#I just update my university email even though it's saturday

[losingluckynumbers]

New short(ish) hair and how I regret every life decision ever that has led me to where I am today

Something unsurprising happened: I did a stupid thing. I cut my hair. I got a “low bob”/“lob”. (Well, a hairdresser cut it  - even I’m not that stupid, except that I am, but we’ll get to it.) Now when straightened it just about touches my shoulders. My hair hasn’t been this short in about 15 years. I had this awkward phase in middle school when my hair was close to this length. It looked awful. A perm was included. Don’t ask. Nobody makes smart choices at that age. 

But most people learn from their mistakes. Clearly, I’m not one of them. (No I did not get a perm, even my idiocy has its limits.)

The full story filled with regret, burnt body parts, and self-loathing behind the cut.

Background: I had long hair but in terrible condition, the ends were practically dead and it was tangled 24/7 . So I figured hey, middle length cut is back in style and it’s advertised as the most low-maintenance cut ever, I want that! So what if it didn’t work out before and I ended up wearing my hair on a ponytail for the entire middle school - for a reason - maybe I just didn’t know how to style but I know better now. I was dreaming about those cool beachy waves you see everywhere. My hair is naturally curly, but not in a nice way (it is possible for hair to be curly and flat and totally unmanageable), and I never had the patience to use hot tools to curl my long hair. I always tried to straighten it as much as I could and that was all I could do to it. I wanted a change.

Mistake number one: Pinterest. NEVER EVER GO ON PINTEREST FOR HAIR INSPIRATION. Or instagram. Or look at celebrities. No you can’t pull that off. No you don’t have a personal stylist. Control yourself ffs. 

Mistake number two: cutting your hair will make it easier to style. WRONG. I figured if I got a cut that would allow me to tie it up when needed while being much shorter than it was, I could create all these pretty styles I couldn’t handle with my long stubborn hair. Ha ha HA. No. Now my hair is just short and stubborn - and therefore even more difficult to manage. Still dry, still rough, still flat. 

Mistake number three: not realising what cutting your hair will do to it. I kinda knew I have thick hair but it had been in such a bad condition for so long that I guess I forgot. However, once all that dead weight was cut off, it wasn’t replaced with shine and flow - it was replaced by even heavier weight of my thick hair on my neck - it’s not that thick on the sides, just in the back. Somebody please bring back mullets?

Mistake number four: ignoring your limitations. I have a really high forehead and a visible scar on it, so I need bangs of some sort. Always. The problem is, I hate bangs, and I never get heavy ones. But still, I always have bangs and I hate them. But I hate my forehead even more so there you go. Long or short hair, I can’t win. Also, naturally curly hair means layering is not really an option because it leads to multiple ends sticking out in every direction, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about that (I learnt the hard way). So I didn’t get layers this time. Thick hair. Heavy weight. See where I’m going with this?

Emotional breakdown: burnt all my fingers and both my ears with a curling wand. I spent all day yesterday trying to style my new hair: curl it, pin it up, straighten it, anything and everything. Watched a shitload of youtube tutorials. Nothing worked and I was in tears. I ended up trimming the ends myself last night (we’re literally talking about 2 a.m.), just to break them a little. I refuse to count this as a mistake because it actually helped a little bit, even if the affect would be purely psychological, I take it. I’ve never trimmed anything but my bangs before so thank God this didn’t result in a complete disaster or else I would be booking an over-priced emergency appointment to any hairdresser I could find while crying on the phone. (Disclaimer: I’m not encouraging anyone to cut their hair themselves. Just. Don’t. Do. It.)

Current situation: I need to start wearing hats. I hate my hair. I hate myself. I hate everything and everyone. I’m currently wearing a high bun held up by a thousand bobby pins and I intend to wear my hair like this for the next six months and/or stay at home (because I’m really not a hat person, who am I kidding). If I wear my hair down now it either looks like a triangle or a box - or both (this is also a thing that can happen). I have my official university graduation party on Friday and I’ll probably just pull a paper bag over my head, cut some eye-holes and... I don’t know. Perhaps one day I will accept the harsh fact that I can never style my hair to look nice - but today is not that day. Today just sucks.

SEND HELP.

[atlafan]

Part One - “Call me Jane.”

a/n: here’s part one of nanny!H, I’m very excited about this series. I’m not sure how many parts it’s going to be, so please don’t ask lmao. Once I know how many parts it’ll be, I’ll make a master post for it. I’m just too excited not at least share the first part because Harry is just too cute in this! Feedback and reblogs are super helpful, and keep me motivated, especially when it comes to writing series. (not proofread) You can support me here if you’re able!

Warnings: none...for now

Words: 4.1K

Pairing: Harry x OC (Jane Watson)

Master Post

Harry found himself in a real bind. He was twenty-six years old, had an early childhood education degree, and the daycare he worked at was going under. He had just been promoted a month prior too, how could things go wrong so quickly? Times like this he really hated that he stayed in the states. Childcare services weren’t nearly as fucked up back home. His dream was to save up enough money to open up his own pre-school at some point, but it was really tough.

There was this weird stigma that if adult men wanted to work with babies and toddlers then that made them a pedophile or something of the sort. That wasn’t the case with Harry. His minor in school was psychology because cognitive development intrigued him. He also loved babies and little ones. He loved watching them learn and discover.

Only now, he was without a job in an already struggling field. He and the other employees weren’t exactly given a big notice before they were told the business was going under. Harry mostly felt bad for the parents of the kids that had to find new child care centers. He knew he’d have to compete with his co-workers for any available jobs, and he knew they were bound to find places before him because they were women. It was their fault, and he knew it. He was experiencing a prejudice that they must face all the time.

He looked into Care.com, but none of the jobs on there seemed like long-term gigs, and he didn’t want to just be a glorified baby sitter. He figured if he could find a well paying nannying job, he could do that for a bit until finding a job at a new facility, or even set up his dream pre-school. During his search on Indeed, he saw a position for a live-in nanny – jackpot! Live-in meant long-term, and long-term meant lots of money. It also meant he could get rid of his apartment and not have to pay rent for a while. He clicked on the ad that was posted only a couple of weeks ago.

Live-in Nanny Needed for Help with Eight-Month-Old

Minimum requirements:

·        Bachelor’s in either early childhood education or elementary education

·        At least two years’ experience working babies/children

Three professional references required

Applicant is subject to thorough background check for the safety of the child and mother.

Other tasks as needed include:

·        Cooking

·        Light cleaning

·        Grocery shopping/running other errands

If applicant is selected, they will be paid a flat rate of $1600 bi-weekly, will live in “in-law” section of the house, and a car will be provided for them. A resume, cover letter, and three professional references may be sent directly to jpwatson@gmail.com

After reading everything over, this seemed like Harry’s best bet. Some of it seemed a little too good to be true, but this was a risk he needed to take right now. He just hoped the position hadn’t already been filled. That night he spent some time updating his LinkedIn, making sure all of his privacy settings were up to date on all of his social media, and then wrote out a resume and cover letter. The last part was his least favorite because he knew a proper resume and cover letter had to be curated to the specific job, and it made things all the more tedious. By the time he was done, it was late. He didn’t want to seem unprofessional, so he waited to send the email until the next morning.

Subject: Nannying Advert on Indeed

To: jpwatson@gmail.com

From: hes2194@gmail.com

Good morning,

My name is Harry and I’m interested in the nannying advert you’ve posted on Indeed. For the last four years I’ve been working at P.B. & J.’s Child Care Center, and was recently promoted to team lead. Unfortunately, the business itself couldn’t remain afloat, and I was laid off.

Attached are my resume and cover letter. I’d be happy to provide the three references if I end up being considered for the position.

Thank you for your time and consideration,

Harry

Treat People With Kindness

He closes his laptop with a satisfied sigh after proofreading his email ten different times before he hit send. He takes a sip from his coffee, and sits back on his sofa. Now all he had to do was wait.

//

There was radio silence for two days. Harry was starting to think he would need to keep job hunting. He had bills to pay, and the last thing he wanted to do was ask his parents for help. They already looked down on his profession as it was. If he had his own car he’d become an uber driver or something, but he didn’t so he couldn’t. Then, by some stroke of luck, at 4:55PM on a Thursday, he gets an email from the address he had been hoping to see pop up.

Subject: Re: Nannying Advert on Indeed

To: hes2194@gmail.com

From: jpwatson@gmail.com

Good evening Harry,

My name is Jane Watson, thank you so much for your application. My apologies it has taken me a couple of days to get back to you. I am usually more responsive, but things have been a little crazy at work as of late. Upon further review of your resume and over letter, I would like to offer you an interview this Saturday at noon, if you are available. I can be flexible if that day and time do not work for you.

If you are able to come, and are still interested in the position, I ask that you please bring your references with you. I will want to call them right away. I am sure you can understand me wanting to thoroughly look into you before letting you into my daughter’s life.

I look forward to hearing back from you soon.

All my best,

Jane

Harry responded to her right away, he didn’t care how eager he seemed. He told her Saturday at noon worked great, and that he would definitely have his references, and anything else he needed to provide. She emailed him back an hour or so later with her cell phone number and address. For the first time in a while, Harry felt like he could breathe again. He knew it wasn’t a done deal that he’d be getting the job, but he was being given a chance, and for that he was thankful.

//

He wanted to make a good first impression on Saturday, so he made sure to wash his hair in the shower, and use his good mousse so his hair would look more orderly. He shaved to give himself that clean and sleek look, this was not a day to appear scruffy. He knew he didn’t need to be overly dressed up, but he also knew that you’re supposed to dress for the job you want and not the job you have. He irons a pair of tan slacks and pairs it with a blue button up. Not to brag, but his bum looked great in these slacks, and it was giving him all the confidence in the world. He puts on a floral tie, just to show a bit of his personality, makes sure his nail polish isn’t chipped, and makes sure all of his rings are looking shiny. He takes an uber out to Jane’s house. It was in a gated community, which he was expecting since he looked up the house beforehand. He wondered what she or her husband did for work to live in a place like this. Or perhaps she inherited the home? Either way, he was excited.

He thanks the driver, and knocks on the door as he was instructed to do. A woman with silver hair that was up in a nice bun opens the door.

“Hello, you must be Mr. Styles.” She smiles.

“Yes, hello.” He smiles back.

“I’m MaryAnne, please come in.” She steps aside to let Harry in.

“Thank you.”

“Miss Watson is just pumping, but you can wait for her here in her office.” She leads Harry down a corridor where he meets a grand double door. MaryAnne opens them and shows him inside. “Make yourself comfortable, dear. Can I get you anything? Coffee, water, tea?”

“I’m all set, but thank you very much.”

The woman nods and leaves him in the room alone. He stays standing as he didn’t want to assume where he should be sitting. There was a gorgeous desk with two chairs on the other side, but there was also a small round table with four chairs around it in the corner. She clearly held a lot of meetings here, or so it would seem. To pass the time he looks over her bookshelves, scanning over what she might be into. She seemed to be into fiction, but he had never heard of any of the books on some of the shelves, or the author. She had several by the same person. Before he could look further, he heard the clacking of heels on the hardwood floors approaching him.

Everything stopped when she walked in. Jane had her hair up in a flowing ponytail, a white blouse covered her top half, he notices that the first few buttons were left undone, probably to help with her pumping, and she had a black pencil skirt on that just came to her knees. She was short, and a little voluptuous, not that Harry was checking her out.  

“Hello, Mr. Styles, I’m sorry to keep you waiting.” He goes to stick his hand out for her to shake, but she walks around him and sits down at her desk. “Please, have a seat.”

He swallows and sits down.

“Y-you can just call me Harry if you like, Mrs. Watson.”

“I’m a Miss not a missus.” She says as she takes out a folder with a few sheets in it and a pen. “It says here you graduated Summa Cum Laude from Lesley University. That’s an incredible place to get a degree in education.”

“Thank you, I got a pretty decent scholarship, it was my reach school. I minored in psychology as well. I did my practicum hours at a daycare center that specialized in caring for children with disabilities. So, I’ve worked with all sorts of children. I prefer working with infants and toddlers, though.”

“And why is that?” She looks at him, clicking her pen, ready to take notes.

“Well, I just have more fun with them, to be honest. I like watching them discover new things. My favorite thing to do while working in the baby room at my last job was working with the babies on their tummy times. It was always rewarding to watch them get stronger. I feel like I just bond with them better.”

“I need to ask you some personal questions since this is a live-in position.”

“Of course.” Harry nods.

“Are you in any sort of relationship with anyone?”

“No, I’m single.”

“Have you ever been arrested, or do you have any sort of criminal history?”

“No.”

“I’m not one to judge, I think everyone deserves a second chance, I just have to ask these sort of things.” She says.

“I don’t have a criminal record, Miss Watson.”

“History of drug use?”

“I smoked a bit of weed when I was younger, but I don’t anymore. An edible once in a while, maybe, but never when I’m on the clock.”

“Just marijuana?”

“I’ve done shrooms a few times, but nothing other than that. Stupid kid stuff.”

“Again, not judging. I’d prefer you don’t have any drugs in the house, unless they’re for medical use. I know edibles can be prescribed by doctors for anxiety and whatnot.” Harry nods at that. “What about alcohol? You’re twenty-six, you must enjoy a drink after a long day.”

“A glass of red once in a while, sure.” He nods. “But I’m not really a heavy drinker, I never have been. I’d say if anything I’m a social drinker, but you watch me carefully at a party you’ll notice that I nurse the same drink.” He smirks.

“I’m the same way. A little bit of a buzz is fun, but anything more can be a bit scary. I actually cannot remember the last time I had a real drink.” She looks off in thought.

“Well, can’t you drink now that the baby’s here?”

“And have to succumb to a pump and dump?” She scoffs. “No way, that would be a total waste. It’s torture enough to sit there while a machine sucks the milk out of my-“ She stops herself. “Sorry.” She shakes her head. “Anyways, your resume was impressive, and you were quite articulate in your cover letter. You’re the only candidate I’ve invited for an interview.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” She nods. “I really wanted someone with experience, not someone fresh out of college looking for a place to live. You’d really be okay with living here?”

“Honestly, you’d be doing me a favor. My long-term goal is to either have a daycare or pre-school of my own someday. Not having to pay rent for a while would really help me save up for that.”

“That’s an incredible goal to have, Harry.” She smiles, impressed by his ambition. “What questions do you have for me?”

“I just want to clarify, your daughter is eight months?” Jane nods. “And what’s her name?”

“Lilly.” Jane smiles.

“That’s a beautiful name.” Harry smiles. “Why exactly do you need a live-in nanny?”

“I work a lot.” She sighs. “And I’m a single mom. I want her to always have someone here that she can depend on and feel comfortable with. Sometimes my work drags me out in the middle of the night, or I have to take a phone call at an odd hour. I just want someone else here in case I can’t be if something comes up.”

“So, her father’s not in the picture?”

“No.” Her features sour a bit. “He doesn’t even know she exists to be perfectly honest with you. I found out I was pregnant after we broke up, and I decided not to tell him about her. He was a deadbeat moocher, he would have been useless.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, but thank you for telling me. May I ask, how old are you?”

“Twenty-nine, does that matter?”

“No! No, I was just more so curious. You seem pretty successful to be in a home like this. In the advert, you stated I’d be given a car as well, that’s not exactly cheap.”

“You’ll be given access to one of my cars.” She says. “I’m not giving you a car, make no mistake about that.” She smirks. “I’m an author, a successful one.” Harry tries to think if he’s ever heard of a Jane Watson before, but he’s coming up blank. “You’ve never heard of me because I have a pen name. If it’s all the same, I don’t really want to share it with you. Not yet, anyways.”

“Sure…wait…are you offering me the job?”

“Not quite. I’d like you to meet my daughter. I want to see how she interacts with you.”

“I’d love to meet Lilly.” He smiles.

“Great, before we do that, do you have more questions?”

“Yes, who’s MaryAnne? Is she, like, a maid or housekeeper?”

“No.” Jane laughs. “She’s my personal assistant. I usually answer the door myself, but pumping took a bit longer than usual.”

“When did you publish your first work?”

“When I was twenty.” She smiles. “I was still in school, and I decided just to self-publish. It took off, and a few companies reached out to me. I eventually got an agent, and the rest was history. I’m a fast writer, I’m able to churn out more projects than most people, and for whatever reason they keep becoming hits. One of the reasons I travel a lot is that a couple of my works are being turned into television shows, and working out those contracts is a lot. I want to be a part of the process to make sure the stories are told correctly.”

“That’s incredible!”

“it is.” She nods. “I never thought I’d be a television producer, but here I am. I don’t really want Lilly around all that, so there’s another reason for having a live-in nanny.”

“This may seem like a silly question, but will I have time off?”

“Oh my goodness, of course! The salary is negotiable as well. You’ll have weekends off, as well as all bank and national holidays. You’ll also earn vacation time and sick leave like at any other job. You’ll be given a benefits package as well, if you need health insurance.”

“You…you provide stuff like that?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I?”

“I’ve just never heard of a nannying job quite like this before.” He blinks. “It feels too good to be true.”

“I’m just a firm believer in compensating someone properly. I believe in investing in the people you have.”

“Right.” He swallows. He almost starting to feel like he was going to be her sugar baby or something, but he obviously knew that wasn’t the case. “You asked me about my dating life, what about yours?”

“I’m also single. Lilly is my top priority, and then comes my work. I’m completely fulfilled as is.” She stands from her desk. “Come, I’ll give you a tour of the house, and of the in-law space, and then you can meet Lilly.”

“Okay.” He stands up and follows her out of the office.

She shows him the living room, which felt more like a study. There was an entertainment room with a huge flat screen, deluxe loungers, a pool table, and bar. She shows him to the kitchen which was equally as extravagant. She brings him upstairs to show him all of the bedrooms.

“This is Lilly’s room.” Jane says proudly.

“it’s beautiful, I love the light purple.”

“So do I.” She says. “My room is down the hall, don’t think you need a tour of that.” She laughs and they head back downstairs. “Here’s the inside entrance to the in-law, but there’s also an exterior entrance you can use…or if you have guests over.” Harry’s in awe of the space. It was larger than his apartment. “It’s a one bedroom flat essentially. There’s a full bath en suite, and there’s a half bath over there. Open concept kitchen and living area. It’s fully furnished as well. Feel free to decorate it however you like. I just ask that this space stays yours. There’s really no reason for you to bring Lilly in here, you know?”

“Sure, yeah. This is amazing.”

“I’m glad you like it. Let’s just hope Lilly like you.” Jane smirks, and they head back to the main part of the house, and into Lilly’s playroom. She was sitting with MaryAnne in a large rocking chair. “M, you can feel free to go back to your office if you like. Harry’s going to get acquainted with Lilly.”

“Of course.” MaryAnne stands up with the baby, and hands her over to Jane.

“She has an office here too?” Harry asks.

“Of course she does, and one of the guest rooms upstairs is hers to use when she needs it.” She kisses the top of her daughter’s head. “Lilly,” she coos, “I have someone I’d like you to meet.” She gestures for Harry to take her, and he happily does so.

“Hey, baby girl.” Harry coos. Bright hazel eyes look up at him in wonder. He lets her latch onto his index finger. “It’s so nice to meet you.” He looks at Jane. “She’s precious, Miss Watson.”

“Isn’t she?” Jane beams. “She’s really been enjoying her bouncy, and messing around with her blocks. I have some CD’s I like having her listen to as well. Oh! We did a paint with pudding night as a sensory play thing, it was a hoot.” She chuckles.

“Those are great, aren’t they? Very stimulating, and it teaches the child that sometimes messes are okay.” He looks down at Lilly and smiles. “May I sit with her in the rocking chair?”

“Please!” She gestures to it, and she sits down on the loveseat in the room. Harry sits down with Lilly, cradling her carefully. He adjusts her so she’s able to stand on his lap. She bounces herself and giggles. “Look at that!” Jane exclaims. “I love it when she does that.”

“She’s awfully sweet.” Harry smiles, and then he looks at Jane. “How much do you feed her?”

“I give her roughly twenty-four to thirty-two ounces a day. You’ll know how hungry she is or isn’t in the moment. I’ve started giving her pureed butternut squash, mashed bananas and strawberries, she’s got that puffed baby cereal as well. I’ve also started giving her ground chicken in really small doses just to get her some protein, but right now I’ve mostly been sticking to fruits and veggies. You must know a lot about what foods to give a baby?”

“I do.” He nods. “You’re still producing that much milk to give her daily?”

“I’ve almost been wishing I’d dry up. I get so sore somedays.” Jane sighs. “But I figure it’s good for her to have it while I can still make it. I’m not opposed to formular or anything…but I like bonding with her in that way. I got rid of her baby acne by rubbing my nipple on her skin, it was like magic.”

“It’s certainly a trick of the trade.” He smirks at her. “I remember learning that in one of my courses, and I was amazed. You all are super humans.”

Jane watches Harry play on the ground with Lilly for a bit. Harry was already so wonderful with her. Harry starts to smell something, and so does Jane.

“Think it’s time for a diaper change.” He chuckles and picks her up. “Would you like me to change her?”

“Yeah, I’d like to see you do it.”

He brings Lilly over to the changing table, and lays her down.

“I know you’re all warm and cozy, but I need to disrupt that for a moment.” He says to the baby girl who was babbling and blowing little spit bubbles, totally unbothered. Harry unsnaps her onesie, and lifts her legs to detach the diaper. His eyes widen at the type of diaper that’s on her. “You cloth diaper?” He looks at Jane.

“It’s better for the environment.” She shrugs. “There’s a trashcan for the…um, poop, and there’s another can for the diapers. I give her a regular diaper for bedtime just because it’s easier to change her in the middle of the night and in the morning, but daytime I use the cloth diapers.”

“Makes sense to me.” Harry disposes of everything, and grabs a few wipes to clean Lilly up. She took a powerful stinky.

“I blame it on the pureed peas.” Jane laughs.

“It doesn’t even phase me anymore, honestly.” Harry says as he gets a little baby powder on her. He grabs a spare cloth diaper, and gets it on her. He snaps her onesie back together and lifts her up. “There we go, good as new, darling girl.” Lilly blows some bubbles at Harry, and blows some back, making her giggle. Jane beams at the two of them.

“It’s about time for her afternoon nap. Would you like to put her down?”

“I’d love to.”

Harry carries Lilly upstairs with Jane. She flips on Lilly’s white noise machine, and makes sure her favorite blankies are in the crib. Harry sits down in the large chair in the corner of the room and starts to rock her gently, giving her soothing rubs. Jane watches as Lilly’s eyelids start to droop. She fights it at first, but Harry continues to soothe her until she’s out like a light. He carefully stands up and sets her down into her crib. The two back out of the room quietly, and make their way down the stairs.

“Let’s go back to my office.” Jane says, and Harry follows her there. Once they’re both seated, she starts speaking again. “Well, the job is yours if you want it.”

“Really?” Harry felt every worry from his life leave his body.

“Yes.” She chuckles. “You’ve really impressed me, and I think Lilly’s quite taken with you already. I’d love to have you as her nanny.” She takes out a few forms. “May I have your references? The background check will take about a week. How soon could you start after that?”

“Right away, honestly.” He hands her a sheet with his references.

“Here are the tax forms you’ll need to fill out, a form for direct deposit, and some information on your benefits. You can get everything back to me by the end of next week.”

“I can’t thank you enough for this opportunity, I’m so excited. I can’t wait to get started, Miss Watson.” He stands to shake her hand, and she stands as she takes it.

“Please, you can call me Jane.”

[marshmallow-phd]

Catching Rain

Part of The Untamed - EXO Wolf Universe

Genre: Wolf!AU

Pairing: Minseok x Reader

Summary: You were more than satisfied with your life. You attended a nice college, had nice friends, a nice boyfriend. That’s what your life was: nice. You weren’t looking for anything more, so what were you to do when this seemingly harmless boy walked into your life and turned your nice little world into one much more dangerous?

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I Epilogue 

**

Cheerful mess was the understated way of putting the current scene. Tonight was the first evening of a long sleepover at the farmhouse. It was a holiday weekend which meant you had unlimited access to Minseok for three whole days. 

The two of you had been "together" for about a few weeks but it felt more like a lifetime. You and him fit together like puzzle pieces, like that Greek myth of the origins of people and soulmates. Both of you had walked the earth for years, not even realizing what you could have been missing. You didn't feel complete, necessarily, but… more. 

"You're going to run out of battery here soon," Minseok teased.

You were sitting up on your knees clicking picture after picture of your favorite subject. How could you stop when nearly every angle of his face was so fascinating? He looked sharp then soft then older then younger. You wanted to capture every possibility. 

"It's not going to die," you said as you checked the focus. "It's still on full battery. You're stuck with this for a while." 

"I'll endure it. Only because it's you."

"Are you camera shy, wolf boy?"

Minseok's answer was a low growl. He reached out and pulled you down for a kiss, careful to not crush your camera. Somehow he managed to pry the device from your hand and place it on the floor while keeping you occupied. 

"(Y/n)?"

"Hm?"

With soft eyes, he caressed your cheek. His lips were taunt, tension creating the tiniest lines around his pink mouth. 

You propped yourself up on your elbows. "What is it?"

"There's… something we need to talk about."

"Okay?" Sitting up all the way, you braced yourself for whatever he was about to expose.

Minseok kept his eyes down, fidgeting with the sheets between his fingers. "I'm sure you've noticed how… protective I've been lately?"

Protective was probably the soft way of putting it. Since you and Minseok officially accepted the bond between the two of you, you'd spent nearly every day up here at the house, soaking all the time with him that you could. It was impossible to ignore the way he shifted closer to you when one of his brothers walked into the room or the subtle growls if they said something cheeky. While it took time to get used to, you'd shrugged it aside, owing it up to his supernatural nature. It had never gotten too much out of hand or uncomfortable for you. Apparently, there was much more to it than a simple instinct.  

"The reason I've been like that is because you're my mate."

You snorted. "Yeah, I kind of figured that."

"But not just my mate." He let out an elongated sigh. "My unmarked mate."

You held up a hand, palm facing out. "Okay, hold up. Unmarked? Like… I have to get a tattoo?" 

Minseok snickered. "No. There's no ink involved." He sat up. Fingers soft and tender, he traced the outline of your neck and shoulder. "When a wolf finds their mate, they are protective. And… we need a way to tell other wolves that their mate is under that protection and not to… touch them… for a lack of a better explanation. So, we mark our mates. Once that happens, our instincts calm down a bit. Or so I've been told." 

"Okay." You clicked your tongue a few times, processing this new information. "You're asking to mark me? Is that it?"

Minseok chuckled. "Yeah, I guess I am."

"Okay," you said. Nerves were brewing in your stomach. Though the answer seemed obvious once ink was ruled out, you still asked, "What does that entail?"

Scooting closer to you, Minseok kept eye contact. "I have to…." Blush exploded on his cheeks. He scratched the hairline behind his ear. 

"To do what?"

"I have to bite you."

"BITE ME!"

"Shshshsh." Minseok pounced on you, covering your mouth as he pinned you to the bed. He cocked his head to the side as if listening for additional noise. Right. Supernatural hearing. The house was full of extraordinary ears. When no one came, he eased off. "It won't hurt. I'd make sure of it."

"But you have to bite hard enough to leave a scar," you said. 

Minseok nodded. "I'd… distract you."

You started to imagine what he meant by that. You cleared your throat. "I guess I can go along with that." 

Those were the magic words, apparently. He grabbed your face like he did that night downtown and kissed you deeply. A rush of giggles bubbled in your throat. They grew louder and louder until-

Bang! Bang! Bang!

"Can you guys keep it down? Its getting annoying!"

Minseok half-groaned, half-sighed. "Jongdae."

"Just let him be," you said, though you were feeling a little embarrassed yourself. "Some people just don't like being around couples."

"You're right." A mischievous smirk pulled at his lips. "But I still hope that he's next. It would help loosen him up."

"Maybe."

"Until then, we'll just wait until the house is empty." 

You smiled. "Sounds like a plan."

**

On the morning of the last day of the holiday weekend, you were a little sad. The nonstop Minseok time was coming to an end. But alas, it was inevitable so you rolled with the punches. 

Minseok was already downstairs when you woke up. You freshened up before deciding to join him. 

Several of the boys were sitting around the table eating breakfast as they chatted happily. Minseok had a full plate in front of him waiting for you before the others could shovel it down. When he saw you enter the kitchen, he waved you over. You took the empty seat next to him. 

"Hungry?" he asked. You nodded. He slid the plate over to you along with eating utensils. 

Junmyeon walked in then, a newspaper in his hand. He must have run to town early this morning. Tossing the newspaper down on the table, he sighed.

"What is it?" Sehun asked. 

"There was another death on Saturday," Junmyeon announced. 

"What? Why are we just hearing about it?" Minseok asked. 

"The police kept it quiet. Its just now hitting the newspapers. I got an email last night from the university."

Baekhyun frowned. "Why did you get an email?" 

"The hiker was a pre-med professor from the University. The board wanted to prepare the rest of us."

Yixing reached for the newspaper and scanned through the article. 

“We need to find this guy and stop him," Chanyeol said worriedly.  

Kyungsoo nodded in agreement. “He’s bringing too much attention.” 

“The last thing we need is for some vigilante hunter coming into the woods,” Jongin added. 

You swallowed, unable to keep eating. The image of a hunter with a gun was making your stomach churn. “That won’t happen, right? Minseok?” 

“Everything will be alright.” Minseok reached over and squeezed your hand reassuringly. Rolling his eyes, Jongdae stood up and left the room. 

“He just doesn’t like me, does he?” you asked quietly. Though the two of you would joke about Jongdae needing a mate of his own to loosen him up, you couldn’t help but feel it was more personal than that. 

“Jongdae takes a long time to warm up to anyone," Junmyeon said. "Don’t stress about it.” 

You pursed your lips. “Easy for you to say.” 

“Don’t worry, the rest of us like you.” Baekhyun said happily as he munched on a cookie. “Especially if you keep making goodies like this.” 

You had gotten a little bored last night while the pack went on a run, so you went through the cabinets and found ingredients to bake a few… dozen cookies. There were approximately three left at this point and you were worried that it might become an outright war for the morsels. 

Minseok starred at Yixing, who was lost deep in thought, reading the article over and over again. “Yixing? Is something wrong?” 

“This hiker was my professor," he explained. "I’m just worried about what the consequences of another death could be.” 

“You sound so morbid,” Sehun complained.  

“Campus will be in an uproar tomorrow when we get back,” Minseok commented. To Yixing, he asked, “Do you think they’ll cancel your class?” 

Junmyeon answered instead. “No. In the memo we got they said they would combine her classes with others.” 

“Seems a bit weird,” Baekhyun said. 

Junmyeon shrugged. “It's the option they went with. Yixing, you should be getting an updated schedule and syllabus in a day or so. As for us, we're going to up our presence in the woods. Take shifts running perimeters."

"Is that safe?" you asked. The last thing you wanted was for Minseok to get hurt. Or any of them, really. You were growing attached to the pack as a whole. 

"We're supernatural creatures," Minseok smirked. "There's more of us than of him. If anything, its him to be worried about."

You nodded, but your concern didn't ease up. Your own instincts told you this wouldn't be as cut and dry as the pack was making it sound. They may know what they were capable of, but they weren’t invincible. You had to agree with Yixing. There were to be consequences of this new death. But that was the thing about consequences: they could be either good or bad. Only time would tell what they would be. 

[kayr0ss]

Misplaced

[Diakko, married fluff, domestic, happy times, glasses] AO3

Diana seems to have misplaced her glasses. She and her wife begin the search around their house.

---

Diana sighed in frustration as she turned over every book and document scattered along her office desk. This… was unlike her. She was normally organized and meticulous, a stickler for having a place for everything, and having everything in its place. But after one, three, and then five whole minutes of fruitless searching, she acknowledged her predicament:

“I seem to have misplaced my glasses.”

Her eyebrows creased together while blue eyes began to widen their search—if they weren’t in the vicinity of her workspace, they should at least be in this room. Her office was tastefully decorated but by no means extravagant, but the wooden browns and navy blues were blurred and out of focus, and goodness was it frustrating to be looking for the very item one needed to be able to see.

She was stressed-out enough as it was.

Her wife, who was lounging along the couch with a Japanese novel, seemed to have no intention of helping her find them. She peeked up at Diana from behind the book.

“The universe is telling you to take a break, Dia.”

Diana sighed once again, barely keeping her tiredness at bay. “Could you perhaps tell the universe it’s being very rude at the moment, dear?”

“I’ll send it an email,” Akko grinned, righting her position on the couch as Diana walked over towards her. She had an inscrutable expression on, one which made the blonde narrow her eyes in suspicion.

“Did you hide them?”

“What?” Akko blinked. “No!”

“Curious.” Diana crossed her arms, giving the couch a quick look over while Akko crossed her legs, novel laying forgotten on the coffee table. “I swear I was using them just a moment ago.”

Frown deepening, Diana turned her attention towards the doorway, wondering if she left them elsewhere, perhaps at their bedroom or maybe the kitchen. . Akko was still looking at her with that unreadable expression and Diana raised an eyebrow in suspicion. She sighed, opting not to press the brunette any further because if her wife did hide it, she’d know by now. Akko absolutely did not know how to lie.

“Maybe the kitchen?” Akko piped in, blinking up with wide and hopeful eyes.

---

“I love this cake.”

Akko sighed dreamily, expression almost reverent as she savored the richness and sweetness of Jasminka’s famous chocolate mousse.  

“So did you want to help find my glasses, or did you want to get a snack?” Diana sighed in resignation, watching as Akko helped herself to another heaping forkful of cake. They were leaning on the granite kitchen counter, and Diana brought a napkin to wipe at the edges of Akko’s mouth where the chocolate smeared. It was a habit formed over the years, an action that carried as much fondness now as it did the first time she had done it.

“Well we’re already here,” Akko pouted. “And we did try to look for it. So might as well get yourself a glass of water, because I know you haven’t had any, and also—”

Akko held up her fork, grinning.

“Say ‘ah’?”

---

Diana wasn’t about to admit it out loud, but fine, the chocolate cake was wonderful and it was great to indulge on a snack in the middle of all her work. However, what she didn’t understand was why they were looking for her glasses out in the gardens.

“I don’t think I went out to the gardens this morning, dear.”

“I’m just trying to be prudent!” Akko held up a finger to prove a point, a dead-serious expression set on the beautiful features of her face. Diana allowed herself some time to appreciate it in silence because she looked lovely: under sunlight filtered through the leaves of trees, disheveled brown hair from staying in all day, and an unmatched set of pajamas. But still, she looked so lovely, and Diana relished this thought while Akko led her through the garden with their hands intertwined.

“I’m beginning to suspect that someone is taking advantage of this search to drag me all about the house.” Diana laughed lightly.

“I’ll have you know!” Akko stopped and spun around—Diana nearly walked right into her.

(She was disappointed that her wife had let go of her hand.)

“That it’s a very real thing that a spirit may have taken your glasses for a tour around our property!” Akko puffed her cheeks, and it looked like she was trying her best not to break out into fits of laughter.

Diana indulged her though, as she always does. “Are you insinuating that a spirit haunted my glasses away from my office?”

“Lotte says it happens.”

“This spirit must really dislike the thought of me getting my work done.” Diana smiled softly, curious at what Akko might have been hiding behind her back.

“But then again, she did say the spirits around here were helpful at best and drowsy at worst.”

Akko finally broke into a grin, pulling her hands from behind her back to present Diana with a freshly-picked wild rose. Diana accepted it tenderly, feeling just as warm from the flower as she was from Akko’s smile.

It was a wonderful day out, and she was glad to have gone to the gardens.

---

She couldn’t believe its been an hour and a half since they had first went missing, but finally—finally—Akko had decided to come around and look for her glasses where it made sense to: their bedroom.

Diana diligently checked their nightstand, the sides of the bed, and even underneath the pillow, but they were nowhere to be found. She likewise noticed that Akko disappeared as well, and wondered where she might be off to but before long she was a back with a tray of cookies and milk.

“I thought we were looking for my glasses.” Diana tilted her head in question.

Akko was grinning up at her apologetically. “Sorry, Dia.”

“Pardon?”

Her wife settled the tray on their nightstand, pulling on the duvet to make room for them to climb in.

“It’s a Saturday and you needed the break, so now that I’ve lured you into eating, getting some sunlight, and back into our bedroom I’m going to have to insist that we huddle under the covers with a movie and some cookies.”

“But my glasses—”

Akko stepped forward, cupping Diana’s face. She smiled and leaned in until their noses bumped together and as her eyes fluttered closed, she felt the ghost of a kiss—along with something moving on her head then a weight on the bridge of her nose.

When she opened her eyes her vision was crystal-clear again.

“They were pushed to the crown of my head?” Diana blinked in incredulity. “This whole time?”

Akko’s arms had fallen on her shoulders, lazily wrapping around her neck as Diana instinctively held her closer. The way that Akko was biting back a laugh told her that yes, they were in fact there the whole time—but she couldn’t bring herself to get upset.

Not even a little bit.

Not after the pleasantness of sharing cake and holding hands in the garden, and not at the thought of snuggling up to Akko with a movie. It was a little unfair. But she wasn’t mad at all.

They laughed together, nearly falling over into the bed, and after all the time she had spent looking for her glasses—Diana took them off just so she could kiss her again.

-

fin

-

A/N: Thank you to Tototops once again for your wonderful work beta-ing this piece! Always a great experience when working with you.

So it's been a while since I've had the drive to write any fics, but here's a little something which I couldn't get out of my head. Hopefully I'll get to update Appointments soon! ...maybe

yoURE GONNA BE THE ONE THAT SAVES MEEEEE

[ambitionsource]

AMBITION Season 3 ♫ “Moment of Truth” [ 3.08 ]

CREATED BY Esther (waterstribe) & Maggie (quincywillows) || Official Page || AO3

SHOWDOWN – Adams and Haverford go head-to-head at the senior showdown finals. The A class scrambles when their polished routine is thrown into jeopardy, and Riley takes control. Charlie makes difficult decisions, culminating in a major confession.

72 Minutes (34.5K words) || No content warnings apply.

[ ← Can You Dig It? ] [ S3 Synopsis ] [ Nature of the Beast → ]

( Follow along with the music on Spotify here! )

EXT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

We launch into the episode, the midseason finale, with focus on Riley’s inspiration board. It not only has the same old stuff from the last couple of seasons but now is updated with new mementos and charming keepsakes -- photos of her and friends (at least one for each bestie), a program from semis and West Side Story, a snapshot of Susan Egan as Belle on Broadway, brochures for NYU and Barnard, plenty of photos of Lucas.

Then we drift down, finding RILEY MATTHEWS settled in the bay window seat beneath it. She’s got her laptop on her lap, hair braided over both shoulders, and gaze focused as she takes a deep breath and then definitively hits her mousepad.

On the laptop screen, the webpage changes, showing a confirmation page on the college common application. Congratulations! Your application has been submitted. When she clicks back to the home page, we see it’s not the only one -- she’s got half a dozen applications officially done and squared away. The only one left hanging is NYU, shooting for the Tisch performing arts program still an uncertain shot.

But otherwise, she’s done. She lets out a pronounced exhale, lifting her head to look at the camera. Not only is her relief palpable, there’s something else shining in her eyes -- excitement. Yes, it’s daunting, but now the future is out there waiting for her.

Optimistic opening tones kick in, setting us truly into motion as Riley pushes her laptop off her lap and jumps to her feet.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Love It Or Leave It” as performed by Tess Henley || Performed by Riley Matthews

Riley’s vocals are easy and carefree as she steps into the performance, dancing around her bedroom in victory for finally being free of applications. She spins and stops in front of her whiteboard, crossing the task off her list with a flourish. When she steps away and out of frame, the writing left behind reminds us just what’s at stake this week.

SENIOR SHOWDOWN FINALS!!

It’s all come down to this moment, and all things considered, Riley seems in good spirits. She continues her energetic singing and grabs her backpack, slinging it over her shoulder as she climbs out the bay window…

EXT. NEW YORK STREETS - DAY

And onto the streets of her city, taking her sunshine optimism on the road. She continues through the first chorus as she dances along the walk to school, interspersing her commute with skips, slides, and even a few ballet movements and twirls. She deftly avoids other passersby and sends smiles around selflessly, not letting anything tamper her bright mood.

INT. MINKUS HOME - FARKLE’S BEDROOM - DAY

Not everyone is in quite the same high spirit, however. FARKLE MINKUS finishes submitting his last application, to University of Southern California in Los Angeles. He hovers for a moment before hitting submit, then goes back to his email inbox, where an unread email from his therapist is waiting for him. Just from the preview of the email, we can tell that she’s reaching out to check in with him after what happened last week when he suddenly left their appointment.

Any new diagnosis can be scary, but…

Farkle can’t look at it right now. He closes his laptop, taking a deep, centering breath and trying to get back in the zone. This is the week where he has to have it together. This is not the week to be less than perfect.

Looking for a boost of confidence, he reaches into his closet and pulls out his infamous blazer. If there were ever a moment to channel the old him, now would be the time. He pulls his arms through the sleeves, adjusting it on his shoulders and absorbing its energy.

Then he heads out, holding his chin high.

INT. BABINEAUX HOME - ZAY’S BEDROOM - DAY

ZAY BABINEAUX could probably use some of that confidence too. He’s also looking at his applications. Only one remains unsent -- his one for Turner Academy. As much as he’s dying to go there, with how everything has changed, he can’t bring himself to hit submit.

And this morning won’t be when he does. He runs from it yet again, shutting his laptop.

INT. GARDNER HOME - CHARLIE’S BEDROOM - DAY

CHARLIE GARDNER, on the other hand, has had no trouble submitting his applications. He’s just wrapping up sending in the last one, this one to the prestigious Princeton University. When you look at his full list of submitted apps, they’re all names like that -- Harvard, Yale, Brown, Columbia. Only a couple of others vary in focus, a couple of dance programs peppered in for flavor.

And yet, he seems nonplussed about all of them. In fact, he doesn’t seem to feel much of anything, detached from his college prospects. Like they don’t even belong to him -- and certainly not indicative of anything he wants. Hard to be, when he doesn’t even know what that is for himself.

He clicks back to the home page, glimpsing over his application one more time. One question on the common application seems to be glaring at him.

Tell us who you are.

Charlie glares back. It’s a wonder when the time will come to truly answer it…

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

Riley takes back control of the narrative, diving into the chorus again with a spring in her step. Some of her other peers feed off her positive energy, like YINDRA AMINO and JEFF MONROE, who dance around her as she passes them in the hall.

She makes her way to the dressing room hall and pushes through the doors…

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

And spins her way into the wings of the auditorium, back in top-tier shape after the debacles last episode. But the true heft of the lyrics don’t land until she sets her sights on something across the stage, that excited glimmer even brighter in her eyes.

LUCAS JAMES FRIAR. Clear to her through the clutter of her other classmates congregating on the stage, as if he’s spotlighted in her eyes. He’s working on discussing something for showdown with ASHER GARCIA and JADE BEAMON, but after a moment he lifts his gaze and locks eyes with her. Naturally, a small smile ghosts over his lips.

Riley bounces back into the rhythm, pulled in his direction like gravity.

Forgive me but I know what, I know what I want!

She weaves her way through others, skillfully dancing her way through the obstacles, only stumbling when she finally makes it to the other side of the stage. She basically collapses into Lucas, who catches her and steadies her upright, keeping her on her feet. Support and pseudo-choreography all at once.

Riley looks over her shoulder to grin at him, then spins so she’s facing him.

Sometimes I get the feeling I just can’t help myself…

She pulls him towards her and back out of the wings, actually managing to drag him along in half a dance for a good chunk of the remaining chorus. It’s no mystery where at least half of her good mood comes from, with the way she’s unable to stop smiling as she sings to him and twirls under his arm.

When she twirls away he lets her go, allowing her to traverse the stage freely for the rest of the number. As she’s finishing her cheerful solo, the rest of the A class makes their way onto the stage around her, all in rehearsal clothes.

Riley finally comes to a stop as the music peters out, finding her place in the dance lines and standing ready to move. The camera rotates around her, showing off the rest of the seniors also ready to roll, then panning to Lucas, Jeff, and Zay standing at the front of the stage with ERIC MATTHEWS, HARPER BURGESS, and MAYA HART.

And it’s Maya who takes over from there. She steps forward, clapping her hands together, and shatters the hopeful vibe with ease.

