Overcast

1.2

Next comes third period math. Willow heads inside, noticing lengthy equations on the board. She hands her note to the teacher, this time a gaunt looking gent with wiry hair. He tells her to sit anywhere she likes, and as usual, Willow takes a seat at the back.

As students file into the room, a trio of cackling girls make their debut. They converse loudly back and forth, bumbling through the class, oblivious to the noise they create. They move to the back of the room, suddenly noticing Willow from afar. The three look on, nudging each other as they size her up. The trio have punkish appearances, one with piercings, one with tattoos. The third, a tall girl with pigtails, clearly the leader, shoots Willow a look.

"Yo," she says, giving a nod.

"Hi," Willow replies. The trio sit across from her.

"You new?" the tattoo girl asks.

"Indeed."

"Yeah? Where from?" the piercings girl asks, half smiling.

"Romania," Willow replies.

There is a brief pause.

"...No shit?" the leader asks. "...Nice clothes. Where'd you get 'em? A funeral home?"

The other two snicker, graduating to full-on laughter. The three begin to cackle as one, sounding like a pack of hyenas. The leader flashes Willow a grin. Willow remains silent, her crimson eyes calm and stoic.

"Actually...," she replies, looking at her own shoulder. "This blazer and skirt I bought in Japan. The shoes I got in Prague, the socks in Milan. And this scarf...," Willow says, pinching said item with two fingers. "This scarf was given to me by a handsome Russian tzar. He was sweet on me, you see, and showered me with expensive gifts. This scarf is made of fine fabrics, and is worth at least 10,000 of you."

The punkish girl's face goes grim, her friends both looking on in shock. The leader gives a sneer, her pointy face contorting with rage. "...What did you say?!"

"I'm sorry. I take that back," Willow says. "Actually...the three of you are utterly worthless."

The lead punk gnashes her teeth. A wry smile peeks from Willow's scarf.

"Bitch!" the punk girl exclaims. As she goes to slap Willow, Willow catches her hand. The punk stops dead in her tracks, feeling Willow's icy grasp.

"Whoa!" the piercings girl says.

"Wh--what the...?!" the tattoo girl says, both stepping back. The leader stands motionless, unable to move as Willow stares her down.

"Silly girl," Willow says with a smile. "Don't you know? The fly doesn't pick fights with the snake!" Her grip on the girl's hand tightens, crushing the bones with a long, slow squeeze.

"Kyyyyyyaaaaaahhhh!" the punk girl shrieks. The entire class turns, the teacher adjusting his glasses.

"What's going on over there?" he asks. "...Oh. Rachel again. Honestly, must you make a racket every day?"

"Wh--wha...?! But I...! She...!"

"That's enough out of you. You always cause disruptions in the morning. Now take a seat already before I write you up," Mister Jenkins says.

Rachel stands dumbfounded, shaking and in shock. She slowly looks down, clutching her damaged hand. Her pair of lackeys pause, offering no solace as they take their seats. Rachel watches, shocked. She thought they were her friends. But as it turns out, they just looked to her for strength. They clung to her, the same way parasites cling to the gut of a fish. They found safety on that fish, and now that the fish is dead, they abandon it like rats from a ship. Eventually, class begins, with Rachel and company noticeably silent.

Third period eventually goes by, and soon, the lunch hour begins. Willow leaves the room, with Rachel and her goons careful to avoid her. Willow moves through the halls, many eyes watching her as she goes. It's been just three hours, yet Willow is already gaining a reputation around the school. Maybe it's just her looks. Her clothes are rather different than the rest. Sure, there's the occasional goth here and there. Every school has a few. But Willow's look is different. No lipstick or mascara here, no fishnets or weird latex buckles. Just darkness; an outfit of shadow and mystique.

The students of Crenshaw High rush to the cafeteria like a stampede, the usual hustle and bustle getting underway. Kids push and shove each other aside, cutting in line, eager to get the good stuff before it's gone. Most students normally act civilized, but food has a strange way of turning people into wild beasts. Some students have lunch in the cafeteria. Others choose to take theirs to the courtyard. The weather is getting cold, though, and not many choose the latter this time of year.

But Willow doesn't mind. In fact, she likes the cold. She stands by a vending machine, eyeing the various drinks on display. "Hmmmmm...," the girl says, rubbing her chin with one finger. Soda. Iced tea. Canned coffee. More Soda. None of it interests her. As she looks to the bottom of the list, a certain beverage catches her eye. She feeds the vending machine a coin, pressing a button as a drink pops out. Willow bends down, grabbing a box of V8. She pops the straw in, taking a sip of the bitter red drink.

Willow looks around as the occasional cluster of students pass by. She walks to the end of the courtyard, taking a seat on a short gray wall. The courtyard is a dreary sight, full of dead leaves and old cement walls. A few scant trees dot the area, most of them leafless due to the cold. Willow stares out at the scenery, watching various students loiter about. There's a handful taking lunch outside, but the chilly weather has forced most indoors. Willow sips her tomato juice, her thin bendy straw occasionally going red.

As she surveys the area, she spots a boy peering into a rubbish bin. He looks thin and pale, with disheveled hair and dirty clothes. The boy looks around, checking that the coast is clear. He then grabs a pizza crust from the bin, quickly tucking it into his coat pocket. As he reaches for another, he suddenly catches eyes with Willow. His eyes go wide, pupils shrinking as he sulks in shame. He swiftly leaves the bin, scurrying down a nearby hall. Willow gives a frown. She wonders who he was.