charity project // mischa bachinski (ride the cyclone)

11 - fraudulent

It's probably safe to say that I did not tutor him that much. Especially since we were in my car the whole time.

I promise that it's not what you'd think.

Actually, never mind that. It's only a little bit of what you'd think.

We talked about what could best be described as what would be the 'terms and conditions' of our relationship.

We weren't going to shove it in other people's faces. Not yet, at least. And we were planning on surprising people. Not that they would be surprised. Another thing we both agreed on was only taking things as far as what we respectively found comfortable.

We may or may not have tested this by making out. That didn't last very long because Noel tried to Facetime me.

"What do you want?" I asked, slightly annoyed at his timing.

"First off: calm down. Second off: I want gift ideas for Ocean. You know her, don't you?"

"Get her a journal or something. And some nice pens. She likes journaling and making lists."

"What was that lipgloss you were wearing? It tasted good," Mischa said, digging around in his bag for something.

My eyes widened.

Noel wrinkled his nose. "Who was that? What did they just say?"

"That was Mischa! He's just- just looking for my lipgloss. Yeah. I asked him to find it for me."

"No, after that. I could've sworn I heard him say something about it tasting good. What's with that?"

"You must've misheard him! He never said that! You know how bad the audio can come through on phones!" I tried.

"Why is your face so red?"

"What?"

Noel rolled his eyes. "Your face is bright red. I'm not sure why, but I'll figure it out. Thanks for the advice on the gift, too."

He hung up.

I pulled my lipgloss out of my bag and showed it to him. "It was coconut."

Mischa took it out of my hands, examined it, and then handed it back to me. "Hey. Do you think you'd maybe want to come to my house this time?"

I bit my lip. "Are you sure Laura and Tom wouldn't mind?"

"Trust me. If they did mind, it would be a first. I can drive us there, if you'd like," He offered.

"Do you have your license?"

Mischa hesitated. "Yes. Absolutely."

I raised an eyebrow.

"No. I do not have a license," he admitted.

"Don't take this personally, but I don't trust you to drive."

"Come on!" He pouted.

I shrugged. "I don't have the money to pay for any damages."

"You just assume that I will damage your car. Ouch."

"Just tell me where to go."

Mischa crossed his arms. "Fine. But if we get lost it is not my fault."

...

He did not get me lost, fortunately. But he did lead me to his house.

I sat in his driveway, agape. "You didn't tell me that Laura and Tom were the Marches!"

Mischa looked confused. "Was I supposed to?"

"No. You're fine. The Marches are kind of famous around here. The richest young couple in Uranium City. Tom March's father owned the plutonium company and passed it down to him."

He thought about it. "Yeah. I guess they are."

"You guess? We're practically sitting in front of a mini-mansion!"

"For what they lack in personality and warmth, they make up for in money. Just as cold and hard as them," Mischa explained. "The only reason they didn't give me back was because of their concern for their public image. We should go."

I nodded. He walked me up to the door and opened it for me. The inside was very spacious and well-decorated. The entryway featured a swirling staircase with a velvet carpet as well as a crystal chandelier above our heads.

"I'm here!" Mischa hollered.

No answer.

"I do that all the time. I've never gotten an answer unless I say someone is with me. Watch this."

He took a deep breath. "I brought my girlfriend here! I hope that's alright!"

A young woman with strawberry blonde hair appeared at the top of the staircase, rubbing her forehead as if she were trying to rid herself of a migraine. She smiled and made her way down the staircase in such a way that Noel would be proud of the dramatics behind it.

She stuck out her hand. "You must be his girlfriend."

"That's right," I smiled, returning the handshake.

"Why?"

I wasn't sure if what I heard was correct. "Pardon me, Mrs. March?"

"I'm sorry," Laura gave me a sickly sweet smile. "I meant, why are you dating him? You're a very pretty and polite young lady. Surely you could do better than..." She gestured to Mischa, who was glaring daggers- no, not daggers, swords -at her.

Thankfully, I'm a tranquil person. And it's a very good thing that I am, for if I wasn't, I probably would've snapped then and there.
Instead of doing that, I responded calmly and gently. "Mischa is a very thoughtful person when you get to know him. He's hardworking and sweet. I don't think I could do much better than him even if I tried."

"I've never seen that in you, Mischa. How... nice."

"You never looked." A cold expression settled atop Mischa's face.

Laura ignored his remark.

"Tom! There's someone I'd like you to meet!" She called behind her.

A man, perhaps in his mid-twenties, emerged from a room to the left. "Who is it, Laura?"

"This is Mischa's girlfriend," She gestured to me and I waved. "I'm sorry. I never asked your name. What was it?"

"Y/n," I answered.

Tom looked momentarily surprised, but regained his businessman smile. "Nice to meet you, Y/n."

"You too, Mr. March!"

Mischa looked very irritated. "We're going to my room now."

He grabbed my hand and began storming off.

"As long as we don't have another mouth to feed in nine months!" Tom chuckled.

Mischa paused, turned around, glared at him, turned back around, and continued marching his way to his room.

...

The room itself was... interesting, to say the least. It was a nursery, actually. With a blow-up air mattress in the middle.

"That was the first time they've spoken to me in three weeks. New record."

I wrinkled my nose. "They seem nice, but something about them is just so..."

"Fake?" Mischa offered. "Yeah. They'll do anything to preserve their image. Except for interacting with me. They have all this money but apparently they can't afford to buy me a real bed or a real room for that matter. But hey, it's a room."

"You shouldn't have to live with this. I want to fix this."

He laughed dryly. "Go ahead. Try all you want. They won't listen. They don't ever, those fraudulent motherfuckers."

But that's the thing. I felt like I really, really could make them listen. That's when I began planning Operation Anti-Ignoramus.