Chapter Text
Rio’s house was shorter than Agatha had imagined.
It had a dull zinc roof and a rusted gate that squeaked the moment she touched it. There was no doorbell. Just a peeling door with brown paint that now looked green.
It stood next to another exactly like it, followed by another similar one, continuing for an entire block.
Agatha had been standing in front of it for at least five minutes, with a backpack hanging loosely from one shoulder, holding her breath as if that could make her less visible.
Sweat ran down her lower back, under her top and into her pants. The heat, now more noticeable with the spring that wasn’t supposed to start yet, made her irritable and impatient.
She didn’t know whether to knock once or twice. Whether to text first or just wait for someone to open the door.
She thought about leaving. Or about texting “I’m here” again. But that would be too obvious.
She had already texted twice.
: I’m at the door;)
: Everything okay?????
Both messages had been read. Neither answered.
She checked the time, a little hysterical.
She wished her mother hadn’t thrown a reunion with her college friends on the only free day she had after almost two weeks of practice after practice, of spinning and unpleasant jumps for hours while Marlen laughed and called the coach fat.
The competition had been moved up, and instead of being in two more months, it was in a week. Agatha wished it was tomorrow, just to have her time back.
She sighed.
She hated feeling like this. She was tired and just wanted to sit down and talk, because Rio’s house was on the other side of the earth and she had forgotten her wallet in her room.
And she had absolutely no intention of going back home.
While waiting, she mentally reviewed the last few weeks.
Two weeks since she had called Rio in the middle of the night to talk about absolutely nothing after having a nasty fight with her mother.
They had talked for hours like that and Agatha didn’t remember ever ending the call.
When she woke up, her phone was completely dead and under her bed.
That same day they’d had lunch together again. Now, it was almost a ritual. Rio didn’t eat her lunch and stole from Agatha’s fries or vice versa, talking about homework or whatever was in Rio’s head at the moment.
Agatha had tried to explain *Wicked* to her once. It didn’t go well, because after that Rio researched the play and the book obsessively and didn’t stop talking about it for days.
Then they just texted when classes got too boring and walked together to the school gates.
They had secret weapons and nighttime talks.
A week ago, when Rio had cut her hair very (too) short and uneven, Agatha had spent her entire free period helping even it out in the bathroom. She had heard Rio cry with laughter for the first time.
She remembered exactly the expression on Rio’s face when she saw her in history class that morning—she looked much more embarrassed than usual and was wearing a hat. When she took it off, Agatha almost screamed.
They’d spent forever trying to fix that disaster.
When she told Alice about it, she sighed and said, with a tired but amused expression on her face, “Oh my god, you’ve been talking about your girlfriend for hours. You don’t even have lunch with me anymore.”
Agatha remembered how her face had turned red and she’d shaken her head. Alice had developed the annoying habit of calling Rio her girlfriend. It didn’t matter how many times Agatha explained they were nothing. Alice didn’t back down.
They weren’t even that close.
Rio found it very funny. Now she called her her *spiritual girlfriend* via text (sometimes, very rarely, but she did it).
Now that she talked to her almost every day, Agatha couldn’t understand why Marlen even bothered to bully her. Rio was her friend now. She didn’t understand why her presence had bothered her so much weeks ago, but she had accepted it for a while now, as stupid as it was.
Rio was kind, very empathetic, and very strange. She was the most incomprehensible person Agatha knew—besides herself. But Agatha supposed that was a good thing.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door opening in front of her.
Rio, who seemed to have some exotic, over-voluminous 60s hairstyle (clearly she hadn’t brushed it), gave her a small smile.
She wore a long-sleeved gray shirt and a pair of shorts at least two sizes too big, which made her look funny.
Agatha just stared, trying to read her mind. Not that hard, really.
“Hi Agatha… sorry, I was showering when you texted, I got out as fast as I could,” Rio said softly, twisting herself in that awkward way that was so characteristic of her.
“It’s okay, I totally get it. Can I come in?” she replied. Rio nodded and opened the door wider, letting her in.
The first thing Agatha noticed was how dark the house was and how neglected the walls looked, along with the deafening sound of the television.
There were no pictures on the walls, no coats hanging near the door.
It wasn’t spacious—it was almost suffocating.
Rio took her hand and began guiding her upstairs. In the same way Agatha had done the first time Rio came to her house. The only difference was that Agatha didn’t remember trembling while guiding Rio.
The other girl was.
A voice rang out loudly the second their feet touched the first step. Both turned their heads, and Agatha, seeing where it came from, froze completely.
“You’ve got three hours before I drag her out of my house. I don’t want another mouth to feed. Heard me, Vidal?”
The man said it. He was somewhat overweight, and Agatha could only see the back of his head from her position on the stairs, but she could clearly see a beer in his hand.
She felt Rio shudder, and in a voice just loud enough to be heard over the volume of the TV, she said, “Yes sir.” Then she turned to Agatha and, in a much lower voice, apologized to her.
