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Clarke asks Miller first, mostly because Miller, at least, isn't Bellamy. While she and Miller aren't exactly friends, they've known each other since they were kids and are on generally good terms, which is a lot more than she can say about her and Bellamy. The best she can say about her relationship with Bellamy is that they've known each other for four years and have not yet murdered each other. She and Miller have never even come close to murdering each other.
But Miller says, "I would, but the guys wouldn't listen to me."
"Why not?"
He sighs, gives her a wry smile. "Because I'm gay, and half of them already wouldn't be in the shower with me if they weren't scared of Bellamy. If I asked them to put on skirts--"
Clarke winces. They've discussed the varying gross reactions they get to their queerness--Miller's tends more towards the what if he wants to check out my junk homophobia, while Clarke gets you're just doing it for the attention biphobia--and she feels bad for not having thought of it. "Fuck. Sorry."
"Nah, it's fine," he says. "It's a good idea, I hope you can get them to help out. But you know you're going to have to ask Bellamy."
He looks a little smug about it, so she gives him the finger. "You think he'll help?" she asks anyway, because he's the one who brought it up.
"Probably. Octavia got sent home last week because some dude she turned down for a date said he could see her bra strap. Bellamy got detention for yelling at her teacher."
A small smile tugs at her mouth. She's seen Bellamy yelling enough that she can picture it vividly. And, for all their differences, the two of them tend to agree on most of the actual important shit.
"And I'll participate," Miller adds. "I just can't organize."
"It was worth a shot," she says, with a heavy sigh. "Thanks anyway."
"Good luck."
She wishes she didn't need it.
*
The thing is, Clarke doesn't know exactly why she and Bellamy are enemies. Or, she does--it's because they can't stop fighting. But she thinks if they hadn't started fighting to begin with, they'd probably be really good friends, and at this point, she's willing to admit that she kind of wishes they were.
But he hates her, and she doesn't have the right personality type to be the bigger person and try to make peace with him. If he doesn't like her, she's not going to like him either.
Still, he's absolutely her best bet for this.
"Bellamy!" she calls, trying to catch him after school. He's with a crowd of other lacrosse guys, on their way to practice, and she can see a couple of them snickering when they see her, like they're expecting him to get reamed out. It's not an unfair assumption.
But Bellamy just turns and raises his eyebrows, unconcerned. "What?"
"Got a minute?"
"Not many."
"It won't take many." She crosses her arms over her chest. "In private?"
A few of the guys jeer, and Miller kicks one of them, Mbege, because Miller is the best. Bellamy regards her for a second, and then he shrugs his shoulders, fluid and easy.
"Lead the way, Princess."
She winces, but tries not to show it. Everyone called her that freshman year, but most people have given it up by now. Bellamy is one of the last to use it, and every time he does, she just remembers her asshole ex doing it, as a term of endearment. Which isn't even Bellamy's fault, and that only makes it worse. If she asked him to stop, he even might, but she'd have to ask.
"I need your help with something," she says.
"I have practice in ten minutes, so it's going to have to be a quickie," he says, and she shoves his arm.
"This is serious."
In his defense, he sobers instantly, looks her up and down like he's checking for signs of damage. "What happened?" he asks.
"Two girls from the softball team missed tests this month for dress-code violations," she says. "It's getting ridiculous."
His jaw ticks. "Yeah, I know. I've heard some horror stories."
"Octavia had one too, right?"
"Yeah. And some of her friends have been violating it just to get out of class, which--" He shrugs. "It's not my business, they can do what they want. But it's fucking shitty that the school cares more about some puritanical bullshit than educating students."
Clarke bites back on a smile. Bellamy is a total asshole most of the time, but he's at least an asshole because of his personality, not his beliefs. "Exactly."
"So, what do you want to do about it? And why do you need me?"
"I went to complain yesterday and Principal Kane told me that it wasn't a sexist policy--" Bellamy snorts, and she doesn't try to hide her smile at that. "Yeah, pretty much. He said that the dress code exists to minimize distractions and that these clothes are distracting."
