Chapter Text
It wasn't always the peppy, prettiest blond cheerleader. It wasn't even always the sweetest, most likable girl in the year. It wasn't necessarily the class slut, beautiful or not and getting it with whoever she wanted, regardless of gender. And it wasn't necessarily the rich girl, either; the one with all the connections and the most expensive car in the student car park.
Bill had noticed the most popular girl was the one who caused a gravity shift when she walked in the room. It was the girl who, whether she knew it or not, caused others to orient toward her when she was there, gyrating inevitable as sun-drawn plants.
Bill Kaulitz, sometimes known as Bills, never Billie, knew high school strata, that weird anthropological curiosity of clique-divided landscapes and culture clash jammed in elbow to elbow within the daily lock-up they called high school. She had been to five in three years, and there would be more. Some might guess she was a military brat and she'd let them think so; in truth, her father was a corporate hatchet man and got the job done in one place before moving on again and again.
"High school is like prison," Jorg had told her bluntly when dropping her off for her first day of freshman year. "Go up to the strongest person in the group and take them out, and none of the rest will give you shit."
Bill had kept that in mind, but she didn't try out his advice; she wasn't into kneecapping Hilary Duff look-alikes or sporty little things on the rise. She stayed on the outskirts; she was a ghost. Liable to be pulled out of school any day and disappear, she preferred it that way. Still, Jorg's words had lingered and Bill always found herself seeking out the most popular, as though to assure herself she'd found the center – there was the sun, the place she'd never be. Bill orbited the periphery, kept her distance, knew her place.
Walking into the student center for her first break period on her first day at Schrei High, Bill searched automatically for the focal point of the room in order to maintain a calibrated distance. There was none. Several groups were scattered around; the usual jocks, studious types, crewbie stragglers, a few lone emo kids, and some less visually quantifiable groups sitting around chatting, eating, or doing homework.
Relieved, Bill brushed a self-conscious hand over the tight gray cashmere cardigan she wore over a ruffled micro-skirt and silvery fishnet leggings and strode to one of the unoccupied tables, hoping she wasn't breaking some code of conduct as yet unknown to her.
Her black, blond-streaked hair was flat-ironed and hung in her face today, and she was glad for the shield. Sometimes she spiked it up, sometimes she tied it back. On the first day she tried to strike a nondescript balance, because she needed to avoid standing out.
Bill bent her head and began to rifle through homework assignments. As usual, she was ahead in some subjects and behind in others. She was making out a list of things to focus on when the double doors to the student center swung open.
She looked up, and gravity shifted.
The person striding through the doors with a posse to either side was tall, gorgeous, and had dirty-blond dreadlocks that spilled to mid-back even caught up at the nape of a New Era cap. Bill's eyes widened. Despite the large hip-hop style clothes, there was evidence of curves and a decent-sized bosom under the XXL graffiti t-shirt.
Bill realized she was staring and lowered her face with a blush. She didn't stare, she didn't approach, she didn't covet - those were the rules.
"Tom, you want to go to the Lucas party tonight?" a boy to the gorgeous girl's right inquired.
Tall, gorgeous and dreadlocked didn't even pause mid-stride; she crooked an impish sort of glance at the bleached blond on her right. "Is there beer?"
"Yes—"
"And that's the answer," Tom decided, with a winning smile that was a dart lodged in Bill's ribcage, a glimpse into why the girl was the sun center of a now-dreary room.
She was approaching Bill with unfaltering strides, making Bill look up from her notes in confusion.
"You're in my spot," Tom informed her.
"I'm sor--" Bill began, grabbing her things to shove into her Coach backpack and make a hasty retreat.
"Don't be," Tom replied, tipping herself into the chair beside Bill's in a lanky sprawl. She licked her lips and fixed Bill with a gaze so intense it should have been comical, but came across predatory enough to make Bill tingle. Tom had a lip ring at the corner of her mouth and it was all Bill could see for a moment as the tip of her tongue played with it. "Someone pretty as you can put her bottom on anything of mine."
Flustered, Bill stood. "I've got to go," she said.
Tom sat back in her chair, eyes openly running over Bill from head to toe. "Are you sure? But you just got here..."
"Yeah, I'm...I've...gotta catch up," Bill said, gathering her composure around her like a veil of ice. This was ridiculous. She didn't lose her cool for anyone – and it was a huge mis-step. She prided herself on flying below the radar.
Having the most popular girl check her out on the first day was not low profile.
"At least give me your name," Tom pleaded, raising large brown eyes as she reached out to touch the back of Bill's wrist. "You're new, right?"
