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SHE WISHED that she left earlier, to say the least. to be put shortly, her mother actually did end up coming out of her sunroom, hands stained with paint as always, and decided on giving her eldest daughter a morning squeeze. all while she forced an apple down zip's throat, because lord knows the child just rebukes anything remotely healthy.
but no, that's alright. juniper will just ignore the bright red hand imprint on her white shirt. but let's not just describe it as simply red, of course, there was your mix of yellow and green, a dash of orange, a subtle hint of blue. never just red. never. there was always variety.
"god, what was she painting today, the next mona lisa?" juniper groans, trying to see the stain more as she walked. she'd change, but every other shirt - every presentable shirt - was currently in the washer this morning. she does her own laundry, like everyone else in the house, everyone but tzipporah. she's told to, of course, but tzipporah and rules have never meshed well.
she's walking with vikram, who's cheekbones raise with his smile. he grabs juniper's left hand swiftly, swinging it as he walked. "maybe, you never know," he shrugs, "it's one of you this time." he holds the back pack on his arm tighter as his right hand gripped hers.
juniper resists the urge to roll her eyes at his remark. even if there was a slight chance of that happening, she doubted that was the case now. don't get her wrong, her mother wasn't the type to paint fruit in bowls or fall leaves by any means, it's just that her mother barely sees her enough to be able to paint a correct image. if she did, surprise would be an understatement.
she blows some hair that fell into her eyes away with a huff, "whatever. you know, you could at least try to be a good boyfriend and give me your jacket, or something." she looks at him expectantly, pouting.
when he just simply looks back at her, she stops. "hey," she pokes him in his side, making him squirm. he hated when she poked him. he was too ticklish. "i know you heard me. come on, vik, literally anything will do, just," she huffed again, "help. me."
vikram is smiling, taunting her behind his perfect whites. he liked messing with her like this. a little too much, if you'd ask juniper.
he pretends to think, irritating her even more, watching her pout lessen until only a thin line remained of her lips. not even the pout worked anymore. what is the world coming to?
he sighs dramatically, reaching to unzip his backpack - one-handedly, how impressive - and pulls out his current tennis team varsity jacket. his last name was spelled out on the back in big, bolded letters, and the school's mascot - the black stallion - was depicted on the front of the jacket on its left corner. this would do just fine.
he stretches out his hand to give it to her, and in seconds its out of his hand and onto juniper's body. it hung on her kind of awkwardly; vikram was at least 2 sizes larger than her, but she made it work. she grabbed his hand and squeezed it as a thanks, while simultaneously checking her appearance through shop windows.
"you see," he starts, looking both ways before crossing an intersection; only one more before they arrive to school. "you're lucky i more than like you. or you would've been mona lisa's long lost sister until you got home." he doesn't fail to catch her smirk as she rolled her eyes, she knew he'd give it to her anyway, "that jacket is sacred."
and it was, there was literally nothing vikram loved more than tennis. it reminded juniper so much of her mother; the passion they both put into their talents. it's what helped them thrive, in this world filled with things that never ceased to amaze them. she yearns for that amazement at well, she obtains a strong desire for it. it's the thing she envied the most when it came to those two people in her life; they were still here, living, loving, and thriving the best they both could, but to help them through it all, they both had something to get them through the lives they led.
her mother: the strokes that fell upon every painting she created is what helps her go to sleep at night. she ponders and ponders some more, starts over, cries in frustration. swears in bliss; the brushes clashing against themselves are like music to her ears. she's satisfied. she kisses the foreheads of her children before falling into the arms of her bed.
her vikram: sweat, determination, heart beat. juniper. the applause of his father as he wins a game with his whole heart, the smile of his best friend with hair as big as a lion's mane. unwanted harsh tears that fall from his eyes whenever he hears the doubts of his father; when all he yearns is his approval. the warmth of her heart when he's encased in her arms, the gesture is therapeutic and appreciated greatly. his mother's mangoes made with love. juniper.
herself: ????
she grips vikrams hand a little tighter now, her heart growing bigger with sheer want with every step she takes.
