I must have misheard. Maybe I'd experienced an auditory hallucination yesterday too. My mind was playing tricks on me, turning me against Ashley, the kindest person in my life. If I had heard her correctly, I probably deserved to be called those derogatory terms. We'd make up soon, anyway.
Shaking off my stupor, I prioritized the crisis at hand and reached for Maverick. Initially, I wanted us to be mutual villains, but not to the point of causing him physical pain. I only wanted him to cry from frustration and hatred for me, not from inflicting pain on him.
"Hey! Hey! Hey!"
"Don't!"
"Stop!"
His friends intervened, holding him back just inches from me. My fingers barely grazed his trousers before I was pulled away and forced all the way back into my seat. The dreadful furniture poked at my thighs, prompting me to stand again.
"Morticia," Jake whispered, his hand on my shoulder guiding me back down. "Everyone's staring."
"But I didn't hurt him," I protested, my stained hand a stark contrast to the innocence I thought I should feel.
"I know," Jake whispered back. "I saw everything."
His words enveloped me in a state of perturbation, leaving me frozen even after he left. If I weren't myself, I wouldn't believe me either.
"...It's just a little cut." My attention shifted from Jake, who had returned to grab my hand and was gently wiping away the dried, crimson remnants of my mistake from my skin. Meanwhile, Maverick had urged his other friends to return back to their seats, pretending to be okay. But I could tell something wasn't right; if those two failed to see through him, I certainly didn't.
"May I visit the infirmary?" he asked the student teacher, recoiling as she attempted to unbutton his sleeve. "I should be back before class is over, ma'am."
The student teacher raised her gaze, issuing a command: "Someone, please help him there." But Maverick declined, his hands waving dismissively. "That isn't necessary, it's just a cut."
I sensed he was hiding something. I meticulously replayed our earlier encounters from the hall, recalling the times I'd prodded and maybe even hit him. Yet, I never remember seeing him show signs of distress, not even enough to make me stop when I pressed on his upper arm. Besides, why would he seek permission to visit the infirmary when he deserved to take the day off?
As Maverick left, followed closely by Ashley, the air around me seemed to become palpably frigid. My lungs felt like they'd burst if I inhaled any deeper, and the weight of the stares I sensed would pierce my eyes if I dared to meet them. Yet, I found a sliver of comfort in the warmth of Jake's red cardigan, which conveniently concealed the snag on my uniform.
"Otaku." A whispered taunt reached my ears. It couldn't be referring to me, so I busied myself rummaging through my backpack, pretending to search for my language note as if my backpack held a secret vast library. "Otakuuu…" The whisper grew louder, and a crumpled ball of paper hit my head, making me frown. I followed my instincts to see a girl from the front row, someone I barely remembered speaking to, let alone exchanging a smile or a handshake.
"Are you okay?" she mouthed, still glancing over her shoulder. "Aren't you going after him?" She gestured with her thumb, but I averted my gaze, feigning interest in my bag's contents. It was my decision alone whether to follow Maverick or not. Besides, Ashley had already taken it upon herself to chase after him, despite his rejection of his closest friends. Even if I decided to go, everyone would assume I'd be more of a threat to him, even though I'd never harmed him in the first place.
"Morticia."
I could solemnly swear my name was the most uttered by every teacher at Floradale. I rapidly raised my gaze, as if caught in the act of pretense, and the student teacher raised the board marker, pointing it accusingly at me. "You're coming with me after this class. I'm going to report you to the principal."
A large, unswallowable lump formed in my throat. It had barely been 24 hours since I'd discovered my stepmother had been informed about the incident with locking Maverick up in the art room. She slapped me twice for that, wrecking my new laptop with a golf club. And to make matters worse, she FaceTimed Dad, who hurled scathing words and rained curses at me. Today's incident had involved bleeding, and all I could think of was to feign illness before the end of today's classes. Or maybe get injured too. If Dad were to come home by the end of the day, I doubted I'd be able to write my own will. None of them would believe me if I gave the excuse of only trying to get Maverick to release my ears. And maybe that was why I still felt a little warmth from Jake's words, which still reverberated in my ears.
