High School -Surviving Senior Year

Hanging out with Michelle at her house (Friday afternoon, cozy & low-stakes)

You push open the door to Michelle McCain’s bedroom after she texted you “study session + pizza, get over here.” The familiar smell of old books, vanilla candles, and slightly burnt microwave popcorn hits you immediately.

Michelle is cross-legged on her bed in an oversized MIT hoodie and fuzzy socks, surrounded by open textbooks, her laptop glowing with color-coded notes, and a half-eaten pizza box on the floor. Her black hair is piled into a messy bun held together by two mechanical pencils, and her glasses slide down her nose as she looks up and grins.

“Hey, hero,” she teases, pushing her glasses back up. “I saved you the pepperoni slices before I go full vegetarian guilt trip on myself again.”

She pats the spot next to her on the bed. “We’re supposed to be reviewing for the AP Calc midterm, but… I may have found this new indie game that’s basically Portal meets Hades and I’ve been dying to co-op it with someone who won’t rage-quit.”

Her room feels like the one safe place in the entire town—no popular kids, no bullies, just fairy lights, posters of Star Trek and quantum physics memes, and the quiet hum of her PC fans. Outside, it’s raining hard enough to drown out the world.

Michelle bites her lip, suddenly a little shy. “Also… um, my parents are out until super late. So we’ve got the house to ourselves.”

She quickly adds, “For studying! Or gaming. Or… whatever."

The air feels warm, comfortable, and just a little charged.

Crashing a party (Saturday night, high-energy & risky)

You’re standing on the front lawn of Valerie Voss’s massive house, heart hammering in your chest, clutching a half-crushed red Solo cup someone shoved into your hand the second you slipped through the side gate. The bass from inside is so loud it vibrates in your ribs.

You weren’t exactly invited—Michelle dared you over text (“come on, live a little, worst case we hide in the kitchen and rate people’s outfits”)—but she bailed last minute with a panic attack about Monday’s physics test.

Now you’re alone in a sea of people who either ignore you or shoot curious glances at the obvious outsider in the faded D&D hoodie.

Colored lights flash through the windows. You spot Rachel Riverton shotgunning a beer on the back patio to thunderous cheers from the soccer team. Valerie herself is perched on the kitchen island in a tiny silver top and low-rise jeans, laughing as a circle of admirers hangs on her every word, her blonde hair glowing under the LEDs like some kind of halo.

Then Valerie’s eyes flick toward the doorway—toward you. For one terrifying second she actually looks right at you, head tilted, like she’s trying to place who the hell you are. A slow, amused smile curves her glossed lips. She hops off the counter and starts walking your way, hips swaying, the crowd parting for her like it’s scripted.

“Well, well,” she says when she’s close enough for you to smell her vanilla-coconut perfume over the booze and sweat. “Didn’t think you were the party type, nerd.” She plucks the cup from your hand, takes a sip, and grimaces playfully. “Ugh, warm beer. Tragic.” Her blue eyes lock on yours, sharp and curious. “So… are you here to hide in a corner all night, or are you finally gonna do something interesting?”

Behind her, someone cranks the music louder. The whole house feels like it’s holding its breath waiting for your answer.

Sadie Hawkins dance (school gym, Friday night, emotional & high-stakes)

The gym smells like cheap cologne, sweat, and the fog machine someone definitely overused. Streamers in school colors hang limply from the rafters, and a glittery “SADIE HAWKINS: GIRLS ASK GUYS!” banner sags over the DJ booth currently blasting some overplayed pop remix.

You’re leaning against the bleachers in the rented suit jacket that’s a little too big (your mom insisted), feeling like a total impostor. Almost everyone here has a date. You don’t. You only came because Michelle begged you to be her “emotional support nerd” after she worked up the courage to ask her lab partner… who turned her down.

Now Michelle is nowhere to be seen—probably hiding in the bathroom—and you’re contemplating an Irish exit when the crowd parts.

