I knew the type as soon as I saw her. She came in with her head held up, ear buds in her ears, and a straight face. She walked by in all of her Ravenclaw-scarf-purple-hair glory. She had brown, beautiful eyes that took refuge behind big, black frames. Doc Martins and jeans with paint splatters clothed her lower half. I would have bet my life savings that the perfect figure was hiding in that winter coat she was wearing. Oh, I knew the type, and I knew it well.
She was the weird girl. The one that was so fantastically her that it intimidated others. She was the cello nerd with purple hair. She was the artsy, deep-thinking girl that was great at math but hated it because it was more logical than abstract. She was the type that used a typewriter to write slam poetry, took pictures with a Polaroid, and kept her turntable along with her records in an old suitcase. She had color-coded her bookshelf. She was the Whovian that could go on for hours explaining why it was such a fantastic show... She was also the girl that people were afraid of because she didn't fit into any mold they tried to put her in.
Because they were such social outcasts, they were the kind of girls who had eating disorders because they thought it was their weight (or lack thereof), or they had really bad social anxiety, or they had OCD, or AD(H)D, or, in her case, depression.
I had moved around a lot so was I am able to pick them out pretty fast. Usually, I would be able to stay away from them, like everyone else does, but this time was different. I don't know what it was. Maybe it was the way she held herself as she walked, like she had a purpose, the way she hugged one of her very few friends, or the way that she smiled at me when she caught me staring.
All I know is that, for some odd reason, I couldn't bring myself to treat her like all of the other guys did. To act like I didn't notice how gorgeous she was, or how truly cool she was, or how real she was, or like that I hadn't even noticed her at all.
That wasn't the first time I had seen the type. But, that was the first time I had seen Bexley Frazier.
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The Weird Girl And The New Boy
Teen FictionI never had a problem staying away from her type. However, Bexley was the exception. There was something about her that made me unable to stay away. Perhaps it was fate. Perhaps it was luck. Either way, I'm not complaining. Warning: there is so...
