[fic] Better
Title: Better
Genre: Drama/Romance
Pairing: onesided Aaron/Bea
Rating: G
Summary: Girl were superior over boys. But he...He shouldn't be better. And, and, he's not. He isn't. He shouldn't be.
Word Count: 1,793
Still an old one. Almost two years ago.
--
You walk proudly with your friend. Practice is done and you still feel the pride in your heart when they said only a little more than half are graduating this year, you're one of them. You've never had a problem with low self-esteem. You've always believed you were great.
Macy, your friend, is talking animatedly and you nod and answer. You're not one of the popular people, and you don't want to be. Most popular people are the ones who might never even see their future if they tried. You can see yours well. Not perfectly, but good is good enough. It's bright and you know you won't have a problem with money.
You're a girl, after all.
In the corner of your eyes, you notice him. You're elated to know he's avoiding your eyes. You think it's because he feels lesser to you. He should be. He's a boy, after all. Boys are always lower than girls. They're annoying, loud, egoistic and they think they're the best. You know better than that. Girls are superior. They always have.
You send him a sickeningly sweet smile. He tenses at this and you feel the smugness in you swell a little too widely. It feels good. It feels really good. You've put at least one of the male population in his rightful place. Like popping an invisible dream bubble and bringing that person into reality. It feels satisfying to your tongue.
You mentally shrug. You admit, you're a bit sadistic. But it doesn't matter. No one's perfect, right?
You wave at your brunette friend, your drive is here. You hop a little to your mother's car, today had been a good day. It had been a little uneventful, since all you really did was practice. But the gratification you got when you noticed that there were more girls than boys graduating made it all up. You're a bit of a sexist, maybe.
It's all with good supports, though. You're sure that there are more successful women than there are of men. You believe that women are more knowledgeable, level-headed, talented, are just better. It's not that hard to believe. As long as they're not masculinist.
That is why you hate him. Because he's a boy. And he manages to level you. You scowl. You're better than him. You know that. He didn't.
You open the car door and you enter your house to go to your room.
Aaron had always been there. He was in the neighborhood when you were still just small, and even then, you believed in the dominance of women to men. You were not friends. You didn't like him. Not at all. He wasn't like the other boys. He was better.
He's almost as equal to you. Almost. He's still a boy, after all.
But still. He's not like those senseless guys, he thinks, he does, he tries, he's good. You hate that. He's meant to be one of the boys, to be lower than you. Not that he's not, you tell yourself. He is. But he manages to catch up to me. Only by a little. You're still better than him. You always will be.
Girls are always better, after all.
You'restanding proudly in the crowd, singing along subconsciously. After halfa month of nothing but practice, a week and a half walking in those horrible heels, and four days of lecture, lecture, lecture, you're finally graduating.
You feel uncomfortable in the too thick, too hot black robe around you. But you feel great, you proved to them again that you were great. That you were good. Especially to his face. It didn't matter if he was also there, standing clad in graduating clothes. You were still better.
You flush happily as your little group of friends gushed and pouted at you and your card. You know you're smart. You know you're brilliant (And you surely don't lack the modesty, either.). And your card is proof of it. You beam at the unblinking 93.54 on your Average.
"God, Bea!" A girl with short black hair breathed, "How do you even manage to do that?"
"Yeah!" another with dark brown curls piped, "You have, what, three clubs?"
You feel pampered. You feel wonderful. You feel perfect. It doesn't mean anything that you aren't the best. You don't care if someone is better. This right here already feels complete. It's enough. It's more than enough.
"Aaron? Seriously? 96?" It is faint, because whoever said it wasn't anywhere near. But you still heard it. And, suddenly, what you have isn't enough anymore. It's…a measly grade. Because compared to his average-you already know it's his average-this is nothing. Even if it's just below by, maybe, two points, it's nothing.
Your friends didn't hear the astounded cry. It didn't matter. Because, to you, your grief is enough for the whole class. If it will grow, you wouldn't even notice the difference. You were beaten by him. A good-for-nothing boy.
You mentally shake your head. It's most likely more of luck, chance, and thrice the hard work you used. It wasn't the grade he might have initially deserved, it was just that he had twice the good luck in his side. That was just it.
He was nothing more than a boy, anyway.
You sit down and the speaker begins to talk about one thing or another. You only listen with one ear, you know that whatever they will say won't matter to the college you will enter in. It won't even matter after twenty years from now.