The student teacher's voice broke my tense reverie. "Now, who would like to recapitulate what we did in the last class?" Hands shot up, and eagerness suffused the atmosphere, momentarily liberating me from the heat of constant stares. If Maverick were here, I would have raised my hand after glancing over my shoulder to see him with his hand raised. Instead, my hand propped up my chin, and I watched as the door slid open suddenly. Maverick?
But it was Ashley who stepped in, sliding the door closed. I was about to look behind her, but it was glaringly obvious no one was there. She drew closer, not meeting my gaze, and I could hear her behind me, where Maverick's seat was. In a moment, she was done, and my gaze followed her up to her seat, realizing she had taken Maverick's notebook, the only personalized set of notebooks in class, with its distinctive black cover and gold stars.
The smile that had crept up my face suddenly faltered when I met Ash's icy gaze. I felt a chill run down my spine, and I couldn't fathom where to begin making amends with her. I was certain I had done something wrong, but she had always been the one to point out my unintentional mistakes. Maybe she was tired of constantly having to point out my mistakes and correct me.
I slowly shifted my gaze, but my legs refused to calm down beneath the table. They bounced restlessly, and my nails dug into my metal pen for several minutes.
"This won't do," I muttered to myself, and I sprang up, making a beeline for the door.
"Morticia!"
"I promise to be back before class," I blurted out in one breath, offering a hasty apologetic bow to the teacher before hastening away.
When I arrived at the infirmary, my hands moved on autopilot, reacting before my rational thinking could catch up. The pungent smell of medicines enveloped me, and it was only then that I realized I had burst in without even peeking to steal a glance of the situation.
Fortunately, no one questioned my sudden arrival. Not Miss Angela, nor Maverick. But his gaze followed me, his eyes fixed on me as if trying to distract himself from his own injury. Or perhaps he was already plotting his revenge—
When I realized I'd have looked stupid, standing at a distance and motionless, I threaded closer, slowly and with sheer snoop.
"Ah!" My hands flew to my mouth to stifle the loud gasp that escaped my lips as I took in the sight of several crimson-stained cotton wool. It wasn't until later that the gravity of the situation hit me. Maverick's forehead was slick with sweat, his lower eyelids darkened, and his left sleeve, which had been cut off, was stained with more blood than I had noticed in class. Miss Angela, meanwhile, was focused on his wound, her headlamp illuminating the area as she expertly wielded a tweezer.
I had never witnessed such extensive bleeding, and the sight made my skin crawl and my arms ache as if they were about to be severed. Any apology from me would be grossly inadequate for the pain Maverick was enduring, and what struck me as peculiar was that he didn't shed a single tear. My breath caught as I followed the trajectory of a red-stained glass shard, carefully plucked with the tweezers and dropped onto a metal plate.
"That's the last one," Miss Angela sighed, her voice laced with relief. The last one? "You're old enough to know when a cut requires more than just a Band-Aid, Maverick. We're dealing with glass here. You can't simply cover it up and assume it'll heal on its own. It would have been a severe case if any of the glass get deep to your vein. Now, can you tell me when you last had a tetanus vaccine, so we can determine if you need one?"
It was the first time I'd seen anyone scold Maverick, and unlike me, who would typically respond with a stubborn frown and a pout, or sheer indifference, he offered a weak, pale-lipped smile as he shook his head.
I was certain Maverick wasn't naïve; he knew the proper procedures to follow when injured, and with his parents being medical doctors, he would have grown up aware of the dangers of tetanus. What's going on in his head?
"Morticia," Miss Angela's voice pulled me out of my reverie, and I opened my mouth to speak, though my words couldn't quite form. "I see you're worried about Maverick."
"A— Uh— N-not—" I stuttered, realizing she likely had no idea I was the reason Maverick ended up here. If she knew, she'd hate me even more. I was only present out of guilt and curiosity. I wanted to understand why someone would start bleeding at my mere touch, considering my hand could barely cover three quarters of his upper arm. I wasn't worried about him.
