Chapter Text
The bass was already shaking the walls when Clarke stepped through the threshold of the house, the scent of sweat, cheap cologne, and something burning (probably weed) thick in the air. Her white sneakers squeaked slightly against the sticky floor, littered with red solo cups and half-soggy napkins. But none of that mattered, not when Raven had pulled her out of pre-semester prep mode and Octavia had dared her with that look in her eyes.
“You’re only young once, Griffin,” Octavia had said, tugging at Clarke’s denim skirt until it hit the “party appropriate” level.
Clarke tugged her blonde ponytail a little tighter and gave the packed living room a once-over. Her eyes caught on the cluster of guys in the corner, all hyped over some drinking game, and then to the couch where a couple made out so hard it was borderline impressive. She exhaled slowly, fighting the natural urge to retreat. She could be home color-coding her AP Lit folder. But instead, she was here, in someone’s overly air-conditioned McMansion with her best friends and a warm buzz building behind her ribs.
“Drink?” Raven asked, flashing a mischievous smile. Her eyeliner was fierce tonight, dark wings sharp enough to cut.
“Sure. Just one.”
“Famous last words,” Octavia muttered, already slipping away into the crowd with the ease of a girl who thrived in chaos.
Clarke followed Raven to the kitchen, where the drinks table looked like a science experiment gone rogue. Jungle juice. Vodka. Something questionable in a Mason jar. She chose a half-full beer instead, already regretting it before the first sip.
“I don’t know why I let you two talk me into this,” Clarke said, leaning against the granite countertop.
Raven rolled her eyes. “Because you’re not just the straight-A student, or the cheer captain, or the future Ivy Leaguer with the golden-boy boyfriend. You’re also Clarke freaking Griffin, who needs to loosen up before the madness begins.”
“She’s not wrong,” said Octavia, returning with a tequila shot and a guy trailing behind her like a loyal puppy. She ignored him completely and handed Clarke the shot instead. “You’re one perfect report card away from spontaneous combustion.”
Clarke took the shot reluctantly, tossing it back with a wince. “Burns,” she hissed.
“That’s the point,” Raven said, raising her cup. “To the last night of summer.”
“To no regrets,” Octavia added.
“To tomorrow not sucking,” Clarke finished.
The three girls clinked cups and tilted them back, and for the first time all summer, Clarke felt… light. Untethered. Free.
She drifted through the party with them for a while—dodging sweaty dancers, catching glimpses of football teammates she recognized from school, offering polite smiles to people she didn’t know. She kept checking her phone, waiting for Finn to text, but he was out of town with his dad in Vermont. Probably asleep already.
At one point, someone turned on a remix of a song she knew from cheer practice, and her muscle memory kicked in. She danced. She laughed. She let herself be.
And then, just as she spun away from the group to grab some water, she ran straight into someone.
“Oof—sorry!” Clarke exclaimed, steadying herself.
“It’s okay,” the girl said, voice smooth but amused. “Didn’t mean to get in your way.”
Clarke looked up, and… stalled.
The girl standing in front of her was striking. Olive-toned skin, high cheekbones, deep green eyes framed by sharp liner and even sharper bone structure. Her dark brown hair was pulled into a high knot, a single streak loose and brushing her collarbone. She wasn’t dressed like anyone else at the party. Combat boots, fitted black jeans, and a cropped army-green jacket over a plain white tee.
“I haven’t seen you around,” Clarke said before she could stop herself.
“That’s because I haven’t been around,” the girl said, a slight smile pulling at her lips. “I’m transferring to Arkadia High this year. Starting Monday.”
“Oh.” Clarke blinked, trying to catch up. “Well… welcome. You picked an interesting way to make a first impression.”
The girl smirked. “So did you.”
Clarke laughed, cheeks heating. “I’m Clarke.”
“Lexa.”
There was a beat. A hum in the air. Lexa’s eyes flicked down to Clarke’s mouth before coming back up, subtle, but enough to set off alarms somewhere in Clarke’s brain that she was definitely trying to ignore.
Lexa leaned in slightly, voice quiet but confident. “So… Clarke. You always crash into girls at parties or did I get lucky?”
Clarke’s breath caught in her throat. “I, uh—” She laughed nervously, brushing her hair behind her ear. “I was actually looking for my boyfriend.”
