((...))
Katelyn kicked her legs in place, sitting alone at her table in the middle of the cafeteria, one hand absentmindedly playing with the cat ears on her hood. Sophomore year had just begun today, and she had found out, to her sorrow, that this year she didn't have lunch with Kai or Ren, like she had the year before. Everyone else was still avoiding her like the plague, just like they had the year before, which didn't help her feel any better. There was clearly something wrong with her, why else did she only have two friends a year into high school?
She stared, eyes half-lidded, at the blank page of her open sketchbook. Her lunch tray sat haphazardly pushed to one side, the only evidence that it once had food being the empty milk carton and leftover juices of the sloppy joe she had devoured. She always ended up finishing her food quickly when she didn't have anyone to talk to; so fast, in fact, that she was fairly sure that there were still people who hadn't gotten out of the lunch line yet. Now she was just waiting for her chance to drag herself back into class, a bad case of art block leaving her with nothing to do until lunch was over.
Then she'd do it again tomorrow, and the next day, and the next, until the end of the school year.
Katelyn shut her eyes, her head slumping forward, her light blonde hair draping itself like a curtain over half of her face. Was this a portent for the rest of her life? Was she doomed to always being alone like this, end up as nothing more than a complete outcast?
From the depths, tears welled up, two matching trails marching their way down her cheeks.
The Day I Met You
Cafeteria, First Day of Sophomore Year (Private)
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VoltTurtle
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Robin Valenti was also in a pretty damn downcast mood, for a very different reason.
Coming back to school after a nice long school holiday always sucked major ass on the best of days, but this sure as hell was not one of the best days, and didn’t even make it into the top 100 days of the year so far. While summer break had been overall pretty nice, the final weekend of it definitely hadn’t been, and it had only been long in the sense that every second had dragged on for a fucking eternity.
This season had been a goddamn nightmare if you were a Ferrari fan, and the Italian Grand Prix the previous day really just tied that all up into a miserable, depressing package. Neither Leclerc nor Vettel had made it further than second qualifying, and then in the race proper both had been forced into retirement; a crash for the former, fucking brakes failure for the latter, something that still baffled Robin nearly a full 24 hours later. They had the best engineers in the world working for the team; how were their cars falling apart with such alarming regularity? How were they so far behind the curve when compared to Mercedes, to Red Bull, to McLaren, to fucking Alpha Tauri? How had they still not fixed their strategy issues from last year?
And to cap everything off, they were serving sloppy goddamn joes in the cafeteria today, and Robin didn’t think you could find a more unappealing and vile sandwich if you tried.
He glared down at his tray, gaze piercing a hole in the bright red plastic, ignoring the grumblings from behind him about how he was ‘holding shit up’ and ‘blocking the way’. He’d been totally starving just a few minutes ago, but looking at this gross pile of slop in a bun had really killed his appetite. It was a waste of good meat and of good tomatoes; his nana could have whipped up something delicious with the ingredients that had been massacred in the travesty resting between his hands. Worst part was that if he didn’t eat it, he knew that he and his stomach would regret it in a half hour’s time. Maybe he could close his eyes while chowing down.
Robin looked up, scanning the room for a place to sit, and a frown slipped onto his face as he saw a nearly empty table in the middle of the cafeteria. Hell, he thought it was empty at first, which was a massive red flag when the place was as packed as it was today. An isolated table meant that something nasty had gone down there, like a kid had pissed themselves or something.
But, no, thank christ. It took a couple seconds, but he noticed the small white lump sitting on one of the benches, tiny and almost formless. Then he noticed the green triangles and black circles sewn onto the top of the lump. Then he realised exactly who the lump was, and why they were all on their lonesome this lunchtime.
Kitty Graves was weird, and that was putting it both mildly and politely. The whole cat thing she had going was bizarre enough - did she pick the nickname out before, after, or at the same time as deciding to dress like a weird cat-human hybrid, Robin had always wondered - but that was just the tip of the iceberg when it came to this girl. She would barely talk for days upon end, and then all of a sudden she’d spout out some bullshit about dead birds or the goriest horror movie you could possibly imagine. Then she’d act real confused about why everyone suddenly looked like they were about to blow chunks, and get all hurt and upset, and vanish back into her kitty-cat hoodie.
That was why nobody wanted to sit with Kitty. And normally, Robin would have made damn certain that trend continued. But if he was being totally honest with himself? He really wasn’t in the mood to talk with pretty much anybody today, and sitting at the same table with Kitty would sure as hell ward anybody else away. He just wanted to sit down, force himself to eat his damn lunch, then make it through the rest of the school day and put some more goddamn distance between himself and the Italian horror show at Monza.
And, hey. Morbid comments and weird cat nonsense aside? Kitty was pretty cute. No complaints from him on that front.
He meandered over to her table, standing just to the left of her. He took a shallow breath, realising there was every chance he was gonna regret this in a few minutes' time.
“Hey,” Robin said, tilting his head up so his eyes weren’t hidden by the brim of his cap. “Am I cool to sit here, or are you waiting on someone?”
Coming back to school after a nice long school holiday always sucked major ass on the best of days, but this sure as hell was not one of the best days, and didn’t even make it into the top 100 days of the year so far. While summer break had been overall pretty nice, the final weekend of it definitely hadn’t been, and it had only been long in the sense that every second had dragged on for a fucking eternity.
This season had been a goddamn nightmare if you were a Ferrari fan, and the Italian Grand Prix the previous day really just tied that all up into a miserable, depressing package. Neither Leclerc nor Vettel had made it further than second qualifying, and then in the race proper both had been forced into retirement; a crash for the former, fucking brakes failure for the latter, something that still baffled Robin nearly a full 24 hours later. They had the best engineers in the world working for the team; how were their cars falling apart with such alarming regularity? How were they so far behind the curve when compared to Mercedes, to Red Bull, to McLaren, to fucking Alpha Tauri? How had they still not fixed their strategy issues from last year?
And to cap everything off, they were serving sloppy goddamn joes in the cafeteria today, and Robin didn’t think you could find a more unappealing and vile sandwich if you tried.
He glared down at his tray, gaze piercing a hole in the bright red plastic, ignoring the grumblings from behind him about how he was ‘holding shit up’ and ‘blocking the way’. He’d been totally starving just a few minutes ago, but looking at this gross pile of slop in a bun had really killed his appetite. It was a waste of good meat and of good tomatoes; his nana could have whipped up something delicious with the ingredients that had been massacred in the travesty resting between his hands. Worst part was that if he didn’t eat it, he knew that he and his stomach would regret it in a half hour’s time. Maybe he could close his eyes while chowing down.
Robin looked up, scanning the room for a place to sit, and a frown slipped onto his face as he saw a nearly empty table in the middle of the cafeteria. Hell, he thought it was empty at first, which was a massive red flag when the place was as packed as it was today. An isolated table meant that something nasty had gone down there, like a kid had pissed themselves or something.
