Chapter Text
☾𖤓☾𖤓☾𖤓☾𖤓
"‘#Crushgers2281 — Hear me out: the concept of jumping for joy’.”
Nat exchanged a disgusted look with Jackie, who sat across from her. “The fuck does that even mean?”
“I have no idea,” said Van.
Jackie tsked, shaking her head. “Read another one.”
“‘#Crushgers2280 — RU ultimate frisbee team is full of virgins lol’.”
“That’s not a real thing,” said Nat.
Van tilted her head, glancing up from her phone to look at Nat curiously. “They’re not virgins?”
“Of course they’re virgins,” Nat dismissed with a wave of her hand. “I meant ultimate frisbee — that’s not a real sport.”
“The hell do you know about sports?” asked Van.
“I played soccer.”
”I played soccer,” Van emphasised. “You showed up to practice in combat boots and smoked cigarettes behind the equipment shed.”
“Yet I still made varsity, didn’t I?”
“How did I not know you guys played soccer!” Jackie exclaimed excitedly. “So did we!” She nudged Shauna, who made a face. “We were the Yellowjackets. You might’ve heard of us.”
”Shit, didn’t you guys make it to nationals?” asked Van.
”Yeah, and we lost,” Shauna said with a roll of her eyes.
”Well, we were the Chiefs — until Van joined. Then we became the Red Devils.” Nat tugged on a piece of Van’s red hair.
”It wasn't because of me,” said Van, angling her head away from Nat’s grasp. "It was because of cultural appropriation, or whatever."
"Nah, it was definitely you."
Jackie laughed a little too loudly, garnering herself several dirty looks from just about every library-goer in the vicinity. She covered her mouth then offered a meek apologetic smile to a particularly grumpy-looking boy whose name was probably Jert, or something dumb like that.
“Hey, fuck him,” said Nat, making no effort whatsoever to mask her voice in the (mostly) quiet library (a group of freshmen girls a few tables over were enthusiastically discussing The Tea™). “He’s just mad ‘cause he’s probably a virgin too. Fuckin’ virgin. God.”
“Weren’t you calling yourself a born-again virgin, like, two days ago?” Van commented sceptically.
Nat shot her an unimpressed look, but it was Shauna who spoke: “Take a shot every time someone says ‘virgin’.”
Jackie laughed boisterously again, this time with a playful shove to Shauna’s shoulder. “You’re so funny, Shipman.”
Shauna smiled an odd smile and said nothing more. Nat's eye twitched. She didn't dislike Shauna, but she wasn't particularly crazy about her either. Nat and Van had met the inseparable JackieShauna duo in freshman year; they shared a core Spanish class, for which they were currently typing up some short stories. And while Jackie had spent much of the year either mingling with her sorority sisters or doing whatever the hell she and Shauna did, she'd also managed to find the time in her busy schedule to develop a pretty close relationship with Nat. Naturally, Shauna followed wherever Jackie went, and Nat was Van and Tai's permanent third wheel ("Our child," Van always said), so the five of them became a friend group of sorts — though, again, Nat didn't tend to spend one-on-one time with Shauna.
Except, they lived together now. Since Jackie was a sorority girl, there were certain sorority girl things she had to do, which, apparently, meant living in a huge fuck-off mansion full of preppy Pinterest girls with fairy lights and boyfriends named Brayden, for sophomore year — and possibly beyond? But Nat certainly hoped not. Because Jackie living with the sorority people meant Tai had invited Shauna to find a place with her, Van, and Nat.
"Think about it. Four people contributing to a three bedroom apartment. Win."
"But we have to live with Shauna. Not win."
"That's your personal problem."
But it wasn't. Not really. It was inconvenient, but Nat was a big girl. She could put on her big girl pants and— and hide in her room for hours waiting for Shauna to leave the kitchen.
Whatever.
Point was, she tended to stick with Van — which often automatically included Tai (but not today — Tai was busy running for, like, student council, or president, or queen, or some shit) — and Mari (none other than Jackie's roommate), who was notably absent thanks to her killer hangover after drinking approximately two-point-five White Claws the night previous.
Van nodded. “Thank you for that sophisticated contribution, Shauna. Really riveting stuff going on in that mind of yours. Now.” She slapped the table — for some reason — and turned to Nat once more while Shauna ignored her completely. “Let’s circle back to—”
“Circle back to my dick,” interrupted Nat. “You’re supposed to be entertaining us with Crushgers submissions, or whatever the fuck.”
“Thought you said it was ‘super lame’ and ‘I’m losing cool points by the minute; I need to go listen to Weezer’,” said Jackie in a stupid voice that, apparently, was supposed to be an impression of Nat, but that wasn’t even the most offensive part.
“Weezer?” she scoffed in disbelief, eyebrows almost reaching her hairline. “Uh, no. You’re confusing me with Shauna. I’m into Hole right now.”
“Except you’re not, hence the ‘born-again virgin’ thing,” snickered Van.
Nat opened her mouth but, ultimately, couldn’t fault the pun. “Touché, asshole.”
“More like, you wanna touch some assholes. But you can’t, ‘cause the— the, um… born-again virgin… thing…”
Nat shared another disgusted look with Jackie, and then they simultaneously began to boo — yes, in the library — and fling various study items at Van, mostly in the form of pencils, pens, and scraps of paper (Shauna was old school and preferred to write on physical paper. Her professors disagreed).
“Okay, okay, I take it back.”
“That was terrible,” said Nat.
“God awful,” said Jackie.
“The first pun I can respect, but the sequel was worse than— than Mean Girls 2.” Nat didn’t particularly consider herself a film connoisseur like Van, but after years and years of friendship, she could at least (somewhat) speak her language.
“Okay, I knew it was bad before I said it, but you don’t have to go that far! Let me live," complained Van.
“You said ‘virgin’ again, by the way,” said Shauna. “Twice.”
“Yes, I did,” agreed Van. “Now, Nat’s lack of action notwithstanding—”
“I don’t think that’s what ‘notwithstanding’ means,” whispered Shauna, to which Jackie snorted because Shauna was just so funny.
