Chapter Text
The whole problem results from her own doing.
Monet De Haan has never been one to back down from a challenge. Provoke her enough and she might just commit a felony if anybody ever dared her to. It’s a natural consequence of her tendencies to feel like she has to do everything perfectly, and granted , dares aren’t supposed to be within the catalogue of things she has to do with excellence, but-- she’s not thinking clearly. She’s buzzed from the second sugar-free mojito Max had ordered for her from the bar, and the group is having the most fun they’ve had in a while.
The dare is simple enough -- Audrey, through her own clouded drunken choice of words, dares Monet to kiss Luna. Luna laughs at the thought immediately, bursting into giggles just beside Monet and muffling the sound of it by burying her face into the fabric of Monet’s sleeves. Monet narrows her eyes at Audrey, immediately biting into the challenge. It’s a stupid, light-hearted dare, and she’s going to be excellent at it.
“And if I do it? What’s in it for me?” Monet raises her eyebrow, hands wrapping around the cold glass of her drink.
“The bragging rights, obviously.” Audrey’s lips twist into something sinister, then into a teasing smile. “And I’ll give you a 24-hour opportunity to use my black card.”
The group around her falls into a rather tactless racket of howls and claps, and even Luna looks enticed from the dare, the grip on her sleeve becoming tighter. And, honestly ? What would Monet do with a black card? She has more money than Audrey, and maybe the entire group combined sans Otto. It’s a purposeless prize. However -- her friends are all looking at her, as if in anticipation of what she’s going to do. The obvious and rational thing to do would be to shrug it off, say no , and say that it’s a stupid dare, and that she’s not going to kiss Luna in a club in front of them, especially not with lingering, gossip girl-DMing eyes all around their booth.
But Monet’s clearly not going to do that, because if there’s anything she is, it’s stubborn and to the point that it inconveniences everybody around her and herself. She takes one big sip of the drink, wiping the condensation from the glass that had transferred to her hand on the fabric of her dress, and faces Luna.
Luna blinks, stares at her for a second, and then laughs. “You’re not being serious are you?”
“Do I look like I’m joking?” She says, voice unwavering even with Julien’s oh my god expressions in the background. She doesn’t even break eye contact with Luna, because she knows that if she does, she’s immediately going to back out of the challenge, and she can’t have that happening.
“Well, fuck,” Luna murmurs to herself, but audible enough for Monet to hear. The girl clears her throat and takes a sip from her drink, before facing Monet again with much more conviction now. “How long should we do it for?” She asks, then, looking at Audrey.
From Monet’s peripheral vision, the blonde shrugs. “Surprise me.”
Then Luna turns back to her, tipping the contents of her glass to her lips and Monet watches her do so. In the glow of the electric lights ricocheting around the dark club, she looks positively breathtaking, and Monet has the fleeting thought that she’s going to regret this. She steadies her breathing, moving closer, and tries to look composed. Tries. She hopes she does, because she’s certainly not . When she’s close enough that Luna’s breath tickles her cheek, it’s when she realizes -- she definitely got the short end of the stick.
“Are you sure about this?” Monet whispers, eyes locked into Luna.
“Just kiss me.”
And then just like that, Monet closes the gap between them, flimsy as it is, and breathes Luna in. She’s all cherry lip gloss, vodka, and vanilla perfume that Monet distinctly remembers Luna took from her room. She’d been like , Oh my God, this perfume smells like donuts, hm , where did you get this from, and Monet had told her to keep it. Monet’s not quite sure who slips whose tongue into whose mouth first, but it doesn’t really matter. All she knows is that Luna La kisses with a purpose -- it’s like a really excellent fireworks show, building and building just above the horizon, and she’s not quite sure she wants it to end. Their friends are all around them, uncharacteristically silent, and maybe it’s because the kiss has turned Monet’s brain into liquid, consequently turning the noise and thumping bass into a measly static.
She doesn’t know how long it is until they separate, but when they do, it’s because a moan threatened to escape Monet’s throat and she regrettably pulled away before it could. Luna looks at her with a twinkle in her eye. She zeroes in on the girl’s spit-slicked lips, and has the brief yet alarming un-heterosexual thought that she should just replace Luna’s lip glosses.
Julien clears her throat. “That was hot.”
This pulls Monet out of her trance, the Luna La tastes and kisses criminally good trance, and the first thing she notices is Audrey looking at them, mouth hanging slightly.
Okay, yeah, Monet might have overdone it.
The problem, then, makes itself known when that same night after they’ve all filed out of the club and went back to their own homes, and Monet can’t sleep. She tries to -- there’s an app on her phone that plays constant white noise, and she’ll never admit it to anybody, but it does help her in nights when her brain doesn’t seem to have plans in shutting off. But that night, the app proves to be a futile attempt, because the more that she thinks about sleeping, the more she thinks about the fucking kiss, and the more her heart goes into overdrive so quick that it’s almost concerning.
There’s a joke to be told about this very situation, a lesbian kissing her allegedly straight best friend and immediately getting increasingly confusing and conflicting feelings about it afterwards.
Monet groans into her pillow and tries to think of something else. The new Ferragamo handbag she has waiting for her downstairs from the mail, still unopened. The clearly downwards trajectory of her GPA if she doesn’t get her grades on precalculus up. (Maybe she can just get the teacher to edit it). The newest Barry Jenkins film premier she’s set to go with Luna on. Luna. Her lip gloss. The kiss.
