Chapter Text
One thing Wendy quickly learned to appreciate about private schools is the uniform. No longer did she have to stress herself out planning an outfit for the next day—which, for girls, was an absolute must, even if that view was only perpetrated by the same culture that said girls were only valuable if they were attractive—now, all she had to do was make sure her uniform was ironed and ready to wear before heading off to bed for the night. This freed up the time she would’ve spent going through Pinterest and Tumblr for outfit ideas, though that’s not to say she spends less time on the two apps.
That said, she’s not particularly fond of the dress code for Storybrooke Academy. While it made sense to her that the school would be stricter when it came to the rules, she’s got no clue as to how colored hair was discouraged.
Actually, she understands the rationale behind that particular rule, but it made no sense to her. What did hair color ever have to do with how respectable one is, anyway? Absolutely nothing, that’s what. But alas, she was just a freshman—there’s nothing she can do about that just yet.
So she tosses the student handbook onto her bedside table, plugs her phone in, and settles under the covers. Her uniform hangs on the back of her rolling chair, the dark blue of the blazer seamlessly blending in with the darkness of her room once she switches the light off, wholly unaware of the boy standing on the street and looking up into her bedroom window.
Morning sunlight streams in through the gap in her curtains, and with a groan, she burrows herself deeper inside her covers. A few moments of silence pass, a few more precious moments of sleep, before her alarm clock begins ringing. As if that wasn’t bad enough, her phone alarm blares from the speakers, a medley of guitar solos from her favourite songs that Henry put together for her last birthday. Normally, she loves the gift, but not when it’s coupled with the shrill ring of an alarm clock.
A pale hand fumbles around for the clock, switching it off before the rest of her body emerges from the covers. She lets the guitar solos play for a while longer, and then she dismisses the alarm—she’d rather not snooze it, forget that it was snoozed, and have her brothers raise an eyebrow at her choice of alarm tone. It was bad enough when they first saw a My Chemical Romance shirt in her drawer.
Breakfast is a dull affair, she thinks, though it might be because she’s already begun to make comparisons to how different her life is compared to Letha’s. According to the blonde, she never eats breakfast at home—instead, she meets up with Vincent and Emery at Granny’s. They’re regulars there, much like she and Henry are, and for a moment, she wishes she could partake of that morning ritual. It’s not like she’s particularly close with John and Michael anymore—that changed the day she got the scholarship and John didn’t.
Breakfast is a stifling affair, too, between John glancing at her and her parents’ incessant questions about her new school.
“Are people nice?” Asks her mother, and she nods.
“How are the classes?” She hums, pretending to think on it before she replies.
“They’re fine. The teachers are okay.”
She doesn’t eat more than half of her food before she says she’s stuffed, and she excuses herself to bathe and get dressed. On her way up the stairs, her phone chimes with a text, and she looks at it once inside her room.
Letha: Hey! We’re going to eat at Granny’s before school starts, do you want to come with?
It’s just one text, and she feels a smile tug at her lips as she types a response.
Wendy: Sure. I’ll just send you my location?
Wendy: [home address]
Letha: Got it! See you in twenty; Emery takes FOREVER in the shower
Letha: I think it’s because he gets high in there at times lmao. Anyway, see you!
Twenty minutes is more than enough time—it only takes her eight to ten minutes to shower, and five to get dressed. Well, maybe more than five, given the knee-high socks that are part of the girl’s uniform. But she’s sure she’ll be downstairs by the time they pull up outside her house, so she does just that.
True to her guesstimate, she’s sitting on the couch with two minutes to spare, her phone back to being fully charged as her parents say goodbye to John and Michael. She’s already said hers to them as they trooped down the stairs, and when her parents turn their attention to her once the door’s shut, she tilts her head to the side.
“You’re getting a ride with a friend,” her father says, slowly and almost like he doesn’t want to believe it.
“Yes. Her name’s Letha.” The air presses down on her; something in her skin itches and she has no idea what but she’s glad for the honk outside—it must be Letha. Without so much as a hint of hesitation, she grabs her bag, presses a kiss to her mother’s cheek and waves goodbye to her parents as she leaves.
The itch is gone now that she’s outside, and she offers Letha a grin when the blonde rolls down the window by the passenger’s side.
“Hope you’re hungry.” It’s Vincent who speaks, and there’s a smile on his lips as she shuffles to the backdoor and settles in next to Emery. He glances at her from the corner of his eyes and inclines his head in acknowledgement when she greets them, though his lips curl up in a smirk when Letha adjusts the rearview mirror.
“Hold on tight,” he tells her, and that’s all the warning she gets before Vincent slams on the accelerator, tires screeching against the concrete.
One, she realises, none of them must care much for the speed limit. Or if they do, they must be used to it.
Two, she’s never had a white-knuckled grip on anything before, but there’s always a first for everything. She didn’t think it’d be noticeable, given how pale she naturally is, but the skin around her knuckles is paler than her hands. It’s odd, but she flinches when her nails dig into her palm a little too much. That’s when she decides to loosen her hold on the seatbelt, but it doesn’t keep her hands from shaking.
