Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I know it’s none of my business what happened between you and Mr. Daniels, but I know people have got it all wrong.”

Jane’s words circulate in your head as you sit on Gil’s car with a book on your lap. Inside lies a slip of paper, black ink seeping through. In her handwriting. Perfect swirls and lines that connect one letter to the next. A dance on the paper. A dance of her hand. Her fingers gripping the pen, guiding its point to its destination—that little dot at the end of her last initial. 

The only thing you have left of her: “I think you’ll love this one - L.D.” 

Lillie Davidson. 

Former Rydell Sophomore. Aspiring writer with a passion for poetry. Gold locks that fell without any effort. Freckles that created constellations on her face, over her nose and cheeks. Beautiful. Looking at her made it hard to breathe. How she looked at you, you might as well rip your lungs out of your body. 

You were in love with her, but this kind of love tore the floor out from under you, leaving you unguarded. Alone. 

Last year, you and she were in the same honors English class. Sat next to each other every day. Talked before class started. Passed notes back and forth so swiftly so that Mr. Daniels didn’t notice from the chalkboard. At the end of class, you said your goodbyes and went your separate ways. 

This was how it was at the beginning of the school year. The same thing every day. Identical notes, but they changed the more she knew you, the more you knew her. She drew hearts at the end of her notes come November instead of the smiley faces she started with in September. So you drew them, too. On the days you were wearing lipstick, sometimes, you kissed the small piece of paper before giving it to her. Your lips marked the paper, and she looked at you and smiled at the note she received. A smile you miss. A smile you wish you can see again. You’re not sure how long you can remember it when you’re met with new faces, new smiles, as time goes by. Faces you don’t care much for and hope to forget. 

Before Thanksgiving break, the short few days you had off from school, it was the first time you skipped class—the English class you grew to love. She took your hand and guided you outside to the football field with a blanket in her arms. 

Under the bleachers, she laid the blanket out, and you joined her, lying beside her on your back. You felt safe here, with her, enough to move closer to her, curl your arm over her stomach with your hand hooking at her waist, and your head rested on her chest. She didn’t seem shocked by the gesture, and, instead, embraced it. She held you. 

A part of you knew that this was wrong, not allowed, not an option, acting this way with a girl. Being this way with a girl. Cuddled up to her as a girl would her boyfriend. But despite the cross around your neck burning into your skin, you didn’t listen, and let yourself go. You breathed in everything you had always wanted, let yourself want it even though you couldn’t have it, and treasured it like you would a book. Like the book she gave you a few months later.

Nine Stories by J.D. Salinger.

March, and Lillie led you to an empty hallway at the end of the school day, a wrapped gift in her hand. As other students were heading to the few exits of the building, she was running away from them. Giggles sprung from her throat, and at that moment, you didn’t really understand why until she slowed down and turned to face you. A light blush on her cheeks, a pale pink, she held the gift out towards you. 

“Happy birthday, Olivia,” she said. “I know you told me not to get you anything, but I wanted to.” Lillie swayed back and forth from heel to toe. “You are more than just a friend to me, and I don’t think I could survive high school without you.” 

“You make high school better for me, too.” You accepted the little rectangle gift and opened it, careful so the wrapping paper didn’t fray. 

You were greeted with an orange and dark blue book cover. Dropping the wrapping paper on to Rydell’s tile floors, you flipped through some of the pages. Excitement and anticipation to read each short story brewed inside you the longer you spent looking through your book. So many new lives to be explored—ones that were definitely more interesting than your own. 

Right when you got home, you were going to dive in and never come back. Wish yourself into the worlds in which these stories existed. Become one with them. You couldn’t wait. 

She knew you so well. 

You hugged her, your arms around her neck. Hers around your waist. “I love it.” You paused, hesitant to allow the next few words you wanted to say slip out. Three words you had only ever said to family. An emotion you only ever felt towards family. But this was something else. 

Something more special. 

Would she say it back? Did she feel it, too? The warmth you felt here, in her arms—was that love? 

You took that chance. 

You nuzzled your nose into her neck and breathed in the scent of her perfume. Some kind of flower, maybe. Whatever it was, it was intoxicating, but nice. Freeing. Comforting, enough to say it.

“I love you.” 

She pulled away from the hug, but kept you close, a hand on your arm, the other on your cheek. With a content sigh, you leaned into her touch. 

“I love you.” 

To your surprise, her lips landed on your forehead. 

The book open on your lap, you place the bookmark of her handwriting between the two pages you stopped on when Jane interrupted your reading—which you notice she has a habit of doing. You lift your head up to find the crowd of students. Beyond the fire, you see her, wearing the dress you last saw her in—the day you were caught tangled up in her. She waves at you, and you know it’s not real because she’s gone. Miles and miles away. Your eyes play tricks, make you see what you want to see. 

You shut your book, blinking away the tears that threaten to slide down your cheeks, and hop off the car. The pep rally is about to start. 

Jane is right. People have it all wrong.

I love you, too, Olivia. 

“Did you hear what happened with Olivia Valdovinos?” 

“I heard she was caught in Mr. Daniels’ classroom, kissing someone after school.” 

“Who was it?” 

“My friend told me yesterday that she thought it was Mr. Daniels. She’s in the same English class as Olivia and has seen her stay after class a lot.” 

“There’s no way it could be another student because classrooms are locked after teachers leave, besides the one used for detention.” 

“I heard someone saw Olivia leave Mr. Daniels’ office last week.” 

“I heard it was Ms. McGee who caught them.” 

“Olivia was called down to Ms. McGee’s office yesterday. Apparently, her parents were there, too.”

“I was on hall monitor duty and saw them in the hallway, leaving Ms. McGee’s office.” 

“No way. Mr. Daniels and Olivia Valdovinos?” 

“I heard she came on to him.” 

“What a slut.” 

Your breath hitches as the banner that once read This year, Rydell goes all the way becomes Jane Facciano goes all the way. You know what this is like, having the entire school, your entire grade, stuck on lies that continue to spread and spread and spread like some incurable disease. All of this happened to you, and now, it’s happening to Jane, too. 

Reality is buried when what’s true is twisted in so many different directions that it gets knotted and unrecognizable. Goody two-shoes Jane wouldn’t go all the way with Buddy Aldridge. You wouldn’t dare kiss Mr. Daniels.

Just thinking of it results in your mouth tasting like vomit. 

You want to talk to Jane once the pep rally ends and that awkwardness calms, but you find yourself going straight home. Walking home, alone, where your thoughts are allowed to fester. 

In the dark, you keep your eyes glued to the sidewalks, watching your flats take step after step. You hug your book close to your chest, as if you're afraid someone will yank it away from you. As if you’re afraid to lose it, and holding it against you brings you some kind of comfort. Her, you’re holding her instead of the book. 

On her bed with the lights turned off. January, after winter break, Lillie invited you to sleep over at her house. You had never been invited to a sleepover before, well, at least in your high school years, anyway. Elementary school didn’t count because there was a sleepover birthday party almost every month that all the girls in the class were invited to. The type of sleepover parties where you would have pizza for dinner and the next morning, pancakes for breakfast. 

You never felt like you belonged at those sleepover parties. Those girls seemed fake to you. Hiding behind their high-pitched giggles and faltering smiles. But here, it wasn’t like that. You laughed over stupid magazine quizzes and stories you had heard around Rydell. You stuffed your faces with treats and played “Never Have I Ever”. Then, you talked until you grew tired. 

Lying on your backs, you stared up at the ceiling, and your warm, minty breaths traveled through the open air of her bedroom—a steady atmosphere. With all the craziness of high school, time was finally slowing down. Life was finally slowing down. 

You reached up towards the ceiling, like you were to stretch, and grabbed at nothing. You lowered your arms with a sigh. They rested over your stomach. “You really haven’t had your first kiss yet?” 

“I want mine to be with someone I really like, you know? Besides, I’m only fifteen. There’s no rush,” Lillie said. “What was yours like?” 

You had to think for a moment because your first kiss wasn’t exactly perfect like you always dreamed it would be, and you didn’t want that to crush hers. But you didn’t want to lie to her either. “It was okay, I guess. I was asked to this dance in junior high by this boy that I had a crush on at the time, and while everyone else was dancing in the gym, he led me to the hallway and kissed me.” You paused and closed your eyes. “He wasn’t that great of a kisser, to be honest. It was very… messy.” 

