A Line in Which the Author Whines: This chapter gave me no end of trouble and if it's possible to feel true resentment towards words making up a fictional story, then I'm feelin' it, towards all 5513 of these.
"But you were so excited about your mysterious date with your mysterious suitor!"
Claudia's head tilts to the side, her confusion coming across perfectly clear despite the shoddy graphics on Myka's laptop. It's Saturday afternoon, time for their weekly Skype tutoring session, and while normally Pete would be here too, making inappropriate jokes, asking Claudia if any kids at her school need to be beat up, (and generally being completely unhelpful), today he needs to scream abuse at his wrestling team to make sure they perform well next weekend.
(Joshua had mentioned to Myka with an offhanded smirk that Sundays are usually reserved as the Official Donovan Sibling Skype Chat Day, in class one day, but it felt like he was saying I'm glad she's making new friends. (It had come as a surprise to everyone that Claudia's physics-adoring older brother had enrolled in Myka's Comparative Literature class, arguably the most difficult of all the English courses, but Claudia delights in having her family close together when they're not with her.))
So today it's just Myka, Claudia, and Claudia's incessant questions. And the Calculus homework too, of course, but Claudia's all too willing to put that on the back burner.
Behind Claudia, something sizzles and at Myka's pointedly raised eyebrow, the high school sophomore looks over her shoulder, a disinterested check to make sure nothing is actually on fire. At the edge of the view afforded by the webcam, Myka spies a haphazard pile of components on a table, maybe for some sort of machine Claudia wants to make. Myka doesn't know, and is seriously debating the merits of asking. A genius Claudia Donovan might be, but definitely of the mad variety.
She and H.G. would get along well, Myka muses. Both of them are destined to be great engineers. And take out the power lines of big cities in the process.
"Mykes!"
Myka snaps back to attention. "Yeah?" Claudia's question comes back to her. "Yeah, sure I was excited, but a thing came up."
In this case, the thing is that H.G. was given a major project in her Electrical and Computer Engineering class at the last minute – a major project due two days after it was assigned.
That's college for you, Myka thinks with a sigh. And, as disappointed as Myka is about having to delay their date – a date with Helena Wells, that is never going to get old – knowing H.G. thinks Myka was important enough to deserve a half hour apology,in person, with flowers, and the most hangdog look she's ever seen...well it had been (and still was) difficult to get too upset.
"A thing came up?" Claudia repeats. She twists the green streak in her hair around her finger, arching disbelieving eyebrows at Myka.
"Yup," Myka says. "There's this professor Brown here and he is notorious for giving these huge assignments that are due, like, the day after."
"That sucks, dude," Claudia says on an exhale, and Myka bites back a smile. She forgets sometimes, how young Claudia is.
"It's not so bad," Myka replies absently. It had lead to their first kiss, after all.
Giddiness bubbles up at the memory and she has to bite down hard on her bottom lip to suppress the giggles that want to escape. She can almost smell the oranges and faintest hint of vanilla she's coming to associate with H.G., can almost feel the softness of her warm cheek against Myka's lips. Her breath had hitched, then she'd expelled it in a rush against Myka's neck and there it had fluttered, caught in Myka's curls. Then she had said her name; two times, the first Myka whispered and surprised, and the second steadier, but no less gentle.
(Myka had wanted to stay there forever, with the bouquet of flowers squished between their bodies, outside the deserted Law Building with snow crunching softly beneath their boots and vivid sunset painting the sky above their heads.)
"Listen, Myka, about the tutoring thing. I know we do it like every week but -" Myka's phone chimes and Claudia cuts herself off.
"Uh, hang on, Claud," Myka says, rummaging frantically through her backpack. "I think that's Deb." Deborah is Myka's roommate, Pete's future girlfriend (his claim, not hers) and also the proud owner of a new Shih Tzu, which she is not bringing into their apartment, Myka doesn't care how cute it is. "We need to go over some stuff," Like how unwilling Myka is to potty train an ankle-biting, shoe-chewing puppy. "I'll call you right back, okay? Bye!"