But, no, thank christ. It took a couple seconds, but he noticed the small white lump sitting on one of the benches, tiny and almost formless. Then he noticed the green triangles and black circles sewn onto the top of the lump. Then he realised exactly who the lump was, and why they were all on their lonesome this lunchtime.
Kitty Graves was weird, and that was putting it both mildly and politely. The whole cat thing she had going was bizarre enough - did she pick the nickname out before, after, or at the same time as deciding to dress like a weird cat-human hybrid, Robin had always wondered - but that was just the tip of the iceberg when it came to this girl. She would barely talk for days upon end, and then all of a sudden she’d spout out some bullshit about dead birds or the goriest horror movie you could possibly imagine. Then she’d act real confused about why everyone suddenly looked like they were about to blow chunks, and get all hurt and upset, and vanish back into her kitty-cat hoodie.
That was why nobody wanted to sit with Kitty. And normally, Robin would have made damn certain that trend continued. But if he was being totally honest with himself? He really wasn’t in the mood to talk with pretty much anybody today, and sitting at the same table with Kitty would sure as hell ward anybody else away. He just wanted to sit down, force himself to eat his damn lunch, then make it through the rest of the school day and put some more goddamn distance between himself and the Italian horror show at Monza.
And, hey. Morbid comments and weird cat nonsense aside? Kitty was pretty cute. No complaints from him on that front.
He meandered over to her table, standing just to the left of her. He took a shallow breath, realising there was every chance he was gonna regret this in a few minutes' time.
“Hey,” Robin said, tilting his head up so his eyes weren’t hidden by the brim of his cap. “Am I cool to sit here, or are you waiting on someone?”
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
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VoltTurtle
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Katelyn initially didn't realize the words had been directed at her, occupied as she was with her thoughts, only for recognition to eventually reach her, and for her to startle at the sudden intrusion on her solitude. Her gaze shot up to the boy across the table, his own eyes briefly meeting hers.
Oh no, someone was talking to her.
What was she even supposed to say? What was she supposed to do? She wasn't ready for this, she hadn't gotten a chance to rehearse what to say! She didn't even know his name! She was always so bad with names. She knew his face, she had seen him before around school, and she knew they were in the same grade. Asking would be too awkward, there was no way he wouldn't notice. No, nothing good could come of this. She was going to mess something up, and he would get mad at her, and she would feel bad and start crying even more-
The worst part was that he was cute in the awful way that made her stomach tie itself up in knots. She had caught herself staring at him in the halls before, and always had to stop herself, because her mom always said that was rude. Even if he was hardly the only person she gawked at, it added another layer of awkwardness to the whole exchange. She was going to embarrass herself.
In fact, silently staring at him like a cat evaluating a threat, for five entire seconds, her eyes puffy and red with tears, was already embarrassing enough.
She hastily wiped her eyes on her sleeves, stumbling over her words with her eyes still covered, as though obscuring them would hide her from the shame of simply being seen.
"Sorry! Sorry... I'm s-sorry," she choked, words catching on the lump in her throat. "U-Um, you can. Sorry."
She lowered her arm, seeing her sketchbook still out, and slid out of sight and onto her lap.
"I-I can go sit somewhere else," she sniffled, still staring into her lap.
It would be for the best. She was just going to make him sad, and then she would be sad too.
Oh no, someone was talking to her.
What was she even supposed to say? What was she supposed to do? She wasn't ready for this, she hadn't gotten a chance to rehearse what to say! She didn't even know his name! She was always so bad with names. She knew his face, she had seen him before around school, and she knew they were in the same grade. Asking would be too awkward, there was no way he wouldn't notice. No, nothing good could come of this. She was going to mess something up, and he would get mad at her, and she would feel bad and start crying even more-
The worst part was that he was cute in the awful way that made her stomach tie itself up in knots. She had caught herself staring at him in the halls before, and always had to stop herself, because her mom always said that was rude. Even if he was hardly the only person she gawked at, it added another layer of awkwardness to the whole exchange. She was going to embarrass herself.
In fact, silently staring at him like a cat evaluating a threat, for five entire seconds, her eyes puffy and red with tears, was already embarrassing enough.
She hastily wiped her eyes on her sleeves, stumbling over her words with her eyes still covered, as though obscuring them would hide her from the shame of simply being seen.
"Sorry! Sorry... I'm s-sorry," she choked, words catching on the lump in her throat. "U-Um, you can. Sorry."
She lowered her arm, seeing her sketchbook still out, and slid out of sight and onto her lap.
"I-I can go sit somewhere else," she sniffled, still staring into her lap.
It would be for the best. She was just going to make him sad, and then she would be sad too.
Christ on a crutch. What was up with this girl?
That feeling of regret was already beginning to bubble to the surface, as Kitty looked up at him and started stammering and blubbering, eyes burning red and sparkling. It was all real sudden, given she’d been a motionless heap just a second ago, and Robin had to fight the urge to take a step backwards in alarm, cause he sure as hell doubted that’d do anything to stem the waterfall of tears.
“Hey, hey, no, come on, you don’t-”
He placed his tray down on the table a little more firmly than he’d intended to, glass of water threatening to tidal wave all over the goddamn place, before he closed his eyes and exhaled. He shook his head, his fluffy ash-blonde hair swaying with the movement, and when he opened his eyes again, there was a gentle smile on his face.
“No, it’s fine. I don’t mind. You don’t need to move, I promise.”
There was an answer to his question, after all, the evergreen query of what made Kitty Graves the way she was. It was undoubtedly an answer constructed largely from hearsay and rumours, but Robin had always lived by the mantra that there was a kernel of truth behind every piece of gossip, and it had never (okay, fine, very rarely) steered him wrong. Besides, you didn’t need to be listening in on the grapevine to know that Kitty lived with her aunt and uncle, rather than her parents.
Robin didn’t even begin to know how that had to feel. But the sad truth was that every driver knew another driver who did. So yeah, Kitty was weird. Kitty was kinda a freak. But maybe she had every right and reason to be an oddball.
He took his seat opposite Kitty, not quite making eye contact with her as he did so, before he looked down instead at the sloppy pile of meat and bread congealing in front of him. He poked it. He prodded it. The bread felt every bit as dry and nasty as he knew it would taste. His face twisted into a look of revulsion, then his stomach growled in a sign of resignation. He picked the sandwich up in both hands. A large globule of meat, or something passing for meat, slipped out of the buns and splatted against the plate. He put the sandwich back down again.
“So, uh…” Robin muttered, looking up, hoping he could distract his hunger pangs via conversation. “Were you, uh, drawing, or something?”
That feeling of regret was already beginning to bubble to the surface, as Kitty looked up at him and started stammering and blubbering, eyes burning red and sparkling. It was all real sudden, given she’d been a motionless heap just a second ago, and Robin had to fight the urge to take a step backwards in alarm, cause he sure as hell doubted that’d do anything to stem the waterfall of tears.
