Work Text:
A Study in Red
---
“Good luck,” Kira whispers to Allison as everybody picks up their stuff and shifts around the classroom to sit next to the lab partner they’ve been assigned to work with.
“To you too,” Allison replies, because Kira has been partnered up with Greenberg and everybody knows the poor soul is a catastrophe waiting to happen whenever chemistry is involved.
As she walks over to her partner’s table, Allison can’t help but wonder why working with Lydia Martin, of all people, has befallen her. What kind of terrible deeds could she have possibly done lately to warrant such a punishment? Not that she hates Lydia, per se. She doesn’t know the girl well enough to have developed such a personal sentiment. It’s just that she can’t stand mean people, and if there were at Beacon Hills High a shade-throwing, backhanded-compliment-dispensing, passive-aggressive-behaviour-promoting club, Lydia Martin would undoubtedly be the president thereof.
“Creepy metals, huh?” Allison mumbles to herself as she sits down and opens her notebook with reluctance. Though she doesn’t have trouble with chemistry, it isn’t a subject that particularly speaks to her on any level.
“I can tell you, the metals we’re going to experiment with aren’t nearly as creepy as the fella over there with the death glare,” Lydia says blithely, side-eyeing their teacher, and the unexpected comment draws a surprised chuckle out of Allison. “Erica saw him at a rave last Friday, dancing with a girl who couldn’t be older than you or me,” Lydia continues, leaning into Allison’s space, her warm breath tickling Allison’s ear.
“What, really?” Allison whispers back, glancing with questionable subtlety at Mr. Harris. She’s about to ask for more details when she remembers that gossiping is just like junk food: often delicious, but ultimately bad for your arteries. “I mean, um, we should get started on the protocol,” she amends.
“This experiment is pointless,” Lydia says while she flips through the two-page instruction handout that’s been given to them. “If we needed to know the tensile strength of aluminum, we could’ve just googled it.”
“I think the point is to make us figure it out by ourselves,” Allison remarks with a shrug, “in order to foster our scientific mind, I suppose.”
“Boring.”
“Since when is school supposed to be fun?”
Lydia nods, conceding a point to Allison. "You know what would’ve been both interesting and educational?" she asks, her eyes lightening up like she's about to share some life-changing secret. "Creating our own alloys and then proceeding with the testing. And instead of useless metal wires, we could make jewelry or decorative objects or, I don’t know, anything that could serve some practical purpose, and run a cross-comparison of their durability, applicability, and, why not, potential profitability.”
Allison knows she’s staring, but she can’t help herself. “But you’d need a forge or something to melt and combine the metals, right? Where in the school would it be possibly stored, anyway? And wouldn’t it cost a fortune in insurance because it’d be a huge fire hazard? So like, there’s no way our school could afford such a contraption.”
Lydia tilts her head slightly, a small smile tugging at the corner of her coral lips. “Hmm. You must be fun at parties.”
“Says the girl who gets all excited about cross-comparison analyses,” Allison shoots back, quirking her eyebrows. She still can’t believe that it’d be something Lydia would be interested in doing on her own volition.
Lydia's smile widens into something blinding and beautiful. “Oh, it’s fascinating, believe me. But hopefully not quite as fascinating as you might turn out to be.”
Allison just blinks at Lydia, unsure of how to respond. But before she can come up with anything remotely clever to say, Lydia has already stopped paying her any attention and started writing out their experiment protocol.
---
“So, how did it go with Lydia?” Kira asks during lunch.
Two tables down, Lydia is laughing at something Erica has said, head thrown back, hair the colour of autumn leaves cascading on her shoulders. Beside Erica, Isaac is trying to maintain a murderous expression, but the reluctant smile that creeps over his face kind of defeats all his effort. As if feeling the weight of Allison’s stare on her, Lydia turns her head and catches Allison’s eyes, her expression showing nothing but curiosity. Allison almost recoils under the scrutiny, feeling as if she’s been caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to, and quickly looks away, a prickling sensation spreading across her chest.
