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The first time you see her, she's sitting in the corner of the cafeteria, drawing something in a little journal. She looks so... intense, so completely and utterly focussed. There's a group of girls sitting around her, but she doesn't even seem to notice. She's got the blondest hair you've ever seen, but the ends are dyed bright blue. Wearing a leather jacket and huge black boots, it fits her punk aesthetic so perfectly that it's no wonder you notice her. You find an empty table to eat your lunch, and there's something about her that makes you want to know more. Like, maybe her name.
But of course, you'll never have that opportunity. You're just the psycho house girl, the new kid in town who already has a reputation. Plus, she's obviously a senior, and you're just a junior. In the world of high school, that's an insurmountable gap. Even if it wasn't, making friends has never been your strong suit. You get unreasonably excited when a boy passes you a note, introducing himself and asking if you're new. He doesn't have a lot of friends either, apparently, so when he wonders if he can ask you a question, you're happy to indulge.
And then he asks if it was just your great uncle who went psycho, or if it runs in the family, and you realise you're little more than a reason to laugh for these people.
Despite that setback – or perhaps because of it – you continue to notice her. The hair is unmistakable; so are her clothes, though you observe that she changes them sometimes, wearing some kind of military uniform instead. She sticks out like a sore thumb, but she owns it. Wholly and completely and you're maybe a little envious of that.
You only had one friend growing up, a kid named Kristoff, and you were really only friends with him because he lived two doors down and he would let you borrow his Nintendo games. Which... you hadn't given back before moving. And Mom keeps pressuring you to call him so he can come and collect them. Moving's been a good excuse to like... not... see him.
But it means you've never quite had to make friends because it was always a given that you'd at least have one. Now you have none, but you know who you'd like to befriend. Even if she is so totally above you and you'll never ever have an excuse to talk to her.
That is, until you notice her playing Street Fighter in the 7-11 after school.
That could be a thing, right?
You practise the game at home until you've completely mastered Chun Li, preparing yourself to just walk in there and ask for a turn. The worst she can say is no, right?
After school the next day, you finally work up the courage. You walk into the 7-11 about ten minutes after they do, immediately noticing the group around the boxy arcade machine. She's playing, her friends around her and egging her on loudly. It's intimidating... but you don't want to back down.
So you head up and when she gets taken out by Akuma in a spectacular show of simulated body slamming, ask if you could try. She turns to you, a little surprised expression on her face. Then, she steps back.
"Sure. If you think you can take it."
You see the challenge for what it is, but you don't rise to the bait. Thankfully, considering that all your practise was for naught. It takes less than two minutes for Zangief to utterly destroy you, and you kind of feel like slinking out with as much dignity as you can muster. Maybe some of the laughter from the other girls is a little more like jeering, but at least during the match they were cheering you on. Mostly.
But... there's nothing negative from her. She laughs, but it doesn't sound harsh, or condescending. Not from her. The group all start heading for the door, leaving you behind, when she turns around.
"Coming?" she says, a smirk on her face. She actually... wants you to?
They all lean against the gas station wall, smoking cigarettes. You're not sure why you followed them – you don't smoke, and it's painfully obvious by now that they're 'cool'. You, with your red hair and freckles and unfortunate moniker, are not. But then, the girl speaks. She's ignoring her friends and is just looking at you.
"Are you... that psycho house girl?" she says, taking a draw from her smoke. Your heart sinks – of course that's all she cares about. The rest of the group has fallen silent, listening in, and you're just about to say something – confirm or deny, you're not sure – when she speaks again. "I've always wanted to see the psycho house! Can you show me?"
You flounder for a moment. "Uh... yeah, sure. I-I guess."
"Great!" She sticks the cigarette in her mouth, and her hand out towards you. "I'm Elsa," she says around the smoke.
You take it tentatively. "I'm Anna."
Elsa. It's a nice name.
It's strange, hanging out with girls. You've only ever had Kristoff, and he was weird. And also a boy. Making friends with girls just wasn't something you've ever really done.
But being around Elsa is instantly... right.
She comes home with you after school the next day, just like you'd agreed. You give her the tour, including the attic and the basement. You're pretty sure this place is haunted, and it's just an off-hand comment. But then Elsa leans close and, with a grin, says that it probably is haunted, and if you ever see a ghost you better tell her straight away.
"Well, if you stay over, we should go ghost hunting," you tell her. She grabs your hand and nods emphatically.
"This Saturday?"
"Sure!" You can't help but laugh a little at her eagerness. It's a nice feeling, and even though it's entirely possible she's using you, you also can't imagine that would be the case. People literally walk around you at school, actively avoiding you. There was nothing to gain from her taking advantage.
So you just nod, happy to be making a friend for the first time. Someone you feel normal around.
