that time I wrote a high school AU about Bulma and Chi-Chi being high school lesbians
It was supposed to be a drabble but ended up too long so I cut it short.
I'm only posting this here because Tumblr hates me adding "Read More" cuts. So...
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I feel weird-watching her like this. Almost like I’m stalking her. I’m not. I’m in plain view, sitting at my lunch table in the quad and watching her. She’s sitting on the table with her long legs crossed. If she looked over, she could see me watching her. Studying her. Okay, maybe that did sound a little stalker-y.
I can’t help it. She’s beautiful. She’s ruffling her blue hair that’s probably impossibly silky to the touch. It was just cut short-the look suits her. I feel a strange dip in my stomach and turn back down to my lunch. My sandwich stares back at me dolefully. I was in a hurry and just threw something together. It’s something a little kid would eat. Juice box. Sandwich. Some cookies in a Ziploc bag.
I live in the apartment above my family’s garage. It’s like a semblance of my own place even though I don’t pay rent and my dad pays for everything. It’s got a little kitchen and a living room. A bedroom and a bathroom. It’s pretty cozy. And solitary. Except when my friends are there, which is always.
I toss my lunch because I’m not hungry and feel like blowing off the rest of the day. Even if I go to class, it’ll be spent thinking about her. She’s like an obsession. This beautiful, otherworldly goddess. I mean, I don’t really put her on a pedestal. I don’t. I know she can be petty and mean and speaks too loudly. I know even though she’s won the science fair every year since second grade that she forgets who Alexander Hamilton is. But I don’t care. It’s her imperfections that make her perfect to me. Which totally makes sense.
I do end up blowing off the rest of the day. I’m too restless anyway. School is such a pain. There’s only a month or two left anyway. Graduation. Scary as shit. My thoughts feel so truncated. Disjointed. Like I’m thinking in a telegraph or something. I press my hand to my head. Has to be some form of senioritis or whatever they call it. I just can’t deal. Everything is so hurried. Maybe the rest of my thoughts are like this because the rest of my brain is devoted to thinking about her. Scary thought, that.
I unlock the door to my little apartment and hear him before I see him. Hear the click-clack of fingers over keys only interrupted by the sound of chewing. It’s the chewing that lets me know it’s him.
Goku’s sitting on my futon in the living room, hunched over a laptop. His fingers are working like mad over the keys. I figure he didn’t go to school again. Senioritis bit him hard.
“Hey!” He looks up when he sees me and smiles wide. “I used the key taped to the railing to get in.”
He has a house-well, he has a trailer. He lives there with his dad. His brother moved out into an apartment downtown a year or so ago so it’s just been the two of them. Even so, he spends most of his time at my little place, conked out on the futon or devouring the contents of my fridge.
Once upon a time, I thought I was in love with him and he thought he was in love with me. It was the usual fairytale except both the stable boy and the princess realized they preferred the same gender and split amicably.
“Writing an essay?” I stop at my fridge and poke around the contents for a bit. Goku’s already been at it. In addition to the bag of chips he’s inhaling, he had already eaten my leftovers from two nights ago and some old Easter candy that had been as hard as rocks. I guess it should bother me but it really doesn’t.
“Yeah. I have a paper due tomorrow…I think. I dunno. All the days are blending together.” He squints at the screen and seems to fix something.
I can tell he’s getting frustrated-papers are his least favorite thing to do-so I take the laptop from him and fix it. There are a lot of the little red and green squiggles on his paper so I take care of those first. I love him-now more in a platonic sense-but Goku isn’t the best when it comes to schoolwork.
“Did you talk to her today?” His breath smells like nacho cheese, meaning that he also ate at least one of the mini-bags of Doritos I keep in the pantry.
I shake my head and change some wording in his second paragraph.
“I can talk to her, you know. I mean, we’re really good friends. And I am seeing her ex-boyfriend.”
I roll my eyes and finish tweaking his paper and save it.
“I’ll talk to her when I’m ready.”
Goku rolls his eyes but then perks up as if he’s bored now. Attention span of a hyperactive goldfish, he’s got.
“Speaking of her ex and my boyfriend…”
I sigh. “You want to invite him over.”
He has the audacity to look sheepish and I know that means he already did. I roll my eyes again. If Vegeta’s coming over that means one thing: fuckfest. Actually, it means two things: fuckfest and I don’t want to be here for it.