You are going to enter the university he applied on. It isn't as good as the one you initially picked, but it's good enough. You're not quite sure as to why you decided to switch schools, but it may have to do with the fact that it will mean to be closer to him. You have never outgrown the need to always prove to him that you were better. You may never grow out of it.
But you reason out that it is just because you want to start low, and work your way up to the top. And you will still be higher than him.
You shake yourself from your thoughts. He isn't the center of your thoughts, you convince yourself. He isn't worth your time. It only chanced that he was in your mind. That is all to it.
No one noticed the tiny smile on your face, one that may be a bit too gleeful. They are too busy looking and gushing at the paper stuck and taped on the board.
You do not comprehend that you are third place, three places higher than you had been last year. The only thing you register is the fact that you beat him. And you are, albeit a little horribly, proud of your feat. You know you've seen this one-sided competition a little too significantly, but you can't stop yourself. There's something about him-or is it not you?-that makes you want to constantly beat him.
Footsteps resound in your ear, and the next thing you know was that Aaron was next to you. You step back and you watch him scan the paper with delight in your face. It is not too long before he turns to you and you force yourself to stop the grin that is threatening to cover your face. He smiles at you.
You stare, dumbfounded. He leaves and goes to his friends. And, as you stare at his back slowly fading, you swear that, the next time, he'll be four times lower than you.
And he will see, girls will always be greater.
You watch as the tenth, or maybe fifteenth, group of graduates stand up and line properly to receive their diplomas and, if lucky, medals.
The actual graduation seems shorter than the practices, but you're jumping on your seat because you can't wait to stand up and march up to the stage and receive, not only your diploma, but medals.
You blink your eyes at the boy in front of you. You are seven and you are still too young to care about anything else besides toys, food, and soft things. You're curious enough, though, to wonder the name of the black-haired, blue-eyed kid standing.
He looks at you and hands you the ball you realize just now you lost two days, or something like that, ago. You stare at him and you figure him as the boy who lived three houses away from yours. You don't go out a lot, so you aren't really familiar with the other kids in the place. You first saw him a year ago.
You give a small thank you, even if you don't want to, because he's a boy and you're a girl. He smiles at you and waves, before he runs off to go to the other kids in the road.
It is then you decide you don't like him much.
You sigh and sit down. A flicker of exhaustion is on your face, but a friend comes to you and you sit up straight and smile brightly at her. She sits down beside you and, soon enough, you're talking like there's no tomorrow. You smile and you giggle and you show off your medals at Ellie, who didn't get any. She pouts at you and you laugh. Maybe you're a bit conceited, but everyone is, so you just smile widely and tease Ellie.
There's a niggling feeling in the pit of your stomach that's telling you that you should leave right now. You shrug it off like you do with every other feelings you get that says there's something you should do. It doesn't enter your mind that those notions are always correct.
That is when you realize that this is also one of those notions. Because you catch his eyes. And Aaron looks at you uncertainly. You pierce at his face, you remember that he has five medals, and you only have three. You might have growled then. He sends you a small hesitant smile.
In your eyes, it is more of a smirk.
You don't notice Ellie squirm at the strength of the glare you're throwing at Aaron. You hate him. You loathe him. You despise him. He is a guy, and you are a girl. But he manages to still best you. You think-no. You know that's not right.
But, no, the five medals were a fluke. He was only favored, lucky, and all those other nonsense. He did not deserve those medals as much as he doesn't have the right to be better than you.
Because he is just a boy. And you are a girl. And boys will never be better.
~*~
This was actually for our Talent Fest thingie. If you hadn't noticed, the theme is discrimination. Translate this story and you would come up with this: Discrimination, discrimination. Discrimination. Discrimination. Discrimination. Oohh, graduation! Discrimination. Discrimination. And so on and so forth. I actually noticed that I exaggerated that in here somewhere in the middle but I was too lazy to do it :D Besides, don't you love psychotic discrimination? Kinda like Hitler. Except I doubt Bea's gonna go kill Aaron or anything.
Oh, and if you didn't figure it out, yes, Bea's head over heels, completely gaga, insanely in love (okay, maybe I exaggerated that just a little bit) with Aaron. She's either in complete utter denial, stupid, or unconsciously pushing the idea away. Which technically isn't an idea anymore.
And because of my dear, sweet friend, I want to write about Bea's life with college and Aaron. (Dear me, the angst! But since I don't do angst...Dear me, teh DRAMA!) But I have no such attention that will make me capable of doing a chaptered story. So yeah.
