begin again | {clue event one}

[umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]]

The fingers on his right hand had already bled twice that morning. That's what he got for letting his calluses fade away; he hadn't played for practically the entirety of summer and he'd only just started about three days ago, just to make sure he still could.

To Presley, the world was a decidedly cruel place. Only on this earth could someone be told their entire lives that the thing they loved wasn't good enough. Only on this earth could someone eventually stand up and say: well, actually, someone does care, and make you feel like, for the first time in your life, you're understood. Only on this earth can you finally find yourself around like-minded people, and feel like a piece of the whole, and be perfectly content, only for this earth to take that thing you once loved and twist it up and fill it with a dozen memories you'd like nothing more than to forget.

Salvatore was said to be a beacon for the broken souls of artists; Presley didn't think he'd ever felt quite so broken as he did now. But he could cry about it later. It was hard enough sitting in the stands, watching the fog bank close in around them and just knowing everyone was looking at him. He was her best friend, their eyes were saying.

He was there that night. Police questioned him for hours because if anyone knew where she was it was him. Said he had no clue.

I think he's lying.

Or maybe he's just a bad friend.

He felt like an outsider looking in though, to be fair, he pretty much always did. Always popular in the sense that everyone knew him and his name always made it onto the invite list of the parties. Even as a child, growing up in a wealthy family had its benefits, he supposed. People liked to come over because his mother made the best snacks and he had the biggest back yard. But he was also just a little bit out of step with everyone around him, too. He felt that he felt too much. Or maybe they didn't feel enough. And it left him constantly feeling stupid or dramatic or cryptic or unclear. So, while he didn't have any enemies, he was also not often any higher than third or fourth in any one particular person's list of friends.

Which was fine, he told himself. He wasn't going to lie and say he could do it on his own, because he couldn't. But he could do it without them. If he had to.

He didn't want to though.

He found himself in first period, homeroom, where a plump lady with her gray hair pulled back into a tight bun and a floor-length floral skirt stood in front of the class with her strange, noticeably soft hands folded in front of her. She peered at the class over her horn-rimmed glasses, regarding them all. Sizing them up. How many of you will cause me trouble this year, she seemed to wonder, thin lips pursed into a thinner line. One would think she didn't already know them from the year before, which intrigued and offended Presely. Intrigued because maybe it was a chance to reinvent himself. Offended because who he was should've been memorable enough. Finally, she cleared her throat.

"I am Mrs. Nonsworth, but most of you know that." her words were ever-slow and drawn out, short of breath in the way that someone who used to smoke cigarettes is always huffing.

"I'll be your homeroom teacher again this year."

She licked her lips, considering something in her head before producing a piece of paper for her beady eyes to concentrate on.

"We've been asked by the new school counselor this year, erm- a Ms... Ms..." her voice faded to a whisper as her ancient brain tried, desperately, to remember the name. It was only when one of the students told her that her eyes sharpened and she said, "Ah, yeah! Ms. Holliday. She has asked us all to try and develop more-" her voice changed to a more deliberate one as she read directly from the page in her hands- "well-rounded personal relationships with our students. So, I would like each of you to come to the front of the room, state your name, what the focus of your study is here at Salvatore, your favorite color, and one random fact about yourself." As she said the requirements, she scribbled them hastily onto the board, finishing with a flourish, she pointed the chalk directly at Presely.

"Crap," he muttered. He stood regardless.

"I'm uhh Presley Douglas, I am in the music program, my favorite color is sky blue, and-" he hesitated when trying to think of a random fact. They found my best friend's severed head on the roof of this building seemed too morbid. So, instead, he said: "I'm allergic to bees."

[✨ zozo.]

e l a i n a .

tell me what you want from me
why you gotta act so needy?
maybe you were what i'm missin'
maybe i crave your affection

Yes!

"Me next!" you screech, hand spasming in the air above your head. Although you can't decipher whether the groans around you are a response to yourself or the task at hand, you've decided not to worry about that for the time being. This was a chance to excel above and beyond - not many moments in your time at this school, save from when you were on the stage, did you get that opportunity.

"I'm Elaina Jane Keyford!" you announce, beginning your sentence before you ever reach the front of the class. "But you can call me Laina, or Lai, or EJ!"

Fingers find chalk and soon enough your full name is scrawled onto the blackboard in cursive font, underlined for good measure. "You'll know me from previous school plays such as Saffron In Wonderland, Attack of the Hei Heis and The Tragic Yet Short-lived Love of Opal and Potato - playing the lead roles, of course!"

Your cheeks ache from smiling too hard, and you give yourself half a second to catch your breath before bounding into your next performance. Today you are a show-stopper, an object of affection, the friend that they all must be desperate to acquire. 

"I'm the top of class in Drama, as you all know, but don't let that stop you getting to know me!" you continue, sugary-sweet as your favourite food: toffee apples. "I promise I will treat students from all lesser subjects equally!"

What was that next requirement? Oh, yeah - toffee apples!

"My favourite food is toffee apples and had I known we would be sharing today," you drawl, a disappointed tone and look thrown towards Mrs. Nonsworth, "I would have brought one along for each and every one of you. Maybe on my birthday, which is August First - I think! I can't be too sure because I'm adopted, isn't that cool? I was chosen!"

You hope, desperately, that the popular girls will choose you too. 

"My favourite colour is gold, I love Fridays, I have two sisters and a brother - I'm the youngest! - and my favourite season is summer..."

Facts burst forth from your mind and onto your tongue, checking each one off with a tap of a finger until you run out of fingers and shove two thumbs up, grinning like there's a gun to your head.

In a way, you think glumly behind the mask, there is.

"Sooooo yeah! That's me! Thank you for your attention today," you conclude, finishing off with a showman's bow. "I can't wait to hear all..." you trail off, big brown eyes scanning the room, "about....." until you land on Stella and your whole face lights up, "you!"

table by elegant !

[charade]

cleo.

"Ooh, look what you made me do
Look what you made me do
I don't trust nobody and nobody trusts me
I'll be the actress starring in your bad dreams"

Homeroom was an odd mix, some of whom she knew better than others. But she knew all of them, and that was good enough. They were all high enough on the social ladder that she’d seen them at more than a few parties. In fact, she thought they might have all been at that last one.

Even Cassius, that waste of space. God she hated limp noodles.

Her sister. The gaggle of girls she called friends. A girl that used to be one. Two boys she’d love to get her hands on, a few that were irrelevant and one that was supposed to be her boyfriend. Potentially the richest boy at Salvatore. So obviously, she had to be with him. Presley was forced to stand up first, and she struggled to remember anything about him. He didn’t do anything to stand out. He was so—

average.

Boo, get off the stage. She wanted to say, but that old hag had a way of knowing. She was watching the troublemakers like a hawk. A doddering old hawk, but a hawk none the less. Cleo grinned at the teacher instead and then brought her attention to the front as Elaina made a nuisance of herself. Cleo smiled at her with her lips but not her eyes as the theater nerd flounced around, so full of energy, so bouncy, so—

Annoying.

It wasn’t the subject that made the person, it was the person that made the subject. There were no lesser subjects, only lesser people.