You spend the rest of the afternoon kicking her butt on Super Nintendo. She's at least a little better by the end of the day, and your defeat at the hands of Street Fighter is just a funny – if a little embarrassing – memory. When you drive her home, she pulls a cassette from her bag and puts it in the car.
"You've got to listen to this," she says, grinning, just before the speakers fill with the sound of women, angered vocals atop fevered drums and spunky guitars.
When you drop her off, she tells you to keep it. You spend the whole evening in your room, playing Nintendo and listening to it. Mom comes up when you skip out on dinner, complaining about the noise, and you don't tell her the band's called 'The Gits' because she probably wouldn't appreciate that.
You don't care.
The next day at school, you try to give the cassette back. Elsa doesn't take it.
"Nah, keep it," she says, grinning. "Housewarming gift."
And that's that.
Mom and Dad aren't around when she comes over the following Saturday – Mom works odd hours at the Forestry Service, and Dad's locked himself in the library.
You've spent nearly every lunch together, and she's even given you a case for the cassette, complete with pictures and song titles. You know she's as avid a fan of The X-Files as you are, and while your skill lies with writing, hers is very firmly rooted in illustration. You even go back to the 7-11, though you're still way better at Street Fighter when it's not on a bulky arcade machine.
By the time she arrives, around lunchtime on Saturday, you've already got the living room set up with all the Dr Jitters and Judy's Original Potato Chips you'll ever need. You've even managed to convince Dad to give you some money for pizza. You've got literally hours and hours of old recorded tapes of The X-Files, though honestly, for a lot of it, you're not even watching. You've seen these episodes a thousand times, and Elsa's just so much more interesting to talk to.
She talks about the music she listens to, and the people she's met through it. The whole 'punk' scene. You feel so horribly innocent – you've never even had a cigarette before! Elsa cocks her head at that before reaching into her back pocket. It's a bright red packet of Morley's – one of the cheapest brands, you know that much.
"Wanna try it?"
You glance around furtively. What if your parents found out?! They were sure to smell the smoke. So, swallowing, you shake your head.
"M-maybe after school? When I'm not going to get grounded for life?"
It makes her laugh, and she puts it away.
The conversation becomes lighter after that, at least for a little bit. Halfway through an episode, almost midnight, Elsa gives a little shiver. She does it again before turning to you.
"Do you... feel that?" she asks, voice low. "That... presence?"
Now that she's mentioned it... it suddenly feels really cold.
"Maybe we need some protection..."
It doesn't take long for you to build a pillow fort, just in front of the television. Once complete, and you're both huddled within... it doesn't feel so cold anymore. You fall asleep there, cocooned in the little fort, Elsa next to you.
There's a note in your locker when you go to grab your textbooks after lunch on Monday. It's from Elsa, telling you about a movie one of her friends has seen. Apparently, this 'Todd' thinks Pulp Fiction is great, and Elsa wants to see it – either because he's right, or he's wrong and she can tease him for it.
The name of it is familiar, and when you remember what it's about, you're pretty sure a movie like that would make you throw up. But... you still agree to go. There's something just so persuasive about Elsa. She doesn't care if you think you're going to barf, she just wants you to come anyway.
There's a showing at a quarter past seven, and when you tell Mom, she's so happy she offers to help pay for you. She turns to Dad, gives him this look like they've done something right. Like they've put in any effort at all to encourage you, or any potential friend.
At the end of the day, that doesn't really matter. You don't throw up, but Todd was definitely right about Uma Thurman getting stabbed in the heart with a needle. Something extreme to have nightmares over.
It's late, and still a school night, so Elsa comes back to your place afterwards. Once she's nestled in a sleeping bag on your floor, and the lights are out so all you can see are your glow-in-the-dark stars, you turn to face her.
"Tonight was fun. Thanks, Elsa," you say.
"I had fun too, Anna." She lets out a yawn. "I'm glad you let Zangief destroy you..."
You don't know what to say to that, but it's not like it really matters anyway. Elsa's soft snores fill the room, and you fall asleep smiling to yourself.
That Saturday, when Elsa comes over, she brings two things with her: a book about ghosts and a bottle of peroxide. She puts the book in your room and then turns to you, a little smirk on her face. "I need to fix these roots. Think you could help?"
You don't think you're going to be much help, but Elsa does. She shows you how to mix the bleach before helping to divide her hair so that you're only getting the roots.
"What if I fuck up?" you can't help but ask. Elsa just smiles.
"I trust you."
Dyeing hair is... weirdly intimate. It feels intimate. You've never touched someone's scalp before; run your fingers through their hair. She sits on the ledge of the tub as you work, lathering the mixture through her locks.
Afterwards, you leave to let her wash it out. It's the longest 15 minutes of your life. She calls you back in once it's dried it and it's ready.
