.γ . β’ β . Β° .β’ Β°:. *β Β° . β "π’ππ ππππ ππππππππ’ ππ ππππ"
BURBANK, CA. 2028 Zoey sat on the tiled floor of North Burbank High School. Her pencil ripped across paper while headphones blasted an underground pop-rap sensation she'd just discovered. She'd always sit hunched over that scrappy little notebook of hers. It was adorned with stickers taped haphazardly and scrapbooked letters around the cover. It's all Zoey knew: her songs and her isolation. Being a child of divorce and a nerd was hard; music had always been her safe space.
She smiled to herself, scrawling lyrics out on paper like bright blue water bursting from the steepest of waterfalls.
"Better come right, better luck tryinβ, gettinβ to our level" "βCause you might die, never the time, tryna start a battle" "Bleeding isnβt in my blood, λΌμλΆν° λ¬λΌμ"
She grinned to herself once more. Fingers tapping on the paper as if she'd just created a lyrical masterpiece. She did--and she knew it.
"Beating you is what I do, do, do, yeah"
She hesitated, raking her mind for the next line to take parts and smash them into a song that would make sense. In her contemplation, she glanced up, looking at all the other kids in the hallway. She'd always get weird looks; the other kids thought she was odd. Zoey didn't look like them, didn't share the same interests with them, hell--she didn't even try to make friends with anyone. Not like she could ask someone to hang out at her place, because... well...
She signed, legs sprawling a little further out on the tile. But she felt eyes on her that didn't feel familiar. But she didn't dare glance up again, not for at least 26 more seconds!