She kindly interrupted my stammers with a laugh. "It's good to see you here." Her words might have inadvertently boosted Maverick's ego. What if he thought I was actually concerned about him? "Thankfully, you don't need a stitch, so I'll use a butterfly bandage and a gauze after cleaning," she explained, her gaze meeting mine as she turned her neck. "Morticia, it would be kind of you to bring Maverick here every day to have his wound checked and bandage changed."
I opened my mouth to protest, but the words got stuck. "B-but—"
Maverick cut me off immediately, his face scrunched up in distaste, though he didn't meet my gaze. "She doesn't have to."
"I will!" I said, feeling his eyes on me now. I could sense the kind of expression he wore – one that said I was being uncharacteristically kind. But I wasn't. I just enjoyed going against Maverick, doing the things he disliked, since he always did the same to me.
"Why would you?" Maverick scoffed, seeming to relish the argument. Ignoring him, I took the bed space beside him, watching as Miss Angela cleaned the long cut on his upper arm with warm water, applied Neosporin antibiotics, and carefully covered the wound with something I assumed to be the butterfly bandage, and then a white dressing. As I observed the process, the claw of guilt digging into my chest began to loosen, and I felt a semblance of peace. At least, he wasn't bleeding anymore.
No sooner had Miss Angela risen from the stool, cleared the area, and removed her gloves than her phone began to ring. The urgency was palpable as she sprinted to the drug store and emerged in an instant, saying, "Help him with a tablet of this" as she tossed an inhaler for me to catch. However, upon realizing the mix-up, we exchanged items, and then she hastily exited the infirmary, her slightly stained white coat fluttering behind her. I think I admire her even more.
The smile on my face began to fade when I felt a series of taps on my back. Maverick had managed to shift himself almost entirely onto the bed, his foot tapping against my back repeatedly. "Get off," he ordered, as if it were his bed.
"I don't feel like it," I replied, running the sharp edge of the tablet blister pack against his ankle, which made him recoil.
"Hey!" He protested as he rubbed the spot.
"I thought I injured you."
"You just did! Are you blind?"
"I never stuck those glass shards in your skin. I wouldn't even touch you if I knew you were stupid enough to have that much glass embedded in your skin like an accessory."
"Who said you did?" He shifted and sat up, prodding my head.
"Everyone thinks so. They believe what they saw, including the teacher, and she's going to report me because of your immaturity."
"You're getting something wrong here." I felt his hand grasp my jaw out of nowhere, and my head was shifted to face him. It was a bold move, but I had to remain patient until he revealed what I was getting wrong. After all, I was convinced I was right about him – why would a doctor's son hide his injury to himself? Would he have hidden it even longer if I hadn't applied pressure to that spot?
"You, Morticia, are the immature one amongst us two," he said, his tone dripping with condescension. "Secondly, I'm not similar to you in any way." What was he insinuating? "Even if I don't like you, I wouldn't sit by and watch you receive hate from people."
His words sounded like a confession of hatred sweetened with honey, and the way he suddenly went blank sparked my nerve cells. "Nonsense!" I slapped his hand off my jaw. "It wouldn't have taken two minutes to tell everyone right then and there that you had a wound prior."
"I said so," he replied, his voice even.
"You didn't! You called it a little cut! How would anyone believe that when you were bleeding that much? Even, it sounded like I actually cut you in some way! Anyone would have thought you generously wanted to clear me of all fingers pointing at me—"
"Why would I watch you get blamed for what my da—"
"Da?" I repeated, stunned, as if an unknown force had taken hold of me. "Da?" I asked again, expecting him to continue, even though it was obvious he had only blurted it out in the heat of the moment. Then, I was certain Maverick was hiding something huge, and he didn't need to tell me because I had already pieced it together. Unlike other times, my brain connected the dots in seconds, and what I had was a perfect chain, not a messy web.
