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VALENTINA WASN'T AS LATE as she thought she was going to be that morning. Her mother was gone almost immediately after the moment she shook her daughter awake, and without someone to constantly pester the girl to get out of bed, Valentina neverwould.
She wasn't sure whether her mind was trapped in the dreams that scarred every night or if she was simply never asleep at all. Either way, the constant exhaustion had finally caught up and seemed to prevent any and all disruptions from waking the girl that night, which was unusual for the blonde ever since 1983. Valentina hardly ever got more than a few hours of sleep each night.
She would ask her mom about the patterns and effects of her nightmares, but Valentina rarely saw much of the woman anymore and both Varner-girls would prefer to keep the few interactions that they did have remain as light and loving as they could be—a distraction from the tension they both knew was really there.
Valentina never was good at talking through her emotions. Like mother, like daughter.
Wearing pants that were made for a taller person and a jacket over her t-shirt, Valentina felt much more comfortable rolling into her usual parking spot that day than she did the previous, when Alicia forced her to leave the leather bomber at home. The straight-neckline shirt she decided to wear yesterday hung tightly from shoulder to shoulder, just low enough to reveal the pink, puffy skin where the Demogorgon scratched her in the woods last year. She didn't realize what a poor choice of fashion that was until the feeling of stares made the scarred skin heat up, a relentless burn that lasted all day. It was like walking around with the ends of her hair lit aflame.
After the exhaustion of carrying a mental weight all day, Valentina really did not want to go to school the next morning. She never did anymore. Once the slam of the front door signaled that Alicia Varner was gone and would not know of her daughter's whereabouts for the rest of the day, Valentina's head hit the pillow again.
It sprung up, though, as soon as she remembered some select words from her history teacher.
So after dragging her sluggish body out of bed and compensating for her dread with a comfortable outfit, Valentina made it to school on time... somehow.
Somewhere to the right of her burgundy BMW in the row of cars facing hers was another, identical, BMW, one that Valentina's dark eyes were desperately trying to avoid tracking down. Like every other day that school year that Valentina was actually present in the parking lot before first period—which wasn't much because, again, Valentina rarely got the urge to be at what once used to be her favorite place—her eyes eventually locked onto the brunette couple in the front seat of the other brownish-red car.
