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summer camp, classics year.
i'm relaxing on the beach after a day of hard training. the thick, corded muscles of my calves and thighs slowly loosen as i lay in the shade. the sun’s starting to set, but it's not doing anything for the blistering temperature. grooming my tail is going to be hell tonight — the heat and humidity always make it so frizzy.
my ears perk up, twitching forward in excitement when i hear vodka running over and calling out to me. embarrassing. what am i, her dog? i say i haven't been able to get her out of my mind since i watched her win the derby, but really i've been obsessed with her for much longer. probably since before we even started the twinkle series.
it's just that racing against her made me realize: i'm in love.
with vodka. of all people, it had to be her! she's crass, headstrong, constantly annoying, and i can't get enough of her. the way she's so at ease around me, even when we’re fighting... it makes me feel so secure. but i can never tell how she feels about me — always saying and doing such incredibly romantic things before pulling away so sharply it feels like a door was slammed in my face. and yet, i still hope for something more. every time.
i look up at her. she's wearing matching swim shorts and a sports bra: black with orange lightning bolts down the sides. ears standing tall, tail flicking at an insistent fly, grinning down at me with hand on hip. a rare sight, since she's a few inches shorter than me (3.5, but who's counting). more muscular, though — our legs are about the same, but her torso and arms are much more defined. a fact that has been increasingly hard to ignore, as my mind has been dominated by thoughts and fantasies about her... strong arms wrapped around me, pressed tight against her, my hands digging into her back; and right now, her abs are glistening with sweat and there are drops trailing down, down past her belly button and under the waistband of her—
scarlet! get it together, you perv! she's right in front of you! thank the goddesses i'm wearing sunglasses.
“do you need something?” i ask, slipping instantly into a mask of perfect composure.
“so, uh,” her tail starts to swish a little anxiously. “some of the girls are going into town in a bit to look at boys or something. thought i'd go too, y’know, just for fun. and i— they wanted me to ask if you’d like to come too?”
her words hit me like drinking curdled milk — my stomach turns, foul acid lingers on the back of my tongue. i want to retch. what did she just say? she's— vodka’s— trying to date a boy? no. no, no, no. i… fuck, my ears are gonna droop. she’ll know. she’ll know. close your mouth. breathe out. swallow that acid. you have to say something.
i slowly raise my sunglasses and look at her in disbelief, hoping the pain doesn't show in my eyes .
“boys? since when do you care about meeting boys?”
“since always! i mean, i'm a girl. o-of course i want to meet boys! summertime is for going on adventures, trying out new things: that's how i always live my life. it's what it means to be cool! and kawakami princess says some of them might have motorcycles — how could i not go?”
does she even hear herself right now?! ‘try new things’? ‘cool’? she's talking about trying to date boys! if that's her being cool, then i have even less of an idea what she means than i thought i did.
ok, okay. this is good. getting angry’ll make it easier to pretend everything's normal. i know fighting with her like i know breathing.
“well,” i say, crossing my legs. vodka glances down at my thighs and back to my face suspiciously quickly, ears folding back slightly (embarrassment? Shame?). i feel a rush of confidence. “i don't care about boys. so i'm not going.”
“oh, don't be like that, scarlet. come on! what's the harm in havin’ a little fun!”
“why are you being so insistent about this? can’t you do anything without me?”
“that's rich coming from the girl who'd never be on time for class if i wasn't there to hurry her out the door. and you don't have to come, i just thought i would be nice — and the others asked me to ask you!”
“oh, vodka the magnanimous. i'm sooo flattered you thought of me. how can i ever repay the honour?”
“shut up! this is what i get for tryin’ to be thoughtful for once!”
“you’re—” does she seriously not know how thoughtful she is all of the time? ugh, not that i could ever tell her that. “ok, actually, wait a second: i thought you didn't like kawakami princess. why are you hanging out with her?”
