Genevieve sat uncomfortably in her seat, shuffling around every few seconds- she could feel someone's eyes on her, Tristan's to be specific. Normally, she'd be focused on whatever was being taught, but Mr. Medina was teaching an Emily Dickinson poem, which was horribly morbid in her opinion. So she did the second-best option, she pretended to be paying attention as she continued writing her book. It was close to being finished, she was sure of it, a chapter or two more, and it'd be ready for absolutely no one to read. Tristan would've been the only person who would've had a slimmer chance to read her writing besides Delphine. Now, she was ready to die with the book unread.
"Mr. Dugray!" Mr. Medina said. She felt the desk behind her make a noise as he slightly jumped from his seat.
"Yes sir?"
"Is Miss Clairmont's head that interesting that you have yet to open your book?" He asked.
He sighed, "I already read it,"
"You?" Mr. Medina raised a quizzical brow, "You read Emily Dickinson, willingly?"
"I annotated it too," Tristan added in a tone that said fuck you, Max, I did the work!. Of course, he never dared to say it out loud.
"Right..." He said, turning back to the rest of the class, "There's a certain slant of light, winter afternoons that oppresses like the heft of cathedral tunes." He continued to talk until the bell rang. Genevieve was the first one out of the class, and immediately opened her locker. The Dickinson book on Tristan's desk looked familiar- too familiar. It had the same rips that she made when she accidentally threw it towards her ceiling fan out of annoyance, and the color-coded sticky notes and annotation tabs that she put. She was almost sure that it was her copy, and she needed it for the paper tonight.
Madeline sighed, watching as Mr. Medina walked down the hall into the teacher's lounge"I could listen to him talk all day, do you think he's dating anyone?"
"Of course he is," Louise said.
"A teacher?"
"Please," She scoffed, "Have you seen teachers?"
"He's a teacher,"
"Male teachers are different! They can still be mysterious," Louise said, which caused Hestia to make a face.
"Stop talking about him like that- he's old enough to be your dad,"
"Speaking of dads..." Madeline and Louise turned towards Paris, shamelessly smiling.
"Whoever's dating Mr. Medina is a loser, who doesn't care that he's a teacher in this ridiculous school, making a ridiculous teacher's salary," Paris said loudly, catching Rory's attention, "What are you looking at?"
"Guess someone read the paper today..." Louise laughed and Genevieve slammed her locker closed.
"Oh stop being a fucking bitch Louise! You've been making comments for the past week now!" Genevieve snapped, "Isn't your dad in jail? Do you want us to turn the conversation topic on to that?"
'Someone's upset that Tristan still hasn't spoken to her," Louise snapped back, but proceeded to walk away with Madeline on her tail.
"I don't need you to defend me Clairmont,"
"You shut up too," She said, "You know damn well that if this were anyone else you'd be gossiping right along with them. I didn't do that for you, they were starting to sound like a broken record,"
She left Paris staring at her in awe as she stormed down the hall, the opposite direction of their next class. Genevieve knew that if she planned on skipping, she would need a note to back her story up, so she decided to make one of her own. She'd been forging signatures since she was in the fifth grade, one glance of a signature, and she had it replicated in seconds.
Genevieve dropped her bag from her shoulders and noticed that there was an open pocket. She frowned and noticed that there were a few books missing from her stash. She sat down against a pillar and dug through it, and felt a piece of paper hit her hand. Her bag was incredibly tidy, so she knew that it couldn't have been from her. She frowned when she pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper, with her name written in Tristan's handwriting.
IOU: 1 Complete Collections of Emily Dickinson
If you want it that bad, come to my house
- T.D.
"Total dick," She stuffed the note into her pocket.
. . .
"Give me my goddamn book Tristan," Genevieve yelled, throwing his bedroom door open. The boy looked up from his canvas with a surprised look, as he looked at the large green line that was across the field of flowers he was painting.
"Who let you in the house-"
"My book," She said, and he slowly took his time walking over to his bookshelf.
"I need it too though," He said, holding it over her head. She knew good and well that if she gave in and tried to grab the book, she would end up forgiving him.
"You have your own copy," She said, pointing to the identical book.
"Yours is more special," He said. She assumed that it was because she already had it all annotated and written in.
"I don't want to fight with you," She said,
"Well there's the door," He motioned to it and turned to put the book back on his shelf. She rolled her eyes and attempted to reach over him, but he pushed back, which caused her to bump into the canvas. When he heard a crash, he looked at Genevieve on the ground, paint all over her shirt, and a drained look on her face.
"Oh shit," Was all he said, and he ran over to help her up, with a guilty look. He went over to his closet and pulled out a hoodie, and reluctantly handed it to her. She still hadn't said anything and moved to take her shirt off, Tristan still in front of her. He cursed under his breath and immediately turned around when he finally registered what she was doing. She looked at him the entire time she changed, a small smile on her face at his red face. He sat with his back to her, for about ten minutes, not wanting to risk turning around and seeing something that she didn't want him to see.
