Archive of Our Own

Natalie had gotten used to leaving places more than she ever got used to arriving at them. Moving in with Van was supposed to be easy, a clean break from Travis and their messy breakup that sometimes even haunted her in her sleep, a step towards something that didn’t hurt as much. Van was solid, no-bullshit, the kind of person who wouldn’t ask too many questions about how Natalie was doing but would still make sure she ate a damn sandwich every once in a while.

So she’d pictured it: two bedrooms, one bathroom, cheap furniture, Van’s dry humor filling up the spaces in between. A place where she could put down her duffel bag and not feel like the walls were already pressing in.

What she hadn’t pictured was Jackie Taylor opening the door.

Jackie, with her perfect hair and her captain’s smile that Natalie hadn’t seen since high school — and never without a little edge of resentment back then. Jackie, standing in the hallway like she owned it, like of course she was the third roommate Van had forgotten to mention.

Natalie froze with a box in her arms, and Jackie tilted her head, giving her a once-over that made Nat feel instantly judged.

“Hi,” Jackie said, voice bright and practiced. “Wow. Long time no see Scat.”

Van appeared behind her, looking sheepish. “I thought I told you,” she muttered, which only made Natalie’s stomach twist harder.

No, she hadn’t told her. Because if she had, Natalie might’ve thought twice about dragging her life into this apartment. Jackie Taylor was the last person she expected to see again, let alone share a kitchen with.

Natalie pasted on a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Yeah. Long time.”

Inside, her brain was already cataloguing everything she knew about Jackie Taylor — spoiled, shallow, judgmental. The kind of girl who had never really looked at Natalie without seeing something to roll her eyes at.

This was going to be a disaster.

---

1.

It didn’t even take a week for the universe to prove her right. Just two days in, and Natalie already had her answer: this roommate arrangement was a mistake.

Because, in the universe’s infinite desire to screw with her, the kitchen sink decided to betray them. The timing couldn’t have been worse — Van was halfway through rinsing her lunch dishes before heading to her shift at the video store when the pipes gave out. Water pooled fast across the tile.

Van winced, apologetic, already backing toward her room. “Oh crap. Nat, I’m really sorry, but I gotta go. If I’m late one more time, my boss is gonna lose it.”

“You sure he’s not already losing it?” Natalie muttered, gesturing at the water spreading across the floor.

“They guard the clock-in like it’s the gates of hell,” Van called from her bedroom, rummaging for her tote bag. “It’s archaic, but he checks everything.”

“Great. And what exactly do you want me to do about this?” Natalie asked, jabbing a finger at the sink as water trickled down the cabinet.

“You could—” Van started, but the apartment door swung open before she could finish.

Jackie Taylor stepped inside, immaculate as ever, her hair neat, her outfit untouched by the chaos waiting for her.

“What the hell—ugh, my shoes,” she complained, stepping straight into the puddle.

“Jackie’ll know what to do,” Van said hastily, dropping a kiss on Jackie’s temple in passing, like a parent leaving their kid with a babysitter. Then she bolted, tote slung over her shoulder, practically flying down the stairs.

“Have a good shift, Van!” Jackie called after her with a bright, automatic smile. She lingered at the door just long enough to watch Van disappear before slipping off her soaked shoes. She peeled her socks too, revealing a fresh pedicure that seemed almost obscene against the grimy kitchen floor.

“They always leave at the last possible second,” Jackie remarked casually, setting her shoes neatly by the door. “And then they wonder why their boss is an ass. Anyway—” she turned toward the sink, water still puddling under the cabinets—“what happened here?”

Natalie stared. Jackie Taylor, homecoming queen, was walking barefoot through the flooded kitchen as if it was nothing. Her head was already bent toward the cabinets, calculating. Nat’s brain caught somewhere between disbelief and disdain: Jackie, of all people, was about to get her hands dirty.

“Did you at least call the downstairs neighbors to warn them?” Jackie asked over her shoulder, her tone sharp enough to break through Natalie’s thoughts.

Not much time had passed since the pipe burst and Jackie walked through the door, but she was already moving like she owned the place.

“Natalie…” Jackie said briskly, crouching to glance at the water spreading across the tiles, “the circuit could fry if it reaches the outlet. And the family downstairs has two little girls.” She straightened, wiping her damp hands on her jeans as she crossed the entryway to the wall phone.

Natalie blinked. “You’re… calling the neighbors?”

Jackie shot her a look like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “If this happens and neither Van nor I are here, please make sure you call. The numbers are on the fridge.”

Nat’s eyes flicked toward the fridge. Sure enough, a sheet of pink paper was taped there, neatly labeled with names and numbers: building reception, a handful of neighbors, even the plumber and the carpet-cleaning company. Organized, precise, suburban perfection transplanted into a dingy apartment kitchen.

Jackie picked up the receiver and dialed one of the numbers. She spoke evenly, her voice polite but firm: “Hi, it’s Jackie from upstairs. We’ve got a pipe leaking, water’s on the floor, but I’ve shut it off for now. Could you let your parents know to keep the electricity off until I give the all-clear?”

A pause. Then Jackie smiled faintly. “Hi, Maddie. Yes, it’s me. Can I talk to your mom?”

Another pause. Jackie softened her voice in a way Natalie had never heard before — not sugary, but patient. “Oh, okay, she’s in the shower. Could you just tell her it’s under control? And I’ll come down myself once it’s safe, okay? I’m really sorry for the disturbance.”

She hung up and jotted a note on the pad by the phone, smooth, practiced, like she’d done this a hundred times before.

Natalie leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching with disbelief. Jackie Taylor, of all people, talking pipes and circuits with neighbors’ kids. Jackie, who in Nat’s mind was supposed to be too prissy for the “real world,” was the one calmly making sure no one got electrocuted. This wasn’t a bad neighborhood, but it wasn’t exactly the glossy suburb Natalie had always pictured Jackie floating through. And yet… Jackie looked like she belonged here.

Jackie set the receiver back in its cradle and smoothed the note onto the counter, her handwriting looping neatly across the page. “Okay. They’ll keep the breakers off until I check downstairs. No risk for now.”