"Your dad?" I questioned, my eyes locked on his. Like earlier, he positioned himself back on the bed, tapping my back with his foot. "Your dad did this to you?"
Ugh!" He groaned when I refused to budge, "I'm in pain, just get up. Show some humanity."
An exasperated "Wow!" escaped my lips, and I finally gave in. I shifted my weight forward, my shoes thudding against the floor before I stood up. I raised my hands to massage my scalp, trying to soothe the fiery sensation spreading from the roots of my hair. As I paced back and forth, I struggled to process his slipup. Maverick's parents, as I remembered them, were meticulous and controlling, always keeping track of his every aspect of life – education, health, sport, manners, fashion, friends, future plans, and even his diet. They were attentive, unlike my own parents, but their strict demeanor was intimidating, even in magazine photos. Could his dad have done that to him?
Maverick's groan interrupted my thoughts, and I stopped pacing. "You're making me dizzy." He complained.
I fired off a series of questions, my words tumbling out in a rush now that I noticed him already. "How did he do it? Did he really leave you bleeding? Is that why you pushed away your friends and turned down Ashley's help?"
"What are you spewing?" Maverick responded with a carefree tone, pulling the blanket over himself like a cocoon. I knew him well enough to recognize that the best way to get answers from him was to keep pushing.
I yanked the blanket off, rolling it into a ball.
"I'm too weak for these games. I don't want to play."
Maverick rolled onto his side, and I moved over, bending down. "Why did your dad hurt you?"
He faked a nonchalant yawn, trying to snuggle into the pillow as if he was about to sleep. "Did I say dad?" His tone was unconvincing. "Maybe I meant damn. Or damnit. Or... dashcam... Or Dallas?"
I yanked the pillow away swiftly, and now I had two essential things to make him feel comfortable. I just had to pry the truth out of him. Besides, I knew the pain of being hurt by one's parents. The difference between us was that I wouldn't hide the truth if anyone asked about my wounds or bruises, and the second difference was that the only time I bled from a parental wound was when my stepmom accidentally gashed me with a pencil knife. The worst she ever did was slap me at the most inopportune moments and damage my cherished belongings. Dad, on the other hand, punishes me with grueling gym sessions, slaps, or whipping my legs with a cane. Maverick had to open up to me, and maybe I could find a way to help him.
"I'm trying my best not to get angry, Morticia," Maverick finally sat up, his voice laced with frustration, as I struggled to think of a reason why I wanted him to confide in me. I'm the villain in his story! "So, stop acting like you care. You're making me cringe."
For a moment, I closed my eyes, and when I did, I sensed him snatching away the pillow and blanket. He was right.
"So, it's your dad," I muttered in a monotone, without giving him a second glance. I rushed towards the exit, sprinting out after sliding the door closed. With greater speed than I had headed for the infirmary, I dashed for the classroom. The silence there was palpable as I entered. Maybe everyone was engrossed in today's lesson. I headed for my seat, grabbed my bag, and started rummaging through it.
"Morticia, move."
"You're blocking the view, gee!"
I had to find it quickly. So, I took my seat and searched even further, hoping I hadn't misplaced it.
Fortunately, I found it - Maverick's phone, and the new one he gave me too. Without hesitation, I snatched both and rushed towards the door, not bothering to zip up my backpack. But the student teacher called out, "stop!"
"Morticia, do you realize how many offenses I've got listed for you?" she asked, her tone stern.
I turned around, waving the phones frantically. "It's very urgent, Miss. I promise to be back before class ends."
"That's in seventeen minutes," she retorted matter offactly, hurling the board marker at me. My reflexes kicked in, and I dodged it with ease, proceeding to open the door anyway.
When I arrived at the infirmary, an unsettling silence greeted me. Miss Angela was still absent, but Maverick had drawn the curtains around his bed. It was unusual for him to skip class, so today was already off to a strange start.
