Teenage Dreams: Paranoia
After that night in the club, my best friend kept calling me, almost every hour of everyday. She couldn’t stop talking and gushing over little things, especially when it came to the jock that she dated. She excitedly told me the things that happened after, not realizing that she already had said them for a couple of times that it felt like it had already become her own personal tagline. Though it really irritated me, I couldn’t stop being happy for her. Of course I was happy for her. I was her best friend, and I’d be happy for her even if it meant listening to her raves about boys and silly crushes over and over again. I asked her if she was in love with him already, although I could literally feel that she was. The words were like written on her forehead:
Head-over-heels-in-love.
“Umm, I don’t know. Maybe? Can I just say that I’m getting there?” She giggled – that giggle was the ultimate answer to my question. She wouldn’t giggle that way unless there wasn’t something more to just liking a guy because of his hair or the perfume he had used.
“Alright, I can accept that one. Just be careful, okay? Don’t let him break your heart. If that ever happen, I’d break his jaw –” Reading too much had influenced me into saying things like that – breaking someone’s jaw. Although of course I
couldn’t do that. “– and put electric blue dye in his hair wax, and flush his perfume in the toilet and –”
“Okay, I know. I know. But you won’t actually do that, will you?” She sounded quite worried – and it was ridiculous.
“I don’t know. If he forces me to, maybe I will. So, did he ask you out again?”
“Yes. He told me that he really had fun, and that he would like to know me more.”
“I just hope he won’t bring you to that club again. That was such a failure. Do you want me to
enlighten him about creativity and proper dating etiquette? Because he could really use one.” She laughed at that. “Your cousin told me that it was like hell in that club, and I totally agree.” I said.
“Oh, about him... He wanted to say thank you for coming and for the excellent time you spent with him, and for hating that club, too. He was really happy. You should have seen his face!”
I told her that the gratitude was unnecessary. Anyone who hated that place would be very happy to have at least one sober person to talk with. “But tell him I enjoyed his company, as well.” I said.
“I won’t. You should tell him that in person, face to face, in the flesh.” Had she been eating the Thesaurus? “He’ll be there, maybe at past three.” No, it wasn’t the Thesaurus she had been eating. Maybe she was on drugs? Or on a trance? What was she talking about? Or maybe
I was on drugs. It was hard to tell (although we weren’t
actually taking drugs, for heaven’s sake).
“Whoa. Stop, stop. What? He will come here? Why?”
“
Duh, he wants to talk to you again. He had never met anyone like you – at least that’s what he’s been telling me for, like, all day. I have never seen or heard him that way. He really wasn’t the chatty type, but now he is. Do you think it’s because of his endorphins or some internal reactions?” When I didn’t answer, she continued, “Oh, maybe it’s you! I’ve told you before you have this, umm,
psychological powers in you. You can make people feel light and confident by just talking to them, except, of course, for jerks you could have killed just by looking at them coldly.”
“I don’t kill by looks! I can’t! And almost all boys are jerks, so your “psychological powers and inner light aura theory” is not true.” I objected. “
Duh,” I added as an afterthought – and okay, to annoy her a bit (which turned out to be an epically lame attempt).
“So, so. You always say that. Can’t you just accept that there’s really something in you? That maybe not all boys are jerks and would just break your heart? That you can fall in love with someone? That not all loves are, for the unfathomable sense of life and hairspray, unrequited?”
Unfathomable? Unrequited? Who used those words? And
hairspray? “But I guess all this stuff I’m saying is pointless since you won’t listen and believe me. But I hope you’d realize this someday. I’m not losing hope. Okay then, have fun!” She had already hung up even before I could say anything: a protest maybe, or a cry of rage or surprise. Or maybe a word of understanding, of acceptance.
It was already three, and I still didn’t know what the heck will happen. Why would he come?
He had never met anyone like you, my best friend had said. That was weird. Everything was weird. I couldn’t stop pacing. I couldn’t stop flinching every time I heard tires screeching and a car’s machine dying. Then I laughed halfheartedly to myself because I realized that I shouldn’t be paranoid. “He will just drop by and say thank you. And you will just say thank you, too. That’s easy enough.” I repeatedly told myself.
It didn’t work. I swore I’d kill my best friend after. I never had a guy inside my house. They were only allowed when it was a matter of life and death (which hardly ever happened), and when they were with some of my other girl friends. I was always getting uncomfortable around them, and most of the time they were annoying and rowdy. I had only a couple of guy friends – a couple, meaning you could count by two hands, and almost half of them were gays.
I never asked my mother about the opposite sex. When I was hitting puberty, I never had the interest to know more about them. All I cared for was music and studying. And I was very close with my Superman, so he was the only guy whom I looked up to – and the manliest I knew. And, all right, I’ve been watching kick ass movies where the guys were jerks and could be thrown down by independent and tough girls. Those movies had influenced me a lot on thinking that independent and tough girls didn’t need jerks because they can take care of and protect themselves – and yes,
kick ass.