Maya: Alright, countrymen, get ready to have your ass kicked for the next five days. Showdown is Saturday, and I will be damned and cast to Hell if Haverford Shlep beats us for the seventh bloody year in a row. This is not amateur hour. And with God as my witness -- if you’re into that sort of thing -- we are going full fire and burning this showdown to the ground. [ lifting her bullhorn ] On your marks! And five, six, seven --

Cue title sequence.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

We’re in the darkness of the wings, though we can still see most of the class doing run-throughs of their setlist and hear Maya clapping and shouting commands in the background. We’re looking through the lens of NICK YOGI’s camera, who has it facing towards himself. He speaks in a whisper, trying not to get targeted by Maya.

Yogi: So, AAA thotties, here’s where we’re at. After a wild semester, senior showdown is finally upon us, and the A class has been in better straits. A shit ton has happened to get us where we are now, so before I continue on with capturing all the magic and whimsy of showdown preparations --

Maya, off-screen: Is that what you call a kick-ball-change, Chey? When we lose on Saturday, I’m blaming it all on your kick-ball-change. Let’s go again!

Yogi: Dave and I thought it might be smart to quickly recap how exactly we ended up in this mess.

INT. AAA - A/V CLUB STUDIO - DAY

Obviously filmed as an earlier segment, the camera now focuses on DAVE WILLIAMS casually seated at the news desk across from wherever Yogi is set up. The footage is far from polished, shot more like a documentary, and it’s not clear whether Dave realizes they’re filming or if he thinks they’re just shooting the shit. He’s not looking at the camera, eyes directed at his best friend off-screen.

Dave: It’s so crazy, man. Like, I feel like it all started when Charlie left Triple A.

Yogi: Oh?

Dave: Yeah, dude. ‘Cause like, who even cared about Haverford before that, you know? Like, they sucked or whatever, but no one really gave a shit. We knew we’d have to face them with showdown, but the moment Charlie jumped ship it’s like it got all personal. Like he defected to the dark side, and so suddenly we had to know the dark side. You know, like that blonde bitch from Camp Rock and Camp Star which didn’t even exist until they needed a rival and suddenly it had all these important characters in it.

Yogi, trying not to laugh: For sure.

Dave: And the thing is like -- I don’t know if we really told him enough when he was like, actually here, but -- Charlie is good. He was one of our best performers, or at least most reliable, and between him and Zay it’s like we had a monopoly on dance. Hotels on that shit. Showdown felt pretty assured, because when you’ve got dudes who can dance like that, I mean, what was anyone even gonna do to top it? But then Charlie transfers, that juice gets drained by half, and the rest of the dominoes fall.

Yogi: Uh huh. Go on.

Dave: And TBH, I feel like that was part of another thing too -- what happened to Zay. Because everyone knows he went like mega-diva earlier this year, and he didn’t used to be like that. I don’t know if anyone else noticed, but I feel like he and Charlie were close? Best friends, really, which makes sense, since they’re like bonded by dance and stuff. And so when Charlie left I feel like that just totally… like knocked him flat, and made him go all haywire, and all that is what led to him going nuts and never taking a break and fucking up his leg.

Yogi: That’s an interesting take. The way you connect the dots amazes me.

Dave, earnest: But like, look dude, I totally get it. It’s like, I think about if you left Triple A all the sudden and just left me behind. I’d be bummed as fuck. Like I wouldn’t even wanna be at this stupid school anymore. I think Zay is way tougher than I’ll ever be.

Yogi: Wow… that was so sweet. [ sniffling theatrically ] I just need a moment --

The tape cuts quickly, still at the same angle, but indicating a lapse in filming.

Yogi: Would you really wanna not stay at Triple A?

Dave: Why would I, if you’re not here to make it fun?

Yogi: What about Lucas?

Dave: Oh yeah… okay, I’d probably stay. But it wouldn’t be the same.

Yogi, amused: That makes more sense.

The tape cuts again, this time Dave having changed positions. He’s sitting slouched in the chair with one of his entire legs propped up on the table in front of him -- i.e., like a weirdo boy who can’t sit normally.

Yogi: So Zay gets fucked up.

Dave: Zay gets hurt, and that’s a major blow. I mean, there’s where we’re at right now, trying to figure out some bizarro way to replace him. But he was a huge part of the original routine, so now we’re like trying to put a band-aid over a bazooka hole. Then all the money stuff added on top of that which totally distracted us for way more time than we can spare. Not being able to be in the auditorium wasn’t good either.

Yogi: Nope.

Dave: Then with Dora’s mom dying, that like knocked her out of the ring. Which is bad, because Dora is like our tiny, terrifying WWE fighter. A little secret weapon. But like, RIP Valerie and all that.

Yogi: Rest easy, queen.

Dave: But we need the win. Lucas needs it to give scholarships to all the destitute future AAA thotties, and I really feel like if we lose, Maya is going to go full Carrie. But with everyone all wigged over college apps and stuff, and the legacy of six years of Ls hanging over us… it’s not looking good, chief. I wouldn’t say that out there for risk of getting shanked by Maya’s stiletto, but a good reporter tells the truth.

Yogi: Right you are. So if you could say one thing to us for later, win or lose, what say you, Dave?

Dave: Well, I’d say “good luck, Charlie,” but as I just said, Charlie is gone. And he’s with the enemy, so I can’t give him any luck.

Yogi: No. How about “good luck, Davie?”

Dave: [ looking miserably at the camera, which zooms in ] Good luck, Davie.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

Back in the present, Yogi whispers a thanks to his best correspondent, Dave Williams, before throwing attention back to rehearsal.

Yogi: Time to see if we can salvage this L.

For a while, we stay with the camera perspective, Yogi stepping through the rows of his classmates to capture footage. Most of them toss him dirty looks or nearly bump into him, and SARAH CARLSON gives him an especially unimpressed glare when he gets up close to her.

Sarah: Aren’t you supposed to be rehearsing?

Haley, off-screen: Can we not have cameras rolling while we’re trying not to crash and burn this week?

Nate, off-screen: Oh, no, Yogi. Run. Yogi, run --

Yogi whips around, coming lens-to-face with a very haughty Maya. She narrows her eyes.

Yogi: Oh, Neptune…

The camera cuts to black.

Back in our usual frame, Maya snaps the camera shut, pointing for him to get back to his place in formation. He snatches his device back, holding his head high as he marches back to his spot.

Yogi: Just trying to preserve the memories. You all will thank me someday when you want to relive these moments.

Zay: I don’t want to live them now.

Maya snaps for them to run it again, moving back to the front of the stage. She claps them in, running the “Rain On Me” choreography beat-by-beat without vocals. Although the moves are still sharp, it just doesn’t feel as coherent without Zay, since the number was built with him in mind. And something just feels… off. Stale. Like we’ve seen it all before.

And distracted minds don’t help. Even with his blazer, Farkle can’t just magically return to top form, so he’s a couple steps behind. His uneasiness creates a ripple effect, those around him adjusting to avoid his missteps and just making ones of their own, until the whole ensemble is out of sync and lost. Maya growls, ceasing her clapping and holding her hands out to stop.

Maya: Come on, people! This whole thing is falling apart before my very eyes. Do not lose your heads now!

Lucas: Maybe it would help to not have a manic pixie nightmare girl screeching at them.

Maya: [ holding up a finger, not looking at him ] Didn’t ask you. Again, from the top! Five, six --

INT. HAVERFORD PREP - AUDITORIUM - DAY

BRANDON RIVAS is in the same role as Maya, clapping them through the choreography of “Seize the Day.”

Brandon: Seven, eight!

Unfortunately (for Adams), the boys are in much better shape. Their synchronization and energy are as sharp as ever, and they’re even back in full dress to work with the costumes. The only thing putting a dent in their perfect rendition is the fact that it seems they’ve introduced some new choreography here and there, Brandon correcting one or two peers while they perform.

Charlie is keeping up easily, but he admittedly seems put off by the changed details. His brow is furrowed as they run through the last pieces of the sequence, eyeing his classmates as they work to adjust their understanding of the number.

When they finish they hold their pose until Brandon signals for them to be at ease, launching into notes. He reminds them that they should put their vocal focus this week behind the new harmonies they’re learning for the middle piece in their setlist -- they’ve swapped it out for something different for finals.

Charlie fidgets until he works up the nerve to raise his hand, waiting for Brandon to acknowledge him. He does, raising his eyebrows at him, and Charlie clears his throat.

Charlie: Is there a reason we’re changing so much stuff? I thought the original choreo for the dance break in Newsies was fine. The judges liked it during semis.

Billy: Duh, of course you like it, Gardner. It’s your choreography.

The comment is said playfully, but there’s just the slightest of edges to it that BILLY ROSS doesn’t conceal. A few of the other Havies chuckle at this, but Charlie persists, trying not to let himself be deterred.

Charlie: And a whole new song for the middle? What was wrong with “Would You Mind?”

Dweezil: Does something have to be wrong to be improved?

Charlie: No, I’m only wondering --

Brandon: It’s fine, Charles. I get it. [ to the group ] Charles wants to know why we’re putting the effort into changing things around when the routines we’ve established have worked for us so far. Is that right?

Charlie pauses, then nods. Close enough. Brandon returns the nod, keeping cool as he paces in front of the boys.

Brandon: I don’t fault you for that. It’s a natural instinct. Stick to what you know, what you know works. Safer that way. [ a beat ] But safe doesn’t win showdown. We need to stay alert, fresh, open to the possibilities. We’ve been doing it for six years, and I believe we’re going to score a seventh. That means being flexible, assessing opportunities for growth and stretching to reach them.

Nice speech, one that Brandon delivers seamlessly. Charlie accepts it, but something about it is still itching at him. Maybe he really is just intrinsically averse to pushing the envelope…

Brandon: As for why we cut the pop middle, strategic maneuver. I just thought something more… classic might better highlight our strengths. Show the ways we stand out against the competition. That’s all. So, if question time has concluded, let’s get in places for “Brotherhood.”

The Havies move swiftly, shifting positions. Charlie follows suit, taking his place behind Brandon, but his expression is still contemplative as they count into the showstopper.

INT. AAA - GIRLS DRESSING ROOM - DAY

Maya finds ISADORA DE LA CRUZ in the dressing room, marching up to her at the mirrors and cutting right to the point.

Maya: Okay, we are in meltdown mode out there, so the time has come. Izzy, you need to square up and join rank. It’s time to get back out there.

For what it’s worth, Isadora doesn’t seem surprised. She’s known this was coming for a while now, Maya’s ability to leave her be cracking every day.

Isadora: It’s not that I haven’t thought about it.

Maya: Perfect. There you go then. It’s a sign. So get your jazz shoes on and let’s go.

Isadora: But I’m not at the same level as you all. Maybe I was getting there with the singing last year, but I’m way out of practice now, and I was never there with my dancing. We’re trying to win, and I’ll be lucky if I can get on stage without passing out.

Maya: Please, if Garcia can do it when he’s prone to collapse like an anemic Weeble Wobble, you’ll be fine.

Isadora: But we don’t know that. There’s no guarantee. Even if I want to help, is it really worth risking me fucking it all up? Just for a little extra oomph from someone who is average at best?

Maya snaps, shaking her head and gripping Isadora’s shoulders. Isadora flinches slightly, but she’s used to Maya at this point, so she can get away with the aggressive touch in a time of great consequence. Maya insists that Isadora is way too in her own head -- she was fantastic before, and she will be fantastic now. Talent doesn’t just disappear.

Maya: You have royal blood running through those veins of yours. Bona fide, liquified star power, the real deal. I know it hurts that your mom isn’t here to foster that -- believe me, I know how it feels -- but you’re still here. You are her legacy, and this is your birthright. So it’s time to claim it!

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Born For This” as performed by Paramore || Performed by Maya Hart & Isadora De La Cruz

Maya launches into the rambunctious early Paramore hit, appealing to Isadora in a language both of them know -- angry, empowering, female-led punk rock. It’s the artist that first bonded them, after all, so it’s the best she can offer in a last pitch to get her to come around. As she sings through the first verse she climbs up onto the countertop, strutting along it and hitting strong poses, before leaping back down in front of Isadora.

As she hits the pre-chorus, she leans in close to Isadora, challenging her with her body language to fight back or take the risk to meet her at her level. Then she takes her hand, leading her out of the dressing room --

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

And into the halls for the chorus, Maya jumping and head-banging as she goes. Isadora jogs to keep up, taking over on the second verse as other AAA students begin to join in as the echo. Maya leads them, matching her movements in response to Isadora’s sing-shouting. Then they all create a rocking crowd formation for the chorus again, similar to when the techies took the halls with “Thnks Fr Th Mmrs,” sharply bouncing and dancing their way to the intense music and following the lead of Isadora and Maya, standing side by side at the front of the pack.

INT. AAA - CAFETERIA - DAY

Then the mob descends on the cafeteria, finding most of the remaining Adams students. Maya and Isadora take over the lunch room, rallying students at their tables and heightening the energy across the board.

Maya hops up onto a table and pulls Isadora with her, gathering the students around them. This is where they lead the “We! Were! Born For This!” chant, getting the others to echo their declarations. When they escalate up to the belt at the end of the bridge, they stand back to back, Maya leaning her head back theatrically and shouting the note to the ceiling.

Everybody sing!

The cafeteria has become a full-on rock concert, other students jumping onto the tables and getting into the spirit. Maya has a knack for turning lunch time into a spectacle, and this is no exception. The school rock-and-rolls their way to the end, where they all break into hollers and cheers. Maya turns to face Isadora again where they’re standing on the center table, quirking an eyebrow. Well?

Isadora catches her breath… then grins, clasping her hand with Maya’s. Officially on board.

INT. AAA - GIRLS DRESSING ROOM - DAY

Back in the dressing room and now part of the team officially, Isadora seeks out CHAI FRESCO. She strikes up conversation as Chai is arranging their semis costumes on the rack, asking if she has a second. Since she’s now joining the performance, Isadora knows she needs to brush up on her dancing. And well, it’s a lot to learn in a short amount of time…

Isadora: Though it kills me to admit it, I know I’m going to need help. I was wondering if you would be willing to stay later with me each day and run through it until I get it down.

Chai: Really? You want me?

Isadora: Honestly, my first thought was Maya, but you’ve seen how she is lately. She is so stressed out over this, I know she won’t have time, and I think she might actually murder me for slow uptake. But her aside… you are the best dancer we have in the A class. Maya would also kill me for saying that.

Chai, touched: … well, thanks. Most people don’t really notice.

Isadora: Not everyone.

Yes, clearly not everyone… either way, Chai is flattered. She agrees to tutor Isadora, assuring her that no matter the choreo, they’ll get her up to snuff in no time. Nothing to freak out over.

INT. AAA - BOYS DRESSING ROOM - DAY

Farkle’s blazer has been discarded on the floor, bold callback abandoned. Farkle has folded himself into a protective position on the countertop, avoiding the mirror next to him as he tries to calm down from what feels like an impending panic attack. His hands are shaking as he pulls his sweater over his head, down to just his plain tee but still feeling hot.

Riley pokes her head in, commenting that she finally found him. She’s been looking for him before they go do another run-through… then she notices his shaky state, immediately shifting from friendly to concerned. She rushes over to him, asking what’s going on and if he’s okay.

Farkle: I tried. I really tried, Riley, I tried to just work through it --

Riley: What? Work through what?

Farkle: But I can’t. I’m just -- I’m not myself. I don’t even know what myself is right now.

When she prods him once again, he cracks and spills everything about what happened with his therapist. About his new diagnosis, about being bipolar. He knows it doesn’t actually mean anything, or maybe it actually means clarity, but right now it just feels like too much. So much he doesn’t understand, like having to relearn a whole new identity. Riley does her best to keep up, frowning as Farkle grows flushed and chokes up.

Riley: It’s okay, Farkle. You’re not… I mean, millions of people are bipolar, and they get through it. They figure it out. You’ll figure it out, too, especially since you’ve got top-rate care and the best people to help.

Farkle: I know. [ huffing and wiping his eyes ] I know, it’s silly for me to be freaked. I know it doesn’t really change me, it’s just a label for what I already am. But it just feels like… I don’t know. [ voice cracking ] Like I’m even more to deal with than I was before.

Riley doesn’t know what to say -- she’s not a therapist -- so all she can do is offer comfort. She steps closer and wraps him in a hug, Farkle returning the embrace tightly. They just hold each other for a few moments.

Riley: Farkle, you have always been unique. Uniquely a challenge, but uniquely wonderful, too. Both are some of my favorite things about you. And more than that, you are damningly resilient. [ pulling back to look at him ] You will rise above this too. And it’s not like you have to do it alone, you know that we’re going to have your back every step of the journey.

Farkle: Yeah… yeah, you’re right. Thanks.

He leans forward for another quick hug, which she happily gives him. When they break apart again, Farkle releases a heavy exhale.

Farkle: But Riley, with all this going on… I don’t think I can do it. Showdown. I don’t want to drop out of the performance, but I can’t carry it the way I did for semis. I want to, and I know Maya is going to lose her shit if I don’t, but I just don’t think I can handle it right now.

He’s right about one thing -- Maya is going to flip. Right after she collects one advantage, another domino falls… but Riley understands. Of course she does. She pats his shoulder, giving him the bravest smile she can muster.

Riley: It’s fine. We’ll still have your star power in our ranks, and we’ll find a way to rearrange. You need to do what’s best for you.

Farkle: Yeah. Yeah, I hope.

Riley: Everything is going to be fine. Don’t worry.

INT. AAA - TECHNICIAN’S BOOTH - DAY

Riley reports directly to Lucas and DYLAN ORLANDO, soothing smiles long gone.

Riley: It’s time to worry.

She relays to them that Farkle is stepping down without divulging the details, keeping it simple by explaining he’s not doing well at the moment. It’s lucky that they’ll still have him in the ensemble, but this is just another body blow that she’s not sure their team can take.

Riley: With Farkle off the table, our routine is basically on life support. That’s two out of three of the main vocalists on “4 Minutes” out, and “Rain On Me” isn’t doing so hot either. We can move Nigel up to take Farkle’s role -- which we should, he’s severely underutilized at present -- but even then we’re still lacking major male stage presence.

Lucas: Not great considering Haverford is all testosterone.

Dylan: When you say it like that, it sounds so awful. All testosterone… I can’t believe that’s something our society idolizes.

Lucas: You’re gay.

Dylan: And? I like men, not hormones. It’s not like when I kiss Asher I’m thinking about his sexy cortisol levels.

Riley gets them back on track, reiterating the problem. With their arrangement the way it is right now -- head count and track list -- they’re royally fucked. Dylan and Lucas concur, agreeing that they’re going to need to find some additional male star power to fill the gaps Farkle is leaving behind.

Now where are they going to find that… Dylan glances around them, as if something is missing, and arrives at the obvious answer at the same time as Riley and Lucas. They all exchange a look, tacitly acknowledging exactly who their saving grace should be.

INT. AAA - PROP LOFT - DAY

Convincing that saving grace, well, that’s another story.

Asher: No.

Asher turns away from Lucas and Dylan, both having just pitched the idea to him. He continues to shake his head adamantly even as they scramble to appeal to his better angels, avoiding eye contact by aimlessly shifting around props on the shelves.

Lucas: We’re running out of options --

Dylan: You’re the best damn performer in this school --

Lucas: We’re literally running on empty right now --

Dylan: No, the best performer in the whole state --

Lucas: This whole thing is about to go spectacularly to shit, and you’re really going to sit there and do nothing?

Asher: [ holding up a finger ] Don’t guilt trip me.

Lucas: Well what else am I supposed to do, Asher, when we’re standing on the precipice of total annihilation and you won’t even consider stepping in to save us? When we lose and my political agenda to improve the status and future of Adams itself goes down the tubes, there will be no one left to blame but the secretary who didn’t show up.

Asher: You are so dramatic. Hell, you go up there and take the spot. You can at least match Farkle for theatrics.

Dylan: Come on, Ash! You learn fast, and everyone knows you’ve got talent. You performed during comfort zone week.

Asher: Yes, specifically because it was outside my comfort zone. Hence, the assignment being referred to as “comfort zone week.” And there were consequences if I didn’t. There were grades involved. There was pressure.

Lucas: There’s pressure now. Me. I’m pressuring you to do it.

Dylan: And also last week. Remember “Boogie Shoes?” It was fun!

Asher: A performance for convenience’s sake. Very low stakes. And I was doing it with you. That’s different.

Lucas: So why can’t you do it again now, for convenience’s sake, when the team needs you? Can’t you just, I don’t know, go feral for a week and unleash it all and then we’ll all move on? Just do it, spaghetti!

Asher scowls and narrows his eyes, pointedly dropping the prop he was moving back on the shelf. He whips around to face them again as he responds, escalating in pitch as the words tumble out.

Asher: How many times do I have to tell you that I HAVE ANXIETY!!

Well, Lucas wanted feral Asher, and boy does he get him. Lucas and Dylan both go quiet as Asher spirals into a deliciously lively spiel about how anxiety works, and no he cannot just turn it off for “convenience sake,” and you Lucas James Friar really have no conception of how other people’s feelings work, not to mention the fact that even if he did think he could keep up with the performers for this it will be in front of a huge audience, which is a big fat automatic no. It’s not that he doesn’t want to help, or be a team player, of course he does, all he ever does is try to be a team player, that’s like his whole life playbook, but sometimes they all ask just a little too much of him! Sometimes he has to put his foot down and say no! Although it’s quite an impressive monologue, the whole thing kind of has a ridiculous comedic hue to it.

Asher: So no, I am not brain dead enough to act like I’m good enough to step into the showdown setlist. I would pass out the moment I hit the stage, and I think if I have to learn all that in five days I’ll break out in hives, and if I have to work with Maya Hart I swear to God I will pitch myself off the catwalk. So read my lips. No. No! Nay! Negatory!

Dylan, under his breath: Thesaurus bonus.

Asher: I will absolutely not perform in that sinking ship that is showdown. And there is nothing -- nada! -- you could possibly do or say that will make me change my mind.

Asher exhales a huff, raising his eyebrows and daring them to challenge him on it. Lucas and Dylan blink, exchanging a look out of the corner of their eyes. Then they glance back to Asher, perhaps at a stalemate…

Then Dylan smiles.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “4 Minutes” as performed by Glee Cast || Instrumental

The horns blare, signaling that we’re on a roll again -- and Asher is in Farkle’s spot. He spins around to reveal him amidst the performers, looking overwhelmed and reluctant, but doing his best to keep up with the new choreography as Maya continues to clap out the beat.

So much for no way, Jose! In the wings, Lucas and Dylan watch smugly, victorious. Lucas shakes his head at the ridiculousness of the whole thing.

Lucas: And he calls me dramatic. What sort of threat did you have to throw at him to get him to cave?

Dylan: [ with a sly smile ] Who said anything about a threat…

They exchange another side glance, Dylan’s smile widening. He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, and Lucas rolls his eyes.

But while Isadora and Asher fill out much needed lapses in captivating stage presence, “4 Minutes” is a disaster with them in the ensemble -- let alone trying to fill the shoes of such different performers. It just doesn’t work for this new combination of people, and it doesn’t take long for Maya to shut it down and declare the run-through a failure.

Maya: Though who is surprised, considering the no-meat chicken legs we’ve subbed in for Farkle.

Dylan: Oh boy.

Asher: I’m sorry, Maya, did you see anyone else chomping at the bit to join this trainwreck. No? I wonder why… maybe because they didn’t want to be yelled at by Tyrant Barbie.

Maya: Deflect all you want, Garcia. It’s not my fault your chicken legs can’t keep up.

Asher: Oh, say that again. I dare you. Say it again.

Maya: [ into her bullhorn ] Cluck. Cluck.

Asher: Okay, that’s it --

Tensions are already high, and Asher and Maya are the perfect gasoline to set it all on fire. Dylan and Lucas dart out of the wings just as Riley and Isadora dart between Maya and Asher, nudging them towards opposite sides of the stage. Asher tries to leap for Maya but Dylan grabs him by the torso and yanks him backwards, facing him away from her.

The rest of the class has broken into chaos with them, but Riley shouts to restore order. She points out that losing their heads isn’t going to do them any favors. They need to keep their cool if they want any chance of getting through this week -- and that means everyone.

Zay: Take her bullhorn away, I think that’s a good first step.

Crisis temporarily averted, Riley jumps into team brainstorming. Clearly, something isn’t clicking. Her brain is working a mile a minute, trying to land on what the problem might be.

Haley: Maybe we just need more people? There’s strength in numbers.

Darby: Haverford has at least 25 boys competing from their senior class. We’re not even matching that.

Yindra: A good performance doesn’t need quantity. It takes quality.

Missy: Which is clearly out of stock in this auditorium.

Nate: Well maybe if we had more quantity, we’d collectively get more quality.

Considering the stakes and tension, Yindra takes NATE MARTINEZ’s snippy tone as a dig, and the two of them start to bicker. Riley cuts it off preemptively, Nate retreating over to Jeff and Jade. Dylan jumps in, trying to help.

Dylan: If we need more people, I can tag in.

Maya: For the love of God…

Dylan: I don’t learn as fast as Ash, but I can pick up enough to get by.

Lucas: Help round out the male presence too.

Riley: Yeah. Yeah, that’s great Dylan, thanks.

A potential solution for now. Maya tells everyone to take five and then they’ll regroup to run it again one more time before they wrap for the afternoon -- and Dylan should start getting tips from others in the meantime if he’s gonna catch up.

But Riley stays put while the others disperse. Her brow is still crinkled, lost in thought. It’s great that they’ve got another talented person bolstering their performance, but something about it still doesn’t feel right.

And though she dreads to think it, she wonders if the issue runs much deeper than manpower.

INT. AAA - DRESSING ROOM HALL - DAY

Isadora catches up to a grumpy and frazzled Maya, pulling her aside and advising her to take a deep, cleansing breath. Maya waves off the impact of such a silly gesture outright, yet she complies anyway and takes a long, theatrical breath.

Once she’s done, Isadora continues.

Isadora: After rehearsal, I want you to come with me. I think I have something that’ll make you feel better.

Maya: Oh, do you? Bold claim, Izzy. Don’t tease me. You’d need a miracle to relieve the tension knots I’ve got in my starlet shoulders right now.

Isadora: And I’ve got just that. This will be good, whether we win showdown or not.

Isadora raises her eyebrows, playfully challenging her not to agree, then saunters off with a knowing smirk. Seems like a high bar, but Maya is intrigued nonetheless.

INT. HAVERFORD PREP - SENIOR LOUNGE - DAY

We hear the familiar track of the A class’s rendition of “Rain On Me,” but it’s filtered through tinny laptop speakers rather than being appreciated in its full glory.

That’s because a bunch of the Haverford boys are watching a recording of their semi-finals performance on DWEEZIL HOWARD’s laptop. Professional-grade filming, all right there for them to see. Brandon’s flash drive is plugged into the computer. The Havies laugh and talk amongst themselves as they watch the performance, both making fun of it and making note of all the ways Adams might be a threat at the same time.

Evan: Babineaux is a really good dancer.

Havie: Yeah, thankfully he took care of himself so that we didn’t have to.

A couple others snort, high-fiving. Charlie enters the student lounge, pausing when he hears the unfamiliar content his classmates are watching. He frowns slightly, listening closely. Curiously, it actually sounds strangely familiar… like… but no, it couldn’t be…

Then he hears a baritone he would recognize anywhere -- Zay on his brief vocal solo -- and he knows his instincts are right. It is the A class, the medley of his former peers’ voices undeniable once he confirms it.

He makes his way over, trying his best to be cool and casual as he joins them. Most of the boys greet him cheerfully, though Dweezil’s smile fades and he tenses up when he realizes Charlie has joined them. It seems like he wants to turn the screen away, but it’s too late.

Charlie: [ feigning ignorance ] What’s everyone looking at?

Havie: Check it -- Brandon got his hands on the Adams showcase.

Charlie takes the invitation, stepping closer and looking over his classmates to see for himself. There they are, right in front of his eyes -- the A class, doing their full routine at semi-finals. Someone makes a snide comment about one of Maya’s vocal runs and the group chuckles, Charlie awkwardly laughing along.

Charlie, innocently: Isn’t that against the rules?

Havie 2: Only if you get caught.

Havie, smugly: Considering we’ve done this for the last six years, I don’t think the showdown rules committee is especially strict.

The last six years? That certainly explains Haverford’s damning winning streak… and Brandon’s sudden desire to change up their setlist. He’s making tweaks based on AAA’s performance, finding ways to heighten their strengths and set them even further apart from the competition. Charlie swallows, trying to process everything without giving away his panic, but Dweezil is watching him like a hawk.

EVAN SCOTT notices too, eyeing him with concern.

Evan: You okay, Charlie?

Charlie hesitates, unsure what to say. He knows it matters. Tell us who you are. Tell us who you are. Tell us who you are…

Then he relaxes, managing an easy smile. Stepping into that same charm he flexes at church, disarming everyone and negating any need to give him a second thought.

Charlie: I was just thinking my former classmates were going to bring tougher competition. [ nodding to the video ] Obviously, I was wrong.

The boys laugh, nodding and hooting in agreement. A couple of them pat Charlie on the arm, and he flashes the Prince Charming smile. But once attention goes back to the Adams tape, the veneer dims.

INT. APARTMENT BUILDING - ELEVATOR - DAY

Maya eyes Isadora with suspicion as the two girls travel up in an elevator. Isadora has refused to explain what’s going on, but has an uncontrollable smile on her face. 

Maya: If you’re bringing me here to show me a new luxe pad you and Eric are getting, it will not make me feel better, I hope you realize.

Isadora laughs, but says nothing. The elevator dings as the doors slide open.

INT. APARTMENT BUILDING - HALLWAY - DAY

Isadora leads Maya to the door for apartment 803 and stops in front of it, her excitement palpable. Maya raises her eyebrows and looks at Isadora expectantly. 

Isadora: Open it. 

Maya: I really don’t have time for this, Izzy. Your dance skills are severely lacking, remember, and this is starting to feel like a way to avoid practice. 

Isadora: [ with an eye roll ] Just go in. Trust me.

Maya sighs, but obliges.

INT. APARTMENT 803 - DAY

Behind the door is a cozy apartment with large windows looking out to the city. There isn’t much furniture, only the essentials such as a couch and kitchen table, along with cardboard boxes dotted around. With her back to Isadora and Maya, a blonde woman crouches to dig through one of the boxes.

Maya looks around as they enter, impressed but confused. Upon hearing their entrance, the woman hurriedly stands up and turns to them. It’s KATY HART, who grins when she sees her daughter.

When Maya notices her mother, her jaw drops. She stands frozen for a moment while Katy rushes over and embraces her. It takes a moment for her brain to catch up, but when it does, Maya hugs her back just as tightly, squealing with joy.

When they pull apart, both their faces are streaked with tears. Katy holds Maya’s head in her hands and brushes hair away from her face.

Maya: I missed you so much. 

Katy: It’s so good to see you, baby girl.

Maya: I don’t… why are you here? How are you here? What even is here?

Katy looks over at Isadora. When Maya spins around to follow Katy’s gaze, realization hits her. She looks around the apartment again, this time in awe. 

Maya: Is this… for us? 

Isadora: My mom made a lot of promises that she didn’t end up keeping. Moving Katy back to New York to be with you was one of the biggest. It didn’t feel fair for that to fall apart because of her death. I’ll foot the rent bill until you’re all settled and find new work and help with the decorating. 

Katy: You’re such an angel, Isadora. I can never thank you enough for this.

Isadora waves Katy off, a blush rising to her cheeks. A fresh wave of tears hits Maya and she pulls Isadora in for a hug. 

Maya: You’re the best. The absolute best. I love you, thank you. 

Isadora, lightly: You’ll pay me back when you’re rich and famous, anyway.

While Maya takes off to inspect every detail of the space and begin designing her dream apartment in her head, Katy stays with Isadora. She gives her a warm smile. 

Katy: You’re growing up into such a fine young woman. I’m sure Valerie would’ve been so proud. 

Isadora, quietly: Thank you. 

Katy: Eric is wonderful, but know that I’m here if you ever need a mom to talk to, okay?

Katy gives Isadora a small pat on the shoulder, then heads over to where Maya is taking pictures of the space. Maya grins up at her mother and hugs her again. 

Maya: I need to make sure you’re really here and not a figment of my imagination. The power of my creativity has been astounding me lately. Remember what I told you about the dentist? Well, I had a revelation…

Isadora watches on with a bittersweet smile. Not a bad first impact to make with what Valerie left behind.

INT. CHUBBIES - DAY

Lucas is at his usual spot behind the counter, but work is slow and his mood is even more dejected than normal. Riley is in the same low spirit, chin propped on her hand as she sits opposite him on a stool, both of them talking about Adams’ increasingly poor chances at finals. At this point, with the way they’re hobbling through it, it’ll be a miracle if they aren’t booed off the stage.

Lucas: It’s fine. I wouldn’t be the first president to make promises they didn’t keep -- nor the last, I’m sure.

Riley: I just… I feel like we’re stuck. [ sitting up straighter ] It’s like, we’re not short on star power or talent. We’re not short on effort. We all want this victory, maybe for different reasons, but there is a unified cause. That’s not always the case with our class.

Lucas: You’re cute. It’s never the case.

Riley: My point is that we have all the elements, all the right pieces, but I feel like we’re trying to put them together to create a tableaux that doesn’t… exist anymore. Like sure, the routine got us through semis, but it was a different time and a different team. By sticking so tightly to this predetermined vision of how things were supposed to go, I think we’re shooting ourselves in the foot. Like shoving a round block into a square hole -- it just doesn’t fit.

Maybe so, but what’s the alternative? Start over from scratch, with a week to go? Riley admits that it seems daunting…

Riley: But I don’t know. At this point, what do we have to lose? There’s so much talent that we’re not highlighting in this set, so much unique charm in our class. And I think if we have any chance of beating Haverford, it’s going to be because of all those things that set us apart. We’ve pulled off greater feats before, I think we could do it if we all really committed to it. [ with a sigh ] But I know that’s not going to happen. No one wants to risk changing it up.

Understandably so, but it’s clear it’s weighing on her. She presses her palms to her eyes, releasing another sigh. Lucas frowns, obviously wishing there was more he could do to fix it -- he doesn’t even have the words to comfort her since he’s no good with them. But he offers an attempt, speaking softly.

Lucas: Look, you know I’m the last person you should go to for performing advice, so I can’t exactly comment on whether the setlist would be better off scrapped. I mean, I know it’s a fucking trainwreck right now --

Riley: I think that’s clear to even the most presentationally challenged.

Lucas: But what I do know is that I trust you. If your gut is telling you that something about this isn’t right, then I believe it. Your instincts are almost as sharp as mine --

Riley: Almost?

Lucas: In performing, you outrank me. Everything else, up for debate. [ off her nose crinkle ] Bottom line, you know what you’re talking about. And when you talk, people listen. If you feel like doing this might save our chances, wild as it might be, then you should tell the others. And whatever you choose to do, I’m marching right behind you.

Wow… well, with that shining seal of approval… Riley holds his gaze, contemplating his words. Then she manages a tired smile, taking his hands and pressing a quick kiss to his knuckles.

The brief slice of serenity is interrupted when Charlie pushes through the door, spotting Riley at the counter. He rushes over and tosses half a greeting towards Lucas, restless and out of breath, then turns to Riley.

Charlie: I need to talk to you.

Riley: Well, good thing we’re having lunch then. [ hopping off the stool ] Do you want to like order anything first --

Charlie, desperate: No, Riley, I -- it can’t wait. It’s important.

Riley clocks his nerves, losing her friendly ease. She takes his arm and leads him quickly to a booth.

Riley: What’s wrong? Is everything okay with your family? Rosie, or Bridgette --

Charlie: No, no, they’re fine. It’s not about that. It’s about showdown.

Riley: Showdown? [ uncertain ] Charlie, I don’t know if we should be discussing…

Charlie: Not like what Haverford is doing. I mean, sort of -- [ hitting his palm against his forehead in agitation ] shit.

Riley: Charlie, you’re worrying me. What’s going on?

Charlie screws his eyes shut, inhaling a breath and holding it. When he opens his eyes, he meets her gaze, and that’s the moment where it’s all or nothing. Dangerous consequences in either direction, the fear of action paralyzing him, but that same question rattling in his skull.

Tell us who you are.

Charlie exhales, eye contact steady as he steels himself.

Charlie: There’s something you need to know.

Riley stares at him, eyes wide, bracing for the unknown.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

The A class is assembled on the stage, forming a semblance of a circle around Riley. She’s holding court, reluctantly delivering the bad news.

Riley: Haverford knows our setlist.

The reaction is instantaneous. There’s a mix of gasp and curses, and only seconds before nervous and indignant chatter breaks out. What? How? You’re kidding.

Isadora: How is that even possible?

Riley: As far as I know, they got their hands on a recording of our performance at semis from an outside source.

Zay: So they didn’t risk getting caught recording themselves.

Chai: Lord knows they could afford it.

Riley: They’ve been using it to alter their routine. They’ve already changed a lot of stuff to contrast ours.

Lucas: And apparently they’ve been doing this for a while. [ pointedly ] Like six years.

Nate: Those bitches.

Dave: So many people begging to get egged these days.

Asher: So we should report them. If we file a complaint, the sponsors will investigate and they’ll no doubt find the footage on them. Karma.

Riley: No, we can’t. It’s probably too late for them to do a thorough investigation anyway, and I don’t want this to blowback on Charlie. He risked a lot telling me about it, I’m not going to risk throwing him under the bus if they find out we know.

Nigel: Or worse, if they think he snitched himself.

Riley: I mean, imagine if one of us went and told Haverford information we wanted to keep secret. What would you do to them?

Maya: Itching powder in their stage make-up and a full-throttle psychological assault until they’re so worn down they drop out and transfer to Quincy High to be a humdrum accountant for the rest of their days. [ a beat ] Oh, I see. You meant that rhetorically.

Long story short, no going to the disciplinary committee. It wouldn’t do much, anyway, seeing as the only technical proof they have is word of mouth. This grim reality settles over them, Yindra declaring what everyone is thinking.

Yindra: Well, it’s over. Nice run, gals and gays.

Maybe so… the energy in the room plummets, the feeble hope keeping them moving dissolving with their prospects of a showdown victory. Zay grits his teeth, crumbling the edges of his choreography sheets. Maya delicately places her bullhorn at her feet, walking away from it and turning from the group to hide her emotion. Dylan rests his chin on Asher’s shoulder; Isadora reaches for Farkle’s hand and squeezes, keeping her eyes glued to the floor.

Riley looks around at all her classmates, empathizing with their defeat… until her gaze lands on Lucas. He’s already looking at her, watching her expectantly. He dips his head in half a nod, subtly emphasizing his earlier encouragement. It might feel hopeless, but if there were any time to suggest the impossible… and where she leads, he will follow…

Riley squares her shoulders, keeping her eyes locked on his, and finds her voice.

Riley: Maybe it’s not over just yet.

She certainly captures everyone’s attention. Heads perk up and eyebrows raise as Riley steps center stage, appealing to all of them that the fight isn’t over until the results are read Saturday.

Sarah: Come on, Matthews. You can’t be serious.

Nate: Yeah, I mean, I love the sunshine bit as much as the next baddie, but how are you going to spin this?

Riley: Am I wrong? This thing isn’t done until a victor is declared -- or we decide it’s over. And I don’t know about you all, but I’m not looking to just hand over a win to the Havies, especially one they really don’t deserve.

Maya: … okay, I’m listening. Make your pitch, Riles, and make it a good one.

And she does, ardently. The way she sees it, their chances aren’t dead. They just have to reinvent themselves. Rearrange, reorganize, find a better way of showcasing who they are and what they’re about. They did it last year -- in circumstances much harder than these -- and came out stronger for it. They’re a team now, and if they could survive all of that, they can rise above this. They just have to do exactly that: showcase who they are.

Riley: Haverford thinks that to win, they need to know what we’re up to ahead of time -- which means they’re scared -- and prove all the ways they aren’t us. Well, I say we hit them back right where it hurts and show just how much they can’t match our stride.

Nigel: With what, a whole new routine?

Darby: You’re kidding. In a week?

Riley: Every week we come up with dozens of performances! That’s what we spend every single day in this school doing. And with all of us working together? Yeah, I think we could pull something off.

Clarissa: Something the Havies have no way of cheating to beat...

Exactly! Now we’re feeling the spirit! The energy is tentative, just starting to bubble up again amidst them all, hope peeking back out through the darkness to shed some light. Riley feeds off it, growing more impassioned.

Riley: And this time, we need to focus on all of the things that make us stand out. That make us different, better, special. What are some of the things we have that Haverford doesn’t?

Farkle, flatly: … women?

He’s somewhat joking, but Riley rolls with it. She taps her nose in agreement, a signal to keep the ball rolling. The wheels are turning now…

Yindra: Individuality. You don’t see us walking around in some pretentious ass uniforms.

Nigel: And the best costumer in the state in our ranks.

[ All eyes turn to Jade, who flushes. She bashfully pushes some hair behind her ear from her spot beside NIGEL CHEY, but then straightens up in an attempt to match the confidence. ]

Jade: A costumer who did just submit all her applications and now has free time to make something new…

The thought process keeps moving from there. Personality. Some of the best young talent in the city. Skilled technicians.

Riley: We have one of the best student technician programs in the country here, and yet there’s never a focus on that at showdown. But we can change that. Jade can make costumes that are unforgettable. We can play with movement, set pieces, production details that’ll put it over the top. These are the kind of things we should be showcasing, the things we’re so lucky to have in this class that the Haverford boys will never get.

For what it’s worth, it seems like everyone is coming around. The spark is back, and even if it’s a futile mission, might as well go out with a bang rather than fizzle to nothing before the fire truly gets going.

As if to cement the mission, Maya makes a statement of her own. She scoops her bullhorn off the floor and marches to center stage… then hands it over to Riley. A symbolic passing of the torch for a new game plan. She gives her a smirk, only the slightest bit reluctant to relinquish control.

Maya: Bang bang.

Yes, Riley Matthews has let her firecracker side take control. She returns Maya’s smile, choosing not to use the bullhorn but launching into planning mode regardless. She turns to Zay first, asking if he’d still be willing to sketch out new choreography for them on such short notice and although he can’t run through it himself.

Riley: We should have never boxed you out of the vision. You’re the best dancer there is, and that doesn’t change just because you can’t do it yourself at the moment. [ a beat ] Do you think you can do it?

Zay: … [ as if it’s a difficult decision ] It won’t be anywhere near as good as it would be with more time and actual mobility, but I’m sure I can throw something together.

The corners of his mouth lift just slightly, signaling to Riley what she wants to hear. Apology accepted. She nods, grateful for more than one thing.

Nate: You should get Jeff to help. He’s a killer break dancer.

Zay: That’s true. If we’re talking about underutilized assets, that’s a big one. You can probably fill some of the gaps left behind by me with some skillful showing off. Even just some basic party trick break dancing will wow a standard audience. [ to Jeff ] What do you say?

Jeff: As long as I can map out the lighting design and pass it off to Lucas, then I say hells yeah.

Sick! Jeff jogs over to Zay and exchanges a fist bump handshake with him, Riley grinning at both of them. She then turns to Farkle.

Riley: I know you’ve got a lot on your plate right now.

Isadora raises her eyebrows at this. News to her, though she definitely clocked his uneven mood as of late… Farkle listens attentively, waiting for Riley’s request.

Riley: But you’re the most creative person I know when it comes to innovating music, at least from a spectacle standpoint. [ re: Clarissa ] And we’ve got an amazing concert musician in our midst who knows a thing or two about composition. Between you, Clarissa, and Nate’s mixing skills, I think you might be able to mash together a showstopper not easily forgotten.

Farkle: Give me the tone you’re going for, and I’ll see what this basket case can deliver.

Okay, now we’re cooking with fire! Riley turns to Jade, but she’s already moving, passing by her with Asher, Nigel, and Haley in tow en route to the costume loft.

Jade: Already on it. Let me know the setlist when it’s mapped out.

Having spun basically all the way around, Riley is back to Lucas. She meets his eyes, the two of them holding eye contact for a long moment. The rest of the techies and remaining A class yet to be assigned a task stand at attention, waiting for marching orders… but he’s looking to her. The hint of a flirtatious challenge laced in his expression, daring her to tell him what to do.

And she does, though she can’t help the teasing smirk that ghosts over her features.

Riley: If we’re going to pull this off, it’s going to be all hands on deck. The techies might have to work double time to pull together what we need, but it’ll be worth it to show off how fantastic we really are. And you can put the performers to work too when we’re not rehearsing… if you think you can do it.

