Meisha glowers in the mirror, loathing her reflection for what feels like the hundredth time. She's standing shirtless in the Maximoffs' guest bathroom, frowning at her reflection while her only two friends are continuing a card game in the living room, and the painful twisting knot in her chest tightens.

Well, one a friend, and one she wants to consider more...

She had come over with Ronny, expecting to have a good time, but instead, is here with her shirt in her hands, still soaked with water from trying to wash out the staining spill, and her eyes beginning to sting at the start of tears.

In the mirror, all she sees is abhorrence, revolt, and misery. Meisha can hear the two others, Peter declaring loudly, enthusiastically, and Ronny replying with an over-reactant groan. She knows that she should be out there too, laughing and enjoying herself alongside them, but all she can do right now is glare at the trail of light freckles across her chest that her small white cotton bra couldn't hide.

Outside the small bathroom, Ronny is sitting on the long living room sofa reading aloud trivia that he orders the speedster to not cheat on, a command Meisha knows Peter isn't going to listen to anyway. And by the sounds of Ronny's muffled complaining, he is realizing that as well.

Meisha's eyes sting. Her nose begins to clog, and her fingers shake. Her throat tightens and she breaths, sighs, tries to stop the tears before they arise.

It always seems to end up this way anyhow

Her moods would fluctuate; one minute she would be joking along, and then the next, her stomach would knot and her chest would flutter, twist, and fly. Sometimes she would have to excuse herself. During these "episodes," sometimes her mother would smooth her hands through her daughter's hair and speak calmly to bring Meisha's emotions back under control. But that isn't the problem this time, Meisha found out not too long ago. In fact, she's been considering to put space between herself and the two boys out in the living room because of it.

Peter; all trouble seems to start with him, Meisha thinks. Just the thought of his name makes her suspiciously uncomfortable and anxious. The reason why is something that took the girl some many months to figure out, and when she did, at first she didn't like it—she didn't even like him the first time they met. She didn't want it, but as time went on she eventually came to a decision—a peaceful one rather than the more vile choice that had plagued her second conscious.

Ever since her mutation came in, Meisha has had to battle the...second voice in her head, if you will

Something that has been seeming to worsen as she matures and as her hair grew

But that will be picked up on later

The young mutant turns to the wooden door of the small bathroom, catching the end of her braid slowly rise to nuzzle her heated face. She slips on her still-damp shirt and wipes her face dry, feeling her heart racing but choosing to ignore it. Drawing in an unsteady breath, she begins stroking her long braid that hangs over her shoulder like a long, red, awaiting python.

. . .

Ronny is the first to ask when she returns. "What took you so long?" He had swallowed his food before speaking.

"What's it to you?" It is more of a statement than a question, and Meisha takes the empty space beside him on the long sofa.

He sees her braid twitch slightly behind her back. "Well are you okay?"

Peter's eyes catches hers before darting back to Ronny, cheeks full, chewing a bite of a burrito.

Meisha doesn't answer, and instead turns to the other, frowning and ready to accuse. "When did you go get burritos?!"

Peter folds his ankles. "You took too long," he explains, and then takes another bite as if spiting her.

"You're acting like it's my fault...? Well if it wasn't for you, I wouldn't have this big stain on my shirt!" She points at the large damp spot on her shirt that barely still hides her bra and bellybutton underneath.

"Yeah, you still love me though."

No one registers the blush that floods her cheeks then as her finger lowers and words escape her. She freezes, watching him smile to himself. Even though he only meant it in a joking manner, Peter is unaware of how much damage he causes and carries on unperturbed. Because sometimes—most times, actually—Meisha Babinski reads too far into dialogue and jesters. She'll get her expectations high and her hopes overreaching; shell start daydreaming, imagining, fantasizing, and then crash and burns when it doesn't pan out and magic isn't real and she's left looking at it all shattered at her feet. Because she tries too hard. She tries so hard and hopes and dreams and pushes...

Ronny waves his hand a bit to get her attention. He swallows the food that had been in his mouth. "Got these literally, like, two minutes ago," he answers the question the other boy ignores.

Meisha looks to him, but doesn't respond. When she glances back at the speedster, sees that he is now suddenly half finished with yet another fat burrito. He and Ronny are the only other ones occupying the living room, Wanda and her younger sister somewhere else inside. Peter has his feet propped up in the recliner chair that he had re-positioned across from the lounging sofa.

Meisha glances to the television, drumming on her knees. The television is either on mute or the volume is turned down low.

"Hey, we're almost halfway through with the trivia." Ronny waves a collection of cards in front of her. "You gonna keep playing or—-Hey, give those back!"

Peter leans back in the recliner chair, thumbing through the trivia questionnaires and pulling away overtime Ronny reaches forward. Meisha sees that yet another aluminum foil burrito wrapper had been added to the small pile on the coffee table. The faster mutant picks a card at random and holds it above his head, out of reach.

"True or False: a collective noun for a group of moles is a called a labour. ...Huh?" He lowers the card to see clouds gathering outside the window behind his two friends. It was nearing sunset.

Meisha takes advantage of his second of silence to ask, pointing to the pile of wrappers, "where's mine."

