Chapter Text
*
Rey hated lunch time. Desperately. As hungry as she was, there were just so many damn smells in this awful cafeteria that eating was impossible. Fried food odors clashed with milk which clashed with graying green beans which clashed with greasy rectangular pizza which clashed with the bleach and antiseptic the cafeteria workers used to keep the place shining and sterile in between slopcall. Er. Lunch.
And worst of all, the final insult during her daily lunchtime sensory assault, were the alphas. The young alphas. They fucking reeked.
In middle school, they’d all been normal enough. Normal early teenager smells. Sweat. Axe body spray. Hulk Cologne. Cheap perfume. Citrusy deodorants. Minty from their toothpaste. Soapy from the soap they used at home.
Then? Then. Puberty. Fucking puberty. One-by-one, they’d have to take a week of leave as their first ruts occurred, marking their passage into early adulthood, their sexual beginning, and when they returned, they smelled disgusting.
Body odor times a thousand. An ambient funk that emanated from them, like something had died internally and the rest of their organs were attempting to escape. And if they ate onions? So help her god, then it was bodyfunk plus carmelized onions—if those onions had been cooked on a trash barge.
And it happened again and again, and by the time everyone had reached high school, all the alphas had reached that milestone and easily half her classmates had the power to make her dry heave just by sitting next to her. She was amazed there wasn’t an actual cloud of stink around each of them, because if she had money to bet, she’d bet on that.
A special health teacher from the school district had explained, back in fifth grade, during a very giggly and embarrassing class session, that when they all hit puberty, one of three things would happen—they’d present as alphas, omegas, or betas.
“How will we know?” Rey had asked, raising her hand in the air and waving it urgently.
Stupid Ben Solo had snorted and kicked her chair with his big, stupid feet, rattling her forward a few inches. “Dummy, we’re usually like our parents, so—”
That was a sore point for her. She didn’t have any. And he knew it. She glared at him, then looked pleadingly at the health teacher. Fortunately, the lady smiled warmly.
“That’s a good question. We all should know what’s going to happen, regardless of what designation ends up being ours. We need to understand one another, don’t we?”
And then began the worst hour of Rey’s fifth grade year. Omegas and their heats. Alphas and their ruts. And, in the case of betas, none of that at all. Which was a relief. Because that meant there was a chance she wasn’t going to have to be driven insane by her own hormones and stuck taking pills her whole life to make sure her body was under control.
And luckily, Rey had turned out to be a beta. She was eighteen, beyond the years an omega or an alpha would present, and not one gland on her neck or wrist had swollen suggestively, nor had she gotten all sweaty and hot and itchy and, um, horny, like had happened to Kaydel in US History last year. And she hadn’t gotten all ragey and feral and tried to hump a lamppost, like Hux had done freshman year.
Nope, situation normal. No glands. No anger. No horny.
Smooth sailing.
Except that all those alpha motherfuckers reeked to high heaven. None of the other betas complained, and Rey could only guess they’d gone nose-blind to it. Living in the monkey house, like Tim Gunn had said. They’d been around the stink for so long, they couldn’t smell it anymore.
Which frustrated her to no end, because it had been years since she’d known peace. She’d started smelling everyone so distinctly in eighth grade, and it had only gotten worse. Every school year, there were more and more alphas around her, and every year, she wanted to rip her nose off her face and throw it into a lava pit. She’d taken to smearing Vick’s Vapo Rub under her nose and wearing a KN95 mask just to get through class. It wasn’t a particularly attractive look, and the menthol was overwhelming, but she could handle that better than the alphas.
Omegas, at least, smelled marginally better. None of the underlying rot. Mostly, they just smelled like onions. Regular onions. Not trash barge onions. She liked onions okay on burgers and hot dogs, so she could handle working with the omegas on class projects.
She’d asked the school nurse once to check her nose for any irregularities, but Nurse Kanata had just smiled and said she couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary at all, but that maybe she had a condition known as hyperosmia.
A super smeller. A person incredibly sensitive to scent for no known medical reason. And in her case, so abnormally sensitive to smell, she could breathe in eau de designation despite all contrary science about betas.
Everyone has a special gift. Hers was… this?
Lucky her.
Ugh.
All she could do was pull her KN95 mask over her face, and dive into the fray to get her miserable lunch tray and bring it outside. It was cold and raining, but it was better than being inside with the smells.
“You ever get tired of being such a drama queen, Niima?” Ben Solo laughed, reaching over her head for a milk carton, all but wafting his armpit in her face. Stupid tall sasquatch asshole, looming over her. With his dumb shaggy dark hair and wide shoulders. “I haven’t seen your face since ninth grade.”
She swallowed a gag. “Fuck you. I told you, I have hyperosmia. If you assholes took stronger blockers, maybe I wouldn’t have to wear a mask!”
Benjamin Solo was the biggest asshole in Chandrila, and he had been in every class, every year for the last twelve years, and she was officially sick of his shit. His stinky, rude, meatheaded, self-aggrandizing, snobby, rich-kid shit. He’d always had something mean to say to her. Pointing out she didn’t have a coat. Or that her backpack had holes in it. Or that her tennis shoes were on the verge of disintegration.
And whenever a teacher called on her to praise her, Ben would frown angrily at his notebook, as if the idea of anyone besides him getting praise was utterly ludicrous.