Elaina was one of the lesser people.

A pretender. A dog that begged for the scraps that fell from the tables of her betters and rolled over in hopes that someone would scratch her belly. Useful in the right situations but only if she was trained properly. It was pitiful really, that Elaina only recognized what power looked like, but was tragically unable to understand it.

Note to self, buy some onions, cover them in toffee and leave them on her desk, signed, your secret admirer. Take pictures. Laugh.

She got up as Elaina sat down and walked slowly to the front, swaying her hips gently in a way that she knew would infuriate Stella, especially as she passed Benji’s desk. She turned around with a small spin and struck a pose, jutting her hip out slightly and twirling a lock of hair around her finger as she tilted her head, her other arm crossed over her chest.

“I’m Cleo Burns," she said holding up one hand with a flourish, “But you all already knew that.” She cast a sidelong glance at their homeroom teacher as if to say this was a waste of time. Which it was. “I’m a natural blonde and a natural born athlete, captain of the volleyball team, center for the basketball team and goalie for the lacrosse team." 

It wasn’t easy, balancing the finest fashion with a serve that could knock someone’s head off, but she was good at it. “So, obviously, I’m at Salvatore for sports.”

She smiled sweetly in Elaina’s direction. “We can’t all spend our time pretending to be other people, much as I’m sure we’d like to.” She wondered if Elaina was smart enough to realize that wasn’t a compliment.

She doubted it.

“My favorite color is whatever’s currently in style,” she said, bringing both of her hands down from in front of her face to her chest like curtains to illustrate her outfit. Then of course, there was a random fact to talk about. Well, she could have told them that she used to like photography, but that camera was gathering dust on her bookshelf at home.

Her eyes wandered over to Parker for a moment, and a birthday she’d ditched to go on her first date. They’d drifted after that and just sort of stopped talking to each other.

The past was just that. Past.

The degenerates in front of her didn’t need to know that she sang in the shower or that her favorite ice cream flavor was mint chocolate chip. It was none of their business that she had a pet iguana named Sergeant Benton and certainly no one needed to know that she could get tipsy off of a single wine cooler.

She examined her nails, finding them much more interesting than the people she had homeroom with.

“And there’s enough interesting things about me to fill a book, so I’ll just settle for letting you all know that I’m going to be junior Prom Queen this year. That’s a fact.” She smiled dangerously at the front row and headed back to her seat, crossing her legs and wondering how the hell she was going to get enough people to vote Grady for Prom King.

He lacked presence.

Luckily she had enough for both of them.

elegant

[gamemaker tallis 🧚🏽‍♂️kaitlin.]

This is a lesson in how to torture a person. It feels like an imminent death, forced into slow motion. You hate sitting at that desk, and it only takes a few moments before you slump down in your chair. You put your head down the second Mrs. Nonsworth starts to speak in that annoying drawl of hers. You listen to her try and struggle through her words, listen as it seems like she can't even process her own thoughts inside of her head and turn them into a coherent collection of words, and it makes you want to roll your eyes. You want to be anywhere else right now, that much you're pretty much absolutely certain of. When you look around at the room filled with faces that you know, some better than others, some who know you better than you ever wanted to be known by another person, you can't help but want to literally fucking run away. But then Presley goes, and you can't help but pay attention. It's not that he's a commanding presence, because he's most certainly not. He's never been the boy that fills up a room, never been the boy that everyone pays attention to over everyone else. But he was one of those people that you have always wondered about, somewhere in the back of your head. Wondered if, when you saw him in the halls, was that all of him? Or have you only been allowed a small little part of him? Is the boy you see sometimes in the music wing of the main building the same one you see being overlooked in the dining hall?  Because here is this: making you smile is no small thing. It's elastic, a thing ready to snap back into place at any given moment, fragile and breakable and so, so unbearably easily lost. But—I'm allergic to bees, and you huff out a half breath of laughter, feels your eyes crinkle at the corners, shake your head and keep your gaze locked on him as he walks away from the front of the room and sits back down in his own chair. Because here's this: boys who deserved to get overlooked don't make you smile.  You're watching him still when Laina dances to the front of the room. It pulls your focus, and you're not sure there's a soul in the world that would know how to follow up whatever horse shit it was that Laina just pulled. A part of you is grateful when she doesn't lock her eyes with yours when she scans the room, decides who she wants to go next. It's not just that you don't want to stand in front of these people and introduce yourself You don't want to be here period. If you've being honest with yourself, you thought about skipping. You didn't want to be here, in homeroom, staring out into a crowd of faces that you don't care about and that you don't have any interest in trying to know. Not really. You don't want to listen to Elaina Keyford talk about herself like she's god gift to this school, don't want to listen to Cleo swish and sway her way down the space between the desks and look at Benji like he's someone that's worth her attention when everyone knows that he doesn't care about anyone and therefore no one should care about him, and you definitely don't want to listen to Stella start to bitch about how Cleo clearly fucking stole her turn at the front of the classroom, don't even want to give her room to try and cause that particular scene, so you decide to stir some shit all on your own. You're out of your chair before Cleo has even had a chance to finish sitting down, which you're pretty sure will probably also piss her off, the fact that her little sashay away from what she thinks is her stage will have been cut short. You push to your full height quickly, all long limbs and lithe frame, and stride to the front of the room. Before you can give it a second though, you push a little cat figurine away from the edge of her desk and fully sit back on the wood top, crossing your arms as you do. You know that Noddington or whatever will hate it, but there was no way in hell you were going to come and stand in front of a room of people and look anything other than perfectly fucking comfortable. No way. "Maverick Poole," you say, lips pursed, and then you let your eyes settle right on Presley. You don't flinch. "Never been much one for having a favorite color," you go on, which is horribly pretentious and you're perfectly aware of it, but it's the truth, have always had a wardrobe that consisted of varying tones between white and black and just about nothing else. "I'm in the art department, but all of you know that, which is why I figure it's worth mentioning this exercise is fucking pointless." You fully roll your eyes. "As if we haven't all known exactly who the other is for years." You inhale, exhale in a huff, remember Nonsworth wants a fun fact. You mentally gag at the thought. "Mr. Poole," Nonsworth says from behind.  "Yeah, yeah, a fun fact," you say as you roll your eyes again, in response to her tone. Then you look at Presley, smile like a bullet in the chamber. "I'm not allergic to anything." Then you lean your palms back on the desk, ready to settle right in. "Go back to your desk, Mr. Poole," Nonsworth says, voice curt and short. You've already managed to piss her off, day one, but you figure you would have done that if you skipped class, too, so really no skin off your back. You literally hop down, not that you need to. "Yes, ma'am," you reply, give a mocking bow. When you get back to your desk, you do what you can to meet Presley's eyes. When you do, you wink.

[tick 12a / calla]

Nonsworth got fatter over the summer.

Maybe the whole dead students thing threw her off, or maybe she just finally decided to accept her decrepit fate and gave up.

She had left a bad taste in your mouth last year, something that reminded you of that odd yellow colour that clung to old parchment, or the nasty patterns that cigarette smoke stained into white ceilings. You hate that you have to spend another year looking at her every morning.

