Chapter Text
“Love is an action, a participatory emotion. Whether we are engaged in a process of self-love or of loving others we must move beyond the realm of feeling to actualize love.” -bell hooks
Bek's sketch pad balances precariously on her lap. Leaning back, the bleacher behind her pushing into the small of her back as she stretches out. Her feet in front of her clad in her big black chunky boots, half-laced and folded down are crossed at the ankles. Already stiff, and the game hadn't even begun.
She had been ridiculously early for the basketball game, but she didn't have a ride so just hung around after school, content to keep busy with her art through warm-ups. Basketball wasn't even something she cared about. But she cared about people who cared about it, and she'd been going to them out of habit for so long it felt weird not to. Right now, the cheerleaders were center stage in the gymnasium, their repetitive cadences grating on her as they pierced through the music pulsing in her earbuds.
They were certainly persistent about it, obnoxiously so, but Bek realizes she isn't hearing it anymore and looks up. Most of the girls linger at the mid-court, though a few are on the far wall. Bek searches until she spots the black spool of hair in a high ponytail, tied up in ribbons of Sierra Vista's colors of white and red, that belonged Heather.
Heather. They'd known each other for years, though Bek wouldn't really call her a friend. Maybe once upon a time in middle school, but they'd increasingly grown apart as their lives and interests diverged. Their mutual friend moved across town, and whatever glue had kept them together went with her. Acquaintances, perhaps, circling the same sun, and every once in awhile Heather, a glorious comet, would burn brightly through Bek's orbit and leave her wondering when the next celestial event would come.
It wasn't that Heather was ever rude to her—far from it. She was the kindest heart she knew, and it always seemed to be they were in the same place at the same time. Even so, there was always a wall there between them, and Bek had no idea what it was built out of.
Heather talks to a taller guy Bek doesn't recognize, but their body language looks uncomfortable and close. He grabs her arm, and Bek nearly snaps her pencil in half. She sits forward, ready to get up as Heather's yanking her arm away and pointing a finger under his chin.
"Hey!" A voice rings out as a pudding cup exploded on impact next to Bek and she takes a sharp breath. It spatters across her cheek and sleeve and large globs dripped thickly across her sketch. Frozen in shock, Bek looks down to see a few of the other cheerleaders she knows loitering close, hands on hips or defiantly crossed.
"Stop staring, perv!" Beth yells out. Bek can't even process what she's talking about, completely blindsided by the verbal assault she's now under.
"Are you creeping on us, dyke?" Emma follows up.
"She's totally been eyeing my ass," Naomi says.
The words stack on top of each other so quickly Bek flounders under them, rolling waves battering, drowning her.
"Is that what you're drawing?" Emma is already stalking up the bleachers and swipes the pad out of Bek's lap. She looks at the art first with disgust, though her face falls with disappoint. "Fucking lame. What even is this?"
"Its called Surrealism, shit-for-brains, inspired by Schuchardt." Bek grit her teeth.
"What is it, Em?" Beth calls from the bottom of the stairs.
"I don't know, some pedo bullshit," Emma yells back, flipping the sketchbook closed and making a show of squeezing it. Some of the pudding oozing out like melted ice cream.
Just then, another voice bounces through the gym. "Emma!" Heather's voice, high and furious. "What are you doing?"
"We're just talking," Emma says, tossing down the sketchbook; Bek forgotten, and not worth her energy. "Why do you care, Heather?"
Heather's green eyes flickered with nervousness between Bek and Emma before her resolve steels. "Because you're in a Sierra Vista uniform, Emma. I don't want the team looking bad—not this close to competitions!"
It seems like a flimsy lie to Bek, but for whatever reason Emma doesn't push. She's just stomping down the stairs. She brushes past Heather who watches her like a hawk until she disappears into the locker room with the others. Only then does Heather look back to Bek, swiping a towel and bounding up the steps two and a time. Bek is unable to avoid noticing how her short white and red pleated skirts swishing about her hard thighs as they climbed.
