[KB RW: Book 1] -- Chapter 2 (Patreon)

INDEX || Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3

--

At lunch, Lo managed to get in line in time for the lasagna. Since Black Moon Academy had contributed so much to Ameln High School’s development, they were allowed a certain amount of power when it came to institution-wide reforms.

One of those reforms was to Amlen High’s lunch menu, and in fact the way the school handled food entirely. Several graduates of the Academy’s cooking program had decided to return to the high school where they’d come from and work there as professional chefs. The food was healthy, made with the best ingredients they could reasonably source at a price that parents could afford. There were daily lunch specials, more complicated meals that encouraged students to try things that might be outside their usual favorites alongside more standard lunch fare. All in all, it was far and away one of the best school lunch programs in the country.

Some parents thought that Black Moon’s “interference” was suspect, but those people were of a very small minority. Not even Black Moon could please everyone.

Lasagna wasn’t a favorite of Lo’s, really; but she hadn’t eaten breakfast in her rush to get to class on time, so she scarfed it down, attempting to finish it all while looking over the homework that had been assigned to her today. It was possible that she could get it done right now, but...

Her head pulsed. The noise in the cafeteria was absurd – even though only the juniors and seniors shared this lunch period, it was still nearly a hundred students chatting, gossiping, and laughing together in one room. All those bodies produced a great amount of heat, too, and, along with the noise, it made Lo feel a little nauseous. She was grateful to be eating alone in her usual corner of the cafeteria.

She considered seeing the nurse again, but she knew that they could only prescribe so much to a high school student. With a headache like this, the nurse was likely to recommend Lo to a doctor, and that would mean more scrutiny than Lo would ever want – not to mention bailing on half the school day, which wouldn’t look good, either.

Lo tried her soundproof headphones again. While they worked to muffle most of the noise, it seemed like it was only a small fraction of it – nothing like how they had worked a week ago. The fact that she could still hear something was just as annoying as hearing anything, now, and she took them off in another groan of frustration.

All too soon, the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. With the taste of ricotta and marinara in her mouth, Lo tossed out her trash and headed for the gym.

Gym class was a small reprieve, as the teacher decided they were to play soccer outside for the hour. Lo was so happy to be out of the building and away from the bulk of the people in it that she didn’t think much of being reluctantly picked for one of the teams. The only thing that kept her from being picked dead last, she supposed, was the fact that she was actually a rather athletic teenager – physical education had always been one of the classes she’d found easiest.

Still, her team lost by the end of the hour. It didn’t bother Lo so much as it did her teammates, who muttered under their breath about classmates that they’d been forced to pick letting them down. As the students filed into the air-conditioned building, the teacher quickly pulled those students aside to lecture them about the value of teamwork. Lo passed them, slipping in and out of the locker room quickly to retrieve her things before fingers started pointing.

Art and history were next on the list and, other than the return of Lo’s headache, were rather uneventful. In fact, they were downright boring. It always came as a surprise that Lo had any artistic talent to begin with, making art another class that Lo had a generally easy time getting through. The teacher was rather respectful of her student’s individual skills, allowing them to interpret their assignments in whatever medium they chose.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever asked,” the art teacher had said, coming up behind Lo to watch her sketching. The current assignment was free-form, something to relax the students before their final themed project of the year. “What are you drawing?”

Lo’s hands were covered in charcoal dust, and she had looked down at the heavy paper before her. “It’s a library,” she had answered.

“Why that?”

Lo had stared at the image. Most of it was still sketchy framework, but the empty shelves were taking shape with thick, bold black lines. In the center was the barest impression of a young boy sitting in the emptiness, unpolished but present, surrounded by a halo of blankness.

“I dunno,” Lo had responded, staring at the boy. “Just seems right.”

History was nothing special, but Lo could feel herself crippling under the weight of the teacher’s droning voice as the hour stretched on. Every inflection the teacher made seemed to correspond with the pulse of Lo’s headache, and the lights flickered periodically, to the point where the teacher decided to open the blinds on the windows and shut off the lights, promising to let the janitors know about the problem tonight.

When the bell rang, it felt like Lo had been snapped awake, despite not really falling asleep.

