The Girl with Mismatched Socks
At the age of fourteen Monica had become a respectable Catholic child. She obeyed her parents, went to church every Sunday, and even went to a private boarding school run by the Catholic Church, despite only living down the street from it.
Her parents were proud of her, and always treated her like she was the best child in the whole world. They provided her with the best food, education, and living. She helped out around the house when home, always got her homework done, and was never late or absent from class.
She was the perfect child.
Life was easy for her. She was a freshman in the local Catholic school in her home in London England and was ready to start a new year and make new friends, which was never hard for Monica.
Her first day was all bustle, and she was already running a bit late. The housing was two blocks from the main school building, and the uniform they had given her was a bit small. The red plaid skirt was around her upper waist, the tie barely around her neck, and the button up missing a few top buttons. But she managed to pull on one blue stripped sock, and one red stripped sock followed by her waxed black shoes that click when she walked.
Her bag was light and easy to carry, so she had no trouble snagging it on her way out to class.
Her curly brown hair was pushed back with a black hair band with a bow on it to keep it out of her face as she darted down the street as fast as her little legs could carry her. She didn't think she would have any hampers in her rush and was sure she would make it to her morning mass on time.
But as she turned a corner, she collided with something warm and fell, falling onto her bum on the coble stone walk.
In all her years, she had never seen any girls with this short of hair as the one standing tall above her, nor these magnificent green eyes the girl held. And the clothing too was something to behold. Chains hung from her pants and boots covered in buckles and zippers wrapped around her legs. Her shirt was torn to shreds and fishnets underneath to reveal her arms.
Monica looked up at her in utter awe, and fear. But she quickly crawled to her feet and smiled slightly.
"I'm sorry! I didn't see you, I'm running late to class you see. Please forgive me."
The girl simply stared at her and blinked, looking over Monica's face with little to no expression upon her own. Then slowly, she nodded and picked up a black bag she had dropped when collided with.
"For the inconvenience, I can give you a lift." The girl said, her voice flat and monotone.
Monica blinked then looked over and saw a dark moped sitting by the curb with a helmet hanging from it.
"Would you like the lift?"
Monica blinked and looked back at the strange girl then at her watch and swallowed. Only two minutes before class started.
"Oh yes please!"
And before she knew it, her arms were wrapped about the girl's waste, her hair billowing behind her as the girl rushed her to school.
The girl was warm and soft. Not pudgy at all, but like a teddy bear you could hold and squeeze. She found it pleasant holding onto this girl.
But the ride came to s top outside a gate of brass and Monica jumped, climbing off and handing the helmet over to the girl, whom had given it to her rather then wearing it herself.
"Thanks, you saved me big time; I even have time to get to the church walking!"
The other simply nodded and donned the helmet, clipping it under her chin and revving the moped.
"Wait! What's your name? I figured I should know
you know in case I see you again."
The girl stopped and turned, looking Monica up and down before huffing and looking back at the street.
"Madisen." She muttered "With an E not an O"
I'll see you around?"
Madisen merely revved the moped and darted off down the road towards the costal shopping district.
Monica blinked, looked at her watch and let out a panicked squeal before darting off for the church, just as the bell rang in the church tower.