Deanna was never feminine. She argued tooth and nail to keep her hair short, steal her dad’s clothes, and to ride his ‘67 Impala to school every day. So, yeah.

Not feminine. Which, was made even more clear by the carabiner she kept on her left side, dangling for anyone to recognize. And, trust. She had plenty of girls recognize.

That’s who Deanna was. She was recognized. She never really recognized other girls, unless they commented on her muscle car and key holder, where she then lie her leather jacket out in the backseat like a gentleman.

You, though. You were a mystery in her eyes.

As soon as she saw you in third period, she discreetly shoved her carabiner into her jacket. A way of saying she was reserved now, reserved to a girl she didn’t even know the name of.

She was draped over the side of Baby, trying to light her cigarette in the cold air of the school parking lot (sue her. It’s not like the faculty gives a shit.)

“Sonnuva bitch!” The girl yelled in frustration, a groan escaping her cracked lips. Little did she know, you were parked directly next to her.