Bill nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
"Gonna make me guess?" Tom prompted, with another sweet grin that lit her face with amusement.
"It's Bill," Bill told her. "I'm Bill Kaulitz."
"Tommy Brandon," Tom introduced herself, frowning at Bill's chest as though to double-check she was a girl. "Most people call me Tom."
"That's a boy's name," Bill observed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Two of them."
"Says the girl named Bill," Tom replied cheerfully, giving her a casual finger, though her eyes held a teasing glint that made it less offensive.
Bill inhaled. What was she doing, getting entangled in banter? "Bye," she said, backing away, strangely reluctant to take her eyes off the lean, long-legged girl. Bill had been attracted to both sexes but this was the first time she'd experienced such a strong pull toward one person in particular. There was no chance.
Tom was the popular girl; Bill was the ghost.
"See you around," Tom replied, giving her a little wave.
"Doubt it," Bill murmured, intending to make sure their paths wouldn't cross again.
If Bill was a ghost, then Gustav, the boy she met during the second half of her day, was a lurker. They were two distinct types that could be mutually beneficial to each other; not friends, but allies. Recognizing his type, Bill sought him out between classes to consult.
"Two things," Gustav said, lifting a finger. "You're probably thinking of dodging the Lucas party you've heard about. Don't. It'll stick out more if the new girl doesn't show up."
Bill sighed. It wasn't that she hated parties. It was more the fact that she enjoyed them too much – it was hard to suppress the urge to stand out, mingle, shine a bit.
"Next, Tommy Brandon rules the school..."
Bill's stomach contracted. "We've met," she squeaked out.
Gustav's eyes widened. "And?"
Bill knit her brow. "And what?" she wanted to know.
Gustav shook his head slowly. "You're either in or you're out, with Tom. Me, I'm out...way out. And that's fine."
"Right," Bill agreed. "Well, I guess I'm out?"
Gustav stared at her with quiet regard for a moment before shrugging. "If you say so."
Bill sighed. "So I'm going to the party. Do you go?"
Gustav nodded gravely. "I go for the beer."
Bill smirked at him. She remembered Tom saying something to that effect. She didn't see the appeal herself – she was into sweet drinks, and her father didn't mind if she got into wine coolers or malt beverages at home. "Want to go for solidarity's sake?"
"If Tom is into you..." Gustav began, assuming a concerned look, or maybe just concentrating.
Bill laughed, the sound a little wild even to her own ears. "How could she be? We barely spoke. It was about five minutes."
Gustav's glasses glinted as he tilted his head to give her a skeptical expression, but he spoke no more on it.
As luck would have it, Tommy shared two afternoon classes with Bill – AP history and AP English. It surprised Bill to see Tommy sauntering into the advanced placement class when maybe it shouldn't have. Bill kept her head down and after that first startled glance tried not to look. There was a girl-crush brewing fierce inside her but she had a look, but not touch policy – especially considering the girl of her affections was the most popular of their year, maybe even the school.
Bill never knew how long she was going to stick around, and so she couldn't let herself get entangled. Most especially not someone like Tommy, who would only get her bullied for being out of her league, get her heart broken and then she'd have to leave her behind. Postcards and long emails and teasing texts and webcams could only carry a relationship so far, when there was no going back.
"Hey," a low, confident voice said beside her, and Bill kept her eyes riveted to her book as Tom dropped into the open seat next to hers. "I'm glad I get to see your pretty face again so soon."
Bill's head snapped up. You can't-- she wanted to say, but mostly she was throbbing with a mix of anxiety and nerves that Tommy was approaching her so boldly. As though she wanted to pursue Bill, when Bill couldn't possibly be her type, fitting in better with the skinny goths or crewbies than any of the mix of Tommy's hip-hop and preppy crowd.
"Don't get used to it," she murmured, unable to think of any put-off more clear. She had to look away because Tommy was giving her a little grin, small but very much amused like a shared secret.
"You coming to the Lucas party tonight?" Tommy continued, either ignoring Bill's words or undeterred.
"We'll see," Bill said, taken aback. She wasn't used to being pursued blatantly, and Tommy was basically devouring her with her eyes, looking Bill up and down and licking at the upper bead of her lip ring.
"You should," Tommy said, subsiding into her chair with a nod. "I'd totally show you around."
Bill limited herself to nodding and fixing her attention on the notebook in front of her. There was no reprieve later that afternoon even after she made a quick escape from History, because AP English was a repeat performance, with Tommy taking up residence in the seat beside her, waving off some skinny, pimply dude with glasses and inviting her to the party more than once.