Her hand closes triumphantly around the phone and she lifts it to her ear and closes the Skype window simultaneously.
"Hey, Deb," she greets, quickly scanning through her home folder, looking for a Powerpoint labelled Why Dogs Don't Belong in an Already Cramped Apartment, A Cliffnotes Version by Myka O. Bering. (Informative and deadly serious, the way to go.) "You here so soon?"
"Not Deb, I'm afraid." An accented voice returns easily, and Myka's flailing limbs just manage to keep her from falling right off her chair. "I am, in fact, here, though to the best of my knowledge you weren't expecting me."
"Expecting – you, no!" Myka sputters, and on the other end H.G. laughs softly.
"Won't you open the door for me, Myka?"
Myka tries not to choke on her own spit; the sheer suggestiveness of H.G.'s voice does absolutely ridiculous things to her insides. In a flurry of motion, she skids across the room in her socks and pulls open the door without banging it into the adjacent wall like she usually does. (A good thing too; if she makes a hole there, she'll have to tell her landlord about it, and Mr. Kosan has a way of quiet fury that rivals Mrs. Frederic, which really says something.)
"You're here!"
"I just said that, darling." H.G. grins, untangling a red wool scarf from her jacket's collar. Inanely, Myka studies the way the black sets off the scarf's vibrant colour, because focusing on the fact that H.G. is here, in front of her, is making Myka's heart pound alarmingly quickly.
"But you have a project," Myka manages, and it comes out more of a question than a statement. She grips the doorknob tighter as H.G. smiles and all of a sudden the apartment is too hot.
"Yes," H.G. nods, and Myka's stomach tighten out of nerves. "But it's no longer a concern."
Myka laughs, knowing it comes out more of a nervous titter, she is such a girl around H.G., and it's so embarrassing. "Did you make your engineering professor an offer he couldn't refuse?"
"Something like that," H.G. says, and the way the sentence rises upward at the end tells Myka she has no idea what Myka just referenced, but the confusion just adds to her charm. And suddenly Myka has a vision of the two of them curling up together on her couch with the lights off, a bowl of popcorn in Myka's lap, and the bluish glow of a television reflected in Helena's eyes but not Myka's, not Myka's because Myka would be looking at Helena, the marvel of Myka's whole life so far and probably for as long she lives.
"Anyway," she continues, biting her lip in a way that makes Myka's breathing go unsteady. "I know we said we'd reschedule to next Friday, but," She gestures to herself, then Myka. "I'm here, and you're here, so I thought...?" H.G. fiddles with her hands like Myka makes her as nervous as she makes Myka.
"Well, I – I don't know -"
"Of course, I understand," H.G. says, and steps backwards immediately. "It's a lovely Saturday afternoon, you must already have plans."
"No, I – H.G.!" She looks back up at that, a tentative smile on her face. "I – you, just stay. You just stay right here and I'll be," Myka makes a vague hand gesture indicating herself and the apartment behind her. "Here. Dressing. With clothes." She closes the door and opens it a second later. "And I have to make a call, so -" She manages a quick glance at H.G. before she shuts the door in H.G.'s face (again, dear God) and tries to muffle her groan of sheer embarrassment. Couldn't get worse, at least, she consoles herself.
She gropes for her cell and dials, only be greeted with, "I can't believe you still actually call people on your phone."
"Yeah, Claud, I'm so old." Reentering her bedroom, she catches her reflection in the full length mirror leaning next to her desk and stares in horror at the stained sweatpants and tank top she's wearing. That couldn't have been the way she had answered the door. Not to H.G., of all people!
"Listen, Claudia," she says, trying to focus on her closet instead of her embarrassment. "I know I said I'd tutor you today, but something really important came up, so -" Her eye is caught by a purple dress, a skimpy, skintight thing...which isn't hers, it's Deborah's, and they're not exactly the same size. She makes a mental note to put it back in Deb's closet.
Myka needs a dress, and heels and eyeliner and possibly some lip gloss and – and a new set of genes, but H.G. is here, waiting right outside her apartment. Maybe I should let her into the living room, Myka thinks. Then she blushes at the thought of being naked in the same apartment as Helena Wells and strikes the thought from her mind.
