*****PLEASE NOTE***** I changed the ending of chapter three. I just removed the part where Mulder asked Scully on a date. He wouldn't be as forward as that. Please read the last couple lines of chapter three so that you can follow this better. Thanks!
~theresa
Chapter 4: Pride and Mashed Potatoes
The rest of Dana's weekend was rather bland. Her father did not say anything to her about returning so late, knowing to trust his daughter. Anyway, her mood seemed to lighten significantly, and Bill Scully had no intentions of ruining it.
As the weekend progressed, though, Dana became more withdrawn and quiet. She was pondering Friday night; she was overanalyzing the situation. She reverted back to her careful, defensive self.
She was still wary of Mulder, even though he had been friendly. More than friendly, he helped her in the hallway last week. But still, Dana was more comfortable keeping him (and everyone else) at a safe distance. And for obvious reasons. It's safe. Not that she did not like Mulder, it was just that Dana was never one to trust so easily. Dana decided not to get too involved too soon, for she was liable to get hurt.
She tried not to think too much about it over the weekend. Though she denied it even to herself, she was glad that they had talked. She hoped they would be friends. She needed a friend, though she would never admit it.
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Monday morning dragged its feet. Although it was only the second week Dana had been at Fairfield High, Dana hated Mrs. James, her English teacher. Mrs. James was the kind of teacher who loved the cheerleader, pretty girls. Like that Amber bitch that was supposed to show Dana around school. Dana never understood why some teachers preferred the ditzy, popular students to the smart, hard-working ones. Well, she knew that it was most likely because Mrs. James used to be a pretty, snobby cheerleader. That is, until everyone else was able to move beyond high school, and her teenage charm melted into the matronly, hardened face of a New York hooker at the ripe age of thirty-three. Go figure.
Either way, Mrs. James did not like Dana, and the feelings were mutual.
Pre-Calculus was okay. Math is not exactly a class wholly affected by the teacher, unless the teacher is outrageously incompetent or incredibly brilliant. Mr. Hart was neither. Math always came to Dana relatively quickly, so the effort she put into this class was minimal, at least compared to her other classes.
French II was surprising difficult. The teacher, Mme. DuPree, expected much more than any of Dana's other French teachers, presumably because Mme. DuPree was actually French.
Dana thoroughly enjoyed Mr. Whittman's public speaking class. It was nice to have such a pleasant class right before lunch, because the time did not slow as much as in, say, Pre-Calculus.
When lunch came, Dana could not decide whether she was happy. Anything was better than sitting through the horrid classes of high school, though she knew to expect a retaliation from the football team. How in the hell did she always manage to pick fights with the worst possible people?
As she stood at the entrance of the enormous cafeteria, she quickly spotted Mulder at a central table with a group of guys. Subconsciously, Dana decided that they were neither jocks nor geeks, but fit somewhere in between on the social scale of high school. They seemed athletic but intelligent, a nice combination. Something about them, though, caused Mulder to stick out, like somehow he did not quite belong.
She did not want to walk up to him and ask to sit down, that would seem needy. Even so, she did not know exactly where she stood with him. She had not seen or heard from him since the coffee shop. Not that he had any means to contact her. The phone lines were not installed yet and she did not give him her address.
She scanned the cafeteria. Last week, she had sat quietly next to her brother as he rambled on with his newfound friends, nibbling on her peanut butter and jelly sandwich. She probably would have continued this safe routine except for the fact that Charlie had complained to Mom that Dana had been "following me all over," which raised Maggie's concerns about her younger daughter's social life.
"Dana, honey, why don't you find some nice girls in your class to sit with at lunch. They just need to get to know you," Maggie urged.
"Okay, I will," Dana replied, facetiously sweet. She had no intention whatsoever of fulfilling her mother's wishes. Dana did not work like that.
Dana saw a table close to the kitchen that was mostly empty. She could easily sit there and read her book, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. The only occupants of the table were a freshman girl with frizzy hair and what looked like a sophomore, maybe a junior, boy with thick rimmed glasses and an overbite. As she slid into the far end of the table, Dana contrasted sharply with the other two students. Although Dana's personality allowed her to quietly assume her role at the bottom of the high school social ladder, her physical attributes placed her much higher. Dana was pretty, despite her slender, almost gawky appearance. Her bright blue eyes and her red hair more than made up for her uncouth stature, which would, in all likeliness, evolve into grace as she matured.
She sat peacefully reading her book, lost in her own world amidst the chaos of the lunchroom. A couple of the first year Varsity Football players, wanting to earn points with the quarterback, saw Dana as a chance to become the quarterback's pet. After all, it was a well-known fact among students that when the Fairfield High quarterback was a senior, his lackey almost always succeeded him as the star of the football team the following year.
A group of football players whispered mischievously among themselves as they walked out of the kitchen and into the dining area of the cafeteria. The most daring one, who was also, not ironically, the one with nothing to lose, crept up behind Dana with a fist-full of lumpy, runny mashed potatoes. As he swiftly stuffed the potatoes down the back of Dana's sweater, Dana practically flew. Once again, Dana was made the butt of a school-wide joke and the cafeteria burst into laughter.
As Dana stood at her table, mashed potatoes oozing out of the back and bottom of her sweater, she felt as if the whole world had stopped to mock her. No one moved. At least, no one except Mulder. Once again, Mulder miraculously appeared at her side to help her, but this time, Dana had turned to leave the cafeteria before she even saw him, which was just as well. Dana Scully walked out of the Fairfield High School cafeteria with as much pride as she could muster; her head held high. Dutifully, Mulder followed her out to the hallway, where she let her guard down; her shoulders slumped in defeat. As soon as she saw him, her guard went back up with as much force as before.
"Are you okay?" Mulder asked feebly.
The red-faced glare Scully shot him told him otherwise.
"Come on," he coaxed gently, "I have one of my smaller T-shirts in my car. It's clean."
Scully just nodded.
When they got to his 1972 Chevy, Mulder reached into a gym bag in his passenger seat and pulled out a plain, gray shirt. "It's tight on me, so it should be okay." Mulder turned around as she slid into his car and quickly switched shirts. When Mulder turned around, Scully was standing, awkwardly holding the bundled mass of a green wool sweater and mashed potatoes. "Here's a paper bag you can keep your sweater in," Mulder offered, pouring the contents of it onto the floor of his car.
Continuing her silence, Scully walked along side of Mulder as they trudged back into school. As Mulder turned to speak, he noticed the tears streaming down Scully's face. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "Don't cry, Scully. It's okay."
"How long will they keep doing this?" Scully asked quietly.
"It's over."
"But how can you be sure?" she whispered.
Mulder smiled. "Nothing can keep their attention for too long. Tomorrow, it'll be the next football game, or the freshman boy that accidentally walked into the girl's locker room. Don't forget, Friday is the big Homecoming Game. They just had to win the last battle, so to speak. They sure couldn't leave the situation standing as the quarterback of the football team was pushed to the ground by the new underclassman. Do you know what that can do to a guy's reputation?!"
Scully laughed, albeit halfheartedly.
"See, things are looking up already."