"How's it goin', Mason?" Joanna asked as she walked down Rosalie's aisle. She put a hand to the desk in front of Rosalie, and those light, amber eyes caught Rosalie's entire essay at the base of her throat where her heart had leapt up and cut off air circulation.

Rosalie coughed painfully into her shoulder, cleared her throat, and said, "I have a question for you."

Joanna frowned. "That isn't how this works."

Hot anger pushed at Rosalie's chest, expanding with every second. She narrowed her eyes at Joanna and said, "What, so I'm not allowed to talk to you on campus?"

"Yeah, I'd say that's how this works."

"Room assignments are due soon," Rosalie said. Joanna's expression didn't change. Rosalie huffed, her hands pressed flat to the seat underneath her thighs as she said, "I... was wondering if you—"

"No," Joanna said, shaking her head.

"Joanna—"

Joanna pushed off of the desk and started to walk away. "It's a bad idea and you know it. Besides, I don't believe in sharing rooms with you unless our names are on a lease."

Rosalie turned around in her seat, hand clasped to the back of it. "Next you're gonna say, 'Unless you have my last name'." She could practically hear Joanna snickering even when her back was turned to Rosalie. "That's hypocritical of you!"

"Suck it, Mason," Joanna said, and half-raised a middle finger to Rosalie, but their teacher was just now entering the room. She dropped her hand, sighed, the muscles around her eyes still tight when she met Rosalie's eyes.

Rosalie rolled her eyes and sighed. "Fine. Then you should know Darling wants to room with you."

They were an entire two aisles away from each other. The seats were almost filled. The annoyance from Joanna's face fell and was replaced with a mild look of shock. "Really?" she said. She backtracked, grabbing her books and sliding into the seat in front of Rosalie before the guy in front of her could claim it. The guy threw his arm up and gave up, walked around, and took Joanna's old seat.

"Where did you hear that? Did she talk to you?" Joanna asked, and Rosalie really couldn't tell of she was thrilled, horrified, or just plain surprised.

"She mentioned it to me after practice on Saturday," she said. She leant back in her seat, arms crossed, and watched as Joanna's eyes flitted away, processing something Rosalie couldn't quite see or understand. "You two are still friends, right?"

"Yeah, I think so," she whispered, a hand clutched to her chin. The teacher was writing on the board, but the class was still chattering.

"What's so complicated about it?" Rosalie asked. "You should take her up on it." Since you won't room with me, she thought, bitterly. She mentally shook the thought from her head. She wouldn't be bitter—not about this. Joanna was allowed to have close female friends. This entire time Rosalie was spoiled by the fact that the people Joanna considered as Good Friends were both male.

That was bound to change, she knew this. Darling was a better option than the Russian Roulette that was the Random Roommate Assignments. The chances of getting Georgina or Arden as a roommate were too high for Joanna, and Arden would no doubt put the odds in her favor.

"What I want to know..." Joanna started, slowly. She met Rosalie's eyes. "Is why Darling doesn't want to room with George."

"Because she wants to room with you."

"It's gotta be deeper than that," she insisted, shaking her head. "You don't know Darling. Darling wouldn't—"

She broke off at the sound of the teacher tapping a whiteboard marker to her desk to get the class' attention. Rosalie continued to stare at the back of Joanna's head. The hot, angry presence in Rosalie's chest only grew from Joanna's words. She didn't like to be pushed aside simply because she was ignorant about Darling Lavier. Sure, she didn't know the girl all that well, but she knew what the situation warranted, and that was Joanna's security at USW.

Darling would give that security to Joanna.

And, so, five days later at the next practice, Darling was there waiting with Lennie Pittmen on the benches. It was becoming somewhat of a theme—seeing the two of them together. It was an odd pairing that Rosalie found just as comical as Ray, who, when asked by Alyssa, said, "Why would I be jealous of a doll without a backbone?" The girls found that hysterical.

When Rosalie approached the plexiglass door for a water break, she caught the tail end of Lennie speaking perfect French. She recalled the days she used to swoon at the sound of Lennie's fluent accent, but it was nothing compared to Darling's response—a crystal clear, lilting, native accent that would have put their entire Advanced French class to shame.

