Chapter Text
Stephanie Lauter would be lying if she said she was a good student. The truth is, she's a lousy student. She can't ever seem to focus. Teachers have been telling her that for years.
Her dad never buys it.
"You just need to apply yourself, Stephanie," he told her after the school's open-house, his voice full of disdain. "Not everything is going to be handed to you easily just because you're the mayor's daughter."
She had scoffed, rolling her eyes as she stared out of the window.
That had been almost three weeks ago.
Now, she sits in the front row of her Chemistry class, fiddling with her pencil instead of paying attention.
"Everyone, listen up!" Miss Mulberry calls from the front of the room. "That includes you , Miss Lauter!"
Rolling her eyes, Steph sighs as she looks up, trying her best to pay attention.
"I'm assigning you all a project," Miss Mulberry announces, ignoring the protesting groans she gets. "It'll be three parts: an essay turned into me; a slideshow presentation given to your peers; and a live experiment for all of us to enjoy!"
"Jesus Christ," Steph mutters under her breath.
"Now don't worry, you have until the end of the semester to complete it," Miss Mulberry assures them, "But be sure that once you know what your project will be on, you tell me! Points will be deducted if you do the same experiment as someone else!"
Okay, that's not terrible. Steph glances around the room, trying to decide which of her friends wouldn't be the worst to work with. Not Brenda, she'll want to work with one of the other cheerleaders. Maybe Brooke-
"And don't worry about picking a partner, because I've already paired you up!" Miss Mulberry declares cheerfully as she picks up a list from her desk. "Let's see. First we have Stephanie Lauter with Peter Spankoffski. Next, Richard Lipschitz with-"
Steph doesn't hear anything else that's said. Slowly, she turns her head to look at the kid that sits next to her. Fucking Peter Spankoffski, the biggest nerd this school has ever seen, complete with suspenders and a fucking bowtie.
He glances over at her, only to quickly look away. He seems… terrified for some reason.
Steph frowns.
"Okay," Miss Mulberry says once she's done reading her list, "We have about ten minutes left of class. Meet with your partners and use this time wisely ."
She gives them all a stern look over her glasses as the grating sound of desks being shifted fills the room. The sound of muted conversations quickly replaces the noise.
Sighing, Steph spins her body so she's facing Peter. "Sup, Spankoffski," She says casually, trying to ignore that she's never spoken to this guy a day in her life. "I'm Stephanie L-"
"Lauter," he interrupts her, still not quite looking her in the eye. "The mayor's daughter. Yeah, I know."
Raising an eyebrow, Steph starts to ask what his deal is, but he speaks again.
"Look, I don't want any trouble. I'll do everything: the essay, the presentation, the experiment. I'll send you notes to study so you know what to say," he lays out plainly.
Oh, that's so tempting. Not having to do any research. Not having to figure out some stupid experiment. Notes she could study at home with the safety of Spotify.
"Well, you seem to be forgetting one thing, Peter," She says, not entirely sure why she's doing this, "We're partners . Which means we should share the work. So when you wanna get together to hash out everything?"
He finally looks at her, eyes wide behind his glasses. "Uh, I'm free after school today," he offers, finally giving her a meek smile. "Beanies?"
Steph tries her hardest not to make a face at that. "Yeah, sure, sounds good," she agrees. She glances up at the clock. Shit, they still have eight minutes. "You know, I don't think we've ever spoken before."
"Guess we never had a reason to," Peter responds dryly with a little shrug as he looks away again.
Her eyebrows shoot up at that. "Guess not." She looks down. "We should probably exchange numbers. Keep in contact for the project and all that."
"Uh, yeah. Sure." Peter leans down to pull a stack of yellow sticky notes from his backpack. He quickly joys down his phone number onto the paper before peeling it from the stack and passing it to Steph. "I guess just text me when you get the chance."
"Will do." Her eyes dart to the clock again. Five more minutes. "Hey, I gotta ask: what's the deal with the suspenders and bowtie?"
A little puff of a laugh escapes Peter as he shrugs. "My brother says to pick a look and stick to it," he explains, "I can't grow a mustache yet, so I decided to go for something distinguished."
Stephanie lets out a good-natured snort of laughter. "Don't know if I'd call it distinguished. You look like Steve Urkel."
"Please, Urkel wishes he was as cool as I am." For the first time, Peter gives her a genuine smile.
The sight makes her heart stutter for some reason.
