Thank you Zeroastai for keeping up with me! Your question will be answered... eventually ;)
I hope everyone reading is still enjoying this story and interested in where it's going to go!
And because it's been a while: Disclaimer, I do not own Victorious :(
It had been nearly a month since Ryder last put his hands on me. Ever since Beck threatened him at the Boo Bash, he didn't even dare to come near me. And I did the same — we avoided each other.
About a week ago, a rumor, that finally wasn't focused on me, had started going around that Christine, one of the school's best dancers, started dating Ryder. A part of me was relieved that he would have someone else to give his attention to. Another part of me was worried for Christine. Would he treat her the same way that he treated me? The two of them could be seen fawning over each other in the halls in between classes. She would hold onto his arm and he would pull the charm that he had done with me to make her melt.
Christine and I weren't friends. There was no reason for us to be — we weren't in any of the same classes and didn't have overlapping talents or interests. Still, like a friend, I could sense something was wrong with her when she came out of a bathroom stall with strained eyes.
I was washing my hands when, in the reflection of the mirror, I saw her (trying to hide her distraught). I turned to her, with my arms crossed and my eyes squinted to try to read her. The look made her think I was angry with her for coming to the sink immediately next to mine, rather than a more distant one.
"Oh, s-sorry," she stammered and took a step to the side.
Having the reputation of the school's "mean girl" had pros and cons. A pensive face and a scowl looked equivalent to each other.
"Did you help him with an assignment?" I asked.
She turned back to me, looking confused for a second until she saw that my face had turned to something more understanding. Her eyes began to glisten again.
"A project. For Interpretive Dance class."
I nodded my head. That made sense — even I knew that she was a good dancer, so she'd be the perfect person to take advantage of to get a good grade.
"Did he get what he wanted?"
She laughed, trying to disguise her tears, "I mean he got an A, so…"
I spoke more softly, "That's not what I mean."
She couldn't bring herself to answer my question. Without meaning to, I had caused her tears to spill over and she left the bathroom in a hurry to avoid thinking about Ryder anymore. That gave enough confirmation.
I threw away my dampened paper towel and left the bathroom shortly after her. Some random guy saw both of us leaving and connected the dots in his own way.
"Dang, girl, what'd you say to her?"
I gave him a flared expression that told him not to test me. Keep up the act. Let people be afraid.
On my way back to class, I saw Beck entering the guidance counselor's office. I noticed him too late to call out to him, though. What's he going to Lane for? There's no way he got in trouble… Ohh, he's probably figuring out which classes he needs to take next semester. Lucky.
Once I figured out the most likely reason Beck would go to the guidance counselor, I thought back to Christine and Ryde, causing a scowl to return to my face. I didn't know to what extent he had taken advantage of her. Maybe he just led her to believe he was romantically interested and stole a few kisses. Or maybe he'd taken it as far as he had done with me. The severity of it didn't matter — at the end of the day, he had hurt us both for his own gain.
Beck and I stayed at the Asphalt Cafe after school. We didn't have rehearsal today, but neither of us wanted to spend time apart with the clock ticking. The only time I didn't have a rude expression on my face was when I was around him. It couldn't be helped but to be at ease next to him.
We both had our own projects to work on, so we sat mostly in comfortable silence, keeping our legs or feet in contact with each other while we worked to let the other person know I'm not ignoring you. I couldn't let go of the ideas that I came up with a few nights ago, when I couldn't fall asleep at Melissa's house. There was so much potential, that I had to see the ideas through… even if I had no way of getting them to be performed. The first was a song, the second was a play.
A few other students occasionally walked by silently — most people had gone home by now. The natural sunlight, fresh air, and white noise of Los Angeles helped me to focus on my song. I found something beautiful in writing by hand, rather than typing on a computer, and with an ink pen. Either commit to your words, or bury the remains of the ones you don't want anymore by scribbling them away. On my page, you could see my entire thought process.
At one point, I looked up and stared into the distance for a word to come to me.
"That's a serious face," Beck poked fun, still mostly focused on his laptop.
"I'm trying to think of an animal that crawls."
Without breaking focus off his screen and taking less than a second he responded, "Centipede."
"Centipede?"
He nodded his head as he typed. I played an idea for a lyric in my head, using "centipede", and oddly the rhythm worked out.
"Well alright then," I muttered to myself and wrote the words down. Beck took a hand to his hair, grabbed onto the top of his head, and let out a stressed breath.
"What are you buggin' about?" I asked, trying to make a pun.
