Chapter Text
In the slice of West Virginia nestled between Pennsylvania and Ohio, lies a small sleepy coal mining town. People rarely come in, and leave even more infrequently. It's just how it is. Poverty is rampant, the area offering no higher education than a small community College after High School. It's not like people could afford regular College anyways. Most boys go straight to work at the coal plant after graduation, while girls hope to make ends meet working at shops and office jobs in town. There is permanent coal dust wedged everywhere, impossible to escape. Like Maysilee Donner. Stuck in this town forever, it seems. Like the coal underneath her shoes she scrubs off every night coming home from College. She takes English literature, a subject her parents think is a waste of time, since she is bound to inherit the sweet shop they run after they retire. Maysilee only studies part-time, also working an apprenticeship at the town's tailor. She gets paid less than minimum wage, but she learns a lot, which is what matters to her. Merrilee, her twin sister, does college full time, studying accounting, which their parents think is appropriate for a future business owner.
In such a small town, everyone knows everyone, but Maysilee’s circle isn't very big.
In terms of friends, the twins have been best friends since basically birth with Asterid March. The daughter of the pharmacist next to their sweet shop. She's been one of the lucky ones, able to escape their town to go to med school a few towns over. Though she often comes back on the weekends to see her family and friends.
Then there's Haymitch, a childhood classmate turned proper friend. If one had asked Maysilee about befriending him, years prior, she'd have laughed in their face. But the boy had snuck up on her. It was their junior year and they had been assigned lab partners in bio-chem. For the whole year. The teacher had been adamant on no partner switching, so Maysilee had to stick with him, every single day for a whole hour and a half period. Spending this much time –albeit by force– with someone makes it bound to soften to them. So Haymitch is included into their close friends group. He gets on great with Merrilee too. Everyone gets on with her. Knowing him brings a bunch of new acquaintances to Maysilee and Merrilee's lives. Lenore Dove, Haymitch's girlfriend (whom he is insane for), a gorgeous, rebellious musician. Burdock and Blair, his two guy best friends (Asterid's been harboring a massive crush on the former since junior year, ask anyone with eyes). Louella, Haymitch's neighbor, although younger, sometimes joins in on the hangs out, her older brother Baylee being in Burdock's grade.
Last, there's Wyatt. Back in High School, he had been two grades above Maysilee. Haymitch had met him when he had started working at the coal mine plant, and were part of the same team.
~Four years prior~
She met him on a rainy September day, when she had arrived late for the first class of English Literature of the school year. Maysilee was only a sophomore but had been accepted in the senior class. Nobody knew Shakespeare better than her. Ashamed of her messy hair and red face from running in the halls, looking for the classroom, she hurried to sit in the back. A boy sat there, staring out the window, the only empty seat next to him.
The teacher, Mrs. Patterson, starts the roll call, Maysilee sighing of relief she hasn't missed it.
She goes alphabetically, down the list.
When she gets to ‘C’, she calls out “Callow, Wyatt” and the boy sitting next to Maysilee raises his hand, with an unconvinced “here”.
At ‘D’, she calls out “Donner, Maysilee” and Maysilee raises her hand too fast for her own taste. Embarrassing. To distract herself from the boredom of the roll call, since she's been called, she studies the boy, Wyatt.
Dark brown wavy hair falls into his eyes. He's got a mean cowlick in the back, that Maysilee wants to reach out for and smooth out. She can't tell his eye color from here but she bets on gray. Lots of folks who live in the poorer side of town, –the Seam, it's nicknamed– have this look. Dark hair, often curly, tan skin that gets bronze-like in summer, gray or sometimes brown eyes. Boys from there tend to be tall, taller than the ones from town, who are typically blonde and scrawny looking. Not very Maysilee's type. Though from the way Merrilee looks at Toby Undersee, that might be her type. At least Toby is on the less scrawny side, snickers Maysilee to herself.
She resumes her watching while Mrs. Patterson goes over the syllabus for the school year. Maysilee will scan through it later, no use listening now.
