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‘Is that foise gras in your lunch box?’ Abigail jumps as a giggling voice comes to her from above. She is sitting alone in a quiet stairwell, trying to avoid attention from those rich kids who are now known as her schoolmates. The place is supposed to be obscure. Or so she thought.
This is her second week in this new school in Baltimore. The moment her new husband - she’s still trying to adjusting to the very idea - Dr. Hannibal Lecter told her he had selected this school for her to prep her college application, Abigail knew things could only be different from her old school in Minnesota.
The institution is privately funded. Students are all required to wear uniform. And the uniform isn’t something that you can buy in a school’s uniform store. It has to be custom-made. At first, Abigail thought it was crazy. What’s the point of making her new sets of uniforms for a school she’s only going to attend for less than a year? But apparently, for Hannibal, visiting a dressmaker is nothing more than an afternoon trip to a grocery store.
‘Are you OK?’ the girl who called her from above trots down and lands beside her. She is holding a milky way chocolate bar in her hand and is still looking at her lunch box, making a loud thud as she carelessly slams a canvas bag on the stairs. There is red paint on both her hands.
‘Um…’Abigail doesn’t know what to reply.
‘I’m not trying to rob your lunch if that’s what you’re worried about,’ she giggles and quickly unwraps her chocolate bar, giving it a crunchy bite. ‘Yours is too fancy for me. All I need is lots of salt and sugar,’ she says, stuffing the rest of the milky way into her mouth and fumbling into her bag for another.
‘You’ve been avoiding everyone since you got here,’ the girl rumbles, chewing on her sweet and smacking her lips. ‘People are starting to talk. And trust me on this one. You don’t want them to be too curious.’
‘Why would you care?’ Abigail remarks flatly. It is rude of her to be like that. But the girl doesn’t seem to mind at all.
‘Oh, I don’t. But God knows they are dying to figure out what you are. They don’t usually take in new students for the final year, you know. So you’re either very good, or very rich, or probably both. That fancy car you dad is driving is definitely giving them someth-.’
‘He’s not my dad,’ Abigail cuts her out, immediately regrets that she sounds so defensive. She had already thought about that people might mistake Hannibal as her father in this new school. But hearing it being stated by a strange girl is still making her flinch.
‘No?’ the girl grumbles dismissively and pulls out a small package of tissue to wipe her mouth. ‘Doesn’t matter. You come to school in a Bentley. People talk.’
‘Oh,’ Abigail mumbles, turning back to her lunchbox to take another fork of her food. The girl next to her resume chewing her chocolate. She has a third one out from her bag in waiting now.
‘I’m Marissa Schurr,’ she says, fondling the packed sweet in her hands, appearing to be finally sick of the sugar-loaded product.
‘Abigail,’ Abigail answers. She pauses a little before she continues. ‘Abigail Lecter.’ This is the first time she introduces herself with this name.
‘Yeah, I know. Do you want this?’ Marissa asks, handing her the chocolate bar. ‘Can’t stand the sight of it now. I swear they make it so much sweeter than they used to. I can’t feel my tongue.’
Then you shouldn’t have eaten so much, Abigail thinks. ‘No…I’m not really…’ she mutters. Her parents were very strict to her when it comes to sweets. (They were strict about everything, to be honest.) And Hannibal isn’t the kind of man who appreciates processed food, either…
‘Well,’ putting down the lunchbox, Abigail hands it to her. ‘Maybe we can trade.’
Marissa looks at her with a grin, putting the chocolate in Abigail’s hand.
‘You sure?’ she asks, hand reaching out. To Abigail’s surprise, she bypasses the foise gras and bread and the small mutton pie and goes straight to the boiled cauliflowers, stuffing it into her mouth and gives it a loud suck.
‘Hum…’ she swallows the water down slowly and chews carefully on it. Abigail can’t help but smile. She knows exactly what she’s experiencing. Hannibal, apart from his elaborate main courses, is terribly good at making plain but delicious side dishes.
