Chapter Text
“I’m in love,” Hannah confesses, back hitting the mattress with a satisfied oomph. She’s staring at the ceiling now, hands on her stomach, releasing an exaggerated breath like she’s announced it to the entirety of the world.
The entirety of the world turns out to just be Becka, considering that is Becka’s bed in Becka’s room, and Hannah’s the one that did her signature knock on Becka’s door to let her know she’s arrived at the exact time she said she would. Which is the exact same time that she always does.
“Okay,” Becka says, in that voice she uses when she wants to appease her friend. “With who?”
Hannah turns to her side, propping up on an elbow, so that she can gaze down at Becka, who’s busy sinking into her beanbag - all the while preparing to say one of the single worst names Becka’s ever heard in her life. “His name’s Garth.”
“Garth,” she repeats slowly, not having the chance to brace for impact, therefore now trying incredibly hard not to sound too judgmental. It’s judgment, yes, but it’s also mixed with annoyance because— when did Hannah even get the chance to meet this Garth guy, and how does Becka not know about him at all?
Up to this point, they’ve told each other everything there is to know about everything—starting from elementary school, when Hannah first moved to the area from Colorado, all the way until now, their senior year of high school—since that’s what best friends are meant for. So, if Hannah has achieved the point of being “in love” or so she says, then clearly there’s been some built up feelings that she hasn’t let Becka in on.
Okay, actually, it’s no longer judgment. She’s just plain annoyed.
Hannah doesn’t seem to notice the damper in her mood. Becka’s been brooding and cynical—not really, she insists to all of her friends, who say otherwise—since day one, anyway, so it’s easier for her than others to mask how she’s feeling. At least, most of the time. “Garth Chapin. Daisy knows him.”
Annoyed doesn’t cut it anymore. Becka is seething. Daisy fucking Barlow is in the loop, but not her?
Daisy’s just transferred in the middle of their last year of Aunt Lydia School, from who knows where Canada, and has been comparable, in Becka’s opinion, to a parasitic leech for the past few weeks. Since Hannah is Hannah—perfect grades, perfect attendance, perfect parents, perfect—she was automatically the first choice to be Daisy’s guide around the place, ask any of the teachers. Fuck it, ask any of the students, and they’ll give you her name, too.
Regardless, Becka didn’t know that tour guide was Canadian for new obsession.
Shu didn’t like her much, either, evident from the one time she’d asked Daisy straight-up if she had separation anxiety, since she was constantly at Hannah’s heels. Becka’s grateful for an ally on that front, or else she’d just come off bitter without reason - which, okay, true. Hulda, on the other hand—bless her—she loves everybody and everyone, taking to Daisy’s presence like she’s always just been a part of them. Which she isn’t.
So, yeah. Fuck Daisy and fuck Garth.
What comes out of her mouth, instead, however, is: “How’d you meet?”
“Do you remember that tour I went on, for Mayday University?”
Of course Becka remembers. She remembers everything that Hannah tells her. “Yeah, the one in the summer.”
“Technically, I met him there, but—” Hannah pauses, biting at her lip. “Actually, do you remember that mixer I went to, over winter break?”
Becka remembers that, too. Hannah had screenshotted the Instagram post for the event, messaging her with all caps and several exclamation points, asking if she wanted to come with her.
She’d said no, she couldn’t make it, she was busy that Friday. Luckily for her, the conversation had taken place over text because, otherwise, she wouldn’t have been able to lie to Hannah’s face.
“Yeah,” Becka nods, wondering where she’s going with this.
Did Hannah look like this, all bright-eyed and excited, when she was telling Daisy? Or was she more nervous, fingers twisting at her silver rings, doing that inhale-exhale thing she did before she had something important to say but was too worked up to say it?
Becka leans her head back, hitting solid cushion.
“It was less of a mixer and more of an actual party,” Hannah says. When Becka sits right back up, brows knitted, Hannah looks sheepish. “I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.”
“It’s not a big deal,” Becka replies, flatly.
Hannah frowns, eyes roving her face. “Nothing happened, I was totally safe, as you can see now—”
“So, you met him there.”