"And you didn't punch him?"
"Some of us don't get mad, we get even."
"That sounds like it sucks."
"Focus. He's right that there's no gendered language specifically in the existing dress code, it's all skirts must be this long, shoulders must be covered, no visible undergarments. Which guys break all the time, but Kane said they don't get complaints."
"So you want to start complaining?"
"I want guys to come in wearing the same inappropriate outfits girls are getting sent home for. Like, a lot. Enough they can't ignore it."
"They'll just update the dress code," he says.
"To what? Guys can't wear dresses and skirts? I'd rip them apart."
She feels a small surge of triumph when he laughs. "Yeah, you would." He taps his jaw. "What are you doing after this?"
"Practice, same as you."
He rolls his eyes. "I meant after practice."
"Home?"
"Did you drive?"
"Yeah."
"Cool. I have to take Octavia home, you come over, we'll figure something out."
The suggestion is so casual and nonchalant that Clarke almost doesn't process it. It's a skill Bellamy has, saying surprising things in such an easy way that no one quite processes them. But she has no idea where he even lives. "To your house?"
"My apartment," he says, defiant, like he's expecting her to say she's too good for an apartment. In all honesty, Clarke has no idea what made Bellamy decide she hated him because he was poor, but she's given up trying to argue with him about it. It never works, and it just makes her want to punch him more than usual.
"Great. I need your address."
There's a pause, and Clarke feels probably an unhealthy amount of vindictive pleasure that he clearly wasn't expecting her to say yes. "I'll just meet you after practice," he finally says, and leaves without another word.
By far her best interaction ever with Bellamy.
*
He's waiting outside the locker room with his sister when Clarke gets out. She doesn't know Octavia Blake that well, but she likes her better than she likes Bellamy. Octavia is a freshman and was on the girls' soccer team with Clarke in the fall, and they'll still chat sometimes in the locker room, like reasonable people.
"Bell says you're going to overthrow the patriarchy," Octavia says, by way of greeting.
"Always the goal," Clarke agrees. "Hi, Octavia, good to see you. Where am I going, Bellamy?"
He still looks vaguely annoyed that Clarke is actually planning on coming, which doesn't even make sense, considering he was waiting for her. Maybe they're involved in some weird game of chicken; they're going to come up with a plan just to fuck with each other. "You can follow us," he says. "But I'll give you the address just in case."
The apartment building is about as she would have expected, worn and run-down, in a shitty neighborhood she's never been to before. Bellamy even waits while she parks, like he's concerned about her being alone on the street. She'd be annoyed, but--it's weirdly sweet. In a dumbass, Bellamy kind of way.
Octavia goes to her room, and Bellamy offers Clarke beverages and snacks, like a proper host. She lets him fiddle around getting stuff in the kitchen, mostly so she can scope the place out. Not that it has a whole lot to look at. He is poor, and she knew that, but it's strange to see it. There are pictures of him and Octavia around in homemade frames, an old couch and really old TV, but if Bellamy's embarrassed, he shows no sign of it. So she flops down on the couch with her water and says, "So, you think we need to plan this?"
"If we want it to be effective, yeah," he says. "I vote for a week," he says. "Start off easy, like--spirit week. We do drag for that most years because it's easy and everyone thinks it's funny. If it's just the lacrosse team at first, no one will think it's weird."
"Doesn't sound helpful," Clarke says, but she's thinking about it. "But you keep doing it?"
"Setting down the baseline," he says, leaning forward. Bellamy's always at his best when he's strategizing. "None of us will get sent home for that, so as it gets more extreme--"
"We have a baseline," she agrees. "They've never objected to this stuff before--"
"So they won't object to the first day. And then as more and more people start doing it, we have a kind of--they're on the defensive. They have to admit that they never cared before, and should have."
Clarke grins. "And, of course, they've always done it for girls."
"Basically." He considers her. "You and I should probably just wear the same things," he says. "Twinsies."
