Work Text:
Some people were really hard to buy gifts for. Their hobbies weren’t things like reading, where you could just buy them another book, or even art or sports. No, those people were easy: you could get them something within the realm of their interests, and be sure it’d land. You want to get a painter something they’ll be excited about? A new set of oils. A football enthusiast? Find out their favorite players, get them a jersey, a new football, something else related to the sport. But when you were friends with someone who liked something specific or intrapersonal? That’s when your gift hunting experience is bound to be painful. Writers and movie buffs fell under this category, people who were unpredictable. The worst was movie buffs who’d already seen pretty much every film ever. So how the hell was Samantha Carpenter supposed to know which horror flicks Kirby Reed already owned copies of?
She couldn’t just ask Kirby; that would ruin the purpose of a surprise present. Sam knew that she should ask one of Kirby’s friends, but she was in a bit of an odd situation as far as that went—she wasn’t really friends with Kirby’s friends. She didn’t have their phone numbers, so she couldn’t text, and she couldn’t ask Kirby for their phone numbers, since that would be pretty fucking suspicious as Sam had never been interested in Kirby’s circle before.
So, instead, Sam had resorted to wracking her brain in a weak attempt to recall every movie she’d heard Kirby mention or that she knew Kirby had seen as she leaned against Woodsboro High’s bathroom wall. Halloween, Stab 1-7, Black Christmas, My Bloody Valentine, Amityville Horror, Psycho, Texas Chainsaw, Sam listed mentally, groaning. Remembering things was not her strong suit, much less movies Kirby may or may not have referenced in short bursts. Fuck, what else? Friday the 13th, The Hills Have Eyes, House of Wax. “Shit. That’s it? That’s what I have to go off of?” She muttered aloud, raking her hand through her hair, grunting in annoyance. Maybe she’d have to ask Olivia or Jill about Kirby’s catalog after all.
Sam pushed herself to stand, sighing, trying to list more films on her fingers (The Fog? I think she said she saw that one?) when the bathroom door swung open. Sam instinctively flinched toward an open stall, not really wanting to interact with another girl who’d just gape at her and ask “are you the one with the drug problem and the drunk mom? The moron who had to repeat ninth grade—the nearly sixteen-year-old freshman?” But she didn’t duck inside when she saw who it was. Jill Roberts, Kirby’s best friend. Jill beelined for the mirror, smoothing her hair a bit before she noticed Sam. Neither spoke for a second. Sam had seen Jill around from time to time, and they didn’t have any issues with each other, not really. Every interaction they’d ever had could be considered cordial; friendly, even.
“Sam,” Jill was the one to break the silence, face shifting into that easy if slightly too-sharp smile that Sam recognized well. “Hi.”
“Hi, Jill.” Sam hesitated, arms still crossed, but she figured that letting this opportunity go to waste would be dumb. “So, question, do you know any movies Kirby’s been wanting to watch but hasn’t seen yet?”
Jill tapped her fingers against the sink top, thoughtful. “Try Sleepaway Camp.”
“You sure she hasn’t seen it?” Sam pressed, meeting Jill’s eyes in the cracked mirror above the sinks. She hated the idea of buying Kirby a movie she’d already watched before.
Jill’s smile widened slightly, genuine amusement shining through, even if her eyes glittered with a hint of annoyance. “Yes, Sam, I’m sure. She’s talked about needing to watch it, though, so it’s a good thing to get her for her birthday.”
“How did you-“
“My best friend’s eighteenth birthday is in a week and you think I’m not thinking about it? Please, Sam. I know you’re looking for the perfect present. I am, too.”
Sam’s eyes narrowed, suspicion setting in. “So how do I know you won’t buy her a copy of Sleepaway Camp first?”
Jill huffed a laugh. “I’ve got something else in mind already, don’t worry. I’m not gonna steal your gift idea.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” Sam muttered, adjusting her bag’s strap where it sat over her shoulder, nodding at Jill and walking toward the door.
“Sam, wait.” At the other brunette’s words, Sam spun in place, hand still lingering near the door handle. “You and Kirby…you seem really close.”
The skin of Sam’s neck prickled a bit, but she wasn’t sure if it was her own natural defensiveness or unease at Jill’s sudden unwavering eye contact. “We’re friends, yeah. What about it?” Her voice came out with more bite than she meant it to, but that was just Sam. She’d always had a short temper and a bad filter. Jill was the opposite. If she was pissed off or shocked by Sam’s snap, she only let it flash on her face for a brief second, but when her expression evened out again, she wasn’t smiling.
Fuck.