‘Do you mind if I have another?’ Marissa asks, her eyes on the other piece of cauliflower and the baby carrots next to it.
‘No.’
‘Do you know how are these were made? Because it doesn’t taste like just regular cauliflowers.’ She samples the second green flower carefully.
‘Boiled with salt and garlic and other spicy things, I think,’ Abigail says. She doesn’t know what exactly Hannibal uses to season the vegetables, only that they always look so fresh and taste fantastic.
‘Compliments to the chef,’ she swallows the last bit of the vegetable. Abigail smiles before turning back to the rest of her food, picking up the small pie to nib it slowly.
‘You’re not fond of talking, aren’t you?’ Marissa asks. She is now fumbling her canvas bag and pulling out a small sketchbook. Inside the book, there is something oddly similar to stairwell they are in.
‘What…am I supposed to talk about?’ Abigail mumbles, looking at the details in her sketch book. Why does she have to come up here just to draw it?
‘Nothing, really.’ Marissa shrugs, suddenly slamming her book closed and tossing it back to her bag. Abigail sees several cans of spray paints through the bag’s opening. Is it why she has paint on her hand?
‘I like your drawing,’ Abigail says, looking at Marissa’s side. She seems to be pleased.
‘Aw! Thanks!’ replying with a grin, she stands up and throws the canvas bag onto her back. ‘Then you can consider it a welcoming gift for you.’
Abigail doesn’t understand what she means.
‘I should go now. Cheers!’ Marissa waves as she hops down to the stairs. Abigail expects her to simply vanish into the stairwell. But instead, she looks back.
‘Oh, right. If anyone asks you, Abigail, you don’t know me. Never see or talk to me in your life! Got it?’
What?
‘Okay,’ she utters. This Marissa girl is so odd. But Abigail likes her.
‘Cheerio,’ she chants one last time, disappearing into the descending stairs.
‘I met someone today,’ Abigail starts as she and Hannibal carrying their plates of simple meal - something to do with grilled rabbit meat - to the dining room. They settle in their usual seats, sitting opposite to each other at the front of the table. Hannibal gives her an intrigued look.
‘You started talking to other students? I’d certainly encourage that.’
‘No,’ Abigail murmurs, staring down at her fork and knife. ‘She talked to me. I met her during lunch. She was eating chocolate bars.’
‘An indulging choice,’ Hannibal smirks, digging into his plate of food. ‘What did you talk about?’
‘Not much. Only that other kids are curious about me. You didn’t tell me that the school doesn’t usually take in new student for the last year. They are all wondering why I’m allowed to go there.’
‘I am a long time acquaintance to the chairwoman. But the broad and principal agreed to accept you after they saw your straight-A record, Abigail,’ he says, looking into her eyes as he chewing.
‘Right,’ Abigail says, biting down at her fork. She thinks of the chocolate bar in her school bag. She hasn’t gotten any chance to eat it yet.
‘I guess you didn’t tell the chairwoman that we’re married,’ the word suddenly slips from her mouth. Abigail almost bites her tongue once she realizes what she had just said out loud.
‘On the contrary, my dear,’ but the man in front of her simply smiles and shakes his head. ‘Mrs. Winchester is well aware of our connection.’
What? Abigail feels her hands drop to the table. ‘What did you tell her?’
‘Nothing you don’t already know. That your father and I had an agreement and I’m to looking after you from now on. Mr. Coleman is also very understanding.’
So, the principal knows, too?
Abigail finds herself frozen and falling back against the seat. She blinks at her plate and the glass of wine next to it.
‘Right,’ she says, suddenly thinking of Marissa’s words. Everyone in the school thinks that Hannibal is her father, apart from the principal, anyway.
‘It bothers you,’ Hannibal’s voice brings her back from her thoughts. She quickly sits up.
‘Not really,’ she whispers, voice as weak as a fly.
‘Abigail,’ he sighs, putting down the fork in his hand. ‘The principal is the only one who’s aware among the staff. So it shouldn’t be a problem.’
