Feedback is pounced upon with the madness of a rabid...um, well, spider, you could say. Thanks to all who sent it on Father Whatawaste, and also Fuzz, especially Mercutio, with his witty and extremely touching alternate ending to FWAW. :)
Anyway, none of the characters are mine with the
exception of maybe a mouse or three. They're Marvel's
and I'm not making any money. Archive/pop-up/MST with
permission.
Feedback is ddeply appreciated, as I do not often
(read: ever) write romance. :P
Monet peeked at the card on the box of roses.
Nobody sent her roses.
Nobody even liked her, that she knew.
Except maybe Everett, but it was a well-known fact
that he'd given Jubilee a box of candy.
But there were the dozen long-stemmed red roses,
stately in their white box, and with an anonymous card
on them.
"From me," it said.
From WHO?
She figured she'd go nuts.
Deciding that was a childish thing to do, she took
one of the roses out of the box and looked into its
deep red heart.
It smelled SO good.
She sniffed it and sat down on a chair, fingering
its smooth, dethorned stem and its velvet petals.
It was so beautiful that she forgot the bubble-gum mall-bunny pop music blaring from Jubilee's headphones, which Jubilation had left on the table in a mad dash for the mall with Everett.
She reached over and snapped the Walkman off and
reached for the white card again. Turning it over and
over in her hands, she spotted some hand-written
message on the back.
"Hope I got the right color roses.
Do you prefer a
different color?"
'Intriguing," was her first thought.
The writing looked something like Paige's.
She'd ask Paige.
She didn't, of course, wish to show Paige the card.
Forging it was the thing to do, she decided, and
studied the script.
She practiced various letters until she had them
right, then wrote a fake note on a sheet of paper.
"Monet," she made it say, "Do you prefer this
color?"
It was ridiculous, but she figured it would work.
She compared the forging to the writing on the card.
Perfect.
----
"Monet," Paige read, "Do you prefer this color?"
"I prefer red," Monet said, her joke falling flat.
"Do you recognize this handwriting?"
"Yes."
"Can you tell me who wrote this?"
"Sam wrote this."
"Sam. As in Sam Guthrie?"
"Yes. Why?"
Monet blinked. "There is no reason," she said
abruptly. She walked off, snatching the note from
Paige's hands and crumpling it into a ball.
Her palms were sweaty. She tossed the ball of paper
into the trash and picked up the rose card.
She put it down again; her hands were so sweaty that
she was staining the cardboard, and for some reason
she couldn't bear to do that.
Take it easy, Monet. Relax, she ordered herself,
and plopped into her chair.
She instinctively took one of the roses and began
twirling the stem.
She'd call Samuel. The phone almost slipped from
her grasp and she gripped it harder, flustered, and dialed.
The phone rang in Westchester.
She gulped. Hold it together, she admonished
herself.
"Xavier Institute f'r higher Learnin'. How may Ah
help ya?"
"Sam Guthrie, please," she said in a short, clipped
manner.
"Speakin'."
"I prefer red above all other shades of rose," she
said quickly.
Monet hung up and ran outside to the Biosphere so
she wouldn't have to answer the phone if it rang.
After all...boys were yucky.
Weren't they?
TBC, if I get enough feedback. :)