CAMILA: hey
CAMILA: can we talk
LAUREN: Idk are you still being weird as fuck
It's kind of harsh, she knows, but whatever. She could've said "are you still pretending to be straight?". That would've been evil, truly. She's actually being very nice. Er. As nice as she can be in a situation like this.
CAMILA: :(
CAMILA: r u mad at me :(((
Despite herself Lauren feels a smile twitching at her lips. Fuck! The girl is so psycho but she's so, so, so cute.
LAUREN: Camila this isn't a joke
What? She's got to lay down the law somehow.
CAMILA: im coming over
CAMILA: ill be there in 5
LAUREN: You don't even know where I live?
CAMILA: zayn told me :D
Fucking traitor. Lauren rolls her eyes. She'll get him for that later.
CAMILA: threeee minutes
LAUREN: That's impossible it hasn't even been two minutes yet
LAUREN: Are you on crack
LAUREN: Oh my god are you texting and driving you need to STOP
CAMILA: im taking an uber shut up MOM
LAUREN: Don't call me mom
LAUREN: We made out, like, yesterday
CAMILA: thats IT im not texting u anymore BITCH
LAUREN: Oh my god are you actually coming over because my mom's home and she's going to hate you
LAUREN: I hope you're not dressed like a slut
CAMILA: WHAT
CAMILA: SEXIST PIG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
CAMILA: IM GOING HOME TO PUT ON LINGERIE AND COMING BACK..........
LAUREN: I was so joking but I love the lingerie idea
CAMILA: PERVERT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
CAMILA: ok im at ur house now open the door
LAUREN: You have no sense of time that was not even close to five minutes
CAMILA: KNOCK KNOCK
"Mom! I'm having a friend over!" Lauren runs down the stairs so she can get the door before her mom barges down and gets a nasty surprise. Well, nasty for her mom. Far from nasty for Lauren.
Well, she doesn't actually know yet. Depends on what kind of mood Camila's in.
"Who is it?" her mom yells back. Fuck. Lauren doesn't respond and instead tugs open the front door.
"Baby!" Camila squeals, flinging her arms around her. It's like a shock to the system - all vanilla and soft dark hair and her warm, tiny body wrapped around her. "I missed you."
Lauren laughs and grabs Camila's hands, pulling back from her. She twirls her around. "Nice outfit. Kinda would have preferred the lingerie, if I'm being honest."
"You snooze, you lose." Camila is giving her major early 2000s vibes: she's got a pale blue cropped zip-up hoodie and a matching miniskirt, both velour and probably straight from Juicy Couture. She looks kind of like a hotter, younger, brunette version of Paris Hilton, complete with the oversized sunglasses perched on top of her hair, which is tied back in low pigtails. Well, actually, she looks more like-
"Maddy from Euphoria ripped her style from me, not the other way around. Deadass." Camila tosses her hair and tilts her chin up at Lauren, like she's daring her to argue. "The costume designers contacted me to see if they could borrow some pieces from my wardrobe."
Lauren squints at her. She legitimately can't tell if she's joking or not. She is Camila Cabello, after all. Is it really that far-fetched?
Camila blinks up at her. "No, I'm serious."
"You're sixteen and Alexa Demie is twenty-five."
"And? I'm kind of a fashion icon, if you hadn't noticed."
If she's being honest, when Lauren had read headlines about Camila in the past, she had been paying more attention to her being completely wasted and a drunk, indecent, underage mess than her fashion sense. She does seem to favor the early 2000s style. Her Paris Hilton comparison wasn't that far off, but seriously, she's begging God to at least wait until Camila is eighteen before she has a sex tape scandal.
"The only thing I don't condone is the crazy eyeshadow." Camila pouts at her. "I tried the whole powder blue to go with my outfit and it just made me look sickly. And the jewels take way too much time to do." Instead, she's wearing thick winged eyeliner. It suits her, definitely. It makes her look so hot.
Lauren opens her mouth, not quite sure if she's about to compliment her or confront her about the other day, when she hears her mother's footsteps behind her and her heart drops all the way into her toes.