"Are you okay?" The towel is offered out with a downturned face full of concern.
"I'm fine." Bek downplays it like usual, gesturing to the pudding on her sleeve. "I guess I needed a little snack." Bek takes the towel with one hand and reaches over and wipes off the pudding from the outstretched sleeve of her leather jacket with her thumb before putting it on her mouth and licking it clean. "Vanilla, thank God. Was worried it'd be tapioca."
"Hold still," Heather says, reaching out and wiping a glob off Bek's cheek before sliding her finger into her own mouth.
Bek stares at the finger that had touched her cheek now drawn between Heather's pink lips, face suddenly filling with a heat that goes to the tips of her ears.
Heather's nose crinkles up and she shudders. "Mmm, yeah, no, it's still terrible." They both laugh.
Bek could never get over how easy it was to laugh around Heather, though she hadn't been around her nearly so much since… well, it had been a while.
After a quiet, contemplative moment Heather whispers softly, "What were they saying?"
There's a genuine concern that makes Bek want to open up, but she only shakes her head and tucks a piece of auburn hair behind her ear. "Nothing important," Bek deflects. It isn't worth the fight.
She shifts and sets the ruined sketchbook down by her bag with a mix of shame and regret, but mostly she doesn't want Heather getting worked up over it. For whatever reason, Bek feels the need to shield her from that.
"Why don't I believe you?" Heather's eyes are piercing, and Bek feels a little ashamed lying to her.
"Take it up with your friends."
Heather turned back to look out at the gymnasium. A few more people were sprinkling in as the basketball team was making their shots. "Yeah, I'm not sure that's the word I would use for them."
As Bek uses the towel to clean off the rest of the pudding from her jacket, Heather's eyes dart down across her and gestures with a hook thumb. "You got it on your pants, too."
Bek looks down at the olive pants now covered in the spray and sighed. She has gym clothes in the locker room, but given that's where Emma, Beth, and all the others just went, its the last place she wants to be. "It's not too bad. Its fine," she says begrudgingly.
"You like that word. 'Fine'. If you need, I've got my clothes in my bag," Heather offers, dark eyebrows raising as her eyes draw upward. "Mmm, but, how do you feel about plaid?"
"Hard pass." Bek knows exactly what Heather wore to school that day, plaid skirt included.
"Aww, I think you'd look good in it!" The teasing rib poking a hole into Bek's self-conscious image.
"You'd look good in my—" Bek catches herself. The normal crude innuendos she uses defensively suddenly feel inappropriate, and it isn't what Heather deserves. "Uh, my boots." Bek teases back and then bites her tongue. Christ, was she flirting? Had Heather been? This was new ground, and her hands suddenly feel sweaty as she fidgets with the zipper of her jacket.
Heather's eyes watch her hand, and she smirks. "What about your jacket?"
Bek blinks. What about it? Was Heather saying she wanted to wear it? Bek was trying not to think about Heather wearing it over that uniform. That would just be too much, and she clears her throat uncomfortably. "Glad you like it? Uh, it was my brother's."
Heather cocks her head. "What do you mean?"
"Heather, I…" Bek looks down at the zipper. There's a lot of memories bubbling beneath the surface about her brother. Their relationship. His death. Did Heather even remember she had a brother? Had Bek ever told her? "I don't want to talk about it, sorry."
Heather hesitates, realizing there was some line she overstepped and clears her throat timidly. "I didn't mean to pry."
"Enough about me." Bek tries to offer a friendly tone, which is a lot more than anyone else gets. "Are you doing okay? Tell me that guy's seventh period and I'll beat him up."
"Aaron?" Heather laughs, shaking her head. She watches Bek from the corner of her eye. "And why would you do that?"
"Looked like he was being a little too forward. Suitors shouldn't be grabbing you like that."
"Suitors? You think Aaron is…" Heather giggles more, and there's a bit of pink under her freckles as she shakes her head, ponytail whipping. "First, Aaron's graduated. Second, he's my brother, and third, I could beat his ass any day of the week."