Natalie raised an eyebrow. “What are you, the building manager?”

Jackie didn’t bother looking up. “Someone has to act like one.” She dropped to her knees by the sink cabinet and tugged it open, water still glistening on the tiles. “Flashlight,” she ordered, pointing toward the junk drawer by the fridge.

The nerve. Natalie opened her mouth to snap back, but instead she found herself digging through the drawer, pulling out the heavy flashlight, and clicking it on. She crouched beside Jackie, holding the beam while Jackie leaned halfway into the cabinet, sleeves pushed up, hair falling forward.

“You actually know what you’re doing down there?” Natalie asked, skepticism laced through her voice.

“Of course,” Jackie muttered, twisting at the pipes with deliberate precision. “My dad made me learn. Said a ‘lady of the house’ should never be at the mercy of a bad plumber. Sexist, but… useful.” She grunted as she tightened a joint. “Hold the light steady.”

Natalie’s jaw flexed. She wanted to laugh, to say this is ridiculous, to keep the image of Jackie Taylor as helpless and shallow firmly in place. But the truth was right in front of her: Jackie knew exactly what she was doing.

A final twist, a wipe with the rag she’d yanked from the counter, and the slow drip ceased. Jackie sat back on her heels, damp and flushed, triumphant.

“There,” she said simply, brushing her palms off on her jeans. “Crisis averted.”

Natalie stared, still holding the flashlight. She hadn’t thought Jackie Taylor was capable of getting her pedicured feet wet, let alone crawling under a sink to fix a burst pipe.

Jackie glanced at her and smirked. “What? Did you think I was just gonna scream and call my dad?”

Natalie snapped the flashlight off, tossing it onto the counter a little harder than necessary. “Something like that.”

---

2.

Something Natalie hadn’t accounted for when she decided to move in with Van was that Van could be just as much of a mess as she was.

Nat had never liked Taissa much — too judgmental, too sharp, too quick to dissect every flaw in everything and everyone. Still, Van had loved her, so Natalie had swallowed her opinions, stacking little criticisms in the back of her mind like unsmoked cigarettes.

But now that they were broken up? Natalie felt free to light every single one of those comments on fire.

They were getting ready for a party — Nat’s first as Van’s official roommate. Supposedly a chance to meet the crowd Van ran with, people she promised were fun, easygoing, nothing like the suffocating seriousness of Taissa.

“You’re gonna love them,” Van said from the bathroom, eyeliner pencil clenched between her teeth as she smudged color across her lids. “They’re carefree, funny—exactly your scene.”

“So, nothing like Taissa,” Natalie shot back from the hallway wall, arms folded.

“I—”

“So are you into any of them? Planning a hookup? What’s the Van Palmer approach to freedom these days?”

Before Van could answer, Jackie’s voice cut in.

“Don’t give them ideas.”

She emerged from her bedroom like the world was her runway, makeup already flawless, two tiny pink rhinestones at the corner of her eye catching the light. A baby-pink shirt hugged her shoulders, a black denim miniskirt showing off long, deliberate legs. She didn’t glance at either of them as she headed toward the kitchen, a cup in her hand — Van’s birthday gift, Natalie remembered overhearing. White ceramic, doodled flowers, and a cartoon dick hidden between the petals.

“They’re an adult, Jackie,” Nat grumbled, annoyance already tightening in her chest. “They can do what they want.”

Jackie didn’t dignify her with an answer as she came back from the kitchen. She sipped from the cup — water, probably, though she managed to make it look like champagne — and stopped at the bathroom door. With one perfectly manicured hand, she cupped Van’s face and squished her cheeks.

“Behave tonight, you little gremlin,” she said with mock sternness.

Van bared her teeth in response, a feral grin that made Jackie laugh as she let go.

--

The apartment was buzzing by the time they got there — too many people crammed into too-small a space, music pulsing from a speaker rattling on the windowsill. The air smelled like beer and weed, the floor already sticky. Van fit right in, weaving through the crowd with her crooked smile, people clapping her on the shoulder like she’d been missed.

Natalie trailed after her, hands shoved deep into her jacket pockets, clocking faces she didn’t know. These were Van’s people — the “carefree, funny” ones she’d promised. They looked like the type who could laugh about anything, even when nothing was funny.

Jackie slipped past them like she owned the place. A purposeful stride, a nod here, a compliment there, until she zeroed in on a girl with baby-pink hair and hugged her tight, sliding easily into the circle like she’d been there all along. She didn’t even seem to notice the way heads turned as she moved — like she carried a spotlight in her pocket.

Natalie rolled her eyes and grabbed a warm beer from the counter. She might be new to this crowd, new to this city, new to this whole part of town, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t have fun. If Van liked these people — if even Jackie Taylor could mingle with them like nothing — then there was no reason Nat couldn’t do the same.

It was past midnight when she spotted Van again — sprawled on the couch, laughing too loudly, pressed close to Madisson, a girl Nat half-remembered from Van’s art program. Madisson was smug, sloppy, the kind of girl who thought she was hilarious but wasn’t. Her arm slid neatly through Van’s, eyes locked on Van’s face with too much intensity, her every word pulling laughter out of Van like she’d earned it.

Natalie’s lip curled. Not her business. But when she glanced across the room, she caught Jackie watching too. That tight-lipped frown, those glossy lips pinching into a grimace. Even from across the room, Nat saw Jackie roll her eyes before turning away, muttering something to herself, and heading straight for the kitchen.

Of course. Judgment. Jackie Taylor, arbiter of all things acceptable, clocking Van for daring to move on — and with a girl, no less.

It didn’t surprise Natalie. Jackie was judgment, start to finish. That was what poisoned her friendship with Shauna — or so Nat gathered, from Van and Mari’s gossip. Nat hadn’t been there for the implosion; she’d been too busy getting high with Travis or playing dumb games with Javi in the back of hotel they were staying for nationals. She’d missed the Taylor-Shipman break-up show live.

Apparently Jackie hadn’t learned a damn thing since then. And sooner or later, she was going to ruin another friendship.

Natalie just hoped Van’s name was the one on the lease, not Jackie’s.

