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<******** Meadowview uniforms. No, seriously. <******** them. There was no sort of cover Robin could get for her leg injury, walking around in a skirt like this. Robin fumed as she limped along, for once finding that she wasn't enjoying the attention brought to her by standing out. Of course, she usually stood out because of her personality, her actions, things she controlled - having everyone following her with their eyes because she happened to be mummified from ankle to knee on one leg? That was considerably less fun. All she wanted was to cover it up so that nobody could see, but she had no way to conceal it. Not from the public; not even from her own family.

She'd tried to hide it. That morning, Robin had done a debate version of Olympic-grade floor gymnastics, trying to reason her mother into accepting her going to school in long jeans and a sweater. She'd thought that she'd finally had her, too, with the whole It's too cold out to go walking around in a skirt! bit. Robin hadn't accounted for the sunny weather outside, though. And Bev had known something was up the second she made the gambit. And so Robin had been forced to show off her war injuries; three long gashes down her shin, meat but no bone, painful to look at, less painful to live with. And, predictably, her mother had freaked the hell out.

The run to the emergency room had kept her until noon. When her mother had dropped her off at the school, she had still been swearing under her breath, "We are going to talk more about this later, young lady." The one thing Bev forgot to say was, "You come home right after school!" And so, predictably, Robin hadn't.

Instead, she was wandering - sort of a hobbled wandering today, maybe, but it was a wander nonetheless. But everywhere she went, it was the same thing. It didn't matter what she said now! It didn't matter if Robin acted outrageous. She didn't matter. Everything that she was, all the ways she acted, they were absolutely eclipsed by the fact she had an injury.

It was going to drive her mad.

It seemed to Robin that just about the only person in this entire damned place that hadn't already written her up as being that poor girl with the injured leg was that lady over there - the crazy one talking to herself and scribbling things down. Maybe an author of some kind, who knew? All that Robin knew was that if she didn't find someone - ANYONE - that noticed her for something other than the god-damned leg, and fast, the lack of proper attention was going to force her to something drastic. She didn't even know what that something drastic might be, but damn it, she'd do it! SHE WOULD!

There was no ado to make about this; no special gestures, no clever observations. She made a beeline for the older girl and sat next to her. "Hi! My name's Robin. You look like you're doing something interesting," she chirped, just as bright and friendly as she could be. "What is it?"

At least no one could accuse her of being shy.

Didn't speak English? Not immediately responding, Robin's gaze suddenly turned more intent on the girl in front of her. You never did know, after all; foreigners might just be extra-terrestials in disguise. For all that Robin knew, those pink little buns could be cleverly concealing some eye-stalks....

But what would Serah think? Robin had found another pink-haired comrade! Even if she was a terrible, freakish alien of some sort, she was still one of theirs. So she had to at least be polite while she casually snooped for signs of extra limbs or scaly skin.

"Sure! I said," Robin slowed her speech, over-enunciating her words and upping her volume to something around the decibel level of an air horn - "MY NAME IS ROBIN. YOU LOOK LIKE YOU'RE DOING SOMETHING," she jabbed a finger at Blanche's books, "INTERESTING! I WANT TO KNOW WHAT IT IS, OKAY?"

It would seem that Robin had confused "not an English-speaker" with "deaf as a goddamned rock." Still, she was wearing a big smile - friendliness counted for something, right?

Oh. Right, erm, Blanche... heard just fine. Well... that was okay, because Robin had... been testing her. Right! Testing her to see if she had super-alien hearing that would cause her ears to explode at loud noises. Clearly not the case - another piece of fine deduction, Robin!

"Oh. So you do," Robin said mildly, speaking in a much more normal voice - but, as a consequence, also speaking more quickly again. It seemed that she was struggling to find that perfect combination, between anticipating Blanche's needs and treating her normally. She was studying the other carefully as she spoke, though, watching for signs of misunderstanding, adjusting her words and speed based on what she saw. It was like a little game of its own, finding the perfect tempo to speak with Blanche with; she'd get there in no time!