As Peter readjusts himself in the cushions, ready to playfully lie that there wasn't anymore food for her, Ronny makes a dive for the bag near the foot of the recliner. It is a rare feat for anyone to come out success from stealing from the speedier mutant, so Ronny can't help his outcry of triumph as he holds the greasy bag in the air. Peter rolls his eyes, grumbling under his breath.

Ronny digs out one of the last two burritos and hands one to Meisha, ignoring the other's death glare.

She smiles smugly and leans back, getting comfortable. Peter returns to flipping through the trivia cards when Meisha resumes the game. "Question," she orders.

Ronny grins, leaning back in the couch beside her. "Yeah, Pete. Since you have the cards, you ask the questions."

If his glare hadn't been harsh enough, it definitely is now. Since asking questions would mean staying seated and waiting for the right answer, Peter always tried to avoid being in that position. Plus, he can't go looking for the answers this way.

"I hate you both," he growls.

Meisha giggles as he shuffles the remaining cards in the deck. He pulls one at random. His eyes squint as he reads it to himself before out loud. "Ok... What's sc...sc...what is sciophobia the fear of?" His nose wrinkles. He pulls the card close to his face.

Ronny shares an implying suspicious glance with Meisha. Both are going to purposely act as if they didn't know answers to drag out the time, a sort of payback to Peter's jerk-like attitude.

This has been the typical day between the three. When they're not running from the the populars at school or being an accomplice to one of Peter's heists, it is quite calming, normal times. When they weren't struggling to keep their powers from the public, they were quite your average teenagers.

"Okay. How many triangles do you see here?" Peter holds up a card, showing a black and white diagram of a two-dimensional triangle made out of many smaller triangles.

Meisha's braid rises, the lose hairs at the end of her ponytail wrapper separating to form the number five, just as a hand would. She then changes it as she thinks aloud. "Wait, wait! Um...six...no, eight!" She begins counting the shapes, using the end of her braid to point at the card in the same manner that a human hand does.

Ronny snickers and Peter's glare is redirected towards him. Ronny sobers up.

All they want is to be normal and to be accepted without hostility. But in this world, anything too different is not acceptable and is taboo. After all, who would accept a girl who could manipulate her hair to work in the same way as a hand or a knife? Or a boy who can move nearly as fast as the speed of sound? Or another who could practically turn invisible? Certainly not many would accept them. It would only turn into another pitchfork crowd, another witch burning—or in this case, mutant-burning. But of course, this all isn't something they all take into consideration every day because there are, luckily, ways they have been able to hide their mutations and differences. Gratefully, so far they have been lucky.

The trivia questions continue until Peter's youngest sister wonders in the living room and Ronny's attention turns to the darkening sky through the window.

"Hey, it's raining!" the child exclaims.

Shuffling the cards, Meisha grumbles something about how they were supposed to be back home before the rain came. There had been a forewarning forecast on the news for all this week and she had promised her parents too to be back. Outside, Meisha is composed and patient about the situation, but inside she's screaming—if it wasn't for this darn weather, she could have had more time with him, albeit becoming trapped by to the rain, and maybe even advance past friendship now. Her cheeks begin heating at her thoughts, something Peter still doesn't catch as he shoos his sister back down the hallway and to her room, but Ronny is the one who definitely sees.

He leans down and whispers. "Are you okay?"

And Meisha hisses, "Yes, I'm fine!"

Peter returns in a flash, in the blink of an eye, and catches Ronny leaning up from Meisha's side. "What are you two mumbling about now?" He's eating an ice push-pop, feet propped back up on the sprung lower part of the recliner. He's forcing a lighthearted air, tries, and fails at chuckling jokingly.

"Nothing, nothing..." Ronny muses.

Meisha squeezes her hands between her knees, not looking either in the eye. "Why do you ask?"

"Because you know you two have been whispering together a lot lately..." He squints.

Ronny pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue. "What? No we haven't!"

Peter's face then falls. "Oh no... Don't go on and fuck us up with some falling for your friend crap!" he whines, becoming visibly annoyed. He's jumping to conclusions. "That's not right! Nothing's supposed to break us up! You can't go and betray me like that! That's some big time, messed up betrayal shit, man!" He then begins rambling off, worrying, fretting, the speed of his speech becoming difficult to follow.

Ronny waves his arms in distress and bringing the other to an abrupt stop. "No, no! We don't like each other! Not—-not like that. Right, Meisha?!"

She nods exasperatedly, her eyes large and innocent. But of course, Peter still frowns, unconvinced. Ronny had hoped she would have given a noise of disgust, but that nod was just as good. Only after a staring at the two for a minute longer does the speedster finally, visibly relax.

There's a moment of silence, the tension leaving the air. Then, Meisha's brows draw together, and her emotions change.

"I can't believe you..." Her voice starts small until she's asked to repeat herself. Meisha shakes her head at the gray-haired one. Her hands are resting on her hips; her light brown eyes wonder toward the direction of the front door. "I need to be home instead of it raining here..."

"Why?"

"Because she's gotta be back home to her mommy so she can do literally everything because she's the most illin' daughter!" Peter answers for her. His words ooze with bitter sarcasm and blanketed vile. When Meisha begins to protest, Ronny too, and Peter presses further, turning to the latter. "She's gonna call you again tonight, Ronny? Right?" He leans in, holding his thumb to his ear and pinkie finger to his mouth, heightening his voice as he speaks to mimic a girl on the telephone. "She'll call Ronny and thee two of you will gossip about boys all night long again?" And then he smirks, and falls backwards in his reclining chair.

