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Every Year 12 student at Wawanakwa High School dreads Mr. Hatchet's—or Chef, as he likes to be called—end of the year history research presentation for two big reasons. The first reason is that history is boring as hell, or it is in Heather's eyes, at least, and the presentation has to be at least four minutes, but that wasn't the worst reason.
The worst part was that everybody was randomly assigned a partner, and while Heather may be considered popular, she is far from being liked from the rest of the students in her year.
Maybe it has something to do with her trying to rig the class president votes in Year 10, resulting in Noah barely scraping by with the win. Or her reading Gwen's diary during lunch, all because of a petty argument. Or, and this was probably the worst of all, kissing Trent just to get back at Gwen.
Either way, Heather is more feared than liked, and she's made peace with that. The rest of her Year? Not so much.
Come third period, Heather is dreading the class, considering skipping by hiding out in the girl's locker room in the gym. She decides against it, figuring she should just face the inevitable, and she trudges her way into Mr. Hatchet's class, bag slung over her shoulder and lip gloss reapplied.
She sits at her desk, crossing her legs and getting out her notebook, only to look at the whiteboard and frown.
Huh. So the old bastard went ahead and wrote down their partner names. How lovely of him.
Heather quickly scans the board for her name, finding it towards the bottom, and her frown deepens whenever she sees who she's partnered up with; Bridgette Summers, a girl in her grade who was most likely to end up receiving the nicest girl award in their yearbook. DJ, of course, would get nicest guy.
A sigh leaves her lips, and she presses her pen into her notebook, glancing around the classroom for a familiar head of blonde hair. Heather finds said head across the classroom, sitting at a desk beside Courtney, talking to the CIT with a smile on her face.
Green eyes catch grey, and Bridgette tilts her head as she notices Heather's gaze. She smiles politely, though Heather can easily tell that it's somewhat forced, and she turns back to Courtney, continuing to chat.
After a few minutes. Mr. Hatchet comes inside, sitting down at his desk and going through the attendance. "Alright, listen up. You've all been partnered up for a history presentation, and I don't want some half-assed shit, okay? And don't bore me to death." He shoves his glasses up his nose, and then tells the students to sit with their partners so they can come up with ideas for the project.
Heather stays rooted in her seat, waiting for Bridgette to come to her, and the blonde girl does, bringing her backpack along. "Hey, Heather," she greets, a warm smile on her face. She sits in the desk next to the dark haired girl, turning to face her. "So, what do you want to do for our research presentation?"
"Whatever's fine with me," Heather says coolly, eyes set in a slight glare. History isn't her favorite subject, not by far, and she hopes Bridgette suggests something interesting so she isn't bored to death.
Bridgette hums quietly, finger to her chin as she tries to come up with an idea. "Maybe we can do World War Two? There's plenty of stuff to cover, so we'll reach the time limit." She looks at Heather and waits on an answer, twirling a strand of blonde hair with her finger.
Heather wishes she could do that, twirl her hair around her finger again. Instead, she'd gotten her hair shaved off a year ago by accident—stupid, stupid Lindsay—and while it's grown out, it barely touches her shoulders.
"Sounds easy enough," she tells Bridgette, whose smile widens at the slight praise. Heather rolls her eyes, reaching down in her bag to get out the heavy textbook Mr. Hatchet insists they use for the class. Stupid world history. "God, this class is so boring."
"Tell me about it." Heather looks over to see Bridgette also taking out her textbook, flipping through the pages with a bored look on her face. "This class is somehow worse than Miss O'Halloran's."
Heather snorts, nodding in agreement. "She's such a bitch," she whispers, noticing the grin on Bridgette's lips. "And I don't think she knows what she's doing half the time. It's like she's only here for the paycheck."
Bridgette laughs quietly, burying her face in her book so Mr. Hatchet doesn't catch her, and she looks back up at Heather, beckoning her closer. "Geoff said she's been trying to flirt with Mr. Don. Apparently she thinks he's hot."
"Oh my God—" It takes every fiber of Heather's being to keep herself from cackling, and she too buries her face in her book as Mr. Hatchet looks over at the two of them. When the coast is clear, she picks her head back up, looking over at Bridgette with a smirk. "Seriously? Him? He's probably married with three kids or something."