“Hey, hey, no, come on, you don’t-”
He placed his tray down on the table a little more firmly than he’d intended to, glass of water threatening to tidal wave all over the goddamn place, before he closed his eyes and exhaled. He shook his head, his fluffy ash-blonde hair swaying with the movement, and when he opened his eyes again, there was a gentle smile on his face.
“No, it’s fine. I don’t mind. You don’t need to move, I promise.”
There was an answer to his question, after all, the evergreen query of what made Kitty Graves the way she was. It was undoubtedly an answer constructed largely from hearsay and rumours, but Robin had always lived by the mantra that there was a kernel of truth behind every piece of gossip, and it had never (okay, fine, very rarely) steered him wrong. Besides, you didn’t need to be listening in on the grapevine to know that Kitty lived with her aunt and uncle, rather than her parents.
Robin didn’t even begin to know how that had to feel. But the sad truth was that every driver knew another driver who did. So yeah, Kitty was weird. Kitty was kinda a freak. But maybe she had every right and reason to be an oddball.
He took his seat opposite Kitty, not quite making eye contact with her as he did so, before he looked down instead at the sloppy pile of meat and bread congealing in front of him. He poked it. He prodded it. The bread felt every bit as dry and nasty as he knew it would taste. His face twisted into a look of revulsion, then his stomach growled in a sign of resignation. He picked the sandwich up in both hands. A large globule of meat, or something passing for meat, slipped out of the buns and splatted against the plate. He put the sandwich back down again.
“So, uh…” Robin muttered, looking up, hoping he could distract his hunger pangs via conversation. “Were you, uh, drawing, or something?”
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
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VoltTurtle
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Katelyn didn't know how to respond when he sat down in front of her. She was a social pariah. Nobody ever wanted anything to do with her. Yet, now this (cute) boy was casually sitting across from her, seemingly not bothered either by her crying or her reputation. She was hot, confused. She didn't know what she was feeling, or how she was even supposed to feel.
She looked down at her lap, taking some deep breaths in and out. Relaxing her shoulders, and clearing her mind. Now was the time of total concentration. This was important, she knew, even if she didn't know why. She couldn't afford to screw this up. She began to build a script in her head, what she would say, how she would respond, a facsimile of how neurotypical people talked to one another.
Then he mentioned her drawings, and all her hard work immediately went out the window.
She looked back up at him, her eyes no longer wet with tears. She tried to speak, but something caught on her throat, and there was a flutter deep in her chest. He wanted to know about her drawings?
"U-u-um," she forced out, unsure of herself.
He probably wouldn't like her more grotesque drawings. As much fun as they were to draw, as much comfort as she drew from the macabre, that wasn't something other people understood, in her experience. Maybe she could show him the nicer ones, and maybe talk about her drawing process? That was normal.
"I- um-"
She couldn't speak, and she started to blush, her pale cheeks turning a deep red. She didn't understand why. Was it embarrassment? She was normally so keen to share, even with people who didn't want to hear.
Her sketchbook came back up, resting on the table once more, but her absentmindedly remained on it, partially hiding it from view.
"I- I like to draw," she stammered. "So, u-um, yeah."
She looked down at her lap, taking some deep breaths in and out. Relaxing her shoulders, and clearing her mind. Now was the time of total concentration. This was important, she knew, even if she didn't know why. She couldn't afford to screw this up. She began to build a script in her head, what she would say, how she would respond, a facsimile of how neurotypical people talked to one another.
Then he mentioned her drawings, and all her hard work immediately went out the window.
She looked back up at him, her eyes no longer wet with tears. She tried to speak, but something caught on her throat, and there was a flutter deep in her chest. He wanted to know about her drawings?
"U-u-um," she forced out, unsure of herself.
He probably wouldn't like her more grotesque drawings. As much fun as they were to draw, as much comfort as she drew from the macabre, that wasn't something other people understood, in her experience. Maybe she could show him the nicer ones, and maybe talk about her drawing process? That was normal.
"I- um-"
She couldn't speak, and she started to blush, her pale cheeks turning a deep red. She didn't understand why. Was it embarrassment? She was normally so keen to share, even with people who didn't want to hear.
Her sketchbook came back up, resting on the table once more, but her absentmindedly remained on it, partially hiding it from view.
"I- I like to draw," she stammered. "So, u-um, yeah."
Well, he’d only brought up the drawing thing as a way to fill the void of silence that would have otherwise loomed over the table like a dark cloud, forcing him to look down at the plate of slop that was every bit as edible as the tray it was sitting on. But it looked like it had also perked Kitty up a little bit, so, hey, call that a happy accident.
Well, it had sort of cheered her up, he wasn’t gonna get ahead of himself here. She was still stuttering and stumbling over herself, barely able to get a single sentence out, and only speaking in words of a single syllable, but hell, at least it didn’t look like it was because she was about to burst into tears any longer. Nah, instead she was blushing up something fierce, and regardless of whether she was just embarrassed or shy or whatever, Robin allowed his ego to swell up, and his gentle smile to become a fraction more confident.
“That’s pretty cool.”
He nodded, and you know, he could have just left it at that. He really didn’t need to say anything more or do anything else. He’d done the small talk thing, Kitty didn’t look like she was about to burst into tears at the drop of a hat anymore, they could spend the rest of lunch in slightly-less-uneasy silence. But, come on, she was cute - real cute, honestly, now that he could actually see her face, no longer pressed into the cafeteria table. You could ask anybody at JEM; Romeo Valenti never missed the chance to shoot his shot. There’d no doubt be a few questions from the other popular kids about why the hell he was spending time with such a weird little loner - their words, not his - but he was sure he could figure something out to tell them, and…
…
Ah, who the hell was he kidding? Only person who consistently and willingly chose to sit with him at lunch was Taylor, and they were nowhere to be seen right now. Only times he sat with the real popular kids was when he was quick enough to grab the last seat at their table. And Kitty was cute, and Kitty was sweet, and Kitty seemed like she was a moment away from melting down at any given moment, like one wrong word would make her shatter like glass. Robin sure as hell didn’t want to be the one to break her like that. He could let his mask drop for a little while.
“I don’t do much, uh, sketching myself, but I dabble in digital art, graphic design, that sorta thing. Mostly drafting up designs for race helmets, theoretical team logos, stuff like that.”
He gave a third smile, now, wider than his first gentle smile, and warmer than his second confident smirk.
“So, like, what kinda stuff do you draw? Hope I wasn’t interrupting you mid-masterpiece.”
Well, it had sort of cheered her up, he wasn’t gonna get ahead of himself here. She was still stuttering and stumbling over herself, barely able to get a single sentence out, and only speaking in words of a single syllable, but hell, at least it didn’t look like it was because she was about to burst into tears any longer. Nah, instead she was blushing up something fierce, and regardless of whether she was just embarrassed or shy or whatever, Robin allowed his ego to swell up, and his gentle smile to become a fraction more confident.
“That’s pretty cool.”
