Title: One Temporary Escape
Summary: Roses, chocolate, flowers. Bets, octagons, dances. Hugs, kisses, love. Valentine's Day.
Warning/Spoiler: Post-"House of Victory"
Rating: T/PG-13
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Various. Ensemble fic.
Author's Note: So basically, this is my "let's just take a bunch of clichéd Valentine's Day tropes and do it better!" Robbie is the student from "House of Victory" who counted the election votes. Enjoy!
EDIT 1/26/13: In the interest of actually finishing something, I have merely edited this chapter rather than rewrite it like I want to. I apologize in advance for how awkwardly this chapter (and the next) reads. Also please remember that this takes place towards the end of season one.
One Temporary Escape
1: all young and naive
Heartbeat.
"You can't be serious?"
The two blondes faced each other, a tensed distance between them. One had his arms crossed across his chest, the other's hands buried in his sweatshirt pockets. One smirked.
"I'm totally serious. A three part bet," he said, his voice smug and daring.
The other silently seethed, steam hissing between his teeth. He reeked of hatred and disgust, fed up with the jealousy and anger and schemes.
"Fine," he finally agreed. "Terms?"
The resident bet-maker and prankster grinned with triumph. I've got this in the bag. "Winner gets out of chores for a month, free room-service for a week, and one I-owe-you, to be used as they see fit."
"And the loser?"
"Isn't the satisfaction of having me at your beck-and-call enough?" the smug one teased. The shorter one glared, so he laughed. "Fine, fine. Your call."
The other paused for a moment. "Loser has to streak through the hallways the morning after the Valentine's Day dance. Only socks."
A thoughtful nod and then – "sounds good." Pause. "So three parts – Nina and Fabian – will they be together by the dance?"
A hesitation and a frown, before: "No."
"Patricia and Alfie – a thing, or just friends?"
"A thing." It was said with a hint of a smile, masked by the utter revulsion aimed at the companion.
A devilish grin adorned the schemer's face. "Amber – single or will she end up with someone after the dance?"
Red stormed through his insides, firing his nerves and bones and muscles. He breathed deeply before answering, "single."
The other clapped his hands together. "So Nina and Fabian will be dating the day after the dance, Patricia and Alfie will not be, and Amber will have a boyfriend."
He ignored the gnawing pain in his gut, the guilty feeling of betrayal at meddling. This is for revenge, the git. "Whatever you say. Agreed?"
Heartbeat. "Agreed."
Two hands gripped and shook, the formation of an age-old manly bond.
Jerome smirked, Mick let himself grin, and the two parted ways, the gears turning in Anubis House.
Contrary to every other cliché she knew, Nina loved Valentine's Day. She would not describe herself as jaded towards or skeptical of the very commercial and overblown holiday, and despite her single status, she appreciated the sentiments. Love – whether romantic or platonic – was celebrated that day, and whether it was Single Awareness Day or Valentine's Day, it was a day for affection, company, and chocolate.
And Nina loved chocolate.
The smell of waffles and Trudy's bright smile greeted her in the dining room that morning. Taking her usual spot beside Fabian, she noticed Alfie's sleeping form beside his untouched breakfast. Patricia shot him sympathetic looks every ten seconds.
"What's up with him?" asked Nina after swallowing a bite of blueberries and waffle, cautiously avoiding ruining her purple sweatshirt with maple syrup.
Patricia spared the dreadful looking Alfie one more glance before answering. "He didn't sleep well last night. Nightmares and, uh, yeah," she said, quickly stuffing food into her mouth to avoid any more questions. Nina nodded and glanced at Fabian who shrugged in her direction.
Jerome's entrance punctured the awkward silence, the sound of the apple leaving and hitting Jerome's hand in time with his strut. He pulled out his chair next to Alfie with flourish, completely ignoring his unmoving best friend. "So how's our favorite love septagon doing today?"
Fabian raised an eyebrow. "Shouldn't that be an octagon? Why are you excluded?"
"So not denying your presence in the polygon, are we dear Fabian?" said Jerome, smoothly avoiding the question as Trudy swatted away his feet from atop the table and placed pancakes on his plate.
Fabian's cheeks tinted red and Nina tried to stop the smile that tugged at her lips. You are so cute. She pushed the thought quickly away though, saying, "whether Fabian's in the polygon or not, you definitely are." Her eyes narrowed slightly on the way Jerome's jaw muscles twitched, drawing a slight smile to her lips. "So who do you like, Jerome?"