"Ça me gêne pas du tout. Ça dépends d'à quel point tu y tiens—vendre quelque chose qui n'a pas de valeur à tes yeux t'apportera plus de profit," Darling said.

Lennie looked annoyed—they'd been at this topic for a while if it came to that, and Rosalie could see it etched in his forehead and stiff frown. "Mais tu penses pas que c'est mal d'exploiter—" Lennie started, only to stop when he caught Rosalie staring.

Darling hopped to her feet.

"Oh, don't stop because of me, by all means," Rosalie said.

Lennie rolled his eyes. "I was just asking about her work," he said.

"Classy of you," Rosalie said with a tight, sarcastic smile.

Lennie turned to Darling and said, "Joanna a déteins sur elle."

"Ça se voit carrément," Darling said. She put a hand to her lips to keep from giggling.

Rosalie scowled at them, brow furrowed, and said, "I can understand you two perfectly, I'll have you know."

Darling's eyes widened, and by the soft, subtle, nearly imperceptive grin on Lennie's face, he hadn't mentioned just how many of the soccer players were fluent. Granted, the majority of Bradshaw populated the Spanish and Mandarin courses, but French was also a popular choice.

The curve, however, dropped off around Level Three—two years before the moment Lennie explained to Darling, "Have I mentioned that we share sixth period French together?"

"No, you haven't," Darling said, a hand to her heart. "I really didn't believe Georgie that you and Joanna have the same exact schedule."

Rosalie frowned. "She told you my schedule?"

"Yes, in vivid detail," she confessed with a nervous smile.

Lennie furrowed his brow, hands clasped between his knees. He looked at Darling, and then curiously to Rosalie, who gave him a droll stare. She expected nothing less from Georgina, and she barely understood the girl even after spending eight entire hours together at Bradshaw.

At the mention of Georgina, though, Rosalie's eyes then traveled up to the entrance platform, where the concession stands were dark and locked up, and the railing was occupied by one particular suspect—heading in their direction from the stairs. Rosalie swallowed hard at the vivid image of Joanna's terror at the sight of Georgina Saber, and every time her eyes met with that beast of a woman.

Rosalie gestured discretely for Darling to look. Darling spun around, hair flowing, and she gasped in delight at the sight of Georgina reaching the bleachers. The devil's footsteps rattled the metal bleachers as she walked, and as Darling bounded up and over the divider that separated the players benches from the spectators.

Rosalie startled at Darling's swift escape, and barely processed the fact that Darling was now leaning over the ledge and waving to her, saying, "By Rosie! It was great talking with you, Lennie!"

I was supposed to tell her something, Rosalie realized, blinking fast. She hopped the bench and ran down the length of the ledge, saying, "Darling—Wait—"

She caught up to where Darling slowed, at the corner of the players benches. Rosalie clutched at the ledge, staring at Georgina, who was close enough now to see who Darling was talking to and boy, she did not look happy. Rosalie's skin crawled when Georgina started walking faster. "Joanna said yes—to your... proposition," she said.

Darling's light eyes glowed with excitement. "Really? Oh, that's wonderful. Tell her I'm looking forward to it," she said, and punctuated it with a cutesy wave before she was tugged away by Georgina.

Georgina nudged Darling ahead of her as Darling said, "I love your jacket today," to which Georgina scoffed, "You say that every time I wear this jacket." Darling giggled and bounded off, hopping from one bench to the next before skipping across concrete to the concession stairs. Georgina glanced over at Rosalie, who swore her heart stopped beating from the devil's viciously cold stare.

She shivered as Georgina walked off without looking back, long braid swishing against the shining leather on her jacket. Rosalie half expected the girl to shake out a cigarette and light it, just to stub it out on the No Smoking sign next to the stands. It seemed like something Georgina Saber would do.

Rosalie dropped her hands from where she had them knotted together over her stomach. She looked down at her cleats, brows furrowed, and tried to stomach her desperate attempt to fill the void between her and Joanna. Rationally, she understood Joanna's reasoning, but the dramatic, pained part of her heart wanted to believe the distance was the reason. That this had nothing to do with her actions, and the situation she was forcing Joanna into.

Rosalie turned back to the benches, which were now populated by Bradshaw girls packing up while Coach Maguire preached once again: "Remember that our next practice will be at Bradshaw. Come prepared!"