"What about you?" He asks, gesturing to her outfit. "Flannel and combat boots? Lumberjack meets military?"
"It's grunge-esque," Steph explains, "Makes me feel like a total baddie, like I could kick somebody's ass."
"Language, Miss Lauter!" Miss Mulberry chides right as the bell rings.
The classroom quickly fills with the sound of shuffling as students grab their backpacks and head towards the door. Steph ends up next to Peter as they join the throng.
"Meet you at Beanies later?" Steph confirms, just to be sure.
"Yeah," Peter agrees, "See you there."
By the time the last class period of the day rolls around, Steph decides she doesn't want to go to her Economics class.
It's easy enough, hopping the fence to the school and making the trek to Beanies. She doesn't even worry about the cop cars she passes, knowing the officers won't have the balls to take her into custody and risk pissing off her dad.
He would be pissed, but not at them. Not that it matters, he's always pissed at her for one reason or another.
Even if that reason is just her mere existence.
She walks through the front door of Beanies, joining the line to herself a drink while she waits for Peter to arrive. When she reaches the counter, she affords the barista a slight smile.
"Hi," the barista says with that forced customer service politeness, "What can I make for you?"
"Hey," Steph responds, her eyes flitting up to scan the menu board. "Can I get a large caramel frappe?"
The barista punches in the order. "That'll be 6.47."
Steph quickly swipes her card. "I don't need a receipt," She tells the barista before she can ask and moves to wait for her drink. Once she gets her drink, she settles at a table.
Her foot taps for a few moments before she pulls out the sticky note with his number on it. Biting the inside of her cheek, she pulls out her phone, tapping the screen a few times before hitting 'add contact.' She debates putting 'Bowtie Kud' for the name, but finally she settles on just 'Pete.'
By the time Peter arrives, she's halfway through her melting frappe, doodling in a notebook. She glances up to give him a little wave as he steps into the line.
He shoots back an awkward smile.
When he drops into the seat across from her, drink in hand, Steph raises an eyebrow. "Whatcha get?" She asks curiously.
"Hot chocolate," Peter responds before taking a sip. At the baffled expression on Steph's face, he explains, "I have low blood sugar."
"Oh." Not really sure where to go from there, she reaches into her backpack and pulls out her Chemistry textbook. "You got any idea what we're gonna do this project on? Cause I'm fucking lost."
Peter chuckles as he takes another sip of his drink. Instead of taking out his textbook, he pulls out his phone, thumbs moving rapidly as he types.
"Hm," he says after what feels like ages. "We could do something with the Beer-Lambert law."
"Beer? Hell ye- Wait." Steph's eyes narrow suspiciously. "It doesn't have to do with actual beer, does it?"
Peter shoots her an incredulous look before shaking his head. "No. It's named for scientists August Beer and Johann Heinrich Lambert. Though, Beer built off what Lambert stated, which Lambert added onto a law Pierre Bouguer discovered, which-"
"Okay!" Steph cuts him off, her head already spinning from all these names. "Save it for the essay, Spankoffski. So we have this law. What do we do with it?"
"Well, it has to do with the absorption of light by a chemical in a solution," he explains. He pauses, trying to think of an example. "Take blue Gatotade. With a spectrophotometer, we could decipher the concentration of Blue 1 dye in the Gatorade."
Steph stares at him blankly, her mind going a million miles an hour, trying to keep up. "Where the fuck do we get a spectra- whatever?"
"We can make one," Peter says with a little shrug. He glances down at his phone before taking a sharp breath through his teeth. "Actually, maybe we should-"
"What?" Steph reaches over and plucks his phone from his hand. She looks over the science fair experiment ideas website page Peter has been studying.
"I- it's just kind of expensive to do," he explains lamely.
Steph's eyes roam the screen before she finds the price range listed near the top of the page. "50 to 100?" She asks. Before he can answer, she continues, "I'll cover it. You're the brains. I can at least fund your brilliance," She gives a self deprecating laugh as she gives his phone back. "It's about the only help I'll be."
At her words, Peter frowns. "If you're sure," he says, sounding uncertain, before taking another sip of his drink.
Steph follows suit, sipping from her straw. "So we make the spectra-thing, then what?"
The next hour passes as Peter explains the basis of the process, how they can do the experiment themselves to get the data for the essay and their presentation then repeat it for the class.
"Sounds like a lot of fucking work," Steph admits, spinning her straw between her finger and thumb. "I'm in though. You wanna come to my place this weekend to work on it?"