“—let’s read some more of this crap. Okay.” She cleared her throat and scrolled further down the Facebook page. “Duds, duds, duds— oh! ‘#Crushgers2277 — to the girl doing tequila shots at the Christian Union ball last night, respect’."
"You think it was our girl Laura Lee?”
Nat and Jackie spoke simultaneously: “No.”
“All right then. ‘#Crushgers2274 — My type to a T: boys who lie, are fat, balding, and have no ambition’.”
Nat chuckled and shook her head. “Whoever that is needs to get the fuck up off the floor and pull themselves together.”
Van ooh’d and held up a finger, reading from her phone, “‘#Crushgers2269 — Music major is lowkey harder than any STEM major and I’m sick of pretending it’s not.’”
She looked at each of them individually. “Thoughts?”
“No,” said Shauna quickly, “creative writing’s the hardest. Writer’s block is bitch.”
“Really? Wah, I have a story due at midnight,” said Nat playfully.
Shauna stared at her, unamused. “You’re kidding, right? And what do you have due at midnight? A picture?” she shot back, and Van chuckled, which was clearly a mistake, because Shauna didn’t hesitate: “I don’t know what you’re laughing at, isn’t your only homework watching movies?”
“Guys! They didn’t say music’s the hardest major, just that it’s harder than STEM.” Jackie patted Shauna’s shoulder. Shauna sank lower into her seat. “And I believe it.”
“You’re kidding,” said Van, staring at Jackie in surprise. “Harder than STEM? Really?”
“Yeah, you artsy types are all so tortured,” Jackie gestured to each of them respectively, “and you’re constantly shitting on people’s taste and being pretentious. It must be exhausting.”
“Hey!” Van said, her voice just a little too loud for the library — not that she gave a shit. “You used your veto on The Lost Boys.”
Jackie shook her head, shrugging. “And?”
“And, I can’t accept that. It’s a queer horror classic.”
“It’s about gay vampires. We might as well watch Twilight. Or Vampires Suck.”
“The Lost Boys is the greatest movie of all time. Sleep all day. Party all night. Never grow old.” Van paused dramatically, looking at each of them individually again before her big finish: “Never die.”
Jackie was having none of it. “Wrong, Sean Kingston. The best movie of all time is Clueless, closely followed by La La Land and High School Musical 3.”
“Nah, High School Musical 2 is taking it,” declared Nat lazily, now only half-listening to their conversation as she’d never been particularly invested in Van’s movie nights.
“Nah,” Jackie mocked her. “It’s High School—”
Van waved her hands, interrupting their squabble. “How many movies have you seen? Five? Ten?”
“I’ve seen enough.”
“Sheesh, you’re as bad as the Academy.” Van was animated as she ranted: “You know they don’t even have to watch all the nominated movies? They can just vote for whichever ones they want! It’s an outrage! Crash never should’ve won Best Picture.”
“You tell ‘em, Van,” murmured Nat, copying something along the lines of, ‘Molly likes to go to the cinema with her friends. Her favourite school subjects are physics and math. She has five siblings’, but in Spanish, obviously, from Google Translate and pasting it into her Google Doc (Google should really sponsor her at this point).
“Well— well, I know what the hardest major isn’t,” said Van childishly, and Nat already knew what she was going to say.
“Yeah? What’s that?” asked Jackie, folding her arms, but she knew, too.
“Communications,” said Van, slapping the table yet again. If the film major thing didn’t work out, she could probably make it as a drummer. Or a dominatrix.
But then again, no.
“Fuck you too,” said Jackie, flipping Van the bird, but she was grinning, clearly amused.
“You’re suspiciously quiet, Shauna,” commented Nat. “No thoughts on gay vampires?”
Shauna shrugged, hardly looking away from her own essay. “Not many. I mean, if you want gay vampires and actual subtext, you could just read Carmilla, I guess.”
Nat whistled lowly. “Damn. Jackie’s right, you guys really are pretentious.”
“You’re a fucking photography major.”
She held up her hands in surrender. “Yeah, all right, you got me.”
Shauna snickered and continued typing (her professors had already refused to accept her hand-written work dozens of times now). Meanwhile, Jackie and Van had, apparently, got all of their squabbling out, and Van had returned to reading out Crushgers confessions.
“Okay, listen to this: ‘#Crushgers2264 — do NOT have sesbian lex with your freshman year roommate it gets really awkward lmfao...’”
Jackie coughed. It was Shauna who spoke, albeit in nothing more than a mumble, and still not looking up: “You send that one in, Nat?”
Van practically guffawed. “Misty fucking wishes, oh my god. Yeah, maybe in her wildest dreams.”
Nat covered her face, groaning into her hands at the mention of her assigned roommate from the previous year. Misty had been… an experience, to say the least.
“Guys, don’t be mean,” whined Jackie, pouting — like, actually pouting. “Poor girl had a crush, that’s all.”
“She fucking poisoned me!”
“...Everybody makes mistakes?”
“I mean, besides that glaring red flag, blonde people shouldn’t date blonde people. It’s an automatic ‘siblings or dating’,” said Nat.
“No way, that only applies to gingers," said Jackie.
“Uh, yes way—“
“‘I shit my pants in Alex Library last week’!”
Nat side-eyed Van at her sudden outburst. “Right, so, are you just announcing that, or is it one of the confessions?”
“Obviously it’s a confession.” Van cleared her throat. “Obviously. I’m just trying to stay on topic after multiple digressions.”
“Right,” Nat repeated. “You send that one in, Shauna?”
“Nope,” Shauna replied casually. “I’m actually not in the habit of shitting myself, but thanks for your concern.”
“Yeah, she’s really not,” Jackie added unnecessarily.
“‘Kay, good talk,” said Nat.
“Cool,” said Shauna.
Damn it. Nat totally lost that one.
“Oh shit, wait, here,” said Van urgently. “‘#Crushgers2282 — Third floor, table of 4 girls in Alex’s anthro section 3rd floor need to shut the fuck up. Blonde one is hot tho — meet by the poli sci bathrooms in 5 if ur DTF?’"
"That’s gotta be us! We made it onto Crushgers!”
