Running my fingers across the rows of hangers, I contemplated on what to buy my sister for her fifteenth birthday. Sarah was turning into an absolute brand-whore, no doubt influenced by the rich people at the rich school we went to. I despised her new rich-person attitude, but I was hoping – pleading to the gods above – that she would grow out of it. Living in a stereotypically shabby shack and surviving on government aid doesn’t provide a mom and her two daughters too many options. Neither does it help when your mom is too depressed to work.
Spotting a piece of clothing that didn’t look too washed out, I pulled it free from the disorganized jumble only to find that it was made of horrible quality – whatever, Sarah could deal. After checking the size, I threw it into my shopping cart and strolled towards the cash register. Just as I was about to break free from the crowded racks, I saw a hint of cobalt blue peeking out from beneath a pile of clothing. I remembered Sarah’s words from another day: “I just want something bright to cheer myself up from all these problems.” Mentally crossing my fingers, I pushed all the other clothing aside and picked it up, almost screaming in excitement when I realized that it was a Rebecca Minkoff bag, at the price of 25 freakin dollars. Squealing like a little baby pig, I took my cart and ran towards the cash register. Sarah was going to be so excited when she sees this that she wouldn’t even have it in her ungrateful heart to complain about the other gifts.
I paid my 40 dollars for everything and skipped out of Goodwill with a grin stretched across my face, ignoring the weird expressions on the employees’ faces. Suddenly, I remembered the other half of my mission to Goodwill and backed up to the cash register.
“Excuse me. Are there any jobs available here?” I asked politely towards a woman who was reading a well-used, paperback novel. She didn’t respond, much too absorbed into the story, and so I decided to peek a little over her shoulder. Bad idea, considering she was reading a certain Fifty Shades of Grey. I jumped back and felt my face warm, no doubt turning the color of firetrucks; That’s when the woman turned around and saw me. She narrowed her eyes and gave me a nasty look, clearly not appreciating my intrusion. My embarrassed demeanor immediately did a double take when I saw her hostility.
"I’m sorry, what are you doing?” she spat at me. I wasn’t so sure about the job now, considering I would be having coworkers like her, but it wasn’t really a choice, so I swallowed and opened my mouth.
“Can I have a job here?” I asked again, with a little more syrup added into my voice for good measure, yet her offended face showed that she was unconvinced.
“No.”
“But-“
“No.” She said again, looking pointedly at me then at the door. I sighed and turned towards the door, but not before casually knocking over the pile of books beside her register. Did she really think I was going to just take her attitude? Hearing her curse behind me, I turned back around with an innocent façade and gave her my inquiring eyebrow.
“Oh my gosh! I am SOOOOO sorry!” I gushed with enthusiasm then walked out without another look at her. It’s her fault for being so rude. Ain’t nobody got time for that, I justified to myself and decided that it was a satisfactory excuse. Unexpectedly, my phone buzzed in the pocket of my washed out jeans, reminding me of the long time I took in shopping for Sarah. Sliding into my old but loved Camry, I read the text from Sarah that said “Mom want u 2 com hom.” Evidently “e’s” don’t exist anymore, judging by her horrible spelling and grammar. I replied with a regular English word “Okay” and started my car. Driving out of the parking lot, I noticed a McDonald’s sign with the words “New Twix Milkshake!” plastered on it and felt my stomach growl. Should I?
Five minutes later, I sat in my little booth, sipping the cup of heaven that tasted like chocolate, caramel, and awesome sauce, with a meal spread out in front of me. Imagining myself as the rat from Ratatouille, I closed my eyes and swirled the drink in my mouth, sighing from the scrumptiousness. Twix plus any other food in the world was my love.
“You know what would taste better than that milkshake?” Someone said. My eyes fluttered open and my brows automatically scrunched together in disapproval of the disturbance. For once I let myself enjoy a little free time and I got interrupted. However, I silently groaned when I saw his face, recognizing it immediately as the guy from Highpark High School, my school, and the guy being Mr. Damon Lee. He was last year’s prom king, this year’s almost unanimous nominee (guess who’s the exception) and our very own player. He was the stereotype of all stereotype players, which was fine by me because I just happened to be that stereotypical girl who didn’t give a monkey’s butt about him. I couldn’t dispute how attractive he was, but looks definitely don’t do it all for me.
He was still staring at me as I silently contemplated his existence. Evidently thinking I was staring at His Royal Highness’ gorgeous face, he shot me a smile with his pearly whites and answered for me.
“My body,” Damon said with a wink before I could shoot back a reply. Instead of swooning at his face like any other girl would’ve done, I felt disgust creep into mystomach at his arrogance. As he waited for my blush and shy smile, annoyance spread through me because he actually expected me to fall to his knees and confess my love. I averted my eyes from him and stared at the menu instead, hoping he would just take that hint and leave. Unfortunately, he stayed.
“C’mon babe, don’t pretend like you don’t want me.” His hand touched my shoulder and I automatically flinched to the side in disgust. When he saw the repulsed look on my face, he slid his hand back in shock. Before he could react, I grabbed my food and walked out of McDonald’s, muttering “obnoxious” under my breath.
“I heard that.” He yelled behind me, but I paid no heed. “Just tell me which school you go to.”
I scoffed at his words, coming to the conclusion once again that guys like him were no hope. We had classes together for the past 3 years, yet he didn’t even know that we attended the same school; just goes to show how little he cared for people who didn’t bow down to his feet.
It may have seemed like one of those poor-girl-rich-boy encounters, but I was NOT going to become one of those girls. I'd rather kiss a monkey's butt.
