Chapter Text
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the stupidest flavor
Things are different that school year, though only slightly. The biggest change is that Zuko has now taken it upon himself to join the football team and because of that, he ends up ditching a lot of their debate club meetups.
Of course, that’s only if you don’t count the profound heartbreak Katara feels. The heartbreak she insists on not feeling to its fullest.
Not to be dramatic or anything.
Either way, Katara doesn’t know what’s made for Zuko’s sudden interest in high school athletics, but she has a sinking suspicion it has to do with his freshly minted girlfriend. Mai is a cheerleader – because of course she is, the very picture of perfection and conventional high school charm – and this must be a way for the two of them to spend more time together.
That’s hardly necessary, Katara thinks bitterly, as they’re the same age and have almost all their classes together, on top of Mai spending every spare second at his house because of Azula. Not so much because of Azula anymore, she thinks, and feels her bitterness exacerbate. Almost to the point where the false image of collectedness she puts up falls apart to make way for the rejected-teenage-girl-rage beneath.
They’ve spent the summer together on Ember Island, she learns, and got together right around the time Zuko stopped writing to her. It is that piece of information that has her imploring the heavens for inner peace and calm the hardest.
But no. She has grown, not only in body, but in confidence as well, and she has some sense of self. She will hold onto her pride. It feels as if it is the only thing left to hold onto anyway.
Okay, maybe she is being a tad dramatic.
Either way, Katara really does try not to be too resentful about any of it. It proves to be a challenge harder than the doctorate grade calculus she spends her free time doing, but at the very least she can pat herself on the back for the persistent effort.
This can all very well turn out to be temporary – this is what she tells herself during the lowest moments when taking the high road simply doesn’t look doable and all she has the capacity to feel is spite.
Most of the time, she simply tries to maintain a face of cheerful nonchalance whenever they all happen to have lunch together at the same table.
They might break up, Katara thinks darkly whenever she can’t help it. But she always hurries to shake the thought off and follow it up with, Or I might just get over it, knowing it would be the best-case scenario. Or at least the one that doesn’t make her a terrible friend.
But then she sees them holding hands and feels that, for the time being, neither of those scenarios is likely.
She’s fine. She’s fine. Katara feels the need to tell herself that.
She will be fine. That, at least, is a bit easier to believe.
She tells herself a lot of things. One of them is that this semblance of Zuko’s friendship is still something worth the effort, still something precious, though the struggle of contorting her schedule to fit his – he’s tailoring his own life to Mai’s now, she knows – is proving to be difficult bordering on downright impossible. The only times she gets to see him nowadays are Math class, but they don’t really talk there, and the rare occasions he manages to make it to debate club.
She takes up studying out near the bleachers at the same time he has football practice, just so she can still tell herself they’re somewhat friends. She tries to convince the jealous monster that’s roaring as it watches Mai leap and jump and dance on the grass, wearing his jersey, that she’s really only doing it because the weather outside is still nice. But really, she wants to keep an eye on him and make sure he’s still Zuko, even as he steadily morphs into some clone of his girlfriend as the days pass.
He's already amazing just as he is, can’t he see that? And that stupid girl that’s somehow wormed herself into every fiber of his life, is she so blind that she doesn’t see it either?
Why does he need to be a jock, does she need him to wear a label just so they can neatly fit into the high school fairytale stereotype?
God, Katara’s so annoyed by the absurdity of it all, that she sometimes wants to get on top of a hill and scream until her lungs give out.
“I mean, did he really have to join the football team?” she whines to Toph one night. The blind girl still hasn’t lost her patience with her entirely, though she can feel she’s verging close to smacking her over the head and telling her to just get over it already. “I feel as though he’s changing his entire identity just so he fits with her. That’s not the way it’s supposed to be, is it?”
“I guess not, Sugar Queen,” Toph drawls in boredom and sighs. “Why don’t you just tell him how you feel and get it over with? There’s a chance he may ditch her.”
Katara scoffs, appalled. “I’d never do that. And he has enough sense to get his head out of his ass by himself.”
