cherry on top | {abel/mallory} | Hunger Games: The RPG

cherry on top | {abel/mallory} Feb 19, 2022 19:16:20 GMT -5

Post by dars on Feb 19, 2022 19:16:20 GMT -5

I'm terrified.

I think it's a good kind of terrified, though. You know, like roller coasters and new things. I'm scared because I don't know for sure that this will work. I said that to Mom on the drive to school and she grimaced and said, "Well, sweetie, it's a bit late for that." I mean, she's right. Everything has been ordered and set in place for weeks, because that's what happens when someone with a bad attention span gets carried away. I had to beg them to fork over the cash for this- not because it was too much for them to pay, but because it was definitely too much to spend. But, whatever! I wanna get my point across, you know? We went back and forth a few times over the details- apparently my request for some sky-writing was too grandiose and there's no way in hell I can go anywhere near a jewelry counter, but I'm actually pretty happy with what we settled with.

V-Day is on a Friday this year which I guess is better than Thursday, but regardless: Ugh, school. Since Abel and I only have our first and last lessons in common, I went a bit overboard with the deliveries. Which is fine, I think. Hope? I hope. Should be fine, though. I read that grand gestures are super romantic, so I ordered 35 stuffed animals for a guy who technically hasn't asked me to be his Valentine or, I guess since we are being technical, also hasn't asked me to be his girlfriend. But, see that's the thing: he's super sweet, and he always seems interested when we're together, unless I'm just delusional, but- I...

Boys are frustrating.

I feel like I'm going to hurl as I take my new regular seat next to him in home period. He has no idea and I know the delivery men must be coming down the hall- I saw them readying up in the parking lot.

I smile at him, friendly, kind, utterly petrified. "Morning..." I say awkwardly. I open my mouth to say more and nothing comes out. Which, like: very unusual for me, if I do say so myself. I don't have a lot of time. This is crunch time, girl. Get it together.

"I'm throwing a party tonight."

No, I'm not.

"I mean, Topher Calderson is throwing a party tonight. On the beach... Thinking of maybe, you know, um, stopping by, maybe."

I tap my hands awkwardly on the desk. He's so cute, ugh. His eyes still look tired and I can smell faint traces of mint wafting from him.

"My parents aren't going to be h-"

Oh my god was I about to unintentionally solicit Abel just then? I stutter and then stop speaking altogether, closing my eyes. Get a grip. Get a grip. Get a grip.

He hasn't wished me a happy valentine's day yet but neither have I, to be fair... Maybe he's just weirded out by this too. Maybe he- oh god here they come. Now or never!!

"Um, I mean, do you want to maybe come over later for, um, like just some-" I raise my voice to keep his eyes on me as the delivery men enter the room and turn for us- "Steak! I wanted- will you be my Valentine?"

I just hope he answers within the next three seconds, or shit is about to get really, really awkward for us both.

cherry on top | {abel/mallory} Mar 18, 2022 1:59:13 GMT -5

Post by ✨ zozo. on Mar 18, 2022 1:59:13 GMT -5

Whereas I'm practiced in the art of hiding my true feelings, Mal is utterly hopeless.

And it makes me smile, the way she tries. The way she stumbles over what she's trying to say, so sure of it that it makes her unsure. Reverse psychology, but that's the thing about a girl like Mallory and a guy like me. We're complete opposites.

She hasn't been up since dawn, cycling through the streets of the town square to the pawn shop with a heavy backpack for opening. Cycling back home with it much lighter still, crisp dollar bills stuffed in the inner pockets of my jacket. Pulling up to the coffee shop and tipping a barista ten times the amount, keeping my share for the delivery. Brushing my teeth furiously to get rid of the taste - I don't even drink coffee, can't stand the way the grinds get trapped in-between my teeth. But maybe I should, because Mal likes to point out that I look tired all the time.

I just smile, eyes twinkling and telling her I was up late studying. And I hate lying to her, but this morning I'm not exactly omitting the truth - Valentines' Day is a goldmine for people like me. So many necklaces left in lockers that turn into misplaced gifts and dumbfounded boyfriends pleading to their furious girlfriends, signet rings embossed with jewels from One left on the locker room seats - so easy to slip into shower drains or underneath the rows of stored gym equipment. Cards thick with gift vouchers and wads of cash from the lazier ones, which I'll no doubt use to buy groceries or frivolous items to trade with the other thieves this weekend.

And then there's the evenings, houses left unattended as couples dine far away from their kitchens. I've got my day all mapped out, I have for weeks now. When Mal asks if I like the holidays I tell her, truthfully, yes. Because without them I'd surely starve, unable to afford to keep up this charade of Boy Wonder.

I try not to think of the day when Mal realises I'm no better than seagull shit, but to be honest I've played out the scenario more that once in my head. More than twice. She doesn't hide her emotions in each version of our inevitable future - one sad, one furious, one unsurprised. And its selfish to keep that side of my life so separate from this side, this strange good in all of the bad and the weary. But I can feel the countdown, time slipping through my hands like sand.

So I clench my fists and trap it, and her, for a little while longer.

"Morning," I smile back - she's on edge today, even though she's trying not to be. Her mouth opens and closes, a fish out of water, and then it hits me. That raw stab of panic, hot and uneasy. That maybe I'm holding on to nothing but my own useless, wispy dreams. That my time - our precious time - is up.

That she knows I'm no good to be near.

Topher's name goes in one ear and out the other, then ricochets back into my brain. He's a guy like me, trying to convince the world his life is perfect when it's falling to pieces. Takes one to know one. I've steered clear of him where I can. Treasure hunters and thieves, one in the same. Those stories always end in disaster, and guys like Topher will no doubt walk away with the spoils.

Maybe Mal's figured it out. Figured it all out. But then she's bubbling on about her parents and her house and... steak? I want to laugh at her -isms, and I usually would, but instead I just nod dumbly and press the tip of my tongue up against the backs of my teeth, jaw clenched so tightly it might crack under the pressure.

I'll just tell her I'm tired, that's all. If she asks why I'm upset. Why I'm in a mood today. Not feeling too good, that's all. Dodgy stomach. God, I hope that's all she asks of me today.

"I wanted-"

"Yeah I got a delivery here for..."

"-my valentine?"

"... Abel Saltzman?"

I blink once, twice, three times. There's a man at the door holding a giant stuffed octopus and Hazel Voss is pointing her finger at me from across the classroom and it takes another four seconds for me to process what's happening before my mouth finally opens and all I can do is laugh.

It's a laugh of relief, me and my paranoia. Not five days ago was I wondering if I should do the same for her, convincing myself otherwise. That she'd let me down gently, stumbling over the nicest way to wince at me and say no thanks, or that someone else had already asked her, or that she was doing a girlfriends thing this year. Thought I was a dreamer, and this morning convinced she'd heard whispers of truth from fuckin' Topher and Tian.

And another five seconds later I realise that laughing at this might seem awfully cruel, so I clamp my hand over my mouth and tilt my head to the side so I can see her around the giant plush toy that takes up my entire desk.

"Mal, this is... wonderful. Really."

I pick up the octopus, who gazes up at me with heart-shaped eyes. I feel as though I'm staring back at it with the same giddy expression, drunk on relief and dazed from the celebrity of it all.

"What should we name him?" I ask, eager to change the subject as to why I was nearly gasping for air. "You pick. Oh-!"

Idiot boy, I slap my forehead and look back at her with a question-mark smile on my lips.

"Yeah. I'd... love to be your Valentine."

The smile turns into a grin, all thoughts of what if and worst-case scenario sinking into the deep blue of me.