Chapter Text
The air in Regina George’s bedroom smelled like perfume, cheap vodka, and defeat.
Clothes were everywhere. Glittering costume pieces tossed across her pink carpet, half-empty Solo cups on the dresser, and the vanity a mess of makeup and hair accessories.
It was well past 2am. The Plastics had migrated here after Aaron Samuels’ Halloween party, still half-drunk and trying to peel themselves out of their costumes.
Karen was sprawled across Regina’s bed in her mouse ears, trying to unclip them but repeatedly missing the latch. Gretchen sat cross-legged on a chair, removing her heels and massaging her sore ankles. Cady, cheeks flushed, perched on the end of the vanity stool, watching the chaos with wide-eyed amusement.
Regina, however, was pacing. Hair still perfectly straightened, eyes sharp and furious.
“Can someone please explain to me why Aaron didn’t even flinch when I was making out with Shane Oman tonight?” she snapped, waving a manicured hand in the air. “Like hello? I was practically on top of him in the kitchen. He didn’t even care!”
She stopped in front of the mirror, catching her reflection. Smudged lipstick, a tiny run in her tights, and scowled harder.
“He was supposed to rip Shane off of me,” she said, voice rising, “like, shove him against the wall or something. How is he just gonna ignore his ex getting with his teammate?”
Gretchen winced. “So not fetch.”
Karen looked up dreamily. “Maybe he just didn’t recognize you in your bunny costume.”
The room fell silent.
Cady snorted and quickly covered her mouth with her hand, trying to hide the laugh. Gretchen and Regina both turned slowly to look at her, identical looks of disbelief.
“Karen,” Regina said flatly, “you’re literally so stupid.”
Karen blinked, confused. “What? I’m just saying—”
Gretchen cut in, twisting a lock of hair around her finger. “No, I think… maybe Aaron just expected it. You always pick some dumb jock when you’re mad at him. Especially Shane Oman…”
Regina narrowed her eyes. “Yeah, and what’s your point?”
Gretchen shrugged helplessly. “Just that maybe it doesn’t work anymore.”
Regina groaned, throwing herself dramatically onto her vanity chair. “Ugh, this is so typical. I try to prove I’m fine and somehow I’m the villain. What am I supposed to do, not make him jealous?”
Cady hesitated before speaking up, voice tentative. “Well… maybe you should make him jealous with someone he’d never expect. That way he’d actually have to think about it. Like, question if he’s even your type at all.”
The room went still again.
Regina turned her head toward her, intrigued despite herself. “Like who?” she asked, her tone edged with mockery.
Karen, now finally free from her mouse ears, perked up. “You could always hook up a teacher! My ex was so jealous when I banged my bio teacher last year.”
Gretchen’s mouth fell open. “Oh my god, Karen!”
Karen frowned. “What? I like smart guys.”
Regina rolled her eyes so hard it looked painful. “That’s literally so disgusting.”
Gretchen recovered, brushing it off with a sigh. “No, what you need is like… a bad boy. Someone Aaron wouldn’t hang around or even know. The complete opposite of him.”
Regina huffed, crossing her legs. “Please. This school is full of geeks. I can’t even think of one guy who isn’t either a total nerd or a total skeeze.”
Outside, the autumn wind rattled her window. Somewhere in the distance, a car stereo thudded, bass echoing through the quiet suburb. The kind of sound that didn’t belong in her pristine world.
Rodrick Heffley’s van rattled down the dark street like it was being held together by duct tape and bad decisions. Stickers covered every inch of the dashboard. Band logos, skulls, and a crooked one that read “Support Your Local Loser”. The speakers buzzed with static as a Blink-182 song blasted through them, the volume high enough to shake the cup holders.
Ben sat in the passenger seat, air-drumming furiously on the dash, his head bobbing like he was performing to a sold-out crowd instead of a half-empty road at 2a.m.
“Dude, slow the fuck down.” Drew yelled over the music as he sat in the back of the van trying to light a bong.
Rodrick smirked, one hand on the wheel, the other drumming along on the steering column.
The van hit a bump, the flame went out, and the bong knocked him right in the lip.
“Ow! What the fuck!” Drew groaned, clutching his lip.
Rodrick howled laughing. “Idiot”
He nearly swerved onto the shoulder as the boys cracked themselves up.
In the far back seat, Bill was slumped against the window, passed out drunk, mouth open. He snored loudly, the kind of snore that said he was too old to still be crashing high school parties.
“Is he even alive?” Ben asked, craning his neck to look.
Rodrick shrugged. “He’s fine. He only showed up for the booze anyways.”
Eventually the song ended, and Ben leaned back, tapping ash into an old fast-food cup. “That party wasn’t bad, though.That new girl Cady? She’s hot as fuck.”
Drew hummed, finally getting his lighter to spark. “Yeah, she’s bad. But she’s been hanging with the Plastics.”
He said through a haze of smoke, “They’ll turn that girl into another boring Barbie by Christmas.”
Rodrick smirked. “Don’t act like you wouldn’t let a Barbie wreck your life, bro.”
Ben rolled his eyes. “Oh, here we go.”
Rodrick drummed the steering wheel again, pretending to be casual. “I’m just saying. Regina George looked—” he paused, searching for a word that wasn’t hot but failing—“really good tonight.”
Ben let out a low whistle. “Yeah, good enough for Shane Oman. She was sucking his face all night.”
Drew snorted. “Yeah, man, you really think you’re her type? She’s into idiots jocks with letterman jackets.”
Rodrick shot him a look in the rearview. “Nah bro, all girls love a musician. Once Loded Diper takes off we can have anyone we want.”
Ben chuckled, leaning forward to dig through the pile of CDs and tapes on the dashboard.
Drew groaned. “Dude, you’ve been saying that since ninth grade.”
Rodrick smirked as he flicked the ash from his cigarette out the open window. “Eventually she’ll realize those douchebag jocks aren’t worth shit.”
Ben rolled his eyes but smiled anyway. “Whatever you say, man.” He slipped a cassette into the deck.
It hissed with static as Dirty Little Secret by The All-American Rejects rattled the speakers.