Fabricant451

Boldly go where no one has gone before! A Star Trek-inspired RP!

Color me interested

BHHS: Limitless

For the fourth time in as many minutes the balding, bearded middle-age-by-age-twenty-seven employee tried to get the attention of Leila Webb, whose attention was on the slow rotating grill where they kept the hot dogs. It was much too early for a hot dog, but Leila watched as the questionable tubes of technically meat remained sickly heated until such a time as they were blessed with the gift of poisoning a customer’s insides. Leila wanted to be that customer. Leila had been that customer many times. Something about the grease and the eternal shine of the heat lamp made the pink cylinder taste horrible but delectable. Leila had eaten so many of those greasy disaster meat tubes that she could recall the taste, texture, and smell of them like she had perfect recall, but the reason she stared wasn’t because she so desperately wanted one despite the time of day; Leila stared because looking at the hot dogs filled her with the sort of melancholy that no one could really describe until it happened to them. It was the same look she gave the worker at the movie theater when they were making a fresh batch of popcorn. It was the same look she gave when someone opened a can of soda or when people clinked together glasses or when people winced when someone accidentally scratched the chalkboard.

Leila Webb was probably the only person who could look at hot dogs and almost start to cry. And for the fifth time, the man behind the counter tried to get Leila’s attention, this time by slamming his hand on the counter. Leila jumped. Leila blinked. Leila turned her head towards the counter and realized in her hand was a cereal bar and a single serving carton of milk she had to pay for. “I’m sorry?” She asked, blinking several times a second as she realized her own error. The man, whose patience was lost well before Leila stood in line, asked Leila the question she’d been asked for all of her life.

Sometimes when Leila watched the hot dogs or the popcorn or even the trees blowing in the breeze, she wanted to ask someone an incredibly difficult question but every time she couldn’t work up the nerve. She doubted anyone would have an answer, but the closest she came to going through with asking anyway was when she was at the Sunshine Diner one weekend morning and watched as bacon fried on the pan, as eggs were flipped to make an omelet, as coffee was being poured into a mug. The waitress saw Leila looking and asked what she was staring at. “What does it sound like?” Leila asked in turn, to a confused response from the waitress. When asked to repeat the question, Leila just shook her head and ordered a strawberry waffle with sausage links.

Some people held the belief that the worst part of Leila’s condition must have been the fear of not knowing if she’d ever hear again, but as frightening a prospect as that was, Leila was diagnosed early enough that she had the better part of her young life to adjust and adapt. Yes, the early days with the implant saw her curling up in a ball and covering her ears and shaking her head as her parents tried to calm her down, but the doctor had said there would be…complications in adjusting to her life. What she didn't know was that those complications would be her parents sounding like alien robots buzzing and crackling in her ear as they comforted her. That music would sound like a record being played in reverse and through a pitch altering program to make it sound like a droning roar or like the stinging hiss of a snake flicking its tongue directly onto her brain. She didn’t have nightmares during that period of her life because her day to day life was already a horror movie of noise.

The voices of others returned over time as the implant rallied the familiar cadence of speech to her brain. Music wasn’t as fast but it returned with a vengeance, with every song she listened to now feeling like a concert was being played directly onto her brain, every snare, every bass line, every voice digging their aural nails into her lobes. Sometimes the pitch was off, sometimes it was a little warbly, but if it meant not having to listen to the scratching recordings of hellspawn then she was more than willing to accept that trade. The day she could hear voices and songs again, Leila hugged her parents like it was Christmas morning and she just got a brand new bike.

But it wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t until later that Leila realized she couldn’t hear little things. The things people heard every day and just paid little attention to. Ice melting in a glass. Leaves brushing against a window. The sizzle of bacon frying in a pan. Popcorn popping in a microwave. Eggs cracking. The doppler effect of a car speeding past. A pin dropping in a quiet room. So many things in her life had sound but she couldn’t hear them. Even her own fingers snapping had to be done close enough to hear ears for her to hear anything other than the muffled nothing. Her eyes could see that a snap happened, but her brain just couldn’t replicate the sound.

How could she ask someone to describe the sound of bacon cooking? Of the wind blowing a tree? It would be like asking someone to describe the color red without using the word red. So all Leila could do when she saw something that she should hear was stare and wonder and wish.

The man behind the counter asked Leila the question she’d been asked all of her life. And Leila replied, “Yes, I am.”

Leaving the convenience store with her cereal bar already half eaten, Leila took a deep breath of the muggy California air and took out her phone. The wallpaper on her home screen was of her, Dani Jones, Parker Jones, and Ellie Walters posing in the middle of Webb-Heads - Dani was giving the middle finger while Leila was giving a peace sign. Just looking at the screen made Leila smile. For some people it was difficult to make friends at a place like Beverly Hills High School especially when a not insignificant amount of students dealt in friendships the way noble houses in Game of Thrones dealt in alliances, but Leila was blessed to have friends who treated her like anyone else. When Dani called her ‘Fingers’ because of Leila’s use of ASL, it didn’t come with Dani widening her eyes and being immediately apologetic like what tended to happen any time someone made a comment about someone being deaf for not answering their phone call while Leila was in ear shot. Yeah, it was annoying being known as the deaf girl, but it was considerably less annoying than people feeling like they had to walk on eggshells around her.

Hell, Leila didn’t even know what that sounded like.

The one benefit to Leila’s condition was that it put her above the social politics of high school. Her royal high cunt, Naomi Davis, basically informed her sycophants and wannabes that Leila was ‘off limits’ which sounded great on paper but in practice was like telling people that you weren’t allowed to make a comment about someone’s very noticeable mole. Leila knew well enough that people talked behind her back because people talked behind everyone’s back. That didn’t bother her. What bothered her was being treated like she had a contagious disease all because of being ‘off limits’. Sure, no one kicked her out of parties, but most of the time when she went there was the unmistakable feeling of knowing everyone was giving the side eye and wondering why she was there. A presence tolerated but rarely welcomed. Off limits. It was no wonder Leila was so glad to have friends like the ones on her wallpaper.

But smiling at the sight of her friends was only part of the reason for opening her phone. During her sophomore year, a classmate asked if she was some kinda robot or cyborg like from Cyberpunk and at the time Leila just blinked and said no by slowly shaking her head. Leila still remembered the look of disappointment on the student’s face. If she was asked that now her answer might skew differently. In a way, was she not a cyborg? She had a machine that sent things to her brain on her ear, that was pretty cool, wasn’t it? And the machine did more than help her hear voices and loud sounds which she demonstrated every single day. Some kids got in trouble for walking the halls or sitting in class with headphones in. They just didn’t know the tech.

Leila thumbed to her music folder on her phone and queued up a song. Her phone connected to her implant with Bluetooth and the sounds of music began to dance their electric signals along every surface of her brain.A concert for her ears only. Suddenly the world moved like a visualizer mixed with a prescription glasses commercial.


Turn Out Right

Every footstep Leila took towards school sent a little soundwave like a drumstick hitting the snare, cars drove past and their tailights left a trail straight out of Tron, the sky above her turned a brighter shade of blue - almost like she had stepped out of the real world and into a rotoscoped cartoon. She walked and her footsteps turned to rhythmic hops. Stepping forward turned her body sideways and then she danced two steps back while the grass next to her danced in the visible gust of wind that made Leila twirl, the colors of her red striped shirt swirl and blend out of her, creating her own little trail of color as she half-walked, half-danced up the sidewalk.

“It never seems to turn out right…” Leila lip synched along to the song, her eyes closing to let the music and the familiar steps guide her forward. To passersby she probably looked ridiculous, swaying her hips, dancing, her head bopping to a song only she could hear, but Leila didn’t care. As she approached the school grounds, Leila extended her arms like an airplane and soared. The colorful winds carried her into the clouds, their pillowy cotton strands passing through her like a hug from an overstuffed plush toy. A plane flew alongside her and passengers stuck their heads out of the window to sing along with her, clapping their hands along to the gentle beat of the song’s percussion track. The sun winked at her and she waved towards that bright, friendly ball of light before beginning her final descent back down to earth.

The song came to an end and Leila opened her eyes to find herself standing in the quad of BHHS, breathing increased like she had just come from gym class warm ups, and the inevitable rush of disappointment wafted over her. Back at school. The music video was over. As much as she would love to go through the school day listening to music on her brain, she knew it would only tank her grades even with an ASL translator dictating the lessons to her. Those blissful moments when she was dancing her way to school were addicting but like with any addiction she had to know when to dial it back. She had to know when to keep herself grounded.

Leila looked around the quad and saw people talking, another group of people laughing, two guys giving each other a high five and an elaborate handshake; Leila saw all of these students and the only thing she heard was her own breathing. Life going on all around her and more than ever she felt like she was window shopping for something she would never truly be part of. Once again she took out her phone and once again she looked at her home screen and once again she smiled. Leila might not have had her hearing but she had something much more important.

Maintaining the smile, Leila hit the replay button on her phone and began her swaying steps towards her homeroom, blissfully uncaring of who saw her. Let them see. Let them talk. They didn’t exist for the next three minutes. For those three minutes, the only thing that existed was Leila and her wonderful, colorful world.

BHHS: Limitless

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_{@Fabricant451@Hey Im Jordan@LovelyComplex}

Room 302 in Beverly Hills High had the best acoustics in the whole building, at least according to Andrew Green. It was anyone’s guess if it were true or not, and really Andy didn’t even think it was. The reality of it was that 302 was tucked in the back corner of the third floor, and no one ever went up there by choice. Andy had been able to secure a key to the room years ago, and he quietly used it as his personal practice space in the mornings and between classes when he managed to sneak away. It was his happy place! The only other person who had a key and wasn’t a staff member was his brother, though Andy was hopeful Ethan wouldn’t bother him this morning. He was in the zone.

He stood in front of a podium at the front of the empty classroom, with his violin tucked behind his neck. Slowly, he plucked at the strings as he found the rhythm of the song. He had heard it a thousand times, maybe even more than a thousand, but hearing wasn’t the same as playing. His brother always called it ‘downloading’ and Andy liked that phrase.

It really did feel like he was downloading the music sometimes! He played the first few notes once, twice, a third time and then it clicked. He had it! His bowstring moved across the violin as his deft fingers slid up and down, pressing down on the different strings to manipulate the instrument to speak the language he wanted it to speak. Quietly, Andy began to sing the lyrics as he played. “I can’t remember anything, can’t tell if this is true or dream…” He did not have a bad voice. Of course he didn’t, his grandmother was the songbird of her generation, but Andy did not sing with his whole chest. He was not offkey, but he wasn’t loud either. There was skill with the way his fingers moved, but his voice was low and almost shaky as he sang and allowed his mind to wander.

“Deep down inside, I feel to scream… this terrible silence stops me…” He shouldn’t have started thinking about things. He got in his own head too often. Andy found himself thinking about the traumatic experience he had, and wondering if he was ungrateful for being so… squishy as a result of something that happened in the past. By birthright, he would have no future problems. He could, and likely would, always get his way. His parents were both in their own way extremely confident individuals. His brother ran the school and would probably run the world when it was all said and done.

So why couldn’t Andy even take control of his own destiny? It was a bit sad, he reasoned, locking himself in a room where no one could hear him so he could practice the music he actually liked in the best way he could: shredding violin covers. In and of itself, that was kind of stupid. He should have had the balls to at least show his family and friends the work he’d done, to show them his passion for music that wasn’t written a hundred years before he was born.

A frown had crept upon his face as he approached the harder part of the song, near the end. Was he pathetic? Maybe, but he wasn’t sure how not to be! Andy wasn’t even able to tell his grandma, who had groomed him carefully for success ever since the incident, that he wanted to show her his covers. How was he supposed to tell her he didn’t even want to play violin? How was he supposed to tell her he wanted to be a rockstar?

He just didn’t have the courage.

Amy Kwon had never met a door that she couldn’t open or a line she couldn’t cross. Before the end of last year, before everything changed, doors just had a habit of opening themselves for her whenever she needed. Hapless members of the student body trying to appeal to her and maybe be acknowledged with a passing word of thanks or, better, a nod of the head as she walked through; now those same people shut the doors in her face like teens running away from a slasher movie villain. But doors were no obstacle for someone with a violent streak and a need to slaughter dumb teenagers and neither were they for someone whose streak ran a little less violent but still as insatiable a lust as blood. But of course, she was getting ahead of herself.

When Amy Kwon walked the halls, she moved in slow motion in the eyes of those not wise enough to turn their heads. The halls of BHHS were like her own personal Red Sea, students parting the way for entirely different reasons than they did when non-pariahs like the Hive walked by. For the populars, students getting out of the way was expected; for Amy, it was out of self preservation. Ever since her big debut at the start of senior year, where she showed up wearing knee high heeled boots and a skirt short enough that simply turning and not moving her leg fast enough would flash onlooking eyes a brief look at the Fruit of Eden, and a top that only technically met the definition of a shirt by way of having holes for head and arms to go through. The disciplinary staff in the slip they gave her said that ‘Strippers had more modesty than Ms. Kwon’s outfit’.

On Pajama Day she wasn’t even allowed to attend class until she went home to change. “I sleep nude, you know.” She was heard saying to the staff that formed a little barricade to protect the eyes of the student body. She didn’t show up naked, of course. She had underwear on. And a short robe. They were silk.