Three, and this is the most important realisation, she finds that she likes it. She likes the rush, the thrill that fills her veins despite her shaking hands and the hummingbird wings fluttering of her heart. There’s something so delightful in breaking the rules while looking as proper as they do. It’s exhilarating in a way that’s so far removed from the girl she used to be, a way that’s sure to have Henry shaking his head at her should he ever find out.
It’s this final realisation that elicits a soft giggle from her lips, and Emery shoots her a questioning look.
“It’s thrilling,” she whispers to him. It may just be a figment of her imagination, but she swears he smiles, and immediately she’s struck by how conventionally attractive all three of them are. Just as she drew comparisons between Letha’s breakfast routine (that she’s now part of), she can’t help but draw comparisons to how mousy little Wendy Darling would look next to them.
It’s not a pretty image.
They’re pristine marble, invincible and untouchable.
She’s a dormouse of a girl, small and prone to leaving her footprints where she goes.
Before she can think on it any more, the car stops. A glance outside confirms that they’re at Granny’s and though she thinks her legs would give out once she steps out of the car, she’s still the first one out.
“You okay?” Letha’s the second one to alight, and the blonde catches her just before she stumbles.
She takes a moment to compose herself before she nods. In the time it took for that to happen, the boys joined them, and it’s Vince who ruffles her hair before they steer her inside. The atmosphere among the four of them is brilliant for a few moments, and Wendy can feel a smile stretching her lips into a grin. Then it drops when she spots the familiar green of a jacket belonging to the one person she didn’t want to see so soon—Pan.
“Wendy?” Letha’s soft whisper accompanies a soft poke to her side, and she shakes herself out of the constant replay of yesterday’s encounter with Pan. She’s not going to think about that arsehole, especially not now. Not when she’s got an actual group of people who want her around.
“Just thinking about the stuff that’s due this week,” she admits, a sheepish smile on her face. From across the table, Emery lets out a snort.
“You fucking nerd.” Her cheeks immediately flame, but she rolls her eyes.
“I know I am, but at least I don’t procrastinate.”
“Ooh, I’m so scared of someone who doesn’t procrastinate.”
“You should be,” Vince says, jabbing his elbow into the taller male’s side. “Means she’s got her shit together, unlike you.” From beside her, Letha bursts into a fit of giggles, while Wendy contents herself with a quiet ‘oof’. Soon enough, she successfully banishes her former classmate to the back of her mind, and she doesn’t even see him when they leave the diner thirty minutes later.
In fact, she doesn’t even think about him at all for the entirety of the first week, and before she knows it, the weekend is only fifteen minutes away. Letha chooses this time to turn in her seat and send her a brilliant smile, to which she responds with a slight tilt of her head.
“Would your parents let you sleep over at my place?”
“What.”
“You heard me. Would they?”
She thinks for a moment, then nods. “Mum likes you well enough, and Dad… Well, Mum’s usually able to persuade him.” Letha had been the only one so far that her family had met, and she’d made a brilliant (and lasting) impression on her parents and brothers, a fact that they could easily take advantage of.
“Ask them, will you? Emery and Vincent are joining us, obviously.”
“Well I’m not telling them that. They’ll never let me go.”
“Obviously,” chuckled the blonde, and she turns back to the front, just in time for the teacher to face the class once more. With ten minutes left until her first ever sleepover, Wendy can’t help but drown out the droning from their extra-curriculars adviser. Having read the handbook last night, she more or less knows what she wants to take.
She and Letha meet up with the boys by the quad, just as they did during lunch earlier on. Emery takes the liberty of propping his arm upon her head in greeting, while Vince smiles at the two girls.
“You going to the party tomorrow?” Asks the blond, and she quirks a brow in response. Letha, on the other hand, hits the arm that isn’t propped on her head.
“I haven’t told her yet, dummy.”
It’s Vince who saves her from further confusion, gently taking her by the arm and leaving the two blondes behind. “We usually kick off the new school year with a party,” he explains, leading her towards the car, “and everyone’s usually invited, so we thought Letha would’ve told you.”
“She just told me there would be a sleepover,” she says, head tilted to the side at the prospect. Parties weren’t her thing back in middle school—she usually spent her weekends reading and staying on top of her academics. But, whispers a little voice in her head, this is high school. Things can change. People can change. Who says she’ll dislike parties forever, anyway?
A chuckle from the brunet tears her away from her thoughts. “Yeah, the sleepover is so that we can iron out the details.” There’s a conspiratory grin on his face as he leans down and whispers, “Letha’s a perfectionist for events planning, but don’t tell her I said that.”
By the time Letha and Emery arrive at the car, she’s managed to stop giggling—and Vince somehow convinced her to be in the front seat.
“We’re dropping her off first.” Is the response to Emery’s questioning look, and the four of them settle in for the drive home.
Thankfully, no speed limits were broken that afternoon.
Miraculously, her parents agreed to both the sleepover and the party, though she suspects it’s because Letha was smiling and reassuring her parents that both would be simple get-togethers, albeit with a different number of attendees. And that’s how she finds herself in the car yet again, her schoolbag in her house (pros of always being on top of her academics: she doesn’t have to do anything over the weekend) and an overnight bag in her lap.
She didn’t think adjusting to a new school would be this easy, but as she glances around at the people who all but adopted her into their group, a bout of gratitude wells up in her chest. Her first sleepover, and her first party, all in the same weekend. How much better can this week get?