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Jan. 20th, 2009 07:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sozettaslowTitle: That Girl
Rating: PG, maybe PG-13 for light swearing
Summary: Original shortstory. There's always one person who'll notice the unnoticeable...
I don’t remember the first year I had a class with her. She didn’t really stick out that much; she was quiet, didn’t talk to people, and kept her head down like she was scared to look at anyone else. The clothes she wore covered her entirely, leaving almost everything to the imagination. She rarely wore skirt and never shorts, and she only had short sleeves in the summer. There might not have been that much to look at anyway. Dark hair framed her face, but it hung limply and she didn’t seem to care all that much about it. She could have been really pretty if she put some effort into her appearance, but she seemed much happier with hiding.
Not that I would know too well. I never actually talked to her.
That’s probably a little creepy, thinking about it. I just watched her. It wasn’t hard. She always sat in the front of the class, and no one ever sat next to her. In a way, it was kind of sad. When there a partnered assignment, she was the one paired with the odd one out. She was very nice and a hard worker according to those who partnered with her, but I didn’t see a single one of them talk with her after the project was over. Sometimes I considered offering to pair with her. Then I remembered that my friends would have killed me.
I did manage to try once. That actually made it worse. I had gotten up and walked over to her to ask. When she noticed me standing there, she looked up with a clear question in her eyes. ‘Why are you over here?’ they were asking, ‘You can’t possibly want to be in a group with me.’
The eyes threw me off a little and that little amount of time killed it. Before I knew it I was with my usual partner, who was laughing about how we were gonna kick this project’s ass. That girl has turned away and her shoulders were slumped. I felt like I’d waved a treat in front of a puppy and then kicked it.
She was in a lot of the same classes with me. In every one she looked the same: focused, quiet, and frightened. I would watch her taking notes when I spaced our during lectures. Sometimes, I would wonder why she was thinking about. Why was she so scared? Had she been bullied on her first day? Did she have some kind of illness or disability? Was she really just that shy?
Other times I would wonder what the hell was wrong with me and that if I grew up to be a stalker, I would know where I got my start.
Not many people noticed her at all, which might have been why I found her so interesting. She could slid through without mention, be one of the smartest in the class without notice, and live among us like she wasn’t there at all. Everyone noticed her that one day, though, and with good reason.
She walked into the classroom with the most ridiculous hat I have ever seen. It was purple and pink stripes, and it was very fuzzy. Very fuzzy. It looked like the Cheshire Cat had come and perched itself on her head.
No one talked to her about it or asked her about it, though. The most people gave her was a raised eyebrow as they walked through the door; five minutes later the teacher told her hats weren’t allowed in school and she would have to take it off. She obliged, which left her hair even messier than it normally looked. There was something else, though. Even if it was a small amount of attention, she looked happy to have received it.
It turned out that wasn’t the only one of those she owned. One day she came in with bunny ears on top of her head, another with a hat covered in rainbows. When it came to the holiday season she had a Santa hat with the white puffball on a spring. After a while, the hats became normal for her and people stopped paying attention again. I couldn’t help but notice that they made her hair look really cute.
It was hard to sit alone at lunch unless you arrived early or didn’t want to be around people. She somehow managed it. When we ate outside, she’d have her back against a wall while she ate her sandwich and watched some of us play basketball. Inside, and she’d be at the end of the table closest to the wall with her nose jammed in a book. A couple of the really nerdy guys sometimes sat with her to try and chat her up, and she’d be polite and talk to them. I don’t think they ever got very far, though.
For a while I was wondering if she just didn’t like people, but I had to change that after I discovered that she did have a friend.
The girl she would talk to was blonde and very attractive. She was pretty popular and active and very outgoing. More often than not, though, she’d sit with hat-girl rather than the masses. And hat-girl would greet her warmly. When addressed, she put her book down and give her friend a bright smile. She was awfully pretty when she smiled, as cliche as it is. It made me a little happier to know that she had someone to talk to about makeup or boys or whatever it is those type of girls talk about.
