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Chapter Text

end of April 2016

They're wandering around the mall after school because what else is there to do in Livingston on a weeknight?

Veronica is half-heartedly paying attention to Bernard's tangent about the lack of readily available recycling bins around town when they pass by the storefront for Century 21. "That would look really good on you," she cuts him off, motioning to a mannequin wearing a trendy blazer-khaki combo.

"Oh, not this again," he groans.

She puts her hands up in the universal sign for surrender. "I'm just saying!"

"It has been a week, Veronica. Surely a woman of your intellect is aware of the colloquial definition of insanity?"

"Okay, but why can't I help you pick out something to wear for our prom?"

"I am more than capable of dressing myself."

She gives him a look. He gives her one back. After a momentary staring contest, she cedes. "Ugh, fine. Whatever. Look, I'll let it go, but you know what I'm going to wear, right?"

"Yes, you have mentioned it once or twice." He speaks with such a deadpan; it's sometimes hard for her to tell when he's teasing.

"Well, just make sure we match," she huffs.

"Absolutely."

They keep walking for a while, then she comments cheekily, "After the campaign, I sort of got used to being able to boss you around."

"Well, of course. Your capability was unparalleled when it came to matters of public politics. However, when it comes to matters of style, there is no better expert than I."

That one has to be a joke, right? She sticks her tongue out. "Whatever, Bernie." She only uses the nickname when she's trying to get under his skin, and it's the only time he allows it. In fact, she's the only person from whom he'll tolerate it in the first place.

...

They arrange for her to pick him up two hours before prom starts.

("With your mother in the passenger seat, of course?" he confirmed.

"Yes, yes," she dismissed.)

It is Bernard's understanding that the person who asks the other to prom customarily arranges the transportation, but they both agreed that the Yellow Submarine would not be conducive to their needs for the evening. Moreover, as junior class president, Veronica has to arrive early to oversee and assist with setting up, and she also has items from home that she needs to bring in. It is only prudent for her to drive.

The doorbell rings four minutes later than when she said they would arrive, but he will not begrudge them those four minutes. He calls out, "Grandpa, I will be taking my leave now! I expect to arrive back at 21:30!"

"Oh no, you don't!" his grandfather calls from the attic. Bernard snaps his head upwards, having expected him to be in the backyard like he normally is. The doorbell rings again, demanding his attention, and he shakes off his confusion before quickly opening the front door to see both Krauss women on his porch.

Ms. Krauss effuses, "Oh, Bernard! Don't you look so handsome!"

He does not respond. He is not usually this rude, but his mouth has gone dry.

Veronica is wearing the white dress she pointed out at the mall, accented with golds, pinks, and rose quartz accessories. Her hair is up, but some curled tendrils escape, framing her face elegantly.

She blushes under his intense gaze, and her eyes dart side to side before asking, "Are we good to go?"

"No, you're not!" His grandfather comes barrelling into the room with an old camera in hand. "Did you really think you could leave without some pitchers?" His accent shines through on the word 'pictures'.

Before Bernard could argue, Ms. Krauss whips out a DSLR from her pocket and smirks. "Oswald, you read my mind."

They move to the front porch (easily the most photogenic part of their admittedly run-down home) and pose.

Well, he tries to pose, but Veronica moves one of his hands from where they were grasped behind his back and wraps it around her waist. She rests her outer hand on his chest, and he is sure the camera will capture his blush.

After a few moments like that, Veronica calls out, "Okay, now I want some without Bernard's stupid top hat!"

"What issue do you take with my top hat?!" The white headgear in question matches the rest of his all white three-piece suit, similarly accented in pinks and golds. To finish his ensemble, he even styled his hair. Ever since he lost the election, he had taken to wearing his hair like he used to; but he elected to do something with his hair tonight because he has a sneaking suspicion Veronica prefers it this way. Tonight really is her night, after all.

After more photos, Ms. Krauss says, "Oh! We need to get some pictures of them putting the boutonnière and corsage on each other!"

Ah yes, the decorative dead flowers. Despite his ardent efforts advocating against the superfluous and unnatural use of flora, he eventually acquiesced when Veronica insisted on its status as a tradition. He goes inside to retrieve the corsage from the dining room table, and Veronica gets his boutonnière from the car.

Their respective guardians call out instructions like "Move slowly; I'm trying to get faux-candid shots here!" and "Stop yer trembling, boyo; you're ruining the pitcher!" as they awkwardly adorn each other with the flowers.

As soon as they're done, Veronica hastily proclaims, "All right! It's time to go." She grabs Bernard's hand and pulls him down the steps to the car, ignoring the shouts behind them. Bernard follows suit as she seats herself, and Veronica stares pointedly out at her mother until she also enters the car.

On the way, Ms. Krauss says, "Doesn't Veronica look spectacular tonight, Bernard?"

"Mom," Veronica groans from the front seat.

Her mother continues, "I called in a favour from one of my friends from set and asked her to do V's hair and makeup. A girl only gets one Junior Prom, you know!"

Bernard only nods, refraining from mentioning that while there is indeed only one Junior Prom, Livingston High School also hosts a Senior Prom and Homecoming. No doubt Veronica will also be attending—if not outright planning—those events as well, so she is certainly not lacking in similar opportunities. Instead, he quotes, "The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem / For that sweet odour which doth in it live."

Ms. Krauss briefly furrows her brow in wary disbelief at his… unique compliment, but the look goes unnoticed by the couple as they lock eyes through the rearview mirror. He takes a moment to relish in her blush before reminding her to keep her eyes on the road. Veronica huffs but listens.

As soon as she parks at the high school, Veronica's off. She doesn't even say goodbye to her mother before grabbing a large box of decorations from the trunk and hurrying into the gymnasium; instead, she calls out a reminder to pick them up at eleven. He throws a "Drive safely, Ms. Krauss!" behind him before he hurries after her.

He finds her in the center of the gym, delegating tasks to the gathered student council representatives from their class. One of the teachers present assumes he's also there to help—which, he supposes he is—and immediately puts him to work.

He spends the next hour and a half arranging chairs and tables, setting up larger-than-life flower sculptures he recognises from the art room, and sneaking looks at Veronica in her element. It is not until some of his classmates start filtering in that he realises the work is finally done. He makes his way towards Veronica in the back of the gym, admiring the culmination of their efforts.

When he speaks, he startles her. "I have to admire your colour palette for this evening. Not only does it match the theme your student council has meticulously put together, but they happen to be the exact colours no one wanted to rent from the Men's Warehouse, and I was able to secure a discount."

For some reason, she laughs at this. "Come on,"—she holds his hand—"I happen to know the order in which Principal Greely will call up the tables to get food, and I think we deserve to be first in line, don't you?" she says mischievously.

...

The last time he was in a social situation like this was Veronica's 'town hall meeting', and it was a moderate success. He did not know what to expect from that outing; but this time, he does not run away when Veronica suggests getting some fresh air.

"Lead the way."

They walk out into the hallway, close enough that they can still hear the music but far enough to feel private. She leans against the lockers, and he mirrors her.

"Thanks for helping out with setup earlier. I didn't mean to get you roped into all of that," she says softly.

"It was only practical, else I would have loafed about while waiting for the event to commence."

Silence does not last long between them until the DJ introduces a slow song "for all the young lovers out there" in that obnoxious voice that all DJs seem to have. A gentle piano melody echoes into the hallway, and Veronica's ears perk up.

I could sing it in a verse to you

"Could we dance?"

Clear as crystal in a line or two

"If you wish." He turns to head back into the gym.

If I talk, I have to think it through [1]

She reaches for his hand to keep him still. "We can stay out here," she suggests shyly.

Let me be the hook in your favourite tune

In response, he shifts his hand in hers and holds it up, resting the other hand at the appropriate spot on her waist. She places her other hand on his shoulder, completing the frame.

Meet me in my melody
'Cause words are sometimes hard for me, oh

They sway side to side like that, neither one particularly leading. Amber eyes gaze into hazel, and no words pass between them.

Not a note will play off-key
My heart beats a symphony for you

The arm on his shoulder wraps around his neck, and her other follows. In response, he moves to hold her waist.

I'm not made for witty conversation,
And my jokes sometimes come out all wrong

The new position brings them closer together. Unbeknownst to the other, they are both reminded of their first kiss a week ago.

Despite my conveyed limitations,
I could be the hook in your favourite song

She gently leans her head on his shoulder, and he tilts his head so his cheek rests against her hair. While Veronica enjoys the scent of detergent mingled with woody cologne that she is sure he bought specifically for tonight, Bernard marvels at how he almost denied both of them this experience.

La la la la la la la la la

As the last notes of the song fade out and the DJ shifts into a more upbeat song, they are shaken out of their reverie. She takes a step back. "We, um. We better head back inside. I promised Ms. Wheatley that I'd watch the punch bowl."

"Will you be my girlfriend?" he asks, apropos of nothing.

