"There are three possible parts to a date, of which at least two must be offered: entertainment, a moderate amount of food, and the merest suggestion of affection. As the amount of affection increases, the entertainment can be reduced proportionately. When the affection IS the entertainment, we no longer call it dating. Under no circumstances can the food be omitted." –Judith Martin, Miss Manners' Guide to Excruciatingly Correct Behavior

It wasn't really a date so much as it was a meeting her mother had forced her into. For it to be a date, in her mind at least, it had to meet a few standards:

One: There had to be at least a sliver of romantic interest. – She was not interested in him in that way, and he was only interested in her because he thought she'd be easy.

Two: It had to be somewhere the two people both liked, it being a matter of one of them ending up uncomfortable or bored if it wasn't. – While it was one of her favorite places, it wasn't somewhere he liked to be and she knew that without a doubt. She also knew that he had asked around about her to see what she likes in a poor effort to try and woo her. (Her mother had thought it was charming that he did so. She didn't.)

Three: He had to pay. – She didn't always care for this, because if it was something expensive she didn't want the boy to spend his money on her, because she wasn't worth it. If it was a meal or movie tickets, though, he could at least have to courtesy to do so.

When she goes to look back on it, she will realize that it was the way he went about failing to meet the third criterion that started it.

The waitress had come, given them their check, he had pulled out his wallet, and then only placed enough money for his order on the table. She hadn't even realized that he hadn't placed enough to cover the whole bill out on the table until the waitress had told them that. She had looked at the boy sitting across from her with her puffy O-shaped lips parted in astonishment. "What?" he asked oblivious to his wrong.

She scrunched up her nose in annoyance, reached into her bag, and pulled out the necessary amount for her order: two cups of apple cider tea with a single pack of sugar, and a pumpkin scone – 15 pounds and 43 pence. She then stood and headed for the door. "Hey, Row, wait up!" he called after her.

"It's Rosë," She snapped as she continued to walk.

"Ah, come on, you used to love when I called you Row."

"No, I didn't, Michael." She snapped. What she said next she mumbled, "But I do know why Viola broke up with you, now."

"What was that?" he sneered down at her.

"I don't know what you're talking about." She remarked innocently.

"You and I both know what you said, bitch, so why not just come out and say it to my face!" He exclaimed angrily, and before Rosë knew what was happening, the resounding smack and sting of a slap to her face assaulted her senses.

"Oi!" an unfamiliar voice exclaimed. "Didn't your muva eva teach ya not teh 'it girls?!"

Rosë and Michael looked over at who had yelled at him. A girl wearing an expensive brand track suit and large gold hoop earrings was walking angrily towards them. Well, towards Michael more specifically. "Like you're going to do anything about it," Michael laughed at the girl, who proceeded to slam her fist into his face in a nicely executed right hook.

Michael stumbled back a few paces, holding his face with one hand. He steadied himself on his feet before charging towards the girl. "Michael, I don't think you sh–"

"Stay out of this," Michael shoved her towards another table. She stumbled back until her lower back made harsh contact with a table. She grunted in pain, and watched in horror as Michael began to actually fight the girl.

Rosë stared on frozen in stunned silence for a few minutes, until she felt a tap on her shoulder. It was her waitress, "Get out of here," she told Rosë, "I'll call the cops and get this sorted."

Rosë rolled her eyes. "That won't be necessary, miss," She told the waitress. "But, thank you."

While Rosë was having her brief conversation with the waitress she had managed to maneuvre one of her shoes off. Rosë easily maneuvred herself over behind Michael, who had the girl pressed to a table as he tried to land a hit on her. The girl wasn't letting him though. Instead, she was blocking him with one arm and landing punches to his face with her other.

Rosë thanked God someone who was as good at fighting as this girl was, was the one who decided to stick up for her against Michael. The only problem was that Michael wouldn't be giving up anytime soon. He was stubborn as a bull, and Rosë knew even if he was stabbed many times, he'd keep fighting until he dropped dead. That's why, from her spot behind Michael, Rosë raised her soft pink 3.8cm platform, 14.6cm heeled, suede, side bow, Mary Jane pump above her head, and, with as much power she could muster, nailed Michael in the back of the head with it.

A/N: I know, I know, why is she starting another story when she already has so many that aren't finished? I really wanted to write this one, you guys. There aren't that many St. Trinian's Girl/OC stories out there. Also, there aren't that many that go through one of the actual movies. So, here one is.

Now, a few notes:

1. The two dots above the 'e' give it the sound of 'ee' so, her name's pronounced rosy, but spelt Rosë.

2. If you haven't been able to tell yet, I'm American that was somehow able to stumble upon the St. Trinian's franchise. So if any of you British people out there would like to help me with my British terminology by beta'ing, that would be rockin'.

So, don't forget to review, favorite, and follow.

Post to ya later,

~Wrote Too Soon

PS: If interested in beta'ing, PM me!