You both stand in front of the mirror, looking at the colour. It's a little brassy, but only a little, because she's already washed it with toner and also the bleach mix, was really strong.
That's when she looks at you, your reflection in the mirror, and you think she's going to laugh or say something about how crappy it looks and that you were right not to be trusted. But she doesn't. Her eyes align with yours, and she says, "You're so beautiful."
Right at that moment, as she still looks at you, you want to say something. Something... you don't even know what. But you wait too long, and the moment's gone.
You return to your room, trying to shake whatever strange feeling has settled between you. The book lies on your bed, forgotten; perhaps Elsa needs to move past her comment as much as you do, because she goes and picks it up.
"'Hauntings and Poltergeists', pretty cool, huh?"
It totally is, and you both spend the evening studying how to 'tell a hoax from a genuine haunting' and where they might appear next.
"It's probably my Great Uncle Oscar," you tell her. Elsa's eyes widen and she nods.
"Of course! He was such a recluse before he died, and now he's cursed to eternally walk the halls of the house that became his tomb..." Her voice gets progressively lower and lower, full of theatre and gravitas. She pauses for a moment, looking as solemn as you've ever seen anyone.
And then you both burst out giggling, and suddenly whatever strange thing happened in the bathroom doesn't even matter anymore.
There's an old ouija board in the basement, and you drag it up to your room. Light candles and write some questions before you both just pause to look at each other.
"Ready?"
"Ready."
Fingertips just touching the little piece of plastic, you think that maybe Oscar is here; the chill that creeps up your spine is hardly empirical evidence, but it's there anyway.
You barely get through three questions before you abandon the quest for answers. It appears that Oscar's ghost is here, and he seems to have some unfinished business. You don't really want to find out anything else, and even Elsa looks a little shaken.
"Wanna watch some X-Files instead?" you ask her. It takes only seconds before she's agreeing.
Elsa has cadets a couple of times a week after school. She invites you to come and watch one day, and you're intrigued enough to take her up on it. You've seen the punk, anarchistic Elsa. You're interested in what a militarily-inclined Elsa might look like instead.
You drive her to the building and then find a space in the shade to watch as she does her drills. It's actually really cool. There's such a single-minded focus to her actions here. She stands up taller, her eyes are harder. Not a single wisp of blue hair escapes her beret. She moves in perfect synchronisation as the commander, or whatever he's called, barks out orders.
Afterwards, when you drive her home, you can't stop complimenting her.
"Well, I've been doing it for years," she says wryly. Still, there's a smile that threatens to expand, and it's obvious she's proud. And so she should be!
"Do you mind if I come watch next time?"
She absolutely does not.
You ask her about the army and expectations. She finds that hard to explain, like she hasn't quite figured out all the answers yet. So, you leave that topic and instead ask her about her ribbons and what they mean. That, she's more than happy to share. She's got a few, but you only remember three: orienteering, rifle team, and adventure training.
"If you didn't think I was cool before," she says, "Then now you do."
You already thought she was cool before, but she is right. This makes her even cooler.
You've made a plan for the following Friday: you're going to stay up all night and catch a ghost – or at least, find some evidence of one. Elsa's dad has a voice recorder that she's snagged, and you've been working on drawing up maps of the house.
Mom and Dad are out on a date night, or something, so you've got the whole house to yourself. It's thematically perfect, given that it's storming and rainy and the wiring in the house isn't great to begin with.
Elsa seems to love it. She takes the first floor while you're on the second. You meet up in the living room to trade notes, and while she reports multiple sightings, there was nothing on the recorder. You're pretty sure you got a sample of ectoplasm from the attic, but it's also equally likely that it's just a leaky roof.
You fall asleep in the living room close to 4am.
Tonight was a success.
The day before Halloween, Elsa takes you to a show. It's in the city, and you definitely have to lie to Mom and Dad about it. You try not to, at first. You say that you're going with a friend, and the city isn't like, that far away, and you have a car!
They still refuse, which is a complete and utter joke, so instead you ask if you could maybe go to Elsa's place instead because you've got some math homework and also it's a Friday night so you can stay the whole night. They know about Elsa from the movie night, and when you show them a picture of her in her army uniform, they actually seem impressed and relent. Thinking that she might be a good influence or something.
Lie.
But they accept it, and really, what should a little lie matter anyway? She invited you to a show. Not her other friends. Just you. And Mom and Dad both want you to make more friends – they even got you a book about it, making friends when you're shy.
So, you don't feel bad at all.
The show itself is an experience. You take your car and drive to the city, blasting The Miss Fits and Heavens to Betsy, screaming out the lyrics until your throat is raw. The entire time, you're smiling. And, when you get there, it only gets better.
