Rumi

The fluorescent lights of the comic shop hummed with a low, relentless buzz that made Rumi want to rip her own ears off.

She slumped over the glass display counter, her chin resting heavily in the palm of one hand while the other mindlessly scrolled through her phone. Her sneakers were kicked up against the lower shelf, right next to a box of overpriced booster packs she had been supposed to inventory two hours ago.

Four hours. Four whole hours left in this cardboard-smelling purgatory.

She blew a massive pink bubble until it obscured half her face, letting it pop with a loud snap in the dead silence of the store. She chewed the gum aggressively, glaring out the front window into the dark parking lot. Not a single car had pulled up since seven. Not even one of the usual mouth-breathing regulars coming in to argue about power scaling or whatever it was they did instead of showering.

At least when the nerds were in here, she had someone to look at her. Being completely alone was practically a crime against her outfit. She’d spent twenty minutes getting her eyeliner wings this sharp, and for what? So a bunch of plastic action figures could appreciate it? Kuso. [Shit]

Groaning, she dropped her phone onto the glass with a clatter and reached down into the canvas tote bag resting by her feet. The metal keychains jingled loudly as she rummaged past her wallet and a spare lip gloss, finally pulling out a half-eaten bag of Hot Cheetos Puffs.

She popped one into her mouth, the crunch echoing in the empty room, and kicked the underside of the counter just to make some noise.

"Ugh, someone come in and buy something stupid already," she muttered to the rows of manga, licking the red dust off her thumb. Boring, boring, boring.

The bass from the speakers rattled the floorboards, vibrating right up through the thick soles of Rumi’s feet. She was warm—the good kind of warm that started in the belly after four pink, sugary drinks and spread all the way to the tips of her fingers.

Somebody was talking near the beer pong table, some guy in a backwards hat trying to get a chant going. Rumi narrowed her eyes. He wasn't even cute, and his voice was way too raspy to be leading anything.

She handed her half-empty Solo cup to a random girl standing next to her without looking to see if she actually took it, grabbed the edge of the sticky wooden coffee table, and hoisted herself up. A couple of plastic cups went flying, spilling lukewarm beer onto the rug.

"Hey! Hey!" Rumi shouted, kicking an empty can off the wood so it clattered against a frat bro's shin. She planted her hands on her hips, swaying slightly before catching her balance. "Shut up! Look at me!"

The immediate circle of people quieted down, heads turning as she stood a foot and a half above the crowd.

"This music sucks, the beer tastes like piss, and half of you are wearing the exact same shirt!" She threw an arm out, pointing dramatically toward the kitchen. "Whoever is in charge of the aux cord needs to be expelled! And whoever brought the cheap vodka—Omae wa mou shindeiru! [You are already dead!]" She giggled, loud and bright, throwing both arms up in a V. "Now somebody get me a shot that doesn't taste like rubbing alcohol before I start grading your outfits!"

A massive cheer went up from the guys around the table, cups raising in the air as someone howled in the back.

Tanjun na baka-domo. [Simple-minded idiots.]

Beaming, Rumi soaked it in for a good five seconds, blowing a sloppy kiss to the room at large before deciding her ankles hurt. She didn't bother climbing down properly. She just stepped right off the edge of the table and dropped straight onto the beat-up leather couch behind it, bouncing once on the saggy cushions.

She sprawled out, taking up two-thirds of the seats, and crossed one leg over the other. Her skirt rode up a little, and she tugged the hem down lazily, crossing her arms under her chest with a huge, self-satisfied smirk.

God, I run this place.

Rumi dropped her canvas tote onto the floor beside her desk with a metallic clatter of pins and keychains, slumping back into the stiff plastic chair. She blew a pink bubble until it obscured half her face, letting it pop before sucking the gum back into her mouth with a sharp snap.

Up at the front of the lecture hall, the professor tapped his microphone, sending a low feedback hum through the speakers before pulling up a brightly colored spreadsheet on the projector screen.

"Alright, settle down," the professor droned, adjusting his glasses. "For the midterm phase diagram analysis, you'll be working in pairs. Before you all start migrating across the room to sit with your friends, I've already run the desk numbers through a randomizer. Check the number on the corner of your desk and find your match on the board."

A collective groan rippled through the room. Rumi rolled her eyes, leaning forward with her elbows on the wood to squint at the little brass plate bolted to the top right corner of her desk. 14.

She looked up at the glowing projector screen, her eyes scanning the two columns of numbers until she found 14 paired with... 42.

Urusai na... [How annoying...] If she got stuck with some sweaty mouth-breather who didn't know how to read a binary alloy chart, she was going to make them type the entire twenty-page report by themselves while she supervised. She dug into her tote bag, pulling out a foil packet of Pop-Tarts, and twisted around in her seat to scan the tiered rows behind her, trying to figure out where the forty-somethings were located.

"Hey!" she called out right over the rising chatter of eighty engineering students shuffling around, waving the silver foil packet in the air like a flare. "Who has forty-two? Don't make me walk all the way up the stairs in these shoes, get down here!"