Pushing the envelope and embracing what people thought about her was who Amy was. The pink aegyo princess was dead and the fiery phoenix that turned boys to men and women to jealousy had risen. As was the case today, Amy had little desire to attend class and she had even less to show up at the pep rally later. Who gave a fuck about school pride, about a meaningless football game, about a dance where everyone in attendance was just waiting for it to be over so they could go fumble while putting a condom on and giving someone the most disappointing ride of their life in the backseat of their overpriced ego boosts. She wasn’t even wearing school colors today, but she was wearing black.

As she did most mornings, Amy was wandering the halls like an animalistic predator searching for her meat in the grass. The ones that knew her well knew to give her a wide berth. Those that didn’t would quickly learn that Amy Kwon didn’t chew her food after she finished playing with it: she devoured it whole. As her shoes clacked along the floor, the sound of music wafted to her ears. Well, some would call it music, others would call it the warblings of an instrument beloved only by nerds and those softer than soft serve ice cream. Perfect. The music carried her forward, towards a back corner on the third floor. It grew louder as she came closer, and the singing joined the chorus as Amy licked her deep, perky, ruby red lips. Under her smirk were teeth sharpened to such a fine point that her victims would have their flesh separated from their body as soon as she sank said teeth into them.

Metaphorically, of course.

The door to 302 was locked. But Amy had a bobby pin. And Amy had various skills. No door could keep her out. Or in. The door unlocked after she stimulated the pins and Amy stepped inside, eyes spotting the rabbit in the grass. She’d seen worse. She’d tasted better. But she was hungry. And she was bored. “You shouldn’t be here, little Green. You’re going to be late for class. I didn’t say to stop playing.” Her eyes were narrowed towards Andy as she stood in the doorway, her left leg bent just slightly forward enough to show off more leg under her short, black dress that clung to her body like it was made of leather. “Sing for me.”

When she let herself into the room, Andy immediately came to a halt, with the music stopping abruptly. He knew who was in the room with him, but he wasn’t sure how she’d gotten into the room. “Did you pick the lock?” Did she call him little Green? There were so many questions in his head. It wasn’t even fair to call him the ‘little Green.’ No one ever believed him, but he was almost two inches taller than Ethan was, and he was older too! He did not think Amy would believe him if he said either of those things. Honestly? Andy didn’t think she would go for anything he said. Why was she even here? Would she even answer him?

He didn’t know what to do or say. What would Ethan do in a situation like this? Probably say something cool. Andy had nothing cool to say, and hardly anything interesting to offer. As he stared at her, he dropped his violin to his side and shook his head. “Sing what? I have to know the words.” He tried to deflect as best he could, but he’d never been so close to someone so dangerously attractive before. How was he supposed to act? He felt a burning desire to do what she said, and a smaller voice in the back of his head telling him to tell her to fuck off. Andy had been ignoring that voice for close to decade, and this was no different.

“I’m not really a good singer though.” He said, his eyes darting around the room as he searched for an exit plan. Briefly, he couldn’t help but let his eyes land on her. She really was dangerously attractive. Were there more girls who were that attractive at their school? How could anyone think someone that pretty was a bad girl? Quickly, he put his eyes back on the door.

Unfortunately for Andy, Amy noticed the moment when his eyes wandered just enough to make Amy widen her grin from playful to dangerous. She had spun her little web as soon as she entered the room - of course she had picked the lock - and now the little fly was caught. No escape. No going back. Amy took a single step further into the room, inching her way towards Andy the way a hawk circled its prey before diving in for the kill. “Sing me something romantic. Something that will make my skin shiver in delight. Something that makes a girl want to throw her panties on the stage. Something…sexy.” Every word she spoke was deliberate and every sentence had her stepping closer and closer to Andy. Her tone was like honey but she spoke them like poison; how could something so sweet be so…dangerous?

Andy had never made eye contact with someone for as long as he was holding it with Amy. For a second, his breathing hitched and as his breathing picked up he wondered if he was going to die or have an anxiety attack. Why was she even here!? He locked the door for a reason! It was evil to step inside like this. But he didn’t speak, he just found himself staring at her.

“Don’t think, little Green. Look at me. Look.” She snapped her fingers. The acoustics really were good in this place. “Sing anything that comes to mind when you look at me. Impress me. I’m worth it. Don’t you think?”

In what was considered somewhat groundbreaking for the Green family, Andrew Green had never smoked the devil’s lettuce. And yet, he found himself desperately wanting a joint at that moment. He’d never even been high before, but he’d listened to his father and his brother sing THC’s praises enough that he felt he knew when a puff or seventeen might come in handy. Unfortunately for Andy, when he inhaled, it wasn’t Mary Jane that he took a drag from. It was Amy Kwon, and she smelled… “Whoa. You smell good. Oranges are my favorite.” His cheeks immediately ignited red after he spoke; that was the wrong thing to say from anyone’s perspective he reasoned. He bit his tongue, and wracked his mind looking for songs.

There were a thousand songs about sex. There were a thousand songs about pretty girls. Were there any songs about Amy? He knew so many, yet in that moment it felt like he knew so few. He searched, and searched and he found one. The look of clarity on his face was obvious as he placed the violin on the desk with the sheet music he’d made as an arrangement for One. He went to the supply closet in the room and opened it up, pulling out a guitar case.

This wasn’t really what she asked for, and he knew that. It may not have even been what she wanted. The problem was, the only song he could think of that made him think of Amy wouldn’t work on a violin. “I’m not as practiced on guitar. And please - nevermind.” Andy found himself thinking about warning Amy to not tell his grandma, but then he double guessed himself and figured if he said that to Amy, she might leave. He did not want her to leave under any circumstances. He undid the clasps holding the case closed, and pulled out an acoustic guitar. Only his brother knew about his tendency to practice the instrument, and it had been Ethan’s idea to hide one in the room so he could play it when the mood took him.

And it had taken him. If he were a bit more flowery, he could have said Amy was his muse. He sat down on the desk closest to Amy, carefully placing his feet on the chair to steady himself and brought the guitar to his knee, strumming across the guitar. As he moved his fingers, it took a second for the song to take shape, but this was a song he’d downloaded long ago. When he began the lyrics, it was obvious what the song was.

“Special, you think you’re special, you do
I can see it in your eyes.”

For the first time in his life, Andy tried to sing with his whole chest. It wasn’t easy, but with Amy’s icy gaze and the scent of her orange perfume still in his nostrils, Andy found the motivation to discover the voice he had done his best to hide. Though his eyes darted down to his hands once or twice, he did his best to keep their eyes locked. This was, frankly, the most intimate and sexually charged moment Andy had ever had in his life, and he was more than well aware that anything could fuck it up.

“I can see it when you laugh at me,
Look down on me and walk around on me,
Just one more fight… about your leadership.”

He still wasn’t sure it was the kind of song she wanted, but Andy was singing as best he could - still keeping his voice low enough that prying ears might not hear him. He wasn’t sure he could handle it if more than one person were here when he sang.

Amy would be lying if she said she was familiar with the song, but in truth the song itself didn’t matter; what mattered was that Andy Green had known Amy for all of a few minutes and was already willing to serenade her at the snap of a finger. What mattered was that Andy Green behaved. They all behaved. The ones who thought they could turn the page and control Amy were boring. Chest pounding brutes, foot tapping bitches, a legion of losers who thought they could be Captain Saveaho by trying to exert a little social media domination and get Amy on her knees instead of on top where she was comfortable. Amy Kwon didn’t need to be saved. Amy Kwon didn’t want to be saved.

How long would this toy last, she wondered. He didn’t seem as… hardy as some of her other toys, but considering the name that came with this one it was like finding something valuable in mint condition. Little Andy Green… whisper the right words in his ears, give him an intoxicating scent… Amy could utterly ruin this boy and he’d thank her for doing it. The thought alone kept the smile and knowing, narrowed eyes aimed in his direction; he probably thought she was smiling for the song but the only sounds she was hearing were the future cries as Andy experienced a taste of heaven.

It sounded like bedsprings.

“You look better with a guitar than a violin.” Amy spoke as the song tapered off. “Your fingers must be…talented…to make the strings dance like that.” Amy was done being subtle. She draped a hand on Andy’s shoulder, standing just beside him but still standing over him. Her head was lowered and tilted, filling his nostrils with more of that perfume he so clearly liked the smell of. Who knew the devil on the shoulder wore Chanel Coco Mademoiselle? “Do you want to duet with me… little Green?” A deadly whisper, like a viper moments away from sticking its venomous fangs into the throat.

“He doesn’t,” Ethan sharply cut in, hearing the music at the end of the hall and knowing exactly who was playing it. He was the one who knew his brother’s secret and it was Ethan who heard his brother practice. No one else. He stood under the door casing not liking what he was seeing at all. His nostrils flared and his jaw tightened, all while he cracked his knuckles. Amy Kwon had her reputation and it was hard to deny the evidence that clearly showed she was not a good person. His brother didn’t need to be involved with someone malicious and cruel as Amy Kwon and Ethan doubted she was here with good intention. His twin was too inept in the social scene to see that he was prey and he was standing next to someone that wanted to kill him slowly but kill him no less.

Maintaining eye contact, his shoulders tensed, the Alpha of the Elite stormed deeper into the room, approaching his twin and the unexpected acquaintance Andy was making. “Get your hands off of him,” Ethan growled, hovering over the girl, clearly in defense and keeping his attention on his brother. He went from the she-devil to his literal other half. “Andy, seriously. Don’t listen to her. She’s a bitch trying to take you down with her and the last thing you need is to get stuck in a cage with a tiger.” Maybe, just maybe, that analogy would get Andy to think twice. He hoped so because the last thing Ethan Green wanted to do was touch… the devil herself.

“I wasn’t asking you.” Amy hissed towards Ethan without even looking in his direction. Ethan was a nuisance, a distraction, interference on the hunt and unfortunately for Amy it seemed the only thing he cared more about than hooking up with naive girls with loose lips was protecting his brother. The hand on Andy’s shoulder remained firmly in place, gripping a little tighter like her fingers were staking a claim, planting a flag of intent so Ethan would know that this wouldn’t be the end of things. Not if she had her way - and Amy Kwon always had her way in the end. “You can leave now, Ethan. I’m sure you have an STD test to take or something. Maybe a girl to disappoint for three minutes. Run along. Your brother is fine where he is.”

Her attention remained on Andy and a single finger traced from his shoulder up towards his jawline. Amy’s breath was hot on Andy’s skin, a deliberate heat that swam with the residual scent of her perfume. She wanted to intoxicate him with her very being, to make him so drunk on Amy that the only thing he would want was another hit. A single taste. “Isn’t that right, little Green?”

“You’re digging your fingers into my shoulder.” Andy was sensing a lot of tension between his brother and Amy. He wasn’t dense, he knew that Amy didn’t have a good reputation, but he was confused that someone had such a bad reputation his brother didn’t want to interact with them. The tiger comparison, Andy thought, was a little harsh. He threw his shoulder back a bit in an attempt to get Amy’s hand off of his shoulder and it didn’t budge - her fingers just tightened.

Was she for real? Amy was the last person to be talking about STDS. And why was his brother being so… fuck, his parents really did a number on him. No one would think they’re actually twins because there was nothing cool about Andrew Green at all. He was such a nerd. “Bitch please, your vagina has been used more than Google.” Ethan really did not want to put his hands on a girl, even if she was demonic and a whore and evil. His parents taught him that it doesn’t matter how much a girl makes you angry, don’t fucking put your hands on them unless there is consent. At a standstill, the twin took a step back to give the two breathing room. The only person that can actively do something in this moment was shrinking in his seat at the sheer power this girl exuded. Ethan took a deep breath in. He needed to change his method. Exhaling, he apologized, “...Sorry that was uncalled for. Please, can you give me a moment with my brother?” Ethan Green wanted to die.

Amy couldn’t help but to widen her smirk, her eyes flicking once towards Ethan before trailing back to her preferred prey. She didn’t even have to do anything and Ethan Green was saying please. To her. To the she-devil on campus. “I bet that took effort, Ethan. Asking a girl ‘please’. Don’t worry. I won’t tell.” Amy released her grip on Andy and placed her palm on his back, gently nudging him towards Ethan. “Go on, then. Take him. But we both know I’m all he’ll be thinking about. All. Day. Long.” Her words were spoken to Ethan, but they were whispered into Andy’s ear. A parting gift for Andy and a threat for Ethan.

It wasn’t until Amy stopped digging her fingers into Andy’s shoulder that he realized how much he liked it. He took a step forward when she pushed him forward but it was clear even from the way he moved that he was disappointed in the way things were ending up. There was not a lot he could say or do, all he could do was try and make sure that he didn’t forget the scent of her perfume. After he stopped being nudged forward, and was standing beside his brother, Andy spun around to look at Amy and blurted.

“You’re coming to our party, right?”

