The Cinderella Agreement (Completed) [Featured Story]

06: The Melon

     ONE OF MIT'S most favorite hobbies was staring at Marshall from a distance, with of course, him being oblivious to her gawking. It always reminded her of the things she liked about him, and each time she did it, her affection renewed, like a fresh coating of paint over a faded wall.

The things she specifically liked about him, she couldn't exactly pinpoint. Perhaps it had something to do with the clearness of his grey eyes, the lushness of his dark hair, the dimples that dug into his cheeks every time he smiled.

Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that he had defended her back in Middle School, when she no longer had any friends after her only one dumped her, before Finn moved into town. Perhaps it had something to do with how he stood up for her when she seemed to have become the bullies' favorite toy.

A gesture, which after all these years, might have seemed little to him; maybe he didn't even remember her. But in her perspective, it was worthy enough an act for her to set him upon a pedestal like a precious artifact.

However, the thing about artifacts was that, although they were pleasing to look at and wont to be admired, they were never to be touched; they were just to be watched and appreciated from afar.

And that was maybe sort of okay sometimes, like during English class, when she sat behind his desk and stared at the back of his head long enough to be able to draw it by heart.

My God how she loved that head.

The bell rung, and she hurriedly followed his retreating figure before he could get too far away. She was changing, and so some things had to change as well; she'd break free of her comfort zone, she'd touch the elusive artifact.

And also, she really needed her pencil back because his constant borrowing was starting to shorten her stationary supply.

Her finger tapped tentatively on his shoulder, experimentally, and he turned slowly, brows risen in question. A new emotion was introduced in his features as his mouth widened in realization; did he remember the gesture?

"Oh, your pencil, yeah."

Okay, he didn't.

"Um, right. Yes. The pencil. That." Her head bobbed as she snapped her fingers, and she swallowed. "Gotta love pencils!" Mit added unnecessarily, afterwards cringing at herself.

Marshall's eyebrows drew together in confusion, but he was chuckling, so she guessed that that was a good sign at least. He removed the yellow stick from the side of his notebook, resting it in her palm.

Her hand closed hastily around it. It was still warm. Marshall Andrew's fingerprints were on her pencil. What if his saliva was on it as well? She wasn't fond of pencil chewers but was willing to make an exception just this once.

"I think I've seen you before, outside class. You look familiar," said Marshall, and her heart began to pick up at the words.

"You have?" she queried, chipper, so enthusiastic that she wouldn't be surprised if she started spontaneously levitating right at that moment. He did remember.

"Yeah... was it... Melon?"

Her face fell faster than the yellow pencil in her hands. It clattered against the floor. "What?"

"Your name, I mean. Isn't it something like Melon?"

Oh God, oh God, oh God. She wanted nothing more than for the ground to open up and devour her. Please, please with sprinkles on top, Mother Nature, do your thing.

Finding her composure, she blinked, once, twice, and then some. "Uhh... yeah this is awkward."

"Did I say something offensive? Are you embarrassed of the name? I would personally say that Melon is a nice name. A tad eccentric but..." trailing off, Marshall tried at a save by saying, "It's one of my favourite fruits."

"Melon isn't..." Oh God was she actually having this conversation? "Melon... isn't my name. My name's... Mit."

"Oh... oh. I'm so sorry about that, I didn't uh, realize?" 

"It's uh okay."

"I gotta go now before I get late for my next class. It's been nice meeting you, Mit." He said her name slowly, deliberately, on his tongue, as if testing it, or putting it to memory. "Sorry again. I'm not very good with names."

"I can tell," she wanted to say coyly, or maybe sardonically, like those bold, pretty girls on T.V. with big eyes and fluttering lashes, but she couldn't. She wouldn't be able to pull it off; she wasn't like them. She was just, well, Mit the Melon girl, so she simply nodded.

"So I'll see you around, yeah?"

She didn't need to reply anyways; he was already walking off the second after he spoke the question. He probably didn't want to be late to class.

Yes, she was most likely crazy, because even after their unconventional dialogue, she found herself grinning like a madwoman, taking steady light steps to her locker to get the books she'd need for her next class. There was no point in rushing; she already knew she'd be a little late for Literature, and honestly couldn't bring herself to care enough about it.

She was most likely crazy, because she was willing to lend him a hundred more pencils, just so she'd have an excuse to talk to him after class, savouring his warmth on the thin strip of wood without actually having to touch him.

She was most likely crazy, because she wanted Marshall to call her Melon a thousand more times; it sounded nice on his tongue, almost exotic. Or maybe that was the teenage hormones speaking. But it he did say it was his favourite fruit, give or take a few specifics.

She sighed softly. This was getting pathetic really fast, to the point where it was almost hilarious.

But maybe we are all crazy, in our own little ways. Like smoking and drinking to feel better, instead coming around to a roundabout impact, or making bad decisions but hoping things will somehow turn out good at the end, or, most especially, hounding obstinately after something, someone, that we know deep down we will never get.