nights alone

in her fit of fear, iyla can only stare at alex with wide eyes, her breathing quickening. she can barely hear him through the pounding of her pulse in her ears. it’s just a game of paintball. she wants to believe him, but she’s hyperfocused on the way his helmet keeps sliding down his face, and the stubborn, angry part of her brain produces one singular thought: you look so stupid right now. “ oh my god. i don’t think i can do that. like, holy shit, alex, this shit hurts so fucking bad. how am i supposed to just ---- do that to somebody? ” she rambles quickly, the words spilling out of her mouth stream-of-consciousness style. when he starts pep-talking her, it has the exact opposite effect he was probably going for, and one of her hands moves up to cover her mouth as her eyes begin to gloss over from pure distress. “ okay, ” she says, her voice wobbly to match her bottom lip as she begins to frantically nod, trying to convince herself that this is fine, everything is fine. shoot the people with yellow armbands. stay behind alex. don’t fucking die. everything is fine. “ okay, okay. okay. okay. ” she sniffles, tears beginning to fall from her eyes, but she puts on her bravest face and nods one more time, determined now. " let's do this. " she lets out a huffed breath, her cheeks puffing out for a moment before she grabs his hand, pulling herself up with it with her best war cry ( a watery yell of sorts, that probably sounded a bit like a dying animal ). immediately, it dies into a shaky squeak as she ducks behind alex's back, weakly holding her paintball gun out in front of her and shooting blindly in every direction. it's not effective, but it's the best she's got!

“ please take me to starbucks immediately. ” she sighs as she slips into the passenger seat of merritt’s car, leaning her head against the dashboard and closing her eyes slowly. she’s been particularly stressed lately -- school, volleyball, thinking about college ( and coming to absolutely no conclusions whatsoever ), and everything going on at home has rendered her more strung out than usual, which is saying something considering iyla’s constant state of mild frenzy. the good thing about merritt, though, is that she seems to have her shit together -- and hanging out with her makes iyla feel like she has her shit together, too. “ i need a java chip frappuccino and to consume my feelings, please and thank you. ” @ofthcpacific

“ hey, mrs. cunningham, ” she greets sleepily as she saunters into the kitchen. she’s been ‘studying’ for a few hours now and, judging by the darkness outside, it’s getting pretty late. she could still walk home, but to be honest, she’s afraid of the dark, and she’s afraid of the idea of alex having to walk home in the dark if he were to walk with her, so she’s sort of at a loss for options. “ uh, i was, uh --- i was wondering if you’d maybe be alright with me staying the night? ” she asks sheepishly as she peruses the pantry, gingerly grabbing a pack of oreos. she feels kinda bad asking a favor while also pillaging for snacks, but it’s now or never. “ or, uh --- i could -- i could go, if it’s not a good night for it. it’s just ----- i don’t have a ride home. ” @rcwritethcstars

so, here’s the thing. iyla was never really... into the whole ‘ girly ’ thing growing up, and especially so in middle school when all the girls in her class were beginning to wear makeup and pick out their own clothes and she was mostly concerned with finding a shiny charizard pokemon card. but now, see ---- now it’s become pretty clear to her that makeup isn’t inherently girly, and it can actually be really, really cool looking, if her instagram feed is anything to go off of. but the problem is, there’s a stubborn part of her -- a very loud part of her -- that is too scared to just try it, afraid that her friends ( the male ones, mostly ) would immediately call her out if they saw her wearing makeup on any given day. ( “iyla? wearing makeup?! gee, has hell frozen over?” ) so, her solution comes to her while she and alex are in the midst another studying-except-not-at-all session, and alex decides his method of stalling for tonight is to randomly take a shower. after a minute or two of fighting with herself, she gingerly gets up and tiptoes ( why is she tiptoeing? she has no idea. it’s not a secret that she’s here ) to dory’s room, peeking her head in and putting on her most hopeful smile. “ hey, um, dory? ” she greets quietly, accompanied by a shy wave. “ i, uh ---- so --- i have a ---- sort of a weird question. ” she clears her throat, finally moved to fully stand in the doorway, unsure of whether it’s a good idea to step into the room. “ i ---- uh ---- i was wondering if... you’d be willing to maybe... like, help me --- figure out how to do winged eyeliner? ” she smiles right on the edge of a grimace, ready for an adverse reaction. “ it’s just ---- i see you wearing it a lot, and you always look really cool with it, and my eyes are sorta, like, weird, so i never... it never comes out right when i do it... ” @perfectionbit

iyla knows fuck-all about sports, except for volleyball. she plays for goldstone high’s team, and is actually really, really good at it. she’s one of those players that doesn’t really associate themselves with the rest of the team – while the rest of them are sort of their own little cult, she’s more of just on the team to play the game and socializes elsewhere off the court. every other sport, though? makes no sense to her. you could explain it fifteen times and she’d still stare at you like you have two heads.

