YA stuff iv

Ack! Sheila reminds me of my neglected story, while posting part of her own. (Love the "extravaganzas of vulnerability," red.) Figured I'd post a teeny bit more, hopefully kickstarting some work on it:

He sat next to me, as usual. I allowed myself a sidelong glance. The most obvious thing about him--far more evident than his emotions--was that he was truly an atrocious dresser. He had no sense of style whatsoever. He wore gray corduroys, of the kind a ten year old would wear. There was a huge inkstain on one leg, suggestively near the crotch. It was a chilly fall day, but he had on a tee shirt, which was a size too small and emphasized his lack of defined chest muscles. And to top it all off, he'd apparently given himself a haircut, without benefit of a mirror.

The outfit alone was enough to banish him from Kelly's consideration forever, never mind his physique, or his total lack of edge. I winced slightly, replaying her comments about him in my head. But the cool thing about him--apart from his composure in the face of defeat--was his utter lack of self-consciousness. He clearly did not give a damn about his appearance. Not a flicker of a damn.