For no apparent reason. Maybe because of how terrifying the man—who she assumed was Rio’s foster father—was, but Agatha had no idea.
“Sorry about that… he doesn’t like people,” Rio said, now much quieter.
They continued upstairs until they reached the top. The first thing Agatha saw were two doors: one was locked, and inside she heard the voice of a child (she supposed Billy, Rio’s foster brother whom she’d mentioned a couple of times) playing happily with his toys.
The other, Rio’s room, was open.
When she entered, she saw it only had a bed and a window facing a wall, along with a pile of disorganized books on the floor and a closed closet.
Rio let go of her hand and closed the door.
“Sorry about the mess. Shall we start?”
Agatha nodded, then they sat on the bed. Their legs touched, and Agatha could swear Rio was about to explode from how tense she looked.
She pulled out her laptop, and the next fifteen minutes passed in silence while Rio typed on it and Agatha gave suggestions and did her research on her phone.
The exhaustion was crushing her, so after reading a massive file about the 17th century, her attention drifted towards Rio.
She looked very focused on the laptop screen, but Agatha knew she was just as exhausted. Both had reached the point where, no matter how interesting the topic was, they just wanted to finish it.
The teacher had added a million things to the project, and the deadline was in two more weeks. It was almost ridiculous that they were spending so long on something that looked so simple.
Besides, they had to study for their other subjects too. Agatha didn’t have all the time in the world.
She looked at Rio’s hair again. She wouldn’t admit it out loud, but it made her look really good. Genuinely pretty.
Then, Rio lifted her head and looked at her, confused. “You know people can tell when they’re being stared at, right?” she said, followed by a small laugh. Rio laughed a lot lately. “That’s called scopaesthesia, it’s very common actually.”
Rio did that a lot: saying interesting things out of nowhere, leaving them floating between them.
“Stop teasing me. I wasn’t staring.” Agatha laughed back, playfully hitting Rio’s arm.
“Uh-huh, sure. What’s wrong?” Rio twisted a little, still laughing, and looked at her much friendlier than she had a month ago.
“Nothing, I’m just distracted. I’m failing chemistry and I can’t think about witch hunts right now,” she said.
Rio nodded sympathetically, then stood up, searched for a gray notebook, and sat back down on the bed, this time much closer to Agatha.
“I can help you with that,” she said in a low tone, the one she used most of the time.
Agatha looked at her confused. What was she talking about?
“I mean, I’m good at chemistry. Or at least I understand it.”
Rio opened her notebook. They didn’t speak. In fact, Rio didn’t say anything else after that.
They looked at each other for a few seconds.
Then Agatha understood one very simple thing: Rio wanted to help her study. In a friendly way.
It didn’t even make sense for Agatha to get excited about something so vague and normal, but a big smile spread across her face.
She took out her notebook and Rio started explaining the basics. Their hands brushed, and even though Agatha understood almost none of what Rio spent an hour and a half trying to explain, she could say she had more fun than she should have.
She managed to understand it, after Rio explained it at least thirty times. Honestly, it didn’t make sense that Rio didn’t raise her hand in class, because Agatha was sure she knew more about chemistry than the teacher himself.
The tension in Rio’s shoulders disappeared quickly—Agatha noticed when she got close enough.
She also felt how warm it was to be near her.
It was incredibly stupid.
Rio looked her in the eyes when Agatha tried to answer a question. She helped her with the homework with enormous patience.
They were almost hugging when the door burst open.
The man, whom Rio had referred to as “sir”, barged in.
Out of absolutely nowhere.
Agatha noticed Rio shudder again. She could have screamed from the fright herself.
The warm and cozy atmosphere they were in disappeared instantly. Something about the man’s energy disturbed her too much.
The man looked at her—in a way very similar to how her own mother looked at her—and Agatha knew it was time to leave.
She grabbed her laptop, stuffed it into her backpack, touched Rio’s shoulder, and smiled at her before practically running out of that almost terrifying house. For a fraction of a second, before leaving, she saw the sadness return in Rio’s eyes, how she looked almost miserable.
Now she understood why Rio liked her house.
Her mother wasn’t there to terrify them.
The heat had faded long ago.
Now, instead of a blinding heat, it was too cold in the street.
Agatha pressed her arms against her body. The wind messed up her hair, but she didn’t care. She felt her thighs freezing, her neck tense, her fingers numb. Every step on the pavement sounded hollow.
She wished she could talk to Rio now.
They would probably be laughing as they walked together to Agatha’s house.
But that was stupid and impossible.
She thought about calling her.
But she dismissed the idea. She had been with her about 35 minutes ago.
She didn’t need to talk to her every second. She wasn’t her only friend. And she wasn’t even that funny.
In fact, she didn’t talk much. And when she did, it was about the same three things all the time; Aliens, Plants, or something related to her school project.
But she still wanted to call her.
Agatha clicked her tongue and buttoned her coat.
Not because of the cold. Just to have something to do with her hands.
She didn’t want to go home.
She didn’t want to be alone again.
