Stories under the Velvet Sky

Chapter Four: By Miscalculation

I mean, I’m no fashion guru. I don’t see the point in keeping up with the latest trends or fads- I don’t have the money for it. Not to mention that the excessive amount of time it would take me to even figure out my wardrobe would be a massive waste of the precious resource, and make me late for other things. I don’t care what people think; if I can afford it, and it fits nicely, then I’m buying it. Of course, if a shirt or dress is ugly or something, I’ll probably avoid it, but still.

Back to the question currently haunting my mind at the moment; how had I known that Mr. Easy-on-the-Eyes possessed a designer jacket?! I don’t look these things up you know. I have better things to do, like eat celery and play PS3, or use my Android phone to check my mail, or actually complete my homework for once.

Honestly, I could care less about his seemingly out-of-place appearance. Maybe he couldn’t afford the upper bracket tuition. Maybe he was a model or something similar, and the jacket was just a perk. Maybe he was a rich kid who wanted to see what the lower bracket tuition kids did, or his parents were cheap and didn’t want to pay the higher rates.

Okay, now I’m just assuming things. Bad Kathryne! Bad! Just because he looks sexy, and you’re now having fantasies about hot naked men that will never come true, doesn’t mean you’re allowed to make up silly details. Pardon the italics, that’s my brain yelling at me. He might just be a really attractive middle class guy. Ever think of that?

I am seriously beginning to doubt the way I process logic… Either the guy was rich and attractive, or had a modest income and was attractive.

Why am I bothering to debate with myself about this anyway? Yes, he’s shiny and new, attractive, and actually talking to the resident outcast. Now was not the time to start drooling over guys.

Just a second, I need to wipe away the imaginary drool that’s accumulated while I’ve been thinking about this.

“It’s still impolite to make a lady sit on the floor,” That’s your cue to come back from Lala land sweetheart. He’s talking to you. “I don’t mind moving,” he said, beginning to gather up his belongings and clear the desk.

Aw, how sweet. He thinks he’s a gentleman. Well, at least it proves that chivalry isn’t dead just yet. No, it’s just dying a slow and painful death by bleeding out every orifice as women stare incredulously at the do-gooder. Seriously, every time I’ve seen a guy be ‘chivalrous’, he starts to get all sorts of strange glances that seem to question his sanity. Maybe women are just jaded, what with all the media implication that chivalrous guys are secretly only after a good tumble in the weeds. A real shame too, because then all the actual nice guys get caught in the mix and I pull a Holden Caulfield.

It’s because they’re all fake. All of them I say! Even the kids who ignore you on a daily basis, fake. Shut up brain. There’s plenty of time for cynicism later.

Pushing the urge to do exactly as I thought and stare incredulously at the new kid aside, I opted instead to smile and shake my head, “Ah, but I do. You see, I’ve already sat down, and I don’t feel much like getting back up to go sit somewhere else,” and it wasn’t like I liked the desks. The stupid pieces of crap were really uncomfortable. It was as if the people in charge wanted us to have sore buttocks by the end of the day.