joyce. d10 fin

7. "Practically inevitable."

She'd heard Dolly say it before and had admittedly stumbled on the last couple syllables through a gummy grin, but it had gotten a huff and extra cigarette puff out of Professor Dragomir so she was feeling confident that her song had been good enough to pass the test.

See, the test was why Dolly had been practicing her big words and why Joyce had been singing to the flower Lovie had found in the corner of the playground about all the things it had missed during the winter and why Coley had been pretending to be a cowboy and why Erras was throwing snowballs at him while Alain grinned through his new camera lens and- click! -why she ended up catching an errant elbow to the teeth.

"Is he okay?" She knew he wouldn't like the blood and kept insisting that they make sure to wash it out before it ruined the fabric.

"I think I'm okay. It doesn't hurt." It did, but the idea of crying now that everyone had been standing around watching just seemed- ugh, pointless? She had other things to worry about and one of them was- "Her teeth aren't lodged in his arm, are they?"

"I swallowed them. Sorry, Nurse Kim." She sounds funny; she wasn't going to pass the test. But she supposed there were more important things than some test. But still she crawled her way onto the medical bench, careful not to bleed on anything else but feeling her breath shake, and noted there was a tear in the vinyl. She wondered if her teeth would tear her open like that.

"Can I have a bandage, please?"

"You don't need one. Sit still, open wide."

"No, no. For the bench." She traces the small cut gently with a shaking thumb as she looks Nurse Kim dead in the eye.

"It'll be fine, dear."

Nurse Kim seemed certain that she was concussed or in shock or both based on her level of composure, but all she can remember thinking was that everything was under control. Because she was under control—right down to holding back the tears that stung the corners of her eyes and the fear that threatened to make her hands shake.

And as it turns out, baby teeth dissolve in the stomach. So she was right when she said she was okay.

And she passed her test, too.

11. The bench was replaced four years later when the tear had become the only thing you could see hidden beneath the cleverly placed crepe paper.

But she was off task and on a mission that wasn't going to finish itself by standing around and remembering that old table. But, see, she normally didn't find herself in these sorts of situations in the first place—you know, the ones where she's using hair pins to pick locks at the behest of her peers and snooping around in restricted areas for something.

"Anything interesting, y'know?"

"Yeah, yeah- somethiiiinggg- good."

"Whatever."

She had nodded, but truthfully she did not know. No idea actually. But asking Sylan and Wyatt to give clear descriptions without talking over each other excitedly usually meant conversations that went on too long for Ignis which always seemed to mean a broken door or threat of shattered teeth and Joyce just didn't have time for another tooth debacle. And she'd already said she would do it. Going back on her word wasn't something she tended to do.

And she had promised 'Mrs. Professor of Absolute Fucking Sines & Silence' that she would be completely silent in her class. "No singing. No humming. Just math."

"I will be completely silent, Professor Cheng."

It wasn't a lie. She would. All she needed was 'anything interesting' and 'something good' to trade for the services of the whirlwind of chaos, the fart noise kid, and the quiet, angry boy that sat in front of her in class.

She would be completely silent.

15. They went on to break a window. And she's been getting detention once a week, every week, for four years now for humming in class. She despises Professor Cheng for looking at her like she isn't a fully capable person of thought. The other professors were at least reasonable, friendly even. She often found herself more at ease around the adults at Snowspire.

"I'm sure everyone here tells you they feel out of place. I guess I would say I feel that, too. But-"

But Joyce didn't let those feelings overtake her. She wondered if it was starting to hinder her abilities as a musician, if all the bottled emotions would But try as she might she always came back to 'practically inevitable.' Mrs. Munroe always made good points though and was always helpful. Even if Joyce didn't always share the extent of her feelings.

"I've always been okay."

And she was.

18. She poses her question with a goofy, lyrical lilt and an inquisitive brow raise: "Tell me, how was your day, a la Bronte?" Joyce could see even from this distance that she was wearing one of those faces she always got when her thoughts got all tangled up. And in truth, the nightly company was- well, nice?

She knew that description was woefully inaccurate, but couldn't think of a better one on the spot. Or maybe it was just that.

Nice.

"Don't worry, it will all be okay."

"You can trust me."