Fat Girl
the champion, whispering
He’s not beautiful, really, Monica admits.
There are plenty of boys that are much prettier than him; she could name five in an instant. He's quite average really, never exceptionally smart or kind either, and yet, James had caught her eye. They hadn’t even had a legitimate conversation that didn’t revolve around the need of a pen or pencil, and he caught her attention.
Her eyes like magnets are drawn to him.
“Ou la la, James, eh?”
Monica shakes her head a bit, as if she is returning from a tedious voyage of daydreaming, which she is. Beside her sits Stella, a bright blue headband delicately placed on her head and a suggestive expression portrayed on her face: eyebrows raised and a grin.
“What, what are you talking about?” Monica asks, feigning ignorance. The blush rising onto her cheeks in all its cherry glory meant nothing, James meant nothing, there was nothing to talk about.
But Fat Girl, oh how good you are at lies. The champion, whispering them to yourself every moment, those delectable fibs.
“I will be skinny.”
“Oh come on, I can see it in your eyes, you’re totally crushing on him, hard.”
Her grin is devilish, eyes rolling over the familiar figure with a mischievous spark.
Monica gulps.
“Oh hey James, could you come here for a second?”
Her voice appears kind, innocent, as if she merely has a simple question. As if nothing important is at hand.
Inside Monica can feel her stomach gorge on itself, flipping and tossing before consuming itself whole. Her heart beats faster, quicker, fearing for what’s next to come. Her legs beg for her to move, to escape, but she can’t. She stays planted, eyes wide, as he advances towards them.
Monica’s playing it over in her mind, the reveal of her emotions, the disgust in his eyes, the laughter. The god-awful laughter, dancing and twirling against her skin like knives.
His face displays question when he reaches the pair, fingers toying with the pencil in his hand, the one she’d given him at the beginning of class.
“Yeah?”
“You’re my best friend, y’know that?”
“Not gonna give you gum.”
And just like that, he walks away. One step in front of the other until he's at the other side of the class, and he's gone and his eyes are burning into her flesh no more. Just like that and nothing happens.
All that's left is the continuous laughter of Stella, spilling into the room.
“Oh god, your face was priceless! Did you think I was that much of a bitch? C’mon!”
She doesn’t want to jump into the word, but she can’t help herself. It’s too soon, much too early to tell, she warns herself. But like those lies, it’s so pretty.
Friend.
There are plenty of boys that are much prettier than him; she could name five in an instant. He's quite average really, never exceptionally smart or kind either, and yet, James had caught her eye. They hadn’t even had a legitimate conversation that didn’t revolve around the need of a pen or pencil, and he caught her attention.
Her eyes like magnets are drawn to him.
“Ou la la, James, eh?”
Monica shakes her head a bit, as if she is returning from a tedious voyage of daydreaming, which she is. Beside her sits Stella, a bright blue headband delicately placed on her head and a suggestive expression portrayed on her face: eyebrows raised and a grin.
“What, what are you talking about?” Monica asks, feigning ignorance. The blush rising onto her cheeks in all its cherry glory meant nothing, James meant nothing, there was nothing to talk about.
But Fat Girl, oh how good you are at lies. The champion, whispering them to yourself every moment, those delectable fibs.
“I will be skinny.”
“Oh come on, I can see it in your eyes, you’re totally crushing on him, hard.”
Her grin is devilish, eyes rolling over the familiar figure with a mischievous spark.
Monica gulps.
“Oh hey James, could you come here for a second?”
Her voice appears kind, innocent, as if she merely has a simple question. As if nothing important is at hand.
Inside Monica can feel her stomach gorge on itself, flipping and tossing before consuming itself whole. Her heart beats faster, quicker, fearing for what’s next to come. Her legs beg for her to move, to escape, but she can’t. She stays planted, eyes wide, as he advances towards them.
Monica’s playing it over in her mind, the reveal of her emotions, the disgust in his eyes, the laughter. The god-awful laughter, dancing and twirling against her skin like knives.
His face displays question when he reaches the pair, fingers toying with the pencil in his hand, the one she’d given him at the beginning of class.
“Yeah?”
“You’re my best friend, y’know that?”
“Not gonna give you gum.”
And just like that, he walks away. One step in front of the other until he's at the other side of the class, and he's gone and his eyes are burning into her flesh no more. Just like that and nothing happens.
All that's left is the continuous laughter of Stella, spilling into the room.
“Oh god, your face was priceless! Did you think I was that much of a bitch? C’mon!”
She doesn’t want to jump into the word, but she can’t help herself. It’s too soon, much too early to tell, she warns herself. But like those lies, it’s so pretty.
Friend.
♠ ♠ ♠
this was pretty quick.speedy gonzales here.
every single comment has a world of appreciation, jus' sayin'.
:)