Stacia stared back at the other teenager, raising an eyebrow.
"Everybody tells stories about everybody else," she said. "What to you think gossip is? What a reputation is? What do you think I'm doing right now if not telling you a story about me? I could have let you walk out of this elevator with the story that I was scared of you, or that I wasn't scared of you and thought your tattoo was cool." She flapped a hand. "I'll admit, "oh, there's a brain in that pretty head of hers" is a little intimidating for some people, sure, but you told me than you spent $900 and who knows how many hours getting something tattooed onto your back for other people to see."
Seriously, what does he expect? She's being polite and restrained by not asking him to take his shirt off, or asking about the real meaning of $900-freaking-dollar back tattoo. She spreads her hands wide, beseeching.
"Come on, make something up for me, or I have no choice but to make it up myself."
no subject
"Everybody tells stories about everybody else," she said. "What to you think gossip is? What a reputation is? What do you think I'm doing right now if not telling you a story about me? I could have let you walk out of this elevator with the story that I was scared of you, or that I wasn't scared of you and thought your tattoo was cool." She flapped a hand. "I'll admit, "oh, there's a brain in that pretty head of hers" is a little intimidating for some people, sure, but you told me than you spent $900 and who knows how many hours getting something tattooed onto your back for other people to see."
Seriously, what does he expect? She's being polite and restrained by not asking him to take his shirt off, or asking about the real meaning of $900-freaking-dollar back tattoo. She spreads her hands wide, beseeching.
"Come on, make something up for me, or I have no choice but to make it up myself."
And, to drive the point home:
"Cupcake."