Cold War and the Locked Storage Room
That Carlyle guy and Vita—er, Bianca. Lately, the two of them had been in a near cold war. To the other students, they seemed all lovey-dovey, but recently, the atmosphere felt undeniably different.
"Hey, Bianca."
"Yeah, what's up?"
"Did you two... fight or something?"
Bianca immediately knew what her desk mate Shasha meant. Of course, she had no intention of agreeing, so she shook her head right away.
"Nah, not really."
"...It sure feels like you did."
"No, really."
Bianca had no idea why she was even bothering to explain herself. 'Even if we did fight, what business is it of anyone else's?' Yeah, exactly. Fortunately, when she insisted, Shasha didn't press further. Bianca let out a short, discreet sigh.
'Even the other kids have noticed...' It wasn't something to worry about. Strictly speaking, they hadn't even fought, and even if they had, it wouldn't matter. 'That Carlyle jerk.' They were just rivals from the start, and before she became a girl, they weren't even close. So whatever happened between them shouldn't matter at all. It shouldn't.
Bianca bit her lip. '...What's wrong with me?' A subtle emotion kept creeping up—irritation, confusion, and even a vague stuffiness. She couldn't pinpoint why she felt so stifled. For some reason, her chest just felt tight. It had been a few days since things turned out like this, since she'd grown distant from Carlyle.
Just this oppressive feeling. 'That time, definitely... I messed up.'
Bianca sank into thought.
"Yeah, no thanks."
"Why assume I'd like it just 'cause you say so?"
Yeah, that was a mistake. She had to admit it. Her competitive drive had taken over, making her snap irritably. She didn't need to say it that harshly, but she'd reacted strangely anyway.
But even so, Carlyle's current attitude—his sudden change—still didn't make sense.
'What a petty guy.' Treating her like a stranger, so coldly. It made Bianca feel ridiculous and hyper-aware for no reason. 'No, wait... wasn't he always acting like he was into me?'
It probably wasn't sincere anyway. And even if it was, it wasn't weird for him. 'It's Carlyle Schultz.' He'd always been the type to date around. Quick to catch fire emotionally, quick to cool off—nothing unusual there. That had to be it.
Plus, there was good news lately.
For Bianca, it was huge good news. A chance to return to normal—if she truly willed it, with firm resolve to go back to being a guy, it might actually happen. The best possible break.
So Bianca should have been thrilled, floating on air. But why? Why not?
Maybe because her biggest worry was solved? Right now, all she felt was that tightness in her chest. For some inexplicable reason, a hint of anxiety crept in too.
They were in the same classroom, after all. They couldn't avoid bumping into each other occasionally. Just moments ago, on her way back from the bathroom, she'd crossed paths with him in the hall, and Carlyle had brushed right past without a glance.
It stung like a thorn prick. She froze for a second. Normally, he'd hit her with some ridiculous line, trying to flirt. But nothing—not a word. The sudden change made her hyper-aware.
Carlyle Schultz had changed.
"…"
Bianca clenched her fist tight. 'What the hell am I supposed to do?' Her pride was sky-high; she had no intention of backing down if he was going to act like that.
Even after school, same story.
"Basketball after class?"
"Sure, why not."
Their eyes met, but Carlyle just chatted idly with his friends and walked past her again. That awkward air, the confusion—it made Bianca ball her fist and pause once more.
"You okay, Your Majesty?"
"What's up, Shasha?"
"Your face looks awful... That Carlyle Schultz jerk!"
Even Shasha was getting mad on her behalf. But Bianca really didn't want to admit it. If things were normal, she'd have apologized first, but with him acting like that...
"...Nah, it's nothing."
What does that jerk matter anyway? Bianca kept telling herself it wasn't worth caring about. Really, it wasn't.
A few days had passed since Carlyle became class president and Bianca vice president.
"Alright, enjoy your lunches. Next week we've got the sports festival and midterms, so start prepping in your spare time."
"Yes, sir."
"Oh, and Carlyle, Bianca—mind coming with me for a sec?"
After morning classes, the two were called over. Nothing major.
"Just need a little help from you two. It's my job originally, but I'm swamped."
With that, the teacher pointed to a stack of papers on his desk.
"As you can see, I'm on the exam committee... so I hate to ask, but."
Bianca waved it off at the apologetic homeroom teacher's expression.
"No problem, sir! Just tell us what to do!"
Great chance to score points with the teacher. And with Carlyle right there, the situation was awkward anyway. Bianca overreacted a bit.
The surprised teacher soon smiled. "Your enthusiasm is great. Thanks a ton. So, the task... Our class is handling inventory for the semester."
