Fiction
3 min
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All Your Opinions Are Rejected
Sophie Tran
Caitlin enters the Maple Leaf Cafe. It's Tuesday after school on a cold, wintry day. The cafe is packed, and there's nowhere to sit. She quickly fixes her long, silky blonde hair. All of a sudden, a seat opens up next to a dark stranger in a boys' varsity jacket. Having received her pumpkin spice latte, she hesitantly pulls out the chair next to the stranger.
"Do you mind if I sit here?" she asks.
"Not at all, it's a free country," the stranger replies, and returns his attention to the book in front of him.
He's kinda cute, Caitlin thinks. She pulls out her lipstick and a mirror to reapply her smudged color. "You're so right. I was just making sure no one was sitting here like your girlfriend or anything."
The stranger raises an eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"
"Oh, I mean, do you have a girlfriend?" She nervously chuckles.
"Oh, I mean, do you have a girlfriend?" She nervously chuckles.
"Not at all," the boy says, and returns to his book.
"Sorry to come off strong like that." Catlin takes a sip of her pumpkin spice latte. "What are you reading?"
"Albert Camus's The Stranger."
"Cool, what's it about? I read a lot of books. too."
"I highly doubt that if you haven't heard of Camus."
Well, that was rude, Catlin mumbles, looking at the cover. "I said I read a lot of books, not Camus."
"It's pronounced Ca-MOO. Like a cow."
"Okay, can you just tell me what it's about?" She becomes slightly irritated.
"It's about French colonialism in Tunisia. And the philosophy of nihilism."
"So are you reading it for school? Where do you attend? I've never seen you around."
"As a matter of fact, it's my elective novel for AP Literature. My school name is on my jacket, in case you haven't noticed. Golden Tree HS."
"Golden Tree, huh, they're our rival school. I cheer for Washington HS."
"I don't really follow football."
"So, what sport do you play?"
"It's literally on my jacket. The varsity tennis team."
Catlin pauses, her face turning red. "I just noticed, you know I can't look away from your eyes." She says awkwardly.
The stranger covers his eyes with his book. "Okay, what color are they?" he asks.
"Not going to answer that."
The stranger frowns, putting down his book. "Tell me, are you usually this jejune with strangers?"
"Cut me some slack. I just thought you were cute. Are you not a teenager as well? Live your life you boring hag."
"Boring hag?" replies the boy, almost at a loss for words. "I'd rather be boring than rude. Now would you be so kind as to leave me in peace?"
"Rude?" Caitlin repeats in a near shout. "You're the one that has been giving me attitude from the start! I hope you're happy with the way you're living because it sure is depressing!"
"What would you possibly know about the way I live?"
"Look at you, you're arrogant, you're rude, and you're not socially aware! So what if you're smart and athletic if you're just a pathetic douchebag that can't communicate or joke with others!"
The boy, taken aback by Caitlin's insults, recoils. "Not socially aware," he exclaims. "Do you think just because you're relatively attractive that you're entitled to my time?"
"Matter of fact, yes, I am entitled to your time. And maybe you should just open up to the world more so you don't act like the jerk you are!" Catlin is nearly screaming on the top of her lungs.
"Wow," says the boy, agog. "You do realize how arrogant you sound when you're claiming I'm arrogant? Pot, meet kettle."
"What does that even mean? See, you're going crazy, you're not even speaking English sense anymore!"
"I'm sorry I don't speak cheerleader ‘sense.' You're patently the blondest stereotype I've ever met."
"I'm glad you categorized me into a blonde, that means my hairdresser did a good job! While you need some sort of hair cut, cuz' that look is not cutting it."
"So you're not a natural blonde, but you have money for cosmetics and overpriced lattes. You probably read at fifth grade level with your BookTok chick lit, and you're jealous of people who actually read literature. You're just mad that I'm not giving you the same attention that every other guy does."
Catlin scoffs. She picks up her Lady Dior hand purse and her pumpkin spice latte and slides out of the wooden chair. "You are just a miserable person. Miserable, and sad."
The boy stands up as well, slamming the book into its place on the bookshelf. "And all your opinions are rejected!"
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