Chapter Text
Today | 05:45 AM
Chat with Eris
Em (05:45 AM)
i hate today
Eris (05:45 AM)
the day just started…?
Em (05:46 AM)
and its already shit
i gotta go on an
errand after school
pick up baked goods
Eris (05:47 AM)
why is that making you
hate today?
i thought you liked that
crap
Em (05:47 AM)
baked goods for my
brother not me
task forced on me by
my parents
they ordered them
cause he got some
award at school again
Eris (05:50 AM)
oh
ew
Em (05:51 AM)
exactly
Eris (05:51 AM)
can’t they get it
themselves???
Em (05:52 AM)
my school is closer to
the bakery than their
jobs so no
Eris (05:52 AM)
double ew
Em (05:53 AM)
wanna hear about the
triple ew
Eris (05:53 AM)
no
Em (05:55 AM)
awesome
anyway the bakery just
started offering these
special cinnamon rolls
creme brulee with
brown sugar and
maple bacon
gross combo right?
Seen | 05:55 AM
“Cut!”
A series of groans echo throughout the auditorium as Nichelle claps her hands three times in quick succession. There’s a meaning to her claps. A singular clap is done when everything went perfectly, and it’s usually paired with a bright smile. Two claps indicate a small mistake or two, nothing overly major to the general audience, but could be spotted by someone with years of acting experience under her belt.
But three claps? That’s the worst number of claps to hear, considering they basically mean, ‘this is a major shit-show.’
It doesn’t help that this isn’t the first time Nichelle’s infamous triple-clap-combo has graced the auditorium. According to the time glowing in the upper lefthand corner of MK’s cracked phone, this has been going on for the past thirty-five minutes. They’re only a month into the school year, and if this is going to be the norm for the last class of the day for five days a week, there is absolutely no way she would survive the fall semester.
“So stupid,” MK mutters, pressing herself against a wall near the wings of the stage. She doesn’t bother looking up from her phone, her brittle nails absentmindedly tapping against the middle of the screen, as if the repetitive tap taps will make a message magically appear. It doesn’t, of course, because it never does at this time of day, but she can’t make herself stop. She’s always been bad at breaking habits.
“How many ‘cuts’ does that make?” Chase’s voice sounds through her headset. Knowing him, he’s leaning over his comfy chair up in the comfy control room, surrounded by fancy new lighting tech and whatever stupid YouTube prank video he’s currently obsessed with. It seems lonely, operating all of that by yourself, but it must be way better than where MK is backstage.
On the opposite side of backstage, Damien rocks in his overly squeaky chair, the sound just quiet enough where it doesn’t send MK completely over the edge. “Sixteen,” he whispers back in his headset. “New record.”
“Is there any way you can get her to back off a little? She likes you the most out of all of us sometimes.”
Damien scoffs. “Sometimes?”
“Yeah. Everyone knows I’m the true favorite techie.” Not true. Chase is only the favorite person of Chase himself, and MK knows she’s nowhere near the favorite. Even if Damien didn’t talk to Nichelle a bit outside this class, he’d still get that badge of honor by default.
There aren’t many people taking theater this year, and even less on the tech side. So, it’s not like there’s any hard competition, anyway.
Though she can’t see him, MK knows for a fact that Damien has rolled his eyes. “No,” he says, voice flat, “I can’t get Nichelle to back off using my favorite techie status.”
MK can’t help but speak at this point, even though she knows she’ll regret it. “Is it because you don’t want to do it or because you’re too scared to do it?”
A small moment of silence. “Yes…?” Damien finally answers as if it’s some trick question.
MK pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs, the regret instantaneous and stronger than ever. She cannot stand being here with one guy who’s more scared than a cowardly lion and another guy who mostly has video opportunities and pranks on the brain. It’s never a normal, quiet, day here, even if there are only three of them on the tech side.
Picking Theater Tech as an extracurricular class was not a part of MK’s original plan for her last year at this hellhole. Actually, she didn’t even pick it in the first place. It was just thrown at her with absolutely no warning. If she had it her way, she would be in Home Economics with the likes of Millie and Ripper, pretending to care about baking pastries and sewing clothes. She’d even bite her tongue and accept all the dirt and grime that comes with mechanical work in Shop class. But no , her guidance counselor specifically said she had to do something more “worthwhile” and “her speed.”
“But mechanics are my speed,” MK had tried to argue. “Why can’t I just go there instead?”
Courtney—her guidance counselor that would do much better in a courtroom than a tiny school office—was able to answer that in a heartbeat. “Because that’s something you already know, and it would be an easy pass for you. You need challenges, MK. Otherwise, you won’t get very far in life.”
“Don’t you always say that challenges are just roadblocks given by people in power?”
In another life, that line would have worked in MK’s favor. However, in her current, cursed life, all she received was a humorless chuckle and a printed sheet of paper with ‘Theater Technologies’ in bold text right at the bottom of it.
And now MK is stuck here. Backstage. Last block. Watching the same scenes over and over for an entire semester. All because she can’t really cheat at something so hands-on. If only Courtney didn’t know about her tendencies…
To be known is the fucking worst.
Actually… Okay, maybe it’s not the worst thing. Not anymore. There is one person out there who gets to know things about MK that she’d never spill to anyone else.
It just sucks that she’s only an anonymous, online friend, stuck in the confines of some chat room within a janky app that hasn’t been updated since its first date of service. MK would do just about anything to have someone like Eris by her side every day.
Eris, who isn’t going to respond at this time of day, because she never does.
Eris, who makes MK stupid enough to insistently stare at her phone anyway.
(Habits. Hard to break. And annoyingly persistent.)
