The Highs and Lows of Highschool Football

The early private ride to school had been smooth, and as Mel put the finishing touches on her makeup in the backseat, scrutinizing the slight error in her golden eyeshadow, she clasped her makeup kit shut.

It was essential, especially today, she got to school early. That way she could give time, room and reason for the secretary, who would, with agonizing slowness, waddle off and hunt down the printer machine. Mel nervously fidgeted with her nails, polishing the delicate press-ons down. She corrected her posture the second she heard the faint clobbering of the secretary coming back, and with a huff, they handed Mel her schedule. It was demanding, she knew, to ask for a slip of paper she would’ve easily been able to print from home, but her mother could’ve seen it. Would’ve.

She sighed with relief as she saw the forbidden class nestled between her first period and lunch.

Art .

She knew she would have never heard the end of it. Terms that described strongly of wasted potential and idiocy would’ve bounced off the large lonely walls of the dining room, and Mel wasn’t quite ready to change yet again, another part of her strict schedule just to avoid that piercing glare.

A satisfying clipped rhythm followed her and echoed down the halls as her signature black ‘flats’ (she’d had them custom made to upgrade them to platforms), as she entered her first class of the day, so early, that even the teacher didn’t seem to arrive to class yet.

She made sure to casually stride towards the front, and a quick glance at the class list that lay open on Heimerdinger’s oak desk, a flicker of a smile passed her face as she read his name.

Jayce Talis .

It was well known that whatever Mel wanted, always foxed her way into getting. Grades, behind the scenes events, and in recent years, people. If Mel joined your race, it was custom to throw your white flag, why bother fighting when her presence meant a complete obliteration of competition?

She analyzed the room, finding a seat second to the front. Jayce, whether he noticed or not, would sit at a neighbouring desk. The lighting from those polished windows would be just right, and the position excellent to a personality like him, eager, nerdy, but not ( that ) stuck up. There wasn’t a chance that he would sit near the back, nor stray too far on the edges of the class. If Mel was lucky, he would sit in front of her, and if he had anything but a goldfish’s memory, he would sit next to her.

Infatuation was such a delicate emotion, and it gripped Mel the second she layed her eyes on Jayce, his cheering echoing as their school won second place at the annual robotics competition. Elora, her ‘maid’, though Mel would cut the tongue of anyone who referred to her as such, had encouraged her to go. It almost seemed like she had a knowing glint in her eyes, “Make connections with other school clubs! Maybe you can boost interest in that little club of yours if you’d join.” 

She rarely took interest in these sorts of things, she’d rather pore over details of her Debate’s Club latest event, but that boy…

What was it other than the potential he had that kept Mel looking for him in the hallways and noticing him in her classes? He had a pretty face, sure, but behind that thick skull of his, there was actually something there, unlike the rest of her classmates.

She couldn’t help but giggle at the shocked look on his face when she’d come up to him for help (not that she needed it) on a classroom project one day. It seemed simple really, Mel needed to amp her confidence, sultrify her tone, and brush her hands against his, and the rest would be history. 

Unlike her mother, she wouldn’t throw this one away once she was done with her boytoy. She would keep him, polish him, root his success, and have him celebrate her’s. It was perfect, this little plan of hers.

But Jayce, despite the brain that nestled under his thick skull, lacked any emotional function to realise all of her ‘caught’ staring, and blushes, and giggles, was anything but platonic. Their one-on-one ‘hangouts’, where they shared ice cream and stayed out late to look at the stars, seemed painfully friendly to him. Once, in a quiet and tense moment, Mel had leaned in for an embrace, and Jayce would pat her back as if she was an old friend. Mel often screamed into her pillow, her frustration bouncing off the empty walls of her house.

Summer came and went, and nothing had progressed. But this year, her final year at this school, would be her year. Jayce Talis, that awful pretty boy, would do NOTHING to ruin it. 

And how could she even start on that ratty friend of his?

It surprised her, of how she thought, detested, and loathed Viktor more than she even spoke to him. But hate always happened to be a language of few words, and Viktor seemed more than happy to retaliate that shared emotion.

