Chapter Text
Isabel Conklin is 32 years old and has so many achievements under her belt that most people are immediately a bit intimidated upon meeting her; she graduated at the top of her class from Brown, she’s the first woman in her family to earn a college degree (and a Master’s, too), she’s a proud owner of an adorable condo that houses her and her cat, Juliet, and she’s a successful and favored copy-editor at The Providence Journal. Her experiences and accomplishments are enough to make almost anyone envious, but there’s one thing she’s missing that almost everyone else in the world has.
A first kiss.
It’s not like she’s some sort of a prude or hasn’t ever liked a guy or even that she hasn’t gone on a date but rather that she’s been holding out for the perfect guy to kiss her at the perfect moment. Which is rather foolish, according to her fellow editor and best friend, Taylor Jewel because, “Guys don’t have it together any more at 29 than they do at 13. Just get it out of the way so you at least know what you’re doing when Mr. Right does come along.”
As much as she loves Taylor, and she really and truly does, there are times she just cannot bring herself to heed her advice. She knows that at 29 most people would find it silly to never have been kissed, even more would find it ridiculous to be saving it like some sort of patriarchal symbol of purity, but she simply can’t help who she is, which is a massive romantic. Blame the old Hollywood movies she and her mother used to watch, or blame witnessing her peers get their hearts broken after trusting them in the wrong hands, but she’s always believed that there is somebody out there for everybody and she wants all of her firsts to be with her somebody.
So, to distract herself from the one thing lacking in her life, she throws herself into doing other things that make her feel good about herself She volunteers at the animal shelter, she escorts women into the Planned Parenthood, she spends her holidays at soup kitchens, and she donates obscene amounts of money to children’s charities that benefit education. It’s the relentless drive to occupy her mind that’s had her pushing her boss, Gemma, to put in a good word for her to promote her to reporter.
It’s not that Gemma isn’t a fair or supportive boss, she’s amazing and kind and understanding, but she just doesn’t seem to think that Isabel has what it takes to elevate her career. Every idea she’s ever presented Gemma with has been used but passed off to another journalist with the same dismissal: Reporters are messy and spontaneous. You’re neat and orderly and like control. Have the edits on my desk by 5! At first it was disheartening, but now she’s changed her mindset to view it as another challenge to overcome and like with every other challenge she’s faced in her life, she refuses to give up until she earns what she knows she deserves.
✹⠂꧆✧
It’s an average Friday morning in late August and while the lingering summer heat is still unbearable, there’s a promise of an approaching fall that makes it a little easier to face. Isabel walks to work, like she always does unless it’s raining, and greets her coworkers warmly as she makes her way to her cubicle. After setting her things down, she notices a stack of articles for her to review with a handwritten note from Gemma: I could only trust these in the hands of my best copy editor ;) Please have these back on my desk by 5!
Sighing, she fishes her thermos of green tea out of her bag and sips as she sits down and clocks in. It’s going to be a long day, she can feel it already, but she’s going to pass the time by making it her personal mission to have every article proofread and on Gemma’s desk by 4:30 at the latest.
✹⠂꧆✧
By lunch, her eyes are turning the lines on the pages into jumbled strings of letters and she finds it impossible to focus. She heads into the breakroom and smiles to see Taylor and Anika already seated and enjoying their lunches. She grabs her container of leftovers from home and heats them in the microwave before she turns to her friends. She thinks about the work left for her at her desk and about the one article being the story she’d pitched to Gemma the week before.
“Can you guys be honest with me about something?” She asks, interrupting their gossip about the new FedEx guy.
“Yeah, babe, what is it?” Anika asks, setting her sandwich down.
“Do you guys think I’m… spontaneous?”
Taylor and Anika exchange a look and Taylor worries her bottom lip between her teeth before she answers.
“So, do you remember when they pushed updates to all of our computers but for whatever reason, yours didn’t get the patch so it stopped working?”
“Yeah, it was super annoying.”
“Well, you remember when IT tried to give you one of the spare laptops until they could get your computer fixed and you refused because you, ‘refuse to use something that isn’t permanently yours’?”