The girls on stage are so loud and awesome. So real. You're not sure if what they're doing can be classified as singing, or if it's just straight up protesting the patriarchy, but it doesn't even matter anyway. The crowd moves together, a tide of sound and motion that you get swept up in. You're so happy you tear up, and between two songs, Elsa leans over to whisper directly into your ear; "How do you like your first show?"
She must see the tears, because then she just hugs you. It's perfect. You finally try that cigarette, and while it leaves you coughing and choking, you're kind of proud of yourself. It's not the worst experience ever, and you feel just a little more worldly afterwards.
After the show, you go back to Todd's brother's house. They're all in a band, and even though you haven't met him before, you knew all about him. You knew what to expect.
Except...
You didn't know you'd be sharing a futon with Elsa.
When the lights dim, you roll towards her, eyes adjusting to the dark. And, you notice Elsa looking at you, too. She smiles, and it's too much. Your heart thunders, and you do the only thing you think you can: you roll over. Blood rushes through your ears, and you squeeze your eyes shut. It's too much.
And then Elsa puts her arm around you, holding you close. She leans forward, and you can feel her forehead where it rests against the back of your neck before she's whispering...
"I really like you."
You swallow and just nod your head. You hope she understands. You hope... she means what you think she did. She falls asleep soon after, still holding you tight, but you can't find a similar reprieve.
You lie awake for hours.
It's two days after the show that she finally comes over again. Something's different. Elsa sits in your desk chair and doesn't look at you. She suggests some Super Nintendo, but defeating her over and over again doesn't ring with the same victory. Finally, you put your controller down and look at her. Ask her what's wrong because you need to know.
Is it... you?
But it isn't. It's her. She still isn't looking when she says, in a small voice, "I feel like I've done something wrong. That night... after the show... Like maybe you think..."
She doesn't finish her thought, but you have a feeling you know what she was going to say anyway.
Shaking your head, you rush to reassure her. "No, no! There was nothing wrong..."
There's more you want to say, but the words never come; they get stuck, lodged in your throat as tears fill your eyes. It's ridiculous – you're not sad! – but they're there anyway, threatening to spill over for no reason you can truly understand. That's when she moves, getting up from the desk chair to sit next to you on your bed. Taking a breath, you try again.
"Elsa..." you say softly. "Do you... think... you could ever...?"
And that's when she kisses you.
You get a part-time job working at Crown Burger a few nights a week. It's not the greatest gig, but it means that you can properly afford to do things like blow your cash on Street Fighter. And cigarettes. You usually share with Elsa, but it's nice being able to afford your own. And then being able to buy gum to make sure your parents don't notice.
You spend a lot of time driving around, too, because it's the only real time you have to be alone with Elsa. Dad's always home, and the fear that he might somehow catch you is still too real. Everything's new and bright and exciting, and you want to have a chance to test it at your own time, in your own space.
Elsa has no complaints.
You have two Thanksgivings this year: one with your family, and one with Elsa's. Both aren't quite what you expected, but for different reasons.
Elsa comes over to your house first, and it's kind of awkward. Not that you're awkward, and she definitely isn't. But Dad can't go thirty seconds without saying or doing something that has you cringing and Elsa holding back a grin. At least they don't seem to notice.
It feels like you've barely spent any time around your parents since moving here, either. Mom's been pulling long hours at the Forestry Service – it takes over an hour for her to get to work! – and Dad... Dad's been holed up in his office so long it's no wonder he hasn't uncovered the secret entrance or the hidden nook in the corner.
At least Elsa seems to like the potatoes, which provides an easy reprieve each time the conversation stalls or stagnates.
You much prefer dinner at Elsa's house.
Her mom lives in Florida. She moved there after she married "a complete tool" – Elsa's words, not yours – and Elsa doesn't really seem to care. You asked her once if she'd rather live in Florida with her mom, sticking the note into her locker. She responds with a very strong 'NO', in a red pen and taking up the entire page. You drop the subject after that.
So Thanksgiving at Elsa's house includes you and her, her dad and a few of his army friends, and her grandmother. She's in a wheelchair, but her mind is sharp and full of wit. You have a lot of fun talking to her.
You aren't sure if Elsa's dad knows about you two. Yours doesn't; you can't see that conversation going well.
But Elsa's dad doesn't seem to care so much even if he does.
"As long as I'm happy, he's happy," she tells you afterwards, when you're in her room, lying on her bed and flipping through magazines. You can't help but feel a little jealous.
It's not like your parents want you to be unhappy. They just... don't have time for you. Not like Elsa's dad. They're building a motorcycle together – any time she's not at your place, or at cadets, she's working on it with him.
You like writing, and so does Dad... but it's so vastly different. You write about pirates and adventure. When he's not writing reviews for work, he's writing about John F. Kennedy conspiracies.