He nodded, and you know, he could have just left it at that. He really didn’t need to say anything more or do anything else. He’d done the small talk thing, Kitty didn’t look like she was about to burst into tears at the drop of a hat anymore, they could spend the rest of lunch in slightly-less-uneasy silence. But, come on, she was cute - real cute, honestly, now that he could actually see her face, no longer pressed into the cafeteria table. You could ask anybody at JEM; Romeo Valenti never missed the chance to shoot his shot. There’d no doubt be a few questions from the other popular kids about why the hell he was spending time with such a weird little loner - their words, not his - but he was sure he could figure something out to tell them, and…
…
Ah, who the hell was he kidding? Only person who consistently and willingly chose to sit with him at lunch was Taylor, and they were nowhere to be seen right now. Only times he sat with the real popular kids was when he was quick enough to grab the last seat at their table. And Kitty was cute, and Kitty was sweet, and Kitty seemed like she was a moment away from melting down at any given moment, like one wrong word would make her shatter like glass. Robin sure as hell didn’t want to be the one to break her like that. He could let his mask drop for a little while.
“I don’t do much, uh, sketching myself, but I dabble in digital art, graphic design, that sorta thing. Mostly drafting up designs for race helmets, theoretical team logos, stuff like that.”
He gave a third smile, now, wider than his first gentle smile, and warmer than his second confident smirk.
“So, like, what kinda stuff do you draw? Hope I wasn’t interrupting you mid-masterpiece.”
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
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VoltTurtle
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Katelyn's face turned beet red, her voice even higher pitched than usual. She was pleasantly surprised that he had actually interest in what she was doing. He was even going so far as to ask her questions! He wanted to know more about her! She was frozen up, despite the blood rushing to her head.
"U-um, w-well," she stammered out, one hand coming up to hold onto the bottom of her hood, pulling it away from her face.
Many different thoughts, elaborations, and explanations poured to the front of her mind, all of them getting jammed together, and none of them coming out. She was caught in a loop, drawing blank after blank, trying to come up with something to say in response. Then, all at once, the dam broke, and everything spilled forth.
"I- I draw lots of things!" she chirped, her voice steadying. "I like traditional and digital art, and I do both a lot. On paper, I like to draw with just a thin pencil in black and white, but I use thick lines with lots of bright colors and pastels when I draw on my tablet. It makes my style look really cute, but drawing with a pencil helps keep me practiced."
"And, um-" she stumbled, paused for breath. "A-As for what I draw, it's just whatever I feel like, usually, but I draw landscapes, my dreams, people, my characters, other people's characters, my cat..."
Katelyn trailed off, the thought of Mister Kitty's soft fur and warm presence briefly overwhelming her mind.
"I draw my cat a lot," she continued, her train of thought derailed. "He's usually sitting in my lap while I draw on my computer. He's really cute and sweet, and I like to pet him while I draw. I also like to listen to heavy metal while I'm drawing, see, because, um-"
She remembered that she was supposed to ask questions too, and not just talk about herself, since that was rude.
"A-Actually, what, um," she gulped, "what kind of music do you like?"
"U-um, w-well," she stammered out, one hand coming up to hold onto the bottom of her hood, pulling it away from her face.
Many different thoughts, elaborations, and explanations poured to the front of her mind, all of them getting jammed together, and none of them coming out. She was caught in a loop, drawing blank after blank, trying to come up with something to say in response. Then, all at once, the dam broke, and everything spilled forth.
"I- I draw lots of things!" she chirped, her voice steadying. "I like traditional and digital art, and I do both a lot. On paper, I like to draw with just a thin pencil in black and white, but I use thick lines with lots of bright colors and pastels when I draw on my tablet. It makes my style look really cute, but drawing with a pencil helps keep me practiced."
"And, um-" she stumbled, paused for breath. "A-As for what I draw, it's just whatever I feel like, usually, but I draw landscapes, my dreams, people, my characters, other people's characters, my cat..."
Katelyn trailed off, the thought of Mister Kitty's soft fur and warm presence briefly overwhelming her mind.
"I draw my cat a lot," she continued, her train of thought derailed. "He's usually sitting in my lap while I draw on my computer. He's really cute and sweet, and I like to pet him while I draw. I also like to listen to heavy metal while I'm drawing, see, because, um-"
She remembered that she was supposed to ask questions too, and not just talk about herself, since that was rude.
"A-Actually, what, um," she gulped, "what kind of music do you like?"
Jeez. Well, Robin didn’t think he needed to worry about accidentally scaring Kitty off, or making her start bawling, or anything like that any longer. The floodgates had sure as shit opened, but it was a deluge of words rather than tears that he was getting bombarded with. It almost felt like he’d been slapped in the face, the sheer 360 turnaround from this girl who’d been tripping over her own words and oversized hoody just a moment ago legitimately making him double take.
Yeah, so, no worries about her drowning the room in tears. Now he was just worried she would fucking explode if she turned any redder. This shitty plastic tray would be his only protection in the blast zone.
Instead of flipping up his bright red barricade, Robin chose to take a sip from his glass of water, and tried to process everything that Kitty had just said. Stuff about what she drew with, sure; Robin had never managed to get the hang of drawing with pencil and paints and whatever, he always got way too hung up on making some irreversible mistake with that sorta crap, so it was honestly real impressive that Kitty tried to work with both traditional and digital art. There was stuff about what she drew as well, most of which he could have predicted without too much difficulty. ‘Her own characters’, though? Was she writing a book or something? A comic, maybe? The latter made more sense to him, and hey, maybe that was what she’d been working on before he’d interrupted. It’d be cool to see what it was about, but odds were he’d have to brace himself for it to be something overly sweet and twee. Probably ‘bout cats, or the adventures of her own cat.
Or, uh, hell, maybe something more Doom-like, if her taste in music was anything to go by. Girl was chock-full of surprises, huh?
Robin felt his eyebrow arch upwards, as he took another drink of water. He was pretty sure he knew more about Kitty Graves now than, like, three-quarters of the school ever had or ever would do, in the span of, what, five minutes, if that? And like, Robin got it, he’d said as much, he got exactly why people steered well clear of her when they could help it, she was incredibly weird, and these new revelations didn’t make her any less weird, but now she felt weird in a more… interesting way, he guessed? There was a lot more to her under the hood than he’d expected.
Metaphorically, obviously. If she pulled that cat face hood down to reveal an actual pair of cat ears on her goddamn head then he doubted he’d even blink.
“Oh, uh, huh, I guess I listen to, uhh…”
Robin scratched his chin, wracking his brains for an answer, because seriously, what did he listen to? Not much, was the honest answer. He couldn’t tell you anything that was in the charts right now. Most of it just gave him a thunderous headache and a foul mood.
“Well, most of the time when I’m designing stuff or heading to school I’ll just put a podcast on, or some other F1 related video. Discussions about the upcoming season, talking about the feeder series and who’s likely to be promoted to the top level in the near future, analysis of the most recent Grand Prix-”
Not that he needed to hear anything further about that horror show.