They stumbled home from the party like nothing had happened, all three too boozed-up to bother rehashing the night. Nat was grateful Jackie didn’t immediately start needling Van about who she’d been with. Maybe she’d let it slide.

But it didn’t last.

Later, once Nat figured everyone was asleep, she padded to the kitchen for water — and froze in the doorway. Jackie’s voice drifted from the living room, sharp but low.

“Seriously, Van? Her?”

Natalie’s jaw clenched. There it was. The judgment. The exact same tone Taissa used to use, now coming from Jackie too.

Van sighed. “It’s not about her, Jackie. It’s about me, trying to—”

“—feel nothing,” Jackie cut in. “Don’t bullshit me. You’re not into her. You’re just distracting yourself. And honestly? I don’t think you even like her as a person. Which means you’re wasting your time with someone we all have to keep running into. She’s in half your courses, Van. I know you’re graduating this year, but still — you could’ve saved yourself months of awkwardness.”

Natalie blinked, caught off guard. Jackie wasn’t scorning Van for being with a girl. She wasn’t even angry at Van for moving on. She was angry because Van was sabotaging herself — papering over grief with bad decisions.

Van laughed weakly. “You sound like my mom.”

“Your mom doesn’t have to watch you wreck yourself in real time,” Jackie snapped, but the bite softened into something else. Worry. “I just… don’t want you to wake up tomorrow hating yourself for this.”

There was a pause. Then Van’s muffled voice: “I love you, Jack-Jack.”

Natalie heard fabric shift, the sound of a hug.

“And I love you, Van,” Jackie murmured. Nat imagined her chin tucked against Van’s shoulder, voice low and warm. “Just… if you’re gonna hook up with someone we know again, at least make it someone we like.”

Van’s laughter rang out, genuine this time.

Natalie gripped her glass tighter.

This wasn’t judgment. This was Jackie Taylor giving a damn.

And worse — giving a damn in a way Natalie never would’ve guessed she could.

---

3.

The tickets appeared one Friday morning, tucked under the sugar jar on the kitchen counter like some forgotten grocery coupon. Neon-bright, promising “The Ultimate Obstacle Carnival Experience.” Foam pits, ridiculous slides, obstacle courses designed to make people look stupid.

Van spotted them first and let out a whoop. “No way! These sold out in, like, five minutes.” They snatched them up, waving them in the air.

“Cool,” Natalie muttered, leaning on the counter with her coffee. “Whose are they?”

“Yours,” Jackie’s voice came from down the hall. She walked into the kitchen already looking like she had a brunch reservation in half an hour: pressed blouse, fitted jeans, gold studs in her ears. Her mug was the only casual thing about her — Van’s doodled flower-dick cup.

Nat frowned. “You’re not going?”

“I have other plans.” Jackie sipped her coffee like that was the end of it.

Van narrowed their eyes. “You just—what? Bought two tickets to something fun and decided not to go?”

“I said they’re for you two.” Jackie set her mug down, deliberate.

“Okay, but why?” Van pressed. “I know we’re friends, Jack, but you don’t like us that much to just gift us these tickets. Where are you going?”

Jackie’s smirk tugged at one corner of her mouth. “You ask too many questions.”

By the time Van was dragging Natalie out the door, Jackie was already at the mirror by the entryway, slipping into heels. Her perfume was faint, clean, expensive. Natalie looked her up and down, glossy hair, perfect makeup, and couldn’t stop herself.

“Guess the princess has a date,” she muttered to Van, voice low but pointed. “Some things never change.”

Jackie didn’t even blink. She just grabbed her purse and left.

---

The subject didn’t come up again for days. But one evening, Natalie heard it — Van’s voice carrying down the hallway, sharper than usual, edged with frustration.

“You can’t keep doing this every week, Jackie. You’re gonna kill yourself driving back and forth like that.”

Jackie’s reply was quieter, muffled. “It’s fine. Really. I don’t mind. It’s not even that long of a drive.”

“I mind,” Van snapped. “If you won’t slow down, then I’m driving you myself next time. I don’t trust you not to crash when you’re this drained.”

Natalie froze halfway to the fridge, ears pricked, but the conversation ended there. A door shut. Silence.

That night they came home earlier than expected. Nat was at the kitchen counter, stirring sugar into her tea, when the front door opened. Jackie walked in first, posture stiff, face immaculate as ever. Not a hair out of place, not a smudge in sight. But her jaw was locked too tight, her eyes fixed straight ahead. She crossed the room without a glance, heels clicking hard against the floor, and shut her bedroom door. The lock turned.

Nat arched an eyebrow, smirk tugging at her mouth. “Wow. Rough date? What’d you do, Van — crash her candlelit dinner?”

But Van wasn’t laughing. They dropped their jacket onto the couch, rubbing their forehead like they’d aged ten years in an hour.

“Don’t,” Van said flatly. “Not today.”

Natalie blinked. “What happened?”

For a moment, she thought Van wouldn’t answer. Then Van exhaled, voice low. “Her grandma didn’t recognize her today.”

The words sank heavy, the kind of heavy that made jokes shrivel up in your throat.

Van leaned against the wall, eyes on the shut door. “Her mom put her in this new facility, about two hours away. Jackie usually goes later in the day, so she doesn’t run into her mom — not that her mom even bothers to visit. But still.”

Van crossed into the kitchen, grabbing a cup from the pantry and filling it from the tap, ignoring the filtered water in the fridge. “She doesn’t like to talk about it, but… the dementia’s getting worse. That’s why she’s been pushing us to go out so much, trying to clear the apartment. So if it gets bad, she can come back here and cry alone.” Van’s voice wavered, just slightly. “Usually she gets… something. A flicker. A smile. Jackie even wore her old high school clothes today, did her hair the same way. And… nothing. Just blank.”

The silence stretched.

Natalie stared at the locked door, her cigarette pack forgotten in her hand. Jackie Taylor, who she’d always pictured as untouchable, shallow, wrapped in gloss and glitter. The same Jackie Taylor who bought tickets and slipped out the door looking flawless.

Except none of that polish mattered tonight.

