Chapter Text
For the last five minutes the only sound that could be heard in the medium-sized office was the scribbling of a pen on paper, the pages turning as the words were written down for further inspection. It wasn’t a furious kind of scribbling, more like whatever that was being recorded was important enough to require the utmost focus.
That combined with the fiddling of sheets every once in a while, as well as the pair of blue eyes carefully examining their content, was enough to make her feel like she was about to be diagnosed—instead of just being there because the school’s counsellor had called her in.
Curious but slightly anxious eyes scanned the four walls around her. To her right was a bookshelf filled to the brim with countless hard-cover books. Most of them were about psychology or pedagogy, mostly directed at handling teenagers, but there were surprisingly quite a few others on birds and even different martial arts across the globe. To her left, hanging from the walls, her peripheral vision could make out several motivational posters—including but not limited to the typical ‘Hang in There’ poster of a cat with ridiculously large eyes holding onto a tree branch— and several frames displaying pictures of what she could only assume were personal goals accomplished by former students the counsellor probably had a hand in helping achieve.
Alongside the degrees in Psychology and Education granted by Royal University, it could not be any more obvious that she was in the counsellor’s office. For what exactly, not even she knew.
Slender fingers clutching the fabric of her black dress, her posture tense due to the uneasy feeling in her gut, the teenager redirected her gaze to the woman in front of her. Sitting behind a wooden desk with dozens of documents, a computer, and a few picture frames she saw facing opposite from her, was a beautiful woman. Even under the rather modest black pantsuit she wore, it was easy to tell she had a slender yet toned body. Her blue eyes were piercing, but always gentle when laid on a student, and her silky blond hair looked so soft anyone would be vying to run their fingers through it.
A plaque reading ‘Ms. Lance’ stood proudly between student and faculty member.
Ms. Lance was clearly young, in her early-thirties at most, but she was already a well-respected member of the faculty by the time the teenaged girl enrolled at Murakami High School at the tender age of 14. From what she and the rest of the freshmen had heard from gossiping upperclassmen once they arrived, there were many rumours circulating around the captivating blonde.
Some said she was an expert martial artist, adept in any activity that could be considered hand-to-hand combat, though she apparently excelled at Judo and boxing. It was even rumoured she went to self-defence classes after school…whether she learned self-defence or taught self-defence remained a hot topic of debate among the students, however.
It was also rumoured she had a part-time job outside the school at a club, where she entertained the patrons with her prodigious voice. Some seniors who said to have got fake IDs and gone to the alleged club assured Ms. Lance could pull off some incredibly high notes—almost like some sort of sonic cry!
She didn’t really pay much mind to most of what she heard. After all, rumours tended to be just that—rumours. Pointless naysay that oftentimes lacked any resemblance of truth. Well, she had to admit she could see the self-defence class thing happening. But that’s about it. Although the craziest, most unfounded rumour of them all had to be the one about her romantic involvement with Oliver Queen, or Coach Queen, as he liked to be called. How a billionaire like him could even contemplate coaching a high school archery team was beyond her. The eccentricities of a bored, rich guy, she supposed.
But yeah, no way those two were dating.
Point is, baseless rumours.
And that was without mentioning she was featured in the hormonal fantasies of almost three quarters of the student body.
The girl couldn’t help but squirm uncomfortably in her seat the moment Ms. Lance’s eyes abandoned their previous task to focus on her, snapping her out of her reverie.
“I suppose you must be wondering why I called you here.”
“If it’s because of my grades, I promise I’ll do better.” She rushed out in alarm, her body unconsciously leaning forward. “If I’m being perfectly honest, Ms. Lance, the moment I took the last History test I felt something was off. Ugh, I just knew I should’ve picked B instead of C, but I was so sure at the time that I–!”
“No, no. None of that.” The blonde silenced her gently, raising her hand. “Don’t worry, Ms. Haiden; I didn’t call you here to discuss your grades.”
“Really?”