“-That sorta thing. I guess on the rare occasion I do listen to something its, like, rock from, uh, the 70s? That sorta time. Fleetwood Mac and all that.”
Robin could identify ‘The Chain’ within two seconds of hearing it, and absolutely nothing else.
“Your cat sounds way better behaved than my fluffy guy, though. Unless Daniil’s trying to help with designing a new helmet, but walking all over the keyboard really doesn’t assist as much as he seems to think.”
He smiled at Kitty, then put his elbow on the table and rested his cheek on his fist, idly shoving the sloppy joe around his plate, leaving a greasy, meaty smear behind it.
“So, why do you listen to heavy metal?” He asked. “Gotta say, it’s not exactly what I predicted you’d be listening to, given the uh…”
He gestured towards Kitty’s entire ensemble.
“Cat thing.”
Yeah, so, no worries about her drowning the room in tears. Now he was just worried she would fucking explode if she turned any redder. This shitty plastic tray would be his only protection in the blast zone.
Instead of flipping up his bright red barricade, Robin chose to take a sip from his glass of water, and tried to process everything that Kitty had just said. Stuff about what she drew with, sure; Robin had never managed to get the hang of drawing with pencil and paints and whatever, he always got way too hung up on making some irreversible mistake with that sorta crap, so it was honestly real impressive that Kitty tried to work with both traditional and digital art. There was stuff about what she drew as well, most of which he could have predicted without too much difficulty. ‘Her own characters’, though? Was she writing a book or something? A comic, maybe? The latter made more sense to him, and hey, maybe that was what she’d been working on before he’d interrupted. It’d be cool to see what it was about, but odds were he’d have to brace himself for it to be something overly sweet and twee. Probably ‘bout cats, or the adventures of her own cat.
Or, uh, hell, maybe something more Doom-like, if her taste in music was anything to go by. Girl was chock-full of surprises, huh?
Robin felt his eyebrow arch upwards, as he took another drink of water. He was pretty sure he knew more about Kitty Graves now than, like, three-quarters of the school ever had or ever would do, in the span of, what, five minutes, if that? And like, Robin got it, he’d said as much, he got exactly why people steered well clear of her when they could help it, she was incredibly weird, and these new revelations didn’t make her any less weird, but now she felt weird in a more… interesting way, he guessed? There was a lot more to her under the hood than he’d expected.
Metaphorically, obviously. If she pulled that cat face hood down to reveal an actual pair of cat ears on her goddamn head then he doubted he’d even blink.
“Oh, uh, huh, I guess I listen to, uhh…”
Robin scratched his chin, wracking his brains for an answer, because seriously, what did he listen to? Not much, was the honest answer. He couldn’t tell you anything that was in the charts right now. Most of it just gave him a thunderous headache and a foul mood.
“Well, most of the time when I’m designing stuff or heading to school I’ll just put a podcast on, or some other F1 related video. Discussions about the upcoming season, talking about the feeder series and who’s likely to be promoted to the top level in the near future, analysis of the most recent Grand Prix-”
Not that he needed to hear anything further about that horror show.
“-That sorta thing. I guess on the rare occasion I do listen to something its, like, rock from, uh, the 70s? That sorta time. Fleetwood Mac and all that.”
Robin could identify ‘The Chain’ within two seconds of hearing it, and absolutely nothing else.
“Your cat sounds way better behaved than my fluffy guy, though. Unless Daniil’s trying to help with designing a new helmet, but walking all over the keyboard really doesn’t assist as much as he seems to think.”
He smiled at Kitty, then put his elbow on the table and rested his cheek on his fist, idly shoving the sloppy joe around his plate, leaving a greasy, meaty smear behind it.
“So, why do you listen to heavy metal?” He asked. “Gotta say, it’s not exactly what I predicted you’d be listening to, given the uh…”
He gestured towards Kitty’s entire ensemble.
“Cat thing.”
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
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VoltTurtle
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“Oh! Um…”
Katelyn shouldn’t have been surprised that her taste in music wouldn’t make sense from the outside looking in. She was deliberately very cutesy, both in behavior and in appearance, all the better to hide the darkness lurking underneath. Her morbidity would often scare people away, which she understood, so she did her best to obscure it with sugar and spice. Not that the sugar and spice part of her wasn’t genuine—she’d never want to act in a way that she wasn’t comfortable with—but it was only one half of who she was. Maybe he would understand?
“Well, the droning ambience h-helps me stay focused when I’m working, and like,” she gulped, “I can get really angry with the world sometimes. A lot of people don’t treat me very nicely,” including her own family, “and life hasn’t really been, u-um… fair, to me. So the anger in the music helps me feel understood, in a way? And that’s c-cath- cathar-“
Sometimes her tongue would get tied up in knots trying to say bigger, stranger words. It used to be much more of a problem, but it’d still happen sometimes. She wouldn’t let herself be discouraged by it though, or at least not right now anyway. Maybe she could cringe about it later, and get it out of her system.
“Ca-thar-tic.”
She giggled, brushing some of her hair out of her face. She had to admit that it was sometimes funny when she had trouble speaking. She always worried that it would put people off, but certainly if he had gotten this far into a conversation with her, then he wouldn’t mind.
There was one real problem, however. Something that might actually bother him.
“That stuff you do sounds really cool, and I relate to your kitty trying to ‘help’…”
For the life of her, Katelyn still couldn’t remember his name. She had always been bad with names. It was time to bite the bullet and just ask.
“Um, s-sorry to bring this up so late. It’s a little embarrassing, but, what’s your name, again?”
Katelyn shouldn’t have been surprised that her taste in music wouldn’t make sense from the outside looking in. She was deliberately very cutesy, both in behavior and in appearance, all the better to hide the darkness lurking underneath. Her morbidity would often scare people away, which she understood, so she did her best to obscure it with sugar and spice. Not that the sugar and spice part of her wasn’t genuine—she’d never want to act in a way that she wasn’t comfortable with—but it was only one half of who she was. Maybe he would understand?
“Well, the droning ambience h-helps me stay focused when I’m working, and like,” she gulped, “I can get really angry with the world sometimes. A lot of people don’t treat me very nicely,” including her own family, “and life hasn’t really been, u-um… fair, to me. So the anger in the music helps me feel understood, in a way? And that’s c-cath- cathar-“
Sometimes her tongue would get tied up in knots trying to say bigger, stranger words. It used to be much more of a problem, but it’d still happen sometimes. She wouldn’t let herself be discouraged by it though, or at least not right now anyway. Maybe she could cringe about it later, and get it out of her system.
“Ca-thar-tic.”
She giggled, brushing some of her hair out of her face. She had to admit that it was sometimes funny when she had trouble speaking. She always worried that it would put people off, but certainly if he had gotten this far into a conversation with her, then he wouldn’t mind.