Fuck .
She’s going to kill Audrey, the menace.
She’s about to close her eyes when there’s a sudden continuous buzz from her phone, and she sees that Luna is calling her. She answers.
“Hey.” Monet starts off coolly, clearing her throat and sitting up on the bed.
There’s a small gap of silence before the other replies, “Hey.”
“Why are you up so late?” She asks, not quite knowing what to say. There’s a glaring red from the digital clock on her bedside table. It’s 1:30 AM, and it seems that her best friend is just as restless as she is.
“I can’t sleep.” Luna says in a low register, and something traitorous in the back of Monet’s brain thinks it’s sexy, and she has to shake her head to get rid of the thought. “Why are you up so late?”
“Oh, you know,”
“Hm?”
“Just stuff.” She says, uncharacteristically brief in her words.
Even Luna seems to sense this, because the next thing she says is, “This is the part where you’re supposed to say something annoyingly intelligent to try and be funny.”
Monet scoffs. “Try and be funny?”
“Did I stutter?”
“Okay, one , I don’t try to be funny, it comes naturally and two , you should go to sleep.”
“There it is.” Luna says amusedly, and Monet realizes she's fallen for it. She’s silent for a second before humming. “Should we talk about…”
Monet immediately knows what she’s talking about. “We don’t have to.”
Except they do. They should , because it’s driving Monet crazy. She’s never had any feelings resembling romance or attraction for Luna since they met, at least none that she’s aware of. She’s appreciative of her beauty, of course — Monet’s a human with eyes, but not much other than that. But since their kiss, approximately 3 hours and 10 minutes ago ( yes , she’s counting), Monet hasn’t been able to think about anything else other than how soft her lips felt against hers. According to track record, Luna is supposed to be outstandingly heterosexual. She’s never talked about women in a romantic way, and never even had incriminating posters of Selena Gomez in her bedroom at age nine.
Monet likes to think, that as dumbo hall’s resident lesbian, she has excellent gaydar, looking back to the time she’d immediately sniffed Max out to be pansexual when they were in 7th grade. It’s never failed so far, and this is her best friend. If Luna were gay, Monet would know. Should know.
“Really?” Luna’s voice turns into something softer. “ Good . Yes. I thought I had to, like, have to endure an incredibly awkward conversation with you about it.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She gulps and lets out a light laugh. “It was just a dare.”
Beat. “I didn’t know you were such a good kisser.”
And Monet feels like she’s going to ascend to another dimension. Instant heat immediately comes shooting up her neck to her face, and somehow her room gets warmer. “Shut up.”
“Look at you being all shy after you stuck your tongue down my throat.” Luna giggles from the other line and Monet buries her face into her pillow, groaning.
“Okay, really?” Monet huffs. “You’re never going to live this down, are you?”
“Nope.” There’s an air of smugness there, and even though Monet can’t see Luna, she already knows that she has a satisfied look on her face. “Honestly, be proud of it.”
And she is. Monet doesn’t brag -- maybe only a little (okay, maybe a lot ) -- but there is a reason that there’s a flock of girls sitting in her Instagram’s DMs. She’s built quite a status for herself outside of all the nepotism, and even Max had once called her “the second most popular gay person in school, right after me of course”. It’s not exactly a lie, but at least she’s not going around dumbo hall cataloguing a collection of random girls that can say they’ve made out with her. She likes to think she’s selective , and has a high standard in women.
“We kissed, I was great at it, it was a dare. Let’s leave it at that.” Monet says, desperate to divert the topic.
“Okay.”
So they do. They don’t talk about it for the rest of their phone call. They talk about the latest gossip in Constance: who’s banging who, whose mom is cheating on whose dad, which teacher Monet should come for next. She treats these little tidbits of information like currency, always keeping little banknotes and coins of them around her mind, like Max’s other, less fashionable and frankly boring, father had started sleeping with this gay YouTube celeb-wannabe , so when the time should come to use them, she can. This facet of her has always been there, just barely hidden behind her warm smile and commanding eyes that make even faculty members quiver in their seats, and since gossip girl started terrorizing high teenage society she’d felt like the value of that currency has multiplied tenfold.
Both Luna and Max know this, and understand that to succeed in life one should have the proper information and connections handed to you. If they aren’t, you have to personally take it from their grasp. Julien doesn’t understand it. She’s too sentimental, gentle in her actions even when she’s dealt with the shittiest of cards. Audrey and Obie probably do get it, but are too self-righteous and stuck up in their own ways that Monet’s never felt quite close to them as the others. And there’s Aki, the poster child for all the internet soft boys, who literally would never hurt a fly.
Luna and Monet get each other. It’s always been like this, and it’s always going to be like it. Hopefully.
As long as Monet stops thinking about that stupid kiss, she’s going to be fine, and their friendship will be as renowned as Taylor and Selena’s.
It doesn’t even occur to her that the clock has hit the 2 am mark until suddenly Luna stops responding to her questions altogether, and she realizes that the girl has fallen asleep in their phone call. She can hear Luna’s soft, steady breathing and it sounds like little fluffy clouds passing by.
Maybe there was no need for that white noise app in the first place.
