Marjorie Diaz's Unfortunate Introduction to Magical High Society

Chapter 1: She's Just a Girl in Love

Marjorie Diaz takes a deep breath through her nose and squares her shoulders before she pushes open the door to Johnson Hall room 101. This is her last semester of university and she's feeling nostalgic. Most of her classes have been in this room. Or, at least, all the classes that have mattered. Now, she wanted the chance to be alone there for the last time in her first class of her final semester.

She stepped into the room, the wooden floor fading into dull grey carpet beneath her feet. She smiled down at it sadly and looked around the room.

There were three long wooden tables set up in a u shape with another, shorter table at its center. In front of the tables, placed there for students, was a large wooden desk for the professor that sat in front of a chalkboard and next to the podium where she'd given so many oral presentations.

She set her stuff down at the third seat of the long table closest to the door and walked across the room to run her fingers over the wooden podium. She would likely give several presentations in this room over the course of the semester, but there was something about having the room to herself that was so different from being surrounded by all of her same classmates. She'd spent for years in this major, at this point, she'd met absolutely everyone she was going to graduate with.

Or, at least, she thought she did until a random man she's never met before saunters into the classroom behind her professor and a few other students she'd known since she was a freshmen. She pauses for a moment, backing away from the podium and backtracking towards her seat, her eyes glued to him, trying to figure out who he is.

He catches her gaze, running his hand through his black hair and giving her a disarming grin.

Marjorie winces and rolls her eyes, turning away from him and trying to slip past the numerous students that were now spilling into the classroom to take her seat.

There's a chorus of greetings as she slips past and into her chair and she responds in kind, catching the mystery man's eye again, just in time to catch him winking at her.

Marjorie can feel her stomach turn at the sight of him, a look of utter disgust crossing her face.

In turn, his smile widens, eyes crinkling at the edges and dimples forming on his tan cheeks.

Marjorie barely suppresses a gag.

She guesses that's probably why, later in class, they get assigned to the same group project. As some sort of sick penance for her utter disdain for whatever breed of fuckboy this is. She's never worked with him before, but from their brief, non-verbal encounter, she already knows she doesn't want to.

"Hi," he says, brown eyes shining as he extends his hand in her direction, "I'm Patrick Watkins." He has a slight lilting English accent.

"Marjorie Diaz." She shakes his hand with a frown.

"Pleased to meet you." he says, flashing his too-white teeth at her.

She narrows her eyes at him.

"Is something the matter?" He asks, his lips twitching downwards.

Marjorie shakes her head and sighs. "No, let's just start working on this. The sooner we decide our strategies the better."

She's never had a class with him and she's never seen him on campus, yet according to his incessant rambling, they've been in the same major for the past four years. Now, she has the privilege of working with him on the dumbest project she's probably ever been assigned.

"I get the feeling you don't want to work on this project with me," he says, flashing her another disarming smile.

Marjorie sighed and rolled her eyes, leaning back in her chair. She crossed her arms over her chest and let out a short breath through her nose.