Anyone else, with that sort of attitude, with that sort of response, would have gotten an eyebrow arch, the crossing of her arms. Maybe even a scathingly rough remark on the rest of their state of existence. Yet here and now, the person in question being Foggy Nelson, all Marci does is frown.
“What soured your latte?” She asks, a bit gently, but then.. smirks. “Someone didn’t send back your prom note with the ‘yes’ box ticked off?” She pouts, sharply.














