𝙁𝙀𝙀𝙇 𝙈𝙔 𝘼𝙉𝙂𝙀𝙍 | Lookism x reader

1. Troubled transfer

So you've moved school.

That's annoying.

But you still pack your bags and leave your house at a reasonable time, making sure that you have the right materials before choosing to navigate the unfamiliar streets. You yourself don't really know why you're being so submissive to your grandma- maybe it's something about new house air- you hate her old wrinkled ass most of the time, but you still find yourself preparing for the new school without much of a problem.

(Yeah you said grandma. You're living with your grandma. So what?)

A boring uniform (you toss the blazer on your desk- whether you forget about it or not, it doesn't really matter), an empty bag (okay. Maybe there's a pencil case in there and some paper. But it's not your fault the school didn't make a list of the necessary reading materials), a bland breakfast; even her tastebuds have gone senile, you think as you stare down your bowl of plain rice porridge.

The table is silent. There is no conversation between the two of you, though, you find yourself not making a fuss either; she's been nice to you for quite the (unusual) while, and you don't feel like you have the energy to start any fights this early in the morning.

So you think that you'll try to be quiet at this new school for the time being. You take her silence as a sign of a good day. Not that you take her seriously, of course.

But you seriously want to beat up that old lady for placing you into the beauty and hair department.

———

"My name's Y/n. Nice to meet you."

A boring class for boring people. You know you're better than this- better than this poor little school, better than the petty-scheming of adored little girls who stare at you with large eyes and glossy lips- and you know that you're better than whatever lesson your grandma is trying to make you learn. Though, despite it all, you're still here, introducing yourself to the class.

Fucking hell.

The teacher dismisses you and turns around, blocking you out and leaving you alone to try and assign your own seat (how kind). You make sure to stab your heels to the ground as you dismount from the podium, falling into the land of the mortal who glue their eyes onto your figure. It feels as if everyone is testing you these days.

You do not voice your discomforts. Gritting your teeth, you make your way to a pair of deserted seats up near the back of the classroom. It sits around the centre and is the second row to the very last- an awkward position but one which you deem good enough (for now). You place a hand on the edge of the seat to pull the chair out, but just as your hand makes contact with the wooden chair, a blaring siren of scraping chairs and unsatisfied students cry out.

A loud protest is shoved into your arms as you stare, confused at the crowd of strangers who vehemently disagree with your seat. Among the scramble of words lies the repetition of 'Eli', though before you can think of whoever Eli is and whether or not you should destroy them, or even feel the full effect of your desire to silence anyone who dares to stop you, the teacher slams the desk as hard as they can, creating a booming thump that stills the wide water of discontent. They grumble as it suddenly turns silent, looking at the many bitten lips and aggrieved, angry eyes facing them, before turning around and continuing their lesson, exasperated and seemingly too experienced with this behaviour.