(ocs, because I couldn’t think of anyone that fit but the prompt was far too good to pass on)
See, the thing is that Penelope was trying to be normal.
No matter what Liv might say, she does not have a “thing” about Ayla Chandrasekhar. She does not! They don’t even run in the same circles half the time, why would Penelope care about her at all? Ayla can go off and do — whatever she wants to do with her theories and essays and conspiracy board pinouts all by herself, Penelope doesn’t mind. She doesn’t even think about Ayla half of the time. Most of the time.
It’s objective surprise, and nothing more, that motivates her march down the hallway to where Ayla is flipping through a notebook.
“What are you doing here?”
Ayla looks up at her. Blinks. She looks completely unsurprised, somehow, which grates against Penelope’s sensibilities.
“Studying,” she says. “You can’t look at my notes.”
“I wasn’t going to.” Seriously, why is everyone convinced that Ayla is some sort of kind loner angel who also happens to be a genius? She’s never been nice to Penelope once since they met the second time.
“Okay,” Ayla says, and looks back down at her notes.
Penelope waits ten seconds. Then twenty.
“Is something wrong?” Ayla asks, not even bothering to look back up.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Penelope points out, resisting the childish urge to stomp her foot.
“Yes I did,” Ayla says. “I’m studying. The test is starting in seven minutes, you know.”
Penelope knows. The clock in the proctoring classroom is visible through the window blinds. “I meant, what are you doing taking the AMC?”
Ayla actually looks up at that. Considers Penelope. Her head tilts to one side, just slightly.
Penelope stares back at her. Now that she has the opportunity she can’t stop herself from looking, from cataloguing the curve of Ayla’s bangs over her cheek, the soft glow of her skin from the setting sun, the dark brown of her eyes boring into Penelope’s own: so clear and wide and open and yet telling Penelope absolutely nothing.
“Why do you ask?” Ayla answers, finally.
“Because you don’t — do this kind of thing,” Penelope says, frustrated. Isn’t it obvious? Doesn’t everyone know this? “You’re a writer. You do school competitions. This — this is math, and it’s an external thing! We don’t even have an IMO club, I would know! You don’t like math!”
“Hey, be careful!” someone yells off to the side — a fellow student, from the looks of it. Penelope must have hit her while gesticulating. Whoops.
“Sorry!” she yells, then turns back to Ayla. “So yeah, I don’t see why you—”
She stops. Ayla’s staring at her again, but this time she’s… surprised? Caught off guard? Her lips are very slightly parted, and she’s looking at Penelope like —
Like —
Penelope searches her emotional library and fails.
“I didn’t know you were paying so much attention,” Ayla mumbles.
“What?”
“I didn’t — never mind.” Ayla sighs. Penelope blinks at her, trying to parse, still failing. “Aren’t you going to review?”
These days Penelope can’t close her eyes without seeing circular quadrilaterals and tangent lines and similar triangles in the darkness. “I don’t need to,” she says.
“Huh.” Ayla smiles at her (Ayla smiles at her!). “Confident as always, aren’t you, Penelope?”
Penelope has to take a moment to process the way Ayla says her name. Penelope. It flickers on her tongue like air.
Deep breath. Hands on her hips. “If I don’t get into the AIME, I’ll eat my sock,” Penelope declares.
The slope of Ayla’s grin turns… fond? No, she’s imagining things.
“Well then,” she says. “I’ll give you one hint.”
On instinct Penelope leans forward. “What is it?”
Instead of answering right away, Ayla tilts toward her. Closer. So close their noses almost brush. Penelope could just — could just take a step and —
“I’m not doing this because I want to,” Ayla whispers.
Penelope jolts, but Ayla is already five steps away. The bell is ringing. Time to go in.
FILL: TEAM ACE ATTORNEY
(ocs, because I couldn’t think of anyone that fit but the prompt was far too good to pass on)
See, the thing is that Penelope was trying to be normal.
No matter what Liv might say, she does not have a “thing” about Ayla Chandrasekhar. She does not! They don’t even run in the same circles half the time, why would Penelope care about her at all? Ayla can go off and do — whatever she wants to do with her theories and essays and conspiracy board pinouts all by herself, Penelope doesn’t mind. She doesn’t even think about Ayla half of the time. Most of the time.
It’s objective surprise, and nothing more, that motivates her march down the hallway to where Ayla is flipping through a notebook.
“What are you doing here?”
Ayla looks up at her. Blinks. She looks completely unsurprised, somehow, which grates against Penelope’s sensibilities.
“Studying,” she says. “You can’t look at my notes.”
“I wasn’t going to.” Seriously, why is everyone convinced that Ayla is some sort of kind loner angel who also happens to be a genius? She’s never been nice to Penelope once since they met the second time.
“Okay,” Ayla says, and looks back down at her notes.
Penelope waits ten seconds. Then twenty.
“Is something wrong?” Ayla asks, not even bothering to look back up.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Penelope points out, resisting the childish urge to stomp her foot.
“Yes I did,” Ayla says. “I’m studying. The test is starting in seven minutes, you know.”
Penelope knows. The clock in the proctoring classroom is visible through the window blinds. “I meant, what are you doing taking the AMC?”
Ayla actually looks up at that. Considers Penelope. Her head tilts to one side, just slightly.
Penelope stares back at her. Now that she has the opportunity she can’t stop herself from looking, from cataloguing the curve of Ayla’s bangs over her cheek, the soft glow of her skin from the setting sun, the dark brown of her eyes boring into Penelope’s own: so clear and wide and open and yet telling Penelope absolutely nothing.
“Why do you ask?” Ayla answers, finally.
“Because you don’t — do this kind of thing,” Penelope says, frustrated. Isn’t it obvious? Doesn’t everyone know this? “You’re a writer. You do school competitions. This — this is math, and it’s an external thing! We don’t even have an IMO club, I would know! You don’t like math!”
“Hey, be careful!” someone yells off to the side — a fellow student, from the looks of it. Penelope must have hit her while gesticulating. Whoops.
“Sorry!” she yells, then turns back to Ayla. “So yeah, I don’t see why you—”
She stops. Ayla’s staring at her again, but this time she’s… surprised? Caught off guard? Her lips are very slightly parted, and she’s looking at Penelope like —
Like —
Penelope searches her emotional library and fails.
“I didn’t know you were paying so much attention,” Ayla mumbles.
“What?”
“I didn’t — never mind.” Ayla sighs. Penelope blinks at her, trying to parse, still failing. “Aren’t you going to review?”
These days Penelope can’t close her eyes without seeing circular quadrilaterals and tangent lines and similar triangles in the darkness. “I don’t need to,” she says.
“Huh.” Ayla smiles at her (Ayla smiles at her!). “Confident as always, aren’t you, Penelope?”
Penelope has to take a moment to process the way Ayla says her name. Penelope. It flickers on her tongue like air.
Deep breath. Hands on her hips. “If I don’t get into the AIME, I’ll eat my sock,” Penelope declares.
The slope of Ayla’s grin turns… fond? No, she’s imagining things.
“Well then,” she says. “I’ll give you one hint.”
On instinct Penelope leans forward. “What is it?”
Instead of answering right away, Ayla tilts toward her. Closer. So close their noses almost brush. Penelope could just — could just take a step and —
“I’m not doing this because I want to,” Ayla whispers.
Penelope jolts, but Ayla is already five steps away. The bell is ringing. Time to go in.
“Good luck, Penelope!” Ayla calls behind her. “I hope you beat me!”
Penelope stares after her for far too long.
i took the amc for the entirety of middle and high school and had ZERO homoerotic encounters so this is my way to cope