Chapter Text
Mira hates her job, but at the very least, it makes enough money that she can get a studio apartment near campus for a cheap price一not reasonable, mind you, because the apartment really only has enough room for a kitchen, a mattress, and a dream, but they squeezed in a TV on the dining room table, which works well enough to play Super Smash Bros.
Unfortunately, it becomes sort of, kind of clear that Mira is in one of her moods tonight一which, admittedly, isn’t an out-of-character thing for her to be in, especially because she just came home from dance practice, and especially especially because her mortal enemy is also in the dance club, where said dance practice is occurring.
“God, I fucking hate her,” Mira says, pressing the buttons on her controller like they’ve personally wronged her. “Who does she even think she is一like, genuinely, what is wrong with her一”
“Mira, you’re about to die,” Zoey gently points out, hoping that she can change the topic before Mira starts ranting about Rumi for the fourth time that week.
It doesn’t work, because Mira turns to her, not even looking as her character pitifully floats to his death, and says, “You just don’t get it, Zoey.”
She doesn’t, because she has never met Rumi before in her entire life. For the past four months, this woman has been a revolving topic of discussion at least twice a week, and Zoey has no idea what this mysterious dancing agent of evil even looks like.
“You’ve known her for, like, half a year,” Zoey says.
“Yeah? And she’s awful. Her vibes are off.”
“You say that, but you've hated more for less.” If Zoey tried to keep track of everyone that Mira hated, she'd probably never be able to interact with anyone. She leans back against her chair, watching the victory screen as she asks, “Remember the student librarian? You hated him because his voice was too snobby.”
“I hated him because he marked me overdue.”
She laughs. “Which you were.”
“Whatever. It’s different. I could avoid the student librarian if I wanted to,” Mira says. “But literally everyone around me always just wants to talk about Rumi一All. The. Time.”
Well, that’s the problem with going to a prestigious liberal arts college, Zoey thinks. Artists and musicians are almost as gossipy as they are creative, and if someone even half as talented as Rumi suddenly showed up one day, strolling through the Student Union with pretty hair and a kick-ass work history, then it’s not hard to imagine the wildfire that inevitably happens when their schools’ Yik Yak gets its’ grimy little hands on her portfolio.
Child actress since the age of seven, Broadway trained during middle school一even sang the national anthem on TV once in the eighth grade, which was even broadcast on a state-level government program.
“I think she’s impressive,” Zoey says. “It’s not her fault she steals the spotlight. We’re literally in a school of overachievers here.”
“That’s not the issue, though.” Mira rolls her eyes like Zoey’s not getting something simple, leaning back against her chair as she turns off the TV. “If she were just talented, then I wouldn’t mind being around her. In fact, I’d love to have a musical genius in the dance club.”
“Well, what’s the issue then?” She asks.
“She’s stuck up,” Mira says through gritted teeth. “Like, won’t even look at the other girls in class, type of stuck up. Like, stares at us like we’re beneath her, stuck up.”
Which isn’t surprising, because, again, they’re in a prestigious liberal arts college. Kids in class grew up surrounded by cutthroat dance moms and a cameraman uncomfortably close to them twenty-four seven. If some of them didn’t grow up to be arrogant, unadjusted assholes, then that would’ve been a Christmas miracle.
But still. “I’m sure she’s not that awful.” Zoey says, waving her off.
“She is.” Mira has never looked so serious before, eyebrows furrowed and lips downturned into a scowl. “God, it wouldn’t even be that bad if I didn’t have to see her every Friday.”
“Wow,” Zoey says. “Yeah, that must really suck.”
“I know you don’t care, but I’m being so serious here.”
Zoey snorts, loud and a bit brash, because it really is sort of funny just how much Mira hates this woman. “Okay, alright, I get it. She’s awful. Literally evil incarnate.” There’s really no point in arguing with her when Mira’s like this. And then, just because she wants to一in the nicest way to say this一shut Mira up, Zoey says: “Message received. If I ever see her outside, I’ll be sure to steer clear of her.”
She does not steer clear, the very first time she finally sees Rumi.
