SHUT UP, THIS IS TOTALLY ART (Victoria)

[TUESDAY DAVENPORT]

Why was he here again?

Art class. Art class. This was art class. Okay.

Tuesday’s eyes stared straight through the blank canvas below him as the gears of his mind clicked and churned. Ugh. Double ugh. Less than twenty four hours ago he’d been sobbing his eyes out next to a hospital bed in which his identical twin brother was lying, lingering on the edge of death. Like, permanent death. Not “la la la Harry Potter comes back to life hurray” death, but like, real, actual, forever death. And now Tuesday was supposed to go to a fucking art class. And pretend that it mattered. And that he cared about these stupid cans of vomit-y-looking spray paint in the least.

That firetruck word again. He needed to stop using that. He was going to end up like that kid on South Park who had ended up like, getting an episode pulled off the air or something. He and Thursday and their vocabularies that were all of a sudden dirty as shit.

See, there he went again.

A prank. That was what he needed. A prank. Right here, right now. He needed to get back into the swing of things. He needed to call the old Tuesday back from the depths, like in Pirates of the Caribbean with the giant whistle thing and the…never mind. That was dumb.

And of course, Thursday had to be a smart cookie and have passed this class last year. Tuesday glanced around the little-looking sophomores and juniors scattered around his table, not even bothering to feign embarrassment at being the only senior anymore. “Hey. Hey, uh…” He nudged the girl next to him, trying to remember what the fu…dgesicle her name was. V. Something with a V. Valerie? Valentine? Veronica? Virginia? “Yo, uh, Vicky,” he guessed at random. That could be short for different things, right? Victoria? Vick…alentine? Vick…well, anyway. It definitely increased his odds.

“Uh, hey.” He leaned in, cocking his head towards the teacher. “Wanna play a prank?”

[VICTORIA ROMENZ]

Victoria loved art class. The song in the back of her head didn’t bug her as much then. She could use it as muse for her newest creation. Her hand moved gracefully across her sketchbook like a pair on the dance floor at a ball. Which, actually was what she was drawing. They were painting today but Victoria decided to sketch first to warm up her muse. She had all the paint ready and put the finishing touches on her sketch. She dipped her paint brush in the red and thought for a second. She need to start with the background and then paint in the dancers. First she’d—

“Hey. Hey, uh… Yo, uh, Vicky,”

Suddenly someone nudged Victoria’s arm and a long red streak went across the fresh canvas. She grimaced as her concentration was broken and dropped the paintbrush in the water with a thunk. She took a deep breath and turned to face the person who did it. Of course, it was a guy! A senior nonetheless. It was the day of the week guy with the twin who jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge. Victoria wondered if the poor twin had his project ruined too.

“It’s Victoria,” She corrected spewing venom. Not that he’d get it.

“Uh, hey. Wanna play a prank?”

Victoria sighed. Why the hell was he asking her? Of all people. This kid really thought she was a childish prankster? She attempted to feel sorry for the kid and removed the daggers from her tone. “No thank you. Maybe you should focus on your painting. So you know, you don’t flunk out of this class… again? You do realize you need to graduate to get out of her and become a delinquent right?” Okay. She didn’t exactly remove them. Hopefully he wouldn’t cry. She’d already gotten in trouble for that once.

[TUESDAY DAVENPORT]

Tuesday’s second attempt at painting something on this dumb canvas thing had failed. He’d tried to paint Wednesday, their badass gecko, but…what even was that thing? A lampshade? An iguana? A sweatshirt, but like for an obese lion-hippopotamus baby? God, couldn’t they just have like, spraypainting class, or something? Forget the other students, Tuesday was fairly certain he could show up the teachers of every spraypainting class ever taught.

“It’s Victoria,” She corrected spewing venom. Not that he’d get it.

“Whatever. Sure. Okay. Victoria.” Close enough. Tuesday was usually awesome with names, but for the past few weeks he hadn’t really been feeling awesomeness in any area, unless you counted the area of wanting to lock yourself in your dorm room and stare at the wall for the rest of your life. In that case, he was mega-awesome. Mega-ultra-awesome. Like Superman, Spiderman, Batman, Captain America minus the horrible CGI, and every single other Superhero. Except Aquaman because he freaking hated Aquaman.

