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Post by gennavee logan on Sept 14, 2007 23:20:17 GMT -5
“And I was like no way!” a girl in denim shorts put emphasis on the end of her sentence, her mouth open in giddy shock. Her friends, a group of conservative ponytail campers, mimicked the main speaker’s flapping jazz hands, a chorus of high pitched squeals breaking out among them. Next table, a few disgruntled guys listened intently to what seemed like the relay of last night’s events, “dude, I’m serious. I saw everything,” somehow he managed to maintain his smile. Keep going down the line of these tables the conversations get even more interesting. Genna went all the way to the back row, where she usually got stuck with the clapping/wood beat banging clique who tried to wave over the entire mess hall everyday. Just as her plate clacked down they rumbled through a rendition of ‘we will, we will rock you’. If they ever did that in the morning she would need to find a new table, but she adjusted accordingly to her seating arrangement motto (snag the empty corner chair near someone). If anyone asked, she was new here, literally. She talked to a total of four people, two on the phone, in the past three days. She hardly knew anyone, and during her free time she should’ve been socializing, she was sleeping. She would’ve continued to, had her stomach not growled loudly this afternoon. She simply could not skip a meal.
Tucking in her lips as she examined the array of tables ahead of her, like she might coincidentally see a familiar face, she lowered herself onto her chair, almost painstakingly deciding whether she should permanently sit there today. There were a few more or less inviting options, but she really wanted her food right about now. She brushed her tangerine painted fingernails through her hair, her multiple, thick banded bohemian bracelets falling up the side of her arm before stopping officially at her wrists once she folded them on the table. Then she screwed patience, digging into her chocolate chip cookie first. She established a strong connection to the person next to her; two days earlier she asked to sit there, they offered paper smiles, and she took that spot there on. Amazing how these things work, eh? People appeared to mournfully respect those whose parents forced them to come here. By liable assumptions on Genna’s rather emotionless expression, the social quartet of Brunswick accepted her as the retro new girl, the reluctant, unhappy one.
Hastily, Genna adjusted her knit tight turquoise tube top, pulling it up some. Out of habit, she glanced at her figure in that, her bottom half clothed in plaid green boxer shorts, under her translucent foil skirt, undoubtedly. She appreciated her closet more than ever. She could’ve brought her denim capris, but she might as well have put her hair in a high placed bun as well, because every jolly camper took up that picturesque ensemble didn’t they? Goodness she wouldn't have that. She crossed her legs primly, metallic gold, belted flats swinging back and forth underneath the table. She was tracking how fast she could down all her food. She felt isolated; if that was the case then you should go the entire mile by actually being alone, which, frankly, she planned on doing. Wiping a small amount of cookie crumbs off her legs, she shifted her gaze to her invaluable tote, where she stored her best friend, her camera. Boredom takes its toll. The girl fished it out her most prized possession, generating an awkward once-over from the boy beside her, his fear of getting caught in a horrid picture developing slowly. “It’s okay, I switched it to no flash,” Genna grinned whole heartedly, gladly finding amusement in camera shy victims. Maybe she’d share these online. That’s what buzznet journals are for.
She decided to spare him the torcher, though he only realized that once she switched the lense focus onto her own form, primping a 'silly' one for her shot. She ended up casting her ocean blue eyes off in a haze, lips pursed numbly, an eyebrow lifted to accomodate the fidelity of a 'myspace pic', even if she didn't have one. It equalled numero uno today, but as she searched oppertunities to capture the slightly narchotic camp life, weird set inspiration came to her. Genna gathered up her things, pacing towards the entrance to cypress hall, at the five steps you traversed to lunch room level; it overlooked the entire camping body in their natural environment, eating as teenagers frequently do. Genna, biting her lower lip, squinted an eye in her lens, tracking horizontal steps for a better angle, "Wonder what the title should be," she thought aloud to her collection of song lyrics. She looked like those yearbook photographers at school, except possibly dressed different, her large heart hoops merely adding onto the theory. At last she received her shot. The light through the windows, the smiles, the frowns on the people, and a boy unintentionally protruding into her picture with a blur of red hair.
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