Girl's Aren't Supposed to Love Other Girls

Short Story about love that is isn't exactly accepted among society.

She’s everything I’m not. She’s everything I fail to become. The harder I study, the more time I take to get ready, the harder I try to become her, the more I fall and land lower than I was before. The way she moves, the way she talks… everything about her I envy; yet only out of hatred for myself.

Every time I see her she’s smiling, she’s happy; at least she appears to be. We share the same free period and every day it’s the same pictured moment: One table all to herself. Books: AP Literature, AP Statistics and AP Biology surround her, yet she’s barely seventeen. Then there are her notebooks which just so happen to match the book covers she uses for that subject. The green belonging to English, the blue belonging to Math, and the red one belonging to Science. Everything seems in place, and in order. Every notebook has a textbook to match, as if they were partners. Then there is the fourth spiral bound that I never see her without. Every two weeks it’s a fresh notebook. Today happens to be orange, with an orange pen tucked onto the cover. Two Mondays from now it will probably be yellow or purple; she hasn’t used those colors yet.

I’ve only ever caught once glance at what was inside on a day I happened to be walking by as her nose was dug deep inside, writing what seemed to be a phrase. Sentences were crossed out, words were thrown around. Paragraphs here, half pages there. It seemed to contradict her orderly lifestyle. On the outside she seems to be perfect with her hair pin straight, bobby pin tucking her hair slightly behind her ear so it wasn’t in her face as she did her work. Sometimes I wonder how long she spends getting ready everyday. Everyone saw her as a role model. I see her as a mystery, an inspiration.

After her honors classes everyday, she sits on the grass outside of the school with her back up against a tree that seems to curve her spine just right for comfort. She writes as if she always has something to say. She’s the girl that stares at the clouds and appears to be in deep thought or concentration. Yet her method of studying is so precise, so predictable. Green books, blue books, red books. Always in that order. Even if there wasn’t anything assigned, everyday she would take each set out, write and read them, and afterward she’d readjust her position and the orange notebook would appear. Orange pen taps the book and then she writes until her thoughts come to a halt. And as soon as they do, her book closes, she gathers everything she had just went through, stands up and is on her way. There are times where I lay on the grass reading a newly bought book and as I end a chapter, think about walking over to her and just saying something. Saying anything. But a few seconds later, my eyes are back into my book, flipping more and more pages.

I see her go inside the daycare down the street now and again. She goes in and doesn’t come out for hours at a time. On top of the homework tree routine, it’s been said that she tends to those children six days a week for a little less than eight dollars an hour. Yet every day she walks the halls, she has her head held high and smiling as if she receives good news on a daily basis. Maybe one day.. I could be her good news.

If only I had the courage to talk to her. To say something, start a conversation. Something about this isn’t right. I feel like I’ve known her for years, yet I haven’t ever said one word to her. The way she studies and always seems to be happy almost concerns me. But the way I’m attracted to her confuses and almost scares me. It’s more the fact that I’m interested in why I find her so intriguing. Why, when her books sit on her lap, do I crave to be that book. Girls aren’t supposed to have feelings for other girls.

* * *

As I finish writing down a quote I had heard in class and particularly liked, I realized my notebook is at it’s end. The purple one I have at home awaits to be broken in. I haven’t used a purple notebook all year. There’s this one girl in my study hall who I write about and she has filled up 7 notebooks. She has no idea.

I saw her last Friday walking home and wanted so badly to say something to her. To talk. To converse. She’s almost always alone, which makes me wonder. Her hair is more times than not fishtailed into a braid. Does she braid it herself?

She’s the kind of girl with a secret, and a past. The kind of girl you see walking home without anyone by their side, yet she seems content with that. There are times where I go into work as she’s walking home, and I look back to make sure she wasn’t just imagined.

Her notebook is filled and filled with scattered papers. Assignments that have gone unfinished and notes that have been written shorthand. I want so badly to be her. My life becomes hectic with work and school. Yet she seems so content, so peaceful with everything she does. The moments I see her, become thoughts, and the thoughts become sentences in my journals.

She always has a large Aroma Joes Iced coffee with her. I only know it’s iced because when she walks by.. You can the pieces hit the sides of the cup. She drinks it as if she’s never going to get another one. As if an iced coffee is the one thing she can always count on. And in a way, this makes perfect sense. A coffee will never turn on you. It will never betray you, never hurt you. People on the other hand, pull you in and then break your heart.

I’ve heard she has average grades. And from the way she is constantly on her laptop, I can understand. Maybe a failing grade here, or a low grade there. But it doesn’t seem to bother her. It doesn’t seem as if her Dad would scream at her if she had less than a 95.

People look at me, and I know what they see. A stuck up girl with a high GPA. A girl who has the body as if she puts out every night. Some say I’m easy. Guys just try to get with me to get in my pants. I know that’s what they see, because I see it too. And I hate it.

This girl wears her hoodies and jeans, and throws her hair back in a braid every day. People don’t look at her enough to see that she is beautiful. Underneath those layers, I can only imagine what would be revealed. Secrets, passions, even curves.

I notice that she reads. Her nose is always dug deep inside another novel. I can only imagine what it’s like to read 10 books a week. She has tabs sticking out from the pages she has read. I assume they mark sentences she likes. The organization of her reading and her novels, totally go against her disorganized lifestyle. Page after page, she would flip. And almost get done reading every day at about the same time I was done studying and ready to walk to work. The way she lays on the grass after school, back up, stomach down makes me crave to be that grass.

She walks home the same way I walk to the daycare. Sometimes I wish I had the courage to walk with her, and interlock my fingers with hers. This girl has me hooked and I don’t understand it. I find myself writing about her on a daily basis. Writing about the things I’d do with her, the secrets I’d share with her. How I want to be the one to braid her hair in the morning. This shouldn't be happening. My attraction to her confuses me.

Girls aren't supposed to have feelings for other girls.

Author's Note

Feedback please :) Anything will help!

Reviews

[Diana Dion 3]

"...and the red is Science" I think this line early on sounds better like this.
"...only ever caught one glance"

Just a few corrections/adjustments there ^.

I love your voice. It comes through so clearly, your confusion and your longing for something else. I also love your personification of the coffee. It was so simple and you made it have so much meaning. Awesome sauce.
Just one hang up: is this story about two separate girls? The orange pen girl and the girl with the coffee? Or are they the same person? Either way, I loved your use of language and how you showed me that you're confused but then you're really not.

You would enjoy my ONE piece that I've posted so far. Would you mind clicking on my profile and reading my "Dirty Little Secret" piece? It's the only thing I've posted so far. Thanks!

[Daisie Vergara (Dhaye)]

"Girls aren't supposed to have feelings for other girls."
You're just confused. You''re just interested because she's different from you...and there are things you admire on her that you don't have. It's normal to feel like that. Don't be confused love with admiration. You can admire persons of same or opposite gender. When you are already friends, then you will realize, you just want to be her best friend.

I have a nice read...