“And if you had listened in health class, you’d know that it’s dangerous for adolescent alphas and omegas to take the powerful blockers.” He smirked. Of course he smirked. He was always picking fights with her. It was his favorite hobby.
Allegedly, the adult-grade blockers could warp the adolescent’s ability to produce the smells needed to attract a mate in the future. The suppressants helped with their sexual urges, but the blockers were medically inadvisable. So alphas like Ben roamed the earth, fouling up the airspace, and pissing toxic urine that could take the paint off walls.
Unless they mated early.
But fortunately, the suppressants and social pressure were enough for alpha and omega teenagers to wait until their twenties. And in the meantime, Rey was subject to biological chemical warfare from her teenaged peers.
She grabbed her tray at the end of the line and let the cashier punch her lunch card. “You smell like baked shit soaked in bleach. Just so you know.”
His eyes narrowed in frustration and she enjoyed his angry huff. All the omegas whined and whined about how alphas smelled like cinnamon rolls and bergamot and cut grass and shit like that. What the fuck even was a bergamot? Sounded made-up as hell.
“Later, Benji,” she said lightly, enjoying the way his jaw clenched as he stared at her.
Good. Jerk.
*
Mr. Ackbar clapped his hands together to get the students’ attention. They’d been chattering two minutes past the bell, and he’d let them carry on until the conversation lulled. He was relaxed. Close to retirement, he had given up hope of making his Honors Senior English students behave. Or learn.
Rey liked him, even if he did smell faintly of dead fish. His age and being mated had muted what would likely be the stench of calamari.
“Listen up! Valentine’s Day is approaching, and—” Everyone groaned. He did this project every year, and apparently, they weren’t going to escape it either. “I think it’s fun for everyone to investigate the intricacies of the human heart via poetry. You’ll have a month to work with a partner and read poetry and research the life of your selected poet, then come up with a presentation for class. Dazzle us. Tell us the meaning of love.” He batted his eyelashes over bulbous eyes. “On the big day, of course. I’ll bring cupcakes.”
It wouldn’t be such a bad project, except Ackbar’s sense of humor included selecting the pairs of students himself. And he loved an odd couple.
He didn’t wait for anyone to stop groaning before reading off the list of pairs, as if he weren’t just making it up as he went along. “Rose and Armitage. Kaydel and Poe—no, make that Finn and Poe.” The boys grinned as Rose sighed and crossed her arms. “Kaydel and Beau—No. Beau and Klaud. That’s much better.” If he said so. “Kaydel and Snap. Bazine and Gary Grumgarr.”
Rey gulped. There wasn’t anyone left. That meant—oh shit, that meant—
“Ah yes. And lastly, Rey and Ben. Enjoy, kids. Now send someone up here and pick a name out of the hat. Maybe you’ll get lucky.”
Luck had no home here, Rey thought grimly. Luck was her enemy. Luck could fuck itself.
“I’ll go,” Ben muttered from behind her, lurching out of the too-small desk and lumbering past her. Even through her mask, he smelled so awful her eyes watered.
Of all the alphas at Chandrila High School, he really did smell the worst.
He dropped the piece of paper on his return and collapsed into his seat like a crumbling brick wall. Good to see he had the same level of enthusiasm she had for this shit show.
She glanced at the paper. Elizabeth Barrett Browning. She’d heard of her at least. Victorian Lady Poets Who Drank Laudanum for a thousand, Alex.
“Any brilliant ideas?” she asked, tapping the paper.
“No.” He crossed his arms over his chest, his slightly crooked face mulish in the extreme. He refused to make eye contact with her, dipping his chin into his chest. Rey closed her eyes to center herself. Why on earth was he—oh god. The big dumb baby.
“Do you want an apology out of me for what I said earlier?”
Now that interested him. His expression brightened, and he nodded, dark eyes flickering up at her. She leaned forward, holding her breath until she spoke. “Never gonna happen, Solo.”
She smirked underneath her mask and turned back to the front of the room. Ackbar was passing out the next novel they were expected to read as a class, whistling as if he hadn’t just ruined everyone’s day.
*
Rey slammed her locker shut and turned around to find Ben Solo right behind her. Right behind her.
She yelped and banged the back of her head against her locker. “Jesus, don’t sneak up on people, you yeti.”
“You done insulting me?” he muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I want to talk about the project.”
Acceptable. She nodded in agreement. “Proceed.”
“I’m busy with lacrosse most days after school, but if you want to come by my house after five, I can work on it then. Okay?” His jaw worked, plush lips pressing together. He was tense, as if waiting for her to refuse. As if she would. She needed good grades if she was going to get a scholarship and get the hell out of Plutt’s house.
“Fine. Address?” She pulled out her shabby phone and handed it over to him to enter in the necessary information.
Transaction complete, Ben looked her over from head to toe with a frown. Because he obviously was grossed out by her, being a grubby poor kid. “You’ll get a free meal out of it, too. My grandma lives with us, and she likes to cook.”
Even more than his casual reference to the casual knowledge that she was a charity case, the thought of eating while enduring Ben Solo’s unholy stench turned her stomach, and she shook her head. “I’m fine. See you at five?”
He exhaled sharply in lieu of a reply. And when a swarm of laughing, rough-housing, fetid alphas swept by him on the way to do some sportsing so they could get even smellier, Ben left with them. Only glancing back briefly at her, that inscrutable expression on his face.
Ugh.
This was going to be the worst Valentine’s Day ever.
*