There's a knock and H.G.'s voice filters in, amusement clear though muffled by the door. "Just put on something casual, darling."
Put on something casual, Myka thinks incredulously, staring helplessly at the innards of her closet. What on Earth does that even mean?
"Well, I mean, it's a shame, but you gotta do what you gotta do so-" Claudia's voice filters in, but Myka's attention is torn, she's juggling two things at once, and one is just slightly more stressful than the other.
"Uh huh," Myka mumbles, pressing a Colorado Avalanche sweatshirt to her front, scrutinizing her reflection. No, she decides, throwing the sweatshirt back onto the bed. There's dressing casual and there's dressing date-casual; cold winters or no.
"Next week, Claudia," Myka promises and she hangs up after a surprisingly cheerful Sure, it's cool, I had a thing anyway. The girl seems almost relieved, but Myka doesn't have time to question it right now, she has an H.G. waiting out in the hallway for her.
"Where are we going?" Myka calls. Snow crunches noisily under her boots as she lengthens her stride to keep up with H.G..
H.G. turns to grin at her, sharp and bright in their grey surroundings. "You'll just have to wait and see, I'm afraid."
"I'm no good with surprises," Myka huffs. "Hey, slow down!" She catches the edge of H.G.'s sleeve and tugs, surprised at how easily H.G. – Helena, she should probably start calling her Helena – comes back to her.
H.G. steps in closer than Myka intended, close enough for the fog of their breath to mingle, all twinkling eyes and mischievous mouth. "Myka Bering," she begins, her voice low and playful. "Are you suggesting you cannot keep up?"
Myka feels her jaw drop because that doesn't sound like a challenge to her speed-walking abilities, it sounds like a challenge to other abilities and she sputters indignantly while Helena grins and brushes Myka's hand with her own. Dark eyes bore into hers and Myka's mouth snaps shut as H.G. laces their fingers together.
"We're almost there," H.G. says, throwing a grin over her shoulder and Myka lets herself be pulled along, caught up in the enthusiasm thrumming through Helena's body. "Right around the bend," H.G. says, and Myka quickens her pace until she's at H.G.'s side.
They've only been walking for fifteen minutes, but Myka is certain she's never seen this part of campus before. It seems fully removed from the usual din of college life, the yelling and the laughing and the footballs flying through the air. Myka listens to rhythm of their steps break the silence as she looks around, unabashedly curious. White-tipped evergreens grow on either side of them, spindly and tall and they stand out in sharp relief against the dull grey of the sky.
They round the bend H.G. mentioned and Myka gasps, squeezing her H.G.'s hand tighter. She feels rather than hears Helena's answering chuckle.
"A greenhouse," Myka breathes, eyes wide. She has to tip her head all the way up to see the top of the building, and then she's almost blinded by the pale sun reflected off the roof. Thick green stems with large leaves block her view of the clear glass interior; and she suspects they're tomato plants once she sees hints of red between the leaves.
"So," H.G. says, dragging Myka's attention back. "In keeping with our tradition of having private moments in a place anyone can walk into, such as a party -"
"Or a tunnel, in a car with our friends a foot away," Myka interjects, trying and failing to hide a grin.
H.G. nods her agreement, impatiently brushing back the hair that falls to frame her face. "I present to you the greenhouse that the student body forgot," she smiles at Myka's amused snort, looking hopefully at Myka. Please like it, she seems to be saying, and suddenly it's hard for Myka to catch her breath.
"It's perfect," Myka says through a dry mouth, unable to take her eyes off Helena. To Myka's surprise, H.G. flushes under her gaze, and the way she runs her hand through her hair is nothing less than shy. Myka feels her heart rate spike and she hides her smile by walking behind H.G. as they enter the greenhouse.
They're accosted by a wave of heat as soon as the doors open, but it's pleasant after the chill outdoors. It looks even better on the inside, and the first thing Myka notices is that it's not organized like a typical greenhouse. The floor isn't a floor at all, it's soil and there are only a few flowerpots in sight. Plants of all kinds surround them, growing right off the ground in uneven rows.