Of course, you know if she was really that much of a problem, you could get her fired.

Maybe sometimes it's just entertaining to watch her lose that one strand of sanity she has left.

Cleo must finally be rubbing off on you. 

You watch Nonsworth call on- Percy? Something like that, you don't know. He's one of the nobodies that sits just on the edge of your peripheral, and that's all that really matters. You don't care enough to listen to him. You certainly don't care enough to know his name.

But when he's finished, a blink and you'll miss it type of show, you hear something so familiar, something so out of place, that you can't help it when your eyes shoot to Maverick. It's an unconscious thing, almost like a habit, and even after all these years you still can't quite manage to beat it down. He's smiling at that Percy kid, a quick half thing that makes a leaden weight settle low in your gut.

Because it's a little like the way he used to look at you, when you were both just kids that didn't know any better. You're stuck staring at the side of his face for maybe a beat too long, searching for a midnight sky that isn't really there anymore, before Elaina prances her way to the front. It gives you an excuse to pull yourself back forwards and you snatch at it, lean back and roll your eyes at Stella when Elaina's done blabbering about whatever it is that she does here.

You try to steady the way you're breathing and remember who you are in these halls.

Cleo gets up from beside you then, and suddenly you kind of feel obligated to pay attention. And, shit, you try to seem interested, you really do, just like you've been trying to all day. Because all day you've been trying to play the perfect part of the perfect boyfriend but you can't stop thinking about summer break and that one stupid night and stupid fucking Benji who almost ruined your life all over again.

It's fine though. This year is going to be fine, you're taking care of it.

You are.

And so you try to look engaged with what Cleo's saying, you try to look doting, but you think it might just come across as glazed over so you give up and wonder if it would be too much if you wolf-whistled when she walked by again.

It's not like you get a chance to even test it out, though because Mav is drawing your attention again. Except this time you think it's alright, it's okay if you look, because a quick cursory glance tells you that everyone else is looking  too.

When he says he doesn't even have a favourite colour, it digs at something hollow inside of you. He smiles at Percy again, and even though you tell yourself you don't care, even though you know deep down you don't care, you still remember how your favourite colour used to be him.

It makes your throat burn.

You're up and out of your seat before Nonsworth can call on anyone else, raising your chin and straightening your back, readjusting your mask, because you're not weak enough to sit there in self-pity. If there's anything you're good at it, it's this clever little game of pretend.

You don't look at Mav, and you certainly don't look at Naomi. You don't need them anymore, not when you have Cleo and Stella and Ally and every other little bird that flocks to your shadow.

"Grady Sullivan." You say at the front, even though you know you don't have to. You're royalty here and they all know it, you could buy them all out if you were bored enough. You're the picture of belonging up at the front of the room, at home in the spotlight with a litany of eyes on you. "I'm here for painting, my favourite colour is tyrian purple."

You look at Nonsworth then, lean towards her all conspiratorially because you know she's too common to understand what it is you've just said.

Plus she threatened to send a letter home about your near-failing grade in English last year, and you still think she deserves to be taken down a few pegs.

"In case you don't know - it's a pigment imported specially from Four," You let her know more than a little condescendingly, "Takes about nine thousand mollusks just to make a gram." And you tilt your head to the side, put your hands behind your back and relish in the feeling of being untouchable, "Very rare."

You've always been such a good little liar. You crack the smallest grin at the look on Nonsworth's face, because you know for a fact that she's never seen the shade before. There's probably no one else in the room that has. But that doesn't matter, because your favourite colour isn't really that obscenely expensive crimson.

It's verdigris - the blue-green of weathered copper.

Not that you've ever told anyone that. Not that you're going to.

You roll your shoulders and flip through the little deck of facts you have in your head, trying to pick out whatever makes you look the best.

"My father owns SEO Pharmaceuticals." You say instead, "The biggest Capitol supplier in Six."

It's easier to give them all that, something they already know, than something they don't. You're not in the mood to break down any barriers today. This isn't some kind of soul-bearing therapy session, and you're not about to let yourself be that vulnerable just because two people you barely even knew are dead.

You don't see the point.

And so you stride back to your desk and sit down, cross your arms and wonder how soon is too soon to get Cassius to start working on your papers. The first day is probably excessive right? You don't want the kid to burn out and give up halfway through.

Or maybe you do. You haven't really decided yet.

[cass]

c a s s i u s .

You locked yourself in the bathroom
Lying on the floor when I break through
I pull you in to feel your heartbeat
Can you hear me screaming "Please don't leave me"

You hate it already.

From the moment she had stood in front of the entire class and declared her intentions, you had eyed the door. It looked simple enough to get to, and you had already planned on skipping most of your classes today anyway. The tree out front of the school was a lovely place to waste time, the school siren echoing faintly in the distance.

It's too late, though, one after another each of your classmates stands up, introducing themselves each in their own unique ways. Elaina goes after Presley, she's interesting and for a moment, as she practically yells, you had a hard time burying you smile. The energy she produces fills the entire room and you can already tell that Cleo is going to hate her. But then, did Cleo actually like anyone?

Next up is the witch, and you can't stop yourself from rolling your eyes as she opens her mouth. The contempt and superiority that drips from every word she speaks makes you feel sick. She's a nightmare, the devil dressed in designer clothes. You wonder if she would melt under the rain. You wished it would, there were too many victims to her hate, so many kids in this school who could feel safe without her here.

Mav is next, and in usual Maverick fashion he swears, making a big show of how stupid the exercise is. You agree with him, you're already apprehensive and anxious about the idea of speaking in front of everyone.

Your gaze travels around the room, eyes stopping as they land on a familiar head. Even within the fake lighting of the room she still shines. Your mind is filled with regret, a chance to create a friendship had been placed right before you and you had wiped it away in the span of a few days. It feels foolish to think it, but you had found yourself missing her company over the summer break, yearning for that quiet comfort that had come so easily in the time you had spent with her.

You stare for a moment longer, focus shifting as the next person stands up. Grady Sullivan. He's a strange boy, you're sure there's something wrong with him, but you haven't quite locked it in place yet. It doesn't really matter, he'll come looking for you shortly, and every time you talk with him another piece of the puzzle falls into place.

Grady talks like he's as fancy and rich as his father and that he doesn't have you do his homework. You've always wondered why they're so protective of their images, why it matters so much that he needs to ask for help. They treated you as if you were the weak one, but you're never the one asking others for help, not like Grady does, at least. the one time you tried to approach him in front of his friends, he had dragged you around a corner, the fear in his eyes as obvious as the shock in yours.

Once Grady finishes talking the silence hangs in the air. It goes on for a heartbeat longer before you stand up. Your heart races in your chest, fingers curling against the wood of your table as you look straight ahead.

