Chapter Text
In her eighteen years, Sandrone had not once ever been late to class. She had her daily routine down to a science—from the pre-pressed uniform hanging in her closet to the textbooks alreeady packed and ready in her bag. Her alarm went off at exactly 6:00 AM, then 6:02 AM, then 6:05 AM. Two minutes to get her bearings and "boot her brain up", then three minutes to run a mental checklist of things she may have forgotten to do the night before. Usually, there were none. Even when her father passed away last year and Sandrone's life was permanently changed and upended, she clung to her daily routine as if it was proof of her sanity. In a lot of ways, it was.
But today, on the first day of her senior year, Sandrone woke up seventeen minutes after her final alarm. Blinking sleep away from her eyes, the first sign of trouble was how her bedroom looked brighter than it should have; the sun was already higher than it was supposed to be when she woke up. The second sign of trouble was her cat, Pulonia, sleeping atop a crumpled paperback novel by Sandrone's pillow.
'Ugh, I knew I shouldn't've started that last chapter! It was impossible to stop reading!"
Despite the time, she slowly extracted the book from under Pulonia's heavy sleeping form, careful not to wake him. After a fruitless attempt at smoothing out the cover, Sandrone opened her book bag and stuffed it between her school textbooks, hoping that being squished inside was enough to force it back into shape.
Realistically, waking up slightly late shouldn't be much of a problem, especially for someone who had already prepared everything before she even went to bed the night before. But this was the first and only time Sandrone had ever been late, and the whole thing was throwing her off. As a result, she nearly burnt her mouth on a piece of toast, forgot to brush her hair, and almost left her lunch on the table.
Pulonia purred, following Sandrone to the door after she apparently woke him up with all the noise.
"Oh, right." She turned on his automatic feeder, which was once just an ordinary cat bowl before she and her father turned it into one of their many mechanical DIY projects.
"Be good. I'll be home early… hopefully," Sandrone said as she slipped on her shoes, a little breathless from rushing so early in the morning. She should be home early today. It was finally the start of her senior year, which meant that it was the perfect excuse to quit all her clubs. As a freshman, she had joined Robotics and Music only because the school required each student to join two clubs. But they quickly proved themselves to be—what did people call it?—not her thing. Though both were aligned with her personal interests, Sandrone just really preferred engaging with these interests alone. Like she did most things.
She speed-walked the short distance from her apartment to campus. Her father used to be one of the teachers here even before Sandrone was old enough to enter high school, so living nearby was more than convenient. Still, she arrived at her shoe locker at exactly 7:49 AM, eleven minutes before homeroom started and thirty-one minutes after the opening ceremony ended. Not that she cared about the opening ceremony, but she disliked being tardy to anything because she thought it was unladylike.
After making a quick trip to the restroom just to fix her hair in the mirror, Sandrone slid open the classroom door of Class 3-1. As expected, everyone was already there, but she was lucky that there was no teacher in sight. She was unlucky, however, to find Zandik sitting leisurely on the chair at the last row, right by the window. Also known as Sandrone's favorite and (rightfully) self-proclaimed spot.
"You're in my seat," she deadpanned, her brow furrowing deeper with each second he ignored her. He was sitting cross-legged with his nose buried in an anatomy textbook. It wasn't one of the textbooks they were going to use in any of their classes, and one look at it told Sandrone that he didn't need to read a textbook of that level for at least two more years. Which meant that he was just showing off. And really, she was used to it. But she preferred him showing off in any other place than her seat.
"I said," she cleared her throat a little too loudly, "you're in my seat."
Zandik went on reading, his unnerving red eyes moving along the words, completely ignoring her.
"Zandik." To make matters worse, he flipped the page of his book. Sandrone's temper snapped before the page could make it to the other side. She lifted her hand to close the book in his face, and he moved away just in time, revealing a mocking grin.
"Ah, Sandrone. Good morning. I didn't notice that you were there," that uncharacteristically low, masculine voice mocked her even further. When he was like this, Zandik spoke slowly, his words seemingly harmless, but anyone who really knew him could detect the undertones of sarcasm and contempt in even the most mundane remarks. And unfortunately, having been around him for most of their lives, Sandrone knew him more than anyone. If she could liken it to anything, she would compare the way he talked to the way a snake would discreetly and slowly slither up to its prey before striking.
"Good morning, Zandik," she tried to mirror his sarcasm, grabbing the book and yanking his bookmark out. His grin faltered briefly as he watched her, likely annoyed that he would have to find which page he stopped at later. Though he made no move to grab the book back, she held it out of his reach anyway. Well, as far as she could given their height difference; the fact that she was standing and that he was sitting being her only advantage.
"Again, you seem to be sitting in my seat. Please move."
"Well, you see, I thought it was improbable that Professor Alain Guillotin's genius darling daughter would ever be late to school. And on the first day! I simply concluded that you finally decided to take my advice and transfer schools. But alas, here you are."