The fluorescent lights of the hallway dim in comparison to her resulting smile.

mid May 2016

Veronica has it in her head that it would be to do their homework together, so she invites Bernard  over to her house after school.

When they arrive, her mother looks between the two of them and, with the subtlety of a trainwreck, conveniently decides that moment would be the perfect time to get some errands done. "Let me know if you need anything while I'm out," she says to her daughter with an exaggerated wink. Veronica blushes and looks for Bernard's reaction. Either he has the best pokerface of all time, or the entire exchange went over his head. Knowing him, it's 50/50.

They set up in the living room and work in silence. Their customary after-school routines are inherently solitary, so the quiet is nothing new to them.

What is new was being silent around each other. For Veronica's part, it gets awkward very quickly,  feeling like she should be talking but unsure if the other would mind.

When Bernard shifts in his seat, the couch makes a noise. "What was that?" she asks eagerly.

"What was what?"

"I thought you said something."

"No, I did not."

"Oh, okay."

The silence abounds until she reaches the part of her To Do list where she learns 25 Latin words. Out of deference to her boyfriend, she tries to simply study the cards, but she's always been an aural learner.

When she starts reading aloud, Bernard can tell she is keeping her voice low for his sake, but it is a moot endeavour. Her voice feels like it is filling up the room and his brain. He stares at his textbook and resolves to continue his diffusion calculations for AP Chemistry once she finishes, but he can only make it through eleven roots.

"Can you stop that?" he interrupts her second repetition of delictum, -i n. failure.

"Excuse me?"

"When you read aloud, it is distracting."

Stunned, she could do no more but put her notecards to the side and pull out her own AP Bio homework.

They continue to work in silence, and Veronica finds her thoughts wandering to herself and Bernard. More specifically, how they compare as students.

Next year, she's going to take AP Lit, AP US Go/Po, and AP Music Theory; and she knows Bernard's going to take AP Lang, AP US History, and AP Chinese. They'd be equally matched in total number of AP classes taken, which means that—all other things remaining equal—Bernard will still end up as #1 in senior year.

At LHS, the rankings announced in junior year are the ones reported on their student files (and thus, on the CommonApp). However, it is possible that the #1 ranked student in junior year does not retain that rank for senior year, which serves as the basis for deciding valedictorian and salutatorian. She may have made amends with her official #2 ranking (at least, that's what she tells her mother), but Veronica couldn't shake off her inherent competitiveness. She still has a chance to end her high school career on top.

"Maybe if I did continue to read out loud, Bernard would try to do his homework anyway and mess up, which would threaten his otherwise guaranteed A in the course," she thinks errantly before being appalled at her own ruthlessness.

"Okay, this isn't working out," she announces immediately.

Bernard puts down his pen and sighs in relief. "I would have to agree, though it is regretful. I know how important it was to you that we share this time together, and I would be lying if I said I was not also looking forward to it."

She resignedly moves next to him on the couch and cuddles into his side. Unused to such physical displays of affection but decidedly enjoying them, he hesitates before he wraps his arm around her.

"It was so easy to hang out when we were working on your campaign," she pouts.

"Perhaps we just need to be working towards the same goal. The next time a teacher assigns a group project, we should be partners," he muses.

She smirks before lamenting, "If only. There's no way we're going to get a group project so close to the end of the marking term."

"Next time then." He places a buss to the crown of her head, and she closes her eyes in contentment.

"I know you probably want to go home to finish your homework, but can we just hang out here for a bit before you go?" She shifts her head a bit so she can look up into his eyes, and he simply squeezes her side in assent before rummaging through his bookbag. He pulls out a copy of Give Us the Ballot by Ari Berman and settles into a comfortable reading position, allowing Veronica to lean against his side and check the Student Council group chat.

She snorts. "Britton is just now thinking about running for senior class president."

Without looking up from his reading, he remarks, "She will find quite a formidable opponent in you, I am sure."

"Lucky for her, she won't have to find out. She'd be running against Drew Kunin."

Bernard is taken aback. "You are not running for senior class president?"

"Of course not. I'm running for student body president."

He relaxes in understanding. "Ah, of course. You are vying for new heights."

"Aren't I always?" she smirks.

After a moment, Bernard gets an idea. "I think 'next time' arrived sooner than we anticipated." Before Veronica could voice her question, he asks one of his own. "Would you be needing a campaign manager at all?"

She picks up on his plan instantly. "I wasn't in the market for one, but I could be convinced."

"Well, I know a suitable person for the position. He recently ran for a publicly elected office himself. His own campaign manager was prudent, astute, and thorough; he could be the same for you."

"Honestly, I was just thinking of running my campaign myself and delegating tasks to my boyfriend when necessary. I like when I have control of things."

"But if you had a campaign manager, he could anticipate your needs as opposed to merely reacting to them."

Veronica's eyes twinkle before leaning in to give him a peck on the lips. "Alright then. I'll give this guy a chance."

(With her experience and the remnants of Bernard's popularity from the Board of Ed elections, Veronica wins the Student Body President election handily.)

mid june 2016

"Hello?" Bernard queries into the receiver of his house phone.

"Bernard, get ready! I'm picking you up in twenty minutes," is all Veronica says before she hangs up.

To his credit, he prepares to leave despite his confusion. He hears a car honking outside of his house fourteen minutes later.

When he opens the door, he finds Veronica in her mom's Honda Pilot waiting for him. He walks up to the passenger window and asks, "What are you doing?"

"We're going for a drive!" she shouts excitedly.

"Where's your mother?"

"It's just you and me!"

"Veronica," he starts disapprovingly, "if you are pulled over without a supervisor in the vehicle whilst you only possess the examination permit, you would be subject to a $100 fine and a prolonged probationary period before you are allowed to test for your license. Let us not forget the likelihood of community service and the development of a juvenile record!"

She only smirks. "I don't have the examination permit anymore."

"All the more reason you should not be driving on your own!" he insists, scandalised.

She rolls her eyes at him and reaches into her pocket for what looks like a receipt. "I got my license, you doof!" she shouts as she thrusts the paper as far as she can reach from the driver's seat.

He takes the slip to examine it. Sure enough, at the bottom it reads, "This receipt is your temporary license. It expires 90 days from the date of the test. This receipt must be kept with your permit. Your license will be sent to you in the mail," followed by her mature signature. VKrauss.

He looks at her, takes in the elation on her face, and references the score on the page. "So you turn wide, huh?"

She sticks her tongue out at him. "Get in the car, Bernie."

He beams at her as he hops in, finally acknowledging the significance of the moment. "I suppose congratulations are in order, then," he comments as he buckles in.

"More than that. We're going to the city!" she says as she takes off.

"What? Why?"

"Why not!? I have my license, Bernard!"

Her enthusiasm is infectious, so he offers no rebuttal as he settles into the passenger seat and watches the scenery pass him by.

...

They do not quite make it to Manhattan. Instead, they order food from a drive-through in Hoboken and stop at Pier A Park. They skip a bench in favour of finding a patch of grass to themselves, and they eat as they gaze at the crisp bends of the Manhattan skyline. The park is lively with people and pets, but their peace is undisturbed.

By the time they finish their food, the sun is noticeably closer to the horizon. There are a handful of hours yet before sundown, but the lights of the distant metropolis have already begun sparkling. They silently enjoy the view, leaning back on their hands with the fingers of the hands in between them tangled together.

Bernard looks over at her to find her already looking at him. Before he could say anything, she beats him to it.

"I love you."

He can only stare.

"You don't have to say it back or anything, but I thought you should know," Veronica says with a smile.

He is visibly relieved. "Thank you."

Her smile is quickly replaced with a look of incredulity and offense. "Wait, you really don't love me back?" She draws her hand away and sits up straight.

He mirrors her. "I do not know yet. I have only ever really loved Tai Yu [2] before, and that developed naturally over the course of our correspondence."

"Are you saying I don't make you feel the way Tai Yu made you feel?" she demands.

On principle, he does not lie. However, he knows the truth will hurt her feelings, so he says nothing at all.

In the silence after her outburst, Veronica feels second-rate.

She hates that feeling. It doesn't escape her notice that the last time she felt this way, it was also Bernard Flannigan's fault.

She clears her throat as she stands up abruptly. "How about we go home?" she asks, but it comes out as an order. Without waiting for his response, she turns on her heel and briskly walks in the direction of her parked car.

Bernard scrambles to his feet, feeling off-balance in more ways than one. He approaches the car to find Veronica already in the driver's seat and the car started. As soon as the click of his seatbelt sounds, she peels out of the parking space. The sudden acceleration pitches him forward in his seat then backwards again, and the adrenaline strangely settles his heart.

"Please drive less recklessly. You are not the only one in the car," he ventures later as she merges onto the highway.

"I'm sorry, did you get your license today?" she asks rhetorically. "No? Oh, did you get your license ever? Also, no? Then stuff it, Bernard."

He wisely 'stuffs it' for the rest of the trip.