Jerome scoffed. "Who says I like anyone?" He returned Nina's calculating look with a, "what about you, Miss America? Who do you fancy?"
Heartbeat. Nina internally debated lying, before settling on a neutral answer. "If I liked someone – and whether I do or not, I'm not saying – I definitely wouldn't be telling you. What is this, junior high?" Good. Safe. Not a straight-out denial, but not a definite answer either.
"Touché," said Jerome, leaning back into his chair with a grin. He glanced at the clock once before stuffing a dry pancake into his mouth and slapping the back of Alfie's head. Patricia glared at him.
"He's sleeping, you idiot!" she said, eyes narrowed.
Jerome innocently raised his hands. "Fine, fine, tell him I'm leaving and to meet me at my locker before our first class."
Patricia's response was a cross between a snort and a grunt, and Jerome chuckled on his way out, Patricia's protective glare following his movements. The moment he was gone, Nina watched Patricia slap the back of Alfie's head sharply. "Wake up, sleepyhead," she said. When Alfie began to stir, Nina watched Patricia struggle to force the grin off her face. Alfie groggily rubbed his eyes.
"Time for school already?"
"Yes, you goof, get up," she said, her voice lightly teasing and tainted with affection. But when Alfie's head rested again on his pillow of arms, Patricia rolled her eyes, stood, and grabbed his arms. "That's it," she said, dragging him up and out. Nina giggled as Alfie followed, his eyes half-opened and his lips mumbling nonsensical phrases.
Fabian shook his head, his eyes twinkling in amusement. "Oh Alfie."
"Oh Alfie, indeed," said Nina, her lips lifted upwards. "So I guess we better be off too?"
"Yeah, sure. Mick left early for a run and said he'd go straight there. What about Amber and Mara?"
"Amber left early too, she didn't say why," said Nina as she packed her backpack and swung it on her should. "No idea about Mara though."
Shrugging, Fabian offered his arm to Nina. Her stomach flittered, matching the tiny giggle that escaped her. Their arms intertwined as they walked to school.
Amber hated Valentine's Day.
She hated the frilly hearts, the abundance of red, melted chocolate, and sappy couples publicly expressing their love. She hated how society warped a day for celebrating companionship and friendship and love into day for marketing sweets and flowers and condoms.
She respected the origins of the holiday, but everything else about it annoyed her.
The day passed as quickly as her morning run – agonizingly slow. Wisps of blonde hair tickled her face throughout history and the sound of Alfie's snores distracted her during math. But somehow lunch arrived and Amber found herself in the lounge with the rest of her classmates.
Mr. Sweets stood proudly at the podium, the student representative beaming at his side. Her insides stretched and thinned, heat tickling the line between jealousy and resentment. No fire consumed her, however; only a sinking green caressed her gut. She imagined herself in replacement of the other girl, glowing, prepared to spread news to everyone, to have everyone's eyes glued upon her. She imagined Mick grinning widely at her, a swelled heart proud of her accomplishments. She imagined herself with the life that had escaped her.
Her eyes burned, but she cooled them with the thought of poise and restraint, a purple haze settling the dust.
"Attention, students!" Mr. Sweet's voice carried over the gossip and chatter, silencing them. "Your new student class representative, the lovely Mara Jaffray, has an announcement for you all." A claw grabbed at her heart, squeezing, but she closed her eyes and felt the hand gradually retract.
When she opened her eyes again, Mara took the forefront, confident and ready. In the back of her mind, Amber felt pride, a longing for the friendship lost, for a rekindling of a connection buried.
"Hello everyone," said Mara, her voice shaking slightly. Amber watched Mara's eyes search the crowd and her lips curl up at the sight of something before inhaling a deep breath. "As I'm sure you know, next Monday is Valentine's Day and I'm sure many of you are excited for the dance!" With practiced grace, she paused long enough for the predicted cheers and applause. Mara's smile widened. "My first suggestion to the staff was a fundraising idea. Starting today at lunch, you can purchase Rosegrams. A Rosegram is simply three pounds and includes a rose and message. The message can be signed or anonymous and will be available for students to pick up starting Wednesday. For an extra pound, give the gift of chocolate as well – which I'm sure everyone can enjoy." Her voice was strong, a smile emphasizing every word. She continued over the growing whispers. "All the proceeds will go towards the fund supporting our music department." Fabian, across the room and beside Nina, beamed; Amber recalled the campaign promise he had extracted from Mara, ignoring the pang in her chest. Mara bit her lip. "So, that's it. Um – lunch time?" she finished awkwardly, but a rising chuckle greeted her words and Mr. Sweets said nothing as the throngs of students slowly left the lounge.