Even though MK doesn’t know specific details about Eris, like her real name or any of the names of the people around her, she’s gotten some hints on the type of person Eris is. Based on Eris’s spam of screenshots from drama posts and designer clothes, they live in the same time zone; Eris is just more talkative past midnight. She lives with her sister and her parents, but she wishes she could live quite literally anywhere else. She hates the concept of yoga; she doesn’t believe charity is a real thing; she even speaks against people who choose to actually volunteer.
Most importantly: Eris never answers during school. She always claims it’s because she wants to “save her battery,” but she’s also spilled that she keeps multiple phones on her at all times to serve different purposes.
Which probably (basically) means Eris doesn’t want to talk throughout the whole day, just at night.
Eh. Whatever. Not like MK cares.
That much.
Instead of going down yet another Eris-themed mental spiral, MK forces herself to look away from her phone. From just beyond the wings, she can see the actors standing near the middle of the stage, their faces brightened by stage lights. Most of them look completely over it. MK can’t blame them. If she was forced to be on that stage saying the same shit repeatedly, just to be cut off mid-sentence and have to start all over again, she’d probably lose more of her mind than she already has in here.
Nichelle sits below in the middle house of the auditorium, her eyes already filled with enough critiques to complete an entire novel. She’s taking her last-minute role as a student teacher a bit too seriously. Then again, if Ms. Ella hadn’t been placed on leave due to her insistent singing, then they’d be stuck with all of this in musical format. You truly win some and lose some in any class in this school.
“Guys, c’mon.” Nichelle sighs, pressing her clipboard and papers on her lap. “I know this is only our third day trying this out on stage, but you need to try harder. You have the scripts in your hands; you need to start acting instead of just reading .”
A smack of the teeth. Has to be Caleb. He’s the biggest complainer here, and it always makes MK wonder why he even chose to be in this class in the first place.
“This is just a school play, not a professional show,” Caleb says.
“It’s not just a—” Nichelle stops. Blinks slowly. Resets herself with a straight face and a steady tone. “It’s good you spoke up first, Caleb. I have tons of notes on your performance.”
“It can’t be that many.”
Apparently there is, because Nichelle stands and unclips an entire packet from her clipboard. From afar, MK swears she hears a tree rustle out a cry of some sort.
“This,” Nichelle says, sliding the pages onto the stage, “is all for you.”
Caleb walks to the edge of the stage to pick it up. He uses a finger to glide it gently against the edge of the packet, and it takes him a good three seconds before he’s at the bottom. There are definitely more than ten pages, and considering this is only a five-minute scene with four people in it, that is a lot of notes.
“How do you even write so neatly and quickly?” Caleb asks, sounding equally offended and impressed as he plops back onto the stage’s Marley flooring.
“Because I’m a professional creating what will be a professional theater production,” Nichelle responds, the tiniest trace of egotism making its way to her face.
Holy shit, does this girl ever shut up about her career? You star in a couple movies, and all of a sudden you’re the next world’s top actress. MK can’t lie and say that Nichelle is shitty at her job— Fight-or-Flight Attendant was a box office hit last year for a reason—but no line delivery should ever warrant a girl as arrogant as she is. Being the theater’s student teacher seems to make her even more annoying than usual.
“Maybe if you stopped relying on those subpar looks, you could focus on saying the lines right,” Bowie says in one of those exaggerated whispers that isn’t directed toward anyone and can definitely be heard by everyone—AKA his specialty.
Caleb throws the meanest side eye one can manage. “Subpar?”
“Funny you mention the word ‘focus,’ Bowie,” Nichelle butts in, turning to face her next victim. “While you don’t have any specific line notes against you, I’d say your lack of focus today is negatively affecting your acting.”
“But I said and did everything on cue, all without a script,” Bowie argues, eyes narrowed. “Unlike anyone else here, might I add.”
Another smack of the teeth. “You didn’t have to add that,” Caleb deadpans.
“Less jealousy, more script review.”
“You did remember every line perfectly, and you have a great memory,” Nichelle admits. “But you’d do so much better if you stopped making googly eyes at your boyfriend when you’re not in the direct spotlight.”
“What are you talking about? Raj isn’t here.” To his credit, Bowie looks dead serious, and the auditorium doesn’t seem like it’s being infiltrated by one of the loudest people at this school.
“Oh yeah?” Without averting her stare toward Bowie, Nichelle grabs one of her many clipboards and tosses it behind her. It lands with a hard thwunk.
“OUCH!” Raj’s voice booms through the auditorium. MK can picture him now: rising slowly from his spot, holding his head with both hands, and wearing a sheepish grin. “Hi, Nichelle…”
Nichelle does a careless wave, her eyes still focused on Bowie’s. “Hello, Raj. Now get out. And you too, Wayne.”
“Wayne isn’t here. This is… uh… En-yaw?” a forced, high-pitched voice croaks. Of course, Tweedle Dumber is here. Wherever Raj goes, Wayne usually follows, and vice versa.
Nichelle’s eye twitches. “Wayne, En-yaw, Beyoncé herself, I do not care. If you’re not in this class, then get out.”
Raj and Wayne let out a couple of whines, but their heavy footsteps can be heard as they make their way from their hiding spots to walk out of the auditorium. And then another huff and more stomps occur. And then another, and another, and miraculously, another, until what sounds like the entire hockey team has left out.
“How did they all even—you know what? Never mind. You.” Nichelle points at Bowie. “Stop sneaking your boyfriend in here. He attracts a crowd, which attracts a distraction.”
Bowie holds his hands up in mock defense. “To be fair, I just scored you an entire hockey team as a part of your future audience. You’re welcome, by the way.”
Nichelle just rolls her eyes, turning away from him. Her voice softens when she turns to the next person. “Emma. My girl. You’re super great. You know that, right?”