"Why are you so hung up on getting me to the party?" Bill hissed at last, her words happening to fall in a long instant of dead silence.
The teacher looked up from his overhead at the front of the class. "Brandon, are you harassing your classmates again?" the man said, sounding weary.
"No, sir!" Tommy shot back, not bothering to straighten in her chair. "It's not harassment if she likes it, sir."
Bill bent her head to her notebook and couldn't help the giggle that escaped unbidden. She bit her lip. She didn't want to encourage Tommy, but...
A crumpled wad of paper landed next to her hand. Bill turned her head, glared, and considered flicking it right back in Tommy's direction, but paled before the thought of someone else – or the teacher – getting hold of it. She opened the note and read in a surprisingly neat scrawl,
- Because you're the hottest girl in school. Meet me at the Lucas party?
Bill didn't even have to fake a response to that one. She rolled her eyes in Tommy's direction and jammed the wadded-up note in her boot.
"Psst," came from Tom's direction several times.
"Leave me alone, Tommy," Bill murmured back, bending a fierce glare in her direction to emphasize. She wasn't behind in this class, but she sure wasn't anxious to appear like a total slacker in front of the teacher on the first day of school.
"Can't," Tommy responded. When Bill glanced over again, she was bestowing that intimate grin on her. "Not until you call me Tom, at least."
Bill groaned inwardly, even as she remembered that Tommy had tacked on the fact that most people called her Tom. "Tom," she repeated, and bent her head over her notebook in a show of studious behavior. "Maybe I'll see you at the party, if you shut up about it right now."
There was silence Tommy-ward for the rest of the period.
After donning tight black clothes, touching up her make-up, and spiking her hair to Sonic-era levels, Bill left a note for her father and pranced out to Gustav's car out front. He'd offered to text her the address of the house party and she'd taken advantage of his number to call back and demand a ride, not because she didn't have a car but because she hoped in some sense that having Gustav drive her would prevent her from doing anything too stupid.
"Hard to stay on the sidelines in that get-up," was Gustav's sole comment as he shifted into drive. He hadn't changed from his t-shirt, baseball cap, and stodgy glasses.
"Eh," Bill said, flicking her fingers. Her black and white French manicure was getting a bit chipped, she noted, and reminded herself to touch it up after the party. "I'm sure I won't even stand out."
Alas for Bill, she turned out to be the tallest girl at the Lucas party, with her hair spiked three inches and her boots giving her three more. She found a beer and tried to bury herself in an armchair, but before she could, her arm was accosted by a strong hand and a full globe of C-cup.
Bill choked and imitated a drowning person, spluttering her beer half down her front.
"Oh no, do I have to administer CPR?" Tom demanded, grinning at Bill as she turned her to get a good look. "Damn, I knew you'd look fine. You okay?"
"Mm," Bill mumbled, trying to be noncommittal, wiping her mouth with the back of one hand. Tom wasn't dressed much differently from earlier – graffiti t-shirt long enough to be a dress, dreadlocks gathered at the back of a New Era cap – but now she was relaxed and glowing. Also, in close proximity; Bill could feel the warmth of Tom's skin against her own.
"Aw, and here I was hoping I could give you mouth to mouth," Tom said, her eyes going heavy-lidded as she moved toward Bill with predatory intent.
This was bad; very bad. Bill had put in an appearance. Surely she could get the hell out of here, now, and escape Tommy's clutches? Everyone was seeing them together right now, and that was no good for Bill's long-term plans.
One day she'd disappear, and leave no trace behind.
Tom stopped abruptly, her brows pinching together in the middle. "You don't like girls?" she stage-whispered. Considering the party volume, it was still loud enough to make Bill flush.
"That's not it," Bill said evasively.
"You don't like me?" Tom pressed, her fingers tightening around Bill's wrist as though to dare her to answer that way.
"I...I just met you," Bill replied, lifting her chin and returning Tom frown for frown.
"So get to know me," Tom urged, winding her other arm around Bill as though to pull her into swaying dance moves. "You're new, I know everybody here; you're gorgeous, and I like you."
"You can't," Bill blurted, pushing away.
"What the... Bill? What's wrong?"
"I can't dance," Bill claimed, and fled the scene. She went searching for Gustav, though if he wasn't up for it, she knew she'd end up walking home.
The problem wasn't disliking Tom. Bill was pretty sure she liked her too much.