Predictably, whispers became intense discussions, buzzing with gossip. Amber reluctantly admitted that the Rosegrams appeared to be a hit.
Fabian's interest in buying one did little to surprise Amber; neither did Alfie's, who seemed to always be hopelessly in love with some girl or another. But when Mick and Jerome eyed the table where the rose package was sold, Amber raised an eyebrow thoughtfully. Who does Jerome like? And why does Mick need to buy a Rosegram when he can just tell Mara that he's sickeningly in love with her.
Unless he doesn't love her. Unless he's secretly trying to send someone else a message.
Heartbeat. Castles in the sky, Millington. Mick's dating Mara, get over it. You may still love him, but that means nothing. You need to get over him.
Amber returned her attention to her lunch, to Fabian's account of a funny incident in Biology, to Patricia's complaining about Mr. Winkler's weird attitude. She pushed Mick and Mara out of her head, shoved away in a coffin of broken hearts and misunderstood mysteries. She pushed away the things she could not control, focusing instead on what mattered, on what she could manage. She focused on herself, Amber Millington, girl who hated Valentine's Day and stupid Rosegrams.
A constant barrage of green and red twisted in Jerome's gut, pulling and squeezing at him whenever he glanced their way. She giggled when his arm ran around her shoulders, and she elbowed him in the side lightly when he whispered something in her ear, her lips struggling to stay still. He poked her in the side, tickling her momentarily as she squirmed out of the way and into Patricia, who shot them an annoyed look.
"Get a room, you two. Some of us are trying to eat without wanting to barf," she said, only betrayed by her slight smile.
Mara rolled her eyes but continued smiling. "Fine, fine. Mick and I will try to restrain ourselves."
Jerome was sure he was the only one who heard Amber's sure you will when Mick tugged Mara towards him, eliciting a squeak. Thoughts of Amber brought forth memories of agreements and revenge, and Jerome's mind began spinning.
How do I get Amber a date to the dance? One so perfect that she'd go out with him afterwards? Although using Alfie would be the most useful – keep him away from Patricia – that hasn't worked before. His eyes rested on his best friend, whispering with Patricia and Nina about something or another. No, I think Patricia and Alfie will be conquered with some well-placed gossip. Nina and Fabian will happen naturally, I don't need to do anything about that. Except maybe move the Fabes along. Amber giggled at something Fabian said, but his eyes kept darting towards Nina occasionally, and the latter kept meeting them. Secret looks, covert late-night meetings… Jerome didn't need to do much there. Which leaves Amber. Mentally running through the list of eligible guys, he noticed that few would fit Amber's type. Tall, blonde, athletic – so basically, Mick. But that isn't going to happen anytime soon, he thought bitterly. Jerome had grudgingly promised himself that he would leave Mara and his feelings for her out of the bet. The goal was revenge, nothing more and nothing less.
Revenge. Images of an enraged Mick filled his mind until the perfect plan surfaced.
Jerome Clarke, you are a certified genius.
As the students began piling out the cafeteria with the ring of the lunch bell, Jerome slowly wandered over to the table of roses and chocolates.
"Hello there, Mr. Clarke," said the girl at the counter whose name Jerome could never remember. "Would you like to buy a Rosegram?"
"Yes, please," he said, flashing a smooth smile. He took the offered paper with a, "thank you!" and moved off to the side, debating what exactly to write. A shadow crossed over him and he quickly snatched the piece of paper and whirled around.
"What are you up to, Clarke?" said Mick, his eyes suspicious.
"Absolutely nothing, Campbell," said Jerome smoothly, all innocence and smiles. "Planning on buying a Rosegram for Mara then?"
Mick shrugged, his eyes still narrowed towards him. "Yeah, I was." Jerome watched him pay the girl at the counter and pick-up two messages. Fabian and Alfie joined him, each buying two themselves.
"Well aren't you lot eager then," said Jerome, eying their double Rosegrams. "Two to one lady? Seems kinda desperate." His eyebrow shot up for a moment. "Unless I've underestimated my house brothers – exploring your options, are we?"
"Shove it, Clarke," grumbled Mick, retrieving a pen from his pack and writing Mara on the first paper. "Who are you writing yours to anyway?"
Jerome decided to go with the truth. "You'll see eventually." He turned to Fabian. "So two for Nina, then?"