"It doesn't take that long to put a shirt on," Genevieve said, he turned around to see her at his desk. He walked over to her and saw that she was on the concluding paragraph of her essay, the devil might work hard but Genevieve Clairmont worked harder.
"I wanted to be respectful," He said, "I'm really sorry about the whole dance thing,"
She smiled, "Oh I'm not mad anymore,"
"Why haven't we been talking then?" He frowned, "I've been going crazy,"
"Because you didn't apologize," She said, putting her essay into a folder. He gaped at her pettiness, "I saw your mom on the way in, is she coming on Wednesday?"
"What's Wednesday?" He questioned.
"Parents are supposed to be coming to school," She said, "My parents aren't coming- per usual,"
Chilton parents were expected to participate in their children's education, which was a given, and it was made known at the start of every student's education. The Clairmont's managed to weasel their way out of it with a single signature on a check.
"Uh no, I think she's headed to Greece for some business," He said, shooing her out of his chair so he could get started on the essay. He figured that since she was here, he would finish his work early and spend the rest of the time with her.
"And what about father-not-so-dearest?" She smiled, knowing how flaky that man was.
"He's actually in town for the rest of the week," Tristan twirled a pencil around, "But he's probably gonna get a meeting as soon as I mention it,"
Genevieve laughed, "Some parents we have,"
"Honestly,"
. . .
So many parents.
So. Fucking. Many.
Suddenly, Genevieve's safe space at school was filled with her father's employees, old friends, and business partners. If she knew that parent's day would be like that, she would've opted to stay home- or at least bring something a little stronger than water in her bottle. She didn't know why they were more focused on her wellbeing when it was quite obvious that she had no interest in the family business. After her older brother stepped back one year into the job, all eyes were on her. What pissed her off the most was that she wasn't Genevieve Clairmont, she was Elijah Clairmont's daughter or the second oldest Clairmont kid.
What if she just skipped for the day?
"You can't leave now!" She looked down the hall and saw Paris looking at her mom, "At least come to my lit class!"
"Paris please- this place is giving me a headache,"
"Mom." She said.
Her mom pushed some hair out of Paris' face, "Are you breaking out?"
"Hey Genevieve," Tristan poked his head out of the classroom, gaining her attention, "Mr. Medina wants to know if you're ready for your little speech?"
Student council, class president, the Franklin, theatre, choir, National Honor Society- if it looked good on a college application, she did it all. Being the sophomore class president meant that she was in charge of making the school look amazing, and not make the parents second guess the thousands that it costs to go there a year. Which included giving a speech to the parents that came to the school.
"Ready," She said, taking a deep breath and walking into the class, "Good morning everyone! My name is Genevieve Clairmont, and I'm a student here at Chilton Preparatory school,"
She'd said the speech so many times that it was engraved in her head, along with the fake voice she used, "Throughout the day, you will be given an inside look at your child's daily schedule here at Chilton, we will be continuing our lessons per-usual. I hope that you have an enjoyable experience here today, and again thank you for choosing Chilton,"
She smiled and went back to her seat where she saw a note on her desk.
You sound like a sponsored ad
She instantly recognized it to be Tristan's handwriting, she waited until Mr. Medina began talking to scribble her response back.
and you sound like you're not going to get into college :/
She pretended to stretch and dropped the note on Tristan's desk.
"On Monday we will start a two week of creative writing exercise, but that doesn't mean we stop reading." Mr. Medina said, Genevieve found it pathetic as every single mom's eyes followed him around the room as he walked.
"One of the greatest inspirations of working writers is the writing of others that they admire. Walt Whitman read Homer, Dante, Shakespeare. And the novelist Edna O'Brien has been quoted as saying 'that every writer should read some Proust every day.' Now, at this point, normally I would impress the parents by pulling out a copy of Proust's 'Swann's Way' and reading a particularly difficult passage but alas, you're all saved. I have misplaced my copy." As if it were rehearsed, the bell rang, "Oh that does it- parent's thanks for coming, students - papers on Whitman are due tomorrow and those of you who are just starting tonight - I'll be able to tell."
"Have a nice day Mr. Medina," Genevieve said, walking to her locker, everyone now had a free period, which meant she was vulnerable to nosy parents asking about her family- as if she knew. She hadn't seen her mother or father in the same room in months. It was always the both of them out of town together, and one of them flying back to pay bills, and to sign Genevieve another ten-thousand-dollar allowance. She figured the last place anyone would be was the courtyard of the school, so she set her path there.
"Holy shit," Paris said, pulling Genevieve who was walking by to look into the classroom, where Mr. Medina was pressed up against a mom- not just any mom- Rory's mom.
"Holy shit," Genevieve said, pulling her phone out. Paris turned to her and covered the phone.
"What are you doing?"