"Lauren Michelle." Her mother's tone is cold as ice. "Who is this?"
Lauren looks at Camila frantically, but the girl seems cool as a cucumber as she extends her hand for a shake. "It's really nice to meet you, Mrs. Jauregui. I'm Camila, I just moved here. Your daughter has been a fabulous tour guide, by the way." And then the kicker: she smiles, all dimples and glimmering white teeth, and the sex goddess Lauren saw just thirty seconds ago, despite the less-than-modest outfit, is now radiating all kinds of girl-scout honor-code straight-As energy, smart, mature, and polite. It's almost insane, but then again, Lauren figures Camila's used to putting on a show for an audience. Ever since she (allegedly- she's still trying to determine if this is legit or not) cleaned up her act, she's been doing this thing a lot - or at least that's what Camila told her when they were over at her house. You know. When they kissed the first time. Okay, probably shouldn't be thinking about that right now.
Lauren sneaks a peek up at her mother's expression. Wow. Even she seems vaguely charmed by Camila's good manners. "Yes, I'm aware of who you are. Nice to meet you, too." She shakes her hand, and her mother's eyes cut over to Lauren, and she cringes. Uh oh. There's definitely still some hostility there. She's really gonna get it once Camila leaves. Maybe she can convince her to stay the night?
Ha. Like her mom would ever let that happen.
"You have a beautiful home." Camila clasps her hands in front of her, like a child, and bounces on the balls of her feet (an arduous task in the borderline-ridiculous white go-go boots she's wearing) as she surveys their house with her big, innocent eyes. "Oh, that piano is gorgeous!" She points a pale pink claw-like nail at the piano in the corner of the Jauregui's living room. It is noticeably untouched - there's probably even dust on it if Lauren ran her finger over it - but Camila walks over to it anyway, the high heels of her boots clicking on the tile floor. That girl is a whole production. She looks straight out of some cheesy teen movie, with her outfit and her makeup and her hair and her attitude - she's almost like a cartoon character, larger than life. "Who plays?"
"Lauren did when she was younger. Not so much anymore, hm?" Lauren has to fight hard from rolling her eyes. The passive-aggression is basically flooding the room. "Camila, do you play?"
"Do I!" Camila grins a cheeky little grin up at Lauren's mother. "I've taken lessons since I was five. It's like my one true passion." She runs her fingers over the keys, her nails making little satisfying clacking sounds as they move from raised black to flat white.
"Really?" Lauren raises a skeptical eyebrow. She really can't imagine Camila Cabello being particularly musically gifted - mostly because she can't believe the girl managed to sit down and actually dedicate time to something besides shopping, drugs, and sex. Not in, like, an offensive way. Just... ugh, you know what she means, right? "Play something."
Lauren's mother clears her throat. "I'll leave you two alone." Like she's letting them do something extremely intimate or something. Camila's literally just playing piano. Seriously, Lauren will never understand what her mom's problem is.
Well, she doesn't have any time to ponder it, because Camila begins to play.
She dives headfirst, starting slow and steady and soft into a melody and a chord pattern Lauren doesn't recognize, and her left hand moves quick as the devil as her right stays smooth and graceful, tapping out a melody that glides real easy out of her fingertips, deceivingly simple as her left jumps around from chord to chord. It is beautiful and just a little bit haunting, delicate and intense all at the same time, perfect, moving dynamics; Camila moves too, her back curving over the keys as she leans into her crescendo and dipping out when she gets softer, moving left and then right as her hands travel over bone-white keys, grazing over black sharps and flats, and then it wanes, wanes, wanes, the intensity of the chords giving way to a soft, lilting set of notes in her right hand, then it jumps up another octave, and then she plays that last singular note and lifts her foot off the damper pedal as slow as possible, letting the note reverberate through the room soft and yet still present even after her foot is firmly on the floor again, and then she's looking at Lauren expectantly, eyes big, face open, and Lauren-
"Wow." She is speechless. She is utterly speechless. "That was-"
Camila presses her hands to her cheeks. She's blushing- actually blushing. It's a good look on her, but for a second Lauren just has to stop and stare because out of all the things she was expecting from Camila she was not expecting something so beautiful and graceful and technically and stylistically perfect, and she has never seen someone play piano like that, to be able to convey so much emotion and passion without even saying a word. It is otherworldly, truly.
