Chapter Text
It’s a Friday in Elmville, not unlike the many Fridays in Elmville that have come in weeks past. Families eat at Krom’s Diner, teens exchange weak edibles in the mall parking lot, and Fig Faeth sweats profusely and stares into her mostly empty locker.
The Battle of the Bands is tomorrow. Homecoming is the following weekend. It’s finally happening. Everything she and her friends have been working for is about to be put to the test.
Despite all this, all she can think about is the fucking principal’s daughter.
Fig’s had crushes before, of course: The orcish boy who she would hang out with at the community pool, her general care practitioner, Fantasy Paula Abdul. She’s not unfamiliar with the sweaty palms and compulsive hair-fixing, not in the slightest. The only difference is, for whatever mysterious reason, she feels like she has a chance with Ayda.
Ayda, for starters, is a lesbian. She’s not the real out-and-proud type dyke that Tracker makes a point to be, but she’s open about her identity whenever someone asks. Plus, no straight girl can rock a poet shirt the way she does.
On top of that, Ayda is a real person who Fig sees almost every day. She’s used to being at a distance from the people she likes, so when Ayda starts joining the band at lunch most days, she has to adjust her mode of operation. On this particular Friday, she’s leaving Solesian History and trying to be subtle about following Ayda to her locker.
“Ayda, hey. What’s up?”
Ayda turns slightly from where she’s placing her burlap lunch sack into her locker and frowns. “We just saw each other,” she says. Fig digs her nails into the meat of her palm.
“Uh, yeah, but we didn’t really get to talk.”
“That’s true. I’m doing well, and I am on my way to Common 9. How are you?”
“I’m great. I’m all revved up for the Battle tomorrow. You’re coming to that, right?”
“Naturally. I want to support my best friend, Adaine, and my new friends as well.” Ayda is a phenomenal listener. At this point in a hallway conversation, Fig would probably be on her crystal, or at the very least digging in her backpack. Ayda stands, now, fully facing Fig, one hand on her backpack strap. “You are all talented musicians.”
“Do you play anything? Or, like, sing?”
“I know the basics of hurdy-gurdy. Mostly I’m happy just to listen.”
“The fucking hurdy-gurdy? That is so fucking cool. Oh my god.” Fig feels a tremble in her ribcage as she adds this information to the file in her head labeled “Ayda”. She shakes herself off. If she lingers on this thought too long, she’ll be trapped in it forever. “Anyway. I actually wanted to know if you were, uh. If you, haha, were going to the dance?”
Ayda tilts her head. “Yes. I’m on the planning committee. I’m in charge of the snacks.”
“Are you bringing a, a date?”
“No. Dancing in front of other people makes me nervous.” She squawks a laugh. Fig joins in, high and nervous.
“Well, um. That’s a shame. I would’ve loved to see you bust a move.”
They share a moment of eye contact. Ayda’s face is unreadable, clear of lines and tension. Fig nods.
“Okay, well, laters.”
She has been holding her skateboard under her armpit, planning on depositing it in her locker. She finds a new use for it, suddenly feeling her throat fill up with what is decidedly not smoke, and drops it to the ground and dashes to the girls’ bathroom.
After relieving herself of her breakfast, she leans over the toilet bowl and breathes heavily. She knows her calves are visible under the stall door, and desperately hopes that nobody notices her thick boots and singular fishnet in this moment of weakness.
And that’s just what it is, isn’t it? She can’t even make a barely-recognizable pass on a girl she likes without making herself sick. Ayda doesn’t deserve that. Ayda deserves someone with no reservations about caring for her. It’s not that Fig deals with much internalized homophobia these days, it’s just…
It’s just. God, who knows anymore? Certainly not Fig.
She does her best to even out her breathing, attempting a breathing exercise Adaine had shown her once. As the blood rushing through her ears quiets, she notices a sound she hadn’t picked up on earlier: a quiet heaving from the next stall over. She peeks under the stall and sees the socked-and-sandaled feet that she recognizes as Kristen’s.
“Kristen?” She rasps. Her throat is still raw. The gasps of air hitch, and Kristen’s freckled head tilts close to the floor.
“Oh, hey, F-f-f–” She inhales sharply. “Fig.”
Fig stands up and exits her stall. She raps her knuckles across the neighboring door and Kristen lets her in. She’s slumped on the floor, looking pale but not necessarily sick. Fig squats next to her, trying not to breathe on her. She’s sure her mouth reeks, if the lingering flavor is anything to go by.
“What’s up, man?” She lays a delicate hand on her friend’s shoulder, and Kristen immediately burrows into her chest. Fig scratches her hair in a way that she hopes is comforting and rests her chin on the head below it. Kristen gives a few muffled sobs into Fig’s shirt before her breathing evens out a little.
“Can I tell you somethi-hi-hing?” Fig nods. Kristen leans back a little, placing her hands on Fig’s waist. “Please don’t mention it to anyone else,” she adds. Fig shakes her head. Kristen is silent, eyes flitting. She laughs a little and squeezes her eyes shut.
“I think I’m gay.”
“Oh, baby,” Fig says, pulling her back into a hug. She doesn’t have the wherewithal to act surprised, so she just holds her friend as she hiccups. “Did you think we wouldn’t be accepting?”
“No, of course I knew. Well, I assumed for the rest of them. I know you’re bi. It’s just, you know about my religion, right?”
Fig gulps. She hadn’t been thinking of that. “Sorta?”
