“I don’t know.”
“She’s… different.” Nat’s eyes look her up and down, assessing her worthiness, and her lip pulls up in a sneer.
Natasha’s definition of different and my definition are on opposite sides of the spectrum. She says it with disgust, judgment, and envy.
I say it with awe, admiration, and, well, a little envy too.
I wish I were brave enough to be different. To do what I wanted. To be who I wanted. To defy expectations and just be me.
But I’m not.
I can’t take my eyes off her as she sits in the front while Nat and I remain in the back.
My best friend notices that my stare has not left Leora Laney. I have a feeling that my stare will rarely leave her.
And I notice everything about her. Each slight movement, when she brushes her curls from her face, the slight shake of her hands,when she holds her breath as the teacher's eyes roam over the class. Is she hoping to be invisible?Too late, pretty bird. I see you.
Natasha's voice pulls my attention away momentarily. She raises her hand, but speaks before even being called on. “Excuse me, Mrs. Houser. Can you ask the new girl to move? I can’t see the board over that giant mess of curls on her head.”
Then she whispers to her friends. "Seriously, couldn’t she brush them and use some product?” Her friends snicker.
I glare at them. It’s not funny bringing people down. I don’t like it. They act as if they know anything about this beauty. They wouldn’t know how to take care of wild, beautiful curls like hers.
Nat has been my best friend since we were three. Our parents are close, so we are close. But as we grow, Nat changes. More vicious. More judgmental.
But when it’s just us? She is still my Nat.
She is not my Nat right now.
Leora scrunches down, trying to hide within herself. She gathers her things and moves all the way to the left of the row, still in the front, still within my sight.
“Nat, be nice.” I whisper to my not-so-nice friend.
She scoffs and turns back to her girlfriends, continuing her whispers and giggles. I roll my eyes and scoff. Teenage girls suck. Well, except Leora. I bet she is nice.
Do I hear anything that Mrs. Houser says today?
Nope.
Do I care?
Also nope.
Class drags on, seeming like it may never end. But that's okay, because I get to look at my pretty bird. Every once in a while, she peeks over her shoulder and when she catches me staring, she quickly hides those beautiful eyes again. I need a closer look. I need to hear her voice.
Once class dismisses, I see her walking toward Mill’s Coffee House. I go to catch up to her. But my mother catches my shoulder, halting my chase.
“Where are you going?”
“I wanted to talk to the new girl. You know, introduce myself.”
“Absolutely not. We don’t associate with people like that.” Her manicured hand pinches my shoulder. A warning to listen and mind my manners.
What does she mean,people like that?
“Like what?”
My mother leans down so she is eye level with me, her pearls dangling from her slim neck. “Everett, there are people in this world who deserve our attention, and there are those who live beneath it. We must not waste our time giving our attention to those who will never meet our expectations. Do you understand?”