Hannah looks unabashed at the interruption, because she answers with ease. “He was one of the Mayday volunteers, from the summer tour. We ended up talking for a while at the party. He’s funny. Kind of dry, actually. You’d probably like him.”
Becka very much doubts that.
“And I brought his name up to Daisy, because he said he was from Toronto, too, and she asked me how I know Garth Chapin because, apparently, they used to work together at her old job—” She laughs at the memory, probably replaying the shock of the situation in her head. “But, yeah, it was all so crazy.”
Becka toys with her necklace, the gold gleaming in the strips of sunlight, not mirroring Hannah’s sudden glee. Then: “How old is he?”
“Sophomore. So, like two years older. Maybe a year and a half,” Hannah says. She’s still staring at Becka, who has lost her poker face, unbeknownst to Becka. “What?”
“What?”
“I don’t know,” Hannah murmurs, sitting up now, hands in her lap. “Are you okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You’re being- I don’t know. Weird. You sound mad.”
Becka tries not to frown. “I’m not mad.”
Hannah eyes her, warily. “Are you sure?”
“I’m fine, Hannah.”
I’m fine with you going to a college party and meeting a guy and not telling me and then telling Daisy, because, right, of course, that’s just something completely normal that happens now. Things get told to Daisy before they get told to me. It’s fine.
Graduation is in four months.
Becka wonders how many other things will stop getting told to her once they’re hundreds of miles apart at college.
-
“Mom, it’s not a phase,” Shu’s voice, heavily pitched and ridiculously nasal, comes in from the right, and she shrugs off Becka’s glare, sliding into the seat beside her. “You are so moody.”
“And you’re annoying,” Becka mutters, though it’s lacking any real heat.
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
Becka waves her off, not wanting to entertain her before she tended to her daily ASMR ritual.
Shu always packs a meal for lunch, because she’s into a bunch of organic, whole wheat options that make sleepovers at her place a nightmare—who wants homemade oatmeal for breakfast, she’s asked a handful of times at the crack of dawn, completely and utterly serious. It made no sense, considering how often she liked to buy a fun drink and a sweet treat for herself “just because.”
Becka, on the other hand, only has her mom working to provide for her - the outlier among her much more well-off friends, so she’s perfectly content with what the school has to offer on the daily, gloop and glop and all.
She pokes the miscellaneous meat now, listening to Shu begin to unpack her bag - the rustle of the containers not helping her deepening headache at all.
“Hey!”
The two of them pause, looking up to see Hulda’s bright smile, and Becka can’t help but muster one of her own. Hulda’s infectious like that, and it’s hard to be upset in front of her, even if Shu rolls her eyes at her naivety at times, which is… most of the time.
“Hi, Hulda,” Becka says, watching as her friend finds a place with Shu. “How was class?”
Hulda had left the majority of her electives for her last semester, which meant she’d been coming to lunch with sweat shining on her forehead, spending most of her previous period in the greenhouses.
“Good,” Hulda tells her. She works to unpack her food, too, less picky than Shu but still not risking the mystery meat. She usually kept to a pattern: a sandwich, a bag of chips, a fruit, and a yogurt, and unsurprisingly, that’s all she brings out today. “Ms. Vidala had us water all of the plants for this week. How was your class?”
Shu snorts at the question, shit-eating grin planted on her lips. “Yeah, Beck, how was your class?”
“Shut up,” Becka scowls. She was forced, very much against her will—screw Shu for always insinuating otherwise—into Home Economics, the only elective that would fit into her free timeslot, and she’d complained about it every single day since they came back from winter break. Seriously - cooking was fine, sewing was manageable, but family planning? Raising a baby? Who do they think Becka is?
“When’s Beck junior coming home?” Shu asks, feigning innocence when Becka’s eyes narrow on her.
“Hopefully, never,” Becka retorts. “I don’t want a stupid kid.”
“Is it going to be one of those electronic babies?” Hulda asks, taking a bite of her sandwich. She makes a face. “Those are creepy. And loud.”
Shu shrugs. “Maybe you’ll get lucky and take care of an egg instead.”
“If they give me an egg, I’m going to eat it.”
Hulda gasps. “Your child!”
“I warned them not to put me in that class,” Becka points out, stabbing at a green grape.