Peter seems to choke on his last sip of hot chocolate. "Your place?!" He asks, eyes wide behind his glasses.
"Yeah. Can't exactly take a six volt battery into the library or Pasqually's," She reasons with a shrug. "We have a big garage, more than enough room to get our shit done."
"...okay," Peter agrees after taking a deep breath.
"Cool, I'll send you the address." Steph grabs her phone, quickly shooting him a text. "Just come by whenever. I don't have anything going on."
Leaning back in his chair. "... I gotta be honest, I wasn't expecting you to be like… this," he admits sheepishly.
Laughing, Steph shrugs. "What'd you expect? Spoiled, stuck-up mayor's kid?"
"Yeah actually," he confesses, "But you're super down to Earth. It's really nice."
There's a slight tickle in Steph's throat, almost like she has to cough. She ignores it.
"That's one of the nicer ways people have described me," She says with a little grin. "Thank you. You're pretty okay too, Pete. Even with the bowtie."
That makes him laugh brightly, his eyes crinkling slightly from his smile. "Guess I'll see you in class tomorrow."
"Yeah, guess so." She tries not to frown. "Get home safe, Pete."
"You too, Steph."
The next morning, Steph walks through the halls of Hatchetfield High, heading for her locker. She's about to turn the corner, when she hears Pete talking.
Hesitating, she peers around the wall to see him talking to a couple of his friends. She thinks both their names start with R.
"So you guys got ideas for your projects?" Pete asks as he fiddles with the combination dial to his locker.
The guy he's talking to gives a long suffering sigh. "I got stuck with Brooke ," he laments with a roll of his eyes. "I can only communicate with her via Snapchat. It's the only way she answers."
"At least it's better than Grace Chastity," the girl complains through her headgear. "Any time I try to talk to her about who I think is hot, she tells me I'm going to hell for 'carnal desires'." She makes finger quotes around the last words, sounding exasperated.
"What about you, Pete?" The guy asks as Pete opens his locker. "How's it having to work with Stephanie Lauter ?" He over enunciates her name almost sarcastically.
"Is she making you do all the work?" The girl asks sympathetically, "At least you have some nice eye candy to look at while you do the project."
Pete closes his locker after pulling out a book. "Stop it, you two. Steph is actually really nice."
The guy scoffs, "Nice to get an easy A, probably."
"Seriously, Richie, stop." Pete shoots his friend a glare. "Steph's actually really cool."
"Well yeah, we know that," the girl comments with a wave of her hand. "Everyone in school knows that!"
Pete sighs heavily, reaching under his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Not what I meant, Ruth." He pushes his glasses back up before giving the other two a serious look. "Whatever you think she is, she's not," he says firmly, "She's nice, she's funny, and I'm really hoping we can be friends after this project is over."
There's that tickle in Steph's throat again.
She coughs slightly before finally rounding the corner. "Mornin', Pete," She greets before giving Ruth and Richie a nod.
"Hey, Steph." He gives her a grin.
Ruth and Richie look shocked at this casual exchange, their eyes wide and mouths agape.
Before any other words can be exchanged, the bell rings, sending all the students scattering to their first period classes.
Steph doesn't see Pete again until Chemistry class. She slides into her desk next to him and gives him a slight grin. "'Sup, Spankoffski," She greets just before the bell rings.
Before Pete can do more than smile, Miss Mulberry is calling for their attention so she can take roll.
After she's finished, Miss Mulberry gives a wide, almost fake, smile. "I hope everyone had a productive first day of working on their projects!" She says brightly. "Now, take out your textbooks and turn to page-"
As if on autopilot, Steph pulls out her book. The sound of flipping pages fills the air, quickly dissipating once everyone has reached the correct page.
Steph doesn't hear any of the lecture, instead doodling in her notebook. She draws hearts, stars, teardrops, and other silly little images.
She starts writing her name in swooping cursive letters, letting her pen glide effortlessly across the page
Halfway through writing the last name, she realizes it's not her last name she's writing.
She stares at the elegant script of her own handwriting, at the letters spelling Stephanie Spankof.
The ink of her pen begins bleeding into the page, smudging that last letter.
Her face heats up as she rapidly turns the page, keeping her head down to hide her reddening cheeks.
After the bell rings, she finds herself walking down the hall with Pete. "We still on for this weekend?" She asks, feeling almost shy. She hates it.
