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(610): did you know some girls get high off pumpkin-scented bath salts
(215): not sure how much that's gotta do with impressionist painters..
(215): also, i thought you said art kids weren't gonna freak you out?
(610): it is so not my fault clumpy mascara keeps rubbing her shoplifted crystals on my face
(215): your chakras are probably unaligned
Not that this Sierra girl needed Jason to tell him that - Dick's known her for about two minutes, but she's already going off about the triplets he'll definitely father. Keeps suggesting they're named after cities no one's ever even heard of.
Ugly charm bracelets here isn't even the worst Dick's encountered since classes began implementing rotating seating plans. Something about eradicating clique culture. Or bullying. Dick had dozed off through most of that assembly.
Still, he makes the mistake of telling her his birthday, and even though the bell's about to ring, she's already attributing his eye color to past life karmic cycles, won't stop referencing Neptune's pull, and -
"Dude."
The only other person at their table leans back on his chair. Seems to have finally taken out both his earbuds because he looks at Dick like he isn't sure if he's hearing right or just incredibly stoned. Maybe both.
He doesn't even wait for this permed oracle to finish her palm reading before laughing - barely holding himself up on Dick's knee as he doubles over like an asthmatic because "What the fuck is a Pisces?"
:::
It's not even a surprise that Donna knows Wally, too.
"You know, I'm semi-offended," Wally tells Donna and points towards Dick with the last of his soggy french fries. "Me and pretty boy have, like - what, at least three classes together?"
They're in the cafeteria, twenty minutes into a second lunch on a period none of them are scheduled for.
"You sound like a pining ex-wife," Donna says, and Wally half smirks at the neon pink Free The Nipple she's sharpie-d onto the side of his Converse.
"You ever stop to think maybe he is a pining ex-wife?"
"Now, Dick." Wally tuts - kicks at Dick's thigh with the sole of Donna's feminist propaganda and rests it there. "That's not very progressive of you."
Dick smiles, grabs onto Wally's sneaker and yanks it off. Throws it right next to the wall the lunch monitor's currently drifting off to sleep against. "And you are?"
Donna blames him when Wally shows up shirtless to Algebra I. Dick can't really bring himself to mind.
:::
"Wait - you're sixteen already?" Wally asks. He shoots up from where he's been laid out on Dick's floor; rips their Don't Do Drugs poster right in half.
Dick doesn't really care. Their slogan had been kind of shit, anyway. Barely even rhymed.
"Like, you had a birthday and everything."
Dick gives Wally a once-over. Waits until Wally's ready to pop whatever brain-baby he was in the middle of conceiving.
"Du-ude," Wally scoffs. "So why is Donna still the only one smuggling the rest of us alcohol? She totally overcharges, you know."
Dick makes a face. "You know, I've heard the age limit for that one's still twenty-one."
"So?" Wally asks, "I've heard Donna's still sixteen, too."
"Yeah," Dick says, "but I think it's her incredible rack that sways the vendors."
"Point." Wally laughs. He tugs at the bracelet on Dick's wrist, Dick who must be fucking out of it because he gets distracted by how Wally's lips close around the blunt still between his fingers, and it's not even his first time getting high. "You could totally rock one of her crop tops, though."
"You think?" Dick asks. Doesn't pull back when Wally puts out their last hit just above a rip in his jeans.
"Sure." Wally smiles like it means nothing. Dick wonders if that's how he kisses, too. "You've got a pretty incredible rack yourself."
"Funny," Dick grins. "We're definitely getting an F on that poster, by the way."
"Oh, come on." Wally climbs over onto Dick's bed. "I don't think anyone's ever flunked outta homeroom."
Dick turns on his side, brushes ginger strands off green eyes, and he doesn't know what possesses him when he says - "I could be your first."
"That," Wally says, darts his tongue just above the mole near his bottom lip. He smiles in a way that makes it barely visible, that's got Dick wanting to know its taste, wanting - "was so dumb."
"Fuck you," Dick laughs, then Wally's tugging at the hairs on the back of his neck, and that's - Wally's mouth on his. He's half sprawled onto Dick's lap like he's been waiting for something like this, and it's got Dick thinking maybe he has, too.
"God," Wally tastes like weed, like iced lemonade and the worst of Dick's leftover Halloween candy. "Please do."