“Yeah…?” Emma sounds cautious, like a bomb is going to drop.
“Cool.” Nichelle slides over a singular page to Emma. And then she drops the bomb. “That being said, stop thinking about Chase while you’re on stage.”
A huge pout makes its way onto Emma’s face. “I’m not!”
“You are. You get that Chase look in your eye. Like this.” Nichelle’s face perfectly morphs into Emma’s I’m-Looking-Up-At-Chase-But-Pretending-I’m-Not expression. Her eyes narrow with a trace of sadness; her mouth melts into a tiny frown; even the way she stands with crossed arms and stiff posture just screams Emma.
“I do not have a Chase look. Chase isn’t even in my mind anymore. See?” In some dumb (yet fitting) attempt to show that her mind is empty, Emma balls a fist and raps her knuckles against her head. There’s an echo from the impact. “Ow!”
Chase’s laugh is loud through MK’s headset. “Ah man! Nice one, babe! That looked sick in this lighting!”
Emma’s hearing must be on a whole other level, because she whips her head up toward the control room so fast, it’s a miracle it stays connected to her neck. “Oh, go and croak!” she shrieks.
This is, of course, when Bowie decides to pipe in. “Here she goes. Interrupting yet another rehearsal. Shocker.”
Emma’s attention shifts to Bowie. “Oh, like your mind and life is so blank of—of boy,” she tries to retort, but it comes out a little flustered and weak. It’s only been a few months since her friendship with him ended, and from the looks of it, whatever happened between them is affecting her way more than it’s affecting him.
“My boy-filled mind is justified, considering I’m actually dating him and not in some toxic situationship that should have ended.”
“It has ended, literally months ago. Why do all of you keep claiming that I’m still with—”
Clap, clap, clap, clap.
Correction: this is the worst number of claps to hear in this class. MK braces herself for the question that always seems to follow when Nichelle can’t control the class. In three… two… one…
“Seriously, can’t you all cool it and try to be like Julia?”
And there it is. The Julia Comparison. It wouldn’t be a Nichelle LaDonna-led theater rehearsal without one.
If there were pictures in the dictionary, Julia DuPont’s face would pop up right next to the word ‘perfect.’ It’s all anyone ever says about her here. ‘Oh, Julia, your handwriting is perfect.’ ‘Julia, your hair is so perfectly done.’ ‘You have such a perfect smile, Julia.’
Perfect, perfect, perfect. What a load of perfect bullshit.
“—and she always takes her critiques without any complaints or interruptions.” Oh great, the Julia praise. A Nichelle specialty. “We could get so much farther if you follow in her footsteps.”
Julia perks up from her spot on stage, a huge, fake smile on her face. It’s her default look, even in the face of her so-called ‘best friend.’ “Oh Nichelle, you flatter me. But I think everyone’s a bit stressed, is all. This is a new experience for most of us. Try to take some deep breaths, then really get your mind in your grasp so you can wrap it up and present all your beautiful ideas to us, okay?”
Nichelle returns the smile, looking much more genuine. She takes a deep breath in, then lets it all go in one big whoosh. “Yeah. You’re right. Thanks, girl.”
“Anytime.” Julia rises from her spot on the ground, walking to the center of the stage, where she can stand in front of everyone else. None of the spotlights are on, and yet it looks as though she’s the main character, attracting the attention of everyone. “And all of you are doing so wonderful in just a short amount of days. Just think of how you’ll blossom and grow by the end of the semester. I am so excited for us to bring this play to life.”
The tension on stage practically evaporates after that. It’s sickening how everyone seems to fall for Julia’s words and take them in like gospel. Why can’t anybody tell that she’s just faking everything for her own self-gain? It’s the number one trait for anybody who spends most of their time online or in front of crowds, rambling about how much of a “good” person they are.
MK can’t bite her tongue anymore. “Why the fuck does she speak like an automated voicemail?” she grumbles into her headset.
Chase snorts while Damien scolds her with a quiet, “be nice.” Yeah, not going to happen. Julia carries enough “niceness” for the both of them.
MK huffs, her eyes naturally dropping to her phone. No new messages. Still. And that’s fine. Nothing new. It’s not like she needs any distractions while Miss Faker has everyone in her grasp. Nope. Everything is just perfectly fine and—
Her headset suddenly cackles to life. Someone else has joined the tech call. And there’s only one other student with a headset.
Click, click, click.
Shit, footsteps . MK rushes to put her phone away just as Nichelle’s heels climb the last step. Of course, Nichelle chooses to scold them right where MK is stationed today.
“Heyyyyy, boss,” MK greets, doing her best to look casual as she leans against the wall and cross her arms.
Nichelle gives her a suspicious look, but thankfully, she doesn’t dwell too much on it. “So, I have some notes for you guys, too.”
‘Here she goes,’ MK thinks, preparing herself for another unnecessary rant.
Like always, Nichelle starts with Chase, speaking into the earpiece with impatience. “I don’t even know where to begin with you, Chase. All you have to do is press some buttons and shine some colored stage lights from time to time. It shouldn’t be hard.”
“It’s not my fault that all the buttons don’t work the way they should.” To prove his point, Chase tries to press one of the buttons on his control panel. It takes him about ten seconds before the button finally gives way, a random light flicking on the stage. The theater might be newly renovated thanks to a nice donation from Nichelle herself, but no amount of money will change how much bad luck this school has. Wawanakwa Preparatory is called ‘The Most Cursed School’ in their province for a reason.
Nichelle nods slowly. “Ah. I understand. Then learn how to fix them, please.”
“Do I look like a mechanic—”
Apparently Chase does, because Nichelle ignores him and carries on. “Damien, I gave you sticky notes for a reason. Please follow them.”
“But Scary Girl might sneak in again and whisper things at me through the vents to distract me,” Damien complains.