“what? i never said that. i like her just fine! she's always kind and she respects me even though she’s older — maybe you should try taking a page out of her book?” vodka taunts with a smug laugh.
i can't. i can't do this! saying i should be like that stuck up bitch? i'm going to scream!
“uh-huh. right. maybe once you show me something worth respecting.”
“there's seriously something wrong with you if you can't see why i'm worthy of respect. but i guess i'll just have to make it clear to you at the shuka sho!”
i move to get up, and without missing a beat in what she's saying, vodka offers her hand to help me. even in the middle of a fight, even when she's about to go flirt with fucking boys, she's still so considerate! and i take it, of course. a squirming sensation flares in my chest at the feeling of her coarse hand around mine and the thought that a boy could be holding it tonight.
i need to get out of here.
“yeah, well, i'm going to go train some more so that i can kick your ass — you go have fun with the boys,” i call out with mocking sing-song flourish as i turn and head towards the gym.
doing some weight training should be a great way to workout this frustration and bitterness. so much for letting my muscles rest tonight.
ʊ
the gym didn't help. i couldn't stop thinking about vodka talking with boys, blushing at boys, touching boys, kissing boys. no matter how much i pushed myself, the knot under my sternum stayed tight and nauseating. steady pressure of a fist driving its way into my stomach. it was still there when i woke up and, even after i poured everything i have into training, would not go away.
i didn't see vodka when she got home last night — couldn't bring myself to face her, so i just pretended to have gone to bed early. been avoiding her today too. it's just making me feel worse. i should be bigger than this!
and... secretly, deep down, i miss her. infuriating as she is, i like starting and ending each day by her side; summer camp already disrupts that enough without me running away. so: i need to talk with her before the end of the day. but, at least for now, i'd like to sulk a little longer.
i'm currently in the shared bedroom of the lodge. lounging. stewing. scrolling on my phone, watching umastagram stories. most of the girls have already left for the summer festival, so it's nice and quiet in here. i haven't even started getting ready; normally i’d already be there, done up in a stunning yukata. but i'm just wearing some coral shorts and a shimmery, loose crop top with ribbons laced corset-like for the back (an outfit carefully selected, but casual enough to say, “oh, just something i threw on,” when people compliment it).
maybe i'll just stay behind this year. really not in the mood to be surrounded by all those excited people.
of course, shortly after i think that, vodka pops her head into the room. i tense up. she scans the room and smiles wide when she sees me. still-damp bangs flopped in her face, ears twitching happily. she's got on a faded heather green tank top which hangs loosely off her broad shoulders, bunching up slightly where it meets the top of her shorts — black denim with frayed edges that hug her thighs.
how can she be so handsome?! i'm supposed to be upset with her, with myself, and yet i... i can feel my tail start to move in time with hers as she walks into the room. it makes my shoulders curl inwards.
“there you are, scarlet! i've been looking for ya!”
she has? “w-why?”
“i ran into aston machan after my bath and she said you hadn’t left yet. so, i figured i'd, uh, find you and see what's up. you resting or something?”
“yes. i was enjoying a peaceful moment alone. i've been training as hard as i can, so i needed some time to let my muscles relax, cool my head.”
“ahh so that's why i haven't seen you all day — i was starting to think maybe you were avoiding me.” she chuckles, a little bashful, and i can't tell if it's genuine or an attempt to hide that she'd really been thinking that.
“don't be ridiculous. why on earth would i be avoiding you?” i lie through my teeth, hoping vodka doesn't notice the slight strain in my voice.
she lets out another small laugh. “right, yeah... don't worry about it. i was just joking.”
