Chapter Text
Trevor Evarts is rarely able to get through a full day of his life without someone violently injecting him into their personal own chaos. He’s not actually sure if it's ever even happened once. He wonders what the peace and quiet might feel like.
On this day, a random Tuesday smack dab in the middle of the spring semester of his junior year, the chaos comes in the form of two gremlins he is all too familiar with. Unfortunately.
“It’s official,” Angela Giarratana all-but-shouts into his ear, attempting and failing to sling an arm around Trevor’s lofty shoulder, “I’m sick of this.”
“Agreed,” Chanse McCrary says, appearing on Trevor’s other side like some kind of apparition. “Something needs to be done about this. Effective immediately.”
One of the lockers to his left slams shut suddenly. “Are you guys going to actually bother explaining what you’re talking about, or are we just supposed to read your minds?” asks Tommy, trying to feign nonchalance through the lens of his square glasses. It looks like some kind of music production software is open on his laptop; the sound of mechanical beats leak softly from his headphones.
“Actually, don’t bother,” Trevor tries to interject, “The bell is going to ring in like, 5 minutes, and my next class is all the way over on the other side of campus.”
Angela scoffs, ignoring him. “I can’t believe I even have to explain it. It should be completely obvious at this point.”
“What should be completely obvious?” pipes up a new voice. It belongs to none other than Amanda Lehan-Canto, the president of their improv club, with Spencer and Ian hot on her heels.
Chanse rolls his eyes and sighs. “Our two resident blond hotties, Courtney and Shayne, duh. It’s obvious that they’re head over heels for each other!”
“And they still flip out and get all touchy when you even so much as hint that they should try dating!” Angela agrees, eyes round and imploring.
Amanda laughs loudly, nearly losing a textbook from the pile balanced precariously in her arms. “Well, I’m not gonna deny that it seems like there’s something there deep down between the two of them. A spark!”
Trevor tries again, “Guys, I really need to get going, Mrs. Whittle is going kill me if—”
“I mean, Courtney’s called me Shayne accidentally enough times to make a guy wonder,” Spencer interjects, scratching at the ugly neck stubble he stubbornly refuses to shave, “No doubt about that.”
Tommy tilts his head consideringly. “Court did tell me recently that her ideal type is a mix of Jeremy Allen White and Tom Cruise… Like, that’s way too specific not to mean anything, even if it’s just subconscious.”
Not for the first time, Trevor regrets ever choosing drama as his elective his freshman year, leading him to join the after-school comedy club and introducing him to these people in the first place.
Chanse smirks. “Exactly. That’s why Angela and I have come up with a solution!”
“Oh really?” Ian asks, “and what’s that?”
“Just a little friendly competition is all,” Angela replies. “All those two need is a little push in the right direction.”
“Did I just hear the word competition? Details are irrelevant; count me in,” chimes in yet another voice. Arasha Lalani, his desk partner in homeroom this semester, is turning the corner with a wide smile.
Her cheerleading skirt flutters as she hurries to join the near-mob of drama kids now congregating in the hallway. Arasha meets Trevor’s gaze and shoots him her signature winning smile, before turning her attention back to Angela and Chanse.
“We’ll all come up with our own plans to finally get Shayne and Courtney together,” Chanse continues. “C’mon, think about it. They’re both seniors this year. If they don’t get it together, they could go their separate ways off to different colleges and miss out on the love affair of their lives! We’re their best friends! There’s no way we can let that happen!”
“These two are soulmates, and if they don’t end up together then that means true love isn’t real and there’s no hope for any of us,” Angela cries, shaking Trevor back and forth vehemently.
Tommy blinks slowly, like a cat, or maybe some kind of reptile. “Sooo, what? We all just, take turns? How are you planning to actually accomplish this? Not that I’m fully on-board. But I’m not fully off-board yet, either.”
“We all take turns,” Chanse proposes, “First come, first serve. Whoever’s plan leads to Shayne and Courtney officially getting together first, is the winner.”
Spencer leans in with interest. “Does the winner get some kind of prize? Like a steam gift card?”
A shrill sound rips through the air, the bell putting a forcible end to their impromptu meeting.
“The prize is TBD,” Angela shouts, pointing to each of them individually. “But the competition is officially on. I’ll make a secret group chat pronto. May the best wingman win!”
His friends and fellow club members split off amongst themselves, faces clearly full of schemes and plots to win this competition and claim the so-called “prize” and bragging rights for themselves.
“And now I’m dead for real,” Trevor mutters to himself, head hanging. He has to brace himself for the long walk to Chemistry and the tongue lashing he’s going to get from his teacher that he can already start to hear in his head.
“Don’t sweat it, Evarts,” someone says in his ear, startling Trevor so badly the mystery person needs to steady him before he loses his footing and wipes out entirely. Arasha snickers at him before fixing him with an expression of decided self-satisfaction.
“I’ll walk you to your next class,” she says, her dark eyes sparkling with amusement. Mrs. Whittle loves me. Plus, I’ll just tell her you were helping me with official student council business. I am the vice-president, you know. Job has its perks.”
An enormous breath of relief escapes Trevor before he can stop it. “Thank god. Arasha, you’re a life-saver, truly,” He feels a smile spread across his face on its volition. “This was going to be my 3rd tardy this week, my ass was cooked. I owe you one, for sure.”