“Tattletale.” Lauren’s voice is faint but clear enough in everyone’s headset. MK hears the telltale sign of Damien’s chair slamming against the floor. Ugh, the whole ‘Scary Girl’ shtick is so old; he should be used to that weirdo’s antics by now.
“See?! I can’t work under these conditions!” Damien stresses.
“Look,” Nichelle says, clearly ignoring Lauren, per usual, “I don’t care if that girl turns her head in three hundred and sixty degrees in front of you. When the cue arrives, follow through with it and play the right track. Capeesh?”
“But—” Damien tries to argue. He must realize how much Nichelle does not care about his clear distress, because all he can do is sigh and answer with a quiet, “caposh…”
Nichelle’s shoulders tense ever so slightly as she turns to MK. “And Mary Kate—”
MK frowns. “It’s MK,” she corrects.
“Stop using your phone during rehearsal.”
“What phone?”
Nichelle points down, her finger right near MK’s pocket, where her phone decides to avoid hiding itself because the stupid rectangular piece of shit hates its owner. “That one, actually.”
MK tries to shove the phone deeper in her pockets. It doesn’t work. Again. “I take my notes on it?” It comes out as a question, one that makes MK wince. It’s a good thing she’s stuck backstage; acting is not her strong suit.
Nichelle has the decency to turn off her headset and lower her voice. “Respectfully,” she starts, her tone not respectful in the slightest, “I think there are bigger things you should prioritize.”
It’s no secret MK is lacking when it comes to her grades. MK knows, her counselor knows, the students know, and she’s pretty sure even the janitor knows. To be fair, it’s not entirely her fault. Maybe if her teachers stopped being so fucking boring and the assignments stopped being so fucking unnecessary, she could actually learn something worthwhile instead of struggling to stay awake for facts that won’t matter when she’s an adult.
Just because it isn’t a secret doesn’t mean MK wants it thrown at her like a grenade, though. Especially from a teacher’s aid who’s the same age as her and has her own pile of issues to focus on.
Nichelle starts going on and on about how extra important it is for her to pay close attention to everything that is happening on stage so they can properly plan out the special effects together, but her words about her grades stick in MK’s brain. They sound so familiar to those she hears at home. Her mother, blunt and harsh. Her father, condescending and cold. Her stupid, stupid, stupid younger brother, who rubs every single trophy and award in her face like he’s oh so perfect.
MK’s attention automatically snaps to the one person she wishes to ignore: Julia, cross-legged, her chin resting on the backs of her hands. Her eyes squint as they meet MK’s with an ease that feels both natural and infuriating. Her normal, cheerful smile morphs into a tiny smirk.
‘Do it,’ Julia’s eyes seem to taunt. ‘Say something. Bark back. I dare you.’
The absolute fucking gall of this girl.
MK balls her fists. “Oh, screw you!” she says without thinking.
It’s not until the auditorium is completely silent when MK processes what she just said and how loud she said it.
“Yikes…” Damien’s voice comes through her headset.
MK would have probably snapped at him if she wasn’t busy looking at how everyone was looking at her. Bowie leans forward, watching them as if they’re in some dramatic soap opera. Emma’s got a pained look on her face. Caleb shakes his head, disappointed.
And Julia… her mouth is in a tiny frown, but her eyes seem to shine, victorious. And it burns MK’s chest to see them.
Turning her attention back to Nichelle doesn’t do her any favors. Nichelle’s face doesn’t break an inch, her gaze made of steel. Luckily, it seems like Julia’s advice from earlier is sticking well enough where she doesn't lose her cool. Unluckily, that might mean she’s saving all her anger for when she most likely writes a note to MK’s counselor, who will then most likely call her parents.
Turning on her heel, Nichelle carefully climbs back down the stairs and stands in front of the stage once more. “This play is at the end of the semester, people. Get. It. Together. Be more like Julia,” she says, voice calm. “Now let’s take it from the top! We can squeeze in a few more runs of the first scene before the day ends.”
MK scoffs, crossing her arms as she watches everyone on stage stand and get into position. ‘Be like Julia.’ As if.
Julia’s face hurts.
It’s been getting worse over the past couple of weeks. She should be more than used to faking a smile at this point. It’s practically engrained in her, something she picked up when she was younger. If she wanted an extra cookie from her parents? She’d smile and say please. If she needed to copy Emma’s homework? A grin has never failed her. If she wanted an invitation to the next big party? One pearly-white beam was all it took.
The cost of getting all she wants is cheap in quantity but rich in pain. She feels all of today’s hard work in her jaw, a constant sting that won’t disappear, even if she would take a moment to try and massage it away. A small part of her wishes for one day, just one day, where she can drop the whole good girl act. Settle into something that coincides with her thoughts. Something more crude. Blunt. Herself, deep down.
The majority of her brain knows that’s a dumb idea.
It’s okay, though. Because today will be a new beginning for her, one where she can actually be her true self in front of someone who’s actually worth her while.
Em… Julia looks down at her phone, her eyes scanning over the old messages they’ve shared over the past few months. Her legs guide her through the crowd of mall patrons, avoiding everyone with ease. A sharp pain works its way up her cheeks again, but she can’t bring herself to care, too giddy from memories and thoughts of future plans.
Julia is pretty good at playing it cool, but it gets harder as the days pass. Em isn’t like any other person Julia has ever talked to. Em is real, but not annoyingly so. Blunt, with all the words to back it up. Funny, and charismatic, and a constant joy to text every single day.
Em is everything Julia wants to be, but struggles with.
Maybe the slight jealousy will go away when they actually meet in person. And they will meet in person. Today. Sure, Em has absolutely no clue what’s going to happen, and okay, stranger danger is a thing, and alright , this might turn out to be some catfishing situation that will end up on the news. But Julia’s logic fades away with every message she scrolls past.
