Hello, Marcel. (Redone)

This is the story of Marcel Styles and Gracie Shields. However, it is redone from my former story. If you want to read the original (it's unfinished, and I feel pretty bad for that), it'll be with my other stories. Enjoy!


7. Chapter 7

Gracie's P.O.V.

I slowly got up from the floor, making sure not to injure myself more than I already am. I opened the door and went back to my locker. I picked my books up off of the floor, then headed to the gym.

As I got into the locker room, the girls turned to look at me.

"What happened?" one of the asked.

"Are you hurt?" said another. Tears began to fall, but I quickly wiped them away.

"I'm fine," I said, sitting on one of the benches. The girls nodded their heads and continued on with what they were doing. I continued to just sit there, staring at nothing. I waited until the last girl was out before I completely fell apart. The pain was so immense, I was scared to look at what he had done. My vision became blurred from the tears, and I just threw my head into my hands.

"Where's Gracie?" I heard coach ask from outside. footsteps were coming closer to the door, but I just couldn't bring myself to stop crying.

"Are you decent?" he asked.

"No," I choked out. He came down and looked at me, and his face dropped.

"What's wrong?" I didn't know how to answer him.

"My back," I said. This wasn't completely wrong. I had a bad back, and it hurt me to play. He knew this. But I hadn't ever cried this hard over it.

"Are you sure?" I nodded my head. He knew I was lying, I could tell by his expression. "Just take the day off. You can watch the new plays from the bleachers, or you can stay down here until you're better. I just need you for tomorrow night's game," he said, patting my shoulder. After he left, I finally mustered up enough courage to look at what damage was done. There was a bright red mark on my stomach, not yet forming into a bruise. I lightly rubbed my fingers over it, wincing in pain. It's ridiculous that he was here, that he dared touch a girl. Not even touch a girl, he punched me. I pulled my shirt back down over my head and went and sat on the bench, watching the plays the team was going over.

"Message from Marcel: Hey, how's everything going?" Can I really tell him what happened?

"Message to Marcel: Can you meet me later on today?" It wasn't even 30 seconds after I sent the message that I got a reply.

"Message from Marcel: Yeah, of course! What time?"

"Message to Marcel: In about an hour. Meet me at the playground in front of the school." I shut off my phone and looked back at practice.


Marcel's P.O.V.

"Message from Gracie: In about an hour. Meet me at the playground in front of the school." I wonder why she wants to meet me? Did something happen at school? God, I hope not. Especially not to her. I watched one episode of the show on tv, then got up and slipped on my shoes.

"Where are you going, honey?" my mom asked from the kitchen.

"I'm going to meet a friend up at the school," I said, putting on a jacket. She came around the corner, looking at her phone.

"Are you sure? It's raining outside, and what if something happens to you again? Do I need to drive you? I don't mind."

"Mom, it's ok. A friend asked me if I could meet them up there. It's not raining too hard, and we don't live far from the school. I think it'll be ok," I said, pecking her on the cheek.

"Well, ok. Just be home before 8, I'll be cooking dinner while you're gone."

"Sure thing, mom. See you soon," I said, waving back at her.

"Love you!"

"Love you, too," I said, closing the door. She was right, it's raining pretty hard. Maybe I should've let her drive me up to the school. I guess I'll be fine walking up there. As I was walking, my mind began to wander to Gracie. I really do wonder what she needs me for. It's probably something about school, more than likely help with homework. That's all I'm good for. It took me about 15 minutes to walk to the front of the school. I could faintly see her silhouette sitting on a bench. Her head was in her hands, her shoulders moving up and down. Was she crying? I quickened my pace, only to have my questions answered.

"Hey, what's wrong?" I said, taking off my jacket. She looked up, her eyes red and puffy.

"He hit me..," she said, more tears falling. I put my jacket over her shoulders, then wrapped her in a hug.

"Who hit you?" 


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