Crisis- II

Maria's POV-

Because the universe is a cruel and slightly sadistic comedian –just then, lurking nearby, like vultures scenting a particularly ripe and juicy piece of reputation roadkill, were Chris – the human embodiment of a glitter bomb exploding in slow motion – and the girl, Stacia, or Stacy.. I think? (Brain cells were currently staging a mass exodus, memory recall was at an all-time low). The very person whom Mark had politely but firmly relegated to the friend zone just forty-eight hours prior. And right now? Now she is radiating the cheerful aura of a vengeful storm cloud gathering on the horizon, ready to unleash a torrential downpour of whispered judgments and meticulously crafted social sabotage.

Great!

Just great.

Things couldn't have been worse.

Actually—no. Scratch that. The universe clearly had a personal vendetta against me because this wasn't just a bad day. This was an apocalyptic-level disaster, like the ones you see on movies where meteors crash into Earth and wipe out entire civilizations. My brain, was now ping-ponging between panic and hyper-analytical overthinking. 'Wait, when did they materialize here, anyway?! The last time Mark checked, positively nobody was within earshot! It hasn't been that long, surely? Was our voices carrying like we were performing a Shakespearean monologue for the entire quad? Were we shouting? Did they hear… everything I just poured my soul out to Mark about? Everything?!' The very thought made my stomach clench into the size of a walnut.

I watched from the corner of my eye as both of them finally dispersed, and only then did I let out a slow, shaky sigh of relief. My shoulders, which had been tensed like a coiled spring, slumped as the weight of impending tension eased—if only slightly. Everything happened so fast that my brain was still playing catch-up. One second, I was standing there, heart hammering in my chest, and the next—baaam. Chaos. My emotions had been thrown into a blender set to maximum speed, and I was just now attempting to piece together the absolute train wreck that had just unfolded.

I can safely, unequivocally, and with a growing sense of existential dread, declare that I had just been indirectly, publicly, and possibly for all of posterity, rejected by my crush. And now, the delayed-reaction sorrow of said rejection was finally hitting me with the force of a runaway freight train made of sadness. My head was spinning, my heart was still hammering from the shock, and I felt the overwhelming urge to either cry, scream my lungs out, or both at the same time. Pretty sure my eyes were already sporting a fetching shade of alarming red by this point Anyways, I hurriedly bit on my index finger and took a few deep breaths to make myself calm down, but the lump in my throat refused to budge. But instead of wailing my heart out in disappointment, I was now paralyzed with sheer, unadulterated embarrassment. Suddenly, I had a urge dig a very deep hole in the earth, crawl inside, pull the dirt in and re-emerge in approximately ten years as a humble, anonymous potato farmer somewhere far, far away. Why? Because of course, one of the the school's most dedicated gossip gremlins had overheard my humiliation in 4K resolution.

'Chris... Okay, okay.. I could probably manage Chris. Maybe. Possibly. With enough snacks and a firm, yet still vague friendly, "zip it, chaos goblin" directive, I could potentially bribe him into temporary silence. Thank god for small mercies, like that random, utterly inexplicable, and still slightly baffling friendship we'd forged a few weeks back in the chaos of the school bake sale. But Stacy? Stacy was a whole different, infinitely more terrifying, social beast. Stacy is the reigning campus deity of beauty, and – let's be honest, brutally honest with ourselves here, Maria – the undisputed Queen Bee of Mean Girl Gossip, reigning supreme over a kingdom of whispers and expertly applied eyeliner. And she had minions. Friends with equally sharpened social claws and an almost supernatural talent for dissecting and disseminating juicy bits of embarrassing information with the speed and efficiency of those highly organized CIA officers.'

'UUUUGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!'

I am doomed.

And I know for a fact that I am popular among girls in this school… but for all the wrong reasons.

Not because I'm charming or beautiful. Not because I'm mysterious. Not because I have a secret double life as a millionaire or some daughter of a loving CEO daddy (heh I wish).

Nah.

I get stalked routinely by Mark's rabid admirers for the crime of being his only close female friend (in this school). THE AUDACITY OF THEM!!!

Every other week, I spot at least three suspiciously positioned girls peeking from behind the lockers, or lurking around me during lunch, monitoring my interactions with Mark like some underpaid reality show producers. Oh, have I mentioned how some of them follows me on my Instagram account to stalk me? Every now and then, I get texts from unknown people (probably their fake accounts) full of curses and threats to stop hovering around Mark. Worry not, I blocked them right away for the sake of my internal equilibrium.

And why now—NOW OF ALL TIMES? With my love life already on the verge of fission reaction? How am I supposed to take control of this mess? I mean, they are one of the three reasons why I decided to keep my feelings to myself for all this time.

'I swear, if this turns into some misunderstood, school-wide, fever-dream-worthy ship rumor, I'm throwing myself into the sun.' 

I felt my entire social life just got put on a speed run to destruction. I felt it on my bones- This. Was. Going. To. End. In. Flames.

Fueled by pure, unadulterated desperation, I got up and ran towards my last resort, my ride-or-die and delightfully dysfunctional best friend, Ashley. My emotional support… uh… thing. My partner in crime, the human GPS with a documented tendency to navigate solely towards the nearest wall. Ashley, professional button-masher by day, secret gaming legend by night, a certified chatterbox, and possessor of a directional sense that would make a even confused pigeon look like Magellan. I turbo sprinted into the building and through the hallways like a protagonist in a poorly written action movie—dodging students, hurdling over a rogue backpack, and nearly skidding into a janitor's mop bucket in the process. My lungs were protesting, my dignity was in shambles, and my only coherent thought was 'Where is she? Where is she?!'

I whipped my head around, scanning every classroom, every possible hideout, frantically searching for a flash of messy bun in caramel brown. The library? No way. Ashley wouldn't be caught dead near an academic setting unless forced at gunpoint. The cafeteria? Possible, but I doubted she'd be snacking at a time like this. 'Think, Maria, think!'

And then—like a beacon of hope in my dark and despair-ridden existence—I spotted her.

Ashley.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor in the empty art-room, hunched over her phone, thumbs moving at lightning speed, completely immersed in what I could only assume was some high-stakes gaming tournament. A half-empty can of energy drink sat precariously beside her, and she had that laser-focused expression that suggested she was either obliterating someone online or engaging in a very intense debate about anime power levels.

I barely stopped myself from crashing into the door frame as I burst inside. "ASH—" I wheezed, clutching my chest. "Disaster. Absolute disaster. My life is over. No, worse. It's been incinerated and scattered into the wind like dust."