Avaris Narcisse Noire

The alarm rings at exactly 6:30 AM.

I open my eyes, though I wasn't really asleep—not in the way most people are. Sleep is unnecessary for me, but I do it anyway. It makes things feel normal. Routine.

I reach over and turn off the alarm before it rings a second time. The sun has barely risen, casting faint light through my window. I sit up, stretch, and begin the process of life.

Brushing my teeth. Fixing my hair. Adjusting the way I look, just slightly—not enough for anyone to notice, but enough to make sure everything is correct.

I dress in my uniform, pull on my shoes, and make my way downstairs.

The scent of coffee drifts through the air. The old clock in the hallway ticks softly, marking the passing of time. In the kitchen, my mother, Celestine, stands by the counter, her back to me as she pours herself a cup. Her posture is relaxed, but I can tell she's still half-asleep.

She glances over her shoulder when she hears me. "You're up early."

"I always wake up at the same time," I say, reaching for a glass from the cupboard.

Celestine hums, taking a slow sip of her coffee. She's dressed in her usual way—loose sweater, dark trousers, hair slightly tousled from sleep. Even without trying, she always looks elegant. "You should sleep in sometimes," she muses. "Teenagers need rest."

I pour myself some water, swirling it in the glass before taking a sip. "I don't feel tired."

She leans against the counter, watching me. Her eyes, sharp despite the drowsiness, scan my face as if searching for something. I hold her gaze, unreadable.

After a moment, she exhales. "You're always so composed." She says it with a hint of amusement, shaking her head. "I don't know where you got that from."

I didn't answer.

Instead, I pull an apple from the bowl on the table and take a bite. The crunch fills the silence.

Celestine doesn't press further. She never does. She knows I am quiet by nature, that I have never been the type to talk more than necessary.

"Do you have anything after school?" she asks, shifting the conversation.

"No."

"Hmm." She takes another sip of her coffee, then gestures toward the fridge. "There's food in there if you get hungry later. Or I can pick something up on my way home."

"I'll be fine."

She smiles faintly. "You always are."

I finish my apple and set the core aside. The clock ticks again. Celestine checks the time and sighs.

"I have to head out soon," she says, straightening. "Another meeting. You know how it is."

I nod.

Celestine Noire is a woman constantly in motion. Work, social engagements, errands—she never lingers in one place for too long. It suits her. She belongs to the world in a way I never have, and she is my mom.

She sets her empty mug in the sink, then steps closer, pressing a light kiss to my forehead. "Try to have a good day, Avaris."

"I always do."

She gives me a knowing look, then grabs her bag and heads for the door.

I listen to her heels click against the floor, the soft rustle of her coat as she pulls it on. A moment later, the door opens, then shuts, leaving me alone in the quiet house once more.

I wait a few seconds, then exhale slowly.

Then, without hurry, I grab my bag and leave for school, which is the same as always.

People pass by me in the halls, lost in their own conversations. Some offer a polite nod or a quick, "Hey, Avaris." I acknowledge them with a slight nod in return.

She's as distant as always.

So stuck-up.

The emo girl.

I am amused at how people can exchange polite greetings while thinking unspoken judgments.

Humans can be so cruel sometimes.

I don't stand out, but I am noticed—just enough to be remembered, not enough to be questioned.

The classroom is already half full when I arrive. I take my usual seat by the window, setting my bag down. Outside, the trees sway slightly in the breeze. I focus on the movement, letting the quiet fill my mind.

Then the chair beside me screeches against the floor.

"Hi!" Sam drops into the seat, his skateboard clattering against the desk as he sets it down. His grin is bright, infectious, as if the weight of the world could never touch him. "Dude, I totally bombed that history homework. Sebastian and Abigail were over at my place for band practice, and I lost track of time. You got the answers?"

I glance at him. "You should have done it earlier."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," he says, waving a hand dismissively. "But come on, help a guy out. Just a little peek?"

I don't answer. Instead, I slide my notebook a few inches toward him.

His grin widens. "You're the best, A-va-ris?" He said as he reads my name written on the notebook.

I watch as he quickly jots down the answers, his handwriting a mess of rushed scribbles. It doesn't matter—I know he'll barely scrape by even with my help. He works best when things interest him, when there's rhythm, movement, something more than just numbers and facts.

As he finishes, the door swings open, and a hush falls over the classroom.

Angel steps inside.

As if on cue, the room shifts. Greetings pour in from every direction—soft, eager voices calling her name.

"Good Morning, Angel!"

"Angel, I bought you snacks for later.."

She responds just as softly, her tone dipped in warmth, her smile perfectly measured.

Look at her. Absolute perfection.

I'm so grateful to exist in the same universe as her.

A literal goddess.

Their thoughts flutter around like eager birds, circling her with admiration.

And then there's her own thoughts—smooth, confident, utterly self-assured.

They're probably thanking the gods for putting them in the same universe as me. I know. I am God's favorite. The perfect girl, sculpted by divine hands.

I snort. Not loudly, but just enough.

She glances at me, her flawless expression twitching for half a second before resetting.

She walks with the kind of grace that looks effortless, like she was born to be admired. Her long, golden hair falls in soft waves over her shoulders, and her uniform is perfectly pressed, her every movement calculated.

"Good morning, Miss Robin," she says sweetly as she glides past the teacher's desk.

"Good morning, Angel," Miss Robin replies, her voice warm. What a kind girl.