"Well, then." H.G. clears her throat, pulling off her jacket, and Myka follows suit, caught now not by the wonders of the unusual greenhouse, but the faint pink glow on Helena's cheeks. "The plan is to have a sort of picnic here, there's an absolutely lovely clearing type thing just up ahead," she points away from the tomato plants. "And I stowed a basket here earlier this morning, so we'll have some food to share, a few drinks." She gallantly takes Myka's jacket with a small bow and offers her arm."Shall we, milady?"
Myka bites her lip, but a giant smile grows anyway. "Are you sweeping me off my feet?" she asks the green shoots poking out of the ground.
"Yes," Helena says, nudging her shoulder and grinning widely when Myka meets her eyes. "As best as one can with such meagre offerings, anyway."
"Oh, I dunno," Myka says, ducking her head. She kicks at a clump of loose soil, feeling the heat of H.G.'s shoulder brushing hers periodically. She's still trying to wrap her around being here, with Helena who seems to be truly enjoying Myka's company, joking and exchanging quick touches that just might mean she likes her. "It's – you're kind of amazing."
Helena is silent for a while and Myka's eyes are trained fully on the ground now, studying the snow already melting on her boots. She feels hot, and it's not just being inside the greenhouse.
"You are -" H.G. breaks off, before leaning up to press a kiss to her cheek and Myka flushes, though technically they've done this before. "You are absolutely the most darling person I've ever encountered."
"I try," Myka quips and shivers as H.G. breathes a laugh against her skin.
"Let me just get that basket, and we'll be off." Helena's nose brushes against Myka's cheek for the barest of seconds, and Myka swallows to regain moisture in her mouth.
The imprint of the kiss burns cold against her cheek and Myka wonders briefly if Helena felt like this yesterday. She snaps out of her daze when H.G. lifts one of the few potted plants – a bonsai tree – to reveal a small compartment. She stretches and sees a wicker basket inside, which H.G. takes out and puts in its place their folded coats.
With a smile, Helena motions for Myka to follow. Her free hand swings along her side and Myka watches its progress carefully. Theoretically, she could just reach out and take it, twine their fingers together like H.G. did just minutes ago outside. And it would be better because she would feel the warmth of Helena's hand, not the cold leather of Helena's glove. All she needs to do is speed up a little bit, just enough to walk next to her, then reach to take Helena's hand in her own. That's it. That's all.
Myka stares intently at H.G.'s arm, and doesn't speed up.
"Et voila!" Helena declares.
Myka starts and sucks in a breath, only to expel it in shock. When Helena described the place as lovely, she meant it. But it's not so much a clearing as a fairly large patch of grass, surrounded by a young sapling and the vivid yellow of dandelions, matching Myka's shirt, sprinkled here and there. It's absolutely wonderful, but -
"You double-checked this isn't toxic or something, right?" It would be just like her university to experiment with the world's first lethal patch of grass.
"In fact, I quadruple-checked," H.G. says teasingly, and Myka watches her boots as she steps onto the grass, watches as the leather crosses from dirt to lush green.
"No, you didn't," Myka mumbles, still scrutinizing the grass. It looks normal enough; long, dark green blades. She bends down and it feels normal enough, too; smooth and soft.
"I didn't?" H.G.'s eyes are teasing and bright as she pulls out a blanket from the basket. "How clever of you to realize, Miss Bering!" She smiles widely and instead of irritation, Myka feels only a pleased sort of tingling go through her body, setting every neuron alight.
She moves to help H.G. take out everything else in the basket, only to get swatted away. "Sit," she is told sternly and Myka obediently plops down on the blanket H.G. spread out. Red and white checkered, just like in the movies.
H.G. removes a few fruits from the basket and spreads them out on a ceramic plate. Myka snags an apple, smiling cheekily at Helena. H.G. only laughs and Myka watches her take out more plates and eating utensils. Or, more accurately, she watches the waterfall of sleek dark hair spilling over Helena's shoulder as she bends over the basket. She watches the length and grace of the fingers that brush it back to reveal a pulse point flickering in a smooth sea of alabaster skin. She catalogues the sweet curve of Helena's neck, dipping down into the sharp juts of her collarbone and then goes further down, tracing grey shadows in the tantalizing cleft of the blouse Helena fills so well.
