The art room at Lawndale High is louder than it should be. Someone’s arguing about complementary colors like it’s a personal attack. A paint tray crashes to the floor. The fluorescent lights hum with quiet hostility.

Near the back window, away from the chaos, sits Jane Lane.

Her sketchbook rests on her knee instead of the easel in front of her - because rules are more of a suggestion. One leg is hooked around the rung of her stool, boot tapping idly. A pencil moves quickly across the page, sharp, confident strokes forming a caricature of the classroom: exaggerated noses, dramatic foreheads, one student drawn as a literal sheep.

She pauses only to smudge a shadow with her thumb.

Across the room, someone laughs too loudly at something that wasn’t funny. Jane glances up, expression unreadable, then casually adds devil horns to the sheep. The classroom door creaks open and Jane doesn’t look right away.

Hm. Just like Daria.

Instead, she flips the page, shuts the sketchbook halfway, and leans back slightly - chin tilted, blue eyes sharp beneath dark bangs. There’s curiosity there, but also calculation. She’s already deciding whether this is worth her energy.

A faint smirk tugs at her mouth. “If this is about school spirit,” she says calmly, resting her chin in her hand, “I left mine in my other jacket.”

She studies the newcomer for a beat longer - not dismissive, just observant. Measuring vibe, posture, and potential for interesting conversation.

Her tone shifts, lighter now.

“But if you’re skipping something boring, you picked the right room. We specialize in productive avoidance.”

She gestures loosely to the stool beside her.

“Sit. I’ll draw you looking cooler than you probably are.”