He was leant forward, nose nearly touching the clear glass to get the best view. He closed one eye, staring at it intently with the other as he brought the fake set of lashes down on the lid.
He held it in its perfect place, before smiling proudly as he leaned back. He batted the eyelashes, surrounded by an immense amount of eyeliner and shadow.
"Stunning," he muttered to himself.
He smoothed his hair down, before looking over his outfit.
The sleeves of the sweater went well past his hands, and the skirt stopped right past his little knees. The tights had a little rip along the ankle, but it was mostly covered by the black wedges at his feet.
He spun around gracefully, smiling excitedly at his look.
He scooped up his backpack before exiting his room and walking towards the front door.
His parents looked up abruptly, slightly startled.
"Oh...Mitch. Nice outfit," Nel stated with a forced smile.
Obviously they loved him with all of their heart, but they knew how cruel high school students could be.
"I'm not changing," Mitch declared, stubbornly.
Mike chuckled, "We figured. Give me a second and then I'll drive you to school," he muttered as he stood up.
Mitch shook his head, "Don't worry about it, I wanna walk today," he replied.
Mike and Nel exchanged glances. They knew arguing was futile, so Mike nodded and sat back down. "Text us when you make it to school," he instructed.
"Of course," Mitch replied with a grin before approaching his mother who was sitting on the couch, before slinging his arms around her. "Love you," he murmured.
Nel smiled, "Love you too," she replied, giving his arm a light squeeze.
"Love you, son," Mike added as he patted the boy's shoulder.
"Love you, dad," Mitch replied before continuing to the door.
The walk to school was the usual. A few immature boys shouted derogatory names as they drove by, nothing new.
On the bright side, nothing was thrown at him that day, so that was an improvement.
Walking through the halls would've made any weak-willed person cower away, but Mitch walked proudly. Flaunting his new style.
People whispered to each other, giggling and surely insulting him, but he didn't care.
He thought he looked amazing, and they couldn't change that.
He got to class a minute before the bell, and found his seat silently. He could hear the judgment around him, but he couldn't bring himself to care.
"Hey Grassi," someone murmured from behind him as the bell rang, "Skirts are meant for girls," he taunted.
Mitch turned slightly, acknowledging the boy, but he didn't look at him directly. "And trash is meant for dumpsters, yet here you are," Mitch replied simply.
A few people laughed, and Mitch turned back in his desk, looking forward.
The first 10 minutes of class included looks from other students, and even a few looks of discomfort from Mr. Rockwell.
But, of course, Mitch just continued learning, and didn't care.
However, about 5 minutes later, Rockwell sighed in annoyance.
"Mr. Grassi, you're quite the distraction today," he noted in a bored tone.
Mitch gave him a look of disbelief, "I'm just taking notes, Sir," he replied in a condescending tone.
"Your...appearance is distracting the other students," Rockwell informed him.
Mitch shrugged, "Kay?" He retorted sarcastically, "It's not my fault that seeing a male in a skirt destroys the hetero balance so easily."
Rockwell scowled at him, "Lose the tone, Mr. Grassi," he warned.
"Lose the homophobia, Mr. Rockwell," Mitch rebuked. "At least, I'm assuming that's what your problem is," he added.
"Freak," someone mumbled from behind him. Mitch rolled his eyes at the comment, but didn't reply.
"Are you done disrupting class, or should I send you to the principal's office?" Rockwell threatened.
Mitch stood up quickly, grabbing his backpack in the process. "Maybe Mr. Bram will at least try and hide his prejudice," he retorted before storming towards the door.
He swung it open before storming out of class. He hadn't meant to run into Kirstin, but he was too pissed to care or apologize. Instead he jogged to the stairs.
Some kid named Kevin was pacing around at the top of the stairs, mumbling to himself.
Mitch groaned softly, not wanting to deal with that confrontation. He continued down the hallway, heading to the next staircase.
He jogged quickly down the stairs, before exiting the stairwell.
As soon as his head whipped around towards the sound of running, he was being plowed over.
Basically, that was how Mitch was doomed withSaturday detention.