Angel smiles as she takes her seat near the front, a soft, elegant motion that makes people look. They always do.

As always, everyone's attention is on me. Of course it's only natural. Perfection demands to be noticed.

While I am at the back, listening to her, she suddenly glances at me.

But that girl is weird. Why doesn't she react to my perfect self?

She's probably jealous. Of course. I am a perfect beautiful girl after all.

She speaks with arrogance, but she isn't wrong. Everyone adores her—because she's perfect and kind.

Although, I see what they don't.

The slight twitch in her fingers when someone doesn't acknowledge her fast enough. The way her smile dims for a fraction of a second when the attention shifts elsewhere.

She thrives on being adored. She needs attention.

Angel glances toward me, and for a brief moment, her perfect expression changes.

But she recovers quickly, offering me a pleasant, empty smile before turning away.

Miss Robin clears her throat, drawing the class's attention. "Alright, settle down. We're starting with a pop quiz today. No complaints—just do your best."

A collective groan ripples through the room. Sam mutters something under his breath about bad luck, and Angel sighs delicately, as if the mere idea of a quiz is beneath her.

I pick up my pen.

The questions appear on the board.

The others panic. I don't.

I write without hesitation, my answers precise, correct. Around me, the scratching of pencils is frantic, desperate. Angel taps her pen lightly against the desk, her eyes narrowing slightly. Her mind is a tangled mess of half-remembered facts, frustration simmering beneath her composed exterior.

A few seats away, Sam stares at the page, trying to summon answers from thin air. His thoughts bounce around—Did we even go over this? I don't remember this. Maybe if I guess—

I finished the test. It was boring—maybe because I already knew the answers. I've done this a million times before.

I set my pen down and wait.

Miss Robin watches me, her thoughts flickering with curiosity. So fast? Is she guessing?

She checks my paper, eyebrows lifting slightly.

Perfect score.

She smiles, pleased. "Well done, Avaris. As always."

Angel and our classmates glances at me, their expression readable.

There she goes again.

How does she finish so quickly? Is she cheating? No, that's impossible.

Ugh, whatever. She probably has no life outside of studying. Angel scoffed.

I suppress a smirk as Sam leans over, whispering, "How do you do that?"

I don't answer.

I just wanted the quiz to be over.

I sit by the window, eating slowly, letting the constant hum of voices in the cafeteria blur into the background. It's always the same. Laughter, gossip, the scraping of trays against tables. None of it interests me.

But someone is watching me.

I glance up. A boy again—one of my classmates, Sam—quickly looks away, pretending he wasn't staring.

I tilt my head slightly. Just enough to listen.

She's always so quiet. What a mysterious girl. Should I talk to her? Should I befriend her? She let me copy the assignment earlier, though.

I returned to my meal, uninterested to his plan.

A chair scrapes against the floor. I look up again as Sam drops into the seat across from me, his tray clattering onto the table. He grins. "Hey."

I blink.

He leans forward, resting his arms on the table. "You always sit alone. Mind if I join you?"

I don't care if he does or doesn't, but I know he's expecting an answer. I shrug. "Mhm."

That's all the permission he needs. "Cool." He starts eating, barely pausing between bites as he talks.

"So, I was thinking of adding a solo to our band's next song. Something crazy on the electric guitar, you know? Like—" He mimics playing the air guitar, making exaggerated sound effects. "—but Sebastian thinks it's too much. He's more into classic rock, but I wanna do something heavier. Maybe some metal influences, but not full metal, just a little edge. What do you think?"

I stare at him. "I have no opinion."

Sam laughs. "Fair enough." He takes another bite of his food, then keeps going. "Oh, and skateboarding—man, you should've seen me last weekend. I was at the park, right? Trying to land this trick—kickflip off the rail. I almost had it, but I wiped out hard. Scraped my arm up." He pulls up his sleeve to show a faint scab. "Battle scars."

I glance at it. "You heal quickly."

"Yeah, luckily. I mean, I eat a lot of protein, so maybe that helps?" He shrugs. "Anyway, I landed it eventually. Got it on video, too. It was sick."

I nod, letting him talk. He doesn't seem to mind that I don't contribute much. If anything, he seems pleased that I'm listening at all.

He leans back in his chair. "You ever skateboard?"

"No."

"Ever wanted to try?"

I consider the question. There is no real reason for me to skateboard. I would never fall. Never struggle to balance. Never need to practice. It would be too easy. Pointless.

I shake my head. "No."

"Ah, that's a shame. It's a great way to clear your head, you know? When you're going fast, wind in your face, nothing else matters."

I wouldn't know what that feels like. My mind is never unclear.

He grins again. "Well, if you ever change your mind, let me know. I could teach you."

I simply nod.

Sam grins, tapping his fingers against the table. Maybe I could teach her something easy. A simple ollie, just to get her started. She seems like the type who'd pick things up fast. Probably has good balance. Yeah, that could be fun.

He glances at me, eyes full of enthusiasm. She's always so serious. Bet she's never even tried something reckless before. If she actually gives it a shot, maybe she'll loosen up a bit.

I frowned watching him, silent. His thoughts are amusing. Teaching me? As if there's anything in this world I need to learn. But I let him have his little ideas. Let him think I'm just another girl who might struggle, might trip, might need his guidance.

If it entertains him, so be it.

And I should stop reading his thoughts, they're boring.