Ethan grumbled when Andy offered to invite the succubi. Even if he wanted to protest, this was actually a huge milestone for his older brother. Andy was inviting a girl to a party. He was going to have a date. He might get laid. It would be wrong for Ethan to ruin this when all he wanted was his brother to have confidence and for some reason, he was finding it in Amy. Begrudgingly, Ethan followed his brother’s lead, “Tomorrow, after the dance, we’ll have transport ready. It’s at our family’s vineyard. Theme, Risky Business.” He paused for a moment to look at his brother, hoping there was a sign of disgust, or fear, but all he saw in his eyes was how in lust Andy was already with this girl.

Fuck.

Teeth clenched, the King of the school added, “We… would love you to come… and if you like, you can…” He was going to regret this. He definitely was. But Andy was happy. Andy was making progress. Andy was… relaxed. “Ride with us.” At this moment, Ethan could only think about his mom and wondered if she had sound advice for this situation. He doubted it, but still. He wanted to talk to his mom.

An eyebrow raised as Amy listened to the Brothers Green, her perfect poker face unbreaking in the moment. How was it that Ethan came into the music room calling her a bitch and a tiger but now he was practically rolling out the red carpet for her? The way to Ethan was clearly through Andy - an unexpected but certainly welcome side effect. “I’ll be there.” Even if she hadn’t been directly invited, Amy had a wonderful habit of showing up even when she wasn’t invited. “We can talk about that…duet then, little Green.” Even if Andy was leaving with his brother, Amy was confident that her little fly was stuck deeper in the web. Fine. That was fine.

The best meals were the ones you savored.

Her hunt properly interrupted, but certainly not ruined, Amy offered a parting shrug of her shoulders and began the uncomfortably long walk back into the hallway. She didn’t look back at either Ethan or Andy as she walked past and opened the door. She knew that if she did, she would’ve seen Andy leering at her. Possibly Ethan as well. That thought alone helped her maintain that dangerous, ruby lipped smirk as she departed the room, the brothers free of her miasma for the immediate moment.

After he’d watched her leave the room, biting down on his bottom lip the entire time, Andy let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Hey, Ethan.” He asked, finally directly addressing his brother. Andy had no idea what he was doing; he didn’t know what Amy was going to be like, but for the first time in his life, Andrew Green had caught himself thinking with the wrong head. He figured it had something to do with the orange scents she wore. He ran a hand through his hair, and asked the question that had been burning in his mind ever since Ethan had joined the room, “do you have any weed?”

He paused, and then meekly added. “Why did she keep calling me ‘little?’ Doesn’t she know I’m taller than you are?”

Weed was a fantastic idea. Ethan needed weed too after that. “In my locker.” He turned his head toward his twin and furrowed his eyebrows. With a baffled expression, he asked, “You serious right now?” It was rhetorical. He knew Andy was being serious. His older twin was too naive. Too innocent. Too good. “You’re so fucked, bro. Come on, let’s go. Maybe we have enough time to smoke.” He looked at his watch; they didn’t. The bell would go off in five, four, three, two…

The second warning bell went off.

“I mean if you want to skip homeroom, I’m down.” Would his brother agree? Well, if he was into Amy, this could mean a new era for Andy Green. It was 50/50 right now but maybe Andy would live a little. Only time could tell. Unfortunately for Stella, Ethan had his phone on silent so he didn’t see his text from her.

“What? I’ve never done that before. What if Dad gets mad?” Andy asked, turning his head to look at Ethan. After a moment’s thought, he felt like he’d figured it out already. “Dad doesn’t care does he?” He shook his head, and reminded himself of Amy’s voice and the feeling of her breath on his neck and it breathed life to the embers of confidence he’d gained that morning.

“Screw it, let’s skip homeroom.”

Ethan smiled. Internally, his gut was telling him this, meaning Andy and Amy, would be nothing but a disaster, but right now, as they strode out the room and down the hall, none of that mattered. Andy was carrying himself differently and Ethan liked seeing his brother assertive for once, and certain of himself. Greens were all about taking risks and finally Andy was taking them.

“Hell to the yeah! Let’s smoke some weed bro!”

The Brothers Green would not make it to homeroom today.

BHHS: Limitless

god fucking dammit

Ellie Walters

_{Eun-ji Walters}

18 • Female • She plays bass. She loves fish. • She/They • Looking for their princess

(FC: Kim Min-jeong/Winter; Dialogue: 0BB2B4)

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Ｉｎｔｒｏ

► reputation

Annoyingly, many at BHHS - especially the underclassmen - know of Ellie because they're fans of her mother and the groups under her mother's company. Her mother, Tae Su-Hwa, is a former Kpop Idol who was the center of P.R.D.; Su traded the microphone for a briefcase as she now owns one of the only female-run entertainment agencies in Korea. The myriad of Kpop fans in the western world have made it very clear that Ellie basically comes from royalty - something that annoys her to absolutely no end. It was the decision of Ellie's father, Nick Walters, that she attend school in America because at the time it seemed she would be able to avoid the frenzy that comes with her genetics. Now into the senior year, Ellie has carved out her own sort of niche when it comes to BHHS' social hierarchy. She's not at the top, but she's nowhere near the bottom. People know her as the girl that plays bass outside during lunch and as the girl who punched a sophomore who kept asking her if Ellie's mom could get a kpop group to play their sweet sixteen. The detention was worth it. Other than being a fan of punk music and skilled at fingering a bass, Ellie sort of keeps a low profile, she never seems to get excited nor does she ever seem to get overly angry. She's chill. And seemingly a little anti-social but only by reputation, not by deed.

► current dilemma

Ellie wants to pursue music in a professional capacity but doesn't want to rely on the connections that her parents have or be thought of as some kind of 'nepo hire'. To that end she's trying to find a band that shares her passion for actually making music and not just fucking around in a garage or a talent show performance. She's also looking for someone to go bowling with. In a romantic sense. As in a date. But who isn't looking for that? Her lack of extracirriculars and willingness to put all her eggs in a single basket means her post-high school education prospects are...grim and that's a conversation she can't keep putting off forever but damn if she won't try.

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Ｄｅｔａｉｌｓ

► social media handles

She has three media accounts: Twitter, TikTok, and Discord. All of them have the same handle of '@PunkyBoostar' It's a referencee to an old tv show she hasn't ever seen.

► style

It is said that no one at BHHS has ever seen Ellie wear long pants and try as they might, no one can actually think of a time when they saw her in them. She certainly and probably has, but as far as anyone knows Ellie's default outfit consists of black combat boots, fishnets, and a skirt with a top to match. Her colors tend to skew towards darker colors, blacks and reds and blues being her favorite, but on ocassion she's rocked beige or grey. Bright colors aren't really her thing. At least not on her. She much prefers bright pastels, pinks and whites and yellows, on pretty girls. While her outfits might not win any awards in terms of high fashion or the like, what helps her standout is the various ways she wears her hair. She likes to keep it medium and scruffy, for that 'just had a dirty makeout session in an alley' look along with bangs that cling to her forehead, and she often keeps it in a tight topknot bun. She has dark brown hair but has dyed it different shades often not realizing that doing so makes her more like her mother than she would care to admit.

She has the four card suites on her fingers. She draws them on because she doesn't know if she wants to get a tattoo. On the one hand, a tatoo would really anger her mom. On the other...she kinda hates needles.

► ride & everyday items

Her vehicle of choice is a red Kia Stinger GT2. It has generous trunk space. For storing her instruments. Or just for sitting in and hanging out after school or at the end of a date. She often has her bass guitar with her, either on her person or in the car. She doesn't carry it to class.

► occupation

Unemployed.

► extracurricular activities

After school you can find her getting a slushie (blue is her favorite flavor) or going bowling. Failing that, she'll be playing her bass or listening to music with noise cancelling headphones. Just follow the groove.

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Ｑｕｅｓｔｉｏｎｎａｉｒｅ

Friends would describe me as _______.

"My best friends are Amy Kwon and Hana Le, because birds of a feather or whatever, and I imagine they'd describe me in different ways. Weirdly I get along better with Hana especially now that she's stopped asking me to join dance team or the Kpop club or whatever. I don't know how people can listen to that shit, especially people who don't even speak Korean. It's like those weirdos who watch anime with subtitles and go around saying kawaii or whatever. What was the question? Oh, I don't know. Ask them. I hate being labeled."

In my free time I like to _______.

"Go bowling and drink slushies. I'm gonna get a 300 one day. My mom, in a rare moment of not completely sucking, got me my own bowling ball. It's eleven pounds and has a butterfly motif. When it rolls, it looks like the butterfly is flapping its wings. It's cool."

I would like to learn _______ in the next year.

"How to be better at communicating."

This is how I define success and failure:

"Like it or not, my mom is successful and I don't mean her Kpop bullshit. I mean as a businesswoman. Success is looking people in the eye when they tell you "you can't" and then not flinching when you do it anyway. Failure is when you don't even try. In anything. Just try."

I'm inspired by _______.

"Don't tell her I said this but....my mom. When she's not being an annoying bitch about 'following the family business' she's kinda badass. I mean, she's pregnant and still handling business in two countries. I can't even handle singing and playing bass at the same time."

These songs are the soundtrack to my life:

"Waiting Room by Fugazi. The first bassline I ever learned. You never forget your first."
"Welcome to Paradise by Green Day. Apparently this band used to not suck ass? I didn't believe it until I heard this album."
"Good Times by Chic. What? Funk is tight."
"Stayin' Alive by The BeeGees. Whenever this song comes on in the bowling alley all the old people start acting like they're my age again."
"Maxwell Murder by Rancid. I wish this song were longer."
"Spiderwebs by No Doubt. It all went downhill for this band after Hella Good."
"Model Village by IDLES."
"Queen of Hearts by Fucked Up."
"Swordfish by The Dead Milkmen"
"Rags and Bones by Nomeansno"
"California Uber Alles by Dead Kenendys. It's basically mandatory if you're a fan of the genre."
"Typical Girls by The Slits. I wish I could name a band after my lady parts. Well not really."
"Expect the Bayonet by Sheer Mag"
"Westermarck by Charly Bliss"

My fondest memory as a child was _______.

"Going to Korea and hanging out backstage while my mom and her group mates did a farewell live. I was pretty young, but one of the idols from P.R.D. tried to get me to drink a shot of what she said was water - it was soju - and got hit on the back of the head by the one with an insane ab game. I know their names but I refuse to acknowledge that there was ever a time when something related to Kpop made me happy."

If I could tell my younger self something, I would say:

"Your dad is kinda lame but he's a good dad. You should hug him more. I mean it's not like he's dead, but I've never been the most...affectionate person when it comes to showing my emotions or whatever."

The things that make me smile are _______.

"Blue flavored slushies. Getting a turkey in bowling. When a small crowd of people listen to me play at lunch or after school. Sometimes Hana. Sometimes Amy before her whole...whatever the hell she's doing. I told her it was stupid. She said it was punk rock. She always does that to me."

My whole life story in one sentence:

"A walking, talking sapphic cliche but cliches are popular for a reason."

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► extra information

Has a little brother. Like, 'barely out of diapers' little brother. Her parents are actively trying for another. Ellie's mom realizes she might be approaching menopause and if Ellie won't follow the footsteps into the industry then what choice does she have.
Her tongue is often blue because of her slushie love.

BHHS: Limitless

_{Exit Music (For A Film)}

By the time Sara Delgado woke up to a room that was as comfortable and familiar to her as a prison cell, Himani Chakrabarti had been running for a half hour with no destination in mind. Running was one of the only things that made sense to Himani; one foot in front of the other, forward momentum, feet stamping the ground in a quiet affirmation combining with the aching heat of muscles screaming along the skin as if the entire body was announcing to the world that she was alive and here to stay. In another life, Himani would have done well as a cross country runner. Joined a team. Maybe go to the Olympics. Be somebody. But in another life, Himani might not have had to run at all. Everyone ran for different reasons, some for sport, some for exercise, some just because it was a cardio day; Himani ran because it was freedom. Himani ran because if she didn’t, she would drown. Himani ran because she didn’t want to look back. The pain in her legs as she pushed closer to the seven mile mark was nothing compared to what would happen if she didn’t run.

The route Himani took was never the same but she knew the streets and walks like a GPS did. Going left one way led to this location, going right was a dead end, three streets ahead and that was where the nice old couple sat in chairs petting a dog that was almost as old as they were. Himani liked that couple, they always waved at her on the days she passed and Himani always considered stopping to pet the dog, to converse with the old couple, but she never did. She couldn’t stop. Stopping was death. Her pace was as important as the route she took; it didn’t matter how fast she went as long as she was going and she always went to the same place. To the only place where Himani was allowed to smile. To the only place where she was able to smile.

When she ran, her hair was in a ponytail, only a few loose strands draped against her forehead and drifted with the pumping of her legs to bristle against her ears. Himani hated her ears. They were big, goofy, floopy, unpierced, and the only time they were ever visible was when she ran like this. When her hair was freed from the confines of a scrunchie, she made sure it covered her ears. Himani hated her hair. It was long, messy, an ugly shade of brown, unkempt even when she brushed it, and it sometimes got food on it when she ate too quickly because her hair reached all the way to the top of her breast.

