Soteriophobia and Snark
part four and a half: sound and fury/ a high school au
(song lyrics from "the gambler" by fun.)
I bend over my paper and try to write as neatly yet quickly as possible, my pencil bobbing as I line up every word with the little margins. The end of class is in five minutes, and I don't want to be writing up until the bell; it could make me late for Statistics, and I really want to impress the teacher. She's a hard grader, I can tell already.
The study of binomial nomenclature is essential in ecobiology, a subsection of biology that we will be covering briefly this term.
Vriska's blue pen moves in an angry swipe, and she writes six letters:
Ecobio.
She then underlines it a bunch of times in afterthought as if to emphasize yes, that's all she'll write on this topic.
"Are you going to-"
"No. No, I'm not going. Dances are for ridiculous romantic idiots who are obsessed with their boyfriends."
"Oh… okay…"
I don't want to say that I was only asking about her notes, because she'll most likely either accuse me of making excuses or roll her eyes and call me a loser for writing everything the teacher tells us to. But I also didn't know there was a dance.
The bell rings, and as usual, Vriska gathers her things in one movement and walks out the back door, tossing her hair and sighing. The smiley-seeming mohawk kid- Tavros, I think- hangs back on purpose as I slide my notes into my binder pocket, looking at me as if desperate for…
"Hey, K-Kanaya, can I have some advice?"
…tips? From the new girl? He's weird.
"Uh… IwannaaskVrisatothdnce."
"I didn't catch that," I say honestly, and he mumbles, slightly slower with blazing red cheeks in one giant sentence,
"I want to ask Vriska to the dance and I don't know how because she's so independent and she's so rebellious she'll probably just go spray paint some curse words on an alley that night and not that that's a bad thing or anything not to offend her no please don't mention that to her actually don't mention anything to her but I need your help because she hasn't scared you off yet and you're her lab partner and-"
"Whoa, Tavros. Breathe. Relax."
"I am breathing! I'm relaxed!"
"Come on, let's walk to Statistics and I'll talk with you on the way."
"Okay." He grabs his binder.
"Don't forget your book," I grin. He smiles back.
I think I have made a nice new friend.
"A-are you going to the dance, S-Serket?"
That's seriously all anyone asks each other at this place. The giant-ass Valentine's Day dance is coming up and every single one of those stupid freshman won't shut up about it. Even the seniors are eager. Aradia keeps going on about her dress; see, even the goth kids care. Everyone cares. Everyone but me.
With hateful mind-venom successfully soaking my opinions of attending, I turn to answer the pimply, awkward ninth-grade kid. He's blushing hard, and holding his left hand in his pocket like a tool. Is that a flower in his opposite hand? Wow.
His calling me Serket is probably due to his noticing of the intercom calling me that name constantly, but I choose to pretend he's doing it just to piss me off.
"No. Shut the fuck up." I turn and walk away. I hear mock-sympathetic Terezi calling behind me. "It's okay, little one, she rejects everyone!"
Without even turning around, I give her the second middle finger of the hour, the fifth of the day, the tenth of the week, and it's only Tuesday, February third. This is going to be a really long month.
"Obscene gestures are highly frowned upon, Serket, should I tell a teacher?"
Good Lord. The hall monitor with the worst authority complex of all time, Equius, is watching me sternly. He just loves to act manly and responsible in front of his obvious crush, Aradia, who, despite being only a few lockers away, never notices. And even though he's in our grade, he thinks he's just the best police-officer-hall-monitor in the world and obeys the teachers like they're the gods and he's a Roman citizen struck with awe.
"Oh, go die in a hole, Zahhak." I've had better comebacks, but he isn't worth my wit. I spin and walk away dramatically for the second time.
Annnnd I slam right into Kanaya. I'm the one who falls over, while she stays on her feet. What a day this is turning out to be.
"Sorry- I left my books in- I mean- I-..."
She motions helplessly to my armload of textbooks, which, to my unhappiness, includes her Statistics workbook and an unfamiliar green planner. I thrust them wordlessly at her and she smiles sheepishly, extending a hand to help me up. Pretending to ignore the gesture, I stand by myself.
"Bye!" She dashes down the corridor, hellbent on punctuality.
In English, two classes later, I notice that I still have her poetry notebook.
I, the terrible person I am, feel no guilt in snooping through it.
School's finally out, and I'm walking absently down the hallway, putting the last of my supplies in my bag, when I freeze.
Oh God, no. Oh, no. No. My poetry journal isn't here.
I feel my stomach twist into knots and my heart begins to pound. Surely it's right under all of this stuff-
-nope.
Damn it. What if some teacher reads it? What if some STUDEN-
Vriska. Vriska had my books by accident earlier.
Calm down, Kanaya, I reassure myself, hands shaking, she probably wouldn't care enough to even open it, let alone actually read it.
But what if she does? What if she sees everything?
My head spins in horror and fear, and I have to lean against the wall to stop the cold sensation of panic from spreading to my abdomen- too late.
I have to find her.