Not that I didn’t actually have a bit of experience with relationships and love. There were some males who took interest of me. Well, that was what my best friend had perceived (and some of those males had connived with her just to set me up on a date). I had no idea what they were doing or what their intentions were. But they annoyed me so much, so I didn’t take the time to know. And they were not like my father. I didn’t hate them. They just weren’t included on my list of priorities. And my “Epitome of a Perfect Guy” was hard to find.
My reverie was interrupted when the doorbell rang.
© Christine Faye Ordas
The characters and events portrayed in the story are fictitious and are from pure fantasies. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the [aspiring] author. Excerpts or lines borrowed from novels, songs, or any source will be properly credited.
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a woeful & chaotic diary since 071409
Teenage Dreams: Paranoia
After that night in the club, my best friend kept calling me, almost every hour of everyday. She couldn’t stop talking and gushing over little things, especially when it came to the jock that she dated. She excitedly told me the things that happened after, not realizing that she already had said them for a couple of times that it felt like it had already become her own personal tagline. Though it really irritated me, I couldn’t stop being happy for her. Of course I was happy for her. I was her best friend, and I’d be happy for her even if it meant listening to her raves about boys and silly crushes over and over again. I asked her if she was in love with him already, although I could literally feel that she was. The words were like written on her forehead:
Head-over-heels-in-love.
“Umm, I don’t know. Maybe? Can I just say that I’m getting there?” She giggled – that giggle was the ultimate answer to my question. She wouldn’t giggle that way unless there wasn’t something more to just liking a guy because of his hair or the perfume he had used.
“Alright, I can accept that one. Just be careful, okay? Don’t let him break your heart. If that ever happen, I’d break his jaw –” Reading too much had influenced me into saying things like that – breaking someone’s jaw. Although of course I
couldn’t do that. “– and put electric blue dye in his hair wax, and flush his perfume in the toilet and –”
“Okay, I know. I know. But you won’t actually do that, will you?” She sounded quite worried – and it was ridiculous.
“I don’t know. If he forces me to, maybe I will. So, did he ask you out again?”
“Yes. He told me that he really had fun, and that he would like to know me more.”
“I just hope he won’t bring you to that club again. That was such a failure. Do you want me to
enlighten him about creativity and proper dating etiquette? Because he could really use one.” She laughed at that. “Your cousin told me that it was like hell in that club, and I totally agree.” I said.
“Oh, about him... He wanted to say thank you for coming and for the excellent time you spent with him, and for hating that club, too. He was really happy. You should have seen his face!”
I told her that the gratitude was unnecessary. Anyone who hated that place would be very happy to have at least one sober person to talk with. “But tell him I enjoyed his company, as well.” I said.
“I won’t. You should tell him that in person, face to face, in the flesh.” Had she been eating the Thesaurus? “He’ll be there, maybe at past three.” No, it wasn’t the Thesaurus she had been eating. Maybe she was on drugs? Or on a trance? What was she talking about? Or maybe
I was on drugs. It was hard to tell (although we weren’t
actually taking drugs, for heaven’s sake).
“Whoa. Stop, stop. What? He will come here? Why?”
“
Duh, he wants to talk to you again. He had never met anyone like you – at least that’s what he’s been telling me for, like, all day. I have never seen or heard him that way. He really wasn’t the chatty type, but now he is. Do you think it’s because of his endorphins or some internal reactions?” When I didn’t answer, she continued, “Oh, maybe it’s you! I’ve told you before you have this, umm,
psychological powers in you. You can make people feel light and confident by just talking to them, except, of course, for jerks you could have killed just by looking at them coldly.”
“I don’t kill by looks! I can’t! And almost all boys are jerks, so your “psychological powers and inner light aura theory” is not true.” I objected. “
Duh,” I added as an afterthought – and okay, to annoy her a bit (which turned out to be an epically lame attempt).
“So, so. You always say that. Can’t you just accept that there’s really something in you? That maybe not all boys are jerks and would just break your heart? That you can fall in love with someone? That not all loves are, for the unfathomable sense of life and hairspray, unrequited?”
Unfathomable? Unrequited? Who used those words? And
hairspray? “But I guess all this stuff I’m saying is pointless since you won’t listen and believe me. But I hope you’d realize this someday. I’m not losing hope. Okay then, have fun!” She had already hung up even before I could say anything: a protest maybe, or a cry of rage or surprise. Or maybe a word of understanding, of acceptance.
It was already three, and I still didn’t know what the heck will happen. Why would he come?
