Chapter Text
Liberty High knows little of Faye Valentine—little, but enough.
They know she is kind, they know she is perky, they know she sits every lunch in the art room forming bowls and cups with the shape of her hands, they know enough.
Liberty High also knows that Faye is unequivocally, disgustingly herself.
She bounces through the halls in her ballet flats. The skirt she sported that day, whether it was scattered with polka dots or dispersed with blossoms, glided behind her. The girl usually coupled said skirts with a buttoned blouse—again she is unequivocally, disgustingly herself.
The girls at the school named her ‘Cupid’, a play on her oddly in-character last name and upbeat livelihood; The boys dubbed her as ‘Pixie’, a quip on her short and slim frame;
They know her name, yet did not care enough to address her as such.
It wasn't as if she was disliked, people at school liked her enough—perhaps not like they liked Jessica Davis or Sheri Holland, but she was invited to parties and was never isolated for group projects–In fact, she chose to sit alone during lunch, preferring the silence of the under-funded art room in comparison to the cafeteria filled with Bryce Walker’s and Courtney Crimson’s, nuisances in opposite directions. She enjoyed being alone.
Yet, she wasn’t always alone. She used to sit in the art room with Hannah Baker, someone she refuses to mention. If she mentions her then she won't be able to perform anymore– perform the upbeat, happy girl Liberty High believed she was; because Liberty High knew little of Faye Valentine.
They didn’t know of her secrets kept behind locked doors or shut bathrooms. They didn’t know of the scale she kept in her closet or the fact she hadn’t eaten a proper meal in weeks—no, Liberty High knew little of Faye Valentine, and they did not care to know more.
Well, excluding Justin Foley. Uncharacteristically, Justin Foley observed. He is loud, admired, and best friends with Bryce Walker for Christ's sake, but he observed—He observed when walking past the art room during lunch, only to notice no food accompanying Faye, and he observed when she was the sole one not begging on their hands and knees for a chip during classes.
He observed her and (again, uncharacteristically) he didn’t ignore what he observed.
He never talked to her directly, he never said the words—never. Yet, she noticed when he slipped her a granola bar at the beginning of lunch or when a sandwich was placed in her locker (She still hasn’t discovered how he managed to open it) — She noticed he took the same path to the cafeteria every lunch, passing the art room.
She noticed and he observed.
What they have isn’t romantic, it isn’t even friendly in a normal sense.
Neither one truly knows what it is,
but it is there.