"So if they want to send me home--"
"They have to explain why I can wear it and you can't, yeah."
"Awesome," says Clarke. "So, what are we wearing?"
They sketch out a rough plan for the week right then and there. The first day, it's just the boys' lacrosse team doing dresses. Then, expanding to the other guys Bellamy's sure he can get, and the ones Clarke can. She has the baseball team, he has the classics club. She has the student government, he has the spring play. And once it starts, it should snowball.
"It shouldn't just be stuff that's in the dress code," he muses. He's flopped back on the couch, staring at the ceiling while Clarke takes notes. "Did you know there are no guidelines on shorts at all? Length or tightness."
"Are you gonna wear short-shorts? Please wear short-shorts."
"I was thinking I'd get those for Murphy," he says. "But if you want us to wear short-shorts--"
"I can't believe you're making me think about Murphy in short-shorts," she groans, flopping back on his couch.
"Something really revealing. Every contour of his--"
"Oh my god, please stop," says Clarke, but she's laughing.
Bellamy grins at her, openly delighted at the response, and it's honestly really weird. They've never had a project to work on together before, and now that they do, it turns out they're an excellent team. Their sniping is mostly friendly, and it's nice. Fun, even.
"Okay, so--give it a week to get everything figured out, and we'll want to start on a Monday," she says, grinning back. "So that's like--a week and a half? We can do it the week before spring break, which should throw them off at first. Like it's just a pre-vacation thing."
Bellamy nods. "Yeah, that sounds good." He considers. "I think you shouldn't get in on it until Wednesday. Two days of guys, and then girls start wearing similar outfits, once we've established they're not punishing the guys for wearing the exact same stuff. We should match people up. Not, like--it doesn't have to be identical, but--"
"Every girl should have a guy they can point to with an analogous outfit."
"Exactly." He wets his lips. "So, I'll talk to the team about it tomorrow. You should probably come too."
"I should?" she asks, surprised.
"I think they won't need much encouragement, but just in case." He throws her a smirk. "Nothing says serious business like me and you working together."
Clarke has to smile herself. "Yeah, you're right. If we're in agreement, it must be bad."
"Exactly. I'll keep the team after coach leaves, just come over before you shower."
"Sure. And--thanks."
He shrugs, dismissive, but Clarke can see a little color in his cheeks. "It's a bullshit policy and it's causing problems. If you hadn't come up with a plan, I would have." He stands and wipes his hands on his jeans. "Anyway, it's getting late. I'll walk you to your car."
"You don't have to."
"It's not like it's far," he says, and pulls on his shoes before she can object further.
Clarke follows him out, distracted by the breadth of his shoulders, the way the muscles of his back move under his t-shirt. He's in good shape, not tall, but broad and solid; it's going to be a pain to find clothes they can both wear. They'll have to go shopping together, like a bad eighties movie. They'll probably see a lot of each other, over the next week and a half.
"So, tomorrow?" Bellamy says, like he's thinking the same thing.
"Yeah," she agrees. "Tomorrow."
*
Since they're both seniors on the AP track, Clarke and Bellamy have a pretty similar class schedule, and tend to be together most of the school day, even if they don't always interact. it worries her a little, the next morning; it feels as if something has changed between them, but she doesn't know how.
In all honesty, it's a basic relief when they spend most of first-period English bickering, as usual. But then he actually comes over and sits next to her during Physics, which means they're partners for the lab. It seems like mostly an excuse to discuss their plan on his part, but Raven still raises her eyebrows when Clarke meets her eye, like the idea that she'd ever be interacting with Bellamy Blake is unthinkable. And it is, at least a little bit.
But it's kind of fun, too.
After she finishes practice, she heads over to the lacrosse field and finds Bellamy giving everyone feedback on the pickup game they must have just finished. The coach is already gone, but none of the other players seem surprised Bellamy is lecturing them. Clarke does it herself sometimes, when she feels like her team is going soft.