Long story short: Prep for next week's sports festival meant checking supplies.
"Especially the aid kits—counts have to be exact. Festival ends around evening."
Late autumn soon; days were chilly, nights cold.
"How do we verify quantities?"
At Carlyle's question, the teacher slapped his forehead. "Duh, my bad. Figured you wouldn't know, so I wrote it down."
About 500 items.
"I'll double-check later when I can, so just sort and organize."
"Got it, sir."
After replying, they left the staff room together. Not a word on the hallway walk. So awkward.
'...How'd it come to this?' Bianca bit her lip, heart uneasy, but said nothing. Pride still held.
*Ding-dong—ding-dong—*
Lunchtime. Funny thing: even like this, they ate together. Like an unspoken line in the sand. If one suggested stopping, it might end—but no one had said it yet.
Even with Emily Swan joining sometimes. Lately, the three endured painfully awkward lunches. But today was different.
When Bianca went to fetch Emily, she apologized. "Sorry, Bianca! Eating with others today..."
"Oh, uh, okay..."
Bianca panicked a bit. 'Emily's bailing too?' Already no talking with him.
"Chat later!"
"Y-yeah...!"
"Oh, wait." Emily paused, like she'd remembered something. "Hey, Bianca. With Carlyle... still?"
"Carlyle? Why?"
Playing dumb, Bianca got an apologetic look from Emily. "You haven't made up yet. Because of my question..."
Bianca clammed up, so Emily smiled. "Bianca, you're alone today. Make up."
Did Emily skip on purpose? She waved, surrounded by friends. 'Emily's always popular.' Not weird.
Anyway, now it was just them—super awkward. Even Carlyle carrying her up to the rooftop felt mortifying. Their lunches together were an implicit agreement, a kept promise.
Carlyle was quiet; Bianca too. "Why no Emily?" "With others." That was the whole "conversation."
"…"
"…"
A long, awkward silence stretched. Bianca bit her lip. It bugged her. 'Why, though? No need to care, right?' Scanning his mood was ridiculous.
Part of her resented him, just a little. 'Why keep this up?' He wasn't overly friendly with others, but he'd always teased her with nonsense, smirking shamelessly.
Just once. 'Just once, act normal...' Ignore it, approach first—she'd apologize and match him.
Air too thick, suffocating. She regretted her childishness on election day. Giving him a hard time over a loss, to his smiling face—petty.
But she couldn't apologize. Pride, unfamiliarity. Fist clenched, chest tight, lips dry, hyper-aware. She agonized, missed another chance.
*Ding-dong—ding-dong—*
Afternoon bell. Bianca's vision darkened—what to do? Truth was, she didn't want this with Carlyle forever.
That afternoon, Bianca and Carlyle came to sort inventory as requested. Sports festival soon, then midterms. Bianca aimed first in both—no wasting after-school time.
They stayed post-homeroom.
"Thanks. It'll take a while, but I'll give you both extra credit."
"E-extra credit?!"
"Already approved."
Bianca's eyes sparkled, chatting more; Carlyle bowed and headed out.
"We'll do our best, sir!"
Following Carlyle. Storage in annex—cross field from main building.
"Uh, um..."
Finally, hesitant Bianca spoke. "The list too..." Needed it; teacher gave to president only.
"You check it then."
Dry reply. Carlyle handed it over.
"You?"
"Memorized roughly."
Show-off. Smart, so good at studies. Unfair world. Bianca pouted slightly, taking the list.
'Ah...' Relief hit. How awkward sorting alone. 'Was worried...' Longest talk in days. Calming, somehow. She didn't notice her mood lift from just that chat.
They started in storage. More verification than sorting. Pushed heavy door—gym smell. Dim light through cracks: dusty vaults, netted balls, hoops, folded mats.
Simple check. Closed door, dry talk.
"Twenty there?"
"Yup, twenty."
Checked aid kits fully. Teacher'd verify; sorted for ease.
Warehouse huge; task time-consuming. 'But extra credit.' Bianca meticulous—hated half-assing trusted jobs. Do it perfect first try.
That perfectionism clashed as president before. With VPs.
"Vita. C'mon, let's just go."
"This thorough?!"
Competitive to a fault, sometimes perfectionist. But Carlyle silent—relief. His patience helped in awkwardness. Or maybe no thoughts. Who knew.
"Phew—done."
They hadn't noticed sun set. Midday to dusk.
*Clank—clank—*
'Huh, what...?'
Problem. Bianca tilted head trying door. Retried—no budge.
"Door won't open."
Carlyle approached. "Move a sec."
*Clank—clank—*
Speechless. No way.
"...Looks like we're locked in."
In the after-school gym storage, of all places!