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Description
Sariah stared at the bright red 93, encircled on the college-ruled paper. Her mouth hung open in horrified shock, obsidian eyes wide with terror. She allowed her self a few moments to stare blankly at the failed, doom-bringing essay, and flicked ebony curls tumbling far past her shoulders, out of the way. She collected her books off of the plywood desk, and waited to be dismissed. She would not show the moment of weakness to her peers, she was far better than that. She would face punishment stone-faced, because she deserved it. As long as she told herself that, it wouldn’t hurt so badly. Until then, she would smile and sit prettily, like she always did. As she mentally prepared herself for “punishment”, Sariah couldn’t help but allow her eyes to wander over to the boy next to her. He’d sat next to her all year, but she’d never asked his name. He wasn’t her type, no matter how attractive. He had the same 93 on his essay, but he faced his with a triumphant grin. How lucky he was, to be allowed such carelessness.

But he was…delightfully different. His sexily disheveled hair was stylish. Although it was cut with a cheap razor, it looked like it belonged on the runway, in New York. Dyed black, with a bleach blonde stripe, it was sexy, it was different, and it was him. He was clad in rather slim fit jeans (white denim), a black button-down, and a pinstripe border vest.  It reminded her of the boys she’d seen at the country club, but this made her feel like she was gazing at a rock star, and Sariah loved it. His skin was flawless, a lightly tanned color, just enough to keep it from looking sickly. His eyes were crystal blue, like the china plates Mother sometimes used at her luncheons. And that body…That body was to die for. He was lean, with just enough muscle to tell he worked out. Sariah realized what she was thinking and diverted her eyes back to her paper. But it was too late. The boy had noticed her hungry stare, and was waltzing right over to her desk. He plopped himself nonchalantly onto the tabletop.

“Hey there, cutie. What’s up?” he smirked with a wink.

Sariah stammered nervously. “Uh-er-um-n-n-Nothing.”

She blushed a furious shade of red. Why was she sounding like this? No boy had ever gotten her in such a state. Why was this one making her so flustered? He was just another pretty face, right? Maybe it was just because he was so close. Yes, that had to be it. She’d never gotten this close to a boy, and she didn’t know what to do. She calmed her nerves, and smiled.

“Nothing much. Can I help you?”

“Actually, yes you can. I need a date for tonight, and since you’re pretty enough to go with me, I think I’ll take you. 8 o’clock, I’ll pick you up.” He smirked once more. God that was infuriatingly delicious.

“Even if I did want to go with you, do you know where to pick me up?” she questioned, smile unwavering.

“Well aren’t you a bright one? This is what we'll do. Here’s my phone number" he handed her a slip of paper, and in a spidery cursive bore his cell phone number. It was signed with a rather large J. In return, she handed him her address.

He smiled. “And I’ll call you when I’m outside. Dress casual, but look decent.” He ran his eyes up and down. “Well, there won’t be a problem with that.”

Sariah blushed, recovered and replied:
“Well then. I’ll see if I’m available. But do I at least get a name?”

“Sure, doll face. Jude Henry Gallagher, at your service.”

“Well Jude, I’ll see what I can do. You just might see me at 8. If you’re lucky.”

And with that, the bell sounded and she gathered her books. She was jumping for joy in her head, and once she reached the familiar leather of a white stretch limousine polished to perfection, she squealed.

“James, I love high school.” She told the driver. He was as close as an uncle, and she often told him things she was too afraid to tell Father. Like her poetic outlooks on thing, tests she got 90s on, or if there was a boy she liked.

“As did I little Mistress.” He smiled warmly. As they began to drive, Sariah asked for James’ advice, something she did frequently.

“James, how can I get Father to let me go on a date, even if I got a 93?”

“Simple, forget to mention it.”

“But he knows I had a test today, doesn’t he?”

“Oh, it may have slipped my mind to tell him. Pardon my incompetence, madam.”

“James, you’re the best.”

“It’s what I do, little Mistress.” When they pulled into the driveway of her family estate, Sariah walked through the grand doorway, and hunted for father. She soon found him upstairs in the study, reading.

