#starzula

Honestly, she is pretty pathetic if Star did say so—something of a trainwreck that she would very much love to look away from but can’t. It’s almost fascinating to watch Azula navigate any given classroom. More so to watch her try to function in the hallways or the cafeteria. 

The best part is that she thinks that she does it well. 

She doesn’t understand why people don’t want to sit with her at lunch, let alone why people find her insufferable to be around. 

At one point Star had been damn near convinced that the girl didn’t even realize that people were laughing at her. She certainly hadn’t shown it. 

At least she hadn’t shown it for the longest time. 

Star supposes that she should have guessed that Azula was well aware that people made fun of her. That they like to talk about her behind her back—particularly TyLee’s friends on the cheer squad. She’s a clever girl, of course she is smart enough to know when people are taking jabs at her. 

She was bound to break and some sick part of Star was looking forward to seeing it happen. In spite of the insults and rumors being thrown her way, she has always been aggravatingly arrogant. She has this air about her, this superiority complex that is most certainly rooted in her family’s riches. The riches that buy her the fancy, name brand clothes that she dresses herself in; those pretty plaid skirts and those silk button down blouses. Sometimes Star wonders if she thinks that she is going to be attending a business meeting in some office rather than a mundane and pointless lecture in a high school classroom. 

Any other student would take an instant win in the popularity department wearing makeup the way she does on a face that is already pretty. Any other student would climb the social ladder with a father to buy them the newest gadgets. The ones that Azula definitely has but doesn’t dare bring into the classroom because she actually likes learning. Equally, she enjoys tattling on Star when she notices her texting under the desk.

She reprimands people for snacking in class and points out when teachers forget to collect homework or give pop quizzes. She, with her nose stuck up and chin held high and haughty, tells people to keep quiet and get to studying when the teacher leaves the classroom for a minute. 

All in all she is unbearable and it is quite funny to watch people let her know that, even if she is unphased.

Was unphased. 

 It is Chan, Ruon, and a few of Star’s fellow cheerleaders. They have been lingering for some time, waiting for Azula to get to her locker and Star has been watching from the water fountain that she is longer invested in. 

Azula reaches her locker and Chan moves in first. As soon as she opens it, he slams it shut on her. “You don’t need your books. You raise your hand so much that the teachers just ignore your annoying ass.” 

She inhales through her nose with a look of exasperation. A look that causes the gaggle of cheerleaders to take a step back. Even Ruon flinches. And it occurs to Star that this is one of, if not, the very first time that anyone has ever brought the insults directly to Azula’s face. 

“Actually it takes a few points off of the participation percentage of the grading rubric for every time a book is forgotten.” 

Star’s face flushes on her behalf.

“And what then? Your daddy will beat the fuck out of you like he does your loser brother? Did he drop out yet?” Chan pauses. “He’s cooler than you though; he cuts class to have a smoke in the boy’s room.” 

Azula sniffs. “He’s throwing his life away. I will have to speak to him about that before he ends up like you—brainless, useless, too stupid to function. Perhaps if you brought your books to class you wouldn’t have less brain cells than the ounces of protein that you put in one of your workout shakes.” She taps her pointer upon her chin. “Honestly, at this point, your mind is so starved that you might be able to acquire more brain cells from just  touching a book.”  

Chan’s lip twitches. “By the way, your new glasses suit you. They make you look like professor Hama!” 

“You look prettier without them.” Ruon declares.

“Which is bad news for you because you aren’t pretty without them.” 

“That’s not what you said when you asked me for a date.”

“In junior high school.” Can shrugs. “Some people get more attractive when they hit puberty…”

Ruon jabs at himself and gestures to the cheerleaders. 

“Some people get less attractive. Some people still have fat, baby cheeks.”  

The cheerleaders snicker. 

Azula shoves him aside and opens her locker, slapping his arm away when he goes to shut it again. “Some people don’t need to use steroids to win wrestling matches. And Sokka still beats you every time.” 

“Fuck off!” He gives the locker a solid kick. 

“Steroids do give people tempers.” 

Even from a distance, Star can see the vein bulging in his head as Ruon pulls him back with a, “we should probably head to practice if we don’t want to hear coach Zhao get on one of his rants.” 

