***

THREE MONTHS LATER...

She kept her head low in her new school, avoiding all unwanted attention. Maren didn't want to make friends anymore. She was fine on her own. At least, that's what she told herself.

Her life was kept under wraps, her secrets locked in a chest she'd thrown to the back of her mind. Anxiety continued to seep through her skin, along with this constant worry that everything would go wrong again. But that's only if she let anyone else in -- she wasn't planning to do that ever again.

As predicted, it wasn't an easy start. Because of her little stunt at her old school, they were kind enough to let her new teachers know how much of a "disruptive influence" she could be. 

So, they were hard on her at first, even going as far as to suspend her a couple of times. The first time was for her hair colour, the second time was for her painted nails. Honestly, there were worse things she could do; her hair and nails weren't going to start the apocalypse. 

No, that was the job of a little boy. A little boy who didn't know what he was even capable of. And as each day crept closer, she kept wondering how the world would change. His eleventh birthday was two years away, but it felt a lot shorter.

The months were going by faster than drying paint. The only class she enjoyed was Art, though it would have been Music if the class actually taught music, but funding meant they could only bring in their own instruments.

But during Art, she could relax. The assignments allowed her creativity to flow, and her teacher, Mrs Ingram, could see through her rough demeanour, understanding that she wasn't a difficult student at all -- school made things difficult for her. 

What sprung upon her canvas was nothing more than beautiful, and this painting was dear to the young girl's heart. She dipped her brush into a splodge of red paint on her palette before combining it with a lighter shade of orange, creating a fiery vermillion. Carefully, she stroked her brush within the outline of Crowley's hair, adding a middle colour to his red and orange mane. It stood out amongst the blues, blacks and whites.

Maren glanced at her illustration of Aziraphale, who stood on the other side, wondering if she could add anything more to him. She was leaving the sketch of herself, drawn in the centre of the painting and between her fathers, to the end, unsure how to make herself look. Putting her face to cotton wasn't the problem -- it was translating her identity, wondering how she was supposed to look as herself. It was proving to be difficult; her fathers looked so angelic and then there was her...

... What was she supposed to be?

"Sorry, um..." a voice from behind distracted Maren from her thoughts. She turned around, meeting the hesitant stare of one of her classmates, a dark-skinned girl with two identical pink clips in her hair, "... do you mind if I borrow the blue?" She held up an empty tube of blue paint, squeezed to the point of death. "I need it to make green." The girl informed her, lowering her arm. "Either that or I make the grass look yellow."

Maren put down her paintbrush, chuckling. "Or purple?" she lifted her chin, her eyes narrowing, "Oh, no, wait -- you still need blue for that." She shook her head, lightly giggling as she grabbed a blue paint tube that was half full. "Sorry, here."

She handed her the blue before returning to her painting, picking up her brush again.

"Thanks." The girl didn't move, wavering behind Maren. She cleared her throat, rocking on the balls of her feet. "What about a pale pink?"

She halted, glancing over her shoulder with furrowed brows. "What?"

"The grass." She said. "Like not a pastel pink -- just a..." The girl wet her lips, her gaze darting back and forth. "... A rose pink." She rolled her shoulders back with a smile that twitched and pulled nervously at her face. "It might look nice."

In response, Maren shrugged and commented. "It's your painting." Her expression remained stoic, dipping her brush into the red again. This time, she mixed it with a leftover splodge of white, turning it pink. She wouldn't admit that the girl had given her a good idea -- Maren doubted she had even noticed. "You can do what you like with it. I'm sure it'll look good whatever colour."

She rubbed at her arm. "I mean, I should really go with green."

"I'm not stopping you." She didn't know why this girl was even talking to her. Anyone with a brain could tell she wasn't the social type.

"No, I know." The girl grew quiet, her head shifting downwards. "I know."

"Okay..." she drawled, her voice fading out as she concentrated on her work of art.

The girl took a step to the left, her eyes drawn to the art on Maren's canvas. She stopped, her eyes widening. "Wow," she stared in wonder, "that's so cool."

"Oh," Maren showed a quivering smile, grateful for the compliment, "thank you."

"It's supposed to be stained glass, right?" The girl pointed at the black lines that intersected and travelled in various directions, cutting through the figures in the painting. "Is that the idea or am I just assuming things?"

"Yeah," she applied the pink to a slanted diamond-shaped area, "I'm modelling it after church windows." Maren glanced between her drawings of Aziraphale and Crowley, softly uttering. "It makes sense for them, you know."

Her forehead creased, tilting her head slightly. "Them?"

