Marcelle is attractive.
Marcelle is a football player.
Marcelle is cliché.
Marcelle is a wolf in sheep clothing.
Marcelle is a Christmas fanatic.
Marcelle is just downright annoying.
Matthew Griffin is a certified theatre geek/video game nerd. And...
❝You're skipping Christmas! Isn't that against the law?❞
Spike Frohmeyer
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Matthew needs to get out of his room.
He's been cooped up inside the four walls for most of November and he hasn't even met the little girl. All he hears, is her laughter when the nanny fucks up or when she runs up and down the halls playing some sort of unicorn imagination game. It's scary, to be honest, but that's what children are in general.
Scary.
And he needs to buy new batteries for his camera and strings for his guitar. Above all, he needs to get to Mrs. Hall to hear what she wants from him, because he's supposed to host this stupid showcase.
He doesn't understand why it has to be him, because there's a bunch of sophomore kids who are exceptional musicians. But no, he has to sing.
He stopped singing in junior year, but he still has to open his mouth and sing. It's as if no one respects his chickening [tut-tut].
He grabs the keys of his Jeep on the kitchen counter, avoiding Harvey sitting in front of the TV.
"Where are you going?"
He feels his heart leap up into his throat to sit in the back of his mouth, almost tripping over the small girl tumbling before him like a traffic light. Even though he's seen her daily, he hasn't really spoken to her and he's been avoiding every single person ever since he moved in.
His attempts are futile.
"Nowhere concerning you," he says to the girl, twirling one of the two pigtails around her fingers. Her entire face is thickly dotted with small blemishes, freckles and her nose is whipped. Although of her obvious flaws, she's otherwise perfect; lanky and really thin. Her waist is wrapped up in a fishnet like material popping out in a tutu.
If he didn't dislike kids, it would've been adorable. Especially with her thick blonde hair looking like fallen antennae.
"Where are you going?" Harvey repeats sternly, looking over his shoulder at Matthew. He swears beneath his breath.
"Why care now?" He snaps, unlocking the door. His hands clutch around the keys until his knuckles turn white and the metal stab into his skin.
"Matthew."
He hates his name on the man's tongue. He hates it that he has some audacity over him now and once didn't even know he had a son. Now he pretends to care as if he's been his dad his entire life.
"Why didn't you tell me that you're the school play's writer?" He eggs, taking a step closer to Matthew with so much warning.
Matthew's silent answer is answer enough.
"And why didn't you tell me that you're performing at the freshman opening day?"