She laughed. And the sound of her laugh had you floating on clouds… No. No. You shouldn’t think like that. “I’m guessing you didn’t have a crush on him after that.” 

“No.” 

“That’s okay. Not everyone’s first kiss is amazing. And as much as I hope that mine is, I can’t keep my expectations that high or I might end up disappointed.” 

“What do you want your first kiss to be like?” you asked. 

She hummed, and there was a short silence that was weighing heavy on your anticipation with each tick of a second. She might not know what she wanted. How she wanted her first kiss to feel like, when she didn’t even know what a kiss felt like. 

A tingling sensation of lips. Something soft, yet eager, sometimes. Closeness. Colliding noses, but in a way that would feel good, like the frequency of bee wings when they flew. Then, landing on just the right flower. Natural. Like wind catching your hair when you rode a bike or ran through a park. The warmth of California’s stars. A cluster of shimmer on a clear night. And waking up to see the sun set after a rainstorm—

“I don’t know if…” There was a shift of the mattress. Her back was to you. Another shift in the mattress. You turned to face her back. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get to have… I don’t think that’s going to happen for me, even if I want it to. I do want to know what that feels like, but it’s not how I’m supposed to be.” 

“Lillie, I don’t—” 

“It’s okay, Olivia. Can we just talk about something else, please?” 

Headlights shine in your eyes as a car speeds by. After walking for so long, you stop to take a look around. You’re a few houses away from home. Where did you go? It’s like you traveled to a whole other planet, and then returned suddenly without any memory of what you did there. You blacked out your walk because, although she’s gone, she’s always there with you. 

You remember falling asleep that night, shortly after changing the topic of conversation. You remember when you woke up, and she was pressed up against you. You remember your arm being around her. You remember your hand laced in hers. You didn’t know how you got there either, but you would give anything to go back there, to that moment, where everything felt at peace. 

You open your front door and lock it behind you, only to jump back and hit the door at the sight of Richie sitting on the stairs. With your hand on your chest, right on your heart, you collect yourself, before anger sizzles. “What the hell, Richie?” 

“What do you mean ‘what the hell?’ I should be asking you that. Where have you been?” He stands, and he’s as angry as you are. 

“I walked home. I needed to be alone.” You cross your arms. “You didn’t have to wait for me. I’m fine.” You go to walk past him, but he blocks you off from the stairs. 

“Liv, just don’t do it again, okay? Not without telling me first,” he says. 

You scoff. You understand why he’s protective of you—you’re his little sister, even if it is only by a few minutes. And you don’t take it for granted, but sometimes, it’s like he’s breathing down your neck, and you have no wiggle room for any tiny bit of freedom. You guess, here, in this world, that’s how it’s always going to be, so you might as well get used to it. 

“I would’ve. Though, you seemed pretty occupied.” You know it was him and the T-Birds—plus Cynthia—that flashed the whole school. He must’ve gotten away with it—he usually does—and Cynthia probably took the hit. “Excuse me.” 

He steps aside, and you climb up the stairs and to your bedroom. Once you reach it, you set your book down on your nightstand and crash onto your bed. 

There’s an assembly tomorrow for student council, and you have to bear it. Through speeches and speeches. You would rather endure algebra for five hours. Anything, but listen to students say how they’re going to make Rydell fun and better for everyone. They won’t make it better. The only way they can make it better for you is if Lillie comes back, and that’s out of their control. 

You have your two rocks, Richie and Lillie. When one cuts its string, you become unbalanced. You fall. You collapse in on yourself, and there’s nothing enough to help you back up. Restore you. If someone manages to, they’re an angel. 

In the gym, you sit on the stairs that lead up to the bleachers. Away from the rest of the grade. Not that anyone will notice. They don’t. Until Jane’s on the stage, and she finds you. Of the many rows of eleventh graders, she sees you and only you. Gazes meet. After putting your wall up at the lockers not minutes ago. Declining her proposal of friendship with sarcasm, and in return, she slapped you in the face. And now, you’re not so sure what this is, what’s happening.

“The truth is that most people in this auditorium aren’t popular.” Her voice carries through the mic at the podium and out of the speakers. “Some don’t even want to be. We just want to be ourselves, but we haven’t even gotten a chance to do that yet. Or to have fun. ‘Cause we’re too busy trying to survive high school.” 

You used those exact words last night. 

People like you have fun in high school. People like me survive. 

Somehow, this makes your heart thump loud in your chest. Pounding so you don’t forget about it when you stand up, walk closer to the stage. Announce your endorsement at just the right moment. You’re not in control. You didn’t tell your legs to walk. You didn’t tell your voice to speak. Jane grabbed on to you and gave you the rock you lost.

You’re beside her on stage with two other girls on the ends who also endorsed Jane. As eleventh grade students that occupy the chairs in front of the stage boo, you keep your head high. Ignore the sounds because you can’t afford to let your guard down. You can’t let them get to you. 

They did. Still do sometimes, when there are still whispers in the halls of an affair that isn’t true. You know it’s not true and Jane does, too. Although you’ve only known her for this short time, you already trust her. 

You trust her with your words. 

You trust her with who you are. 

“Now, Jane, would you like to throw your hat back into the ring?” Ms. McGee asks. 

She looks at you, and you step closer to her. You take her hand and squeeze. She squeezes back. Warmth trails up your palm and settles in your veins. Your cheeks flush. 

You trust her to do what’s right. 

Jane nods. “Yes. For president.” 

You trust her to change Rydell for the better. 

This year is going to be different. Because of her. 

Chapter Text

You didn’t mean for this to happen, when you spoke in whispers to her during English class. When you planned to stay after school, break into Mr. Daniels’ classroom. You taught her how to pick a lock, which you learned from Richie. And Richie learned from a movie. 

Ms. McGee saw the lights were on—mistake one. 

Ms. McGee noticed that the door was unlocked—mistake two. 

You were caught—mistake three. 

You sat in her office the following day with your parents next to you. Mr. Daniels stood at the corner of the office, behind the chairs, farthest from the door. 

For the whole half hour you were in that office, you held your breath. You didn’t say a word, only listening to the discussion between your parents and Ms. McGee of your actions. You balled your hands into fists, digging your nails into your palms as their voices hit your ears. As your parents’ gasps of disappointment and disapproval echoed. 

“Yesterday, Miss. Valdovinos was found kissing another student in Mr. Daniels’ classroom after school hours.” 

“The other student—” A pause. A long pause. You kept your head bowed. 

“The other student was a girl. The identity of the other student I will not disclose for her protection. She will no longer be attending Rydell, effective immediately, per her parents’ request.” 

Your stomach dropped, nausea bubbled up. You couldn’t be there anymore. You needed out. Nowhere near anyone. Alone, completely alone, so you didn’t have to see the disgust on your parents’ faces. So you could run away from whatever this was and never turn back. 

Instead, you wished you were with her, under the bleachers. Back at that day you first really connected. The day you had felt things you never felt before, towards a girl.

The first time you had ever felt love like that. And now, she was gone. Now, you couldn’t ever see her again. You were stuck in this chair, wanting so bad to cry, to scream, hide away, but you endured it. Braved it out, or tried to. 

“Now, Mr. Daniels and I agreed, and we think this would be of best interest for your daughter, that we falsify her records. Miss. Valdovinos will have a permanent mark on her record as she broke into a classroom. The details of this incident will be altered for the sake of her future.” 

Because, somehow, being caught kissing a teacher is more acceptable than being caught kissing a girl. 

Crouched in the administrations’ office, you sift through files and files to initially find something irredeemable in Buddy’s. But it's perfect. So damn perfect that it feels unbelievable. Fake. Honor roll all previous years. Too many extracurriculars that you’re not sure how he’s able to attend all of them, especially considering that he is a starting QB. 

The disciplinary actions box is barren. A simple “None” fills the space. He’s never gotten a single detention? For anything? You scoff and close the file. 

Just as you are about to leave, you return back to the drawer because the curiosity aches inside you. To see your own file, which you usually don’t have access to. But this is your chance, while the school is empty and Ms. McGee is busy with a scarily good acting performance that Cynthia put on. 

You take out your file, and it’s a lot thicker than Buddy’s is. A deep breath, and you open the file, presented with your information. Everything that you expected, except the section for disciplinary actions tells you to see attached. You flip to the next page. 

