The Glacier Ice Cream Parlor, was, unlikely enough, the best place to study in town. It was bright and comfortable and reasonably quiet, if you knew where to sit. It was decorated like an old 50's soda shop, all chrome and pastel colors, giving the place an air of being lost to time. Clarke Griffin discovered it shortly after moving to Arkadia, Virginia, before her junior year. She'd been wandering the streets shortly before school started, canvas messenger bag slung over her shoulder, scouting out an after-school hang out spot like the one she had in Raleigh with Wells. Cafes and bookstores stuck out their doors like open arms, tempting her inside, but from the minute Clarke saw the Glacier, she was sold. Sitting at a dead end, its modest one-story building shone with chrome and neon, capturing the eye and seeming to command you to enter.
She loved it there; the parlor was like a step back, a insulated bubble impervious to the problems of the outside world, a respite from her busy, constant life as an honor student. It was an escape from her new school and her depressed, controlling mother. The corner booth was her favorite spot. Tucked in on the far side of the shop, it looked out onto the wetlands next to the building, a small, sunlit haven that smelled of cooking sugar. Clarke would spread her homework out across the table, prop her feet on the opposite bench, and bury herself in work with the occasional stop for a bite of whatever Octavia had concocted for her that day.
Octavia Blake was a freshman at Arkadia public high school, two years behind Clarke, and worked the kitchen with her parents at the Glacier. They met a few weeks after Clarke started frequenting the parlor when the intrepid fourteen-year-old marched up to her and asked for her help.
("No one takes me seriously here," Octavia had moaned. "If I had a taster, Mom might actually put my stuff on the menu and not chalk it up to what she calls my 'twisted taste buds.'" She'd put finger quotes around the words and rolled her eyes, eyes lighting up when Clarke laughed. "Please?" she'd begged, "even just this once?"
Clarke hesitated, but Octavia had turned those big green eyes on her, and she agreed. "Just this once," she'd admonished, "and if it sucks you're buying me a chocolate shake."
Unbeknownst to her, she was about to become Octavia's guinea pig, and Clarke's mouth became the testing ground for the younger girl's creations. Suffice it to say, some days were better than others.)
Thus began what Aurora Blake fondly called the "Blake-Griffin Era of Excellence" As a team, the two girls put a new special on the menu every week and added countless items to the shop's exclusive list.
In Clarke's opinion, the delicious experimental sundaes were only one perk of studying at the Glacier. The others included Octavia's older brother, Bellamy, who worked the counter. Bellamy was a senior with both girls at Arkadia. Lean and dark, he stalked the hallways of the school like a predator, glaring at anyone who got in his way. He often showed up for work at the Glacier with more than a couple bruises and once or twice, a cast on his arm. Most of the school was terrified of him, and did their best to avoid him whenever possible. If there was a fight, he was most likely in it. If there was a prank, he (along with Monty Green and Jasper Jordan) was most likely responsible for it. Clarke, who was an Office TA sixth period, saw his name on the suspension list more often than anyone else in the school.
Clarke's mom, Abigail Griffin, heard about Bellamy not soon after school started and warned her daughter to stay away from 'troublemakers like him'. Clarke was careful not to mention that 'that Blake boy' worked the counter at the place she went to every day after school. She never made eye contact with him when she entered the shop, only hurried past the counter and display cases to her booth in the corner. Octavia would bring out whatever creation she'd made that day and Clarke would get to work on the mountain of homework she always managed to have.
That was the routine for months. Clarke spent her afternoons in the corner booth, headphones in, ignoring everyone except Octavia, and ducking her head as she entered and exited the place. It was easier that way, she thought. Clarke and the Blake siblings rarely interacted outside of school, and Clarke, despite her daily tradition, intended to keep it that way. She was graduating in a year, anyway, and a bad reputation was the last thing she needed to worry about on top of SATs and ACTs and SAT subject tests and everything else her mother wanted her focusing on. She didn't have time to worry about Octavia and her shenanigans, or Bellamy and his -- well, whatever he was. In short, she kept her distance, until she noticed Bellamy acting strangely. Well, stranger than normal, anyway.
Or maybe it was normal. She didn't know. Bellamy, the guy who glared at any teacher who asked him a question, who started fights for no rational reason, who was always smoking against the hood of his car during third period, was an entirely different person behind the counter. He joked with old ladies and gave extra rainbow sprinkles to little girls. He told terrible jokes and winked at the middle schoolers who came in giggling packs with their friends.