“Well, it’s, like, a whole thing in most Helioc practices that same sex attraction sends you straight to heh-heh-hell.” Another wave of tears spill onto Fig’s hoodie. “I don’t–I’m so mortified. Like, I think it’s awesome that you’re who you are, right? But when I think about myself, I feel si-hi-hick.”
Fig keeps holding her. She doesn’t say anything, just waits for Kristen to find her words.
“When I was younger, before I really knew what things meant, I totally agreed with everything my parents and–and the church told me. I would hear my dad calling people, um, really nasty things. And I thought it was normal. But, but it isn’t. If they found out–I would, it would…”
She trails off and weeps. Fig presses kisses to the top of her head, not knowing what else to do. She remembers when she was a kid, just recently having joined the Oakshield cheer squad. She had wiggled her pom-poms in the air, arms up for Sandralynn to lift her onto Baxter. She sat in her mom’s lap and squeezed her tightly.
“Can girls marry other girls?” Fig had asked. Sandralynn smiled as they took off.
“Of course, baby. Why do you ask?”
“I wanna marry Miss Bouquet.”
Sandralynn chokes, and then laughs heartily, head thrown back. “Your coach?”
“She’s super pretty. She helped me tie my pony today.” Fig shakes her head and whips her mom with her hair. Sandralynn pats her on the back with the hand that isn’t steering.
“I think it would be better to marry someone closer to your age. Do you like anyone else?”
“Matty from reading class is nice to me. We jump rope together sometimes. He’s funny.”
“Well, you can marry anybody you like, just so long as they aren’t so old. How does that sound?”
“Okay. Did you see the cool skunk in the woods again today?”
Fig had later properly come out to her mom, who had come out in turn to her, though she’d never been secretive about her bisexuality. She’d never felt wrong for being into girls, and she’d never felt greedy for being into everyone else, too. Her mom had made sure of that. Kristen doesn’t have anyone like that to use as a foundation. She’s going through this on her own.
When the bell rings, Kristen pulls away and wipes at her face. Fig holds her chin and tells her, “I love you.”
“I love you too, man. Sorry about your shirt.”
“It’s seen worse. Want me to walk you to class?”
She does. Kristen has Sigils and Runes, which is right across the hall from Bardic Studies. Fig hesitates near the wall for a moment, but finds herself sliding through the door and taking her seat in the back of the room. She hasn’t been skipping all that much lately, but it’s hard to break old habits.
Kids in the room are sitting on every non-chair surface available to them. There’s a little circle near the chalkboard where a game of what looks like Go-Ball is going incredibly poorly. Ms. Dwimmerwaithe does a clapping pattern, and the chaos settles to a simmer.
“Happy Friday, kids. How was lunch?”
Fig observes as the class shares startlingly amicable anecdotes with their teacher. She’s usually tuned out by this point, but she feels present today. Maybe it’s her wet shirt. Maybe it’s because she ate breakfast that morning. Who’s to say?
Her classmates are surprisingly funny. She supposes that makes sense, as they’re a charisma-based bunch, but she’s used to thinking of kids like these as hyperactive and annoying. She’s been coming to terms with the reason for her particular distaste with those traits the more she thinks about her conversations with Jawbone.
Ms. Dwimmerwaithe nods curtly and stands up. “Alright, how many of you are familiar with the Dimension Door spell?”
A few hands pop up. Fig raises hers, too, if close to her chest.
“Today, we’ll be focusing on the applications and practical uses of that particular spell. Our TAs will be giving a brief demonstration. Hargis, Carie, if you would?”
Hargis and Carie are only TAs because they finagled their schedules to line up as much as possible and wanted to flex on the baby bards, if by “flexing” you mean quoting Fantasy Shakespeare at any opportunity and talking about the experimental ballet show they saw in Bastion City last weekend. Today, they’re both wearing vests. They stand, cheating out to their audience but still eyeing each other.
“So, Dimension Door is a conjuration spell at the fourth level. It’s a verbal spell, but it works with music, too, of course.” Carie begins.
“It carries the caster, and a partner, too, if you want.” As Hargis says this, he and Carie both sweep their hands in a wildly rehearsed manner and clasp them together. Someone wolf-whistles, but, like most of their antics, it goes largely unacknowledged. Hargis clears his throat, and speaks again.
“To unpath’d waters, undream’d shores!” He cries, and swings Carie into a dip as he does. The two of them dematerialize in a puff of sickly-sweet fog, and a moment later they reappear just outside of the classroom. A polite round of applause crosses the students in their seats.
“Thank you, boys,” Ms. Dwimmerwaithe says. Fig has always admired her poker face. “Does anybody else wanna give it a go?”
Fig, surprising no one more than herself, feels her hand shoot into the air. Well, her elbow. Her hand is above shoulder level, is the main takeaway. Ms. Dwimmerwaithe’s eyebrows raise, and she spreads a hand to indicate that Fig has the floor now. A full room of over-eager heads turn in her direction. She gulps, taking half a second to be nervous, before rolling a completely bananas performance check. She stands in front of the class.
“Nobody asked,” She says, “and, like, don’t get used to me being vulnerable. But, uh, when I was first reading about this spell, I got really emotional because the chick who made it, like, was super insistent about making it usable with a partner. Obviously, it was probably just for practicality in battle, but there’s something really nice about the intrinsic togetherness put into it. Anyway, none of you heard that.” She takes a breath. Ms. Dwimmerwaithe is doing that subtle teacher smirk, and the class looks at her kindly.