English was no better – Mrs. Homura had a low voice to begin with, and with all the talking she did, it only made Lo feel even more exhausted.

This time she couldn’t fight it - she fell asleep twice, and each time Mrs. Homura woke her with a sharp tone and Lo could feel the amusement of her classmates prickling at her skin. The worst part was that the brief naps did nothing to aid her headache.

It felt like forever before English was over, and the last class of the day was all that lay between Lo and any sort of relief – foreign language.

Mr. Bennet was usually an engaging teacher, but Lo was tired. The fact that her last couple classes were so wordy, so full of people just standing up and talking, did not help. Pain and frustration and longing for the comfort of home saw her falling asleep for at least twenty minutes, an event that Mr. Bennet was not a fan of.

“I see you, Ms. Ishida,” he said, disappointment in his voice. The dark-skinned, heavyset man loomed over Lo’s desk while she pulled herself up from its surface, eyes bleary. There was a trace of sympathy in his deep brown eyes, at least. “If you fall asleep again, you’ll be sent to the principal.”

That earned Lo a ripple of ooohs from her classmates, each one of them staring at her. Lo felt the hairs on her skin stand up, electrified by the eager look on their faces. Were they always just so eager? So ready to jump on her for any mistake she made?

Of course they are, Lo thought bitterly. She could plainly see their faces. She needed no special powers to determine that these students held no love nor loyalty towards her, and hadn’t for years... and the feeling was mutual.

Lo was just finishing up gathering her things and was set to leave when Mr. Bennet tapped her on the shoulder. Startled, Lo turned to him – he was speaking, his voice barely cutting through the headache that was throbbing in her ears at this point. She felt a flash of frustration.

“I’m sorry, what’d you say?” she asked.

She had been trying not to sound like an annoyed teenager, but it must have come out that way regardless – Mr. Bennet furrowed his brow in an exasperated way and repeated himself, his tone sharpening in a way that let Lo know that she was keeping him from heading home:

“Mr. Rose wants to see you before you leave, Ms. Ishida.”

Lo suppressed a sigh. Of course, she thought, disguising another flash of frustration in adjusting her bag. “Gotcha.”

Mr. Bennet turned to go, and Lo pushed in her chair. She paused at the door, feeling another stab of her headache as she watched her classmates in the hallway. The lockers were absolutely clustered with friend groups talking together, their smiles and annoyed frowns all around. Lo could feel their words in the air like a swarm of bees, and it buzzed in her ears just as intensely as if she were pressed right against the hive.

She thought again of using her headphones – but they hadn’t worked all day. It annoyed her as she plunged into the sea of people. How could soundproof headphones just stop working, suddenly? It didn’t make sense. The soundproofing wasn’t powered by anything.

Did I damage them? She thought. The idea of ordering another pair was just as frustrating, and as she walked down the hall towards Mr. Rose’s office the lights above flickered, as if punctuating her ever-expanding annoyance with the world around her.

Lo felt another stab of pain in her temple. Maybe Mr. Rose can do something about the lights...

Mr. Rose was the school’s guidance counselor, a person that Lo was more familiar with than most students. He and her therapist were in direct communication with one another about her, she knew; as direct as they could be without violating their own codes. Lo knew that they had to talk to one another, but she hated the way she felt so exposed whenever she entered Mr. Rose’s office.

It was a very small room, no bigger than a school restroom – yet as Lo closed the door and the sounds from outside grew faint, it felt as if she had just walked outside again. There was no receptionist, just a small waiting room with enough space for four chairs and a door that led directly into Mr. Rose’s office.

Before Lo could sit down in one of the chairs, Mr. Rose’s door opened. His head poked through the gap, and he waved his hand to usher her in.

Lo frowned, sighing again. Just when she thought she had a moment to sit and calm down, it was stolen from her. Still, the air in the office felt nowhere near as thick and loud as outside it – Mr. Rose had always been a calm individual, even in heated situations.

Lo stepped into his office and shut the door behind her. Mr. Rose was getting himself comfortable in his chair as Lo asked, “Mr. Bennet said you wanted to see me?”

