Instigate.

Instigate a Clash

Three Months and Three Weeks Left

James doesn't usually pay attention to rumours, even when the reason for his notoriety was because of a rumour that he brought knives wherever he went. He didn't care about that—it was working well anyway; most people are scared of him which saves him from most social interaction plus no one bothered to harass him or steal him a lunch table. James worked with this social status of his for three and a half years.

He doesn't usually pay attention to rumours, but he knew that he wasn't supposed to associate himself with Anna Figueroa. Because she's Anna, you see, and Anna being Anna is enough reason to stay away.

She's not an outcast, or the usual nerd, or the theatre geek. She doesn't fit into any stereotype; she's a category herself. The first time James saw her was the first time they talked. It was when they were both late for their first day in sophomore year and James was walking up the steps of their school while Anna—for Christ's sake, Anna—well, Anna was lying down on the steps, with one of her hands gripping tightly the railing and another curled up like a fist on her chest. She was wearing a leather jacket in September, and a floral dress the colour of orange underneath it, and her sandals were flat gladiator sandals that ate up her ankles.

That was what James remembered Anna for: her eccentric outfits. She always wore dresses. She always wore flats. She always had a lot of poise, even when she's lying flat on the steps of the school.

But James ignored her, because he doesn't pay attention to weird people who like to take a nap on the paved stairs. And because he doesn't really care.

Anna wasn't napping, though. She really was just lying there, eyes open, her bun stuck tightly on top of her head. And a pencil was stuck in it. James walked past her, walking in his usual average pace until her tiny, raspy voice rang out to him.

"Excuse me? Can you check if there any more people inside?"

James quirked an eyebrow, but he peeked inside the closed doors anyway and checked. The halls were deserted. He shrugged, answered a grumbled "No people" response to her and walked through the double doors. Seconds later, Anna was running down the hallway, past him, mumbling a hurried "Thanks" before disappearing around a corner.

The first time James saw her was the first time they talked, and the last time they talked. Until now, because of the stupid Project Instigate.

"Are you even listening?" Anna snapped her fingers in front of James. She still looked too calm. That was another thing about Anna—she never got that much pissed. James tried to push all her buttons, tried to annoy the heck out of her just to see her explode, but he never got the pleasure to see her so. Over the week, their meetings had always been short and usually ending in Anna needing to go somewhere or James calling the day off because nothing good was happening.

James Dawson doesn't lie, so he said "No." Because he really wasn't listening. He didn't want to. In fact, he very much wanted to just go home already and do the project all by himself, pass it to Hale and claim it to be theirs.

James doesn't usually pay attention to rumours but he paid enough attention to know that he wasn't supposed to associate himself with Anna Figueroa.

"Do you even care?" James rolled his eyes, about to respond with a mocking despondent 'no' but Anna beat him to it "Don't answer that, of course you don't."

James gave his best shot at a seemingly innocent smile and by the looks of Anna's dwindling interest, his sarcasm is working.

Sometimes, Anna won. Sometimes, James won. Today was another day James won.