|What's 'Emo' in French?
Author: LilyFinn PM
Why is Fate so cruel? Why does Fate have to make super cute Matt, the emo from the mall, become my French tutor? And why does Fate have to make him hate me? You know what, Fate? You suck.Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance/Humor - Chapters: 11 - Words: 52,328 - Reviews: 165 - Favs: 69 - Follows: 105 - Updated: 02-04-09 - Published: 06-02-07 - id: 2370634
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
What's Emo in French?
Mr. Boy in Black
Anyway, the best thing about food courts. Any girl knows the secret about food courts (and I don't mean the secret about how you should never buy the food from the Taco Bell because you'll just regret it later when you're on the toilet for ten hours. What do they put in those tacos anyway? Laxatives?)
Yep, that's it. If there's a place where you can just sit around and ogle the confusing, maddening species (or as normal people would call them, boys. And they really are confusing. I mean, what's the whole deal with the sagging pants? Do they want to make me gag whenever I those too-low pants just happen to pull down their boxers, showing a bit of unappreciated crack to burn my virgin eyes?)...well, anyway, it's a food court.
In a food court, a girl can sit by her lonesome and stare long and hard at any random boy. And if he has a sixth sense and starts to feel you watching him, you don't have to panic. There's way too many people in a food court for a boy to single out exactly which girl (or homosexual boy) is checking him out.
And speaking of checking out, standing in line at the small Dairy Queen was a rather cute boy. Judging by his height, he was younger than me, but not by too much. And boy did Contestant #1 have such fine muscles!
But let's not forget Contestant #2, waiting in line with some of his buddies at the Asian Chao. Nonexistent muscles, long hair, and if the skateboard tucked under his friend's arm was any indication, he was a skater. And even though Contestant #2 went against my no-sagging pants rule, he sure did have a drool-worthy ass (thankfully, there was no crack whatsoever).
Checking Out Contestants was my favorite mall game. I'd just sit at some random table in the food court and find three lucky boys (four if Fate was feeling generous and secretly brainwashed cute boys to go to the mall). Then I'd mentally have each contestant go through a very difficult challenge to see which one was worthy of my heart. Sometimes there were ties. I usually had the contestants break the tie by hosting a mental kissing contest. I was blown away by my own imagination.
But Fate proved to be unkind. I could not find a third Contestant. Where had all the cute boys gone? Don't tell me they were all kidnapped by aliens! No fair! If they were all kidnapped by aliens, shouldn't I have been notified? That way I could've built a rocket ship and flown after the mothership so I wouldn't have to be stuck with all the ugly boys!
Dejected, I bit into a snickerdoodle and glanced around the food court. I gobbled down the rest of the cookie, still not finding anyone to my liking. And so I reached for another cookie. I stopped to ponder my mom's favorite saying ('Once around the lips, forever on the hips') before shrugging my shoulder and taking up another snickerdoodle. My mom was always worried about my constant need for food. Mostly about my constant need for unhealthy food. I told her to stop worrying so much. Compared to today's normal weight for fat people, I am hardly obese. I mean, it's not like I'm anorexic skinny, but I'm not really that skinny. And I'm not fat fat. I'm just...pleasingly plump. Not fat enough to be an eyesore and not skinny enough to be on the brink of dying from loss of important nutrients.
So what if my weight is 143 pounds? I certainly don't look like it. I made sure of that by wearing loose (but not too loose to actually make me look fatter than I am...I mean, plumper than I am) sweaters wherever I can. And it's not like everyone I know is always reprimanding me for my weight (except my mother, but everyone knows mothers constantly worry about weight. That's why they go to Weight-watchers, right?) Besides, if my boyfriend doesn't think I'm fat, then it's okay, right?
Yep, that's right. I have a boyfriend. I know it's hard to believe, especially when I'm constantly playing 'Checking Out Contestants' in food courts, but yes, I am tied down to another.
Or more like chained down.
So, my boyfriend, Glen. He's nice. Cute, with floppy blond hair and dark blue eyes and slight dimples. And he's smart, too. He'll probably be valedictorian in another couple of years when we graduate. He's also athletic. In fact, he's one of the best players on the soccer team. And he's outgoing, nice to everyone and anyone he meets. Everyone loves him. I love him.
But there's just one tiny thing I don't love.
He's possessive. And jealous.
Okay, so maybe those are two tiny things. But still, jealousy comes hand in hand with possessiveness.
And boy, is Glen jealous. I once told him about my favorite food court game and he wouldn't talk to me for a week because he was so jealous that I checked out other guys when he wasn't around. And when he finally started talking to me, we went on a date to the mall, where he glared at any boy within a fifty feet radius.
And then there was this other time, shortly after we began dating. We were at one of Glen's friend's parties. Since Glen was busy chatting away with one of his many loyal dogs (did I say dogs? I meant friends. But really, who can tell the difference when they all trot after Glen like little puppies?), I was chatting away with one of my friends. And, okay, I admit, I made a mistake when I chose to talk to the guy I had currently been dating before Glen, but really, did Glen have to beat him to a pulp the following day? I mean, it was Glen's fault in the first place for taking me to a party which none of my friends were invited to and then running off so the only person I could converse with was my ex.
Rally, for someone who was going to be valedictorian, you think he'd be a little smarter in that situation.