Mr. Rose’s office was barely larger than the waiting room outside, and Lo wondered often if the rooms had been one before the guidance counselor was appointed. She had sat here often, thinking of what the place had been before the flimsy dividing wall had been put up – a staff break room? A prison for naughty students? A broom closet?

Whatever the answer, it was Mr. Rose’s now – and he was certainly happy about that. He made use of the limited space, with his desk being the largest and most prominent feature. A nameplate reading MR. ROSE was surrounded by cups of mismatched pens and a trio of tiny succulents which Lo had seen him dote upon. Lo reached over and adjusted a tiny trans pride flag that was set up next to Mr. Rose’s nameplate – it fell down often, especially if Mr. Rose was in a rush to leave and his knees bumped his desk.

The desktop computer he was using was clearly going to be one of the last to be replaced in the school, the machine so large it took up the space between the desk and the outer wall of the room. His monitor was an old CRT, beige in color but decorated with a few self-motivating stickers and Post-It notes about appointments.

“Yes, I did,” Mr. Rose said. He took a glance at his computer and, without looking at Lo, gestured for her to sit down. “Just a second, Ms. Ishida...”

While he typed up what was clearly one of many staff emails, Lo sat herself down. She took a deep breath of the Febreze air freshener in the air and let the quiet wash over her.

The walls were plastered almost floor-to-ceiling with motivational posters and various guides for the students to read. Lo was studying the CPR guide for likely the thousandth time when Mr. Rose was finally ready for her.

“Alright!” he said crisply, turning away from his monitor after a few decisive clicks. “How have things been going, Ms. Ishida?”

Lo found herself staring at his face, struggling for words. Mr. Rose had a nice face, soft for an older gentleman, almost what you would assume a guidance counselor’s face to look like. Lo imagined that his headshot would appear right next to the encyclopedic definition of the concept, if the world was just and right. He had shaved recently, which made his receding auburn hairline all the more pronounced, and his brown eyes stared back at Lo, blinking as he awaited her response.

“Well?” he prompted.

“Uh,” Lo found her words, finally, “uh, it’s been fine.”

Mr. Rose’s brow twitched. “Has it?”

Lo felt a tickle in her ear as she caught on to his skepticism. “I know I fell asleep in Mr. Bennet’s class. I said I was sorry.”

“It’s not just Mr. Bennet’s class, Ms. Ishida,” Mr. Rose said, his tone sympathetic. “I’ve gotten reports from some of your afternoon teachers, each one saying that you were asleep or getting close to it throughout their classes. Twice, in Mrs. Homura’s case.” He perked a brow. “I’ve gotten similar scattered reports all week, Ms. Ishida, so I’ll ask again – is there something going on I should know about?”

Lo frowned, feeling fidgety. Though she knew Mr. Rose wasn’t trying to attack her, she couldn’t help but feel his words like needles against her skin. It made her response more snappish than she had wanted: “I’m fine – really.”

“Don’t lie,” Mr. Rose said patiently.

Lo chewed the inside of her cheek. “Okay, look,” she said, “I’ve been having these really bad headaches all week. I think it’s the lights – they flicker and it hurts more. Aren’t they due to be fixed up or something?”

“I’m sure they are,” Mr. Rose said. He reached for a pad of paper among the things on his desk, jotting something down with his personal pen. “Anything else? Do you have these headaches at home?”

Lo stared down at her knees. “Yes,” she said. “Sometimes.”

“Do you think your lights at home are the cause?”

Lo shook her head, realizing that she must sound foolish. The lightbulbs in her apartment weren’t anything like the strong, bright, fluorescent lights the school used.

Mr. Rose didn’t point that out, though. He was bobbing his head, writing a little more. “Have you spoken to the nurse?”

“I did, but she just gave me some ibuprofen,” Lo explained. She shrugged and admitted, “It didn’t do much, so I haven’t been taking any more.”

“Hm. Anything else?”

How do I tell him that my soundproof headphones, which are made from the ground up to be soundproofed, suddenly stopped working?

Lo decided not to bring that up. She shook her head at the counselor again.

