[ The real South's propping herself up against a wall, her arms folded under her chest and her shoulders pulled tight. She looks, perhaps, more tense than someone might expect her to be at the memory. Part of it's hating that this memory sharing shit is happening at all, that strangers are seeing into her head, part of it's remembering what's coming. ]

Guess you could say that, yeah. Year before this I got my first black eye scrapping with another kid.

[ The teacher sighs. "Which he will be talked to about, but you threw him against a desk. That's an overreaction. Get your things, I won't tell you a third time. You're going to do your work in the class next door until the counselor is free."

The younger South glares, with a ferocity unbecoming of a face so young, and snatches all of her things up from her desk with rage colouring every motion. Her hip catches the water bottle on the desk behind her as she turns, sending it toppling onto the boy's head; it could be an accident, of course, but is it? From the look on her face, the teacher certainly doesn't seem to think so.

Present South almost smirks. That in itself is an answer, too. ]

This guy deserved it. Wasn't the first time he'd yanked my damn hair.