The empty club room smelled like chalk dust and forgotten lunches. Ashley sat cross-legged on a desk, her perfect posture finally relaxing after a long day, while Arek sprawled in a chair nearby, his feet propped up on another desk in clear violation of about three school rules.

"At least the anime club isn't meeting today," Arek said, glancing around the room. "Though their posters are... intense."

"Is that Naruto doing a backflip while eating ramen?"

Arek's head whipped around so fast he nearly fell off his chair. "You know Naruto?"

"No," she admitted, "but the cafeteria served ramen once and Brian Chen spent twenty minutes explaining why it wasn't 'authentic' like in his favorite show."

"Of course Chen's an anime expert." Arek straightened his chair, trying to play off his near-fall. "I bet he's the club president."

"I wouldn't know. I've never been to any clubs."

"What?" His feet dropped from the desk. "Not even one that isn’t anime?"

"Not allowed." She smoothed her skirt, a nervous habit. "My parents think extracurriculars would distract me from my studies."

"That's..." He ran a hand through his already messy hair. "What do you do after school then?"

"Study. Work. Be the best." She tried to make it sound like a joke, but it fell flat.

"Must be a busy schedule, being perfect all the time." His tone was light, but somehow sharp. "When do you pencil in time to actually live?"

"Between AP Calculus and dinner etiquette lessons." She matched his sarcasm, but her fingers kept fidgeting with her pencil.

"Wait, seriously? Etiquette lessons?"

"You should see me balance a book on my head while curtseying. It's quite impressive."

"Now that I'd pay to see." He smirked, then seemed to actually process what she'd said. "Hold up. They actually make you do that?"

She shrugged. "Among other things. Did you know there are fourteen different ways to fold a napkin for formal occasions?"

"That's..." He kicked at a desk leg. "That's messed up."

"I bet you can’t make a masterpiece napkin like I."

"Hey, I can make masterpieces with anything." He pulled out their project materials, movements sharper than necessary. "At least I do something because I want to, not because some rulebook says I should."

"I do things I want to."

"Yeah? Name one."

She opened her mouth, then closed it.

"Movies then. What do you watch when you're not practicing your curtsey?"

"I... don't really watch movies on my own."

"None? Not even like, Disney or whatever?"

She shook her head.

"Video games? Please tell me you've at least played one game. Everyone's played at least one game on their phone or whatever.."

"My parents say video games are—"

"Are you kidding me?" Arek stood up suddenly, pacing the small room. "What about music? Let me guess – classical only? Maybe some church hymns if you're feeling rebellious?"

"That's not—"

"Going to the movies? Sneaking out? Staying up past ten? Have you ever done anything that wasn't pre-approved by the parental control board?"

"Of course I have!"

"Name one thing. One single thing you do just because you want to, not because it's expected or perfect or proper."

The silence that followed was damning. Horror movies weren’t allowed but she still did them with Luca and her parents had no idea but she couldn’t call out Luca like that. It would only make it seem like she really didn’t do it on her own and—

"That's what I thought." He kicked the desk harder this time. "It's so frustrating watching you walk around like some wind-up doll, always saying the right thing, always doing the right thing—"

"Stop it."

"Never having an original thought that mommy and daddy haven't—"

"I said stop!"

The force of her shout surprised them both. Ashley stood, hands clenched at her sides, shaking slightly. A worksheet fluttered to the floor between them, forgotten.

"You think I don't know how pathetic it is?" Her voice cracked. "You think I like being this... this perfect little puppet? I see the way people look at me in the hallways. Perfect Ashley, teacher's pet Ashley, wouldn't know how to have fun if it came with an instruction manual."

Arek stared at her, genuinely startled by the outburst.

"You want to know what I do after school? I go home and change clothes three times because the first two outfits might have wrinkles. I study until my eyes blur because an A-minus isn't good enough. I practice piano until my fingers cramp because 'excellence requires dedication, Ashley.'" She mimicked the last part in what most would assume was her mother's voice.

"I see other kids in the hallway, laughing and joining clubs and just... living. And I want that so badly it hurts." She wiped angrily at her eyes. "But I can't. Because if I slip up once – just once – everything falls apart."

"Why?" His voice was quieter now. "What's the worst that could happen?"

"I don't know." She laughed, but it sounded more like a sob. "Isn't that stupid? I'm so scared of disappointing them, but I don't even know what would happen if I did. Maybe the world would end. Maybe they’ll take my best friend away from me. Maybe they'd finally see that I'm not... that I can't..."

"Be perfect?"

She nodded, sinking back onto the desk.

"Good."

Good? Those were his comforting words? She looked up at him, confused and annoyed.

"Perfect is boring." He sat down beside her, close enough that their shoulders almost touched. "Perfect doesn't write stories in math class."

"What—"

"I've seen you, you know. When you think no one's watching. You scribble in the margins of your notes. Little stories, I bet. Probably about serial killer calculators or something."

He has been watching her? She couldn’t tell if that was creepy or endearing but either way it made her face heat up. "They're not... I mean, I don't..."

"Let me guess – your parents don't know about those?"

The silence stretched between them, not uncomfortable anymore, just waiting.

"Algebra II," she said finally. "That's when I write them. When Mr. Peters goes off on his tangents about parabolas changing his life."

"Knew it." Arek's smile was different now, less sharp. "What are they about? Really?"

She twisted a strand of hair around her finger, "Promise not to laugh?"

"Absolutely not. But I promise to laugh with you, not at you."