“Is your life made? Can you die happy now?” Shauna spoke sarcastically while Nat looked around their little area for any clues — was the submitter possibly Jert, the grumpy boy who had glared at Jackie earlier? Or was it the girl sitting alone at the computers by the window? But she had headphones on. Or did she put them on because of Nat and Co’s noise? But then, hold on — the tote bag hanging off the back of her chair was Morgan Wallen merch, and she looked like her name was Kinsleigh, so maybe not. Nat narrowed her eyes and swept her gaze over other potential suspects.
Beyond a nearby bookshelf, she could see curly blonde hair, but there were no other discernible clues there. Then, she made eye contact with a camo hoodie-wearing, Bass Pro Shops hat-adorning boy. He wiggled his eyebrows up and down. She looked away, holding in a gag.
Hunter, she decided his name was. It was definitely Hunter.
“I mean, I guess it was a Rutgers bucket list sorta thing.” Van shrugged, looking for support from Nat, who was too busy being grossed out to offer any — not that she cared about making it to Crushgers either way.
“Being publicly shamed for having poor library etiquette was on your bucket list?” Shauna asked sceptically, and Nat rolled her eyes on Van’s behalf.
“I mean… not that specifically. And I’d be happier if it was ‘ginger one is hot tho’, but you know what they say.”
“…What do they say?” prompted Jackie when Van failed to elaborate.
“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, duh.”
Nat pointed at her, nodding. “Miss Piggy. Nice.”
Shauna stared blankly at Nat with her stupid black eyes. Nat gulped, uncomfortable, and looked away.
“Well, I’ve been featured on Crushgers dozens of times,” said Jackie smugly. She added a loud sigh for effect. “This is just another tally in my, um… tally… book.” Clearing her throat, she regained her composure. “I am not going anywhere near poli sci though, god. Public bathrooms give me the ick, never mind hooking up in one.”
“Plus, whoever sent it didn’t proofread their submission: they said ‘third floor’ twice. Like, we get it, we’re on the third floor. God,” griped Shauna with a roll of her eyes, but she was ignored as Van spoke over her.
“Now, hold on,” said Van, her voice high-pitched, a sly grin threatening her lips. She held out her arm as if to quiet the others. “You? Why would you go to the poli sci bathrooms?”
“Uh,” Jackie laughed in confusion, “you’re the one who read it out: ‘the blonde one is hot’ — hello?”
“Hi, yes, the blonde one,” Van emphasised, and she pointed at Nat’s distinct bleach-blonde hair several times. “Blonde.”
Oh. Right.
Nat held back an amused snort as Jackie shook her head. “What? No.” She pointed at her own hair. “Blonde.”
Van frowned. “Sweetie, no.” She pointed at Nat’s head. “Blonde.” And she pointed at Jackie’s. “Brunette.”
“My hair is blonde,” insisted Jackie. “Dark blonde! D-Dirty blonde, whatever! I’m blonde!”
“Oh, I get it.” Van nodded several times, apparently having cracked the case. “I see. You’re one of those kids who grew up blonde, grew out of it, and have been in denial ever since. You’ll be bald on your deathbed and telling the nurses ‘it’s just darker right now ‘cause it’s winter!’ My dude, you’re bald!”
“I am not bald—”
“Why so defensive?” snickered Nat. “You got something against the bald community?”
“No, I’m just obviously not fucking bald! And I’m not in denial either.”
“Sounds like something a person in denial would say,” said Van, smirking.
“Well… well yeah, no shit!”
“I like your hair, Jackie,” said Shauna, but Jackie made an urgent motion with her hand as if to say keep going. Shauna gulped before trying again: “I like your blonde hair, Jackie.”
“Thank you, honey.”
Shauna gave a satisfied nod and sank lower in her seat again. She was almost completely hidden behind her laptop, Nat only able to see the top of her head over the screen.
“Nat!” Jackie practically yelled, and Nat practically jumped out of her skin. She made a silent apology to the DTF-in-the-poli-sci-bathrooms submitter who had wanted them to be quiet while Jackie continued, unabashed, “You’re a photographer. You should have an eye for, like, colours, right?”
“...I can see colours, yeah.”
“So?”
She paused and really took a good look at the top of Jackie’s head, assessing, and then she revealed: “I’m getting brunette, sorry.”
Van pumped her fist victoriously; Jackie changed her tune, attacking Nat: “Well, of course you’d say that, ‘cause that makes you the hot blonde!”
Nat blinked dumbly. “Oh, right.” She bit back a smile. “Well, if the shoe fits, or whatever Cinderella said.”
“Cinderella didn’t say that,” whispered Van.
“Oh.” Nat frowned. “Sleeping Beauty?”
“Well, no. She was asleep.”
“Damn.” Whatever. She didn’t care who said it, she would take the compliment either way — maybe her born-again virgin days would be over sooner than expected.
…But, no. She was not going anywhere near those poli sci bathrooms either. Gross — because bathrooms, obviously, but also because the chances of the submitter being Jert weren’t zero, and the chances of it being Hunter were even higher. She wasn’t going to take that risk. Besides, the whole Crushgers thing was stupid, and people who sent in confessions needed to get a life and several hobbies.
“So, are you gonna head to the poli sci bathrooms in,” Van paused to check the time on her phone, “three minutes?”
“Uh, no,” said Nat shortly.
“Why not? Or should I say, why Nat?”
Nat curled her lip in disgust. “No, you shouldn’t say that. And I’m pretty sure that guy over there,” she pointed over her own shoulder without looking, “Hunter, is the one who sent it. Not interested.”
“What aren’t you interested in?”
“Jesus, fuck!”
Nat’s heart pounded in her chest as whipped around, and her view of Hunter was blocked by Laura Lee of all people, and—
And Nat’s brain short-circuited.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“I’m Lottie, who the fuck are you?”
Nat stared up at the goddess- at the girl standing beside Laura Lee. She was… tall, with dark hair and dark eyes — a deadly combo already — and she had a mouth and a nose and eyes, yes, and cheekbones and a jawline and — was that a fang peeking through?