Veronica pulls up to his house so that the passenger door is aligned with the path cutting through his front lawn to his porch. She doesn't let the tears fall until he shuts the door behind him, and she keeps her head turned away because she knows he will look back.

...

They don't talk for a week.

Between the two of them, Veronica is not above holding a grudge; though at night while she lies awake, she can admit to herself that she can't bear the distance any longer. And yet, her pride will not let her cave first. She's the one with a bruised heart here!

So when Bernard calls her on the seventh day, she automatically cancels the incoming call but eagerly opens up her mailbox to listen to the voicemail he leaves inviting her to dinner. She waits a few hours to give off the appearance that she is busy (she is not) before texting him that she'll be there.

The next day, she smiles to herself as she dresses up to go to Bernard's house. His grandfather is out with Barabara [2] for the evening, so Bernard had offered to cook her dinner. She imagines that he spent the week thinking about what he didn't say and that he is making a grand gesture to make up for it.

When he answers the door, she is so chuffed that she doesn't notice his anxiety. She misses the way his hands tremble as he pulls out a chair for her, the way his voice stammers as he announces what he made for dinner. The meal progresses with idle small talk on both of their ends, and Veronica slowly loses her disillusionment as she realises he hasn't said those three, all important words to her yet.

"Don't you have something you'd like to tell me?" she finally asks with a coquettish tone.

Anxiety finally spikes within her when Bernard takes a deep breath to steady himself and looks her in the eyes. Those were not the eyes of a man in love.

He begins, "You asked me if you make me feel the way Tai Yu made me feel; and the truth is, you do not. I suspect you already knew that, but that is not to say I do not feel anything when I am with you. That would be patently untrue."

Veronica was not expecting that. Of course she wasn't. Tears of frustration and embarrassment burn her eyes, and these feelings are only exacerbated as Bernard continues.

"I can say with complete certainty that I was in love with Tai Yu. She is my first love, and I posit it is only natural that my first serious relationship since being with her is wrought with confusion for me. Surely, if I were in love with you too, I would recognise it from my years with Tai Yu?" he asks, almost to himself. He had looked down as he spoke, but he brings his gaze back to hers to emphasise, "But I feel differently with you, and sometimes it feels like… more."

There is a buzzing in her mind, whether from the indignant blood rushing to her cheeks or the self-preserving blockage of his words.

He doesn't love her back. Nothing else he said matters except that he doesn't love her back.

She opens her mouth unconsciously, a scathing retort that may or may not end with a complete severance of their relationship on the ridges of her teeth, but Bernard quickly and earnestly finishes with, "I do not have a word for it yet. I may not be ready to call it love, but I implore you to see it for what it is instead of for what it is not."

When she looks into his eyes, his earnest hope for her understanding almost hurts more. How can he sit there and expect her to be okay with this? He doesn't love her back!

And yet, his authenticity allays her ire. Against her will, she is left only with pain. No comfort, no promises, just pain. And frustration.

She loves him. He has so much control over her emotions. She lets him.

She turns away, both to keep her tears at bay and to limit his potency. "And what is it, exactly?"

Her voice is steady and acerbic. She cannot bring herself to feel remorse for it, however.

Bernard noticeably gulps, taking his time to figure out the wording that will make her understand. Eventually: "It is the fact that I have never been able to see Tai Yu's reactions to anything I did; but sometimes when you smile at something I say, I lose focus on my surroundings. It is the fact that I have only known you for a matter of months, but you have become indispensable to me. It is the fact that not talking to you for this past week has been uncomfortable, made even worse by knowing that you are in pain, that I am the cause of it. These feelings… they are intense, sometimes; but are they love?"

She closes her eyes at the last sentence, finally allowing the tears to fall.

She wants to hate him. She wants to hurt him. She wants to misunderstand him—but she cannot. She knows exactly what he means. She feels the same way.

It's just that she has a word for it.

Veronica takes a deep breath. She nods once, twice, before finally meeting his gaze again. "Alright."

"Pardon me?"

She nods again, frantically brushing more tears off of her cheeks and sniffing. "I will try to see it for what it is instead of what it isn't."

He goes to her side and reaches for her. She eyes his outstretched palm with a perfunctory resistance before completing the hold. He immediately pulls her up into a hug that she cannot help but tighten, and she barely hears his murmured words but for the anxious pounding in her heart.

"Thank you for your patience."

She chooses to believe the wait will be worth it.

early July 2016

When Bernard learns that Veronica has no solid plans for Independence Day aside from the town barbeque, he is eager to invite her family to join his family in their festivities.

(The way he calls it 'Independence Day' instead of 'the Fourth of July' indicates to her that the holiday means way more to him than to the average citizen; but if she really thinks about it, Bernard being extremely patriotic just makes sense.)

She's not surprised that her mom begs off of the ceremonial raising of the flag at dawn. When she finds herself driving to town square at 4:15 am, she wonders why she didn't do the same.

Her boyfriend breaks away from the small crowd gathered by the flagpole as she parks her car. "I am pleased you were able to make it. Thank you for being early." He grasps her hand and eagerly guides her to where he was standing with his grandfather.

Through a yawn, Veronica says, "Of course, Bernard. Wouldn't miss this for the world, much less for a few extra hours of sleep."

"Oh, please. If you can still be sarcastic, how tired can you really be?"

"More tired than that rebuttal, I assure you."

He drops their banter in favour of looking at his watch. He actually bounces on the balls of his feet in excitement. "It should be starting soon."

She pulls his watch over and looks at the time. The clock changes from 4:31 to 4:32 am.

Just then, someone steps on the base of the flagpole, elevating him above the paltry crowd. (A few more people showed up since she arrived, but not that many.) He clears his throat once and begins performing the Star Spangled Banner.

On the shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep,
Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes,
What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep,
As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses?

And a performance it is. As the man's soothing baritone delivers the lesser known verses of Francis Scott Key's magnum opus, someone in the background raises the flag inch by inch.

Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam,
In full glory reflected now shines in the stream:

In the otherwise-stillness of the night, the entire moment seems very poignant.

'Tis the star-spangled banner! O, long may it wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

Of course, Veronica immediately noticed that the reader began out of order; and as he continues, she understands why.

He manages to time his delivery of the true first verse so that he sings 'by the dawn's early light' just as the flag reaches full-mast and as the sky lights up with the first streaks of morning.

Though Veronica is appreciative of having the privilege of being born in the United States, she never considered herself to be very patriotic. However, with the vision of the American flag flowing softly in the morning breeze against the backdrop of the pitch black sky being chased away by the sun… there is something deeper than appreciation swelling within her, so much so that there are tears in her eyes. It's a beautiful display. The only thing that could have drawn her attention away from the sight is—

Bernard slips his hand into hers, and in her surprise she jerks her head to face him. He faces upwards, enraptured at the proceedings and tears freely falling down his cheeks. She can see that his grandfather is holding his other hand and is in much the same state.

Without tearing his gaze away, Bernard squeezes her hand once, so she faces the flag just in time to hear the man recite the final "O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!"

By now, the sky is fully aglow with the colours of dawn. After a moment of reverent silence, the man speaks up again, thanking everyone for coming out to start their Independence Day with them. Some people clap, some people walk up to him to talk, and some people go back home.

Veronica looks around incredulously. Are their ears broken? Did they not just experience the same thing she did? Impossible; and yet, everyone else is going about their morning as though they didn't.

"Thank you, again, Veronica, for coming to the ceremonial raising of the flag. I understand this is not the ideal way to begin the holiday, but it really means a lot to me," Bernard says from her side.

She turns to see him wiping away the tear tracks on his face just as Oswald puts his hand on Bernard's shoulder in affection.

"Uh, sure. Of course. No problem… Yeah," she stammers in mild confusion as she reels over the intense emotion she just experienced. Already, she can feel it ebbing as she comes back to herself, but the aftereffects are very much present. "Um. So what's next, again?"

"Grandpa and I are going back home to make breakfast, and then we convene with the Livingston Historical Society to get into costume for the reenactment of the signing of the Declaration of Independence. Will you be joining us for either of those?"

She inwardly snickers at how nerdy her boyfriend and his family are. On the outside, she nods over her shoulder at where she parked her car. "I'll give you a ride home in exchange for the free breakfast, but I'll have to take a pass on the reenactment."

"If you insist; though, I must warn you: it will be riveting this year."

"Sure, if the halfwit playing Hancock would stop snickering at his name!" Oswald snarks.

Together, they pack up the Yellow Submarine into her mom's car. When she pulls out of her parking spot, the radio clock reads 5:07 am. She is mildly disappointed when Bernard sits in the back with his grandfather, but they get to make eye contact through the rearview mirror and share secret smiles, so it's not all bad.

...

She honestly does think about surprising Bernard by attending the reenactment, but she accidentally sleeps through it, and she can't bring herself to feel guilty about it. In lieu, she walks to his house to hang out for a little bit and hear all about his rousing performance as Abraham Clark, but no one answers the door. A few more attempts do not change the result.