He doesn't get you, not in the way Elsa's dad gets her. It's just... easier not to even try.
The day before you go back to school, you spend the night at Elsa's. Her dad's got some army thing on with his friends, so it's just you and her at home. Not that you spend much time indoors.
"I wanna show you something," she says as soon as you arrive. She's not wearing her uniform, nor her leather jacket. Instead, she's got on a camisole and jeans. You can see a little cross on her necklace. You'd never noticed it before. "Something I've never shown anyone before."
You're instantly intrigued, and you let her lead you out, out through her backyard and over the fence. She lives closer to the edge of town than you, where there's a lot more room; a lot more nature. Hand in hand, you walk away from the house. There's a creek to the side, flowing the opposite direction to you; you can tell that you're heading uphill, even if it doesn't look like it.
Not for long; the ground becomes harder to traverse, and Elsa has to help you up a few of the rockier parts. After a good twenty minutes of walking, you notice something off in the distance. It's up in the trees, but still too far away for you to tell what it is. Elsa picks up her pace, and it doesn't take long for you to make out what it is.
"Is that a treehouse?" you ask, incredulity in your tone. She laughs, and tugs you closer. She only lets go of your hand so she can climb up, obviously a pro, and as soon as she's on the ledge, she's leaning over and beckoning you.
"C'mon, Anna. It's fine."
You're not so sure, but it's not that far off the ground if you do fall. And Elsa's up there to help you up.
It's not nearly as smooth as when she did it, but eventually, you're up there with her. There's a couple of little chairs and a table, and a wooden chest with a lock on it. Pulling out her house keys, Elsa moves over to open it. When she stands up, you can't help your laugh.
"Is that a sleeping bag?" you ask. She pouts, and you can't help yourself. You take a step forward and put your hands on her waist. "Is this the surprise?"
She's still pouting, but more for show than anything, when she nods. "I used to come up here all the time to be alone," she says softly. "My dad used to be a real hard-ass about the army, and my grades and stuff. He was right, but it was a lot for little-me to handle, I guess."
"Did you build it?" you ask softly. Elsa finally smiles. Her hands come to rest on your hips too, her thumbs rubbing softly.
"Not at first. I'd just come up and sit in the trees and draw. Then Dad caught me and I thought I was gonna get grounded for the rest of my life. But... then he asked if I wanted to help him build a proper treehouse. Maybe that was when it changed. I was... twelve, I think? So now I just keep a sleeping bag up here so in summer I can stay as long as I like."
"It's amazing, Els. Thanks... thanks for sharing it with me."
She smiles at you again; moves her hands so she's properly hugging you as her head comes to rest on your shoulder. You just stand there, swaying slightly in each other's embrace, and you realise...
You've never felt more at peace.
As the end of the school term draws closer, so to does your relationship with Elsa. The time you would otherwise have spent cramming for finals or writing up essays is taken over by other things.
You still do everything you always did. She comes over to play Super Nintendo, and you still go and watch her at her cadet training.
But... you do other things, too. When no one else is around. You think you're dating. Probably. But like, in secret. No one can know, because no one would get it. Get you or her, and they don't deserve your explanations anyway.
So when you get off the phone, or drive her home for the night...
Or, when it's quiet, and you're alone...
...you say "I love you".
And she always says it back.
You finally set up the darkroom in the attic, spending an entire afternoon up there cleaning and moving stuff. It takes almost an entire hour to get the tables up there, but it's well worth it. Then you decorate the hatch with little lights so Mom and Dad know not to interrupt.
Just because it's usually not for the reason they think doesn't make it any less valid.
And between setting up the attic, you also set up a little room in the basement. Between listening to riot grrrl music and making zines, you learn more about Elsa. About the way she tastes, when you lick inside her mouth. About the way she's always dreamed of joining the army, like her dad. About her shitty relationship with her mom, and the way she's never quite fit in, same as you.
And... you learn how much she means to you.
The first time with her... it's like a drug. From that first touch, the first taste, you're completely addicted.
Though, if you're honest with yourself, you've been hooked from the moment you first saw her.
The first time, you wake up at 3:13am to Elsa kissing you. She hasn't slept in the sleeping bag in a long time.
When she notices you awaken, she pulls away, face illuminated only by the dim red light of your clock. She looks ethereal, a spectral goddess, and you pull her close to kiss you again. She kisses you, again and again until you're breathless, and she still doesn't stop even then.
Everything becomes her.
It's different than any time you ever did it yourself. Your head swims, something thick and cloying pulling at your senses. You're pulled along a current that you can't fight; you don't want to fight. You're transported, disembodied, your world narrowing only to her.
You have no control, and neither do you want it. It's Elsa, all Elsa.