"I'm Cassius," it feels tight in your throat, and you find yourself clearing it soon after. "Sunset orange," is your favourite colour. It's soft and gentle and filled with warmth, it sings a tune to the world around you as it bids the day farewell. It touches the earth in the morning light. The warmth it brings to the world reminds you of a certain person, your gaze flickers over to Naomi-

"I write stories and songs." Your gaze snaps forwards once more, and you release a breath before slumping back down into your seat.

elegant

[maverick hale 🌧️ d5 [nyte]]

NAOMI VALERO

I GET A LITTLE JEALOUS, A LITTLE SELFISH

Salvatore expects them to fit snugly in the places they don't belong. Guilt smells like stale cigarette smoke, Naomi decides, resting her palm on her cheek as Ms. Nonsworth fills the room with words that sound pretty but do little else. (Fitting, as Naomi could think of a few of her companions that are much of the same.) But she keeps her gaze straight forward and makes a point of not letting it slip toward Ally St. Cloud. It's Maverick's job to pick fights he can't win.

The room's already so thick with tension it's almost painful to watch them dance on command like this. Eager to twist the moves into a petty grab for power or to win some silent argument with clever quips. It's nice to know they're all the same, even as the school seems determined to cover the blood spatters with a new coat of paint.

It kind of hurts to hear Presley talk, so she doesn't really listen to him. Every time she looks at him for too long she remembers all those unpleasant things that were pointless now. Sure, she saw Scarlet that night but it hadn't meant a darn thing. It wouldn't have made any difference if she told anyone or not. Talking to authorities would only result in an ugly stain on her perfect record and her mother's palm across her cheek. She couldn't have saved Scarlet she-

let's out a relieved breath when Elaina takes Presley's place. She's always reminded Naomi of a lamp caught in an electrical storm, unfathomably bright and two seconds from burning out. She smiles at the words that seem to trip over each other in their haste to leave Elaina's mouth. They were never particularly close, but Naomi admired her authenticity. There wasn't one person who could say they were just like Elaina, it must be nice.

Cleo follows, reminding Naomi of a devil dressed in designer jewels. Of course, she's absolutely breathtaking. Her confidence is oppressive but Naomi never minded the feeling. She had always been careful to keep Cleo's more malignant attention off of her, no matter what that took. Naomi is no hero, nor does she have any intention of playing one.

Maverick's antics make her stifle a laugh and Grady makes her regret she hadn't brought ear plugs. It's amazing how, after so much has changed, nothing ever really does. This year didn't mark new beginnings, they've merely dug their graves three feet deeper. At least the company is bearable.

Cassius takes center stage and that makes Naomi nervous. She doesn't want to draw attention, but she can't help the way her leg starts to shake when he speaks. This place could be so rotten for some, even when they'd done nothing wrong. This couldn't be easy for him but Naomi can't make that better.

(Because you won't risk your neck, even for him?)

She shoots him a thumbs up from beneath her desk and almost scrambles to take his place. Her smile tastes like sugar and vanilla - likely thanks to the lip gloss she'd hastily applied before the bell rung. Naomi always felt at home in front of a crowd, though she never dared demand their attention. She opted, instead, to try and capture it. Performance came as naturally as breathing. "Naomi Valero, as many of you know!"

The corners of her eyes wrinkle as her smile grows larger.

"I think my favorite color changes with the day, honestly, but I've always been fond of yellow." Like the sun, so bright you'll go blind, "aaaand I've got two canaries back home. I'm trying to teach them to sing with me but that could be going better."

Naomi laughs at herself before anyone else can.

I'M JUST A LITTLE MESSED UP

[presto]

LIKE YOU

[/presto]

[arx!!]

zeke provence.

His eyelids had been heavy even before Mrs. Nonsworth had begun speaking. And now that she was, the slow drawls and gentle tone had left him with his cheek smushed against his palm and lashes obscuring his vision. He knew some- no, scratch that. He knew most of his classmates preferred a little more excitement in their homerooms, but he certainly preferred the same, peaceful, monotonous-

"Me next!"

Like nails across a fucking chalkboard. Or like chalk across a chalkboard, pressed just a little too enthusiastically so that the letters screeched her name for themselves.

He suppressed an audible grumble, settling for the quieter and more discreet sigh. Elaina was familiar⁠—he remembered he'd seen one the plays she mentioned, that Stella had mentioned her birthday before⁠—and so it was preferable to let his eyes follow her around rather than look at Presley and see the ghosts that lingered in his eyes.

Instead he thought about candied apples and honeycomb toffee, free hand idly sifting and stirring along with a makeshift recipe he'd be sure to write down later. It helped to distract him from Cleo's usual impulsive need to piss off the people beneath her—which, of course, is to say everyone.

His lips twisted into a small smile as Maverick expressed his usual hatred of- everything? Maybe the theatrics weren't to his taste, but at least the kid was right—this is fucking ridiculous.

So ridiculous in fact that he pondered refusing to participate all together. Who was going to make him? Mrs. Nonsworth? The new counselor? Some pencil pushing assholes in ill-fitting suits? Peacekeepers with their little batons and big bad cords of nylon? The threat of a few extra slips of paper with his name on it tossed in their precious fishbowls?

Whoever had scattered tiny little pieces of Scarlet around campus?

Nah. No one could make him do a single fucking thing. Especially stupid things.

...if only it weren't so early in the morning.

Whatever. He'd pencil in the dismantling of the Salvatore bureaucracy for later in the day. Maybe next week.

The room fell silent as Grady took his seat, like it had finally gotten the chance to take a breath after being forced to gasp and beg for air for the past few minutes. That was his cue—the lull in the storm, the hush of a crowd, peace among chaos.

He readied himself to stand—slow and steady as his body protested against the simple activity—only to find he hadn't straightened himself quickly enough as Cassius spoke. He waited patiently across the room, thankful there was someone who had as few words to say as he did. The way he slumped into his seat after he'd finished suggested what Zeke had already knew: It was a fucking relief to get this nonsense over with.

Naomi shot up before he could even think about starting to move again. He let himself stand slowly as she spoke, determined to be the next one to get this out of the way. He'd already planned what he was going to say a long time ago, but was thankful for the reminder to smile as her warm laughter made its way through the room.

He didn't bother waiting for her to sit back down, speaking from behind his desk before anyone else had a chance to come forward.

"Zeke," he said, giving a two-finger salute to the room with a soft smirk and small nod. "I'm in the culinary arts program, my favorite color is green, and I love a glass of red wine with my sushi dinners."

He smiled as he sat, more at the thought of a candle lit dinner with his favorite meal than the people around him. But he supposed it doubled well enough as possessing a friendly demeanor. And that was perfectly alright with him.

"surrounded & up against a wall, i'll shred 'em all & go with you."

♪

[sidney]

Entering the classroom, you wonder if anyone notices the heavy dark circles under your eyes, beneath the layer of liner you sloppily applied before you'd rushed out of the dorms this morning. Sitting down, you look around to see if anyone actually notices you didn't have time to do your hair, or plan an outfit, or put yourself together in any type of way other than the bare minimum. You glance back and forth over your shoulder as a boy, Presley, who you've never really spoken more than five words to nervously talks about himself at the behest of Nonsworth, and ask yourself if anyone can tell you woke up about fifteen minutes ago. You try to smile at Laina as best you can as she, ripred love her, gives a little too much information in front of everyone, but can't help notice the piercing gaze of Cleo from where she sits. 

Shit, I saw her yesterday. Will she realize I have the same shirt on? Fuck. Oh, of course she will. She's Cleo. She doesn't miss anything.

