The Cinderella Agreement (Completed) [Featured Story]

12: The Black Eye

"HEY, Marshall."

It was Tuesday, and second period English class was just ending, and of course, Mit took full advantage of this, as well as of Marshall's notorious borrowing, to pounce on her unsuspecting prey. She didn't at all mind his incompetence when it came to stationary, and was even more than willing to steal his non-existent pencil case if that would ensure this continued cycle.

"Mit." Marshall grinned, and she didn't need to see the inside of his head to know that he was inwardly gloating over remembering her name this time. She also realized she had to kick up their action a notch if she ever wanted to be sipping that expensive champagne at their French wedding several years from now with him draped deliciously over her arm like a trophy husband. "Hello?"

She blinked, and ascertained, much to her chagrin, that she'd zoned out for a couple of seconds of precious conversation. "Oh yeah, I'm sorry, I'm really spacey today, I didn't sleep well last night. I was studying for a test." The last part was unnecessary, nevertheless false, but she wanted Marshall to know that she was also intellectually capable.

"It's okay, I said, I'm guessing you want your pen back?"

"Well...as you're a regular customer, I'll give you the delight of a freebie..."

"Great sale," he humored in between her speech.

"...on one condition."

"Ah, I knew it was too good to be true. Such an antique pen as this, the ink might have as well been made with the tears of Neverland fairies."

She chuckled lightly, being careful not to snort. A sense of humor was something that Mit had never really cared to associate with Marshall, but with the discovery of this, it made him more desirable.

"So what's the catch?" She saw him checking his wristwatch, and knew that she had to hurry up to achieve something substantial within the bars of his tight schedule.

"Walk me to my next class." Her demand surprised herself more than it might have Marshall, and she pinned the reason for this sudden impetuousness on her increased time spent with Paris and Aimee and their friends.

But what if he'd laugh in her face? What if he'd scrunch his nose distastefully and make up a bogus excuse? Or worse, if he complied out of pure pity?

If Marshall pitied her, he didn't show it. Instead, his pink lips spread in a smile, and in no time he was walking out, but with her beside him on this occasion. "I'd like that."

He turned out to be a decent and charismatic conversationalist, a common trait shared among the members of the popular group (apparently, being constant objects of adoration required more than sitting still and looking pretty). The available time was inadequate to have any meaningful heart-to-heart, or anything remotely insightful, but by the moment she reached her Trigonometry class, she still felt like she was bursting with fluttery butterflies and bubbles.