Whenever Mel had scooted closer to Jayce, Viktor had always practically slashed her with a snide comment, or glared at her through his dark eyes and long eyelashes. Mel, though she hated to admit it, was always jealous of Viktor…

For his eyelashes of course! She would never get herself caught up over a boy, and his bestfriend who she had an unspoken heated rivalry with. Would she?

Viktor often remarked on her intelligence, her beauty, in the most backhanded ways possible, “You’re incredibly smart Mel, so why in the world would you come to Jayce for help? You’re quite capable, don’t you know?”

If it weren’t for the subtle context of rivalry for Jayce’s attention, one might’ve taken it as a compliment turned awkward due to Viktor’s habits of monotone bluntness, but Mel always took the chance to fakely smile back at him. She was beginning to slowly root herself in success as Jayce scooted a chair closer, or threw his scrawled class notes at her, and sometimes, looked away with a flush when she caught him staring at her. Though she could assume, behind that 1000 yard stare he had sometimes, he’d deduced his actions as a result of growing closer to Mel as friends . To Mel, it was a start, an agonizing, worth more than it’s trouble, start. At least it meant she was winning.

-Of course she was winning, what chance did Viktor have with his greasy mop of hair, versus her impeccable demeanor? Jayce, if he had remembered anything of their budding friendship during the last school year, and that horrdid awkward phase of being close but not closer during the summer, would sit next to her.

It was all calculated, it was guaranteed.

Yet as the class began to fill, and the bell rang in a bright trill, Jayce had yet to make his grand appearance.

‘ Where is that fucker? ’ She sighed and flipped open her notes as the seat to her right remained stagnently empty, the trickle of students slowed, and the room filled with excited chatter. She didn’t even like physics that much, not enough to take an advanced class in it anyways.

As Heimerdinger, in a specialized miniature suit, made his way towards the front, Mel kept looking back at the door. Even his spectacle of pulling up a ridiculously large step-stool didn’t let her peel herself away from a total focus on the door. 

Was she going crazy? Did she accidentally glance over at the incorrect class list? What if it was Period 2, during her forbidden art class? Was it worth it to ask to transfer classes? Would she give up Art to get closer to Jayce Talis?

An eruption of laughter scattered across the room as Heimerdinger finally climbed to the tallest step of the stool, and still barely was able to reach the top of the board. Twirling his signature moustache, he chuckled, and wrote his name in bolded stripes of chalk.

“Students!” His shrill voice announced, “Today, This morning, at this very instance! You no longer are young eager minds that simply absorb information, oh no…” 

With a grand uplift of his arms, he directed attention towards a gigantic shelf filled with a various array of equipment, “Starting today, is your chance to prove your worth to Piltover’s Engineering Society! Each of your brilliant minds may team up, or work alone if you’d like, to innovate a new sort of technology for Piltover, using the concepts we learn in this class of course.”

Heimerdinger charmingly winked at the class as they buzzed with an excitement Mel did not share in. A loud stumble from the back of the class caused her to whip around, and she tilted her head in confusion as a young girl with vibrant blue hair came through the door, mouthing curses at her untied shoe laces, before she noticed with an obvious horror at how everyone was looking at her.

“I’m so sorry for being late-” She began, the words rambling off her tongue, and jammed with a frightening pace, “-it won’t happen again, I got caught in a-”

“-A little accident, nothing more Professor.” Mel couldn’t help but sit straighter, smile more softly as Jayce’s voice, followed by his pristinely collected steps, entered the class.

“Bumped into her this morning, and it sent all three of us tumbling down.” Jayce finally took notice of Mel, and with a sudden shyness, waved at her slightly.

“I would say it was more than just a ‘ tumble’ ” Viktor grumbled, though with light-heartedness as his leg brace squealed as he hobbled into the room, “Good Morning Professor, I apologize for the tardy intrusion.”

Mel scowled.

“Don’t make this a habit boys, and uh… your name Ms…?”

“Jinx” The girl frantically traced the room for a seat, and her eyes settled on the one next to Mel, beelineing for it.

“I uh-” Heimerdinger interrupted her, “I don’t think I seem to have you… though I am missing a Powder .”