The last time you'd glanced at the clock it was 5am. The grays and blues of dawn were creeping up over the lake, and you'd thought maybe, just maybe, you'd be able to stay up, to fight away the heaviness of your head and the exhaustion in your limbs with just one more little orange pill. It wouldn't have been the first time you'd pulled an all-nighter the night before the first day of classes. In fact, you can remember in great detail the night before sophomore year in which you hastily read every novel planned for AP Lit that semester just to make sure you were prepared. 

It was a sickness, really. It still is. Your incessant need to never be surprised academically or personally, for that matter. But you will always choose to do what's best for your future rather than what's best for you in the present. Like a good night's sleep, or a balanced morning meal. And all the things a seventeen-year-old girl should be focused on—like Cleo and her goal of total social domination, or your best friend Kelsey gushing over that senior boy with green eyes—fall to the wayside. As nothing more than frivolous things such a focused young woman like you couldn't possibly be bothered with. 

This year, however, you weren't wide awake so you could spend all night getting ready for classes, anticipating homework before it's been assigned and getting a jump start—no. You were up until the wee hours of the morning because every time you close your eyes lately, you see that stupid fucking picture. Plastered all over the school halls. Stuffed in lockers and hung on bulletin boards. You hear the heinous laughter of you and your sister as chaos ensues at your own hands. You feel the twinge of guilt as that poor girl walks down the hall completely isolated, alone and humiliated, while everyone around her whispers behind her back. And then nausea finally makes a home within your stomach in the weeks that follow... when they find pieces all over campus. 

And you're left with just one thought, one question, really, that's kept you up for so many nights lately: was it our fault? 

You still don't know the answer. Maybe you do and you just don't like what it is. But what you do know for sure now is that popularity can be likened to a disease, eating away at its hosts as a parasite would, leaving those who've fallen victim to its clutches hollow and shallow and morally bankrupt. If what happened had taught you anything, it was that. And if there was anyone to constantly remind you of a lesson learned, it was Cleo and her minions. Even more so when she steps up to the front of the class like she's the main event and we're all lucky to bear witness. She drones on about being a natural athlete, and silently you can't help but curse her for that simple truth; you can't help but be jealous. She was born to run, to dribble a ball or spike it over a net, and you have to work twice as hard just to compare. You listen with a scowl as she announces not her candidacy for Prom Queen, but instead practically starts her acceptance speech. 

If you didn't love her deep down, you'd pretend to cough while covering a very pointed pathetic beneath your breath. But you do, so you just ignore her instead. You pretend she doesn't exist as another boy you've never really gotten to know puffs out his chest in the most passive of ways, with a mini tirade about the usefulness of Nonsworth's little exercise. It doesn't feel like something you should agree with. And maybe if this was last year, you would have gone right after Cleo instead, announced yourself as the second Burns powerhouse in the athletic department, and worn that badge of status and popularity given to you by mere association to your sister with honor and pride. But it's not, so you smirk quietly in the middle of the third row as Maverick calls it fucking pointless and try not to laugh because he's right. 

Next is Grady and you can't help but sink a little lower in your seat, rolling your eyes as he starts talking about some specially made purple. Really? This is who Cleo chooses to spend her time with? A boy who's most fun fact about himself is that his dad is rich. And she gives you shit? Fucking hell. You thought she was smarter than that. Apparently not. It leaves a bade taste in your mouth as another boy goes next, keeps it short and sweet, saying no more than ten words. You almost admire it, that kind of bold indifference, albeit offered up with a little nervous hesitation. But he doesn't even go up to the front of the class. You want to do the same, to make a statement, to break the rules without really breaking them, but that part of you that drives you to turn everything between you and Cleo a competition would never allow it. 

But what happens after Cassius sits back down, knocks the wind out of you. Naomi darts to the front before his ass can even rest back in his seat, like she knows how painful public speaking can be for some and it's her duty to make the transition as easy as possible. And she's so excited to do it. You melt a little on the inside, in a way you thought you'd long abandoned. It'd been a whole summer since you'd seen her, been nearly two months since you'd allowed yourself to even think about her, but then she's right in front of you beaming to the class about how her favorite color is yellow and how she sings with her two stubborn birds at home, and you just—

You thought you had this stupid crush under control, but you're blushing while she smiles to the class as if she even knows who you are. 

Idiot. 

The truth is you barely hear what Zeke has to say, your ears are ringing too loud from the rush of seeing a girl so adorable it tightens the chest. So, you take this as an opportunity, to get this over with sooner rather than later. Now, as opposed to after it's too late and you're last and forced to be unforgettable as a result. 

It takes you a few seconds to make your way forward, nervously tucking your hair behind your ears without realizing it'll reveal the two streaks of red you'd dyed into your hair a week ago. A little act of rebellion when you told your parents not to expect you back next summer. Your mother was livid. Cleo had looked disgusted. And your father seemed horrified at the disobedience. It had been everything you wanted, all three of them finally realizing you were never going to be exactly what they wanted you to be: a perfect copy of your sister. 

The memory washes a sense of calm over you as you turn to face everyone. "I'm Clara, obviously." You all already know that. "Captain of the lacrosse team. Best long distance runner on the track team." It's the same spiel Cleo gave, listing the same achievements. "Here for sports, yes, but—" You pause, maybe for dramatic effect. Maybe because you want to make sure Cleo's paying attention. "I'm also captain of the debate team.  Head of the tutoring club.  I will be top of the class again this year, too. And that's a fact." It feels like iron on your tongue, but like vindication in your bones when you look toward your sister. 

"Oh, and, my favorite color is red," you shrug lightly, tug out the hair you'd just tucked in from behind your ears, and let out a relieved sigh as you head back to your seat.

Thank god it's over.

[gamemaker sloane ♕ kaяi ♕]

A L L Y

It was an escape.

Salvatore Academy was the only place Ally St.Cloud could truly be herself. Well, kind of. The place where she could be mostly herself. It was at least a place where she was not overshadowed by her younger sister, a place where Father and Mother where not looming over her and watching her every move. It was a place where people seemed to actually like her.

At least some of them.

Now, for the first time she was nervous and anxious to arrive. Her freshly done manicure was the only thing reminding her not to bite off all her fingernails. It was a place that now held a ghost, one that she helped to create. Ally still shuddered when ever anyone spoke of it, which only the bravest soles did. The news of her body being found scattered around campus broke her into pieces. A girl who used to be her best friend, a girl who had fell on the social ladder so she had to immediately drop. She had invited her to the party, it was partially her fault. The loss of one friend to be able to gain ten more. Was it worth it? Ally still wasn’t sure. Now there was a dark cloud hanging over the entire school.

Chills crept up her arms as she took her seat on the first day, knowing very well who the empty seat beside her was meant to belong to.

Nothing had changed since they last left. The people, the classroom, Mrs. Nonsworth. She was still a frumpy old lady with a raspy voice who desperately needed some fashion advice. Her eyes met Cleo and she gave her a soft smile. She knew she would be nobody without her, so she is forever in her debt. The sound of Mrs. Nonsworth voice echoing throughout the room brought her back to reality from her daydream of a crown atop her head.