“If you say so.”
“I mean, he obviously doesn’t like me, so why would I put myself through that? It’d be humiliating, not to mention how disgusting it is to try stealing someone else’s boyfriend.”
Toph doesn’t look too impressed and Katara raises her eyebrows sternly. “I’d rather have laser hair removal done on my head than get rejected that way, Toph.”
“I don’t know, Sweetness. For all his street smarts, Sparky can be very dense sometimes. I bet he doesn’t even suspect you like him. Otherwise, he would have grown the balls and professed his love long ago. I mean,” Toph pauses to chew on a fingernail as Katara stares with a grimace, “How do people ever get together if both are afraid of rejection? That’s always going to be an option.” She shrugs and pulls on a piece of dead skin on her thumb, somehow managing to inject the entire image with a tinge of wisdom. “People should just learn to spit it out.”
Katara scoffs again. “Oh, you’re one to talk. You’ve been salivating over my brother for ages, and you haven’t said a thing.”
At this, Toph’s face flames red and she promptly throws the Unagi pillow in Katara’s face. For someone who’s blind, her aim is disconcertingly accurate. Katara laughs, and so, the night swerves away from heartfelt conversation and spirals into silliness.
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Sokka’s hockey team brings home a trophy from the regional competition and, as is to be expected, a big irresponsible party is thrown.
It’s in Haru’s house – one of Sokka’s teammates – and it’s swarming with people from all walks of school life. There’s the obligatory stoners, standing in shady groups of five around the backyard and passing a joint around secretively as if the smell can’t be felt from outer space, there’s jocks from all teams, – right down to the weirdos playing chess, Katara’s surprised to see – there’s all the cheerleaders, to her disdain, and there’s even members of the marching band.
Katara sips on wine and takes great care not to let anyone touch her cup. She’s heard horror stories from other parties such as this, though she’s never witnessed one herself, and she’ll be damned if she lets herself fall into that sort of tragic stereotype. This may be the first party of such proportions she’s attending, but she certainly doesn’t want it to be her last, so she resolves to exercise all her brain cells, and be as responsible as possible while still having fun.
Zuko’s there, alongside his own teammates, and Mai unfailingly latched onto his arm. The two of them rarely make overly affectionate displays in public – they’re both reserved and gloomy in that way and Katara’s grateful for it – but once the alcohol starts flowing in a seemingly endless supply, their inhibitions seem to fall away.
Katara grits her teeth as she watches and grips the kitchen counter tightly.
Do they really need to be like this here, in a stranger’s house? Nobody seems to mind them, but she feels indignant anyway. She forces her eyes to peel away from where they’re embracing on the living room couch and pours herself more wine. She has a feeling she’s having a lot of that tonight.
Then, surprisingly, Jet comes to talk to her.
At first, she’s taken aback – she’s still somewhat reserved after hearing him call her Sokka’s weird little sister what now seems like an eternity ago. But his demeanor as he jokes with her and punches her arm teasingly is nothing short of charming.
He’s being sweet and for a moment, she thinks he may be considerate too and she must have just been mistaken about him, in that way unfortunate first impressions can be, and then all her rationality crumbles away as he kisses her and pushes her against the counter.
It's an interesting sensation, she decides, and not one she’s entirely opposed to. Not at all, she thinks and pulls at his hair to bring him closer, and then he breathes in her ear, “Want to go upstairs? It’s too loud to talk here.”
Katara’s certain it’s not talking he has in mind, but she lets him lead her upstairs all the same, feeling the wine dulling her senses in a most welcome way. She spots Zuko and Mai trying to eat their faces off before she climbs the stairs and that only hardens her resolve.
She may very well be acting incredibly stupid, but so is everyone else, and when else will she get to be a silly teenager? Jet’s hand is warm in hers as he pulls her close. His breath on her neck is even warmer.
They stumble into an empty bedroom, and he doesn’t bother switching on the light. “You’re so beautiful,” he tells her, and she can sense the deliberate flattery in his voice, but she still giggles.