“Really.” She smiled, holding up a manila folder the girl now understood was probably her academic record. “In fact, you’ve got nothing to worry about in that regard. Your marks are exemplary, and in the two years you’ve been studying here—because you are a sophomore, right?”
“Yes, ma’am.” She nodded.
“Well, in the two years you’ve been studying here none of your teachers have ever had a bad word to say about you. Mr. Krill in particular can only sing your praises whenever your name is dropped in a conversation.”
She said that last part in a conspiratorial tone, as if she’d just revealed a well-guarded secret to her. Nevertheless, the mention of Mr. Krill, her Art teacher, made her blush slightly. As flattered as she was by his honest praise of her work, she always felt he tended to go just a tad overboard. She didn’t feel comfortable drawing attention to herself in his class. Thankfully, the enthusiastic teacher also knew how to be discreet when the time called for it.
He was honestly her favourite teacher ever.
Still, albeit pleased because her average GPA remained intact, the current course of the conversation puzzled her. “Uh, Ms. Lance? If you don't mind me asking, if my marks are not the problem, why did you call me here then?”
The counsellor raised an eyebrow. “What makes you think there’s a problem?”
“Well…” she started, her hands still fiddling with the fabric of her dress, “normally, either students ask for an appointment to talk to you—which usually means they need help—, or you’re the one calling for them—which means you think they need help. And…uh…I didn’t ask for an appointment.”
Ms. Lance seemed to be taking in her reasoning. With a final hm , she leaned her torso forward, her forearms resting on her desk. “You’re right. There is a reason I called you in today.”
Unease rearing its ugly head, she waited for her to elaborate further.
“Aline, I’m worried about you.”
The use of her first name took her aback. Whatever it was Ms. Lance was so worried about had to be important; the ever-polite, protocol-abiding members of the school faculty at Murakami High School only ever called a student by their first name when things were serious. Or they were in serious trouble , but even then it sort of became a full name basis.
She furrowed her brow, now starting to worry herself.
“Why?”, was the only word that would leave her mouth, then again, perhaps it was the only word that mattered.
Dinah sighed, massaging her temple. This was bound to be a delicate subject. “Aline, you’re a model student. Your average is A+, even in the subjects you’ve admitted to having trouble with; despite not being captain, you’re still a valuable member of the school’s gymnastics team; Mr. Krill swears up and down that if you just submitted your work to the art competitions he’s always talking to you guys about in class, you would have, at the very least, been on the podium several times over…”
So far, Aline didn’t see what the problem seemed to be. Everything Ms. Lance was saying was true, and more importantly, it proved her worth as a student. She couldn’t understand how any of that could possibly be bad. Well, except for the art competitions… but she had a very good reason for refusing that; nobody would care if her artistic sensibilities got her a blue ribbon for drawing a landscape inspired by some field off in Ireland or whatever.
No, she wanted to play in the big leagues. And no silly hobby was going to accomplish that.
Never mind if said hobby was something she loved more than words could ever express.
“But…” that little word got her full attention, filling her with dread. ‘But’ always meant something bad. ‘But’ always meant her efforts hadn’t been enough. ‘But’ always meant that unless she pushed herself harder, she wasn’t going to amount to anything in life. “Your social life inside the school grounds could use some work.”
Taken aback by the sudden course the conversation had turned, she could only blink, stunned. “Excuse me?”
“I know, I know. It’s impossible for me to know about your personal life outside the school.” Ms. Lance conceded. “For all I know, you might have a very extensive and caring social circle back home.”
She didn’t, but she wasn’t about to correct her. “Then why bring this up at all? What does my social life have to do with my performance at school?”
“It’s not about your performance , Ms. Haiden.” The counsellor corrected, back to referring to her by her surname. “It’s about your social skills and how they could relate to your mental health.”
“I…I don’t think I follow. I mean, it’s not like I don’t have friends here.”
