[insert sound of evil cackling]

Soooo, if anyone read my April 13 post with the little mini-story-type-thingies, you'll have seen the one about the obnoxious girl who flings herself on the narrator's friend constantly. (What? You haven't read them yet? Read them! And comment! Please?) I based the story on a girl at my school with a locker near me. Curse you, alphabetical arrangement! *shakes fist angrily*

Anyway, I saw the girl at school last week. It was certainly entertaining... for me, at least. >:) So here's a few stats on the story:

Story: The girl has pretty much zero knowledge of my existence.
Reality: True. I know her name- duh, how could I not? She's even louder than me- but she doesn't know mine.

Story: Her locker is right near mine.
Reality: True. Like I said before, we're arranged alphabetically, which is quite unfortunate.

Story: She throws herself all over the narrator's (my) friend.
Reality: Nope. I had two very specific people in mind when I wrote the story. I was trying to imagine how they'd react to each other, and I think I got that pretty well.

Story: Seems like I (the narrator) kind of have a thing for my guy friend.
Reality: FALSE!! I added that bit to the story to make it a little more dramatic. In real life, we're just really good friends. (Seriously. I promise.) Someone suggested that he likes me and I yelled "Ahh! That's like incest or something!" We're not actually related, but we've known each other for a super long time, so we might as well be.

To elaborate on the bit about the two people who inspired the story: Yes, there IS a girl who's exactly like the one in the story. Only difference: I'm pretty sure she doesn't know my friend exists, either. (Honestly, it's not a bad thing for either of us.) Besides that, I had two very specific people I thought of, and I tried to think of how they would react if they were ever in that situation.

And the girl throws herself all over other guys, but not my friend (re: doesn't know he exists). Believe me, I see her every single day. Shrieking obnoxiously and cussing at the top of her lungs and running around in shorts so tiny I'm stunned the admins haven't descended on her for dress code yet. (Believe it or not, I'm not her biggest fan. Hurr hurr.) I swear someday she's going to be walking around in those tiny shorts and that tiny shirt and Uggs (why does she wear fuzzy boots with short shorts? Anyone knows why, PLEASE let me know) and some weirdo will come creep on her and she won't know what to do except scream and cuss.

Wait, that's a little harsh. Maybe she'll think to run away. Not sure, though, because a typical sentence is something like "Ohmigaawwd, the party was so [expletive] fuuun! Like, Brett was like, so weird that night, and I was like 'Holy [expletive], Brett! What the [expletive] is [expletive] wrong with you?' And-- oh, [expletive]! I forgot my [expletive] English binder! [expletive]! I hate my [expletive] English class anyway!" It's like, f-bombs galore, plus a bunch of other words that I didn't even know existed. Thanks, darling! You taught me some fun new words today! (My sarcasm hand is raised.)

Oh, almost forgot. The other day, she was standing there and I kicked my locker shut really hard. I saw her glance over for a second, so I glared at her. Then I smiled evilly and walked away. *wins*

Random bits

Today's post is just random bits of my life that I overdramatize for the sake of writing. No, this is not because I have no idea what to post! Pfft... By the way, not all of these are about me. Some of it's what I see around me. You know, at school and such. Also, I changed some elements of most of the mini-bits, just for the sake of drama. They're not all part of the same story, either.


"He won't get up," she complains, nudging the puppy.
"He never wants to get up." She laughs and tugs him up by the collar. "He's lazy. Fat, too. But still adorable, so that kind of makes up for it."
"Yeah, it does." The puppy lays down again. There's silence for a few seconds as he rolls over.
"Back to work now?"
"Sure."

***

The girl laughs, "playfully" bumping the boy with her shoulder. "Ohmigaawwd," she shrieks. "Shut up!"
I shoot her a glare, but look back down before she can notice and start cussing me out, although I've never spoken to her before. I'm sure she's barely aware of my existence.
But I'm certainly aware of her existence. She's the one who blocks my locker daily. She's the one who keeps throwing herself all over my friend. She's the one who makes him uncomfortable, but I don't know if she realizes that. She probably does, though. That's probably why she keeps doing it.
How did she even get into this school? We're supposed to be prestigious, hard to reach, renowned for the difficulty of the admissions process. She must have really wowed them during her interview. She probably did. She's good at facades.
But I know who she really is. I've seen her type so many times.
The five-minute bell rings. The hallway begins to clear quickly. I stay at my locker a bit longer, hoping for a chance to talk, but she doesn't leave. I sit back on my heels, pretending to be indecisive about a certain binder.
"Hey." A foot nudges my backpack. "Come on, we gotta get to class." I glance over at my friend, whom she's still got in a trap.
"Sure," I say. I stand up and kick my locker as hard as I can. The slam echoes around the hallway, making her shriek. She stares at me as if she can't fathom how I could possibly want to be that loud.
"Whoops," I say. I turn and walk away before I do anything stupid. I can sense him staring at my back, hoping I'll turn around and rescue him from her... but I don't. I can't deal with her right now.

***

"No way! Are you serious?"
"Yes!" I gape at her for a second, then burst out laughing.
"A cheerleader? What's her name?"
"I have no idea. Dark brown hair. That's all I know."
"The one in our math class?"
"No, not her. Wait... do you mean that girl-"
"Sits one row over from me, a couple seats up."
"Oh. No, it's not her."
"Darn. Wish it was. That'd be hysterical."
"I know, right?" I pull up a mental image of our class, then try to remember if I've ever seen her watching him a little too closely. I don't think she ever has, though, so I dismiss the idea.
"Yeah. I mean, out of all the people in this school, she chooses him to Facebook-stalk?"
"Totally. It's just so... so..."
"Freaky," I say at the same time she says "Weird."
"Yeah." I lean back on my hands, wondering if he knows. "Does he know?"
"I dunno."
"We should tell him. It'd be hilarious."
"It would," she agrees. "It'd definitely make math a little more exciting."