and i love her ▸ tate langdon ✓

02. miss world

I am the girl you know, can't look you in the eye
I am the girl you know, so sick I cannot try

-

Running her fingers through her hair, Marceline lets out a sigh of frustration as she sees the grade written in angry, red ink at the corner of the page.

'46/100' the writing read. She groans, shoving the paper into her backpack as the bell rings. Leaving the classroom, Marceline weaves through the forever-present crowd of kids in the hallway.

It was lunch break and she usually went to the back of the school where the staff parking lot was to smoke and enjoy her thirty-minute break.

Sitting on the ground, she grabs her pack of smokes and lights one, inhaling the nicotine as the tip lights. After a few minutes, she hears the door open and hides the cigarette behind her back. Seeing the person was just that kid from the hallway, she lets out a sigh of relief and goes back to smoking her cigarette.

"I thought you were Mrs. Greene coming to bust my ass again," Marceline comments to the blond boy as he looks down at her with his dark eyes. She looks up at him, her eyebrow raised at his silence. "Want one?"

Tate sits down beside her, taking a smoke from the box she had extended to him. She ignites her lighter, pressing the flame to the end of his smoke as he inhales it.

She watches as he exhales the smoke, his eyes scanning the parking lot. "I'm Marceline," she introduces, his silence comforting her in an odd way. He looks over to her, his eyes meeting with hers. "I like that name," he says, his voice gentle.

"You have a name?" she asks in response, her lips wrapping the end of her cigarette as she inhales the smoke. "Tate," he tells her, puffing on his own cigarette. She nods, her knees drawn up to her chest.

"Did you come out here for a reason, Tate?"

He shrugs, his lips pressed together. Marceline's eyes briefly scan his body, seeing how he wore a baggy sweater that reminded her of Kurt Cobain. Even down to the slightly torn and light-washed jeans that Tate wore.

Having Marceline's eyes on him made Tate nervous. She was very pretty and she was actually giving him attention. He was so used to being invisible to girls around here.

She finishes her cigarette, tossing it on the sidewalk and using her boot to put out the remaining smoke. Turning to face Tate completely, a small smile on her lips. "You live in that Murder House, right?" she asks.

He nods, not sure where she was going with it. "That's so cool," she says with a soft chuckle. A small smile pulls at his lips as well, getting lost in her eyes. "You don't care that it's haunted?" Tate says.

She shakes her head, an excited look in her eyes. "It's fucking awesome. I'd sell my soul to live there. The history and beauty of it is insane," Marceline explains, the happiness on her face making Tate's heart thud in his chest.

"I've been obsessed with that house forever. The question of if it's real or fake. It's super intriguing," she adds, flicking some hair out of her face.

"It's real," Tate confirms, mirroring her movement and pushing some shaggy hair out of his own face. Her eyes light up, her smile only widening with childlike amusement. "No shit," she says incredulously.

Tate just nods, a mischievous look in his eyes. "All of it. The ghosts showing up, the tragedy. People think it's bullshit and it isn't," he further explains to her, finding joy in how happy she looks.

Her smile is so pretty.

"That is so crazy," she comments, her fingers fidgeting with the shoelace on her boot. "I like your necklace. It's pretty," Tate compliments, noticing the crystal necklace that she had around her neck.