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15/9/2017: FIRST PLACE WINNER OF THE UNITY AWARDS (IN TEEN FICTION)
15/9/2017: THIRD PLACE WINNER OF THE STAR AWARDS (IN TEEN FICTION)
2/10/2017: FIRST PLACE WINNER OF NEW TALES, BLUE ROSE AWARDS (SEPTEMBER)
2/10/2017: SECOND PLACE WINNER OF UN...
"Look after Tiana ok?" Chad murmurs longingly as he gently threads his fingers through the golden hair currently attached to my head. I feel like Goldilocks.
"Yes sir, can I go now? I kinda want to go for the Chemistry lecture before I uh... Go out and have some fun." He had spent the last 10 minutes teaching (nagging?) me on how to take care of his wig, Tiana. Yea, he actually named his wig... ('Comb it often and rinse her only in COLD water, hot water will change her texture...That being said, leave her to dry naturally. Do NOT blow dry. I repeat, do NOT blow dry.')
"You are not going anywhere." Chad's voice bounces off the quiet and empty home room. He sits me down firmly in the hard plastic chair. "Not until I'm done with you. Plus, you're already at Week 5's notes aren't you? Skipping a lecture won't kill ya."
"Fine. Do whatever you want then." I plonk my Physics notes on the table and begin doing my tutorial on sodding vectors, leaving Chad to busy himself with whatever he's doing to the hair - probably whispering mournful words to Tiana before they part for the next two weeks. Two weeks of messing around with Stan Kingsley should be sufficient, considering he changes girls approximately once a month. I better not overstay my "welcome".
"Please read the questions out loud so I can think about them too, thanks."
"Em, em." I clear my throat. "Question one: Vectors are defined by blank and blank."
"Magnitude and direction." Chad says in a bored tone.
"Question two: Add the following vectors and determine the resultant. 3.0m/s, 45 deg and 5.0 m/s, 270 deg and 5.0 m/s, 350 deg"
"Wow ok, that escalated quickly. Anyway I'm done with your hair. Wanna see?" Chad places his phone over Question 3 to show me the screenshot he took.
(A/N: Imagine Haywood in her uniform instead of this strappy dress)
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"Shit man, Chad. You are a goddamn magician. Can I appoint you as my official hair caretaker? And I'm booking you 15 years in advance for my wedding."
Chad blushes at the compliment.
"Do you want some help with the make-up?"
***
By the time Chad is done, it's almost 5pm, time for Stan Kingsley's soccer practice. We spent an inordinate amount of time squabbling over the color of the lipstick. ('I am NOT letting you walk around in cherry red. It makes you look basic. You girl, should go for something unique.') So I finally give in and walk out the home room looking like I got bitten by a poisonous snake.
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If make-up and green contacts alone had made me look vastly different, the blonde wig made me unrecognisable. As I scoot towards the Cadbury stands, where the track and soccer field are, I catch my own reflection in the windows of dark classrooms and metal water coolers - I can't help but feel... happy and relieved? Happy and relieved that I don't see the mopey morose failure Tyler rejected. Happy and relieved that I'm free to take on the identity of another, completely without any consequence whatsoever. Happy and relieved that I can somewhat get the validation I've craved, as silly as that sounds. It feels incredibly queer to be me and not me at the same time. I wonder if my parents will be able to identify me in this state. I think not. Clearly neither can any of my classmates, whom I brushed past as they filed out of Chemistry lecture. Well, some of them stared but they didn't say hi so I assume they don't know me.
The soccer team is already doing their usual 6 laps around the track as warm-up when I reach the stands. I better hurry or I'll miss my entrance.
Ok, this is it. From now on, you're not Haywood. Just let loose, have fun and let your inner flirt shine!
And so I wait to make my grand entrance. Stan Kingsley is the last of the pack as usual. I anticipate till the guys are about 200m away and make my way to the low metal divider separating the track from the field. Chad has done a marvellous job - I feel 24 pairs of eyes lock on me as I come into the team's view. The moment Stan Kingsley passed by (and winked, if I may add), I kick and sprawl over the metal divider with the loudest clatter I can generate.
Pretending to fall over is one of the hardest things I've had to do. Holding back every damn instinct that screamed for me to catch myself, I land and skid along the rough gravelly red dirt of the track, skinning both my elbows and knees, which burn upon the full impact of my weight.
OW, OW, OWWWWWWWWCCHHH. Shit, that was a hell lot more painful than I had imagined.
...
Maybe this wasn't such a great idea after all.
Someone in neon green Adidas soccer boots and long white socks approaches.
"You alright, sugar cube?"
***
A/N: Sorry for the short chappie. Had writer's block for the whole day and only got the inspiration to write at 12mn... It's almost 2.30am here so Imma turn in and continue tomorrow :)
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