"Pics or it didn't happen," She smirked, "Oh don't worry, I'm only gonna tell Del, Hestia, and Alina,"
"Or..." Paris pulled her away from the classroom and headed to the lunchroom, "I could tell Madeline,"
Genevieve raised an eyebrow, "Never pegged you for a gossip,"
"She scored higher than you on the essay," Paris said, deflecting from the gossip comment. It was true, word had gotten around that Rory scored a point higher than Genevieve on the Emily Dickinson essay. Of course, she didn't blame herself but instead blamed Tristan who only laughed at her.
"A ninety eight?" He laughed, looking at Rory's essay where a bright red 99 sat, "Might as well hand her the valedictorian sash right now,"
"Tristan you got a seventy three, I don't wanna hear shit,"
"It's not like her one test is gonna change anything," She said, but Paris continued on.
"One point, and then two, and then three, and then next? You're no longer valedictorian." Paris said, "You? I'm more than willing to be second to, but Rory Gilmore? When hell freezes over,"
"You're being dramatic," She muttered to Paris, "But I can't stop you if you want to tell Madeline,"
"I'm glad you agree,"
"I don't agree," She said, opening the door to the lunchroom for Paris to finally go and leave her alone, "I have no comment about this situation,"
"Genevieve," Paris grabbed her arm, "Are you okay?"
"Why?"
"My mom might have left, but she showed up," Paris said, tilting her head slightly, "Are you okay?"
"I will be," She said, and walked away even faster, if she had to talk about her parents' absence any longer, she'd end up sobbing in the middle of the hall. On the way to the courtyard, she passed a photo that was just put up, it was a picture of her, alone. The previous year, she'd won the award for having the highest average of any student at Chilton, her grade never faltering under a 99 for all of her classes.
The typical ceremony was held, but there was one difference, her parents were off in Japan doing god knows what. The parents of the Chilton Honor award winner were supposed to give a speech, but when it came to her, there was no one. Her grandma was there in the crowd, cheering her on though, but she couldn't speak English. She adored her grandma more than anyone else, but god she felt horrible that night.
"You did good," Her grandma said on the ride home, pulling Genevieve close, "Mom and Dad are proud,"
Genevieve said nothing in fear of her voice breaking. If they were proud, why the hell weren't they there with her?
She quickly dabbed the tears pooling up in her eyes, and took a deep breath, and walked away like nothing happened. When she reached the courtyard, she saw that Tristan was already there, working on a sketch. She stood against a tree and watched him for a little bit, there was no one else around. He was deep in focus, his lines exact, it was wonderful.
"Did you hear that Rory's mom fucked a teacher?" Tristan looked up at her, patting the patch of grass next to him, inviting her to sit down.
"I don't know about fucking but I saw them kissing," She said.
He whistled, "So it's true? I thought she was bullshitting,"
"She already told?"
He closed his sketchbook, "Mhm, I honestly thought it was fake until Rory stormed out of the cafeteria,"
Genevieve tried not to smile, but failed, the smile soon turned into laughter, "A mom sleeps with a teacher,"
"God," He laughed, "Do you think that's why she got a higher grade on the-omph!"
"Shut up," She covered his mouth, narrowing her eyes.
. . .
"Looks like Paris got what she wanted," Delphine said, everyone at the school was talking about the kiss controversy. Rory herself seemed miserable, refusing to look Mr. Medina in the eyes, and interacting less with the student body.
"I wish my mom would sleep with a teacher," Paris walked past the table where Rory was sitting, across from theirs, "It would make midterms a lot easier,"
"Hey, since she's divorced now, maybe she can!" Hestia called out, Rory slammed her book closed and turned to face Paris.
"Madeline, Lousise, will you excuse us for a minute?"
"Ooh cat fight," Louise said, pulling up a chair at Genevieve's table.
"You're not gonna kiss me are you?" Paris smiled.
"What's wrong with you?" Rory said.
"Nothing- I'm great,"
Rory inhaled, "You've just spent the past two weeks with all of your family's private problems printed in the newspaper for everyone to read and talk about, I saw how you walked around here-"
Genevive looked at Rory with a scowl on her face as she lectured Paris, the girl was always so dramatic. She slipped her container of grapes into her bag and snuck off as everyone else at the table was watching Paris and Rory. Everything was just annoying to her these days, she couldn't tell if it was her social battery running out, or if Chilton truly was that boring.
"Miss Clairmont, why are you wandering the halls?" Tristan said in a fake-deep voice.
"Why, Mister Dugray, I have a pass," She reached into his pocket and flipped him off.
"Real mature," He said, grabbing her bag for her, "Where are we going?"
"Tristan we literally have the same schedule..." She said, knowing for a fact that he knew where they were going.
"Oh really?" He said, "Because on my schedule, it says that I'm going to skip class, come with?"
She narrowed her eyes at him, "No,"
"You could try to sound a little less disgusted," He sighed.
"Sorry, would you have preferred a 'over my dead body'?" She asked, leaning against the locker for her next class. This specific teacher required them to line up before entering.
"I mean it would've been better than a flat no," He said, "You really hurt my feelings there Clairmont,"
"I'll be sure to send you a fruit basket,"