Wyatt wears a black t-shirt with a checkered black, gray and red open flannel over it. Very emo chic, thinks Maysilee. Though it is getting a bit out of fashion.
His jeans look well worn, the black fabric fraying at the hem into white rips. There is an actual rip at the right knee, and Maysilee doesn't think that one is for fashion. Maybe he's outdoorsy. From the corner of her eye, something shines under the neon ceiling lights. It's a coin, Wyatt is flipping it between his fingers. Rolling it over and over again between his knuckles. Pretty cool tricks, she thinks, bringing her attention back to the teacher once she tells the class to open their books.
Then, every day that follows, for a good month, Maysilee looks at Wyatt in English Lit. Glances stolen over her copy of Romeo and Juliet she has read a hundred times over. He looks bored, not interested in the slightest in the shenanigans of the characters in the book. Maysilee is also bored but it's because she knows the book inside and out, and Mrs. Patterson isn't adding anything new to the analysis Maysilee had done on her own by thirteen.
This time, he is scribbling in a notebook. Numbers. Is he catching up on calculus homework? Maysilee sucks at math. She desperately needs help with her homework but Merrilee, who's actually good at math, is useless when it comes to helping. She'd just grow exasperated, saying that it wasn't that hard, and Maysilee would end up annoyed at her twin back. They never actually fought. Sisters just have a way of bringing back everything to normal after the worst of arguments.
Hunched over the notebook, writing down numbers at a rapid pace, Maysilee keeps looking, almost craning her neck, not realizing how not-subtle she's being.
Without looking up at her, Wyatt speaks up
“If you need help with math homework, just ask, everybody else already asks me, just stop staring, please.”
Maysilee, startled, cheeks reddening, doesn't know what to answer for a good ten seconds.
Mouth dry, she adverts her eyes when she replies.
“Um, yes I'd like calculus help, if that's alright. And I didn't know people asked you for that. Are you an expert or something?” she can't help herself but to add a bit of sass to her tone. It's in her genes, her dad says. She gets it from her mother.
“Actually, kind of. I take AP Calculus.” Wyatt replies, smugness over his face. The smirk is a new look on him. Usually, when Maysilee looks at him, he has a blank stare on.
AP Calculus is the hard stuff. Even Merrilee doesn't take it. He must be very smart in a math way, thinks Maysilee. She's more smart in a literature, languages way. But her true passion is fashion. Accessories, clothing, hairstyles, all of that is Maysilee's bread and butter. If only her fate wasn't sealed to be a sweet shop owner…
“So, is after lunch okay? For calc help, I mean,” he says, looking directly at her for what seems like the first time. His hand is in a fist under his chin, the other playing with that coin he always flips around. His eyes are as gray as she had imagined. If not a bit darker than that. It's cold and rainy today so a gray beanie, a few shades lighter than his eyes, hides most of his hair, except the bangs almost covering said eyes. And the back of his hair, on the longer side, curls up. Cute, Maysilee thinks, and she forgets to reply to his question.
“I said, is after lunch okay?” he asks again, a bit louder. Maybe she hadn't heard. He does tend to speak softly, for a boy his age.
“Huh? Oh, uh, yes?” she says, still unsure.
“For homework help. You did ask right? Was I mistaken?” Wyatt’s worried, suddenly. What if he had read her request completely wrong.
“No, I mean, yes, I asked. After lunch is okay. Maybe twelve-forty, in the library?” she proposes.
No boy has ever made Maysilee this blubbering. Those gray eyes are getting to her. She's got to stop staring. He's already noticed, though, so maybe a bit more doesn't hurt.
Today, he's got red Converse on. It matches her red ballet flats, she thinks. Urgh, stupid. His shoes are beat up, like most of his clothing seems to be. Probably not very wealthy, thinks Maysilee. Her own shoes are pristine. She takes good care of her clothing, wiping away the coal dust constantly. Her own privilege disgusts her sometimes. But what can she do about it? Wear less good clothes so she doesn't stand out? That wouldn't make a difference in the poverty issue of the town anyway. She wants to get out.