Genre: Drama/Romance
Pairing: onesided Aaron/Bea
Rating: G
Summary: Girl were superior over boys. But he...He shouldn't be better. And, and, he's not. He isn't. He shouldn't be.
Word Count: 1,793
Still an old one. Almost two years ago.
--
You walk proudly with your friend. Practice is done and you still feel the pride in your heart when they said only a little more than half are graduating this year, you're one of them. You've never had a problem with low self-esteem. You've always believed you were great.
Macy, your friend, is talking animatedly and you nod and answer. You're not one of the popular people, and you don't want to be. Most popular people are the ones who might never even see their future if they tried. You can see yours well. Not perfectly, but good is good enough. It's bright and you know you won't have a problem with money.
You're a girl, after all.
In the corner of your eyes, you notice him. You're elated to know he's avoiding your eyes. You think it's because he feels lesser to you. He should be. He's a boy, after all. Boys are always lower than girls. They're annoying, loud, egoistic and they think they're the best. You know better than that. Girls are superior. They always have.
You send him a sickeningly sweet smile. He tenses at this and you feel the smugness in you swell a little too widely. It feels good. It feels really good. You've put at least one of the male population in his rightful place. Like popping an invisible dream bubble and bringing that person into reality. It feels satisfying to your tongue.
You mentally shrug. You admit, you're a bit sadistic. But it doesn't matter. No one's perfect, right?
You wave at your brunette friend, your drive is here. You hop a little to your mother's car, today had been a good day. It had been a little uneventful, since all you really did was practice. But the gratification you got when you noticed that there were more girls than boys graduating made it all up. You're a bit of a sexist, maybe.
It's all with good supports, though. You're sure that there are more successful women than there are of men. You believe that women are more knowledgeable, level-headed, talented, are just better. It's not that hard to believe. As long as they're not masculinist.
That is why you hate him. Because he's a boy. And he manages to level you. You scowl. You're better than him. You know that. He didn't.
You open the car door and you enter your house to go to your room.
Aaron had always been there. He was in the neighborhood when you were still just small, and even then, you believed in the dominance of women to men. You were not friends. You didn't like him. Not at all. He wasn't like the other boys. He was better.
He's almost as equal to you. Almost. He's still a boy, after all.
But still. He's not like those senseless guys, he thinks, he does, he tries, he's good. You hate that. He's meant to be one of the boys, to be lower than you. Not that he's not, you tell yourself. He is. But he manages to catch up to me. Only by a little. You're still better than him. You always will be.
Girls are always better, after all.
You'restanding proudly in the crowd, singing along subconsciously. After halfa month of nothing but practice, a week and a half walking in those horrible heels, and four days of lecture, lecture, lecture, you're finally graduating.
You feel uncomfortable in the too thick, too hot black robe around you. But you feel great, you proved to them again that you were great. That you were good. Especially to his face. It didn't matter if he was also there, standing clad in graduating clothes. You were still better.
You flush happily as your little group of friends gushed and pouted at you and your card. You know you're smart. You know you're brilliant (And you surely don't lack the modesty, either.). And your card is proof of it. You beam at the unblinking 93.54 on your Average.
"God, Bea!" A girl with short black hair breathed, "How do you even manage to do that?"
"Yeah!" another with dark brown curls piped, "You have, what, three clubs?"
You feel pampered. You feel wonderful. You feel perfect. It doesn't mean anything that you aren't the best. You don't care if someone is better. This right here already feels complete. It's enough. It's more than enough.
"Aaron? Seriously? 96?" It is faint, because whoever said it wasn't anywhere near. But you still heard it. And, suddenly, what you have isn't enough anymore. It's…a measly grade. Because compared to his average-you already know it's his average-this is nothing. Even if it's just below by, maybe, two points, it's nothing.
Your friends didn't hear the astounded cry. It didn't matter. Because, to you, your grief is enough for the whole class. If it will grow, you wouldn't even notice the difference. You were beaten by him. A good-for-nothing boy.
You mentally shake your head. It's most likely more of luck, chance, and thrice the hard work you used. It wasn't the grade he might have initially deserved, it was just that he had twice the good luck in his side. That was just it.
He was nothing more than a boy, anyway.
You sit down and the speaker begins to talk about one thing or another. You only listen with one ear, you know that whatever they will say won't matter to the college you will enter in. It won't even matter after twenty years from now.
