Chapter Text
She was used to her life moving without significance, her days blurring together into a series of indistinguishable sociological observations. Studying other people was her science, while the act of being invisible was her art. She’d gotten impossibly good at both, which was why walking into the library for detention gave her a sick, scared sort of feeling.
The punishment was evidence that something in the monotonous equilibrium of her life was being thrown off, albeit accidentally, and she wasn’t eager to throw away the warmth and safety of her invisibility - especially if the consequence of visibility at all resembled the icy glares shot at her back by the three girls who’d put her in this predicament in the first place.
Because, all things considered, being invisible was nice. It allowed her the anonymity she needed to ruin a grading curve without teasing and the obscurity necessary to wear the same outfit more than a few days in a row without being burned at the stake. It also allowed her to walk into the library without raising the alarm of the girl at the desk, who was singing the most beautiful rendition of Cheap Trick’s “I Want You to Want Me”.
Yes, being invisible was nice. And Chloe sank into the benefits of her invisibility, letting the sound of the other girl’s voice wash over her. It was soft, but it was strong, still, rounding out the edges of the song so that it became a quiet ballad - warm and comfortable and, because of the slight rasp in her voice, undeniably sexy.
But her invisibility had it’s limits, of course, and so the other girl’s song was interrupted suddenly at the end of the chorus with a “sh-shit, I didn’t see you there”. She quickly pushed off her bulky headphones, the twists and twirls of her messy braids getting caught in the wires as she blushed profusely.
Chloe smiled, looking down to allow the girl time to compose herself. It was kind of adorable, Chloe thought before she had the chance to redirect her mind.
“Cheap Trick,” Chloe offered when the other girl stuttered, trying to explain herself, “I understand.”
“Yeah, yeah it is,” the other girl said mindlessly as her eyes roamed over Chloe, finally over her embarrassment enough to notice Chloe’s presence. She’d been sized up a lot in the early weeks of transferring - since entering high school in general, she was used to the other girls assessing her threat level. But this look was different - less scrutinizing, more observational, like the other girl was categorizing every freckle on her face and tear in her jeans so she’d remember it better for later. Chloe wasn’t sure why, but she felt herself blush.
“You can’t really hum to Cheap Trick,” she continued, trying to tear the other girl’s eyes away from their path.
“Yeah,” the other girl let out a breath of air, scratching her forehead with the end of a pencil, “Once you’ve started, you’re kind of obligated to belt it out.”
Chloe nodded again, and their eyes met. Where Chloe’s were a light sky blue, this girl’s were much darker - nearly black.
“I’m Beca,” the girl said to break through the silence that had spread between them. “You’re from chemistry, right?”
Chloe, surprised, looked up suddenly. She could feel her smile spread before she was aware of it. It was a sentence she had grown accustomed to. “You’re from (insert class here)” was a common mode of small talk meant to make it seem like people actually remembered her name. Only, 98% of the time, the other person had the class entirely wrong, and was only saying it as a means of maintaining some small-talk etiquette.
Beca, though, the tiny ball of over-sized leather bracelets and combat boots, remembered her correctly.
“Yeah,” she said, “Yeah. I’m Chloe. So, um…where is everybody?”
Beca looked up, confused, and Chloe clarified. “Detention?”
“Y-you came early to detention?” Beca asked, her smirk growing.
Chloe’s face fell. She hadn’t realized she’d gotten the time wrong. “Oh, well, um, it’s…” stumbled over her words, trying to remedy the situation. “I would hate to m-miss a m-minute of being…detained.”
She winced then at the ridiculousness of her words, but the pain was quickly replaced with a flushed when she noticed the suggestive side-eyed look Beca shot at her.
And she would’ve considered the ramifications of that flushed feeling more if it weren’t for her eyes hazarding a glance out the window to find John Tucker, playing with the zipper on some sophomore girl’s jacket. Involuntarily, she made a noise of disgust.
“Oh wow,” Beca said, that grin still hinting at the edge of her lips, “That’s, uh, not normally the reaction he gets from girls. It’s really more of a…” she paused, then, to make a series of moaning and groaning noises that sent blood rushing to Chloe’s head - which she immediately laughed off, rushing to interrupt Beca before the alt girl made anymore…sounds.
“Yeah, okay, jerk isn’t really my type,” she answered coolly, and Beca raised an eyebrow. Her eyes sparkled as her grin grew, as if Chloe said some kind of inside joke that she wasn’t really aware of.
“You’re right, he definitely has his jerk moments.”
“Wow, I thought he was every girl’s Greek god, or whatever,” Chloe answered, curious and confused. Beca scrunched her nose at that, shaking her head. Chloe wondered briefly if she should warn the other girl that her rebellious appearance was in serious danger in light of her overwhelming adorableness. But she quickly brushed that thought aside.
“That’s not really my….” Beca paused, waving her hands awkwardly around her head to communicate what she couldn’t say politely, “Um…ballpark.”
Before Chloe could question her words and the blush that crept up Beca’s neck, she quickly followed with, “He’s actually, um…my older brother.”
“Oh,” Chloe was genuinely surprised. And intrigued. Admittedly, the smirks and winks made infinitely more sense - being able to made someone’s stomach do somersaults must be a genetic trait - but there was nothing in the small girl’s demeanor that hinted at familiarity. Where John was massive, crafted as the all-American, alpha-male athlete, Beca was impossibly small, lined in thick black makeup and ear…monstrosities. “You’re the other Tucker?”
Beca looked at Chloe with her eyebrows raised, “Yeah, what is that? Is that like…the loser Tucker?”
“Oh no no no,” Chloe was stumbling on her words now, chastising herself for the way they came out. If she was being honest, this was the longest conversation she had with a non-adult in…well, in far too long of a time. “You just don’t look –”
“Hot? Buff? Incapable of inciting an all-girls smack-down?” Beca interrupted, standing up to put her backpack over her shoulders. When she started to leave, she stopped at Chloe’s place at the table, leaning in. She was wearing a tank top, and with her height, Chloe had to actively remember to look up and keep eye-contact. Though, that didn’t help much with Chloe’s nerves, seeing as her eyes were an even darker shade of blue from this close.
“I’ve got my stories,” she breathed, winking. Chloe shuddered, taking a breath, uncertain how to respond to the close contact or the wink or, really, any of the slight implications that may or may not have been thrown out by that comment. Collecting herself, she looked away from Beca, playing with the pencil in her hand.
“G-good for you,” she finally said, hating the way her voice cracked at the end of it. Beca tapped the table with her knuckles, pulling herself up to full height and biting her lip. Chloe’s stomach flipped again.
“Yeah,” she said, walking backwards to the door, “It is.”