RIIIIINGGG!

  The bell shattered the tension.

  “First class—ugh, what a mess.”

  “Yeah, all thanks to that fire freak.”

  “Did you see her eyes? Like blood. Creepy as hell.”

  “She even looked like a guy.”

  “Or a thug, haha.”

  “And boots, too—like she doesn’t care about the dress code.”

  “Lady Miria, what do you think?”

  The girls clustered around the lockers, hair tied neat, nails painted, earrings glittering as they stashed away notebooks.

  Miria, standing among them, blinked back to herself. She hadn’t stopped thinking about the girl—not for a second. She hated how Feralynn had stolen the spotlight. But watching her run, half-broken, eyes glinting with tears—it tugged at something uncomfortably familiar.

  “I think she’s…interesting.”

  It wasn’t a lie. From the very first collision, Feralynn hadn’t flinched. She’d looked her straight in the eyes, treated her as an equal. She didn’t care about notes, didn’t even pretend to. She slept through lectures, smirked through scoldings. She lived outside every rule.

  And that—Miria thought—was dangerous.

  “At least her friend acts like a human being…” That had been Miria’s first thought.

  Vulgar. Rude. Ill-mannered and foolish. That was what she believed of the black-haired girl—until she saw the sphere of fire roaring from her bare hands.

  Miria slid her books into her locker and shut it with a clean snap. Through the window at the far end of the courtyard, she spotted Annya sitting alone, nibbling at cookies with a vacant, gray expression.

  “If you’ll excuse me.”

  Her smile to her companions was graceful, and they understood immediately—the leader wanted solitude.

  Annya ate slowly, mechanically, her own chocolate-chip cookies turning to ash on her tongue under the weight of guilt. She barely registered the polished shoes that stopped in front of her. Lifting her head, her eyes widened.

  “Lady Miria…?” she mumbled, mouth still half full, lips dusted with crumbs. She hurriedly brushed them away in embarrassment.

  “Oak, isn’t it?” Miria smiled. “Would it be too much trouble if I joined you?”

  Annya fumbled, nearly dropping the bag in her lap, cheeks flushing.

  “Y-Yes! Wait—no! I mean, it’s not a bother at all.”

  Miria gathered her skirt and sat neatly, legs folded with elegance. The silence stretched. Annya chewed as if every bite might detonate.

  “May I have one?” Miria gestured delicately. “They look delicious.”

  Annya nodded, still mute. Miria plucked a single cookie between thumb and forefinger, tasting it carefully, ensuring no crumbs fell on her uniform.

  “Mmm. Quite good. Where did you buy them?”

  “They’re…um. Mine.”

  “Really? Wonderful! They’re banquet-tier.” She laughed lightly, easing the air.

  Another pause. Then Annya, braver this time:

  “You’re here to ask me about Feralynn, aren’t you?”

  “Hm? Who?”

  “The black-haired girl…”

  Kind, but not na?ve. Miria tucked a white lock behind her ear, smiling as if caught. No need for subtlety now.

  “Indeed. Her little display of prodigious pyromancy caught my eye. Tell me—how do you know her? You seem close.”

  Annya drew a long breath.

  “She’s my neighbor. I’ve known her a few weeks.”

  “I see. From Larion, then? One would expect such fire from the Goldbrand family—but they’re blond and brown-eyed.”

  “She’s from Soleria…”

  “Soleria?” Miria repeated, sifting through memory. “The southern republic… the one bled dry by wars?”

  Annya nodded, gaze fixed on the grass.

  “I see…”

  Something felt wrong. Why would a girl from a frozen wasteland wield fire like that? Those flames in her hands, that fear in her eyes—together they painted a portrait: a wildfire caged, refusing to be tamed. Unlike her polished world.

  Choppi ducked through the back gate, humming cheerfully with hedge clippers in hand. He tipped his hat at them before trimming the shrubs, unbothered by the world unless summoned.

  Before Miria could press further, Annya leapt to her feet and rushed toward him.

  “Choppi! Choppi!”

  The clown caretaker turned, puzzled, then softened at the sight of a flustered girl. He set the shears down and crouched to her level.

  “At your service, young lady. What troubles you?”

  “Choppi, have you seen my friend? Tall, red eyes, short black hair—face like a cranky bulldog.” She mimed, pulling her own cheeks into a grumpy scowl.