Once or twice, Clarke even saw him crack a smile. They became more and more frequent as time went on and she became a regular. She guessed he just got used to her being there, let his tough-guy image drop, his walls come down. She became just the girl in the corner window, no longer Clarke Griffin, the geek from school, but Clarke, the girl in the corner booth. It was almost refreshing to be totally ignored, rather than have everyone staring at the New Girl.
His smile slowly became Clarke's favorite part about studying at the Glacier. It contorted his whole face, crinkling his eyes, putting dimples in his cheeks and chin. It made him look boyish and adorably charming, and so -- not Bellamy.
She started avoiding him at school. She preferred Glacier Bellamy to School Bellamy, anyway, but every time he passed her in the hall, every time their eyes connected across the cafeteria, her heart dropped to her knees. Raven badgered her about it, like Raven always did, but how could Clarke explain it to her best friend if she didn't even understand it herself?
She couldn't get Bellamy out of her head. At first, she convinced herself she was only trying to figure out what made him so different at school than at the parlor, but soon her thoughts strayed beyond the objective. Her doodles started to resemble his mop of curly black hair, the slope of his shoulders and the curve of his biceps. She watched his hands twirl pens and tap impatiently against his desk, watched them count money and work the register, imagined them twisting through her hair and tracing patterns over her arms.
Seeing him at school was hard enough, but then she'd head to the Glacier, watch him charm old ladies and make small children giggle and it was almost painful, seeing him drop his guard and knowing that it wasn't for her -- that it would never be for her.
Octavia noticed Clarke reverting back to old habits. She barely acknowledged the younger girl when Octavia brought out her latest creation. She'd take a couple bites and make a sound indicating her approval or lack thereof and leave it to melt, plugging her headphones in and burying herself in AP Biology notes.
The Friday before spring break brought a conundrum. Clarke headed to her booth at the Glacier, as per usual, plopped down and reached into her bag for her homework before realizing there wasn't anything for her to do. She sat back on the vinyl bench, partially stunned, and then picked up the menu for the first time in a while. She smiled as she recognized the chocolate brownie and gummy bear sundae she'd helped Octavia perfect the previous month, took a minute to appreciate that the orange sorbet/mint combination wasn't anywhere to be seen. She laughed when she saw the combination labeled "the Griffin Special," a mint and fudge multilayered monstrosity on top of hot brownie and piled with whipped cream.
It had been created when Clarke came in one rainy Wednesday afternoon, sulking over a lousy English grade (she may be a science whiz but don't ask her to analyze Proust, all it does is make her brain hurt), and Octavia dragged her into the kitchen and told Clarke to make herself feel better. Thus, the Griffin Special was born, and Octavia grumbled every time she had to make it.
("Why did you make it so damn complicated?"
"You said be happy!"
"Yeah, but not with four damn layers of fudge!")
Clarke giggled at the memory, before a deep voice jerked her out of her thoughts. "Know what you want yet?" She froze, keeping her eyes locked on the menu. She'd heard that voice for months, taunting and cursing, charming and teasing. She knew that gravelly, deep voice anywhere, even though it never spoke directly to her. "C'mon, Griffin," he said. Clarke could practically hear him rolling his eyes. "I don't have all day."
She looked up at him, eyes flashing. She'd seen him with and without the bad boy act, seen him kid around with his sister on slow days, watched him comfort crying kids and save little boys from tougher bullies demanding their ice cream money. Hearing him talk to her like he didn't care, like he wasn't a good guy, like he'd never done any of those things... frankly, it pissed her off. The annoyance in her voice was obvious when she said "Where's Octavia? She knows what I want."
Bellamy raised his eyebrows, lifting his curly hair out of his deep brown eyes. Her snappish tone surprised him. "She's not here," he said, almost startled out of his surliness. "What do you want?"
Clarke crossed her arms over her chest. "Where is she? She knows what I want."
He leaned on the table, propping each hand on a corner. She tried not to notice the shift of muscles underneath his gray short-sleeved Henley and failed miserably. "Octavia's not here," he said, pronouncing each word slowly, as if speaking to a child. "What. Do. You. Want?"
Clarke leaned back in her seat, staring out the window. "Just get me a Griffin Special," she answered, not looking at him.
