Chapter Text
I.
It was a patch of evergreen bushes under a tall, thick tree, which rested at the bottom of a hill, making the patch a perfect hiding place for those trying to get away from the looming halls of St. Cecilia’s. Ivy discovered the spot while wandering around after midnight. Surprisingly, the stout matron who patrolled her dorm like a drone, didn’t notice that the window to her room was only slightly ajar. After running down the hill, Ivy noticed a lone tree. A few days later, she found herself drifting back to the tree. It seem to almost welcome her. no matter how she felt, that spot felt like home to her.
She sat with an empty sketchbook, trying to get out an idea for art class. Despite making minor traces of something (someone? her efforts almost seemed to form the shape of roommate Nadia), nothing came out on paper. Nothing worth turning in for a formative grade in her freshman year, anyway. However, pure perfectionism wouldn’t let her go. Despite this, restlessness and frustration overcame her and she ripped the page out of her sketchbook and threw it on her bookbag.
“Fuck,” she whispered softly. Staring at the sketchbook, she sighed, folded her hands across her chest, and closed her eyes.
“Ivy?”
“Fuck!” Ivy scrambled to get up and leaned against the tree, turning to voice that called her name. peter simmonds, in all his awkward glory, stood in front of her with a solemn expression on his face.
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t know you came here. Like. At all. I’ll just, um. Yeah. See you,” he muttered, scratching the back of his head.
“It’s okay, dumbass,” Ivy responded, smirking, pushing down her previous frustration.
“Are you okay?” Peter asked, still standing, as if not knowing whether he could sit down or not.
Ivy motioned him to sit down next to her, and they sat in silence.
“Yeah, I’m fine. just tired,” Ivy explained, playing with the grass on the bottom of the tree. Peter nodded, staring at his knees.
“This thing for art class is just, so dumb. or maybe it’s just me. Like, I’m getting worked up over nothing. I mean, have you ever had that feeling where you want to get something off your chest, but you just can’t get it out?”
Peter stared at her blankly.
“Oh crap, I’m sorry. I ramble when I’m like, worried and shit. Sorry,” Ivy apoligized rapidly. She added, “Do you come here often?”
“Yeah, I mean it’s a nice place to get a load off. I came here, twice already this year? It’s nice, because no one knows about it. Well, you do,” Peter answered, with a small smile towards Ivy. “And yeah, I do know what you mean. About getting something off your chest.”
Ivy slowly leaned into Peter’s shoulder. They sat in a dull quiet, with Peter looking at Ivy a couple of times, as if he wanted to say something. Ivy sighed.
“It can be our spot, if you-” “I’m gay.”
“What.”
“What?”
Ivy sat straight and stared at Peter, who covered his mouth and abruptly stood up.
“I should go,” Peter mumbled as he tried to speed past Ivy.
“Wait, is this the thing you wanted to get off your chest?” Ivy asked, trying to hide the shock from her tone (shock? she had been noticing the stares he had been giving the other boys in their grade).
Peter nodded, messing around with his backpack strap.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have blurted that out but...I just needed to tell someone and I trust you the most, Ivy, and I-” Peter rambled, moving his hands from his backpack strap to his hands. He refused to look at Ivy, who was sitting in front of him. A million things were running through Ivy’s mind. Her art project, now as important as a speck of dust, was the least important thought. Taking a deep breath, she grabbed Peter’s sweaty hand and tried looking him straight in the eye.
“Peter, I honestly don’t know what to say, I mean… what do I say?” She let go of Peter’s hand and stood up. She exhaled. “But, thank you for trusting me. It means a lot.”
Out of the blue, Peter hugged her. She slowly hugged him back. He let go, stood up and turned to Ivy, who had grabbed her sketchbook.
“Hey, um...thank you, Ivy. Y’know, for letting me stay with you,” Peter said with a small smile.
“Anytime,” Ivy replied. He started walking away.
“Hey!” Ivy called out. Peter turned back towards her.
“This? This place? Let’s make it our thing.” As Peter grinned and ran back towards campus, Ivy picked up her sketchbook and her pencil. Inhaling and exhaling, she put the pencil on the paper, and started drawing an image of the tree behind her.