Did Spider-Man ever have to hold his art history notes against a window to get a good look at them? Garfield thought he did not. But his mind weeks ago felt that rubbing his notes and smudging his entire review page was a great stress reliever. It absolutely was; a practical one, maybe not.

Garfield only got through the Woman of Hohle Feels—or maybe Holey of Fels—before getting tired of trying to feel through the grooves of his pencil. He didn't need a high grade to pass the semester.

But that tomato red notebook filled with geometry theorems and formulas kept snickering at him, pages worn down from constant flipping and searching. The theorems were all from the ninth grade textbook, but he knew he'd need them later in the tenth-grade year. Garfield didn't need another surprise bug to bite him in the ass.

There was already a giant one called English sitting in an unfinished essay on his laptop. It stretched out its pointy fingers, all ladylike and elegant. It could've been searching for a cup of tea or a dainty little stick to prod the back of his head. 'Garfield, Garfield,' he could hear it snootily shout, 'I heard little Tommy Sawyer back in the washing machine.' The thought of Victor chucking in the load without weaving through all socks, and reds, and paperback borrowed books made the hairs on his arms stand. He had to remember to talk to Ms. Bradford about that.

And what about King Philip and his waiting, probably cold and stale, soup? Garfield recited that abbreviation: domain, kingdom, phylum, class, order, family, genus, and species. And what was co-dominance again? Was it when the white and red mix to become pink? Or was it when the flower looked like a bloody result of a paper cut?

There were six treatment methods for depression that he has to remember: cognitive behavior therapy, talk therapy, that thing where the neurosurgeons squished the brain around, putting that beepy thing next to that old woman's heart, antidepressant, and electroshock therapy. Although, Garfield didn't think that his health teacher would accept 'squishing around the brain' as an answer.

If he could hold his head tight enough, maybe he could squeeze the last bit of potential from his brain before he went nuts. He sorely considered doing that, but there was a muddle of juniors behind him that would surely look at the cramming sophomore dumbass.

It was no use studying when he couldn't focus; Garfield practically ripped open his backpack, shoving in the notebooks and loosened paper clips. That cool rush of air that tickled his ears as he ran his fingers across the school walls alleviated his feverish head, making him grin at the sight of Kori waving at him through her classroom door.

The soles of his sneakers tapped against the tiled floor, beating out the rhythm of a procrastinating boy riding the high of overconfidence. The sun was shining brightly over the melting frost outside—it wouldn't hurt anyone to be a little cocky. Whipping his phone from his back pocket, Garfield didn't even shudder when the device almost slipped out of his grasp. He had a good ten minutes to be an idiot.

Under all that stress and messy mental notes, there was a neat to-do list full of things he'd like to accomplish that day. One, try a frappe. It was a deep regret of his that was worth less than an extra half an hour of sleep. Two, pay Iris back for buying dance tickets for him. There was a big interview for the team and Robin was adamant that everyone would be there for the good publicity and image, but Garfield also really wanted to attend his first highschool dance. He sent her a dm just in time; two rectangles of light blue card stock laid neatly tucked into a pocket in his backpack—he didn't want Rachel thinking he was a slob of course. Three, ask Rachel to the dance. Fuck.

Trickier than it seemed, listening in on his surroundings was the only option to find her. He knew she must've had class because if she didn't, she'd be in the cafeteria like he was. Rachel had first period art history that day, and their English class was after lunch. Garfield passed a lab where he recognized the name of Rachel's biology teacher—a tiny name card read M. Ruiz—and Rachel's distinctive scent was absent. She could've had an elective that he didn't know about, but Garfield knew from Iris that electives for tenth graders only started after the sixth period.

He gently tapped his fingers across the painted walls in frustration. As Garfield's fingers played against the cold hard shell of paint and sealant, a large SMACK hit him right in the nose, knocking him almost

off his feet.

When did they start making wooden doors so hard? He had been smacked around with doors before—usually in battles when his teammates forget that he was trailing behind and throw a glass door into his face—but the unsuspectingness of it was the cherry on top of his probably red nose under his pearl bead disguise.

A lithe hand grabbed onto the sides of his upper arms as his hands scrambled over his face to cover his rapidly heating nose and forehead.

"Shit, I'm really sorry!" He could barely see past his hand. The girl was probably his grade and wasn't anyone he's met before—he never recalled seeing anyone with as many rings as this girl wore. He tried looking down at her through his blurring vision but could only make out her dark complexion and tangerine eyeshadow she wore. Her nails were cut short and must've been natural; they were much thinner and slightly dug into the skin of his arm. "I didn't see you there, and I was talking to Caroline, and I talk with my hands, and I was getting into this really nice part in my story. I should've watched where I was going."

Caroline's outline shook her head and pulled her friend away from him. "Did you slam your car door into Karan like that?"

She squealed and pushed her friend away, slowly disappearing from his vision until he could see nothing but the pale cream floor and the tan walls. There was only one wing of the school where he could be, and there was only one door those girls could've come out of.

Fanning the bridge of his nose with his hand, Garfield groaned at the GIRLS sign on the door of the locker room. Just his luck! If Wally heard about this, he would surely make fun of him every time they ran into each other by the boy's locker room.

