“Wowww.” Her mouth made an O and again, she tilted her head to the side. “How does your neck support such a big ego?”
“I do a couple chin tucks each morning and I’m good to go,” I said, showing her.
She tried not to laugh but couldn’t help herself. Shaking her head at me, she said, “Fine. I don’t mind being a less pretty, more pitiful, underprivileged, poor version of you.”
“Penélope,” I huffed and exhaled loudly. “Just when I was starting to like you.”
“What?”
“You should mind. Who wants to be a less pretty, more pitiful, underprivileged, poor version of me?”
She looked at me like I had lost my mind. “You just said that’s better than being everyone else!”
“Exactly!” I said in the same whiny tone as her. “You’re already better than everyone else. You should strive for more, not just settle. I saw your self-portrait and thought… This girl is ahead of her time.”
“The ones displayed in the hall? You liked that?” she asked in disbelief.
I nodded. “I love art. But I love artists more, despite the fact I can’t draw to save my life. Everyone probably sees that drawing and thinks you’re weird, right?”
“I mean, it isn’t the only reason, but it didn’t help my popularity,” she said a little less cheery than before.
“High school popularity is shit and I say that as someone who has always been popular.”
“So, you don’t know what it’s like to be on the outside, then. To always be out in the cold,” she muttered before drinking her milk.
“I didn’t say that.” I rested my cheek on my palm. “And you also don’t know what it’s like to be on the inside. They’re not any happier. In fact, they’re so terrified of being out in the cold that they’re willing to bend, deform themselves, inject Botox into their faces, cut away pieces of themselves just to stay popular. What they don’t realize is that those pieces they are cutting away are important.”
“What are you, a walking, talking self-help book?” She tried to laugh this time, but it didn’t come out the way she wanted, so she just hung her head.
“If you mean myself… Yeah most of the time.” I nodded. “But today I decided to share my almighty greatness with you, poor child. Think of me as your one-time fairy godmother.”
That did make her laugh. “One time?”
“Make one wish. Please don’t wish for something small and useless, I’ll be insulted. I’m too rich for small wishes.”
“Why?” she asked me, carefully, and I liked her even more for doing so.
“Because when asked to draw a self- portrait, you didn’t draw yourself one dimensional. You said, I am many things which make the whole; I am pieces put together in strange angles and I cannot choose just one for anyone.”
“I could just like cubism,” she muttered, before sucking on her straw, and we gave each other a look before laughing. “Fine one wish, and prepare yourself, I make big wishes.”
“Bring it.” I waved her on.
“I’m not kidding. I’m going to come off like a total parasite, trying to take everything I can—”
“Good on you.” I nodded to her. “Now you sound even more like me.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she muttered, sitting up and rolling her sleeves. She was so funny.
“Well, I don’t have all day—”
“Make me rich,” she cut me off. “Make me so rich, they have to respect me. So that they can’t abuse my mom and the teachers can’t look down on me.”
I smiled from ear to ear, leaning in close to her. “If I give you this, you aren’t going to go crazy, lose your personality, and try to become one of the popular girls, are you?”
She waved her hand over her stomach. “It’s kinda hard to be a cheer girl with a belly.”
“Fine. I’ll trust you.” I nodded, getting back up. “Keep drawing. Your stuff is going to be worth a lot. I’ll buy the self-portrait for one-five.”