I studied her while she was at her locker.
Black hair, clearly fake, it looked light brown at the most at the roots. Those gloves that have sleeves halfway up the arms but no fingers…I can never remember what they’re called. Beat up black converse. Black fingernail polish. She started down the hall but went back for a bag. She ran or something I think, I think she was on the student athlete list…I’m not sure though.
I watched her stride down the hall with her usual ‘don’t screw with me’ air coming off of her.
Suddenly she turned and demanded, “Can I help you?”
I was completely shocked for a minute, but I managed to come up with the genious response of: “Uh, sorry, what?”
“You keep staring at me. Do you want something or no? Because it’s really creepy in case you weren’t aware.” She replied with a thick edge of sarcasm.
She crossed her arms and stood there impatiently, clearly wanting a more elaborate response this time. She brushed her hair back “Typical teachers.” She muttered as she stalked off.