Mako and I agree that we should have broken up weeks ago. I won't say we should never have dated at all, because I think that we both learned something valuable from being with one another... but we just didn't fit. And high school relationships aren't usually meant to last, anyway."
This helped Korra a little, and at the same time, it didn't.
"I just don't understand how this is supposed to work now. Are we all just supposed to be okay with each other?"
"Are you sure that's all you're worried about?" Asami asked. "About whether or not Mako and I can be civil exes and we can all still be friends?"
Yes, that was what Korra was worried about, so she didn't understand the layer of suggestion to Asami's tone. "What do you mean?"
"I mean... Are you sure you're not worried about what would happen if, after everything, you ended up not getting with Mako at all?" A thin, delicate brow rose knowingly. "But rather... with a certain someone else?"
Korra reacted immediately, tensing in her seat. "You don't have to worry about that," she muttered darkly, flicking crumbs across the table with her used spoon. "That's not gonna happen anymore."
More like it was never gonna happen in the first place, but she'd just been too naïve to notice.
Asami leaned forward over the table, tightly wrapping her painted nails around the walls of her mug. "What are you talking about?" she asked, lowering her voice intently.
It didn't take very long for Korra to relay the whole phone conversation from the night before, and when she finished, Asami's astonishment was rivaled only by her fury. Not having realized how desperately she'd wanted someone to talk to, and relieved to finally know what it was like to have someone instantly on her side, Korra was quickly disappointed when Asami determinedly said, "There must have been a reason."
Korra scoffed loudly, frowning when she flicked her spoon too hard and soggy biscuit crumbs accidentally rained down onto the lace doily beneath Asami's teacup. "Yeah," she muttered. "Like maybe because I'm finally understanding what everybody means when they tell me that he's a jerk."
Asami frowned reproachfully from across the table. "Korra. I'm not saying that it was okay for him to blow up at you like that. And I'm not saying that what happened last weekend or his issues with Mako is any excuse for him to behave so badly. But something has to be going on."
No kidding. Try having his whole life of passion and ambition crumble down around him, Korra thought angrily, though she kept that to herself. Her chin slid into her hand as she opened the lid to their teapot and glared at the emptiness inside. I'm gonna need a lot more than tea to make it through this week, she sighed.
"There has to be something else that happened—can you think of anything that would have prompted such an outburst from him?"
Korra thought back to Friday afternoon and an angry text gone wrong. (What gives?) She thought back to the way she'd ignored his texts over dinner (Wait a minute. Are you jealous?) and the hours spent in Mako's car at the overlook (When Tahno wants something, he makes sure he gets it, and he'll take down whatever—or whoever—gets in his way. He just takes). She remembered an awful night of tossing and turning (This is too hard to type over text. Just call me) and days spent afterward without knowing anything, without having the slightest clue as to just how badly she'd fucked up, or where they stood anymore, or how stupid she'd been—(and why she had let herself get so caught up in him in the first place, why?)—or where he was or how he was even doing, or if he was upset or angry or lonely or—Mako. Oh, god.
She swallowed hard.
"Hell, if I know," Korra muttered unconvincingly, fiddling noisily with the lid.
Asami pursed her lips thoughtfully. She looked like she wanted to say something more—perhaps a comment about Korra's sudden bout of swearing these last few days, or her strange, sudden silence—but she apparently decided not to mention it.
"I don't know, Korra," Asami said finally, staring out the window thoughtfully. "I'm having a hard time believing that this is just about last weekend. And I know that he's not a fan of Mako, and it sounds like he's jealous—"
"Asami—"
"No, Korra. You may not want to hear it, but trust me. And I don't know if there's more to it than that, or what exactly it is that's making him freak out so badly, but there just has to be some reason. Or reasons. Something that can be fixed."
Korra nodded, playing with her crumbs. The truth was that she hoped so, too.
But that line of thinking wasn't exactly helping.
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When you can be reasonably certain that Mako won't somehow insert himself
into anything to do with you and I, let me know.
Until then, I don't want to fucking hear from you.
