|Plastic Kind of Beautiful
Author: we will F L Y PM
we'll be explosive like fireworks. /because blair is dead scared of peder cannings and jed & bella & seb just happen to be there.Rated: Fiction T - English - Chapters: 10 - Words: 9,698 - Reviews: 14 - Favs: 2 - Follows: 6 - Updated: 06-25-10 - Published: 12-07-09 - id: 2749672
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
The bus is crowded, I think dully, slumped on one of the seats as I look out the window. I hate riding the city bus alone. Beside me, a girl stands, looking even more bored than I am. Her hair is in pale blonde explosive ringlets, pushed back carelessly, and her fire-engine red trench coat covers a small body. Earphones are plugged into her ears (where else?), and I hear the hum of music. Her boots are black. I look down at my own. Also black. Same brand, same type. I let out a humourless chuckle, and she quirks her eyebrow at me.
"We have the same boots," I smile wanly. She looks down at hers and than at mine, and smiles too. I stare at her smile; it's more of a sneer than anything. Then she looks away and reaches into her bag, pulling out her iPod. It's silver. She turns her music up. Now it's blaring, and I think I hear a hint of Paramore.
"Going to school?" I ask stupidly. I don't know why I want to talk to her, but I open my mouth without thinking and say something I'm not sure I wanted to say.
"We're headed to the same place then." Her brows furrow, like she's wondering why this weird girl is talking to her, but she smiles her sneer-smile politely anyways. I shove my own light auburn hair back and smile too. The huge looming building, painted in browns and beiges, comes into sight, and I stand up, taking hold of the pole beside me to steady myself. Comparing myself to her, I'm an inch or two taller.
"I haven't seen you around before. You new?" My sentences aren't really proper, all choppy and whatnot, but they get my point across. I'm suddenly self-conscious of my voice, all hoarse and imperfect beside her honey-smooth voice.
"Yes. My dad transferred from this tiny town west from here. Today's my first day." Her eyes are green, a sort of empty lime tone. I wonder what her name is. She looks like a Charlotte. Or maybe a Genevieve. A Selena, possibly. Fancy and far out of my simple league. I detestfully repeat my name in my head. Blair Blair Blair Blair fair tear lair mare chair glare Blair.
When the bus finally stops, four people step off the bus, myself, blondie, another girl in my biology class named Carly, and a boy who's probably in a lower grade. I wouldn't know, but he looks familiar, so I assume I've seen him around.
She goes into the office, and I go to my locker. The entire hallway is coated in white lockers, framed with dark turquoise, the school colours. Opening it, I grab my things and throw my bag in, slam it shut and relock it. Around me, people buzz, not quite wanting to get to their classes. I wrinkle my nose and work my way around them, fleeing into the classroom, my safety net.
The same blonde girl is in there, and in the back of my head, I wonder how she got in here so quickly. Her coat isn't even off. The principal stands beside her, and the teacher has a nervous smile on her face. The blondie (GenevieveCharlotteSelena), looking around with a bored expression on her face, catches my eye and smile-sneers with a surprised look in her eyes. I quirk a smile back at her.
People constantly comment on my smiles - I only have three, but they contrast nicely. It's shocking, mostly, though they can even see the difference. People, they're blind these days. My polite smile I save for guests and people my parents would want me to impress. It is even, doesn't touch my eyes, and it's nice enough for them to look once and not need to look again. My casual smile is for basically everyone and anyone else, an open half-smile with one corner of my mouth lifted and my teeth flashing. Let them think I am impressed. My third smile, I don't smile that one anymore. Thinking about it makes my chest tighten.
The minutes drift by as I mindlessly stare at the wall beside me. The words YOUTH TODAY HAVE STRAIGHT TEETH AND CROOKED MORALS stare defiantly back at me. I let out another humourless chuckle (I'm known for them worldwide) at its truthfulness. More minutes drift, and suddenly the bell is trilling in my ears, and people begin to spill into the classroom, making note of that pretty blonde girl up in front with the stone gaze. She sits down in the seat right beside me, in the front row.
My eyes flutter open, close shut, flutter open, close shut. Blondie had no big flashy entrance or introduction. She sits silently through class, never once answering. The teacher says nothing, probably incredibly intimidated by her deadly don't touch don't think don't even look at me aura. Hell, I wouldn't want to pick on her either, if she was looking at me with dagger eyes.
By lunch, I still don't know her name, and she's been in all of my classes thus far. I eat the rest of my lunch, throw out the wrappers, and go to the library to read until the bell rings again.
"Who are you?" I find myself saying as I guide her to our next class.
She cocks her head and says, "I'm Carlita Shmauffel" - She pauses to give me a strange look, when I make a sort of snorting noise (I KNEW it) but goes on - "Who are you?"
"Clarissa von Shalcardra."
"Are you joking?" She shoots me a look that says you poor social outcast no wonder you don't look like you have any friends. (I do, thank you, they just happen not to be around at the moment.)
"Yes. I'm Blair."
"Oh. Then good to meet you, not-Clarissa von Shalcardra. My name's really Isabella." I pause a little, wondering at this. Shrugging it off as an everyday-thing, that everyone lies when they introduce themselves, I focus instead on her name. Still fancy, but at least her last name isn't Shmauffel. I think.
"Good to meet you too, not-Carlita Shmauffel."
This could be the start of a beautiful, very bright-haired friendship.
:D excitement. new story. i'm overeager, yes; i've held off writing for way too long.
Characters so far: Blair Gray, Isabella Adams.
Prompt: monotonous heartbreak, rainy weather.