"Maybe Blaineley wants to be a homewrecker," Bridgette suggests, a teasing smile on her lips. The other girl grins back, a bit surprised by how the blonde is acting. While her and Bridgette had never exchanged more than a few words, Heather had always assumed she was more like Lindsay; blonde, dim, and stuck to her boyfriend's hip like glue.
The two girls read their textbooks and chat quietly with one another, recounting gossip from the past week; Principal Mclean was probably evading his taxes again, Beth was apparently dating some hot guy from another school in their district, and there was a weird love triangle happening between Gwen, Courtney, and Duncan.
"I really thought Gwen and Trent would last," Bridgette says offhandedly, recounting the time Trent had written the goth girl a love song and performed it during lunch. "They seemed right for each other."
Heather shrugs, jotting down some notes from the textbook, nearly filling an entire page of her notebook so far. "Apparently he got weird and Gwen dumped him. I didn't think she'd try to go after a guy with a girlfriend though, especially Courtney."
"She isn't so bad," Bridgette defends her friend, tucking her pencil behind her ear. "She's just a little Type-A, though I think Duncan's wearing her out. She almost got detention last week."
"Detention isn't the end of the world," Heather rolls her eyes, casting the blonde a sideways glance. Bridgette lets out a soft sigh, and before the dark haired girl can say anything else, the bell rings.
The two begin packing up their stuff, standing from their desks and making their way out of the classroom and into the hallway. Heather is turning the other way when Bridgette gently grabs her wrist, holding her back. "Do you want to hang out after school and work on this some more? There's a froyo place by the library that's super good."
Heather freezes for a brief moment, unsure of how to react. Nobody really hung out with her anymore; Lindsay and Beth had years ago, until they grew tired of her bitchiness and dropped her as a friend. Leshawna tried, she really did, but Heather keeps pushing her away, still not entirely over getting their friendship ruined in Year 11 because of the new guy.
Said new guy, Alejandro, who Heather dated for six months before breaking things off with her hung out with her between his sports practices and afterschool club activities, but he's been getting swamped lately, and Heather suspects he's also been trying to get closer to Noah. The snark was also an unlikely friend of hers, though they never hung out after school, only sitting together during lunch or their free period to talk shit about everyone else.
Hanging out was just something she didn't do, but Heather finds herself nodding anyways. "Sounds fine to me," she says, ignoring the way her heart flips whenever Bridgette's smile lights up.
"Awesome! I'll pay for us, don't worry," the blonde assures, before looking at where Geoff is waiting on her by his locker. "I have to go, but we can meet by the front gates after school ends."
Before Heather can confirm that, Bridgette walks off, heading towards the blond guy and walking beside him to their next class. Heather stands still for a moment, until someone bumps into her, and she turns to snap at them, only to see Noah in all his sweater wearing glory.
"You know they're just friends now, right?" he asks, causing Heather to raise an eyebrow. If he starts speaking in riddles, she's going to deck him.
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
Noah rolls his eyes, raising an eyebrow at the girl, clearly unamused. "Geoff and Bridgette. They're not dating, so quit glaring daggers at him, you useless lesbian." He gets a kick to the calf, which nearly knocks him down. Just in time too, because Alejandro passes and then stops, looking at the two.
"What are we talking about?" he asks, clearly trying to butt his way into the conversation. Heather wants to tell him to fuck off, but Noah cuts her off with, "she's being a useless lesbian again." He gets kicked again, and hides behind Alejandro, who seems delighted to play his white knight.
"Shut the fuck up, you nerd," Heather practically snarls, glaring daggers through Alejandro so they reach Noah. A bony finger flips her off, and she has half a mind to break it.
Alejandro watches the exchange, amused by the other two, and he turns to Heather with a slight grin. "Are you finally moving on, mi amiga? It's about time, you know." He too receives a kick, this time to the knee, and Alejandro winces but manages to wink at Heather anyways.
"You two are insufferable," she tells the two boys, muttering, "you deserve each other," before walking off to her next class, leaving Alejandro and Noah to lick their wounds.
The day passes by without any further fuss, besides Noah teasing Heather about ogling Bridgette earlier in the hallway. She claims she was just looking out for the girl, considering she's her partner for Mr. Hatchet's project, but the snark can see right through her.