“Hello Father. I trust work went well?” She stated mechanically, like she always did. Her face was expressionless, masked with a Barbie® perfect smile.

“Yes Sariah. Thank you for asking.”

“Father? I was wondering if I could go out tonight.  After all, it’s a Friday night. I’ll study in the morning.”

“I imagine this is with a boy?”

“You are correct.”

“I don’t see why not. But be back before 12. I don’t like you out so late.”

“Thank you Father.” She threw her arms around his neck, and the older man smiled. Sariah’s 93 could wait.

She walked down the hall, careful to avoid her mother’s wing of the house. Her mother was fierce, spiteful, and very prone to violence. Sariah supposed that’s how money affected people, but she wasn’t sure. Her father was a kind, intelligent man, who was quite mild-mannered. He was strict about grades, but he spoiled his beloved daughter. It was his wife that was the problem. Sariah pondered this until she reached her favorite place, the tearoom.

It was an adorable room, designed by Sariah herself. Everyone in the family had picked a special room, in separate parts of the house. For her father, it was a study, not too far from the tearoom. Her mother had chosen a large room, that Sariah wasn’t allowed into.  Sariah had stumbled upon her own room when she was young, and had fallen in love immediately. With her  father’s help, she had picked out the furniture. A metallic circular table, with two chairs sat in the middle of the cozy room. A small cart with three levels held countless boxes of teas, different tea sets and small homemade snacks. A small couch, adorned with plush ocean-colored cushions sat in the corner, and on the opposite side of the room, was a colossal window, that took up a whole cerulean wall. It was framed by basic white curtains, and overlooked their lavish garden. It was her and her father’s pride and joy. Her mother wanted nothing to do with it.

She summoned a maid, an older lady, and asked for some hot water to be sent up. The maid curtsied and left. Then, Sariah decided to use a crimson cup and saucer. She placed them onto the table, and grabbed a book from the shelf. It was a tattered copy of Through the Looking Glass. It was one of her favorites, and she’d read it countless times. She sat herself at the table and picked up the book. She smiled quietly to herself as she read, for it was here that she could be truly at peace.

Description
Sariah stared at the bright red 93, encircled on the college-ruled paper. Her mouth hung open in horrified shock, obsidian eyes wide with terror. She allowed her self a few moments to stare blankly at the failed, doom-bringing essay, and flicked ebony curls tumbling far past her shoulders, out of the way. She collected her books off of the plywood desk, and waited to be dismissed. She would not show the moment of weakness to her peers, she was far better than that. She would face punishment stone-faced, because she deserved it. As long as she told herself that, it wouldn’t hurt so badly. Until then, she would smile and sit prettily, like she always did. As she mentally prepared herself for “punishment”, Sariah couldn’t help but allow her eyes to wander over to the boy next to her. He’d sat next to her all year, but she’d never asked his name. He wasn’t her type, no matter how attractive. He had the same 93 on his essay, but he faced his with a triumphant grin. How lucky he was, to be allowed such carelessness.

But he was…delightfully different. His sexily disheveled hair was stylish. Although it was cut with a cheap razor, it looked like it belonged on the runway, in New York. Dyed black, with a bleach blonde stripe, it was sexy, it was different, and it was him. He was clad in rather slim fit jeans (white denim), a black button-down, and a pinstripe border vest.  It reminded her of the boys she’d seen at the country club, but this made her feel like she was gazing at a rock star, and Sariah loved it. His skin was flawless, a lightly tanned color, just enough to keep it from looking sickly. His eyes were crystal blue, like the china plates Mother sometimes used at her luncheons. And that body…That body was to die for. He was lean, with just enough muscle to tell he worked out. Sariah realized what she was thinking and diverted her eyes back to her paper. But it was too late. The boy had noticed her hungry stare, and was waltzing right over to her desk. He plopped himself nonchalantly onto the tabletop.

“Hey there, cutie. What’s up?” he smirked with a wink.

Sariah stammered nervously. “Uh-er-um-n-n-Nothing.”

She blushed a furious shade of red. Why was she sounding like this? No boy had ever gotten her in such a state. Why was this one making her so flustered? He was just another pretty face, right? Maybe it was just because he was so close. Yes, that had to be it. She’d never gotten this close to a boy, and she didn’t know what to do. She calmed her nerves, and smiled.

