"So, what's his name?" Angie asked, flopping on her bed. Her eyes gleamed as they always do when the topic of guys arises.
"I don't know!" I was in front of her closet, trying to decide what to wear to our friend's party that night.
"Is he cute?"
"How should I know?"
"Because you're a girl, Mia! It's just something girls know! It's like natural instincts or something!"
"Whatever." I pulled out a peasant top and held it up. She shook her head.
"What's he look like?"
"Sorry. How 'bout that polo?" She hopped off the bed and held up a brown polo. "Perfect."
"Angie, I'm not a prep."
"So? It's brown. Not preppy at all. Here. Put it on." I gave in and pulled it over my head. It didn't look that bad.
"So, what class is he in?" Angie resumed her spot on the bed.
"Do you like him?"
"God, no! Angie, I hate him. He's so…annoying!"
"Like, little kid annoying?"
"No. Like, he's perfect and it's intimidating. I don't know."
"So you hate him without reason?"
"You're so weird, Mia."
"Why, thank you."