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chapter five: father knows best (reprise)

a/n:

tw(s) - ol*ver, blood

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The eerie silence in Buckley's office chokes all life out of the air.

Rory sits in one of the chairs in front of his desk, her legs pulled close to her chest and her thumb on her lips; she's gnawing on the skin around her nail again, and her stomach lurches as the taste of pennies floods her mouth-- is she bleeding? She thinks about pulling her hand away to look but never actually does.

Because of her status as a student in the dorms, the principal had her brought to his office so she could call her father.

Something about getting his permission, or something.

She wasn't listening when they explained it.

That was fifteen minutes ago, though. She's been sitting here, staring off into space, the whole time.

She can't bring herself to pick up the phone.

She can't bring herself to move.

There's supposed to be a sense of pride in this, she thinks. They're acting like there is, anyway.

The two coaches and the principal all took their time when they let her know just how great this is, how she's the first girl on the varsity team in years-- ever, maybe. They had the secretary pulling records to check when they ushered her in here, but Rory couldn't care less.

This scholarship was supposed to be a chance for her to play with her friends.

Not for her to be, for the umpteenth time in her life, treated like some prize, or something.

There's a knock on the door.

"Lorelei, dear, you really must call." Buckley's soft voice cuts through the quiet like a hot knife through butter.

Rory swallows thickly. "I will."

"Will you?"

She doesn't want to call her parents. She just wants to quit varsity and be done with it.

Rory's floating.

Her senses are fuzzy and everything is blurred around the edges, and, when she reaches out to grab the receiver of the phone, she doesn't feel like she's really touching it.

She can't feel anything. She can't even feel her mouth.

"Look, see."

Buckley nods curtly, giving her a tight smile before ducking back into the other room and closing the door behind him as she types her father's number into it.

She cringes as the phone rings. It's too loud. Too loud and too sudden.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

"Hello?"

The bad kind of goosebumps erupt on her skin.
"Hey, Dad. It's-- it's me."

She hoped that he wouldn't answer. That, like he had been for months, he would've been too busy to give her the time of day.

Serves her right.

"Oh, Lola. This is rather unexpected." He pauses for a moment, pulling away from the receiver to bark orders at someone. "What do you want, love? I'm a little busy here."

Rory makes a face. Who the hell starts a conversation with their kid like that?

"I, uh, I made varsity..."

And, suddenly, Oliver isn't so disinterested anymore.

"Really? Oh, that's wonderful news."

Of course. She should've just called Krystal at the house because screw hockey would've been nice right now.

"Dad--"

"It's about damn time. I was starting to worry that you were going to let those kids weigh you down forever and ruin all the progress you've made so far."

They're gold medal winners. She's too weak to remind him of that.

"Dad--"

"You've always been far too good for those silly little ducks."

"Dad!"

She cringes at her sharp tone. That was a mistake.

"What?" Oliver snaps back.

"I'm not calling with good news. I don't want to be on varsity."

There's a pause. It only lasts a few seconds, but it feels like an entire lifetime to Rory. Her thumb goes back to her mouth.

"No."

Her heart drops. "What?"

"You're not quitting varsity."

Her thumb is definitely bleeding.

"But-- Dad, the varsity kids are vile, and I'm going to be the only chick on the team-- I want to play with my friends."

Of course, Rory's played on worse teams before.

She's played with--and against-- kids bigger and meaner than Richard Riley and his stupid friends could hope to be. But those teams all had at least one other girl on them, and she knows that, no matter how shiny and prestigious the title is, being the only girl on a team like this is going to give her nothing but trouble.

She doesn't want to change in a room full of boys who've never been told no in her entire life.

The Ducks respect her. Like her, even.

Hockey is bearable with them.

She doesn't have to fight tooth and nail with them.

"I don't care." He puts it simply as if it's second nature to him. "I spent a great deal of time trying to convince the administration that you are state championship-winning material and I refuse to let you forfeit your chances over what you think is friendship."

Frustration bubbles to the surface. There is blood in her teeth.

All she can think about is how much she hates him.

Rory feels like a child when he speaks to her like that.

No matter how far she's come, no matter the physical distance or her personal growth, the moment he opens his mouth, she's no longer Rory. She becomes Lola, and she's some sad seven-year-old girl again.

"Dad, please."

There's another pause after her plea where she wonders why she stooped that low and he does whatever the hell he's doing on his end.

"We've talked about the begging, Lola. You aren't a dog. Stop acting like it." Oliver snaps, stern and scolding. "You're my child. You do as I say when I say it because I know what's best for you, and I'm saying that you're staying on the varsity team. I'll hear nothing more about it."

She takes a deep breath and ignores the few treasonous tears that break free.

"Yes, sir."

Oliver scoffs. "Oh don't be like that, darling, you know I'm right. This makes the family look good, and the family is always the most important, right?"

"... right?"

"That's a good girl." He says, and then sighs. "Look Lola, don't be mad at Daddy, I'm doing what's best for you. That's what I'm always doing... I'll put an extra five hundred on your account."

Oh, yeah, 'cause a brand new Tiffany's bracelet will make up for all the harassment I'll face' snarks her brain.

"Sure. Whatever. I have to go." Is what her mouth says.

"Alright, Lola, I'll talk to you later."