That startled a genuine smile from her. "They're about... this girl. She lives in a world where everyone has to be perfect. Like, literally perfect – one mistake and you disappear. But she finds out that all the 'imperfect' people didn't actually disappear. They're living this whole secret life underground, being messy and real and... free."

"Subtle," he said dryly, but his eyes were kind.

"Yeah, well." She picked at a loose thread on her skirt. "We all cope somehow, right?"

"Right." He was quiet for a moment.

Her eyes glanced over at him and watched as he leaned back slightly in his chair. His eyes stared in front of them like he was thinking. Even when thinking, he really was attractive from all angles.

"I set my dad's golf clubs on fire once," he said suddenly.

"What?"

"Not like, recently. I was twelve. He'd promised to come to my band’s concert. I played the drums," he added, as if that explained everything. "He promised, but then there was this 'important client' who wanted to golf, so..."

"So you burned his clubs?"

"Just the really expensive ones." His grin was all teeth. "Figured if he loved them so much, they deserved a Viking funeral."

"Did it help?"

"Nah. He just bought new ones. Didn't even yell at me – just had his assistant handle it. That was... that was almost worse, you know?"

She did know. Sometimes the silence after a disappointment was louder than any scream.

"My parents are never home," he continued, staring at the anime posters like they held some secret message. "Big shot executives, always traveling. They throw money at me instead of time. Even being perfect didn’t help…”

"Oh..” she went quiet for a moment before speaking up again, “Is that why you skip class? Get into fights?"

"Better to be the bad kid than the forgotten one." He laughed, but there was something broken in it. "At least when I'm in trouble, they have to pay attention. Even if it's just to yell at me through their assistant's assistant."

"I get it. Different cage, same trap."

"Look who's getting artistic." He bumped her shoulder with his, almost gentle. "So what's the underground like?"

"What?"

"Your algebra story. The imperfect people living underground. What's it like down there?"

She closed her eyes, picturing it. "Chaotic. Colorful. There's music everywhere, but not the proper kind – the kind that makes you want to dance even if you look stupid. People wear what they want, say what they think. They make mistakes and laugh about them instead of disappearing. They can be who they are without being afraid of being seen."

"Sounds nice."

"Yeah." She opened her eyes, reality settling back in. "Too bad it's just a story."

"Maybe." He stood up, stretching. "Or maybe we're just looking in the wrong places."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, princess, you've got your perfect world up here, and I've got my chaos. But maybe..." He grabbed their project papers, shuffling them meaninglessly. "Maybe there's something in between. Something real."

"Like a project about identity?"

"Like two people being honest for once." He held out a paper to her. "Speaking of which, we should probably actually work on this thing. Unless you want to tell Mrs. Brook that we spent our time discussing your underground anarchist fantasy instead."

"It's not anarchist! It's... socially experimental."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, rebel."

They settled into work then. She found their communication better than when they first arrived. Arek talked about his art and kept asking about her but not her other version. The real her. He was so invested with everything she said like he was watching a nominated film. Even the more disturbing stories that she could never tell Lucien. Otherwise it would probably scare his soft, poor heart. He made her feel that comfortable. That safe to share and say anything. 

Even when the room got quiet when they both focused intently. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable or suffocating. It felt right. Yes, they argued about word choice but they laughed about their teachers and somehow ended up creating a dramatic reading of their rough draft that had them both crying with laughter.

"Your grammar is actually perfect," Ashley noticed, reading over his sections.

"Don't sound so surprised, princess. Some of us actually read books between acts of rebellion."

"Yeah? What's your favorite?"

"Promise not to use it against me?"

She held up her hand solemnly. "I swear on my collection of color-coded highlighters."

"The Little Prince."

"Really?"

"It's about seeing what's real." He wouldn't meet her eyes. "About looking with your heart instead of just your eyes. Plus, you know, space travel and stuff."

She smiled. She hasn’t read the book but she knows of it. It was seen as a children’s book but adults like it too. It made sense that Arek would read something like that. A boy who tried so hard to be seen.

They worked until the sun started setting, their words flowing easier now that the walls between them had cracked. The project became something more than just an assignment – it became their truth, wrapped in metaphors about masks and expectations and the courage to be real.

"We should probably mention something about unexpected understanding," Ashley suggested, working on their conclusion.

"Through unlikely friendships?"

"Are we friends now?"

"Well, you did scream at me, share your secret stories, and learn about my childhood arson. I think that makes us at least friendly."

She threw a pencil at him, which he caught with annoying grace. "Don't forget my underground anarchist manifesto."

"'Socially experimental,'" he corrected, mimicking her tone perfectly.

They finished just as the janitor started his rounds. The project was a raw version of themselves, but honest. As they packed up their things, Ashley caught Arek smiling. A proud smile and that made her chest feel lighter.

"Hey Arek?"

"Yeah?"

"When we present tomorrow... let's be real. No masks."

He studied her for a moment, then nodded. "No masks." Then, with a smirk: "But maybe keep the arson story between us."

"Only if you keep the algebra stories secret."

"Deal. Can't have people knowing we're both secret weirdos."

"Speak for yourself. I'm perfectly normal."

"Mmm, right. Writing dystopian fiction in math class is perfectly normal."

Leaving the club room felt like she was leaving behind something old and entering into something new. The air felt lighter and her chest felt almost weightless. Somehow this artistic rebel made her feel almost comfortable with herself. This was someone she could talk to like how she talks to Luca. Something she never thought could ever happen again.