He cuts himself off when she comes up to stand next to him, and she can see the guys exchanging wary glances. It's not exactly a secret that she and Bellamy aren't best buddies; if she were them, she'd probably be confused too.
"Cool, here's Clarke," Bellamy says. "We've got something to talk to you guys about."
"Did you guys finally get hitched?" Murphy calls.
"I wouldn't want to break your mom's heart, Murphy," Bellamy replies, cheerful, without missing a beat. "Seriously, this is important. Everyone knows Principal Kane has been cracking down on dress-code violations, right?"
"It sucks!" calls Mbege. "It's fucking April, we should be seeing some more--" He starts to make a rude gesture at chest level, but Miller cuffs him, and Bellamy rolls his eyes.
"Dude, if you want to see cleavage, just use the internet like the rest of us," Bellamy says. "This isn't about your inability to get laid, it's a real issue. It's total bullshit that girls are getting sent home because we can see some bra strap or some leg, and Jasper is still wearing those fucking baggy jeans that mean I have to see half his boxers and no one gives a fuck."
"My boxers are awesome!" Jasper protests, but everyone else is laughing.
"Dude, they're really not," says Bellamy. He glances to Clarke. "Anyway, Clarke has an idea she wants our help with, and we're going to do it. This shit has been going on for long enough."
"What's the plan?" asks Miller, and Clarke gives him a smile. At least one person is actually helping.
"How do you guys feel about miniskirts?" Clarke asks, and there's general whooping and whistling. Once it dies down, she gives the team a bright smile. "Sorry, I should have been clearer. How do you feel about wearing miniskirts?"
There's an awkward silence in response to that, but then Jasper says, "I could totally rock a miniskirt."
Bellamy snorts. "Yeah, that's the spirit. Let's talk logistics."
*
Raven takes the seat next to Clarke in Physics the next day and says, "So, I hear you and Bellamy are making up."
Raven's friends with Jasper and Monty, so it makes sense that she heard about the plan. Bellamy told the team to tell people they thought would want to participate, and to find girls who might want to coordinate outfits with them. Clarke can just imagine Raven and Jasper in matching dresses; she's really hoping that dream will become a reality.
"We're allying ourselves against a greater evil," Clarke says, unable to keep from glancing at him across the room. He's sitting with Miller today, but he catches her eye and offers a quick smile, no edge to it at all, friendly. She really isn't prepared for it this early in the morning. "We're not making up."
"Uh huh," Raven agrees. "I still don't understand why you guys weren't friends in the first place. He's kind of a dick, but I thought he was the kind of dick you liked."
Raven transferred to their school at the beginning of their sophomore year, once Clarke and Bellamy's general antagonism had already been firmly cemented. The two of them hadn't become immediate friends, because of the entire Finn mess, but it hadn't taken long after that, and Raven has always pretty much liked Bellamy too. They even hooked up for a while junior year, which Clarke had felt odd about for reasons she didn't really want to examine. Bellamy doesn't tend to do relationships, and sleeping with Raven more than once had been out of character for him. She'd just been happy it hadn't evolved into the two of them dating.
Still, Bellamy isn't someone they talk about much. He's not verboten to the extent that Finn is, but it's still just--awkward. Raven likes him, Clarke doesn't. There's nothing good to talk about.
"We've always hated each other," Clarke says. "It's just how it is."
"You know that's the shittiest reason of all time, right?" Raven says. "Besides, he doesn't hate you."
"Yeah he does."
"He does not. I asked him, back when he started hitting on me last year. I thought he was trying to mess with you."
"And he said he didn't hate me?" Clarke asks, glancing at Bellamy again. He's not paying attention to her this time, but her eye still gets caught on the strong line of his jaw. His face is actually kind of infuriating. It's unfair.
Raven rolls her eyes. "Nope. He said you hated him and it was fun to rile you up, but he thinks you're cool."