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The ride home was so much more comfortable than Korra could have ever hoped for, with a drastically-reclined passenger seat and too-loud music that Korra actually caught herself singing along to. At odd moments, in odd ways, Korra found that she and Asami would start laughing at nothing in particular. By the end of the ride, Korra caught herself thinking that—just maybe, before her whole world was uprooted—making friends in her old life might not have been so hard to do if she'd found a friend like Asami Sato.
But Korra had been around a great many places and lived amongst a great many different peoples, and she already knew.
There wasn't anybody else quite like Asami.
As Korra trudged up and over the lawn to the front door, she thought about the coming Saturday and what it would mean. After so many weeks, Korra had finally, finally reached her goal. (And how did you get there? Bolin's good influence? Your natural talent, alone? You earned that through long Saturday afternoons and pushing yourself too hard when you should have been resting and running through hidden sanctuaries that were special, that were supposed to mean something, with a boy who—)
She would be running with the varsity heat at the next invitational, and she didn't know exactly how to feel about it. Her feet squelched through the wet grass, her head hanging heavy as she pondered in silence.
This, out of anything else about her new life here, rang the most familiar to her old one; as usual, she'd decided what she'd wanted, fought for it—tooth and nail—and she'd gotten it.
But Korra couldn't help feeling like the victory was hollow.
On the bright side—
"Uncle—Uncle Bumi!"
Korra's first step inside the house sprang into a leap as she sprinted forward into her wild uncle's great, big arms. He was one of the few people in the world who would still swing her around like a child.
"Ahh!" he laughed boisterously, spilling more warbled noises of excitement as he spun her once more, just because he was there and because he could—and probably because he'd forgotten that there wasn't all that much space there by the staircase. Nevertheless, Korra's delight matched her uncle's in every way. "There's my fiery, little Avatar Princess!" he exclaimed.
Korra's nose wrinkled as she stepped back, just as it used to when she was little. "Uncle Bumi," she glared fiercely, smiling good-naturedly even as she crossed her arms. Her words came from the farthest reaches of her mind, almost as if from a long-forgotten script. "You know I'm not a Princess."
Bumi's bright, gentle eyes took in the sight of her, considerably grown since the last time he'd seen her. "No, I s'pose not," he agreed with a mischievous smile. "That was always more of Eska's thing, wasn' it?" Korra barely had time to collect her snort of laughter before he playfully suggested, "Heiress, then?"
She made a face; that title fit her even less.
"Ah," he breathed, smile still shining strong. "The soon-to-be Avatar, it is."
"If somebody is actually crazy enough to let me into college and hand over any of those fancy degrees, that is," she smirked, and for all the endless self-doubt she'd encountered this month, there was no mistaking the iceberg-sized mass of confidence bolstering her tone now. Uncle Bumi had always seemed to have that effect on her; it was easily one of the reasons why she loved him so dearly. "For now it's just Korra."
"That so?" he mused dramatically, stroking his beard the way Great Uncle Sokka used to do. "How about... Loser?"
A hand immediately jutted out, his weight dropping as he jumped into a defensive stance—the quintessential armed-and-ready pose of Uncle Bumi's infamous arm-wrestling matches. Korra beamed.
"Oh—it is on!"
A heavy sigh alerted Korra to the fact that her Uncle Tenzin had come to stand behind her. "Bumi," he said, already exasperated, in something caught between a stern command and a resigned acknowledgment of futility. Uncle Bumi merely winked at her, making Korra's smile grow. She wondered how long he'd been at the house—and nobody thought to text me! I mean, I love hanging out with Asami, but Uncle Bumi is here—and nobody thought to call me!? Is he staying for dinner? Will he be staying long? Is he spending the night? I wonder if Uncle Tenzin will let me skip school tomorrow to—
"If we're going to beat traffic, we need to leave now," Tenzin sighed deeply, reaching for his coat on one of the hooks by the front door.
Korra deflated instantly. Pinning her uncle—Bumi—with an accusatory look, she asked, "You guys are leaving? Now?"
"Board meeting," Bumi's voice boomed. His expression stayed bright, but his keen eyes sharpened meaningfully. "My younger brother has called me in for support, and I've come."
"Another board meeting? Tonight?" Korra echoed in surprise, though it went unanswered.
"Technically, it was not I who called you," Tenzin pointed out, stiffly buttoning up his long coat.