Unfortunately, she misconstrued Mr. Daniels’ sincere attempts to help her as a sign of his romantic interest. At approximately 4:15 on April 5, 1953, I went to his classroom…

I witnessed the student throwing herself at Mr. Daniels, who was doing his best to push her away. 

This… this isn’t… 

Panic rises and settles as you stuff the file back into the drawer. 

“The situation will be written as mutual between Miss. Valdovinos and Mr. Daniels,” Ms. McGee said to your parents. “Miss. Valdovinos will not be allowed to sign up for Honors English next year, nor her senior year.”

What the hell happened? Some quick change in the agreement to make you look worse? To make the rumors that travel from ear to ear around Rydell last year true? Spending the entire summer locked in your bedroom, all for… for what? For everything to turn out the way it wasn’t originally planned to? 

All because you fell in love with a girl. And that’s dangerous and wrong and a sin and—

It could’ve been something else. Mr. Daniels didn’t have to get involved. 

The student broke into Mr. Daniels’ classroom to kiss another student—not named. At approximately 4:15 on April 5, 1953, I went to his office—he was not present—to address some curriculum changes, but found his classroom lights on and the door unlocked. It is unknown how she unlocked the classroom door. 

Fuel the rumors.

Jane. The bottle lands on Jane. And you can’t pretend that it’s somewhere in the middle between Susan and Jane so you get to spin again because it’s right on her. Clearly right on her. 

Suddenly, you wish you never crashed Dot’s party only intended for the Socs. 

Even though it’s just spin the bottle, just a silly kissing game, mostly surrounded by people you don’t care for, you can’t do this again. 

Anxiety floats around your stomach, and you look around at the others in this circle. Some are giggling or trying to hide their giggles. Some have looks of disgust, and they groan as they tell you to spin again. Dot didn’t get to spin again when the bottle landed on herself… twice. 

But you have to kiss the person the bottle lands on. Those are the rules of the game, despite Nancy’s freepass earlier. Maybe, maybe you can get one too. Or Jane might—

“I don’t mind. It’s just a game,” Jane says, a bit of uncertainty in her voice. “It won’t mean anything.” 

You open your mouth, but Neil jumps in before you can get a word out. “Girls can’t kiss girls.” 

There’s a moment of awkward silence, unbearable silence, besides the whispers that pass around the room, at least amongst the Socs. Until Cynthia clears her throat. When you look to her, she too seems uncertain, biting the inside of her cheek, but she shakes through it. 

“Nuh-uh-uh.” Cynthia reaches toward the center of the circle and grabs the bottle. “Rules are rules. The bottle landed on Jane, so she, uh, has to kiss Jane. And… Jane said she doesn’t mind.” She sets the bottle back down in the center, the tip of the bottle pointed at Jane. 

Shit. 

Jane scoots closer to you, closer than she already is. Covered thighs touch, and just like that, your stomach explodes. As if it’s the simplest thing in the world. In this room. Jane, just being Jane. The girl you only really met a few days ago. Somehow, you’ve known her all your life. You click, two perfect puzzle pieces put together by steady hands. 

And Jane, she doesn’t know. Of course, she doesn’t know. She settles her hand on your shoulder with innocent eyes and whispers to you to ignore the Socs’ whistles and laughter. Gross laughter. You nod. You listen, to her. To her. Because you trust her more than anyone else in this room, even your brother. You trust her. You trust her that it’ll be okay. That this is okay. 

She leans in.

It’s a game. 

You lean in, too.

It’s a game. 

Her breath on your face.

It’s a game. 

She moves her hand from your shoulder to your cheek and—

You can’t do it. It’s too much like… 

“I’m sorry,” you choke out. You stand, fix your skirt, and run off. You don’t look back. Not as you hear Jane call your name. Not as you hear Richie, too. Not as footsteps follow behind you. You can’t. 

You can’t. You know it’s Jane. 

You manage to find a bathroom, a rather fancy one, which you would expect, considering there’s a fountain outside. With fish. You swear that it might be bigger than your bedroom, but you don’t have the mind to question it, nor think about it, right now. You turn the light on and lock the door. Shove yourself into the corner farthest from the door. 

It doesn’t take long for the walls to cave in. For the bathroom to become much smaller, the size of the bathroom you and Richie have to share, and your breath to become uneven. Heavy. All this weight you wish you didn’t have to feel.

You break.

Have you ever kissed a girl before?

Is it okay if I kiss you? 

I want you to be my first kiss, Olivia. 

This was how it started. A conversation turned to something vulnerable by one question, a confession. No, you had never kissed a girl before. You thought that couldn’t be an option. That girls could kiss girls. That girls were allowed to kiss girls. 

Now that the option was given to you, you wondered how it would feel. If it would feel any different from kissing a boy. If it would feel better or worse. Hopefully better than your first. 

You lifted your head up from the magazine you were reading on Lillie’s bed. February, and you were closer with her, closer than you thought you ever could be. Skipping classes almost every day. Cuddling under the bleachers. Sharing books. Telling each other stories in whispers as if they were forbidden. Always wanting to be at her side. When you weren’t, your world felt off. It felt like something was missing. 

Then, everything felt better once you were back together. Your hand was in hers. Your body was whole. Your blood flowed the way it should. Alive. 

“I didn’t know, um…” You looked over your shoulder at her. She was sitting at the head of the bed, propped up against her pillow. “In the same way girls kiss boys?” 

Lillie exhaled. “I don’t think there’s any other way to kiss someone. Or, or any other reason, except that, y-you know. I just— I feel like I’m the only one that feels—” She avoided your eyes and picked at her nails. “Nevermind.” 

You set the magazine down beside you and met her at the head of the bed. Your hand landed on her thigh, above her knee. “No. It’s okay. You can tell me how you feel. There’s nothing wrong with feeling.” 

“Not when society says it’s wrong,” she mumbled, and you barely heard her. Either way, whether you heard her or not, you didn’t really understand. “I wanted to tell you before, but I was too scared to. And I don’t even know if what I feel is real anyway. If girls can—” 

You were patient with her, waited until she was ready. Let her speak in her own time. You sat in the silence and took in every bit of it. You didn’t press forward, and she noticed that and finally looked into your eyes. 

Every second passed by so slowly. One second was actually a minute. One minute was actually an hour. Or it was just the longest minute you had ever experienced. But wasn’t that how it always was with her? Like you were the only two people in this very small world? You would say room, but you were the only two people in the room. You could say house because her parents were across the hall, fast asleep. And her little brother was in the next room over, a wall shared. 

Lillie adjusted herself and moved a bit closer to you, placing her hand on top of yours. “I think—” Her eyes left yours, focused on your hands, how her thumb circled your knuckles, the bumps before your fingers. “No, I know—” She whimpered. 

You could tell there was a war inside her. Fighting on both sides. One that told her to keep quiet and the other that wanted her to say what she needed to, what she had to. “I like girls.” The latter side won. “Like… like that. Like I want to kiss—” 

“Girls.” 

“Girls.” 

You nodded, and the room became void of voices. Nothing but the chirps of crickets that hid in the grass outside bleeding through the closed windows of her bedroom. 

And although the space around you was empty, the space between you couldn’t be more full. Of sound that the average human couldn’t hear. Of thoughts that lingered in both of your heads. Of heart beats that synced, a thump that carried the emotion you didn’t know you feared. 

Feelings. Adoration. A softness that you couldn’t describe because it was impossible to. Lillie opening up to you like this opened something in you, too. Possibilities you didn’t know existed. Could exist. This was what you were feeling, this whole time, since you first met her in Mr. Daniels’ English class. Since she held you under the bleachers and never let go. And your curiosity if she felt the same way soared. 

You couldn’t stop yourself from asking. “Do you feel that now, with me?” 

Lillie parted her lips, in shock at the sudden question. She removed her hand from on top of yours on her knee and instead grabbed it to lace fingers together. “Like this? Right here? This feeling? Do you feel it, Vee?” 

You hum a ‘yes’. Somehow, just a little touch, of hands tangled, and it was— “Like I’m flying. And I feel warm, and my stomach—” You giggle, and you brought your collapsed hands to your chest. You closed your eyes, memorized it because you didn’t know when it would be gone. “You’re not a friend to me, but something more than that, I think,” you said. 

Pink rose to Lillie’s cheeks. Flush that spread up to her ears. “I—” She lowered her head, her hand now loose in yours. Too loose than you liked. “I don’t want you to say that just because—”

“I’m not.” You squeezed her hand. “I promise you. I mean it.” 