  He tapped his chin, then dug into his pocket. Out came a bright red rotary phone, cord dangling into nowhere. He dialed thoughtfully, pressed it to his ear. After a beat, someone “answered.”

  “Brother! Yes! Yes—all well. A young maiden seeks her dear friend. Yes, yes—red eyes, sour face. Mhm, mhm…Hmm…”

  Miria drifted closer, watching Annya clutch her fists to her chest, eyes wide with desperate hope.

  “Oh! Perfect! Thank you, brother.” Choppi hung up. “Your friend is with Professors Romina and Sebastian, in the duel hall.”

  Before Annya could ask where, he held up a calming palm.

  “Wing B, corridor five, room seventeen. And no running, young lady.”

  Annya’s eyes shone.

  “Thank you—thank you!”

  She hugged him. Not a sweet gesture—something raw, needed. Choppi knelt, returning it with a gentle pat before rising to his work.

  “Wait—the bell will ring soon, are you going to—” Miria’s question trailed off. Annya didn’t even look back. She bolted, abandoning her half-eaten bag of cookies.

  Miria picked it up, holding it with both hands.

  “She must care for her… more than anyone’s ever cared for me.”

  Annya darted against the tide of students flooding the hall. Corridors stretched endlessly. The bell rang, but she didn’t stop. She had to find her. She had to make it right.

  “Room seventeen, room seventeen…” Her voice rasped between breaths. “Seventeen!”

  At last—corridor five. She bent over, catching her breath, wiping sweat from her brow. Slowly, she walked toward the heavy double doors.

  The roar reached her first. Flames erupted inside like a dragon’s breath, flashes of orange and gold spilling through the glass. She pushed the doors open.

  No one noticed her.

  Feralynn stood at the center, arms outstretched, torrents of fire blasting from her hands. Her hair and skirt whipped in the wind of her own power. Each eruption threatened to scorch the rafters above.

  “Extraordinary…” a man murmured beside Romina, who stood arms crossed, eyes alight with both pride and awe. “I’ve never seen a pyromancer her age with such raw force.”

  Annya slipped into the shadows of the bleachers, silent, heart hammering. She’d seen Feralynn return home exhausted after long hours in the woods, but never like this. Never with this magnitude of destruction in her veins.

  “Heh. Imagine her in the Unit,” the man said.

  “She’s still young, Sebastian.”

  “She already outclasses fifth-years, Romina.” He replied, never glancing at her, his gaze locked on the inferno.

  Sebastian adjusted his rectangular glasses, scribbling notes on his clipboard with the calm precision of a dueling master.

  And at last, Feralynn lowered her hands, pausing, chest heaving in the silence left behind.

  “Very well, Miss Blackwood,” Sebastian said, clicking his pen with surgical precision. “If you’re not exhausted, we’d like to see an igneous summon.”

  Feralynn wiped sweat from her brow with her sleeve.

  “I don’t know how to summon things,” she answered flatly.

  “You can attempt it right here and now. This is the perfect space.”

  She lowered her gaze to her hands, marked by burns, cuts, and scars—accidents, or maybe not.

  “I could hurt someone…”

  Sebastian and Romina exchanged a look, then offered her small, reassuring smiles.

  “I can promise you no one will be harmed,” Sebastian said, adjusting his glasses. “Please. Continue.”

  Feralynn drew a deep breath to steady herself. Fire swelled in her hands, growing into a sphere that lit the chamber with searing golden light. She strained, shaping it, stretching it, molding it with closed eyes.

  From the shadows, Annya’s fists twisted in her skirt. Her wide eyes fixed on Fer—remembering her loss of control earlier. That’s when the truth struck her: she didn’t know this girl at all. A whole week together, and Annya had filled it with her own chatter. She didn’t know Fer’s favorite color, her past in Soleria, her whole family—if she even had one. Nothing.

  Feralynn’s jaw clenched. She kneaded the fire as though “kneading dough,” straining to sculpt it into the shape of a serpent. It writhed, unstable, toothless, breaking apart at the edges. Her sweat dripped as she fought to keep it steady.

  It was in vain. The serpent erupted in an explosion. Fer shielded herself, diverting the blast with crossed arms. Flames scattered, whipping Romina’s hair and Sebastian’s like flags in the wind—but neither so much as blinked.

  “Well…” Sebastian said, scribbling on his clipboard. “I believe that covers everything. Thank you, Miss Blackwood.”