What face did she make while running, she wondered. Was her mouth open even more than normal - her stupid overgrown front teeth made it so hard for her to close her lips which was another thing Himani hated, were her eyes wide, nostril flaring, eyebrows bristling? She hated each of those parts of her face. Her eyes were too big. Her nose was too pointed at the tip but too wide in the nostrils. Her eyebrows were too bushy, like Frida Kahlo. Her upper lip was always slightly lifted thanks to those hideous buck teeth. When she ran, those flaws didn’t matter. No one looked good after running for miles and Himani could feel normal for those wonderful times between starting and stopping.

At school, Himani smiled from the first bell until the end of the school day. She laughed. She had people who liked her at least enough to not talk shit about her until she was well out of earshot; of course with her ears she was sure she could hear them from the next state ove. She had people applaud and cheer for her. Well, not her. The Pirate. They loved the Pirate, how he ran in the gym during pep rallies, how he danced by the stands at football games, how he tripped and fell on his big stupid ugly face for a comedy gag. Everyone loved the Pirate and under the Pirate was Himani. Everyone loved Himani.

Except for Himani.



By the time Himani Chakrabarti ran for the sixth mile with legs screaming at her to stop, Sara Delgado was gently folding the bedsheet back under the pillows she had fluffed already. Her mother had taught her the proper way to make a bed and it was an almost zen-like experience to Sara now. Every morning she made her bed, every morning she took a small amount of pride in the making of said bed, and every morning for five minutes she sat on the end of her bed and tried not to cry as she spoke three words to herself under her breath like a meditative mantra. “Today’s your day. Today’s your day. Today’s your day.” At the end of those five minutes the mantra always ended with a slight change of wording. “Tomorrow’s your day…”

Sara’s room was comfortable but cold. The walls were bare except for a single hanging poster of the periodic table, something that Sara didn’t even need hung up anymore - she had learned the table before her sophomore year and had impressed her chemistry teacher by correcting the mistake and mentioning that Seaborgium was 106 and Bohrium was 107, not the other way around and then again for mentioning that Bohrium and Borium were two different things with the latter not even being on the table at all. For the rest of the semester, the chemistry teacher would randomly ask Sara a number and Sara would say the element on the table. Sara thought it was meant to embarrass or humiliate her on the off chance she got it wrong but she never did. For her troubles, all she got was a begrudging A+ on the report card and a revolving door of lab partners who spent labs on their phones while Sara did the experiment, the lab report, and got them a passing grade because of it.

The sun peeked in through the open blinds inside Sara’s room and shined its morning light on the spotless floor that was swept every weekend, the study desk that looked unused other than the numerous post-it notes with platitudes and doodles of a cookie with eyes and hands holding hands with a carton of milk with hands and eyes, and the bookshelf with a bunch of textbooks and study guides organized by subject matter. On the nightstand next to Sara’s bed was her cellphone, a navy blue covered diary, and a clock radio. The only personality to be found in the room was contained solely within the post-it doodles but even they seemed trapped in the diminutive canvas. Trapped in the same way their artist was. The only thing missing from Sara’s room were bars on the window.

Ever since she and her mother moved into this house, owned by Sara’s abuelita, Sara was given the biggest room in the house and all she had to show for it was a neatly made bed every morning. The clock radio buzzed to life with a static hum as the frequency of the morning jazz song (today it was Art Blakey) woke Sara from her five minute mantra, a sniffle punctuating her mumbled words as she slid off the bed and turned off the alarm before scooping her diary and phone into her hands, transferring both to the study desk as she opened her bedroom door (devoid of any poster hangings as well) and stepped her bare feet onto the creaky carpet floor en route to the toothpaste pastel colored bathroom.

Her mother’s towel was still damp as it hung on the towel rack and Sara sighed in realization. Another early shift. Another breakfast alone. Another morning where her only conversation was with the friends in her head who were interested in hearing her talk about the difference between arachnids and insects. It wasn’t always so empty, but with her dad in Mexico for most of her life, her mom taking whatever shifts she could at the hotel, and her abuelita living…elsewhere…Sara hadn’t had a conversation with another person in what seemed like forever. No one to tell her good morning. No one to ask how school was. No one to call and talk with until the sun went down. Nothing. No one. No one except Chipper and Derry, the names she gave to her cookie and milk doodles. They were the best of friends, Chipper and Derry were. Sara was jealous.

At school, Sara got some of the highest grades, tutored, was well on her way to being in the consideration for valedictorian - though she figured that wasn’t guaranteed and that someone more popular but with a worse GPA would get that satisfaction - but that was all she had. Her name at the top of a list no one cared about. Inside her drawer at the study desk was her acceptance letter to Pomona College, underneath which was a pamphlet about financial aid and scholastic scholarships, both of which she had applied for. Yet another list her name was at the top of. What good was being at the top of lists if no one cared? What good was being one of the smartest, academically, at school if teachers still got her name wrong (it was Sah-rah, not Sehr-uh)? Everyone at school had friends. Laughed. Smiled. Didn’t eat lunch in the janitor’s closet. Everyone knew each other in some capacity. Had memories and jokes, gossip and stories, kisses and romances. Everyone, even with their dramas, went to parties and hung out and would look back on these years fondly.

Except for Sara.

While Sara was showering and getting dressed, then getting changed as she double checked the theme of the day, Himani Chakrabarti had finally stopped running. She wasn’t out of breath or even all that tired, but she was in desperate need of water, which was the reason she stopped running. Close by the school, close enough that some students dropped in during lunch periods and still had enough time to spare, was a convenience store. Himani waved to the cashier before going to the cold beverage section, grabbing a water, cracking the top, and drinking half the bottle before grabbing a second one. Cradling the fresh bottle under an arm, Himani brought two fingers to her neck and looked at her wrist. She didn’t have a watch, she’d just seen people do this in medical dramas.

When she stepped outside the convenience store, the drawstring backpack with the FILA logo on the bottom re-slung over her shoulders now that it contained a bottle of water more and four dollars less, the morning heat wafted over her and added another layer of sweat to her forehead and legs. She had been wearing running shorts and a sleeveless, plain blue top. Sweat had formed on her legs, perhaps the only part of herself that she didn’t hate, and she wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. She couldn’t go to school like this. Sweaty. Not in school colors for spirit day. But inside her backpack was a small bar of disposable soap, a hotel sized portion of shampoo, and a change of clothes. One of the perks of being the mascot was the school trusting her with a key to the gym storage area where the mascot was stored; that same key got her access to the gym locker rooms which had a shower attached to them.

Every day she ran and every day Himani showered and changed in the school gym locker room. Today would be no different. Himani wasn’t sure if people knew that she treated the showers like they were in her home, but the alternative would be going to school caked in sweat and stench and while she was well aware that some students, definitely underclassmen, would surely be into the idea of smelling a sweaty girl’s armpits or, like, licking sweat because she’d been on the internet, in practice the only thing that happens to a high school girl showing up sweaty and rank is being known as the smelly girl. Himani was many things, and as she looked in the mirror in the bathroom next to the showers, the things she believed herself to be came flooding into her. She was ugly and no matter how much lotion she rubbed on her face she always would be. She had big front teeth and no matter how many times she brushed and gargled and brushed and gargled she would always have them. She had gross hair and even as she brushed and brushed and brushed she always would, but at least it covered her big, floppy, ugly ears. And at least she wouldn’t be the smelly girl.

Himani smiled as she finished brushing her hair and brushing her teeth. The mirror didn’t crack but the girl looking back at her was believably happy. Which meant Himani was genuinely happy. Her enthusiasm for all things BHHS might have been annoying to many, but her enthusiasm in general was earnest. She loved the school. She loved the people. She loved the students. She loved being the mascot. She loved that her outfit for school spirit day was a red t-shirt that she made herself that had BHHS in big, bold, black letters, under which was a picture of her in the mascot costume under which was her graduation year. The back of the shirt had the statement “LET’S SHOW ARRRRR SCHOOL SPIRIT!” with a pirate sword as the exclamation point. Her black shorts just had the BHHS logo on either leg and on her face she stuck four star stickers, one red and one black on each cheek. And on her ugly, frizzly, dirty brown hair she put a red and black bandana - like the one famous pirate Jack Sparrow wore; some of her hair still spilled out from the back, and of course there was still hair to cover her ears.

Homecoming week was the best. It was when Himani was at her most popular because of school spirit being at a school year high. Pep rallies. The game. The dance. She didn’t have a date for the dance, of course she wouldn’t- she wasn’t gorgeous like everyone else, but she loved going to the dance and dancing to the fast songs and swaying like she had someone to dance with on the slow songs. Showing up to school as a cowboy, a hippie, in pajamas…the one week it was cool to show pride and excitement in your future alma mater. As Himani put her jogging clothes in her gym locker and headed for the quad now that students were starting to arrive, she couldn’t help but to smile as wide as ever. In a few hours she’d be in the costume, rallying the crowd, responding to their cheers. Everyone would be there. Everyone would love it. Because everyone loved homecoming week.

Except for Sara.

Sara didn’t even know why she bothered sticking to the theme of the homecoming events. Any effort she put forth went unnoticed and made her question the point of even trying so hard. On Wednesday while people wore cowboy hats, denim jeans, or god forbid the people who wore Cowboy Barbie pink, Sara had a historically accurate outfit based on the Spanish vaqueros complete with sombrero and overly warm sarape and buckskin shoes and woolen bolero jacket. The most she got was a teacher telling students to take their hats off indoors so people behind them could see the blackboard. The janitor was concerned she would overheat, though, which she thought was a nice consideration until he followed it up with the bleak thought that an ambulance called to a high school is never good for anyone, especially if they found one in the janitor’s closet. Sara laughed it off but she was the only one.

Naturally after a week of trying, Sara tried a little less with her outfit today: a red and black striped shirt and a little face paint on her cheek that read ‘BHHS’, only really perceptible if you were looking into her eyes and she assumed that no one would even notice. Nor would they notice that her black pants sort of combined with the striped shirt to give her an almost Freddy Kruger vibe. All she was missing wasthe hat.After checking her outfit in the mirror in the bathroom, Sara returned to her room for the last time that morning in order to put her diary, phone, and the completed homework folder into her backpack all before swapping the main pun drawing that was pinned onto the center of the backpack. Today’s pun? Carrate.

The kitchen was quiet with the only evidence someone had even used it being the coffee mug sitting in the sink with a puddle of water pooled at the bottom. Sara sighed as she took out the items for today’s breakfast. Before, back when her abuelita was still around, she would almost always have some fresh made pan dulce and hot chocolate for Sara; now the only thing greeting Sara were the ingredients she prepped the night before just so she could cook them that much faster. Before, when her mother would miss mornings, Sara would at least have a note telling her to do her best, to have a great day, little words of encouragement or the puzzle section from the newspaper so she could have entertainment while she ate; now there was nothing other than that damn coffee mug.

The only sound in the ktichen for the next twenty minutes was the cooking of oil, potatoes, chorizo, the gentle scrape of a spatula adding peppers and onions, mixing the ingredients, the crackling sizzle of a pan over a medium heat, and the clink of a fork as she placed her chorizo con papas onto a tortilla and ate her breakfast. Water rinsing the plate added to the puddle in the mug and after pausing to say a short prayer by the cross hanging in the living room - something her abuelita did and Sara did simply to respect the home Sara was graciously allowed to live in - Sara was outside and locking the door behind her. She had five minutes to get to the bus stop. Most senior didn’t take the bus to school, but most seniors weren’t Sara Delgado. Her seat on the bus was practically reserved. Right in the front, behind the driver, she sat by the window and her backpack next to her. No matter how full the bus got, no one ever seemed to want to sit next to her.

From the bus window, the outside world looked so pleasant, especially at this time of morning when people were waking up and beginning their commutes or morning exercise. Behind her she could hear people talking about a break up, discussing the progress they made in some video game, saying how they were going to not bother going to the football game tonight so they could catch a movie instead. Dozens of conversations going on all around her and Sara was hearing bits and pieces of all of them. Was this what ghosts felt like? Invisible but present? Chuckling lightly at jokes she wasn’t meant to hear, silently correcting the people comparing homework, checking her own wardrobe when others complemented their friends. The only difference between her and a ghost in this moment was that people got excited at the idea of seeing a ghost.

As the bus roared to a stop and the doors filed open, Sara was the last one to step off - the doors damn near closing even as she was still descending the steps, and she stepped off with a smile. Even if no one knew her name, even if no one ever really thanked her for helping them pass trig or history or chemistry, even if she had to eat another lunch in the janitor’s closet she still smiled as she stepped onto the sidewalk and towards the quad. Sara didn’t know why. She didn’t have much in the way of school spirit and at the rate she was going she wasn’t even going to leave here as anything more than a face in a yearbook that other graduates struggle to even remember one single anecdote about…but still she smiled. She wondered if anyone else smiled as they walked towards school by themselves and promptly shook her head. Why would anyone do that? That was weird. No one other than Sara smiled for no reason, putting on a brave face for as long as it took for it to fade- which in Sara’s case was up until her classmates filed in and brought with them their drama and their conversation and their continued ignoring of Sara Delgado.

Except for Himani.

