Strawberry Gloss

It happened on a Wednesday. Her third day of school.

Lashy was sitting in the library while her pink notebook is open in front of her. She pretended to be working on an essay, but in reality, she was just doodling little hearts in the margins, flowers curling along the lines of her paper.

She hadn’t meant to stare, but there he was again. Matthew. Slouched at a table in the back, one leg stretched out, the other bouncing with restless energy. He wasn’t reading. He wasn’t studying. He was just.. there. Enjoying the peace that is happening in the library.

When she put her pink notebook in her bag, she didn't expect that her lip gloss will slip out of her bag. It rolled across the floor, a shiny tube of strawberry lip gloss. She immediately went to grab it, but a hand reached it first.

“Yours?”

She stared at him.

Matthew stood over her, holding the gloss between two fingers. His smirk was lazy, almost mocking, but his eyes.. It was dark and sharp.

“Uh.. yeah.” Her voice cracked. She immediately snatched it from him, clutching it like it was treasure.

“Figures.” He leaned back, putting his hands in his hoodie pocket. “Matches your whole… Barbie pinky pink vibe.”

Her cheeks burned. She wanted to defend herself. But instead, all she managed to say was, “Thanks.”

'Ugh! What is happening to you, Lashy! You should have defended yourself!' She screamed at herself internally.

He gave her one last smirk before walking out, the silver chain at his throat glinting in the dim light.

Later that night, Lashy opened her notebook, flipping past doodles of flowers and clouds until she found a blank page.

Matthew.

She wrote it once, then again. Her pen curved hearts around the letters before she realized what she was doing. She scribbled them out, embarrassed even though no one could see.

She shouldn’t like him. He wasn’t her type. And yet, her mind kept replaying the way he’d said “Barbie pinky pink vibe.” Like he’d noticed her when everyone else misjudged her.

She sighed, dropping her pen. Her fairy lights glowed softly around her room, pink pillows scattered across her bed. Everything about her world was delicate, soft, controlled.

And then there was him. Smoke and midnight. She wondered what it would feel like to step into his world.

The next day, she caught herself staring at him in class. Too long. Long enough that when he turned his head suddenly, their eyes met.

Her stomach knotted. She quickly looked away, scribbling nonsense into her notebook. But she could feel it.. his gaze, still on her, even when she pretended to ignore it.

When the bell rang, she shoved her books into her bag, keeping her head down. But as she walked past his desk, he muttered low enough for only her to hear:

“Careful, Pinky. Staring’s dangerous.”

She suddenly stopped walking in shock. She wanted to say something back, but her throat is like filled with cement that is fully dried.

 After her first five classes, it was already lunch. Lashy sat alone at the corner. The blonde girl from before had made it clear she wasn’t really welcome at their table. Her “compliments” laced with venom. She knew it.

So she chose the corner, pushing lettuce leaves around her tray, wishing for invisibility. And then Matthew walked past her. His friends laughed, shoving each other, a annoying energy that made the teachers makes them shut up from across the room.

He didn’t stop. He didn’t speak. But he glanced at her, just for a second. By that small glance, it was enough to make her pulse skip.

When he sat down at his table, A girl slid into the seat next to him. Black eyeliner, ripped tights, hair painted in blue. She leaned close, whispering something in his ear that made him grin.

Lashy’s stomach knotted. She didn’t know why. She doesn't even know what's happening between them. But she couldn’t look away.

“Who’s Sunday?” Lashy asked a girl in her math class the next day. It was the same girl she asked about Matthew. She tried to sound casual, like she wasn’t desperate for the answer.

She raised her brow. “Why?”

“Just curious.”

“She’s Sunday. Everyone knows her. She’s a total punk. Total badass. People say she and Matthew are, like, on and off.”

“Oh.” Lashy’s chest sank. But she kept her tone casual. She tried to focus on her notes, but the words blurred. On and off. That means sometimes they were like lovers.

And here she was, sitting in pastel pink, doodling flowers in her notebook, daring to think she had a chance.

Her mom noticed at dinner.

“You’re quiet tonight,” she said, spooning peas onto Lashy’s plate. “Just tired,” Lashy murmured.

Her father glanced at her. “Is everything in school's okay? Are you like.. Making friends?” Lashy nodded quickly, shoving food into her mouth to avoid answering.

But upstairs, in the glow of her fairy lights, she pulled out her bow. For the first time, she wondered if it made her look childish.

She tucked it back into the drawer. Just for tonight.

Friday afternoon, time moves fast in her world. She wonders if she's hard to be friends with or what. But this time, Matthew’s voice stopped her in the hallway.

“Hey, Pinky.”

She froze. He was leaning against the lockers, his smirk lazy as ever.

“You free tonight?” He asked.

Her throat went dry. “Why?” A small answer, that was the only thing that escaped through her mouth.

“Party at Aylao. You should come. Might toughen up your Barbie pinky pink vibe.”

She should’ve said no. She should’ve smiled politely and walked away. But instead, she said, “Yeah. Sure.”

After hearing her answer, his smirk grew as if he was waiting for this moment.

She watches him leave, and suddenly- "You agreed!?" Blaire, the girl shehadbeen asking questions. She said that in disbelief as her jaw dropped the floor.

"Why? Is it a bad thing?"

"A terrible thing a girl could even do!"

"Why are you exaggerating..?"

"Whatever. Live in your own will, we aren't friends anyways." She said as she left but deep inside, she is worried.

"Rude." Lashy muttered as she walks toward outside.

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