“I got all the work done by hand the old fashioned way and still managed to get my edits turned in on time,” Isabel argues.
“But like, that’s the thing, babe. Anyone else would have just used the spare laptop until their computer was fixed and then let it go. You tend to… I dunno, make things harder on yourself just for the sake of doing things the ‘right way’.”
Isabel considers her words for a second and then Anika chimes in.
“Isabel, look, if you feel like you’re a writer in here,” she places a hand over her heart, “Then don’t you dare let anybody tell you differently.”
“You know, maybe Gemma had a point last week. Maybe you could afford to let loose and have some fun. You know, there’s that cute guy in accounting… he’s got a lazy eye but if you look at his nose when you talk you don’t even notice the eye.” Taylor suggests and Isabel laughs despite herself.
“Forget it, Tay.”
“I swear to God, Iz, when’s the last time you went on a real live date?”
“I’m focusing on getting promoted, I don’t have time for men.”
“Do you even own any colored underwear? Like… stripes or gasp lace?”
“Taylor!” Isabel and Anika say in unison.
“Look, you’re 32, you’re super hot, and I’m sure there are guys that find the neutral shades of Hanes breathable underwear super sexy.”
She rolls her eyes at Taylor and pulls her leftovers from the microwave. “The right guy is out there, I know he is, I’m just waiting for… that thing. He’ll show up exactly when he’s supposed to.”
“That thing?” Anika asks as Taylor says, “Not this again.”
Anika looks between Taylor and Isabel for an explanation, which Taylor happily provides.
“Isabel has never been kissed.”
“Wait for real? What are you, like, saving it for marriage or something?”
“No, I’ve kissed boys…”
“If it was before the 6th grade, it doesn’t count,” Taylor interrupts.
“Since when?!”
“Since like forever,” Anika supplies with a sympathetic shrug. “So wait, if you haven’t kissed then you haven’t ever…?”
“Nope. Like I said, I’m waiting for that thing.” Isabel confirms with a blush warming her face.
“Yeah, run that by me again, what thing?”
“You know, that thing. It’s like… we live our lives in darkness in a way, you know? And when it’s dark all the time, there are stars and sometimes, the stars are really beautiful especially when there’s no light pollution but then eventually, you get tired of it being nighttime all the time. Because as beautiful as nighttime can be, a sunrise can give you an entirely new perspective. The light suddenly shows you things that you couldn’t see in the moonlight alone. I believe that meeting my person will feel like that and when… when we kiss… it’ll be this whole eclipse of emotions and I’ll wanna laugh and I’ll wanna cry because I’ll be so glad that I finally found them but so scared of them slipping away. I just don’t want to waste that feeling on someone who won’t be my sunrise.” Isabel says and sniffles slightly before she blinks and blows off the steaming bite sitting on her fork.
“Damn. You really are a writer,” Anika says, earning a laugh from Taylor and Isabel both.
It's 3:45 p.m. and Isabel has just returned to her desk from turning in her articles in Gemma’s office when she sees an email marked as high importance come into her inbox.
To: ALL EMPLOYEES (HIGH IMPORTANCE!)
From: Gemma Morrison, Chief Copy Editor
Editor-In-Chief Cleveland Castillo will be here in 20 minutes for an emergency staff meeting. Please be in the conference room in 10 minutes with notepads and fresh ideas. Thanks!
Isabel gets up and immediately joins Taylor and Anika to walk to the conference room together. The room makes nervous small talk as they await Cleveland’s arrival, but that small talk dies the second he walks into the door. He’s intimidatingly intelligent and has a sense of humor so dry that it’s almost safer not to laugh on the off chance that he’s being serious.
Isabel watches him approach the end of the business table and sits up a little straighter when his eyes begin scanning over everyone.
“Milo Williamson… are you in this room?” Cleveland asks and everyone’s heads turn to Milo, who’s sitting directly across from Taylor and has been playing footsies with her since they sat down.
“Yes sir, I’m here.”
“Mm, great. You were in charge of the piece on exotic pet sales last month, correct?”
“Yes sir, it went viral.”
