Senior Year, Three Years Ago
Bulla tugged self-consciously at her white blouse, the hem was untucked and knotted, exposing a thin strip of her skin. "I wish I could have gone home to at least change into something else."
Her school uniform, sans her grey sweater vest, was definitely not her first choice in terms of party attire. But as her parents thought she was staying at Taffetta's for a night full of rom-coms, pizza and ice-cream, it would have raised unwanted questions if she showed up to change into an outfit better suited for the occasion.
"Don't be silly, you look hot!" Vesta said with a toss of her blonde curls. They made their way down the alley, where an enormous crowd gathered around a huge, glowing bonfire. "Can I borrow your lip gloss?"
"This is a terrible idea." Bulla groaned inwardly, digging through her purse to find the small cylinder of shimmering pink. "It's not too late to change plans. We can just go to your house and watch movies and eat junk food, like my parents think we are."
"Bulla, it's been weeks since the 'incident'. You tried doing things your way, now we are going to do them my way." Taffetta rolled her eyes, snagging Bulla's lip gloss from Vesta and applying a few swipes before passing it back to her. "High school is almost over. Live a little. Take some risks. Unless you want to miss your chance and then Madras will go to college, meet a gorgeous psych major who makes cool oil paintings in her spare time, he'll marry her and move to another country and have twelve beautiful children. And you will always wonder, what if I hadn't been such a baby and asked him out?"
"And pray tell, what risks are you going to be taking tonight?"
"I have my own prospects." Taffetta said saucily, her amber eyes taking inventory of a gaggle of tall boys clad in orange and white varsity jackets.
That's not surprising. Taffetta had always looked at guys like she looked at shoes, as fun little accessories to be swapped out every season. Except for Trunks. Taffetta's infatuation with Trunks had been relentless, bordering on stalking at one point.
Sometimes Bulla suspected the only reason she was friends with her was to cozy up to her brother. But after Trunks started dating Marron, she seemed to have given up her quest to win his heart. Though she still made far too many comments gushing over his many assets for Bulla's liking.
"All you have to do is be confident, but not obnoxious. You know, be cool, breezy, and he will be eating out of the palm of your hand in no time." Vesta smiled, looping an arm through hers and dragging her into the crowd.
"He's not even here. What if he doesn't show up?"
"It's still early. He'll be here," the blonde nodded. "I heard him talking about it in last period with Glover. He talked his older brother Polo into supplying an extra keg."
"Okay, I can do this, when he gets here, I'm just gonna walk up to him, and say hi. I'll keep it casual." She could do that. It was simple. He was just a guy.
"But not too casual. You want him to know you're interested." Taffetta said as they drew to a stop before one of the large kegs, grabbing a red plastic cup from the crate on the ground beside it. "But first, we help ourselves to some liquid courage and have a little fun."
"Oh, I'm not sure about that." Bulla eyed the foamy beverage her copper-haired friend offered her with just a hint of unease. "I've never…"
"Had fun before? Yes, we're all painfully aware." Taffeta put a freshly manicured hand on her hip, thrusting the drink toward Bulla once again. "B, Don't be a stick in the mud. A few drinks will not hurt you. We won't let you do anything stupid."
Bulla opened her mouth to say 'no'. But then she paused, thinking of the few times she'd witnessed her father and Goku partake. It didn't seem to affect them as much as others, at least not until they'd consumed a considerable amount. She might have a similar tolerance because of her half saiyan status…
But, she'd never seen her brother or Goten drink, or Gohan so she wasn't totally sure…
Fuck it. What's the worst thing that could happen?
Perhaps it would take the edge off just enough to quell the trembling ball of nerves that had been bouncing around in her chest since they pulled into the parking lot.
By the time the moon was high in the sky Bulla had lost track of how many drinks she'd had.
Dancing bodies took up every inch of space from the parking lot to the canal, aglow with orange firelight bouncing off of its glossy surface as music blasted through the smokey night air.
Bulla was vaguely surprised no one had called the cops. But she couldn't stop the smile that stretched across her mouth as she and Vesta grasped hands and spun through the crowd, giggling madly.
Someone's hands curled over her shoulders, slowing her movements as she swayed. Bulla tilted her head, finding herself face to face with Taffetta as Vesta drifted away to dance with a dark-haired boy.
Taffetta cupped a hand around her mouth, pressing her face to Bulla's ear, "I need to ask you something!"
"What?!" Bulla called over the loud thump of the base.
"You know how I said I had my own prospects, well he just got here!"
"Who?!" Bulla replied. Taffetta smirked before steering Bulla around to face the parking lot.
Leaned up against someone's red convertible with a group of what were likely his buddies from the baseball team was Son Goten. His friends appeared to be deep in conversation, but his dark gaze was laser focused on her.
Oh shit. What was he doing here? That was probably a stupid question. Where else would he be? With Trunks gone, Goten was the new King on campus and these were his subjects. Evidenced by the steadily growing herd of their peers, now flocking to pay their respects.