Only Elsa.
It's like a drug, and you never want to be sober again.
It gets easier. Or harder. Sleepovers are good, but there are a few close calls with Mom's early starts and Dad's late nights. They never go into the basement, which would be great except it's cold and smelly. You even try your car, which is definitely better than the basement, and even your room. It's still risky, and cramped, and you dream of a day that you don't have to sneak around anymore.
One day.
And while Elsa learns your body, you learn hers. You've never felt so comfortable with another person before, and it's a strange and beautiful feeling.
You love the way she looks in the moment.
You love her.
Elsa goes to Mexico over Christmas break. Mom and Dad make you fill out college applications and shit. You get a postcard, and it just makes your heart ache, longing for her, and on Christmas, a package arrives in the mail. It's a Dia de Los Muertos skull, and you give it prime residence in the foyer next to some old sporting trophies. She's coming back on January 12, so you draw a huge circle around that date and colour it in pink. A heart would be too revealing, and Mom and Dad...
You don't think about them because you don't want to know how they'd react.
Elsa comes over as soon as she arrives back in town. Dad's in his office, revising drafts of his new book. Mom's doing a thing. Probably.
And you have a special present for her, too. It's a broken heart necklace, 14-carat gold and your initials engraved in the pieces. She loves it, and you take your time putting it on her. You let your hands run through her hair as you reminisce about the first time you did this. Then she does the same for you, and it ends with her lips on the back of your neck, bruising promises of more and later into your skin.
After that, you catch up properly, letting Elsa tell you about all the things she saw. She's taken a tonne of photos, so you climb up to the attic and spend hours up there; not all of it was spent developing the film.
"I tried to save it up for when we were together again," she admits baldly as you press together, as close as you possibly can. The futon isn't large, but you're sharing so much space it doesn't make a difference anyway. "I didn't do a great job..."
The confession draws out a smile, and you hold her close.
"Neither did I," you murmur against her skin. At least the attic locks – and you have the only key. It takes a long time before either of you are in any fit state to talk again.
But afterwards, when you're lying together and looking out at the pictures, she asks how your break was. They're mostly dry and are looking really good. With an excited grin, you turn to her.
You've been accepted into a summer college program thing, which is only on the other side of the city. It's a full ride, so you're going to stay on campus. The program starts mid-June, and you begin prattling off ideas – she can come and visit you, stay in your dorm room!
But Elsa doesn't say anything. She looks at you, looks within you as she says, in this small voice, "Anna, I ship out on June 6."
"Ship out? Ship out where?"
"To Basic Training. What did you think I was doing all that ROTC stuff for?"
You feel like a moron. You're so... stupid sometimes. You knew the army was important to her... you guess you just thought she'd choose you...
"So... what? After graduation, I'm just... never going to see you again?"
And Elsa just looks at you, a small smile on her face. She's doing it to cheer you up, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes when she says, "Let's just have fun while we can, okay?"
You do have fun. June still feels so far away – you have plenty of time. Todd's band, Girlscout, loses their singer, and when Elsa volunteers – "Can you sing?" "I dunno. Probably?" "Cool, fine, whatever. You're in." – you vow to be at every single one of her shows.
She doesn't let you see the rehearsals, but that's okay because it means when you finally go to one of her proper shows, you're absolutely blown away. She's way better than their first singer, and watching her up there, singing – or screaming – her heart out...
Your heart swells with pride every time you see her on the stage. She always finds you in the crowd, and it's like no one else even exists. Like she's singing just for you. It's so... incredible... being in awe of someone you love.
The band knows it's only temporary until June... but until she leaves, you're going to be at every single show.
There's an entire month of bliss before you fuck up. And, all things considered, it could be worse. There's a reason they tell you to 'stick with the group' – because being an 'other' is one of the worst feelings in the world.
It's a field trip, of all things, that tips the balance. It was Elsa's idea, but you can't blame her. It was a good idea. At first.
You and Elsa sneak off one of the side paths of Multnomah Falls, which is ridiculous because it's March and raining and cold as shit. Mom's a ranger, so you figured you'd be okay.
Wrong.
You get a little... a lot... lost, and it takes hours to get back to the bus. By the time you do, it's just about ready to leave. The teacher rips you a new one, and then the principal, and then the principal in front of Mom and Dad.
It's sort of okay because while they're definitely not impressed with Elsa – "You didn't get in trouble before you met this Elsa girl" – you don't think they know.
About... you. And her.
But even if they don't... the other kids are a whole other story.
Elsa gets into trouble the next week for vandalism. You'd come into school the day after the field trip, only to see that someone had graffitied your locker. Stupid shit about being the psycho house girl... about being gay. Elsa finds you grief-stricken in the bathroom and she just holds you until you're not crying anymore. Wipes your face and helps reapply your makeup so no one else can tell.
