The Cinderella Agreement (Completed) [Featured Story]

19: The Female Dog

Long chapter = apology

Mit hadn't wanted to invite Paris to her house Wednesday evening, she really hadn't. But she could only avoid the girl for so long, considering they shared some classes, and Marshall had complimented her during English not once, but twice (groundbreaking record!), so it was fair to say that Paris had mildly earned her forgiveness. It wouldn't be wise to let go of Paris at this point, when she was almost at the crest of the hill, letting her weeks of arduous climbing go to waste. She was nearly there, so close she could almost see it, but not close enough to touch, and it'd be foolish to forsake everything all in the name of grudges.

No, she'd wait and see what other good tricks the girl could pull out of her magic hat. Patience, after all, was key.

"Okay," Paris cheered in a peppy tone, searching the contents of her bag for something, her long legs hanging off the side of the bed. "Let's get started."

Mit sat opposite her, crosslegged, her hair pulled into a ponytail and her neck craned to see what exactly Paris was doing. Her glasses were neatly kept in her dresser drawer in their respective Disney themed casing, not having neared her face for days. Perhaps she hadn't played her cards right, because her mother had eventually caught up to the news concerning them, and the jig was over.

To be honest, Mit hadn't expected for Anne to have discovered that fast (right on the first day—Monday). And after a twenty minute lecture on how it was important to share things with your parents and always ask for consent on issues like this no matter what, Anne had asked her to refund Paris.

"What?" Mit had spluttered, not believing her ears. After all, hadn't it been Paris that said that God was using her as a higher privileged individual to take care of Mit? Who was she to go against the will of God? "But she doesn't mind at all!"

"Give her her money, Amit, and that's final," Anne had replied sternly, pointing the stained spoon she'd been using to cook with at her daughter's face with a slight flick, so that a few burgundy droplets of stew had stained her cheek.

"Okay, okay, I will."

Of course, she'd been lying. Who did Anne think she was, paying for an ophthalmologist appointment plus eye contacts without even a salary to bank on? Bill Gates?

"Do you have an old shirt or something?" Paris' question tore through the room's quietude, and Mit shook her head slowly.

"No. I don't think so."

"None at all? That you aren't using anymore?"

She shook her head again.