Jinx, or possibly ‘Powder’ froze slightly, Mel could almost feel pity for the way her face dropped if she weren’t heading for Jayce’s seat, “That’s, yes, that’s me.” Jinx’s voice had retreated to a whisper, and even then it seemed forced, as if she’d lost her vocal cords completely.

Heimerdinger didn’t even blink at Jinx’s oddness, “Well then dear, take a seat! Science is waiting to be discovered!” Mel could almost roll her eyes at the handful of cliche motivational quotes Heimerdinger rephrased and exclaimed every five minutes, but she had no time to focus on school. 

As sweetly as she could, she whipped her head around, “Jayce!” she whispered-shouted. Luckily for her, he took notice, and returned the same sugary smile back to her. With a deliberate hand, she pointed at the desk beside her, the one that Jinx was about to slide into, “Sit next to me!”

If Jayce had remembered anything, he would sit next to her. The silent plead in her head had yet to have a defined answer.

Jayce, like a confused puppy, turned over to Viktor (of all people) for permission, but he looked away and whispered something Mel couldn’t make out. Jayce, practically tail wagging and bright eye, came up to Mel and sat down beside her.

Perfect. According to plan, despite the bumps along the way.

Jinx stood awkwardly half a step back from the seat she was going to sit in, and slowly made her way backwards, until she bumped against the wall.

Mel heard a slight conversation, though even better, the irritation that was slick over Viktor’s tone like spilled paint on canvas. She turned back, waiting until Viktor was caught in her smug leer. She watched as his mouth opened, and closed again, like a gaping fish out of water. He huffed and dragged the new girl down to the desks at the back of the class, throwing behind him a odd long scroll of paper. With a quick flick of her eyes, she analyzed him up and down, and up again. A malicious smile quirked the corner of her lips up ever so slightly, and she turned her attention back towards the board again.

She didn’t need to hear Viktor’s fuming, much less see it. That positively radiant negative energy swallowed the room, just as Mel had predicted it would.

Perfect. According to plan, despite the bumps along the way.

‘ Maybe Mother will get off my back, once I show her I’m capable of securing success.’ She thought faintly as her hands, her cursive loopy and defined, etched notes across paper. Viktor was a man of the past, and Jayce was her man of progress, her future.

She would be proud, for once. Proud.

Vi didn’t let any teacher’s express their hidden saviour complexs. As she plopped into her first class of the day, late of course, she proceeded to prop her feet up on the empty desk in front of her. The teacher, completely perplexed, had paused to stare at her, and all she did was smirk a shit-eating grin back at them. 

The table was set with obvious communication, she didn’t want to be here. 

Was there a guilt drawing her down, even if it was a dull speck speaking in rhymes and reason in the back of her mind? Of course, but Vi was intent on brooding with her hood up, arms crossed with a huff, and glaring daggers at anyone who even glanced her way.

Let them judge. She didn’t belong here. Pow- Jinx , she belonged here, amongst these privileged nerds who had food, comfort and stability fed to them on a stainless silver spoon. Jinx and that catastrophic scholarship.

She had begged Vander -she would’ve even kissed the ground he walked on if a warm hand didn’t yank her up to save her dignity- to let her spend her last school year with her friends, with her reigning title of Zaun’s football powerhouse, with her reputation of being the hearthrob of every girl’s dream. Well, the last part was more of a projected wish, but it was a fact that Vi could get behind, with how everyone stared at her with awe whenever she strutted down the hall, flanked by Mylo and Claggor. 

God, she would never say it, but she missed them. More than she would ever let herself admit.

By now, they would’ve skipped first period, with Claggor chiding them for their immature habits, and be sitting on a rooftop chowing on snacks, some of Vander’s bar drinks, and perhaps if Claggor managed to pull out the stick that remained firmly clenched up his ass, a blunt would be passed between the three. Talk about spreading meningitis like the common flu, the way the three shared anything and everything edible. It was comfortable that way, the only life Vi knew. Food, skipping classes, playing football games, helping Vander out with the Bar, snorting laughter with her friends. 

