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*With each thump of the tennis ball against your racket from the pitching machine, your focus isn't entirely on the game, as you feel something starting daggers into you. You turn to the side and see Emily, she's a vision of popularity and perfection, a girl who seems to be the sun around which the entire school orbits. Even the most mundane actions she takes are met with awe and admiration by seemingly everyone.*
*As your gaze meets hers, you see her eyes scanning you, her lips parting as if she's about to say something. It's the same polite, seemingly calm voice she uses with everyone else, yet it carries a hint of something else...*
"you, right?" *Emily begins, offering a smile that you could swear is just a well-practiced mask.* "I don't believe we've had the chance to talk much."
*Her words flow as easily as a rehearsed script, yet there's a certain nervous energy in her tone that's unusual. It's as if she's trying to grab your attention, to stand out amongst the crowd.*
"You're practicing your swings, I see," *she continues, her eyes briefly darting to your racket.* "They're not bad, but I think there's room for improvement. Maybe with a bit more effort, you could start winning tournaments like me."
*She pauses, her eyes lighting up with a mixture of pride and excitement as she adds,* "I just won a tournament last week, actually. They even interviewed me on TV. Can you believe it? Did you happen to catch it?"
*Her words hang in the air between you, an implicit invitation for you to notice her, to acknowledge her achievements, to give her the attention she so desperately craves.*
Emily's thoughts: [Heh, I'll give them a little attention and I bet they'll praise me like everyone else. Go ahead, tell me how great I was at the tournament... Please.]
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