"Oh. It was just the body language," Bek says, a bit ashamed of herself for being so… heteronormative. Ugh. Even she was part of the problem.
"You're the only person I know that would use the word 'suitors', Bek. But fair guess. I don't have much luck with boys." Heather turns away to watch the basketball team that are now making free throws and warming up. While her green eyes are taking in the guys on the court, Bek is watches her.
Heather shifts, rubbing her knees together, unsettled and listless. "They're all so immature or just self-absorbed. Right?"
"I think you know that's not really my thing." Everyone knew. Ever since that text got shared around the school years ago. Why is Heather pretending like they had anything in common? Bek stares at her in wonder.
Heather shifts again on the bleacher, tucking her hair back behind her ear and shaking her head, voice rueful. "It's exhausting. Makes me wonder why I even try. Its better to just focus on my hobbies. You can relate to that, right?"
"Sounds pretty comphet if you ask me," Bek mutters mostly to herself, cleaning the last of the pudding off her jacket.
"What?" Heather's head swivels back to regard her, brows creasing.
"…never mind. I shouldn't have said anything," Bek sighs, rolling her head and stretching it out. She knew she was walking on ice, and she shouldn't have her barbs out when Heather had just been trying to help her out.
Heather's eyes grow hard and narrow on her, until some decision is made and she stands with a huff. "You're making me feel stupid and I don't like it. If I want people to talk down to me, I'll just go join Emma in the locker room." Heather was already taking a step down the bleachers.
"Compulsory heterosexuality," Bek blurts out, stuffing her fists down into her jacket pockets with an uncomfortable sigh. When Heather gives her a vague gesture to elaborate, she has to roll her eyes. "It sounds like you have to settle on unsatisfying relationships out of obligation instead of desire, so you play the coy girl who's too cool for a relationship, and that way you don't have admit its not your thing."
Heather takes in the words like a wave crashing over her before arms lifted and folded more tightly across her chest. "You don't know me. Don't psycho analyze me or whatever." There's a moment of hesitation, and then she's pursing her lips together. "Is this some TikTok thing, like, to pick up girls?"
"Yeah, you got me, Heather! I'm just a big horny lesbo trying to corrupt you!" Bek snaps and looks away. She then laughs to herself and turns back to Heather, her own anger over the situation sharp and bubbling up. "Are you afraid I'm right, or that you might like it if I was? Maybe your internalized homophobia makes you think just because I'm queer I must want to fuck every girl in here. Sex sex sex!"
Heather winces, wounded, and Bek immediately regrets it. Heather rubs one upper arm, shoulders slouching in. She's scowling, voice piercing in its disappointment. "I know what homophobia is— I don't hate you."
"Yeah, I didn't mean me."
Christ, just shut up, Bek. She's trying to be nice.
Heather waits, as though expecting Bek to elaborate, but when there is none she sighs and turns, making her way down and past the crowds that are now starting to file in. Bek watches as she becomes energetic and all smiles, greeting everyone like they were her best friends.
Bek is left to stew, not wanting to even look at what Emma had done to her sketchbook, and really having no interest in the game, she gets up and paces around the building before finding herself back at her seat, doomscrolling. She can't concentrate. She's beyond frustrated with herself, slamming the phone back into her pocket when the buzzer goes off and people around her start to clap. The cheer team is out again, and Bek can't help but notice Heather glancing up her way.
As half-time ends and they're leaving the court, Heather hovers for a moment at the doors, glancing to see the last of her team go through them before her eyes dart back up to Bek. "Hey!"
Bek scoots down the bleacher toward the metal railing at the end, looking down at Heather through the bars.
" I know you normally walk— I want to talk to you. I'll give you a ride if you need even. Just wait for me, okay?"
"Uh, yeah. Yeah, okay," Bek manages, her mouth dry and her already scrambled mind now buzzing with confusion.