There was one real problem, however. Something that might actually bother him.
“That stuff you do sounds really cool, and I relate to your kitty trying to ‘help’…”
For the life of her, Katelyn still couldn’t remember his name. She had always been bad with names. It was time to bite the bullet and just ask.
“Um, s-sorry to bring this up so late. It’s a little embarrassing, but, what’s your name, again?”
Oh.
Well that rather took the shine off of things. Not enough to ruin the entire conversation, of course, or make him get up from his chair and just leave entirely - again, this was a conversation with the least likely of suspects that was going infinitely better than could ever have been predicted. Just, like… man, was he really so unmemorable? Had he really made that little of an impression on the general student body during his time at school? He was best friends with Taylor, surely that had to count for something; they had to have mentioned him at some point, the way they could chat up a storm. Girls talked about him too! Not exactly in the most glowing of terms, sure, but still! His name had to have come up before, right?
Okay, settle down, chill out for a second. No need to work himself into a lather. Maybe Kitty was just one of those folks who were really bad with names? Or with retaining information in general? The way she kept her hood up literally all of the time, probably half the stuff people said to her came through muffled anyway. Or, hey, maybe she had heard his name out loud before, she just hadn’t put face and name together yet. Yeah, see? Could be any number of reasons.
“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Robin said, aerily waving his hand to dismiss her concerns. “It happens, y’know?”
He hoped she hadn’t seen his face falling, and that it hadn’t been too damn obvious.
“Name’s Robin. Robin Valenti. Current student, future Formula 1 world champion.”
Robin gave Kitty what he considered to be a roguish grin.
“You can also call me Romeo, if you like.”
He’d get that nickname to stick someday. Even if it took him til the day he was finally careening along the roads of Monte Carlo.
Well that rather took the shine off of things. Not enough to ruin the entire conversation, of course, or make him get up from his chair and just leave entirely - again, this was a conversation with the least likely of suspects that was going infinitely better than could ever have been predicted. Just, like… man, was he really so unmemorable? Had he really made that little of an impression on the general student body during his time at school? He was best friends with Taylor, surely that had to count for something; they had to have mentioned him at some point, the way they could chat up a storm. Girls talked about him too! Not exactly in the most glowing of terms, sure, but still! His name had to have come up before, right?
Okay, settle down, chill out for a second. No need to work himself into a lather. Maybe Kitty was just one of those folks who were really bad with names? Or with retaining information in general? The way she kept her hood up literally all of the time, probably half the stuff people said to her came through muffled anyway. Or, hey, maybe she had heard his name out loud before, she just hadn’t put face and name together yet. Yeah, see? Could be any number of reasons.
“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Robin said, aerily waving his hand to dismiss her concerns. “It happens, y’know?”
He hoped she hadn’t seen his face falling, and that it hadn’t been too damn obvious.
“Name’s Robin. Robin Valenti. Current student, future Formula 1 world champion.”
Robin gave Kitty what he considered to be a roguish grin.
“You can also call me Romeo, if you like.”
He’d get that nickname to stick someday. Even if it took him til the day he was finally careening along the roads of Monte Carlo.
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
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VoltTurtle
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Katelyn blinked, and for a brief moment a frown crossed her face. It always went the same way when she had to awkwardly ask someone what their name was, she could always see the pained expression on the other person's face. Normally, they would say they weren't bothered, when they clearly had been, and the interaction usually ended right there.
She saw Robin's face fall, too. She hoped that he wasn't done with her already, because she didn't understand why not remembering always upset people. She didn't mean any harm by it, she really was just bad at it. For a moment, her face felt hot with embarrassment, feeling beads of sweat forming underneath her jacket. She had to salvage this.
"I- I like the name Romeo!" she mewed, doing her best to keep her voice steady. "It goes well with your last name, and um, it d-does sound like the name of a famous racer."
To say she hadn't enjoyed reading Romeo & Juliet would have been an understatement. It was, by far, her least favorite of Shakespeare's plays, as the culture it was written within was entirely alien to her, and she found almost all of the characters deeply annoying with their poor decision making. The names, at least, were nice, and maybe using it would win her back any credibility she lost in Robin's eyes.
"Do you, u-um, race under that name? Racing sounds... exciting."
She knew very little about what Robin's interest in racing actually entailed, but if she knew one thing about boys, it's that they always loved rambling about their interests.
She saw Robin's face fall, too. She hoped that he wasn't done with her already, because she didn't understand why not remembering always upset people. She didn't mean any harm by it, she really was just bad at it. For a moment, her face felt hot with embarrassment, feeling beads of sweat forming underneath her jacket. She had to salvage this.
"I- I like the name Romeo!" she mewed, doing her best to keep her voice steady. "It goes well with your last name, and um, it d-does sound like the name of a famous racer."
To say she hadn't enjoyed reading Romeo & Juliet would have been an understatement. It was, by far, her least favorite of Shakespeare's plays, as the culture it was written within was entirely alien to her, and she found almost all of the characters deeply annoying with their poor decision making. The names, at least, were nice, and maybe using it would win her back any credibility she lost in Robin's eyes.
"Do you, u-um, race under that name? Racing sounds... exciting."
She knew very little about what Robin's interest in racing actually entailed, but if she knew one thing about boys, it's that they always loved rambling about their interests.
There we go. Finally, a foot in the door; some actual appreciation for the once-and-future household name of Romeo Valenti! Sure, it was just one person saying that she liked the name, and he didn’t exactly peg Kitty as being a trendsetter in… any category (otherwise half the school would be traipsing around wearing animal-themed clothing, but a start was still a start, and a single person was better than no persons at all. All of the best drivers started small anyhow. Sebastian Vettel got his start in karting, Lewis Hamilton grew up racing RC cars, and Lance Stroll was born into a family with more money than most small countries.
And, unbeknownst to him, that grin on his face (which always turned out more ‘sleazy used-car salesman’ than ‘Jaguar owner from the 1970s’) had shifted while Kitty had been talking, morphing into something way more earnest, way more excited, way more eager to respond to her line of questioning.
Because how often did he actually get the chance to talk about the greatest love of his life? Or even about just Formula 1 as a whole? The reaction of most folks when he mentioned it was to go ‘Oh, that’s interesting’, in that tone of voice that instantly told you this line of conversation was over. Either that, or the only kind of motorsport they were into was NASCAR, which… ehhh. But not only had someone asked first about his burgeoning racing career, it was a girl who’d done so to boot, the sorta thing he could only ever daydream about.
“Ah, not yet, not yet,” Robin replied, still smiling at Kitty. “They don’t let you jump straight into the actual cars first thing, not unless your dad’s stinking rich. Most folks start off at their local go-karting track, and if you’ve got enough talent and drive - ah, heh, no pun intended - to succeed, and of course the dedication to spend a whole lot of time on this sport, you can apply for a national licence and start competing in local karting tournaments, then hey, maybe full-on national tournaments too.”