"Myka." Helena's voice is hoarse and she looks up to find hot eyes trained on her.
"Yeah," she manages, swallowing.
"I -" But H.G. doesn't seem to know how to finish the sentence and Myka sets the apple down slowly.
"Hey," she says, standing on shaky legs. She's surprised by how low her voice has gotten. It's not entirely unattractive, she thinks, and H.G. appears to share the opinion. Dark eyes watch Myka steadily as she comes closer, moving slowly like she's in a dream from which she never wants to wake.
"I feel like I should kiss you now," Myka whispers, inches away.
"Do you?" H.G. breathes. Her eyes flick to Myka's mouth and it gives her this burst of confident energy swirling excitedly in her stomach.
"Well," Myka drawls, all of sudden suppressing a smirk. "I vaguely recall someone saying something about resisting the urge since the day we first met, so..."
Helena laughs brightly, ducking her head. "I'm glad you remember that," she confesses to the ground. "It's not that I thought you were so inebriated, regardless I worried -"
"You shouldn't," Myka interrupts gently. "I thought I asked you not to worry so much."
"One can hardly blame me for forgetting," H.G. rejoins, almost pouting. "Everyone else I've ever met tells me I don't worry enough, about consequences especially. Or something in that vein." She waves her hand like she can't be bothered to remember all that people say of her. And they do talk about her a lot, Myka knows.
"I think," Myka pauses, because she doesn't want to think right now, she just – she wants to enjoy the heat of the greenhouse and she wants to enjoy the heat of Helena's eyes on her.
"You think?" H.G. prompts, when the silence goes on for too long.
Myka grins shyly, and H.G. leans up just enough for their lips to hover, millimetres apart.
And it is just like being back in that car, racing blindly along a dark tunnel, heart pounding and hands clutching anywhere they can reach. Except this time, this time, Myka doesn't have to fumble under a jacket to feel the heat of Helena's body, all that warmth is gloriously accessible, pressed up against her front, all the curves and planes Myka has missed and has never truly got to know. Myka feels H.G. shift again as she strains upward to reach her mouth and tilts her chin down just a little and gasps when Helena surges into her. Myka keeps her close with a hand tangled firmly in her hair and the other wrinkling the back of her shirt. She takes a tiny step forward and they're closer than they've ever been, and just when it can't possibly get better, Helena starts playing with the back of Myka's neck, running her nails down the sensitive skin there, just brushing the skin underneath the shirt with the tips of cool fingers, all the while curling her tongue playfully around Myka's. Myka gasps again and H.G. pulls away, watching Myka carefully. She thinks H.G. is worried they're moving too fast, but Myka doesn't think so at all, and pulls Helena close to prove it.
"Mm," H.G. says, resting her forehead against Myka's. "You taste of apples."
That surprises a laugh out of Myka, and her arms tighten around H.G.'s waist. "What'd you expect?" she mumbles, kissing Helena's forehead just because she can, now. "English roses?"
"You're a rose," H.G. says, and Myka catches a flash of her grin out of the corner of her eye.
"You are a sap," Myka declares. "And possibly drunk."
"On you," H.G. counters, grinning as she draws away.
It's ridiculous. It's absurdly cheesy. The knowledge doesn't lessen her blush, and Myka wrinkles her nose under Helena's teasing stare.
"Charming." Cool fingers trace the lines of Myka's mouth, smile turning soft and gentle.
"What is?" she whispers, sighing as her fingers travel back to her neck. H.G.'s other hand rests on the small of her back, sketching small designs.
"You," comes the soft reply and they're kissing again, slow and exploratory still.
They both jerk apart when something buzzes obnoxiously. Myka grimaces, fishing her phone out of her pocket. (The one time she takes it with her instead of leaving it in her backpack, honestly.)
