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Chapter Text

“Hi, do you want a cupcake?” Peggy puts her best fake smile on, hopes to God there isn’t any lipstick on her teeth, and holds the frighteningly pink pastry out towards Dan Sousa, who looks at it and seems a little—okay, a lot—confused.

“Sure,” he says, and takes it, but glances at her a bit suspiciously. “Uh, what’s this for?”

“Peggy’s running for student body president,” Colleen interjects, handing a pamphlet to a scrawny freshman. “I’m her campaign manager, and this is her campaign table.”  Colleen gestures proudly at the table Peggy and her are sitting at, with the pamphlets and the plates of cupcakes neatly arranged and organized.

“Oh.” Dan looks at the cupcake. “Well, you got my vote.”

“Thank you, Daniel,” Peggy says, and smiles genuinely this time. Dan nods and walks off, his crutch clicking on the linoleum floor.

“I think I’ll have your website done by tonight,” Colleen mentions offhandedly, then grins brightly and hands some football player a pamphlet and moves the plate towards him. “Vote for Peggy!”

“Is England even a democracy?” He asks, looking at them skeptically. Still, he grabs a cupcake and takes a giant bite out of it. Peggy glares at him, and he vanishes into the crowd. 

“Who was that?” Colleen asks, wrinkling her nose.

“Jack Thompson,” Peggy says, sounding very displeased. “He’s in my European History class.”

“Oh, is that the one who calls you Marge?”

“Don’t remind me.” Peggy grits her teeth. “When are we getting those campaign posters up?”

“I’m not done printing them,” Colleen confesses, then looks over at Peggy guiltily. “You can come over tonight and we’ll just power through?”

“Can’t,” Peggy shakes her head. “Football practice.”

“After football practice?”

“Debate.” Peggy rolls her eyes. “It’s a busy week.”

Colleen makes a vague sound of sympathy. “You can miss one practice, Peggy. It ain’t life and death.”

“Darling,” Peggy sighs, “you have no idea.” She brushes a lock of hair away from her face and straightens her shoulders, ready to go back to smiling and cupcake-ing. “I’ve time Friday, though. And I can probably convince Coach Phillips to let me into the building on Saturday if I come up with a good enough excuse, so we can hang the posters up then.”

“Sure,” Colleen says and shrugs. “Just don’t overwork yourself.”

Peggy gasps like she’s offended. “I would never!”

“So, are these free?” Someone says from the right, and Peggy’s head snaps around. The speaker is this tiny girl in Peggy’s Calculus class that she’s never actually spoken to.

“Yes.” Peggy’s got her campaign smile on again.

“They’re Vote-For-Peggy cupcakes,” Colleen explains.

The girl raises an eyebrow. “Which one of you is Peggy?”

“That would be me,” Peggy says. She shakes the girl’s hand, firmly, like her mother taught her. “Peggy Carter.”

“You got a grip,” the girl remarks. “Angie Martinelli. Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” Peggy holds the plate of cupcakes out to her. “Do you want one?”

“Obviously,” Angie says and takes a cupcake. “Who’re you running against?”

Peggy makes a face. “Dottie Underwood,” she says bitterly. “She’s, well, quite determined.”

“Yeah?” Angie looks vaguely interested. “What’s she giving out?”  She takes a bite of the cupcake.

“I think she’s handing out cookies,” Colleen says nonchalantly, rearranging the pamphlets. “And pickles. Which is weird, but you know, whatever.”

“I might have to go check out the cookies,” Angie says through a mouthful of food.

“So the cupcake means nothing?” Peggy asks incredulously. “The lack of loyalty this generation has is incredible.”

“Sorry, English.” Angie smiles apologetically and grabs a pamphlet off the table. “I forgot my lunch.”

Angie starts walking away, and Peggy almost sighs in exasperation. “Will you at least vote for me?” She calls after Angie’s retreating figure.

Giggling, Angie turns around. “I’ll think about it!” She calls, then disappears down the hall.

“She’s leading me on,” Peggy mumbles bitterly. She rubs her forehead.

“That’s Angie for you.” Colleen grabs a cupcake off the plate. “Your pastries got to her first, though, so don’t worry. She’ll vote for you.”

“You know her?” Peggy asks, then glares daggers at a freshman that’s definitely already had a cupcake and is now loitering around the table again.

“Gloria,” Colleen says, distaste coloring her voice. “Angie’s alright, though. You want me to put in a good word for you, Peg?”

“Whatever you’re hinting at, no,” Peggy sputters—actually sputters—then shakes her head. “Oh, Colleen, don’t,” she protests when she sees Colleen’s look, that slightly amused, get-out-of-the-house-more-Margaret look that’s far too familiar. “I don’t even know her!”

“I didn’t say anything,” Colleen says teasingly. “You better watch out, though, she’s cute.”

“You’re impossible,” Peggy grumbles. “I swear you only do that to get a reaction out of me.”

“That’s because you’re right,” Colleen admits. “It’s really funny. Kind of cute, actually, you look like a tomato when you blush. You make a very charming vegetable.”

“Tomatoes are a fruit,” Peggy says, for the millionth time.

“That’s not so cute.” Colleen wrinkles her nose. “Anyways. Is it okay I leave early? I’ve got to change for cheer practice.”

“Of course,” Peggy says, and starts packing away her pamphlets. “I’ll be here after school for about a half hour before football, hopefully I’ll get rid of the rest of these cupcakes.” She zips her bag up, then looks up at Colleen. “You’re doing the baking tonight, right?”

“Sure thing.” Colleen stands and pushes her chair in. “See you later.”

Peggy clears the table by herself, hands off another cupcake to her English Literature teacher—hey, there’s no harm in a bit of innocent bribery—and makes her way down the hall, passing Dottie’s table on the way to her Calculus class. There’s an admittedly larger group of students hanging around there, probably because Dottie’s got all of her scary friends (there are rumors, not that Peggy believes them, but they’re definitely frightening enough to get the rest of the student body wrapped around Dottie’s little finger) keeping everyone away from Peggy and her cupcakes.

And there is, indeed, a giant jar of pickles on the table.  

The throng of people around Dottie’s table finally disperses enough that Peggy can get through. Peggy shoots an angry glare at the back of Dottie’s head, not that she would notice. Fear tactics can only get her so far, Peggy tries to reassure herself. People will realize she’s only bluffing soon enough.

Peggy, much to her surprise, actually makes it to class on time, but Angie walks into Calculus a good three minutes late. Mr. Dooley, of course, doesn’t notice (he’s too busy telling Howard Stark off for bringing his latest gadget into class and somehow managing to sync Dooley’s computer to the PandaCam at the National Zoo), so Peggy takes the opportunity to tap Angie on the shoulder and maybe do a little social networking.

“I hope you’re happy,” Peggy says, motioning to the stack of what must be five or six cookies on Angie’s desk.

“I hope you’re happy now,” Angie shoots back, and when Peggy blinks in confusion, blushes. “Sorry. Latent Wicked phase. “

Peggy laughs a little, then casts a cautious glance towards Mr. Dooley, who is indeed still yelling at Howard. “So, was Dottie’s bribery effective?”

“Aren’t you a little bit of a hypocrite?” Angie grins, an easy smile that reaches her eyes and looks well-practiced.

“I had pamphlets along with the pastries, so no, not really.” Peggy shrugs. “It was information with a little bit of added incentive.”

“You’re good at that,” Angie laughs.

“Good at what?”

“Convincing other people you’re right.” Angie takes a bite of a cookie. “You’d make a good politician.”

Peggy beams. “So you’ll vote for me?”

Angie swallows. “Never said that,” she says, but her tone is light. “You want a cookie?”

“Absolutely not,” Peggy scoffs.

“Suit yourself,” Angie shrugs. She takes another bite.

“I’m running against Dottie, I can’t be seen with her cookies in my mouth,” Peggy says, and Angie chokes on her cookie and starts coughing loudly. “Oh my god, are you alright?”

“I just—“ Angie’s still coughing. There are tears streaming down her face. “Cookies—in your—I’m so sorry,” Angie manages to get out, then starts giggling uncontrollably. “I’m so sorry,”  she repeats, then puts her head on Peggy’s desk. Angie’s shoulders are shaking with laughter.

“Peggy,” Mr. Dooley says from the front, and Peggy’s head snaps up towards him, like she’s been paying attention all along. “Everything alright back there?”

“Perfectly,” Peggy says, putting on her best I’m-charming-and-European smile.

“Care to join the class?” Dooley continues, doing that weird thing with his hands that he always seems to be doing.

“Of course, of course.” Peggy nods earnestly, waiting until Dooley looks away. When he (finally) does, she looks down at Angie, who’s still laughing, albeit silently. “Angie Martinelli, get your mind out of the gutter and your head off my desk,” Peggy hisses, but has to bite back a grin.

Angie’s head promptly pops up. She shoots Peggy a quick grin, then turns around and faces the board. Peggy watches Angie out of the corner of her eye for a few moments, then shakes her head and tries to concentrate.

“Website’s up,” Colleen says, plopping another stack of pamphlets onto the table. “I used that headshot from last summer when you were applying for that thing, hope that’s okay.”

“That thing,” Peggy nods. “Very specific.”

“Ha.” Colleen snorts. “It’s pretty picture, though.”

“Prettier than Dottie Underwood?” Peggy says jokingly, then composes herself. “Alright. We’re professional. We’re going to win this.”

“Breathe,” Colleen tells her, then turns to the lanky boy who just walked up to their table. “Hey, Ed! Look, Peg, it’s your fellow European!”

“Hi, Jarvis.” Peggy slides a cupcake across the table towards him, which he accepts. “Can I interest you in a pamphlet?”

“No point,” Jarvis says. “You had me at the cupcake.” He pauses and wrinkles his forehead. “Are these the gluten free ones?” Peggy nods, and Jarvis beams. “Besides, my only other option is Dottie Underwood, and not voting for you would almost be treason.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want that,” Peggy says, shoving a pamphlet towards him anyways. “Here, take it, give to that girl in your English class you’re always talking about.”

“I don’t know if Anna has much interest in politics,” Ed muses, a kind of wistful gaze coming across his face. Colleen and Peggy trade exasperated, if amused, looks. “Anyways, thank you. I’ll be sure to see you around.”

“Bye, Ed!” Colleen calls cheerfully, and turns back to Peggy once he’s out of earshot. “When is he finally going to ask that girl out?”

“No idea,” Peggy sighs. “It’s getting ridiculous, though.”

Colleen nods in agreement, then looks at the stack on pamphlets on the table. “Maybe we should split up. I can go hand these out by the vending machines, and you stay here with the cupcakes?”

“It’s a plan,” Peggy nods. “Luck be with you.”

Colleen rolls her eyes. “So overdramatic. You should join theatre.” Colleen pauses. “Please get rid of those cupcakes, though. I can’t handle eating any more. Especially the peanut butter ones.”

“Alright, alright,” Peggy grumbles. She looks down at the cupcakes, and rearranges them on the plate. When she glances back up, Colleen’s gone, and Angie’s standing in front of the table, looking at Peggy expectantly.

“I get two, right?” Angie asks, and makes a move to grab a cupcake. Peggy swats her hand away.

“One a person. Sorry.”

Angie pushes her bottom lip out just a tiny bit. “Please?”

“No," Peggy says. “One cupcake a person, no exceptions.”

“I saw Colleen eating two yesterday,” Angie protests, a hand stemmed on her hip. “Is she an exception?”

“Colleen baked them,” Peggy argues half-heartedly. She looks around to see if anyone’s coming down the hall—she doesn’t want everyone to swarm her, like teenagers so often do for food—then decides screw it, whatever, one time. One girl. “Alright, fine, but don’t tell anyone. If someone asks, just say you clobbered me over the head and stole one.”

“Thanks, English.” Angie smiles brightly and grabs a cupcake. “I owe you one.”

“How about you vote for me?” Peggy calls after Angie as she starts to walk away, definitely enjoying her cupcake more than she has the right to after getting it through blatant manipulation.

“I’m weighing my options!” Angie yells back, and Peggy sighs and puts her face in her hands.

To her surprise, quite a lot of people trickle over the next twenty minutes—mostly drama kids, a few band members, and some people that Peggy’s fairly sure she’s never seen before. Peggy smiles and hands out cupcakes and hopes that she’s convincing, and gets in a few subtle digs at Dottie that have Carol and Evelyn snorting with laughter. All in all, not bad. Colleen comes back five minutes before the end of lunch, pamphlet stack significantly smaller, and they grin at each other, with an unspoken this might actually work passing between them.

“Lorraine came by today, while I was handing out pamphlets,” Colleen says that night, when they’re feverishly printing the last of a stack of posters with a big bold VOTE FOR PEGGY emblazoned on the top and a moderately professional headshot situated neatly in the middle.

“Oh?” Peggy turns. “Did she do anything?”

“She just did that smirk thing that makes people think she knows when the world is going to end,” Colleen huffs. “God, she’s so annoying.”

“I swear, half of the people that hang around Dottie just do so because they’re terrified of her friends.” Peggy grits her teeth. “It’s not like Dottie’s really that frightening.”

“It’s probably mostly Lorraine and Johann,” Colleen admits. “Lorraine because she’s an ice queen, and Johann because he looks like he can read minds.”

“It won’t work as a campaign strategy,” Peggy says bluntly. “It’s off-putting.”

“Peggy, don’t worry.” Colleen picks up a finished poster and holds it against the light, nodding with approval. “Everyone knows who you are. All the football players like you—”

“Except Thompson,” Peggy mutters bitterly.

“Except Thompson,” Colleen repeats, and sighs. “You have the entire Debate team on your side, plus all of the people who known you from Student Council, which you’ve done since you’ve actually been at this school—”

“Oh, enough.” Peggy looks down, blushing. “Let’s just finish these posters, alright?”

The printer sputters, and Colleen fishes the last poster out. “Here we go.” She checks it over. “I did a really good job on this. Nice, me.”

“Glad to know you’re still humble,” Peggy says. “And officially, there’s a Debate meeting tomorrow, so the building will be unlocked and security systems off, but unofficially, we’re going to school and hanging up the posters. We just have to be out by ten.”

“Ten?” Colleen looks at Peggy, incredulous. “On a Saturday?”

“It shouldn’t take more than an hour,” Peggy says innocently. “And you did want to be my campaign manager. Of course, I could always call Ed to—“

“Fine,” Colleen groans. “But you’re buying me doughnuts.”

“This is too early.” Colleen’s been complaining bitterly the entire car ride. “And I ate too many doughnuts.”

“That’s not my fault,” Peggy sighs. “And it’ll be worth it when I win.” She casts a glance back towards the stack of hopefully unwrinkled posters on the back seat, then looks back at the road. “We should hang some up in the auditorium. And by the library. And in the gym, obviously.”

“How are we even going to get in?” Colleen asks. “You’re not going to pick locks, are you?”

“Of course not,” Peggy sniffs. “Coach Phillips just trusts me a lot.” She fumbles around in her purse, then pulls out a ring with a bunch of keys dangling from it.

“Teacher’s pet,” Colleen mumbles under her breath.

“What was that?”

“Oh, nothing,” Colleen says brightly.

Peggy nods. “That’s what I thought.”

They drive on in comfortable silence, Colleen nodding off against the window and then jerking awake when Peggy parks in front of school.

“An hour, Colleen, let’s get these posters up.”

They’re actually making pretty good time—they’ve only got three posters left, and it’s 9:37, and Colleen’s leaning against the wall and breathing heavily from having run all over the school to hang Peggy’s face up on the wall.

“I can do the last three myself,” Peggy offers, because she does feel a bit guilty. “Just hang out here, alright? I’ll go put these by the auditorium.”

“Thanks, Peg,” Colleen says. Peggy smiles at her and leaves.

The school is silent, almost eerily so—Peggy’s footsteps echo in the halls, and she keeps expecting someone to pop out of an empty classroom. Overactive imagination, she chides herself. Pull yourself together.

Except she’s definitely not hallucinating the babble of conversation coming from the auditorium, nor the angry seeming voice from just before it. Peggy strains to listen; she can’t understand a word the voice is saying, until she realizes—oh. That’s Italian.

Even though Peggy’s taken Italian since she was fourteen, and even though she doesn’t necessarily consider herself untalented when it comes to languages, she can only pick out a word or two—something about unfair, something about favoritism, and some string of animated speech that Peggy’s pretty sure she won’t find in any sort of textbook. Then Peggy rounds the corner and turns into the next hall, and there’s Angie, motioning wildly through the air and pressing her phone to her ear.

Peggy stops a few paces away from Angie, afraid that she’ll think Peggy’s been listening in, or watching—which she really hasn’t been—and considers just walking around Angie and maneuvering her way into the auditorium.

Almost as soon as the thought crosses Peggy's mind, Angie hangs up, pressing the “end call” button on her phone angrily and muttering—still in Italian—under her breath. She turns, just the tiniest bit, and spots Peggy towards the middle of the hall, freezing almost instantly.

“Did you break in?” Angie asks, and there’s still a hint of irritation in her voice.

“I’m hanging up campaign posters,” Peggy says lamely, and wishes she could come up with something more eloquent.

“Oh.” Some kind of relief washes over Angie’s face. “I got worried for a second, there.”

“What would I even be doing?” Peggy motions towards the empty school.

“You tell me,” Angie shrugs. “When’s the vote, anyways?”

“Next Tuesday,” Peggy answers automatically, then pauses. “Wait,” she starts. “What are you doing here?”

 “Play practice,” Angie says, like that’s obvious. “I just—I ducked out to call my mom.”

“Oh.” Peggy feels a little bit ridiculous. “Is, er, everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Angie says, waving it off. She looks a little tired, now that Peggy looks at her properly. Angie’s hair isn’t as fluffed as it is during the week. She’s out of dress code (not that that matters) in an oversized sweater and flannel pajama pants.

Peggy clears her throat. “Is it alright if I go into the auditorium and hang these posters up?”

“Of course,” Angie says and starts walking towards the door, motioning towards Peggy to follow her. “Our stage manager is kind of—well, you’ll see. It’ll be okay, though, probably.”

True to Angie’s word, some guy that Peggy only later identifies as Ray Krzeminski jumps up as soon as they walk through the door. “What is she doing in here? This is a private rehearsal!”

“She’s just hanging posters up.” Angie sounds annoyed. “Good luck,” she says to Peggy, then goes and sits next to Gloria, who’s eyeing Peggy dubiously.

 “Isn’t that Colleen’s best friend?” Gloria whispers, thankfully out of Peggy’s earshot.

“Who cares?” Angie hisses back.

“I do.” Gloria’s voice edges on a little bit too loud, and Angie elbows her in the stomach to get her to shut up. “How do you even know her?”

“I eat her cupcakes,” Angie replies without thinking.

“That’s quite the euphemism,” Gloria says, snickering to herself. Angie rolls her eyes. Hell will freeze over on the day Gloria does not seize the chance at an innuendo, she thinks to herself, and casts a cautious glance towards Peggy, who’s on her tiptoes hanging up the last of her posters.

“Those posters are looking nice,” Angie remarks, leaning on Peggy’s campaign table with a loose grin on her face.

“Thank you,” Peggy smiles.

“I made them,” Colleen chimes in, grinning.

“That you did,” Peggy says out of the corner of her mouth. She looks back up at Angie and her smile falters. “You’re here for another cupcake, aren’t you?”

“Your website is false advertising,” Angie deflects. “The cupcake in the picture has white frosting. These have pink frosting. And where’s my chocolate cupcake, huh?”

Peggy sighs, grits her teeth, and pulls another container out of her bag. “Here are the chocolate cupcakes,” she says. Motioning towards each plate, she pins Angie with the most severe look she can muster. “These are gluten free, those are peanut butter, and these are vanilla.”

Okay, maybe Angie’s a little impressed.

“Complaints, Miss Martinelli?” Peggy asks, leaning forward and resting her chin on her hand.

“Just checking to see if you live up to your promises,” Angie shrugs, and reaches towards the chocolate cupcakes. “You don’t mind, do you?” Peggy sighs, but she’s smiling, so Angie shrugs again and takes one. “Thanks, English.”

Colleen raises an eyebrow.

“Only because you let me into the auditorium,” Peggy mutters.

Angie laughs. “If you say so.” She starts to walk away, then turns back around. “I’ll probably vote for you,” she says, then keeps walking.

Once Angie’s definitely too far to be able to hear them, Colleen starts snickering. “You’re whipped,” she sing-songs under her breath.

Peggy slams her hand on the table. “Colleen Deirdre O’Brien!”

Colleen’s properly laughing now, tears at the corner of her eyes. “Come on, Peg,” she chokes out. “Professionalism.”  

Chapter Text

“Okay.” Peggy sits down on her bed, crosses her legs, uncrosses them, and starts pacing around the room. “Elections are tomorrow. Tomorrow. Alright. I’m fine. I’m fine.”

Colleen, lounging on the mattress, throws a pillow at her. “Margaret Carter—“ she starts, with a very stern tone, then stops, thinking. “Hold on, I was going to say something really inspirational, but I forgot—“

Peggy picks up the pillow from the ground and throws it back towards Colleen, missing pathetically. “You’re very helpful,” she snarls, and Colleen sighs.

“Your speech was awesome,” Colleen says. “You handed out cupcakes for four days straight. Dottie Underwood is just really scary, okay?”

“I can be scary,” Peggy whines. “I’m extremely intimidating—“

“If you weren’t a complete goofball, you would be intimidating,” Colleen says flatly. “I’d tell you good luck, but you don’t even need luck, because you’re ridiculously competent.”

“Thank you,” Peggy says softly. She sits down next to Colleen and puts her head on her shoulder. “I’m sorry I’m so snippish. I couldn’t have done this without yo—“

“You’re also ridiculously sentimental.” Colleen threads her arm around Peggy’s shoulder and hugs her. “Obviously I was going to help you.”

“But what if no one votes for me?” Peggy asks, even though she knows that won’t be the case. “God. Why did Dottie even run?”

“The entire football team is going to vote for you,” Colleen says patiently. “I heard Tim Dugan threatening Thompson about it the other day. Plus you got Angie on your side, right? Everyone in theatre loves her, she’s like their residential puppy or something.”

“She never gave me a straight answer,” Peggy mumbles. Colleen snorts. “What?”

“You’re never gonna get anything straight from Angie,” Colleen says. “And yes, I mean that in every sense of the word.” She pauses, then takes a breath. “But you gave her food, so. And she seemed seriously smitten, so the entire theatre department is probably voting for you.”

“She was not smitten,” Peggy grumbles. “She wanted food.”

“I went to middle school with her, Peg.” Colleen shrugs as well as she can with Peggy’s head on her shoulder. “I know the girl.”

“Why aren’t you closer?” Peggy asks, staring at the wall. Colleen half-shrugs again.