Everything will be perfect once they meet. She just knows it. She’s not as in tune with her “sixth sense” as her little sister Megan or her creepy cousin Lauren or even her Nana DuPont, but there’s this new feeling spreading up her arms and hands, almost like goosebumps. Maybe that’s her body’s way of her telling her that things will turn out just fine.
Or maybe it’s just nerves.
Whatever. It’s still better to think of it as a sixth sense.
With a small, wistful sigh, Julia stuffs her phone back in her purse. She slides the purse’s thin, uneven strap up her shoulder once more, mentally cursing at how it digs a bit too hard into her shoulder. The only way she’s getting a new one is if she can convince her “gems and jewels” for more donations on MySelfiegram. Her stupid bakery job is the only way she gets money directly from her parents, and lousy minimum wage can’t get her the brands she desires unless she saves up.
The strap tumbles down her shoulder again. She grits her teeth, her hands using more force than necessary to bring it back up again. “Stupid purse…” she mutters.
“Is the purse stupid, or the human attached to it?”
Oh. Great. The gremlin is here. Just when this day couldn’t get any more annoying…
Mary Kate Vu is the absolute worst. Always has been, ever since she transferred to Wawanakwa Preparatory two years ago. She never wears her uniform properly, never pretends to pay attention in class, never even bothers to give Julia a look of acknowledgement unless she’s making fun of her. She’s perfectly imperfect, and somehow, she doesn’t give a single care about it.
The worst thing, though? Mary Kate is smart. Unfortunately.
You’d think someone who never bothered with a lot of her schoolwork would be dumb, but no, Mary Kate just had to be oh so observant and crafty and brilliant . She could make her way out of the teacher’s lounge without getting caught by security with an ease that should be illegal. Last school year, she stole at least eighty-two percent of the student body’s keys at some point (a precise calculation from Millie, who updates her random, statistical findings every month, because she’s that much of a loser). If there’s a problem, chances are Mary Kate has caused it… but there’s less of a chance for you to have some actual evidence to back up that claim.
Mary Kate had always had a reckless mouth, present on the first day Julia had the misfortune of meeting her. Julia can picture that day vividly. Mary Kate came strolling out of the administration’s office, wearing an ugly, puffy jacket that covered her rumpled uniform and a beanie practically sliding off her head.
Julia felt the strongest urge to use both of her hands to smooth each wrinkle and fix every uneven line.
Instead, she painted on a smile, one as perfect as all the others that came before it. “Hi! Welcome to Wawanakwa Preparatory. It’s such a pleasure to meet you, Mary Kate. I’m Julia, your student guide.” She held out a hand for a simple, polite handshake.
Mary Kate stared at the hand in front of her for a good three seconds before letting out a rough, scratchy laugh. “Wow. You are so fake.”
It took Julia’s brain a while to comprehend what had happened. Her hand awkwardly fell back to her side. “W-What?”
Mary Kate had stepped forward, breaking every rule of personal space. She tilted her head left, then right, her eyes scanning Julia’s face. “Work on your smile. It’s a lil’ stiff around the edges. Makes you look majorly constipated.”
It was ironic Mary Kate said that, because the smile she wore was lopsided and uneven, making one of her eyes squint unnaturally. So… imperfect . Yet it fit her well, and she must have known it, because she wore the smile with a pride Julia could never achieve, no matter how many times she looked at herself in mirrors and camera lenses.
A loud laugh from Mary Kate had broken Julia out of her trance. “You can quit staring at me like I’m road kill and take me to Calc now. And it’s MK, by the way. Don’t mess it up again.”
Needless to say, the two of them did not become anywhere near close to friends after that. And she most certainly called her Mary Kate every chance she got.
Julia makes it her mission to stay on as many people’s good sides as she can manage. She doesn’t need to be everyone’s friend; she just needs to be seen as ‘nice.’ With more people in her corner comes more privileges.
But there are absolutely no privileges that are worth being in the presence of someone like Mary Kate.
Julia’s eyes stay glued ahead. She feels Mary Kate's presence closing in on her, and she wants to explode, wants to grab the nearest item so she can turn around and chuck it right at that dumb, cocky face that she knows is there—
That annoying, sharp laugh comes tumbling out of Mary Kate’s mouth. “What, you’re just gonna walk past me with no hello, DuPont?”
That’s the other thing about Mary Kate. She always knows how to strike a nerve. Within one week, she somehow learned that Julia cannot stand being referred to as her shitty last name and decided to use it every chance she got. And unfortunately, now that they share a class, she is going to get a lot of chances.
“Seems like a waste of time to greet someone I can’t stand,” Julia responds, keeping her voice quiet, calm, and collected. She tries her best to use her long legs to her advantage, picking up speed.
Somehow, Mary Kate keeps up, hands stuffed in her coat’s pockets. “Ouch, rude. What would your little posse think of you if they heard that?”
“What they always think. ‘Julia knows best.’”
“True. They really are a hive mind when it comes to their queen. Shame she’s a piece of shit.”
Suddenly, Julia stops walking and shoots Mary Kate a fierce glare. She finds great satisfaction swelling in her chest when she sees Mary Kate skid to a stop with a flinch she can’t quite hide. Mary Kate is like a cat: crafty and smart, but still scared and scrambling at even a hint of danger.
“Now then,” Julia says, voice extra sweet, “it’s been so nice seeing you. Again. Even after school hours. For some reason. But if you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment I can’t miss.”
“What, a nail appointment?” Mary Kate guesses with a tilt of her head.
“No…?”
Mary Kate tilts her head the other way, a smirk sliding on her lips. “Oh, that’s too bad. They look like they need more attention than what you give me.”
