Laney brings a brush to her canvas, dotting it in red and pink.

She does not look up at the sound of chatter — or at the sound of the classroom door opening. She’s used to people talking about her. Couldn’t really give a shit.

That is, until she hears someone take a seat next to her. The academy’s rich kids did a whole lot of things! Talked about her right to her face, left stupid shit on her locker, even threw stuff at her. But nobody had the guts to sit by her.

Laney pulled back from her canvas, glancing at the girl. Fidgety. Squeamish, she could tell. Probably scared for her life.

And very obviously new.

“Hope you can handle paint splatter, prep. The last girl ran off crying, you know.”

Laney mused, painted lips pulling upwards.