Chapter Text
“Whaddya get?” Misty asked her as soon as she opened the door.
“Jesus Christ, Misty, move,” The girl mumbled moodily, pushing past her to get to her locker and change.
Misty froze in shock. That treatment was standard from almost everyone else on the team, sure, but she had never once seen Lottie act like this.
“I’m sure she’s a neutral,” Laura Lee defended her, clueless. She pat Misty on the shoulder, a silent apology for her friend’s behavior. It bought Lottie some reprieve, and she dug through her locker, sifting through the beauty products and clothes to find her uniform, not noticing the person approaching her.
“Is she right?” Van leaned in and asked quietly, more curious than accusing.
Lottie stopped for a moment, then nodded.
Van gave her a strange look, having noticed her harsh behavior and mechanical movements, but took it as truth, nodding back. “Me too.”
“Can we see your letter?” Mari asked brightly, seemingly coming out of nowhere.
Lottie, half dressed, sighed in frustration. “I didn’t bring it. Why would I?” She tried not to snap at the younger girls, she really did.
“Because you all said you would! You knew we wanted to see.” She gestured towards the other JVs, who, apart from Gen, looked considerably less eager than she did.
“It’s none of your business.” So much for not snapping.
Mari raised her eyebrows in surprise as her and Gen shared a look of understanding.
“Sure, a neutral,” Gen said mockingly.
Van waved their hand at the two halfheartedly. “Oh, quit it with the mean girl shit. She said she’s a neutral, she’s a neutral. Go back to bothering Jackie.” So far, Jackie was the only one with an atypical classification, sharing that with the others that she was a carer.
“I’d think you’re a carer too, the way you’re standing up for little Lottie,” Mari quipped, twisting the knife.
Swiftly loading her things into her gym bag and slamming her locker shut, Lottie stormed towards the door just as quickly as she had entered, eyes already watering. She couldn’t deal with this today, it was too much. The door opened right as she reached for the handle, and she was faced with Nat’s confused expression looking up at her in worry. She pushed past her, headed for the exit with determination. She could vaguely hear Nat ask the rest of the group what happened, and she walked faster, not wanting to hear their answer. She stopped under the staircase, pulling on her sweats over her uniform. She wiped at her damp face, feeling stupid.
The cool October air was a much needed relief, and she headed to the spot where she always hid out. Her car was too open, someone from the team could easily find her. Only one other person knew about this spot. Behind the baseball field, there was a small pond she would sit by, sometimes alone, sometimes with her friend. As long as there wasn’t a game going on, there was never anyone else there, and the season was long over.
She sat on the damp ground, leaning against a large rock and sighing as she looked out at the pond through blurry eyes.
This was horrible for two reasons.
One was just for her, it was the fact that even though being a regressor wasn’t necessarily bad, it left her very vulnerable. The same way she felt some level of disdain for being gay, and having grown up a girl, she feared her classification, because she knew it opened her up to a whole new world of awful experiences.
The second reason was worse, and the one that her family was more focused on. Classifications were initially thought to be random, all biological luck of the draw. But recently, there had been a large number of studies linking chronic childhood stress to being dozens of times more likely to have an abnormal classification. For a family like the Matthews, who made up for their incredible wealth with an incredible amount of dysfunction, this was meaningful. It was easy for them to predict that in the coming years, having a regressor or carer as a child would become a social symbol, a marker that your family is bad enough for your child to end up in the “bottom” 20%. Her parents would surely be horrified, and do whatever they could to hide it. To hide her. Even before it could be scientifically confirmed, Lottie would still have to face the court of public opinion, the pity, or teasing, or whatever would come next once everyone learned that her family wasn’t as perfect as they thought. That was the problem, she had no idea what would come next.
Part of her felt like this was so incredibly dumb. She was already a regressor, already fucked before that letter. This didn’t change anything. But now it was real. People could find out and be proven right. She would never get a job at the firm if this got out, even if she was a Matthews. Her father would never allow a regressor in his practice, he was old fashioned like that. And would this be her social life from now on? Even the younger girls would feel comfortable teasing her, because everyone thought she was just little Lottie?
She heard leaves crunching and whipped her head around, sighing in relief when it was Nat, who silently sat next to her.
Nat gave her a few minutes, busying herself with her phone while Lottie dried her eyes, attempting to pull herself together. “Van told me what happened,” She said after a moment. “Can I see your letter?”
