𓆦𝚂𝚑𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚁𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚐𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𓆦

Dakota blended into the sea of students shuffling through the school's tiled hallways, clutching his sketchbook to his chest like a shield. He wasn't late, but he wasn't early either—just enough to avoid the loudest rush. The familiar hum of fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, and the chatter of students bounced off the walls.

Navigating through the crowd was a daily trial, but Dakota managed, keeping his head down and hoping no one noticed him. He was used to the looks—the ones that lingered a second too long, questioning or mocking. He wasn't sure which was worse.

As he approached his locker, he was startled to find someone leaning against the neighboring one. Rodrick Heffley, in all his disheveled glory, was half-heartedly scrolling through his phone, his bag slung lazily over one shoulder. Dakota froze for a moment, unsure if he should proceed or retreat. Before he could decide, Rodrick glanced up, his dark eyes meeting Dakota's.

"Hey, Baby," Rodrick greeted, his voice casual but carrying a teasing edge. Dakota's cheeks flushed at the nickname, though he knew it wasn't meant kindly. He hated how the name had stuck.

"Hi," Dakota murmured, barely above a whisper, fumbling with the combination on his locker. His fingers trembled slightly, and he willed them to steady.

"You're in luck," Rodrick said, shoving his phone into his pocket. "My bandmate, Drew, is throwing a party this weekend. You should come."

The words hung in the air, so casual and unexpected that Dakota almost thought he'd misheard. He paused mid-motion, blinking at Rodrick. "Me?"

Rodrick raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Yeah, you. Who else am I talking to?" He leaned in slightly, mock-serious.

Dakota's cheeks burned brighter. "I-I don't think that's a good idea," he stammered, shaking his head.

"Why not?" Rodrick asked, tilting his head. "You don't like parties? Or is it the loud music?"

Dakota hesitated. He wanted to say it wasn't his scene, that he wasn't the kind of person who got invited to parties, let alone ones thrown by guys like Rodrick's friends. But instead, he said, "I just...don't think I'd fit in."

Rodrick scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. "That's crap. You think *I* fit in? Trust me, you'll survive. Besides," he added, his tone light but teasing, "it's not like you've got anything better to do, right?"

Dakota frowned slightly, unsure if Rodrick meant to insult him or if it was just his careless way of speaking. He shifted his weight uncomfortably, glancing down at the floor.

"Come on," Rodrick pressed, his smirk softening into something almost genuine. "You should let loose a little. And Drew's house is massive—you could probably hide in a closet if it gets too wild."

Dakota bit his lip, debating. Aimee's words from the weekend echoed in his mind: You deserve to be somewhere that lets you be yourself. Maybe this wasn't quite what she'd meant, but it felt like an opportunity—however terrifying it might be.

"I'll...think about it," Dakota finally said, his voice barely audible.

Rodrick grinned, clapping him on the shoulder with surprising gentleness. "That's the spirit, Baby." He slung his bag more securely over his shoulder and started to walk away, throwing a lazy wave over his shoulder. "See you there!"

---

The rest of the day passed in a haze. Dakota couldn't stop thinking about the conversation—or the invitation. It didn't make sense. Rodrick had barely spoken to him before last week, and now he was acting like they were...friends?

"Rodrick Heffley invited you to a party?" Aimee repeated incredulously when Dakota told her at lunch. Her fork hovered mid-air, a piece of lettuce dangling precariously.

"I know," Dakota said, shrugging. "I don't get it either."

"What did you say?" she asked, leaning forward, her eyes wide with curiosity.

"I said I'd think about it," Dakota admitted, picking at the edge of his sandwich wrapper.

Aimee let out a low whistle, shaking her head. "I mean, it's kind of cool, I guess? But also, are you sure this is a good idea? I've been to one of Rodrick's parties before—they're...chaotic."

"That's an understatement," said a voice from behind them. Both Dakota and Aimee turned to see Angie, one of their classmates, sliding into the empty seat at their table. "Rodrick's parties are legendary for all the wrong reasons. People get wasted, stuff gets broken, and sometimes the cops show up."

"Great," Dakota muttered, his anxiety climbing.

"Hey, don't listen to her," Aimee said, nudging him lightly. "It's not like you have to do anything crazy. You could just go for a little while, see what it's like, and leave if it's too much. Besides," she added with a sly grin, "Rodrick clearly wants you there. That's gotta count for something."

Dakota wasn't so sure, but he nodded anyway, letting the conversation drift to safer topics.

---

By the time Friday rolled around, Dakota still hadn't made up his mind. The thought of going filled him with equal parts dread and excitement. He spent most of the day avoiding Rodrick, not wanting to admit that he hadn't decided yet.