Mr. Rose took in a deep breath through his nose. “Well, then,” he said, “let’s see. Headaches... Maybe the lights are the problem, maybe they’re not – you wouldn’t be the first student or staff member affected by them, that’s for sure. The complaints are probably in the hundreds by now! I’ll bring it up at the next staff meeting.”

He leaned back in his chair. “As for sleeping in class... what can we do about that?” he wondered.

Lo shrugged. “I dunno.”

“Ms. Ishida, I know you’re a junior,” Mr. Rose began, “but if the homework is getting to be too much... I’m sure there’s something we can do to work around it. It’s very common for teenagers your age to stay up late just to finish their work...”

“I can finish the work,” Lo put in, feeling a little defensive. I'm not a slacker! “I do finish the work.”

“But if you’re sleeping in class, you don’t get participation credits,” Mr. Rose told her, shaking an index finger. “Those are just as important.”

“Are they?”

The guidance counselor smiled, and chuckled at that. “Missing out on them is enough to knock you down a percentage or two,” Mr. Rose admitted. “In some cases, they can be enough to decide whether or not you pass or fail.”

Lo furrowed her brow. “I’m... failing?”

“Not quite,” Mr. Rose amended. “Not yet, at least – but it’s something you need to consider. If you’re not participating in class, you don’t get any additional information that might be on quizzes or tests. You get those questions wrong and, well, things can snowball.”

“So... am I snowballing, then?”

Mr. Rose leaned forward, fiddling with his pen between his hands. “Not yet – but it is going to catch up to you. I would hate to see you fail a class, Ms. Ishida; you’re one of the top twenty students in your grade.”

Lo scoffed, “Like that’s an accomplishment!”

Mr. Rose coughed. “Don’t be mean,” he said. “I don’t care about the other students right now, I care about you - and if you slip out of the top twenty, well, less colleges and universities will look at you favorably. Your options for scholarships shrink. Things get harder. You do want to go to college, don’t you?”

Lo’s mouth went dry. “I...”

“I know you’ve dodged the question, but we’re in the spring of your junior year – it's something you’re going to have to seriously begin to consider. Given your unique situation, I wouldn’t be surprised if you have a plethora of options before you; but you can’t squander them by missing class. If you need help, now is the time to ask.”

Lo looked down at her knees again. “It’s not like it’s hard work, Mr. Rose,” she said. She wanted to be defiant, but she faltered. “I just can’t concentrate on any of it with these headaches; when I get home, I blank on a lot of it, so I stay up trying to find the answers... On top of all the other stuff I need to do, it’s hard.”

Mr. Rose was nodding in understanding. “If the issue persists, I’ll see what I can do about putting you in some online classes. It's too late for this year, but we can set you up for your senior year if we have to. In the meantime, Lo, there’s something I want you to do.”

“What?”

“This might seem counter-intuitive,” Mr. Rose said, looking her in the eye, “but I think you should take some time and blow off some steam.”

Lo was indeed confused. “But didn’t you just say I needed to do more work...?”

“Hear me out – homework is stressful, and on your own, it can take a long time; but, with others it can feel a lot less like a chore...”

“You want me to join a fucking study group?!”

“Language!” Mr. Rose barked, looking the stern staff member for once.

“Sorry,” Lo mumbled, her cheeks feeling hot.

“And, yes,” Mr. Rose said, his shoulders falling and his tone growing softer. “A study group is exactly what you need, I think.”

Lo hunched her shoulders. She felt even more annoyed, now, and sad, too. “I don’t know if you’ve been paying attention, but I’m not exactly Ms. Popular around here.” She tugged one of her ears out from beneath her mop of blonde hair, reminding the counselor of their pointedness – that irregular shape having ever and always put her colleagues off from her. “I never have been.”

“That’s true, regrettably,” Mr. Rose sighed. He set down his pen and folded his fingers together. “But... Ms. Ishida, if I can be frank... it’s possible that a study group might do you a lot of good, both in class and out. In the past two years here, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you interact with others beyond necessity; that’s just not healthy for someone your age.”

Lo squirmed in her seat, unsure of what to say. She felt stung by Mr. Rose’s words again, and another stab of pain to her head had decided to punctuate his last comment. As if to add insult to injury, the lights in the room flickered above.