“Gloria.”

“Oh.” Peggy swallows. “You never told me what happen—”

“No point,” Colleen says softly. She looks down at her fingernails.

“Are you still—“

“I shouldn’t be.”

They’re quiet for a bit.  Peggy thinks about asking again, but decides not to. Colleen obviously doesn’t want to talk about it right now. Peggy’s not sure she ever will.

“If Dottie wins, I’m staging a coup d’etat,” Peggy mutters after a few moments, to break the silence. “She doesn’t even—“

“Peggy,” Colleen whines. “You’re going to jinx it. Shut up.”

“They actually got voting booths?” Gloria asks, her jaw dropping open.

“Close your mouth, you look like a fish,” Carol snaps. Gloria closes her mouth and rolls her eyes. Carol snorts.  “Who are you voting for, Angie?”

Angie swallows. “Dottie beat me out for that one role once. Can’t let her win.”

“Good reasoning,” Carol agrees, and pulls Angie towards the line. “Gloria?”

“I’m going to go find us a table,” Gloria mutters and shoves past Stephen Yauch to get in the cafeteria, who glares after her.

“What’s up with her?” Angie asks, wrinkling her nose.

“There.” Carol nudges Angie with her elbow, and points over to the other side of the hall.

Colleen O’Brien’s there, chattering animatedly with some tall, lanky guy that Angie’s never actually seen before. Angie’s eyes flicker around. No Peggy. Her gaze goes back to Colleen. “Still?”

Angie bites her lip, suddenly uncomfortable. “Let’s just vote and go eat, okay? I’m hungry.”

Carol shrugs. “Sure.”

Angie ducks into a booth, types in her Student ID number, and taps the little box next to Peggy’s name. Thank you for voting! The screen proclaims, with patriotic little red, white, and blue confetti. Angie scoffs at the irony and steps out of the booth.

“Can I trust you did the right thing?” Someone asks, and Angie whips around, only to see Colleen grinning down at her.

“Geez, O’Brien,” Angie says. “When’d you get so tall?”

Colleen rolls her eyes. “You vote for Peggy?”

“Yup,” Angie nods. “I have beef with Dottie.”

Raising an eyebrow, Colleen looks at her. “Seriously?”

Angie grimaces. “Long story.”

Colleen hesitates for a moment, like she’s afraid to open her mouth. “So you and Peg—“

“Angela,” Carol calls, stepping out from behind her booth. “Let’s go.” She threads her arm through Angie’s, and starts to pull her towards the door to the cafeteria.

“Okay,” Angie says, and looks back at smiles at Colleen. “See you.”

Colleen nods and half-waves, and then Carol pulls Angie back around. “What’d she want?”

“Nothing,” Angie says. “What’s it to you?”

Carol sighs. “I just—Gloria. I mean, she hasn’t liked Colleen ever since they broke up, but lately—”

“Did she ever tell you what happened?” Angie pushes the door open to the cafeteria. The smell of fried food, slightly stale, rises in her nose.

“Angie!” Gloria calls from a table in the corner, and Angie and Carol both whip around, and trade looks like they’re guilty. Angie sits down next to Gloria, dropping her bag on the floor. “So, did you vote for Peggy Carter and all the great things she is?”

“You’re not bitter at all,” Carol remarks brightly and unpacks her lunch box. “What did Peggy Carter ever do to you?”

Gloria blushes, and sinks her gaze. It’s the same look she always gets on her face when Colleen—Angie’s pulse quickens. Oh. “You don’t think her and Colleen—“ Angie asks, then stops, because she feels ridiculous.

“Oh, absolutely,” Gloria says, waving her hand. “They’re always together—”

“You know, Gloria,” Carol says, munching on a chicken leg, “some people have this kind of platonic relationship with other people that is normally referred to as a friendship.”

“You’re hilarious,” Gloria deadpans. “Really, truly.” Carol shrugs, and Gloria breathes in through her teeth. “They’re attached at the hip!”

“I thought Peggy was dating that Edwin guy,” Carol says, wrinkling her brow.

“What, just because they’re both English?” Gloria scoffs. “What a brilliant observation, Carol. Please tell us more of your compelling evidence.”

“Is there anyone Peggy Carter isn’t dating?” Angie snaps, uncharacteristically, and Gloria and Carol stop squabbling and stare at her.

“You alright, Angie?” Gloria asks, a laugh edging in on her voice.

“Fine,” Angie says, through her teeth. “Can we stop acting we live in some gossip magazine?”

Carol actually starts to laugh, setting her chicken leg down. “Aw, Ang—”

“Don’t you dare, Carol.” Angie’s turning red. Shit.

“You’re so cute when you get jealous,” Carol continues. “Isn’t she cute, Gloria?”

“Oh, my god,” Angie groans and puts her face in her hands. “I’m not jeal—“

“You’re about as subtle as—well, something that’s not very subtle,” Gloria says dryly. “Really, Angie, at least try to tone it down.”

Angie stiffens and looks up. “There’s nothing to tone down.”

Gloria bumps her shoulder. “At least you’ve eaten her cupcakes?”

Carol throws at chip at Gloria while Angie groans and slaps her arm.

The intercom squawks on the middle of Calculus. “Can we have Margaret Carter in the office?” A voice warbles.

Howard Stark shoots Peggy a glance as she passes him. “What’d you do, Margaret?” He asks.

 Peggy shoots him the harshest glare she can muster. “I’m about to punch someone,” she says brightly. Angie snorts from her seat.

“Peggy, no violence in my classroom,” Dooley calls from the blackboard.

“Yes, sir,” Peggy says with mock enthusiasm, leaving the room.

“Hey, Margaret,” a high, sickly-sweet voice greets her when she’s in the hall. Peggy grits her teeth. Dottie.

“Dorothy,” Peggy says, just as pleasantly. She turns around to look at Dottie, who’s truly towering over her in the empty hall. “Skipping class?”

“Got called to the office, actually,” Dottie says, with an expression that’s really far too innocent. “I hope everything’s alright.”

 “I’m on my way there too now, actually.” Peggy groans inwardly. This is terrible. They’re probably going to be told who won the election, so it’s not too big of a shock when the announce it over the loudspeakers at the end of the day, and if Dottie won—Peggy refuses to believe it, of course, but if—she will gloat all the way back to class, and Peggy might actually punch someone before the day is up.

“Ladies,” Principal Coulson says when they get to his office after several seconds of intense, awkward silence. “Please, have a seat.”

Dottie smiles at him shyly; Peggy keeps her face carefully neutral.

“So, the election results are in,” Coulson says, shifting awkwardly in his seat. Dear God, Peggy thinks, can’t we just get this over with.

“And?” Dottie asks excitedly.

“Well.” He’s shifting again. Peggy’s heart is hammering in her chest. Please, she thinks. Please please please please please. “We had a bit of a situation.”

“A situation, sir?” Peggy can’t stop herself from blurting out the question. “What do you mean by that?”

“It was very close,” Coulson starts, casting a pitiful glance towards the both of them. “Ten votes, I think. We’ve never had this narrow a margin before...” his voice trails off. “Well, normally, we have the Student Council appoint the Vice President, but since the vote was so close, the VP is just going to be the runner up this year.”

Don’t look at Dottie, Peggy wills herself, don’t look at Dottie—fuck. There’s a smirk on her thin lips, and she’s staring at Coulson with the utmost respect and attention.

“So, congrats. Peggy, you won, Dottie, you’re VP.”

Ha. Peggy has to hold back a triumphant grin. Dottie had her little gang of intimidating people, but they couldn’t even secure a twenty-vote lead.

“Great job, both of you,” Coulson says, smiling. “Everyone was very impressed with the effort you put into your campaigns.”

“Thank you, Mr. Coulson,” Peggy says, careful not to look at Dottie.

“I can’t wait to start hearing what you girls come up with.” Coulson claps his hands together, then look at his watch. “Uh, you should probably get back to class.”

Peggy avoids looking at Dottie until they’re in the hall, alone, and when she finally done, Dottie doesn’t even look that pissed.

“Congrats, Peggy,” she says, with that smile that makes Peggy cringe. “I’m sure we’ll have a blast working together!”

“Thank you, Dottie,” Peggy replies, and smiles as genuinely as she can. “Congratulations to you, too.”

Dottie disappears into a classroom and doesn’t look back. Peggy sighs, casts a glance around the hall, and steps back into Dooley’s classroom.

“What happened?” Angie whispers once Peggy gets to her seat.

“I got expelled,” Peggy says, with as much drama in her voice as humanely possible.

“No, you didn’t,” Angie scoffs, a tad bit too loudly. Dooley shoots them a warning look.

“Okay, I didn’t get expelled.” Peggy considers telling her for a moment, then decides she wants to see her reaction when the announcement comes on. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

“Ladies!” Dooley looks up from his grading and glares over at them. “I’m givin’ you time to finish your homework. I’m sure you’ve all got plenty to do on a Thursday night, so stop blabbering, okay?”

Peggy and Angie nod in unison.

The intercom crackles on about twenty minutes later. A peppy sophomore cheerfully recites the announcements, then Coulson’s talking through the speaker.

“I’m pleased to announce that your President this year will be—“ Here, he pauses, probably for dramatic effect. Peggy rolls her eyes. “Margaret Carter!” Howard whoops, loudly and obnoxiously, and Angie turns around and grins at Peggy.

“I guess the bribery worked, then.”

“Dorothy Underwood will be stepping in as Vice President,” Coulson continues. “Have a good afternoon, everyone!”

The intercom clicks off.

“So, you and Dottie, huh?” Angie asks, scooching her chair closer to Peggy’s desk. “You two get along?”

“I suppose we’ll find out,” Peggy says, honestly.

Colleen squeals so loudly that Peggy thinks her eardrums are going to burst.

“Dear God, Colleen, won’t you keep it down,” Peggy says, eyes flickering around the hall.

“You won!” Colleen laughs, and Peggy thinks she’s about to start doing some random cheerleading routine in the middle of the hall.  “I knew you would win!”

“All thanks to you.” Peggy smiles. Colleen grins back, then pulls Peggy in for a hug.

“You won, you won, you won,” Colleen sings, drumming her hands on Peggy’s back with the rhythm. “Even though you won’t let me be your First Lady, you bitch.”

“Oh, don’t take it personally,” Peggy quips. “I just don’t think you’d be cut out for all that.”

Colleen pulls back and lightly slaps Peggy on the arm. “I was thinking I’d be less of a Lemonade Lucy and more of an Eleanor Roosevelt—“

“You’re still not my First Lady,” Peggy says flatly. “You’ll be Prime Minister. Or something. I can’t even assign Student Council positions, why does it matter?”

Gloria, walking by, nudges Carol with her elbow. “See, I told you they’re dating,” she whispers. “Look at them.”

“They’re not dating,” Carol says, louder now that Colleen and Peggy are out of earshot. “Peggy’s not dating anyone, she’s way too busy.”

“Weren’t you just saying that Peggy’s dating Edwin Jarvis?” Gloria rolls her eyes.

“I said that to annoy Angie,” Carol confesses. Gloria laughs, the sound at the back of her throat. “No, seriously,” Carol says. “Angie gets so jealous, it’s honestly hilarious.”

“What’s hilarious?” Angie asks, walking towards them from the side.

“Nothing,” Carol and Gloria say, nearly in unison. Angie glances at them suspiciously.

“Nothing,” she repeats, under her breath.”Totally believable. For actors, you both have terrible poker faces.”

“We can’t all be as talented as you, Angie,” Carol teases.

Angie rolls her eyes. “You’re so funny.”

“You know it,” Carol grins, and bumps Angie playfully. “So, you heard about Peggy?”

“What about her?” Angie asks, a little bit too quickly. Gloria barely manages to restrain a giggle.

“The election,” Carol says, like it’s obvious.

“It was announced to the entire school, Carol,” Angie replies.

“I’m aware of that,” Carol scoffs. “Just wanted to see if you were paying attention.”

“I was.”

“You’re always paying attention when it comes to Peggy Carter,” Carol sing-songs under her breath and snickers. Angie sighs.

Gloria’s phone beeps. She looks around quickly to see if any teachers are in the hallway—she still hasn’t forgiven Mrs. Fry for that one time freshman year, apparently people can’t even call their parents these days—and, finding it mostly empty, pulls her phone out. “Howard Stark just texted me,” she announces. “He’s throwing a party this weekend while his parents are in Malibu. You wanna go?”

“Why are Howard’s parents in Malibu?” Angie asks incredulously.

“Do you remember that game he designed, like, freshman year?” Gloria looks up from typing furiously on her phone. Angie does. Rhythmically popping bubbles and dancing panda bears, something like that. If the rumors are to be believed, he was wasted as hell when coding it, and somehow, miraculously, it worked. “Well,” Gloria continues, “he made a—a shitload, honestly, a shitload of money off that and now he sends his parents on ridiculous vacations for their anniversaries.”

“Isn’t that clever,” Angie mutters, then pulls out her phone. “He didn’t text me. You sure he wants us there?”

“He says you two can come,” Gloria says, waving her phone in front of Angie’s face. “Do you want to go?”

 “Sure,” Angie says, still glancing at her phone. “Holy shit. Did Peggy just announce her and Colleen are dating?”

“Let me see.” Gloria peers at Angie’s phone. “You follow her campaign twitter?”

The hint of a blush rises in Angie’s cheeks. “Maybe.”

“No, you do,” Gloria giggles. “Carol, Peggy said Colleen is her First Lady. Keep telling me they’re not together.”

“It’s probably a joke?” Carol suggests. Angie drags her thumb over the screen absently, and then the page refreshes. “See?” Carol pokes at the screen. “I would rather have Jarvis as my first lady than Colleen. They’re not dating. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not being ridiculous,” Gloria insists, and suddenly she sounds defensive, edging on upset. “They definitely have a thing—”

Carol crosses her arms and casually glances at Angie. “Okay, if anything, this proves that Peggy has a thing with Ed. Please–”

“I think we should go to Howard’s party,” Angie interrupts her. The way this conversation is going, Gloria will just end up ranting about Colleen, and those discussions never turn out pretty.  

“Angie’s right,” Carol agrees, “it’ll be fun.”

Gloria, after hesitating for a moment, accepts the subject change. “As long as no one ends up getting wasted and throwing up on my shoes,” she sighs.

Carol grimaces. “Will you ever get over that?”

Gloria shoots her a look. “No.”  

“Hey, Peg,” Howard says, draping an arm around Peggy. “How’s it goin’?”

Peggy shrugs his arm off. “What do you want, Howard?”

“Nothing.” Howard nods at Colleen. “Hey, Col.”

“No one calls me that,” Colleen points out. “What do you want, Howard?”

“So friendly around here,” Howard quips. “Anyways. I’m throwing a party this Saturday, wanted to know if you two would like to make an appearance. “

“Sure,” Colleen says brightly, before Peggy can even open her mouth. “Thanks for the invitation.”

“Of course,” Howard says, and smiles. “As long as Mrs. President here doesn’t—“

Peggy (affectionately) pushes him away. “Don’t start.”

“We’ll be there,” Colleen promises.

“Alright,” Howard grins, “I’ll see you later.”

“Bye,” Peggy tells him, then turns to Colleen. “Are you really going to make me go to that?” She asks in a forced whisper.

“Yes,” Colleen says plainly. “You need to start leaving the house for things that don’t go on resumes.”

Peggy rolls her eyes and grits her teeth. “Fine,” she mutters. “I’m driving.”

“Oh, good.” Colleen playfully punches Peggy on the shoulder. “I’m real proud of you, Peg.”

“Thank you,” Peggy smiles fakely. “I really appreciate your support.” Peggy sighs, the smile slipping off her face. “Who else is going?”

They start walking down the hall to get out of school.  Colleen makes some kind of uncommitted sound. “How would I know? We’ll find out when we get there.”

“Can’t we just order in?” Peggy asks. “We can get pizza—”

“You can’t bribe me food with food, Carter.” Colleen shakes her head. “Not this time.”

“It normally works so well,” Peggy remarks, and pouts a little. “D’you want me to pick you up?”

“Thanks, Peg,” Colleen smiles cheerfully. “I’m sure we’ll have a blast.”

“Right,” Peggy nods. “I’ll remind you when you’re miserable Sunday morning.”

“You worry too much,” Colleen says. “What could possibly go wrong?”

Chapter Text

As it turns out, not so much, at least for a little bit.

Peggy picks Colleen up at seven, and they drive over to Howard’s house, which is unsurprisingly in the rich part of town. His driveway is long, winding, and already full of parked cars, so they park in the street half a block over and slowly walk to Howard’s house. All of the lawns in the neighborhood are sprawling and manicured, nearly to perfection. The thumping beat of his music increases with each step.

Peggy’s mother, much to Peggy’s surprise, had only raised her eyebrows and requested her daughter be home by one when Peggy told her she was going out with Colleen Saturday night. There were things that her mother expected, Peggy understood, but that didn’t mean she felt comfortable with them. 

“Nervous?” Colleen asks, bumping Peggy’s arm with her elbow.

Shrugging, Peggy kicks a stone on the sidewalk and sends it skittering across the concrete. “This isn’t my first party, you know.”

“Yeah.” Colleen hesitates. “But it’s your first since Steve, right?”

The bass from Howard’s speakers is already unpleasantly pounding in Peggy’s ears, so she doesn’t think she’s heard right for a moment. When she realizes she has, she stops walking for a moment, because it’s too loud, it’s all too loud, and she can’t handle getting closer to the noise.

“Peggy?” Colleen sounds more apologetic than Peggy’s ever heard her.

Ignoring the sharp sting of tears rising in her nose, Peggy smiles weakly. “Sorry,” she says, and keeps walking. “It’s been awhile since I’ve heard his name.”

Silently, they walk on. When they step on Howard’s lawn, the music abruptly turns off, then resumes, thankfully at a much lower volume.

“Should we ring the bell?” Colleen asks when they get to the door. Peggy shrugs, unsure, but the door flies open, and there’s Howard, grinning like his face is about to split in two.

“My favorite ladies!” He sounds truly enthusiastic, and even holds the door open for them. “Make yourselves at home.” They start walking down the hall; Peggy’s pretty sure these are marble floors.

“Why’d you turn the music down?” Colleen asks. “I mean, not that I’m complaining, but—”

“Just made some adjustments,” Howard says, and points to the speakers. They’re actually quite impressive, Peggy has to admit.

“Well, thank God you turned them down,” Peggy remarks, “or else you would’ve managed to blow up someone’s eardrums.”

The doorbell rings, and Howard rushes off to get it, with a quick “Living room’s through there!” shouted over his shoulder. Colleen and Peggy trade a look, then manage to find the living room, where a couple of football players and cheerleaders are loitering around the couches and the pool table set up in a corner.

There aren’t too many people there—well, maybe a fair amount, but not as much as Peggy expected from a Stark party. Not that she’s actually ever been to one of these before. She’s just heard a fair bit about them, from fellow members of the football team, or in the small snippets of conversation she overhears in other classes, and their stories always end in too much noise, too much alcohol.

“What do you want to do?” Colleen asks, out of the corner of her mouth.

“Perhaps we could sit down somewhere?” Peggy suggests. Truth is, they both have very little idea of what they’re supposed to be doing here, but they might as well pretend.

“Good idea.” Colleen nods. “Let’s go, then.”

There’s a black leather couch stretching across an entire wall, but Jack Thompson is currently splayed across almost half of it, so that’s not really an option. The other couch is mostly empty, though, except for Yauch, who’s fairly easy to ignore, anyways, so Peggy nods Colleen over and they go sit, awkwardly crossing their legs in almost  perfect sync.

“Why did we even come here?” Peggy asks, breaking into a nervous laugh. “Really.”

“Because you need to get out of the house more,” Colleen replies. “And I have no one else to hang out with on a Saturday night.”

“See, that’s the problem when you only have one friend,” Peggy remarks, smirking slightly. “Don’t worry, it’s mutual.”

“Hey, Martinelli!” There’s a shout from the couch, and Peggy starts and looks for the source of the noise. Of course it’s Jack Thompson, and when Peggy turns around to see what he’s shouting at, it’s actually Angie, who’s just walked in and looks extremely annoyed.

“Oh, crap,” Colleen whispers, and buries her face in Peggy’s shoulder. “Hide me.”

“What?”

“If Angie’s here, Gloria’s here.” Colleen’s voice is muffled. “Which means that I need to hide.”

“Why are you so afraid of her?” Peggy considers (gently) removing Colleen from her shoulder, but decides to be merciful.

“I’m not wasted enough to tell you that story,” Colleen says, voice surprisingly bitter.

“Hey, Martinelli!” Jack repeats, standing up. “Why don’t you come over here?”

“How much has he had to drink?” Casting a sympathetic glance towards Angie, Peggy grits her teeth. “I swear, if he says one more word—”

Of course he does.

“Come on, Angie, it’ll be fun—”

That’s enough. “Jack!” Peggy yells, and enjoys the shock on his face a little bit more than she should. Colleen lifts her head at the noise. “Has anyone ever told you that everything you say is a waste of oxygen?”

“Look, Carter,” Jack motions vaguely. “Why don’t you just take a deep breath and calm down?” “Do you want me to talk to Coach Phillips?” Peggy asks. “Because I will.”

“You can’t—”

“There are other people with decent throwing skills out there, Thompson,” Peggy snaps. “People who don’t make fools of themselves every time they open their mouths.”

With that, Jack decides that he’s either too drunk or too tired to deal with Peggy, so he sits back down, stretching himself out as much as possible and thumping his feet down on Howard’s coffee table.

Relieved, Angie walks over to the couch as quickly as possible and sits down next to Peggy and Colleen on the couch. “He always tries to talk to me,” Angie says quietly, clearly uncomfortable. “Whenever he sees me alone, it’s just—ugh. So obnoxious.”

“Where are your friends?” Colleen looks down at her fingernails. There’s an unspoken And where’s Gloria? in her question, but Angie doesn’t acknowledge it and only shrugs slightly.

“Getting drinks.” Angie is distracting. Angie’s shoulder is pressing against Peggy. Angie shifts her weight on the couch and accidentally pokes Peggy with her elbow, and Peggy yelps and jumps a little. “Sorry!”

“It’s fine.” Peggy’s voice is slightly higher pitched than usual, no matter how much she tries to stop it Colleen coughs slightly, and Peggy shoots her a warning look because while she does love the girl, she has little to no feel for discretion or subtlety. “I’m just—”

“A little ticklish?” Angie finishes for her, and Peggy blushes, trying not to look at Colleen. When she does, of course, Colleen’s snickering.

“Hey, O’Brien.” It’s Howard. He leans his hands on the armrest, looking at the three of them on the couch. “I’m playing with a new robot. Wanna see?”

“What does it do?” Colleen asks, trying to seem like she’s not interested. It’s not working.

