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Pen Your Pride

Delia

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It may come as a shock to some of you, in this social media/cellphone/internet world we live in, but there are still girls who are not boy-crazy. There are still girls who do not swoon at musicians, actors, athletes or any other various form of celebrity. There are still girls who do not care about the most popular football jock or the homecoming king. There are still girls who simply live life day to day without the care in the world about romance. There are still girls like me. More like, girl, probably...singular.

Either way I am perfectly happy and fulfilled. Having boys off of my mind leaves me more time to focus on getting to a good a college and other more important stuff. I mean, I talk as if I have a choice. I'm busy enough with ACT and SAT prep classes, AP classes, Varsity Tennis and god knows what else I signed up for-- even I can't keep track of them.

Oh lord. I just read that over and I sound like some bitter loser trying to defend my loser-iness and my blatantly obvious lack of social life. I mean, I do have a social life. I have friends. Some of them girls and some of them boys-- most of them boys...but not once have one of them made my heart skip a beat or made me want to kiss one of them. Blech! I mean. They're like dogs. I like hanging out with them and all but the notion of going out with them or...I'm getting off track!

Now where was I? Oh yes. I have a story to tell.

It all started one morning, in chemistry class. Our teacher was talking about catalysts. Explaining what it means or something. I forget now. But that was when my whole life turned upside down. That was when Delia Artois walked in the room.

That day my seat lab partner, Shelly, was absent. And that seat was the only empty one left in the room. Delia glanced at me and went straight to that chair and sat next to me, passing by our mousey teacher, Mr.Randolf.

"Excuse me, are you in this class?"

Delia stared at him for half a minute, unblinking. She then grabbed a piece of paper off her pocket and gave it to Mr. Randolf.

"Cordelia--"

"It's Delia." She cut him off and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, looking at the floor with a frown, probably upon hearing her full name.

"Yes. We have assigned seats in this class. For now you can sit there." Mr. Randolf handed her back the slip of paper and went back to the front of the room with whatever he was blabbing on about.  I had stopped listening then. I had more, shall we say, more interesting matters, to attend to.

Delia had glanced my way. “Hi.” She said. Her eyes back to the front, as if acknowledging the thin air in front of her and not me.

Unsure, I replied with a weak “hello”.

“I’m new.” She said.

I nodded.

A moment of awkward silence passed mostly because I didn’t know what to say to this cool, mysterious new girl sitting next to me. She broke the silence with a loud, “oh $hit!”

My head pivoted. “Are you okay?” I looked her up and down. From her messy big hair to her red kicks.

“Not really.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I think I bled through. Can you check?” She stood up without asking for a respond and stuck her behind at my face. Nevermind that we just met minutes, nay, seconds, ago.  I seemed to have forgotten that she was a stranger as well because I looked and investigated and gasped when i saw a spot of red bleeding through her shorts.

“Oh shit!” I sad as a reflex-- loud enough for Mr.Randolf to hear.

Of course he heard. He turned and stared at us and my eyes opened wide like cherry pie, mouth hanging open like some yokel. He looked at me questioningly.

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