She plays the melody of a Fantasy Kesha song on her bass, reveling in the practiced ease of her fingers on the thick strings. Her magic feels like bonfire smoke and antacid, all the way from her toes to her eyebrows. In an instant, the texture of the soundwaves in her ears changes and she finds herself standing in the hallway. She hums, “Let’s go for it just for toni-ee-i-ight,” and then glances through the door. The class looks delighted. Fig steps back inside.
“Excellent craftsmanship, Ms. Faeth. One might even think you’ve been focused on your schoolwork!” It’s a jab, but there’s no bite in her teacher’s words. Fig rubs the back of her neck, embarrassed and floaty.
Lunch, Fig realizes, comes much more quickly when you occupy your time with your studies. She walks down the line and beams when she reaches Doreen.
“What’s on the menu, boss?” She asks. Doreen snorts, and picks up an overflowing handful of chicken nuggets with her hospital-blue plastic gloves.
“Don’t cause too much trouble today, kiddo.” She says.
“Me? Never!” Fig exclaims. She hops out of line when the kid behind her groans, just loud enough for her to hear. She finds the table with her friends and sits. She marvels, momentarily, about how full it is these days.
Kristen is sitting on the end of her bench. She looks better than when Fig saw her earlier, but she’s missing her usual pink flush. Gorgug keeps craning his neck to look at Zelda a table over, and then hunching over his phone and grinning. Fabian and Riz sit across from each other, engaged in some sort of friendly debate as they look over some papers in front of them. Fig sits next to Adaine, who hands her a paper as well.
“Oh?” Fig asks. Adaine huffs.
“Aelwyn mentioned something this morning about every student in the Battle of the Bands needing to fill out this form. I felt so stupid about forgetting.” She jabs her spork into a nugget and dips it in some barbeque.
“It’s really no biggie,” Riz says.
“I still don’t get why they need my pronouns. Like, I’m a guy,” Fabian grumbles. Riz rolls his eyes.
“It’s just for comfort,” Riz says, tone measured. “A lot of students could be trans, or nonbinary, or something.”
“I’m trans,” Gorgug says. Riz tilts his head up and a grin splits his face in half.
“Fuck yeah, man, me too!” He hoists himself onto the table a bit so he can reach Gorgug and high-five him. Adaine’s pouty expression softens.
“I’m trans, too, actually. I figured you all knew, but I guess I never did mention it.”
“Go, girl!” Fig cheers.
“Reel it in a little,” Adaine says.
“Sorry! I’m genderfluid. I think? I know it’s a little different, but it’s, like, under the umbrella.” Fig waggles her fingers. She gets an array of affirmative gestures from her friends. Fabian looks around, bewildered.
“Oh. Um, cool.” He pauses. “I’m, uh, also trans. I’m stealth, though, so if you could maybe not tell anyone, that would be cool.” He’s playing with his tupperware.
“Don’t worry about it, dude,” Gorgug says. He pats Fabian’s arm. “This rules, though. I’ve never been around this many people like me before.”
“Me neither,” Adaine says. Her eyes twinkle. There’s a small “ahem” noise, and everyone looks at Kristen.
“You guys are all super brave for being open about who you are, and, like, pursuing who you wanna be. I really admire that. Um, yeesh, that was super corny.” She winces at her word choice. She’s looking down.
“Anyway, while we’re sort of on the topic, I just wanted to say… Uh, I, uh…” She squeezes her eyes shut, and then looks up at Fig. Fig realizes what’s going on and gives her a nod and wink; a little Bardic Inspiration can go a long way in times like these. She watches as Kristen’s shoulders relax, if minutely.
“I’ve been thinking about this for a while,” Kristen says, speaking slowly. “Um, I think I’m gay. No, I know I’m gay. I’m gay, I guess.” She glances around the group, gauging reactions.
Gorgug immediately throws his arm around Kristen’s shoulder and squeezes. She laughs wetly and buries her head in his chest. Everyone choruses his sentiment out loud.
“Proud of you, babygirl,” Adaine says. Kristen burrows further, but Fig sees her ears redden anyway.
The end of the lunch period finds Fig meandering through the halls until she lands outside Jawbone’s open door in the staff hallway. She pats around her pockets for her pack of cloves, then steps through the door. She places the cloves on Jawbone’s desk as he looks up from his paperback. He pulls his glasses off of his nose and lets them dangle around his neck by their chain. He picks up the pack.
“Trying to smoke me out?” He asks, one thick eyebrow up. Fig guffaws.
“Was that an option this whole time?” She asks.
“Catch me on a Saturday,” He says, and motions to the chair across from him. She sits down and shoves a handful of worms into her mouth. “Glad to see you, kiddo. What’s up?”
“Oh, I, uh.” She hadn’t thought that far. “What’s your book about?” It’s flipped pages-down on the desk. The spine is heavily cracked. Jawbone picks it up.
“It’s from a series. Really well-written Kenku erotica, if you’re ever in the market for it.” His tone is even and patient. Fig flushes.
“Um, maybe!” She manages. “Anyway, I actually came here to, like, say thank you.”
Jawbone tilts his furry chin forward and leans on the palm of his hand.
“Just, uh, I know it’s your job and all, but I’m, like, doing better lately than I was earlier this semester. I’m gonna talk to my mom about the center you told me about a while ago.” She rubs the inside of her elbow. Jawbone beams exuberantly.
