50 Shades of Meet-Cute

Right Kinda Bad {Shade 4}

Emma Stone -- Molly
Nina Dobrev -- Blythe

Our high school possessed the typical cliques--cheerleaders, jocks, goths, geeks, hipsters etc. Blythe Blade (hand to God that is her real birth certificate printed name) was a member of team troublemakers and had been officially named Wattington High's biggest baddest bad girl. During that time I was amongst the many convinced she was truly bad, but looking back she didn't genuinely qualify. 

I mean, Blythe wasn't even close to being a candidate for angelic status, but having a fake ID, sporting a tattoo, owning a motorcycle, dressing in a black leather jacket, engaging in under aged drinking, generally being sarcastic and behaving like she didn't give a damn about anything didn't necessarily mean she was an authentic bad girl.

If she sold illegal substances? Maybe a bad girl.

If she beat the shit out of people? Maybe a bad girl.

If she liked to set buildings on fire just to watch them burn? Maybe a bad girl--and a pyromaniac.

If she used and abused girls? Probably a bad girl. Blythe could be a player, yet she was up front about keeping it casual, so, no dice. And while we're on that subject, being abundantly sexually active doesn't make one bad either--perhaps loose though...

On Thursday she did something in the vicinity of bad depending on one's opinion of it. We were given the results from a test taken on Monday our ass of a teacher gleefully informed us about on Friday, therefore ruining our weekends. When he handed Blythe her paper, right in front of twenty-seven other students he accused her of cheating as she was the only one to achieve a perfect hundred. Blythe of course denied it and actually looked offended, especially considering he didn't have a lick of proof.

Mr. Dumbass (not his real birth certificate printed name) basically called her a liar and demanded that she return on her lunch break in order to retake the test. Evidently, he hadn't expected anyone to get every answer correct, which went to prove how much of an ass he was because aren't teachers supposed to believe in you and want you to excel instead of being suspicious if you do?

Anyway, on top of being offended, Blythe started to appear pretty pissed off when she told him that she refused to retake the test because she hadn't cheated.

"Maybe you haven't heard of it, but there's this activity called studying, which I did over the weekend," she told him while reclining behind her desk. "Maybe you should study on how to be an appropriate teacher," she added, a few students chuckling. His face reddening, Mr. Dumbass didn't appreciate that response and demanded Blythe apologize on top of retaking the test at lunch. That's when she exhibited behavior some would deem bad.

She flipped him off. No, not just flipped him off. Blythe Blade, Wattington High's most prolific bad girl offered him the one-fingered salute on each hand. A pair of flipped birds if you will.

He was so red I imagined steam emanating from his ears, his head subsequently exploding. Instead, he informed Blythe she would receive an F unless she retook the test and regardless of what she did, she would be spending her Saturday in detention.

Now as much as Blythe Blade was viewed as a bad girl, I, Molly Russell, was thought of as one of the good girls and a member of the theater clique. Since I came out during my first year of high school a friend teasingly dubbed me the Thespian Lesbian. I ended up having the nickname stitched into a baseball cap, which I proudly wore, especially during rehearsals. During high school that was my largest 'rebellious' act until I confronted Mr. Dumbass that particular Thursday.

"Mr. Barnes, how would you like it if you worked your butt off studying for a test only to be reprimanded simply because you did 'too well'?" As she was seated two rows over and a desk ahead of me, from the corner of my eye I could see Blythe staring in my direction. My heart beating faster it occurred to me that although we had been attending the same school for the last four years, I couldn't remember ever catching her attention. We had never so much as muttered a 'hi' to one another despite being in a total of seven classes together since freshman year. I simply admired her from afar while thinking how much I would love the opportunity to get to know her better.

"This doesn't concern you."

"It shouldn't be a concern at all. Instead of being suspicious you should have just congratulated her on acing the test." I noticed him clenching his jaw but I would be damned if I backed down. Not that I ever considered myself a pushover, but didn't realize until that day I could be so bold.

"Ms. Russell, you're on thin ice."

"Maybe you need to fall through some thin ice." Quite a few students oohed and aahed and the guy seated behind me clapped me on the back. The bell chose that moment to ring and for once no one truly seemed interested to leave. Usually people pushed each other in their quest for freedom until they had to be in their next class.

Sending several students a glare, Mr. Dumbass told everyone who wasn't Blythe or myself to get out. As soon as everyone took their leave his glare settled on us as he explained none too gently that the both of us better arrive Saturday morning by 8 AM to serve out our six hour 'sentence' and if we didn't he wouldn't hesitate to give us another and after that another. After that, 'our asses would be suspended'. Oh, sure. He could swear at us but Blythe couldn't present him with the double flip and I couldn't suggest he should take an ice swim.

Moments after we were allowed to leave Blythe touched my arm, beautiful chocolate brown eyes gazing at me. "Thanks for trying, Molly." I rarely saw her smiling, yet she offered me a small one then. "See you Saturday."

As she walked away several things occurred to me. She touched me, she knew my name and she smiled. Never thought I'd be happy to be slapped with detention. A smile finding my lips, I headed toward my next class.

