She moves her left hand slowly but surely, scratching away at the soon-to-be filled paper that lies in front of her. Just five seats away, our eyes meet, bringing involuntary smiles to each of our faces. She sits, propped up by the unused right arm; its only purpose is to hold the paper down with her elbow. Chatting with Kelly or Michaela, her smile, it appears after each period. Her gray Uggs, worn with pride, worn and tattered after a long trip to the mall with her girlfriends. Yet again, her smile surfaces, showing her great white teeth. At the sight of it, even I begin to smile. Hoop earrings, she’d be lost without them. And her gum, well that’s always present. A beautiful necklace fit for a queen lies upon her chest. All the graphite and pen ink smears and stains her hands. Sometimes she wishes she was right handed. Sometimes. Her legs crossed, she sits up straight. She sits as a princess on a throne. “Put your music on, feel free to move about the room,” says Ms. Strout. Alexis pulls out her iPod and bright pink earbuds, and sits down to work. She just sits there, playing with her hair and her eyes roam about, searching for something. She continues on her work, a signal that she has just discovered a cure for Writer’s Block. But other times, she sights me, again revealing what is usually behind closed lips. I wonder what she thinks about when she writes. Is she always this focused?
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