Himani Chakrabarti was in the quad, leaping in front of arriving students - underclassmen being the majority - and after the heart attack shriek of surprise from the unsuspecting students, she handed them a flier using only her words. “YARRRRR I SEE YOU’RE FLYIN’ THE SCHOOL COLORS. GOOD ON YA, MATEY! YOUR SPIRIT IS REQUESTED AT TODAY’S ASSEMBLY! DON’T MISS IT OR I’LL MAKE YA WALK THE PLANK, LADDIE! YARRRR!” It was early in the morning but that didn’t stop Himani from making sure students started their day having a laugh even if it was at her expense - at least four different students whispered how ‘cringe’ she was being after she moved on to the next group, but Himani didn’t let that stop her. If she let the remarks of other students ruin her mood then she wouldn’t be Himani Chakrabarti. Their words couldn’t hurt her anymore than others already had.

By the time Himani was sure she had gotten to most everyone she saw in the quad, it was almost time for class to begin. The girl with endless energy and school spirit darted up the stairs into the school and up the stairs towards the classroom; she wasn’t supposed to run in the halls but for Himani, running was life and anything else was the opposite. As she made her way to Mr. Phoenix’s class, she said a loud hello to everyone in the classroom - the same way she had to everyone in the quad. Everyone.

Except for Sara.

Sara had noticed Himani running in the quad and got her hopes up that she would be greeted in kind. She even slowed her steps and held her breath when Himani was greeting some sophomores just in the grass as Sara passed them, but after Himani did her piratey song and dance for them, she turned and looked through Sara, sprinting right past Sara in order to greet a group of three. Sara didn’t drop her smile, but it did crack and quiver. Her footsteps regained their speed as she made her way towards the entrance to school.

“Sara!” A voice called behind her and Sara froze. Her head turned with her body to see the face of someone she had tutored. She knew him well because he took three lessons to learn the difference between sin, cosine, and tangent. After all this time he still didn’t know her name?

“It’s…it’s actually pronounced…” Her voice was so quiet and foreign to her own ears that she barely recognized it. When was the last time she heard herself? Her spoken word went unfinished as the guy calling her name waved to a red headed girl who came bouncing over to him. The way they embraced was all Sara needed to see to know that he had the right pronunciation all along. Turning back around, Sara disappeared into the school as she always did. A ghost roaming the halls, scoring high on tests, haunting the janitor’s closet, sitting in the front row in Mr. Phoenix’s class.

Maybe today wasn’t her day after all.

BHHS: Limitless

Leila Webb

_{Leila Webb}

17 • Female • Pansexual • She/Her • Single

(FC: Zaira Wasim; Dialogue: 15D44C)

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Ｉｎｔｒｏ

► reputation

At first, Leila was content to fly under the radar - something that seemed next to impossible given that her mother is an Academy Award winning filmmaker (it was for Short Feature Film) - but in practice wasn't all that difficult given that being the child of someone with fame wasn't exactly unique at this particular school. Leila never really stood out; she had a small number of friends and that was good enough for her. Drawing attention to herself would only invite people to remark on the fact that she has a cochlear implant and has to always sit in the front row when she's not in special classes. If Leila has a reputation it's for being the girl who always has an earbud in as she's walking down the halls - though on closer inspection the earbud is a hearing aid on the ear opposite her implant. Leila, by senior year, is known as one of the 'disabled girls', a moniker bestowed upon her by the oh so gracious queen of the social ladder. It was meant to be a sign that she was exempt from mockery or the like (but at the same time afforded her little upward movement on the social ladder) but to Leila it was like being looked down upon and taken pity on; it felt like bullying by way of exclusion, intentional or otherwise. She tries to take it in stride, but when many just know her as 'the deaf girl' it's more than a little annoying. She isn't deaf. Not yet, anyway. She'd rather be known as the music girl or just...as anything other than being defined by what others perceive as a disability.

► current dilemma

Leila does struggle with school sometimes just because she has to focus on lips in class when there isn't a readily available ASL translator on hand. Her hearing is an issue even if she refuses to see it that way. Yes, she can't hear as well as people and has an implant, but she's not lesser because of it. She is concerned that her dreams of getting into the music industry, be it as a singer or a producer or musician, is an impossibile dream but if she started worrying about that, she'd never get anywhere regardless. Leila would rather try and make her dreams a reality insead of resign herself to a regret filled life because she gave up.

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Ｄｅｔａｉｌｓ

► social media handles

Leila helps run the instagram and general social media account for Webb-Heads, which can be found at @WebbHeads
Her personal instagram is @WebbOfSound where she posts a lot of pictures. Her Twitter account is @WebbTunes and sometimes she gets people thinking she's an online comic website.
On TikTok she has a weekly video series called Melodic Moments where she discusses some of her favorite lyrics or musical bars.

► style

Leila doesn't have any one specific style though if she did it would fall somewhere between business casual and comfort. She loves a good band tee just as much as she loves wearing a flannel or blazer jacker over said tee. Jeans, slacks, pants, rarely - as in damn near never-
wears shorts. She's kinda self conscious about her legs; her dad says she just has her mom's hips but to Leila that just means she thinks she has sausage legs which make it easier to hide in pants than letting them hang out. For the first three years of high school, Leila had medium length dark brown hair, going into senior year she has cut it short and now has a pixie cut. She looks, in her mother's words, like "a biracial Winona Ryder from, like, after she was having sex with Johnny Depp." Her friend DJ opted for saying she looked, quote, "Like every lesbian's first crush." Leila was weirdly flattered even if she didn't quite know what that meant.

► ride & everyday items

Leila doesn't drive, so she either carpools with her friend(s) or takes a bus to school. If she can't get a ride on weekends she'll take an Uber.

► occupation

Works at Webb-Heads. Stocks shelves, works the front register. Often has to point to a sign on the counter asking customers to please speak clearly and be understanding as she is hard of hearing. Some of them follow it. Most dont. Few mutter bad words under their breath because they think she can't read the lips.

► extracurricular activities

Sometimes gets dragged to the film club, not an official member. A member in name only of the music club, would attend more meetings but work is a bigger priority.

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Friends would describe me as _______.

"I don't know, pretty down to earth, maybe. The person to go to if you need to know the names of every member of Black Sabbath or how many albums feature a band's original lineup. I'm pretty sure DJ has compared me to Patrick Batemen, but only in the Huey Lewis scene. I don't know what she means but I assume it's a good thing. I don't have the most friends, but I have the best ones. I'd describe them with the only sign language everyone understands: a middle finger and a smile."

In my free time I like to _______.

"When I'm not working at my family's store, I like to take pictures. Photography is my second hobby beyond music. Which is also something I like to do in my free time. I also like to eat gas station hot dogs. I've been told my mom's favorite food at my age was gas station burritos so there's never been any doubt who gave birth to me."

I would like to learn _______ in the next year.

"How to work a mixing board."

This is how I define success and failure:

"Success is having the strengh to keep going even when everything around you tells you to stop. Failure is listening and giving up. People who give up on their dreams because of one setback are my least favorite people on the planet. After the racists and sexists and stuff, obviously, those people can step on LEGOs."

I'm inspired by _______.

"Beethoven. Not the dog. Rick Allen. Don't know who that is? Ask your granddad."

These songs are the soundtrack to my life:

"Beethoven's Ninth. One of the best pieces of music in history and personal inspiration to me. If he could make this while deaf, I owe it to myself to follow my dream no matter what."
"In The Flesh? by Pink Floyd. I listened to this song on an eternal loop until I couldn't anymore. Then after I got my implant and hated music for a while, I heard this song again for the first time when I could hear music again and I had never heard the organs so clearly."
"Starboy by The Weeknd. That 808 bassline has never sounded as good as this song. And then it gets layered with synth bass and you realize Weeknd is actually in the conversation for top ten status."
"Sorry by Hala. Honestly I've listened to that solo on its own hundreds of times."
"Peg by Steely Dan. Call it dad rock or whatever if you want, but Aja is one of the best produced albums of all time and the jazzy layering on this song gives it this unique blues-fusion sound."
"Billie Jean by Michael Jackson. You've never heard a better snare in a song. I haven't. And if you have, you're a liar."
"Mayonaise by The Smashing Pumpkins. If you've ever wanted to hear a guitar cry, listen to this song."
"A Warm Place by Nine Inch Nails. I don't care that this album has Hurt or Closer, this is the album's masterpiece track. It ties everything together, its the heartbeat that reminds you what the album is all about thematically. I didn't understand at first. I do now."
"Tension by Kylie Minogue. Maybe it's the way it sounds on my brain, but this song sounds like a sparkle."

My fondest memory as a child was _______.

"Going around to my granddad's house for a weekend while my mom and dad went off to some kinda international awards show. It was the first time I really experienced the Indian side of my family. Not just the food, which was life changing, but the culture and going to the mandir and just having a great weekend. My granddad told me he didn't initially approve of my dad marrying my mom because my dad is white and my granddad was always a bit of a...traditonalist but when he saw the way my mom held me in the hospital and when he felt my little hand squeeze his finger he realized dad was perfect for mom. Really nice to hear that your granddad overcame prejudices because I was a cute little baby."

If I could tell my younger self something, I would say:

"Make up cooler stories about why you have the implant. You can absolutely get people to think you're a cyborg."

The things that make me smile are _______.

"Spiced potato samosas, and if you haven't had one then you're missing out. The guitar solo in Sorry by Hala. Getting likes on my photography posts. You know, the little things."

My whole life story in one sentence:

"Subtitles not included just so you know what it was like for me every day."

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► extra information

Knows ASL but also can, you know, speak normally.
Is Hindu, isn't really serious about it. Mostly just to keep her granddad happy.
Always gets a hot dog at the movie theater, believes that the greasy turnstile and the heatlamps make it taste better.
Can sing pretty well.
Her favorite movie is Creed.

Ellie Walters

_{Eun-ji Walters}

18 • Female • She plays bass. She loves fish. • She/They • Looking for their princess

(FC: Kim Min-jeong/Winter; Dialogue: 0BB2B4)

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Ｉｎｔｒｏ

► reputation

Annoyingly, many at BHHS - especially the underclassmen - know of Ellie because they're fans of her mother and the groups under her mother's company. Her mother, Tae Su-Hwa, is a former Kpop Idol who was the center of P.R.D.; Su traded the microphone for a briefcase as she now owns one of the only female-run entertainment agencies in Korea. The myriad of Kpop fans in the western world have made it very clear that Ellie basically comes from royalty - something that annoys her to absolutely no end. It was the decision of Ellie's father, Nick Walters, that she attend school in America because at the time it seemed she would be able to avoid the frenzy that comes with her genetics. Now into the senior year, Ellie has carved out her own sort of niche when it comes to BHHS' social hierarchy. She's not at the top, but she's nowhere near the bottom. People know her as the girl that plays bass outside during lunch and as the girl who punched a sophomore who kept asking her if Ellie's mom could get a kpop group to play their sweet sixteen. The detention was worth it. Other than being a fan of punk music and skilled at fingering a bass, Ellie sort of keeps a low profile, she never seems to get excited nor does she ever seem to get overly angry. She's chill. And seemingly a little anti-social but only by reputation, not by deed.

► current dilemma

Ellie wants to pursue music in a professional capacity but doesn't want to rely on the connections that her parents have or be thought of as some kind of 'nepo hire'. To that end she's trying to find a band that shares her passion for actually making music and not just fucking around in a garage or a talent show performance. She's also looking for someone to go bowling with. In a romantic sense. As in a date. But who isn't looking for that? Her lack of extracirriculars and willingness to put all her eggs in a single basket means her post-high school education prospects are...grim and that's a conversation she can't keep putting off forever but damn if she won't try.

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Ｄｅｔａｉｌｓ

► social media handles

She has three media accounts: Twitter, TikTok, and Discord. All of them have the same handle of '@PunkyBoostar' It's a referencee to an old tv show she hasn't ever seen.

► style

It is said that no one at BHHS has ever seen Ellie wear long pants and try as they might, no one can actually think of a time when they saw her in them. She certainly and probably has, but as far as anyone knows Ellie's default outfit consists of black combat boots, fishnets, and a skirt with a top to match. Her colors tend to skew towards darker colors, blacks and reds and blues being her favorite, but on ocassion she's rocked beige or grey. Bright colors aren't really her thing. At least not on her. She much prefers bright pastels, pinks and whites and yellows, on pretty girls. While her outfits might not win any awards in terms of high fashion or the like, what helps her standout is the various ways she wears her hair. She likes to keep it medium and scruffy, for that 'just had a dirty makeout session in an alley' look along with bangs that cling to her forehead, and she often keeps it in a tight topknot bun. She has dark brown hair but has dyed it different shades often not realizing that doing so makes her more like her mother than she would care to admit.

She has the four card suites on her fingers. She draws them on because she doesn't know if she wants to get a tattoo. On the one hand, a tatoo would really anger her mom. On the other...she kinda hates needles.

► ride & everyday items

Her vehicle of choice is a red Kia Stinger GT2. It has generous trunk space. For storing her instruments. Or just for sitting in and hanging out after school or at the end of a date. She often has her bass guitar with her, either on her person or in the car. She doesn't carry it to class.

► occupation

Unemployed.

► extracurricular activities

After school you can find her getting a slushie (blue is her favorite flavor) or going bowling. Failing that, she'll be playing her bass or listening to music with noise cancelling headphones. Just follow the groove.

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Ｑｕｅｓｔｉｏｎｎａｉｒｅ

Friends would describe me as _______.