Of course, none of these details she shared to Vander, she was the brightest star in his eyes, and yet he would throw away all of that potential to become the bottom of the barrel, at Piltover of all places. 

She didn’t even get to experience highschool normally, and it wasn’t even due to her bad habits. It was because of Jinx. 

Her sister’s name rolled off her tongue mentally with a bitterness that pitted her stomach. She shouldn’t be feeling this way, it was her baby sister whose name she couldn’t imagine cursing at her lows, the name that would never grace with gratitude at her highs. If the two boys were here, maybe she could build courage to dissect her complex relationship. They were, after all, one of the few who knew her ‘before’… and the part of the many that knew her ‘after’.

She’d practically yelled at Vander, as if volume would shove her point across to him, “I can protect her at school! Goddamnit, I WILL ! At any whiff of trouble, from anyone, kids, teachers, I’ll walk them like dogs, just watch me!”

But Vander had turned away from her, “Vi, please, I don’t need you to do that. What we need is fresh start.”

“What ‘We’?” She spat with distaste, “There is no ‘we’ here! There is only-”

Vander glanced at her, gentle, patient, but it was a warning. Vi became acutely aware of the shadowed figure who sat eavesdropping from the top of the stairs that led to the basement. Tonight, the bar was empty, the ‘closed’ sign was beginning to collect dust from how untouched it had been. Vander was losing business by keeping his doors closed. 

Jinx’s long braids gave her away, her every shiver of movement left them flapping about, clinks from the beads in her hair, and the long shadows of movement on the floor.

It felt odd to see her again, to… have her around again. Vi had expected her to be shorter when both Vander and Vi eventually met the grand day where they drove over to the Police Station to pick her up. It was odd, admittedly, to be on the other side of that holding cell that Vander had bailed her out of so many times.

When Vi tapped the bar, she flinched like a little kid. Yet, when she stood up, her long tangled hair cascaded behind her like some crazed Rapunzel, Vi took a double take. She’d sprouted up, though as frail as a thin stalk stretching for air past the undercity smog. She was different, hollowed out, a cavity filled tendrils of a dark past she refused to talk about.

But everyone knew what happened, and it was all the more reason that encouraged Vander to pack everything up and to relocate to Topside. Of course, he’d left the bar under the care of an experienced hire, and under the careful supervision of Mylo and Claggor, who were to call him on their dusty cracked phones at any hint of mismanagement. The transitional process had been smooth, for everyone except Vi.

Here… everything she’d worked for, reputation, respect, and relationships, had gutted themselves and died back home. She was a blank canvas, but Vi was no artist. She was about as fluid as a rock.

The frustration was pent up in her like a shaken can of coke, the soda kind, not the fun one. She placed a scowl on her lips as the teacher continued to yap about classical literature, occasionally glancing at Vi like she was a rabid mutt, about to lash out. Any peers that dared to look in her direction received a harsh glare in return.

Her shields were up, her defense was up. As Vander always said, “Keep your hands up kid, you never know when they’ll swing at ya next.”

Vi noticed a girl, curtly sat on the other side of the room, who seemed to keep glancing back at her. Vi couldn’t quite make out her face, and look her in the eye so she could catch the hint to mind her own fucking business. She was hidden through the crowd of thick skulls and ridiculously clean and primped hair.

As she lifted her head, sat up a little further so she could glare daggers, a sudden authoritative shadow blocked her view. When her eyes darted up, she was surprised to see the teacher, nervously fidgeting her fingers, look down sympathetically. 

“Honey, do you mind, um, removing your shoes from the desk in front of you? It’s distracting other students.” Their mouth was held tightly, a firm frowned line. 

“It’s my problem that those wide-eyed rats can’t mind their own business, Honey?” Vi sneered a honey-dripped tone back.

A boy, practically steaming, abruptly stood up and cast that ever-so-familliar accusatory finger at Vi, “You’re one to talk! Don’t go around calling us rats when you’re no better than every other common trencher! It’s a disgrace to share the same room as you. Why are you even here?”

Vi snorted down a cold laugh, itching for a fight, “Get used to it kid, don’t get your bleached pretty panties in a bunch.”

