JAMES
Petra. An American. She was new to the school. She started last week and was quickly deemed as an outcast because of her clothing choice and the way she acted. Plus she smelled like cigarettes and weed.
Today Petra sat at the end of the table where I was sitting. She didn't have any food. She just stared at her ripped cuticles, trying to ignore the disgusted stares she was receiving.
She caught me staring.
She narrowed her eyes at me, I would be lying if I said I wasn't a little scared.
Petra stood up, the chair creating a loud screeching noise, she didn't pay it any mind as she intimidatingly walked towards me. She stopped in front of me and stared. Those blue eyes.
"What the fuck are you doing." It wasn't a question. Her voice was nasally, raspy, and loud. It would've been unattractive to a normal person, but I wasn't normal.
"Nothing." I held her stare, trying to seem more confident than I actually was. But my voice sounded weak. Fuck.
"Whatever." Petra rolled her eyes and carelessly plopped down in the seat across from me. She began to pick at her hair, it was ratty and looked as if it had never made contact with a brush. She was a blonde, it suited her. The cut itself was choppy and there were micro braids hidden in some sections. Her bangs reached just above her thin pointy brows, they made her look mental. "What's your name?"
"James." I cleared my throat. My stomach felt weird and if I didn't know any better, I'd say I was nervous in her presence.
"I like your name. James." Petra repeated my name like a mantra, I liked it coming from her lips. She had very plump lips, red lipstick was sloppily spread against them.
"Okay." I didn't know what else to say, my throat was itchy.
"Come over to my house after school." It was a demand.
A demand I would unwillingly fulfill.
