Quinn and Adeline

Chapter Five

Someone tapped them on the shoulder with a long, yellow, impeccably sharpened pencil.

"Where were you yesterday?"

Adeline.

Polaris looked up, surprised anyone had noticed, and even more surprised that somebody had cared.

"I was sick."

Adeline looked at their gaunt, pale complexion. She could believe that. "Alright. Let me know if you need something."

Polaris turned back to their work. Class was starting. But that was just an excuse, wasn't it? They desperately wanted help.

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Adeline didn't say anything more, but she didn't think Polaris was doing well.

She idly took notes, only half paying attention. Was everyone in this school hurting?

No. Some people were doing okay. And Adeline consistently wondered how.

She quickly tore out half a piece of notebook paper, and quickly scribbled something on it (in quick, slight, and perfect strokes, of course).

She crumpled it up into a little ball, slipping it into the side of Polaris' backpack as they left the class.

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Polaris got home at twelve that night, let off early by their claim of being sick. They were, though, weren't they? Just not where you'd expect.

They trudged past their mom, not even nodding at each other, just making eye contact then hastily looking away. Clink of a bottle. Puff of a cigar. Clink and puff. And repeat.

When Polaris got to their room, it'd started raining. The sky was black as always, and it was a mostly cloudless night. The moon wasn't out, so it was just an endless expanse of swirling black ink, dotted with the bright light of stars that had already died.

The rain was a calming, grounding sound, letting Polaris focus, keeping their mind in place. They sighed and took out their homework – four textbooks, two thin, one thick, and one in the middle, three notebooks, and a three-ring binder.

Polaris was thirsty, all of a sudden, so they bent back down to get their water bottle. They could never remember which side it was on, and nope, not on the left, so then-

But there was something on the left. A piece of crumpled up notebook paper. Polaris unfolded it, smoothening it out, and seeing the perfect handwriting, they knew exactly who it was from.

All it had on it was a phone number and "text me, okay?"

Polaris smiled softly. They weren't friends. Not really. But that didn't stop them from caring.

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Quinn was cutting again. Digging just a little to deep into her wrists, just a little too much red, the air just a little tanged with a metallic smell.

Then she heard a sound, so she looked up, her vision a bit confused at first – she'd gotten used to the sight of red.

It was Richie. He said nothing at first, and Quinn almost dared to hope, but then-