Your name is Tavrin Nitram, you're a lovely highschool Junior girl with perfect grades, even though you take those really difficult AP classes. You have a few really close friends who you appreciate because approaching other people is rather intimidating. You classify yourself as a nerd sometimes, but only express it in the safety of your home, where your room is covered in Peter Pan and fairy posters, you have Pok'e'Mon cards scattered across your floors and desk, and your favorite orange and red bears sit on your bed. In public though, you like to give off the image of someone who's strong and confident with your edgy side-shave Mohawk and septum and eyebrow piercings. Sometimes your dad will look at you and shake his head, but with a big smile on his face. Your dad is starting to get a little old, and you're positive he's the best dad that has ever existed. He always supports your crazy ideas of style, but is strict with grades and your classes.

It's a Wednesday, the middle of a week and you've still got a thousand things to get done before the week is over, but first things first; you need to get dressed. You sigh as you wiggle your hips and jump up and down in a humorous attempt to pull your skinny jeans over your wide hips and thick legs. After your ankles finally emerge from their claustrophobic hold you fasten them and smile a little when they go together a bit looser than they did last week. You're fairly chubby, not the fattest girl around, but definitely not the thinnest either. You wear anywhere between a size 9 to a size 11 in jeans, and try to avoid shirts that would cling around the little pudge at the bottom of your tummy. You toss all your hair over to the side and slip on a t-shirt and some sandals. Books and notes fall into your bookbag, which looks like something wilderness survivalists would carry with them on month-long voyages, as you toss everything from your late night study session into it, and you can hear your dad fuss at you from in the kitchen.
"6:58!" He calls, warning you that if you don't leave soon you'll be late.
You curse at him under your breath and heave the 20-pound-thing over one shoulder and steal your dad's coffee from him as you walk out the door, keys jingling in hand. You glance back briefly over your shoulder to see him, a small man, with grey on the sides of his dull hair but with the big brown eyes of a child, just in time to see him tap his chest and point at you with a wink. You roll your eyes and smile back as you drop your bag in the passenger seat of your little worn-down car and start the ignition. You drive off and sip on your swiped coffee, which is made to your liking with Irish cream, while your dad drinks his black.

On your way to school you pass a grey mini-van pulled over to the side of the road, with paint chipping off and a little stream of smoke flowing from the opened window. Through the smudged glass you see the familiar sharp features of a classmate with his cheeks hollowed out as he sucks another drag through his cigarette. He's staring down at his phone with an agitated expression and exhales through his nose. You slow down for a second, considering pulling over as well to make sure he's okay, but when he looks up and makes eye-contact with you, you can't help but panic and drive off going faster than you should on this long country road.

The guy in the mini-van was Gamzee, and you knew him pretty well, and held a lot of mixed feelings for him. In middle-school you crushed on him hard, but never had the guts to even talk to him. That was a dark and painful part of your history, one that you didn't like to think about often at all. You had never really gotten the opportunity to properly talk to him, despite the one time your friend tried to introduce the two of you, he simply had too many other friends and nothing in common with you, the long haired brunette who never got in trouble and was too afraid to take risks. The whole ordeal has left you with a bad taste in your mouth, and your initial reaction towards him is to wrinkle your nose and turn away. As you pull into the school's parking lot and drive routinely to your spot you think back to him sitting in his van on the side of the road, and wonder who his dealer is these days.