"Oh, them." She gestured to the angel and the demon. "My dads."

"Dads?" the girl asked.

Fear tugged at her heartstrings, her gut growing stiff. She hoped this wouldn't turn into a homophobic situation. "Yeah. They're not actually together, but..." Maren didn't know how to explain the situation without revealing their unearthly states of being. "... It's a long story, to be honest. Actually, it's really confusing. You wouldn't really understand. There's, like, a lot of context behind it."

To explain their history, Maren would have to sit her down and talk for hours, but even she couldn't do that.

"They certainly look like an interesting couple." She commented. "Like, an "opposites attract" kinda thing." Their outfits reminded her of the symbol for Yin and Yang, the perfect balance of light and dark. "I mean, I know you just said they're not together, but-"

"Oh, you don't know the half of it." Maren interrupted, giggling and shaking her head. "The way I see it," she peered back at her painting, her eyes gleaming, "they're star-crossed lovers." Except, of course, they were an idiotic pair who didn't know they were in love with one another. It was a laughable situation.

The girl crept closer, slyly glancing between the other teenager and her painting. "It's Maren, right?"

"Yeah." She responded, nodding.

"Well, um..." she gulped nervously, "... I'm Olivia," she pulled a section of hair behind her ear, "but everyone calls me Livvy."

Her focus stayed fixed on her canvas, keeping her hand steady. "Yeah, nice to meet you."

She returned an ecstatic grin. "You too."

Their exchange grew silent, the girls unsure what else to say to one another. Maren wasn't the social type anymore, and the other girl had a tendency to stare. Not just at the painting, but at Maren. It was safe to say they were quite literally watching paint dry.

"Don't you have to paint the grass green?" She didn't want to drive her away or act harshly, but she wasn't good at civil conversation anymore. "Or pink?"

Livvy flinched out of her daze, taking a half-step back. "Oh, right -- Yeah, of course." Her nails tapped the tube of paint, exhaling and lightly murmuring. "Of course." A million thoughts were running through her head, threatening to burst out of her ears. She wiped her nose and started to walk away. "Keep at it, okay?"

"Uh," she swallowed, putting down her brush, "yeah, I will."

That was... 

Actually, she wasn't quite sure what that was. Sure, she seemed like a nice girl, but that conversation was just plain weird. Despite Maren's off-putting attitude and individualism, it wasn't enough to scare everyone away.

***

There was a difference in the type of music she played at home and school. For example, if she were staying at Aziraphale's for the week, she'd play calming tunes on her guitar, such as "Kiss Me" by Sixpence None The Richer or "California Dreamin" by The Mamas and the Papas. Maren knew how much her father enjoyed the peace and quiet. Since she was getting older, he deserved some time on his own for once.

On the other hand, at Crowley's place of residence, she was allowed to jam out. He didn't care about the noise. What he did care about were his neighbours knocking at his door and demanding she play a little quieter -- that's what frustrated him.

At school, her choice of music to play was very limited. Aziraphale encouraged her to join the school's orchestra, knowing she was quite talented with her guitar, but it soon proved to be a restricting environment. All she would do during practice was gently strum her fender, plucking her strings at a level her orchestra teacher was comfortable with. She offered to do a few guitar solos, but Ms Harrison always refused, saying it wasn't the place. So, she strummed her guitar at a slow pace, wearing a dismal expression every time. Maren felt more like a display -- an item put on for show.

She hoped things would change, and that her teacher would acknowledge her talent for music.

As their weekly rehearsal session ended, Maren swung her bag over her shoulder, letting it hang limply from her body. Those in attendance strolled, going on their merry way with their friends -- she hadn't made a single one there.

When she was about to leave as well, Ms Harrison piped up. "Oh, Maren?" The teenager halted in her tracks, her lips pressed. "Could I have a quick word?"

She spun back. "Er..." It's not as if anyone awaited her at their "usual" spot. Maren didn't even have a usual spot -- she just hung out wherever she could avoid harassment by hormonal boys. "... Sure?"

Maren wandered up to her, putting her bag back on the floor. "I was just wondering," her teacher started, "how are you on acoustic guitar?"

She stuck her hands into her blazer pockets, shrugging. "I've never played it."

Ms Harrison's eyes lit up. "Oh, well. It's very similar to an electric guitar, though it has a different-"

"But it's not really my style." She interrupted, clarifying her stance on the instrument.

Her face fell, her eyebrows drawing together. "What do you mean?"