"Huh? Yeah, of course." Pete gives her a reassuring smile. "I'll bring my laptop too, so we can take notes and whatnot."
"Sounds good."
Saturday morning, Steph wakes early. Earlier than she ever would on a weekend.
When she heads downstairs to get some breakfast, her dad is still sitting at the kitchen counter, sipping his coffee.
At the sight of her, his eyes widened slightly. "Well, isn't this a surprise? Not sleeping the day away, Stephanie?" He asks, his tone condescending.
Just like it always is.
Gritting her teeth, Steph pours herself a glass of orange juice. "Someone from school is coming over today so we can work on our science project."
"Oh, which one of your little friends are you 'working' with?" Solomon asks sarcastically. "Brenda? Brooke? The Jägerman boy?"
Anger flares in Steph's chest at his words and she slams the refrigerator door harder than she means to. Inside, glass bottles rattle and clink against each other from the force.
"None of them," She finally responds after a deep breath. "I'm working with Peter Spankoffski."
That response makes Solomon raise an eyebrow. "Isn't his father a shoe salesman?" He questions, disdain dripping from his words like acid. "And his brother works for CCRP. At least one of them has a decent career. " He takes a long sip of coffee. "Even if he is a sleaze."
"Knock it off, Dad," Steph finally snaps, giving him an annoyed glare. "Pete's a nice guy. You can't judge someone based on their family."
"I know, Stephanie. Just look at you." He sets down his empty coffee cup before walking out of the kitchen.
Seething, Steph takes an angry swig of juice. The citrus burns her throat almost as harshly as the words lodged there.
By mid-morning, her dad is long gone. Stephs lounges lazily on the couch when she hears a car pull up.
She sits up just enough to peer out of the window to see a baby blue car pull into the driveway.
When she sees Pete step out of the driver’s seat, she jumps off the couch to rush to the front door.
She throws open the door, grinning at Pete as he walks up. "Nice wheels," She comments, ignoring the growing discomfort in her throat.
"It's actually my brother's car," Pete explains, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "He practically threw the keys at me when he heard I was meeting up with a girl."
With a snort, Steph waves Pete into the house. "At least we have a way to get to town," She says as she leads him through the house to the kitchen. "You want anything to drink?"
"Uh, water. Water's great, thanks."
She grabs a bottle from the fridge and passes it to him before pulling herself up to sit on the counter. "So… Beer and a spectraphenoma," She comments jokingly.
That seems to ease the tension in the room. Pete chuckles. "Yeah. We should probably make a list, make sure we grab everything the first go around."
"On it." Steph pulls out her phone, quickly opening a blank notes page. "Uh, blue sports drinks."
Pete nods in agreement. He also pulls out his phone. "There's a kit we can get that has a lot of the materials," he informs her, "Then we can just focus on getting the stuff that it doesn't include."
"Sounds good. Send me a link and I'll order it." She glances up at him. "So what do we need that isn't in it?"
"Uh, cuvettes, clear tape, food coloring, eye dropper, a permanent marker, and a notebook," Pete lists off. The glow from his phone screen reflects on the lens of his glasses. "Probably gonna have to order the cuvettes online."
She nods, her thumbs moving rapidly to type the things he says. "Send me that link too."
Her phone chimes as Pete texts her the links she requested. She navigates from her Notes to instead open the links. It’s easy, ordering everything. She has her dad’s card information saved in her phone. Not that he cares, he never mentions the money she spends.
“Alright, that’s all ordered,” she announces as she sets down her phone. “Do we wanna go to Wal-Mart today to get the other stuff or wait until we get everything else in?”
Pete coughs slightly. “We can go today. Go ahead and knock it out, right?”
“Right. Plus, we can grab something to eat while we’re out. My treat.”
A few minutes later, she’s strapped in the passenger seat of the Studebaker as they roll through Hatchetfield. “How long has your brother had this car?” She asks, running her fingers along the inside of the door.
“I feel like longer than I’ve been alive,” Pete comments, “I can’t remember a time when he didn’t have it.”
“Are you and your brother close?” She asks as they stop at a redlight.
Pete hesitates for a moment. “In a weird sort of way. Like, we don’t talk about our feelings or anything, but he’s the reason I can bridge shuffle cards and know how to do a three-point turn. He lent me his car today, so that’s gotta mean something, right?”
With a shrug, she answers, “I don’t know. I don’t have any siblings. My dad says my mom left town after she won Honey Queen after I was born and he never remarried.”