Lexa blinked, but she didn’t falter. “Ah. Boyfriend. Got it.” She straightened, smile softening into something more genuine. “He’s lucky.”
Clarke didn’t know what to say to that.
Lexa tucked her hands into her pockets. “Well, I should find my friends before they think I bailed. But I hope I see you around.”
Clarke nodded, trying not to look too dazed. “Yeah. Me too.”
Lexa gave her one last look—half smirk, half something else and disappeared into the crowd.
Clarke stood there for a second, heartbeat uneven, face warm. She definitely needed water.
Or maybe… more tequila.
Clarke pushed through the crowd, her half-empty beer sloshing in her hand as she scanned the chaotic living room. Her buzz had dulled since her run-in with Lexa, replaced by a pit in her stomach she couldn’t explain. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe nerves. But mostly, she just wanted to see Finn, ground herself in something familiar.
Her boyfriend had promised to be back in town by tonight. He told her he might swing by the party late. Clarke had checked her phone twice already, no text. No missed call. Still, something made her move through the house like she knew.
And then she saw him.
Half-hidden by the tall speakers and the edge of the kitchen island, Finn Collins was pressed against the wall—his hands tangled in the hair of a girl Clarke didn’t recognize, her arms wrapped around his neck, their mouths fused together like no one else existed.
Time stopped.
Then rage replaced oxygen.
Clarke stormed forward, not even feeling the cup in her hand until it splashed warm beer across Finn’s shoulder, soaking his shirt and the back of the other girl’s neck.
He jerked back instantly, eyes wide. “Clarke—what the hell?”
“You cheating piece of shit,” she snapped, her voice loud enough to cut through the music, slicing the air like broken glass. “This is why you weren’t answering your phone?”
The girl backed away, muttering an apology to no one in particular as she disappeared into the crowd. Finn wiped his face, stunned. “It’s not what it looked like—”
“Oh, don’t even try that,” Clarke cut him off. “I literally just saw your tongue halfway down her throat. I trusted you.”
Heads were turning now. People had stopped dancing. Conversations slowed. A circle was forming around them, but Clarke didn’t care.
“Was Vermont a lie too? Or did your dad just bring a plus-one for the family disgrace?”
“Clarke, you’re overreacting—“
“No,” she snapped. “I’m not. We’re done.”
“Clarke—”
She shoved her empty cup into his chest with force. “Lose my number, Finn.”
And with that, she turned and shoved through the stunned circle of onlookers, tears burning at the corners of her eyes.
“Clarke!”
She didn’t have to look. Raven’s voice was unmistakable. Then Octavia was at her other side, both of them moving fast to catch up as Clarke pushed her way out the front door and into the humid summer night.
The air outside was thick, the porch lights casting everything in a hazy gold. Clarke stumbled toward the railing, gripping it hard.
“Clarke—hey, hey, it’s okay, just breathe,” Raven said quickly, sliding an arm around her waist.
But Clarke was already doubled over, chest tight, stomach flipping.
She barely made it to the edge of the porch before she vomited over the railing, retching until her throat burned and her knees buckled.
Octavia was there instantly, rubbing her back while Raven pulled her hair out of her face.
“God, I’m such an idiot,” Clarke choked, wiping her mouth with a trembling hand. “I should’ve known. He’s been off for weeks, I just didn’t want to see it.”
“You’re not an idiot,” Raven said, firm but gentle. “He is. He’s a complete dumbass.”
“I threw a drink on him. In front of everyone.” Clarke sniffed, cheeks wet and sticky from tears and sweat.
“Good,” Octavia said, her voice fierce. “You should’ve thrown the whole damn cooler.”
Clarke gave a broken laugh, even as her stomach twisted again. “I don’t even know who I am without him. He was just… always there.”
“Well,” Raven said, crouching beside her. “Now you get to figure that out. And you don’t have to do it alone.”
Clarke looked up at them, eyes rimmed red, mascara smudged beneath her lashes.
She didn’t feel like the straight-A student or the cheer captain right now.
She felt like a mess.
But she wasn’t alone.
—
Monday morning hit like a brick.
