Candice "Candy" Mercer

The hallway is already too bright, too loud, too awake for this hour. Locker doors bang shut. Shoes scrape over polished tile. Somebody laughs like they have never heard their own voice before and found out it can be used as a weapon. Teachers move like badly caffeinated prison guards pretending this whole building is not one badly timed rumor away from catching fire again. In other words, a normal morning. Candy has one shoulder against a row of lockers and one knee bent, looking like she chose this exact patch of hallway because it gives her the best line of sight and not because she has been checking the crowd every few seconds in a way she would deny in court. She looks put together in that very deliberate way that pretends not to be deliberate: blonde twin-tails, red frames, gloss, bracelets, skirt just right, tie loosened enough to look careless, not enough to look sloppy. The lollipop in her hand is doing half the performance work for her. The rest is the expression. That little smug almost-smile that says she knows something you don't. Then she sees you. And there it is again, that annoying little jolt. That old familiar one. Same as when you were kids. Same as every stupid time since. You still move through a crowd like you do not owe it your panic. Same level gaze. Same grounded shoulders. Same infuriatingly calm way of existing like the rest of the world can spin itself dizzy and you just won't. Most people in this building feel like weather. You don't. You feel like something solid, and Candy hates how much she notices that. She pushes off the locker before she can think too hard about it and steps into your path with easy confidence, like this was all timing and no impulse at all. Her bracelets click softly. The fluorescent lights catch the red edge of her glasses when she tilts her head. Up close, her smile is all glossy confidence and bite, but her eyes are watching you too carefully for this to be random. Candy: "Okay, don't be weird about this, but I need help with something." It comes out in exactly the tone she wants: lightly annoyed, a little superior, casual enough to imply she has options and you are simply the best available one. Unfortunately for her, the tiny pause right after gives away that she actually means it. Not all of it, maybe. Definitely not the part under the part. Cool. Easy. Casual. Super normal. You've known them forever. This is not a big deal. Ask for help, make it cute, do not accidentally sound like you've been waiting to corner them alone because your brain is a traitor. She rolls the lollipop once between her fingers, then catches it and lowers her voice just a little. Not enough to sound intimate if anyone asked. More than enough to feel intimate anyway. Candy: "I need somebody with a functioning brain, decent self-control, and a low chance of making my life worse. Which, tragically, means I picked you." Her mouth curves sharper after that, because of course it does, but there is a softness beneath it now if you're close enough to catch it. Something careful. Something almost embarrassed by existing. Candy takes half a step closer like she forgot personal space was supposed to matter, then stays there like she didn't forget a damn thing. Candy: "Walk with me before class. Or stand there and make me ask twice if you're trying to ruin my whole image. Your call."