<><><><><>

Somewhat disappointed that we weren't alone, the five of us occupied our own folding table within the library. Feeling like a character in that movie The Breakfast Club, I sat along with everyone else listening to the PE teacher whose class I was in sophomore year give instructions. It was pretty simple. We could do whatever we wanted as long as we didn't use electronics (he had already collected phones, tablets and a couple mp3 players), we didn't leave the library except to use the restroom, no food was allowed until twelve, which was when we would be escorted to the cafeteria where a complimentary meal was provided and he didn't mind if we spoke amongst ourselves as long as we weren't loud.

Grabbing a fragrant pink box of donuts (which I thought strange considering he taught physical education) he headed toward the door while telling us to be good and he would check back in a little while. As he shut the double doors on his way out I wished I had one of those donuts as I neglected to eat breakfast.

<><><><><>

Quite aware Blythe sat at the table to my right, instead of approaching her I took out my notebook and began to work on a scene for the play the theater team was putting together. As my dream was to be a scriptwriter, I took it seriously that I had been chosen as the head writer.

"You writing a script?"

I nearly jumped out of my skin, the mechanical pencil flying from my fingers. Apologizing for scaring me, Blythe walked around the table and bent to retrieve my pencil. When she handed it to me, I thanked her, tingling as she smiled a response. Chair pulled over, she sat close enough to me for our jean clad legs to brush underneath the table.

Oh God. Blythe Blade had chosen to sit with me and I was certain the student with the pierced lip and blue mohawk was a member of team troublemakers and I'd seen them conversing before. I forced myself to focus when she repeated her inquiry.

Throat cleared, I nodded. "Yes. We're putting an original play together."

"What's it about?" Elbow on the table, Blythe rested her cheek against her hand while regarding me with interest.

I spent the next few minutes explaining it with Blythe politely interrupting a couple times to ask questions. By the time I finished her interest seemed to remain and she even inquired if she could come see our play once it was ready for its debut.

Appearing pleased, I nodded. "Of course. It's open to the entire school."

"Can I get a backstage pass since I know the writer?" An emerging grin along with those twinkling chocolate eyes made me feel like I was floating on air.

I leaned toward her as though about to share some great secret. "I'll see what I can do."

<><><><><>

"You like music?" Blythe asked me while running her fingers along my sneaker. Although I couldn't directly feel it, I delighted in the fact that she was touching me--well, sort of. We had been talking for hours and having brought along a deck of playing cards, she taught me how to play poker and even helped me to work on my poker face. It still needed some work, but Blythe said I was getting there. Amazing that we had known of one another's existence for four years yet never spoke until now and chatting with her was so much easier than I expected. I'd wanted to get to know her better and today I had. 

Her parents were married yet it was just she, one younger brother and her mom at home because her dad was in jail for assaulting a guy during a poker game due to the guy trying to cheat. She said her dad wasn't a bad dude, just hot headed. She was grateful that he was due to be released over the summer, although it was disappointing he would miss her graduation by just a couple months. 

She had a part-time job to help her mom with the bills, her mom actually allowed her to get that tattoo when she was sixteen, she helped her dad get that motorcycle in working condition before his legal woes, she found and purchased the leather jacket at a garage sale and the flask Blythe was known to carry didn't even contain alcohol (she filled it with fruit punch or soda) although she did admit to drinking a beer at a party here and there. As for the casual sex, she confessed to enjoying the company of girls, but had really slept with five when through rumors the maximum number I'd heard was fifty. That was a relief.

"I love music," I replied, watching those fingers graze my shoe lace. "Can't go a day without it." Seated on the floor between two long shelves of books we face each other, one of my legs running along side hers. Our male 'cell mates', having borrowed Blythe's playing cards were involved in some game I'd never heard of when we left, walking deeper into the library. Back there it felt like we were the only people around. Just Blythe and I hanging together cozy on the thinly carpeted floor with books surrounding us.

I dramatically gasped when she pulled a phone from her pocket. "Could have sworn you handed Mr. Tanner a phone when he walked around with that collection box."

"I did." Blythe snickered, which I found adorable. "That was my previous phone. Keep it around for extra access to the Internet."

I lightly slapped her ankle. "Knew that model looked at least a couple years old. Sneaky!"

Further snickering, Blythe's index finger danced around the screen as she asked me if I liked Sam Smith. She smiled when I readily agreed that I did. Finger stopping, chocolate eyes gazed in my direction. "Leave Your Lover?"

"You're sort of an ass for asking me to do that, but I don't have a lover anyway." When it was obvious to me that Blythe wasn't certain if I was kidding or not I grinned, prompting her to return my slap from a minute ago. Finger tapping the small screen, the acoustic version of Sam Smith's song began to play. The butterflies within my tummy also began to play when she stood up, extended a hand and asked if I would like to dance.

It felt so wonderful being in her arms, my body flush against hers, our cheeks brushing as we slowly moved along with the music as though we had danced hundreds of occasions before.

Eight years later, believe my not so bad girl and I have reached the thousands.