White paint on a blue canvas.

The roof was surprisingly comfortable, Samantha thought, as she stared at the stratosphere. One of her arms were raised, tracing imaginary patterns in the air. She could hardly hear the world below up here, as both wind and distance ruled her ears. The sky ruled her sight. Peace ruled her heart.

Nameless never really interacted with other people. She was very forgettable, and that was the way she liked it. The only things that made her different were a paradoxial last name, hair that was duller than it should have been on a girl her age and what she called an 'unpresence'. Lots of people had little to no presence, but Samantha had such a lack that it could only be described in negatives. Through her utter lack of outward personality, Samantha somehow stood out.

It was fortunate that she was forgettable then, as she doubted she had made a positive impression on anybody.

Samantha briefly entertained the thought of becoming a delinquent. Piercings, cigarettes, gang connections...she dismissed it. That just wasn't her. Much better to be a free spirit, unrestrained by other's expectations.

She finished her invisible tracings and let her arm fall to her side. Her eyelids fought against gravity to no avail as Samantha 'Something' Nameless started to drift off...

Sunny had been drinking her coffee, worrying about her first day as a teacher. She had honestly not thought about what it would take, to be a teacher. Looking back, she hadn't really thought about any major decisions. She just went with whatever came her way, not stopping to smell the roses. That lead her to be fired from the newspaper, and barely scraping by. Then she got this teacher job, with absolutely no qualifications, and she didn't know where else to turn to if she declined it.

She let all those horrible thoughts stir around in her head, until she started feeling dizzy and nauseous. Feeling like she might be sick, she stormed up to the roof, and leaned over the side of the building, and threw up. It wasn't the flu, or anything of that sort. It was pressure.

To be something she didn't want to be.

Samantha's eyes fluttered open when her environment of calm was shattered by the presence of another, one who did not share the school girl's meditative state. A wary glance revealed to her that it was not another student as one might suspect, but rather a teacher. This had the potential to be rather bothersome. Her irritation was obscured as Samantha wiped the sleep from her eyes, before fixing the intruder with an intense stare.

She was sitting up now, when she silently watched the teacher, Ms Days? Probably Ms Days, in a stark contrast to her facade of good cheer she wore in the classrooms, indignantly throw up over the roof's edge.

In the darkest depths of Samantha's mind, she contemplated how difficult it would be to push her teacher off. A slight tilt of the head was the only thing that suggested these thoughts. Aside from that, she did not move, only watching the scene with mild interest.

It was only after several seconds of silence, and it was in a quiet voice, that she spoke.

"Good morning, Ms Days."

Sunny heard the quiet voice say her name, and realized she wasn't alone.

Stumbling, she quickly span around to face the voice, tucking and straightening her shirt, putting on a not very convincing smile.

"O-Oh, uhm, dear, wh-what on earth are you doing up here?" She said, caught by surprise.

The girl in front of her was very...bland. She looked like the kind of person to get easily lost in a crowd. Her expression showed no emotion, and her appearance was the same. Very dull, very emotionless.

She envied the child, who had her whole life ahead of her. Sunny wasted her time on a forgotten dream, which was now long gone.

Samantha stared into her teacher's eyes a bit too much, for a bit too long, before breaking off her gaze to look at the sky again. Her gaze tracked the movement of a passing cloud for long enough to be uncomfortable before she reconnected her gaze at her teacher.

"Thinking," she said, before shaking her head, ponytail flapping about behind her, "Dreaming."

Her gaze then focused on the ledge behind the teacher. "I wonder what they shall think when they find sick that had fallen from a great height," she said, never straying from her soft tone. Her legs swung underneath her, forming a kneeling position on the rough ground. "Are you ill."

The inflection one normally associated with questions was noticably absent, making it feel like a statement than an inquiry. This was accompanied by a direct stare for the third time in as many minutes.

The child's constant staring made Sunny more uncomfortable than she already was, and her palms began to be sweaty.

"Uhm, y-yes, just an illness. Th-That's why I was throwing up, nothing more," she said, more trying to convince herself rather than answer the question at hand. Her lip began to tremble, and she collapsed on the floor, sobbing. It felt good, to cry. It felt comforting to get all of the emotions of regret and stupidity out by just shedding tears and making a high pitched wailing noise. For that moment, she didn't care what they'd think when they saw the puke on the floor, or her student's, or what anyone thought of her.

And it felt good.

Samantha expressed her utter surprise at the completely unexpected breakdown with a single blink. She stood up from her kneeling position and walked to the weeping woman. She raised a hand, hesitated, then started patting her teacher on the shoulder, never breaking her gaze, but saying nothing, until the tears ceased.

Sunny slowly stopped weeping, and looked up at the child, who was trying her best to comfort her.

"S-Schools out of session, d-don't you have someplace to be?" She said with a tone of irritation, mostly caused by her emotional breakdown.

Samantha shrugged, then shook her head. She took a step back and spread her arms out like wings, stretching them out into the cold breeze.

"I don't need to be anywhere," she said plainly, "I live for no one."

The strange girl then spun on one foot in a 180 degree turn before pacing around, humming a broken tune. Her arms were still outstretched, as if she was balancing on an invisible tightrope, aligning and swaying to keep her steady.

"So Ms Days," she said, spinning again to face the teacher, "Why are you here?"

Snapdragon gingerly climbed a pipe that lead up to another roof. She had been, well, what she liked to call 'roof-hopping' for that past 20 minutes. School had just let out for the middle school, but that didn't mean that the teachers weren't looking for her.

She always found some excuse or way to get out of Language Arts. They simply didn't get it. She could talk right, and she had a wonderful vocabulary for someone of her age that didn't read since she was 9. But when she tried to read a book or write or anything to to do with words and phrases and sentences, her mind just jumbled into a fit of broken puzzle-pieces, unable to click, and just making her tearful and frustrated. Not to mention the memories. It was strange, she always thought, that it was books that did this to her. You would think it would be Chemistry, or baking, but no, it was books.

Today they, the teachers, had done something risque. So, to get out of it, so did she. It was fair, right? Right. At least, that's what she kept saying in her mind. The young girl hoisted herself onto the roof. Was it the high-school's? She wasn't sure. After crouching onto the tiles, she brushed herself off, not noticing the other two females already there. She waved off her hat, swiping away beads of sweat as she pulled her scarf back into the right position. Then she looked up.

Only then had she noticed the two others. The girl let out a small squeak, falling back to the tiles in surprise, her small hands clinging to the side of the roof, her long legs kicking wildly as she tried to instinctively get away. She looked over her shoulder and off the edge. Then she looked back at the girl and what seemed to be a teacher.

She grinned sheepishly.