Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Regina George was having the worst night of her life, and it was entirely her mother’s fault.

“Sweetie, you have to go!” Her mom had chirped that morning, adjusting her velour tracksuit in the hallway mirror. “It’s a party! You love parties!”

“Mom, it’s a community center mixer for incoming Northwestern freshmen. That’s not a party, that’s a networking event for people who peaked in student government.”

But her mom had that look, the one that meant she wasn’t going to drop it until Regina agreed, so here she was. In Evanston. At some depressing gathering in a building that smelled like old carpet and the communal disappointment of everyone who’d ever taken a pottery class here.

Regina adjusted her pink Juicy Couture tracksuit and surveyed the room with thinly veiled disgust. Everyone was clustered in little groups, talking about their intended majors and dorm assignments with the kind of enthusiasm usually reserved for people who’d never been invited to a real party.

A girl near the snack table was literally showing someone her color-coded planner. Regina grabbed a cup of what appeared to be Hawaiian Punch and contemplated whether faking a family emergency would be too obvious.

She was North Shore royalty. She’d thrown parties that people still talked about. She’d ruled that school with perfectly manicured fists, and sure, she’d been hit by a bus and had to do some “personal growth” or whatever her therapist called it, but she was still Regina George. She didn’t do community center mixers.

That’s when she heard it. Drumming. Actual drumming, coming from somewhere down the hallway.

Regina glanced around. No one was paying attention to her, which was both insulting and convenient. She set down her cup and followed the sound, her heels clicking against the linoleum floor. The drumming got louder as she walked, and whoever was playing was actually good. Like, really good. Not North Shore Battle of the Bands good, which wasn’t saying much, but genuinely talented.

She found the source in what looked like a small music room, the kind of place where kids probably took piano lessons from someone’s mom on Tuesday afternoons.

There was a drum kit set up in the corner, and sitting behind it was a guy who looked like he’d never heard of hair gel in his entire life. He was wearing a black t-shirt with “Löded Diper” written across the front in the ugliest font Regina had ever seen, and he was completely absorbed in what he was doing, his whole body moving with the rhythm.

Regina leaned against the doorframe and waited. And waited. He didn’t notice her.

She cleared her throat. Nothing. The guy just kept playing, his shaggy hair falling in his eyes.

“Excuse me,” she said, loud enough to be heard over the drums.

He didn’t even flinch. Just kept going like she wasn’t there.

Regina’s eye twitched. This didn’t happen. People noticed when Regina George entered a room. That was like, a fundamental law of nature.

“Excuse me,” she said again, louder this time.

The guy hit a final cymbal crash and looked up, annoyed. “Dude, I’m in the middle of—” He saw her and stopped. “Oh. Hey.”

“You’re not a Northwestern student,” Regina said. It wasn’t a question.

“Neither are you apparently, since you’re interrupting my practice time.” He spun one of the drumsticks between his fingers. “And before you ask, yeah, I signed up for this room. I’ve got it reserved until nine.”

Regina blinked. “Do you know who I am?”

“No?” He said it like she’d asked him if he knew what day it was. “Should I?”

“I’m Regina George.”

He stared at her blankly. “Okay. I’m Rodrick.”

“That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?”

“What do you want, like a standing ovation?” Rodrick shrugged. “Sorry, I don’t really keep track of high school social hierarchies. I graduated. I’m done with all that.”

Regina felt like someone had just told her the sun rose in the west. This had never happened before. Even after everything. The Burn Book, the bus, the whole humiliating Spring Fling apology, people still knew who she was. Still reacted to her name. This guy looked like he couldn’t care less.

“When did you graduate?”

“Like three weeks ago.” He went back to adjusting his drums. “Crossland High. Why?”

“I’m just trying to figure out why you’re in a community center playing drums when there’s a Northwestern event happening.”

“I’m just trying to figure out why you’re interrogating me instead of being at that Northwestern event.” He looked up at her. “Shouldn’t you be out there bonding with your future classmates or whatever?”

Regina opened her mouth, then closed it. He had a point, which was annoying.

“Your shirt is hideous,” she said instead.

“It’s my band.”

“Your band is called Loaded Diaper.”

“Löded Diper.” He emphasized the pronunciation like it mattered. “The spelling is different.”

“The spelling makes it worse.” Regina walked further into the room. “Who names their band after something babies poop in?”

“We were like twelve, okay?” Rodrick actually looked defensive now. “And now we have merch and a following, so we’re kind of committed to the brand.”

“You have a following?”

“Like six people. But they’re very dedicated.”

Regina stared at him. “Six people is not a following. That’s a friend group. Barely.”

“It’s six more people than most bands have.” He set down his drumsticks. “Look, are you gonna stand there judging my life choices or can I get back to practicing? I’ve got a show next week and—”

“A show where? Someone’s garage?”

“The Note. It’s a venue.” He said it with way too much pride for what was probably a glorified basement. “We’re actually getting pretty popular in Plainview.”

“Plainview.” Regina said it like he’d just told her he was performing on the moon. “Where is that, like, an hour away?”

“Forty-five minutes. And yeah, not all of us are going to fancy colleges in Evanston.” There was no bitterness in his voice, just fact. “Some of us are pursuing our actual dreams.”

“Your dream is to play in a band called Loaded Diaper.”

“Löded Diper!”

“That doesn’t make it better!”

They stared at each other, and then Rodrick did something unexpected, he laughed. Like actually laughed, not a fake polite chuckle.

“Oh man, you’re mean,” he said, shaking his head. “Like, actually mean. My little brother told me about this girl at his friend’s school who was basically a nightmare, and I’m starting to think that might’ve been you.”

Regina felt her face get hot. “I don’t know your little brother.”

“He goes to Crossland Middle School. Well, he’s going into eighth grade. But his friend goes to, well went to North Shore.” Rodrick tilted his head. “You’re that Regina George, aren’t you? The one who like, ruled the school or whatever?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah you do. He said you made some girl’s life miserable for years and then you got hit by a bus.”

Regina’s jaw tightened. “That’s not—it’s more complicated than that.”

“Did you get hit by a bus?”

“Yes.”

“Did you make someone’s life miserable?”

Regina was quiet for a moment. The old her would’ve denied it, or made excuses, or turned it around somehow. But she’d spent the last few months actually thinking about the things she’d done. Actually feeling bad about them.

“Yeah,” she said finally. “I did. But I apologized. We’re… we’re okay now. Sort of.”

Rodrick studied her like he was trying to figure out if she was serious. “Huh. That’s actually kind of cool.”

“What?”

“That you admitted it. Most people would just make excuses.” He picked up his drumsticks again. “My little brother’s kind of a nightmare too. Constantly getting me in trouble, lying to our parents about stuff I did. I convinced him our house was haunted once and he didn’t sleep in his own room for like two weeks.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Seemed funny at the time. He was being annoying.” Rodrick grinned at the memory. “Our mom was so mad when she found out. Grounded me for a month.”

“That’s psychotic.”

“That’s being an older brother.” He started tapping out a rhythm on the snare drum. “Point is, everyone’s kind of terrible sometimes. At least you owned up to it.”

Regina didn’t know what to say to that. She’d spent the last few months feeling like the worst person alive, and here was this random guy with terrible hair and a worse band name telling her it was fine because everyone sucked sometimes.

“Can I ask you something?” she said.

“Sure.”

“Why don’t you care that I’m Regina George?”

Rodrick stopped drumming and looked at her. “Should I?”

“Most people do.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not most people.” He said it matter-of-factly. “And honestly? High school ended three weeks ago. I don’t really care who was popular or who wasn’t. Everyone starts over eventually.”

Regina sat down on one of the folding chairs lined up against the wall. She didn’t know why she was staying. She should go back to the mixer, try to make some connections, be the person her mom wanted her to be. But something about this room, about this guy who didn’t care about any of the things that usually mattered, made her want to stay.

“So what’s your plan?” she asked. “Play drums in Plainview forever?”

“Pretty much, yeah.” He said it without hesitation. “I’m gonna work for my dad’s lawn service business during the day and do Löded Diper at night. We’re gonna make it eventually.”

“Make what?”

“Make it. Like, get signed. Tour. The whole thing.” He saw her expression and laughed. “I know what you’re thinking. Everyone thinks I’m delusional.”

“I was going to say delusional, yes.”

“My parents think I should go to college. My teachers definitely think I should go to college. My guidance counselor literally told me I was wasting my potential.” Rodrick shrugged. “But I don’t care. I know what I want, and it’s not sitting in some lecture hall learning about stuff I’m never gonna use.”

“What if you don’t make it?”

“Then at least I tried.” He looked at her. “What about you? What’s your big plan? Rule Northwestern like you ruled North Shore?”

Regina laughed, but it came out bitter. “You can’t really do that in college. Everyone’s trying to reinvent themselves. There’s no hierarchy.”

“Sounds better than high school.”

“It sounds terrifying.” The words came out before she could stop them. “I spent four years being the most popular girl at North Shore. I knew exactly who I was and what I was doing. And now I’m about to go somewhere where none of that matters and I have no idea what I’m supposed to do.”

Rodrick was quiet for a second. “You’re going to Northwestern. That’s like, a really good school.”

“So?”

“So you’re obviously smart. You probably got good grades, did all the right activities, the whole thing.” He started tapping out a soft rhythm. “Maybe that’s what you do. Just… be smart. Figure out what you actually want instead of what everyone expects.”

“That’s easier said than done.”

“Yeah, probably. But at least you have options.” He gestured at himself. “I’m gonna be mowing lawns and playing dive bars. You’re gonna be at a fancy college with like, a future and stuff.”

Regina looked at him. Really looked at him. His ratty band shirt, his terrible posture, his complete lack of concern about what anyone thought of him. He seemed so sure of himself in a way she’d never been, even when she was at her most powerful.

“Play something,” she said suddenly.

“What?”

“Play something. On the drums. Prove to me you’re not completely wasting your life.”

Rodrick’s face lit up. “Yeah? Okay, cool. What do you want to hear?”

“I don’t know. Whatever you think is your best.”

“Alright.” He cracked his knuckles dramatically. “This is from our new EP. It’s called ‘Explöded Diper.’”

“That’s even worse than the band name.”

“Just listen.”

He started playing, and Regina had to admit…only to herself that he was talented. Really talented. The rhythm was complex, the fills were intricate, and he played with this energy that was kind of infectious. It was rough around the edges, sure, but there was something real about it. Something that didn’t care about being perfect or polished.

When he finished, Regina clapped slowly. “That was… not terrible.”

“Not terrible?” Rodrick looked offended. “Come on, that was at least decent.”

“You’re rushing in some parts. The tempo gets sloppy around the middle section.”

“How do you even—are you a drummer?”

“Piano. Eight years.” Regina pulled out her Motorola Razr and scrolled through her music. “Here, listen to this. Same general tempo but they keep it tighter.”

She walked over and held the phone between them. Rodrick leaned in to listen, close enough that she could smell his deodorant—Axe body spray, definitely, which should’ve been gross but somehow wasn’t.

“Okay,” he said after a minute. “Yeah, I hear it. That’s actually really helpful.”

“I know.”

“Did you just help me?” He looked genuinely confused. “Why would you do that?”

“Because you asked me to listen, and if I’m going to listen, I might as well tell you the truth.” Regina tucked her phone back in her pocket. “You’re good. You could be better if you worked on the technical stuff.”

“Regina George, secret music critic.”

“I’m not a critic. I just know what sounds good.”

“Clearly.” He was smiling now, and it was kind of annoying how cute it was. “So what else do you know about?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you were the popular girl, right? You probably know about fashion and parties and all that. But you also know music theory and you’re going to Northwestern.” He spun a drumstick. “What else is in there?”

No one had ever asked her that before. People saw Regina George and they saw popularity, designer clothes, a pretty face. They didn’t ask what else she was interested in.

“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I spent so much time being who everyone expected me to be that I never really thought about it.”

“That’s kind of sad.”

“Wow, thanks.”

“No, I mean—” Rodrick set down his drumsticks. “You’re like, clearly smart and you have opinions about stuff. It’s sad that you never got to figure out what you actually like.”

Regina sat back down. “What about you? How do you know the band thing is what you actually want?”

“Because when I’m playing drums, nothing else matters. Not my parents being disappointed, not my little brother being a pain, not the fact that I barely graduated.” He said it simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s the only time I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”

“Must be nice,” Regina said quietly.

“It is.” Rodrick looked at her. “You’ll figure it out though. You’ve got time.”

“I start Northwestern in like six weeks.”

“So? That doesn’t mean you have to have your whole life figured out right now.” He grabbed a crumpled flyer from his backpack. “Here. Come to our show next Friday. Maybe watching a bunch of idiots play terrible music will help you figure out what you don’t want to do with your life.”

Regina took the flyer. It was photocopied, the text slightly crooked, with clip art of a drum kit in the corner. The venue was listed as “The Note” in Plainview, with doors at 7 and the show starting at 8.

“I’m not going to Plainview,” she said.

“Why not?”

“Because I have better things to do than watch a garage band in some town I’ve never heard of.”

“Like what? Go to more terrible mixers?” Rodrick raised an eyebrow. “Come on. It’ll be fun. Unless you’re too scared.”

Regina’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not scared of anything.”

“Then prove it. Come to the show.”

“I don’t have to prove anything to you.”

“You’re right. You don’t.” He grabbed a pen and scribbled something on another flyer. “But just in case you change your mind, here’s my number. You know, for directions or whatever.”

Regina looked at the flyer with his number written in terrible handwriting that somehow matched the band logo perfectly. She should throw it away. Should walk out of this room and never think about Rodrick or Löded Diper again.

Instead, she folded it carefully and put it in her purse.

“I’m not going,” she said.

“Sure.”

“I’m not.”

“I believe you.” He didn’t sound like he believed her at all.

Regina stood up and walked to the door, then paused. “Rodrick?”

“Yeah?”

“Work on that tempo thing. Seriously. You’re good enough that the sloppiness is noticeable.”

His grin was insufferable. “Yes ma’am.”

Regina rolled her eyes and left, walking back down the hallway toward the mixer. She could hear the buzz of conversation, the forced enthusiasm of people trying to make connections. She should go back in there. Should network, make friends, be the kind of person who thrived at Northwestern.

But her hand was already pulling out her Razr, already adding Rodrick’s number to her contacts.

Just for directions, obviously.

If she decided to go.

Which she wouldn’t.

Probably.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Chapter Text

Regina George had kept the flyer for exactly four days, and she was handling it completely normally.

By which she meant she'd looked at it seventeen times, moved it from her purse to her desk drawer, then back to her purse, then to the bottom of her jewelry box where she kept things she didn't want her mom to find, and was currently holding it again at two in the morning on a Wednesday while sitting on her bathroom floor in a La Senza camisole and Juicy Couture pajama pants.

The flyer was worse every time she looked at it. The clip art drum kit was slightly pixelated, like someone had found it on Google Images and just stretched it without caring about resolution. The band name was in that horribleFont from Hell, and someone, probably Rodrick, had written "GONNA BE HUGE" in marker across the top, which was either delusional or ironic and she genuinely couldn't tell which.

His phone number was still there, in that chicken-scratch handwriting, along with "for directions or whatever."

Or whatever.

Regina set the flyer on the edge of the bathtub and stared at it. This was insane. She was Regina George. She didn't sit on bathroom floors at two AM staring at flyers for bands that played in towns she'd never heard of. She threw parties. She got invited to parties. She didn't go to dive bars where the cover was five dollars and the drummer's mom was a regular.

Her Motorola Razr was in her hand. She'd been holding it for the past twenty minutes, flipping it open and closed, the little screen lighting up and going dark. She'd already typed and deleted four different messages. Five, if she counted the one that was just "hey" with nothing else, which even she knew was pathetic.

The thing was, Rodrick hadn't texted her. Not once since the mixer. Which was fine. Great, even. It meant he'd been serious about not caring if she came or not. It meant she could just forget the whole thing and move on with her life like a rational person.

Except she'd added his number to her contacts on Saturday night. And then checked her phone six times on Sunday. And maybe twelve times on Monday.

Not that she was counting.

Regina flipped open her Razr again. The backlight illuminated her face in the dark bathroom, making her look tired and slightly unhinged, which was probably accurate. She scrolled to Rodrick's number—she'd saved it under "Drums Plainview" because she wasn't about to save it under his actual name like some girl who cared, and stared at it.

She could just text him. It wasn't a big deal. People texted people all the time. It didn't mean anything.

Except she'd never been the one doing the texting. That wasn't how it worked. Guys texted her. Guys called her. Guys showed up at her house with flowers or asked her to dances or tried to impress her in increasingly desperate ways. She didn't chase.

Regina George didn't chase.

She typed: so about that show

Then immediately deleted it and dropped her phone like it had burned her.

"Oh my god," she whispered to her empty bathroom. "Get it together."

Her reflection in the mirror looked back at her judgmentally. Her hair was in a messy bun, her face was clean of makeup, and she had a zit forming on her chin that she'd been monitoring for the past six hours. She looked like a regular person, which was somehow more disturbing than anything else that had happened this week.

The Regina George in the mirror wasn't supposed to be sitting on a bathroom floor at two AM having a crisis about some drummer. That Regina George was supposed to be at Northwestern already, metaphorically, making plans and connections and being the kind of person who had her life figured out.

Instead, she was here. In her bathroom. Staring at a photocopied flyer like it held the secrets of the universe.

Her phone buzzed.

Regina scrambled for it so fast she nearly dropped it in the toilet, which would have been the perfect ending to this humiliating situation. She flipped it open, her heart doing that stupid flutter thing again.

It was Gretchen Wieners. Because of course it was Gretchen Wieners.

GRETCHEN: regina r u awake??

Regina stared at the message. It was two in the morning. Why was Gretchen awake? Why was anyone awake except insomniacs and people having personal crises in their bathrooms?

REGINA: what

GRETCHEN: omg sorry i know its late but i just had the BEST idea

GRETCHEN: we should have a sleepover before u leave for northwestern!!

GRETCHEN: like old times!! we could do face masks and watch the grudge and eat cookie dough!!

Regina closed her eyes. A sleepover with Gretchen and Karen. Face masks and The Grudge and cookie dough. It sounded exactly like something the old Regina would have done, back when she knew who she was and what she wanted and how everything was supposed to go.

REGINA: it's 2am

GRETCHEN: i know!! im just so excited!! also i cant sleep, karen and i had coffee at like 10pm

GRETCHEN: we didnt know it was caffeinated

GRETCHEN: the starbucks lady didnt tell us!!

Regina rubbed her temples. This was her life. This was her friend group. Two girls who didn't know that coffee had caffeine in it.

REGINA: go to sleep gretchen

GRETCHEN: but what about the sleepover??

REGINA: maybe

GRETCHEN: omg yay!! ill text karen!! she'll be so excited!!

GRETCHEN: love u!! goodnight!!

Regina closed her phone and set it face-down on the bathroom tile. A sleepover with Gretchen and Karen. Face masks and Mean Girls and cookie dough. It sounded exactly like something the old Regina would have done, back when she knew who she was and what she wanted and how everything was supposed to go.

Now it just sounded exhausting.

She picked up the flyer again. Löded Diper. Friday, 8 PM. The Note, Plainview.

She should throw it away. Right now. Just rip it up and flush it down the toilet and forget this whole weird week had ever happened.

Instead, she folded it carefully, tucked it back in her jewelry box under her Tiffany bracelet and the earrings Aaron Samuels had given her for Christmas junior year, and went back to bed.

Thursday morning arrived with the subtlety of a car horn, which was actually her mom's voice from downstairs yelling something about omelets.

Regina pulled her Juicy Couture comforter over her head and tried to remember if she'd ever explicitly told her mother that she didn't want to be woken up at eight in the morning during summer vacation. She was pretty sure she had. Multiple times.

"REGINA! BREAKFAST!"

Apparently, it hadn't taken.

She dragged herself out of bed, catching her reflection in the full-length mirror next to her closet. The zit on her chin had gotten worse overnight, which seemed cosmically unfair. She looked like she'd been hit by the bus all over again, except this time it was just regular teenage exhaustion and poor life choices.

Her room looked back at her in all its pink glory. Pink walls, pink bedding, pink curtains that her mom had custom-made from fabric that cost more per yard than most people's entire window treatments. There were photos everywhere, her and the Plastics at homecoming, her and Aaron at junior prom, her at the top of the pyramid during the soccer championship game. Every single photo was a monument to the person she used to be.

The person who knew exactly who she was and what she wanted.

The person who would never have been caught dead at a dive bar in Plainview.

Regina grabbed her pink terry cloth robe, Juicy Couture, obviously, and headed downstairs. Her mom was in the kitchen wearing a velour tracksuit in a shade of yellow that should have required a permit. She was doing that thing where she pretended to be casual about making breakfast but had clearly been up since six preparing enough food for a small army.

"Good morning, sweetie!" Her mom's voice was aggressively cheerful in that way that meant she'd already had two cups of coffee and a yoga session. "I made egg white omelets with spinach and feta!"

Regina looked at the omelet on the plate her mom was holding out. It was objectively perfect—fluffy, evenly cooked, arranged with fresh fruit and a garnish of parsley that no one was going to eat.

"Why are you like this?" Regina asked.

"What do you mean?"

"It's eight in the morning. Why are you so happy?"

"Because it's a beautiful day!" Her mom set the plate down at Regina's usual seat at the kitchen table. "And because you're going to college soon and I want to spend time with you before you leave!"

"I'm not leaving for six weeks."

"Six weeks goes by so fast, Gina. You'll see." Her mom poured coffee into a mug that said "World's Best Mom" in cursive. "Before you know it, you'll be at Northwestern making new friends and joining clubs and—"

"Mom. Please. It's too early."

"—and maybe meeting a nice boy! Someone smart and ambitious who—"

"I'm going back to bed."

"Regina Marie George, you sit down and eat this omelet right now."

The middle name came out. Regina sat.

Her dad was already at the table, hidden behind the business section of the Tribune like he'd been there since dawn. He probably had been. Her dad treated breakfast like a military operation—coffee at 6:45, paper at 7:00, minimal conversation until 8:30.

Regina poked at her omelet. It was actually good, which was annoying because she'd been planning to complain about it.

"So," her mom said, sitting down with her own plate and looking at Regina with that expression that meant a Conversation was coming. "What are your plans for today?"

"Sleeping until noon."

"Gina."

"What? I'm on summer vacation."

"You can't spend the whole summer sleeping." Her mom took a sip of her coffee. "You should do something fun! Go to the beach, hang out with your friends, enjoy your freedom before college!"

Regina thought about Gretchen's two AM text about the sleepover. About Karen, who probably still didn't understand that coffee had caffeine. About how spending time with them lately felt like wearing shoes that used to fit but now pinched in weird places.

"I'll think about it," Regina said.

"What about that mixer? Did you meet anyone interesting?"

Regina's fork stopped halfway to her mouth. "What?"

"At the Northwestern mixer. Did you make any friends?"

"It was fine."

"Just fine?" Her mom's face did that thing where it crumpled a little, like Regina had personally disappointed her by not having the time of her life at a community center in Evanston. "Did you at least get anyone's phone number?"

Yes. A drummer's. Who didn't go to Northwestern. Who played in a band called Löded Diper. Who apparently thought six fans was something to brag about.

"I got some contacts," Regina said carefully.

"Oh good! You should reach out to them. Maybe plan something for this weekend?"

Regina pushed egg whites around her plate. The show was tomorrow night. Friday. She still had the flyer in her jewelry box upstairs, still had Rodrick's number saved in her phone as "Drums (Plainview)," still hadn't decided if she was actually insane enough to drive forty-seven minutes to watch a band whose name was a bathroom joke.

"Maybe," she said.

Her dad lowered his newspaper slightly. "June, leave her alone. She just graduated."

"I'm not— I'm just encouraging her to be social!"

"She's social enough." Her dad looked at Regina over his reading glasses. "How's the omelet?"

"Good."

"Your mother's been watching Food Network again."

"I can tell."

Her mom made an offended noise. "I'm just trying to expand our culinary horizons!"

"We had quinoa last night," her dad said dryly. "How much more expanded do our horizons need to be?"

"Quinoa is very nutritious!"

Regina excused herself while her parents bickered about the nutritional value of ancient grains. She took her coffee upstairs—her mom had made it exactly the way she liked it, which was somehow more irritating than if she'd made it wrong—and locked herself in her room.

Her phone was on her nightstand. No new messages.

She grabbed it anyway, scrolling through her contacts like something might have changed in the last eight hours. Gretchen, Karen, her mom (saved as "Mom Cell"), her dad (saved as "Dad Office"), Cady, Janis, Damian, Aaron—she still hadn't deleted Aaron's number, which was probably unhealthy—and there, between "Dry Cleaning" and "Evanston Spa," was "Drums Plainview."

Regina stared at it for a solid thirty seconds before doing something completely unhinged.

She called him.

Then immediately hung up.

Then stared at her phone in horror.

"Oh my god," she whispered. "What is wrong with you?"

Her phone rang.

Regina nearly threw it across the room. Rodrick's number flashed on the screen, she'd called him, he was calling back, this was a nightmare.

She let it ring four times before answering.

"Hello?"

"Yo, did you just call me?" Rodrick's voice sounded scratchy, like he'd just woken up. Or like he always sounded. Regina had no way of knowing.

"No."

"My phone literally just rang from your number."

"Butt dial."

"Do people still butt dial on flip phones? I thought that was a cordless phone thing."

Regina closed her eyes. "What do you want?"

"You called me."

"I said it was an accident."

"Okay." There was a pause. "So... you're not calling about the show?"

"No."

"Got it. Cool. Just checking." Another pause. "We added a new song to the setlist."

"I don't care."

"It's actually really good. Ward wrote it, which is surprising because he usually writes terrible stuff, but this one's about his ex-girlfriend and it's got this whole angry energy that really works."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I don't know. You called me."