She didn’t want to feel her mother’s gaze examining her and then ignoring her, like she didn’t even exist, like it was wrong for her to live there with her instead of with her father, whom she had never spoken to.
The sidewalk was deserted. The houses with lights on looked like scenes from a movie she wasn’t starring in.
People having dinner. Laughing. A kid in pajamas running past a window.
A lot of music.
Agatha looked down.
Her shadow was long and thin under the streetlight, as if the city was trying to stretch her until she disappeared.
She wished she could grab a broom and fly away. Maybe take Rio with her. Or maybe Alice.
She crossed the street slowly.
The house was there. As always. Solid, elegant, empty.
When she saw the light in the living room on, she stopped for a second. She heard her mother’s voice. Then Grant’s, her mother’s new new boyfriend.
Fake laughter. A few glasses. A badly told story.
Agatha wanted to throw up.
Apparently, her mother’s friends hadn’t been there. Her mother just didn’t want Agatha there at the same time as her boyfriend.
She thought about sleeping at Alice’s.
About going to the train station and waiting there.
But she had nowhere else to go.
So she went in.
When she walked in, the first thing she saw was her mother practically climbing on top of Grant on the couch.
She let out a sharp, clearly exaggerated giggle, while he whispered something in her ear.
Both looked towards the door when they heard Agatha.
Her mother rolled her eyes.
“There’s food in the fridge,” she said, with no emotion at all, “don’t eat it all or you’ll get fat.”
Agatha nodded silently. Not because she agreed, but because it was easier.
She went to the kitchen, grabbed a slice of cold pizza, and went upstairs to her room without looking back.
She intentionally avoided Grant’s gaze.
He had something in his mouth, a crooked smile. It was incredibly unpleasant, even more than last week’s guy, Chris.
Sitting on her bed, in her makeshift pajamas and stomach just barely full, she felt a knot in her throat.
It wasn’t hunger.
It wasn’t cold.
It was something much worse.
She wanted to cry.
Not silently, not with dignity. Ugly crying. Crying with snot, with sobs, with shaking hands.
She wanted to hug someone.
Someone. Anyone.
No. Rio.
She had never hugged Rio, but she imagined she was probably a great hugger.
She wanted to run away.
Leave and never come back.
How was it possible that just an hour ago she had been laughing in Rio’s room, touching her blanket, listening to her voice… and now her lungs were failing?
The contrast hurt.
Like the impact after a jump. Like falling into reality.
For the first time in a long while, Agatha didn’t want to be alone.
It wasn’t like her life was terrible.
She had a bed. She had food. Her mother didn’t hit her. She just… didn’t look at her.
And that, somehow, sometimes hurt more.
Sometimes, she thought maybe if she wasn’t so different her mother would love her. She hadn’t heard anything said to her with affection or love from her mother in years.
And for a long time now, her house wasn’t that: a home.
It was a place with objects, with nicely painted walls and a kitchen that always smelled like cleaning products.
Her room was pretty. The lights, the carpet, the books arranged by color.
But she hated every inch of that house.
She hated how her mother laughed with Grant.
How she never asked how she was.
How she pretended everything was fine while pushing her closer and closer to collapse.
She hated how every conversation turned into a fight, and how in every argument her mother told her she was just like her father, whom she had never met.
Agatha let herself fall onto the pillow, staring at the ceiling.
Then her mind, as always lately, went back to Rio.
If she told these things to Alice, she wouldn’t understand. Her mom was great, her house was colorful.
But Rio would. At least she imagined so.
She thought of her hair, of her soft voice, of her trembling hands when she handed her the study guide.
How she bit her nails and lips, her questionable fashion sense that most of the time didn’t match.
She thought of an apartment far from Salem.
Just the two of them.
A small kitchen, two matching mugs, old blankets.
Having Rio close.
Sleeping with her on the same couch.
Hugging her tightly.
Touching her hair without it feeling weird.
Kissing her.
The thought was so sudden that Agatha sat up.
No.
No.
Not that.
That was… disgusting. Stupid. A meaningless fantasy.
She couldn’t think about kissing Rio.
She didn’t even know her well.
She was weird. Antisocial. A little clumsy. Dumb.
All her friends hated her. Even Alice had asked her ‘why the hell are you so attached to her?’
And yeah. Maybe she was pretty. In that quiet way.
And maybe lately she was kinder. More talkative. More fun.
Maybe she did ridiculous things like a few days ago when she gave her a new highlighter just because she said she liked the color.
Maybe.
But still, she couldn’t think like that.
Rio wasn’t amazing.
She was just her friend, who she talked to because of a school project.
And in two weeks, when they finally turned it in, they probably wouldn’t talk that much anymore.
And even if it were someone else… even if it were any of the cheerleaders from other schools with their perfect legs and painted lips…
Maybe Agatha would consider a small crush.
A stupid one. Controllable. Superficial.
But this wasn’t that.
And anyway… Agatha didn’t feel anything for Rio Vidal.
Not like that.
Right?