After over a week of attempting to fend off Tom's attempts to get her alone, ask her out, or carry her books – who carried books anymore, honestly? - Bill woke up after a mostly sleepless night, smacked her alarm off, flopped over in bed, and masturbated to the thought of Tommy climbing in beside her and settling warm fragrant weight atop Bill's body. In Bill's imagination Tom was playing with her lip ring and looking down at her, rocking her hips back and forth. One long-fingered hand slipped up under Bill's pajama top to finger at the slightness of one breast, circling a nipple into a tight, needy peak.
With a whimper, Bill's fingers moved more frantically and she came in a gush. She was imagining Tom looking down at her all bright-eyed and lascivious, pushing her panties down for a taste. Lying in bed for a long moment, Bill considered going again, before she looked at the clock and groaned. Between her grooming routine and the time it took to get to school, Bill had to be out of bed and moving five minutes ago.
She tried to put thoughts of Tommy out of her head, both before and as she arrived at school, but it was impossible for one very specific reason.
"You smell so goddamn gorgeous," a familiar cocky voice said behind her.
Bill picked up the pace, her chunky heels clacking over linoleum floor. She thought she'd mapped out all safe, Tommy-free routes between her locker and her morning classes, but apparently Tom was more determined than she'd thought.
"Hey," Tom persisted, breaking into a jog until she fell into step beside Bill.
She looked a little ridiculous, duck-waddling with determined strides, and Bill couldn't quite bite back her grin.
"I was giving you a compliment," Tom continued, sending a frown her way.
Bill sighed internally. Making Tommy hate her wasn't any better than standing out by having Tommy like her, or attempt to date her. Everything she was trying to do was backfiring miserably.
"It was a weird compliment," Bill replied, glancing at Tom from the corner of her eye.
"So?" Tom countered. "You're an unusual person. I've already figured out the usual isn't going to work, with you."
Bill huffed and screeched to a stop at her locker, ignoring Tom determinedly as she spun her combination lock. "I bet you've had plenty enough to know, huh?"
"Hell y—wait, is that what this is about?" Tom demanded, leaning against the lockers close enough to make Bill flinch.
"Just go away," Bill said hopelessly. "Someone like you isn't supposed to get involved with a nobody like me."
"Who says?" Tom replied. "Is there a manual I haven't read? Look, if you're worried about me being some kind of slut, I know I'm not the brightest but I'd never be stupid enough to cheat on you."
"It's not done," Bill said flatly, turning from her locker to look Tom in the eyes. If she was earnest enough, serious enough, then maybe Tom would get it. "You want to hear it, out loud? You're out of my league."
Tom's eyes bugged to comical-wide proportions. "You...think I..." she began, sputtered, and choked.
"Besides, it's not like I'm going to be here long," Bill continued. She sighed and turned back to swapping out books for her morning classes. "So, that's it. I hope you understand."
"I understand one thing for sure," Tom said, sounding so serious that Bill froze in place.
Bill didn't want to look. Her heart was hammering, and Tom loomed so close she could smell coconut wax and whatever subtle, woodsy scent was coming off her neck.
"They're combining gym classes today," Tom continued, glee-ridden. "And I can't wait to see you in your underwear!"
"TOM!" Bill shrieked, stomping a foot, but Tom was already retreating, grinning wider than should be possible, leaving Bill to deal with the butterfly-swirl of frantic emotions that gripped her in Tom's wake.
Bill elected to change in a bathroom stall upon arriving at the girls' gym lockers. She wasn't exactly self-conscious; more hyper-aware of her painfully unfeminine body, all angles and flat chest, lanky, taller than any girl she'd ever known, including gorgeous Tommy. The popular girl might be eye to eye with her if Bill would forego the heels. Stand up tall, her father had always admonished, because if you're tall and you slouch, you look ashamed of yourself. Stand tall, because a tall girl will never look short so you may as well look proud.
Applying that advice to her appearance and life attitude, Bill not only held herself with perfect carriage, but added inches with heeled boots as well. Carrying herself with pride made up for not looking people in the eye, lingering on the social fringes of high school life, keeping herself aloof in a bubble of isolation.
As Bill stripped and changed into her gym clothes, she thought about Tom anyhow. She closed her eyes and ran her hands over her body from chest to hips, taking her lip between her teeth. Instead of feeling stupid she felt sensuous, shameless. In greater moments of self-awareness she could admit Tommy was the perfect girl for her.
Problem was, it didn't matter.