Lillie chuckled, and you drowned in that simple sound. “I can’t believe it. You like me. You. You’re so… you. And you’re picking me. I’m just, well, me.” 

“I think you’re wonderful.” You leaned in and pecked her cheek, a small smear of red lipstick left behind. “Oops. Sorry.” You licked your thumb and rubbed at the red stain. It didn’t get much off, but enough that it just looked like Lillie fucked up putting on her own lipstick. Her hand was unsteady, or she got distracted for a moment and wasn’t looking at the mirror. 

She wiped what was left of your lipstick with the back of her hand. Tried to, anyway. “It’s okay. I can wash it off later.” She paused, and her eyes fell to your lips. “Is it okay if I kiss you? I want you to be my first kiss, Olivia.”

“Yes,” you said, no hesitation present in your voice. Not even a slight shake in your tone because of the nerves that sat on the hairs of your skin. “Kiss me.” 

She drifted closer to you, and you did too. Her breath on your face. She caressed your cheek. And at lips’ meeting, you got your answer: a girl’s kiss was better than your first. Everything you had wanted your first kiss to be. A tangle of sparks that glowed in the dark of night to light your way home. 

When she sets her hand on your arm, it feels like you’re waking up for the first time. The fog fading away, out of your head. Your eyes adjusting to the light and everything around you. Remembering how you got there in the first place. 

You aren’t actually waking up from slumber, but your brain collapsing in on itself made you tired. The tears that you shed made your head heavy. Minutes of dissociation wrapped you in its arms, tight, until you couldn’t breathe, and now you’re being revived. By the girl the bottle landed on during your turn of spin-the-bottle. The bottle you spun, held in your hands, pointed directly at her. 

You were supposed to kiss her. Jane Facciano. You were supposed to kiss Jane Facciano, and you ran. The words that’ll spread at Rydell because of this, because you landed on Jane and ran before a kiss could happen… 

Unless, what happens in Dot’s mansion stays in Dot’s mansion. 

Wait, how did Jane get into the bathroom? You locked the door. You pushed the little circle button into the door knob. You heard the door knob click, the lock snapping into place. Even in a state where you don’t remember how you found the bathroom in the first place, you do remember locking it. 

You don’t understand. 

“Are you okay?” Jane asks, her voice quieting the non-stop thoughts in your head. You focus on her now. Brainy Janey and the light in her eyes. Her hair, perfectly done and the red headband keeping loose strands tucked behind her ears, out of her face. 

You nod and lean your head against the wall beside you, this corner you had buried yourself in. “I’m sorry.” 

She rubs your arm, then looks over her shoulder, and you follow her eyes. Cynthia, Nancy, and Dot are standing at the door frame. Does Dot have a key? Some kind of failsafe key that unlocks any room in the mansion? Is that how—? “Sorry? Olivia, it’s— You don’t have to be sorry. It’s just a silly game that kids play at parties when they’re all drunk… or really high.” 

You laugh, and so do Cynthia and Nancy. Awake. You’re more awake. “Thanks for coming to my rescue, Janey,” you tease. 

Jane waves it off. “But are you sure you’re okay? I know we haven’t known you long, but we do care about you.” The others behind her nod, including Dot. “See! Even Dot, I think.” 

Dot raises her hand. “Actually, I don’t, really. Nancy was threatening to cut the power if I didn’t unlock the door.” 

She found the fuse box. She found the fucking fuse box. As much as you want to not believe it, you’re not surprised that she did. And used it, to almost cause chaos. 

“I’m okay.” You place your hand on top of hers, yet you pull it away as if Jane burnt you. Eyes. Too many eyes. Less than the eyes on you during spin-the-bottle. Still, too many. “Is it okay if I just… have a second? I promise I won’t lock the door.” 

“Do you pinky promise?” Jane holds out her pinky, and for a moment, you stare at it. 

Something kids would do. Something you did as a kid with Richie. When you would promise not to tell if Richie did something he wasn’t supposed to—going to Gil’s house without asking first. You remember, Richie running out of the house and walking to Gil’s without Mama’s permission. He would come home a few hours later and he would beg you to say that he forgot his homework at school and needed to go back to get it. In return, he wouldn’t say a word if he caught you staying up late, past your “bedtime”, reading. 

Once you started high school, the pinky promises stopped. You were “too old” for them. And the freedom that was lacking in junior high knocked on your door upon stepping foot into Rydell. Because you were older. Because Mama trusted you enough to make your own choices, to not baby you anymore. To not punish you for the smallest of things—staying up reading on a school night. 

Now, Jane is bringing back the pinky promise, but you’re not going to laugh at it like it’s some child’s game. Your pinky locks with hers, giving it a hug. 

“I promise.” 

Jane leaves you alone, and Cynthia, Nancy, and Dot leave you alone, in this unnecessarily giant bathroom. 

At the mirror, above the bathroom sink, eyes meet. A swirl of grey irises. A face you recognize. Kind of. It’s a tired face that needs a great deal of sleep. You splash it with cold water, and as the water drips down your chin and into the porcelain bowl, you see yourself again. 

You pat your face dry before opening the door, disrupting a conversation you’re not sure what of. The sound of the door opening cut Nancy off, and you weren’t paying much attention to catch her last few words. There’s a beat in silence—she acknowledges your entrance—before she continues, failing to fill you in.

“Olivia is the only one here who hasn’t said anything about boys this entire night.” She says that like it’s an accomplishment.

Did you miss something?

“What?” 

From where she sits on the table against the wall in the hallway, she groans. “Everyone takes boys so seriously. Just imagine how fun this party would be if we could go backwards and do it all without boys.” 

Just imagine what life would be like without boys. 

There would be no shame in who you are. 

You could kiss who you want to kiss.

You could kiss Lillie, freely. Because, without boys, who would there be to romance? Just girls. 

Girls. 

You could live your life as you are. Have Lillie back. Graduate from Rydell together. You see it, walking up on that stage to accept your diploma with your hand in hers. 

Going to prom, any school dance. Your hands rest on her waist as you kiss and dance the night away. No one to tell you it’s wrong. No one to tell you that girls can’t kiss girls. 

You wouldn’t be so afraid to just be. You wouldn’t have been afraid to kiss Jane. You wouldn’t have had to lock yourself away and become a puddle of tears on the white tile floors of Dot’s bathroom—one of Dot’s many bathrooms. 

Would Jane’s kiss have felt the same way as Lillie’s kiss did? 

A tingling sensation of lips. Something soft, yet eager, sometimes. Closeness. Colliding noses, but in a way that would feel good, like the frequency of bee wings when they flew. Then, landing on just the right flower. Natural. Like wind catching your hair when you rode a bike or ran through a park. The warmth of California’s stars. A cluster of shimmer on a clear night. And waking up to see the sun set after a rainstorm…

…where colors mix into a shade of pink. 

“Yeah. That sounds nice.” 

Chapter Text

She didn’t ask you to do this, make her buttons, but you have the materials. The press to bring the paper and the plastic together with the metal pin in the back, and they stick, as if they were never separate pieces at all. 

You don’t have to make her buttons. Sit in your room all night, your hand cramping up after ten or so buttons. You shake them out, then keep going until you have fifty. That should be enough. And if you need to make more, you can. Another night of cramping hands and tired eyes because your body is telling you to sleep, and you’re not listening to it. 

Your care for sleep is lacking when your want to do this for Jane is stronger, overpowering. She’s your friend. And friends do things for friends, like make them buttons for their campaign. Rydell needs to change, and Jane winning the election is the only way that’s going to happen. The only way things might actually get better for you. 

Might. 

Friend.

Friend. 

You’re something special, you know that?

Her voice echoes in your ears. 

Your back against the door. You tried not to smile so much. 

It was silly. You just locked the Soc boys in Dot’s dad’s study. That was it. 

That was it. 

She said you’re something special because you locked the Soc boys in Dot’s dad’s study. 

Something special. 

Something special. 

Something—

“You’re amazing, you know that?” Lillie said on one of the many days you skipped Mr. Daniels’ English class. 

You sat under the bleachers, a few snacks sprinkled out on the blanket. November, and you wore her jacket to endure the slight cold California breeze. In her hands was a piece of paper with your writing on it. 

Words came alive on the page in lines and stanzas. A poem you wrote last year during geometry class. You didn’t think she would like it. Hell, you fully believed it was awful. 