As if on cue there’s a knock at the door. Neither of us moves and so he just lets himself in. I love Goku but I hate his taste in men. Vegeta’s standing in my doorway, puffing on one of his gross imported cigarettes that somehow smell and taste nastier than regular cigarettes. His hands are on his pockets and he looks pissed that I’m here. Like I shouldn’t be allowed in my own house. I glare at him until he tosses the half-burnt cigarette out onto the little deck that serves as my porch. He stomps on it hard with a thick-soled combat boot and arches a brow at me. God, he’s vile.
Goku, of course, doesn’t notice his vileness and launches at his boyfriend with a happy squeal. It’s as if they haven’t seen each other in forever the way they have a tongue-heavy reunion in my foyer. I think they forget I’m still here because hands are starting to go places and they’re maneuvering each other over to the futon. I clear my throat and get no response. I stamp my foot. No response. I pick up the television remote and chuck it at them. It hits Goku square in the back and that, at least, gets a response. He smiles sheepishly and then whispers something in Vegeta’s ear.
He grumbles and extracts a pair of car keys.
“Here.” It’s the first thing he’s said since he came in.
He tosses me the keys and I catch them in one hand.
“Don’t scratch it,” he continues gruffly. “And don’t come back for at least an hour.”
I make myself scarce from my own house and they get back to their fuckfest. I’m not mad. Not really. Especially because this means I get to drive Vegeta’s car. He’s the richest kid in town-his dad owns most of it-so he has the nicest everything. His car, especially. A silver Maserati Spyder. I don’t know much about cars but I know that this one is really pretty. I get in and adjust the mirrors and push the seat back a little. I feel…cool in his car. Like I could be driving with her. Actually, she could have driven in this car. I’m sure she did. At least there are only two seats so it’s not like I have the uncomfortable mental image of the two of them going at it in the backseat. I don’t like to picture her with him. Or her with anyone. But me.
I start the car and whiney nineties complaint rock starts blasting out of the speakers. I change the CD and this time my ears are greeted with the sound of Kanye West. I figure it’s better than the Wallflowers and leave it. Vegeta has this thing for post-grunge nineties music. It’s weird. But I guess it’s little things like that that prove he’s human. Weird music taste. Letting me use his car…I’m trying to pretend he’s not fucking my best friend on my futon right now. And I’m trying to pretend he never had sex with her. Not because it’s the image of her having sex with a boy but that it’s him and I don’t like him.
I decide to drive to the teen center because it’s something to do. Most everyone in our town goes there because they give out free pizza and don’t seem to notice when people sneak in liquor. Anyone can get off the hook with their parents if they say they were at the teen center because it was built so us wayward kids could have a place to hang out and not be so…wayward.
When I get there, I spot two boys chasing each other with Super-soakers. I stop the car and one of them slides across the hood. Pissed, I honk the horn.
“Fuck off, Prince!” I recognize one of the boys as Yamcha from our grade.
He turns and notices that it isn’t Vegeta driving and smiles apologetically.
“Sorry, Cheech.”
From behind, the other boy squirts him and Yamcha turns around, restarting their battle.
“You’re fucking dead, Tien. Dead!”
They disappear around the side of the building and I decide it’s safe to get out of the car. When I go into the center, there are only a few people I know. Some are crowded around the refreshment stand, grabbing slices of pizza and sodas. I see one boy off to the side, pouring something from a flask into his red plastic cup.
She’s there. A slice of pizza in one hand and a cup filled with orange soda in the other. She’s talking to a blonde girl-I don’t know her very well. They’re laughing about something and somehow, I get jealous. I stay jealous until a third boy armed with a Super-soaker sprays the blonde girl and she gets up to chase him outside. They have that sort of flirty thing going on and it makes me feel better. I have no idea.
I could go up to her. I can. I can go up to her and say…say what? Say, “Hey, so our ex-boyfriends are having sex right now. Funny, huh?” I have a feeling that won’t go over well.
I walk over to her and my palms start to sweat. I wipe them on the back of my jeans and slide over to the couch. She glances over and smiles, acknowledging my presence. It’s not like we’re strangers. We know each other. I just don’t know what to do with feelings. I’ve never kissed a girl. I’ve never been in love with one before her-if it even is love and not some lusty lust feeling. I take a deep breath and smile back at her.
“Hey.”
She looks up at me and gives a sort of smile. It’s not particularly welcoming but not like she’s humoring me either and it reaches her eyes so I think I’m okay.