And that is that. 

Star had seen the show and she was ready to begin her walk home. It had been a pretty good one today, lots of witty zingers from both sides. She’ll have something to gossip with her friends about over lunch. 

But Azula doesn’t leave. She stares into her locker for the longest time, until the hallway is clear except for the two of them. Star backs into the water fountain alcove and watches Azula shut her locker, drop her backpack, and slide to the floor, knees drawn up to her chest. 

Star isn’t sure which of the comments had coaxed her to finally cry. If she had to guess it was either that final comment about her baby face or the one about her father. Maybe the whole thing had done her in—a steady build up of tears just waiting to come forward after Chan and his posse left. 

Star groans to herself. 

She finds her legs carrying her over to Azula before she can stop them. She can’t say why they had started moving to begin with. By the time that she decides that she would very much rather stick to talking behind the girl’s back like everyone else, she is already standing in front of Azula who offers a very silent curse. 

“What do you want? Let me guess, you think that you’re clever and that you can outdo Chan?” She roughly swats the tears from her face. “At least he has it in him to say things to my face. What do you do? I know what you say about me…” She drops into a mumble.  

Star sees hatred in her eyes. A roaring fire. She almost turns around with a gruff, ‘nevermind’. Instead she lifts her hands. “I was actually going to ask you if you were okay.”

“Why would you do that?”

Star shrugs. “I’m tired of the secondhand embarrassment that I get every time you talk.” 

“That can easily be solved by minding your own business. Do you know what happens when a fly lingers on the wall for too long?”

“I’m not on the wall anymore.” Star points out. 

“Yes.” Azula nods. “You’ve decided, instead, to buzz around me. I have good aim.” 

“What if I told you that I want to help you?” Of course, this may well backfire and she is only tanking her own social standing. 

“What if I told you that I’m not interested in being your project? I don’t want a ridiculous wardrobe change and a ridiculous makeover. And I’m allergic to contact lenses.” 

“The glasses do suit you.” 

“Right, because I remind you of Hama or a librarian or whatever figure that best sucks the joy out of situations.”

“Because they’re kind of cute.” Star replies. “They complete the whole sophisticated look that you’re going for.” She studies Azula’s face for any sign of lightening up. It doesn’t even go from dark to dim. “For what it’s worth, I always liked your soft face, it’s cute.”

And cuter still with that little half pout she responds with. The way that she furrows her brows. “Then what? You want me to go to trashy parties and get drunk when I could be at home preparing for my future. Unlike half of the people here, I have goals and aspirations…”

“You don’t have to get drunk.” 

“I don’t have to attend stupid parties that I am pointedly excluded from anyhow.” 

“I’ve just invited you.” 

“You aren’t worried that I’m going to show up and then call the cops?” She folds her arms across her chest. 

“I’ll take that risk.”

“I won’t. I don’t do parties. The music is vulgar and tactless and the food is junk and the company is worse still.” 

“Alright, then you pick the activity.” Just being seen with her has got to count for something. At least Star hopes that her own stellar reputation will extend social points to Azula based on proximity alone. “Oh! How about this!? My mother owns a spa and makes her own skincare and makeup products. Would you like to have a spa day?” She pauses and adds. “After you finish studying or whatever.”

Azula seems to consider. She presses her lips into a thin line and narrows her eyes harder than she does when looking at one of her textbooks. “Fine. But I am not your pity project.” 

“How does ‘friend’ sound? You won’t be my project, you’ll be my friend.”

“Let’s see how this spa day goes.” 

And Star has to laugh. Azula has more audacity than anyone Star has ever met. Even as she wipes the last few tears away with the back of her sleeve. Even when she gives a little sniffle. She still stands tall, with her head held high. 

She has fight, she has spunk. Maybe that’s why Star found herself wandering up to her. “It will go well. We are going to be good friends.” And from there, who knows. 

“You do realize that…”

“You might drop me to the bottom of the social ladder instead of me helping you climb it?” She quirks a brow. “Well somebody has to shake the status quo, somehow.” Star swears that she catches a flicker of a smirk, a flash of amusement in Azula’s eyes.