For once, Natalie didn’t have a snarky comeback.

---

4.

The first fight was about dishes.

Natalie had left the plates “soaking” in the sink — two days ago. By now, the water was murky, streaked with grease, a fork floating like a dead fish. She was sprawled across the couch, half-watching the muted glow of the TV, when the front door clicked and Jackie’s heels announced her return.

The bag dropped. Silence stretched. Then—

“Are you serious?”

Nat didn’t even look up. “What?”

“The sink. You said you’d do them Tuesday. It’s Friday.” Jackie’s voice was clipped, the kind of tone that would’ve worked in a locker room. She stalked into the kitchen, yanking the plug, the water glugging down in sour waves.

“They were soaking,” Nat muttered.

“They were rotting,” Jackie shot back. She pulled on gloves like she was preparing for surgery. “I don’t care if you eat straight out of the pan, but if you sign up for chores, do them. Van and I aren’t your maids.”

Van, perched at the table with a comic book, tried to play mediator. “Hey, maybe we let the ecosystem grow a little? Mushrooms are protein, right?”

Neither girl laughed.

Natalie dragged her gaze to the ceiling, biting back the urge to throw the remote. Jackie was scrubbing, movements sharp, muttering about respect. 

The second fight was about weed.

Natalie lit up in the living room, feet kicked on the coffee table, watching smoke curl lazily toward the ceiling fan. The day had been long, her head buzzing, and the joint was the first thing that made her feel like her skin fit right again.

Then Jackie stormed in, wrinkling her nose. “Out.”

Nat smirked, exhaling slow. “Come again?”

“I said out. Do it on the balcony. Or at least wait for the weekend.” Jackie opened a window, waving the smoke like she could shoo it out. “There are kids in this building. You want Mrs. Alvarez’s girls getting a contact high?”

Nat tapped ash into a tray. “Oh, please. Don’t act like you’re some kind of Mother Teresa.”

“I’m asking for basic respect.”

“Basic respect,” Natalie mimicked, rolling her eyes. “God, you love sounding like a PSA.”

Jackie’s eyes flashed, but she kept her tone even. “You think you’re the only one who lives here? That what you do doesn’t affect anyone else?”

Van turned up the TV volume, muttering, “Drop it, both of you.”

But Nat couldn’t let it go. “Of course Jackie Taylor lives for lecturing people. Heaven forbid the world doesn’t smell like roses and sunshine.”

Jackie didn’t rise to it — not fully. She just stared at her, disappointed, and left the window open behind her. Nat shivered in the draft, muttering curses under her breath.

The third fight ended up being the worst one.

It was past midnight when Natalie stumbled through the apartment door. Her boots scuffed too loud against the floor, her keys slipping out of her hand and skittering across the counter. She giggled under her breath, half to herself, half to the empty living room.

Except it wasn’t empty.

The lamp clicked on.

Jackie was standing by the wall, arms crossed, eyes sharp. She wasn’t in pajamas. She wasn’t even barefoot. She was still dressed like she’d just stepped out of a dinner date — fitted jeans, a silk blouse, earrings catching the light. Her lipstick hadn’t even smudged.

Nat frowned, thrown. Jackie Taylor never stayed dressed like this after dark. By ten she was usually in pastel sweats, hair scraped back, night cream on. Seeing her upright, polished, and waiting past midnight felt wrong. Like she’d been waiting.

Nat smirked to cover the unease. “What, no bedtime tonight, princess?”

Jackie’s mouth tightened. “Do you even hear yourself right now? You can’t stand straight. You reek of alcohol. You think it’s cute, but it’s pathetic.”

Nat laughed, too loud. “Oh, here we go. Another Jackie Taylor lecture. What is this, number three this week?”

Jackie took a step forward. “I’m serious, Nat. You keep coming home like this, one of these nights you won’t make it. You think you’re invincible, but you’re not. Your liver won’t forgive you forever. Neither will your body.”

“Oh my God.” Nat rolled her eyes, fumbling for her cigarettes, waving one between her fingers like punctuation. “Do you practice this shit in the mirror? You sound like a pamphlet.”

“Someone has to say it!” Jackie’s voice spiked, the sharpness echoing through the small apartment. “Because clearly you don’t care about yourself, and Van—” she faltered, glanced toward the hall, then pressed on, “Van won’t push you.”

Nat barked a bitter laugh, smoke curling around her words though the cigarette wasn’t even lit. “And there it is. Jackie Taylor, world’s biggest control freak. That’s why nobody actually liked you in high school — because you couldn’t stop telling people how to live.”

Jackie’s jaw locked. For a moment it seemed like she’d let it drop. But then:
“At least people expected something of me. At least I wasn’t the burnout everyone whispered about, skipping practice, getting high behind the gym, wasting every ounce of talent you had.”

The words hit like a slap. Nat’s hand curled tight around the cigarette, crushing it. “At least I had real friends,” she hissed. “At least I had a boyfriend who gave a shit about me. Can you say that, Jackie? Can you honestly say anyone ever wanted you without what you could give them? Without the parties, the car, the spotlight?”

Jackie blinked, something in her expression flickering — a flash of naked hurt before she rebuilt the mask.

Nat saw it. And drunk, reckless, she went for the kill.

“Should we call Shauna?” Her voice was low, venomous. “See if she wants to knock you down another peg? Pretty sure she’s the reason your little queen-bee act tanked in the first place.”

Silence crashed between them.

Jackie just… stared. Not sharp, not polished — stunned. Her mouth opened like she might say something, anything. But nothing came. Her hands trembled at her sides, then balled into fists. For a heartbeat, she looked like she might cry. Then her spine straightened, chin lifted, and the mask snapped back into place.

“Go to hell, Natalie.”

She grabbed her bag, heels clicking too loud on the floor, and slammed the door behind her hard enough to rattle the frames on the wall.

Natalie stood there in the echo, chest heaving, cigarette crushed in her palm. She wanted to laugh, but nothing came.

Then a voice cut through the quiet.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Van was in the hallway, arms crossed, their face pale with exhaustion.

Nat whipped around. “Don’t start, okay? She’s the one who came at me.”