( she had a GIANT crush on one of her older sibling’s friends when she was, like, fourteen. she knows she’d never live it down, so she doesn’t talk about it. or, at least, she hasn’t. yet. )

𝕞𝕖𝕞𝕖 𝕕𝕒𝕪 𝟘𝟘𝟙. ( STILL ACCEPTING! )

“ oh my god. oh my god. oh my god. ” who the HELL talked her into a match of paintball? who did that? she’d like to have a chat with them when this is over -- if she even survives, that is. she’s clutching her paintball gun pathetically with two hands, a look of pure, unadulterated distress on her features. there are at least four spots on her body where she can feel a bruise starting to blossom under her clothes, and she’s sweaty, and she’s probably gonna start crying if she gets hit by one more paintball. like, who the hell finds this fun? she glares at alex when he comments on how seriously she’s taking this, ducking behind a barrier and trying her best to remain unseen by the other team. “ alex, i'm going to say something and i mean it with every fiber of my being -- every single fucking one, i swear to you ---- ” she doesn’t get to finish, because she gets GOT in the lower back and, yeah, she’ll be feeling that for a week or two. “ OW! ” she whirls around to try to see who shot her, and then scrambles to follow after alex, diving clumsily behind the same barrier. “ oh my god. oh my god, i’m gonna die. ” she sits with her back against the barrier, still holding her gun, which she’s shot maybe twice in the entire match. ( she missed both times. ) “ how do i even tell who’s on my team and who’s not?! this is bullshit! oh my god, i’m gonna die... ”

she’s always been notoriously clumsy, but this time, truly, it’s not her fault -- well, for the most part, at least. she had just been walking to the bathroom ( speedwalking, really, because she’s been sitting playing mario kart for an hour and a half now and holding it the entire time ) and someone behind her had called her name. or maybe it was just a word that sounded like her name, but either way, her head was turned as far around as possible and decidedly not in the direction she was walking. so, she unknowingly walks right into somebody’s personal space, and luckily, his voice snaps her out of it before she can actually run into him. she quickly jumps back as if she had, though, hands held out in apology as her gaze immediately drops to the massive stain on the boy’s shirt. “ oh --- my god! ” her eyes widen in shock, and then something like fear. “ oh my god, did i do that? i didn’t hit you, did i? oh god ---- oh my god. ” she immediately starts looking around, searching for the nearest source of paper towels. and that’s when his tone of voice finally hits her, and her cheeks instantly heat up in embarrassment. “ oh god -- oh, you’re mad. ” her face crumples as she begins to cringe -- she hadn’t felt herself run into him, and the logical side of her knows she didn’t, but she’s convinced this is somehow her fault. “ i’m --- i’m so sorry. i’ll -- here, i have a tide stick, i think ------ fuck, i left it at home... i can... here, i can get you paper towels... ”

“ yeeeeeeaaah! ” a shrill voice rings through the grassy area right in the middle of town, the petite brunette shooting up from her seat on a beanbag to do a celebratory dance. seven-to-nothing -- that’s her current score in mario kart, undefeated as of the last forty-five minutes where she’s staked out in front of the giant projector screen, on which her character ( bowser jr. ) is still doing his victory lap. of course, her last opponent was a nine-year-old boy who’s now stomping off into the crowd, presumably to complain to his parents about iyla’s unfair track record, but hey, a game’s a game, kid. “ that’s right! iyla jang, reigning champion! seven to none! unclockable! ” she cackles tauntingly, throwing her controller on the ground for a moment in victory before wincing and tenderly picking it up, looking it over to see if she’d done any damage ( she hadn’t ), and then glancing around to see if anybody had seen ( many people had ). “ who’s next, huh? ” she turns to the sparse crowd of onlookers, crossing her arms over her chest as if it’ll make her look tough. ( she’s 5′1. it won’t. )