All I Wanted

“Maybe you should eat makeup so you can try to be pretty on the inside, bitch.”  I spit the words in her face, smirking as some droplets decide to perch on her fake eyelashes.

I bet that you’re already stereotyping me as a bully.  I bet that you’re already placing a label on my head, without even getting to know me.  That’s the reason that I’m shouting this sentence in a popular girl’s face.  That’s the reason that I’m standing in the centre of the canteen and mouthing it out with another, preferred girl.  That’s the reason that a crowd of silent students have decided to gather around us in an imprisoning ring.

Stereotypes have caused this hatred.

This girl stereotyped me and I stereotyped her.  I am the weirdo and she is the prep.  That’s what we both thought, until we decided to confront each other.  Now we both know that it’s true.

I’m by no means a bully, but when someone insults me, my wit and gob comes into action.  And that wit and gob usually triumphs over my opponent.

Unfortunately, right now I seem to have met my match.

Tanya Bolt is a popular, beautifully blonde and feisty fellow fifteen year old.

An expression of hatred morphs on her finite face, as she raises a finger and prods me threateningly on the chest.  Her strength takes me by surprise, and I have to stop myself from stumbling backwards.  Quickly recovering, I place my hands on my hips and sneer at her sarcastically.

Fuming, she girl prods me again, keeping her finger in the centre of my chest as she tries to find suitable words to use as a comeback.  Seemingly dumbfounded, her jaw moves up and down, inarticulately trying to speak.

I can’t help but think how even more ugly she looks when her makeup runs down her face.  It’s probably due to the perspiration that has been caused by sheer embarrassment.  Luckily, I’ve never been liable to this reaction. 

Generally, when I’m embarrassed, I tend to convert the chagrin into anger or defensiveness.

“Cat got your tongue?” I leer, leaning towards her and twiddling her little nose mockingly.

I can hear a couple of people sniggering, others full-out jeering at her expense.  I remove my hand, stepping back and grinning; it’s obvious by her bewildered face that I have won the battle.

I watch triumphantly as her mouth opens and closes again, trying to form some words.  I can’t help but be reminded of a gold fish; not to mention that she has the memory capacity of one as well.  It’s just a shame that she isn’t burdened with flippers and scales instead of skin.

It seems that Tanya has given up her battle to find something to say, closing her jaw but clenching it with anger instead.  Then, to my absolute humour, she stamps a high-heeled foot angrily.

“Ugh, you complete bitch!”  Tanya squeals, reminding me incredibly of a toddler throwing a tantrum.  I raise my eyebrows at her childish actions, looking down my nose at the hideous black stilettos that she has decided to wear to school.  It’s a surprise that none of the teachers have scolded her for the breach of school uniform.  But, then again, most teachers are scared stiff of her and the people that she hangs around with.  In fact, a visitor could enter the school, and easily mistake her gang as the authority of the building.  I must say that it is quite shameful of the teachers to let such a bossy-boots steal their control so easily.

I quickly think of a suitable comeback, forcing myself not to grin as the perfect one pops into my head.

I smile sweetly, fluttering my eyelashes for effect. “That’s what she said.”

This time, the crowd makes their cheers known, and Tanya casts a mortified look around herself, recognising the male football team to be a part of the crowd.  Embarrassed, she tries to smile at Andrew, the captain and her ultimate crush, but is pushed back by a laughing group of boys.  Her face flushes an immediate tomato red. 

It’s a surprise I can even see it underneath the thick layers of foundation that she has successfully plastered on her face.  It’s evident that she has attempted to imitate countless models all at once, and obviously failed to live up to at least one of their standards.

The thought makes my grin grow wider.

“You’ll regret this, Emily Walker,” Tanya narrows her icy blue eyes, backing out of the crowd without breaking eye-contact with me and I can’t help but feel slightly intimidated, not that I let it show. “You better watch your pretty little back, biatch.”

And with that, she whirls around, flicking her hair over her shoulder and trotting indignantly out of the door.

