She’s a junior. Petite, fairly quiet; she usually doesn’t have friends with her in class, so she just focuses on her work. And on answering the teacher’s questions right.
A note from your faithful observer:
I call her Hermione for three reasons.
1. She dresses a bit like Movie Hermione;
2. She raises her hand a bit like Book Hermione; and
3. I’m a dork.
When she answers questions, they are often word-for-word from the textbook or her notes, but unlike the original Hermione, this Hermione tends to respond in a sort of monotone voice. Unless something about the topic really captures her interest. In which case she often shares an opinion or a short narrative story about it.
Most of the time, though, as focused as she is on her work, class seems to bore her. She often rests her head on her hand, and closes her eyes, but doesn’t sleep. Doesn’t even daydream. Occasionally she’ll mutter a response to the teacher’s question, without opening her eyes.
Her backpack is huge, overstuffed with books and binders. I don’t know how many she has, but even with the hugeness and bulginess of her backpack, she has to lug around two in her arms. Her Pre-Calc book, which is battered and falling apart, and her SAT Prep book, which is probably the biggest SAT Prep book on campus.
She’s small and thin, and doesn’t really have any curves yet. She has straight chin-length hair that’s parted straight down the middle. No bangs; nothing fancy at all, she doesn’t do anything with it, and she doesn’t wear makeup. With her small and simple appearance, she could easily look like a little kid, but she doesn’t, really. The way she dresses, with coats and hats and scarves; the serious look on her face almost all the time; and, oddly enough, most of all, her fingernails. It’s a small thing that makes a big difference—They’re not painted, but they are long and clean and well-cared for. They make her look very grown-up, more than you’d think.
Maybe her small size and lack of curves still bother her a bit, though. She snacks a lot in class. Maybe hoping to gain some weight.
She has a wide variety of snacks, and they’re rarely the same every day. She eats them in a very particular way: She gets out one snack, eats a few bites of it, wraps it up, puts it away, and gets out another. I don’t know if she does this to make them all last longer, to keep things interesting, or maybe because she just can’t decide which snack she wants.
And there are an awful lot of them to choose from—Goldfish crackers. Small lollipops. Popcorn. Graham crackers. Bananas. Green peppers. Pop Tarts. Tortilla slices, with nutella sandwiched between. She saves the wrappers from her snacks, whenever she can. She tapes lollipop wrappers to the cover of her binder, or writes and doodles on her empty goldfish bag.
One thing she almost always has is a Ziploc bag of dry cereal. The type of cereal varies from day to day—Cheerios, regular or honey nut. Mini Wheats. Cocoa Puffs. Lucky Charms. When she eats her Lucky Charms, she picks out all the marshmallows and sets them aside, saving them for last—and when she’s eaten all the cereal bits, she takes the marshmallows and downs them all in a single handful.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Monday, February 14, 2011
Lily Evans
She’s been dating James Potter for over a year now. I know that the characters James Potter and Lily Evans didn’t really get along during most of their time at Hogwarts, but for the sake of simplicity, we’ll call her Lily.
She’s petite and has dark hair; wears a purple pea coat, scarves on her neck, and hair elastics on her wrists.
She plays timpani in the band.
Like Headphones, she has teeth and eyes that positively shine every time she even hints at a smile.
You rarely see Lily without James. She’s so much shorter than him that they don’t hold hands when they walk together—instead, he slings an arm around her shoulders, and she reaches one hand up to hold onto his wrist. Sometimes as they’re walking, he gives her a quick peck on the forehead.
“They’re so pretty together I want to punch something.”
--Doodle Hands
In AP English, James sits at a table with Sirius and Remus, and two other guys from band. Lily sits with them, the only girl at the table. She’s just as comfortable and friendly with all the other guys as she is with James; she laughs the same way with them. But James is the one she sticks close to.
They like to hold hands in class. Sometimes they thumb wrestle, too; giggling quietly, their teasing, hissing whispers standing out among the dull murmur of the class. He likes to make her laugh. She likes to laugh at him.
But mostly, they just hold hands. His hand over hers. Taking turns squeezing; stroking each other’s fingers with their thumbs. Their eyes are downcast, looking at their two hands. Every once in awhile, he looks up at her face, then back down. A few seconds later, she does the same—looks up at his face, and then back down. They take turns like that, always sneaking glances at each other, as though to check and make sure the other is okay, their eyes never quite meeting.
A note from Your Faithful Observer: I’m still looking for Severus. No luck yet.
She’s petite and has dark hair; wears a purple pea coat, scarves on her neck, and hair elastics on her wrists.
She plays timpani in the band.
Like Headphones, she has teeth and eyes that positively shine every time she even hints at a smile.
You rarely see Lily without James. She’s so much shorter than him that they don’t hold hands when they walk together—instead, he slings an arm around her shoulders, and she reaches one hand up to hold onto his wrist. Sometimes as they’re walking, he gives her a quick peck on the forehead.
“They’re so pretty together I want to punch something.”
