Chapter Text
1.
"My name is Kanako," the girl at the head of the classroom says, bowing. "It's a pleasure to meet everyone."
Sanya picks at something under her nail. She doesn't care about transfer students. She doesn't even care about any of her current classmates, so what's one more to the mix? She hardly spares the new girl a glance while the teacher gives a short this-is-your-new-friend speech.
Sanya had seen Kanako earlier, anyway, before the morning bell rang. It only took her one look at that braid in her sandy hair and those beady ice-gray eyes to know what sort of girl Kanako is. The pure type, Sanya would call it with much disdain. The student council type of character. Good at studying, strict when it comes to school rules, a total killjoy. In other words, a manifestation of everything she despises about her peers.
The boys surrounding Sanya's desk lean into each other while Kanako is politely standing up there. She hears certain whispers and titters from them that make her eyes roll. Yeah, yeah, we get it — Kanako's another one of those pretty girls. Sanya swears she'd punch some of these boys in the babymaker to shut them up if it wouldn't land her a spot in front of the old principal's desk. Why do actions have to have consequences?
Sanya huffs. She stares out the window, tapping her textbook. Once they're finished with introductions, the teacher gestures to the empty desk next to Sanya's. Naturally.
Well, it won't be difficult to ignore the girl's existence. That's the treatment Sanya gives to everyone else in the room. It's a win-win sort of thing. No-one pays her any attention in return, and that's exactly how she wants this whole high school thing to pass: uneventful and unremarkable. Preferably with everything going in Sanya's favor, but that's only a plus if she manages it.
Kanako steps down the aisle, passes by Sanya to pull out her new chair and quietly seats herself.
"Alright, let's continue off from yesterday. Turn to page 243…"
Sanya flips her textbook open, riffling through the glossed pages. She sure can't wait to sit through hours of the teacher's droning.
Sanya adjusts her posture with a soft exhale. When she does, something in her right periphery catches her attention and she turns her head. The moment her eyes track onto Kanako's, the girl smiles and waves her hand in a tiny motion that the teacher wouldn't notice.
She whispers, "Hello!"
And Sanya gawks at her like she'd just cursed her bloodline.
…Huh?
The teacher pivots on his heels to address the class for a question. Kanako quickly turns forward and straightens her posture. Her pink lips purse subtly. She listens keenly to the teacher correcting a student's lazy answer, putting her feet together.
Sanya furrows her brows in bewilderment.
Why on earth would anyone say hello to her like that?
Two classes later, they're dismissed for a fifteen minute break that Sanya often spends scrolling through her phone. If the boys bring out a ball in this damn hour and decide to raise hell during her well-deserved break, then sure — she'll blast music in her ears to drown out the ruckus.
Before Sanya can fish out her phone from her schoolbag, she realizes that Kanako is facing her. Again. With her whole body. What is her problem?
"I like your nails," says Kanako. She glances to and from Sanya's long nails and careful gaze. Kanako's fingers fidget in her lap. "The color really suits you."
Sanya's fingers fan out, almost like they preen on the compliment. How is she supposed to respond to this? It's strange that Kanako is acting so nice when they hardly just met. Not even the few peers she's somewhat familiar with would compliment her out of nowhere. Either Kanako is dumb or real brave to be talking to the gloomy girl at the back corner of the classroom that shoots her an edged look.
Sanya reclines, though not at all comfortable.
"…Thanks."
Kanako nods. Her gaze doesn't leave Sanya's hands for a while.
"Your hands are really pretty," Kanako says, clearly in a daze that ends with a sudden hiccup. The shame is permeating. Sanya can see it on her flushed cheeks. She palms her mouth. "I'm sorry if that was a bit creepy. I—I didn't mean it in any weird way."
"I…" Sanya mindlessly shakes her head. "It's…fine. I guess."
What is going on?
The chair screeches against the floor as Sanya stands on her feet. She's had enough. This girl is confusing the hell out of her.
So, what — her hands?
Sanya lets the faucet run cold water over her knuckles while she lets that entire exchange process. She squints at the mirror. Her reflection appears just as lost as she is, thankfully.
Sanya inhales. A water pipe mascot on a poster plastered to the mirror reminds her to conserve water so she turns the valve.
Okay, Sanya. Run the whole thing over again.
She likes my nails? At least that part is reasonable. Sanya had them done recently so of course they look nice. She went for a deep red with a matte finish. Next time she gets them redone, she's thinking an ombre with black would look even cooler.
The color suits me? Well, obviously Sanya knows that. Otherwise she wouldn't have gotten them done in that color. Obviously. Red is her color.
The last part stumps Sanya so much that it's giving her physical distress. What does that even mean, having 'pretty' hands? Which part of her hands did Kanako consider to judge how pretty they are? And was she actually staring at her hands that much?
So she's thinking about my hands. She's making me think about my hands. Then I'm probably going to think about her hands instead, which has to mean… She's thinking about a fistfight?!
Oh, that girl…
Ibu steps inside the bathroom, sauntering to the next sink over.
"Hi," she says without emoting anything in particular.
Ibu pulls out a case of lip gloss from her pocket and puckers her lips at the mirror. What is she even fixing? It hasn't been more than three hours since first period.
She gives Sanya a plain, sidelong glance. "You okay, Sanya-chan?" A pause. "You kinda look angry."
"Why wouldn't I be," Sanya seethes, clutching the rim of the sink, "when someone just told me they're thinking about my fists."