“The way you use imagery and how the words just flow together… It’s beautiful, Olivia. I don’t think I’ve read anything like it.” 

“You really think so?” you asked. “It can’t be that good.” 

She shook her head. “It’s common for writers to feel that way about their own writing. But I don’t just say this about any poem, Vee.” She handed it back to you, and you folded it up to how it once was before you gave it to Lillie. How the poem had been for about a year. Creases in the paper couldn’t be flattened out.

“I’ve heard you can be a pretty harsh critic of poetry.” 

Lillie laughed and popped a blueberry in her mouth. “I guess you’re right. Okay, maybe I’m a little biased, but that doesn’t make you any less amazing. I still really like it.” 

You chuckled and bowed your head. And you swore then, your cheeks grew red. A rise of heat under layers of skin. You didn’t think much of it. When you looked back, that definitely wasn’t because of embarrassment. 

You were flustered.

You felt adored. 

You felt special. 

Buttons pile up on your floor. Fifty, the amount you planned to make, all ready to go for tomorrow. Or today? It is past midnight. Almost one A.M. You don’t want to think about how you have to be awake in six hours. 

No, less than six. Five or four because you decide that the buttons aren’t done. They need a little touch of pink.

Your lips. 

A red stain of your lips. 

For Jane. 

Two A.M, and you put all the buttons in a tin, the kind of tin that would be filled with your abuela’s cookies and treats. You don’t get to sleep until two-thirty. 

The sun comes around too quickly, and, usually, you enjoy mornings, but today, today, you want to curl up in your comforter and never leave your bed. Pull the curtains shut so you don’t have to see the stupid sun that is too bright upon stepping outside. 

On the drive to Jane’s, Potato, Cynthia—on her bike, and Gil joining the ride along the way, you hold the tin close to you, like you cherish it with all your life. It is something alive, something that can be broken if you let it go. Something that you shouldn’t care for as much, but because they’re for Jane… 

No, for the Pink Ladies…

“Promise not to laugh?” you say to Jane, your hand on the lid of the tin. You lean against Gil’s car that he parked around the corner from Jane’s house. “But I made something.” You open the tin for Jane and reveal the buttons you made last night (this morning?). Each button has a phrase on them that promotes the campaign. 

Vote for Jane. 

Make Rydell fun for everyone.

Vote Pink. 

“I thought we could hand these out at school.” You pause, and lower your voice. “Unless you don’t want to.” 

Jane reaches into the tin and grabs one of the buttons. For a second, she studies it, and a smile tugs at her lips. “Olivia, you kissed all these?” 

“Yeah. My lips are still sore.” 

Gil slides in beside you, arms crossed. “Can I get one of those? For personal use?” 

Since junior high, Gil Rizzo has had a very obvious crush on you. He follows you like a lost puppy, and sometimes, you think he’s only friends with your brother to get closer to you. The only perk of it all is that he occasionally lets you drive his car. And damn, you really like driving his car.

Yet, you wonder if the world will like you better if you were with him. If you hold his hand in the hallways of Rydell instead of thinking about her. Give in to his pleading and flirting because that’s what the world wants of you. You must marry your high school sweetheart—a man, have children, and stay home for the rest of your life. Your job is only to please him because, truly, you aren’t allowed to want things. 

The whole point of Jane’s campaign is that being an outcast is the new cool. So, maybe you’re doing something right? 

No. Not like this. Jane’s campaign doesn’t dictate life outside of school, even though you want it to. You’ll still have duties to fulfill after graduation, and none of them say that kissing a girl, being with a girl, is right. Why try? 

Why try. 

You hand a button to Gil. “It’s for wearing, not for kissing,” you warn. “It’ll look nice with your jacket.” As Gil pushes the sharp pin into his T-Birds jacket, you don’t have to see it to know that Richie’s eyes are burning into Gil. You sigh and look to Richie. “Ease up, will you? It’s just a button.” 

He does, his shoulders less tense. They deflate. Stress and overprotectiveness released. He struggles to let you go, you know that. Sometimes, you just need to remind him. 

“Be my campaign manager,” Jane says suddenly. 

You chuckle and close the button tin. “I don’t know the first thing about student council.” 

“So?” She grips on to the button you gave her, tight. “You’re smart.”

You’re smart. 

“And…” She points to you. “...you were the first person to endorse me.” 

When you give in and say ‘yes’, her excitement, her little squeal in response warms you. It settles deep in your chest and travels through each vein so every part of you feels it, too. You bow your head and dig your nails into the metal tin because you’re glowing, and you can’t be too bright.

You made her happy. No, make. Make her happy. The last time you felt this way… 

It was with her, with Lillie. 

As if it didn’t happen and feelings were so easy to run from, you shove it down and bury it until you can’t see it anymore. 

You didn’t expect to be holding her jacket within the first week of being her campaign manager, the jacket she abandoned after leaving the gym. A clear loss in the debate against Buddy. You know she just froze up, at least, that is what you would like to believe, but a part of you can’t help but feel that you failed her. 

Maybe you could’ve prepared her more…

Done better. Been a better campaign manager. 

Maybe, maybe you should just talk to Jane? 

Everything was going fine before the debate. You ran out of buttons, and students were wearing them in the halls of Rydell, in their classes. Even at the Frosty Palace, those buttons were pinned to blouses, dresses, pollos, and jackets. It helped that Jane announced that she was going to change the fall ball, to be fun for everyone. No dates, no dress code, no expensive tickets. A dance where all the students can feel like they belong. 

But it fell flat, as a result of the debate. When Jane’s campaign was impacting people, when students would come to Jane to tell her what they wanted to see changed, it crumbled down. A tower you built up so high, together, died just as quickly as it was created. 

You can repair it, right? Fix it somehow? Even though Buddy won the debate, that doesn’t mean Jane can’t win. She can still win. She can still change Rydell. You still believe in her. You’ll always believe in her. 

At the top of the stairs, legs stretched out across the last step, you breathe in her jacket, the scent that belongs to Jane. A citrusy scent. Her perfume. Not the bad kind of citrusy like a lemon. It’s more like grapefruit, a drug for your nose. From the smell, you’re high, on her. Your only thought: she doesn’t smell like Lillie did. 

Don’t, Olivia. You can’t. You can’t think about her like that. 

You straighten yourself and look at her jacket, the same as your own. There’s one thing different—her name on the front, embroidered so perfectly that your respect for Nancy’s designing talents has grown. You trace the small letters that form her name, the name that’s practically drilled into your head. There’s no getting it out. No way to remove it from the crevices of your brain. And all the little cracks in between. 

Each and every little crack filled with just her couldn’t allow the way Richie looked at her at Frosty’s to go unnoticed. How he offered to drive her to her house. He walked her up to her front door and— 

You wish that was you. Her asking you what would make you decide to go to the fall ball. You walking her to her front door. Why can’t that just be—? You know why. You don’t need to ask yourself. 

All you can do is be there for her and pull her out of whatever slump the debate put her under. The disappointment she feels in herself, enough to abandon her jacket. So you call Nancy and Cynthia, and drag Richie out of the house. Emergency meeting at the Valdovinos residence, during your Tia’s birthday party. 

At Jane’s house, you throw stones at her window. You persuade her to sneak out. You give her her jacket back, which she slips on right after it travels from your hands to hers. 

She receives a warm welcome from your family, your parents, and you don’t know why that makes your stomach come alive with butterflies. Hearing her fumble to speak just a little bit of Spanish and then go on her rant about her family lineage… Those butterflies float to the surface in the form of a light blush along your cheeks.

Richie reaches for Jane’s hand and breaks the silence that erupted once she was finished speaking. “You don’t have to talk to dance.” 

Unlike the times before, where you wanted to step in and shove Richie out of Jane’s view but didn’t, you grab her opposite arm and hand and tug her close to you. “We’ve got business.” 

“We’re going to grab some grub for this business meeting ,” Cynthia says, and leaves for the kitchen with Nancy, just as you’re guiding Jane away from Richie and into another room. 

The dining room, where plates and plates of food are gathered on the table, ready to be devoured by growling stomachs. You close the sliding doors that lead into the living room and take off your jacket, slinging it over one of the chairs. 

Instead of food, you try to feed her hope. Something that can bring her spirits back up about the campaign. A possible light within the dark. “I’m not going to sugar coat it. Tonight was bad, but we can come back from it.” 

