Lingering behind outside, Letha waited twenty minutes before entering her classroom, doing so without knocking. She had time enough to walk in, storm to the back, and set her books on the desk before the teacher reacted.

“Ms Antitheus!”

“Yes sir?”

The middle-aged man wiggled his glasses, setting them more firmly on the bridge of his nose before he pointed to the door.

“Office. Now. I believe you know the drill.”

Picking up her books again, Letha walked out of history as usual. As she passed the front row, the new boy with the watch tossed his hair slightly, and grinned at her. He was one bright blue curl that emerged from his crown, and it swung into his eye. Letha scowled at him; what didn’t this boy understand about such simple sign language.

Outside the door, Letha paused, considering whether to actually go to the office or not. Deciding her refuge had been ruined for the day by the new kids, she put the tree from her mind and, sighing, headed to the office. The balcony was deserted, the classrooms she passed full and trotting down the stairs, Letha wondered what they were doing in history right now. The crusades? The Salem witch trials? One of the many wars begun by religious differences? There wasn’t a thing in the world that Letha couldn’t blame on religion.

Stepping inside the office, Letha assessed the lady behind the desk. She was new, but gave Letha a grim smile.

“Letha Antitheus, I presume.”

“Present,” Letha said with overtly fake cheer.

The woman rose, scratching her chin. She appraised Letha slowly, as Letha returned the favour. Tall and thin with thick glasses, the woman had a distinctly ‘giraffe’ air to her, enhanced by the leopard skin jacket she wore. Letha wondered what Giraffe saw; a skinny, ill-looking child with hard eyes or the rebel who was wearing jeans when it wasn’t Friday along with a school uniform that had the collar ripped off. Annoyed by the quiet, Letha raised a brow.

“Dr John is expecting you.”

The upside to going to the office was the heating, but the downside was Dr John, the school psychologist. For the last year, Dr John had been talking to Letha about her behaviour and her future, neither of which were topics that she showed any interest in. John Stanford had a dealt with rebels and inebriates before, had ‘straightened them out’, but Letha had resisted all help. Once he had eventually gotten her in his office of course.

Now, Letha walked in easily enough, collapsing in the armchair. Ritually, their stare-down began. Dr John was average height, average weight, average temperament and average complexion. He didn’t wear glasses or have braces, and he looked neither younger nor older than his thirty-four years. And, as always, Dr John looked away first. Letha smirked.

“How was your weekend, Letha?” He asked, but continued without waiting for the reply he was never going to get, “Did you eat anything good? See any good movies? Meet any new people?”

Dr John had developed a method of talking with Letha, where he’d ask a lot of questions in quick succession. If he said something that offended her or intrigued her, she’d reply, or in some cases like this, she’d react accidentally and Dr John would strike gold. This had happened twice over the last year, and each had resulted in yelling and a period where Letha didn’t attend for several weeks.

“you met someone?” he murmured again, jotting something down in his pad, “At home? At work? Do you work?”

Letha snorted and Dr John made a note.

“So at school. Boy or girl?”

Letha raised an eyebrow, and said instead of replying, “Do you know that it is possible to lick your own elbow after you dismember your arm?”

“I would imagine so, Letha,” Dr John said carefully, “Did you talk to this person? Or flit with this person? You can talk to me about anything, Letha.”

Scrunched up in the seat, Letha looked again at Dr John. He always sounded so sincere when he said that, but Letha had a good memory. He’d used his question game for the first time and discovered that her mother was dead. He’d told the principle, for fear she hadn’t had the ‘facts of life’ explained to her. Letha had barged into his office screaming at him. “My mother is none of your business, you bastard,” she’d screeched, “I’ll kill you if you ever bring her up again, you or anyone else”. The police had to be called. That was the one time Letha’s father had been proud of her; when she’d been brought home by the police in handcuffs.

Dr John’s thoughts had taken him along the same path, “Is there anything you would like to talk about, Letha?”

Letha smirked, “Do you think there’s anything I would like to talk about?”

Dr John tilted his head, his expression carefully neutral, “I do.”

“Do you think there’s a high likelihood of me talking about it?”

Still neutral, the doctor shook his head.

Letha scrambled to her feet, “Then we are done here. See you next week, Doc.”

Moving as fast as her feet would carry her, Letha dashed form the room, grimacing at Giraffe. Outside the door, she took a step to the side and paused, leaning against the wall. Giraffe let out a jagged breath, and Letha heard Dr John’s footsteps.