Bill emerged from the bathroom stall to a mostly-empty locker room and shoved her school clothes into an unoccupied locker, far from the main area where she'd seen girls changing. Part of her goal in flying under the radar was to prevent incidents like having her clothes stolen, but it had happened before – let's pick on the giant! - and Tommy's attentions were rendering Bill rather more visible than she liked.
"Hey! Nice ass," an appreciative voice called behind her.
Bill whirled, fixing her hands on her hips. "I don't have one," she shot back, eyeing Tom as fierce as she knew how.
"Whatever; I like the view," Tommy returned, recovering quickly from Bill's dismissal of the compliment.
"Where did you come from? I thought I was alone," Bill complained, striding for the gym entrance.
"You're so busy trying to keep a look-out to be invisible that you're not bothering to see," Tom replied, cryptic.
Bill tossed an annoyed glance over her shoulder but said nothing.
Tom caught up to her with swift strides and passed her, reaching the door first. She held the door open for Bill, eyes locking on hers as though daring her to say something about it.
Bill figured that was what Tom wanted, so contrarily she said nothing. She did admire Tom's figure in the closer-fitting gym clothes. Though shorts and shirt were both larger than Bill's, no doubt a deliberate choice on Tom's part, they did nothing to hide curves and acres of leg and an ample bosom. All of that golden skin topped by Tommy's knowing, wicked grin and her pretty face framed in masses of bound-back dreadlocks was making Bill light-headed.
An unashamed arousal was pooling low in Bill's belly and she had to do something about it, soon.
The double class, as it happened, had been arranged because one of the phys ed teachers was out on leave and they were told it would continue indefinitely. Bill was in a position to see Tom smirk, and rolled her eyes.
They were divided into six teams and unleashed on a gymnasium full of volleyballs. Unsurprisingly, Tommy was chosen as a team leader. Equally of no surprise, she chose Bill for her first pick.
"Oh, you shouldn't have," Bill murmured, taking up a place near but not too close to the other girl.
Tommy flashed a grin at her in return. "I'm going to have fun proving to you that I should."
Bill rolled her eyes again and edged a few steps farther away.
Never having been one for sports – Bill's idea of a work-out was an extended mall crawl – Bill's philosophy was to stay out of the way and do her team a favor by letting them do all the work without the hindrance of her fuck-ups. After Bill's third cringe, Tommy seemed to figure this out and positioned herself to cover Bill's turf and her own.
"Not a volleyball fan?" Tom teased, venturing close enough to rub shoulders with Bill as she bumped the ball over the net.
"Not a fan of balls of any kind," Bill retorted, meaning sports. Tom's smirk made her realize what she'd said and Bill clapped a hand over her mouth.
"Perfect," Tom claimed. "Good to know I've got a shot."
Bill opened her mouth to say something scathing as the ball was spiked back into their court. Tom was diving, Bill began stumbling to the side – but not fast enough. Tom went to the floor, somehow managing to loft their ball back into the air, and collided with Bill's legs, hard. Bill dropped as though cut off at the knees and they fell together.
She blinked up at Tom, who had somehow managed to end up propped over her.
With a hand on Bill's breast.
"Pervert!" Bill exclaimed, shoving.
In a stroke of staggering miscalculation, Bill's hands palmed both of Tom's full breasts as she attempted to shove the other girl off her. Tom's eyes crossed and she whimpered; it was an actual pained sound, but a hot tingle jolted straight to Bill's belly, taking up residence between her legs.
Tommy sat back, clasping her arms protectively over her chest, but she was still slung over Bill's lap. Her face was dark and pained and it made Bill feel like instant shit.
"I'm sorry," Bill whispered. "Can I..."
Tom waved her off and got to her feet, staggering. Her mouth was set in a thin line, impassive.
Basically Bill wanted to curl up and die. She could feel all eyes in the class on her, at least those on her team – the entire court – trained on her in accusation.
"Tom," she started, drawing her knees up and readying a short, heartfelt speech on how Tom would be so much better off if she gave up on Bill. The fact was, Tom was perfect for her, but she was no good for anyone.
A hand extended into her field of vision.
Startled, Bill looked up. Tommy was holding out a hand to her.
"But I hurt you," Bill informed her knees, because Tommy already knew.
Tom shrugged, a trace of a smile tugging her mouth and the corners of her bright brown eyes. "It happens," she said. "You pick yourself up, and move on. Or let someone help you up, if you're okay with that."
Bill regarded Tom's extended hand as though it were a trap.
