White Butterflies

Origins: Pt. 1

I go back over to some of the clothes I threw on my bed, sifting through them again. Pink? Sure, pink is a great color. Pink pants it is. I'm too late to be picky about my outfit any longer.

I pair the pants with a grey top I embroidered with flowers, a black blazer-top to show everyone how much I will not deal with their bull, pink flats, and my favorite pink crossbody bag. I try pigtails and they surprise me when they don't look as horrendous as I suspected they would. I thank god I don't have glasses- pornstar is not the look I'm going for.

I'm making my way out the door as my dad stops me. He hands me a box of sage green macarons, knowing my classmates will love them. There's not too many in the box, but I know I'll have enough. The class sizes are quite small at my high school- so much so that I tend to have the same people in all of my classes. I usually don't mind as I get to know them all very well as the year progresses.

The bell on the bakery door chimes as I step outside to walk to school. I make my way over to a crosswalk and wait for the cars to stop; abruptly, I spot a short, older Asian man in a- Hawaiian shirt?- hobbling across the road. A car rounds the corner down the street, and no one seems to notice that it is heading straight for him. I don't even have time to think before I've pulled him out of the way, tripping on the curb and spilling my macarons in the process.

"Thank you mademoiselle," he says. After spying the spilled food, he cringes a bit and says, "What a disaster".

"Don't worry," I reply with a smile. "I'm no stranger to disaster. Besides, there are still a few left."

The man takes one of the remaining macarons and tastes it. "Delicious," he says.

My smile grows a bit more genuine when I hear that. My happiness is short-lasting, though, as I hear my first period bell ring at school across the street.

I curse under my breath as I scramble to gather my belongings. I breathe a quick goodbye before taking off, track-runner style. Wow, maybe I should try running competitively. 

I burst into my first period class, just on time. 

"Nino, why don't you have a seat in the front row this year?" Mlle. Bustier suggests to a boy sitting in the back row. He's paired the headphones around his neck with an annoyed expression and the most typical teen-boy outfit I've ever seen: jeans, bulky sneakers, and an overly-vibrant band tee. I grab the seat behind him, setting my macaron box down on the desk.

Slowly, a yellow figure fills my peripheral vision. 

No, no no no. Please, just one year without her. All I want is one year, Chloe-free. 

I look up, hoping for the best. 

"Marinette Dupain-Cheng," Chloe sneers in her usual haughty tone. Her hair is tied up in a high ponytail, a pair of white sunglasses gracing the crown of her head. Designer clothes and accessories stick to every inch of her body; I have no idea how that V-neck hasn't gotten her dress-coded already. Even sitting, it is like I'm staring down her bra.

I groan internally. "Not again," I complain, not even deigning to hide my eyeroll.

She appears to take no offense. "That's my seat."

"But Chloe," I start, "this has always been my seat."

A shorter, bouncy figure flits to my side. "Not anymore. New school year, new seats," declares Sabrina. Have her glasses gotten even larger this year, or am I just seeing things as the result of sleep deprivation? Perhaps staying up until two in the morning last night was not the best idea.

"So why don't you just go and sit beside that new girl over there," Chloe points to a girl sitting in the front row. Mom jeans, red plaid shirt, curled hair, black-rimmed glasses. Friendly aura. Nice looking girl in general.