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Pray for the Preacher's Daughter

Chapter Text

Monday 28th April 2014

Keila was uncharacteristically peppy in literature. Bonnibel was highly concerned. She was actually taking notes on what the teacher was saying. Oh yes, Bonnie was worried.

“Are you alright?” she asked her friend quietly, stealing a glance at the teacher. “You’re awfully… cheerful today.”

At that, Keila actually frowned. It didn’t wipe away her grin though. “Is that illegal? I’m happy all the time.”

“Not this happy,” Bonnie noted. “Spill.”

For a moment, Keila stilled over her book, pen tapping a few times against the paper. Then she sat up and twisted around in her seat to smile at Bonnie. “I had a really good holiday,” she said, beaming. “I went to the mall and met this guy. He’s so nice. Really sweet. We went to a couple of local gigs together. He’s great.”

Bonnie rolled her lip under to stop the smile that threatened to break through. “That’s lovely,” she said. “Boyfriend? Or just some guy who makes you… like this?”

“Boyfriend,” Keila clarified. “His name’s Gary. And he’s a proper gentleman.”

“That’s nice to know, Keila,” Bonnie said, still fighting the laughter. It was amusing to picture her being courted for some reason. Perhaps because she was so independent. The idea of her needing a guy… was foreign. Still, she was being utterly adorable just talking about him.

Keila became something of torrent after that, as though having opened up the first little bit, she couldn’t stop the words from pouring out.         Bonnie zoned her out, concentrating mostly on the teacher, only half an ear paying attention to Keila. And that was just in case there was a pop quiz later.

Or at least, she wasn’t paying much attention until Keila asked, “Did you see Marceline much over the break?” She was caught completely off-guard by the enquiry.

“No,” Bonnie said, shaking her head. “Just once. Why would I see much of her?”

She shrugged. “We didn’t talk much. I was worried she was mad. She didn’t talk to me at lunch either.”

“Because of Gary?” Bonnie asked, cutting straight to the point.

Keila pouted. Which also caught Bonnie off-guard because that’s not something she’d ever think to see Keila do. “Maybe,” she hedged. “Alright, yeah. So I spent a lot of time with him. He’s a good guy.”

“And you’re Marceline’s only friend.”

“Seriously,” Keila said flatly. “You’re her friend too. Whether she admits it or not.”

Again, Bonnibel had to stifle laughter. “Please. She only ever glares when she looks at me. I think we’ll stick with being tolerant of each other and forget the rest.”

Keila’s smile turned devious. “Oh, I don’t know about that. You probably have nothing to worry about.”

Almost, Bonnie wanted to ask about that expression and the words that went with it. Almost. She decided in this instance (just this one instance, mind) that ignorance was probably healthier. Most definitely.

The bell rang then anyway, saving her from making that choice. Music passed her by in a bit of a daze, partly because she kept wondering what Keila had meant (and probably got far too worked up over it) but mostly because she found the class boring. Jake did his best to liven it up, he really did, and eventually the peppy jingles he played on his viola when he thought the teacher wasn’t watching got to her. Something about his manner was infectious. Besides, there was no sense in worrying about Marceline.

She did it anyway.



Chemistry totally sucked. There was so much suckery going on that Marceline was disgusted. How could a single, one hour class, be this lame? Bonnibel was sitting beside her tapping her pen against the desk. The beat was nice, distracting. Of course, Bonnie would glare over at her periodically (hehe, during chemistry) and gesture angrily at her notebook. Notes are stupid.

She tried to take notes (sometimes), but mostly they were just doodles. So long as she had her pen moving against her book, Bonnie didn’t seem to care what she was doing. And chemistry sucked. Like she was ever going to need it. She should’ve done an IT class; at least she was good at those. Being in control would be much easier that way.

Stupid hindsight.

“You’re not doing anything,” Bonnie muttered.

“Sure I am.”

“You’re drawing a drum kit.”

“I’m pondering the molecular make-up of the drum kit.”

“You’re full of shit.”

“Do you speak to your mother with that mouth?”

Bonnie fell quiet. Marceline glanced over at her. There was a tightness around Bonnibel’s mouth now, a narrowing of her eyes that Marceline recognised. She felt instantly awful about putting it there. Not that she knew how she’d put it there, just that she must have done.

“Sorry,” Marceline whispered before she could stop it.

Bonnibel nodded tersely. “Just do your work, would you. And talk to Keila. She thinks you hate her.”

“Friendly advice?” she queried, hoping a little teasing would lighten the suddenly morbid atmosphere surrounding them.

“I’m Keila’s friend,” she replied shortly. “And she had a bit of a panic attack in literature because she said you haven’t spoken in a while.”

“We haven’t,” Marceline concurred, wondering why this conversation was a thing that existed. “I don’t know why. Did she tell you why?”

“She has a boyfriend now apparently,” Bonnie muttered. “He’s allegedly a gentleman and she spends a lot of time with him.”

Marceline couldn’t fight back the bite of jealousy and bitterness that ripped into her stomach. This guy was more important than her? She didn’t deserve to hear this from Keila? She felt inadequate. She took it out on her notebook.

Her swirls became a little angrier, the pen nib cutting deeper into the page than usual. She didn’t even notice the anger bubbling up in her chest until Bonnie rested a hand across her fist. The sudden contact snapped her awake, eyes shooting up to meet Bonnie’s. She wasn’t sure why, but Marceline was positive the little nerd looked concerned.

“Are you okay?” Bonnibel asked. “You look like someone kicked a puppy.”

“Fine,” she ground out, wrenching her hand free. Just miffed.

“Don’t lie. You’re upset about Keila, aren’t you?”

Honestly, Marceline had no intention of answering that. Nope. She was just going to glare until Bonnie looked away. So when, “She could’ve called, or texted just once,” slipped out, she was pretty darn surprised.

Bonnie nodded. “Yeah, she probably should have.”

The resentment in her chest flickered, becoming something else, something she couldn’t place. Something she didn’t really like, but it felt… nice. She blinked.

Silence fell around them then. Bonnibel tapped Marceline’s notebook again, offering nothing but a smile and a replacement pen (Marceline hadn’t noticed that she’d pushed the nib into the shaft like a real professional pen abuser). When class ended, she fled so fast she didn’t even realise she still had Bonnie’s pen.