On the morning of the next school day, the hallways were buzzing. There was not only the usual, somewhat tired hurrying to classes or bathrooms to touch up some make-up. The sound of hammering overlaid the shuffling of feet. From today on, students were allowed to hang the posters of the candidates for prom king and queen to a wooden strip that ran along the walls close to the ceiling in the hallways throughout the school. Ladders were everywhere as students hurried to occupy the best spots – at the main crossings or near the cafeteria – and where ladders had proved difficult to come by, desks had been carried out of nearby classrooms. That, of course, was forbidden because someone had fallen off years ago and had broken an arm – or a leg or his neck. The details depended on who told the story.

Every campaign tried to stand out, and the result was a colourful sea of posters that changed the atmosphere of the school giving the dreary hallways with their whitewashed walls and grey lockers a certain party feeling, that only schools and other such institution obtain, when the utterly functional concept is suddenly decorated.

In the larger hallways that led to the cafeteria or the guidance office, teams had also started to set up tables to hand out sweets or drinks they had provided for with money made in fundraisers. Marilyn took a detour to see if any team was already offering anything. She wouldn't go to lunch, so if she wanted her share, she had to get it now.

Most tables were still under construction, but of course Josie could be relied on to be ready. She was sharing a table with Thomas, her prom king of what felt like the last century and a half, offering waffles and coffee. Marilyn checked the clock on the wall and calculated that she had enough time to wait in line – indeed, a line had already formed – and make it to her English class in first period before the second bell rang. She was sleepy and a coffee would be a blessing, even if it was served by Thomas.

Drowsily, she looked straight at the back of the student ahead of her – tall, huge shoulders in a bright blue polo shirt – until he suddenly half turned around.
"'Lo, 'Lyn," he said with a smile.
Marilyn blinked suddenly waking up. "Hello, uhm... Nathan."
He gave her another smile, and then turned back facing forward, just like that, and she was once again left staring at his blue back. And now a feeling of being stupid crept over her. As if she had missed something everybody else was aware of.

She hadn't been called Lyn in forever, not since elementary school – which was as long as she knew Nathan. And then again, 'knew' was exaggerating the situation. She knew him from seeing him, from having the odd class with him over the years, and maybe, in a less sleep deprived state, she would have known his last name, too. But that was about it. He had been the chubby kid that didn't sand out for any particular talent and didn't attract attention through bad grades – the perfect extra blurring with the background in the play of school life. The chess club guy minus the brains. And then somewhere beneath all that chubbiness, unnoticed by anybody, Nathan had grown into something else, and when they had entered High School he had entered the football team – the team that was Thomas team, now. Nathan still looked chubby, but somehow the weight was apparently in the right places. He was a self-content happy-go-lucky guy who minded his own business. What had prompted him to suddenly turn around and greet her as if they were back in second grade utterly eluded Marilyn, and it made her feel odd. They probably hadn't spoken a word in years.

Tiredness washed over her again. As she was standing there in the hallway, rocking slightly back and forth on her heels looking at Nathan's back she had the distinct feeling that he had always been wearing that very same blue polo shirt – ever since second grade...

"Josie!" Thomas voice drifted through the surrounding noise.
Something had interrupted the professional flow of students and waffles and coffee. Marilyn craned her neck to look past the voluminous Nathan. Thomas had run out of plastic cups and was on his knees sifting through a box underneath the table.
"Josie, listen, baby, I can't find the cups. Have you seen them?"

Josie handed a waffle across the table. "Oh, yes, I'm sorry." Taking up the professional-looking apron she wore to protect her clothes from powder sugar, dough and melted butter and wiping her hands on it, she turned to another box standing by the wall behind her. "I put them here. Let me get them for you."
Her apron strings were tied in a neat bow above her round bottom, and as Thomas got up and looked her way now, his expression made it clear that he was enjoying the view. Marilyn turned her eyes to the ceiling.

Just in that moment, Peter shoved himself into the queue in front of Marilyn as if she weren't there. She was pushed backwards into whoever was behind her and felt herself stepping on someone's foot. Sounds of complaint rose and before she could excuse herself, she was pushed forward again into Peter who in turn was pushed into Nathan. Truth be told, Marilyn had helped that last part of pushing a little and given Peter a bit more momentum than just being pushed herself would have given him.
Nathan turned around.
"What are you doing here?" he asked after taking in Peter's short frame.
"Just standing in line for a waffle?"
"No, you're not. Marilyn's standing here."

Marilyn and Peter stared at Nathan in equal surprise. With a moment's delay Peter shrugged. "You get your stuff before me. So what's it to you who's behind you?" he said looking past him at Thomas still appreciating Josie's apron strings and, possibly, what was right below them.
Nathan made a face, oblivious to the fact that Peter had already turned his attention to Thomas. "I'll tell you what it's to me. There's no space here for you. You might like it tight and cosy, but I don't like some dude rubbin' himself on my ass. So shove off!"