Bumi merely nudged his elbow into his brother's. Chummily, he said, "Doesn't mean you didn't want me here, too."
Korra had crossed her arms and now stood off to the side, watching her two uncles act like teenagers; she couldn't fully appreciate the effect, however, because she was too busy trying not to mope. "Will you be back later?" she asked, hating that it sounded like a whine.
"Not tonight," Bumi ruffled her hair as she pouted up at him. As she fought not to let her disappointment show too severely, he leaned down to stage-whisper behind his hand, "Trust me—we'd rather be here eating Pema's delicious cooking with you." Korra knew there wasn't any reason to find fault with his excuse, but she was still disappointed, and he noticed. "Say, Wildcat—I'll be here for another week or so, I bet. We'll go visit Mom and the other oldies but goodies and play hooky." Off to the side, Tenzin cleared his throat meaningfully.
"Wildcat?" Korra's face scrunched up. "I'm not a Wildcat."
Bumi paused, blinked, then sent Tenzin an indecipherable, narrow-eyed smirk. "Ahh, right," he said, shrugging his shoulders more comfortably into the leather jacket his brother handed him. "That, you aren't. 'Tis a shame."
Korra frowned, growing only more confused as Tenzin rolled his eyes. "Why?" she asked curiously.
When Bumi didn't respond, but merely continued smirking pointedly at his brother, Tenzin dryly replied, "I would imagine it's because you have a few relatives who attended school there."
Korra blinked. "Really?" She turned to Bumi, astonished. "You?"
"Of course," Bumi winked.
"But I thought you were a Fire Fox! So Aunt Kya and Tenzin were the only—" But Korra broke off as Bumi burst into a fit of laughter.
"Tenzin? Nahh... He got a fancy scholarship at a private school, out-of-state—run by monks!" Korra looked to Tenzin, intrigued, while Bumi prattled on. Tenzin looked at his watch impatiently. "We were all very proud," Bumi assured her, very regally. "Especially during his teenage years."
Tenzin's face was as grim and neutral as ever. "Have you finished, brother?"
"Definitely not!" Bumi jovially replied, pumping a fist into the air and using his other arm to sling his brother close. "The party has only just begun! Just wait until next weekend—all of us together, back at Mom's, just like the old days."
"Next weekend?" Korra frowned, feeling another wave of angry disappointment flood her system. "Why not this weekend?"
"And miss the Wildcat Invitational?" Bumi asked, aghast. "I wouldn't dream of it!"
Helplessly, Korra smiled, anger dissolving in a comforting cloud of excitement. "You're coming to my race?" she breathed.
"Of course. In fact, we were going to keep it a surprise, but you'll be happy to hear that—"
"The traffic bulletin is reporting a heavy rush hour in full swing," said a voice from behind, freezing Korra's blood in her ice-cold veins. "If you all are done chatting here, we'd best get a move on."
Slowly, Korra turned.
Standing in the archway to the kitchen, arms stacked with a mountain of tupperware from a delicious-smelling home-cooked meal, was her Aunt Pema—
—and her chemistry teacher.
Her Uncle's ex-girlfriend.
Lin Beifong.
The board members—slash relatives—dipped out for the remainder of the evening, riding off into the sunset to address their adultly responsibilities. She was still partly in shock from the evening's events, still disappointed that she'd only seen Bumi for the briefest of visits, and—also—still very confused as to how Beifong got to be so chummy with her uncle—her other uncle. (Bumi. Not Tenzin. Although that was also incredibly difficult to explain, especially given the awkward, stilted answer Tenzin had provided for her in the car the day before when she'd asked about their juicy history.)
Whatever, Korra muttered to herself, unsuccessfully warding off the headache that had already taken up residence under her skull. She tried not to be too jealous as she watched them pile into a black SUV and drive away.
Korra stared out her bedroom window long after the others had gone.
Tenzin had asked her to be patient, and she would be—not just for her uncles and the rest of the board, but for the sake of the whole investigation. And Korra had to admit: she was a strong girl, but at a time like this, there was only so much she could do. Looks like I'm finally getting used to the idea of asking others for help, she huffed, irritated.