"Pete," she explains, looking up from the caller ID apologetically. Helena just smiles and takes Myka's hand in between her own, drawing dizzying patterns on Myka's palm, emblazoning her hand with invisible lines of ownership.
"Big flood! Artie's office!" Pete yells, effectively breaking the moment. In the background she hears their Claudia's panicked yelling, screaming something that sounds a lot like Artie! "Need you here, stat!"
He hangs up, leaving Myka staring at the phone in confusion. Artie Nielson is Myka's boss at the library where she and Pete work, and just how is it possible for a libraryto get flooded? Myka frowns, biting her lip nervously.
"I – I have to go," she says, spinning on her heel, looking frantically around for the exit. A warm hand wraps around her wrist and Myka turns, a dozen worries on the tip of her tongue, to find H.G. looking calmly at her and easily soothing Myka's hyperactive imagination.
"It's all right," H.G. murmurs, and Myka manages a tense little smile. "I'll walk you out."
"It's...all right?" Myka repeats, pulling up short.
"Well, of course," Helena whispers, pulling Myka's arms around her once again. "I've had you all to myself for a glorious afternoon, and," she continues, laughing quietly when Myka nudges her nose with her own, "I shall see you again tomorrow morning." She pauses again, eyes soft. She reaches up, and Myka leans into the finger that traces down her face, the touch more gentle than she'd ever imagined. "Myka, you understand, don't you? I am loath to be parted from you, but sometimes I think I ought to be, for the sake of my sanity." She laughs again, shifts just slightly closer. "You cause the utter loss of my self-control, and I have no idea how, and I can't even bring myself to care as much as I should."
Myka feels Helena's words flow over her entire body, leaving her feeling loose and tingly and it's not unlike being drunk, but instead of bitter beer, it's the sweet wine of Helena's words and the smooth cadence of her voice.
"Have I said too much?" Helena questions gently, twining a strand of Myka's hair around her finger and tugging, the look in her eyes part serious, part playful.
"No," Myka says, breathing out a laugh. She stares at the top of Helena's head and wonders at the way her heart rate spikes. "I could listen to you forever," she adds. (It's only fair, after all. Helena has allowed Myka to walk a little past the barrier meant to keep out the rest of the world and Myka should – Myka wants to respond in kind.)
"I'll see you soon, then" Helena murmurs and sends Myka off with a kiss and a promise.
Myka floats into Comparative Lit. the next day, barely feeling the weight of the notebooks and the binders in her backpack, the thousand-page textbook in one hand, or the coffee cup in the other. She scans the room for H.G., a habit she delights in, a habit that had formed easily. Her eyes skip over the various students in her class; some bunched together in a loose circle, their attention focused on their phones, while others read or listen to music as their professor fumbles with stacks of paper up in front. But H.G. isn't perched upon Myka's desk, swinging her legs, waiting patiently, and Myka's smile starts to slip.
Briefly, she debates whether it'd be worth fishing her phone out from wherever it is in her backpack and text Helena. H.G. rarely misses a class – could she be sick? Myka chews her bottom lip worriedly as she sets her books down. She's flooded by that hot protective feeling again, and tries to remember if she knows a place that sells chicken soup, or some sort of take-out broth. That's what you give a sick person, isn't it? Maybe she should figure out if there's a florist nearby too, flowers always make people feel better.
Can she do that? Can she give Helena flowers? Are they there yet?
Well, Helena had given her flowers, not too long ago. Daisies (innocence, loyal love, purity). The flowersflourish in the prettiest vase Myka owns, right on her desk where she can see them, combating the greyness of winter with their vivid yellow.) So it follows that Myka can do the same.
Myka sinks into her seat, satisfied with her logic. But she should still text Helena, and with that thought in mind she bends over her backpack, rummaging for cellphone.
Helena's laughter rings out suddenly, and Myka's head snaps up – right into her desk. "Ow!" she moans aloud, clutching her head and purposely not looking at the dried up chewing gum that is surely sticking to the underside of the ancient wooden desk. "H.G.!" she cries, her voice coming out more of a squeak and she winces before scanning the room once again for Helena.