”I would like each of you to come to the front of the room, state your name, what the focus of your study is here at Salvatore, your favorite color, and one random fact about yourself.”

Ally’s eyes grew a little brighter and she sat up a little straighter in her seat. The idea of a chance to talk about herself in front of the whole class made her giddy. Quickly, she ran her fingers through her hair to straighten any loose hairs and checks her teeth in the compact mirror she always keeps on hand. Perfect. Just as she was about to stand up and walk to the front of the room, Mrs. Nonsworth pointed to a name on the chalkboard. Not as perfect. Her face fell and she slouched back into her seat with huff.

They save the best for last anyway, she supposed.

First up was Presley. Cute enough, but also quite odd. He wasn’t the highest in the social standings, but most certainly not the lowest either. Maybe if he tried, or cared, he could climb the ranks. He seemed uneventful to say the least. His presence brought the same amount of emotion as his speech showed.

Nothing.

Elaina was next. A sweet, bubbly outgoing girl. They had grown quite close over the summer, but share dare not tell a soul. She was practically a nobody, and Ally was most definitely a somebody. Her standing would be destroyed, but the way her brown eyes looked excitedly around the room and the hair on her head fell perfectly in place forced Ally to give her a small smile as she sat back down. Of course, not big enough for Cleo to see though.

She would have her head.

The queen followed in her footsteps. Cleo spoke with such confidence, such grace that she couldn’t help but admire her. She was the walking form of perfect. Well liked, beautiful, talented. If only Ally could be that lucky. She placed her hands under her chin and listened intently to every word. As soon as she headed back to her seat, she began clapping excitedly and only stopped when she finally sat down. Cleo was everything she wanted to be.

Maybe one day she would help her get there.

Next up was Maverick. She dared to let her eyes meet his for the smallest of seconds, and then immediately brought them back down to stare at her desk. She couldn’t look at him, she wouldn’t, not after what he did to her. For once, she thought somebody finally liked her for who she truly was, but she should know better than to be that foolish. He had taken her heart and stomped on it until she could feel no more. When others asked she blew it off, saying that it meant nothing to either of them.

Secretly she was falling to pieces.

Ugh, then Grady. If he wasn’t so unbearable maybe she would admit she had some type of respect for him. It seemed that every time he opened his mouth he droned on and on about some expensive thing he just bought. Maybe she was jealous, or maybe she knew expensive wasn’t always better. If he stayed quiet she would enjoy his presence. His fashion sense was almost as good as hers.

But not quite.

Cassius. Ally didn’t know much about him, just that he was sad most of the time and wrote songs. Part of her wanted to ask him to read something to her some time, but the other part of her knew she could never be caught with the likes of him. Next was Naomi, a cute tiny thing. She never really saw a reason to hate her, she seemed to be at least friendly with everyone, but desperate to be popular. No matter what someone asked she did it, normally without question. Part of her was wary that Cleo would replace her in their circle with the girl, she did take those pictures after all. A huge part of their success was due to her.

At least she knew she was prettier.

Stella’s brother, Zeke, makes his way to the front next. She’s never talked to him much. All she knows that he’s a boy in the class who has a sister that could probably burn down the entire school with one look if she really tried. He cooked or baked or whatever, but he must be good. Maybe one day she’d ask to sample his work.

She did have impeccable taste after all.

Next was Clara, Cleo’s other half. Lesser? More evil? Better? She was never really sure with the two, it seemed to be a constant battle. If she was honest, she still got them confused sometimes, but she always straightened them out when Clara was nice to her. If Cleo said kind words they were genuinely fake, but it didn’t bother Ally.

She knew what she had to do to stay on top.

Finally, it was her time to shine. With one final hand sweeping through her hair she walked gracefully to the front. She cleared her throat and made eye contact with everyone in the room.

”Ally St.Cloud, yes of the St.Cloud’s,” she smiled politely as if there were any other notable St.Clouds in the District. ”My favorite color of the season is hunter green since it looks good on,” her eyes flashed to the back of the room to a random classmate who happened to be wearing a velvet jacket in the exact color. ”Well, on mostly everyone. This summer I sent my designs to some very influential people in the Capitol, Daddy knows some important people there.” And she got her heart broken, but it seemed best to leave that part out. ”Actually, District Six’s latest Opening Ceremony outfits were inspired by my looks!” Or, at least she was pretty sure they were, she swore they looked exactly like her sketches. ”Actually, if any of you need any advice feel free to stop by my studio! I’m always willing to help.”

”Ahem, yes thank you Ms. St.Cloud.” rasped Mrs.Nonsworth. So with a final smile and wave she sashayed back to her seat.

It seemed to go well, but what did it matter.

Any attention was good attention, right?

[gamemaker kelsier]

b e n j i .

"you are weak
but not foolish
you have learned
how to die."

Morning assembly was a long affair, a drawn out thing spent staring straight ahead, ignoring the knowing glances of other students. He wondered which of them thought him the murderer, which of them knew that it couldn't have been him.

Scarlet's locker had been reassigned. Benji had been walking down the hall when he'd looked up out of habit and seen a figure behind the open door of locker 223, Scar's. The new owner had shut the door then. She was a small girl with short brown hair that curled at her neck, there were horn-rimmed glasses perched on her nose. Benji didn't know her.

But he'd forgotten to breathe when he had thought he might.

In homeroom, there was a blue jay building a nest on the window ledge. Its faeces littered the brick and Benji wondered how long it would take for the school to notice it and remove it. He took his medication at his desk and stared out at the school grounds, ready to spend the next hour daydreaming. Nothing of consequence ever seemed to happen in homeroom anyway.

Maybe he should have used the precious moments before class to catch up with the other kids and find out about their summers. Perhaps if he were more charming he would have but Benji never really had a need for that, other people had never really interested him. He understood why it was vital to interact with them but that didn't mean he enjoyed it. Somehow this personality flaw had made him popular. Other kids saw his indifference and dubbed him an ice prince, unobtainable and therefore sought after.

If only they knew how easy he was to catch.

A new year meant a new meaningless exercise meant to bring them all closer together as a class. Benji watched as his classmates paraded to the front one by one, thoughts all tangled up in the blueprint he'd been working on that was still spread across his drafting table in the dorm. He knew how he wanted the windows to work but the roof was still a moment of contention. Modernism was extremely in at the moment but a Dormer roof held his heart, for the time being, he was being stubborn about it.

The blue jay continued on with her nest, her male had just dropped her off a fresh bundle of twigs and was on its way again. Situations like those, a partner did seem necessary, useful really. Benji's eyes fell on Stella, she'd never really had much time for his designs but then again he'd never been interested in sharing them with her. It turned out that cheating on Stella had been just as easy as cheating on Scarlet.

Easier, perhaps.

Were they even together? They'd never actually discussed it. Benji could do without all of that, he didn't love Stella. It was just nice that she didn't require much from him.