Van shook their head slowly, stepping forward. Their voice wasn’t angry so much as tired, like they’d aged years in the span of the fight. “No. She came at you because she cares. And you—you tore her apart like it was fun for you.”

Nat scoffed, hollow. “Why do you even like her? You didn’t hang out with her in high school. You barely even talked. And now you live with her? Why?”

Van sank onto the couch, rubbing their temples. For a long moment, they didn’t answer. Then they said quietly, “Because she tries.”

“Tries what?”

“Tries to do right by people,” Van said, eyes heavy on Nat. “When you told me about the mess with Travis, about having nowhere to go? It wasn’t me who vouched for you. It was Jackie. She’s the one who fought to let you move in. Not me.”

Nat froze.

“I wasn't sure it was the right call,” Van went on, voice softer but no less sharp. “But she still stood up for you. And since then? She’s been cleaning up after you, worrying about you, pushing you to stop wrecking yourself. And all you’ve done is spit in her face.”

Nat swallowed, throat tight.

“You always say the world never gave you a chance,” Van added, eyes burning into her. “But when it comes to Jackie? You’ve never even looked at her. Not once. And that’s on you, Nat. Not the world. You.”

Silence pressed in. Natalie looked at the door Jackie had slammed, the echo of it still ringing in her chest. For the first time, she didn’t have a comeback.

---

5.

They had slipped back into a rhythm, like none of the fights had ever happened. Which, in hindsight, was a dangerous decision — but one Natalie was grateful for.

She’d started pulling her weight around the apartment, little by little. Dishes done when it was her turn. The trash taken out before Van had to remind her. No more smoking inside — which, somehow, meant she was smoking less in general. Weed, cigarettes, everything. She couldn’t quite believe it herself.

And maybe the strangest part: she’d begun tagging along with Jackie. Grocery runs, quick coffee stops, things that once would’ve felt like a punishment. She made herself start conversations, little cracks in the wall. And Jackie, perfectly infuriating Jackie, acted like nothing had ever happened. Like Nat hadn’t ripped her open in the middle of the living room. Like she hadn’t drawn blood.

It made something gnaw at Natalie’s gut. A guilt she didn’t want to name. So she kept trying. Because after Van’s words, how could she not? If she wanted the world to give her a chance, maybe she had to start giving Jackie Taylor one, too.

They were cooking for one of Van’s friends, who was throwing a birthday dinner later that week. A potluck, apparently everyone was supposed to bring a dish to share. Some kind of bonding activity. According to Van, the birthday girl loved that kind of thing: “Nothing says celebration like other people cooking for you.”

Natalie hadn’t planned to help. She was perfectly fine showing up with a bottle of wine and calling it a day. But Jackie had insisted they make something decent. So here she was, trailing behind as Jackie scoured shelves like a general plotting a campaign.

That’s how she ended up in the fluorescent glare of the supermarket, trailing behind Jackie and Van while Jackie clutched a crumpled recipe card like it was a treasure map.

“Okay,” Jackie muttered, scanning the shelves. “We need Calabrian chiles. In oil. Not paste.”

Natalie raised her eyebrows. “That’s… specific.”

“It makes a difference,” Jackie shot back, already crouching to peer at the bottom shelf.

Nat leaned against the cart, smirking. “You do realize this is supposed to be fun, right? Like, bring a dish, hang out, not audition for Top Chef.”

“Fun doesn’t mean sloppy,” Jackie said, triumphant as she grabbed a jar. “People remember good food. It shows you care.”

Van sidled up with a bag of chips. “Translation: there’s someone at this party Jackie desperately wants to impress.”

Jackie’s head snapped up. “Excuse me?”

Van grinned. “Don’t play innocent. You only pull out the Calabrian chiles when it’s serious.”

Natalie blinked, intrigued despite herself. “Oh? Serious, huh? Who is it?”

Van tilted their head, all faux-casual. “You know. Someone tall. Artsy. Hair that does that… thing. Laugh like a snort?”

Jackie hissed. “Van!”

Van ignored her, tossing a box of pasta into the cart. “Always tells Jackie her eyeliner could cut glass. Always ‘accidentally’ ends up next to her at parties.”

Natalie snorted. “Sounds like a real catch.” She eyed Jackie, who was suddenly too focused on rearranging items in the cart. “So this whole elaborate shopping list… is for them?”

Jackie straightened, cheeks a touch pink. “It’s for everyone. I don’t half-ass things.”

“Mm-hm,” Van sang, bumping her shoulder. “Sure, princess.”

Nat chuckled, shaking her head. “God, you’re taking this way too seriously.”

Jackie shot her a look, but it lacked bite. For once, it was almost playful.

And just like that, Natalie found herself curious. Who the hell had Jackie Taylor so flustered?

--

Back at the apartment, the kitchen turned into Jackie’s battlefield. She spread her ingredients out like weapons — jars lined up neatly, herbs washed and patted dry, pasta measured to the gram.

Natalie leaned against the counter, sipping a beer and watching with barely disguised amusement. “You realize this is supposed to be a party, not the goddamn Food Network, right?”

Jackie didn’t look up. “People remember good food.”

“Yeah, yeah, you said that in aisle six.” Natalie tipped her bottle toward the cutting board. “Need help, or are you afraid I’ll mess up your masterpiece?”

Jackie hesitated, then slid a knife across the counter. “Chop the parsley. Small pieces. Even pieces.”

Nat grinned, picking up the knife like it was a dare. “Relax, Chef Taylor. I’ve got it.”

Van wandered in, balancing a bowl of chips and already crunching loudly. “So,” they said around a mouthful, “has Jackie admitted who this dish is actually for yet?”

Jackie groaned. “Not this again.”

Natalie smirked, knife thudding rhythmically against the board. “I’m curious too. Who’s worth Calabrian chiles and homemade pasta? Gotta be someone special.”

Jackie sprinkled salt into a pot with exaggerated focus. “It’s for everyone.”

“Mm-hm.” Van flopped into a chair. “Everyone with tall legs and a nose ring, you mean.”

Jackie’s cheeks flushed. “You’re insufferable.”