"I didn't—" Regina stopped. This was ridiculous. She was being ridiculous. "Fine. What's the song called?"

"You Ruined My Life (And My Van)."

Regina waited for him to laugh, to indicate that he was joking. He didn't.

"His ex-girlfriend ruined his van?" she asked.

"She keyed it. Like, really bad. Both sides and the hood. It's gonna cost like eight hundred bucks to fix."

"What did he do to her?"

"Forgot her birthday. And maybe cheated on her with someone from work. The details are unclear." Rodrick yawned. Regina could hear it through the phone. "Anyway, it's a good song. Very aggressive. The audience is gonna love it."

"Your audience of six people?"

"Seven. And that's just confirmed. We usually get like fifteen."

"Fifteen is not a lot of people, Rodrick."

"It is for The Note. The venue only holds forty." He sounded weirdly proud of this. "And we're playing Friday, which is the busy night, so we might hit twenty."

Regina lay back on her bed and stared at the glow-in-the-dark stars on her ceiling. This conversation was insane. She was insane. Everything about this situation was completely insane.

"Why didn't you text me?" The words came out before she could stop them.

"What?"

"You gave me your number. And then you didn't text me."

"I mean... you didn't text me either."

"That's different."

"How?"

Regina opened her mouth, then closed it. Because he was right. It wasn't different. She just felt like it should be different because she was Regina George and people were supposed to pursue her, not the other way around.

"I've been busy," she said finally.

"Cool. Me too. We've been practicing like every day." There was a sound in the background, like someone yelling. "Hold on— WHAT? I'M ON THE PHONE!"

"Who's that?"

"My little brother. He wants the bathroom. Hold on—" More yelling, further away now. "I SAID I'M ON THE PHONE! USE THE DOWNSTAIRS ONE!"

Regina held the phone away from her ear. She could hear what sounded like a scuffle, then something crashing, then Rodrick saying words that would definitely get him grounded.

"Sorry," he said, coming back on the line. "My brother's a nightmare."

"I can tell."

"He's been extra annoying lately because school's almost starting and he knows I'm not going to college. Keeps making these comments about how I'm gonna be a loser forever." Rodrick didn't sound particularly bothered by this. "Whatever. He's twelve. What does he know?"

"How old are you?"

"Eighteen. Why?"

"Just curious."

"How old are you?"

"Eighteen."

"Cool. We're the same age. That's..." He trailed off. "I don't know. That's something."

Regina rolled onto her side, tucking her phone between her ear and her shoulder. "Do you always answer the phone like this?"

"Like what?"

"Like you're in the middle of a domestic dispute."

"Pretty much, yeah. Welcome to the Heffley household." He laughed. "It's always chaos here. My parents, my brothers, my grandmother lives in the basement—"

"Your grandmother lives in the basement?"

"Long story. Anyway, it's loud all the time. That's why I practice at the community center. Only place I can actually hear myself play."

Regina thought about her own house, with its matching velour tracksuits and designer everything and her mom's cheerful aggression about omelets. It was loud in a different way. Loud with expectations.

"Must be nice," she said. "Having a place to escape to."

"Yeah. It is." Rodrick paused. "Hey, so... are you coming tomorrow? To the show?"

"I don't know."

"That's not a no."

"It's not a yes either."

"But it's not a no," he repeated. "I'll take it."

"Don't get excited. I probably won't come."

"Probably is better than definitely." He sounded like he was smiling. "Look, no pressure. But if you do come, get there around seven-thirty. The opener usually goes on at eight, we go on at nine."

"You have an opener?"

"Yeah, this band called Metallic Closure. They're terrible but they have like twenty fans, so the venue makes us go second."

"Metallic Closure is a terrible name."

"I know, right? They think it's clever because it's like Velcro but metal." Rodrick laughed. "Anyway, seven-thirty. If you decide to come. Which you probably won't."

"Which I probably won't," Regina agreed.

"Cool. Well. I gotta go. My brother's beating on the door."

"RODRICK I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE!" A younger voice, muffled through what was definitely a bathroom door.

"I'LL BE OUT IN FIVE MINUTES!"

"MOM SAID YOU CAN'T HOG THE BATHROOM!"

"Anyway," Rodrick said, like there wasn't a small child having a breakdown three feet away from him. "I'll see you. Or not. Whatever."

"Whatever," Regina echoed.

She hung up and stared at her phone. Her heart was racing, which was stupid. It was just a phone call. With a guy who lived in a house with a grandmother in the basement and brothers who screamed through bathroom doors. A guy who played drums in a band called Löded Diper and thought fifteen people was a crowd.

A guy who didn't care that she was Regina George.

Her door opened without knocking—her mom's signature move, the one Regina had given up trying to fight against years ago.

"Sweetie, who were you talking to?" Her mom was holding a laundry basket, because apparently, she'd decided to do Regina's laundry without asking.

"Mom, I can do my own laundry."

"I know, but I was doing a load anyway and I thought—" Her mom stopped, tilting her head. "Was that a boy?"

"No."

"It sounded like a boy."

"It wasn't."

"Gina." Her mom set down the laundry basket and sat on the edge of Regina's bed with that look that meant she wasn't leaving until she got information. "You can tell me. Is it someone from the mixer?"

Regina thought about lying. Then she thought about how her mom would find out eventually anyway because her mom found out everything, and lying would just make it worse.

"It was just a guy I met at the mixer. We were talking about music."

Her mom's face lit up like Regina had just announced she was getting married. "A boy! What's his name?"

"Mom, it's not—"

"Is he going to Northwestern? What's he studying?"

"He's not going to Northwestern."

Her mom's smile faltered slightly. "Oh. Is he going to another school?"

"He's not going to college."

The smile disappeared completely. "Oh."

"He's in a band."

"A band." Her mom said it the way someone might say "a cult" or "a pyramid scheme."

"A rock band. They play shows."

"Where?"

"Places."

"Regina."

"Mom, it's not a big deal. We're just friends. Barely even friends. Acquaintances."

Her mom was quiet for a moment, studying Regina's face the way she did when she was trying to figure out if Regina was lying or just hiding something. "Is he nice?"

"I guess."

"Does he treat you well?"

"Mom, I literally met him once."

"Once is all it takes sometimes. Your father and I met at a gas station and—"

"I'm not dating him!" Regina grabbed her pillow and hugged it to her chest. "Can you please just drop it?"

Her mom stood up, smoothing down her tracksuit. "I'm just saying, be careful. Boys in bands aren't usually... reliable."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"And if you do decide to see him again, I'd like to meet him first."

"I'm eighteen."

"Which means you're old enough to make good choices." Her mom picked up the laundry basket again. "I put your pink top in here, the one with the sequins. It had a stain but I got it out."

"Thanks."

Her mom paused at the door. "For what it's worth, I'm glad you're making new friends. Even if they're..." She trailed off, clearly trying to find a polite way to say what she was thinking.

"Drummers in bands with stupid names?" Regina offered.

"I was going to say different from your usual crowd." Her mom smiled. "Different can be good. Sometimes."

After her mom left, Regina grabbed her laptop and opened it to the Northwestern Class of 2010 Facebook group. Someone had posted a survey asking about favorite TV shows, and the comments were already multiplying like rabbits.

JESSICA L: i LOVE laguna beach!! and the OC!!

MIKE T: entourage is the best show on TV right now

LAUREN B: omg yes laguna beach!! kristin is so pretty!!

Regina closed her laptop without commenting. She didn't watch Laguna Beach. She'd tried once and found it boring, which Gretchen had said was "literally impossible" because how could reality TV about rich teenagers be boring when Regina herself was a rich teenager?

But it was boring. The drama felt manufactured. The problems felt fake. And maybe that said something about Regina's own life, the fact that she could spot manufactured drama from a mile away because she'd been manufacturing it herself for years.

Her Razr was still in her hand. She flipped it open, navigated to Rodrick's number, and stared at it for the eighteenth time that week.

Seven-thirty tomorrow night. The Note. Plainview.

She wasn't going.

Definitely not going.

She saved his number under his actual name and closed her phone.

Friday arrived with all the subtlety of a freight train, which was fitting because Regina felt like she'd been hit by one. Again.

She'd spent most of Thursday night lying awake, alternating between convincing herself she was absolutely going to the show and convincing herself she was absolutely not going to the show. At around three AM, she'd given up on sleep entirely and started looking through her closet, trying to figure out what someone wore to a dive bar in Plainview.

Not that she was going.

But if she was going, hypothetically, she needed to know.

Her closet looked back at her like a shrine to a person she didn't recognize anymore. Juicy Couture tracksuits in every color. Designer jeans that cost more than most people's car payments. Shirts from Abercrombie and Hollister and all the places that smelled aggressively like teenage boy and played music so loud you couldn't think.

Nothing looked right for a show at The Note.

She'd ended up pulling out the black t-shirt she'd bought at American Eagle, the one she'd told herself was for casual outings, definitely not for concerts, and pairing it with her favorite jeans. Then she'd thrown the whole outfit on her desk chair and gone back to bed, where she'd stared at her ceiling until her alarm went off at ten.

Now it was six PM, and Regina was sitting on her bathroom floor again, which was becoming a concerning pattern.

The outfit was laid out on her bed. Black t-shirt, jeans, her Puma sneakers because she wasn't about to wear heels to a dive bar. It looked normal. Casual. Like something a regular person would wear to see a band.

It didn't look like Regina George at all.

Her phone buzzed. She grabbed it with the desperation of someone who'd been checking it every four minutes for the past six hours.

GRETCHEN: regina!! karen and i are going to the movies tonight, do u want to come??

GRETCHEN: we're seeing wedding crashers!!

KAREN: omg yes please come!! we miss u!!

Regina looked at the messages. Wedding Crashers. The movies. A normal Friday night with her friends, doing normal friend things.

Or.

A dive bar in Plainview. A band called Löded Diper. A drummer who didn't know or care who she was.

She typed: can't sorry, have plans

GRETCHEN: omg what plans??

KAREN: are u doing something for northwestern??

REGINA: something like that

She closed her phone before they could ask more questions. Then she stood up, looked at herself in the mirror, and did something she hadn't done in years.

She left her hair down. No straightening, no curling, no products beyond a little anti-frizz serum. Just... her hair. The way it naturally fell.

She did her makeup lighter than usual. Still enough to look like she'd tried, but not enough to look like she was trying too hard. Mascara, lip gloss, a tiny bit of blush. Done.

She put on the outfit. The black t-shirt fit perfectly, not too tight but not baggy either. The jeans were her favorite pair, the ones that actually made her look like she had a shape beyond "tall and blonde." The Pumas were clean, white, completely inappropriate for her usual crowd.

She looked like a normal girl going to see a band.

She looked like someone who might belong at The Note.

Regina grabbed her purse, Marc Jacobs, because she had standards, and her car keys. Her hands were shaking slightly, which was ridiculous. She'd thrown parties for two hundred people. She'd given speeches in front of the entire school. She'd survived being hit by a bus and the subsequent humiliation of her very public downfall.

She could handle a rock show in Plainview.

She was halfway down the stairs when her mom appeared in the hallway like a velour-clad genie.

"Gina! Where are you going?"

Regina paused. "Out."

"Out where?"

"Just... out."

Her mom's eyes narrowed in that way that meant she was about to start asking questions Regina definitely didn't want to answer. "Is this about that boy? The one in the band?"

"No."

"Regina."

"Mom, I'm just going to meet some people. It's not a big deal."

"What people? From Northwestern?"

"Sure."

"Regina Marie George, are you lying to me?"

This was it. Regina could lie, say she was going to the movies with Gretchen and Karen, and spend the rest of the night watching Vince Vaughn make jokes about getting laid at weddings. Or she could tell the truth and deal with her mom's inevitable freak-out.

"I'm going to a show," Regina said. "A rock show. In Plainview."

Her mom blinked. "Plainview?"

"It's forty-five minutes away."

"I know where Plainview is. Why are you going to Plainview?"

"Because there's a band playing."

"The band. The one with the boy."

"His name is Rodrick."

"Rodrick." Her mom said it like she was testing out the word, seeing how it felt in her mouth. "And you're going to see his band play."

"Maybe. I haven't decided yet."

"You're dressed and holding your car keys."

"I'm still deciding."

Her mom crossed her arms. She was wearing a purple tracksuit today, which somehow made this conversation even more surreal. "Does this band play in a safe venue?"

"I assume so."

"You assume?"

"Mom, I'm not going to get murdered at a rock show."

"People get murdered at rock shows all the time!"

"No they don't."

"They get trampled. I saw it on the news."

"That was a Who concert in 1979."

"Still!" Her mom uncrossed her arms and softened slightly. "I just worry about you, sweetie. You're my baby."

"I know."

"And this boy, Rodrick, you really like him?"

Regina thought about that. Did she like him? She barely knew him. They'd had one conversation and one phone call. He played drums in a terrible band and lived with his grandmother in the basement and didn't care that she was Regina George.

"I don't know," she said honestly. "But I want to find out."

Her mom studied her for a long moment. Then she sighed, the way she did when she was about to give in but wanted Regina to know she wasn't happy about it.

"Home by midnight."

"Mom—"

"Eleven-thirty if there's any drinking. And I mean any, Regina. One beer and you call me for a ride."

"I'm not drinking."

"Good. And text me when you get there so I know you're safe."

"Fine."

"And if this Rodrick boy tries anything—"

"Mom, oh my god, I'm leaving."

Regina made it to her car before her mom could add anything else to the list of rules. Her silver BMW, a graduation present from her parents, sat in the driveway looking completely out of place next to her dad's Lexus and her mom's Range Rover. It was the kind of car that screamed "my parents have money," which had been great at North Shore but felt weird now.

She got in, turned on the engine, and sat there for a solid minute, gripping the steering wheel.

She could still back out. Could text Gretchen and Karen, tell them she'd changed her mind about her plans. Could go see Wedding Crashers and laugh at the right parts and come home at a reasonable hour and forget this whole week had ever happened.

Instead, she pulled up the directions to The Note on her Razr, set the phone in her cup holder where she could see the screen, and backed out of the driveway.

It was seven o'clock. She'd get there right at seven-thirty, like Rodrick had suggested. Not too early, not too late. Perfectly casual.

The drive to Plainview was exactly as scenic as she'd expected, which was to say not scenic at all. She took the highway past Evanston, past the suburbs that gradually got less expensive-looking, past the outlet mall where her mom liked to pretend she was getting deals on designer clothes.

Plainview started around mile marker forty-two, announcing itself with a gas station and a McDonald's that looked like it hadn't been updated since the nineties. Regina followed her phone's directions down Main Street, past the closed video rental store and the laundromat and a diner called Pete's that had a neon sign in the window advertising "BREAKFAST ALL DAY."

The Note was exactly where Rodrick had said it would be, wedged between the laundromat and what appeared to be an insurance office. The building was painted black, with white letters above the door spelling out the venue's name. There were posters plastered all over the front, bands Regina had never heard of, dates that had already passed, everything covered in a light layer of grime that suggested no one had cleaned this wall in approximately a decade.

There were people outside. Not a lot of people, maybe eight or nine, but more than Regina had expected for a band with seven confirmed fans. They were mostly guys, wearing band t-shirts and jeans that hung too low on their hips. A few girls scattered in the mix, dressed in black and chains and the kind of eyeliner that took serious commitment.

Regina parked across the street and sat in her car, watching.

This was insane. She was insane. She should drive home right now, text Rodrick something about being busy, and pretend this whole thing had never happened.

A van pulled up in front of The Note. It was white, covered in rust spots and bumper stickers, with "LÖDED DIPER" spray-painted across the side in that same horrible font from the flyer.

The side door slid open and four guys climbed out, and Regina recognized Rodrick immediately. He was wearing the same black Löded Diper shirt from the community center, or maybe a different one that was identical, she couldn't tell. His hair was exactly as terrible as she remembered, shaggy and dark and falling in his eyes in a way that should have been annoying but somehow worked.

He was laughing at something one of the other guys said, his whole face lighting up, and Regina felt her stomach do this weird flip thing that she absolutely hated.

She watched as they started unloading equipment from the van. Rodrick grabbed what looked like a snare drum, balancing it against his hip while he reached back in for something else. One of the other guys—tall, skinny, holding a guitar case, said something that made Rodrick flip him off while still holding the drum.

They looked like they were having fun. Like this was exactly where they wanted to be on a Friday night.

Regina checked her reflection in the rearview mirror one more time. Her hair looked okay. Her makeup looked okay. She looked like a normal person going to a normal show.

She looked nothing like Regina George.

She got out of the car.

The walk across the street felt like it took approximately seventeen years. Regina was hyperaware of everything, the sound of her Pumas on the pavement, the weight of her purse on her shoulder, the way her jeans felt against her legs. She'd walked into North Shore High every single day for four years like she owned the place, and now she couldn't make it fifty feet without feeling like she might throw up.

One of the guys outside The Note noticed her first. He nudged his friend, and they both turned to look. Regina braced herself for recognition, for the whispers, for the "oh my god is that Regina George?" that had followed her everywhere since the bus incident.

Instead, one of them just said, "Five bucks," and held out his hand.

Regina stared at him. "What?"

"Cover charge. Five bucks." He gestured to a small table set up by the door with a cash box and a stamp pad. "Unless you're on the list?"

"I'm not on the list."

"Then five bucks."

Regina pulled a five-dollar bill from her wallet, had three hundred dollars in there because she never knew when she might need it, which seemed excessive now, and handed it over. The guy stamped her hand with a smudged star and jerked his thumb toward the door.

"Metallic Closure goes on in ten. Löded Diper after."

"Thanks."

Regina walked through the door and immediately regretted every decision she'd made in the past week.

The inside of The Note was exactly as terrible as she'd imagined, only somehow worse. The floor was sticky like, aggressively sticky, the kind of sticky that made her shoes make little peeling sounds with every step. The walls were black, covered in more band posters and graffiti that ranged from artistic to just offensive. There was a bar in the back corner staffed by a guy who looked like he'd rather be literally anywhere else, and a small stage at the front with duct tape holding down cables and equipment that had definitely seen better days.

The crowd was bigger inside, maybe twenty five people total, scattered around in groups. Most of them were guys, but there were a few girls who looked like they'd raided the clearance section at Hot Topic and decided more was more.

Regina stood just inside the door, clutching her purse, feeling more out of place than she'd ever felt in her entire life. And she'd been to a Mathletes competition once, so that was saying something.

"Regina?"

She turned and found Rodrick standing about three feet away, holding a bottle of water and staring at her like he'd just seen a ghost.

"Hey," she said.

"You came."

"I came."

"You actually came." He looked genuinely shocked, which was both flattering and insulting. "I didn't think you would."

"I told you I might."

"Yeah, but like..." He gestured vaguely at her, then at the venue, then back at her. "You're here. At The Note. In Plainview."

"Is that a problem?"

"No! No, it's—" He ran his hand through his hair, making it stick up even worse. "It's cool. Really cool. I just... yeah."

They stood there for a second, neither of them quite knowing what to say. Regina had never had this problem before. She always knew what to say, how to act, how to make people comfortable or uncomfortable depending on what the situation required. But right now, standing in a dive bar in Plainview while Rodrick looked at her like she'd just done something completely unexpected, she had no idea what the script was supposed to be.

"So," she said finally. "This is The Note."

"Yep. This is it." Rodrick looked around like he was seeing it through her eyes. "It's kind of a dump."

"Kind of?"

"Okay, it's definitely a dump. But the acoustics are decent and they let us play whenever we want, so." He shrugged. "Plus, the guy who runs it is cool. His name's Chuck. He used to be in a band in the eighties. They opened for Poison once."

"I don't know who Poison is."

"They're—never mind. Not important." Rodrick took a sip of his water. "You want something to drink? They don't card if you look old enough, but I don't drink before shows because it messes with my coordination."

"I'm good."

"Cool. Cool." He was nervous. Regina could tell because he kept shifting his weight from foot to foot and doing this thing with his hands where he'd start to gesture and then stop halfway through. "So, uh, Metallic Closure goes on in a few minutes. They're not great, but they're not terrible. And then we go on around nine."

"You told me."

"Right. Yeah. I did." He looked at her. "I'm glad you came."

"You already said that."

"I'm saying it again." His smile was crooked and kind of dorky and Regina hated how much she didn't hate it. "Come on, I'll introduce you to the guys."

Before Regina could protest, Rodrick was already walking toward the stage, weaving through the crowd with the ease of someone who'd done this a hundred times. Regina followed, hyperaware of people looking at her, of how out of place her outfit probably was despite her best efforts.

The other three members of Löded Diper were standing near the stage, messing with equipment and arguing about something. They all looked up when Rodrick approached with Regina in tow.

"Guys, this is Regina," Rodrick said. "Regina, this is Ward, Chris, and Drew."

Ward was holding a bass guitar and looked like he hadn't showered in three days. Chris was taller, leaner, with a guitar slung across his back and a face that was objectively attractive if you ignored the eyebrow piercing. Drew was the shortest of the group, wearing a shirt that said "Your Favorite Band Sucks" and looking at Regina with undisguised curiosity.

"Regina," Drew repeated. "Like the Regina?"

Regina's stomach dropped. "What?"

"The one Rodrick won't shut up about?" Drew grinned. "He's been talking about you all week. Regina this, Regina that, Regina might come to the show—"

"Drew, shut up," Rodrick said quickly, his face turning red.

"I'm just saying, dude. You've been obsessed."

"I haven't been obsessed. I mentioned her like twice."

"You mentioned her seventeen times yesterday alone," Ward said without looking up from tuning his bass. "I counted."

Regina looked at Rodrick, who looked like he wanted the sticky floor to open up and swallow him whole.

"Seventeen times?" she asked.

"They're exaggerating."

"We're really not," Chris said. He stuck out his hand for Regina to shake. "Nice to meet you. Rodrick said you gave him feedback on his tempo."

"I did."

"Was he rushing?"

"Yes."

"I knew it." Chris shot Rodrick a look. "I told you."

"Okay, everyone can stop talking now," Rodrick said. "Regina, you want to grab a spot before Metallic Closure starts? The front fills up fast."

"I thought you said this place only gets like twenty people."

"Yeah, but they all stand at the front."

Regina let Rodrick lead her away from his bandmates, who were all grinning like they'd just witnessed something hilarious. She could feel them watching as they walked toward the stage area, could hear Drew say something that made the others laugh.

"Sorry about them," Rodrick said once they were far enough away. "They're idiots."

"You talked about me?"

"I mean, I mentioned you. There's a difference."

"Seventeen times?"

"Ward was definitely exaggerating. It was probably more like five."

Regina stopped walking and looked at him. His face was still red, and he was doing that thing again where he couldn't quite meet her eyes. He looked nervous and embarrassed and completely unprepared for this conversation.

"Why?" she asked.

"Why what?"

"Why did you talk about me?"

Rodrick finally looked at her. "Because you're interesting."

"Interesting."

"Yeah. Like, you're this person who everyone knows about, who had this whole life that was probably really intense, and you just... showed up at a community center mixer looking miserable." He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "And then you gave me actually good advice about my drumming, which no one ever does. Usually people just say 'that was great' even when it wasn't. But you were honest. And mean. But in a helpful way."

Regina didn't know what to say to that. She'd been called a lot of things in her life, popular, pretty, terrifying, Queen Bee, even reformed mean girl, but never interesting. Not in a way that felt like a compliment.

"So yeah," Rodrick continued. "I mentioned it to the guys. That this girl came to my practice and actually knew what she was talking about and might come to our show even though she's probably too good for places like this."

"I'm not too good for this place."

"Regina, you're wearing a Marc Jacobs purse."

"How do you know it's Marc Jacobs?"

"My mom has magazines." He grinned. "And I pay attention sometimes."

Before Regina could respond, the lights dimmed slightly and feedback squealed through the speakers. A voice came over the PA system, scratchy, bored, definitely Chuck's.

"Alright, alright. Next up we got Metallic Closure. Give it up."

Smattering of applause. Four guys took the stage, all wearing matching black shirts with their band logo, which was, as Rodrick had implied, supposed to look like Velcro but just looked like a mess of lines.

"This is gonna be rough," Rodrick said, leaning close enough that Regina could smell his deodorant again. Still Axe. Still somehow not completely terrible. "But stick it out. We're way better."

"That's a low bar."

"Just wait."

Metallic Closure started playing, and Regina immediately understood what Rodrick meant. They were bad. Not amateur bad, but bad bad. The drummer was half a beat behind the rest of the band, the guitarist kept hitting wrong notes, and the lead singer sounded like he was being strangled while trying to remember the lyrics.

"Oh my god," Regina said.

"I know."

"This is painful."

"I know."

"How do they have twenty fans?"

"I have no idea. I think they might be related to people." Rodrick was trying not to laugh. "See, this is what I mean. We're not great, but we're not this."

They watched Metallic Closure butcher their way through three songs that all sounded exactly the same. The crowd was polite but unenthusiastic, a few people nodding along more out of obligation than genuine enjoyment. Someone's mom was in the back taking pictures, which was somehow sadder than the music itself.

Regina found herself actually looking forward to Löded Diper, which was something she never thought she'd think.

"How long do they usually play?" she asked.

"Twenty minutes. Chuck caps the openers at twenty because otherwise they'd go on forever."

"This feels like forever."

"Three more songs."

Regina survived the three more songs by focusing on everything except the stage. She studied the crowd—mostly people her age or a little older, all dressed in variations of black with the occasional band shirt thrown in. No one was looking at her. No one cared that she was there. She was just another person in the crowd, anonymous and unremarkable.

It felt amazing.

When Metallic Closure finally finished and the lead singer said "Thank you, we're Metallic Closure" like anyone could possibly forget, Regina actually felt relieved.

"Okay," Rodrick said, and suddenly he looked nervous again. "We're up. I gotta go."

"Okay."

"Just... stay right here. Front and center. That way I can see you."

"Why do you need to see me?"