"No, we never ev—-"

"Oh you know it's true!" He drills his index fingers into his cheeks and plasters a pasty smile on his face to further the taunt. He purposely speaks childishly to piss her off, throwing Ronny in the mix. "Oh, don't forget to make plans for what days you will be wearing matching frilly skirts. Because, you know, what else are you gonna do? 'Cause you don't want to have any girl friends." Peter's face falls, and twists into a snarl.

Meisha's eyes narrow. "You're an asshole."

"Yeah? I don't see you doing anything about it," he irks. "Don't like the truth?"

"What truth?"

"Hey! At least, I have someone to call me at night!" Ronny blurts.

There's silence. It's known that Peter has a terrible habit to break about being distant. He and Meisha exchange an electrical charged stare that's not quite bitterness and not quite regret.

The trio is interrupted again as Wanda walks into the living room, asking where the youngest Maximoff sister is located. And when her twin just shrugs, Wanda changes the subjects and orders Peter to go out and buy a chicken dinner this time with the money Marya left for them; she reminds him that he's responsible for their dinner. And as he rolls his eyes, mocking her too in a high pitch, Wanda dives and steals the last burrito from the bag on the coffee table in front of him. She throws his taunts back with by mocking his slow reaction speed—she bends over, leaning closer to his face, and takes a large bite from the burrito before walking away with a twist in her hips.

Peter examines the inside of the paper bag. There's a lightly damp stain from the grease at the bottom. "How did she even know there was one left...?!"

The room quiets once more until Wanda returns, brown head peeking from around the corner. "Oh, and Marya said no excuses, even if it rains today." And then she's gone, calling down the hallway for her little sister.

Peter lets out an exaggerated sigh.

Ronny, who had been gazing outside, slowly turns forward. "You know, speaking of rain...how's that thing going on with Rainy-Juliet, huh?" His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek again, this time as he tries to hold in a smug smile.

For once, Peter takes a moment to answer. He sits still, his eyes only moving to Ronny's direction.

"What thing?" Meisha asks.

"That thing..." The knowing, look grows on Ronny's face and he is now smiling quite wide.

"It's fine," Peter speaks slowly. "Talked to her a couple times. She said to get lost and never speak to her again."

Typical, they all thought

"And have you done that?" Meisha puckers her lips a little.

"Of course not!" Peter's mouth start to curl at the edges. "Yeah, we share English class together, but I've been trying to wave at her for the past couple days to say something before class but..."

"You're going to get yourself killed..."

"Why do you keep wanting to talk to her after she said get lost?"

Then he pauses, legitimately thinking it over. "...I...don't know... ...Why not?"

"And Mckenzie—-?"

Now, the large smile reappears. "I think I might have won this bet halfway already! Got her to agree to be my date on Spirit Week."

"Really?" Meisha is not convinced. She still feels wary to speak. "What did she say?"

Peter freezes for a millisecond as he thinks. "Well, she didn't—-she didn't say no...!"

"Peter, that's not a date."

"That's not the point!"

Ronny is pretty shocked so he hadn't spoken. He is still on the fact that somehow Mckenzie Shabotz, one of the most popular girls at their school had someway agreed to hang around Peter—a weirdo, a geek, as they were labeled—for an entire week. He was losing this bet...

"By the way," Peter drags out, enjoying the realization of his nearing victory. "Juliet's supposed to be back at the school with some other girl again setting up for Spirit Week or whatever, I think."

"Tonight?!"

Meisha's brows crease. "How could you possibly know that?"

He smiles wickedly. "Don't worry about it," and the mutant winks. "Just know," he then points to Ronny, "to have my money when me and Mckenzie walk in together on Spirit Week!"

Ronny throws his hands up. "Hold on! No, the bet was for both Mckenzie and Rainy, remember? You gotta keep talking to Rainy until Spirit Week. At least three days a week...unless you forfeit, Maxi-sore loser?"

"Never! Not for forty bucks!"

"And I'm going to be generous and give you leeway and change it to being until the end of Spirit Week for you."

Peter's smile is devilish, shark-like. "Fifty bucks."

"What!?"

"Fifty-five bucks! ...Or are you chicken?"

"No!" Ronny sucks his teeth. "Deal!"

The boys clap hands together with an echoing smack, in a similar position to an arm wrestle. And then for good measure, began to arm wrestle across the coffee table—"without powers!"

The evening soon returns to waiting out the rain. Meisha phones her parents, apologizes about not making it home before the downpour. Peter offers to walk her home but she turns him down, explaining that her parents would rather her stay dry. A few more trivia rounds were played, and Peter still cheats. Ronny calls his bluff, and Meisha remains silent to neither's noticing.

She wonders if she should voice that even if Peter and Mckenzie show up together for Spirit Week—a feat that would only happen in someone's dreams—that it wouldn't be genuine, that she would only be playing her friend for kicks. It isn't unheard of for her to do so anyway. But Meisha watches her two friends and decides against it. Likely wouldn't believe her anyway; the teen had a skull made of bricks and can be as stubborn as an ox. And so Meisha folds her hands across her knees and watches the two males arm-wrestle, and feeling her hair twitching, her braid twisting, irritated like a stressed cat. Her short nails leave little red indents inside her palms.