“Lila,” he said, “Could you forward me that email you were talking about earlier?”

Fingers flew across a keyboard, “Sure, John.” She paused, and for a second there was only the sound of breathing and typing. “I don’t like that girl.”

“Not many do, Lila.”

Letha bristled, but shrugged; to tell the truth, he was being kind.

“She’s hurting,” Dr John said, and Letha pulled a face, “Her file alludes to a lot, but never says anything specific. Every time I get close to something, I get threatened.”

“Some things,” Giraffe said so nasally that Letha was sure her nose was sky-high, “Are best left un-disturbed.”

Dr John’s voice drew louder, as he moved toward the door, “That is the opinion that got my last secretary fired. Superman doesn’t decide whose worth saving.”

Walking away, Letha wondered in what weird fantasy world Dr John was Superman. She dragged her knuckles across the lockers, letting out several thumps every time she took a step. Her next class was maths, and Letha wondered whether or not to go. She contemplated going home, but decided that even thinking that meant she deserved another twenty minutes with Dr John. Maths it was.

Throwing her books in a bush, Letha arrived at her classroom door on the bell. The class within emerged, going single file to avoid stepping too close to Letha, who was smiling cruelly. When they were out, she stomped inside, pulling a desk to the back corner and kicking her legs up onto the table. Her teacher stumbled when she came in, staring at Letha. She coughed, smiled weakly, and sunk behind her desk, watching the rest of her class enter.

The new boy, chatting animatedly with a skinny blonde girl, swung through the door, smiling at his teacher. He introduced himself, looking for a seat. He spotted Letha and approached.

“Hi.”

Looking at the revolted expressions being cast her way from several beautiful girls, Letha raised a brow, “You’re kidding, right?”

He smiled in confusion, “excuse me?”

“Move. On. Pretty-boy.” Letha said slowly, flicking her fingers at spare desks across the room.

“You think I’m pretty?” the idiot grinned happily, settling into the seat beside her.

The revulsion of her peers turned to anger.

“You really don’t want to sit there,” she commented softly, angling her head so she didn’t have to look at anyone.

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

The teacher stood, “Letha, could you remove your feet please?”

Letha smiled, “Yes, ma’am.” But failed to move. The boy scowled at her, before leaning over to shove her feet off the desk. Her boots collided with the linoleum, causing the whole class to turn. Outraged, Letha turned to him. She slipped her fingers under the rim of his chair, tipping it over. He managed to stand, but his chair clattered to the floor. Raising one foot, Letha pushed his desk away, giving a tiny, sarcastic wave.

He grinned brightly, picking up his chair and sitting where Letha had shoved his desk. His smile infuriated her further, and she folded her arms across her chest, deliberately putting her feet back on the table. The boy just shook his head, focusing on the front of the classroom. The teacher coughed, pushing her glasses further up her nose as her class gradually turned back to face her.

“Ok,” she said slowly, swallowing heavily, “Today we begin a unit on algebra. Could everyone open up to page 74.”

Her eyes focused on the clock, Letha counted the seconds until the day was over. Her teacher frowned at her, but let her be, having given up the fight with Letha many months previously. She drew an example on the board, talking her way through it, and then asking her students finish it themselves.

The boy leant over to Letha, “Did I do it right?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Letha looked at his answer, “No.”

He frowned, staring at his page. His brown curls fell in front of his eyes, the single ringlet of blue sitting on top. He was chewing on his lip.

“How do you know?”

“I know because you did it wrong,” Letha said, rolling her eyes. She glared at him, “And what is with the blue?”

“My gosh,” he muttered, putting a hand to his mouth in mock horror, “is that interest I detect in your question.”

Letha scowled.

“I used to be a bit of a rebel,” he shrugged, smiling, “and I thought it was cool to have not-normal hair. I keep it there as a reminder of how people can change.”

Letha laughed coldly, “people don’t change.”

“If you believe that you must live a very static life. Do you ever focus on the good? You know, ‘girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes. Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes.’”

Letha raised an eyebrow, “You have blue hair and quote musicals? Wow.”

He leant across and offered her his hand, “The name’s Mickey.”

“Good for you.”

Turning away, Letha saw Sarah Cordell watching her from the front row. She winked, nodding at Mickey, and a grin broke out on her face. Letha snorted, focusing back on the clock. Still smiling, Mickey withdrew his hand, nodding at Sarah, and correcting the answer in his book.