The Cinderella Agreement (Completed) [Featured Story]

20: The Cool Kids

Sometimes, it just seemed as if no matter what Paris did, she managed to make Mit's life a little worse in a way, even though it wasn't intentional at all. Even though the decisions might have been made with mostly good intent. But Paris was a walking human tornado of some sort—a reverse Midas—and everything she touched seems to crumble down to smithereens.

Mit blamed herself partly for Paris' actions the following day and their imminent consequences, because maybe if she hadn't been so hospitable and nice the night before, the other girl might not have had to feel inclined to return the favor in some way. But it was already too late; the shots had been fired, the milk had been spilt, the ships had sunk.

Finn had been busy beforehand trying to finish up his Biology homework from yesterday that was due the next period, but being a hands-on kind of guy whenever it came to verbally attacking people he disliked, he quickly set down his pen to shoot Paris the hardest glare he could possibly muster, saying in an equally biting tone, "Oh no, it's you again."

Paris smiled sweetly, doing an expert job at hiding all maliciousness behind that small, simple, glossed curve. "Oh, don't you worry your pretty little head." She omitted his name at the end, and Mit wasn't sure whether it was because she legitimately didn't know it, had forgotten it, or just didn't want to dignify him with his own name. "I'm not going to be eating here today."

Wearing his heart on his sleeve, Finn blatantly showed his feelings of utter relief, his countenance instantly brightening and his voice turning chipper. "You aren't?

Paris' smile widened. "No, but neither is Michaela."

Mit, who had been taking a bite out of her crusty sandwich, immediately started to choke upon hearing this.

"Um, are you okay?" Finn queried uneasily with a palm outstretched, as if he'd debating on whether or not to her back, like a mother trying to burp her baby.

"I'm—good," she somehow replied around the piece of bread lodged in her throat, coughing hysterically. Four hacks and one dirty napkin later, she managed to regain her composure, but the collateral damage of embarrassment had already been done. Hoping to hide her reddening face—both from asphyxiation and humiliation—behind her bottle of water, Mit reached for the bottle, but before she could process what was happening, she felt a manicured hand latch onto her wrist and tug her gently from her seat.

"Come on, Mickie," Paris coaxed with her nickname, her tone light but her grip firm. "Come sit at my table."

"Oh um, I'm not sure about that," Mit said, fighting the urge to look over the other girl's shoulder at the table in question. Paris and her friends weren't the only popular people at school; there were tons more of them that seemed even more so influential spanning across various grades, especially the seniors, but they did constitute a functional niche of the popular tier in the high school ecosystem. And from all this elbow rubbing with Paris, Mit might have as well be considering an upgrade from groundhog to flamingo, at the least.