Chapter Text
When Debbie Ocean — she simply refuses to even acknowledge that her name is Deborah — first sees Lou Miller, she doesn’t quite know what to think. Her teacher tells the class that she’s moved all the way from Australia, and that they should be nice to her because “America is a very big and strange place”.
Debbie thinks Mrs Brown is an idiot.
During the first few weeks of term, Debbie watches Lou. She watches her in class as she paints, smashing her small fingers into the dollops of acrylic and smearing it all up her arms and legs, the mix of colours creating a sort of rainbow kaleidoscope Debbie thinks is rather pretty. The brunette watches Lou in the playground as she runs up and down with Amita and Constance, her head tipping back as she laughs, the sound bright and simply captivating. Debbie also watches Lou as she eats, stuffing her perfectly cut ham sandwiches into her mouth, chomping on them ungracefully as she whispers to Daphne and gives Leslie — or Nine Ball, as she insists she’s called — a fist bump.
Debbie doesn’t know what to do. She wants to be there with Lou, laughing, talking, sharing food. She wants Lou to be friends with her , not them. (Debbie actually quite likes Constance; she always steals her brother’s food and brings it to school. Daphne always knows the latest gossip, Amita always gives her gifts for no reason, and Leslie tells her about her mom’s adventures while travelling the world. She just doesn’t like them stealing Lou from her.)
Watching Lou Miller makes Debbie’s stomach churn, and her heart constrict. She’s seven , for God’s sake, but she thinks she may just be in love. Debbie knows all about love from her father — he says it’s a cruel, unforgiving beast that rips away everything you love most, and swallows you whole — but she doesn’t think he’s right. If he was, watching Lou, being around Lou, even thinking about Lou, wouldn't make her so inexplicably happy.
So happy she almost forgets about the bruises covering her back like splattered paint, cuts and scars carved like trenches into her soft skin. So happy she thinks that perhaps another beating from her father isn’t so bad. So happy she actually has hope . (And she hasn’t had that in a long, long time.)
But Debbie doesn’t know what to do about her newfound crush on Lou. She scolds herself for not being able to just match up to the blonde and let the words tumble from her lips. But no , as soon as she even thinks about admitting her feelings, her stomach flips and her heart aches.
She’s too young for heartbreak, right?
So Debbie does what any seven year old would do; she cries. She cries and cries and cries. (But only in secret, never in front of anyone. Never. Ocean’s don’t cry, Deborah. Pull yourself together. )
After three days of going to school with suspiciously blotchy cheeks and puffy eyes, Debbie decides she has to do something to handle her crush on Lou. And since she can’t just walk up to the girl and tell her much she likes her, Debbie decides that her only option is getting Lou to leave.
It takes the brunette just five minutes to come up with the perfect way to get Lou to leave. She sits down at her desk, skinny legs tucked up underneath her, and pulls out a pad and pencil. She’s not brilliant at writing — it looks more like a drunk spider has crawled all over the page than actual words — but she manages to pencil out a short but direct message to Lou.
Get out of my school.
Debbie thinks it’s perfect. And so the next day, she drops the folded paper into Lou’s rucksack and springs away, hoping it’ll be found.
“Why did you write this?”
Debbie spins round, eyes snapping up from the stick she’s sharpening with the small pocket knife her father pushed into her hand when she was six. (She’s never hurt anyone with it, not after watching her father ram a carving knife into her mother’s head after one of their daily screaming matches. She’d died there and then, and Debbie had vowed to never, ever hurt anyone.)
Lou is standing behind her, the small scrap of paper clutched in her grasp, her lips pulled down in a slight frown. The disappointment and hurt filling her bright blue eyes makes Debbie’s heart ache, because it’s clear the blonde is upset. Stupid stupid stupid. Tucking her knife into her pocket, Debbie pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and chews on it aggressively, trying desperately to work out what she’s going to say.
“I— I was jealous.” Debbie’s honest, despite being a littl devil when it comes to lying. She doesn’t know what else to say, and Lou certainly won’t want to be her friend if the first thing she does is lie . Danny always tells her to be honest, even though their father has drilled the art of lying into them ever since they were just four years old.
Lou frowns, because that definitely wasn’t what she expected Debbie to say. The blonde watches as the other girl fiddles with the hem of her faux leather jacket nervously, her fingers skimming over the soft material quickly. Fear swims in Debbie’s dark eyes, interrupted by the golden flecks of hope smattered across the hazel orbs.
Tugging the sleeve of her flannel shirt, Lou lets her lips curve upwards into a shy smile, her straight pearly teeth glinting as she eyes Debbie. Is this what love feels like? Lou thinks so.
But then she realises she hasn’t actually said anything, and Debbie is getting increasingly more nervous, her bottom lip quivering slightly as she fists her jacket. “What? Of who?” Lou asks, stepping closer to the brunette, her eyes twinkling kindly as she stuffs her hands into the pockets of her jeans.
“Your friends. I want to be your friend.” Debbie swallows the tears that threaten to well up in her eyes and pushes her shoulders back. Confidence is key, Deborah. Never forget that.
A wide smile immediately stretches across Lou’s lips, and she launches forwards, wrapping her skinny arms around Debbie’s bony shoulders. She presses her nose into the brunette’s wavy hair and inhales vanilla and cinnamon as she pulls the girl closer to her body. Debbie goes rigid as Lou touches her, and for a moment, the blonde fears she’s going to be pushed away, but then the brunette relaxes, and winds her arms around Lou’s waist, squeezing her tightly.
Lou pulls away after a minute, sensing that Debbie’s starting to get uncomfortable — if the subtle squirming is anything to go by. The blonde steps back and beams, her eyes like sapphires in the warm afternoon sun.“I’d love to be your friend,” Lou mumbles as a dusty pink blush blooms on her pale cheeks.
Debbie thinks that writing that letter was possibly the best decision she ever made.