He had never met anyone like you, my best friend had said. That was weird. Everything was weird. I couldn’t stop pacing. I couldn’t stop flinching every time I heard tires screeching and a car’s machine dying. Then I laughed halfheartedly to myself because I realized that I shouldn’t be paranoid. “He will just drop by and say thank you. And you will just say thank you, too. That’s easy enough.” I repeatedly told myself.
It didn’t work. I swore I’d kill my best friend after. I never had a guy inside my house. They were only allowed when it was a matter of life and death (which hardly ever happened), and when they were with some of my other girl friends. I was always getting uncomfortable around them, and most of the time they were annoying and rowdy. I had only a couple of guy friends – a couple, meaning you could count by two hands, and almost half of them were gays.
I never asked my mother about the opposite sex. When I was hitting puberty, I never had the interest to know more about them. All I cared for was music and studying. And I was very close with my Superman, so he was the only guy whom I looked up to – and the manliest I knew. And, all right, I’ve been watching kick ass movies where the guys were jerks and could be thrown down by independent and tough girls. Those movies had influenced me a lot on thinking that independent and tough girls didn’t need jerks because they can take care of and protect themselves – and yes,
kick ass.
Not that I didn’t actually have a bit of experience with relationships and love. There were some males who took interest of me. Well, that was what my best friend had perceived (and some of those males had connived with her just to set me up on a date). I had no idea what they were doing or what their intentions were. But they annoyed me so much, so I didn’t take the time to know. And they were not like my father. I didn’t hate them. They just weren’t included on my list of priorities. And my “Epitome of a Perfect Guy” was hard to find.
My reverie was interrupted when the doorbell rang.
© Christine Faye Ordas
The characters and events portrayed in the story are fictitious and are from pure fantasies. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the [aspiring] author. Excerpts or lines borrowed from novels, songs, or any source will be properly credited.
← older / top / newer →
a woeful & chaotic diary since 071409
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Already several months had passed, and I am missing
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry more and more each fleeting day. There are just some things in life that we can never forget – especially that something that had given us knowledge, skills, strong relationships and a second home. I am glad that everything in the magical world is now at peace, since Voldemort (yes, I can now say his name; no need to be afraid) had died. I had secretly admired Tom Marvolo Riddle (Voldemort’s birth name) though, because of his intelligence, passion and love for magic. Wasn’t he very clever to think of and conjure his seven
Horcruxes to preserve his life, or form a clan of
Death Eaters who were very loyal to him and would give up their lives just for him to succeed? Not everybody can acquire that much loyalty from people these days. I do not, however, admire him for the way he had carried out all of his plans. He had a good agenda, his means just weren’t morally right. But he still is one of the darkest wizards of all time… and let’s leave it that way.
Oh, for all those who are baffled of what I’m saying here and who the heck I am, my name is
Christine Faye Ordas, and I am an alumnus of Hogwarts. I came from the bronze-and-blue-clad house of the smart ass witch Rowena Ravenclaw and her dictum
“Wit beyond measure is a man’s greatest treasure.” And yes, I know the wonderful Luna Lovegood (she’s such a darling) and Harry Potter’s first crush Cho Chang. I had just left Hogwarts last May. Right now I am trying to pursue a career in magical researches, literature and writing. It’s my dream to inscribe intellectual books, publish and sell them in
Flourish and Blotts for the future Hogwarts students’ use. I am also planning to credibly write for the
Daily Prophet, the magical world’s primary news bulletin. And of course, I will be very much honored to contribute to Mr. Xenophilius Lovegood’s
Quibbler (hence, my interest in magical researches). I have always found the Lovegoods a fascinating family, and I bet working with and for them will be very exciting. Or maybe, in Merlin’s beard’s time, I can write legends and bedtime stories like the famous – and wickedly brilliant – Beedle the Bard.
And that’s how my life goes these days. I am utterly missing my old school, my friends, the Great Hall, the bronze eagle knocker just outside the Ravenclaw common room, Professor Flitwick (the head of our house), Hogsmeade, the Quidditch matches (although I didn’t actually play for the house), the moving portraits, the castle ghosts, the pumpkins on Halloween, the giant pine trees on Christmas, Rubeus Hagrid’s (Hogwarts’ gamekeeper) tea and treacle fudge – even the crabby Argus Filch (Hogwarts’ caretaker) I miss. Maybe I can visit the school grounds sometimes and see how the magical world’s been doing since Voldemort died (I’ve been spending my months in the muggle world, you see). I’ve heard everybody’s been moving on and starting all over again; the ministry is back on work under Kingsley Shacklebolt; and Harry Potter’s scar haven’t been disturbing him since.
All is well, indeed.
And because of that, we should celebrate and drink firewhisky! Oh, I still don’t drink firewhisky; I can take butterbeer or tea or pumpkin juice – just not firewhisky, please.
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