Survival Of The Fittest

A momentary pang of fear - had the jibe been too mean? - and then a sudden flood of relief as Charlie Girl laughed and dropped the facade. Zara felt instinctively that she'd passed some kind of test, albeit one whose intention and impact both remained murky.

Zara listened with genuine interest as the other girl laid out her actual plans for the afternoon: working on some songs, an activity she was quick to dismiss as uninteresting. Zara didn't know much about Charlie Girl's musical endeavors, beyond a vague recollection that it was probably something punk or grunge or something "core," but decided to volley that one back over the net anyways, as a gesture of amity.

"I think that's pretty cool," she said. "Music is a type of intelligence, just like any other. It takes talent to do what you do." She shrugged as she delivered the compliment. This was a habit she'd carefully cultivated a while back. People broadly liked compliments, but they hated being complimented, so a wry expression and a diffident shrug made it seem like you were just stating an obvious fact and didn't really care how it landed. This delivery allowed the other person to stuff the compliment into their pocket without further acknowledgement. The compliment could then be safely forgotten, or pulled out later, in private, and be ruminated on.

"Anyway, it probably beats putting up posters."

Charlie Girl raised one eyebrow and gave a nod of agreement.

"Yeah, it does, that's true." She said with a small. Then after a quick time check on her phone, she started backpedaling away from Zara.

Not because she smelled or anything, but because she had a schedule she had to keep and she wanted to make sure no underclassmen tried to swoop in on her empty practice room like the vultures they were.

"Anyway, I have to go, I think if I'm fifteen minutes late I lose legal claim to the space."

Then, with a quick wave, she spun on her heel and disappeared out of the auditorium and into the afterschool sun of Las Vegas.

((Charlie Girl continued elsewhere...))

Zara watched her go.

She liked Charlie Girl, she decided. She couldn't see them being friends, but they could, feasibly, become acquaintances with benefits. Press could make or break a run at the student council presidency, and the council, in turn, could conjure a thousand little bureaucratic annoyances to stall the presses. A little amicable non-aggression could save a lot of headaches for both parties. Charlie Girl seemed sharp enough to appreciate that. Whether or not she was capable of impressing that on the likes of Alexis Keller, well, that was anybody's guess. Probably worth a shot, though.

Filing away the interaction for later analysis, Zara turned her attention back to the thin sheaf of posters nestled in the crook of her elbow. There were still students milling about, every one of them a potential voter. Smiling and nodding at passers-by, she dutifully headed to the next billboard. There was awareness to raise.

((Zara Mohammad continued elsewhere...))