"Mhm. Goodbye."

The receiver settles in place with a click and Rory sits for a moment, staring at the floor and wiping away tears, before getting up. The three men, the secretary, and her team are all waiting for her on the opposite side of the door.

"Oh, man," Charlie whispers.

"That's not a good face." Her boyfriend mutters, wrinkling his nose.

Neither of them goes unheard. It's still too quiet.

"Well?" Buckley smiles, making a point to ignore the boys.

"Thank you," She says, her voice wavering and her pride shattered, "for this opportunity. I won't waste it."

Behind him, the faces of her teammates fall flat.

Rory doesn't say anything more than that. She, hugging herself so tightly that her nails dig into the skin of her upper arm, shoves past all of them and starts walking down the hall without a single destination in mind.

Her team is hot on her trail.

(They're not really her team anymore though, are they?)

"Are you okay?"

"What happened?"

"Did you get off varsity?"

The questions are rapid-fire, but Rory is far too wrought with grief to say anything. A hand finds her shoulder and stops her in her tracks. When she finally turns around, she decides to look her former captain in the eye rather than look at any of the rest of them.

"Rory..." Charlie says her name so softly that she almost crumbles.

His sentence trails off, so many things unsaid, and her lip wobbles, betraying her.

"I'm sorry." She whispers. Her voice breaks, and more tears fall, and her hand is still bleeding. "I couldn't-- I'm on varsity. My dad won't let me quit. I'm so sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Fulton speaks before Charlie can but his face gives way to how upset he really is.

"Yeah." Averman, now standing beside her, rubs her back. "This isn't your fault."

Rory opens her mouth again to say something but she stops herself.

"I-- I think I just want to be alone for a bit, okay? I'll talk to you guys tomorrow."

With that, she tries to flee, again. This time, Averman is the only one who follows her.

"Rory. Are you okay?" He asks again now that they're alone.

"Huh? Oh, yeah. I think I'm bleeding."

Averman grabs her wrist to look at her hand.

"Oh my god. Can't take you anywhere."

She laughs weakly.

When they get to Rory and Rachel's room, he all but pushes her into the bathroom and scrounges up some bandaids and a washcloth. She opens her mouth to tell him that she's old enough to do this herself, and that she just wants a few seconds to breathe, but he doesn't really give her room to do anything.

"I know it might be a lot, but we're going to have to invest in getting you some gum or something."

His voice is light and teasing as he wets the washcloth, using it to clean the dried blood off her hand.

"I dunno. My dad just put five hundred bucks on my account, do you think we afford that?" She mumbles with a miserable sniff.

Averman's face brightens the way it does whenever she makes a joke. He's absolutely beaming.

"Probably not, but we can try."

When he's done with the washcloth, he gently dries her affected fingers and starts applying the bandaids. They've got the Rugrats on them.

"Y'know, Chuckie looks like you."

Averman blinks in shock a few times. "...you're evil."

"Mhm."

He stops to pick up the box of bandages again and looks at the picture on the box.

"...and I do kinda look like him. Damn."

"Eh, it's okay. I like you anyway."

He scoffs and flicks Rory's nose, making her wrinkle it and flinch back.

"You're lucky I like you, too, Rory."

Averman, standing in front of her, holds his girlfriend's head in his hands. Brushing his thumbs along her cheekbones, he smiles crookedly. Lovingly.

"Now, are you sure you're okay?"

Rory's not entirely sure why she starts crying, but she does. He hugs her close to him and runs his fingers through her hair to comfort her.

"It's alright. We'll figure it out."

They sit there quietly for a few minutes as she calms down, and then he breaks it.

"Hey...why don't you come to my place for dinner? Get out of this hellhole for a little bit?"

She stares up at him for a moment, eyebrows creased. I want to be alone. I want to be alone. I want to be alone.

None of those words come out.

"Uh, sure. Let me get changed."

Averman nods, smiling.

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When Mrs. Averman told them she was going to get a salad after dinner, Rory was very confused. Salad is usually a pre-dinner course... literally everywhere she's ever eaten except for Europe... so she's unsure of where this is going.

And then his mother brings out something made of rice and marshmallows and whipped cream.

"Sorry, I don't mean to be rude, but what is this?"

"It's called glorified rice-- it's a dessert," Les explains to her as he puts some on her plate. "Rice, fruit, mallows, sugar, and whipped cream."

"...it...isn't a salad?"

"It's a Midwestern thing-- you're from the Midwest, how have you not had a dessert salad?"

"I'm from a prissy, thinks it's better than everyone part." She huffs, putting some of it on her fork.

If she can force herself to try escargot and oysters and crocodile-- their trip to Australia was an interesting one--- she can try this weird dessert food. At first, she almost grimaces at the mixture of textures, but then she's humming in surprise because it tastes good.

"Huh. This is really neat. Thanks, Mrs. Averman."

"No problem, sweetheart."

She spends the night on their couch after getting a message through to Rachel. The family dog sits on the floor next to her as she gets some much-needed sleep.

(Tomorrow, after all, is going to be a very difficult day.)

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a/n:

word count - 2093

i have put myself in jail so you don't have to

comments and votes are super appreciated! they let me know that you guys like my writing and I cannot stress how much they motivate me to continue! thank you