Torn » h.s./marcel

Chapter 11: He's Different

Chapter 11: He's Different

Allie's POV

Marcel let out a weird noise. It kind of sounded like, "Eep!", but in a deeper voice. So, like a bird that was being strangled by an alligator. It was quite amusing.

"About time you got down here," I said impatiently. "I was getting tired of waiting. We have that project to do, remember?"

"Yeah," Marcel agreed. Now his voice sounded shaky. "B-but on a weekend?"

I shrugged. "Sure, why not?" I said carelessly. "I mean, it's not like you have anything better to do."

"Marcel!" I heard Mrs. Styles yell. "I'm going to the supermarket! I won't be back till later! Do you want me to pick up more of your special vitamins for you?"

Oh my dog. If I were Marcel, I would be so embarrassed right now. His face turned beet red, and he raced out of the room. A few minutes later, I heard the door slam. Marcel reentered the kitchen.

"My mum won't be back till later," he said blankly.

"No, really?" I said sarcastically. "What do your special vitamins do? Try to suppress your dorkiness?"

That wasn't very good, but I couldn't help it. I just wanted to laugh. So I did. I laughed long and hard. That was so funny, and Marcel's red face was just icing on the cake.

"Your mum also told me that you sleep in till, like, noon," I added. "You're one lazy ass, Marcel."

"She told me she didn't tell you anything," he hissed. I don't think he meant for me to hear that, but I did.

"Well, she's either a liar or she's stupid," I sniffed. "Now come on, let's go."

"Where?"

"To your room, duh. To work on the project?"

"Oh. Right. B-but...." Marcel let out a little sigh. "Okay. Let's go."

"That's what I said," I sighed exasperatedly and pushed past him.

I tromped up the stairs and entered his room. I sat on his unmade bed. Wait, unmade? I observed the room. Everything looked... messy. Out of order. Unorganized. What happened in here?

I kicked aside a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. I didn't think Marcel owned clothes like these. They actually looked better than the cardigan and khakis he always wore. Those were incredibly ugly.

Marcel came into his room after me and shut the door. I didn't really mind. Even though no one was in the house, I didn't want anyone listening in on us working.

"Did a tornado come through here or something?" I demanded. "Why is your room so messy?"

I suddenly remembered something from a few days ago. Marcel was cleaning out his locker, because for some reason it was messy. I asked him why. All he said was that he wasn't a neat freak.

I decided to start keeping a catalog in my head for all of the things Marcel was supposed to be, but he wasn't.

1. He isn't a neat freak.

"I had a rough morning," Marcel said hurriedly, bringing me back to the present. "We should.... Should we get started?"

"No shit, Sherlock," I snapped. I began to take out my lyric book, but then I stopped. I didn't have it with me. It was still at my house! Dammit!

"Where's your lyric book?" Marcel asked.

"Nosy much?" I sniffed. "I... forgot it. But whatever. We can do something else."