I don't own House of Anubis. Duh.
Mara was not okay.
The test paper laid on her bed, glaring at her, the scarlet scrawled 'F' a haunting badge of shame that made the girl want to burn the paper and make Mrs Andrews coffee from the ashes. Calmly, Mara picked up the disappointment compressed into paper and slid it under her bed, sitting gingerly on her duvet as if it was tainted. An F, for failure, she thought shakily. She had never even had a nightmare about receiving such a grade, it seemed so ridiculous - and yet here she was. Mara suddenly saw her bright career in journalism shatter and crumble like glass, broken into millions of shards at her feet. Mara saw her university application sizzle and hiss in a pit of pathetic rejection. A saltwater droplet ambled gently down her left cheek, burning her skin. It was shortly followed by a hoard of friends, until armies of tears tore down her face, leaving red streaks and teasing her nose, inviting green dribbles to join the crusade. Mara reached for tissues and suffocated the revolutionaries, willing herself to stay calm. But revolutions can never be stopped, not fully, and so her nose gleamed pink and her eyes still glistened.
"Mara, have you done the - hey, what's up?" the lanky, big-haired prankster of the house pushed into her room. He paused when he noticed her streaked face.
"Nothing. No, I haven't done whatever homework you want to know about," Mara said, desperately trying to keep her voice steady and normal, though it quivered and quaked anyway. She leapt towards the bookshelf, feigning looking for something. "Maybe you can borrow a study book?"
"Mara, you've been crying." It sounded like an accusation - harsh, spiteful. Mara whirled around, anger swirling inside her. She pulled the test paper from beneath her bed.
"I got an F, Jerome. So don't take that tone with me, okay? IVE had enough," she spat, throwing the papers at him. "For a minute I thought you were being nice."
And then the boy crushed her in an embrace, resting his head upon hers. Mara swore she felt his lips press against her forehead.
"One F amongst a zillion A*s doesn't mean shit, Mara. You are still the brain queen," he whispered into her hair. "You are still the top journalist. The top applicant for Cambridge. Ok?"
Mara sniffed, a few straggling tears sliding into his chest. "But-"
"No. No buts, Jaffray. You are so intelligent, with the most beautiful mind and the most beautiful soul and the...and the most beautiful appearance. Okay?"
Mara warily pulled away from him. "You think I'm beautiful?" she croaked.
"Everybody does." Jerome said, smiling. "Well. Me especially. Now quit crying."
Something inside of Mara clicked, and suddenly, she felt like the only thing she could possibly do was place her lips upon his. She paused, thinking on it. His mouth was pink, she noticed, and a very alluring shade. His scent was intoxicating. Mara decided to press her lips against the shocked boy, squeezing her eyes shut, and feeling her entire being melt into his arms. The stray tears fell upon his cheeks, and dried. When they broke apart, they were both breathless.
"I should cry more often," quipped Mara, smiling gently as she felt Jerome lace his fingers into hers. He pressed a kiss to her knuckles, feeling so glad that he was allowed.
"Please don't. I can kiss you even when you don't, y'know?" he grinned.
"Any evidence to support your statement?" teased Mara, and Jerome wiped any straggling tears and slipped his hand to the back of her head, before pulling her close.
"This." And then their lips met, and the F faded away, meaningless.
And Mara was happy.