She scoffs at the closed door. Is he ignoring her for missing the event? Miffed, she storms back home just as her mother pulls into the parking lot.

"Veronica, honey! Help me bring this all in."

'This all' ends up referring to several pounds of veggie burgers, accompanying burger buns, and sets of condiments. "What's this for?"

"I ran into Marcia Hernandez at the Declaration of Independence thing that the Flannigans invited us to,"—she cuts herself off with a pointed look, and Veronica simply shrugs—"and she was all in a huff about how she wasn't going to be able to make the veggie burgers for the Livingston Barbeque that she signed up to make! And I said, 'You know what, Marcia? I'm not doing anything for the barbeque, why don't I make your share?' So I went to the grocer's, and wouldn't you know it, they only had veggie burgers left! Can you imagine—"

"—You think you can cook enough veggie burgers for all of Livingston in four hours?" Veronica cuts in disbelievingly.

Her mom has the grace to look sheepish. "How many vegetarians can there be?"

They spend the next few hours as a well-oiled machine, cooking the veggie burgers in as many different appliances as possible (microwave, stove, grill, you name it) and arranging the food in some extra aluminum trays they had in their kitchen.

They are just heading out when the Flannigans arrive. Bernard's mouth twists into a moue at the sight of all the paper napkins, plastic plates, and plastic utensils still in the bags from the supermarket. With the tact of a porcupine in a balloon store, he asks, "Ms. Krauss, don't you want your grandchildren to live without fear of dioxin poisoning?"

"Excuse me?!" "Boyo?" Janet and Oswald exclaim at the same time.

Veronica, who noticed where her boyfriend's attention was before he opened his big dumb mouth, immediately understands his train of thought and rolls her eyes. She speaks up to diffuse the situation, "Mom, how about you and Oswald take the food to the park and start setting up? Bernard and I can take his bike to the grocery store and exchange everything for some greener options."

Bernard looks at her with pride, which is almost enough to offset her previous annoyance with him.

After they park the bike outside of the local supermarket, he goes to the aisle with the disposables and intently searches for appropriate replacements. She follows boredly behind him with a shopping cart.

"I went by your house earlier today," she speaks up as he inspects the packaging of a pack of paper towels.

"Correct," he says offhandedly.

"Like at noon, not this morning."

"Oh, after the reenactment? Grandpa and I took a nap," he says as he returns the package to the shelf, clearly dissatisfied and not paying very much heed to the bite in her tone.

Her movement halts; but amidst the embarrassment at her misunderstanding of the situation, she is overall pleased with its resolution. Annoyance summarily forgotten, she skips up behind him and looks over his shoulder. "What's wrong with the other paper towels? It had a little recycling icon on it."

"Just because the packaging has green motifs and the recyclable symbol on it does not mean the product itself is manufactured with post-consumer recycled materials," he huffs as he rejects yet another package.

She rolls her eyes in fondness. "Come on, Bernard. You know as well as I do that PCR products are too expensive for most mainstream supply chains."

"Does that mean I should not try to buy them anyway?" he challenges as she goes back to some of the other items and puts them in their cart.

"Alright, here's the deal. I'll ring these up, you go 'encourage' the manager to consider purchasing some more sustainable products, and we'll set up some clearly marked recycling bags by the veggie burgers. Sound good?" She is already headed towards check-out, but her stride slows when she feels his hand rest over hers on the handle of the shopping cart.

"You are most adept at compromise," he states, and she blushes at the open look of wonder on his face.

...

Bernard strolls over to where Veronica is putting away the remnants of their barbeque booth into the trunk of her mom's car. "Are you heading home already?"

She spares him a glance as she works. "Yeah, once mom finishes getting her fix of the neighbourhood gossip."

"You'll miss the fireworks," he objects.

She looks at him in confusion. "You're into those? They're not very utilitarian."

He gives an acceding shrug. "Intellectually, I cannot condone their use; but neither can I deny the curious adrenaline rush that a well-planned Independence Day show engenders in me."

"I don't know… I'm exhausted. I was up before the crack of dawn at some dummy's behest, you know."

"Perhaps this individual is under the impression you very much appreciated the morning festivities… and also takes issue with being called a 'dummy'," he defends, stammering with the colloquialism.

She shrugs, faux-nonchalant and self-deprecating at once. "No, he's certainly still a dummy… But I love him anyway."

Having turned away, she misses the look of determination that settles over his face.

"Please stay," he implores after a beat of silence.

She looks at him for a long moment, searching for something he hopes she finds, then whispers, "Okay."

Veronica fires off a text to her mom letting her know that they don't have to leave until after the firework show, to which her mom replies with an emoji of two people kissing followed by several fireworks emojis. She hastily shoves her phone away, even knowing that Bernard wouldn't see it, and follows her boyfriend to where the treeline meets the park.

"It is rather difficult to find privacy at an event like this. All things considered, however, I think this is an excellent location to view the proceedings," he says as he motions for her to sit on the blanket he had spread out ahead of time.

"What ever will we be needing privacy for, Bernard?" she teases. Her laughter spills out when he refuses to dignify her with a response.

The sun finally sets, and someone nearby excitedly guesses that "the fireworks won't be long now!" Veronica yawns and stretches, falling back on her hands.

Bernard mimics her pose, the fingers of the hands in between them tangled together.

Immediately feeling deja vu, she looks over to find Bernard already looking at her. Before she could say anything, he beats her to it.

"I love you."

She only stares.

"You do not have to say it back or anything, but I thought you should know," he says with a smile.

She doesn't collect herself to respond in time before the first firework goes off, but Bernard relaxes back to watch the show anyway. She doesn't realise her heart is pounding until a suspenseful break in the fireworks.

She cannot say that the wait was worth it, but this moment was certainly one worth waiting for.

late Aug 2016

To help pass the summer, they decide to embark on a traveling book club of sorts. Veronica buys them each a copy of Heat and Light by Jennifer Haigh as Bernard's birthday gift; it had been on his wishlist ever since it was published. She takes advantage of her license to transport them all over the metropolitan New York/New Jersey area just to spend the day reading in the summer shade and experiencing new neighbourhoods during their breaks. That was the plan for today as well, but it is so unbearably hot that they retreat to her living room instead.

They'd been reading in silence for almost an hour when she finally brings up the topic she's been thinking about since the last day of junior year.

"Have you already narrowed down where you want to go to college?"

He doesn't look up from the book, but she is paying enough attention to notice him tense for just a second. After a pause, "Previously, yes. When I was under the impression that I must remain a commutable distance from my grandfather, I had compiled a suitable list of institutions of higher education."

"And now?"

He faces her with a sigh. "Grandpa wants me to look further," he admits. "Now that the entire country is at my disposal, I have to admit that I am quite overwhelmed."

She doesn't want to seem giddy, but she is. "Well, what are the schools that are nationally ranked for your preferred field of study?"

He smirks at her. She errantly thinks that he wouldn't have done that seven months ago. "Are you asking because you wish to know what said preferred field of study is?"

She looks him right in the eye. "Yes."

His smirk turns into a casual grin. "I am indecisive between political journalism and linguistics. It seemed as though there are very few degrees specialising in political journalism to begin with, so—assuming I decide to pursue that field—I suppose then I would get a journalism degree with a minor in political science. Or the other way around. I have been assured that, at many institutions, I can declare a major any time before the end of the first year, so I will not do so hastily."

Veronica smiles to herself. She did guess something along those lines, but it feels good knowing she was right.

"I wish to follow Guidance Counselor Llanes' wisdom regarding safety, target, and reach schools. However, I have so many options from which to choose for each range. I am unsure how I should go about narrowing down the list. If Grandpa had his way, I'd apply to as many as twelve, but that strikes me as superfluous."

"Nina in Student Council made some Excel sheet to help visualise her decision to narrow down her school choices. Maybe it can help you?" she offers.

He considers it. "That sounds efficient. Yes, please forward it to me."

Veronica grabs her laptop, and they migrate to his house since Bernard still uses a desktop.

("Why don't you just buy a laptop?"

"Buying a laptop includes paying the modern-day tithe known as a warranty."

"You know you're going to have to get a laptop for college, right?"

"Not necessarily. Some schools have loan programs or computer centers of which I can avail myself."

"Sure, but they can be inconvenient and unreliable. You should just get one of your own."

"Your suggestion has been recorded and filed away for future consideration.")

They begin populating the spreadsheet together, and the reason Veronica even brought this up in the first place finally presents itself: Bernard's reach list.

UPenn, Vanderbilt, Brown, Stanford, Northwestern, Cornell, Pitzer, University of Southern California, Pomona, UC Berkeley.

She frowns, then reads it again.

UPenn, Vanderbilt, Brown, Stanford, Northwestern, Cornell, Pitzer, University of Southern California, Pomona, and UC Berkeley.

But of course, the list hasn't changed.

