Chapter Text
The weird thing about Regina George is that you notice when she’s gone.
I’m not sitting around staring at an empty seat in English class like some lovesick idiot. I have better things to do. I have a band that’s one shitty rehearsal away from destroying itself, a mountain of homework I’ve successfully avoided for the past week, and a bitchy little brother who can annoy me even when we’re not in the same room.
I have a life. A very busy, very important life.
And yet somehow, I know exactly how many days Regina George has been absent.
Four.
Four days.
Which is ridiculous.
We’ve spoken maybe three times, and two of those times involved her insulting me.
But the thing about Regina Fucking George is that she’s impossible to ignore.
She’s the type of person who walks into a room and changes it without even trying. People sit up straighter. Conversations shift. Everyone suddenly becomes more aware of what they’re wearing and how they look. Everyone becomes just so aware of her. Because god, this girl is unbelievable.
It’s honestly exhausting.
The most annoying part is that she doesn’t even seem to notice she’s doing it. Or maybe she does.
The first day she didn’t show up to English, I assumed she was skipping.
The second day, I assumed she was still skipping.
By the third day, I reluctantly recognised she’d been gone too long a while.
By the fourth day, I had somehow developed an awareness of Regina’s schedule.
Which is definitely not normal. I blame the fact that Northshore is boring.
The school is basically a giant aquarium. Everyone watches everyone else, waiting for something interesting to happen. The second someone does something remotely dramatic, suddenly the whole place knows.
And Regina? Regina is basically the main fucking attraction. So when she disappears, everyone notices. Especially people like Gretchen and Karen. Which is why I’m not exactly surprised when I hear their voices near the vending machines after lunch.
"...Aaron still thinks she's sick."
I stop walking.
Not because I’m interested. I’m just stopping. Near an empty wall. Completely normal.
Gretchen’s voice is instantly recognisable. She always sounds like she’s seconds away from a breakdown, even when she’s just talking about something as harmless as homework.
"Omigod, Gretchen, don't say it so loudly," Karen whisper-shouts, nudging her shoulder. "Someone could hear you."
I glance around the corner. There they are, Regina's little minions.
Gretchen is clutching her pink Pandora bag like her life depends on it, while Karen is casually drinking some bright pink drink that probably contains enough sugar to power a small country.
"I’m just saying," Karen continues, "it’s weird that Aaron doesn’t know."
Gretchen looks horrified as she quickly lifts her free arm, the nude manicured nails on her slim fingers sinking into Karen’s cashmere jacket.
"Karen."
"What? Everyone knows Shane likes her." Karen says, tilting her head, confused at Gretchen's stressed expression.
Interesting.
I lean slightly against the wall, the corners of my lips slowly lifting into an amused grin.
"They were together again yesterday," Karen reminds her friend, "They skipped after lunch."
Gretchen lowers her voice.
"Regina is going to kill me if she finds out I told you."
"Do you think Aaron will find out?" Karen wonders, her neat, plucked brows coming together into a frown.
Gretchen sighs, her shoulders rising as she shrugs.
"I don't know. But if he does, Regina is going to lose her shit."
That actually makes me pause.
Because everybody thinks Barbie’s life is perfect, organised and neat. Indestructible. Huh.
I push away from the wall before they notice me, fiddling with the chain around my neck.
Probably should forget the whole thing.
Probably should mind my own business.
Unfortunately, I’ve never been particularly good at doing either of those things.
———
By the end of the day, after skipping the last half of school to practice with the band in my van, I’m tired in the satisfying way. The kind of tired that comes from hitting drums for three hours straight until your arms feel like they might fall off. Löded Diper practice was actually decent today, which is rare enough that I’m considering writing it down as a historical event.
Ben only messed up twice. Our guitarist didn’t break anything. Nobody argued for more than twenty minutes.
A miracle.
I’m walking through the parking lot, my bag hanging off one shoulder, when I see the car.
A bright pink convertible.
Of course.
Because apparently Barbie’s vehicle needs to announce her arrival before she even gets out of it. She’s standing beside it, looking down at her phone, completely calm. Which is impressive, considering most people after a long school day look like they’ve been personally attacked by education.
Regina somehow still looks perfectly put together.
It’s annoying. God, everything about this girl is annoying. Annoyingly perfect.
She's leaning against the side of her convertible like she stepped straight out of a magazine shoot instead of the dump that is Northshore High. One hand holds her flip phone while the other absentmindedly twirls her car keys around a perfectly manicured finger. Her blonde hair catches the late-afternoon sun, almost glowing, and oversized sunglasses sit atop her head like they're another expensive accessory she was born wearing. Every movement she makes is effortless, calculated without looking calculated, the kind of confidence people spend their whole lives trying to fake. A second passes, and now her eyes are on mine. Those eyes are fucking dangerous. Not because they’re angry, or even because they’re sharp. They’re dangerous because they are impossible to look away from.
A grin pulls at the corner of my mouth before I can stop it.
There’s something about Regina George that makes me want to be an annoying dickhead purely out of principle. Maybe it’s the way she walks around like the entire world was designed with her in mind, Or maybe it’s the fact that every conversation with her feels like some kind of silent competition where neither of us is willing to admit we’re playing.
Either way, I know exactly what reaction I’m going to get before I even open my mouth.
"Miss me?" I shout from twenty feet away.
Regina slowly lifts her gaze from her phone. For a second, she just looks at me– Not angry, not surprised, not even remotely impressed. Just fucking exhausted by my existence.
Honestly? It’s probably the most Regina George reaction possible.
She has this talent for making a person feel like they’ve interrupted something incredibly important, even when she’s literally just standing in a school parking lot scrolling through her messages. It’s almost impressive.
