Marinette watched as Adrien's car drove off, smiling to herself.
She could admit that she missed him. She hadn't seen him since his birthday which was far too long for her liking.
Sure, they texted every once in a while when she wasn't overthinking how to respond in the first place… Seriously, how did someone respond to a cat meme? Someone needed to give her some insight—she was utterly clueless!
And it wasn't the same as when they saw each other face to face.
She thought of his radiant green eyes and his sweet, crumb filled smile, and bit her bottom lip as she imagined what it would be like to kiss—
"So… you're completely over the crush, huh?" Alya asked slyly, popping Marinette's love bubbles.
Marinette jolted and turned to see her friend sporting an amused look. Alya was leaning against The Nook's entrance door, hand gripping the handle lightly, combat boot propping the door open. She had an effortless, preppy style today, pairing a light army green sweater with a collared white shirt, cuffed around her mid forearm. Her gray, plaid miniskirt swished gently as she shifted away from the door.
Marinette opened her mouth to argue but realized she had been caught. There was no point in denying what they both already knew. She closed her eyes, thumping her forehead on top of the pastry boxes in defeat.
"Mhmm. That's what I thought. C'mon! Let's go drop off the pastries and go get our seats back. Luka said he'd fight off the crowd, but you know how the Crochet Cronies can get. Especially Madame Boucher." Alya made a gagging noise. "She and her merry band of nursing home friends are here today, and I definitely caught her eyeing our seats."
Marinette groaned as she stepped forward. "It's Tuesday! This isn't even their day to be here."
"I know!" Alya bemoaned, grabbing a pastry box as she dashed inside. "We better hurry. Even Luka's 'You're my muse, my song, my every wish,' spiel doesn't work on Madame Boucher's cranky, cold exoskeleton."
Marinette strode behind her, muttering lowly to herself as they maneuvered the tight aisles toward the café.
As an art enthusiast, she admired the hard work dedicated to the classic crafting skill of crochet, the weaving of yarn to create masterful plushies was something she adored.
But the infamous Crochet Cronies were a different breed—parasites that sucked the life out of The Nook. Those antique prima donnas thought they owned the place the way they tried to command the space.
They all collectively despised anyone under the age of fifty-five, would bring in bags and bags of yarn and completely overtake the area as though it were their personal living room, stealing chairs from tables without asking, piling themselves into a corner and stinking up the café with their musty, mildly sweet scent, an odor of baby oil and flowers that met stale clothes which had sat in a closet for ten years. They absolutely reeked of it, and it made Marinette's nose hairs shrivel up in disgust just thinking about it.
And their smell wouldn't even be an issue, she could light a candle and be done with the smell - easy fix!
Her issue with them stemmed from their inability to be decent human beings. And at the head of that evil incarnation of the yarn club was Madame Boucher, the bitterest woman she had ever come across. She made Marinette's childhood bully look like a friendly, goodie two-shoes, and she was truly a b—
"Hey, have you heard from Leo since the sneezing incident?" Alya asked as they weaved through the aisles.
Marinette's eyes narrowed, her face twisting into a scowl. "No. The Crochet Cronies did a number on him last week. I'm pretty sure he's never stepping foot inside of here again."
Alya brows shot up in surprise. "Really? Even after your inspiring, Class President 'You can't let them bully you,' talk you had with him?"
Marinette shook her head, sullenly. "I tried to tell him that it was okay. Nobody cares about his allergies and the fact that he sneezes every hour."
Alya snorted as they passed by a small group of excitable children. "There's no denying that. He's practically a clock. I don't even ask for the time anymore. Leo sneezes, and I know another hour has passed."
Marinette snickered. "I know! We've been used to it since our first year of lycee. He can't help that he's allergic to everything!"
"Eggs."
"Shellfish."
"Dust."
"Pollen."
"Bees, dairy."
"The Crochet Cronies."