But when the final bell rang and he was gathering his things, Rodrick appeared out of nowhere, leaning against the doorframe of Dakota's art class.

"Hey, Baby," Rodrick drawled, grinning. "You ready for tomorrow?"

Dakota froze, his heart pounding. "I—uh..."

Rodrick raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. "Don't tell me you're chickening out. I already told Drew you're coming."

"You did?" Dakota asked, his voice rising slightly in panic.

"Relax," Rodrick said, chuckling. "It's not a big deal. Just show up, have a good time, and if anyone gives you crap, I'll take care of it."

Dakota blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected reassurance. "You...would?"

"Of course," Rodrick said, clapping him on the back. "You're practically one of us now, Baby. See you tomorrow."

As Rodrick sauntered off, Dakota stood there, feeling more confused than ever. Practically one of us? The words repeated in his head, filling him with a strange mixture of hope and fear.

---

The rest of the evening felt like a blur for Dakota, his thoughts spiraling as he lay on his bed. The faint hum of his desk lamp was the only noise in his otherwise silent room. His sketchbook sat open next to him, untouched, a blank page staring back at him. Normally, he'd fill it with abstract shapes or delicate figures—his escape from everything. But tonight, his mind was too noisy.

Rodrick's words echoed in his head. You're practically one of us now.

The idea seemed so foreign, so impossible, that Dakota almost laughed aloud. He wasn't "one of them." He wasn't one of anyone, really. Not the girls his parents wanted him to fit in with, not the boys he longed to belong to. He existed in the in-between, caught in a space so isolating it sometimes felt like the whole world had forgotten him.

But Rodrick hadn't.

Why does he care? Dakota thought for the hundredth time, chewing on his bottom lip. Rodrick wasn't exactly the type to hand out invitations out of pity. If anything, Dakota imagined Rodrick thrived on chaos and attention, things Dakota actively avoided. So why was Rodrick being so...insistent?

He glanced at the clock on his nightstand. 10:47 p.m. He needed to sleep if he had any hope of functioning tomorrow, but his mind wouldn't let him.

---

The next morning, Dakota's nerves hadn't settled. He spent the entirety of breakfast pushing his scrambled eggs around his plate, his parents' conversation buzzing in the background like static. His father was grumbling about some disagreement at the church committee meeting, while his mother nodded along, her eyes darting to Dakota's untouched plate every so often.

"Manon," his father barked suddenly, making Dakota flinch. "Quit playing with your food and eat."

"I'm not hungry," Dakota said quietly, his voice barely audible.

"You're always not hungry," his father snapped, his tone dripping with irritation. "You're already thin as a rail. People are going to think we don't feed you."

"I'll eat later," Dakota mumbled, standing up and grabbing his plate.

"Sit back down," his father ordered, his voice hard. "You're not leaving until I see you eat something."

Dakota froze, his grip tightening on the plate. He hated this—hated how his father used every opportunity to exert control, to remind Dakota of his place in the family. But defiance only made things worse. Slowly, he sank back into his seat and forced a few bites down, his stomach churning with every swallow.

Satisfied, his father returned to his conversation with Dakota's mother, as though nothing had happened. Dakota kept his head down, focusing on his food until he was finally excused.

---

At school, the day dragged on like molasses. Dakota avoided Rodrick as best he could, unsure of what he'd say if Rodrick pressed him again about the party. But Rodrick was persistent. By lunch, Dakota found himself cornered in the hallway near the art room.

"There you are," Rodrick said, grinning as he sauntered over. He had that effortless confidence about him, like he owned the space around him. "Thought you were gonna ditch me or something."

"I wasn't," Dakota said quickly, hugging his sketchbook closer to his chest.

Rodrick tilted his head, studying Dakota with an intensity that made him squirm. "You're still coming tonight, right?"

Dakota hesitated. "I—I don't know if I can."

Rodrick's grin faltered, replaced by a look of mild annoyance. "What do you mean you don't know? It's not that complicated, Baby. You show up, you hang out, you leave whenever you want. Easy."

"It's not that simple," Dakota said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Sure it is," Rodrick insisted, leaning against the wall. "Look, I know you're not exactly the 'party' type, but trust me, it's gonna be fun. And if it sucks, you can blame me."

Dakota blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected offer. "Why...why do you even want me to come?" he asked, his voice trembling slightly.

Rodrick's smirk returned, but this time it seemed softer, less teasing. "I dunno. You're interesting."

"Interesting?" Dakota repeated, feeling his cheeks heat up.

"Yeah," Rodrick said with a shrug. "You're quiet, but you've got that whole mysterious vibe going on. People like you usually have the best stories—when you get 'em to talk, anyway."

