Work Text:
You think you’re mad.
She’s a nerd. A fucking nerd . Metal mouth, cold sores, fashion sense stuck in 1956, but yet here you are. There are moments you see her laugh, moments with her nerd friends and you can’t help but feel your heart flutter at the sight. How her brown eyes light up as they crinkle, her cheeks pink with mirth rise up along the corners of her mouth. She looks so pure , the opposite of how you feel inside. She doesn’t try, in fact she does anything but take care of her appearance aside from that one face cream she puts on every night, yet somehow she looks beautiful. Her face beneath the imperfections, its structure is as if it was sculpted by Aphrodite herself. It makes your head spin.
You’re a cheerleader. You can’t be gay. You can’t be attracted to a nerd. It’s all wrong. You’re the head cheerleader, you date the quarterback, you’re popular, you’re normal and conforming in every single way, and it’s your job to torture the ones who don’t conform. So that’s what you do. You make her life hell. You steal her notes, you force her to do your homework, you call her names.
Metalmouth. Spotty. Dork.
It’s cathartic. You take it too far sometimes, you know that. But it releases the frustration and confusion deep inside you. You have to maintain the social hierarchy, maintain that order. It’s just how it has to be. You’re popular, but also an outcast. Nobody knows you really, you’re just that cheerleader who’s dating the quarterback. Nobody knows how you’re battling with yourself every day, making yourself throw up after every meal and repressing this part of yourself which is incompatible with your whole life. Everyone knows the head cheerleader can’t be a lesbian, that’s just the way it is.
But then sometimes you see her and you question everything. How through gritted teeth as she begrudgingly hands back your homework that you made her do, you see how her eyes look at you. Those eyes, deep and enticing and friendly . It makes your knees feel weak, your legs shake. Your brain becomes fuzzy and you can’t think rationally for a moment, all you can focus on is how close she is to you, how your hand brushes against hers as you take the worksheets. Your chest feels like someone’s sitting on it and you’re breathless. Then rationality returns, and damage control begins.
“Eww, you touched me!” you shriek out, “If I catch warts I’ll ruin your life!”
And so you hide. It’s easier to hide.