"I've been raised on rock 'n' roll and I'm also a little bit dramatic." Maren didn't show it at school, but she certainly let it out back home. She was like a bubble waiting to burst. "Electric guitars are all that and more." She stated. "But acoustic guitars are to be played in calming meadows or by a gentle stream of water. They're a calming instrument." The acoustic guitar is an instrument she wouldn't be seen dead playing, and she knew Crowley would reel back in disgust if he even saw her playing it. "There's a reason Taylor Swift shifted from country to pop, and I respect her choices most of the time."

"It's just that the electric guitar is..." she paused, pursing her lips, "... It's very noisy and out of place."

"So is Anne-Marie's cello, but you don't see me complaining." The occasional times she went off-key wasn't something she could tolerate anymore. "Are you telling me to stop bringing in my guitar?"

"Actually," the middle-aged woman placed her hands on her stomach with a half-hearted expression, "I don't think you're the right fit for Orchestra."

Her jaw went slack, her gaze incredulous. "I'm sorry?"

Ms Harrison attempted to provide some reasoning for her decision. "I just think your instrument doesn't clash well with the others."

"Sorry I'm fun, I guess." She said, her tone sarcastic.

"You're very talented," At least she was finally acknowledging it, though it didn't make Maren feel any better, "but you're not the right fit for this kind of thing."

"Yeah, you've said that twice now -- I get the message." Maren struggled not to raise her voice, even though this immensely pissed her off. "You know, I'm pretty sure the flyer said that you accept any and all instruments." She stated. "Are you misleading your target audience, Ms Harrison?"

The teacher hesitated, fumbling her words. "Um, well, no-"

"Because I feel pretty misled." Maren interrupted her once again. "The first thing you said to me when I came to the first rehearsal session was that you needed more guitars. You said it would, and I quote, "diversify" us." She should have seen the red flags from the beginning. "Common synonyms for that word are "branch out", "expand", "spread one's wings"-"

Ms Harrison didn't seem to appreciate her tone, the woman's face twisting into a stern expression, her eyes staring daggers into Maren's. She folded her arms. "I'd rather you not talk back to me."

"I'm sorry -- can't I express my opinion?" questioned Maren, taking offence. "I have the right to speak, you know. There's a bunch of displays around here that mention free will and such, so are you denying me the human right to ask questions?"

Her bottom lip quivered uncontrollably, her nose twitching. "... No?"

"So why are you kicking me out?" The excuses given to her weren't good enough; she needed a proper reason. Maren never caused any trouble during rehearsals and she always respected her teacher -- what gave Ms Harrison the right to get rid of her?

"It's just not the right sound for the orchestra." Oh, she must have thought she was so clever by rephrasing those words. Ms Harrison just couldn't stop repeating herself, could she? "The music we play is more on the classical side than-"

"- Modern music?" Maren scoffed. "We were just playing Symphony by Clean Bandit -- I'd say it's pretty modern." If they were able to mix pop with classical, then so could the school orchestra.

"Maren, I'm sorry, but..." the teacher sighed, looking away from her, "... You're very gifted."

She crossed her arms. "Well, I have been practising."

Ms Harrison shook her head, wringing her fingers together as she met her eyes again. "But you're just not a good-"

"- Fit?" She didn't need to hear that word again. "Right, okay. Well, just so you know, most of the people in orchestra are really shit at playing music."

A switch went off in Ms Harrison's brain, her nostrils flaring as she released a few noisy huffs of air. "We do not use that sort of language here, young lady!"

"Oh, sorry." Maren raised her fist to her chest, pounding on it as she cleared her throat. As lowered her arm, she returned a smug grin. "They cannot play well. Every wrong note makes me cringe and want to die." Aziraphale taught her to be honest, after all. "Thanks for nothing, Ms Harrison." She returned a sarcastic grin, almost tempted to throw her the middle finger. "Good day." 

Before her teacher could get another word in, Maren began to storm off, a surge of anger coursing through her body. She headed into the hallway, keeping her head held high. Shortly after exiting the room, Maren stopped and poked her head around the door.

"Also, Mr Beckett's the one who stole the money from the fundraiser." She informed Ms Harrison. "He told me it was for the science department, but I'm pretty sure it's for a "Breaking Bad" scenario." The teacher's mouth fell agape, and she was reduced to a shocked silence. Maren returned a forced smile. "You're welcome."

She marched down the hallway with balled fists. One hand clenched the strap of her bag, engraining the fabric's shape into her palm. Lashing out at a teacher was a first for her, and hopefully a last -- because it didn't make her feel any better.

"Fucking bitch." She murmured under her breath, turning a corner. "Fuck!"