Clarke had barely slept. Her alarm had gone off too early, her eyeliner was uneven, and her stomach was still tangled with the aftermath of Saturday night. There were at least three different group chats circulating about the party, two of them mentioning her by name. Clarke Griffin, captain of the cheer team, golden girl, throwing a drink at Finn Collins in front of half the school? It was the kind of gossip people salivated over.
She didn’t even try to pretend she didn’t care.
With her shoulders squared and jaw clenched, Clarke walked through the front doors of Arkadia High like she had something to prove. Because maybe she did. That she wasn’t going to break. That she could still run this place even if her perfectly curated world had cracked just a little.
Her first period, AP U.S. History, was halfway across the building, and thanks to a forgotten schedule printout and a dead phone, she was officially late.
She slipped into the classroom five minutes after the bell, just as Mr. Pike was already halfway into a dramatic retelling of the Federalist Papers. His head snapped toward the door as it creaked open.
“Miss… Griffin,” he said, squinting at the attendance sheet in his hand. “We start on time in AP classes. That means before the bell.”
Clarke nodded quickly, cheeks heating. “I’m sorry. Won’t happen again.”
Mr. Pike gave a look like he wasn’t convinced but gestured vaguely toward the room. “Find a seat. Quietly.”
Clarke scanned the classroom. Every desk was already taken, except one. Back row, left side. Next to someone sitting with one ankle propped on her knee, pen lazily tapping the edge of a closed notebook.
Lexa.
Clarke hesitated for a second too long. Lexa looked up. Their eyes met.
The corner of Lexa’s mouth twitched. Of course, Clarke thought grimly. She made her way toward the seat, trying to ignore the prickle crawling up her spine.
“Hey,” Clarke whispered as she slid into the chair.
Lexa didn’t turn. “Thought you were looking for your boyfriend.”
Clarke bit back a groan. “Yeah. About that…” She exhaled, pulling out her notebook and avoiding Lexa’s gaze. “Turns out he was preoccupied.”
Lexa glanced at her then—quick but sharp. “Sorry,” she said, and it actually sounded like she meant it.
Clarke shrugged. “Me too.”
Before she could say anything else, Mr. Pike raised his voice. “Miss Griffin, if you’re finished catching up on your social life, feel free to join the rest of us in 1776.”
A few heads turned. Clarke flushed.
“Yes, sir.”
She opened her notebook and clicked her pen, forcing herself to focus on the lecture.
Lexa didn’t say another word, but Clarke could feel her presence beside her. Calm, unreadable, somehow louder than anyone else in the room without making a sound.
And as Mr. Pike ranted about Hamilton and Jefferson, Clarke scribbled her notes as fast as she could, all the while pretending she wasn’t hyper-aware of the girl next to her.
The girl she definitely hadn’t planned on seeing again.
And now? She’d be seeing her every morning.
All semester. Great.
The bell rang like a mercy kill.
Clarke shoved her notebook into her bag and stood up so quickly her chair scraped across the floor. She didn’t say anything to Lexa, she couldn’t. Not with the bitter taste already rising in her throat.
She stepped into the hallway, head down, focused on her locker number like tunnel vision would save her from what the universe inevitably had planned.
But she didn’t even make it five steps.
Right across from the APUSH classroom, leaning casually against locker 214, was Finn.
And next to him, with him, was the same girl from the party. The one Clarke had seen with her hands all over him. They were laughing. She twirled a strand of her hair. Finn leaned in closer. His smile was the one Clarke used to believe was meant only for her.
Her stomach dropped so fast she thought she might be sick right there in the hallway. The noise around her faded into static. It felt like someone had cracked her ribs open and replaced her heart with ice water.
She turned sharply and walked the other direction, her pace quickening with every step until she burst through the bathroom door and locked it behind her.
Empty. Thank god.
Clarke stumbled to the sink and gripped the edge like it might keep her from falling apart. She bowed her head, trying to steady her breathing.
In. Out. Just breathe. You’re fine. You’re fine.
But she wasn’t fine.
She hadn’t been fine since that party. Since that kiss she couldn’t unsee. Since the look on Finn’s face afterward, surprised, not guilty.
The door creaked behind her.
Clarke didn’t look up. “It’s occupied,” she snapped, her voice cracking.
But instead of retreating, the person stepped inside.
“You always run this fast after class?” came a calm, familiar voice.