Challenge laid down... as if there was ever any doubt he would accept it. But Lucas plays along, unable to hold back the slight quirk in his lips that mirrors her own. He doesn’t break eye contact with her, but declares to the assembled group:

Lucas: You heard her.

That they did, Lucas. Loud and clear! Riley continues to smile at him as the A class erupts into a flurry of movement around her, back to work and more energized than ever before. The engine of Motown swing rumbles to life, underscoring the new endeavor…

INT. AAA - BLACK BOX THEATER - DAY

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Get Ready / Dancing In The Street” as performed by Motown The Musical Original Broadway Cast Recording || Performed by AAA Seniors

The performance carries through the ensuing montage of the A class hustling to put together a brand new routine, firing on all cylinders to bring it together. To kick us off, Riley starts in the black box classroom with Zay, Yindra, Maya, and Isadora, deliberating on the white board about what songs or series of songs should populate their new list. There’s a lot of key words scattered across the board -- individuality, range, the power of women -- but it seems they’ve already narrowed it down to their chosen concept.

Riley finishes up jotting down all the ideas on a piece of paper, the others leaning over to snap photos and send them out to people in the class. Sarah rushes in and takes the original paper from Riley, saluting as she takes off again into the hallway with it. The moment she’s out there door of one room --

INT. AAA - PRACTICE ROOM - DAY

She’s dashing into the next, joining Farkle, Nate, and CLARISSA CRUZ in the practice studio. Sarah hands the setlist ideas to Farkle at the piano, settling down next to DARBY WINTERS who is helping try out chords on her guitar. Nate has one half of his industrial headset on, fiddling with a sound mixing program on his chunky laptop as they avidly discuss whatever they’re scheming together.

Clarissa is listening with rapt attention to the discussion, only tuning out when she gets a text on her phone. She quickly lets them know she’ll be back in a minute, darting out of the studio --

INT. AAA - COSTUME LOFT - DAY

And arriving in the costume loft, though she pauses in the doorway. Jade is already dealing with someone, Maya having paid a visit to the costume loft to argue over certain costume concepts in regards to the new setlist. Just before the dance break, the music quiets somewhat, vamping under the scene as it unfolds.

While Maya is at her full diva pitch -- though, to be fair, she is just trying to do what she thinks is best for the team -- Jade Beamon has finally had enough. She stops trying to ignore Maya and holds up a hand to stop her costuming team at work, Asher, Nigel, Yindra, and Isadora pausing and staring as Jade swivels to face off with her. She sharply and deftly defends her vision for the costuming, citing her thought process with curt, to the point reasoning. She also takes Maya down with impressive calmness, especially considering the circumstances and the fact that Maya used to make her cry from being so nitpicky just about two years ago.

Jade: Believe it or not, Maya, I think I know what I’m doing given that I’ve designed almost every costume you’ve worn and made you look good for the past three and a half years. So how about you focus on your business, and you let me handle mine?

Damn. Mic drop! Maya stares at her, processing the clapback and debating whether to tear her to shreds in response or not… but ultimately, she opts to back off. If anything, Jade growing a backbone might’ve been the cure to Maya’s overbearing obnoxiousness the whole time. She leaves Jade to it, claiming she should let her know if she needs any additional help -- she’ll send someone else to do it tout de suite.

The others watch in fascination as Maya Hart retreats, strutting past Clarissa shocked and awed in the doorway. Jade takes a deep breath, recentering herself, and flips her loose ponytail back over her shoulder.

Jade: Where were we?

Back to work, team! No time to waste! They get back down to business as if nothing happened, which is impressive considering that was some big news we just witnessed.

The only one who doesn’t immediately get back to work is Nigel, who continues to stare at Jade like he can’t believe she’s real. What a woman…

As the dance break instrumentation swells back to full volume --

INT. AAA - DANCE STUDIO - DAY

Zay is tapping out the beat to a track with his good foot, bopping his head and talking through some choreography and steps with Jeff and Chai. They actually walk through the steps since he can’t, but the rapport seems to be good, and whatever they’re putting together already looks cool. They land on a particularly neat idea for a combination and Jeff and Chai high-five, the former leaning over to fist bump Zay too.

Suddenly, the dance studio that felt so lonely and isolated for so long is filled with camaraderie and enthusiasm again. Zay grins, feeling the rhythm again even though he can’t be on his feet. He jots down the combination idea, flipping the paper over --

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

And becoming Dave slamming a paint bucket at his feet, working with Dylan to put together a rolling flat that will become part of the dynamic backdrop for their performance. Dylan tests it by hopping onto it, throwing his arms out as Dave practices pushing it. They roll seamlessly out of the wings and onto the stage as the last pre-chorus launches into the final minute…

Where we find the A class back together, running through choreography and vocals together of their new routine. In this moment they perform the current song, subbing in for what their actual setlist will be, but getting the energy up and translating the hard work all the same. It’s powerful seeing them all come together, truly united like never before, and showing off exactly why they’re at such an elite school in the first place.

Zay takes the final belted run of the performance, jumping up from his seat where he, Lucas, and Maya are watching the run through. He throws his head back and lets it fly, the rest of the class backing him up at the very end to drive the number home.

Break 1.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

The A class finishes an actual run through of their new routine, the passage of time indicated by the fact that they’re all in new rehearsal clothes. They’re breathless and sweaty but teeming with excitement. Even if it’s slapdash, even if it ends up not being enough, they clearly feel invigorated by whatever they’re putting out there. There is something so naturally riveting about underdogs making their last shot…

Zay has the floor in Riley’s absence, giving feedback and not only pointing out what could use refinement, but also what’s working. The positive reinforcement seems to be helpful, keeping everyone in light spirits in spite of the odds stacked against them.

As they’re about to break for rehearsal for the evening, Maya pipes up, asking if she can have a few words. Zay is reluctant, but obliges, stepping back next to Lucas.

Maya reveals that while they have been working hard on a majority of their new banging setlist, they still haven’t settled definitively on an opening number. Nothing has quite clicked right yet. Because of this, she argues, they’re going to need something that will fall together effortlessly -- which means a diva number. Since the rest of their routine is so heavy on the ensemble, it shouldn’t be an issue to let a powerful mezzo soprano kick off their show. It’s traditional, really, to have a star force central to some part of a showdown routine.

Maya: Lucky for us, I have the perfect pitch. It came to me in a vision, actually, when I was heavily incapacitated in a dire health operation --

Farkle: Oh no.

Isadora: It was a filling, Maya.

Maya: And I can think of the perfect starlet to carry the number.

For a moment, the class hangs in limited suspense. Of course, she’s going to volunteer herself. But then Maya steps across the stage, making her way to stand in front of Yindra.

Maya: If we’re showcasing the best and most underutilized, then I believe the choice is obvious. [ off her surprise ] Now I’m not giving up this opportunity lightly -- and rest assured, the pain in my ego is so blinding I will probably have to undergo another incapacitating surgery to recover from it --

Zay: Really selling the selflessness here.

Maya: But I know you’ve got what it takes. If anyone here was ever sincerely a threat to my mezzo diva dominance… I can admit you come close. So now is the time to deliver, Amino.

Another crazy moment. Maya, sharing the spotlight… I guess that’s growth. Yindra beams, shrugging her shoulders suavely.

Yindra: Don’t have to ask me twice. Let’s get to staging.

INT. AAA - DRESSING ROOM HALL - DAY

Post-rehearsal mayhem, everyone is rushing around gathering their things for the weekend and making sure they’re all up to date on what the plan is for tomorrow. Isadora bumps into Farkle, asking him if he’s seen Riley, but he merely shrugs.

Farkle: I think she said last week that she had a doctor’s appointment. Probably wasn’t planning for our entire showcase to change in that time.

Isadora: Yeah, no kidding.

Whatever she wants to debrief with Riley, it’ll have to wait until later. Isadora starts to check in with him, see if everything is okay since he randomly stepped down from the spotlight -- concerningly out of character, in her opinion -- but Farkle dodges the question.

This doesn’t sit well with her, but she lets it go for now. Too many crises going on right now to keep up with -- though Farkle will always be high on her priority list.

INT. AAA - BLACK BOX THEATER - DAY

Yindra is hanging back to gather the last of her things and read through the new opening number choreography one more time, lightly stepping through the moves as she sings to herself under her breath. The rhythm sounds slightly familiar, but it’s just soft enough that only someone really listening carefully could make it out.

It stops soon anyway, Yindra halting and jumping in embarrassment when Zay appears in the doorway. She tilts her chin up and grows defensive again, but it’s clear the effort of being cold with him is tiring. He chooses not to acknowledge it, entering the classroom and commending her for her soft-shoe last-minute rehearsing.

Zay: If it looks that great at 10% volume, I’m sure we’ll have no issues on Saturday.

Yindra: … well, I’m sure you wish it was you taking the diva opening. Since you’re the one working the hardest all the time.

Zay: Nah. If we’re aiming to secure an instant jaw-dropper, Maya couldn’t have chosen a better leading lady. Even if I were fit enough to be considered a contender right now.

Oh. Well that’s… nice. Yindra shifts focus to put her choreo sheets in her shoulder bag. Zay approaches and settles on top of a desktop to ease off his boot, taking the opportunity to guide the conversation.

Zay: Do you remember when we became friends?

Yindra, loftily: … was it when Miss Moore partnered us for duet assignments the second week of freshman year and promised a prize to the best breakout first duet, and we brought the house down with “Stand Up For Love,” but she chose Farkle and Maya instead?

Zay, amused: No. Though that was classic. [ a beat ] And maybe an eerie premonition about dear Angela.

Yindra: Anyone who chooses Anything Goes over the Destiny’s Child is deranged, so.

No arguments here. The moment of fellowship passes quickly, but it doesn’t feel like it’s gone for good... Yindra nods, still trying to maintain her aloof demeanor but allowing Zay to elaborate.

Zay: It was earlier than that, first week of class. No one really knew anyone, except like Haley and Clarissa since they met over the summer or whatever. So it kind of felt like every day was coming into battle alone. Anyway, Maya was giving her first -- of many, many -- psychotic mini-monologues before a performance, and this one was especially cracked. Probably because she was trying to establish her bitchutation.

INT. AAA - BLACK BOX THEATER - FLASHBACK - DAY

Though it’s brief, we catch a glimpse of what the world was like all those years ago. The A class -- or those that we can see -- are styled to look how they might’ve that first year, awkward and definitely poorly dressed compared to now. Freshman year is so hard. A slightly frazzled ANGELA MOORE attempts to maintain order, but clearly the A class of 2021 is already proving to be a… unique challenge.

True to Zay’s word, most of them are sitting on their own, though there are clusters where it seems friendship has already sprouted. An even shyer Charlie is sitting behind Clarissa and Haley, who keeps glancing over her shoulder to smile at him and then giggling nervously. Dylan, Dave, and Nate are whispering and passing notes mischievously -- Dylan with his embarrassing glasses and Bieber cut -- while Asher watches him wistfully from a couple desks away where he’s sitting with Jade. Farkle is in his blazer and semi-bowl cut and shooting daggers into Maya who is loudmouthing up at the front; Lucas is nowhere to be seen.

Zay is seated amidst it all, but distinctly on his own. He’s probably dressed better than most of his peers even then, and his hair is different than he wears it now, but even someone as cool as him can’t shake the quintessential freshman awkwardness. Presently, he’s scowling as Maya talks, clearly unimpressed.

Zay, voiceover: Now, I admit, I was making a bit of a stank face. I mean, it was Maya. But I remember I glanced around to see if everyone else was hearing this nonsense --

Freshman Zay does just that, freezing and reigning in his distaste when he spots Yindra. Her hair is different as well, and she’s not clothed as fashionably as she is these days. But she’s glancing towards Zay, too, and he doesn’t want to seem like a bitch. However…

Zay, voiceover: And you were making the exact same face.

For a second, freshman Yindra and Zay just stare at each other, caught. Then, Yindra cracks a smile, conspiratorial and a touch embarrassed. Zay immediately returns it, the two of them sharing a silent laugh across the room.

Zay, voiceover: That was when it clicked for me. I don’t think I even knew your name yet, but it felt like we’d been friends for years. Kindred spirits.

INT. AAA - BLACK BOX THEATER - DAY

Back in the present, Zay finishes recounting the memory, light smile on his face as he looks at her. She’s listening but avoiding his eyes, fiddling with the strap of her bag.

Zay: And I was right. I think that’s probably the only thing I was right about from freshman year. [ slipping off the desk ] You and I are one in the same. That’s why we’re best friends. We have impeccable taste. We always bring it. We work our asses off. [ a beat ] We find it really hard to admit when we’re wrong… or when we’ve been stung.

True enough. Yindra clears her throat, tentatively meeting his eyes.

Zay: I’m sorry I was such a bitch. And I’m especially sorry that I made you think, even for a second, that you’re not good enough. That you’re not on my level or whatever bullshit I was selling this semester. It’s not true. You are the only person who is always on my level. Bar none.

Yindra: … well, you’re certainly not the only one good at being a little bitch…

Zay: No, but I get why you did it. Honestly, if the roles were reversed, I probably would’ve done the same to you. Like I said, one in the same. [ a beat ] And I hope you’ll forgive me and we can go back to the whole kindred spirit thing, because I really don’t want to miss the boat when you’re wildly successful in L.A. and inevitably lift me up with you. Just strategic thinking.

This, finally, really breaks the ice. Yindra can’t help but smile, shaking her head.

Yindra: You are so dramatic.

And then she’s hugging him, pulling him into a tight embrace. Zay returns it, relieved, and the universe tilts one degree closer to being back in order.

They pull apart, Yindra scrunching her face fondly and lightly patting his cheek. She reaches over to grab her bag and slings it over her shoulder, linking her arm through his as they slowly walk towards the door.

Zay: I’m serious about the career thing. Maybe we should tag team. Maybe we should go full Destiny’s Child.

Yindra: Ooh… [ tapping her chin ] But who’s gonna be our third…

Zay: Nigel?

Yindra: … well, we can always hold open auditions.

Zay laughs, the two of them disappearing into the hallway.

INT. TOPANGA’S CAR - MOVING - DAY

Riley is in the passenger seat of Topanga’s car, focused on a text thread where the A class is recapping any last-minute notes and thoughts for prep tomorrow. She types a quick response apologizing for not being there that afternoon and highlighting how hard everyone has worked. In her other hand, she’s clutching a prescription slip on her lap.

TOPANGA LAWRENCE comments that it’s good they arranged this doctor appointment for today -- she is so incredibly snowed under with work at the firm, it’s lucky she was able to drive Riley out today. As if Riley doesn’t know a thing or two about being swamped these days… still, her mother is in good spirits.

Topanga: I’m glad to hear everything seems to be in good shape, though. And smart of you to get this physical done in a timely manner -- your dad is such a disaster when it comes to keeping up with appointments. [ with a smile ] I must’ve raised you well.

Riley manages to return the smile, ignoring the comment about Cory. At this point, those are so natural to conversations with Topanga, it’s like white noise. Topanga casts a sideways glance at the prescription she has, knowing smirk ghosting over her lips.

Topanga: Though I think considering what you came to get, the reason you asked if I would take you is fairly obvious…

Riley awkwardly shifts her fingers on the slip, allowing us to get a better look at what she’s being prescribed for the first time. Birth control. She puts her phone in her pocket and absentmindedly fiddles with the braid on her shoulder.

Riley: I did think you were the much smarter option for help in this matter, yes.

Topanga: No doubt about that. You should spare Cory the knowledge of this little development as long as you possibly can. For his own good.

Yeah, Riley doesn’t seem to disagree on that. Although it’s just another one-up against Cory, they do exchange a small humorous smile, like a new inside joke they share.

Riley: Thanks for coming with me.

Topanga: Of course. [ a beat ] So… you and Lucas must be getting pretty serious, then.

Riley’s expression shifts into something softer. She looks out the window, unable to look at her mother as she contemplates it. Not because she’s embarrassed, but because something about Lucas and what they have is sacred. He’s something she doesn’t want -- or have to -- share with anybody else.

Still, thinking of him naturally elicits a delicate smile.

Riley: Yeah. Yeah, we are.

INT. AAA - TECHNICIAN’S BOOTH - DAY

Lucas is packing up, stuffing things into his backpack. He takes care to handle the showcase binder gently, not wanting to do anything or lose anything that might throw them back into the pits of hopelessness.

But something does fall out anyway, dropping to the floor at his feet. He curses under his breath and slips the binder into his bag, crouching down to recover whatever escaped.

Money. A few crisp hundred dollar bills, folded neatly together. Lucas knows he’s not just carrying that kind of money around, and it’s clear that it was slipped into his things with careful intent. It’s no mystery where it came from.

But that also means someone was rooting through his stuff, once again intruding his sanctuary without permission. Lucas scowls, crumpling up the bills in his fist as he climbs back to his feet.

Missy, pre-lap: No, no, it’s supposed to be that side of the stage. Do you all have directional dyslexia?

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

MISSY BRADFORD is standing on the stage, directing a bunch of the underclassmen techies to move some final set piece adjustments. But they’re young and still learning, which she clearly doesn’t have the patience for. She shakes her head, unimpressed, while behind her we can see Lucas jogging down from the booth.

Missy: I swear, they just don’t make help like they used to…

Lucas: Hey!

Missy swivels around, expression brightening in interest when she sees who’s snapping at her. She saunters over to the edge of the stage as the younger techies disperse, leaving them alone.

Missy: Just the person I wanted to talk to. I finally got those panels for the rolling flats. Normally it shouldn’t take this long, especially considering how much I paid, but when it’s a rush job --

Lucas: What makes you think you can go through my shit?

Lucas’s tone is harsh, more scathing than the usual dry sarcasm he employs with her. But it doesn’t intimidate Missy much -- in fact, if anything, it just seems to intrigue her more. She raises her eyebrows as he reaches the front of the house, now standing essentially below her.

Lucas: And the booth. I told you you can’t just go waltzing in there whenever the fuck you want. To do whatever the fuck you want --

He tosses the crumpled bills at her feet on the stage, glaring up at her derisively. She shrugs coolly, clasping her hands together.

Missy: As far as I understand it, actually, the booth is available to all students for use. So I have every right to it just as much as you do.

Lucas clenches his jaw, obviously wanting to bite back, but in this case he has no argument. Technically, technically, she’s right. Even if every other student silently respects the unspoken rule that the booth is his, there’s nothing he can use against someone who doesn’t. His anger is palpable when he speaks again, voice low.

Lucas: This thing, whatever it is? It’s done. It has to stop.

Missy, innocently: “Thing?” I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about --

Lucas: Yes, you do. Cut the bullshit. Whatever game you’re playing, or… dance you think you’re doing, you’re doing it on your own. I’m done with it.

Bold words. And obviously not something Missy would want to hear… though for what it’s worth, she seems unfazed by his declaration. She maintains her confident nonchalance, examining him for a long moment… then holds her hands up in surrender.

Missy: Okay. I never meant to upset you, Lucas. I was just trying to help. [ a beat ] But if you’re really not into it anymore, you can always… give the money back.

Oh. Well… that’s not so simple. Lucas opens his mouth as if he’s going to respond, but nothing comes out. Some of the fire he marched down here with burns out, leaving him uncertain. And Missy sure notices, her sweetness sharpening into coy smugness. She tilts her head.

Missy: But you’re not going to do that. Are you?

She casually extends her designer shoe to kick at one of the discarded bills, threatening to send it down the thin gap between the orchestra pit and the floor. But Lucas reaches out to save it just in time, hastily catching it before it’s lost forever.

Got ‘em. She’s spotted Lucas’s brazen dismissal for exactly what it is -- a bluff.

And he’s clearly ashamed of it, how easily he caved, when the thing he needs so desperately is dangled in front of his face. Missy gives him a sympathetic look, but it’s closer to pity than empathy. It’s so hard to tell what is real from her, how much she actually sees Lucas as a human being versus an attractive puzzle for her to toy with.

But in this moment, she’s won, so she’s feeling charitable. She primly lowers herself down to sit on the stage across from him, crossing her legs and picking up the other wrinkled bills. She spreads them on her lap and smooths them as she talks, restoring them to pristine condition.

Missy: I thought we already discussed this. We’re on the same page about our little dynamic. And it’ll all be worth it, won’t it, when you get what you want… [ eyeing him ] if you truly care so much about UC Davis.

Lucas: There are things I care about more. [ a beat, then softer ] Things I don’t want to mess up.

Although he doesn’t say it, it’s fairly obvious what he’s thinking about. Missy’s not an idiot, and she knows where he stands with Riley. But he’s been willing to play along this long… and given her lack of context and history and how brusque Lucas tends to be around others, it’s unlikely Missy considers Riley much of an issue. But if he wants to continue the game…

Missy: And that’s why it’s a private affair. Hush-hush, just between you and me. There’s no guilt in what people don’t know. And besides, do you want to welcome all the additional trouble you’ll have to contend with if I don’t contribute? I think you’ve already got enough on your plate.

She finishes flattening the bills, placing them gingerly on the edge of the stage next to her. Ready to be his again, should he deem to take them. All of the rage that drove him to confront her has been extinguished, replaced with that cold, cornered feeling he always has when she’s there.

Missy: Focus on the big problems, Lucas. Showdown, your scholarship plans. And once that’s all squared away and the dust has settled… then we can explore what comes next. [ slipping off the stage ] One step at a time.

She passes him without another glance, making her way up the aisles and leaving him on that note. He starts to glance over his shoulder but ultimately doesn’t, not even wanting to look at her anymore. He looks a little sick.

But the money remains, waiting for him. No Missy there to scrutinize him as he takes it, no judgment being cast down on him but his own. He knows his truth. He knows what he cares about, what matters above all else. And money is money… he’s always known that… doesn’t matter where, or who, it comes from…

Lucas hangs stuck in that moment, torn between shame and sense.

INT. AAA - DANCE STUDIO - NIGHT

Long after the final bell of the day has rung, Isadora remains in the dance studio, going over the routine again. It’s usually Zay’s territory at this time of night, but instead of his perfected moves and graceful poise, Isadora is following the steps in almost a robotic manner, and cursing at herself whenever she makes a mistake.

Chai peeks her head around the door, having been practicing herself in another studio and wondering who’s still here. She watches Isadora struggle for a moment before stepping in and pressing pause on the music. Isadora looks over to her in shock. 

Chai: Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. What are you still doing here?

Isadora: What does it look like? Failing miserably at the routine.

Chai sighs in sympathy and shrugs off her sports duffel so that she can help Isadora. Isadora cringes as Chai does a couple of stretches to warm herself up again. 

Isadora: I feel bad. You already spent so long trying to help me and here I am the night before the showcase, as terrible as ever. 

Chai: You’re too hard on yourself. Everyone’s been struggling with the choreo since it changed in such short notice, and for a non-dancer you’re doing well. You remember all the steps, you just need to do them more gracefully.

Chai demonstrates one of the moves that Isadora was trying to do a moment earlier, but when Isadora copies, she doesn’t have the same natural rhythm and movement that Chai does. Chai tries coaching her through it, giving her instructions to twist a bit more, or move her arm like this and that, but it only makes Isadora more frustrated. 

Isadora: We’ve been trying this for days. It isn’t going to work. I’m a lost cause. 

Chai: Nobody is a lost cause. We just have to try something new.

Chai tells Isadora to do the routine again, and starts the music. She walks around Isadora as she dances, scrutinizing every move. At one point when Isadora seems particularly robotic in her movements, Chai reaches out to correct her position on instinct. She freezes when she realizes it might not want to be touched, hands hovering over Isadora’s hips. Isadora looks down at Chai’s hands and halts. 

Chai, shyly: Is this… okay?

Isadora gives a tentative nod. Chai rests her hands lightly on Isadora, and guides her through the movements. Both are quiet and a little tense, an odd tension in the air, but it isn’t uncomfortable.

As they get used to it, they relax and Isadora’s dancing becomes more natural. Once Chai thinks that she’s got it, she takes a step back and lets her hands drift away. She requests Isadora go through it again. This time, Isadora’s moves flow much better and she looks less awkward. Chai smiles brightly. 

Chai: You got it! 

Isadora: Really? 

Chai: Yeah, it’s looking good. Really good. Let's do it again.

Chai steps in line with Isadora, and they start the routine from scratch. That odd tension is still there, but it feels more like tentative excitement than anything else. They glance at each other as they step through moves in the routine, exchanging a smile before spinning in opposite directions.

INT. HAVERFORD PREP - AUDITORIUM - NIGHT

The Haverford boys are wrapping up their last evening rehearsal before Saturday, all of them sweaty and exhausted. Even if they’re got an unfair advantage, they’re not going to skate on it.

What is interesting is that Charlie is nowhere to be seen. Everyone else is accounted for except him, and his absence is noticeable -- particularly on the eve of showdown. Brandon runs through final notes and reminders, then relaxes just a fraction to rally his boys and assure them that victory is all but guaranteed. All there is left to do is go out there and do the damn thing.

Hurrah! The Havies come together as Billy leads a rallying cheer, demonstrating that iron-clad brotherhood once again. They do a final hoot and cheer and disband just as Charlie appears in the wings, hanging back to let them have their moment.

As his classmates pass him, their reception towards him is mixed -- some are casual and friendly, as if nothing is out of the ordinary, while others shoot him dirty looks for his blatant skipping of rehearsal. Billy makes a point of bumping him with his shoulder.

Billy: Way to show up, C.

Charlie takes it all in stride, swallowing his nerves and not reacting. He waits until the rest of the class has cleared out, hovering on the sidelines until there’s nothing left for Brandon to do but address him.

Brandon: I’m assuming, since you deemed to grace me with your presence now, that you have a good reason for missing our last rehearsal before showdown.

There’s his cue. Charlie nods, stepping out of the shadows and joining him on the stage.

Charlie: I’m sorry about that. Just… a personal emergency.

Brandon, unimpressed: It doesn’t reflect well on you, Charles. I admit, I thought you were more reliable than that. [ off his sheepish expression ] But it’s fine, we all have off days. Thankfully we were able to work around you.

Charlie: That’s good. I’m glad to hear it. [ a beat ] If you’ve already figured that out, then you’ll be able to do it without me on Saturday.

Now that, Brandon wasn’t expecting. His eyebrows shoot up. Charlie holds his ground, trying not to wither under his stare and keep his voice even and resolute.

Charlie: Believe me, it’s not my ideal outcome, and I really don’t want to let the team down. You guys have been good to me, really taken me under your wing, and I needed that when I first got here. I don’t want to screw that up.

Brandon: But?

Charlie: But I don’t think I can get up there and compete against Adams. You and the boys deserve to have everyone on the same page, one hundred percent dedicated and focused on the win. And as much as I want to be a part of that, I know in my heart I won’t be able to deliver.

Brandon remains skillfully unreadable, simply listening without giving any of his reactions away. Charlie clears his throat.

Charlie: I like being at Haverford. I like being part of the brotherhood. But part of me will always be with Adams. Those people… they’re my family. And I can’t go against family. [ a beat ] You get that, right?

Considering his commitment to the brotherhood, you’d think he would. Brandon contemplates for a long moment, leaving Charlie nervous and vulnerable in the encroaching silence… one that grows more painful the longer it ticks on...

Then he smiles, suave and unbothered like always.

Brandon: Sure, Charles. I understand completely.

Charlie exhales, managing a relieved smile. He thanks Brandon for being so cool about it, and assures him that he’ll still be there on Saturday to support everyone. But this already feels so much better. He thanks Brandon one more time and then heads out, wishing him luck for the whole team as he goes.

Brandon upholds his pleasant smile until Charlie is gone, granting him an easy wave as he steps out the door. But once he’s out of sight, the charm dissipates. His expression sours, the barbed edges bleeding through his smooth demeanor.

Announcer, pre-lap: Ladies and gentlemen, we’re in for a face-off for the ages!

INT. SHOWDOWN FINALS VENUE - LOBBY - DAY

Saturday. The day of senior showdown. The energy is electric as we move through the elegant space, the same arts and cultural center where the Jacobs Gala was held in 112. It’s grandiose and professional-grade, a sense of the big leagues if there ever was one. It’s like one step below an actual Broadway stage -- think the Dolby Theatre Oscars vibes, or the Kennedy Center.

The place is already buzzing with life, venue officials rushing to and fro to keep things organized and groups from different schools wandering and congregating. Adams and Haverford are only one showdown of many this afternoon, as the announcers explain over the scenery that senior showdown is an annual event that encompasses multiple forms of competitive art and multiple delegations of the cream of the crop. Manhattan is only a piece of the program today -- though admittedly, it’s one of the most anticipated segments of the day.

INT. SHOWDOWN FINALS VENUE - AUDITORIUM - DAY

The announcers say as much, describing that the orchestra showdowns will kick us off, followed by show choir, dance troupe, and a couple of other categories. And then by this afternoon, we’ll dive into the highly awaited performance showdowns, including the two Manhattan elites: Adams Academy for the Arts versus their long-time rivals and reigning six-year champs, Haverford Preparatory Academy. As they wrap up their opening spiel, we get a look at the fancy stage digs they’ll be working with, already filling up with spectators.

What a way to fund the arts. It’s time to showdown!

EXT. LUCAS’S APARTMENT - DAY

Well, not quite yet time. The A class still has time to spare, and things are much quieter over in the East Village.

INT. LUCAS’S APARTMENT - LUCAS’S BEDROOM - DAY

Which is where we find Riley and Lucas, picking up a couple of items for showdown that Lucas had been storing for safe-keeping. His shoebox bedroom is remarkably neater than we’ve seen it in the past, all that spring cleaning from last year having paid off. It’s at least decent enough that he’s allowing Riley to be in it -- though the reasoning for that is more likely the lack of a certain someone or something.

Either way, they’re not staying long. Lucas hands the materials to Riley and they head out, discussing how long they think it’ll take to get uptown. Traffic is pretty dastardly today, apparently, especially around the venue.

INT. LUCAS’S APARTMENT - DAY

They duck out of Lucas’s room and he shuts the door behind him. He tells Riley to give him one second while he grabs one more thing from the closet, jogging out of sight down the tiny hallway. She says no worries, perfectly content to wait on her own and take in every last detail of his home given how rarely she’s allowed inside to see it.

When suddenly the door opens in the entryway. Riley freezes, staring towards the doorway. She braces herself for the worst, completely unsure what might happen or what she should do if he shows up. Worried about what might happen to Lucas…

But it’s not the worst. It’s only GRACE FRIAR, who mirrors Riley’s surprise as she enters the living area and finds her unexpectedly parked in her apartment. She’s dressed for work at the florist, dressed in a worn but pretty floral dress and an evergreen apron, light hair pulled back out of her face.

Riley, uncertainly: Hi.

Lucas reappears in the next instant, having rushed back when he heard the noise. He’s relieved to find it’s only his mother, but barely. He quickly comes to stand at Riley’s side, evidently nervous at this turn of events. It was never part of his plan.

Lucas: Mom. What are you doing here? I thought you weren’t going to be home.

Grace, timid: I swapped shifts with another employee. Since Kenneth is in Jersey for the game, I thought I’d try and see if I could free up my afternoon to see your showdown performance today. [ glancing at Riley ] And I guess I got lucky.

Oh. That’s nice. Lucas wasn’t expecting it, uncertain what to say next. He only figures it out when he realizes how intently Riley and Grace are looking at each other, both fascinated and curious and definitely a bit nervous. He clears his throat, awkwardly scratching his neck.

Lucas: Um, this is Riley. Riley, this is my mom.

Very informative, Lucas. But that’s all Riley needs, and with permission to interact, her bubbly charm does the rest. She steps forward, holding out a hand and offering a sincere smile.

Riley: Hi again. It’s so nice to finally meet you.

Grace: [ accepting her handshake ] Likewise. Unexpected, though… I suppose the best things in life are.

She chuckles anxiously, and Riley does her the favor of laughing along with her. So skilled at making others feel comfortable, like that’s just naturally how she operates.

Grace: I’m sorry I’m so unprepared. If I had known I would’ve… cleaned up, or had something ready to…

Riley: Oh, please, no. Don’t worry about it. I’m the one intruding on you.

Lucas: And we’re just passing through. Picking up a couple things. [ pointedly ] And we should go if we want to beat the traffic --

Grace: Right. Right, of course. Don’t let me get in your way.

Grace quickly steps to the side, an expert at making herself smaller. She skirts around them and gives them easy access to the entryway and a swift exit, wishing both of them luck with showdown. Hopefully she’ll be able to make it down there.

Riley, enthusiastically: You definitely should. It’s going to be an amazing show. And our competition is notoriously tough to beat, so they should at least be enjoyable.

With a pitch like that, how could she say no? Riley should do marketing for the showdown committee. And she could probably find generous ways to keep the conversation going for hours, but Lucas is keen to expedite this escape and gently nudges her towards the door. She gifts Grace one more goodbye before they depart.

Although she wasn’t prepared for it, Grace seems happy with the introduction. A light smile lingers on her face.

INT. BABINEAUX HOME - DAY

DONNA BABINEAUX pulls open the front door, finding Nigel and Yindra on the doorstep. Yindra already has her hair and make-up done, looking stellar, and Nigel’s hair is brushed up out of his face. Donna seems unsurprised to see them, stepping back and knowingly nodding towards the stairs.

Donna: He’s in his room. Good luck.

Nigel and Yindra exchange a look.

INT. BABINEAUX HOME - ZAY’S BEDROOM - DAY

Zay is far from ready to roll, still wrapped up in his blankets and hunkered down to wallow. His boot rests on the floor at the foot of his bed.

He’s looking at videos on his phone, mainly of the days when he could dance. The semis routine, clips from rehearsals pre-injury, ones he recorded that he ended up using for his applications. Today is the day he’s supposed to be doing all of it, helping elevate Adams to victory.

And that’s not the only thing interspersed throughout his library as he flicks through files. There are videos of him with his friends, too, and the ones he always hovers on longer are the ones of Charlie. Ones that are now almost a year old, like them rehearsing in their usual studio together, goofing off, or where he didn’t even realize Zay was filming. The one he hesitates on longer than the rest involves Charlie laying where he is right now, bashful and uncontrollably giggling while Zay picks on him from off-screen.

It’s all mixed together, all haunting him in different ways, but it doesn’t set him off anymore. There’s no more aggressive fuel compensating for the loss, so now it simply aches. Crazy, how much has changed in so little time… how he has no idea how much of it will change back or inevitably shift again from underneath him…

Yindra and Nigel swing open his door, startling him. He quickly locks his phone and grumbles at them as to what the hell they’re doing.

Zay: Why are you here? You can’t be all the way in Queens when you should be at the venue already.

Yindra: We know. It’s a calculated risk.

Nigel: But if we should be there, we could say the same to you.

Zay huffs, tossing his phone onto the covers and sinking deeper into his bed. They must have miscalculated, because they’re wasting precious time. He’s not performing, so he has no reason to be there like them. He’s not going.

They thought he might say that -- and they’re not taking no for an answer. Not now, on a day that means everything. In a surprisingly feisty move, Nigel leans forward and rips the blankets off him.

Nigel: Get up.

Zay: Yo, what the hell --

Yindra: Damn, Nige.

Zay: What’s your deal? Did you not hear me? There is no reason for me to go. I can’t perform, and sitting there watching what I can’t do doesn’t sound like an exciting afternoon for me. I have nothing to contribute, so why should I bother?

Nigel: Bullshit.

Yindra: Damn, Nige.

Nigel: That’s bullshit, Zay! You know it is. You have contributed plenty to our setlist -- you choreographed an entirely new routine in a week!

Yindra: True.

Nigel: We never would’ve been able to pull that off without you. And we still won’t if you’re not there, because I’m more than positive some of us are going to need refreshers right up until we get on that stage. You know, since again, we picked it up in a week.

Yindra: Also true.

Nigel: And even if that weren’t the case, it shouldn’t matter anyway. You should want to be there because this is it, man. We have worked our butts off for three years to get to this point. And I agree, it sucks that you can’t be up there on dancing it out with us -- you know I think that. But that doesn’t mean you should forgo it all and crawl under a rock to wait it out. This is one of those experiences we’re going to remember forever, and I know you. You don’t want to be the person who missed it all and can’t share in the memories because he didn’t even try. Even if you can’t be on stage yourself, you should want to show up for the rest of us. For Riley, for Yindra. For me. I think you want to, underneath your pride and your self-pity. [ a beat ] And deep down, I think you know that if you tap out and skip it, you’re going to regret it forever.

Wow. It would be a good argument on its own, but since it’s coming from an impassioned Nigel, it’s especially compelling. Yindra stares at her usually laid back, non-confrontational best friend, jaw hanging open slightly.

Yindra, hushed: Damn, Nigel! Where has this been for the last three years?

Yindra shifts her wide eyes to Zay. You’re seeing this too, right? But Nigel doesn’t break, holding Zay’s gaze and continuing the encouragement with his classic Shakespearean smolder.

Finally, Zay relents. He pushes himself forward to the edge of the bed and asks them to hand him his boot, and for Yindra to grab something from his closet for him to throw on. They’re going to have to move fast if they want to get there on time.

Zay: [ as Yindra dashes to his closet ] Pick something fresh!

Yindra, off-screen: You insult me!

Nigel hands him his boot, Zay taking it gratefully. He meets his eyes again.

Zay: Thanks for not leaving me behind.

Nigel, sincere: “To me, fair friend, you never can be old.”

Okay, Bard nerd. But it’s sweet, and the sentiment obviously means a lot to Zay.

INT. SHOWDOWN FINALS VENUE - LOBBY - DAY

Eric and Isadora arrive together, the latter in a rush to get backstage. She thanks Eric for driving and promises she’ll see him after the show, and he shouts a good luck after her in return.

Once he’s alone, he scans the room and all the well-dressed patrons mixing and mingling. An usher offers him a program and he takes it cheerfully, but he finally spots who he’s looking for before he can read it.

JACK HUNTER. It’s like he hasn’t been able to find him all week — and this seems like the kind of time where you want your principal to be around. He’s conversing with EVELYN RAND, charming and professional as always.

Eric heads over to join them, friendly but keeping that healthy distance between them after their discussion last week. Evelyn brightens when she sees him approaching, giving him a jolly hello and stating she better be off. Performances to see! But she is wishing the best of luck to them and the delegation from Adams.

Evelyn departs, leaving the two of them alone. They exchange warm greetings, though it’s muted from Jack. They mention all of the stuff they heard about the scramble the A class went through from Lucas and Isadora, noting the stacked odds.

Eric: Well, all we can hope is that they managed to pull it together. They’ve done it before -- I believe they’ll do it again.

Jack: Yeah… yes, me too.

But given his own stacked odds at the moment, Jack’s belief doesn’t seem wholly convincing. Eric clocks his apprehension, the way he feels like a shade of his former self. He steps a little closer, dropping his voice to a murmur.

Eric: Things will work out, Jack. You don’t have to disappear from the equation for things to work out.

Jack doesn’t seem convinced. Eric frowns. He starts to say more, but Jack’s eye has caught HARRISON YANCY across the room, mingling with JEFFERSON DAVIS GRAHAM and other prominent school board members. They cast a glance in his direction, unreadable, holding too much power in their hands.

Jack clears his throat, creating more distance between him and Eric as he starts to retreat.

Jack: Should head on in. I believe Harper saved us a seat. Wouldn’t want to miss our competition’s performance.

Eric glances over his shoulder where Jack was looking, spotting the crowd of conservative board hawks. He scowls, starting to comment, but when he turns back around Jack is already gone.

INT. RILEY’S CAR - DAY

Lucas and Riley arrive around the same time, pulling into a parking spot and killing the engine. Lucas is behind the wheel today, and from how quiet the car is it seems there wasn’t much chatter on the drive over. The two of them sit in the silence for a moment, Riley searching for a way to broach the subject.

Riley: … your mom seems really nice. It’s cool that she wants to come to showdown. You know, maybe we should’ve offered her a ride…

Lucas, quickly: I’m sorry about how I acted. That I like, rushed you out of there.

Riley: It’s okay. I figured it caught everyone by surprise.

Lucas: It’s not that I don’t want you to meet her. Or don’t want her to meet you. I’m not trying to hide you or anything. [ scoffing ] Honestly, if there’s anything in my life worth showing off, I know full well what it is. And it’s not like I think she wouldn’t like you -- I mean, it’s impossible not to.

Riley smiles, bashful. He’s still nervous, keeping his eyes on the keys rather than her, but he pushes through the vulnerability anyway. Really trying.

Lucas: It’s just that… things with them… me and my parents, it’s not… it’s weird. They’ve never -- my mom, she doesn’t even really feel like… it’s more like we’re… I don’t know, roommates rather than blood. Prisonmates, sometimes. [ chuckling awkwardly, then frowning; he just can’t say anything right ] It’s not that I don’t… I know she cares about me. In her way. I just didn’t… it’s hard to explain. It’s all kinda fucked up, and I didn’t want to get you all… tangled into it. [ a beat ] But I don’t want you thinking it’s because of you, because it’s not.

He said more than enough. Riley reaches across the console and gently touches his cheek, waiting for him to meet her eyes.

Riley: It’s okay. I understand. But thank you for telling me.

Lucas nods. She turns the light touch into a caress, stroking her thumb against his cheekbone. He closes his eyes and leans into the gesture.

Riley: She really did seem lovely. Pretty, and super sweet. [ fondly ] I see her in you.

It’s possible no one has ever said that to Lucas before. He processes the compliment, letting it sink in, then manages a shy smile. He takes her hand in his own, pressing a soft kiss to her palm and then linking their fingers together.

They soak in the peace, the kind they can always rely on to find with each other… and they’re going to need it, because it won’t last long inside that venue…

INT. SHOWDOWN FINALS VENUE - DRESSING ROOM HALL - DAY

Case in point, backstage it’s a circus as performers scramble to get ready. Isadora is marching through the chaos, back in stage manager mode, trying to account for everybody and figure out what fires are still left to be put out. One of which would be the fact that so many people from their team still aren’t here -- Nigel and Yindra; Jade with the costumes; Farkle; Riley and Lucas.

She shouts amidst the group if anyone has seen any of them. Darby stops mid-jog to the girls dressing room.

Darby: Farkle is already here, I saw him. We were a couple of the first to arrive.

Isadora: And where is he now?

Darby: No idea. But he’s around here somewhere!

Isadora: Perfect. That’s so helpful. Absolutely enlightening information!

Isadora whips around just as Riley and Lucas make their way into the hall. She exhales a dramatic sigh, complimenting them sarcastically for finally making it. At least somebody can roll up when they’re needed. The two of them exchange a yikes look, scooting around Isadora carefully so as not to detonate her further.

Isadora: And where the hell are Nigel and Yindra?!

INT. NIGEL’S CAR - MOVING - DAY

Nigel and Yindra are en route, but “moving” might be a misleading slugline. They’re stuck in that bumper-to-bumper traffic Riley and Lucas were discussing, tensions high as they race to make it to the venue.

Yindra: This is going to give me high blood pressure! Can’t you go any faster, Nigel?

Nigel: GO? GO WHERE, YINDRA? I CAN’T GO FASTER WHEN WE’RE STOPPED.

Zay leans forward between them from the middle backseat, breaking into their bickering to inform them of updates from Riley. They’re transitioning into the performing arts section of the program, which means the clock is ticking down by the second. Yindra and Nigel continue to bicker, volume rising under the stress, until Zay finally smacks Nigel’s shoulder to get his attention.

Nigel: WHAT?

Zay: GREEN LIGHT. CARS MOVING.

Yindra: GO! GO! GO!

Nigel: AHHHHHHHHHHHHH --

Nigel hits the gas, and they’re moving once again --

INT. SHOWDOWN FINALS VENUE - BACKSTAGE - DAY

Riley is concealed in the shadows of the wings, watching nervously as another school from a different league showdown completes their routine. Based on the music playing, they’re going for a more classical repertoire, but Riley seems grateful they don’t have even more competition to be worried about than just Haverford.

She leans forward just enough to peer through the curtain, still hidden but able to glimpse the grand house beyond the stage. It seems like a pretty packed audience, and somewhere out there are the judges who will decide their fate. Their standing against Haverford, the future of Lucas’s scholarship initiative, the spirit of her class… the weight of all the above resting on her shoulders and creating the subtle frown on her face.

Brandon: Nice accommodations, aren’t they?

Riley spins and comes face to face with Brandon. He’s already dressed in his performance attire -- no longer quite as glossy and more refined to contrast AAA’s original shiny style -- but he’s taken the time to double check that everything is right where it needs to be for their setlist… and apparently, to run into her.

