"No, this has to be a mistake."

"We're sorry, Miss Bubblegum, but our records indicate—"

"Well, your records are perceptibly wrong."

"I'm afraid not. We have been tracking every student's records since the start of their freshman year." He takes a sharp inhale, afraid that even the slightest movement would result in his head being torn off, "What's in the system is in the system."

She groaned as she melodramatically plopped down into the ridiculously comfortable chair beneath her quivering legs. When she had been called out on the P.A. system, she was half-expecting another award of recognition for her volunteer participation at last weekend's bake sale fundraiser. What she did not expect – ever in this lifetime or the next – was being told that she was a credit short of meeting the graduation requirements. Guidance counselor Peppermint had broken the news as soon as he had gotten word of it; Bonnibel was an excellent student, so this was definitely out of the ordinary.

"But I've taken extra classes, how on Ooo am I short?" She rustled her student record papers to and fro, eyes desperately searching the information for an answer. "Look! I was even put in both senior level biology and chemistry by the time I was in my sophomore year!" She waves the paper in his face, knuckles white.

"That may be, but nothing in your transcript helps your situation when the credit you're missing is an elective. You've done more than enough in your compulsory courses, but in order to graduate, Bonnibel," Peppermint opens a drawer beside his chair to pull out a rather large paperback guide, "You're going to have to choose something from here."

'The Right Choice: Ooolectives,' it was titled. Clever. "And you're sure there isn't a loophole?" Bonnibel tried to hide the begging whine in her voice.

He bit his tongue before speaking, "Afraid not," followed by a heavy sigh that filled the room. "Look, I know it's unfair, but you've already got 4 spares this year. If I were you, I would actually consider this a break from all those mind-numbing numbers. You deserve it."

"Those mind-numbing numbers are a break for me." She flipped angrily through the pages, not particularly interested in any one thing. "Ugh, these all sound terribly boring."

"Boredom or graduation."

"This is ridiculous."

"Well, these are the rules."

Most electives were considered to be an art, and nothing in the arts was her strong suit. She found that studying quadrants and solving the Pythagorean theory, or self-quizzes on the differences between ionic and covalent compounds, were much more enjoyable than a blank canvas would ever be.

The only one that really caught her eye was an entry-level course, and even though it wouldn't be accounted for when transcript marks for graduation were going to be needed, it was enough to fill her missing credit slot.

"I assume this one will suffice?" She slides the book around to face Peppermint. He smiles cheekily as he swings around to face his computer to register her for the appropriate class.

"Excellent choice."

Bonnibel had just finished her interview with Peppermint and he had suggested she take the time left in her spare to go speak with the teacher to get herself acquainted with the program.

And explain why a senior student was in freshman year music.

'Room 212, second period, day 1's,' read the ripped corner of paper in chicken scrawl. Oh goody, how convenient, her first class was next anyway.

She walked down the hallway until she reached thick, wooden double doors with the room number above it. Straightening herself out of habit, she reached out to knock, only to be stopped midway by the deep thrum of a very smooth melody.

It was a new kind of intoxication, filling her senses to the brim, different from the fulfillment of solving a problem after hours of recalculating and erasing. Her heartbeat matched the way its airwaves still managed to reverberate past the sound-cancelling thickness of the walls until she realized she had stopped breathing.

Maybe this wouldn't be so boring after all.

Tnk-tnk-tnk, she tapped quietly against the door and the vibrations from within came to a halt. She heard the shuffling of chairs and a low grumble as the door swung open.

"Class doesn't start for another 35 min—"

Both Bonnibel and the obviously aggravated greeter stood in awe at the sight of each other.

"Marceline?"

"Brainlord?"

"What are you doing here?" They shouted in unison.

Bonnibel huffed, obviously not wanting to explain herself any further to the girl in front of her. "Excuse me, Marceline," she said sternly, pushing past the girl who smelled faintly of… lemon zest. "I'm here to speak to the teacher."

Marceline's brows furrowed dangerously, but she remained silent for the time being.

"Was that you playing?" Bonnibel inquired idly as she searched the teacher's office to the right of the room. "It was nice," she decided to admit.

"You're in my domain, you know." The door clicked shut behind her as Marceline made her way over to the other girl, intrigued by the small note hanging between her thumb and forefinger. "What's this?" She swiped it before Bonnibel could react.

"Hey!" She reached for it, but their slight height differences made it ridiculously hard. "Marceline, give that back. This is serious."

Marceline waved the crinkled piece in front of her face. "Tell me first, Bonnie-boo."

Her fists balled and she tried to control herself; it had only been a few weeks into their last school year and she was not about to jeopardize her clean streak of staying out of trouble by clocking this girl clean out of annoyance. "Well, if you must know," she seethed through gritted teeth, "I'm here to speak to the head of the department about a course pickup."

The other girl stared inquisitively. "You're taking music? I didn't even know you knew how to play with anything other than your chemistry set." She scrolled the girl up and down, and let out a small chuckle. "And judging by how uptight you are," she reached out to hand the note back, "I'm guessing you don't even know how to play with yourself."

"You're repulsive." Bonnibel turned on her heel as she snatched the paper back, "Just tell me where the damn teacher is."

"Tough luck, babe, Mr. P's got the year off."

"What?" Bonnibel's face fell. "So who's teaching this course?"

Marceline took a step closer, grin wide as her teeth gleamed against the dim light of the room, her canines giving off the impression of elongation as they cast shadows. "Well…"

And then it clicked.

"No," Bonnibel whispered.

"Oh, yes."

"That's impossible. No."

"The proof is right here."

"You can't be—"

"But I am."

Bonnibel had taken enough steps back to hit the teacher's desk with her lower back. She looked down at the contents that rattled against it and noticed the shine of a very newly engraved nameplate: M. Abadeer.

The woman the name belonged to had taken this opportunity to press herself flush against her newest student like some sort of prey, arms locking on either side of the pink girl to trap her between them, closing the distance as she leaned in towards her right ear.

"Like I said, you're in my domain now." Marceline's deep, rumbling laughter resembled the same instrument Bonnibel had heard outside of the music room doors, and her chest tightened and filled with another wave of mixed anxiousness.

"Welcome to freshman year music."