“It’s depressing, in a way.” Asia agreed, and then laughed. I was never angry when she laughed, because it was so infectious. Like caffeine. It just made you laugh with her.
We stepped outside, onto a sidewalk that led straight into town. Dried and wrinkled leaves blew across the cement, swirling red and yellows lining a path to what was possibly a more fashion-savvy existence.
Not that I would ever be fashion-savvy, being that I loathed most fashion trends and usually avoided them just for the purpose of not looking like half the girls in school. But Asia was certainly an experienced shopper, and through her I could at least look socially decent.
“So where first? I was thinking Chico’s, or Shop 65, something that will really make you look hip and sexy.” Asia suggested, her eyes bright with the idea of un-drabbing me.
“I was thinking more like Gap. Or Marshall’s. Something that I’ll be able to afford.” I countered. As always, the one with the increasingly low budget.
“You know I can help you pay for stuff. I owe you tons already. You are the reason I passed the ninth grade. I would not be in high school, about to graduate, if you hadn’t tutored me relentlessly.” Asia held her head high and proud, despite having admitted that the only reason for her success was because of me.
I laughed shortly and stared at my friend. “Tutored you! I basically ended up doing your homework for you!” I sighed. “It’s a good thing you straightened up after that, because we could’ve gotten in really big trouble for cheating.”
Asia tossed her head the way horses do. Arrogant, uncaring. Nothing touched her if she didn’t want it to. “Oh, little Dawn. What cheating?” That was the end of the discussion.
We probably looked a little funny walking down the street together. I always thought we have, anyway, just because we looked like typical stereotypes who got confused when separated from the rest of their groups.
I never had a “group”, truth be told. Asia did, though. Sometimes she still does, if she’s in the mood.
Asia is the epitome of a popular person. She just looks the part. Heck, she is the part. She is moderately tall, getting her height from her legs and not high heels, which she actually tends to avoid. I’d say, on a guess, she’s about 5’8’’. Tall compared to me, at a definite 5’3’’. She has pink-tinted skin, blemish free, and very thickly dark hair. It’s naturally curly, but she usually keeps it poker straight. Her eyes are bright green, slightly tilted in towards her nose. I think she looks like the perfect mix of Italian and Colombian, which may sound a little strange, but Asia makes it look right. She walks like a model, full of lionesque confidence and just a hint of superiority. I used to despise Asia for just those qualities.
I think of myself as a mutation from an experiment that involved breeding the unwilling citizens of several different countries. I pretty much cover all the basics – German, Irish, other western European countries that you hear about all too often. Luckily, I sprang from a few wildcards as well. Norwegian, Ukrainian, and Armenian. I generally just explain my heritage as Armenian if people want a brief answer, because it’s most prominent in me and it explains my long last name. Thanks to my diverse background, I look like a cross between every kind of white person on Earth. I have blond hair that is neither straight nor curly, but chooses instead to try and be both, though it succeeds only in making me want to rip it out strand by cursed strand. My eyes are round and blue, and maybe a little too far apart, like a deer. So far, I look exactly like every other blond bimbo at my high school, much to my despair. Then add to that my complexion. I'm about as yellow as a person can get without looking like a lemon. Except around my nose, where my skin turns splotchy and red, which brings me to another feature. My Nose. It is large and wide and strangely shaped, and it reminds me very much of my paternal grandmother’s nose, leading me to believe that it is indeed an Armenian nose. And I actually have gotten comments from people who say it does look like it comes from the Middle East. At least I’m a little unique in that respect.
Sometimes when I’m lamenting my cliché appearance, Asia will try to comfort me by saying “Cheer up, Dawn! You have blond hair and blue eyes! Statistics show that guys prefer girls like you!”
To which I usually reply, “Oh yes, Hitler would be quite a fan of my Aryan traits.”
She then will ask me what “Aryan” means and whine about how she can never remember that word. I think it’s just her changing the subject because she has no comeback.
Or maybe not. Sometimes with Asia, it’s hard to tell.