Brandon: I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of formally meeting yet, Riley. [ offering a hand ] Brandon Rivas.

She’s not eager to change that, but Riley is socially savvy. She knows how to play things right, so she mirrors his pleasant smile and accepts the handshake.

Riley: Oh, I’ve heard all about you. But I’m sure you already know that.

Brandon: Guilty as charged. There’s not much I don’t know. But it would be hard for me not to know you, considering how often Charles has talked about you. He speaks highly of you, rest assured.

Riley: That I believe. Charlie is a good friend. I wouldn’t expect any less from him.

Brandon: Yes… he is, isn’t he.

They exchange a couple more small talk niceties, including Riley mentioning that she’s heard they were quite impressive at semis. Both of them have their work cut out for them, facing each other. Brandon shrugs humbly, then claims he should go gather the boys. The team on stage is wrapping up, and then they’ve only got 10 minutes to show. But he’s pleased they had the chance to meet.

Brandon: Good to confer leader to leader -- makes for good sportsmanship. I know there are power structures in place at Adams, but to my understanding, it’s you who pulls the strings across the park. The true brains of the operation.

Well, if we’re aiming for good sportsmanship, the Havies are already laps behind. And Riley clearly doesn’t like his tone, what he’s subtly implying about her friends -- including and especially her boyfriend.

But she doesn’t show it, merely sharpening her smile instead.

Riley: I wouldn’t underestimate any of my cohort.

Tell him, Riles! Brandon starts to back off, easing further into the shadows.

Brandon: Break a leg -- though you probably can’t afford many more of those, can you?

Oh, shots are being fired. Riley’s expression twitches, but she doesn’t give him the satisfaction of a response. She releases a pointed exhale once he’s gone, the audience launching into applause behind her indicating that the time to bring it is in fact inching closer and closer…

EXT. SHOWDOWN FINALS VENUE - ROOFTOP - DAY

The exterior of the venue is less glamorous but just as stunning as the interior. A beautiful rooftop terrace acts as a place for guests to mingle during intermissions or events, similar to the outer walkways of the Kennedy Center. It provides a gorgeous view of the city stretched out around them, the sky a hazy periwinkle on this chilly early December afternoon.

Farkle seems to be enjoying the cold, though. He’s perched on a bench looking out towards the south of the island, just glimpsing the peak of his building in the financial district. He closes his eyes and inhales deep, absorbing the cold air and letting it cool his nerves. He’s hiding his costume under his coat, but we can see the beginnings of what the aesthetic might be given the stardust-like eyeshadow and eyeliner he’s sporting.

His momentary peace is destroyed when Isadora slams open the door and stomps towards him, hands on hips.

Isadora: There you are! Do you know how stressed I am already attempting to manage everyone before this absolutely convoluted last-minute showdown showcase without you deciding to disappear off the face of the earth? Why the hell are you out here?

A couple of other patrons stare at them, then awkwardly retreat towards the other side of the roof. Theater kids. Farkle glances around them to see if anyone else reacted, then mutters a halfhearted apology. Isadora sighs, unimpressed, but shifts her demeanor to be less threatening (or at least, she tries).

Isadora: What’s going on with you? You haven’t been in your right mind recently and I’m starting to worry. 

Farkle, dryly: Do I even have a right mind to be in? 

Isadora: I’m assuming that’s rhetorical, so I won’t respond. Just tell me what’s wrong and I’ll fix it. 

Farkle: Nothing you can do. Or anybody. I’m cursed. This is just something I have to deal with on my own.

Isadora scoffs and rolls her eyes. 

Isadora: You’re being such a little bitch right now. 

Farkle, surprised: Excuse me?

Isadora: You’ve been spaced out for days, you drop out of the showcase, you hide yourself away from everybody. Fine, do what you have to do. But at least tell me why. Don’t just sit there moaning like a crybaby about dealing with it by yourself. If you tell me, then you don’t have to do it alone. Simple. 

Farkle: But there’s nothing you can do to help. Why bother you with my stuff when you’re so stressed already?

With a sigh, Isadora sits down next to him. 

Isadora: You being all depressed and closed off is one of the main things stressing me out, for your information. 

Farkle: [ relenting ] Fine. My therapist told me that I’m bipolar.

And there it is. Out in the open, even if Farkle looks extremely sulky while saying so. Isadora nods at the reveal, not all that surprised. 

Isadora: That makes sense. It was one of the things I suspected you might have. 

Farkle: One of?

Isadora: Oh, I had a whole list of possible diagnoses for you. How are you dealing with it? You don’t seem particularly happy about it.

No kidding. Farkle explains how he’s struggling to grapple with the diagnosis, and how it’s thrown his entire sense of identity into question. Isadora listens to him carefully, nodding along while she thinks. 

Isadora: I get that. When my social worker first told me that she suspected I might be autistic, I hated it. I only knew about autism through Rain Man and Sheldon Cooper, so I wasn’t thrilled. I thought it meant that I was an antisocial freak who could never make friends. But as I learned more about it, the more I like… made sense to myself. It wasn’t just me against the world anymore -- there were other people out there like me, who understood me. 

Farkle: I’ve been researching a lot, but that hasn’t helped. 

Isadora: Have you joined any online communities? Read about it from an actual bipolar person’s perspective?

Farkle admits that he hasn’t, so Isadora suggests that he do that. 

Isadora: I know that right now it’s scary -- like your entire world has changed and you no longer fit into it. But you’re still the same Farkle, and we’re still the same world. Nothing has changed except for a label; a label which will allow you to access resources that will actually help you. 

Farkle: What helped you come to terms with your diagnosis? 

Isadora: Lucas and Riley. I got diagnosed in middle school, and I didn’t really have any friends then. When I started at Triple A, I did a lot of research on how to cope in high school and make friends. It all felt way too forced and awkward, and I was so sure that I would never have any. That because of the way I was, I would also be an outcast. [ a beat as she remembers ] With Lucas, everything happened naturally. We just clicked, and started to spend almost all our time together. 

Farkle, under his breath: Codependency...

Isadora: He made me realize that I could have friends, and that I was enough exactly as I am. Then, sophomore year, Riley came along. I had to make an effort to be friends with her, there was compromise and a lot of learning moments. She helped me whenever I was struggling and didn’t judge me for my mistakes. They both accepted and loved me wholly. [ looking to Farkle ] I accept and love you wholly, Farkle. And I will be here to help you figure it out, I promise.

As Isadora gives him a warm smile, Farkle seems unable to speak. His eyes are glossy, but shining with something else too as he looks at her. He swallows before thanking her.

She stands up and offers him a hand.

Isadora: Will you come downstairs and participate now?

Despite not needing to, Farkle takes Isadora’s hand to help pull him up. Isadora lets go as soon as he’s up, but he’ll take it. As the bouncy and energetic percussion of “Seize the Day” slowly grows louder from below…

INT. SHOWDOWN FINALS VENUE - AUDITORIUM - DAY

Haverford is running through the tail-end of their opening number, giving an excellent show already. Considering Brandon gifted Charlie the opportunity to take the solo in the first place, he steps back into it effortlessly, so it’s not as though they’re completely hobbled without him. Still, the dancing isn’t quite as precise, not exactly as compelling, and Brandon lacks his earnest spark that left such an impression the first time around.

But they’re not at all out of the race. They’re still intimidating competition to be up against, and they’re leaving nothing to chance. The applause is effusive as the lights dim and they wrap up the Newsies number, quickly rearranging formation to get ready for the next one.

This is when Charlie makes his entrance, quietly moving through the house and finding a couple free seats in the back center section. He settles into a spot just as Haverford is beginning their second, new number, the lights brightening again.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Sherry” as performed by Franki Valli & The Four Seasons || Performed by Haverford Seniors

Dweezil starts us off front and center, the rest of the boys standing in formation behind him as the jaunty, rhythmic orchestration kicks off. He takes the lead due to his impressive falsetto, and when he starts to step along in some simple movements to the beat, the boys layer in on the harmonies and echo his movements. It creates that same chilling, enchanting effect they showed us from their first performance in 301, the sensation of watching a machine in perfect sync.

And Brandon’s strategic adjustment of their setlist is on full display with their new choice. It’s indisputably classic, a callback to different times and classier days, which is a major deviation from AAA’s original contemporary setlist. The simple choreography allows them to emphasize their well-oiled machine feature, and the choice shows off their harmonies and vocal range just as much if not better than another pop hit from PRETTYMUCH.

It’s impossible not to tap your foot along, and without a doubt will butter up the older judges who feel rosy about that era. Say what you want about Brandon, but there’s no denying the man thinks of everything.

INT. SHOWDOWN FINALS VENUE - PARKING GARAGE - DAY

Nigel, Yindra, and Zay finally arrive, wasting no time in hopping out of the car and booking it. Nigel freezes halfway around the front, eyes wide, while Zay scrambles to get out of the backseat with one good foot.

Nigel: Pass. I need a pass. Where do I get a pass?

Yindra: [ slamming the car door ] No time!

Nigel: I need a pass or I’m gonna get a ticket!

Yindra: THEN GET A TICKET.

Nigel lets out another exasperated yell, hoping for the best and starting to sprint after Yindra. Zay tries to hobble after them, but he’s not nearly fast enough.

Zay: Um, guys --

Nigel: Zay --

Zay: No, it’s fine. I’ll make it eventually. Go on without me. Save yourselves.

Nigel: I swear, damn Shakespearean tragedy in this trio --

Yindra glances between them, then back at Zay, conflicted. But she doesn’t want to leave him behind…

Yindra: Oh, for fuck’s sake.

EXT. SHOWDOWN FINALS VENUE - DAY

The three of them emerge from the garage and make for the steps up to the main entrance, Yindra now carrying Zay piggyback style while Nigel takes the lead. He makes it to the top of the steps, shouting for them to hurry up.

Yindra: Excuse me, you’re not the one carrying another person! No, I had to because of your frail vegetarian bones!

Nigel: Vegetarianism has nothing to do with your bones, in fact studies show it improves --

Yindra/Zay: NOT NOW.

Zay: Go, go, go!

Nigel holds open the door for them to zoom past, diving in after them.

INT. SHOWDOWN FINALS VENUE - DRESSING ROOM - DAY

The A class has assembled in the dressing room together while the Havies finish their set. They’re mostly all dressed up and ready to go, though it’s obvious elements of their costumes are missing.

The girls are dressed in shimmery leotards with intricate detailing on the bodices,  alternating in either silver or gold, and lower halves that are closer to shorts than an actual leotards would be. The only exception is Yindra’s, still hanging on the rack, which is ruby red. They also vary in sleeve length, some closer to tanks while others have long sleeves similar to this. The boys are dressed in red dress shirts that appear to match the design of the leotards, but they’re currently concealed under sleek but breathable black suit jackets, and their pants are silky and alternate in either silver or gold.

On top of traditional stage makeup, the girls also have a bit of rouge to accent the color scheme and bright red lips. Every single one of the performers has shimmery gold eyeshadow accenting their eyeliner, and Darby and Chai are taking careful care to give each of them a sprinkling of crimson rhinestones just around the corners of their eyes.

Riley is just finishing up pinning her hair, styled so it’s tumbling stylishly over one shoulder but will hold. She’s been trying to keep it cool all afternoon but the nerves are starting to creep up on her now -- especially since once again so many of them are missing down to the wire. Maybe they won’t be able to pull it together in the nick of time after all…

Isadora is also feeling the pressure, marching back into the dressing room with Farkle in tow. Her tenderness from that conversation is long gone. Darby gestures Farkle over to get his crimson added, while Isadora threatens to implode over the fact that certain people still aren’t here. Are they trying to send her into cardiac arrest? Maya raises her eyebrows from where she’s volumizing her award-winning golden locks, fussing it up with her hands to give it that starkissed quality.

Maya: Wow. Is that what I sound like?

Yogi: Most of the time, yes.

Maya: Well. Happy to hear I sound like a passionate, intense woman with vision.

Chai tries to calm Isadora, tentatively reaching out and patting her shoulder. Isadora allows the touch, willing to take serenity from any source right now.

Sarah, Missy, and Nate all rush into the room at the same time, claiming that they’ve bought them a little more time. Sarah says she complained to one of the stage managers so much about something nitpicky that they almost started crying, so now they’re pausing to fix it; Nate straight up just stole one of the announcers microphones and hid it so now they’re stalling to look for it. And Missy paid off one of the stagehands to get the crowd to do a 7th-inning style stretch like in baseball, just for theater nerds.

Darby: Seriously? I didn’t think they’d go with something silly like that.

Missy: When someone slides over a few hundreds, people will do anything.

Maybe so. If it buys them even a few more minutes before they have to get ready to hit their marks, so be it.

Thankfully, the cavalry rolls up just in time. Nigel and Yindra race through the doors, everyone exclaiming palpable relief. Yindra waves them all off and immediately grabs her leotard to start changing, wondering if they’ve gotten the rest of their costumes yet. Zay limps in a few moments later, everyone greeting him cheerfully in spite of their anxieties.

Riley slides over and pulls him into a tight hug.

Riley: I’m so glad you came.

Zay: Yeah, well, I’ve got good friends and am attracting wake-up calls like a magnet these days. Honestly, if this one could be the last one for a while, I’d appreciate it.

With that, Zay wishes all of them the best of luck, assuring them he’ll be out there cheering them on. They cheer him off, then frantically go back to pulling themselves together.

The last missing link swoops in just as Zay disappears, Jade entering to great fanfare with Dave, Jeff, and Lucas on her heels. They’re carrying the last remaining costume pieces, basically hot off the sewing machine, Jade holding a pretty-looking gauzy fabric in her arms while the boys are holding bulkier items.

Jade: Okay, now we’re ready to roll.

Riley, in awe: Jade, you are a genius.

All of them gleefully commend Jade for her hard work, swarming the boys to get their last costume piece -- for the girls, blazers similar to the ones the boys already have. But they’re glossy silver and gold, at least as far as we can see. Nigel is staring at Jade, mouth parted open, once again struck by how she manages to pull off the impossible.

Jade: Make sure you’re picking one that matches your leotard, and remember when you do the reverse to move gently, even though you’re moving fast. These are durable, but you don’t want to risk tearing it apart in the middle of the set.

Then Jade gestures Yindra forward, handing off the last piece to her. She tells her how to put it on and fasten it correctly, and also how to remove it correctly while still allowing for showy flair. But she knows she can handle it -- and it was custom-made for her, so.

Yindra: My very own Jade Beamon original. [ with a grin ] Coveted rite of diva passage.

Jade beams. But their nice moment is interrupted -- and from a very uncommon source of interruption, at that.

Nigel, boldly: Jade.

She jumps lightly, swiveling to find him. Yindra makes a face, stepping back a bit, and it’s like the seas part for them to be able to see each other. The entire A class goes silent -- a rare feat -- watching the interaction with rapt interest.

Jade: … yes?

Well, he’s done it now. Now is the moment to say what he needs to say -- if he fumbles it now, he may not ever get the frenzied courage to speak again. He takes a deep breath, holding her gaze, speaking confidently even though he’s breathless.

Nigel: You are the most incredible person I’ve ever met.

Jade has stopped breathing, standing like a deer in headlights at the center of the room. She knows all eyes are on her, and that shy part of her core is quaking… but there’s a hopeful gleam in her eyes, too. An electricity that doesn’t let her look away, doesn’t let her even think about escape. And she doesn’t want to anyway. This moment is something she’s daydreamed about since she was fourteen... is it finally actually happening…

Jade: … yeah?

Nigel: Yes. You outshine everything else. You never cease to amaze me, you consistently pull off the impossible. You’re insanely talented, and yet you’re one of the most down-to-earth people I know. I like down-to-earth.

With each statement, Nigel slowly closes the distance between them, coming to join her at the center. She doesn’t stop him, not able to do anything but keep looking at him.

Nigel: I like you.

Jade: Oh.

Nigel: And I know I’m quiet, and hesitant, and don’t usually speak my mind. I’ve been distracted, and clueless, and some have even called me a chickenshit.

Yindra, quietly: Well, we don’t need to bring that up right now...

Nigel: I know all that, and I know it hurt you. It made you unsure, and I completely get that. But I’m not distracted now. I’ve got a clue. And I’m not scared anymore.

He’s right in front of her now, only a bit of space between them. Jade gazes up at him, holding her ground, but that hopeful gleam has spread into an aura. It’s bouncing between them, it’s filling up the room.

Nigel, softly: And I don’t know if I’ll ever stop being quiet --

Jade: … I like quiet…

Nigel: But I’m speaking up now. I’ll speak as loud as I need to make sure you hear it. I like you. I like you, Jade Beamon. And if you’re not too busy being the incredible woman you are… I’d like to take you on a date.

Whew! The class is holding their breath, riveted like it’s their very own TV show, waiting to see what happens next. There’s a pause, a beat of uncertainty where we don’t know what direction things are going to go… and then Jade breaks into a smile.

Jade: Yeah. [ nodding eagerly ] Yeah, okay, I’d like that.

VICTORY! Not the main one of the evening, but a victory nonetheless. Nigel mirrors her smile, obviously relieved, as the Yogi starts an uproarious clap that the rest of the class echoes. Once they’ve just a few moments to soak it in, Lucas clears his throat.

Lucas: This is nice, and everything, but is it really the best time…

Nigel snaps his head to look at him, smile dropping. His expression is incredulous.

Nigel: Are you kidding me? For real? As if you all haven’t been making dramatic scenes and making everything about you for the last three years?!

Maya: Well.

Nigel: But no, I make one statement one time --

Yindra, to Darby: I swear, whatever Nigel is on today, I want some of it.

His (perhaps righteous) tirade towards the mains is cut short, though, an usher popping his head in and explaining that they finally found that missing microphone. So they should be backstage for places in about five minutes and counting.

That’s one way to get everyone back on track. Lucas tells Dave and Nate to go head backstage, the two of them exchanging quick bro hugs with Dylan, Asher, and Jeff and wishing them luck before they zoom off. Lucas takes one last second to reach Riley, taking her hand and accepting the brief kiss she gives him automatically. They keep their foreheads pressed together, pretending for an instant amidst the chaos that it’s just the two of them.

Lucas: You look amazing. You’re going to kill this thing.

Riley: Ditto. [ breathy ] I love you.

Lucas nods, opening his mouth as if he’s going to respond. Like he’s going to say it back, like it’s right on the tip of his tongue… but it doesn’t come. Not yet. He kisses her again instead, pointedly, then he pulls away and dashes out after Nate and Dave. Missy eyes him as he goes, expression hard to read.

Riley takes a deep breath, holds it, lets it go, and spins to rally the troops together. She gathers them in a circle and Maya leads them in an empowering but kickass -- and classically Maya -- pep talk to hype them up. Then Dylan takes the lead, putting his hand in the middle. The rest of them follow without hesitation, and he leads them in the war-cry pump-up ritual he usually  leads the techies in before shows. Let’s go, Triple A. Let’s go, Triple A. LET’S GO, TRIPLE A --

Then they throw their arms in the air, full to bursting with infectious energy as they look towards the ceiling -- or in this case, at us, looking down on them from above.

LET’S GO!

Break 2.

INT. SHOWDOWN FINALS VENUE - LOBBY - DAY

A couple of light dings and the venue lights dimming and rising indicate to those mingling outside that the intermission between competitors is nearing its end. Charlie finishes the cup of water he was drinking, tossing it into the recycling and turning to head back towards the auditorium -- when he locks eyes with Zay, also slowly making his way in that direction from the dressing room hall. Charlie approaches uncertainly.

Charlie: Hi.

Zay, awkwardly: Hey. [ eyeing his plain clothes ] What are you doing out here? Shouldn’t you be backstage, embroiled in a post-performance high?

Charlie: [ with a nervous laugh ] Actually, no. I chose not to perform.

Zay raises his eyebrows, surprised. His non-answer begs for further explanation, though, so Charlie shyly elaborates.

Charlie: It just didn’t feel right. Don’t get me wrong, it was fun, getting to be front and center for a time. Try something new. But going up against you all… I don’t know. Just didn’t feel like me.

Zay: I bet nefarious factors behind the scenes didn’t improve that feeling either.

Charlie: No, yeah… yeah, that didn’t help. [ with a shrug ] Oh well. Just one performance, right? No big deal.

But it is. It’s one of the biggest deals of the year, and they both know it. Charlie sacrificed his chance to be a part of it, and risked a lot more in telling them the truth so they could save their routine -- and yet, that doesn’t feel out of character for him at all. Zay knows all too well.

Zay: Well, at least you didn’t fully turn yourself over to the dark side. [ off his amused head shake ] I guess it’s nice to hear that even with all the other changes, you’ve managed to remember who you are.

Charlie: … maybe, yeah. But thanks. That means a lot, coming from you.

He should know, as perhaps the only person who ever really knew him in the first place. The sentiment lingers between them, trapping them back in that uncertain space of not knowing exactly where they stand. It looks like Charlie wants to say more, but the intercom dings again, signaling that Adams’ performance is imminent.

Charlie: It’s great you could be here to support them, though. Even though you can’t perform yourself. [ a beat ] I’ve got a seat open next to me… you know, if you haven’t settled anywhere yet.

Another beat of hesitancy… and then Zay nods.

Zay: Since the rest of my crew is a little busy… yeah. That’d be cool.

Just the right amount of arrogance and graciousness, and a perfect dose of Zay. Charlie smiles instinctively, the two of them heading towards the doors together.

INT. SHOWDOWN FINALS VENUE - AUDITORIUM - DAY

The lights dim, the announcer introducing Adams Academy of the Arts as the next showcase. The curtain is closed, and behind it the performers are heading to their places. Dave, Nate, and Jade, dressed in all black, are gearing up their rolling flats backstage for when they’re needed. A few rows of steps have been installed in the back leading to a high point where a doorway disappears to backstage, but nearly all of the A class is arranged in windows in front of it on the stage. They’re facing away from the audience, which is nice, because it gives them the chance to steel themselves before the number truly kicks off and the games begin.

Riley weaves through her classmates, wishing them all good luck as she finds her place on the stage. And just in the nick of time, as the announcers are just wrapping up their summary of their team and passing them the floor.

INT. SHOWDOWN FINALS VENUE - TECHNICIAN’S BOOTH - DAY

Lucas is up in the booth, headset on, fitting in surprisingly well with the rest of the professional technicians working the event. He’s on the lighting board, sound levels a reach away, and the other workers give him a wide berth to do whatever he needs to do. His glare is determined.

INT. SHOWDOWN FINALS VENUE - AUDITORIUM - DAY

So, without further ado… Riley takes a deep breath, centering herself. The curtain rises...

It’s now or never. The time has finally come for Adams to showcase everything they’ve got -- and they are going to damn well try.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “There She Goes! / Fame” as performed by Fame - The Musical Original Cast || Performed by Yindra Amino (feat. AAA Seniors)

We’ve heard this track before, back in Maya’s dream sequence, but it’s got a new coat of paint and we’re turning the volume up to eleven. Yindra appears at the top of the stairs to kick off the vocals, the A class still theatrically turned towards her. Her full costume is now apparent, the final piece a sheer gauzy red dress wrap, similar to what Taylor Swift wore on her reputation Tour. It’s vibrant and saucy, perfect to swish and flick as Yindra steals the show.

About thirty seconds in she begins her descent down the stairs, Dylan and Jeff jogging up the steps to meet her and guide her down. When they get close to the bottom, they lift her by the arms and do a spin, placing back down as the A class parts to let her through. She makes it through the class and playfully flirts with most of them as she goes, matching the tone of the number effortlessly. She makes it back to the steps just in time for the belt before the dance break, lifting her arms to the sky and swinging her hips.

Everything is beautiful up here in the clouds!

Then we jump into the dance, really allowing the A class to take flight. They sharply in unison, demonstrating only the first tastes of Zay’s savvy choreography. Yindra makes it back to the front to lead the pack when they get to the chorus (“Fame! I wanna live forever…”)

Then an unexpected soloist takes over when we switch into Spanish, Asher jumping to the front and channeling diva. He’s the only boy with his suit jacket unbuttoned, letting more red bleed through and also helping him stand out. The reason he can stomach taking on the challenge is clear with Dylan right behind him, acting as his dance partner and taking center stage with him when they shift to the salsa bit at 2:20. The rest of the A class has paired off too, including Haley & Clarissa, Jeff & Yindra, Isadora & Chai, and Farkle & Riley.

Asher delivers a killer vocal run, and it appears he has been doing his stretches since “If I Didn’t Have You” in 302, because this time when Dylan dips him at the transition, they nail it perfectly.

Then the dance truly takes over, the front of the stage clearing for solo dance moments to take spotlight. This starts with Haley, doing a few ballet moves, and then passes to other classmates -- Chai, Maya with a dazzling split and leg kick. But the true star of the dance break is Jeff, bringing those promised break dance moves and earning cheers from the audience. Then he and Yindra dance together for the remainder of the break, making impressive salsa partners and definitely fulfilling a daydream for her little lesbian crush on him.

As the dance break winds down, Yindra makes her way back up the steps, the boys chasing her up, so that when she starts again on the pre-chorus (“I’m on top of the charts…”), she can lean on them effortlessly. She slides across Dylan’s shoulders and then leans into a lift, Dylan, Farkle, Nigel, and Yogi holding her sideways across them and bringing her back down to the stage. On the next line (“I’m on top in their hearts…”), the boys rotate her around before depositing her front and center stage again.

As she launches into the final chorus at about 3:45, Yindra backs into dead center as her classmates weave in circles around her, the vocals and energy building in intensity. The lights glow from their rosy, warm hues and transition closer and closer to red. On the last line, Yindra gives it her all, allowing Dylan and Nigel to lift her up onto their shoulders high above the rest as she throws her arms up in a final declarative diva pose.

Remember my name!

The lights turn blood red, casting the A class in shadow. The resounding applause is well earned. Zay and Charlie are on the edge of their seats, clapping enthusiastically. Assuming correctly that that was the dance standout of the set, Charlie braves nudging Zay with his elbow, which he glances at and then smiles in return.

Backstage, though, Haverford seems less pleased. This is not at all what they saw from semis. Brandon glowers with his arms crossed, Billy shaking his head in frustration behind him.

On stage, the A class works quickly in the brief transition. Nigel strips off his suit jacket and hands it to Yindra, who has just stripped off her sheer dress and is now down to her ruby leotard that otherwise matches her peers. She slips on the jacket while the other A class girls take theirs off and flip them inside out, now also black like the boys. Nate darts on stage to grab the discarded dress and then all the boys disperse, leaving just the A class girls on stage in a line with their heads downcast. The anticipation builds…

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “The Man” as performed by Taylor Swift || Performed by AAA Senior Ladies

[ Lyrics specific to characters -- follow along here! ]

Maya brings the setlist back to life, tilting her chin up and launching into the first verse. She moves sharply but fluidly, reanimating each of her fellow girls as she struts and spins past them along the front of the stage. When she reaches the end and spots Brandon scowling in the wings, she gives him a cocky little head tilt, flipping her hair as she spins back around.

Every conquest I made would make me more of a boss to you

Riley takes over from there as the “fearless leader,” and from there it’s a strong, upbeat showing from the senior A class women. Each one has a solo, as indicated by the lyric sheet, and the choreography is simple but effective. Their reversible blazers show off Jade’s creative costuming as well as echo the presence of the boys in the previous number, driving home the theme.

Brandon isn’t the only one who can strategize a setlist. With this female-dominated interlude, Adams not only showcases one of the biggest assets they have against Haverford -- women -- they essentially get a fun musical fuck-you towards them out of it too.

All the girls come together for the end of the number, creating a sisterhood-type formation with their arms around each other and at varying levels -- crouching, standing straight, etc. -- while Maya stands front center. She delivers the airy final lyrics, a teasing smile on her lips as she smirks at the audience.

If I was a man… then I’d be the man…

The lights dim again, darkening the stage for transition into the final number in AAA’s setlist. Eric glances to his program, eyes widening in surprise. He elbows Harper and leans over to talk to both her and Jack.

Eric: They did everything for this by themselves?

Harper nods proudly. That’s right! And as for why Eric is so surprised, we’re about to find out. This is the time to make a lasting impression… as the lights rise on Adams’ final number…

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Bellas Finals Mash Up” as performed by Pitch Perfect Original Cast || Performed by AAA Seniors

[ Lyrics specific to characters -- follow along here! ]

Okay, quick disclaimer. The mash-up performed here is not the same arrangement as the Barden Bellas. But we aren’t mash-up creators, nor would we ever pretend to be (I only write fake lyrics on TV), and this performance has the perfect ebb and flow of how we envision the A class’s final track unfolds. So while we’re providing a lyric sheet and encouraging you to listen to the song to get immersed in what the performance would feel like, keep in mind that it wouldn’t be the exact same songs and arrangement.

But it is impressive, because for the A class mash-up, they put it together all on their own. Farkle, Nate, and Clarissa wrote and arranged the conglomeration of songs, and they made it a capella for easier preparation. So it’s nothing but high energy and the A class harmonizing powerfully throughout -- putting a dent in Haverford’s usual boast of having mastery of harmonies unlike anyone else.

The A class starts demurely on stage, back in group formation, Nigel at the front to kick us off. His smooth, unassuming tenor is perfect for the gentle opening, easing the crowd back into the music before the performance erupts in a burst of sound, movement, and energy. All of them strip off their suit jackets and toss them aside, Yogi energetically taking over the next part of the mash-up with more of a rap-like, fast-paced cadence. With the suit jackets gone, Jade’s designs finally shine at full power -- intricate and mesmerizing design on both the leotards and dress shirts, each one the slightest bit unique yet a united aesthetic, creating a shimmering, captivating visual like firelight as they move and dance. Behind them, Nate and Dave inconspicuously but groovily swoop and grab all of the discarded jackets that didn’t make it backstage, both not meant to be noticed and yet seamlessly a part of the performance.

As the mash-up transitions into a more thoughtful ballad type -- though that infectious engine is still running underneath it all -- Riley takes the reins, bringing her usual level of enchantment as she moves along to the beat and weaves around her classmates, dancing with each of them.

When she makes it back to the front for the pseudo-bridge (“As you walk on by… will you call my name…”) and the A class moves into a new triangle formation behind her, she raises her gaze upward and towards the booth. Even though she can’t see him through the lights…

INT. SHOWDOWN FINALS VENUE - TECHNICIAN’S BOOTH - DAY

The intent behind the moment is clear. She’s looking to Lucas, a secret message shared between the two of them. A small smile blooms on his face, and he reaches for a slider…

INT. SHOWDOWN FINALS VENUE - AUDITORIUM - DAY

And the spotlight on Riley brightens, just enough that she’d notice. Her smile widens, already dazzling in show business mode, and she launches into the choreography at the tail-end of her segment around about 1:40 with deeper enthusiasm than ever. Her classmates back her up, all of them moving in unison until they swap numbers again, Isadora taking over.

Then Chai jumps in, having a trio moment at the front with Darby and Sarah as they slide through their section of the mash-up. Then Jeff pipes up, doing an AMBITION first as he raps on the next bit with Yogi backing him up. Farkle theatrically pushes between both of them to take his solo (the Rebel Wilson one, though he sings it a lot less… oddly than she does), seemingly back in shape diva wise at least for this one slice of performance. He and Isadora pass the vocal runs back and forth, spinning around each other and half-dancing together, backing away from each other as the build to the final act comes to fruition.

Then Maya’s vocals pull out all the stops, up on the steps while Riley heads the front of the formation below. Dylan and Asher are right behind her as right and left hand -- until Dylan breaks rank to really bring the house down, running into a front flip across the stage. He pops upright, winks at the audience, then cartwheels and back handsprings the other way, before returning to his place for the last hurrah.

The audience is fully enthralled, on their feet and clapping along. Eric, Jack, and Harper can’t hold back their grins, pride shining in their eyes. Even Shawn seems genuinely impressed -- Angela wipes tears from her eyes. In the back, Charlie and Zay are basically dancing along as much as they can, cheering and clapping and both looking happier than they have in weeks.

And with that, there’s nothing to do but bring it on home. The A class delivers the final segment with everything they’ve got -- well-trained harmonies, dynamite energy, and their signature charm of lovable underdogs with nothing to lose.

With the last couple of lines they break formation and return back to the places they started at the very beginning of the setlist, stomping in unison and hitting their final marks. Then they spin and drop their heads down as the stage lights go out, back where they started. As if they could wind up and do it all over again, just as spectacularly, in a New York minute. Like it’s easy.

But it’s not. We know how hard it is -- we know how hard they worked. And they did it. Somehow, regardless of what happens next, they did it.

The curtain lowers, nearly the whole house on their feet to give them thunderous applause.

INT. SHOWDOWN FINALS VENUE - DRESSING ROOM - DAY

The A class is celebrating and destressing in the dressing room, all buzzing with post-performance hype and the rush of a great show. Farkle and Maya stand together and hug each other tight, the latter clinging to him like an emotional support beanpole.

Farkle: Doesn’t matter now, does it? All that matters is we did a good job and had fun, right? Or whatever people say.

Maya: Screw that. If we don’t win, I’m burning this motherfucker down.

Zay and Charlie poke their heads in, earning uproarious reactions from all of them. Haley and Clarissa immediately rush to tackle Charlie with hugs, while Zay is swarmed with cheers and praise for his choreography. It all turned out fantastic!

Yindra: Not that there was ever any doubt.

Charlie finds a moment to get a word in, stating that he needs to go congratulate Haverford and check in with them, but he wanted to be able to tell them all the same. They were spectacular, and it was so awesome to get to see it. They all thank him, and there's this clear sense in the air that he should’ve been there with him. He belonged up there with them.

But alas. Charlie makes his exit just as the techies return, and he gives them compliments as well as they pass. Jade is also quickly laden with praise -- her costumes were perfect and definitely stole the show. Nate and Dave ambush Dylan, Asher, and Jeff, pulling them into a giant glom hug and losing their shit about how epic they were. Like, Jeff! Your dancing! And Asher, your Spanish!

Nate: I didn’t even realize you were part Latino.

Asher: … wait, seriously?

Dave: [ shaking Dylan’s shoulders happily ] And when you did the flip! And the backward flip!

Isadora watches them fondly, shaking her head, only looking away when she’s tapped on the shoulder. Chai is there, offering her a timid congratulations. They did it! And she did an amazing job with her solos.

Well, with all the extra hours she put in for her dancing… in a sudden move, Isadora reaches out and pulls Chai into a hug. Brief, but more than she allows or gives most people. It’s interesting, actually, how Chai manages to get her to do most things without thinking. Like a brashness she just brings out in her, or something.

But Chai doesn’t seem at all opposed. She’s surprised only for a moment, then she lightly returns the embrace, trying not to push it too far. When they pull away, Isadora’s touch lingers a bit longer than usual, like she isn’t sure what to do with her hands all the sudden.

Isadora: I couldn’t have joined and caught up without you, so. If I contribute at all to a victory, then it’s your contribution too.

Chai: In that case, I think we can call it a draw. [ off her confused look ] Without your friendship I wouldn’t have adjusted to coming back very well, or probably even thought to consider telling the A class about… you know, before it was almost forced out of me. And who knows where I’d be if all that were the case… anyway, I’m grateful. Funny how the most unexpected people change your life, huh?

Isadora: Yeah… it actually is.

Chai smiles, Isadora tentatively mirroring it.

Speaking of people who unexpectedly change everything… Lucas makes his way over to Riley, the latter brightening instantly when she sees him. She gives him a tight hug, and he lifts her off her feet momentarily before they break apart.

Riley: We pulled it off.

Lucas: If we manage to cinch this, you realize it’s all because of you, right? That entire thing, that was all you.

Riley, touched: … it was a team effort. But I suppose it won’t really mean much until we know.

Which could be any minute now… Riley touches his arm, getting his attention again.

Riley: I just want you to know I’m proud of you. No matter what happens with showdown.

Lucas: Again, it didn’t have much to do with me --

Riley: I’m not just talking about today. I’m talking about how you ran for president in spite of the odds, your initiative to make real change, how dedicated you are to putting them in motion. At Adams, but on your own. I know how far-off college and stuff felt to you during the summer, and now you’ve got submitted applications and new goals and a whole new future ahead of you. Not even new, but -- you’re finally seeing it, that potential that has always been there. I know that’s not nothing. I know how hard that was. But you did it. And even though it’s all stuff I knew you were capable of, every day you continue to blow me away. [ a beat ] It’s so good to see you starting to believe it too.

Wow. A lot to process, a lot of warm sentiment he wants to really take in and commit to memory forever. It’s difficult enough to process it, there’s no words in the world for him to respond with, so he settles for a smile and taking her hand instead. Lacing their fingers together, bonding them regardless of what might happen next.

Them against the world. Riley beams, squeezing his hand in return.

Perfect timing, too, because the time has come. A stagehand pops in and informs them it’s time for the announcement of the winners, beckoning them all onto stage. Yindra insists to Zay that he come with them for this -- he deserves to be up there just as much as they do.

Silence hangs over us as they head out…

INT. SHOWDOWN FINALS VENUE - BACKSTAGE HALL - DAY

The intrusive quiet follows as the A class makes their way through the backstage area, arriving back at the wings. All the anticipation of this final result building on our shoulders…

INT. SHOWDOWN FINALS VENUE - AUDITORIUM - DAY

The announcers are teeing up the big final reveal as the A class files out, Haverford populating the other side, but it’s all muffled and quiet around us. Brandon and Maya exchange a sharp glare. Yindra and Nigel each keep one of Zay’s arms around their shoulders, holding him steady as they take the stage. Lucas, Dave, Nate, and Jade hang back in the wings, Dave wrapping Jade in a hug from behind and propping his chin on her head.

Evelyn has joined us for the final reveal, the guest announcer who gets the distinct privilege as head of the school board to announce the victor. And what an honor it is! She gives a little speech about how it’s so clear both groups worked hard, put in the time and the effort, and have more than enough talent to spare. But alas, only one can win.

Evelyn: So let’s get to what you’re all waiting for -- the results. Without further ado, the winner of the 2020 Senior Showdown: Manhattan is…

It’s the most excruciating wait in the world. Zay clasps Riley’s shoulder from behind, squeezing tight. Haley links her arm tight with Clarissa’s and closes her eyes; Asher hides behind Dylan and tucks his head against his back, their hands clasped together. Maya reaches to take Farkle and Isadora’s hands, flanked on either side of her.

In the audience, Harper grips both Jack and Eric’s arms, all of them on the edge of their seats. Charlie is alone in the back but rapt with attention, hands clasped together in front of his mouth. He’s holding his breath, a prayer shining in his eyes -- but who he’s directing those wishes towards, it’s impossible to say…

And then in a moment, it’s done.

Evelyn: Congratulations to the talented seniors of Adams Academy for the Arts!

The chaos is instantaneous. The audience erupts into cheer as the A class breaks free from their paralysis, bursting into joyful hysteria. The Adams faculty leap out of their seats with equal elation, relieved and overwhelmed with pride. Now Angela isn’t the only one crying -- Eric and Harper have joined her with their own tears. Charlie applauds wildly, shouting out a cheer.

But nothing can compare to the mood within the class. It’s impossible to describe. Dylan picks up Asher and spins him around. Riley whips around and rams into Zay to hug him, shaking with excitement. Nigel runs off stage and pulls Jade out to join them, grasping her hand the entire time, and Dave and Nate eagerly follow. Darby, Chai, and Sarah jump in a hug together, and Yogi does a victory yodel.

Farkle pulls Isadora and Maya to him in a bone-crushing hug, before releasing the latter to go accept the trophy for Adams from the announcers. She faux graciously accepts the trophy and then turns to have a good, old-fashioned “good game” handshake with Brandon. They appear pleasant enough to the audience, but their grip on each other is vice tight.

Then the humility is over, the Haverford boys retreat, and Maya holds up the trophy for them all to see. VICTORY, BITCHES! They all swarm to center stage to meet her and it, dizzy with their change in fortune.

Except Riley. She heads in the opposite direction, marching into the wings straight for Lucas. She doesn’t hesitate the moment she reaches him, pulling him into a deep, enthusiastic kiss. Lucas returns it, too lost in the euphoria for a moment to be self-conscious, gripping her waist to keep her steady and pull her closer.

An undeniably beautiful moment -- save for the way Missy eyes it disdainfully from amidst the celebrating circle of her peers.

But even her potential jealousy can’t spoil the mood. They did it -- Adams Academy are the champions of senior showdown.

EXT. SHOWDOWN FINALS VENUE - NIGHT

Night has descended upon them over the course of the event, the driveway and streets around the venue bright with headlights as ride shares and drivers make their way home.

Charlie is standing in the cold evening air, hands stuffed in his pockets and breath creating steam in front of him. He perks up when he spots who he’s waiting for, Brandon emerging from the building and descending the steps. His expression is grim in the wake of Haverford’s loss, and it doesn’t bounce back to its usual crisp confidence quite so effortlessly when he finds Charlie at the bottom of the steps.

Brandon: Charles. Don’t see any reason for you to be hanging around this late -- considering you weren’t a participant.

Charlie: Yeah, I know. I just wanted… I was hoping to catch you before you left. You weren’t in the room when I caught up with the boys before the results, so…

So. Brandon grants him a moment, standing opposite him and raising his eyebrows. Go on. Charlie clears his throat.

Charlie: I wanted to say how great I thought you guys were. You killed the set. And “Sherry” was a great choice. I’m sorry I doubted it.

Brandon: Not good enough, apparently. But thank you.

Charlie: … it’s okay that you didn’t win. I hope you know that. Six years is a heavy burden to carry on your shoulders. At least now you’re free of it, right?

Brandon: I suppose that’s one way to look at ending a proud tradition every senior class before you has pulled off seamlessly. Though I can’t deny the A class gave an impressive showing. [ a beat ] Interesting, how they completely reset their entire performance. It was nothing like what I’d heard about it.

Oop. For just an instant, Charlie panics, but he recovers quickly.

Charlie: Yeah, well, Riley told me they just felt like they needed to switch things up. Get a fresh start, you know? Kind of like your thinking with “Sherry.” Safe doesn’t win showdown, right?

Brandon: [ not buying it ] Sure.

Either way, Charlie thinks they did well, and they have nothing to be ashamed of for not winning. He’ll do his best to try and bolster spirits on Monday. A charming offer, one which Brandon merely nods to acknowledge. For now, at least in the immediate aftermath of stinging failure, the new kid warmth he displayed towards Charlie is long gone.

Still, he can’t relinquish having the last word. After Charlie bids him goodnight and starts down the sidewalk, Brandon suddenly calls after him.

Brandon: Charles.

Charlie stops, turning to look at him again. Not sure what to expect -- a reprimand? The fabled dark side everyone keeps alluding to? Maybe a thank you for his kind words?

Brandon offers none of the above. He maintains his chilly demeanor but infuses it with his usual suave delivery, giving him another nod.

Brandon: Enjoy the rest of your weekend.

To Charlie, this simply seems nice. A good sign if nothing else. He smiles, then continues on his journey home. But when Brandon spins back to face the street, his expression is far from pleasant.

Perhaps he’s granting Charlie one last courtesy. He should enjoy this weekend as much as he can -- afterwards, perhaps enjoyment may not be so easy to find.

INT. AAA - ATRIUM - DAY

Sunday morning, bright and early, the school is more populated than usual. A small group is present to watch HARLEY KEINER unlock the trophy case and load their new one into it, placing it front and center with the utmost care. Jack is there to supervise, while Lucas, Dylan, and Asher came to witness the moment for themselves.

Dylan: Thanks for your service, sir.

Harley: Oh, no no, thank you. It’s been too many years since I got to update the display with this bad boy -- props to you folks for bringing him home.

And what a happy homecoming it is! Lucas steps forward to look for himself, the gleaming proof of his victory staring back at them. Representative of all the money about to come their way, to fund his initiative at least for a time.

He can’t help but grin, spinning back around to face the others. He loftily holds his arms out, sauntering forward and giving a cheeky bow. Then another, really milking the moment. Dylan and Asher break into theatrical applause, allowing him the silliness.

Lucas: Thank you, thank you very much.

They meet him in the middle and both throw their arms around his shoulders, and Lucas doesn’t shy away from the contact. Dylan starts playfully singing the chorus “We Are the Champions,” Asher quickly harmonizing, and even Lucas joins in as they amble towards the doors.

Lucas/Dylan/Asher: No time for losers, cause we are the champions!

Dylan: OF THE WOOOOOOORLD --

Jack watches them go, amused at their antics. Soaking in the moment of pride, of peace, in the school that despite its hell, he loves more than anything. He crosses his arms and meanders his way back to his office, humming the Queen song to himself as if it’s contagious.

