long, and had an unkempt look, but was stylish. He looked like Harry in 1D, but more manly. He was white, and, by my standards, he was perfect. I looked around the store to make sure my parents didn’t see me talking to a boy who was not Egyptian.
“Do you work here?” I asked.
Clearly he didn’t work at the mall, dressed as he was, and wearing that leather jacket inside the store. I didn’t know what else to say, and that was really all I could think of on such short notice. I talked to a lot of boys, but almost all of them were communicated with through the social media networks, and they didn’t require looking at them, or being looked at by them, at least not in person. I felt comfortable with the boys on the Internet, because I could be whoever I wanted to be, and take as long as I wanted to answer a question. On the Internet, everyone paid attention to me. Everyone wanted to know what I was doing, and everyone commented on my postings. I had over a thousand followers on Twitter, 50,000 tweets and almost two thousand friends on Facebook.
“No, I am here looking for a new belt.” Raising his leather jacket and exposing his belt, I could see his wide brown belt. “This one is brown, but I need a new black one,” he continued.
He looked at my eyes each time he spoke to me. His gaze never faded from my eyes when he spoke. Slowly, after he finished speaking, he looked down my entire body, and for a moment focused on my feet - as if he were picking me apart. I wished that he would just speak and tell me why he was here looking at me. I remembered, relieved, that I wore my Jimmy Choo’s.
“I like the belt you have.” After the words came out, I felt like such a fool. He was looking in my eyes again while I was speaking. He looked at me each time he spoke to me, and was just as focused when I spoke to him. I liked this boy. I liked this boy a lot.
“I like it too. I need to get a new Brown one. Black one. I mean this one is brown. I need a black one. I have a brown one. Black one. I am going to buy a new black one,” he said, smiling. His teeth were sooooo white.
“I’ m sorry, you make me nervous,” he said. His eyes remained focused on mine. His hands were deep in his pockets, and he rocked back and forth on his feet. “You’re just, well, so beautiful. It doesn’t even seem like you have on any make up. Yet you, just like you are standing here, are so much more beautiful than any other girl I have ever seen in my life. I would like to know more about you. I am Marc. What’s your name, gorgeous?”
It was so hot in the store. I could feel myself getting sick from the heat. My leg s started to feel rubbery, and I felt like all the blood from my body was rushing toward my face. I turned both directions, looking for a sign of my parents. My parents, especially my father, would kill me if they saw me talking to a white boy. My family was Egyptian, and I was, according to my parents, to have no interest in anyone but Egyptian boys.
“I’m Britney,” I said. For some reason, that’s all that came out of my mouth. I stood, unable to speak, and just admired this boy. He was so cute. His smile made me feel so good. The way he stuttered when he tried to tell me about his belt just made him seem so real. So, well, genuine. The boys at school were so fake, and didn’t really even give me the time of day. I looked again for my parents, fearing they would see me before he decided to walk away.
“Where are you from, Britney?”
“East Brunswick,” I responded. “And you?”
“East Brunswack, huh? I’m in South Plainfi eld. Are you waiting on someone? You look like you‘re waiting for someone. You keep looking around, Britney,” He continued to shuffle back and forth on his feet.
He ran his right hand through his hair. He seemed to be nervous, and looked at his watch. There was no way that this boy was nervous about seeing me. Is that even possible? Nervous? Certain that
“Do you work here?” I asked.
Clearly he didn’t work at the mall, dressed as he was, and wearing that leather jacket inside the store. I didn’t know what else to say, and that was really all I could think of on such short notice. I talked to a lot of boys, but almost all of them were communicated with through the social media networks, and they didn’t require looking at them, or being looked at by them, at least not in person. I felt comfortable with the boys on the Internet, because I could be whoever I wanted to be, and take as long as I wanted to answer a question. On the Internet, everyone paid attention to me. Everyone wanted to know what I was doing, and everyone commented on my postings. I had over a thousand followers on Twitter, 50,000 tweets and almost two thousand friends on Facebook.
“No, I am here looking for a new belt.” Raising his leather jacket and exposing his belt, I could see his wide brown belt. “This one is brown, but I need a new black one,” he continued.
He looked at my eyes each time he spoke to me. His gaze never faded from my eyes when he spoke. Slowly, after he finished speaking, he looked down my entire body, and for a moment focused on my feet - as if he were picking me apart. I wished that he would just speak and tell me why he was here looking at me. I remembered, relieved, that I wore my Jimmy Choo’s.
“I like the belt you have.” After the words came out, I felt like such a fool. He was looking in my eyes again while I was speaking. He looked at me each time he spoke to me, and was just as focused when I spoke to him. I liked this boy. I liked this boy a lot.
“I like it too. I need to get a new Brown one. Black one. I mean this one is brown. I need a black one. I have a brown one. Black one. I am going to buy a new black one,” he said, smiling. His teeth were sooooo white.
“I’ m sorry, you make me nervous,” he said. His eyes remained focused on mine. His hands were deep in his pockets, and he rocked back and forth on his feet. “You’re just, well, so beautiful. It doesn’t even seem like you have on any make up. Yet you, just like you are standing here, are so much more beautiful than any other girl I have ever seen in my life. I would like to know more about you. I am Marc. What’s your name, gorgeous?”
It was so hot in the store. I could feel myself getting sick from the heat. My leg s started to feel rubbery, and I felt like all the blood from my body was rushing toward my face. I turned both directions, looking for a sign of my parents. My parents, especially my father, would kill me if they saw me talking to a white boy. My family was Egyptian, and I was, according to my parents, to have no interest in anyone but Egyptian boys.
“I’m Britney,” I said. For some reason, that’s all that came out of my mouth. I stood, unable to speak, and just admired this boy. He was so cute. His smile made me feel so good. The way he stuttered when he tried to tell me about his belt just made him seem so real. So, well, genuine. The boys at school were so fake, and didn’t really even give me the time of day. I looked again for my parents, fearing they would see me before he decided to walk away.
“Where are you from, Britney?”
“East Brunswick,” I responded. “And you?”
“East Brunswack, huh? I’m in South Plainfi eld. Are you waiting on someone? You look like you‘re waiting for someone. You keep looking around, Britney,” He continued to shuffle back and forth on his feet.
He ran his right hand through his hair. He seemed to be nervous, and looked at his watch. There was no way that this boy was nervous about seeing me. Is that even possible? Nervous? Certain that
Similar Books