You are going to enter the university he applied on. It isn't as good as the one you initially picked, but it's good enough. You're not quite sure as to why you decided to switch schools, but it may have to do with the fact that it will mean to be closer to him. You have never outgrown the need to always prove to him that you were better. You may never grow out of it.
But you reason out that it is just because you want to start low, and work your way up to the top. And you will still be higher than him.
You shake yourself from your thoughts. He isn't the center of your thoughts, you convince yourself. He isn't worth your time. It only chanced that he was in your mind. That is all to it.
No one noticed the tiny smile on your face, one that may be a bit too gleeful. They are too busy looking and gushing at the paper stuck and taped on the board.
You do not comprehend that you are third place, three places higher than you had been last year. The only thing you register is the fact that you beat him. And you are, albeit a little horribly, proud of your feat. You know you've seen this one-sided competition a little too significantly, but you can't stop yourself. There's something about him-or is it not you?-that makes you want to constantly beat him.
Footsteps resound in your ear, and the next thing you know was that Aaron was next to you. You step back and you watch him scan the paper with delight in your face. It is not too long before he turns to you and you force yourself to stop the grin that is threatening to cover your face. He smiles at you.
You stare, dumbfounded. He leaves and goes to his friends. And, as you stare at his back slowly fading, you swear that, the next time, he'll be four times lower than you.
And he will see, girls will always be greater.
You watch as the tenth, or maybe fifteenth, group of graduates stand up and line properly to receive their diplomas and, if lucky, medals.
The actual graduation seems shorter than the practices, but you're jumping on your seat because you can't wait to stand up and march up to the stage and receive, not only your diploma, but medals.
You blink your eyes at the boy in front of you. You are seven and you are still too young to care about anything else besides toys, food, and soft things. You're curious enough, though, to wonder the name of the black-haired, blue-eyed kid standing.
He looks at you and hands you the ball you realize just now you lost two days, or something like that, ago. You stare at him and you figure him as the boy who lived three houses away from yours. You don't go out a lot, so you aren't really familiar with the other kids in the place. You first saw him a year ago.
You give a small thank you, even if you don't want to, because he's a boy and you're a girl. He smiles at you and waves, before he runs off to go to the other kids in the road.
It is then you decide you don't like him much.
You sigh and sit down. A flicker of exhaustion is on your face, but a friend comes to you and you sit up straight and smile brightly at her. She sits down beside you and, soon enough, you're talking like there's no tomorrow. You smile and you giggle and you show off your medals at Ellie, who didn't get any. She pouts at you and you laugh. Maybe you're a bit conceited, but everyone is, so you just smile widely and tease Ellie.
There's a niggling feeling in the pit of your stomach that's telling you that you should leave right now. You shrug it off like you do with every other feelings you get that says there's something you should do. It doesn't enter your mind that those notions are always correct.
That is when you realize that this is also one of those notions. Because you catch his eyes. And Aaron looks at you uncertainly. You pierce at his face, you remember that he has five medals, and you only have three. You might have growled then. He sends you a small hesitant smile.
In your eyes, it is more of a smirk.
You don't notice Ellie squirm at the strength of the glare you're throwing at Aaron. You hate him. You loathe him. You despise him. He is a guy, and you are a girl. But he manages to still best you. You think-no. You know that's not right.
But, no, the five medals were a fluke. He was only favored, lucky, and all those other nonsense. He did not deserve those medals as much as he doesn't have the right to be better than you.
Because he is just a boy. And you are a girl. And boys will never be better.
~*~
This was actually for our Talent Fest thingie. If you hadn't noticed, the theme is discrimination. Translate this story and you would come up with this: Discrimination, discrimination. Discrimination. Discrimination. Discrimination. Oohh, graduation! Discrimination. Discrimination. And so on and so forth. I actually noticed that I exaggerated that in here somewhere in the middle but I was too lazy to do it :D Besides, don't you love psychotic discrimination? Kinda like Hitler. Except I doubt Bea's gonna go kill Aaron or anything.
Oh, and if you didn't figure it out, yes, Bea's head over heels, completely gaga, insanely in love (okay, maybe I exaggerated that just a little bit) with Aaron. She's either in complete utter denial, stupid, or unconsciously pushing the idea away. Which technically isn't an idea anymore.
And because of my dear, sweet friend, I want to write about Bea's life with college and Aaron. (Dear me, the angst! But since I don't do angst...Dear me, teh DRAMA!) But I have no such attention that will make me capable of doing a chaptered story. So yeah.