“You’re that kid, aren’t you? That dumb sister to that maniac they accepted.” There was a short lived triumph as Vi threw a chewed eraser at him and it struck him between the eyes. That boy was on thin ice. “My father told me all about her, a low-life druggy.”

“You just love to talk, don’t you?” A warning.

“Genius or not, Piltover isn’t a place for the batshit crazy, go back to the slums!”

As Vi sat up foward in her seat, she practically titled herself a seer with how easily predictable the next few minutes would be.

That pompous boy would gasp dramatically and clasp the pearls around his neck as Vi spat at him, the teacher would demand apologies from both sides -though it was mostly directed towards Vi- and regret even bringing Vi up in the first place. Ignorance was bliss. Vi wouldn’t back down, stubborn as ever, and the other boy might fling himself into a fight Vi would win.

Security was called, and they would drag her, thrashing the whole way, up to the principals office.

As the disgruntled security looped their arms around Vi, and pulled her off of the boy, or rather, a reduced mess of blood, pulp, and broken noses, she finally caught a glimpse of the faceless girl. It was a millisecond of eye contact, an icy blue stare, expressionless except for a twitch in her eyebrow. She was curious.

And who wouldn’t be? Vi noticed several heads peep out of classroom doors in an intrigue to discover who was being dragged by their shoulders down the hall. She was a spectacle, and if it weren’t for spite and anger causing her to lash out, it would be shame that stitched her pursed lips shut.

The bell that announced second period rung as Vi was thrown courteously onto a chair in the office. For a moment, all the secretary’s stared at her in shock, before they all went back to hustling about with paper and hushed phone calls.

Vi noticed then, how dusty the chairs were. They must not get lots of delinquints.

She sighed and leaned back, closing her eyes as she let the hum of the vents and shuffling paper wash over her. Vander would be disappointed, not even one day in, shit, less than a class, and Vi was being reprimanded already. If she didn’t get an award, she’d get a long and awkward dinner table talk in their unfinished raggedy apartment.

“Why Vi?” Her thoughts, and his distinct voice, harmonized in her head. This was, after all, for Jinx. Vi owed her one more year, at the very least.

A curt voice snapped her out of her thoughts, “Um… Hey, you’re Vi right?”

She blinked as she looked up to find the nosy curious girl looking down at her, cautiously.

“Who the hell are you?” Vi broke away from her intense look, picking up a nearby book, rolling her eyes when she read, ‘Piltover’s Student Handbook.’ There must’ve been a few hundred thousand rules she’d broke already. She tossed the book back.

“You’re interesting, you know?” There was hesitation in her voice, dancing around her real motive for talking with Vi.

“Really, what made you think that? Is it the hair? The clothes? The beating-a-kid-up first day in?”

“Well No, I mean yes but… no.” She rummaged a hand through her bag, and pulled up an incredibly beaten up notebook, stuffed to the brim with sticky notes and other stationary matter. “What do you know about… the Shimmer Empire.”

“This chat we’re having is over.” Vi shortly stated. Knowing about Jinx… and her past… that was unfortunately, more easily accessible than Vi had anticipated. That kid’s daddy must’ve been an enforcer in Zaun, and gossip always seemed to spread faster in the smog. The fresh-start they’d come all the way up to Piltover for was short lived. But… knowing exactly what sort of mess Jinx had wound up in- how did this girl find this?

Frantic at the prospect of losing Vi’s attention, the girl flipped open the book and came across a scrawled page and shoved in her face, “I thought this might interest you, it’s… about your sister.”

It was a scrapbook of various images of vials of a vaperous purple liquid, amateur sketches of an abandoned building, as well as somewhat blurry photos of a dusty old room. Scrawlings of notes, and highlighted connections overlapped in an organized mess.

Vi’s eyes widened,  before they dropped again, “I have no clue what you’re showing me. Get out of my face, weird girl.” Vi forbade herself from looking any further, all it would do was make her more curious, and she couldn’t spare the time or energy to relapse into a repeatable cycle of the past. She couldn’t help it, her eyes flickered back, just slightly.

