Danny Zuko was a Hot Chick
Jul. 1st, 2010 07:47 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nike_ravusAuthor: Alsike
Fandom: X-Men/Criminal Minds x-over
Pairing: Emily Prentiss/OFC, Emma Frost/Emily Prentiss
Rating: NC-17 (Not this chapter, but generally)
AN/Disclaimer: Not my girls.
Word Count: 1501
Citrus Taste Summer Battle Prompt #7. School’s Out
Apologies: I’m going to attempt to post these in chronological order, but I may not always succeed. Either way, they should stand on their own pretty well.
Summary: The High School Summer Vacation AU!
A letter from Emily’s mother arrived at Emily’s Italian girls’ school in Florence the last week of classes with tragic news. Instead of going back to Rome for the summer (Emily loved Rome in the summer, it was disgusting and dusty and full of tourists, but she never felt more like she belonged than when everyone else clearly didn’t) and seeing her friends (John had said he was going to sneak them out to go to a Discotheque, and Matt had gotten a Vespa and wanted to drive her up into the hills to go painting), her mother was going to a month long conference on international policy and economics and was taking Emily with her. To Sacramento.
“If you were going to have a conference on ‘internationalism’ why couldn’t you have it some place international?” Emily whined to her roommate. “Like Finland?” Emily had always wanted to go to Finland.
Daniela, her roommate, was not sympathetic. “Sacramento’s in California, isn’t it? I want to go to California.”
“It’s inland,” Emily told her. “No beaches.”
Daniela shrugged. “It’s California.”
Emily rolled her eyes and dropped onto her bed. “I want to go to Rome.”
“Rome is terrible in the summer. My family is taking a trip to Elba. I will think of you when I am swimming in the Mediterranean with my hot French boyfriend.”
“Your imaginary hot French boyfriend?”
Daniela flicked a crumpled paper at her that bounced off her forehead. “A summer boyfriend. You, my friend, need to take advantage of your trip to Sacramento, and find yourself a summer boyfriend. You need to get laid.”
Emily groaned. This was not a new instruction. “I asked you, but no, ‘you don’t shit where you eat’ you said.”
“A summer boyfriend,” Daniela repeated. “You need something easy. Girlfriends are too much trouble. And find a California boy. You can be whoever you want to be in the summer and forget it when you leave. Haven’t you seen Grease?”
“You’re taking love advice from Grease?”
Daniela gave her a sharp-eyed glance and a grin. “Sex advice, not love advice. And that’s the advice that you need.” She turned back to her mirror and started fixing her hair. “You’ll be sixteen in October. You shouldn’t be a virgin when you’re sixteen.”
“Wasn’t the Olivia Newton-John girl already sixteen?”
“It was nineteen-fifty. Every generation it drops a year.”
Emily blinked and calculated in her head. “So, technically I should have lost it at fourteen?”
“They were seniors, she was probably seventeen.”
“How many times have you seen that movie?”
Daniela glared at her. “You have too many boys who are friends. You need a boy you want to fuck.” She stood up and stalked over to Emily’s bed. “You have nice tits and a good body, and maybe in California you can get a tan. And I want all the details when you get back.” Daniela grinned. “Shock me.”
“Like I could ever shock you.” Emily rolled her eyes, and then grabbed the front of Daniela’s shirt and sat up to kiss her.
“Mmm,” Daniela hummed into the kiss. “Your mouth is made for blow jobs.”
“You’re disgusting.”
Daniela grinned and patted her cheek. “Shock me.”
* * *
Her mother met her at the airport in Rome. She gave her a hug and an air kiss and signaled the porter to take her bags. “Darling, I’m so glad we’re going to be spending the vacation together.”
They always spent vacations together, well, if you counted Elizabeth working and Emily being bored and miserable or going off on her own a lot together, which she generally didn’t. This one didn’t look to be any different.
“And don’t worry, you’ll have plenty of fun. Most of the other panelists are bringing their kids. I know Winston is, and I think he has a girl around your age, so you’ll have a friend already.”
Emily did not make friends easily, especially not with girls her own age, and this whole expedition was looking more and more daunting.