And then the next day, when you come in, her locker's been graffitied too. Everyone knows she's the one who did it, and she doesn't even try to hide it. She just cops the suspension like it's no big deal. Maybe it isn't to her. You try to persuade the principal to go easy – no one had gotten into trouble about your locker, and it wasn't like Elsa was bullying another kid. It was her own locker she'd 'defaced'!
But it makes no difference. Mixed up in fake sincerity and unhelpful advice, the principal tells you not to continue with this issue; it's only going to bring about more attention.
It's just not fair.
Life calms down a little after that. It's high school; the kids move on, finding someone else to harass. Even though you're in separate years, you still spend all your time around Elsa anyway. She seems to protect you from the worst of it. But the more time you spend together, the more you come to know Elsa.
And come to know how little you really understand her.
You don't get her, and sometimes you think she doesn't quite get herself, either.
Because you watch her draw pictures for your zine, or belt out angered riot grrrl lyrics... and then she's putting on her uniform and doing her drills in perfect unison. Following orders with no question...
Don't ask, don't tell is pretty topical at the moment – you see it on the news, in passing. You don't hang around long enough to get Mom and Dad's opinion. But the thought of her joining the army, of having to... to lie about who she is...
You ask her one day, and all she really gives is a shrug. "They don't need to know what they don't need to know," she says, and the anger and outrage that bubbles in your stomach take a few long moments to quell.
This girl... she trashed her own locker in solidarity for you. You just... you don't get her. But you know when to stop arguing.
Every day, every action, just provides more confirmation that Elsa doesn't get Elsa, either.
It couldn't stay this way forever, and you feel stupid for thinking that it might.
Mom and Dad find out.
They get a call from the school towards the end of April; you'd been caught, with Elsa, "distributing inappropriate materials".
It was just the zine – your teachers had always encouraged your creative writing, but only when it shines a positive light on them, too, you guess.
But that's not the only thing. The school reminds them of the field trip, and tells them about the smoking, and the locker, and you can't even look at them.
On the drive home, when you're stuck in that suffocating space and can't escape, they ask, "Is there something we should know about you and Elsa?"
You expect them to be mad, or angry. Or even disappointed and start crying. You'd be prepared for that.
So what hurts the most isn't when they yell, because they don't. Or cry, because they don't do that, either. What hurts is the denial, the, "You're too young to know what you want," and the, "Wait until you meet the right boy."
And, the worst one...
"It's just a PHASE."
You've always thought you had a... well, not a great relationship with them, but at least a functional one. But they don't even believe you when you say you've never felt this way about anyone, that it's not like this is new for you. You've known for years, ever since like... She-Ra.
Jokes on them, though, you mumble to Elsa later.
It's going to be a very long phase.
You've been grounded from... basically everything. Dad's taken your keys, only giving them back so you can drive to school.
Elsa's not allowed over, at least until the end of the month when your time is served. Even when she is allowed back, you aren't allowed to close your door anyway. Can't go to the attic and be alone, or into the basement. You're under constant surveillance and scrutiny. No extra-curriculars, no friends.
Well... that's not strictly speaking true. Kristoff's called a few times, wondering when he can come and pick up his game. You finally let him.
It's a day when Elsa has her JROTC training. You're grounded from even going to watch her. And even though it's nice to see a friendly face, you're still not looking forward to facing him. You can't quite describe why.
Then he arrives, and he's got with him a story you wrote when you were nine. It's an adventure about the two of you, and as you read it... you start crying. Kristoff looks uncomfortable, but so, so earnest when he asks what's wrong. You can't even begin to describe it.
You're sorry for how you treated him. That you took him for granted. That you didn't really value him.
But you can't say any of that, so you tell him about school, about Mom and Dad...
About Elsa.
And then you tell him that you're sorry you're not his friend anymore. He doesn't hesitate when he gives you a hug. He holds you as you fall apart, the stress of everything finally too much. You think it helps, maybe. It reminds you of simpler times; before you moved and your world turned upside down.
And when he tells you it's going to be okay...
...You almost believe him.
The next month is hard. You do everything together, barely able to stand the distance. She's not allowed over anymore, at least, not while Mom and Dad are.
You don't spend a lot of time at home anymore.
School is a respite, and you spend a lot of time in your car, just affirming your feelings for each other. It's not the only thing you do.
You don't talk as much as you used to; it's not that you don't have anything to say, but rather, you can say it with fewer words. Her dad spends a lot of time at the army base, and he's never hated you as much as your parents have hated Elsa.
Sometimes, you go to her place just so you can have a space to exist together. To just... be.
It's not going to last forever.
You get into a fight, about two weeks before she leaves. It's so stupid, too. You just... asked her to stay. With you. For you.