“Will you at least name it before eating it? So we can give it a proper burial?”
“You know, you should let me name your baby,” Shu suggests instead, and Becka’s about to say something about how that’s the worst idea she’s ever come up with, when she hears it, words dying on her tongue at the sound: Hannah’s laugh is behind her, finally, inching closer.
“Sorry,” Hannah apologizes, dropping into the free seat next to Becka, tray set down in front of her. “The line was insane today.”
Daisy’s here too, to Becka’s expectation and disappointment, sliding between Hannah and Hulda, with her own home-packed meal. Probably filled with Canadian nutrients that she would never have in the school cafeteria. Or maybe the Canadian nutrients are hidden under her dumb beanie. Becka stabs another grape.
“What are we talking about?” Hannah asks, when she’s all settled. She pushes her and Becka’s trays together, scooping half of her grapes over to Becka’s with a spoon. Becka murmurs a thanks, and Hannah just smiles at her before moving back.
“Becka’s baby,” Shu says, primly.
Hannah’s eyes light up. “Does she have it already?”
“She does not,” Becka answers for herself.
“That’s no fun. I wanted to see the baby.”
“See, Becka?” Shu’s eyebrows raise. “You have a step-mom right here, waiting.”
Becka rolls her eyes, but the corners of her mouth quirk up. “I don’t need a step-mom. I need a new elective.”
“Too late. Hannah’s already completely invested now.”
“A little invested,” Hannah agrees, laughing. “I want to know if it really cries.”
“They all cry,” Hulda answers, emphatically. “It’s like a real life, fake baby. I’ve heard the horror stories. You’ll be up at 3 A.M.”
“Not if I lock it in the closet,” Becka says, darkly.
“Dude,” Daisy coughs out a laugh, putting down her water bottle, and unfortunately reminding Becka of her presence. “Isn’t the whole point of that class to teach you not to do that?”
The whole table starts giggling, and Becka—begrudgingly—does find it funny, but then her eyes immediately glaze over to Hannah, whose laugh is giving off the indication that Daisy’s the funniest person in the world, and the sight of those shining eyes kills all the amusement for her.
Great. Just another reminder of Friday’s news.
Becka had used the entire weekend to get over it, rationalizing the events and trying to convince herself that it’s not a big deal, per Hannah’s words, but now that it’s Monday, and she’s face-to-face with Hannah and her new best friend, Daisy, who knows the hidden love of Hannah’s life, Garth — fine, she’s not over it.
It’s whatever.
She doesn’t care.
Everyone begins to chat about other topics, interrupting their sentences to shove food into their mouths, and Becka twirls her spork in her mashed potatoes, pretending that the back of the milk carton is interesting. She just has to do that for the next half-hour.
“Beck?” Hannah bumps her elbow. She’s whispering, like she doesn’t want everyone to hear her. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she tells her, again, like she’s been telling her for the past couple of days. It’s not the end of the world if she doesn’t want to talk, alright? Let a girl brood over being replaced.
Shu’s got the ears of a bat, somehow, because she twists in her chair to face Becka, too. “Not that you aren’t usually weird, but you’ve been way weirder today. What is up with you?”
“Nothing,” Becka says, more forceful than she expects, and that catches the attention of Hulda and Daisy, who had been invested in their own conversation.
Now, everyone’s looking at her, which is once again great. Could things get any worse?
“Beck,” Hannah says, softly, like she isn’t sure what to make of her friend’s behavior. There’s no follow-up, just that lingering nickname on her tongue, waiting for Becka to say something.
“I’m just—” Becka sighs, thinking of the first, viable excuse that comes to mind, “stressed about acceptance letters.”
Everyone’s face falls, sympathetically.
“I cried over break,” Hulda admits. “Every time I thought about it.”
“Why do you think I re-cut my bangs?” Shu asks, gesturing to said bangs. They’d been much messier before she’d left for her annual December cruiseship. “I was having a mid-life crisis in my room, worrying about what I’d do if I didn’t get into Gilead.”
Gilead State, one of the other popular choices for their senior class. Exactly two hundred and seventeen miles (three and a half hours) away from Mayday University, but who’s counting?