“i'm not worried,” i half snap back at her. what is up with this atmosphere? why is she being so weird?
vodka leans against the wall a few feet from where i’m sitting. hands in pockets, foot tapping arrhythmically. not saying anything else. i pinch softly at the fleshy underside of my forearm, a slight twist, rolling skin between my thumb and the side of my index finger. i used to absentmindedly pick and scratch so badly i’d bleed; little bits of skin and crusted blood under my nails. don’t know why i did it. an anxious tic, i guess.
two years ago, the school nurse suggested trying to pinch instead: it took a lot of work, but i've gotten to the point where i don't even think about it. actually, it's kind of rare i do it at all these days — i think racing helped a lot. gave me a way to work out that pent up energy.
“um,” don't ask her! “so, like—” scarlet, you're just gonna make yourself feel bad— “how, how was it last night? with the boys? i mean?”
she stiffens slightly, just for a second. a small hitch in the swaying of her tail before relaxing, smooth and easy.
“oh! uh, it was good! chill. grabbed some snacks from the convenience store, hung around in the little park nearby. the boys were cool. there was this one guy, naota i think, who was — he was nice! but he kept touching my arm when he talked to me; it was weird. patronizing! i think he w-wanted to k-kiss me? at least it felt that way. kinda grossed me out — n-not that i don't like kissing or anything! obviously i do. but like, we just met, i barely know you, why would i want to kiss?”
my eyes narrow as she speaks. it feels like my intestines are untangling themselves, my abdominal muscles are contracting in a whirlpool around my belly button. vodka's playing it cool with a forced smile, but her brow's been furrowed since the 3rd sentence, her ears keep drooping before she catches them, and she just. keeps. talking.
“and then when we were leaving, a couple of the girls went off alone with boys they’d met. can you believe that? it's like, people really do that?! i could never. but i did have a fun time, really! good to hang out as a group, meet some new people — actually i think some of the boys are gonna be at the festival, so i'll probably spend some time with that crowd when i'm there. you can come with if you want, maybe i can introduce you...”
my tail’s flicking aggressively now, slapping against the wall. my ears can't stay still. she has to know i'm angry, and you know what? good. i want her to know. i'm pissed off at what a fucking coward she’s being!
“it was good? you had fun?! do you even hear yourself? because it sounds to me like you're just making yourself miserable!”
“whoa, hang on. why are you getting so aggressive? and, i am not making myself miserable, ok? maybe i was a little uncomfortable, but so what? i gotta push myself or i won't get used to it!”
“why do you have to get used to it? what happened to the vodka who was cool and did whatever she wanted without caring what other people thought? i can't believe i'm hearing you say this.”
“i don't care what anyone thinks! it’s better than being like you, always chasing approval and trying to be number one!”
i stand up. it feels pitiful yelling at her from the floor. she looks angry and hurt, but her eyes are gleaming; brilliant silver, liquid chrome. i'm sure mine are shining too, even though i'm mad as hell. it's invigorating — no one else can make me feel this way.
“oh sure, keep telling yourself that. at least now you can actually look at me! i was starting to think you'd lost all your fight. couldn't even keep your ears standing straight! it was pathetic. since you clearly don't want to hang out with those boys again, why don't you just stay here with me?”
“i never said— wait. what do you mean stay here? you're not going?”
“i—” i didn't mean to say that. fuck. i sigh, relaxing my posture. “what's it matter to you? i was planning to go, but i'm not in the mood for all the crowds and noise.”
and just like that, all the tension is gone, the pressure released. honestly, i would have liked to yell at her a bit longer, but the urgency isn't there anymore. you'd think this was just another one of our ordinary fights.
“but you we're bragging so much about your new yukata!”
“i was, but... but! there's plenty of summer left; i'll just find another reason to wear it. though i'm sure our kouhai will be disappointed they won't get to see me.”
“fair enough...” she trails off, rubbing at her shoulder — right where it meets her neck. the silence only lasts a few seconds, though, before she perks back up and says “in that case, i'll stay with ya. wouldn't want to leave you here alone.”
of course she has to make it sound like she's the one doing me a favour. even so, a petty, selfish happiness floods my body, molten dark chocolate. i can't keep the little smile off my face. she chose me over spending time with boys. i shouldn't get my hopes up, nothing's going to happen, but... i'm happy.