I pocketed the new phone and crept onto the bed space, sliding open the curtain. As I had suspected, Maverick had the blanket covering him from head to toe, a creepy habit he'd had since childhood. With deliberate slowness, I reached for the top of the blanket with the tip of my right fingers, trying to pull it down halfway. Just as I thought I was succeeding, Maverick suddenly grasped my hand, his eyes snapping open.
The shock of his sudden movement left me motionless like a nighttime burglar caught in action. I had been gentle, but now his glare was piercing. When his gaze fell to my other hand, I instinctively hid his phone behind my back.
"What do you think you're doing?" He groaned, the sleepiness palpable in his voice. "If you're going to check, I'm not wearing the ring."
That's it! A chance.
"How can I be so sure?"
Raise your hand.
"I only put it off because I have to convince myself I'm willing to be an ideal man."
He claimed I caused him to cringe earlier, but now, he didn't realize how irritated he just made me. Wearinga ring doesn't make you an ideal man. An ideal man would stand up to his parents' decision to marry him off against his will. An ideal man wouldn't let his father hurt him so badly, or hide his wounds with Band-Aids while the glass was still lodged inside. I wanted to say all that, but sometimes, silence is golden. One thing was certain: I was never getting married to Maverick. We were the worst mismatch anyone could ever try to pair up.
"I feel like you're wearing it in secret." I pressed further, and as I anticipated, he released my hand and raised both of his palms up, in a gesture of innocence. That was it! I took the chance to grab his right thumb, pretending to examine it for some tiny detail.
Out of the corner of my eye, I sensed his calm demeanor, and slowly, I raised his phone, moving it towards his finger. It only needed the slightest fingerprint, no hassle required. But like a seasoned goalkeeper, Maverick blocked my attempt, stopping the phone from reaching the target. He was always ready to counter my actions, anticipating my hidden moves. He retracted his hand, despite my tight grasp, and the phone slipped from my fingers, sinking into the folds of the blanket.
We exchanged a wide-eyed glance, and in an instant, we got into a fierce battle for ownership of the phone. We both grasped it, but it was a test of strength. I squeezed my fingers around one end, feeling blood rush to my fingertips, but Maverick countered, easily gaining the upper hand and finally pinning it beneath his thigh as he sat up.
"What's with you?" His voice was threateningly calm, devoid of agitation. I had no idea, either - impulsive actions were my specialty, my charm. "So, what if you get me to unlock my phone? What next? Uh? What would you do? Dial my dad's number? And then?"
The unsettling silence that followed tempted me to be realistic, but I resisted the urge. If I had successfully unlocked his phone, I would've dialed Mr. Cooper, and what came next would be based on impulse. Purely impulse.
Perhaps he had expected me to counter him with words, contrary to the glowering look I was giving him. Instead, he finally dropped his head, sighed, and said as he raised his head, "Mind your damn business. You hate me sticking my nose in your damn business, and I rarely do that anymore... Yes, I just had a slight dispute with my dad and got injured accidentally. That's it, does it make you happy now that you know the truth?"
"YES!" The single word burst out of my vocal cords with full force. Even if it was just a "slight dispute," getting glass shards unremoved for God knows how long, and without any attempted treatment, was infuriating. Purely perplexing. I wanted to say all that, but silence was golden, especially when it came to Maverick. A single word from me would be recycled by him, and before we knew it, we'd be hurling heavy words at each other like a dodgeball game.
I bent over, grabbed the blister pack of the drug Miss Angela had asked me to shell out to Maverick, and hurled it at his face. He could get another red eye for all I cared. He was the stupidest fool I'd ever seen, and his condition only seemed to worsen as we grew. Simpleton! Buffoon! Pea sized brain. Nincompoop!
"You look like a fat bear in that cardigan!" Again, I knew he was trying to get under my skin, but I had to act elegant and tread carefully as I walked away. It took all my strength not to slam the door, coupled with convincing myself that the door had done nothing wrong. It was just an inanimate object, and I shouldn't take out my frustration on it.
⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸
Interesting days, it seems, always flash by like meteors. But on days like today, when I knew I was already in the language teacher's bad books, the class hadn't ended by the time I returned. I recall her saying it was seventeen minutes to the end of class, now it's ten minutes left. The pangs of a crazy dilemma gnawed at my sides, making it impossible for me to decide whether to slip into the class and take a seat without drawing attention or linger by the door and wait for her - to save myself from being called out publicly when she leaves.
Fidgeting with my hair wouldn't spark any brilliant ideas, but I found myself doing just that as I crouched down minutes long. By and by, a sudden realization struck me, and I felt a surge of hope. If I could bring Maverick over now and he vouched that I never hurt him, she wouldn't have to drag me to Principal Madden's office. It sounded simple and straightforward, but just as I rose to my feet, the loud bell rang out, accompanied by the sliding of the door behind me, leaving me frozen in place.
"Follow me," the teacher said, thrusting her books towards me. My hand instinctively grabbed them, while the other grasped her sleeve, halting her in her tracks and coercing her into turning around.
"What?" she asked, her eyes narrowing.
"Please, don't report me. I swear I didn't hurt Maverick. I swear on your books," I blurted out, the words tumbling from my lips before I could even process their sensibility. Swear on books? It sounded ridiculous, even to my own ears.
"Follow me," she said, her eyes scanning my height as if to imply I was never worth listening to. "Unless you intend on making me report you for what you just said too."
I knew this drill all too well. It wasn't my first time getting on her bad side, and I had always managed to beg my way out of trouble with a habitual pout and nervous rubbing of my hands. There was the time I accidentally spilled chocolate drink on her white shirt on her first day at work, courtesy of Maverick causing me to trip. Then there was the incident when Maverick refused to spare a minute and went ahead to submit everyone's notebook but mine, prompting me to chase after him and accidentally knocking her down on the way. Who could forget the time I dozed off in class and jolted up to her tap, colliding with her face and causing her a nosebleed? And not to forget the infamous translation mishap, where I wrote on the board that she was a "clown" instead of a "beauty."
I hadn't kept count, but as I stood behind the other seat, Mrs. Madden's busy presence looming before me, all those memories came flooding back like a tidal wave. I prayed fervently that she wouldn't expose all my past transgressions, especially the ones I barely remember. But deep down, I knew the chance was going to be slimmer than spaghetti.
"It's good to see you here with Miss Fiona," Mrs. Madden said, her smile sending shivers down my spine. It was the first time I'd seen her smile, and I had to admit, it was unsettling. I preferred her usual glare, the one that makes me feel like she could prod her fingers into my eyes. Her grim look, piercing stare above her glasses, and smug tone when she spoke were all more familiar, more comforting. God, please help me.
"And what mischief was she up to?" It would be a challenge for even the fastest camera to capture the sudden, eerie transformation of her face. To her, I was a pesky insect she could swat away with a book, while to me, she loomed like a great white shark, ready to devour me whole.
I struggled to remain still, careful not to ruffle the air and incur Miss Fiona's further wrath, which would surely earn me additional offense against her. I darted a glance at her from the corner of my eye, hoping to catch her gaze and silently plead my case.
"Morticia, like most teachers claim, is a wild puppy in need of taming..." she began, and I knew I was doomed. She had just labeled me WILD! "Principal Madden, can you believe she—"
For a fleeting moment, her lips sealed over her words, and I breathed a silent sigh of relief as the knock on the door interrupted her. At least I'd have a chance to steel myself for the oncoming tide; whether it would crash down on me, sweeping me away, or leave me standing, drenched but scathed.
"Come in," Principal Madden granted her permission after the second double knock. Miss Fiona still refused to meet my gaze, deliberately avoiding my eyes. I shouldn't have let my curiosity get the better of me, but I couldn't help sneaking a glance at the incoming person. The sight of Maverick, sporting a smug smile as he greeted the officials, sent heat rising up my chest. I couldn't misinterpret the look in his eyes, even though I only caught his gaze for an instant before looking away. It was as if he was telling me I was the lowest person in the room, and even he commanded more respect from the stern Principal Madden.
