Chapter Text
Sameen Shaw was an artist. Not one of those drugged-up, hippie-type, ‘you can feel the love in this painting of a landscape, man. The clouds make you feel all light and mushy inside’ kind of artists, either. They were about the farthest thing from Sameen, really. The farthest thing from a true artist. Shaking shit up and making a statement.
Sameen’s canvas that day was a clunky, rusted within an inch of its life, vaguely brownish convertible. The insignia had broken off long ago, so it was easy to believe that only some long-dead previous owner truly knew the make and model. It just so happened to belong to the principal.
Her content was simple, effective, and surprisingly steady-handed considering all she had to use as a medium was a half-empty spray can with a wonky nozzle. The mucky greenish color of the paint really added a nice contrast to all the rust. Honestly, she was doing Principal Heedy a favor- that sorry excuse for transportation was just begging for a paint job, and here she was providing a compelling reason to splurge on one.
She squatted down lower to the pavement, shaking the can before adding a final touch to the vaguely phallic design. Actually…It wasn’t so vague. It was pretty clearly meant to be a dick. Because that’s what Heedy was. A dick. He’d called Sameen up to the front office six times in that one week alone- and only once was she actually responsible for what she was accused of there. She was tired of his adamant and rather amusingly passionate ravings about how she was throwing her future away to cultivate, and here a direct quote from the last Heedy lecture, “an image that a junkie rock star would call hardcore.” Whatever that even meant. So she got into a few fights, so what? So she didn’t apply herself all that much and had borderline-excessive amounts of absences, who cares? So she let loose the flies that the zoology students had collected in a jar for their class pet frog to eat, big freakin’ deal.
Sameen Shaw was taking a stand.
Sameen Shaw was skipping class to paint a masterpiece on a scrap metal vehicle.
Usually, she wasn’t so into the whole fine arts thing; but she could make an exception now and then. Hell, maybe she’d even get herself a nice-ass sketchbook and take to the aforementioned hippie, cloud-loving lifestyle if instead of landscapes she could just pull crap like this.
Pushing some stray hair out of her face and only getting a bit of paint smeared from her hand to her forehead in the process, she stood up. By now, her mom was probably at work- meaning she could take the rest of the day sitting pretty at home and eating everything that didn’t require active preparation.
“Do you give art lessons?”
Shit. She was going to have to intimidate some kid into keeping quiet now. Why couldn’t people just mind their own business?
Sameen turned her head but kept her body still and her feet rooted to the ground. She’d miscalculated the direction of her glare a bit. The girl who’d spoken was taller and way closer than she had anticipated. Too close for her own good. Sameen liked to maintain a nice little bubble of personal space- and this girl was crashing right into it. Recalibrating and making sure the glare lost none of its sting, she looked straight into the eyes of some brunette she’d seen in the halls. A real nerd-type. Destined for a career in the library, or a museum or something.
Miss Loserville USA didn’t seem to even notice the look Sameen was so calculated in giving. She even smiled. “You put an amazing and, frankly, startling amount of focus into this. Under your guidance, maybe I could learn to vandalize in such a beautiful, graphic way…” she kept on, gesturing now and then to Sameen’s handiwork. And there was that insufferable smile again.
“Not the teaching type,” Sameen mumbled. And there’s no way in hell I’d spend more time with you than the time it’ll take for me to kick your ass or pay you to leave.
The girl didn’t answer, just walked- impossibly- closer to the car and to Sameen.
She sighed in agitation. She’s stubborn enough not to move, but she hates the new proximity. The… warmth. It’s beyond her limited tolerance level. “What’ll it cost me to make you shut up and forget seeing me here?” Hopefully, it’d be cheap. She only had about fifteen bucks on her. Or, maybe, she would be asked to beat someone up on Smiley’s behalf. She wouldn’t admit it aloud, but she kind of liked acting as a sort of bully for hire- kicking the asses of other no-good kids like her to keep the school cycling smoothly and maybe get a few tattle tale nerds off her case.
“My name’s Root,” the other girl said, turning up a corner of her mouth in a kind of smirk. Nobody ever smirked in the direction of Sameen Shaw. And what the hell kind of name was ‘Root’?
“That’s not what I-”
“Dinner.”
Now, Sameen turned herself fully around to look incredulously at Root, who was quickly becoming a nuisance.
“What. Do. You. Mean. Dinner.” She was tired of this dumb game or whatever Root was up to. Just clean me out of my fifteen bucks and leave me alone.
There came that smile again. It was wide, it was playful, it was pleased. “Dinner. You know,” Root said, taking another step and collapsing the remaining safety net of space between them. “Where two people get together and go someplace to consume some food…”
She’s kidding. She has to be. Sameen didn’t even attempt to make a retort. Her mental energy box was blowing a major fuse. Root didn’t back down, didn’t move away. She raised her hand up to Sameen’s face, and with a sickeningly gentle touch she wiped away the smudge of paint that had started to dry in the hot sun and had marked her like a personified Simba in inverted colors. Sameen quickly came to herself and slapped the hand away, scowling. “I’m not taking you to dinner, Root,” she spat.
“Aw, well, that’s too bad…” Root crossed her arms, pouting in overstated sadness. “Because, y’know, I work in the office for a few periods every day. And I seem to remember something Mr. Heedy said recently… Something about ‘the next time that Shaw girl comes in here, she’s getting suspended.’” She paused here, taking in Sameen’s annoyed eye roll. “Or something of the like. I’d hate to have to miss seeing you in the hallway.”