She could distantly hear her Aunt Pema downstairs, shuffling around in the kitchen, no doubt making another pot of tea before the kids came home from their respective extracurriculars. She stood there and stared, thinking about nothing in particular. After a time, Korra slowly dragged her feet to the bathroom, where she carefully washed her face. It was as she righted herself and caught sight of the bare branches dancing in the wind outside her bathroom window that she realized just how long it had been since she had seen any bright colors there. Gone were the shades of autumn, painted onto the leaves; instead of vivid yellow stars, tipped with fringes of sunset orange and deep burgundy, all Korra found was brown. And there were even fewer now than the last time she'd bothered to look; nothing left but a small family of flimsy leaves, parted from one another in solitary patches along the naked bark. The rest had flown and fallen, down to the frost-covered lawn.
That's the funny thing about nature, she mused, thinking fondly of rolling ice-capped mountains and lush, green rain forests. Of seeing the autumn leaves for the first time.
All the pretty colors are just a way of distracting you from the fact that everything is dying.
Korra walked herself into her bedroom and merely stood, absently wondering what she was supposed to do next. Her homework was mostly done, courtesy of a thoughtfully—considerately?—brooding Mako at study hall. She wasn't very hungry, and she'd already run that day in a race. She'd never unpacked her phone from her bag.
(You could still go, her mind whispered. You ran fast, but you didn't run very far. You could do it, if you really wanted to.) Instead, on a whim, she walked over to her bed. Carefully easing herself down onto her knees, Korra tossed back the flap of comforter that hung over the edge of the mattress and thrust her arm into the darkness, reaching for what she knew she'd find stowed in the dusty space beneath the box spring.
She pulled it into her lap, a small pack—a deep, inky blue; a fresh, optic white—and felt tears sting her eyes.
Words like delegation and growing up and leadership and trust floated through her mind, caught on a thread of her father's distant voice, but she couldn't hear them, not right now. Not today.
Angrily blinking the wetness away, Korra clutched the old vinyl more tightly in her fists, and bit down hard on her lip to keep her head straight; her mouth filled with a bitter taste, blood or bile, or both. Swallowing down the burn, Korra carefully lowered herself back onto the floor, and reached one reluctant hand even farther underneath the bed, while the other held tight to the bundled tent in her lap. Korra's teeth nibbled at her lips as her fingers trailed along the hardwood, scraping uselessly across the floor, searching for something that she was sure would be there. A blinding jolt of panic stabbed at her and her burning eyes, until her fingers brushed against the filmy, flimsy rustle of plastic—and she found herself regretting that she'd gone looking for it, after all.
Scarcely allowing herself to breathe, Korra shifted herself out from underneath the bed and sat up, staring at her find; an inconspicuous plastic bag, a leftover from a recent trip to the local grocery store, but the sight of it made her heart ache. Gently laying the rolled up tent across her lap, Korra reached down toward the plastic bag and gingerly peeked at the bundles of fabric inside. A basic t-shirt and a pair of shorts. Simple and unassuming, without their wearer. Plain and ordinary.
Black and gray.
The floor was hard and unforgiving, but Korra couldn't find it within herself to move up onto the bed. She nodded to herself uselessly, irritated equally by her own stupid sense of sentimentality and seemingly endless supply of poor judgment. "Surprise," she whispered, staring down into the bag, knowing that the irony would be caught by no one but herself.
Carefully, Korra slipped the gray t-shirt from its protected place, and held it in her hands. She ran her thumb along the collar, resisting the urge to bury her face into the threads, when a familiar voice crept into her head—You're different, okay?—and the next thing she knew, she'd crumpled against the bed.
That night, Korra went to sleep early. After finishing her homework, Korra ate a filled-with-crazy-as-per-usual late dinner with Aunt Pema and the kids—in which someone's pregnancy cravings finally bridged over into the land of bizarre—and then Korra set her alarm and got into bed. She fell asleep to the careful chaos of her swirling, tangled thoughts.
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You may be great at outrunning things, she'd said.
But you suck at catching them.
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And sometime around seven o'clock on Thursday morning,
Korra stared at her quiet, sleeping cell phone on the kitchen counter,
eating her flax seed cereal, and decided that it just
wasn't worth it
to give a damn.
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