‘The kids think you’re my father,’ she bluntly cut in. God knows how much she hate to talk about anything relating to her father. ‘The girl I met today told me. They saw you driving me to school.’
Her husband’s expression suddenly melts. Standing up from his seat, he stalks around the table to her, pulling her up from her seat. Abigail sobs quietly when he wraps her in his arms. She doesn’t want to cry. So she only allows herself a few drops of tears.
‘I’d like to drive to school by myself from now on if that’s okay with you?’ she says against his suit lapel. Hannibal strokes on her hair.
‘Of course, if that’s what you want,’ he croons to her from above. ‘Though I’d advice you to set off earlier. Less traffic. Safer.’
‘Sorry,’ she whispers. ‘It’s still very difficult to talk about my dad. I was surprised that I didn’t lose it when the girl brought it up today.’ She mumbles against Hannibal’s chest. Her husband gives her face a gentle brush, wiping her tears away.
‘Did you tell her,’ Hannibal asks as he cradles her face in his palms. ‘That I’m not your father, or did you just let it slide?’
‘I told her that you aren’t my dad. And she didn’t ask anything else.’ Abigail narrows her gaze. The tears are still brimming in her eyes. ‘She was quite nice.’
‘Sounds like a young lady of manners,’ Hannibal answers as he takes out his pocket square to dry her face, urging her back to her seat. Abigail complies, feeling much better after chilling in his embrace.
‘I wouldn’t say you’d deem her much of a person of manners…’ she murmured, looking down on her food and remembering Marissa’s canvas bag and her spray paints.
‘No?’
‘No. She was nice.’ Abigail says, smiling as she sips on her wine. ‘But more like an unruly artist to me.’
The first thing Abigail notices the next morning when she arrives at her usual hiding place in the campus - so much earlier than she usually does. An attempt to avoid traffic and unwanted attention after she’d learned how much people here like to gossip - is the sharp smell of paint and a call of surprise.
‘Hiya!’ A voice greets her from above. Looking up, Abigail feels her jaw drop open.
‘Marissa?’ she calls, staring at the girl sitting on a ladder, her canvas bag on her shoulder, working on the wall on the corner of the stairwell.
It is a painting of pink milky galaxy.
‘Holy shit!’ Abigail hears herself exclaim. Then she recalls the sketches she saw on the girl’s notebook yesterday. ’How long have you been planning this?’ she asks as Marissa hops down to the floor.
‘A while,’ Marissa answers absent-mindedly. ‘What’s your favorite animal?’
‘What?’ Abigail can’t help but gape at her. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Just answer it, please? It’s important,’ she looks at Abigail, smirking as she jumps down from the ladder.
‘Ugh…dogs? Bigger dogs,’ Abigail blinks as she says.
‘Right,’ Marissa nods. She is exuberant. Abigail is stunned as she realizes the girl in front of her is now quickly adding dog’s silhouettes at the front of her finished work. In a matter of seconds, a pack of dogs is now howling under the milky sky.
‘It’s beautiful,’ she remarks, but still cannot quite wrap her head around what is happening.
‘Thanks you,’ Marissa grins, apparently very pleased with herself. ‘Nah, as I said you may consider this a welcoming gift to you.’
‘Oh….um…Thank you.’ I guess, Abigail thinks. She’s going to get into so much trouble.
‘Now,’ Marissa is oblivious to her distress, grabbing her by the wrist and leading to her step back away from the wall. ‘Take a look from here. What do you think? I think I might need to add a few shadows at the top corner but-’
‘You might get expelled for this,’ Abigail interrupts. She doesn’t mean to cut her off but it just slips out of her mouth. Yet, to her surprised, Marissa merely shrugs.
‘So?’ she says. Abigail widens her eyes to her.
‘Do you want to be expelled?’
‘No. I’m looking forward to the prom. But prom is only optional. I’m already taking commissions so it doesn’t really matter which school I go. I’m all about supplementing my portfolio now.’
‘Is this going to be in your portfolio?’ Abigail asks.