The light turns green and they start moving again. Steph’s fingers drum against the door. “...it probably does,” she finally says, “Mean something, that is. That your brother probably loves you, but doesn’t know how to say it.”
“...yeah. Yeah, that makes sense,” Pete agrees quietly.
Steph coughs. “I think we’re coming down with the same thing,” she jokes, trying to ignore the scratching feeling in her throat.
Pete laughs, though it quickly turns into a small cough of his own. “Must be.”
He parks in the lot in front of the Wal-Mart and they both quickly climb out. On the walk into the store, Steph bumps his arm playfully with her shoulder. “Grab a cart?”
“Got it.” Pete gives her a grin as they walk through the automatic doors, snagging a shopping cart as they pass by the bay that holds them.
Getting the supplies they need goes by quickly. Pete seems to be familiar with the store. Steph isn’t. Her dad usually sends out one of his staff to get groceries and whatnot for the two of them.
At checkout, Steph swipes her card while Pete loads the bags into their cart. She stifles another cough before taking her receipt from the cashier with a “thank you.”
As they walk back out to the car, Steph nudges Pete again. “You wanna go grab breakfast or something? Miss Retro’s is near here, isn’t it?”
“Uh yeah, it is,” Pete confirms, his brow furrowing slightly, “But I-”
“Don’t sweat it, I got you covered,” Steph assures him with a wave of her hand.
Pete smiles at that, though it’s quickly gone as he covers his mouth with a fist to cough.
The bags get loaded in the trunk then it’s off to Miss Retro’s Throwback Diner.
“You know, I’ve never actually been in here,” Steph says as they walk into the diner. “Dad says this place gives him a bad feeling, whatever the fuck he means by that.”
“My brother loves coming here,” Pete says as he leads her to a booth. “We usually come by a few times a month. I think he just likes looking at the owner, though.”
Before Steph can ask, a beautiful red-headed woman appears as they’re sitting down. “Hey, Pete! How’s it going?” She asks as she sets menus in front of them.
“Hey, Miss Holloway,” Pete greets with a smile. “It’s going good. Just working on a school project.”
Miss Holloway nods before looking at Steph. “I don’t think I’ve seen you in here before.”
“No, you haven’t,” Steph confirms, “I’m Steph.”
“Well, nice to meet you, Steph!” Miss Holloway says brightly before asking, “What can I get you two to drink?”
“I’ll have a coffee,” Steph says, “Cream and sugar please.”
Nodding, Miss Holloway jots that down on her notepad. “And a hot chocolate for you, Pete?’
“You know it, Miss H.”
After Miss Holloway walks away to get their drinks, Steph opens the menu. “What’s good here?” She asks as she scans the menu.
“Everything,” Pete answers sincerely, “I’ve tried a lot of things and none have been bad. Miss Holloway has some sort of magic in the kitchen.”
“Must be a witch,” Steph says playfully. She hums thoughtfully. “I think I’m going to go with the chicken and waffles.”
“Great choice!” Miss Holloway says as she approaches their booth again. She sets their drinks down, along with a canister of sugar and a small pitcher of creamer. “What about you, Pete?”
Pete hesitates slightly. “Uh, let me get the breakfast sampler: eggs hard fried and hashbrowns extra crispy, please.”
“You got it!” Miss Holloway takes their menus before disappearing again.
Steph adds cream to her mug before adding sugar. "So," She says as she stirs her coffee. "We can't really get started on this project until we get the supplies."
"I mean, we can always work on the paper," Pete suggests.
Grimacing, Steph takes a sip of her coffee. "Yeah, we could," She says, sounding unconvinced.
"Hey, we're gonna have to do it anyway, right?" Pete reminds her with a small smile, "Better to go ahead and knock it out."
"I guess." Despite herself, Steph gives him a grin. "Research session at my place after breakfast?"
"You got it."
After breakfast, they head back to Steph’s place. The radio plays some stupid Top 40 song that they both know all the words to. Laughing, Steph cranks up the volume as they both sing along loudly. She catches herself repeatedly glancing over at Pete, her smile growing each time.
At one point, Pete catches her looking and grins at her.
Blushing, she opens her mouth to defend herself, only to quickly succumb to a coughing fit. She covers her mouth with her hand, unable to answer Pete when she hears him ask if she’s okay.
With one last final hack, she feels something soft land in her hand. Frowning, she pulls back to see what appears to be orange rose petals resting in her palm.