I had some thoughts about becoming a psychologist, something people laughed at me for. It was interesting, though, and I tried to use it whenever I could. That girl was my favorite to try and analyze, because she wasn’t the type of person you could ask people about. The way she hid her eyes under the brims of her hat probably signified fear-- something that still puzzled me about her. She wouldn’t put any of her stuff in her locker and would carry it around to every class; either she didn’t want to go out of her way to get to her locker, or she was afraid someone would take them.
Even though I never talked to her, I felt like I knew her. Her personality seemed very obvious, if you paid attention long enough. She would smile when she had a reason to smile. She always raised her hand to answer questions in class. When she could get away with it, she would come in with something ridiculous looking. That girl particularly cried out for attention, but no one would hear.
I finally made a promise to myself. Before the end of high school, I would talk to her. It didn’t have to be much-- just a ‘hello’ or ‘did you get the homework?’ or something. Anything. When anyone talked to her, her face would light up and I wanted to be the cause of that just once.
The rest of the year went by, and I still hadn’t done it. Finals were approaching fast, and I didn’t say a word. It came to the last day of school, and I sat in the first class I had with her and just waiting. Today I would do it. Why had it taken me so long anyway? She was just a girl. Just a girl who no one talked to and needed a little light in her life. I could talk to her, no problem.
Then she walked in.
Her modest attire was gone, replaced by high-top, high-heeled black boots and a black dress that looked like it had been grabbed off of a punk rock singer. She still had a hat, a black one with a stylish twist to it and her hair flipped out underneath it.
“Nice outfit,” I managed to say.
She grinned at me with a devious air. “Thanks,” she replied in a chipper voice, sitting down in her usual seat. The teacher was staring at her in upmost horror and dismissed her from the class. She walked out, muttering something about how her Playstation was calling anyway and that she had already graduated, and I saw her high-five her blonde friend in the hall.
I sat through the exam review in silence, realizing that maybe I didn’t know as much as I thought I did.
Rating: PG, maybe PG-13 for light swearing
Summary: Original shortstory. There's always one person who'll notice the unnoticeable...
I don’t remember the first year I had a class with her. She didn’t really stick out that much; she was quiet, didn’t talk to people, and kept her head down like she was scared to look at anyone else. The clothes she wore covered her entirely, leaving almost everything to the imagination. She rarely wore skirt and never shorts, and she only had short sleeves in the summer. There might not have been that much to look at anyway. Dark hair framed her face, but it hung limply and she didn’t seem to care all that much about it. She could have been really pretty if she put some effort into her appearance, but she seemed much happier with hiding.
Not that I would know too well. I never actually talked to her.
That’s probably a little creepy, thinking about it. I just watched her. It wasn’t hard. She always sat in the front of the class, and no one ever sat next to her. In a way, it was kind of sad. When there a partnered assignment, she was the one paired with the odd one out. She was very nice and a hard worker according to those who partnered with her, but I didn’t see a single one of them talk with her after the project was over. Sometimes I considered offering to pair with her. Then I remembered that my friends would have killed me.
I did manage to try once. That actually made it worse. I had gotten up and walked over to her to ask. When she noticed me standing there, she looked up with a clear question in her eyes. ‘Why are you over here?’ they were asking, ‘You can’t possibly want to be in a group with me.’
The eyes threw me off a little and that little amount of time killed it. Before I knew it I was with my usual partner, who was laughing about how we were gonna kick this project’s ass. That girl has turned away and her shoulders were slumped. I felt like I’d waved a treat in front of a puppy and then kicked it.
She was in a lot of the same classes with me. In every one she looked the same: focused, quiet, and frightened. I would watch her taking notes when I spaced our during lectures. Sometimes, I would wonder why she was thinking about. Why was she so scared? Had she been bullied on her first day? Did she have some kind of illness or disability? Was she really just that shy?