“And you’re aware that The Block Island Times ran the same piece, using the same sources, and got triple the hits on their article?”
“Y-yes sir, b-but… the dealer I spoke to was really shady.”
“A journalist never blames their sources for weak material. You’re fired.”
The room goes completely still and the temperature drops by a few degrees despite the warmth radiating off of the massive windows lining the wall. Milo opens his mouth to protest but releases nothing but air before he scrambles and trips over his feet to leave the conference room and pack his desk.
Once he’s gone, Isabel exhales shakily while Cleveland seamlessly moves on to a different topic as if he didn’t just fire someone without so much as a “hello”. Taylor has to put her hand on Isabel’s knee more than once to stop her leg from bouncing and shaking the entire table. She had considered making herself stand out in front of the Editor-in-Chief in hopes of gaining his favor, but after watching how easily he dismissed Milo, an established reporter, she sinks back into herself. She’s so busy trying to make herself invisible that she completely misses the story that Cleveland is pitching and catches the tail-end of it.
“You know, I sat with my niece the other day–the sophomore at Brown, Amber. We were at a family member’s wedding and I asked how her finals went and joked around by asking how many coffees she had to consume to stay awake. Now keep in mind, my nieces and nephews always tell me things they don’t tell their parents. Perks of being the cool uncle and all. So she goes, ‘Uncle C, nobody chugs coffee anymore.’ So I asked what they did instead… RedBull or whatever caffeine craze is popular with the kids nowadays. She tells me that they don’t use any kind of caffeine at all. Instead, they pop Adderall and Vyvanse. I asked when she was prescribed either of those and she told me she hasn’t been prescribed anything, she just bought some pills from a girl in her dorm hall. Of course, my sister and brother-in-law have no clue about this and I thought, ‘Holy shit! Your parents don’t even know what goes on at your school, do they?!’ So, naturally, that got me thinking… If at 53, with nieces and nephews who tell me things before their parents, am that out of the loop about what goes on in colleges, what do parents of college students know? Do they know what’s going on in these schools? I’ve asked around and the answer is no, they don’t. So… we’re going undercover to find out exactly what the kids are up to nowadays and exactly how their tuition is being spent.”
Immediately, it seemed as if the entire room perked its ears up. Undercover stories were always a hot commodity as they were all but a sure-fire way to cement oneself as a serious reporter.
“I need someone who looks the part… someone unassuming that would blend right in on a college campus and could keep up in the classes without raising any red flags… hmmm… what’s your name?” Cleveland asks and points his fingers at Isabel.
“Me?”
“No, the cat on the clicker of your pen. Yes! You!”
“Isabel,” she mumbles.
“Israel?”
“Isabel. Isabel Conklin.” She says, louder and more confidently.
“Congratulations, Isabel Conklin, you are officially a junior at Finch University starting Monday.”
“But, I’m not a repo–”
“Doesn’t matter. You’re the only one who looks young enough to pass as 10 years younger. See you in a month for an update, people!”
“Gee, thanks, asshole,” Taylor says under her breath when Cleveland leaves. Everyone gets up and gathers their things, shuffling to the door of the conference room to return to their cubicles, but Isabel is glued to the spot. Me. I’m going undercover. Cleveland Castillo selected me to go undercover on a story he concocted.
“Hey, hello! Earth to Isabel!” Taylor says, snapping her fingers in front of her face as she stands beside Isabel’s chair.
“Oh my god,” Isabel gushes and gets up and runs to Gemma’s office with a smile so big that her cheeks are already sore.
Taylor follows behind her, saying something that she can’t quite make out above the joy bubbling up in her chest making her ears ring, and doesn’t force herself to focus until they’re both in Gemma’s office with the door closed.
“Undercover?! Gemma, you must have already put a good word in! This morning he didn’t even know my name and now I’m going undercover for him?” Isabel says excitedly, but the excitement dims when she notices the looks on Taylor and Gemma’s faces. “You… you guys don’t think I can do it, do you?”
“It’s not that, love,” Gemma says in her posh accent. “You’d be a great undercover reporter for like… PTA moms laundering money to fund their closet alcoholism.”
