How the Marigold Lost its Sun: Ch. 2

After I'd jotted down my notes, solved the problems and handed them in to the teacher with little interruption (that just meant they would try harder the next day; I'd established a pattern of action for these idiots) I packed my bag and walked out of the class, the little voodoo charm dressed as a witch dangling and bouncing as I went. I liked that charm. I identified with it. Little exotic thing disguised in a completely irrelevant, and degrading outer attire. Here I was, Marigold Roisin Kavanagh, head of the debating society, and the art club, in remedial math class with a bunch of losers. The teacher kept asking me how I ended up here, since I could do all these problems beautifully. I pondered telling her everything that happened last year, but the man would probably lose his job, and from what he told us before school went out, his wife was expecting twins.

So I just shrugged it off.

Ugh. Fuck you, math teacher, fuck you.

In any case, the boys seemed to be following me out of the school, while muttering and staring at me. They'd never done that one before. I wondered what sort of prank they would pull off, and kept strolling leisurely. I wasn't afraid of a bunch of fat idiots. I could probably outrun them without breaking a sweat. They stopped following after a while anyways, probably having realised they failed to spook me out, and went back to their huge trucks. I don't know what it is with douchebags and big pickups, it's like they all have one. My mother and I like to joke that they're compensating for a lack of... Stuff, with their ginormous trucks.

It was probably true.

Anyways. Today was the 14th of June, a new chapter day for one of the novels I was posting online. It was about a crazy policeman who couldn't find the answer to a mysterious string of killings. Pretty lame and overdone, but I liked it. The website I posted my stories on, Wonderful Writers Community, always showed featured stories on it's homepage. It was usually filled with coming out letters and stories so full of self pity that you couldn't resist dropping a like and a nice comment. In addition to that, there was such a complex relationship pattern in that small website, it shocked you. "Friends" reviewed "friends", and liked their stories regardless of how shitty they were. It was awful. I'd never end up featured like this. I looked at my notifications, there was a review for my last chapter by some bozo who kept talking about the genre of my story rather than what it actually contained. It was super helpful. I posted my chapter and logged off.

After working on my math and biology summer homeworks, I went to bed for a nap, exhausted and disappointed. I'd make myself a feel good cake when I got up. And I woke up pretty soon too, for soon afterwards I was roused awake by a frantic car horn.

Sorry, a truck horn.

Outside, there was a black Fiat F750 with 5 or so boys inside it. I wasn't into trucks, but I knew its owner, and he kept screaming about how awesome his truck was with all the super amazing and expensive improvements. Anyways, I stared at them through the window and opened it to yell at them and demand what they were doing here.

The boys got out of the car and grinned up at me. There was one boy who didn't fit the description of the typical suburb douchebag boy, with long black hair which contrasted with his pale skin and a tall, lanky frame, one I could actually label as attractive, but from the way he was staring at my window, I decided against that.

"Ey, Bloody Mary! Is that how you greet your guests!" One, Robert or Stuart or something, sniggered.

I shut the window in their faces and turned on my stereo to maximum. They would probably leave soon, right?

My mind wandered, I was getting worried. My mother and father were doctors at the local hospital, and today, wednesday, was their late night shift, they wouldn't be home until 11... I still had neighbors though, and if things got rough, I could always scream, right?

Wrong. I'd screamed last year and they'd done nothing.

Terror began to fill my insides. There was a truckful of big boys outside my house and I was in here, helpless. The car horns had stopped. Had they left?

Then the knocks on my door began.

I actually shrieked and went to the kitchen to grab a knife. I stuffed it in my belt, put the chain on the door, and opened it lightly.

The face of the cutish boy was inches from mine.

"Hey there, Rose Red." He said in a somewhat muffled voice, his face was wedged between the door and the frame.

He wasn't cutish. He was red hot. And his attractiveness wasn't helping me slam the door. Up close, he had the greenest eyes I'd ever seen, the color of the greens section of the supermarket. And a beauty mark right on top of his lip. I couldn't stop thinking I'd seen that face before.

"What do you want." I tried to growl without sounding like I was seeing the most attractive man in the world. I probably failed.

"Come on, Sugarplum, won't you let me in?"

I really wanted to say yes, but he was with the wrong people.

"No," I said and attempted to close the door. I was too late, he had his foot there.

"Is it my friends? I can send them away if you want me to." He said, like he'd read my mind, and disappeared. Within seconds, the truck drove away. I took the chance to close the door and moved to the window.

He came too, and pressed his hand against the frame. It was one of the cutest things I've seen.

"Let me in" he was saying.

I opened the window.

"Who even are you?" I asked.

"What do you mean, who am I. I'm Alexander Darius Kane, and I've been sitting in that remedial math class since the end of May!" He said, indignantly, sounding disappointed.

In a flash, a flood of memories entered my mind. He probably occupied that one seat in the back left corner, which I was unable to see clearly. But I'd heard his name before. I relaxed a little, but not enough.

"What do you want from me?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.

"I just wanted to see you." he said, a blush dotting his cheeks as he spoke.

My next question was simple.

"Why?"

The answer was also very simple.

"You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen."

I melted right then and there.