He felt his brother’s distress flickering inside him. Thursday was in his special senior art class across the hall at the moment, and Tuesday wondered if his brother was as annoyed by having to paint things as he himself was. Oh God, Thursday. Thursday, Thursday, Thursday, bridges, water, cold, pain, Thursday, ribs, screaming, Thursday… No. No, he’d promised himself he’d stop thinking about all of that. It was over. Done. The end.

Spraypaint classes. Mandatory spray paint classes. Man, he needed to suggest those to the Board of Education or something.

Thursday…

“No thank you. Maybe you should focus on your painting. So you know, you don’t flunk out of this class… again? You do realize you need to graduate to get out of her and become a delinquent right?”

Tuesday almost held his tongue. Almost. Maybe Valerie was having a bad day. Maybe she’d broken up with her boyfriend, or her episode of Jersey Shore had gotten cancelled, or she’d lost her Twilight book, or some dumb shit like that. She didn’t know. Did she? How could she know? But the last line hit him like a brick wall against his face.

A delinquent.

You do realize you need to graduate?

Right then and there, Tuesday snapped. He wasn’t a toddler. He might not have been as smart as his brother, but he wasn’t fucking stupid. He’d been abusing himself these past days, being drummed further and further into the ground by anything and everything around him, and now, as he was just starting to patch up the holes, this fucking chick walked in and…and…he didn’t need this. He didn’t need this.

“Look who’s talking,” he snarled. “What even is that, a dead frog wearing headphones? Give me a wall and a can of spray paint and I could have it up in three dimensions from six different angles with fucking shading and vanishing points out the ass before you’d even wet your brush.” He returned to his canvas, painting an aggressive red X over whatever the fuck the shit he’d just painted was.

He wanted to pull it back the instant it flew from his mouth. But, like everything else in this damn world, nothing ever went the way Tuesday Davenport wanted it to.

[VICTORIA ROMENZ]

Victoria was really starting to get pissed at this guy. She hated slackers with a passion. Why shouldn’t you try your best at everything? If you didn’t you wouldn’t know what your good at and what needs improvement. This was art class, not some stupid class for kids to take to get an easy A. Ha, that was a good movie. Anyway, Victoria was pissed. This kid didn’t care. He was some low life son of a bitch who was going to pull down the American government because he’d sit at home playing videogames living off his mom instead of working. Almost all guys she knew were like that. It made her sick. Guys in general made her sick.

“Look who’s talking, What even is that, a dead frog wearing headphones? Give me a wall and a can of spray paint and I could have it up in three dimensions from six different angles with fucking shading and vanishing points out the ass before you’d even wet your brush.”

“That, you freak, is what happens when the person next you to you doean’t give a shit about art and messes up your painting by bugging you for some stupid prank,” Victoria said through her teeth. The part about the spraypaint really set her off. No doubt her face was turning an extrordinary shade of purple but she didn’t give a fuck. “You dumbass, spray painting isn’t art, it’s vandalism! Why do you think half of your ‘artist’ friends are in jail? In fact, you wouldn’t know art even if you were drenched in it. Like this.” With a devilish smirk, she took both his and her paint water and poured it on his head. She dropped the cups and sat down continuing to smirk. By then half the class was staring at her and the damn kid. The teacher folded her arms and mumbled something under breath before pointing to the door.

“Both of you, outside now.”

[TUESDAY DAVENPORT]

Tuesday was this close to socking this girl in the jaw. What, did she think she was some all-knowing judge thing that could just…just doll out life sentences like candy on fucking Halloween? Did she think she knew what the fuck he was thinking, or feeling, or…why was that even a question? Of course she did. Of course she thought she knew every damn thing about his life. About him.

She was just like all the rest of them, quantifying him, shoving him into some box that everyone else in the world seemed to exist in that he and Thursday didn’t need, didn’t want. Staring in disbelief at her loathing expression, he saw flashing before his eyes his parents, with the icy eyes they’d both come to fear more than anything else in the world, shoving them off to boarding school without a second thought; his teachers with their rock-hard voices, scolding, screaming, chiding them like toddlers, that they were nothing, going nowhere, loved by no one; the doctors at the hospital mocking, sneering, goading them; the other kids at school who whispered, pointed, ostracized them for being different. And then this girl. This. Girl.

