Mari & Raven

Raven regretted saying yes the moment she parked the car. She’d only agreed to take Mari because everyone else in the Marvello house suddenly had important things to do, and Carmen had begged her, swearing up and down that Mari would behave if Raven supervised. Raven knew that was a lie before they’d even walked past the admissions office. Mari strutted across campus like she owned it, sunglasses perched on her head, loose waves of dark purple hair bouncing with each step. She was supposed to be looking at buildings, classrooms, financial aid posters—normal college-visit things. Instead her eyes were scanning the student body like she was evaluating the menu.

Raven walked a step behind her, tall and unmistakably annoyed, watching Mari the way someone watches a toddler near a swimming pool. “Mari. Look forward. The humanities building is right there. The whole reason we came.” Mari didn’t even pretend to listen. “Yeah, yeah. Humanities. Amazing. I’m totally thrilled.” She rolled her eyes behind her shades, stretching lazily. “I’m trying to see if the students are worth transferring states for.” Raven groaned, low and exhausted. “Carmen is going to murder me.” The two turned a corner toward the main quad, sunlight spilling across short, trimmed lawns and clusters of students relaxing between classes. Mari slowed… then stopped completely. Her expression changed so suddenly that Raven nearly bumped into her. Mari had seen you. She tilted her head, taking in the sight of you sitting on a stone bench, a notebook open on your lap, the breeze ruffling your hair. Her lips curled upward slowly, like she’d just stumbled on something rare.

“Oh,” she murmured. “Okay. Okay, wait. Hold on.” She nudged Raven’s arm without looking away from you. “Why didn’t anyone tell me this college had—” Her eyes dragged over you again. “—this?” Raven followed her gaze, blinked, then immediately frowned. “Mari, no. Don’t.” But Mari was already walking. Not walking. Gliding. Purposeful. Confident. Like she had rehearsed this moment a thousand times. Raven muttered, I hate my life, and hurried after her. You looked up just in time to see Mari stopping in front of you, one hand on her hip, the other adjusting her sunglasses so she could see you better. Her eyes gleamed—mischief, curiosity, interest—all blended together. “Well, hey,” she said, voice smooth and warm with amusement. “You go here?” She didn’t wait for an answer. She didn’t need one. “Wow. That’s…yeah. Makes sense.” Raven caught up and slid between you and Mari in one motion, almost protective. “Sorry. She’s being—Mari. Give him space.” Mari leaned to the side to look at you around Raven’s shoulder, ignoring the scolding entirely. “I’m Mari. I’m visiting colleges because apparently I’m an adult now or whatever. And you…” Her smile deepened. “You’re making this campus look very appealing.” Raven shot her a look sharp enough to cut steel. “Stop. You promised Carmen you’d focus today.” “I am focusing,” Mari said, placing a hand dramatically over her heart. “I’m focusing on what matters.” Raven whispered toward you, “Please don’t encourage her.” Mari gasped. “Encourage me? Raven, I’m not a puppy.” She stepped around Raven again, positioning herself right in front of you, close enough for you to notice the faint sweetness of her perfume. “So tell me, sophomore. Is this school actually fun, or is it just pretty to look at?”

Raven dragged a slow breath through her nose, clearly losing patience. “Mari. He’s trying to get to class. Let him live.” Mari leaned in slightly, chin lifted, voice low and teasing. “He doesn’t look like he minds.” Raven’s jaw twitched. She looked between you and Mari, then at you again, and something shifted in her posture—an irritation that wasn’t fully irritation. She stepped closer, standing at your other side now, tall presence looming protectively. “Don’t let her scare you,” she said. “She’s supposed to be visiting, not…hunting.” Mari’s shoulders lifted in a playful shrug. “If the college didn’t want me hunting, it shouldn’t have such great options.” Raven shot her a pointed glare. “Carmen trusts me. I swear, if she finds out you’re doing this—” Mari cut her off with a sigh. “Carmen isn’t here. You are. And you’re stressing out more than my mom during tax season.” Then she smirked and turned back to you. “Ignore her. Tell me something about this place. What’s your favorite part?” Before you could answer, Raven slid in again, hands shoved in her pockets, voice quieter but firmer. “If you’re actually curious, I can show you around. The real campus. Not whatever disaster tour Mari’s imagining.” Mari whipped around with an offended gasp. “Excuse me? My tours are fun.” “Your tours are crimes waiting to happen.” “That’s what makes them fun!” Students passing by slowed down, watching the two fling remarks at each other while orbiting around you like competing satellites. Some whispered. Some stared. One guy muttered, I don’t know what’s happening but I’m jealous. Raven pretended she didn’t hear him. Mari stepped closer again, eyes locked on yours, voice dropping to something soft, challenging. “So. If I asked you to show me around later…would you?” Raven stiffened instantly, turning toward you with the reflexes of a guard dog. “He’s busy. He has stuff. He’s definitely too busy.” Mari smirked without breaking eye contact with you. “I didn’t ask you, Raven.” Raven’s calm, chilled demeanor cracked for a moment—barely—but enough to see the spark of quiet competitiveness flare in her eyes. “Mari,” she said lowly, “you’re not dragging him into whatever chaos you’re planning.”

Mari’s brows lifted, amused. “What chaos?” Raven answered without hesitation. “You.” Mari laughed, delighted. “Gracias.” Now they stood on either side of you—Mari bright and bold, Raven tall and steady but clearly rattled, both of them waiting to see who you lean toward, what you say, what happens next. The air between all three of you thrummed with tension you couldn’t ignore. Their eyes were on you. Waiting. Curious. Interested for completely different reasons. And neither girl looked like she had any intention of backing off.