INT. BABINEAUX HOME - ZAY’S BEDROOM - DAY

Despite it not being anywhere near the way he imagined it, Zay finally submits his application to Turner. And this time in facing it he’s not alone, Yindra and Nigel both plopped on the bed next to him and encouraging him to do it right up until the moment it’s official.

He thanks them for everything, acknowledging Nigel’s argument that he’s glad he didn’t miss showdown. Nigel agrees it’s definitely going to be something they remember for a long time, especially now with the sweet addition of victory.

Yindra: Um, yeah, and how am I ever gonna forget your big speech to Jade? Like hello?

Zay: It was pretty ballsy. We might have to tell him about the contingency plan.

Yindra: Ooh… are we sure? Do we think he’s ready?

Nigel: What plan?

Yindra: We need a Michelle, Zay. Do we think he has what it takes to be a Michelle?

Nigel: To be a whomst?

Yindra and Zay exchange a conspiratorial look. Yindra claims this is their big plan for success, if their own solo endeavors don’t pan out.

Zay: So. Destiny’s Child --

INT. THERAPIST’S OFFICE - NIGHT

Farkle is meeting with DR. MICHELLE HAN again after a week or so of avoiding her, in his usual spot on the couch. But this time he’s sitting upright, and he’s got company -- both STUART MINKUS and JENNIFER MINKUS are with him. Nervous but resolute, Farkle claims that he’s ready to discuss the bipolar diagnosis further, especially in figuring out where they go from here and what he can do to live with it.

Dr. Han is pleased, happy to oblige. She tells him she’s glad he came around to it on his own terms, then begins to discuss the nuances of the condition. Jennifer glances to Farkle next to her, placing her hand on his forearm and giving it a supportive squeeze.

INT. YINDRA’S CHURCH - NIGHT

Charlie enters a large church we recognize as Yindra’s, only much more empty on a weekday evening than Sunday morning. The lights are all on, and there are various people dotted around. The PASTOR, an elderly black man with a wise aura and mischievous gleam in his eyes, is talking pleasantly with two elderly ladies to the side.

They eye Charlie as he walks past them towards the rows of seats. He has a lightness about him that wasn’t there the last time we saw him in his own church, but there are still remnants of his usual anxious state.

He walks up to the stage that Yindra and the gospel choir performed on and stops in the forestage. There are three banners decorating the wall in front of him, in white, purple and blue, featuring the cross, ichthys, and a flame. A very different vibe from his usual Catholic church, but comforting all the same.

Once he’s free of the church ladies, the pastor approaches Charlie.

Pastor: Hello, young man. What brings you here at this time of night? 

Charlie: Hi. Sorry if I’m intruding at all. [ off his nod of reassurance ] I came here the other week with my friend Yindra -- Yindra Amino, in the choir?

Pastor: Ah, yes. I know the Aminos quite well. Yindra is a lovely girl.

Charlie: I’m Catholic, but it just seemed so happy and… cool here, so I… well, I have something I need to say to God, and I ended up here. I hope that’s okay. 

Pastor: Of course. We welcome everybody, always. [ with a warm smile ] I’ll leave you and the big guy to it.

He gives him a fatherly pat on the shoulder, then leaves him be. Charlie takes a moment to collect his thoughts, looking up at the banners, and then kneels down. He takes his silver cross necklace out from under his clothes and holds onto the cross with one hand. 

Charlie: God… [ with a sigh ] It’s been a long semester. And a long summer. Kind of a long life, to be honest. And lately I’ve been having to do a lot of self-reflection. I keep finding myself in these moments where I have to… make a tough call. Or get to the right decision. Do the right thing. And every time I think to myself maybe you’d just give me the answer, that these choices could be simple, but I get that they aren’t. They aren’t supposed to be. It shouldn’t be that easy to define who you are — you need a test, sometimes, to prove it. And while I feel like I’ve had my fair share of that, I get why you couldn’t just show me the way. I had to find it for myself. I have to get there on my own. I can’t expect you to give me guidance if I’m not ready for it. But I’m getting there, now, and… and part of that is...

Tell us who you are.

He takes a deep breath, and exhales.

Charlie: I’m gay. [ with a nervous chuckle ] But you already knew that, didn’t you? You’ve always known exactly who I am. It’s me who’s been playing catch up.

Charlie pauses, fiddling with the chain of his necklace. He’s not sure what he’s waiting for -- the lightning strike, maybe -- but nothing comes. Of course it doesn’t. He releases another breath, easier now, and continues.

Charlie: I’m starting to understand who I am. And who you are, too. I’m beginning to trust my own decisions, and put who and what I value most above my own comfort or ease. There’s still a lot to figure out, I know, and I’m a long way from the person I’m meant to be… but I feel like I’m on the right path. [ with more soft confidence ] I pray that you’ll be with me on that journey, and that you’ll continue to guide me. I’m sorry for blocking this part of me from you for so long. I’m going to try and be my authentic self as much as I can from now on — I’m starting to realize it’s not worth being anything else. [ quietly ] Amen.

He stands up and takes a moment, then heads back towards the church’s entrance. He can’t help the corners of his mouth turning up; a weight has been lifted off his shoulders, but he’s trying not to disturb the peaceful atmosphere of the building.

The pastor catches him before he leaves, asking if he managed to tell God what he needed to. 

Charlie: I did, thank you. 

Pastor, tactfully: Forgive me if it’s not my place to ask, but... is your church accepting of the LGBTQ+ community?

Charlie’s eyes go wide. 

Charlie: How did you…? 

Pastor: Call it a natural instinct… my husband tells me it’s called ‘gaydar?’

Charlie processes this new information. Both of them almost want to laugh -- it’s just a little bit funny, a unique kind of levity, spotting another religious gay in the wild -- then he shakes his head to his question. 

Charlie: I grew up in a pretty strict household and church. 

Pastor: Hm, I see. I’m aware of several Christian LGBTQ+ communities and churches in the city, if you’d be interested? 

Charlie: I don’t know if… actually, yeah. That’d be really nice, thank you. 

Pastor: I’ll put together a little list for you and tell Yindra to Snapchat it over to you. [ off his dubious expression ] Or whatever you kids are using now. Don’t look at me like that, I’m old.

Charlie thanks him with a laugh, at ease and genuinely happy. The pastor bids him farewell as he heads to the double doors with stained glass windows, through which the lights outside shine through, creating a pastel prism of color on the hardwood floor.

EXT. YINDRA’S CHURCH - NIGHT

Charlie steps back out into the night, closing his eyes and inhaling the frigid air. A light rain has started to fall, the whole world seeming to shine around him. It’s refreshing, invigorating -- or maybe that’s just the freedom of what he just did. It might all be in his head, it might not, but what it means to him is the realest thing there is.

He releases the breath he’s been holding for years, a light smile blooming on his face.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Party For One” as performed by Carly Rae Jepsen || Performed by Charlie Gardner

There was no way we were going to get through the entire midseason finale without Charlie performing. It wouldn’t be right. And he’s truly earned it this time, the uplifting percussion that kicks off the number almost heaven-sent.

He starts the vocals softly, breathing them out like his monumental exhale. Then he gets moving, hands still in his pockets, walking backwards along the sidewalk in step with the beat. His excitement builds through the verse and pre-chorus until he just can’t hold it in anymore. When the beat drops and the first chorus really hits, he breaks free, pulling his hands from his pockets and spinning into a dance.

He dances solo, unrestrained, continuing his journey as he goes. It’s energetic contemporary, skillful as always, and laced with that same frenetic melodrama that has defined his previous performances in his imagination. Only this time it’s joy -- pure, uninhibited joy -- that pumps that passion through his movements.

EXT. NEW YORK STREETS - NIGHT

Charlie carries on through the streets, loosening up as he goes. He unbuttons his coat, holds his arms out to soak in the rain. He runs his hands through his hair to brush the wetness from it, mussing it up in the process from the neatly combed way he’s been wearing it for weeks. Around him the city is a kaleidoscope, shimmering jewels in the night of reds, blues, purples, and gold.

EXT. CENTRAL PARK - NIGHT

By the second verse, he’s made it to Central Park, launching back into his fun and free choreography. He dances along benches, swings on lampposts like Singin’ in the Rain, and gets mud on his pants from slipping and sliding in the grass.

A little messy, but he doesn’t care. Why should he care when he’s free?

EXT. AAA - NIGHT

By the time he reaches the final minute, he’s arrived at the steps of Adams, closed and empty for the night but still brightly lit and welcoming. Inviting, like the feeling of standing on your doorstep after a long journey home.

And this is where Charlie truly lets loose, the gleaming structure of AAA acting as the backdrop to his final expression of liberation. The dancing is really impressive now, spins and kicks and a couple of splits sprinkled in, but what’s most compelling about it is how much feeling it conveys. It’s hard to recognize you haven’t seen someone be authentic until you actually do, and that’s how this performance feels. His coat abandoned on the steps, his hair wild and free, skin glowing with rainwater and finally back on his beat.

This is Charlie’s showcase moment. And finally, the only audience that matters is himself.

I’ll just dance for myself, back on my beat!

When he wraps the rendition he lowers himself down into a slippery recline on the steps, breathing heavy but so worth it. He leans back on his palms, tilting his head up to the rain, to the stars, to whatever lies beyond waiting for him. Then he smiles, easy and effortless, laughing a bit to himself as the weather soaks him clean.

INT. HART APARTMENT - NIGHT

Katy, Maya, and Isadora are sharing the remnants of a pizza at their new kitchen counter, taking a dinner break from unpacking and starting to arrange the space. Katy reminds her that she absolutely does not need to hang around and help, but Isadora claims she doesn’t mind. She likes it, actually, and it’s exciting to see what they do with the place. But she actually should get going tonight -- school day tomorrow, and Eric will be wondering where she is.

As she gathers her things to head out, Katy suggests they grab breakfast at the diner tomorrow morning before school to celebrate. Her treat, for old times sake. As flattered as Isadora is by that offer, she can’t. She has a meeting she can’t miss first thing in the morning, but rain check. She doesn’t want to pass that up.

Katy and Maya bid her farewell, then descend into excited giggles as they launch onto their couch. Katy comments on how wonderful the view is too from this new apartment -- miles above their old one, anyway. Maybe everything happens for a reason… but God, is it good to be back with her girl. Especially one who is now a champion.

Maya grins, hugging her again and cuddling close. She tells her she’s so glad she’s home, more than she could ever express.

INT. MATTHEWS APARTMENT - MASTER BEDROOM - NIGHT

Riley is on her bed, the room starting to look a bit different as Maya’s stuff disappears. She’s got her laptop open, application for Tisch NYU the last one she has left to submit. Only hours left to decide if she’s going to go for it or not, if pursuing the arts for real is something she even wants to try.

CORY MATTHEWS knocks on the door, making a witty comment about how now that Maya is gone, maybe it’s time to switch rooms back… Riley claims they may as well just wait until she goes to college, right? Not worth all that effort to do it now when she’ll just move again in six months… Cory gives her a look, but he can’t help but smile at the same time. Clever girl…

He makes a point of congratulating her again, making sure she knows how proud he is of her.

Cory: Every day, I’m impressed with what a strong, mature, and clear leader you’ve become. I can’t wait to see all the amazing things you’re going to do next.

Riley smiles, touched. She climbs off her bed and swiftly rushes across the room to give him a quick hug and kiss on the cheek, thanking him, then darts back to her space before he can respond. He gives her another playful head shake, wishing her goodnight.

Once alone, it’s just her and the application. She hesitates for a moment longer, thinking on it… what does she have to lose?

Decisively, she hits submit. Putting the potential out there for good. No turning back now.

Riley, pre-lap: I did it. I smashed that submit button. It’s out there now.

INT. CHUBBIES - NIGHT

Riley and Zay are meeting at Chubbies for late weekend celebratory fries, even more necessary now with her brand new update. Zay congratulates her and expresses confidence that she’s got as good a chance of getting into Tisch as any of them -- and yes, that includes Maya. He raises his water glass to cheers their future endeavors, Riley matching it enthusiastically.

The mood is somewhat disrupted when Charlie walks through the door, spotting them in their usual booth. This time, though, the sight doesn’t immediately make him think of retreat -- in fact, it seems like exactly what he was hoping for.

He quickly approaches their table, greeting both of them. Riley is surprised by his presence but not at all opposed… although his appearance is a bit questionable. Has he just been standing around in the rain? His hair is a windswept, slick mess, but there’s no mud on his clothes, so at least that part of his freedom dance wasn’t quite so literal.

Riley: Do you want to sit down? I know you like fries, so --

Charlie: [ still a bit out of breath ] Actually, I was hoping to catch a second with Zay. [ glancing at him ] If that’s okay?

Unexpected, certainly. Riley looks to Zay as well, gauging his reaction, trying to determine if she should stay or go. Zay eyes Charlie curiously, uncertain though far less apprehensive than in the recent past… then nods. He signals to Riley it’s okay, and she gets up to give them privacy without complaint. Charlie thanks her, touching her arm and congratulating her once again, before sliding into her vacated spot across from Zay.

For a moment, it’s hard to speak. No matter how much either of them want to, how often they think about it when they’re not around, the moment they’re in front of each other again it’s like everything stops. Like they’re frozen in time, still cold in the aftermath of a mistaken first time. A choked surrender in the costume loft. A blindsiding separation without a proper goodbye.

But time keeps going. They get older, they learn, they grow -- and there’s no doubt that both of them have done a painful amount of growing in the last few months. The only question now is if they can catch up to each other and find common ground; if they can find a new way forward as they are now, or if they even should.

And to do that, they have to speak. Zay clears his throat, eyeing his rain-soaked attire.

Zay: So, did you forget your umbrella, or were you just wandering around in the rain again --

Charlie: I don’t want to do this anymore.

Oh. Well, that can sure mean a lot of things, Charlie. Zay goes silent, watching him warily to see where this is going to go. He’s not even sure himself, really, what he wants to hear. Thankfully, Charlie didn’t seem intent on stopping it there, letting out a sigh and composing his thoughts before elaborating.

Charlie: I just mean… being a million miles apart. Existing like we’re in different worlds. Maybe when all this started we -- I -- needed that. To feel like I was doing what I set out to do, to become independent and figure all my stuff out on my own without bringing you down with me. Because that’s why I did it. I know you already know that, but it took me some time to stop convincing myself otherwise. [ a beat, looking down at his hands ] At first, I really thought I was doing the right thing. The thing that was best for everyone, that would allow me to fix everything. But I wasn’t really fixing anything. I think I was just doing what I always do. Running.

Zay listens patiently, not betraying anything. Letting Charlie have the time to work through it, to say what he needs to say. Charlie meets his eyes.

Charlie: And I know I screwed everything up, making those choices without you. [ shaky ] I know I hurt you, and… [ fiercely ] and I hate that I did. I hope you’ll believe that the last thing I ever, ever wanted to do was hurt you.

Zay’s calm demeanor cracks slightly, betraying that exact hurt flaring up again. But it doesn’t hurt the same way anymore. It’s healed over, a dull ache that with the right treatment and a little more time will recover.

Charlie dips his head down, doing his best to keep it together and not do something unhelpful like cry. He clears his throat, taking another deep breath and finding his resolve. He meets his eyes again, not letting himself run anymore.

Charlie: But I did. I did, and I’m sorry. Sincerely, from the bottom of my heart. I made some serious mistakes, and I know I’m going to have to live with them forever. You and I... we’re always going to carry that with us. We’re always going to have this history, the good and the bad. It’s never going to just go back to how it was before.

True enough. Zay nods, acknowledging it. Then, would they really want it to? Would they want to trade it all away for a fresh start, if it meant taking the good moments too?

Charlie: Even still… I wouldn’t change it. Because I can’t imagine what life would be like -- what I would be like -- if none of it ever happened. And no matter what���s changed since, the mistakes I’ve made… a million years ago, before all this started, I told you that I couldn’t lose you. That you were too important to lose. Now I know I was right. [ with a weak smile ] I don’t want to keep doing this, stumbling through life without you.

It’s getting harder and harder to remain neutral. Zay sniffs, swiping at his lips and trying to maintain his composure. Charlie isn’t looking away now, taking him in as much as he can while he makes his appeal.

Charlie: And maybe it’s selfish, which is exactly what caused all this in this first place, but I don’t care. If there’s one thing I’ll allow myself a little selfishness for, it’s this. That’s my new choice. You were one of my best friends, and you’re one of my favorite people. [ a beat ] And I totally get if this isn’t enough, or if it’s too much, and you’d just rather not. But is there any chance we can just… try? Try to find our rhythm again, be friends again? [ delicate ] Because I know the world needs you, but I really miss Zay Babineaux.

If Charlie uncharacteristically had a lot to say, then it only makes sense for Zay to have nothing. He’s speechless, absorbing everything Charlie said and trying to keep his emotions in check while grappling with that same question he’s been struggling with for weeks. If things aren’t completely broken, if they can be even remotely repaired, then is it worth the risk of letting him back in so they can fix it? Is that something he wants? Does it even feel possible, considering all their history and how frozen they’ve felt before?

But all of that was daunting when Charlie remained a question mark, when his feelings and opinions were kept behind that protective shell he works hard to maintain. Now, now that he’s said it and put himself out there, there’s no more guessing what Charlie wants. And when he knows where Charlie stands on it, on them, his decision is suddenly easy.

Zay: I could be down for trying. [ unable to hold back a small smile ] I’d really like that. Believe it or not, I missed Charlie Gardner.

The relieved smile that consumes Charlie’s features is instant, a laugh escaping him. Not because anything is funny, but because he can finally breathe again. The world has thawed around them, allowing time to resume and for both of them to move forward.

And what that means for them, well, only time will tell.

Riley slowly creeps her way back towards the booth, apologizing for interrupting but claiming she’s starving and absolutely needs to eat a fry or she’ll collapse. Charlie and Zay crack up, gesturing for her to rejoin them officially. She beams, feeding off their infectious energy that only freedom can conjure, and slides back into the booth next to Zay.

Charlie brings up an epic moment from their showdown performance and they quickly launch into excited chatter, the rapport between the three of them finally at ease. The way it was always meant to be -- hopefully, the way it will be forever more.

INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - DAY

Isadora arrives at school bright and early, having come in with Eric rather than her classmates for a change. She knocks on Jack’s office door and enters as soon as she hears the beginnings of a response. Patience may not be her strong suit.

Jack is already busy with work, but sets his focus entirely on Isadora when she sits down across from him. Her face is set, that classic De La Cruz fierceness and determination clear. 

Jack: Eric mentioned you wanted to see me. How can I help you, Miss De La Cruz? 

Isadora: I’m here to discuss the possibility of setting up a scholarship fund in my mother’s name.

Jack’s eyebrows raise in surprise. Whatever he was expecting, it wasn’t that. Before he can respond to the proposition, Isadora continues.

Isadora: As you’re aware, I have inherited a large sum of money from my mother upon her passing. 

Jack, gently: Isadora, you don’t need to be so formal with me. This isn’t a business meeting.

Isadora sighs in relief, allowing her posture to relax. 

Isadora: I’ve been struggling with what to do with my mom’s money for a while now, and I realized when I was helping Katy and Maya move into their new apartment that I should use it in a way that Valerie would support. [ waiting for Jack to nod in acknowledgement before continuing ] My mom loved this school, how it fosters the next round of talent. She often dropped hints to me that she’d like to be a guest teacher more regularly -- 

Jack: [ caught off guard ] Did she? She never mentioned anything to me or Eric… 

Isadora, fondly: It was part of her plan for moving to New York. But my point is, a scholarship fund is exactly what Valerie would want her money to go towards. Helping bring up the round of superstars, particularly ones like Maya who can’t necessarily access it on their own. That’s how she started out too, you know, not coming from much. She made her own luck, but I don’t think she’d even blink if she had the chance to help someone else achieve those same dreams without half the struggle. It feels right. Plus, it’ll help keep Lucas and Maya’s new legislation intact without having to rely on winning showdown every single year. Haverford are… tough competition.

That’s one way to describe them. Jack nods as he thinks it over, keen on the idea. He can’t see any reason why it can’t happen. 

Jack: Sounds like an excellent idea to me. I’m sure Lucas and Maya will be pleased too. [ a beat ] Well done for coming to such a wise decision on your own. Valerie would be proud of you, I’m sure. And so am I.

Isadora is touched by the sentiments, and gets up from her chair to hurry around to his side of the desk. She gives him a quick hug, taking him by surprise. 

Isadora: Thank you. For always being there for me. You and Eric mean a lot to me. [ a beat ] Well, um… bye. I guess.

She offers him an awkward wave as she walks back around his desk and towards the door. Jack is still frozen in surprise from Isadora’s hug and gratitude, knowing full well how much that means. He smiles at her, happy that she seems to trust him.

Jack’s uplifted mood doesn’t last long though. Yancy appears in the doorway just as Isadora is leaving, the two of them nearly bumping into each other. He shoots a subtle glare at her, but she doesn’t back down easily, so she glares right back at him until she passes.

Yancy: Quite the attitude on that one. Seems that might be a trend here at Adams.

Jack: Looks can be deceiving. Isadora just helped arrange for a fund to support the new scholarships in full, for many, many years. [ pointedly ] If humanity has any hope, I believe it’s in the youth. They certainly demonstrate much greater compassion than I’ve observed lately.

Yancy: Oh, then I suppose we both have good news, then.

Yancy clasps his hands together, looking all too pleased to be delivering this news. Jack braces himself for the worst.

Yancy: I submitted my report last week, and the board has reached their verdict. Effective January 1st, the role of principal will officially be open to apply for at Adams Academy for the Arts. I myself am planning to submit for consideration -- I think I could do more here than the school board at this point, considering the disastrous status of the school at present.

Jack’s heart sinks. He’s not being fired, but it’s al\most worse this way, dangling it in front of his face and making him do tricks like a show pony to prove he deserves to keep the position. He’s out of words, clenching his jaw and choosing not to give Yancy the satisfaction of a response. But he hardly needs one -- Yancy’s smugness is detectable from a mile away.

Yancy: You are, of course, welcome to reapply to keep your position, Jackson. In fact, I encourage it -- the board deserves the opportunity to reject you outright. [ a beat ] Until then, I suggest you start considering alternatives. You may very well be saying goodbye to Adams with your precious senior A class by the time this school year concludes.

With that, there’s nothing left to say. Yancy spins and leaves Jack to grapple with this info bomb on his own, at least giving him the dignity of reacting on his own.

Jack gets to his feet, closing the door behind Yancy. Then he finds himself slowly leaning against it, like all the energy has been zapped right out of him. His jaw twitches, eyes glossing over, like everything he’s been balancing and building up barricades against for years is about to break through and totally overrun him…

But he takes a deep breath, steels himself, and releases it with a sigh. Right now, there’s work to be done. Things to see through. And when the time comes to face the prospects, well, he’ll deal with it then.

Straightening up and clearing his throat, Jack moves back to his desk and settles in his chair. Back to work, doing what needs to be done as principal.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

The A class is gathered for their first class since the weekend, all still chatty and buzzy with excitement from their victory. They’re up on the stage, chatting in small clusters about their performance and complimenting one another on their finest moments. Dylan and Asher in particular are huddled with Jade, gossiping about what happened with Nigel and what she thinks their first date is going to be.

But they snap back to attention when Harper and Shawn enter, the former enthusiastically taking the stage and greeting them as the Manhattan Showdown champs. This earns a loud cheer, Harper offering her own applause and letting them soak up the pride. Then she goes on to explain just how proud of them she is, how inspired she is by what they pulled off, and how remarkably moving it was to watch them come together to create something irrefutably them.

Harper: As you all surely remember, I was a bit out of my element when I came here last year. I thought I knew Triple A, but you all were another brand entirely. And you didn’t make easy on me -- or yourselves -- so I always wondered how you’d manage to pull this off. Now I realize it was silly of me to doubt. You, the senior A class, are full of unexpected surprises -- and I think that might just be your greatest strength.

Hear, hear! As for assignments this week, it’s the last week before winter break, so Harper admits she doesn’t really know what they should do either. After such a crazy few weeks, she feels like they’ve been tested enough.

As it turns out, maybe no reason is exactly the thing they need to perform right now. Riley says as much, sharing her thinking that while the rush of the last few weeks have been exciting, it’s been a minute since any of them just got to sing for the joy of it. Which is a shame, a travesty, considering that’s why all of them are at this school, in this place, together. Love of the art.

So that’s what they do. For the first time in months, the A class breaks into song because they want to. Because they can. Because it unites all of them, even when there’s no pressure or thing to fight for.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “To Noise Making (Sing)” as performed by Hozier || Performed by AAA Seniors

Riley kicks us off, singing happily to her classmates as she stands at the center of the stage. She makes her way around and shares a little moment with all of them, gradually pulling all of them into the harmonies, until she’s got the collective singing along. From there, her classmates step up to share focus, Zay, Maya, Isadora, Chai, and Yindra just a few of the notable ones to take a solo for a couple lines. Farkle takes the bridge, accepting an affectionate side hug from Riley as he does.

Harper and Shawn watch from the back of the front center section, swaying and grooving along. Eric has come to join them, but he can tell something is missing. He glances over his shoulder towards the doors, looking for Jack, but he’s nowhere to be found.

Then the A class comes together, all making their way into a closer formation at center stage. Nigel takes Jade’s hand and pulls her gently into the group, twirling her under his arm. Riley makes sure Lucas gets included in the throng, though this time he hardly seems reluctant, throwing his arm around her shoulders. He’s not singing, mind you, but here’s there in the moment with the rest of them.

And that’s where we leave them as we close out this half-season. The united A class, exhausted but still going strong, vindicated victors, brimming with unbelievable potential for the future.

Can’t wait to see what happens next.

END OF EPISODE.

[youthkenworld]

Biden State Dept. refuses Americans at Kabul airport

By Mike Huckabee

Of all the disturbing and heartbreaking stories coming out of Afghanistan this weekend, this might be the most infuriating of all.

Two highly trusted sources, investigative reporter Lara Logan and Texas Rep. Dan Crenshaw, a former Navy SEAL who lost an eye in an IED explosion in Afghanistan, are independently reporting that over the past few days, Americans have been turned away from entering the Kabul airport. Logan tweeted this on Saturday: “Most Americans don’t understand what’s happening in Kabul – been on this all night with no end. US citizens are fighting through enemy lines to get to the airport. When they show their blue passport to 82nd [Airborne] soldiers at the gate, many are turned away and sent back to the Taliban.”

Later, she tweeted, “All that stands between these Americans and safety/home is the US govt and military.”

President Biden had supposedly sent the 82nd Airborne to Kabul to facilitate the mass evacuation. What in blazes is going on there?

Dan Crenshaw tweeted, “America, all you need to know is this: Biden is not letting US citizens through the airport gates. It has been impossible to get anyone through for the past 24 hours. This administration has been lying about their intent to save Americans. Unforgivable.”

Also unexplainable, in a sane world with a sane Commander-in-Chief. But that’s not what we have.

Weirdly, the Biden White House is also trying to say that ISIS-K is the enemy, not so much the Taliban. One Green Beret and others in a position to know report that they’re really one and the same. I was on the same track a few days ago when I called this “a distinction without a difference.”

Bryan Preston at PJ MEDIA wrote at greater length about this.

https://pjmedia.com/news-and-politics/bryan-preston/2021/08/29/dan-crenshaw-lara-logan-bring-the-most-disturbing-reports-out-of-the-kabul-airport-yet-n1473930

We don’t know how many Americans are stranded in Afghanistan. Some reports have said 350, but it could be thousands more. The Biden administration says it’s evacuated “thousands,” but it never says how many of these are Americans.

The State Department, officially in charge of the evacuation effort, apparently is not helping. If soldiers are turning away Americans, it is on their order, not the Pentagon’s. Texas Rep. Ronny Johnson tweeted this on Saturday: “I am furious!! My team has been on the phone all day trying to get AMERICAN CITIZENS out. They have been just outside the airport numerous times, but the State Department WILL NOT help them.”

Congress won’t be looking into this anytime soon. Speaker Pelosi has adjourned them.

American citizens aren’t the only ones being turned away at the airport gates. As reported in THE NEW YORK TIMES, students and alumni from the American University of Afghanistan were, too. This came after about 600 of them had gathered at a safe house and boarded buses to take them, they thought, to freedom. After waiting for several hours, they were told that evacuations had been called off. An email told them to return home. (“Home”?) Because the U.S. troop deadline for evacuation is August 31, it said, the U.S. military was turning from evacuating civilians to getting its own personnel out.

Think that’s bad? Oh, it’s much worse. They're terrified for their lives now, as they also also learned the U.S. military, “following protocol,” had shared a list of their names and passport information with the Taliban who were guarding the airport checkpoints. Their identities are now known, and there's no way to evacuate.

The Taliban have already taken over the American University campus. The staff got out in time and are now safely in Doha. The president of the school says they’re committed to “ensuring all students would finish their degrees remotely.”

Well, isn’t that nice. And how are these students going to be receiving their degrees? Posthumously?

https://www.nytimes.com/live/2021/08/29/world/afghanistan-live-news-updates#american-university-of-kabul-students-and-alumni-trying-to-flee-were-sent-home

Brad Slager at RedState.com has an excellent commentary on the total incompetence surrounding the withdrawal.

https://redstate.com/bradslager/2021/08/29/no-aspect-of-bidens-afghanistan-fiasco-was-handled-with-competence-n434910

Reading this, though, I have to wonder: Is this level of incompetence due to Biden’s lack of cognitive faculties, leading him to be fatally singleminded and stubborn about his arbitrary pull-out date, or is he actually an all-out traitor to his country? If he were the latter, what would he be doing differently? The one other possibility is that he is so monumentally stupid that...well, I have to wonder if even Joe Biden is THAT monumentally stupid.

It gets even crazier: As Nick Arama at RedState reports, at a time when military aircraft are at such a premium that commercial jets are being called into service, President Biden approved the use of a military plane by Energy Secretary Jennifer Granholm to fly last Monday to a nonessential diplomatic summit in Ukraine. Why the frivolous waste of a military craft when it was so badly needed for the evacuation? This makes about as much sense as anything else going on right now.

https://redstate.com/nick-arama/2021/08/29/biden-diverted-military-jet-away-for-outrageous-reason-in-middle-of-kabul-evacuation-n434949

[carryonsimoncarryonbaz]

New fic!! The original idea was for a steamy one-shot gift fic for the wonderful @krisrix but the plot ran away with me and it’s now a full-blown multi-chapter fic. Updates will hopefully be on a regular basis. 

Hope you like it @krisrix! I”ve been meaning to write you something ever since you created that amazing art for Can’t Find My Way Home! 

Behind Closed Doors

Baz

I can’t get out of David Mage’s office fast enough. I thought weekly one-on-one meetings with him were torture but now he’s moved them up to twice a week, as we reach the end of year, and it’s simply excruciating.

I hate him. I hate this job. I’ve come to despise working at Watford, which breaks my heart. But I won’t leave. I’m going to stay the course and I’ll be damned if I don’t outlast Mage here.

My mother started this company. This is her legacy and I won’t let that pompous bastard ruin it.

He’s doing his best to do just that. The numbers bear that out. Month after month I’ve been trying to communicate to him what a disaster his policies are. How they’re actually weakening the company. He just spouts some drivel about “fresh starts ”and “thinking outside the box” and then the phrase I absolutely abhor: “take it to the next level.”

I damn near leveled him when he said that today.

Father still sits on the Board of Directors but it hasn’t been much help. Somehow the rest of the Board has morphed into collection of lackeys for Mage; sycophants, supporters, cronies. It’s sickening. I think the only reason Father still has a seat is because he started Watford with Mother. They can’t vote him out.

At least I don’t think they can.

I’m storming down the corridor to get to the blessed isolation of my office when a voice calls out behind me.

“Baz!”

I can’t deal with Snow right now. I really can’t. I quicken my pace but the wanker just speeds up to catch me. Literally. He actually tugs at my sleeve.

I stop and level a glare at him. “What do you want, Snow? Some of us have work to do to keep this company afloat.”

Simon Snow is Mage’s personal assistant. His right hand man. His closest confidant and staunchest supporter. His jack of all trades.

I wish I could hate him as much as I hate Mage. I’ve tried.

I’m stupid enough to have fallen in love with him instead. It’s a cross I have to bear, but at this moment being in his presence after that disastrous meeting is almost more than I can handle.

“You haven’t sent in an RSVP for the Christmas party yet. I need to send the final number to the caterer today. I’ve sent you three emails about it, Baz.”

I arch my brow and give Snow my iciest sneer. “As if I have time to read frivolous emails about social gatherings. It’s end of year, Snow. The busiest time for the financial department, which you should know. Happens this time every year.”

“Christmas comes this time each year,” Snow mumbles.

Did he really just quote the Beach Boys most idiotic lyric at me? It shouldn’t surprise me that Snow likes that utterly insipid Christmas song. It’s absolutely endearing that he does.

I harden my heart against his charm.

“Yes, Snow. I’m quite aware. End of year financial accounting also comes this time each year and that’s rightfully occupying far more of my attention than the utterly useless Christmas party you’re harping about.”

He looks hurt. I internally curse myself. It’s not Snow’s fault I’m in this mood. It’s not Snow’s fault that he’s in charge of the dreaded Watford annual Christmas party. It’s not Snow’s fault I’m in love with him.

Actually, that last one is entirely Snow’s fault. He can’t walk around this place with that riot of disheveled bronze curls, the constellations of moles and freckles on his tawny skin, that bloody dimple on his left cheek when he smiles, his distressingly charming personality, completely unwarranted kindness, and expect me not to fall recklessly, hopelessly in love with him.

I’m so weak for this boy.

I soften my voice. “Listen, Snow. I know you’re putting all your energy into the party right now. I’m putting all mine to the financials.” I take a breath. I can do this. “I’m sorry I haven’t responded to your emails.”

Simon perks right back up at my apology. “That’s alright, Baz. I know how stressful end of year is for you. That’s why I emailed, so you could get back to me when you had a free moment.” He glances back towards Mage’s office. “I should have known better than to run you down after a meeting with Mr. Mage.”

Two years working here and he still calls him Mr. Mage. It’s ludicrous. And that bastard never corrects him. It’s some hierarchy, respect bullshit. It’s not like Snow doesn’t know Mage well enough to call him David.

He’s Mage’s pet project. Scholarship student out of the care home system and under Mage’s tutelage for years at that small university Mage worked at before he inflicted himself upon us here at Watford.

Corporations don’t function like universities though and Mage’s management here is a testament to that. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he’d come to Watford to purposely run us into the ground.

Perhaps he has. I wouldn’t put it past him.

Snow is still looking at me, likely waiting for a response. Instead I let my mind wander, like I usually do when I am confronted with him.

I have to, for self-preservation. Being near Snow is like being caught in a tractor beam, like he’s the sun and I’m crashing into him. It’s why I try to avoid him at all costs. He’s too distracting.

I’m doing it again.

“So, shall I put you down as a yes, then, Baz?”

“Yes, fine, whatever.” I’m pathetic. I hate the party. I only go because I know how much work Snow puts into it and because he looks so damn good in a suit.

“And shall I put a plus-one?”

“What?”

“Are you bringing a date?”

Bollocks. This is why I should have answered his email. To avoid awkward questions like this. To avoid inadvertently saying something monumentally stupid like “you can be my plus-one, Simon.”

“Ah, no, no, just me.”

“Right, then.” Snow beams at me. “I’ll mark you down for one. We’ve still got a spot open at our table. I’ll put you with us.”  His smile grows even wider. “Saturday at seven. At the Club. I’ll see you there, Baz.”

He nods and then scurries back down the hallway towards Mage’s office.

Fuck. How am I going to get through an entire evening at the same table as Snow?

Simon

I really should know better than to interrupt Baz when he’s in a snit and storming down the hallway from Mage’s office.

If it weren’t for the fact that he’s always in a snit after a meeting with Mage.

I know they don’t get on. It’s too bad really. Watford’s a family thing for Baz. But it still must be hard to see someone else in his mother’s place. In her office. Running her company.

I’m not sure I agree with all of Mage’s policies either. I know he was the dean at the school but I uni isn't like the corporate world.

Sometimes I wish I didn’t work here, with him. I mean, I know it’s a good job, with solid prospects, a good salary, stable environment. But I’m not using my degree here, am I?

I double majored in Sociology and Human Resources. I’m actually overqualified to be a personal assistant, but here I am planning Christmas parties and managing Mage’s schedule.

I owe him. For a lot of things. Getting me out of the care home system. Supporting me for that scholarship to the private secondary school that paved my way to getting into uni. Being my mentor at uni. Hiring me when he got this job.

It’s quite a lot. I can’t just walk away from this. I like Watford. I like what they do here. I like the values this company has. Or had, I suppose. Things are changing quite a bit under Mage.

He’s the one who would write a reference for me, if I left. Which is why I don’t dare leave. I’m not sure he wouldn’t consider it a betrayal. He’s funny that way. Very focused on loyalty and allegiance. Everything seems to boil down to “us and them” with him. He and I are the “us” and it seems everyone else is the “them.”

Particularly Baz and his father. The other long-term Watford employees. Half the Board.

Well, less than half now. A fair number have ‘retired’ and been replaced with people who are friends with Mage.

I didn’t think that’s how Boards worked. Maybe I’m just naïve.

I can’t let myself think about all that. I just have to concentrate on doing my job and doing it well.

I’m glad I caught Baz, even if he was in a mood.

I think he’s always in a mood. Two years I’ve been here and Baz is still an enigma to me. I’ve asked Penny about him. She’s been here longer than I have. She just says he’s brilliant and a tosser and that I should let him be.

Easier said than done.

There’s something fascinating about Baz. It’s not just that he’s fit either.

He’s quite fit.

But he’s intriguing as a person, not just because of how he looks. He’s young to be the CFO of a corporation the size of Watford. I know he was top of his class at LSE. Brilliant financial mind, could have had any job he wanted but he wanted to work here. With his mother. So, he started in the financial department and worked his way up.

Penny told me he’d just been promoted to CFO when the accident happened. It was a bad multiple car pileup on the M5. Baz actually passed by it on his way home that night. I can’t imagine how that must have felt. Seeing that car, knowing it was his mother’s.

I don’t know how he came back to work here, after that.

But he did. Agatha says he’s much more withdrawn since then. He used to be a bit more social, would occasionally go out to lunch with people, sometimes even to the pub for drinks after work.

Not now.

Baz comes in early, goes home late. He’s rarely out of his office unless it’s to lead a department meeting or meet with Mage. I think he even eats in there.

I’ve tried to get to know him. Hasn’t gone too well. I mean we’ve talked, of course, but not much more than that. Not for lack of trying on my part though.

I plan the corporate activities—the Christmas party, the summer soiree at the Club, periodic department morale boosters and whatnot. Retirement parties, new employee meet and greets. All sorts of events.

Baz rarely goes to any of them. I mean, he comes to the Christmas party every year and the summer event, but it’s more like he makes an appearance. Shows up, has a drink, shakes some hands with Board members and then buggers off.

I don’t know why I’m so determined to be friends with him. Penny says I’m obsessed. I disagree.

I think it’s just that he seems lonely and that bothers me.

I know how that feels.

Baz

The only diversion at the Christmas party this year has been Snow. He spent the first hour rushing around, talking to the caterer, having a word with the DJ, sorting some table seating mishap. We were well into the dessert course before he finally sat down.

In the open seat next to me.

I’d planned to leave after dessert, make my cursory rounds with the Board members and then scuttle out of here before anyone noticed. It’s still my plan, but having Snow seated next to me is definitely putting a wrench in the works.

I go to such lengths to avoid proximity to him. But having him so near, being able to look at him up close—it’s mesmerizing.

I practically swoon when his knee inadvertently bumps mine under the table. He’s left-handed so we end up knocking our hands together as he eats his food. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Snow eat before. He does it with a gusto, determination and rapidity that’s breath-taking. I think he ate every remaining roll in the bread basket. And he took my butter. Not that I was planning on eating it but still. I don’t think he’s quite aware of plate assignments at formal table settings.

Or he just loves butter.

From the way he slathered it on his roll I’m going to assume it’s the latter.

He’s also hitting the wine fairly hard. We have a few bottles at our table but Bunce and Wellbelove have only had a glass each. I’ve sipped at mine. I don’t think Rhys drinks and Gareth has a whiskey by him.

Snow’s on his third glass by the time the DJ starts playing and the dance floor begins to fill.

I think he’s well on the way to being pissed. He hurried off to hand over a check to the caterer but it appears he took a detour to the bar. Snow’s back and he’s got a drink in each hand.  

“Here.” He hands me one.

I shake my head. “Sorry, Snow. One glass limit for me tonight. I’m driving.”

His face falls for a moment but then he shakes his head and beams at me. “More for me then, I suppose.”

“Simon.” Bunce is seated on his other side. “I don’t think you need two Mojitos.” She commandeers the one intended for me and passes it off to Wellbelove.

Wellbelove just shrugs and takes it.

“I think I’m entitled to as many Mojitos as I please.” Snow leans back in his chair and proceeds to down his entire drink.

“What’s brought this on?” Bunce asks, placing a hand on his shoulder. She darts a concerned look in my direction.

As if I would have any idea why Snow has decided to drown his sorrows in rum. It’s a tempting idea to follow suit except for the fact that I despise rum.

And I hate being drunk. Hate the loss of control, the giddiness, the way I find myself saying things that absolutely should not be said. That would be a disaster here, with Snow at my side.

Who knows what nonsense I would start spouting about the blue of his eyes or the light glinting in his bronze curls. I’d never live it down. I’d die of mortification on the spot.

I’ll stick to one glass of wine and then a lonely drive home to end my night curled up with a good book.

Of course, that’s not what happens.

What happens is that Snow continues to drink. Profusely.

Wellbelove offers to take him home when she leaves but he waves her away. Bunce tries to be more forceful with him but he’s having none of her bossiness tonight (Bunce is a force of nature) (I’m secretly relieved I don’t have to interact with her department often).

“I can’t leave, Penny. Not until everyone else packs it up. I’ve got to pay the DJ and make sure everyone’s got a ride home. It’s my job.” Snow’s explaining this to her, with his hands on her shoulders and an adorably earnest expression on his face.

“Yes, I know that, Simon. Perhaps that would have been a good reason not to make so many trips to the bar, now wouldn’t it?”

He laughs. It comes out as a bark, nothing like Snow’s usual laugh. I take a closer look at him. There’s a hint of desperation behind the forced cheerfulness. I hadn’t noticed it before. Something’s bothering Snow, enough to make him behave this way, so out of character for him.

“It’s alright, Penny. I’ll be fine. It’s not like I don’t know how to handle my liquor. Better than most.”

“That’s not the point, Simon.” Bunce groans. She looks at her watch again. “I need to go. I’ve got to get to the airport early tomorrow morning.” She tugs at his sleeve.

Bunce’s boyfriend lives in America. I don’t know how they manage this long-distance relationship of theirs but I do know there’s a lot of flying back and forth for holidays.

I step closer to them and then, even though I’ve just had the one drink, I find myself saying something absolutely rash. “I’ll drive him home, Bunce. You go on.”

They both turn to look at me, Bunce incredulous and Snow inordinately pleased. “There you go, Penny. Baz’ll get me home. You can count on Baz. That’s what he does all day, he counts things. Count on Baz. Baz’ll take care of me, Pen.”

Bunce rolls her eyes and then fixes me with a stern look. “Baz, so help me, you better get him home in one piece.”

I give her a bored look, hopefully masking the ridiculous way my heart is pounding at the thought that I’ll be watching over Snow and at the way he’s gazing at me right now.

Because he is. Gazing at me, I mean. Raptly, intently, fondly. I can’t quite wrap my head around his expression. I want him to look at me like that all the time.  

“Relax, Bunce. I’m quite sure I can handle getting one pleasantly drunk employee home.” I focus on Snow, who is literally beaming at me now. “As long as you remember where you live, Snow, we should be fine.”

“I’m pleasant now, am I?” Snow’s latched onto that unfortunate word choice of mine. I’m not even soused and I’ve already said too much. I am utterly pathetic.

Bunce shakes her head but leaves Snow in my tender care. She writes his address on a paper napkin and shoves it in my pocket before she goes, to his disapproval. “I know where I live, Pen. I’m not a complete idiot.”

She gives him an odd look, her gaze going back and forth between us thoughtfully. “I’m not so sure, Simon. I’m not so sure.” And then she leaves.

