I'm The Geek Who Slapped A Football Player.

33 - Slinkie...?

"Then no. And I don't know what political party he would be but I'm quite damned sure we're opposites."

Scarlett shakes her head at me, laughing. "So what does that make Sebastian if you're so sure you're opposites?"

We turn left down the another hall, walking around a group of giggling freshman girls all wearing matching, neon green Glee Club shirts and matching neon pink baseball caps. Uck. "That would make Sebastian a Democrat." I say confidently.

Again she laughs. "I knew I was right."

"What does that mean?"

Scarlett keeps walking down the hall, still chuckling, heading toward her class. "That you're a Republican. It honestly just fits." And then she just keeps walking down the hall, still chortling about my political affiliation.

***

 Thank sweet little baby Jeezus. I think as the final bell rings, and I can get out of here. I pack up my things and sprint to my locker. I dodge around a huddle of hockey players and skirt my way through the skater people. As I shuffle between a girl with a beanie on and a guy with longer hair than me, I look up to glimpse Mithilde Dupont. I feel a spike of anger toward the pouty lipped, dark haired, spider-legged foreign exchange student.

As I squeeze past her I make an effort to knock into her bony frame and am pleased to hear her exclaim, "Ce que l'enfer!"

I don't know what it means but I can't resist smiling at her outrage.

As I continue walking back to my locker, I suddenly wonder why bothering Mathilde Dupont had made me happy. That never used to be me. Other people in general didn't make me happy, but that doesn't mean I went out of my way to deliberately aggravate someone. I would just avoid people. I left them alone if they left me alone. The snobby Parisian hadn't done a thing to me.

Wait...whoa...am I...am I feeling...GUILT?

What. The fuck.

No no no no no. My subconscious snaps. For once I'm thankful my subconscious butts in. You're just questioning your sudden desire to hand out meaningless discomfort to others who have done nothing to you.

Well. That sounds...oddly right. So, why the fuck am I suddenly doing that? I think back to Mathilde Dupont. Her presence had just irked me. Kind of like whenever I see Nyssa Randy. Like getting an imediate desire to kick them from a tall building. Why? Do they look alike? Well...almost...but no...

Nyssa is undeniably pretty, no doubt. She's a brunette (most likely dyed). She is built small but with a good figure. Of course she's got boobs. A butt. Legs (however short they are). But her face is more...is childlike a good word? Almost. I have the feeling that if she didn't wear makeup she'd look like a five-year-old girl. And she's on the short side. I think she's only taller than me if she wears heels.

And then there's Mathilde, who's all of six-foot-and-beyond with legs like a freaking giraffe. That's actually her entire body. Long and skinny. But not bony, no, she's got this weird lilt, almost willowy grace to her skinny frame. Her hair is dark, almost black. And her face is far from childlike. Her stark cheekbones throw shadows on her skin. Yet her lips are huge and fat. Like any nutrition that goes to her face goes straight to her kisser.

So why do I despise Mathilde? She doesn't look like Nyssa at all. I swear upon all that is holy and freaking sacred in this world that I'm not jealous of her. Frankly I'd never even seen hide nor hair of her until she went all goggle-eyed over Sebastian...

I feel a little pop go off in my brain, like someone had popped a bubblegum bubble.

Is it...because of Sebastian?