“ah—” and suddenly i feel shy. my tail’s swaying like a maiden in love. normally i'd have a bratty response ready to go, but she's got me off my game; i really wasn't expecting her to stay. “l-let’s have a fun night, then. ok hang on, why am i being so polite? it feels wrong.”
“hah. must be a weird night for both of us. but, uh,” she opens and closes her hand once, twice. “thanks. guess i was being... pretty... lame. you were right to call me on it.”
“of course i was. i didn't think i'd hear you admit it so readily.”
“i'm not going to get any cooler if i can't recognize when i'm being uncool!”
i could list several ways she's uncool that she doesn't recognize, but i just roll my eyes with more genuine affection then i'd like to show.
“lemme just text teio and mcqueen real quick — i was gonna head over with ‘em, but with those two i'd kinda feel like... well, i’d feel bad ditching them for the other group once we got there , y’know?”
that was... weird. sounded like she was going to say something else... whatever.
i go back to where i was sitting against the wall, and vodka slides down right next to me while she texts. we're both quiet for a while. it's awkward, but not uncomfortable. just strange for the two of us to be peaceful instead of arguing. the waves lull, a wind chime rings out bright and round. we can hear muffled voices from the few girls still getting ready.
this is kind of nice, actually. but what are we going to do tonight? my only plan was to wallow in self pity; maybe masturbate, but obviously that isn't happening, and i sure as hell don't want her to see me being a total sad sack. i'd suggest watching a movie, but there's no way the two of us are going to agree on one.
“oh!” vodka exclaims, thumping her right fist onto her left palm. “if we're going to be here alone tonight, i've got just the thing!”
before i can respond, she bounds across the room on all fours, tail swishing rapidly. and then runs back pushing her bag in front of her. why is she like this? sometimes it's just like i'm hanging out with a little kid .
“so? what is it?”
“c’mere — look!”
vodka pulls aside the rather messily packed clothes in her bag to reveal two cans of beer hidden away at the bottom. my eyes go wide, mouth hanging open; she waggles her eyebrows and grins so proudly that her nose gets all scrunched up.
“you brought be—” i start to shout, but she shoves her hand over my mouth. rough hand of someone who's spent her life playing hard and tinkering with motorcycles, firm against my soft lips. heat instant in my cheeks, and she's shushing me — finger pressed to her own lips — but all i can think is don't notice, don't notice, please. she takes her hand away, but its warmth lingers.
whisper-shouting now, “i can't believe you brought beer to summer camp!” a beat. and then, my brain rewiring itself, “won't it be warm?”
“how am i supposed to chill it?! i can't exactly go put them in the fridge, y’know.” vodka's whispering too, leaning closer. i can smell her soap — something woodsy, with cherry if i recall. dark and comforting; especially mixed with the scent of the sea.
“still! offering a lady a beer that isn't even cold... but, who am i to turn down a free drink.”
“that's right! and you better appreciate it, too!”
ʊʊ
we wait a little longer for the last few girls to leave and then sneak out with the beer hidden under vodka's jacket in case we run into any staff or trainers. i'm a step or two behind as we walk down the beach, right on the transition between loose sand and firm. her tail sways languidly with each step. the night air is still thick with the day's heat, but at least there's a gentle breeze coming in off the ocean.
“hey, mind if i have a smoke?” vodka asks, looking at me over her shoulder.
“go ahead.”
vodka shakes a cigarette out of the pack and holds it in her mouth while she flicks open her lighter. then three strikes of her thumb to get it to ignite, the second accompanied by a muttered “shit.” light and shadow cast in flickering dance against her face and the inside of her palm as the cigarette catches, quietly glowing to life. i hope the sound of the waves is enough to mask my sharp inhale.
she doesn't smoke often, just a few times a month. which is good. both for her running and for me. because if she did... if she did, i might not be able to hold back.
everything about the way she smokes is so hot: the cigarette hanging loosely from her mouth, the way she gestures with it held between the second joints of her index and middle fingers, the subtle shift in her posture — a bit wider of a stance, a bit more tilt in her hips.
it should feel so put on. i should hate it. and yet, it just makes me want to be enveloped by the smoke, to taste it on her tongue.