Trevor isn’t sure he likes the answering smile that Arasha gives. The way it reveals her glittering teeth, one by one, and how she looks up at him from underneath the fan of her eyelashes. “Ohhh, just you wait, Trev. I have a feeling I’m going to be cashing in the favor sooner rather than later.”
Trevor has a feeling that this is going to be a long semester.
Trevor thought that would be the last he heard of it, honest to god. He should have known better. Fate had never been that kind to him.
It’s lunch, a few days after Arasha had saved him from the wrath of Mrs. Whittle. Trevor, somehow, has ended up at a table with Angela and Chanse again, along with a few of the other students in the theater department. He is biting into a chunk of slightly stale peanut butter and jelly sandwich when he hears the words leave Chanse’s mouth:
“Soooo, Damien, Olivia, Noah, Keith… You guys have known Courtney and Shayne for, like, a long time, right?”
Noah and Keith briefly look up from their most recent argument, something about JFK, and peptides, and birds being CIA surveillance devices. “Yeah, since like middle school,” Noah scoffs lightly. His curly hair is a disaster, like always, and Keith flicks him in the middle of his forehead.
Olivia puts down the small compact she was studying her flawless lip gloss in, narrowing her eyes. “Why do you want to know, McCrary?”
“What’s the deal with those two?” Angelea attempts to hedge further, either oblivious to Olivia’s obvious indifference, or simply ignoring it altogether.
“What do you mean?” Keith tilts his head. “What kind of deal? Do you mean, like a contract? I know Shayne got that guest spot deal on iCarly last year for that episode, but I’m pretty sure that was a one-and-done kind of thing.”
Chanse frowns. “That’s not—"
“What they mean,” Arasha interrupts, squeezing herself forcefully into the space between Trevor and Chanse, “is are Courtney and Shayne boning? Or have they, past tense?”
Chocolate milk comes spraying out of Noah’s nose, spraying not only Keith, but Olivia as well. Her pristine pink bag, complete with glittering keychains and Labubus, is now speckled with wet brown spots. The three of them devolve into noisy arguing, no longer seemingly paying attention to the conversation going on around them.
Trevor turns to Arasha. She is not wearing her cheerleading uniform today, but her hair is still pulled high into a ponytail topped with a gold ribbon, like someone might appear and demand her to do a Toe Touch at any moment.
“Do you always barge in mid-conversation? Or is this a new thing with you?” he says quietly, watching as she cracks open a can of Celsius and starts chugging it.
“It’s the art of timing, Evarts,” she says, “I arrive exactly when I need to. Not a second too late, and not a second too early. You could learn or thing or two.”
“Unintentional Lord of the Rings reference aside,” Damien pipes up, his voice taking on an odd tone, “That was a pretty weird question to ask, I’m not gonna lie. Why are you guys curious about Shayne and Courtney like that all of a sudden.”
Angela rolls her eyes. “God, Damien, it’s like you never even read the secret group chat we created for this exact purpose?!”
Chanse leans in and whispers loudly, “Actually, I think I forgot to add him, Ang.” Followed by a harsh, “Are you kidding?”, and “God, it’s not my fault there are so many people in this damn improv club.”
A few minutes of furious tapping and reading later, Damien is looking up from the screen of his voice with a disappointed look on his face. “Oh, this is a supremely bad idea.”
“I was wondering about that,” Olivia says, having lost interest in her little quarrel with Keith and Noah for the time being. “Do you even have rules for this thing? How do you win? Do you get unlimited chances?”
Chanse rubs his hand beneath his chin. “Well, you’ll have to run any attempts by me or Angela first for it to count officially, first off. And we should keep it to one attempt per person, to keep it fair.”
Arasha raises her hand. “Are we allowed to work in teams,” she asks, peering at Trevor from the corner of her eye.
“If you want to, I guess,” Angela says, waving her hand, “but you’ll have to split the prize.”
“Which is?” Trevor asks.
“Still TBD,” Chanse answers noncommittally, “The greatest reward will, of course, be helping our friends find true love and happiness with their twin flame.”
“We’re just doing this out of the kindness of our hearts really,” Angela agrees swiftly, holding her hands over her heart in a saccharine gesture of innocence.
Damien shakes his head. “Still, I must reiterate: I think this competition is a really, really bad idea. It’s never smart to meddle in people’s love lives in the first place. Not to mention, these are our friends we’re talking about. Have you thought about what happens if this somehow gets back to them? We need to trust their judgement. If Shayne and Courtney really were meant to be together, then that’s their choice to make, not ours.”
The older student sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Anyway, I have to go work on project for woodshop. I hope you two think about what I said. You’re only asking for trouble here.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Angela says, gaze shifting away.
“We won’t go forward with the contest,” Chanse mutters, morosely stabbing at his cafeteria pasts with his fork.
Damien smiles. “Good,” he says, clapping a hand on both their shoulders. “I’m glad you can listen to reason. I’ll see you guys later.”
The second Damien’s back disappears out of the double doors of the cafeteria, Angela and Chanse are turning to each other again. “Remove him from the group chat. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Chanse commands, grinning from ear to ear.
Angela giggles, “The game is in full force. And I have a feeling we’re going to start seeing people make their first moves any day now.”
Trevor has the stray thought that he wishes his friends were this invested in his love life. Then he glances at the maniacal expression on Chanse and Angela’s faces, and thinks, no, he absolutely does not.