Marjory Blake got up that Monday morning, expecting nothing from the day. She got dressed for school, ate her breakfast and left, no one called goodbye, nor wished her a good day, or even bade her be good. She dawdled her way to school, jostled and bumped by the early morning crowds with indifference. No one hastened to apologise or even to demand an apology for themselves. She took her seat in homeroom, not hindered by enthusiastic greetings, not impeded by taunts or abuse, not even scolded by her homeroom teacher for her tardiness. Marjory loitered in-between her homeroom and her next lesson, unwilling to arrive in time for learning, yet somehow disinclined to arrive late, although she knew that her Science teacher would not even notice her, yet alone rebuke her for it. So on that day, because on Friday she had done the opposite, Marjory Blake decided that she would be not be on time that Monday.

What you must understand before we go any further is that Marjory Blake was neither a popular girl, nor an athletic girl, neither a clever girl, nor a bad girl. Remember that one girl in your school whose name you could not recall, whose face had to be found in a yearbook to be remembered, who didn’t take part in any clubs or societies. Well, no, you probably don’t. But anyway, Marjory Blake was that girl. Marjory Blake was a nobody. She had no friends, no enemies; her teachers barely knew her name. Marjory Blake was the kind of the girl who spent her existence quietly, doing nothing much at all. Everything about her was unremarkable, from her plain face to her plain clothes, to her plain grades; in fact she was the kind of person whom would suit the title ‘spy’, for she could have easily slipped from place to place completely unseen, were it not for her attention span being comparative to that of a goldfish.

Marjory arrived at her Science lesson that Monday as normal, sauntered in without reprimand, prepared to take her seat, when she realised that it was not empty. In her place sat a girl with perfectly straight blonde hair, looking completely  disinterested in what was going on around her, continuously chewing a piece of gum. Chewing, blowing, popping, chewing, blowing and popping. Marjory stood for a second, entranced, before she remembered that she was supposed to be outright indignant at this intrusion.

“Excuse me, but you’re in my seat.” The blonde angel simply continued to blow and pop her gum, blow and pop. Marjory opened her mouth to speak again, but found herself without words. She quickly pulled up a lab chair to the desk, just as her teacher announced their assignment.

“Today, seeing that the summer break is soon upon us, we shall also take a break,” Here Mr. Schneider broke off to chuckle weakly at his own, feeble joke, “Today I am going to set you the task of finding,” He paused again and then said, in what he supposed was a scary voice, “The perfect murder weapon. You will all submit your suggestions by the end of this period, and the suggestion which is deemed to be the most flawless will be announced tomorrow, and its perpetrator will receive a prize. You will work with the person sitting next to you. Go!” The pairs immediately began to chatter, excited by the thought of the mystery prize. Marjory turned to the girl and announced her name, adding a handshake as an afterthought. The girl flicked her hair and said, in a bored tone, that her name was Celeste. Celeste, though Marjory. Like an angel.

And so it was that Marjory sat in an awed daydream for the next fifty minutes. Whilst other pairs debated the pros and cons of a specific object, Marjory thought only of Celeste. She could not think of anyone more perfect. Marjory did not watch a lot of television, but last year she had happened to watch a DVD in English literature class when they had studied C.S Lewis. She knew without a doubt, in her narrow existence, that the icy queen from Narnia, adorned with snowflakes and icicles, was the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. But Celeste, oh, even that frosty royal beauty could not hold a candle to Celeste. Suddenly, Mr. Schneider’s voice broke through her love-induced daydream.

“Two minutes class, then you must hand in your ideas.” Marjory looked, startled, at Celeste, still blowing and popping, and then at the piece of blank sugar paper between them. Quickly she racked her brains, what had she been thinking of before Mr. Schneider had interrupted her? She had been thinking of the witch, in her dress covered with icicles and snow- icicles! That was it! The perfect murder weapon. It was sharp enough to puncture the skin, and would melt, leaving no evidence of the murderer. She quickly jotted this down, and then went back to her daydream.

The next day, the class was buzzing to find out who had won.

“And the winners are...,” As Mr. Schneider paused, Marjory’s chest tightened. She had never cared before about winning anything, but now, here it was- her chance to impress Celeste and win for her the much coveted prize.

“Celeste and Marjory! An icicle- brilliant! You’ll get your prize tomorrow! But right now, let’s talk about physics!” Everyone looked bewildered for a moment, who were these two girls who had won their prize? And then they looked at Celeste, a triumphant smile resting on her perfect face, and realised. A whisper went round the class, and Marjory knew that they had seen what she had seen. She jealously thought that she did not want to share Celeste, it was not fair, it was she, Marjory who had befriended the angel first, after all.

On the way out, Marjory went to speak to Celeste. Now, she reasoned, would be a good time to accept the angel’s gracious thanks. But Celeste simply brushed past her, surrounded by her new adoring fans.

“Gee, Celeste that was a great idea!”

“Wow, Celeste, I’d never have thought of that!”

“How’d you think of it, Celeste, was it all your idea?” The crowd called. And, her cheeks fiery hot, Marjory heard Celeste say, casually,

“Yeah, it was all my idea. That Marjory, I mean, what’s her problem? She’s lazy, and kinda fat!” Celeste laughed, and she and her gaggle swept past Marjory. Marjory had never in her life felt such unmitigated fury, it was boiling under her skin, it felt as though her insides were frying with rage.

On Wednesday, everyone was on time to their Science lesson; everyone was in their seats when Mr. Schneider walked in. Everyone wanted to know what the much discussed prize was. Mr. Schneider bought out a gift box from under his desk and slowly lifted the lid. Everyone groaned as he tipped the box forwards to reveal... Two packets of colouring pencils.

“Now, now, class, I know everyone’s jealous, but let’s be a little more sporting, eh? Come on you lucky girls, come and get your prizes!” Mr. Schneider said, as though he was bestowing upon them the crown jewels. Only one girl walked to the front, only one girl unenthusiastically received her “prize”, only one girl rested back in her seat, casually popping gum.

“Hey, where’s Celeste?” Everyone asked, wondering why this plain looking girl was collecting their angel’s prize.

Not one of them knew where Celeste was. No one had heard her muffled sobs as she ran through the cornfield, pursued, no one had seen her fall, pushed into a concealed hollow, no one had smelt the metallic tang of her blood and no one had felt that same excruciating pain which Celeste had suffered as she died. As the scamper of a murderers hurried footsteps died away from her deathbed, as Celeste drew her last, dragging breath, something cold, icy, trickled down her chest from her wound, not blood, but water. Freezing cold precipitation, drip-dropping. Drip Drop. Drip Drop.

As teenagers do, the science class soon forgot about Celeste, absorbed with their new hero, Marjory, who had cashed in her victory for a little popularity. And, to be fair, it lasted for a while. That was, until, a body was found. The police identified her as Celeste Hardy, found dead in a cornfield. Everyone mourned for years, everyone went to this girl’s funeral, this girl whom they had known for barely a day, everyone vowed that they would find and punish the cold-blooded murderer, but still Celeste’s case remained unsolved. The police could not find the murder weapon; try as they might, although the girl’s wound indicated it had been left in her rather then taken with the murderer. As the police officer in charge of the case noted in his final report,

‘It was as though it just melted away.’