Ray lugged her duffle over one shoulder and staggered over to Rosalie, who had yet to move from the far corner of the team benches. "I may come prepared, but I won't like it," Ray huffed.

"Why's that? You don't like swimming?" Rosalie said. From every summer before then, she knew for a fact that Ray was a fan of swimming. During Hell Week, they often kicked back and relaxed beside someone's pool—mostly, the Lane's pool over at Juliana's place. They had a bean-shaped pool that wasn't much, but certainly beat the sweaty heat.

"Not in Bradshaw. Are you shitting me? As if I'm gonna use the Bradshaw showers afterwards," Ray scoffed, rolling her eyes. She gestured to the exit gate and said, "You ready to go?"

Rosalie was not, in fact, ready to go. She kicked into gear, passing Lennie on the way to her duffle where she frantically swapped shoes and zipped up her coat. She jogged to catch up to them, frantic, and soon they were out in the Montgomery cold. Ray was talking about a photo she had taken on her phone during lab, which Lennie replied with: "You shouldn't be on your phone during class."

"Straight and narrow path, huh Leonard?" Ray said.

"I told you not to call me that," he sighed.

"Wow. When did you find out his full name?" Rosalie asked, smiling sweetly when Lennie turned all the way around to glare at her. She shrugged and he rolled his eyes, spinning back around to drop his arm over Ray's shoulders.

"Oh, his mom told me. Jolie really is the best, isn't she?" Ray said with a smug smile in Lennie's direction.

Lennie narrowed his eyes at her. "Agreed... but that doesn't give you permission to use my full name just because my mom said it."

"Tough."

Rosalie watched them bicker, a tight smile on her face.

It wasn't fair.

____

Bradshaw High was built in the shape of a "U" with tall, checkered windows. Freshmen year, kids used to sneak binoculars into Government History where they could peer across the courtyard and into other classrooms where their friends in Biology would peer straight back and put a middle finger up. They'd all dissolve into giggles until the teachers confiscated the binoculars.

Rosalie was never interested in spying on other classes, but nowadays, people didn't use binoculars. Instead, they zoomed in as far as they could on their phones and snickered to themselves when they caught something embarrassing on camera, like a kid picking his nose, or someone's skirt riding up. Spying wasn't on peoples' radars anymore, not since binoculars were banned from campus.

That Monday, though, Rosalie walked into French class and found Ray leaning over the radiators by the windows, her phone up and panning across the opposite Bradshaw wing. Rosalie's brow furrowed, thinking, Ray isn't in this class, and found Lennie right beside her, pushed up onto the window sill and reading the book they were analyzing for French that day.

Joanna was picking at her split ends, and Dylan was in the seat beside her, one arm on the back of his chair and the other on the desk. He glanced over as Rosalie approached the scene and asked, "What's... going on?"

She set her books down as Ray answered, "Whitney's putting up prom King and Queen nominations."

Rosalie felt sick at the mention of it. There had been talk around school about changing the terms, and debate classes were discussing bringing it to Principle O'Gallagher's desk in an attempt to free the gender constraints of Kings and Queens. It reminded her of Darling arguing for pink to be included in the Adam High red-and-black color palette.

But, the worst part of it was that prom Kings and Queens generally mimicked that of Homecoming—only, voting was restricted to the junior and senior classes. It meant that Rosalie and Joanna would, no doubt, be nominated.

And when Lennie and Harper no longer being an item...

"I've already appealed to Whitney about having my nomination repealed. She suggested keeping me on, but including Ray in the running," Lennie explained as Rosalie came to stand between them, following Ray's line of sight through the lens of Ray's phone camera.

She had the camera poised near the first floor Stud.Co. offices, where the blinds were pulled up to make room for strips of paper. Art, the photography student, was taping the strips in place, all of which included names in bold, blue Sharpie.

"Ashton's still in the running—go figure," Ray said with a snicker and a sly grin. "I swear to God, if Harper's still in the running, she better not be with that rat bastard Clemons."

"I don't care," Lennie said. Both Ray and Rosalie looked over at him. He shuffled uncomfortably and insisted, with more venom, "I don't care."

Ray went back to investigating. Behind them, Joanna said in a dull, sing-song drawl, "Kinda sounds like you care..."

