Page 9 of SNOB

She blinks, her pink lips open. “You stupid, stupid…” she stops, eyeing my outfit. “Excuse for a human. This is custom Chanel. Do you know what it'll take to get this out?”

“Less than what it’ll take to get your voice out of my head and your attitude adjusted.”

“Excuse me?” Classic response. Everyone else steps back as she steps forward. “Say that again.”

“Why? Gonna tell Daddy?”

Glancing at The Bob still in her seat, her nose is finally out of her book, her almond eyes wide. She’s shaking her head no and… wait. Is she really telling me to stop? No way am I letting these bullies get away with this.

“Do you know who you’re speaking to?” The leader eyes my outfit again, another step forward. My Oxfords don’t budge, the empty glass of wine still in my hand like a trophy. “Who even let you in here looking like a broke ass Merida?” It’s not the first time someone has joked about my red curls. I get it, I stand out, especially here.

“Hannah, your dress.” A wavy-haired brunette pipes up from the group behind her. “Forget her. We need you out of that before it stains.” Her friend tries to usher her forward as Hannah’s eyes narrow into mine. “You’re going to regret that, Pippi.”

Another comment about my hair makes me roll my eyes as her clan of five walks behind her in formation like a musical. Each of them nudges my shoulder as they pass but I stand tall, pushing my chest out.

“She means that.” The Bob speaks.

“Gee, you’re welcome.”

“Thanks,” she sighs, as if the entire interaction meant nothing. “I just think you made your life at Saint Bons harder. And mine.”

I snort, hearing the name of that school. “I don’t go to Saint Bons and maybe they’ll take a second guess the next time they bully you. You know that’s what was happening right? Bullying?”

“Hannah and her Paradise Posse are only the beginning.” The Paradise what? “Wait.” Her eyes dart around my outfit. “If you don’t go to Saint Bonaventure University then, why are you here?”

“For a job.” Looking around the room, I hope I didn’t miss my chance.

“You’re not getting a job here,” The Bob says. “Not looking like that.”

“Ember!” I hear my name from a distance. “Ember Everett!”

“I’ll take my chances.” It’s the only one I have. Turning towards the voice, I call out to the woman adorned like a queen, gold jewelry complimenting her beige blazer and dress. “Here!”

She doesn’t move as her eyes wander over my frame. She repeats my name, confusion striking her face. “Ember?”

“That’s me.”

Her nose wrinkles as she looks at her marble clipboard. “Beau Laval!”

I… Did she just move on?

A small laugh comes from next to me. “Told ya.”

“At your service.” A boy sitting some tables away stands up in plaid pants and suspenders, flipping his shaggy pink hair. Despite his eccentric appearance, he fits in way more than I do. He looks my way, wincing at my outfit and I can’t tell if it’s an apology or pity. Either way, the woman takes him into another room, leaving me behind.

“Well, alright.” Pulling out the chair next to The Bob, I plop my sketchpad down and open it up to my current project. That woman. Again. Working on her gives me a little break before I decide what to do next. “I’m happy this is funny to you.”

“It's not.” The Bob leans back in her chair, her smile fading. “A part of me wishes you were going to Saint Bons. Hannah and the Paradise Posse would learn something. Hey, wait, did you draw that?”

Glancing at The Bob, her wide eyes stare at my page. Her fingers reach for it but I pull back, noticing her manicured nails. They’re not flashy, clean with a coat of blush polish. Her entire outfit is more modest than those around us, a black sweater-vest beneath a white shirt. But the single diamond earrings in her ears give her privilege away.

“Yeah, I did," I reply.

“Who is it?”

I shrug, my hand reaching for the gold locket around my neck. “It’s kind of an homage to my mother.”

She pulls the sketchpad back towards her, flipping through the pages. She flips through graffiti-style words and other portraits. Uncle Jake. Him.

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