She is hurt, and she barely takes the time to understand why before her lips are moving. "I notice Yale isn't on this list. Although, I can't imagine why. Yale probably has high-ranking programs in all three of your potential majors. Unless, of course, you are content with inferiority."

She winces as soon as she finishes. She didn't want to sound so childish, so mean.

Bernard gives her a sidelong glance, understanding the subtext behind her vitriol immediately. He hesitates, then comments, "Empirical evidence suggests high school romances that follow each other to the same college are likely to break up within the first month of classes."

Just like that, her guilt hardens into offense. "Were you planning on breaking up with me before, during, or after graduation, then?"

To his credit, Bernard keeps calm in the face of his girlfriend's mounting wrath. "I had no such intention. I was merely quoting someone else's conclusion."

She keeps her hard gaze levelled at Bernard, who eventually shakes his head and mutters to himself, "I had expected to have this discussion with you at a later date, but my timeline was not very strict…"

Speaking clearly and raising his eyes to hers, he continues. "I believe it would be disrespectful to us both if we had prematurely terminated our relationship simply in anticipation of a later termination. It would only serve to expedite an unassured unhappiness, and there is no prevailing evidence suggesting that our romance would not survive such a transition."

The way he ends his statement indicates his expectation of some sort of acknowledgement, so she meekly nods. Bernard lets out a breath he was unaware that he was holding, and the tension releases from her frame along with it.

After a beat, he jokes, "For the record, Yale only had a high-ranking program in two of my fields of interest."

She swats him on the shoulder, but she settles down on his bed and opens her laptop to begin the research. As she rambles about the FAFSA and extra-curricular offerings, Bernard silently muses to himself that thirteen schools isn't an unreasonable number.

mid Sep 2016

Whenever the opportunity presents itself, Bernard lets her drive him home.

"Wanna catch a movie or something this weekend? There's some indie, high school, coming-of-age thing playing at the Don; it could be cute." She doesn't take her eyes off the road; she knows how much that bugs him.

"Thank you for the invitation, but I must decline. My father's birthday is imminent, but it will be difficult for me to visit him on the day-of. I plan on conducting my customary rituals this weekend."

His voice is as neutral as it always is, which is why it takes Veronica a second to understand what he means. She takes a quick look at him in surprise.

"Please keep your eyes on the road, Veronica!" he exclaims with all the emotion with which she would have expected him to deliver his previous statements.

She doesn't talk again until she turns onto his street, and then she stops him before he can leave the car. "Would you like some company?" she asks softly.

Bernard considers her offer seriously. He has always been alone when he celebrated his father's birthday. He is unsure if he wanted to break that tradition; but then he thinks that if his father were alive, he would have loved to meet her.

"I would. Thank you."

That Saturday, Veronica wears black because she doesn't know what else to wear when you meet your boyfriend's father for the first time at his gravesite. She arrives at eleven o'clock sharp to pick up the Flannigans.

"Grandpa will not be joining us today," Bernard informs her as he closes the house door behind him. She offhandedly notices that he's wearing his bookbag. "He has his own traditions for the death of his son."

She tries not to let the shock show on her face. Before this moment, she honestly didn't know whether Oswald was his paternal or maternal grandfather.

"Would you mind if we rode the Yellow Submarine to the cemetery?" he asks in his same neutral tone, but she senses that there is a correct answer to this question.

He parks the bicycle near the welcome center before leading her in silence to the edge of the property. As they approach, she can see a carved stone bench situated in front of three identical gray granite gravestones.

"Hello, Grandmother. Hello, Mother. Hello, Father," he greets earnestly as he sits down. She follows his lead and faces the final resting places of the biggest influences in her boyfriend's life. Time and exposure have worn away some of the text, but the bulk of it is still readable. The three stones are obviously very well cared for.

ELIZABETH I. FLANNIGAN
? ?, 1928 [3] - MAY 28, 2009
WIFE, MOTHER, GRANDMOTHER, EDUCATOR

DR. EUGENE Q. FLANNIGAN
SEPT 19, 1966 - DEC 28, 2005
HUSBAND, FATHER, EDUCATOR, SKIER

DR. CYNTHIA P. FLANNIGAN
JUNE 2, 1968 - DEC 28, 2005
WIFE, MOTHER, ?, SKIER

Bernard takes a breath and begins. "I bear no flowers, though I have brought a guest. Unorthodox, I am aware, but I trust you will pardon the variance from past visits. I previously mentioned her to you as my campaign manager, but since then we have embarked on a romantic relationship." He turns and smiles at Veronica. "She makes me very happy." She offers a shy smile in return.

He clears his throat and changes focus. "To borrow from the Sri Lankan customs of the Buddhist faith, I have brought water to pour into an overflowing cup to symbolise giving merit to the deceased. Veronica, would you help me?"

From his bookbag, he takes out three mugs that he brought from home and instructs her to balance one on each tombstone. Together, they fill each mug to the brim with water from some bottles he also brought. He motions for her to sit, and she watches him pour more water into each mug. She becomes hyper-fixated as the rivulets of water form on the lip of the mug and pool at the base.

He pours extra water into his father's cup, and one stream of water makes it over the edge of the stone and drips down to the carved letters.

Once he is done, he returns to the bench and slowly proceeds to fill everyone in since the last time he visited. Based on the events he recounts, she surmises that he has not been back since before the elections, at least.

She does not interrupt him, mostly from a lack of something to say. She has never visited the grave of someone important to her before, and she is feeling quite out of her element.

When he finishes, he seems peaceful. On the other hand, she is so out of her comfort zone that she cannot sit in that peace for long, despite her best efforts to restrain herself.

"Do you want to sing him a happy birthday?" she blurts out.

Bernard raises his eyebrows at his girlfriend in shock. She has not spoken since the water-pouring, and the thing she suggests is decidedly divergent from his customary birthday traditions. He says as much.

"Oh." She looks away to hide her embarrassment, and he hastily reaches for her hand to correct himself. "It is not a bad idea, however."

He turns back to his father's gravestone, and it is his turn to be embarrassed. He hopes his cheeks are not too red when he begins singing.

To her amusement, his singing voice is the same pitch as his speaking voice, but it honestly isn't bad. He has obviously had no training, but it's still soothing somehow.

She joins in at the second recitation of 'happy birthday to you,' and his quick, grateful side-eye assures her that she is welcome here more than Bernard's actual invitation.

After they finish singing, they sit in silence until Bernard breaks it. "Your singing voice appropriately matches your countenance," he comments, voice as neutral as ever.

For just an instant, Veronica is no longer at the cemetery. First, she is in Starbucks with a racing heart and fighting a blush. Yes, Veronica. I think you have a beautiful mind and a beautiful body. Then she is in her car, driving to her junior prom. The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem for that sweet odour which doth in it live.

With a blink, she feels the cold, hard surface of the stone bench beneath her again. Bernard is still facing forward, and Veronica is still in love.

early Oct 2016

"I don't think I can do this," she hyperventilates. The fear that she might crush the lone flower in her hand only adds to her mounting anxiety.

"Yes, you can!" her friend responds exasperatedly. "We're literally walking to her hallway right now."

They turn the corner, and she stops in her tracks. "Oh my god, there she is."

"Of course she's here! We recon'ed her locker every day last week so that you couldn't miss her and wimp out!"

Harinakshi shakes her head rapidly as she seriously contemplates turning tail. "No, no. I can't do this; I'm not ready!"

Anisha almost goes as far as to physically slap some sense into her friend, but she just barely reigns in that impulse. "You've memorised your lines. You've wanted this for ages. The chance is right in front of you! Stop being a little bitch and take it."

Instead of waiting for a response, Anisha pushes Harinakshi forwards and hides around the corner.

Out in the open, Harinakshi senses no other option but to keep moving forward. She takes measured steps towards her goal, one foot in front of the other, and eventually reaches the open door of the locker of the girl on whom she's secretly harboured a crush since last year. Anisha watches on surreptitiously.

"Hey, Veronica," Harinakshi greets with as much confidence as she can muster.

Veronica jumps a little bit in surprise. "Oh, hey! Harkinashi, right?"

"She knows my name!" she internally squeals. "Harinakshi, but close!"

Veronica grimaces slightly. "Ah, sorry. Harinakshi. What's up?"

Harinakshi breathes in once, and on the exhale asks, "Would you go to homecoming with me?" She pulls her hand from behind her back, revealing a light pink tulip with a slightly bruised stem.

"Um, what?"

Slightly disheartened by the abrupt reaction, Harinakshi can only repeat herself with a slightly more hopeful tone. "I'd really love to accompany you to homecoming," she says, extending the tulip to Veronica.

Harinakshi catches the flash of pity in Veronica's (soulful, verdant) eyes, and she already wants to crawl into a hole and die there.

"I'm sorry, Harinakshi. I'm already going to homecoming with someone else," Veronica lets down as nicely as possible, but the words still ring in Harinakshi's ears.