‘Whoa? Hell no! I’m sure this is going to be painted over in a day or two. That is…after the principal figures out who did it,’ she beams brightly to Abigail. Abigail doesn’t know how to react. She smiles back. It’s hard not to feel lively and thrilled about the whole…thing when Marissa the culprit herself acting like it’s nothing but the biggest achievement in the world.
‘You might want to take a photo before they clear it out.’ Abigail suggests, fumbling into her pocket to fish out her phone. ‘Can I?’
‘Sure,’ she gestures towards the painting, taking out her own phone and quickly snapping a few photos.
‘What are you going to call it?’ Abigail asks. But Marissa shrugs again.
‘No idea,’ she laughs. ‘Anyway…’ she suddenly stops, leaning to listen to the noise down the stairs. People are starting to walk into the empty building. ‘We better be off now,’ she murmurs, bending down to collect her spray paints into her bag. Abigail gets down to help her. But Marissa gestures her to stop. ‘You should go first. And don’t come back here for the next few days. Girl prepping for Ivy League pre-law like you shouldn’t be involved with this kind of thing.’
Abigail rolls her eyes. ‘I’m already involved when you asked me my favorite animal,’ she says, grabbing one of the dirty cloth on the floor to shoving it into her bag. ‘And I’m not considering pre-law, in case you need to know.’
‘No?’ Marissa tilts her head as she throws the bag on her back. ‘What are you prepping for then?’
‘Pre-med.’
‘Ah! Make more sense,’ she lets out a sigh, straightens up and grabs the ladder before she jumps upstairs. ‘I’m going this way. Seeya!’
The day goes by as usual. Abigail sits at the back of her classroom, doesn’t speak to anyone unless they speak to her. She wonders where Marissa is. She imagines that she’d be in the art workshop, which is on the opposite side of the campus. She has no idea where to find her. And very soon, it is lunch period. Unable to go to her usual spot and hide, Abigail has no choice but going to the dining hall. She picks a place near to the entrance, so that she can clear off as quickly as possible once she finishes.
On the half way of her lunch, suddenly, someone pats on her shoulder. ‘Ms. Lecter,’ a voice calls.
Looking up from her food, Abigail feels herself tensing up. It is the principal Mr. Coleman.
‘Mr. Coleman,’ she rumbles, blinking to the mid-age man while swallowing hard. ‘What can I help you?’
‘I’d like to speak with you before the lunch period ends. Come to my office in twenty minutes,’ he walks away as soon as he finishes, leaving Abigail gaping in her seat with the whole dining room staring at her. Oh shit, she shuts her eyes with a sigh and immediately decides to clear up her table and runs to the principal’s office. Mr. Coleman is quite surprised to see her pushing into his door so soon.
‘Have a seat, Abigail,’ the principal looks at her eyes and points at the chair in front of his desk. Abigail complies. She stares at the crystal paperweight at the front of the wide desk. The article is clearly a gift from the school broad with the inscription and everything. Abigail always likes to look at people’s - especially men’s - paperweights on the desks. It usually can tell you something about a man’s taste.
‘Why am I here, Mr. Coleman?’ she mumbles, ‘Am I in trouble?’
‘That depends,’ the principal says while touching his glasses. ‘I understand that, since you start to attend to our school, you like to go up to the general building during lunch period, to avoid attention from your peers. Am I correct?’
‘So?’ she utters. Oh, this is definitely about Marissa and the spray painting.
‘As you are already aware, the wall at the top of the stairs had been painted today. And I’m hoping you can tell me who did it,’ he rests his chin on the top of her crossed fingers. Abigail swallows, unknowingly crossed her legs.
‘Um…I wouldn’t know. I haven’t gone up there today,’ she lies, looking straight into the principal’s eye.
The man sighs, rather loudly.
‘Abigail,’ he shakes his head, pressing his lips before he begins. ‘The reason I choose to ask you is that Mrs. Sheppard mentioned that you smell like paints in her American lit class. The fact that you’re not signing up for any art workshop makes it pretty hard to explain. Wouldn’t you agree?’