She could see things going one of two ways so clearly. Bill could turn her back on Tom's offer of friendship – and more – and go about her existence as always, vanishing into the background, here one day and gone the next. Or, she could take Tom's hand, and let her pull Bill into human entanglement, and risk, and the certainty of future heartbreak.
And turn her back on the warmth and affection promised by that open, friendly smile.
Being a ghost meant she wasn't even present for her own life.
Bill reached up and took Tom's hand.
Tom's full mouth stretched in a wide, engaging smile and her brown eyes crinkled.
"Good to have you on my team," Tom said, as though welcoming her back from an extended absence.
"I still suck at sports," Bill warned, wanting to pull her hand out of Tom's warm, slightly sweaty grip but finding herself reluctant.
"That's fine," Tom replied, beaming. "I'm good enough for us both."
There was no avoiding Tommy now. Bill had caved in a tacit gesture of acceptance to Tom's overtures, and her former ways of disappearing now proved fruitless. After that first day in the student center she had spent her free period and lunch in stairwells, the school library, and other out of the way nooks, learning the twists and ins and outs of the immense school building in the process.
Today Tom showed up at her locker, sans posse, and escorted Bill to the student center. With a sigh, Bill went along. There was no point resisting anymore, she justified it to herself.
Tom put a hand to her elbow as though to guide her – or prevent her running away.
"Where are your 'peeps,'" Bill wondered, when they settled down at the student center and no one joined them.
"My 'peeps?'" Tom repeated, an incredulous look crossing her pretty face, and she hooted.
Bill looked down at her backpack as she thumped into her chair, a dull heat staining her face.
"That's a good one. 'Peeps,'" Tom repeated, grinning. "I gave them the day off, I guess."
Bill looked up, startled. "Why?"
Tom's face, and those intense brown eyes, were closer than Bill had realized. Bill squeaked and scooted her chair back several notches.
"Why do you think?" Tom asked her outright.
"Um..." Bill bit her lip and looked around. She scanned over the various groups and solo parties scattered around the student center. Despite her expectation that they'd be the focus of every eye, no one was really staring in their direction, or even looking, really.
Fingers nipped her chin and Bill looked back to Tom, startled.
"To have you all to myself, of course," Tom concluded.
Bill pulled in a shaky sigh, trying to cope with the weight of Tom's appraisal. Her stomach was leaden and the certainty that she couldn't do this returned in full force. "Tom," she began.
"Don't," Tom returned, curt.
Bill widened her eyes. "You don't even know what I was going to say."
Tom hitched her chair closer to Bill's and grasped a fold of Bill's black brocade skirt, pleating it between her fingers. "I know the tone," she replied, brown eyes serious. "I'm not going to let you reject me before we've even given it a try, Bill."
Bill couldn't suppress a rueful grimace. "Is that what we're doing?" she said evasively, looking over her shoulder again. She expected a hand to clap down any moment to lead her off to solitary; punishment for violating the school code.
Someone like Bill didn't get the prettiest, most popular girl.
"Hey." Tom's voice was quiet but her eyes were keen. "Bill. What are you so afraid of?"
Swallowing, Bill began to fiddle with the heavy silver rings on one hand. "I'm not afraid of anything," she denied.
"Bull," Tom said bluntly, reaching out to touch Bill's wrist again as though to lighten the harsh words with gentle contact.
A cluster of juniors jostled through the double doors to the student center, laughing and talking. Some of them were the hipsters Bill recognized from Tommy's crowd; others were sporty; a few of them were boys swaggering in acres of fabric that remained at their hips as though suspended by magic. A few of them looked this way and that. Spotting Tommy, the group began to head over en masse.
"Let's go, Bill," Tommy was saying, her warm fingers circling Bill's knobby wrist and giving it a tug.
Hot shame spiked up through Bill's middle, taking up residence in her face. They'd been seen, and Tommy wanted to go. She'd given her friends 'the day off.' She didn't want people to see them together.
Of course. How could Bill expect anything else?
"Hey, Tommy, who's this?" asked the front runner of the pack; a tall, blond, blue-eyed quarterback type wearing a letter jacket even though the school interior was really too warm.
"What is this, more like," said a shaggy-haired hipster to his right, laughing.
Tom's fingers tightened around Bill's wrist.
"Nobody," Bill snapped, jerking her arm away and bolting to her feet. She brushed past the jeers and hoots, slipping her backpack over one shoulder as she strode out of the student center, all but loping.
"Bill," Tommy called. "Bill, wait!"
But Tommy didn't follow.
Bill sought out an as-yet-unexplored stairwell and skipped Chem, but refused the relief of a good cry.