“You won’t care what it does,” Howard points out, and Peggy has to admit he’s right. Colleen doesn’t really build stuff for purpose—she tinkers. There are bolts and screwdrivers and all sorts of metallic, complicated-looking equipment that Peggy doesn’t even know where to begin with scattered around Colleen’s half of the garage, so whatever Howard’s working on, Colleen cares. “Besides, I need your help with the programming.”

Colleen grins, eager to show Howard up. “I’ll come take a look at it,” she says and gets up, trying to stay nonchalant.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Peggy’s ready to be confused while Howard and Colleen talk robots, but Colleen shakes her head.

“No, you can stay here with Angie,” Colleen smiles sweetly, and, while Peggy’s still blinking at her in disbelief, disappears into the hall with Howard.

Cheeks burning, Peggy settles back onto the couch. They sit in awkward silence for a few moments.

Finally, Angie clears her throat. “Thanks.”

“For what?”

Angie motions uncomfortably. “Jack.”

Realizing what she means, Peggy nods. “Of course.” She shoots Angie a grin. “I’ve never actually met anyone who likes him.”

Angie’s laugh is light and cheery, but genuine. “Doesn’t surprise me. He’s been trying to get in my pants since freshman year.”

“Your type isn’t loud, obnoxious, and misogynistic?” Peggy can’t help but smirk, just a tiny bit. “What a shock.”

“My type isn’t exactly male, English,” Angie says, quickly, with a hint of nerves. Her cheeks are tinged with red when Peggy turns to look at her. “I’m sorry. Is that a problem?”

Something in Peggy’s stomach kicks into gear, a sort of potential for excitement. “No, no, of course not,” she says, careful not to stumble over words in her haste to reply. “That’d be—you know—” Angie’s looking at her doubtfully, and Peggy’s trying to think of how to word this “—well, rather hypocritical, I suppose,” she finishes.

Not quite knowing what to say, Angie ducks her head and tries not to grin.  

There’s a loud, high-pitched laugh from the hall, almost verging on a cackle. Peggy strains to hear the voice that accompanies it, and realizes with horror that it’s none other than dear Dorothy Underwood, who is honestly the last person on Earth Peggy feels like talking to right now. “Shit,” Peggy curses under her breath, and sinks down lower into the couch cushions.

“What?” Panicked, Angie looks around. Peggy has to smile, in spite of herself. It’s kind of cute.

“It’s not bad,” Peggy sighs, “it’s just—”

With that, Dottie walks into the living room, followed by a surly looking boy that Peggy recognizes as Johann—something? Ivchenko? Fenhoff? there seems to be some sort of confusion regarding his name—and Lorraine, who’s honestly one of the most terrifying people Peggy’s ever met. They talk at the door, briefly, and Lorraine and Johann disappear back into the hall.

“Ooh,” Angie grimaces. “It’s your partner in crime.”

“Absolutely not,” Peggy coughs, and tries to shield her face. “We don’t—“ it’s too late. Dottie’s seen her, and is walking in their direction on long, colt-like legs.

“Peggy!” Dottie crows, and plops down onto the couch next to her. “What brings you here?”

“Colleen,” Peggy replies. “She thought—well. I thought I’d just, you know, hang out a bit, talk to peop—”

“Aw.” Dottie’s voice is patronizing, so patronizing that Peggy vaguely considers stomping her foot on Dottie’s, on accident, of course. “That’s so sweet.”

Angie makes a panicked noise from next to Peggy. “Shit,” she whispers.

“What’s wrong?” When Peggy looks over at her, Angie seems near tears. She’s rooting around in her purse, throwing packs of tissue and lipgloss onto the couch.

“I can’t find my wallet,” Angie says frantically, “my debit card was in there, and sixty dollars, my mother is going to kill me.” Her voice breaks.

“You sure you had it?” Dottie asks, propping herself up on the couch with her elbow so she can get a better look at Angie. “Maybe you left it in the car—”

“I have to find it.” Wiping her eyes, Angie stands up from the couch. “Sorry, I’ll see you later—”

“I’ll help you look,” Peggy says quickly, not eager to be left alone with Dottie. She shoots an awkward smile at her and follows Angie out of the room. “Where’d you see it last?” She asks, when they’re alone in the hallway.

Angie’s shoulders are shaking. In the dim light, it takes Peggy a moment to realize that she’s actually laughing. “My wallet’s in my pocket.” Peggy raises an eyebrow; Angie giggles and continues. “Sorry. Couldn’t deal with Dottie anymore.”

“And you decided the best way to remove yourself from the situation was to burst into tears?” Peggy shakes her head. She’s kind of impressed.

“Acting practice,” Angie shrugs. “And this gave you an excuse to leave, so hey. You’re welcome.”

“Thank you.” Peggy has to laugh, really. “That was quite the performance.”

“I’ve been playing trees since second grade,” Angie says lightly.

“Well, with what I just saw, you should be on Broadway.” Peggy’s eyes are shining.

“You flatter me,” Angie laughs, and, because she has no self control, apparently, touches Peggy’s arm lightly, like she’s good at this. “Do you still want to help me ‘look for my wallet?’”

“Oh, of course,” Peggy says, nodding very earnestly. “Where do you think you saw it last?”

Gloria has her arm slung around Carol’s neck and is enthusiastically explaining the plot of The Importance of Being Earnest to Dan Sousa.

“Angie’s going to think we disappeared,” Carol whispers into Gloria’s ear.

Gloria just waves her hand and shakes her head. “It’s only been a few minutes,” she explains, loudly. “Angela can take care of herself—”

“I actually think it’s been longer than that.” Tugging at Gloria’s arm, Carol shoots Sousa an overly bright smile. “Sorry, Dan. Come on, Gloria.”

Gloria sighs when Carol pulls her away, steering her towards the kitchen. “What was that about?”

“Were you really going to leave Angie alone at a Stark party?” Carol asks dubiously. “Come on, Glo, that’s cold.”

“Like you’re some cuddly puppy.” Gloria grimaces, and then her expression softens. “Sorry, I’m not—I just—” she sighs, again.

“Okay, you’re bitter,” Carol says, “But Angie—”

“I’m not mad at her,” Gloria mutters. “It’s the—the Colleen thing, I—” she stops, opens her bag, and pulls a bottle out. “I’m bitter.”

“Is that your vodka- Gatorade mix?” Carol scoffs. “No. Gloria, no.”

“Not wasted enough for this.” Gloria takes a generous swig out of the bottle. “Seriously, I’m fine, I’m sleeping over at Angie’s, her parents never notice anything. It doesn’t matter.”

Carol bites her lip, worried.

“So, what does the Student Body President even do?”

Somehow, Angie and Peggy have ended up on the back steps of Howard’s house, looking over his pool and, in the distance, tennis courts.

“Send emails,” Peggy replies honestly. “About prom and such, organize pep rallies—”

“So we get to see you in the bald eagle getup?” Angie cracks a grin. “This might be the one assembly I actually end up going to.”

“Absolutely not,” Peggy coughs. “I just get to choose who goes in the suit.” She pauses. “Are you volunteering?”

Angie stares at her skeptically for a second.  “Don’t you dare,” she warns. Peggy can’t take it anymore and breaks out in laughter. “Peggy!”

Peggy smiles. “Kidding,” she says sweetly.

“Good,” Angie huffs. “Can you do anything about the musical budget?”

“Maybe,” Peggy shrugs. “It depends.”

“I’m going to need leverage on you, aren’t I,” Angie complains. “Any dark secrets I can blackmail you with?”

“Angela Martinelli,” Peggy leans back, using her hand to prop herself up. “Are you threatening me?”

Angie clears her throat. “Uh, possibly?”

“Won’t work,” Peggy whispers confidentially. “I’m untouchable.” Angie giggles. They fall into silence. Angie considers breaking it after a few moments, but when she looks over, Peggy’s staring off into the distance, towards the tennis courts, gaze lost, and Angie feels ridiculous and closes her mouth.

Angie fiddles with her shoelace and sighs—she can’t stay quiet for too long, it’s uncomfortable after a few minutes. “Everything alright, English?”

Peggy seems to snap out of something and turns to her, tilting her head. “Fine, Angie,” she says, and relaxes a little bit. “I’m just tired, that’s all.”

Quack. Quack.

Angie starts and looks for the source of the noise.

Quack. Quack.

“What is that?” Peggy’s covering her mouth, laughing. “Please don’t tell me Howard has ducks.” Angie realizes it’s coming from her phone and pulls it out of her bag, staring at the screen in exasperation.

“Carol changes her ringtone on my phone weekly,” she explains, and accepts the call. “Carol?” There’s vague murmuring on the other end of the line. Peggy tries not to listen. “I’m outside,” Angie says, annoyed. “You didn’t show up for, like, ever?” Sorry, she mouths to Peggy, who shrugs. “Yeah, I know, where are you?” Angie continues, then – “what?”

Peggy shoots her a glance in worry.

“Gloria—okay, I’ll be there, Peggy’s with me—I got it, don’t worry, just—hold on.” Angie hangs up. “Gloria and Colleen are yelling at each other. They’re in the kitchen.”

“What?” Peggy’s up already, scrambling towards the door. “She was building robots with Howard, I don’t know how she—” Peggy stops, upset, and yanks the door open. She walks down the hall as fast as possible without running, Angie trailing only slightly behind her.

“Oh, so now it’s my fault?” Angie can hear Gloria’s voice from the main hallway.  When they get to the kitchen, everyone is staring at them. Gloria’s face is bright red. Colleen’s hair is messy, and Peggy know it’s because she’s been running her hands through it like she always does when she’s upset.

“I never said,” Colleen says desperately, “I never said it was your fault, I just—“

“Look, whatever your explanation is, I don’t care, it wasn’t even that big of a deal—”

“Excuse me?” Colleen clenches her fist, then loosens it, resting her hand on the counter. “Is that really for you to decide—”

Angie looks to Peggy for any indication of what to do, because Colleen and Gloria are both breathless and shaking and looking like they’re about to cry. Peggy’s not looking at Angie, though, and after another moment, she walks towards Colleen and grabs her arm.

“Colleen? We’re leaving,” Peggy says, slowly but clearly. “We’re going home, there’s no point--”

“Just get your new girlfriend to drag you away,” Gloria remarks pointedly, and Peggy turns around, like she can’t believe that just happened.

“Excuse me?” Peggy asks sharply. “I don’t know what happened, but I know that I’ve never done anything to you, and whatever happened with Colleen was over two years ago—you’d think you could get over something—whatever you’re doing, it’s entirely unnecessary, so just stop. Please, stop , because it’s honestly just obnoxious at this point, it’s so immature—”

“Peggy,” Angie says, without any sort of inflection in her voice, and Peggy stops and clears her throat and turns around on her heel, grasping Colleen’s arm and pulling her out with her.

Colleen doesn’t say anything, not until they’ve cleared Howard’s gigantic lawn and Peggy’s unlocking the car door and holding it open so Colleen can get in. “Sorry,” she says then, finally. Her voice is thick.

Peggy sighs and turns the key in the ignition. “Mind telling me what happened?”

“I just bumped into her,” Colleen sighs, “literally, I was getting a drink, and I bumped into her, I didn’t even hit her that hard, and she just started laying into me and I didn’t know what to do and then she started talking about how she always knew I was a—I don’t even know, it happened really fast, I don’t know what’s going on with her.” Colleen’s silent for a moment. “I don’t know,” she repeats, and Peggy has no idea what to say.

The road is deserted at this time of night.

“And where were you?” Colleen asks quietly, after a few minutes.

“I was outside,” Peggy says, deflecting. “You were with Howard. I didn’t think I had to—”

“No, it’s fine.” Colleen sounds tired. “Thank you for showing up when you did.”

“Of course,” Peggy replies, and drives on.

Chapter Text

“I think I’m going to quit the cheerleading team,” Colleen announces suddenly as they’re pulling into Peggy’s driveway. It’s almost midnight; they stopped at Wendy’s and got frosties, silently slurping them the entire way home.

“Why?” Peggy asks, surprised. Colleen’s been doing cheerleading since before they knew each other—always with the ponytail and the random high kicks in the hallways.

“It’s not fun anymore,” she says flatly, and Peggy shrugs. “Is your mom going to care that we’re home so late?”

“We’re before curfew.” Peggy checks her watch. “We’ve an hour to go, as long as we don’t make a racket coming in—I think we can handle that, even at this time of night.”

They get out of the car.  Colleen clears her throat. “So, how was Angie?”

“Fine,” Peggy replies quickly, “she’s very nice, why?”

There’s a hint of a smirk on Colleen’s face. “‘She’s very nice,’” Colleen mimics, and Peggy rolls her eyes. “Not that she isn’t,” Colleen says, suddenly serious. “I think I’d talk to her more if—” Colleen stops, but both of them know what she means. Gloria—the strange weight hanging between all of them that needs to stay unspoken. It’s not that what happened was probably so bad, Peggy reasons, the fallout was the worst—or at least she hopes so.

Privately, Peggy decides to stay away from Angie, or maybe not to make their interactions so obvious. Associations—that’s where the drama starts and people start leaving, Peggy thinks, and she’s made it so far without losing (more) people. Colleen is her best friend—the most important presence Peggy thinks she’ll probably ever have in her life, aside from Steve—but whatever this strange, ambiguous, slightly random relationship with Angie is, she doesn’t want to give it up, either.

“Earth to Peggy?” Colleen sounds uncharacteristically timid as she taps her on the shoulder. “Peggy? Can you unlock the door? It’s getting kind of cold.”

Peggy snaps out of it, shaking her head. It is cold, too cold for this early in September. “Sorry,” she says, and gives Colleen the key. “I’m just tired.”

“It’s okay.” Colleen laughs a little bit. “Daydreaming about anyone in particular?”

“More like night-dreaming,” Peggy sniffs. “It’s late. We should go to bed.”

Colleen’s laugh is deeper now—they know each other too well for this, for any semblance of dishonesty between them. Peggy has to glare at her to get her to shut up.

The house is quiet. Peggy gets the sudden urge to move across the floor completely noiselessly. It’s not working too well. Creak. Old floorboards—Colleen has to stifle giggles. They make it upstairs to Peggy’s room, and everything seems normal, at least until they’re lying next to each on Peggy’s bed, shoulders almost touching, and Colleen’s sniffing and breathing unevenly and Peggy realizes with a start that she’s crying.

“Colleen,” Peggy says softly, and props herself up with her elbow. “Are you alright?”

The girl—and she really is just a girl in that moment, she’s never seemed more like a stranger—shakes her head and turns away. “I just—I didn’t even fuck it up that badly with her. At least I thought I didn’t.” Her voice is thick. “I wanted her to—it doesn’t matter.” Colleen rolls back around, looks up at the ceiling.

Peggy breathes in sharply. “You can talk to me, you know.” It feels like the millionth time she’s said it. Colleen’s weight is shifting on the mattress. A siren goes off a few streets over, blaring in the night.

Only silence otherwise.

“We all have things to get over,” she whispers a few minutes later. Peggy, not quite knowing what to say to that, pretends to be asleep.

Carol slams on the brakes. “Jesus—” she hisses, and watches as a deer bounds away from the car. “What the fuck?”

“You almost killed Bambi,” Angie shakes her head. “Gosh, Carol. Get it together.”

“More like Bambi’s mom,” Carol mutters, and Angie gasps in offense. The car starts moving again, past trees and deserted streets.  

“Are we there yet?” Gloria’s eyelids are drooping shut.

“No.” Carol turns, past the Wendy’s. “Am I dropping you or Angie off first?”

“Both of us,” Gloria yawns. “I’m sleeping over at Angie’s—”

“Wait, what?” Angie turns to look at Gloria in the backseat. “Oh, fuck. I’m so sorry, Glo. I forgot it’s Saturday—”

“But you said I could,” Gloria protests, suddenly wide awake.

“Well, you can,” Angie says, sounding apologetic, “if you want to go to Mass with us at eight.”

Gloria shakes her head. “I’ll pass.” She pauses. “Carol? Can I sleep over?”

“Sure,” Carol says, then grins. “I’m definitely not going to church.”

They drive the rest of the way back in silence, Angie silently cursing Howard for living in such a far-off part of town because it means she’s going to be home later. It’s not that her mom is going to be angry when her daughter stumbles into the kitchen at one, she’ll actually probably be asleep, but Angie is expected to be up and in her Sunday best by seven-thirty sharp, or seven-fifteen if she wants to eat breakfast. Angie grimaces at the thought of six hours of sleep on a Saturday night, which she knows will cause a pounding headache to accompany family lunch after Mass.

The car slows to a stop outside of Angie’s tiny house. “Here we are,” Carol announces, and Angie snaps out of it and grabs her bag.

“I’m sorry,” she says, turning to look at Gloria. “Really. I forgot.”

Gloria shrugs. “Whatever.” Her expression softens. “Have fun with Jesus.”

Rolling her eyes, Angie gets out of the car. “Thanks for the ride, Carol,” she calls softly over her shoulder, and walks up the path towards the front door.

Carol waits until Angie disappears into the house, then steps on the gas pedal. “What the hell was that with Colleen, Gloria?” She asks, maybe a bit harsher than she should, but Gloria’s carefully evaded mention or discussion of the situation all night and it’s getting annoying. “Can you not exist in the same room anymore?”

“She’s everywhere these days!” Gloria bursts out. “And now Angie’s getting to be besties with Peggy—”

“They’ve been talking for about a week, what are you even—”

“She makes me feel guilty, like I’ve done something, I don’t even regret—”

“Maybe if you’d told us what happened, we’d be able to help—”

“It’s petty, okay?” Gloria sits back in her seat and crosses her arms in front of her chest. “It’s stupid, petty ninth-grader crap and it doesn’t matter. I don’t want to talk about it, and I don’t want to talk to her.”

Carol scoffs.

“It escalated,” Gloria says through her teeth. “I wish she’d just get over it—grow up a little, you know?”

“Look, Gloria.” Carol sighs. “Don’t rip out her throat next time. Less than a year and you’re both out of here. You can do that, right?”

Gloria rubs her forehead. “I can try.”

Angie oversleeps, because of course she does. It’s seven twenty-five when her mother comes charging into her room. “Angela!” She shouts, and shakes her daughter by the shoulders. “This is what happens when you go to parties—you sleep too long.”

Wincing, Angie lifts her head. Her hand scrambles to check her phone, to see why her damn alarm didn’t ring—

Oh. It’s not plugged in. Angie presses the on button and watches as the empty battery screen lights up. “My phone died,” she mumbles, still half-asleep. “Sorry.”

Her mother fires back in fast Italian, ending with “—we’re leaving in ten minutes. You need to be at the door. Understand?”

So much for breakfast. Angie nods and lets her head fall back onto the pillow. There’s a pattering of footsteps coming towards the bed, and then Angie’s head hits the mattress. Her eyes snap open—her mother is still standing over her, holding the pillow in her hand. “Get up,” she tells her, and Angie sighs and swings her feet onto the floor.

Exactly twelve minutes later—much to Mrs. Martinelli’s chagrin—they’re all piled into the car. Angie’s brother Piero’s elbow is dangerously close to her ribs. Her sister Francesca is squirming next to him. Angie’s head droops against the window, and her father starts the car.

“Ouch!” Angie yelps. Piero, pulling his elbow back from Angie’s side, grins.

“Just trying to wake you up.” He’s grinning widely, sweetly—their great aunts used to lap it up and give him extra candy for it.

“That was cute when you were five,” Angie says, rolling her eyes. “Doesn’t work anymore.”

“What were you even doing out so late?” Piero asks, kicking the front seat with his awkwardly long legs. “You don’t have friends.”

“Mature,” Angie replies, just as their father turns around to glare at them.

“Parla italiano, figliolo,” he sighs. “And stop kicking my seat.”

“Si, Papà,” Piero says, then continues in Italian. “So it was a party, right?” Angie says nothing, and he grins widely. “Was it a date?”

“Piero,” Angie says, as nicely as possible. “Shut up.”

“It was a date!” Piero says triumphantly, “and you’re turning red—you really do need a date with Jesus today, Angie. It’s good you got out of bed on time.” He starts guffawing, and only stops when Mrs. Martinelli catches his eye in the rearview mirror.

“Leave your sister alone,” Mrs. Martinelli says, then pauses. “Did you meet a boy, Angela?”

Sighing, Angie shakes her head. “No boys, Ma. Sorry.”

“Boys are stupid,” Francesca says and crosses her arms. “I hate them.”

“Same,” Angie mutters, “same.”

Colleen tries to turn a pancake and fails.

“That’s not going to work,” Peggy says from the kitchen table, nonchalantly flipping through the Sunday paper.

“I’m going to fling a pancake at you,” Colleen replies, trying to concentrate. “And stop pretending like you’re reading the news.”

Peggy sighs and puts the paper down. “Why won’t you let me make breakfast?”

The laughter that follows is less than convincing. “You didn’t tell me you were funny, Peggy.” Colleen manages to maneuver the pancake out of the pan. “Ha! Success.”

“I want the first one!” Peggy says quickly, getting out of the chair and scrambling towards the pancake. “I’m hungry. You’re at my house. I get the first pancake.”

“Fine,” Colleen says and lets Peggy take the plate. “Bon appetit.”

Peggy takes a huge bite. “Fanks.”

“Margaret, darling, you can’t be understood with so much food in your mouth,” Mrs. Carter says from the doorway. “Oh!” She exclaims, noticing Colleen at the stove. “Hello, Colleen.”

Colleen flips another pancake onto a plate and holds it out to Mrs. Carter. “Good morning. Do you want some breakfast?”

“Thank you,” Mrs. Carter says and accepts the plate. “Peggy, must you take such big bites?”

“I’m hungry.” Peggy swallows. “Besides, it means I can eat more food faster.” She grins at Colleen, who rolls her eyes and turns back to the stove. Mrs. Carter sits down and –subtly—takes a giant bite out of her own pancake.

After adjusting the small stack on pancakes so that they’re perfect, Colleen carries it over to the table and sets it down. “Breakfast,” she beams, and sits down across from Peggy, who promptly takes another one from the pile. “I don’t know how you have any food left in this house,” Colleen remarks, “with the way you two eat.”

Mother and daughter trade a slightly-guilty-but-not-quite look, and Peggy shrugs slightly. “Well, while Dad’s on his business trip—”

“He’s just such a health snob.” Mrs. Carter rolls his eyes, then gets up. “Tea?” Without waiting for an answer, she puts the kettle on and opens the cabinet, pulling out a teabag. “How’s your father, Colleen?”

“Fine!” Colleen smiles brightly. “The garage is getting real busy these days; he’s doing good.”

