Val's pov
My locker always smelled like peppermint and graphite.
Don't ask me why. I don't keep mints in there. I just chew them until the anxiety goes away and then forget where I put the wrappers. And the graphite? That's probably just the broken pieces of every mechanical pencil I've snapped during Physics.
It was Monday. The kind of Monday that felt like it'd been soaked in someone else's perfume and stretched out over six years.
"Your eyes look like they want to un-alive someone," Ash said, appearing next to me like a well-dressed shadow. She was in plaid. Again.
"That's because I do want to un-alive someone," I muttered, slamming my locker shut with more flair than necessary. "Specifically, the creator of mandatory attendance."
She popped her gum and linked her arm through mine. "Don't worry. I'll bury the body and distract the cops with my cleavage."
"I'm literally begging you to be less you."
"And yet here I am, the only one making your boring academic life tolerable," she sang as we strutted down the hallway like it was our personal catwalk.
Ash had this thing where she made walking into a classroom feel like entering a red carpet premiere. Her hair was slicked back into some kind of braided bun that probably took an hour, her eyeliner was symmetrical (a crime), and her nails were this obnoxiously glossy cherry red.
Meanwhile, I looked like a depressive ice fairy with too many books and a caffeine addiction.
---
The hallways were packed, locker doors slamming, the air filled with the tang of deodorant, gossip, and teenage desperation. Every third person knew who I was — not because I was popular, but because when your father's face is on magazines and you're "that skating girl," you get a reputation you didn't ask for.
Ash thrived in it. I tolerated it.
"Did you study for Calc?" she asked as we squeezed past a group of boys who smelled like gym socks and Axe.
"I have practice six days a week, a five-year-old who likes to sneak candy into my skates, and a dad who thinks feelings are a distraction. What do you think?"
Ash made a sympathetic noise. "Translation: you're going to flirt with someone until they give you the answers."
"Correction: you're going to flirt with someone and then I'm going to copy."
She smirked. "As God intended."
---
The first half of school dragged. English was tolerable because I liked words, and Ms. Rowe pretended not to notice when I passed notes to Ash about everyone's outfits. Chem was hell. Gym was worse. I conveniently "forgot" my sneakers and watched everyone else suffer from the bleachers, sipping lukewarm tea from my thermos like a smug Victorian.
At break, Ash and I claimed our usual corner near the window — high ground, limited traffic, optimal people-watching.
"So," she said, flipping open her compact mirror, "what's the plan for your entire future?"
"Crash and burn. You?"
"Marry rich. Kill him. Retire in the Maldives."
"I'd come visit."
"I'd leave you a beach house in my will."
She smacked her lips and shut the mirror with a snap. "Also, did you know Kayla cheated on Travis with his cousin?"
I raised a brow. "Wasn't Travis the cousin?"
"Oh God. Then it was his twin. Look, I'm not a reporter, I'm a curator of vibes."
"You're a menace."
"I'm a masterpiece."
---
Ash kept talking — about someone's engagement, someone's new car, and the dress code violations being enforced only on people who weren't student council — while I stared out the window and let my brain unplug for five seconds.
It was like a carousel in my head, always spinning:
Practice. School. Practice again.
Babysitting Emma.
Avoiding Dad.
Not collapsing.
Sometimes I wanted to throw my phone in a river and fake my death in the woods. Just for a week. Just to breathe.
But then Ash flicked a crumb off my sweater and said, "Hey. You still in there?"
I blinked back to reality.
"Yeah. Just thinking about... calculus."
She stared at me like I'd grown a second head. "If that's your way of asking me to let you copy my homework again, just say so."
I grinned. "Please let me copy your homework again."
"There it is."
---
By the time break ended, my shoulders were slightly looser and I had a cinnamon bun in my bag that Ash had totally not stolen from the cafeteria and "accidentally" dropped into my lap.
The bell rang. Loud. Relentless.
Ash and I parted ways at the science wing. She blew me a kiss and said something about skipping next period to "emotionally support" a boy she didn't like but liked flirting with.
I walked toward room 3C. My next class. World History.
With him.
And as soon as I stepped inside, I saw the chair next to mine already occupied by a boy who sat like the desk offended him.
Great.
Just great.