Eloquence escapes me
Having the absolute worse run of luck trying to write something useful for my creative assignment. I already have the requisite minimum 3000 words, but as I'm writing a day from four points of view, I'm still two parts short. Woe.
Jameson Wright is the opposite of everything Phee and I knew back home. He’s witty, he’s rich, he’s insanely talented, and he’s completely embraced the residual fame off his father. He’s also pretty easy on the eyes. Not that there’s anything wrong with any of this. It’s just the way she looks at him. She thinks I don’t notice but I know her better than she knows herself. Of course I notice. I understand why she’d be drawn to him, I mean he’s absolutely everything her father would have been, everything she’s trying so hard to unravel and understand. There’s just an odd look in her eyes, one that goes beyond the superficial, one that says there’s a part of her that wants what he has, that wants that life. She never wanted that before. So it must be him. He makes her want to change. No, scracth that, he has changed her.
“Hey Quinn, I’m talking to you!” I snap around to find him grinning at me. Lazily. That’s how he does everything.
“Sorry, I was daydreaming.”
“More like staring at Phoenix,” he replies with a snort.
“I wasn’t staring!”
He leans back on his elbows, “You so were.”
I glance back at her, standing about twenty feet off with Michigan Tate. The British girl was being extremely weird, even weirder than she normally was, which is saying something. She catchs my eye and winks. She creeps me out. I look away quickly only to find Jameson staring at me.
“What?” I demand, roughly. He arches an eyebrow. I’ve never seen anyone actually do that before. Well, except for Roger Moore, but movies don’t count. Or do they? Is it some fame secret that they can all pull off? I’d have to ask Phee.
“Do you like her?” he asks, interrupting my train of thought. I stare back at him so he inclines his head to where the girls are, as if I’m too stupid to work out what he’s talking about.
“She’s like my sister.”
“So that’s a no, then?”
“Why? Do you like her?”
“If I say ‘no’, are you going to say ‘good’ and play the Luke to my Han?”
I don’t know why, but I blush. I haven’t blushed since junior high and suddenly I’m angry. I’m angry at myself for getting drawn into this conversation. I’m angry at him for getting to me. But most of all I’m angry at Phee for becoming a person who could fit into this world. So I get up and walk away.
“Hey! Where are you going?” He calls after me and before I know it, he’s next to me, slinging an arm over my shoulder like we’re friends or something. “What do you think, should we throw the girls in the pond?”
I shrug off his arm and he laughs. “Well, I think we should.”
Jameson Wright is the opposite of everything Phee and I knew back home. He’s witty, he’s rich, he’s insanely talented, and he’s completely embraced the residual fame off his father. He’s also pretty easy on the eyes. Not that there’s anything wrong with any of this. It’s just the way she looks at him. She thinks I don’t notice but I know her better than she knows herself. Of course I notice. I understand why she’d be drawn to him, I mean he’s absolutely everything her father would have been, everything she’s trying so hard to unravel and understand. There’s just an odd look in her eyes, one that goes beyond the superficial, one that says there’s a part of her that wants what he has, that wants that life. She never wanted that before. So it must be him. He makes her want to change. No, scracth that, he has changed her.
“Hey Quinn, I’m talking to you!” I snap around to find him grinning at me. Lazily. That’s how he does everything.
“Sorry, I was daydreaming.”
“More like staring at Phoenix,” he replies with a snort.
“I wasn’t staring!”
He leans back on his elbows, “You so were.”
I glance back at her, standing about twenty feet off with Michigan Tate. The British girl was being extremely weird, even weirder than she normally was, which is saying something. She catchs my eye and winks. She creeps me out. I look away quickly only to find Jameson staring at me.
“What?” I demand, roughly. He arches an eyebrow. I’ve never seen anyone actually do that before. Well, except for Roger Moore, but movies don’t count. Or do they? Is it some fame secret that they can all pull off? I’d have to ask Phee.
“Do you like her?” he asks, interrupting my train of thought. I stare back at him so he inclines his head to where the girls are, as if I’m too stupid to work out what he’s talking about.
“She’s like my sister.”
“So that’s a no, then?”
“Why? Do you like her?”
“If I say ‘no’, are you going to say ‘good’ and play the Luke to my Han?”
I don’t know why, but I blush. I haven’t blushed since junior high and suddenly I’m angry. I’m angry at myself for getting drawn into this conversation. I’m angry at him for getting to me. But most of all I’m angry at Phee for becoming a person who could fit into this world. So I get up and walk away.
“Hey! Where are you going?” He calls after me and before I know it, he’s next to me, slinging an arm over my shoulder like we’re friends or something. “What do you think, should we throw the girls in the pond?”
I shrug off his arm and he laughs. “Well, I think we should.”