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Bright Yellow Flip Flops This work is considered exceptional by our editorial staff.

I like people that wear shirts with logos on them.
Not stupid logos like “Aeropostle” or “Hollister.”
But logos for maybe their favorite drink, or favorite brand of fabric softener.
For instance, he had on a forest green shirt with the Sesame Street logo on the front.
So I liked him very much.

I myself always wore t shirts with logos. My current one was bright yellow, allowing to be easily noticed in a crowd because I crave attention like I crave chocolate. It had the Yoo-Hoo logo on front.
Yoo-Hoo was my favorite brand of chocolate milk.

He had sandy blonde hair; it looked like it hadn’t been combed in ages, which drove me wild.
Even from a distance you could see his sparkling blue eyes, sweeping across the crowd of people.
Even his shoes made him perfect.
Bright yellow flip flops.

I don’t know what it is about bright yellow flip flops. I wish I had a pair, but instead I had red Converse.

I can’t say I’m the prettiest girl in the world, because I’m probably verging on the ugliest. Acne is the enemy; my eyes are always red and blotchy, making me look like I’ve been crying more than I actually do. I’m not skinny in the least; my stomach flops and jiggles making my sister giggle. Her and her stupid 100 pound fifteen year old red haired self.
My only good feature is my nose.

So of course this perfect perfect boy wouldn’t come and talk to me, but because this is my story, he did.

I believe I mentioned his eyes were sweeping, and as they were asweep they swept in my direction.
And I also believe I mentioned my bright yellow shirt that I loved so much.
His shiny blues fell on it, and then on my own chocolate brown.

I never like locking eyes with a stranger, I always feel the need to look away as quickly as possible, but I never do. Which inevitably weirds the stranger out, and makes the stranger look away. Which makes me feel a mix of good and bad. Good, because I’m fearless. I can look a stranger in the eye and not look away. Bad, because I know if I had been the one who had been weirded out, I’d be weirded out.

But neither of us looked away, a small smile played across his lips, and my instinct took over.
I let my hand go where it wanted, which was up to my overly oily brown hair, and I felt it brush a strand of the stuff behind my ear. I had a flirty nature since birth, and I hated it.
I fell in love with five new boys every day.

Our eyes were still locked as he strode over through the crowd, I, being a lazy person, was sitting on the edge of a small fountain, notebook in hand. I would be doodling if I could think of something to doodle.

“Hi.”
“Hi.”
He sat down fearlessly, edging his eyes over to my blank paper. Upon seeing I didn’t have anything written or drawn, he seemed a bit disappointed.
“What’s your name?”
“Qynce. Yours?”
“Charlie.”

Oh, all the most insanely awesome and epic people were named Charlie. So it only made sense that his name be it.

“What’s wrong with your eyes?” He asked, his voice was smooth and confident.
My own was a bit uneven and quiet.
“You mean the pinkish reddish part that makes it look like I’ve been crying?”
“Yeah. Why’s it like that?”
“I’ve been crying.”
I could see he wanted to chuckle at this, but he asked why I’d been crying.
“Oh, you know, usual teenage girl stuff. My life sucks, I have no friends, I’ll never find love. All that jazz.”
“You have no friends, huh?”
“Not one.”
“You’re lying.”
“Ask me who my best friend is.”
“Who’s your best friend?”
“Chives. My imaginary friend.”
“Chives?”
“He’s a butler, he makes great pies, and he likes to ride adult size tricycles.”
“…”
The silence was perturbing as Charlie’s small smile descended into a frown.

“You’re going insane, Qynce.”
“I know.”

And with that, he was gone.
Not gone as in he walked away. He had never been there in the first place. My mind just stopped seeing him.

Einstein once said that insanity was doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.
So why am I sitting on the edge of this fountain every day, wearing bright t shirts, trying to get noticed, trying to meet someone who will be my friend?

Because I expect different results each time.
I expect my very own Charlie to sit down next to me, hear my troubles, be my friend.
All that jazz.




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StrangeJadeThis teenager is a 'regular' and has contributed a lot of work, comments and/or forum posts, and has received many votes and high ratings over a long period of time. This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Jul. 19, 2011 at 1:45 pm:
I can't believe nobody's commented on this. This is a really good story, and I feel like that too sometimes. Unfortunately, my imaginary butler does not make pies. He's better at croissants.
 
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