“Steph? You alright?” Pete asks nervously as they roll to a stop at a red light.
She clenches her fist, crushing the petals in her palm. “Yeah. We might wanna cancel our research session. Don’t want you catching whatever shit I have,” she jests half-heartedly.
“Okay, if you’re sure,” Pete says, uncertainty coloring his voice.
Silence fills the car the rest of the ride. Steph fights the scratching in her throat, practically demanding she cough.
When the Studebaker parks in her driveway, she quickly clambers out. “I’ll see you Monday, Pete,” she manages to rasp out.
“Feel better, Steph,” Pete manages to bid right before she slams the door.
Once inside the house, Steph leans back against the front door. The sound of her coughs bounce off the walls of the foyer. Slowly, she slides to the floor as petals begin cascading from her hand, the amount too great to hold.
“Fuck,” she swears weakly, staring at the orange petals on the dark wood floor. She turns her hand over, dumping out the petals she had collected in her palm. Some, she notices, are flecked with what she’s guessing is blood.
Her head falls back against the door with a dull thunk.
She’s heard about this. Brooke had it last semester, except she had been hacking up hyacinth petals over Max Jägerman.
Except Brooke had gotten her flowers removed, letting her not only live but also get over Max.
Permanently.
Steph’s mind drifts to Pete and his stupid glasses and stupid bowtie and stupid sweet smile-
Another cough wracks her body, sending more petals spilling past her lips.
“Fuck,” she repeats softly.
Over the weekend, Steph manages the best she can. Dad isn’t around much, so it’s easy to hide from him. She drinks hot lemon honey tea, takes cough suppressants, and tries not to think about Pete.
Thinking about Pete, she has learned, only makes the coughing fits worse.
Monday morning comes much too quickly for her liking. As she turns off her alarm, she debates ditching school for the day.
She did tell Pete she’d see him Monday though.
A small cough escapes her at the thought, sending a couple stray rose petals onto her pillowcase. With an annoyed groan, she brushes them to the floor before standing to get dressed for the day.
When she makes it to Hatchetfield High, she’s sucking on a cough drop, trying to keep the petals at bay. The hustle and bustle of the halls puts her a bit at ease. Everything’s normal, she tells herself, everything’s fine-
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Micro-Peter Spankoffski,” she hears an annoyingly familiar voice down one of the side halls.
She stops, turning to investigate. There’s Max, flanked by Jason and Kyle, as he backs Pete up against the lockers. Off to the side, Richie and Ruth cower, eyes wide with fear as they watch the scene in front of them unfold.
“You enjoy your little date with Steph Saturday morning?” Max jeers, leaning threateningly towards Pete.
“It- It wasn’t a date!” Pete protests, “We’re just-”
A fist lands on the locker next to Pete’s head. “I don’t care what the fuck it was!” Max roars.
“Hey!” Steph shouts, quickly making her way down the hall. She shoves Max back, getting between him and Pete. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”
Jason and Kyle glance at each other nervously as Max straightens up. “I’m just reminding this nerd of his place,” Max says, as if this is a totally logical response.
“You fucking dipshit. We’re working on a Chemistry project together!” Steph huffs, squaring her shoulders as she stands to her full height, trying to make herself seem more intimidating against Max’s large stature.
She locks eyes with him. “Leave him alone.”
Behind her, she hears Pete coughing. Must be an asthma attack. She glares at Max as her teeth crunch down on the lozenge in her mouth.
“C’mon,” Max mutters to his cronies, quickly leading them off down the hall.
Steph watches them go, waiting until they’re out of sight to turn to Pete. “You okay?” she asks gently.
He nods. Ducking his head, he gives her a quick, muffled “thank you” before darting off to the boys’ restroom.
“Holy shit,” Richie says, staring at Steph, “You actually stood up for him?”
Steph can feel a cough trying to start in her throat. She swallows, trying to fight it back. “Yeah? And?”
“Popular kids don’t stand up for people like us,” Ruth answers, like it’s obvious.
“Well, I’m not about to let Max Jägerman be a fucking dickwad to my friends.” She glances in the direction Pete dashed off to. “Check on Pete for me, will ya?”
“You got it,” Ruth and Richie chime in unison before both rushing off to the restroom.
Steph turns down the hall to head to her locker, just barely catching Richie saying “You can’t come in here, Ruth! It’s the boys’ bathroom!”
Snorting quietly, she goes to her locker. Once there, she quickly opens it before popping another cough drop.
