Is she really that attached to having goldfish eyes.

... yes.

She can’t quite crisply picture what ultraviolet looked like, and even if she tries some other set of eyes she won’t be able to see what ultraviolet and infrared mixed together looked like, it was - there’s some temptation to just switch back immediately, damn the nearsightedness -

She should’ve expected to get attached, in retrospect, she still isn’t attached to her wings but wings don’t - broaden the world.

She trawls through search results for optometrists who advertise their ability to work with unusually-eyed magical girls.

Most places don't expressly advertise that but there's one that doesn't take insurance and has an office in a pricey neighborhood that mentions it on their site.

It isn’t like she has insurance anyways.

... she isn’t getting that much out of her dance class anyways, she’s working with completely different constraints and she’s getting in plenty of practice elsewhere. If she wants to learn something new she can use YouTube. 

She pays on a per-month plan, and it’s near the end of the month: she calls the dance place, and cancels indefinitely. She hands her uncle all the money she’s earned busking so far - it’s enough to cover the loan he gave her for her stylist appointment, if barely - and asks if he could just hand over the money that would otherwise go to her dance lessons every month.

”... uh, sure, dudette, I guess, you’re getting more independent now and stuff - gonna blow it on takin’ some hot chick out to dinner?”

”I tried out eyes that can see in ultraviolet and infrared; they’re very nearsighted. I need to pay for an optometrist appointment.”

”... dudette, let me tell you, you need to come up with less boring cover stories about what you’re using your moolah for. Say ‘I’m using it to buy cocaine’, or ‘I wanna buy a stripper’, or some story with glitz and gas, c’mon.”

”... I’m using it to buy cocaine,” deadpans Jaime.

”See, that’s totally radical, your wowsa went up like bing bang boom! Cash, kiddo?”

”Cash.”

He takes out his wallet, hands her a stack of bills, and winks. “Have fun with the ‘cocaine’!”

”... thanks.”

She checks whether - she counts the cash - she’ll be able to afford an appointment there on about a hundred and fifty bucks. 

Yup, that'll cover the appointment. It won't cover the contacts on top of that though.

She can probably earn the difference with further busking.

She schedules an appointment there for next week, and briefly resumes having goldfish eyes so she can proceed with the experiment she was sidetracked from - she checks whether a blob of her darkness blocks infrared and/or ultraviolet.

It does UV but not infrared.

... she wasn’t expecting that result, but it’s promising.

She hasn’t looked at that one forum since Saturday; she checks in on it.

No useful suggestions; some ideas she's already tried.

Oh well.

Jaime gets goldfish-eye contacts.

She encounters social drama, deals with it with appropriate disdain - and occasional untraceable boxes of glitter, dye, and bizarre goldfish - and drops out of school when she turns sixteen. Her uncle complains, but he gives her a basket of condoms as a not-graduation gift anyways.

They’re not very useful to her, but she appreciates the thought.

She meets a woman - Alexandra. Their time together isn’t pleasant, but it’s interesting, at least, and the sex is fantastic.

She finds relief from tedium. She shoots at swarms. Her outfit improves. She continues doing art, here and there, and she starts doing on and off corporate work with a company that does temporary interior decorating for major events. Several Halloween parties are rendered much spookier than they have any right to be.

She starts putting videos on the internet; all of them are impressive. Some of them are even widely watched.

She dances.