After lunch, where she barely ate her PB&J sandwich, raising suspicions in Merrilee and Asterid, she excuses herself to leave for the library. When Merri asks, she just says someone from English lit. said they'd help her with calculus homework, since Merrilee is an awful teacher, (“Hey!” she shouts in indignation).
Maysilee conveniently forgets to mention that her math tutor is a cute senior guy with dark fluffy hair. That would send the two girls in code red. Code for boy alert. The important meeting they hold when one of them has a crush.
But Maysilee doesn't have a crush. Barely. She just thinks Wyatt’s cool and smart and cute. Okay, maybe she's deluding herself.
At the library, Wyatt is sitting by the window. Eternally blackened by coal residue. He has his AP Calculus textbook spread open but he's scribbling in that notebook again.
Her bag dropping in the chair opposite to him makes him jump. His eyes meet hers. Blue like the sky, he thinks. She inhales sharply.
“I'm Maysilee, by the way. Didn't know if you knew my name. I'm a sophomore.” She sits, putting her bag down and pulling out her homework.
“I knew that. You're pretty hard to miss, Maysilee Donner, of the Donner sweet shop.”
“Ah, I see my family legacy precedes me once again,” she sighs dramatically, looking up in desolation. He gives a chuckle.
“Also because you've been staring at me everyday in English lit, and you are not subtle about it.”
“It’s because I'm bored of Romeo and Juliet, duh! Read it too many times to count and you just happen to be sitting next to me so…” she doesn't mention that if it were anyone else in their class, she wouldn't look at them that intently. He just has this mysterious aura to him, layers she wants to peel back.
“So, calc, right?” He reminds them of what they're here for. Only half an hour until the next class, they ought to hurry. Luckily for Maysilee, Wyatt is a better teacher than Merrilee is and twenty minutes later, she feels like she understands the concept better. Growing tired of math, she peers in the open notebook Wyatt scribbles in so often. It's a mess of words and numbers, in chicken scratch handwriting. She cannot decipher a thing.
“So, what's this?” she asks, head pointing at the notebook.
“Oh, that's for…” he hesitates a bit. “Have you ever been to the…” he cuts himself off again, making Maysilee grow more and more curious.
“Basically, my family owns the lottery stand, in the Seam, and –he lowers his voice a smidge– we also do betting events, like for poker or underground boxing, stuff like that. My job is the odds.”
“The odds? Like probability in math?” she asks, cocking her head to the side, blue eyes wide.
“Yeah. I predict the outcome of who's gonna win the match et cetera.”
“That’s pretty cool,” she says, having never heard of such a thing before.
Wyatt looks at Maysilee straight on. Of course, just like her, he's stolen glances and looked at her from the corner of his eye in class. This time, he stares at her features, sunrays falling around her. The light creates a halo, making her naturally blonde hair appear even brighter. Her sky blue eyes piercing into his, something shines above her eyelids, Wyatt presumes makeup but he has no clue. Her nose is high bridged, lips pouty, a delicate rosy color. Freckles litter her face, and little braids are interwoven into her hair.
Around her neck, many chains, pendants and beaded necklaces hang, sunlight reflecting on them. She appears to like jewelry. Earrings, that might even be real gemstones, glitter at her ears. Little purple flowers.
The bell ringing takes him out of his staring.
“Gotta go, I've got P.E next, urgh! See you around in English lit, Wyatt,” she says, standing up, slinging her purple backpack on one shoulder. She turns back one last time, giving him a wide smile and wave before turning the heels of her ballet flats.
That is the first time she's said his name, thinks Wyatt. That made his heart skip a beat.
Maysilee's not the first girl he's tutored. Literally anyone will ask for his help, as he is quite actually the best of the whole school at math. But it's different with Maysilee. She's talking to him so freely, not like he's this boring smart loner, but actually an interesting person to talk to. She was the first to ask about his notebook and even looked somewhat interested about his oddsmaking. He spends the rest of the day thinking about her.
