Ask For Alexis

1. This is so not what I do for fun

Life is a paradox. Nothing is definite, everything is unsure, and no one knows this fact better than Alexis Lancaster. Trying to prove a budding theory about how she's an insignificant cell that the universe can successfully do without. So far, she's doing extremely well.

You see, Alexis Lancaster is not society's typical size ten. In fact, she hates her body. Her curves are not 'voluptuous' or 'sexy' or like Marilyn Monroe's, she is overweight – not obese, just not thin either. Her eyebrows are one of her proudest accomplishments; they're sharp and arched at the corners. She has curly, light brown hair, hazel eyes, long lashes, full lips and quite a set of cheeks.

Her first victorious trial is her social life. It's Monday morning and despite clocking into Felton High School every day from nine in the morning to five in the afternoon, she has never had anyone come up to her and say 'hello.' Has she questioned such an eccentric observation? Every single day. Mostly it's while walking to the Nicol Building, where most of her courses are. Alex finally gathers the courage to step outside the library at precisely 8:55 a.m. She passes a garden in the middle of campus, lined with beautiful rosebushes that bloomed in the springtime, and notices an assembly of the student body scattered across it, sitting on the benches, laughing humorously.

ALEX'S POV

How nice it must be to have people who would want to be around you all the time.

Keeping my eyes low and stuck to the ground, I clutch my satchel filled with notes, books, and a laptop in one hand and coffee in a paper cup in the other, making my way to the fourth floor of Nicol Building. By then I'm out of breath.

Wow, I really need to get in shape.

"Good morning, class. Please make the following addition to your syllabus," announces Mrs. Swan, sparing no time for the class to begin. She is the educator of our Globalization and Social Media class. It's an elective for students interested in studying journalism. She turns to the whiteboard and writes with a black marker, New Media Mythology, Week 4. It's a 300 page book which we have to finish reading by Wednesday. 

Usually, seniors appreciate their newly found independence and plan on reaping the marrow out of freedom. In short, nobody would be reading 300 pages in 2 days. They have a life. Unlike me here, who has no future engagements with anyone apart from this fantastic book and the newly released episode of House of Cards. "Alright, glad that's settled." Mrs. Swan sets the marker down and scans the classroom, taking mental attendance. "So, any thoughts on new media's integration with traditional journalistic methods? Has the diversity of relations made it easier or more difficult for a reporter to uphold journalistic integrity?" 

While the teacher is waiting for a response from her least enthusiastic students, I take a sip of of my brewed coffee, thankful Mrs. Swan encourages coffee to keep our minds sharpened, and waits for the class to react. I know the material like the back of my hand but have no interest in being the center of attention. 

I realized this in my freshman year, as soon as I raised my hand my cheeks flushed in embarrassment and a once brilliant answer became a throaty, staccato version nobody can understand. And the teacher would ask me to repeat what I said. Again. From then on out, I vowed to never do it again. "It's Monday morning, I completely understand," jokes Mrs. Swan, "but someone give me something to show me you wouldn't rather watch paint dry!"

Just do it, just raise your hand. She's clearly anticipating a reply! Alright, I'll do it.

You're setting me up for failure, brain!