“Better than I’d thought,” Allison finally answers, unwrapping her sandwich. “She was actually… nice?” Allison isn’t sure that’s the appropriate term, but it’s hard to make accurate assessments of others when you’re constantly on your guard.
Kira sends her an amused look. “Is that a question?”
“No. I mean, she was alright. I guess she had to make at least an effort, since we’re stuck together until the lab project is over.”
“Makes sense. So far, Greenberg has managed not to blow anything up. Hopefully, that’s going to remain a constant.”
Allison raises her water bottle and Kira mirrors the gesture with a chuckle.
---
The following day in Art class, Lydia settles down next to Allison with a casual smile. The silver bangles at her wrists clatter faintly as she adjusts the angle of her easel, her small hands working with grace and precision. Allison is distracted for a moment by the way Lydia’s elaborate updo exposes the delicate curve of her neck, so pale against the dark fabric of her blouse, before she remembers that she’s supposed to say something.
“Um,” Allison starts, but gets cut off by Matt who’s just arrived.
“That’s my spot,” he blurts, his eyes jumping from Lydia to Allison as he shifts from one foot to the other awkwardly.
“I’m sorry, I don’t remember we had assigned seats in this class,” Lydia says, arching a perfectly manicured eyebrow while she stares him down even though she’s the one who’s sitting, legs crossed, fingers laced over one knee.
Matt looks like he’s about to say something, but thinks better of it and shambles off after one last glance at Allison.
“It was kind of his spot,” Allison says quietly, sorting through her paint brushes to find the right one to mix her colours.
“Well, not anymore,” Lydia replies with a little shrug, a smirk on her lips.
Allison squeezes a dollop of green gouache that she mixes with blue and some white to create turquoise, displaying a care that might look a little excessive for what the task actually requires.
“Oh, come on, Allison,” Lydia huffs as she starts preparing her colours as well. “I have noticed the way the two of you have been interacting since the beginning of the school year. Matt has an unhealthy fixation on you and, for some reason, you’re doing nothing to actively discourage him. It wouldn’t surprise me if he was stalking you on social media or even in real life.”
“Don’t say that,” Allison snaps and immediately regrets it, because she knows Lydia isn’t totally wrong. “You don’t know him.”
“And you do?”
Allison’s brush slides across the blank canvas in quick, desultory strokes. “He’s not a bad person,” she finally says after a while, dipping her brush in clean water and washing away the blue paint. “He’s always been nice to me, even after, um, what happened last year.”
“You mean when you kicked Jackson’s ass in front of the whole school?”
“I probably shouldn’t have resorted to violence, but he was being a jackass to Kira and me,” Allison says, tired of having to justify herself once more, her grip tightening around her brush handle.
She transferred to Beacon Hills High in Sophomore year, just like Kira who came all the way from New York, and they immediately bonded over being the new girls in town. Kira has been her best friend ever since.
“You can say it, you know,” Lydia says, scrunching up her nose a little.
“Say what?”
“Jackson wasn’t just being a jackass. He is a jackass practically twenty-four seven. That day, however, he said something that was beyond rude to Kira. He deserved to get his stupid ass kicked. You were only defending your friend.”
“Well, for all the good that it did to me.” Allison sighs and starts adding gold and pink to her painting.
Before the incident, it wasn’t like people were fighting for her attention, but after, they started going out of their way to give her a wide berth wherever she went, as if fearing that she would jump at their throats if they so much as gave her a funny look. The only exceptions to the rule were two boys in her year, Scott and Stiles with whom she’d hardly exchanged more than two words up until then, who began hanging out with her and Kira occasionally. The fact that they were some kind of social pariahs themselves might have had something to do with it, but Allison never dwelled on it, acutely aware that her situation could have been much worse.
The sound of Lydia clearing her throat pulls Allison out of her thoughts. “I’ve never actually apologized for that, have I?”
“Apologized for what?” Allison turns her head toward Lydia, eyebrows raised quizzically.