  Annya swallowed hard. If this was her friend… what would happen if one day she wasn’t? If Fer couldn’t stop herself? Was she here to learn control—or because she feared what she’d become?

  Romina stepped forward, resting a hand on Fer’s shoulder.

  “You all right, lioness?”

  Fer panted, eyes burning.

  “I’m thirsty… I’m done.”

  With a snap of her fingers, Romina conjured a can of soda, pressing it into Fer’s hands with a playful wink.

  “Not bad, kid. Strong as an ox. I just pity your classmates when you start sparring in his lessons.” She smirked toward Sebastian.

  “I heard that,” he replied dryly, though the smile beneath his glasses gave him away. “She has other classes to return to, Professor Romina—as do we.”

  Fer cracked open the can and drank deep, sighing in relief. Romina’s hand lingered on her shoulder.

  “Don’t ever cry again over being different,” she said with steady affection. “The best mages I’ve known were never normal.” She tousled Fer’s black hair roughly.

  Fer blushed, turning away to hide it. She wiped her eyes with her sleeve, swallowing down the tears that threatened to spill. She walked toward the door, soda still in hand—only to freeze.

  Annya was there, leaning against the wall, toying with a strand of orange hair, staring at the floor.

  “…Hi.” Her faint smile looked ghostly, guilt-ridden.

  Fer nearly dropped her drink, fumbling to catch it.

  “A-Annya…?”

  Silence hung heavy. Annya twisted the lock of hair tighter.

  “Did you…see me?” Fer asked, her face heating more than her fire.

  Annya nodded, cheeks flushed.

  “Yeah... I…I’m so sorry.”

  “Huh? Why are you apologizing?”

  That simple question snapped the dam. Annya blurted out in a rush, fists pressed to her chest.

  “B-Because I made you take off your gloves when you didn’t want to, and I saw how nervous you were, and I didn’t know if—”

  “Annya.”

  “And—and I didn’t know if you wanted to or not because sometimes you act so tough, like nothing bothers you, but I could tell you were nervous, really nervous about what they’d say, and look, I’m your friend, I think I am- I mean—I want to be your friend—and even though it’s only been two weeks, It’s funny being with you, you’re so cool, and I like you as a friend, and—”

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “Annya, stop.”

  Fer’s head spun. If she could, she’d tape the girl’s mouth shut.

  “—and I like you a lot as a friend because I’ve never had a tough, cool friend before, and I don’t want you mad at me. I mean—what kind of tough girl would hang out with a mess like me? I can only bake sweets, I’m scared of the dark, I talk too much—but I didn’t want to force you to do something you hated just because I wanted to be nice—and I want to be nice to you because you’re always alone, and sad, and—”

  “ANNYA!”

  “EEP!”

  Fer rubbed her temples, groaning.

  “Annya. I’m not mad at you.”

  Annya froze, blinking.

  “Uh…you’re not? Really? Or are you just saying that so I’ll stop?”

  Fer gave her a deadpan stare, stepping forward slowly. Annya’s heart jolted, retreating by instinct—

  PINCH!

  “OW, OW, OW—STOP! THAT HURTS!”

  Fer pinched her nose between two fingers—not hard, but enough to make the girl flail helplessly.

  “I told you, I’m not mad. So quit it. I don’t need reminders—our classmates will do that enough.”

  Annya wrestled at her arm, but she wasn’t strong enough. When Fer finally let go, she rubbed her nose, eyes watering.

  “Sniff…sniff. You’re mean. Really mean.”

  Fer smirked sidelong.

  “I know. I’m the worst friend you’ll ever have.”

  She handed Annya the soda. Annya pressed it to her sore nose, then sipped from it, clutching it with both hands.

  They walked down the empty hall together. The bell had long since rung; the corridors were deserted.

  “So…um…what did they make you do?” Annya asked between sips.

  Fer slouched, hands in her pockets, shoulders heavy.

  “Wanted me to throw around some fireballs. Simple stuff. At least it wasn’t boring.” She glanced at Annya. “…Did you see all of it?”

  Annya blushed, smiling softly.

  “Not much. Just the end. That fire-serpent was beautiful.”

  “I’m no good at summoning,” Fer muttered.

  A beat of silence.

  “Fer…” Annya whispered, clutching the can tighter. “How are you that strong?”

  “…”

  “It’s fine if you don’t want—”

  “It’s getting late. Let’s go.”

