Her Artificial Hair [editing]

01 // the cookie monster.

"Look, I get it. You wanted to check that Watt-stuff... is that some blog about radioactivity or something? I'm just—"

He stops when I give him a glare cold enough to instantly freeze boiled water. He shifts in his seat, cough, look at some files and then look up at me again.

 "I'm just asking," he starts again. "What does that have to do with the fact that you basically punched a guy your age, Alexander Ethan Beckham, multiple times, by the way, gaining him 'numerous bruises, a broken rib and a twisted ankle' needless to say while being intoxicated?"

He reads the last part from a sheet of paper and then looks up at me. I sigh.

"Because, Mr. Feigner... that was only the beginning to a story I don't think will ever have an ending."

"There's more?" He raises an eyebrow. I sigh.    

"Oh, and a lot of it..."

 

If I had to say one thing that bothered the crap out of me at fifteen, it would probably be people who bring unnecessary attention to themselves (such as the mentioned beforehand Beckham, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it). And maybe I was fairly bothered by people who highlighted your awkwardness.

However, if I had to say one thing that really bothered the crap out of me at fifteen, it would be Alexander Beckham as a whole. Why? Well, I think that's why I'm telling you this.

Let's start by saying that I met Beckham by sheer annoyance.

Now, at first, I met him at the bus stop. But I didn't actually know it was him; I just thought he was another normal guy who lived next to me.

But much to my dismay, I was wrong. 

It was the start of freshman year, the first week I think, and they'd given me the choice of either having a free period before lunch or having a Fine Arts elective and you can guess what I chose, because besides needing as much time as I can get for Biology homework, I didn't really need the pressure of another teacher taking more of my time than he or she deserves.

I was at the library, which was completely empty, may I say. Well, except the almost always angry librarian sitting in a corner and watching everyone with hawk-like eyes. And this guy, tall, somewhat gawky but in a cute way, came and stood right next to me. Right. Next. To me.

Okay, let's pause.

Let me repeat that again, the library was completely empty, and the only place he thought convenient to stand was in a thirty centimeter radius of moi.

Now, why is that a big deal? Please let me explain.

I was going through that phase where if a guy did anything annoying, then he's the devil's spawn.  And one of the very annoying things guys like to do? Well, vaguely talking, they decide to bring this small little monster in my brain called awkwardness, and I hate that. Because let's be real: guys who make you feel awkward = not cool.

To sum it all up, I was awkward whenever and only someone (a guy, to be exact­) brought up some awkward tension, coughed every once in a while and made me actually open my mouth and engage in a conversation. Nuh-uh. You don't do that if you don't want to get your precious face ripped off, with my bare hands.

If a guy made some jokes, shook my hand and laughed at my lack of sense of humor around him, I wouldn't be that embarrassed.

But you see, guys my age longed to see a girl embarrassed and mumbling and looking at them like they just woke her up at 5 am, and they actually thought it was because she had a crush on them and that was the kind of stupidity I had tried to avoid during my early teenage years but failed miserably at, because of a certain teenage male (I'll let you guess who it is), who didn't only expect me to talk to him normally, but got surprised when I didn't.