Wanda comes and leaves the living room one last time, retreating with a box of cookies from the kitchen for her sister and herself to share. Ronny flips through the television channels. Meisha sits quietly on the couch with her hands clasped together. She neither moves nor speaks for the rest of the evening. No one asks why because no one seems to notice how she sits absolutely still through the next hour, eyes trained ahead, her eyes only moving. No one asks because no one had cares enough, she convinces herself.


Her second mutation surfaced when she was thirteen. At first, she thought that it was some sort of trick of the mind that her hair felt particularly stiff whenever thinking about a hammer or slicing a bologna sandwich or when she was angry. And for the longest time, Meisha kept telling herself that it was impossible to get a paper cut from strands of hair—because it was; it is...it should be. Well, the day she was proved wrong that day the school's girls restroom when everything went to hell; when she was alone and stalked and then cornered and she saw red, red, red; those few years ago was also the day it seemed that voice awoke.

And as Meisha sits in front of her bedroom mirror, tears running down her face, that voice in her subconscious comes forth, growing in volume, growing worse.

She's seated with her hair completely undone, it falling down to the carpet in an light red-orange un-brushed mess. Meisha runs a hand from her hairline down to her shoulder. Her eyes are burning at the start of tears again. She's staring into what she thinks is a fucked-up reflection before herself.

Why?
Why did she have to be this way? Why was she born like this?
Why was she even born?

Her face twists into a deep scowl and she doesn't even attempt to restrain herself as her hair rises on its own, separating as if to be several appendages, several additional limbs or parted waves.

This isn't the first time she's wasted countless minutes in front of her desk mirror, trying to convince herself that those retched pattern of freckles across her nose and monster-colored eyes of hers that her mother calls pretty; that, why with this nose that she has, and what cruel joke was it to make her hair so red and unable to trim?

Her hair

That is one of the things she keeps most precious and sacred, but it is also her worst enemy. When her parents realized why Meisha legitimately cried during haircuts, and her saying "the voice told me to" as an excuse when she was three years old (which she does not personally remember) were not imagined or faked, everything changed. Even now, she finds herself absentmindedly clenching and unclenching her fist in a hopeless effort to erase the extra, traitorous voice in her head.

It's like a second conscious
A more vile, vicious one

Her eyes dart around her room and another tear falls from her eye. She looks for some way of escape, something to stop it from speaking, begging, and her body is trembling, her vision is blurring, and soon she won't be able to hear herself think besides the constant commands. Her hair stretches out further around her, separating into long, waving tentacle-like arms. A choke for air leaves her lips and she grinds her teeth. The voice is growing callous, telling her things to do, things she didn't want to do, and it lies.

He'll never like you. Go there and slit her throat. Kill them, get rid of them, that's how.

It would speak

You just have to get more attention, she would try to talk over it, that's all. Put yourself more out there. No need...no need to be extreme.

Drag them across the floor just like last time! With them out of the picture—-

"STOP IT!" Her palms press flat to her ears. Her eyes squeeze shut and she's leaning over her knees, shallowly breathing.

The voice is telling her things she didn't want to do, but things that deep down somewhere she suspected that she did.

The blood...that...so much blood... Meisha's hands digs into her scalp. She sits up, back arching, and her wide eyes dart to her dresser drawer.

That blood!
It feels like it smiles

In one swift movement, she dives for the white-painted drawer and raises a pair of scissors to one of her locks that she grabs from the air. She shouts again in a dare, and in a way the scene is similar to holding a razor to another's throat.

Meisha is to turn seventeen in a few months, and to her family she hides all of this, every time.

"STOP IT, STOP IT, STOP IT!" And then she screams and threatens to cut the lock off if the voices don't stop.

The voice doesn't quiet suggesting of blood and pain and tears being the only option for her, about things she didn't want to do but the voice is making them seem like the only option. It would always speak of devious and demonic ways to any and every problem she came across. It was insistent like it was a life or death matter, and Meisha almost wanted to believe it was true.

"I SAID SHUT UP!" she screams inside an empty room.

Her eyes squint and she cringes, figuring that this was the only way to stop the voice as she holds the scissors in her trembling hand. At least, when she does use the scissors, it all will stop for a while. Her scream retches from her throat and echoes throughout the house as Meisha squeezes the handle of her scissors, snipping as close to her scalp as she could reach, and a clump hairs falls loose. Luckily, no one else is home to hear.

While for many girls, cutting ones hair is a difficult and emotional process that would probably be filled with second thoughts and maybe tears of regret. For Meisha's however, it was more on a literal level. While she did experience second thoughts, the pain was less emotional and more so physical.

Her hair is a part of her
and it was like cutting off a finger, an arm, or making a deep slicing cut

While she sits alone in her bedroom, hands covering her face as a fresh wave of tears wash over her, she feels so, so alone. And there is no one she can talk to, she knows, no one who would understand. Because she's ugly, a goddamn mutie, crazy, a psycho—she has two voices in her head, for Jesus fucking Christ—and anyone she could possibly tell would likely, very possibly shun her. They'd leave her, she'd be disowned, and left on her own.

And so she cries. Her shoulders shake, her hair having fallen limp again and the very tips spill out on the carpet. There were no more voices besides her own sharing her head now, and though there is no blood, there is still pain.

