Summary: Lauren Jauregui is probably the hottest member of the cheer team. So why doesn't Camila notice her back?
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Camila Cabello has a fantastic ass. Everybody knows.
Well, everybody knows but Camila Cabello. Every day, she comes to school wearing jeans and t-shirts and flannels that probably got handed down from her older brother, or maybe she just has to buy boys jeans because she's much shorter than an average girl yet still has curves that don't fit in the girls, but whatever the reason, her pants are baggy, and they're shapeless, and they still can't hide that firm, curvy ass of hers.
It strains the seats of her pants. You can hear the seams almost-snapping — holding their breath and heaving sighs of relief — when she bends over.. And then she gets surprised when Creepy Drama Club Ariana or Austin From The Swim Team or Kristen The Lesbian Performance Artist Chick grope her in the lunch line or try to cop a feel while she's walking to the bike rack.
She's such a virgin — a first-class, over-excited, stumbles trying to say anything that isn't the right answer to one of Mister Morgan's questions about atoms or compounds or what makes a solution different than a solute, probably hasn't ever even put her cell on vibrate and used it to get off while watching Gaston trying to kill the Beast, capital-v Virgin.
Not that Lauren Jauregui has used her phone to masturbate to Disney. God, no, please — she pulls that trick while watching the Batman/Joker scenes of The Dark Knight. She has class, okay?
Not enough class to keep from staring at Camila during class. But that's not her fault, Lauren thinks. It's nobody's fault, really. Camila just has these cheekbones, and this jawline, and these eyes — her eyes scream "VIRGIN" more than anything else about her. They're not really wide or big or anything, and she doesn't look like some friend to all living things princess bitch who could sing about true love and get little woodland creatures to make her a badass prom dress, but her eyes, man, they're just ... innocent. Non-judgmental. And not in the space-cadet way.
They smile, even when she doesn't have her obnoxious, sunshiny, sweet tap-dancing Jesus I might as well be a puppy grin plastered on her face, and there's been more than one class where Lauren's zoned out completely, knocked her Vitamin Water or her pompoms over with her elbows even, because she can't stop looking at Camila Cabello, Big Virgin on Campus. At first, she feels creepy for it — sure, fine, she's the Token Lesbian Cheerleader, but really? Staring at some girl she's never talked to before, just because Camila's hotter than the surface of the sun? Who the fuck is she now, Edward Cullen?
But it doesn't stay that way. Staring becomes a part of class. Lauren sits there in freezing chem lab, in her assigned seat next to Baby Activist Ally Brooke and her messenger bag that has buttons voicing all of her opinions for her. She looks up at Mister Morgan with his nine o'clock shadow and the cock of his hips that's totally going to get him called a pedophile sooner or later whether or not it's true. Lauren doesn't have to try that hard to look like she's paying attention. Scribble down a few notes on mols or whatever, doodle what Camila would look like if she didn't dress like she's going to the Miami Women's Music Festival every day, then clear her mind and thank God that Camila's head is right in front of the blackboard so, no matter how much Lauren's watching her hair swish around her jaw, or ogling the way her lips wrap around her water bottle's mouth, it looks like she really gives two shits about the incomprehensible numbers on the board.
By Halloween, anybody else in the school would've noticed and said something. Ally and Normani have noticed and said something. They've told Lauren how the whole junior class knows already and how the football team's taking bets on whether or not Camila's going to be able to resist her. Whether Camila's going to drop the, "Sorry, but I'm straight" bomb, or whether she just doesn't buy the how do you know you don't like girls if you've never even kissed one line that Lauren used to get in Keana's pink satin panties over the summer.
And it all makes Lauren wonder: maybe she really is losing her touch? She dresses up as Sailor Fucking Moon for Halloween, even. Gets Keana to help her put the costume together and everything. Because Camila's a nerd, so she should be all over that shit. What part of a tight white shirt, big red bows on Lauren's tits and ass, fuck me red leather boots, and a skirt that barely passes the knuckle-test doesn't get a nerd revved up? Ariana flirts with Lauren, Normani flirts with Lauren, Ally doesn't flirt but points out how her bra falls short when the classroom gets Lauren's nipples hard — everybody says something but Camila.
She doesn't go out trick-or-treating with the girls that night, and she skips dinner, too. Instead, Lauren locks herself up in her room and tries to find any reason why Camila would ignore her like this. Lauren's hot enough, isn't she? Sure, fine, she's not some ginormous Amazon, and she's not tiny and skinny like Taylor Swift or some shit — okay, she has these wonky bow-legs, and there's a thin layer of extra flesh sitting on top of her abs, and her lips feel too big for her face sometimes, and she hate, hate, hates the freckles that sometimes cover every inch of skin that's ever seen the light of day. But she's hot, right?
Couldn't tell, considering there are days when she does nothing but stare at Camila and all it's gotten Lauren so far is a big fat heap of nothing.
Luckily, though, Lauren has perseverance and she doesn't have enough class to keep from demanding that Mister Morgan make Camila her partner for the next group project thing. It's on Archimedes or Anaximander or some other dead Greek dude, and Lauren couldn't give a shit less if she tried. The project's about as important as learning Latin. She's seen all the teen movies and after-school special dramas. She knows that group projects are the best way to get your man.
Or hot girl who wears boys' clothes, in this case.
Whatever. Camila Cabello is hers.
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