--Doodle Hands
In AP English, James sits at a table with Sirius and Remus, and two other guys from band. Lily sits with them, the only girl at the table. She’s just as comfortable and friendly with all the other guys as she is with James; she laughs the same way with them. But James is the one she sticks close to.
They like to hold hands in class. Sometimes they thumb wrestle, too; giggling quietly, their teasing, hissing whispers standing out among the dull murmur of the class. He likes to make her laugh. She likes to laugh at him.
But mostly, they just hold hands. His hand over hers. Taking turns squeezing; stroking each other’s fingers with their thumbs. Their eyes are downcast, looking at their two hands. Every once in awhile, he looks up at her face, then back down. A few seconds later, she does the same—looks up at his face, and then back down. They take turns like that, always sneaking glances at each other, as though to check and make sure the other is okay, their eyes never quite meeting.
A note from Your Faithful Observer: I’m still looking for Severus. No luck yet.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
The Kid With The Braid: Part 1
"im 17 and go to [school name]. im on the soccer team, and the wrestling team, the two best sports ever! oh and most importantly, im brown, a bean, wetback, mexican, south of the border, alien, illegal, them, whatever u wanna call em haha"
^An exceprt from The Kid With The Braid’s Facebook profile.
A couple years ago, he started braiding one little piece of hair, at the back of his head, on the right side. He’s been letting that one piece grow out, and now it almost brushes down to his shoulder. I don’t know what he’s growing it for. Maybe it’s a cultural or religious thing. Or, you know… maybe he just wants to look like a Jedi apprentice. (A sidenote from Your Faithful Observer: I really hope that the latter is the case. That would be SO awesome.)
Despite the declarations on his Facebook profile, he doesn’t seem to fit the Hispanic/Latino stereotypes, not when you see him around school at least. He’s quiet, gets good grades, takes honors classes, is respectful to the teachers, doesn’t do drugs. For all intents and purposes, he acts like a studious white kid.
You’d think this would set him apart from the other Hispanic kids here—Many of whom, sad to say, actually fit the stereotypes quite well.
But the striking difference in the The Kid With The Braid’s personality from theirs really makes no difference. When the he bumps into another Hispanic kid on campus, his face just lights up with recognition, and the little anti-social bubble he sets himself in suddenly disappears. They start speaking in rapid Spanish, and the Kid With The Braid laughs.
No matter how little he might know the other person, they are friends. Because they share something. They share the same place.
And they’re treated the same way for it by every white kid and white teacher in this fucking place.
They share that, too.
High school is still racially segregated. Everyone thinks that’s something we got rid of decades ago, but it lingers on. Old habits die hard, I suppose. Especially at a school like this one, where—let’s face it—almost everyone is white.
Kids tend to gravitate more towards people of their own race, because those people are the most like the ones they grew up with, and therefore the ones they feel most comfortable around. That’s why most of the minorities stick together, and why all of the Hispanic kids are friends with one another. No matter how cool or nerdy they are, what sports they play, who they date, how they act, they always stick together. There’s something really cool about that. Always having that same place to go back to.
I think a lot of "them" probably need something like that to fall back on. Maybe more than anybody else around here.
^An exceprt from The Kid With The Braid’s Facebook profile.
A couple years ago, he started braiding one little piece of hair, at the back of his head, on the right side. He’s been letting that one piece grow out, and now it almost brushes down to his shoulder. I don’t know what he’s growing it for. Maybe it’s a cultural or religious thing. Or, you know… maybe he just wants to look like a Jedi apprentice. (A sidenote from Your Faithful Observer: I really hope that the latter is the case. That would be SO awesome.)
Despite the declarations on his Facebook profile, he doesn’t seem to fit the Hispanic/Latino stereotypes, not when you see him around school at least. He’s quiet, gets good grades, takes honors classes, is respectful to the teachers, doesn’t do drugs. For all intents and purposes, he acts like a studious white kid.
You’d think this would set him apart from the other Hispanic kids here—Many of whom, sad to say, actually fit the stereotypes quite well.
But the striking difference in the The Kid With The Braid’s personality from theirs really makes no difference. When the he bumps into another Hispanic kid on campus, his face just lights up with recognition, and the little anti-social bubble he sets himself in suddenly disappears. They start speaking in rapid Spanish, and the Kid With The Braid laughs.
No matter how little he might know the other person, they are friends. Because they share something. They share the same place.
And they’re treated the same way for it by every white kid and white teacher in this fucking place.
They share that, too.
High school is still racially segregated. Everyone thinks that’s something we got rid of decades ago, but it lingers on. Old habits die hard, I suppose. Especially at a school like this one, where—let’s face it—almost everyone is white.
Kids tend to gravitate more towards people of their own race, because those people are the most like the ones they grew up with, and therefore the ones they feel most comfortable around. That’s why most of the minorities stick together, and why all of the Hispanic kids are friends with one another. No matter how cool or nerdy they are, what sports they play, who they date, how they act, they always stick together. There’s something really cool about that. Always having that same place to go back to.
I think a lot of "them" probably need something like that to fall back on. Maybe more than anybody else around here.
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