181 Days of Madeline Jesty

Chapter 7: The Seventh of December

"What do you want to know, Mickey?" Ms. Lilian suddenly barged into our conversation, saving me from the interrogation I wasn't prepared for.

"You see, Ms. Lilian, Maj—Maddie here said she had no goals for the year, and I wanted to know why. We couldn't start anything because of that."

Both shocked and impressed how Mickey turned the situation against me, I raised both of my eyebrows and, to Ms. Lilian, pleaded not guilty. Ms. Lilian looked at me with worrying eyes, probably anxious of what Mickey said. She was the only teacher who believed in my potential after all, even setting one-on-one meetings with me just so she could understand where my rebellious attitude came from. Her concern when a new student would come tell her that I—an academically excelling long-time enrollee of this school—had no goals for the year, not even to graduate, was definitely acceptable.

"Is that true, Maddie?"

"No, Ms. Lilian. I have goals this year," I reasoned out, hoping Ms. Lilian would believe my lies. "I just couldn't, um, articulate them right now, especially not to anyone who is not Steph."

"You have to learn to socialize, you know?" Mickey joined in. "Just like—"

"But you know what, Ms. Lilian?" I interrupted before she could even mention anything ridiculous. "Maybe I could . . . make up some words for this project. Mickey's right. I have to learn to socialize"—my eyes turned to Mickey—"and cooperate with my partner right here."

"Good. Please work on it together. I'll be looking forward to your output." Ms. Lilian then tapped my shoulder twice before observing another pair. I rolled my eyes and made sure Mickey saw it, but of course, she wasn't done annoying me.

"Partner. That sounds nice."

"Okay, let's get this over and done with," I stated and firmly held my pencil as I was writing the letters S, M, A, R, and T on the paper, ignoring her flirtatious comment. "What are your goals this year?"

"Why do I have to go first? And I have an unanswered question too, just in case you've forgotten."

"I'll give mine when you do, and I'll answer that after." Lies, lies, lies.

"Does that really work that way?"

"Those are my rules, peasant." But as soon as I uttered the word, I felt slightly regretful. It had no relevance in my life, and only if I didn't hear it from her earlier, I wouldn't have used it.

I was about to take it back when Mickey leaned forward and gave a seductive glare. Her narrow-shaped eyes definitely knew how to speak; if they were hands, they were probably everywhere right now, discovering parts only I was able to touch . . . and I would allow that. Surely, it was at this moment I was aware of the danger of her gazes, as such immediately altered my annoyance to desire, making it difficult to think sensibly yet again. A pretentious expression of impatience was only what I could return.

"You've given me one goal then."

Using the tip of the pencil, I tapped the paper in constant but rapid beats, purposefully acting that way to show my irritation. I wasn't sure about my momentarily feelings though—was I annoyed, or was I enjoying this?

"Be my queen, Your Majesty," she continued. "I'd gladly be yours."

Pretending I cared less, I went with the flow and intentionally wrote down what she said: "Michelle Queen Basil wants . . . Madeline Jesty Jacobs to be her queen. Not that specific. How would you do that?"

"Oh, so that's where you got Majesty."

"Let's continue, please," I demanded, dodging her remark. "Again, what are your plans? How would you do this? Be specific, measurable, etcetera, etcetera."

"Ah, I see where you're going. Let's see." She clasped her hands, filling in the spaces between her fingers, except for her pointers that she put together to press onto her lips. "I want you to be my Majesty as I am your queen by, err, courting you and giving you all my time and resources."

"The measure?"

"When you say yes."

"And do you think that's attainable?"

"If I work hard to gain your trust and maybe be so good you can't resist me—"

"And how do you think is this relevant to your life?" No, I wouldn't let her flirt with me so easily for the nth time today.

"I'll be happier. You'll be less grumpy. That's a win-win."

"And when do you need to complete this goal?"

"Good question. I think, hmm, around Valentine's? New Year? No, Valentine's is, I think, more romantic. Plus, it isn't a holiday. We could spend time together."

I chuckled. Valentine's Day was my birthday, but too bad I couldn't celebrate this year. If my counting was right, my last day would be the seventh of December; I couldn't even make it on Christmas. But her suggestion gave me an idea on how to maximize my remaining time—not "enjoy" but "maximize" because my upcoming death would still linger at the end of my every waking day and that was in no way enjoyable.

To even consider this was highly unbelievable of me. Was I really contemplating on dragging someone else with my suffering? If I would agree to her proposal and get too attached, we would both get hurt. Whether I decided to tell her the truth or not, whether she believed this truth or not . . . someone would get hurt.

I cleared my throat to ensure to release a tone more earnest and solemn than that of a few seconds ago. Mickey sensed I took her seriously, but the fact that there were no further remarks after and the way she straightened her back, seemingly awaiting my response, I knew her "goal" was sincere however shallow and absurd it sounded.

"Two questions."

"Ask ahead."

"What is it with me?" I asked, my question almost a whisper.

Her expression softened—her brows more rested, lips curved into a small smile. "I told you that night, didn't I? I felt connected with you, and it was odd that I felt that way with you in just a few hours. But truly, Maddie, my Majesty . . . I know this is far from love, but I will do anything to get near to it and see if this connection will last."

Now I know, I thought, that romantic words are indeed my weakness. "Make it until the seventh of December."

"Wait, what—"

"Okay, class, at the count of ten," Ms. Lilian suddenly announced as it was five minutes before the end of homeroom, "I want you to go back to your seats. Ten . . ."

"You need to elaborate that to me, please," she begged and tried to get a hold of my wrist, but I was able to avoid her grip.

"If you don't annoy me the whole day today until tomorrow, I will let you in my room and explain better and maybe . . . plan for my goals too."

"T-tomorrow?" Her voice cracked.

"Tomorrow and no day else, unless we agreed on more."

"Just you and I?"

I nodded. "Just you and I."

Truthfully, she calmly went back to her seat. Proving how goal-driven she was, that was the last I heard of her that day.