A chorus of sarcastic “Ooh!” ’s follow her out of the room as the crowd disperses, groups of girls giggling about the happenings and boys returning to their normal selves, shoving each other into the tables immaturely.

I quickly scoot out of the spotlight, setting my sight on Andrew.  I couldn’t help but feel jealous when Tanya smiled at him in the crowd.  It’s pathetic really, but I am only a schoolgirl- and what do schoolgirls do? 

Precisely, they crush.  But, then again, that’s me placing a stereotype on people again.  No matter how much you promise yourself you won’t, /everyone/ stereotypes other people.  It’s the way human beings work, and we should know well enough that that can’t be changed.  I guess we’re just a naïve species.  Wait, here I go again – stereotyping.

“Hey.” I smile at Andrew, finding him standing a little away from his friends.  It’s pitiful that one minute I’m the feisty girl fighting with someone else and now I’m the little shy girl talking with an incredibly handsome guy.

Andrew returns the smile, his eyes flickering to the left uneasily.  I once read that when someone looks to the left, they are either lying or embarrassed.  Since he hasn’t yet said anything, I’m hoping that he’s embarrassed, and not lying about something.  And, yes, this is me turning into a lovely little nerd in her daydreams.

“That was one heck of a fight.” Andrew compliments- or at least I hope that it is a compliment- smirking down at me.  I realise how short and pathetic I must seem to him right now, with my dyed black hair and mismatching bright green eyes.

The hair colour was just a spur of the moment decision.  One moment I had been looking happily at my dark brown hair in the mirror, the next it turned a long, shiny black.  I still don’t know whether I like the difference or not, but then again, I’m not someone that’s known for her decisiveness.

I let out an awkward laugh that turns into a high-pitched giggle that I immediately despise.  It makes me sound like one of those fake, hollow girls that twitter hysterically at every sentence.

“Okay, that laugh was horrible.  I apologise profusely.” I say, straight out pointing out my flaw.  That’s one of the things I hate about myself.  I always point out my imperfections.

Andrew raises his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

I roll my eyes as he inadvertently combs a hand through his tousled, light brown hair.  He has that type of hair that is not too long and not too short- the type of hair that looks perfect even without combing it in the morning.

“Didn’t you hear it?” I scrunch my face up in disgust as though repulsed by his audacity to misunderstand.  “That horrible, girly laugh that just escaped from my mouth?”

This time, it is Andrew’s turn to roll his eyes. “You should really take up drama, Emi.”

My mouth opens to reply wittily, but I shut it closed quickly.  Emi?  No one has ever called me Emi before.

I open my mouth again, preparing to ask his motives for calling me by a new nickname, when one of his mates waves at him from the door of the canteen.  I hadn’t even realised how far away everyone had moved.

“Oi!  Andrew, get your butt over here, mate!  Football training is back on!” the boy calls, running his eyes over me as though saying Stuff her!

Andrew turns back to me, raking a hand through his hair again.  I must say I love it when he does that.

“I’ll see you later, Emily.” he smiles, beginning to walk away.

“Hey, Andrew!” I call after him, as he stops in his tracks, turning around to face me inquisitively.

“Call me Emi.”  I grin.

Andrew returns the grin goofily. “Sure.”

Still smiling at me in that incredibly goofy but cute way, he turns around and makes his way over to his mate waiting at the door.  I watch him walk away, only realising when he reaches the door at how awkward and stalker-ish I must look right now.

Still looking despite that thought, I see the guy winking at Andrew knowingly.  Immediately, his cheeks flush a bright pink, and he shoves the boy into the door.  Seriously, what is it with boys pushing each other around everywhere?  His mate raises his hands resignedly, showing that he gives up and Andrew pushes him out of the room, his eyes flickering towards me in an embarrassed fashion.

Without realising it, my brow furrows.  Did I just see what I thought I saw- Andrew Leerman, captain of the football team and incredibly handsome guy, blushing because of little, strange me?  It’s my dreams coming true all at once.

And I sure do hope that this one dream can stay reality.