1.) Nica
She moves around some in her life, and she likes it. Which really sucks. Watching the other kids, she sometimes wishes she has a childhood best friend with whom she could do everything. But things are better this way. Whenever she screws up someplace, she can always move somewhere else.
Her parents had named her Veronica Sawyer, a cringely arranged method of identification which she absolutely despises. She prefers Nica, just Nica please and thank you, and maybe a semi-desperate S. for intimidation, standing for Slytherin, stuck to the back if there was a need.
Nica has been stuck in the Silicon Valley for ages, longer than anywhere else. She's sixteen years old, desperate for college, with good grades and a very forgettable nature. She passes through people's memories like a summer breeze, like the shadow of a tree, there and then gone, unremarkable. Her father seems to have been left behind in her past somewhere. She pretends he died; it makes it better than admitting that he chose to leave her, ten years old and crying, driving into the world and to a better family, the lying cheat.
Her mother, she speaks of not much. She doesn't like to. The old woman has abusive tendencies and fluctuates between seventy and a hundred percent likelihoods of beating and screaming at Nica, which means her only reprise is at school and a total of about an hour a week at home.
She likes to daydream. To believe in romance. But she's too logical to ever think it will come to her. She builds a solid, icy mask on her face and a diamond wall around her heart. She's convinced the people around her that she is aro and ace. She prefers it that way. If she ever crushes, she pushes the feelings away; if anyone ever approaches her first, she pushes them away, too: cruelly and completely misunderstandably.
Standing in the hallway at school, pondering all this as she scribbles in her diary, a looming shadow makes Nica slam her diary shut.
"Hey Veronica, Heather C. says haul backside to the caf. She's having an unstable queen bee moment." Heather McNamara stands before her, offering a friendly smile. Her blindingly yellow uniform gives Nica an instant headache. Who needs a suit and skirt anymore, anyways?
"Coming." Nica rolls her eyes, tosses her stuff back into the locker, and strides off, following Heather's trail. "Honestly, that girl." As the chilled September breeze sweeps through the air, she zips up her blue jacket and picks up her pace to a jog, black jeans chafing gently against her leg cuts.
"Wait up! Gosh, Veronica, who runs in this world?" Heather M. bounds gracefully alongside, shaking loose her dark curls.
Heather Duke joins them on the way in, lip gloss in hand. She gasps to see Nica. "Veronica! You're not even wearing makeup! You can't just walk in like that!"
"Watch me." Nica scans the cafeteria once. She rarely comes in here, preferring to sit with her self-established International No Friends Friend Club behind a cement wall, but for the Heathers, she makes exceptions. She was the new girl once, but she was an intelligent new girl, and for her "homework help" efforts, she's established a sort of business relationship with the three by far most popular girls at school. Her only problem with them is that they're popular.
Heather Chandler sees her and sighs in relief, sashaying forward.
"Make it fast, Heather." Nica gets out a pen and points it at the girl. "You have a brain, but dragging me in here demonstrates a severe lack of brain cells."
"Shut up, darling, and rejoice. We have a new kid!" Chandler points a manicured nail across the cafeteria, singling out a single victim.
Nica cocks her head as her eyes takes him in. Alone in a trench coat, black shirt and jeans, his hair gelled up but collapsing on one side over his eye, he leans against the wall, a paperback novel in hand. But his eyes, glinting black in the fluorescent lighting, are aware and everywhere, also scanning the room.
"What do you say?" Chandler awaits anxiously, her upturned nose and sky blue eyes alight. "What are his weaknesses? Let's go give him a sense of Westerburg spirit!"
This happened only once before, but it has become Nica's job. Every new kid at Westerburg High gets a dose of Heather Chandler. They are usually pranked, and Nica, being a bit of an observant Sherlock Holmes at times, is somewhat employed to scan them and find out somethings. For example, the last kid had calluses on his fingertips from playing guitar, leading McNamara to deliver him a miniature toy guitar blaring stupid children's songs.
The new kid has a haunted look in his eyes. "His family," Nica says.
Chandler flicks back her hair. "What?"
"Leave him to me." Nica walks toward the figure. Satisfied, the Heathers huddle together to watch.
The kid lifts his head from the paperback as Nica stops before him. "You a Heather?"
"Only when employed. What about you?"
He chuckles low and sweeps an arm about himself. "What about me? New kid in town. What, you wanna pick a fight, darling?"
"Maybe. I'd hazard a guess your parents aren't all they're made out to be."
"Well, what's this? You tryna fight dirty with me?" He keeps his tone lighthearted, but the arrogant smirk has slipped out of place.
"Maybe, and maybe not." Nica jerks her head towards the Heathers. "Just demonstrating some Westerburg High spirit." She turns to stalk away, exiting the cafeteria and arriving at her normal meeting spot. "What's up, people?"
"We've got ten cheat sheets, two bottles of liquor, and fifty-seven bucks and twenty-four cents." Martha looks up and grins. People will say what they will, but Nica knows the way boys look at Martha's body, and she knows it too. She is beautiful, with golden locks and soft brown eyes; a daydreamer, a loyal henchman who tries too hard to please Nica.
"Martha Dunnstock, wipe that smile off your face."
"We can sell the liquor, Nica!"
"Nope, it's mine." Ajax snatches the bottles, sure to sell them at some party.
"Not so fast, Wonderboy." Nica gives his knees a solid kick, catching the bottles. "Why do y'all insist on this black market stuff? You're hopeless. Give it all to that homeless man in Rechster Street after school. He's the only honest hobo alive. Clean as a sterilized needle. Doesn't do drugs or anything."
"Oh, come on, Nica, where's the fun in that?" Nica turns to find New Kid next to her, eyes alit with humor. This close, she can see that they are solidly silver.
"You've learned my name, have you? I don't think I caught yours."
"Didn't throw it." New Kid frowns, taking the liquor from her. "You've clearly got a soul, you just gotta work harder at keeping it dirty." Laughing, he pops a lid with his dog tag and hoists it in the air. "Cheers! To dirtying Nica's soul!" he exclaims, swigging deeply.
"Oh, stop it, you moron."
"One day, Nica, the world won't be as good as it is now. You better start learning how to protect yourself, darling." The new kid walks away, trench coat billowing in the wind, bottle in hand.