"Oh. Yeah. Of course," Harinakshi stutters as she backpedals. "That makes sense. I should have known. You can pretend this never happened if you want to. I know I will. Oh, ugh, I shouldn't have said that. I, um. I'm gonna go. See you around."

From her hiding spot, Anisha can see her friend's tense body back away, and she knows that she will be buying a lot of ice cream tonight. She prepares to initiate the back-up retrieval protocol she and Harinakshi had established for when disaster strikes.

And then disaster strikes.

"Namaskar, Harinakshi. How are you two ladies today?" Bernard greets congenially even as Harinakshi backpedals directly into him.

She is so embarrassed that she promptly bursts into tears.

Anisha finally swoops in. "Hey, Barf—Bernard, Veronica. Please excuse Harinakshi. Her, uh, pet just died. She's still very affected, as you can tell. I'll take it from here. You two have a good day now."

As she talks, she wraps Harinakshi in her arms and walks them away slowly. She parts with a brusque "Don't make a big deal out of this" as she finally turns the corner.

Veronica and Bernard stare after them silently. A moment later, Harinakshi's wail of "I'm so pathetic!" echoes down the corridor.

"What just occurred?"

Veronica sighs. "Harinakshi asked me to homecoming, and I guess she was upset that I was already going with someone."

He raises his eyebrows in surprise. "I have to admit: I did not quite see that coming."

"You and me both."

They begin to walk to AP Calc BC, their one shared class of the year. "When were you going to tell me that we were going to homecoming?" Bernard queries.

She stares at her boyfriend incredulously. "Was that not obvious?"

"Not very, no."

"Bernard, we're going to homecoming," she responds flatly.

"I was under the impression that asking someone to a dance involved a touch more romance than that."

She bumps her shoulder into his. "You're such a dummy."

...

Just like for Junior Prom, Veronica picks up Bernard. There is fortunately less interjection from their guardians this time around on the contingency that the couple get pictures taken by the hired event photographer. She is wearing spring green and white, and he complements her in spring green and black. She privately muses that in her heart of hearts, this is exactly what she expected her senior year of high school to look like.

They arrive at the exact time the event is scheduled to begin, and the gymnasium is steadily filling with their peers. Streamers, balloons, and tablecloths are festooned with the school colours of cerulean and white, and several tables near the stage are sectioned off for the school's sports teams and their dates.

Having not planned this event herself, Veronica didn't get first pick of tables, which poses a problem she didn't entirely anticipate. Neither she nor Bernard gained any new connections other than each other after the Board of Ed elections. They did become more popular, but only in the sense that more people recognised their names. That isn't quite enough in the face of a whole evening sitting at a table of otherwise strangers.

They end up with some of the theatre kids. The couple soon discover that as long as they didn't display any ignorance regarding the world of Broadway and pretend that they are excited to watch the fall play, they would be fine.

After taking the requisite photographs, Bernard offers to get the two of them something to drink. He is waiting his turn when Stephanie Bon from his AP Chinese class leans over and asks if he voted yet. Delighted, he answers, "I prefer to vote in-person, but I wholeheartedly support using New Jersey's mail-in ballot system. Have you already picked yours up?"

Stephanie looks very concerned. "Um, I voted for Homecoming King and Queen, if that's what you meant… That's what I meant."

His delight remains for a wholly different reason. "There is a democracy associated with this event? I was unaware."

"Uh, yeah. Booth's over there," she says, pointing to a special table near the back of the gym.

He looks over in curiosity, and Stephanie walks away, less than impressed.

When he returns to the table, Veronica gives him a panicked look. "What took you so long? They were going around and debating Lea Michele's version of 'Don't Rain on My Parade' against Barbra Streisand's! I don't think they were very, uh, satisfied with my response."

He ignores her, knowing by now that she is merely venting. "Why did you not tell me there was a democratic component of the homecoming dance? I have to say, Veronica, many experts cite open communication as being pivotal to a successful and long-lasting romantic relationship. Your actions are not very conducive to the same."

She looks at him quizzically before realising, "Oh, you mean Homecoming King and Queen? It's just one big popularity contest—even more so than the public elections!" she continues before he can cut her off. "These are merely titles and not roles. Once the night is over, no one cares who Homecoming King and Queen are."

"Why didn't you withdraw from the ballot if that's how you feel?" a voice to her side asks.

The couple's attention turns to Jared Nguyen, as does the attention of everyone else at the table.

"What are you talking about? I did withdraw. I was way too busy with some other Student Council things to even help with the dance, much less campaign for Queen."

Some people on the table immediately grimace. Jared clarifies, "Something must have happened because… your name is definitely still on the ballot."

Veronica's eyes widen almost comically. "Oh no."

Jared shrugs in response. Veronica desperately wants to ask if anyone has voted for her, but she already knows the answer.

She's okay with this, she reminds herself. She took herself out of the running in the first place because Homecoming Queen isn't a position you can list on the CommonApp, afterall. She reasonably wouldn't win anyway since she didn't campaign for it. No one would think she cares. She doesn't care.

She sighs to herself. It may not affect her future, but it sure is affecting her now.

Bernard sees the resignation on his girlfriend's face and wonders. He would be the first to admit that he cannot guess what Veronica might be feeling at the moment or even why, but he thinks he knows what to do.

"Veronica, would you like to dance?" he asks as he stands up and outstretches his hand.

She accepts. He leads them to the dancefloor… and keeps walking through. Though perplexed, she follows his lead. She doesn't offer resistance until she realises where they're going.

"What are you doing, Bernard?" she asks tiredly.

"Exercising my civil rights," he says without an ounce of sarcasm.

"I thought you wanted to dance."

"That was merely a ploy to separate ourselves from the table. I sensed you were discomfited and presumed you would prefer to be so without perceived judgement from our peers," he says as he begins filling out a ballot.

"Well, you're not wrong…"

Bernard places his ballot in the box and turns to his girlfriend. "I also wanted you to have visual proof that no matter what occurs tonight, you know at least one person voted for you."

It her a second to really understand what just happened, and he is pleased at the way her face lights up. He catches her tackle-hug in stride but is completely thrown off by the firm kiss she gives him afterwards.

"Bernard, you are the best boyfriend ever!"

He instantly frowns. "You know how I feel about unnecessary hyperbole."

She giggles and pulls him to the dance floor.

A few songs later, Principal Greely calls for the homecoming court candidates to take the stage and for everyone else to take their seats.

Veronica hesitates before walking up, but then Bernard gives her hand a squeeze. She has the vote of the one person that matters. She gives him a quick smile and takes off, Bernard happily watching after her.

"Livingston High Bears!" Principal Greely booms from the stage. "It is finally the moment you've all been waiting for: the crowning of this year's Homecoming Court!" he exclaims to boisterous applause.

"I know just as much as you do, folks. Why don't we do something about that? Please welcome to the stage: Neil Keller, the head of the Homecoming Committee, who carries with him the results from tonight's voting!"

As Neil walks across the stage to polite applause, both Bernard and Veronica could see the uneasiness on his face. He steps close to Principal Greely and whispers something to him. After a muted conversation, the principal nods in understanding. Neil gives an awkward wave to the crowd before scurrying off the stage.

"Tonight's a good one, folks! One of the winners tonight is actually not on this stage. We have a write-in candidate, everybody! I am just as excited as you are to find out who it is," the principal proclaims. A murmur immediately begins amongst the students, everyone wondering just how this is going to unfold.

"As always, we begin with our King," Principal Greely says as he opens the envelope. "Livingston High's Homecoming King of 2016 is… Bernard Flannigan?!" he announces in shock.

The resulting cacophony is deafening, everyone in attendance recognising his name and roaring with approval. Bernard does not even feel himself being jostled by his fellow students towards the stage as the shock from the announcement dulls all of his senses. It is not until he trips up the steps to the raised platform that he becomes aware that he is no longer standing where he was before.

He immediately looks over to see Veronica's reaction, and he does not know how to feel about the incredulous humour on her face.

"Help me!" he mouths as he walks forward, but she only, infuriatingly, shrugs.

The spotlight on the stage sears hotter than the sun, and the plastic crown Principal Greely puts on his head weighs a hundred pounds. Cognisant that he has the attention of every single student in the building, Bernard tries to keep the intense confusion from showing on his face.

"Guess we know who the write-in was, huh, folks? What a surprise!" Principal Greely exclaims. "Now let's see who the lucky Bear is that gets to wear the Queen's crown! Your Homecoming Queen of 2016 is… Emma Lazareth!"

An athletic senior in a golden form-fitting dress steps forward to accept her crown with a gigantic smile on her face, but it is obvious that the crowd is not as excited about this development as they were about Bernard's crowning. Emma's smile falters, but she quickly checks herself.

"Make room on the dancefloor, folks, and let the King and Queen of 2016 have their dance," Principal Greely says as the DJ plays an acoustic version of some Top 40 hit.

Bernard takes Principal Greely's cue to lead Emma back to the gym floor. He locks his arms into a standard ballroom frame, which thankfully places his hand over a clothed part of Emma's back, and woodenly sways to the beat.