Clarke lifted her head and caught Lexa’s reflection in the mirror behind her. She was leaning casually against the tiled wall, arms crossed, like she belonged there. Like the rules didn’t apply to her.
Clarke let out a breathy, sarcastic laugh and wiped at her eyes. “Oh, I’m fantastic. Don’t mind me, just having a full-on emotional breakdown before second period.”
Lexa didn’t flinch. “I saw him. Out in the hall.”
Clarke blinked. Her voice came out flat. “Of course you did. Because apparently this is just my new thing now, public humiliation in waves.”
Lexa took a slow step closer, her tone softening. “What he did… that was a dick move. You didn’t deserve it.”
Clarke bit her lip, the words thick in her throat. She looked away, studying the cracks in the porcelain sink. “I keep thinking it’ll stop hurting. Like I’ll wake up and it won’t feel like someone’s twisting a knife in my chest.”
“You don’t get over someone like that in two days,” Lexa said gently. “Especially when they screw you over that publicly.”
Clarke nodded absently, swallowing hard. Then her jaw tensed. “I just… I want him to feel it. What I’m feeling right now. I want him to hurt.”
Lexa was quiet for a moment. “Revenge?” she asked, not judging. Just asking.
Clarke met her gaze in the mirror. “Not revenge. Just… justice. Something to balance the scales.”
Lexa gave a slow nod, her lips tugging into a slight, intrigued smile. “Well,” she said thoughtfully, “lucky for you, I’m pretty good at balancing scales.”
Clarke turned to face her fully, still wiping her palms down her jeans. “What—are you offering to help me get back at him?”
Lexa shrugged, eyes steady. “You want him to regret it, right?”
“Desperately.”
Lexa’s smile deepened into something sly, but her tone stayed level. “Then we’ll make sure he does.”
Clarke raised a brow. “And why would you help me?”
Lexa tilted her head, gaze never wavering. “Because watching a smug guy crash and burn? That’s a Monday morning I wouldn’t mind sitting through.”
Clarke huffed out a half-laugh, surprised by it.
Maybe Lexa was dangerous. Maybe she was chaos wrapped in calm.
But right now?
Clarke didn’t mind the idea of being a little reckless.
Especially if it meant Finn Collins finally got what was coming to him.
Clarke crossed her arms, still bracing herself against the sink as she eyed Lexa carefully. “Okay… so what exactly do you have in mind?”
Lexa stepped forward slowly, measured, calm. Each footstep echoed faintly off the tile, and Clarke couldn’t help but notice the quiet intensity she moved with, like every word and movement was calculated but effortless. When Lexa stopped, she was close. Too close. Just a breath away, her reflection now replaced by the real thing.
Lexa tilted her head slightly, a glint of mischief flickering in her eyes. “We date.”
Clarke blinked. “We what?”
Lexa didn’t back off. “Publicly. Obviously. Make it believable. You and me, walking the halls like we’re suddenly obsessed with each other.”
Clarke let out an incredulous, amused laugh, raising an eyebrow. “I barely know you.”
Lexa gave a small smirk. “That’s the point. You don’t have to know me. It’s not real.”
Clarke stared at her, waiting for more.
Lexa continued, calm and smooth. “We fake it. Just long enough for people to talk. Long enough for him to notice. And when it’s run its course, we have an ‘amicable’ breakup. No hard feelings. Clean exit.”
Clarke leaned back slightly, heart still hammering from earlier, but now from something entirely different. “So this is your grand plan?” she asked, half-laughing again. “Pretend to date and break his fragile little ego?”
Lexa shrugged. “You want him to feel what you felt, right? Let him watch someone else give you attention. Let him sit in it. Wonder if he ever really mattered.”
Clarke hesitated. It was petty. Wildly immature. Exactly the kind of drama she usually avoided like the plague.
But it also felt… empowering. Maybe a little fun. Maybe the kind of reckless she needed to be right now.
She looked up at Lexa, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “We’d have to make it believable. Like, really believable.”
Lexa nodded once. “I don’t do half-measures.”
Clarke paused, chewing the inside of her cheek. Then slowly, she nodded. “Okay. We start this weekend.”
Lexa’s smirk turned into something just a little smug. “Perfect.”
She reached into the pocket of her jacket, pulled out a pen, and took Clarke’s wrist gently, scribbling ten digits across her skin in bold black ink.