She had all the facial features. But the way each feature complemented one another, the way it all came together like a finished but not necessarily perfected painting…
Nat took a deep breath.
…Unintentionally inhaling Lottie, who smelt like sunflowers and rainbows and happiness, with maybe a hint of cigarette smoke. Or maybe Nat was smelling herself.
Shit. Did she smell?
“You okay there?” prompted Laura Lee, smiling at her carefully. It was Van and Jackie’s hardly suppressed snickers, though, that truly brought Nat back down to Earth, because she was embarrassing herself in front of the most gorgeous specimen she’d ever had the pleasure of looking at. She was so gorgeous, in fact, that Nat looked away from her; she didn’t feel worthy of the honour.
“Hunter!” blurted Nat stupidly, meeting Laura Lee’s somewhat confused, somewhat amused gaze. But that wasn’t the correct thing to say, because—
“Nice to meet you, Hunter,” said Lottie, her voice like silk, or some other fancy ass material Nat could never dream of resting her head on at night.
Wait—
“Wha—? No, I meant— I was answering Laura Lee. I’m not interested in Hunter,” Nat emphasised.
“Who’s Hunter?” asked Laura Lee.
Nat pointed at him. “That guy over there. Probably.”
“Hey,” said Lottie, her voice not a suitable volume for the library, but it got Hunter’s attention, who looked up at her from his laptop as she spoke again, albeit more gently, “she’s not interested, okay?”
“...Okay.”
“Is your name Hunter?” Nat blurted again.
“Yeah.” He frowned, while Nat’s eyes widened. “Why?”
“Um. Mind your own business.”
“...Okay.”
Lottie and Laura Lee turned their backs to him and smiled down at Nat. Nat tried to smile back but it probably looked more like a grimace. And then it was definitely a grimace when Jackie spoke: “Hi, yeah, we’re here too, thanks.”
“Hey guys.” Laura Lee offered them all a friendly wave, her dimples on show as she beamed.
“Hey, Laura Lee,” Van greeted quickly, “what colour would you say our girl Jackie’s hair is?”
Laura Lee’s smile dropped a little, no doubt confused again, but she answered nonetheless, “Light brown?”
“Awesome,” said Van. Jackie scoffed loudly, shaking her head.
“Okay,” said Laura Lee. “Well, I thought I’d introduce you guys to my friend Lottie. Lottie, this is Van, Jackie, Shauna, and—”
“Hunter,” Lottie finished for her, staring right at Nat — right at Nat’s soul, it felt like — once more.
Nat laughed. “It’s Natalie, actually, but most people call me Nat.”
Lottie’s dark eyes practically sparkled as she spoke: “Well, maybe I’m not most people.”
What the hell.
“Maybe not,” Nat just about managed to get out.
“So!” Van slapped the table again, grinning as she did so. “How’d you guys meet?”
“Our Religion and Healing class,” Lottie answered smoothly. “I’m a Religious Studies/anthro double major, just transferred here for sophomore year. I was at NYSID originally, but…” She made a face, shrugging. “It didn’t work out.”
“Oh, shit, the one Rachel Berry got into?” asked Nat.
Silence.
“No,” Lottie said shortly, but her lips twitched like she was holding back a smile, and Nat almost wanted to say something dumb again just to get one out of her.
“You’re telling me you of all people have watched Glee?” said Jackie sceptically. “Glee? Really? How did I not know that?”
“No!” Nat quickly denied for the sake of her so-called ‘cool points’. “Mari has watched Glee. Actually, Mari’s watched Glee, like, fifty times, so I know some lore. Sue me.”
“Well,” said Van, stealing Lottie’s attention again, to which Nat wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or envious, “welcome to Rutgers, where the squirrels will fight you and the buses will do you dirty. It’s a hoot.”
“That’s okay, I don’t plan on using the buses anyway,” Lottie said simply. “I like walking.”
“Campus is big,” said Nat ineloquently.
Lottie hummed. “I have long legs.”
“Oh.” Nat looked down at Lottie’s legs and nodded. “Yeah. You do.”
There was a quiet smacking sound, which might or might not have been Van facepalming.
And Lottie’s cheeks might or might not have darkened slightly — Nat could see colours, after all — or maybe it was just the ugly library lighting… or, maybe it was just warm. Nat was definitely warm.
“Why don’t you guys sit down, pull over some chairs?” Jackie took over, smiling pleasantly. She cleared her throat, gesturing with her head and widening her eyes. “Nat, would you…?”
“What? You do it, I’m not your servant—” Nat began, but Jackie gestured once more with her head, and Nat’s own eyes widened. “Uh! Right. Chairs. Sitting.” She pushed her seat out from the table with a little more gusto than intended, almost knocking it over, and she offered Lottie a quick smile before hurrying over to Hunter’s table to steal two of his chairs.
“Hey! My friends are on their way—!”
“Mind your business,” she repeated, hardly giving him a second glance. And then she dropped one chair in the space between Van and Jackie. “Laura Lee, please.”
Laura Lee sat down happily. “Thanks, Nat! You’re so sweet.”
“Literally no she is not,” Van snickered. Nat gave her a healthy smack to the back of her ginger head while passing her, then placed the other chair in the empty space between her own spot and Shauna.
Or rather, right on Shauna’s foot.
“Fuck, Nat, Jesus.”
Nat grinned sheepishly, holding out the chair. “Here, Lottie.”
“Thanks.”
Nat left Lottie to push the chair in herself, sitting back down in her own seat.
“So,” said Van after a silent moment, "this is cosy."
“Yeah, ‘cause the table’s supposed to be for four people,” Shauna complained, snatching her notebook when Lottie apparently got too close, and she pulled her laptop nearer to herself and angled the screen away.
“Shauna, do not forget to do good and to share with others, for with such sacrifices God is well pleased,” said Laura Lee with a satisfied nod, and Nat watched as Shauna clenched her jaw, her dark eyes whipping to Laura Lee. Shauna opened her mouth to retort, but Lottie was quicker, apparently having noticed the same thing.
She turned to Nat — away from Shauna — as she asked: “What’s your major? Will I see you in any classes?” But then she cleared her throat, her cheeks darkening some more — yes, they were definitely pink. “Uh, any of you guys, I mean.”
