Chapter Text
They meet, of course, in detention.
Honestly, she shouldn’t even be here. This isn’t really her crowd, to put it mildly.
Regina looks around and thinks: tragic. The room smells like pencil shavings and Axe body spray. There’s a girl in a stretched-out hoodie literally drooling on a math textbook. Two bespectacled boys in the corner are playing some kind of card game.
She crosses her legs, smooths her skirt, and wonders if there’s a disinfectant wipe strong enough to erase the memory of sitting in this chair.
A cough comes from somewhere behind her.
“Hey,” a voice says, low and lazy. “So, what are you in for?”
She blinks. There’s a pause long enough to be rude. Then, slowly, she pivots just enough to look over her shoulder.
Now that is someone who belongs here; almost like he’s part of the scenery: torn flannel, band T-shirt, a smudge of eyeliner he probably didn’t mean to put there. Hair that might be messy or might be styled that way on purpose.
“Excuse me?”
“I said—” He leans forward on his desk, elbows out, smirk deepening. “—what are you in for?”
The possibility of ignoring him is tempting, but she’s feeling magnanimous.
“A mistake.”
“Cool! Me too!” He raises his hand for a high-five, and she looks at it as if it were something he’d just plucked out of his nose. Which, statistically speaking, it probably was.
He lets the hand drop, unfazed. She turns her head back around.
Silence stretches. At some point, his pencil starts tapping against the desk in an erratic rhythm. The sound worms into her skull until she finally hisses, “Do you have to make noise?”
Of course he has a shit-eating grin on his face. “Not if you talk to me.”
She scoffs. “Sorry, I don’t speak slacker.” And then, because she can’t help herself: “Don’t you know who I am?”
He shrugs. “I’m new here.”
“On Earth?”
Instead of being offended or calling her a ‘bitch’ — her two favorite reactions — he laughs like they are old buddies joking around.
“Nah. Just the school.” He continues. “I’m Rodrick, by the way.”
She presses her lips in a tight, fake smile. “Okay.”
“You don’t wanna tell me your name?”
“Not really.”
“Why not?”
She rolls her eyes and turns back around. Bad call. He leans over her shoulder, his voice brushing against her ear.
“Is it an embarrassing name?”
Her head snaps around, nearly colliding with his face, but he leans back, still wearing that infuriating smirk.
“Of course not!” she hisses. Her shriek draws the attention of the whole class; the teacher shushes them.
She lowers her voice. “You–are really annoying, did you know that?”
Rodrick feigns innocence. “This is the first I’m hearing of it.”
She feels the vein in her forehead pulse, which is extra aggravating, since it’s her least attractive feature besides her enormous man-shoulders.
The bell rings. He packs up slowly, smirk never faltering.
“See you later, Regina George,” he calls over his shoulder, punctuating it with a dramatic two-fingered salute.
Regina watches him go, mouth slightly open, fingers twitching.
They bond (ugh) because of an English project, of all things.
Mrs. Crawford’s idea of “collaborative learning” is pairing students in strict alphabetical order, which means it’s not fate, just bureaucratic cruelty that lands Regina George with Rodrick Heffley.
They have to meet to work on their assignment, and there is absolutely no way she’s going to his house. She’d also rather not deal with her mother, so they agree to meet on neutral ground: the school’s computer lab.
She considers blowing him off and letting him do it alone, but suffice it to say, she is not in a position to risk a bad grade in this class.
So here they are.
Rodrick pulls up ChatGPT’s summary of Lord of the Flies.
“Wow.” Rodrick squints at the screen, finishing the paragraph a solid thirty seconds after her. “This is pretty rad. You know, for a book.”
“I guess.” She leans back, crossing her arms. “I just don’t get it. Is this supposed to be, like, some grand statement about human nature or whatever?”
He looks dumbfounded. “Oh. I thought it was just about how British private school boys are little savages.”
She doesn’t laugh. She doesn’t. It’s just a puff of air that sneaks out of her nose.
“I think you’re actually right.”
He grins, pleased with himself.
“I just don’t get why Piggy’s supposed to be the victim, though,” he says. “He sounds annoying.”
It's absolutely horrifying to realize they'd thought the same thing.
“Exactly,” she says. “It’s called natural selection.”
His laugh is obnoxious. “So you’re saying bullying is evolution?”
“I’m just saying it serves a social function. Like gossip.”
He squints. “Gossip?”
“Well, yeah. It’s trading valuable information. Keeping up with other people’s lives gives you competitive social advantages.”
He stares at her, and if she were capable of normal human emotions, she might actually be self-conscious.
“Whatever,” she mutters. “We should just get this assignment over with.”
He grins. “No, keep going. This is like National Geographic… but, like, way hotter.”
Her mouth twitches before she can stop it. “Shut up, idiot.”
He doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. He keeps talking and somehow she keeps answering.
An hour passes like that. None of it productive. All of it his fault.
Which means they have to meet again. Twice.
“Regina, why is that weird punk kid waving at you?” Gretchen asks as they walk through the cafeteria toward their usual table.
Rodrick's sitting on a bench, grinning and waving with the blind confidence of someone who thought this was going well.
“He’s my English partner,” Regina said, tilting her head slightly. “I think he has some kind of learning disability or something.”
Gretchen gasped softly, touched. “Oh my God, Regina, you’re so charitable for helping the poor guy.”
