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“Jemma Simmons, you slut!”
Jemma shot a pointed look at the well-above-regulation hem of Daisy’s skirt as she slid into the desk beside her before going back to her notebook. She kept doodling in the margins, the ballpoint pen tracing over the curves of the simple nucleotide chains as she tucked her palm more firmly against her neck. Jemma pondered the merits of ignoring her best friend. There was always a chance she’d let the subject die… but experience with Daisy told her that chance was slim.
“I have no idea what you mean.”
The other girl’s snort was loud enough to draw a few looks from their classmates and Jemma shot her the sternest glare in her arsenal.
“You’re doing a piss poor job trying to cover what looks like one helluva hickey - I’m sorry, “burn” - with your palm, and I’ve never seen you button your blouse so high.” Daisy arched her brow and leaned back in her seat. “What, did you happen to drop your curling iron there, too?”
“Hardy har har, Daisy. I just-”
“Jemma?”
The low, angry rumble of her name pulled her attention away from her best friend and toward the front of the room. Her erstwhile boyfriend stood at the front of the class, expression disbelieving as he looked at her. Without thinking much of it, Jemma took her hand from her neck and pushed herself out of her seat.
She opened her mouth to speak, but stopped as soon as she realized he knew. Will’s eyes were firmly affixed to her throat, and Jemma knew what he commanded his attention. The bruise that graced the side of her neck, left by a questing pair of lips and nipping teeth. She felt herself flush at the memory, despite herself, and tried to force her tongue to speak.
“Will, I…”
“Don’t, Jemma,” he grit out between clenched teeth. “Who?”
“Will-”
“We haven’t been out together in a week, and that’s fresh, so who ?”
“That’s really none of your business.” Her tone was steely and brokered no room for argument. Unfortunately, Will had never really bothered to pick up the nuances of her different tones.
“It’s him , isn’t it? That little pissant that’s always hanging out beneath the bleachers?”
Jemma swallowed and tilted her chin upward, defiance shining in her gaze. “It doesn’t matter who it was, Will. All that matters is that it wasn’t you. Take a hint.”
There were quiet titters and soft oohs from their classmates, and Will’s cheeks went pink. Jemma watched as his fists clenched at his side, his gaze darting between their classmates as he reached for some kind of response.
“Have it your way,” he growled, dropping his AP biology text where he stood, “but see how much you like him after I rearrange his face.”
With that, Will was out the door like a shot, leaving Jemma, Daisy, and the rest of their class looking toward a now-empty door. It took Jemma a moment to compose herself before she took off as well, barreling into their teacher as he came into the room.
She could hear his spluttered protests and his promise of serving a detention - regardless of what her father thought - but ignored it in favor of the growing rumbling of dozens of interested students down the hall before her. She’d gladly serve a dozen detentions - so long as Fitz was there to serve them alongside her.