Homecoming [#writewithZo]

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"Hey, Will! Good luck in there!" They laugh, jostling her, and half-shove her into the teacher's lounge. She laughs softly in response; ten minutes? Easy. Mess around, cause trouble, get out.

The room's empty; one big table, twelve empty chairs, one whiteboard and a fridge. Staff bathrooms are outside, too, so it's just her and the space.

She takes a marker and draws a fairly inappropriate shape on the whiteboard. It comes out looking kind of like a cow's head. She snorts and draws another one, and another. Should've brought a permanent marker, if that's what she was here to do.

Actually, she's not sure what she's here to do, other than chill in the super secret teacher's lounge and maybe get caught. Ten minutes is a long time.

She steals a can of sweet tea from the lounge fridge and feels suitably rebellious. Maybe she should've stolen some soda, but she hates it. Only good for chugging, or for the rush. She scratches her short hair and puts the can down on the table.

Alone. Nobody to see her. For ten minutes, she can do—be—whatever, whoever she wants.

She grips the marker and writes hurriedly, messily on the board. No. Her handwriting comes out big and blocky. Again. Smaller, using cursive she doesn't really remember. No guy writes in cursive, right? This time it looks good.

Miss Broderick.

Her heart beats. She considers writing a first name in between, and raises the pen, but stops.

She can't come up with a new first name this fast. Willette sounds dumb. Willia? There are literally no female names that sound like Will. And she's not sure what she'd call herself other than that. Besides, she doesn't even really dislike the name Will; it's just male.

And, either way, she doesn't need another name here. Miss Broderick. That's all. Honorific, last name. She looks at it for a moment. Turns. Imagines a very small class looking at her. She has long hair, in this fantasy. Is probably in a dress. Does not play football, or talk to guys that do. Doesn't have trophies, maybe isn't well-known at all. She's sylph-like, dainty. Miss Broderick.

"Hey, it's been ten minutes!" someone yells from outside, and she jumps. The voice sounds like Jack. Has it been ten minutes? It feels like five.

"Yeah, we want our alpha male back!" Laughter; somebody says something else. She takes an eraser; sweeps it over the entire board. Cow's head and all. Her sneakers squeak.

"Hey," she says, coming out of the lounge. Her voice feels so low. Wrong. She shuts the door behind her and holds up the can, and Ben snickers.

"Should've got me one, man," he says.

Bryan hits her on the shoulder. "That was so close. Spellman almost went in."

She shrugs; grins lopsidedly. The ladies love that smile; love that all-star quarterback guy they think it belongs to.

"It was easy," she says, looking back. "Nobody saw me."