𝕊𝕥𝕦𝕡𝕚𝕕 ℂ𝕦𝕡𝕚𝕕 ➶

𝔽𝕠𝕣𝕥𝕪-𝕆𝕟𝕖: 𝔹𝔽𝔽𝕤

Emerson High was the opposite of Nevermore Academy in seemingly every way... Which was to be expected, to be fair. It was named after the author and poet Ralph Waldo Emerson, whereas Nevermore took its inspiration from Edgar Allan Poe.

Poe and Emerson were contemporaries but contrasted in every way imaginable. They were darkness and light, illness and health, extreme depression and unbridled optimism, self-destruction and self-affirmation.

Valentina could care less about the history or the architecture --equally dramatic, but a far cry from Nevermore Academy's gothic Victorian elements-- of Emerson High, though. All that mattered were the memories she had the potential to make in its halls.

She would have much preferred to go to one of the schools that her middle school friends attended, but her mother insisted on Emerson... Due to the fact that there was another outcast her age there, a girl by the name of Francoise Sylvane. A beautiful name for what turned out to be a beautiful girl.

Their home in California gave her the same tan that Valentina had. She sported short, shoulder-length hair and blunt bangs, the color of cinnamon. She had classically beautiful facial features, but with an interestingly-shaped nose and brows that very well could have been two decisive strokes of an artist's brush. A work of art in the form of a girl.

The two of them met before classes began again, when her mother had the Sylvane's over for dinner at the end of winter break. The adults were quick to leave their teenage daughters alone with one another, eager to catch up in the kitchen over a bottle of wine.

Things were terribly awkward at first.

"Hi," Valentina said, hoping that breaking the ice wouldn't lead to her drowning in this case. "Um, my name is Valentina! But you, you can call me Val. Less of a mouthful."

Francoise bestowed her a boon in the form of a smile. "It's nice to meet you, Val. I go by Fran. My mom calls me Franny, though. It's so embarrassing."

Val immediately perked up. She would sink her hooks into any common ground that she could find. "Ugh, tell me about it! My mother still calls me baby or cherub, like I'm a toddler. Sometimes I think she's forgotten or mixed up my name and is just trying to be sly about it."'

That certainly made Fran laugh, a ringing sound that reminded her of church bells.

"So what brand of outcast are you?" She asked.

Her new acquaintance's laugh suddenly cut off, like a record might unexpectedly skip. "I'd rather not say... But I heard you were a witch! Why don't you show me all your witchy stuff?"

Valentina wanted to say that she thought nothing of it, but at least she tried to. Maybe Fran was just a rather private person. She herself used to be before she became Morticia and Gomez's girlfriend. Those two were the natural enemy of personal space.

Not wanting to make her possible new friend uncomfortable, she didn't press for any intimate details. Instead, she showed her upstairs to her bedroom.

Most of her room consisted of standard teenage girl stuff: rows of shoes --including a pair of roller skates-- and handbags, a vintage Poloroid camera and pictures that plastered the walls from behind her desk to beside her bed, and a closet bursting at the seams with clothes for every season and occasion.

There were some remains of her preteen years, including the paint on her walls and ceiling that resembled a summer sky with fluffy white clouds and her collection of plushies, which were piled high in every corner and on every free surface.

Others were new additions that she thought showed her age, like her record player and boxes of vinyls as well as the vanity crowded with jewelry, perfume, and make-up.

"It looks like a pastel unicorn threw up all over the place in here," Fran noted, before quickly adding, "In a good way, though! It's absolutely magical. Like Disney World on steroids."

Some of the anxiety and self-consciousness that Valentina was feeling melted away at her complement. "Thank you?" She said at first, before repeating with more confidence, "Thank you. What's your room at home like?"

"Oh, it's a mess! Completely unorganized, and you couldn't pick out a single aesthetic out of the chaos. But that's how I like it. Plus, Mom has the whole house deep-cleaned every couple weeks, and the cleaners do a great job of keeping the space livable," she told her with a disinterested shrug.

Valentina desperately hoped that Fran decided to be her friend. The girl seemed so easy and laid back, a stark contrast to Val, who was an on-edge ball of nerves at almost all times. Perhaps they could balance each other out a bit.

A good sign was when Fran, who was curiously eying her altar to the goddess Venus and her son Cupid, continued, "I think we'll get along like a house on fire! I can't wait to introduce you to my besties at Emerson. They'll absolutely love you. It'll be great."

And, after all the bad luck that Val had as of late, she hoped she was right.