"I don't know. Just do." He started backing toward the stage, nearly tripping over a cable. "And if we're terrible, you can leave. I won't be mad."

"I'm not going to leave."

"But if we're really terrible—"

"Rodrick, go."

He grinned, gave her a small salute, and disappeared backstage.

Regina stood there in the middle of The Note, surrounded by strangers in a town she'd never been to, waiting to watch a band called Löded Diper play songs with titles like "Explöded Diper" and "You Ruined My Life (And My Van)."

Her phone buzzed. She pulled it out.

MOM: did you make it safely??

REGINA: yes im fine

MOM: have fun sweetie!! text me when you're leaving!!

MOM: and remember!! no drinking!!

REGINA: i know mom

Regina put her phone away and looked at the stage. The lights were dimming again, and she could see movement behind the curtain, not that there was really a curtain, more like a ratty black sheet that someone had hung up to separate backstage from the stage.

Chuck's voice came over the PA again.

"Alright, alright. Now we got the band you've all been waiting for. They're loud, they're obnoxious, and they're probably gonna get us another noise complaint. Give it up for Löded Diper!"

The crowd actually cheered this time. Not thunderous applause, but genuine enthusiasm from at least half the people there. Regina looked around and realized there were more people than she'd thought—the venue had filled up while she wasn't paying attention. Not forty people, but close to thirty at least.

The sheet pulled back and Löded Diper took the stage.

Ward went to his bass, Chris strapped on his guitar, Drew grabbed the mic, and Rodrick sat down behind the drums. He was scanning the crowd, and when his eyes found Regina right where he'd told her to stand, his entire face lit up.

He gave her a quick nod.

She nodded back.

"What's up, Plainview!" Drew yelled into the mic, and the crowd cheered. "We're Löded Diper, and we're here to make your ears bleed!"

Someone in the back yelled "YEAH!" with way too much enthusiasm.

"This first song is called 'Explöded Diper,'" Drew continued. "It's about my dad's van that we definitely didn't blow up. Ward, count us off."

Ward tapped his bass four times, and then they started playing.

And here's the thing Regina wasn't expecting: they were actually good.

Not amazing. Not professional. But genuinely, surprisingly, impressively good. Chris's guitar work was tight and fast, Ward kept the bass line steady despite looking like he might fall asleep, and Drew's voice was raw and energetic in a way that actually worked with the music.

But Rodrick.

Rodrick was in his element. He played like he'd been born behind that drum kit, like the sticks were extensions of his arms. Every hit was precise, every fill was intricate, and he played with this energy that was completely infectious. He was completely focused, his terrible hair falling in his eyes, his whole body moving with the rhythm.

And then he looked up and caught Regina's eye and grinned, and she felt her stomach do that stupid flip thing again.

The song was loud and aggressive and kind of chaotic, but it worked. The crowd was moving, actually moving, jumping and nodding and getting into it. Regina found herself swaying slightly, caught up in the energy despite herself.

When the song ended, the crowd cheered. Actual, genuine cheering.

"Thank you!" Drew yelled. "That was fun. This next one's called 'You Ruined My Life (And My Van).' It's about Ward's ex-girlfriend."

"She's a—" Ward leaned into his mic and said a word that definitely couldn't be repeated in polite company.

The crowd laughed. Drew counted them off. They launched into the next song.

This one was angrier, faster, with Ward's bass line driving the whole thing forward. Drew sang about keyed paint and slashed tires and destroyed trust, and Regina could see the genuine emotion in his performance. The crowd ate it up.

Regina watched Rodrick through the whole song. Watched the way he moved, the way he played, the way he looked like this was the only thing in the world that mattered. She'd spent four years at North Shore watching people perform—cheerleaders, athletes, student council presidents giving speeches, but she'd never seen anyone look like this. Like they were exactly where they were supposed to be.

They played six songs total. Six songs that were loud and rough around the edges but undeniably good. Six songs that made the crowd move and cheer and yell for more. Six songs that made Regina forget she was Regina George, standing in a dive bar in Plainview on a Friday night.

When they finished their set with a song called "Heavy Metal" that was, ironically, not heavy metal at all, the crowd actually chanted for an encore.

"We don't have any more songs!" Drew yelled into the mic, laughing. "That's literally our entire setlist!"

"Play 'Explöded' again!" someone shouted.

Drew looked at the band. They all shrugged. Rodrick twirled a drumstick and nodded.

They played "Explöded Diper" again, and this time Regina let herself actually move to the music. Nothing crazy, just swaying, nodding her head, letting herself feel it. No one was watching her. No one cared. She was just another person in the crowd, enjoying the show.

When the song ended for the second time, Drew gave the mic a final "Thank you, Plainview!" and they walked off stage to genuine applause.

Regina stood there for a second, not quite sure what to do. The crowd was dispersing, people heading to the bar or outside or just milling around talking. She pulled out her phone and checked the time: 9:47 PM.

She'd been here for over two hours, and it had felt like twenty minutes.

"So?"

Regina turned to find Rodrick standing next to her, still slightly sweaty from the show, his hair even more of a disaster than usual. He was holding his drumsticks and looking at her with an expression that was trying very hard to be casual but was clearly anxious.

"So?" Regina repeated.

"What did you think?"

She could tell him it was good. That he was talented. That the show was surprisingly fun and his band was better than she'd expected.

Instead, she said, "Your tempo was better."

His face broke into the biggest smile she'd ever seen. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. You fixed the rushing. Most of the time."

"Most of the time is better than none of the time." He was still grinning like an idiot. "What else?"

"Chris is really good. Like, really good. He should probably be in a better band."

"Don't tell him that, he'll get a big head."

"Ward is fine. He keeps the rhythm steady but he's not doing anything interesting."

"Ward knows like six bass lines total."

"And Drew..." Regina paused. "Drew actually has stage presence. He knows how to work the crowd."

"He's been practicing." Rodrick shifted his weight, and Regina realized he was still nervous. Still waiting for her to say something about him. "What about me?"

"You're good."

"Just good?"

"You're really good," Regina corrected. "Like, legitimately talented. You were right about feeling it. When you're playing, it's..." She stopped, not sure how to finish that sentence.

"It's what?"

"It's like nothing else matters. Like you're exactly where you're supposed to be."

Rodrick stared at her. "Yeah. That's exactly what it feels like."

They stood there for a moment, neither of them quite knowing what to say next. The venue was getting louder around them, people talking and laughing, someone yelling about going to Pete's Diner for food.

"Do you have to help clean up?" Regina asked finally.

"Nah, Drew and Ward got it. They owe me for loading the van earlier." Rodrick glanced toward the door. "You hungry?"

"Kind of."

"Pete's has good fries. And their shakes are massive." He paused. "If you want. No pressure. I know you probably have to get home or whatever."

Regina thought about her mom's text, about the midnight curfew, about the fact that she'd already been gone for almost three hours and should probably head back before her mom started planning a search party.

"I could eat," she said.

Rodrick's smile was back, smaller this time but somehow more genuine. "Cool. Let me tell the guys."

He jogged over to where Ward and Chris were coiling cables, said something that made them both turn to look at Regina, and jogged back.

"They're being weird about it," he said.

"About what?"

"About you. They think you're like, way too cool to hang out with us."

"I'm standing in The Note at nine-forty-seven on a Friday night. I'm clearly not that cool."

"That's what I said!" Rodrick held the door open for her as they walked out. "But they don't listen to me."

The air outside was cooler than Regina expected, a relief after the stuffiness of the venue. There were still people scattered around the front of The Note, smoking and talking. A few of them nodded at Rodrick as he passed, and he nodded back like this was completely normal.

Pete's Diner was three blocks down, a walk that took about five minutes at the pace Rodrick set—not rushed, but not slow either, like he did this all the time.

"So," he said as they walked. "You actually came."

"I already came. We established this."

"I know, but like..." He ran his hand through his hair again. "I really didn't think you would. I thought you'd text me some excuse or just ghost me completely."

"I don't ghost people."

"You're Regina George. You could probably ghost people and they'd apologize for making you do it."

Regina laughed despite herself. "Is that what you think I do?"

"I don't know. Maybe? I'm still trying to figure you out."

"What's there to figure out?"

"Everything." He said it simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Like, why did you actually come tonight? Was it just to see if we were as bad as you thought we'd be?"

Regina considered lying. It would be easier. But something about walking down the street in Plainview with a guy who played drums in a band called Löded Diper made her want to be honest.

"I came because you didn't care," she said finally.

"Didn't care about what?"

"About who I was. About what I did at North Shore. About any of it." She looked at him. "Everyone I know either treats me like I'm still the person I was before the bus, or they treat me like I'm this reformed person who needs to be handled carefully. But you just... treated me like a person."

Rodrick was quiet for a second. "That's because you are just a person."

"Most people don't see it that way."

"Then most people are stupid." He said it matter-of-factly, like it wasn't even worth debating. "You're Regina. You're smart and you know about music and you have opinions. That's it. Everything else is just noise."

They reached Pete's Diner, and Rodrick held the door open for her again. The inside was exactly what Regina expected from a diner that advertised breakfast all day—red vinyl booths, a long counter with spinning stools, a jukebox in the corner playing something that sounded like it was from before her parents were born.

"Rodrick!" A woman behind the counter, fifty-ish, with reading glasses on a chain around her neck, waved at them. "Usual spot?"

"Yeah, thanks Carol!"

Rodrick led Regina to a booth in the back corner, the vinyl seat squeaking as she slid in. He sat across from her and immediately grabbed two menus from behind the napkin dispenser.

"Get the fries," he said. "And a chocolate shake. Trust me."

"I don't like chocolate."

"You don't—" He looked genuinely offended. "How do you not like chocolate?"

"It's too sweet."

"It's chocolate. It's supposed to be sweet."

"Get strawberry then," Carol said, appearing next to their booth with a notepad. "Or vanilla if you're boring. Rodrick, you want the usual?"

"Cheeseburger, fries, chocolate shake. Extra pickles."

"Extra pickles, got it." Carol looked at Regina. "And for you, hon?"

"Um." Regina scanned the menu quickly. Everything looked like it had approximately nine thousand calories. "Just fries. And a vanilla shake."

"Vanilla," Rodrick said, shaking his head. "Boring choice."

"I'm not boring."

"Your milkshake choice says otherwise."

Carol walked away, and Regina found herself actually smiling. "Do you always come here after shows?"

"Pretty much. It's tradition." Rodrick leaned back in the booth. "We used to go to this other place, but they kicked us out because Ward got into a fight with someone about whether Green Day sold out."

"Did they?"

"Depends who you ask. Ward says yes. I say American Idiot was actually pretty good."

"I liked American Idiot."

"See? You have taste." Rodrick was doing that thing again where he looked at her like he was trying to figure something out. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Why Northwestern?"

Regina blinked. "What?"

"Why did you pick Northwestern? Like, you could've probably gone anywhere. Why there?"

"It's a good school."

"That's not an answer."

"Yes it is."

"No, it's a deflection." He said it without judgment, just observation. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want. I'm just curious."

Regina looked at him. At his terrible hair and his Löded Diper shirt and his complete lack of pretense. He was asking because he actually wanted to know, not because he was trying to make conversation or judge her answer.

"I picked it because it's close," she said finally. "Close enough that I can come home if I need to, but far enough that I can pretend I'm starting over. And because..." She stopped.

"Because?"

"Because I don't know who I'm supposed to be anymore." The words came out before she could stop them. "I spent four years being Regina George, and then I got hit by a bus and had to apologize to the entire school, and now everyone expects me to be this different person. But I don't know what that person looks like. So I picked Northwestern because it seemed like the kind of place where I could figure it out."

Rodrick nodded slowly. "That makes sense."

"It does?"

"Yeah. Fresh start." He picked at a scratch on the table. "That's kind of what I'm doing too. Everyone expects me to go to college, get a real job, stop 'wasting my time' with the band. But I know what I want. I want to play drums. That's it. So I'm just... doing that."

"And working for your dad."

"Yeah, well. Gotta pay for gas somehow." He grinned. "The lawn service business is thriving. You'd be surprised how many people need their grass cut."

Carol returned with their food, two baskets of fries that were still steaming, two massive milkshakes in tall glasses with whipped cream and cherries on top. Rodrick's burger looked like it could feed three people.

"Here you go. Enjoy." Carol walked away again.

Regina picked up a fry. It was perfectly crispy, perfectly salted. She took a bite and made an involuntary sound that she immediately regretted.

Rodrick laughed. "Told you."

"Okay, these are good."

"Pete's fries are legendary. They use duck fat or something." He took a massive bite of his burger, somehow managing not to make a complete mess of himself. "So what do you think you want to major in?"

"I don't know. Something practical. Business, maybe?"

"That sounds boring."

"You think everything's boring."

"Not everything. Just practical things." He dipped a fry in his shake, which was disgusting, and ate it. "What do you actually want to do?"

Regina thought about that. No one had ever asked her what she actually wanted to do, just what she was going to major in, what career path she was considering, what would be most useful for her future.

"I don't know," she admitted. "I like music. And I'm good at organizing things, telling people what to do."

"You should be a music producer."

"A what?"

"Music producer. They organize everything in the studio, tell people what to do, make the music sound good." Rodrick said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You'd be good at it. You already gave me feedback that actually helped."

Regina had never considered that before. Being a music producer. Working with music, with artists, creating something that mattered.

"That's not a realistic career," she said automatically, because that's what her mom would say, what her guidance counselor would say, what everyone in her life who'd ever given her advice would say.

"Why not?"

"Because it's not."

"That's not a reason." Rodrick leaned forward. "Look, I'm gonna be working for my dad and playing dive bars probably forever. But at least I'm doing what I want. You're going to a fancy college. You actually have options. Don't pick the boring one just because people expect you to."

Regina stared at him. He was right. She hated that he was right, but he was.

"I'll think about it," she said.

"Good." He grinned and stole one of her fries. "These are better than mine."

"They're exactly the same."

"Yours taste better because I'm stealing them."

They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, and Regina found herself relaxing in a way she hadn't in months. Maybe years. There was something about sitting in a diner at ten PM with a guy who didn't care about her past or her reputation or anything except whether or not she liked the fries.

"Can I ask you something?" Regina said.

"Sure."

"Why do you keep the band name? If you started it when you were twelve and it's terrible?"

Rodrick thought about that for a second. "Because it reminds me why we started. We were just kids who wanted to play music and make our friends laugh. We didn't care if it was stupid or if people made fun of us. We just... did it." He picked up another fry. "And yeah, it's a terrible name. But it's our terrible name. Changing it would feel like pretending we're something we're not."

"That's actually kind of sweet."

"Don't tell anyone. I have a reputation to maintain."

"Of being the guy whose band is named after a diaper?"

"Exactly."

Regina laughed—actually laughed, not a polite chuckle or a fake giggle, but a real laugh. Rodrick grinned at her like he'd just won something.

Her phone buzzed. She pulled it out and saw it was already 10:45.

MOM: sweetie its getting late

MOM: are you okay??

REGINA: i'm fine, having food

MOM: with who??

REGINA: the band

MOM: THE BAND??

MOM: REGINA MARIE

Regina closed her phone before her mom could send another dozen messages.

"I should probably head home soon," she said. "My mom's freaking out."

"Yeah, my mom probably is too. She tracks my location on her phone." Rodrick didn't sound particularly bothered by this. "Ward can give me a ride home."

They finished their food, Regina ended up eating way more fries than she'd intended, and Rodrick insisted on paying even though she offered to split it.

"You came all the way to Plainview," he said. "Least I can do is buy you some fries."

They walked back to The Note in silence that wasn't awkward, just comfortable. The street was quieter now, most of the show crowd having dispersed. Regina's BMW was still parked across the street, looking ridiculously out of place next to all the beat-up Honda Civics and Ford Focuses.

"That's your car?" Rodrick asked.

"Graduation present."

"Of course it is." He didn't sound judgmental, just amused. "It's very you."

"Is that an insult?"

"It's an observation."

Regina unlocked her car but didn't get in yet. She turned to face Rodrick, who was standing there with his hands in his pockets, looking like he wanted to say something but wasn't sure how.

"So," he said.

"So."

"You gonna come to another show?"

Regina hadn't thought about that. She'd been so focused on just surviving this one that the idea of there being another one hadn't crossed her mind.

"Maybe. When's the next one?"

"Two weeks. Same place, same time. We're trying to build a regular following." He kicked at a pebble on the sidewalk. "Ward wants to record a demo soon. Like, an actual professional one. We've been saving up."

"That's cool."

"Yeah." He looked up at her. "You could come to the recording session if you want. Give us more feedback. Tell Ward his bass lines are boring."

"I said they were fine."

"You said they weren't interesting. That's basically the same thing." He was smiling now, that crooked smile that made Regina's stomach do things she refused to acknowledge. "But seriously. If you want to come, you should. It'll be at this guy's house in Plainview. He's got a whole setup in his basement. It's actually pretty legit."

"I'll think about it," Regina said, which was becoming her default response to everything Rodrick suggested.

"Cool. I'll text you the details." He paused. "That is, if you actually want me to text you. I know you've been super busy with college stuff and—"

"Rodrick."

"Yeah?"

"Text me."

His entire face lit up. "Yeah. Okay. I will."

They stood there for another moment, neither of them quite ready to end the night. Regina could hear music playing faintly from inside The Note, could hear car doors slamming and people laughing somewhere down the street. Plainview at eleven PM on a Friday night was somehow exactly what she'd expected and nothing like it at the same time.

"Thanks for coming," Rodrick said finally. "I know it probably wasn't your scene or whatever, but... it meant a lot. That you showed up."

"It was fun," Regina said, and she meant it. "Your band is good. Really good. You should keep doing it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Don't listen to people who tell you to give up and go to college. You're actually talented."

Rodrick looked at her like she'd just told him he'd won the lottery. "That's like, the nicest thing anyone's ever said about my drumming."

"Your mom said you were good."

"My mom has to say that. You don't." He shifted his weight. "Drive safe, okay? Text me when you get home so I know you didn't like, crash or whatever."

"I'm not going to crash."

"Just text me anyway."

"Fine."

Regina got in her car, and Rodrick stepped back onto the sidewalk. She started the engine, which purred to life with the kind of smooth luxury that felt completely wrong for this street, this town, this entire night.

She rolled down her window. "Rodrick?"

He walked back over. "Yeah?"

"Your shirt is still hideous."

He laughed. "I'll wear a different one next time."

"There's a next time?"

"You said maybe to the recording session. Maybe is basically yes."

"Maybe is definitely not yes."

"We'll see." He tapped the roof of her car twice, like that was a normal way to say goodbye. "Drive safe, Regina George."

She rolled up her window and pulled away from the curb, watching in her rearview mirror as Rodrick stood there on the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, watching her go. He didn't move until she turned the corner and he disappeared from view.

The drive home felt shorter than the drive there, probably because Regina spent most of it replaying the entire night in her head. The show, the diner, the conversation about Northwestern and music production and terrible band names that stayed terrible because they meant something.

She thought about how Rodrick had looked on stage, completely in his element. How he'd listened when she talked about not knowing who she was supposed to be. How he'd paid for her fries and told her to text him when she got home like it was the most natural thing in the world.

She thought about how none of her friends from North Shore would understand this. Gretchen would ask a million questions about whether he was cute and whether Regina liked him. Karen would probably not remember his name by tomorrow. Cady might get it, but even she would probably have concerns about Regina driving forty-five minutes to see a band play in a dive bar.

But Regina didn't care.

For the first time in as long as she could remember, she didn't care what anyone else would think. She'd gone to Plainview, watched Löded Diper play, eaten fries at Pete's Diner, and had one of the best nights she'd had in years. And if that made her weird or different or not the person everyone expected her to be, then fine.

She pulled into her driveway at 11:32 PM. Her mom's Range Rover was in its spot, and the living room lights were still on, which meant her mom had definitely waited up.

Regina grabbed her purse, took a deep breath, and headed inside.

Her mom was on the couch watching some home improvement show, but she muted it the second Regina walked through the door.

"You're home!" Her mom jumped up like Regina had been gone for three months instead of four and a half hours. "How was it? Did you have fun? Was the venue safe? Did that boy—Rodrick—did he behave himself?"

"Mom, breathe."

"I'm breathing. I'm just concerned. You were gone for a long time."

"We went to a diner after. I texted you."

"You said you were having food with 'the band.' That could mean anything." Her mom crossed her arms. "Were there drugs?"

"Mom, oh my god."

"It's a legitimate question! Rock bands and drugs go together!"

"There were no drugs. It was a show at a small venue. People paid five dollars to get in. There was a guy's mom there taking pictures."

Her mom's expression softened slightly. "A mom was there?"

"Yes. Apparently, she comes to a lot of shows."

"Well, that's... that's actually kind of sweet." Her mom sat back down on the couch, and Regina recognized this as an invitation to join her. She sat down on the other end, curling her legs under her.

"So," her mom said, in that tone that meant she was trying very hard to be casual. "This Rodrick. Is he... nice?"

"He's fine."

"Just fine?"

"Mom."

"I'm just asking! You drove all the way to Plainview to see his band play. That seems like more than fine."

Regina picked at a loose thread on the couch cushion. "He's different from the guys at North Shore."

"Different how?"

"He doesn't care about the same things. Like, he doesn't care about college or having a plan or being successful in a normal way. He just wants to play drums." Regina looked at her mom. "And he treats me like I'm just a person. Not Regina George, not the girl who got hit by a bus, not anything. Just... Regina."

Her mom was quiet for a moment. "That sounds nice, sweetie."

"It is."

"Are you going to see him again?"

"Maybe. They have another show in two weeks. And he invited me to a recording session."

"A recording session?" Her mom's eyebrows went up. "That sounds serious."

"It's not serious. He just wants feedback on his drumming."

"Uh-huh." Her mom was smiling now, that knowing smile that made Regina want to sink into the couch cushions. "Well, I'm glad you had fun. And I'm glad you're making new friends, even if they are drummers in bands with questionable names."

"The name is terrible."

"I know. You told me three times." Her mom reached over and squeezed Regina's hand. "I'm proud of you, you know."

"For what?"

"For doing something that scared you. For putting yourself out there." Her mom's eyes got a little watery, which was alarming. "My baby's growing up."

"Mom, please don't cry."

"I'm not crying. I'm just... emotional." She wiped at her eyes. "Okay, I'm crying a little. But they're happy tears."

Regina let her mom hug her, even though she smelled like that weird essential oil she'd been diffusing all week and her velour tracksuit was kind of scratchy. It felt nice, being home, having someone care about where she'd been and whether she'd had fun.

"I'm going to bed," Regina said when her mom finally released her. "I'm exhausted."

"Okay, sweetie. Sleep well. Love you."

"Love you too."

Regina went upstairs to her room, closed the door, and immediately flopped face-first onto her bed. Her phone buzzed in her purse. She fished it out.

RODRICK: did you make it home alive

Regina smiled despite herself.

REGINA: yes

RODRICK: cool

RODRICK: thanks for coming tonight

RODRICK: seriously

REGINA: thanks for inviting me

RODRICK: the guys were being weird after you left

RODRICK: asking a million questions

REGINA: about what

RODRICK: about you

RODRICK: whether youre coming to the next show

RODRICK: whether you actually liked us or were just being nice

REGINA: i don't do nice

RODRICK: i know

RODRICK: thats what i told them

REGINA: and?

RODRICK: drew thinks youre too cool for me

RODRICK: wards betting you dont come to the next show

RODRICK: chris thinks you might actually become our manager or something

Regina laughed out loud.

REGINA: i'm not becoming your manager

RODRICK: i know but the idea is kind of funny

RODRICK: regina george managing löded diper

RODRICK: wed probably actually get somewhere

REGINA: you'd definitely get somewhere

REGINA: i don't accept failure

RODRICK: see this is what i mean

RODRICK: youre like scary in a good way

REGINA: i'm not scary

RODRICK: you told ward his bass lines were boring to his face

RODRICK: thats at least a little scary

REGINA: he needed to hear it

RODRICK: i know

RODRICK: okay i gotta go my moms yelling about something

RODRICK: probably my brother breaking something

RODRICK: ill text you about the recording session

REGINA: okay

RODRICK: goodnight regina george

REGINA: night rodrick

She closed her phone and set it on her nightstand. Then she got up, walked to her jewelry box, and pulled out the flyer. She looked at it for a long moment—the terrible clip art, the crooked text, Rodrick's chicken-scratch handwriting.

She should throw it away. She didn't need it anymore. She had his number saved in her phone, had actual plans to see him again, had no reason to keep a photocopied flyer from a show that was already over.

She folded it carefully and put it back in her jewelry box, under her Tiffany bracelet and next to the earrings from Aaron Samuels that she'd definitely throw away eventually but hadn't gotten around to yet.

Regina changed into her pajamas, washed her face, and crawled into bed. Her ceiling stars glowed faintly in the dark, and she stared at them like she'd done every night for the past four years.

But tonight, instead of thinking about North Shore or the bus or who she was supposed to be at Northwestern, she thought about The Note. About sticky floors and terrible opener bands and a drummer who played like nothing else mattered. About Pete's Diner and stealing fries and conversations that felt real in a way nothing had in a long time.

She thought about Rodrick telling her she should be a music producer, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Like she could be anything she wanted if she just stopped picking the boring option.

She thought about how, for the first time since the bus, she felt like maybe she was starting to figure out who Regina George actually was when she wasn't trying to be anyone else.

Her phone buzzed one more time.

RODRICK: oh also

RODRICK: your tempo feedback?

RODRICK: that was like actually really helpful

RODRICK: so thanks

Regina smiled in the dark.

REGINA: anytime.

And she meant it.

Saturday morning arrived with significantly less subtlety than Regina would have preferred. Her phone started buzzing at 9:47 AM—which should have been illegal on a weekend—and didn't stop until she finally grabbed it and squinted at the screen.

Fourteen texts from Gretchen.

