Difference

February 14th, Valentine's Day

        So Emily convinced me to go to the stupid dance with her, but only because she bought me a dress with her own money. I tried the death-trap on for her two hours before the dance actually started. The black tulle came to my mid-thigh, revealing my whiter-than-white legs. The top was strapless and covered in silver sequins. Emily had also bought me a pair of ridiculous six-inch heels. I walked out of the bathroom and told her I had changed my mind.

        "No, way! You can't bail now!" she refused.

        "But I look like a whore. This dress is way too short and low cut for me. I'll just stay in out room and watch movies or read my book. There's not anything you can say or do to get me to go to the dance in this dress!"

        An hour and a half later we were walking down the hallways in, might I say again, ridiculously tall heels. She looked at me smugly and kept walking perfectly strait with not one stumble. I, on the other hand, had fallen twelve times already. By time we made it to the Gymnasium, I had made it fourteen. She handed in both of our tickets and smiled with her chin up high when we walked through the double doors. Everyone inside had already turned their attention to the beautiful blonde in front of me. I was her shadow, something that everyone noticed, but never took account for.

        I walked to the chairs lined up against the wall and took a seat. I didn't have anyone to talk to. Emily was my only friend, but I wasn't hers. She waltzed over to a large group of mixed genders and casually started talking to them. I stayed put, even when some weird guy with hair as black as mine sat next to me with a book in his hands.

        I decided I wouldn’t look at his face right away, that could lead him to thinking I want to talk to him, but I still wanted to know who was beside me. So I looked at his shoes first. A pair of bright yellow Nike's covered his feet. On his legs was a pair of worn jeans, with the hems fraying. Covering his torso was a band tee-shirt and on his head was a gray beanie. He had on a pair of thick glasses in square frames. Last, I decided to look at his face. He had beautiful high cheekbones and a birthmark above his left eye. His eyes were a piercing blue, so bright it was obvious they were contacts. His lips were a light pink that girls died for.

        "It's not polite to stare." he smiled looking up from his book. I blushed and looked to my left, down on the floor. "I didn't say I minded though." he added. I slowly turned my head back towards him and looked back into his eyes.

        "What is your real eye color?" I sked out of curiosity. He chuckled and put marked his page.

        "White, there's no color other that the black iris." I gasped internally.

        "Do you mind if I ask why you're here?" He took off his jacket and revealed two starch white wings emerging from his back. He turned around and showed me where he had to cut slits in the tee-shirt.

        "Same as you, Miss Marilyn."