Alya hunched forward in laughter, her glasses sliding down the bridge of her nose. "I think everyone is allergic to them at this point. Even Mister Fu has given them the side eye from time to time."
"Not that he'd ever admit it. You don't think he'd actually choose between us and them, would he?"
"Please, even if he did, we all know whose company he prefers."
They briskly paced up to the café counter where a wide-eyed trainee manning the station was battling against a newly formed line of irritable, caffeine-deprived students.
Alya barreled through them, receiving a couple tsks and mutters from the testy crowd. She plopped the box on top of the counter and asked, "How's Luka doing?"
The trainee pointed over to a corner table. Luka was sporting a lazy smile, sitting with his legs across the chairs and arms behind his head. A picture of complete ease as he faced off against the Crochet Cronies' head honcho.
The weaving devil herself, Madame Boucher, was tapping her black pointy-heeled toe furiously. Her hands fisted atop her hips, a look of disgust on her pruny face. Her short, silver bob was completely rigid from the overuse of hairspray.
"Luka," she snipped loudly enough for the whole café to hear, her nineteen-forties-style beige boat dress stood stiffly as she cocked her hip in annoyance, matching her puritanical personality perfectly.
"Madame Boucher," Luka purred.
Her red nailed talons reached out toward one of the chairs he had his foot on. "I think it's time you moved. That girl isn't coming back. Café policy says you can't save seats. Now, move."
Marinette knew they only had seconds before the leader of the Crochet Cronies took matters into her own hands. With one look between her and Alya, both girls darted towards the table, confidently weaving through the café.
Alya held her head high as she parted through the sea of crochet grannies. "Thanks again, Luka."
He lazily stretched, ignoring Madame Boucher's raspy, protesting, smoking-a-pack-a-day-for-the-past-fifty-years voice. He removed his feet from the chairs as Alya simultaneously gripped them.
"Yeah, no problem. Happy to help." He winked as he stood, allowing Marinette and Alya to slide into them. They threw their bags on the others, staking their claim.
Alya propped her chin in her hand. "Our hero. What would we do without you?"
Luka saluted with a smile before heading back to help the trainee.
Marinette grabbed her backpack and unzipped it, watching the Crochet Cronies shuffle tersely, clearly miffed from their reappearance.
Madame Boucher's eyes were twitching in irritation. "We were here first, girls." She spat, venom seeping from her voice. Her hands grasping onto her professional craft bag tightly. "I don't care what that blue haired boy said. Those are our seats."
Alya hummed, tapping her chin in mock thought. "No… I don't think so. I was actually here first. Luka was just kind enough to keep the seats warm until we returned."
Madame Boucher clenched her jaw, speaking through her teeth, "You can't be serious. Why Fu even allows a bunch of miscreants like yourselves here is beyond me."
Maybe it was the fact that she was working off fumes or that she was still reeling from Leo's mistreatment last week, but something inside of Marinette snapped. Her aggravation erupted, molten hot lava spewing across the tables, the walls, the wrinkly elders scowling at her. "Yes, Madame. Perhaps you should take it up with him. Because we were here first, and we are not moving. And as far as miscreants, we're not the ones trying to steal someone's chairs from underneath them," Marinette spit, wishing she could throw a bucket of water on her and be done with her for good.
But she was far from done. She had to end the tyranny of stupidity before it went on further.
She looked straight into Madame Boucher's muddy brown eyes, lifted her chin up and pointed her finger across the café. "I think there's an empty table and some chairs over by the garbage bins. I'm sure you'll fit in just fine." She reached into her backpack, retrieving her textbooks and notes.
Madame Boucher's eyes became slits before she threw up her wrinkly nose in a huff and clicked her heels toward the other side of the café. The Crochet Cronies sneered, muttering to themselves about "the future looking bleak" and the "disrespectful youth of today," moving along, one behind the other as they followed their mother duck.