"I can't," she says, not looking at you. "My dad's army friends... they're my family. This is what I was always going to do. Meeting you hasn't changed that..."
Her words bite and sting, even though they've no cause to do so; they prick at your heart and behind your eyes, and for the first time, you're angry at her.
"So what?" you ask, rubbing furiously at your eyes. "I'm not... this isn't important enough?"
"Anna, you're going to college. You're going to be a writer. That's your dream. This... this is mine."
All the anger and disappointment leaves you in one fell swoop.
She's right. She's so right and it hurts because you... just want her to be happy. And if that's not with you... if her dream lies elsewhere...
You swallow your grief and your fury and you look at her.
"Let's just have fun while we can..." You repeat her words from months past, and you can see her swallow before she tries for a smile.
It's enough.
There's not a lot Elsa has to do to get ready to ship out. She's not allowed to take any personal items. She's not even allowed to contact you.
"You just train hard every day," she says, "And then you deploy from there."
You try not to show how much that hurts, knowing that they could send her anywhere – across the country? across the world? – and you'll never know.
You can't process it. That, in five days... she's going to be gone.
Just... gone.
So you ignore it. You have to. You have to be the best girlfriend ever, which means helping her pack, no matter how it hurts. To go to Girlscout's last show, two days before she ships out, to be the supportive girlfriend you promised her... promised yourself... you would be. While she's singing, everything fades to the background.
That your time's almost up, slowly dwindling away like the fine grains of an hourglass.
That you don't know what comes next; what you're supposed to do.
And that... you can't live without her.
But then she dedicates the last song to you, and you can't be there anymore. You escape to the curb, crying so hard your ribs ache. Crying so hard you throw up. She finds you afterwards, apologies on her lips.
You'd follow her anywhere. But you can't, not where she's going.
"I'm sorry," she says again, holding you. Trying to put the pieces of you together again. "I wish things could be different. I just... wanted to make you happy."
Finally, the tears subside. Her grip loosens, but she doesn't completely let you go. And you say, in a small voice...
"I don't think you can any more..."
You agree that your last night together was going to be the happiest. That you'd be together, and forget that tomorrow would ever come at all.
It works for a while.
You read through all the zines you'd ever made together, and say goodbye to Oscar before moving up to the attic. All your photos are kept safe there, and so you go through them, finding the perfect one for her to take with her. You'll keep the rest until she comes home.
But, looking at them... you realise they're all in the past. Done. And that there isn't going to be any more. That she's leaving, leaving you, and that you don't know what you're going to do without her.
She's been such a constant in your life, a raft in a storm of feelings, of moving house and school and your entire sense of self being upended.
You cry, and she holds you.
"It's hard," she says against your skin, "but life will move on. You'll move on."
You don't want it to move on without her.
That's when she begins crying, too.
You're so exhausted that you fall asleep there, on the hard little futon in the attic, Elsa's arms around you.
And when you wake up, Elsa is gone, and you're finally alone.
Mom and Dad aren't home; they're away for their anniversary.
You wish you could be anywhere but here, too. There's a deep-rooted fatigue, stemming from your heart and seeping into your bones.
You just want to sleep.
But you can't, because all you can think of is Elsa, on a bus somewhere, leaving you still.
And so you make your way up to the attic once more. When you're there, it almost feels like Elsa could be, too. That she's downstairs in the basement, sketching out a new cover for the zine; or she's in your room, practising Nintendo so that she might finally beat you.
That she could be coming up to the attic, ready to pull down the hatch and run up to you, promising never to leave you again.
You fall asleep there, and dream of Elsa.
You wake up to the sound of ringing. It cuts through the still air of the house, and you know, even without looking outside, that it's way too late for it to be Mom or Dad. Heart lodging in your throat, you throw yourself down the hatch, down the stairs until you reach the phone. With a fumble, you almost drop it before you manage to lift it to your ears.
And then you almost sob because it's Elsa, it's her voice, and she's in fucking Salem, waiting for you.
She couldn't go through with it, the army, leaving, any of it.
She couldn't go through with it.
Her voice is desperate, and she's crying too, you can tell. The answering machine tells you there are two missed calls already, and you know they're from her. You know she's waiting somewhere for you. Waiting for you to pick up the phone, and waiting for you to find her.
"Anna, I want you to pack your bag. Pack up everything you can and come find me and we'll drive. We'll just drive, drive until we find a place... for us. Can you do that?"
You don't even hesitate.
"Yes!"
Yes.
And even as you pack up your Super Nintendo and all the clothes you'll ever need; even as you tack a note to the front door for your parents, apologising; even as you get into your car and leave, Elsa's original cassette playing and the house disappearing behind you, you know that this is right.
You're going home.