Rose needed not have made that request, because Alya was ready to believe that her best friend had been replaced by an alien were it not for the fact that Adrien, too, seemed to have been pulled in with the UFO. Alya could only shrug at Rose, who answered in an impromptu sign language that Alya interpreted that it lay on her to figure out what the hell was happening. She crumpled the paper and turned back to her schoolwork.
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Marinette glanced at the note, and Alya had no idea how to interpret the expression that flashed over her face. Marinette jerked back in shock which slid into annoyance as Alya, still smarting from the phantom of Ivan’s pencil, made an impatient gesture to the girl on the other end of the room. Said girl made a hectic pointing motion at Alya’s deskmate, and Alya slapped the note onto the page where Marinette was writing. When Alya turned to scowl at him, he handed her a folded piece of paper with an uncomfortable look and a head-toss to where Rose was staring. It was ten minutes into class when Kim started antagonising Alix and the butt end of Ivan’s pencil drilled into Alya’s shoulder with unnecessary force as Miss Bustier was busy putting down the developing chaos. And then she turned back to her work with a focus she had never possessed in the countless earlier lessons when Alya had had to deal with the joys and terrors of Adrien having waved at Marinette when they passed in the stairs or something equally asinine. When Alya poked her with her pencil and then pointed it to Adrien’s back with lifted eyebrows, Marinette shot her a look and pointed her own pencil at Miss Bustier.
Marinette simply moved her pencil to the top margin of her own notebook and wrote,Īnd then she continued with her schoolwork as if the cheese was what this was about. Marinette did not melt into a human puddle in Alya's lap because at some point since Friday afternoon, Marinette had finally caught the eyes and attention of the boy she'd been desperately in love with for the better part of the last year. Marinette did grin and fold over in an attempt to keep hysterical giggles at bay. She wrote down the number 1., because presumably they would start at the top, and then she wrote,īefore she elbowed her best friend, stared straight into her eyes when Marinette turned, and tapped her pencil next to her words. As Nino and Adrien took out their pencils, Alya did too, mindless of whatever tasks they were meant to be doing as she tried to piece the universe back together. Adrien turned around with no further words and Marinette took out her books, and Alya heard nothing of what their teacher instructed. The weird moment lasted until Miss Bustier pulled herself out of the current and clapped her hands together. Even Miss Bustier was frozen, and Alya found herself counting the seconds from the clock on the wall in the pin-drop silence, as Adrien Agreste’s smile grew in millimetre increments as time ticked by like syrup, and he just stared at Marinette Dupain-Cheng. All conversation had fallen apart as the class had registered what was happening in the front row. “No.” Marinette and Adrien replied in a tandem as if practised, still caught in whatever unspoken universe quivering in the space between them.Īnd Alya, standing outside of it, was suddenly aware of the silence. “Yes,” said Marinette as she slid into place next to Alya, but her eyes were still set on Adrien, whose torso had turned to follow her and who now was all but hanging over her desk. “Dude,” said Nino, honing in on the wrong part of the perplexing play, “you made him cheese ?” “Yes,” said Marinette in an arid tone, “so I hope all parties involved are aware that I’m not doing that.”
“Yes,” he replied, bemused, smile still with that radiance it never had in any of his photos. “Did you know,” she greeted him, then heaved a breath, “that Camembert cheese is aged for three weeks.” And the boy - who else - was Adrien, the kind of puppydog person who was always happy to meet any friend but whose grin had a light she had never seen before as Marinette met his eyes dead on and slammed a small, white, plastic container onto his copy of The Misanthrope. Alya’s life changed - profoundly, irrefutably, irreversibly, by something as unremarkably everyday as a girl talking to a boy in front of her on a Monday morning.īecause the girl, of course, was Marinette, panting into the classroom a hair before Miss Bustier for first period.
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