"My best friends are Amy Kwon and Hana Le, because birds of a feather or whatever, and I imagine they'd describe me in different ways. Weirdly I get along better with Hana especially now that she's stopped asking me to join dance team or the Kpop club or whatever. I don't know how people can listen to that shit, especially people who don't even speak Korean. It's like those weirdos who watch anime with subtitles and go around saying kawaii or whatever. What was the question? Oh, I don't know. Ask them. I hate being labeled."

In my free time I like to _______.

"Go bowling and drink slushies. I'm gonna get a 300 one day. My mom, in a rare moment of not completely sucking, got me my own bowling ball. It's eleven pounds and has a butterfly motif. When it rolls, it looks like the butterfly is flapping its wings. It's cool."

I would like to learn _______ in the next year.

"How to be better at communicating."

This is how I define success and failure:

"Like it or not, my mom is successful and I don't mean her Kpop bullshit. I mean as a businesswoman. Success is looking people in the eye when they tell you "you can't" and then not flinching when you do it anyway. Failure is when you don't even try. In anything. Just try."

I'm inspired by _______.

"Don't tell her I said this but....my mom. When she's not being an annoying bitch about 'following the family business' she's kinda badass. I mean, she's pregnant and still handling business in two countries. I can't even handle singing and playing bass at the same time."

These songs are the soundtrack to my life:

"Waiting Room by Fugazi. The first bassline I ever learned. You never forget your first."
"Welcome to Paradise by Green Day. Apparently this band used to not suck ass? I didn't believe it until I heard this album."
"Good Times by Chic. What? Funk is tight."
"Stayin' Alive by The BeeGees. Whenever this song comes on in the bowling alley all the old people start acting like they're my age again."
"Maxwell Murder by Rancid. I wish this song were longer."
"Spiderwebs by No Doubt. It all went downhill for this band after Hella Good."
"Model Village by IDLES."
"Queen of Hearts by Fucked Up."
"Swordfish by The Dead Milkmen"
"Rags and Bones by Nomeansno"
"California Uber Alles by Dead Kenendys. It's basically mandatory if you're a fan of the genre."
"Typical Girls by The Slits. I wish I could name a band after my lady parts. Well not really."
"Expect the Bayonet by Sheer Mag"
"Westermarck by Charly Bliss"

My fondest memory as a child was _______.

"Going to Korea and hanging out backstage while my mom and her group mates did a farewell live. I was pretty young, but one of the idols from P.R.D. tried to get me to drink a shot of what she said was water - it was soju - and got hit on the back of the head by the one with an insane ab game. I know their names but I refuse to acknowledge that there was ever a time when something related to Kpop made me happy."

If I could tell my younger self something, I would say:

"Your dad is kinda lame but he's a good dad. You should hug him more. I mean it's not like he's dead, but I've never been the most...affectionate person when it comes to showing my emotions or whatever."

The things that make me smile are _______.

"Blue flavored slushies. Getting a turkey in bowling. When a small crowd of people listen to me play at lunch or after school. Sometimes Hana. Sometimes Amy before her whole...whatever the hell she's doing. I told her it was stupid. She said it was punk rock. She always does that to me."

My whole life story in one sentence:

"A walking, talking sapphic cliche but cliches are popular for a reason."

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► extra information

Has a little brother. Like, 'barely out of diapers' little brother. Her parents are actively trying for another. Ellie's mom realizes she might be approaching menopause and if Ellie won't follow the footsteps into the industry then what choice does she have.
Her tongue is often blue because of her slushie love.

Tristan Rogers

_{Tristan Hope Rogers}

18 • Female • Bisexual • She/Her • Currently Single; Previously Dated Michael O'Connor

(FC: Alina Zagitova; Dialogue: 8E35EF)

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Ｉｎｔｒｏ

► reputation

If there was an argument to be made for sports to be co-ed, that argument would be Tristan Rogers. While her brother might be more known to the fans of high school athletics - if only because men's sports are always more popular - Tristan is no slouch in that department. She can turn almost anything into a competition, even something as simple as eating lunch; add in her hatred of losing and Tristan can come off as a little intense when she is 'on'. She likes to think of herself as driven, determined, but not obsessed. Yes, she absolutely hates to lose but she'd rather lose in a good, fairly fought contest than win in a complete shut out. Some people have mistakenly placed her as part of The Elite, but the only connection she has is being in a...beneficial relationship with Mikey O'Connor. They aren't dating (anymore) which is what makes their relationship beneficial. As friends. Tristan can sometimes come off like a bully but it's never her intention - she just hates when people give up or, worse, don't even try. But if you show determination and drive and a willingness to try, she'll support anyone. Those fortunate enough to be her friend also know that outside the driven, fiercely competetive exterior is an interior gentle soul who loves animals and enjoys lazy days. Don't ever tell her she can't do something, she will find a way to do it.

Her intense drive is also why she seems to have trouble maintaining a relationship. And she has a tremendous fear of public speaking.

► current dilemma

Being the best might not be all its cracked up to be, especially in the context of high school athletics and doubly so when her brother seems to just be so much more naturally adept at things. Tristan wants to be the best, but she needs to learn that she doesn't have to be the best right now and also that being the best doesn't mean having to kill yourself with training. She'd like to step out of the shadow that she believes she's been living in and find what makes her happy on her own terms, whether that means going for the gold or changing paths to something less...demanding.

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► social media handles

Her main social media handle is Twitter and TikTok, the latter of which she often posts workout tips and clips of her in the gym or doing yoga. Her handle on those platforms is @JusTris
Her Instagram, which is mostly candids of her with her dog, Chopper, is @chopandawww

► style

For someone who doesn't have a sponsorship, Tristan wears a lot of Puma athleisure clothes. It's not uncommon for Tristan to show up to school wearing leggings or bike shors (those especially if she's wearing a skirt) and some combination of halter tops, sleeveless vests, and tee shirts. She will, of course, wear jeans but she doesn't go in for expensive, designer clothes. She dresses for comfort and function more than she does for fashion. At home on weekends she will wear sweatpants and old graphic tees. A secret known only to a very select few is that Tristan has reading glasses and she looks absolutely cute in them. They embarass her (in the cute way) so she only wears them when she's actually reading at night or in the privacy of her own home.

► ride & everyday items

Tristan and her brother share a hydro blue Jeep Wrangler High Tide. Tristan wanted it in punk'n orange but they compromised on the blue. It has a sunrider (like a droptop) which is great for having her hair blow in the breeze. Tristan does not like to drive and in fact gets driven to school by her brother (she controls the aux, of course). She will always prefer being the passenger than the driver no matter what. Her gym bag is almost always in the back seat of the jeep.

► occupation

Would like to maybe find a job. Would love to work at a Chinese restaurant.

► extracurricular activities

As much as she would like to be in the Go Home Club, Tristan spends a lot of her time at the gym. She's not trying to be swole like a body builder but she definitely has tone and keeps fit for maintennce as much as anything else. She's on the varsity volleyball team and has played sports all her life (not always for school) such as football (the soccer one), basketball, gymnastics, running, and brief training in MMA from her dad. She also does yoga.

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Friends would describe me as _______.

"Intense, competetive, driven, motivated. My brother would say I'm a 'passenger princess' but I don't know if that's a compliment like everything else. I know I can be a bit much, but losers only get remembered in the movies. I'm working on toning down the intensity but...the lessons instilled by my dad stuck with me even if he's a lot more mellow these days."

In my free time I like to _______.

"When I'm not in the gym or practice, I love watching kung fu movies with Chopper and a big bowl of popcorn. Or practicing Mandarin, I'm getting pretty good at it. I don't just live in the gym, I spend a lot of time outside of it. Oh, I also do yoga. And I love Chinese food. Shumai is, like, the best."

I would like to learn _______ in the next year.

"To be fluent in Mandarin. Or at least able to do more than order food."

This is how I define success and failure:

"Is this a trick question? Success is when you win. Failure is when you don't."

I'm inspired by _______.

"Serena Williams. Florence Joyner. Clara Hughs. Amanda Nunes. Doctor Kureha."

These songs are the soundtrack to my life:

"Drop Out by Doechii"
"Watch Me by The Pom Poms"
"Heist by El Tigr3"
"Super Powers by V6"
"Face Off by Tech N9ne"
"Never Look Back by Run The Jewels"
"MILK by JOYRYDE"
"Beach House by Carly Rae Jepsen"
"Do I Wanna Know? by The Arctic Monkeys"
"Super Bass by Nicki Minaj"
"Wildest Dreams by Taylor Swift"

My fondest memory as a child was _______.

"Beating my brother in a race. He swears that he let me win but I know I beat him. Also, going camping with the four of us, mom, dad, Tyler, and me. Tyler and I had a competition to see who won between me starting a campfire and him putting up the tent. He cheated and got help from our parents. I totally would've won. I caught more fish than him though. But he ate more than me. I made a better smores, though. Oh, and the first time Chopper greeted me when I came home. That was a great day."

If I could tell my younger self something, I would say:

"You do kinda look cute in those reading glasses."

The things that make me smile are _______.

"Chopper. Tony Leung, I swear if I had the chance... Obviously winning, good competiion. Chinese food after a game. Or any time. Old kung fu movies."

My whole life story in one sentence:

"Left the shadow to be on the winner's podium."

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► extra information

Her father, Sawyer (FC: Matthew Fox), was a former MMA fighter who was forced to retirement after a bad injury where he got super into medicinal marijuana and eventually recreational. This is thanks in no small part to his wife, Dawn Rogers (FC: Elizabeth Mitchell) who was his rehab trainer. The two of them own and operate a dispensary called Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood which has allowed the husband and wife duo to cultivate and sell their own strains.
Has a dog named Chopper. He's an Akita and yes he's named for the famous doctor of the Straw Hats.

Penny Amato

_{Penny Amato}

17 • Fluid • Pansexual • They/She/He • Single

(FC: Ruby Cruz; Dialogue: 73997E)

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Ｉｎｔｒｏ

► reputation

As much as it is possible to be an enigma at BHHS, Penny Amato is one. It's a well known secret that Penny Amato isn't their birth name but most people, at this point, have stopped trying to work out the mystery of Penny's family and have just accepted that Penny is just another face in the halls. Albeit a very nice face, by all accounts. No one could deny that Penny is a bit of a nerd, they play TTRPGs and even have a character that they have played as for years and they have a decently well known Twitch stream where they just build and paint model kits while talking to the chat or reading things sent to them - because Penny's other well known feature is their voice. Penny has a unique voice, it's husky and smooth which Penny learned makes some people feral - one time they went on mic while playing Valorant with some friends and the randoms on the team spent the entire match asking her to say things like 'Hi honey' and 'Ara ara'. They didn't get it at first. That combination of voice and face was also what made them a bit of a mainstay in the theater department of BHHS, appearing in performances since Freshman year and auditioning for masculine and feminine roles.

Penny's reputation at BHHS is fairly positive. As far as they know they don't have any enemies but they're also savvy enough to know how to play the game - which only adds to the rumor that they have some knowledge of social climbing thanks to the mysterious family. Whether on stage or just hanging out, it's hard not to notice Penny whether they want it or not. Some want to be their friend, others just want to know what their deal is, but the only family Penny is interested in talking about is the families of the fantasy novels they read.

► current dilemma

Penny doesn't really have any post high school plans. They don't exactly want to get into acting but nor do they want to be a career barista. Penny would like to maybe be an author but they have no confidence in their own writing, even though they're part of the BHHS literary magazine and have helped with scripting in theater productions. Secretly, Penny thinks it'd be cool if they got to be in the running for Prom King or Queen but they're smart enough to know that those roles are basically filled before the prom even happens. But maybe this year is the year that the status quo is shaken up. It is the last chance, after all. Penny also has a wealth of expectations put on them by their family, but that's a can of worms that Penny refuses to open with classmates.

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Ｄｅｔａｉｌｓ

► social media handles

Penny has a Twitch stream where they build model kits and interact with chat. To their surprise, it has earned her a decently niche following and some extra pocket change - it turns out people on the internet will totally donate to get Penny to read fanfiction or tongue twisters or innuendo comments while they paint some tabletop figures or build a Star Wars ship. Their Twitch handle is 'PenNPaper' which is also their Twitter handle. On Discord they just go by Penny as their display name with the username being amatotomato.

► style

Some people put in a lot of effort to make it seem like they didn't actually put in effort, but in Penny's case they actually don't put in much effort at all. Penny dresses as if they buy their entire wardrobe from Goodwill or Salvation Army, a whole lot of old jeans and baggy shirts like hockey jerseys or button up flannel and khakis. If there is any regularity with their outfits, it's a preference for sleeveless shirts. They wear Converse shoes a lot but they will wear a pair of shoes until its falling apart. The only consistent aspect of Penny's style is that their hair, unless in a play, is always shaggy and unkempt, and yet even then their bangs always seem to be styled slightlt differently every day.

► ride & everyday items

Penny's car of choice is an Alfa Romeo Giulia but they don't have one. What they do have and drive is a Volkswagen Arteon R-Line in Kingfisher Blue. Even that car is a bit richer than they'd care to admit, but it was a sweet sixteen gift. Or so they say.