Jane scoffs and bows her head. “I’m sorry. I think the campaign is over.” 

You sink, sorrow stirring inside you. She’s giving up? Jane, Jane of all people, you wouldn’t ever expect her to give up easy. “Why?”

“Because!” She huffs and unrolls her jacket sleeves. The light pink chases away the dark, soft fabric underneath. “I don’t even know what kind of a campaign to run.” She pulls at the sleeves, down her arms, off her shoulders, until the jacket no longer lives on her. 

“My mom wants me to be one thing and you all want me to be another, and I don’t even feel like I’m either! To tell you the truth, my whole life I’ve never felt like I’m enough of anything to really count, you know? Like I’m just all these puzzle pieces that don’t fit together.” Jane looks away from you. Anywhere, but you, and you try to search for her eyes, to see the light that has been there since you first climbed up on that stage and stood beside her. It’s gone. Scorched away by doubts and thoughts you wish to rid of. 

You can’t have her be like this, think like this. All it does is hurt. God, it hurts. Because you know, a part of you always knows, that her puzzle pieces do fit together into something so beautiful that you can’t comprehend it. Not many people may see it, her parents, other students at Rydell, but you do. 

You do. 

She’s perfect. She’s… 

You walk closer to her, and a few inches from her, you rub her arms before your hands trail down them and into her own. How her hands feel in yours, it’s like every piece of your brain unlocks. New chemicals flow through your body, sparks tingling in your fingertips. They meet her, say their hellos, then come back to you. And Jane doesn’t let go. She doesn’t let go. 

”Look at me. Please, look at me,” you whisper. 

Pools of brown crash into grey, and Jane inhales sharply. The world stops, freezes as it does during winter storms. But it’s the most beautiful winter storm with how the snow glows and each snowflake bearing their own design. The type of winter storm where you want to go outside and feel it for yourself. 

(Although, you’ve never actually experienced a snow storm before, you don't know what that feels like, but you take your best guess. Jane probably has, so that’s all that matters). 

As you catch the snow drops on your tongue, as they land on your jacket. Cold, yet so warm. So damn warm. They don’t melt, and they stay in perfect shape, as if they are still sitting in the sky, waiting, waiting to fall. Like words are waiting to leave your lips so this storm finally settles, and you can go play in the snow that’s left over. 

You see all of that in her, the beauty of a storm that most people don’t. Only something ever thought of as an inconvenience. Because snow is cold and blocks roads and cancels school. She’s not that. She’ll never be that. 

“You’re enough. You’re Jane,” you say, with a little chuckle in your voice. Your thumbs brush the back of her hands. “You’re the one who got everyone to believe that a new Rydell is possible. Even me.” 

Jane nods, then focuses on your knotted hands. The way they mesh together, fingers wrapped around palms. And the lines engraved in them soaking in ones that are unfamiliar. They don’t know them yet. Yet. But they will as they sit and memorize each other, for that short moment. 

You remove one of your hands from hers to lift her chin up and hold it still with your thumb and index finger. “You started this, Jane. So if you’re gonna run, you gotta run as you, okay? It’s you who’s going to win this, not the you that people want you to be.” 

She smiles, and before she can get out a thank you , music bounces into the dining room through the closed door. Too loud, that you have to lean forward to speak to her, right into her ear. “May I have this dance, Janey?” 

When you leave, you let go of her hand. You’ll never see the storm again. Not because you don’t want to, because you can’t. As everyone dances to the music your family plays, he’s kissing her against the railing of the stairs. 

You regret following shortly behind. You regret peeking around the corner. Watching her kiss someone else, your brother of all people, twists the knife in your heart you didn’t know resides there. You should’ve known. It was planted there after Lillie left, a stab wound abandoned and never properly healed. 

But that knife shouldn’t have twisted, made the wound bigger. Not for Jane.

Chapter Text

When Cynthia snatches the book out of your hands, the Pink Ladies sleepover you’ve been planning all last week crumbles under the simple question Jane asks as Nancy and Cynthia join her on the bed:

“What did happen between you two, if you don’t mind us asking?” 

Just the night before, you told yourself that you would do anything to make sure nothing of what happened last year is brought up, or what they think happened, anyway. You don’t really blame Jane and Cynthia because they couldn’t have known, but you do put the blame all on yourself for actually answering. 

Instead of ignoring it. Changing the subject to something odd that they would forget and never ask you again. Or grabbing your book from Cynthia, wherever she hid it, and burying your head in it. Not to speak again until you go to sleep and wish everyone goodnight.

On the floor, you move the pillow onto your lap, the pillow that you held over your ears as you read, and open up your damn mouth. Words come tumbling out before you can reach out and pull them back into your throat.

You answer, as if it’s about her. They asked about her. 

“We were in love.” 

They gasp and squeeze together, lying on their stomachs. Jane takes a twinkie from the plate and passes it to Cynthia.

You were, in love. Inseparable. Days without her were cold. Icy, and didn’t thaw out until she wrapped you in her arms and held you for hours. 

“It started with me staying after class, just looking for a quiet place to read.” Sometimes, she would meet you under the bleachers at lunch and read with you. Company within the silence. Well, not so silent with the football team practicing and the cheerleaders doing whatever cheerleaders do. 

“He was so easy to talk to.” You didn’t have to talk to her at all if you didn’t want to. You preferred speaking through the passing of notes during class. 

“We’d go on all afternoon, about books, poetry, life.” You spent hours analyzing your favorite books in her bedroom. You would read the same book at the same time. You only read when she read, and she only read when you read. The next day at school, you would tell each other your predictions, your reactions. 

Cynthia balances the plate of twinkies on her hand as she eats one. She passes it to Nancy, and Nancy shoves it away, back to Cynthia. She’s too in shock to eat.

“And then one day, we kissed.” The day you absorbed everything you felt for her and, finally, let it go. You would do anything to go back and relive it, but that’s not how time works.

Another collective gasp. 

“It sounds cheap, but it wasn’t.” It wasn’t. 

“We were crazy for each other.” You were. 

You sigh. “Until, one day, McGee caught us in his office and he blamed everything on me.” You were caught kissing her in his classroom, and what you originally heard, how it was going to be recorded in your file, wasn’t true.

Even if it didn’t change, rumors still spread through the halls and mouths at Rydell as if it was true. As if what your file says is true. 

You stare down at your hands and pick at your red nail polish. 

“Wow,” Jane says, leaning into her hand. 

Nancy shakes her head and flops on to her back. “He’s a fink.”

“Nancy,” Jane warns with a glare.

“No. She’s right. He’s a fink.” Cynthia rolls on to her back, too.

Jane takes the plate of twinkies and sets it on her nightstand. “I think what we’re trying to say is that he doesn’t deserve you,” she says, slipping off the bed and sitting down beside you. She takes your fiddling hands into hers and squeezes. A comfort you need after lying to your friends. Lying to Jane. “I know it’s hard.”

“It’s fine. I barely think of him anyway.” It’s not fine. You think about her all the time.

Jane insisted you shared the bed with her and Cynthia. Jane insisted there was enough room for you in between them. Jane insisted that she would be able to sleep in a crammed bed. Jane insisted because she didn’t want you to sleep on the floor. 

(She would’ve insisted that Nancy sleep in her bed, too, but Nancy said she needed her own space—she gets weirded out when people are touching her while she sleeps).

You wish that Jane hadn’t insisted. You wish you could’ve slept on the floor, away from Nancy, of course. Just so you didn’t have to wake up with her face inches away from yours. 

And the urge to tuck a stray lock of her curled hair behind her ear… You couldn’t stay. 

You sit at the large row of windows in front of Jane’s bed and try to wash your mind clean of your closeness to Jane not a few minutes ago. As she sleeps, such a peaceful state. She looks different without her glasses on. But still— You shake your head and open your book, her book. The one you always carry with you. Everywhere. 

You don’t remember how many times you’ve read it. You also don’t remember how many times you’ve read the same line over and over again, wondering if Lillie bought herself her own copy so she can read with you from wherever she is. Read to you. 

Again, under the bleachers, but this time, after classes were over. Your head on her lap, and her voice a sweet hum in your ears. Between turning the pages and holding the book steady, she combed her hand through your hair, stroked your hairline. 

You promise you won’t fall asleep? she had asked.

I promise, you had responded, approaching the bleachers. 

But you did last time, Vee.