It takes a while to sort everything out. Snow has a check in his pocket for the DJ. He has a conversation with the Club manager about sending the bar bill to the office. He wanders around making sure there aren’t any purses or coats or belongings left behind, and then we finally make our departure.

He’s tipsy, that’s for certain, but I think Bunce was mistaken as to how drunk he is. Granted, he’s taken in a prodigious amount of liquor, but I think he’s got the right of it—he can handle the alcohol, better than I had assumed.  He’s uninhibited, that’s for certain, but he’s definitely not incoherent.

I input the address Bunce scribbled onto the napkin in my SatNav as Snow leans back in the passenger seat of my car, a sigh escaping him as he does.

“You alright, Snow?”

“Yeah.”

His eyes are closed. He looks tired. I haven’t put much thought into all he does, to make these parties go off without a hitch. He’s the one doing all the work, behind the scenes, but he certainly doesn’t get any credit for it.

I feel bad for snarling at him as much as I do.

“Are you sure?” Why am I still talking?

“Yeah, it’s just been a bit of rough night.”

“Why’s that? You pulled it off again. Lovely evening for all.”

He turns his head to the side and opens his eyes. “You really thought it was lovely?”

I don’t know what’s gotten into me tonight. My voice softens as I answer. “I do. You always do a wonderful job with these events, Snow. It’s a thankless job, I’m sure, but thank you for doing it.”

Snow’s smile is brilliant. I reluctantly turn my eyes back to the road. “Thanks, Baz. I wish everyone agreed with you.”

I frown. “I can’t think anyone would find much to criticize.” I give him a wry look. “Other than the DJ insisting on playing The Electric Slide.” I dare another sidelong glance at him. His grin is even wider now. “That needs to be on the no-play list.”

“Ah, come on, Baz. It got a lot of people on the dance floor.”

“Not me.”

“And what would get you on the dance floor? I didn’t see you out there at all tonight.”

My mouth is dry. I’m not prepared to have this type of conversation with Snow. It’s not intimate but it’s somehow far more personal than any we’ve had previously.

“I don’t dance.”

Snow snorts. Literally. “I don’t believe that for a minute.”

“And why not?”

I can’t help glancing at him again. He’s laser-focused on me as he answers, an intensity in his gaze that makes my skin tingle.  “You don’t move like someone who can’t dance.”

I swallow. This is definitely veering into intimate territory. I take a breath and answer him. “I didn’t say I couldn’t. I said I don’t. There’s a difference.”

“Ah. So what would it take for you to dance?”

“Nothing that comes to mind.”

“Hmm.”

We lapse into silence. We’re almost at Snow’s flat. I’m utterly failing at the witty banter. I’ve got Snow’s undivided attention and I can’t for the life of me come up with anything to say. It’s tragic, really.

I pull up in front of his building. There’s a spot conveniently open. I manoeuvre the car into the tight space and park. “Alright then, Snow?”

This smile of his is soft, not the heart-stopping brilliance of before. I think I love this one even more. It’s private, personal, like he’s saved it just for me. That’s a load of rubbish, I know, but I let myself believe it for a moment.

“Yes, thank you, Baz. Thanks for driving me home.” Snow’s made no move to unbuckle his seatbelt or get out of the car. He’s just contemplating me. Raptly.

It’s like staring into the sun. I can’t hold his gaze. I tap my fingers on the steering wheel, clear my throat and force my eyes away from him. “Alright, then.” Christ, now I’m repeating myself. Will the embarrassments of tonight never end?

He reaches out a hand and gently touches my forearm. It’s electric. I can feel the heat of it through the fabric of my suit. Then it’s gone and Snow is swiftly unbuckling his belt and making his way out of the car.  He leans into the open door. “See you Monday, Baz.” And then he’s gone, the door thudding closed behind him. He’s not the steadiest on his feet but he’ll do. He just needs to get in the building and up to his flat.

I stay parked anyway, to be certain he makes it in safely. It’s a good thing I do, because I can see the distress on his face a moment later. He’s patting down his pockets, face rapidly growing more alarmed as his search continues. He stares at the car, expression frantic now. I roll down the window. “What’s the problem?”

Simon rushes back, stumbling a bit as he does. “Baz. I can’t find my keys. I can’t find them anywhere.” He’s scrabbling in his pockets again—trousers, suit jacket, overcoat. His eyes meet mine. “Fuck. I must have dropped them at the Club.”

“Is there a spare set anywhere?”

He shakes his head. “I’ve been meaning to leave a set with Penny but I keep forgetting.”

Blast it. “Get in. We’ll head back to the Club. The cleaning crew should be there.”

The cleaning crew is not there. No one is. The Club is locked, dark and deserted. I’m a bit taken aback. You’d think they’d want the place cleaned up before the Sunday brunch crowd. I’m rethinking my whole attitude towards the place.

But that’s not helping with the Snow situation. “What am I going to do?” He’s got his hands in his hair, furiously pulling at his curls. “I can’t get into my building. I can’t call Penny—she’s got an early flight, I don’t dare wake her up.”

I make my decision. It’s a stupid, moronic, risky decision, but I’m tired and I’m besotted with this blasted boy and I can’t just leave him to his own devices, now can I? I told Bunce I’d take care of him and I damn well keep my promises. I can’t help the small sigh that escapes me. “You can come home with me, Snow. I’ve got a sofa you can use for the night. I’ll bring you round here in the morning so you can track down your keys.”

His hands drop to his sides and his red-rimmed eyes meet mine. “I’m sorry to be such a pain in the arse, Baz, really I am.” His brow furrows. “You can drop me off at a hotel or something. I’d hate to inconvenience you.”

I can’t help but frown back. “I am not having you spend the night in a hotel. I’ve got a perfectly serviceable sofa at my place. It’s not an inconvenience. It’s easier this way, truly. I can help you search for your keys tomorrow.”

His face softens to that fond look again and I’m wrecked. I can’t think when Snow looks at me like that. “Thanks, Baz. You’ve no idea how much I appreciate this. I feel like such a knobhead.”

I just nod at him. I don’t quite trust my voice at the moment. My heart is beating so rapidly that I swear he can hear it when he gets in the car.

It’s fine. Everything is fine. I’m fine. Snow’s fine.

Fuck. I most certainly am not fine. I’m going to have Simon Snow sleeping at my flat. It’s a fucking dream come true but not in the way I’d fantasized.

I’m simply helping him out. It’s just for one night. This means nothing.  

It means everything.

Christ, what am I even thinking? It can’t mean anything. Honestly, even if Snow were interested, which he’s certainly not, it’s against company policy. No fraternizing. No inter-office romances. Strictly off-limits, especially for one of the chief officers to potentially be involved with a subordinate.

It’s theoretically both an HR and Compliance violation, even if it’s not spelled out explicitly in the handbook.

It’s one of the reasons I’ve kept my distance from him. Not given in to the temptation to test the waters, see if he’s even remotely interested. Because it’s doomed from the start. I can’t date Snow. Not as long as he’s employed at Watford.

Snow’s still babbling rambling apologies to me. I let him. I’m too tired to argue and too overwhelmed to speak at the moment.

He falls silent by the time we pull into the parking garage at my building. He’s still a bit wobbly but not enough that I have to steady him, thank God. I don’t know what I’d do if I had him leaning into me right now.

I find out the answer to that question moments later as I fumble with my keys. My hands are shaking and it takes me a few tries to fit the key in the lock. Just enough time for Snow to slump against the wall and slide down to a seated position.

“No, Snow, what? Not here. We’re almost inside. Come on, now, get up.” He’s got his eyes closed.

“It’s spinning a bit, Baz.” The words are just a whisper.

“Bloody hell. You were fine just a minute ago. How much did you have to drink?”

He shakes his head and then stops with a moan, both hands going up to grip his temples. My eyes dart around the landing.  I need to get this idiot inside.

“I had a shot of whiskey when I went to get my coat, just before we left.”

“Snow, you are an absolute moron. What the hell has gotten into you tonight?”

“Mage.” It’s even quieter than before but I hear it.  It sears my heart. What did Mage do, to have Simon behave so out of character tonight?

It’s not something I’m going to delve into out here. Somehow, I’ve got to get him into my flat. I should be able to pry it out of him while I fetch him some water and paracetamol. He’ll definitely need both.

And pyjamas.

Blast it. I do not need the mental image of Snow wearing my pyjamas at this particular moment.

I shove the door open, drop my keys in my pocket and reach out a hand towards him. “Up, Snow.” He opens his eyes and stares at my hand. “Come on. Let’s get you inside. We can talk about whatever’s bothering you then, alright?” I’m using my gentlest voice, the coaxing one I used to use on my siblings when I’d try to get them to go to bed.

Snow reaches up and grips my hand and I haul him to his feet. He stumbles a bit and leans into me hard. I’m not expecting it and my arm involuntarily slides around his waist to steady him. We stagger into my flat, Snow a near dead weight in my arms. I manoeuvre him to the sofa where he’ll spend the night and he drops down heavily onto the cushions. The momentum drags me down as well.  

Snow slumps against the back of the sofa and I leap to my feet. “I’ll just be a moment.” I take my overcoat off and toss it on a chair before hurrying to the kitchen to fetch Snow some water. It takes me a few moments to hunt down the paracetamol. I rarely use it so I check the bottle to make sure it’s not expired. Thankfully, it’s not. I tuck the bottle in my pocket and head to my room for a pair of pyjamas.

I return to find Snow, head lolling back on the sofa, snoring gently. He’s ridiculous and entrancing and the line of his neck is utterly enthralling.  I can’t take my eyes off him.  I shake my head in irritation and raise my voice. “Snow. Wake up. You can’t sleep in your suit.”

His head bobs up and his eyes widen. It takes a moment for him to focus on me but when he does a smile lights up his face. “Baz.”

“Present and accounted, Snow. Now, sit up, that’s right. Time for some water or you’ll feel like absolute shite in the morning.” “Think I’m going to feel like that no matter what.”

“You’ll feel worse if you don’t do as I say. Now, come on, drink the water and then I need you to take some paracetamol for your head. It’s going to be pounding soon enough, I’m sure.”

Snow obediently takes the paracetamol and drinks most of the water. I scamper off to the kitchen to bring him another glass. He’s managed to stay awake this time. He blinks up at me. “Thanks, Bazy.”

That’s not going to do at all. I’m absolutely not going to tolerate nicknames from this intoxicated wanker.

“You do not get to call me that, Snow. Under no circumstances do I answer to nicknames.”

“Baz’s a nickname.” It comes out as a mumble.

I roll my eyes. “That’s my name, Snow. It’s not a nickname. It’s what everyone calls me.”

“Not your father. Not Mage. Call you Basilton, they do.”

“I am not going to engage in a debate about my name while you are inebriated. It’s one o’clock in the morning. Give it a rest.”

“Alright, Bazy.”

“Snow.” My voice has an edge to it. I don’t care how adorable he’s being at the moment. I simply cannot allow this.

“Hmm. How’s this then. I’ll stop the Bazy bit if you stop calling me Snow. M’ok?”

“What?”

“M’name’s Simon.”

“I’m aware.”

“Rather you call me that, than Snow.”

I sigh. “Fine, then. Simon. Are you happy now?”

He grins in response and then proceeds to slump further down. This won’t do at all. He’s still in his suit.

“Might need the loo.”

Of course, he needs to use the loo. I position myself in front of him and hoist him up. We lurch our way to the bathroom down the hall. I go in search of a spare pillow and blanket while Snow—er, Simon—uses the facilities. There’s some thumping and bumping, which is likely his attempt at getting out of his clothes and into the pyjamas I left with him. I can feel my face heat up. I’m going to leave him in his suit if he hasn’t managed to change out of it himself. There are some lines that simply can’t be crossed.

Simon’s somehow managed to get out of his suit and into my pyjamas and I can’t say that the sight of him in them doesn’t make my head spin. His clothing is scattered on the floor and over the side of the bathtub. I tut at him and gather it all up, hanging it in the hall closet once I get him situated on the sofa again.

“You need to drink more water, Simon.”

“I will if you sit with me a bit.”

I sit at the far end of the sofa, perched on the edge. Simon tilts his head in my direction, eyes heavy-lidded. “Thanks, Baz.”

“Drink your water.” He takes a few sips and then closes his eyes again. “What’s going on tonight, Simon? I’ve never seen you like this.”

He opens his eyes and regards me thoughtfully. “How would you know? You don’t really spend much time in my company do you, Baz?”

He’s right. I don’t. I observe him from a distance, taking note of every nuance of him, every facial expression, every burst of laughter. I’ve collected scraps of information about him from office gossip and the interactions we’ve had. I know him better than he thinks.

I’ve been to most of the corporate events since he started working here and I’ve never seen him behave in an inappropriate fashion. It’s not that he’s been behaving poorly tonight. It’s just so unlike him. “I know you take pride in what you do and you are usually impeccable in your behaviour. Tonight’s a bit of a departure from that, wouldn’t you say?”

He sighs.

“Simon. What’s going on?”

“I got into a bit of a scrap with Mage.”

“When?”

“At the party.”

I think back on the night. I don’t recall seeing Simon with Mage but I didn’t have eyes on him the whole time. He was running around quite a bit all evening.

“What about?”

“Quite a few things. The party mostly.” Simon exhales again and his expression becomes grave. “No one gave me any new parameters for the cost. I followed last year’s budget. Mage had approved it a few months ago.”

A chill goes through me. I’d just gone over the projected year-end numbers with Mage Friday. They weren’t good. He’s been vastly overspending with marketing and Board-focused events. Retreats. Strategic planning sessions. Consultants. Corporate mumbo-jumbo as far as I’m concerned. Colossally wasteful. It’s done nothing for our bottom line. Made it worse, if anything.

Our customers rely on our thoroughness and reliability. Mage has cut a swathe through the staff in the last two years, alienating long-term employees and hiring toadies who curry his favor. The loss of Possibelf six months ago and Minos a few weeks after decimated those departments. Mage hired Bunce’s brother, but Premal is new to the business and far too arrogant to ask for help. The managers under him have been floundering for months, despite my clandestine assistance.

Assistance Mage has sharply reprimanded me for more than once.  

He was incensed on Friday, with the numbers I had shown him. Accurate, up to date, precise numbers. He’d threatened another round of layoffs, which will only weaken us further. That’s why I was in such a foul mood when Simon caught me.

It seems Simon’s borne the brunt of Mage’s rage as well. “What did he say?” My tone is far gentler than it typically is with him.

“He was furious about the menu. The open bar. The holiday prizes we give out every year.”

That was my mother’s tradition. A series of gifts for random employees. She’d draw the names out of a top hat and the winners would march off with an iPad or a new watch. A television or a swanky SatNav. There were always one or two splashy items while the rest were more moderate. It was a unique way to boost employee morale and add a tinge of excitement to the party. Something a bit more personal than the yearly holiday bonus check.

Simon was still speaking. “Said we couldn’t afford it. Said I’d overstepped my bounds by not clearing it with him.” His face clouds over. “But I did clear it with him, Baz. I cleared it with him months ago, when I booked the Club. When I purchased the items. How was I to know the funds were more precarious now?”

There was no way for Simon to know. Not if Mage hadn’t told him. He is a direct report to Mage, no one else. It isn’t my place to peruse the budgets with the CEO’s assistant. Another example of how unfit this man is to run the company.  

Simon leans forward, his head buried in his hands. “Christ, I feel like such a fucking idiot. I never intended to make things worse.”

I’m not sure how I end up with my hand on his shoulder. “It’s not your fault. You did what you’re supposed to do. It’s his job to keep up with the finances. It’s his job to communicate if he needs plans to change.” My hand makes its way across his back and then he’s leaning against me, his head on my shoulder.

I can smell the clean, fresh scent of his hair. His curls are tickling my neck. He’s pressed up against me and I can’t pull away. I’m riveted to the spot.  

I find myself crooning soothing phrases into his hair. It isn’t Simon’s fault and it’s complete bollocks that Mage has made him feel responsible and guilty. No wonder he was hitting the drinks hard tonight.

If I know anything about Snow it’s that he’s frugal to a fault. He grew up in the care system, had nothing of his own. The scholarship may have rescued him from that environment but he’s never lost his sense of caution about expenses. It’s a well-known office fact. I don’t need to know him well to know this about him.

It’s obvious from where he lives. How he eats. I think he’s the only other employee who brings food from home almost exclusively. I do it because I’m anti-social and I don’t really like eating in front of others much. He does it to conserve his finances.

I keep murmuring comforting words to him. It’s basically a litany of “it’s alright, you did nothing wrong” repeated over and over at this point. I’m not quite sure what else to do. I really should get up and get him settled for the night.

But I don’t want to. I know it’s wrong to relish the sensation of him near me but it’s been far too long since I’ve had human contact like this. I know I’m supposed to be comforting him but this is consoling me as well.

I may never have another chance to hold him in my arms like this.

I don’t know how much time passes. I’ve stopped speaking now, I’m just holding him. He stirs and lifts his head. He’s so close. Our eyes lock and I’m lost in the blue of his gaze.

“Thank you, Baz.” It’s a whisper but the feel of his breath ghosting against my lips makes me shiver. His hand comes up to cup my face and his head tilts up.

And then he kisses me. Simon Snow is kissing me and it’s simultaneously the best thing and the worst thing in the world.

The best because it’s Simon Snow kissing me and I’ve desperately wanted this for so long. I’ve never been kissed quite like this. He’s doing this thing with his jaw and it’s overwhelming me. It’s soft, passionate, so devastatingly sensual that my lips part of their own volition and I lose myself in the taste of him.

It’s the worst because I can’t let him keep doing it. He’s not himself. He’s had too much to drink. He doesn’t mean this. He’s not thinking clearly. I pull away, every nerve in my body alight with the sense of him. I’m literally dragging my lips from his as the regret pools in my stomach, weighing me down.

“I’m sorry, Simon. That was uncalled for. I apologize.”

He blinks at me, face flushed. “What’re you apologizing for? I kissed you.”

“I know that. But you’re not yourself. I shouldn’t have let you do that.”

Simon frowns at me. “But I wanted to.”

I’m not prepared for this. I feel exposed, raw, vulnerable. It’s all I’ve wanted and the reality that I can’t let myself have this is devastating.

“You may think that now, Simon, but you likely won’t feel the same way tomorrow.” I shift away slightly and then stand up. I can’t help but reach out one more time, to rest my hand on his shoulder. I can feel the heat of his skin through the fabric. It’s an effort to step back but I have to do it.

I yank the pillow and blanket from the armchair nearby and make a show of fluffing the pillow and settling it in place for him. I give him a gentle push and he slides down until he’s curled up on his side. He looks so young, so trusting. My hand creeps forward of its own volition to sweep the curls off his forehead, my fingers lingering in his hair for a moment. I settle the blanket over him and decisively step away.

Simon’s eyes follow me as I move towards the hallway leading to my room. “Good night, Simon.”

I close my eyes for a brief second and then switch the light off. I see him shift a bit in the dimness,hear his whispered “goodnight, Baz”and then I turn away to find the lonely comfort of my room.

It takes me a long time to fall asleep.

Simon

Baz may think I’m going to forget this or regret it in the morning. He couldn’t be more wrong. The only thing I might regret is the hangover I’m sure to have tomorrow, but I don’t expect I’m going to feel much remorse about that.  

I doubt I’d have had the courage to kiss Baz just now, if I hadn’t had a few drinks in me.

I probably wouldn’t have had the nerve at all, if Mage hadn’t aggravated me to the point of throwing all caution to the wind and indulging in more liquor than I’ve had since uni. Can’t be helped.

It did serve to clarify things for me.

I like Baz. More than like him.

I can’t delude myself that the feelings I have for him are just casual interest or fascination. The truth is I’ve had a crush on Baz for quite some time now.

I’d resigned myself to it being a one-sided attraction but I’m not sure that’s true, if the way he responded to my kissing him is any indication.

I liked that too.

I pull the blanket up to my chin. It smells like Baz; cedar and bergamot.

I breathe the scent in and let my eyes drift closed.

[bibliophilicwitch]

It is time! For a work update!

This weekend is the first official Saturday paint class. There were two openings when I cleaned up the lists early this month and one of the two people on the wait list finally informed me she wouldn’t be able to make it. I need to do some kind of announcement for the open seat, but need to decide how to word it since the one seat will fill super fast, but the reminders will go out tomorrow so I'm likely to have a few more seats open from cancellations? And also I don’t want anyone signed up for another paint class to be on the wait list or anyone that attended last month's paint class to be on this wait list. It's a whole thing... as usual.

Oh and the canvases I ordered will not be delivered in time so I guess I need to go to Walmart. Big surprise. (I cleared them out of 16x20 canvases a few weeks ago, so idk if they'll even have much in stock yet... so I may be driving to the nearest Hobby Lobby this evening...)

I’ve been wanting to create a monthly series that would feature local authors, presenters, and entertainers to build an audience since one off programs tend to have low attendance, but I have been leery of starting the series because it is a commitment of having to be sure to have someone booked every month. I’ve finally decided to just jump in and get it rolling and I’ve been working on filling dates starting in June since I couldn’t reserve the space earlier than that due to high demand from the public. I’m still a little anxious about this series, but I am excited to build up another monthly program that will focus on consistency in order to build an audience.

The Adult Services Librarian organized Computer & Technology Classes with an instructor - a program that had been running for several years and was quite successful - but just after she left we lost our instructor. I offered to take on the series and my director was thrilled that I was taking it on and suggested making a connection with the technical college in town to potentially create a partnership. That is moving forward very well and our first class will be February 12th which is coming up fast, so here’s to me getting marketing out before this time next week so that I can get our classes filled.

Book club tends to be a struggle for me. Though the meetings run themselves and I no longer am expected to read the books and participate in discussion, getting enough copies for our members is challenging. The problem is that I am not going to buy 14+ copies of a book for it to circulate one, MAYBE twice if it is INCREDIBLY lucky, every single month. That would be a waste of funds tbh. So I ILL the books for the members, but that means that we have to be careful what books we select so that there are enough copies available. I gave the club a list of book club kits from the Madison Public Library that I can easily access for them to select titles from.

First my director pushed for me to use a book she suggested because she is planning a community read. I picked a month for book club to read it before she had settled on dates and I ended up being two months before her planned community read which worked out well because the books she would purchase for the read I would be able to use for book club... except they came in late af. Halfway through January I still didn’t have books in the hands of book club members, so I ended up ordering them ILL to try and get them asap and sent an email alerting members that due to issues getting a hold of the books we would be pushing back the meeting to give them an extra week to read the book.

Then last week when I called Madison to order the next month’s books we realized the book that had been requested was a 2019 new release... I have told them to pick from the book club kit list, new releases, and current popular IT books (upcoming movie adaptations etc) are not accessible because there are not many copies and/or there are too many other people also trying to read those books. So I had to last minute change which book we would be reading for February.

I sent out the monthly newsletter email for January (normally sent on the morning of the previous meeting - the last Monday of the month) halfway through January regarding the changes and brief explanation. I sent out a reminder email (normally sent out around the 12th of the month) a week before the usual meeting date with a reminder that the date had changed and also to let members know that if they would be able to attend the rescheduled date but still wanted to participate in discussion regarding this book about the community read discussion led by an English professor from the local University of Wisconsin and the date of this discussion. I scheduled the normal monthly email for the morning of the usual book club meeting date alerting members to the book selection change and reminding them that book suggestions cannot be new releases etc for this reason.

Monday evening we had two patrons come to the library for book club. Both were unhappy about the change and insisted they were unaware of the change. One wrote a “Library Voice” note about how she had left work early to attend book club and that the program coordinator is not required for running book club so the book club should have been held even if she was not available for those that are unaware of cancellations - even though it had nothing to do with me not being available and everything to do with me giving them more time to read the damn book. I didn’t have to move the date back for them. She also insisted that she didn’t recieve any notification about the changes for the date or the February book because she couldn’t check emails at work.

All emails were sent prior to her work day as the last email that had gone out that day was sent at 6AM.......

I am so tired of people....

[millyivybloom-blog]

University

Hi all,

So I’m currently deciding on which university I should attend. I have received offers from all 4 I applied to but now I have to choose which one I want to go to the most so I thought id share the process I use to make these decisions. There are lots of universities out there so how do you decide which to apply for let alone your favourite? Here is my advice.

Step 1: Choose the course.

There is no point even considering a university if they don’t offer the degree you want to do. Use university guides which are available from the times and guardian etc. to find the rating of universities as well as a list of schools that offer the subject you’re interested it. Use UCAS to search your course as well because that is likely to be the most up to date recording of the courses offered by universities.

Make lists of the universities that offer your course, how good they are considered both academically and by the students, how far from home they are and what grades they are asking for. If you can only find the UCAS points they require, a quick google should show what grades you will need and ask your teachers if you are still unsure.

For courses such as psychology, there is a society (the British psychological society or BPS) which accredits courses. This accreditation is a requirement to start training to be a chartered psychologist and will cost your a few years of study if you don’t have this and want to be a psychologist. 

*Check websites for both the university and the body or society that controls the area you want your study to lead you into so you are sure if your course needs any form of accreditation and ask the lecturers on visits.*

Step 2: Visits.

University open days exist for a reason. Most of them are on Saturdays but if you still cannot make it to one email the head of departments asking for more information on the course and if you have ay questions they should be happy to answer them. You can also tour the university digitally for most schools or request a private tour. It is important to know you feel comfortable and safe at the university you are considering as you could be living and studying there for 3-5 or more years depending on your course. There is no point going to a school in the middle of a city if you prefer living near open countryside or in the middle of nowhere if you feel isolated. Get a feel of the location, town, campus, accommodation, study spaces and anywhere else you would be likely to find yourself over the years you will be studying there.

For example, one university I was considering was taken off my list when I visited and felt incredibly unsafe and unhappy there. I am a country girl at heart so an open campus in the centre of a city was no going to make me feel at home or allow me to be productive in my learning.

Step 3: Talk to people.

Talk to lecturers, asking any questions you have and discussing areas of interest. This is how you get a feel of the teaching at the university. Are the teachers engaging? Do they care and are they willing to talk to possible students at length about their subjects? Chances are, if they are willing to take time out of their day to talk to a perspective student they will be happy to do the same with their actual, committed students. 

Talk to other students. These are people who are living the life you want to be living in a year or two. They are having the experience you are dreaming of right now so ask about classes, social aspects of university, the nightlife if you are interested in that, where the good coffee is and how crowded the laundrette can get. Even if they are at an open day and probably being paid to be there, they are likely to have a very different perspective to any of the staff at the university so take the time to have a chat to them.

Talk to our friends and family. Remember that this is your decision but it is always good to get a second opinion. Parents are often focused on your safety and how far away you will be moving whilst friends are probably going through the same problems you are right now. Do not base your decision about who will be where and what other people think but it can be good to have other ideas presented from different perspectives.

Step 4: Make pro-con lists.

Once you have cut down your list to your favourites make a pro-con list for each one. These don't have to be long but they can help you decide which ones are at the top of your list and which aren’t your favourites at all. UCAS allows you to apply for 5 universities but you don't have to fill all 5 spaces if you don’t like that many places. 

Step 5:Apply.

Even if you’re not sure you will get the grade some places want they might still consider you with a good personal statement. Make sure you have universities with a range of grades so you have a back up if you don't get the grades you wanted. 

Once you have applied you just need to wait. Regularly check your emails and UCAS account for any updates. Some universities may get back to you incredibly quickly and some might take weeks, just keep calm and think positive.

Step 6: Exams.

Taking your A-Levels can be stressful so take time to focus on preparing for them as early as year 12 and revise right from the beginning (you’ll thank me later).

Some universities offer merit scholarship and entrance exams so make sure to check when you apply. Even if you doubt you will do well on these tests, take them anyway, you might surprise yourself and it will show the university that you are committed to them and the course. Not all places offer these exams though so check. Your college should be happy and able to help you to apply for and take these exams but they are often earlier than A-Levels, around January to March so check early if you want to take them.

Over all, it is good to start early and stay organised and committed. Keep a notebook solely for university information so you can keep it all organised. When in doubt ask your teachers for advice as they help students apply for university every year so probably have some good advice by now.

Good luck. xoxo

[jklmn-oh]

Room for Two Pt. 2

Genre : roommates!au, fluff, smut

Pairing : Jungkook x reader

Words : 3,446

This chapter has sexual content.

Summary : Having a crush can be hard sometimes. But what’s harder is when you stupidly decide to hook up with him, and recently he turns out to be your new roommate.

The plan of washing your clothes did not happen at all. The moment Jungkook has decided to bring you to his room, he never stopped until you have to beg him to. If you let him continue with eating you out and making you cum, you wouldn’t be able to leave his dorm and head on to yours. You were supposed to have a movie night with your friends and now that might just be a bad idea instead of sleeping in on a Saturday.

Jungkook insisted that instead of giving him a blowjob, he will walk you home, and that thought has rang too many alarms in your head. First alarm, Jungkook has been very extra sweet since this morning. Second alarm, walking you to your dorm means your friends will see him. Third alarm and most important of all, your friends have been ringing your phone since last night and yet you chose to ignore it and continue sucking the boy’s cock. What a shitty friend you are.

“Baby girl, you’re so good with that mouth.” Jungkook groaned once he finally came and lay down his bed lifeless. He pulled you beside him and made you lay your head on his chest. One thing you knew about Jungkook that not anyone would know is that the boy is a total cuddler. He hates it when his friends try to be clingy with him, especially Jimin, Taehyung, and Hoseok. But now, this cute boy even had the courage to kiss the top of your head as if you two have been dating for how many months?

Jungkook’s phone rang momentarily harmonizing with yours and that might be the signal for you to leave. You sat up and grabbed the clothes Jungkook let you borrow and wore them. Your clothes from last night were already kept inside your bag, which is a back pack and who carries a back pack inside a club? You, of course.

The boy grabbed his phone from the nightstand and read the text message. “Oh, shit.” He cursed.

“What is it?” you asked as you fished your phone out of your bag. “Oh my goodness.” A hundred texts from your dorm mates combined plus twenty voicemails from Luna and Debby? You definitely have a lot of explaining to do.

“It’s just, I suddenly can’t remember if I paid rent last month?” Jungkook said as he pondered over it. “Jin-hyung sent me a text saying that I will be moving out.”

You giggled. “Aw, then maybe you even missed the month before that they decided to kick you out.”

“Nah, I’m sure I paid.” Jungkook’s phone made another ding. “He’s asking me to look at my e-mail.”

“That you should, or you might start packing?” you joked, to which he laughed. You have never imagined this to happen. Sure you did fantasize about the dear boy, but have you never thought that all of this would be real. You inside his room, laughing so casually with a naked boy in front of you. Your laugh halted as you placed one strap of your back pack on your shoulder. “I should go.”

“I could really walk you to your dorm.” He said.

“Do you even know where I live?” you smirked. “What if I’m living just a floor above yours?”

“Then why leave early?” he challenged. Welp, you really aren’t up for doing mind games right now. You really have to leave.

“It’s almost lunch time, my dorm mates even bombarded my phone with calls and texts.” You say, “At least let me see them? Are you planning on caging me in your room huh?”

Jungkook didn’t bother answering your question. Instead, he looked you with soulful eyes and asked, “Will we meet again?”

“I think so?” you told him. “We’re in the same university, Jungkook. I’m sure we would meet again.”

He shook his head, “I mean, can we meet again? Like…”

“Like?”

“Never mind.” He smiled. “Do you want me to walk you to the door?”

You suddenly remembered the first time the two of you talked in sophomore year. If there was anything notable that you have learned from the boy, is that he likes to cut himself off when talking and back off like a scared puppy. As much as you’d want to know what he was supposed to ask you, you just brushed it off. Anyway, this was just a one night stand. Even though you would like to hang around with Jungkook, you know that will not be the case. This was just a one time thing and if it weren’t for the alcohol, you wouldn’t be where you are.

“I know my way out, thanks.” You say. “Have a nice day and um, nice to meet you?”

“Yeah, you too.”

-

Getting back to your dorm was a total disaster. The moment you went in; your dorm mates were all rushing towards you. “We saw you with Jungkook last night!” they said in unison as they pulled you towards the living room. You were sat on the couch as they sat on the floor facing you like a child waiting for their mother to tell a story about Cinderella.

“You and Jungkook fucked! I knew it!” Mina exclaimed before you could even talk, and earning a glare from Leena.

“You’re not supposed to say it that way, Mina!” she said.

“But it’s true!” Mina glared back at Leena. The two girls fighting are never a rare occurrence in the dorm. In fact, it has always been like that because they were friends since high school who love annoying the hell out of each other. “Didn’t you, Y/N?”

“What?” you went back to your senses, looking back at your friends. “Uh, well…”

“You did!” Leena pointed at you accusingly. “What have you done? Why did you do that? It’s Jeon Jungkook for goodness sake!”

Luna then laughed, silencing everyone. “Calm down you guys. Y/N haven’t even told us her side yet.” She looked at you. “And it’s not like she can’t do what she wants, right Y/N?”

“Uh, yes?” of all the people, you haven’t really expected Luna to act this way. You expected her to scold you like Mina and Leena were doing because to them, even though you were the third oldest, you were the baby. You grew up from a pretty strict and tight household that was why you had a hard time learning what college life was: cramming, procrastination, partying till sun rise, and just not doing the best decisions in life but still enjoying and surviving. That also meant you rarely hang out with boys, let alone sleep at their places, or hook up with them when you barely know them. But this is Jeon Jungkook, you might be that shy girl but you’re not exactly innocent, right?

You realized how the girls were playing with you once Yena started to laugh. “I can’t put a serious face on. Let’s stop this!”

Everyone laughed and you sulked. “I hate everyone!”

“We’re just kidding oh my god, you chill sis.” Mina said, hugging you and giving you a kiss on the cheek.

“Ew.” You grumbled, still pouting while looking on the floor.

“I’m not asking you to tell us everything but how good was he?” Leena asked, “you got here pretty late so did you have round two? Oh, wait, it was just two rounds, or three? Or more?!”

Everyone laughed with Leena earning a punch on the shoulder from Luna, “stop it!” she told her. Luna looked at you, as if she was waiting for something.

“What? Do I really to answer that?” you groaned, covering your face with your palms.

“Well, we do tell you when we have sex with-” Yena teased but you stopped her. “It’s not like I asked, though.”

“Oh come on!” Luna blurted, “We all know how much you’re crushing on this boy, okay? So we gotta know this big big progress between the two of you.”

“Well,” Lenna stood up, about to leave. “Let’s just not push her, okay?”

“Ugh, fine.” You moaned in a non-sexual way, but more of on a whiny tone. “It was amazing, as in. The least I can tell you is that I came uh… three times this morning.”

“WHAT?” they all squealed.

“Jungkook really did have sex with you this morning? He did not ask you to leave?” Leena knelt in front of you and started asking questions. If anything, they are all supportive with your crush over the said boy, it’s just you were being stubborn as hell, acting like a mad shy high school girl who only wants to see the boy they like from afar.

“Jungkook doesn’t exactly let his hook ups stay the night, even.” Yena said, “heard from a classmate who hooked up with him, she had to take the walk of shame while he and his dorm mates are having breakfast because she insisted to stay.”

You suddenly remembered, “He asked his dorm mates to leave so we could have breakfast.”

“WHAT?!”

“What?” you looked at them shocked that they were screaming, and this time accompanied with some jumping.

“The boy likes you, Y/N. he would not kick his dorm mates out just for him to have breakfast with you.” Mina screamed, being warned by Leena about the noise warnings. “And he had sex with you this morning! Dear god, our friend is finally having a boyfriend!”

“Or not, what if Y/N was so good at sucking him that he wants her to be his fuck buddy?” It was as if there was an imaginary light bulb on top of Yena’s head that she pointed her finger at you, “You sly mix, you’re a sex goddess!”

“What? No!” you groaned. “What are you guys talking about? Jungkook wants nothing more, okay? I’m sure he wouldn’t even talk to me after that. Besides, it’s not like I see him on a daily, or at all. That boy updates his social media once in a blue moon, and last night was like the second time I saw him this junior year.”

Everyone went quiet and you weren’t sure if that was a good thing. After a full minute, Leena decided to break the silence by saying, “Anyway, everyone will have re-assigned rooms.”

“Why?”

“You should read this.” Mina handed you her phone. Looking at the screen was an email from the dorm administration stating that there will no longer be students who can rent a room for themselves only. Meaning, there will now be roommate system effective today. “What?...”

You love personal space, you take your privacy on a serious note. That is why having a roommate is a big no-no for you. However, with the revised dorm regulations of “roomies”, you know it’s over. The sudden fluctuation of the student population may have caused it because a few days back, you hear a lot of freshmen wanted to rent a room. It’s not like you have a choice, and you’re a junior anyway, there’s nothing you can do – or you could find yourself an apartment outside the university, which is quite expensive; or a sorority house who can adopt your introverted ass – which will never be the case.

“So, do we have new roommates already?”

“No-”

“-yes,” Leena said. “But they’ll be here until next month, to fix things here and there.”

“No, yes? What does that mean?” you asked. Your friends only looked at each other, but then Luna smiled, “it means someone might have asked Leena already and she agreed. Leena is like our RA and she’s like our mother.”

“Aw, thanks.” Leena cooed. “Anyways, yep. Someone did ask me, and they’re a group of five. I figured it’s better to let them rent 2 and a half of the rooms since we are five ourselves.”

“2 and a half? That means…”

Leena looked at Mina, “Yep, one of us must be roomies with one of them too. Or, I don’t know, we could be roomies with them, depends on how the room assignments will be. I feel like it would be safe to assign roomies when they’re here, right? We have five rooms, and if we don’t exactly like them then we could probably give them only one room and share the four.”

Ten people in one dorm? That sounds a lot but you trust Leena has made the right decision, and again, you were bound with no choice. It was in the damned dorm regulations.

“Having roommates is good,” Yena said. “That way, our monthly rent will be cut into half. More money for food and clubbing!!!”

“Speaking of which,” Luna turned to you. “My friend Mingyu is throwing out a party on his crib next, next Friday. We should come! It’s on the 17th St.”

You stood up and sigh, “Well, count me out. I’m still in a bit of one of the worst hangover of my existence and I don’t think I’m up for another round of it.”

“Oh, come on! Jungkook’s gonna be there,” Mina sulked. “You clearly enjoyed clubbing last night, girl.”

“All the more reasons to not attend. I don’t think I wanna see Jungkook.” You grumbled, to which the girls snickered. You turn to them before holding the door knob to your room. “Seriously?”

“Oh, baby girl.” you stiffened at the pet name. Flashbacks of everything that happened between you and Jungkook coursed through your mind. Why are you so not into the idea of meeting the said boy? Was it anger, was it because you actually caved in to his advances?

“I just, I’ll think about it.” You told them, and entered your room.

-

One thing for sure, your friends will do anything to make you do what they want to do in exchange of something that you really want to have or do. So the next day, you were lounging in the living room, sitting on the couch with Luna, scrolling through your social media feed when you saw the trailer of this favorite book you read on your Kindle one time. You literally squealed, announcing your love for the movie right away. It premiers on Friday, and you knew you have to watch it. The problem, however, is that it premiers on this movie subscription site you cannot afford. You know you can download it illegally, but you were too lazy to do that, also considering the viruses that may potentially harm your laptop – which is also a university issued one. And then it hit you that Luna owns an account on the said site, “Hey Luna, will you lend me your Netflix account on Friday evening? I want to watch a movie.”

“Well, I’d say yes, but I remembered we have a party on Friday that we have to attend.” Luna said, looking at her own phone.

“You won’t use it in the party?” you say, lifting a brow.

“And you won’t either.” She chuckled, “you’re coming with us, sweet heart.”

“Apparently, I can’t because I’m gonna watch this movie,” you proudly say.

“Except I won’t lend you unless you come with us, “she smirked. “You can watch it on Saturday.” You were about to retort, but the golden deal comes, “I will lend you this, when you come with us.”

And that was why you were left alone seated on one of the corner couches, watching your friends dance in the middle of the living room that looked more of a dance floor than a part of a normal house. What else can you expect from this kind of houses, though? The kid who invited everyone here is from a rich family, the house itself doesn’t look like a normal house to you.

For a moment, you have somehow forgotten about your hook up with Jungkook. Midterm is already starting and since this part of the semester holds the second highest percentage for the final grade, so you were determined to study the hell out of this term. Except that, well, you’re stuck in this party until your friends decide it was the tie to go.

You aren’t exactly a party pooper, or some kind of kill joy – no. For once, you enjoy parties and all that stuff, it was just since you were born and raised in the strict household, you were used to getting home early, and doing nothing that has to do with alcohol and all that kind of stuff. Plus, the strictness of your parents get in your nerves most of the time. It was as if they still have their pairs of eyes on you all this time even at college. You remember on your second year, you went to this concert of your favorite band and you got home (since it was a weekend and it was your aunt’s birthday the next day) at eleven. You can remember how angry your parents were, already trying to question everything about your lifestyle. You love them, but they can be strict as hell it honestly gave you anxiety.

“Do you wanna dance?”

Your thoughts went back to where you were when you heard that voice. Your heart raced, it did not because of fright but because of… giddiness? The voice itself given an excitement within you that you cannot explain. Or maybe you do. Looking up, it was Jungkook, holding two cups of red beer pong cups, one extended towards you.

“Ah, I still have a drink.” You told him.

He remained standing, staring at you with glimmer in his eyes, as if he was so excited to meet you again. “May I sit?”

“Oh! Oh, yes. Of course.” You immediately say. Jungkook gave you that toothy smile he used to give his friends when they crack a nice joke but still not laugh-worthy. He sat beside you and placed both the cups on the table beside your cup. Placing his hands on his lap, he asked, while turning his body towards you, “So, why are you alone?”

“They were dancing.” You answered, eyes still in the direction of your friends, who must have no idea where you were right now, considering they head straight for the dance floor.

He laughed. Oh, that laugh. “I mean, why won’t you join them?”

“It’s not like I wanna be here, you know.” You said bluntly. “I was supposed to be at home but Luna made a deal with me.”

“I haven’t you the past two weeks.” He said, suddenly changing the topic. “I asked Leena for your number but she said it’s better if I ask you that. However, it’s as if you were hiding from me.”

“What? No. Why would you do that?” you asked, but in truth, you really were hiding from him. Having sex with the boy has given you mixed feelings, again returning to the idea that maybe you were just lusting for the boy instead of really having a crush on him. Also, all these unnecessary heart thumps you get whenever he’s near and acknowledging your presence has been driving you nuts. So you were left with just staying away from where he is.

“I don’t know, maybe because we had sex?” he answered. “But you weren’t ignoring me, right? We’re good?”

“We’re… good. Yes.” You mumbled, looking at him, zeroing on his lips. Would he hate it if you kiss him right then and there? Nah, of course he would.

Realizing the length of how long the two of you has been looking at each other, he coughed and looked away, grabbing his cup and drinking from it. “So, if you weren’t here, what were you supposed to be doing?”

“Watching a movie.” You say, leaning your back on the couch, only to be met by Jungkook’s arm extended on the couch. You blushed, but you thank the lightings for hiding it away.

“What movie?”

“To All the Boys I Loved Before.”

“If you agree, we could watch it together right now,” he said. Thinking it was a joke, you laughed, “It’s not like we can watch it here.”

“We can watch it in your place.” He said. “That way I can also be familiar to where we will live soon.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“What?” Jungkook looked at you innocently. “Did I say something wrong?”

“Yes, that part where you said you’re going to be familiar to where you will live soon?” you air-quoted. “With who?”

The boy sat up straight, placing his cup back on the table and smirked, “What, you didn’t know?”

“Didn’t know what?” you say, frowning. To Jungkook, clearly, you were confused.

“We’re going to be roomies.”

[northernrainforest]

Windows

If you’ve ever stayed in a European youth hostel, you can picture the kind of room I’m in right now. It’s windowless and Spartan: twin beds, lumpy pillows, an ancient phone on a beat up nightstand between the beds. It’s cold in here because the air is cranked up too high, but there’s no thermostat. There’s also no clock. Time doesn’t matter here, and time also matters a great deal. The main difference between this room and a room at a cheap pensione in Florence is that when you step outside you’re not greeted by the picturesque banks of the Arno. This room is one of the two “sleeping rooms” in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit at Providence Pavilion for Women and Children in Everett, Washington, and I’m here because my baby is across the hall, hooked up to machines.

I was 35 weeks and 5 days pregnant when I woke up at 1:18 am.

