Warning!
This is a book for the open-minded only!
If you feel that you already know all about the mysteries of our existence, your view of life is set and you would like to keep it this way, then this book is not meant for you. Don't bother reading...
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Happiness will never come to those who fail to appreciate what they already have.
- Unknown Source
The following morning, the stupid movie kept popping up in my head at random times all through breakfast and our ride to school.
Not the whole movie, of course, only the worst scenes.
Lucky me.
Having hung up my jacket on my designated hook on the wall beside the door, I briefly glanced at my classmates as I was passing them. As usual, they stood huddled in the various groups of friends, talking.
Only, the picture seemed different today. Everybody appeared to be a bit more. . . agitated than what was normal. The voices were raised, everybody's gestures somehow erratic.
"What on earth are you wearing, are you serious?" Melanie suddenly accosted me as I was walking towards her. Which I had not even done intentionally. No, I had simply been padding across the classroom with the sole intention of reaching my seat and she had happened to stand in my way.
Taken aback by her – at least in my opinion – completely unsolicited comment, I took a moment to consider my choice of wardrobe for that day. It consisted of a thin, bright blue V-neck sweater, a multi-layered bright blue and pink skirt that reached my knees and a wide belt of the same colours. Matching ballet-flats adorned my feet. Not the most inconspicuous choice of clothes, but I rather enjoyed the way the skirt moved when I walked.
It would sometimes even inspire me to twirl around, just to feel it flare out and fold back.
When nobody was watching, of course. . .
Frowning at Melanie, I wondered what she found so displeasing about my attire. Of course, she herself was usually dressed in Lacoste or Benetton, which was a bit too conservative for my liking. But she was not really in the habit of complaining about my clothes. Unless I happened to buy the same sweater as her, of course. . .
"I am serious," I deadpanned in answer to her rhetorical question.
"Care to enlighten me as to what seems to be the problem?" I asked her pointedly, not caring to hide the annoyed feeling coursing through me in response to her surprise-attack. At least, this was what it had felt like to me.
"Well," she informed me condescendingly," it has clearly escaped your notice that a couple of reporters will be here during the art-lesson. Just don't expect them to take pictures of you, dressed like. . . like. . . this. . .!"
Not giving me any chance to retaliate, she pushed past me as soon as the words had left her lips.
Dumbfounded, I remained rooted to the spot for a few moments. "Hey, you are not even in our art-class!" I finally shouted after her.
Right!
She was right in accusing me of having completely forgotten about our exciting guests, because I had. Somehow, my mind seemed to be constantly occupied with a wide variety of things (like the contents of the latest book on mysteries I was reading). Therefore, reporters visiting our class had somehow not managed to keep its attention for long enough.