“That, you freak, is what happens when the person next you to you doean’t give a shit about art and messes up your painting by bugging you for some stupid prank.”

You freak. You're a freak.

He’d just pulled his idiot suicidal brother out of the East Fucking River. His twin brother, the only thing or person or family he had in the world, unconscious and soaking and limp and bleeding, out of the East Fucking River, and then sat by him for hour upon perpetual hour in the hospital while the doctors plugged tubes into him and made no effort to hide the fact that his chances weren’t great. Had this girl just pulled her idiot suicidal brother out of the East River? Because unless she had, then she had no reason to fucking talk to him. Or even look at him. She had no idea. No god damn idea.

Tuesday faced forward, trying to shut her out, trying to shut everything out. He’d become something of a pro at that, as of late. But of course, Valerie had other ideas.

“You dumbass, spray painting isn’t art, it’s vandalism! Why do you think half of your ‘artist’ friends are in jail? In fact, you wouldn’t know art even if you were drenched in it. Like this.”

He stared hard ahead, clenching his teeth and balling his hands into fists. He would sock this…bitch…in the jaw. He would sock this fucking bitch in the-

Tuesday was smacked hard in the face with the scent of sharp, stinging chemicals.

There was paint on him. There was paint on his head. There was paint all over him. There was totally paint on him right now, and it was wet, and the wet stuff was in his hair, and in his eyes, and his muscles were like, squirming as they felt the tickle of the liquid dripping down, and his nose was totally about to fall off, and what was going on?

He groped around for a roll of paper towels, wiping off the front of his face enough to open his eyes without dying of eye-poison or something, and immediately caught sight of a teacher looking like she would grab him and fry him in a frying pan, given the opportunity.

“Both of you, outside now.”

Tuesday had totally and utterly had it. His head felt queasy beyond all imagination as it was squeezed between the urge to ring this girl’s neck and spray paint a mural on her dead body and the urge to burst out crying and never speak to anyone again. Confused, conflicted, livid, overwhelmed, and dizzy from the paint fumes, Tuesday ran from the room.

[VICTORIA ROMENZ]

Oh shit.

That’s all that went through Victoria’s head when Tuesday began wiping the paint juice off his face. The dinky plastic cups fell from her hands and all her anger disappeared. What the hell was she thinking? Well technically she wasn’t thinking. This wasn’t the first this had happened to Victoria. The red rage kind of took control of her and preyed on innocents in her path. Most of the time it was somebody who deserved it like those dumbass fake jocks or cheerleaders but this kid didn’t really deserve her rage. She was really mad at him for messing up something she could easily fix? He had fucking almost lost his brother! Victoria of all people knew how it felt to lose someone close to her tragically.

Victoria’s smirk disappeared and she almost said something but the kid ran. God, she should just be struck by lightning right now. It was really all her dad’s fault for this rage. He fucking disappeared whenever she planned to confront him about ignoring her. She just wanted to hide but that wasn’t how Victoria Romenz handled things. No, she’d fix this problem. After about a minute of people staring at her, she ran out after Tuesday.

“Hey!” she yelled and finally caught up with him. “Hey, I um I didn’t—Look dude, I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I don’t really know what came over me over there. It was pretty stupid.” Victoria knew exactly what came over her. Her father hated anybody who wasn’t like him. She was just like him. Ugh, she didn’t want to be like him! “Any kind of use of your artistic skills is art. I’m sure you’re probably as good of an artist as me.” She held out her hand and had a pleading expression on her face. “Truce?”

[TUESDAY DAVENPORT]

Tuesday shot down the hallway, veering down every corner he came to, keeping his head down and avoiding eye contact with passerbys, hoping that he’d be out of eyeshot before whoever he was passing could process the fact that a member of like, the Blue Man Group was currently running loose in the school. Shoot, he really did look like one of those weird blue alien guys who put Cheereos on his face and then ate them off or whatever they did.

“Hey!” she yelled and finally caught up with him. “Hey, I um I didn’t—Look dude, I’m sorry.”

