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[Transcript]

        “Would you stop following me already?” June Summers sighed at her someday husband. She’d paused at a crossroads in Clayview Middle School’s dimming halls, which had given Peter Puckett just enough time to catch up to her.

        The young janitor blinked and pushed his glasses back in place. The bookish student June had followed into the school had said the same exact thing to her, right before she’d scrambled off into the dark to shake her tail. June had continued trespassing in search of the girl, wandering the corridors, peeking into empty classrooms—Peter had even watched her pick a lock to force a shortcut. Heck, she’d made him hold her jacket and keep watch! June had very little standing, Peter thought, in asking him to leave like HE was doing something wrong.

        Her confident audacity and low-cut shirt, however, had shorted out his moral circuits, and so a chastened Peter settled for a slightly less righteous method of protest.

        “Your boots,” he said, “are trailing sand. I, uh. I have to mop up after you. Right after you. Behind you.”

        June arched a skeptical eyebrow and gave Peter a judging once-over.

        “...I guess the drool will help with the spitshine,” she scoffed, and strode on straight ahead with just a hint of extra swagger.

        Peter’s “I don’t know what you’re talking about” became a flustered lie halfway through the sentence, and so he trailed off and trailed after her in silence. She looked back a little later, to check if he was staring impolitely, and, satisfied that he still was, June continued her directionless inspection of the school.

        “Hey,” she said a little later, coming to a sudden stop.

        Peter, of course, bumped into her immediately, unable to find traction on the floor his mop had dampened in between them. Before the collision could become a second, belated meet-cute cliché, June, who’d hardly swayed in place when he’d bounced off of her, caught Peter by the collar of his jumpsuit to prevent his klutzy fall.

        “What’s that?” she asked, tugging the ruffled custodian into view of the sight that had stopped her in her tracks.

        June pointed out the window. Beyond a narrow courtyard, recast in red by Clayview’s sunset, a darker wing of the middle school, decrepit and deserted, wrapped back around the building in a smothering embrace.

        “Oh, uh,” Peter mumbled, prying his eyes away from June and her potentially intentional proximity. “That? That’s the oldest section of the school. They call it the Old Annex.”

        “...Why do they call it that?”

        “Huh?” Peter blinked. “Because it’s... the oldest section of the school?”

        “Why’s it called the Old Annex, then? An annex is something that’s added to a building.”

        “Oh. Yeah, that is weird. It definitely subtracts from the building, I’d say.”

        June slowly turned to look at him.  

        “...Oh, sorry,” Peter frowned. “You liked it, didn’t you? You were gonna say you liked it.”

        June sighed and let go of his collar. This guy was unfortunately her type.

        “...I just have an eye for the peculiar,” June shrugged. “Some things have a shine, y’know?” She drifted off to walk the hallway, staring sidelong at the annex through the window. “...Or cast a darker shadow.”

        “Is that, um... why you’re looking for that girl?” asked Peter, falling in behind her once again. With every minute that ticked by, he was discovering new reasons to hope that this June Summers character wasn’t some sort of cop or weirdo kidnapper.

        “Yeah, kinda,” came June’s vague reply. She missed the exasperated glance that Peter exchanged with his mop behind her back. “How to put this?” she mused after a moment, playing with a piercing as she thought. “You know how, sometimes, when you’re nowhere, halfway somewhere, on a bus, or at some pitstop diner, or just walking down the street... you’ll see someone—a stranger—and just know something’s not right?”

        She stopped again. This time, the sunset framed her in a halo with a shadow at its heart. 

        “They’re sad, or scared... alone, or stuck with someone they can’t seem to get away from. Maybe you can’t tell what’s wrong. Maybe they can’t either, or won’t tell you if you ask. There’s a story there, one you can’t read, one that’s none of your business.” June pointed to herself. “That’s my business. Or... I make it my business, I guess, from time to time.”

        “You’re... a private eye?”

        “Huh? No, no. Nobody pays me, I’m just—”

        “A volunteer... vigilante... do-gooder?” Peter asked, tilting his head. “Like... a superhero?”

        For some reason, June had to think about this option before answering.

        “...I just meant that I’m nosy. I poke around a bit, sometimes, when I think that I can help someone. Go the extra mile, see where it leads.”

        “Um. Isn’t that—” Legally dubious? Well-intentioned but definitively ethically precarious? Peter settled on “—er, kinda, like, um, risky? Why, uh. Why do you... do... that?”

        June stared at him for a few silent seconds, her brow furrowed slightly—almost pouting.

        “...’Cause nobody did it for me,” she muttered at last.

        June shrugged and looked away. Her hands withdrew into her pockets, as if to take back something she had shown too much of. When Peter hadn’t said a word some seconds later, June risked a glance and found him gawking at her: curious, even captivated, his puzzled frown tinged with a touch of earnest pity. June sulked and glowered back at him. 

        Clomp, CLOMP!

        She stomped her boots against the tile floor, which startled Peter from his reverie.

        “Look,” June grumbled, gesturing at the ground with her jacket-pocketed penguin flipper limbs. “No more sand left. Not a grain. That mops up our romantic sunset stroll, right? You can turn those puppy dog eyes on some other mess, ’cause there’s no reason to keep hounding ME. Right, Puckett?” She kept the “scram” implicit; as ever, June’s eyebrows sent most of the message she’d intended to deliver.

        Peter looked around, then scratched his head and shrugged.

        “...Go the extra mile? See where it leads?” he offered, giving June a sheepish smile.

        June gaped at him in grumpy befuddlement. Then her warming cheeks informed her that his echoed line had actually worked on her—a report she wasn’t pleased with, as the choice had not been made with her approval.

        “Fine,” she said in a huff, crossing her arms and marching on. “I’m usually lost and always on the move, though, so don’t expect it to lead anywhere you WANT it to.” June’s ponytail whipped aside to make way for a scrutinizing squint.

        Peter scrambled to give her a thumbs up, as if his wide-eyed nod was not enough, which caused his mop to teeter over. He dove to stop its fall, catching it at a kissable angle like a starlet he had dipped to strike a movie poster pose.

        Peter blinked at June, then at the mop, then back at June. 

        “...She means nothing to me,” he said, which made June snort despite herself.

        The mood was broken, however, when a set of muffled voices echoed down the darkened hallway.