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Despite having lived most of their lives on the same dead end street, Carol Danvers and Maria Rambeau haven’t actually been friends since they were fourteen.
One could say life keeps throwing them together, but the truth is they haven’t ever gotten thrown apart, not really.
●
“You call that a back handspring?” A familiar voice rises above the stadium.
Carol’s heart skips a beat as she stops in her tracks behind the bleachers. She’s already late for English Lit, and it takes her approximately two and a half seconds to decide she might as well skip it altogether. She fishes her cigarettes from the pocket of her flannel and taps one out of the pack.
“Jesus christ. Stand down, all of you. Peter’s gonna show you how it’s done.”
She lights the cigarette, and settles to lean against the metal structure.
“You can’t keep comparing the rest of us to him! He used to do fucking ballet!”
Carol can tell it’s Pepper, one of the spotters. Intense, but kind of nice. Cute freckles. Really good at physics.
She takes a deep drag, digging the toe of her sneaker into the dirt. You should just go, she tells herself. This is beneath you.
Carol likes to pretend she hates the whole fucking cheer squad, but that’s not exactly it — in fact she’d pretty much ignore them entirely if it wasn’t for their captain, whom she only acknowledges with a cordial nod when they’re passing each other by the lockers.
(Theirs are seven rows apart. Not that Carol has counted.)
●
“Danvers!”
Carol is leaning against the fountain, leafing through a zine Yelena gave her for a dime bag. She looks up, blinking against the sun.
“Carol.” It comes out softer, somehow. Maria is standing by the stairs, haloed in the golden late afternoon light.
Carol tries to conjure some kind of a smile, reaching up to pull her sunglasses over her eyes. “Hey. What’s up?”
Maria clears her throat and crosses the distance between them, adjusting the bag on her shoulder. “I think I saw you yesterday? By the bleachers?”
Carol pushes the zine into her backpack. “Um, yeah, I was on my way to class and saw you practicing.” She swallows heavily. “You guys are good.”
Maria huffs a laugh. “Listen, we used to be great, but it’s not been the same since we lost Nat to Sacramento State.”
Carol gives her a sideways nod. “I’m sure you’ll recover.”
The corner of Maria’s mouth ticks up in a half-smile that tugs at something familiar and painful behind Carol’s ribs. She makes as if to leave, but instead turns back on her heels and says, “It’s my birthday this weekend.”
I know, Carol thinks, feeling her jaw clench. “That’s nice.”
“I’m having a party at my dad’s house. You should come.”
Carol shakes her head. “Thanks, but I don’t… think that would be a good idea.”
Something flickers in Maria’s eyes, but she keeps smiling. “Oh, come on. It’ll be fun.”
Carol resists sniping back with Fun for who, exactly and just shrugs.
“Promise you’ll think about it?” Maria tilts her head to the side. “You know the address,” she continues, jangling her car keys.
Goddamnit.
“Okay, I’ll think about it.”
●
Carol stretches her legs out, a long tendril of smoke tumbling from her lips. She closes her eyes and holds the joint out in Wanda’s general direction. “Maria invited me to her birthday party this weekend.”
The rolling paper crackles. “Who, Rambeau?” Wanda asks, coughing softly. “Why?”
“This might sound weird, but—” Carol pauses, looking up at the ceiling “—we used to be friends. A long time ago.”
●
The warm September night is alive with music blasting at a questionable volume and bursts of laughter drifting from inside the house. Carol is sitting by the pool, the Rambeaus’ ancient family cat Goose curled against her hip.
The party sounds like it’s on the verge of getting out of control, and she’s just trying to figure out how to slip away unnoticed when she hears footsteps behind her.
“Can I sit here?”
Carol stubs out her cigarette. “It’s your pool.”
Maria folds herself down onto the deck, the hem of her dress spilling over Carol’s toes. It tickles, but she doesn’t move her foot away.
“You hate it here.”
Carol tries not to smile. “I hate the music,” she offers diplomatically.
Maria exhales sharply through her nose. “You’re such a snob.”
Carol runs her fingers through the cat’s soft stomach fur. “I’m pretty sure Goose agrees with me.”
“She misses you.” Maria’s eyes are watchful as she reaches over for Carol’s cigarettes.
Carol draws a deep breath, trying her best to ignore the way something tightens inside her chest. “She's gotta be a hundred years old by now.” She narrows her eyes at Maria. “Should you be smoking, star athlete and all?”
“Fuck you,” Maria says, very softly, and throws the pack back at Carol. She looks out across the yard, the pool lights reflecting in her eyes. “Remember when your cousin fell in there?”
Carol nods. “Bucky’s actually on the swim team these days, over at UMass.”
Maria laughs around her cigarette, bright and loud. “You’re kidding me.”
“Honest to god.” Carol drains her beer. “I think he’s fucking the team captain, though,” she adds.
They sit in silence for a long while before Maria says, “I’m glad you came, you know.”
“Yeah?” Carol looks at her out of the corner of her eye. “Well, music aside, it’s not quite as bad as I thought it would be.”
Maria rolls her eyes. “We can’t all be as cool as you.” She drops the cigarette stub into her almost empty drink and gets up. “Look, I know you hate me or whatever, but— don’t be a stranger, okay?”
Carol watches as she walks back to the house, the hem of her dress billowing in her wake, and disappears through the sliding doors.
She pulls Goose into her lap, burying her face into the warm, orange fur.
But you don’t, do you, she thinks to herself. You don’t hate her, not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.