“Oh, yes. Your friends .” The girl figured something she said must’ve been the wrong thing, for the woman sighed the words, her expression turning grim. “I am aware you got ‘close’ to Mr. Flinders and Mr. O’Jeneus in the two years you’ve been here, Ms. Haiden, but I’m afraid that by hanging exclusively around those two you’re missing out on so much more. I am sure that if you just broaden your horizons a little, you will find you have a lot more in common than you imagined with your other peers.”
Nope, not happening. She didn’t need to “broaden her horizons”, as she put it, and meet new people. She knew why she hung around Gizmo and Mammoth, frustrating and dimwitted as they could be; it was a deliberate choice, and by that she meant it’d taken much deliberation. No other student would be able to get her what she wanted, and even if by some miscalculation of hers—unlikely as that was—there was someone more fitting to hang around with, it wasn’t like they would want to hang with her .
For someone who seemed to be so concerned over her social life, Ms. Lance remained completely unaware of her position in the high school hierarchy.
“I know it might be…difficult, at first.” She said carefully. Okay, so maybe she wasn’t unaware of her rather low position on the social ladder. “Opening up and making new friends is always challenging, especially when you have some trouble connecting with others, but I assure you once you take that first step and people get to know you—the real you—you’ll fit right in.”
“Who knows? You may even find that special someone in a person you wouldn’t have looked at twice otherwise.” Ms. Lance smiled knowingly at her.
But unbeknownst to the bombshell counsellor, her harmlessly mischievous words had the opposite of their desired effect. Instead of putting her at ease enough for her to find it easy to open up, the girl felt like a rock had dropped into her stomach. Trying to keep her carefully constructed grateful smile befitting of a good girl in place, Jinx decided that the moment the school counsellor brought up her love life—or lack thereof—it was about time to get the Hell outta there. “Thank you so much for your advice, Ms. Lance; I’ll keep it in mind. But, uh, I should probably go; wouldn’t want to be late for my first period.” She made a show of drawing her sleeve to reveal the wristwatch underneath to help get her point across.
“Oh. Um, of course. You’re very welcome, Ms. Haiden. Please, don’t hesitate to come back if you ever need anything.”
“Thank you, I’ll keep that in mind.” And with that she got off her seat and finally left the office, closing the door behind her.
After putting some distance between herself and the door, making her way to where her locker was located to retrieve her books, Jinx finally released the irked huff she’d been holding in for the last twenty minutes of her time. And to think she’d come earlier than usual on a Friday morning for that! When Ms. Lance had approached her after gymnastics training the previous day to ask her to please pass by her office the next day, she was not expecting this .
In her mind, there were really only two possible reasons why the woman could seek a meeting with her: either there was a problem with her marks—thank God it didn’t come to that—or they wanted to offer her a college scholarship…Okay, maybe it was a bit soon for that particular reason, but whatever the case, she was not expecting to be called in only to talk about something as pointless as her social circle.
So she only ever hung out with Mammoth and Gizmo. Big deal! Raven Roth seemed to actually possess more than one brain cell and she chose to spend time with freaking Garfield Logan of all people. But you didn’t see her being called into the counsellor’s office to be asked about her obviously deteriorating mental health. Oh, no. Instead everyone thought of them as cute and there were bets going around about when or if they’d get together.
Jinx had to stop as the thought registered her mind. On second thought, she’d much rather nobody placed bets on whether she and the guys were some sort of threesome or not. The thought alone was thoroughly scarring.
But the point is! The three of them spent time together out of their own volition, and if one of them didn’t want to be around the other two for the time being, for whatever reason, nobody batted an eyelash. No fussing over their broken camaraderie or some shit like she’d caught Kori Anders fretting over whenever her friends had a minor argument, which was often. The three of them had a pact they always made sure to keep and that alone was more than enough for her.
You scratch my back, I scratch yours. As simple as that.
Besides, nobody else would want to hang out with her anyways. Born Aline Haiden, for the last few years everywhere she went the same name accompanied her, almost like a shadow. She wasn’t sure if Ms. Lance was completely unaware of her reputation at school or had simply chosen to ignore it in favour of getting her point across.