“You like her.” It wasn’t a question, but it wasn’t an accusation. It felt more like Jill was grazing her fingers along a bruise of Sam’s, prodding and certain in equal measure.
Sam hated it, but she knew that if she denied it, that would make her seem more pathetic. More submissive. And she didn’t feel like backing down, especially upon seeing the condescending smirk toying with Jill’s lips.
“Yeah, so? Do you have a problem with girls liking other girls, Jill?” Sam bit out, crossing her arms again, very much wanting to stop feeling so scrutinized. Jill’s face was stoic, her manicured nails click, click, clacking on the sink tile in the silence.
“I have a problem with Kirby liking you.” Jill said, voice calm, but an eyebrow cocked in challenge. “I mean, a druggie who had to redo freshman year? We both know she’s out of your league, Sam.”
“Why the fuck do you care who Kirby likes anyway? You’re not her goddamn mother.” Sam growled, fist clenching around doorknob.
“She’s my best friend, I want her to be with someone who deserves her.” Ouch. What hurt more than the words was the way Jill said them, so seemingly caring, like she was a concerned friend and she wasn’t currently shit-talking Sam.
Sam, against her better judgement, stepped forward until she and Jill stood nearly nose to nose. And while Sam was taller, she didn’t feel like the had the high ground here at all. “Kirby thinks I’m pretty fucking great. Let’s go ask her, I’m sure she’s say I deserve somebody like her. Unless you’re afraid she’ll agree with me?”
The subtle clench of Jill’s porcelain jaw didn’t go unnoticed by Sam, who could feel an ember of satisfaction spark to life in her chest at Jill’s tenseness. “I don’t care what she thinks, I know that you two shouldn’t be together.”
“And you’re sure that has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I’m bisexual.”
“I don’t really care what your sexuality is, Sam. You and Kirby are never—you hear me? Never—going to be an item.”
“What the fuck, Jill? Why are you being such a bitch? I’m not the worst person Kirby could end up with, you know that.” It was true. Kirby was much better off with Sam than some perverted jock or shallow cheerleader. If she even swung that way. The matter of Kirby being attracted to girls was something Sam was hesitant to think about; she didn’t want her heart broken before she could even shoot her shot.
Jill’s voice came out edged and low. “But you’re not the best, either.” There, too, was a change way she was looking at Sam now: not as an inferior, repulsive freshman that was beneath Kirby, but as…competition.
Oh.
Oh.
Sam scoffed, disbelief and frustration thick in the sound as she quoted Jill’s earlier statement right back at her, finality and all. “You like her.”
And oh, it took everything in Sam not to grin at the way Jill’s composure faltered. Her eyes, smug and cold, had gone as wide as those of a deer in headlights. Her glare, turned into lips pressed tight. It didn’t matter what Jill said back to her now. Sam already knew the truth.
“I have a boyfriend, Sam.” Is the route Jill went instead, and Sam chuckled out loud at that.
“Come on, Trevor? I don’t even hang out with you guys that much, and even I can tell that you can’t stand him.”
And Jill’s scowl was back. Of course it was. For as quickly as Sam got angry, it seemed Jill could turn icy just as fast. Perhaps that was the best way to describe the two: fire and ice, each one burning fierce in its conviction and presence, neither wanting to relent. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Trevor and I are great together.”
“But it’s not him you wanna be great with, is it, Jill?” Sam smiled, the lilt of her lips knowing, if a bit cruel.
Click. Click. Click. Jill’s nails were drumming along the sink again, but she still didn’t turn her hazel gaze away from Sam, even as her cheeks pinked. “I don’t know what you’re thinking right now, Sam, but whatever you think you know, you can’t prove.”
“I don’t want to prove anything. I want you to admit it. Admit that you have a crush on your best friend.”
Jill barked a laugh. “I don’t know why you think I owe you anything.”
As quiet shrouded them, it was clear that neither was willing to budge, neither willing to confess or concede.
Fine. Sam didn’t care. She didn’t need Jill to admit her feelings for Kirby, she already knew anyways.
Sam exhaled, tight, and stepped back from Jill, toward the door. “You don’t.”
“But you owe me.”
“How the fuck do you figure that?”
The smirk painting Jill’s pale red lips was flawless in its cutting, the grin sharp enough to stab straight through the heart of Sam’s aspirations and skewer them dead inside her chest. “For my movie recommendation. I know Kirby’s going to love it.
“That, we can both hope for.” Sam said, wrenching the door open at last, shooting Jill one last angry scowl as she exited the bathroom, trying to forget about the other girl’s lingering smirk—venomous and triumphant—as she went.
Sam always knew she never really wanted to meet Kirby’s friends.