It wasn't even a mistake how I read Principal Madden's expression. Unlike the way she looked at me, her facial muscles relaxed, and she smiled as if Maverick were an old friend. Who even never considered Maverick a friend at school? Everyone liked him.
As Maverick took the seat beside Miss Fiona, the one I was standing behind, directed by the principal's request, I noticed he already wore a crisp, untorn white shirt, properly tucked into his trousers, with his tie in place. I didn't miss the silent gestures Miss Fiona used to ask if he was okay, either.
"To whom do I owe this visit?" Principal Madden asked, her gaze darting towards me, her expression shifting ever so swiftly.
"Principal Madden, I hope you're doing great," Maverick replied, his tone smooth.
My eyes couldn't help but roll at the exchange. It was bothersome to see Maverick so relaxed, so courteous, as he inquired about the principal's well-being. Was it genuine politeness, or was he trying to rub it in my face that he held a special place in her book?
"Miss Fiona was about to report Morticia, but I'd like to intervene because it's a pure misunderstanding," Maverick continued.
The earlier pleasantries had been lost on me, but Maverick's words now struck me like a new wave of shock. I couldn't believe he was defending me. It would have been more in character for him to revel in my misfortune, waiting for me to get punished by spreading hundreds of freshly laundered heavy curtains, and taking pictures to turn into mocking stickers later. But now, it seemed he was changing tactics – trying to belittle me, to make me feel indebted to him, and to showcase his supposed generosity, sense of justice, and skill to win people over.
"Truth to be told, we had a slight dispute outside, prior to Miss Fiona getting to the class…" And, like that, his explanation went on with a blur while I got lost in shame. Everyone would want to listen to Maverick and the way he speaks eloquently wasn't what anyone would want to dismiss. He gestured calmly while taking brief glances at me sometimes, like a defending parent, and he could conveniently smile with Mrs Madden, without being called a rude brat. He's lucky.
⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸
"Morticia Katz!"
"Hey, Morticia!"
"Hey, Bear!"
Maverick's repetitive calls grated on my nerves, his voice an annoying prick that refused to subside. After helping me slip out of trouble by a hair's breadth, he was already trying to rile me up – the best way to treat someone, apparently.
"Morticia Bear," he chimed in, now in a singsong tone. He wouldn't stop until he had my attention. If he successfully did, I knew exactly what he intended to do next.
"Wild puppy…" he sang again.
That was it. My feet halted at the last of the staircases I had descended.
"Or was it a cute puppy?" He pondered aloud, matching his stance to mine. "No, I think it was wild puppy, right?" He pointed a finger inches from my eyes, and I fought the urge to snap my teeth. He just had to bring his finger a little bit lower.
"Ah!" He clapped, "It's really wild puppy. You owe me, you know?"
"Who asked for your help?!" I snapped, my patience wearing thin. Even the lid of a pot with boiling water could come open if the pressure became too much to handle. No one, except Maverick, could get under my skin like this, and that was a sickening flaw in my existence.
"I wasn't asking you to pay me back," he shrugged, his head shaking from side to side. "I was going to tell you I'm going to be an ideal man, so you can depend on me."
My fingers dug into my palms, quivering with the urge to meet Maverick's face.
"You're forever going to be a little baby." I confessed. Depend on him?Even if I'm down with illness and he's the only person near, I wouldn't even ask him to help me get medicine.
His face scrunched up, as if something distasteful had melted on his tongue. I still didn't understand what made him think telling the principal the truth to save me made him a man, or why not asking for anything in return made him a man. It just felt odd for someone like him to keep rambling on about being a man when he couldn't even navigate his daily life without getting entangled with me. It was as if it was already a decade ago when I accused him of pushing his brother to his death, and he didn't seem to harbor a grudge against me. Wasn't it just this morning we had this talk, and he never accepted my apology? Or maybe I'd always thought I knew him best. What if he was skilled at hiding ill feelings towards people until they'd forgotten, and then, one night, he decide to take his revenge?