Six from Karen.

Two from Cady with question marks.

And one from Janis Ian that just said: heard you had an interesting night.

Regina groaned and pulled her comforter over her head. This was exactly what she'd been trying to avoid. The questions, the analysis, the inevitable dissection of every single detail of her night.

Her phone rang. She considered not answering, but Gretchen would just keep calling until she picked up.

"What," Regina said into the phone.

"REGINA!" Gretchen's voice was so loud Regina had to pull the phone away from her ear. "Oh my god, where were you last night? Karen and I waited for you at the movies and you never showed up, and then I texted you like a million times and you didn't answer, and then I saw on Facebook that you weren't at the Northwestern thing either, so where WERE you?"

Regina sat up in bed and tried to remember if she'd ever told Gretchen she was going to the movies. She was pretty sure she hadn't.

"I was busy," Regina said.

"Busy with what?"

"Just... stuff."

"Regina." Gretchen's voice took on that tone she used when she was trying to extract information. "Are you seeing someone?"

"No."

"You are! You're totally seeing someone! Who is it? Is it someone from Northwestern? Did you meet him at the mixer?"

"Gretchen—"

"Oh my god, is it that guy from the lacrosse team? The one Karen said was cute? Or—wait—is it someone we know? From North Shore?"

"I'm not seeing anyone," Regina said firmly. "I just went to a concert."

There was a pause on the other end of the line. "A concert?"

"Yes."

"What concert?"

"Just... a local band."

"What local band?"

Regina closed her eyes. She could lie. Should lie. Telling Gretchen the truth would just lead to more questions, more analysis, more of everything she'd been trying to avoid.

"Löded Diper," she said.

Silence.

Then: "I'm sorry, did you say Loaded Diaper?"

"It's spelled differently."

"REGINA." Gretchen's voice had reached a pitch that probably only dogs could hear. "You went to see a band called LOADED DIAPER?"

"The spelling is—forget it. Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I wanted to."

"But—" Gretchen seemed to be having some kind of mental breakdown. "That's so... random. Like, I didn't even know you liked rock music. And where did you even find out about them? Was it online? Did someone recommend them? Are they famous?"

"They're not famous. I met the drummer at the Northwestern mixer."

"YOU MET THE DRUMMER?" Now Gretchen was practically screaming. "Regina, oh my god, you have to tell me everything. What's his name? Is he cute? Does he go to Northwestern? What does he—"

"Gretchen, I have to go."

"No! You can't just drop that information and leave! Karen's gonna freak out when I tell her—"

"Don't tell Karen."

"Why not?"

"Because it's not a big deal. I went to a concert. That's it."

"But—"

"Gretchen. Please. Just... don't make this into a thing."

There was another pause. When Gretchen spoke again, her voice was different—softer, more careful. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"You've just been acting weird lately. Like, distant. And now you're going to concerts for bands I've never heard of and not telling us about it." Gretchen sounded genuinely concerned, which made Regina feel guilty. "Did we do something wrong?"

"No. You didn't do anything." Regina picked at her comforter. "I'm just... figuring stuff out. It's not about you guys."

"Okay." Gretchen didn't sound entirely convinced. "But you'd tell us if something was wrong, right?"

"Yeah. I would."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"Okay. Well. Karen and I are going to the mall later if you want to come. We're looking at stuff for college."

Regina thought about the mall, about trailing after Gretchen and Karen through Hollister and Abercrombie, about pretending to care about which flip-flops were cuter or whether low-rise jeans were still in style.

"I can't. I have stuff to do."

"What stuff?"

"College stuff."

"Oh. Okay." Gretchen sounded disappointed. "Text me later though, okay?"

"Yeah. Okay."

Regina hung up and immediately felt terrible. Gretchen was her friend. Had been her friend for years. And here she was, lying about college stuff because she didn't want to explain that she'd rather spend her Saturday thinking about a drummer in Plainview than going to the mall.

What was wrong with her?

Her phone buzzed again. This time it was Cady.

CADY: so janis heard from damian who heard from someone that you went to a rock show last night?

CADY: is this true?

CADY: because if so i have questions

Of course Janis knew. Janis knew everything somehow. It was like she had a psychic connection to all the weird, alternative people in the greater Chicago area.

REGINA: how does janis know everything

CADY: i don't know its like a superpower

CADY: but seriously, are you okay?

REGINA: why does everyone keep asking if i'm okay

REGINA: i went to a concert

REGINA: people go to concerts

CADY: i know but you never go to concerts

CADY: at least not rock concerts

CADY: you told me you went to that britney spears concert junior year and complained the entire time

REGINA: that was different.

REGINA: the seats were terrible, and Gretchen wouldn't stop singing.

CADY: so you're becoming a rock music person now?

Regina stared at her phone. Was she? Was that what was happening? She'd gone to one show and suddenly everyone was acting like she'd joined a cult.

REGINA: i just went to see a band

REGINA: it's not that deep

CADY: okay

CADY: but if you want to talk about anything i'm here

CADY: no judgment

REGINA: i know

REGINA: thanks

Regina set her phone down and finally got out of bed. Her room looked exactly the same as it had yesterday morning—pink walls, photos everywhere, glow-in-the-dark stars, but somehow it felt different. Like she was seeing it through someone else's eyes.

She wondered what Rodrick would think if he saw her room. Would he make fun of all the pink? Would he think it was weirdly pristine, like a museum exhibit of Popular Girl Culture circa 2006?

Would he even care?

Regina grabbed her laptop and opened it to her Northwestern email. There were three new messages, one about orientation schedules, one about housing assignments, one about a welcome reception for incoming freshmen.

She should be excited about this. Should be making plans, connecting with future classmates, preparing for this new chapter of her life.

Instead, she opened a new browser tab and typed "music production programs Chicago" into Google.

The results were immediate. Columbia College had a music production program. DePaul had something similar. There were even some community colleges with courses in audio engineering and music business.

Regina clicked through a few websites, reading about program requirements and career prospects and alumni success stories. People who'd started out just like her—not sure what they wanted to do—and ended up working in studios, producing albums, running record labels.

It seemed impossible. She'd spent the last four years preparing for a completely different life. Business school, corporate internships, a nice safe career that her parents would approve of.

But music production.

Making something that mattered. Working with artists who were passionate about what they did. Being part of something creative and real and completely different from everything she'd known.

Regina closed her laptop and stared at the ceiling.

This was insane. She couldn't just change her entire life plan because some drummer in Plainview told her she should. That wasn't how responsible adults made decisions.

Her phone buzzed.

RODRICK: yo ward just sent me this

There was a video attached. Regina opened it and immediately started laughing.

It was footage from last night's show, clearly filmed on someone's phone from the back of the venue. The quality was terrible, the audio was worse, but there was Löded Diper on stage, playing "Explöded Diper" with entirely too much enthusiasm. And there, right in front, barely visible but definitely there, was Regina, actually swaying to the music.

REGINA: oh my god

REGINA: delete that immediately

RODRICK: why its a good video

RODRICK: you can see me not rushing the tempo

REGINA: you can see me moving like an idiot

RODRICK: youre not moving like an idiot

RODRICK: youre moving like someone whos enjoying the show

RODRICK: which is the whole point

REGINA: if this ends up on the internet i will end you

RODRICK: we dont have a website

RODRICK: or social media

RODRICK: ward keeps saying we should get a myspace but nobody knows how to make one

REGINA: you don't know how to make a myspace?

RODRICK: i barely know how to check my email

REGINA: that explains so much

RODRICK: anyway i just thought youd want to see it

RODRICK: proof that you actually had fun

Regina watched the video again. She looked happy. Like, genuinely happy. Not performing happiness or polite happiness or the kind of happiness you projected so people would think you were having a good time. Just... happy.

When was the last time she'd looked like that?

REGINA: it was a good show

RODRICK: yeah?

REGINA: yeah

RODRICK: cool

RODRICK: hey so about the recording session

RODRICK: its next saturday

RODRICK: afternoon probably

RODRICK: the guys place in plainview

RODRICK: you should come

REGINA: maybe

RODRICK: thats not a no

REGINA: that's not a yes

RODRICK: ill take it

Regina smiled and closed her phone. Then she opened her laptop again, pulled up the Northwestern email about the welcome reception, and started typing.

She'd go to the reception. Meet some people. Do the normal college freshman things. Be responsible.

But she'd also go to the recording session in Plainview. Because maybe being responsible didn't have to mean being boring. Maybe it just meant being honest about what she actually wanted.

And what she wanted, apparently, was to spend more time with a drummer in a terrible band who didn't care that she was Regina George.

Her door opened without knocking.

"Gina!" Her mom was holding what appeared to be a smoothie in an alarming shade of green. "I made you a—"

"No."

"You don't even know what it is!"

"I don't care. I'm not drinking it."

Her mom huffed but set the smoothie down on Regina's desk anyway. "Fine. But it's very nutritious. Lots of antioxidants."

"Great."

"So." Her mom sat down on the edge of Regina's bed in that way that meant she was about to ask questions. "How was the rest of your night? After you got home?"

"Fine."

"Just fine?"

"Mom, what do you want me to say?"

"I want you to tell me about this boy. This Rodrick." Her mom's eyes were doing that gleaming thing they did when she thought she was onto something. "Did he ask you out?"

"We had fries at a diner. That's not a date."

"It sounds like a date."

"It wasn't a date."

"Are you going to see him again?"

Regina hesitated. "Maybe. He invited me to a recording session next Saturday."

Her mom's eyebrows shot up. "A recording session?"

"His band is recording a demo."

"And he wants you there?"

"He wants my feedback. On his drumming."

Her mom was quiet for a moment, studying Regina's face. "You like him."

"I don't—"

"Gina, I'm your mother. I know when you like someone." Her mom smiled. "And that's okay. He sounds nice. Different, but nice."

"He is different." Regina picked at her comforter again. "That's kind of the point."

"Well." Her mom stood up. "Just be careful, okay? Boys in bands can be..."

"Mom, you already gave me this speech."

"I'm giving it again. They can be unreliable. And you're about to start college. You need to focus on school and making connections and—"

"I know, Mom."

Her mom sighed. "I just want you to be happy, sweetie. And if this drummer makes you happy, then..." She trailed off. "Just be smart about it, okay?"

"I will."

After her mom left, Regina lay back on her bed and stared at her ceiling stars. Be smart about it. That's what everyone wanted her to be. Smart, responsible, focused on her future.

But maybe being smart didn't have to mean playing it safe all the time.

Maybe being smart meant taking chances on things that scared her.

Like going to Northwestern without knowing who she was supposed to be there.

Like going to a rock show in Plainview on a Friday night.

Like considering a career in music production just because some guy told her she'd be good at it.

Her phone buzzed one more time.

RODRICK: oh also chris wants to know if you have any feedback on his guitar work

RODRICK: apparently youre our official critic now

Regina smiled.

REGINA: tell chris he needs to work on his stage presence

REGINA: he's good but he looks bored

RODRICK: HAHAHAHA

RODRICK: im telling him that right now

REGINA: also his guitar was slightly out of tune during the third song

RODRICK: okay now youre just showing off

REGINA: i have good ears

RODRICK: apparently

RODRICK: chris says youre hired

RODRICK: were officially offering you the position of löded diper music consultant

RODRICK: salary is zero dollars

RODRICK: but you get free fries at petes

REGINA: tempting

RODRICK: think about it

RODRICK: the offer stands

Regina closed her phone and smiled at her ceiling.

Regina George, music consultant for Löded Diper.

Weeks ago, that would have sounded like a nightmare.

Now it sounded like the beginning of something interesting.

And maybe that was okay.

Chapter Text

Regina George had made exactly three mistakes in her life that she actually regretted.

The first was the Burn Book, obviously. The second was getting hit by that bus, though technically that one wasn’t entirely her fault. The third was telling Rodrick Heffley that she’d come to his band’s recording session, because now it was Saturday morning and she was standing in front of her closet having a complete breakdown about what someone wore to a basement in Plainview.

Her phone buzzed from somewhere under the pile of rejected outfits on her bed.

RODRICK: you still coming right

RODRICK: because ward just bet chris $20 that you wont show

RODRICK: and i really want chris to win

RODRICK: not because i care about chris winning

RODRICK: but because ward is annoying when hes right

Regina grabbed her phone from under a Juicy Couture hoodie she’d already decided against twice.

REGINA: I’m coming.

RODRICK: yeah?

REGINA: Yes. Stop asking.

RODRICK: ok cool

RODRICK: but actually are you coming

RODRICK: because you’ve said maybe like 50 times this week

REGINA: Rodrick, I will be there at 2 PM. I promise.

RODRICK: ok i believe you

RODRICK: ward doesnt believe you but i do

RODRICK: which is probably why im a better friend than ward

RODRICK: anyway dereks basement smells like old pizza and cat

RODRICK: just a warning

RODRICK: the cat is named steve

RODRICK: hes an asshole

Regina stared at her phone. The cat’s name was Steve. Of course the cat’s name was Steve. This was her life now.

She looked back at her closet. At the black t-shirt from Forever 21 she’d bought specifically for this. At her designer jeans that cost more than Rodrick probably made in a week mowing lawns. At the Pumas that were somehow both too casual and not casual enough.

The week between the show and the recording session had been weird. Regina had gone to the Northwestern welcome reception on Tuesday, made exactly three promising connections, and left after forty-five minutes because someone’s dad kept talking about his alma mater lacrosse glory days.

She’d had lunch with Gretchen and Karen on Wednesday at the Cheesecake Factory, where they’d spent two hours discussing whether Juicy Couture was still cool or if everyone was moving on to Seven jeans. She’d helped her mom pick out new curtains for the guest bedroom on Thursday, which somehow turned into a four-hour expedition through three different home goods stores.

She’d done all the normal Regina George things.

But she’d also texted Rodrick approximately forty seven times. Not that she was counting.

Most of the texts were about music. He’d send her videos of the band practicing, asking for feedback. She’d point out timing issues or suggest different arrangements. Sometimes they’d just talk about random stuff, his little brother Greg was apparently a nightmare who’d gotten Rodrick grounded for something that wasn’t even Rodrick’s fault, her mom was on a health kick that involved way too much quinoa, his dad’s lawn service had accidentally mowed over someone’s garden gnome collection.

It was easy. Talking to Rodrick was easy in a way that talking to most people wasn’t.

Which was terrifying, but Regina was choosing not to think about that right now.

“Fuck it,” she said out loud, which her mother would’ve had opinions about if she’d heard.

She put on the black t-shirt, the jeans, and the Pumas. She looked like a regular person. A regular person who was about to spend her Saturday in a basement that smelled like old pizza and a cat named Steve.

Her reflection in the mirror looked back at her, and Regina had to admit, she looked good. Not Regina George Queen Bee good. Just… good. Normal good.

Which was somehow more terrifying than anything she’d worn to North Shore in four years.

Her door opened without knocking, her mom’s signature move.

“Where are you going?” Her mom was wearing yet another velour tracksuit, this one in a shade of purple that should’ve required a warning label.

“The recording session. I told you.”

“Right. In Plainview.” Her mom looked her up and down. “You’re wearing that?”

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

“Nothing! You look… normal. It’s just different.” Her mom smiled. “You look happy, sweetie.”

“I’m not happy. I’m just going to help some guys record a demo.”

“Mmhmm. And one of those guys is Rodrick?”

“Yes, Mom. One of them is Rodrick.”

“The one you’ve been texting constantly for the past week?”

Regina felt her face get hot. “I haven’t been texting him constantly.”

“Sweetie, I can hear your phone buzzing from downstairs. You’re definitely texting someone constantly.” Her mom walked further into the room. “I’m just saying, it’s nice. You seem lighter lately.”

“Lighter?”

“Less stressed. More like yourself.” Her mom picked up one of the rejected outfits from the floor. “Or maybe more like who you actually are, not who you thought you had to be.”

Regina stared at her mom, who was folding a Juicy hoodie like this was a normal conversation and not a completely unexpected moment of clarity.

“When did you get so wise?” Regina asked.

“I’ve always been wise. You just haven’t been listening.” Her mom set down the hoodie. “Have fun at your recording session. Text me if you’re going to be late.”

“It’s just a recording session, Mom. How long could it take?”

Her mom smiled that knowing smile that made Regina want to sink into the floor. “With you? Probably longer than you think.”

The drive to Plainview was becoming familiar, which was its own kind of problem. Regina knew which exit to take. Knew where the speed trap was around mile marker thirty-eight. Knew that the McDonald’s near Main Street had a drive-thru that was slower than actual death.

She’d put a mix CD in her car stereo, one she’d burned last night from songs on her computer, which she was definitely not going to admit was partially inspired by Löded Diper’s music. It was a weird mix of stuff she actually liked but never admitted to liking around her North Shore friends. Green Day, Blink-182, some Fall Out Boy, even a Dashboard Confessional song that she’d die before admitting she knew all the words to.

Her Razr buzzed in the cup holder.

RODRICK: ward just said if you dont show up in the next 20 minutes hes taking his $20 back

RODRICK: which i dont think is how bets work but ward makes his own rules

Regina smiled despite herself and typed back one handed, which was definitely unsafe but whatever.

REGINA: I’m literally 10 minutes away.

RODRICK: ok cool

RODRICK: chris is already counting his money

RODRICK: ward looks murderous

RODRICK: its great

She pulled up to Derek’s house at exactly 1:58 PM, because being on time was something Regina George did even when she was having a complete identity crisis.

The house was… not what she expected. It was a regular suburban house, painted blue, with a lawn that desperately needed mowing and a basketball hoop in the driveway that had definitely seen better days. There were two cars parked in front, Rodrick’s rusted white van with “LÖDED DIPER” spray-painted on the side in that offensive font, and a beat-up Subaru that looked like it had survived at least three minor accidents.

Regina sat in her BMW for a solid thirty seconds, gripping the steering wheel and trying to remember why she’d thought this was a good idea. Her car looked ridiculous here, too shiny, too expensive, too everything. She looked ridiculous here.

Her phone buzzed again.

RODRICK: i can see you sitting in your car

RODRICK: you look terrified

RODRICK: dont be terrified

RODRICK: steve only bites sometimes

RODRICK: ok that was a lie he bites all the time

RODRICK: but only if you deserve it

Regina looked up at the house and saw a face in the window, Rodrick, waving like an idiot, his hair even more chaotic than usual.

She got out of the car before she could change her mind.

Rodrick opened the front door before she even reached it, grinning like she’d just done something amazing instead of just showing up like a normal person.

“You came,” he said.

“You’ve said that three times now. Find new material.”

“Sorry. I’m just—” He ran his hand through his hair, making it worse. “You’re here. That’s cool. Ward owes Chris twenty bucks.”

“I know. You told me.”

“Right. Yeah.” He stepped aside to let her in, and Regina caught a whiff of his deodorant, still Axe, still somehow not completely terrible. “Welcome to Derek’s house. It’s exactly as sketchy as it sounds.”

The inside of the house was surprisingly normal. There was a couch that looked like it had been purchased sometime in the early nineties, a TV playing what appeared to be a skateboarding video on mute, some posters on the walls, mostly bands Regina didn’t recognize, though she spotted a Nirvana poster that she was pretty sure everyone in 2006 was required by law to own.

It smelled like pizza and incense and maybe a little bit like cat, but not as bad as Rodrick had made it sound.

“Derek!” Rodrick yelled toward a hallway. “Regina’s here! The real one! Not a hologram!”

“I never said she was a hologram,” a voice called back. “Ward said she was fake. I said she was probably just too cool for us.”

“That’s basically the same thing!”

A guy emerged from the hallway, tall, probably early twenties, with long hair pulled back in a ponytail and a Grateful Dead t-shirt that looked vintage in a way that meant it was actually old, not vintage in a way that meant it cost two hundred dollars at Urban Outfitters. He had gauge earrings and a tattoo on his forearm that Regina couldn’t quite make out.

“You must be Regina,” he said, sticking out his hand. “I’m Derek. Thanks for not being fake.”

Regina shook his hand, which was surprisingly firm for someone who looked like he’d never shaken anyone’s hand in his life. “Thanks for having a basement?”

“Thanks for being willing to sit in it.” Derek grinned, and Regina noticed he had a gap between his front teeth that made him look younger than he probably was. “Fair warning, it’s not actually a professional studio. It’s more like a basement with a bunch of equipment I bought off Craigslist and eBay over the past three years.”

“That’s concerning.”

“It works though. Mostly. Sometimes. The mixing board has a personality.” Derek gestured toward a door that presumably led to the basement. “Everyone’s already down there arguing about microphone placement. You want something to drink before we start? I have Mountain Dew, water, or Mountain Dew.”

“I’m good.”

“Cool. Let’s go witness some questionable life choices.”

The basement stairs were steep and narrow, the kind that made Regina grip the railing because the last thing she needed was to fall and break something in front of Rodrick’s entire band. She could hear voices as they descended—arguing, like Derek had said, but the kind of arguing that sounded almost friendly.

“—telling you the mic has to be three feet away—”

“That’s too far, the sound’s gonna be all wrong—”

“You don’t even know what you’re talking about—”

“I know more than you—”

Regina reached the bottom of the stairs and took in the scene.

The basement was exactly what Derek had described, a basement with equipment. There was a drum kit set up in one corner, looking significantly nicer than the rest of the space, with cymbals that actually shined under the fluorescent lights. A couple of amps were positioned against the walls, cables snaking across the floor in what seemed like a legitimate fire hazard. Microphones on stands had clearly been positioned and repositioned about fifteen times based on the marks on the floor. The walls were covered in foam panels that were probably supposed to be for soundproofing but looked like someone had just stuck them up randomly with the kind of spray adhesive you could buy at Home Depot.

And there, in the middle of it all, were Ward, Chris, and Drew, arguing about something with the intensity of people who genuinely cared.

Ward was holding a microphone stand like a weapon. Chris had his guitar already strapped on, even though they clearly weren’t recording yet. Drew was gesturing wildly at the drum kit while making points that no one seemed to be listening to.

“Regina!” Drew looked up first, his face breaking into a grin. He was wearing a shirt that said “My Chemical Romance” with the logo half faded from too many washes. “You’re real!”

“I’m real.”

“Ward bet twenty bucks you were fake.” Drew elbowed Ward, who was still holding the microphone stand and looking at Regina like she might disappear at any moment. “Pay up, loser.”

“I didn’t bet she was fake,” Ward protested, setting down the mic stand with more force than necessary. “I bet she wouldn’t show up. There’s a difference.”

“She showed up, so you were wrong either way.” Chris held out his hand, and Ward reluctantly pulled a crumpled twenty from his pocket and slapped it into Chris’s palm. “Pleasure doing business with you, Ward.”

“This is bullshit,” Ward muttered, but he was fighting back a smile. “Hey, Regina. Nice to see you again. Your feedback about my bass lines being boring was very hurtful and I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”

“Good,” Regina said, stepping fully into the basement. “That means it’s working.”

“See?” Rodrick appeared at her elbow, looking proud. “I told you she was mean in a helpful way.”

“We’ve established this,” Regina said, looking around the basement more carefully. There was a couch against one wall that had definitely seen better days, the upholstery was worn and there was duct tape on one armrest. A mini-fridge hummed in the corner. Posters covered every available wall space between the foam panels, more bands Regina didn’t recognize, some concert tickets taped up like trophies, a Blockbuster Video membership card for some reason. “Can we move on?”

“Right. Yeah.” Rodrick gestured around the basement like a game show host revealing a prize. “So, uh, this is where the magic happens. Or where we’re going to attempt magic. It might just be a disaster.”

“It’s definitely going to be a disaster,” Derek said cheerfully, pulling up a rolling office chair near what looked like the mixing board, or at least, Regina assumed it was a mixing board based on the approximately nine million buttons and sliders and knobs. “But that’s half the fun.”

Regina walked closer to the mixing board, studying it. It looked complicated in a way that should’ve been intimidating but was actually kind of fascinating. “What is all this?”

“Oh, you want the full tour?” Derek’s face lit up like she’d just asked him about his favorite thing in the world, which she probably had. “Okay, so this is a sixteen-channel mixer, which means I can record up to sixteen different tracks—”

“Derek,” Ward interrupted. “Maybe save the technical explanation for after we figure out if we’re actually recording anything today?”

“We’re recording,” Regina said. “That’s why I’m here.”

Everyone looked at her.

“Right,” Chris said slowly. “But we still haven’t figured out the mic placement, and Ward thinks—”

“Where did you put the mics for the drums?” Regina asked Derek.

“Uh, one overhead, one on the kick, one on the snare—standard setup.” Derek pointed to each mic. “Why?”

“Show me.”

Derek walked over to the drum kit and showed her the placement. Regina studied it, thinking about what she’d read online this week about recording techniques. She’d done research. A lot of research. Partially because she wanted to be helpful, but mostly because she couldn’t stop thinking about music production and how it worked.

“The overhead mic is too close,” she said. “It needs to be higher to capture the full sound of the cymbals. And the kick drum mic should be inside the drum, not outside.”

Derek blinked at her. “How do you know that?”

“I looked it up.”

“You looked up recording techniques?”

“Is that a problem?”

“No, it’s—” Derek was staring at her like she’d just spoken fluent Mandarin. “That’s actually really cool. Most people don’t bother researching anything before they come to a session.”

“Well, I’m not most people.” Regina looked at Rodrick, who was watching her with this expression she couldn’t quite read, somewhere between impressed and something else. “Are we doing this or are we going to stand around talking about it all day?”

“We’re doing it,” Rodrick said quickly. “Definitely doing it. Derek, fix the mics like she said.”

“On it.”

While Derek adjusted the microphone placement, Regina took in the rest of the basement. The drum kit was actually nice, nicer than she’d expected for a basement setup. The cymbals looked new, or at least well-maintained. The drums themselves were a dark wood finish that looked professional.

“You have good equipment,” she said to Rodrick.

