𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐭

chapter i: the plastics

[chapter i: the plastics]

Bianca Williams absolutely hated tomatoes. The sight of them alone could ruin an entire meal for her. Whether they were in a salad, on a sandwich, or hidden in pasta sauce, she couldn't stand them. It wasn't just the taste—it was the texture. The squishiness, the way they seemed to explode in your mouth, made her stomach turn. People tried to convince her that tomatoes were sweet and juicy but Bianca wasn't buying it. She'd rather skip the whole dish than have to pick them out, and the thought of ketchup or pasta sauce made her shudder. Tomatoes were, in her mind, one of life's greatest culinary mistakes.

Running was another thing Bianca simply couldn't bring herself to enjoy. She didn't understand the appeal of voluntarily putting her body through that kind of torture. To her, it was just an endless cycle of repetitive motions, one foot after the other, until she was out of breath and sweaty. She didn't feel any sense of achievement or exhilaration afterward. It was always just exhaustion and aching legs. No matter how many times people told her how therapeutic or freeing running could be, Bianca couldn't shake the feeling that it was a pointless, painful exercise. She'd much rather be doing anything else, even if it meant just sitting down with a good book or watching TV.

And when it came to spoilers, Bianca had zero tolerance. She couldn't understand how anyone could ruin a show or movie for someone else, especially when she was so invested in her own viewing experience. A casual mention of a plot twist or a character's fate was enough to make her blood boil. She lived for those surprising, jaw-dropping moments, and nothing destroyed the magic more than someone spilling the details ahead of time. It was like they stole her chance to be surprised and excited. To Bianca, spoilers weren't just frustrating—they were an unforgivable offense. If someone spoiled something for her, she made a mental note to avoid talking to them about anything TV-related until she caught up.

But none of them compared to the hate that she had for first-period English on a Monday morning.

"Attention class!" Mrs demanded, causing Bianca to slightly lift her head off her desk which she was napping on. Her chestnut-colored eyes landed on a Mexican boy who stood awkwardly by the door. "This is Miguel Diaz," Mrs Smith introduced, "And I expect each of you to treat him with respect. Now please raise your hand if you don't mind him sitting next to you."

The class was still. No one was eager to sit next to the new boy. Bianca couldn't stand watching Miguel's eyes wander around the class aimlessly like a lost puppy, so she tiredly raised her hand. The Diaz boy caught sight of the melanin girl and scurried to the empty seat next to her, avoiding making eye contact with her.

"I'm not Medusa you know?" the curly-haired girl commented, causing Miguel to scrunch his eyebrows in confusion. "You won't turn into stone if you look at me."

"My bad," he apologized. "I'm Miguel," he stuck his hand out, finally looking at the girl.

Bianca arched an eyebrow as she looked at his hand. "Isn't shaking hands a bit too formal?"