“She’s right,” Taylor agrees and Isabel’s half heartbroken and half angry at her friend’s lack of confidence in her. “I mean, think about it, these are college kids you’ll be dealing with. College kids are rowdy and love to party and drink obscene amounts illegally and… god, they’re on those friggin apps now just to have a one night stand. You won’t even come out with me and Anika for drinks after work.”
“I’ll talk to Cleveland and I’ll get him to put someone else on the case… maybe Celine or—,”
“No,” Isabel interrupts, firmer and louder than she’s ever been with Gemma. “No. I’m going to do this. Let me show you that I can do this, let me prove myself to you. Cleveland selected me to do this, that counts for something.” She turns and faces Taylor first. “Taylor, when you took that trip abroad with a mission to fall in love with a European, who tutored you on your French and Latin?”
“Mademoiselle Isabel,” Taylor says.
“And Gemma,” she starts as she faces her boss. “When you decided to get into LARP-ing, who got you in touch with Steven’s friend?”
“You,” Gemma admits quietly.
“You LARP? Steven LARPs?!” Taylor asks.
“Pack it in,” Gemma warns.
“Look, every time either of you have wanted something, really wanted it, I’ve been there. All I’m asking for is that you give me the same support.”
Gemma and Taylor exchange a knowing look before they simultaneously sigh in resignation.
“Fine. But one month, do you understand? You’ll be on the case for one month and if there isn’t any progress being made, we pull you out and replace you.” Gemma says sternly, though there’s a smile fighting to spread across her mouth.
“You won’t regret this, I promise! I’m going to be the best student you’ve ever seen!” Isabel squeals as she walks over to hug Gemma.
“Well, if you’re going back to college, you at least have to let me take you shopping. You can’t show up on campus wearing your business casual best if you want to fly under the radar,” Taylor says and Isabel heads to the door. “What was your style in college?”
Suddenly, Isabel is inundated with memories that she’s had long concealed: A roommate from hell that did something that stopped her from using her childhood nickname completely, whispers from classmates that had her checking over her shoulder and double checking every square inch of her appearance for nearly a decade after graduating, and the cruel prank by the boy she used to think the world of that ultimately made her transfer to an Ivy League for her sophomore year just to try and outrun the embarrassment.
“That was over a decade ago. I’m leaning into whatever the style is now,” Isabel says.
“That’s my girl!” Taylor says and hugs her. “And, for the record, I do believe in you. I just don’t want you to get hurt. I’m sorry if it seemed like I was doubting you.”
She presses the memories back down into their box and walks back to her desk to clock out. She’s got a shopping weekend ahead to work into her budget and great news to tell her big brother. He’ll be proud of her and give her reassurance that she can do this. Steven has always been supportive that way.
✹⠂꧆✧
“Back to college?! At Finch? You were miserable there… It’s like, the whole reason you transferred to Brown! Mom and Dad had a total conniption, if you can recall!” Steven argues over the counter of the phone repair store he manages.
“Of course I remember, Stevie, it’s kind of hard to forget working three summer jobs and applying for every scholarship under the sun. But I mean, c’mon, it was over a decade ago. I’m an adult now, I know what to expect.”
“Do you remember what they called you?” Steven asks and her mental box lets those memories from earlier loose again but this time, she wasn’t able to leash them back before the echoing chants of Smelly Belly! Smelly Belly! swarmed her head. “Hey… you okay? You look nauseous.”
“Nauseated, Steven. I look nauseated,” she corrects before she bolts to the bathroom.
After heaving up her lunch, she flushes the toilet and splashes her face with cool water. As the sink runs, she’s reminded of what the tap in the liberal arts building bathroom looked like at Finch and she’s transported back in time.
✹⠂꧆✧
It was early October of her freshman year. She’d had a bit of a tough time transitioning to living completely on her own, but by the time the crisp autumn air replaced the summer’s sticky humidity, she felt like she had finally found her footing. She was doing well in her classes and felt comfortable around campus in a way she hadn’t ever felt at her high school. There was also him.