“Forget it,” he mumbled, breaking into a sprint and careening down a narrow staircase. He wasn’t going to give Vivian an opportunity to splash more paint on him, oh no. Tuesday was already feeling nauseous from the fumes that were washing over him, and more paint on him was not something he at all needed right now. Washing this out was going to be a pain in the ass enough as was.

“I don’t really know what came over me over there. It was pretty stupid.”

It was incredibly stupid. But Tuesday’s conscious mind barely processed her words as he wiped more paint from his eyes, groping along the wall for the door of the men’s room. It had to be here. This was definitely the right wall. He’d had his eyes half-closed to keep himself from going blind, but still, he’d been here…shit, had he turned right or left at the Lincoln statue? Left. He’d turned left. He’d had to have turned right, right? Shit, shit, if he was in the wrong place, he was trapped. This girl would be on him in minutes. Tuesday squeezed his eyes shut, thinking that this was totally like the final scene of that one Final Destination movie, 3 or 4, whichever was the one with the Scott Pilgrim lady and the dude from that Twilight Zone Episode with the old guy with the glasses and the-

Suddenly, his hand grasped the door handle. He pulled himself into the men’s room, slamming the door behind him and lurching into the sink. The faucet roared to life, and he began to scrub viciously at his face.

“Any kind of use of your artistic skills is art. I’m sure you’re probably as good of an artist as me.” Tuesday heard her voice, muffled through the door of the bathroom. “Thanks. Flattered.” She was probably being sarcastic. Why would she be nice to him? She’d only just called him like, every bad name on Urban Dictionary and then some. She was probably just here for more. She was probably about to start screaming about delinquents and vandals and how he was totally going to flunk his classes and die because he smelled bad or something. Ugh, God, so many things that were entirely wrong. His brother, and November, and Pig, and now this girl Veronica…

”Truce?

Tuesday had managed to remove the majority of gross blue alien stuff from his face, and had moved on to his hair. Fuck, he’d totally straightened it and used his special gel and everything this morning, and now he’d have to wash it like six times, because there were like six gallons of paint on every strand, and like, was the world even big enough to contain this much paint?

Truce.

Tuesday’s mind was still telling him not to trust her. She’d just thrown a bucket of poisonous coloring acid on him and dissed everything he stood for, after all. But fuck it. He didn’t even care anymore. If only she’d stop yelling at him. He opened the door a fraction of an inch, sticking his head out. “Help me wash this crap out of my hair, and you might be getting somewhere.”

[VICTORIA ROMENZ]

Victoria was pretty stubborn so when Tuesday shot her down she kept trying. He was headed towards the bathrooms. Probably to wash the paint out of his hair. What was he freaking out about anyway? It’s just paint. It’s not like it was going to burn his skin or anything. He was acting kinda babish. Although she did just hit him with the paint water in a surprise attack. It’s not like the kid wanted to have his clothes ruined.

She ran faster and realized she had just poured paint on the kid who’s brother almost died. What a bitch move. Maybe she should take up some anger management classes or something. Nah, she didn’t need that. She just needed to apologize.

Victoria finally stopped at the boys restroom and poured out her cold heart to the boy behind the door. She heard footsteps and the door cracked open. Tuesday’s head stuck out and Victoria had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing.

“Help me wash this crap out of my hair, and you might be getting somewhere.”

“Here,” she saiod attempting not to snicker. She opened the door all the way and peeked around. No one but him. She walked all the way in. Walking oveer to a sink, she pointed to it and said, “Stick your head under this and I’ll get it out.” Victoria wasn’t the mother hen type but she kinda felt like she owed it to this guy to be nice. After all she had lost a close family member so she could almost relate to his feelings. Except for his brother was still alive and Victoria’s mom was long gone.

[TUESDAY DAVENPORT]

Who did this fucking bitch think she was anyway? Like, okay, if he’d insulted her or something, she totally would have had every right to brutally assault him. Like, if he’d called her a sexist name, or insulted her grandmother who’d died in the Holocaust or something like that. But come on. He’d asked if she wanted to pull a prank. A prank. And really? How much of a god damn insult was that? If she didn’t like pranks, that was her problem. Not his.

And now there was paint on his head. Something was very wrong with this picture.

