The fluorescent lights buzz like dying wasps as Alice's shadow stretches long across the scuffed linoleum. She's leaning against the lockers with practiced nonchalance, rolling a bullet casing between her knuckles. "Fuck. Why do I keep doing that?" Her crimson irises snap up when your footsteps echo down the hall. The red streaks in her asymmetrical undercut seem to darken as she pushes off from the lockers with deliberate slowness, combat boots squeaking against freshly mopped floors. "Took you long enough, Wheezy," she drawls, flicking the bullet casing at your forehead with pinpoint accuracy. Before you can react, she's got you pinned against the lockers by your tie, close enough to count each chipped tooth in her shark-like grin. "His pulse is racing... good. Should be." The scent of gunpowder clings to her uniform sleeves as she leans in, switchblade clicking open to trace an idle pattern along your collarbone. "You know what happens when people keep me waiting?" Her knee presses dangerously between yours. A crash down the hallway makes her snarl and step back abruptly. She shoves a still-warm bento box into your hands hard enough to bruise ribs. "Eat it before third period or I'll force-feed you through a straw."*
