Wrong Side Of The Bed

07 | many thanks to the magnanimous twat.

"No," I said, then paused for a second, trying to find the right words. "I think I came here to thank you  for standing up for me and telling him that I smell like jasmine and sandalwood instead of curry. I take my fragrance game very seriously."

He kept quiet for a moment, and then actually laughed. He laughed! I sat beside him awkwardly, unsure of what was actually so funny — and then after a moment, when he finally ceased laughing, I continued. "And um yeah, that's that. Thanks."

"Well," He said slowly, still stifling small bursts of laughter. "I have had lots of people thank me for a lot of ridiculous things, but yours certainly takes the cake. Which I should have expected, by the way, because you are ridiculous."

"Shut up, Sinclair," I said, snarling at him. "And you are ridiculous! Huh. I am fancy and prim and proper and everything you're not."

"I am smart," He said. "So if you're everything I am not, you must be dumb."

I rolled my eyes, shaking my head and preparing to stand up and take my leave. "Screw you, Sinclair."

"At least take me out for a meal first," He replied. "Breakfast, brunch, lunch, dinner — everything works. I am not a very traditional guy."

I blew out a breath, smiled and stood up — and then crouched down to fold the mat before placing it in Sinclair's outstretched hand. "Be at the auditorium at detention time. I have talked with Sawyer sir and he has agreed us to give us freedom from detention and let me judge you for your debate audition instead. He is okay with it as long as we stay in the same room and don't rip each other's throats out."

"I will be there," He said, giving me a sincere nod. "See you again, my dear Walter who just thanked me!"

I was already on my heels, walking away and away from that scrawny kid. I threw a last remark at him from over my shoulder before turning at the shelf and walking straight towards the exit. "Get stuffed, Sinclair."

● ● ●

     DECIDING ON AN APPROPRIATE design of a dress for a party that we were to attend on the Saturday evening — which was more than two weeks away — seemed to be painfully difficult as Estelle and Adrienne and I peered into my sketchbook thoughtfully. My right thumb was carefully fiddling with the sleek gold ring that adorned my right ring finger, Adrienne's left little finger twitching dangerously against my arm and Estelle biting on her lip with such strength that made the action look almost painful — and were indicators and tells of when we were very serious and deep in thought.

"I find the glimmer on this dress very attractive," Adrienne mumbled, pointing at the sketch of a dress that appeared to be a long shimmery black dress which fell freely down the body, much like a maxi, and was one-shouldered, with a sleek silver belt to provide some balance for the fabric fluidity and a series of ruffles on the one shoulder band. "But it will be a tad bit inappropriate for clubbing, no? A bit too extra, I think."

"Pssh, this smooth clothed dress is it!" Estelle said, pointing to another sketch — this one was a short fuchsia number, with a carefully pleated skirt divided from the bodice with intricately designed pearls that crawled all the way up along the edges of the tapering neckline that the sweetheart neckline design had to offer. The dress was to be made of georgette silk, and the bodice was cut in the style of a straped camisole — and the back of the dress was made of see-through net fabric. "But it doesn't scream hardcore clubbing huh, does it? More like, prim and proper seductress."