"If I say yes," she says eventually, slipping her phone into her bag, "will you leave faster?"
I let out a laugh, shaking my head slightly. The Regina George charm. Or whatever the opposite of charm is.
"Wow," I say, leaning back against the side of my truck. "Four days without seeing me and you're already emotional."
Barbie's pretty face is cold and inexpressive.
"I think you're confusing emotional with irritated."
I smirk despite myself. That's the thing about Regina- everyone thinks she's impossible to read.
They see the perfect hair, the expensive clothes, the confidence that seems almost ridiculous, and they assume there’s nothing underneath it. Like she’s some kind of perfectly constructed statue that someone placed in the middle of Northshore just to make everyone else feel worse about themselves.
But she isn’t. Not completely. There are cracks.
Tiny ones.
The slight pause before she answers when something catches her off guard. The way her eyes narrow when she’s trying to figure someone out. The way she immediately fixes her expression whenever she realises someone has seen past the version of herself she wants everyone to believe.
Most people don’t notice.
But I do.
Maybe because I’m just as good at pretending not to care.
Maybe because recognising a fake is easier when you’re one yourself.
I push away from the truck and glance towards her.
"So..." I say casually, dragging the word out just enough to make it obvious I’m about to say something she won’t like. "How’s Shane?"
For once, Regina George actually hesitates.
It’s barely anything.
A fraction of a second.
A tiny pause most people wouldn’t even register. But I do.
Her fingers tighten around the strap of her bag, and her eyes flicker with something that almost looks like surprise before her expression smooths over again. Just like that –the mask is back.
Perfect. Untouchable.
Like she didn’t just give herself away.
"What about him?" she asks nonchalantly, her voice calm. Too calm.
I’ve known enough people to know that the calmer someone sounds, the more likely they’re trying to hide something. I shrug, forcing myself to look casual.
"Nothing. Just heard some interesting things,” I say pointedly.
Her eyes narrow slightly.
"Interesting things from who?" She enquires, leaning forward slightly.
"Does it matter?" I retort, knowing damn well it does.
"Considering you’re apparently collecting gossip now?" she replies in annoyance, folding her arms across her hot pink shirt. "Yeah. I’d say it matters."
I can't help the smirk that spreads across my face. Even when she’s annoyed, she has this ridiculous ability to sound like she’s delivering a final statement in a courtroom.
"Relax," I murmur. "I'm not starting a Burn Book." I’d heard about the incident from Gretchen as she gossiped behind me in chemistry with some irrelevant girl.
That gets a reaction- her perfect brows furrow, and she breathes in sharply through her nose.
The smallest reminder that beneath all the confidence and perfectly planned insults, Regina George is still human.
Her eyes harden again. "I don't know what you think you know," she says, her voice returning to that polished, controlled tone, "but I really don't give a shit."
"Sure," I reply, taking a small step toward her.
"I'm serious." She whispers coolly.
Oh, is she now?
I lean in toward those eyes slightly. Today, she smells like coconut. "I know."
Her breath hitches quietly. That small action causes my smirk to grow impossibly wider.
A Beat passes.
"Then why are you still standing there?" She asks innocently, tilting her head a little to the side, not breaking eye contact.
I open my mouth. Nothing comes out.
Good question. I should go.
I should walk away, get into my truck, go home, and forget this entire conversation happened.
Instead, I stay.
Because annoying Regina George might genuinely be one of the most entertaining things I’ve discovered since transferring here.
I shrug, feigning nonchalance.
"Because you're fun to annoy."
For a second, she just stares at me, her gaze piercing.
Then she exhales, looking away whilst shaking her head like she’s questioning every decision that led her to this exact moment.
"You need better hobbies."
Damn right about that.
Regardless, I stand my ground:
"I have hobbies."
She scoffs in amusement, flicking her glossy hair over her shoulder, "Apparently irritating people is one of them."
I smirk, eyes following the action, "Only the interesting ones."
And there it is. For the briefest second, something changes – her mouth almost curves. Almost.
Like she might actually laugh. Then she catches herself.
Because the Regina George does not laugh at Rodrick Heffley.
Obviously.
Instead, she just looks offended.
"You are unbelievable."
I shrug, "So I've heard."
"They’re right."
She turns towards her car, clearly deciding this conversation has reached its natural conclusion. Before she opens the door, she pauses, her delicate hand resting on the handle.
"Oh, and Rodrick?"
I look up.
"Yeah?"
Her eyes move over me slowly.
The faded band shirt.
The messy hair.
The dark eyeliner.
The ripped jeans.
The chains hanging from my belt.
The exact outfit that makes me look like the kind of guy teachers warn each other about in the staff room.
A smirk threatens to appear.
“You still dress like a failed rock star who lost a fight with a laundry basket. ”
I laugh. An actual, full-on laugh.
"There she is," I murmur, my eyes finding hers
She rolls her eyes, climbs into the driver's seat, and starts the engine. The sound cuts through the quiet parking lot, drowning out the distant voices of students leaving for the day. For a second, I think
she’s going to leave without another word.
But then the window lowers.
She looks back at me.
"Try not to make your entire personality irritating people."
I grin widely.
"No promises."
She shakes her head like I’m hopeless. Then she drives away.
I watch the convertible disappear through the school gates, its pink paint catching the last of the afternoon sun before it slips out of sight.
Which is stupid.
Because Regina George is a problem.
A huge one.
The kind that comes with expensive shoes, an attitude problem, and a reputation that could destroy someone before lunch.
And I already have enough problems.
But somehow...
I have a feeling Regina George is the kind that doesn’t just disappear.