“I was dating Jackson back then and when I learned what happened, I felt the worst second-hand humiliation imaginable. I was so pissed that some random girl went all batshit crazy after he’d made an innocent joke, because that was what I’d been told, so I started digging up dirt on you. I found out your dad was an arms dealer, so I spread the rumour that your family was probably involved in the extermination business, but, um, not exactly the pest control kind.”
Lydia’s face contorts into an expression of absolute mortification, and all Allison can do is stare at her, wide-eyed and disbelieving. Since when did Allison’s life turn into a stereotypical drama-ridden teen movie? She honestly doesn’t know whether she should laugh or throw a fit.
Lydia worries at her bottom lip for a moment before she heaves a sigh and adds, “I might have also heavily implied that you suffered from incurable anger management issues.”
She bows her head, clearly contrite, her hands fumbling with the hem of her pleated skirt. Allison wants to be mad at Lydia; she even concentrates for a moment to summon up the feeling, but all that comes to the surface is mild annoyance laced with amusement.
“That’s why they’ve been calling me the ‘Mob Princess’,” Allison realizes, managing to keep a straight face. “I have to say, there is a certain ring to it.”
Lydia winces. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s alright,” Allison says with a shrug, her mouth twisting into a small smile. “I’m actually surprised that you didn’t spread something more damaging.”
“I was going to,” Lydia responds, colour blooming on her cheeks, “but Kira came to me and explained everything. I dumped Jackson right away and tried to stifle all the gossip, but it had spread like wildfire already. There wasn’t much I could do at that point anymore.”
“It’s been a year already. People don’t seem to care all that much anymore. I guess they’re still keeping their distance out of habit more than because of a silly rumour.”
“Still, what I did was nasty and juvenile. You didn’t deserve any of the shit you went through because of my mistake. For all that, I truly apologize.”
Allison stares at Lydia for a moment, and all she can read on Lydia’s beautiful face is sincere remorse. Oh, what the hell. Even if she tries, she’s incapable of holding a grudge for very long. “Apology accepted,” she finally says with a nod. “But don’t think I’m not expecting you to make it up to me somehow,” she adds jokingly, lightly poking Lydia’s shoulder with the tip of her brush handle.
“Oh, I’m counting on it,” Lydia replies with a wink, playfully batting Allison’s brush away.
---
She runs into Lydia a couple of days later at a foreign language bookstore, of all places, where Allison likes to spend her afternoons.
“Hey, Allison,” Lydia says, a lilt to her voice, slowly eying Allison up and down.
“Hi, Lydia,” Allison replies, feeling her cheeks heat up. She clutches the books piled up in her arms closer to her chest as if to create some sort of barrier between her and Lydia.
“L’Élégance du hérisson, that’s a good one,” Lydia comments, glancing at the book on top of the stack that Allison’s carrying. “Ça parle, entre autres, de gens qui s’avèrent différents de l’image qu’ils projettent.”
Allison’s eyebrows crawl up toward her hairline. “I didn’t know you spoke French.”
“Probablement pas aussi bien que toi,” Lydia replies with a coy smile.
“Oh, I can read it and understand it pretty well, I guess, but when it comes to speaking, it’s a whole other story,” Allison explains, pink colouring her cheeks.
“Your parents don’t speak it with you?”
Allison shakes her head, the familiar feeling of regret tugging at her heart. “I’m fourth generation and although my dad speaks it fluently because of his job, our household has always been English only. I started learning it properly in school and I get to practice a little whenever we go visit relatives in France, but that’s about it as far as my exposure to the language is concerned.”
“When I was in grade school, there was a family from Quebec living next door to us. I befriended their daughter and got to hang out at their house a lot. The parents only spoke French to each other and to their kids, and I picked up some words and sentences and expressions along the way. I took up studying it freshman year, along with Latin. Ever since, I’ve been consuming a lot of francophone media and culture.”
Their conversation easily shifts toward movies and literature. Soon enough, Allison finds out that, though Lydia is partial to high culture, she has no patience for elitism. She even goes on a ten-minute rant about why art should be accessible to everyone, not necessarily in terms of content – since people experience art differently – but rather in terms of exposure.
