Chapter 18

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March 4th, 2013

"What are you looking for?" Valarie questioned

"I saw something in your hair...something that wasn't there before." Emma explained

Her hands were exploring Valarie's head, scrutinizing each strand of hard. The sensation of her fingers rummaging through her hair was something Valarie liked. Loved, actually.

"Found it."

Valarie then felt a pain as something was plucked right from her head.

"Ow! You got my hair by accident!"

"Oh no. I got exactly what I was looking for."

In Emma's hand was a long strand of her hair.

"Look closely."

Emma brought the strand up close to Valarie's eye which she examined. She was stunned to see that the piece of hair Emma had plucked was a ghostly gray.

"Wha-! What?! Gray hair! Why God!?" Valarie exclaimed

"There is only one possible explanation for your hair to gray way before they normally do. Stress." Emma said.

"Stress..." Valarie echoed.

"And it's not the regular stresses of school of you being the captain of the team. It must be from when you were homeless."

Valarie looked down to the floor and sighed, her hair drooping down and covering her face.

"I should've known they'd be some kind of long-term effects." she muttered.

"Valarie, I cannot even begin to imagine the emotions you felt when you were homeless. Me just remembering that time makes my throat tighten. But, through your strength, you've overcome."

"I think I had some great friends lend a hand."

Emma blushed.

"Yeah...anyway I wouldn't be too upset over gray hair. It looks good on you...I like it."

"Oh, why am I not surprised that you, Emma Gray, likes gray hair."

Her blush became a deeper shade of red.

"Ah, well, it's just a good look...you know..aesthetics and all."

Emma's blushing made Valarie blush as well. Soon, lunch was over. They gave each other quick hugs and went to their respective classes.

Elsewhere

Los Angeles, California

American Tankery Association Headquarters

Among all the high-rise buildings and smog was a multistory structure that served as the Association's seat to conduct any and all business related to the sport of tankery in the United States. As the national tournament was in full swing, to say that they were busy would be an understatement. Employees walked briskly all around the building to take care of the multitude of tasks to ensure that the competition runs as smoothly as possible. Late last year, they made the controversial decision to start the tournament months earlier than it was originally planned. They didn't want the tournament to overlap with the international competition. The Association wanted a gap between the two major events so that the winner of the nationals would have the time they'd need to properly prepare themselves to represent the United States on the world stage. Previously, it was essentially a free-for-all for any American school that wanted to represent their country. Now, using the national tournament, the process was much more streamlined and less chaotic. One such employee, a young woman who was only hired just a few months ago, was at her cubicle. Paying full attention to the computer before her. She was reading and cataloging a sea of information. As she worked, one piece of data caught her eye. She raised her hand to wave down her supervisor, who arrived promptly.

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