Van held up her hand, answering first, “Film major. Favourite movie, go!”
Okay, so they were talking about movies again. Well, that tended to happen in the company of one Van Palmer.
“Oh! Uh, off the top of my head… The Tree of Life.” Lottie paused slightly before adding: “Or, you know, Bambi.”
Van whistled lowly. “Shit. Approved.” She smirked and shook Nat’s shoulder. “You know, uh, Nat’s favourite is But I’m a Cheerleader.”
“What? No, it’s—“
Lottie raised her eyebrows.
“Yes, yes, it is. Best movie ever.” A pause. Then, “Lesbians.”
“Mhm.”
“But I love Bambi too. And…" Nat blinked, "the other one.”
“Oh, yeah? What’s your favourite part?” asked Lottie.
Nat cringed and stalled, picking at the frayed knee of her jeans. She knew Bambi — who didn’t? — but she wasn’t sure she’d watched it a single time in her life. She searched her mind, but all she could come up with was: “...When, uh… when her mom dies.”
“His,” coughed Van, bending down and pretending to tie her shoe.
“When his mom dies,” Nat repeated more confidently.
“That’s interesting,” said Lottie. She leant forward, elbows on the table and eyed Nat. “You know, most kids were traumatised by that scene. But you like it. Maybe that says something about you.”
Nat blinked. “Like what? I’m a masochist?
“Maybe.” Lottie raised an eyebrow, voice dropping to a teasing murmur. “Are you?”
“...Maybe.”
“Good to know.”
“Mhm.”
Silence. It was only broken when Shauna spoke, her voice hardly more than a mumble, “I’ve been told I look like a young Melanie Lynskey from But I’m a Cheerleader.”
“Really? I don’t see it,” said Van, and the others murmured their agreement. Shauna sank even lower into her seat. Nat could no longer see her face at all. She didn’t care. She was just grateful that they were now moving on from her blunder. She’d never crashed and burned like this because of anyone ever. This Lottie girl… she was powerful.
“Right, well, my favourite movie is Clueless, as you all know, and I’m majoring in communications,” said Jackie next. “Minoring in Women’s and Gender Studies.”
“She loves studying women, this one,” Van said cheekily, winking at Jackie, who harrumphed and crossed her arms.
“I’m a feminist.”
“Name a woman,” said Van.
“Hillary Clinton,” said Jackie.
“No.”
“Your mom.”
“Also no.”
“...bell hooks, all lower case.”
“Better.”
“I love studying women too,” said Lottie, nodding at Jackie, who looked pleased by the acknowledgement. “But, uh, in my free time, you know?”
“Oh, I’m sure,” said Van, kicking Nat under the table. Nat glared at her, silently communicating shut the fuck up.
“So…” said Shauna after they each took a moment, Nat could only assume, to reflect on women. “Do I have to say my favourite movie, too? Or, um, my favourite feminist?”
Laura Lee shrugged, laughing. “Go ahead.”
“Okay, well, I’m majoring in Lit and minoring in Creative Writing.”
“So you like writing,” concluded Lottie with a nod.
But: “Nope. Hate it,” Shauna said casually. “Favourite film’s probably The Virgin Suicides, and, uh… I dunno, Audre Lorde, maybe.”
“Ha,” Van chuckled. “Sad girls who can’t talk about their feelings and die dramatically. Yeah, that tracks.”
“Hey, spoilers,” said Nat, slapping her arm.
“It’s literally called The Virgin Suicides," Van deadpanned, shooting her an unimpressed look. "You’re saying you didn’t see it coming that the virgins were gonna commit suicide? Really? I’d love to see your reaction to Finding Nemo, you know, when they find Nemo.”
Nat couldn’t help but laugh, especially when she heard Lottie’s light chuckle coming from her right. “Fuck off.”
“And you?” said Lottie, dancing her fingers on the table next to Nat’s crappy laptop. “Major, favourite movie, et cetera?”
Nat forced herself to look away from Lottie’s fingers. “Photography. I like, um… taking pictures.”
“Cool,” said Lottie, smiling at her gently. “I used to model as a kid.”
“You have the legs for it.” When Nat realised what she'd said, she gulped, blinking several times. “Uh, and the face, and the… All of it. Yeah. You look like a model.”
And there were those pink cheeks again — unless it was just the lighting, or the room was warm. Nat was warm for sure. Maybe even warmer than before. “Thanks,” said Lottie with a bashful smile. “If you ever need one for any of your projects…”
“Oh, shit, yeah, that’d be wicked.” Nat had never said ‘wicked’ in her life. She tried not to cringe outwardly. “I think Tai’s sick of me asking. I used Van once — her face broke my camera.”
Van threw one of the pieces of paper at Nat. “Fuck you, dude.”
Meanwhile, Jackie complained, “You’ve never asked me to model for you.”
“Uh, yeah. I have. You were too busy crying ‘cause Shauna—”
“Okay, whatever!” Jackie said quickly — and loudly, earning herself a harsh shh! from behind a bookshelf, which she ignored. Across the table, Laura Lee shifted uncomfortably. Jackie continued, unperturbed, “Lottie and I will take the next one; Tai’s already swamped with campaigning crap.”
“Sorry, who’s Tai?” Lottie cut in.
“My girlfriend,” Van said proudly, grinning. “You’ll meet her soon enough, or at least see a giant poster of her face in the student centre. She’s gunning for the SAS class of 2027 spot, the United Black Council Rep spot, and the Queer Caucus Rep spot. I told her not to spread herself too thin — she got super stressed out from the campaigning alone last year, started saying speeches in her sleep — but,” Van shrugged, “she’s determined, that one. She’ll be president one day.”
“Of RUSA?”
“Of the country.”
“I’ll make sure to vote for her then,” Lottie said kindly. And then she turned to Nat again. Nat wasn’t sure what she had done to earn Lottie’s attention, but she wasn’t about to complain. “You work with a lot of pretty people, then, being a photographer? Your, uh— your girlfriend get jealous?”
Um, holy shit?