“Oh, kiddo! I’m so proud of you. You’re a really wonderful person. I’m real glad to hear you’re moving through some stuff!” His nose scrunches up under the force of his grin. Fig smiles back.
“So, uh, I brought you my cloves as, like, a symbol? Oh my god, I don’t know. They don’t even do anything. Just-- yeah.” She pauses. Jawbone gives a nasal chuckle. “Could I, um, have a hug, please?”
Jawbone rises and walks around his desk and wraps Fig up in his big arms and pulls her into his thickly sweatered torso. She places her arms on his back and lets the consistent pressure drain the last dregs of this moment’s anxiety from her body. She pats his shoulder, feeling immediately silly for doing so, and they part.
“Listen, bud, I’ve got a meeting starting pretty shortly, but whenever this door’s open, I’d love for you to stop in and chat about anything you want.” He says as he lowers back into his seat.
“I think I’ll take you up on that. Thanks again,” She says. She snatches a handful of worms for the road and bounces out the door. Her effervescent gait is quickly interrupted as she smashes into a blazer-clad shoulder and tumbles to the ground.
“Agh! Sorry! Here, can I, uh--” It’s Adaine. She shakes her hands in front of her torso for a moment before getting an arm around Fig and hoisting her back up.
“Whoosh,” Fig says nonsensically. Adaine giggles. It’s a really nice sound.
“Were you meeting with Jawbone?” Adaine asks. Her tone is casual, but it’s measured.
“Yeah, I guess. He gave me, like, a referral for some of my brain stuff.” Adaine smiles.
“For the Chiamaka Center? That’s where I went for my anxiety diagnosis. It was pretty chill, actually. They had snacks.”
“I love snacks,” Fig says. Adaine nods. Her little closed-mouth smile emphasizes her cherub cheeks. Fig watches as she takes a breath, holds it, and then continues to speak.
“I, uh, know we haven’t known each other that long, and I don’t know you too well, but, um, you’ve seemed a lot happier lately than when we first met. And, uh. I guess I just wanted to say I’m proud of you, for, for getting help.” She’s looking at her feet and toying with the edge of her skirt. Fig’s eyes well up.
“Adaine!” She says. “You’re–ugh! Can I hug you?”
Adaine freezes momentarily, but she opens her arms at the elbows and steps into Fig’s bubble. Fig grabs her around the waist and squeezes her as gently as she can manage. Adaine coughs into Fig’s shoulder, and they release each other.
“I have to get to my meeting,” Adaine says. Her cheeks are cotton candy pink. “But. Um. I’ll see you after school?”
“You bet you will!” Fig cheers. Adaine enters Jawbone’s office and Fig bounces down the hall.
She’s making her way towards the music wing, the idea of a quick nap rolling pleasantly around in her mind, when she’s intercepted by a tall girl with flickering hair. Ayda looks a little frazzled, if the sparks leaping off of her scalp are anything to go by.
“Figueroth. Fig! Hello. We just spoke earlier today. You look happy. Is your day going well?” Fig gapes like a fish, briefly, before giving her head a little shake and coming back to the present.
“Yeah! Today’s been a little bit of a rollercoaster, but, like, a fun one.”
“I love rollercoasters,” Ayda says. Fig loves the way she makes eye contact. She chooses not to think about that at present.
“I do, too! They make me pretty motion-sick, though.” Ayda frowns.
“I’m sorry. I don’t get motion-sick, or seasick, or anything. Well, I get regular sick. I had the flu last year.” She flutters her wings, sending a gentle wave of hot air cascading over Fig. “Please excuse me. This isn’t what I stopped you to talk about.”
Fig goes clammy all at once, the effects of her space heater friend falling away to the cold pallor of doubt that settles in her sinuses. “Oh?” She manages.
“Yes. I have been thinking about what you said earlier today, about the dance. And also I talked to Adaine about it, because I thought you might have been employing implication, and that’s not always my fortitude. Either way, I have a bit of a proposition for you.”
“Uh-huh,” Fig says, feeling rather out of her own loop. Ayda continues.
“Yes. So, this proposition involves my sharing some potentially sensitive, but hopefully mutually pleasing, information with you. In order to ensure the safety of this information, and to provide a safety net for our friendship, I’ve drafted this contract.”
Ayda reaches into her bookbag and procures a purple pen and a crumpled slip of notebook paper. She offers them forwards, and Fig unslings her bass case from around her shoulders so that she can hold them properly.
“Feel free to read over the terms as I’ve written them, but the gist of what they say is that, upon receiving this information, you are obligated to share only your honest thoughts relating to the matter, and if those thoughts are negative, you must vow never to think of the information again.”
“Yeah, okay,” Fig says, and signs it.
“Excellent. Awesome. Thank you.” Ayda heaves a breath. “I would like to attend the homecoming dance as your date, if you are at all interested. I find you a remarkable conversationalist with a spectacular sense of humor, and you smell like a happy bonfire.”
Fig uses all of her self control to keep from just standing there with her jaw wide open, catching flies. “You–uh, like, for realsies?”
“For realsies,” Ayda says gravely.
“Ayda, I, um, yes. I would really like that. I really like listening to you talk and I think you’re really pretty. Handsome? Both!” Fig flaps her hands at her sides. Ayda bites her lip as she grins.
“Incredible. This is a huge win. You should tell me what color your dress is so that I can get a matching tie and pocket square.”
“Fuck, you are so fucking cool. I, uh, need to go scream outside or something, but I’ll see you tomorrow night?”
“Yes you will. Please don’t hurt your voice before the battle.”