► occupation

Penny is a barista at Plouf Cafe and Bakery. Penny does not bake anything but does enjoy tiramisu and the croissants. They do latte art and have gotten better at it though most are satisfied with them just making a heart in the latte.

► extracurricular activities

Penny is a member of the BHHS literary magazine and is a known figure in the theater department. Even if they don't get a part after auditioning, Penny will still help put on a play even if in a stagehand role.

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Ｑｕｅｓｔｉｏｎｎａｉｒｅ

Friends would describe me as _______.

"A rules nerd. No, seriously, I have a bad habit of annoying the DM because they sometimes don't know the rules of the classes in the group. I mean, I don't do it often but I've done it enough that it's kind of a running gag with my group. I don't know, I think my friends would describe me as nice or friendly or whatever, it's boring. I don't have anything more exciting or interesting than that. I'd describe my friends as annoying because some of them bother me at work which is cool and all but then they start asking for free cakes but all I can give them is a biscotto. No, I don't know why an Italian cookie is in a French themed cafe but I don't make the menu, I just brew the coffee and get awkward flirts from customers."

In my free time I like to _______.

"Read books. I'm working through the fantasy section at the book store. I also started writing my own fantasy stories but don't tell anyone, they're bad and I don't want people to think I'm lame."

I would like to learn _______ in the next year.

"How to be a good DM and run my own session."

This is how I define success and failure:

"Success is being able to go to bed at night with a smile. That's kinda corny. I don't know, man, who thinks about this stuff? I'm just happy when I get a B on a test I didn't study for, especially in science. Why do I need to know physics? I'm not gonna be a physicist and I already know what I need to about chemistry: fire is hot, don't touch it and if it smells like poison, roll a constitution save to not get poisoned."

I'm inspired by _______.

"I dunno, I guess Tilda Swinton and Naomi Novik?"

These songs are the soundtrack to my life:

"20 Dollars by boygenius"
"Life on Mars by David Bowie"
"The Narcissist by Blur"
"Snail by The Smashing Pumpkins"
"Feel the Pain by Dinosaur Jr."
"Spit on a Stranger by Pavement"
"The Bard's Song by Blind Guardian"
"Heaven on Their Minds by Carl Anderson (from Jesus Christ Superstar)"
"Scott Street by Phoebe Bridgers"
"Your Best American Girl by Mitski"

My fondest memory as a child was _______.

"In middle school I was cast in a pre-teen production of Treasure Island. I got to play the part of Billy Bones who, you know, is basically only in the play for one scene. I got to have a stage sword fight, it was cool. I got the part because no other kid, not even the boys, could have a piratey gravely rasp to their voice but I could even though I needed a lot of water and tea at home after. Anyway, the best part was after when someone in like third grade saw me in the hallway a few days later and said I was really good in the play. I never thought I'd consider stage acting until then. So I guess thanks to that kid, I hope they're doing cool."

If I could tell my younger self something, I would say:

"You don't have to hide, people are way more willing to accept you these days. Well, mostly. So don't be afraid to wear 'boys clothes' with 'girls clothes'."

The things that make me smile are _______.

"Rolling a nat 1 and having to embrace the chaos that brings. Getting a flower after a performance. I never know if that's, like, a flirty thing or not."

My whole life story in one sentence:

"Somehow won most of the charisma checks but failed everything else."

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► extra information

Really would prefer you stop asking about their parents or what their real name is.

Abby!

_{Ashley "Abby" Beswick}

17 • Female • Asexual, Panromantic • She/Her • Single

(FC: Chloé Hayden; Dialogue: 86EDE8)

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Ｉｎｔｒｏ

► reputation

There are two camps of thought when it comes to Abby, three if you count the people who are confused why she goes by Abby even though her name is Ashley: the people who think she's weird and the people who think she's weird but use language like 'quirky' to sound nicer. Abby is weird, sure, but she's the kind of weird that is uniquely freeing in an environment like high school and especially a high school where reputation is everything. Abby is the kind of girl who seems absolutely unaware of social expectations at BHHS to the point where she has, on more than one instance, seen an open seat during lunch and sat down even though it would be at the Hive table or the Elite table and anytime someone said "Excuse me" to her in an attempt to get her to leave, she would just look at them with her mouth full of drink or sandwich and ask "Why, did you burp?" If it was anyone else her words might've been seen as mocking. Maybe they were. But Abby just wanted a place to eat her lunch, what does it matter if it's where someone who was late to lunch was 'supposed' to sit?

When she isn't causing international high school incidents, Abby is often found in the art room getting paint on her clothes as she works on her latest piece, failing that she's on the quad, sometimes twirling until she falls into the grass or other times just laying on her back - possibly even napping. She doesn't quite like the party culture that makes up interactions at school, preferring to spend her weekends at a gallery or eating rainbow sherbet and popsicles until her brain freezes. People haven't seen her at parties, but they have seen her at BHHS because it's hard to miss someone who is so loud without even having to say anything.

► current dilemma

Abby, like any respectable high school student, is freaking out over life after high school. She hasn't applied to colleges because none of them really have any programs that interest her and she doesn't think art needs to learn math or other gen eds when she can just get some canvas, paints, and see what happens after six hours. But societal pressures mean that she has expectations of getting a career if not a college education but that is an equally daunting prospect. It may not be as dramatic as some students at school, but behind the ever present smile is the mind of someone who sees the future and for the first time in their life doesn't see a bright spot ahead.

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Ｄｅｔａｉｌｓ

► social media handles

Abby doesn't use social media because she's seen people who take it very seriously and they always seem like they're a drug addict but their drug is online interaction. The most she has is a phone for group texts. She has considered starting one for her art but she doesn't think there's much of a point to posting pictures of her paintings on the internet. She doesn't need those strange people who negatively comment on everything someone works on.

► style

If there's a brand associated with the clothes Abby wears, it's not one of any real note. It's not that she isn't fashionable or stylish, it's just that her wardrobe is very...pastel. Someone once described an outfit she wore as "if mint chocolate chip ice cream was clothing" but she was wearing a very nice bright green that day. Abby often wears overalls that have paint on them - but only on days when she intends to paint. She always wears different eye shadow shades on both eyes, and they're always analogous or triadic colors. If one eye is bright blue, expect the other to be yellow or pink.

► ride & everyday items

Abby doesn't have a driver's license so she often has to ride with others or get dropped off by a parent or guardian. She'll take public transportation but only when other options have been exhausted.

► occupation

She doesn't have a job but she does frequent the Creamistry a lot. A scoop of rainbow sherbet is her go-to.

► extracurricular activities

She's a member of the art club and once got into a misunderstanding with another member who really wanted to only draw something called a 'doujinshi'. She didn't know what it meant and still doesn't.

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Ｑｕｅｓｔｉｏｎｎａｉｒｅ

Friends would describe me as _______.

"A pronoun used by a speaker to refer to himself or herself as the object or verb or preposition. That definition seems a little outdated in regards to modern understandings of personal pronouns but other than that it's a pretty textbook definition and description of the word 'me'. It's all hypothetical anyway, I don't know if I have friends but it's okay! I mean people are nice to me but I'm not getting invited to sleepovers. I have a pet frog, if he could talk I hope he'd describe me as a good mom."

In my free time I like to _______.

"Well I like to paint and eat ice cream but everyone already knows that. I really like space I like to imagine I'm in space not like in a rocket ship or on Star Trek or something but just like...floating in space without a suit and helmet. But...yes mostly I like to make art, look at art, and eat ice cream."

I would like to learn _______ in the next year.

"How to draw hands. Hands are tough. Well they're soft to touch. At least mine are. I think other peoples hands are also soft. I think I'd like to hold a hand to confirm."

This is how I define success and failure:

"I don't actully define success or failure, those words are already defined. I don't believe I can define them any better than the experts already have. Success feels better than failure but failure leads to success so you need both, I think."

I'm inspired by _______.

"Nature, space, the sky, life. Life is beautiful and messy and disguting and wonderful and interesting and so many people are willing to let it pass them by. All my most creative artworks come from life."

These songs are the soundtrack to my life:

"Europe Endless by Kraftwerk"
"It's Not Up To You by Bjork"
"Kill v Maim by Grimes"
"Gangsta by Tune-yards"
"Two Weeks by FKA twigs"
"Wouldn't It Be Nice by The Beach Boys"
"Haircut by Petey and Miya Folick"
"AMERICAN GURL by Kilo Kish"
"It's Not Just Me, It's Everybody by Weyes Blood"
"Abrasive by Ratatat"

My fondest memory as a child was _______.

"My parents wanted me to try an outdoor activity so I played youth league soccer. I played by the goalie because everyone had to have a position and that was the only one. I didn't do much except for one game where I got hit in the chest with the ball after a wayward kick which allowed our team to regain control and win the game. We got pizza and trophies at the end of the season. It wasn't until later that I learned all the kids on the team got a trophy but that didn't take away from the nice feeling of being a useful member of the team."

If I could tell my younger self something, I would say:

"Finger painting is a totally valid form of expression no matter what the babysitter said. But maybe get permission before doing it on walls, some people think it's vandalism."

The things that make me smile are _______.

"I'm always smiling, except when I'm not, but if I'm not smiling then it's because my eyes are closed and I'm trying to go back to my happy place."

My whole life story in one sentence:

"I am."

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► extra information

She has a pet frog. His name is Flapjack. He's a good frog.

BHHS: Limitless

Fab since you’re exceeding six, can you make a new tab for the next six?

@LovelyComplex

Sure can, but if I have another six characters please tell me to stop

BHHS: Limitless

Leila Webb

_{Leila Webb}

17 • Female • Pansexual • She/Her • Single

(FC: Zaira Wasim; Dialogue: 15D44C)

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Ｉｎｔｒｏ

► reputation

At first, Leila was content to fly under the radar - something that seemed next to impossible given that her mother is an Academy Award winning filmmaker (it was for Short Feature Film) - but in practice wasn't all that difficult given that being the child of someone with fame wasn't exactly unique at this particular school. Leila never really stood out; she had a small number of friends and that was good enough for her. Drawing attention to herself would only invite people to remark on the fact that she has a cochlear implant and has to always sit in the front row when she's not in special classes. If Leila has a reputation it's for being the girl who always has an earbud in as she's walking down the halls - though on closer inspection the earbud is a hearing aid on the ear opposite her implant. Leila, by senior year, is known as one of the 'disabled girls', a moniker bestowed upon her by the oh so gracious queen of the social ladder. It was meant to be a sign that she was exempt from mockery or the like (but at the same time afforded her little upward movement on the social ladder) but to Leila it was like being looked down upon and taken pity on; it felt like bullying by way of exclusion, intentional or otherwise. She tries to take it in stride, but when many just know her as 'the deaf girl' it's more than a little annoying. She isn't deaf. Not yet, anyway. She'd rather be known as the music girl or just...as anything other than being defined by what others perceive as a disability.

► current dilemma

Leila does struggle with school sometimes just because she has to focus on lips in class when there isn't a readily available ASL translator on hand. Her hearing is an issue even if she refuses to see it that way. Yes, she can't hear as well as people and has an implant, but she's not lesser because of it. She is concerned that her dreams of getting into the music industry, be it as a singer or a producer or musician, is an impossibile dream but if she started worrying about that, she'd never get anywhere regardless. Leila would rather try and make her dreams a reality insead of resign herself to a regret filled life because she gave up.

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Ｄｅｔａｉｌｓ

► social media handles

Leila helps run the instagram and general social media account for Webb-Heads, which can be found at @WebbHeads
Her personal instagram is @WebbOfSound where she posts a lot of pictures. Her Twitter account is @WebbTunes and sometimes she gets people thinking she's an online comic website.
On TikTok she has a weekly video series called Melodic Moments where she discusses some of her favorite lyrics or musical bars.

► style

Leila doesn't have any one specific style though if she did it would fall somewhere between business casual and comfort. She loves a good band tee just as much as she loves wearing a flannel or blazer jacker over said tee. Jeans, slacks, pants, rarely - as in damn near never-
wears shorts. She's kinda self conscious about her legs; her dad says she just has her mom's hips but to Leila that just means she thinks she has sausage legs which make it easier to hide in pants than letting them hang out. For the first three years of high school, Leila had medium length dark brown hair, going into senior year she has cut it short and now has a pixie cut. She looks, in her mother's words, like "a biracial Winona Ryder from, like, after she was having sex with Johnny Depp." Her friend DJ opted for saying she looked, quote, "Like every lesbian's first crush." Leila was weirdly flattered even if she didn't quite know what that meant.

► ride & everyday items

Leila doesn't drive, so she either carpools with her friend(s) or takes a bus to school. If she can't get a ride on weekends she'll take an Uber.

► occupation

Works at Webb-Heads. Stocks shelves, works the front register. Often has to point to a sign on the counter asking customers to please speak clearly and be understanding as she is hard of hearing. Some of them follow it. Most dont. Few mutter bad words under their breath because they think she can't read the lips.

► extracurricular activities

Sometimes gets dragged to the film club, not an official member. A member in name only of the music club, would attend more meetings but work is a bigger priority.

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Ｑｕｅｓｔｉｏｎｎａｉｒｅ

Friends would describe me as _______.