“my dad gave me this lighter. got it when he was a teen,” an exhale of smoke. “guess that makes it kind of a family heirloom, huh? i've shown you the design on it, haven't i?”
“you have. many times.”
it's a snake all entwined with a wheel, baring its fangs; the kind of thing you'd find in many of the motorcycle posters she has plastered all over her side of the room. she's actually told me the history of the lighter multiple times too, but i've given up telling her i already know. it doesn't stop her.
“thought so. pretty cool right?”
i sigh. “if you say so, vodka.”
“and i do say so! how much further should we go?”
“just a bit more — to make sure we won't be seen by anyone near the lodge.
“gotcha. maaan, if i had a bike, i could drive us all—” she really draws out the ‘ah,’ tracing the road to the nearby overlook with her cigarette, a trail of smoke drifting behind her hand, “—the way up there to drink.”
i almost stumble.
my heart lurches against my rib cage, tides responding to her gravity.
how can she just say something like that so casually?
my ears start to fold back submissively. i want desperately to spend the night riding on the back of her motorcycle. helmet to helmet, arms wrapped tight around her sturdy core. her bike thrumming between my legs. wonder if having my boobs against her back would make her blush? i wish i could find out.
but instead i just brush her off with: “wouldn't we get there faster by running?”
cowardice and bile, all that makes up daiwa scarlet. hollowing myself out to bury my longing never gets any easier, and yet i keep scraping away.
“yeah, probably. i guess you're right. but riding on a bike, the night air whipping around you, it's so much more...” vodka hums around her cigarette, thinking, searching. say it. say romantic. she won't, she never would. but i can't help hoping — aching — to hear it. i really am... pathetic. “it's just got a different vibe.”
and quietly, meekly, “i know what you mean... just had to give you a hard time.”
ʊʊ
the beer is warm. vodka's lips are chapped and so kissable. she drinks with her whole upper body – hand wrapped firmly around the can, mouth lingering on the rim the way i want it to on my bottom lip. even holds the can on her crotch between swigs. meanwhile i take little dainty sips; still so obsessed with keeping up my image, even when it's just the two of us. how is it so easy for her?
her eyes shine like the stars reflected on the ocean in front of us. i rest my head on my knees and listen to her chatter away about some custom motorcycle she saw today. it's unbelievable, really: you're alone on the beach with a hottie like me, and all you do is talk about motorcycles? not even stealing glances at my body? “the guy who owns it said he did all the modifications himself!” seriously? don't talk about some fucking guy when you're with me!
i'm such a child. sitting here pouting in my head because we aren’t making out when i knew that it was never gonna happen. she's too repulsed by queerness. and by romance in general, seemingly.
“what's up, scarlet? you’re uh... staring pretty intensely. you that obsessed with me?” vodka turns to look at me, that same starry glow in her eyes.
crap. i was totally staring at her lips! oh goddesses. get it together, girl! “as if. what's there to even look at? i was just thinking about how you really need to start taking care of your lips. again.”
“yeah, yeah. i know my lips are a mess, i need to use lip chap. and moisturize. and wear sunscreen. i've heard it all before, and i told ya: it's just not my style! i ain't gonna do it.”
“oh? and what if i force you?”
“you'd have to catch me first. and we both know that's not happening.” vodka smirks at me. this cocky bitch.
“catch you, huh? like this?”
before she can react, i grab her face, a hand on each cheek, and—
freeze.
vodka's eyes go wide, the corners of her mouth twitch. a little scared, uncertain smile forming and vanishing every second. she doesn't pull away, but she certainly isn't leaning into my touch.
my ears won't stop flicking. and oh no, her face is red — she's blushing so deeply and it's because of me. ahhh... she's so cute like this, my head's starting spin.
i move closer.