“My parents got me the kit for my sixteenth birthday. Before they realized I was serious about the band thing and not just going through a phase.” Rodrick walked over and sat behind the drums, running his hand along the snare. “I basically sold everything I owned to afford the cymbals. Traded my Xbox, my bike, a bunch of video games. Greg still hasn’t forgiven me for selling the Xbox.”

“Your little brother?”

“Yeah. He’s convinced I ruined his life.” Rodrick picked up his drumsticks from where they’d been resting on the floor tom. “But these cymbals are worth it. Listen.”

He hit the crash cymbal, and the sound rang out clean and bright. Regina felt it in her chest.

“Nice,” she said.

“Right?” Rodrick hit it again, softer this time. “I’ve been saving up for a china cymbal next. They’re like seven hundred dollars though, so it’s gonna take a while.”

“Seven hundred dollars for one cymbal?”

“The good ones are expensive. But they sound incredible.” He did a little rhythm on the toms. “You ever play drums?”

“No. Just piano.”

“Piano’s cool. Very sophisticated.”

“It’s boring.”

“It’s not boring. You can do sick stuff on piano.” Rodrick set down his sticks. “You should play something later. Derek has a keyboard somewhere.”

“We’re here to record your demo, not listen to me play piano.”

“We can do both.”

Regina rolled her eyes, but she was fighting back a smile.

Derek finished adjusting the mics and gave them a thumbs up. “Okay, we’re good. Regina’s adjustments actually make a lot of sense. You might know what you’re talking about.”

“I usually do,” Regina said.

“Okay, so.” Drew clapped his hands together. “What’s the plan? How are we doing this?”

They all looked at Regina.

“Why are you looking at me?” she asked.

“Because you clearly know what you’re doing,” Chris said. “And we clearly don’t.”

“You’re the band. You should know what you’re doing.”

“Yeah, but we’ve never actually recorded a demo before. We’ve just practiced and played shows.” Ward picked up his bass. “Last time we tried to record something, it sounded like we were playing underwater.”

“That was your fault,” Drew said. “You plugged the amp into the wrong—”

“We’re not talking about that.”

Regina looked at the four of them, then at Derek, who was spinning slowly in his office chair watching this conversation like it was entertainment.

“Okay,” she said. “New plan. Show me your setlist from last week’s show.”

Rodrick pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. It was the setlist from The Note, written in Sharpie on the back of what looked like a receipt from 7-Eleven. The songs were numbered one through six, with times scribbled next to each one in handwriting that Regina was starting to recognize as Rodrick’s.

Regina studied it. The songs were numbered one through six, with times scribbled next to each one. “You played these in this order at the show?”

“Yeah.”

“And the crowd responded well?” Already knowing the answer to her own question.

“Yeah. They actually chanted for an encore.”

“Then record them in this order.” Regina handed the paper back to Rodrick. “You know it works. Don’t overthink it.”

There was a beat of silence.

“That’s actually really smart,” Chris said, looking at her with newfound respect.

“Of course it’s smart. I’m smart.” Regina looked around the basement again. “Now someone explain to me what all these buttons do, because if we’re doing this, we’re doing it right.”

Derek’s face lit up like it was Christmas morning. “Oh, you want the full technical tour?”

“I want to understand what I’m looking at.”

“This is the best day of my life,” Derek said, gesturing for Regina to come closer to the mixing board. “Okay, so this is a sixteen-channel mixer, which means I can record up to sixteen different tracks and then mix them together. Each channel has its own gain control, that’s this knob here, which controls how much signal is coming in…”

For the next twenty minutes, Derek explained the equipment in excruciating detail, and Regina listened to every word. She learned about gain and compression and EQ. She learned that the foam on the walls was supposed to reduce echo but was positioned completely wrong, Derek admitted he’d just stuck them up wherever they fit. She learned that Derek had spent three years and approximately four thousand dollars building this setup, buying pieces one at a time whenever he had extra money from his job at Best Buy.

“—and this is where it gets really cool,” Derek was saying, pointing to a section of the board that looked exactly like all the other sections to Regina’s untrained eye. “Because you can actually layer tracks, right? So like, if we want to add harmonies or extra guitar parts later, I can record those separately and mix them all together. That’s how real studios do it.”

“Wait,” Regina interrupted, her mind making connections. “Can you play back what you’ve already recorded while recording new stuff?”

“Yeah, that’s the whole point of multi-track recording.”

“So you could record the drums first, then layer everything else on top?”

Derek blinked at her like she’d just said something revolutionary. “I mean, yeah. That’s one way to do it. Why?”

Regina looked at Rodrick, who was sitting behind the drums watching her with that expression again, the one that made her chest do weird things. “Because Rodrick’s your best musician. If you record him first, everyone else can follow his tempo. You won’t have to worry about rushing or dragging or anyone being off.”

There was another beat of silence, longer this time.

“Holy shit,” Drew said quietly. “That’s genius.”

“It’s not genius. It’s logical.” But Regina felt her face getting warm anyway.

“No, it’s genius,” Chris said, already pulling his guitar strap over his head. “We’ve been trying to record all at once like idiots. But if we do it one at a time, we can actually focus on getting each part right.”

“You’re still idiots,” Regina said. “But at least now you’ll be organized idiots.”

Rodrick was still looking at her with that expression, and Regina was very deliberately not looking back at him because she could feel whatever that expression meant in her chest and she didn’t want to acknowledge it.

“Okay,” Derek said, clapping his hands together and making Regina jump slightly. “New plan. We record drums first. Rodrick, you’re up. Everyone else, get comfortable. This is gonna take a while.”

Ward and Chris and Drew settled into various positions around the basement, Ward claimed the couch, sprawling across it like he lived there. Chris grabbed a folding chair that had been leaning against the wall and positioned it near the amps. Drew just sat on the floor, his back against the wall, already pulling out his phone.

Regina found herself a spot near the mixing board, close enough to see what Derek was doing but far enough from Rodrick that she could pretend she wasn’t hyperaware of his presence.

Derek pulled up a second chair for her, another rolling office chair that was missing one armrest and had a questionable stain on the seat. “Here. You’re gonna want to sit for this. Recording takes forever.”

“How long is forever?”

“Depends on how many takes we need. Could be an hour. Could be three.” Derek started adjusting levels on the mixing board, and Regina watched his hands move across the controls with practiced ease. “Rodrick’s usually pretty good in one or two takes though. He knows his parts.”

Rodrick was behind the drums now, adjusting his seat height and testing each drum with a few quick taps. He looked completely comfortable, like this was exactly where he belonged. His terrible hair fell in his eyes as he leaned forward to adjust the hi-hat, and Regina had to physically stop herself from offering to hold his hair back, which was insane.

“Ready?” Derek asked, hand hovering over the record button.

“Ready,” Rodrick said, looking up. His eyes found Regina’s across the basement, and he smiled, not his usual cocky grin, but something softer. More real.

Regina’s chest did the thing again. She ignored it.

“Okay. We’re doing ‘Explöded Diper’ first. Count yourself in when you’re ready.”

Rodrick tapped his sticks together four times—click, click, click, click, and then he started playing.

And holy shit, he was good.

Regina had seen him play live, but this was different. Without the rest of the band, without the crowd, without any distractions, it was just Rodrick and the drums, and he played like nothing else existed. Every hit was precise, every fill was clean, and he kept the tempo so steady that Regina found herself nodding along without meaning to.

She watched his hands move across the kit, the way he switched between drums and cymbals with this fluid motion that looked effortless but obviously wasn’t. His whole body moved with the rhythm, not in a showy way but in a way that made it clear he felt every beat.

Derek was grinning at the mixing board, watching the levels bounce. “Dude, this sounds incredible.”

It did. Even to Regina’s still learning ear, it sounded professional in a way she hadn’t expected. The drums were clean and full and exactly what they needed as a foundation.

Rodrick finished the song with a final crash on the cymbal and looked up, slightly out of breath. His hair was sticking to his forehead, and his face was flushed. “How was that?”

“Perfect,” Derek said, already saving the take. “Don’t change anything. We’re keeping that.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. That was one take, man. One perfect take.”

Rodrick looked at Regina, and she could see he was trying not to seem too eager for her opinion. “What did you think?”

Regina had learned over the past week that Rodrick responded better to honesty than empty compliments, so she said, “You rushed slightly in the second verse. Right before the bridge. But it was barely noticeable. Everything else was good.”

“Just good?”

“Fine. It was really good. Happy?”

His grin was so wide it was almost painful to look at. “Yeah. I’m happy.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late.”

They recorded the rest of the drums the same way, Rodrick playing through each song while everyone else listened. He messed up a few times, had to restart the bridge on “Heavy Metal” twice because he lost the tempo, had to do three takes of “You Ruined My Life (And My Van)” because he kept hitting the crash cymbal instead of the ride on the chorus. But mostly he was perfect. And every time he finished a song, he looked at Regina first, like her opinion was the only one that mattered.

Which was definitely not doing anything to Regina’s chest situation.

After the drums were done, which took about an hour and a half, they started layering in the bass. Ward plugged in and started playing along to Rodrick’s recorded drums, and immediately Regina could hear the difference. The bass line sounded full now, grounded. It gave the songs weight.

But it was also boring.

“Okay, stop,” Regina said after the first verse of “Explöded Diper.”

Ward stopped playing and looked at her through the amp. “What?”

“Your bass line. It’s boring.”

“I’m playing the same thing I played at the show.”

“I know. It was boring then too.”

Ward looked offended. Chris and Drew were trying not to laugh. Rodrick had emerged from behind the drums and was leaning against the wall, watching this interaction with barely concealed amusement.

“The bass is supposed to be simple,” Ward protested. “It’s the foundation. I’m not supposed to do anything fancy.”

“There’s a difference between simple and boring,” Regina said. “Right now you’re just following the guitar. You need to do something that’s your own.”

“Like what?”

Regina thought about it. She didn’t play bass, had never even touched a bass guitar, but she knew what she was hearing. “Try adding some movement. Instead of just hitting the same note four times, walk up to the next note. Make it interesting.”

Ward stared at her. “Where did you learn about walking bass lines?”

“I looked it up this week.”

“You looked up bass techniques?”

“I looked up a lot of things.” Regina shrugged. “Are you going to try it or are you going to keep arguing with me?”

Ward looked at Derek, who just shrugged. “She’s not wrong, man. Your bass line is pretty basic.”

“Fine.” Ward adjusted his grip on the bass. “I’ll try something different.”

He played through the verse again, this time adding small melodic movements between the main notes. It was subtle, but it made a huge difference. The bass line went from just being there to actually contributing something.

“Better,” Regina said.

“Just better?”

“Much better. Keep that.”

They worked through the bass tracks the same way, Regina stopping Ward whenever something sounded boring or off. Ward complained every single time, but he also took every suggestion, and by the time they finished the third song, he was actually asking her opinion before Derek could even play back the take.

“Should I add more here?” he’d ask, pointing to a section.

“Try it and see how it sounds,” Regina would say.

And then they’d try it, and usually she was right, and Ward would grumble about it while also clearly being pleased that the bass line sounded better.

Next came Chris’s guitar tracks, and this was where things got interesting.

Chris was good. Really good. His guitar work was tight and fast and technically impressive in a way that even Regina could appreciate. But he looked bored while he played. Like he was just going through the motions.

“Stop,” Regina said halfway through “Heavy Metal.”

Chris stopped playing and looked at her, confused. “What’s wrong? I hit all the notes.”

“That’s the problem. You’re just hitting notes. You’re not performing.”

“I’m recording. I don’t need to perform.”

“Yes, you do.” Regina stood up from her chair and walked closer to where Chris was standing. “When you play live, you move. You get into it. Right now you’re just standing there like you’re bored.”

“But no one’s going to see me. It’s a recording.”

“That doesn’t matter. If you’re not feeling it while you record, people won’t feel it when they listen.” Regina crossed her arms. “Try playing it like you’re on stage. Actually perform it.”

Chris looked at the rest of the band for support, but they all just shrugged.

“She’s got a point,” Rodrick said. “You do kind of look like you’re falling asleep right now.”

“I’m concentrating!”

“You look bored,” Drew added. “It’s kind of your thing.”

Chris sighed and adjusted his guitar strap. “Fine. I’ll try to look less bored while I record a track that literally no one is going to see me record.”

“It’s not about looking less bored,” Regina said. “It’s about actually getting into it. Just try it.”

Chris played through the section again, and this time he moved a little, just a small head bob, a slight sway. It wasn’t much, but Regina could hear the difference immediately. The guitar sounded more alive, more energetic.

“There,” she said. “Like that. But more.”

They went through all the guitar tracks with Regina pushing Chris to actually feel what he was playing instead of just technically executing it. By the time they finished, Chris was sweating and slightly out of breath, but the guitar tracks sounded incredible.

“Okay,” Chris admitted, setting his guitar down. “That was better.”

“I know.”

“You’re really annoying.”

“I know that too.”

Finally, it was time for Drew’s vocals. This was the part Regina was most nervous about, because vocals were subjective in a way that drums and bass and guitar weren’t. But she’d been listening to Löded Diper’s songs all week, had memorized the lyrics, knew exactly how Drew performed them live.

Drew stepped up to the microphone looking significantly more nervous than he had at the show. “Okay, I’m gonna butcher this.”

“You’re not going to butcher it,” Rodrick said from his spot on the couch.

“I always butcher studio recordings. My voice sounds weird when I can hear myself.”

“Then don’t think about it,” Regina said. “Just sing it like you’re at a show.”

Drew took a breath and started singing the first verse of “Explöded Diper,” and immediately Regina could tell he was in his head. His voice was tight, controlled in a way that didn’t match the energy of the song.

“Stop,” she said.

Drew stopped. “See? I told you I was butchering it.”

“You’re not butchering it. You’re overthinking it.” Regina walked over to the mic. “At the show, you were confident. You owned it. Right now you sound scared.”

“Because I can hear every mistake when it’s recorded. When I’m performing live, I can’t hear the mistakes.”

“So stop listening for mistakes.” Regina thought about it. “Can Derek play back the full instrumental track while you record?”

“Yeah,” Derek said, already pulling up the mixed track with drums, bass, and guitar. “You want him to record it like he’s performing with the band?”

“Exactly.”

Derek played the instrumental track through the monitors, and the basement suddenly filled with music. Drew closed his eyes, listening, and Regina could see the moment he shifted from nervous studio Drew to confident performer Drew.

He started singing again, and this time it was right. Energetic, raw, exactly how it sounded at​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ the show. His voice cracked slightly on one line, but it was the good kind of crack, the kind that sounded genuine and emotional instead of polished.

When he finished, everyone in the basement was quiet.

“That was it,” Derek said finally. “That’s the take.”

Drew opened his eyes, looking dazed. “Really?”

“Really.” Derek was already saving the file. “Regina, whatever you said worked.”

“I just told him to stop overthinking,” Regina said, but she could feel Rodrick staring at her from across the room.

They recorded the rest of Drew’s vocals the same way, playing the full instrumental track so he could perform instead of just sing. By the time they finished all six songs, it was almost six PM, and Regina’s stomach was reminding her that she’d skipped lunch.

“Okay,” Derek said, spinning in his chair to face the band. “I need probably a week to mix all of this. But I’m telling you right now—this is the best stuff you guys have ever recorded. Like, actually legitimately good.”

“Really?” Ward looked skeptical, which seemed to be his default state.

“Really. Regina basically produced this entire session.” Derek looked at her with something close to awe. “Have you done this before?”

“No. First time.”

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not joking. I just read a lot about recording techniques this week.”

“You read—” Derek shook his head. “Okay, new question. Do you want a job?”

Regina blinked. “What?”

“I’m serious. I do recording sessions for like five different bands. They’re all disasters because nobody knows what they’re doing and I’m just an audio guy, not a producer. But you—” He gestured at her. “You knew exactly what to do. You got the best performances out of everyone. That’s what producers do.”

“I’m not a producer.”

“You could be.” Derek was getting more animated now. “You’re going to Northwestern, right? They have a music production program. You should look into it.”

Regina felt something shift in her chest. Music production. At Northwestern. An actual program. An actual path.

“I didn’t know they had that,” she said quietly.

“Yeah, it’s through their communication school. One of my friends went through it. He’s working at a studio in Chicago now.” Derek pulled out his phone. “I can send you the info if you want.”

“Okay. Yeah. Send it.”

Rodrick was definitely staring at her now. Regina could feel it without looking.

They ordered pizza around six-thirty, three large pizzas from a place called Tony’s that Derek swore was the best pizza in Plainview. Regina was skeptical until she took the first bite and realized Derek might be right.

They sat in Derek’s living room, Regina on the ancient couch between Rodrick and Chris, Ward sprawled on the floor, Drew in an armchair that was missing some of its stuffing, Derek in what was clearly his designated spot on the other end of the couch. Steve the cat made an appearance, took one look at all the people, and immediately left.

“See?” Rodrick said, gesturing after the cat. “Asshole.”

“He doesn’t like crowds,” Derek said through a mouthful of pizza. “He’s very sensitive.”

“He’s a cat.”

“A sensitive cat.”

Regina ate her pizza and listened to them bicker, feeling something she hadn’t felt in a long time: comfortable. She wasn’t performing. Wasn’t monitoring every word or facial expression or gesture. She was just sitting on a couch eating pizza with people who didn’t care that she was Regina George.

“So,” Chris said, turning to her. “Are you actually going to look into that music production thing?”

“Maybe.”

“That’s not a no,” Rodrick said immediately, and Regina fought the urge to kick him.

“It’s not a yes either.”

“But you’re thinking about it.” Chris took another slice of pizza. “That’s cool. You’d be good at it. You were basically running the whole session today.”

“I was not running it.”

“You told all of us what to do and we all listened,” Ward said from the floor. “That’s running it.”

“Ward’s right,” Drew added. “You’re like, scary organized. In a good way. Mostly good.”

“I’m not scary.”

All four members of Löded Diper looked at each other and then back at Regina.

“You’re a little scary,” Rodrick said gently. “But like, in a hot way.”

There was a beat of absolute silence.

Chris choked on his pizza. Ward made a noise that might have been a laugh or a dying animal, Regina couldn’t tell. Drew just stared at Rodrick with his mouth open.

Rodrick’s face turned bright red. “I mean—not hot—I meant—like intimidating—in a good way—”

“Oh my god.” Regina set down her pizza because she couldn’t eat while her face was doing whatever it was currently doing. “Can we talk about literally anything else?”

“Yes,” Rodrick said immediately. “Literally anything else. Ward, tell Regina about the time you fell off the stage at The Note.”

“I didn’t fall. I jumped and miscalculated.”

“You ate shit in front of twenty people.”

“It was fifteen people and the stage is weirdly high!”

Regina listened to them argue about stage height and proper jumping techniques, very deliberately not looking at Rodrick, who was very deliberately not looking at her. Her face felt hot. Her chest was doing that thing again. This was a disaster.

But also kind of not a disaster.

Scary in a hot way.

She needed to leave. Right now. Before she did something insane like acknowledge that comment.

“I should go,” she said, standing up abruptly. “It’s getting late.”

“It’s seven-thirty,” Drew said, looking confused.

“My mom wants me home by eight.” This was a lie. Her mom had texted earlier saying she was at book club and would be home late. But Regina needed to leave before her face betrayed how much Rodrick’s comment had affected her.

“Oh. Okay.” Rodrick stood up too, also too quickly. “I’ll walk you out.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I’m walking you out.”

The walk from Derek’s living room to Regina’s car should have taken thirty seconds. Somehow it took five minutes, because Rodrick walked really slowly and kept stopping to point out completely irrelevant things.

“That’s where Ward threw up after the last recording session,” he said, pointing at a bush.

“I didn’t need to know that.”

“And that’s Derek’s neighbor’s house. They hate us. Called the cops twice last year for noise complaints.”

“Rodrick.”

“And that tree—” He pointed at a completely ordinary tree. “That’s just a tree. I got nothing for that one.”

Regina stopped walking and looked at him. He was wearing the same Löded Diper shirt from the show, or maybe a different identical one, she still couldn’t tell. His hair was doing that thing where it fell in his eyes. He looked nervous, which was somehow worse than if he’d looked confident.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yeah. No. Maybe.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I’m sorry about the hot comment. That was weird. I made it weird.”

“You made it weird,” Regina agreed.

“I didn’t mean—I just meant—” He was stumbling over his words in a way that was almost endearing. “You’re really good at the producer thing. Like, really good. And you’re also—you’re—”

“I’m what?”

“Intimidating.” He said it quickly, like ripping off a band-aid. “In a good way. In a way that makes me nervous but also makes me want to not be nervous? I don’t know how to explain it.”

Regina’s heart was doing something complicated in her chest. “You make me nervous too.”

“I do?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

Because you don’t care who I used to be, Regina thought. Because you treat me like I’m just a person. Because when you play drums you look like nothing else matters and I want to feel that way about something. Because you made a stupid comment about me being scary in a hot way and now I can’t stop thinking about it.

“I don’t know,” she said instead. “You just do.”

They stood there in Derek’s driveway, next to Regina’s BMW that looked ridiculously out of place, neither of them quite ready to end whatever this was.

“The demo’s going to be good,” Regina said finally.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You guys actually have potential.”

“Potential.” Rodrick smiled. “That’s like, the nicest insult you’ve ever given us.”

“I don’t do compliments. You should know that by now.”

“I’m learning.” He shifted his weight. “So, uh, about the next show. Two weeks. You gonna come?”

Regina should say no. Should say she has Northwestern orientation or plans with Gretchen and Karen or literally anything that would be a normal reason to not drive forty-five minutes to Plainview on a Friday night.

“Maybe,” she said.

“Maybe is basically yes.”

“Maybe is definitely not yes.”

“We’ll see.” He tapped the roof of her car twice, the same way he had last time. “Drive safe, Regina George.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“What should I call you?”

“Just Regina.”

“Just Regina.” He said it like he was testing it out. “Okay. Drive safe, Just Regina.”

Regina rolled her eyes but got in her car before she could do something stupid like smile. She started the engine and pulled away, watching in her rearview mirror as Rodrick stood in the driveway, hands in his pockets, watching her leave.

The drive home gave Regina way too much time to think.

Scary in a hot way.

He’d said it like it was obvious. Like it was a casual observation anyone would make. Except it wasn’t casual, and Regina knew it wasn’t casual, because she’d seen his face turn red and heard the way he’d stumbled over his words trying to take it back.

Her phone buzzed in the cup holder. She waited until she hit a red light to check it.

RODRICK: you made it to the highway alive?

REGINA: Yes, I made it to the highway alive. It’s been 5 minutes.

RODRICK: just checking

RODRICK: derek wants to know if you can come back when he finishes mixing

RODRICK: to give feedback on the final product

REGINA: Maybe.

RODRICK: thats basically yes

REGINA: That’s definitely not yes.

RODRICK: im counting it as yes

The light turned green. Regina set her phone down and focused on driving, but she couldn’t stop thinking about Rodrick’s face when he’d called her intimidating in a good way. The way he’d looked at her all day during the recording session. The way he’d walked her to her car even though he didn’t need to.

This was a problem.

Regina George didn’t do nervous. Didn’t do uncertain. Didn’t do whatever this feeling was that made her chest hurt in a way that was almost nice.

But apparently Just Regina did.

Her mom was already home when Regina walked in, book club had clearly ended early, because she was on the couch with a glass of wine and her reading glasses, looking at what appeared to be a catalog of some kind.

“You’re home!” Her mom set down the catalog. “How was the recording session?”

“Good. Long. They recorded six songs.”

“Six songs! That’s impressive.” Her mom patted the couch next to her. “Tell me about it.”

Regina sat, and to her surprise, she actually wanted to talk about it. She told her mom about the basement studio, about Derek’s equipment, about how they’d recorded each instrument separately and layered them together. She told her about giving feedback to Ward and Chris and Drew, about how they’d actually listened to her suggestions.

She very carefully did not mention Rodrick saying she was scary in a hot way.

“Sweetie, that sounds amazing,” her mom said when Regina finished. “You really enjoyed it.”

“I did.” Regina paused. “Derek said Northwestern has a music production program. Through their communication school.”

Her mom’s eyebrows went up. “Music production?”

“Yeah. Like, learning how to produce albums and work in studios and stuff.”

“Is that something you’d be interested in?”

Regina thought about the mixing board with all its buttons and sliders. Thought about how it felt to hear the songs come together, to know that her feedback had made them better. Thought about how Derek had said she could be good at this, and how much she wanted him to be right.

“Maybe,” she said. “I want to look into it at least.”

Her mom was quiet for a moment, studying Regina’s face. “You know, when you were talking about the recording session just now, you sounded happier than I’ve heard you in months.”

“It was just a fun day.”

“It was more than that.” Her mom squeezed Regina’s hand. “I think you should look into the program. Even if it’s not what we originally planned.”

“But you wanted me to do business—”

“I wanted you to be happy. And if music production makes you happy, then that’s what you should do.” Her mom smiled. “Besides, someone has to keep these rock bands organized. They sound like disasters.”

“They are disasters.”

“Then they need you.”

Regina looked at her mom, at the velour tracksuit and the wine glass and the reading glasses, and felt something shift. Permission. She had permission to want something different.

“I’ll research it tomorrow,” Regina said.

“Good.” Her mom picked up her catalog again. “Now, more importantly, this Rodrick boy. Is he the reason you’ve been smiling at your phone for the past week?”

“Mom—”

“Because if he is, I need more details. What does he look like? Is he nice? Does he—”

“I’m going to bed.”

“Regina Marie George, you come back here—”

But Regina was already halfway up the stairs, fighting back a smile she refused to let her mom see.

Sunday morning arrived with a text from Gretchen at nine-fifteen am.

GRETCHEN: omg regina karen and i are going to the beach today!! you should come!!

GRETCHEN: we’re leaving at 11!!

GRETCHEN: please come we miss you!!

