So I’m sitting in French class contemplating on whether I should do the conjugating exercises or run to the restroom. My bladder is long overdue but I don’t think I have enough time to go. One girl sitting beside me chats away about how cold the school is. Two others, dubbed Girl One and Girl Two, listens and cosigns when they feel it’s necessary. They rub their long, pale arms and flip their curly hair momentarily. I consider with every "ons", "ez", and "ent" that I should grab the ceramic pass and go but their every snivels, I remain.
“Yesterday I forgot my jacket and I wanted to die.” Girl says prolonging the last of her words.
“I always ask this kid in my second block for his and I keep it for the period,” Girl One shivers, “So I’m good.”
“And then when you get outside, it’s like, ‘Never mind!’”
They laugh out loud.
“I know right!”
“That’s so funny.”
I check on Girl Two, for she has not said a word in a whole two minutes. She had a mouthful when Girl brought her summer in Brazil up, informing us all that she not only went to her home country but also every other country she voluntarily chose as ethnicities, which include France, Spain, and Africa. What a summer that must have been. She fondles her memorable photos but they’re done with that. She rubs her arms again but that topic is over. I don’t think Girl and Girl One care anymore than they do of my concern to use the bathroom. Girl Two looks anticipated to relate herself once more as their discussion shifts from ID photos to hair.
“I hated my ID photo.”
“You?” Girl Two responded like Girl was just insane, “That lady was like say cheese and I go, ‘Chee-‘ and end up with this dumb confused expression.”
“My hair was so gross that day, though,” Girl competed.
“But your highlights are so nice.”
“Really?”
“Yeah! It’s because they’re small. Mine are so chunky.” insists Girl One.
“No, yours are nice!”
They then begin a minute of fingering each other’s peach-smelling locks. I agree with Girl One. Her tiny colors would have been preferable compared to my mother’s insistence that a brighter shade would bring my face out. Meanwhile, Girl Two slowly unties her own hair. Her eagerness entertains me.
“Oh, my God! Your hair smells just like strawberries.” Girl One amazes.
“Really? I use a pear-flavored conditioner.”
“Pear-flavored?” Girl One asks.
“That’s what the bottle said… I think.”
They chuckle inside their futility.
“It really smells like peaches.” Girl Two comments.
I wonder when the invitation in bandying's air was offered to her.
“Let me see.”
She leans in and sniffs her hair as Girl One continues to fondle with it just astonished.
“Wow, you guys! It’s definitely like… peachy-smelling.” she laughs.
They all laugh again, in dim-witted unison.
“Yeah!” Girl agrees.
She sniffs her own hair as Girl One wrings hers. Then, with enough donated attention she modestly made the attack.
“This morning my hair smelled just like lavender.”
“Lavender!? What’s that like?” Girl asks.
“Yeah, what’s lavender?”
“I don’t know. It must smell… purple?” she said, immediately blurting out with laughter.
