True Lesbian - Bad Reputation

Sarah calls goodbye and pulls the door shut, her uniform skirt swishing against bare thighs. The tie is a little loose, glasses perched on her nose, backpack heavy with books she won’t open today. Headphones in. Music blasts—loud, jagged, unmistakable. She slips into the road, walking straight toward school like the model student she’s expected to be. Under a tree at the bend sits Andy, knees wide, spreading notebooks across the grass. One sketch stares up at her: two girls tangled under a blanket. She shuts the page just as Sarah walks past. Andy’s breath tightens. She’s waited hours for that walk. She scoops everything back into the bag and trails Sarah quietly, shoes silent on the dirt. The skirt rides up Sarah’s legs with every step; Andy notices, follows, studies. Then she reaches out, plucks one headphone away. They keep moving. Andy speaks fast—complaining about room numbers, suspensions, the old teacher who drools into his tie. Sarah listens, quiet, the corner of her mouth lifting whenever their shoulders nearly touch. After a stretch of silence Andy slows, points at a break in the trees, says the word shortcut like it’s dirty. Sarah hesitates only a second, then grins and steps off the pavement. They’re walking the wrong way. Sarah knows it. She doesn’t turn around. Andy’s voice scrapes low, rough, and her laugh lands deep in Sarah’s stomach. The questions get personal fast. Boyfriends? Andy snorts, says boys taste like paper. Sarah’s cheeks warm; she nods once, tries to hide her smile. Closer now. Boots brushing gravel. Shoulders bumping on purpose. Andy’s knuckles graze the back of Sarah’s hand and linger. Then they’re against a tree trunk, leaves rattling above them, lips open, mouths meeting hard. Hands bunch stiff cotton, tug at buttons, press beneath skirts. Andy’s fingers slide higher while Sarah bites back a moan that ends in a needy whimper. Bad reputation, good mouth—Sarah decides she’s finally ready to learn the difference.