"I think I'm having an out-of-body experience," Lauren says. She really can't think of anything else. "That was... incredible. Like... holy shit, I did not know you had that in you."
Camila gives her a tiny shrug, the closest Lauren's seen her get to any semblance of modesty. But she beams at her. "I told you," she said. "It's my one true passion."
"What song is that?" Lauren asks. "It was so beautiful. I don't think I've ever heard it."
"Hmm." Camila's eyes crinkle up into slits, like it does when she smiles especially big. "That's because I wrote it."
Lauren's eyes nearly bug out of her head. "You wrote that? Like, your own sheet music, dynamics, everything?" Fucking hell. This girl is a secret musical prodigy. Who would have guessed it?
"Yeah. It actually has words and stuff but I decided to not subject you to my singing today."
Camila is a chronic chainsmoker, so Lauren figures she's telling the truth when she says her singing voice is not nearly as amazing as her skills on the piano. But Jesus, what if she's packing a serious set of pipes under her ditzy druggie party girl exterior too? She totally could be. Lauren doesn't really know what to expect from her now. Is she a secret bestselling author? Or maybe she's really good at baking. She knows she's not a secret genius because she cheated and slept her way through boarding school, so there's that theory squashed.
Camila keeps constantly surprising her, Lauren thinks. She's still not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing. She's kind of scared to stick around and find out.
"Can I see your room?" Camila rises from the piano bench and spins around, tugging her skirt further down around her thighs. Her gold watch clanks against her wrist. "Oh, I bet you're a neat freak."
Lauren snorts. "It's definitely better than your room."
"Well, that's not saying much."
The moment Camila steps into Lauren's room she seems amazed. "It's so clean!" she squeals, twirling in her white boots.
Camila was right - Lauren is kind of a neat freak. Her room is basically spotless and she didn't even try to clean up before Camila got here. She makes her bed every morning and keeps her room in a relatively minimalist style: cream walls, dark hardwood floors, simple sheets and a duvet patterned with flowers... her room's not big enough to fit a desk, but she has some huge bookshelves mounted on her walls, filled to the brim with books. Camila runs her long fingernails over the spines. "You're such a nerd," she says. "Imagine reading for fun. Couldn't be me."
"Not all of us use their free time to do coke and sleep around, Camz."
It's definitely harsh, but to her credit, Camila doesn't seem to take it that hard. "I'd rather be addicted to hard drugs than be a nerd!" She whirls around to give her a cheeky smile, and Lauren rolls her eyes, collapsing on her bed. "You're a trainwreck."
"Given." Camila plops down next to her. "So..."
"So can we talk about your freakout in the bathroom?"
"Right." Camila's smile drops off her face. "I don't know what to tell you, Lo, I'm kind of... um. I'm kind of struggling. With that kind of stuff. I mean, I can't be gay, right?" She looks at her imploringly, and Lauren fights the urge to roll her eyes. It's 2019 and Camila's been publicly intoxicated, under the influence, and exposed in more ways than one in the media. And she can't handle the thought that she might be gay? It's not like she's little miss perfect. Like Lauren said, she's a trainwreck.
"I don't understand why you're so bothered by that," Lauren says. "Who would care about you being gay?" She's rich, gorgeous, and utterly shameless. She can't believe she's this fucked up about possibly being gay.
Camila shrugs and lays back, her dark hair pooling around her face. "I don't know. God?"
Lauren shoots her a withering look. "You are not religious." If anything, shouldn't Catholic-raised Lauren be the one having her freakout right now?
