what's inside a girl?
The History Boys.
Fiona. Unbroken mirrors and sisterly love.
Another leftover from the music challenge. The album used is Blue Sunshine by The Glove, although the title comes from a song by The Cramps.
Looking Glass Girl
She stares at herself in the mirror for long, long moments, her face too round and her eyes too wide and her hips just - eurgh, it all makes her want to scream. Makes her want to smash, break, shatter something - the mirror, preferably - get her parents to come running, faces drawn in concern, and-- no, that wouldn’t do.
Because she's (almost grown-up, soon in need of a job) sixteen, now.
She reads through the horoscopes in the issues of Vogue and Elle that litter her bed, never liking the ones that are supposed to apply to her.
The Tightrope
Kevin McGrady - her first real boyfriend - is nice, if not unforgivably boring. Pauline is less than sympathetic.
"What do you want?" she asks, irritably, struggling with hot rollers in front of the dresser mirror. (Fiona secretly hopes that her hair turns crispy.) "He pulls out chairs for you. He buys you things. You said he hasn't tried to fuck you yet. He's bloody Casanova, is what he is."
"But we have nothing to talk about," says Fiona, and the look that Pauline shoots in her direction tells her that she's just said something very stupid.
Sex-Eye-Make-Up
A makeover sounds so shallow, so fix-your-life-now-with-blush-and-dye, but to be honest, Fiona's willing to try anything at this point.
"What's your natural colour, dear?"
"As is."
"Dishwater blonde," Pauline supplies, and Fiona glares. The shoplady selects a dubious-looking box from the shelf, the model's too-white teeth looking almost store-bought, and Fiona forces a smile when she pays the 7.50, nearly a quarter of her hard-earned wages from waitressing that morning.
Looks may not be everything, but when it comes to tipping, they certainly don't hurt.
This Green City
She catches glimpses of her reflection in shop windows, and what used to make her grimace and turn away, ashamed, now sends an indescribable surge of pride through her, unfamiliar and warming. Her arms (and her legs, and her waist) are smaller than Pauline's now, and this makes her happier than she suspects it should.
(The new secretary's job, with the groping Headmaster and disgusting canteen, isn't exactly what one would call glamourous, but compared to sitting at home all week with only the company of screaming children and the cast of EastEnders... well, it's a fucking dream come true.)
Nothing wrong with a bit of healthy competition between sisters.
Like An Animal
At the very least, Cutlers' is better than dealing with the breakfast rush. The pay, of course, is tremendously better, although if she's being truthful, Fiona'll admit to the real perks of the job.
The boys.
They're everywhere, the sixth-formers; sweaty on the rugby field, accidentally (and sometimes not) pressing against her as they pass by in cramped hallways, sneaking cigarettes during lunch.
Two share a fag behind a wall as she goes to collect some paperwork from Felix's car, eyes following her as they exhale - one tall and lanky, blazer covered in badges; the other handsome with dark hair and an impossibly smug grin.
Exactly the sort of boy who'd have ignored her three years ago.
She smiles, slowly, the pink curve of her lips drawing their attention, and she turns the corner.
Other girls her age only want older men, she knows, but there's such a difference. With them, it's back to scampering around, a little girl again, trying to impress them, be more ladylike, more adult, but-- no.
With boys, she's the one who makes the rules.
(And isn't it nice to be in charge, for once?)
Fiona. Unbroken mirrors and sisterly love.
Another leftover from the music challenge. The album used is Blue Sunshine by The Glove, although the title comes from a song by The Cramps.
Looking Glass Girl
She stares at herself in the mirror for long, long moments, her face too round and her eyes too wide and her hips just - eurgh, it all makes her want to scream. Makes her want to smash, break, shatter something - the mirror, preferably - get her parents to come running, faces drawn in concern, and-- no, that wouldn’t do.
Because she's (almost grown-up, soon in need of a job) sixteen, now.
She reads through the horoscopes in the issues of Vogue and Elle that litter her bed, never liking the ones that are supposed to apply to her.
The Tightrope
Kevin McGrady - her first real boyfriend - is nice, if not unforgivably boring. Pauline is less than sympathetic.
"What do you want?" she asks, irritably, struggling with hot rollers in front of the dresser mirror. (Fiona secretly hopes that her hair turns crispy.) "He pulls out chairs for you. He buys you things. You said he hasn't tried to fuck you yet. He's bloody Casanova, is what he is."
"But we have nothing to talk about," says Fiona, and the look that Pauline shoots in her direction tells her that she's just said something very stupid.
Sex-Eye-Make-Up
A makeover sounds so shallow, so fix-your-life-now-with-blush-and-dye, but to be honest, Fiona's willing to try anything at this point.
"What's your natural colour, dear?"
"As is."
"Dishwater blonde," Pauline supplies, and Fiona glares. The shoplady selects a dubious-looking box from the shelf, the model's too-white teeth looking almost store-bought, and Fiona forces a smile when she pays the 7.50, nearly a quarter of her hard-earned wages from waitressing that morning.
Looks may not be everything, but when it comes to tipping, they certainly don't hurt.
This Green City
She catches glimpses of her reflection in shop windows, and what used to make her grimace and turn away, ashamed, now sends an indescribable surge of pride through her, unfamiliar and warming. Her arms (and her legs, and her waist) are smaller than Pauline's now, and this makes her happier than she suspects it should.
(The new secretary's job, with the groping Headmaster and disgusting canteen, isn't exactly what one would call glamourous, but compared to sitting at home all week with only the company of screaming children and the cast of EastEnders... well, it's a fucking dream come true.)
Nothing wrong with a bit of healthy competition between sisters.
Like An Animal
At the very least, Cutlers' is better than dealing with the breakfast rush. The pay, of course, is tremendously better, although if she's being truthful, Fiona'll admit to the real perks of the job.
The boys.
They're everywhere, the sixth-formers; sweaty on the rugby field, accidentally (and sometimes not) pressing against her as they pass by in cramped hallways, sneaking cigarettes during lunch.
Two share a fag behind a wall as she goes to collect some paperwork from Felix's car, eyes following her as they exhale - one tall and lanky, blazer covered in badges; the other handsome with dark hair and an impossibly smug grin.
Exactly the sort of boy who'd have ignored her three years ago.
She smiles, slowly, the pink curve of her lips drawing their attention, and she turns the corner.
Other girls her age only want older men, she knows, but there's such a difference. With them, it's back to scampering around, a little girl again, trying to impress them, be more ladylike, more adult, but-- no.
With boys, she's the one who makes the rules.
(And isn't it nice to be in charge, for once?)