Once again, Nat tried to keep a straight face. “Why do you assume it’s a girl?”
Lottie raised her eyebrows. “But I’m a Cheerleader?”
“Right,” Nat said shortly. “I’m actually bi, though.”
“Either way, I have a chance.”
Van and Jackie burst into giggles, covering their mouths with her hands. Shauna rolled her eyes. Laura Lee nodded in approval. And Nat? Nat almost choked. She would’ve spat out her drink if she had one, because Lottie was flirting with her! Holy shit.
“Right. I— I’m sure my girlfriend would be jealous… if she existed," Nat said lamely.
“We were just talking about that actually, before you guys showed up,” Van said with a smirk. “About how Nat’s a born-again—”
“We were talking about Crushgers,” Nat hissed, pinching Van’s arm subtly so she would shut the fuck up.
“What’s that?” asked Lottie, looking between the two of them.
“The confessions page on Facebook,” Nat explained quickly. “People send in shit about their campus crushes mostly, hence Crushgers, but they also use it to vent or talk shit. It’s dumb.”
“It’s vapid,” said Shauna.
“It’s entertaining!” said Jackie.
“It is not vapid,” said Van. “We spent, like, ten minutes debating the ‘music versus STEM’ one. It’s thought-provoking.”
“Give me that.” Nat snatched Van’s phone from where it lay on the table, and she read out the first confession she saw: “‘Crushgers2276 — Been fucking my professor and he gave me herpes. Fuck my life lol’." She raised her eyebrows at Van. "Got any deep thoughts about that?”
“...Don’t fuck your teacher?”
She scoffed. “Good insight, Plato.”
“Good insight, Plato,” Van mocked, and Nat was going to mimic her back, but Lottie spoke.
“Can I see?” she asked politely, so Nat leant in closer to her, holding the phone in a way so they could both read it. Lottie placed her hand over Nat’s, steadying it. Nat held her breath and didn’t hear a single word Lottie read out: “‘#Crushgers2275 — The president of the taylor swift society had a 3sum with the president of the baking society and the president of the wine society but u didn’t hear it from me’."
"Huh.”
Van shrugged. “Sounds about right.” And she reached for her phone again. Nat blinked, and suddenly her hand was empty, which meant she was supposed to lean away from Lottie again. And, honestly, she couldn’t get away fast enough. Her lungs had started to ache (she really needed to quit smoking). She released a deep breath and prayed Lottie hadn’t been able to hear just how hard her heart had started pumping, purely due to their proximity.
“It’s so stupid, right?” she said with a breathless laugh, looking to Lottie for support. Except, she didn’t get it. Not really.
“Maybe,” Lottie said fairly, her voice quiet — contemplative, almost. “But sometimes it’s easier to be honest with strangers than with your friends, family, lovers… even yourself.” She shrugged. “It gives people a way to speak their truth. Is that so bad?”
“...Speaking their truth about how they got herpes from their professor?” Nat said sceptically.
“Hey, we don’t choose our catalysts. Sometimes the lesson is just…” Lottie paused, but her stare did not waver; she looked deeply, earnestly, into Nat’s eyes, only to finish with: “itchy.”
And Nat didn’t want to disappoint Lottie, so she nodded several times like she understood. Maybe she would if she were high, but alas. “Wow... Yeah, when you put it like that…”
“Well, children, this has been pleasant,” said Van, ripping Nat out of her trance like… like stepping out of a hot shower in winter. Nat scowled. Van made a show of closing her laptop and shoving it into her bag. “But Nat and I have a thing. Nat?”
“Hmph.”
“I’ll see you later?” Lottie asked — or was she stating it? Like, ‘I will see you’ later’ — to which Nat nodded and tried not to drop all of her belongings all over the place like some— some butterfingers loser as she packed away her shit and stood up, somehow both desperate to get away and desperate to stay.
“Yeah,” she said faux casually. “Yeah, totally. Bye, Lottie.” Someone cleared their throat. Nat physically jumped. She hiked her backpack higher up her shoulders, remembering the others’ existence. “Bye, everyone else.”
Van snorted and tugged Nat away by her elbow. Nat tried not to trip.
“Can I have my chairs back?” complained Hunter as they passed.
“Mind your business,” Nat repeated for the third time. And then she and Van walked in complete, could-hear-a-pin-drop silence (see, she had library etiquette) until they made it outside. Then, Van, who was practically red in the face trying to hold it in — whatever it was (maybe she really had submitted the ‘shit myself in the library last week’ confession…?) — pushed Nat to sit on one of the benches right outside the library, and exploded.
“What the fuck.”
“...Is that a question?” Nat asked hesitantly, keeping her head down to avoid eye contact while Van began to pace in front of her.
“Nope. No. Just: what. The. Fuck. I haven’t seen you like that since— I haven’t seen you like that! Ever!”
“Fuck,” Nat groaned. “Fuck.”
“Yeah, you’re fucked. That was the least cool you’ve ever been, and you had a Phan phase.”
“Fan phase?”
“Fuck!” Nat repeated, but this time with her heart pounding, having had the fright of her life from Jackie’s sudden appearance. She placed one hand over her chest to calm her racing heart, and with the other, she swatted at Jackie uselessly. Jackie, nimble as ever, hopped out of reach with a cheeky laugh.
“No, Phan phase. As in, Dan and Phil,” Van explained annoyingly, because she was annoying.
“That means nothing to me,” said Jackie, crossing her arms. She stood beside Van, the two of them towering over Nat’s seated form. She felt like she was getting in trouble by her parents — or, at least, she imagined this was what it felt like. It wasn’t like her parents ever gave enough of a shit to sit her down and lecture her about... well, literally anything at all.
Nat swatted at Jackie again. “Are you trying to kill me?”
Jackie smirked and answered the question with a question of her own, because she was annoying, too: “Why so jumpy, Scatorccio?” She took a seat and smoothed her arm round Nat’s neck. “Something got you riled up? Does it rhyme with— with ‘potty… insert last name here’?”
“Did you ditch Shauna purely to come piss me off?” Nat said grumpily, leaning away from the contact. “I’m surprised she’d let you.”