Dakota didn't know how to respond to that. No one had ever called him interesting before. Awkward? Sure. Weird? All the time. But interesting? That was new.

"Just think about it," Rodrick said, clapping him lightly on the shoulder. "And don't overthink it. It's just a party, Baby."

With that, Rodrick turned and walked away, leaving Dakota standing there, his thoughts spinning. For the first time in years, he felt a spark of something he couldn't quite name—hope, maybe, or curiosity. Whatever it was, it was enough to make him consider taking a risk.

---

Dakota shuffled through his wardrobe, his hands trembling slightly. He hated this feeling—the overwhelming anxiety that came with choosing what to wear. Everything in his closet screamed someone he wasn't, a wardrobe carefully curated by his mother to fit her image of a perfect, obedient daughter. But tonight, he wanted something different, something that felt right. 

Tucked in the back of his closet, barely used, was a sweater Aimee had given him last Christmas. It was soft, muted forest green, oversized enough to feel like a comforting hug. She'd also given him a pair of slightly baggy jeans, the kind he'd always admired on boys at school but never dared to buy himself. Aimee had grinned when she handed them over, saying, "I know you'll look like you in these, Kota." 

Dakota ran his fingers over the fabric of the sweater, his heart thudding in his chest. Tonight was the night to try. Pulling the sweater over his head, he adjusted it so it sat comfortably on his frame. The baggy jeans followed, sitting just loose enough to hide his curves without feeling like a costume. When he looked in the mirror, he almost didn't recognize himself. For once, he looked closer to who he wanted to be. 

With a deep breath, he left his room and padded softly into the kitchen, where his parents sat in their usual spots. His mother was organizing papers from church, her lips pursed in concentration, while his father nursed his second—or maybe third—beer of the evening. The tension in the air was already palpable, but Dakota pressed on. 

"Um... Mom? Dad?" His voice wavered, but he kept going. "I wanted to let you know—I'm going out tonight." 

His father's head snapped up, eyes narrowing. "Out? Where?" 

"Just... a friend's place," Dakota said cautiously, his hands twisting nervously in the hem of his sweater. 

"A friend's place?" his father repeated, the skepticism dripping from his tone. "And who is this 'friend'?" 

Dakota hesitated, knowing any mention of Rodrick would only make things worse. "Someone from school." 

"And you're planning to go dressed like that?" His mother's voice cut through the room like a knife, her gaze fixating on his clothes. 

Dakota glanced down at himself, his cheeks flushing. "Yes," he said softly. 

His mother clicked her tongue disapprovingly. "Manon, you look... unkempt. That sweater is too big, and those jeans—are you trying to look like a boy?" 

"Maybe she is," his father muttered, taking a swig of his beer. "Wouldn't surprise me. She's been acting strange for years." 

"I'm not trying to look like anything," Dakota said quickly, his voice rising in panic. "I just... I just want to be comfortable." 

"Comfortable," his father scoffed. "You mean lazy. You're going to embarrass this family showing up somewhere looking like that. People will think we don't take care of you." 

His mother sighed, shaking her head. "Why don't you wear that nice dress we got you for Easter last year? You looked so pretty in it." 

"I'm not wearing a dress," Dakota said firmly, his fists clenching at his sides. 

His father slammed his beer bottle down on the table, making Dakota jump. "Watch your tone, young lady. You don't tell us what you're going to wear. You'll dress the way we say, or you're not going anywhere." 

Tears pricked at Dakota's eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He took a shaky breath, his chest tightening as the familiar feeling of helplessness washed over him. "I'm not changing," he said quietly, his voice trembling but resolute. 

His father stood, towering over him. "What did you just say to me?" 

"Don't," his mother interjected, placing a hand on his father's arm. "It's not worth it. Let her go. She'll learn soon enough when people start talking." 

His father glared at Dakota for a long, tense moment before backing down with a muttered curse. "Fine. Go. But don't think for a second this conversation is over." 

Dakota didn't wait for him to change his mind. He turned and hurried back to his room, his heart pounding as he grabbed his bag and slipped out the door. His parents' voices faded behind him, replaced by the cool night air and the steady thrum of his own heartbeat. 

For the first time in a long time, he felt a flicker of freedom. It was small, fragile, but it was enough to keep him moving forward. 

---

When he arrived at the party, the noise and energy hit him like a wave. Music blared from the house, and people spilled out onto the front lawn, laughing and talking. Dakota hesitated at the edge of the driveway, suddenly feeling out of place. 

----

A/n: YAY! SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS! EVERYBODYYYYY!!!