It’s not my fault your voice is so soothing. 

You didn’t fall asleep. Instead, you imagined the world the words she said into the air created. Each character sprang off the page and danced behind your eyelids. 

You forgot about school. The test you had the next day. How you had to spend the night without her by your side—you had to wait until the weekend. You forgot that you existed on an earth where what you wanted wasn’t acceptable. And everytime you heard footsteps crush newly mowed grass, you had to sit upright because no one could see you like this. With her. 

You couldn’t let Jane see how close you were to her, even if it wasn’t done consciously. Though, you didn’t mean it; your head was in the middle of the two pillows when you said goodnight and reassured Jane that everything was going to be okay with her campaign. You remember, before you fell asleep, that you grabbed your own pillow off the floor, careful not to disturb Nancy, because of how weird it felt not having a whole pillow for your head. 

And then you woke up… 

You’re staring at the same word on the page, not even reading, or trying to in the dark, and right as your head finally started to quiet itself, Jane stirs and rubs her eyes. The spot on the bed that you once filled is empty. 

She rubs her eyes again. Again, to make sure she isn’t still sleeping. “Livvy?” The sudden nickname comes out in a whisper, but loud enough for you to hear it. Heat creeps to your cheeks, and it shouldn’t be. 

You close your book as she reaches over to her night stand to grab her glasses. She puts them on her face, the bridge of the glasses settling on her nose, and there you are. Well, your silhouette anyway. Sitting at the window with your book on your lap. 

Jane’s slow with her movements as she makes her way to you. By the time she does, you’re sure her eyes have adjusted to the dark to fully see you. “Can’t sleep?” she asks, her tone hushed. 

“Something like that.” You bow your head. “I’m not exactly used to… group sleepovers. Where we all pile in the same room and share the same air as we sleep. It just feels weird. Vulnerable.” Too vulnerable for your liking. Too vulnerable that you ended up closer to her than you were when you fell asleep. Internally, that’s what you want, to be close to her. Always. 

All the damn time. 

“I don’t want you to lose sleep because of me. I’ll be okay.” 

Jane shakes her head. “I’ll be okay, too. I promise you.” She holds out her pinky. “I promise.” 

“Okay.” You chuckle and give her pinky a squeeze with your own. “Why don’t we go outside? The last thing I would want would be to wake someone else.” You scan over the others, passed out. Cynthia’s occasional snores and Nancy’s deep-sleep mumbling. 

“Yeah. Outside.” 

You abandon your book at the window and leave with Jane, slipping your hand into hers as you tread quietly down the stairs. You ignore how warm this feels, but you can’t help but wonder if she feels it, too. If she felt it the other night at your tia’s party. You guess, there’s no way to truly know unless she tells you. Unless she understands what it means and tells you. You know she won’t tell you because she won’t know what it means. 

This isn’t normal. It’ll be swept away and never spoken of for as long as she breathes. And you, you’ll bury it deep so it never surfaces, even if you might want it to. Although you yearn for it, ache to take it into your arms and embrace it, you’re not close enough to reach it. Barely does it brush your fingers. 

But her fingers do, as she lets go to sit down on the dark steps of her porch. You follow, a barren seat next to her. 

A night breeze climbs down your neck, and you shiver. You stare out at the street. “You know, Richie and I used to do pinky promises when we were kids.” 

“Wait, really?” Jane asks.

“Yeah. It was our thing whenever we did something that we didn’t want Mama to know about. I like to think that it brought us closer.” You look at Jane, find her in the limited glow from the shining street lights. “We might be twins, but we’re completely opposite of each other. I like hiding in my books and the worlds they build, and Richie can’t seem to stay in the house. My mom was surprised when I told her about this sleepover. I haven’t—” 

This is the first sleepover Mama let you go to since you were caught kissing Lillie. Well, this is the first sleepover you were invited to since then. Because after Lillie left, you didn’t have anyone else. It was back to just you, with Richie and the other T-Birds as your only kind-of friends. But not really. 

You were always around them because Richie was. Nothing special, like you had with Lillie, like what you have now with the Pink Ladies. Jane. 

“So… you and Richie, huh?” 

Jane bows her head, her words coming out in a mumble. “What? What are you talking about?” 

You chuckle. “You don’t have to pretend, Jane. I can see the way he looks at you. The way you… you look at him.” The way you wish she looked at you. Like you look at her. “You were dancing together at the party.” You were kissing him . “Don’t worry. I’m… happy for you, Jane.” 

“You… you are?” A beat, filled with the sounds of crickets. “I thought you would’ve felt weird about it. He’s your brother.” 

“It is weird, but I can still be happy for you.” Try. Try to be happy for her, as her best friend. Try to not wince as you lie to her, again. You shake off a yawn. “I don’t think that I’ve ever seen him so… I don’t know… He really likes you, Jane.” 

“I really like him, too.” 

“I know, and that doesn’t change anything, okay?” These feelings still erupt in the pit of your stomach, even though they’re not reciprocated. Might not ever be reciprocated. And that’s okay. You just have to live with it. This is what you signed up for when your heart decided to go against society. With Lillie… 

At least there wasn’t any anger or hiding—it was easy because there was no one else. Not like there is with Jane, upon seeing Richie flirt with her in the halls right in front of you. But you just have to let it go. Let it happen. 

That mental note didn’t stop you from pushing Richie away from her. I really don’t want to see or hear this, ‘kay?

You take it back. You can’t let it go. And it seems like you can’t let a lot of things go. Your jacket was ripped out of your arms because of something that wasn’t your fault. That wasn’t Jane’s fault. 

You told Jane not to do anything, yet, after being kicked out of history and given that stupid, but comfortable, maroon sweater, you find yourself suddenly accepted as a writer of Rydell’s newspaper and at the desk Lillie used to sit at during honors English. A heart with your initials is still scratched into the wood. She took a pair of scissors from the art room.

After class, Lillie waved you to come over to her desk, the one right next to yours. Her hand covered the corner of the desk, and she waited a minute until you and she were alone, besides Mr. Daniels, who was at his desk at the front of the room, probably grading papers. 

“I want to show you something,” Lillie whispered.

“What is it?” you crossed your arms, curiosity rising. 

She giggled and slowly removed her hand, revealing marks in the wood, permanent marks. Like marks that would be engraved into a tree. Initials of lovers, new lovers on a high. L + O. 

“Lillie!” 

“Shh, Vee.” Lillie looked past you at Mr. Daniels. You glanced over your shoulder, following her gaze. At his desk, Mr. Daniels lifted his head for a moment, meeting your eyes, before he went back to reading papers. You wondered if he had gotten to yours yet. Maybe not because you were still in the room.

“Sorry. I just…” You leaned closer to her. “I can’t believe you did that to the desk. What did you even use?” 

Lillie shrugged. “Scissors.” 

You traced over the outline of the heart around your initials. It was stuck here now, in this desk. Far from a simple pencil doodle that could be cleaned off with just some soap and water. The desk was damaged, but the more you stared at it, the less you thought of it like that. “W-why?” 

“This is where we met. We started here.” 

I can’t imagine what my life would be like if we never met in this class. 

I have a few ideas, but it hurts too much to think about. 

Now you know, kind of. How the rest of last spring was for you. Miserable. You actually wished your parents gave you the punishment of being confined to your own house before the school year ended so you didn’t have to go to school. Listen to the whispers that bounced off Rydell’s walls. Step foot in his classroom. See that empty seat next to you every single day. 

Be alone under the bleachers at lunch. Never hear her voice again. Or her laugh. Or her sighs as you stroked her hair. All the things you loved about her. Love. 

Love , because that feeling is far from gone. For now. Jane is creeping in, covering up the bruises and cuts losing Lillie left behind. She kisses them better, and they’re healing after being open wounds for so long. The least you can do in return is fight back, fix this, although you said not to. 

You ignore your own words and write the best damn front-page worthy newspaper article Rydell has ever seen.

It has come to my attention that some students feel they are being unfairly targeted. So in the interest of impartiality, we will be instituting a brand new school-wide dress code, effective tomorrow. 

Boys will be required to wear long sleeve button-up shirts. No sneakers. No t-shirts. No dungarees. 

Ladies will be required to wear skirts below the knee and shirts up to the neck. No tight clothing or loud colors. And most importantly, to end the division among us and become a truly united Rydell, absolutely no jackets! 

No jackets. 

No jackets. 

