"Hey Emiko" the blonde haired, browned eyed girl said to me with a glorious smile and an ironed outfit. She of course intimidated me, she was, is, so perfect and I am just a crumpled-clothed, black hair and poop eye person, strolling through the library where no one else goes. How did this perfect specimen even know my name? I definitely do not know her. "Um.. hey" Did I stutter? I think I stuttered. A story about an eccedentesiast that goes by the name of Emiko Mei Anderson.
3 parts