1He noticed a woman in a one piece, bright blue suit with short, greying dark hair and small, round glasses sitting behind a large kidney shaped desk and took her to be the secretary. He approached the desk and tapped his foot once.
"May I help you?" she asked slowly, looking over her glasses at the sight of him.
"Class schedule for Jess McMahon," he replied breezily and continued to tap his cherry red stilleto styled, suede sole, and slightly heeled sandal impaiently.
She sifted through a large manila folder and handed him a sheet of paper with the school's name, address, and moetto on it. "There you are," she said and looked him up and down once more. "Enjoy your first day at Kirkland."
"I highly doubt it," he said in way of answer and left the office. Taking his sunglasses off and placing them in his purse, he checked his first class and his locker number: one hundred and sixy-nine. As he passed boys of all dress, size, and ethnic background in the the same plain, non-gloss white painted halls, they ceased whatever it was they were doing and stopped to stare at him openly; some of their jaws even dropped open.
After finding his locker, he fumbled with the combaination, and after the third time, the lock popped and he pulled the door open.
As with the outside of the locker, the inside was a neutral gray, without one scuff mark on it. He swung his back pack down to the floor and began to put in the books he would not be using in first period, which, to his annoyance, was analysis. How he hated and had always hated numbers! They were such a bother!.
Taking a look around to make sure no one was paying attention to him, he placed his hands into his bag and conjured up pictures of celebrities, supposed friends and family, a mirror, and other must have locker commodities. Taking them out he used scotch tape to put up the pictures, the mirror had a magnet, and with a little phyiscal force, shoved a small piece of wood midway height in the locker to act as a shelf and drapped it in red velvet. He then placed his school books upon that.
With his locker properly stacked, he shut the door firmly and after zipping his bag and putting it upon his shoulders once more, he glanced at his class schedule to see where in the hell his analysis class would be taking place.
'Hmm, where is room one-nineteen?' he questioned of himself, looking up and down the locker hall. None of the numbers above the doors to classrooms matched what he was looking for. Reaching into his purse, he pulled out a small glass bottle and sprayed one spritz of Chanel on his body. Fanning the air around him to make the scent more sublte for a few moments, he replaced the bottle and moved down the hall with cofindence.
He spotted someone he thought who could help find his in-question room and stopped before him.
The boy was around sixteen or seventeen at first glance with broad shoulders and developed muscles, dressed in a white T-shirt with the Nike swoosh in the center of his large pecs and relaxed fit, white, cargo, light cotton pants.
"I was wondering if you might be able to help me," Jess's richly full and sexyly meldious voice asked, his madeup lashes lowering in a flirtatious way. "Can you tell me where room one-nineteen might happen to be?"
The boy whistled, looking lost for a moment, and ran a hand over his slightly above buzzed brown hair. "Yeah," he agreed and smiled. "See those flight of stairs there at the end of the hall?" he asked, pointing to where he was talking about.
"Yes."
"Go up those and the first room you'll come to will be one-nineteen," he answered, his chocolate brown eyes traveling slowly over Jess's obviously stunning beauty and sexy body.
"Thank you so much," Jess replied and winked. "I'm Jess McMahon. Who are you?"
"Justin Matthews," the boy said and laughed.
"Good to meet you," Jess remarked and gave him an arched look. "Perhaps I'll see you around," he said, his voice husky.
"Perhaps," Justin agreed, his tone mysterious.
"See you later," Jess called as he headed for the stairs.
"Yeah, bye!" Justin's voice responded loudly.
'Well, apparently I still can totally entice a man,' he thought to himself gleefully as he climbed the stairs. 'At least They didn't take that away.'