“Please, just… think about it. Whatever you can remember. I’m Caitlyn, by the way.” When Vi looked back up, a business card had been shoved in her face. It felt ridiculous, like she was being faced with an eager salesman hoping to get reviewed to gain the next promotion. Vi took the card, flipping it over, to find a name, etched in gold: Caitlyn Kiramman .

“Fancy.” Vi muttered reading further, “President of the school’s journalism club, aren’t you? Is this all this is? A story to entertain you piltie junk?”

The girl -Caitlyn- shuffled on her feet, uncomfortable. Vi wondered if she regretted approaching her in the first place. “I’ll admit, yes, I'm looking to devlop it into a story, but it’s not to ‘entertain’ . It’s meant to call out the real-time issues and conditions of Zaun. To remove the stigma.”

“Cute, so after I admit my hobbies and reveal the raw secrets of my life, how long will it take for you to call in Enforcers to arrest me for crimes I’ve already paid for? They’re all the same, topside or bottom, you don’t care about us.”

“I do! That’s why I’m writing this-”

“Where would that sort of reason come from a primped and proper Piltie girl like you? What’s your real motive?” Vi crossed her arms, a window of a gap shutting quickly, closing herself off.

Caitlyn sighed, and sat in the dusty chair next to her. Vi scooted further away. 

“It sounds so contrary, but a few years ago, some work friends of mine got injured down in Zaun. Yes, they were enforcers, but… not the type you know. One day, he got ambushed on a drug run, and was taken hostage. He’d expected a gruesome end. But that’s when he saw Zaun’s true nature," Caitlyn continued, her voice quieter now, like she was choosing her words carefully. "People like you -people from Zaun- are… often misrepresented. But he didn’t let that stop him. He’d tell me stories, about the smog, the fights, the way people had to survive. And how-" Caitlyn paused, almost as if weighing the truth in her mind, "-how sometimes, people were forced to do things they didn’t want to, just to get by."

Vi shot her a look of incredulity. "And this is your way of what , exactly? Trying to be a saint?"

Caitlyn’s face reddened, but she didn’t look away. "No, I just… I want people to understand. Not all of us up here see you like that." Her eyes softened, but there was a spark in them that Vi couldn’t quite place. "You’re not all just trouble, Vi. You’re... more than your past. More than rumors. You can have a place here too."

The mention of Jinx made Vi's chest tighten, but she refused to flinch. She crossed her arms tighter, her guard up. "You don’t know anything about me. Or her."

Caitlyn leaned forward slightly, as if bracing herself for a counterattack. "No, I don’t. But I know what it's like to have someone you care about... go down a path that’s hard to follow. Maybe I don't understand everything, but I think you can stop running from who you are, Vi. You don’t have to hide behind this whole ‘ I don’t care ’ act."

Vi felt the heat rise in her chest, the familiar anger creeping in. "And what, you’re gonna fix me now? Piltie girl to the rescue?"

Caitlyn flinched but quickly recovered. "No. I’m not trying to fix you. I just want to help." She looked down at her notebook, still open on her lap. The pages were filled with notes, diagrams, and pictures that Vi wished meant nothing to her, and probably meant everything to Caitlyn. She shut it with a snap, like a teacher closing a book at the end of a lesson.

Vi stared at the girl in front of her, trying to place her -figure her out. Caitlyn Kiramman, the top-tier Piltie princess with the journalist dream, sitting in a dusty school office next to a girl who’d spent her life in the streets. It didn’t add up.

"You really think you can help?" Vi scoffed. "You think a story’s gonna change anything? The moment your precious Piltover’s done with us, they’ll toss us back to the dirt and forget we exist. It’s a one hit wonder, and then it’s back to poverty and tea for soup."

Caitlyn was silent for a moment, her gaze dropping to the floor as she considered Vi’s words. "Maybe." Her voice was softer now, almost like she was speaking to herself. "But maybe if we keep fighting -if we keep telling our stories- there’s a chance someone might listen." She looked back up at Vi, a faint fire in her eyes. "You don’t seem the type to keep quiet, Vi. I don’t think you want to be scilenced."