Though Marilyn didn't expect Peter to dare to take on the larger Nathan physically, least of all only a few hundred feet from the door to the office, Peter usually made up for what he lacked in size by being loud, and so Marilyn did expect a heated discussion. It never came.
"What's his problem?" Peter mumbled, as he scurried off. "Rubbin' myself on him! He'd like that! I wasn't..." The rest was lost in the sound of hammers hitting nails and, occasionally, wood.

Marilyn looked after him and made a face he saw as little as he had seen Nathan's similar expression before. It felt good nonetheless.
"He's always doing that," said Nathan. "Groping, kind of. I don't like it."
"Yeah, he's odd, isn't he?" In truth, Marilyn didn't quite know what exactly Nathan was referring to, but it didn't matter. She wasn't going to let a chance to side with someone against Peter pass unused.
"Yeah!" Nathan said, then noticed Marilyn rubbing her elbow she had bumped on something. "You okay?"

Behind the table, Josie had found the cups and presented them to Thomas with a proud smile.
"You're the best, babe!" he said, tilting up her face and pressing his mouth to hers.
The students waiting in line hooted, and Josie beamed. Where she stood a little way off the table that functioned as the counter and with the apron falling down her front now, the name of the restaurant stitched into it could be read: The Indian Elephant. Marilyn almost laughed.

"Hey, Marilyn!" said Josie when she handed her a waffle. "How are you? I didn't see you yesterday. Did you quit the art department? That would be such a pity, you know? I've always admired your drawings." She had a nice word for everyone she served to which Thomas only added, 'Please, vote for us!'
"No, I just had other plans so I couldn't make it. That's a cool apron."
Josie looked down on herself as if noticing the apron for the first time. "Oh, a friend of mine works at the place," she said lightly, as if knowing someone from the Indian Elephant wasn't outrageously cool in itself, as if wearing an apron that was only available to employees to a school event wasn't glorious, as if that friend wasn't much more than a friend and as if Thomas, cheated-on Thomas, wasn't standing right next to her listening to her every word. "I just borrowed it."

There was no time for more conversation. The people behind Marilyn pressed forward and in front of her Thomas was already holding her cup of coffee.
"Have a nice day," said Josie and Thomas handed Marilyn the cup.
"Vote for us, yeah?" He only briefly looked at Marilyn when he said it, and the bold confidence was missing from the words, but he still said it.
He of all people seriously asked her to vote for him!
"Pay for my book," said Marilyn.

She wasn't even sure if she had really wanted him to hear her, and there was definitely a part of her that hoped he'd just miss it. But from the way he pressed his lips together, she could tell that he had heard her alright. And judging from the way Josie looked at them both, she had heard it, too. Marilyn blew an audible breath through her nose, took a bite of her waffle and turned away heading for her English class – their English class, really, but Thomas was excused to be late due to being at his campaign table while she wasn't.

Having a waffle and a cup of coffee under her belt that morning was a good thing, because in that particular English class, a bad surprise was awaiting Marilyn, and for once it had nothing to do with Thomas or Peter – or Brian for that matter – or at least not directly. She had quite forgotten about the test she had been unprepared for, had probably wanted to forget all about it, but she was painfully reminded of it when the teacher entered the classroom with an arm full of sheets. He gave the class the usual speech of how some students had done very well, and how he was very satisfied with their work, and of how some other students would need to put more effort into their studies. Then he went around handing the sheets back, laying them face-down on the desks, saying a little word here and there the way teachers do.
"Good as always, Brian. – Peter, you need to focus more. – Very interesting thoughts, Melissa. Very interesting. – Marilyn, I would like to see you after class..."

Marilyn just nodded. She dreaded turning her test over, and when she did, it had more of the teacher's almost illegible red scribble on it than of her own writing. Every little area had been written on. And on top, the sheet was marked with a crushing F that was underlined twice to emphasis it.

Marilyn put the sheet in her folder and closed it, placing one of her hands on top as if the test could otherwise pop out again by itself, while all around her students were inspecting their results, trying to read the teachers comments and remarks and discussing certain points with their friends. Some were happier than others, but Marilyn took little notice of it. She just sat on her chair focusing on her hand on her folder.

After the class was over, the students started to file out of the room while Marilyn slowly packed her things. She tried to stretch time as long as possible, hoping that there wouldn't be any witnesses for the things the teacher would tell her. But to her dismay, Brian of all people lingered by the door in the far corner of the room. With a sigh, Marilyn picked up her books and went to the teacher's desk.

Mr. Smith had taken his seat behind it as he always did after he had dismissed the class and was looking through some papers while Marilyn stood waiting in front of him staring at her feet. Those summons were awful. They didn't help anyone but were merely a humiliation. But of course nobody asked for her opinion.

