get your lips on me | JENLISA

+ Two

The next time Jennie finds herself alone with Lisa, it does not go as planned.

It starts off innocently enough. (No, really. Jennie swears it does.)

They're in Lisa's living room, waiting for their friends to arrive for dinner. Carla called a few minutes ago from the pizza place to say they'd be a little late–something about Mary and Lilith getting into a dart tournament, with either some frat guys or each other, it was hard to parse (there had been a lot of background noise and Carla had had to ring off abruptly).

As a result: she and Lisa have some unexpected free time on their hands.

And, believe it or not, she is using it to do some actual school work. Sure, Lisa made the suggestion, and sure she had used her stern school teacher voice when she did it, but Jennie had agreed with only the barest of grumbling.

It doesn't hurt that Lisa happens to have the best collection of perfectly sharpened map pencils, which she lets Jennie use indiscriminately. There are so many colors to choose from for all of her graphing needs, Jennie can hardly choose which to start with. She's so focused, in fact, she's hardly used the pencils to play gnarly drum solos at all.

She is totally making this lab report her bitch, thank you very much.

When they began, Lisa took one long look at the array of supplies Jennie dumped unceremoniously out of her backpack onto the carpet–papers floating every which way, getting crumpled under the weight of falling books–and tucked herself into the far corner of the couch, far from the blast zone, leaving the rest of the living room for Jennie to use as she saw fit. As strict-90-degree-angled as Lisa is herself, she displays a remarkable grace when it comes to witnessing her own style of organization. A style which, at most gracious, can be described as discombobulated chaos.

Jennie commandeers the coffee table. She takes full advantage of the space and spreads her study materials all across its pristine wooden surface (Jennie knows from experience how much Lisa loves her coasters, but still, it's impressive that anyone in college owns an entire suite of furniture with nary a water ring in sight; this table has never been used for beer pong, Jennie would stake her life on that).

She has quite the set-up, if she does say so herself. Plenty of space for her graph paper, notebook, calculator, and borrowed colored pencils. No wonder Lisa is always hanging out at the tables in the library. Jennie could get into this sort of thing.

Plus, Lisa's coffee table is like the perfect height to work on while sitting on the floor. She doesn't know why Lisa herself never works like this: supplies sprawled within easy reach no matter which way you sit (believe her, she has tried them all: criss-cross-apple-sauce, one knee under her chin, laid out flat in a good hamstring stretch–they're all winners here).

As she wiggles around, picking up static from the carpet, Jennie realizes why that probably is. Lisa, with her unscuffed shoes and pristine pants is very much not a floor person. She'd probably sooner use a book as a plate than do her homework on the floor. Jennie can't imagine it herself (either scenario) without giggling.

"Something amusing over there?"

"Um," Jennie has no idea how to explain her path to spaghetti bolognese dripping out of an open copy of A Tale of Two Cities without dragging them both on a tangent, so she settles for a nice, simple, "No?"

Lisa turns a page with an elegant flick of her fingers. It's distracting even without Lisa licking the tip of her finger, something she also apparently does not do with library books. When Jennie does it, there is much disapproving frowning from the taller girl. "If you are working on a homework-related pun, I'd rather you just come out with it now. You get too wiggly to study when you're holding something like that back."