Well, it’s not her fault. No, definitely not一because right now, they’re sitting shoulder to shoulder in the lecture hall, first row seats at the front of the room, which Zoey has never actually, willingly sat in before.
This is partly because they are in the same Fundamentals of Music class, funny enough, and the professor assigned them to be in a group project together.
Mostly, it is also because Rumi is, undeniably, very attractive.
Even in a worn-down sweatshirt, with her dyed purple hair loose in a low ponytail, Rumi looked absolutely amazing for someone in a seven a.m. class. She’s downright gorgeous, even without make-up一face etched with sharp angles and pretty pink lips like she’s cut from stone. The type of attractiveness that screams I-Woke-Up-Like-This, which is what everyone in a liberal arts college wants to look like, except they wake up two hours early just to get the casual aesthetic.
There’s nothing effortful about the way Rumi is right now, though. No pretentious work to be done when your face already looks like art. This is just… how she woke up. Genuinely.
So, obviously, the first words Zoey blurts out is: “Wow, I didn’t think you’d be this pretty!”
And then she cringes. Like, almost instantaneously, her entire body goes stiff. Because, um一wow一that was not a normal way to greet someone. It definitely was not a normal way to greet your best friend’s mortal enemy.
“Uhm… Hello to you, too?” Rumi says, smiling politely and extending her hand out. Pretty pale hands, with nice manicured nails that might even sparkle in the sun, and Zoey knows she shouldn’t be staring, but she is.
It’s not weird at all to notice that. It’s also not weird at all to keep staring at your groupmate slash mortal enemy by osmosis. No, totally not, this is normal human behavior for sure.
“Hi. Hello, sorry, I just didn’t expect you to bet一y’know, a model,” she says clumsily, and in her head, Zoey prays that the floor opens up and swallows her whole. Then, she starts again. “Sorry, oh my God, my name is Zoey. Nice to finally meet you.”
“Right. Uh, yeah, nice for you to finally meet me too,,” Rumi laughs, scratching the back of her neck nervously. “But, um, I’ve… uh, I’ve heard of you... I’ve kind of seen you before, actually. Kind of.”
And Zoey brain stops, because一uhhh, pretty girl knows her?
And the only thing she can say next is: “Did I do something stupid in front of you?”
God, she wishes the room would swallow her. She prays for a meteor to fall down from the sky, and hit her specifically.
But if Rumi thinks she’s weird, then she definitely doesn’t show it on her face. She’s still looking at her, lips turned upward in a small but captivating smile, and Zoey can’t believe it when Rumi tells her: “I used to read your stuff when I was a kid. You were in the New York Times years ago for their teen memoirs competition, right? I read them when I was bored.”
Oh, fuck, that is so embarrassing. That is so, so embarrassing, because Zoey was in ninth grade when she sent her stories in to the New York Times, but it’s also kind of flattering that someone even remembers her in general. Her specifically.
Because this conversation is just going so well at this point, Zoey responds back by saying, “Oh, shucks! That’s, like, totally awesome, dude. Happy to meet a…fan?”
She needs that damn meteor immediately.
And then, maybe because Rumi is just actually, secretly the same type of weird loser as her, she nods her head erratically. “Yeah, I’m happy too!” She says, maybe sounding an octave too high, and both of them kind of cringe at the break in her voice, but Rumi decides to keep talking, anyway. “
“Right, back at you, bestie,” Zoey says, awkwardly pointing finger guns.
God, if she dropped dead now, it would not be soon enough.
But, again, Rumi is still ever so patient with her, even if this meeting isn’t exactly breaking the top ten lists of normal human conversations in their lives. Gracefully, with the patience of a saint, Rumi doesn’t even acknowledge Zoey’s stilted words, instead circumventing back to the main topic, which is: “So…uh, since we’re partners for Professor Han’s assignment, could I get your number?”
She knows it’s not supposed to sound like it, but wow, Rumi’s voice is seductive, elegant, and pristine一like music to her ears. Like the seventh symphony, but for idle conversations. Beethoven, who?
Dumbly, Zoey nods, mouth slightly open. “I一uh一I actually use my Instagram the most,” she says, pulling out her phone from her pocket. “I don’t really check my Imessages that much otherwise. Sorry.”