After school, you go over to Jane’s. Just you and her. You and her, leaving out Cynthia and Nancy. She only asked you to come over. She only wanted you to step foot into her house, climb up the stairs shortly behind her. You don’t know why, and you don’t question it either. But your mind conjures up ideas.

You and Jane are closer. 

You are Jane’s campaign manager. 

Jane wanted to scold you for fighting back and going against your own words. 

Jane doesn’t want to get the other Pinks involved. 

Jane knows the other Pinks will be mad at you. You fucked up. 

You fucked up. 

You sit down on the edge of Jane’s bed, your head lowered, as Jane sifts around behind you in her closet. The silence is killing you. Making you ache from the inside out. Not hearing a single sound from Jane since you walked through her front door starts a flame you’re afraid won’t go out. Nerves that bubble up as you wait for the inevitable: an explosion. 

Although, you know that’s not Jane. You know she won’t lash out at you. You remember the smile on her face as she read the article. You remember the softness in her voice—

The closet door closes—there’s a click—and footsteps follow. Travel to you. “Here. I thought it would help if you held something.” 

You look up, and Jane has her arms extended in front of her, her hands holding a dog plush. Fluffy brown fur and floppy ears. A fabric collar around its neck. A fabric tag too with nothing on it. Just a grey circle. 

“You seemed really stressed on the way here. I mean, you wouldn’t even look at me.” She shakes her head. “I don’t think anything I said registered for you because you weren’t changing. You weren’t smiling, and you smile a lot at my jokes, so I didn’t understand, you know?”

“Jane—”

“I know today was rough and I can feel that you think this is all your fault, but it’s not. And you helped me back up. Now I’m going to help you back up. So I’m giving you this dog because I think you need it.” 

You accept the dog and balance it on your lap. “Thanks. I do need this.” You pet the stuffed dog, and a sense of ease washes over you. Comfort. 

At home, you realize, you don’t have any stuffed animals because they all have new homes now. Your little cousins. The day you passed them down, you said you outgrew them. Some part of you wishes you hadn’t given up all of them, or at least kept just one. You forgot how nice this feels. 

“I’m sorry, Jane. I’m messing this up. I’m messing it up.” You tug the dog to your chest, and if it were alive, it would hear your heartbeat. How it’s slowing down from what it was before—an unsettled pounding. “I’m sorry if you don’t win because of this. It’s my fault.” 

It’s your fault. 

Jane sighs and sits down in the open space beside you. “Don’t beat yourself up. I know you were just trying to help and make it better. You wanted to fix it, and I… it makes me really happy that you care so much. I think asking you to be my campaign manager was the best decision I’ve ever made.” 

“That’s nice of you to say, but—” 

“Your article… it made a difference to me. You said it all when I couldn’t.” She takes your hand and laces her fingers in between yours. “I know you think what you did was bad—I get that, trust me—but Olivia, you didn’t know what was going to happen, and that McGee was going to take our jackets away. This, just like the debate, is a little bump in the road. I understand that now. Sometimes, we have to go over those bumps to get to where we want to be. It’s okay.” 

You nod, although hesitant. But you believe her. Your head is just fighting you, and you have to ignore it because you know it’s wrong. Jane tells you it’s wrong. When you rest your head on her shoulder, it all fades. 

You did what you thought was right. You spoke your mind. You fought back in a world where you’re usually not allowed to. And you have to face the consequences. It’s okay. 

It’s okay. 

You said what you needed to. Had to. 

“Thank you, Janey.” You squeeze her hand, and she squeezes back. 

You miss this, having something like this. And you know your feelings are improper, but you can’t find it in yourself to let them go as they grow only stronger when she leans her head on yours.

You splash water in your face. Alone at the sink in the girls’ bathroom at Frosty’s, you try to clear your head. Your very busy and loud head. 

Jane gave Richie a hall pass. Something that suggested… well… you would rather not think about it. Because thinking about it… Your stomach turns, despite it being empty. 

And for a moment, after entering the Frosty Palace, you forgot about it, clapping and cheers filling your ears because you had gotten everyone’s jackets back. The noises cloud your brain, a fog that you wished could stay for as long as you needed it to. But once you sat down in an open booth, Jane sliding in next to you, giggles erupted from Cynthia and Nancy. 

Chatter began, of what happened outside. 

You lift your head up and find yourself in the mirror above the sink—your reflection that reveals what’s true. You’re broken. These feelings that are crumbled up and spread throughout your body are breaking you. 

The last time you truly looked at yourself like this, it was in the bathroom at Dot’s house. There, at least you could somewhat still recognize yourself. There, you didn’t feel like you were constantly falling. There, you didn’t feel like your world was burning to the ground. 

Jane and Richie. 

No matter how many times you say to yourself or out loud that you’re okay and happy for them… The crushing weight of seeing them together, how close they were in the parking lot of Frosty’s, how Jane talked about him, you had to go. You had to slip out of the booth and run. 

Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. 

Fucking run. Until you can’t breathe anymore and you leave everything—leave her—behind. You don’t dare to look back. But when you try, you can’t. She has you in her hold. 

Truly, there’s no running because of how glued you are to the floor. 

If only you could just pretend—

The door swings open, and you quickly grab a sheet of the rough paper towels to dry your face off. Not just of the water that traveled through the pipes to run down your face, but of the tears that left trails on your cheeks and dripped from your chin into the white sink. You look towards the door after tossing the paper towel into the trash can and missing. 

Hazel, in a spell of concern. The girl that’s new to Rydell this year and stands by Jane’s campaign for student council president in the background. You don’t really know her well, seeing glimpses of her in the hallway every now and then. You think, she (somewhat) knows Jane more than she does the rest of the Pink Ladies. 

She adjusts her glasses, shifts them to be farther up the bridge of her nose. “S-sorry. I, um— You seem like you’re going through something. I’m just gonna—” 

You step forward, almost reaching for her as she turns to leave. “Wait. I— I just—” You take a deep breath in, then out, centering yourself, making yourself feel the most centered you’ve felt all night. “Can I talk to you? Maybe get some advice?” 

“I’m not really the best at advice, but if you want to talk, I can offer an ear?” Hazel pauses. “That’s what girls do in public bathrooms, right? Talk about their personal problems while they stare at themselves in the mirror?” 

You’re not staring at yourself in the mirror. Well, you were before Hazel walked in, but still. There was no one here to talk about your problems to, until Hazel opened the door and gave you the opportunity. You laugh anyway and lean into it. “I don’t use the bathrooms at school during lunch for that reason. You never know what you’re gonna walk into.” 

“Noted.” She nods to herself, then clears her throat. “So… what’s your personal problem?” She swings back and forth, from the heel to the toe of her flats. 

You hold back a laugh at the question and tuck it deep in your throat, swallowed whole by your lungs. “There’s this… boy . I like him a lot, but he likes someone else.”

“Okay…”

“He’s my best friend, and I feel like I’m drowning because I can’t just tell him, you know? Because if I tell him, it could ruin everything. Our friendship, his relationship with the someone else , the campaign—” 

You snap your mouth closed and bite your tongue, hoping, praying that Hazel didn’t catch that, thought nothing of it. Yet, you know that if you don’t keep going, that might circle around in her head because it would be the last thing she heard. “I just don’t know what to do, and it’s too much, and I don’t want anyone to get hurt. I don’t know what I would do if I hurt him . I don’t want to hurt him. I don’t want—” Jane to be forced to leave Rydell, just like Lillie. Because of me . These stupid, stupid feelings. 

Quiet, as the gears in Hazel’s brain work. And how hard they’re working scares you. Even though you don’t know each other well, she could be putting the pieces together one word at a time. All connecting back to your slip-up. Or how you said that he is your best friend when the only best friend you have is Jane. But how would she know that? 

You only hang around the Pink Ladies, and maybe the T-Birds occasionally, but not anymore. Not after Nancy handed you the jackets she made and you wore the name on your back. There’s no one else. No one else besides Jane. 

Jane is your whole world. 

“I don’t think I would be the best person to give you advice about this,” Hazel says, and the noise outside the bathroom fades out as her voice echoes off the walls. 

She opens her mouth again, and you almost fear what she’s going to say. You don’t know why, but there’s an uneasiness in your stomach. A sick uneasiness that kind of hurts. You can’t get it to settle, and the nerves find your palms, sweat tracing the lines that rest there.

“But were you— Is this about Jane?”