“Nothing much. Can I help you?”

“Actually, yes you can. I need a date for tonight, and since you’re pretty enough to go with me, I think I’ll take you. 8 o’clock, I’ll pick you up.” He smirked once more. God that was infuriatingly delicious.

“Even if I did want to go with you, do you know where to pick me up?” she questioned, smile unwavering.

“Well aren’t you a bright one? This is what we'll do. Here’s my phone number" he handed her a slip of paper, and in a spidery cursive bore his cell phone number. It was signed with a rather large J. In return, she handed him her address.

He smiled. “And I’ll call you when I’m outside. Dress casual, but look decent.” He ran his eyes up and down. “Well, there won’t be a problem with that.”

Sariah blushed, recovered and replied:
“Well then. I’ll see if I’m available. But do I at least get a name?”

“Sure, doll face. Jude Henry Gallagher, at your service.”

“Well Jude, I’ll see what I can do. You just might see me at 8. If you’re lucky.”

And with that, the bell sounded and she gathered her books. She was jumping for joy in her head, and once she reached the familiar leather of a white stretch limousine polished to perfection, she squealed.

“James, I love high school.” She told the driver. He was as close as an uncle, and she often told him things she was too afraid to tell Father. Like her poetic outlooks on thing, tests she got 90s on, or if there was a boy she liked.

“As did I little Mistress.” He smiled warmly. As they began to drive, Sariah asked for James’ advice, something she did frequently.

“James, how can I get Father to let me go on a date, even if I got a 93?”

“Simple, forget to mention it.”

“But he knows I had a test today, doesn’t he?”

“Oh, it may have slipped my mind to tell him. Pardon my incompetence, madam.”

“James, you’re the best.”

“It’s what I do, little Mistress.” When they pulled into the driveway of her family estate, Sariah walked through the grand doorway, and hunted for father. She soon found him upstairs in the study, reading.

“Hello Father. I trust work went well?” She stated mechanically, like she always did. Her face was expressionless, masked with a Barbie® perfect smile.

“Yes Sariah. Thank you for asking.”

“Father? I was wondering if I could go out tonight.  After all, it’s a Friday night. I’ll study in the morning.”

“I imagine this is with a boy?”

“You are correct.”

“I don’t see why not. But be back before 12. I don’t like you out so late.”

“Thank you Father.” She threw her arms around his neck, and the older man smiled. Sariah’s 93 could wait.

She walked down the hall, careful to avoid her mother’s wing of the house. Her mother was fierce, spiteful, and very prone to violence. Sariah supposed that’s how money affected people, but she wasn’t sure. Her father was a kind, intelligent man, who was quite mild-mannered. He was strict about grades, but he spoiled his beloved daughter. It was his wife that was the problem. Sariah pondered this until she reached her favorite place, the tearoom.

It was an adorable room, designed by Sariah herself. Everyone in the family had picked a special room, in separate parts of the house. For her father, it was a study, not too far from the tearoom. Her mother had chosen a large room, that Sariah wasn’t allowed into.  Sariah had stumbled upon her own room when she was young, and had fallen in love immediately. With her  father’s help, she had picked out the furniture. A metallic circular table, with two chairs sat in the middle of the cozy room. A small cart with three levels held countless boxes of teas, different tea sets and small homemade snacks. A small couch, adorned with plush ocean-colored cushions sat in the corner, and on the opposite side of the room, was a colossal window, that took up a whole cerulean wall. It was framed by basic white curtains, and overlooked their lavish garden. It was her and her father’s pride and joy. Her mother wanted nothing to do with it.

She summoned a maid, an older lady, and asked for some hot water to be sent up. The maid curtsied and left. Then, Sariah decided to use a crimson cup and saucer. She placed them onto the table, and grabbed a book from the shelf. It was a tattered copy of Through the Looking Glass. It was one of her favorites, and she’d read it countless times. She sat herself at the table and picked up the book. She smiled quietly to herself as she read, for it was here that she could be truly at peace.