“The hair gel is turning the freaking frogs gay! That’s science, you can’t deny that.” Stevie joked. On the topic of the gossip blog, he couldn’t help but admit his guilt in falling into the ‘who’s dating who’ drama of Lima. “Too late, I’m the one driving this wagon all the way to shipperville, Stace Face.”
And he was right about it, too. He makes one joke about the most heterosexual guy in the school, and Stacey’s flipping the lid at the idea of a Tevie romance? Girl was in deep. “I was kidding, obvi. Tommy is not my type.” Mostly because he’s not a tiny Latino small time drug-slash-fake I.D. dealer with the eyes of a husky and a kiss that takes my breath away, but you don’t need to know that quite yet, do you Stace? Now or ever.
“As your brother, and not only that, your gay brother, it is my duty - and my honor - to know your heart better than you do. I mean, you said it yourself, right? You plan on bullying any girl he brings to the party, just promise not to Carrie the clueless broad, and you’re ‘excited to see Tommy in his underwear’? Come oooonnn! Plus I did your natal chart, and it totally says you’re soulmates, so-” He gave a shrug. “The stars don’t lie.” As he finished his monologue, he slid back onto Stacey’s bed, fully committed to not doing any more homework for the rest of the night, and stirring the pot with his sister instead.
Stacey hated herself for admitting it, even if it was just to herself; but hearing Stevie confirm that Tommy wasn’t his type - even if she freakin’ knew it - brought some sort of ease to the nerves that were prickling beneath her skin. Still, it didn’t keep the blonde from narrowing her eyes even further toward her twin brother. Anxiety, and - what the hell was she supposed to call it? Pure repressed energy? - pulsing through her veins as he poked and prodded at her feelings, just like he had a thousand times before...but it was different this time. Like Stevie had struck a nerve raw in one fell swoop, without even really having to try.
She didn’t know if it was the near constant questioning from that stupid gossip blog that had her so on edge, or maybe the tension that seemed to have been building between her and her best friend since Tommy’s solo at Regionals. But either way, it was only a moment before Stacey could feel her patience snapping just as cleanly as the pencil that was stuck in her vice grip. Both broken ends sailing across the space toward her brother with a toss as she stood at her desk suddenly enough to threaten her chair’s balance. “As my gay brother, you should know that the term ‘clueless broad’ is so freakin’ Chicago, it’s, like, almost embarrassing to hear you say it.” Stacey practically bit the words at him; sharp gaze cutting through the tension radiating off of her being. “Not to mention - freakin’ natal charts, Stevie? Like, literally gag me. What’s next? Pagan freakin’ rituals to summon the perfect man so you don’t have to, like, kiss pictures of --Ben Splatt before you go to bed at night?”
“Just because you wish could be all over a guy like Tommy doesn’t freakin’ mean I want to be. He’s my best friend,” Understatement of the year, “And believe it or not, I’d like to keep him that way. Stanford is our future, Stevie,” Stacey raised an eyebrow toward her brother, almost like she might be testing him. Eyes observing him - just like they always were - while Stacey did everything she could to ignore the way her muscles tensed beneath the weight of her own words. To ignore the way it felt like she was lying, even to herself. “And we can’t afford any freakin’ distractions - especially not with stupid relationships.”
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