“Shauna can survive without me for five minutes.”
“...Right.”
“Guys,” said Van, clapping her hands, “focus. ‘Operation: No Longer a Born-Again Virgin’ is a go.” She frowned and shook her head like she was disappointed. “The name is a work in progress.”
“Oh, but I don’t think our Nat here just wants to do the tango with Lottie. I think she wants to run off into the sunset with her to live in a mossy castle with a lake and a field of flowers and have her babies and also several cats.” Jackie looked at her smugly, squeezing her shoulder. “Am I right, Nat?”
“This is stupid.”
Jackie ignored her. “But, actually, if you do end up with a woman in the end, whether that’s Lottie or otherwise, would you want to carry the baby, or would you rather she do it? Have you ever thought about it?”
“If I ‘end up with a woman in the end',” Nat repeated back to her. “Do you hear yourself? Like, when you talk?”
“No.”
“‘Kay, well, I literally just met this girl and you’re asking me about fucking growing old with her and having her babies. Fuck off.”
“Okay, so, you would carry,” concluded Jackie.
“Fuck no, I wouldn’t,” Nat retorted. “No kid needs my fucked up genetics.”
Van pouted. “Aw.”
“What fucked up genetics?” asked Jackie, looking her up and down. “You got missing teeth or extra toes or something?”
”Or something,” said Nat, looking away. She wished she only had missing teeth or extra toes, ‘cause what she did have was addiction, and anger, and violence.
“Oh, come on! Haven’t you ever heard the phrase ‘genetics load the gun, environment pulls the trigger’?”
“Where did you hear that?” asked Van, snickering.
“Psych 101. Duh.”
“I don’t like guns,” Nat said quietly.
“Well, I think you’re perfect the way you are, sweetie,” Jackie told her, pinching Nat’s cheek between her thumb and her finger. Nat felt her cheeks darken and once again swatted Jackie away.
“Get the fuck outta my face before Shauna comes down here and kills us both.” She got up from the bench and pulled Jackie up by her arm, nudging her back towards the library entrance.
“Okay, okay, I’ll love you and leave you.”
“I’ll see you later, hey?”
“Text me!” Jackie blew them a kiss and went back to the library, and Nat’s eyes widened.
“Fuck,” she realised, running a stressed hand through her hair, “I didn’t get her number, or her Instagram, or her… Snapchat? Uh, Facebook Messenger? What are you supposed to get these days? TikTok? Discord?”
"Not Discord," said Van, following Nat as she collected her bike from the bike rack. She watched as Nat fiddled with the rusty but trusty padlock, freeing her bike from its imprisonment, only to push it along the sidewalk. “Instagram’s usually your safest bet,” said Van, adjusting her bag more comfortably on her shoulders as they began to walk in the direction of The Greasy Spoon — so Nat could only conclude that they would end up in The Greasy Spoon, because they always did. Or, at least, they always did when Tai wasn’t around. Her taste was a little more… high-end, and The Greasy Spoon was anything but. Nat, living paycheck to paycheck, was more than okay with that; it hadn’t given her food poisoning yet, so what was there to complain about? “But that’s assuming she’s an Instagram kinda girl. She might not be. She might be too cool for Instagram, like you.”
“I have Instagram,” Nat defended herself.
“Yeah, a photography one, not a personal one.”
“Because I’m too cool for Instagram,” she joked. “But I have to network and promote myself and shit, unfortunately. Hey! Watch it,” she snapped as a stray frat bro bumped into her precious bike. She was sensitive about her bike. Aside from clothes and TaiVan, it was pretty much the only thing she’d brought from home, and, in fact, it was a little conflicting. The bike was several sizes too small for her at this point considering it was from when she was a kid, and while home wasn’t a place she liked to remember the existence of often, all the decent memories she had of it were from her younger days, biking round the trailer park for hours on end, and even before that, her dad teaching her how to ride it when it was several sizes too big, before he became a complete asshole, and before he had a hole in his head.
Useless.
“Well, hey, you know what, if it’s meant to be, you’ll see her again,” said Van, snapping Nat back into the present. “I mean, she’s buddies with Laura Lee. The odds are in your favour… not that they really did much for Katniss, but, you know.”
“I hope you’re right,” sighed Nat, eyeing the nearest sorority house and absently wondering if Lottie was a sorority girl. From their brief interaction, she didn’t seem like it — or maybe Nat just hoped that was the case, because the only sorority girls she could really put up with were Jackie and Mari.
They arrived at The Greasy Spoon without conferring, both of them naturally angling towards the steps, and as they entered, they were greeted, as usual, with a grunt from Janice, the chain-smoking waitress who looked at least sixty but was really forty-something. Nat followed Van to their usual booth in the corner and simply waved at Janice, who knew their orders by heart now.
“Okay, get Instagram up,” instructed Van. “And look lively about it. Come on!” She snapped her fingers impatiently.
“Oh my god, get off my dick,” Nat mumbled, doing as asked commanded. She whipped out her cracked iPhone and opened Instagram, where she ignored all the stories posted, including ones by Jackie and Mari, and navigated to the discover page, where she then ignored hairless cats, a black and white picture of Jim Morrison, and a reel of a fat raccoon being tickled, and typed in ‘Lottie’ to the search, only to pause. “I don’t know her last name.”
“What?”
“I don’t know her last name.”
“Give me that,” sighed Van, snatching the phone from Nat’s grasp. “You’re such an amateur.”
And it wasn’t that Nat didn’t trust Van or anything, but she asked cautiously, “What are you doing?”
“Checking Laura Lee’s following list, obviously.”
“Oh.” Nat blinked dumbly. “Obviously.”
“Ah, here.” Van nodded and glanced up at her with a self-satisfied smirk. “That was easy. Lottie Matthews. Huh.” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “Nat Matthews. Natalie Matthews. Natalie Matthews-Scatorccio. Natalie Scatorccio-Matthews—”
Nat rolled her eyes. “Are you done?”
“Well, yeah. I don’t think there are any other options, so… Here.” She slid Nat’s phone across the sticky table. “Have a look for yourself.”