  Neither of them quickened their pace. Annya didn’t dare ask more; she just glanced sideways at her friend, who stared ahead without blinking. She exhaled through her nose, relieved nothing worse had happened.

  All that mattered now was closing the distance—step by step.

  Back in the duel hall, Sebastian finished mending the scorch marks across the walls and floor, bathing them in white light. He arranged the dummies for his next class with practiced efficiency.

  Romina approached, lugging one of the heavy mannequins.

  “Think we should tell the directors? I’d bet Smiley would be grinning wider than usual to see a potential recruit for the Unit.”

  Sebastian adjusted his glasses, still working his spellwork.

  “No need to rush. It’s her first day, and she’s already fled your class in tears.” He paused. “Is it true she aimed a fireball at you?”

  Romina set the dummy down with a grunt.

  “Yeah… Found her crying in the bathroom. When I opened the stall, she panicked—formed a little sphere instantly.”

  She raised her hand like a pistol, thumb cocked, finger pointed.

  “It wasn’t like any fireball I’ve ever seen. Small. Condensed. Like a piercing bullet. And she aimed it with eyes full of rage. For a second, I was angry—but then I realized she wasn’t really seeing me. She was seeing…danger.”

  Sebastian froze mid-spell.

  “She thought you’d hurt her. That was her first instinct. Not shame. Not embarrassment.”

  Romina sighed, nudging the dummy so it rocked on its stand.

  “I’ve taught my good share of troubled kids—bullies, broken families, you name it. But her…”

  “She pointed a weapon at you without hesitation,” Sebastian cut in, steadying the dummy. “Where exactly did she aim?”

  Romina chuckled under her breath, though her smile was small.

  She tapped her forehead.

  “Here.”

  Sebastian only stared. He didn’t find it amusing in the slightest.

  …

  Classes rolled on.

  “Excellent potion, Miss Frostweaver! As you can see, class, this is the proper consistency of a healing draught.”

  “Correct—the Kajii-Jorgen War was in 2900 Before the First Era. Very good, Miss Frostweaver.”

  “Hmhm. The solution is X equals 166 kilometers per hour. Well done, please be seated.”

  MISS FROSTWEAVER.

  Feralynn thunked her head onto the desk with a growl.

  “If I hear her name or that stupid voice one more time, I’ll torch this classroom.”

  Annya stifled a laugh.

  “I think she’s pretty smart.” She glanced as Miria sat with her immaculate circle of girls.

  Fer’s reply came muffled against the wood.

  “Probably went to some fancy prep school for noble brats. Of course she’s good at everything.”

  “Sounds like envy.”

  “Tch. No way. She’s just… smug.”

  Annya twirled her pink pen, thoughtful.

  “Hmmm. I don’t see her bragging. So far she’s been more polite than you, hehe.”

  “Ugh. She is smug. Look at her. The gentle smile, the perfect posture, the way she flicks that silky white hair.”

  Fer tugged a lock of her own short black hair, stretching it in boredom.

  “You could grow yours out,” Annya suggested with a grin. “It’d be cute. You’d stop looking so much like a boy.”

  “…No.”

  “Oh, come on. Why not?”

  “…I don’t want to. Then I’d have to brush it and all that crap.”

  “I could do it for you!”

  “Heh. You say that like I’d keep you as my personal hair-slave.”

  “I could braid it, add ribbons—oh! Even flower clips!”

  “Over my dead body.”

  They both burst out laughing—loud enough to draw the teacher’s glare.

  “Miss Blackwood?” the dwarf professor croaked from his tall chair, his long robe pooling around him. His pointed nose twitched. “Would you kindly answer what happens if the vehicle in this problem increases its speed by seventy-five kilometers per hour?”

  Silence. Fer slowly lifted her head, voice flat.

  “Well, I guess if it goes faster, it plows through half the nobility, and traffic clears a bit up, right?”

  The room erupted in muffled snickers. Annya buried her face in her hands. The professor shook his head, scandalized. Miria stiffened, her friends gasping—unaccustomed to someone mocking their world so bluntly.

  "What?! Who do you think you are?!" Miria thought.

  “I expected better of you, Blackwood.”

  Fer only shrugged, resting her cheek back on her notebook.

  The bell rang, dismissing the class.

  Choppi and Chappi waved students toward the gates, guiding the flood of blue uniforms down the halls.