This bitch . It’s hard for Julia to keep a smile on her face as she grits out her next words quietly through clenched teeth. “I don’t pay you any attention. I don’t even like you.”
“Coulda fooled me.” Mary Kate bumps her shoulder into Julia’s arm as if they’re old friends or something. “Have fun at your appointment, I guess.”
Julia scoffs. “I wish I could say the same to you.”
Finally , a way out of this mess of a conversation . There’s nothing better than going far, far away from that gremlin…
Except, she’s not getting away because Mary Kate is walking by her side. Casually. Because of course she is.
After a good ten seconds of strolling in the same direction, Julia lets herself snap, just a bit. “Why are you following me?”
“Uh, you’re following me, actually,” Mary Kate retorts.
“How? I walked away first.”
“In the direction I was originally going.”
“Just leave me alone.”
“No, you leave me alone.” That awful, crude smile makes its way to Mary Kate’s face. “You’re so obsessed with me, it makes you look so fucking dumb—”
Julia hates slipups. A slipup is a mistake, and a mistake is something she can’t afford. But she’s only human. So, she’s not that surprised when her foot sticks out just far enough to get Mary Kate tripping and tumbling to the dirty floor of the mall. She lands with a hard thud, causing a few people to turn in their direction. Her book bag practically explodes, sending all her school items across the floor.
Julia lets out an exaggerated gasp. “Oh no! Are you okay? Here, let me help you up.” She bends down and sticks out her hand.
Mary Kate doesn’t take it, obviously, which is a blessing. She ignores Julia’s hand, scrambling to stuff her pens and papers back into her bookbag. “What the hell was that for?!” she hisses.
“I am so sorry. My foot must have slipped. You know how slippery mall floors can get.” With a small smile, Julia drops her head just so, making sure her eyes stare straight down at Mary Kate’s. Her voice drops low enough for only Mary Kate to hear. “If it makes you feel any better, you look like you’re exactly where you belong. The floor suits you well. Really brings out your eyes.”
To be fair, Mary Kate’s eyes do look particularly nice in this lighting, not just because they’re pretty (which is so unfortunate to admit), but because it is amazing to see her pissed off. It’s not everyday someone can push her buttons enough to get a rise out of her. Julia considers Mary Kate’s losses to be her own greatest wins every time they pop up.
“Fuck. You.” Mary Kate enunciates every word with so much conviction, it’s a miracle they don’t actually stab Julia in the chest. Those dark brown eyes of her showcase a fire barely contained. She stays down on the ground despite it all.
Perfect. Julia straightens up, turning on her heel and throwing Mary Kate a careless wave. “Glad we could chat. Hope your stuff is okay. See you at school tomorrow, hun!”
There. Mary Kate is temporarily out of her hair. Now to deal with the rest of the day.
In the center court of the mall, right where the light shines the brightest, a tiny bakery sits in between some shop that sells surfboards and a toy store that has seen better days. Greg is always going on and on about how clever it was to pick this spot for the bakery. “It’s the perfect place to bring in a large amount of customers,” he’d boast to his wife, his kids, and his so-called business friends.
Unfortunately, it’s something Julia’s father has gotten right.
The shop’s bell rings as Julia enters inside. Sweet Little Julia’s is as disgustingly colorful as it always is. Bright yellow walls hold floral decorations purchased from the shop a few stores down; the white floors are so shiny that one can see their own reflection; even the indie pop music playing softly through the speakers brings about a calming air that every customer relaxes into. It’s truly the best place to talk or read while eating a sweet treat.
It never fails to make Julia’s mouth painfully twitch.
There aren’t a lot of customers yet, just an elderly couple near the back talking in whispers over crumpets and a middle-aged man with a book in one hand and a cookie in the other. But the rush hour for weekdays are later in the evening. It’ll only be a matter of time before the place will be filled to the brim with those who have nothing else to do but parade around in a glorified bakery, pretending to look sophisticated or having conversations with people when they could just talk over the phone like a normal human would.
Judy is front and center at the cash register, looking like the perfect owner to a perfect bakery: dark blonde hair tied tightly in a bun and a slightly flour-coated apron on. “Julia. You’re late,” she scolds when Julia strolls up to her, a small frown on her face.
Yeah, “late.” By, like, three minutes, all thanks to the world’s worst person. Would the shop have burned down had she not been there sooner? Or would a robber have come in and taken all of their cash out of the register? For some reason, Julia’s parents make it seem like this dumb bakery is something worthwhile rather than some early midlife crisis purchase after having an early midlife crisis baby.
But that’s neither here nor there.
Julia paints on an apologetic face. “Sorry, Mom. Theater ran longer than planned. Nichelle was adamant on everything going just right.”
Judy’s eyes brighten. “Oh, Nichelle! How has she been? It’s been a while since I’ve seen her here.”
Sometimes, just the mere mention of Nichelle is Julia’s get-out-of-trouble card. It’s the most embarrassing card to draw, but it works almost every time. Julia’s parents treat Nichelle like family. They always have, ever since Nichelle transferred over from her life in America and became the talk of the entirety of Canada for weeks on end.
The moment Julia brought Nichelle over to her house for the first time at the young age of six for a play date, that sealed their fates: they’d be best friends. Forever.
Julia tries her best to swallow down the bitter taste that swells on her tongue. “Pretty good. She’s working hard to make sure the play is perfect.”
“Well, I’m excited to see you shine like you always do.” Judy smiles and pats her daughter on the cheek, leaving traces of flour on her. Great. Now she’s causing future blemishes. What an amazing mother. “Now, go on, get your apron on. You’re on cashier duty for now.”