“Hey, back.”
I'm only posting this here because Tumblr hates me adding "Read More" cuts. So...
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I feel weird-watching her like this. Almost like I’m stalking her. I’m not. I’m in plain view, sitting at my lunch table in the quad and watching her. She’s sitting on the table with her long legs crossed. If she looked over, she could see me watching her. Studying her. Okay, maybe that did sound a little stalker-y.
I can’t help it. She’s beautiful. She’s ruffling her blue hair that’s probably impossibly silky to the touch. It was just cut short-the look suits her. I feel a strange dip in my stomach and turn back down to my lunch. My sandwich stares back at me dolefully. I was in a hurry and just threw something together. It’s something a little kid would eat. Juice box. Sandwich. Some cookies in a Ziploc bag.
I live in the apartment above my family’s garage. It’s like a semblance of my own place even though I don’t pay rent and my dad pays for everything. It’s got a little kitchen and a living room. A bedroom and a bathroom. It’s pretty cozy. And solitary. Except when my friends are there, which is always.
I toss my lunch because I’m not hungry and feel like blowing off the rest of the day. Even if I go to class, it’ll be spent thinking about her. She’s like an obsession. This beautiful, otherworldly goddess. I mean, I don’t really put her on a pedestal. I don’t. I know she can be petty and mean and speaks too loudly. I know even though she’s won the science fair every year since second grade that she forgets who Alexander Hamilton is. But I don’t care. It’s her imperfections that make her perfect to me. Which totally makes sense.
I do end up blowing off the rest of the day. I’m too restless anyway. School is such a pain. There’s only a month or two left anyway. Graduation. Scary as shit. My thoughts feel so truncated. Disjointed. Like I’m thinking in a telegraph or something. I press my hand to my head. Has to be some form of senioritis or whatever they call it. I just can’t deal. Everything is so hurried. Maybe the rest of my thoughts are like this because the rest of my brain is devoted to thinking about her. Scary thought, that.
I unlock the door to my little apartment and hear him before I see him. Hear the click-clack of fingers over keys only interrupted by the sound of chewing. It’s the chewing that lets me know it’s him.
Goku’s sitting on my futon in the living room, hunched over a laptop. His fingers are working like mad over the keys. I figure he didn’t go to school again. Senioritis bit him hard.
“Hey!” He looks up when he sees me and smiles wide. “I used the key taped to the railing to get in.”
He has a house-well, he has a trailer. He lives there with his dad. His brother moved out into an apartment downtown a year or so ago so it’s just been the two of them. Even so, he spends most of his time at my little place, conked out on the futon or devouring the contents of my fridge.
Once upon a time, I thought I was in love with him and he thought he was in love with me. It was the usual fairytale except both the stable boy and the princess realized they preferred the same gender and split amicably.
“Writing an essay?” I stop at my fridge and poke around the contents for a bit. Goku’s already been at it. In addition to the bag of chips he’s inhaling, he had already eaten my leftovers from two nights ago and some old Easter candy that had been as hard as rocks. I guess it should bother me but it really doesn’t.
“Yeah. I have a paper due tomorrow…I think. I dunno. All the days are blending together.” He squints at the screen and seems to fix something.
I can tell he’s getting frustrated-papers are his least favorite thing to do-so I take the laptop from him and fix it. There are a lot of the little red and green squiggles on his paper so I take care of those first. I love him-now more in a platonic sense-but Goku isn’t the best when it comes to schoolwork.
“Did you talk to her today?” His breath smells like nacho cheese, meaning that he also ate at least one of the mini-bags of Doritos I keep in the pantry.
I shake my head and change some wording in his second paragraph.
“I can talk to her, you know. I mean, we’re really good friends. And I am seeing her ex-boyfriend.”
I roll my eyes and finish tweaking his paper and save it.
“I’ll talk to her when I’m ready.”
Goku rolls his eyes but then perks up as if he’s bored now. Attention span of a hyperactive goldfish, he’s got.
“Speaking of her ex and my boyfriend…”
I sigh. “You want to invite him over.”
He has the audacity to look sheepish and I know that means he already did. I roll my eyes again. If Vegeta’s coming over that means one thing: fuckfest. Actually, it means two things: fuckfest and I don’t want to be here for it.
