It’s two o'clock on a Tuesday, and Claire is currently standing in the first floor girls’ bathroom that’s located just outside of the gym. She’s taking her time washing her hands—if anyone asks, she’ll claim that she’s merely very germ conscious, which she kind of is—but really, she’s just trying to procrastinate for as long as possible before she absolutely has to go back to her Phys Ed class. They’re currently playing volleyball, and she isn’t exactly eager to go back in there and avoid getting whacked by the ball flying at her face. She’s really not much of an athlete.

The door opens, and Claire jumps a little, internally sighing in disappointment that she’ll have to finish up and go back to class. After all, lurking in the bathroom while someone else is in there could be considered kind of creepy, and she doesn’t want to do anything that will draw attention to herself. William McKinley High School on the whole is a pretty bad place to be singled out unless you happen to be a jock or a cheerleader. She’s neither of those—she’s just a lowly freshman who tries to keep her head down and avoid the slushies that seem to be the favorite weapon of those same jocks and cheerleaders to decimate the nerd and loser population of the school.

Claire figures she can get away with another thirty seconds of washing her hands before she’ll need to get moving, and she glances up into the mirror to check out whoever it is that’s interrupting her procrastination time. A tiny brunette comes stomping into the bathroom, towing a little pick suitcase on wheels behind her. Claire recognizes the girl from her history class—Bae Irene. She only knows her name because Mr. Ko is forever saying it in that defeated tone after he’s all but begged for someone else to raise their hand and volunteer an answer to one of his questions. Claire kind of wishes someone else would too—it won’t be her because of the whole keeping her head down thing—since once Irene starts talking she just never stops. Claire tends to tune her out, which is a feat that she’s pretty proud of, to be honest.

Irene stops in front of the sink beside her with a scowl, jerking on the faucets and grabbing a handful of paper towels. She isn’t covered in slushy residue for a change, but there’s an ugly, brown stain on the front of her white sweater that makes the weird bear embroidered on it look like he’s just done his business across her stomach. Claire bites into her lip to keep from laughing, instead focusing on her own hands under the stream of water and the need to finally turn it off, dry her hands, and go back to dodging volleyballs.

She’s just turning off the water when the door opens again, and Claire’s mouth goes dry at the sight of red, white, and black. She averts her eyes, searching out the nearest towel dispenser as she shakes the excess moisture from her hands. Unfortunately for her, it’s located on the other side of Irene—right where the frowning, brunette Cheerio plants herself with hands on her hips.

“What did you think you were doing?” she demands sharply.

Her voice is pitched high with a nasal overtone, and Claire thinks it makes her sound slightly less threatening than her glare would indicate and certainly less threatening than that Jimin girl in her Algebra class. She doesn’t have any classes with the brunette, but she’s seen her in the hallways, and—well, she’s a Cheerio, so Claire pretty much steers clear.

“Why, yes, Jennie, the coffee that your unpleasant teammate spilled on me was quite hot,” Irene snaps back, still scrubbing at her sweater. “No, I am not seriously injured. Thank you for your concern.”

Jennie—Claire has a feeling that she should probably remember that name—narrows her eyes even more, moving her hands from her hips to cross her arms under her s. “I warned you not to talk to me again. It’s not my fault you’re either deaf or dumb.”

Irene huffs. “I merely said hello to you. I wasn’t aware that there was a moratorium on being polite.”

“Well, there is,” Jennie hisses, snatching the towels away from Irene’s hand and tossing them into the sink. “You need to forget whatever weird, little fantasy you have about us becoming friends. It’s not going to happen. Are we clear, Bae?”

Irene straightens her shoulders, blinking at her own reflection in the mirror. “Perfectly.”

Jennie nods. “Good.”

But there’s something in Jennie’s eyes that makes Claire feel like she’s not exactly as happy to hear Irene concede as she should be. She doesn’t fully realize just how blatantly she’s been staring at them until Jennie’s gaze connects with hers. “Are you enjoying the show, freak?” she growls.

“S-sorry,” Claire stutters, stumbling back from the sink and quickly turning for the door. She doesn’t want any more attention from the Cheerio than she’s already gotten, so she ducks her head as she rushes past the other two girls, wiping her still wet hands on her t-shirt. She’s only wearing it for Phys Ed, after all.

On her way out, she thinks that she hears a softly concerned, “Did you get burned very badly?” before the door swings shut, but she figures it had to be her imagination. Either way, she’s so not going back into that bathroom to find out.

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Read the rest on my BlackVelvet Tumblr blog! It's called BlackVelvetShipShots. Here is the url: https://blackvelvetshipshots.tumblr.com/. Enjoy!