“No, I won’t. Thank you. You’re really thoughtful. Um, bye.” Fig drops her skateboard and whips to the nearest exit. She rolls onto the ground and squeals.
That night, Fig finds herself clamoring out of Gorgug’s passenger seat and onto the long, long driveway up to Seacaster Manor. The grass is green and tall on the lawn, scrabbling against the exterior of the huge ship that Fabian apparently lives in. Fabian is dismounting his bike as the rest of the band exits the car.
“Duuude,” Gorgug says, marvelling at the structure before them. “Your house is a boat.”
“It’s a–it’s my father’s, obviously, and it’s a ship. It’s not a boat.” Fabian grumbles. Adaine pushes past him to the front entrance.
“Tomato, to-mah-to, my guy.” She pulls the door open and steps in. Fig and the rest of her middle-class-and-below friends gape in at the towering ceilings and rope chandeliers. Riz puts one foot forward, and they all follow his brazen motion until the door is swinging shut behind them.
“Okay, uh, welcome to Seacaster Manor,” Fabian says. “Make yourselves comfortable. All the guest rooms are clean and stuff, so that shouldn’t be an issue.” Fig narrows her eyes.
“Guest rooms?” She asks.
“Yeah. You know, like, extra rooms for guests–”
“Yeesh, I know what a guest room is. It’s just, this is a sleepover! We all have to pile into one room! That’s, like, the whole fun. Right?” She looks around at the group, who are all giving her blank expressions.
“I’ve never had a sleepover before,” Gorgug admits. There’s a chorus of agreement, even from a reluctant Fabian.
“I mean, I’ve been to camp, but I wasn’t really there to party,” Kristen says. Adaine rubs her shoulder.
“Actually?” Fig asks. She’s a little dumbfounded. She never had friends over to her house, but she fondly remembers blanket forts and “this-doesn’t-count” first kisses and gross pizza. “Well, it’s never too late to learn. Fabian, take us to your room.”
Fabian shrugs. He looks a little nervous as he leads them all through the halls to a room that is, frankly, too big for a high school freshman who has maybe two hobbies. It’s sparse. There are a few pictures scattered around, and a huge crystal screen covers one wall, but it’s mostly very bland.
“Why do rich people hate stuff,” Fig mumbles as she plops onto his bed. Fabian grimaces as the comforter wrinkles, but he gives it up once Kristen, Riz, and Gorgug join her. Adaine looks at the screen with a pinched expression. Fabian deposits himself in his spinny desk chair and swivels from side to side.
“What now,” he asks. Fig taps her chin.
“Do you think it’s too early to order pizza?”
“Ooh, can we get garlic bread?” Kristen asks, wiggling her limbs. Adaine snorts when she gets a foot to the stomach. Riz rolls over with downturned eyebrows.
“Um, how are we splitting the check?” He asks. “‘Cause, like, I honestly didn’t think I’d be spending any money today so I just have my emergency clip with me--”
Fabian waves away his concern with a delicately calloused hand. “Perish the thought, The Ball. I’ll have Cathilda start preparing our dinner.” He leans back in his seat and shouts: “Cathilda!”
“What’s a Cathilda?” Gorgug asks. His question answers itself within moments as the door slides open and a cheery halfling in a rather on-the-nose outfit steps in.
“Master Fabian! Apologies for not greeting you and your friends at the door. Your mother needed my help with something.” She and Fabian share a look. “In any case, I’m here now. What may I help with?”
“We need–um.” Fabian looks around rapidly. Adaine is watching him closely. “Thanks, Cathilda. This is Fig, Kristen, Gorgug, the, uh, The Ball, and that’s Adaine.” Each of them wave as they’re introduced. Cathilda grins.
“A pleasure to meet all of you wonderful young people! You’ve all certainly put an extra pep in this boy’s step since you’ve known him.” She winks. Fabian buries his face in his hands and groans. Riz bites his lip in a smile.
“Cathilda, could you please just make us a pizza and breadsticks? And, uh, maybe bring us some soda-pops?”
Adaine mouths “soda-pops” to Fig, who is pressing her lips together to keep from cackling. “How many pizzas shall I make, Master Fabian?” Cathilda asks. What a sweet lady. Fabian looks around at his little crew.
“Um, two should be fine, right?”
Gorgug and Riz both grimace a little. Cathilda chuckles. “I’ll make four.”
Riz immediately waves his arms in disagreement. “Oh, I’m sorry, you don’t have to! That sounds like a big hassle.”
“Pizza’s not so hard, Mr. Riz. I’ll go get started on that. Let me know if you need anything else!”
They all wave after her as she leaves. Gorgug turns to Fabian.
“Are you sure she’s not your mom?” He asks. Fabian rolls his eyes.
“I’m five-eleven. Obviously she’s not my mom.”
“Not so obvious,” Gorgug mumbles and shakes his head.
“How did Cathilda know Riz’s name?” Adaine asks. Fabian looks like he’s been caught in the cookie jar. “I thought you said you didn’t know it. Plus, you introduced him as The Ball.” Fabian shifts his feet against the wheels of his chair.
“I talk about you guys,” he admits. Riz gives a little cheer.
“He likes us! Mr. Cool Guy likes us!” He elbows Kristen, who elbows him back good-naturedly. He grabs one of Fabian’s pristine pillows and thwacks her in the head.
“Hey, be careful with those!” Fabian says, but Fig is already launching a throw pillow at Gorgug’s head. Honest-to-god feathers float out at the impact.
