Walking

The campus was just a ten minute walk away. I put on my shoes, Nikes that I could use for training later, and headed out the door.

I don't know why, but people were giving me dirty looks more than usual. I need to make a complaint to the apartment's services, I could swear he was staring right at my breasts as if he could see through my clothes.

I know I'm attractive, but believe me when I say everybody, and everybody was turning their heads at me. Cars were honking, men were catcalling, some idiot biker crashed while looking at me. Ugh, men and their never-ending horniness. It's so annoying. But that means my new makeup must be working so that was good.

At around halfway on the route, I saw a woman spewing a look of disgust at an approaching creep behind me. She covered her five-year-old son's eyes. Good, don't let the next generation have any chance to imitate this sort of vile behavior. "Ugh, creeps, am I right?" I said. We need more responsible women like her in this world.

Of course, I tried walking faster, but that bastard caught up to me. I ignored him. He spent a while walking by my side, not even saying a word. Timid, too nervous around girls, like my brother, it seems. Creeps were always like that.

Finally, his first word was, "how much for one night?"

To anybody wanting to court girls, this is not how you do it. As if he had a chance at all. I turned, and stared him straight in the eye. He was a scruffy, dirty, low-life scum. "Excuse me," I said. "Do I look like a fucking whore to you?"

He shrugged.

"Fuck off," I said, and walked on. I heard him scream, "wait!" but I didn't look back.

The campus looked as miserable as usual. I'm convinced the architects modeled it after a prison or something, so square, walled, and boring. I got all the attention of the boys, as usual, and some girls even covered their boyfriend's eyes. That's right, know your place, bitches.

"Clara?" Tiffany said when we met on the way to the lecture hall. "Nice outfit today."

"I know, right?"

Tiffany raised an eyebrow. Was she just being sarcastic?

"What? Something wrong?" I said.

"You do know that's not how you wear a bra, right?"

I looked at chest. How the hell does she know how I wear bras? As if she could see through my blouse. I didn't come to class just to be taught by Tiffany how to wear a bra. Who does she think she is, my mom? "What do you mean, Tiffany," I said.

She sensed the annoyance in my tone. But just when I thought she had enough sense to talk about something else, she added, "well, nobody can stop you if you want to dress like a whore."

"What did you just say?"