Regina stared at her phone. The beach with Gretchen and Karen. It would be fine. Normal. The kind of thing she used to do every weekend without thinking twice.

But she didn’t want to go.

She wanted to research music production programs at Northwestern. Wanted to listen to Löded Diper’s live recordings from the show and compare them to the studio versions they’d done yesterday. Wanted to figure out what the hell was happening with her life.

REGINA: Can’t, sorry. Family stuff.

GRETCHEN: again??

GRETCHEN: youve had family stuff like every weekend

GRETCHEN: is everything ok??

Regina felt guilt creep up her spine. Gretchen wasn’t wrong. Regina had been avoiding them. Not intentionally, but not unintentionally either.

REGINA: Everything’s fine. Just busy.

GRETCHEN: ok…

GRETCHEN: let us know when youre free!!

GRETCHEN: we want to hang out before you leave for college!!

REGINA: I will. Promise.

She set her phone down and opened her laptop. The Northwestern website loaded, and Regina navigated to the communication school page.

There it was. Music Production and Recording Arts. A full program with classes in audio engineering, music business, studio production, live sound. The course descriptions made Regina’s chest tighten with something that felt like excitement.

She clicked through to the faculty page and saw photos of professors who’d worked at actual studios, produced actual albums for actual artists. This was real. This was a real thing she could actually do.

Her phone buzzed.

RODRICK: you up?

REGINA: It’s 9:30 AM. Of course I’m up.

RODRICK: i just woke up like 10 minutes ago

RODRICK: greg was screaming about something

RODRICK: i think he broke moms lamp

RODRICK: anyway

RODRICK: did you look into that northwestern thing yet?

Regina looked at her laptop screen, at the program requirements and application information.

REGINA: I’m looking at it right now.

RODRICK: and??

REGINA: And it looks good. Really good.

RODRICK: told you

RODRICK: youre gonna be an amazing producer

RODRICK: and löded diper is gonna be your first client

RODRICK: when we’re famous youre gonna be like “i produced their first demo in a basement that smelled like cat”

REGINA: You’re never going to be famous.

RODRICK: wow

RODRICK: rude but probably accurate

REGINA: I just mean you need better songs. And a better name. And possibly new stage clothes.

RODRICK: ok so youre saying we need to change everything

REGINA: I’m saying you have potential. But you need work.

RODRICK: are you offering to help?

Regina stared at that message for a long moment. Was she? Was she actually considering getting more involved with Löded Diper beyond just showing up to occasional shows and recording sessions?

REGINA: Maybe.

RODRICK: maybe is basically yes

REGINA: Stop saying that.

RODRICK: never

RODRICK: hey ward wants to know if you can come to practice this week

RODRICK: to give feedback before the next show

RODRICK: no pressure though

RODRICK: but also yes pressure because ward is being annoying about his bass lines

Regina bit her lip, fighting back a smile.

REGINA: When?

RODRICK: thursday night

RODRICK: 7pm

RODRICK: community center

RODRICK: ill buy you coffee after

RODRICK: or hot chocolate if you dont like coffee

RODRICK: or just water

RODRICK: im not good at this

Regina laughed out loud, which was concerning because she was alone in her room.

REGINA: I like coffee.

RODRICK: cool

RODRICK: its a date

RODRICK: wait

RODRICK: not a date

RODRICK: unless you want it to be a date?

RODRICK: ok im going to stop talking now

REGINA: Good idea.

RODRICK: see you thursday just regina

Regina closed her phone and stared at her ceiling, at the glow in the dark stars she’d had since she was twelve.

‘It’s a date. Not a date. Unless you want it to be a date.’

This was definitely a problem.

But as problems went, it was becoming Regina’s favorite one.

Chapter Text

The thing about being Regina George was that old habits died hard.

It was Wednesday morning, five days after the recording session, and Regina was lying on her bed with her laptop open to the Northwestern music production program page for approximately the fortieth time that week. Her phone sat next to her, face-up, because she’d been waiting for Rodrick to text her since she woke up at 9:47 AM.

He finally did at 10:23.

RODRICK: okay so serious question

RODRICK: if you had to be reincarnated as a drummer who would you pick

REGINA: What kind of question is that?

RODRICK: the kind im asking at 10am on a wednesday

RODRICK: ward says keith moon

RODRICK: chris says dave grohl

RODRICK: drew said ringo which everyone laughed at

RODRICK: i said travis barker but now im second guessing

Regina rolled onto her stomach, fighting back a smile. This was the third completely random question he’d texted her since Monday. The first had been about what superpower she’d want (she’d said teleportation, he’d said the ability to eat unlimited pizza without consequences). The second had been about whether she thought hot dogs were sandwiches (she’d said no, he’d argued passionately that they were).

REGINA: Travis Barker is a good choice.

RODRICK: THANK YOU

RODRICK: im showing this to ward right now

RODRICK: hes gonna be so mad

REGINA: Why does everything with you guys turn into a competition?

RODRICK: because were boys and we’re stupid

RODRICK: its science

Her door opened without knocking, her mom’s signature move that Regina had given up trying to fight years ago.

“Gina, are you still in your pajamas?” Her mom stood in the doorway wearing a velour tracksuit in a shade of coral that should have come with a warning label. “It’s almost eleven.”

“I’m aware of the time, Mom.”

“Gretchen and Karen called. They want to know if you’re free today.”

Regina’s stomach did an uncomfortable flip. She’d been avoiding Gretchen and Karen for almost two weeks now, making up excuses about college prep and family obligations and being tired. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to see them. It was that she didn’t want to explain where she’d been, what she’d been doing, who she’d been texting constantly.

She didn’t want to explain Rodrick.

“I’m busy,” Regina said automatically.

“Doing what?”

“Research. For Northwestern.”

Her mom walked further into the room and sat on the edge of Regina’s bed, peering at the laptop screen. “You’ve been looking at that music production program all week.”

“So?”

“So I think it’s wonderful. I also think you should probably tell your friends about it.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re your friends, Gina. They care about you. And you’ve been shutting them out.” Her mom’s voice was gentle. “I know you’re going through some kind of transition right now. I know things are changing. But Gretchen and Karen deserve to know what’s going on in your life.”

Regina closed her laptop. “What if they don’t understand?”

“Then they don’t understand. But you owe them the chance to try.” Her mom squeezed Regina’s hand. “Call them back. Make plans. Be honest with them. And if they can’t handle it, then maybe they’re not the friends you thought they were.”

After her mom left, Regina stared at her phone for a solid three minutes before finally calling Gretchen back.

“Regina!” Gretchen’s voice was so excited Regina had to pull the phone away from her ear. “Oh my god, you’re alive! Karen and I were starting to think you’d been kidnapped or joined a cult or something.”

“I haven’t joined a cult.”

“That’s exactly what someone in a cult would say.” There was rustling on the other end. “Anyway, Karen and I are going to Old Orchard today. Shopping, Auntie Anne’s, maybe a movie. You should come.”

Regina thought about saying no. Thought about making up another excuse. But her mom’s words echoed in her head: You owe them the chance to try.

“Okay,” Regina said. “What time?”

“Really?” Gretchen sounded shocked. “You’re actually coming?”

“Yes, I’m actually coming.”

“Oh my god, Karen, Regina’s coming!” Muffled conversation in the background. “Okay, we’ll pick you up at one. Wear something cute. Oh, and Regina? It’s really good to hear from you.”

After they hung up, Regina’s phone buzzed again.

RODRICK: okay new question

RODRICK: and this ones important

RODRICK: do you think were ready for the show on friday

RODRICK: like actually ready

RODRICK: because ward thinks we need more practice but i think were good

REGINA: You’re ready. Ward just has anxiety.

RODRICK: thats what i said

RODRICK: okay cool

RODRICK: you’re still coming right

REGINA: I’ll be there.

RODRICK: ok good

RODRICK: because we added a new song and i want to know what you think

RODRICK: its called “suburban nightmare”

RODRICK: drews been working on the lyrics for like a month

REGINA: What’s it about?

RODRICK: being trapped in plainview and feeling like your life is going nowhere

RODRICK: very emo

RODRICK: very drew

RODRICK: but actually kind of good?

REGINA: I’m sure it’s better than kind of good.

RODRICK: we’ll see

RODRICK: ok i gotta go

RODRICK: greg is screaming about something

RODRICK: probably broke another lamp

RODRICK: talk later?

REGINA: Talk later.

Regina set her phone down and stared at her ceiling. The glow in the dark stars looked back at her, same as they had for the past six years. She should probably take them down. Should probably redecorate her room into something more mature, more appropriate for someone about to start college.

But she kind of liked them. They reminded her of being young enough to think stars on your ceiling were magical.

Her phone buzzed one more time.

RODRICK: also barbara says hi

RODRICK: frank is still mad about something

RODRICK: i think i hit the snare too hard yesterday and hurt his feelings

Regina smiled at her ceiling and typed back: Tell Frank I said he’s being dramatic.

Gretchen picked Regina up at exactly 1:04 PM in her silver Jetta, which was spotless inside except for the Tiffany air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror. Karen was already in the back seat, wearing a shirt that said “ANGEL” in rhinestones and eating from a bag of Skittles.

“Regina!” Karen launched herself forward to hug Regina from behind, which was dangerous considering they were about to drive on a highway. “We missed you so much!”

“It’s been two weeks, Karen.”

“That’s like a year in friend time.” Gretchen pulled out of Regina’s driveway, narrowly avoiding the mailbox. “Seriously, Regina, where have you been? You’ve been so weird lately.”

“I haven’t been weird.”

“You’ve been weird,” Karen said through a mouthful of Skittles. “But like, good weird. Happy weird.” 

Regina felt her face get hot. 

“You literally smiled at your phone three times now,” Gretchen said. “Who are you texting?”

“No one.”

“Is it the drummer?”

Regina’s silence was apparently answer enough.

“Oh my god, it IS the drummer!” Karen bounced in her seat. “I knew it! Gretchen, I told you it was the drummer!”

“You said it was probably the drummer or possibly a secret boyfriend she was hiding from us,” Gretchen corrected. “But yes, you were partially right.” She glanced at Regina. “So? Tell us about him. What’s his name? Rodrick?”

“Yes. His name is Rodrick.”

“And you’re still talking to him? Even after the whole recording session thing?”

“What recording session thing?” Karen asked.

“Regina went to Plainview last Saturday to help his band record a demo,” Gretchen explained, and Regina was slightly disturbed by how much information Gretchen had retained from their brief conversation last week they had. “In someone’s basement. For like six hours.”

“That’s so cool!” Karen said. “Was it fun? Did you get to use those big sound board things?”

“Yeah. It was actually really fun.”

“See?” Karen poked Gretchen’s shoulder. “I told you it wasn’t weird that Regina was helping a band. It’s like, artsy. Artistic? Art-something.”

“Artistic,” Gretchen supplied. “And I never said it was weird. I said it was unexpected.”

They drove toward Old Orchard with Kelly Clarkson’s “Since U Been Gone” playing on the radio, which Karen sang along to at a volume that should have been illegal. Gretchen asked more questions about the recording session, what the basement looked like, whether the band was actually good, if Regina thought they’d ever be famous.

Regina answered honestly. The basement was cluttered but had good equipment. The band was better than good, they were actually talented. Famous? Probably not. But they could definitely build a decent local following.

“You sound like you actually care about this,” Gretchen observed, turning into the Old Orchard parking lot.

“I do care about it.”

“Why?”

Regina thought about how to answer that. Because it was the first time in years she’d felt like she was doing something that mattered? Because working on music felt more real than anything she’d done at North Shore? Because Rodrick and his terrible band had somehow become the most interesting part of her week?

“I don’t know,” she said instead. “I just do.”

Gretchen found a parking spot near Nordstrom, and they piled out of the car into the warm July afternoon. Old Orchard Shopping Center sprawled in front of them, familiar territory. Regina had been here approximately nine hundred times with Gretchen and Karen. She knew where every store was, which restaurants had the shortest wait times, which bathroom stalls had the best locks.

This was her world. Her territory. The place where Regina George made sense.

They hit Nordstrom first, where Gretchen tried on approximately twelve different sundresses she definitely didn’t need. Then Sephora, where Karen got into a lengthy discussion with a sales associate about whether cream blush or powder blush was better (the sales associate suggested cream, Karen bought powder anyway). Then Abercrombie, where everything smelled like that aggressive cologne and the music was too loud to have a conversation.

Regina’s phone buzzed in her purse every fifteen minutes or so. She checked it whenever Gretchen and Karen weren’t looking.

RODRICK: random thought

RODRICK: do you think fish have feelings

REGINA: Are you high right now?

RODRICK: no were on lunch break

RODRICK: ward brought up fish and now were arguing about it

REGINA: I think fish probably have some form of consciousness.

RODRICK: THATS WHAT I SAID

RODRICK: but ward says theyre basically swimming vegetables

RODRICK: which seems harsh

Later:

RODRICK: different question

RODRICK: if you could only eat one food for the rest of your life what would it be

REGINA: Why are you asking me this?

RODRICK: because were still on lunch break and bored

RODRICK: also wards answers are always weird

RODRICK: he said pickles

RODRICK: just pickles

RODRICK: who says pickles

REGINA: Pizza.

RODRICK: GOOD ANSWER

RODRICK: see ward? PIZZA

RODRICK: normal person answer

And later still:

RODRICK: ok last question i promise

RODRICK: then ill leave you alone

RODRICK: probably

REGINA: What’s the question?

RODRICK: are you doing anything tonight

Regina stared at that message for longer than she should have. Was he asking her to hang out? Was this a casual question or a loaded question?

Before she could respond, Gretchen appeared at her elbow. “Who are you texting?”

Regina nearly dropped her phone. “No one.”

“You’ve been on your phone for like twenty minutes.”

“No I haven’t.”

“Regina, I’ve been watching you. You keep smiling at your phone and then trying to hide it. It’s very obvious.” Gretchen grabbed Regina’s arm. “Come on. We’re getting pretzels. You can text your drummer later.”

They ended up at Auntie Anne’s, sitting at one of those tiny tables with pretzels and lemonade that was definitely too sweet. Karen was talking about some party that Jason was having next weekend, how everyone from North Shore was going to be there, how they absolutely had to go.

Regina was only half-listening. She was thinking about Rodrick’s question. About whether she should say yes, she was free tonight. About what that would mean.

Her phone buzzed again.

RODRICK: ok that was probably a weird question

RODRICK: forget i asked

RODRICK: wards calling me weird now

RODRICK: thanks ward

REGINA: I’m not doing anything tonight.

Three dots appeared immediately, then disappeared, then appeared again.

RODRICK: want to hang out?

RODRICK: we could get food

RODRICK: or just drive around

RODRICK: plainviews really boring but evanston probably has stuff

RODRICK: no pressure

Regina was about to respond when she saw them.

Rodrick, Ward, Chris, and Drew, walking out of Hot Topic with bags, laughing about something. Rodrick was wearing a different Löded Diper shirt, or maybe the same one, she still couldn’t tell. His hair was doing that thing where it stuck up in all directions like he’d just rolled out of bed. Ward looked like he hadn’t showered in three days. Chris had his eyebrow piercing catching the mall lights. Drew was wearing a shirt with something profane written across it in aggressive lettering.

They looked exactly like themselves. Comfortable. Unapologetic.

And they were walking directly toward the food court.

Regina’s stomach dropped. She had exactly three seconds to make a decision. She could wave. Call out. Introduce them to Gretchen and Karen like a normal person.

Or she could pretend she didn’t see them.

“Regina?” Gretchen’s voice cut through her spiraling thoughts. “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I’m fine.”

But Gretchen’s eyes had followed Regina’s gaze. “Who are they?”

“Who are who?”

“Those guys. The ones walking toward us. You’re staring at them.”

Karen looked up from her pretzel. “Oh, are those the band people?”

Rodrick had spotted her. Regina watched his expression change from neutral to surprised to genuinely happy. He said something to Ward, Chris, and Drew, and started walking toward their table.

No, Regina thought. Please don’t come over here. Please just keep walking.

But he was already halfway across the food court, that stupid smile on his face like seeing Regina at Old Orchard was the best thing that had happened to him all day.

“Regina!” His voice carried across the space between them. “Hey! What are you doing here?”

Every muscle in Regina’s body tensed. She could feel Gretchen’s eyes on her. Could feel Karen’s curiosity. Could feel the weight of every decision she’d made over the past four years pressing down on her shoulders.

Old habits died hard.

When Rodrick reached their table, still smiling like an idiot, Regina looked at him with an expression she’d perfected over four years at North Shore High. The one that was cold and dismissive and made it very clear where someone stood in the social hierarchy.

“Can I help you?” Her voice came out flat. Bored.

Rodrick’s smile faltered. “I—what?”

“I’m trying to have lunch with my friends.” Regina gestured vaguely at Gretchen and Karen without looking away from Rodrick. “Was there something you needed?”

She watched him process this. Watched confusion flicker acros his face, followed by something that looked like hurt. Ward, Chris, and Drew had caught up now, standing slightly behind Rodrick. They were all staring at Regina like she’d just grown a second head.

“I just—” Rodrick started, then stopped. His hands went into his pockets. “I saw you and thought I’d say hi. We were texting and—”

“You thought what?” Regina kept her voice carefully neutral. Detached. “That we were friends?”

The words landed like a physical blow. She could see it in the way Rodrick’s shoulders stiffened. In the way Ward’s expression shifted from confused to disgusted.

“Uh,” Chris said slowly, his eyes moving between Regina and Rodrick. “Are we interrupting something?”

“No,” Regina said at the same time Rodrick said, “I don’t know.”

Gretchen was staring at Regina with wide eyes. Her voice came out quiet, almost uncertain. “Regina, do you… know these guys?”

And here it was. The moment. The choice.

Regina looked at Rodrick, at his terrible hair and his Löded Diper shirt and the hurt confusion in his eyes, and felt something crack inside her chest.

Then she looked at Gretchen and Karen, her actual friends, the people who’d been there through everything, and made the worst decision of her life.

“Not really,” Regina said. “They’re just some guys from Plainview.”

“Just some guys,” Ward repeated, his voice sharp. “That’s what we are?”

“I mean…” Regina shrugged, going for casual even though her heart was pounding. “I went to one show. Helped with a recording session. It’s not like we’re friends or anything.”

“You’ve been texting him constantly,” Karen said quietly. She was looking at Regina with this expression—not angry, just confused. Sad, maybe. “We thought… Gretchen and I thought it was something.”

“It’s not something. It’s nothing.” Regina forced herself to look at Rodrick again. Big mistake. His expression had shifted from hurt to something harder. Colder. “Right? It’s nothing.”

Rodrick stared at her for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was quiet enough that only their group could hear. “You know, I really thought you were different than what people said about you.”

Regina’s chest tightened. “What people?”

“Everyone.” Rodrick’s jaw was tight. “My brother’s friend goes to North Shore, remember that? He told me about the Burn Book, the bus, all of it. How you were this mean girl who’d throw anyone under the bus, literally, to protect your reputation. And I told him he was wrong. I told him I’d met you, and you weren’t like that.”

“Well, maybe you were wrong,” Regina said, even though every word felt like swallowing glass.

“Yeah.” Rodrick took a step back. “I guess I was.”

He should have left then. Should have just walked away. But instead he looked at Regina one more time, and his expression was something Regina had never seen before on him, disappointed.

Not angry. Not hurt, exactly. Just profoundly, deeply disappointed.

“You know what the saddest part is?” Rodrick said. “I actually thought you cared. About the music. About the band. About—” He stopped himself. “Doesn’t matter. Have a nice day, Regina.”

He turned to leave, but Ward stepped forward, his face flushed with anger.

“No, fuck that,” Ward said, looking directly at Regina. “You don’t get to just dismiss this. We spent six hours in a basement with you. You helped us record our demo. You gave us real feedback that actually made us better. And now you’re acting like we’re strangers? Like we’re beneath you?”

“Ward,” Rodrick said quietly. “Let’s just go.”

“No.” Ward’s voice got louder, and Regina could feel people in the food court starting to stare. “She doesn’t get to do this. You’ve been talking about her nonstop for weeks now. ‘Regina said this,’ ‘Regina would think this is funny,’ ‘Regina actually gets it.’ And now she’s sitting here acting like you’re nobody?”

“Maybe I am nobody,” Rodrick said, still looking at Regina. “To her, anyway.”

“You’re not nobody,” Karen said suddenly. Everyone turned to look at her. She was staring at Regina with this expression that was more perceptive than Karen usually managed. “Regina’s been really happy lately. Like, actually happy. She smiles at her phone all the time now. She talks about music and recording and all this stuff she never cared about before. That’s because of you guys. Because of him.” Karen pointed at Rodrick.

“Karen—” Regina started

“No, let her talk,” Gretchen said quietly. She was looking at Regina too, and her expression was hard to read. Disappointed, maybe. Or just sad.

“I don’t know what’s happening here,” Karen continued, “but Regina’s lying. She does know you. She talks about your band all the time to me and Gretchen. She resarched recording stuff for like a week before your session because she wanted to be helpful. And she’s been looking at music production programs at Northwestern because she wants to do this for real.”

“Karen, stop,” Regina said, her voice coming out sharper than she intended.

“Why? It’s true.” Karen looked at Rodrick. “She likes you. Or she liked you. I don’t know what she’s doing right now, but it’s not real.”

Rodrick’s expression flickered, hope, maybe, or just confusion. “Is that true?”

Regina opened her mouth. Closed it. Every eye in the immediate vicinity was on her. Gretchen, Karen, Rodrick, Ward, Chris, Drew, and probably half the food court because Ward had been loud enough to attract attention.

This was her moment. Her chance to fix this. To be the person she’d been trying to become over the past few weeks.

But old habits died hard.

“I don’t know what Karen’s talking about,” Regina said, her voice cold. “I helped you record a demo because I was bored. I went to your show because I had nothing better to do. That’s it. There’s nothing more to it.”

The disappointment on Rodrick’s face crystallized into something harder. “Okay. Got it.”

“Rodrick—” Chris started.

“No, she’s right. We were a distraction. Something to do.” Rodrick’s voice was flat now, all the warmth gone. “Thanks for the help with the demo, Regina. It’s really good. We’ll make sure to send you a copy of the CD when Derek finishes it. You know, as a thank you for your time.”

The formality in his voice was somehow worse than if he’d yelled at her.

“Come on,” Rodrick said to his bandmates. “Let’s go.”

Ward looked like he wanted to say more, a lot more, but Chris grabbed his arm and pulled him away. Drew shot Regina one last look that was equal parts confusion and disappointment before following.

Regina watched them walk away. Watched Rodrick’s shoulders stay stiff and tense. Watched Ward gesture angrily while Chris said something that was probably meant to be calming. Watched them disappear into the crowd of mall shoppers.

The silence at their table was deafening.

“What,” Gretchen said slowly, “was that?”

“Nothing.”

“That wasn’t nothing.” Gretchen’s voice was sharp now, actually angry. “That was you being cruel to someone who clearly cares about you. That was you being—”

“Being what?”

“The person you said you didn’t want to be anymore.” Gretchen leaned forward. “After the bus, after everything, you said you wanted to change. You said you didn’t want to be the mean girl anymore. And then you just—” She gestured at where Rodrick had been standing. “What the hell, Regina?”

Regina felt something hot and sharp lodge in her throat. “You don’t understand.”

“Then explain it to me. Explain why you just humiliated someone who’s done nothing but be nice to you.”

“Because he doesn’t fit!” The words burst out before Regina could stop them. “He doesn’t fit with this—” She gestured around the mall, at Gretchen and Karen, at herself. “With my life. With who I’m supposed to be.”

“Who are you supposed to be?” Karen asked quietly.

“I don’t know! That’s the problem!” Regina could feel her voice getting louder but couldn’t seem to stop it. “I’m supposed to go to Northwestern and study business and be successful and have friends who make sense and date guys from good schools with good futures. I’m not supposed to care about some drummer in a band called Löded Diper who works for his dad’s lawn service and has no plans for college.”

“But you do care,” Gretchen said. “That’s what makes this so messed up. You care about him, and instead of just admitting it, you decided to destroy it. Why?”

Regina didn’t have an answer. Or she had too many answers. Because she was scared. Because it was easier to push people away than to let them see her as someone different. Because old habits died hard, and Regina George had spent four years perfecting the art of self-preservation.

“I need to go,” Regina said, standing up abruptly.

“Regina—”

“I need to go. I’ll get an cab or something.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I’ll drive you—"

“I don’t want you to drive me!” Regina’s voice cracked. “I don’t—I can’t—I just need to go.”

She grabbed her purse and walked away before Gretchen or Karen could stop her. Made it approximately twenty feet before she had to stop and lean against a pillar because her hands were shaking too badly to pull out her phone.

This was fine. Everything was fine. She’d made the right choice. The safe choice. The choice that made sense.

So why did it feel like she’d just made the biggest mistake of her life?

Her cell phone buzzed. For one desperate second, Regina thought it might be Rodrick. That he was texting her, that she could fix this, that she hadn’t completely destroyed everything.

But it was Ward.

WARD: hey regina

WARD: just wanted you to know that was really fucked up

WARD: rodrick wont say it because hes too nice

WARD: but that hurt him

WARD: he thought you were cool

WARD: we all did

WARD: guess we were wrong

WARD: dont text him anymore

WARD: dont come to the show

WARD: dont pretend you give a shit about the music

WARD: just stay in your perfect little world with your perfect little friends

WARD: we dont need you. we never did

Regina stared at the message until the words started to blur. She should delete it. Should block Ward’s number. Should pretend she never saw it.

Instead, she just stood there, leaning against a pillar in the middle of Old Orchard Shopping Center, and tried to figure out how she’d become the villain in her own story again.

Regina called her mom for a ride home because she couldn’t face another minute in the mall. Couldn’t face Gretchen and Karen and their disappointed expressions. Couldn’t face the possibility of seeing Rodrick again.