"He probably just wanted to get in your pants," Clarke says, but it makes something uncomfortable twist in her chest. It's the same way she feels about him, most days. Hating him is more of a habit than anything else at this point, for all she still tells anyone who asks that he's her mortal enemy.
Raven snorts. "You guys are fucking pathetic. You're going to the same college, just kiss and make up already."
They are going to the same college, even if it wasn't on purpose. Bellamy got into Princeton early decision with a full ride, which was awesome enough even Clarke congratulated him, and when she'd gotten all her acceptances in, Princeton was the one that looked best to her too. They haven't talked about it at all, of course, but they both know.
"Not helpful. Let's talk about all the awesome matching outfits you and Jasper are going to wear instead," she says, and Raven takes the subject change with good grace.
Still, it nags at Clarke the rest of the day, the idea that she and Bellamy could maybe be actual friends, that he might want that too. One of them would have to manage to give in and admit a desire to make peace, but--this is a good opportunity. Maybe they can figure something out without having to actually talk about it. They'll just fall into it naturally.
Because they are spending time together. Bellamy keeps finding her with questions about where one of his teammates can find a particular item of clothing, and Clarke finds herself responding in kind, seeking him out so they can talk about how the plan is spreading and help coordinate. It's fun, honestly, being co-conspirators. It might not work, not like she wants, but she's really glad they're working on it together.
"Oh, hey, speaking of outfits," he says on Friday. It's lunch, and they're eating in Ms. Indra's empty classroom. Clarke has a spreadsheet pulled up on her laptop with a list of participating guys and the women who are planning to coordinate with them, because she loves organization. Bellamy has been telling her she's a nerd, but, one, so is he, and, two, it's clearly affectionate. "Are you busy tomorrow?"
"Not super busy," she says, absent. "Why?"
"We need to figure out what we're wearing," he says, grinning. "I've got work on Sunday, so--"
"Please tell me we aren't seriously doing a shopping montage," she teases.
"Maybe I just want you to see how awesome my legs look in a miniskirt."
"Which I'll be seeing anyway. But sure. You can come check out my closet first, I probably have some stuff that'll fit you. And then we can hit Goodwill."
"You're going to slum it at Goodwill?" he asks, and Clarke feels tension rocket up her back.
"You want to spend real money on clothes you're going to wear once?" she snaps, and Bellamy flinches too.
Maybe they're not actually great at the friends thing. But he exhales, like he's getting his temper in check, and says, "Yeah, okay. But I don't know where you live either."
A week ago, it would have turned into a shouting match, so Bellamy is clearly putting some effort in. She can too. "I'll text you the address," is all she says.
*
Clarke's mother is the mayor, which was how the princess thing started in the first place, and Clarke is a little worried about having him in her house. Part of her wants to skip the Bellamy comes over step entirely and get right to the montage, but she has a really unnecessary number of clothes. They should take advantage of that.
Bellamy shows up at one and is clearly on his best behavior, because he makes no comments about how her house is giant and her living room is unnecessarily fancy. By way of greeting, he just says, "I think blue's my color. Can we work with that?"
"I'm pretty sure none of my jeans will fit you," she says. "But I bet we'll figure something out."
Just having him in her home feels like a bad idea, but she doesn't upgrade it to total fucking disaster idea until he's tugging his shirt off to try on one of her shirts. Not that she's never seen him without a shirt before; his various teams will do shirts vs. skins scrimmages sometimes, and it's--distracting. Because of everyone, obviously. Not just Bellamy.
But he was the most distracting, and it's even worse in her room, just the two of them, close enough she can see he has freckles on his chest, and he's ripped, and his arms are unreal.
"It's supposed to be tight, right?" Bellamy asks, frowning at the tank. If he didn't think it was going to fit, Clarke feels like he could have had the decency to stay clothed, but he pulls it on anyway. It's a basic white ribbed tank, the kind she has about a billion of, which was why he'd picked it in the first place--they can coordinate easily. It does fit him, but awkwardly, stretched out and too short, and it's almost as bad as no shirt at all. There's still a lot of abs and his arms look even more comically huge.