"Nice job." Alya nudged Marinette before looking down at the table. "Aw, Luka even got us fresh coffee. What an angel." She picked up the steaming cup, took a sip and hummed.
Marinette smiled as she hunched over her homework. She couldn't help the flicker of pride shining within her for standing up to the Crotchet Cronies. But the flame swiftly died out as she stared down at her homework and groaned.
"Did you understand anything Mademoiselle D was lecturing about? My head hurts after today's lecture." She rubbed her temples to help with the pounding headache surfacing.
Alya shook her head. "Honestly, no. Maybe Adrien can come back and tutor us. Isn't he already taking university level Physics?"
Marinette sighed. "Yes, but he's probably busy for the rest of the day. He said he had Chinese tutoring soon. And if his schedule hasn't changed all that much, he also has Fencing, dinner with his father and nightly studying. He won't be able to help for another five hours and—" She tapped her phone to check the time. "—eighteen minutes."
Alya looked at her funny, giving her a once over.
"Do you still have his schedule memorized? Isn't that a bit, you know—" She gestured up and down. "—old 'Crush on Sunshine' Marinette talking?"
Marinette waved her off. "Nah, not really. I haven't stolen his phone and uploaded his schedule in at least two months. I promise I'm moving on. I'm completely normal now."
Alya blinked slowly a couple times. "Yep. My bad. You're right, you're completely normal," she mused as she ran her pencil along the page of her textbook.
Marinette harrumphed. "Anyways, I'm sure Max will be here soon. During class, he mentioned he might come by with his mom."
"Oh, yeah! His mom is coming for the book signing. That's so cool that Fu was able to arrange it. Is that happening today?"
"I thought it was."
"How awesome would it be if your mom was an astronaut?" Alya asked as she took out her phone.
"Right? No wonder Max is a genius." Marinette sighed. "All my parents passed down to me is baking skills."
"Well, I have no complaints about that. Especially, since your parents were voted Paris' top bakery again."
"For the fifth year in a row," Marinette proudly boasted.
Alya put her phone down. "I just asked Max when he was going to come by. Do you want to work on our literature homework until he comes?"
Marinette nodded, and they swapped notes, filling in the gaps missed from lecture.
"So, for the essay portion, what did you choose as your topic?" Alya asked.
"Use of symbolism in poetry. What about you?"
Alya snorted.
Marinette shot her a flat look, placing her pencil down and drumming her fingers on the table. "What?"
"Nothing. Nothing at all. Just… don't you think that topic is a little cheesy?"
She crossed her arms. "Uh, no. I don't, actually. There's an endless amount of research I could use, it's straightforward—"
"Overdone," Alya coughed into her hand.
Marinette rolled her eyes, ignoring her. "—and we both know Madame Yves loves love."
"I think what you mean to say is that you picked it for the easy mark," Alya teased.
"That might have something to do with it." Marinette smirked, playfully shoving Alya's shoulder. "But I do love poetry."
"Mmhmm, sure you do."
Mister Fu approached their table as they continued to banter. "Good afternoon, ladies."
"Hey, Mister Fu," they said at the same time.
He reached into his back pocket. "I hope you're both enjoying the chilly weather we've been having. I heard we were due for some sunny days soon." He ominously looked off in the distance, smiling to himself.
The girls looked back and shared confused looks.
"I'm glad I spotted you both. I have something for you, Marinette."
Her brain sounded off the alarm bells, pulse thundering in her ears, as she nervously asked, "What do you have for me?"
Mister Fu held out a green envelope for her. "Someone responded to your letter."
Alya squealed and shook Marinette's shoulders. "Oh, my gosh! This is amazing!"
Marinette paled. She felt dizzy suddenly.
She needed something to drink—fast! She saw her coffee mug and brought it up to her lips, only to find it empty. Crap.
"Oh, my… Oh, no," She thought, breathing hard, eyes wide with fear. It was too much all at once. She was panicking. She knew she was. She bit down harshly on her barely-there lip gloss.
