Memories

Memories: Chapter 11

ZOMG guyszss!!! I am SO sorry this took so long! You might of gotten my message about uploading today.... well here it is! The 11th chapter of Memories! I think it's kinda crappy though... it's mostly descriptions and stuff on the characters that you haven't really met yet so - now you know a lil' more about them ;)

Ok guys, love you. Please vote and give me some feedback :D

Happy reading!! xox

P.S. I didn't spell check so... yeah... :s ;)

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If it were up to me, I would not be in school right now. I was so embarrassing. I clearly could not be normal.

            I cannot be normal at all.

            I sat there, in my seat, just watching the clock. We had finished early, and I was too aggravated to do math. Plus, Jason wasn’t doing his homework and well . . . maybe if

I did mine he’d think I was some nerd or something.

            Not that it mattered to me — right?

            I went to grab my book again, leaning down to my bag, when a hand came into my vision. The same hand was hen laid over mine, stopping me completely. I think I knew without the intensifying feel that zoomed through me whose hand it was.

            I looked up to see the intent eyes of Jason.

            He smiled while my face flushed. I straightened up slowly, trying to meet his gaze, but I kept looking away, hoping he’d stop staring at me. It was just that I had gotten used to being an outcast; I forgot what it felt like have someone just watching me, let alone converse in a playful conversation with me.

            I noticed that his hand was still there. I noticed that he was wearing the brightest smile. I noticed that his eyes were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. And I noticed the way that he looked at me.

            It wasn’t how the unbelievably gorgeous girls did, with a flip of their hair, a sneer of a laugh, a smirk on their face, and long pointing finger that said it all; “She isn’t like us.” I wasn’t like them. I wasn’t pretty like them, I wasn’t funny like them, I wasn’t along the lines of any social status besides none like them, I wasn’t somewhat athletic like them, I wasn’t anything like them.

I didn’t have a slim body, or any curves, or look like an hourglass. My hair wasn’t long, and blond, and beautiful. It wasn’t a bouncy and curly brunette or even brunette with wavy locks that reached her back. I didn’t have hair that was black as night, whether cropped short or too long for words, it wasn’t almost blue when you looked real close. My eyes weren’t nice and almond shaped or cute circles. They weren’t a swarming pool of chocolate brown, or an ocean of deep blue, or a mysterious grey, or a bright sky of light blue, or a gorgeous sparkly green. They didn’t shine and sparkle and twinkle. I didn’t have nice skin. I didn’t have long and attractive legs. I didn’t have diligent and skilled fingers. I didn’t have nicely manicured nails or French tips. I wasn’t good at anything; I was not a cheerleader, or an artist, or a musician, or an athlete, or a scientist, or an intellectual technology-type-person, or mathematician.

I wasn’t any of those things.

My body was just plain; my “figure” only to be classified as a straight line.