Chapter Text
California is the fucking worst.
Sokka’s only been in the state for the last ten hours—but spirits, it feels like forever—and it’s only the fourth US state he’s ever been to in his life, but he knows this to be unequivocally true. He’s spent the last too-many-hours crammed into his father’s rundown sedan, banished to the backseat to fend off the errant kicks and nudges and squawks and whines of his eleven-year-old sister, as they make the days-long trek from Anchorage, his home for all seventeen-point-nine years of his life, to America’s sweaty armpit.
Also known as the San Fernando Valley. Semantics.
He’s spent the entire drive with his headphones clamped over his ears, alternating between staring blankly out the window and staring longingly, jealously at the passenger’s seat occupied by his grandmother, with the occasional glance behind him at the U-Haul driven by a mover hired by his father’s new company. The pit in his stomach grows with every minute, every mile that adds to the distance between him and his home; his home which his father had decided they should pick up and leave. Sokka knows Hakoda has his reasons—mainly the loss of a second income after the sudden death of his mother, which on some mature level that Sokka can’t quite reach, he understands. In theory, he understands that Hakoda alone can’t support their family of fi- four, they’re just four, now. Right.
He keeps forgetting that.
In theory, he understands this. In theory, he understands why his father wouldn’t let him drop out of school and get a job to help support them so they could stay in Alaska. In theory, he knows his father couldn’t turn down the job offer from southern California, the one that will pay him much more than what he made back home. It would be nice if, in theory, his father could admit that Sokka is right about the fact that the bump in pay won’t bridge the gap between supporting a family of four on a single income with the higher cost of living that comes with their new, sunny location. It would be nice if his father would just admit that he’s running away, pulling Sokka out of school just before his senior year, and dragging his family away from all they’ve ever known.
A lot of things would be nice.
Unfortunately, those things don’t include their new apartment building, which comes into view all at once, a dingy, crumbling thing, faded pink paint and dirty windows. Sokka grimaces as he steps out into the sweltering heat, stretching his aching limbs. The one redeeming quality of their new dwelling—because he refuses to call it home, it’ll never be home—is the tiny, relatively clean pool he knows will fill his little sister’s days with some semblance of joy. It’s a small consolation, but it is one, and he figures he should hold on to the few he gets.
It only takes him three trips to bring in all of his boxes; he’d downsized his belongings considerably once Hakoda broke the news that there would only be two bedrooms in their apartment, even on his new salary. Somehow, a year after losing Yue and six months after losing his mother, it’d been easier to let go of material possessions. Besides, it isn’t like he’ll have a room to store things in; he’d almost immediately volunteered to sleep on the couch, pointedly ignoring the hurt in his father’s eyes as he’d turned down his offer to share a room. The guilt over that hurt is a little harder to ignore, but he pushes it down along with everything else, focusing instead on getting through today. Get through today, get through tomorrow, get through the school year, go back home. That’s the plan.
Getting slammed into from behind, dropping the heavy box of Katara’s books, and having his headphones simultaneously ripped off of his head and out of his phone, however, is decidedly not the plan.
“What th- fuck!” Sokka exclaims, stumbling to a stop, just barely catching himself on the corner of the box. Music blares from his phone as he yanks it out of his pocket, fumbling it for a second before managing to hit pause. He whirls around, looking for the source of his frustration, and his next complaint dies in his throat when he finds it.
The girl is shockingly pretty, with chin-length brown hair tied half up out of her dark eyes, and it’s enough to momentarily distract Sokka from the fact that she looks like a caricature of a southern California skater: cropped tank top, baggy cargo pants, worn Vans atop a well-loved skateboard.
“Sorry!” The girl pants as she rolls to a stop in front of him. She flips her skateboard into her hand with practiced ease, bending down to grab Sokka’s headphones from the ground. She holds them out to him, flashing a bright smile. “Are you okay? Sorry, I looked away for one second-”
“It’s fine,” Sokka says, more brusquely than he means to, taking his headphones and hooking them around his neck. “Don’t worry about it.”
“If anything broke, I can try to replace it-”
“No,” Sokka cuts her off, closing his eyes for half a second and forcing himself to be more polite. It was an accident, and this girl doesn’t deserve to bear the brunt of his frustrations. “It’s fine, really, it’s mostly books in here, anyway.”
“Oh, good,” she says on an exhale, sounding relieved. She gives him a quick once-over before looking back at the box, still on the ground. “Want some help?”
No is on the tip of his tongue, but it was a lot easier to pick up the box from the back of the truck, and he’s not sure he can manage it from the ground even if he remembers to lift with his legs.
“It’s the least you can do,” is what comes out of his mouth, and he’s surprised by how pleasantly teasing his voice sounds. The girl rewards him with a short, bright laugh, and he grins in spite of himself.