And it was that girl. Who really needed to like, take a chill pill or something, because from what Tuesday could see, she was still pretty mad at him. Had he like, missed something? Had his mind just gone on a commercial break while his body murdered Vanessa’s entire family? Was that why she was chasing him around the school like the maniac dude from the Friday the 13th movies? Was that what was going on right now?

“Here,” she saiod attempting not to snicker. She opened the door all the way and peeked around. No one but him. She walked all the way in. Walking oveer to a sink, she pointed to it and said, “Stick your head under this and I’ll get it out.”

Uh huh. ”What, and give you the opportunity to drown me?” Tuesday backed away slowly, running a hand unconsciously through his hair and retrieving a fistful of blue paint. ”No way, dude. Uh, girl. Dude-girl.” What, did she really think he was so stupid to actually fall for a trick like that? Right. Yeah, no. Not happening.

Of course, as he stood and glanced sheepishly around the restroom at his options, he realized it truly was the only way. He wasn’t going to be able to do this himself, after all, unless he did that thing they did on Lost where they made cups out of their hands, but that would probably take hours anyway. ”Fine,” he finally conceded, knowing that if she tried anything funny, he would totally kick back and impale her, uh, legs, or something. Yeah. That was a thing, right?

He grimaced, shoving his head under the sink and watching the droplets of blue paint cascade into the basin. This was not going to be pretty, he could tell already.

[VICTORIA ROMENZ]

”What, and give you the opportunity to drown me?”
Victoria laughed. “Seriously?” she asked skeptically. What this guy for real?

”No way, dude. Uh, girl. Dude-girl.”

“You can’t drown someone in a sink. There’s a drain remember?” she stated pointing to the hole in the sink.

The kid looked around the room and Victoria resisted the urge to roll her eyes. That would be terribly girly of her.

Victoria was certain she scared this boy a lot more then she had planned to. He was seriously being a little bit ridiculous though. He was easily a head taller than her and could probably pick her up and throw her out the bathroom window if he wanted. Not that she’d let him. She kick the kid’s balls off before he tried to hurt her. She’d kick his ass to Los Angeles. She’d make him--

Woah. Cool the jets, Victoria. This guy isn’t a bad guy, she thought. After taking another deep breath, she stated in a calm and sincere voice, “I’m not mad at you anymore, dude. I mean it.”

“Fine.”

Victoria turned on the water and made it warm before motioning him to get under it. She washed out his hair trying not to think about what other stuff was in it besides the paint. Do guys even wash their hair daily? Well, this guy probably did considering how freaked he got. She could bet he did more to his hair in the morning than she did. She turned of the water and hit the dryer button. “You can dry your hair here without me. You never know I might try to burn your scalp,” she said as a causal joke. She bit her tongue and quickly added. “I’m kidding!”

Looking down at her hands she saw that his were covered in blue paint. If he put his hands through his hair to dry it like she did--

“Wait!” she said quickly. She grabbed his hands and pulled them back towards the sink before turning on the water. “You might want to do that first,” she suggested smiling. Maybe she wasn’t too bad at this being nice thing.

[TUESDAY DAVENPORT]

Squinting through the droplets of paint that threatened to explode in his eyes like the weird sand things from that Dune movie at any second, Tuesday saw this girl laughing at him.

Laughing. At him.

Okay, did Veronica need a lesson on like, how the world worked or something? Because Tuesday would totally give her that, if that was what she needed. Had she just like, never talked to people before? Because you didn’t assault someone for no reason and then LAUGH at them. That just wasn’t what people did. Like, a humpback whale walking into a strip club and pouring a glass of Listerine through its blowhole. That was about how much sense this girl was making to him at the moment.

“Seriously?”

”Yes, seriously!” he snapped, jabbing a toe against the wall irritably. Tuesday was totally never sarcastic ever, but if he didn’t let his anger out verbally right now, this girl was going to end up without a head. Seriously. He was pissed enough to literally decapitate her right now. ”No, I’m totally kidding. Everything’s fine and dandy over this way. I mean, you only just threw like, what, a gallon of poisonous fumes on me? Yeah, no big deal. Everyday routine. Why don’t you go get some more, we can all have a little ‘Let’s Throw Paint at Tuesday’ party. Sound like fun?” God, he needed to get this out of his hair, because all bets were off once it dried up there.