*
Now that Monet knows what kissing Luna La actually feels like, it’s somehow becoming progressively difficult to not think about it, about that night, because in typical Luna La fashion she’s always wearing a different set of lip product every day. It’s almost taunting, and even though yes , Luna’s, been, like, testing and swabbing makeup products on her face since they were fresh out of middle school and suddenly had a penchant for low-carb diet, it feels like the matte coral shade she’s painted on her lips is another dare for Monet -- a constant kiss me, kiss me, kiss me, just playing on a loop. Seeing Luna’s lips wrap around a straw as she sips on her drink is like being with Audrey in that club again, an amused smile on as she challenges Monet to kiss Luna.
And Monet tries to snap out of it. In her best efforts, she tries to look for that one girl she’d made out with in that bar a few weeks ago, and lo and behold -- she’s there in her Instagram message requests. Monet immediately follows her account, striking up a conversation rather straightforwardly, and she hopes it doesn’t come off as desperate as she feels right now. But really, how is she supposed to snap out of it when the root of all of her problems sits beside her in the bar, all the while wearing an impossibly tight dress?
She tries not to stare, but ultimately Monet finds that the challenge of trying not to stare at somebody, is that the more she tries not to, the more her imagination supplies for the lack of visual cues.
Luna is beside her having a muted conversation with Obie, something about debating the carbon footprint of the fashion industry to which Luna proceeds to devour his counter arguments by pointing out that he’s currently wearing something from a fast fashion online shop despite being able to afford something ten times its price, but opting not to because he tries to make himself feel better by pretending that he’s not like the other rich kids in the school and that he’s doing something radical, to which he just shuts up at, and leaves the bar with a huff. Monet listens to all of it with a grin on her face as she sips on a martini, mostly just preoccupied with watching the bartender.
“I swear he’s just asking to get on my nerves these days.” Luna says as she turns to Monet, gesturing to the bartender and asking for a refill. “I’m taking back what I said. Julien is much better off without him.”
The mention of their friend’s name makes Monet turn to the side and look at Julien. She’s doing some god-knows-what type of substance with Max and it makes her scrunch her nose in disgust. “I think that was a mistake.”
“Honestly, I’d say the same thing,” Luna side-eyes Max from the corner. “But unfortunately he was… right . It did bring up Julien’s followers by a ton. I think people really got tired of her being all prim and proper all the time. Obie was just a dull filler for her online presence.” There’s a pause, before Luna taps away at her phone. “Which reminds me -- you are a very beautiful specimen of the lesbian species.”
Monet blinks. “Thank you?”
“Like, so good-looking it’s almost absurd.”
She has no idea where the conversation is heading. “You’ve lost me.”
“--And even with all of that, you’re getting zero bitches. Like, nobody. One would think that the richest lesbian in Constance would be having girls all over Manhattan, and yet here you are stuck with me.”
“Oh,” Monet lets the monosyllable fall from her lips, before immediately drawing her brows together at the inference that she is ‘getting zero bitches’. She frowns. “ You’re a girl from Manhattan.”
“Yes, I do know that, but see: I am not one of the supposed, hypothetical bitches you should be getting. I am merely just your wingwoman for the night.” She says with a contented smile playing on her lips.
Monet narrows her eyes. “Just making sure you’re aware that I'm 16…”
“--Never stopped me before.”
“I don’t need to be having sex.”
“Have I mentioned the possibility of sexual intercourse within our conversation? No, that’s simply your personal conclusion.”
She huffs. “You literally just told me to quote ‘Get bitches’ unquote .”
“I was telling you to find someone to make out with. Have fun. Be like Julien!” Luna shrugs and there’s a small panic within her that thinks that maybe Luna’s hinting to what had happened last Friday night, and that maybe she noticed that Monet’s staring has increased exponentially. “Whatever happened to that one senior? Lexie?”
“Lexa,” Monet corrects, and shakes her head at the suggestion. Lexa had become too clingy way too quick for her taste. After a small kiss that’d transpired in Julien’s house party, she immediately started commenting heart emojis on Monet’s posts. It’s a red flag, if she’s ever seen one. “And no , this is not happening right now. Whatever happened to you being a feminist? Letting women be alone and independent? Does any of this ring a bell?”
“You spreading the lesbian agenda all over is feminist praxis in and of itself. Considering…” Luna trails off, leans forward and whispers, “You’re a very good kisser. I think you giving women a good time is very empowering.”
When she leans back, ridding the two of them of the proximity, relief floods through Monet’s system like a dam breaking and she can finally breathe.
“I don’t like you.” Monet says with a scowl in a valiant attempt to even her voice, as she reaches for Luna’s own drink and finishes the contents of it in one gulp.
“Now go fishing.” Luna waggles her eyebrows suggestively. “Girl at 3 o’clock has been staring at you since we got here. I’m pretty sure that’s the girl from Constance’s basketball team. So, hand skills are definite.”
“Still sixteen.” She sings.
“And still single . Go. Fishing.”
And so she does.
Charlie is a senior in CBSJ and is apparently the female basketball team’s MVP, which frankly would make Monet more impressed if she only knew what it meant. She was never one for basketball, or any sport that requires her to sweat publicly anyway, apart from staring appreciatively at the muscular women passing around a ball and throwing it in hoops.
She finds, then, that basketball players have really strong hands. And a really good grip. A good enough grip that Monet found it impossible not to crawl into the other’s lap during a particularly heated kiss. Maybe Luna was right. She did need this. Charlie is strong and has firm muscles all over.
Monet likes to think of it as a palate cleanser. She just needs to get Luna out of her system. And that’s exactly what she’s doing.