“Fair enough,” she says, dropping her skateboard back to the ground and kicking it aside. “I’m Suki, by the way.”
“Sokka,” he says, shooting a look over at her skateboard as it comes to a stop against the nearest apartment. The box is considerably lighter with the two of them carrying it, and he frowns slightly across the top of it. “Do you wanna put that somewhere more, uh, secure?”
“Nah,” Suki says, shaking her head. “No one’ll take it. I know everyone who lives here, anyway.” She pauses, then grins. “Well, almost everyone, I guess. You’re up in 3B, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Sokka nods, switching places with her at the stairs so she’s walking up them backwards, and he’s bearing most of the weight of the box. “How’d you know?”
“I’m your downstairs neighbor,” she answers, turning the corner at the top of the stairs. She’s not even out of breath. “Hard not to notice when the upstairs people move out, y’know?”
“Right,” Sokka agrees, even though he doesn’t know, because this is the first time he’s ever lived in an apartment. Now doesn’t seem like the time to get into all of that.
He’s saved from explaining when Katara comes darting out of their new front door, already in her bathing suit. Sokka gets his mouth open to yell at her to stop, wait for him or Dad or Gran Gran, when Gran Gran steps out behind her with towels folded over her arm. She gives Sokka a fondly exasperated look and a pat on his shoulder as she passes. Sokka drops his head back with a sigh, and the box feels suddenly heavier now that they’ve stopped.
“I take it that’s Katara?” That gets his attention. His head snaps up, eyes narrowing at Suki.
“How’d you know her name?”
Suki raises an eyebrow and looks down at the top of the box they’re still holding, where KATARA - BOOKS is scrawled in Sokka’s own messy handwriting.
“Lucky guess,” she says, and Sokka feels another smile tugging at his lips. That’s the second time she’s made him smile in the five minutes he’s known her. Suki shifts the weight of the box from hand to hand, and Sokka realizes they’re still standing on the doorstep. “Where should we-”
“Oh, sorry, here- c’mon,” he says, backing into the apartment. They drop the box off in Katara and Gran Gran’s room, and Sokka shakes out his wrists as they head back to the front door. “I’d give you a tour, but-”
“No, yeah, I’m familiar with the layout,” Suki chuckles as they step back outside. “Do you, uh, need any more help unloading?”
“Oh, no- thank you, though,” Sokka says, genuinely surprised and a little touched by the offer. “I think we can handle the rest.”
“Okay,” Suki says with a nod. She rocks back on her heels, looking contemplative for a moment. “So, do you… um, are you going to West Valley?”
“Huh? Oh, yeah,” Sokka nods, running a hand over the back of his head in a nervous gesture. “I’m, uh, a senior.”
“Wow,” Suki says, brows furrowing for a split second before smoothing back out. “Moving right before senior year’s gotta suck.”
“It’s not great,” Sokka agrees, and Suki’s smile is small, and Sokka’s answering one comes with more effort, this time.
“Well- okay, well, anyway,” Suki says, turning halfway toward the stairs before she turns back to him. “Um, I’m gonna go, but- if you want- I was wondering, there’s sort of a… party? In a couple days? At the beach,” she goes on. “End of summer kinda thing, you know. Anyway, if you wanna go-”
“Oh, I don’t kn-” Sokka starts, only to be cut off by a deeper voice from behind him.
“That sounds wonderful,” His father says, appearing at his left. Sokka does not jump, but it’s close. His father holds out a hand, offering Suki a warm smile. “Hi there, I’m Hakoda.”
“Suki,” she says brightly, shaking his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“When’s the party?” Hakoda asks, reaching out to grasp Sokka’s shoulder. His polite smile only slips a little when Sokka shrugs his hand off. If Suki notices, she doesn’t show it.
“Saturday,” she answers, looking back over at Sokka.
“He’ll be there,” Hakoda says, tone friendly but it’s one Sokka knows brokers no argument. Sokka swallows a sigh.
“Oh, great,” Suki says, and she’s not immune to the tension between them, but she’s trying her best. “I’ll, um-”
“Here,” Sokka mumbles, pulling his phone from his pocket and holding it out to her. She takes it only a little hesitantly, giving him a soft smile as she sends herself a text.
“I’ll text you,” she finishes, handing his phone back and stepping away from the door in one smooth motion. “It was nice to meet you both!”
“You too,” Sokka says to her retreating form, and he means it, but he just sounds exhausted.
“Look at that,” Hakoda says, and Sokka rolls his eyes at the forced enthusiasm in his voice. “Haven’t even been here an hour and you’re already making friends.”
“Whatever,” Sokka mutters, and he doesn’t even care that he’s the caricature now, the sullen teen blocking out the world with headphones as he trudges back to the U-Haul. Suki’s nice, and she’s cute, but one pretty girl doesn’t change anything about this.
California still fucking sucks.