"Hey, Morticia."
"Tish."
"Tish bear."
"Wild puppy!"
The last high-pitched call resonated in my ears and the hallways as I slid open the classroom door. Every student inside, scattered in disorganized clusters, turned to gaze at me, their eyes traveling up and down my frame. Maverick was behind me, and it didn't take long for me to notice the suspicious looks on some of their faces. Think whatever you want.
I never recalled sliding the door open for Maverick's benefit. It was a courtesy typically meant to be done for ladies by gentlemen, not the other way around. Maverick stepped in first, and when I tried to grab him, he nudged me aside, causing me to collide with a desk. The owner of the table shot me a grudge-filled glare as she raised her gaze from the accidentally drawn line across her notebook, leaving me motionless.
"I-I—"
"Keep your love play off the class."
Did she just say "love"? I must be hearing things.
"I'm sorry," I finally managed to say, rushing to my seat before I got into more trouble. Thankfully, the chatter resumed, with students at the back playing with tennis balls, girls retouching their makeup with small mirrors, others binge-eating snacks while busy with their phones, and a few actually studying. It was Thursday's free period, after all.
My eyes glowered at Maverick before I took a seat, but it didn't take long for him to make his way to the podium. Not my business. If I still had my phone, I would've read the latest episode of RSSL comic, texted Jay, or listened to some music. My iPad had been long seized by Dad, and now my new laptop was already trashed yesterday.
"I swear, I hate Maverick," I muttered to myself. "I'm practically rustic."
My head found its way to my arms on the table, and I closed my eyes, the easiest thing to do. But, not even the brightness of the day could encourage me to sleep, nor Maverick, who seemed to be addressing the whole class. I was tired of his suave voice.
"What again?" I muttered, my squinted eyes scrambling to shoot Maverick glares. I wasn't interested in his talk, but I was being forced to listen to him.
"Everyone thinks we have to see something to believe, but not all we see is how it seems."
I let out a dismissive groan. "Philosophy."
"To everyone having negative views and opinions about Morticia regarding what happened earlier today," Morticia again? Ugh! "I appeal to you not to criticize her. I take responsibility for pushing her to the point where she shredded my uniform sleeve, but I assure you, the knife never touched my skin. It's as if she's a pro cutter."
The air was filled with laughter, and I couldn't help but roll my eyes. What's so funny?
"I didn't mean any harm when I caused her uniform to get torn. I guess my grip had become stronger. Also, I had an underlying injury—Morticia never caused the bleeding. It was only tender that I started bleeding again when touched and now, I've been treated. She was so worried about me that she rushed to the infirmary."
I shook my head, finally ready to tune out the insincere speech. He was trying to make it sound like he was too responsible to have bad blood with someone and he was an affectionate class president, but I wasn't buying it. My eyes rolled and finally, I got the chance to lecture myself to seek for sleep wherever it may be hidden. I never subscribed to listen to all that fake speech.
"Are you two dating?"
The question seemed to come from nowhere, and my ears perked up along with my braincells. What kind of blunt question was that? I'd expected Maverick to deny it outright, but when our gazes met, he was already smiling. I watched as he raised his hand, subtly rubbing his finger. "Don't you dare," I mouthed, a silent warning.
"He chuckled, and my gaze remained fixed on him, like a sniper's scope locked on its target, ready to shoot on any misstep. "Dating?" he repeated, his tone hesitant.
Was he stalling to tense me up or building suspense before revealing the truth about our arranged marriage? My heart skipped a beat at the thought of him flashing both rings for all to see. Maverick could be crazy and lie to them that I was pregnant just to get back at me. Such rumors from that won't ever die, even when everyone in class grows up and starts their own family in the future. It would be a story passed from grandparents to grandchildren. A humorous story of "Once, I had two peculiar classmates…"
Meanwhile, I still leaned forward, my elbows on the edge of my desk, my focus intense so I wouldn't miss a single word, not even a slight stutter. 'Uhm...' Maverick began, "we're not dating. But I think Morticia likes me."