"Come on, Bernie," Emma breaks the ice a moment later. "I know you got more rhythm than that."

"You will, of course, excuse my unimpressive dancing in light of the absolutely incredible occurrence from not even five minutes ago. Additionally, my name is Bernard."

"If you think it's so incredible, you could stand to smile about it."

"I am using the term denotatively. I genuinely cannot believe it happened, hence 'incredible'."

"Well, how do you think I feel, Mr. Incredible? I get crowned Homecoming Queen, and no one gives a shit because you were the wild card tonight, and you don't even want the attention!"

Bernard looks at her inscrutably. "You would be correct about that."

As soon as the song ends, he drops Emma's hands and beelines for Veronica, waiting by the stage. "Do you want to get some air?" he asks meaningfully.

She raises her hand, already clenched around her car keys, and smirks. "You read my mind."

...

She drives them out to South Mountain Reserve because she knows Bernard has never been before. The primarily bipedal person he is, he hardly ever gets to go out this far west.

"Who is Emma Lazareth?" he asks as they hike one of the trails in the waning sunlight. "She gave off the impression that I should know who she is."

If Veronica were more insecure in their relationship, she would have taken great pleasure in his question. As it is, she just laughs. "She's a senior and captain of the Varsity Cheer Squad. She's easily the most popular girl in school."

He just nods in response, and she grins. "What? Homecoming King of 2016 didn't enjoy his dance with Aphrodite?"

He ignores her dig. "I have to confess, this is the first time I have ever heard of a write-in candidate winning anything, even in high school."

"Well, Strom Thurmond, you haven't really had the prototypical high school experience, have you?"

"Please, never associate me with that troglodyte ever again." Her laugh does wonders to improve Bernard's mood.

They walk like that down the path until they come across a small river, where they decide to sit on some rocks along the shore and hang out. In the still of the evening, they can hear the autumn wind gently rustling the branches. The golden leaves of the forest strain to reflect the vestiges of the sunset; and across the river, they can see fireflies blink in and out of existence. The clean smell of the earth and water instantly relaxes them. Out here, he feels like nothing else matters.

Movement to his side causes him to look over. Veronica deposits her heels on the side of the rock she was sitting on and dips her feet into the bank of the river. Her motion distorts the reflection of the stars twinkling awake in the stream. Her eyes are trained upwards, a content smile on her face as the world conspires to illuminate her profile.

When he thinks of her later, his mind's eye will provide this image, and Shakespeare echoes once again through his brain.

mid Nov 2016

Janet is at the dining table doing some work when she hears her daughter come down the stairs. "Hi, honey," she calls without looking up from her computer. "Are you heading out?"

She is shocked out of her focus when she hears Veronica settle across from her at the dining table. "Nah. Bernard's going to bed early tonight because he has that cycle-thon tomorrow, so I'm gonna get some homework done while we're apart. I told you what happened the last time we studied together, right?"

"Yes, you did," Janet responds distractedly before hurriedly continuing, "V, it's a Friday night! Isn't there a party or something you can go to?"

Veronica snorts as she opens up her calculus books. "We tried that once, and the parents busted us, remember?"

"Aw, how bad could that have been? I didn't even get a phone call!"

Veronica quirks an eyebrow at her mom, idly wondering how she could be her mother's daughter, before shrugging and turning her attention back to her books. "Even if there were a party tonight, I don't know if I'd have as much fun without Bernard there."

Janet assesses her daughter before confessing, "Sweetie, I'm worried about you."

"Don't be," Veronica dismisses. "Robbie from Student Council found out that Mr. Arroyos is giving us a pop quiz on Monday. There's no way I'm going to get below an A."

"That isn't what I meant." Janet reaches across for her daughter's hand, and Veronica looks up at the contact.

Janet hesitates before revealing something she never would have said before. "Honestly, before you met Bernard, I was worried that you'd never let yourself have a boyfriend. I do wish he were a little more outgoing and berated me less about my light bulbs, but I think he's been very good for you overall."

"Mom, what are you saying?"

"I'm worried that you aren't making enough time to just be a high schooler. You study so much, you plan all of these events… but what have you done for fun? For yourself?"

"All of that is for myself," Veronica argues. "If I don't do any of that, I would have less of a chance of getting into Yale than I already have." She told herself that she was over it, but she still can't talk about it without a sour taste in her mouth sometimes.

"Speaking of which," Janet says with renewed enthusiasm. "Where else did you apply aside from Yale? I don't think we ever got to talk about it."

"I applied to Harvard and Columbia, too, but I went ED on Yale," Veronica states matter-of-factly.

Janet waits for a second longer, expecting to hear more. She balks when she realises, "Is that it? Your guidance counselor said that five is a suggested minimum. And you picked really competitive schools!"

Veronica huffs. "Emphasis is on 'suggested'. Those schools are the ones I need to attend to be on the path towards the Supreme Court; you know that. If I get into anywhere else, I'd be lucky if I can even play a judge on your show. Not to mention—"

"—Veronica Rose Krauss!" Janet interrupts indignantly. She's proud to say that she doesn't raise her voice at her daughter often, but desperate times and all. "I didn't raise a whiner, or a quitter for that matter. You mean to tell me that if you don't get into some fancy Ivy League, you're going to throw your dreams away? That you don't have a backup plan? I know for a fact that you're smarter than that, love."

Veronica stares at her mother, shocked at her astute yet uncomfortable assessment. For a second, she cannot breathe. She feels it all knocking against her chest from within: the latent resentment, the associated guilt, the feeling of being second-rate. It almost breaks her.

Janet sees a sliver of the maelstrom in her daughter's eyes and softly asks, "Why are you doing this to yourself?"

Gentle pressure is all it takes for her to shatter. "Mom, I had it all planned out," she sobs. Her mother hurriedly gets to the other side of the table and gathers her into her arms. "I did everything right—I studied for years, I avoided all the distractions—just to be number one… and I fucked it all up in one gym class! The only class you fail when you don't try! Then Principal Greely says that all of the volunteering I do doesn't even count as extra credit, and there's nothing I could do, and everything was for nothing. Nothing!"

In her mother's embrace, Veronica is eleven again, finding comfort in her mother's shuddering frame after her father had left with his things and replaced them with empty promises. Now, her mother is steady, though no less a haven.

Through it all, Janet holds her daughter for all she's worth. She murmurs into her daughter's hair, "As long as you learned from it, no experience is for nothing, baby girl. Your dreams are too big to be crushed by something as small as this. I know it."

Veronica shakes her head against her mother's blazer-clad shoulder, sniffs once, and pulls away. "I need to get into Yale, Mom," she says firmly, a stark contrast to her still-blotchy face and -watery eyes. "I need to prove, if only to myself, that I actually am capable of achieving whatever I set my mind to… It'll be the only time I ever did."

Sweetie, you know that's not true, Janet wants to say. From the time you get up in the morning to the moment you finally let yourself go to bed, you accomplish more than you give yourself credit for, she wants to assure. You're amazing not just because you are my daughter, but because you have grown into your own person.

But instead, Janet declares, "If it's Yale my daughter wants, then it's Yale my daughter gets." At the way Veronica smiles, at once relieved and grateful, she knows she said the right thing, but she can't leave it at that. "You can keep doing what you have to do, but tell me how I can help, too. Okay, kiddo? It's been just us two for this long; and in a year, I won't even have that anymore. Let me help me while I still can."

Veronica chuckles as she wipes away the remaining tears with the sleeve of her shirt. "Yeah. Of course, Mom. I won't ever stop needing your support."

Janet smiles warmly at her daughter. "Why don't you go take it easy tonight, sweetie? Read a book or something? You can keep studying tomorrow at the race."

To her surprise, Veronica agrees. She presses a quick kiss to her mother's cheek before climbing up the stairs to her room.

When she hears the soft thud of Veronica closing the door, Janet is reminded of the quote about closed doors and open windows. She hopes that, if the time comes, her daughter will not be too distraught by a blocked road that she does not see another way around it.

Upstairs, Veronica settles onto her bed to read her worn copy of The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, but Arthur Huntingdon's torrid affair with Annabella Lowborough isn't enough to distract her from her mother's well-intentioned words.

Is she a quitter? If she gave up on her aspirations just because she didn't get into her dream school, she supposes she would be, but her endgame career is so elusive and elite. As is Yale. If she didn't really have what it takes, wouldn't she want to know that sooner so that she could save her time and energy, reorient herself, and chase new dreams? But there would always be that 'what if' lingering in the back of her mind…

Veronica groans. This is going to keep bugging her. She puts her book and mental gymnastics aside and reaches for her laptop. Her mother was definitely right about one thing: she needs a back-up plan.

early Dec 2016

Before Oswald could retreat to the backyard for his customary post-prandial shuffleboard game, his grandson brings out a piece of paper from his bookbag.