Jerry Chrestman was the star ultimate frisbee player in her Comp II class and she was smitten. He was tall, funny, and had these crystal blue eyes that almost looked too blue to be real. Because of this, she’d started experimenting with things she’d never cared about before like hairstyles other than down or a simple ponytail and makeup that went all over her face instead of the clear mascara and tinted lip balm she usually applied. She’d even managed to talk her mom into letting her get contacts whenever she went home for Thanksgiving Break.
The homecoming football game was a week away and, if the posters plastered all over the quad were any indication, the entire week was about to be full of events and parties as well as a massive tailgate before the big game. With a little encouragement from her roommate Shelby, who she’d finally formed a bond with after a rocky start on move-in day (when Isabel accidentally knocked her vanity over with her DVD collection shelf and cracked the mirror), she was going to gather up the courage to ask Jerry if he wanted to hang out at the tailgate. She’d already asked her parents and they were willing to drive up the Thursday before with things to grill and she had a cute outfit picked out for what would be the first football game she’d ever attended. “It’s 2012, B. You’re allowed to ask a guy out,” Shelby had encouraged.
She’d woken up extra early to do her makeup and hair and had put on her tightest pair of jeans with a cute top she’d found at the thrift store the week before. In a rush to get to class early and maybe catch Jerry alone, she’d grabbed her backpack and hadn’t been able to focus on anything except for the speech she’d been rehearsing in her head for over a week—so focused that she failed to note the wet spot on the bottom of her backpack.
She got to class before the professor and settled in, still far too in her head to take note that the spot on her backpack had spread and there was a smell accompanying it. She watched the seconds tick by on the clock and as soon as Jerry walked in, she beamed and hyped herself up to talk to him. Just as she opened her mouth to talk to him, a group of his fraternity brothers walked in behind him and started talking about all of the “hot babes” that were going to be at Homecoming from the other school.
She sighed, and sat back in her chair as she waited for class to begin. When the instructor walked in, a grad student named Ms. Mauseth, she opened up her backpack to reach for her textbook when she was assaulted by a horribly putrid smell. She quickly grabbed her textbook and zipped the bag back, hoping to contain the smell to the small corner she sat in alone, but her hopes were squashed when she opened the textbook and the smell amplified.
She slammed it shut and shoved it back into her bag, but it was too late. Slamming the book had spread the stench around the room and her classmates were all plugging their noses and making sounds of disgust. Her face heated and she wished in that moment that she could teleport back to her dorm to die of shame privately.
“What on Earth is that smell?!” Mrs. Mauseth asked.
“Whatever it is, it’s awfully smelly!” One of Jerry’s frat brothers said and earned a laugh from the rest of the class.
Not wanting to drag it out any longer, she decided to speak up. “I think it’s my bag, Ms. Mauseth. I’m so sorry, something must have spilled in there. I had no idea.”
“Well, Belly, it’s pretty disruptive. Do you mind stepping out with it? I can email you today’s lecture and I won’t count your leaving against your attendance.”
“Yeah, Smelly Belly, maybe you should go before we all start gagging,” one of the other frat guys teased.
She stood quickly and left, but she didn’t escape quickly enough to miss the chant of “Smelly Belly! Smelly Belly!” and Ms. Mauseth’s “Enough! That’s enough!”
She ran into the building’s single stall bathroom and cried as she opened her backpack to investigate where the smell was coming from. It didn’t take long to find the can of sardines that had been opened just enough to leak into the bottom of her bag and soak the bottoms of her textbook. She tossed the can in the garbage and removed all of her books before furiously scrubbing hand soap and water on the spot of her backpack.
She kept her things in a locked box that her parents bought her after that. And she didn’t go to the homecoming game.
✹⠂꧆✧
As the memory clears, she gets a look at herself in the mirror and tries to spot all the ways she’s grown from being Belly into Isabel, but all she can really focus on is how much she still is that girl.
“This might be a bad idea,” she says to her reflection before her brain supplies, or the very best one ever.
Looks like she’ll be enrolling at Finch after all. It’s always safer to go back somewhere when you’re armed with more knowledge than you had the first time, right?... Right?