Julia nods before heading to the back. Her sister is busy prepping a batch of macarons. She has one earbud in, probably listening to some cheesy ass pop music from some boy band that should have disbanded three years ago.
Megan’s head rises for a few seconds, then drops back down to her tray. “Julia,” she says simply, her tone even.
“Megan,” Julia says back, walking to grab her apron from its hanger. She ties it around her waist, then quickly puts her hair in a bun. Her eyes look at her reflection in the shiny glass of the stove. Perfectly put together, as always.
“You weren’t held up at that play rehearsal, were you?” It’s an accusatory question rather than a genuine one. Megan is an expert at that.
Julia rolls her eyes. “Yes, I was. You just want me to get in trouble.”
“I saw you leave school on time. Which means you’re lying.” Megan raises her head again, this time with a tiny, satisfied smirk. “What are you hiding?”
Having a little sister is the worst. All they do is whine about needless shit, steal your makeup, and get all up in your business, as if they have any right. Megan is half of Julia’s age, yet she still acts like an over-entitled parasite, sticking her nose into any and everything she can. Sometimes, Julia wants to call an exterminator and see if they can handle bratty younger siblings. It would be a relief to get this pest out of her hair for good.
“ Julia! Cashier duty!” Judy barks out.
For once, Julia is glad that her mother is impatient. She shrugs, walking toward the front. “Sorry, sis. Duty calls. Maybe next time, I’ll spill.”
Megan’s shouts of protest fade once Julia makes her way to her position. Judy eyes her, then nods in approval before walking away to the back office, probably to take in some calls or run some numbers with Greg.
Julia inhales. Holds her breath. Lets it all go in one big swoop.
Now, her real mission can begin: meeting Em.
Usually, Julia texts Em back between midnight and six in the morning. Em would never admit it, but she’s so eager for responses. It’s easy to tell, even through simple text on a screen; she will send message after message in a heartbeat, no matter how long Julia waits to send a response.
Not that Julia is any less eager. It’s always so hard to avoid biting the bullet and typing a quick message back.
Today is definitely harder than most days.
The moment Julia read Em’s latest text about picking up an order of special cinnamon rolls, she rushed to search engines, forums, even digital newspaper articles. According to her findings, Sweet Little Julia’s is the only bakery out there who is offering crème brûlée cinnamon rolls with brown sugar and maple bacon as a topping.
“Yup, that’s right,” Greg had confirmed during breakfast later that morning. “I wanted us to sell something no other shop has ever seen. Beat our competition and gain extra money, eh?”
Julia’s father might be annoying with a mediocre brain, but he always does his baking research correctly. If he says they’re the only people baking something, then it’s true.
Which means Em should come here. Today.
All schools in the general area are let out around three in the afternoon. Em doesn’t have a car—she depends on buses or her bike for longer distances, apparently. But either way, it would take, at most, an hour and a half for her to get here. And then finally, finally, Julia can finally meet the person who has been rotating in her brain for months.
Or… Or maybe Julia is overthinking this whole thing. Maybe she’s getting her hopes up for someone who isn’t near her and won’t ever be near her. Maybe she’s wishing for just a crumb of time spent with someone who actually gets her and—
The door’s bell chimes.
Julia’s mouth instantly spreads in a smile. The door rings as more and more customers enter the shop. An old lady. A businessman. Another old lady. A group of friends. And to end the line off…
Oh. Great. The gremlin. Again.
Julia can feel her cheeks burn in protest. She keeps her customer-service grin on her face anyway, taking everyone’s orders, handing them their baked goods with a polite “farewell” and “come again.”
When Mary Kate finally reaches the front, Julia makes sure to widen her smile an inch. “Welcome to Sweet Little Julia’s , Mary Kate!” she greets.
Mary Kate scowls. “This is your so called ‘appointment?’” she deadpans.
‘It’s none of your damn business,’ Julia thinks.
“Yup! My sweet lil’ part-time! Isn’t it just beautiful here?” Julia chirps.
“There’s no way in hell you chose to work at a bakery that has your name in it.”
“Here’s a fun fact: I’m the reason this bakery has the name in the first place.”
“Wow.” Mary Kate lets out a sarcastic laugh. “You are so self-centered.”
Julia can feel her temples throb as she speaks through gritted teeth. “I didn’t even name this place. My parents did.”
“Whatever,” Mary Kate says with a roll of her eyes. She drops her attention back to the phone in her hands. “Just give me my order before I call your manager.”
Somewhere deep in Julia’s mind, a single brain cell shouts at her with all of its might to lose her shit. It’s a miracle she’s able to keep a calm look on her face. “Gladly.”
It feels like a breath of fresh air when Julia turns around. She lets herself drop her smile and clench her hands at her sides, marching to get the basket. The quicker that gremlin gets out of this bakery, the better. There’s no way in hell her plans will be ruined, not today of all days.
“Got anything here for Mary Kate?” Julia asks her sister once she reaches the back.
“Over there.” Megan keeps a careful eye on her work as she points her thumb behind her. “Should be the only order today.”
On the back table, there’s a singular basket, filled with… with…
Julia’s hands feel sweaty all of a sudden.
Slowly, Julia walks up to the basket. Peers inside. Feels her nails sink deeply into her palms.
The special cinnamon rolls. Freshly baked. Perfectly arranged.
The same kind Em has to pick up today.
Julia points at the basket, hoping it is just a figment of her imagination. “This is it?”
“It has ‘Mary Kate’ on the label,” Megan replies in a tone that makes Julia feel stupid.
“And there’s no other special batch back here? None at all? Just this?”
“You have eyes.”
“And this is the only special batch ordered for today specifically?”
Megan looks up. “Are you… okay? Your face is super red.”