He'd kept his distance ever since he sabotaged her last attempt to 'woo' Madras and then, naturally, proceeded to offer to be her fake boyfriend to make up for it.
"So, nothing has ever… happened between you two, right?"
"What?" Bulla whipped around to face Taffetta.
"You and Goten, you guys are just friends, right?"
"What would make you think we were anything else?" Where would she get an idea like that?
"I'm just making sure, if my brother had a friend that hot…" she smirked. "I've just been thinking, even though, you know, your brother has always been the man of my dreams. Goten is really hot. Like, boiling. I was thinking about asking him out."
"Really, that's… interesting." And, for some reason, mildly irritating.
"He's playing it cool, but he's definitely into me. I've caught him checking me out a few times in gym class."
Yeah, you and everyone else. Bulla nearly said out loud.
"So you don't mind? If I ask him out?"
"Why are you asking me? I'm not his keeper. I don't care. Why would you think I would care? I actually think it's hilarious that it would even occur to you I would be remotely invested in his love life. In fact, you have my blessing."
"Well, alright then, I'm gonna go make my move. You' and Vesta will okay by yourselves for a while, right?" Taffetta didn't wait for Bulla to reply before she scurried off like she was some starving house cat and Goten was holding a can of smelly sardines.
"Of course. By all means, make haste!" Bulla forced a smile onto her face. She swayed half-heartedly to the beat, trying to find the rhythm she lost but failing, at the sight of Taffetta sidling up to her fellow hybrid as if it was something she did every day.
"You doing okay?" Vesta shimmied up beside her.
"I'm fine! I am amazing, I am… oh no."
"What?"
Amidst the sea of Goten's gawkers, Madras sat atop the hood of a shiny blue pickup truck talking to a pretty girl with wavy red hair. "Chenille… did you know she was going to be here?"
Vesta waved a hand dismissively. "I wouldn't worry about her. You know he broke up with her over the summer, poor thing, still trailing after him like a lost puppy, desperate for table scraps."
As if Chenille could sense they were speaking about her, her lavender gaze snapped up to meet Bulla's.
Well, that's going to throw a wrench in my plans. Chenille would likely be glued to his side for the entire night. Did that man ever go anywhere alone?
She was beginning to think she was cursed.
"I'm gonna go get a refill." Bulla said absently before wandering away from the bonfire to the line of kegs.
She had just finished filling her cup with frothy nectar when a smooth baritone voice cut through her muddled thoughts.
"Hey."
Bulla looked up, and there he was, the faint scent of chlorine wafting off of him, looking like some suave sun-god in the firelight, his messy blonde hair falling rakishly into his icy blues.
Bulla glanced around, but there was no one else near the kegs at the moment. He was speaking to her.
Madras Shirt was speaking to her.
"You're Briefs' little sister, right?"
Bulla opened her mouth and her mind went blank. So much for liquid courage.
Say 'yes'. Say something. Talk about the weather. Say anything. Anything would be better than nothing.
He simply stood there waiting, an expectant look on his face.
This is it. This is your chance.
SPEAK DAMN IT.
"I wouldn't say 'little sister'. We're only like a year and a few months apart, four hundred and twenty-five days apart if you want specifics, which is really nothing when you think about it. In fact, I would say that despite being the 'younger' sibling, I am by far the more mature one, wise beyond my years if you will. And I have much better taste in shoes. Have you seen those monstrosities he wears? I don't care that they're 'comfortable', their very existence is a crime. A crime, I tell you, against fashion, against nature. The entire planet. At first glance, you think they're just made of rubber or maybe plastic, but they aren't. They're actually made of a resin called ethylene-vinyl acetate. Which unfortunately means they can't be recycled, and that is a real shame, because I think everyone should recycle and I happen to really like sea turtles."
What. the fuck. Was that?
It turns out nothing would have been preferable to absolutely everything she just said. So much for breezy and casual.
Had she really been talking to him about sea turtles?
He stared at her blankly, his brows disappearing into the mass of blonde that covered his forehead. Her gut roiled, and her palms grew sweaty and hot under his scrutiny. Bulla would have liked nothing more than to disintegrate into a million tiny little pieces and float away into Otherworld in that moment..
"Okay… well, can I get in on that or do you plan on hanging on to it for the rest of the night?" He nodded to the tap in her hand that was still poised over her cup.
"What? Oh! Yeah, umm here." She shakily raised the tap to fill his cup. But then his hand grazed hers. The unexpected contact sent a tidal wave of goosebumps skittering up her arm. She instinctively squeezed the trigger on the tap and Madras let out a startled noise as it missed the cup entirely spewed all over the front of his pants.
Bulla's mouth dropped open in a combination of equal parts shock and horror.
Oh fuck.