People were walking up to the front of the class and speaking, some sort of presentation he guessed. Scarlet was gone, her empty desk in front of him made for a poor obstacle, Mrs. Nonsworth would definitely see it if he just started drawing. He glanced up at the clock, it felt as if it were ticking too slowly. Homeroom seemed like a useless endeavour, skipping it in the future for an extra hour in the morning would be necessary.

A moment of silence fell over the room as Ally St. Cloud, 'of the St. Clouds' took her seat. Benji took the opportunity to stand.

"I'm Benji."

He sat back down.

[eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris]

You’ve been preparing for this.

And not just metaphorically, literally. Your legs are crossed, brand new shoes hovering over the freshly mopped floor, a neat stack of polaroids in your hands. The other students have always underestimated the value of meeting with the teachers before class, but not you. A box of Zeke’s cookies and a few false compliments later, and now you have the inside scoop on all of the activities planned for the first day.

Mrs. Nonsworth has always been cheap.

But you still smile encouragingly at her when she sets everything in motion, even offering Presley Douglas a pity smirk. His energy is lacking, but his little speech gives you enough time to look across the room, making an order in your head and figuring out the best time to strike. Laina volunteers to go next, and your expression stays as warm and bubbly as ever. Cleo has the vendetta against her, not you.

Still, you have to wonder if this girl might be a threat in the making. You perform different crafts, but a performer is still a performer. She calls herself a lead actress, and you call yourself the star attraction. It’s just a different production. When she throws the ball into your court, it’s only natural when Cleo charges ahead of you and takes the shot. You simply grin that much wider, waving playfully at Laina when she takes her seat.

You don’t need an invitation to speak.

Instead, you play your part and go along with your dear friend’s monologue. You laugh when you need to, glaring at the ‘background noise students’ who aren’t paying attention, smirking at Grady Sullivan just because you can. Because he means so much to you, obviously. You want him to be happy! And there stands his girlfriend, pretty as a picture and just as sharp-edged.

Your friend group will survive the ages, of that much you’re sure, but none of you will be happy about it. Eventually you’ll each own a corner of the district, and you’ll suffer through all of the dinner parties with forced smiles on your faces. Talking about the good old days. That’s just another version of the life you already live, a different table in a different cafeteria. You blow Cleo a kiss when she sits down.

As the others introduce themselves, you look over the photographs in your hands and put the finishing touches on the speech you’ve planned. It’s all mental; real performers don’t need scripts. Maverick is an insufferable lost cause, but you raise your eyes just quickly enough to catch Grady finishing his introduction. You lift up a thumb for him, giving him all the support he so desperately needs.

Then Cassius takes the stage, and you have to wonder why everyone stopped bullying him in the first place. You raise your eyebrows and go back to your preparation, blocking out Naomi before she can put you to sleep. Zeke’s voice brings you out of your haze, and you smile softly to yourself even though you don’t look up. He knows that you care, or so you have yourself convinced. He doesn’t need a reaction from you.

Clara Burns, however, surely does. At first it’s just the courtesy of giving her your full attention, after all she’s the twin of the founding member of your squad, but then she starts spreading vicious lies. Your grin becomes strained, head tilting to the side in confusion. It’s all so desperate. Sure, you also intend to list all of your accomplishments, but your situations are different. It makes sense for you.

She just makes it seem sad.

Not even poor Ally can distract you from your rage. It’s all you can do to give her a sweet smirk when she walks past you, getting your polaroids in order one last time. Benji stands, and it’s like you’re catching your breath. He speaks, sits down, and you rise up with an exhale. “I suppose I’ll go next! Laina, do you mind?” You’ve made it to the front of the room when you nod at the space next to you.

“Pass these out for me, please? You’re such a doll.” You turn your attention away from the girl as she busies herself with her new task, smiling brightly at the classroom. “I’ve documented some of my fondest memories over the summer in the following photographs. Just telling you guys about my memories is so boring, not when you can experience them for yourselves!”

You lock eyes with Cleo, your smile taking on just the tiniest edge of sharpness. “I’ve missed each of you so much, so I was hoping for a little exercise like this. I hope you don’t mind me shaking things up a bit.” You glance at Mrs. Nonsworth, but she doesn’t seem to care. Not that you’re concerned. “But to get to the point, my name is Stella Provence. The dancing prodigy, or so they say.”

When you laugh, there’s no humor in it. “I was the second sophomore in Salvatore's history to have the lead in the spring recital, it’s not that big of a deal.” Oh, but it is. “I’m also an academic who happens to love the color mauve.” You shift your gaze to Clara now, expression becoming bright and stiff and almost feral. “Clara forgets that we share the top of class ranking as of last year.”

You giggle again, but this time you’re seriously amused. “Can you believe Advanced Physical Education can really raise your GPA that much? I was also shocked.” You wish that your stare could burn a hole straight through her head. “But I’m thrilled to share this honor with her. I think it’s an incredible example of natural prowess versus the benefits of never giving up on your studies. We’re all proud of you, Clara.”

Then you clear your throat, turning your attention back to your classmates. “Also, while we’re on the subject, I’m the Head of Student Government and in the running to be class president once again this year.I’m also still right there at the top of our class, and I'm pretty much guaranteed for the lead role in the spring recital. Again.” With her, of course, but that’s just a temporary thing.

“To close, I would like to publicly endorse my dear friends, Grady and Cleo, for Junior Prom King and Queen!” You start clapping for them, eagerly giving them their moment in the spotlight. “I’ve always said that of the non-substantial titles, prom royalty is easily the best of the bunch. I have high hopes for you both!” You gather your photographs back up with the help of Laina, curtsying.

“I’d say to vote for me as your valedictorian, but that’s not an actual contest. Just kidding!”

Nothing is ever a contest for you.

You’ll make sure Clara learns that.

[Tom]

Salvatore Academy isn't exactly the same.

Parker's already bummed a smoke off of some freshmen who didn't care about Salvatore academy. It's been a hell of a morning for her already, with the assembly and getting caught up in another incident of pretty girls from grades below asking her to take their photo for them; just another shallow girl and her friends who wanted to make fake memories. It's a surprise she even made it into homeroom before anyone else with nicotine on her lips and a glare already sent out the window to ignore any small talk Mrs. Nonsworth could try with her. The back of the class in the seat closest to the window always made her feel less dull; able to watch the colors of Salvatore Academy blend together into a mix of dumb students and teachers not ready for the first day of class.

The assembly had been a joke. Principal Morrigan speaking of a killer who was still out there, Scarlet, and Frankie; it was all a joke and the school clearly was saving face after everything that had happened. Scarlet had rejected her drunken state last year and Frankie was just another meatheaded dickwas who only thought with his groin rather than his actual head. All of it had been obnoxious and having to sit through the assembly, taking photos and knowing she needed to get the perfect pictures for yearbook was the worst. Silently, Parker lets out a groan, shoving her face into her hands staring out the window at the mediocre day.

Parker was ready for the day to be over already.

Except, her luck was just getting worse and worse by the second. Mrs. Nonsworth talks about new policies and the new counselor who surely would either get into a scandal soon enough or try to save the students who clearly couldn't be saved. As soon as the words leave Mrs. Nonsworth's lips Parker's already ignoring her, knowing she'll go last like every other year when they try to do the personable bullshit that homeroom teachers try. Presley is volunteered forward; friend of Scarlet Hyde. She doesn't listen to any more than she has to. The outside part of the campus seemed more interesting than anything Presley could talk about in an introduction.

