Marney in the Middle

Chapter 4: Ignoring the Pull

A/N: Chapter is accompanied by a song (above).
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My meeting with Mr. Luke was pretty straight forward: a 'hi, how are you,' followed by a glance through my record (which is slim compared to most, he pointed out), and finally a 'what are your plans for high school and beyond.' Basic, ordinary, in your business stuff. He's nice, though, so I didn't mind the mundane conversation.

After fifteen minutes, I was given a note to get back into U.S. History. I got lost on the way and made it to the door just as the bell rang. My whole class flooded out before I had even thought of how to present myself. A girl with frizzy blonde hair eyed me for a few before offering a nod. I nodded back. Malcolm was with her. He acknowledged me, too, but with a smile. I hurried to my second class after smiling back.

And that was basically the rest of my first day. Pretending I was the shit, hurrying from class to class and trying hard to not be old Marney.

At lunch I sat with Toria because she thought me being spotted with the older cool kids would give me an edge – it did.

A few members of the popular clique in my grade said 'hi' to me and asked me to join them the next day. Honestly, I wanted to turn them down. The whole day had been exhausting and my mind just couldn't fathom doing it all again tomorrow.

Then I agreed.

So tomorrow I'd eat lunch with the popular clique; I'm both elated things are working so quickly and over it. Who knew this makeover would be so draining?

Standing beside my sister's Honda Civic, I set down my books and take off my silver flats. My feet, used to rainboots and Converse, are not pleased. Reddish pink lines track precisely where the shoes' top rested all day. I wiggle my toes to force back in the feeling.

"Hey, Marney!"

I glance up, squinting against sunlight that beams over the top of my new high school. I recognize the voice but can't find a face in the crowd of students to put it to. After a few seconds of half-hearted searching, I return my attention to my bare feet. A little of the indents have disappeared. Good. Shouldn't have to amputate now.

Footfalls, fast moving in my direction, precedes the familiar voice saying, "Hey, didn't you hear me?"

I look up to meet Malcolm's gaze. He's bent at the waist slightly, hands on his knees and panting. His gaze darts up to my face.

Another heart flip.

"Why are you barefoot?"

Crap. Stuffing my feet back into my shoes, I shrug and say, "New shoes."

He nods – not quite with his head, more with his eyebrows. They move up and down once as his lips form a thin line. Dropping his backpack to the ground, he kneels beside it and begins shuffling through it. It's a ratty orange, black and silver thing that looks straight out of the 90's. Hand me down, I deduce. When I was younger, I used to be the perpetual victim of such cost-cutting practices.

"You never came back to class," he says without looking up, "So I grabbed an extra syllabus and assignment outline for you."

I accept the slightly bent pages with a small smile. "Oh, th-thank you." A mental kick for stuttering. "That was really sweet."

Malcolm stands and replaces his backpack; a smile also plays on his lips. Our eyes are locked. He's only two inches taller than me, I realize. Not that I have a height preference. It just means we can make eye contact without him looking down at me. His pale ocean blue eyes twinkle even though the sun sits at his back. He has plump lips, and I find myself studying them for a second.