God, there is pain.

She flexes her fingers once; she curls her toes. Meisha sobs into her hands, not knowing if the tears were more from the pain or from this wave of temporary relief.

After recovering, her eyes are bloodshot and face redden. The scissors are returned to her desk drawer and she sweeps the trimmed red hairs across the carpet and under her bed to be vacuumed later. She cleans her face with cool water and puts on a fresh pair of clothes and braids her hair into a single, tight, thigh-lengthened braid. The last thing she remembers that late afternoon is shakily crawling into bed and wiping free a few stray tears.


"Oh yeah, and Marya wants you to go buy a chicken for dinner. The already-cooked ones from Publix," Wanda informs, leaning against the wall before making a dive for one of her brother's burritos. "The money is on her pillow."

Peter shuffles the packaged chicken under his arms. It's cool outside, some time in mid-Spring. The chicken is held in a round plastic container, radiating heat. He pulls his jacket closed.

"And actually buy it this time, Marya said."

"Yeah, yeah, blah, blah..." Peter grumbles under his breath, remembering the orders his twin passed.

It us perhaps fifteen minutes after the rain had let up when Ronny and Meisha left, her parents pulling up in the driveway to take both home. The clouds above are still an ashen overcast as it had been then, and currently there is a light drizzle of rain falling. Meisha and Ronny had been picked up maybe forty-five minutes ago in the Maximoffs' front driveway.

As Meisha sashayed to her parent's car, Wanda had stood with Peter in the doorway waving goodbye. Wanda had seen Meisha's father give a parting salute through his tinted windshield. The car hadn't even pulled off down the road when Wanda turned to her brother and reminded him of the dinner he's in charge of tonight. And of course, he hadn't shown that he particularly favored the duty, his lips pulling up ans his nose wrinkling and he groans. And Wanda only turned to him with her hands on her hips.

And for some reason Rainy had come when she had done that and it wouldn't leave his mind

Now, he's jogging from the grocery store with his goggles on when he feels a drop fall from above. He isn't jogging very fast, but still it makes him pause, slide his goggles to his forehead, and look up to the light grey sky. He must have been slowing down again, he thinks, because it's unusual for him to actually feel rain falling rather than him running through it.

The sidewalk is almost clear of occupants, save for a random soul, periodically.

Peter adjusts the pre-cooked chicken in his arms again and pushes his goggles further up and into his damp hair. He remembers that there is a group of students at the school who are setting up for Spirit Week. It's around four o'clock, so they would probably be leaving soon, and he pities the poor souls whose job it is.

The thought of Rainy had come for some reason

Peter wrinkles his nose and his lips form in a slight pout. The school isn't that far from his current location, and he can get there even sooner with his speed. He could make it home and back there in about...ten minutes, maybe.

. . .

The sun's crawl across the sky is the only indication of the uncounted hours they must have stayed here. A boy who goes by the name Liam gives a purposely loud indicating sigh for what is possibly the twentieth time this afternoon. There is a group of students stuck here on the campus grounds; they have all been stuck listening to Sherry chatting away with the two other girls about one thing or another, none of it particularly catching Rainy's ears or knowledge, so there hadn't been a need for her to speak up or contribute to. When Sherry doesn't turn to his attention, Liam rolls his eyes and sighs again just as exaggeratedly. Rainy looks up and catches a dark boy nicknamed Skeeter sending a judging look her way. And so, she sits there on the tile floor across from Sherry, penciling in letters and painting colors on the ten-foot makeshift banner the two are supposed to be finishing—supposed to be, as Sherry has been talking more and working less.

This is the third and probably final time Rainy is brought along to sneak inside the high school. Right now, she could have been doing something useful with her time instead of working on displays for an event that very few care for, and more so for what happens at the end of the school day—she should be studying for an exam, or finishing the last of that romance novel she checked out from the library not long ago, or she could see if there was an informing special or documentary on television.; she could be sitting outside as the weather warmed, or watch the stars, or something...

Who is she kidding? This is the most time-passing activity she is going to get for some time. At least, it's better than lying in her bed and waiting for sleep to finally force her eyes to shut.

She has nothing better to do with her life

Finally, Sherry snaps around to Liam, who has come to stand behind her. Rainy had barely been paying attention when Liam whines for attention again and Sherry, finally having enough, gives it to him. Now, she's not raising hr voice, but is telling him off from her seat on the tile floor. "...and before you want to insult me, you might want to consider that for someone to take you seriously to not to do so while wearing those shoes and ugly sweater vest."

Liam gapes. "This is my Key Club sweater!"

Sherry's brows rise, silently speaking, "exactly."

Rainy leans her back against the whitewashed wall and watches as Sherry tells off one of the most inconsiderate and privileged boys in their year. The only reason Sherry accompanied him is because of a mutual friend—the student body president—to help with decorating Spirit Week banners and posters. Personally, Rainy doesn't start animosity unprovoked, and she obeys orders she is given like a robot—because why not, with nothing else to do—and she had tagged along but "don't speak anything to that canary bird." (The canary bird being Liam; his chatter and yellow hair.) And she's told that if he talks down to her, that Sherry would take care of it. The boys had told Rainy to "just don't touch anything" and that they didn't need her help. Rainy hadn't argued and had heed their order, not holding any personal objections anyhow, but Sherry had butted in, ignoring that they weren't too pleased with having the razor-mouthed Juliet Capulet along with them.

