Soccer Darling

[ o n e ] - Paperwork and Peppermint

"Prez," Danielle chimed, leaning her head on the door to the Student Council office, attempting to divert my attention away from the mountains of binders and paperwork stacked haphazardly on my desk. I didn't give a damn about how disarrayed my desk looks like right then—all I cared about was how the hell I was supposed to finish all my work before six, which is in fact another one and a half hour. And to make matters worse, I hadn't even laid a finger on the remaining three out of seven stacks I had to go through.

"Dan, you should stop calling me that," I replied, my eyes abandoning my papers to acknowledge her presence. Ever since I became the Student Council President, almost nobody's been calling me by my real name. Not Liz, not Beth, not Elise, not Lizzie, not Ellie, and certainly not Elizabeth. Only a few people frequent the nicknames—and by a few people I mean only my best buds.

It's not that I didn't like being called Prez, or even President—it's kinda fancy, really-but if I had to put it, it made me feel so... authoritative.

It just didn't suit me, the plain Jane; the goody-two-shoes who just happened to become Student Council President just because she holds an honorable reputation amongst the teachers and is ever amiable, good at heart, trustworthy, and attentive to others. And no, I absolutely did not make that up. It was the darn principal who did it. Right in the middle of his speech in the final minutes of the Student Council election. I didn't know what to feel for him after he said that.

Danielle raised a perfectly trimmed eyebrow. "Why?"

I twiddled my pen between my fingers, not knowing how to answer that properly. "Well, it just doesn't suit me, I guess," I said.
She scoffed playfully. "What are you talking about? It suits you just fine!"
Shaking her head, she pushed herself from the door frame to place hand on her jutted hip. "You have serious confidence issues."

"Says the one who freaks out delivering speeches." I raised my eyebrows at her, secretly not wanting to delve deeper into the topic (the last thing I want right then is a Danielle Holls-style lecture on self-confidence), and she grinned, embarrassed. Her smile is beautiful. Then again, basically everything about Dan is beautiful. Her looks, her hair, her body, everything. Which explains why she gets do-you-wanna-go-out-with-me or are-you-free-this-Saturday offers—from the freshmen, the seniors, the sophomores, any guy in high school—no matter how many times she denies. She's constantly in denial.

"So why are you here so late in the evening?" I asked her, because yeah, the school was supposed to be almost empty by then (yes, almost, because I know pretty well that some of the jocks were probably still loitering 'round the school doing God knows what). "Didn't you leave class early today?"

"I did," she said as a matter of fact. "Just because Mr. Gimmick needed some assisting in correcting papers. I don't get why the hell he checks papers on a Friday. I mean, he has the whole weekend to spare!"

"Well, that's Mr. Gimmick for you."

She opened her mouth to speak, but closed it as fast, her grey eyes zeroing sharply on my desk, wrinkling her nose disdainfully. I was about to ask her why she was looking at me like that, when she interrupted me, "And what about you? Sorting papers on a Friday?"

"Hey!" I protested, laughing. "I just, y'know, wanna get the work done before tomorrow. Besides," I paused, grabbing my mug and downing the last of my coffee, "who wants work on weekends when you can do other stuff?"

She didn't answer the question, but as if she had been struck with the best idea she's ever gotten, her lips curled into that infamous foxy smirk she wears when her cunning little mind is at work. "Prez, you little vixen. You didn't tell me you had plans."