She isn’t used to boys fawning over her, not in the least, and she knows it’s fifty different kinds of wrong, but Jet’s hair is soft under her fingers, and it faintly reminds her of Zuko’s shaggy bedhead.
She absently wonders if his hair is soft to the touch, too, but then pushes the thought out of her mind. She’s here with Jet, and he may have been a jerk to her on one occasion in the past, but he deserves some respect.
Sadly, that half-formed thought is more than what he shows her. He pins her to the wall and the next moment, she registers his hand hiking up her dress and trailing over her thigh.
“Jet,” she breathes and gently tries to push him away. His solid body is unwavering, but his hand momentarily stills. “Stop.”
“I thought you wanted this, Katara,” he says a bit too sweetly for her taste and places a kiss on her shoulder where the strap of her dress has slid off.
“I… I did. I do. But… not that far. Not now.”
Jet pulls back slightly and even through the darkness she can see his frown. Then he scoffs, steps away and turns on the light. “God, you’re all the same, aren’t you?”
She mirrors his frown with one of her own, feeling something unpleasant tugging at her. “What?”
“You get pretty and suddenly, you’re the queen of everything. Nothing’s good enough.”
She recoils. “I never said that. I’m just not ready for… that.”
Jet rolls his eyes and starts nodding his head. “Yeah, yeah, sure. You’ll come looking for me when that acne is back, and no one wants you.”
She can’t believe her ears, nor her eyes. Jet is looking her over, still obviously with desire, but there’s unmistakable contempt there, too, and she won’t be baited into feeling guilty, not about this.
Katara doesn’t know where the primal urge arises from exactly. All she feels is the twitching in her fingers, the violent shivering of every last corner of her insides, and the immeasurable rage at being prodded and pushed like this, on top of then being insulted.
Before she knows what she’s doing, her hand’s balled in a fist, and she swings it in Jet’s face, darkly satisfied when she gets him straight in the nose. He stumbles back so much the cavewoman in her swells with pride. Then he lets out a cry of anger, and she rallies to get out of there.
Not that she thinks he’ll hit her – he can’t possibly be that vile – but she suddenly can’t stand breathing the same air as him.
Maybe it’s wrong to choose violence in situations like these. But Jet wasn’t being reasonable, and if he’s the kind of guy who’ll disrespect your boundaries and then belittle you in an attempt to soothe his own wounded male ego, well then maybe a fist in the face is exactly what he deserves.
A distinct throbbing in her hand alerts her to the fact that she’s done something wrong and is now taking home part of the damage, but she doesn’t stop by the bathroom on her rampage. She wants to be out of there, with or without Sokka, and just forget any of this ever happened.
Her vision is slightly blurry as she makes her way down the stairs, in an unfortunate combination of tears and the alcohol that’s now mixed in her veins. She stumbles slightly but doesn’t slow down.
She hears Sokka’s laughter through the loud ringing in her ears and falters for a second on the next to last step, looking around. But all the noise surrounding her comes like a distant muffle and she can’t for the life of her locate him, much less see anything through the haze that’s become her eyesight.
Think like Toph, she tells herself, and continues on her way out the door – did she bring a jacket? – before thinking better of it and darting to the kitchen instead.
Yup, there’s her jacket, sitting next to the cup she’s left before making the stupidest mistake of her pathetic life, and oh, what a blessing that cup is, because the next second Jet is pulling her shoulder and turning her around.
“Katara, wait –”
She doesn’t know if it’s regret she detects in his voice, but she most certainly doesn’t wait. She grabs the cup and throws the contents in his face, reveling in his shock as his pristine white T-shirt is stained red.
“Hope you don’t get a zit,” she says and pushes past him, jacket in hand. Zuko’s standing in the kitchen doorway, wide-eyed and jaw hanging while Mai laughs by his side, but she pays them no heed and stomps off outside.
“Katara!”