"The second-best way to learn is listening," she corrected her new companion, still concentrating just as carefully on her word speed as what she was saying. "If that's all you want, you could stay at home and watch T-- oh hey, uhm!" Blanche - or Blanchuu, it was hard to tell which, but Robin sort of liked the stranger second better - bowed, and Robin felt suddenly out of place. Without really knowing what or how she was doing, she sort of returned a stiff half-bow, then laughed, "Nice to meet you, Blanchu! Anyway, I was saying, the best way is talking with somebody, so you ought to talk with me a while!" This last bit was a bit rushed with anticipation. Robin grinned invitingly, doing her best to look like a sagacious, fun, and helpful conversation partner applicant.

Hey! Robin thought that she would do very well if dropped in the middle of Rome, thank you. All you had to do was dress up in a toga, stick some leaves near your ears, and then drink a lot of wine, right? She was totally up for that!

(Somewhere, her history teacher was struck down by a sense of overwhelming shame.)

"Epic? Oh god," Robin nearly laughed, but contained herself to a sniggering smile. "No, God, don't use that! That's a nerd word! You know the word nerd, right?" For someone that was constantly leaning on the AV club for favors, Robin was quick to dismiss their geek culture. "When they use it, it means that something's done to, you know, extremes. Either really good or really bad? But c'mon, there're better words! Like...." One finger tapped away at the edge of her seat, drumming along to the sound of gears clicking in her brain. "Try wicked. That's one I use - it's cool!"

Because Robin, clearly, was someone that was in the know of all things cool. That's why she had a blog, you know. Blogs are cool.

"Nerds? Wicked? God no!" Robin straight-out laughed at that suggestion. She recomposed herself quickly, though, grinning sheepishly to make sure that Blanche knew it wasn't her that she was laughing at, just the idea. "Nerds. They're the ones that wear, you know," she made circles with her thumbs and forefingers, and set these make-believe eyeglasses over her face, "super-thick glasses. And they wear button-up shirts, or sometimes sweater-vests, and pressed pants, and they're really into academics - you know, usually math or English or history or something."

The fact that she was describing a certain teacher at her school, to a tee, didn't even cross her mind.

"You've probably met a few. I mean, nerds are universal, right?"

"Ray G-- OH! Mr. Gordon! I've heard of him, yeah," Robin's head bobbed up and down. "He teaches the older kids English and stuff, and I think he's the drama teacher, too. I guess that I'll probably get him next year. But... how do you know him?"

Robin had met a girl once. A girl from Crystal Academy who could twist any mention of a name, any glance across a crowded room, or any brush of arms while two strangers passed, and interpret it as evidence of love springing. Now, Robin's imagination might not be quite so vivid as that girl's - at least, not in these matters - but it didn't take much creativity in order to picture this young, attractive girl right smack dab in the arms of Meadowview High's favorite English teacher.

A grin was growing on Robin's face. A conniving, teasing, giggling grin.

"You and Mr. Gordon... you aren't an item, are you?"

Was Mr. Gordon a nerd? It was hard to say, Robin not having had any personal experience with him. The way that kids raved about him, though, it seemed like he couldn't be... but if you stuck a picture of him next to "nerd" in the dictionary, who would be able to tell the difference?

"Hm. I think he is," Robin rendered her verdict at last. "But he's pretty cool for a nerd, I guess. Not wicked cool, but cool enough." Robin took a moment to appreciate that there were many such fine distinctions in English. It was all easier to understand when you didn't have to think about it; she didn't envy Blanche her task, having to master such a sophisticated (and complex) language.

"So you're living with Mr. Gordon? I'm surprised it's not all around school! Him living with a pretty girl, all that," Robin teased. "I can think of a couple girls who'd go green in the face if they knew, hah! You know how funny it would be if you were to stop in one of his classes? Just walk in and go oh, Ray, you forgot your lunch - here it is, and I'll see you at home! and walk out. Oh man, it would be epic--" Uh. Wait, no, not that word - "I mean, WICKED!"