skinny || h.s. au [Rewrite Now Up!]

one

Marley is all cold fingers and half-crazed minds as she sits in her first period class.

My name is Marley Parker...

"No that's stupid." Marley mutters to herself.

Quickly erases it.

And then, begrudgingly, rewrites it.

Because, really, who gives a shit?

Every year, she finds herself having to write a personal essay to her teacher. Every damn year.

You would think that the English teachers in this school would communicate better. Once is definitely enough.

And Marley is tired of writing about herself.

She crumples the paper and throws it toward the trashcan on the other side of the room when the teacher isn't looking.

It goes in.

Score.

No one notices except the boy sitting one seat back and one row over from Marley.

She holds his lingering gaze for a moment because his eyes are a troubled kind of green.

And then she looks away, twirling her pencil in her cold fingers.

A moment later, a crumpled piece of paper bounces off the corner of Marley's desk and onto the monotone floor.

She glances at it. Sees there is writing on it. Doesn't pick it up.

Because Marley is tired of writing about herself.

"Psst."

She glances back at the boy again. "What?"

"Pick it up." He smirks, as if he's playing a game, but Marley doesn't want to be his toy.

She just stares at him, waiting for him to look away, figit in his seat, say something worth listening to.

He doesn't.

He admires her. Thinks she's beautiful. Her hair is so light brown it's nearly blonde as it cascades over her shoulder. He tries to take in every detail, it looks impossibly soft.

He's captivated by her eyes, too. A deep yet somehow luminous shade of crystal blue that reminds him of icicles and frost-bitten noses. He imidiately decides her eyes are the most beautiful he's ever seen.

But he doesn't see the disaster between the sades of blue.

"Fine." Marley huffs, breaking eye contact with the boy. She picks up the paper when the teacher isn't looking. Smooths it out on her desk.

Nice throw

I'm Harry

The teacher drones on about this year's curriculum. Some students write their letters. Others listen.

But Marley is tired of writing about herself.

Harry watches as she folds the paper and sticks it in her pocket. She makes no attempt to acknowledge his short message. This frustrates him, but he waits patiently because for a moment he thinks that the girl with the crystal blue eyes that remind him of icicles and frost-bitten noses is worth being patient for.

Pretending to listen to the teacher, Marley entertains the thought of writing a reply.

A few minutes later, she decides she might as well because the boy with the eyes that are a troubled kind of green and hair that looks so, so soft just might be worth her time.

So she writes.

One word.

Marley

And tosses it back.