Her mom picked her up in twenty minutes, which was actually impressive considering she’d been at yoga when Regina called.

“What happened?” her mom asked as soon as Regina got in the car.

“Nothing.”

“Gina.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Did you have a fight with Gretchen and Karen?”

“No—yes. Kind of.” Regina leaned her head against the window. “I fucked up, Mom.”

Her mom didn’t even comment on the language, which was how Regina knew this was bad. “What did you do?”

“I ran into Rodrick at the mall. With his band. And Gretchen and Karen were there. And I—” Regina’s voice broke. “I pretended I didn’t know him. I acted like he didn’t matter. Like he was just some random person I’d met once.”

Her mom was quiet for a long moment. “Why did you do that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.”

Regina closed her eyes. “Because I was scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of caring about someone who doesn’t make sense. Of being the kind of person who dates a drummer in a terrible band. Of letting Gretchen and Karen see me as someone different than who I’ve always been.” Regina’s throat felt tight. “Of being happy with something that everyone else thinks is wrong.”

Her mom pulled into their driveway but didn’t turn off the car. Just sat there, engine running, while Regina tried not to cry.

“When I was your age,” her mom said finally, “I dated this boy that all my friends hated. They thought he was weird and wrong for me. Thought I could do better. And one day, at a party, they asked me in front of everyone why I was still with him. And I broke up with him right there. Just ended it. To prove to my friends that their opinion mattered more than my feelings.”

“What happened?”

“He moved away. Got married to someone else. Has kids now.” Her mom looked at Regina. “And I spent years wondering what would have happened if I’d been brave enough to not care what my friends thought. If I’d chosen him instead of my image.”

“This isn’t the same thing.”

“Isn’t it?” Her mom’s voice was gentle. “You hurt someone today, Gina. Someone who clearly cares about you. Someone who makes you happy. And you hurt him because you were more concerned with what other people would think than with being honest about what you want.”

Regina knew her mom was right. Had known it the second she’d seen the look on Rodrick’s face. But knowing it and fixing it were two very different things.

“I don’t know how to fix this,” Regina said quietly.

“Do you want to fix it?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. Yes.” Regina rubbed her face. “I don’t know what I want.”

“Then that’s the first thing you need to figure out.” Her mom squeezed Regina’s hand. “But Gina? Whatever you decide, do it for you. Not for Gretchen or Karen or me or anyone else. For you.”

Regina spent the rest of Wednesday in her room, alternating between staring at her ceiling and staring at her phone. She had seven unread messages.

Three from Gretchen:

GRETCHEN: are you ok?

GRETCHEN: im worried about you

GRETCHEN: call me when youre ready to talk

Two from Karen:

KAREN: that was really mean regina

KAREN: but i think you know that

One from Chris:

CHRIS: disappointed but not surprised

And one from Drew:

DREW: that was cold regina

DREW: like actually cold

DREW: rodrick talked about you constantly

DREW: guess that was all one sided huh

Nothing from Rodrick. Which somehow hurt more than all the other messages combined.

Regina typed and deleted approximately fourteen different messages to him.

I’m sorry, I didn't mean it, can we talk, please let me explain it became nothing because there was no explanation that made what she’d done okay.

She’d hurt him. On purpose. In public. To protect herself.

And now she had to live with that.

Her door opened without knocking, her mom again, holding a plate with a grilled cheese that Regina definitely didn’t ask for.

“Eat something,” her mom said, setting the plate on Regina’s desk.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Eat anyway. You’ll feel better.”

“I won’t feel better. I feel like garbage because I am garbage.”

Her mom sat on the edge of Regina’s bed. “You’re not garbage. You made a mistake. A bad one, yes. But not unforgivable.”

“I think it might be unforgivable.”

“Only if you don’t try to fix it.”

Regina sat up. “How am I supposed to fix it? He probably hates me. His entire band definitely hates me. I can’t just show up and apologize and expect everything to be fine.”

“Why not?”

“Because that’s not how this works.”

“Then how does it work?”

Regina didn’t have an answer for that.

Thursday arrived with no messages from Rodrick, which Regina had expected but still somehow hurt. She lay in bed until noon, alternating between researching how to apologize to someone you’ve publicly humiliated, and doom-scrolling through her text history with Rodrick.

All the random questions. All the stupid jokes. All the conversations about music and drumming and whether hot dogs were sandwiches.

Evidence of something real that Regina had destroyed in approximately three minutes.

Her phone rang around one pm. Gretchen.

Regina let it ring four times before answering. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Gretchen’s voice was careful. “How are you?”

“I’ve been better.”

“Karen and I are worried about you.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. You publicly destroyed someone yesterday and then ran away from the mall.” Gretchen paused. “Regina, what’s going on? Like actually going on. Because this isn’t about Rodrick being from the wrong town or being in a band. This is about something else.”

Regina rolled onto her back, staring at her ceiling stars. “I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of being different. Of wanting something that doesn’t make sense. Of caring about someone who’s completely wrong for me according to everyone in my life.” Regina’s voice got quieter. “Of being happy with something that means I’m not who everyone thinks I should be.”

“Who do people think you should be?”

“Regina George. Popular. Put together. Dating someone from a good school with a good future. Studying something practical.” Regina felt tears threatening. “Not someone who spends Saturdays in basements helping mediocre bands record demos. Not someone who’s considering changing their entire major because of one recording session. Not someone who cares about a drummer with terrible hair and questionable life choices.”

“But that is who you are,” Gretchen said quietly. “At least, it’s who you’ve been for the past few weeks. And you’ve been happier than I’ve seen you in years.”

“Really?”

“Really. You smile more. You talk about things you’re actually interested in instead of just going through the motions. You seem like…” Gretchen paused. “Like yourself. Whoever that is.”

Regina wiped at her eyes. “I don’t know who that​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ is.”

“Then maybe it’s time to figure it out.” Gretchen’s voice was gentle. “But Regina? Whatever you decide, you need to fix what you did yesterday. That guy didn’t deserve that. None of them did.”

“I know.”

“So fix it.”

“I don’t know how.”

“Yes, you do. You’re Regina George. You always know how.”

After they hung up, Regina stared at her phone for another hour, reading and rereading her text history with Rodrick. She picked up her phone fourteen different times to text him. Put it down fourteen different times because what could she possibly say that would make this better?

I’m sorry I pretended you didn’t matter?

I’m sorry I was more concerned with my reputation than your feelings?

I’m sorry I’m exactly the person everyone warned you I would be?

Her laptop was still open to the Northwestern music production program page. Regina closed it without looking at it.

Friday came, and with it, the knowledge that Löded Diper had a show that night. The one Rodrick had invited her to. The one she’d promised she’d attend.

The one she definitely wasn’t going to now.

Regina spent most of the day in her room, ignoring her mom’s increasingly concerned attempts to get her to eat something or at least shower. She finally dragged herself to the bathroom around three pm, caught sight of herself in the mirror, and barely recognized the person staring back.

Her hair was unwashed, thrown up in a messy bun. Her face was puffy from crying on and off for two days. She was wearing pajama pants and a North Shore Mathletes t-shirt that she’d gotten as a joke after the bus incident, after she’d joined the team as part of her redemption arc.

She looked like someone who’d just ruined the best thing that had happened to her in months.

Because she had.

Her cellphone buzzed. For one desperate, pathetic second, Regina thought it might be Rodrick. That he’d forgiven her. That everything could somehow be okay.

It was Gretchen.

GRETCHEN: karen and i are going to a movie tonight if you want to come

GRETCHEN: no pressure

GRETCHEN: just want you to know the invite is there

Regina typed back: Can’t. But thank you.

GRETCHEN: ok

GRETCHEN: love you

GRETCHEN: even when youre being an idiot

Regina almost smiled. Almost.

REGINA: Love you too.

She spent the rest of the afternoon doing absolutely nothing productive. Lay on her bed. Stared at her ceiling. Thought about the recording session, about Pete’s Diner, about Rodrick’s stupid questions and his terrible hair and the way he’d looked at her in that basement like she was the most interesting person he’d ever met.

Thought about the look on his face at the mall. The disappointment. The hurt.

I really thought you were different than what people said about you.

Regina’s chest hurt just remembering it.

Around seven pm, her mom knocked on the door, actually knocked this time, which was how Regina knew this was serious.

“Can I come in?”

“Yeah.”

Her mom entered carrying a bowl of soup that Regina definitely didn’t ask for. “You need to eat something, Gina. You’ve barely eaten in two days.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“I don’t care. Eat anyway.” Her mom set the bowl on Regina’s nightstand and sat on the edge of her bed. “So. Are you going to hide in here all weekend, or are you going to do something about this situation?”

“There’s nothing to do about it.”

“There’s always something to do about it.”

“Mom, I completely humiliated him in front of his friends and my friends and half of Old Orchard. I told him he didn’t matter. That he was just some random guy from Plainview. That everything between us was nothing.” Regina pulled her comforter up higher. “There’s no coming back from that.”

“Have you tried apologizing?”

“What’s the point? He won’t believe me. He shouldn’t believe me.”

“So you’re just going to give up?”

“I’m not giving up. I’m being realistic.”

Her mom was quiet for a long moment. “When I told you about the boy I dated in high school, the one my friends hated, I didn’t tell you the rest of the story.”

“What’s the rest of the story?”

“I tried to apologize to him. Three months later, after I’d had time to realize what an idiot I’d been. I called him, told him I was sorry, that I’d made a mistake.” Her mom looked at Regina. “He didn’t forgive me. Told me he’d moved on. That I’d shown him who I really was, and he believed me.”

Regina’s stomach sank. “That’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“No. It’s supposed to show you what happens when you wait too long. When you let fear and pride keep you from fixing something that matters.” Her mom squeezed Regina’s hand. “Don’t be me, Gina. Don’t spend the next twenty years wondering what would have happened if you’d been brave enough to try.”

After her mom left, Regina lay in bed and watched the clock on her nightstand tick toward eight PM. The show would be starting soon. Metallic Closure would be doing their terrible opener set. Then Löded Diper would take the stage. Rodrick would be behind his drums, playing like nothing else mattered, and Regina wouldn’t be there to see it.

She pulled out her phone and scrolled to Rodrick’s number. Stared at it.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard.

I’m sorry, seemed inadequate.

I didn’t mean it, was a lie.

Can we talk, assumed he’d want to talk to her.

Regina closed her cellphone without sending anything.

Saturday morning arrived gray and drizzly, which felt appropriate. Regina finally showered around ten am because her hair was starting to become sentient, then spent twenty minutes staring at her closet like something in there would tell her how to fix her life.

Her phone had one new message, sent at 11:47 PM the night before.

CHRIS: show was good tonight

CHRIS: rodrick played great

CHRIS: seemed off though

CHRIS: wonder why

Regina stared at that message for a solid five minutes. Was Chris rubbing it in? Being genuinely informative? Both?

She typed: I’m sorry.

Then deleted it.

Typed: Is he okay?

Deleted that too.

Typed: I fucked up.

Deleted it.

Typed: Tell him I’m sorry.

Deleted it.

Finally just closed her phone without sending anything because what was the point? Sorry didn’t fix this. Sorry was just a word.

Her mom made her come downstairs for lunch around one pm—grilled cheese again, apparently her mom’s solution to all problems, and they sat at the kitchen table in silence for a while before her mom finally spoke.

“Have you thought about what you’re going to do?”

“About what?”

“About Rodrick. About Northwestern. About music production. About any of it.”

Regina pushed her grilled cheese around her plate. “I don’t know what to do about any of it.”

“Do you want to do music production?”

“Maybe. Yes. I don’t know.” Regina set down her fork. “Every time I think about it, I get excited. Like actually excited about something for the first time in forever. But then I think about telling people, you and Dad and my guidance counselor and everyone at Northwestern, and I just feel sick.”

“Why?”

“Because it doesn’t make sense. Because it’s not practical. Because it’s not what I’m supposed to want.”

“But is it what you want?”

Regina thought about the recording session. About watching Derek work the mixing board. About helping Löded Diper make their songs better. About the way it felt to contribute something meaningful to something creative.

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “I think it is.”

“Then that’s your answer.”

“But what about—”

“What about what everyone else thinks?” Her mom finished. “Gina, at some point you have to decide what matters more—living the life everyone expects you to live, or living a life that makes you happy.”

“Those things aren’t mutually exclusive.”

“Sometimes they are.” Her mom reached across the table and squeezed Regina’s hand. “And when they are, you have to choose. No one can make that choice for you.”

Sunday was worse than Saturday somehow. Regina woke up to rain pounding against her windows and a text from Karen that just said: miss you.

She spent the morning doing college prep work that she’d been putting off, filling out housing surveys, reading through orientation materials, looking at class schedules. Everything felt hollow. Like she was going through the motions of preparing for a life she wasn’t sure she wanted anymore.

Around noon, her laptop pinged with a new email.

It was from Derek.

Löded Diper Demo - Final Mix

Hey Regina, 

Finished the final mix of the demo. Attached all six tracks. Wanted you to hear it before we start distributing copies.

Also wanted to say thanks again for your help at the session. You were right about everything—the mic placement, the recording order, all of it. The demo sounds professional because of you.

I know things got weird with Rodrick and the band, and I’m not trying to get in the middle of that. But you’re good at this. Really good. If you ever want to do more production work, let me know. I’d be happy to teach you more about the equipment.

Take care,

Derek.

Regina stared at the email for a long time before clicking on the attachments.

Six MP3 files. The six songs she’d helped Löded Diper record.

She plugged in her headphones and clicked on the first track: “Explöded Diper.”

Rodrick’s drums came first, clean, precise, exactly the way they’d sounded in Derek’s basement. Then Ward’s bass, grounding everything. Then Chris’s guitar, bright and energetic. Then Drew’s vocals, raw and genuine.

It sounded good. Really good. Better than Regina had expected.

She listened to all six songs straight through, and by the end, she was crying.

Not sad crying. Not exactly. Just… overwhelmed crying. Because this was good. This was something real that she’d helped create. These were songs that mattered to four guys who cared about music more than anything else. And Regina had been part of making them sound this good.

And she’d thrown it all away because she was scared of what Gretchen and Karen would think.

Regina closed her laptop and stared at her ceiling again. At the glow in thedark stars that had been there for years. At the evidence of a person she used to be before she became Regina George, Queen Bee of North Shore.

Her cellphone sat next to her on the bed, silent and accusatory.

She could call Rodrick. Could try to explain. Could apologize and hope that maybe, somehow, he’d understand.

Or she could just leave it. Move on. Go to Northwestern, study business like she’d planned, forget that she’d ever spent a Saturday in a basement in Plainview helping a band called Löded Diper record their demo.

Regina picked up her phone.

Put it down.

Picked it up again.

Put it down.

This went on for approximately twenty minutes before her mom appeared in her doorway.

“Gina, you have a visitor.”

Regina’s heart leapt. “Is it—”

“It’s Gretchen and Karen.”

Oh.

Regina followed her mom downstairs to find Gretchen and Karen sitting on the couch in the living room, looking uncharacteristically serious. Gretchen was wearing a Northwestern sweatshirt. Karen had on a shirt that said “PINK” in sequins.

“Hi,” Regina said awkwardly from the stairs.

“Hi,” Gretchen said. “Can we talk?”

“Yeah. Sure. Let me just—” Regina gestured vaguely upstairs. “Let me just change into actual clothes.”

“Regina, we’ve seen you look worse,” Karen said. “Remember sophomore year when you had the flu and still came to my birthday party?”

“I had a fever of 101.”

“Exactly. This is nothing.” Karen patted the couch cushion next to her. “Sit.”

Regina sat.

There was a long moment of silence before Gretchen finally spoke.

“We’re worried about you,” she said. “Like, genuinely worried. You’ve been hiding in your room for three days. You’re not answering texts. Your mom says you’ve barely eaten anything.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Karen said. “You’re sad. You’ve been sad since Wednesday. Since the thing at the mall.”

“The thing where I publicly humiliated someone who cared about me, you mean?”

“Yes. That thing.” Gretchen leaned forward. “Regina, we’re not here to judge you. We’re here because you’re our friend and you’re clearly going through something and we want to help.”

“I don’t know if you can help.”

“Try us.”

So Regina told them everything. About the recording session, about how good it had felt to contribute something meaningful. About Derek’s email with the demo tracks. About how she’d listened to all six songs this morning and realized that she’d helped create something real. About how terrified she was of wanting something that didn’t make sense. About how she’d rather hurt Rodrick than admit to caring about him in front of them.

“That’s the part I don’t understand,” Gretchen said when Regina finished. “Why did you think we’d judge you for dating a drummer?”

“Because he doesn’t fit. He’s not from North Shore. He’s not going to college. He works for his dad’s lawn service and plays in a band called Löded Diper. He’s not the kind of person Regina George is supposed to be with.”

“But who decided that?” Karen asked. “Who decided what kind of person Regina George is supposed to be with?”

Regina opened her mouth. Closed it. Because Karen had a point. Who had decided that? Her mom? Her friends? The entire social hierarchy of North Shore High School? Or had Regina decided it herself, based on four years of conditioning about what was acceptable and what wasn’t?

“I don’t know,” Regina admitted.

“Well, for what it’s worth,” Gretchen said, “I think you should do whatever makes you happy. Even if that’s producing music for terrible bands in Plainview basements.”

“The band isn’t terrible.”

“See? You’re defending them. That’s how I know you care.” Gretchen smiled. “Regina, I’ve known you since we were twelve. I’ve seen you at your worst—the Burn Book, the bus, all of it. And I’ve never seen you as happy as you were these past few weeks when you were talking about music and recording and that drummer with the terrible hair.”

“His hair isn’t that bad.”

“It’s pretty bad,” Karen said. “But in like a cute way? Like a ‘I just rolled out of bed and somehow it works’ way.”

Regina almost laughed. Almost.

“The point is,” Gretchen continued, “you were happy. And then you destroyed it because you were scared of what we’d think. Which is stupid, because we just want you to be happy.”

“Really?”

“Really.” Gretchen squeezed Regina’s hand. “So whatever you decide to do, apologize to Rodrick, change your major, move to Plainview and become a full-time music producer for garage bands, we’ll support you. As long as it’s what you actually want.”

“I don’t know what I want,” Regina said quietly.

“Then figure it out,” Karen said. “But figure it out for you. Not for us. Not for your mom. Not for anyone else. Just you.”

After Gretchen and Karen left, Regina went back to her room and opened her laptop. Pulled up the email from Derek. Clicked on “Explöded Diper” one more time.

Listened to Rodrick’s drums, clean and precise and perfect.

Thought about the look on his face at the recording session. The way he’d smiled at her when he finished each song. The way he’d looked genuinely happy that she was there.

Thought about the look on his face at the mall. The disappointment. The hurt.

I really thought you were different than what people said about you.

Regina opened a new text message to Rodrick.

Stared at the empty text box.

Typed: I’m sorry.

Deleted it.

Typed: I was wrong.

Deleted it.

Typed: I miss you.

Deleted it.

Closed her cellphone without sending anything because the truth was, she didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to fix this. Didn’t know if it was even fixable.

All she knew was that she’d made a choice at Old Orchard Shopping Center, and it was the wrong one.

And now she had to live with that.

Monday arrived with reluctant sunshine and a text from her Northwestern housing coordinator about roommate assignments. Regina stared at it for thirty seconds before deleting it without reading.

She couldn’t think about Northwestern right now. Couldn’t think about business school or dorm rooms or any of it. All she could think about was Rodrick’s face at the mall. About Ward’s angry text. About Derek’s email with the demo tracks.

About how she’d helped create something good and then destroyed the relationship with the people who’d made it.

Her mom made her come downstairs for breakfast, scrambled eggs this time, apparently grilled cheese was only for crises, and they sat at the kitchen table while her dad read the Tribune and pretended not to be listening to their conversation.

“Have you decided what you’re going to do?” her mom asked, which was becoming her favorite question apparently.

“No.”

“Are you going to talk to him?”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“The truth is usually a good place to start.”

“The truth is that I’m exactly the person everyone warned him I would be. Mean. Shallow. More concerned with my image than with actual human feelings.” Regina pushed her eggs around her plate. “Why would he want to hear that?”

“Because it’s honest. And because maybe that’s not all you are.” Her mom reached across the table. “Gina, you made a mistake. A bad one. But that doesn’t mean you can’t fix it.”

“What if he doesn’t want me to fix it?”

“Then at least you tried.

Regina’s phone buzzed. She grabbed it with embarrassing desperation, hoping—

It was Janis Ian.

JANIS: heard about what happened at old orchard

JANIS: damian has a friend who works at auntie annes

JANIS: yikes

Regina groaned and dropped her phone on the table. “Great. Now everyone knows.”

“Everyone knows what?” her dad asked without looking up from his paper.

“That I’m a terrible person who hurt someone who didn’t deserve it.”

“You’re not a terrible person.” Her dad finally lowered his newspaper, which was how Regina knew this was serious. “You’re an eighteen-year-old girl who made a mistake. There’s a difference.”

“Is there?”

“Yes.” Her dad folded his paper neatly, which he only did when he was about to say something he considered important. “When I was your age, I broke up with your mother because my friends thought she wasn’t cool enough. Took me three months to realize I was an idiot. By then she was dating someone else.”

Regina looked at her mom. “I never heard this story.”

“That’s because your father is embarrassed about it,” her mom said, smiling slightly. “He showed up at my dorm room at midnight with flowers and this whole speech about how he’d made a mistake.”

“Did you take him back?”

“Obviously. I married him.” Her mom looked at her dad with this expression that made Regina’s chest hurt. “But he had to work for it. Had to prove he meant it.”

“How did he prove it?”

“He kept showing up,” her mom said simply. “Every day for two weeks. Just showing up. Being honest. Being himself. Until I finally believed him.”

Regina thought about that. About showing up. About being honest. About being herself—whoever that was.

Her phone buzzed again.

JANIS: if you want to talk about it, you know where to find me

JANIS: i know a thing or two about being the villain

JANIS: and about apologizing when you fuck up

JANIS: which you definitely did

JANIS: but i also know a thing or two about second chances

JANIS: just saying

Regina typed back: Thank you.

Then immediately called Janis, because some conversations needed to happen in actual words.

“Regina George,” Janis answered on the second ring. “To what do I owe this honor?”

“I need advice.”

“About the drummer situation?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Hold on.” There was rustling, then what sounded like a door closing. “Okay. I’m in my room. Damian’s being nosy. Speak.”

So Regina explained everything. Again. The recording session, the mall, the aftermath. How she’d hurt Rodrick because she was scared. How she didn’t know how to fix it. How she wasn’t sure it was even fixable.

When she finished, Janis was quiet for a long moment.

“Okay,” Janis said finally. “Here’s the thing. What you did was shitty. Like, really shitty. You publicly humiliated someone who cared about you because you were more concerned with your image than with being a decent human being.”

“I know.”

“I’m not done. What you did was shitty, and you’re going to have to live with that. But, and this is important, that doesn’t mean you can’t try to fix it.”

“How?”

“By actually apologizing. Not just saying sorry, but actually meaning it. By showing up. By being honest about why you did what you did. By giving him the chance to tell you to fuck off if that’s what he wants to do.”

“What if that is what he wants to do?”

“Then you accept it and you learn from it and you don’t make the same mistake again.” Janis’s voice softened slightly. “But Regina? I don’t think that’s what he’ll want to do. From what Damian’s friend said—”

“How does Damian know about this?”

“Damian knows everything. It’s his superpower.” Janis continued, “From what we heard, this Rodrick guy looked devastated. Not angry. Devastated. Which means he cared about you. A lot. People don’t get that hurt unless they actually cared.”

“That just makes it worse.”

“Yeah. It does. But it also means there might be something worth saving.” Janis paused. “Look, I spent years hating you. Genuinely hating you. And then you got hit by a bus and apologized and tried to be better. And I forgave you. Not because you deserved it, but because you actually seemed like you meant it. Like you wanted to change.”

“And?”

“And now you need to do the same thing with this drummer. You need to actually mean it. Actually want to fix it. Not because you feel guilty, but because you care about him and you don’t want to be the person who destroyed something good.”

“What if I am that person?”

“Then prove you’re not.” Janis’s voice was firm. “Show up. Be honest. Mean it. And if he tells you to fuck off, accept it and move on. But at least try.”

After they hung up, Regina sat at the kitchen table staring at her phone. At Rodrick’s number. At the text thread that ended with him asking if she was doing anything that night, the night of the recording session. The last normal conversation they’d had before she’d destroyed everything.

She opened a new message.

Typed: Can we talk?

Stared at it.

Deleted it.

Typed: I’m sorry. I know that doesn’t fix anything, but I need to say it. I’m sorry.

Stared at it.

Deleted it.

Typed: I fucked up. I know I fucked up. Can I please explain?

Stared at it for a very long time.

Then, before she could delete it again, she hit send.

The message showed as delivered.

Regina set her cellphone face down on the table and waited.

One minute passed.

Then five.

Then ten.

Then twenty.

No response.

Regina picked up her phone, checked it, set it back down.

Picked it up again.

Set it down.

This went on for approximately forty five minutes before her mom finally said, “Watching your phone won’t make him respond faster.”

“I know.”

“So maybe do something else while you wait?”

“Like what?”

“Like anything. Read a book. Watch TV. Take a shower.” Her mom gave her a look. “You could use a shower.”

Regina showered, changed into actual clothes for the first time in three days, and came back downstairs to find her phone sitting exactly where she’d left it.

No new messages.

It was fine. This was fine. She’d tried. She’d apologized. If Rodrick didn’t want to respond, that was his choice.

That was his right.

She set her phone down and stared at her ceiling stars again.

Maybe some things were just broken.

Maybe some mistakes didn’t get fixed.

Maybe Regina George really was exactly who everyone said she was.

Her phone buzzed.

Regina grabbed it so fast she nearly dropped it.

