Ben Starling imagines

My Daisy Dreamgirl-friend

No one requested this, but this is to like give ya'll a feel of my writing style. Of course, I can do more y'know romantic scenes and such 

*warning: low, lowkey blasphemy in like one part, and if you read the book, you shouldn't be bothered by the other jokes in this...*

"As fun as that sounds... I think I'll pass," I declined.

"Well, Margo isn't here, so I think you'll have to give in," the Spawn of Satan- better known as Becca Arrington- solemnly reminds me, as if it was a burden on her part.

Ah, yes, it was day two of the Great Martho Rog Spiegelman Disappearance- I mean, Great Margo Roth Spiegelman... Already the school- well, at least, the behavior of certain individuals has somehow managed to go to complete shit.

I was currently pressing myself up against the lockers with Satan's child, Arrington, right across from me.

"Yeah, actually, I have like three appointments made prior to today that call for this not happening," I argued.

"Just do it, bro. You can wash it off later," a weak voice practically begged of me from my right.

Why was it weak?

Well, surprisingly, it has less to do with the fact that its owner is being held in the air against another by the shirt collar- and more to do with the fact that the owner is Ben Starling and the shirt-collar-holder is Chuck Parson. As confident as my acquainted amigo could be, he'd be just as meek if Parson was across the hall from him.

Back to this riveting tale.

It was silent. So, I went on. "Truth be told, I'm not about to do one of the five things you asked of me," I said.

Arrington clicked her tongue in irritation. She uncapped the fuchsia-colored sharpie. "Do as I say, (Y/n)." She sneered. She said my name in the same way you'd say 'no' to someone offering you crystal meth on the sidewalk. Unless, you're into that sort of thing... then, well I suppose that comparison didn't make much sense to you. "Word-for-word, 'I have crabs.'"

Yeah, she wants me to write that across my forehead.

I blinked at her, still in disbelief at the stupidity and creativity of it all. With nothing else to reason with, I reminded her and Parson, "Did you know, our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, died for your sins?"

She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. She chuckled then looked to it. "Chuck..." she began.

It nodded at her in understanding.

Jacobsen stood above me, fighting back fits of laughter. Meanwhile, I sat on my knees with a makeup-remover wipe in my left hand and Starling's jaw in my right. (Note: His jaw is still attached to his skull, which is still attached to his body... which still has a beating heart.)

I was scrubbing furiously, attempting to erase the lie, 'I have crabs', etched onto his forehead and cheeks.

He was glaring at the lockers across the hallway with his arms crossed tightly against his chest. I was glaring at his face, that was smeared in pink, since only some of the sharpie would come off. Jacobsen was smiling at the humor of it all.

But who cares? Ben Starling was pouting.

"Just do it, bro!" I mocked. "You can wash it off, bro!"

"I didn't know it'd be so hard to take it off!" He cried. (Note: There were no tears at this time, although, there may have been some possible ones when he was being held by the collar and being scribbled on with a pink marker. This theory has yet to be confirmed.)

After some time, Starling had once again decided, how annoyed he was with the situation.

"This is so stupid, bro!" He whined.

"Don't-" Jacobsen paused to let out another giggle. "Don't worry! I have a way to stop this. By tomorrow, Chuck and Becca will be on their knees pleading for you forgiveness," he reassured.

"Nice," Starling smiled at the sound of that.

"How do you plan to do that?" I asked while raising my eyebrows in curiosity.

"With this..." Jacobsen trailed off while tapping away at his phone.

Starling had a visible smile at something that also caused his eyes to crinkle in what seemed to be victory, only for everything to fall into a frown. "No, bro, don't. Don't show her."

But it was too late. Jacobsen had already held his phone in front of my view, with a picture of Jase Worthington and a pill from the Matrix hanging between his legs.

Starling didn't seem to appreciate that too much.

"Not. Cool." He stated, clearly not thrilled, for whatever reason.

...

"Or big," I judged. "It's so much like a TicTac, it leaves a minty taste in a girl's mouth."

Starling cracked a grin. "Okay, that's pretty funny."

"Of course it is, and, wow-" I began, pulling the wipe away from the sharpie'd-forehead of Ben Starling to examine my half-hour of hard-kinda-working. "Starling... you're very pink."

"Great, just wonderful." He groaned.

"This could have been avoided," I said sitting back.

"How?!" He cried in annoyance.

"If only you fought back..." I trailed off.

Jacobsen looked up from his phone, which he had been tapping away on since he showed me the picture. "You expect Ben to just pick the Chuck Parson up off the ground and fucking dropkick him to the moon?" Jacobsen cut in.

"No, but if someone- anyone- ever picks on you guys... just... y'know... fight them." I advised.

Starling gave me an incredulous look. "Fight them?"

"Politely." I clarified.

Starling rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say, honeybunny." He and Jacobsen began to eat the pizzas Starling made him go buy in the cafeteria by himself as either to not embarrass himself- what with the whole 'I have crabs' advertised so cleverly across his face- or to talk to me for the five minutes we had alone. As being well-acquainted with Starling, I am a firm-believer he was leading into the topic of Prom or Sex. Neither which I had ever taken interest in since I'm a Junior. That being said, it can be understood and accurately guessed that I've just been barely getting to know Starling and Jacobsen these past few weeks.

After finishing half-a-bag of Sunchips and bottle of Sunny D, I crumbled the bag up and threw it in my locker for later consumption or disposal. I fished around amidst the other items filling my handbag such as eyeshadow and pepper spray for a handheld mirror. I handed it to Starling who had just stuffed the last of his pizza into his mouth.

He moaned at his reflection. He seemed to be thinking hard about something before turning to me to say, "You're a girl."

"Stellar observation," I replied, attempting to shoot the balled-up wipe into the trash bin- since we had long given up on smearing off the rest of the sharpie on his face. At least, I thought we had. The more important thing is, that I made the shot, and Jacobsen and I high-fived each other.

I stood up, putting my stuff into my locker. We'd gone here to help Starling out during our lunch hour. "So?" I asked him.

"So... don't you have like a face wash?"

I shrugged towards him but dug around in my bag, nonetheless. I pulled a clear bottler out filled with gooey-purple liquid. "It's your lucky day," I said, deadpanning as I read the label. "You get to smell like... A Daisy Dreamgirl."

"Perfect," he grinned, snatching it from my hand to go to the boys' bathroom. My best bet is that he heard me up 'till day and assumed he'd won the jackpot of lucky days.

We heard the squeaking of the tap turning on and water rushing into a sink.

"It's nice you take such good care of your Daisy-dreamy girlfriend." Jacobsen smirked.

"IT'S ACTUALLY DAISY DREAMGIRL-FRIEND!" A shout from the bathroom corrected.