To say that Allison is impressed would be an outrageous understatement. The more she learns about Lydia, the more she realizes that what she thought she knew about her is actually wildly inaccurate. And it makes Allison crave for more. So much more.
---
A week later, Allison is standing awkwardly inside Lydia’s bedroom, fumbling with the strap of her school bag. She takes in the lavender walls decorated with abstract paintings, the rococo vanity in the corner where Lydia’s fragrance is most concentrated – an exquisite blend of magnolias and peonies –, and the gigantic mahogany shelf next to the window, stocked to full capacity with books of all sorts.
“Make yourself comfortable,” Lydia says as she flops on her bed with a contented sigh, spreading her limbs like a starfish.
Fighting a soft smile that is threatening to appear on Allison’s face, she walks over to Lydia’s desk and sits down in her swivel chair, intent on getting their lab report over with as soon as possible. Not that she doesn’t enjoy spending time with Lydia. The problem is, she might be enjoying it a little too much.
Allison’s gaze drifts toward Lydia’s profile, soft hills and valleys that rise and fall to the rhythm of her breath. “We could start after you take a quick nap, if you want. You look a little tired.”
“Just. Give me a minute,” Lydia replies, voice sluggish, eyes fluttering shut.
A week ago, Allison would’ve been affronted by the perspective of winding up doing the group project all by herself because her lab partner would’ve been more interested in taking naps and skipping work altogether. But she has come to learn that Lydia’s got a control-freak streak that actually makes task delegation kind of difficult for her. Lydia would rather do the whole thing alone – and probably get an A – than let Allison carry everything on her shoulders unfairly.
Lydia’s singular minute turns into thirty-seven and counting. In the meantime, Allison has been steadily answering one question after the other, and by the time Lydia wakes up, she’s already got half of the work covered.
“Hey, you should’ve woken me up,” Lydia says with a yawn, rubbing her eyes groggily.
“Nah, you looked like you really needed that nap. But don’t worry, I didn’t touch the questions with the tables and the graphs and the diagrams. I know how much you were dying to answer them.”
“As a matter of fact, I only live for those kinds of moments,” Lydia deadpans, reaching over for a metallic tin on her nightstand and popping a mint into her mouth.
“Feeling better?”
“Yeah. Stayed up a little late last night to google math stuff.”
“That’s your idea of fun?”
“It wasn’t for me, though.”
Allison just lifts an eyebrow, a silent invitation for Lydia to continue.
“I tutor math,” Lydia reveals, her voice steady and clear although her eyes are drifting downward, as if she was slightly embarrassed. When she notices Allison’s surprise, she shrugs and quickly adds, “It’s good for my resume. Anyway, one of my tutees has been having trouble solving trigonometric equations and I needed better ways to explain them to him.”
Allison’s face splits into a triumphant smile, like she’s just caught Lydia with her hand in the cookie jar. “You care!”
Lydia rolls her eyes, though she can’t quite conceal the amused smile tugging at her lips. “I’m thorough.”
“Like you are with most things you do in life, I’m sure,” Allison replies with an eye roll of her own.
“Absolutely,” Lydia says, getting out of her bed and raking a hand in her hair. “And I could show you just how thorough I can be if you’d just let me.”
Before Allison can process what Lydia has just said, Lydia has walked over and is already bracketing Allison between her arms, her hands steadily pressed against the armrests of Allison’s chair. Allison swallows hard and looks up, catches the fire in Lydia’s eyes for a fraction of a second before she feels the pressure of Lydia’s mouth against her own, soft but insistent.
“Is this okay?” Lydia leans back too soon and asks, her usually raspy voice somewhat huskier, mint-flavoured breath filling up Allison’s nose.
“Yeah,” Allison whispers, raising her hands to rest them on Lydia’s hips like they’ve always been meant to. “But definitely not thorough enough.”
“Don’t worry. I don’t do false advertisement,” Lydia says with a chuckle before she leans in again, hands cupping Allison’s jaw.
---
Fin