With great confidence and effortless rhythm, Araceli strode through the English hallway. Her head held high, and the graceful clomping of her turquoise heels as she walked in them better than most white girls could, she knew people thought she was stuck up. Who cared? They were plebeians. Decked out in a ravishing red dress complete with pink sparkles, those unforgettably stylish turquoise heels, and a neon pink cardigan to consummate her ensemble, nothing could bring her down.

The English hallway was awash with practically indistinguishable beige lockers. The mundane green, white, and grey tile floors were fortunate to be able to reflect her very being, and everybody knew it. Araceli knew everybody knew it. Araceli belonged not here, at a high school in an affluent suburban neighborhood in New York, but on the runway. Araceli belonged on the cover of Covergirl, smiling all pretty for the camera and making girls across the nation jealous.

Instead though, Araceli was indeed here. She was here, at a high school in an affluent suburban neighborhood in New York. That was a bit of letdown. It didn’t matter, though. Finishing her stroll through the English hallway, she looked in the looking-glass mirror which stood at the intersection between the English hallway and the Math hallway. Being careful not to stand there and primp, Araceli took one sharp look at herself. Along with her flawless outfit, Araceli had flawless, ivory skin, no acne in sight, light blonde hair which was pinned up with a pale pink carnation, her lips which were as soft, ravishing, and red as the dress which hugged her infallible figure, and of course her dark blue eyes, surrounded by perfectly symmetrical winged eyeliner which practically shone with confidence.

I am flawless, she thought. She smiled sweetly in the mirror, once again forgetting where she was. Time to strut down the math hallway. Off she went. Clomp, clomp, clomp. She could see it now. The spectators sat to her left and to her right. Their faces were but silhouettes, dimmed and indistinguishable as the lights on the side of the runway illuminated Araceli and Araceli alone.

Then, Araceli opened her eyes. In front of her was the beige tiling of the math hallway, juxtaposing with the white wainscoting and royal blue, lockerless walls. Again, that was a bit of a letdown. She looked to her left, expecting to see the same beige tiling with white wainscoting and royal blue walls. Instead, her eyes met with the dark, mysterious ones of a boy her height. Araceli gasped silently. His aforementioned dark, mysterious eyes entranced her. Josh.

Araceli smiled at him as she scanned him up and down. He wore a clean, maroon sweater with a white t-shirt underneath. He wore khaki pants, fastened tightly with a belt, and some dark blue Supras. She looked back up at him. Josh smiled back. Araceli silently gasped… again. His olive skin, his near-perfect complexion, his soft lips, his white teeth, the way his glasses complemented his face caused Araceli to feel a rush of adrenaline and excitement pass through her entire body. Shivers passed through her spine, and her mind went numb. Instantly, she fell.

Araceli’s body thudded against the beige tiling she had been observing merely moments prior. She dared not speak a word. Araceli’s face reddened. Warm tears began to blur her vision.

Araceli looked ahead. People coming in the opposite direction saw her fall. Some onlookers laughed. Others expressed looks of concern. Araceli sighed. She Suddenly, a tan, supple hand reached in front of her. Araceli looked up. Josh. Again, her mind went numb. Araceli wasn’t on the runway anymore. She wasn’t in school anymore. She was lost, but had Josh to guide her. The effect Josh had on her was almost druglike. Josh was her drug.

“Need some help there?” Josh asked, smiling.

“Thanks,” said Araceli, her face growing hotter and redder with each passing moment. “Most guys would have just kept walking.”

“I’m not like most guys,” said Josh, still smiling.