A Song in a Picture [ONC 2022]

1.

"Okay. Is a hot dog a sandwich?"

Jenna wrinkles her nose, taking note of the boy with the extremely large and thick-rimmed glasses as they pass each other like they usually do, at eleven-oh-five when she's walking through the languages building with Maya. "What? No. What kind of question is that?"

"A valid one!" Maya cries, keeping pace, her curly red hair bouncing behind her. The hallway they're walking down is empty—which is a big part of the reason why they take this route to their science class—so she's able to flail her arms around without having to worry about accidentally hitting anyone besides Jenna. "Like... Okay, give me your argument."

She's listening to music—The Anthem by Good Charlotte—one of her Bluetooth earbuds in her right ear and the other one safely stored away in its case, which is in the pocket of her sweatpants, but Maya is on the side of her free ear and the music is playing at a low enough volume that Jenna isn't having any problems hearing her. Unfortunately.

"My argument?"

"Yeah, your argument. Why is a hot dog not a sandwich?"

Jenna and Maya have been friends for two years, but there is no getting used to the random questions that Maya has a penchant for asking.

It's a bit of a paradox: On one hand, the nature of the questions themselves is always similar enough to fit into the box of a routine they have, but on the other, the questions are so wildly different from each other that Jenna is almost always caught off-guard.

"Because," Jenna says, continuing her brisk walk towards the biology classroom, adjusting the strap of her backpack as she goes. "They just aren't. Why isn't cereal a soup?"

"Who's to say it's not?"

"Why are we friends again?"

Maya cackles.

The song finishes, and changes to Telephone by Waterparks; Jenna wrinkles her nose in confusion. She likes the song, having heard it once or twice before, but she can't remember adding it to this playlist—the one full of punk and pop-punk and rock songs, songs with a lot of hard and fast drumming—the one that gets her through the school day.

Still, she decides against changing the song, leaving her phone where it is in her pocket.

They're almost at the end of the hallway, right on time—the warning bell rings just as the biology classroom comes into view—when it happens.

Usually, this hallway is empty. Usually, Jenna and Maya are one of the last ones to make it into the room, because their fourth periods are both at the opposite side of the school, even if they do make it there a good forty-five seconds before the late bell rings. It's what they've done since the beginning of the school year—they take the same route and they pass the same people and nothing changes.

Today is different.

Today is different, because someone rounds the corner of the hallway, fast and looking down at a white slip of paper in their hand, a big binder cradled in their other arm, and runs right into Jenna.

Jenna isn't holding anything, but the other person—a girl—is, and a purple binder goes crashing to the floor, errant papers flying out, as they smash into each other. Jenna's earbud remains in place, blasting the words I'm living on a target and you shot it with an arrow right into her brain. The girl is much shorter than Jenna is, so their heads don't collide in any way, but it means that Jenna's boobs take the brunt of the impact, which... isn't much better.

"Mierda," the girl says, and immediately falls into a crouch to collect her things. She looks up at Jenna—she has dark brown eyes and thick eyebrows, and even darker and thicker hair pulled back into a loose braid that rests against her back, and there's an apologetic twist to her mouth. And there's a camera hanging from a strap around her neck; it looks expensive, like one of the professional ones. Jenna isn't entirely sure why that fact sticks out at her, but it does. "I'm so sorry," the girl says, an accent tainting her words. It's not thick, but it's not light either. "I'm new, I was just—I'm trying to find the AP Bio room? With Mrs. Griesmer?"