Helena stands in the doorway, herself looking around for the one who called her name – right next to this absolutely gorgeous senior, a tall blond with broad shoulders and a crooked smile, who Claudia would definitely drool over and who Myka might as well, if he weren't nudging H.G. so familiarly, offering a smirk and a comment that sends Helena's laugh pealing out again.
"Well, you're not sick," Myka mumbles, hating the jealousy that throbs hot under her skin. She looks at him again, trying to place him without making it obvious that she's staring. He seems familiar, she's sure she's seen him around campus. Well, at least he isn't an old man disguising himself and hanging around universities to lure unsuspecting young women into his lair, Myka thinks, giving her head a final pat.
Then Helena sees her, and while a part of Myka still rankles at the sight of H.G. so cozy with someone who is decidedly not Myka, another thrills to see her again, as if they didn't just spend yesterday afternoon together, as if she and H.G. hadn't then exchanged texts late into the night. It's this part that has her straightening and smoothing out her shirt self-consciously.
"Darling!" Helena's eyes light up and Myka smiles despite herself as Helena approaches steadily. Helena reaches out and Myka sighs as warm fingers brush her check.
"Hi," she replies.
"I have something for you," H.G. digs around in her shoulder bag and Myka pulls out a chair. Helena sits gratefully, taking out wrap and offering it to Myka with a smile.
She takes it with a murmured thanks and bites in. "So," she mumbles through her mouthful, trying desperately to not seem interested, "Who was that?"
"Who was – oh, Steve? That's Steve Jinks." Helena twists in her chair, searching the room for him. "On the hockey team. Plays defence, I believe. Now where did he – ah." Helena points, and Myka turns to look. Steve stands near the front of the class, joking with someone – a boy, with dark hair that reminds Myka of Claudia's older brother. She says as much and Helena smiles vaguely. "I think Steve's sort of zen would be a good counter to Claudia's exuberance, actually. Don't you?"
"Steve," Myka mutters, then hopes Helena didn't hear because she knows she's being silly. Of course H.G. refers to other people by their first names. Doesn't mean anything, jealous idiot, she tells herself impatiently. She offers Helena a bite of her wrap, smiling shyly as Helena squeezes her knee under the desk.
"Mhm," Helena goes to brush away crumbs from her mouth and Myka stops herself from finishing the task for her. "Speaking of, your Miss Donovan is very clever indeed. Professor Brown even seemed impressed by what she made out of my project. I think I ought -"
"Wait, what?" The quiet happiness suffusing Myka in warmth evaporates. "You got Claudia to do your project for you? The entire thing? Is -" she chokes off, staring.
H.G. looks surprised.
"You can't – you couldn't have." H.G. isn't that kind of person, Myka tells herself. She's sweet and nice and – and not a cheater.
"I realize it may not have been ethically correct, exactly, but-"
"Ethically correct?" Myka hisses, eyes wide in shock. "No, it wasn't ethically correct."
H.G. leans back in surprise at the poison in Myka's voice and it only ratchets up the jumble of emotion another notch.
"How could you do that?" Myka hears the shuffling of people turning to look at them in curiosity and grits her teeth.
"Myka, please, I -" H.G. looks bewildered, like she can't believe they went from sharing food and smiling like shy teenagers at the sight of each other to whatever this is, with its anger and its hurt.
Myka can't believe it either. Her head reels and she fights to keep her breathing even. How – how is she even supposed to process this? She was given no indication that Helena would ever cheat on a project – all evidence pointed to her being fastidious about schoolwork, much like...much like Myka herself. All evidence pointed towards her being charming and – she feels betrayed. Myka feels betrayed. That's what this is, that's what this twisting, ugly feeling clogging up her veins means, that's why her hands won't stop shaking, that's why the wrap suddenly tastes like ash in her mouth. She reaches for her coffee cup, gulping down the hot liquid and she fights back the nausea rising up her throat and she fights back the tears threatening to fall.
"Myka," H.G. tries again and Myka shoots her a look that silences her more effectively than the irritated student behind them.
And the rest of the class passes in horrible silence.