No, Julia is not okay. Obviously. Her body is doing that thing where it overheats, and an overheating body inside an overheating kitchen is not a good mix. But somehow, she can’t bring herself to snap at her sister like she usually does.
“I’m… gonna run to the restroom real quick.” Julia rushes off toward the front of the shop again, practically tripping over her Mary Janes. Her thoughts crash into each other like cars on a pitch black road. Which will probably be silly to look back at in a few minutes. Because there’s no way. Right? Like. Absolutely no way in hell Mary Kate is…
With shaky yet quiet breaths, Julia uses the hallway’s bad lighting to her advantage. She presses herself against the wall, tucks herself in a corner, and peaks her head out slightly. Mary Kate is still at the counter, staring down at her phone like it’s a diamond. Maybe she’s playing a game. Or reading some dumb comic about whatever the hell she wastes her time enjoying. Or maybe she’s… She could be looking at…
Julia pulls out her phone. Her chat thread with Em is still open. There’s a green dot on Em’s icon, and while seeing Em online usually brightens Julia’s mood, she’s stuck thinking about how hot it is in here, and how some of her hair has broken out of her bun and is sticking to her neck, and how she might be looking at the same exact chat thread as—
Julia’s thumbs move on their own to type something short. A special character, probably; she’s too numb to think or check. Her thumb hesitates for a second before pressing send.
Ding! Mary Kate’s phone goes off. Her head tilts and her eyes narrow as she stares at her screen. Slowly, she turns toward a wall behind her. She aims, then— Click . Nodding to herself, she turns back around, her thumbs typing at the speed of sound on her phone’s keyboard.
Julia braces herself before staring at her own phone screen.
Em is typing.
Julia’s hand grips her phone so tightly, it’s a miracle she doesn’t bend it in half. That same feeling from earlier comes crawling up her arm. Definitely nerves this time. Maybe her sixth sense was a warning instead of a—
No. Wait. Maybe this is all just a coincidence. So Em happens to be typing at the same time as Mary Kate. And? Julia isn’t the best at probability, but surely there’s a high percent chance that—
Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt.
Julia’s phone vibrates.
Em has sent a couple of message.
Biting her lip, Julia looks toward Mary Kate. She isn’t typing anymore.
Julia tries to swallow a lump down her throat. With all the bravery she can muster, she looks back down at her phone.
Em (03:13 PM) : ?
Em (03:13 PM) : lol did your hand cramp midway through a text again
Em (03:13 PM) : also picking up the dumb cinnamon rolls rn. these walls are killing me
Em (03:13 PM) : [Attachment]
And there, in their text thread, lies a picture of the same bright wall Mary Kate just took a picture of. A wall Julia has grown very acquainted with. The same nauseatingly bright, yellow wall she sees every single day.
Shit, shit, fucking shit.
Julia stuffs herself farther into the corner, trying her hardest to catch her breath. The world must hate her. She must have pissed off someone in a past life. A witch, most likely. That’s the only way this could make sense: she’s cursed, and now she has to pay the ultimate price through realizing that the one person she has wanted to meet for months is Mary Kate Vu of all fucking people.
Every second feels like the countdown of a time bomb, resting in Julia’s chest, ready to explode at any moment. She’s somehow able to bury it deep enough where the sounds of the repetitive ticks and tocks dull around the edges. But try as she might, she can’t get her mind to shut up.
Em. Like the letter ‘M.’ The letter that starts the name ‘Mary,’ the same ‘Mary’ that is followed by the name ‘Kate,’ the same Mary Kate who has been a thorn in her backside for what feels like forever. Holy shit. How ridiculous is that? How utterly ridiculous it is for her to use that of all things as a profile name.
Deep down, something tells Julia that it didn’t matter whether Mary Kate had used the name ‘Em’ or ‘M’ or even ‘Mary.’ With text conversations like the ones they’ve had, she would have been blind sided either way.
Unfortunately, Julia knows she can’t stay in her corner forever. She forces herself to sneak back into the kitchen and grab the basket of cinnamon rolls. Her feet slide against the floor, and though she knows her parents would be pissed if they saw her like this, she can’t bring herself to even pretend to care.
Mary Kate’s face drops instantly the moment Julia takes her place behind the counter again. “Ugh, you came back. I was hoping you’d stay back there and find an excuse to avoid me or something like a normal person would.”
“You’re…” Julia’s mouth can’t seem to form words. Julia’s eyes can’t seem to blink. Julia’s brain can’t seem to fully grasp her situation, much less figure out a way to get out of it.
“I’m… ready to grab my order and go home, yeah.” Mary Kate fills in the blank in typical Mary Kate fashion: full of impatience.
This is usually the part where Julia would match her energy in the best ways she can. Sugar-coated lies. Tight smiles. Insults wrapped in a pretty bow.
Now, all Julia can do is shake her head, clutching tightly onto the basket.
“No?” Mary Kate crosses her arms, her eyes narrowed. “Are you denying me service?”
Julia shakes her head again, this time more frantically.
“What gives, then? Just spit it out, DuPont. I don’t have all day.”
Instead of saying anything aloud, Julia sets the basket on the counter, grabs her phone from her apron, and sends off another quick message. It only takes a few seconds for Mary Kate’s phone to let off a tiny ding. Mary Kate looks down at it. Stares for a little bit.
When Mary Kate looks up again, Julia says the message she sent aloud. “It’s me. Eris.”
“Oh.” Mary Kate’s voice is shaky, quiet. She looks down at her phone again, then back up at Julia, her expression now equivalent to a child who is watching her very first horror movie play out. “Oh,” she repeats, nearly breathless.
“Yeah.” Julia clears her throat, stuffs her phone back in her apron, and puts on a customer friendly smile that would make Judy cry in pride for days. “So. That’ll be forty, even. Cash or card?”