Terror
No, no, she can't be having a meltdown on the first day here!
Sure, she's been homeschooled for pretty much her whole life. Sure, she's a weirdo who flinches at tiny noises and can't get words right. Sure, she worked herself up over this and now she's on the brink of a panic attack—but she can't be! She has to be nice, calm and collected. She's a pleasant girl who won't ruin the Cranberry family reputation, and she's fine, see! She's fine!
Someone taps her shoulder, and she jumps, cursing under her breath. "Who is it?" she asks, and, oh, too harsh, she has to—
"Hey, hey, breathe, okay?" says a soothing voice, taking her shaky hands. "Could you just focus on me?"
Her gaze darts around, frantic, fuzzy-edged. Stare her in the eyes, Stollen, stop being weird, you're in public. You have to—look, there she is. Kind and forgiving, everything Stollen's not, Stollen wants to tear her skin off and sink her teeth into—
Bad thoughts. Just—just focus. Look at her eyes—she's trying to help! (Her thoughts echo in her father's voice, sloppy sloppy sloppy. Completely justifiable.) So she breathes, jittery, thoughts skittering about. Inhale... exhale... again, just...
"Thanks," Stollen mutters, cheeks burning. Stupid, callous, helpless, sloppy. "Um..."
"I'm Peppernut," Peppernut says quietly. "And you're... Stollen, yes?"
Stollen nods. It's hard to do anything else.
"Are you okay?" Peppernut asks, achingly kind, and, oh,how Stollen wants to feed from the hand extended. How Stollen wants to trust that Peppernut could be a friend, someone who could truly, finally understand her.
But that's scary. That's dangerous, and vulnerable, and... and she probably doesn't really care. No one really cares—they just pretend to, because that's easier.
"I'm fine," Stollen says frostily, pretending she believes it.
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