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Sarah doesn’t like girls like Juno.
If she did, something would’ve already happened.
Sometimes Juno wants to go somewhere no one has ever gone. Somewhere with no rules. Somewhere they can make their own.
Sarah doesn’t like girls like Juno. But Juno will take as much as can.
Tents under the moonlit sky, Beth just a little further out so that she wouldn’t be bothered by their midnight conversations.
Their ropes entwined, held by the same carabiner.
The adventures where the adrenaline makes both their hearts race, beating together in time, chests heaving with exertion. So that for once, Sarah looks at her with wild abandon and a flushed face.
She'll be the best damn godmother that Jessica ever had. She'll close her eyes and pretend that she's both of theirs. That Paul wasn't also in the room, damning evidence otherwise.
Juno will get as close as she can.
She smells Sarah's perfume on his shirt. And tastes her lipstick on his lips. Does Sarah ever get a touch of hers in return?
Does she notice? Does she like it?
Sarah doesn’t like girls like Juno. But Juno has always been a fool. And Juno thinks that maybe, just maybe, this could work.
Those hopes die, splattered on a Scottish highway.
Juno had once held fantasies of what would happen if Paul ever got out of the picture.
She could swan in and save the day, a shoulder to cry on and a mouth to kiss. And they could raise Jessie together. And everything would be perfect.
The actuality, the execution is different.
Sarah wakes. She is in shambles. By time Juno sees her, she's already in someone else's arms: Beth's. And Juno feels too guilty to change that.
Juno is a fool. She runs.