It’s going to be a long day. She can feel it.
The day seems to drag. Every class feels like an eternity. She can hear the ticking of every clock, every second.
By the time she makes it to Chemistry, she’s completely worn out. She slides into her desk, slumping over slightly as she pulls out her textbook.
The bell finally rings and there’s no sign of Pete.
Frowning, she twists in her seat to look at Richie. “Hey, where’s Pete?” she whispers to him.
“He went home sick,” Richie responds, not quite looking her in the eye. Instead, he fiddles with his pencil.
Her frown deepening, she turns back around. She can feel a cough building in her throat. Shaking her head, she jams her textbook back into her bag.
“Miss Mulberry,” she rasps out, “I need to go to the nurse.”
The teacher gives her a skeptical look. “Fine, Miss Lauter. Let me write you a pass.”
Pass in hand and her backpack slung over her shoulder, Steph walks out of the classroom and makes her way to the nurse’s office.
“Hello, Stephanie,” the school nurse greets her politely. “What’s wrong today?”
“I keep coughing and it’s only getting worse,” Steph says as she hands over the pass, ignoring how Miss Mulberry had scribbled ‘probably faking it’ in the notes section.
The nurse glances over the form. “Do you-”
Before she can finish the question, Steph starts coughing, doubled over from the intensity. She can feel the petals filling her mouth and gags. Darting to the bathroom, she slams the door behind her. She kneels in front of the toilet, coughing and dry heaving petals into the bowl.
Finally, the feeling subsides. She stands on shaky legs before flushing the toilet and going to wash her hands.
She makes the mistake of looking in the mirror as she does so. Her eyeliner streaks down her face from the tears. Sighing, she dries her hands before going back into the office area.
“Well, it certainly sounds like you’re not feeling well,” the nurse says, soundly sounding much more convinced than she was a couple minutes ago. “That cough sounds rather nasty. I’d go to the doctor to get it checked out.”
Steph nods. “Can I just sign myself out and go home please?”
Quickly, the nurse checks a list she has on her desk. “Yes, it looks like you’re allowed to do that. Feel better, Stephanie.”
“Thanks.” Steph jots down all the necessary information on the signout sheet before heading out.
When she gets home, she goes straight to her room, collapsing on the bed. Blindly, she pulls her phone from her pocket and sends a text.
To: Pete
Hey you ok?
She closes her eyes as she waits for a response. Already, she can feel the discomfort in her throat again. Dammit.
She feels her phone buzz and opens her eyes to read the new text.
From: Pete
Yeah, just not feeling well. Don’t worry
To: Pete
Well, I’m already worrying lol
She turns her head into her pillow, coughing again. She feels the petals against her lips and groans.
From: Pete
Lol. I’m fine, promise. It’s just a cold or something.
To: Pete
Ok. Just let me know if you need anything
By the time her dad makes it back that evening, Steph hasn’t moved from her bed.
She hears the door open. “Heard you left school early today,” her dad says, her tone disappointed. When is it not though? “At least you did it legitimately instead of skipping.”
“I’m sick, Dad,” she says miserably. She lifts her head, brushing the petals under her pillow so he can’t see them.
“I guessed as much, from all the empty medicine packets in the garbage,” her dad responds dryly. “Why not just go to the doctor?”
She stays quiet for a moment. “I don’t think it’s anything a doctor could help with,” she finally answers.
Scoffing, she sees him shake his head. “If you’re certain, Stephanie,” he says, sounding unconvinced. He walks out, leaving her door wide open.
“Fuck,” she mutters. She falls back onto her mattress, head hitting her pillow with a force that sends the petals under it flying out.
She stares at the orange petals littered on her floor, trying to ignore how much the color reminds her of fire.
The next few days pass uneventfully. Steph messages Pete every day to check on him. He assures her he just has the flu or something, that it’s nothing to worry about.
It’s Friday morning when Steph comes downstairs for breakfast and finds her dad still sitting at the kitchen counter. “Aren’t you supposed to be at work?” she asks as she grabs a pack of Pop-Tarts from the pantry.
“Oddly enough, Stephanie, I’m still here because of you. Care to explain what this is?”
She turns around, freezing when she notices the orange rose petal between his fingers. She tries to swallow the lump in her throat. “That’s-”
“Which insipid teenage boy have you fallen for?” her dad cuts her off with a bored tone. “A football player, maybe?” He raises an eyebrow. “Or maybe it’s that Spankoffski boy-”
The sound of Steph coughing drowns out whatever else he has to say. Orange petals cascade from between her fingers, falling delicately to the floor.