Elaina is obnoxious to say the least. Her voice makes Parker just want to curl back into herself and scream. The girl is just loud and enthusiastic; always making a scene and standing out as her own and part of Parker liked Elaina, but another part didn't want to step into Elaina's bubble for fear of being dragged into things she really did not want to be. Her words are long, loud, and make her eyes droop in boredom. A moth flutters past the window and blocks some of the sun when she stares back out the window. Pretty, but not exactly something she would photograph anymore.

Cleo had already ruined those photos for her.

The old friend and betrayer of her trust is next, speaking up like everyone's beneath her. Parker rolls her eyes, remembering what her brats of twin brothers had snuck in her bag earlier. Cleo Burns was everything Parker had wanted to be years ago. Social, able to get whatever she wanted, and back then she had been kinder, but things had changed after all these years. No more photos of butterflies in the spring or the sunshine in the summer or the leaves falling in the fall or the snow glittering in the early morning light. None of those memories of sleepovers and laughing were meant for her anymore; all of them had turned into anger and pain. Stuck in her own head, she doesn't listen to Cleo Burns until the announcement at the end.

Junior Prom Queen.

Quietly, she rolls her eyes and lets herself think of how fake Cleo Burns truly was. Parker had gotten to know her long ago, grew attached to her until she was tossed away like trash. Forgotten like the loser Cleo calls her now. Maverick speaks in a way that she agrees with. The whole exercise was stupid. All of them had history. All of them had gone off with the prank. A girl was dead now because of them and their stupid prank. Guilt settles in as she stares out the window listening to Cleo's supposed boyfriend talk. The dumbass talks about a pigment of color and his parent's business as she were supposed to care. Her parents were morticians and she's seen more dead bodies than half of the students in Salvatore Academy combined. After his final words, she speaks out her words quietly, not caring what others would think.

"Who cares."

Cassius is next; a boy who clearly had his own issues. Everyone knew of him getting bullied by other students, but only Cassius could solve that. She doesn't care to listen to him or Naomi or Zeke who follow. The sky is pretty, mixing with swirls and sunshine. Birds chirping outside the windows as she watches the trees for a moment. Ignoring the words spilling from teenagers lips who put on masks to pretend they're fine and genuine. None of them were real to one another; all of high school was a popularity contest and she had no interest to be apart of that bullshit. Deep down, she craved to be. Apart of it all and at the center where she could feel less alone. Breath in the friendships she wished had still, but things change over the years and Cleo Burns had dropped her the moment she realized hanging out with a girl who's seen more dead bodies than dates was weird.

Clara Burns is exactly the same after all these years. Always competing with Cleo and needing to state it to the world. All of it makes her feel even more irritated than before which was not going to be a good mix of emotions if she was going to speak in front of everyone else. Clara Burns seems to forget that Parker had been just as close to top of class as her and Stella, mostly out of sheer coincidence from all the time she had studying since she rarely showed up to any of the stupid highschool parties. Ally and Benji lead to more boredom as she can see how dull Ally St. Cloud had been already. Who cared what the Capitol thinks about her clothes, they didn't care about them anyways.

Benji was just as empty as she's always seen him. Parker could remember the way Scarlet had kissed him after rejecting her, letting the shame fill her chest. She can remember the anger that bubbled up at the shitty move, but isn't that what everyone thought of her as. A tool to be used when the time benefited someone. She always gave in to others because deep down she wanted to be apart of them, to breath the same air, and carry the same conversations as them. Silently, she glares back out the window as she half listens to Stella talk about her summer and brag about all of her accomplishments while also tearing each and every one of them down. Queen Bitch giving them all her cold strikes until finally Parker looks up to watch Stella endorse dumbass and Cleo for Junior Prom King and Queen.

She's fine with it, until she looks down to her desk where a piece of photography lays. A polaroid of Stella doing god knows what, but Parker hates it. She hates the way it feels in her hands and the pose could have been so much more, but give it up to Stella fucking Provence to take a photo that looks and feels faker than anything else. It's a disgrace to photography as a whole and part of the reason why her blood feels like it's on fire. All of a sudden, she can feel them. Eyes. Students. All of them are waiting on her and she's wondering if Mrs. Nonsworth said anything about it being her turn, but she could care less about all of this. Part of her wants to just pull a Maverick or a Benji and give everyone nothing, but she's not them.

Stepping out from her desk, carrying her camera around her neck, she steps forward with a calm in her fingertips, but fire in her blood. Eyes glancing from Stella to Cleo as she glares. Avoiding Grady's desk like the plague, she steps closer into Clara's area, until she passes Presley and reaches the front of the class. Eyes scanning all of them and not caring if any of them really are listening to her and she lets out a bitter laugh, ignoring the others before she starts with the smell of cigarettes and coffee on her breath and the sun barely peeking through the window.

"Parker."

She wants to get their attention, have them hear her for once, but it's pointless. All of high school feels pointless, especially this dumb exercise Mrs. Nonsworth was having them do. Eyes glancing to Stella as she still holds the polaroid in her hand, a fake smile pulling on her lips as she watches for a moment. Stella will call her creepy later or a freak like the rest of them do, but she could care less about any of that. Photography was her thing and no one else's, no matter what any of them say. She was the best photographer and editor of the yearbook. She's won awards for her pieces and even been published in some of the Capitol's tabloids for her photos of Teddy Ursa working out shirtless in his backyard.

"This-"

Holding out the polaroid, ready to toss it into the trash where it belonged.

"-is trash. Stella, you don't know how to take a photo do you? The angle is all wrong and the lighting is even worse. Next time, hire someone better."

The smile drops as she can hear Mrs. Nonsworth scold her. Parker lets herself glare back at Mrs. Nonsworth before looking back to the others again. Taking a moment to pause and let Stella take her advice to heart. The photography was all wrong, but no one could replicate the work she did. The scene outside the window was perfect, but she didn't have time to take a photo, she had other plans. Shifting from her right foot to her left she stares quietly back at the students before continuing.

"Photography is my thing. I'm Head Photographer and Editor for Yearbook. Head Photographer for the School Paper."

For a moment, she pauses. Her favorite color had always been blush pink, but that was too girly for what people expected from her. Cleo had known that ages ago, but she was pretty sure Cleo's probably forgotten that by now. Another color would have to do for now. Hopping back into her sentence and out of the train of thought that came for a second or so, she smiles genuinely at them now.

"If any of you need photos for your clubs or sports, just let me know. I've always got my camera on me."

The smile fades as she lets herself go back to the bored look she had before.

"Who cares about favorite colors anyways? Mine's obviously black or gray."

A shrug of her shoulders as she looks back to them.

"Fun fact: I've seen more dead bodies than the rest of you. My parents are morticians."

Ignoring the stares, Parker rolls her eyes as she pulls the camera up, clicking the button letting the flash go.

The first day of school with plenty more to come.

"Welcome back, losers."

She couldn't wait for the year to end already.