Somehow, Fabian managed to refrain from turning beet red. "No, only one's for her. The other I bought for her to give to someone. I don't know who," he finished, his voice appearing calm but Jerome could hear the hope inherent in each word.
"Okay mate," said Jerome, shrugging. He turned to Alfie, who was studying his messages in deep thought. "What about you?"
"I can't choose!" he said, throwing his arms up in frustration. "I mean, they're both amazing and pretty – but neither of them seems interested…"
Jerome glanced at Mick, who grinned smugly back at him. "Patricia and Amber then?" said Jerome with a small sigh. Alfie nodded, still frowning. "No worries. I will do some investigating – in any case, you will have a date to the dance, I guarantee it."
"And it won't be Amelia Pinches?"
"It won't be Amelia Pinches," said Jerome, laughing. He missed the Lewis to his Clarke, the easy air of teasing and pranking and assurances.
Alfie shrugged. "Okay then. I trust you, mate," he said, his voice clipped and tense. Jerome offered a fist to bump, but Alfie just nodded. "See you in class." Alfie followed the others to his next class, but Jerome noticed that he still held the two Rosegrams.
Whatever, he won't send them anyway. He tossed aside the violet worry, turning to the empty lines on the paper, begging to be filled.
Jerome and Mick silently scribbled away, the scratch of pen on paper drowned in the sea of leaving students. The two exchange stoic nods when they both handed a single Rosegram to the lady at the counter. But Jerome waited until Mick walked away, a rose-colored paper still in his hand, to ask for another himself.
Who says I have to sign it.
The fact was, of course, that Jerome wasn't the first – nor was he the last – to think up of this so-called brilliant scheme of anonymity. For example, his biggest rival – who happened to share a great number of similarities with him – would, five minutes later, turn in an anonymous Rosegram himself.
The streak in her hair reflected her mood that day – stripes of rainbow, capturing the range of anger to sadness, cowardice to tranquility. Every moment felt amplified, subtle strokes of black and white coloring each heartbeat, each breath. Thoughts swirled around, never sitting still, always moving and always thinking. With so much activity surrounding her during the day, Patricia was glad to finally be back at Anubis House.
Voices reached her ears and she knew that they spoke words. Whether the sounds were English or Yiddish she didn't know, mysteries of a different kind clouding her mind.
"Patricia!" Selective attention grabbed her consciousness, dragging her to awareness. "Where you even listening to anything we just said?" asked Fabian, slightly annoyed.
Patricia shrugged. "I'm sure it was about whatever new clue Nina found in the spooky, old attic," she said, her voice barely concealing bitterness. "Let me know when we start worrying about Joy again, okay?" Annoyed and moody, Patricia decided she preferred solitude for the moment; so she bypassed the others at the foot of the stairs and headed for her empty room, Mara obviously spending every moment with Mick.
Her room however, housed a distressed Alfie, who appeared to be struggling over words. His faced grimaced when she entered and she scoffed.
"What, I'm not allowed to be in my own room?"
"No," said Alfie, shaking head, "I was just trying to be alone, and since no one was in here, I figured – "
"It's fine," she said without further questioning. "I wanted to be alone too."
"Silent-time?"
Patricia laughed. "What is this, elementary school?" Alfie stuck out a tongue at her, causing her to reply, "how very mature of you, Alfie. But yeah, sure."
The silence that fell sat comfortably, a squishy chair pregnant with homely essence. Patricia focused on Jane Eyre, while Alfie continued writing, his eyes darting between two half-sheets of paper, neither holding his full concentration. Eventually, the constant erasing and rewriting and frustration tipped over Patricia's curiosity and patience.
"What are you doing, exactly?"
Alfie paused for a moment, staring at her. His eyes seemed to debate his options – whatever they were, he settled upon speaking.
"I'm writing Rosegrams."
"Oh." Patricia's stomach fell, tightened, and cooled in rapid succession. "To whom?" She hated the way her heart paused, reaching for scarlet and light.
"Um, I'd rather not say – you know, um, secrecy and all – " said Alfie, nervously rubbing the back of his neck.
"Oh. Okay," said Patricia, biting her lip and looking away, perpetuating the sudden unease that pervaded the room.
Alfie turned to a Rosegram and studied it for a full minute before looking at her again. "What about you?"
"What about me?"
"Are you going to give one?" he asked, timidity subtly enhancing his speech.
Swirls – canary, cinnamon satin, black, mountain meadow, gray. A combination of desire and disgust reached her – look at me, wanting to go to a dance. Idiot. Girl power, Williamson! Girl power!