"The Livingston High Student Council is organising a ski trip over winter break, and I have expressed interest in attending. It would customarily cost one-hundred-and-fifty dollars, but Veronica explained to me that bringing my own equipment would result in a twenty-five dollar discount. I humbly request your signature as my guardian so I may attend."

His grandfather eyes the permission slip with thinly-veiled disdain, a reaction Bernard had expected on some level even though he hoped it would not come. "Why're you hankering to go skiing all of a sudden? Ride yer bike around; hang out with that pretty girl of yers. Don't waste my money."

He straightens where he stands. "Pardon me, but you made it clear: once you began entrusting me with a weekly allowance in order to teach me fiscal responsibility, that money became mine and mine alone. I do not require your sponsorship in order to participate in the trip. Once I stopped shipping international mail monthly, I have been able to accrue a meager savings."

The elder's scrutinising gaze turns upwards to Bernard, who is torn between being impassive out of respect and demonstrating some excitement for the trip itself. He is unsure to which of the two his guardian would be more receptive.

Finally and with noticeable chagrin, his grandfather takes the slip of paper, folds it up, and places it in his breast pocket. "I'll consider it, boyo."

Bernard is so grateful, he bows at the waist. "Thank you, Grandpa! Please hand me the signed slip before the end of next week. In the meantime, could you tell me where my skis are? I would like to bring them to the sporting goods store as soon as possible for maintenance."

His grandfather eases himself out of his seat, body language clearly telegraphing that he is over this conversation. "I don't remember."

Bernard cocks his head at the brush off. "Last year, when Veronica mowed our lawn, I gave you one of the skis she found. What did you do with it?" he asks as he follows his grandfather outside. His grandfather is nowhere near senile; surely he can recall what he did with Bernard's personal effects.

"You gimp! Get out of here if yer just gonna ask me questions without playing shuffleboard with me. If you want something so badly, go get it. I taught you that."

The elder definitively turns his back on where Bernard is waiting in the open kitchen door, and Bernard acquiesces—"Yes, Grandpa."—before deciding to begin his search in the basement.

Oswald waits until the screen door lightly shuts behind Bernard, until he can no longer hear his grandson's footsteps descend the basement stairs, and he huffs. His mind replays the memory of breaking one of Bernard's skis in a drunken rage a few years ago, and he chances a glance out to the forest where he buried the one Veronica found.

There's no way boyo will be going skiing anytime soon.

...

"A reminder to club presidents and treasurers that club budgets for next semester are due to the Finance Committee by this Friday, so don't dally," Veronica says with a smile towards the camera.

One of the things she implemented as Student Body President is giving a Student Council update at the beginning of every week over Livingston's morning news channel. It's a good way to remind the school that the Student Council actually works on their behalf, and it gives students a chance to 'meet' her. They can recognise her in the hallway and maybe even become comfortable going up to her to talk about ideas or concerns.

"My final announcement: this is the last week that you can sign up for the 2nd Annual Student Council Ski Trip over winter break. Stop by our booth during lunch to get the details and RSVP. Thank you to everyone who signed up already; we're gonna have a great time. That's all for me. Good luck today, Bears!" she signs off as she always does.

"Thank you, Veronica," Zev says cordially. "Alright, Bears. The time is 8:14. I'm Zev."

"And I'm Julia," Julia announces before the feed cuts off.

While Veronica waits in the studio for the bell signifying the end of homeroom to ring, she politely makes small talk with the A/V students who operate the lights and cameras. One of the first life lessons her mother ever taught her was "Take care of the crew, and they'll take care of you." She hasn't technically reaped any benefits from this habit yet, but it would look worse if she stopped now anyway.

Later during lunch, she sets up the banner that she had some of the freshmen representatives make, asks for the lunch staff's help in moving a table, and lays out the papers her vice president printed before primly seating herself behind the booth. To her satisfaction, a handful of students come up to her to ask some questions or sign up for the trip.

Halfway through lunch, Bernard appears. She straightens in her seat with a grin. "Bernard! You don't have this lunch period." She wasn't expecting to see him until later today, but she welcomes the surprise.

He nods in the absent way he does where he hears her but more of his attention is held by something else. "I knew you would be tabling today, so I left class under the pretense of using the bathroom so I could stop by the booth," he offers distractedly.

Veronica is shocked—Bernard choosing to leave class for any reason other than biological is unheard of—but she shakes it off quickly. "I'm glad you stopped by. What's up?"

He avoids her gaze in a way she doesn't like. "Is it too late to have my money refunded for the field trip?"

Her entire mood drops. "Why do you ask?"

A small frown pulls at his features, a gesture she'd find cute if it weren't for what he says next. "Grandpa and I have lost my skis. I have been searching for the better part of a week, but they have not turned up. New skis are expensive, and I had to dip into my personal savings to afford the trip in the first place."

She hears this, and she wants to empathise, except, "Why don't you just pay the extra fifty bucks? Then you'll be able to rent skis. I can spot you the money if you need! I don't mind."

"That is very kind of you, Veronica, but I am afraid I cannot accept your offer. It took me months to reimburse you for the costs of my campaign."

She pouts freely, but she manages not to stomp her feet. "But Bernard, you have to go!"

"Why?"

"Wouldn't it be cute to go skiing together?"

He raises his eyebrows. "I didn't think you were going to go. I recall your saying that you organise activities all the time that you have no interest in."

("Oh? I didn't think you wanted to go skiing. You didn't go last year," her mom had said after Veronica pulled out the permission slip during dinner last night.

She could properly explain herself, but it was easier not to. "Yeah, but it's senior year. What better time is there to try new things?"

Her mother looked unconvinced. "Darling, you don't even know how to ski, much less own skis."

"I can rent them and take lessons at the resort. We actually got a great deal on it since they were impressed with how I organised everything last year. It's a non-issue, Mom."

The discerning look in her mom's eyes softened into something like understanding, and Veronica wondered why she ever bothered trying to obfuscate the truth around her. "What about your father? You always wanted your first time skiing to be with him in Tahoe."

Veronica fiddled with the corner of the slip, taking her time before replying. "If Dad really wanted to go skiing with me, he would have invited me to California years ago." She wanted her voice to be stronger, but at least the words were out.

The paper was snatched from under her fingers. "I always said you needed a hobby," her mother teased, signing her name on the permission slip with the rote ease of someone used to making decisions.)

"Things change," she says simply, unwilling to explain herself properly. It's easier not to. She comes back to herself quickly and leans forward in earnestness. "Please, Bernard. Let me do this for you. We could call it your Christmas present; no need to pay me back."

It takes a moment, but she can tell as soon as he's convinced, the defensive line of his shoulders curving down in his ease. "Okay, I can accept that. Thank you very much, Veronica."

She smiles at the embarrassed way he leaves to go back to AP US History.

...

As much as he wanted to refuse his girlfriend's proposal—as much as he wished he could have—Bernard cannot deny the eager feeling that welled within him after he accepted. He has not gone skiing in years. His mind whirls with uncharacteristic daydreams of teaching Veronica what he knows, of looking over as they speed down a slope, of a smile on her face and her hair blowing behind her.

Winter break used to be regarded with resigned acceptance, the same way he regards stray screws that puncture holes in his bicycle tires, but the ski trip gives him something to look forward to for once.

"Grandpa! I'll be going on the ski trip after all!" he announces as soon as he comes home from school.

A startled yelp comes from the kitchen. "What in the Sam Hill?"

He rushes in to see that his grandfather burned himself on the cast-iron pan he was cooking with. Bernard speeds to the bathroom for the first-aid kit; but when he returns, his grandfather is waving him off. "Don't worry about me, boyo. What's this about going on the ski trip? You don't have skis."

Bernard attempts to administer care to an unwilling patient one more time before giving up and retiring to a dining chair. "I explained to Veronica how my missing skis would prevent me from partaking in the trip, but she offered to cover the rental cost for me as an advanced Christmas present. She is attending as well, you see. Between you and me, I think she looks forward to the idea of doing something together over winter break, and it would be false to say—"

"—Yer not going on any ski trip!"

Bernard stumbles out of his chair, surprised not at the volume of outburst but at the rage. "What?"

His grandfather's face is red and insistent, but he cannot look Bernard in the eye. "I will not sit idly by and allow you to die under the cold, unforgiving ice like your parents."

Bernard realises something, but he wishes he did not. "Where are my skis, Grandpa?"

His grandfather hesitates—refuses?—to answer, so Bernard repeats himself. The answer he receives is so world-shattering, it must be the truth.

Adrenaline-fueled fury surges along his limbs and vocal cords, begging him to thrash and scream in protest… but he respects his grandfather too much, even despite all this. It adds to the betrayal.

He could stand being in his grandfather's presence no longer. "Enjoy your evening round of shuffleboard," he says without geniality. "I will be sleeping in Ms. Krauss' guest bedroom this evening. Perhaps I will see you tomorrow."

The only indication Oswald has of his grandson's fury is the way Bernard yanks his helmet from its resting place on the wall. The door closes firmly behind him.