There was a reason why the whole entire student body referred to her as ‘Jinx’.
Hell, sometimes even the teachers would slip up and call out to her by her nickname instead of her actual name.
Jinx had this uncanny ability to attract bad luck. Plain and simple. Luckily for her—the irony was not lost on her— despite being a doom magnet, Lady Luck rarely showed her scarier face to her. Rather, it was directed at whatever random poor sucker that was unfortunate enough to be around the girl when it happened. People sliding over wet floors Jinx had either masterfully evaded or walked over without problem and falling face first onto the floor; cyclists hitting a pothole as they made their way over their designated parking spots at the school grounds just as Jinx was either passing by or about to leave the premises; the school’s players had long chosen to steer clear from her locker because whenever one of them was unfortunate enough to try chatting up their soon-to-be fling would often coincide with Jinx accidentally slamming her locker door open in their face while she tried to collect her books…
Okay, that last one still happened from time to time, and it wasn’t always an accident on her part. But a girl had to get some fun from where she could.
Due to her penchant for causing accidents she’d been ostracised her whole life, entering high school was no different. In the end it must be true that people don't grow up until graduating from college, it seems. Everywhere she went she was isolated and on the receiving end of wary looks, at best, and more active bullying techniques such as name-calling and obnoxious pricks getting in her way at worst.
But that all changed when she befriended Mikron O’Jeneus and Baran Flinders, or Gizmo and Mammoth as everyone called them—much like her own nickname, not without reason.
The little brat was a teen genius attending high school thanks to skipping a couple grades with the intention of challenging his ever-developing intellect. In the end, all the difference it made was that Gizmo had more ammo to mock and belittle the American education system in his very own, very colourful repertoire of curse words due to how insultingly easy his homework was. Which also meant he had enough free time to perfect his hacking abilities, usually by searching and finding some very interesting (read: embarrassing) pictures and whatnot from whoever found messing with her entertaining. In Mammoth’s case, his approach was far more straightforward, befitting of the brute of the trio. The behemoth of a teen only had to crack his knuckles to explain himself and everyone would immediately back off. Nobody wanted to get on the bad side of the wrestling team captain, especially not one with that girth.
In return, Mammoth would bring Jinx with him to his wrestling matches so she could work her magic and jinx his opponents. And Gizmo…Well, she was his go-to person for whenever he had a formal family event to attend to and he needed help with tying his bowtie.
But, see? You scratch my back and I scratch yours.
She could not get that from anyone else in the entire school. Because, let’s be realistic, it’s not like she’d suddenly find herself sitting among the most popular kids during lunch period or she was going to enrapture one of them with her astonishing good looks and now they would look out for her and welcome her like one of their own. Of course not. The mere thought was ridiculous enough to make her roll her eyes in the middle of the hallway. Her life wasn’t some sort of webtoon or fanfiction.
That last train of thought was followed immediately after by her remembering Ms. Lance’s attempt at loosening her up.
Who knows? You may even find that special someone in a person you wouldn’t have looked at twice otherwise. Jinx wanted to barf at the memory but, not wanting to make a spectacle out of herself so early in the morning, she settled for scoffing disdainfully. A special someone…Yeah, right. If no one wanted to approach the jinx everyone was convinced had some sort of weird deal with the devil going on just to be friends, then the chances of anyone showing any form of romantic interest towards her were nonexistent. Less than zero. The only time Jinx ever caught anyone’s eye was when she bumped into someone who, for whatever twist of fate, had been lucky enough until then to never cross paths with her, and her hardcore goth fashion sense and shockingly pink hair—dyed, of course—stood out like an alternative lighthouse in a sea of more mainstream clothing.
And even then, all she ever got were stunned looks, and not necessarily of the good, pleasant kind.
Taking notice of how glum she was growing for a Friday and of the fact that she was already in front of her locker, she shook those thoughts away as well as her head. Reminding herself that the last thing she needed right now was a partner.