"I can see why you'd like her," he says, taking a bite of an apple slice that he took off of Alejandro's tray. "I mean, she's nice and pretty, two things you aren't."
"As if anybody would want to date your ugly ass," Heather fires back, also taking an apple slice from Alejandro's tray. The Spanish boy lets them, popping a slice of cucumber into his mouth.
He finishes chewing before once again butting into Noah and Heather's conversation. It's a talent of his, Heather thinks. "Firstly, I'm not just 'anybody', so thank you. And second, Noah is kind of right. You two are opposites, and don't opposites attract?"
Heather rolls her eyes, stealing another apple slice. "Yeah, only in shitty romcoms. New flash, it doesn't work in the real world." She glances over at the table where Duncan and Courtney are at, and can overhear the two arguing. "You can't even use Duncan and Courtney as an example. They're dysfunctional, and he's probably cheating on her with Gwen."
"Seriously?" Noah raises an eyebrow, peering over at the resident delinquent and the Type-A. "Huh. Didn't think he had it in him, considering Courtney can beat his ass easily."
"Look, Heather, it doesn't even have to be something serious," Alejandro tells her, reaching over the table to put his hand over hers. Heather immediately moves her hand away, glaring at him. "Sometimes crushes are good for the soul."
"That might be the lousiest piece of advice you've ever given me," Heather deadpans, ignoring how Noah snorts at her side. Alejandro rolls his eyes, murmuring to himself in Spanish, though she can't quite pick up the words. "Besides, Bridgette's straight. Embarrassingly straight, because she dated Geoff, of all people."
"He throws parties and gets his parents to buy him beer and weed. If I wasn't alcohol intolerant, I'd try to date him too," Noah jokes, looking over to catch Alejandro's disappointed frown. "No offense, dude."
Alejandro once again murmurs to himself in Spanish, though Heather can barely catch the word 'idiot' being thrown around. "How many times do I have to tell you to not call me 'dude'?"
Before the two lovebirds can argue, Heather cuts them off by saying, "you two are hopeless. So fucking hopeless."
After lunch, the rest of the day seems to fly by, and the last bell of the day rings. Heather stands up from her desk, gathering her belongings and walking out of class, making her way to the front gate.
If she's deeply honest with herself, which she never is most days, Heather is kind of dreading hanging out with Bridgette. Not because of Bridgette, per say, but because of herself. She has a history of questionable crushes—Lindsay, before the blonde got with Tyler, Gwen, when she wasn't being a stuck up bitch, and even Leshawna, of all people, who somehow ended up with Harold—and she really doesn't want Bridgette to be another addition to the list.
Plus, a lesbian liking a straight girl is hell on Earth. Heather's been through it three times already. She isn't sure if she can handle it again.
However, ditching Bridgette also isn't an option, because they need to pass this project. If they don't, they could fail the class, and Heather isn't going to let herself fail all because of her stupid hormones and feelings.
By the time she gets outside, Bridgette is already waiting for her, looking as relaxed as ever. Heather feels a slight pang of jealousy, because she would kill to feel that way. When the blonde spots her, she smiles and waves, making her way closer so they can meet halfway.
"Heather, hi. I wasn't sure if you'd actually come," Bridgette says, and Heather has to fight the urge to tell her that she almost didn't come.
Instead, she settles on, "I wouldn't miss it. Anyways, do you want to take my car? It'll probably be faster than the bus."
Bridgette blinks at the offer, her mind processing it, and she nods, her smile somehow widening. Seriously, why was she so smiley? "That sounds great! Usually I have my car, but—"
"Geoff accidentally hit a mailbox. I heard about that." Heather had been pissed on Bridgette's behalf, because how does someone hit a mailbox? His driving must be as bad as Alejandro's. "Come on."
They make their way to the student parking lot, easily finding Heather's burgundy Nissan Murano, a gift from her parents for her sixteenth birthday. It didn't make up for the neglect, but it would make do.
They throw their bags into the backseats, before taking their seats. Heather starts the car, pulling out of the parking lot, and she catches a glimpse of Alejandro and Noah walking together on the sidewalk, hands intertwined.
She rolls down her window, yelling at them, "fucking losers!" and speeding off, laughing all the while. Bridgette snorts from the passenger seat, covering her mouth with her hand.