‘Mr. Coleman…’
‘I know you didn’t paint it,’ the principal continues, ‘When you were admitted I took a very close look on your records. You’re a young person of many talents. But spray painting isn’t one of them.’
‘I-’
‘You may not know of this, given the short period of your attendance. But before last year, I was responsible for the art department. I know that there’s only a handful of students in our institution who have the skills and…shall we say, temperament, to paint that mural.’
Mural? Abigail blinks at his choice of word. She’d expected the principal to call it a graffiti or…something else.
‘But…’
‘Do not lie, Abigail, for you own interest,’ he looks at her in the eyes. ‘You already lied about haven’t gone up there today. What about yesterday? Did you see anyone there?’
‘I never see anyone there,’ she insists.
‘Is that so?’ Mr. Coleman drums his fingers on the dest. He breathes for a few times before he looks at her again. He appears to want to say something. But just at the very moment the phone on his desk suddenly rings.
I’m so screwed, Abigail broods as she stalks towards the principal’s office after finishing today’s classes. She still hasn’t figured out how could the principal know she wasn’t telling the truth. After the phone call, he only asked Abigail again if she saw anyone up in the stairwell. Abigail said exactly the same thing. And then Mr. Coleman simply looked at her for a few moment, before he told Abigail that she was given detention after school.
Which is ridiculous.
Abigail had never been given detention her whole life.
There’s indeed first time for everything.
Throughout the afternoon, Abigail had been repeating the conversation she had with the principal in her mind. Mr. Coleman surely wasn’t angry at her. Abigail even doubts that he is angry about the spray painting. The mural, was the words he said. If he used to be in charge of the art department of the school then he must be quite impressed by what Marissa had done.
And…speaking about Marissa…
‘How come you be here?’ Outside the principal’s office, Marissa calls out to her. Abigail is stunned seeing her leaning against the wall next to the office door. So, she still got caught eventually? But how?
‘You got caught?’ she asks. For some reason seeing her makes Abigail’s blood boiling. How on earth was Marissa caught? Abigail for sure didn’t spill a word about it.
‘Well…turned out I was seen by the security yesterday,’ she shrugs. Abigail glares at her. How can she just shrug about it? So, that is why the principal gave me the detention too? Because I said I didn’t saw her yesterday?
‘That’s it?’ she hears herself spit. ‘My God!’
‘Mr. Coleman taught me two years ago. And…there’s no point lying to him when he already pulled me out of the classroom.’
‘Good for you,’ Abigail smirks, leaning against the wall next to her, arm crossed. ‘I told him I’d never seen anyone up there.’
‘Oh shit.’
‘You told me to pretend never seeing you,’ turning to look at her, Abigail lets her mouth drop open. Marissa stares back at her. She looks guilty. Good.
‘I’m sorry,’ Marissa blinks. ‘I never want to get you into trouble.’
‘Sure you don’t,’ Abigail rolls her eyes. ‘Doesn’t matter now. I got myself into this,’ looking at the ceiling, she begins to wonder what will Hannibal react when he hears she is given detention at school. Abigail isn’t sure she wants to find out.
‘Will your parents give you a hard time for this?’ Marissa asks. Abigail feels the hair on her neck suddenly stands up over the word parents.
‘I don’t have parents,’ she quickly says, fingers pinching her arms. ‘Not anymore…’
‘Sorry,’ Marissa mumbles. Abigail drops her head to look at her.
‘It’s fine,’ she sighs. ‘How would you know?’
Marissa seems to want to say something. But just at that moment, the door of the principle’s office flies open.
‘Ms. Schurr, Ms. Lecter, please come in,’ the principal says, holding the office door for them as Abigail and Marissa steps inside.
‘This isn’t what I’d imagined when I was given the detention,’ whispering to Marissa who sits right next to her on the couch, Abigail still can’t quite believe what had just happened. The principal simply had them inside his office, taking away their phones to lock them in his drawer, before he announced that their punishment was to sit through Mahler’s first symphony and write down their thoughts on a piece of paper. That was it. No lecturing…or any further instructions…Nothing! Before he left, he put the drawer key on his desk and told them to remember retrieving their phones before going home.
