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The air in Lilac Park is sharp with the promise of autumn, a crisp October chill that bites at the tips of Strawberry Shortcake’s ears. It is 2010, and the scent of damp earth and fading lilac blossoms mingles with the sweeter, more vibrant aroma of ripe strawberries from her shortcake house. She is seated on a smooth, river-worn stone near the babbling brook, her acoustic guitar resting on her knees. Her fingers, painted with a soft, matte pink, pluck a single, hesitant chord. Beside her, Peppermint Fizz shifts her weight from foot to foot, the worn leather strap of her bass guitar a familiar weight on her shoulder. The usual confident smirk on her face is replaced by a nervous, almost vulnerable flicker in her eyes.
Ginger Snap is away visiting her great-aunt, a circumstance that has left Strawberry Jams with a vacancy. Peppermint, ever eager for a reason to be around Strawberry, had jumped at the chance to fill in. But her real motive runs deeper than just music. She still feels like an outsider, a former rival trying to earn a permanent place in the tight-knit circle Strawberry, Ginger, and Orange have shared for so long. She wants Strawberry to see her as more than just a friend, a person worthy of a closer connection, the kind she secretly craves.
Strawberry looks up from her fretboard, a slight frown creasing her brow as she senses Peppermint’s quiet unease. “You’re okay with this, right, Peppermint? I know it’s weird without Ginger.”
Peppermint nods, a faint blush rising to her cheeks. She watches the way a stray lock of bright red hair curls just above Strawberry’s left eyebrow. She wants to reach out and smooth it down, a gesture of comfort and intimacy that she knows she has no right to make. She grips her pick harder.
“Yeah, it’s fine. It’s… good. It's a chance to practice with you.” Her words are a little too fast, a little too earnest.
Strawberry smiles, and the tension in Peppermint’s shoulders melts away. “Ready to jam?”
Without waiting for a response, Strawberry launches into the opening chords of one of their songs, a light, upbeat pop melody. Peppermint’s fingers find the familiar notes of the bass line, her rhythm providing a solid anchor for the melody. As they play, a comfortable silence settles between them, punctuated only by the music. Peppermint’s eyes are fixed on Strawberry, on the way her head bobs slightly to the beat, on the effortless ease with which she navigates the chords.
In a quiet interlude, Peppermint hums the main melody, her voice a low, sweet counterpoint to the higher pitch of Strawberry’s acoustic. Strawberry’s head snaps up, her eyes wide with surprise. She meets Peppermint’s gaze, and for a long, breathless moment, they are suspended in a world of their own. It is a charged glance, full of unspoken questions and shared understanding. A deep, confusing heat spreads through Peppermint’s chest. She feels a familiar flutter in her stomach, a sensation she has tried to ignore for months.
As the last note of the song fades, a stillness descends upon the park. The only sound is the rustle of leaves in the trees and the faint, trickling burble of the stream. Strawberry finally breaks the silence.
“That sounded so good, Peppermint.” Her voice is soft, a gentle murmur in the afternoon air.
Peppermint lets out a shaky breath she didn’t realize she was holding. “Yeah. It did.”
Strawberry’s hand, so small and delicate, rests on Peppermint’s arm. Peppermint looks down, her eyes widening slightly at the sudden, warm contact. She feels a jolt travel up her arm, an electric current of pure sensation. Strawberry pulls her hand away almost as quickly as she placed it there, a faint dusting of pink on her cheeks now, too.
“Want to get some treats?” Strawberry asks, her voice a little higher than before.
“Yeah,” Peppermint replies, the word barely a whisper. She wants to stay here forever, in this moment of quiet confusion and perfect ambiguity.