Warning for d/ath, b/ood, g/re, and ho/opho/ia.

Part 1: Tiny Dancer

1.7: Out In the Street

"Mr. di Angelo, this is the third time this week you're in here. How do you want me to help you?"

"I don't want you to help me."

"I realized. You don't want anyone to help you. From what I hear, you haven't even accepted Mr. Villareal's help. I know about that essay, and I know you aren't writing it." Nico tugged on the hair that had fallen in front of his face. He sighed internally, and looked up into the eyes (or; what he could see of Mr. Strike's eyes, he had extremely foggy glasses on), of the prehistoric homo sapiens in front of him.

"With all due respect sir," he started, with no respect intended, "I don't think this is exactly helping me to write that essay."

Mr. Strike nodded. "Bright young man you are, to have noticed that something is off. In case you haven't seen with that dreadful ignorance of yours, you're grades are dropping. Now, I wouldn't mind that if you hadn't been up to all that trouble you've been doing lately." Nico hung his head. "Don't think I don't see you yelling at peers and becoming short with teachers, or worst yet, even breaking classmate's personal belongings." Nico's eyes shot up, earning him a painful prick in the neck.

"Hold on a second. Sir, I know you treasure your school's peace and whatnot, but 'in case you haven't seen with that dreadful ignorance of your's,' I'm being bullied. I think that warrants some action on my part."

Mr. Strike rubbed the white panes of his glasses. "Young man, I nonetheless will not tolerate your behavior."

Nico scowled. "Fine. But why did you call me here?" Mr. Strike brightened.

"Ah, of course. After taking a short look at your file, I came to the realization that you have had a grand total of 17 detentions in the past month. At this institution, the limit of detentions per month is 15. Therefore, you are now being suspended."

Nico stood up, accidentally banging the office chair on the wall. "Anything else you wanted to tell me?"

"Yes, please stop by Mr. Villareal's homeroom on your way out."

- V -

Fuck. The essay. He had already forgotten about it, and his deadline was dreadfully close. Nico dumped his backpack on Reyna's bed, and sat down at her desk. Reyna also worked where Bianca used to, teaching little kids archery. The house was alone, and Nico enjoyed the silence. He fiddled in the chair, trying to think of a topic for his paper. After some contemplation, he decided on being generic and writing about The Outsiders. Villareal hadn't been very specific, and he didn't mention that it had to actually be good.

The Outsiders, written in 1967 by S.E. Hinton, became a national phenomenon. Due to it's...

Nico's pen rested against his paper. It left a blue smudge, but then again, the whole paper was smudges. He sighed melancholically, and rested his head on his arms, his hair tickling his skin. Drowsiness overwhelmed him, he wasn't sleeping well since the crash.

- V -

"Bianca?"
"Bia?"
"Are you alright?" Nico asked her lifeless body on the asphalt. The driver of the eighteen wheeler was making a few calls, and Nico didn't care to whom. He knelt beside her, and caressed her cheek. Bianca didn't stir, and no part of her body moved (except the blood gushing onto the dark ground).

It was actually quite ironic, she had died doing the thing she loved the most.

"Bia? La mia bella sorella, wake up." (My beautiful sister). Nothing. Her eyelids were stubbornly closed, and Nico prayed for her chest to rise.

"This isn't funny anymore. I know you're there, please." Bianca's blood stained his hands as he started shaking her limp shoulders. Her wrists were pale, and her cheeks were deathly white. All the signs of a dead person. Nico began to weep, and her crimson river mingled in a myriad of Nico's tears. Nico looked around for help, but the man on the side of the road was gone. Hit and run. Shit.

"BIANCA! I need you alive! Reyna needs you alive, don't..."

She was gone, and not even his shouts could bring her to come back from wherever she'd gone. Bianca was long dead, and judging my the blood on his jeans, it wasn't a joke. A paramedic put their hand on his shoulder, and started whispering 'comforting' things to him. No one's 'thoughts and prayers' would ever fill the hole in his chest.

The glass from the window Bianca had slammed through pricked his skin, but it went far deeper than that.

Nico's head lifted from his elbows, and he looked around for the paramedic. They were gone, and hopefully so was his dream (nightmare). If he stared at his hands too much, shadows of Bianca were visible. He stuck them into his hoodie, ignoring the painful jab that the scars from where the broken glass pierced him left.

- V -

From: [not in your contact list] ecopper

To: [you] nicodian

About: im sorry

Body: im really sorry your poor parents have to deal with your sisters loss. Oh wait, you dont have parents. oh wait, you dont have a sister. oh wait, no one cares about you or your dead and whore sister. I heard she had like 15 girlfriends. haha she had more luck than you in the love department. huh i wonder if they actually miss her, or they just kept her around like fuckbuddies. i'd tap her. actually, i'd tap you too. no homo tho. why havent you blocked me yet, ya snowflake? i thought you were offended by me or smt. guess not hahaha.

- V -

Nico angrily stared at his phone. He would take care of that tomorrow. Then, he noticed 23 messages, voicemails, and calls from Arianna. Crap. He had missed practice for the last month or so, and he was definitely going to have to pay a ton for it once he went back.

And to think he wanted a solo in the recital. Well, he could assure himself that sure as fuck isn't going to be happening now.