Desiree in red. Desiree in a cute mini dress with a ribbon. She overdid it. It was a Selection, not a sweet seventeen party. The Selection Hall was filled with people with sharp-looking attire. She stood out because she overdid it. God, I hope she was embarrassed.
"Your war outfit," I stated when we finally greeted each other.
"It is. And that's yours?" she asked. "How. . . formal."
Boring. That was the word she meant to say.
"How do I look? I'm afraid I have taken the preparation too seriously," she nervously giggled.
And here I thought I was the ultimate brash girl. Honestly, if I were brash, what were she? Her life was obviously about making statements. Her stunt with the dress was only one of them. One can see through her once one knows what she's like.
"Magical. And I'm afraid I haven't taken anything seriously," I answered flatly. "Worry not; I'm an optimist."
She appeared unsettled. But of course, it wasn't Desiree to not have a reply for that.
"Oh, surely you have all the rights to be optimistic. It's your field anyway. It's just. . . too bad you're not wearing a slightly prettier outfit to celebrate your glory."
"Trust me, an outfit is the last thing on my mind right now."
Appearance. An important issue for all phonies - those who think highly of that matter and those who think otherwise, all the same. I treated appearance only moderately. This is the occasion to appear neither fashionable nor careless. I dress neither fashionable nor careless, and that was enough. But I have to admit, her overdoing that got on my nerves.
"ATTENTION, participants! Please proceed to your seats. The selection is about to begin."
The master of ceremony, Miss Jenar, called out for us. I smiled. She smiled. We smiled stiffly and affectedly.
"Shall we?"
[M]