How could it be so easy?
‘What did you have in mind?’ Marissa asks. She sounds somehow miserable with her voice flat and…oh, now she’s leaning against the arm of the couch. Clearly, she doesn’t like the music.
‘I don’t know…I thought he’d have us go working in the greenhouse or…perhaps paint the wall white.’
‘Ah! No!’ Marissa laughs, suddenly straightening herself up. ‘He likes what I did but he couldn’t say it. And he sure won’t have me the creator destroy it,’ she grins to Abigail. Abigail finds herself smiling.
‘I thought so,’ she hisses to Marissa. ‘When he had me here during lunch time he asked me if I knew who painted the mural,’ she sees Marissa gape on the chosen word. ‘That was what he said. A mural.’
‘Really?’ Marissa’s eyes widen. ‘Holy crap…Mr. Coleman.’
‘What do you mean?’ asks Abigail.
‘He was my favorite teacher.’
‘Oh.’
‘But I made sure he didn’t know that,’ she further adds. Abigail cannot help but laugh.
‘Why? What did you do?’
‘Oh, you know,’ Marissa smacks on her lips and chuckles. ‘Things.’
‘You’re crazy,’ Abigail stares at her.
‘So are you,’ Marissa stares back.
‘Am I? Why?’ Abigail challenges, feigning an angry look.
‘Really?’ she chuckles again, folding her arms. ‘You, a new girl who stumbled into a weirdo who was ogling your lunch -’
Abigail burst into laughter upon hearing the word ogling.
‘- and was clearing up to no good. Then on the very next day, dragged you into her own mess. But you just chose to lie to the principal so that the weirdo wouldn’t get into trouble. Really, what kind of crazy is that?’
‘I’m not crazy!’ she gives Marissa’s shoulder a mild punch. ‘I just like those dogs you put on the last,’ she giggles. It has been a long time since she could laugh like this.
‘Thanks,’ Marissa says.
‘I’m sad they have to be painted it over,’ Abigail falls onto the cushioned back, hanging her head at the brink.
‘I can draw you some, if you want to,’ Marissa says, leaning back to the couch, too. ‘Free of charge, of course. You’d paid plenty enough in advance by lying for me.’
‘Oh, thank you,’ Abigail mutters, sitting straight and reaching for the paper in front of her. ‘I better start writing. Can’t be home too late…’
‘Are you getting trouble at home for this?’ Marissa asks, sitting up as well. Abigail turns to looks at her in the eyes, shaking her head.
‘I dunno…I don’t think so. But I’m supposed to help to make dinner…’ she presses her lips. ‘I should have called home earlier…But I think Mr. Coleman had called already, right?’
‘Yeah, he had to,’ Marissa gives her a wry smile. ‘I’m very experienced of getting disciplined, you see.’
Abigail smiles back with a long breath.
‘So, who do you live with?’ Marissa waits for a moment before asking. Abigail isn’t surprised. She had expected to be asked about this once she starts talking to people at school. So she stops writing and drops the pen, withdrawing her hand into her lap.
‘I don’t want to pry. But you said you don’t have parents anymore. I live with my stepdad and my mom isn’t around anymore. So, you see… She died, five years ago. Liver cancer,’ she tries to lighten to mood. But Abigail can only gape at her.
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ she mutters. ‘I lost my mom, too. Hit-and-run, drunk driving. Three years ago.’
‘Oh dear!’
‘My dad is still alive…but…’ shutting her eyes, Abigail pauses for a second to even her breath. But surprisingly she doesn’t feel like crying mentioning her dad this time. Good, she thinks.
‘You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want-’
‘Oh, it’s fine,’ opening her eyes to look at her friend - yeah, she can consider Marissa her friend now -, Abigail shrugs and smiles. ‘He isn’t my concern after he gave me away. To my husband, Dr. Lecter. He was the one you saw driving me here every morning.’ Except for today.