As the pillow war enters full swing, even Adaine joins in as they hurl cozy missiles at each other. Fabian, as soon as he realizes there’s no stopping the battle, starts dual-wielding and blocking attacks with a dancer’s grace.
As they wind down, Fig’s half-Nelson on Gorgug mutates into an amicable arm around the shoulder as he uses her as a headrest. Adaine is scratching at Kristen’s scalp with her dull nails. Riz is perched on the headboard, and Fabian is slumped on the floor, back to the mattress.
“You guys musta been lying about your sleepover virginities. That was a world-class pillow fight.” Fig sighs.
“Nah. Nobody ever remembered to invite me, I guess,” Riz says. When he shrugs, his pointy shoulders almost reach his ears. Fig crumples a little.
“What other sleepover activities can we do?” Adaine asks. Fig ponders this.
“Well, we should get into our jammies. I don’t know why we didn’t do that as soon as we walked through the door.”
“Public indecency, maybe?” Riz mumbles. Fabian chuckles. Kristen frowns.
“It’s not public. We’re in a house.” Gorgug nods in agreement.
“That’s not the point he’s making, dude. I don’t wanna see any of your butts, is all.” Adaine grins with half-lidded eyes.
“Speak for yourself!” Fig says. She pulls herself upright and claps her hands once. “Okay, everyone find some privacy and get changed. I don’t think it’s a proper sleepover until everybody’s cozy.”
Everyone disperses. Fig ends up in one of (apparently) several half-baths around the main deck. She divests her several layers of shirts and cheap jewelry and shimmies into some pink sweatpants and a t-shirt: one of her mom’s from when she was Fig’s age. She feels a little defenseless. She hears Kristen cackling down the hallway and heaves a breath. She’s fine. She pads back to Fabian’s room in her socks.
Adaine is leaning behind Riz as he pokes various buttons on Fabian’s enormous computer. She’s in a matching blue flannel set with her hair pulled half-up at the crown of her head. Riz wears gray sweats that are a little big on him with holes around the ankles and a thick sweatshirt. Adaine nods as Fig walks in.
“Don’t go digging too much. I don’t wanna know what kinda porn Fabian’s into,” she says. Riz guffaws.
“I don’t–I don’t watch porn!” comes Fabian’s indignation from his ensuite. Kristen and Gorgug re-enter the room.
“Are we talking about porn? Is that a normal thing to do?” Asks Kristen. She’s in a threadbare camp shirt and athletic shorts. Gorgug, looking very much like he always does in a hoodie and sweats, shrugs. Riz is shuffling through the songs Fabian has downloaded with a devilish glint in his eyes.
Fabian emerges momentarily in a black bonnet, shiny black pants, and an open blue robe. He looks self-conscious.
“Slut,” Fig observes, and the tension drains from his shoulders. He puffs out his chest.
“Well, somebody has to get the party started somehow.” He shimmies his shoulders. Adaine groans.
“Can we please talk about anything else? Like, anything else,” Adaine pleads. Kristen moves to pat her on the shoulder. Gorgug taps his chin.
“Would a jam sesh be conducive to a good sleepover?” Gorgug asks. Fig claps her hands.
“Yes, that’d be perfect!” She waggles her fingers and walks to where she dumped her tote bag of clothes and toiletries. She freezes. It’s another moment before anyone notices her stillness. Adaine clears her throat.
“Everything okay, Fig?” She asks. Fig hears carpet and fabric shuffle briefly. Everyone is looking at her. It sucks.
“I don’t have my bass,” She mumbles. She hears Fabian exhale through his teeth.
“Did you leave it at home?” Gorgug asks, voice tender.
“No, I didn’t leave it at home, I left it at school, like a fucking moron, and now it’s locked in, and I won’t be able to get it before the fucking battle.” Her knees buckle and she finds herself suddenly on the floor, eyes wet, throat cloudy. The patter of socked and bare feet on carpet. She’s being held by five sets of arms.
“Hey, man, don’t think like that!” Kristen says. “We can, uh, rent one for you! Right? Fabian can pay for that, right?” Fabian takes a breath and manages to make it sound skeptical. Fig shakes her head and opens her mouth, letting a cloud of grey smoke pour out. The arms holding her stutter in their surety, one set leaving altogether. Fig plunges her head into her knees and lets the smoke filter out around her head.
“I can’t even remember the one stupid thing I’m supposed to be good for. It doesn’t even matter if we find another bass! I’ll probably just forget how to play. God, I’m pathetic.”
Someone jerks her shoulder. Fig lifts her searing eyes to see Adaine, face set.
“Don’t you dare speak that way about my friend,” She says. It’s cold and sincere, and it makes Fig sob. Adaine pulls her into her chest in a surprisingly fierce display of affection.
“Fig, you breathe, eat, and sleep your music. You’re more committed to this than any of us, and it’s because of your drive that we’ve made it this far!” She pauses and huffs. “The bass is an instrument that connects rhythm and melody, right? Well, you’re the person that connected all of us. You’re not just a great bassist, you’re a great friend, too.” She pats Fig a little on the back of her head.
“Plus, you fucking rule on your skateboard,” Gorgug adds. Fig laughs wetly. As her breathing calms down, someone taps her shoulder and she looks up. Riz is bouncing on the balls of his feet.
“Okay, I hope this isn’t ruining the moment, but if I may turn your attention to Fabian’s stupid big computer…” He says. Fig does, along with the rest of her friends. On the screen, Riz has a set of blueprints pulled up.
