Of course, that isn't going to happen. For several reasons, not the least of which is that I'm female while Joss is packing penis. Plus, it's just one of life's ironic duhs that one can never become one's hero. Not unless you are your own hero, but narcissism is not a sin most of us like to admit to.
But I would like to grow up to make movies, tv shows, books, scripts, phenomena like Joss does. I want to make people laugh, make them think, poison their entertainment with education. Or maybe it's the other way around.
Whatev. It doesn't really matter, because my future does not lay in the film industry. I've got a destiny - and it's not even something as cool as being a Slayer! Or a slayerette, or a Watcher, or a Champion of the PTB (that would be the Powers That Be, for those of you not current on your Angel Acronyms). No, my destiny fucking sucks - literally and figuratively!
Sorry. I'm jumping ahead of myself. Last I checked, narrative was supposed to be clock-bound. So, I'll start way back when I was... well, not normal, but at least not aware that I stick out like a stripper's hips. Or even of how much a stripper's hips actually stick out.
~*~
"Carnelia!"
I turned, grinning.
"Tamara! Hey, girl! Happy hell-bound day!"
My best friend laughed, snaking her arm around my waist.
"You bitch!" she giggled. "Don't remind me that we actually have to go in there."
I laughed, tugging at my Dr. Horrible messenger bag to let my skirt tumble down from where it had become bunched.
Tamara let go and I got my first good look at her outfit.
Most would have been screaming "faux pas!" in a frilly, lime green skirt with a handkerchief hem and a lavender off-the-shoulder top, but Tamara, with her ultra curvy build, pale Indian skin, and wild mane of curls, managed to pull it off. Of course, she knows her unique fashion situation intimately, and carefully cultivates her outfits to underscore that she's the only one who can wear them. Let's not even get started on her exercise routine and parasol collection.
"Nice," I acknowledged with a nod. "Properly festive."
She scanned me and pursed her lips.
Obligingly, I rotated on the spot.
I had chosen to wear a simple tea-length paisley print skirt in purples and pinks, paired with a black graphic tee emblazoned with the burgundy-pink slogan, "Love me! (Then I'll bite you.)" A black lace choker, oversized pastel moon and star earrings and pink satin with black lace mules finished the ensemble. I had made a special effort for the occasion.
"Hm," she muttered. "A little heavy on the season four Willow for my taste, but it'll do."
I stuck my tongue out at her.
All my outfits are a little heavy on the season four Willow for Tamara's taste.
We linked arms and strolled into the outer courtyard.
"'Nelia-bell! Tamara!" James waved from our traditional spot by the fountain, looking extremely odd with bleached tips on his spiked brown hair.
I dumped my bag on the ground before giving him a hug.
He turned to hug Tamara too, but she stopped him with an outstretched index finger.
"No. Not until you either give up on the peroxide or go full Spike. This half-ass look is not working."
His smile crumpled into a pout.
"Carnelia thinks it's cool!" he claimed defensively. "Isn't that right, 'Nelia?"
I deliberately looked elsewhere.
"He-ey! Just because my name's James doesn't mean I have to look like Marsters!" he protested.
"More's the pity," I murmured, grinning wickedly.
"Yeah, you could start with something better than the hair," Tamara finished, correctly interpreting my thoughts.
James folded his lanky arms across his still boyish chest.
"You guys are bitches," he complained.
I kissed him on the cheek.
Matthew came up as James blushed desperately.
"I've got schedules," he announced, unfazed by such inconsequential social conventions as greetings. "'Nelia, you and I have English together third block, but you're on your own for AP Chemistry. Told you you shouldn't have taken it." He flashed a smile before continuing. "James, you and I are golden for band first block, of course, and while 'Nelia is suffering in isolation during second, the rest of us are all partying in AP Bio."
I accepted the printout from him, scanning it for myself. Yay, English with Ms. Cane again this year!
"What about lunch?" Tamara demanded. "We've got to be together for lunch."
"I couldn't tell," Matthew admitted, pushing his glasses back up his nose, the gold rims gleaming against his dark skin. "They mentioned something about having changed some of the classrooms to different lunches."
"Figures," James said bleakly, having finally recovered. "Dragons would eat them if they kept things simple."
"Dragons don't eat demons, silly," Tamara admonished, swatting him with her schedule. "I thought we established that last year when we tried to feed Elec to Ms. Cane."
"The guy's an incubus, not a demon," James argued.
"It's the same thing," I said, rolling my eyes at their antics. "An incubus is a type of demon."
"I don't much give a damn what Elec is," Matthew broke in with a snort. "As long as he's not in any of my classes. Which," he turned to me with a slightly evil gleam in his eye, "I heard he's taking AP Chem."
"Oh, Joss," I breathed. "Please, no."
"Told you you shouldn't have taken AP Chem," he answered.
"You suck," I said earnestly.
"No," he replied much too chipperly, stooping to scoop up his book-bag. "But he does."
The bell rang, sending us all scampering off to class.
Hello junior year - day one.
No comments:
Post a Comment