This was written for the FFAFFA at Ask the Squishykins. Prompts: Jonathan Crane and the Violent Dance; Sherry Squires; Jonathan Crane tries to feel good about himself with a mirror.

Triggers will be noted in the chapters in which they occur. Potentially spoilery trigger warnings will be noted at the end of the chapter.

Potential triggers in this chapter include mentions of racism, bullying, sexist high school dudes, and homophobia.

A note about the homophobic slur used in this chapter: It's super goddamn unacceptable and should never be used. But I feel that it is appropriate to the situation. Teenagers are awful.

Jonathan Crane first met Sherry Squires at the homecoming dance at the end of September his first year of high school. Sherry, like half of the freshman class at Arlen High, had gone to Spook Hill Elementary and Alexander Stephens Junior High, while Jonathan had been stuck in the hellhole that was Arlen Public School. But there was only one high school serving both towns, so his class size had doubled, which...honestly, didn't really change anything for him. Except that, for the first time in his life, a pretty girl had caught his interest.

There were other pretty girls in his class, of course. But they all knew him. They had all insulted him at some time or another, behind his back or, more often, to his face. They had all been there for every humiliating thing that had ever happened to them. Half of them had been involved in one incident or another.

But Sherry was different. Sherry was new.

He had been aware of her almost since the beginning of the year. She was on the pep squad, and in the drama club, and even though she was a stranger to half the ninth grade, her election to the homecoming court had been a landslide victory.

It was her smile, Jonathan thought, that dazzling, movie-star grin that made you feel so special when she blasted you with it.

Sherry had smiled at him once, at the first pep rally of the year. Jonathan had been sitting in the front row of the bleachers, a strategic location because it meant that not only could he be among the first to leave when all the claptrap was concluded, but he also wouldn't have too far to fall if someone shoved him on his way out. It also meant that he had a perfect view of the football team, the pep squad, and the cheerleaders, but none of that had crossed his mind at all. He'd been trying to focus on Algebra, because he hadn't yet dared to tell his granny that he'd made a C on the first test, and he'd been hoping he could bring his grade up to something more respectable before she found out. But, his concentration shot from Dylan's attempts to jab him in the kidneys with a pencil, Jonathan had looked up just in time to see a lovely brunette run out in front of the other girls, a baton spinning in her hand.

The baton had slipped through her fingers, and Jonathan had felt a moment of pity for the clumsy girl who had probably only been allowed to perform as part of some cruel joke at her expense. But instead of letting it clatter to the floor, she'd spun around, bending at the waist and tucking her arms in tight to increase her momentum, and snatched it out of the air just inches from the ground. She'd tossed it up in the air, spinning around again, and caught it above her head.

He'd stared, fascinated, as she'd twirled and tossed and spun, the other girls just making a pretty backdrop for the clear star of the show. It had been like magic, even though intellectually he'd known that the baton was nothing more than a kind of lever, with her fingers as the fulcrum providing angular momentum through carefully applied torque. It still required phenomenal coordination and awareness of her center of gravity. Jonathan never woud have been able to do it.

At the end of the routine, she'd flung the baton to the ground, let it bounce back up into her hand, and swept a dramatic bow to her audience. Then, as if sensing his admiration (but no, that was silly, there was no scientific evidence of extrasensory perception) she'd tipped her head back and looked right at him. And smiled.

He'd loved her ever since.

Now she was standing just outside the crush in the school gym, looking ethereal in a white party dress, with a homecoming princess tiara perched, slightly off center, atop the complicated swirls of her hair.

Jonathan hadn't seen her accept the crown. He had spent the evening working as a parking attendant for the game, which was the only reason he'd been able to afford a ticket to the dance. But he'd known she was going to win.

Now, standing in the corner in a secondhand suit that he'd spent hours sprucing up with supplies filched from Granny's sewing kit (in the dim light, you could hardly see the patches) he wanted to go over and congratulate her. He could ask her to dance-he'd been practicing, alone in the root cellar, with dance steps he'd learned from a book. She would say yes, of course, because she was not like other girls. They would talk while they danced, and they would find out that they had so much in common that it just made sense for them to be together. She would admire his intellect, and she would be the only one to get his sense of humor, and...

His fantasy extended no farther than that. He coudln't imagine what it would be like to have a girlfriend.

Sherry wasn't dating anyone, as far as he knew. That made things easier. Most of the couples were out on the dance floor together, or else they had snuck out to the parking lot or behind the bleachers to paw at each other like raccoons in heat. But Sherry was talking to some of the drama girls, two from Spook Hill and one from Arlen. Jenny, Megan, and Miranda.

Megan didn't seem like the kind of girl who would be friends with someone like Sherry. She was a squat, carrotty-redhead with oversized glasses and a nose more prominent even than Jonathan's. He only knew her because she was in his English class, and kept awkwardly trying to shoehorn in discussions of Measure for Measure instead of the assigned play, Romeo and Juliet.

