Amagadas Academy

The Boy Named Watermelon

The uniform was down right ugly.

Quinn wasn't the type of person to be picky about and outfit, but today she was. It was mostly green paid, which was beyond unflattering on her. For one, it was two sizes too big in the skirt/overalls (AKA a "pinafore" as vogue would say), and the white button-up undershirt was too way small. 

The outfit was clearly an acquired figure and taste. Both of which, Quinn did not have in her wildest dreams.

"Do you need help with that?" Ophelia asked, looking up from her phone.

"Sadly, yes."

Ophelia got up from her bed with a sigh. She walked over and examined the outfit. Moving her braids back, she kneeled and studied Quinn's skirt.

"They always mess it up," she explained. "You would think one of the most renowned schools in the world would have good clothing. My idea is that we should trade. My shirt is too big, your's too small. For the skirt get-up we can use pins and some light sewing as a DIY tailor."

"I don't feel comfortable with pins poking me all the time and frankly have a fear of them," Quinn informed her. "Just FYI."

"Of course you do." Ophelia replied, rolling her green eyes and getting to work on the outfit. 

First, she had Quinn try on her shirt,  which fit big enough for the girl's liking, and made the switch final. The pinning and sewing part was the hardest. Whatever fabric they used, it was bought enough to breaks the pins' tips off. She didn't know if that was a good or bad thing. 

At least I don't have to worry about being stabbed or shot at this school.

Ophelia stabbed her accidentally with the sewing needle multiple times, leaving her outer thighs and shoulders with bloody red dots. Luckily, they were covered with the skirt and top, though Quinn knew she'd have to bleach the undershirt later that night.

"There," Ophelia exhaled, taking a step back to admire her work. "The way I pinned it shouldn't stab you in the middle of class, or while walking. Better yet, no one will even notice their presence by a simple look at you. It should work until you can get it tailored."

Quinn gulped at that. 

Was she supposed to have a tailor? She'd ever been to one before, nor could she likely afford it. Her heart began to speed up with anxiety, beating two hundred mile per hour. They already thought low of her, how much lower would they think when they found out she couldn't even afford a tailor?

Sighing, Quinn brushed out her wavy brown locks with an abandoned spiral brush from the previous residents of the dorm. 

To be honest, she looked like Einstein after doing it, but no one told her that her hair was defying gravity and the laws of physics. Taking a scrunchies--she may or may not have stolen from a certain roommate--she put her hair into a tight bun. Annoyingly, the front strands of her hair refused to be pulled back.

Fucking shit. Even my hair can't be cooperative little assholes.

"Breakfast is at six," Ophelia rushed. "Hurry up. We're gonna miss the fresh food."

Food was all Quinn needed to hear in order to jump and be ready in the speed of light.

She rolled on the floor and put on her Nike socks and school-issued black Mary Jane shoes. They were very much uncomfortable, thanks for asking. Jumping to her feet she grabbed another school-issued product, a green backpack, and put it on so fast the second strap didn't even make it on her shoulder. Yes, her does passionately despise her.