“And the conference is only during the day, so we can have dinner together and perhaps do some outings on weekends. The resort is supposed to be very nice.”
“It’s a resort?” she asked unhappily. Emily hated resorts. They were like prisons, she thought, keeping you out of the real town. You never actually went to a place if you stayed in a resort. You just mixed with tourists and ate food you could get anywhere, and then went home.
“It looks excellent. Two pools, a game room, they even have stables nearby where you can go riding, and a spa.” She grinned. “For me, of course, and tennis.”
“I don’t play tennis.”
“You can have lessons.” Elizabeth pulled her towards the gate. “In fact, I’ll sign you up right away. You can play every day.”
Emily didn’t usually hate her mother. But there were certain moments where she didn’t really have a choice.
* * *
Jetlagged and miserable from a thirty-hour trip, Emily staggered out of the taxi from the airport and didn’t even bother glancing up at the palm bordered great white edifice that was like every other resort she’d ever seen.
“Oh good,” said her mother, perfect as always. Traveling was like a day off for her. “It’s not yet eight, we still have time to meet Winston for dinner.”
Emily ignored her and trudged inexorably toward the bathroom where she splashed her face with cold water until the attendant tapped her shoulder and asked her if she knew California was in a drought. Emily could care less, but she left the bathroom anyway and found her mother talking animatedly to a tall man with slightly graying hair in a crisp grey suit. Emily thought he was ugly. Of course, most men older than 25 were pretty ugly in her opinion.
“Oh, Winston, this is my daughter Emily.”
Winston just looked at her, narrowed eyes, and gave a short nod. “My children,” he said, and they appeared mysteriously out of the woodwork. “Christian and Adrienne,” were hanging out by the piano. Christian, sitting on the bench, gave a friendly wave. He was much better looking than his father, blond and fresh-faced, although he was wearing a hat with a pompom on it and a plaid vest, which made Emily rather doubt he would be interested in women, much less her. Adrienne, in a short sundress that showed too much leg, just glanced at her and looked away with a sniff and a toss of her red-gold hair. Emily disliked her immediately, but looked back quickly when she leaned over, giving a peek of lacy blue underwear under her skirt. Then she pretended to have been looking somewhere else.
“Cordelia.” Cordelia was a kid with mouse brown hair sitting under a plant with a book. She didn't even bother to glance up.
Winston frowned and glanced around. “Where’s Emma?”
“I think she had to run up back to the room,” Christian chimed in. But his eyes slid in the opposite direction and Emily followed his gaze to a swinging door. It opened and she spotted a skinny girl with dirty-blonde hair, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, hitting on one of the waiters.
“You mother was telling me she was going to sign you up for tennis lessons.” Emily realized that Winston was talking to her again. “I thought perhaps I should do the same for Emma. She could be your partner.”
That sounded excellent. Emily tried not to grimace. Tennis lessons were embarrassing enough alone. Showing off her complete lack of coordination was not her favorite activity at the best of times. She kind of didn’t want to even imagine what it would be like to have to suffer through tennis lessons with someone who just wanted to hit on the instructor.
She saw Emma pocket what looked like a phone number and saunter out of the kitchens. She made a hand signal to Christian that seemed to say something like “I’ve got one more than you now.” And Emily really did not want to know.
“Emz,” Christian called out, and Emily glanced up before realizing that he was talking to his sister. Great, they had the same nickname. “This is Emily.” He gestured.
Emma glanced over, and Emily crossed her arms, trying to deflect the narrow appraising gaze. She was suddenly hyper aware of having not changed her clothes in two days. She was still wearing her school uniform, she probably had pretzel crumbs down her front, and she had spilt screwdriver on her skirt from when she had tried to steal a sip of her mother’s drink and they had hit unexpected turbulence. Emma seemed to see all of this, and looked amused.
Emily just glared back. It wasn’t like she was impressed by the girl’s perfect hair, perfect white dress, and perfect matching girly sandals, or her complete lack of boobs. She was a skinny kid, and that waiter must have been a pedophile.
* * *Part 2