It isn’t Sokka’s voice and that’s enough for her to keep walking without looking back. She’s so angry she can barely see straight, but still, she has the presence of mind to whip out her phone and call a cab. She paces on the sidewalk as she waits to be connected to an operator, and it takes Zuko a few seconds to jog over to her and grab hold of her moving hand.
“Katara, you’re bleeding.”
“Get away from me.”
“What happened?”
“Go away, Zuko.”
He doesn’t. Instead, his worried eyes sweep over her frame and linger on her shoulders and then on her neck, widening slightly. She belatedly realizes the straps of her dress are pulled down and when she reaches up to straighten them, it dawns on her what it is he’s staring at.
She arranges her hair in a way that would cover the hickey Jet left – ugh, it must be purpling by now, did she really need a mark to remind her of her stupidity? – and then nearly throws her phone on the pavement when a mechanical voice tells her there’s no cars available. “Fuck this,” she grumbles and scrolls to her dad’s number, shame be damned.
“Katara. What the hell happened?”
“Spare me, Zuko. Go back inside to your girlfriend and just leave me alone.”
Zuko looks back at the house that’s bursting at the seams with loud music and howling laughter and starts dragging her away down the street. “Did he try anything?”
“Zuko –”
“Did he? I’m going to kill him.”
“No, it’s –” the look in his eyes stops her mid-sentence and demands sincerity. “Okay, he did, but I took care of it. Everything’s fine.”
“Like hell.” He lifts the hand he’s still holding and examines it closely, before giving her his best reproachful look. “I told you to punch open-handed, Katara.”
Well, she didn’t and now she’s bleeding, but she seriously doesn’t care. She wants Zuko to get away from her, because her rage with Jet has bled into her frustration with him and right now, she’s running the risk of yelling out all his missteps to him, all the ways he’s betrayed their friendship and their debate team and her.
“Go back inside, Zuko. I’m calling my dad.”
He scoffs. “Yeah, if he sees you like that, he’ll murder Jet, and then he’ll call the police on the entire party.”
She glares at him. “I’m serious, Zuko. If you don’t get out of my sight in five seconds, I’ll tell him it was you.” He stares at her disbelievingly. “I’m not kidding.”
“Come on, Katara, let me drive you and take a look at your hand.”
Oh, there’s no chance in hell she’s sharing an enclosed space with him, and definitely not now. Her mouth twists in a hostile snarl. “Go away!”
“Kat–”
“What are you doing, offering to drive me? You’ve been drinking!” She takes a threatening step forward and he shrinks back. “What else, let me see if I’m forgetting something, oh, yeah, that’s right – your goddamn fucking girlfriend is inside waiting for you to chew her face off!”
Zuko’s staring at her as if she’s gone insane, and she has, a little, but she isn’t having any of this. “So, spare me the heartache and the bullshit and just go be pathetic somewhere I can’t see you.”
“What…” He seems at a loss. “Katara, where is all this coming from?”
“From me. The girl you forgot existed while you were off having your stupid vanilla ice-cream on the beach, falling in love with someone else!” She’s almost screaming now, and she’s let him know too much, she’s shown her face and she can’t take it back, so all she can do is hide behind her mask of anger and hope he won’t see through it completely. “Don’t worry, the few letters you sent were poorly written anyway. I’m glad I didn’t have to read any more of your incoherent sentences all summer.”
Zuko stares at her, speechless. He looks confused, shocked, maybe a little sad as well, and for a second, Katara thinks maybe she’s gone too far.
Then she catches a glimpse of Mai’s form appearing in the doorframe of Haru’s house and feels her rage igniting all over again. She gathers all the inner venom she’s capable of mustering, and says, “And vanilla’s the stupidest flavor in case you weren’t aware.”
With that, she presses dial and turns away from him.
Zuko makes no sound, no move at all and when she’s reached the corner of the street, she glances back and sees he’s still standing there, glued to the spot in a silent stupor.
Her voice is trembling as she gives the address to her father, but she manages to keep the tears from falling until she’s safely at home, screaming into her pillow.
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