✎ academia ✐

⚅ xi ⚅

a/n:
as aforementioned, canon arkoverse events have shifted somewhat. and while a bulk of that work will be going into new and significantly improved versions of the core books, i'll be slowly integrating new lore and timeline details in this book, too, and some examples of that are in this chapter. the new rule of thumb is—the most recent update is canon, regardless of when/where it takes place. hope this doesn't confuse too much! feel free to let me know if it does hehe.
love,
kakie

    Zara's not a mean girl—let's get that right, straightaway.

    She'll concede, she can be mean on occasion. Like when her friends are threatened. When her lifestyle is questioned. When her boyfriend acts expectedly holier-than-thou. Maybe even when a Starbucks barista gets her order wrong in the mornings (It's a grande caramel macchiato with an espresso shot and a half, prepared upside-down and then topped with whipped cream. How's that so hard to get, seriously?). But these instances are all entirely beyond helping. Zara has changed, in the last year, especially. Protest all you want—she's certainly feeling new. Not nice or kind or anything, but new.

    Alright, fine, maybe Zara Alcantara is still that girl, even a smidge—the one who has you quivering in your seat when her name is offhandedly mentioned at group gatherings, even when she isn't there. The one who rounds up boys like routine playthings and sends cruelly-worded paragraphs of text to girls who get in her way. Zara has spent a lifetime considering any woman as competition. Except Kavya, maybe, but that's only because Kavya is... not a woman at all, really. She's a phenomenon. Careless and cold and marching to the beat of her own drum, the first girl Zara couldn't intimidate.

    They first met in kindergarten, at the pre-school playground towards the north end of campus. Kavya was six, concerned with undoing the ribbons and braids in her own hair. Zara was five-and-three-quarters, kicking sand at her, frustrated that she wouldn't flinch or cry, as the others had.

    "I hate you!" Zara screamed, fists shaking at her sides.

    Kavya just shrugged, "You should relax. I don't even care about you enough to hate you."

    That's the kind of nonchalance that makes a mean girl lose her moxie. For days, Zara tried to irk her, tried to become even the slightest of nuisances—stole her bubblegum, tore her doodles into pieces, tripped her at recess once or twice, all to no avail. Kavya remained indifferent. Zara remained seething.

    Eventually she cried, after school at the hall of portals, waiting for anybody to come fetch her. Mama was late, again. Probably busied by a winning blackjack hand at some PAGCOR outlet, again.

    "Are you crying?" Kavya asked, tugging at her pigtails, missing the attention, even if it was mean.

    "No," Zara sniffled.

    "Sure." Kavya said, pinching her cheek. "Nothing should make girls care enough to cry."

    Zara's learned plenty of things from Kavya, but none quite as life-altering as that. She giggled that day, thankful more than anything for that shoulder to cry on, and realized she'd not only found an equal, but a lifelong friend.

    Together they terrorized the students in their year, slowly working their way up to terrorizing anybody else who could be scared off with a scathing remark and a double set of once-overs. Kavya is blunt. Zara is sharp. But for so long, they each had their limits—each other.

    What has Zara become now, in the few months she's found herself limitless?

    She thinks of this as she spots a streak of pink hair hovering about the lunch table across the cafeteria, the one she used to sit at.