"Here I am. And if by 'advice', you mean your last-ditch effort to get rid of me because you apparently can't beat me at any subject in this god-forsaken school, then it's not happening. Now for the last time, move." Sandrone quickly glanced around the classroom, but there were no more empty chairs except for the one right beside them. She dropped his book on the chair and kicked it out of his reach. So much for being ladylike.
"Wrong. Last year, second semester, Social Studies. I beat you in debate." Did he really have to always have the last word? Of course he beat her. It was debate.
"Oh, please! Anyone with a mouth as conniving and manipulative as yours could win at debate."
"Why, thank you—"
"Stop it, you two! Rooster incoming," Peruere, who sat in front of Sandrone as usual, turned around to shush them.
Finally, Zandik decided his book was more important than annoying Sandrone. He moved over to retrieve it, but not without plucking her headband off of her head and tossing it to her chair, the same way she did with his book.
Before Sandrone could yell at him, the students all took their seats with a collective hush as an old man entered the classroom. He was so short that Sandrone had to raise her head to see him from the back. The ordeal of walking to the teacher's desk and being greeted by the students took five whole minutes. His real name was Mr. Pulcinella, though his given name was practically lost history, as hardly anyone alive actually knew what it was. Apparently, he had been teaching at this school ever since it was established, though Sandrone could hardly believe that to be true.
All she knew was that he was old enough to have been one of her father's teachers when he was still a student here. So old that he no longer even taught any subject or handled any specific job. Much like her father, Mr. Pulcinella simply refused to retire. Back when they were sophomores, Rosalyne once said that he should just "throw in the towel already before he kicks the bucket", to which Zandik interjected, "wanna make a bet?" And though Sandrone only scoffed during that conversation, she had to agree. Hell, the guy was so old and worn that the only thing he did was homeroom. Because he appeared every morning, took everyone's attendance, then disappeared to who-knows-where for the rest of the day, the students simply called him The Rooster. Nevermind the fact that he also looked like one.
"Now… attendance… no, introductions…" the old man wheezed out.
Seriously? Introductions? They were already graduating this year. Sure, it was a big school and there were some unfamiliar faces because of the yearly shuffling of students between classes, but it was no reason to be doing icebreakers like they were still first-years. The entire class groaned, echoing Sandrone's irritation.
"Would you prefer that I call you one by one from the list?" The Rooster asked, his overgrown beard making it impossible to tell if he was trying to be funny or stern. Either way, it worked. They obediently took turns standing up and introducing themselves. By the fourth student, The Rooster told them to not come to the front anymore and just stand at their seats instead. By the seventh student, The Rooster told them to cut the fun facts and just state their names. By the tenth, the applause after every introduction stopped entirely.
Sandrone couldn't be bothered to learn the names of the few new classmates she now had. Even when one girl made a more exciting introduction that had the other students whispering amongst themselves in their seats, Sandrone didn't even check to see who it was. The opportunity—or rather, necessity—would come later on, when she eventually had to work in groups for some project or another. For now, she could be content with staring out the window while she waited for her turn to come.
Apparently, she'd been staring for too long. Zandik kicked her chair, waking her up from her daydreaming. The entire class turned back to stare at her, some looking rather impatient for homeroom to end, and she was the last in line.
"Oh, uhm," She hastily stood up. "I'm Sandrone."
"Full name, please." The Rooster yawned.
"Ugh…" Sandrone groaned quietly. She preferred to avoid this part when possible. "G-Guillotin." On cue, a few murmurs spread through the crowd.
'Whatever.' Perhaps still infected with Zandik's sarcasm, she stood up straighter. "Sandrone Guillotin…" then… what was everyone else saying again? 'It's a pleasure to meet you'?
'Absolutely not,' she thought and inhaled deeply, then cleared her throat.
"I'm Sandrone Guillotin. The pleasure is yours."
The seat in front of her, the seat next to her, and the seat on the opposite side of the room. All their occupants stared at her, then at each other. Then, after what felt like an eternity, said occupants—Peruere, Zandik, and Rosalyne—all burst out laughing.
Sandrone's face reddened with embarrassment before being saved, literally, by the bell signaling that homeroom was finally over. It took six minutes before their English teacher arrived, and her three friends (or at least they called themselves that) continued laughing at her the entire time.
"Yeah. I get it. Ha-ha. Very funny," she tried to look tough, but Peruere laughing to the point of tears was actually such a rare sight. And some part of Sandrone had to admit that being surrounded by people after her first winter alone since her father died was in many ways, just like her daily routine, a proof of her sanity.
What Sandrone didn't know was that aside from her friends, there was one other person in the room laughing at her, or rather because of her, although perhaps not as cruelly as the others. Sandrone didn't hear the soft giggles coming from the girl who sat at the very front, right next to the classroom door. The girl whose introduction caught everyone else's attention except Sandrone's.