But my relationship with Glen was fine now. Honestly, cross my heart and hope to die (but not really die because you know, I have my boyfriend...and my snickerdoodles). I mean, my relationship with my boyfriend of ten months is so great, than I can totally resist the urge to stare at Mr. Boy in Black who just walked right past me. Really, I swear, I won't look at him.
But a small gaze wouldn't hurt, now, would it?
Nope, not looking. I am not looking. I am not looking. I am not--
Oh my Jesus!
All right, I admit I looked, but that was only because I "accidentally" dropped half my cookie on the ground. And then that caused me to have to pick it up and throw it away, "accidentally" catching a glimpse of Mr. Boy in Black on my way back to my table from the garbage can.
And oh, even Michaelangelo wouldn't be able to create a face that maginificent. Or Leonardo or Donatello or Raphael. None of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles combined (okay, I kid, I kid, I meant artists) could create something that heavenly!
And boy, was I in heaven. Contestant #3 (because any guy that cute just had to be part of my food court game) was tall, probably taller than me (not that it takes much to be taller than a height challenged sixteen-year-old girl). He wore black, baggy pants (the good kind that doesn't show a much-unneeded view of the posterior and a black sweater, both clashing against his pale skin. He had short ebony colored hair that reached just to the bottom of his ear. Several tendrils of midnight black hair swept across his pale face, covering his eyes.
Still my beating heart, I've discovered the most handsome boy on the planet. If I presented him before the entire nation, would I win a Noble prise? But I don't want other people to look at him. Only I can see him...and of course the other people in the food court (except most people in the food court were women with wedding rings and small children, so why should they take notice of the spectacle that was my eye candy? Whatever, what do they know? I bet they go to Weight-watchers a.k.a the Evil Group of Middle-Aged Anorexic Women Who Want to Rid the World of All Yummy Food). And other than myself and the other people in the food court, there were always the three people I like to call...
"What are you staring at? Please don't tell my you're drooling over some new guy." One red-headed girl slammed a tray of food on the table I sat at.
Another girl quirked an eyebrow. "Must be. Look at the dopey, love-struck face she's got."
The last girl burst out in giggles, her black hair swinging to and fro and her dark eyes twinkling with what I've come to know as only cruel amusement at my expense. "Earth to Victoria. You have a boyfriend. Remember Glen? The alpha male who deemed you as his one and only alpha female?"
I chewed angrily on my cookie, refusing to respond. Jeanne, my best friend since we were little, fighting over whether or not Barbie and Ken should get married on the slide in the park or the swings (she won because obviously Barbie and Ken could not fly so well to Happy-Marriage Land on a swing. Barbie had gone a little crazy then and lost her head when she flew into a tree in mid-flight. Literally lost her head.), knew exactly how I felt about her 'alpha female' comments. Just because I had hooked up with the one and only most-liked boy in our grade didn't make me alpha anything. And I admit, I have been getting a lot more recognition since I started dating Glen. Which was weird. My friends and I have always been on the outskirts of popularity. I'm not used to suddenly being accepted by the A-list.
Jeanne thought that once I got a proper initiation into the popular crowd, then I would turn my back on her and Lauren and Cindy, our other two best friends. She had managed to convinced the other two, also. So they were all weary around me now, thinking at any moment, I would ditch them for Tiffany and the rest of the popular girls who were friends with Glen. But I never liked Tiffany Moose, most popular girl in school, who had always looked like she had run into a wall and permanently flattened her face, except for her nose which I swear grows bigger daily. And what kind of a last name is Moose? That kind of last name seemed to me like the person was to be shot during hunting season. Which, as I have told my friends many times before, would be a blessing to us all if that finally happened one day.
"So, which lucky guy is it today?" Cindy asked, tugging on one of her red curls and having it bounce back to hit her in the chin. Sh scanned the food court with wide blue eyes.
Lauren, with her cropped pink hair (yes, I said pink. Lauren had always been the most daring out of the four of us. And the truth was, pink really suited her. Jeanne, Cindy and I, though, of course, had teased her long and hard about the color until her cheeks was the same shade as her hair.), helped search the food court, trying to pick out between the hundreds of boys there which one I had obviously been drooling over.
But they wouldn't find Mr. Boy in Black. I wouldn't let them. So I pointed to Contestant #2 to throw them off. All three of them gave him a once-over and then stared back at me with a disapproving glance. They all knew well enough of my boy obsession. And most times, they didn't agree. Cindy had once brainstormed that my need for cute boys stemmed from some emotional problem deep in my heart. But we all turned down that idea. I was too obsessed to have an emotional problem.
I let out an inaudible sigh. Mr. Boy in Black had left the food court, and I was never to see him again. I wish I had had a net or something to throw over him and kidnap him so other girls like me wouldn't steal my Noble prize. But now that my mysteriously dark-clad god had walked out of the food court, it was painfully obvious that my Noble prize was forever gone. Why did he have to walk away so soon? I hadn't gotten my full fifteen minutes of ogling him. Why was Fate to be so cruel?
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By the way, snickerdoodles are amazing. Go buy some, or better yet, find a recipe and make them yourselves! They're oh-so-delicious! But not as much as POTATOES! Because potatoes are awesome. Especially the mashed kind. With gravy. Yummy.