"I'm just saying. I think I'm going to be straight-up punished by the universe if I act on that type of stuff." She laughs a little, but her eyes are dead serious.
"I'm going to be honest, you are not really making any sense to me right now."
Then Camila rolls over and kisses her hard, and Lauren kind of forgets that nothing Camila's saying is coherent at all. She's an incredible kisser.
They should probably talk about this, but as long as Camila keeps kissing her like this Lauren thinks she'd let her get away with saying or not saying as much as she wants. The bottom line is she wants her and she likes her like this: easy and fun and no strings attached. Maybe she can even start pursuing Zayn now and Camila can be her side hoe.
Okay, maybe not. Camila might not be little miss perfect but Lauren kind of... is. She has the grades, the upbringing, the good-girl reputation, the fast-track to an Ivy League. She never gets in trouble. Teachers and adults adore her. Lauren doesn't see herself as an angel, but she's gotta admit, that's everyone else's impression of her, and they're not, like, that far off. Hanging out with Camila a lot would definitely kill her pristine reputation.
Not like she cares. I mean, right? Who cares about a high school reputation? But there's a big difference between being this pure good girl who's never had a boyfriend and gets perfect grades and being one of Camila Cabello's cokehead lackeys caught in compromising positions on the covers on trashy teen magazines. If there was some morally ambiguous teenager going through a conflict right now it's kind of like Lauren would be the angel and Camila would be the devil perched on said teen's shoulder, whispering highly questionable advice.
She's not a prude, but she might as well be a saint when compared to Camila.
"I don't need to make sense," Camila murmurs against her lips. "I'm super hot. Isn't that enough?"
And Lauren cracks up laughing, but Camila takes the opportunity to kiss her again, so maybe she's right after all.
-
What the fuck am I doing?
Sometimes when Camila goes to school, walking through the halls of Barrington High in her only slightly outrageous outfits (today it's a tiny cropped tank top patterned with purple flowers and a matching lavender miniskirt), she suddenly feels like she's just some character in a movie, like the life she's living is so not her own. It's not exactly a bad thing, she thinks.
Right now she walks through the hallway in line with her new best friends - the most popular girls in school. Normani and Ally, laughing and talking about something or other, and Camila half-listens, half-surveys the school. Oh, all eyes on her. Could be because the loud stomps of her platform heels are basically impossible to miss. Could be because she's gorgeous. Or it could be because she's Camila Cabello and people love to look at her.
She is sort of like a movie character, kind of. She doesn't really think she'd be the protagonist. Probably the cruel popular bitch who steals the main character's boyfriend. Hey, it's not as if it hasn't happened before. Back at boarding school she was a menace. She kissed and slept with whoever she wanted just because she could.
Some of it wasn't right. She knows that. Despite what everyone thinks of her she's not stupid. And she's not this nasty horrible slut, no matter what her old classmates said about her.
But now she's different. She has to be different. Because the person she was before was not who she wanted to be.
So she plays this new part, at this new school, surrounded by these new gorgeous friends. She traded out the uniform for miniskirts and crop tops and tall, tall heels, and her drug addiction out for a serious dependence on cigarettes (still waiting to see if that choice was a good one). She's a lot nicer than she used to be. Not like she has to be. When you're smokin' hot and sort of famous you can pretty much get away with anything.
God. Maybe she's not as different as she thought.
"So what are your plans for Sadie Hawkins?" Ally nudges her in the ribs. She's only actually a few inches shorter than Camila, but with Camila's ever-present sky-high heels she might as well be twice Ally's height.
Camila rolls her eyes. "Sadie Hawkins is a scam."
"What?" Normani laughs next to her. "I thought it'd be right up your alley. It's the only school dance where you get to dress slutty."
"Please. You should've seen my homecoming dresses."
"I love Sadie Hawkins." Ally certainly has bite to her - Camila can see it clear as day - but she also exudes this natural positive energy that makes Camila want to smile being around her. Almost like someone else she used to know. Ugh, whatever. "It's always more relaxed than hoco or prom. I just don't know who I should ask." She looks over to Normani. "Who are you asking, Mani?"