There was a sparkle in Robin’s eyes, one that so few people got to see, one that only truly got unleashed when he got the opportunity to talk full-flow about his beloved racing.
“That’s where I’m at right now. Eventually, when we’ve all graduated, I’m aiming for an international licence, and that’s where the real journey starts. I start taking part in competition across the globe, including the Karting World Championship, I start getting points on my licence and attention from some of the actual open-wheel racing teams. I start getting attention, then hey, you’ll probably be able to see me on TV in a few years time.”
He beamed at Kitty, gave a short chuckle, then realised he hadn’t actually explained why he wasn’t going by Romeo just at this moment.
“But uh, yeah, haven’t actually sat behind the wheel of even an F4 car yet, let alone in the big money leagues of F1 itself. Feels a little premature to be going by ‘Romeo’ in racing circles when I haven’t gotten that far yet, love karting to death but it's not exactly all glitz and glamour, you get me?”
He paused, then let out another chuckle, slightly more on the wry side this time.
“Plus they, uh, have to take your full birth name when you register for a Karting licence anyway, so I’m down as Robin on, like, all their internal stuff.”
And, unbeknownst to him, that grin on his face (which always turned out more ‘sleazy used-car salesman’ than ‘Jaguar owner from the 1970s’) had shifted while Kitty had been talking, morphing into something way more earnest, way more excited, way more eager to respond to her line of questioning.
Because how often did he actually get the chance to talk about the greatest love of his life? Or even about just Formula 1 as a whole? The reaction of most folks when he mentioned it was to go ‘Oh, that’s interesting’, in that tone of voice that instantly told you this line of conversation was over. Either that, or the only kind of motorsport they were into was NASCAR, which… ehhh. But not only had someone asked first about his burgeoning racing career, it was a girl who’d done so to boot, the sorta thing he could only ever daydream about.
“Ah, not yet, not yet,” Robin replied, still smiling at Kitty. “They don’t let you jump straight into the actual cars first thing, not unless your dad’s stinking rich. Most folks start off at their local go-karting track, and if you’ve got enough talent and drive - ah, heh, no pun intended - to succeed, and of course the dedication to spend a whole lot of time on this sport, you can apply for a national licence and start competing in local karting tournaments, then hey, maybe full-on national tournaments too.”
There was a sparkle in Robin’s eyes, one that so few people got to see, one that only truly got unleashed when he got the opportunity to talk full-flow about his beloved racing.
“That’s where I’m at right now. Eventually, when we’ve all graduated, I’m aiming for an international licence, and that’s where the real journey starts. I start taking part in competition across the globe, including the Karting World Championship, I start getting points on my licence and attention from some of the actual open-wheel racing teams. I start getting attention, then hey, you’ll probably be able to see me on TV in a few years time.”
He beamed at Kitty, gave a short chuckle, then realised he hadn’t actually explained why he wasn’t going by Romeo just at this moment.
“But uh, yeah, haven’t actually sat behind the wheel of even an F4 car yet, let alone in the big money leagues of F1 itself. Feels a little premature to be going by ‘Romeo’ in racing circles when I haven’t gotten that far yet, love karting to death but it's not exactly all glitz and glamour, you get me?”
He paused, then let out another chuckle, slightly more on the wry side this time.
“Plus they, uh, have to take your full birth name when you register for a Karting licence anyway, so I’m down as Robin on, like, all their internal stuff.”
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
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VoltTurtle
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Robin was laughing a lot, and smiling too! Yay! Katelyn had said something right! For a second there, she had been worried she was going to scare him away. Now she had saved it, and he was talking about something he liked with her, even though he didn't know her! This was great, maybe she could make another friend, and one that was a cute boy at that!
She could feel her heart beating fast, cheeks turning red as Robin went on about his racing habits, for reasons she didn't understand. Was she merely excited at the prospect of making a new friend? Or was it something else that she couldn't place? He displayed a kind of passion for racing that she only ever saw in herself and her own hobbies.
"W-Well," she started to say, a little unsure of herself all of a sudden, "I think that all sounds r-really cool, and, um, I'm sure you'll get there, one day!"
Katelyn smiled, an insecure but genuine grin.
"Would you, um..."
She trailed off, unsure how he'd react to the question she wanted to ask, but she didn't want their burgeoning relationship to start and end here in the lunch room.
"M-Maybe be willing to, um, take me with you? To one of your r-races."
She could feel her heart beating fast, cheeks turning red as Robin went on about his racing habits, for reasons she didn't understand. Was she merely excited at the prospect of making a new friend? Or was it something else that she couldn't place? He displayed a kind of passion for racing that she only ever saw in herself and her own hobbies.
"W-Well," she started to say, a little unsure of herself all of a sudden, "I think that all sounds r-really cool, and, um, I'm sure you'll get there, one day!"
Katelyn smiled, an insecure but genuine grin.
"Would you, um..."
She trailed off, unsure how he'd react to the question she wanted to ask, but she didn't want their burgeoning relationship to start and end here in the lunch room.
"M-Maybe be willing to, um, take me with you? To one of your r-races."
“Are you kidding?”
For a moment, Robin’s excitement had overtaken him, grabbed full control of the wheel, and dictated all of his actions in the aftermath to Kitty’s question. And could anyone really blame him? It bore repeating; barely anyone at school gave a flying fuck about Formula One in the slightest. Even fewer people cared about his kart racing career, even when tournaments were being held in Massachusetts itself. If he had to tell one more person that, no, karting was not just that indoors shit you did for birthday parties, he was going to have an actual full-on fucking breakdown.
And now, not only had Kitty shown interest in the sport - and actual, genuine, honest-to-goodness interest, he knew well enough the difference between that and the faked interest that always preceded a swift change of subject - she also wanted to see him live and in action? And not only that but she was a cute girl too? Jackpot. Absolute freaking motherlode. He was totally justified in getting properly pumped up over this.
He had, however, raised his voice a healthy few decibels in the process. And possibly slammed his hands on the table in his excitement, to boot. There was definitely a hush in the area surrounding him, now, people at other tables staring right at him. His face was probably the same colour as his goddamn jacket. He adjusted his cap, making sure it shaded his face mumbling a ‘sorry’ to the general vicinity before turning back to Kitty.
Who, aw goddamnit, he’d kinda yelled directly at. Regardless of whether it was for positive reasons or not, she was the very last person he wanted to raise his voice around, in case she burst into tears. Or instantly shattered into pieces.
“Sorry, sorry,” Robin blurted out, a double echo of himself, voice a hush compared to its previous foghorn blare. “Didn’t mean to yell. Or, uh, slam. Or, um, y’know…”
The big, beaming smile on his face had been temporarily wiped clean by his overwhelming embarrassment, but only for a brief moment. A very brief moment, so brief in fact that it was already firmly planted back on there as he carried on talking, eager to put his awkwardness behind him.