“Where did you leave your bass?” He asks, bouncing back to the spinny chair and hovering his hands over the mouse. Fig opens and closes her mouth.
“The history hallway. Riz, what are you–”
Riz taps some keys and all of the windows become highlighted. He zooms into one area.
“Okay, so, the simplest route would be to crawl through the window in the gov room. That one’s always kind of creaky, so it should be pretty easy to jimmy open. I’m not positive about campus security, but I think it would be best if somebody–Kristen, I’m thinking, since she’s got that good perception–keeps a lookout. Fig, if you’re up for it, a Disguise Self could come in handy in a pinch, but I’m not super worried. From there, I’ve just gotta sneak through the hallway, and, assuming it hasn’t been taken to the lost and found, grab your bass and scramble out.”
Riz’s pointy ears are standing on end. His eyes are gleaming as he looks from the screen back to his friends. It’s quiet, briefly. Riz scans the group.
“Did you guys forget I’m a rogue?”
Fabian leaps up, ties his robe, and lifts Riz onto his shoulder. “The Ball coming in clutch!” He says as Riz wiggles so as not to fall. Gorgug cheers.
“Breaking and entering,” Kristen mutters, and then seems to jazz herself up. “Yeah, okay. New year, new me! H-hell yeah!”
Fig removes herself from Adaine’s lap and shoots a fist in the air. “Cuss it out, little mama!”
“Uh, fuck!” Kristen says. Fabian cackles.
Everyone, even Fabian, piles into Gorgug’s van. Within a few minutes, they reach campus and park in the vacant teacher’s lot. As quietly as they can manage, they creep towards the government classroom’s window. Riz gets some weird tools out and fiddles at the seam of the window until it pops gently outward. He grins and waves for Fig and Kristen to follow them.
“Remember,” Adaine says, “Message one of us if you get into trouble.”
“Will do, captain!” Kristen stage whispers with a salute. Fabian withers.
The recon team tiptoes through the classroom and peeks out of the door into the hallway. Noting that the coast is clear, Riz does a roll into the hallway and flits from locker to locker until he reaches Fig’s bass, gleaming in the fluorescent hallway lights. It’s taller than he is, but he manages. When he’s about halfway back to the classroom, a loud shout comes from a ways away. Riz freezes.
Fig turns to Kristen. “Who was that?” Fig asks. Kristen rolls perception with advantage and pales.
“Coach Daybreak,” She whispers. Fig sees Riz continue to scuttle down the hallway. She holds up a hand to stop him and Messages Adaine. In an instant, their three compatriots tumble through the window.
“What’s wrong?” Gorgug asks.
“We’re not sure,” Kristen says, “but it sounds like somebody’s in trouble.”
“What are we, hall monitors? We’re gonna get caught,” Fabian says.
“Please,” Kristen says. “I’ve known Daybreak since I was a little kid. I couldn’t forgive myself if something happened.”
Fabian relents, and the group moves quietly down the hall. Riz passes off the bass to Fig, who kisses it in a moment of nonsensical gratitude. She slings it across her back.
As they grow closer, the noise grows louder. Fig and Gorgug both recognize a second voice as Ragh, and they both shudder to think what might be happening. They pause outside of the room, which ends up being Daybreak’s office.
“Ragh, I understand that this is hard for you to hear, but behavior like that is completely unsuitable for an Owlbear,” comes Daybreak’s gruff voice.
“What behavior, man? Having feelings? Being honest? Haven’t you heard about the–the separation of church and state?”
“This matter isn’t church or state, Ragh. It’s simple morale. I can’t have a player like you making my boys uncomfortable.”
“A player like me,” Ragh laughs humorlessly. “You know, next to–next to Dayne, I’m your best man. Nothing's gonna change that!”
“But something has,” Daybreak says. “A player has reported feeling unsafe, and since you seem unwilling to hear a solution, I’m forced to take disciplinary measures.”
Gorgug looks at Fig with wild eyes. Fig raises her eyebrows and shrugs. As they attempt telepathic communication without a spell, Kristen makes a decision.
“Daybreak?” She steps into the doorframe. The rest of the group stays out in the hallway, hidden. “I’m sorry to eavesdrop, but what’s going on?”
A stifled gasp. “Kristen, kiddo, what are you doing on campus? It’s after hours!”
“Please just answer the question,” She says, but something in her tone is sharp like she already knows.
“It’s none of your concern, kiddo. You should run on home. There’s a worship service tonight, and I haven’t seen you at one of those in a while!”
“He’s kicking me off the team for being a fag,” Ragh says. Fig doesn’t manage to hold back her shocked intake of breath. Daybreak steps quickly into the hallway. Kristen stands stock-still, something in her resolve visually crumbling.
“What the hell is going on here?” Daybreak says.
“Coach Daybreak,” Kristen says, voice wobbling, “is that true?”
Daybreak glares at the group and sighs, turning towards Kristen.
“Kristen, you gotta understand. Helio calls men to love women and women to love men. Ragh’s personal choices are going to cause consequences for the team if he sticks around. I’m doing the best thing for my players! You see that, right?”
Kristen’s frown trembles, and then she swings a rock-solid right hook at Daybreak’s nose. Blood splatters on the doorframe and the wall.