“Text me,” Lexa said simply, capping the pen again. “We’ll plan.”
Clarke looked down at the number on her arm. When she looked up again, Lexa was already walking toward the door.
Just before she slipped out, Lexa glanced back over her shoulder. “Try not to fall for me too hard, Clarke.”
And with that, she disappeared into the hallway, leaving Clarke alone with the number, the idea, and the adrenaline rush of something new beginning.
Something dangerous.
And something that, for the first time in days, made her smile.
—
The sun was still high and merciless, casting golden streaks across the artificial turf. Clarke dropped into a lunge, the heat soaking through her leggings as she stretched out her hamstrings, arms lifted high above her head. Music blared from a small speaker near the bleachers, and the familiar rhythm of cleats and sneakers pounding the ground filled the air.
Cheer practice had just started, the squad spread out across the field in various stages of warming up. Octavia plopped down beside her, twisting her long dark hair into a high ponytail before dropping into a split like it was nothing.
“How’s your stomach? You eat today or are we still on a diet of rage and heartbreak?” Octavia asked casually.
Clarke rolled her eyes. “Had a protein bar. And a grudge. I’m surviving.”
Octavia smirked. “Better than I expected, honestly.”
Clarke exhaled slowly and shifted her position, folding forward to press her chest toward her knee. “You know what’s weird? I am okay. Or at least…I think I’m on my way there.”
“Love to hear it. Character development.”
Clarke chuckled, her gaze drifting across the field out of habit. She froze.
On the far side of the turf, just past the 40-yard line, the varsity girls’ soccer team was running drills. Quick footwork, passes, sprints. And right at the center of it all was Lexa.
She was in motion, weaving between cones with surgical precision, her footwork sharp and clean. Her ponytail bounced behind her as she moved, and she shouted something to a teammate with the commanding ease of someone already respected.
Clarke blinked. Of course she played varsity. And of course, she looked like she’d been doing it her entire life.
“Well, well,” Octavia said, noticing Clarke’s stare. “You’re staring at her like you’ve already made her a Spotify playlist. Who is she?”
Clarke didn’t look away. “Her name’s Lexa. She’s new.”
Octavia whistled low. “Damn. Arkadia really upgraded.”
Clarke finally pulled her gaze away, wiping her forehead with the edge of her sleeve. “She’s the one I met at the party.”
“The flirty mystery girl?”
“That’s the one.”
“And?”
Clarke leaned back onto her palms, trying to sound nonchalant. “She found me in the bathroom after I saw Finn flirting with that girl. Said I didn’t deserve it. That he’s a dick.”
“She’s not wrong,” Octavia said immediately.
“And then…” Clarke hesitated. “She offered to help me get back at him.”
Octavia raised a brow. “How?”
Clarke glanced back toward Lexa, who was now laughing with one of her teammates, cheeks flushed from the sun and the run. “By pretending to date me.”
Octavia straightened. “What?”
Clarke held up a hand. “Fake. Just to throw Finn off. Make him jealous. And then we break it off in a week or two. No drama.”
“Oh, Clarke,” Octavia muttered, half-exasperated, half-impressed. “This is either going to be a disaster… or incredible.”
“I haven’t decided which yet,” Clarke admitted. “But it felt… kind of perfect in the moment. Like, if I have to sit in this mess, I might as well look like I’m winning.”
Octavia snorted. “Well, if you’re gonna fake date someone, you could do worse than that,” she said, nodding back toward the soccer field.
Clarke followed her gaze again. Lexa had just scored in a scrimmage, pulling her shirt up slightly to wipe her face.
Clarke blinked. Her throat felt suddenly dry.
“…Yeah,” she murmured. “I know.”
—
The front door creaked open with a familiar groan as Clarke stepped into the house, the late afternoon sun casting a pale rectangle of light across the entryway. She dropped her duffel bag by the stairs, her body still humming with the soreness of practice and the tight coil of emotions she’d been shoving down all day.
The smell of garlic and onions greeted her, followed by the soft clink of dishes in the kitchen.
“Hi, sweetheart,” Abby called from around the corner. “You’re late.”
Clarke forced a tired smile as she walked in. Her mom was at the stove, her hair pulled into a messy bun, sleeves rolled up, sautéing something in a pan. The familiar domesticity of it all almost made Clarke feel normal.