Lennie glowered at Joanna and said, "And what about you. Both of you. You do realize that you'll both be nominated, right?"

"We... haven't done anything notable since," Rosalie argued half-heartedly. Maybe the grade forgot about them?

"You're Regional Champions," Dylan said. "That's as notable as you can get."

"I think what she means is that I haven't punched anyone and she hasn't kicked anyone's ballsacks this semester," Joanna said. She looked back at Lennie, who pursed his lips in distaste as she said, "Should we change that, Pittmen."

"You don't actually want to go to Prom with me, though," Rosalie said, and when Joanna said nothing, Rosalie rolled her eyes and slapped her hands to her legs. "See? If we get nominated I'll just tell Whitney to take us down."

The words hurt coming up, like bile in her throat. She swallowed it down and went to take her seat. Ray had lowered her phone, and when Rosalie glanced back over at her, Ray was watching her. They both looked down and a moment later, Ray pocketed her phone and threatened Lennie by saying, "Keep an eye on the damn roster. I gotta get to class."

"Yes, ma'am," Lennie said, just as stoic and deadpanned as always. It came out as dry sarcasm, though.

Rosalie sat through lecture with an absurd level of anxiety around the Stud.Co. window where prom nominations were sitting, waiting for her to obsessively look at them. Prom wasn't for another month and a half, but Rosalie couldn't help but start fretting about it from that moment onwards because she wanted to go with Joanna Spencer. She was never all that interested in prom before that moment—the moment when most of her friends were now in relationships. They all had partners to prom and Rosalie was still there, left on the back burner.

It was her own fault, really, for pushing Joanna too far when it came to Arden Dodge.

Rosalie sighed, her chin propped up on her hand as she tried desperately to listen to her teacher. Her teacher's words flew over her head, though, and out the window where her thoughts circled around prom. Prom was an exclusively Bradshaw ordeal, but Blake Miles was likely going to make an appearance. Students who brought peers from other schools were required to notify the prom committee—better known as Student Council.

The bell rang and struck Rosalie out of her reveries. She was on her feet in an instant, pulling out her phone from her blazer pocket, and holding it up to peer into the Stud.Co. windows.

The list was up and, among them, were Rosalie and Joanna's names.

"Fuck," Joanna's voice sounded over her shoulder. Rosalie startled with a jump, turning back around to face Joanna, who seemed just as concerned as she was.

"We should—" Rosalie started, hesitating. She corrected herself. "I should talk to Whitney. Get our names taken down."

"As if," Joanna scoffed, heading back to her desk. She grabbed her books and started ahead, calling over her shoulder, "She wouldn't listen to you even if you tried. I'll corner her, no problem."

"Don't—threaten her! Joanna—!" Rosalie started, horrified at the idea of it. She hastily grabbed her things, stacked her books in her hands, and raced after Joanna while Dylan, Jamie-Lee, and Lennie watched on from their desks after hardly taking a step towards the door.

Rosalie tracked Joanna down in the hallway where she followed alongside her. Joanna's fist was clenched at her side as the two of them went in search of Whitney on the first floor of Bradshaw. The corridors were full of students, and among them, Rosalie spied Whitney's head of pale blonde curls approaching the Stud.Co. office door.

Joanna cupped a hand beside her mouth.

Oh no, Rosalie thought, the blood sweeping out of her face.

"VASQUEZ!" Joanna screamed at the top of her lungs.

A group of freshmen near them cowered. Rosalie grimaced, a hand over one ear, and the entire hall quieted by a fraction at the sound of Joanna's war cry. Just down the hall, she witnessed Whitney Vasquez freezing at the door, eyes wide with terror, looking over her shoulder at them.

The hallway cleared as Joanna marched forward. It took a moment for Rosalie to function again, but by then, Joanna had her hand on the Stud.Co. door handle and was gesturing Whitney inside. Rosalie hurried to catch the door before Joanna could slam it shut. She caught her foot in the gap and met Joanna's eyes between the door and the frame.

Joanna said nothing. She released her grip on the handle as Whitney said, "You shouldn't go screaming in the hallways l-like that—oh Jesus!" Whitney squeaked, her warning shriveling up and dying the instant Joanna pegged her with a scowl and reached for her. Whitney threw her books up over her