They walked slowly down the corridor, talking about nothing, and everything, all at the same time.
“I hate the school uniform.” She said, by way of conversation.
“It’s like they don’t want us to be happy at school.”
“Every minute is like torture.”
“Every second,” he said, “is full of pain.”
“But it’s good though,” she added thoughtfully, “Sometimes I really enjoy it, but it sucks when reality sets in.”
“I know what you mean.”
“It looks terrible on me.”
“Oh.” They turned a corner. “No it doesn’t.”
“Everything looks shocking on me, I’m too bony.” She hoisted up her books again.
“You’re not though, what would even make you think that?” he scuffed his foot on the floor.
“I hate everything about myself.”
“Why? What could you possibly be unhappy with?” he asked, incredulous. She took a deep breath and stopped dead in her tracks. So did he.
“My hair’s too frizzy and there’s way to much of it,” his eye flickered to her wavy, long, blonde hair, “I wish it was longer, I wish I had the courage to cut it shorter, I wish it was darker,” It was perfect.
“My face is too round, my skin is too greasy,” true her face was a perfect circle, but he had a feeling no-one was paying attention to the shape of it.
“I have no chest, I have no curves at all,” She was built like a model, tall and thin, he didn’t see the problem with that.
“My nose is too big,” It was the perfect size for her face.
“My bottom teeth are crooked,” Only slightly.
“My eyebrows are never symmetrical,” did anyone care?
“My nails flake,” that seemed insignificant.
“My shoulders are too broad, I’m too tall,” she stood at roughly his height. He said this because he didn’t want to acknowledge the centimetre difference in their heights.
“My eye lashes aren’t long enough,” they were long enough for him.
“My mouth is too wide,” it was a nice mouth. He didn’t have a problem with it.
“My feet are so long and thin it’s a nightmare trying to buy shoes,” She didn’t have to wear shoes for all he cared.
“My skin is too tanned, I’m too pale to be called tanned,” she did have nice… skin.
“My hands are always cold,” That’s what gloves are for.
“When I’m bored I look sad” She would just never have to be bored again.
“And my eyes-” she stopped at that point, perhaps because she couldn’t find anything wrong with her eyes, they were quite pretty, but t is more likely though is that his lips got in the way.
Then they weren’t in the way. But she didn’t tell him what was wrong with her eyes.
“You have nice eyes.” He whispered. She closed them, breathing heavy.
He was gone, leaving her alone, leaning against the wall.
A bell rang somewhere, in a foreign world and students filled the space between them. She felt like she was stranded on an island surrounded by a sea of orange faces and bleached hair.
Surrounded by hate and spite and fear and emptiness… she was on an island of happiness.
He liked her eyes.
It was one of those moments that made her feel insignificant and on-top-of-the-world all at the same time.
She felt a small thrill that nobody, not one person, knew what had happened.
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