“You’ll get in,” Hannah assures her, which results in a very pleased Shu from across the table. She looks at Becka after. “And so will you, Becka. You’re so smart. Any place would be lucky to have you. Gilead, especially.”
And, despite her bad mood, Hannah always manages to make her feel better, as if she’s not the sole reason Becka’s feeling this way in the first place. “Thanks,” Becka says, chest lightening, and she nudges Hannah’s foot beneath the table.
Hannah returns the nudge for a second, smiling at her, before dropping her shoe and facing Daisy once more. Becka’s sole lands with a hollow thud. “Did you apply anywhere, Daisy?”
“Just where everyone else did,” Daisy says, with a shrug. “Also, a couple of places back in Canada, but only for fun. My first pick is Mayday, though.”
“Mine, too!” Hulda exclaims at that. “Hannah and I have been wanting to go to Mayday since we were kids.”
“Yeah,” Hannah confirms. “It’s been the dream school for us.”
“That’s so exciting, though,” Hulda says, to Daisy. “We’ll all be together.”
Not all of us, Becka thinks. Shu doesn’t seem to mind the topic.
“It’s going to be so fun,” Hannah agrees, and she sounds so genuinely happy, the way she sounds when she’s really, truly looking forward to something, and Becka’s heard that voice all of her life—the school day before a field trip, the entire night of Homecoming, the moment Shu hosted a party with real alcohol for her seventeenth birthday, and—
For the first time in a decade, Becka can only listen to her from the outside.
-
Becka’s clearing out the shelves behind the counter when she hears the familiar jingle of the door.
“Welcome to Immortelle Records,” she says, absentmindedly, turning around with a stack of CDs in her arms. “Is there anything I can do for— oh, it’s you.”
Daisy stares at her, skateboard tucked against her side, looking both amused and a little bewildered at the sight of Becka outside of their natural habitat, aka school. “You work here?”
“Yes,” is her curt reply. She frees her hands, filing the plastic cases one-by-one into a nearby cardboard box. When she’s finished with the first handful, she looks up to find that Daisy is, sadly, still there. “Did you need something?”
“No,” Daisy says, quickly, snapping out of her stupor. “Just wanted to look around.”
“Cool,” Becka says, even if she’s feeling less than enthusiastic about it. Hopefully, Daisy will be in and out like most people. She taps her fingers against the wood, looking around the mostly empty room, her home away from home.
Immortelle Records was a quaint little store downtown, filled with all things music and et cetera, like CDs and vinyls and instruments and books. It’d been Becka’s safe space when she was a kid, her fingers running across the piano keys after classes, and she was hired the second that it was no longer illegal to have someone her age working the job.
Her room is decked out with a bunch of stuff she’s bought over the years, when she’s off working hours, and Hannah’s received the occasional gift from Becka every now and then, in the form of VHS tapes and DVDs for those films she loves.
The thought of Hannah and Immortelle Records together brings a frown to her face. Is she the reason Daisy’s here right now?
“Hey,” Becka calls out, before she can help herself.
Daisy looks up, hands stilling over at the vinyl records. “Yeah?”
“How’d you find out about this place?”
She blinks, an uneasy smile tugging at her lips. “Shu told me about it, when we were eating ice cream last week.” Right. Becka remembers that day. Hannah had taken a bite of Becka’s sundae without permission, sticking her tongue out when Becka swatted at her in return. “She didn’t tell me you worked here.”
Of course she didn’t. Becka stops herself from rolling her eyes. “Since freshman year,” is what she opts for.
“Sweet,” Daisy says, and she sounds genuine about it. “I worked at some dumb escape room.”
“With Garth?”
Daisy’s eyes widen instantaneously, like she hadn’t expected that name to come out of Becka’s mouth. It reminded her of that I’m so hungry I could eat… trend. “Um, yeah, with Garth. He was pretty useless, though.” A pause. “Did Hannah tell you?”
Becka bites back a snarky comment because obviously, we’re best friends, duh isn’t going to feel any bit as satisfying when she’d been second choice for the news. “She did.”