“Glad to hear it.” The kettle starts whistling, and Mrs. Carter looks around in surprise. “Oh, that was fast—so, what’s the plan for today, girls? I know you’ve got a test on Tuesday, Peggy, but if you’ve got it under control, I’m not going to make you study.”

“I think we’re going to Colleen’s,” Peggy says. “We’re going to start planning next week’s waffle sale—or pre-planning it, I suppose.” She shudders. “I have my first council meeting with the Margaret and Dorothy Administration tomorrow, with Dorothy lamentably present.”

“That’s that blonde girl?” Mrs. Carter asks, pouring the boiling water into a teapot. “She’s very tall.”

Colleen clears her throat. “The other blonde girl,” she corrects. “I’m offended.”

“Sorry, Colleen,” Mrs. Carter says and carries the teapot over to the table. “Well, I’m sure she’ll be amicable enough in public, right?”

“Let’s hope so,” Peggy says, staring at thin air with a look of vague horror on her face.

“Dorothy, we do not need seven waffle irons for this single event, what are you even—” Peggy barely restrains herself from slamming her hand on the table. Dottie is infuriating, and she needs to wipe that smirk off her face before Peggy does it for her.

"Why aren't you assuming more people will show up? You should have faith in our waffles." Dottie leans back, the picture of perfect blonde innocence. Colleen, sitting in the corner of the art room, watches the exchange with a dubious look on her face.

Peggy sighs. "Look, I have faith, I just don't want to cause a hassle –"

A sophomore raises his hand, eager to provide input, but lowers it again when he’s still being ignored several seconds later.

Dottie laughs incredulously. "It'll be a hassle when we don't have enough waffles for all the people that will show up, and there will be many people that show up–”

“You just suggested pickles! Won’t we have enough food?”

“If we have more food, we’ll sell more,” Dottie argues, leaning over the table. “It’s motivation. People see a ton of waffles, people want a ton of waffles, obviously.”

Peggy scrunches up her nose. “Or we have a surplus of food and wasted time and resources on a gamble that doesn’t even seem psychologically logical?”

Dottie’s mouth falls into a perfect O, then she recovers. “I’m sensing a little negativity there, Margaret.”

“That would be a good sense of pragmatism, thank you very much—”

Dan Sousa finally decides he’s had enough and clears his throat loudly, then, running out of ideas, bangs his cane against the table. Dottie and Peggy stop squabbling and stare at him, open-mouthed. “Guys—why don’t we decide who’s making posters and writing the announcement so that people even know this is happening?”

Peggy sniffs, stares at him. “You’re perfectly right,” she agrees after a moment. “Alright then. Daniel? Can you organize the marketing campaign?”

“Lorraine can do the posters,” Dottie bursts out. “She’s an artist, and—” she pauses, and they all look over to where Lorraine is napping, her feet up on the table, “—apparently completely useless,” Dottie finishes, decidedly displeased.

“I’ll do marketing,” Daniel says. “I can have posters up by tomorrow, and I’ll put in an announcement for Wednesday.”

Peggy breathes a sigh of relief. Dottie, pacified, twirls a lock of hair around a pencil. Two freshman senators trade a look of disbelief. Colleen’s absentmindedly biting her nails. The room smells sharply of cleaning spray; paint is flaking off the walls. Everyone is busy not looking at each other, and then the bell rings to signal that they have five minutes before the end of lunch and people begin to pack up, grateful they don’t have to sit in the awkward silence anymore.

“Well, that could have gone worse,” Colleen says brightly when she meets Peggy at the door. They turn and begin to walk down to the hall together. “She could’ve hit you over the head with a baseball bat. You could’ve pushed her out of a window.”

“Very funny,” Peggy says. “It’s not like I wasn’t tempted to.” She has the urge to start whining, but suppresses it. “Seven waffle irons are too much, aren’t they?”

Colleen shrugs. “Maybe,” she says as diplomatically as possible. “Let’s just see what Dan comes up with, okay?”

“Okay,” Peggy repeats. “I’ll see you later—I’m going the wrong way.” Colleen nods and walks off, pulling her hair up in a ponytail. Peggy watches her go, then turns around and walks back down the hall. Mr. Dooley’s room is still closed, so Peggy leans her backpack against the wall and sits down next to it.

“You ready for this test?” Someone asks from above, and Peggy’s head snaps up. It’s Angie, biting her thumbnail and looking worried. “I was going to study, but I ran out of time, so I crammed during French—can you explain this?” Angie hurriedly pulls her notebook out of her bag and crouches down, then decides to sit on the floor and opens the notebook to a page with a lot of question marks in the margin.

Peggy straightens up and scrutinizes the page. “You do it right here,” she says, tapping her finger on the page, “but you forgot to distribute the negative here.”

“Oh.” Angie sounds relieved. “That would explain it.”

Peggy laughs, a light chuckle that makes Angie blush. “I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

“I really hope so,” Angie admits. “I just need a B on this test to keep an A average, and I keep telling myself it’s not that hard but I’m still worried.”

Peggy looks at her sympathetically. At this point, much of the class is gathered around the door, mumbling impatiently. Out of the corner of her eye, Peggy sees Howard cast them a look. Willing him to be quiet, Peggy stands up and offers her hand to Angie to help her up. Angie takes it without hesitation and Peggy pulls her up—Angie’s hand is warm, and when’s she’s standing, Peggy can smell her conditioner. Peggy’s breath catches in her throat, just a little bit, and then Mr. Dooley’s parting the crowd in front of his classroom and unlocking the door, muttering about Mrs. Fry and her ridiculously long staff meetings.

“Good luck,” Peggy whispers to Angie while Dooley’s passing out the tests. “Or should I say break a leg?” She holds out a hand, intending  a high five, but Angie gives her a quick smile and takes her hand instead, squeezing it lightly before she lets go.

Angie dashes out the door almost the second they’re dismissed, Peggy’s question about how she did still unspoken. Slightly worried, Peggy packs up her things slowly, and only notices Howard standing in front of her desk a minute later.

“Hello,” she greets him, brow furrowed. “Is everything—”

“Do you miss him?” Howard asks, seeming distraught. He wrings his hands together desperately, and casts a look around to see if anyone is listening. “Do you?”

Peggy feels the weight in her chest settle, grow heavier. “Of course I do, why—”

“Sorry,” Howard interrupts her, casting his gaze towards the ground. “It’s just that time of year, and I—“ he breaks off. “I miss him so much,” he says and looks up at her then, eyes filled with rare sincerity.

“I miss him too, Howard,” Peggy assures him, and bites her lip. “But we have to let him go— listen to me,” she says when Howard turns his head away from her.  “Listen, Howard, for once. It’s not your fault, you’ve got to move on sometime—“

“Angie has a crush on you, you know,” he says, quietly, so quietly that Peggy can barely make out what he’s saying. “She’s real nice.”

“How do you know that?” Peggy asks, momentarily taken aback.

Howard shrugs. “I have my sources.”

After a moment, Peggy rolls her eyes. “This isn’t about Angie,” she protests and stands up, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “Don’t make this about her—she had nothing to do with Steve, and whatever crush or anything she may have on me has nothing to do with Steve.”

“Sorry.” Howard looks pained. “I just—”

“Please don’t bring this up at school again.” Peggy grits her teeth, surprised at how much she feels like she’s going to cry. “Just don’t, Howard. We can talk about this, that’s fine. But not here.”

Ignoring his apologies, she brushes past him and towards the door.

Chapter Text

Peggy looks up from her laptop. “Colleen,” she says flatly. Colleen doesn’t look up from her History textbook, but her mouth twitches. She heard. “Colleen,” Peggy repeats, louder. She picks up an eraser and throws it at Colleen, sprawled on the bed in the most anatomically incorrect reading position Peggy thinks she's ever seen.

“What?”

After hesitating a moment, Peggy closes her laptop and twists around in her chair. “You have Angie’s number, right?”

Colleen’s eyebrows nearly disappear under her bangs. “Why, yes I do,” she says, and puts her book to the side. “Do you, uh—” she looks down, back up, and flicks some hair out of her face “—need to contact her?”

“Yes,” Peggy says without so much as a hint of fluster. “For Calculus.”

Colleen nods. “Of course.” She picks up her phone, types furiously for a few seconds, then puts it back down. “Sent it to you.” She smiles impishly and flips her textbook open again. “Tell me what she says—”

“Shush,” Peggy says, blushing now, and turns her phone on.

[5:32] Hi, Angie. This is Peggy.

Peggy pauses, her thumbs over the touch screen, then frantically resumes typing.

[5:32] How do you think you did on the test? You seemed worried earlier.

That sounds so dumb, Peggy realizes immediately after sending, and sighs inwardly. Come on, self-restraint, Peg. Why’d you have to text her? she asks herself. She probably sounded awkward. She probably should’ve just kept it together until tomorrow and asked Angie like a normal person instead of getting her number like a stalker.

Her phone beeps. Peggy sighs in instant relief and picks it up. One unread message– she swipes to see the message without looking at the sender.

[5:34] Howie Bowie: sorry abt after calc. can we talk?

It’s from Howard, not Angie, and Peggy feels just a tiny bit ridiculous about her reaction. Without replying and slightly embarrassed, she turns the ringer off and sets her phone down on the desk, facedown so that she won’t be able to see the lack of notifications. This is ridiculous, she thinks. I’m not fourteen.

“Peg?” Colleen peers at her from over the textbook, worried. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” Peggy replies automatically, blinking in surprise. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“It’s just—” Colleen glances at her phone “—Howard texted me—”

“You should really turn your phone off when you’re studying,” Peggy mutters, and Colleen rolls her eyes at the comment.

“Anyways,” she continues, “Howard texted me to tell you to text him back.” She holds her phone up towards Peggy, who peruses the screen with pursed lips.

[5:35] Moustache: i saw peggy read my text. i really need to talk to her bc calc & i know she’s w/u, sorry i upset her earlier. tell her to text me. pls.

Peggy sighs and grits her teeth, then opens up her laptop again. “Thank you for your concern,” she says, with a touch of softness to her voice, “but I don’t feel like talking to him right now.”

After a moment of hesitation, Colleen nods. “I’ll just tell him you’re in the shower.” She types for a moment, then sets her phone down. “Wait, Howard is in Calc? Didn't he take that freshman year?”

“He had a free space in his schedule and wanted to take something easy.” Peggy shrugs. “I think he enjoys bothering Mr. Dooley.”

They go back to their respective work, Peggy writing an essay—which, to be fair, she’s not entirely bullshitting—and Colleen reading about post-WWII America. They’re used to this type of silence; it’s comforting when it’s just the two of them, when another human presence doesn’t actually disturb the feeling of solitude.

After a while, Peggy’s eyes start to water from staring at her screen for too long, at the same three sentences that don’t seem to make sense no matter how she tries to phrase them. “Colleen,” she starts, hoping for a distraction, “what am I going to do about Dottie?”

“What do you mean?” Colleen asks, raising an eyebrow. “You can’t get rid of her, might as well just deal with it.”

Peggy sighs. “I just—I don’t want her questioning my authority,” she explains haltingly. “She seems like a lot of people listen to her, and—” Peggy’s voice trails off. “I actually thought I could get things done this year.”

“Look, Peg.” Colleen shrugs. “Dottie’s scary as hell. That doesn’t mean people actually like her. She’s not going to try and get you impeached, or whatever the high school equivalent of that is.” Peggy whines wordlessly, scrunching up her nose. “Peggy! Stop being insecure!”

“I’m not insecure,” Peggy protests. “I just want to be taken seriously.”

Colleen frowns. “You think people are going to take Dottie more seriously than they do you?” She pauses. “Her name is Dottie, for crying out loud.”

Sighing, Peggy concedes. “Alright,” she admits. “Fair point.” She checks her phone. Nothing.

Mrs. Martinelli bustles into the living room with a laundry basket, shooing Piero out of the way with a single glance. “Angela,” she calls into the kitchen, where Angie’s scarfing down a bowl of Cheerios. “Can you iron?” Sighing, Angie carries her bowl over to the sink and joins her mother in the living room. “Do your dad’s shirts first, he has a meeting tomorrow morning.”

“Will do,” Angie says, faking enthusiasm.

Piero, splayed across the couch and pretending to read his World Geography textbook, laughs. “Convincing, Angie! How'd you get into the play?”

Mrs. Martinelli smiles gratefully at her daughter, then turns around and glares at her son. “Quiet,” she tells him. “And get ready for soccer practice.” She disappears into the kitchen.

“Why don’t you have to help?” Angie complains to Piero, picking up the iron and turning it on.

“Practice starts in ten minutes,” he answers. “I have to leave.”

“It’s Monday,” Angie reminds him, “you have practice on Tuesday. Come on, housework is good for you.”

Quickly, Piero shakes his head. “I moved up, remember? The high school team?”

“Right.” Angie clicks her tongue. “You’re a big freshman now.” She studies him, trying to find some evidence that they’re related. There’s not much—he takes after their father, Angie after their mother, or, according to Nonna, their great-aunt Chiara. We looked more alike when we were younger, Angie thinks, strangely nostalgic, even though she doesn’t actually remember those times, only photographs. Still, she’s not used to thinking of Piero in high school; she can vividly recall being as old as him, and briefly wonders if he’s struggling in the same way she was.

When she comes back from her thoughts, Piero is staring at her with a bemused, slightly entertained expression. “Angie? You okay?”

“Yes,” Angie assures him. “Go on, you’ll be late to practice.”

“Can I borrow your bag? The strap on mine broke.”

“Sure,” Angie shrugs. Piero grins at her in thanks and piles his stuff into her bag. Angie winces. It’s going to smell like grass and sweat when she gets it back. “Wait,” she says, but Piero doesn’t seem to hear. “Let me get my phone—”

He slams the door behind him, and Angie sighs in resignation.

“Angela!” Mrs. Martinelli snaps from the kitchen. “The iron!”

Shit. “On it, Ma!”

Colleen sighs and lets her book flop open on the bed. “You should really text Howard back.”

“I don't have anything to say to him.” Peggy deletes half a paragraph of her essay, biting her lip. “It's not--”

Grumbling, Colleen flips the page. “He seems really worried.” She pauses. “What did he even say?”

Heart sinking, Peggy stops typing. “He... he just asked me if I miss Steve.”

Colleen wrinkles her brow. “What kind of a question is that?” She props herself up. “Seriously, that's fucked up.” She brushes a lock of hair back from her face. “Honestly, what the hell?” The lock of hair falls back into place. “I'm going to text him,” she says decisively. “He needs to step off, stay in his lane, whatever. It doesn't matter. That's just really not okay--”

Peggy shakes her head. “No, don't. Really, don't. He's grieving, we should let him.”

“And you're not?”

Nothing. Peggy looks down at the keyboard; the sting of tears rises in her nose. “It's not that important, Colleen. It'll only make it worse if you get involved.”

“If you say so,” Colleen says, “You know, if you ever want to talk about him--”

Peggy shakes her head. “I don’t.”

“Okay,” Colleen says, till worried but willing to change the subject. “Hey, did Angie ever text back?”

Embarrassment pools in Peggy's stomach as she remembers. She turns her phone over and hesitates before turning the screen on. Two unread messages-- from Howard. She opens them.

[5:50] Howie Bowie: peg im really sorry can you just let me apologize

[5:58] Howie Bowie: i didnt kno who else to talk to

“She hasn't texted back,” Peggy says with a sinking feeling. “Howard texted me, though. Twice.”

“Angie's probably busy,” Colleen assures her. “Theatre practice, maybe?” Colleen's phone buzzes. “Oof. Howard just texted me that you opened his message. I guess he's really worried.”

“Guess he feels a bit shit, then,” Peggy mutters. “Fine, I'll text him back.”

[6:11] Howard, it's alright. If you need to talk you know I'm here for you, but please don't bring it up at school. It's too much.

[6:12] Howie Bowie: thx

“I think he'll live.” Peggy drums her fingers against her laptop. “Colleen?”

“Hmm?” Colleen, having gone back to her reading, doesn't look up.

Peggy hesitates. “Are you really going to quit cheerleading?”

“I don't know,” Colleen says flatly. “Probably not. I just thought—I thought it was time for a change.”

“Not Senioritis, then?” Peggy raises an eyebrow. “It's alright, you know. I think we're all getting a bit tired.”

Colleen lets her head drop onto the bed. “I just want this year to be over,” she says, voice muffled, then rolls over so that she's lying on her back. “I spent four hours doing all my college apps this Saturday. Other than that?” Colleen shakes her head. “Nothing matters.”

“And you think quitting cheer is going to make this year go faster?” Peggy crosses her arms. “You're good at cheerleading. You enjoy it, I don't understand--”

Shaking her head again, Colleen rubs the bridge of her nose where her glasses would be if she weren't too vain to wear them. “I just need to get through this,” Colleen whispers. “Either this year needs to be over or we need to be in high school for the rest of our lives.”

Peggy looks down. “I thought you wanted to be done,” she says quietly.

“I do,” Colleen says, “but it's more complicated than that, it's-- there are, what, nine months separating me from the rest of my life? It seems so long and so short and I don't know what's after it.” She sits up. “I need to be there already. I need to be there or have it not—not coming at all.”

Slowly, Peggy nods. “That makes sense. At least I think it does.” She studies her best friend's face. Colleen looks tired, she has to admit. “I'm sorry,” Peggy says thickly.

“You didn't do anything.” Colleen shrugs. “It's some form of Senioritis, I guess.”

They're quiet for a few moments. Peggy doesn't turn back to her laptop. Colleen pretends like she's studying the cover of her History textbook, running her finger along the worn edges of the binding.

“We're going to be fine, you know,” Peggy says. “Really, Colleen.”

Colleen laughs weakly. “That sounds like a promise.”

“It is,” Peggy says earnestly. She places her hand on the bedpost, gripping the wood. “It is.”

“One basket of laundry, freshly ironed,” Angie says triumphantly, setting the basket of neatly folded clothes onto the kitchen table.

Her mother swats at her with a dish towel. “Don't put it on the table. The bottom isn't clean.”

“Sorry!” Angie moves the basket to the floor. “What's for dinner?”

“Mashed potatoes and meatballs.” Mrs. Martinelli casts a glance at the stove. “Your sister requested it.” She glances around the kitchen. “Can you set the table?”

“When is Piero coming back?” Angie complains, but moves towards the cabinet where they keep the plates. “Can't he do something around the house for once?”

Mrs. Martinelli shakes her head. “He's going to be back too late.” Angie rolls her eyes. “It's good practice!” Mrs. Martinelli says at her daughter's pained expression. “You know men are useless at keeping house; if you don't want to live in a pigsty you'll have to do it yourself.”

Angie bites the inside of her cheek to keep from grimacing. “Yes, Mom.”

“That's my good girl.”

Reaching up to get a plate on the top shelf, Angie tries to ignore her stomach, twisting with anxiety and making her nauseous. "I need my social security number for college applications,” she says, desperate to change the subject. “Can you get me my card later?”

“You should memorize that number,” her mother replies disapprovingly. “Have you started your applications?”

Angie nods, finally managing to maneuver a stack of plates from the shelf to the countertop. “I’m almost done,” she says. “It’s mostly just information. And we had to write a personal statement essay in English. So that’s done,” she finishes brightly.

Mrs. Martinelli nods, pleased. She stirs the mashed potatoes. “You’re so far ahead of Matteo,” she remarks. “He hasn’t even started yet.”

“I guess Aunt Julia isn’t as strict about that kind of stuff,” Angie mutters, making her words run together just enough so her mother can’t understand exactly what she’s saying. “Or maybe it’s not even November and nothing matters.”

“Excuse me?”

Angie doesn’t want to turn around to look at her mother’s face. “Nothing, mom. It’ll be done soon.” She picks up the stack of plates and takes them, as fast as possible, to the dining table.

Mrs. Martinelli sighs from the kitchen. “Have you finalized the list of where you’re applying?”

“Far away from here,” Angie mumbles, setting the table. “As far away as possible.”

“Maybe Angie isn’t much of a texter?” Peggy shuts her laptop, giving up on finishing the paper tonight.

“Chill,” she says, pressing a few buttons on her calculator. “Why did I take Prob and Stat?”

Peggy raises an eyebrow in surprise. “Already done with history?”

“Ha.” Colleen laughs unconvincingly. “No point.”

Sighing, Peggy sends Colleen a dubious look. “I know you have a test tomorrow,” she says. “Senior or not, you still have to pass.”

“I’ll pass,” Colleen says. “Don’t worry about it, Peggy.”

“Alright, alright,” Peggy says, raising her hands in mock surrender and pulling  out her student council binder. “I need to text Dan about the posters,” she says, more to remind herself than anything else. “And organize the waffle irons-- did we ever reach a consensus on how many we need?”

“If there are 800 students at our high school,” Colleen says, mockingly, “and 75% of people want waffles, and 25% of these people have enough money to buy a waffle, and 35% of the people remaining of the 75% can drum up enough money from friends, but Dottie Underwood--”

Peggy rolls her eyes. “I get the picture.”

“There’s a week left before the waffle sale,” Colleen points out. “Dan’s doing marketing, I’m sure he’s got it under control-- just calm down, okay? Dottie wants this stuff to do well just as much as you do.”

“Or she’s going on a power trip,” Peggy mutters. “She’s going on a power trip and--”

“Now I know why you and Angie get along so well,” Colleen says pointedly. “You’re both overdramatic as all hell.”

“Me? Overdramatic?” Peggy puts a hand on her chest like she’s saying the Pledge of Allegiance. Which she’s never said, actually. Obviously. “How dare you?”

Colleen is about to reply when there’s a knock at the door.

“Girls?” It’s Mrs. Carter. She turns the doorknob and lets the door swing open a few inches, hesitantly poking her head into the room. “Oh, you’re home.”

“Indeed,” Peggy says. She smiles. “How was your day, Mum?”

Mrs. Carter leans against the doorframe, blazer hanging loose off of her shoulders. “Nothing particularly interesting, I’m afraid. I swear my students get stupider every year.”

“What courses are you teaching this semester?” Colleen asks.

“Foundations of Sociology,” Mrs. Carter replies. Colleen and Peggy trade a questioning glance. “Oh, enough, you two. It’s interesting, I promise,”

“If only I could believe you,” Peggy says, feigning sincerity.

“Does Deviant Behavior sound more interesting to you?” Mrs. Carter crosses her arms, a smirk almost identical to Peggy’s ghosting across her face. “That’s my other class. I always thought I found topics more interesting if I could relate to them personally.”

Peggy rolls her eyes. “You’re hilarious, Mum.”

“I do try.”

Colleen snickers.

“Are you prepared for your test tomorrow?” Mrs. Carter asks. “I do hope you’re not distracting each other too much, girls.”

“I don’t have a test tomorrow,” Peggy says, forehead wrinkling. “I had a test today.”