“You can’t drown someone in a sink. There’s a drain remember?”

Tuesday rolled his eyes. He could definitely think of about twenty four ways to drown someone in a sink, none of them requiring a lack of a drain. Still, better not to give this girl any ideas. If she thought sink-drowning was impossible, well, all the better for people she was trying to kill. ”Oh. Yeah. Sinks have drains. Right. God, why didn’t I think of that?”

“I’m not mad at you anymore, dude. I mean it.”

Oh. Right. SHE’S not mad at ME. Well, good. That was totally my biggest worry. God, he was so snippy today. He totally had a right, but still. What was going on? Why was he getting so worked up about something he normally wouldn’t give two shits about? Sheesh, he’d known coming to school today was a terrible idea.

“You can dry your hair here without me. You never know I might try to burn your scalp,” she said as a causal joke. She bit her tongue and quickly added. “I’m kidding!”

”Not funny,” he replied sullenly, flinching at her tone. He flicked a blue fleck from his hair with his thumb and forefinger, glaring pointedly in the direction of the sink.

“Wait!” she said quickly. She grabbed his hands and pulled them back towards the sink before turning on the water. “You might want to do that first,”

Tuesday flinched instinctively as her skin made contact with his: he had this…thing…with people touching him. ”Okay, whatever, fine. Let’s go, hurry up. Get this over with.”

[VICTORIA ROMENZ]

When other people were pissed, Victoria always got pissed. She couldn’t stand it anymore. Fuck, being nice. “The paint is non-fucking-toxic. Calm your shit. The worst thing it will do is make your hair smell bad. And I’m not out to get you! For Heavens sake, I just got mad because you ruined my painting! You think just because I’m Russian, I’m a murderer or something? Is that it? Never once did I say that I wanted to kill you!”

Victoria grumbled obscenities in Russian and kicked the wall. God, she really was not in the mood for this freaked out baby. Really? The guy needed to grow some balls. She almost laughed when he rolled his eyes but covered it with a smirk.

”Not funny.”

“Yes, I’ve realized you have no sense of humor,” Victoria said lightly. She was quickly running out of steam. That’s what you get when your breakfast is a snackbar. She leaned against the wall and waited for him to finish. The next class was going to start soon and Victoria didn’t want to be late.

”Okay, whatever, fine. Let’s go, hurry up. Get this over with.”

She noticed Tuesday’s flinch and quickly let go of his hands. “I think you can do that by yourself,” she mumbled walking over to the door. She debated on walking out but she’d know she’d have to see him tomorrow in class. If they could fix this, then they should try. It seems like he didn’t want to make anything better. He just wanted to be a whiny ass bitch and cry over his hair. She really has no patience for this. Why couldn’t he just say it was okay and get on with his day? For once she didn’t understand a boy. If he was even a boy at that.

[TUESDAY DAVENPORT]

Tuesday grimmaced as the scalding water washed over his hands. What, had he been drunk or something during class today? What in God's Creation had prompted him to just up and ask some random girl to pull a prank with him? If there was a moral to this story, it was that girls were total pricks. That, or "don't come to school a week after you almost kill your brother, because you could end up cutting a bitch". Oh, or "paint smells really bad." That could be one too.

"This paint is non-fucking toxic. Calm your shit. The worst it can do is make your hair smell bad. You think just because I'm Russian I'm out to kill you or something?"

"Okay. Well, it smells toxic." It was totally toxic. Paint was toxic, right? All those safety things in kindergarten about like, never ever letting it touch your skin, those were a thing, right? Yeah, it totally was. Plus, wasn't there that Modern Family episode where the dude died from inhaling too much paint? Yeah, and that had been like, one little bucket too.

Tuesday could feel the room swimming before his eyes as the stench assaulted his nostrils. "And anyways, it's not like there's-whoa, wait, you're Russian?" Like, Russian, as in, from actual Russia, the country? Tuesday had never met someone from Nother country, or at least he was pretty certain he hadn't. But dude, Russia? That was like, mega-far away. Were Russians the people with the red furry hats? Tuesday imagined Veronica in a red furry hat and giggled slightly.

"Yes. I realize that you have no sense of humor."