RODRICK: yeah ok

RODRICK: we can talk

RODRICK: but not over text

RODRICK: and not at peter's anywhere in plainview

RODRICK: somewhere neutral

Regina stared at that message, her heart pounding so hard it was almost painful.

REGINA: Where?

The three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.

RODRICK: the arboretum in lisle

RODRICK: wednesday at 2pm

RODRICK: if you don’t show up i’m deleting your number

Regina’s hands were shaking as she typed: I’ll be there.

RODRICK: ok

And then nothing else. No follow-up. No confirmation. Just “ok” and silence.

But it was something.

It was a chance.Regina sat on her bed and tried to figure out what the hell she was going to say to Rodrick Heffley on Wednesday at 2 PM that could possibly make any of this okay.

And came up completely blank.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Chapter Text

Tuesday passed in a blur of anxiety and failed preparation.

Regina spent the morning attempting to write down what she wanted to say to Rodrick. She went through approximately fourteen pieces of paper, each one containing a different version of an apology that sounded either too formal, too casual, too defensive, or just completely inadequate.

 I’m sorry I hurt you sounded empty.

I was scared of what people would think sounded like an excuse.

I care about you more than I was willing to admit sounded presumptuous, like she assumed he still cared about her at all.

By noon, Regina had a trash can full of crumpled paper and no better idea of what she was going to say than when she’d started.

Her mom knocked on her door around 1 PM, actually knocked, which meant she knew this was serious.

“How’s it going?” her mom asked, eyeing the paper graveyard.

“Terrible. I don’t know what to say.”

“Maybe you’re overthinking it.”

“Or maybe there’s nothing I can say that will make this better.” Regina tossed another crumpled piece of paper toward the trash can. It missed. “Maybe some things are just unfixable.”

Her mom sat on the edge of Regina’s bed, picking up one of the discarded apology attempts. “‘I’m sorry I prioritized my reputation over your feelings’—that’s actually not bad.”

“It sounds like a corporate apology. Like something a company would put out after getting caught doing something illegal.”

“Okay, so make it more personal.”

“How?”

“Tell him the truth. All of it. Why you did what you did. How you’ve felt since. What you want now.” Her mom set down the paper. “The truth is usually scarier than a polished apology, but it’s also more believable.”

Regina thought about that. About the truth. About admitting that she’d been so terrified of being someone different that she’d destroyed something good. About confessing that she’d spent the past week feeling like she’d made the worst mistake of her life.

About telling Rodrick that she had feelings for him, real feelings, and she’d been too scared to admit it.

Her chest tightened just thinking about it.

“What if I can’t?” Regina asked quietly.

“Can’t what?”

“Can’t tell him the truth. Can’t actually say the words.” Regina hugged her knees to her chest. “What if I get there tomorrow and I just… freeze? What if I can’t make myself be that honest?”

“Then you’re not ready to fix this.” Her mom’s voice was gentle but firm. “Regina, he agreed to meet with you. That’s huge. That means he’s willing to listen. But if you show up and give him some half hearted apology that doesn’t actually mean anything, you’ll just hurt him again. And that would be worse than not showing up at all.”

Regina knew her mom was right. But knowing it and actually being capable of that level of honesty were two very different things.

Her phone buzzed. She grabbed it with that same desperate hope, maybe Rodrick had texted her something, anything, but it was Gretchen.

GRETCHEN: How are you doing?

GRETCHEN: Karen and i are thinking about you

REGINA: I’m meeting him tomorrow. To apologize.

GRETCHEN: Oh my god really??

GRETCHEN: That's good!

GRETCHEN: That's really good!

GRETCHEN: Do you know what you’re going to say?

REGINA: No.

GRETCHEN: Well you have like 24 hours to figure it out

GRETCHEN: No pressure

REGINA: That’s literally all pressure.

GRETCHEN: ok yes that’s all pressure

GRETCHEN: but you can do this

GRETCHEN: you’re regina george

GRETCHEN: you can do anything

Regina wished she had Gretchen’s confidence. But right now, sitting in her room surrounded by failed apologies, she just felt like a girl who’d hurt someone and had no idea how to fix it.

Her phone buzzed again. This time it was Karen.

KAREN: gretchen told me youre meeting the drummer tomorrow

KAREN: im proud of you!

KAREN: thats really brave

KAREN: just be honest

KAREN: boys like honesty

KAREN: at least i think they do

KAREN: jason might not like honesty actually

KAREN: but your drummer seems different

KAREN: just tell him how you feel!

KAREN: ❤️

Regina stared at that last message. Just tell him how you feel.

Like it was that simple.

Like Regina George could just open her mouth and say “I have feelings for you” without her entire body trying to shut down from the vulnerability of it all.

That night, Regina barely slept. She lay in bed staring at her ceiling stars, running through possible conversations in her head. In some versions, Rodrick forgave her immediately and everything was fine. In others, he told her to leave and never contact him again. In most, she just stood there unable to form words while he stared at her with that disappointed expression from the mall.

At 3 AM, she gave up on sleep and opened her laptop. Pulled up the demo tracks Derek had sent her. Listened to all six songs while the rain pattered against her window.

The music was good. Really good. And Regina had helped make it that way.

That had to count for something, right?

By the time her alarm went off at 9 AM, Regina had maybe gotten two hours of actual sleep. She dragged herself out of bed, stared at her closet for twenty minutes trying to decide what someone wore to apologize to a person they’d publicly humiliated, and finally settled on jeans and a plain black t-shirt. Nothing designer. Nothing flashy. Just normal.

Her mom made her eat breakfast even though Regina’s stomach was in knots. Toast and eggs that Regina mostly pushed around her plate while her mom pretended not to watch her like a hawk.

“You’re going to do great,” her mom said.

“You don’t know that.”

“I know you’re going to try. That’s what matters.”

Regina wanted to believe her.

The Morton Arboretum was about forty minutes from Regina’s house in light traffic. Regina left at 1 PM, giving herself extra time in case she got lost or had a panic attack in the parking lot or decided to just drive to Canada and start a new life.

The drive felt simultaneously too long and way too short. Regina had her mix CD playing, the one with Green Day and Blink-182 and all the music she’d been listening to since meeting Rodrick, and she kept running through possible opening lines in her head.

I’m sorry was too simple.

I was wrong was too obvious.

I have feelings for you was too terrifying.

By the time she pulled into the arboretum parking lot at 1:47 PM, Regina still had no idea what she was going to say.

The arboretum was beautiful in that carefully maintained nature way, winding paths through manicured gardens, tall trees providing shade, benches positioned at scenic viewpoints. It was the kind of place people came to take engagement photos or have peaceful walks. Not the kind of place you expected to have your life altering apology conversation.

Regina found a parking spot and sat in her car for ten minutes, gripping her steering wheel and trying to remember how to breathe.

Her phone buzzed.

RODRICK: im here

RODRICK: by the main fountain

RODRICK: you better not be bailing

Regina’s hands were shaking as she typed back: On my way.

She checked her reflection in the rearview mirror one more time, she looked tired, her hair wasn’t cooperating, her face was slightly pale from lack of sleep, then got out of the car before she could talk herself out of it.

The walk from the parking lot to the main fountain felt like approximately seventeen miles. Regina’s heart was pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears. Her palms were sweating. Her mouth was dry.

This was worse than any presentation she’d given at North Shore. Worse than the bus. Worse than anything.

And then she saw him.

Rodrick was sitting on the edge of the fountain, wearing a black t-shirt that wasn’t a Löded Diper shirt for once, just plain black, and jeans that had a hole in the knee. His hair was doing that thing where it looked like he’d tried to comb it but had given up halfway through. He was staring at his phone, his expression carefully neutral.

He looked up as Regina approached, and his face didn’t change. No smile. No warmth. Just neutral watchfulness.

“Hi,” Regina said, her voice coming out smaller than she’d intended.

“Hi.”

Regina stood there awkwardly, not sure if she should sit down or keep standing or just throw herself into the fountain and end this misery.

“You can sit,” Rodrick said, his tone flat. “I’m not going to bite you or anything.”

Regina sat on the edge of the fountain, leaving about two feet of space between them. Two feet that felt like miles.

For a long moment, neither of them said anything. Regina could hear birds chirping, water splashing from the fountain, distant voices of other people walking through the arboretum. Normal sounds. Everything was normal except for this.

“So,” Rodrick said finally. “You wanted to talk.”

“Yeah. I did. I do.” Regina twisted her hands in her lap. “I wanted to apologize.”

“Okay.”

“For what happened at the mall. For what I said. For how I acted.” The words were coming out in a rush now, tumbling over each other. “I was horrible to you. You didn’t deserve that. None of you did. And I’m sorry.”

Rodrick was quiet for a moment, staring at the fountain water. “Why did you do it?”

“What?”

“Why did you act like you didn’t know me? Like I didn’t matter?” He finally looked at her, and his expression was guarded. Careful. “I’ve been trying to figure it out for a week. Was it because your friends were there? Because you were embarrassed to be seen with me? What was it?”

Regina felt her throat tighten. “All of it. None of it. I don’t know.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I know.” Regina forced herself to look at him. “I was scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of what Gretchen and Karen would think. Of admitting that I cared about something that didn’t fit with who I’m supposed to be. Of being seen with someone who doesn’t make sense in my world.” Regina’s voice was getting quieter. “Of caring about you.”

Rodrick’s expression flickered, something between hope and skepticism. “You cared about me?”

“Yes. I did. I do.” Regina looked away. “Which is why I panicked. Because you don’t fit into my life. You’re not from North Shore. You’re not going to college. You work for your dad and play in a band with a terrible name and you have no plan for your future except ‘play drums and hope for the best.’”

“Is this your apology?” Rodrick’s voice had an edge now. “Because it kind of sounds like you’re just listing all the reasons I’m not good enough for you.”

“No! That’s not—” Regina stopped, frustrated with herself. “That’s not what I meant. What I meant was that everyone in my life has expectations about who I should be with. What kind of person makes sense for Regina George. And you don’t fit those expectations at all.”

“So you threw me away because I didn’t fit.” Rodrick’s jaw was tight. “Cool. Great. Thanks for clearing that up.”

“That’s not what I’m saying—”

“Then what are you saying?” Rodrick stood up abruptly, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Because from where I’m standing, it sounds like you’re apologizing for hurting me while also explaining that you’re not actually sorry because I was never good enough for your perfect life anyway.”

“You were too good!” The words burst out before Regina could stop them. “You were too good for me. You and your stupid band and your terrible dreams and your complete lack of concern about what anyone thinks. You were just yourself, all the time, without apologizing for it. And I couldn’t handle that.”

Rodrick stopped pacing and turned to look at her. “What?”

Regina stood up too, her hands shaking. “You don’t care what people think. You just do what you want and hope it works out. You’re confident in this way that I’ve never been. And being around you made me realize how much of my life has been about being what other people expect instead of being what I actually want.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“It’s a terrifying thing.” Regina wrapped her arms around herself. “Because if I admit that I care about you—about music production, about helping your band, about any of it—then I have to admit that everything I’ve been working toward might be wrong. That I might not want to study business. That I might not want the life everyone expects me to have.”

Rodrick was quiet for a long moment, studying her face. “So you pushed me away because you were having an existential crisis?”

“Essentially, yes.”

“That’s the worst apology I’ve ever heard.”

“I know.” Regina felt tears threatening. She blinked them back aggressively because she was not going to cry. She wasn’t. “I know it’s not a good apology. I know sorry doesn’t fix what I did. I know I humiliated you and hurt you and proved that I’m exactly the person everyone warned you I would be. I know all of that.”

“Then why are we here?” Rodrick’s voice was softer now, but still guarded. “If you know sorry doesn’t fix it, why did you ask me to meet you?”

“Because I needed you to know that I meant it.” Regina forced herself to look at him. “When I said helping your band was fun. When I gave you feedback. When we texted about random stuff. All of it. I meant it. It wasn’t fake. It wasn’t me being bored or having nothing better to do.”

“Then what was it?”

This was it. This was the moment. Regina could tell him the truth, that she had feelings for him, that he’d become the best part of her week, that she thought about him constantly, or she could give him some watered-down version that kept her safe.

She opened her mouth.

Nothing came out.

Rodrick waited, watching her struggle.

“I—” Regina started. Stopped. Tried again. “I care about—what we were—what it was—”

The words wouldn’t come. They were stuck somewhere in her throat, trapped by years of conditioning about what Regina George did and didn’t do. Regina George didn’t confess feelings. Regina George didn’t make herself vulnerable. Regina George protected herself first.

“You care about what?” Rodrick prompted, and there was something in his voice, maybe hope, maybe frustration. “Just say it, Regina.”

“I care about the music,” Regina said finally, taking the coward’s way out. “I care about production and helping the band sound good and all of that.”

Rodrick’s expression shuttered. “The music.”

“Yes. The music.” Regina knew she was messing this up but couldn’t seem to stop. “I’ve been looking at music production programs at Northwestern. I’ve been researching more about recording techniques. I listened to your demo about twenty times this week and—”

“Stop.” Rodrick held up his hand. “Just stop.”

Regina stopped.

“Is that really all this is about?” Rodrick asked quietly. “The music? The production? None of this is about me?”

“No—I mean yes—I mean—” Regina felt her chest tightening. “It’s about all of it. It’s about you and the music and—”

“But you can’t actually say it.” Rodrick’s voice was flat. “You can’t actually tell me that you have feelings for me. You can barely even say you liked hanging out with me.”

“That’s not fair—”

“Isn’t it?” Rodrick ran his hand through his hair, making it stand up worse. “Regina, I told you at the mall that I thought you were different. That I thought you actually cared. And you know what? I was hoping you’d prove me right today. I was hoping you’d show up here and actually be honest with me about what you’re feeling. But you can’t even do that.”

“I’m trying—”

“No, you’re not. You’re giving me this half-assed apology where you explain why you hurt me but don’t actually take responsibility for it. You’re talking about music production and recording techniques instead of just admitting that maybe—maybe—you have feelings for me that scared you.”

Regina felt like she couldn’t breathe. “I do—I did—”

“You did what?”

“I care about you!” The words finally broke free, loud and sharp. “Okay? Is that what you want to hear? I care about you. I spent the past two weeks texting you constantly and looking forward to seeing you and thinking about you when I should have been doing college prep. I spent six hours in a basement in Plainview having the best time I’ve had in years. I listened to your demo on repeat and felt proud because I helped make it sound that good. I care about you and your stupid band and your terrible life choices and all of it.”

Rodrick stared at her. “Then why couldn’t you just say that?”

“Because—” Regina’s voice cracked. “Because I don’t know how to care about someone like this. I don’t know how to be vulnerable. I don’t know how to admit that I have feelings without feeling like I’m giving someone the power to destroy me.”

“So instead you destroyed me first.”

The words hit like a physical blow. Regina flinched. “Yes. I did. And I hate that I did that. I hate that my first instinct was to hurt you instead of being honest. I hate that I’m so damaged from four years of being Regina George that I can’t just be a normal person who admits they like someone.”

“I never asked you to be normal,” Rodrick said quietly. “I liked you because you weren’t normal. Because you were honest and mean and didn’t bullshit me about stuff. Because when you gave me feedback, you actually told me what I needed to hear instead of just being nice.”

“But I wasn’t honest about the important stuff.”

“No. You weren’t.” Rodrick sat back down on the fountain edge, suddenly looking tired. “And that’s the problem, Regina. I can handle you being mean. I can handle you being scared. I can’t handle you lying to me about what this was.”

Regina sat down too, leaving that same two feet of space between them. “I wasn’t lying.”

“You told me at the mall that I was nothing. That we were nothing.”

“I was scared—”

“I know you were scared. I get that. But you still said it. In front of my friends. In front of your friends. In front of a whole food court full of people.” Rodrick looked at her. “Do you know what that felt like?”

“I—”

“It felt like I’d been wrong about everything. Like I’d completely misread this whole situation. Like I’d been this pathetic guy who thought a girl like you could actually care about a guy like me when obviously that was never going to happen.”

“You weren’t wrong,” Regina said desperately. “You weren’t pathetic. I did care. I still care.”

“But not enough to admit it when it mattered.” Rodrick’s voice wasn’t angry anymore. Just sad. “Not enough to stand up for me when your friends were watching. Not enough to be honest about what you actually felt.”

Regina felt tears sliding down her cheeks now and didn’t bother trying to stop them. “I know. I know I messed up. I know sorry doesn’t fix it. But I needed you to know that it was real. That I wasn’t just using you for entertainment. That I—”

She stopped. The words were there, right there, three words that would make everything so much clearer. But they were stuck behind years of walls she’d built to protect herself.

I have feelings for you.

I think about you constantly.

I might be falling for you.

Pick one. Any one. Just say it.

“That you what?” Rodrick asked, and there was that hope again in his voice, small and fragile.

Regina opened her mouth. Closed it. Tried again. “That I care about you. More than I wanted to. More than I was ready for.

It wasn’t enough. She could see it in Rodrick’s face, the disappointment. The resignation.

“Okay,” he said quietly.

“Okay?”

“Okay. I believe that you care about me in some way. I believe you didn’t mean to hurt me as badly as you did. I believe you’re sorry.” Rodrick stood up again. “But Regina? That’s not enough.”

Regina felt her stomach drop. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that I need more than ‘I care about you.’ I need actual honesty. I need you to be able to tell me what you’re feeling without it being like pulling teeth. I need to know that if we—” He stopped himself. “It doesn’t matter. Because you can’t give me that.”

“I’m trying—”

“I know you’re trying. But trying isn’t the same as doing.” Rodrick shoved his hands back in his pockets. “Look, I appreciate that you came here. I appreciate that you apologized, even if it wasn’t the apology I was hoping for. But I don’t think we can fix this.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re not ready.” Rodrick’s voice was gentle now, which somehow hurt worse than if he’d been angry. “You’re not ready to be honest about what you want. You’re not ready to risk your image for someone like me. And I can’t—I can’t be with someone who’s ashamed of me.”

“I’m not ashamed of you—”

“You told me I was nothing. In front of everyone. Because you were more worried about what Gretchen and Karen would think than about whether you were destroying me.” Rodrick looked at her. “That’s pretty much the definition of being ashamed.”

Regina couldn’t argue with that because he was right. Completely right.

“So what now?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Now I go home. You go home. We both move on.” Rodrick started walking toward the parking lot, then paused and turned back. “For what it’s worth? I really did care about you. A lot. And I think you would have been amazing at music production. You’re good at it. Really good. You should still pursue it, even if we’re not—” He gestured vaguely between them. “Even if this isn’t something anymore.”

“Rodrick, wait—”

But he was already walking away, his shoulders tense, his hands still in his pockets.

Regina sat on the fountain edge and watched him disappear into the parking lot. Listened to a car engine start. Watched his beat-up car pull out onto the road and disappear.

She’d come here to fix things. To apologize. To be honest.

And she’d failed at all three.

Regina sat by the fountain for another twenty minutes after Rodrick left, trying to process what had just happened. She’d apologized. She’d been honest, kind of. She’d admitted she cared about him.

And it hadn’t been enough.

Because she couldn’t make herself say the words that mattered most. Couldn’t make herself vulnerable enough to actually tell him how she felt.

I have feelings for you.

Three seconds. That’s all it would have taken. Three seconds to say five words and maybe, maybe, things would have been different.

But she’d choked. Again.

Her phone buzzed. She pulled it out with shaking hands.

GRETCHEN: how did it go??

GRETCHEN: karen and i are dying to know

GRETCHEN: did he forgive you??

Regina stared at those messages for a long moment before typing: No. He didn’t.

Her phone immediately started ringing. Gretchen.

Regina answered. “Hi.”

“Oh my god, Regina, what happened?” Gretchen sounded genuinely distressed. “I thought—we thought—”

“I know what you thought. I thought that too.” Regina wiped at her eyes with her free hand. “But I couldn’t do it.”

“Couldn’t do what?”

“Couldn’t actually tell him how I feel. Couldn’t make myself that vulnerable. I told him I cared about him but I couldn’t—I couldn’t say—” Regina’s voice broke. “I couldn’t tell him I have feelings for him. The words just wouldn’t come out.”

“Oh, Regina.” Gretchen’s voice was soft. “Where are you?”

“Still at the arboretum.”

“Stay there. Karen and I are coming to get you.”

“You don’t have to, I drove—”

“We’re coming. Twenty minutes. Don’t move.”

Gretchen hung up before Regina could argue.

Regina sat there staring at the fountain, replaying the conversation over and over in her head. Every moment where she could have been more honest. Every opportunity to actually say what she was feeling. Every single point where she’d chosen safety over vulnerability.

You’re not ready, Rodrick had said.

He was right. She wasn’t ready. Wasn’t ready to risk herself for someone who didn’t fit into her carefully planned life. Wasn’t ready to admit that she had feelings, real, genuine, terrifying feelings, for a drummer in a band called Löded Diper.

And now it was too late.

Gretchen and Karen showed up exactly twenty minutes later, both of them in Gretchen’s car, both looking at Regina with expressions that were equal parts concern and sympathy.

“Come on,” Gretchen said gently, holding open the back door. “Let’s go get milkshakes or something.”

“I don’t want milkshakes.”

“Too bad. We’re getting milkshakes.”

They ended up at Portillo’s, sitting in a booth with chocolate shakes that none of them were really drinking, while Regina recounted the entire conversation. Every word. Every failed attempt at honesty. Every moment where she could have been brave and wasn’t.

“I think you were braver than you give yourself credit for,” Karen said when Regina finished. “You showed up. You tried to apologize. That’s something.”

“But it wasn’t enough.”

“No,” Gretchen admitted. “It wasn’t. But Regina? He’s not wrong. You weren’t ready.”

“I might never be ready.”

“That’s not true. You’re just not ready right now.” Gretchen reached across the table and squeezed Regina’s hand. “You’ve spent four years being a certain person. You can’t just undo all of that in a couple of weeks. It takes time to learn how to be vulnerable. To learn how to admit you have feelings.”

“I don’t have that time. He’s done with me.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Karen was playing with her straw wrapper, twisting it into increasingly complex shapes. “But even if he is done with you right now, that doesn’t mean he’ll be done with you forever. People change their minds.”

“Not about this.”

“About everything.” Karen looked up at Regina. “Jason broke up with me twice before we actually got together for real. Sometimes people need time to figure stuff out.”

Regina wanted to believe that. Wanted to believe that maybe there was a way to fix this eventually. That she could learn how to be vulnerable and honest and all the things Rodrick needed from her.

But right now, sitting in a Portillo’s booth with melting chocolate shakes and two friends who were trying very hard to make her feel better, all Regina could think about was the look on Rodrick’s face when he’d walked away.

Disappointed . Sad. Resigned.

Done.

That night, Regina lay in bed staring at her ceiling stars again. Her phone sat on her nightstand, silent. No messages from Rodrick. No messages from Ward or Chris or Drew.

Just silence.

She opened her text thread with Rodrick and scrolled through their conversations. All the random questions. All the jokes. All the easy, comfortable back and forth that had made Regina feel like she could be herself around someone for the first time in years.

Her thumb hovered over the keyboard. She could text him. Could try one more time to explain. Could tell him what she’d been too scared to say at the arboretum.

Instead, she closed the thread and opened her laptop. Pulled up the Northwestern music production program page. Read through the course descriptions. The requirements. The career opportunities.

It all looked perfect. Exactly what she wanted.

But it felt hollow without Rodrick to share it with. Without his stupid enthusiasm about her being good at production. Without his constant encouragement to do what she actually wanted instead of what was safe.

Regina closed her laptop and pulled out her phone one more time.

Typed: I’m sorry I wasn’t brave enough today. You deserve better than that.

Stared at it.

Deleted it.

Typed: I have feelings for you. I should have said that at the arboretum but I was too scared.

Stared at it.

Deleted it.

Typed: I miss you.

Stared at it for a very long time.

Then deleted it and put her cellphone face down on her nightstand.

Some things couldn’t be fixed with a text message at midnight.

Some things maybe couldn’t be fixed at all.

Regina pulled her comforter up to her chin and closed her eyes, trying not to think about Rodrick’s face when he’d walked away. Trying not to think about how she’d had multiple chances to be honest and had failed every single time.

Trying not to think about how she might have just lost the best thing that had happened to her in years because she was too damaged to admit she cared.

Her phone buzzed.

Regina grabbed it immediately, heart racing—

It was Derek.

DEREK: hey regina

DEREK: rodrick told me what happened

DEREK: or some of it anyway

DEREK: he was pretty upset

DEREK: look i know its not my place

DEREK: but if you actually do care about him

DEREK: you should probably figure out how to tell him that

DEREK: before its really too late

DEREK: just saying

Regina stared at that message until her vision blurred.

Before it’s really too late.

Was it already too late? Had she already destroyed this so thoroughly that there was no coming back?

She didn’t know.

All she knew was that she’d tried to fix things today and had failed. That she’d looked Rodrick in the eye and hadn’t been able to say the words he needed to hear. That she was exactly as damaged and scared as everyone had always suspected.

Regina George, terrified of being vulnerable.

Regina George, destroying good things to protect herself.

Regina George, alone in her room at midnight with nothing but regret and what-ifs.

She typed back to Derek: It might already be too late.

DEREK: maybe

DEREK: but maybe not

DEREK: worth finding out though right?

Was it? Was it worth trying again? Worth risking more rejection? Worth pushing through her fear to actually be honest?

Regina didn’t have an answer.

So she just closed her phone, rolled over, and tried to sleep.

Tomorrow, she told herself. Tomorrow she’d figure out what to do.

Tomorrow she’d decide if she was brave enough to try again.

Tomorrow.

But deep down, Regina knew that tomorrow wouldn’t be any easier than today had been.

Because the problem wasn’t Rodrick. The problem wasn’t timing. The problem wasn’t even the mall incident anymore.

The problem was Regina George, and her complete inability to be vulnerable enough to get what she actually wanted.

And that wasn’t something that would fix itself overnight.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​