Mr. Rose raised his brows at that. “Huh,” he mused. “Maybe I’ll make that request a bit more urgent.” He scribbled on his pad again, then looked at Lo across his desk. “What do you think, Ms. Ishida?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Of course you do,” Mr. Rose said calmly. “But I think this could really help – these students aren’t the same as they were years ago, you know. People change, you just need to give them the chance.”

“Do they, really?”

“I’m a guidance counselor, Ms. Ishida, not a philosopher,” Mr. Rose said, sighing through his nose. “But I for one know that people can change... especially when they’re your age. It’s only my job to help you make what I think might be the right changes.”

Lo knew she was being petulant, frustrating – but she felt backed into a wall, and as she looked down at the little flag on Mr. Rose’s desk, she knew he was right. He certainly wasn’t the person he was years ago, and if he had changed...

“Who did you have in mind?” Lo asked.

Mr. Rose’s face lit up. He looked over her and towards the door. In a louder voice, he called, “Come on in, you two!”

The door behind Lo creaked open, and she straightened herself up in the chair. It was too small a room to look back over her shoulder – she settled with turning in the chair, feeling hot air hit her back through the window behind her.

In walked two familiar faces – Hikaru Reinhardt and Haseo Yagami, the two students that had moved into her Algebra II class earlier in the day. They were sporting their backpacks, now, ready to head home after this. Both of them looked first at Mr. Rose, then at Lo, and Haseo gave a little wave that Lo was awkwardly compelled to return.

“She said yes,” Mr. Rose explained, smiling at the two students. “She’s all yours.”

Lo felt herself bristle. “What, today?” With them?!

“Did you have plans?” Haseo asked, his thick brow quirked.

She knew he wasn’t trying to sound condescending, but it was difficult to see it any other way; with how cold she’d been in class, she assumed they were both annoyed with her. Lo narrowed her eyes at Haseo, and then glowered back at Mr. Rose. “Really?”

“Hey - these two are the top of your grade,” Mr. Rose countered, his tone sharpening into staff member mode again, “and, moreover, they’re willing to do this with you. I can’t expect you three to click immediately, but I hope that you’ll be on your best behavior with one another.”

“Of course!” Hikaru said immediately, smiling.

Lo rolled her eyes. “Fine.”

Mr. Rose was smiling, clearly pleased with this. He clapped his hands together excitedly. “Wonderful! Now, where will you be studying?”

Haseo was quick to answer: “I thought perhaps we could go to the libra-”

“They can come home with me,” Lo said sharply, cutting the white-haired boy off.

Mr. Rose’s brows raised in surprise. “If you think that’s a good idea...”

Lo didn’t, not really – but the idea of studying in the library made her feel ill. Too many people, and too much noise – in that quiet, everything always felt so amplified. It was the last thing Lo needed right now.

“Seriously, we don’t have to,” Hikaru pointed out. “We don’t want to make you uncomfortable...”

Lo shrugged, blowing off even her own concerns. What point was there in fighting it now? Might as well go with the flow. “What’s the worst that could happen? There’s a Moink right down the road – we could grab some food and get to work after.”

Haseo’s yellow eyes were unwavering. “Alright,” he said, “if that’s what you think will work best.”

“Moink does sound good,” Hikaru admitted. “I missed the lasagna today.” She pulled her backpack over to her front and unzipped it, rifling around for a moment. “I can pay for it.”

“Then let’s go,” Haseo decided.

When Lo stood up, so did Mr. Rose. He was smiling, looking pleased and happy, and it seemed to radiate from him like a warm sun. Lo couldn't help but smile back, though she tried to hide it. It felt a lot better than the noisy, confusing buzzing that had been permeating her days this past week.

“I’m glad,” Mr. Rose breathed, “and I hope you three have fun. Be safe!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lo waved her hand. “We will!”

Turning to Hikaru and Haseo, Lo suddenly found herself the object of their curious attention. It took her too long to realize that the two were waiting for her to lead the way, as they had no idea where she lived or how to get there. Swallowing, Lo waved for them to follow.

“It’s not far,” she insisted. “Come on.”