At some point, Charlie kisses her on the neck in such an agreeable way that Monet finds herself enjoying it way too much that she almost considers retracting the no sex part. However, given the new position, she’s given the perfect view of Luna La and some guy. Monet recognizes the smile on her face -- it’s the one she uses to lure people in. He already has his fingers running up and down her best friend’s arm and Monet has to tear her eyes away before neither of them can sense the million daggers she’s throwing his way.
“Is there something wrong?” Charlie asks, then, kisses on her neck halted. Her hands are inching under Monet’s skirt.
Monet looks back at her, red-kissed lips and all, and shakes her head. She ignores the red hot rage bubbling up from underneath and focuses on the very pretty girl whose lap she’s currently sitting on. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”
They kiss once again, and she tries to follow her own advice.
Cleanse the palate.
*
She doesn’t sleep with Charlie.
Luna eventually comes looking for her soon enough and pulls her away from the other girl, so insistent that Monet doesn’t even get the chance to give her number. There’s that needling feeling within Monet, the one that wonders why her best friend would tell her to go find somebody to have fun with then pull her away before that fun can even begin.
She suddenly realizes how annoying it is to get your party rained on by Luna La.
*
“You look tired,” Monet says cattily to Audrey a few days later over the tune of shuffling students and clacking heels on marble. The blonde settles across the table, posture hunched and in her seemingly perpetual frown.
Audrey narrows her eyes at her before dumping a plethora of textbooks on the table, one of which narrowly misses Luna’s paper box of vegetable stir fry for lunch that Monet had ordered for her from that one Asian fusion restaurant in Soho. “I had an F in my chemistry test. Normally I wouldn’t be so concerned but this is my third one this semester. I can’t handle having a subpar GPA.”
Monet raises her eyebrow. “What’s the teacher’s name?”
“No.”
“What?” Monet asks.
“Whatever you’re planning, I’m going to have to say a hard no.”
“I haven’t even said anything yet.”
“I already know what it is, and the answer is no.”
Before Monet can respond, Julien and Luna come up from behind her.
“The answer to what babe?” Luna gives her a familiar tap on her shoulder accompanied by a kiss on the cheek from behind, pulling on Monet’s shoulders a little bit. Julien takes the seat beside Audrey and there’s a certain lift in her eyebrow when she watches the exchange.
“Hope here thinks I’m planning something sinister.” She answers.
“Well are you?” Luna asks right before she slides into the seat next to her, voice intrigued. She always did enjoy a good scheme.
“I was merely asking which teacher gave her an F.” Monet shrugs.
“You got an F?” Julien butts in.
“For a quiz . It’s nothing a little studying can’t fix.”
“Boo,” Luna fake yawns.
“Guys, semantics. Are any of you good at chemistry? I need the help.”
Luna stares at Monet knowingly with a small expectant smile. “What?”
“Monet’s a secret chemistry nerd.” Luna says conspiratorially across the table with a hand over the side of her face. Monet elbows her lightly, immediately narrowing her eyes at her best friend. “There’s this one time in middle school when she won the regional science quiz bees— excellent at stoichiometry.”
“—ignore her, she missed her pills.”
Audrey doesn’t care. “That checks out.”
And it definitely does. Having two pharmaceutical moguls as her parents bound to have made Monet a science whiz. She doesn’t remember when the fascination of all of it started, but there was definitely a formative time in her life, sometime within sixth grade when she was obsessing over anything and everything and that included female scientists that have changed the trajectory of modern science. Between watching hours of poorly-made documentaries on Marie Curie and Emily Noether, and visiting both of her parents during laboratory hours when they were both too busy to pay attention to their own daughter, her interests were already set in stone.
So she studied, and studied, even completely memorized the periodic table once using a jingle that follows the tune of A-B-C, figured out electronic configurations by herself, and learned basic stoichiometry all before high school. There was nothing like the approval of her parents. It was a drug, and she did everything to get it.
At least until she hit freshman year -- when suddenly everything she wanted was to manage, control, and build a completely fabricated and perfectly curated online profile for other equally absorbing people, and Julien just happened to be one of them. Her parents don’t know it yet, the complete indifference to their chosen path for their daughter, and she’s not quite sure she’d let them know until she’s made them see what she’s capable of outside the Monet they think they know and love.
“When you have mom and dad basically making vaccines and drugs and you’re not following in their footsteps? That’s when you know you’ve lacked in life.” Audrey notes, lamely opening one of the textbooks. “What exactly is an ion ?” She pushes the book toward Monet and points to a section.
“Good fucking God.” Monet mumbles, glaring immediately at Luna who looks way too amused with her lips twisted into a smirk. The fleeting yet alarming thought that she wants to kiss it off her face makes her dig her fingers into her own thigh. “Okay. Yes. Meet me in the library at 2, but only on Tuesday and on Friday.”
“Wait, seriously?”
Even Julien looks surprised. “Wow.”
“If you really want to do this you stop asking me stupid questions like seriously , and maybe do some advanced reading.” Monet retorts. “Nothing about this comes out.”
“Fine with me.” Audrey says.
Days pass and Monet finds herself enjoying the fresh company.
It’s a welcome change, and something greatly appreciated given her newly found conflicting non-platonic feelings toward her best friend. The less time she spends with Luna La, the less time she has to stare into her face hopelessly, and definitely less opportunities to take a guilty glance at her lips. (This doesn’t exactly mean that the daydreaming stops, however. In fact, for every day that passes it seems they just keep getting worse .)