As if on cue there’s a knock at the door. Neither of us moves and so he just lets himself in. I love Goku but I hate his taste in men. Vegeta’s standing in my doorway, puffing on one of his gross imported cigarettes that somehow smell and taste nastier than regular cigarettes. His hands are on his pockets and he looks pissed that I’m here. Like I shouldn’t be allowed in my own house. I glare at him until he tosses the half-burnt cigarette out onto the little deck that serves as my porch. He stomps on it hard with a thick-soled combat boot and arches a brow at me. God, he’s vile.
Goku, of course, doesn’t notice his vileness and launches at his boyfriend with a happy squeal. It’s as if they haven’t seen each other in forever the way they have a tongue-heavy reunion in my foyer. I think they forget I’m still here because hands are starting to go places and they’re maneuvering each other over to the futon. I clear my throat and get no response. I stamp my foot. No response. I pick up the television remote and chuck it at them. It hits Goku square in the back and that, at least, gets a response. He smiles sheepishly and then whispers something in Vegeta’s ear.
He grumbles and extracts a pair of car keys.
“Here.” It’s the first thing he’s said since he came in.
He tosses me the keys and I catch them in one hand.
“Don’t scratch it,” he continues gruffly. “And don’t come back for at least an hour.”
I make myself scarce from my own house and they get back to their fuckfest. I’m not mad. Not really. Especially because this means I get to drive Vegeta’s car. He’s the richest kid in town-his dad owns most of it-so he has the nicest everything. His car, especially. A silver Maserati Spyder. I don’t know much about cars but I know that this one is really pretty. I get in and adjust the mirrors and push the seat back a little. I feel…cool in his car. Like I could be driving with her. Actually, she could have driven in this car. I’m sure she did. At least there are only two seats so it’s not like I have the uncomfortable mental image of the two of them going at it in the backseat. I don’t like to picture her with him. Or her with anyone. But me.
I start the car and whiney nineties complaint rock starts blasting out of the speakers. I change the CD and this time my ears are greeted with the sound of Kanye West. I figure it’s better than the Wallflowers and leave it. Vegeta has this thing for post-grunge nineties music. It’s weird. But I guess it’s little things like that that prove he’s human. Weird music taste. Letting me use his car…I’m trying to pretend he’s not fucking my best friend on my futon right now. And I’m trying to pretend he never had sex with her. Not because it’s the image of her having sex with a boy but that it’s him and I don’t like him.
I decide to drive to the teen center because it’s something to do. Most everyone in our town goes there because they give out free pizza and don’t seem to notice when people sneak in liquor. Anyone can get off the hook with their parents if they say they were at the teen center because it was built so us wayward kids could have a place to hang out and not be so…wayward.
When I get there, I spot two boys chasing each other with Super-soakers. I stop the car and one of them slides across the hood. Pissed, I honk the horn.
“Fuck off, Prince!” I recognize one of the boys as Yamcha from our grade.
He turns and notices that it isn’t Vegeta driving and smiles apologetically.
“Sorry, Cheech.”
From behind, the other boy squirts him and Yamcha turns around, restarting their battle.
“You’re fucking dead, Tien. Dead!”
They disappear around the side of the building and I decide it’s safe to get out of the car. When I go into the center, there are only a few people I know. Some are crowded around the refreshment stand, grabbing slices of pizza and sodas. I see one boy off to the side, pouring something from a flask into his red plastic cup.
She’s there. A slice of pizza in one hand and a cup filled with orange soda in the other. She’s talking to a blonde girl-I don’t know her very well. They’re laughing about something and somehow, I get jealous. I stay jealous until a third boy armed with a Super-soaker sprays the blonde girl and she gets up to chase him outside. They have that sort of flirty thing going on and it makes me feel better. I have no idea.
I could go up to her. I can. I can go up to her and say…say what? Say, “Hey, so our ex-boyfriends are having sex right now. Funny, huh?” I have a feeling that won’t go over well.
I walk over to her and my palms start to sweat. I wipe them on the back of my jeans and slide over to the couch. She glances over and smiles, acknowledging my presence. It’s not like we’re strangers. We know each other. I just don’t know what to do with feelings. I’ve never kissed a girl. I’ve never been in love with one before her-if it even is love and not some lusty lust feeling. I take a deep breath and smile back at her.
“Hey.”
She looks up at me and gives a sort of smile. It’s not particularly welcoming but not like she’s humoring me either and it reaches her eyes so I think I’m okay.
“Hey, back.”