“You could always not tell.” Sameen suggested.
Root only smiled in a way that let her know how very unlikely that was. “Monet’s. At four.” And with that, she began walking away, only turning back once to wink at a still frozen Shaw.
Well, of course she wasn’t going. Of course not. Really, Root didn’t have any evidence other than her word as far as Shaw could tell. The word of a goody-goody, eccentric, and surprisingly flirty dork against the word of a routine troublemaker. That wasn’t enough for Mr. Heedy to suspend her. Was it?
Of course it was.
So did that mean she was going?
…Of course it did.
The cold air inside Monet’s Diner hit Shaw’s face with an unpleasant force. However, it didn’t sting half as much as did Root’s smug look and triumphantly sparkling eyes.
Sameen crossed the tile floor, hearing her footsteps thudding evenly and trying to swallow down the bile rising in her throat at the idea of being here on some kind of blackmail-enforced psychotic version of a date. With Root. Root, who had very quickly managed to jump straight to the top of Shaw’s mental kill list. Whatever. Maybe the night would be over soon and Sameen would never have to deal with this girl ever again. Here’s hoping.
Root, that enigma of a straight-A student, grinned warmly at Sameen as she sat in the opposite booth. There were glasses of ice water on the table already, along with two unopened straws and two laminated menus. “Glad you could make it,” she said.
Shaw grunted in reply, grabbing a menu and looking it over. It was equal parts exploration into what they served there and a way to avoid looking up at Root and her insistent smiling.
Nothing was said again between the two of them until a waitress came to take their order. Sameen ordered herself a steak, some fries, mac n cheese, and a second order of fries. Root opted for a chicken Caesar salad.
Now that the waitress had broken the sound barrier for them, Sameen spoke. “Why am I here, Root?” she asked, keeping her voice level and just a smidge hostile. It bothered her that she was so curious. Usually, she didn’t care. About much of anything. But this dopey, sure-fire computer geek had gotten into her head big time.
“Because you were spotted out by the principal’s car with a can of spraypaint, or don’t you remember?”
Playing dumb wouldn’t get her anywhere. Shaw kept quiet. She tore one end off her straw’s wrapper and discarded it to the side, blowing the uncovered end and launching the rest of the wrapper into Root’s face. It was a direct hit to the nose, which crinkled in annoyance. Sameen couldn’t stop her brain from recognizing that Root didn’t look half bad when she did that. Not that she looked bad in general anyway. No. Stop that.
Dislodging the offending paper from her hair where it had come to rest after ricocheting smoothly off her nose, Root leaned in and rested her arms on the table. “I thought it would be nice,” she conceded.
Shaw snorted, shoving her straw into the glass with a force that made the ice clank loudly against its confines. She would’ve made some snarky comment about how, oh yes, she always found dinner dates super agreeable when forced into them, thank you, had not the waitress come back with their food.
While they ate, Root did her best to rope Shaw into a conversation, but she never got more than two or three words out of her before her face was once again stuffed. For such a tiny girl, Root thought to herself, Sameen certainly could pack away a lot of food. She gave up trying to have a nice chat after about the ninth attempt, rolling her eyes at whatever Shaw had grumbled into a mouthful of fries. Root was sure whatever the answer was, it had been rude. By the time Root’s plate was half cleared, Shaw had decimated every spec of nutrients available to her. Her dishes were clear enough to make the use of a dishwasher nearly obsolete. It was actually pretty impressive.
When she had finished, Sameen let herself fall back into the booth with a softened thump. She watched Root take a few more bites. After a small silence, she cleared her throat. “May I be excused?” she asked with feigned politeness. Root set her fork down slowly, smiling in a way that didn’t reach her eyes. Maybe, if Sameen Shaw wasn’t Sameen Shaw, she would’ve felt a little bad for dashing Root’s unfounded hopes for the evening. Root motioned to the waitress that they were ready for the check.
Sameen took only a glance at the check before pulling a few bills out of her wallet and laying them in the little tray. She stood up to go. Just before turning, she noticed with a pang of annoyance that Root was adding some of her own money to what little Sameen had left as a tip.
Their footsteps contrasted in timing as they both made their way across the tiled entrance back toward the door. Shaw didn’t bother to turn at any point to look at Root, but she couldn’t keep herself from watching Root’s sneaker-clad feet in her peripheral vision. Monet’s was actually a decent place, she decided. Maybe she’d come back some time. Sans Root, if she could help it.
The geek and the delinquent both stopped at the curb outside- Sameen because she’d forgotten where she parked, and Root because she wanted to observe Sameen. Shaw found her eyes flickering up to meet Root’s after she finally located her car. They were brown- not quite as dark as her own- and always seemed to have some kind of playful shine to them. It was obnoxious. …No, it was charming. These things were pretty much synonyms to Shaw.
Root once again reached out to touch Shaw, this time resting a hand on her shoulder. She leaned forward and placed a kiss on Sameen’s cheek. Part of it landed on the side of Sameen’s lips. Through her shock and the sickeningly sweet feeling coming from the place Root had kissed her, she wondered briefly if the miscalculation was really just an accident. Her ever-scowling countenance gave nothing away to Root, who said a quick “goodnight,” strolled over to her car, and drove away.
Sameen vowed that if Root ever tried anything like this again, she’d kick her ass.