"I could probably do this for a day." He stretches a little, like he's testing out his range of motion. "Do I need a bra so the straps can show?"
"I'm pretty sure none of my bras are going to fit you," Clarke says, dry.
"Yeah, but you should probably let me look at all of them, just to make sure," he says, with a leering grin.
"I really don't get that. Don't get me wrong, girls in lingerie? Hot. But lingerie by itself is just--clothes."
"Yeah, it's more about the girl in the lingerie." He says it absently, as he's leaning into the closet to look for more clothes, but Clarke still feels herself flush. At least he won't see it. "Realism, or whatever."
"So, you want to see my bras so you can imagine me in my underwear accurately ?" she asks, and he hits his head on the closet.
"Just, you know, generally," he says, voice more than a little off, and Clarke feels so much better about checking him out. "Do you have dresses?"
"Nothing that would fit you."
"If you have anything you don't mind sacrificing to the cause, I can probably alter it," he says, like this is not kind of incredible. She knew he helped out with backstage stuff for the play, including some costuming, but it feels like there's a world of difference between helping out backstage and fully altering a dress to make it his size. Then again, she knows very little about clothing production.
"Really?"
"My mom does alterations, I help her out."
"That's cool," says Clarke. "So you could alter the tank top."
"What, you don't think this is a good look?" he teases, and Clarke goes over to stand next to him in the closet door, checking out her dresses with a critical eye. She doesn't really wear dresses very often, and most of the ones she has are things her mom has bought her for events. She's probably not allowed to give them to Bellamy to rip apart, but--she kind of wants to. And her mom won't actually care.
"You're very rugged," Clarke assures him, patting his arm, and pulls out a blue sundress she hasn't worn in a while. "Yours if you want it," she says.
"Are you sure? This would look great on you."
This time, she's pretty sure he does notice she's blushing, but he doesn't comment, so she doesn't either. "I don't really wear dresses," she says instead. "Knock yourself out."
*
Bellamy flirts with everyone, Clarke included. He always has. It's seemed particularly personal, it's just how he is. Bellamy flirts. Clarke didn't know how to deal with it for a long time; she was never great at flirting, always a little too--well, she doesn't have the knack for it. It's honestly a miracle she realized that was what Bellamy was doing in the first place, and she assumes it was just because there was always the undercurrent of malice, the kind of flirtation that wasn't. He was mocking her.
And now he's not, and it's mildly terrifying.
They've been texting with some regularity, texts that aren't even specifically related to what they've dubbed Hypocrisy Week, and they're--good, maybe? They aren't sniping at each other for no reason, and they're united against a common goal. And he's being friendly. More than friendly, maybe.
He's fucking cute, and every time her phone buzzes with a text from him, Clarke's heart speeds up and her cheeks warm. Honestly, it's embarrassing. She can't even look at her phone when anyone is around, for fear that they'll notice and figure out what's happening.
None of it prepares her for Sunday night, when he actually calls.
"Should I shave?" he asks her, without preamble.
"I can't imagine you with a beard," she says. "Just kind of--scruff. It's not a pretty picture. Kind of mangy, honestly."
"I meant my legs," he says. "But thanks for your vote of confidence. I could rock a goatee."
"You'd look like a cartoon supervillain."
"Even better. Seriously, legs?"
"I dunno. How confident are you in your ability to shave without cutting the shit out of yourself?"
There's a long pause, as if he's really thinking about it. "I have no idea. How much worse is it than shaving your face?"
"You never see shaving cuts on my face, do you?" Clarke asks, and he laughs.
"I never see them on your legs either. But fine. I'll wax. Happy?"
"Only if you send pictures. Or, better yet, film it."
"You have some weird fetishes," Bellamy says, absent. "But if that's what you're into--"
"I'm hanging up now."
"I'm amazed it took you this long. See you tomorrow, Clarke."
It only occurs to her when she's brushing her teeth that he hasn't called her princess since this whole thing started. Not once.