“My water just broke,” I said to Flo, and my heart sank. They had told me several days prior that I should “chill out” and “take it easy,” when I visited labor and delivery to talk about the symptoms I was having, which felt suspiciously like pre-term labor. I did do things differently: I stopped going to the gym. I started doing dishes while sitting on a bar stool (for what it’s worth, we should all be doing this. It’s comfortable.) But at the same time, a small voice inside me was egging me on: reminding me to finish little tasks, to tidy up loose ends. By Saturday, I was walking through Safeway with Ladybug slower than I’ve ever walked anywhere. I almost could have predicted I’d go into labor that night. But I was at the grocery store, because we needed milk. (It’s currently turning into yogurt in the fridge. Turns out, we’d never drink the milk after all.)

Regardless, there I was at 1:18 am, trying to be clearheaded about what to do next. I packed a few things (real talk: mostly snacks) and tried calling a couple of friends before realizing that Ladybug would be joining us at the hospital. Unsurprisingly, she was thrilled. She had already packed a bag in case she needed to stay at a friend’s house. But staying at the hospital? Even better. (The next morning she did head to a friend’s for the day, and stayed there that night as well. I’m all for including the family in life events, but I don’t need to be managing a five-year-old between earth-shattering contractions.)

Earlier that week I had gotten a pregnancy update email (baby was the length of a head of Romaine lettuce at that point, I think) which highlighted the need to map out the best route to the hospital. Flo and I giggled about this, thinking back on our interminable drives to and from UCLA Medical Center as we waited for Ladybug to arrive. To get to PeaceHealth Ketchikan, by contrast, the directions were straighforward: turn left out of driveway. Turn right on Carlanna Lake Road. Turn left into the ER. It took us a minute and a half to get there from our house, where we parked steps from the entrance of the ER by a sign that said “Reserved for Patients.”

I will not bore you with my birth story. Was it Chekhov who said, “Every happy family…?” Forget it, I just googled the phrase and will spare you my version (it’s Tolstoy, by the way. Also Russian, so arguably I was close.) “All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.” This is true for childbirth too. Every birth story is unique and gnarly and often funny, and the ones that go haywire are unhappy in their own ways. But if you’ve heard one birth story you kind of get the idea: the built-in spoiler alert is that it ends with the birth of a baby. As wild as the story may be, the ending is almost universally the same. All I will say is that Flo and I were holding our son at 5:43 pm, sixteen hours after we packed up our little bag and our little girl and left for the hospital. I am in love with the name we chose for him, but for the purposes of this blog he will be known as Bronson. (Long story. Ask Flo.)

Anyway, in our case it wasn’t labor and delivery that made for the interesting story. A few hours after birth, after the little man had crawled his way up my chest like his sister had done and rooted around for some dinner, the nurses noticed he was struggling to breathe. So began several days of cannulas in his nose to send air more easily to the lungs, and then an IV drip to regulate his blood sugar, and then a 24-hour moratorium on breastfeeding so he wouldn’t aspirate, and then and then and then. In the same way that they say one intervention in labor can lead to a snowball effect, it felt as though Bronson was encountering more and more obstacles day by day. But he seemed well enough by Thursday morning that we were talking about being discharged the next day. Then he stopped breathing. He was in my arms in the tiny nursery—he’d been in my arms most of the night—and he suddenly seemed sleepy. The night shift nurse stared hard at the monitor, adjusting the leads that connected him to it. Within moments, our quiet night together turned loud, bright, busy. A team of nurses, doctors, anesthesiologists, respiratory specialists—they all got to work, drawing blood, inserting a new IV, pumping air back into his lungs. It was quickly decided we would need to be medevaced to to a bigger facility with a proper NICU, which meant Flo raced home to pack me a bag. Ladybug and I cried softly in each other’s arms.

Bronson and I were loaded onto an ambulance, which drove onto the airport ferry, which then headed around the backside of the airport to a police escort and a waiting Lear jet. Bronson’s tiny body was dwarfed by the enormity of his incubator. The kind man who worked for LifeMed and sat next to me on the plane briefed me on flying in a Lear jet: basically, it goes very fast, and might make you sick, and you’ll get there in no time.

The whole time we were in the air, I honestly felt like I was dying. I was semi-reclined (perhaps in a nod to my recently revoked status as a patient.) I couldn’t breathe well, and it felt as though the top of the plane was pressing down on my chest. I stared out the window at the clouds and drifted off, out of exhaustion and terror. I couldn’t see my baby, but partway through the flight, the EMT who was sitting next to him asked for my phone. She took a picture of my beautiful boy, his eyes open and bright. He seemed to be doing better than I was.

We landed in an airfield in Everett and a firefighter walked me to the bathroom in a huge hanger. The whole thing felt so absurd that I wanted to make a joke, but for once in my life I really couldn’t think of anything to say. So I said thank you. En route to the hospital, the ambulance driver pointed through the window at the largest building in the world (so he said); a huge sign on the front of it said Boeing. I felt like I did the first time I stepped off the subway in Tokyo—that everything was big, foreign, pulsing with life in a language I didn’t understand. Bronson had another apnea episode when we arrived at the hospital but I wasn’t there to see it. I had been shunted upstairs to Admitting, where a woman who looked exactly like Iris Apfel spent ten minutes misunderstanding our primary insurance. (I think it’s in the middle of Mr. and Mrs. Smith that Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt get into an elevator and hear The Girl From Ipanema; after a few seconds of calm and muzak, they get to the next floor and step out, guns blazing. This is what it felt like in Admitting.) Soon, though, I was back downstairs, staring into Bronson’s room as a soft spoken doctor stood next to me and plied me for information about what had happened. I turned to him.

“To be clear,” I said, asking the thing I realized I’d been wondering all day. “This isn’t a question of, ‘My baby may not make it.’ Right…?”

“No,” he said firmly. “He will be fine.”

Still. After my baby settled down for the night, his room buzzing with machines, his body a tangle of wires, I wandered across the hall to the sleeping room and made a few sobbing phone calls. I was decidedly not okay, because I was pretty sure my baby wasn’t either.

That was ten days ago. It’s been two weeks since I glanced around my living room to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything, turned off the lights and drove away. Two weeks since I wandered the halls of PeaceHealth Ketchikan, looking through the windows at the wintry darkness between mind bending contractions. Two weeks since they said, “Pushpushpushpushpushpush,” and I did and I did and I did and then I held a small red-faced boy in my arms and cried. Two weeks of living in hospitals, he and I — and things seem easier. I chatted with a couple of nurses just now, using words I didn’t know two weeks ago, talking diagnoses and comparing the opinions and temperaments of attending neonatologists. Bronson can breathe on his own, though we’re still figuring out the root cause of his problem, which (it’s becoming clear) may extend beyond his prematurity and into something congenital or structural. Stay tuned; when I know, you’ll know. He’s eating, and sleeping, and pooping, and generally doing all the things babies do.

The other day, Flo smiled a little when he saw the blankets in the sleeping room. (He and Ladybug and my mom are staying at a Hampton Inn a few blocks away, which feels like the premise of a bad sitcom.) “We used to have these blankets in our house,” he said. This baby, our baby, who lives in a crisp clean room in a state of the art hospital — his grandfather raised five children as a single dad cleaning hospitals like this one. Our little guy has his middle name. There’s been so much talk in the last few years about privilege, but I’ve come to realize from this experience that privilege extends beyond race, class, gender, and so much else that we’ve addressed in the conversation. Privilege extends to access. Privilege extends to the ability to be relieved of pain and suffering. (That is, at least as far as medically possible.) Privilege means a shared language, and the ability to speak up for ourselves. Privilege gives us a window to look through: we can choose to see all the beauty others seem to have that we have been denied, or we could recognize the beauty we ourselves have been given that others may not have access to. All we have to do is open the window, and breathe. It’s the breathing, of course, that is the hard part. But we’re working on it.

[ifishouldvanish]

The Boston Hour (15/?)

In which Belle is an Antiques Roadshow super-fan and Gold is her favorite appraiser.

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Belle receives two phone calls. Rumford and David go out for “a couple beers”. RATING: T WORDS: 9,087 A/N: Big thank you to @whimsical36 for beta reading this chapter!♥  TMI’s for last chapter - [x]

Also: With this update, this story has officially hit the 100k mark! I wanna thank everyone for sticking with this story, because it's become my baby-- and it never would have happened if not for all of you guys' support! *blows kisses*

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six] [Part Seven] [Part Eight] [Part Nine] [Part Ten] [Part Eleven] [Part Twelve] [Part Thirteen] [Part Fourteen] [Read on AO3]

Belle shifted in bed as she finished reading her emails on her phone. It was well past time to get up and start the day, but since she was in no hurry to be anywhere this morning, she just rolled onto her back and switched to the gallery app instead.

She happily began skimming through the pictures from her weekend with Rumford, which included shots of the wares on display at the market, the things they had eaten, and views of the docks and the park. Rumford seemed to shy away from having his photo taken, but hadn’t refused when somebody offered to take their picture while they were walking along the docks Saturday evening.

It had come out quite well, Belle thought. The sun had just begun to set, she looked so happy with Rumford’s arm around her shoulders, and he looked so handsome with his pinstriped suit and boutonniere. She smiled and continued swiping, lingering on the handful of shots where she’d managed to capture glimpses of him– an arm, a shoulder, his back, a blurry figure in the distance. There were a few she’d taken at the soap vendor where he could be seen sniffing lotions and bars of soap, including one he must not have liked, judging by the funny look on his face. But then there was one of him smiling– or perhaps laughing– dimples and all, and she decided it was her favorite.

Her phone suddenly buzzed in her hand, the screen overtaken by an incoming call.

What a man, what a man, what a mighty good man! Say it again, now! What a man, what a man, what a mighty good– 

“Oh!” Belle gasped and scrambled to answer it, only to drop the phone onto her face. She sputtered and picked it back up, hoping she hadn’t accidentally answered it with her nose.

A call from Rumford!

Taking a deep breath, she tapped the screen and pressed the device to her ear. “Rumford?”

“Ah… Belle?”

Her insides did a little dance at the sound of his voice, and she squirmed under her sheets. “Hi, Rumford...”

“Hi.” he said, and oh! His voice was just so soft and gentle and sweet!

Belle bit into her lower lip. “...Hi.”

“I ah… well, you said I should give you a call once I made it back to Syracuse.”

“Oh, yeah!” she smiled and snuggled up against her pillows. “How was the drive?”

“Interminable.” he scoffed. “I ah… wouldn’t have minded some company.”

“I’d have happily kept you company if I could...” she said.

He let out a little chuckle, not seeming sure of what to say to that. “So ah… w-what are your plans for today?”

Belle blew out a long breath. “I have classes, but they don't start until two, so I get to sleep in.”

“Ah.” he chuckled. “You know, I tried to come into the shop on time at nine this morning, but ah… it seems my employees and my son have conspired to make sure I get some sleep after the trip, so… I just got out of bed myself.”

Fresh out of bed Rumford!

He probably had cute, matching pajamas, Belle thought– his eyes glazed and sleepy, and his hair mussed from the pillows…

“Sounds like they worry about you a lot,” she smiled, giddily tugging the covers up to her chin.

Rumford scoffed. “Aye, they do. Neal's always taken very good care of me– making sure I sleep, making sure I eat. And Ariel, she's… she's very sweet. Lovely young woman and a great worker. Don't know how I'd run the shop without her.”

“Well I'm glad you have people over there looking out for you.”

“Aye. Though I did manage to steal copies of the proposals Ariel worked on before she kicked me out, so… I may still get some work done yet.”

“Rumford!” Belle admonished. “You’re so bad…”

“Oh, I know.” he said. “But from what I've seen so far, they all look great. Haven't found a thing I'd change yet.”

“Can I ask what the proposals are for? Or is that… I don't know,” she shrugged, “confident–”

“Sure, sure.” he said. “The ah… biggest project is restoring a dining set from the 1860s. ‘Nother is repairing an old family Bible that was printed and bound in 1807.”

“Oh, wow.”

“And the others aren’t proposals, but insurance valuations. Got one for a collection of model trains. Quite impressive. Another for an old set of silverware, one for a stamp collection... and another for a few paintings from the Ashcan School.”

Belle rolled onto her belly. Propping her chin upon her fist, she let out a wistful sigh.

After a beat, Rumford smacked his lips. “Which ah… which classes have you got today?”

“Oh, uh... resources for children, and then my capstone.”

“Ah. Resources for children, what's that all about?”

“Um… basically how to develop a curriculum for an elementary school library. How to target the needs of children who are still learning to read, or still uh, developing their comprehension skills.”

“Oh.” Rumford chuckled. “And that's… y-you’d enjoy that, you think? Working with children?”

“Well, yeah!” Belle smiled, beginning to paddle her feet through the air. “I uh, I love kids.”

“Oh. That's… that's wonderful, sweetheart.”

Of course she loved kids!

She wanted to have some of her own one day!

Did Rumford want to have more kids? Because she'd totally have kids with him. Lots of them.

Well, like… three, tops, but still.

Or was it too soon to be thinking about having babies together?

No , Belle decided. That was silly!

She'd always known she wanted to have children. It was only natural, that if she was seeing somebody who gave her butterflies, and it was going well, that she'd daydream about a future with them! A future with babies! Cute, snuggly, precious, little babies with their tiny hands and tiny feet and tiny noses and tiny everything! So soft, and with pudgy cheeks, too!

“...Belle?”

Her feet stopped paddling. “Mhm?”

Rumford coughed. “Well, I-I just wanted to say that I ah… I had a lovely time last night. Th-the whole weekend, I mean.”

Belle nibbled her lip and snuggled her pillow a little more tightly. “...Me too.”

“I regret that I had to leave so soon, but…”

“I know.” she said, glancing toward the window. “You got work, I got work, school…”

“Aye.” he said. “But you know, I-I have to say it, Belle. You were... incredible last night.”

“Oh.” she giggled, feeling herself blush.

“It was a ah... honor, to see such a brilliant mind at work.”

“Well…” Belle fought back a smile, “the other members of the University Word Warriors club don’t call me the Bogglemeister for nothing.”

“...Quadricentennial.” he sighed. “Absolutely brilliant.”

“You weren't so bad yourself,” she murmured. “...Mr epistemologies.”

“No no–” he said. “Child's play compared to your schadenfreude. I-I'd never even considered playing loanwords before, Belle. You… reinvented the game for me, sweetheart. Truly.”

“Oh, I don't know about that…” she blushed, her legs swaying in the air again.

“Oh, but I do.” he crooned.

Belle nibbled her lip again and pressed her thighs together. “...Yeah?”

“I'll ah, never look at a Boggle grid the same way again.”

“You know, all this flattery will get you nowhere,” she teased. “Dr Gold.”

“No?” he asked. “Because so far it seems to be doing a great job of bringing that lovely blush to your face. Miss French.”

“Rumford!” she giggled. “What makes you think I'm blushing, hm?”

“Oh, I can tell.” he murmured. “I can hear it in your voice– sounds even sweeter than usual...”

A delighted little squeal escaped her, and Belle clamped a hand over her mouth.

“...what?” he asked.

“Well, if anyone would know what I sound like when I’m blushing, it’d be you…”

“O-oh?” he stammered, and the silken quality that had been in his voice was suddenly replaced with something shaky and uncertain. “I–”

“It’s hard not to blush whenever I’m talking with you, Rumford…” she spelled out for him.

“...Oh,” he chuckled. “Well… I’m afraid I’m the one who’s blushing now, sweetheart.”

*****

Ruby had just crawled out of bed and was headed to the kitchen when she heard giggling from Belle's bedroom. She paused and hovered outside the door, unable to resist the temptation to eavesdrop.

“Rumford…”

She couldn't make out much, or any of Dr Gold's half of the conversation for that matter, but they were definitely exchanging sweet little nothings.

Thank God, Ruby thought, continuing towards the kitchen. They finally boned.

She hadn't expected Dr Gold to still be in town, but she supposed she couldn't blame the guy, either. If there was any excuse for him to extend his stay in Storybrooke, being too worn out from a night of dancing the horizontal Mambo would be it.

A high-pitched squeal sounded from Belle's room, and Ruby smothered a laugh. The apartment had been completely quiet when she got home late last night, but it appeared a good night's sleep had the two lovebirds ready for another roll in the hay.

Once in the kitchen, Ruby prepared herself a big bowl of cereal and carried it (and the box) over to the couch – making sure she had a good view down the hall. Belle and Dr Gold was one walk of shame she wouldn't want to miss. And surely enough, within a few minutes, there was some movement down the hall and Belle's door creaked open.

Belle appeared, raising her arms up and letting out a big yawn. She had a little pep in her step as she came down the hall and into the kitchen.

“Hey there, peanut.” Ruby said behind a sly grin. “Ya have a good time last night?”

“Mhm!” Belle answered, opening the fridge.

“Looks like it.” she teased.

Belle plucked a cup of yogurt out of the fridge and spun around for the utensil drawer, grabbing a spoon before slamming it shut with a saucy sway of her hips. She had a big smile on her face she was clearly trying to be casual about– which was what Belle always did when she was dying to tell her something. But of course, in typical Belle fashion, she was just standing there, leaning against the counter, happily eating her yogurt like she was auditioning for a Yoplait commercial.

“So…” Ruby took the bait. “How was–”

“I showed Rumford my spreadsheet.” Belle volunteered.

“Oh, God.” Ruby dropped her spoon into her bowl and leveled her a look before remembering that whatever had happened last night, clearly went well. And naturally– she was curious. “...What did he say?”

“That it was a highly valuable set of data and incredibly helpful.” Belle said proudly, joining her on the couch. “...and then he um, called me sweetheart. Again.”

Ruby blinked. Of course they'd end up making foreplay out of the damn spreadsheet.

Should've expected it, honestly.

“Anyway, we ate dinner after that… he really seemed to enjoy the meatloaf by the way... and then we talked and cuddled right there…” Belle continued, looking fondly at the other end of the couch as she licked the yogurt off of her spoon. “And um, things may have gotten a little heated after that…”

Ruby flared her nostrils and tried not to fidget too noticeably where she sat.

They boned. On the couch. Where she was now sitting. Less than twelve hours later. Eating.

Hadn't she specifically begged her not to do it on the couch?

Belle sighed. “Rumford is such a good kisser, Rubes.” she said. “And he smells so good. Have you ever made out with someone who smells really good? Because it's like… you feel all hot and tingly from the things they're doing with their mouth, and then when you pull back to catch your breath, it's like BAM! Sexy smell!”

“Yeah. It's… something else…” Ruby nodded along, peering down the hall. Where was the man of the hour, anyway?

Belle glanced over her shoulder, spoon in her mouth, and frowned when she saw that nothing was there. “...What is it?”

“He takin’ a shower or something?”

Belle creased her brows. “What?”

Ruby shrugged. “Rumford.”

She shook her head. “He left the apartment at eleven or so last night. Had to leave really early this morning for Syracuse– It's like a six-hour drive, you know.”

“Oh. I just thought I heard…” Ruby trailed off.

“Heard what? We were on the phone.”

Ruby rolled her eyes and set her cereal bowl on the coffee table. Doing her best impression of Belle, she dropped her wrist and giggled, “Rumford!”

Belle’s eyes went wide and she huffed. “I don't sound like that!”

Ruby threw her head back and laughed. “Yeah, you do!”

“Do not!” Belle said, throwing the empty yogurt cup at her. It bounced off Ruby's arm and tumbled onto the floor.

“Around him? That is exactly what you sound like!”

“Yeah, well–” Belle began to protest, “...maybe Rumford happens to be really funny.” she said, lifting her chin.

Ruby shot her a skeptical look. “Is he, Belle?” she asked. “Is he really funny?”

Belle pursed her lips, refusing to look her in the eyes. “Okay, fine. Maybe he's just really cute and I like him a lot and can't help getting all giggly around him.” she admitted. “So what?”

“...Mhm.” Ruby grinned, picking her cereal bowl back up and continuing to munch away. “Nothing.”

“Come on,” Belle sighed. “You and Dorothy don't act giggly and cute around each other? Not even a little?”

“Nah.” Ruby swallowed. “But then again, I don't need to act cute. I just am, ” she shrugged. “I mean– look at me.”

Belle narrowed her eyes, trying not to laugh.

“So.” Ruby shoveled another spoonful of cereal into her mouth. “...How was it? Did he uh... give you full market value?” she asked, wiggling her brows.

Belle tilted her head. “Huh?”

“Oh, come on!” she whined. “Full market value! That was good!”

“...what?”

“Hang on.”

Ruby brought her bowl up to her lips and tilted her head back, slurping the milk down before setting it back on the coffee table.

“The sex!” she said, throwing her hands up in the air. “Did you guys finally bone or what?! I need to know! Did. My girl. Get. Laid. Did she ride that–”

“Oh!” Belle realized with a smile. “No.”

Ruby deflated in an instant. “What.”

“No. We uh, we didn't have sex.” she said, dusting some imaginary crumbs off her lap.

Ruby rubbed a hand over her face and groaned. “Christ, I'm starting to get blue balls here!” she said. “I don't even have balls, Belle!”

“I mean, we almost did…” she mumbled.

Ruby gestured impatiently for her to continue. “But…?”

Belle shrugged. “We just decided we aren't ready for that yet.”

“I mean–” Ruby huffed. “That's cool. And I respect that. But–” she trailed off and flapped her arms wildly in frustration.

Belle laughed. “We wound up playing Boggle instead. You know– he's quite good!”

“I'm… sure he is.” Ruby grumbled in defeat.

There was a sound then, coming from the bedroom.

“...Phone.” she said, nodding towards the hall.

Belle raised her brows. “What?”

“Your phone, peanut. Someone's calling you.”

“Oh.” she blinked and hopped off the couch. “ God, how can you hear that?” she asked, following the muffled melody to her bedroom.

Ruby shrugged. “We all have our gifts, Belle. Clairvoyance, supersonic hearing, mad Boggle chops…”

Belle rolled her eyes and disappeared into her room, returning a moment later with reluctant pout on her face.

“What's the matter?” Ruby snickered. “You look like somebody spilled coffee on your copy of Pride and Prejudice.”

“It's my dad.”

“Yeah, I figured.” she said, darting a pointed glance at Belle's phone, where it continued to blare Papa Don't Preach in her hand. “Your ringtones? A little on the nose. What does he want?”

Belle let out a deep sigh. “I don't know.”

*****

Every so often, Rumford would receive a call from David, inviting him out for a couple beers. Usually he'd find some excuse not to go– Working late tonight. Going in early tomorrow. Too many errands to run.

But when David called Tuesday, asking him to come out for a couple beers on Thursday, Rumford had been feeling a little saucy and said yes.

He knew just what the source of his newfound sauciness was, too.

It was no doubt the work of certain aspiring librarian in Maine. He and Belle had talked about so many things last weekend– the sort of things that emboldened a man, and made him feel more like he had a right to the space he occupied in the world. Like he had something to offer, something to give. That invitations to the pub from someone as likeable as David Nolan were born of a genuine desire to actually enjoy his company rather than being some reluctant act of pity.

Of course David Nolan wanted to hang out and have a couple beers with Rumford Gold!

Rumford Gold was sharp and witty! A good listener! Was maybe even a little handsome, depending on who you asked– though he'd prefer it if you asked Belle.

And so on Thursday night, Rumford drove up to one of the Irish pubs in town. To meet David. For a couple beers.

Not literally a couple beers– as he didn't drink beer and intended to order whisky instead– but figuratively a couple beers, as in heterosexual male bonding.

...Or was it just platonic male bonding?

When he and Jefferson used to go out, they didn't have to do so under the guise of some passive activity like drinking beer! They'd just say it: I haven't heard from you in a while. We should catch up.

At the very least, it would be I’d like to try that new restaurant that opened up. But even then, if they wanted to try the new restaurant that opened up, then they tried the new restaurant that opened up. Critiqued the menu, the decor, the lighting concept, how comfortable the chairs were.

Rumford had been on this earth long enough to know that when someone invited you out for a couple beers, their intentions were rarely so simple.

But maybe a couple beers wasn't a heterosexual thing so much as it was a “men who aren't attracted to each other” thing. Maybe two men who, while attracted to other men but not necessarily each other, also went out for a couple beers.

Rumford reached the pub’s front door and hesitated.

Was this what people meant when they said bisexuals were confused? Because he was definitely feeling confused right now. As confused as he was certain about his interest in men and women.

Should he tell David about his little discovery, he wondered?

It had felt liberating to tell Belle. Like a weight off of his shoulders. But now that he was back in Syracuse, the weight seemed to have crept back over him.

Maybe he shouldn't.

It seemed rather self-important, didn't it? Oh, let me just interrupt you for a second there to tell you that I like men.

Just... unprompted like that.

And what if David took it the wrong way? Thought he was confessing to being attracted to him? What if it made things weird?

It wasn't fair, was it? Nobody else had to work up the nerve to tell their friends and colleagues that they were heterosexual! People just assumed they were and there was never any need to correct them!

Rumford shook his head and finally stepped inside the dimly lit pub, doing his best to avoid eye contact with the hostess– to look like he knew where he was going because it was always uncomfortable when you were meeting somebody and couldn't find them. Then the hostess would try to offer you a table, and you had to explain to them that you didn't need their help finding a table– you just needed a few more seconds to adjust to how bloody dark it was in there so you could distinguish one shadowy figure at the bar from another.

Fortunately however, the hostess was preoccupied with taking a dinner reservation and it never became an issue. Rumford swept past her podium without having to endure so much as a gratuitous service smile!

Anyway, he'd want to tell Neal at some point, too. If there was anybody he wanted to completely be his true self around, it was his boy.

But what about somebody like Miss Halloran? Was it any of her business to know? It'd be nice if she knew, he supposed– they worked alongside each other every day at the shop after all. But still, he didn't feel like they had the kind of relationship that warranted a whole conversation about his sexuality.

Because what now? Would he just have to keep bringing it up again and again? With every person he grew close to? Where did one draw the line? Was he just supposed to spend the rest of his life explaining himself to people?

Bloody hell.

How exhausting!

“Gold?”

If only there was some way he could… broadcast that information, but on a low frequency. Something subtle that whispered, “bisexual,” to whomever was listening. He wouldn't be hiding it, but he wouldn't be making a big deal of it either. It’d just be there. Like any other clearly observable fact about him. Like his height, or his hair color, or the keen eye for aesthetics that frequently had ladies in department stores approaching him and asking his opinion while they shopped for their husbands.

A hand clapped over Rumford's shoulder and he startled.

“You alright there, man?” David asked.

Rumford blinked.

Jefferson never clapped him on the shoulder like that before either. He would gently touch his shoulder. Or brush his arm. Sometimes, when they were being brought to their table at a restaurant, he'd trail behind him, splaying a guiding hand over his back.

God, Rumford thought.

How oblivious was he?

“Aye. Just… dark in here, is all,” he said.

“Yeah, you can say that again,” David chuckled. “Got us a spot right here, buddy,” he said, pointing to a vacant spot at the bar.

Yes, Rumford thought as he followed David over.

His bisexuality wouldn't be a big deal unless someone else wanted to make it a big deal– in which case he could show them the door. After all, what did he have to lose? He was a grown man who owned a house in the historic district! It's not like his father could disown him!

Bastard already did that when he was eight years old!

Risk getting fired from his job? It was his business!

Lose customers? Please. Their work had been featured in Antiques Quarterly half a dozen times! The waiting list to get an appraisal with him was a month long! Restoration work– four!

Four months!

If half those people decided they didn't want their R & J Adam dinette chairs repaired by a man who liked men, what did he care!?

Fewer deadlines for him to worry about!

He’d probably sleep better!

What else was there...

Milah making insensitive remarks over dinner when she visited for the holidays?

She did that anyway!

“So, what's up?” David asked, seating himself on one of the barstools. “What's happenin’?”

Rumford stared at the empty stool beside him for a moment, determining how best to climb up without making a spectacle of himself. “Oh, nothing, nothing...” he dismissed. “Ah… how about you?”

“Good, good.” David nodded, leaning over the counter to flag down the bartender.

Rumford fidgeted into his seat, struggling to make himself as comfortable as was possible on a wooden bar stool. “That's… good.” he coughed.

The bartender wasted no time getting their orders, a small diversion for which Rumford was grateful.

“It's good to see you, buddy.” David said.

“Aye. …Good to see you too.” Rumford nodded.

Good.

Good, good, good.

Everything was good.

“We never really get to just hang out, you know?”

Rumford raised his brows, his mouth hanging open dumbly. “Ah… no. We don't, don't we?”

“Well, thanks for comin’ out.” David said.

Rumford's pulse thickened.

Coming out?

Did he know? Could he tell? Had everyone already known he was bisexual except him?

No, no, Rumford decided. He meant coming out literally. Coming out physically.

“...aye.” he said, relaxing a little. “Of course.”

The bartender, absolute godsend that she was, set their drinks in front of them then, and Rumford didn't hesitate to take a sip from his glass.

Well, two sips.

David took a hefty swig of his beer and let out a refreshed sigh. “We should do this more often, you know?”

Rumford huffed a little laugh through his nose.

Should they? Because it'd only been five minutes and he already wanted to go home.

He took another sip. “Aye. For sure.”

At this point, Jefferson would have remarked on how disappointing and uninspired the latest blockbuster films were, or how heartbroken he was to have just finished a novel he'd been enjoying so terribly much. He might have shared an amusing anecdote about one of his students, which would've reminded Rumford of a story about a particularly difficult customer they'd had at the shop.

Oh, he and Jefferson would have each other in stitches, wouldn't they? And then as they settled down and caught their breath, their eyes would meet, and...

Rumford cleared his throat and took another sip, ignoring the warm sensation in his chest.

“How ah… how was the game?” he asked. Because there was always a game.

“Good,” David nodded, “Blue Jays just secured themselves a spot in the World Series, so I'm happy about that.”

Rumford gave a tight-lipped smile. “That's… wonderful.”

He took another swig and frowned. “You sure you're alright, buddy? You seem…”

“No.” Rumford shook his head. “Just... thinking.” About how gay I am.

“Something on your mind?”

“Ah…” he floundered, trying to think of something. Anything but the conversation he wanted but didn't feel quite ready to have.

“Ye know, we got this chair in,” he settled with. “An old Chippendale. And the right back leg ? Completely snapped at the joint.”

“Oh.” David scowled. “Sounds like you got your work cut out for you.”

Work. Always a safe topic.

“Aye. Hell with the hide glue, I'm gonnae need to use some epoxy.” Rumford said, hiking his brows emphatically.

“Is it mahogany? Walnut?” David asked. “‘Cause I've got a bunch of scrap lying around, if you think you'll need to carve in and reinforce that.”

“Aye. Aye, for sure. That'd be great.”

“Yeah, whatever you need. And hey– if you think you'll need some power tools, you could just bring it over to the workshop. Mi casa es su casa , alright?”

Rumford frowned.

“...What?” David asked.

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “I haven't touched a power tool in years.”

“So? I'm sure you've still got it, man.” David said, giving his shoulder a shove– and what was with all the shoving!? And the smacking? His poor shoulder was going to dislocate if he kept on with that!

“I dunno. I… I think it might be time for me to start turning away jobs like this,” Rumford chuckled. “Jewelry, watch repair? Sure. But no more of this... carpentry.”

“Hey now– the work you did on that Sheraton side chair a few years back was a master class. ” David said, wagging his bottle at him. “Thing looked brand new.”

“Well, I-I appreciate that, but…”

“But what?”

Time for another sip. “...I dunno.”

“Well, I'm just saying.” David said. “Come by the workshop sometime, play with the jointer and the table saw, and tell me you don't miss it.”

"Eh…” Rumford hesitated. "I'll consider it.”

He didn't necessarily miss the work. It's just that that kind of work involved things like safety gear, and… wearing blue jeans.

David set his beer down with a heavy sigh. “Alright. So, I gotta be honest,” he said. “There's uh… there's a reason I called you out here.”

Rumford furrowed his brows. Swallowed hard.

I gotta be honest? There's a reason I called you out here?

Had more terrifying words ever been spoken?

“You see, I got this thing I was kinda hoping you could give me some advice, some perspective, on.”

Rumford pouted and started blankly ahead. What could David Nolan possibly need his advice on? Picking out anniversary gifts, hopefully. He was good at that. Customers at the shop were always looking for something a little off the beaten path there. Or perhaps planning an outfit. Or the best approach for appraising something. Or–

“It's about Emma.” David explained.

“Oh.” Rumford smiled and turned to face him a little better, because that was another matter entirely! “What is it?”

“Well…” he stared ahead for a moment and sighed. “She's going to be doing all these after school programs this year, and so Mary Margaret and I decided to get her a cell phone.”

“A cell phone?” Rumford scoffed. “She's nine years old! Neal didn't get one until he got his driver's license last year!”

“I know! It seems crazy,” David laughed. “But we talked about it, and we agreed we wanted to have a way for us to reach each other, no matter what. Because in this world, who knows what could happen, right?”

“Aye, I suppose…” Rumford said.

“But here's the thing: Phones these days, you know, they aren't just phones anymore.”

“Oh, tell me about it.” he agreed.

“I mean, it's crazy!” David said. “They can take pictures and send pictures and go online and talk to strangers and– it's scary.”

“It is.”

“So Mary Margaret found out about this software that lets you monitor everything they do on their phone. And I mean everything. And she seems really gung-ho about it, but it just…”

“Feels wrong.”

“Invasive. Yeah.” David said. “I mean, we do everything on our phones these days. But when I was a kid, we didn't have cell phones! It was like, you and your buddies rode your bikes and hung out at the baseball fields, and everything was fine as long as you were home before dark, you know?

Rumford hesitated.

Friends?

Bicycle rides with one's buddies?

Baseball?

“ ...Aye.”

“And look, there's plenty of stupid stuff my friends and I said and did in those days that my mom never knew about. That I still wouldn't want her to know about. But it was just harmless fun, you know? We all turned out fine and stayed out of trouble.”

“For sure, for sure.”

“So I mean… the fancy phones… are they not just… this generation's baseball field?” David said. “I mean, Emma's nine now, but in a few years… well, when does it stop? Where do we draw the line? What happens when she starts liking boys? Are we–”

“Or girls.” Rumford chimed in. “...Or both.”

David pinned him with an odd look. Not surprise or disgust, but something unreadable.

Rumford looked down at his glass and smacked his lips. “...You never know.”

“Right?” David said. “It just feels like something out of an Orwell novel, is what I'm saying.”

“I understand.”

“So… I don't know what to do. I want to protect our daughter from all the ugly in the world, but… she should still have the right to her privacy. And the right to just… be a kid and make her own mistakes and learn from them.” he sighed. “You did a good job with Neal. What would you do?”

“Ah…”

What would he do?

What would Barbara Rumford Gold do?

“I… ah… Well, it… The thing–” he cut himself off with a sigh.

David was listening so attentively, with eyes so wide, so gleaming, so earnest– and he really didn't want to botch this up!

He'd given good advice to Belle though, hadn't he? And her father?

That was different, though. Neither of them had asked for advice. They'd just said something that prompted him to speak from his own experience!

Rumford rubbed a hand over his mouth.

Oh.

Yes.

Life experience and all that.

“My ah… da always wanted to know everything.” he finally said, and David leaned in a little closer.

“He was always watching and demanding to know what I was doing, or reading. Who I talked to at school, if I had touched any of his things while I was gone, just… everything. He'd notice something wasn't quite right in the flat, and it was always my fault, and he'd get so angry and–”

Well, perhaps it wasn’t necessary to go into quite so much detail.

“I was walking on eggshells all the time,” he went with, “and I… I hated this feeling that nothing was just mine. And I don't just mean material things, but– well, the more he demanded to know, the more determined I was to keep things from him, you know? Not with any sort of malicious intent, but just so that I could have something.”

David pressed his lips together and nodded. “Yeah, I see what you mean.”

“So I knew I didn't want Neal to feel that way, not ever.” Rumford said. “The thing is, for me… being a parent… it's not my job to make Neal's choices for him. It's… teaching him how to make his own, you know? I mean, he really cocks things up from time to time, but we all do. That doesn't make him a bad kid. But the important thing, is that he should know that no matter what, he can come to me and expect me to help him through whatever's he got on.”

“Absolutely.”

He swirled his finger through the condensation on his glass and smiled. “Two, three years ago, I get a phone call. I answer, and it's Neal calling from a friend's phone, and he goes, ‘Pop. We fucked up.’ ”

David huffed out a laugh.

“Turns out he and his friends had stolen the keys to their parents car and taken it for a joyride. Big pickup truck, with the four wheel drive, and they decided to take it off-road. It had been raining though, and they lost control and swerved straight into a damn tree.”

“Ouch.”

“And I was… so disappointed, because I knew he knew better than that, you know?”

“We usually do, don't we?” David chuckled.

“...Aye.” Rumford agreed, hiking his brows. “So I hop in the car and drive out to them, and they're fine, thank God. Neal can hardly look me in the eyes of course– he knows what he's done. But then his friends are practically grovelling at my feet, ‘please don't make us call our parents!’ which... they'd mangled the fender on the bloody thing, there wasn't any other way about it– but I was glad to know that when my son found himself in that situation, he felt that he could call me. That he wasn’t afraid to call me. Because he didn't have to, you know? It wasn't my car, they swore up and down that he hadn't been the one driving, none of them had gotten hurt save for a few nasty bruises... He could've kept it from me. Easily. But as horrible as the circumstances were, I was glad to know that at some point, the three of them were pacing around, scared, not knowing what to do, and that my son went, 'I know: let me call my da. He'll know what to do.’”

David sat quietly with the corners of his mouth pinched. “...That had to be terrifying, though.” he finally said, his eyes fixed on the wall.

Rumford tapped a finger on his glass, thinking of what to say. It had been terrifying, and if there was any chance that he could go back and ensure it had never happened, he’d no doubt that he’d take it.

“I think… it's easy to be scared, to get angry in those situations.” he said. “But if there are children who respond well to that, I can tell you Neal was never one of them. I learned that I've got to bite my tongue where that's concerned. Try to be calm about it when I tell him he needs to be more careful, that what if they hadn't been so lucky and they'd gotten seriously hurt– or worse. Because all the times I panicked and lashed out at him, I could see it in his eyes, the same resentment I would have toward my da. That urge to pull further away.”

David rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. “Do you ever regret not knowing what they were up to though? Before it was too late, I mean.” he said. “Because like you said, what if they weren't so lucky?”

“Of course you do.” Rumford admitted. “But… the more they know you're watching, the better they get at hiding those things, you know? I know I did. And it took years after my da left for me to… unlearn that.” he said. “At the end of the day, you’ve got to trust them. And hear me when I say that they’ll violate that trust. Likely more than once. But if you can’t give them your trust to begin with, they’ll never understand the value of it, and they’ll never want to work to repair it.”

David released another slow, heavy breath and hiked his brows.

“It’s… not easy,” Rumford chuckled, hoping to lighten the mood.

“No, you’re right.” he agreed. He gently drummed his hands over the bartop, and looked at Rumford with a tight-lipped smile. “Thanks, man. I’ll uh, think about that.”

Rumford smiled back and nodded. “Aye. Of course.”

“So, speaking of kids…” David grinned, leaning back in his seat. “You ready to be an empty nester?”

Rumford slouched his shoulders. “I'm… excited for him.”

“He's a good kid.” David offered. “I don't think you have anything to worry about.”

Rumford scoffed.

Worried about Neal? Ha! He wasn't worried about Neal! Neal was a smart boy! With a good head on his shoulders!

No, no! He was worried about himself!

Coming home to an empty house! Not having anyone to nag about leaving dishes in the sink or laundry in the dryer! Not having anyone's profanity to correct! Not having a messy bedroom that called his name every time he walked by, luring him to come in and tidy up– just a little bit!

Because when you took all of those things away, what was there left to be grumpy about!?

Dust bunnies?

There was a pathetic thought.

Rumford Gold. Home alone with nothing but his dusty trinkets to keep him company.

It made a heavy feeling settle in his stomach, and he frowned at his glass.

“Hey, man.” David said, putting a hand in his shoulder. “You’ll be alright. Now you get to… relax. Focus on you.”

Rumford nodded, but his frown stayed in place.

That's what they said, the other parents. How ‘done’ they were, and how now they would finally have the time to rekindle their marriages, or make that career change, or retire, or start that side business they'd always dreamt of.

But he didn't have a marriage to rekindle! He was happy with his work and he was proud of his shop! And above all else, he didn't feel ‘done’ with kids! He loved being a Papa and he couldn't shake this feeling that he had more of that in him!

And so he'd just nod along and smile, ignoring the hollow feeling in his heart. Pretending he didn't feel like something was missing.

“You know…” David said, setting a hand on his shoulder, “I really do consider you a friend, Rum.”

Rumford sighed and stared down at the bartop.

“I know Neal leaving for college is gonna be hard, or maybe just weird for you, but– well, if you ever wanna talk about it, I'm all ears.” he said. “‘Cause I know you'd do the same for me. Because, well, in a lot of ways, you're... kind of like the dad I never had.”

Rumford looked up at him and cocked his head to the side, at a loss for words.

David smiled. “I mean, I had a dad, but… you’re like… a second dad. Or a really close uncle, or–” he cut himself off and shook his head. “Point is, when I have stuff I can't talk to anyone else about– the kind of stuff I wish I could talk to my dad about– I know I can come to you.”

Rumford could feel the beginning of tears coming on, and blinked them away. “I– Thank you.” he whispered and nodded.. “That… thank you.”

David gave him a tight-lipped smile.

“You're… sort of like a son to me,” Rumford managed with an uncertain shrug. “Sometimes?”

Because while yes, he did have a special fondness for David, it just wasn't the same. Mentor and mentee, surely. But father and son? That felt a bit of a stretch.

David seemed to pick up on his uncertainty and looked away, taking a quick swig of his beer. “You don’t have to– it's alright, I understand.”

“I… appreciate that, though.” Rumford said. “Truly. Thank you.”

“Well, however you choose to look at it.” David chuckled, “I'm glad we're friends.”

Friends.

He and David were friends.

A certain feeling overcame him, and Rumford hesitated. But after a beat, he turned toward David– toward his friend – and clapped his hand on his shoulder, giving it a little squeeze. “Me too.”

His hand lingered there for a moment, and what was an appropriate length of time to be touching someone’s shoulder like this, anyway?

He released his grip and let his hand drop down, making a point to not snap it away too quickly nor drag it away too slowly.

“Anyway–” David coughed, “how uh… how are things with Belle? You guys still seeing each other?”

“Yeah.” Rumford nodded and cleared his throat, folding his arms over the bartop. “Yeah, we're still… seeing each other. As much as we can, at least.”

Time for another sip.

David motioned for the bartender. “And how's that working out?”

“Good…” he mumbled. “I think.”

“You think?” David chuckled. “Well, do you like spending time with her?”

Rumford rolled his eyes. “Of course I do!”

“The distance is pretty tough though, huh?”

Rumford bobbed his head from side to side for a moment. “It's… not ideal.” he admitted. “But… we still talk, exchange letters.”

David raised his brows. “Letters? As in– snail mail?”

“Why?” he shot back defensively. “What's wrong with that?”

“Nothing! Nothing.” he said. “Just–”

“We... like the personal touch.” Rumford said, his voice sounding far too high in pitch for his liking. “And having something physical–”

“No, I get it.” David assured. “It sounds really romantic.”

Rumford took a deep breath, easing his posture.

Damned right, he thought. He was an utterly romantic fool! He could admit that to himself! Just not out loud.

“I visited her, last weekend.” Rumford said. “It was… nice. We… we had a lovely time together.”

“You don't seem… too enthusiastic.” David observed.

“No, it's fine.” he shrugged.

“You sure?” David grinned. “Because a month ago, you were waxing poetic about this woman over the phone to me. Something about... the first day of spring?”

Rumford scowled. He'd almost successfully forgotten about that conversation.

“Like I said. If you got something on your mind, man, you can tell me.”

Rumford glanced around the bar for a moment, doing his best to stall until the bartender returned with their drinks.

“Can I– I know you said– and if I'm crossing a line, please.” Rumford stammered, and at last his glass was set down in front of him. “But I-I-I have a question.” he finished, and rushed to take a heavy swig.

David raised a brow. “Okay…”

“About, well, the…” Rumford shifted closer and lowered his voice to a whisper, ignoring the tightness in his chest. “The other other thing.” he said. “The bees.”

“Oh.” David's eyes went wide, despite how hard he was clearly trying not to let them. “What about the uh, bees?”

God, how did he ever think this was a good idea? For even a fraction of a second?

But it was too late now. He'd already said the word. Bees.