"Ah, Marilyn," Mr. Smith said after a moment as if surprised to see her standing there. She wished he'd just cut it out. After all, he had told her to see him after class. She didn't want to be there. So why did he have to put on a show?
He orderly filed his papers away by the side of his desk, put down his pen, leaned forward on his arms and folded his hands. "Marilyn, what are we going to do?"

There wasn't really anything she could answer to that, and so initially she kept silent, but Mr. Smith seemed to expect some kind of reply because he looked up at her and raised his eyebrows.
She took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Sir. I forgot to do my homework that day, so when the unannounced test came... It was just this one time."
Mr. Smith sighed. "If only that were so! But it's not. Your grades have been poor since quite some time. You don't participate in class. You don't interact with your classmates. You clearly have no interest in this class. You seem so bored by everything we talk about here, sometimes I wonder if you'll fall asleep on us!"
"I'm not bored, sir! I'm just tired. That's the problem. It's not that I'm not interested. I just need to sleep more."
"If you can't keep up with your studies, then this class is too difficult for you. Maybe you should consider talking a lower level English class. It's very late in the year to change, but I can talk to your guidance councillor and we can arrange something with your new teacher-"
"No! No, please, Mr. Smith! I want to stay in this class." I need to stay in this class! "I'll make it work!"

To say that Marilyn's problems with her classmates had started with Thomas declaring to a whole cafeteria full of Middle School students that he hated her because she was in love with him, would have been giving him more credit than he deserved. It was rather something Marilyn had brought with her from elementary school. Even though most of her elementary school classmates were going to a different Middle School, kids still knew each other and they probably gossiped. The bigger impact, though, was most likely made by the fact that during her time in elementary school Marilyn had not only learnt to read and write but also to be mistreated. Coming to Middle School, she had been a hardened but injured little creature diving into a shark pond, and it hadn't taken her new classmates long to assign her the role she knew too well already.

Murmurs when she walked by, or rooms falling silent when she entered. The problems had been there before, lingering in dark places, smouldering under the surface. But with the infamous cafeteria incident they came out into the open. That was Thomas' achievement. Suddenly, Marilyn was facing outright dislike. When students shared sweets in class before the teacher arrived, they made a point of giving something to everybody but her. They passed notes behind the teacher's back that were address 'To everybody but Edmond'. They stripped her of her given name and excluded her wherever possible. One of the girls she had gone to elementary school with told her bluntly she couldn't be seen with her anymore because their classmates didn't like Marilyn.

Lost and alone, Marilyn quickly found herself in the company of girls who smoked pot in the restrooms or handed around a can of beer, and smelled strongly of cheap perfume that they sprayed on trying to camouflage the sweetish smell of weed. Marilyn didn't smoke or drink even though they occasionally offered to share with her. It wasn't that she didn't hate school enough – she did – but she was keenly aware of the fact that she was losing control of her life, and the thought of losing control of her body, too, terrified her. She wasn't even 12, yet, and didn't particularly like the company of those older girls, but they allowed her to stand in a corner of the restroom and keep a look-out for adults so they could flush their joint down the toilet in time, and Marilyn had a place to go during breaks. And as beggars can't be choosers, she soon found herself in the restroom with them every day.

As Marilyn dropped through the ranks of popularity, her grades dropped as well. It didn't matter in her new company, because their grades were miserable, too, and it didn't bother them. When it came to bad grades at least, they provided comfort. They even seemed to be proud of them in a way. They claimed that being good at school equalled trying to be white. That it was sucking up to the teachers, who were mainly white, and that those who were not had simply excelled at denying their true nature.

After a while, Marilyn's grades hit rock bottom, and she had to take slip home for her parents to sign. The girls in the restroom had been given dozens of those slips before, and they waved Marilyn's worries away with the smoke. She should just fake her father's signature. Nobody would ever notice. Simple. Piece of cake. Have a smoke, why don't you? And Marilyn had seriously considered trying – faking the signature not the pot –, but she wasn't ruthless enough and in the end she was too frightened of what might happen if she should be found out after all.

The discussion with her parents was unpleasant to say the least. Her father had asked her what she had to say for herself, and at some point Marilyn had told him with a combination of stubbornness and all her 11-year-old pride that she was black and didn't want to try to be white, either.

For a moment, there was only silence.