"Are they together?" she asks once Heather is calmed down. At the girl's nod, Bridgette hums to herself quietly. "Huh. I didn't expect Alejandro to be gay."
"He's bi, actually," Heather corrects, stopping at a red light. She taps her nails against the steering wheel, turning her head slightly to look at Bridgette. "You don't have a problem with that, do you?"
Bridgette sputters, cheeks growing a soft pink as she tries not to choke on her words. "Of course I don't! One of my aunt's is a lesbian, a few of my friends are gay, and I'm not entirely straight either."
Oh. Oh. Somehow, Bridgette not being homophobic is worse, because now, in the back of Heather's mind, there's a slight chance. A slight chance that if Heather asked her out, Bridgette would say yes.
Fuck her life.
The rest of the drive to the froyo place is quiet, the radio playing pop music on low. Once they arrive at the froyo shop, Heather manages to parallel park on the side of the street, and the two girls get out, heading inside.
It's all bright colors and wooden accents in the froyo shop, and there is a small crowd inside whenever they step inside. Bridgette holds the door for Heather, who thanks her quietly, and they walk inside the small space, waiting in line.
Heather takes the chance to glance at her phone, noticing texts from both Noah and Alejandro, the former calling her a lesbian while the latter asks why she screamed at them. She replies to neither of the messages, slipping her phone back in her pocket and looking over at Bridgette.
The surfer girl as freckles, she realizes. Freckles dance around her face, marking sun kissed skin with little kisses. Green eyes gaze around the area, darkened eyelashes batting every few seconds.
Bridgette is undeniably pretty, as much as Heather wants to deny it. She's pretty in a calming way, unlike most of the other girls at school. Her beauty reminds Heather of a renaissance painting, in a strange way.
After a few minutes of waiting, they finally make it to the front of the line, and they receive cups to make their froyo in. Heather follows Bridgette over to the self-serve station, and the blonde gets a dollop of vanilla froyo. Heather chooses cookies and cream, not one to dump a lot of toppings onto it.
By the time they go to pay, Bridgette has loaded hers up with fruits and granola, while Heather's is mostly plain. The blonde pays for the two of them, despite Heather saying that she didn't mind paying, and they choose a table away from the crowd.
"This is so good," Bridgette gushes, eating a bite of strawberry and froyo. She's beaming as she eats, and Heather has to look away so she doesn't stare too hard. "Are you enjoying yours?"
"It's alright," Heather lands on after being quiet for a beat too long. She takes a bite of her froyo so she doesn't have to talk, looking everywhere but at Bridgette.
When the two finish their treat, they both stand to throw their trash away, and Bridgette nearly trips on a cup that's on the ground. Heather manages to catch her by the arms, and when they both look up, their noses are nearly touching.
Quickly moving away, Heather can feel her cheeks burning, and she blames it on the heat. Bridgette seems more relaxed, however, and they make their ways out of the froyo shop and across the street to the library.
They manage to find quite a few books on World War Two, and they snag a table so they can write down notes for their presentation. Heather makes sure that the conversation is focused solely on the project, despite her wanting to talk to Bridgette about anything else.
It's for the best, she reasons for herself. There's no point in getting her hopes up.
The two girls stay in the library for two hours, until Bridgette's phone buzzes. When she looks down at the device, she frowns slightly, though types back before putting her phone back in her pocket. "Sorry, that was my mom. She wants me home for dinner."
"That's fine. We can continue some other time," Heather says, shutting the book with a deafening slam. She goes quiet, hoping the librarian doesn't realize she made the sound, and she looks at Bridgette with a small smile. "Here, give me your number."
Bridgette listens, writing her number in Heather's notebook, and the dark haired girl offers her a ride home, which she accepts.
The drive isn't too long, and they make it to the blonde's house, Heather parking in the driveway. "Well, see you at school tomorrow—" she goes to say, before Bridgette cuts her off with a kiss to the cheek that leaves her skin burning.
When Bridgette pulls away, she's also blushing, though she has that dopey grin on her face that Heather wants to kiss away. "It was nice hanging out with you. You're not so bad after all, huh?"
Heather watches as she gets out of the car, walking towards her front door. Before Bridgette walks inside, she turns and waves at the other girl, and Heather finds herself waving back.
Maybe not everyone hates her after all.