Right. I'm the one with no sense of humor. "We can call it that," he replied dryly, rubbing his eyes. This whole day had just been an explosion of exhaustionand grief and confusion and people yelling at him. If only Vivian knew.

So...yeah. This was going to be super-ultra-mega-awkward. He flipped his hair over, swearing inwardly, because damnit, he'd spent an hour and a half on it this morning, and it was only 10:30. "Okay, fine, whatever. I'm sorry I..." what had he done? Ruined her, like, painting or something? Somehow? "Uh, messed up your, uh, art. Thing. Now can we hurry this up?"

[VICTORIA ROMENZ]

"Okay. Well, it smells toxic."

“Of course it does! They aren’t going to make it smell like chocolate or something,” Victoria ranted. She really wondered whether this guy had two brain cells in his head. Maybe he was the twin that the other twin deprived of oxygen before birth or something? She had no idea but it was getting on her nerves. Seriously, grow some balls kid.

"And anyways, it's not like there's-whoa, wait, you're Russian?"

“Da, ya iz Rossii” Victoria said simply. She wondered whether her accent had worn of. It had been a while since she had been around her dad everyday. He almost never called her. Usually when he called they would speak Russian. Victoria took a deep breath. Now was not the time to think about her dad neglecting her.

Victoria watched Tuesday fret over his hair and nearly started laughing again. Was this boy really worried about his hair. It’s not like his friends cared whether it was perfectly straight or not. Victoria knew none of her guy friends ever thought much about their hair or dress or anything besides video games. Maybe this kid was gay? Gay guys were feminine weren’t they? Although feminine guys weren’t necessarily gay either. The wonderful game of guess their sexuality was something Victoria never bothered with. She didn’t plan to date anytime soon anyway.

"Okay, fine, whatever. I'm sorry I...Uh, messed up your, uh, art. Thing. Now can we hurry this up?"

“I’m waiting on you and your hair!” Victoria said. “And I’m sorry I messed up your gorgeous man do.” Victoria said snickering again. She mumbled an apology while getting ahold of herself. Where were the tough and strict men her dad was talking about that would be constantly putting her done because she was a women. All Victoria saw around this school was nerds and guys like Tuesday who got mad over simple things like hair. What’s up with that?

[TUESDAY DAVENPORT]

Okay, this paint was seriously getting on his nerves. Even if it wasn’t going to kill him…paint definitely wasn’t supposed to be on your head, right? Wasn’t that a thing? Like, people didn’t paint themselves with the same paint you used to paint the walls, right? Well actually, he’d washed his hands with dishwasher soap before and he’d survived, so that was a bad example. But…okay, seriously? Was he the only person in this room who understood this situation?

“Of course it does! They aren’t going to make it smell like chocolate or something,”

”Well of course they…” Whoa. Wait. Chocolate-smelling paint. ”Yo, wait, hang on a mo. Paint that smells like chocolate? That’d be so wicked.” He snapped his fingers, feeling his brain shift into prank-planning mode. Yes. Yes, this was perfect. Paint that smells like chocolate. Paint it over chocolates. Give chocolates to people you didn’t like, for example, weird girls who threw paint at you. Laugh to taste. He grinned. ”Yo, keep that idea in mind, because I’m probably going to forget it.” He snapped again. That totally needed to be a thing.

“Da, ya iz Rossii”

”Uh.” Tuesday had absolutely no idea what she’d just said, but it sounded like another language. Spanish was another language, right? He went to his Spanish class occasionally. ”Si? Senor? Ita?”

“I’m waiting on you and your hair!” Victoria said. “And I’m sorry I messed up your gorgeous man do.”

”Your apology is not accepted until literally all of the paint is gone from my hair,” he replied resentfully. He watched the water flow over his hair, the paint coming out painstaking pigment by painstaking pigment. God almighty, this was going to take forever. ”You wouldn’t happen to have shampoo with you?” he asked on a limb. No, that was a dumb question, of course she wouldn’t have shampoo with her. Normal people didn’t carry shampoo around with them. That was just Thursday and his weirdness. Right. ”Or like, Idunno, something…cleaning…y? Would you? No?”

Cleaning-y. He was so good at talking. Seriously.