Hanging out slash tutoring Audrey Hope proves to be something not 100% awful (not that she’s ever going to admit it). She’s witty, has the right dry sense of humor, and she’s not actually irremediably stupid to the point that Monet would rather burn the textbooks they’re using. Surprisingly, she’s a quick learner. Perceptive. Not afraid to ask questions. Monet supposes that the terrible performance in the subject has more to do with Audrey’s current maternal problems, the proverbial elephant in the room that can only be traced back to both her and Aki’s burgeoning attraction to Max, the teachers’ complete inability to teach concepts and topics, and less to do with Audrey’s own IQ. They’re in their second tutoring session now, just freshly out of their shared English lit class and in a vacant period. The library’s almost empty apart from a few shuffling freshmen that stare at the both of them thinking they’re being discreet. Monet has already mastered the art of gaze perception, and frankly, it gets annoying sometimes.
“That yields 12.1 as the solution’s pH.” Audrey finishes, writing down the answer in bold red and encircling it. Monet grabs the scientific calculator by the side and inputs the variables, and finds that the answer is correct. She hums in satisfaction.
“I’d hate to say it, Hope, but I’m a little impressed.”
“What, did you seriously think I was slow?”
Monet shrugs. “Honestly, I thought you wouldn’t be able to figure out how an inverse logarithm works for the life of you. It’s a little hard to believe you had bad grades in the first place.”
“I think I was just distracted.” Audrey murmurs. “Stupid mom and stupid Max…” She trails off, but before she can continue, Monet puts her hand up.
“What’s happening right now…”
“What?”
“Are you going to share your life problems with me?”
This prompts a groan from Audrey, followed by an eyeroll. “And here I was thinking we were starting to become friends.”
“Okay-- no need to take it personally, I was just mildly surprised.” Monet explains before the other can get up from their table and walk out. There’s no need to be causing a gossip girl scandal in the middle of a library.
“You really were always such a bitch to me.” Audrey says, candid honesty seeping out of her voice and Monet just purses her lips and shrugs. Sounds about right. She was. She still is. “Like even with the little things you just have to find a way to antagonize me for no reason.”
“Hey.” Monet narrows her eyes. “That’s not true.”
It’s definitely true, but the thing is, she antagonizes everybody for no reason. It’s just fun.
“You recorded my mom while she was piss-drunk and embarrassing me in front of the entire faculty and PTA committee.” She retorts.
“Okay, yes , but that’s partly because she’s, like, amusing. You should’ve seen how many views she got.”
Audrey scoffs. “Jesus Christ.”
“Fine.” Monet says, careful that her voice doesn’t exceed levels that would make her receive the librarian’s side eye nor the attention of her detractors. “I’m s…”
“You can’t even say the word?”
Monet rolls her eyes. She’s trying . She’s never had to say sorry to anybody. Saying sorry means that somehow she was in the wrong, and she’s never wrong. “I… apologize.”
A smile makes its way to Audrey’s face, visible from the way even her eyes crinkle from the stretch. Monet has to recommend her a new moisturizer. “Thank you.”
When they finish their studying session, they make their way to their usual table on the yard sans everybody else, now in a rather interesting conversation about the upcoming winter Gucci collection. Monet’s still, like, not crazy about Audrey Hope and the almost sad and pathetic air around her, and she’s definitely not going to call her her newest best friend, but she’s definitely someone to talk to.
It’s nearing three PM and their friends are starting to shuffle in from the crowded halls of the school. Julien comes to their table first, donning an incredible set of hoop earrings that Monet can’t help but compliment.
“So.” Julien lands beside her with a slight skip, a pleasant smile on her face. “Luna.”
“What about Luna?” Monet plays dumb. This earns a rather entertained snicker from Audrey, who pretends to be preoccupied with a book as she tunes into their conversation.
“You’re acting weird around her.” Julien supplies as-a-matter-of-factly, as if it needs no more explanation.
“No, I’m not.”
“Mon, honey.” Julien runs her hand through her buzzcut. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’ve been acting differently around her since last Saturday. You know. When you’d basically made softcore porno in the club in front of all of us?”
“Okay, can we cut it with the theatrics? We were not making softcore porno ,” She whispers the last words and there’s a certain charged huff of air coming from Audrey again. Monet immediately starts to reconsider her newfound semi-friendship with her. “Do you have something to say, Hope?”
Audrey looks up innocently, batting her eyelashes with a smile on her face. “Absolutely nothing.”
“Just saying-- that thing in the cafeteria last Monday? So odd.” Julien points out. “And don’t even get me started on the serious heart eyes you have going on.”
Okay, now this is just getting ridiculous. Monet de Haan does not give out heart eyes.
It feels a lot like being a worm stuck on a hook, and Monet is just trying her best to wriggle out of it. “I’m sorry, is it annoy Monet day today? Did I not receive the memo?”
“This is the only time I can talk to you without Luna.”
“You can just call.”
“Yes, but that would take out the equation of having to gauge your facial expressions whenever I say her name.” Julien raises her eyebrow even higher, clearly enjoying the scowl on Monet’s face. “And speaking of, she’s already coming here.” She waves to Luna, visible in the hallway from the glass panels. “I’m going to have to launch this intervention soon.” She winks and moves places, sliding next to Audrey on the bench across from her.
