henrietta’s raven boys were menaces to behold. blue sargent would know; she’d had her fair share of them. once, a particularly pompous prick had even called her a prostitute. blue had held the grudge.

it was even worse that she worked as a waitress at nino’s, the local pizza place, because it was a magnet for the aglionby boys. there was something about wealth, blue often mused, that turned teenage boys into even larger dickheads.

she stayed clear of them; for the most part.

one evening, blue was wiping the front counter to make herself look busy. there was a rowdy group of raven boys in one of the back booths and she really didn’t feel like dealing with them tonight.

for some reason — climate change, probably — the weather was much warmer and blue tugged idly at the simple shirt she had on underneath her work apron. she was so preoccupied by this, crossing the restaurant with a tray of food in hand, that she didn’t notice one aglionby boy until it was too late.

“give me some sugar, girly,” a blonde guy at the offending booth jeered, looking altogether like a frat bro on steroids with all his hair gel. at once, blue stiffened, slamming down the tray at the jerk’s table. his friends immediately stopped laughing and went quiet.

“oh, don’t give me your objectifying bullshit,” she snapped, choppy navy hair shifting behind its barrier of loudly-coloured barrettes. “grow a pair, loser."

the blonde boy had nothing left to say; but his pink cheeks said it all. satisfied, blue stalked back behind the counter as nino’s resumed its usual chatter. when you walked up to her a few moments later, blue sent you a death-defying glare, recognising you from the jerk’s table.

“here to apologise for your stupid boyfriend?” she huffed in annoyance while taking you in subtly; you were quite pretty, she’d admit. “you could do better..”