"Huh? Um. I don't know. I guess I have a lot of options."
Puzzled, Camila sneaks a glance at the girl next to her. She's not blushing, is she? She can't be blushing. But for a moment her intense eyes seem a million miles away, and Normani fiddles with the hem of her skirt. Ally flicks Camila in the arm. "Secret boyfrieeend," she trills quietly.
"What?" Normani snaps, dark eyes dialed up to a hundred.
"Nothing!"
"When is Sadie Hawkins, anyway?" Camila asks. She accidentally makes eye contact with the boy she made out with the other day and grimaces. She feels the insane urge to cover her neck even though she knows the hickey isn't there anymore.
Shit. Her hand flies up to her neck. "Guys?"
"It's mid-February." Ally sees the look on her face. "What?"
Camila shuts her eyes and fans at her neck. "Please tell me I don't have a hickey."
"We all saw that huge hickey the other day, Mila. I think it's a little late to be reaching for modesty." Normani pokes at Camila's neck. "Oh, no, this is a new one. Dude, I have no idea how you have boys crawling all over you already."
"This isn't from a-" Shit! Shit-shit-shit. Don't lose your composure, Camila, come on. "Uh. I mean. I guess I'm just that hot." She whips out her phone and opens her messages, holding it close to her chest so neither Ally or Normani can see them.
CAMILA: please tell me ur hickey situation is NOT as bad as mine
It only takes a few seconds for her to get a response.
LAUREN: I had to steal my mom's concealer but I think I'm doing okay
LAUREN: Meet me in the A-wing bathroom?
"Be right back!" Camila blurts out in a rush, and then she's off like a shot, teetering in her platform heels as she bolts up the stairs of the building. She knows Normani and Ally are going to think she's going off to have a secret rendezvous with the guy who keeps giving her these hickeys. Truly, they're not that far off.
When she bursts into the bathroom, Lauren is already there, inspecting her neck in the mirror. "You can't even tell," she says. "I mean, right? Zayn drove me to school today and he couldn't tell."
"No, you're fine." Lauren's pale skin looks smooth and hickey-free. Camila can't really say the same as she sweeps her hair to one side and runs her nails over the bruising on the column of her neck. "Sorry, Camz. I didn't think my teeth were that sharp."
Camila shoots a withering look over at Lauren, who looks like she's struggling not to laugh. "You're all good," she says snippily, "people will just think one of the fifty boys I'm hooking up with did it."
The grin drops off Lauren's face. "Wow. Okay."
Camila doesn't know what she's doing. The hickey isn't even the problem. She had a hickey twice as big as this last week and people barely even batted an eye. It's just-
Camila whirls around to face her. "Just because we made out doesn't mean you and me are anything. You know that, right? You and me - we're nothing." God! Why is she freaking out again? She doesn't know what the hell is wrong with her. When it was just she and Lauren up in Lauren's room, kissing and laughing and talking about everything and nothing, Camila was totally fine. No one was around and everything was fine. And she didn't have to care about anything.
But now they're at school. She's Camila Cabello. She has to be someone now.
At least being a slut is better than being gay.
"Camila, I don't fucking understand you." Lauren crosses her arms over her chest. "You seemed to be so into me when you were on top of me sticking your tongue down my throat, but sure, today you're sooo straight. Why does it even fucking matter? You think anyone will care if you like girls?"
"Yes!" Oh, god. Oh, god god god. Tears are pricking at her eyes and she doesn't know why - or maybe she does. She twists the ever-present gold watch around her wrist. "Yes, I know for a fact people will care, Lauren." Because they sure as hell did before and they sure as hell will now. "I don't know what you've heard but the world isn't exactly the pinnacle of acceptance and tolerance." And the media isn't either.
"Why are you so fucked up about what everyone else will think?"
