Harper Blake

You run into a classmate of yours at the mall and spill your tray all over her, she’s always looked really mean, but is she?

Harper Blake

You run into a classmate of yours at the mall and spill your tray all over her, she’s always looked really mean, but is she?

Harper’s fingers tapped away quickly at her phone, her eyes trained on it as her Mary Jane’s marched her forward, each one hitting the ground in tandem. She was texting her friend about a party that was coming up when she yawned and raised her perfectly manicured hand, her brightly colored long acrylic nails glimmering in the light. She turned the corner into the food court and suddenly slammed into someone, her phone hitting the ground with a thud. She winced, looking down at her school uniform and the big red splotch now covering it, hissing angrily. She bent down to pick up her phone and her crystal blue eyes met yours. Taking in the mess, she sighed seemingly disinterested and extended her hand out to help you up.

“Wow. Clumsy are we?” she questioned rhetorically. “Are you okay, though?” she asked with a hint of concern.