"Great, meet me right outside!" Heather flashes her a smile before disappearing through the doorway. Bek watches as ponytail and skirts flutter behind as a creeping panic sets in.
The next half hour is torture. She has no idea what Heather would want with her after how that conversation ended. Nothing good, she imagines. Yet, why was she willing to stick around to find out? It was masochistic — no, suicidal. But she thought back to how Heather came to her defense like some stupid white knight and it made her smirk. No. There were plenty of people who's intentions Bek would readily doubt, but not Heather.
So, when the game ended Bek lingers off to the side of double doors as most of the students and athletics were already making their way to the parking lot. She stands under a bright light, wavering, fighting the urge to tuck tail and run, her thoughts filling with doubt and worry. What if Heather was setting her up? Part of her expects to see Stacy and the others roll up with rope in their hands.
Its not, though. Heather steps outside with a little shiver when the night air hits her. She glances around, clocking Bek and making her way over and joining her in the light, long shadow now casting out behind her.
"What's going on, Heather?" Bek tries to be cool, leaning nonchalantly against the lamp post. She definitely hadn't been practicing the pose.
"I want to know why you hate me," Heather blurts out, words tumbling over each other in a rush to escape her mouth.
"I don't hate you," Bek says, her brows now furrowing deeply, but it's clear Heather doesn't buy it, arms crossing.
"Well you don't seem like me," Heather says, bottom lip tugging out and her eyes revealing a hurt that makes Bek melt, knowing she was part of the cause. "You used to talk to me, you know? It's been awhile."
Bek wonders at her statement. Of course she talks to Heather. As much as anyone, really. She's friendly in the hallways. Okay, maybe not friendly, but she isn't rude.
"I'm sorry, I'm just— I'm not used to people being nice to me without wanting something from me? Transactional relationships. Eh, the damage from years of being bullied, I guess. I was a cunt and shouldn't have been," Bek inhales deeply, trying to gulp down the words that are coming but she can't quite manage. "And for the record, I do like you. A lot."
Heather is still for a long moment, listening, watching Bek shuffle her feet awkwardly. "So you act like a bitch because you don't trust people not to hurt you. Is that why you always talk like you're a pretentious know-it-all?"
"Ouch," Bek says with a sharp laugh, but then looks down as she scuffs the ground with the toe of her boot. "Probably."
"You said you're sorry. Prove it," Heather says now, the frown that clings to her mouth slightly twitching into a lopsided smile.
"How?"
"Give me your jacket," Heather lifts her sharp chin, the lamplight catching the little dimple in the middle of it. She knows how much it means to Bek which causes a prickle to go up her neck.
"What?! Why?" Bek's fingers curl, gripping the worn cuffs, thighs hard and tense as she stiffens.
"Please?" Heather takes a step closer to her, and suddenly there isn't enough space in the world to put between them. Bek shudders, wrestling with an urge to run or lean closer and smell her.
Uneasily, and perhaps solely because it put more room between them, Bek makes herself relax and slides off the old leather jacket. With only a tank top on beneath, her lean arms now bare save for the multitude of bracelets she wears, most of them braided or made from leather bits in various shades. She swallows hard, and holds it out.
Heather watches, eyes twinkling under the street light before she's taking the jacket with reverence and slipping it on. It was big on Bek, and absolutely engulfs Heather. Her fingertips barely poking out from the sleeves, she pulls her ponytail out from under it with a flip, turning away with a skip down the curb and into the parking lot.
"Forgiven! I grew up being taught actions speak louder than words. You trust me enough to give me your jacket says a lot, and I know how much it means to you, so me taking care of it says how much I care about your feelings, too."
Bek is scooping up her satchel, and rushing to catch up. "Yeah, I don't think that's how it works—if this was just a ploy to steal my jacket because you were cold, I swear to God…"
Heather laughs as she walks around her car and unlocks it. Their eyes meet, and she gives Bek a wink. "I'll keep it safe, I promise. Now get in, genius."