“Just– it– well, Belle and I.” Rumford said. “W-we had dinner at her place, and then we were on the couch and we were talking… and the talking turned into cuddling and the cuddling turned into kissing and– well, then she… made her intentions clear.” he whispered. “That she… wanted to… have her flower pollin–”

“Okay!” David interrupted, slamming his bottle down to cut him off. “You know, you don't have to use the euphemism, it's… just...”

“Oh.” he drew back and looked away. “I'm sorry, I–”

“Just, sex.” David said. “You can say sex. She wanted to have sex.”

“Yes.” Rumford exhaled and coughed. “Sex. Sexual… intercourse.”

Now that he said the word, it didn't seem so bad, did it? Sex, sex, sex. Sexy sex. Sexual sexiness. Just a bisexual man talking about his sex life with his sexy girlfriend.

“So… I take it you didn't want to?”

“Well– not exactly.” Rumford shrugged. “I mean, Belle's… stunning. With gorgeous, sexy eyes, and legs that go on for–”

“Rum–”

“–and she does this thing where she bites her lip that makes–”

“Alright.” David chuckled uncomfortably and held up his hand, signaling for him to stop. “Got it, got it. She's uh… she's hot.”

Rumford scoffed. “Now, there's an understatement. Everything about her just–”

David cleared his throat pointedly. “You said you had a question?”

“Right. Yes.” he coughed. Tossing a quick glance over his shoulder, he leaned in closely again. “Is it… normal? These days? To… well, to make love without… having said the words?”

David set his bottle down and leaned back in his seat, letting out a deep sigh.

That couldn't have been a good sign.

He blinked and raised his brows. “I mean, sure.” he shrugged, gesturing limply with his hand. “Plenty of people have sex without being in love first.”

“Because I… I wanted to, but– well, it felt wrong.”

David looked at him with furrowed brows. “Rum, she didn't… pressure you into any–”

“No! Heaven's no!” Rumford said. “I told her I wasn’t ready and we played Boggle instead!”

“Oh,” he relaxed. “Thank God.”

“God! What sort of woman do you think Belle is!?”

“Nothing! Nothing! I'm sure she's wonderful,” David said. “Just– looking out for you, man.”

“Oh. Well…” Rumford swallowed. “Thank you.”

David chugged his beer down to the label and set it down with a sigh. “So let me get this straight– she was ready to, and you were… interested . But you decided you'd rather wait?”

“Aye. But–” Rumford tilted his head from side to side in hesitation. “I don't know! It's just that the last woman I– the only person I was ever with was my ex-wife.” he confessed– and by God, did it sound embarrassing when he said it out loud like that.

David gave him a small, sympathetic smile. “And you're not sure if you're ready to share that with another person?”

“Eh… it's not quite that, I don't think.” Rumford dismissed, shaking his head. “It's just... I like Belle! A lot! I'd like to… be intimate with her. It's certainly been long enough for me that I think I'm ready to do that again. But isn't it too soon? For us? Or am I being too old-fashioned?” he asked. “Because I-I always felt… it should be about love, you know? Showing how you feel. And I know I have feelings for Belle. Good, strong feelings. But Milah and I knew each other for almost a year before we– I met Belle little more than a month ago.”

“Alright. Look, Rum.” David said, making a decisive gesture with his hand. “Whether you want to wait or not, or how long you wait, is up to you. Be it after x amount of dates or months, or until however long it takes to say you love each other, until you’re married, or whatever. There's no wrong choice there. But sex doesn't always have to be about… making love. It can just be about... having fun and making each other feel good. Or something in-between. The important thing is that you're both on the same page about it.”

Rumford let out a heavy sigh. “Ah suppose.”

“Just… honesty, man. Communication. Talk to her about it.”

“Talk to her.” Rumford muttered.

It seemed talking was David's solution for everything!

But talking was hard! At least, the kind of talking he was referring to– the kind that involved being vulnerable! It was so much easier to just flirt and make Belle smile and blush and giggle!

Because the more Belle knew about him, the more likely it was that she'd… realize how boring he was, and leave him for somebody more sexy and exciting. Like the roofer.

Rumford tapped a finger on his glass and sighed. “I don't think it's just that though. Th-the sex, I mean.”

David paused, his bottle hovering a inch from his lips. “No?”

“You know… what if it doesn't work out?”

He set his beer down and tilted his head at him.

“Being with Belle.” Rumford said. “I-it's made me realize how much I missed… having someone, you know? But I'm forty-five years old. I'm no’ getting any younger. If I'm gonnae… see somebody, I want to know that they're…”

Interested in getting married and having children?

Growing old and grey together?

Never going to leave me?

“...Looking for something serious?” David offered.

“Aye.”

Looking for something serious. That was good! That sounded far less pathetic!

Rumford cleared his throat. “We were talking on the phone Monday, and she mentioned that she loved kids and it hit me, you know? I know I want to have more kids but what about her? What if she doesn't?”

“I don't understand. You just said she told you she loves kids.”

“Aye, but liking kids and wanting to have your own are very different things. I-it just seems like we ought to talk about those things, doesn't it?”

“Eh…” David hesitated.

“Or is it too soon to talk about that? Because what we have so far is… it's nice. And I don't wannae scare her away by bringing those things up, but…”

“You're worried she just wants something casual and that you're heading towards a dead-end?”

Rumford nodded. “I can't do casual, David. I don't want casual. I don't even know what that means!” he said, looking around the bar helplessly. “It sounds sad!”

“Hey, now. Relax.” David said, setting a hand on his arm to ground him.

“I never should have gone on that first date with her,” Rumford sighed. “Then I wouldn't be in this mess with all these feelings, David.”

“No, don't say that.” he said. “The way I see it? If it's not too soon for you to be worrying about those things, it's not too soon for you to talk about them with her. It's a conversation every new relationship needs to have at some point, what the expectations are.”

Rumford looked at him with a pained expression.

Was it?

He and Milah had never really had that conversation. They’d studied together, fallen into bed a few times, and next thing he knew she was carrying his child and they were getting married.

How did one have that conversation, anyway? The thought of asking Belle if they were serious or not was nauseating! After all, what if she said no? It wasn't like there was a subtle, approachable way to say, I think I'm falling in love with you– but before you say anything, you should also know that I want to have more children someday and if you're not down with that, then we should just quit while we're ahead.

“Just be open about it.” David said. “It's uncomfortable and it'll be tempting to be as brief as possible, but take her through your thought process. All of it. From the… sex, to the… you know. Other, big picture stuff.”

“But what if she–”

“Look. I can't promise you how she'll react,” David said. “Maybe she'll decide she's not ready for all that and break things off. Or maybe she feels the same way and she'll be relieved. But if it's something you know you want, avoiding that conversation would just be torturing yourself.”

His mouth flopped open and closed. “I should at least wait though, right? I-I mean–”

“OK. Then wait how long?” David asked. He inched into his space, and Rumford couldn't help shrinking in his seat a little. “A month? Two months? Three? Let it fester for six? ...A year?”

Yes! Festering for a year sounded perfect!

“Trust me.” David said, giving him a pat on the back. “Best to just nip these things in the bud.”

Rumford grumbled and looked away. Damn David. Always being so… sensible about things.

“So, you'll tell her?”

He looked at his glass and let out a huff of resignation. “I'll… try.”

David shrugged. “You deserve to be happy, man, is all I'm saying. You know what you want– you shouldn't have to hide or apologize for it.”

Rumford rubbed a hand over his mouth.

Wanting things and not apologizing for the inevitable burden those foolish desires place on the people around you?

People did that?

But how?

It certainly made things seem so much more simple, he had to admit.

Why did you do that? Why are you telling me this?

Because I bloody well wanted to, that's why!

Rumford scoffed.

Of course! So simple!

He smiled and gave David's hand a few pats. “Thank you.” he finally said. “For… listening. To all of that.”

“Sure thing.” David winked. “Any time.”

“Well–” Rumford hopped out of his chair. “David. It's been lovely, we should most certainly do this again... but I think I'd like to take the rest of the evening to reflect privately on the matters discussed.”

“Oh.” David blinked. “O-okay.”

“Have a wonderful evening, and give Emma and Mary Margaret my regards.” he said, straightening his jacket and spinning on his heels toward the door.

“Gold, wait–”

Rumford froze and looked over his shoulder, brows raised expectantly.

David shook his head and laughed. “You gotta pay your bill, man.”

[schizophelia]

August 7th, 2018: Social Work Appointment: Journal/Update

Today I met with my social worker at psych services for the last time. Since I am going to school in the city, I won't be able to keep appointments at psych services. Not only that, the social worker is going to be working at the hospital psych ward full time in September and the psychiatric nurse that was on maternity leave is coming back to resume her original place.

So my social worker and I talked about how I've been doing over the past couple of weeks since I saw her last. Surprisingly enough, I've been doing fairly well over the last few days. The voices are gone but I still see things on occasion. But it's not as bad. Also, my anxiety has gone down a lot. So I'm thankful.

My social worker and I also talked about school and if that plan was still standing. I said it was. I do still plan to attend university in September. She asked me how I felt about it (I said I was anxious). She said anxiety is common. I was asked if I had everything for school and I told her I had most of it from the previous years I had planned to go to school and never did. I explained my living arrangements and such to her and she said it might be a good idea to contact my townhouse mates. My social worker said my doctor sent a referral for me to see a psychiatrist at the university a while ago but I haven't heard anything back so I have to call or email the university soon so I can see if they received it or not. My social worker said she was proud of me for pushing through the challenges I have faced over the past few months. She said she was worried for me a few months ago because I was really unwell then. She said I was going through a lot of medication issues and such and she's glad I am doing better (for) now. She said I would make a good contribution to the psychology field because of my lived experiences. She wished me the best and said if I ever need to talk to her I could call her extension at the hospital. She said she was closing my file at psych services but I could make a referral again if I needed to. Although she said there's a waiting list into the new year for services. That's okay because I will be in the city anyway.

I'm still having problems with energy, motivation, completing tasks, lethargy, etc. Also my concentration and focus is so poor. No joke. I can't pay attention to anything. I hope school goes okay with these problems.

I've been really bad at keeping in touch with my friends. I hardly talk to my best friends. I was invited to Char's 23rd Birthday party this past Saturday but I didn't go. I went to see my Tante Hulda 3 hours away. She is my 93 year old great aunt. She is one of my favourite people ever. My parents and I visited her because she is old and we don't know how long she'll live. She's so prone to fractures and falls even though she's healthy otherwise. During our visit there we also got to see Art. Art is related to my Tante Hulda somehow but I forgot how. Anyway, the 5 of us went out to lunch. It was nice. I haven't seen Art in years. My Onkel Hans died a few years ago and my Tante Hulda was taking about him and the war. It was sad because it looked like she was going to cry several times. Talking about him is really hard for her. Even talking about my Opa is hard too. She loved them both so much. Unfortunately cancer claimed both their lives. I remember attending mass in half German and half English. It was interesting. I learned that my Tante Hulda can speak at least 3 languages: Russian, German, and English. I thought that was cool.

I'm a little worried about tomorrow because my dad goes to see the doctor tomorrow regarding the MRI results he had for the lump on his back shoulder. Tomorrow we find out if it's cancer or if it's a fat lump like my family doctor thinks. The specialist doctor he saw ordered an MRI to see what they were dealing with. The reason why they're doing this is because my dad had cancer before. He was cancer free over a year ago and October 5th of this year is his next appointment at the cancer clinic. They make appointments every year for a few years to make sure it hasn't come back. But when my dad saw the specialist doctor about the lump, the doctor said the lump had grown since my dad's ultrasound on it a couple months ago. He's having a lot of pain on his neck and stuff so we think the lump is pushing on things. But I'm not a doctor so I can't say for sure. If it is cancer, they will have to do radiation again likely and then surgery. I hope it isn't cancer.

It's been so damn hot lately. I feel like my face is sweating off whenever I get outside. I'm significantly darker than I was a few months ago. It's really muggy and gross outside. Even the dogs can't handle it. We only let them outside for about 10-20 minutes at a time. Abby doesn't have it as bad as Lika because Lika is a black lab and absorbs the sun. Abby is a yellow lab so it doesn't bother her as much.

I've been sleeping really well lately. My sleep used to be 3-6 hours and now with the Seroquel XR it's 7-11 hours. And I actually feel rested when I wake up. It's great. My doctor didn't increase my dose of it so I am still on 200mg. I also still take the 120mg of Fetzima for my mood. So far it's still working. I've been feeling pretty good lately.

Also, this is kind of random but my Spotify Discover Weekly playlist is spot-on this week. I've favourited almost all the songs they suggested. It's so nice to hear New music that is half decent.

I didn't post this but I got sorted into residence for university. I didn't get the one I wanted but it's okay because I get my own room and share a furnished townhouse unit with two other girls. It has a kitchen so I don't need a meal plan. I just need to buy groceries. My tuition is completely paid for this semester due to my scholarship and bursary. So all I have to pay for is residence and the mandatory fees for undergraduates. The university splits the bursary and scholarship in half so I receive an equal amount per semester because all payments are on a semester basis. I pay half of my residence this semester (fall) and the other half in the winter semester. I really should email my townhouse mates to introduce myself. Meh. Another day.

I see my psychiatrist for the last time on August 24th and then I see the periodontist August 29th. And then I move into university residence on September 1st, classes start on the 6th. I hope it goes okay.

Holy shit. This is a long post but I've had so much to say. Anyway, I think that's all I had to say.

Meds:

Fetzima 120mg

Seroquel XR 200mg

[orbemnews]

As Outbreak Rages, India Orders Critical Social Media Posts to Be Taken Down NEW DELHI — With a devastating second wave of Covid-19 sweeping across India and lifesaving supplemental oxygen in short supply, India’s government on Sunday said it ordered Facebook, Instagram and Twitter to take down dozens of social media posts critical of its handling of the pandemic. The order was aimed at roughly 100 posts that included critiques from opposition politicians and calls for Narendra Modi, India’s prime minister, to resign. The government said that the posts could incite panic, used images out of context, and could hinder its response to the pandemic. The companies complied with the requests for now, in part by making the posts invisible to those using the sites inside India. In the past, the companies have reposted some content after determining that it didn’t break the law. The takedown orders come as India’s public health crisis spirals into a political one, and set the stage for a widening struggle between American social media platforms and Mr. Modi’s government over who decides what can be said online. On Sunday, the country reported more than 349,691 new infections and 2,767 deaths, marking the fourth consecutive day it set a world record in daily infection statistics, though experts warn that the true numbers are probably much higher. The country now accounts for almost half of all new cases globally. Its health system appears to be teetering. Hospitals across the country have scrambled to get enough oxygen for patients. In New Delhi, the capital, hospitals this weekend turned away patients after running out of oxygen and beds. Last week, at least 22 patients were killed in a hospital in the city of Nashik, after a leak cut off their oxygen supplies. Online photos of bodies on plywood hospital beds and the countless fires of overworked crematories have gone viral. Desperate patients and their families have pleaded online for help from the government, horrifying an international audience. On Sunday evening, in one of many pleas for help on social media, Ajay Koli took to Twitter to find an oxygen cylinder in Delhi for his mother, who, he said, had tested positive 10 days ago. Mr. Koli said he lost his father on Saturday. “I don’t want to lose my mom now.” Mr. Modi has been under attack for ignoring the advice of experts about the risks of loosening restrictions, after he held large political rallies with little regard for social distancing. Some of the content now offline in India highlighted that contradiction, using lurid images to contrast Mr. Modi’s rallies with the flames of funeral pyres. In a radio address on Sunday, Mr. Modi sought to stem the fallout. He said that the “storm” of infections had left the country “shaken.” Updated  April 25, 2021, 10:32 a.m. ET “At this time, in order to win this battle, we have to give priority to experts and scientific advice,” he said. One of the tweets removed from view was posted by Moloy Ghatak, a labor minister in the opposition-ruled West Bengal state, where Mr. Modi’s party hopes to make big gains in an ongoing election. Mr. Ghatak accused Mr. Modi of “mismanagement” and held him directly responsible for the deaths. His tweet included images of Mr. Modi and his election rallies beside those of the cremations and compared him to Nero, the Roman emperor, for choosing to hold political gatherings and exporting vaccines during a “health crisis.” Another tweet from Revanth Reddy, a sitting member of the parliament, used a hashtag that blamed Mr. Modi for the “disaster.” “India recording over 2 lakh cases everyday,” it said, using an Indian numbering unit that means 200,000 cases. “Shortage of vaccines, shortage of medicines, increasing number of deaths.” The new steps to muzzle online speech deepen a conflict between American social media platforms and Mr. Modi’s government. The two sides have tussled in recent months over a push by India’s government to more strictly police what is said online, a policy that critics say is being used to silence government detractors. “This has been a trend, which is enforced with increasing frequency and severity for online media spaces,” said Apar Gupta, the executive director of the Internet Freedom Foundation, a digital rights group. He added that the orders were being used to “cause censorship” under the guise of making social media companies more “accountable.” The fight to control the gruesome images and online fury over a raging public health catastrophe is just one front in a broader conflict playing out globally. Governments across the world have been seeking to rein in the power of the largest tech companies, like Twitter and Facebook, whose policies have huge political impact far from their California headquarters. In the best of cases, it can be difficult to disentangle government efforts to tamp down misinformation from other motivations, like tilting online debate in one political party’s favor. While the companies seek to hew to policies that they say are based on the principles of free speech, their responses to government power plays have been inconsistent and often based on business pragmatism. In Myanmar, Facebook cut business ties with military-linked accounts over violence against protesters. In China, Facebook does brisk business with state-backed media groups that have been busy denying the widespread internment of ethnic minorities, which the United States has labeled a genocide. In India, the companies face a stark choice: follow laws and risk suppressing political debate, or ignore them and face harsh punishments, including prison time for local employees, in a potentially huge growth market. Squabbles over online speech in India are growing common. The Indian government, controlled by Mr. Modi’s Bharatiya Janata Party, has become increasingly aggressive at stifling dissent. It has arrested activists and journalists, and pressured media organizations to hew to its line. It has cut off mobile internet access in troubled areas. After a standoff with China, it blocked a number of apps owned by Chinese companies. In February, Twitter relented in the face of government threats to arrest its employees, and blocked 500 accounts after the government accused them of making inflammatory remarks about Mr. Modi. Twitter declined, however, to remove a number of journalists’ and politicians’ accounts, pointing out that the orders to block them did not appear to be consistent with Indian law. In a Sunday statement, India’s government said the posts it targeted “spread fake or misleading information” and created “panic about the Covid-19 situation in India by using unrelated, old and out of the context images or visuals.” It pointed to photos in several posts that it said were of bodies unrelated to the recent outbreak. In an emailed statement, Twitter said that if content “is determined to be illegal in a particular jurisdiction, but not in violation of Twitter’s rules, we may withhold access to the content in India only,” adding that in that case it would notify users. Facebook did not immediately respond to an emailed request for comment. The removals did little to mute a broader chorus of online anger. “If most citizens are using every single means they have to organize hospital beds, oxygen & logistic support for near & dear what exactly is the Government of India doing?” wrote Mahua Moitra, a politician and member of parliament from West Bengal. Aftab Alam, a professor at the University of Delhi was more direct. “Because you know it’s easier to take down tweets than it is to ensure oxygen supplies,” he wrote on Twitter. Source link Orbem News #critical #India #Media #Orders #Outbreak #Posts #Rages #Social

[peetabreadgirl]

Writer’s Block 6.2

It’s finally time for an update! The next chapter will be the last for this universe. Hope you like this piece, and you can find the entire chapter, plus any you’ve missed, on AO3 and FFnet. Also, I keep forgetting to say that this is for @katnissdoesnotfollowback‘s bday back in December and I’m slow at writing these days. At this rate the last chapter will be posted on her birthday in four months. 😬 Heart you all! Pbg 

 I wake Monday morning and immediately check my email. I make a note to myself while logging into Gmail that I’m way too anxious to hear from a boy. I force the thought that he probably didn’t send anything to the front of my mind so I can crush the hope that sits like an immovable weight in my chest. They battle and rage at each other as I watch the rainbow wheel of death circulate for minutes. The computer goes dark and I groan. Not again. “Piece of shit.”

I snap it closed and start getting ready for class. I’ll see him there and casually mention that it crashed again. If he did get into the doc last night and tried to chat, then at least he’ll now I wasn’t avoiding him or anything. And I won’t have to tell him that I waited up with my computer open and logged in just so I could catch him if he did.

Pathetic.

I wait patiently at the front of the class, in my usual spot. Since my computer is dead again I only have a notebook in front of me. I doodle and try not to look around the room or behind me. I never did before I was paired with Peeta, so why would I do it now? Because you liiiiiiiike him, my traitorous inner conscience taunts me.

In my peripheral I see sneakers and jeans turn down the front row and finally Peeta plants himself next to me. Only when I look up into blue eyes, they’re more of the glacial variety than the warm, inviting one’s I’ve been used to staring into. A leering smile waits for me.

“I missed you after the movie Saturday,” Cato says with a hint of annoyance in. I stifle an eye roll. It’s hard, but I succeed.

“Uh, yeah, they moved me to the back and I had to close, so….” I look away and poise my hand over a blank page in an effort to pretend I’m busy, but I can’t think of anything to write.

Katniss Mellark.

What the hell? There is no way I’m writing that. How did that thought even materialize? I think of the cliche of smitten girls blending their boyfriends’ names and doodling them into notebooks and trees and casts covering broken appendages. That is not me. Not by a long shot. I shake my head to clear the ludicrous thought, but right behind it is a feeling of ire. At Peeta. For leaving me to sit next to Cato. For not reaching out to talk to me yesterday. For worming his way into my head as my boyfriend. We’re just study buddies. Kissing study buddies, but still. We’ve been on a few dates but that doesn’t mean I should be thinking of taking his last name. Good God! What has gotten into me?

I’ve never skipped a class, but right now I can’t not skip this one. With Cato side-eyeing me and these crazy-girl thoughts sprinting through my mind as freely as an escaped convict, I can’t be here. It’s suffocating.

“Where you going?” Cato asks with an edge of concern to his voice as I fold up my notebook and pack it and my pen into my pack.

“Feeling a little sick.” I make a gagging sound and cover my mouth to keep him from following me. It works. His eye grow huge and he leans back in his seat, holding his hands up. Idiot. He doesn’t call out for me to feel better as I scurry from the room, and once I’m out in the hall I inch towards the doorway, sticking my head around the edge to peer in. I’m looking for a mop of blonde hair that doesn’t belong to an imbecile, but I don’t see him. He’s not in class. To my knowledge, he hasn’t missed one, either, so something must be wrong.

My irritation from earlier turns to worry. What if something happened to him? On foot it will take me 25 minutes to reach his duplex, but that doesn’t keep me from setting off in that direction. It takes a little less than the my original calculations, probably because I speed-walked the entire way, but when I get to Peeta’s door I’ve worked myself into such a frenzy over his state of being that I knock hard and without hesitation.

I wait a few minutes, then press my ear to the door, listening for running water that might have drowned him in the bathtub after he slipped and hit his head. There’s nothing, though. I knock harder and longer. HIs jeep is in the driveway so I know he’s here. If he doesn’t answer I may have to break in.

Just when I’ve decided to go around the back, I hear the click of the lock and the door opens a hair.

“Katniss?” his voice croaks.

“You missed class. Are you okay?” He opens the door a little wider and puts one hand on the door jamb to support his weight. Now that I see his face in the light, I can tell he’s not okay. He’s pale and his eyes are tired. Without thinking, I put my hand to his forehead. I barely notice the almost-smile he gives me.

“The worst is over. I had the stomach flu yesterday and last night. I’ve just been catching up on sleep.” He opens the door even more and leans his head against it. “I’d ask you in but I’m sure the place is crawling with germs.”

“It’s okay. I’m just glad you’re not dead.” He huffs a tired laugh at my non-joke. Then he seems to come to himself.

“Did you walk here?”

“Yeah.”

“Let me get my keys,” he says as he starts to turn away. “I’ll run you home so you don’t have to-”

“No, you don’t have to do that. Get back to bed. I can get home on my own,” I tell him. He doesn’t listen, though, and keeps walking towards the kitchen. I follow him inside, intent on dragging him to bed when I see him fumbling around for something.

“Peeta?”

“Huh?” He searches the countertops with his eyes and his hands, looking disoriented. He presses a hand to the side of his head and winces. “My head is pounding.”

“Have you had anything to drink since yesterday?” I know the signs of dehydration. I used to have to make my mother drink liquids because in her deepest states of depression she would forget to do basic things like eat or drink. Or wake up.

I see his brain working. “Not really. I drank a little after I brushed my teeth the last time,” he admits.

“Peeta! You’re dehydrated! You’re not driving me home.” I huff around him, reaching into the cabinet to pull out a glass, then fill it with water and hand it to him. “Drink.” I don’t mean to be bossy, but if I hadn’t come by it could have been so much worse. When he finishes I refill it and hand it back.

He drinks it, and I go for a third.

“No, I can’t.” he waves me off, his hand moving protectively over his stomach.

“Just a few sips.” He gives in and takes two.

“Back to bed,” I tell him, pointing in the direction of his bedroom.

He smirks, though it’s a tired one, and turns towards his room. I follow, bringing the glass with me. “This isn’t how I envisioned you ordering me to bed for the first time.”

“Me either,” I reply out loud before I can stop myself.

He turns his head while he walks, eyes wide, then narrowing. His grin is weak but it’s there. “So you admit you’ve been thinking about me in bed?” I fight a blush, but don’t answer.

“Lay down,” I instruct him when we reach his bed. I haven’t been in his room before. It’s masculine, yet inviting, with light blue-gray walls, chocolate brown curtains that look like they feel like suede, and a brown and cream plaid comforter.

“You’re bossy in bed. I like it,” he says as he rolls to his side. I try to seem annoyed, but secretly I like it and I’m fighting to hide my smile. I make note of it in the back of my brain, because now is not the time to think about that, and help Peeta settle in. I check his temperature again, just because I’m curious. And because he’s staring at me and not saying anything.

“I’m staying,” I tell him, my tone leaving little room for argument, especially in his weakened state. “ I’ll wake you in an hour and you can drink more water.”

His eyes close, but he speaks. “Are you going to be my nurse? Nurse Katniss.” He says it with a smile on his pale lips. “Not gonna lie. Every guy’s fantasy is to be taken care of by a hot nurse.”

I bite my lip to hide my grin, thankful that his eyes are still closed. “That depends. Are you going to be a good patient?” I answer, playing along the best I know how.

“I’ll do,” he yawns around his words, “…anything you say.” And then he’s asleep.

I woke Peeta long enough to get him to drink some water and give me his password on his laptop so I could work on our project, which is what I’m doing now. It’s mid afternoon and I’m just staring at the screen. Stuck. I’ve gotten a few of the button’s of Julia’s blouse undone, and some kissing and over-the-clothes petting figured out, but this is the scene. The one where Julia loses her virginity. There are some soft sighs, a gasp, one moan and two groans, and I’m wondering if I’ve overdone it already with the sounds. They haven’t done any oral exploring - not that I would have a clue how to write that, it just seems that every book has it - and forget actual penetration. What sounds will I use for that? Does she scream or gasp more? And how much gasping is too much before it gets annoying?

I read through again, trying to recall some of the scenes I’ve read in my novels and focus on hand and body part placement to make sure I haven’t given Adam three legs. I snort out loud. Or four… if you consider his penis a leg.

Johanna’s comment about not being ready for it if I can’t say it makes an appearance. I think the word cock a few times. Type it in list form until it doesn’t make the tips of my ears feel heated. Then test it quietly on my lips, enunciating the k at the end, repeat a little louder-

“What are you doing?”

I choke on a sharp intake of breath at the sound of Peeta’s raspy voice, looking up to find him standing just outside the doorway of his bedroom.

“W-working,” I stutter, and then rush to add, “on the project.”

“Need help?” he asks curiously as he leans his weight on the door frame, arms folded across his chest, looking like the handsomely disheveled Peeta I know rather than the death-warmed-over version from mid-morning. Unfair.

“How are you feeling?” I ask, deflecting his offer. I get nervous when people read over my shoulder when I’m not writing smut. Plus, I think I’d like him to stay just where he is so I can look at him in his fitted white t-shirt and gray gym shorts. He looks good. Better than I would if I’d been in the same situation. I’d probably still have vomit in my hair and breath that could kill a man dead.

“Better than I was earlier, that’s for sure.” He pushes off the door and walks over to me, sitting down beside me on the couch. Not too closely. I reach for his forehead, just to check. And also maybe because I want to touch him. His eyes close and he says, “I’m glad you stayed.”

“You needed someone to make sure you didn’t die.”

He laughs weakly, “I think if it had been two months ago you might have smothered me with a pillow instead.” I hand him the glass of water I’ve been saving for when he rejoined the land of the living.

While he drains it I think about his words. My how things can change. I barely remember the feelings I had towards Peeta two months ago. They’ve evaporated completely. Probably because they weren’t based on anything true. Just assumptions and opinions that aren’t at all consistent with what I now know about Peeta Mellark. That he’s kind and thoughtful, intelligent and hardworking, and had difficult teen years the same as me.

“I really do appreciate you taking care of me,” Peeta says, filling the comfortable silence that falls between us after he sets the glass down.

I don’t know what to say to that, so I settle for a simple, “It’s no problem.” I just missed the rest of my classes, but I don’t say that out loud. I also don’t think I could have focused on them at all not knowing what was happening with him.

“I probably look like death warmed up,” he jokes.

“Not anymore,” I answer with a raised eyebrow, then look back at the screen, because it’s the only way I can get out what I’m about to say.. “You looked terrible - no offense - and I would have kissed it better if it was anything other than the stomach bug.”

I groan inwardly. It sounded way better in my head than the female version of a cheesy male pickup line it turned out to be. How obvious can I be? And after what he’s been through he’s probably not in the mood for my juvenile flirting.

He laughs softly. “In that case I think I feel something coming on.”

“Oh, yeah?” I reply, hoping I’m reading him right. I think I am if the sly grin ticking up the left side of his mouth is any indication.

“Yeah.” He settles himself closer to me, thighs touching, body heat warming me. His arm rests behind me and I can feel his hand on the couch at my backside, though he’s not actually touching it. I want to scoot back and put it in the palm of his hand.

Instead, I prop my elbow on my leg and put my head in my hand and ask, in my best smoky voice, “Is it serious?”, and watch as his eyes turn a shade of blue I haven’t seen on him before, and the smile that was there seconds ago is gone. I would wonder if he’s upset with me, except that he’s leaning in, and so am I.

Our heads touch and his nose bumps lightly against mine.He smells minty, like he’s just brushed his teeth. His voice is a little deeper than normal when he says, “Yeah, I think it’s pretty serious.” And then his mouth is on mine and it’s everything I’ve been thinking and writing and dreaming about all wrapped up in one amazingly soft kiss. I’ve always thought the phrase ‘panty-melting’ was ridiculous, but in this moment I’m a believer.

It’s not the lustful crazy kiss we shared in the hallway, but it’s no less heated. No less promising. I’m the first to part my lips. First to suck his lower lip into my mouth. I let go and lean back a hair, then go in for more. He lets me. Lets me control the when and the how and the where. He follows me wherever I go, his tongue meeting mine stroke for stroke.

I lean in to get even closer, and I don’t stop until he’s on his back. His arms come around me and pull my body on top of his. He tugs on the band at the end of my braid and then his fingers are working from the ends to the base of my neck to untangle it. My hair falls in a curtain around us as we continue kissing, and he uses the tips of his fingers to massage little circles into my neck, then trails them down my spine and back up. My arms give as my body relaxes completely into his. He rolls me to the side with my back against the sofa, one leg slipping between mine.

His hand skims down my arm, resting on my hip, and his thumb begins painting random shapes over the skin just above the waistline of my jeans. It’s what I focus on most. Stripes. Circles. Half moons. There may have even been a star scorched into me at one point.

I shiver when he dips a finger in the gap between denim and skin, just briefly. After he removes it, I refocus on what his tongue is doing to mine. How every other stroke is soft to balance the roughness of the others. Like he’s holding back then letting go over and over.

Johanna’s voice is in my head now, reminding me that my hands are like dead fish holding onto his shoulders. I move them down his arms, pausing every few inches to make sure he’s okay with it. Actually, it’s to second-guess myself, but he never stops me and when my hands ruck up the hem of his t-shirt and find the warm ridges of his abs, I sigh and he groans.

Knowing he likes it gives me the courage to separate our kiss and take my lips on a trip up and down his jaw. He tilts his head for me and they end up on his neck while he grabs my backside, pulling me closer. The action rubs his thigh between my legs and it feels… ah-mazing.

Without much thought I reach down and squeeze his butt. “I-is that okay?” I ask breathily in the two seconds I manage to disconnect my lips from his skin.

“Everything you do is more than okay, Katniss,” he whispers huskily as we continue to rub against each other. He lets go of me to bring his hand to my face, angling it away from his neck so he can kiss me. And kiss me, he does. It’s all needy, no hesitation. Like he’s finally decided to give in. My heart is skipping beats like a DJ on speed.

His hand slithers under my shirt and he drags his nails lightly up my ribs. When he reaches the spot just beneath my bra, he pauses his ascent to rub one finger back and forth across my skin. I can feel goosebumps erupt and begin a ripple effect all over.

He picks his hands up and just when I think he’s going to touch my breast, his kisses slow and he removes his hand from my shirt. He gives me a gentle kiss on my forehead, then relaxes back into the couch, effectively cutting whatever this was short. I know it’s short because I want more. What I don’t know is why he stopped.

My cheek is resting on his pectoral and his arm is around me, dragging his fingers lazily up and down it. My hand is still on his abs, not moving, but soon my fingers begin to bend and scratch lightly through the sparse hairs that lead below his shorts. He reaches for my hand, linking his fingers through mine. He studies our clasped hands for a few beats before laying mine on top of his chest and covering it with his. I can’t help but think he doesn’t want me touching him there.

His heart pounds against his ribs. I’m still touching him, but I miss the feel of his skin under my palm and I can’t help but wonder why he stopped kissing me. Why he moved my hand further away from his… cock. He just said everything I do is ‘more than okay’, but now he doesn’t want me to do anything?

Johanna’s words haunt me. I am my own cockblocker. But I have no idea how I keep managing it. Is he concerned that I’m a virgin? Maybe my lack of experience is more of an irritation now than an intrigue to him. I probably kiss like a goat and my amatuer hands don’t glide over his body like they should.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, at the worst time. The time when I’m having doubts about myself and if he really wants me like Johanna said.   

“Why did you stop?” Embarrassment tingles up my spine and into my neck and cheeks in anticipation of his answer. “Do you not want me?”

“Katniss, no, it’s not…” he sighs and moves to sit up. I push off of him and move to the other side of the couch, my stomach dropping at his hesitation. He scrubs a hand over his face and then leans over, elbows on his knees. “Of course I want you. I’ve never wanted anything more than you. But-” he pauses and his lips pinch together thoughtfully. Finally, he looks at me.

“The project. I see the things you write - the first date, making out on the couch, Julia is a virgin. There’s no doubt this is written from your own experiences. Our experiences. It’s a mirror of us over the last month.”

I breathe in deep through my nose, waiting for him to go on.

“I guess I just don’t want this,” he motions between us, “to be just about the project. I don’t want to have sex with you because you feel like you need to do it to write the scene. I want to be with you because what’s happening between is real, and will last longer than the deadline for the project. And because you want to be with me the same way I want to be with you. And honestly, I don’t want it written down for someone else to read.” He looks down at his knees and runs both hands through his hair, pulling at the roots before letting his arms flop down. “I guess I’m just scared that I’m fooling myself into thinking that we’re starting something. We were kind of thrown together, and had we not been,” he opens his arms in a light shrug, “I don’t know that we’d be sitting here now.” He breathes deeply. “I told you I liked you, Katniss. And that’s not changing.”

The end of his confession brings a whoosh of breath from my lungs. I’d been holding it for so long my face probably matches his eyes. It should be a lot to process, and it would be if he hadn’t put my exact feelings into eloquent words I’d never be able to express unless I wrote them down.

“It’s real for me, too, Peeta,” I reply in a small voice. A dazzling smile splits his face and before I can chicken out, I lean in and give him a quick kiss, barely able to contain my own smile.

I check my older than dirt watch, surprised how quickly the day has gone by. “I should go. I have work.”

“Can I drive you?”

Normally I wouldn’t have accepted, but something about admitting it’s real for both of us makes it okay. And knowing how busy our schedules will be over these last few weeks of the semester makes me want to take advantage of any spare time we can share.

Peeta grabs his keys and helps me into the passenger seat of his Jeep, a goofy smile plastered across his face the entire time. We link hands over the console and the too-short ride to the movie theater is silent but comfortable, giving me time to think about how to show him it’s real with more than just meager words.

[hihiyas]

Exes and Oh’s - Chapter 1/3

[AN: For @poeticbibliophile who prompted me with this reunited AU scenario: “we’re texting for the first time in forever and I told you about some stupid thing I did and sent a sarcastic ‘you must really miss me, huh’ and you just replied ‘yes’ and I think my heart just broke.” I tweaked the scenario a little, hope you don’t mind.

Courfeyrac the social entrepreneur courtesy of @astoryinred . Thanks to her, @kylorenvevo  and @textsfromumbridge for letting me whine to them while I wrote. Big thanks as usual to @lilyismilesaway for picking apart my crappy drafts.]

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It was inevitable that they would run into each other after college. They currently lived in the same city, ran in the same circles, heck, they even hung out in the same bar, after all. It was just, you know, awkward.

Or maybe it was just Eponine who felt like that.

She observed Enjolras, recently back from his stint working abroad, as he talked to Feuilly and Combeferre on the other end of their table. He was sharing some anecdote about a famous judge in The Hague, gesticulating wildly and making his friends laugh. He looked well: his riotous curls cropped into a sensible haircut, blue eyes bright with good cheer, sensuous lips pulled into a heart-stopping smile. Oh, why did Courfeyrac call the rest of the Amis to join their post-work drinking party?

Grantaire, who was sitting beside her, spied who was directly in her line of sight and nudged her. “Wanna say hi?”

“Oh, fuck you, R.”

“Ask ‘Ferre first if he’s okay with that. Also, I’m sure it’s someone else that you’d like to–”

Eponine cut him off, “Not funny.”

“Geez, so touchy!” he raised his hands in surrender. He nudged her shoulder again. “You alright?”

“Fine, never better,” she replied. To deter him from asking again, she downed her mojito and stalked to the bar for a refill.

She spent the next day hungover, which was fine, considering her boss was Courfeyrac and he also looked like death. She pulled out the pain killers stashed in her pedestal cabinet and offered it to him.

“Remind me that drinking on a weekday is a bad idea,” he said before he swallowed the tablets.

“Drinking on a weekday is a bad idea,” she parroted faithfully as she stared at the article she’d been trying to write despite her headache.

“Smartass,” he groaned and took a long sip of water. “But seriously, I think we’re getting too old for drinking on weekdays.”

Eponine shrugged and said, “Then stop yelling ‘Tequila Tuesdays at The Corinthe’ or whatever promo they’re having once a week.”

“But it’s good for company morale for everyone to bond once in awhile outside of work!”

“We’ve been friends since college, dummy. We’re pretty much bonded for life already,” Grantaire retorted as he was fiddling with something on their company website. He looked the same as ever, only the wilder dishevelment of his hair indicating the carousing he had done the night before. “Although I know someone Eppie wants to bond with,” he teased.

“Ooh, interesting!” Courfeyrac perked up. “Is it Enjolras?”

The woman in question looked like she wanted to disappear under her table, as Grantaire laughed out loud. “Shut up, R!”

The other man rolled his chair nearer to Eponine, and asked very sincerely, “So, Enjolras? You guys were sweet together. I never asked you before, but what exactly happened between you two?”

She pointedly ignored his pleading eyes, the same look that got her to quit her first job at a PR firm to work for his social enterprise. “No comment. And back to work, you two. You’re lucky ‘Chetta’s not here to yell at us for wasting daylight when we have a big product launch coming up.”

That got the two to stop pestering her.

Eponine stomped her heel on the tiled floor and groaned when she saw the locked office door. Oh, why did she decide to leave her laptop with all her important files at work last night? Rushing to the office was not the way she wanted to spend her Saturday, but much to her annoyance, she had no choice. She pulled out her phone from her coat and called Courfeyrac.

“Hey, Ep! What’s up?” his jovial voice boomed in greeting.

“You know that nice article I was slaving over the past week to send to our media friends? Apparently, I forgot to attach the press release on my email last night and now the magazine needs it pronto or else they’ll run something else instead of our new bag collection and the scholarship beneficiaries from the profits,” she sheepishly explained.

“Oh crap, that sucks. Well, can’t you send it now?”

“Yes, if I could just get inside our office. Which is locked. Good thing the building guard recognized me or else I wouldn’t even be allowed inside the building.”

“I have a spare key to the door, but it’s at home and I’m on a literal boat with my parents right now.”

“Shit.”

“Wait! Enjolras is crashing at my place until he finds his own flat. Call him up, make him bring it to you?”

“En-Enjolras?”

His voice became a tad quieter, “It’s not a problem, is it?”

“No, of course not! Uh, I don’t have his number though.”

“I’ll send it to you. Okay, my mom’s glaring daggers at me for being rudely on the phone when there are guests. Update me, okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” Eponine replied and hung up. Almost immediately, she received a new contact file from Courfeyrac. She steeled herself and dialed Enjolras’ number.

Two seconds later, he answered, “Hello?”

“Hey, um, it’s Eponine,” she began, “So I did a stupid thing and long story short, can you please go to our office with Courfeyrac’s spare keys?”

–

Twenty minutes later, Enjolras found Eponine sitting on the hallway floor, playing some puzzle game on her phone.

“Hi.”

“Hey, sorry about all this,” she said as she inelegantly scrambled up and dusted the back of her jeans.

“It’s alright. Here,” he replied, handing her the keys.

“Thanks. I’m sure this was not how you thought you’d spend your weekend, huh? I’m sure you missed rescuing me from my own stupidity.”

“You’re not stupid,” he protested.

“Okay, forgetful then,” she shrugged as she swung the door wide open to let him in.

He followed her to her desk, where she quickly booted up her laptop and quickly fired emails with their appropriate attachments. As she typed, she could spy Enjolras staring at the photos on the low divider separating her desk from Courfeyrac’s. They were mostly pictures of her with her siblings or with their friends during various parties and vacations. He seemed to linger at one particular photo. She guessed he finally noticed the one from their university days. She shook her head and concentrated on her task.

Within a few more minutes, Eponine had sent her emails and double-checked that all of them had the missing files attached. She quickly packed up her laptop into her bag and thanked him again for coming.

“It was no big deal, Eponine,” he reiterated as they walked out of the empty office.

“Well, I don’t want to take up more of your time. I’m sure you have a lot to do,” she said as she locked up.

Enjolras shrugged. “I was catching up on TV shows when you called, you weren’t interrupting anything important.”

“TV shows? You?” she joked, handing him back the keys.

“Hey, I do watch them!” he protested as they headed towards the elevator banks.

“Okay, if you say so,” she said, tone hinting that she did not believe him at all.

Enjolras merely smiled at the teasing as they entered the empty elevator. After a while, he spoke again, “And I did, you know.”

“Did what?”

“I did miss you. Not just ‘rescuing you,’ as you said, especially when you were there for me whenever I needed someone too. I missed talking to you. I missed you.”

She froze at the declaration, heart breaking all over again at the sincerity pouring from every word. She wanted to believe him, she really did. She couldn’t meet his eyes, but she couldn’t help the hurt to spill over her next words. “You said you’d keep in touch, you know. That we’d still be friends.”

Enjolras reached out to hold her hand but stopped himself when he saw her shrink to herself. “I know, I’m sorry,” he said, sighing forlornly. “And I meant to, I swear. I tried to, thousand times, but I just couldn’t find the words. And when you never called or messaged me either, I figured you didn’t want to hear from me.”

“Would you have been able to call the man who broke your heart?” Eponine wondered out loud, still turned away from him.

“I-”

“Forget it,” she shook her head. She silently pleaded for the elevator to hurry down the ground floor so she could leave this conversation forever.

The elevator gods must have heard her plea because the door pinged open a moment later.

Eponine rushed out first, speed walking towards the building door. Enjolras followed, matching her stride, brows drawn together, and struggling for the right words to stop her. “Ep-”

“Thanks again for bringing the keys. I have to go now. Bye!” she cut him off, trying for a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

She left him by the building exit, confused as to why his heart was hurting while he watched her walk away.