"Oh god, I can't believe that just- I am so sorry- I-"
"Don't worry about it. I'm just gonna go see if I can do something about my… pants." And with that, he vanished into the crowd.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuuuuuuuuccckkkk.
Bulla frantically scanned the mass of people around the bonfire, searching for her friends, but they were nowhere to be seen. A fuzzy stinging sensation washed over her, causing her vision to swim and she abandoned her drink.
She was going to be sick. Any minute now. Be it from the beer or sheer humiliation or a combination of the two. She glanced around the crowd, but she still didn't see Vesta or Taffetta anywhere, and she had no desire to go hunting for them. Right now, she wanted nothing more than to crawl into her bed and die of embarrassment.
With no coherent plan in mind other than that desire, she just started walking. She paid no heed to anyone as she stumbled through the suddenly suffocating horde of party-goers until she finally emerged by the canal.
She leaned over, bracing her hands against her knees and breathing deeply, a futile attempt to will the swirling fog in her head to pass.
"Bulla Briefs." A simpering, feminine voice sang.
Bulla looked up, and two red-haired figures blurred in and out of focus before merging into the last person she needed to see right now.
"Chenille, hi…." Bulla straightened up, brushing a stray clump of teal hair from her face, swaying slightly as she did so.
"Hi." The redhead smiled sweetly as she approached. "I just wanted to have a chat, a little heart to heart. Between girls."
Oh, this cannot be good.
"Yeah, now isn't really a good time." Bulla all but croaked out as another wave of nausea rolled through her.
"Actually, I think it's a great time." Chenille's eyes flashed with clear hostility. "I understand you come from a family that allows you… certain privileges, and that may or may not give you the impression that you're entitled to things, maybe even things that already belong to somebody else."
"Oh?"
"And I just wanted to clear up any confusion and make sure you know that is not the case." Chenille closed the distance between them, standing so close that Bulla could count the freckles on her nose. "You think no one has been paying attention but I have, I know what you're thinking. You're not nearly as discreet about your little crush as you think you are, and just this once, I'm going to say this nicely; Madras is mine, and you need to back off."
Bulla cursed her saiyan sense of smell as the scent of Chenille's perfume permeated the surrounding air, further inflaming the pain in her head. This chick needed to leave so she could hurl her guts up in private. "If you're so confident about that, then why did you feel the need to come over here acting all territorial?"
Chenille's lavender gaze raked over Bulla, appraising her as she crossed her arms over her chest. "You know what? You're right. I don't think I have anything to worry about. You're nowhere near his type." With a toss of her crimson hair, she spun on her heel to make her dramatic exit.
"Clearly neither are you, seeing as he dumped you." Bulla scoffed as she turned back toward the canal, fearing any moment, all the alcohol she'd consumed would make a reappearance.
Bulla barely had time to register the sound of the earth shifting behind her before something collided with her back and her body lurched forward. There was a deafening splash and then she was engulfed in filthy, frigid water.
The next thing she knew, her upper arms were caught in a firm, steely grip, hauling her upward. She broke through the surface of the murky water, wheezing, sputtering and coughing as she tried to draw in breath.
"Are you okay?"
Bulla reached up a slightly shaky hand to wipe some awful, sludgy substance away from her face and opened her eyes. Goten's familiar face came into view, brows furrowed, his uncharacteristically sharp eyes drifted from her back to the water's edge and a muscle ticked in his jaw. She'd never seen him look so… angry.
Bulla's gaze followed his, and there was Chenille, a smirk of victory playing on her lips.
She'd pushed her. That bitch had fucking pushed her into the canal.
"I think it's time to go."
Bulla didn't argue with him as he guided her through the putrid, muddy water, his grip on her upper arms firm but gentle. She let out a pained hiss as he pulled her out of the muck and the cool air swept over her, chilling her to the bone.
As if things couldn't get any worse, loud peels of laughter rang out from a crowd of onlookers that had gathered to see the spectacle.
"Wet T-shirt contest!"
Bulla looked down and realized, to her horror, that her white school blouse was completely see-through in its currently drenched state, and her thin lacy red bra and peaked nipples were on full display.
Bulla hastily lifted her hands to cover her chest, her eyes stinging with the beginnings of angry tears, but she refused to let them fall as the various cat-calls and whistles suffused the air.
"That's enough!" Goten barked out. "Leave or I will make you leave!"
The incessant jeers ceased immediately and slowly the gawkers began disperse and Bulla had never been more grateful for the presence of the youngest Son than she was in that moment.
"Hey, don't look at them, look at me." Bulla's eyes snapped up to meet Goten's, not trusting her voice enough to muster a coherent response as he shoved something heavy and slightly less damp over her head, hastily dragging it down over her torso, his grey hoodie, she realized absently as he helped maneuver her arms into the too-long sleeves. "It'll be okay. I'll take you home. You're going to get sick wearing those wet clothes."
Goten wrapped an arm around her, but they barely made it another two steps before Bulla dropped to her knees and vomited.
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