Bellamy stood up straight, cleared his throat awkwardly. "I can't do that," he said quietly after a pause, scuffing the toe of his ragged Chucks against the shining tile floor. He stood in awkward embarrassment for a moment before saying, "Please order something else."
She let out a short bark of a laugh, turning back to glare at him. Her clear blue eyes bored holes in his skull, and she was surprised at how much he looked like a chastised child. "Why?" she asked.
He twisted one of his omnipresent leather bracelets around his left wrist and looked up at the ceiling. "I don't --" he tried, obviously reluctant to finish the sentence, "O is the only one who knows how to make it. Please, just..." he let his eyes fall to meet hers, and there was a tiredness in his eyes that Clarke understood all too well. "Just order something else." She studied him for a second, noticing the tightness in his broad shoulders and the dark circles under his eyes, the fading bruise on his left cheek and the scar on his forearm. He looked beat to hell. Clarke stood up, hefting her bag over her shoulder. "No -- " Bellamy started, "don't leave, I--"
She stepped out of the booth and laid a hand on his shoulder, despite the difference in their heights. His muscles tensed underneath her hand, and her eyes flickered with panic for a moment. Shit. She didn't mean to do that. He just looked so sad and -- she swallowed as he glanced quickly at her hand, his eyes wide. She dropped it and cleared her throat, taking a step back.
"C'mon," she said, smiling around the sheer panic in her throat, "I'll show you how to make it." She ducked into the kitchen, Bellamy following behind, spluttering about how 'you can't go in there' and 'what are you doing' and 'Clarke really, I can figure it out' but she swung through the metallic doors anyway and smiled at a flour-caked Nathan Miller before dropping her bag on a counter near the door and tying up her hair.
"Clarke," he said as she headed toward the ice cream tubs in the back, "you really don't have to do this. I can figure it out."
She rolled up her sleeves and picked a sundae glass off the rack. "It's your most popular special, Blake," she said with little ceremony in her voice. "You should learn how to make it." She picked a saucer off the shelf and a brownie out of the center of the kitchen. (Aurora made them fresh each morning and piled them under the cake plate, to be used during the day in various capacities. They were possibly the most delicious things Clarke had ever tasted. Her usual Betty Crocker mix would never compare to the Glacier's hunks of moist, fudgy heaven.) She tossed it in the microwave and leaned her hands on the counter while Bellamy ducked around Miller, attempting to catch up.
"My question is," he said, assuming a similar pose, "how do you know how to make it?"
The microwave dinged and Clarke looked at him incredulously. "Really?" she turned to remove the brownie from the microwave, setting the plate down with a clatter and pulling the brownie apart with her fingers. "Bellamy," she said, putting the first half in the bottom of the sundae cup, "you're looking at the girl who invented it."
Bellamy chuckled and pushed himself off the island, leaning on the counter behind it. "Damn," he said, "I forget you know this place better than I do."
Clarke smiled as she swept past him and dug a scoop out of mint chocolate chip out of the ice cream freezer. "Damn right," she agreed. Her heart was still racing, but having something to do made it better, even though she could feel his eyes tracking her every move. He watched with some measurement of awe as she finished making her sundae (adding the extra scoop of chocolate shavings on top that Octavia always 'forgot' especially to annoy her), wondering how she knew the kitchen better than he did.
Finally, she dug a spoon out of the enormous silverware drawer and hopped up on the counter in a corner of the kitchen, tucking her feet up underneath her legs. "So," Bellamy said, standing in front of Clarke while she ate her ice cream, "you come here a lot, don't you?" She flicked her eyes up from her food to catch Bellamy's gaze. There was something accusatory in her eyes. "What?" he asked.
Clarke threw back her head and laughed. "First of all," she said, after she'd reclaimed her breath, "That sounds suspiciously like a line." He laughed and shoved his hands in his pockets, toeing the floor again. She found it entirely adorable. "Secondly, I'm here, like, literally every day."
He chuckled and ducked his chin before glancing up at her again. "Trust me," he said quietly, "I've noticed."
Clarke put her half-empty glass down, pulled her hair out of its slapdash ponytail, and leaned back on her hands. "Have you?" she asked, lifting an eyebrow and cocking her head.