"No," she lied smoothly, her stomach flipping between orchid and denim.
"Not interested in anyone, then?" She thought she heard plum coloring his tone, but she squashed the rose thought.
Patricia shrugged in response.
Quiet reigned again. The scratches quickened, and in five minutes, Patricia had read a grand total of two words, while Alfie had written around fifty.
"Done," he said, half-proud, half-hesitant. "Guess I'll turn them in tomorrow."
She wanted to question why he had written two – her brain told her that he liked Amber, so they were obviously for her – but another one? Yellow colored her vision as Alfie smiled and waved, leaving her finally alone. Patricia, stop it.
And so yellow faded to blue, and slowly Patricia allowed the rainbow to consume her again.
Although Mara's brilliant smile warmed him slightly, Mick still felt cold without a sweatshirt wrapped around his torso until Mara stepped into his arms and embraced him. It lasted a few moments until they took up the couch, her head on his shoulder and his arm wrapped around her.
He knew he should question her about her day. How were your classes? I heard you got your English test back, how did that go? Oh, I talked to Mrs. Andrews about the tutoring and she said it was a great idea. Yeah, Alfie got caught sleeping in Mr. Sweets' class; it was pretty funny.
And repeat.
The stale routine bored him. No impromptu movies, no spontaneous kisses. No stupid smiles that I see plastered on Fabian's face all the time. I miss those, no matter how idiotic I looked.
Mara was fun – she was cute, she was smart, she was funny. But it was so much work to maintain the simplicity that Mick so desperately wished to preserve.
When Mara started telling him a story about how Patricia and Jerome stole some younger students' homework, Mick listened. He listened, responded appropriately, and even added comments here and there. But his mind wandered, footballs flying across the grass, the air screaming in his ears, her smile beaming up at him. When hazel and blue met, outlined in blonde, he snapped the cord between illusion and reality, dawning a smile and focusing on his girlfriend.
"That's pretty awful of them," he said, hoping he hadn't been too distracted. He felt the bugs crawling across his skin, feeding off the dirt in his heart and the guilt in his veins.
"I don't think it was that bad," said Mara, her tone slightly defensive and Mick didn't want to analyze why that was. She leaned out his embrace. "Besides, they returned it in the end."
"Yeah, but they still stole it. And if Amber and Fabian hadn't caught them – "
Mara suddenly bristled. "Oh, so you're defending Amber, are you?"
"Wait, what?" said Mick, blinking rapidly. "How did this become about Amber?"
"You always choose her side over mine!"
"Mara!" he said, words half-lost over a mixture of shock and sudden anger. His legs straightened and abruptly he stood. "That is not true at all and you damn well know it! I was definitely on your side during the campaign; I'm on Fabian's side just as much. And don't get me started on you and defending Jerome all the time!" The red seeped through him, defining every word and action. His voice escalated without reason as judgments and assumptions tickled his temper. "What about him – he ditched you during the campaign! He embarrassed Amber in front of the whole school!"
"Again with defending Amber!" Her shrill voice pierced his ears, both of them standing. A sudden chasm had appeared, separating the distance between me and you. Mick's head spun, his heart racing miles ahead of logic and reason, jumping distances that even unintelligent Mick could identify as questionable. "Why don't you let me know when you're ready to focus on me, your girlfriend, okay?"
She stormed off, olive steam following her as Mick stood still, blood pumping everywhere. His ears sizzled against the calming force of silence; the sudden loneliness slammed against him.
He sunk down onto the couch, his hands masking his face from the world. He only looked up when he felt a form sit down beside him.
"Give her some time to cool off, talk to her, and it'll all be okay. It was just a misunderstanding and I'm sure she'll realize it was just an overreaction. Okay?" Nina's simple, collected instructions simplified the smoky haze of feelings that blocked his mind. He nodded slowly and her arms wrapped around him for a solid moment.
Warmth. Comfort. Friendship.
He could actually smile at her. She walked away with a smile and a "it'll work out in the end," leaving Mick wondering less about how to apologize for nothing to Mara and more about why he didn't spend more time with people who seemed to have it all figured out.
To Mick, having the ability to advise others seemed to be the ultimate form of wisdom. But to Nina, having the ability to take that advice to heart and apply it to life seemed to be infinitely better.
Alfie stationed himself far away from everyone at lunch the next day.