Almost.
“Practice ran long,” Clarke mumbled, opening the fridge for a water bottle.
“How was it?” Abby asked, glancing over her shoulder. “School? Practice?”
Clarke shrugged, uncapping the bottle. “Fine.”
Abby turned off the burner and gave her daughter a full look now. “That’s your everything’s definitely not fine voice.”
Clarke avoided her mother’s eyes, taking a long sip instead.
“Clarke,” Abby said gently. “What’s going on?”
Clarke hesitated, her fingers tightening around the water bottle. For a second, she thought about lying. About skating around it like she always did when things felt too messy to say out loud.
But then her shoulders dropped. And the weight of the last few days caught up with her.
“Finn cheated on me,” she said quietly, her voice so small it didn’t even sound like hers.
Abby’s expression shifted instantly, softening with understanding. “Oh, honey…”
“It happened at the party,” Clarke added, eyes still fixed on the countertop. “I caught him. With someone else.”
Abby stepped closer and placed a comforting hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”
Clarke nodded, swallowing hard. “It’s whatever. I threw a drink on him and made a scene. So I guess that’s something.”
“That’s definitely something,” Abby said with a small, supportive smile. “Still… I know it hurts. And I hate that someone made you feel like this.”
Clarke finally looked at her mom, her voice steadier now. “Thanks.”
“You don’t have to be strong all the time, you know. Not with me.”
“I know,” Clarke said softly.
Abby gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Dinner’ll be ready in twenty. You want to help me dice these tomatoes?”
Clarke offered a faint smile. “Think I’m just gonna shower first. Got turf in places turf shouldn’t be.”
“Alright,” Abby said, brushing a strand of hair behind Clarke’s ear. “I’m here if you need to talk.”
Clarke nodded and headed for the stairs, the water bottle still in hand. As she climbed each step, she let herself breathe a little easier.
She still had bruises. Still felt raw.
But for now, she had clean water, a safe home, and a long, hot shower waiting. And homework, of course. Because even when everything else fell apart, school didn’t care.
After a hot shower and a hastily scarfed-down plate of pasta, Clarke finally retreated to the quiet comfort of her bedroom. The overhead light was off, her bedside lamp casting a soft golden glow over her desk and the crumpled cheer uniform slung over the back of her chair.
She sat cross-legged on her bed, hair damp and pulled into a lazy bun, her AP English notebook open in front of her. A dog-eared copy of The Crucible sat nearby, corners marked with sticky notes and half-underlined quotes. Clarke stared at the prompt for a few seconds longer than necessary, something about guilt and collective morality, and tried to convince herself she actually cared about Puritan hysteria right now.
Her phone buzzed next to her thigh.
She glanced at the screen.
Lexa:
So, strategist—what’s the plan for this weekend?
Clarke blinked. A small smile tugged at her lips before she could stop it. She picked up the phone, fingers hovering for a moment before she started typing.
Clarke:
Jasper’s throwing a party Friday night. Probably the first big one since school started.
She hit send. Three dots appeared almost immediately.
Lexa:
Perfect. Sounds like a great opportunity to “launch” this little project of ours.
Clarke smirked at the choice of words. Leave it to Lexa to make their fake relationship sound like a military operation.
Clarke:
Exactly. Big crowd. Everyone who matters will be there. It’ll spread fast.
There was a pause this time. Long enough for Clarke to glance back at her open notebook, then back to the screen, wondering if she’d said something weird.
Lexa:
You sure you’re okay with this? We don’t have to go full public spectacle right away.
Clarke’s fingers stilled. For someone who played things so cool, Lexa had a habit of surprising her with unexpected softness.
Clarke:
I want to. It’s time he sees what he lost.
Another pause. Then:
Lexa:
Then let’s make it count.
Clarke leaned back into her pillows, her heart ticking a little faster now. Less from nerves, more from anticipation.
Clarke:
See you Friday, fake girlfriend.
Lexa:
Can’t wait, fake girlfriend. 💚
Clarke stared at the message for a moment too long, the tiniest flutter in her stomach catching her off guard.
She shook her head and turned back to her homework, but The Crucible was already lost to the background. Because whatever this was turning into, it had just officially begun.
And the countdown to Friday night had started.