  A yawn, followed by a lazy stretch.

  “I’m wiped.”

  “You should sleep earlier,” Annya chided. “What do you even do with your light on so late?”

  “Eh. Read comics. How do you know that?”

  “Well, when I close my window, yours is still glowing.”

  “Stop spying on me already.”

  “I don’t spy!” she squeaked, cheeks puffed. Fer snorted under her breath.

  They cut through the trees, avoiding the thick crowd, and spotted Miria’s carriage waiting, polished and ready.

  “Lucky her,” Fer muttered. “Magic and beasts everywhere in this kingdom, and no real air traffic?”

  “There is. Reserved for police and medics.”

  “And rich brats,” Fer said, eyeing the carriage.

  Annya just shrugged.

  “Luck of the few.”

  From a distance, Miria heard their voices. She turned just before stepping into her carriage—and her eyes met Feralynn’s.

  Fer froze mid-step, shoulders rigid, gaze sharp. Miria stopped as well.

  “...?”

  “...”

  The bustle of students filled the background, but between them it was silence. Fer lifted a hand in stiff greeting. Miria mirrored the gesture, lips pressing tight as if the simple motion weighed like stone. Neither smiled. Neither spoke. It was less a farewell than an unfinished duel.

  Miria stepped into her carriage. The driver closed the door, and through the curtain she watched the two girls walk side by side toward the great gates, vanishing into the crowd.

  Annya arched a brow.

  “What…was that?”

  Fer scratched the back of her neck, awkward.

  “Ugh, how should I know.”

  Annya laughed softly.

  “You know, I noticed you looking at her during lunch.”

  “Shut up. If I was looking it’s because she looked like she wanted to stab me with her eyes.”

  They walked beneath the trees, the castle shrinking behind them.

  “You could try talking to her. Beats wishing she’d get run over.”

  “Absolutely not. She’d just mock me.”

  Annya remembered Miria sneaking off earlier just to ask about Fer. She didn’t mention it—just smiled mischievously and pressed on.

  “I think she wants to talk to you. As long as you don’t insult her, she won’t laugh at you.”

  “Ugh…I don’t want to think about talking to people.”

  “Sooner or later, you’ll have to. It’s nice, making friends.” She took Fer’s hand and smiled. “Don’t you think?”

  “…I guess,” Fer muttered, eyes fixed ahead, masking the heat in her chest with a serious fa?ade.

  She didn’t believe in friends. She believed in survival. But that warmth in her hand…silenced her.

  By the time they reached the city center, Fer caught sight of Miria’s carriage vanishing overhead, pulled by blazing-winged pegasi. She stared after it as they waited at the crossing light.

  Annya’s pocket buzzed. She fished out a round pink mirror decorated with stickers of kittens and hearts. It shimmered before revealing the face of a young blonde woman.

  “Hi, Mom!” Annya chirped. “We’re close—where did you park?”

  They traded directions, Annya guiding them through the crush of students spilling from fast-food joints, cafés crowded with office workers, and streets choked with traffic.

  “Since you got that mirrorphone you haven’t stopped plastering it with stickers,” Fer muttered.

  Annya giggled.

  “Of course! It was expensive—I have to get my money’s worth.”

  “I didn’t see you asking anyone for numbers. Didn’t you say you’d collect ten today?”

  “That’s because you scared me half to death when you bolted!”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  “Anyway, when you get yours, I’ll spam you constantly.”

  Fer arched a brow.

  “More than you already do?”

  “Mhmm! Hehe!”

  They passed an electronics shop where mirrorphones glittered in the window—some shaped like seashells, others bulky bricks etched with glowing runes. All the same core design: keys and screen.

  “They’re pricey,” Fer said. “Guess I’ll need a part-time job to get one.”

  “You could save if you worked with me at my bakery.”

  “No.”

  “What?! Why not?!”

  “Because then I’d owe you—and you’d make me do ridiculous things.”

  “Caught me.” Annya raised her hands in surrender. “Though admit it—you’d have fun doing ridiculous things with me.”

  Pleased with herself, she skipped ahead like a puppy. Fer watched, the faintest smile tugging at her lips.

  “Maybe…” she murmured, hiding it beneath her collar.

  They found the car. Climbing in, Annya lit up at the sight of her mother.

  “Hi, Mom! How are you?”

  Fer nodded silently in greeting.

