Tate

I watch as their car pulls into the driveway next door, followed closely by a moving van. A woman and a man get out of the front and someone else gets out of the back. I crane my neck and see that it's a girl. She looks about my age, 18. She's wearing long sleeves despite the heat and tights that must be uncomfortable but she seems at ease. I look down at my own thick cardigan and wonder if I should be overly hot too. I don't feel the heat anymore.

They walk into the house as boxes are slowly brought in for them. I see no more from them so I turn away from the window and move to lie on my bed, the blankness of the ceiling creating something to look at. A blank canvas. I imagine what blood red would look like, dripping across the pureness, tainting the surface.

Some time later, some familiar notes of Nirvana begin to drift in through the open window. I sit up and look out into their house. The window opposite mine is open and she, their daughter, is in there. That will be her room. I'm pleased at her taste in music and I drift closer, wanting a better look.

She's not like most of the girls from round here. Most of her skin is covered by layers of long clothing, like she's trying not to be leered at by every meathead that passes by. She has blonde hair that falls past her shoulders and in her face. She sweeps it back a couple of times as she bends over to pick up a box or something, but it always falls back into its original place. I want to push it back, run my fingers through its softness – it looks so fine and soft in the sunlight slanting through her window.

I catch fleeting glimpses of her face as she moves about her room, moving boxes and unpacking things, but I think she's beautiful. It's like the forbidden fruit, her face just peeking out from behind her hair, the beauty shielded from wanting eyes.

She stands at the window and pulls all of her hair back from her face. I feel like I've taken a much needed breath and I'm finally relaxing. The sun hits her face just right, highlighting her beauty. She looks directly at me. Then I realise, the voices have stopped.

Violet

I don't know how long he's been staring at me, but he looks like he hasn't moved in a while. The sound of Kurt Cobain's voice quietens a little in my ears as my eyes meet his. He has unruly blonde curls that I have a sudden urge to run my hands through. My eyes skip down his body to the thick, dark green cardigan he's wearing, far too hot for this weather, and then to the 'grunge is dead' t-shirt he's wearing. I feel a smirk grace my face. Another Nirvana fan to play with.

He shifts slightly as I size him up, his hands curling up into his long sleeves, almost as if he's uncomfortable. I raise my eyebrow at him and his expression doesn't change, he just keeps on staring at me, directly in the eye.

He's good looking. Like, really. It's not like it hurts my eyes to keep staring at him, but something is churning in my stomach, increasing the longer his eyes bore into mine. I feel weak, but eventually I turn around and continue unpacking my shit. When I sneak a glance later, he's gone.

I could feel the stares as I walked through the courtyard. They were all judging me. Every single glance I'd received today, including from some of the less bored teachers, was judging. The guys were wondering why I wasn't dressed like the rest of the half naked sluts, and the girls looked down on me for not being half naked like the rest of them.

And then I see him. He's by himself, looking down at the floor. As he passes me, he looks up, as if he knew I was there. I can see up close that his eyes are so dark brown they're almost black. His look isn't judging. I want to talk to him but no words come to mind. And then the moment's gone and we've passed each other.

I take another drag on my cigarette and blow out the stream of smoke, calming my nerves from his second stare.

"Hey!" I hear the shout but I don't think it's directed at me so I don't bother to turn until a skinny nothing in a bad excuse for a skirt steps in my path. "What do you think you're doing? We have a no smoking policy here," she all but screams in my face. I suppress a sigh, not needing the added pressure of enemies.

"I'm sorry, I'm new, I didn't know," I say quickly, dropping the offending item to the floor and stepping on it, wanting to get away as quickly as possible.

"No!" she shouts. "Eat it." I stare at her as if she's just coughed up a fur ball. "Eat it, or I'll kick the shit out of you!"

"No, what is your problem?" I ask, backing away from the crazy girl. She grabs the back of my neck and brings the cigarette to my lips. I struggle, feeling rather than seeing the crowd gather around us. I gather as much spit as I can in my mouth before firing it in her face. She drops her hand quickly and I don't hang around. I laugh as I hear her disgusted scream.

"Ew! So gross!"

I see him again in the library.

He's sitting in the corner, reading a book with birds on the front cover. I stand, staring for a moment before he feels my gaze on him and looks up, immediately catching my eye. I forget what I was looking for on the shelf and let my hand drop.

I should go up and talk to him. I feel the desire to know him flare up as I entertain the idea in my head. But not here. Not in this goddamn place where there's everybody around to spoil the moment, muscle in on it. So I tear my eyes away and decide I'll definitely talk to him later – before the day is over.

Tate

I saw her spit in the face of the popular girl at school. It only made me like her more. She had fire, and she was brave and she didn't care about what others thought of her. I'd seen her brush off their judging glances all day. She didn't deserve to be judged.

I'd hoped she'd come and talk to me in the library. I was sure she was going to but then she'd turned away and not looked at me again. It was better, I'd told myself, that we talk away from that hell hole. Somewhere with no prying eyes and judging faces. I wanted to get to know her, not the version with her guard up.

I'd looked out of my window as soon as I'd gotten home, but the shades were shut tight. I hadn't left my room, waiting for her to open them for me. I sit on my window ledge, picking at the fraying edge of my jumper.

The voices are back. They tell me to take her away from this filthy, goddamn horror show. That she needs to be taken somewhere clean and nice, away from the shit and the piss and the vomit that lines the streets. But for the first time, I don't want to listen to them. I want her to stay here. I want her to stay with me. We can have our own world, free from the horror that we don't deserve.

Music fills my ears as her window creaks open. She doesn't look surprised to see me waiting for her.

"Violet," she says first, knowing that would be my first question. Its pretty; a pretty name for a pretty face. She'd looked even more beautiful up close.

"Tate," I reply, my voice lower than normal as it carries across the air between us.

"You got another one of those t-shirts?" she asks, nodding towards me, smirking slightly. I break out into a smile I know I haven't used in a long time.

"No, but you could have this one," I say without hesitation.

"I might just take you up on that," she replies cheekily as she sits down on her window ledge, pulling out a cigarette and making herself comfortable.

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