Valerie Voss is walking straight toward you in a short, deep-red dress that clings in all the right places, her hair swept over one shoulder. Alone. No date. She stops right in front of you, close enough that you can see the tiny freckles across her nose the makeup doesn’t quite hide.

“Hey,” she says, voice softer than you’ve ever heard it in the hallways. She glances around like she’s checking no one’s watching too closely, then back at you. “So… tradition says girls ask guys tonight.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, actually looking nervous for once. “And I didn’t ask anyone.”

Before you can process that, you spot Rachel over Valerie’s shoulder—still in her letterman jacket, laughing with teammates—then Asa Aishito leaning against the opposite wall in a black lace dress and combat boots, smoking a clove cigarette she definitely isn’t supposed to have inside, dark eyes fixed on you with unreadable intensity.

Valerie extends one manicured hand. “Dance with me? Just one. I promise I won’t step on your feet… much.”

The DJ switches to a slow song. Everyone pairs off. All eyes feel like they’re on you.

After-School Pickup Game with Rachel

The final bell rings, and you’re dragging your feet toward the exit, backpack heavy with textbooks and the usual weight of another invisible day at Evergreen High.

You’re halfway across the courtyard when a basketball bounces hard off the pavement and stops right at your sneakers.

“Hey, nerd! Heads up!”

You look up just in time to see Rachel Riverton jogging toward you, short brown hair tousled from practice, black headband keeping the strands out of her hazel eyes.

She’s still in her practice gear—white sports bra under an open gray hoodie, black athletic shorts that show off her strong tanned legs, and well-worn running shoes. A light sheen of sweat makes her freckles stand out even more as she flashes that easy, competitive grin.

She scoops up the ball, spinning it on one finger like it’s nothing. “You’re always hauling ass to the library after school, right? Figured you could use a break.” She tilts her head, sizing you up—not mean, just curious. “Come shoot around with me on the outdoor court. Just ten minutes. I’ll even go easy on you.”

Rachel steps closer, close enough you can smell the faint mix of fresh grass, deodorant, and that clean post-practice energy she always has. Her voice drops a little, teasing but warm. “Unless you’re scared I’ll embarrass you in front of… well, nobody, ‘cause it’s just us.”

She bounces the ball once, twice, waiting for your answer, eyes sparkling with challenge.

Midnight Meet-Up with Asa

It’s well past midnight on a chilly Friday in late fall. You couldn’t sleep—senior year stress, college apps, the usual spiral—so you texted the one person who’s always awake: Asa.

Now you’re sitting side-by-side on the rusty bleachers behind Evergreen High, the football field empty and silver under the floodlights that never quite turn off. The air smells like dead leaves and clove cigarettes.

Asa Aishito is slouched next to you, combat boots planted on the bench below, one knee pulled up to her chest. Her jet-black hair with those purple streaks falls messily over one sharp brown eye, the rest illuminated by the glow of her phone screen. Multiple piercings glint as she tilts her head to look at you—nose ring, lip ring, a row of hoops up her ears. She’s wearing her usual ripped black jeans, fishnet stockings peeking through the tears, a faded Siouxsie and the Banshees tee under an oversized leather jacket covered in pins and patches. A thin trail of smoke curls from the clove between her fingers.

Without a word, she offers it to you—take a drag or not, your call.

“Couldn’t sleep either, huh?” Her voice is low, raspy from the smoke, laced with that familiar dry sarcasm. “Figured. You’ve had that ‘about to snap’ look all week.”

She leans back, exhaling toward the stars, tattoos visible on her wrist and forearm in the dim light—a little skull, runic symbols crawling up her pale skin.

“School’s a fucking circus,” she mutters.

“Everyone pretending they’ve got it together while the world burns.” A pause. She glances sideways, something almost soft flickering behind the heavy eyeliner. “But you… you don’t pretend. That’s why I answered your text.”

The clove burns shorter. Crickets chirp in the distance. It feels like the whole town is asleep—except for the two of you.

Asa nudges your shoulder with hers. “So talk. Or don’t. We can just sit here and watch the lights flicker until the cops chase us off. Your choice, nerd.”

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