Looking down, Mrs. Carter sighs. “Were you prepared, at least? I really thought it was tomorrow, or I wouldn’t have let you go out all afternoon yesterday.”

“It’s only Calculus,” Peggy protests.

“It’s only Calculus,” Colleen imitates her, just under her breath.

“And it matters,” Mrs. Carter says earnestly. “Have you signed up to retake the SATs?”

Peggy rolls her eyes, looking down at the last moment to avoid her mother seeing. “Not this again.”

Colleen shifts awkwardly. She looks at the wall, at the poster of the Periodic Table of Elements Peggy has hanging above her bed.

“Yes, this again.” Mrs. Carter raps her knuckles on the doorframe. “Take care of it.”

“Alright,” Peggy grumbles. Mrs. Carter smiles wearily and leaves the room.

“What did you get on the SATs the first time?” Colleen asks once Mrs. Carter’s footsteps have disappeared down the hall.

Peggy grimaces. “Good enough,” she says. “I don't even remember the exact number. Mum's just worried. European schools have high standards, I guess.”

Colleen nods. She taps out a few numbers on her calculator and scribbles them into her notebook. “So you're for sure going to school in England?” She looks up at Peggy, hoping to catch her off guard so she'll actually answer.

If Peggy is annoyed at the question, she doesn't show it. “I don't know yet,” she says and shrugs, typing idly on her phone.

“Ooh, did Angie text back?” At this point, Colleen is just grasping at straws to keep from having to do math homework.

“Still no,” Peggy says, humiliation evident in her voice. “I wish I'd just asked her tomorrow, this is getting embarrassing.”

Colleen makes a sympathetic face. “Maybe her phone died.” She raises her eyebrows slightly. “Of course, it's always hard when someone you like--”

“Stop right there,” Peggy says flatly, not even glancing at Colleen as she shoves her laptop into her backpack. “I'd be careful about going down that train of thought.”

“Aw.” Colleen fails to bite back a grin. Peggy shoots her a glare fierce enough to make a lion stop in its tracks. “Guess not,” Colleen mutters, then leaps up from the bed. “Hey, what's for dinner?” Colleen asks brightly, making a beeline towards the door. “I'm real hungry.”

Gaze softening, Peggy gets up and joins Colleen. “That distraction tactic isn't always going to work, you know,” she says.

“Keep telling yourself that,” Colleen says cheerfully. “Maybe someday you'll believe it.”

“It wasn't that funny.” Peggy opens the front door. “Really, Colleen.”

“Oh, it was.” Colleen steps through the door, hoisting her backpack up from the floor and swinging it onto one shoulder. “Six bowls of noodles!”

“There was too much water in the pot,” Peggy says stiffly. “And the box slipped. It’s not my fault.”

Colleen snorts and starts walking towards her car. “See you tomorrow.”

“See you,” Peggy calls after Colleen’s retreating figure. She waits until Colleen’s reached her car safe, then closes the door, which locks with a small click.

Upstairs, she surveys her room, getting more exhausted the longer she looks at it. Her debate materials are all in a corner, papers strewn about and crumpled from the way she’s taken to shoving things into her bag lately. My life is falling apart, Peggy thinks, and looks at her closet, which used to be color-coded but is now a pile of clothing that she can’t find the time to take apart and sort out. Her gaze drifts from her closet to her bookshelf, which she spent six hours two summers ago (could it really have been only two summers ago?) organizing with Steve, six hours more spent reading out the summaries on the back covers to each other and laughing than really getting any work done, but the hours went by and they were done and Peggy’s bookshelf was alphabetized by author’s last name, a state which remains preserved only because Peggy doesn’t have time to read anymore.

She sinks onto her bed. She still has to annotate for English and do the Calculus homework that wasn’t due today because of the test, and she can tell her phone is blowing up with notifications just by looking at her desk. What do they want from me now? she thinks, strangely bitter, but stands to retrieve her phone anyway.

There are so many notifications that they fill up the entire screen. “What the hell?” she mutters to herself, then realizes that most of the numbers are from the Student Council group chat. Rolling her eyes, she swipes to open the chat and skims over 26 texts, nothing important, nothing she wants to deal with right now.

The messaging icon is still showing 2 unread messages. More resigned than actively irritated, Peggy opens them.

[7:45] Angie M.: omg sorry my brother accidentally took my phone with him to soccer practice

[7:45] Angie M.: anyway I think the test went ok! with the curve anyway haha. thanks for asking :)

God, Peggy’s relieved. God, Peggy’s embarrassingly relieved, this is ridiculous, she’s not fourteen .   She wants to wait to reply, think about what she should say, but then she remembers that she’s got read receipts enabled and hastily starts typing out a response.

[7:50] Oh, good! You’re welcome, I’m glad to hear it.

Okay, now that’s enough, Peggy thinks, desperately and not quite convincingly. Enough, enough, enough.

Chapter Text

Peggy wakes with a start. Her neck cracks as she sits up and blinks blearily, reaching up to turn her desk light off. Groaning, she rubs the bridge of her nose and tries to orient herself. She's drooled on her lab notebook. Her backpack is wide open at her feet, books spilling out. “Christ,” she mutters and bends down to pick up her AP Government textbook. The radio is playing in her parent's room, and, when she concentrates, she thinks she can hear her mother typing furiously. It must be late. Why the hell is her mother still awake?

“Mum?” Peggy whispers, stepping into the hallway and knocking very lightly on the door to the master bedroom. “Are you awake?”

The typing stops. “Why are you awake?” Mrs. Carter asks through the door, not quite accusatory but also displeased. “You can't keep staying up this late, Peggy.”

“Assumption check,” Peggy says flatly. “Well, just wanted to let you know I'm off to bed. Actual bed, this time. Not my desk.”

“Goodnight, darling.” The typing resumes, faster than before.

“Night,” Peggy says quietly and walks back to her room. She turns the light off and flops onto the bed, then realizes she needs to plug her phone in for tomorrow. “Damn,” she whispers half-heartedly and fumbles for her phone. Two unread messages from Angie. An unread message from her father. It's 2:32 A.M. and Peggy wants to go to bed but something keeps her from just putting the phone down on the nightstand, rolling over, and falling asleep. She unlocks her phone and opens her messages.

[8:00] Angie M.: hopefully I didn't just jinx it haha

[8:01] Angie M.: hey do you think you could help me with related rates sometime? I'm really awful at them

[2:33] Of course, though I'm not sure I'd be much help. Just let me know when you have time.

It's two in the morning, Peggy realizes as soon as she's pressed send. Whatever. Too late now.

[9:33] Dud: Meggy, could you remind your mother to buy fertilizer?

Peggy rolls her eyes.

[2:33] Our garden is beyond saving. If you think it'll help, though. And don't call me that.

She falls into bed without changing out of her jeans, grinding down so hard on her bite guard that her teeth begin to ache.

She sleeps badly, so badly that she actively has to stop herself from pitching forward in the quieter moments of AP Government. It’s disconcerting; Peggy would rather die than fall asleep in class. She bores a nail into the flesh on the inside of her arm in an attempt to shock herself into awakening.

“You okay, Peg?” Colleen whispers, touching her lightly on the shoulder.

“I’m brilliant,” Peggy says, rubbing her eyes forcefully. Colleen looks at her dubiously. “I don’t think I’ve ever slept so badly in my entire life,” she admits.

“You look tired,” Colleen says.

“I’m glad that’s apparent.” Peggy sighs.

“Like the rings under your eyes… just…” Colleen pulls a face. “Yikes.”

“Thanks,” Peggy replies flatly. “I’m just going to take a short walk.” She stands, looping the bathroom pass around her wrist. It’s surprisingly warm today. The window on the far side of the hall washes the lockers and scuffed floor in soft light. After what seems like half an eternity, Peggy reaches the bathroom and pushes the door open, grimacing as it squeaks. She pads over to the sink, trying to breathe in the badly ventilated bathroom air through her mouth.

The splash of water on her face does help her, even though it’s lukewarm and probably not drinkable. For a moment, Peggy relaxes, leaning against the wall and studying her face in the splotchy mirror. The bags under her eyes make her cheekbones look even more dramatic. She fluffs her hair a bit, then sighs. Nothing more she can do about that. Maybe she can take a nap when she gets home, if football practice doesn’t take too long. Just the thought of it makes her want to curl up under the sink and sleep until the bell rings. For a moment, she thinks of calling her mother and faking sick, just to take a day off. She shakes her head violently, to get rid of the thought.

“Hey, English,” someone pipes up from behind her. Peggy turns. It’s Angie, whose grin fades as soon as she sees the wan expression on Peggy’s face. She motions awkwardly towards the sink. “Could I?”

“Oh, of course,” Peggy says, stepping away. “I should go,” she says after a moment, cursing herself for not acting like a normal person and just leaving the bathroom.

“You alright?” Angie throws a paper towel into the wastebasket, turning her wrists delicately.

“Just tired, I suppose.”

“No wonder,” Angie comments, hovering by the sink. “Your workload is insane.” Her gaze makes Peggy shift uncomfortably – the clearness of her eyes, the way she chews her chapped bottom lip slightly.

“It’s not that bad,” Peggy says, blushing.

“Football, debate, student council…” Angie pauses. “Am I forgetting something? Please tell me I’m not forgetting something.”

Despite herself, Peggy laughs. “All in a day’s work, I suppose.”

“Seriously, though.” Angie grins, and Peggy envies how effortless it looks. “You deserve a day off. Go to Six Flags. Eat an entire box of donuts in the park. You know. Fun stuff.”

“That’d be fun,” Peggy says lightly. It sounds so unbearably nice that Peggy forgets how tired she is. “Maybe before we graduate sometime.” She tries to smile again but can’t help the feeling that it barely reaches the edges of her mouth.

Angie pauses for a moment, worry etched on her face. “Well, I should get back to class,” she says. “See you later, English.” She disappears. Peggy waits for a moment so that she doesn’t trail out right after Angie, then slips quietly out of the bathroom and back into class.

“You feeling better?” Colleen asks at lunch, snapping her fingers in front of Peggy’s face when she realizes she’s zoned out again. “Peg? Pegasus? Pegalicious?”

“Sorry,” Peggy says. She clears her throat and tries to focus on finishing her lunch. “I’m better, yes. A little less tired.”

“You still look pretty zonked,” Colleen says.

“All these compliments you’re paying me today are wonderful.” Peggy munches her carrot. Suddenly her eyes widen. “Oh, shit,” she hisses.

“What?” Colleen asks.

“I forgot that I was going to meet with Dan about the posters for the waffle sale,” Peggy sighs. “Sorry, Colleen.” She shoves her last carrot in her mouth, trying to chew as fast as possible.

“Just leave me,” Colleen says, fake-sniffling. “Like my dad did at Target when I was five.”

“Does it count if you wandered off to find marshmallows?” Peggy wonders out loud, grabbing her bag and slinging it over her shoulder.

Colleen shrugs and waves goodbye, opening the latest Rizzoli & Isles thriller she’s picked up from the library and will probably have devoured by the end of the week 

Peggy dashes through the cafeteria towards where Dan usually sits, surrounded by his Robotics friends. “I’m so sorry,” she says, swinging her bag over her shoulder. “Totally slipped my mind.”

Dan waves a hand. “Ah, don’t worry about it,” he says. He smiles good-naturedly.

“Anyway, how are the posters coming along?” Peggy plops her bag at her feet, squishing herself in next to him. “Apologies,” she says to Jason, who’s preoccupied with designing, well… something robotic on his laptop. Peggy doesn’t know much about that. But his clicking around sounds very excited.

“The posters are good,” Dan says, taking a big bite out of his sandwich. He swallows, a comically loud gulp. “Hold on. I have the design on my phone.” He fishes his phone out of his backpack, casting a careful glance over his shoulder to make sure Mrs. Fry isn’t lurking somewhere, ready to snatch it away. “Do you like it?”

Peggy thinks it’s aesthetically pleasing, but she studies it for a moment longer than necessary to create the impression she’s inspecting it really, really carefully.  “I think you’ve done a wonderful job, Daniel,” she says, smiling brightly at him. It’s so nice to have competent people in Student Council, she thinks. “If you send me the file I can print out a few dozen copies during my study hall,” she says.

“Okay, awesome,” Dan says, tapping on his phone furiously.

Peggy feels a buzz in her pocket.

“Okay, there you go,” he says. “I also sent in an announcement for the end of the school day. So I think we’re all good on the marketing front.”

“Scooch,” Colleen calls loudly from behind them. “I felt lonely. Move over, both of you.”

“I thought you were going to read,” Peggy says, surprised. Sometimes, Colleen will hide in some far corner of the library during lunch and Peggy won’t see her at all.

“I felt lonely,” Colleen repeats.

“Sorry, Daniel, I hope you don’t mind,” Peggy says.

“No, of course not!” Dan smiles at Colleen and slides over towards Peggy.

Good, Colleen mouthes from behind him, squashing herself into the tiny space next to Dan. Peggy rolls her eyes.

“So where are you applying to college, Peggy?” Dan asks. He takes another bite of his sandwich.

“I’ll most likely be heading back to England,” Peggy says, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “It’s much more affordable.”

“Smart,” Dan says. “That’s why I’m going to state school. How about you, Col?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Colleen says. “Honestly, I’ll probably end up at one of those small liberal arts schools in Iowa or something.”

“Really?” Jason turns towards them suddenly, resting his elbows on the table. “I mean, I’m sure you’d like it, but I also think you’d light the place on fire.”

“Aw, thanks, Jason,” Colleen says, putting a hand over her heart. “How about you?”

“Yale’s my first choice,” he says. “Probably won’t get in, though.” He shrugs.

“He just says that,” Dan correct quickly. “You’re the smartest person I know,” he says, turning to look at Jason, who looks embarrassed, but pleased.

“We can get you one of those shirts that just says KALE on it,” Colleen says, wide-eyed. “That would be so funny.”

Jason rolls his eyes, but Peggy can tell he’s flattered. “Seems like we’re going to be all spread out next year, then,” he says. They fall silent, the four of them, shifting on the plastic cafeteria seats.

“I know,” Colleen says, her voice suddenly deflated. Peggy pats the back of her arm awkwardly, not wanting to call attention to it. “At least we have the year left,” she says, her voice not as bright as Peggy is used to. “We’ll just have to hang out more.”

The warning bell rings for the end of lunch. “Alright, I’ll come by during study hall,” Peggy tells Dan, then nods at Jason. “See you later.”

“See ya, Peg,” Jason says, scrambling to get his laptop inside his backpack before the second bell.

“My Liege,” Colleen says, offering an arm for Peggy to take. Peggy looks at her dubiously but takes her arm, grudgingly joining in when Colleen tries to skip all the way to class.

Peggy’s always loved the copy room. The quiet, how warm it is. The click and hum of the machines. She takes a deep breath, breathing in the smell of freshly printed printer paper.

“Carter, should I be concerned? 

Peggy whips around, staring at Ms. Danvers, her freshman year Physics teacher, who’s staring at Peggy with an eyebrow half-raised, cool as a cucumber in a faded Nirvana T-shirt.

“Sorry, Ms. Danvers,” Peggy says, pressing a button on the copy machine and watching it spit out color copies of Daniel’s poster. “Just copying something. For student council.”

“Waffle sale, huh?” Ms. Danvers nods. “I support that.”

“A dollar each,” Peggy says smoothly. “All proceeds go towards the student council.”

“Well, you had me at waffle,” Ms. Danvers says. “Are you done?” She points at the machine, which has stopped spitting out pages and is now making a contented grumbling sound like a recently fed cat.

“Yes, I’ll be out of your hair,” Peggy says. She grabs the stack of papers and dashes through the door.

“Daniel!” Peggy whispers outside the classroom where Dan has Environmental Science. She motions wildly towards him and holds up the stack of papers. They make eye contact through the door and he gets up to meet her.

“Thanks,” he says. “We’re just supposed to work on a paper. You wanna go hang these up?”

“Perfect,” Peggy says. Dan disappears back into the classroom to ask his teacher and comes back a moment later.  “Let’s go, then,” she tells him, pleased. The exhaustion from this morning has faded into a dull tiredness that pulses just far enough at the back of her mind that she can push it away. They paper the walls of the hallway, all of the bathrooms on the first and second floors and the door to the library and the principal’s office, giggling at the faces the freshman make as they walk past.

“Guys,” Carol says in a hushed voice at the beginning of musical rehearsal, leaning over so  Angie and Gloria can hear her over Sarah Clarke’s slightly-sharp warmup. “I actually don’t think Peggy is dating Ed or Colleen.” She waggles her eyebrows conspiratorially. 

“Finally,” Angie says, throwing her hands up in the air. 

“Okay, well who is she dating, then?” Gloria asks, crossing her arms. 

Angie sighs. “No one--” 

“Daniel Sousa,” Carol announces triumphantly. “I saw them during fourth block today. Canoodling.”

“Huh.” Gloria tilts her head. “I can see that.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Angie mutters.

Peggy sits at her desk that night, fighting the urge to fall asleep. Her phone buzzes excitedly.

[11:23] Colleen is bae: Pegooberrrrrr

[11:23] Colleen is bae: I read your paper. ‘Twas good. Sent it back with some edits

[11:24] Thank you, you’re the best! 

[11:25] Colleen is bae: wow omg thx

Peggy rolls her eyes fondly and rotates her neck to the side, reveling in the popping noises.

[11:27] I saw Ms. Danvers today [heart eye emoji]

[11:28] Colleen is bae: wow love of my life?! 

[11:29] Colleen is bae: literally considered taking ap for her but forgot how much I suck at physics

[11:30] Colleen is bae: legiterally I’m devastated

[11:31] I really hope you’ll be alright :(

[11:32] Colleen is bae: ugh maybe. Ok gonna head to sleep. See ya tomorrow

[11:33] Good night, sleep tight and all that 

Peggy sets her phone down and leafs through her agenda again, trying to determine if she’s forgot anything that needs to be done. So far, so good. She’s not finished with Italian vocab, but the test isn’t until Friday, so it’ll have to do for now. Her shoulders slump at the realization she can go to bed, and it takes her a moment until she can muster up the strength to get up to brush her teeth. 

When she returns to her desk, there’s one last text waiting for her. 

[11:40] Angie M.: Hey! Hope you got the nap you deserved. Maybe we could study this weekend? Starbucks? My treat? Absolutely no pressure if you’re busy or stressed or anything, I really don’t want to add to your workload

[11:42] Angie M.: Omg it is soo late. Sorry! Go to sleep! 

Peggy doesn’t open the text. She leaves the notifications on her lockscreen, smiling, like they’re a secret message in a bottle, bobbing their way across the sea only for her. 

Chapter Text

“I have procured the seven waffle irons,” Dottie announces triumphantly at the end of the next Student Council meeting.

Peggy tries to make her eye-roll subtle. “Thank you for showing initiative,” she says curtly. “I’ll be gathering all the ingredients for the bake over the weekend, I just need someone to help me transport them from my car Monday morning.” She blinks expectantly at the round of bright, nervous faces.

Bright, nervous, silent faces. She glares at Daniel, who shakes his head and makes a teeth brushing motion. Peggy stares at him, confused. Dentist appointment, he mouths. Peggy sighs. “Anyone?”

Her gaze flits around the room, landing on a freshman who looks like he’s about to faint.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Peggy mutters. “Come on, now. I don’t bite.”

A tiny sophomore raises her hand. Monica? Peggy thinks. She’s definitely new this year.

“Thank you,” Peggy says. “Well, that’s it for today from my end. Any other topics anyone wants to discuss?”

Lorraine raises a hand and starts talking before Peggy acknowledges it, leaning forward and dangling her wrists over the far end of the desk. “So, you’ll have control over what we do with the proceeds from the waffle sale?”

Dottie looks like she wants to faceplant into the desk. “I told you that was the treasurer’s job,” she hisses, not as subtly as she probably intended to.

“Anyone is welcome to submit a proposal for an event or anything else they’d like to incorporate into the budget,” Peggy says, smiling through her teeth.

“Gotcha.” Lorraine nods, somehow pleased with herself.

“Well, I suppose we can end the meeting now and enjoy what’s left of lunch,” Peggy suggests. There’s a general rustling and the quiet murmur of conversation as people shove their lunches back into their bags and get up, hoping to maybe finish a worksheet or skim a reading before class starts. Daniel waves at her before disappearing out the door. Peggy looks at her watch. Twenty-three minutes. Record time for a meeting, she supposes. “Monica, could you stay for a moment, just so we can coordinate?”

Monica nods quickly and shuffles forward, her backpack hanging on one shoulder.

“Thank you for volunteering,” Peggy says, looking up at Monica. She has a friendly, open face, and looks so painfully young that it makes Peggy’s chest tighten. After a moment, Peggy stands, acutely aware of how weird it is to have a conversation where one person is standing and the other is sitting. She slings her backpack over her shoulders. “Of course, it’d be ideal to unload from the teacher’s parking lot, but they’re terribly strict about letting students park there.” Peggy rolls her eyes and smiles a little, hoping to soften her reputation as a scary senior.

“I can ask my mom if we can use her parking spot,” Monica offers shyly. Peggy sees a tinge of blush rise to her cheeks.

“Oh.” Peggy blinks. “Your mum is…?”

“Ms. Rambeau?” The new physics teacher.

“Oh, of course!” She sees the resemblance, now that she knows. They have the same cheekbones, the same inquisitive look when they tilt their heads. “That would be wonderful, but only if it’s no trouble?”

Monica shrugs. “It’s not a problem.”

“That’s very kind,” Peggy says. “So Monday morning at 7.30, then?”

“Yeah, sounds good.” Monica nods enthusiastically.

“See you later.” Peggy smiles at her again and walks out the door, the pattering of Monica’s footsteps behind her. Once they’re in the hallway, Monica stops, looking around, seeming a little lost. Peggy keeps walking, then stops, considering. She didn’t have more friends her first year of high school. She probably stood around looking much like Monica most of the time, not quite confident enough to sit alone or walk up to someone and talk to them. Steve saved her from four years of that. The thought is enough to make her eyes well up with tears.

“Do you want to come sit with us?” Peggy asks.

Monica’s eyes dart around. “I mean, if you want to be seen hanging out with an underclassmen –”

“No one cares about that,” Peggy says dismissively, then feels bad about interrupting her. “Only if you want to, though.”

“Well, sure,” Monica says. A tiny smile peeks through her face. “Thanks.”

“So, how’re you liking the new school?” Peggy asks, and could kick herself for the old-spinster-auntness of the question.

“It’s high school,” Monica says, with such disgust in her voice that Peggy can’t help but laugh.

“Goes by quickly,” Peggy assures her.

“Phew,” Monica says, looking at her feet.

“Promise.” Peggy hooks her thumbs into the straps of her backpack.

“Are you sure it’s cool if I sit with you guys?” Monica asks, looking up. “I just don’t want to be a bother.”

