Chapter Text
Valerie is fifteen. She has a strong pulse, sometimes sweaty palms, and bangs she regretted getting the second they were cut. The student body knows none of these things, her own brother only knows one, and the transfer student has learned all three in under thirty minutes.
Valerie hates everything about this situation.
“You’ve been quiet for a while now. Are you okay?” the girl asks, forcing Valerie to pay attention again.
She startles without allowing herself to flinch—not that there’s enough room to do that to begin with. Janitor’s closets aren’t especially spacious, and they become downright cramped when you add two teenage girls, a first aid kit, and a cleaning cart with a broken wheel into the mix. Valerie sits on a bucket flipped upside down while the transfer student kneels on grimy tiles. The mingling scents of citrusy perfume, mildew, and bleach are giving Valerie a headache. The feeling of another person’s skin on hers makes her want to crawl out of her flesh.
She shouldn’t be here.
“I’m fine. Are you almost done?” Valerie says, snippy. There’s so little space that even while keeping herself stiff and small, the toes of Valerie’s shoes still meet the girl’s knees. That on its own is bad enough, but there’s also the fact that the transfer student has been cleaning a cut across the length of her palm for the past few minutes. She’s been doing so against Valerie’s will, which is annoying in its own special way, because who the hell does she think she is to strongarm her into anything?
(Worse, who is she to be able to do it successfully?)
The transfer student has the audacity to laugh as she sets a bloody cotton swab on the ground next to her with the other refuse. She takes one hand and lets it hover over the first aid kit briefly, seemingly considering whether she wants to take out another one or start bandaging. The other keeps a loose hold on Valerie’s wrist. Her palm is warm, maybe unpleasantly so, and it makes Valerie wonder if that’s the norm or if she runs cold herself. “So testy. I’m doing you a favor, y'know?”
“You’re the reason I’m hurt to begin with. You should be grateful that I didn’t report you to a teacher,” Valerie reminds her, again. That’s, what, three times now? Maybe four.
“Well, if you were to report me to a teacher, then you'd also have to explain why you were there to catch me digging around in the first place,” the transfer student retorts merrily as she pulls out gauze, apparently having made her decision.
“You very clearly broke a window to get in. I think that’s good enough for probable cause.”
The transfer student scoffs. “‘Probable cause’? What are you, a cop?”
“Not a chance.” I’ll be aiming higher than that.
At that, the transfer student smiles. “Oh? My kind of girl, then,” she hums. She absently thumbs across the inside of Valerie’s wrist, over veins. The touch ghosts across skin and Valerie’s stomach twists.
“Stop that,” she snaps. In the back of her mind, she prays that the other girl didn’t notice the way her heart rate jumped, even if only for a split second. “And don’t get the wrong idea. I’m nothing like you.”
The transfer student laughs again as she wraps Valerie’s hand. “And what do you think I’m like?”
“Trouble.”
The girl keeps her eyes on Valerie’s hand, but her expression is no less amused. “I’m wounded.”
“No, I am,” Valerie says flatly. The transfer student snorts. “Really, what was so important that you had to break into a classroom during lunch? Not to mention cutting my hand.”
“I really am sorry about your hand.” She really doesn’t sound like it. “No regrets about anything else, though. Something of mine got confiscated, and I didn’t want to risk not getting it back.”
“You could have spoken to the teacher, or administration. And if it were really so important, you could have gotten your parents to talk to someone.” The transfer student pulls the gauze too tightly and Valerie winces. “Watch it.”
“Don’t be a baby.” She puts a clip on the gauze and finally, finally lets go of Valerie’s hand, but the warmth lingers like a stain seeping into upholstery. “Anyways, you’re all set now. Don’t mess with it and make sure to change the bandages. It’s deeper than it looks, so don’t be surprised if it leaves a bad scar.”
“Great.” Valerie stands and sighs, attempting to wipe any traces of the janitor’s closet from her skirt. She’s ready to get out of there and back to open air, where the concept of personal space is more than something she has to parse out from vague memories and inclinations.
“Hey, don’t I get a ‘thank you’? Or at least a name?” the transfer student asks, following after Valerie as she moves for the door.
Valerie doesn’t turn back to her until she’s crossed the threshold, making pointed eye contact as her lips remain pressed into a fine and unforgiving line.
The transfer student’s smile is unaffected. Annoying.
“My name's—”
Valerie slams the door shut before she can get another word out. If she never sees this girl again, it’ll be too soon.