Pink Stilettos. Blue Stocking.

01 | the devil most definitely does not wear Prada

                                o n e.

                the devil most definitely does not wear Prada

“I think you might be lost. Hierdie is nie die loser section nie, Philander.”

I stepped away from the sign-up sheets and turned around to come face to face with Gabriella Dubois, my all-time arch nemesis, who looked ever so prim and proper in a navy blue, pleated skirt paired with a white shirt, a baby blue buttoned up cardiganand a tailored white school blazer; our school’s uniform.

I sighed theatrically.

“If this isn’t the loser section, then I have no idea why you’re here. Obviously, you need to get yourself reacquainted with yourself.”

Dubois rolled her blue eyes at me.  “Pleasantries aside, why are you here?”

“It’s school! Why are you at school?”

“That vague answer did not answer my question at all.” She retorted.

“It’s still an answer and I’m at the liberty of answering however I please,” I replied. “So why are you here, again?”

Gabriella proceeded to fold her arms, smirking as she spoke. “Firstly, Mrs Potgieter asked me to sign up for this beauty pageant, not that it’s any of your business. She feels I’ll do a rather excellent job seeing as I already know the pageant scene quite well, being a three time champ and all. I’m sure her feelings do not extend to the likes of you.”

Gabriella Dubois was a well-rounded student who succeeded in nearly anything, whether it be academics or sports, but with that success came an arrogant attitude that snubbed others’ (unsuccessful) efforts and that’s where my dislike, to put it rather mildly, towards her developed. If there was anything I would devote my entire life to, it would be to bring Ms Dubois down a few notches, but the fact that my academics lived on a B average and my limbs were not co-ordinated for the complexities of sport, made it quite difficult for me to fulfil this lifetime goal.

“I’m sure you’re just saying that, because you have a basic instinctual fear of someone else swooping in to steal your tiara.” I smiled.

Her smirk fell.

Amidst her success, though, Dubois was also slightly insecure, although I had no idea for what reason her insecurity existed upon.

“Please!” She cackled, like an evil green witch fabricating an evil scheme. “Don’t flatter yourself.” She went on to say, moving ever so close to me as she did. “Jy’s niks.”

Mrs Potgieter, our principal, decided to grace us with her presence then. It was a good thing she did, because I was sure if I lasted another second in Gabriella’s presence, she would most certainly have bald patches amidst her head and my hands would be clutching large clumps of blonde hair.