But then again, when was the last time Rainy truly had the urge to do anything?

Rainy finishes painting the left corner of a welcome banner, watching and keeping silent. Her eyes are exhausted, with slight bags due from fluctuating sleep patterns. And her head tilts back, wondering how it would be possible for a human to burn holes in the plaster ceiling above with their eyes, stemming from the daggers Sherry is shooting with hers. Liam's next groan is an aggravated one.

And that's how it has been for a good, long while following: of Rainy leaning back on the freezing tile, tuning out Sherry and Liam's bickering until the strawberry blonde stomps into her line of sight, then Rainy's world is shoved and turning on its side. Sherry freezes, accidentally nudging the other over too much. Rainy holds her usual blank stare, focusing up at a random cluster of pock holes on the ceiling.

"Get up, Rainy." Sherry leans over her friend again to look Rainy in the eyes. "I'm sick of being around losers. C'mon. I need your help finding some duct tape to finally hang this up so we can leave." She knows the other girl would only agree.

And without a word, Rainy gets up and follows the strawberry blonde down one of the school's long hallways. Rainy steals a glance at Sherry, hearing offensive accusations being called after them by Liam. She sees Sherry square her jaw and level her shoulders and keeps her hard, steady glare straight ahead. And if Rainy had any access to her emotions, she would have became enraged, would have likely ran back and punched Liam squarely in the jaw.

But she didn't
and so she doesn't

It takes coming to the end of the second hallway that Liam's hollers finally fade out. And that is when Sherry finally gives a sigh of relief. Rainy steals another glance, and wonders if she should practice her own facial expressions in the mirror again, having classified the practices an unprofitable cause to continue.

Sherry grits her teeth. "I just wanna—-punch that idiot in the face!" Her nails bite into her clenched palms.

Rainy keeps up with the other's pace, both looking straight ahead.

"He gets on my nerves. So much, you know?"

Rainy looks over again.

"Why won't you say anything? He doesn't bother you at all?!"

"Not really." Rainy shrugs. "It could be worse."

This earns a wide-eyed look. "Worse? Like how? The things he said were so offensive and said that you would have been more useful back in the fields if—-" Sherry stops herself before her anger gets the best of her again. Her hands raise and slowly fall, palms facing down, as she calms herself.

Rainy opens her mouth but quickly snaps it shut, deciding that "well, I don't know. If I had feelings and then was aggravated, then maybe I'd tell you" not the best thing to say. There is already one too many who know about her "issue" than she'd like, than she planned. The hallway falls silent once more, except for their footsteps.

"You were right—just to set your mind at rest—I cannot feel.

Now, what do I have to do in order to keep you quiet about it?"

It really was one too many in her opinion.

'Definitely could be worse,' Rainy thinks.

"I wish I wasn't so bothered about things like you are," Sherry admits suddenly. "He just...arrgh!" Her shout echoes; it releasing unused energy. "I just want to strangle him so bad!" She curls her manicured fingers around air and shakes, as if strangling her frustration in the air.

"Then why don't you?"

This earns another look from the strawberry blonde, almost as if she can't believe the brunette's words.

Rainy turns her palms up in a slight shrug. "Well then why do you keep complaining about it?"

A beat passes with Sherry still staring ahead before shaking her head and muttering, "whatever."

Sherry and Liam almost always end up arguing or disagreeing on something whenever placed within vicinity of each other. It's something Rainy notices that is very commonly accompanied with Liam's ears turning a bright red and him walking away, grunting the most obscene beliefs under his breath.

Rainy observes constantly

Liam doesn't like having either of the girls around, his responses being some that Rainy is conditioned to expect. And it doesn't bother her. Nothing really bothers her...

Sherry rubs her arms. The A/C unit kicks on in the pipes above.

Allegedly, there is a detention session going on this afternoon, so, according to Liam, now is the perfect time to sneak in and out undetected. But Sherry is still nervous about all this, about being at school in after-hours. They could get in a lot of trouble.

"I'm still creeped out from last time," Sherry admits, still rubbing her arms.

"Last time?"

"Yes..! Those noises that we kept hearing...!"

Rainy thinks back, clearly remembering how her friend had jumped nearly a foot in the air at being spooked; she remembers coming across the boy in her class, Pedro—she can't remember his name—the one with gray hair. "We?"

"Yes, we! Now, you can't say that you hadn't heard anything?"

Rainy looks off to the side, keeping her lips sealed.

Sherry sighs loudly. "I swear...this school is haunted now."

"You say anything is haunted when you get scared."

"No, I don't... But this time I swear!"

"Whatever..." Rainy mimics, and then lies, "I'm bored." Though she can't feel, she can tell when a mistake could be made, and she is close to making one. She decides to change the subject so she doesn't reveal too much. "So, what's going to happen with the banner? It's finished, right? You said that we should leave and get away from those guys."

Sherry doesn't answer immediately. "I'm sorry," she sighs, apologizing for something Rainy isn't sure what for. "I know they're jerks. They shouldn't be that way. And I shouldn't have asked you to come. Neither of us should have come... I should have not agreed to this..." She rubs her right arm. Then in a self-depreciating whisper, she scolds, "I'm so darn gullible..."