She goes to sleep with a smile on her face.
*
"Miller can really rock a miniskirt," Raven observes. They're in English, and Miller really is looking good. Clarke didn't know he had such nice legs. But she can't really pay attention to him, because most of her is on edge, waiting for the sound of Bellamy's voice. "Hey, Miller, did you shave?"
"I gotta look my best for you, Raven!" Miller calls back, and Raven gives him the finger, cheerful.
"We actually had a party," Bellamy says, leaning over Clarke's shoulder, and she jumps a little. She turns to look at him; as expected, he's altered the sundress so it fits him, and it fits him really well. The straps are as thin as ever and it's clearly too short for the dress code, and she has to admit that it's very, very distracting. Clarke wouldn't say she's broadly into guys in dresses, as a thing. But a good-looking guy rocking a nice outfit, especially one who's comfortable with it? Yeah, that's hot. And he has freckles all over his shoulders.
She's in so much trouble.
"A shaving party?" Raven is asking, while Clarke just kind of fails at everything.
"It sounded like Clarke would be disappointed if I didn't figure it out," Bellamy says, giving her a smile like he knows exactly what she's thinking. Maybe he does. She's not sure she'd mind. "How do I look?"
"Totally hot," Clarke says, making it sarcastic even though it isn't, not really. "You're right, blue's your color."
There's a flash of something like hurt on his face, so brief Clarke almost misses it. But it makes her feel like shit. "Yeah, well--" he starts, and she knocks her hip against his.
"Seriously, you look great, Bell." The nickname feels awkward on her tongue, but the way he instantly brightens makes it worth it. "It's perfect."
"Thanks," he says, ducking his head, so obviously pleased, and sits next to her when the bell rings. He sits next to her in every class they share that day, and Clarke smiles at him a lot and pointedly avoids ever meeting Raven's eye.
*
On Wednesday, Clarke wears a gray tank top and a blue denim skirt, and Bellamy wears the same, except his tank top is white. He got a nude sports bra to wear under it, which he complains about before first period, and Clarke pats him on the shoulder and tells him his sacrifice is appreciated.
"It better be," he mutters, and they're definitely going to be making out before the end of the week. It's going to happen.
Clarke's skirt is exactly half an inch too short for the dress code, and her bra straps are definitely showing. Bellamy's skirts have been too short all week and he hasn't worn anything that covers his shoulders, but no one has called him on it. Clarke is possibly itching for a fight.
It's Mr. Wallace who ends up breaking first, but he does it like an idiot because he is, honestly, kind of an idiot. Maya Vie, who is not involved in the entire scheme and has never purposefully broken dress code rules in her life, as far as Clarke knows, is wearing a t-shirt with a wide neck, and while they're doing a worksheet, it slides down over her shoulder, exposing a black bra strap.
"Maya, dress code," Mr. Wallace snaps, almost reflexively, and Maya stares at him with open disbelief.
"Seriously?" she asks.
It's a valid question. There are five girls with fucking blatant dress code violations in the classroom, and eight boys.
"Bare shoulders and visible undergarments."
"Have you seen Bellamy today?" Maya asks. Clarke wouldn't have necessarily expected her to fight back, but she's glad it's happening. It's absurd.
Bellamy had been writing notes to Clarke about how shitty Mr. Wallace is as a teacher, but at the sound of his name, he looks up and waves.
"I can see his bra and both his shoulders," Maya continues.
"And most of my legs," Bellamy says. "You're welcome."
"I'm showing way more skin than Maya too," Clarke says.
Mr. Wallace's jaw works. "The dress code is intended to reduce distractions--"
"And you seriously think we're distracted by Maya ?" Raven asks. "We're all too busy trying to figure out how long it'll be before Clarke gives up and jumps Bellamy."
"You probably can't send them home for having insane sexual tension, though," Jasper adds.
"If you can, you should, though. It would be good for them."
"I will send all of you to the office," Mr. Wallace says. "If that's what you want."