“No bother at all,” Peggy replies.

“I normally sit in the library,” Monica says, shrugging. “Haven’t really had the chance to make friends yet. Everyone seems to know each other already.”

“Ah, that’s something I know.” Peggy pushes the door to the cafeteria open, letting the smell of food hit them.

“Yeah, you’re from England, right?” 

“Grew up here for a little. Went to school there all my life, though.” Peggy sighs. “I didn’t really know anyone, either. If that makes you feel better.”

“Well, you have a lot of friends now,” Monica says.

“Just wait until you meet them,” Peggy grumbles, approaching the table where Colleen and Daniel are sitting.

As if to prove a point, Colleen flicks a grape into Daniel’s face at that exact moment, prompting him to scowl at her.

“Colleen, behave yourself,” Peggy says as they sit down. “This is Monica from Student Council. You know Daniel, of course. Our senior class representative.”

“Oh, you’re so small,” Colleen says.

“Aren’t you that freakishly tall cheerleader?” Monica shoots back. Daniel laughs so hard he starts choking.

Colleen snorts. “Okay, that’s fair. I deserved that.” She stretches a hand across the table. “Colleen.”

“Monica.” Monica shakes it, suddenly shy again. “Nice to meet you.”

They settle at the table, digging their lunch boxes out of their bags. Daniel makes them all laugh by telling them a story of Jack tripping in front of everyone before his English presentation. Peggy looks over at Monica every once in a while, hoping that she doesn’t feel too awkward.

“So, what’s everyone doing this weekend?” Colleen asks.

“Helping my mom paint the kitchen,” Daniel says.

“Wow, angel,” Colleen says, placing a hand over her heart. “Can I clone you?”

Daniel rolls his eyes.

“I’m, uh, going to tutor Angie in Calculus,” Peggy says as nonchalantly as possible. She can feel everyone shift and stare at her. She tries to ignore everyone’s gaze even as heat floods her cheeks.

“Oh?” Colleen tilts her head and blinks maniacally. “Say what?”

“Who’s Angie?” Monica whispers to Colleen.

“Just watch Peggy’s face,” Colleen whispers back.

“Angie, huh?” Daniel’s grin is lopsided. “Gotta say –”

“Tutoring?” Colleen waggles her eyebrows.

“You’re both impossible,” Peggy says flatly. “Monica, she’s a friend of mine –”

“You seem pretty embarrassed,” Monica replies, threading her hands together on the table.

“You are my new favorite person,” Colleen announces, offering Monica a chip. “So, give me the details, Carter.”

“I didn’t know you were hanging out with Angie,” Daniel says. “She’s cool, though. Kind of a theatre kid, right?”

“All of you are impossible,” Peggy repeats, gritting her teeth. “I’m simply trying to be helpful—”

“Oh, okay, I completely take it back then,” Colleen mutters. Monica giggles.

“We’re going to go over related rates at Starbucks, it’s hardly a romantic rendezvous,” Peggy snaps. “Really, Colleen, there’s no need.”

“It’s fun to make you blush,” Colleen says, reaching over the table and patting Peggy on the shoulder. “Besides, I know you don’t mind.”

“Very funny,” Peggy mumbles. A smile tugs at her lip anyway.

“Which one is Angie?” Monica asks, looking around at the bustling cafeteria.

“She sits in the theatre room with the other theatre kids,” Colleen says, shrugging. “Hold on, I can pull up her Instagram.” She pulls out her phone, checking over her shoulder to make sure Mrs. Fry isn’t hovering. “Here she is.”

“Oh, she’s pretty,” Monica says, scrolling through Angie’s Instagram feed.

Colleen’s eyes widen with terror. “Don’t like anything!”  

 “Don’t worry,” Monica says. She looks up at Peggy. “So you’re gonna go on a date?”

Peggy groans and puts her head in her arms as Daniel and Colleen giggle.

“I hope it wasn’t weird that I sat with you today,” Monica says as they walk towards their next class.

“Not at all,” Peggy says. She smiles. “I think you fit right in.”

“Cool,” Monica says, her step a little lighter.

“Movie night at mine on Saturday?” Gloria asks, putting her legs up on the back of the seat in front of her. “I can get Phantom of the Opera.”

“I’m not watching that movie,” Carol says. “If anything, the 25^th anniversary concert.”

Angie picks absentmindedly at the crusts of her sandwich.

“Angie?” Carol snaps her fingers in front of Angie’s nose. “Angie? Angela?”

“Sorry,” Angie says, shaking her head. “What?”

“Movie night at mine on Saturday, movie to be determined,” Gloria repeats.

“Okay,” Angie says. “I’m meeting Peggy in the afternoon. To study calculus,” she adds, after Carol and Gloria turn to stare at her in almost perfect unison. “It won’t take that long, though. I can just walk over after.”

“So… like a date?” Gloria looks down at her fingernails.

“No, no,” Angie says, words tumbling over each other. “Not like a date.”

“But you’re, like, friends now?”

“We’re in the same Calculus class,” Angie says, feeling her face burn. “You know my mom is really laying into me about grades this year.”

“Well, just let us know when you’re done,” Carol says quickly, shooting Angie a sympathetic smile. “I don’t have anything to do on Saturday, anyway, so I’m flexible.”

When Gloria gets up to go to the bathroom ten minutes later, Carol looks around, then leans in conspiratorially. “So, study date? As in study date or study, date?”

“As in Angela’s going to get her first C in high school if she doesn’t get her act together,” Angie says. “Besides, Gloria’d never allow it.”

“I can talk to her if you want,” Carol offers.

Angie shakes her head. “No, it’s fine, it doesn’t –”

“If you want to be friends with Peggy, you can,” Carol says, “or more, for that matter –”

“Carol.” Angie puts a hand on her arm. “You don’t have to talk to Gloria.”

“Okay,” Carol says, shrugging. “Suit yourself.”

Peggy feels a little sick.

It’s not that she’s particularly nervous. It’s just that nagging feeling of nausea bubbling in her stomach that won’t quite go away. Her palms are slightly sweaty as she drags them down her blouse. She knows she’s going to be early, but she can’t help it. She parks the car in the Starbucks parking lot and sits in the front seat, trying to talk herself out of it. It’s just tutoring, she tells herself. Angie is very nice. She catches her reflection in the rearview mirror and sighs. Yes, Angie is very nice. And funny. And pretty –

Fuck.

Peggy smacks her forehead against the top of the steering wheel.

Okay, she thinks after a minute. Time to go inside. She doesn’t move. Don’t chicken out, a voice in her head that sounds a lot like Colleen says. Calmly, with English composure, she gets out of the car, tennis shoes squeaking against the pavement.

Angie tugs at her dress, wondering if it’s too low cut or too formal. Tilting her head, she stares at herself in the mirror. It’s probably the last weekend it’ll be warm enough to wear a dress, she reasons. It’s just a normal, casual piece of clothing. She sighs, poking out her bottom lip. At least her hair looks good, considering she diffused it for what seemed like an eternity until the muscles in her arm ached and she couldn’t stand it any longer. She musters herself with narrowed eyes, trying to figure out what a stranger would think if they’d see her for the first time. Neat, slightly frizzy curls brushing against her shoulder. Wide eyes. Nervous, she presses her dress down flat against her sides. Okay. Time to go.

“Ma, I’m ready to leave,” she calls, grabbing her backpack off the chair and rushing downstairs.

“You’re sure you’re not meeting a boy?” Her mother eyes her dubiously.

Angie rolls her eyes. “I’m meeting my friend Peggy at Starbucks to study Calculus,” she says.

“I just thought you look very nice in the dress,” her mother says, throwing her hands up. “But fine, if –”

“Let’s just go,” Angie mutters, before she has to listen to another lecture about men and boys and finding the right husband.

“When should I pick you up?” Mrs. Martinelli asks, starting the ignition and maneuvering her way out of the driveway.

“I’m going to Gloria’s for movie night,” Angie says, staring out of the window. “I asked you at breakfast. Remember?”

“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Martinelli said, but Angie’s not sure it didn’t get lost between Piero’s grumpy mood and Francesca’s tantrum. “Just remember –”

“Mass tomorrow. I know.” Angie smiles tersely.

They spend the rest of the short drive in relative silence, Angie watching the houses creep by. “You can just let me out here,” she says, a block away from the Starbucks where she and Peggy said they’d meet. Her heart is pounding dully in her chest, her mouth weirdly dry. Her mother pulls over. “See you later,” Angie says, slamming the door behind her. She takes a minute to breathe as her mother drives away, then starts walking. With every step, her stomach feels like it’s bursting with confetti. Her backpack is heavy against her shoulders. It seems so much more intimate to be meeting outside of school, even if it’s just to study over Starbucks. Peggy in a completely different setting. Hopefully it won’t be weird. Hopefully Angie doesn’t make it weird.

She sees Peggy through the window at first, and even though she’s steeled herself mentally her heart still nearly stops. Holy fuck, she’s beautiful, Angie thinks. Peggy’s dressed more casually than she is in school most days. As Angie watches, she runs a hand through her hair, messing up the part. She’s leafing through a novel, drumming her hand against faded blue jeans. She’s pushed the sleeve of her blouse up towards the elbow; her forearm is freckled. Angie’s never noticed that before. Peggy’s face seems a softer than usual. Less tired.  Angie takes a deep breath, her heart swelling in her chest.

Peggy looks up when she comes through the door. “Hi, Angie,” she says, smiling brilliantly and setting her book aside. “I took the liberty of ordering for myself already, I hope that’s alright.” She motions at her mug. A teabag swims in the water, tinting it a deep red.

Angie clears her throat. “I told you it was my treat,” she protests weakly.

“Well, you can get the second round,” Peggy says, and the grin on her face ties Angie’s stomach up in knots.

When Angie returns, gripping a mug of Chai tea latte tightly in her hand, Peggy’s staring out at the street, her eyes dark, lost somehow. “You okay, English?”

After a second, Peggy’s eyes refocus. “Just momentarily distracted.” She smiles again, but it’s a little more wistful this time, a little less blinding. “Alright. Do you want to start then?”

Heart still pounding, Angie reaches for her textbook, hoping the tremble in her hands won’t give her away. 

Chapter Text

Angie considers herself a person who develops crushes easily.

Too easily, some might say. She notices people all the time, basically any girl with a friendly smile and a kind face. She likes to daydream, about girls on the bus or in the next pew in Mass, sketching a life together in broad strokes and discarding it as soon as the bus stops or the sermon ends. Angie doesn’t count them, not properly.

But there was the girl at camp in the next bunk, whom Angie followed around the first week like a lost puppy and then stayed up all night with, giggling about something, having to suppress their laughter to keep from getting into trouble. What was her name? Megan? Morgan? She doesn’t remember what they talked about exactly, but she remembers the feeling of them smushed together in the top bunk, the girl’s – Megan, she thinks, but isn’t sure – arm warmly planted by her side. There was Louisa, the lead of the first musical Angie was ever cast in, whose kiss with the male lead at the end of the show made Angie want to cry for a strange reason she couldn’t name yet. Haley, who sat in front of her during Physics class freshman year and would put her hand on Angie’s sometimes when Angie babbled too much, the first crush Angie had identified as a crush. Her mind often returns to them, all the girls she’s liked in a lineup. She can categorize them like library books. Sorted by intensity, how much time they spent together, you name it.

But, Angie thinks as Peggy bends over the notebook to sketch out a swimming pool needing to be filled by whatever amount of water, this is another level. When Peggy looks up at her and shoots her a small smile, all the other girls pale in comparison, smudging into unimportance. A past life. Angie recategorizes her list of crushes into “Peggy” and “Not-Peggy.” She sips at her Chai tea latte, her mouth uncomfortably dry.

“Well, English,” she says, hoping to regain her bravado, “give me the worst of it.”

“So what you’re doing, essentially,” Peggy says while Angie tries hard not to notice the wisps of hair falling into her face, “is trying to create a formula to describe the shape that you’re…”

God, it was a terrible idea to ask Peggy for help in Calculus. Calculus, of all things! Something she actually needs help with! She’s probably going to get worse. Worse at math as a whole, even. She’ll probably see a number and immediately think of the nape of Peggy Carter’s neck for the rest of her life and–

“Oh, that didn’t make sense, did it?” Peggy’s question rips Angie out of her rant. Peggy looks at her apologetically.

God, not those eyes. Angie feels bad. “My weekend brain isn’t prepared to think this much,” she says. “Sorry.”

“I completely understand.” Peggy smiles, genuinely. “How about this, I’ll pick a question for you, just to practice, and walk you through it?”

“Okay,” Angie says, taking a pencil out of her pencil case. “I just feel like – I get so confused with all the numbers and I’m not sure what I exactly have to do?”

Peggy laughs at that, or at Angie’s lost expression. Angie doesn’t care. “It is difficult.” Peggy grabs the textbook and starts turning pages. “And frankly, Mr. Dooley does an appalling job of explaining it.”

“I know, right?” Angie laughs a little, relieved to be in more familiar territory. “I feel like he just skips whole sections. I can put two and two together, I can’t put thirty-two-thousand and thirty-two- thousand together.”

“He does forget to finish sentences,” Peggy comments drily.

“I never had a chance with him,” Angie says, gesturing towards the page that Peggy’s on, full of numbers and letters and symbols that look like Elvish.

“Well,” Peggy says, triumphantly turning the book around and tapping at a question, “now you have me.”

They both stop for a moment at that, the café suddenly so quiet they can hear each other breathe.

Angie ducks her head so Peggy won’t see her blush. “I guess I do,” she says.

An hour later, Angie has to admit that Peggy is a good teacher.

Fine, it’s easier to listen to her than to Dooley. But it’s also easier to look at her, and to get distracted by her accent and the way she pushes her hair back behind her ear.

But Angie understands related rates. At least, kind of.

“Not bad for a weekend brain,” Peggy says, leaning back in her chair with a satisfied, slightly smug look that makes Angie’s stomach flop helplessly.

“Not just a hat rack,” Angie says, tapping her forehead. She eyes Peggy’s empty cup with a pang of disappointment. “Well, thank you so much, Peggy. I really appreciate it.”

“You did lure me here with free drinks,” Peggy points out, packing her things into her bag.

“Well, I haven’t made good on that promise yet.” Angie smiles, hoping it won’t betray her nerves. “I would even buy you a pastry,” she continues, “for the excellent explanation.”

“Oh, really?” Peggy raises an eyebrow.

Angie swallows. “I don’t want to keep you,” she says, even though she very much does. “I’m sure you have, like, ten thousand things going on today. Then I just owe you a pastry.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary,” Peggy says, waving her hand dismissively. She’s trying to be nice, Angie thinks, don’t be disappointed don’t be disappointed don’t be disappointed. “I’d love another cup of tea, though? Unless you’re in a rush.”

“No, of course!” Angie has to stop herself from laughing with relief, the pure giddiness of being allowed to sit with Peggy for another half hour while she drinks her tea. “I promised. Another one of the… the red tea?”

“Yes, please,” Peggy says. “Although I don’t think that’s what it’s called?”

“Eh,” Angie says, getting up and making her way to the counter, “they’ll know what I mean.”

“Red tea,” Peggy mutters good-naturedly.

Peggy’s phone vibrates on the table.

[4:17] Colleen is bae: PEGGY HOW’S THE DATE?!?!

Peggy flushes at this, grateful that Angie is still happily chatting with the cashier as she swipes her card and throws a tip in the jar. The cashier and Angie both laugh at the same moment. An ache blossoms in Peggy’s chest, like Angie is miles away or can only be watched through glass. Peggy shakes her head and looks back down at her phone, typing swiftly with practiced ease.

[4:18] Colleen, darling. Wouldn’t it be extremely rude for me to stare at my phone, especially if this was a date?

[4:18] Which it’s not.

[4:18] Colleen is bae: so get off your phone and pay attention to your girl????

Peggy purses her lips, abandoning her usual texting etiquette as Angie makes her way back over to the table, carrying two steaming mugs.

[4:19] Colleen she is NOT MY GIRL

Peggy turns her phone screen off as Angie sits back down.

“Everything alright, English?” Angie asks. She slides a mug across the table to Peggy. The tea bag stains the water red. “You look annoyed.”

“Colleen being Colleen,” Peggy says, silencing her phone for good measure. “Just discussing plans, for later.”

“Oh, what’re you up to?” Angie cups her mug and peers inside. “I got a red tea, too. How long do I have to wait until I can drink this? Also, what’s the bag for?” She shoots Peggy an easy grin.

“I know you’ve drank tea before,” Peggy says, rolling her eyes. “And mostly nothing, really. If it’s like any other weekend, she’ll come over, eat all my food, and fall asleep during a film she begged me to watch.”

Angie laughs, a little hesitantly. She sets the mug back on the table, running her finger along the handle. “How long have you…You are dating Colleen, right?”

Peggy barks out a laugh. “Dear God, no.” There were times in her life, early in their friendship, when Peggy probably would’ve dated Colleen, but it didn’t happen and then their relationship solidified in the realm of platonic friendship, which is probably for the best.

Angie leans forward. “Are you dating Daniel Sousa?”

“No,” Peggy says, drumming her fingers against the mug.

“Ed Jarvis?”

“He’s happily in a relationship and doubly happy it’s not with me,” Peggy says wryly, then tilts her head. “Why does everyone think that?”

Angie cocks her head. “Well, since you’re both English…”

“Oh, of course.” Peggy shakes her head. “People date people of different nationalities!”

“Hey, I’m not starting the rumors,” Angie says, gesturing to herself. “How about Jason?”

“Are you just going to name our entire class?”

“You’re very popular,” Angie says, dipping the tea bag in and out of the water. “So the rumor mill is…efficient.”

“Dear Lord.” Peggy leans forward and puts her face in her hands briefly before peering through her hands at Angie. “I’m starting to think that the “rumor mill” is just code for Gloria and Carol.” Her hands slip down onto the table.

Angie shakes her head. “I can neither confirm nor deny these allegations.”

“Well, come on then. Who else’ve you got?”

Angie tilts her head like she’s thinking. “Jack Thompson?”

The thought of it is so ridiculous that Peggy has to stop herself from physically facepalming. “Do I look like I hate myself?”

“Hey, with that workload…”

“Touché.” Peggy laughs, a looser laugh this time. She takes a sip of the tea. “But no.”

Angie slams her hand on the table. “Howard Stark.” She grins, seeming pleased with herself.

Peggy makes a sound that can best be described as argh. “Never in a million years.”

Angie can’t stifle her giggle. “Oh, you could be dating Dottie. There’s sort of a rivalry tension there, right? Could be something more?”

“Points for creativity, but I’m afraid I have a conflict of interest there.”

Angie quirks an eyebrow.

“I’m a bit too interested in not getting my head bitten off,” Peggy says, leaning her head on her chin.

“Well, I give up then,” Angie says, throwing her hands in the air in mock defeat.

Peggy waves her hand dismissively. “You wouldn’t have gotten it anyway.”

Angie runs a hand through her hair. “Someone tall and mysterious from a different school then? Or a penpal back in England? A girlfriend who lives in Canada?”

“None of the above, Angie,” Peggy says. “I’m married to work at the moment, I’m afraid.” Her voice falters at the last bit. She’s surprised Angie hasn’t heard about Steve. Maybe she has but doesn’t associate it with Peggy. A relief in a way, not to be that person anymore, but it also makes Peggy’s chest hurt, a sharp pain that’s too familiar. He’s so far gone she’s not even the girl with the dead boyfriend anymore. She pushes the thought from her head to keep from crying. To keep herself from ruining this conversation.

“Well, the rumor mill is going to be very disappointed,” Angie says, threading her hands together on the table.

“I’ll send a condolence card.”

They lapse into silence, listening to the babble of conversation around them, the mugs clinking, the coffee machine. The pang in Peggy’s chest fades. She swallows. “How about you, then?”

“Oh, people don’t care about me,” Angie says. “I’m uninteresting. Just Angie.”

Peggy leans back in her chair. “I’m not people.”

“Fair enough,” Angie says, not quite meeting Peggy’s eye. “There’s no one.”

“Sorry.” Peggy looks down. Angie has something of a wounded gazelle, something delicate. Eyes blazing with fire in one moment, hesitant in the next. “You don’t have to share, of course.”

“It’s fine,” Angie says, lacing her hands together on the table. “I just don’t think I’m the type of person who dates in high school. And my parents would throw a fit.”

She looks so small then, sitting across from Peggy at the table, something indescribably sad and lonely in her gaze. Peggy feels the sudden urge to reach out and touch her arm, to feel the warmth of Angie’s skin against her fingers. Instead, she grips her mug tightly. “Are they very strict, your parents?”

Angie shrugs. “They freak out when I miss Mass, I don’t think they’d be very open to me dating a girl.”

“I can imagine it’s very difficult,” Peggy says.

“Eh.” Angie waves her hand. “It’s life.”

“At least high school is over soon,” Peggy says, hoping to sound kind instead of dismissive.

Angie grins at that, the sadness lost as quickly as it came. “And thank God for that,” Angie says, mock-toasting Peggy with her tea mug.

“Quite,” Peggy says. High school is over soon. She can scarcely envision a life after her classes and locker stops between them, without seeing Colleen daily. All the people in her class whom she would never hang out with on purpose, but still enjoys seeing. Peggy would never describe herself as nostalgic or, God forbid, sentimental, but losing the familiar grooves of her high school life seems impossible, beyond a cliff that falls so sharply she can’t see the bottom.

“You heading back to England after this?” Angie looks at her expectantly.

Peggy shakes herself out of her thoughts. “Most likely yes,” she says. She takes a sip of her tea, which is nearly half empty. “As a citizen it’s far more affordable than here.”

“I guess it’s more like going home for you,” Angie muses. “And it’s a great deal, so hey. You know what you want to study yet?”

Peggy nods. “I was thinking Economics, or Government. Something like that.”

Angie lets out a low whistle.

“I’m sure you want to go to drama school?”

Angie shrugs. “If my lack of talent doesn’t get in the way. Years of playing Gate Number 2 doesn’t really prepare you. Or make you attractive to an admissions committee.”

“I’m sure you’re a wonderful actress, Angie,” Peggy says, hating herself for how soft her voice sounds, forgiving herself the next moment when she sees Angie blush.

“Oh, English,” Angie says. “You haven’t even seen this year’s musical yet. It’s the first time they’re letting me sing on my own, so you know. I’m moving up in the world.”

“I’ll be there,” Peggy says. She imagines herself waiting out in the lobby after the show, nervously holding a bouquet – of all things, a voice in Peggy’s head says – and Angie exiting the backstage dressing room, still in stage makeup with sticky curls, flinging herself into her arms.

Angie smiles. “I’d like that.”

