Chapter Text
“Why does she hate me?”
Clarke hated the sound of desperation in her voice. Her friend Jasper just shrugged at her, taking a long sip of his drink. He didn't look at her, instead opting to scan the small coffee shop. When his gaze finally fell back on the blonde and he put his cup down, he spoke: “Why don’t you just let it go? Isn't it like a signature ‘goth chick’ thing to hate everyone, especially the smart kids?”
“You’re one to talk,” Clarke fired back. “It’s so obvious that you have the biggest crush on Octavia, and she’s one of their gang.” She shifted against the back of the booth seat, sinking into it. "Besides, I'm pretty sure they're punk, not goth. Goth is more black."
“Look, Clarke,” Jasper ran a hand through his messy dark hair and pushed it out of his face only to have it spring back into the same position. “I've accepted the fact that she’s got a thing for that other Lincoln guy, and I’m giving her space. I can still see from a distance, though, if you know what I mean.”
The blond girl snorted at him and reached across the table to give his shoulder a push. “You still have hope she might like you.”
Jasper raised his hands in defense, “I’m not gonna deny that. I did save her from failing a chemistry test, after all.”
Clarke shook her head. “You just said, five minutes ago, that they hate smart kids.”
“But I’m a different kind of smart. I mean, I’m book smart, but I use that knowledge to make candy, not get into college.”
“Wow, we've got a bad boy over here; someone call the cops.”
Jasper smirked. “They already tried.”
“Yeah, I know," Clarke grinned back. "But Monty got you out of that one, so get off your high horse.”
His face fell again and he looked slightly annoyed at Clarke. He propped his elbows up on the table and looked at the blonde curiously, as if he was about to shift the topic. He drummed his fingers on the table. “You didn't tell me why you cared.”
Clarke raised her eyebrows, leaning forward as well. “Cared about what?”
“About why Goth Princess hates you. Or Punk Princess, whatever. Anyway, you know why I’m all about Octavia, but you didn't tell me why you’re caught up with… what’s her name?”
“Lexa.” Clarke pursed her lips, seeing where this was going.
“Right. Leader of the punks, how could I forget?” he muttered sarcastically. “She hates me, too. Why do you care?”
“I think she only hates you because you’re trying to get close to Octavia.”
Jasper shook his head and held up a finger. “Negative. I believe ‘tried’ is the word you’re looking for. Past tense. We've established this.” He smiled at Clarke and she rolled her eyes. Before she could retort, he continued, “You didn't answer me. Why do you care?”
“I don’t know,” she told him, and it at least felt like the truth. Something in her stomach flipped at the thought of the other girl and she willed it to calm down.
Jasper leaned further towards her with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Could it be that the infamous Clarke Griffin has a thing for someone other than Finn?”
“I’m not with Finn, nor do I like him anymore,” Clarke said, glaring daggers at her friend. “Say that again and I’ll slap you.”
Jasper just looked smug, not easing down. “That wasn't a ‘no.’”
“You’re right,” she said, clearly exasperated, “it wasn't, because I don’t have time for this.” The blonde stood up to leave, but the jingling of the coffee shop door interrupted her. Both teenagers glanced at it, only to see a group of girls walk in.
There were three of them, all dressed in mostly black. The leader was flanked by the other two. One of the girls had bleached blond hair, the top of it tied back into braids with the rest hanging down past her shoulders. She, like the girl next to her, was dressed in a leather jacket and walked with pride. The other girl had dark hair similarly tied back with a few side braids, and she was a bit shorter.
The leader had a gait grander than the other two. Lexa wore knee-high boots and leather gloves. The top she wore was black and long-sleeved with a texture that looked like scales. Her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows and she had a black jean vest on with jagged bright and dark red marks on it. Her hair was tied back into a multitude of braids that mixed with loose hair in the back. All three were wearing loads of dark makeup around their eyes, but hers was the most prominent. They all got into line to order their drinks.
Clarke was back in her seat from the minute they had walked through that door. Her back was to them, but she still put a hand in front of her face to hide it from view, looking at Jasper and hissing, “Why is she here?”
He shook his head and shrugged. “No idea. Chill out, they haven’t seen you. What’s she gonna do, bite your head off in the middle of the cafe?”
“You’re right,” Clarke leaned backwards against the back of the booth and crossed her arms in front of her chest, staring at Jasper and willing herself not to look over at Lexa and her gang. “I’m not going give her the satisfaction of seeing me leave right after she got here.”
“Clarke, that’s not what I was getting at,” Jasper squinted at her. “Look, Octavia’s there too.” He subtly motioned his head towards the dark-haired girl in the leather jacket. She was waiting in line with Lexa, looking at the menu on the wall. He didn't take her eyes off of her as he continued talking. “She’s hot, but I’m not making a deal out of this.”
The blonde shook her head. “It’s not the same.” She was about to go on, but Jasper cut her off.
“How’s it any different? She’s hot, you’re hot for her--”
“That’s enough, Jasper,” she glowered at him, almost standing up out of her seat. “Stop jumping to conclusions.”
“You’re the one jumping,” he pointed out in a matter-of-fact manner, raising his eyebrows at her tense figure and she sank back against the booth, shaking her head.
"You’re an idiot sometimes.”
“You sound like Monty.”
“What a blossoming friendship you two have, calling each other idiots and doing that weird self-high-five thing you do.”
Jasper mocked looking offended. “Hey, it’s not weird! It’s our handshake. Don’t dis the handshake.”
“Wouldn't it be more of one if you actually shook hands? Or at least high-fived each other?”
“Alright, fine. It’s a little weird,” the boy admitted, then he looked at Clarke suspiciously. “Stop changing the topic. You’re trying to shift the subject so we don't have to talk about Lexa.”
“Yeah, sue me,” Clarke sighed, putting her face in her hands and running them up through her long hair. "Alright, well,” she continued, “I’m leaving right now either way. You coming?” She glanced back at her friend with an expression that only meant one thing: drop it.
Jasper shrugged and grabbed his things, seeming to know that the conversation was over. He stood up just as Clarke did and they walked to the door. Once they were out, Clarke looked at the glass over her shoulder and swore that she saw a brown face with black-framed eyes look at her, but only for a moment.