Nat arched a brow, amused. “So let me guess. Artsy type, right? Brooding? Reads poetry at parties?”

Van grinned. “Close.”

Jackie shot her a glare sharp enough to cut glass. “Can you not?”

Natalie leaned their elbows on the counter, smirk tugging at her lips. “What? I’m just saying. It’s gotta be some guy with paint on his jeans and a bad haircut. That’s exactly your type, isn’t it, Jackie?”

Jackie froze for half a second — just half — before busying herself with stirring the sauce. “Something like that.”

Nat caught it. That little pause. But she misread it, certain she’d struck gold. Jackie Taylor, still the golden girl, still fussy, still chasing some artsy guy who fit her perfect aesthetic.

It almost made Nat laugh. Of course Jackie would.

Van, though, was watching with narrowed eyes, as if biting their tongue.

“Fine,” Jackie said briskly, clattering the spoon against the pot. “Enough about me. Nat, don’t drown the parsley. It’s garnish, not a carpet.”

Natalie barked a laugh, flipping the cutting board dramatically. “Yes, Chef.”

For once, Jackie cracked a reluctant smile. Just a flicker, but it was there.

And Natalie, still convinced she had her figured out, felt the strange stir of something she didn’t want to name.

“See?” Van said, leaning back in their chair with a smug grin. “She’s only nice when she’s cooking for her crush.”

Jackie groaned. “Van—”

“No, I’m serious.” Van popped another chip into their mouth, eyes glinting with mischief. “What is it you like about them, huh? The way they always smell like fancy oils and soap? Or maybe how they can talk for hours about philosophy and politics like they invented them?”

Natalie snorted, almost choking on her beer. “God, yeah. Totally Jackie’s type. Pretentious and smells expensive.”

Jackie shook her head, but there was a blush creeping high on her cheeks. “You two are impossible.”

“C’mon,” Van pressed, grin widening. “Is it the laugh? The way they do that snort thing when they think no one’s listening?”

Jackie let out a laugh of her own, covering her face with her hand for a second before she swatted at Van with a dish towel. “You’re ridiculous.”

Natalie leaned her elbows on the counter, watching closely. “So what is it then, princess? Tell us. What’s the big draw?”

Jackie hesitated, spoon hovering over the pot. Her face softened, the usual polish slipping just a little. “It’s… they don’t judge. They just… take me the way I am. No conditions, no performance. That’s rare, you know?”

The kitchen went quiet for a moment. Van’s grin softened, eyes dropping to the table.

Jackie cleared her throat quickly, mask snapping back into place. “But I don’t like them. Not like that. And this dinner? It’s not for them, it’s for everyone. Got it?”

Nat smirked, convinced. “Sure, sure. Totally not about them.”

Jackie rolled her eyes and went back to stirring the sauce, but her ears were still pink.

And Natalie, certain she had Jackie Taylor pinned down at last, felt smug. Of course Jackie was into some artsy guy. Of course she’d get flustered about it. Same old Jackie — still the princess, still predictable.

Van just shook their head, crunching another chip, like they knew something Nat didn’t.

--

The subway car swayed, screeching as it rattled along the tracks. Van was slouched against the pole, one hand gripping the metal bar, the other shoving a pack of chips into their mouth, they had refused to leave them at home, saying something about them getting bad if they just left them. Natalie leaned against the door, beer buzz still humming faintly through her veins from pregaming.

Jackie, of course, sat ramrod straight on the plastic seat, knees crossed neatly, her jacket folded over her lap like she was headed to a gallery opening instead of someone’s cramped apartment birthday party. Glitter caught the harsh fluorescent subway lights every time she blinked, her eyeliner sharp enough to draw blood.

“Tell me again why we’re not late,” Natalie said, eyeing her. “Because I swear Jackie needed, like, three separate eyeliner attempts. That’s precision architecture.”

“Glitter’s new,” Van chimed in, smirking. “Gotta be for someone special.”

Natalie snorted. “Oh yeah, can’t wait to meet Mr. Philosophy-Majors-Smell-Like-Oils. Bet he’s just dying to compliment her contour.”

Van let out a little snort through their nose, trying to hide their grin. “Sure. Something like that.”

Jackie shot them both a warning glare, though her lips twitched like she was fighting a smile. “You two need hobbies. Drop it.”

“Not until I meet him,” Nat pressed, grinning wickedly. “Glitter eyes don’t just happen for free. There’s a man behind this.”

“Drop. It.” Jackie’s voice had that practiced finality, like she was shutting a door in their faces. But the blush under her glitter betrayed her.

By the time they climbed the stairs to the fourth-floor apartment, music was already spilling into the hallway. The door was propped open with a shoe, the smell of cheap beer and something frying in oil hanging in the air.

Inside, the place buzzed with chatter and laughter, voices bouncing off the walls. Someone had strung Christmas lights along the ceiling, glowing against the exposed brick. People hugged Jackie on sight, patted Van on the shoulder, shoved a plastic cup into Nat’s hand before she even got her coat off.

Nat trailed a few steps behind Jackie, scanning the room like she was on a mission. Okay. Tall guy? Pretentious-looking? Someone with a leather satchel maybe? She could feel the smugness waiting to pounce when she spotted him.

But then—

Jackie’s voice lifted above the din, warm and bright. “Hey!”

Natalie turned just in time to see Jackie cross the room toward the window, where a tall girl leaned against the fire escape door. She had a short bob — just shy of her chin — a little mussed like she’d run her hands through it a hundred times. A striped shirt tucked into loose trousers, sneakers unlaced. Casual, cool. Effortless in a way that made the room bend slightly toward her.

The girl grinned, eyes flicking over Jackie’s face. “Wow. Nice liner. I’ll be careful around you tonight — wouldn’t wanna get cut.”

Jackie laughed, actually laughed — soft and a little shy, ducking her head. “Shut up.”

Natalie blinked.

Her beer sloshed in her cup, forgotten.

It wasn’t a guy. It was her.

The girl by the fire escape. The one who made Jackie laugh like that.

Van’s chip-crunching voice echoed in Natalie’s head, teasing, smug. Something like that.