  “My magical girls!” Mrs. Oak beamed from the driver’s seat, catching them in the rearview. “You look so adorable in those uniforms. Tell me everything!”

  Fer barely had time to buckle before the car lurched, horns blaring as Mrs. Oak swerved. Fer glanced back at an enraged driver gesturing wildly. For a second, the jolt felt like a war flashback.

  Annya spilled her stories without pause:

  “We were greeted by two clowns in suits! And there were fairies—one tickled my nose! Oh, and I used my water magic in class, my teacher’s a beautiful elf! And the headmaster’s a puppet or something—but elegant! And the headmistress is another elf, gorgeous, though a little scary…”

  Fer glanced at her, unfazed by Mrs. Oak’s wild driving. Clearly this was normal for them.

  We're gonna die, we're gonna die, we're gonna die...!

  “Fairies and clowns! What a marvelous school!” Mrs. Oak gushed, then peered at Fer. “And you, dear?”

  “Uh…fine. I guess. A little…strange.”

  “She fell asleep in class like five times.”

  “Annya!” Fer lunged, but Annya laughed, shielding her arm.

  Mrs. Oak chuckled warmly.

  “How about ice cream before we head home?”

  “YES! ICE CREAM!” Annya cheered, hands raised.

  Fer hesitated, recalling the flavor Annya had praised a week ago but she’d never dared to try.

  “…Can I get…tiramisu?”

  “I want that too!”

  Mrs. Oak laughed, turning sharply toward the nearest parlor, the car jolting again.

  Fer leaned against the seat, watching the city blur past. Parks crowded with people who weren’t running for their lives. Streets full of strangers living freely, unburdened by hunger or rubble.

  She closed her eyes. Let out a long breath through her nose. For once, she let her survival instincts drift away—like embers cooling to ash.

  …

  …

  …

  The carriage door opened.

  Miria stepped out—and froze. Her father was there waiting, a young brown-haired maid at his side.

  “…Father? You came to meet me…?”

  She descended firmly, the driver tipping his hat before leading the pegasi to the stables. Miria stood tall, face unreadable, bracing herself.

  “Miria.”

  “Father.”

  Ice mirror: same eyes, same blood, divided by age and gender.

  The Lord placed a hand on the maid’s shoulder.

  “This is Gloria. She will serve as your personal maid from now on.”

  Gloria bowed deeply.

  “It is a pleasure, Lady Miria. I specialize in academic assistance, and will attend to all your needs.”

  “She graduated the Academy recently,” her father added. “The Chief Maids deemed her fully qualified. She will keep pace with you, ensure nothing distracts you from your studies. She isn’t here to spoil you—she is here so you can focus on what matters. Your future.”

  Miria swallowed, hiding her surprise.

  “I understand. Thank you, Father.”

  Gloria fell in step behind them as they returned to the palace. Miria’s thoughts wandered—to her homework, her novel, her painting. Tasks she could now leave to Gloria. It wasn’t the first time someone else had done her work for her.

  "Tch, please. I don't need a babysitter." She thought walking in the hallway.

  In her room, she handed over her bag and collapsed onto her wide bed, bouncing slightly. Kicking off her shoes, she reached for her cow plush and hugged it to her chest.

  “Hello, little cow… I need you today.”

  She spoke as if to a diary.

  “Today was strange. Not the photographers. Not the classmates swarming me like flies. No, that wasn’t strange. The strange part was…that girl.”

  She pressed the plush tighter, staring at the chandelier.

  “No one disrespects me. Ever. Professors, peers—always polite, always careful. But she…she crashed into me. Looked me in the eye. Red eyes. Striking. And she didn’t care who I was. She treated me like nothing.”

  Turning on her side, she clutched the cow closer.

  “I was furious. Of course I would be! Who does she think she is?!...But then I saw it—her fire. From a country of snow, and yet her flames were wild. Sarcasm, sleeping in class, mocking nobility in algebra—she doesn’t care.”

  Her voice cracked.

  “She even waved at me before I left. And I…waved back. It was awkward. I don’t know why I did it. She’s the first person to treat me without my name.”

  Tears welled, slipping quietly onto her sheets.

  “The worst part is…she has a good friend. Orange-haired. Sweet. Bakes cookies. Worries for her. Runs for her. She didn’t care about missing the next class if it was to search for her…”

  The cow absorbed her tears.

  “…Lucky girl.”

  ...

  ...

  ...

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