Other times I would wonder what the hell was wrong with me and that if I grew up to be a stalker, I would know where I got my start.
Not many people noticed her at all, which might have been why I found her so interesting. She could slid through without mention, be one of the smartest in the class without notice, and live among us like she wasn’t there at all. Everyone noticed her that one day, though, and with good reason.
She walked into the classroom with the most ridiculous hat I have ever seen. It was purple and pink stripes, and it was very fuzzy. Very fuzzy. It looked like the Cheshire Cat had come and perched itself on her head.
No one talked to her about it or asked her about it, though. The most people gave her was a raised eyebrow as they walked through the door; five minutes later the teacher told her hats weren’t allowed in school and she would have to take it off. She obliged, which left her hair even messier than it normally looked. There was something else, though. Even if it was a small amount of attention, she looked happy to have received it.
It turned out that wasn’t the only one of those she owned. One day she came in with bunny ears on top of her head, another with a hat covered in rainbows. When it came to the holiday season she had a Santa hat with the white puffball on a spring. After a while, the hats became normal for her and people stopped paying attention again. I couldn’t help but notice that they made her hair look really cute.
It was hard to sit alone at lunch unless you arrived early or didn’t want to be around people. She somehow managed it. When we ate outside, she’d have her back against a wall while she ate her sandwich and watched some of us play basketball. Inside, and she’d be at the end of the table closest to the wall with her nose jammed in a book. A couple of the really nerdy guys sometimes sat with her to try and chat her up, and she’d be polite and talk to them. I don’t think they ever got very far, though.
For a while I was wondering if she just didn’t like people, but I had to change that after I discovered that she did have a friend.
The girl she would talk to was blonde and very attractive. She was pretty popular and active and very outgoing. More often than not, though, she’d sit with hat-girl rather than the masses. And hat-girl would greet her warmly. When addressed, she put her book down and give her friend a bright smile. She was awfully pretty when she smiled, as cliche as it is. It made me a little happier to know that she had someone to talk to about makeup or boys or whatever it is those type of girls talk about.
I had some thoughts about becoming a psychologist, something people laughed at me for. It was interesting, though, and I tried to use it whenever I could. That girl was my favorite to try and analyze, because she wasn’t the type of person you could ask people about. The way she hid her eyes under the brims of her hat probably signified fear-- something that still puzzled me about her. She wouldn’t put any of her stuff in her locker and would carry it around to every class; either she didn’t want to go out of her way to get to her locker, or she was afraid someone would take them.
Even though I never talked to her, I felt like I knew her. Her personality seemed very obvious, if you paid attention long enough. She would smile when she had a reason to smile. She always raised her hand to answer questions in class. When she could get away with it, she would come in with something ridiculous looking. That girl particularly cried out for attention, but no one would hear.
I finally made a promise to myself. Before the end of high school, I would talk to her. It didn’t have to be much-- just a ‘hello’ or ‘did you get the homework?’ or something. Anything. When anyone talked to her, her face would light up and I wanted to be the cause of that just once.
The rest of the year went by, and I still hadn’t done it. Finals were approaching fast, and I didn’t say a word. It came to the last day of school, and I sat in the first class I had with her and just waiting. Today I would do it. Why had it taken me so long anyway? She was just a girl. Just a girl who no one talked to and needed a little light in her life. I could talk to her, no problem.
Then she walked in.
Her modest attire was gone, replaced by high-top, high-heeled black boots and a black dress that looked like it had been grabbed off of a punk rock singer. She still had a hat, a black one with a stylish twist to it and her hair flipped out underneath it.
“Nice outfit,” I managed to say.
She grinned at me with a devious air. “Thanks,” she replied in a chipper voice, sitting down in her usual seat. The teacher was staring at her in upmost horror and dismissed her from the class. She walked out, muttering something about how her Playstation was calling anyway and that she had already graduated, and I saw her high-five her blonde friend in the hall.
I sat through the exam review in silence, realizing that maybe I didn’t know as much as I thought I did.