“Small world, huh,” Daisy says, giving Becka a raise of her brows, like they’re sharing a joke. Becka stares blankly in return, and she turns back towards the records. “Well- anyways.”
“What’s Garth like?” Immediately, she chastises herself. Becka needs to learn when to shut up.
“Oh, kind of annoying,” Daisy replies, breezily, unperturbed by the nosiness. “Useless, like I said—at least, when we were both working the same job. I had to tell him to man up and do everything - it was like come on, man, do something for once. But he has a good heart, I guess. I didn’t hate the guy or anything, I just forgot all about him until Hannah brought him up.”
Becka makes a non-committal noise. Garth is nowhere near Hannah’s league if this is his lackluster description.
Daisy looks over her shoulder. “Hannah has bad taste if she wants Garth.”
Any other day, Becka would be quick to defend Hannah’s name. For some reason, she decides to take a more general approach this time. “We’re an all-girls school, so a lot of us have bad taste, believe it or not.”
“You, too?” Daisy asks, amused.
Becka shrugs. She doesn’t really have an objective answer to that, considering that she hasn’t really wanted anyone in her life - not like Shu with her flings or Hulda and her innocent little crushes. Hannah hadn’t really, either, aside from a couple of celebrities she liked to fawn over when she and Becka watched movies on Hannah’s projector. Until now.
“I had a boyfriend, back in Toronto,” Daisy says, and that gets Becka’s interest. “His name was Justin.”
“What happened to him?”
“He couldn’t do long distance, so we ended it,” she answers, mildly. “He sucked, anyway, so maybe I have bad taste, too.”
Becka lets out a small laugh, and Daisy’s eyes flicker with surprise. Before Daisy can get any weird ideas like hey, Becka thinks I’m a hoot, we can be good friends, Becka gestures to her skateboard. “What’s up with that?”
“Huh?” Daisy looks down. “My skateboard?”
Becka nods.
“Oh, I don’t have a car here, since, you know”—she shrugs, one hand in the air, not wanting to explain the moved-to-here-from-Canada thing again—“but I brought my board from home.”
“You skate to school?” Becka had assumed she went on the bus, like she used to, before Hannah got her car.
“And everywhere else, pretty much,” Daisy says. “It’s faster than walking.”
Becka’s brows come together. “Doesn’t it get cold?” It’s winter, close to the end of January, and Becka’s been going through all of her wool sweaters in order to not freeze to death outside. She pushes up her sleeves now, for good measure.
“I’m Canadian.”
Fair enough.
Becka doesn’t have a reply to that, so she turns back to sorting through everything—the task that she’s being paid for—pulling out a stack of vinyls that need to be priced. Daisy takes that cue to continue flipping through the records, and for a while, there’s nothing other than the occasional shuffle of her sneakers and the low speaker music that Becka likes to hum to as she organizes.
“You have good taste,” Daisy says, eventually, from somewhere in the stacks.
“Those are the store’s records.”
“I know, but you curated all of these sections, right?”
Becka glances up. “Sometimes.”
“Yeah- so, good taste.”
She doesn’t respond, busy fiddling with the numbers on the price gun.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Does it matter if I say yes or no?”
Daisy huffs out a laugh. Then, she’s coming over to the counter, leaning her skateboard against the wooden sides. “Do you not like me, or is that just a you thing?”
“A me thing?”
“Like, are you just like this with everyone else?”
Becka stares at her, long and hard, trying to figure out her deal. She isn’t being accusatory - in fact, she looks like a little kid, all expectant and patient. “I don’t not like you,” she manages to say, truthfully. “You just came out of nowhere, that’s all.”
“Okay,” Daisy nods, like that settles it. “I know. Sorry about that.”
She doesn’t sound particularly sorry, because it’s really nothing to be sorry about—all she did was move countries and Becka’s the one that’s making things weird, but she also doesn’t sound smug, either. Just neutral, easy.
Daisy pushes off the counter, picking her skateboard back up. “Anyway.” She glances around the store, like she’s taking everything in. Then, she heads towards the door, waving a hand back. “Really cool place. I’ll check everything out for longer next time.”
Becka closes her eyes, hearing the chime go off from the side. The cold air whooshes through, and she sighs.
God, please don’t let there be a next time.