There's another brief silence that passes. Rainy acts as if she hadn't heard.

The sun is lowering in the sky, and it's going to be nearing dinnertime soon. Rainy thinks that there is a chance her parents will be worried for her—her father, almost definitely, and her mother if she is in a sober mind. Sherry's parents—oh, most definitely.

"I just want to get over with this—for Spirit Week to hurry up and come. People talk about this for all of the first half of the year and it's never nothing special. It's just the same contests, people hooking up, and some crazy event always happens at the end. And it's not like anyone really cares about a dress code for the week. ...But I do wish that the movie would be shown out in the field like last year. That had been fun." Sherry pouts.

Rainy tucks away a strand of hair that strays into her view. "What happened last time?"

Sherry forgot that her friend hadn't stayed after the events, and Rainy already doesn't pay much mind to headlines and tabloids. "I'm not sure... I just know that some guy had been found almost dead in the girls' bathroom. At least, that's what I heard."

Rainy's brows don't even rise at her friend's story. "So this place is haunted?"

"Pfft, no!" Sherry rolls her wrist. "He died at the hospital, not here," she answers as if saying "of course." But Sherry then bites her lip. "That didn't help did it?"

It's Rainy's turn to stare.

blood

blood blood blood blood blood blood

It was a girl
who found him bleeding out on the white restroom tile floor
barely alive

BLOOD

RUMORS

They continue walking, Rainy ignoring that Sherry has inched noticeably closer when they hear the sound of a desk scraping across the floor. Rainy shrugs it off. They are on their way to the art room again in search for a few last supplies to finish. Rainy scans the area.

Contrast to her friend, Sherry is known as a happy girl who is always optimistic, in the few memories Rainy can recall. Sherry's parents are very well off also—Rainy sees this in how Sherry almost effortlessly keeps up with the latest trends and fashion. At school, she isn't necessarily popular, but almost everyone knows of her and those she comes in contact with are pleased by her. And Sherry is a little spoiled, a little oblivious as well, especially when it comes to picking up hints and signals. So in situations as this, when needing to break away, Rainy will have to come up with an alternative to sidetracking her friend.

Rainy remembers the day she met the girl with a large bow in her red hair on her first day in the new school. Sherry had immediately turned around and introduced herself with the same wide smile she has to this day.

They near the art room. Judging by the setting sun outside the hallway windows, they will have to leave in the next half hour to make it home before dark. But Sherry has started up talking again and though Rainy hadn't even flinched at hearing the sound of shoes sliding out into the hallway not far behind them, only for there to be no one there, she knows that her friend isn't as settled.

Sherry points to a random classroom door, still chatting away about one thing or another that Rainy tunes out. Rainy remains with her placid composure and hands behind her back as Sherry jiggles the doorknob until remembering that with a particular kick the door could open—a trick she overheard from Liam. She barely checks around before dashing inside and rummaging through the teacher's supplies once more, leaving Rainy in the doorway. Sherry is still chatting away—this time about something Rainy's other friend, Michelle, had come up and spoken to her—as she slides out a large bin from the supply closet and begins rummaging through it, so indulged in her spoken story that she doesn't hear the slight and completely out of place snicker behind Rainy in the doorway.

This is the second time around, almost exactly as before. Rainy almost expects this to happen.

Sherry tells the story out loud: "...and then she had said, 'then you had better get your snooty self out of my face before I show you something really unpleasant.' And so I said 'then if you're so smart why don't you step up to the plate, big talker'."

Rainy watches with folded arms now at Sherry leaning over into the large, deep bin of art supplies, her feet kicking up as her story continues and she dives deeper. Rainy dares not jump in, lest it distracts the girl more and they stayat the school even longer. But she is sure to add a periodic replying "uh huh" and "yeah." Her eyes darts and head turns to the side at hearing a dry crunch behind her.

While Rainy may have lost her sense of touch

That of hearing has not dulled at all the passing years.

"And can you believe it? She dare try to insult me with that fake brand she sported!" Sherry continues.

It isn't Rainy who replies, "I know! Must've been damn awful!" in an obnoxiously higher pitch and slight southern accent.

Rainy doesn't need to look to know who had given that smart-ass and sarcastic comment behind her, who it is biting down on a Payday candy bar and grinning, smirking, stiffling laughter. In fact, instead of whirling around—like Peter assumes—Rainy merely shuffles her arms and backs up to the doorframe.

"I bet it was real tacky too, huh?!" He cups his mouth with a hand and comments back to Sherry in an almost mocking tone that sounds far too enthusiastic than Rainy's.

Sherry still doesn't comment, taking that as a cue to continue on.

He takes a final bite from his candy bar then leaves with hurried footfalls, shoving the wrapper in his back pocket.

While she knows that he is no longer beside her, Rainy knows that he is close enough in earshot. And so, purposely loud enough for him to hear, she baits him, like all those stupid men that come into her home and the ones who pressure her in the back of the hall. She baits him just to get his attention and rile him up, because she doesn't know him that well and couldn't care to. And how could she?

"Well...you truly are ignorant."

"I mean, it would have been fine if she'd just asked, and...Rainy?" Sherry suddenly looks up to find Rainy staring off down the hall. The brunette snaps her head back forward, hearing her name. "You okay?"

