Between Classes...

[Sky Benson]

Sky dumped her bag onto the counter in the empty girls bathroom and stared at her reflection in the mirror opposite. Her hair was a confusing windswept tangle of the blond and black; her nose was far too big in proportion to the rest of her face; her eyes were blood shot (a dead giveaway that she had had very little sleep the night before) and she could feel the beginnings of a spot surfacing on her forehead. Her sister would tell her she looked a mess, but that didn't bother Sky too much. She had given up trying to look as perfect as her mum and sister did quite a while ago: when your mum works as a model and your sister's all set to follow in her footsteps you just have to accept that your not going to be able to compare. She was far better off working with what she had, and focusing on her good points; she was quite slim, meaning that she could get away with wearing almost anything; her eyes were a gorgeous cobalt blue and, when it wasn't such a mess, her hair usually looked quite nice.

Sighing, she took an old silver clip out of her bag and used it to sweep back the front sections of her hair, so that she didn't look as though she had just come through a hedge backwards. She checked her reflection once more and, satisfied by the effect, pulled herself up onto the counter so that she was facing into the room with her back to the mirror.

Once she was in this position Sky pulled a white sketch book out of her bag and opened it to the drawing she had begun earlier that day, intending to finish working on it.

Just as she made the first soft stroke with her pencil, the door to the bathroom swung open once more.

[Cassandra "Melody" Milton]

Melody caught sight of her reflection in a window and frowned. Her hair was a shambles, pocking out every which way, closer to a birds nest that a respectable hair style. Typical. Why does this always happen when I'm in a rush?.

Melody was late as usual. No matter how hard she tried she never quite seemed to make it from one lesson to the next in the five minutes allocated. Something always seemed to happen to distract her. First there had been major tailbacks in the west corridor and now her hair had morphed into something out of a horror movie. There was no way around it: she was going to have to go fix it.

Luckily, there was a bathroom a few feet away, and Melody motored in, already pulling a small hairbrush out of her pocket.

Does this chick ever stop drawing?

Melody raised an eyebrow slightly at the sight of the other girl. It wasn't that she had a problem with people drawing (her mum was, after all, an artist), it was their addiction to it that she couldn't quite understand.

Then again, up until I few months ago, a certain mocha-haired sixteen year old had been hooked on a form of art of her own. The same girl stared critically back at her reflection through chocolate brown eyes as she ran the brush hurriedly through her tangled locks.

Once she was looking almost respectable, Melody turned back tot he door, ready to make the mad dash to her next lesson, French, but pauses, noticing that the other girl still hadn't moved.

"Hey, you realize your about to be majorly late to your next lesson don't you?"