Natalie didn’t even realize she’d stopped walking until someone bumped into her from behind. She muttered an apology, eyes still glued to Jackie and the girl by the fire escape.

Jackie was… different. She wasn’t posturing, or putting on that perfect Homecoming Queen polish Nat was so used to seeing. She was leaning in, her arms crossed loosely but not defensive, nodding along, actually listening. The shy way she bit her lip mid-laugh, the little flick of her hair back behind her ear — none of it looked rehearsed.

And the girl — she wasn’t fawning, wasn’t starstruck. She was teasing Jackie. Making her blush.

Jackie Taylor. Blushing.

Nat took a long swallow of her beer, foam catching at the back of her throat.

“Careful,” Van’s voice murmured near her shoulder. “You’re staring so hard you’re gonna set the poor girl’s bob on fire.”

Natalie jolted, heat rising to her face. “I’m not— I wasn’t—” She cut herself off, scowling. “So that’s the big secret, huh? Glitter eyes for her?”

Van smirked around their cup, clearly delighted. “You sound jealous.”

“I am not jealous,” Nat snapped too fast. She shifted her weight, leaning against the wall like she couldn’t care less. “I just— I thought she was…” Her words trailed. She didn’t know how to finish. Straight? Predictable? Shallow?

Everything Jackie wasn’t, apparently.

Van only raised their eyebrows, like they’d already won. “You thought wrong, Scat.”

Across the room, Jackie tilted her head back, laughing at something the girl whispered in her ear. It wasn’t the polite, brittle laugh Nat was used to. This was real — messy, warm, unguarded.

Something twisted sharp in Natalie’s stomach.

She told herself it was just surprise. That it was about being wrong. About realizing Jackie Taylor, the girl she’d dismissed as a prissy, controlling nightmare, might actually be more complicated than she’d ever let herself believe.

But when Jackie’s hand brushed the other girl’s arm, light, casual, and the girl smiled back like she’d just been handed the world, Natalie had to look away.

Had to breathe.

Had to admit, she didn’t have Jackie figured out. Not even close.

Natalie tried not to hover, but somehow her feet carried her across the room anyway, beer clutched like a shield. Jackie was still standing near the fire escape, talking to the short-haired girl with the easy grin.

“Nice party,” Nat said, sliding in too close, her voice dipped with that sarcastic edge she couldn’t resist. She gave the girl a once-over and smirked. “And you are…?”

The girl glanced at Jackie, then back at Nat. Unfazed. “Emma.” Her handshake was firm, confident. “Friend of the birthday kid.”

“Cool,” Nat muttered, taking a swig. Then, deadpan: “You two matching eyeliner tips later, or…?”

Emma just smiled politely and turned back to Jackie, unfazed. Didn’t bite, didn’t flinch.

Natalie felt her smirk slip for the first time that night.

Jackie rolled her eyes but it wasn’t the sharp, dismissive roll Nat was used to. It was softer. A little exasperated, a little amused. The kind of look you give someone when they’re acting out but you don’t actually mind.

That — that stung worse than anything Emma could’ve said.

---

Hours later, the party had thinned out. Half-empty bottles lined the counter, music pulsing low from someone’s playlist. Jackie was curled on the arm of a couch, glitter still catching the light, Emma perched nearby with a plate of half-eaten chips.

A tipsy voice rose from across the room, one of Van’s art-school friends, slurring through laughter: “God, Jackie, you’ve got such a type.”

Heads turned. Jackie blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t play innocent,” the friend giggled. “The clean-cut crushes? Always the same vibe.”

Van, lounging on the rug with a beer balanced on their stomach, grinned slow and wolfish. “Yeah. She kinda does.”

Jackie shot her a warning look. “Van.”

But Van only shrugged, eyes glittering with mischief. “Remember sophomore year? The Natalie thing?”

The words landed like a grenade.

Natalie choked on her drink, sputtering. “The what?”

The room laughed, the conversation splintering off into other jokes, but the damage was done. Nat sat frozen, her ears ringing, eyes darting to Jackie.

Jackie’s cheeks burned pink beneath the glitter. She smoothed her hair behind her ear, refusing to look at Nat. “Don’t listen to them. They’re drunk.”

But the blush said enough.

Natalie stared, heart hammering. She didn’t know what rattled her more, the fact that Jackie Taylor apparently had a type, or that once upon a time, she’d been it.

The joke landed and half the room laughed, but Van didn’t stop there. They propped herself up on one elbow, grin wicked.

“Oh, come on, Jackie. I’ve known since sophomore year. You’d always stare at her in practice, even when Coach was yelling. And at that one Halloween party—remember, the one Mari’s cousin hosted?—you barely danced with your boyfriend but you couldn’t stop watching Nat smoke on the balcony. Thought nobody noticed.”

Jackie’s face flushed a deep pink, her glitter eyeliner catching the light as she ducked her head. “Van.” Her voice was sharp, but the edge couldn’t cut through her embarrassment.

Natalie sat frozen, beer halfway to her lips. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Van just shrugged, leaning back smug. “Didn’t even need confirmation back then. But when Jackie and I started hanging out in uni, it came up. Let’s just say the suspicion was… correct.”

That earned a fresh chorus of laughter from their friends, and Natalie’s ears burned hot.

Someone else chimed in — a lanky guy perched on the arm of a chair, grinning. “Honestly? Kinda tracks. I mean, Emma and Nat are basically the same brand. Sharp tongues, heavy eyeliner, both look like they’d smoke you out and then tell you your music taste sucks.”

The group howled.

Natalie stiffened, glancing at Emma. This was it, the moment for Emma to roll her eyes, throw in a quip, maybe volley the joke back.

But Emma didn’t. She just reached out, touched Jackie’s arm lightly, and said, “So, you were saying about that ceramics class? You still thinking about signing up next semester?”

Jackie blinked, relief flickering in her eyes as the attention shifted away. She smiled, small but warm, gratitude tucked in the curve of her mouth. “Yeah. I… might. Depends on my schedule.”

The blush hadn’t faded.

Natalie’s stomach twisted. Jackie Taylor, usually untouchable, was flustered — not because of the glitter or the party, but because Emma had rescued her.