And Nat tried to take a look — really, she did — but her stupid, old, cracked, and now sticky phone crashed, the screen freezing and taking her back to her home screen (a picture of their shared apartment cat, Squidge, who was ginger and loud, just like his mother (Van, if that wasn’t obvious)). “This fucking phone,” she complained. After giving it a moment to catch its breath, she went back on Instagram. “What was her user?”
“‘lottiematthews’ — simple, but effective, right?”
“Totally,” Nat murmured, typing in the user and searching for her. And there she was: lottiematthews — or rather, Lottie Matthews.
“She’s cute.”
Nat gasped, realising Janice was looking over her shoulder at her phone. “Shit, Janice, you nosy asshole — can you wear a bell or something?”
Janice set down their milkshakes — vanilla for Nat, strawberry for Van — some of it spilling over, making the sticky table even stickier, no doubt. “Yeah, yeah. Your food’ll be out soon,” she said in her smokes-way-too-many-cigarettes rasp. And then she turned around and hobbled away, because Janice was a simple woman.
And she was right, too. Not that Nat wasn’t already very much aware of the fact considering she’d seen Lottie in person, but Lottie was, as Janice said, cute. Pretty. Beautiful, even. Her profile was certainly “aesthetic”, boasting only a handful of pictures, featuring nature shots, polaroids, books, and some selfies with really good lighting, which Nat could appreciate.
She had no bio, 2,000 followers (only following 300 in return), and—
“Why the fuck does Travis follow her?”
Van shrugged, sipping her milkshake. “Fuck if I know. She seems cool though, right? Kinda mystical. Whimsical? Maybe a little pretentious, but aren't we all? Or so Jackie says.”
“Sure, yeah, she seems cool as fuck,” said Nat, somewhat distracted as she stared at a picture of Lottie holding up an expensive-looking camera, her dark brown eyes peeking over it. “Is that a Leica?” Nat mumbled to herself, her eyes widening as she noticed the small red logo by Lottie’s finger. “Also rich as fuck, it looks like,” she said without looking up at Van.
“Well, hey. All the more reason to shoot your shot. Who wouldn’t want a sugar mommy?”
Nat shrugged, still not taking her gaze off the picture. “People with self-respect?”
“Meh.”
Nat rolled her eyes and then proceeded to spend the next two minutes selecting each of Lottie’s posts individually and scrutinising them. Last summer, she’d visited Mexico, eyes bright, skin bronze, clad in various complicated-looking bikinis that Nat was sure must leave odd tan lines. A post from January depicted her in Aspen, which Nat knew was where the fancy people did their skiing (or at least, took their pictures in their brightly-coloured ski gear before drinking their body weight in Aperol spritzes or whatever). Another post simply showed her hand holding a book, Women Who Run With the Wolves — was she into werewolves? With the alphas and omegas and mates and shit? — in front of a table at what look like a café, probably in Paris or somewhere like that, and there was a cup of coffee and a pack of cigarettes on the silver table (to which Nat’s first thought was perfect, she could bump one off her, or lend Lottie her ‘I <3 boobies’ lighter as an excuse to talk to her. Her second thought was something along the lines of oh no, her health). And then there was a post from Switzerland—
“Kids these days and their gadgets…” scoffed Van. Nat blinked, remembering she was in public, and, in fact, in the presence of another human being. “If I hold my phone by my head and play a Subway Surfers video, will you pay attention to me? Or would you prefer Minecraft?”
Nat grinned. Actually, she preferred the carpet cleaning videos. “Neither.”
“What, am I really not entertaining enough for you?”
“‘Course you are. You’re like my own personal clown. You already have the hair for it. All you need is a big red nose.” And she reached across the table — mindful of the milkshakes — and booped Van’s nose, because what else would she do?
“I’ll bite you.”
“I’ll like it.” Nat snickered. “But don’t tell Tai. Okay, I’m gonna see if poli sci bathroom guy complained that I didn’t show… or Jackie, I guess.”
“See? You do enjoy Crushgers.”
“I said it’s dumb. I didn’t say it’s not entertaining.” She switched to Facebook — a rarely used app — and searched for ‘Crushgers’. The first post that came up said ‘#Crushgers2285 — re #Crushgers2282 hot blonde from 3rd floor here. Not interested I have a gf sorry’.
“What the fuck.”
“What?”
“Jackie!” Nat realised suddenly. “She fucking sent a response to the poli sci bathroom guy.” She frowned. “But she said she has a girlfriend. Jackie doesn’t have a girlfriend.”
Van shot her a look.
Nat corrected herself: “Jackie doesn’t know she has a girlfriend.”
“Maybe she just wants whoever it is off her back… Well, your back, really.”
“Right, my back,” Nat mumbled, distracted as she began to read a new confession that was just posted. ‘#Crushgers2286 — NFS, nearly everybody gets twitterpated in the springtime. For example: you’re walking along, minding your own business. You’re looking neither to the left, nor to the right, when all of a sudden, you run smack into a pretty face. Woo-woo! You begin to get weak in the knees. Your head’s in a whirl. And then you feel light as a feather, and before you know it, you’re walking on air. And then, you know what? You’re knocked for a loop, and you completely lose your head! … Oh my god… they were right. I’m a homo!’
“The hell?” she muttered. “Someone sent in a fucking novel. It’s not even spring.” She flipped her phone around to show Van, who grimaced.
“I’m not reading all that. Happy for them, or sad that happened, et cetera, et cetera.” She waved Nat’s phone away. “Let’s talk business. I’m serious. What’s the first step of ‘Operation: No Longer a Born-Again Virgin’?
Nat shrugged. “Probably ‘have sex’?”
Van shook her head, disappointed. “Let me rephrase — what’s the first step of ‘Operation: Charm Lottie Matthews, Sire Her Children/Cats, and Grow Old Together in a Mossy Castle’?”
“Sire? What are we, fuckin’ vampires?”
Van threw her arms up in disbelief. “Is that all you got from that?”
“This is ridiculous.”
Van stared at her. Nat stared back defiantly.
…
…
…
“Fuck, fine! The first step is…”
☾𖤓☾𖤓☾𖤓☾𖤓