“I don’t know how I managed not to see how hypocritical the church is for so long,” she says. “Helio’s love isn’t unconditional if He can’t love His children for who they are. You’re–you’re a fucking bigot, Daybreak!” She elbows the still hunched man out of her way, again knocking his head into the bricks, and grabs Ragh by the arm. Daybreak heaves himself up against the wall.
“I shoulda gotten you outta this band before the–the bad kids over here poisoned you,” He growls, hand cupped under his still gushing nose. He starts to lunge, and Kristen starts to run back towards the government room with Ragh in tow. The group follows quickly after. Fig looks behind her for just long enough to see Daybreak slumping back into his office.
They all pile out of the window and land on the grass outside, panting and wheezing. Fabian stands up and hoots.
“Kristen, you were amazing back there! You were like, POW! And he was like, blaghhhh! The look on his face!” He shakes his hands in front of his torso. Kristen smiles weakly, but she stops and puts a hand on Ragh’s face. Gorgug kneels next to them. For the first time, Fig notices that Ragh has a black eye.
“Did he hit you?” Kristen asks. Ragh shakes his head.
“Nah. It was, uh, Dayne.”
“What happened?” Asks Gorgug. Ragh leans his head back against the brick wall of the school.
“I’ve been talking to Jawbone lately. He’s super cool. He has gummy worms.” He takes a big breath. “Um, I talked to him about my–some feelings I’ve had for a while. And he told me–he told me to tell Dayne how I feel.”
“Oh, buddy,” Fig says without thinking. Ragh grimaces.
“Yeah. He, uh, didn’t take it well. I went to talk to Daybreak about it, cause, you know, he’s always been kind of–kind of a dad to me.” He pauses. Kristen rubs his arm.
“I shoulda hit him harder,” She whispers. Ragh laughs.
“Robe guy was right, dude, you were fucking gnarly back there. I thought you were a nice little corn girl!”
“Yeah, well.” She clears her throat. “Being gay isn’t very conducive to being a ‘little corn girl’, so I’m back on the market, god-wise.”
Ragh’s eyes widen. He wraps his arms around her tightly and she laughs into his shoulder.
“It’s you and me, buddy,” He grumbles into her hair. She pats his back and points her thumb towards Fig.
“Her too. She’s bi. Oh, gosh, was that okay to say? Did I just out you?”
Fig snorts. “You’re good, dude.” Ragh does a grabby hand at her, and she joins the pile.
“You two are, uh, the only other gay people I know.”
“There’re more of us out there,” Fig assures him. “Once you get outta school, we can go to Bastion and hit up some gay bars.”
Ragh laughs, but it’s a little forced. “Still, it feels pretty lonely right now.” He sits back. Fig pulls Kristen into her lap, assuming she could still use some affection right now. “Like, getting rejected by Dayne… I mean, I knew it was coming, but still. I feel sorta repulsive.”
“You’re not repulsive,” Gorgug cuts in suddenly. He puts his hand on Ragh’s shoulder. “For real, dude. There’s someone out there for you.”
“But I’m–I’m big and sweaty and my tusks are crooked and I’m always so mad–”
Gorgug glances at Kristen momentarily, and then leans in to stop Ragh’s negativity with a gentle kiss. Fabian coughs and turns away. Fig grins. When Gorgug pulls away after a moment, Ragh stares at him, slack-jawed.
“You’re not repulsive,” Gorgug repeats firmly. “You’re great. Be nicer to yourself.”
Ragh nods and touches his lips with his fingertips.
At that moment, a deep voice calls out from around the corner, “Alright, the shenanigans end here.”
The group shoots to their feet, Fig unslinging her bass from her shoulders and Fabian drawing his sword. The source of the voice materializes as Vice Principal Goldenrod, or whatever his name is, Fig never bothered to learn it, followed by a smug-looking Daybreak.
“Breaking and entering is one thing, but assaulting a faculty member? You all are some bad, bad kids,” He says with a shake of his big scaly head. Kristen tilts her head up towards him in defiance.
“I’d do it again,” Kristen says.
“I don’t doubt it, Miss Applebees,” Goldenrod says coldly. “Which is why you and your party will be receiving a month's detention.”
Adaine whimpers a little. Fig pats her shoulder. Goldenrod holds a claw up.
“In addition,” He continues, “your admittance to the Battle of the Bands tomorrow night is hereby revoked. You are no longer eligible to compete, nor may you attend the event.”
Fig’s jaw drops. Adaine looks at her sharply.
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding,” Fabian mutters.
“You can’t do that!” Riz says. “We’ve been working since school started for this performance! There has to be something else you can do!”
Kristen steps forward. “Please. If you gotta punish somebody, punish me. I’m the one who hit him!” She pleads.
“That you were. Kristen, you’ll receive a three day suspension that will go on your permanent record in addition to the other punishments.”
Uproarious shouts of disagreement come up from the group, but Goldenrod silences them.
“My word is final. You all need to leave campus immediately.” He ushers them towards their car in the parking lot. Kristen tugs Ragh to sit in the back with the rest of them.
Fig crumples in the passenger seat once the car is moving. “Guys, I’m so fucking sorry. If I’d’ve just sucked it up and borrowed a different bass, we wouldn’t be here. And we did that for what? We can’t even perform now.” She leans against the dashboard and groans.
“It wasn’t all for nothing,” Adaine pipes up. “I mean, we got a band name out of the deal, didn’t we?”
Fig turns to look at her and sees everyone (except Gorgug, who is a very safe driver) doing the same.
“What would that be?” Asks Fabian. Adaine grins.
“The Bad Kids, dude. Obviously.”