If there was one thing her short fifteen years of life had taught her, it was that dating resulted in nothing more than disappointment and, worst of all, a distraction. She still cringed hard whenever she remembered her short-lived crush on Victor Stone last year, which amounted to nothing more than a distraction from her studies—she almost got a fucking B- on Algebra from all that swooning, for fuck's sake! Or her three-months-long relationship with Leo Snart back in Junior High; that wasn’t so much of a distraction, for she was the one forced to keep the redheaded wanna-be in check, but it was a major disappointment.
So yeah. When love and crushes meant easy A’s she’d give a call to Cupid’s dating hotline but until then, better to be single but focused.
Opening her locker, Jinx directed her gaze at the small mirror hanging below her itinerary on the door, making sure she was still presentable before going to class. First period on Fridays was History with Mr. Semprevita. And it wasn’t a surprise, given that fossil of a man looked old enough to have been there when history was being written. He was real nasty, too. Sometimes his classes felt more like boot camp than learning about the French Revolution. Or perhaps a more appropriate simile would be saying his classes sometimes felt like they were the ones being guillotined during 1789.
Nevertheless, a class was a grade she had to ace. So if that immortal tyrant wanted to go all “Off with their heads!” with them, well then, she would come back from the dead with one of her hands holding an A+ and the other her smirking head.
But first things first.
Focusing her attention on the mirror, she quickly made sure everything was in place. In front of her stood the same slender, if not a little scrawny, girl with cinnamon skin and a full mop of shockingly bubblegum, shoulder-length hair. Pink, cat-like pupils coated in dark purple mascara were looking back at her; they were lenses of course, her real eyes were a very dark brown she got from her mother, practically black, but she liked the look. What could be more fitting of a jinx than cat-like eyes? Adorning her neck was a simple black choker with a purple pendant.
Looking down, she ran her hands over her black, long-sleeved dress to get rid of any invisible glint, the straps of the purple tank top she wore underneath peeking out of the neckline. Cocking her head to the side, she inspected the thin purple tights peeking out from the knee-length skirt of her dress; it was ridiculous how easily they could be torn from minimal exertion. Her combat boots were immaculate, as always.
While her usual style didn’t exactly break any school rules or clothing protocol, since the clothes she picked for school were always pretty tame compared to other outfits she had back home and didn’t show nowhere near enough skin to be considered problematic, the fact that no one ever called her out on her pink hair and eyes was a welcome, if slightly unsettling, surprise. Then again, seeing as how half the female student body (and some of the more fashion-forward guys) wore shirts showing their navel and incredibly short shorts, it was pretty much a given that Murakami High School was quite lax when it came to the dress code.
Not that Jinx was complaining.
With one last appraising look at her reflection, Jinx was about to gather her books for her first few periods when something peering from the corner of the mirror caught her eye. Turning her head around, she could only let out a small gasp at what was before her.
Carefully placed inside her locker, right on top of a small pile of textbooks lay a vibrant red rose in full bloom. One hand acting as if it had a mind of its own, she reached out for the beautiful flower, her other hand mindlessly retrieving her books and holding them close to her chest. Staring down at the rose with wide eyes, her mind was completely blank. How— Who— Why…?
It could’ve been a few seconds or it could’ve been a few hours, just staring intently at the flower in her hand, but then, just as soon as it was cast, the spell the damn thing had her under was broken. With a roll of her eyes and a derisive huff, Jinx could only sneer, “You’d think they would’ve grown past middle school pranks by now and come up with something more original than a fake confession.”
Shaking her head in disgust, the pink-haired girl slammed her locker shut with her elbow and threw the rose into the nearest trash can without so much as a second thought before finally rushing to her first class. She’d been so shocked by the damned thing she was about to be late, goddamnit!
As she left, she failed to take notice of the horrified eyes watching her actions from around the corner and the strangled noise that left a throat as her secret admirer’s heart sank.