Solomon watches her, his features curling in what could only be described as sadistic disgust. “Is this why you won’t go to the doctor? You don’t want to lose these feelings for him? Would you rather die?” He sneers cruelly.
Gasping for air, Steph shakes her head. “I-” She cuts off with another coughing fit. To her horror, the petals, flecked red with her blood, fall to the floor in clumps.
“Looks like you have a decision to make, Stephanie,” her dad says coolly as he stands. “Let me know when you want to schedule that surgery,” he calls back over his shoulder.
Steph doesn’t make it to school that day.
Instead, she lies in bed, staring at the ceiling. It feels like thorns digging into her throat. From what she knows about this, it probably is. Every cough makes them dig deeper as those blood-stained petals fall from her mouth.
Why doesn’t she just get the flowers removed? She closes her eyes and thinks of Pete. Who defended her to his friends, who was patient enough to explain things to her about their project, who is one of the only people she’s met who has appreciated her for her and not what they could get from her.
She rolls onto her side, coughing miserably and letting the petals fall into a heap on the floor.
The smart thing would be just to confess. She knows that. Worst that can happen is he doesn’t feel the same.
God that would hurt though. Her chest aches at the very thought, much worse than the roses blooming in her throat.
Best case scenario, he feels the same way. Why would he though? She’s not smart. She’s not funny or cool like the other popular kids. She’s only popular because she’s the mayor’s daughter.
The buzz of her cell phone breaks her out of her spiral. She looks over, smiling when she sees who it’s from.
From: Pete
You okay? You weren’t at school today?
To: Pete
Yeah i’m fine, just felt like ditching. Three day weekend and all that jazz
She descends into another coughing fit, hacking up more petals. She just spit a few lingering ones from her mouth when she gets another text.
From: Pete
You wanna meet up tomorrow? Work on our project?
If she was smart, she’d say no. She’d stay away from Pete until she made a decision about what to do.
Stephanie Lauter isn’t smart though.
Everyone in her life has made sure she knows that.
To: Pete
Yeah sounds good. Just text me before you head over ok?
The next morning, Steph feels miserable. Every breath seems to agitate the thorns, driving them deeper into her throat. One agonizing cough later, she has a fully formed orange rosebud in the palm of her hand.
She debates texting Pete. She shouldn’t have invited him over, not in the state she’s in. Hell, she’s scared to even go downstairs to see her dad’s reaction to how swiftly this illness has progressed.
Grabbing her phone, she sends a quick text.
To: Pete
Hey i feel like shit today, any chance we can reschedule to tomorrow?
Dragging herself out of bed, she forces herself to take a shower. The heat from the water seems to ease the pain in her throat. She stays until the water runs cold.
By the time she makes it back to her room, she has a new text.
From: Pete
I would, but we have a family thing tomorrow. You okay? Anything I can bring you?
Stupid, sweet Pete. She coughs violently, choking for a moment before she gets the petals up. They fall heavily onto the floor at her feet.
To: Pete
Guess we just have today then. Come on over, i’m not contagious
From: Pete
Okay, if you’re sure
To: Pete
I am
Shit, she has to confess now. She can’t get through hours of studying without coughing, no matter how hard she tries.
She changes into jeans and a hoodie before heading downstairs. Thankfully, her dad has fucked off to God knows where.
Waiting for Pete to arrive is its own special kind of hell. She paces the floor, coughing up petals and buds as she walks. She tries to ignore how much redder the petals are getting with each cough.
Finally, she hears the sound of a car pulling up. Swallowing as best she can, she heads outside.
There’s Pete, climbing out of that baby blue Studebaker. “Hey, Steph!” He calls with a little wave.
“Hey, Pete,” she manages to choke out.
He frowns as he gets closer. “You sure you’re alright, Steph?”
“Yeah, I’m-” She quickly dissolves into a coughing fit, sinking to her knees as she doubles over. Petals and blossoms fall from her mouth, falling into a messy pile in front of her. “Fuck!” she rasps out when she’s finally able to catch her breath.
Pete kneels in front of her, eyes downcast as he stares at the petals. “Steph-”
“Just, let me talk while I can, okay?” Steph rushes to say, trying to get all the words out while she can still speak. “I like you, Pete, okay? A lot. I might even fucking love you.”