"I don't know, pretty down to earth, maybe. The person to go to if you need to know the names of every member of Black Sabbath or how many albums feature a band's original lineup. I'm pretty sure DJ has compared me to Patrick Batemen, but only in the Huey Lewis scene. I don't know what she means but I assume it's a good thing. I don't have the most friends, but I have the best ones. I'd describe them with the only sign language everyone understands: a middle finger and a smile."

In my free time I like to _______.

"When I'm not working at my family's store, I like to take pictures. Photography is my second hobby beyond music. Which is also something I like to do in my free time. I also like to eat gas station hot dogs. I've been told my mom's favorite food at my age was gas station burritos so there's never been any doubt who gave birth to me."

I would like to learn _______ in the next year.

"How to work a mixing board."

This is how I define success and failure:

"Success is having the strengh to keep going even when everything around you tells you to stop. Failure is listening and giving up. People who give up on their dreams because of one setback are my least favorite people on the planet. After the racists and sexists and stuff, obviously, those people can step on LEGOs."

I'm inspired by _______.

"Beethoven. Not the dog. Rick Allen. Don't know who that is? Ask your granddad."

These songs are the soundtrack to my life:

"Beethoven's Ninth. One of the best pieces of music in history and personal inspiration to me. If he could make this while deaf, I owe it to myself to follow my dream no matter what."
"In The Flesh? by Pink Floyd. I listened to this song on an eternal loop until I couldn't anymore. Then after I got my implant and hated music for a while, I heard this song again for the first time when I could hear music again and I had never heard the organs so clearly."
"Starboy by The Weeknd. That 808 bassline has never sounded as good as this song. And then it gets layered with synth bass and you realize Weeknd is actually in the conversation for top ten status."
"Sorry by Hala. Honestly I've listened to that solo on its own hundreds of times."
"Peg by Steely Dan. Call it dad rock or whatever if you want, but Aja is one of the best produced albums of all time and the jazzy layering on this song gives it this unique blues-fusion sound."
"Billie Jean by Michael Jackson. You've never heard a better snare in a song. I haven't. And if you have, you're a liar."
"Mayonaise by The Smashing Pumpkins. If you've ever wanted to hear a guitar cry, listen to this song."
"A Warm Place by Nine Inch Nails. I don't care that this album has Hurt or Closer, this is the album's masterpiece track. It ties everything together, its the heartbeat that reminds you what the album is all about thematically. I didn't understand at first. I do now."
"Tension by Kylie Minogue. Maybe it's the way it sounds on my brain, but this song sounds like a sparkle."

My fondest memory as a child was _______.

"Going around to my granddad's house for a weekend while my mom and dad went off to some kinda international awards show. It was the first time I really experienced the Indian side of my family. Not just the food, which was life changing, but the culture and going to the mandir and just having a great weekend. My granddad told me he didn't initially approve of my dad marrying my mom because my dad is white and my granddad was always a bit of a...traditonalist but when he saw the way my mom held me in the hospital and when he felt my little hand squeeze his finger he realized dad was perfect for mom. Really nice to hear that your granddad overcame prejudices because I was a cute little baby."

If I could tell my younger self something, I would say:

"Make up cooler stories about why you have the implant. You can absolutely get people to think you're a cyborg."

The things that make me smile are _______.

"Spiced potato samosas, and if you haven't had one then you're missing out. The guitar solo in Sorry by Hala. Getting likes on my photography posts. You know, the little things."

My whole life story in one sentence:

"Subtitles not included just so you know what it was like for me every day."

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► extra information

Knows ASL but also can, you know, speak normally.
Is Hindu, isn't really serious about it. Mostly just to keep her granddad happy.
Always gets a hot dog at the movie theater, believes that the greasy turnstile and the heatlamps make it taste better.
Can sing pretty well.
Her favorite movie is Creed.

What shows/movies are you watching?

I hope the Fallout show doesn't suck

BHHS: Limitless

_{6:45 A.M.
Friday, October 8
Hand Covers Bruise}

After the man in the McDonald’s window handed her the familiar bag with the red and yellow logos, Danielle Jones sped away as quickly as a garish yellow Vespa Super Sport could allow. Inside the bag was life and life was getting too expensive for its own good. At this time of morning, when the sun had barely poked its radiant arms into the eyes of a population too bothered to lower the sun visor, everything was still. The roads were hardly ever empty but there were far fewer cars on the road at this time. The ones coming home from a late night shift, the ones heading to their morning shifts, united in spirit and wearing a wardrobe of baggy eyes and exaggerated yawns. Danielle Jones turned out of the McDonald’s and onto the open road, Italian-made engine sputtering along; In the oncoming lane, a bushy headed man of middle age does a double take as the Vespa breezes past. He rubs his eyes. The Vespa is in the rearview, its driver unconcerned.

The breeze whips a gentle lash on Dani’s face, a bagel sandwich with folded egg and sausage barely fit for a dog held between gritted teeth, careful not to take too hard a bite lest the sandwich meet the road. The open air and the lack of protection on the eyes or head give Dani the appearance of a child sticking their open mouth near a fan blowing on its highest setting. Her eyes drip water and her milk chocolate hair blows behind her like it's trying to escape. Dani’s mothers always told her and her sisters to wear protection- they had to clarify they didn’t mean a condom in this case when it came to Addie - but Dani never did. No one has ever looked good in a helmet as they zoomed down the road on a motorcar and Dani wasn’t about to try and go against centuries of documented evidence. The breeze died down as the light ahead drifted to red and for the first time since leaving the golden arches, Dani tasted life. Greasy, overcooked, delicious, beautiful life.

At the stop light, Dani looked around. No pedestrians walking the sidewalk. No other cars around the intersection, the first ray of dawn painting the street in warm tones and she’d never known such loneliness. It brought a smile to her lips. At home, she had a zoo to deal with. Her moms - that had been less difficult to get used to than she thought - had a tendency to buy affection and her sister JJ took advantage enough to have more rodents running around the house than a New York street. Her sister PJ wasn’t a fan and her sister Addie…well, the sounds of silence cut with the percussion of her Vespa engine was much better aurally than whatever salacious sound made up her alarm. Noise was all over her house and while she contributed her fair share - at least half of the PJ rodent screams were because Dani ‘accidentally’ left Big Cheese’s cage open and the mouse crawled into PJ’s bed overnight - she still enjoyed the silence. It hadn’t always been like that. Silence used to destroy her. When she first moved into her current household, after the funeral, she couldn’t sleep without crying and she only cried because being alone in her thoughts, in the quiet of a bedroom, would only make her remember her mother. Her sisters helped. More than they knew. More than she told.

The light turned green but Dani hadn’t even realized until it was turning yellow again and she was zooming on her way. Her breakfast sandwich was a pile of mush in her stomach that would churn into a pile of regret by lunch period. It wasn’t everyday that Dani was so early on the road, but it wasn’t every day that Dani got to be on camera.

Dani turned into the student parking lot as the clock struck close to seven. Her ankle boots stepped onto the asphalt as she shut the engine off and took her first breath of the day. In the corner of her ear she heard the unmistakable call of a raspy ‘Fuck’ and the sound of polyurethane rolling along the ground. For someone who seemed to hate going to school, Dani couldn’t help but to wonder why that girl was here so often. She didn’t acknowledge Everly with anything other than a brief glance in her direction, which was met with a tilt of the head and a kickflip, as if the skater was trying to say ‘look what I can do’ the way a child did when they learned something that was only impressive to an undeveloped mind. Dani didn’t dislike Everly, they’d even worked together and Dani filmed Everly doing tricks, but even Spike Jonze had to move on from shooting music videos and skateboard demos.

Her backpack, inside which was her Lumix camera, was hoisted out of the storage box under her Vespa seat. The long walk to the media wing and Morning Show studio was familiar at this point. After three, soon to be four, years of this place, everything had sort of become routine. Same hallways. Same people. Same sights. Same sounds. Same couples breaking up, fucking up, fucking, and getting back together only to repeat the process because in high school everyone thought with their bodies, not their minds. Dani was no different, other than not having a couple to do the cycle with. Maybe that’s why she turned her head away from the couple on the lawn holding hands before the bell rang. Or maybe she just didn’t want to see them try to eat each other’s faces and call it making out.

The routine was death. She’d read stories how adults with jobs sometimes still woke up in a cold sweat thinking they had homework they forgot to do or a test they didn’t study for and she could believe it. By sophomore year, high school stops feeling like anything other than a four year Stanford prison experiment. There was no greater psychological torture than having to endure math class and being told how important the pythagorean theorem was. A Squared plus B Squared equals Fuck Off. Maybe that's why she did what she did last year. Boredom. An attempt to make every day not feel the same. The Toad Sings prank raised her social stock in school, an unfortunate side effect as she had spent so much time being the silent hero of the Morning Show. The woman behind the camera who made others look good. Directors won awards, sure, but people remembered actors more. That was her place and she was good at it. But even the best directors liked to appear in their own works from time to time.

Her booted feet carried her up the stairs but it was her own tempered excitement that had her practically taking them two at a time. That excitement lasted until she arrived on the floor and saw Jamie - or rather the back of him - rush past and then, a bit further down the hall and engaged in conversation she didn’t want to overhear, were Trixie and Ethan. As Dani continued towards the studio, not giving either the time of day, she couldn’t help but to shake her head.


_{In Motion}

Ethan Green is a fuckboy. I don’t say, or think, that lightly, i think that because it’s true and no one wants to admit it. All the Greens or Greenlocks or whoever are different flavors of fuck from boy to head but anyone who rolls around in a group calling themselves The Elite is in dire need of a reality check.

In case you didn’t know who it is guys like Ethan Green represent, his aunt owns the Seattle Mariners. The baseball team. Because Hailey’s wife wanted season tickets. That’s what people like that do. They remind the world that they have enough money to spit on the little guy and throw him fifty bucks for dry cleaning and act like they’re doing the world a favor.

I mean sure, it’s only baseball and no one watches baseball anymore other than balding, fat dudes in their twenties by way of looking like they’re forty, but it’s the principle of the matter. Kids at this school have a family member who owns a baseball team. Before you start getting it twisted, I’m not jealous. I don’t exactly come from a poor family, but the difference is I carry twenty bucks on me at any given time and people like Ethan Green think a black card gives them the authority to walk around like they’re Zeus.

Well, I mean Ethan Green would probably fuck a swan so I guess there’s truth to that.

I’d sooner subject myself to listening to Himani Chakrabarti for five minutes than spend two in a bathroom with Ethan Green. At least Himani is humble.

Leaving the discussion between Ethan and Trixie in the rear, Dani entered the studio, said good morning to absolutely no one, and placed her bag on an empty seat at a table that had refreshments - stale danish and all - for the crew to enjoy before and after a show. Her co-hosts in crime, Rye and Sully, were having a conversation that seemed almost as heated as the one she passed by in the hall. By her watch, she had minutes to spare, more the fault hers for stopping by McDonald’s rather than eat a donut and run the risk of getting chocolate over her denim jacket.

Rye and Sully are fuckboys too but they’re different from Ethan. Sully doesn’t seem to know that most girls would find a guy like that to be as irresistible as a piece of decadent chocolate cake. A mama’s boy with a body and good with his hands? Powerful weapon in the right hands, we’re all just lucky he’d prefer those hands squeezing a joystick rather than a pair of tits. Rye is a fireman in training or something and everyone knows how people feel about firemen. Well, the ones without beer bellies or porn haircuts anyway. He probably gets around as much as Ethan but I’ve never asked and he’s had the good sense not to boast about it in the studio.

The difference between them and Ethan Green is Rye and Sully have personality beyond whatever it takes to put their dick in something. Maybe I’m biased because Sully brings me coffee sometimes, but Rye and Sully don’t make my skin crawl. Maybe in another life I’d have gotten to know them better than I have but until last year I don’t think anyone knew me as anything other than a camera girl so the road goes both ways.

I don’t want to impose on their conversation, but if I did, I’d probably say that I don’t care who’s having sex with who - other than me having sex with no one which sucks - but that if it ruins the chemistry at the Morning Show then I’ll personally collect their heads and make a necklace from them.

And I don’t mean the ones on their neck. Obviously. That’d be too big for a necklace.

The call for three minutes left came just as Dani closed her compact mirror. What counted as hair and makeup was essentially ‘on your own’ and Dani had to run her hand through her hair to make it less…frizzy from the drive in. Her mothers might have had a point about protection but that didn’t mean she had to follow it.

At the two minute mark, Dani made her way towards the desk and took her seat, immediately propping her feet up on the counter like she was at home. In a way, she was. Her eyes glanced over the copy handed to her and she parsed absolutely none of it. If they expected Dani Jones to go by the script, then they hadn’t known her at all. Half the fun of the Morning Show was trying to get the others to break.

“You know, three creams is a delicacy in some parts of the world.” Dani said to Sully as he handed her her cup of coffee. “Like in….Turkmenistan. You owe an apology to the Turkmen peoples, Sully. I’ll accept it on their behalf. They take credit, debit, or cash.”

The one minute warning had sounded thirty seconds ago and the sign to outsiders that they were going live was lit up. Quiet on the set, the whole spiel. Mr. Wells pointed to Dani. Dani waved back. Mr. Wells sighed. Dani waited until there were five seconds left and they were being counted in before she took her feet off the desk.

She was, after all, a professional.