7 Works by cop663
Listing Works
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“Okay,” Becka says, in that voice she uses when she wants to appease her friend. “With who?”
Hannah turns to her side, propping up on an elbow, so that she can gaze down at Becka, who’s busy sinking into her beanbag - all the while preparing to say one of the single worst names Becka’s ever heard in her life. “His name’s Garth.”
Becka has too many things to worry about before graduating, and one of them is getting to the graduating part in the first place.
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It started, like most things did, with Shunammite.
“If God made you an animal,” she begins, diplomatically, “which do you think He would choose?”
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Agnes MacKenzie was good.
Becka knew that long before she’d met her.
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Contrary to what most would believe, this honestly isn’t the worst date Nat’s been on.
She doesn’t even know why she tapped the heart on the profile in the first place. It’s not her usual type - far from, if we’re being specific, but Van had told her to “broaden her horizons” or whatever that’s supposed to mean, and she certainly hadn’t expected to be her type either.
She’s never exactly been at the top of the list for preppy femmes at school, and she didn’t think it’d start now of all times.
One Saturday afternoon, and Nat's swearing off all dating apps. All thanks to a certain someone.
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Lottie narrows her eyes for a moment, in the middle of the waiting, and then, completely deadpan: “I need you to be my girlfriend.”
Admittedly: this isn’t the craziest thing Lottie has uttered in her presence - but it’s damn near close to what’s in first place.
Nat learns more about Lottie Matthews in one summer than she has in every other year that's preceded.
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“Yeah, sooooo,” PJ drags the O. “If you want to, I can give her the heads up that she won’t have to be alone, by herself, with no date on our only senior prom day… Just let me know.”
Alone. By herself. With no date on their only senior prom day. Isabel’s head is about to explode with the prospect of that being her fate. “Okay.”
Isabel can't go to prom with Jeff. But she also can't go to prom alone. She'll just have to figure something out.
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Nat takes a chance to look around again, distracted by the thought of the missing Spider-woman in the space. Did she just up and leave while Nat’s suspended up here and, ugh, technically helpless?
Nothing looks remarkably red and blue from where she hangs, and Nat’s about to accept her fate now—dead at eighteen, Rutgers freshman, soccer playing time of zero—when she feels someone else’s touch wrap around her limbs, and thank God it’s not another slimy tentacle.
Nat starts seeing New Jersey's Spider-woman a little too many more times than she'd like.