@libburkes
“I guess they thought an orange jumpsuit was too on the nose,” Molly suggested, pinching the end of her school tie between her forefinger and thumb and wiggling it in Libby’s general direction. They had just concluded their grand tour of the Academy’s campus, thanks to an uncomfortably cheery senior who dragged them through the grounds, practically explaining what each and every brick in each and every building was for in painful detail. She was tired if exhausted was an overdramatic thing to say and more convinced than ever that Broadripple was going to post a serious threat to the stability of her sanity. “I hate the way he kept saying ‘Margaret’ with three syllables- like a dyslexic guy trying to order a pizza or something,” she complained, though it was truly the least of their worries. “Do you think I need a new nickname?” she’d been going by Molly-Mae her entire life, her peers, friends and teachers alike taking liberties with the sing-song sound of the name. “Maybe something more...mature?” she suggested, new school, new Molly- or Margaret- or whatever...she hadn’t quite gotten there yet. “What about...MJ?” she wasn’t sure where the J was coming from but it sounded cool, “Or Greta,” she winced at her own words, “That sounds like a seventy-year-old German lady,” she said with a grimace. “You’re so lucky,” she sighed, not considering everything that had made Libby excessively unlucky as of late, “Mom and Dad gave you the good name, I think they just winged it with me,” she was still fiddling with her tie but left it alone now. A pause, a shift in thought and a sudden announcement followed, “We’re going to like it here, eventually, right?” she was begging for reassurance from her older sister. Whenever she was in doubt, Libby’s word was law. If Libby said she looked good in a dress, she looked good in a dress. If Libby said she should wear her hair up, she wore her hair up. If Libby told her things were going to be okay, they were going to be okay.