Beside her, Karen perked up and enthusiastically waved back, smiling like she’d just made a new friend.
Rodrick has such inspiring thoughts during History class.
Like his plan to get the most Mom Bucks for the least effort (it involves blackmailing Greg) or his idea for a new song (it involves a diaper pun).
But mostly, he thinks about Regina George.
He thinks she’s like if Julius Caesar had amazing tits.
So it's fitting, really, that he finally defeats her in March.
His parents go out of town for the weekend, which is kind of a tactical error on their part.
Within hours, word spreads. Not because he’s cool or anything, but because this town’s so small that boredom counts as marketing. There’s nowhere else to go, nothing else to do, and a Heffley house without adult supervision is as good an excuse as any.
By eight p.m., the house is full. Juniors, seniors, a few people he’s never even seen before.
By nine, someone’s already spilled an entire bowl of Doritos on the floor. Rodrick considers this a success.
He’s halfway through explaining the deep artistic meaning behind one of Löded Diper’s songs when he sees her.
Regina George.
In his house.
She looks like she walked out of a magazine and accidentally into his living room. Her boyfriend’s got a beefy arm around her, looking around like a lost golden retriever. His name is something stupid like Aiden. Or Ethan.
Rodrick's nothing if not a good host.
“Well, if it isn’t the Queen Bee herself gracing my humble abode,” he says, giving her a mock curtsy. Then, to the boyfriend: “Aiden.” A simple nod.
“Actually, it’s Aaron,” the boyfriend says, with an easy smile. Fuck, he's a nice jock. Rodrick almost feels bad for mocking him. Almost.
“That’s great to hear, man!” Rodrick says, still looking at Regina.
She tries—and fails—to hide her amusement.
Rodrick feels a thrill go up his spine.
Aaron gets distracted by the beer pong table, which feels like divine intervention. Regina wanders, mostly to avoid watching him lose.
She is halfway through lifting a red cup of something disgusting-but-alcoholic to her mouth when she notices a kid filming the party with a vintage camcorder. He’s small and big-eyed.
He freezes when the camera reaches her.
“You’re way too pretty to be at my brother’s party,” he blurts, dead serious.
She tilts her head, more entertained than she’s been all night. “I agree, kid.”
He just stares, awestruck. When he doesn’t move, she adds, “You’re Rodrick’s little brother?”
“Yes.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you,” he says, genuinely touched.
When she looks up again, Rodrick’s across the room, with a horrified expression on his face, eyes darting between her and his brother. He keeps trying to get to her, but people keep stopping him, clapping him on the back, dragging him into drunken high-fives, shoving cups at him. He’s losing ground fast.
Regina decides to make it interesting.
“Listen, kid,” she says, lowering her voice conspiratorially, “I really need to make a phone call. Is there somewhere quiet in this house?”
Greg perks up. “Y-you can go to my room if you want.”
She laughs. “Nice try.”
He turns bright red. “Um — there’s the basement. It’s right through there.”
He points toward a door on their right. She thanks him sweetly, then heads that way. Before opening it, she glances back and finds Rodrick’s eyes again. He’s closer now, still fighting through the crowd.
She smirks, then disappears through the door.
By the time he reaches the door, she’s already disappeared downstairs.
The music is softer here, just a muffled thump through the floorboards. Regina’s standing right beside his drum kit under the flickering lightbulb. The sight hits him like a punch to the ribs.
“Hey.” It’s dumb, but it’s all he can get out.
She turns, perfectly composed. “I needed to make a phone call,” she lies.
“Sure.”
He leans against the wall, trying to look casual, failing completely. “You look different here.”
“Here?”
“In my basement. You know, where dreams go to die.”
She rolls her eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Thanks,” he says, like it’s a compliment.
There's a beat of silence. She doesn’t look away. He likes that about her. She always holds eye contact like every conversation’s a staring contest she intends to win.
He reaches past her, pretending to fix something on his drum kit, and the space between them shrinks.
“Your boyfriend’s looking for you,” he says, softly.
She doesn’t move. “Let him look.”
Something electric sparks in his chest. Reckless, but impossible to ignore.
Rodrick approaches her like one would a wild, dangerous animal.
He gets close enough that he can’t stop thinking, stupidly, about how thick and long her eyelashes are.
And he couldn’t prove it in court, but he’s pretty sure it’s her who tilts her chin just enough to make their mouths fall together effortlessly.
For a second, it’s soft, tempting, enough to ruin the rest of his life. But he’s not soft, and she’s definitely not soft, so he lets hunger take over. Mostly because he’s fairly certain he'll only get to do this once.
She grabs his shirt, nails biting through the fabric, and he presses her against the wall, one hand firm at her waist, pulling her closer. Regina kisses with the same ruthlessness she rules the school with, refusing to let him lead. His hand slides up, finding her throat, then higher, his thumb at her jaw, tilting her just enough to guide her. Sorry, darling, this is my kingdom.
When they break apart, they’re both breathing hard, eyes wide, pretending they’re fine.
Somewhere upstairs, someone cheers, but it feels misplaced, too loud.
Regina smooths her hair, voice even. “You should probably get back to your party.”
He laughs, a little breathless. “Yeah. Sure.”
She walks away first, heels clicking against the concrete, leaving him standing there, wrecked and grinning like an idiot.
And just like that, he’s done for.