My cheeks burn in anticipation of the humilation of asking as I walk back around the corner to the place where I see her putting her books away sometimes- probably her locker.
Another long-haired girl stands close by the spot- her hair is dark, however, to match her dark clothes. When she turns, her icy eyes pierce me, and she says in a half-irritated, half-curious tone, "What?"
"Nothing- I'm just looking for Vriska-"
"Mm.. ha, first one to do so, I see." She tosses her hair, and as she does so, I observe the muscled hall monitor nearby swoon a little bit.
Someone has a crush.
My notebook is pushed out of my mind for a brief moment. I have a knack for observing things, being "in the know" without being involved in the drama and gossip.
"Uh... yeah, have you seen her?"
The hall monitor adjusts his hair and makes a face into the glass display case, checking his reflection. I stifle my urge to giggle and look back at the black-clad girl, who is giving me her answer.
"She took her books and left like five minutes ago. I think she went to the parking lot."
"Okay! Thanks."
"Anytime," she sighs, fixing the mirror in her locker.
I head in the direction she'd indicated, and only look back once. The hall monitor is now talking with her. I hear the words "dance" and "honor." Smiling faintly, I swing my bag onto my shoulders and leave through the south parking lot door.
I am greeted with a mildly baffling sight.
Vriska is kicking the tire of a beat-up pale blue car- a Pontiac Firebird, according to the logo emblazoned on the back- and screaming at it to work.
"Er." I make a coughing noise.
She looks up, and her eyes meet mine, and her cheeks actually turn red.
I didn't know until now she was capable of blushing.
"It doesn't work," she explains in a small voice. "And I don't know how to dance."
"What..."
Vriska's eyes are a soft grey-blue and she gazes hopelessly at me.
"This is my car," she says, continuing the cycle of randomness.
"What..."
"Its name is Damien," she adds to all of this. "It was named for this guy my parents knew who babysat me as a kid and because he owed my parents one from something he gave it to me for my sixteenth birthday. Stupidity, I know. But it's the only ride I have home. And that's why I don't wanna go to the dance, because nobody ever taught me how to."
"Vriska..."
"Stop gawking!" Tears glimmer in her lashes for a moment and her voice cracks. "Come over here and get your stupid beautiful poetry book."
Pulling it from her bookbag, she hurls it at my feet, looking angry.
I am baffled by all of this.
"Did Tavros-"
"Yes! He asked me to go with him and I screamed at him! I'm just the best person, aren't I? I said to him that I'd never go with him in million years cuz he was an asshole. And you gave him advice, didn't you, so by motherfucking extension I technically yelled at you too. I don't know why I just can't admit I can't dance. Probably because I can't admit anything."
My eyes feel wet and I realize that the sight of Vriska leaning on her car hood, throwing a temper tantrum, accompanied by the scent of smoke and new asphalt and the bitter taste of blood in my mouth, is making me very upset. Somehow, words make it through my blubbery stutters, but the words aren't sensible.
"I could teach you to slow dance, I guess."
And Vriska reaches into Damien, who shudders as if protesting, and she powers up the ancient tape player and sticks a cassette into it. She must specifically make tapes full of modern music that you can't even buy on tape nowadays- she must be one of those obscure music people, I've already decided.
Fuzzy static plays, and she curses in tune with it and kicks the car again, and eventually, a soft piano melody begins to play.
"I can't believe you agreed with me..." I mutter, but she's already letting me hold her right hand, letting me guide it to my waist and let go as I put my own hand on her shoulder, and then, after more fumbling, she's letting me twirl her around.
I feel my heartbeat and hers fluttering together, and I teach her to spin and I look into her eyes in this dull, pathetic pavement-colored parking lot, our movements surrounded and kept secretive by the battered chain-link fence. I get the sensation of being in a movie as the song begins to capture us and carry us somewhere not here, and her irises, cerulean like her pen in class, are endlessly deep and I might have blushed.
We were barely eighteen when we crossed collective hearts
It was cold, but it got warm when you barely crossed my eye
And you turned, put out your hand, and you asked me to dance
I knew nothing of romance, but it was love at second sight
I swear when I grow up I won't just buy you a rose
I will buy the flower shop, and you will never be lonely
For even if the sun stops waking up over the fields
I will not leave, I will not leave 'til it's on time
So just take my hand, you know that I will never leave your side
"Kanaya,"
she says simply, softly, while the singer croons, and I realize it's the first time she's spoken my name, and I don't know what to say except
"Vriska."
We could kiss, our forms so close, but I don't know her well enough yet and there aren't enough words to soften the blows that would be dealt to both of us, so I don't lean in and neither does she. We merely keep dancing, the song going on and on and on and on and turning into a new song, then another, and then another and another, and now the sun's glinting as it hangs low in the midwinter sky, and she's pulled away, finally.
"I should go," she says, and I nod because there is no awkwarder way to break this off. So without offering me a ride home she prods the car into working and leaves me staring starry-eyed at the retreating trail of smoke, pinching my own hand to be sure I haven't dreamed this.