“That’s alright, I get it.” Rumi says, classy and refined, not at all mean like how Mira describes her as. “Well, if you’re down for it, we could get together this Saturday and figure out what we’re doing?”
“Oh, uh, sure!” Zoey says, a bit too loudly.
“Cool. Meet up at twelve in the library?”
And Zoey doesn’t even process the words before she says: “Yeah, absolutely!”
Bobby is the owner of the best Guitar Center in their area一which doesn’t mean much, because he might own the only Guitar Center in the area, but Zoey likes to swing by anyway.
It started during her first semester of college, when she was still figuring out where everything was, and most of the study rooms and practice spots were taken up by the seniors who already had a head start on knowing all the ins and outs of the building's floor plans. Well, they were never really a big school anyway, so she finds she’s out of luck looking for anywhere to study on campus, and on a whim, she decided that the best place to cram for her Music Forum class was at the nearest Guitar Center.
She doesn’t even like the guitar.
But none of that really matters now because Bobby’s cool一he’s got cool guy glasses and a shirt that says The Guitar Father, and since barely anyone comes to the store, it’s mostly just the both of them hanging out when she does swing by. Mira thinks he’s cool, and Mira hates most of the men in her life, so Zoey trusts him, almost inherently, with everything.
“Bobby, I think you need to kill me,” she says, slamming her head on the register countertop. She’s busy with her Music Theory and Composition homework, but mostly, she’s been procrastinating. “I can’t do this anymore. Life is pain, and suffering is inevitable. I need someone to put me out of my misery, please.”
Bobby is busy tuning a guitar behind the counter, glancing over at her homework before saying, “Zoey, it’s just writing chord progressions.”
“But it’s minor chord progression.”
Bobby shrugs, clearly not understanding the severity of the situation. Ugh一that’s the most annoying part about him, honestly. The most annoying part about guitar players in general, because they can do chord progressions in their sleep, and Zoey wants to bash her head in just looking at a diatonic chord.
“This is so dumb,” Zoey says. And then, just because she needs to say it out loud: “I hate this. I hate chord progression, and I hate professor Han. God, I wish I went into something easier一like rocket science!”
“You said professor Han was nice,” Bobby points out, ignoring the rest of her rambling.
“Yeah, that was before the semester started.” And before she saw his rate my professor reviews. And before he assigned them a giant group project, and then stuck her in a group with Rumi, who just so happens to be so hot that Zoey can’t think straight when she’s around her.
Haha. Straight. Her brains laugh.
Shut the fuck up, she thinks back, furiously scribbling notes on her music sheet.
God一Zoey doesn’t even want to think about how Mira’s going to react to everything if she ever finds out they’re一they’re intermingling. She’s going to be so mad. Zoey remembers the time in high school, when their sixth grade bully confessed to Mira in the middle of the cafeteria via song, and when she rightfully rejected him in front of the entire student body, he made her life miserable for weeks. But that ended up with a referral and a bloody nose一namely, when his face met the business end of Mira’s fist一and even though she got a hell of a scolding from her parents afterwards, Mira’s only regret was not getting in one more punch.
Zoey would not like a bloody nose. She would also not like Rumi to have a bloody nose, because Rumi’s face is very, very pretty.
“Bobby, I want to give you a hypothetical,” Zoey says suddenly, with a serious tone.
“A what?” Bobby asks, looking confused.
“Like, a scenario,” she says. “Like, okay, imagine if you had a friend, right?”
Bobby raised his eyebrow. “I do have friends一”
“Alright, but imagine you only had one friend all your life,” she says. Mira isn’t, like, the only friend in her life, of course, but she’s probably the one that matters the most, out of everyone. “And your friend, you love her to death, right, but she can be really, really一y’know, aggressive一with everything.”
Slowly, Bobby nods, not really understanding where this is going but playing along anyway.
“So let’s say your friend hated someone. I’m talking, like, deep, deep, deep hatred. And they’ve been hating on that someone for, like, six months now,” Zoey says.
“Is this about Mira?” Bobby asks, impressively perceptive.
