Lovebirds

The view out the window is gorgeous. While the Physics teacher recalls what will be on the test next week, Spencer can't keep her eyes off the trees; the lake that sits a little further beyond, and the ducks that skate across its chilly surface.

Vaguely, she hears mentions of the velocity formula; vectors; normal force. Presently, she sees the water ripple as the webbed feet of the water fowl propel them forward and around, disturbing equilibrium to set themselves in motion.

She wonders what makes their feathers shine like that in the sun. As if their bodies are made of prisms, the light reflecting in plum purple and bright white and forest green. Spencer contemplates the injustice of not having such skin herself so as not to think about the message that came through a few seconds before the bell rang.

Not from vinceandspence.

It came through Instagram itself, but is undeniably from the hacker.

There hasn't been another post since that from the basketball game three days ago, and she can't help but wonder if it's because no more are coming. Hacker's fault of their ways learned, or if the last was too perfect a picture to follow up—

Focus! The ducks. The trees, as they're beginning to adopt their autumnal garb. Honey and apple and pumpkin shades.

The teacher concludes that this test will be worth fifty points in the test category of the gradebook, and a few students look around nervously. Beneath the uncertainty his decision has borne, her teacher tells them all to have a wonderful rest of their day, and to come to him if they have any questions.

The bell rings. The teacher excuses himself to oversee a study hall on the other side of the building. Spencer's hands snap to her backpack's front pocket to withdraw her phone—finally!

She re-reads her text from Monday: to vinceandspence simply, "why are you doing this?"

Switching conversations, Instagram wrote back: "sometimes it's hard to see what's right in front of you until someone puts a magnifying glass in your hand. I need you to see how well the two of you work. It's important to me, and I'm sure it's important to you. You're both beautiful people, in every aspect of the term, who deserve to be with each other—and ONLY each other. Exclusivity is a promise. And from the way you both were acting at the game... neither was happy it was broken."

How dare they. 

How dare they, is the first thing Spencer thinks upon reaching the end of the message.

She sends her thumbs flying across the keyboard, led by anger and anger alone.

"YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO TELL ME HOW TO RUN MY LIFE!" 

She throws her backpack over her shoulders and heads for the door, hand still tight around the phone. To her surprise, it buzzes again as she passes through the doorway.

"Talk to Vincent," is all that it says.

Spencer shoves the phone into her back pocket and storms down the hall to anthropology.