On the weekend, Wyatt is at the Hob, the shoddy bar in a slightly renovated, old warehouse on the Seam side of town. That's where most gambling events his family organizes are held at.
There's a horse race playing on the bulging TV, the speaker crackling. That thing must be from the last century.
He's done with his job, odds calculated and bets taken, now to sit back and laze around while the old guys scream at the tv for the horse they picked to go faster. In a beat up armchair, Wyatt is doodling in his notebook. He used to draw more as a kid, but now, his lack of free time impedes the hobby. He mindlessly sketches, eyes flickering to the tv when cheers or panicked yells reach his ears. Whoever loses or wins their bet isn't his problem anymore. It's his father's.
Wyatt’s older brother, Kenneth, comes over offering a can of coke, cold from the bar's vending machine.
“ ‘sup?” he asks plainly.
“Just drawing, passing time,” answers Wyatt, opening the can and taking a swig of the crisp beverage. Kenneth peers over Wyatt’s shoulder, trying to glimpse into the notebook, which Wyatt closes promptly. He definitely doesn't want his brother prying into his sketches.
Especially when the last one depicts a certain girl from his English lit class.
“Tsk, shy as usual,” says the oldest. “Any new friends this school year?”
Behind his rough outer shell, Kenneth does care about his younger brother and his perpetual shyness, loner behavior. Making friends isn't Wyatt's strong suit.
“No,” sighs Wyatt. Thinking quickly, he tries to calculate if telling Kenneth about Maysilee is worth it. Showing that he does try to make friends might get him off his back, but the fact that she's a girl might start a never ending teasing war. He decides teasing might be worth it if he tries hard enough to shut down any crush implications. Then, Kenneth would leave him alone and stop asking if he's made friends.
“Actually, kind of,” he backtracks on his answer, piquing his brother’s curiosity.
“In my lit class, this girl asked me to tutor her in calculus and I said yes. We get on pretty well, compared to the other kids who ask me for homework help and just see me as a human calculator,” Wyatt says, taking a small glance at his brother to see his reaction.
A smile forms on Kenneth's face. Growing more and more mischievous.
“Is she pretty?” he asks, straight to the point.
“Um, I don’t know, I– I don't see her that way okay? You said friends, not crushes!” Wyatt tries as hard as he can, but the blush creeping up his cheeks and ears doesn't make it past Kenneth's eagle eyes.
“Right, right, just a friend, noted,” he says, pretending to write in an invisible notebook. “Do I know her, at least?”
“What do you mean? You graduated years ago, you can't possibly–” Wyatt gets cut off by Kenneth.
“You know what I mean, this stupid town is so small, I probably know her siblings, or if her parents run a shop, we've definitely been there, so ‘fess up, or I'll investigate myself,” he grins.
Urgh, why is he so interested in that, thinks Wyatt. Still, the best way to get left alone is to give his brother the answers he wants.
“Her parents own the sweet shop, okay, that's all you get.”
“Ooouh, a town girl,” coos Kenneth. “Must be blonde and pretty,” he pauses. “Wait, the Donners have twins, which one is it? The smiley one or the scowly one?”
“Huh?”
“You know, when I go there, at the cash register there's always either the twin that smiles and is polite, or the one that sounds rude and uninterested,” he says as if it's matter of factly.
Wyatt wouldn't know, he doesn't frequent the sweet shop. But his brother apparently goes often enough to know the difference between Maysilee and her twin. Except Wyatt doesn't know the difference. Maysilee always smiles at him, so he's inclined to say ‘ the smiley one’ but something doesn't sit right with that.
“Does ‘the scowly one’ wear lots of necklaces?” he asks, cautiously.
“Yeah! That's right!” says Kenneth, snapping his fingers.
“Then, that's her, my new math student.”
“The rude one, huh. Didn't know you were into that, bro,” Kenneth smirks again.
“I'm not! Now shut up!” snaps Wyatt back.