Jenny fit in better. She was long-legged and stunning, and supposedly spent five hours a day studying with a professional ballet company in Atlanta. She was going out with Bo or Beau-there were six guys with that name in their grade alone, and Jonathan could never keep straight who spelled it which way. This Bo was on the football team, and their dating had caused a minor scandal because, apparently, miscegenation was still taboo in Georgia.

And then there was Miranda. She was like a human Darci doll, right down to the flip in her perfect golden-blonde hair. She was the kind of girl who could have gotten by on looks alone, but, frustratingly, she was also going to be his closest competition for valedictorian. And she didn't deserve that honor. The grades, yes. Even Jonathan couldn't deny that she'd worked hard to maintain her grade point average. But everyone knew it was Miranda's fault that Jewish girl had to transfer to private school in seventh grade, and it was Miranda who had started the rumor that Ashley Wyatt was pregnant when they'd been fighting for the lead in the Christmas pageant. There was nothing Miranda wouldn't do to make herself look good, and she did not deserve to be held up as the best Arlen had to offer.

Jonathan sincerely hoped that Sherry was just spending time with Miranda because she hadn't yet learned what kind of person she really was.

Jonathan walked up to the girls during a lull in their conversation, tugging self-consciously on his shirtsleeves, which were just a litle too short. Miranda looked at him the way she always did, as if he were something stuck to the bottom of her shoe and she couldn't quite decide what she'd stepped in. He ignored her. Megan gave him a cordial nod, Jenny a puzzled but not hostile frown, Sherry a look of polite attentiveness. He looked at all three with what he hoped was a pleasant smile. Sherry looked...disturbed.

"I just wanted to-congratulate you-you look-very-regal." He barely managed to get the words out, his mouth suddenly dry. Sherry's eyebrows were slowly creeping toward her hairline. Jenny stifled a laugh.

"Do I know you?" Sherry asked, with exaggerated slowness, as if she thought he were some kind of halfwit. Jonathan straightned, surreptitiously wiping his damp palms on the sides of his pants.

"I'm Jonathan. I'm in your English class. And Algebra. And Social Studies."

Miranda didn't bother to stifle her giggles. Jonathan shot her a glare, which only made her laugh harder. Jenny snickered. Megan coughed the way people did when they were trying to cover their amusement.

Sherry smiled. It was not her movie star smile, but his heartrate picked up just the same.

"Jonathan...did you want something?"

"I, um..." He should say something to her. He had to say something, or she was going to think there was something seriously wrong with him.

"Hey." Jonathan flinched at the sound of the familiar male voice. "What are you doing with my girl?"

Two very large forms flanked Jonathan, to the girls' obvious pleasure. On his left was Dylan, who had been getting away with stuffing Jonathan into lockers since the third grade. On his right, Bo, who he had never even met before, although of course everyone knew who he was. He was on the varsity football team, which was apparetly an impressive accomplishment for a freshman.

"I wasn't aware that women were considered personal property," Jonathan said, trying not to flinch again as they both pressed in closer. Dylan clenched his hand into a fist, which was his response pretty much any time Jonathan used a word with more than two syllables.

"Is this guy bothering you ladies?" asked Bo. He had an affable-sounding voice, like a politician or a used car salesman. Sherry seemed to like it. She gave him her special smile, which prompted Jenny to show off her dimples and flutter her long eyelashes. Jonathan glanced at Miranda, but she only had eyes for Dylan. At least she was loyal.

"Get this creep away from us," she said sweetly.

Dylan's hand gripped Jonathan's upper arm, hard enough to bruise. If he was lucky, that would be the worst of it.

He was never that lucky.

"I told you never to look at my girl," Dylan growled. He didn't sound nearly as amiable as Bo, but Jonathan knew he could be perfectly charming around authority figures-it was how he maintained his squeaky-clean reputation-so there was no use looking for help.

"I wasn't looking at your girl," said Jonathan, with a derisive glance at Miranda. She looked like she wanted to punch him, or at least have Dylan do it for her.

"Why not? You saying you don't like the way she looks? Are you insulting my girlfriend?"

They had been through this before. Jonathan was supposed to backpedal and say that Miranda was gorgeous, thus proving that he had been looking at her. Then Dylan would have an excuse to shove his head in a toilet.

He might as well skip to the end.

"What's to look at?" He deliberately looked Miranda up and down, then shrugged as if utterly bored.

"Fucking faggot!" Dylan nearly yanked his arm out of its socket as he swung him around toward the door. A second later, Bo caught up and grabbed him by the other arm. He was strong, but his grip was indifferent. He was only getting involved to impress the girls.

A fresh burst of giggles broke out as Bo and Dylan dragged Jonathan away.

"Did you see what he was wearing? Who would actually leave the house looking like that?"

"That's why we call him the Scarecrow."

"Scarecrow? He looks like a serial killer."

Jonathan stopped trying to resist and simply let his feet slide over the vinyl floor. They didn't care if he walked or not, anyway.