She should be happy that someone responded to her letter. Relieved!
But there was this nagging feeling in her mind. Was it a feeling of existential dread? No, that was too over the top, even for her. Sad? No, that was just too bland to describe her complicated mess of emotions. Crisis, maybe?
She stared blankly at the envelope in Fu's outstretched hand.
Yeah, a crisis definitely fit what she was feeling.
This was the envelope that mere days ago she would have been over the moon about. The envelope that contained her romantic desires. The envelope that was supposed to hold all her hopes and dreams.
Yet she wanted to scream.
Could feelings have color? Her feelings must look like a sickly pear green color, a delicate mixture of colors swirled together to make this specific anxious concoction of nerves colliding within her. Yellow like the unsureness when she tried one of her papa's experimental recipes. Green like the salad she ate for lunch currently churning inside of her. And a small amount of brown like the decayed vines of her potted balcony plants from the changing season.
She hadn't even processed leaving the letter… And now… Someone actually responded to her. It was all happening too soon, too quickly for her sluggish mind to comprehend.
Alya took the letter and nudged Marinette with her elbow. "Hey, now! Look at you, girl! Someone took the bait!"
While, normally, she appreciated her best friend's encouragement, she was really not helping right now.
Her eyes darted to Mister Fu, outlining his red and yellow bowling shirt, honing in on the tacky wear to ground her unease. She wondered if Mister Fu bowled or if he was simply a fan of the sport's attire. His bowling shirts and his Hawaiian shirts were a… fashion choice to say the least.
She weaved her fingers together and forced a smile, feeling all ten of her facial muscles painfully cramp. "Thank you, sir."
Mister Fu bowed slightly. She noticed there was a twinkle in his eyes as he said, "Of course. I feel like I should mention that he's a nice boy. I have a feeling you two will hit it off soon enough. Have a good evening, ladies." He took his leave, sauntering over to the other café patrons and greeting the regulars by name.
The slippery worm of doubt wriggled inside of her chest, digging a hole into her sternum. She wasn't ready for this. It hadn't even been forty-eight hours since she had placed the letter inside the book.
Alya pulled her clammy hands apart and pushed the green envelope into them. She tilted her head, asking, "What's going on up there?" She brought her finger up and poked her forehead. "I thought you were excited for this," she remarked, her eyes dissecting every movement, seeing right through her.
Marinette peeled her eyes away from Alya's scrutinizing gaze. "I am," she said, unsurely.
She glanced up and saw Alya leaning on her elbow, her lips twisted into a smirk. Amusement danced in her eyes, a dangerous, scheming look if Marinette ever saw one.
She started fidgeting with the sleeve of her sweater. She had to convince Alya somehow. "I am! I swear, I am," Marinette proclaimed defensively, but she knew by the way Alya was looking at her, she didn't buy it. She couldn't fake her feelings. She had never been a good liar.
So plan B it was.
She heaved a sigh and flopped face first onto the table, basking in the glow of utter trepidation.
Alya patted her shoulder, consoling her. "I get it. Change is scary. But the whole reason you did this is to try something new, to see what happens. See who would be interested in you." She poked Marinette's cheek and grinned.
Marinette released a ghostly moan into the hard surface and wiped her cheek. "Yeah, you're right. I know you're right," she relented as she sat up.
Alya tapped the envelope as she emphasized, "And Fu said the guy is nice! It has to be a sign!"
Marinette pouted, staring down at the green envelope.
Alya snagged the letter and waved it in her face. "So, come on. What do you have to lose? Open it!"
Marinette was conflicted, to open or not to open.
She grimaced as she took the letter, feeling the smooth paper between her fingertips.
Uneasiness crashed into her like a wave, ebbing and flowing, pushing and pulling, tugging her in a way she didn't know she could be, swept away by the tide of the unknown.
Whatever it contained would alter the course of her young life forever.
And it unnerved her.