Luna soon settles next to her, resting her head on Monet’s shoulder. “Have I ever told you how much I dislike American History?”
Monet tries not to perceivably become stiff at the sudden contact, as both Julien and Audrey shoot her knowing looks. “Fuck American History, and fuck white Americans— no offense, Audrey.”
“None taken.”
Luna laughs from beside her, further leaning into the heat of her sweater.
*
“Can I come over to your house tonight?” Luna eventually asks when they’re finally seated in the back of Monet’s town car. “Ma’s leaving for Mexico city tonight and I can’t be bothered to spend an entire weekend by myself.”
“My god, yes . My mom just got home from a seminar an hour ago -- serious stuff, and I think she’d want to see you.”
“I missed Camille.” Luna says, not looking up from her phone, “What about Greyson? Still gallivanting around some poor Pfizer laboratory?”
“Don’t really care.” Monet shrugs. “He’s busy.”
This prompts Luna to remove her eyes from the screen and fix them on Monet, setting her hand down on Monet’s thigh and drawing small circles there. It goes unsaid, the I’m sorry part, but the small comforting smile on Luna’s face does enough. Both of Monet’s parents are barely there at any given time, but if there was an award given out to parents with maximum financial support and zero emotional maintenance, her dad would probably take the cake.
Sometimes, or most of the time, really, Monet dislikes herself for feeling too much about it. She’s rich, influential, has her whole life ahead of her given by the nepotism her parents had provided for her (and there’s, like, the best gift in the world which is how she basically won in the genetic lottery). There’s people who have it much worse, and yet here she is, blinking back a set of tears because her father doesn’t… what, come home every other month? It feels a lot like an incredibly miniscule, nitpicky thing to complain about when her father has quite literally given her the world and hung up the entire moon right in her room.
Luna is too close too quickly, digging around her small bag, then thrusting a bottle of water toward Monet. “Here.”
“Is this your way of telling me my skin looks dry?” She quips, but the laugh that comes with it falls flat. Monet takes it, notes the collection of rings around Luna’s thin fingers wrapped around the bottle, and uncaps. The water feels like a welcome reprieve.
“I love you, okay?” Luna says against the skin of her temple, and Monet doesn’t know if she feels better or worse.
“Thank you.” She whispers, in lieu of all the other words running through her mind. “I really should stop sharing all my life’s darkest secrets with you.”
“Where would you be without me?”
“Probably lying down, dead in a ditch somewhere.” She murmurs darkly. She’s only half-joking, and Luna knows this, visible from the way her lips fall into a subtle frown. Monet feels oddly close to crying.
Thankfully, she doesn’t. Not within her driver’s vicinity, not when she’s a few minutes away from seeing her mother again. But she leans against Luna anyway, welcomes the comfort that comes with her vanilla-scented, soft sewn cardigan, and lets the other play with her hand.
When they drop off Luna and she eventually gets home, her mom immediately abandons typing away at a laptop and wraps up Monet in an impossibly tight hug.
*
It’s her mom that calls for her when Luna finally makes it in. “Honey! Luna’s here!”
When she comes down the stairs, her best friend has already situated herself in the kitchen, hopped up on one of the stools and engaged in a rather vibrant conversation with her mom. Luna’s always been close to her parents -- they treat her like their own daughter, kept her close when Luna’s own parents failed to take care of her. Luna always knew how to make her mother smile and laugh, maybe even more than Monet can. She doesn’t resent it -- she could never resent her best friend’s charm and effortless conversational skills, because it’s why she was drawn to her in the first place. But it’s curious, sometimes, how they seem to love her as much as they love Monet.
Luna comes with alcohol stashed inside an inconspicuous metallic water bottle -- Monet knows this, because every time she brought that same container, it always contained some variation of vodka. She’s dressed in something more casual but still stylish nonetheless, as if she’d be caught dead wandering the halls of Monet’s house with lingering maids in anything less than something acceptable for a vogue section on sleepwear. Monet doesn’t even realize she’s staring until a maid passes by in front of her, promptly bowing down.
“There you are,” Luna greets, waving from her seat, fingers tucked into the long sleeve of her sweater. Thick-rimmed black glasses sit perfectly on her face, and it tugs on Monet’s heartstrings when she remembers that Luna La never wears her prescription glasses around anybody else. She’s almost always in her contacts, and if she wasn’t scared of the incredibly absurd recovery time and aftercare routine of a Lasik surgery, she’d have gotten her eyes lasered the minute the lines on the school chalkboard started getting blurry. “Camille and I were just talking about you.”
“Good things?” She pads her way to the kitchen, taking the seat beside Luna. Her mom’s on the stove, making a particularly huge batch of lasagna with the help of their cook, and she looks so happy that Monet doesn’t even have the heart to tell her that neither she or Luna eat dairy.
“I told her about your recent cocaine dependency and the hundred thousand dollars you funneled into an offshore bank account.”
“Very funny.” Monet rolls her eyes, elbowing the other lightly.
Her mom is still stirring the sauce, still facing the other way when she says, “Luna here was just talking about how you’re helping Audrey with her chemistry scores?”
“Not really helping per se,” Monet pours herself some of the lemonade sitting on the counter. “More like saving her from inevitable failure.”
“How is Audrey, by the way? It seems like I haven’t seen her in forever.”
Monet bites her tongue at the sudden urge to say something along the lines of you aren’t here long enough to check up on me, why would you have seen Audrey ?, and instead busies herself with sipping the drink.