She hesitated. “I guess you can.” Lottie took it out of her bag and handed it over, avoiding looking at it herself. She didn’t want to bring it, but knew she’d feel better if she wasn’t worried about a housekeeper coming across it.
Charlotte Matthews
Results:
Regressor (Type 3, Age 0-3)
Recommending daily care from preferably a Type 3 carer. Will do best with a minimum of 10 hours a week of scheduled regression, increasing frequency as needed to handle stress. Will likely require incontinence products, supplemental nutrition, and other forms of support with activities of daily living. Contact your specialist in the next month to create an individualized plan. Call the number below if you do not yet have a specialist.
Huh, Type 3, Nat thought.
“It’s no big deal, Lottie, you know?” She said, looking up from the page and turning to her. “Plenty of people are regressors. Shauna’s one, too, if it makes you feel better,” Nat confessed in a low voice, knowing she was as good as dead if Shauna ever found out she told. Or worse, if Jackie found out.
That actually got Lottie to look up, meeting her eyes. “Really??”
“Yup, Jackie told me. They just lied about it better than you did.”
Lottie groaned and covered her face once again, playing back the miserable debrief they just had in the locker room.
“But ignore Mari and Gen. They don’t know what they’re talking about. They don’t even get their classifications for another year, they’re just saying anything to try and be included.”
“I know,” Lottie answered, pulling her knees to her chest. “I just still feel bad about it. I felt bad about it before that.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I haven’t talked to my parents yet.”
Nat’s eyebrows raised subtly in surprise. “Haven’t they asked?”
Lottie shook her head. “They’ll assume I’m neutral unless I tell them otherwise.” That’s how it always was. While they were away, Lottie was fine unless they heard otherwise. “They’ll be really upset.”
“Then fuck them,” Nat said with finality, lighting a cigarette. “If it makes you feel better, my mom hasn’t asked either. I think she forgot.”
Lottie suddenly realized she hadn’t even asked about her friend’s classification, and felt a pang of guilt. “Shit, sorry, I never asked you. You aren’t a neutral?” Could Nat be a regressor too?
Nat shook her head as she took a drag, then passed the cigarette to Lottie. “Carer.”
She raised her eyebrows, struggling to hide the surprise on her face. It’s not that it didn’t make sense, it did. Nat was extremely kind and caring, under all her defensiveness. But it’s just that Lottie had kind of expected all her friends to be… normal. “Huh,” She hesitated. “How do we feel about that?”
Nat scoffed, laughing at Lottie’s stiffness. “I don’t really care. I’m not having kids, and I doubt I’ll find a regressor, so it doesn’t matter. I’ll end up the same as if I was neutral.”
The reaction made sense as well. “Same, I guess,” Lottie answered, smiling sardonically and greedily breathing in the potent smoke. “We’ll just be sadder.”
Lottie and Nat had been friends for years, even before soccer. They knew they were an odd pairing, and they didn’t spend a lot of time together at school, but they were close. With Lottie’s family’s status, most of her business was public, including her poor mental health. Combined with her occasional but lengthy absences, people put the pieces together.
Most people knew better than to ask questions, but when they didn’t, Nat was there with a balled fist and a threat she swore she’d make good on if they didn’t start minding their own damn business. Lottie was able to recover enough socially to return the favor when Nat’s dad died, shutting down rumors wherever she could. They knew vaguely about each other’s home lives, and when one showed up at the other’s house or was waiting at their car after school, no questions were asked. Lottie offered Nat homework help, and Nat offered soccer tips. The two could often be found on the field long after practice was over, kicking the ball around or sitting and smoking something that Lottie swore she had quit months ago. They knew it wasn’t a normal friendship, but they also knew they had a closer connection than the friends they talked to every day.
So, Nat finding out she was a regressor wasn’t the worst thing in the world, in fact, she was glad she had her friend to defend her, if nothing else. She was sure Mari and Gen had gotten an earful before Nat left to follow her, and could expect more of the same if they bothered Lottie about it again.
“Do you think I can stay over yours tomorrow?” Nat asked, snapping Lottie out of her thoughts.
“ ‘Course you can,” she answered, nodding. “Wanna talk about it?” Lottie assumed there was something going on, probably whatever caused Nat’s mom to forget about classification day.
Nat shook her head, but spoke anyway. “She has a new boyfriend. Doesn’t like having me around.”
“Spend the whole weekend.”
“We’ll see.” Nat smiled softly.