Of bad coping and hangnails

“You okay, Cass?” Rapunzel asked, looking up from her sketchpad. She’d been watching the movement in her peripheral vision for a good minute.

Cassandra didn't look up. Her brow was furrowed in concentration. “Need to get it off.” The words were clipped, tight.

Eugene leaned forward slightly, resting his chin on his hand. “Careful there, tough guy. You’re going to butcher yourself over a piece of skin.”

Cassandra ignored him, trying a new angle. She used her teeth this time, tilting her head and biting down just enough to grip the hangnail without shredding her actual skin. She immediately spit it out, annoyed. Too much traction.

Lance, who had finally finished his lopsided braid, observed her with surprising empathy. “You know, Cass, sometimes it’s better just to leave those alone. They heal on their own.”

“They snag,” she muttered, pulling again with her fingers. “And then they catch on everything. I need it gone.”