Maren entered a nearby bathroom, wandering straight into the nearest stall. The door slammed, but the girls gossiping by the sinks didn't seem affected by it. She pulled the toilet lid down, sitting on top of it. She tossed her bag onto the floor before folding her body over her knees. Her fingers pressed themselves against her temples. Shallow breaths escaped her as tears lined the ridge of her eyes, threatening to smudge her mascara. Maren kept her sobs contained, building a thick wall of saliva at the back of her throat. 

She assumed no one could hear her. There was never a brief tap on the stall door or a glance overhead -- just the bathroom door swinging open and closed.

Turns out things don't always get better by moving schools, pains followed her wherever she went. It was no surprise that she felt out of place again. The rough and tough exterior was just an encore now -- not even a performance. 

It was like swimming in a sea full of sharks. The waves kept forcing her under, putting her in the direct path of an apex predator. They always knew where to strike. They always knew where it hurt most.

God, what the hell was she doing wrong? She wasn't that bad, was she? Then again, was she really that good either?

***

Aziraphale packed her lunch on the days when he took her to school, always cutting her sandwiches into squares and neatly wrapping a sweet treat in brown paper. On the other hand, Crowley just handed her money to buy something from the vending machine or the canteen; the fish and chips were the only edible things sold. Everything else tasted artificial.

Every weekday, she sat alone. Maren was the sole resident of a table she imagined to be an island. She was Tom Hanks in that one film, but not even she could afford a beachball painted with her blood as a friend.

She dipped a chip into a pot of ketchup, though her focus stayed on her book. Frankenstein fascinated her, seeing how humanity had the potential to play God. It made her think -- wonder. With an angel and a demon by her side, did she have an advantage over humanity?

Beware; for I am fearless, and therefore powerful.

A chill ran down her spine. There was no point in having a god complex; it wouldn't make her happy. Not really. Maren stuck the chip in her mouth, chewing it quickly and swallowing as she continued the passage.

The text held her in a tight grip, oblivious to the girl approaching her. "Hey."

Maren looked up, meeting the anxious gaze of Livvy Marsden. "Hi." Did she do something wrong? Why was she talking to her? "What's up?"

Livvy stroked the thumb of her nail, slanting her head. "You play the guitar, right?" The other girl returned a blank stare, unsure where Livvy was going with this. "I saw it in the background of your Instagram." She told her. Livvy shook her head, laughing a little. "Not that I was stalking you or anything. That would be weird."

"Er," Maren had no clue how to respond to that, "yeah."

She wiped her hands against her grey skirt, glancing off to the side. "Cool."

Her brows furrowed. "Thanks?"

"Sorry, it's just..." she lost her words, stammering on "um's" and "er's" as if to retrieve them.

Livvy's mind was racing; she could tell by her darting gaze. Maren didn't understand why her classmate was so nervous around her. Surely, she wasn't that intimidating to be around. Was she developing an aura of evil like her demonic father?

She stuttered a final time before her words made a sentence. "... I'm starting a band, and well, you play the guitar, so I was just wondering if maybe...?"

Her eyes widened, her jaw going slack. Maren straightened up, putting her book down. "You want me in your band?"

Livvy gulped, her cheeks flushing. "Er, yeah, if you want."

Maren couldn't help herself. The facade dropped in an instant, a wide grin spreading across her face. She leaned in closer. "Yeah, that would be so cool. I've always wanted to play in a band."

Her enthusiasm was matched. "Great! That's great! Cool!" Livvy reached into her pocket and handed her a piece of folded paper. "Um, here's my phone number. So you can just message me and we can discuss rehearsal times."

As she unfolded it, Maren asked. "Who else is in the band?"

She looked over her shoulder, gesturing to a group of teens in the far corner of the canteen. "Just Em, Tora, and Caleb. We basically started this today."

Maren didn't really know them, but if they wanted her as their guitarist, then they must have good taste in music. "Okay, sounds cool."

"All right then." Livvy intertwined her fingers, nodding. "Just pop me a text anytime, really."

"Yeah, I will." Not right away, of course. She couldn't be too hasty with this opportunity, nor did she want to frighten Livvy and her friends away. Maren had to contain her excitement for the sake of making new friends.

Livvy gave her a little wave, backing away with a slight spring in her step. "See you later then."

The light in Maren's eyes was genuine this time around. "Yeah."

As her classmate strolled back to her table, Maren's gaze followed her. She couldn't quite believe it. On the day she was thrown out of the school orchestra, someone wanted her to join their band. Perhaps she was a magnet for good and bad things.

A rough male voice caught her attention. "Maren Crowley-Fell?"