He turned an adorable shade of red and scrambled to fix his words. "I was just saying, you're hard not to notice and --" He stopped short because she was laughing at him again. "I dunno," he said, looking everywhere but at her eyes. "You're pretty, okay?"
"Thanks," Clarke laughed, turning a pretty shade of pink. "You're not too bad yourself. Although I thought you'd be smoother than that."
Bellamy scoffed and shrugged, scuffing at the floor again with his ragged sneakers. "You'd be surprised," he muttered.
She looked down at his ratty gray Chucks, which were mostly covered by faded, frayed jeans. She'd never seen him do that before -- toe at the ground and duck his chin again and again. It was a self-conscious gesture, one of nervousness and insecurity. "Why do you do that?"
Bellamy looked up at her, slightly startled by the change of subject. "Do what?"
Clarke nodded to his feet. "That."
He did it again. "Dunno. Nervous habit, I guess."
She smiled. "I make you nervous?"
He chuckled at his shoes. "God, Griffin," he said, lifting his head and meeting her gaze. There was something in her cornflower-blue eyes he'd never seen there before. Always, when he'd catch her gaze across a classroom or a crowded cafeteria, her face went from unreadable to surprised, and then scared as she looked away. But now she held his stare, tilting her head, studying him with no shame and little fanfare. "Yeah," he said not breaking eye contact. "I guess you do make me nervous." Clarke's face went an even brighter pink. She unfolded her legs and scooted to the edge of the counter, crossing her ankles and swinging them back and forth. She stared at her shoes. A moment of charged silence passed, Bellamy staring resolutely at the top of her head. "I don't get you, Clarke." He said finally. She struggled to conceal the hitch in her breath when he said her name. "Why aren't you scared of me?"
Clarke's eyes snapped up, blazing. "Should I be?"
Bellamy shrugged. "Everyone else is. You seemed to be, at school. Whenever I catch you looking you dart away, like you're terrified.
Her jaw dropped in mock annoyance. "I do not!" she protested indignantly. She slapped his arm. "Besides," she added, smiling now, "It's different here. No one else sees the way you are when you're not in school."
His brow rumpled, and she seemed surprised at his reaction to her comment. "What do you mean?" he asked.
"Well," Clarke spluttered, suddenly at a loss for words, "you're just different is all. At Arkadia you prowl around and look for fights and get in arguments with teachers. You look like you'd be the kind of guy who'd steal candy from a baby, but here..." she trailed off and glanced up at him, as if to measure what effect her words were having. He nodded for her to go on. "Well," she laughed "you're the exact opposite, aren't you? I've seen the way you are with kids. And the old ladies love you."
Bellamy laughed, and the sound sent an odd, pleasant shiver down Clarke's spine. "Gotta watch out for them," he said.
"Yeah," she agreed, chuckling nervously, glad he didn't take offense at her observations.
"But really," he continued, pulling his hands out of his pockets and leaning them on either side of her knees. "You think I'm that different?"
Clarke was momentarily distracted by his proximity. His well-muscled arms radiated heat from where they kept her trapped on the counter, and she could just smell his cologne under the sugary smells of the kitchen. She could feel his breath ghosting across her face. It smelled of spearmint, and she bet his lips tasted even better and ... She shook her head minutely to rip herself from her haze. "I know you're that different," she said, wincing internally over how embarrassingly breathy her voice sounded, "I know you."
Bellamy laughed, dropping his head and shaking it at her knees. "You think so, Griffin?" he asked, looking up at her with those damned brown, puppy-dog eyes. She could only nod in response, barely able to focus on anything but his mouth. "So," he said, a crooked grin growing on his face (this was really not helping her whole 'breathless' situation), "If you know me so well..." he leaned even closer, until their mouths were a hair's breadth apart. "Tell me what I'm about to do." His words were just a puff of air across her lips.
Instead of responding, Clarke brought her hands up to twist through his curly black hair, pulling his face down to hers. His hands left the counter and slid around her waist, holding her tightly as they kissed.
She tasted like brownies and mint ice cream and he like spearmint gum and a hint of coffee and Clarke wanted nothing more than to stay sitting on that cold, stainless steel counter and let him memorize her like she had with him. His hands slid up and into her hair, pulling her even closer, and she laced her fingers around the back of his neck, not wanting to let go.