Natalie tipped back the rest of her beer, throat burning, trying to drown the thought that echoed louder than the music:
She used to look at me like that.

---

+1

The apartment felt different without the party noise — too still, too thin. Van had stumbled off to bed without ceremony, leaving Jackie and Natalie standing in the silence of the kitchen.

The hum of the fridge was louder than it should’ve been. Nat fiddled with the kettle, though she wasn’t really thirsty. She just couldn’t stand the weight of the question pressing at her ribs.

Finally, she blurted, “That thing Van said. At the party. About sophomore year. Was that… a joke, or—” Her voice cracked, so she covered it with a sharp shrug. “Or what?”

Jackie, who’d been smoothing the sleeve of her blouse with a care that looked suspiciously like stalling, froze. She glanced up, her expression unreadable at first. Then, without flinching, she said, “It was real.”

Natalie’s grip on the kettle handle tightened. “Real.”

Jackie gave a small, almost embarrassed laugh. “Yeah. I had—” She exhaled, trying again. “I liked you. Back then.”

Nat scoffed, not unkindly, just overwhelmed. “Could’ve fooled me. Thought you hated me.”

“I didn’t,” Jackie said quickly. She leaned against the doorway, folding her arms. “I just didn’t think you’d… want to know. You had Travis, you had your whole thing, and I…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “I figured I was the last person you’d ever want looking twice at you.”

The words landed heavy, and for once Natalie didn’t have a snark locked and loaded. She swallowed, throat dry. “Guess I was too busy screwing up to notice.”

Jackie tilted her head, eyes softening. “You weren’t screwing up. You were just… you.”

Natalie frowned, unconvinced, but Jackie didn’t let her interrupt. Her voice steadied, lower but clearer now.

“I liked that about you,” Jackie said, almost defiantly. “That you were just yourself. Even when things were… messed up. You didn’t try to polish it, or make it prettier for anyone else. You stood your ground.”

Natalie blinked, caught off guard.

Jackie’s gaze dropped, her fingers twisting the rim of Van’s doodle-mug like it was an anchor. “Everyone thought the things worth having had to be shiny and pristine. Perfect grades, perfect friends, perfect smiles.” She gave a sharp, humorless laugh. “Me included.”

Her eyes flicked back up to Nat’s, burning in a way that made Nat’s stomach flip. “But the truth is, the things that are actually worth something? They’re messy. They take up space. And I liked watching you take more and more of it — in our circle, in school, in life. You didn’t shrink, even when people wanted you to. I—” She cut herself off, jaw tightening. “I envied that. And I liked it. A lot more than I wanted to admit.”

The silence stretched, thick but not hostile this time. Jackie’s eyes lingered on her, just a second too long, and Nat felt her pulse hammer in her throat.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Nat asked, quieter now, trying to sound casual but failing.

Jackie gave a helpless shrug, lips twitching. “Because I knew you’d laugh. Or worse.” She hesitated, then added, “And maybe because I was scared of finding out I wasn’t wrong.”

That hit Natalie in the gut. She shifted her weight, leaning harder on the counter, her voice raspier than she wanted. “You think I’d laugh?”

Jackie met her eyes, steady but cautious. “Back then? Yeah.”

For a moment, neither of them moved. It wasn’t the heat of their old fights, but something else entirely — a softer kind of tension, the kind that made Natalie’s skin prickle and her tongue clumsy.

And then Jackie broke it, pushing off the doorway with that perfect posture, her tone clipped again. “Goodnight, Nat.”

But when she turned toward the hall, her shoulders looked heavier than they ever had before.

Jackie’s footsteps down the hall were sharp, measured — the kind of walk that said conversation over.
Natalie let her get almost to the bedrooms before she pushed herself off the counter and followed.

“Hey—” Nat’s voice came out rougher than she intended. Jackie turned, already halfway into retreat, and Nat forced the words out before she lost her nerve. “You think I would’ve laughed at you? For liking me?”

Jackie sighed, brushing hair from her face. “Nat—”

“No. Really. You think I’d do that?” Natalie pressed, arms crossed tight like armor.

Jackie’s expression flickered — a flash of hurt, then resignation. “I think high school was… different. We were different.” She tried for a shrug, but it was brittle. “You don’t have to rewrite it. Whatever it was — or wasn’t — it’s over. Doesn’t even matter.”

“It matters to me,” Nat shot back. Her throat was dry, but the words burned through anyway. “I can’t just let it go. Not after you drop something like that.”

Jackie’s mouth opened, closed. She stood in front of her bedroom door now, one hand hovering at the knob like a shield. “Nat—”

“Why’d you even let me move in with you guys?” Natalie asked suddenly, cutting through her hesitation. “I mean, Van was all for it, sure, but you? You barely tolerated me in high school. So why?”

Jackie’s jaw tightened. She should’ve lied — Nat could see her try to summon one — but the truth slipped out instead. Quiet, steady.
“Because it was my idea.”

Natalie blinked. “What?”

“I vouched for you,” Jackie admitted, staring down at the floorboards. “Van thought I was crazy at first. But I… I wanted you here. Maybe I didn’t know why at the time, but—” Her voice cracked. She shut her eyes, shaking her head. “Forget it.”

Nat’s chest ached. Something reckless surged up, the same thing that had carried her through every bad decision she ever made.
“Jackie,” she said, softer now.

Jackie looked up. And in that look — the hesitation, the fear, the longing buried under years of control — Nat found her opening.

So she stepped closer, just enough for the air to shift, and kissed her.

It wasn’t a dramatic kiss. No fireworks, no music swelling. Just a small, careful press of lips — clumsy, testing, almost fragile. But Jackie didn’t pull away. After a beat, she kissed back.

Nat’s heart stuttered so hard it almost hurt.

When they broke apart, Jackie was the one who whispered, eyes wide and unreadable, “Nat…”

Natalie swallowed, every nerve buzzing. “I’m not wrong about this. Not this time.”

Jackie didn’t answer — not with words. But she didn’t step back either.

And for the first time in a long time, Natalie let herself believe she hadn't got it wrong.