The seclusion allowed him to survey his own thoughts as they floated in and out. The girl behind the counter now held his two pink sheets, adorned with the shaky words of a teenaged boy. His divided mind flittered between ideals and tangibles; his dream girl or the girl who was a dream-come-true? His heart wanted certainty; so used to rejection, how could he let himself fall for a girl when the probability was so high that she wasn't interested?
You know what – I don't need Jerome to get me a date; I'll get one on my own. Screw him – all he's concerned about is that stupid bet with Mick. Yeah, idiot, thought Alfie bitterly as he glared across the cafeteria at the group of his friends, don't make a bet in the middle of the sitting room when someone else is home. Dumbass.
Usually Alfie restrained himself from insulting his best friend, but the frustration built as a result from separation – more time with Patricia and Fabian and Amber and Nina, and less with Jerome and Mara. Who needed a friend who didn't even care if he wasn't even spending time with him anymore?
Alfie crushed his chip in his palm before stuffing it in his mouth. I bet he's sabotaging any chance I have with Patricia as we speak. Indeed, Alfie spotted Jerome heading towards the Rosegram counter as the bell rang and students filed out. An exchange of money and paper, and Jerome walked away smugly, a handful of possible notes. Shaking his head, Alfie decided he needed a plan – he needed a way to get back at Jerome and figure out whom he wanted once and for all. Hopefully, both plans would coincide and would involve as little work as possible.
It was when Mick snuck back into the cafeteria a minute later, leaving with a sizable amount of Rosegrams in his hands, that the spark ignited.
"Mr. Rutter, if you would please grace us with the pleasure of your attention."
The sharp voice cut through Fabian's daydreams – Nina twirling on the dance floor in his arms because he finally gathered the courage to ask her – and he blinked several times. Straightening, he brushed away some hair on his forehead, studying the front of the classroom again, searching for clues as to what was just asked.
"Sorry, sir," he said, hoping he'd at least avoided questioning.
"Now that you've decided to join us in mental capacity, I'm sure you would be willing to tell us the difference between RNA and DNA."
Of course I would. His sarcastic conscience laughed bitterly with dashed hope. With a deep breath, Fabian quickly wracked his brain, searching for any previous facts that could help him piece together an answer. "Um, DNA has to do with the genes and is located in the nucleus, while RNA is involved with the making of proteins."
Mr. Sweets' eyes narrowed but he nodded. "Quite close," he admitted before continuing his lecture, outlining the necessity for RNA in cell development.
Fabian kept his brain focused on biology, but his thoughts strayed towards the new mystery of the day: who was sending whom a Rosegram? Although school wasn't even over yet, already the tension was building. He knew that dinner would be quite the affair.
Nina refused to tell him to whom she had sent a Rosegram, Patricia seemed to be oddly jumpy, Amber was unusually subdued, and Alfie seem to alternate between bitter and confused while avoiding people. Jerome held his "scheming face," as he had for the past couple of days, and was constantly moving. And Mick and Mara, usually attached to the hip, seemed to be avoiding each other.
Just another day in Anubis House…
If Fabian was to be honest, all the drama started to sicken him. He wanted peace and quiet, simple fun and clear relationships. But life was complicated and constantly changing and he couldn't do much about the drama except avoid it at all costs.
The bell finally rang, signaling the end of class, and freeing Fabian to catch up with a sullen Mick. "Hey, Mick mate, what's up?" he asked, noting the slouch and drag of his friends' demeanor.
"Mara and I got in a fight," he said, kicking at a rock on the floor. "She accused me of always defending Amber – which was such a stupid thing too, because I wasn't – and then I accused her of defending Jerome."
"So basically it was just you two being jealous," said Fabian, restraining himself from laughing at the silliness of the argument. "And both of you overreacting?"
Mick sighed as he readjusted his backpack. "Yeah, basically."
"Then the both of you need to calm down, and if your Rosegram doesn't do the trick tomorrow, then just talk to her," said Fabian.
"That's what Nina told me too," said Mick with a small smile.
Heartbeat; flittering panic. "Nina?" asked Fabian as he stopped on the entrance's stairs.
"Yeah," said Mick, turning around to face his roommate. "She saw that I was upset right after the fight and told me to let Mara cool down and then talk to her."
"Oh," said Fabian. You're an overacting fool, Fabian Rutter. Pull yourself together. "Right. Nina tends to have some good advice."
"I'm sure," said Mick, a smile teasing his lips. "Has she advised you to ask her to the dance already?"