They leave together, Angie stealing a glance at the lipstick stain on Peggy’s coffee cup. “Well, have fun with Colleen,” Angie says as they step outside, breathing in the last warm air of the year, probably. “And thank you so much for the help.”

“Of course,” Peggy says. “Anytime.”

This would be the moment they can hug. They should hug, right? Angie feels like all of her social skills, as bubbly and energetic as she may normally be, have been shifted to manual and she has to think about everything she does and it if could, potentially, possibly, come off as weird. Okay, she thinks, we should probably hug. She would hug any other person that wasn’t Peggy. Should she initiate the hug? Are they too far apart? How long does a hug last these days, anyway? What if they walk in the same direction afterwards?

I’m missing my window, Angie thinks, panicked. “What direction are you headed in?” She blurts out, instead of “bye” or “see you Monday”. Internally, she facepalms.

“Just to the parking lot,” Peggy says. “And you?”

Of course. Of course, Peggy is cool and collected and didn’t fail the road test three times before her parents told her at this rate they wouldn’t buy her a car, anyway, because she’d drive the side mirrors off in a week. Angie feels impossibly inadequate next to her. After a moment, Angie remembers she should answer.

“I’m heading to Gloria’s.” Angie triple-, then quadruple-checks that she’s packed her wallet and her phone, a necessary routine she’s established after leaving one too many things behind. “Phantom of the Opera movie night.”

“Oh, she lives around here?”

“Like, half an hour thataway,” Angie says, pointing down the street.

“Well, I can’t make you walk all that way,” Peggy says, taking her car keys out. “Come on, I’ll give you a lift.”

“Aw, English, that’s real nice, but –”

“No trouble at all,” Peggy says, breezing past Angie towards the parking lot. Angie resigns herself to her fate and shuffles after her. Peggy’s car is bright and very clean, free of the wrappers and comic books that litter the floor of Angie’s parents’ car. It smells like her, light and floral, but not imposingly.

They start driving in silence.

“You can just hang a left at the CVS and let me out in the parking lot,” Angie says after two excruciating minutes.  “Gloria’s house is right around the corner and I promised I’d bring snacks.”

Peggy nods. “So, what does a Phantom of the Opera movie night entail?”

“Mainly complaining,” Angie says, crossing her legs. “Carol disapproves of the casting. Gloria disapproves of the message. I just like to complain.”

“Sounds like a time-honored ritual,” Peggy says, checking her blind spot before merging into the left-turn lane.

“Oh, you bet. We’ve done this since grade school.” Angie is acutely aware that she’s using her hands a bit too much, even for her. “Started off with those animated Barbie films and moved our way up.” She sees the CVS coming up and is relieved and bitterly disappointed at the same time.

“Well, I hope the rest of your weekend is lovely,” Peggy says, pulling into the parking lot.

“Thanks, English.” Angie moves her hand towards the door. “Have a great time with Colleen,” she says.

After a moment, Peggy turns halfway in the driver’s seat and gives her a hug. She is impossibly warm, and her hands are impossibly soft. Angie has to stop herself from audibly exhaling. She is hyperaware of her hands on Peggy’s shoulder, her cheek squished up against hers. “See you Monday,” Peggy says, pulling back.

“Thanks for the ride,” Angie says, and nearly falls out of the car on her way out.

Chapter Text

[4:35] Colleen is bae: PEGGY ARE YOU IGNORING ME BECAUSE IT’S A DATE

[4:50] Colleen is bae: oh my god you guys are really talking it out huh

[5:25] Colleen is bae: Peggyy when’s the wedding????

[5:30] Colleen is bae: btw I’m at your house

[5:45] Good lord, Colleen. Try not to finish my crisps before I get home, will you?

When Peggy gets home, Colleen is splayed out all over Peggy’s bed, leafing through a dog-eared horror novel. She barely looks up. “So, how good is Angie at Calculus now? Or were you busy doing…other things?”

“Colleen!” Peggy picks up a throw pillow and tosses it in Colleen’s direction, rolling her eyes at Colleen’s squeal as she tries to roll out of the way. “We had a very pleasant chat, you incorrigible person, about perfectly normal things.”

“I feel like Carter-Martinelli is such a long double-name,” Colleen says, turning around to prop her head up in her hands. She dangles her legs in the air. “Did you discuss that?”

Peggy grits her teeth. “Well, as was the purpose of the meeting, we reviewed related rates. Then we talked about university plans and Angie’s musical. Like I said, normal things.”

“Okay, okay,” Colleen says, throwing her hands up. “I believe you.”

“And we may have briefly discussed dating rumors,” Peggy says, half-mumbling it in the hope that Colleen won’t pick it up.

Colleen pushes herself up to stare Peggy directly in the eye. “About you and Angie?!”

“About me and every person except Angie,” Peggy grumbles. She feels her ears getting hot.  

“I’d love a good dating rumor about myself,” Colleen muses, swinging her long legs around so they hang off the bed. She puts her book aside. “I think it adds an air of mystery.”

“I don’t,” Peggy says pointedly, “so I cleared that up.”

Colleen snorts. “The fact that Angie is clearly interested in who you’re dating doesn’t seem suspicious to you at all?”

“It’s polite,” Peggy says, “to show interest in your conversational partner.”

“Sure.” Colleen seems decidedly unimpressed.

Peggy waits for the next teasing comment, but Colleen just looks at her mildly with raised eyebrows.

“Oh, what now?” Peggy sets her bag down, suddenly deflated. All the adrenaline from meeting Angie – from the way her forehead creased while concentrating on the question to her hand, soft and warm on Peggy’s back when they hugged in the car – has suddenly flooded out of her body. And she still needs to research waffle recipes, and they have football practice tomorrow, and she has to look over the edits Colleen sent her on their AP Government paper before she turns it in. She’s running on empty.

“Come on, Pegoober,” Colleen says, biting her lip. “I’m just happy for you.”

Peggy looks away. She knows what this is about. Suddenly, thinking about her to-do list seems a lot more attractive. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Okay,” Colleen says. “Well, if you ever do.” She spreads out her hands helplessly.

Peggy just nods, feeling very far away from Colleen, all the closeness and intimacy of their friendship unable to bridge that gap. She sighs and shoos Colleen to the side of the bed, sitting down so heavily that the bedsprings creak. “What do you want to fall asleep to this time?”

“I just don’t understand why they cast Jared Butler,” Carol complains, throwing a piece of popcorn at Gloria. “He can’t sing!”

“It’s Gerard,” Gloria says, gripping her Phantom of the Opera (2004) DVD tighter. “I know you know his name!”

“It doesn’t change anything about his talent.” Carol takes a deep breath. “If I hear his version of Music of the Night one more time, my eardrums are going to burst into a million miserable pieces.”

“Oh my god, Carol, how many times do I have to explain that it fits the character because he’s had a rough life—”

“The Phantom is supposed to sound angelic, not like a hoarse giraffe—”

“Oh, jeez,” Angie says, walking into Gloria’s bedroom. She sets her backpack down on the ground. “This again? Why don’t we just watch Rent?”  

“Angie!” Carol squeals, running up to her and giving her such an enthusiastic hug that Angie’s nearly knocked off her feet. “Please, please end this discussion.”

“There’s no way to end this discussion,” Angie says. Speaking from experience. “So, Rent?”

“The film or the recording of the Broadway production?” Carol asks.

Gloria opens her mouth.

Angie holds up a hand. “No. Legally Blonde?”

“Now that’s a suggestion,” Carol says, nodding in approval. “Gloria?”

“Fine,” she says.

“Great,” Angie says. “Here, I brought snacks.” She hands her CVS haul over to Gloria, who eagerly tears into a bag of chips.

“How was your study sesh, Angie?” Carol looks at her innocently, sliding back down onto Gloria’s floor.

“It was good,” Angie replies, a little too quickly, a little too mildly. “Peggy’s a great explainer.”

“Of course she is,” Gloria mutters.

“It was so nice of her to offer to help you,” Carol says, shooting Gloria a look.

“And I have it on good authority that she’s not dating anyone, so that lays to rest all of your theories,” Angie says, deciding to ignore Gloria. She plops down on a cushion next to Carol, in her usual spot.

“I really thought I’d picked up on something,” Carol says, disappointed. “I mean, I guess it’d be kinda soon.”

“Soon?” Angie swivels around to look at her. “What is she, a debutante?”

“I just meant soon after Steve,” Carol says, shrugging.

Angie wrinkles her nose. “Steve?”

“Oh, come on, Ang. You know this.” Carol grabs the chips. “Salt and vinegar again? What is wrong with you?”

“I don’t know what Steve you’re talking about,” Angie says, crossing her arms.

“Rogers,” Gloria says tersely.

Angie throws her hands aimlessly into the air. “What does Peggy have to do with him?”

“Angie, Peggy was Steve’s girlfriend,” Gloria says, voice suddenly quiet.

Blood rushes into Angie’s ears. “Peggy was Steve’s girlfriend? That Peggy?” My Peggy, she almost says, but stops herself at the last moment because Gloria would have a goddamn field day.

“I thought you knew that,” Carol says, looking at Angie in confusion.

“Of course I knew about Steve, I just didn’t know his girlfriend was Peggy,” Angie replies. She swallows, her throat suddenly thick. Steve Rogers. Peggy Carter. Steve Rogers’ girlfriend.

Fuck.

“Such an awful situation,” Gloria murmurs, uncharacteristically subdued when it comes to Peggy. The three of them sit in silence. “Oh well. Not like it has anything to do with us.”

“It kind of does, Gloria,” Carol says quietly.

“Not really, Carol,” Gloria replies, pointed.

Angie just sits there.

Carol clears her throat. “You know what, Gloria?”

Oh God. That’s never good.

“I’m sick of you pretending like Angie doesn’t obviously have a crush on Peggy.” Carol says, all the warmth and gentle teasing Angie is used to hearing in her voice somewhere far, far away. “Just because you can’t get over—”

“I’m not pretending like Angie doesn’t have a crush on Peggy, I have eyes—”

Angie has sat helplessly next to or between Carol and Gloria during so many arguments about trivial and untrivial things, but this one takes the cake. She opens her mouth, but Carol’s quicker than she is.

“Then get it together and stop being a baby,” Carol hisses. “It’s not Angie’s fault. Geez, you’re almost 18, you’d think you’d be able to compartmentalize a bit.”

Gloria laughs incredulously. “Well, it’s definitely not my fault that Angie decided to crush on the person I hate most in the world’s best friend—”

“You are so extra,” Carol bites back, “and I know you just don’t like to talk about Colleen because you don’t exactly come off as a saint in the situation—”

“It wouldn’t matter if Angie didn’t want to spend our senior year” – Gloria emphasizes the words so heavily that she has to take a breath – “drooling over perfect Peggy Carter!”

“I am sitting right here,” Angie interjects, finally, and Carol and Gloria stop, both red-faced and breathing heavily. “Wow, really?”

Carol touches her arm.

Gloria looks down. “Angie—”

“You know how I feel about dating,” Angie says, fighting to keep the sting of tears in her eyes down. Despite her tendency for melodramatics, she hates crying – actually crying – in front of people. “And you know that Peggy doesn’t even like me like that, so you don’t need to make it worse.” She looks down at her fingernails, short and chewed on with terrible cuticles. “It’s already embarrassing enough as it is.”

“I just don’t want you to ruin our senior year with this,” Gloria says. There’s no malice in her voice, just flat resignation. “It’s the only year we have left.”

“I know,” Angie says, still fighting tears. “And I’m sorry that I’m making you think about Colleen, but can you not make me feel like shit about it? I’m not doing it on purpose.”

The air is thick.

Gloria turns back towards the TV. “Let’s just talk about something else.”

“You could apologize, Gloria.” Carol crosses her arms.

“It’s fine,” Angie says, suddenly extremely tired. “I don’t want to ruin senior year, either.”

“Thanks,” Gloria says, not sarcastically. She sounds as tired as Angie feels.

“Legally Blonde, then?” Angie grabs the bag of chips.

The other two nod in silence.

[10:26] Good morning, Monica! This is Peggy. Just to confirm – tomorrow 7:30? I’d hate to inconvenience your mother by inhabiting her parking spot.

[10:42] Monica Rambeau: yeah that’s fine! And don’t worry about it, she can use Carol’s spot, she takes her motorcycle to work

[10:45] Carol… Danvers?

[11:10] Monica Rambeau: lol yup that’s the one

“God, could Ms. Danvers get any more iconic,” Colleen whines. “Can I ask her to be my friend after we graduate? That’s not weird, right?”

Peggy sighs, retyping a wonky sentence in her AP Government paper before she loses her train of thought. “Colleen, my love, you do know I have football practice at 12:00, right?”

“Oh, yeah,” Colleen says, making no move to stop reading on Peggy’s bed. “How’s the paper coming along?”

“Nearly finished,” Peggy says, perusing the document for missed typos or comma errors. “Though I’m thinking it would’ve been cleverer to go shopping for the waffle ingredients first. God knows when Coach Phillips will let us out.”

“What do you need?” Colleen asks.

“I’ve written a list,” Peggy says, gesturing vaguely towards the pile of papers on her desk. “Though that’s only demotivated me further, I’m afraid.”

“I’ll go,” Colleen says.

“No, you can’t be serious,” Peggy protests. Weakly. The thought of just being able to come home and crash on her bed after a strenuous football practice instead of having to chase down gluten-free flour for the gluten-free waffles and vegan butter for the vegan waffles and the specific type of vanilla extract Dottie has requested floods her body with such an overwhelming sense of relief that she can’t muster up stronger resistance.

“Am I ever not serious?” Colleen says, putting on a decidedly not-serious face. “But really, Peg, you look so tired. Let me help you out.”

“But you’ve got the paper—”

Colleen crosses her arms. “But I don’t have four hours of football practice.”

Peggy sighs. Colleen is convincing. “Thank you,” she says. Her voice sounds so small. She turns back to her paper, then forces herself to stop and turns back around. “You’re really a wonderful friend, you know.”

Colleen can’t hide her smile, but she just shrugs nonchalantly. “You’d do it for me.”

“I mean it, Colleen,” Peggy says. “I’m just incredibly grateful we met when we did.” She doesn’t think she’s ever said so many words about their friendship to Colleen. But she has the vivid image of them leaving the school together for the last time and their last football game together is around the corner. A proper list of lasts that she keeps in her brain.

“You sentimental goofball,” Colleen says, but Peggy can tell how pleased she is by how pink her ears are.

Chapter Text

Peggy wakes, bleary-eyed, to the grim ringing of her alarm.

7:04.

Shit.

She still has to gather the ingredients Colleen lovingly bought and even put into the fridge for her. She has to get ready for school. She has to be at school in 26 minutes.

Shit.

After brushing her teeth hastily, she decides to prioritize the waffle ingredients. There isn’t time for anything else. Thank God she packed her backpack last night.

Peggy, rushing by her reflection in the hallway mirror on her way out, only sees her hair sticking up in the back and the crease of her pillow still imprinted on her cheek.

She smooths her hair down with her hands, probably for nothing, but what can you do?

What a wonderful start to the week.

When Peggy pulls up in the teacher’s parking lot – 7:31 A.M. exactly, which Peggy can live with, considering when she woke up – Monica is waiting for her already, thumbs hooked into the straps of her backpack.

“Good morning,” Peggy calls, rolling down the window. “I’m afraid I’m terrible at parking backwards this early in the morning, can you help me?”

Monica beckons her into the parking spot, forehead creased with concentration. “Okay, you’re good, you can stop!” Peggy keeps driving backwards. Monica waves her arms. “Stop!”

Peggy slams on the brakes, hard enough that her seatbelt locks as she’s flung forward. “Oh, damnit.”

“Let’s just hope you didn’t have any eggs flying around back there,” Monica says as Peggy gets out of her car.

“We’ll have to do a damage assessment,” Peggy admits, grimacing a little. “I’m sorry, Monica, I’ve been a little on edge.”

“We can see?” Monica says, semi-encouragingly.

Peggy takes a moment to gather herself. She can do this. She slept enough hours last night. She didn’t forget any assignments over the weekend, they got all the plays down for the big game, she can delegate more tasks on Student Council after the waffle sale – it’s all perfectly fine.

She opens the trunk of the car.

“Well, it’s not terrible,” Peggy says, relief creeping into her voice. Some of the bags are a little upset, but overall…

“I’ll check the eggs,” Monica says, springing into action. Peggy nods in thanks and moves to carry the rest of the bags over onto the pavement. They work like this for a few moments together, remarkably efficient.

“Status check?” Peggy asks when she’s moved the last off the egg-free bags out of the trunk.

“Three broken,” Monica says, wriggling the last eggs in the carton just to make sure. “The rest are fine.”

“Thank God,” Peggy mutters. She – well, Colleen – has bought extra anyway. “Dottie would just love that.” She hoists up two bags full of flour and vanilla extract and baking soda.

“You two don’t really like each other, do you?” Monica says, gripping the egg cartons delicately and trailing Peggy into the building. “Is it just the bitter campaign rivalry?”

“Oh, there’s nothing wrong with Dottie,” Peggy says assuredly, but a bit too quickly. “It’s just… I always feel like there’s so much more going on in that head of hers than she lets on.”

Monica nods. “I know what you mean, she looks at you and you think she’s thinking ten thousand things.”

“Precisely.” Peggie unlocks the door to the faculty kitchen she’s managed to convince Principal Coulson to let them use. “Alright, then, most of this can just go on the counter.” She sets her bags down, rubbing her wrists where the plastic strap pressed into her skin. “I think we should make it in another trip.”

“Sounds good,” Monica says as they make their way back outside. “So, how was your weekend?”

“Oh, just the usual busyness,” Peggy says. “How about you?”

“I didn’t do much,” Monica says. “We just went flying.”

She says this so casually that Peggy nearly doesn’t question it. Only nearly, though.

“Did you say flying?”

“Carol loves model airplanes,” Monica explains. “She flies them all the time. My mom likes to say she crashes them.” She laughs, a little awkwardly.

“Sounds like a lovely hobby, though,” Peggy says, thinking more about what Colleen’s reaction to this new piece of information about Carol Danvers will be and that it will probably involve squealing.

“I like to watch them,” Monica says. “From a distance, though. You never know with Carol.”

Peggy thinks back to her second week of Physics, when Ms. Danvers dropped both a bowling ball and a watermelon off the second floor with a cool nonchalance that was only broken by her whooping as the watermelon broke apart on the ground below.

“Probably the safest option,” Peggy agrees, bending down and grabbing two more bags.

“Speaking of weekend plans,” Monica says, taking a bag, “how was your date?”

“Oh, not you, too.” Peggy rolls her eyes. “It was nice. It was not a date,” she adds, as a matter of principle.

 “Well, I guess you’d know better than me.” Monica loops a third bag around her hand. 

“Thank you, Monica,” Peggy says. “See, this is the humility that Colleen, frankly—”

She realizes Monica is joking when she starts laughing.

“You just as bad as the rest of them,” Peggy grumbles. “What happened to respect for your elders?”

“Sorry,” Monica says, sounding decidedly not-sorry. They situate the last of the grocery bags on the counter.  

“Thank you so much for your help,” Peggy says. “Feel free to get to class, I’ll just be a moment.”

“Okay,” Monica says. “Do you need anything else?”

“I’ll just wash out the cartons with the broken eggs,” Peggy sighs. “Don’t want to stink up the place.”

“Well, if you’re sure,” Monica says, turning to go. She stops, then turns back around. “Thanks, Peggy.”

“Nothing to thank me for.” Peggy waves her hand, re-checking the cartons for broken eggs.

“You didn’t have to invite me to sit with you.” The way Monica looks at her nearly breaks Peggy’s heart. She’s so young. Peggy has never felt more ancient than in that moment, two years – two years! – of high school seemingly an eternity. It passes so quickly, Peggy wants to tell her. And you can’t do anything about it.

“You’re always welcome to sit with us,” Peggy says instead. “Really, Monica.”

Monica smiles. “Thanks. See you later?”

Peggy nods. “I am absolutely counting on your support to get these waffles into the hands of hungry high schoolers. You’re the first shift, right?”

“You got it.” Monica shoots her some finger guns. “I’ll be there.”

Colleen pushes herself through the throng of excited students towards the front of the crowd. “Hey,” someone says. “You can’t cut the line!”

“I’m helping out with the sale,” Colleen retorts smugly, finally reaching the table. “Hiya, Peg!”

“Helping the sale, are you?” Peggy raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. She hands a freshman her change and a warm waffle.

“I did,” Colleen says. “Clearly, the quality of the ingredients has elevated your earning potential.”

“Yes, you’re the mastermind behind all this,” Peggy says, not without affection. She turns back towards the line of Student Council members frantically baking waffles. “Can we please adjust the batter-to-waffle iron ratio, the edges are leaking!”

“Can I have one?” Colleen asks, putting on her nicest smile. “Please?”

“Yes,” Peggy says, “just don’t be so obvious about it.”

“Me? Obvious?” Colleen points at herself in mock offense. “It’s like you don’t even know me.”

“Just take your waffle,” Peggy says, grabbing one. In the worst covert operation ever, she places a single napkin on top. “And now go before someone accuses me of –”

“I thought we said no waffle giveaways,” Dottie yells from the other end of the table, standing up.

“That,” Peggy says flatly. She rubs her forehead with her hand and turns to Dottie. “She’s done all the shopping for us, Dottie.”

“Colleen is not an elected member of this council, even if she helps you sometimes and sits in on meetings,” Dottie argues. “Therefore, no freebies.”

“Dottie—”

“Misusing your power as president? Wow, Peggy.” Dottie shakes her head.

Peggy clenches her teeth.

“It’s fine,” Colleen says, pulling two crumpled bills out of her pocket. “Here,” she says, waving them in Dottie’s direction. “Are you happy? Do you want to see a receipt?”

Dottie, apparently satisfied, sits back down and greets the next customer with a bright grin.

“Christ,” Peggy mutters.

“Well, I’m going to go read my book and leave you to this chaos,” Colleen says, taking her waffle. “Bye!”

“So helpful,” Peggy mutters as Colleen disappears back into the crowd.

“Hey, at least it’s going well,” Daniel says. He’s working with remarkable efficiency; his cash register is neat, coins and bills sorted properly. Peggy has to root through a pile of bills every time she needs a quarter. 

“I just hate admitting that Dottie was right about the seven waffle irons,” Peggy says in a low voice, casting a glance over to the end of the table where Dottie and her minions sit.

“I didn’t think you were so off, either.” Daniel shrugs. “Maybe someone put drugs in them while we weren’t looking?”

“Dear Lord, I hope not,” Peggy says, unable to even conjure up a chuckle at the joke. She catches herself looking for Angie in the crowd again and shakes her head to get rid of the thought. Concentration, Peggy Carter, she thinks. You have work to do.

