Hand In Mine

𝘖𝘯𝘦 - 𝘌𝘷𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢

"In fashion, we should stop listening to others and start designing, wearing and flaunting for ourselves. So what if our skirt is too short? We like how soft our thighs are. So what if our skirt is too long? Maybe we like to appear taller?" I watch my classmates nod and murmur in agreement.

I hate to say this. And I really do. But this is a good point to make. Damn him.

"I choose this design as a representation of diversity. A representation of self-love and acceptance. A way to view our bodies as a temple. Something to cherish instead of criticising." I can hear him scoff and watch as he shakes his head in disbelief.

He can take his disbelief and shove it up to his you know what.

"So I present, Queen Bee," I finish, breathing out slowly and placing a hand on my chest. My heart is beating wildly and I can't believe I spun a load of rubbish. In my previous presentations, I have had to create scripts, learn them, burn them and pretend I had never used one.

"Lovely darling lovely. Great work. I can't wait to see something in action. Let me know when I can sample Evanna." Mrs Buckle chimes as she waltzes through the desk and gives me a peck on the cheek.

I flash her my picture-perfect smile, nod my head and assure her she will be the first to see them. The bell rings shortly after signalling the end of the day. I quickly rush to grab my purse so I can catch him. I watch him turn to head into the hallway, but my sweater catches the corner of the desk and snags me.

I pout seeing a thread on the newest season of Dior and hurry after him.

"Sloan," I growl, rushing my way through the halls as they continue to get busier. It's Friday, so everyone is rushing through the red locker halls to get out for the latest gossip or hangouts.

"Evanna," He growls back, turning to throw me a wave.

"Ship-Boy I mean it," I huff, struggling to keep up in my Louis Vuitton heels. I shove past people and continue behind him. This is the only time I will admit that it is a good thing that he is tall. It means I can keep track of him.

"So do I, Thorn," He drawls, turning around and walking backwards while keeping his eyes on me. He grins at me. I hate him so much.

As I'm about to give him a piece of my mind, he winks and turns back around as I'm grabbed around the arm and yanked into my friendship group.

"Let him be Evanna. God, you're so obsessed." Lucy snarks, looking into her compact mirror. Isabel nods her head in agreement.

"Excuse me? He ruined my latest designs." I scoff, placing my hands on my hips.

"So what? You're not going to make them, anyway. When was the last time you picked up your sewing machine?" Isabel asked. I knew what she was doing, but I let her do it, anyway. I guess this is the cost of friendship.

"Whatever. I'm still going to give him a piece of my mind." I smooth down my sweater with sweaty hands and ignore their stares.

"Are you coming or not?" I raise an eyebrow. "I guess I'll give you my Dior bags another day," I question, knowing they would do anything for them. It's not like I need them. I'm pretty sure I have 12 shelves full of them at home.