Fabian stuttered for a moment before quickly pulling himself together. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
Mick rolled his eyes as they continued walking. "Whatever you say, mate." He turned sideways for a moment before staring at the sidewalk. "If it counts for anything, I think it's probably better this way." Fabian noticed that his voice seemed strained, as if his words split him in two directions.
"What do you mean?" Fabian's heart fluttered. Does Nina not like me or something?
"I mean," said Mick, his voice growing a little stronger but still holding hesitance, "that you and Nina are one of those couples that wouldn't really work out if you starting dating. Like you're great friends, but toeing that line without crossing over it is the place you should be at. Without crossing over it."
Shattered glass cut away at the light in his heart, hopeful and steady. Flickering, it died away without warning, remnants of a longing the only remainder left. "Oh," said Fabian, no other words appropriate.
"Sorry, mate," said Mick, his voice genuinely pained. "I know you wanted more – but I just don't know. Maybe I'm wrong," he quickly added, sincerely hopeful. Fabian couldn't decipher between Mick's desire for him to date Nina and his advice against him doing so. What the hell, mate?
"Maybe," said Fabian instead. "Maybe."
The two enter the House of Anubis in silence, one's heart dying from lost opportunities and lack of confidence and true disappointment and the other from broken friendships and selfish gains and torn desires.
Mick's words broke Fabian's heart; Fabian's innocence broke Mick's.
Secrecy always plagued Anubis House, from hidden treasures to teenaged confusions. But as the sun set and the moon rose, the twinkling stars highlighted the indigo sky.
That night, eight teenagers slept, all hearts broken in different ways; split into seven parts, none realized the extent to which love expanded the heart.
Not yet, at least.
The sun rose in a cloud of pink, purple, and yellow, the bright blue sky reflected against the thin layer of dew that coated the grass. The serene mood of nature jolted her heart, a contrast with her inner ache.
A tug-of-war game between jealousy and longing, the throbbing pain constantly nagged her heart. She wanted the comfort of his arms around her. She wanted his kisses on her temple. She wanted his hands through her hair. She wanted him – his presence, his essence, his love.
Who exactly he was shouldn't have been a question, logically, but it was. It was the most prudent question, seemed so trivial in past, but at that moment, as she stared at the rising sun and listened to the chirping birds, Mara needed to know.
Mick's my boyfriend. I think. Jerome's a jackass who makes fun of people and treats his friends like crap. Although he can be sensitive and I end up defending his actions and I always have so much fun with him, playing chess or watching movies. And Mick's still in love with Amber, I know he is. But he's a real boyfriend; he takes care of me, cares about me.
A wisp of possibility seemed too far away to reach; why stretch when you could grab what was right there? I'm sure Mick just needed time yesterday like I did. Maybe he'll apologize today, through Rosegram or something. If he doesn't, then I'll just talk to him. Communication is the key to relationships.
The birds stopped chirping and the purple line of the sky blended away, the sun rising higher. Mara smiled easily and slid out of the room, her heart steadied for the moment with a temporary resolution.
A few hours later, and the hallways blinded Mara. Paper hearts, red streamers, and overdrawn cupids covered every inch of the lockers and walls, leaving little room for the small announcement about the Debate Club's meeting next week. But Mara grinned when she saw Patricia, Nina, and Amber waiting for her by a table filled with ornaments of a typical Valentine's Day.
"Have you gotten yours yet?" she asked the other girls when she reached them.
"Not yet, we've decided to get them together. Female solidarity and all," said Nina before looking over at Amber. "Now you may buy them, Amber."
The cheerleader clapped in excitement before asking the counter girl for her Rosegrams. A minute later, Amber held eight roses in her right hand and eight messages in her left, the chocolates stowed away for later. Patricia retrieved four, Nina three, and Mara found herself slightly disappointed in her two.
"Shall we read them then?" asked Mara, nervously eying the envelopes in her hand. Please let both of them be from Mick.
"Let's go to the restroom, we'll kick everyone there out. Privacy, you know," said Nina, clarifying at their strange looks. "C'mon!"
Mara shrugged at Patricia's eye roll, but all three followed Nina to the nearest girls' restroom. All the stalls empty, they locked the door and spread out all their Rosegrams.
Mara quickly slipped a finger under the first envelope. Her eyes glazed over the message, a grin splitting her face.
Dear Mara,
I don't really know what to write for this, since you know my writing is generally horrible. But I'm so glad you're my girlfriend. You make me smile whenever you start rambling about some random historical figure or scientist. You make me laugh whenever you crinkle your nose when I do something disgusting. And even if we get in a fight, I know we'll forgive each other in the end because we just work.