"All these finals coming up. This Technical Design class is no joke — I need to get at least an 85 to keep an A, but there's so much stuff to remember. And then there's still four other classes to worry about."
"Okay, Moritz, it's not the end of the world if you get a B for one class," I shrugged, thinking it would alleviate his stress a bit.
"No, I need to get an A — all A's."
"Well, I don't think it's that big of a deal if you don't have a perfect transcript, but if anyone would have it, it'd be you."
"Did you just give me a compliment?" He teased.
"Shut up, you're just a know-it-all. Who else studies Shakespeare for fun and overanalyzes everything?"
"You got me there," he smiled. "How're grades looking?"
I learned how to play school when I was 9 years old — I knew how to get good grades without ever having to try too hard. So it was extra satisfying to tell him:
"All A's, baby."
"Look at you! Pretty and smart."
"The two aren't mutually exclusive. Maybe I'm actually smarter than you," I teased back. "I'm not nearly as worried about passing as you are. Then again, it doesn't really matter how I do. Performing arts credits probably won't transfer to Northridge."
He pattered his fingers on his computer keyboard without actually typing anything. Like he was working through a thought. Then, for the first time, he broke eye contact with the screen to look at me.
"Weird request… promise me you'll still try these last couple weeks?"
That's random. Suddenly, a feeling of defeat was coming back.
"It doesn't really matter if I do or don't though. The only thing I really need to try in is Spring Awakening."
"Please?" He asked earnestly. "I think you'll leave here feeling better knowing that you gave it your all."
I lowered my eyebrows and firmed my lips into a line. He said "promise" and "please." As if it was as important to him that I still try my best as it should be to me.
"Ugh, fine. But I won't be happy about it."
"Hey, you never know. You might be proud of yourself."
Being proud of myself won't be good enough though.
I was about to return to writing my song, but Beck had one more request.
"I need some headshots for Photography class — do you mind if I take some of you against a wall or something?"
My focus was already broken, so it was easier to comply.
"Only because you asked on a good hair day."
I closed my notebook with the pen inside as a placeholder. Beck closed his laptop and an overfilled folder. Our stuff would be fine unattended since there was pretty much nobody else here, but we made sure nothing would fly away in case of wind. When I stood, I saw that same piece of paper just barely jutting out from the top of Beck's folder — the one that had "HAMS" typed on top with the school's logo on it. What a weird acronym.
We walked around trying to find the best background for my headshots. We tried the shrubbery on the edge of the parking lot and a solid brick wall on the exterior of the school. Beck had a Canon camera that took pretty high quality photos.
"Tilt your head a bit to the left… chin up… maybe move your shoulders — beautiful. Okay," he clicked the camera a couple times and shot from varying angles. "Juuuust one more and I think I'll be good."
I gave a humble smile that would look professional enough. We looked at the resulting images together on the camera's preview screen. A couple of them were duds, but there were plenty of nice ones. The camera loves me, I thought selfishly.
"Is that enough for your spank bank?" I asked, as we began walking back to our table.
He laughed nervously, "Oh yeah totally. I always jerk off to people's headshots."
"That's a pretty strong euphemism, are you trying to tell me something?"
It took a moment for his wheels to turn. "Oh God, no no!"
"Hey to each their own, I won't judge," I grinned.
I hadn't really thought much about what Beck looks at or thinks of when he's taking care of himself. I would like to think that he thinks of me as I often now do of him.
Should I ensure it? I quickly weighed how I could ingrain myself in his mind, without doing anything too ridiculous.
I ushered him to a corner underneath the mezzanine of the Asphalt Cafe.
"Wha- what are you doing?"
Making sure I was out of sight for any potential passerby's, I put my back against the corner and eyed every direction.
"Giving you something you can actually add to your spank bank," I teased.
I unbuttoned the top of my shirt, revealing more of my chest to him. He didn't say anything, but his wide-eyed expression told enough. He even started to look out to make sure no one else was seeing this. Two buttons down was enough to show a little cleavage; and his breathing picked up. Two more revealed everything but what the bra hid.
At this point, I believed that less is more. Keep an element of mystery. I slid my hands over and touched my breasts in a way that he probably desired he could. His mouth fell slightly agape and his face was dazed — absolutely transfixed by the exposed skin and the bounce that came from when I let go. A small sense of pride came when I noticed that he was affected by me.
"Let's hope that your photographic memory is as good as the camera," I smiled. I rebuttoned my shirt quickly to minimize the risk of being seen. "Let's get back to work."
"You want me to work now?!"