And she could still hear the sharp tone in his voice and see the stern look on his face when he had finally spoken again. "Knowledge doesn't have a colour. Education doesn't have a colour. People who say otherwise are trying to justify the fact that they're lazy. Our ancestors weren't lazy. Slaves aren't lazy! And they didn't endure the lives they had so we can be lazy now! We have the privilege that whatever we work for, it's ours. We get to reap the fruits of our work. They did not! And we owe it to our ancestors to work hard and get the things they never even had a chance to get. I'm sure you'll find that life is unfair one way or the other, and that much change is still needed in this country and this world. But none of that is achieved by being lazy. None of that is achieved by being uneducated! Was Dr. King not black because he had an education? He finished High School in only 2 years! And I do not care one bit about what other children at your school have to say on the matter! That's their parents' problem, not mine. You can do better than this! I never want to hear anything alone the line of what you said today from you again, and I expect you to pay attention to your school work and to fix your grades!"

Marilyn had not returned to spending her breaks in the restroom after that. Instead, her new escape became the library, where she pulled books from the shelf and pretended to be lost in reading. It was indeed only a pretence, but the teachers saw her there and unconsciously gave her credit for what they interpreted as being diligent. And Marilyn kept her grades afloat and never had to take another slip to sign home to her parents again. She wasn't anywhere near finishing High School in only 2 years, but she took above average classes and her parents showed appreciation. This appreciation was maybe the only good thing she had when it came to school. She couldn't lose it. She had to stay and make it work!

Mr. Smith pressed his lips together in a sour expression. "Well, it's too late in the year to make you change class, but I really wish you would consider it. I can't see a future for you in this class, and I will not accept you as a student next year, if your grades won't get significantly better until then."
"Isn't there something I could do for extra credit?" she asked in a low voice.
"I think you're at your limit as it is, Marilyn. As long as you don't do your homework properly, participate in class and show in your tests that you have capacity for extra work, I don't think it would be good for you."
Marilyn nodded. "Oh," was all she could say.
"Well, I'm sure you have a class to go to...?" Mr. Smith said, and when Marilyn didn't immediately turn to leave he added, "It seems another of your classmates wants to speak to me, too."

As Marilyn walked away she concentrated on what Mr Smith and Brian were saying, and when she had left the classroom, she stayed right next to the door to hear all of it. If Brian had listened in on her conversation with the teacher, she felt she might as well know what he had to discuss with him. But it was just the usual. Brian complained about the grade he had been given on the test, pointing out certain aspects on which he felt he had been graded unfairly. He wasn't bad at English. With annoyance Marilyn had to admit that he was actually good at it. But he always complained about grades – not only in English but in every single class she had ever shared with him. He seemed never satisfied. Even when he reached the full 100 points in a test, he'd still go to the teachers and complain about a few corrections they had made in his writings.

The voice of Mr. Smith suggested that he was equally annoyed as Marilyn and she enjoyed hearing it. Brian was a nuisance and it definitely served him right to be told so.
"... Brian, I know you're very diligent. You always put a lot of effort into everything. But we all make mistakes every now and then. That can happen. And you're still a High School student. You're still studying, learning. This was a difficult test on a difficult subject. And you got 93 points out of 100. I really don't see what you're complaining about."
Brian spoke in a very low tone and to Marilyn's annoyance she couldn't make out what he said. Mr. Smith's voice on the other hand was laced with growing irritation when he spoke again.
"Yes, Brian, I can call your father about this. However, I'm starting to think you're old enough now to explain your grades to your parents yourself. You'll be a Senior next year and a college student the year after that. It's time to take on responsibly. You're about to be a man, now. And again, you did well. Others are struggling much more. Take Marilyn, for example. She failed this test and she's struggling. She has to worry about grades. I think you simply have unrealistic expectations..."

Marilyn didn't stay to listen to the rest of the conversation.

~~~~~
Hey, y'all! :D

How are you doing, guys? This turned out to be a long chapter with over 4,000 words. I considered cutting it in two  but that just didn't seem right. So here it is, and I hope you enjoyed it! :)

There are two things I want to talk to you about. The first thing is that, as some of you know, I'm not a native speaker and I used to have a British friend proofreading my chapters. As it is, she can't do that anymore. (Nothing dramatic, just life. :) This kind of stuff really takes a lot of time, you know.) Therefore I'm doing it on my own for the time being. I'm sorry if there should be passages in it that might sound odd to a native speaker, and if you want to bother and comment on those, please do! I'll try to fix it. <3

The second thing is something that has been worrying me for a very long time. Even though this story is categorised as a fan-fiction (Thank you, Wattpad!), it is mainly about Marilyn and her (school) life. And there are chapters in which Michael doesn't appear. What do you think about that? How much does it bother you? Does it bother you at all? I haven't been able to detect any notable dents in my stats in terms of votes or reads, but it still worries me. #I'mStrange Please talk to me! XD

Oh, and by the way, what do you think of Josie?

Alright. That's all folks!
For now. ;)

Please comment! :)
Please vote! :D
Please do both! XD
And I love you all! <33

Kisses and Cookies, Birdie ^^°v°^^