Just For Me

Chapter 1

There are days when Amy wishes she'd just stayed in bed. A box of donuts, a documentary on Netflix, a blanket to pull up over her head and hide under. She'd had more of those days during what Shane refers to as her "Karma phase" than she has recently, but there are still days...

Days like today.

She'd known this was going to be one of those days from the moment her phone buzzed on her way to lunch. From the second she'd read the text from Reagan.

Party at Shane's. This weekend. Please?

Amy knows she's going to cave. Hell, she's not even sure why she's going to fight it, except on general principle. She remembers all too well - and Lauren and Shane won't let her forget - how Karma led her around by the nose all those weeks they were faking it. But she knows Reagan's different. She never asks for anything, she'll happily do whatever Amy wants, particularly if it involves making out (which, Amy knows, it usually does).

So, when Reagan does ask for something, Amy gives in. Sometimes without even fighting, though then she doesn't get the eyebrow and the little lip bite and the inevitable making out that those two always lead to.

And as she slipped her phone back into her pocket and settled down next to Karma at their usual table out back of the school, nearly dropping her tray in the process, she sighed. She's going to give in. But as she sees Shane making a beeline for their table, she knows it isn't going to be that simple. Because, she knows, it just never is.

So it doesn't come as any real surprise to her that Shane is the one to out her, yet again. It's something he seems to have a knack for.

And it's yet another reason to wish she'd stayed in bed.

She knows what he's going to say before he even opens his mouth and as he slides down onto the bench across from her and Karma, Amy's already answering the question he hasn't yet asked.

"No," she says, shaking her head emphatically. "No way."

Shane grins, not dissuaded in the least. "She told you?"

Amy pokes her fork into her mashed potatoes and fixes Shane with the most withering duh, dumbass look she can muster. "Of course," she says. "You may be her new BFF -"

"GBF," Shane corrects, the grin still plastered on his face.

"Whatever," Amy says, though even Karma - sitting there confused, lost, and shocked by how quickly this conversation has passed her by is able to pick up on the does it really fucking matter subtext. "You may be her new GBF, but I'm still... me."

Shane chuckles. "I should have figured," he says. But then the grin grows bigger and he arches an eyebrow. "Or maybe I did? Maybe I knew she'd tell you? And maybe I knew she'd be able to talk you into it?" He leans his elbows on the table, tilting his head toward her conspiratorially. "I mean, I may only be the GBF," he says. "But she's still... her."

Amy lets out a throaty chuckle and blushes slightly. Not for the first time she wonders why she ever tells Shane anything. Ever since she'd mentioned that Reagan had "convinced" her to go back to the underground club by using her "lesbian wiles" (Shane's term, not hers), he's been searching for a way to use that against her. To get her to do something she wouldn't normally do.

Like a party. At his house.

Because, Amy thinks, we all know how well that went last time.

And Karma looks between the two of them, watches them having a conversation that seems like something out of a World War II codebook to her, and feels confused. Left out.

And she doesn't like it.

But before she can chime in, Amy's speaking again. "She tried, Shane. Really she did." It's a lie. Reagan really trying would have involved more than a texted 'please'. There'd have been donuts. And kisses. And, lately, increasing amounts of bare skin.