"It's not just people!" It's not. She knows what happened to her before when she decided to act on her less acceptable feelings. "It's- it's everything, it's the world-" It's about how when she finally let everything go and kissed someone without inhibitions, back in New York, her whole life fucking fell apart. It's about how she's so scared something like that will happen again. It's about how it was like a sign from the universe-
You cannot be this way. You can't. It's not right and you can't be this way.
"God!" Lauren stares at her with large eyes, eyebrows drawn together, and she is so beautiful, and Camila wishes she wasn't. "You are so fucking frustrating!"
When Lauren gets mad, Camila has noticed, her potty mouth really starts to come out. It's kind of funny, actually. Lauren, the good girl in her collared shirts and un-ripped jeans and ballet flats, screaming obscenities at her. Her perfect grades, her perfect life. Camila wonders how she makes it look so fucking easy.
When Lauren graduates - probably as the valedictorian - she'll be going off to some Ivy League, she'll get an internship right away, and get a job straight out of college. She probably won't go to any parties. She'll probably meet a really nice boy who takes her breath away - someone equally as smart, someone equally as perfect. She'll have her well-paying job and her boyfriend and then they'll get married and have perfect, genius kids and they can grow old together and live out their perfect lives like in some cheesy vomit-inducing romantic movie.
And Camila? She'll probably die of an overdose before she's twenty-one.
She is only sixteen and yet sometimes she feels like she has nothing left for her in this sad, superficial life of hers.
Before she knows what she's doing she is moving forward and taking Lauren's hands in her own. "I know," she murmurs. "And I'm sorry. I know it doesn't really make sense. I just-"
"Please don't cry." Lauren runs the tip of her finger under Camila's eye. She's so gentle, like she's purposefully trying to not mess up her makeup. It's so sweet that Camila throws her arms around Lauren and pulls her into a tight hug.
Lauren hugs her back, and she's so warm and comforting that Camila feels like she could drown in her.
Then the bell rings, and then they're both laughing, and Lauren winds her hands in Camila's hair and pulls her even closer to her. "I hate you so much," Lauren says into her shoulder. "You piss me off more than anyone I've ever met."
The words are rightfully harsh, but Lauren's tone is so soft and fond that all Camila does is laugh, and then move Lauren's hair out of the way so she can kiss her neck. "Ditto," she says.
She knows they're kind of fucked up. She knows they can't really go on like this, yelling at each other and then making up with a hug or a kiss or something physical to make up for their vicious fights. She knows nothing they're doing makes sense at all, not even in the slightest.
She knows Lauren wants to talk about this, to actually sit down and work it out. But she can't. Camila is the type of girl who kisses first and asks questions later.
It fucked her up bad before. It's going to fuck her up bad again.
So much for the new Camila Cabello. She may be in a different state, but she's still living the same old story.
Maybe it was naïve to expect anything to change.
"Hey." When they leave the bathroom, Camila suddenly thinks to ask about it. "Are you going to Sadie Hawkins?"
"Uhh." Lauren shrugs. "I don't usually go to school dances. Why, are you going?"
"I mean." Camila shrugs back at her. "If I can find someone to ask, then yeah."
She peeks over at Lauren, gratified when the girl rolls her eyes. "Is this your stupid way of asking me? You know it's not until next month, right?"
"I mean, obviously I wouldn't ask you as a date-"
This earns a scoff from Lauren. "Obviously-"
"-but if you wanted to go with me and my friends, I wouldn't be opposed to that."
They stop in front of Camila's fourth period class. Lauren tilts her head, green eyes flashing. "Hmm," she says. "Either stay home with Dinah and Zayn and watch movies the whole time or go to a gross sweaty dance where you and I will probably end up fighting the whole time... gee, that's a tough one."
"Come on." Camila nudges Lauren's foot with a tall platform heel. "At least consider it?"
To Camila's delight, Lauren throws her hands up in resigned exasperation. "Fine. I'll think about it. Have a good time in fourth period, Camz."
She turns and walks away, and Camila stares after her. Shit. She knows getting involved like this - emotionally, physically - is a mistake.
Still. It's a mistake she can't help but make.
-