She twisted her head to the side, finally tearing her eyes away from Livvy. "Yes?" Her happiness melted away the moment she met the stern teacher's glare, her face dropping.

"Can I have a word with you in my office?" Oh, shit -- Ms Harrison snitched on her for swearing, didn't she?

***

The school was warned about contacting Crowley, understanding he could be quite a handful -- which is why they contacted Aziraphale instead. 

Despite his good nature, even he wasn't pleased with his daughter. He tried not to show it, but his nervousness was a dead giveaway. "Maren, could you at least try-?"

"It wasn't my fault." Maren folded her arms, digging her elbows into her side. "She's the one who kicked me out of Orchestra."

He understood her frustration. There were times when he was rejected. If they knew he was an angel, their desire to repent their sins would strengthen. "But you didn't have to swear at her."

Maren clenched her mouth, her lips tightly pressing together. "I said one swear word -- which wasn't even directed at her, by the way. The school's having a total overreaction."

They strolled across the road, Maren rubbing her elbows as she avoided eye contact with Aziraphale. He wrung his fingers together, twirling the ring on his finger. "Okay, could you once more explain why they asked you not to return?"

"Because I wasn't using a classical instrument." She stated.

Aziraphale returned a light nod and opened his palms. "Now, you know I love classic symphonies-"

Maren halted in the middle of the road, flinging her arms. "It wasn't the symphonies that were the problem!" Her tone caused Aziraphale to flinch. Her eyes dulled, losing that short-lived fizz of frustration. Maren continued across the street, bowing her head. "She just doesn't think an electric guitar fits with those symphonies."

"Well, as you know, I'm not fond of its rough sound," Aziraphale followed suit, "but that's not a good reason for you to be thrown out. Everyone should be allowed to play the music they want to play."

A bench sat on the other side, and instinctively, both decided to sit down. Maren slumped against the worn wood, though her father retained his composure. His daughter huffed. "It's not fair."

He pouted, pursing his lips. "Sadly, life wasn't made to be fair."

"Then life's shit." They shared a glance, Maren awkwardly adjusting her posture. "Sorry."

"It's not all bad." Aziraphale joined his hands together. "And I promise it will get better."

The corner of her lip twitched, forming a slight smirk. "I guess it means something when it's coming from an angel."

His chest puffed, a relaxed smile crossing his face. "It should. We're the ones who make miracles happen, after all."

She gave him a slanted look. "Yeah, but you're also complacent in the bad things that happen on Earth."

"I wouldn't say that. We do our best to thwart the wicked." He raised a fist and gently shook it, chuckling to himself. "Though I hate to admit it, sadly we don't have the power to stop everything."

Yes, they did. They could just snap their fingers and everything would be perfect. Angels used to intervene all the time, but now, it seemed like Aziraphale was the only one who cared anymore. Maybe it was always this way.

At least, after so many years, he retained his belief in humans, knowing some are worthy of salvation. He should really believe Crowley is too -- or at least see he wasn't all bad.

"One good thing did come out of this bad day, though." She told him. Aziraphale raised a curious brow, tilting his head towards her. "Someone asked if I would join their band."

His forehead creased. "Really?"

Maren nodded, taking in a deep, cleansing breath through her nose. "Yeah, with a few people in my classes."

"Oh, Maren. That's wonderful." Her father's smile grew. He placed a hand on her shoulder. "I'm so glad you've found some friends at last."

"Yeah." Her body loosened, tension ebbing. Her eyes started to brighten. People liked her, and it felt strange. A part of her didn't think she deserved friends, and that part sounded a lot like Jenny. But she was going to try her best to ignore it. "Yeah, I'm glad."

She just hoped it was worth it in the long run.

***

I'm so sorry this chapter took forever to publish. I just kept getting stuck, but I've finally managed to finish it.

This chapter was gonna be a lot longer, but I decided to split it in two to avoid a long word count and allow me to get the second part out faster because I know you lot want more. So, the next part will be the start of season one's events, but I've got a few more characters to introduce first. And we have a whole two years to expand upon, so stay tuned.

I hope you all like Livvy. I wanted to subvert rom-com expectations by having Maren on the other end of an unrequited crush without realising until she develops a mutual attraction. If you haven't already, go listen to the playlist I created for them. It'll set the mood, I promise.

Anyway, thank you so much for reading. And don't forget, it doesn't hurt to leave a vote or a comment because it allows for more interaction. And I want to interact with you! I want to know what you think! Thank you so much for 12k reads. I didn't expect to get this far within a year, so I am very grateful for all the support and love you've given this story xx

- Alice.