By five minutes to end of lunch, they’ve probably amassed a small fortune, no one got burned (badly, Peggy doesn’t count red fingertips from trying to pry waffle bits off the hot part of the iron), and, more importantly, the event has been a blazing success. No Angie in sight, though. Peggy briefly wonders if she’s sick, or if she just doesn’t like waffles. She can’t see Angie not being a waffle type, though. Perhaps she was busy during lunch, or she just went to the other end of the table and Peggy didn’t see her through the crowd…

“Margaret,” Dottie says, snapping her fingers at her.

Peggy sighs. “Yes, Dorothy?”

“Someone has to count all the proceeds, and I have a test next block.” Dottie crosses her arms. “Can you handle it?”

“That was always the plan,” Peggy says tersely. She should be the one delegating tasks, not Dottie. “I have a free period next block—”

“You can’t do it alone, that goes against the constitution—”

“I’m perfectly aware.” Peggy sniffs. “Daniel has declared himself willing to watch me and double check my numbers.”

“Perfect!” Dottie’s smile almost reaches her eyes. She waves, mainly just a delicate finger movement that makes Peggy want to openly roll her eyes or gag. “See you later, then! Toodleloo!” She turns on her heel and strides down the hall, Lorraine falling into step beside her. They giggle about something as they turn the corner. Peggy presses her lips together.

“Toodleloo?” Someone scoffs from behind Peggy. She whips around. Angie stands behind her, eyebrows raised. “Over here, English.”

“When did you get there?” Peggy says, flustered. She looks around at the table, at the Student Council members who are suddenly making themselves scarce when it’s time to clean up and carry everything back. Typical.

“I’m small, I sneak up on people.”

“Angie, I think you’re about an inch shorter than me,” Peggy says, locking up her cash register.

“Enough to sneak.” Angie shrugs. “Can I have a waffle?”

“I’m sorry,” Peggy says. “I’m afraid we’re out.” She sneaks a glance at the mixing bowls to see if there’s a chance they could scrape some batter out. They look completely cleaned out.

“I knew it was a bad idea to wait,” Angie grumbles, and she looks so genuinely upset that Peggy can’t help but laugh. “It’s not funny! I thought the line would be shorter if I waited.”

“I’m very sorry, Angie,” Peggy says. Out of instinct, she places her hand on Angie’s shoulder, then retracts it after a moment. “I’ll save one for you next time,” she promises.

Angie’s eyes light up at that. “I knew you’d come through,” she says.

“Well, it was a campaign promise,” Peggy says. She turns towards the pile of bowls and the waffle irons and makes eye contact with Daniel, who shrugs as if to say guess it’s on us again. “I’m sorry, I have to get all this stuff upstairs before Principal Coulson starts complaining – see you later?”

“I can help you,” Angie offers breezily.

“Oh, I couldn’t, you have to get to class—”

“I’ll hurry! Besides, my English teacher doesn’t care if I’m late.”

“It would be really great if we had more help,” Daniel says quietly from next to Peggy. 

Peggy looks at Angie, who seems at that moment to be both impossibly stubborn and impossibly kind. “Thank you,” she says, giving up.

Angie sidesteps the table and starts grabbing bowls, stacking them on top of each other. “Jeez, how many waffles did you make?”

“It was a lot,” Daniel says, handing Angie another bowl. “Homecoming is going to be intense this year.”

“This is for the homecoming budget?” Angie glances at the four cash registers. “Is it on the moon?”

Peggy laughs and puts waffle makers into bags. “Well, we wanted decent food this year.”

“And enough drinks for everyone,” Daniel adds.

“And the bare minimum of decorations.” Peggy shrugs helplessly. “And with the budget the school gives us…”

“Well, maybe I’ll actually go this year,” Angie says.

“And that’s precisely our goal,” Peggy says. “It’s no surprise attendance has been so low the past years.” She looks around the sales table. “Alright, I think we’ve at least got everything – I’ll have to come back down and clean the table off, but it should be alright for now.”

Daniel hoists his bag onto his shoulder, cash registers clinking inside. He grips his cane. “I’m good to go,” he says.

They take the elevator up, Peggy trying not to notice Angie’s shoulder brushing hers. Briefly, she imagines herself moving a tiny bit closer to Angie, moving their heads closer together, the smell of her conditioner intensifying. If Angie tilted her head up…

The elevator stops with a lurch. Peggy clears her throat, suddenly lightheaded. “Well then,” she says breezily. “Shall we?”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to help you with all the dishes? I swear, my English teacher doesn’t care.” Angie stems her hands in her hips, trying to channel the authoritarian energy her mom says she has.

“Really, thank you,” Peggy says. Her eyes flit towards the stack of unwashed bowls in the sink. “But I really don’t want you to be more late than you already are.”

“Yeah, we got it,” Daniel says, clearly trying to be nice, but Angie can’t help but resent him a tiny bit. “But thanks, Angie. We appreciate it.”

“No problem,” Angie says. Now just normally walk out of the room, she instructs herself. Instead, she does an awkward little wave – WHY, she wails inwardly – and walks out of the room backwards for a decidedly weird amount of time. “That went great,” she mutters to herself as soon as she feels like she’s definitely out of earshot.

When she slides into her seat in English, chastised but not punished for her tardiness, Gloria moves her chair back and turns to look at her, eyebrows raised. “And where were you?”

“Waffles,” Angie just says quietly.

Gloria doesn’t look away.

“I was just helping them clean up,” Angie says. “I need to do my reading.”

“What happened to not ruining senior year, Angie?” Gloria asks, turning back around.

Angie sighs and barely resists the urge to put her head on the desk.

“So, our total proceeds from the waffle sale are $1,012,” Daniel announces cheerfully at the next Student Council meeting. Peggy joins in on the clapping.

“I really wanted to thank Dottie,” she says as everyone’s quieted down, “for having the foresight to organize the seven waffle irons.” Dottie was right. Peggy is not so stubborn that she can’t see that. “And,” she says, hoping this will be an olive branch and also a little bit an activity that will keep Dottie so busy that she won’t have the chance to be annoying, “I would like to nominate Dottie as head of the Events Committee, to start with finalizing decorations and catering for Homecoming and continuing on the rest of the year for all dances and other fundraising events.”

“I second the nomination,” Lorraine says immediately.

Dottie is actually quiet for a second. Then a grin spreads widely across her face. “I accept the nomination,” she says gleefully. “I have so many ideas.” She turns to Peggy. “That was a really good idea, Peggy.”

Mentally, Peggy tallies the hours of free time she’s gained from this decision, from not having to call caterers during her free period to going straight home the day before the dance and not having to string up decorations.

She smiles, genuinely. “I’m sure you’ll do a wonderful job, Dottie.”

Chapter Text

When Angie was a kid, she got all her information about high school activities from conversations her older cousins had amongst themselves at family dinners, far away from Nonna’s watchful eye and open ears. And so she learned that dances were for rubbing up against people and drinking spiked punch, spending money on corsages and losing virginities. Football games were for heckling the cheerleaders. And Friday nights were for parties in dimly-lit attic rooms, air hazy with smoke and the smell of musty furniture and spilled drinks.

Now that Angie’s in high school, she knows dances and football games are not for her and Friday nights are for curling up on her bed and trying to memorize lines for a part she’s not going to play anyway. Damn Sarah! Angie would’ve killed to play Sandy. She’s still considering it, at least a little bit. But then she’d have to hide Sarah’s body, and Angie would be the most obvious suspect…

She shakes her head and tries to concentrate on reading the script. What she really needs is someone to run lines with her, but Gloria and Carol are both busy and she’d rather die than ask someone in her family. Piero would probably laugh until he falls out of his chair. Her father would just raise his eyebrows. Her mother would stumble over the words, grimacing at everything slightly scandalous, even in the high school version of Grease. And Francesca – well, Francesca can’t read.

Sighing, Angie turns on her phone just as a message pops up on screen.

[8:13] Peggy Carter: Hi, Angie. I have a favor to ask.

Angie waits, heart suddenly in her throat. The typing bubbles appear and reappear in the chat.

[8:13] Peggy Carter: I’m afraid I have a rather important project for Italian class due at the end of month. Do you think you could give me some pointers?

Pointers! The churning in Angie’s stomach makes her lightheaded. Peggy wants her help. She places a hand on her chest, rubbing the bone until it hurts.

[8:14] Heyy! Yeah, no problem 😊

[8:15] Peggy Carter: For a pastry, of course!

Angie has to stop herself from stuffing her fist in her mouth.

[8:15] Don’t worry, English! I got ya

She lets herself fall back onto her bed, heart pounding.

„Mom, it’s not a big part, you don’t have to ask our whole family to come,” Angie says, wiping her jam aggressively on her toast.

“What are you talking about? It’s the main character.” Mrs. Martinelli puts a hand on Francesca’s back, who has already started squirming after finishing her breakfast. “We need to let everyone know now, so they can plan.”

“I am understudying the main character,” Angie clarifies. “And I don’t want to give Matteo more ammunition to bully me with.” It was enough that Matteo saw her play a gate in the seventh grade. For the next months, he applauded every time she touched a door and shouted “Brava!” until Aunt Julia made him stop.

“It’s not embarrassing to be in a musical,” Mrs. Martinelli says.

“I think so,” Piero says quickly.

“Shut up,” Angie says to him. “I’m not embarrassed, I just don’t want Matteo to make fun of our costumes, or our hair—” Angie glares at Piero, whose gleeful look convinces her of the righteousness of her point -- “and there’s no chance I’ll step in for the main role,” she says finally. “Sarah’s like a cockroach, she’s never sick. So I’ll be a Pink Lady anyway, just one of the girls. No need to bust out the family group chat for the ensemble.” The ensemble, like always. At least they’re actually letting her have a solo. And she gets a run-through where she gets to play Sandy, so that’s something, even though that’ll probably only make it worse to see Sarah, of all people, screeching out “Hopelessly Devoted to You” on opening night.

“I still don’t understand what this musical is about,” Mrs. Martinelli says, sitting down. “And what does it have to do with Greece?”

“It’s Grease,” Angie says. “Like hair grease. Not country Greece.”

Mrs. Martinelli makes a face.

“I don’t even think you want to ask Aunt Julia,” Angie points out. “Aren’t you still mad about Dad’s last birthday party?”

Mrs. Martinelli’s expression goes dark. Angie sits back, triumphant.

“I’m going to get all my friends to come,” Piero singsongs.

Angie rolls her eyes. “Then all my friends are going to squish your little cheeks at opening night and tell your little friends that your obsession with John Travolta inspired us artistically.” She shrugs and takes a bite of toast. “Your move, wiseguy.”

Piero opens and closes his mouth a few times wordlessly.

“You look like a fish,” Angie says, pleased with herself.

“Angela!” Mrs. Martinelli shakes her head. “Be nice to your brother.”

Angie tilts her head. “What, because he’s a pillar of kindness and familial support?”

“He’s joking,” Mrs. Martinelli says, stopping just short of protectively placing a hand on her son’s shoulder. Piero grins at Angie from the other side of the table. “Besides, it’s your job as the big sister to set a good example.”

“Ugh,” Angie says, taking another bite of toast. She fidgets her phone out of her pocket and types a message to Gloria from under the table.

[9:21] please free me

[9:22] Gloria Butler: whats happening???

[9:22] just my family as usual

[9:23] Gloria Butler: okok! Mall??? I’ll come pick you up

[9:25] yes!!!!!!!!! Ur my hero<3

“Angie, put your phone away,” Mrs. Martinelli says, holding her hand out for Angie’s phone. “We’re having a family breakfast.”

“Sorry,” Angie says, putting on the sweetest, I’m-the-best-Catholic-daughter smile she can muster. “Gloria’s going to pick me up soon, we’re going to go to the mall before rehearsal.”

“The mall?” Mrs. Martinelli furrows her brow.

Shit, Angie thinks. She’s probably expecting me to clean or something. “Gloria needs help picking out her homecoming dress,” Angie explains smoothly. That seems like a decent excuse.

“Fine,” Mrs. Martinelli says. “Do you have a dress already?”

“I’m not going,” Angie says immediately.

“Because you don’t have a date,” Piero says, loud enough that Angie can hear and quiet enough for their mother to ignore.

“It’s your last homecoming,” Mrs. Martinelli says, shaking her head as she pours herself a cup of tea. “You’ll miss out on all these experiences!”

“The experience of a few hundred highschoolers locked into a stinky gym and bad catering? No thanks,” Angie scoffs.

“You could ask that boy from church – what’s his name?”

“James,” Piero volunteers helpfully.

“Yes, James!” Angie’s mother snaps her fingers at her. Angie flinches. “He’s so nice! And his mother is lovely, she brought the best salad to the potluck last week, it had this amazing dressing…”

Angie tries to tune her out. She imagines herself at Homecoming with James from church. His hands are sweaty and feel heavy on her waist. He’s wearing a tie that doesn’t match her dress. She seems them dancing together like a vision, her moving her body away from him as subtly as she knows how.

“Angela,” Mrs. Martinelli says.

Angie snaps out of it. “Sorry.”

Mrs. Martinelli sighs disapprovingly. “You don’t listen,” she says. “I was saying that James—”

“I’m not going with James,” Angie says. Her voice is tight but unwavering. “I’m not going at all. Because I don’t want to go. And if I did, I would go with my friends and not with James from church who I don’t have anything in common with.” She pushes her chair back and stands up, grabbing her plate for the dishwasher. “See you later.”

“Don’t speak to me like that,” Mrs. Martinelli calls after her.

“Yeah, yeah,” Angie says, knowing that’ll earn her a lecture later. She paces around in her room for a few minutes until her heart has calmed. Homecoming. Sitting in a corner with Gloria and Carol and gossiping about what everyone’s wearing and who everyone is with. Fiercely ignoring the football players. They can do that on Instagram at home and save themselves the money. It’s what they’ve always done. 

Homecoming. Angie hates dances, always has. She hates getting dressed up only to starve for half the night because they never have enough food for everyone. She hates the way she always feels the need to adjust her clothes, or her hair, or something. The planning committee has gone berserk the past few weeks, since the cash from the waffle sale came in. She’s heard Dottie screaming at someone on the phone in the hallway at least twice. Maybe it’s different this year, a small part of her thinks. She sits down on her bed and tries to stop thinking, just for a second.

She wonders what Peggy will wear to Homecoming.

Her phone buzzes.

[9:50] Gloria Butler: outsideee

[9:50] coming!

Angie stops by the kitchen on the way out. She kisses Francesca on the head. “Sorry,” she tells her mother.

Mrs. Martinelli glances up from the sink, a crease in her forehead where it didn’t use to be. Angie looks at her mother, really looks, the way she rarely does. She thinks of the pictures they have hanging in the hallway, Angie as a baby and her mother’s smooth, unlined face forever frozen in a smile. “Have a good time at the mall,” Mrs. Martinelli says mildly.

“Thanks,” Angie says. She considers hugging her mother goodbye. She can’t remember the last time she did that.

Instead, she walks out the door.

“Thank you so much,” Angie says, opening the door of Gloria’s car. “God, they were driving me crazy.”

“Just the usual, or anything specific?” Gloria asks, setting the navigation to the mall.

“I’m just tired of Piero,” Angie says, slumping down into the passenger seat. “He gets to say whatever he wants, and I just get a lecture on being a good older sister.” She sighs.

“I notice that every time I’m at your house,” Gloria says, nodding to herself as she backs out of the driveway. “Like no offense to your parents, but –”

“Please offense to my parents,” Angie groans.

“—like your mom is really nice and all and she makes the best food, but does she ever get Piero to do the dishes?”

Angie bolts upright. “Exactly! And he just makes fun of me for the musical and my parents definitely don’t get it.”

“I’m sorry, Ange.” Gloria says, craning her neck to check her blind spot.

Angie shrugs.

“Do you want to choose the music?”

Angie perks up at that. They spend the rest of the ride belting along to the Original Broadway Cast of Wicked, and by the time Idina Menzel hits the last note on “The Wizard and I” and Gloria pulls into the mall parking lot, Angie’s heart feels ten times lighter.

“I’m just real sorry it’s so difficult with your parents,” Gloria says quietly, turning off the engine.

“Makes it easier when you rescue me,” Angie says, shrugging.

Gloria pats her shoulder affectionately. “So, soft pretzel?”

“Dear God, yes,” Angie says.

“Angela,” Gloria says, in her best impression of Mrs. Martinelli’s no-nonsense voice, “the name of our Lord!”

“The only Lord I care about right now is Auntie Anne,” Angie says, “who died on the pretzel for our sins.”

Gloria laughs until they’re out of the parking lot.

“So, are we going to Homecoming this year?” Angie asks, glancing at Gloria over her smoothie.

Gloria shoots her a look. “You hate dances. Why the sudden interest in homecoming?”

“Fear of missing out on formative experiences during senior year?”

Gloria half-laughs.

“Come on, Glo.” Angie drums her hands on the table. “It’s Homecoming! If it sucks, it sucks.”

“Only if Carol goes,” Gloria grumbles. She tilts her head. “Or is this about Peggy Carter?”

“I don’t want to talk about Peggy,” Angie says, a bit too quickly. She feels heat rising in her cheeks.

“Well, me neither,” Gloria says. Her eyes flicker downwards.  She picks at her nailbeds.

Angie feels her heart shrivel a bit in her chest. “I’m sorry,” she says. She can barely hear herself over the bubble of conversation around them. She reaches out a hand and places it on Gloria’s arm, warm and soft.

“No, I’m sorry,” Gloria says. She closes her eyes. “I know I’m not being fair to you.”

“Nothing to be fair about,” Angie says. “It wasn’t good for you, with Colleen.”

“No, I’m being selfish,” Gloria says. She shivers and rubs her arms with her hands. “She just makes me feel so broken.”

Angie rubs her thumb over Gloria’s arm. “You’re not, Gloria.”

“I know that,” Gloria laughs ruefully. “Trust me, I know I’m not only the person who got her heart smashed into pieces at fourteen.” Angie watches her friend’s face crinkle, like a piece of thin paper. With a jolt, she realizes Gloria is trying not to cry. “But I see her coming down the hall and it’s—” Gloria shakes her head. “It rips the wound open all over again, I guess.”

A certainty – no, a pain settles into Angie’s stomach with a weight that makes her breathless. “Gloria,” she says, voice impossibly soft. Gloria just stares at her wordlessly. Angie sighs. “Are you still in love with her?”

Gloria is a person who cries easily. At reruns of Glee, sentimental commercials, whenever they babysit Francesca together and watch Disney films. So Angie has seen her cry, more times than she can count. However, Angie has never seen her mind, never seen her fight back tears to the point that her lip trembles and her nostrils flare. She normally just lets them come, laughing at herself, blowing theatrically into a tissue.

Gloria closes her eyes softly, streaks of tears running down her face. She blinks rapidly, then tilts her head up. “Probably,” she says. “Why else would I care so much?”

“It’s okay if you are,” Angie says.

“It’s embarrassing,” Gloria mutters, clearly trying to regain her composure.

Angie shakes her head emphatically. “Absolutely not.”

Gloria raises her eyebrows. “Being hung up on the same girl for four years isn’t embarrassing?”

“It’s Colleen,” Angie says. “She’s like six foot tall, gorgeous, a Cheerleader –”

“Don’t remind me,” Gloria groans, hiding her face in her hands.

“—if it mends your broken heart, Peggy is dead to me,” Angie continues, ignoring the pang in her chest. “Like, who even is Peggy Carter?”

Gloria smiles warily. “Thank you, Angie.”

Angie bites her lip. “I did promise to help her with her Italian homework, though.”

Gloria groans again. “Jeez, Angie.”

“I can cancel it,” Angie says desperately. “I’ll text her and tell her I hit my head and forgot the whole language—”

Gloria sighs, resigned. “No, it’s fine. Italian tutoring is fine. I just…”

“It’s just the tutoring,” Angie promises. Just the tutoring. Tutoring amongst casual friends and classmates. Tutoring because there isn’t anything else Peggy wants from me or will ever want from me.  It doesn’t feel like a lie, but it hurts all the same.

“Can’t begrudge her your Italian skills.” Gloria shakes her head and sits upright. “So, Homecoming.”

“Homecoming,” Angie says, trying to feel excited for it.

“Just us and Carol?”

“Just the Three Muskequeers.”

“It’s still a horrible group chat name,” Gloria says.

Angie smacks her arm. “Then come up with something better.”

“Fine, then.” Gloria leans back in her chair and takes a sip of her smoothie. “Let’s do Homecoming.”

Angie’s never considered herself a particularly elegant person, but it is a low point in her clumsiness – lower, even, than accidentally smacking a bowl of cut onion out of her mother’s hand and having to hand-gather it off the floor at last year’s Thanksgiving – to literally run smack dab into Peggy Carter in the middle of the school hallway because she got distracted by Thompson throwing a football over her head.

“Gosh, English, I’m so sorry,” Angie says, just thankful she didn’t drop anything so they don’t have to do the whole crawl-on-the-ground-together-and-awkwardly-make-eye-contact thing. “Don’t know where my head was.”

“I absolutely blame Jack Thompson,” Peggy says, her voice low and surprisingly conspiratorial.

Something twitches in Angie’s stomach. Swallowing, she smiles. “Yeah,” she says. Is that all you’ve got to say, Ang? she thinks, wanting to kick herself.

“Are you going to Calculus?” Peggy asks. At that moment, a shaft of sunlight falls through one of the open classroom doors, catching her hair. Angie just stares for a moment. Please say something, she whines to herself. She’s just waiting for Gloria to round the corner and look at her like a kicked puppy.

“Angie? Did you hit your head?”

Peggy’s hand is on Angie’s arm. It burns there, soft and so, so warm. Acting skills, Angie tells herself. Come on, Angie!

“No, it’s all good, English,” Angie says. “Yeah, I’m going to class.”

“I really appreciate you helping me with Italian,” Peggy says casually as they fall into step next to each other. “Does this weekend work for you?”

“Oh, yeah.” Angie tries to smile with just the right amount of teeth. Her heart stumbles over itself, as clumsy as her feet. “Saturday, maybe?”

“I’ve got some errands to run for the Homecoming committee,” Peggy says, rolling her eyes. “But afterwards would work.”

Angie raises an eyebrow. “I thought Dottie took that over?”

“With Dorothy, you’ll find theory and practice diverge more than with most people,” Peggy muses. “No, I’m afraid she’s discovered how to delegate things to me.”

“She’s just ordering you around, isn’t she.”

“Quite,” Peggy huffs. “And if I refuse, she spins some sort of narrative about this being a team effort and if the leader of the team can’t even join in…”

Angie snorts.

“Well, here we are, then,” Peggy says, pushing the classroom door open. “So, Saturday?”

“Saturday,” Angie says. She hides a smile all the way to her seat.