Rainy hesitates. "…Yeah. Listen, there's something I forgot to take with me. I think I left it back there with the banner."

Sherry is confused. "...You sure you want to go back there? I mean—-"

"It's something I have to tend to as soon as possible." She's looking down the hall again.

"Uh, ok..."

But Rainy doesn't wait for approval and Sherry trails off to herself as the brunette disappears outside the classroom door. When she is some distance away, she calls aloud, low enough from Sherry hearing but loud enough. "I know I remembered that last time I told you not to interact with me any further."

There's a screech of sneakers across the tile that come to a stop beside her and then a muffled deep voice. "Now what if I just wanted to say hi—-"

Rainy turns. "No need," she interjects, still incredibly calm. The brunette had been prepared to kick him behind the knees, but he has stepped out of reach.

Peter smirks, chewing on more food. "Oh, and so now you remember that, huh—-?"

"...Irrational assumption."

He pauses. "What?"

"That is an irrational assumption—it is illogical for there to be any logical way that you could hold any considerable unbased knowledge of me, enough to state any definite facts."

He rolls his eyes. "English, dammit! Talk like normal people!"

Rainy looks at him directly, a finger raises. "You," she gives a waggling gesture before pointing at herself, "don't—know—me."

"Well that will all be fixed if I wanted to get to know you, wouldn't it?"

"Well what if I wanted to finish using that box cutter? This time not making a mistake?" she threatens.

There is a moment of pause between the two, glaring.

"Why can't you just be nice?"

"Why can't you leave me be?"

And silence.

His look is stern now. "Look, I don't know why you're so against a guy like me from even—-"

"Because you obviously don't know how to do what you're told, even when it's good for you."

Peter cracks a little smile unintentionally. "You're right, I don't."

"And I know that you're only here for whatever dare it was. That's why any geek would ever come up to talk."

He shifts his weight on his feet, his eyes darting to the side before looking at his tattered sneakers. "Wow, ouch. No faith?"

She folds her arms. "Don't say that you want to help me either, like some idiot. I know why you're here and I don't care. This is none of your business. You can't do anything for me." She jabs a finger in his direction. "Besides, any form of kindness will be taken as hostility."

He doesn't talk for another moment, his dark eyes glaring into hers. "How would you know that, when you don't give anyone a try—-not that I'm trying to, anyways," he shrugs.

Rainy grits her teeth, hoping she looks intimidating and serious. "Leave—-"

"-—Me be~" He finishes for her, purposely speaking in a whine. "I know. I know what you said; I'm not deaf."

Rainy's stare is unwavering.

They are disturbed by Sherry calling out Rainy's name, her sounding unsteady and unsure, and automatically Rainy turns in the direction. She isn't sure how much of an idiotic move that was or whether Peter cares when she lifts her chin and gives her back to the boy. She hears him chuckle and speak in a low tone: "you really should watch yourself, sweetheart. You could end up snapping at the wrong heels."

She hesitates, turns back around, another insult ready, but finds that he is no longer there and the hallway is now empty as if he disappeared in thin air. She contemplates, concludes that he must have slinked into a nearby classroom. And she isn't going to look for him either way. She isn't his mother; why should she?

Rainy's ponytail sways as she turns on her heels, returning to the classroom and to answer her friend's call for help.

. . .

"Took you both long enough!" Liam voice rings as the girls return.

Skeeter is still sitting on the floor, scratching his dreads and unbothered as if used to the spoiled boy's outbursts. He chews on a small ball of tobacco, a small white cup in his hands that he uses to spit in.

They all were very used to the spoiled parakeet's outbursts, actually.

Rainy just keeps ahead and her hands crossed over her skirt, behind her back.

Sherry is the only one to show displeasure. "Zip it, Osborn! You're not finished either, so I don't know why you're complaining."

Rainy notices the spark that ignites behind his eyes before Sherry even finishes speaking. Immediately, the boy motions to his completed contribution to Spirit Week, an ugly and neon colored painted poster board drying over the newspaper spread across the floor. He's quite proud of the ugly thing, Rainy can tell. Her look is still slightly bored, and very indifferent, the boy's growing in a lopsided, shit-eating grin. "Ha! That is where you're wrong—we've been finished!"

Sherry huffs, handling her shock and not wanting to pout in anger. She is going to let his victory slide...this time. She ignores his mocking as she helps Rainy pick up the banner they had been painting.

Sometime in Liam's ambitious rambling he goes too far like he always does. This time it's, "that's why women shouldn't be doing hard work. They need to stay at what they're best at: babies and staying in the kitch—-"

And he doesn't finish. Both Skeeter and Rainy were watching the chaos unfold literally in front of them, Sherry growing more and more pissed the more hot air Liam spouted. And of course, Skeeter had let out a snicker when the entire roll of masking tape goes flying to hit Liam squarely in the back of the head, the sound an echoing, sickening CRACK! that stops his talking. The boy gives a whiny "OW!"

Needless to say, Liam doesn't bitch as the girls leave their banner, Sherry practically grabbing Rainy by the arm to leave and without another word. Liam looks to Skeeter still seated on the floor and snaps "what?!" Skeeter struggles, freezes, and then fails at holding in his laughter; Liam's face is beet red.