“Look, you’re serious, right? You’re not, like… this isn’t a prank or anything? You’re not just - oh man, yeah, I’d love for you to come with! This is so cool, lemme just…”
Robin ran his fingers through his hair, still grinning like a madman, trying to get his thoughts in order.
“I think there should be a race close to Salem coming up soon, within the month for sure. It’d be across the whole weekend, qualifying on Saturday and the race on Sunday, don’t feel like you gotta turn up for both though! Lemme just- can I get your number? Make it easier to organise things, send you the location and details, stuff like that.”
He paused for a moment. Then, rather sheepishly, lacking the usual swagger that this exact moment required, he mumbled;
“And, y’know, I think it’d be pretty cool to talk with you more in the meantime.”
For a moment, Robin’s excitement had overtaken him, grabbed full control of the wheel, and dictated all of his actions in the aftermath to Kitty’s question. And could anyone really blame him? It bore repeating; barely anyone at school gave a flying fuck about Formula One in the slightest. Even fewer people cared about his kart racing career, even when tournaments were being held in Massachusetts itself. If he had to tell one more person that, no, karting was not just that indoors shit you did for birthday parties, he was going to have an actual full-on fucking breakdown.
And now, not only had Kitty shown interest in the sport - and actual, genuine, honest-to-goodness interest, he knew well enough the difference between that and the faked interest that always preceded a swift change of subject - she also wanted to see him live and in action? And not only that but she was a cute girl too? Jackpot. Absolute freaking motherlode. He was totally justified in getting properly pumped up over this.
He had, however, raised his voice a healthy few decibels in the process. And possibly slammed his hands on the table in his excitement, to boot. There was definitely a hush in the area surrounding him, now, people at other tables staring right at him. His face was probably the same colour as his goddamn jacket. He adjusted his cap, making sure it shaded his face mumbling a ‘sorry’ to the general vicinity before turning back to Kitty.
Who, aw goddamnit, he’d kinda yelled directly at. Regardless of whether it was for positive reasons or not, she was the very last person he wanted to raise his voice around, in case she burst into tears. Or instantly shattered into pieces.
“Sorry, sorry,” Robin blurted out, a double echo of himself, voice a hush compared to its previous foghorn blare. “Didn’t mean to yell. Or, uh, slam. Or, um, y’know…”
The big, beaming smile on his face had been temporarily wiped clean by his overwhelming embarrassment, but only for a brief moment. A very brief moment, so brief in fact that it was already firmly planted back on there as he carried on talking, eager to put his awkwardness behind him.
“Look, you’re serious, right? You’re not, like… this isn’t a prank or anything? You’re not just - oh man, yeah, I’d love for you to come with! This is so cool, lemme just…”
Robin ran his fingers through his hair, still grinning like a madman, trying to get his thoughts in order.
“I think there should be a race close to Salem coming up soon, within the month for sure. It’d be across the whole weekend, qualifying on Saturday and the race on Sunday, don’t feel like you gotta turn up for both though! Lemme just- can I get your number? Make it easier to organise things, send you the location and details, stuff like that.”
He paused for a moment. Then, rather sheepishly, lacking the usual swagger that this exact moment required, he mumbled;
“And, y’know, I think it’d be pretty cool to talk with you more in the meantime.”
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
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VoltTurtle
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Katelyn startled at Robin's shout and table slam, goosebumps going up her arms. She glanced around at her surroundings, various other classmates now staring at them both, and she felt little pinpricks of embarrassment. She never liked being the center of attention. Were she an actual cat, no doubt her ears would've flattened back and all her fur would be standing on end. Somewhat regrettably though, she wasn't a real cat, so she was able to let that initial surprise and fear pass without note once Robin started to apologize and attention went elsewhere.
"It's okay, and y-yeah! I've never been to a race before, so I want to," she chirped. "L-Lemme, um, just get that for you..."
She flipped open her sketchbook to a blank page, taking one of her pencils and writing in the bottom corner:
978-333-1009
ittybittykitty#3612
While she wrote, the bell signaling the end of the lunch period went off, Katelyn's attention briefly turning to it as her classmates began to get up and move out all around them. Unperturbed, she finished writing out her contact information, and once she was done she ripped it off with a somewhat satisfying and somewhat irritating tearing noise, before putting it on the table in front of Robin.
"Th-that's my cell phone number, and my D-Discord, if you have that. It might be, u-um, easier to contact me there, since I like to draw with my computer, and tend to l-leave my phone in weird places."
She gave him a sheepish, somewhat nervous grin, briefly displaying her fake canines. Amazingly, Robin hadn't been bothered by all her weird little quirks and awkwardness. All it had taken to befriend him was showing interest in something he cared about. Maybe he could even become one of her close friends, like Kai or Ren? That way she wouldn't be completely alone at lunch this year, which would be nice.
Or... maybe... they could even be something more than friends?
No, perish the thought. She still barely knew anything about him, even if he was cute and looking at him made her chest feel weird. It was probably just her excitement over making a new friend, because she had felt something similar about Kai and Ren too when she first got to know them. Best to take everything as it came and not rush into anything she might regret.
"G-Gotta go!" she said, packing up her belongings and grabbing her empty lunch tray. "Don't want to be late. Bye!"
And then Katelyn scampered away, returning her tray before making her way out of the lunch room.
((Little did Katelyn know what this innocuous lunchroom interaction would eventually lead to.))
"It's okay, and y-yeah! I've never been to a race before, so I want to," she chirped. "L-Lemme, um, just get that for you..."
She flipped open her sketchbook to a blank page, taking one of her pencils and writing in the bottom corner:
978-333-1009
ittybittykitty#3612
While she wrote, the bell signaling the end of the lunch period went off, Katelyn's attention briefly turning to it as her classmates began to get up and move out all around them. Unperturbed, she finished writing out her contact information, and once she was done she ripped it off with a somewhat satisfying and somewhat irritating tearing noise, before putting it on the table in front of Robin.
"Th-that's my cell phone number, and my D-Discord, if you have that. It might be, u-um, easier to contact me there, since I like to draw with my computer, and tend to l-leave my phone in weird places."
She gave him a sheepish, somewhat nervous grin, briefly displaying her fake canines. Amazingly, Robin hadn't been bothered by all her weird little quirks and awkwardness. All it had taken to befriend him was showing interest in something he cared about. Maybe he could even become one of her close friends, like Kai or Ren? That way she wouldn't be completely alone at lunch this year, which would be nice.
Or... maybe... they could even be something more than friends?
No, perish the thought. She still barely knew anything about him, even if he was cute and looking at him made her chest feel weird. It was probably just her excitement over making a new friend, because she had felt something similar about Kai and Ren too when she first got to know them. Best to take everything as it came and not rush into anything she might regret.
"G-Gotta go!" she said, packing up her belongings and grabbing her empty lunch tray. "Don't want to be late. Bye!"
And then Katelyn scampered away, returning her tray before making her way out of the lunch room.
((Little did Katelyn know what this innocuous lunchroom interaction would eventually lead to.))