’Right,’ Marissa simply makes a sound. It is then Abigail begins to realize speaking of this is making herself extremely nervous. She can practically hear her own pulse resounding in her ears.
‘Weird?’ she raises an eyebrow to Marissa. Marissa thinks for a little while.
‘Unusual,’ she says with a small shrug.
‘Mr. Coleman knows,’ Abigail continues, looking closely at Marissa’s face. She is still processing the information. ‘Hannibal had to pull in tons of favors to get me in here. I really don’t know what he’ll say after today. Probably nothing…But I feel so bad.’
‘He sounds quite nice,’ Marissa says, thoughtfully. ‘So, you’re not worried about that he’ll get angry with you.’
‘No,’ Abigail hums. ‘I just don’t want to be seen as…ungrateful? Not after he’d given me everything I could ever want, and more.’
‘Everything?’ Marissa lifts her eyes. ‘What do you mean by everything?’
‘Like…my driver’s license and my own car,’ Abigail takes in a long breath. ‘And this school, too. Yesterday evening he told me he’ll find me a tutor for my SAT and college application. I almost cried on the spot, you know…My dad…He didn’t let me go to school. He locked my at home after my teachers told him I could go to college early…’
Marissa’s expression freezes. ‘No shit.’
‘Yeah. My dad was…,’ Abigail sighs and drops her head. The painful memory of listening to the Amber alerts alone in the dark night suddenly surges back. She shrugs, trying to get it go away. ‘He was troubled. I didn’t know why he became like that. I still don’t.’
‘Well,’ Marissa starts as she reaching to her piece of paper, twisting the pen in her hand. ‘I’m glad you’re here. Not in the principal’s office, obviously…I mean…Yeah!’
Abigail titters. ‘This couch is quite nice!’
‘Yeah. Compensating for the awful music!’ she throws her hands to cover her ears. ‘Mr. Coleman knows how to torment me. Last week, he put on some medieval cathedral hymns for two hours.’
‘Well…’ Abigail cannot resist grinning. ‘You’d be happy to know that Mahler’s first symphony is only about an hour long. We already pass the first twenty minutes. So,’ she giggles, picking up her pen again to begins her small article.
‘You know this music?’ Marissa’s hair falls onto the paper as she nudges her face on the table.
‘Yeah. Dr. Lecter has a taste for it,’ Abigail says, swiping Marissa’s hair away from her paper to continue her writing. ‘He has like a million records at home.’
‘Do you like it?’ Marissa asks, grabbing her hair then slamming her forehead on the table.
‘I do, actually,’ Abigail smiles. Marissa turns her head on the table to look at her.
‘Good for you. Can I copy yours?’ she exclaims, rolling her forehead on the table’s glass surface.
‘Nope,’ Abigail gives her a smirking glance. ‘Write your own thing.’
‘Please? I’m not going to copy word by word. I just need to…’
‘Write your own thing. Write about how much it irks you! And…get your face off my hand, Marissa!’ Abigail snatches her hand away from the table, rubbing it on Marissa’s clothes while Marissa grins triumphantly.
‘I’m not going to write anything. Not when I’m starting to feel hungry…’ she whines, leaning her face on Abigail’s shoulder. Abigail looks down at her before she pushes her back onto the cushioned back of the couch. Marissa lets out a groan, trying to get up to cling to Abigail once more. That is when Abigail remembers to fumble into her bag.
‘Here,’ fishing out the milky way Marissa gave her yesterday, Abigail tosses the chocolate bar into her lap. ‘Your sugar supplement.’
‘Oh, you’re a dear!’ she immediately sits up to unwrap paper. ‘Thanks. Do you want to take a half?’ she asks while snapping it into two.
‘Sure,’ Abigail says, putting down her pen to take out a piece of tissue for the sweet.
‘Cheers!’ Marissa grins, raising half of the chocolate bar to her. Abigail can’t help but giggle.
‘Cheers!’