"There's no way you're just sending Maya," Jasper says, and that's the end for Wallace, apparently.
When they get to the office, there's already a line. Octavia is there, in a shirt that, according to Bellamy, did not show her midriff this morning, and Wells is next to her, surprisingly hot in a sparkly silver dress. He's really working it. There at least ten people waiting already, and more are showing up.
"Does this count as going well?" Bellamy asks, leaning in close. "I wasn't sure what you were hoping was going to happen."
"I think it's going well, yeah. No one is learning. That was the goal, right?"
He snorts. "Right."
Clarke takes a breath, leans back into him, just a little. "If we left, I bet Mr. Kane wouldn't even notice. There are too many people here."
"Where did you want to go?" he asks, in a tone she's never heard before.
"I'm sure we'll figure something out," she says, and when she takes his hand, he squeezes her fingers and lets him lead him away.
They don't actually resolve their sexual tension on Mrs. Sydney's desk, but it's close. And it's really, if she didn't want students making out in her room, she should have locked the door during her free period.
*
"I've come to the conclusion that this was your idea," Mr. Kane tells them on Friday. Clarke is honestly impressed; she didn't think he figure it out this quickly, and he wasn't sure she'd ever realize Bellamy was involved.
"What was?" Bellamy asks. He's wearing a really cute t-shirt and jean shorts, which is good, because Clarke saw Murphy in his tiny shorts on her way in, and she needs something nice to look at so she can forget that ever happened.
He's also her boyfriend. That's pretty cool.
"I assume you are trying to make some sort of ill-conceived point about the dress code. But the fact that a large group of students dressing oddly is disruptive isn't--"
"It wasn't, though," Clarke says. "Most of my classes this week were completely normal. The only problems were when teachers started--"
"Enforcing written dress-code policies."
"Inconsistently. Bellamy has been breaking the dress code all week. Everything he's worn has been way too short. His shoulders have been bare."
"When I have bra straps, they're visible," Bellamy adds.
"You were intentionally trying to disrupt--"
"So you didn't punish me because I was purposefully breaking the rules, but you're sending girls home because they did it by accident?"
"Or even on purpose. Why can Bellamy and I do it on purpose and no one else can?"
Mr. Kane is quiet for a long minute, and Clarke feels just the tiniest bit bad for him. He's friends with her mom, and he's probably wishing she'd gone to Abby instead of Clarke. But he's wrong, so she can't feel that bad.
"What were you trying to prove, then?"
"The dress code is arbitrarily enforced and disproportionately punishes female students for wearing unobjectionable clothes," Clarke says promptly.
"Also have you ever worn a bra?" Bellamy asks. "I wasn't even trying to show my straps, they just kept moving."
"Understood," says Kane, with a twitch of his lips that borders on a smile. "And do you have a proposed solution?"
Clarke and Bellamy exchange a look. "I'd revise the rules, who cares about shoulders?" Bellamy asks. "If someone can't pay attention to their classes because they can see someone else's shoulders, they deserve to fail."
"No spaghetti straps, fine, but yeah, aside from that. And sending people home for minor infractions is screwed up," Clarke adds.
"Could you invest in a shame smock or something? Violate the dress code, wear the smock. That would work for me."
"Don't make any rules that punish girls for being girls," Clarke adds. "And enforce all rules for all students equally. And--"
Kane holds up his hand. "How would the two of you like to be on a dress-code committee? To revise the current rules?"
Bellamy grins. "I thought you'd never ask."
They sort out the details and get two Saturday detentions each, for being generally disrespectful. Clarke could argue it, but it's not like she's not generally disrespectful, so she lets it go. This has worked out pretty well for her, all things considered.
Mr. Kane catches her as she's following Bellamy out, gives her a wry smile.
"I can't say I'm thrilled the two of you are on the same side now."
Clarke glances at Bellamy and bites back on her grin. "Sorry," she says, unable to manage even a hint of contrition. "But you'd better get used to it."