Smart-Ass

Chapter 1

Late for Social Studies, late again, late for Social Studies, late again- Maria slammed her locker shut, the whoosh of the air as metal collided making Maria shiver a bit. Her black clogs resonating in the mostly-empty hallway, she lengthened her strides as she saw other students disappearing into classrooms. Her class was, she remembered with dismay, all the way down the hall. She quickened her pace, clutching her binder and notebook to her chest. I am SO going to get a detention for this, she brooded, breaking into a run. She ran for a moment or two before crashing to a halt in front of her classroom door- closed. Shit. Maria white-knuckled the doorknob and yanked the door open, pausing with her hand still on the handle to catch her breath.

As she began to regain her breath, she glanced into the classroom and winced. The entire room had suddenly silenced. Everybody's eyes were on her, and she knew she must have looked insane, her hair disheveled and her posture akin to that of a hunchback's. She stood upright and patted her hair discreetly, but none of her efforts assisted the growing heat flushing in her cheeks. Apologetically, she nodded at the teacher, then bowed her head and shuffled silently to her seat. She peeked at her desk partner and sighed briefly before taking her seat next to Murphy Vinicombe. What sort of punishment is this, Satan? Make me look like an idiot and then be forced to face the repercussions for an entire class period NEXT TO THE GUY I like? I mean, I, theoretically, possibly, maybe like. You don't get to know who I like. You don't get to mess around with my love life. Not today, Satan.

"That was a very incautious entrance," Murphy mentioned matter-of-factly as the room dissolved back into a mindless chatter from around. Maria sat thin-lipped. Damn, Satan. Checkmate. Adding literal insult to injury.

"And that was a very incautious statement, Einstein," Maria retorted, before crossing her arms on her desk and resting her head, her caramel hair cascading down the front of her desk, grimace away from view. Why? Why must I speak before I think? I mean, it was KIND of a dick move, but you're supposed to pardon the less offensive dick-moves when you like someone! Maria Andrea McNamara, you idiotic son of a bitch. A light brush against her shoulder caused her to jolt upwards and turn immediately to Murphy, who wore a sheepish look on his face.

"I'm... sorry," Murphy responded, to Maria's stunned silence. Murphy never apologizes. For anything. Maria shrugged and forced a casual smile.

"It's cool. Are you okay?" she asked offhandedly, to Murphy's predictable wince. She noticed his eyes crinkle slightly behind his thick glasses, and she couldn't help but smile giddily. He turned away from her, quickly replacing Maria's foolish grin with an air of dismay.

"I'm absolutely spectacular," Murphy answered in a monotonous British accent, which caused Maria to giggle involuntarily. This was the Murphy she knew and was unrelentingly infatuated with- always quirky or peculiar, even with his own happiness at stake. Maria observed for a bit the way his dark hickory hair swooped in the exact shape of a rosette, before the glass was regathered and the lesson began.

Apparently, Satan was pleased with Maria's initial mortification, because the rest of the class went pretty much without a hitch. Murphy reads his half of the worksheet entirely in an Australian accent, which had Maria doubled over with laughter. Maria had tried to contribute with a Southern accent, but it sounded so dissimilar that both Murphy and Maria were in delirium by the time they had read the entire worksheet. Maria couldn't have been happier. Murphy was in the process of repeating the word "communism" in Maria's failed Southern accent- "cah-mew-nih-sm!"- when the teacher called for attention. Reluctantly, the two silenced, though Maria was still shaking with laughter.

"As I mentioned at the start of class, you'll be writing out two different explanations of excerpts from the 9th and 18th amendment, and those will be due at the start of class tomorrow. See you on Friday," the teacher smiled, and the room erupted into a frenzy. Maria grabbed her binder and notebook from under her desk and turned to wave goodbye to Murphy, but he had already left the room. All that was on his desk was a folded sheet of lined paper with a doodled heart on it- which read suspiciously like Murphy's handwriting. Holy shit. Maria's eyes widened, and after a brief check-in with her conscience, she scooped the paper up and tucked it quickly into her binder. She waved slightly to the teacher and made towards the door, all while wondering: What did he write? And what did I just get into?