Love, Mick
Patricia caught her radiant grin. "From Mick then?" At Mara's nod, she rolled her eyes. "Obviously. Then what about the other one?" she questioned, gesturing to the unopened letter.
Mara carefully placed Mick's message back in the ripped envelope before opening the other one. As her eyes read the message, confusion and curiosity and intrigue fed her quickening heartbeat.
Dear M,
He doesn't know you write the date before you write the class period. He doesn't know you love white chocolate more than milk. He doesn't know you prefer science fiction over romantic comedies. He doesn't know your favorite book is The Book Thief. He doesn't really know you. I do.
Love.
The unsigned note stared at her, the accusation left unsaid. She stuffed the letter back into its envelope, just offering an "it was unsigned, nothing special," when Patricia asked.
"Well, I've gotten five from random strangers – two of them were bold enough to sign it! – but the rest…" said Amber, although she paused at the sight of the signature on one note. "Wait – Jerome?"
Her insides jumped, growling. First Mick, now Jerome – get your hands off my men, you witch! But she stomped on the mauve thoughts, instead fixing her face in surprise. "Jerome, really?"
Nina snatched the letter out of Amber's limp fingers, quickly scanning the note. "'Dear Amber, you're gorgeous and fun and totally know how to run a campaign, no matter what the votes say. I think it's time for us to get to know each other better – will you be my date to the dance? Love, Jerome,'" read Nina. "Oh my god," she breathed, the corners of her lips curling upwards. "Jerome asked you out!"
Patricia stared at the note suspiciously but said nothing. Instead, she reread her Rosegrams, her silence telling Mara more than what words could.
"Patricia?" Mara asked her friend. Patricia looked at her, but sighed when Mara raised an eyebrow in her direction.
"Um, one's from this kid named Robbie. I think he's two years younger than us or something, I don't know. Then two of them are anonymous, but the handwriting seems so familiar," she said, frustrated that an answer seemed on the tip of memory but continued to elude her. "And then the last one, um, it's from a friend."
"Ooh, a friend," said Mara, choosing to tease another in order to ignore her own problems. "Who?"
"Yeah, who?" asked Nina, instantly curious. When Patricia refused to answer, Nina quickly snatched the note, her reflexes outmatching Patricia's. Nina glanced at the signature before her face dropped. "Oh."
"Oh?" asked Amber, looking up from her pile of notes.
"Um," said Nina, handing back the note awkwardly, refusing to meet Patricia's eyes. "It's from Fabian."
"Oh," repeated Mara. Uneasiness found itself quickly settling in, welcomed with hesitant looks and bitten lips.
Amber, oddly, decided to change the topic rather than dissect it further. "I can't figure out who these are from! The handwriting's different, but I feel like I should know who this one's from." She shook the paper in front of her, as if she hoped shaking the print off the paper would inform her of its owner. Patricia frowned at the other note, however, picking it up and setting it beside one of her own.
"These are both from the same person," she said, noting the similar handwriting. Mara leaned over to see better, and could see the similarity in the curl of the "s"s and the sharpness of the "m"s.
"Odd," said Nina, whose voice seemed to be meeker.
"Yeah," said Patricia, "odd."
Nina stared at her three notes without comment until Mara spoke up.
"Is one from Fabian, Nina?" she asked, choosing frankness as the best tactic.
"Um, I don't know," answered Nina, frowning at both papers. "None of them are signed."
"Oh." Mara glanced around. Patricia seemed confused, Amber overwhelmed, Nina sad. Mara's insides kept whirling, never stopping for a moment of clarity or rest. Somber, all four had stopped giggling over prospective romances, reality crashing all of that to a halt.
"Um, shall we get to class then?" said Mara, drawing herself within, refusing to face the storm that stirred in that room just yet.
Nina nodded and the four stood, but all paused. They looked to the floor, studying the patterned titles and the ripped envelopes and the shaken peace.
Chocolate and roses and messages littered the floor of the bathroom. Lines drawn, feelings expressed, hearts exposed, Mara knew that the web of secrets were slowly unraveling before their feet. The connecting strings pulled and tugged, the whispers outside the surrounding walls building and growing as the four women stared at the pile on the floor.
Heart torn in seven, Mara had no idea where the purple road would take her. She only hoped that bruised and cut souls healed in the end, friendships intact. But the world turned, the sun rose, and potential energy turned to kinetic, life tipping over the cliff, falling and falling and falling.
Let the games begin.