“She’s fine, Camille. You know you really should come to the next PTA meeting. Aki’s grown so much this summer, you wouldn’t even recognize him.” Luna supplies at Monet’s sudden silence.
“Aki…” Her mom says, almost in a question as she turns to face them. “Aki… Akeno? Menzies’ boy?”
“Yes, mom. Pink-haired guy. He’d be really hard to miss.”
“And what about you, honey? Any girlfriends?” Her mom suddenly asks, facing the stovetop once again and starts stirring on what looks like a bechamel. The lemonade Monet’s sipping on suddenly goes down the wrong pipe, prompting her to have a coughing fit.
She’d completely forgotten she was out to her parents.
She stares at Luna, who’s currently throwing her head back in laughter rather inelegantly like a little kid. Girlfriend. Girlfriend. Girlfriend.
“No, mom.” She clears her throat, washing down the lemonade with a glass of water that the spare maid hands to her. “No girlfriends. Single, as of currently.”
“I find that hard to believe. You’re incredibly beautiful, baby.”
Luna grins at her. “Don’t worry about it, Mrs. C. Monet has girls all over Manhattan lined up just for her.” There’s a certain glint in her eye, something that maybe hints to Charlie from the bar, but Monet’s not really sure.
“That’s good to know. But-- no dates before I meet them first, okay honey? Gay or not gay, I refuse to let you go on dates with questionable people. Do you know how I met your dad?”
“Oh here we go again,” Monet murmurs under her breath, tired of the anecdote.
“I met your father in university--”
“Mom, I’ve heard this story ten times over.” She grumbles. “He was a TA, and he waited until you graduated college before he made a move on you. What does this have to do with me?”
“I just mean that you should look for women that can wait for you. Who would look out for your best interests.” Camille hands the spatula to the cook and leans against the kitchen island, gaze readily locked at her own daughter. “Like Luna here.”
“Aww, thank you Mrs. C. I am so so flattered.” Luna’s eyes widen, putting her hands on her chest animatedly, and staring at Monet who’s currently shooting daggers at her now half-empty glass of lemonade (because she can’t exactly glare at her own mother , can she?), wishing the earth swallowed her whole instead of having to sit in this conversation.
The rest of their night goes by rather smoothly -- that is, Monet’s mom constantly hounding her about updates on her life. They don’t actually eat the pasta, save for Camille, as she had the chef already make a separate dish for them because the chef had apparently informed her of their food preferences. Their topics range from grades, to dating life, to what current piece of media Monet currently enjoys, to which she replies HBO’s Succession , and then Luna suddenly goes on a rather long speech on how it delves into the nitty-gritty lives of fictional rich people in such a compelling way that one would almost forget that one of the main characters is a racist conservative. Camille just watches the both of them, rather entertained.
When they’re both done with clean plates (her mother had glared at them for leaving a small portion of uneaten cauliflower rice and chicken on their plates and said, “I can forgive you both ignoring my cooking, but I draw the line at wasting your food.”), they head upstairs but not before Luna gives her mom a small kiss on the cheek and a very hearty Thank you for dinner, Mrs. C.
“I’m fully in love with your mom,” Luna sighs when she jumps onto Monet’s bed and lands with a slight bounce.
“Careful,” Monet fumbles around her dresser, looking for the TV remote. When she finds it, she tosses it to the other with impressive accuracy. “Aren’t you straight?”
“Hm.” Luna muses as she points the clicker to the TV.
“What?”
“Not exclusively.” She says, so casually that Monet almost doesn’t pick up on it until she realizes what that implies.
“Wait,” There’s a short latency in her words which she can only blame on the current short circuit happening somewhere within the billion synapses in her brain. “What do you mean not exclusively?”
Luna stares at her innocently, pushing the glasses up her nose using a pinky from her free hand. “Means I’m not exclusively heterosexual. God, Monet, get with the times.”
There’s so many questions running in Monet’s head. Luna’s not straight? Since when did this new development start? And why the fuck would her gaydar fail her?
“I’m just,” Monet tries to find the right words and lays down next to her best friend cautiously. “Since when?”
Luna shrugs, pulling up her designated blanket up to her chest and shifts so that she’s facing Monet. “I don’t really know. I just don’t feel like I have to come out, you know? One coming out is already stressful in itself, but coming out twice? At that point you’re just doing it for attention.”
“You shouldn’t have to feel that way around me.” Monet mumbles, tries not to sound upset. “I’m your best friend.”
“I don’t.” Luna reassures her, giving her shoulder a firm grip. “That’s why I told you, didn’t I?”
They watch a movie. It’s really more like Luna watches the movie as Monet just tunes into the sound, which frankly isn’t much because Luna opted to watch a foreign arthouse film with a title Monet doesn’t even plan on pronouncing. She scrolls down her phone endlessly instead and texts Audrey a string of messages asking for advice, but not giving away too much detail that she accidentally outs Luna’s new given information.
Audrey, 19.21: Just kiss her already my god
Audrey, 19.21: Like not to be rude but there’s a reason the useless lesbian stereotype is real
Monet, 19.22: you are so incredibly annoying
Monet, 19.22: why do i talk to you again?
Audrey, 19.22: I’m fun. And so real. And I’m telling u now. Kiss the girl. <3 Good night
Monet, 19.23: you’re not seriously letting me deal w this alone, are you?