"h-hey, uh, um, w-wh-what are you doing? i-is this s-some kind of joke?"
if i kissed her, do you think i could blame it on the alcohol?
closer. she's leaning back.
yeah right, after only half a can of beer?
closer, closer, and vodka's starting to panic. eyes going everywhere except my face, mouth opening and closing wordlessly. i'm so close i could just do it. but—
she shoves me and scrambles back a few feet. i catch myself and stare down at the sand; impressions left by her forceful legs.
"what the fuck, scarlet!" vodka half-shouts (her face is still deep burgundy).
i take a deep breath, attempt to compose myself. put on a teasing face. vodka always sees right through me, but i still have to try. so: “got you! it was just a joke. hah! you should have seen the look on your face.” my haughty voice sounds so forced, it's like nails on a chalkboard.
“r-right... yeah, of course.” an awkward laugh. “of course it was a joke. we aren't like that.” (she won't meet my gaze).
“right. we're not,” i say through gritted teeth, willing away the tears starting to sting in the corner of my eyes. but i can't stop my tail from flicking angrily, sending sand flying behind me. “had to pay you back for choosing the derby over me.” and then, like a coward, “i'm heading back.”
“over you? wait your beer— where are you— what do you mean over you? it was never about choosing you, little miss conceited, i was always going to run in the derby!”
my ears stand up tall, smug pride swelling in my heart at the sound of her stammering and running after me all frantic. it just makes my stomach churn. pathetic. feeling such childish satisfaction... maybe i am just a petty princess like she says.
“i said, i'm going back to the lodge. you're free to join me if you wish. as for the beer,” i snatch the can from her hand and down what's left in one go, crushing it once i'm done.
before she can say anything, i continue, “and! of course it was about choosing me! i'm number one aren't i? and you've been chasing after me this whole time.” i lay the teasing tone on as thick as i can and really emphasize the ‘o’ part of whole.
“number one? number one loser, maybe! why would i care? and you—” she jabs me in the chest with her right index finger. “should know that i do what i want — like an outlaw! that's what it means to be cool. i live my life on my own terms!”
“oh you do, do you?”
“yeah. i do. always have, always will. i don't know why you're doubting me about it. maybe you're just jealous that—”
i kiss her.
grab her by the shoulders, lean down, and kiss her.
hard. forceful. no elegance nor plausible deniability: just the full weight of all the feelings i've been holding back.
her lips are rough, cracked skin scratchy against my own — and so still, sealed shut, her body's stiff as a board. it's over. i've really done it. she's going to hate me and i’ll deserve it.
what, did i think she was going to melt into me? all her hang ups would disappear under the feeling of my lips and she'd realize she loves me? don't make me laugh. i don't even know if she does love me.
i let go. my ears flatten against my head, tail swishing anxiously. vodka’s just standing there, stock still, ears on end. staring off in a daze; in shock. and then her eyes meet mine. ears drooping, mouth slightly agape. her vacant expression becoming more and more pained, confused — afraid? how could you? her face seems to say.
my cheeks burn in shame, anticipating her outburst. but it never comes. instead it looks like she might cry. one of her hands keeps opening and closing; the other is balled into her shorts. where's her anger?
“o-oh. i, uh... um— you, you,” she starts stammering, her deep voice normally so full of confidence sounds like it's about to break. “um, um. i-i need... i have to go.”
vodka turns and runs off into the darkness, getting faster and faster.
i watch her go.
then stomp my foot into the sand. and again. a third time.
i fall on my ass and cry into my knees.
cry until i hear girls start to come back from the festival.
ʊ
the next day vodka acts like nothing happened.
alright. if that's how she wants to do it, then let's go.
no one can out-fake me.
we'll see how long she can last.