“It’s about a friend,” she corrects. Zoey can’t really handle the embarrassment of having a problem this dumb. She can’t even admit to herself that she kind of stayed awake last night dreaming of an alternate reality where Mira and Rumi are friends, and all three of them are doing cute best friend trio things together. “Anyway, back to the point一so imagine you meet the person that your bestie forestie hates, and they’re actually kind of cool.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah,” Zoey sighs dreamily, twirling her hair with her hand, looking like some lovesick puppy dog as she remembers the smell of Rumi’s perfume一champagne rose. “Like, definitely quiet and shy. And really awkward, but she’s so… so sweet.”
“Are we still talking about a friend here?”
“Bobby.”
“I literally don’t know what you want me to say.”
Zoey rolls her eyes, because of course a guy doesn’t get it. Even if that guy is Bobby. “I need you to tell me how to hate her,” she says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m meeting up with her tomorrow, and I need to despise literally everything about her. Heels, nails, mascara一I’m talking everything.”
“Right, right,” he says nervously, putting down the guitar and scratching his chin thoughtfully. His eyes close and he hums for a moment, looking every bit wise as Zoey waits for his answer. “Have you ever thought about just not hating her?”
And Zoey has to slam her head into the countertop again, because一duh一of course she has. It’s probably the very first thing she thought about, before remembering all those nights Mira dedicated to trash-talking Rumi.
“Bobby, my guy, my dude, my comrade in arms一I’m being serious here,” she says.
“I am, too,” he responds back. “I mean, listen, it just seems like you’re making a big thing out of something small right now. Your friend hates her, and you don’t一so what?”
“So what?” Zoey gasps, scandalized. “It’s the principle, man! The girl code of ethics! I’m pretty sure there’s a commandment against being friends with your best friend's worst enemy. I’m basically committing blasphemy, here!”
Bobby stares back at her, unimpressed. His arms are crossed and he’s looking at her like she just grew a third head.
“Weren’t you supposed to be writing chord progressions?” He asks.
“There’s more important things in my life right now,” she says.
“Oh, yeah, I’m sure.”
“Bobby, please, we’re discussing a life or death situation here.”
The problem is, she loves Mira so much that it kind of consumes her. They’ve been best friends since before Zoey even knew what a best friend was, stuck like glue and paper when their second grade teacher paired them up in a three-legged race.
It’s hard standing up to Mira for things like this, even if it’s not exactly Mira’s fault. It’s her own fault that she’s kind of a coward, ironically, probably because Mira’s always been like this. Fighting her battles, protecting her from boys in elementary school, and now, it’s like Zoey can’t stand the idea of speaking up against her.
“I don’t want to feel like I’m doing something wrong, y’know?” she says, slumping her shoulders and jutting out her lips. All in all, with her big puppy-dog eyes, it makes her look like a sad, droopy chihuahua. “I can’t find myself to hate her right now, but I don’t want to call my friend a liar in case there is a reason to hate her.”
“Zoey, you’re not a bad person for knowing a girl,” Bobby says gently. “It’s not as complicated as you’re making it out to be. Mira won’t just cut you off because you’re friends with someone she doesn’t like. That’d be crazy.”
Right. She knows that, too, implicitly. Because they’ve been together for so long, it’s harder to live life without each other.
But, still: “I don’t want her to think I’m, like, two-timing her, or anything.”
“Two-timing?” Now, Bobby is just bewildered. “Dude, you’re not dating her. Chill out.”
“You just don’t know how women work, Bobby.”
For a long, lingering moment, a silence passes between the two of them, where Bobby is watching her in the same way you’d watch a particularly dumb monkey at the zoo. Then, he turns to his guitar, letting the moment pass, and gets back to tuning the strings一because he’s an actual adult, and adults with actual jobs have things to do, which leaves Zoey grumbling in a pit of her own self-made misery.
Whatever. Fine, if Bobby doesn’t understand the complexities of the situation, then she’ll just figure this out herself. Because she’s also an adult, however dysfunctional she may be一and even dysfunctional, fresh out of high school adults are mature enough to hate other adults in the comfort of their own thoughts.
Zoey rolls her eyes, and gets back to her chord progressions.