For the Love of Toby.

3.

It was a beautiful Sunday morning and just like every other Sunday, I was tucked in bed at 11am with my laptop and a mug (with 'I Love Washington' written on it) filled with exhilarating cappuccino. I had my glasses on as I was trying to update my blog. Yes, I have a blog. I was one of those people. My blog is one of those feminist blogs. It was a fashion blog as well. It wasn't very popular with people in my school or community for that matter. However, it was quite known by several strangers I had never met before who seemed quite interested in my write-ups.

I'm sure you're wondering why I was helping Caroline in the beginning and why my mum said it would be of great help to me. Well, as I mentioned earlier, Caroline is a huge fashion icon with a famous label. I, on the other hand, was an inexperienced 16 year old who was addicted to writing and designing pieces. My blog would go nowhere and my designs would remain hidden if I'm not advertised or recommended by someone, which is where Caroline came in.

I turned away from my laptop and stared at the FIT brochure that was open on my bed. Fashion Institute of Technology was my dream. I wanted to become a part of everything they did. FIT is the best fashion designing school and it is situated in New York. Its alumni consists of the likes of Calvin Klein and Michael Kors. From the mentioned names, it appears to be quite obvious that someone like me didn't stand a chance of attending FIT. the financial status of my family wasn't the best. My dad had passed away a month ago and my mum depended on her job in a moribund insurance company to provide for us. Mum's insurance company was on the brink of destruction and so she had a part time job as a marketer and sales agent. Basically, she marketed and sold anything she was given to sell and most times, she only came home with commission. If I wanted to get into FIT, I needed solid recommendation (Caroline would do the trick), a perfect GPA and some extra-curricular activities. The activities part was not a problem since I was a vital journalist in Manley High's press club. I would have joined the Environmental Committee but my days were so booked that I didn't even have time for myself. If I wasn't at Caroline's, I was working my ass off for the press club. If I wasn't doing that, I was updating my blog. If I wasn't doing that, I was catching up on school work in order to get that perfect GPA.

I sighed and pushed my laptop away then I picked up my cellphone to call Torrence, one of my only friends in Manley High. Well,Torrence and Margaret. Torrence was a basketballer and Margaret was a gymnast. It's probably hard thinking about what we possibly have in common as friends since we are all in different fields of life. Well, the three of us had 2 things in common; we were feminists and we loved to write. Torrence had a blog for sports and feminism. Mostly, she wrote about female sports not being recognized as much as male sports. Margaret was not just a feminist. She was a philosopher. Margaret was one of those people who strongly believed in 'finding your inner soul' and looking to it for solutions. She believed in nature and the gods of human beings being our minds. Basically, Margaret was deep and Torrence was fierce. I was just.. me.

Well, in an attempt to call Torrence, I spilled my cappuccino and so I got up to clean it. Passing by my full length mirror, I couldn't help but take a moment to stare at my unattractive figure.

It was hard to believe that at 16, I was still chestless. Yes. I'd never worn a real bra before. At 16. I was still in my sports bra stages. A part of me thought that maybe I was just a late bloomer and another part of me was assured that the boobs weren't coming anytime soon. Neither was the ass. The combination of my pale skin and blackishly black hair confirmed that I looked like a 16 year old vampire. A quiet one at that. I got a paper towel and within seconds, the brown stain of cappuccino became an off-white stain. That was the best I could do and so, I left it at that. Sitting on my bed idle at that moment made me to remember that I was supposed to listen to Miguel's Vixen as advised to by Toby McGivins.

I went on to downloading it and I sat still as I listened to it through my earplugs.

It started very seductively. Miguel was suggesting him and his girl 'play a little game'. I had no other choice but to bite my lip. He succeeded in capturing my attention with his seductive tone.Then, he goes on to suggesting different games they could play; 'cop and robber, Tarzan and Jane, Marilyn and Robert..' He was adventurous. He wanted a vixen who would use his bed as her stage and get the spotlight every time they played. He wanted creativity; he let her pick the scenes while he picked the props. He suggested classrooms, offices.. Miguel was fucking sexy. That was my final conclusion. He was full of spark and spontaneity and the song was awesome. It kept me smiling for hours because all I could think of was the fact that Toby wanted me to listen to it. Was it a message he was sending across? It also got me thinking about the kind of guy Toby was. If this was the kind of song he liked, then this was the kind of guy he was. Spontaneous. Creative. Intriguing. Sexy. Why couldn't vixen be our tune? Why couldn't we make out in his car while vixen was playing through the speakers of his Chevrolet? We couldn't because Toby was taken. And even if he wasn't, he wouldn't take a second to even think of looking at me.