They were finally interrupted by a loud 'HA!' from the back kitchen door. They pulled apart to see a triumphant Octavia standing in the doorway holding an enormous sack of sugar and a paper bag of kitchen utensils. "See!" she crowed to Miller as she strode into the kitchen, whacking her brother on the back of the head with a wooden spoon for good measure, "I told you he wasn't made of stone!" To Clarke, she added, "I knew you'd finally break him, Griffin. Good job." Her smile was blinding. "Hurry up and keep him distracted; I have to tell mom!" She raced out to the front of the store and Bellamy laughed, dropping his forehead against Clarke's.
"Should we stop her?" she asked, closing her eyes to the bright sunlight that cut in through the open door.
"Nah," he answered, sliding his hands down and tightening his grip on Clarke's waist. "Let her have her fun. I'll kick her ass tomorrow."
"See?" Clarke said, leaning forward and smiling against his lips. "Different."
"Shut up," Bellamy growled playfully, pulling her in and kissing her again.
The next few days were possibly the best of her life. Since school was out, she spent practically all her time at the Glacier, much to the chagrin to her mother. She brought Raven down, and the two girls joined Octavia in Clarke's booth, crammed against each other, trading witty remarks and gossiping like the teen girls they were. Bellamy would slide in next to Clarke after his shift was over and kiss her hello (while Raven and Octavia hooted and gagged, respectively) and join in, sprinkling the conversation with his nearly-unbelievable stories.
At closing time, Miller would come out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel, the Blake siblings would clean up, and the five of them would pick up Monty and Jasper and head somewhere, even if it was just the Blake's house to play Mario Kart and yell at each other. Clarke was amazed she'd never realized how many friends Bellamy actually had.
("You were too focused on the lone wolf thing," Octavia told her one day, taking a large bite of her orange creamsicle sundae. "It's cool. happens to everyone."
"But you guys actually all hang out?" Clarke asked, "At school he's always alone!"
Octavia scoffed and swirled her spoon through her whipped cream. "It's a macho man thing. He doesn't want everyone to know that all his friends are Juniors and Sophomores."
"Miller's a senior," Clarke interjected.
Octavia waved her spoon. "Details.")
The two weeks of freedom afforded by spring break finally drew to a close, and Clarke suddenly found herself worrying over what would happen when he went back to school. Would Bellamy ignore her? Would he be embarrassed that his girlfriend -- if that what she really was, she didn't know -- was a science geek from the right side of the tracks and a junior, to boot? She tossed and turned Sunday night, texted Raven three times (to which all she got was "Piss off Griffin I'm sleeping") and finally fell asleep around one.
Her worries went unfounded, however, because at 7:15 there was a sharp rap on the door and Clarke swung it open, confused, a piece of toast hanging from her mouth and her sweatshirt half on. Octavia stood on her front porch, holding a donut bag and smiling. "C'mon, Griffin!" She said, "Let's go, we're driving you!" Bellamy's dusty black sedan was sitting at the end of her driveway, and she could see him at the driver's seat, waving and grinning widely.
Clarke smiled around her breakfast and shoved her feet in the sneakers by the door. Picking up her bag, she called to the empty foyer "Mooom! I'm leaving! See you later!"
Abigail Griffin appeared at the top of the stairs. "Clarke, the bus doesn't leave for another six minutes. You have time!"
"Yeah," her daughter explained, tossing the toast in the trash by the door and taking the bag from her friend. "but Bellamy's giving me a ride. Love you, see you later!"
She turned and shut the door, cutting off her mother's cries of "Bellamy? Bellamy Blake? Clarke, wait --"
Octavia raised an eyebrow. "Isn't she gonna be mad?" Clarke nodded, slightly exhilarated and still smiling. Octavia laughed and shook her head. "C'mon," she said, "We're gonna be late."
Clarke allowed herself to be dragged down the driveway and slid into the front passenger seat, accepting Bellamy's kiss hello.
"We're a terrible influence on you," he said when she pulled away.
"Mmmm," Clarke said, leaning in and kissing him again shortly, "Don't care."
"Excuse me!" Octavia said from the backseat. "Still exist here, guys!" Bellamy laughed and put the car in gear.
Abigail Griffin jerked open the curtains in time to see her daughter speed off down the road in Bellamy Blake's car, windows down, laughing. Despite herself, she smiled. "Whatever makes you happy, kiddo," she said quietly to the empty room. "Whatever makes you happy."