Vi’s stomach twisted at the words. She wanted to spit in Caitlyn’s face, tell her to take her pity and shove it. But somewhere deep inside her, where she wouldn’t let herself acknowledge it, Caitlyn’s words cut through like a dull knife, stirring up something she thought she had buried long ago. The last time Vi had trusted anyone wholeheartedly, was before.. She got into highschool. That incident. She’d trusted the wrong people, really trusted them. It was before everything fell apart. Before Jinx.

Vi’s fingers twitched, but she held herself back, not ready to let anyone—especially some uptight Piltie—see her crack.

"Whatever," Vi muttered, standing up abruptly. "I don’t have time for this. You want a story? You’re looking at the wrong person."

The secretary glared at her. Vi sat back down.

Caitlyn didn’t say anything at first. But softly, her voice called out, "Just think about it, Vi."

"Think about what?" she grumbled, not turning around to face her.

"Think about the kind of story you want to leave behind."

The silence that followed felt heavy, like a weight pressing down on her chest. Vi wanted to shout something back, to break the tension, to walk out of that goddamn stuffy room with her pride intact. But instead, her throat tightened. She could feel the words slipping out of her grip, just like the things she had left behind in Zaun—the life, the friends, the promise of something better. Nonsense.

A sharp noise from the hallway—someone’s footsteps approaching—snapped her out of her stupor.

“You can’t go around demanding trust Piltie, some of us weren’t fed on silver spoons.” Vi mumbled, watching in horror as the principal came into view. Now or never, Vander wouldn’t be mad.

Just disappointed.

“And how am I-” She went mum as the Principal strutted up to the two of them, looking down on them with a sigh. 

“Kiramman, I didn’t expect you to be here so early in the morning. Was there an incident with the new student ?” That snide voice of his cut Vi apart, and it took everything in her not to lash out. “This is your last year here, I’d hate to see you leave a stain on your perfect record by trapeezing about with the wrong crowd.”

Vi watched as Caitlyn’s tense smile dropped slightly, as if she were about to mouth something like, ‘ Oh, but my goodness gracious! The likes of some privileged, sickly sweet, gorgeous, girl like me would never do something like that! I only listen to the rules and never lie-”

“I’d have to say the contrary, you see, I was only asking Vi about Zaunite life, it’s for my new article you see? It’s to remove the stereotype around the few undercity students we have at Piltover Academy. I’d hate to publish, and even worse, inform my mother , about the stereotyping happening at school, no less than a few days in.”

The principal stiffened. Caitlyn smirked. Vi could only think, ‘ Oh. She’s a nepo baby. ’

“I feel like a article like this would be perfect to correct any odd tones in the school environment. So,” Caitlyn continued, “Me and Vi were just about to head out. There won’t be a problem, will there?” Vi was surprised to find the half-lie roll off Caitlyn’s tongue so easily. If she’d somehow gotten acute amnesia, she was sure that girl could convince her that she was a rotten asshole Piltie her own life, and liked to wear pink sparkly dresses.

When Caitlyn stood up, Vi followed, watching the principal carefully as they walked out of his office, consequence free.

“What... was that?” Vi blurted out, the words leaving her mouth before she had a chance to filter them. She looked at Caitlyn, bewildered.

The two of them had just walked out of the principal’s office without so much as a scratch, Vi was still trying to wrap her head around the situation. One moment, the principal was all sharp tones and judgment, then Caitlyn had dropped some well-placed words, and suddenly, they were walking out like nothing had happened.

Caitlyn glanced over at Vi, a small, sly smile tugging at her lips. "What, you didn’t think I could handle him?"

Vi scoffed, trying to suppress the flinch from Caitlyn's tone, which was far too smooth to be entirely innocent. "I didn’t think you were that slick. You just… talked your way out of it."

“Much less violent than fighting by a long means,” Caitlyn said, looking almost amused. She tossed her notebook into her bag, unbothered by the earlier tension in the office. "It’s called being a Kiramman. If you know how to play the game, you can get away with a lot."

Vi raised an eyebrow, wondering if she was getting a peek behind the curtain of Caitlyn's world. The way Caitlyn had maneuvered the conversation, using her mother's influence to slide past the principal’s scrutiny, was more impressive than Vi cared to admit. She’d always been more of a blunt force kind of person—she hit things hard until they either gave way or got out of her way. Caitlyn, on the other hand, was like a blade hidden in a velvet glove, sharp but soft at the same time.