This time he heard the metal hinges of the door move, making him swiftly hold his breath until the mobile door swung to his face, brushing the tip of his aching nose. More girls spilled out, smelling of sweat and that horrible body spray Kori used to wear after her showers. He held his breath tightly, hoping that no one would notice the lanky boy that stumbled upon a place where no boy with morals would go.

But as the last girl brushed the side of the door with her chipped nails, he couldn't help but smell something musty inside the change room. The scent was too complex not to be a human; probably another girl lagging behind.

Suddenly, Garfield swore from out of nowhere, the basketball coach called out, "Anyone still in there!"

His eardrums rattled comically, making him shift into a tiny monarch. Probably not the most unnoticeable, but he was barely hanging onto his conscious by a thread.

The man huffed at the door from the silence and shouted again, "Rachel, you got five minutes till the next bell."

Garfield's proboscis twitched at the sound of her delightful voice calling out, "Got it," from behind the door. As the coach let the door fall from his grasp, Garfield swiftly flew past his ear, getting pushed by the wind from the door shutting.

The girl's locker room lacked the strange poles the boy's had, but they had two large mirrors right by the entrance that Garfield got to take a look at. He saw a neon green butterfly fluttering over the image of a fortunately dressed Rachel staring into her compact mirror. He didn't understand why she'd stare into that tacky thing when she had this perfectly clean mirror right across from her.

Garfield sloppily flew to the upper shelf on the walls, propping his six legs right over Rachel's head. He wondered what she was still doing in the change room; she was fully dressed, had her backpack on, and didn't leave anything behind.

A small click of the knobs that locked her compact mirror echoed through the room. Rachel huffed, slipping the mirror back into her backpack sleeve. Then she took a turn at her surroundings, studying the tiles on the floor, the poster about tampons, and that weird napkin thrown on the ground by the stalls. Curious, Garfield noticed how blown out her eyes were as she anxiously scanned through the room until her eyes rested on his beady ones.

He wanted to make a joke about how well he took care of his wings, but all the sound he could make was flutters and jitters since he didn't have a mouth.

"I don't suppose you're here doing superhero work." She thinned her eyes. "I could get you suspended for this."

Letting himself fall from the height of the shelf, Garfield landed feet first into the chilly tile as a human. He whipped his head at Rachel's judgemental stare, giving her his best smile. "I was just looking for you."

"As a butterfly?"

"The wings ward off all the predators."

"Right." She crossed arms under her bust. "What do you want?"

"Ouch, a bit cold are you? I make a good fur blanket as long as you don't mind purring and occasional hairballs." His lips quirked to the left as he drank in the rare appearance of a flushing Rachel. "I wanted to talk to you about what happened last time we met."

"Oh, that." She avoided his stare, lifting her bag strap further up her shoulder.

"Well, excuse me. I thought that meant something special." He leaned against the brick and his body bounced slightly from the impact. "I really like you."

"I know."

"Oh, you do?" Garfield couldn't help the cheeky grin that spread across his face when she tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. "Then I must be completely at your mercy then."

"Look, I'm not good with the whole dating scene. It's really not my thing." He never thought listening to Rachel's voice tremble and waver would bring him as much joy as it did.

Garfield definitely knew that she was embarrassed. She didn't giggle or stutter, but something about the way her leg jittered on the ground and her feet shuffling away from him made him feel happy that he had such a large effect on her like she did with him.

"That's cute. I don't mine having the upper hand. That's why I'm asking you to the winter formal."

Rachel asked suspiciously, "What's the catch?"

"Maybe wear something no longer than your ankles. I'll probably drag you off in the middle of the night."

She cleared her throat and said, "I'll need to know what you're wearing first."

"Why?"

"So we can match. I thought you wanted the upper hand." She rolled her eyes and gently punched him in the arm. "Or I'll just get a nice dress and you can match your tie. As long as you don't come as a green reindeer."

He wanted to laugh but her hand clasped over his mouth tightly, wide eyes shushing him immediately as she pushed him towards the ground. Garfield didn't understand until she kept pushing her thumb and forefingers together—turn into something small. He fell into her grasp as a slinky ferret, innocently smiling as he slipped into the open zipper of her backpack.

Tucked between her phone and a teal plastic folder, he let his body slide comfortably into the thin space, cushioning himself with his furry limbs and long torso. The ride outside was plenty bumping, most likely from Rachel speed walking, but his smile never slipped from his face as the bag began tilting and his body was chucked onto a sidewalk.

He stood up human and complained about the strain in his back, moaning at Rachel's lack of compassion as she told him that ferrets were furry slinkies and he should stop complaining. When he asked her to kiss his nose better, she held her hand to swat him. With his eyes closed shut, scared for his life, she kissed him lightly on the lips, and her Mona Lisa smile never left her face for the entirety of their lunch break.

I see so many authors finish 50,000 word fics in a few months, but I can barely do it in three years. Gosh, what a wild ride it has been. I've changed one of the genres from drama to friendship because I wasn't sure if I was going to add another side plot to the story. I'll think about it some more and let you all know when I do end up adding it.

I estimated that this story was going to be under 40,000 words, and specifically told myself that it wasn't going to be over 100,000. Sadly, the story is still in the rising action, and the climax doesn't come until much later. Funny enough, I already wrote the epilogue to this a few years ago, and it's sitting in one of my old notebooks.

PS: This chapter was meant to be called "red, pink, and flushed all over" but that was sadly too long :(

-Catisa~Orsilla