✓ 𝐆𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐎𝐔𝐒, adam banks

14. hi, society

❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜
chapter fourteen: hi, society

tw(s): none, really, just luis being luis, but that should be tolerable, i hope.
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★ ━━━ "SO..." LOUISE TUCKER'S voice trails off suggestively as she swirls a wooden stick through her hot chocolate. "We're sixteen." She addresses the group sitting at a round table in the café. Leslie notices with a dull ache in her chest that this is the same table she and Adam once sat at. The day he bought her coffee. She wonders if he still remembers her order, and then laughs at herself immediately after. What a silly thing to expect of him, to even hope for, especially when it was she who had rejected him.

Phoebe raises an eyebrow at her blonde friend. "Yes. That we are," she replies shortly, indicating that she doesn't know what Louise is hinting at. She takes a sip of her bitter cold brew (no sugar, no creamer, she had explicitly demanded).

Marcia grins, twirling a piece of hair in between her fingers. "Lou means we're going to be debutantes." She wipes her skirt, picking off the flaky remains of her dark chocolate choux pastry.

"And that means we're being exhibited for possible suitors," Phoebe corrects, wagging her finger at Marcia's dreamy face. "Even my parents, as scary as they are, can't force me into something like that. Nuh-uh."

"It isn't the eighteenth century anymore, Phoebs," Marcia says with a light roll of her eyes, swatting Phoebe's hand away. "It's our rite of passage into womanhood. And that no longer has anything to do with marriage. And we get to wear fun dresses."

"I suppose," Phoebe considers with a shrug. "But nonetheless, it's still a very frilly event. And that disgusts me. Plus, you need an escort. Who am I even going to take?" Phoebe's eyes cast downwards at the surface of the table. She has never really considered herself a romantic. Not at all, actually. She associated it with distraction, and nothing could tear Phoebe away from any goal of hers, not even the most magnetic of men. Or so she told herself. But even all-knowing Phoebe Collette was unaware of the fact that no human was immune to the pull of true love, and that no volume of Tolstoy, no matter how vast its pages, could protect her from something so all-consuming.

"One of the Ducks," Marcia suggests with a mischievous, Louise-like glint in her eye. "I've got my eye on one of 'em. Fulton." Marcia has never been able to keep a secret, even if it is her own, Leslie recalls. In fact, those that belong to her seem to slip from her fingers the most easily. Leslie wonders about her own escort, her chest tightening when Rick's face appears in her mind. She rejects the image immediately. That boy robbed her of her self-respect, her happiness, her energy, and a year of her life that she would never get back. How can one forgive such shameless greed?

"Interesting," Phoebe says, with an indifferent tone of voice. But Marcia has a sugary charm that no one can quite resist. The stuff of daisies and clouds and picturesque meadows. Phoebe is the stuff of rain and cobblestone and narrow passages between bookshelves, something she believes to be much less captivating and attractive to the opposite sex. Not that any of this even worries her. She frowns at the amount of thought she even put into whatever this rumination was. She shakes the dwellings from her head. Her mouth twists, knowing her friends will not be satisfied until she says something. "Well, I suppose Billy the Kid isn't all too unpleasant."

Louise snorts, the hot chocolate running down her throat and scalding it painfully. "Sorry, I- that's- Dwayne's the last person I thought you'd say," she chokes out.

Phoebe glowers, lowering her coffee mug from her lips. "And why's that?" But somewhere in her narrowed eyes, Leslie knows Phoebe already knows what's coming. What people have always told her.

"I don't know," Louise says after a moment, scratching at her chin. "I guess he's the wholesome, pure type. The kind that pisses you off-"

"Hey!" Marcia protests.

"Sorry. Poor choice of words," Louise says, retracting her previous statement. " It's just, he's...an open book. Doesn't seem to be your type, is all."

Phoebe sits, staring at Louise for a minute. It's the kind of stare that could make anybody squirm. But not Louise. She knows that stare too damn well to wither under its gravity. "Well, I like books," Phoebe finally replies quietly.

★ ━━━ "AFTERNOON, LADIES, LESLIE," Luis Mendoza greets as he saunters confidently to Leslie's desk in history class. "I was late-" he waves a thin tardy slip in the air. "-so I get to pick my group."

"I am truly flattered that I'm exempt from the term 'ladies,'" Leslie says, uncapping a highlighter and pulling a chair out for Luis. "Sir, your throne."

"Thank you. Now, what is this about a debutante ball I hear?" Luis questions, hoisting an eyebrow. "And...escorts?"

"Actually, it's the Manhattan Project, but close!" Phoebe snarks, not appreciating the interruption of her intense work. She shoves a few books and sheets of lined paper at Luis' chest and returns to her own book. "And I don't know who'd be desperate enough to ask you."

"Oh, no one asked me, so I suppose I'll have to make my own magic," Luis says with a sharp glare at Phoebe, but a wink at Leslie. "I was wondering what lucky man was going to take this one over here." Luis gestures with a nod of his head toward Leslie, who scoffs at his flirtatious demeanor.

"Thank you," Leslie says, subtly pushing the boy's hand away. "But no one- I haven't asked anyone yet."

"Perfect. I talked to the cutie that Fulton was eyeing the other day, and she says that the ball is on the tenth of December," Luis says. "Odd season for a debutante ball. But it just so happens, darlin', that my schedule is perfectly free that day."

Leslie wants to say no. Not that she actively has something against Luis. He's just not her favorite Duck, what with his rather slimy, amorous disposition. But she doesn't have a reason to say no, does she? Except for...nope. She has no one. Nothing, damn it! "You do know that it's customary for the woman to ask her escort? Are you really that impatient?"

"One of my many good qualities, m'lady. And should you take me up on my offer, you could find out a lot more," Luis says suggestively, the corner of his mouth quirking up a bit.

Leslie suppresses the urge to run to the nearest restroom stall and projectile vomit into the toilet bowl, she returns his coy grin and says, "I'd love to."

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CLARA'S CORNER

okk so can we pretend that luis, in this book at least, has his regular haircut from d2? i beg of you, because i don't think i can go on writing this imagining the weird, cropped cut he had going on in d3.

what is that dang luis mendoza up to? sorry for making luis such a (and i truly have no other word for this) cringefest, but it just had to be done for the sake of the story. bear with me, please, because it will all be resolved in the end.

of course, this chapter's name is a reference to the deb ball episode in gossip girl (if  you haven't watched that show, you totally should, it's super entertaining).

what do you think of this deb ball storyline? i don't really know, i just pulled this idea out of nowhere, so it could totally suck. i might have gotten inspiration from the summer i turned pretty? who knows...

and i know it doesn't reeeally fit considering traditional debutante balls are in summer or spring, but just pretend you don't know that.

with love, your author <333