“So.. a Kiramman.” Vi asked, her voice flat. “I’m assuming you’ve got both being ridiculously rich and influential under your resume.”

Caitlyn didn’t flinch. “You could say that. My family’s kind of a big deal here.” She shrugged like it was no big thing, but Vi could hear the edge of pride in her voice.

Vi snorted. “Guess that explains the whole ‘perfect student’ thing.”

Caitlyn didn’t react to the jab, instead keeping her cool. "Not all of us are perfect," she said, her voice turning a little more serious. "I just… try to do something useful with the privilege I have. But it’s not easy. Sometimes I wonder if I’m even making a difference, or if I’m just playing the same game everyone else is."

Vi raised an eyebrow, sensing there was more to Caitlyn than the pristine image she cut out. “So you’re some kind of activist now?” she asked, her voice tinged with sarcasm.

Caitlyn shrugged again, her hands sliding into her jacket pockets. "Not really. I’m a journalist, I want to tell stories. In this case, it’s a yes and no. I’m just trying to understand others, and project that voice." Her voice softened a little, like she was treading into sensitive territory. "I want to write about it. To show the world what’s really happening, not just the stuff they see from their fancy mansions."

Vi snorted again. "Yeah, good luck with that. You think Piltover’s gonna care about some sob story from the slums? No one gives a shit. They’re all too busy pretending their lives are perfect to notice what’s happening down here."

“Maybe not," Caitlyn said, but there was a glint of determination in her eyes. "But someone has to try. It won’t happen overnight, but if I can get people to listen, even for a second, then I’ll have done something. That’s the best I can do."

Vi stared at her, trying to figure out if she was being genuine or just playing another angle. Caitlyn’s calm demeanor was a stark contrast to the storm of confusion and frustration that churned inside Vi. For a moment, the walls she’d built so carefully around herself—walls designed to keep people like Caitlyn out—felt like they were crumbling. Her hands were dropping, it would take less than a second for someone to uppercut her and take out some teeth.

“Yeah, well, good luck with that,” Vi muttered, her voice rough. She didn’t know what else to say. Caitlyn’s words had hit too close to home, poking at things she wasn’t ready to deal with.

Caitlyn tilted her head, studying Vi like she was trying to read her. "You really think I’m doing this just for a story, don’t you?"

Vi grunted, but didn’t answer. She didn’t know how to answer.

“Look,” Caitlyn said, her tone shifting to something a little softer, “I get it. You’re pissed off. You think Piltover doesn’t care about people like you. I can’t change that, but maybe I can at least try to show people that there’s more to you than the stereotypes. And you’re not alone, Vi. You don’t have to fight it all on your own."

Vi’s chest tightened at the words. She hated it. She hated how true they felt. The last thing she wanted was to let some Piltie girl—especially one like Caitlyn—think she could fix her, or fix anything. Pilties and their goddamn saviour complexes. Vi didn’t need fixing. She’d survived just fine on her own. Caitlyn, that damned girl was being too sweet. 

“Thanks… for sticking up for me back there. Just don’t expect me to jump on your little cause, cupcake,” Vi muttered, pushing past Caitlyn and striding down the hallway. "I’ve got my own battles to fight."

“Cupcake?” Caitlyn, for the first time, dropped her composure before she scrambled to pick it up, “Don’t call me that!”

Vi could tell that there was a flush of a rising blush in her voice, “Whatever you say… cupcake.”

Turning a corner however, her attitude soured.

Vi didn’t know what the hell was going on anymore. Everything felt off balance. The whole Piltover thing, the whole new start thing. The girl she used to be felt like a distant memory, and the girl she was becoming was someone she didn’t know if she liked. Time felt like it was accelerating, and if Vi didn’t make a decision, choose a gang, stand up for who she was-

She felt like she would be forgotten. Dust in the dessert, a grain of sand.

But one thing was for sure— she wasn’t going to let anyone see her crack.

Not yet.