The reply doesn’t come. Monet clicks her phone shut and focuses on the screen, reading the tiny subtitles provided. She tries to make sense of the plot, but she can’t. Not when she’s formulating all kinds of hypotheses as to why Luna hadn’t told her before. It’s clearly a newfound discovery -- that much is obvious, but since when ? Yesterday? Two days ago? Then there’s that sudden stupid sanguin voice at the back of her head suggesting that it maybe because of last week’s kissing incident that had Luna questioning her sexuality. But no. No . It’s probably not that.
“You’re being loud.” Luna breaks the silence.
Monet moves around so that they’re facing each other in the dark, merely illuminated by the tv screen. Luna’s eyelashes look impossibly long in this lighting. “I’m not even saying anything.” She whispers.
“I can hear you thinking.”
“Oh.”
“Who were you texting?”
“Audrey.”
Luna rolls her eyes. “Again?”
“What do you mean again ?”
“First you ditch me on TF days, now you’re missing out on movie night because you’re texting her?”
“You literally have classes during the period Audrey and I study.” Monet points out, mindful of the way Luna’s gaze moves away from her and into a distant corner of the room. “And aren’t you the one who insisted that I tutor her in chem in the first place?”
“I just thought you’d hate her more, not become literal best friends with her.”
Monet blinks, biting her lower lip so that the laugh bubbling up from her throat doesn’t spill out. She grabs Luna’s face, turning it and forcing her to look at Monet instead. She stares at her, her perfect eyebrow trim, to the slope of her nose, the way her glasses sit on her nose, her immaculate skin, and to her lips. The guilt makes its way into her system when she realizes that she’s been looking at Luna for too long. “Are you jealous?” She breathes, a smile blooming on her face. Luna moves away, and buries her face in her own hands.
“No, I’m not.” Her voice is defensive even from the muffled way it comes out.
Monet laughs at this, and the movie is long forgotten in the background. She’s never seen Luna like this, so small. She has the sudden urge to hug her, so she does. “ You ,” Monet says, impossibly close, “are my best friend. You mean so much to me. And no person is going to change that.”
“You better not be lying.”
“Never to you.”
An hour later, when the movie ends with a grotesque ending that leaves Luna gasping, they crack open Luna’s water bottle, and true to Monet’s suspicion it does contain vodka. They’re sitting on the floor, leaning against the sliding panels of the balcony and drinking mindlessly.
“Here’s to,” Luna hiccups, halfway into the bottle and the way she does it makes Monet break out into a fit of giggles. “Us. Luna and Monet. Ruling the world together.”
“Cheers.”
They clink their drinks together — Monet uses the cap as a makeshift shot glass and Luna drinks straight from the bottle. Monet can’t stop staring at her best friend. They’re close enough that Monet can make out the small scar on her right collarbone from the scratches of Luna’s pet cat a decade ago, just barely hidden by her hair. The way she winces down her vodka, dimples dipping into her cheeks, makes Monet’s heartbeat a little wonky.
She could kiss Luna. She’s close enough that she doesn’t even have to move at all, just take the other’s face, ask, Can I kiss you? I really want to kiss you , then lean in. She could kiss her at that moment, alcohol breath and all, and Monet could finally figure out if everything she’s been feeling for the past week is a fluke or not.
“Did you ever text that girl from the bar?” Luna reaches for Monet’s phone by her side, inputting the phone passcode she’s had since her first ever smartphone. Monet doesn’t even realize it happening, doesn’t really care, until she remembers that the first messages to be seen there are of her and Audrey’s. Horror floods through her system faster than that one Chanel bag had sold out online.
She immediately tries to take the phone back, throwing her whole body into it as Luna holds the phone up. “Hey--”
“Lun, give it back.”
“No.”
“Please give it back.”
“What is even in here that makes you so scared of me finding out?”
“None of your business.”
“Okay, now that makes it 100% my business.” Luna uses her other arm to gain leverage, blocking out Monet’s reach as she tries to navigate on the phone.
“Luna, give it back .” Monet gathers all her strength to lift herself up, and eventually takes the phone from the other’s grasp.
It’s quiet, then, and for a while only their heavy breathing is the only thing that can be heard. “I’m sorry.”
Luna’s silent. “Whatever it is you’re talking about with Audrey… you know you can tell me anything, right?”
“I do.” Monet’s voice is barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry, it’s just. She’s talking about some personal stuff, and I don’t think she’d want me… saying it to anybody else.”
“Okay.”
Luna pushes herself off the floor, but not before she finishes what seems to be the last of their beverage and capping the bottle close. “Good night.”
That night, Luna sleeps on the left side of the bed, as far as could be and turning the other way. Monet can’t sleep, so she tunes into the other’s breathing, and scoots closer to her on the bed, trying to leech off some heat.
“Are you awake?” She whispers, eventually.
There’s no detectable change in the way Luna’s chest rises and falls down, and Monet can only guess that she’s deep in slumber.
“You’re my best friend.” Monet continues, voice still hushed.
I just mean that you should look for women that can wait for you. Who would look out for your best interests. Like Luna here.
Means I’m not exclusively heterosexual.
Just kiss her already my god.
Monet sighs in defeat and moves away, shifting so that she faces the other side of the bed. She doesn’t know where her heart lands exactly, maybe somewhere between her chest and her throat, when a weight dips into the space beside her and an arm makes its way to her waist.